《The Crown of the First King》


 PROLOGUE: History Lessons

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    <h2>Anders ¨C Grand Market, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    The chime rang as the door to the old bookstore opened. Inside was a decent-sized shop, but it was overcrowded with shelves upon shelves of books, cluttering every space. The books were mostly arranged on the shelves in some semblance of order, but loose volumes were piled everywhere, and there were even shelves running high up the walls of the multi-level building, way higher than anyone could hope to reach without a ladder.


    A tall, handsome, and well-built man took off his expensive hat and cloak, hanging them carelessly on the rack near the door, his long, shoulder-length blond hair spilling over the top of his shirt. He moved into the dimly lit shop, where most of the natural light failed to penetrate windows blocked by bookshelves, and a random scattering of candles did little to illuminate the space.


    Edging sideways between the shelves to make his way toward the counter in the middle of the shop, the man was careful not to knock over any of the haphazardly placed piles of books on the floor.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± called out an elderly man from near the back of the shop.


    ¡°Yes, Mister Steinwicke, I believe you can,¡± replied the blond-haired noble confidently, his tone familiar.


    Mister Steinwicke made his way forward to see who his visitor was. Upon getting closer, he removed his thick reading glasses to better see his visitor.


    ¡°Lord Hightower, is that you?¡± asked the old shop-owner.


    ¡°It is,¡± came the friendly reply. ¡°I wasn''t sure that you would remember me.¡±


    ¡°I still remember most of my students, my Lord. Don''t teach much these days though. How are your father and your older brother?¡± Mister Steinwicke asked.


    ¡°Please, call me Anders. We are old friends,¡± instructed Anders. ¡°Besides, I doubt I would have got through my classes if it were not for your help.¡±


    The old man waved away the compliment.


    ¡°My father and brother are well,¡± continued Anders. ¡°Both busy with the affairs of running our estate. Not that I need worry about that as a second-born, right?¡± Anders'' tone revealed the resentment he still felt at being second-born in a society where most things passed to the first-born, especially among the nobility.


    ¡°I am sure the Gods have a path intended for you,¡± replied Mister Steinwicke, in what Anders was sure was meant to be reassuring.


    ¡°That''s the same thing Father suggested, actually. He said I should join the church,¡± stated Anders. ¡°But in Klydor, there are really only two main faiths anyone is interested in, right?¡±


    ¡°Both Faylen and Chandrilar are extremely worthy Gods to devote yourself to,¡± reassured Mister Steinwicke.


    ¡°Yes, that is probably true. But I am not sure either really calls to me. Faylen, the glorious Sun-God, protector of Driax and about 50 other titles I cannot even recall. I have personally always been a night owl rather than a morning person. I would sleep through half the daylight hours if given the chance,¡± replied Anders.


    ¡°And Chandrilar, the glorious founder of our nation. God of duty, loyalty, and obedience,¡± Anders continued. ¡°Well, you should remember from trying to teach me. I think we both know obedience is not one of my strengths.¡±


    ¡°But a boy must do what his father says, right, Mister Steinwicke?¡± Anders finished.


    Mister Steinwicke chuckled at the self-deprecating humour. ¡°I suspect you are right on that last point. So what can I do for you? I doubt a busy young man like yourself came down here just to reminisce with an old man like me.¡±


    ¡°I want some help with history, actually. And I remembered you were the most knowledgeable person I ever met on the subject,¡± Anders replied.


    ¡°That is kind of you to say,¡± acknowledged Mister Steinwicke, who remained standing out of etiquette, but Anders could see he was struggling with it.


    ¡°Please take a seat if you need to. I suspect I will be here awhile,¡± Anders offered. Mister Steinwicke found himself a stool and sat gingerly upon it.


    ¡°I need a birthday present. And I was hoping you could show me something on Chandrilar, his life from the time of the Great Cataclysm, and how he led his people west to form our great nation.¡±


    ¡°Are you interested in what happened after his death, and how he became a God?¡± asked Mister Steinwicke.


    ¡°No. He had an empire of people who worshipped him upon his death. That worship turned him into a God. That part of the story is really just the reward for his amazing life, so let''s focus on his life,¡± replied Anders.


    ''What I need to know hopefully comes from when he was alive,'' Anders thought to himself.


    ¡°I believe I have just the thing,¡± exclaimed Mister Steinwicke, and he stumbled off to find it.


    ****


    Anders took a seat at a small, dusty desk near the back of the shop. He repositioned multiple candles to ensure he had enough light and began to read the scroll Mister Steinwicke had brought him. From its age, it looked as though it had been written a long time ago. A really long time ago.


    ''The older the source, the more likely it is to be correct,'' he thought.


    The scroll featured a drawing of a man with a strong-looking face, clean-shaven, short hair, an impressive-looking crown, and a well-defined chin, which the scroll identified as Chandrilar. It appeared to be from when he was in his fifties. Anders absently ran his fingers across the image of the crown.


    The rest of the scroll was text, written in Old Micronian, the language of the first great human empire, Micronia. That language had slowly evolved into what most people considered the common tongue today, so it was easy enough to understand, even if some of the words were in older forms than were in common usage in the present day.


    ****


    When the Great Cataclysm ended, across Driax, the dead numbered in the hundreds of thousands, and almost no race had been spared. The world had been at war for nearly ten years, and humankind had come to the brink of extermination by the massed armies of the Great Dragon, Razilin¡¯Tera.


    Although the Champions of Laurabel had defeated Razilin¡¯Tera and his cabal of giants and demons, none of them were left alive to assist with the massive task of rebuilding. Micronia, the first and greatest human empire, had been all but destroyed. However, it was not just the cities that required reconstruction. The minds of many survivors were also shattered from the epic scale of death and destruction they had just lived through.


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    Into this breach stepped Chandrilar Klydor, the young squire of Xarron. Chandrilar had helped hold his master upright while he delivered his final speech, proclaiming victory in the final battle, and banishing the evil horde. The young squire looked into Xarron''s eyes and promised he would look after those who had been saved. Soon after, Xarron, the hero of Laurabel, and the one who had delivered the killing blow to Razilin''Tera, succumbed to his grievous wounds, passing from the world.


    But there would be no peace. Micronia was destroyed, and a huge power vacuum was left in its wake. The souls of men would seek power and titles, leading many to try and claim lordship over the peoples of Man. Chandrilar quickly realised that nothing could stop the violence that was to come. And he knew that many of his people could not stand any further fighting and bloodshed.


    Therefore, Chandrilar decided to lead his people to the west, far to the west, and away from the evils and war that were overwhelming the land. The journey was arduous, but Chandrilar and his Knights led the faithful into the lands of the unknown. They fought off goblin and orc warbands, survived horrible storms, and scrounged enough supplies to keep their followers fed. Chandrilar would become the unquestioned leader of his people, guiding them through every crisis that befell them, and personally defeating the Orc King, Gorok Man-Killer. Most importantly, Chandrilar restored his people''s sense of respect and pride within themselves, and in the new society that they were going to build.


    Word of their massive caravan from the East was spreading, and so too was the legend of the man who led them. Chandrilar engaged with all those he encountered with respect and honour, endeavouring to negotiate for the needs of his people peacefully and fairly, but responding swiftly and decisively against those who threatened their welfare. But he was yet to find a land for his people. Everywhere they found was either unsuitable or would require a road of conquest that would likely destroy them to claim it.


    It was then that Llarissa Ent¡¯arryl, herald of the Llewyrr, rode into their camp, requesting an audience with Chandrilar. The elves of the Llewyrr forest had also left behind their brethren and their ancestral homeland only a few short years earlier. They too had seen their people torn apart by a brutal civil war. They too had seen the difficulty in finding a new home.


    But more than that, the Grey Seers of the Llewyrr could see the future. They had foreseen that Driax was coming into the Age of Mankind. The expansion of these humans would be relentless. And while a spirit of expansion and conquest was common in the younger races, the nobler characteristics of honour and integrity were not. The Grey Seers had indeed seen the future, and if the Llewyrr were to survive, then they would require an ally amongst the humans, one who would be able to protect their new homelands and their way of life. The Grey Seers foretold that Chandrilar Klydor and his descendants would be the ones to do this and that as long as his descendants sat the Klydorian throne, both kingdoms would not fall.


    And so Llarissa and her Rangers led the bedraggled and exhausted caravan to the rich and fertile plains that stretched from the northern border of their forest homeland all the way to the oceans that surrounded their green and verdant peninsula. And for the next few years, the elven patrols would play a key role in protecting the fledgling settlement from any goblinoid or other menace.


    After more than a year of travelling, Chandrilar had found his people their new home. They had travelled thousands of miles, first west, then south. But now, stretched out before them, were hundreds of miles of the most fertile plains any of them had ever seen. Chandrilar knew immediately that this land was the one where he and his people would build their future.


    For the remainder of his days, Chandrilar toiled tirelessly to build his people their new Kingdom. Guided by Llarissa and his new Llewyrr friends, Chandrilar set out a Code to unify his people and to ensure that the spirit of the new empire would always embody the ideals under which he wished them to live. This code of Chivalry required the nobility to protect and provide for the people, their role was one of responsibility, not privilege, and that all people treat all others with respect and honour, regardless of rank or title.


    They would live in harmony with the land, learning from their elven neighbours to take only what they needed to survive. Never would they plunder the Earthmother for simple profit. And he instilled the Knights, those few who had guided and protected his people on their journey, as his champions. They quickly became the symbol of the new kingdom, which his people named Klydor, after their beloved leader.


    It is said that upon his death, even the Grey Seers wept.


    ****


    As Anders finished the scroll, he looked up to see Mister Steinwicke standing nearby. ¡°Did that help, my Lord?¡± he inquired of Anders.


    ¡®Not really. It was mostly a waste of time that didn¡¯t mention any of the important artifacts Chandrilar had. No mention of Xarron¡¯s sword, the Stone of Evronn, or the Crown of the First King,¡¯ Anders thought to himself.


    ¡°The picture shows Chandrilar wearing the Crown of the First King, but the scroll does not mention it in the text. I was hoping to know more about the Crown,¡± Anders stated.


    ¡°Oh. I am sorry, my Lord. That scroll does not mention the Crown. But if you come with me, I might be able to show you something that does,¡± replied Mister Steinwicke apologetically.


    When Anders moved to follow, the old man shuffled off to lead him to a particular section of the store. He gestured to a series of shelves that must have contained a hundred or more books. ¡°These books are all likely to contain references to the Crown of the First King. It has been a very influential artifact in our nation¡¯s history,¡± proclaimed Mister Steinwicke proudly.


    ¡®You have got to be kidding me. I am not reading all those books! That could take months.  Years even.¡¯


    ¡®Plan B then¡¯.


    ¡°Have you read all those books?¡± Anders asked.


    ¡°I have. Multiple times, in fact. I love to read, particularly Klydorian history. And the store provides a lot of free time to read,¡± Mister Steinwicke smiled as he answered.


    ¡®I did like you. Well¡­ you pestered me to do my homework. Perhaps I mean I did not dislike you enough to want what happens next.¡¯


    ¡®But we all have our calling to answer.¡¯


    ¡°Could you perhaps show me where you recommend I start? I want to know as much about the crown as possible,¡± guided Anders. He followed along closely behind the old man as he slowly picked his way to a particular point on the shelves.


    Mister Steinwicke stopped, and carefully appraised a section of books above his eyeline and to the right. He steadied himself with a hand on the nearest shelf, and reached out his other hand to select a specific tome from the higher shelf.


    Anders grabbed him and rammed a magical, skull-adorned dagger deeply into Mister Steinwicke¡¯s back. The old man¡¯s body went tense.


    ¡®Would have been a shame for all that knowledge to die when you did. Think of this as me carrying on your good work.¡¯


    Anders uttered the command words for the soul-stealing spell contained in the dagger.


    ¡°In anima tua domine dominatur


    (Over your soul I do claim dominion),


    A te memoriam tuam capio


    (From you I take your memories),


    Tuam potestatem sumo pro mea


    (Your power I take for my own).¡±


    Anders felt a small rush of ecstasy as the powerful necromantic spell filled him with the memories and power of the old man. It was not the painful experience he had felt when absorbing creatures or people who were powerful channelers. Steinwicke was no channeler. There was no fight for control to see whose psyche would win out.


    But it was still a strange, yet exhilarating, feeling as a lifetime of memories poured into his mind. As his mind absorbed the memories, he saw flashes of Steinwicke¡¯s most euphoric moments, and his most traumatic moments. His first kiss, his first night of intimacy, the birth of three children, the death of a child, the betrayal of a business partner.


    In less than a minute, it was all over. Steinwicke was dead. And the flood of memories was complete.


    He tried to focus on what interested him, which was the history and lore of Klydor. He could clearly recall the legends of the Battle of Micronia, the journey of Chandrilar, the Black Knight, the Great Victory, and the signing of the Anwar Pact, all in far greater detail than he had ever known previously.


    He tried to recall his newfound knowledge of the Crown of the First King, the Stone of Evronn, and the Sword of Xarron, all three of the powerful artifacts associated with Chandrilar and his line.


    The memories were all there. The spell had worked. In fact, he knew things he had not anticipated.


    ¡®Most interesting. Josak and Ronardo might be wrong after all. They seek the Stone and Sword, their only concern for the Crown being that it once held the Stone within its collection of embedded jewels. I now think they might be wrong. The Crown of the First King might be my path to defeat them both, and claim the ultimate glory for myself ¨C Lord High Priest of Razilin¡¯Tera.¡¯


    He laid the now-dead body of his old tutor on the ground, wiping the dagger on the old man¡¯s shirt. He left the store, flipping the sign on the door to "closed," before shutting it and quickly moving away.

 Chapter 1: An Unsocial Gathering

    <h2>Inquisitor Khali ¨C Merchant Quarter, Steiner, the Holy Trinity</h2>


    27th Finshae, late Winter 845 PBM (Post Battle of Micronia)


    Khali was a devout Inquisitor of Faylen, on duty this late winter evening, conducting investigations in the name of the Supreme God. Faylen. The magnificent Sun-God was the protector of the entire lands of Driax. His eternal vigil never ceased, and his Inquisition expected the same from its agents, or as near as mortals could manage.


    Quietly, Khali slipped into the warehouse, blending into an inconspicuous space near the back of a small gathering of residents. The existence of this assembly was troubling, as the organizers were likely cultists devoted to one of the Dark Gods. That it was taking place within a city under the church of Faylen''s rule was even more alarming.


    ¡¯They would not be so bold if I had worn my normal robes,¡¯ Khali mused. "While the black would definitely blend in here, the bright flames and bold sun sigils to Faylen would cast a stark light on the darkness in their souls. Few it is who do not reveal their own guilt and horror once the truth is shined upon them in all its magnificence.¡¯


    ¡®But the time to act has not yet come. We must wait for the leader of the rabble. Such pitiful gatherings are nearly always held together by an individual wielding charm or fear, and promising change and rewards unearned to tempt the weak and faithless. As long as there were those who refuse to accept responsibility for their life, and blaming others for their failings, there will be a breeding ground for the Dark Ones.¡¯


    The cult seemed to be in its early stages. The location¡ªa run-down warehouse on the outskirts of the merchant quarter¡ªindicated that the cult was still hiding its presence. The owners warranted investigation later, but from the look of the place they had not been here in some time. For now, Khali focused on the gathering: little more than a dozen disaffected citizens.


    ¡¯I suspect that many of them are not even citizens of our great city but outsiders who have come to benefit from the glorious civilization the church has built. And now, after taking our charity, they plot its ruin. But this is where kindness can get you. This is why the Inquisition is always necessary. Despite what some of those of a weaker resolve within the church may think, love and good intentions cannot solve all problems; vigilance and decisiveness are crucial.¡¯


    In a dim corner of the warehouse stood a small table, under the remnants of broken stairs leading to a crumbling first-floor office. The warehouse floor was littered with broken glass, dust, and what appeared to be rat droppings. It was a far cry from the splendour of the magnificent churches dedicated to the righteous gods.


    ¡®Clearly, those being recruited to the Dark Gods require no flashy displays. No, it seems the pitch must be, ¡°Join us¡­ we have dust and rat droppings for everyone."¡¯


    Five newcomers entered and moved towards the table. Khali assessed them.


    ¡®Three move as if they wear serious amounts of armour beneath their robes. They have the casual walk of mercenaries or thugs, those with more than a passing acquaintance in violence. From the looks they are giving any of the throng who get to close, they seem willing to hand out lessons if anyone wants one. The robes don¡¯t look so natural on them though. They aren¡¯t the ring-leader of our little circus.¡¯


    She watched as one of them carelessly scuffed a chalk-drawn sigil on the ground, smearing what had been a well-drawn symbol of the Dark Gods.


    ¡®Ha! Those three don¡¯t even respect their own sigils. Good to know. If things get ugly, they aren¡¯t likely to die for the cause either. And I suspect that goes for the would-be cultists too. Bathe a few of them in the cleansing flames of the almighty Faylen, and the rest will flee back to their miserable lives, with a strong word for anyone else dumb enough to repeat this little charade anytime soon.¡¯


    ¡®So that leaves us with the other two. No flashy robes adorned with sigils or colours. Probably rules out Saleercki. Good. The Goddess of Sin and Temptation is the worst. No straight up battles. No pitched duels of magickal might. Just manipulate the masses, and constantly try to get into your head to learn your darkest vices; your innermost secrets; your basest desires. Some within the church call this ¡°weakness,¡± but in the end, everyone up to the High-Lord of Faylen himself has them. Trying to resist temptation for the thing your mind most covets is no easy thing for anyone.¡¯


    ¡®The cultists look to be of the poor and underfed variety. You couldn¡¯t say they look like warriors, no matter how much you whip them into a mouth frothing frenzy. So probably not the Blood God, Kazak¡¯Ta either. These troops would just embarrass their Lord. Also, if that were the case, the leaders would almost certainly be encased in the heaviest shell of steel they could afford, or stupidly bare chested and proud of it. Black non-descript robes are not his chosen priestly vestments.¡¯


    ¡®No sign of pets or wild animals other than the rat problem. So likely not the Beast-Lord, Malar. At the very least one of the rats would be on the table with him, and the gathering would likely all be bowing down to the stupid rat.¡¯


    ¡®No sign of advanced technology. Not Junk-Gar.¡¯


    ¡®That leaves three likely sources: Drezzim, the Goddess of the Night; Cyrus, the Lord of the Dead; or Tzy-Lord, the Arch-mage of Forbidden Magick.¡¯


    ¡®Why do all three of those Gods love the colour black? This rabble do not look like studious practitioners of the arcane arts, so if this is Tzy-Lord, this lot must be nothing more than ingredients for the ritual. I suspect the other two options are more likely.¡¯


    ¡®Patience, Khali. All will be revealed in time, her mentor''s voice echoed in her mind.


    As the gathering moved forward, Khali ensured that her hood remained up, avoiding eye contact.


    ¡®What role will these poor fools play: pawns, initiates, or sacrifices?¡¯


    The presumed cultist leaders reached the table, which would apparently double as a speaking platform. The larger of the two leaders awkwardly climbed onto the rickety table, looking out over his followers. Khali struggled to suppress a laugh.


    ¡®This should be entertaining. Resist the urge to topple the table.¡¯


    But as the mysterious figure began to speak, Khali''s amusement turned to concern. His deep, commanding voice resonated through the room, ¡°Thank you all for coming, and for your willingness to be part of something much greater than each of us as individuals. We all know that the world in which we are forced to live is wrong, and unfair to the common people. And yet we are told to ignore this truism and to continue to labour hard so that others may live in comfort and enjoy the rewards that the Gods meant for all of us to enjoy.¡±


    ¡®Good solid opening. Involve the masses. Make them feel a part of something bigger.¡¯


    With a theatrical flourish, the figure pulled down his hood, only to replace one concealment with another¡ªan elaborate white mask resembling a skeleton.


    ¡®The likelihood of Cyrus being involved just went up a lot. I bet Traviston must be excited... well, he would be, if he had emotions. But then, if he had emotions instead of being a cold-blooded killer wielding many blades, I probably wouldn''t have much use for him.¡¯


    "But that is something we can change together," the speaker proclaimed, his voice resonant and commanding. "In three days, we''ll celebrate the ''Day of Rebirth'', marking the beginning of Spring. Today, we initiate the grand rebirth of this fine city. We''ll return it to its rightful rulers and allow the common folk to savour its bounty, as the Gods intended."


    ¡®Damn it. More questions I need answers to before I can begin warming up the room. Who are these rightful rulers? The mysterious Bone-Mask? The speaker''s god? He certainly doesn¡¯t mean the church of Faylen.¡¯


    The speaker paused, turning and crouching awkwardly on the table to confer with a smaller figure approaching from behind. From this distance, their conversation was inaudible, but the smaller figure seemed to gesture towards Khali.


    ¡®Well, this could be a problem. Discovering an Inquisitor of Faylen amidst this gathering would rapidly shift the evening''s mood.¡¯


    The speaker resumed, rising carefully. "We must remain vigilant. There are those that would oppose us restoring the natural order of things. Enemies who benefit from the current system will resist our efforts to restore the natural order. They will fight to keep you from reclaiming your rightful power."


    ¡®Doubtful your master, whoever he may be, has any interest in sharing any of the power either. But before I illuminate you all in a soul-cleansing inferno just tell me which flavour of chaos I have to thank for this little gathering¡­ please!¡¯


    "Even among the faithful, agents of your Overlords lurk. Those that would keep you as slaves," the speaker continued. "But they do not speak to you openly as I do. No, they conceal themselves for deceit and treachery are in their blood. But do not fear. My master cares for you as they do not. He sees them as they truly are."


    ¡®Definitely not good!¡¯


    "I will reveal the truth to you all."


    So captivating was the speaker that Khali missed the subtle signs of spellcasting by the smaller cultist leader


    Did I just make a huge mistake, or was the speaker using magick to enthrall us? Perhaps some hot coals and a branding iron could persuade one of them to tell us the truth when the night is over.


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    Either way the spell completed before Khali could stop it. The spell sent a wave of invisible, disruptive magic washing over Khali, harmless to most but devastating to the magickal illusion masking her appearance.


    ¡®Oh well. Time to see how the crowd feels about my flame covered robes.¡¯


    The crowd''s reaction was immediate as Khali''s illusion faltered. She now stood out, adorned in her intimidating black and flaming red robes, the flaming sun sigils of Faylen on her front, and the white eye of the Inquisition on the back. The crowd pulled away instinctively.


    Fortunately, under her robe she was also wearing a black enamelled plate-mail breastplate. Her limbs were protected by the heavy links of blessed chain-mail, and at her side hung her much loved long sword, ¡®Forgiveness¡¯.


    ¡°You should not have come alone, Inquisitor!¡± preached the bone-masked cultist, ¡°You will find your lord badly outnumbered here.¡± A smile enveloped his face as his eyes started to tighten in concentration. A spell was coming. Dark tendrils of necromantic magic formed quickly across his arms as the spell reached its conclusion, and the cultist leader threw them towards Khali, each tendril seeking to suck her life force from her body.


    Needing vision more than obscurity now, Khali threw back her hood and began to pray, her tied back golden blond hair and pale blue eyes coming into view.


    ¡°Manannan stood alone against the horde of evil,¡± recited Khali, the words rushed, but each word still enunciated clearly to empower her prayer and counter that of the cultist. ¡°And his protection did Faylen grant to his humble servant at the Kyziam Pass.¡±


    A yellow glowing shield of Life Magick appeared before her, and it clashed with the Necromantic spell. A battle of magical forces ensued, as the dark tendrils impacted the shield. There was a fraction of a second where the magickal forces of each spell fought against each other. Khali¡¯s breath caught in her throat and her body tensed for the dire repercussions if her shield failed. There really was no way to know how powerful this cultist leader was yet But one by one each of the tendrils dissipated harmlessly against the protective shield, leaving only a faintly glowing image of the Inquisitorial eye hovering in the air after it was over.


    ¡°A faithful servant of the Lord of Light is never alone,¡± Khali responded, her own voice rising in fervor as her hands and then voice started a prayer of their own, calling upon Faylen to assist in smiting these foes.


    ¡°As he had promised, Faylen brought wrath on those that had broken his covenant.


    And his flames burned them until they sought forgiveness or perished.¡±


    Her words became a fervent prayer, and she could feel the warm touch of divine empowerment as she conjured a tightly wound ball of flame. With a flick of her wrist she sent it hurtling towards the cultist and his wooden throne.


    "There is no hiding from the light!" she proclaimed.


    But her victory was short-lived.


    As the flames exploded around the cultist there was, concealed within the explosion of flame, a secondary, barely audible crack, like that of breaking glass. Immediately Khali could tell her spell was not acting as it normally would. A faint, magickal, blue bubble appeared near the cultist leader and caught the fireball, its explosive force spent within the protective magical ward and leaving everyone unharmed. The cultist''s smile was almost visible behind his mask.


    "What''s the matter, Inquisitor?" he sneered. "Is your God''s power failing you? You should never have come alone. I was given a magickal ward against fire, and another in case you tried something other than flame¡­ although that was always unlikely. You followers of the Lord of Light are so predictable with your desire to burn everything that disagrees with you."


    He gestured to his various followers, signalling them to finish off Khali. Those on his side of the table surged forward with palpable confidence, their movements deliberate and poised. The citizens on the opposite side, however, hesitated, their faces betraying reluctance at the thought of attacking an Inquisitor head-on.


    "I have a question before you attempt to kill me," Khali interjected calmly.


    "Make it quick, Inquisitor. Your time is running out," the skull-faced cultist retorted.


    "Whoever said I came alone?" Khali''s lips curved into a smile.


    Even with the mask covering him, the skull faced cultist was clearly unnerved, suddenly looking around at the many different shadowy spots within the warehouse. His spell-casting colleague also began to prepare a second spell, with more necromantic magick starting to form around his arms and torso. Whatever the spell was, he was clearly throwing everything he had into it.


    Up among the rafters of the dimly lit warehouse, a slight movement caught the eye. The smaller cultist leader''s head snapped back as a crossbow bolt found its mark in his forehead, and his body slumped to the floor. ¡®Janus of the Night. Always had a gift for dramatic timing. Lethal with a crossbow, knife or tongue. The ex-whore with a body to die for. And die you will if you try to touch it without her permission.¡¯


    The door behind the would-be cultists burst open as a large, armoured figure charged into the room. His white polished plate mail gleamed under his Inquisition tabard, and he held a giant two-handed sword aloft, roaring a prayer to the Lord of Light. Acolyte Ramirez Rathutin. A failed aristocrat, failed knight and failed husband. No goals of his own anymore, but a desperate desire for a cause and a chance at redemption. A perfect tool for the Inquisition.


    The cultists in the back scrambled in terror, no match for a warrior such as Ramirez. Panic spread like wildfire as his massive blade cut down the slowest to react, momentarily seizing everyone''s attention.


    Peeling himself from the shadows no more than ten metres from the back of the three armoured cultists, the last of Khali¡¯s agents began to move. A tall, lanky and surprisingly agile figure, he closed the distance to the nearest armored cultist, his short sword plunging into back of the man''s neck. Traviston, my most faithful agent. Almost certainly destined to be a killer. Only my timely intervention turned him into a killer for the light, instead of who knows what.


    Traviston released the blade that he had plunged into his first target, and drew another of his never-ending supply of blades. He spun towards his second target, a scarred and battle hardened man. Scar-face had barely drawn his sword before Traviston sliced a blade across the back of his knee. It may have been an interesting fight between the two on any normal day, and Traviston would have been at a significant disadvantage with only his short knives versus a heavily armoured opponent with a long sword and shield. However, once his leg collapsed, Traviston was upon him, quickly and mercilessly stabbing through the weak points in his armour.


    The remaining cultists broke, fleeing for the exit, while Ramirez gave chase.


    Khali knew the impact of this victory would reach far, making it difficult for future cult masters to recruit. Still, she wished Ramirez were not so zealous.


    ¡®None that survive this night will ever consider joining such a plot again. And their terror will spread far and wide, making it harder for the next cult master. But it is hard to reign in the zeal of a man such as Ramirez.¡¯


    Khali refocused on the cultist leader.


    ¡®Still standing on a table. That looks even more stupid now.¡¯


    ¡°It seems the Lord of Light¡¯s followers now have yours outnumbered. While it pains me to do so, I must now offer you the opportunity to surrender peacefully, and you will leave here unharmed. Otherwise we will apprehend you with deadly force.¡±


    ¡®Please don¡¯t surrender. I want to beat submission into you.¡¯


    Nobody spoke or moved. The only sound was that of Traviston¡¯s blades being punched into the soon-to-be-corpse of scar-face.


    The last armoured figure dropped his blade with a loud clatter, grovelling, "Spare me, Inquisitor. I''ll tell you about Kravath and his¡ª"


    His pitiful desperate voice was cut short, and he began to clutch at this throat. The cultist leader had barely raised a hand, but it was clear from the gesturing of his fingers that the spell was of his doing. Khali reached out with her magick and felt for weakness in the spell that was both strangling and sucking the life from her potential informant. She could sense the spell was well cast and the magickal threads were strong.


    Why did I never pay attention in those classes on dispelling magic? she thought, redirecting her energy into an offensive spell.


    "Vumont had heard enough of the Dark Lord''s words through his minion''s mouth.


    He asked the Lord to help silence them.


    And the Lord of Light gave him the air to command," she intoned, her voice clear and resolute.


    The air around skull-mask¡¯s neck began to stir, and as Khali squeezed her hand, the air tightened its grip.


    ¡®Maybe when you can¡¯t breathe you will drop the spell and I can take you both in for questioning.¡¯


    There were weak attempts to disrupt her spell, but it was very difficult to both cast a spell and defend against one at the same time. And it would seem skull-mask was more interested in strangling his turn-coat than in maintaining the ability to breathe.


    ¡®Damn it! This one might be willing to die for his beliefs.¡¯


    Shifting tactics, Khali released the choking spell and instead channeled a new prayer, summoning a fierce gale.


    "King Darius asked the Lord of sun and sky to grant him command over the winds.


    The Lord looked down on his humble servant and granted his request.


    And with this command, Darius unleashed the rage of the winds upon his enemies," she recited.


    The air around her swirled, growing in force until it whipped up the surrounding dirt into a miniature storm.


    ¡®You can see this. Drop the spell and save yourself!¡¯ she urged silently, preparing to unleash the full might of her wind magic.


    A few tense moments passed as Khali drew enough magical energy to feel her God''s power surging through her. The air around her quivered with anticipation as she focused her gaze on the skull-masked cult leader and the table he was standing on. Then, with a fierce determination, she unleashed her maelstrom.


    The ferocious hurricane blasted from her and slammed the cultist leader. Skull-mask never even tried to defend himself. The table was sent skittering across the room, with skull-mask tumbling with it. He crashed mercilessly into a stack of boxes that collapsed inwards, a cacophony of splintering wood, dust, and decayed foodstuff.


    Khali advanced cautiously toward the buried cult leader, her blade ready and a prayer on her lips to detect any magical disturbances such as somebody else spell casting. If there were any more surprises from skull-mask she wanted to be ready. Khali was vaguely aware of one of her acolytes moving towards the slumped over form of her potential informant, but the cult leader was the better catch by far.


    As she sifted through the wreckage, she discovered a lot of blood, particularly on one jagged plank of wood that looked very much like it had impaled someone. But there was a disconcerting lack of a body, dead or otherwise.She used both her sword and her boots to clear away the obstructions, but she found nothing She looked around hoping she had somehow missed something but as she scanned all the possible places skull-mask may have been able to get to from the boxes in that time, a chilling realization crept over her: he had vanished.


    ¡®No trail of blood. If he didn¡¯t crawl out of here, the only thing left is magick. But then I didn¡¯t detect anything with my ¡®sense channelling¡¯ prayer. I don¡¯t like questions to which all possible answers are eliminated.¡¯


    ¡°Inquisitor,¡± the deep, hushed voice of Traviston broke her thoughts, ¡°this one is dead.¡±


    ¡®So much for my potential informant.¡¯


    ¡°Good!¡± Ramirez growled; his voice filled with disdain. ¡°Worthless heathens do not deserve to draw breath.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not good,¡± Janus countered, descending gracefully from the roof. ¡°Now we can¡¯t cut and burn him to get to his truths. And men like this always deserve to be cut and burned.¡±


    The banter of her followers became background noise as Khali¡¯s mind reeled.


    ¡®Well, that¡¯s just fucking great! Sorry Preceptor, we confirmed there is a cult operating within your great city, but the leader got away and I don¡¯t have the faintest idea how. Oh, and we killed everyone else who might have known anything.


    If it helps, Preceptor, we know the cultists had help from someone powerful. A mystery force that seems to know a lot about us and how we work. But I don¡¯t know anything about them either, because we killed everyone who might have known anything.


    She imagined the look that would come over the Preceptor, his eyes filled with concern and disappointment. ¡®Do we have any leads to go on?¡¯ she imagined him asking.


    ¡®And then what will I say?¡¯


    Her mind raced for how she would answer that. She thought through everything that they had seen and heard. She could only come up with one.


    ¡®Only a single name my Lord.  Kravath.  A name that means absolutely nothing to me.¡¯

 Chapter 2: The Rebirth Festival

    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Outskirts of Garet, Klydor</h2>


    <h2>1<sup>st</sup> Carlishae, the first day of Spring, 845 PBM</h2>


    Mitchell approached the familiar outskirts of Garet, the only town that he had known in his nearly eighteen years. Dawn was fast approaching, and he had to reach Chivalry Park in time for the dawn service of the Festival of Rebirth.


    ¡®About an hour to go before dawn. I should make it. Would have been easier if Maragon did not insist that I leave my transport a mile from the city. But Maragon has his rules,¡¯ Mitchell mused.


    The Festival was how Garet celebrated the end of Winter and the coming of Spring. This and the Sun-Day celebration at the end of Summer were the biggest social events in Garet.


    ¡®Similar celebrations will be occurring all over Driax at this very same moment. Well... hopefully a little later in the day. Being up this early sucks. But Maragon did stress how vitally important this task is.¡¯


    He pulled his heavy cloak tight around his lean frame in an attempt to ward off the cold.


    ¡®I am to deliver the special incense the priests use in the welcoming prayer ritual, so they can bless the townsfolk as they arrive. If I am late, does that mean all the bad luck that happens for the next year is my fault?¡¯


    Visions of catastrophes, from northmen raids to raging fires consuming Garet, sped through his mind. Pulling the binds on this pack tight to his body, Mitchell picked up his pace. Garet still lay deep in slumber, but the Festival''s early start had roused a few souls. Activity was starting to stir.


    ¡®I wish Maragon were here. How important does something have to be to leave the day before the Festival, and leave all this to me?¡¯


    The weight of his pack made running difficult, so he alternated between a brisk walk and a jog. These exertions quickly had him sweating profusely and he had to remove his cloak. Pushing through his discomfort, he reached the bustling market adjacent to Chivalry Park.


    ¡®Find the Deacon. Deliver the goods. That is my simple, straightforward, and almost impossible to screw up, task. Will Alicia be here?¡¯ The mere thought her distracted him. The image of her wavy, dark brown hair, those hazel eyes, and infectious smile was indelible.


    OK. Don¡¯t think of her. Just focus on the mission.¡¯


    Mitchell had first seen Alicia over ten years ago, when he had encountered her in the Kilrati Woods, the small grove of forest to the south of town. He had secretly watched her in prayer, as she participated in the annual ¡°Victory at the Gate¡± ceremony with the other priests and acolytes. And despite the fact that there were over 20 people involved, he had been unable to take his eyes from her beautiful face.


    In the time since she had matured into a striking young woman, and in the process had drawn the interest of every common man in the village between fifteen and fifty. Mitchell suspected a few of the nobles were also evaluating the social ramifications of marrying a commoner.


    But Alicia was much more than a commoner. She was a cleric of Chandrilar, one of the chosen few who could channel prayers into magickal blessings. While she could one day take a husband, violating her sanctity before then could cost her the blessings of her God. And in the land of Driax, these blessings carried significant power.


    Mitchell walked through the market, already a bustling hive of activity as vendors packed the stalls, particularly those nearest the park, eagerly awaiting the arrival of most of the town for the dawn service.


    He used a copper coin from his purse to purchase an apple from a vendor placed fortuitously along his path. He took a large bite and began chewing as he passed from the market and into the park.


    He could see the priests from both main faiths in Garet in attendance, with those in the white and gold robes of the Sun-God Faylen, clearly more visible in the pre-dawn torchlight than those of the dark grey coloured robes of Chandrilar. Being the God of duty, loyalty and obedience would have made Chandrilar popular enough in a chivalrous kingdom such as Klydor, but as the founder of the empire when he was alive, Chandrilar was both the first King, and patron God of the whole nation of Klydor. Mitchell knew the smaller shrines to the other Gods would also hold services for the Festival, but most of the townsfolk would be here.


    Mitchell went looking for the Deacon.


    ¡®Hopefully, as the leader of the church of Chandrilar, he might have really distinctive robes. A great big special hat would be nice!¡¯


    As he looked around, he estimated there were 30 people here setting up the temporary outdoor church. He began moving towards the largest clusters of dark grey robes and asking for the Deacon. While no signature hat was found, it did not take long to find the elder priest of the church.


    ¡°Excuse me Deacon, but I''ve brought the incense you requested from my...¡± ¡­ ¡®I am never sure what to call him¡¯ ¡­ ¡°Uncle.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, child,¡± replied the mostly bald, elderly priest, his warm smile radiating comfort.


    Mitchell quickly, but carefully, took out the large, wrapped bundles of incense and gave them to the Deacon. The Deacon took one bundle and motioned for Mitchell to bring the other. He led Mitchell to the area they were setting up as an entrance, with ropes to channel the attendees towards the rows of heavy wooden pews everyone would sit on.


    After they had placed them, Mitchell was preparing to leave.


    ¡°Will Maragon be joining us this morning?¡± asked the Deacon.


    ¡®You know he will not. He never comes to these. He almost never comes to town.¡¯


    ¡°No. He has business that prevents him from making it. He sends his apologies,¡± replied Mitchell, using the same apology, word for word, he used everytime he had to explain why his mentor/caretaker/father/uncle was not going to be attending something.


    ¡°Does he have other errands for you to run before the service?¡± the elderly priest asked.


    ¡°He does not. I was to attend the ceremony and pay close attention,¡± replied Mitchell.


    ¡°Excellent. Could you assist us with the setup?¡± gestured the Deacon, indicating the ongoing preparations.


    ¡®I had hoped to rest and preserve my energies. Maragon wishes me to train with the militia this afternoon, and I hope to retain some energy for the party tonight. After all, it is not every day you turn eighteen and become a man!¡¯


    Mitchell nodded.


    ¡®But I will not decline the priest¡¯s assistance for help. Assisting is the right thing to do. Besides, Alicia might be here.¡¯


    <h2>Alicia ¨C Chivalry Park, Garet, Klydor</h2>


    1<sup>st</sup> Carlishae, early Spring, 845 PBM


    Alicia paused, wiping sweat from her brow. Before her lay rows of sturdy wooden pews spread across Garet''s grassy central park. Although dawn was just breaking, today marked one of Garet''s grandest festival days. During the Rebirth Festival, townspeople would pray for the forthcoming Spring, expressing gratitude to the Gods and hoping for prosperity in crops, trade, family, and life.


    ¡®Also the day the churches of Faylen and Chandrilar require many hands to help out set up an outdoor church. This special gathering is easily too large for either of our churches to house within our normal chapels,¡¯ she reflected.


    Other priests and acolytes from Klydor''s two dominant faiths bustled around her, ensuring the outdoor amphitheatre would be sacred and welcoming. For Alicia, this festival held special significance. Today, at eighteen, she''d transition from acolyte to priest.


    ¡°And how is our star acolyte?¡±


    Alicia turned from her brief reverie and looked towards the kind, wise voice of Deacon Jonas. Alicia turned from her brief reverie and looked towards the kind, wise voice of Deacon Jonas. The hard labours of the morning had caused darker sweat stains on the vestments, and a sheen across his mostly bald pate.


    ¡°I am just eager to serve my lord however he sees fit,¡± she replied cheerfully.


    ¡°Do not be so modest child.¡± The Deacon''s smile was warm. "You''ve been chosen for a reason. Your devotion stands out even among the devout. We''re blessed to have you."


    ¡®When someone refers to the special powers that I can summon through my prayers, how am I supposed to act? I mostly just feel unworthy. I do not understand why me. Why not the poor Deacon here? He has given his life to Chandrilar. Why does he not have the gifts of a Cleric?¡¯


    As if sensing the silence was making her uncomfortable, the Deacon continued.


    ¡°Your gifts are a blessing, child. Do not wonder why you have them. The Gods know the path they intend for you and that you will need them. Or perhaps Driax will need that you have them. It is not our place to wonder which few priests are ever given the divine honour of being a Cleric.¡±


    Alicia nodded her understanding.


    His next request took her by surprise. "I''d like you to lead the Oath of Duty prayer this afternoon."


    Hesitant, Alicia said, "Father, I haven''t been officially ordained as a priest. Would that not be inappropriate or unfair for the other priests and acolytes?"


    ¡®I do not want favouritism. I want to earn what I have and the honours I am given. And I certainly do not want others to dislike me because they think I am being unfairly favoured.¡¯


    ¡°Alicia, your progression to priest is now merely a formality, as you have reached adulthood as of this very dawn. And you are the hardest working person in our church. You strive hard to prove yourself worthy of Chandrilar¡¯s blessing every day, and that is why you are so worthy. Please respect my judgement in this.¡±


    Alicia remained unconvinced of her worthiness, but she respected the Deacon too much to argue with him. She nodded her acquiescence.


    She then redoubled her efforts to help set everything up, determined to prove her worthiness in the next hour to anyone not already convinced by her five years of prior service. She moved towards what would be the entrance to their temporary church. To her surprise, she spotted the lean, scraggly-haired figure of her friend Mitchell, helping to place large sticks of incense at various points around the entranceway.


    "Hey, Mitchy!" she called to him.


    He and another helper, Eduard, were each carrying two of the long, cumbersome poles. Eduard, being the more robust of the two, managed one under each arm with ease. He''d just finished lighting one of the poles from a previously lit one and was embedding it into the ground with one arm, while holding the other unlit one under his other arm.


    Mitchell, however, was struggling to emulate the act, resulting in his lit stick wavering wildly as he tried to position it to drive into the ground using only one arm. When he heard Alicia¡¯s voice, he attempted to turn towards her. But, juggling the two incense sticks, it became too much. The lit stick twirled around, clashing against a nearby table adorned with holy symbol-laden strips of cloth.


    The impact made Mitchell drop the stick. As it landed, the burning end maintained solid contact with the fabric. The cloths caught fire from the prolonged touch, flames rising as the stick rolled across them before finally tumbling off the table.


    Horrified, Mitchell practically lunged at the flames, trying to smother them with his hands. The fabrics, evidently flammable, blazed intensely and resisted his efforts to quell them.


    Then Mitchell¡¯s hands moved in a peculiar way, a series of gestures that appeared to be neither entirely necessary nor traditional. But, astoundingly, the flames died out.


    ¡®Thank the Gods!¡¯


    Alicia was the first to inspect the aftermath. Once assured that the flames were indeed extinguished, she turned to Mitchell, who was now on his knees, panting, his gaze gradually finding hers.


    "I am so sorry," he murmured.


    "Never mind that. Are you alright?" she asked, her concern for his well-being far surpassing any worries about the damaged cloths. She waved away those coming to check on Mitchell, indicating they should handle the charred fabric and other collateral damage instead.


    "Besides my pride, I¡¯m unharmed," Mitchell offered a half-smile to placate her. She pushed strands of his dark brown hair away from his face, peering into his deep blue eyes, and sensed he wasn''t being entirely truthful.


    "Show me your hands," she demanded. Reluctantly, he did. She inspected them, noting that while the left hand was merely red and slightly burned, the right was worse with blisters already forming on his palm.


    "I''ll be fine," Mitchell tried to reassure.


    "In a few minutes, those hands will be badly blistered and very painful," she retorted. "How can you assist my Lord today if you are incapacitated? But I know a prayer to ease your suffering."


    Alicia noticed Mitchell tensing up before making an effort to relax.


    She focused intently, taking his right hand in hers, and began a prayer, spoken in a sacred dialect familiar to very few outside the church.


    "Deus Pater noster, qui est in caelis"


    (Our Father-God, who resides in the heavens)


    "Nu virtus animatus de ule"


    (May your courage inspire us all)


    "Placere juvare qu saucius viri"


    (Please aid this wounded man before you)


    "Nis pietas de inabsoluta"


    (His duty here remains unfinished)


    "Benedico ovus Illyrius"


    (Praise be to our Father-God)


    Alicia concentrated on the precise enunciation of the prayer, feeling the divine energy of her God build within her as she recited each line. The special gift of a Cleric meant that they could channel the power of their God through prayers, each tied to significant sections in the religious book of Chandrilar. This section was from when Chandrilar had healed and saved the life of a gravely wounded Prince of the Llewyrr.


    Alicia had not the power of Chandrilar himself, but her magicks would likely be enough for Mitchell¡¯s minor wounds. And if she was strong enough, and devout enough, her powers could grow over time.


    As the incantation concluded, she felt that power surge into her hands. Both she and Mitchell watched the soft, yellow light emanate from her palm, the magic meandering across his burned skin, healing blistered areas wherever it touched. When it was done, no trace of the burn remained.


    ¡®I am happy to use my Lord¡¯s gifts on those wounded in assisting his church. But I hope he appreciates it. I also hope it does not freak him out. Often people¡¯s first encounter with the divine power of a Cleric can have that effect.


    "Thank you," Mitchell replied calmly before adding wryly, "Can Chandrilar do anything about the damage I did to those holy cloths? I fear I may have destroyed a church artifact."


    As Alicia released his hand, her reply was only a gentle smile. Of all the responses, Mitchell¡¯s casual reaction was perhaps the most extraordinary she had encountered.


    ¡®His comfort in the most unusual situations and unease in the most routine ones is a constant enigma. And though I reprimand those who refer to him as such, it is easy to understand why many have nicknamed him "Mitchell the Strange".¡¯


    <h2>Hawkin ¨CAranson Manor, Garet, Klydor</h2>


    1<sup>st</sup> Carlishae, early Spring, 845 PBM


    Hawkin groggily emerged from his luxurious bed, stealing a glance towards the windows. The sun was already well into its ascent.


    ¡®Sun is up. Has been for at least a couple of hours. Father is going to be mad I overslept,¡¯ Hawkin thought to himself. ¡®I hope no scarecrow has gone missing, or a villager has lost their cat while I was sleeping.¡¯


    He searched for something to wear, and grabbed the clothes he had strewn on the floor at whatever time he got home the night before. He gave them a quick look, and a smell, and decided they would do. He was still pulling them on his large muscular frame as he started out of his bedroom and made for the dining room.


    ¡®Need to do something about my hair. If father sees my long hair unkempt again he will demand I get it cut. No time to brush it though.¡¯


    He doubled back to his room to grab a hair-tie from the top of a large oak chest of drawers, and put his long dark brown hair into a simple tail. He recommenced his journey for his breakfast.


    On his way, he signaled a passing servant to clean his room. As he passed each empty room, he felt a sense of relief ¨C perhaps his father''s reprimand could be postponed. Mastering the art of evasion and procrastination was a skill Hawkin cherished.


    He slipped into the dining room, using a combination of speed and stealth, eager to be both out of the view of any other rooms, and not to make too much noise in doing so. This was clearly not the first time he had tried to move through the house quietly.


    He closed the door behind him quietly, thinking he''d avoided detection. He exhaled in relief. That feeling evaporated when he turned and found his father, Sir Sarek Aranson, seated at the table, staring at him. He did not look thrilled. Beside him was an elf, easily recognizable by the slender features and pointed ears, but otherwise Hawkin did not know him or why he might be here.


    Sarek was every bit the dedicated warrior, always prepared, even at breakfast, to defend his village. His chainmail shimmered beneath the Aranson family''s red lion tabard, and his sword leaned nearby. Age had taken his hair''s chestnut hue, but his powerful presence remained undiminished. As Lord of Garet, he was revered for his commitment to the village and its militia. As a father, he yearned for a responsible heir, one dedicated to Garet''s prosperity.


    "Would you like some tea?" Sir Sarek offered, his tone deceptively mild.


    ¡®Careful with what you say next. This is a trapped question,¡¯ Hawkin cautioned himself.


    No clever response came to mind. So after a few seconds, the best he could think of was, ¡°Sure.¡± Hawkin moved to sit down.


    ¡°In case you were losing sleep over it, I believe few missed your absence at the dawn Rebirth prayers.¡±


    ¡®Oh shit! Today is the Rebirth Festival. Which means I missed the dawn prayers at which the whole town was present?! Damn it! Cue lecture on the importance of meeting your responsibilities.¡¯


    ¡°I also met with the new guardsmen this morning and ensured they were appropriately welcomed into the militia, and that their weapons and armour were in suitable condition,¡± said Sarek calmly.


    ¡®What crazy game are we playing here? You don¡¯t tell me off for sleeping through a task that was mine, or for missing an important ritual in town-life, both of which you consider sacrosanct. And now we are pretending everything is fine? Are we pretending because of our guest? Eighteen years or so on Driax tells me you are anything but OK with me missing my responsibilities. Particularly anything to do with your damned militia of armed farmers and villagers.¡¯


    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± replied Hawkin. He wasn¡¯t sure what the rules of this new game were, but he was determined to not the be the one who pushed the conversation into troubled waters.


    ¡°I believe the maids appreciate you saving them from cooking you breakfast, today,¡± Sarek commented.


    ¡®I did? Ok. I guess no breakfast today. Not sure why. The whole point of having maids and servants is they do what you want whenever you want.¡¯


    ¡°What is for morning tea?¡± Hawkin asked hopefully.


    ¡°A cup of tea and a scone with butter. They are excellent,¡± replied Sarek, taking a bite out of a scone covered in half-melted butter. ¡°The perfect morning tea after a hearty breakfast and a productive morning.¡±


    ¡®Guess I will have to try and sneak something from the kitchens on my way out.¡¯


    The guest was slender, and appeared to be slightly taller than average, or at least he looked the same height as Sarek. He had the traditional pointed, and angular face of elves, with high cheekbones, a large forehead, pointed ears, and very long hair in a shimmering silver colour.


    ¡®The silver colour means something, but I cannot remember what. I was probably asleep during that class.¡¯


    ¡°Sure, Father. I am happy to do whatever you require,¡± Hawkin replied.


    ¡°Now, let us discuss your duties today as the town prepares for the Rebirth Festival tonight,¡± announced Sarek. He turned towards their guest before continuing.


    ¡°I have assigned you to perimeter watch duty tonight. You will be the officer in command during the festival.¡±


    ¡®You cannot be serious. One of the biggest parties of the year, and you have assigned me to the one duty that I cannot participate in the festival at all. Not only that, perimeter watch is the most boring assignment of all. Nothing is going to happen tonight. Nothing happens on the perimeter of the town any night.¡¯


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair!¡± Hawkin complained. Rebirth Festival was not just the start of Spring, and the end of Winter. It was also the day celebrated by all commoners as their birthday, meaning everyone in the town would be celebrating their birthday at the same time tonight.


    And now I won¡¯t be there to enjoy it.


    ¡°Fair? Life is not about being fair,¡± replied Sarek. ¡°Life is about taking your responsibilities seriously, and tonight the militia needs you to take your turn on perimeter watch duty."


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°There hasn¡¯t been anything interesting happen on perimeter watch since the goblins were marauding around, and that was over a year ago,¡± protested Hawkin.


    ¡®And goblins are small and more pest and bandit than serious threat. It¡¯s only if a few tribes band together that they can threaten villages. We would generally know about that long before they showed up at the town walls.¡¯


    ¡°Are you advising me, as an officer of the Klydorian armed forces, and a ranking officer in the militia, that you do not believe we require a perimeter watch duty tonight?¡± asked Sarek, knowing full well there was always a need for the perimeter duty. The likelihood of attack was almost zero. But the consequences for not watching could be devastating if an attack did occur.


    ¡°No, of course not!¡± Hawkin replied indignantly. He had trained too long under his father to ever try to make that case.


    ¡°Then an officer must be there to lead and inspire the men,¡± reasoned Sarek.


    Hawkin¡¯s face contorted in frustration and rage. It was clear his thought on that last point was ¡®But why does it have to be me¡¯, but he held his tongue.


    ¡°I want you to conduct an afternoon weapons training drill with the militia who are on-duty, and grab any of the newer recruits if they are around. And then tonight you will watch the perimeter,¡± instructed Sarek. ¡°Please take our guest, Peregrin Ellyrion, with you for your duties today.¡±


    ¡®Why am I babysitting an elf?¡¯


    ¡°May I know who our esteemed guest is?¡± asked Hawkin, his voice laced with scorn.


    ¡°He is the son of an old friend I fought with back in the day,¡± replied Sarek. ¡°He is from the Llewyrr side of the forest, and he wishes to observe our customs to better understand us, and therefore the people that his people are allied to. Try not to embarrass or disappoint.¡±


    ¡°Mae govannen!¡± said Peregrin, in what appeared to be a formal elven greeting. When it was clear Hawkin did not know what that meant, rather than repeat it in common, the elf just smiled. An arrogant smile that implied superiority.


    ¡®This is going to be a long day.¡¯


    <h2>Peregrin ¨C Militia Barracks, Garet, Klydor</h2>


    1<sup>st</sup> Carlishae, early Spring, 845 PBM


    ¡°Don¡¯t you wish you could just abandon everything, and live life on the road? Free to do whatever you want!¡± mused Hawkin Aranson, guiding Peregrin to a gathering of Garet''s new guardsmen.


    ¡°No,¡± Peregrin responded succinctly.


    Hawkin shot him a look, laden with emotion. Peregrin, still acclimating to human expressions, could only guess at its meaning: frustration, puzzlement, or perhaps hurt.


    ¡®The boy is a fool who does not take his responsibilities seriously,'' Peregrin reflected.


    Observing Hawkin instruct the militia, Peregrin found it peculiar that only one amongst them took the time to stretch properly. Despite his father¡¯s attempts to cover it up, the boy had essentially admitted to oversleeping and missing both the prayer ceremony and one of his own duties that day.


    ''He spoke of his night with pride, unable to fathom his father¡¯s anger. Such a lack of discipline taints not just him but everyone responsible for his upbringing.''


    In the next half an hour Hawkin moved through different exercises very quickly, and was teaching the militia a defensive stance and technique, including how to position their shield and their weapon to best advantage. As the training progressed, Peregrin noted that while Hawkin''s maneuvers were passable, the young instructor seemed to rely more on brute strength than skill. This flaw was mirrored in his pupils, whose techniques were, in Peregrin''s perspective, grievously lacking.


    ¡®The problem is the boy is either a bad warrior himself, or a poor teacher, for he is letting basic mistakes go unrebuked. He is just moving onto the next phase of the training as though simply completing the exercises is the goal, as opposed to the participants actually learning anything.¡¯


    One trainee, however, the same who had stretched earlier and named ¡®Mitchell,¡¯ showed some promise. Peregrin couldn¡¯t discern if Mitchell''s competence won him Hawkin''s attention or if they shared a bond outside the training ground. From his understanding of human culture, merit was not usually used to decide anything. So the favouritism could mean anything.


    The session culminated in Hawkin asking his trainees to demonstrate their newfound skills against him. Peregrin watched, unimpressed, as the large Klydorian bashed and punished the militiamen. As expected they had learned little, and would likely have been of little value in a real fight.


    ¡®Is this what the great Klydor is made up of? I see nothing here to warrant any of the Seers claims that the fate of the Llewyrr should be in anyway tied to the fate of this pathetic bunch.¡¯


    Memories of his early training mentors resonated in Peregrin''s mind, their voices pointing out every mistake the trainees made. He kept waiting for Hawkin to actually instruct, but when that did not occur, eventually he was no longer able to just watch.


    ¡°Would you like me to help you?¡± Peregrin asked, already walking forwards as though they had said yes. ¡°While I accept no Ala-Lie could use the full blade fighting techniques I have mastered, I do believe the basics must be the same. You should be able to learn the same basics as we teach adolescent boys.¡±


    ¡°You are an arrogant little thing, aren¡¯t you?¡± scoffed Hawkin.


    ¡®Careful Peregrine. Remember, humans can take statements of fact as arrogance. In his own mind, the boy likely thinks us peers in swordcraft. He is short lived, and does not know I have already spent 15 years dedicated to the art of blade-dancing.¡¯


    Hawkin snorted, ¡°Confident, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I apologise. I did not mean for my simple comments of fact to upset you,¡± apologised Peregrin, not realising his superior and calm tone made it sound as though he was mocking Hawkin. ¡°But I do believe I can assist these men in learning some more of the basics of swordcraft, which you either do not know, or are simply incapable of teaching.¡±


    Judging from his face, he has not accepted my apology. These humans are very strange and illogical.


    ¡°How about we duel, and the guardsmen can learn from watching us,¡± dared Hawkin. ¡°Then if they wish, they can choose to learn a few things from you, after you get back up out of the dirt.¡±


    And now he has challenged me, a foe he knows nothing of. It is easy to see why this kind needs the help of the Llewyrr. Still yet to see what we get out of it.


    ¡°I am willing to show you some things too if you wish. In order to keep the learnings to things you can potentially emulate, would you prefer I keep to a single blade. I note dual wielding weapons is a lot less common amongst your kind. I suppose your inferior dexterity and co-ordination would make that more difficult.¡±


    Hawkin scoffed again. ¡°I am going to enjoy smacking some humility into you.¡±


    It seems my offer to assist him has angered him further. I really do not understand human customs.


    He was vaguely aware of an exchange between Mitchell and Hawkin. It appeared the smaller human was trying to warn the larger one about Blade-dancers. Peregrin grinned.


    Peregrin approached the array of training weapons on the ground, and looked at them with some disdain.


    ¡®Primitive things. While I can see they have been blunted to reduce injury, I suspect the weights and points of balance will be different from the real thing, negating much of the point in training with them.¡¯


    He selected two vaguely curved slender lumps of wood he assumed were supposed to be light blades such as a scimitar or sabre. He spun them around in his hands to get a feel for their balance.


    ¡®They have none. No wonder their warriors have no grace.¡¯


    ¡°These fallen tree branches are almost offensive to my Blade-dancer training,¡± professed Peregrin. ¡°If you would be willing, I am happy to spar with our real weapons. I can assure you that you will not be harmed.¡±


    ¡°That goes against everything my father has ever said. But I guess I can make sure I don¡¯t accidentally cut your frail little elf form in two,¡± jibed Hawkin. ¡°So, sure.¡±


    Peregrin eagerly tossed the two wooden weapons to the ground, and drew his two slender curved elven scimitars from their scabbards. He felt the comforting and familiar leather hand-grips of each blade, and as he twirled the weapons, he felt the reassuring balance of the two finely made blades as they spun around his hands.


    Hawkin walked to the boundary of the training area and picked up his sword, which leaned against the wall. It was larger than the long swords of the Klydorian knights and the broadswords of the militia. Known as a bastard sword or hand-and-a-half sword, it was made for robust men to wield either single or double-handed, often paired with or without a shield, depending on the situation. Seeing Peregrin''s twin blades whirling in a blur, Hawkin fetched a shield.


    "Do you know what a Blade-Dancer is?" Peregrin inquired.


    ¡®The boy should at least know what he is up against.¡¯


    He noted that Mitchell was nodding vigorously. Hawkin seemed nonplussed.


    ¡°An elf who is confused about whether he is in combat or performing ballet on a stage?¡± retorted Hawkin, his disdain evident.


    ¡®Being disrespectful to an opponent. Another mistake in judgement. The lowliest blade can kill you. Perhaps the lessons of today are more for the teacher than the students.¡¯


    "There''s no confusion. Battle, especially between two skilled warriors, is a dance. Each move by one of the participants triggers a countermove by the other. This rhythm of movement continues until the dance ends," Peregrin explained, in what he hoped would be educational for those watching.


    ¡°Yes. In this case I will hit, and your reaction will be you fall down.¡± With that final insult, Hawkin moved forwards quickly and aggressively.


    ¡®Aggressive, but unbalanced, with too much weight forwards.¡¯


    Hawkin swung his big sword in a high, downward arcing slash, trying to leverage his momentum, and his blade¡¯s longer reach. Peregrin did not parry or side-step as a lesser opponent might have. He stepped into his opponent and inside the most powerful part of the swing. He deflected the blade with his left scimitar, while ducking, before pivoting almost a full circle on his left foot and sweep kicking with his right leg, taking out the rapidly moving man¡¯s legs.


    Hawkin tripped and fell shield-first into the dirt.


    A small round of applause broke out from the onlookers.


    ¡®The numbers of observers are growing. This is good. More can learn my teachings.¡¯


    Peregrin took the moment to share wisdom. "Maintain balance and never overcommit to an attack. Worthy foes won''t fall in one blow; always be ready to defend or counter."


    Hawkin quickly gathered himself up from the dirt, brushed himself off, and came again.


    ¡®Now you are angry. And even more aggressive and off-balance. Did you not hear what I said?¡¯


    Hawkin tucked in behind his shield and tried to charge right through the slender elf. Peregrin faked as if to move right, then pivoted left and spun around the big warrior and his shield. Hawkin was still slowing to change direction when Peregrin¡¯s right scimitar slapped him on the back of the shoulder.


    ¡°It is important to keep your emotions under control. Rage, in particular, is as dangerous to the man wielding it as to those who face it,¡± educated Peregrin.


    Without resetting for the next round, Hawkin bashed his shield into the unprepared elf as he finished talking. Peregrin stumbled significantly from the strength of the blow, and he only just managed to avoid falling over.


    ¡°It is also important to know when to fight versus when to talk. You fight until your opponent is defeated,¡± exclaimed Hawkin. ¡°You drink and talk shit after.¡±


    ¡®He cheated. But he has a point. I should have moved out of his reach before speaking to the students and onlookers.¡¯


    Peregrin returned to his combat stance and readied himself, both physically and mentally, making sure to clear his mind of emotion and just focus on his breathing and the combat. He briefly considered using his magick to further amplify his mental focus, but decided against it.


    ¡®If I wish to teach these humans, then I must teach them things they could actually utilise. It is likely none of those here have the faintest hope of using magick.¡¯


    Hawkin came at him, but more cautiously and balanced this time. He still swung first, but it was a much more controlled attack, and he kept his shield ready to defend himself, and likely had enough balance to dodge if required. Peregrin deflected the attack with one of his blades, and stepped back, staying out of reach of another shield strike.


    ¡°When fighting against a larger or heavier weapon, you must angle your shield or weapon to deflect rather than block the blow,¡± taught Peregrin. ¡°This¡­¡±


    As he anticipated, Hawkin attacked him mid-speech.


    ¡°¡­ will ensure the power of the blow does not knock you off balance and into a disadvantageous position,¡± Peregrin finished after he deflected a cross-swipe from his right to left.


    Over the next minute Peregrin danced and evaded Hawkin¡¯s blows, and called out instruction on what could be learned from the exchange.


    ¡°Keep your shield arm in tight against your body while attacking.¡±


    ¡°Try to keep the momentum of the blade from one swing to the next. It is more effective and less tiring.¡±


    ¡°Many times it is easier to dodge than it is to parry.¡±


    To the big warrior¡¯s credit, he kept his guard well in place and the best Peregrin could do using only the basic techniques a human might learn, was crack the 2<sup>nd</sup> scimitar across the shield a few times.


    ¡°Sometimes you must tire a warrior before you can defeat him.¡±


    ¡®This is now an endurance event.¡¯


    Fighting is incredibly tiring. Far more exhausting than non-participants realise.  Peregrin was focusing on making Hawkin expend more energy with each exchange than he did. This was made more difficult for Peregrin because elves, while slender and graceful, were not nearly as sturdy or durable as humans. They were optimised for quick and decisive battle.


    ¡°You are not that special,¡± panted Hawkin, as fatigue set in and his blows slowed in frequency and ferocity.


    ¡°I am not trying to be special. I am giving you an opponent you can fight and learn from,¡± puffed Peregrin in response. ¡°In this case that is an adolescent Blade-dancer. You can learn almost nothing from fighting me with all my skills.¡±


    ¡®Except perhaps humility. But I will not shame you in front of your men unless the lesson requires it.¡¯


    ¡°Blade-dancers probably¡­¡± panted Hawkin, ¡°¡­value honour a lot, right?¡±


    ¡°We do. You should treat any combat and any opponent with honour and respect. Much as I was taught your Knights do.¡±


    ¡®Although you are a long way from being any kind of Knight from the stories. But perhaps legends overstate things. They usually do.¡¯


    Peregrin was preparing his next flourish when Hawkin dropped his weapon. He bent to retrieve it, and Peregrin stepped back and allowed him to do so.


    ¡®Was that a test to see if I would attack him while he was unarmed?¡¯


    Hawkin moved back in to resume the engagement. He swung his blade down in a very basic and aggressive overhand swing.


    ¡®You are fatigued. You are making skill errors. This will be over soon.¡¯


    <h2>Hawkin ¨C Militia Barracks, Garet, Klydor</h2>


    ¡®Honour is important to a Knight. But Father always said it¡¯s more important to win than be honourable.¡¯


    As Peregrin deftly parried Hawkin''s strike, what he did not see was the handful of dirt Hawkin had scooped up and was now holding in his shield hand, which he flung squarely into the elf¡¯s eyes.


    ¡®Let¡¯s see how the smart-arse elf fights when he cannot see.¡¯


    Peregrin''s once graceful movements became disjointed and desperate. He tried both to defend himself from unseen blows and to rid his eyes of the grit, dropping one blade to hasten the process. Seizing the moment, Hawkin charged, tackling the disoriented elf to the ground. Upright, Peregrin¡¯s agility might have countered Hawkin¡¯s brute strength. But grounded and momentarily blinded, Peregrin had no chance. He tried as best he could to ward off the blows he could barely see, but Hawkin ensured he landed a punch square on Peregrin¡¯s right eye before easing up.


    ¡°Final lesson for the moment. Always make sure to win the fight,¡± Hawkin proclaimed to the crowd, as he stood up. There was a mild applause from the crowd, but most were unsure how to react to the method used to win. Hawkin was grinning nonetheless, but he was also exhausted. He reached down and offered his hand to help the elf up.


    ¡°You are not what you appear,¡± said Peregrin, his voice calm and respectful.


    What Hawkin found strange, was that it was not said with venom or disrespect as he might have expected. If anything, it almost sounded as a compliment.


    ¡°You are a really good dancer,¡± replied Hawkin. ¡°I think my men could learn much from you. Would you be willing to stay a while and help me teach them.¡±


    Peregrin nodded, feeling around his right eye that was now swelling significantly, and would almost certainly be a full-blown black eye in a few hours.


    ¡®Yes. You will now carry my mark on your face for the next few days. Perhaps that will teach you some humility.¡¯


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Militia Barracks, Garet, Klydor</h2>


    1<sup>st</sup> Carlishae, early Spring, 845 PBM


    Mitchell made sure to arrive early at the militia barracks, allowing himself ample time for the preparations that Maragon had so often emphasised. He dedicated 15 minutes to meditation to clear his mind, echoing Maragon¡¯s mantra, ''Distractions get a warrior killed.'' Predominantly, Mitchell¡¯s distractions revolved around his fatigue from helping set up the makeshift church, and the captivating sight of Alicia during those services.


    Clearing his mind, he progressed through a series of stretches, targeting maximum flexibility and minimising injury risk. He couldn''t help but examine his hands, particularly the right one he''d burned that morning. Though magick had healed most of the wound, an itch persisted and the skin bore faint scars.


    ¡®Still, a lot better than it would be feeling or looking if Alicia had not been there.¡¯


    As he concluded his preparations, Hawkin approached with an unfamiliar elf. Mitchell observed the elf¡¯s armour, comprised of lightweight metal scales. He recalled Maragon''s words on such armour: not as protective as chainmail hauberk, but it was much lighter and allowed for a much greater freedom of movement. The dual curved scabbards and the emblematic yellow insignia of a sword over the breast of the armour caught his attention.


    ¡®I do not know who you are, but I think I know what you are. You are at least half-way through your training to be a Blade-Dancer, an extremely arduous and difficult endeavour. Maragon insists your order is better than any other at wielding a blade. And as a named warrior of the Cthrag Merlo empire himself, that is both a stunning admission and a ringing endorsement.¡¯


    While Mitchell tried to focus on Hawkin¡¯s instruction, he found himself wishing it was Sarek leading the session. Even if Sarek''s methods were more direct and usually involved screaming and ranting, he was undeniably the better trainer. Still, Hawkin offered the occasional piece of valuable advice, in a much friendlier tone. As was usual if Hawkin ran the drills, it soon devolved into a general melee where the pretence was use the skills you had just learned, but really it just let Hawkin beat into everyone.


    ¡®Just blend into the crowd. I am not good enough to beat Hawkin in a normal straight-up fight. And I know from experience that even if I use the others and time an attack right to score a hit, then Hawkin¡¯s ego will be bruised and shortly thereafter so will much of my body.¡¯


    It wasn¡¯t long before the elf volunteered to assist with the training. This excited Mitchell a lot.


    ¡®I bet the Blade-dancer might even know a few moves that Maragon does not!¡¯


    Mitchell was disappointed that the exchange between the Hawkin and the elf did not seem to go well.


    ¡®The elf is a Grey elf. But Hawkin does not seem to understand, and is taking offence.¡¯


    The Llewyrr elves consisted of two main sub-races: grey elves and wood elves. Grey elves made up about 20% of the elven population, but nearly all of the mystic Seers who guided the Queen were Grey. At some point in their past the Grey elves had ruled the elves as a noble caste, but that no longer was the case with the Llewyrr.


    ¡®Maragon has warned me the cold logic of the Grey elves is often misunderstood, and the reason many think elves are arrogant. They can also be sticklers for rules and protocol. And Hawkin has taken offence, and now he might get himself hurt.¡¯


    Concerned, he approached Hawkin, cautioning, ¡°Be careful! I believe this elf is a Blade-Dancer. Maragon speaks as though they are very good.¡±


    Hawkin waved him away. ¡°So am I! I am also bigger and stronger than he is.¡±


    ¡°I am not sure strength and size alone will beat this opponent, Hawkin,¡± warned Mitchell.


    But Hawkin was no longer listening. Now he was agreeing to use real weapons.


    ¡®Will the elf kill him? Will I have to step-in if he tries to? How in the Nine Hells did my day turn into this?¡¯


    Mitchell watched anxiously as the two warriors sparred. And his feelings of anxiety only grew with each encounter. He noted that the crowd of people watching seemed to be growing, and he could see others running to bring their friends.


    ¡®Hawkin is outmatched. And he is getting angry. Maybe he makes a mistake and dies. Will the townsfolk try to lynch the elf. It is even possible Hawkin accidentally kills the elf. I hope he is not someone important. But why would he be here if he is not somebody special or important.¡¯


    He watched the rest of their fight with bated breath. If one of them were seriously injured he may have to break his vow to Maragon if it meant he could save them long enough for a healer to arrive.


    Mitchell was disappointed when Hawkin cheated, and smacked the elf with his shield. He was then horrified when Hawkin used a handful of dirt to temporarily blind the elf and win the fight.


    Maragon would be abhorred if I did something like that. I do not think Sarek would be too pleased either, being an old Knight himself.


    But it seemed the elf had taken it quite well, or at least there was no visible sign of emotion at the way Hawkin had defeated him. It seemed he was now going to stay and help train the recruits.


    Eagerly, Mitchell was the first to step forward, wanting to spar with the enigmatic elven warrior.


    Expressing his gratitude, he said, ¡°Thank you for this opportunity. It''s an honour to train with a Blade-Master,¡± and gave Peregrin a respectful bow.


    ¡°Assume your usual stance and use your standard weapon. The pointers I wish to provide won¡¯t make sense if you use that lump of wood you currently hold,¡± Peregrin instructed.


    Mitchell complied, unsheathing his blade. Peregrin attentively studied its long, slender, single-edged curvature and the elongated hilt designed for one or two hands. It was more like an elven blade, but still quite different.


    ¡°That''s not a typical Klydorian blade,¡± Peregrin observed. ¡°I''m not familiar with its design.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. It was a gift from my mentor, on the advice of a Northman friend of ours,¡± replied Mitchell.


    Peregrin seemed deep in thought, perhaps wanting to inquire further. However, noting the queue of waiting guardsmen, he progressed. ¡°Attack me as you normally would,¡± he said.


    Obliging, Mitchell began with a one-handed grip, switching to two hands when he realised he was forbidden from using any of his other hand¡¯s usual tricks. A fleeting expression crossed Peregrin¡¯s face, but if he deciphered Mitchell''s intent, he remained silent.


    The elf adeptly parried or evaded Mitchell''s moves, offering invaluable feedback. This included techniques for maintaining a fluid blade transition from one action to the next, and some new tips on footwork and balance. Mitchell requested Peregrin demonstrate the highlighted techniques, and Mitchell practised them against an imaginary opponent.


    ¡°That is good,¡± said Peregrin, with a tone that suggested he meant it.


    Not wanting to hog the Blade-Dancer¡¯s time, Mitchell soon gestured for Peregrin to attend the next eager guardsman. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, bowing deeply.


    In Elvish, Peregrin responded, ¡°M¨¢ra mesta an ni v¨¦la tye ento, ya rato nea.¡± Mitchell internally translated: ¡®Goodbye until our next meeting; I hope it''s soon.¡¯


    A smile clearly came over Mitchell¡¯s face at what he deemed to be a compliment.


    ¡°Mae govannen!¡± Mitchell replied. ¡®Well met¡¯


    Returning the smile, Peregrin reciprocated the bow. Not nearly as deeply as Mitchell had bowed to him, but Mitchell did not take offence in anyway.


    ¡®I wish Maragon could be here to see this.¡¯


    Mitchell continued to practice everything he had been shown today, particularly the things Peregrin had shown him. As he was doing so he noticed Alicia rush into the barracks grounds with several other townsfolk. She seemed to relax upon witnessing what now looked like far more traditional training.


    ¡®If you came for the show, I am afraid you missed it.¡¯


    When she sat down on one of the benches, and it became clear she intended to stay and watch, Mitchell started to get nervous. He continued to practice, but he no longer attempted any of the more fancier footwork for fear of messing it up and perhaps falling over.


    Once Peregrin had finished with the next two guardsmen he instructed the three of them, including Mitchell, to take turns sparring with each other, practising what he had just taught them. He instructed them to keep using their real weapons, and to be careful not to hurt each other.


    Mitchell was a little unsure, but went with what he was told.


    Stevran, a large, muscular dark-haired guardsman, had been taught how to better use his two-handed axe. While not the normal weapon for a militiaman, he was a logger and woodsman by trade, and his skills with large axes made the weapon something of a natural choice for him.


    Mitchell prepared his stance.


    ¡°What is it you wish to practice?¡± he asked Stevran.


    ¡°Keeping the axe moving from one attack to the next, and using it¡¯s greater reach to keep you at bay,¡± he replied. ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°Turning defence into attack. You attack me first and I will try to defend. Then we will see how many more attacks you can make, before I can put you on the defensive.¡±


    Stevran nodded his acceptance of the approach.


    Stevran came forwards at Mitchell. He swung the axe, and Mitchell slid his feet and stepped back out of reach. Stevran, as taught, used the momentum he had and swung the axe back up and repeated the same overhead swing from the opposite side. Mitchell again slid back out of reach.


    ¡®Ok. I can slide back all day, but at some point I need to step inside his reach so I can press an attack of my own. I have an idea.¡¯


    Stevran essentially repeated the step from before and now swung an overhead swipe on the original trajectory. Mitchell this time tried to emulate the move he saw Peregrin use against Hawkin, and he stepped inside the swing and tried to parry with his sword while executing the sweep kick.


    Perhaps Stevran had expected Mitchell to just slide away again, or perhaps he just wasn¡¯t skilled enough to pull the blow, but the impact of axe on sword was too much for Mitchell and the axe smashed through his attempt at defence. Because he had stepped closer, Mitchell mostly got hit by the heavy shaft of the weapon, but the bottom edge of the blade also caught him across his back and left a deep laceration that immediately drew blood in a long line. The thick shaft had also likely cracked his collarbone.


    Pain surged as Mitchell staggered, before collapsing to his knees.


    ¡°Hawkin, Sir!¡± Stevran shouted in panic. ¡°Mitchell''s injured!¡±


    ¡°What in the Nine Hells have you done now?¡± an alarmed Hawkin yelled, rushing towards Mitchell.


    <h2>Alicia ¨C Militia Barracks, Garet, Klydor</h2>


    For the second time today, Alicia rushed to tender aid to her friend Mitchell.


    She had rushed to the barracks when a story reached her that Hawkin was engaging in a duel with a strange elf in the barracks. It had not seemed the story could be right, but Alicia knew Hawkin well enough to know that nothing was out of the question.


    Arriving at the scene, she had found a more routine training session in progress, involving both Hawkin and the unfamiliar elf. However, she hadn''t realised until this moment that they were using actual weapons.


    ¡®Why in hell were they using real weapons? Sarek would never have allowed such recklessness.¡¯


    Pushing aside the questions flooding her mind, she focussed on Mitchell, now wounded and bleeding.


    ¡°Remove his tunic,¡± she instructed urgently. ¡°Mitchy, if you can''t lift your arms, we''ll cut the tunic off.¡±


    Wincing with pain, Mitchell tried to lift his arms but found the movement agonising.


    ¡°I need a dagger,¡± she called out. A nearby guardsman quickly handed one over. She swiftly sliced the blood-soaked commoner¡¯s tunic from his lean frame.


    She had the other guardsmen hold Mitchell still, with him lying on his stomach but his injured side raised slightly off the ground. And for the second time today she recited her healing prayer.


    As before, she felt the divine power build within her with each line of her prayer. As she concluded her prayer, glowing tendrils of light moved around his flesh, closing the laceration and stopping the bleeding. While she suspected as much, the fact the spell seemed to close the wound fully meant it was not life threatening. Had there been any internal bleeding or organ damage, the spell¡¯s limited healing capability would have focused on that and ignored the laceration. The line of a scar remained where the laceration had been.


    Alicia took a few seconds to compose herself as the magick of her God now washed out of her. She then looked to Mitchell who had now slumped to the ground, but was breathing normally. He looked to be shaken up, but otherwise likely would be fine.


    She looked up at those now gathered around, and in particular she speared a look at Hawkin.


    ¡°Why are they using real weapons to train?¡± Alicia admonished him.


    Hawkin seemed to freeze, momentarily lost for what to say.


    ¡°Because I over-estimated their abilities, and did not realise how much risk real weapons would pose to those with little skill or control,¡± intervened Peregrin. ¡°My order trains almost exclusively with real weapons after our first season of training is completed. I realise now that would not work here.¡±


    ¡°And who might you be?¡± Alicia retorted, her tone still laced with hostility. ¡°I presumed this was one of Hawkin''s harebrained schemes.¡±


    ¡°It was,¡± Mitchell''s feeble voice came from below, ¡°or at least, it was partly his idea.¡±


    ¡°And when did you become so stupid as not to point out when Hawkin is doing something even more stupid,¡± she snapped back, making it clear she did not think Mitchell was exempt from blame in this. ¡°You could have been killed.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know Mitchell would suddenly decide he was some amazing sword-master and try some crazy-ass move,¡± defended Hawkin.


    ¡°Is that not what practice is for?¡± asked Peregrin. ¡°Actually, his move was an excellent choice, and should be commended. His execution was lacking, which is why he needs to practice more. Of all your guardsmen I have seen, he is by far the one with the most potential.¡±


    ¡®Mitchy¡­ Good at something? That will be a first. I do like hearing this Peregrin stand up for him. Gets tiring being the only one who seems to do it. But¡­¡¯


    ¡°You''re all behaving like fools,¡± she chided. ¡°Now, put away the real weapons and use the training ones. That''s what they''re for! I''ll take Mitchell to the infirmary to further treat his injuries. The magic has done its part, but he is still injured and I can strap his arm to ease the pain.¡±


    As she began guiding Mitchell towards the infirmary, he spoke up, ¡°Will I be alright by tonight? I''d rather not spend my eighteenth birthday in a hospital bed.¡±


    ¡°You should be fine. But I may wound you some more to keep you in the infirmary, if I think that is what is best for you. I have never had to heal anyone twice in one day before. I do not want my God to feel I am being frivolous with his gifts.¡±


    ¡°I will endeavour to not need of your healing again,¡± Mitchell replied solemnly.

 Chapter 3: A Festival Night

    <h2>Alicia ¨C Chivalry Park, Garet, Klydor</h2>


    1<sup>st</sup> Carlishae, early Spring, 845 PBM


    ¡°And now, our very own chosen, Acolyte Alicia will lead us in the Prayer of Devotion,¡± boomed the Deacon''s voice across the throng of townsfolk in Chivalry Park.


    As the Deacon retreated from the raised pulpit, applause filled the air. Alicia found herself momentarily frozen, staring at the vacant space behind it, even though she knew she was supposed to be moving towards it.


    ¡®Just because I am a Cleric doesn¡¯t mean I''m not terrified to have to address the entire town,¡¯ she thought.


    She sought a prayer to steady her nerves, but those same nerves left her unable to think of any.


    ¡®That¡¯s ironic.¡¯


    She forced herself to breathe. Once she had that under control, Alicia forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, and very deliberately walked towards the pulpit. A magical projector, placed atop the pulpit, would amplify and project her voice to every corner of the park.


    ¡®So if I screw this up, everyone will hear it really clearly.¡¯


    She looked out across the crowd of townsfolk. Essentially everyone she knew was in this one place, and mostly focused on her.


    Stop it. Pull yourself together. This is just reciting scripture. And that I can do!¡¯


    She opened her prayer book to the marked page. Avoiding the sea of eyes upon her, she started to recite.


    ¡°Deus Pater noster, qui est in caelis.¡±


    (Our Father-God, who resides in the heavens)


    She allowed for a pause after each line, letting the assembly echo her words. While most of the crowd repeated the common translation, priests typically recited in the archaic Archeron dialect. This was the language much of the early human history had been first written in, and the church of Chandrilar was largely built on tomes written in Archeron during Chandrilar¡¯s pilgrimage with his people across most of known Driax.


    ¡°Gratias agimus tibi pro omni tribulatione, quam misistis nobis.¡±


    (We thank you for every trial you send us)


    A sharp reflection in the crowd caught her eye, and she saw the reflection had drawn her gaze directly to Mitchell. She looked at the strange light and continued with the prayer from memory. The book had really only been a comfort.


    ¡°Ita ut tibi devotionem nostram ostendamus.¡±


    (So we may show you our devotion)


    The luminescence around Mitchell intensified. She tried to blink it away, but the light only grew.


    ¡°Devotione discimus credere et obedire.¡±


    (Through devotion, we learn to trust and obey)


    Alicia became aware she was the only one who could see the light, as it was now too large and too bright for nobody else to be looking at it. And it was enveloping Mitchell, and to a lesser extent Hawkin and Peregrin, who sat to either side of him.


    ¡°Devotionis causa primam posuimus.¡±


    (Through devotion we put the cause first)


    Then a darkness appeared to challenge the light.


    ¡°Devotione colimus.¡±


    (Through devotion we band together)


    The darkness formed into spears, and moved inexorably towards Mitchell and the others. Her heart skipped a beat as a feeling of dread took hold within her. She forced herself to continue the prayer.


    ¡®This is a divine vision! It has to be. Watch and discern the message the Lord sends.¡¯


    ¡°In numeris nostris vires multiplicat.¡± Her voice gained in fervor.


    (In numbers our strength multiplies)


    A brilliant shield, bearing the emblem of Chandrilar, interposed itself in front of the spears of darkness.


    ¡°Devotionis causa nostra cognoscit victoriam.¡±


    (Through devotion our cause knows victory)


    The spears impacted against the shield. A feeling of hope replaced Alicia''s initial dread as the dark spears shattered harmlessly.


    ¡°Benedico ovus Illyrius¡±


    (Praise be to our Father-God)


    As the prayer ended, the shield disappeared a fraction of a second before the rest. In that instant, she felt sure that without the shield, there was nothing else in Driax that could have stopped those dark spears. The feeling of dread washed over her entire body anew.


    ¡®Was that really a vision? Why did Chandrilar send it to me? And why are there dark spears aimed at Mitchy and the others?¡¯


    She stepped away from the pulpit, the applause barely registering. She heard almost nothing else of the ceremony, as her mind whirred at the divine message she was sure she had just witnessed.


    ¡®Evil comes for Mitchell and maybe his friends. And only the protection of Chandrilar can save them.¡¯


    <h2>Azzanon ¨C ¡®For Prince and Church¡¯ Hotel, Luthien</h2>


    1st Carlishae, early Spring, 845 PBM


    Azzanon Klarence Thibaut III scrutinised his reflection in the small mirror. Happy with what he saw, he smiled and winked in a manner he knew to be both captivating and cheeky. Adjusting his short, brown hair, he made certain the front curled perfectly in a wave over his face, and his piercing sky blue eyes. He ensured his goatee was neatly shaped, and he meticulously checked the tips of his pencil moustache, pointing them elegantly to reflect the latest trend from his beloved Drasnia.


    ¡®Or at least what was the latest fashion when I left over a year ago,¡¯ he complained to himself. ¡®For all I know those stupid half-cloaks might be all the rage again now.¡¯


    Satisfied his face was at its handsome best, he re-checked his outfit. He wore a stylish white shirt, complete with a frilled collar and sleeves rolled up slightly, in a nod to the local fashion in Luthien. His dark coloured pants were freshly pressed, and slightly tighter fitting than most would wear, but Azzanon kept himself fit and trim, and wanted his dinner companion tonight to appreciate it.


    ¡®Amongst the nobility, that is not always a common trait. Those born into money often have little self-control. Why should I conceal that I look after myself and look good?¡¯


    His half-length boots shone, embellished with large silver buckles. His ensemble was rounded off with a vest and a flamboyant feathered hat, which currently hung by his hotel suite''s door.


    ¡®Bloody expensive room, given it is still somewhat a shambles compared to the grand rooms back home. But it is the best room in Luthien, and I want tonight to be special. Unforgettable in fact. If it goes to plan, tonight changes everything.¡¯


    Azzanon''s fingers brushed over a gold-coloured fleur de lys on his vest, a silent homage to his homeland.


    ¡®For so many years now I have had to hide who I am. Always playing the part of whatever my alias was for a particular assignment. Sometimes I almost forget what my natural accent is. But tonight I stop the lies. I tell Samtha I love her, I tell her what I am, and that I am willing to leave the Drasnian Intelligence Agency behind to be with her.¡¯


    The wild-life of women, sex, drugs and partying will be no more. Or at least, will now be whatever Samtha wants it to be. Let¡¯s not pretend she isn¡¯t a wild girl herself. She is absolutely nothing like the woman I thought I was destined for. She is going to terrify my family too I suspect. My poor mother!


    I just have to hope she forgives me for lying to her about¡­ well, everything. But our feelings for each other are real! What does it matter if my name and accent are not the same.


    He whispered a prayer to Faylen to help the night turn out as he wanted; for his declaration of love to be well received; his past lies to be quickly forgiven as part of his job; and for the two of them to retire to this suite to begin their new lives together.


    He headed for the door, gathering his rapier, cloak and hat. He took one final look back at the mirror to ensure all three were sitting as he wanted. He noticed a plain envelope with the single word Salutations written on it had been slipped under the door.


    It was a communication from the Agency. Likely new intelligence or even new orders. He ignored it, stepped over it and closed the door. After tonight, he would not need read another of those ever again. And he headed into the night.


    ****


    Azzanon bounded up the stairs of the beautiful, waterfront, multi-level restaurant, with its spectacular views of the Sea of Tranquillity, on the coast of which much of Luthien was built. Revelers gathered below on the sands, visible in the light of the white and red moons, their laughter echoing off the crashing waves.


    ¡®I have brought so many beautiful women to places such as this. Either to seduce them, steal their secrets, or to break up with them.¡¯


    A smile bloomed on his face as he approached the table. There was Samtha, his love and hopefully soon a whole lot more, sitting radiant in the moonlight.


    ¡®Long dark hair, sections of it in dreadlocks. She has parts of her head shaved. She speaks with that ridiculous drawl, but I could listen to her speak for hours. Her body is more muscled than soft, and she is leaner and less curvy than my friends would say is my type. And she has a scathing wit and a mouth that can make sailors blush. She is simultaneously the opposite of what I am supposed to find attractive, and the single most beautiful thing I have ever encountered in this world.¡¯


    ¡®She smiles as I approach, and I feel butterflies all through my body.¡¯


    Taking her hand, Azzanon assisted her to stand, planting a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "You look beautiful," he whispered.


    ¡®How often have I said that, and not actually meant it.¡¯


    ¡°You look like ¡­ you look different,¡± she replied in her distinctive drawl. ¡°Did you buy a new outfit for tonight?¡± she asked.


    ¡®Hmm¡­ not sure she likes the style of the ¡®new me¡¯. Not the most auspicious beginning.¡¯


    ¡°I thought you might like to see a different side to me tonight,¡± Azzanon replied, trying to deflect any further conversation on his new appearance for now, and resuming his previous Lotese accent.


    ¡®Remember, she thinks you are an arms dealer who sells and smuggles weapons for the Luthien resistance against the Cthrag Merlos. While that should not matter to a travelling bard such as her, it is still the world she thinks you are from. She should be happy I am not an arms dealer, right?¡¯


    Azzanon noticed the bottle of whisky on the table, accompanied by two generously filled glasses.


    ¡®OK. Going to be one of those nights is it.¡¯


    He grasped his glass, taking a deep swig of the brownish spirit. It was potent, unrefined, and lacked sophistication. Precisely how the locals preferred it. He stifled the desire to cough as it assaulted his tastebuds and burnt its way down his throat.


    Without hesitation, she followed suit and promptly topped up both their glasses.


    ¡°I''ve been contemplating our future,¡± Azzanon began.


    ¡®I feel nervous. I have not felt this nervous around a girl since I was a teenager fumbling through my first stages of physical intimacy. Or when telling a lie to someone who might shoot you if he does not believe it.¡¯


    ¡°Me too, Honey,¡± Samtha interjected. ¡°And I don¡¯t think it¡¯s going to work out between us.¡±


    The full weight of her words took a moment to sink in. Azzanon''s trademark smirk frozen in place as he processed her unexpected revelation.


    ¡®Then why the nice location, and the drink?¡¯


    And then it dawned on him.


    ¡®Oh no! She is me. The beautiful location in public, so I won¡¯t make a scene. The strong alcohol is so I can drink my ill feelings afterwards. Now I get to hear the speech. Please don¡¯t be the speech.¡¯


    ¡°It¡¯s not about you, or anything you''ve done. This is about me," she began. "I''m in a phase of my life where a relationship isn''t prudent. It''s not fair on you. You deserve so much more.¡± She took a long sip from her glass, and instinctively, Azzanon mirrored her.


    ¡®By the gods! Being on the receiving end feels like a dagger through the heart! All those times I believed my spiel was a kindness...how wrong I was.¡¯


    ¡°I''m swamped with work, and right now, that has to be my priority. If only there were someone I could delegate my responsibilities to. But I trust no one with them. Our time together will always hold a special place in my heart. You''re exceptional, Kronar, and you should be with someone who can fully commit to you.¡±


    Though several counterpoints sprang to mind, Azzanon remained silent. Arguing would be futile, and it didn¡¯t matter if he argued as Kronar or as Azzanon. The arguments likely were not even true, or at least not the reason she was breaking up with him. And so he just sat there. His eyes were now just staring at his drink as he pondered how it was possible he could feel so sad, and why had the Gods done this to him.


    ¡°Look, I don¡¯t want to make this any more difficult for you than it already is,¡± Samtha continued.


    Oh¡­ how often have I said that. You mean you don¡¯t want to sit here and be reminded what it looks like when you tear someone¡¯s heart out.


    ¡°I have left enough money to cover the drinks, and a meal if you still want one. I have told the staff to leave you alone but to keep bringing drinks as long as you want them. I have also instructed them to get a coach to give you a ride home when you are ready, whenever that is.¡±


    ¡®Damn you. That last part is good. I never thought to do that.¡¯


    And with that, Samtha stood up, kissed him on the cheek, and she walked out of his life forever. Azzanon tried not to look. but found himself watching every step until she descended the stairs and was totally out of view.


    ¡®I hate you!¡¯


    ¡®And I still love you!¡¯


    ****


    An hour later, Azzanon stumbled into his suite, clutching a second bottle of the fireball whisky.


    ¡°Look!¡± he yelled at the bottle. ¡°I got you the nicest room in the whole damn town! Would you like to sit on the balcony, and look at the view while I have my way with you?¡±


    He took out a glass and was about to pour the whiskey into it when he saw the plain envelope with ¡®Salutations¡¯ on it still sitting on the floor.


    ¡°Might as well get all our bad news at once, right?¡± he said to the bottle. ¡°With luck, new intelligence says that there is a Drasak assassin squad on its way here to kill me right now.¡±


    He opened the envelope, struggling to open the envelope with drunken hands, before getting frustrated and tearing it open with his teeth. He pulled the paper out from within the envelope and uttered the command phrase to activate it.


    ¡°For the nation that will forever be the jewel of Driax,¡± he said, focusing intently to not slur any of the words. A magick rune briefly flared across the rolled piece of paper and a broken seal appeared out of nowhere, then the join of the paper and the writing itself appeared.


    Azzanon grinned in mild surprise, and congratulated himself in the mirror, as though being able to speak without slurring was some kind of great accomplishment. He unrolled the scroll and saw a short and succinct message.


    ¡®Current mission successful. New assignment. Head to Velluto and re-connect with prior network. Past alias of Francisco reactivated.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, lovely Drasak! It would appear we are not done with each other yet! A place where I will be surely killed if I am ever detected. Yet I can¡¯t seem to stay away.¡®


    Azzanon lit a cigar and burned the note. He hated cigars, but having lit one, it would be breaking character to now not smoke it. So he went out onto the balcony with his glass, his bottle of whiskey and his awful cigar.


    He smoked the cigar and had his way with the bottle of whiskey.


    He also yelled obscenities at the people passing by below, but made sure to do so in a Lotese accent.


    ¡®It would seem we are not yet done playing charades!¡¯


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Chivalry Park, Garet, Klydor</h2>


    1st Carlishae, early Spring, 845 PBM


    The deep night had draped Chivalry Park in a soft, velvety darkness, interrupted only by the warm flicker of the many bonfires that danced merrily within its bounds. Nestled by one such bonfire sat Alicia, flanked by Mitchell on one side and Hawkin on the other. Peregrin was next to Mitchell, and completing their circle was Davon, whose place was between Peregrin and Hawkin.


    Davon, with his sun-kissed skin, sun-bleached long hair, and the trio of a bow, axe, and machete resting nearby, seemed the very embodiment of the wild. His worn leather armour bore testimony to his militia patrol only just returning home in time for the festival.


    Around them hummed the last remnants of the Rebirth Festival, being joyously celebrated by the few who had not yet retired for the night. Priests had given their blessings, indicating the Gods were pleased, and had forecast a prosperous spring. Given it was also every commoner''s birthday, once the ceremonies and hard work were over, revelry took centre stage.


    But most people were now partied out, and had headed home or to wherever else they had arranged to stay for the night. For many that meant camping in Chivalry Park. Hawkin, who had probably been celebrating the hardest, showed no sign of calling an end to festivities anytime soon.


    ¡°Be careful not to throw yourself into the fire with another spinning pirouette, Mitchell?¡± chuckled Hawkin, flushed from mirth and drink, ¡°Alicia might be running out of prayers for you.¡±


    Mitchell shot a wry look at his large, noble friend.


    ¡®Hawkin Aranson, the son of Sarek Aranson, the biggest legend in all of Garet. Trained by his father to lead, fight and ride, and to one day become a Knight of Klydor. He saw his first real combat with the town militia when the Red Moon band of goblins had harassed the town last year, and since then has been eager to prove he is the better warrior than everyone else.


    ¡®But while Sarek longs for a dutiful son, Hawkin longs for a life of fame and adventure. Hawkin wants almost nothing to do with a simple life in Garet. Gifted with privilege and position, he wishes to shun it and seek glory and freedom from responsibility.¡¯


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Perhaps my mistake was not feigning to drop my weapon, and then throwing dirt in my opponent¡¯s face,¡± Mitchell retorted. ¡°Then I could have just pushed my opponent over while he was blind. Or maybe I should have instructed Peregrin to cheat before you did, and save us all from your gracious modesty.¡±


    Peregrin said nothing, but shook his head firmly, making it clear what he thought of that suggestion.


    ¡®I guess I should be grateful I have never suffered from a rivalry with Hawkin, but even that is a little insulting. I have never been good enough to be considered a rival. I am not their equal with a sword or horse, and everybody knows it.


    ¡°Oh, so Mitchell¡¯s failings are all my fault are they?¡± asked Hawkin cynically. ¡°Did I help him set fire to the smithy when he tried his hand at being a blacksmith?¡±


    Mitchell went quiet as a mixture of laughter and pity washed over his friends. Alicia looked to him sympathetically.


    ¡°Or when he let Old Man Davis¡¯s sheep out while moving them to his west paddock?¡± Hawkin continued. ¡°Although let¡¯s be honest, nobody in town will ever forget those damn sheep wandering down the main street!¡±


    Everyone chuckled at least a little at that last point.


    ¡®In fact, to the townsfolk I have never really been good at anything. And the Gods seem to insist that I not be good at anything practical. But Maragon insists I don¡¯t tell them the truth.¡¯


    ¡°With today¡¯s incident, I would blame your teacher,¡± came the deeper voice of Davon, nearly two years senior to Hawkin. ¡°Part of your problem was your teacher allowed lethal weapons into a place you should be free to practice without fear of being killed.¡± While the words could be taken seriously, there was mirth in the tone to make it clear he was just making fun of Hawkin.


    ¡®That is true, but I still should have done better, and not been hit by Stevran¡¯s axe.¡¯


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be on perimeter watch duty tonight?¡± queried Davon. ¡°I realise you could not track a herd of grindek through a field, so perhaps you are just lost, but Chivalry Park is a long way from the perimeter.¡±


    ¡°The biggest threat to this town is you and Mitchell. So, I am here to keep an eye on you,¡± replied Hawkin jokingly.


    Davon smirked, sharing a knowing look with Mitchell. Mitchell considered his quieter and thoughtful friend.


    ¡®Davon, son of Andukan. His father is widely regarded as the best hunter in all of Garet, and Davon strives to be the same. Both served together as scouts for the militia during the goblin raids, and they were the ones who found the main warhost. His skills in the wild are undoubtedly the best of our small group. In a match of insult slinging, however, I suspect Hawkin has him covered.¡¯


    ¡°Lord Hawkin took advantage of his wealth and position of influence to bribe another member of the militia to take his duty instead,¡± informed Peregrin.


    Looks of varying degree of disapproval fell upon Hawkin. None worse than the glare he was getting from Alicia.


    ¡®Abandoning your Duty. That will annoy her. ¡®


    While he knew it was petty, Mitchell always felt good when Hawkin annoyed Alicia.


    ¡°You were not supposed to hear that,¡± replied Hawkin sheepishly.


    ¡°Elves have exceptional hearing,¡± explained Peregrin. ¡°Has nobody warned you of this?¡±


    ¡°Kerros needs the money for his family. I did a good thing,¡± Hawkin argued. From the tone in his voice it was possible he believed it.


    ¡°That is what I love about you Hawkin. You can talk yourself into just about anything,¡± replied Mitchell.


    ¡°What will your father say, when he finds out you abandoned your post?¡± asked Alicia, her tone getting quite serious. ¡°Technically he could have you whipped in the town square.¡±


    ¡®Alicia has not been herself tonight. Perhaps she is tired from having to heal me twice, or from all the preparations for the Festival.¡¯


    ¡°We both know he won¡¯t do that. People swap shifts in the militia all the time. He will be pissed though, because I avoided his punishment. He will come up with some kind of new punishment, but after seeing tonight, whatever the punishment, it will be worth it.¡±


    ¡°By that, do you mean your antics on the park table earlier?¡± asked Mitchell, as he pointed to a large wooden table they could only just make out in the night. ¡°That was embarrassing!¡±


    ¡°No. It was awesome fun,¡± boasted Hawkin, as he counted off the reasons on his fingers, ¡°It was legendary; the bard called me out by name; And¡­it would have been very successful if it weren¡¯t for you acting as a killjoy.¡±


    There was a look of confusion on both Davon and Peregrin¡¯s face, as they did not understand the joke.


    ¡°While you were showing Peregrin around the town, Davon,¡± explained Mitchell, ¡°Hawkin was being Hawkin,¡±


    Davon nodded as though that explanation was enough, but Peregrin was clearly still confused.


    ¡°Perhaps there is some element of your language I do not yet understand because I do not see how your answer explains anything,¡± queried Peregrin.


    Hawkin, perhaps concerned all of this might get back to his father suddenly became more sheepish, ¡°I have no idea what you are talking about¡­¡±


    ¡°That is because you are drunk, and likely do not remember many of the details. Shall I remind you?¡± offered Mitchell.


    ¡°I hardly think that is necessary,¡± Hawkin tried to interrupt the story. ¡°What about¡­¡±


    ¡°Go on Mitchell. I wish to know more of the young Lord Hawkin,¡± encouraged Peregrin. ¡°The behaviour of human nobility interests me.¡±


    Mitchell contemplated the unfamiliar figure in their midst.


    ¡®Peregrin Ellyrion. Judging you from your long silver hair alone, you are clearly a grey elf, and from the Llewyrr ruled side of the Forest too. Like all elves, you are slender of build, but move with a grace and dexterity few humans could hope to match. You are almost certainly gifted with the use of magick. And with your perfect face, silver hair, and bright violet, coloured eyes, you would be considered beautiful by nearly any definition. If this is indeed your first time visiting Klydor. I hope we do not leave a bad impression.¡¯


    Mitchell looked around to see if anyone was going to say anything else to stop him, but it seemed none were.


    ¡®All right then. The truth. Maragon insists you cannot go too far wrong with the truth. Mixed with some humility for Hawkin. He deserves it. No, he NEEDS it.¡¯


    ¡°The bard was really getting into his groove, and so was the crowd. Hawkin was¡­¡±


    ¡°You mean Lord Hawkin, of course,¡± corrected Peregrin.


    ¡°Ahh¡­ yes, of course,¡± replied Mitchell, a little surprised at the interruption and mention of protocol. Protocol was not strong in the village of Garet.


    ¡®So, a stickler for protocol. I guess technically Hawkin is a Lord, and therefore correct protocol is to address him by his title. But this is Hawkin. He just does not act or feel like a Lord. Or at least not how I think a Lord should act. I guess Lord Sarek Aranson and Lord Balinor Bardin are the only two Lords I have ever met, but none of them act like Hawkin. He has always just been¡­ Hawkin.¡¯


    ¡°Lord Hawkin was celebrating like it was his birthday instead of it being everyone else¡¯s, and as such had already drunk more than was wise. I had suggested he slow down, but he suggested I should speed up. I suggested he stop climbing onto the tables during the ribald singing of the bard. But he insisted he could see things better from up there.¡±


    ¡°That was true. I could see the stage much more clearly,¡± chimed in Hawkin, a smile coming over his face as his exploits were being retold. It is like he does not even realise he is the fool in this story. Just loves hearing his own stories, I guess.


    ¡°I suspect you were more interested in being seen, than in what you could see from up there.¡± Mitchell postulated. He got nods of agreement from both Alicia and Davon.


    ¡°Initially it was just him dancing, and hollering at just about everyone,¡± continued Mitchell. ¡°Then he decided to try to encourage some of the young females present to join him on the table to dance. That went well until he fell from the table.¡±


    ¡°Was probably trying to emulate your defensive spin,¡± interjected Davon, which elicited laughter from everyone.


    ¡°Actually, I was trying to get closer to Brelda Davis,¡± explained Hawkin. ¡°And at least I didn¡¯t need a healer.¡±


    ¡°Luckily, Old man Davis told the girls to get down and that stopped him for a while,¡± commented Alicia. She motioned for Mitchell to continue.


    ¡°As the night continued, Hawkin got back up and his comments from the table got more lewd, almost in synch with the nature of the songs,¡± spoke Mitchell. ¡°He even managed to get a shout-out from the bard for the strength of his celebration, and a round of applause from the crowd. He bowed like it was the greatest moment of his life.¡±


    ¡°A fun night was had by all! No harm in it,¡± Hawkin decreed with a grin.


    ¡°OK. But did you really think any of the young women present were going to accept your offer for companionship when you just stood on the table in the middle of the square and yelled it for all to hear?¡± asked Mitchell bemusedly.


    ¡°At the time it seemed easier than asking them individually,¡± shrugged Hawkin, equal parts embarrassed, yet proud at the retelling of his exploits. His friends all knew from the broad grin on his face that Hawkin was generally quite comfortable with his behaviour.


    ¡°I did ask you to join me up there. Having some fun and perhaps some female attention would do you good,¡± responded Hawkin.


    ¡°As I told you then, I was not interested in being on your bimbo box and making a spectacle of myself during our biggest celebration of the year,¡± retorted Mitchell.


    ¡°Yes. I remember,¡± recalled Hawkin. ¡°You said it so loud everyone heard, and after that nobody would dance with me. Kheldon Wentworth even had the gall to start calling me Lord BimboBox after that. He is lucky I didn¡¯t knock out his front teeth. Let¡¯s see what that does to his leering grin.¡±


    ¡°That is not entirely true,¡± conceded Alicia. ¡°There were some girls who perhaps thought accepting your offer would change their lives for the better. It was my duty to explain to them that the world was full of young common girls whose lives were ruined raising some noble¡¯s bastard.¡±


    ¡°What? That is so ¡­ ¡° Hawkin struggled for the word to finish his rebuke.


    ¡°True.. is that the word?¡± asked Alicia.


    ¡°I would have gone with unkind,¡± countered Hawkin with a grin.


    ¡°Because you are so good with responsibility, you think I have misjudged how you would go with having a young child,¡± asked Alicia, a thin edge of seriousness mixed in with the mirth.


    ¡°I would have used protection. I bought some off one of the merchants,¡± Hawkin protested. Davon interceded and waved Alicia off before she got really fired up.


    ¡®Hawkin¡¯s lack of responsibility stirs her up, but I am so jealous of their exchanges. She has such fire when she interacts with him. I get protected like a younger brother.¡¯


    Mitchell then glanced at Peregrin, trying to gauge his reaction to the banter. The elf''s expression remained inscrutable. Mitchell had no idea if he approved or was horrified by the actions of Lord Hawkin.


    ¡°Oh, I should probably explain one really important aspect of human customs,¡± called out Hawkin, looking straight at Peregrin.


    ¡°What is that?¡± asked Peregrin, raising a single eye-brow in curiosity.


    ¡°We have an etiquette rule that what happens or what is said in this circle, is sacred knowledge shared only by those within in the circle,¡± spoke Hawkin passionately.


    Peregrin understood instantly what Hawkin really meant. ¡°I will not tell your father anything of this night, or indeed anything at all. I am here to learn about humans and your customs. Not to inform your father about your actions. Our Seers say the fates of our empires are forever linked, so I want to see what the big deal is with ¡®Klydorians¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Oh, in that case, you will love us!¡± exclaimed Hawkin. ¡°We are the best of the humans. All the stories say so.¡±


    ¡°But how much of the stories are true and how much are legend,¡± countered Peregrin. ¡°That is what I wish to know. How can an empire as great as our own, be truly and irrevocably linked to the fate of a human empire such as your own.¡± The inflection he put on the word human implied some level of disdain or inferiority.


    ¡°How long will you be staying to learn that?¡± asked Mitchell hopefully, ignoring the insult.


    ¡®Hopefully long enough to get a few more lessons in.¡¯


    ¡°As long as it takes. My people live much longer than you, so we can be patient and do things properly,¡± replied Peregrin.


    Hawkin muttered, ¡°Such arrogance.¡±


    ¡°Peregrine does not mean to offend or appear arrogant. He is just stating what he believes to be fact in a cold and logical way,¡± explained Mitchell. Peregrine nodded, but did not say anything.


    Ok. So maybe I am mostly right, and maybe it does not bother you that it causes offence.


    Hawkin looked like he wanted to go on with the argument, but reluctantly remained quiet.


    ¡°May I ask some questions of your group?¡± Peregrin asked.


    Three heads nodded their agreement quickly. Hawkin took a few seconds longer to agree.


    ¡°How do you all know each other?¡± Peregrin asked.


    ¡°We grew up together,¡± replied Mitchell quickly. ¡°We have all grown up in and around the town and for kids our age it was either hang out in this group or with Kheldon and his ¡®cool group¡¯.¡± Mitchell accentuated the cool group by holding up one finger on each hand as he said it.


    ¡°And the three of us are not wealthy enough to be in his group. Not that I would have wanted to hang out with that pompous jerk,¡± added Alicia.


    ¡°And why is Hawkin not in that group if the divide is based on economic circumstance?¡± asked Peregrin.


    ¡°Because I am a better person, and can see past that stuff,¡± replied Hawkin. Peregrin raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by, or perhaps disputing that point.


    ¡°I heard it was because he hit on Kheldon¡¯s sister,¡± said Davon.


    ¡°It was because Kheldon was picking on Mitchell,¡± said Alicia proudly. ¡°A young Hawkin interjected himself and told them to leave Mitchell alone. Kheldon said something like ¡®make me¡¯ so he did. That is when I realised you weren¡¯t just a spoiled little noble boy.¡±


    ¡°That is also why Kheldon¡¯s nose is slightly crooked,¡± added Mitchell. ¡°I imagine every time he looks in the mirror he has a constant reminder why he hates Hawkin.¡±


    ¡°I have one of those reminders too,¡± added Peregrin, theatrically rubbing his black eye. ¡°But the lesson will last longer than the bruise. Any combat lesson you live through is a good one.¡±


    ¡®Sometimes it is easy to forget that you are not the same age as us. You are at a similar point in elven society, probably somewhere near the point of adulthood, but that still makes you something like 40 years old. This gives you a wisdom that I should try to harness and learn from. I think Maragon would like you.¡¯


    ¡®I also hope you understand the custom of friends teasing each other mercilessly.¡¯


    ¡°I do love it here, late at night under the stars, with just us and the flame,¡± uttered Hawkin, as he stared wistfully into the night sky. ¡°I love the feeling of freedom. Just being able to do what you want.¡±


    ¡°So in other words¡­,¡± translated Davon, ¡°No father telling you what to do!¡±


    ¡°And no responsibility,¡± added Alicia.


    ¡°No¡­well¡­Yes. But I want more for my life than to serve in his damned militia,¡± replied Hawkin. ¡°I know its important to the town, but even Father had a heroic life before he settled down. People revere the great Sarek Aranson as a hero¡­ and its not because of the stuff he has done with the militia. It¡¯s the other stuff. The stuff all the bards sing about each night. He killed the Orc Warlord Krin¡¯Yak.¡±


    ¡®Sought him out and slayed him during the final battle, ending the Black Orc raids.¡¯


    Nodding his understanding Mitchell continued, ¡°He rescued Lord Vendermere¡¯s daughter from the Krushai cultists.¡±


    ¡®The supposedly renegade Black Order wizards were going to use magick to influence her thoughts and manipulate her actions, and through her, influence the Royal Court. Maragon made me study that whole thing in detail.¡¯


    ¡°He led the Knights in victory over the Merlo forces at Silverton,¡± intoned Davon


    ¡®Spearheading the charge of heavy cavalry that broke the Merlo right flank, killing one of the Clan leaders, and turning the battle. Potentially stopped that skirmish from escalating into another great war if the Merlos had taken Silverton.¡¯


    ¡°See¡­I want to do that stuff too,¡± replied Hawkin, satisifed he had made his point.


    ¡®And we have reached the point where Hawkin starts to dream of leaving town. Happens nearly every time he gets drunk around us.¡¯


    ¡°And then he helped build Garet. And made it his life work to protect it. You should learn to appreciate the satisfaction that can be had from dedicating oneself to a higher purpose,¡± countered Alicia.


    ¡°Look, I understand the necessity of protecting the town from goblins, bandits and all the other undesirables that threaten us. But we all know if any serious threat ever emerges our town will stand or fall by the Klydorian army stationed in Chandrex three days hard march north of here. Father loves his militia and that is great for Garet. But that¡¯s not what I want. I want to see the world. I want the chance to be famous for my own heroic deeds. I don¡¯t just want to be the Captain of a group of armed farmers and townsfolk.¡±


    ¡°He will never let you go,¡± stated Mitchell. There was a prolonged silence as Hawkin thought about it. ¡°He has trained you from birth to inherit his position and to continue what he has started.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I won''t tell him. Just pack up and leave.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it is time for bed. I fear Hawkin has clearly had more than enough to drink already,¡± replied Mitchell, for they all knew such a comment was all boast.


    ¡®Hawkin may have had his differences with Sarek, but he would not run out on him.¡¯


    ¡°You''re mad!¡± declared Alicia. ¡°Your family are rich. You own your own land. And you have never wanted for anything your entire life. Now you want to run away from all of that just to seek fame and glory?¡±


    ¡®Alicia. So often the voice of reason within our group. The youngest daughter of a farming family on the outskirts of Garet, she has grown up under hard times and is very appreciative of the basic things in life as a result.  I would love nothing more than to protect her and give her everything she wants.¡¯


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you come with me? You joined the church of Chandrilar because you wanted to make the world a better place. I am sure we can do more to change the world out there than we can in Garet,¡± countered Hawkin.


    ¡°Actually¡­ I believe that was why she tried to join the Militia. She only joined the church when your father told her in no uncertain terms that no woman could ever serve in his militia,¡± interjected Davon.


    ¡°Yes, your father said women do not have the constitutions for the physical demands of battle,¡± she scoffed. She likely would have continued to rant on that exact point had Mitchell not cut her off.


    ¡°Hawkin has a point you know.¡±


    All of them stopped and looked at him. Even Hawkin seemed a little shocked.


    ¡°I do?¡±


    ¡°Your sacred oath to Chandrilar is about safeguarding the innocent and seeking out and destroying evil, is it not?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°I believe part of your ordaining oath to Chandrilar was to protect the innocent, and to seek out and destroy the evils that threaten the world.¡±


    Alicia stared at Mitchell, clearly surprised he knew what her ordaining oath was. Not only were the words sacred and known to only a rare few, they were also in the same language as her prayers, and hence generally incomprehensible to any who might over-hear them.


    ¡°It is even in your prayers...Nu virtus animatus de ule... May your courage inspire us all,¡± he continued. Now she was really stunned.


    ¡°Really? I was wondering what all that gibberish she was uttering in those ceremonies meant,¡± said Hawkin. ¡°Well, that and if the priestesses were wearing anything under those ceremonial gowns.¡±


    ¡°I did not know you spoke Archeron,¡± she asked, looking curiously at Mitchell, as though trying to solve some kind of puzzle in her mind.


    Mitchell seemed lost for words for a few seconds, before stammering, ¡°I need something to fill in the time in that old tower. Learning languages is one of those things.¡±


    ¡®Not the best lie, but hopefully it will hold. Not too many reasons to understand an ancient, mostly dead language, that was named for the race that taught humans magick. These days it is used only for reading really old books, many religious texts, and nearly all the written works of human magick.¡¯


    He noted Peregrine had a slight grin of amusement.


    Hawkin meanwhile, took this moment of silence as an opportunity to expand his focus from Alicia to all of the people around him.


    ¡°Why don''t you all come? What''s there to stop you? Nothing to stay here for.¡±


    ¡°Except family..., friends... and our entire lives,¡± replied Alicia. Blunt, honest, and to the point. Hawkin, however, was now gaining momentum, and he was not going to let things go that easily.


    ¡°Maybe for you and me, but what about you Mitchell, you wouldn''t be leaving any family behind.¡±


    ¡°Maragon is as much a father to me as any person could be.¡±


    ¡°What? He might be at best considered your uncle, and he was certainly never fatherly. We¡¯ve all heard rumours he worked with the King in their younger days, and my father thinks very highly of him, but he''s locked himself in that stupid tower for the last fifteen years and you''re the only person who ever sees him. Is that your future is it? You''re going to spend the rest of your days cooking, cleaning and whatever else he has you doing up there? Going to be Mitchell the Strange forever?¡± he asked increduously


    ¡°Almost certainly not,¡± Mitchell replied, slightly offended. ¡°I will help Maragon and do whatever is required of me. As an orphan I owe him a lot for taking me in and raising me.¡±


    ¡°And as for you Davon, you''ve been taught all your life how to survive in the wilderness. What would be the point of all that if you''re going to stay in town all your life. I am not sure tracking Old Farmer Klin¡¯s cows around the top paddock is really utilising your skills.¡±


    ¡°I cannot believe you are seriously considering this,¡± said Alicia disbelievingly.


    ¡°And why shouldn''t I. When we were younger we always said how we were gonna leave Garet, seeking out adventure and becoming rich and famous. We all promised that we would become valiant heroes, remember.¡±


    ¡°We were young and foolish. We had no idea of the implications of what we were saying.¡± replied Alicia.


    ¡°Well we do now. What is to stop us making the same promise.¡±


    ¡°Reality, and responsibilities which cannot simply be left behind or forgotten. Life isn¡¯t a game, no matter how much you wish it was.¡± Alicia answered, strong emotion bleeding into her voice. ¡°I have heard enough. I am retiring for the night. I will see you all bright and early in the morning.¡±


    With that, she strode towards a small tent and camp-bed. Like some in town, she was staying in the park for the night as it was too far to walk home now. Alicia¡¯s outburst took the wind out of the sails of Hawkin and the others. They sat there silently for many moments.


    ¡°That was very interesting,¡± said Peregrin finally, once it was clear nobody was going to say anything else. ¡°You must each find your purpose, and that will not always be the purpose your parents had intended for you.¡±


    ¡°You know something of that, do you?¡± asked Hawkin hopefully.


    ¡°I do not. My family has been Blade-dancers for generations. Longer in fact, than there has been a Garet, or indeed a Klydor. My father always wanted me to be a Blade-Dancer, and I excelled with a blade from a very young age so it was always assumed I would be accepted into the order. I honoured him by coming 2<sup>nd</sup> in my class.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t win?¡± asked Hawkin, with a little too much mirth in his voice.


    ¡°Bladedancers are not like anything you humans have. Coming 2<sup>nd</sup> in my class is a great honour. Do not fool yourself. None of you, and indeed none of those in Garet, could even come close to completing the training required of all who attend the hallowed halls of Hyanda¡¯Mar.¡±


    ¡°A touch arrogant again, don¡¯t you think?¡± queried Hawkin. ¡°You haven¡¯t seen me in a real fight, and I doubt you have seen my father. He is considered a great wielder of a sword.¡±


    Peregrin seemed to consider Hawkin¡¯s comment, but only briefly. ¡°It is not arrogance to understand the truth of something and to both act and advise accordingly. No Ala-Lie has ever passed the training. Therefore, we can conclude none are able to.¡±


    ¡°L-a-lee?¡± asked Hawkin. Peregin laughed.


    ¡°Lie means people in elven, but it really only means elves,¡± explained Mitchell, to the surprise of both Hawkin and Peregrin.


    ¡°And Ala-Lie means everyone who is not elven, and translates to ¡®the Not-People¡¯. Its not quite as bad as it sounds in our language, but it does mean at least some of what that implies.¡±


    ¡°You are a surprise Mitchell of Garet,¡± offered Peregrin, the closest thing to a look of respect anyone had seen appearing on his grim features. ¡°And you are correct.¡±


    ¡°I bet its all stories and myths. I bet there is little difference between a Blade-dancer and a Klydorian Knight,¡± countered Hawkin. ¡°In fact, I bet the Knight wins with his heavier armour and his superior strength.¡±


    Hawkin is trying to bait Peregrin, but I can see from the look in his eyes that his cool may be his best weapon. He will not give it up easily, and certainly not for anything so trivial.


    ¡°We are unlikely to learn the answer to that.¡± Peregrin replied. ¡°The elves of the Llewyrr Forest have been the staunchest allies of Klydor since before the founding of your kingdom. We even made the stunning decision to cede half the forest to you. So it is unlikely we will ever see them draw blades on each other in anger.¡±


    ¡®Peregrin speaks with an arrogant calm, like he is superior to us, and knows more than us. But that response was not antagonistic.¡¯


    ¡°And I think noble families all over Klydor should rejoice at this,¡± Peregrin continued. ¡°For if we ever did their would be great mourning all over your kingdom. Our warriors are chosen on merit alone, while yours are selected based on birthright. We have many Bladedancers who have trained for more years than even your oldest knight has been alive.¡±


    And I was wrong. Clearly Peregrin has to win any contest he is in, verbal or physical.


    ¡°I do think Alicia was right that we should get some sleep,¡± reminded Davon, attempting to divert a further escalation in the discussion. With that he started to head off to his bedroll under a big broad ash tree.


    For the next ten minutes the remaining three sat there and looked at each other, unable or unwilling to say anything more. One by one they too retired for the night, until only Hawkin was left by the fire, dwelling on all that had been said.


    Mitchell hopped into his bedroll and tried to go to sleep, but found it was useless. All he could do was brood on what Hawkin had said.


    ¡®Of all of us, it should be me who would go with Hawkin. What have I been training for all of my life, if not to face the evils that are lurking out there. Years learning both the spell and the blade from Maragon, he a famed War Wizard of the mighty Clan Golden Bears of the Cthrag Merlo empire.¡¯


    ¡®But would he let me go? Perhaps part of the training is I have to tell him when I am ready to go? He is always trying to teach me to make the right decision rather than telling me what the right decision is. It would be in keeping to that style. I could be training forever and it will never be over if I wait for Maragon to tell me I am ready.¡®


    ¡®But he also preaches being prepared. You must have a primary plan which attacks the problem in the most efficient manner possible, ideally from a flank the enemy will not anticipate. And you must always have at least one contingency plan for if the primary plan is not going well. Am I prepared enough to leave now?¡¯


    ¡®I have no other peers to compare myself too. I have always been trained alone by either Maragon or another of the Seven. I do not even have a bar to measure my skills against to know if I am good or bad at nearly any of what he teaches me.¡¯


    ¡®Could Maragon survive without me? Obviously he survives just fine on his various secret missions without me. But I do have important duties at the Tower. If I were gone who would do all those tasks that assist him keeping the Tower running; helping prepare his departure and returning rituals; helping with the many different magick experiments and rituals he conducts; performing all the tedious clean-up afterwards whether they succeed or fail; the clean-up is usually much worse when they fail.¡¯


    ¡®And ignoring all of that, what do I want?¡®


    His thoughts remained silent for some time. The answer came to him slowly.


    ¡®I do not know.¡¯

 Flashback 1: First Cantrip

    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Age 9 ¨C Maragon¡¯s Tower, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    11<sup>th</sup> Kennovas, Spring, 835 PBM


    Mitchell knelt on a silvery-metallic rug.  Maragon knew he liked it, had done from the moment he first got his hands on it as a baby, so he had positioned it to be the mat Mitchell would use today.  Clad in a simple grey robe, held together by a plain belt sash, Mitchell''s hair was shorn close, mimicking his mentor¡¯s.


    Maragon was wearing red robes for today¡¯s classes, with a circular symbol around a bear on its breast.  The symbol was embroidered golden stitch.  His piercing blue eyes watched Mitchell intently, but there was a warmth there to encourage Mitchell.  His goatee was well trimmed and a dark brown colour, like his hair would get in the rare instances he allowed it to grow beyond stubble.  On his hip he wore his curved, single-edged blade.  Mitchell was accustomed to Maragon always having that blade at the ready.  If it were not strapped to his side, then it was always close by, leaning against a wall, and never much more than an arm¡¯s reach away.


    ¡°Are you ready to cast your first spell?¡± Maragon asked.  He smiled, to both offer his student/ward encouragement, but also because he knew the answer; regardless of what his ward thought.


    Mitchell nodded.


    ¡°Stay calm and concentrate, as I have taught you.  There is energy in nearly all the objects around you.  To a mage this can be used to fuel your magick.¡±  Maragon passed him a simple candle, its wick burning strongly and casting a pale light.  ¡°Feel the energy within the candle.  Connect with it and channel its energy into you,¡± instructed Maragon calmly.


    The weight of the moment pressed on Mitchell.  ¡®My first lesson where I¡¯ll cast my own magic. I hope I do it right!¡¯


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± asked Maragon.  ¡°It is important to be able to talk about everything that happens today.  Mistakes are normal.  It is how we learn from them that separates the strong from the weak.


    ¡°I¡¯m excited.  I¡¯m also scared,¡± Mitchell replied, his boyish voice clearly revealing his emotions as much as the words he said.


    ¡°Remember not to use contractions.  Magick is about having a structured mind and process.  We do not cut corners in anything, and a contraction is simply a lazy, unnecessary short-cut taken in speech or thought.¡±


    This was Mitchell¡¯s life for as long as he could remember.  Maragon instructing him in how to live, and filling his day with tasks to complete and challenges to overcome.  There was a small allowance for play and fun, but from what Mitchell had seen from the other children in town, his life was not like theirs.


    ¡°Channelling is all about drawing magickal energies from within ourselves and the things around us, and then using that energy to shape our spells.  The more powerful the spell, the more energy you need to channel before you can cast it.  That is always the trade-off with channelling, the more powerful the spell, the longer it takes to cast.  Many a channeller has been killed by a less powerful spell than the one he was trying to finish.¡±


    Mitchell was focusing so intently on the candle, he found it difficult to follow Maragon¡¯s words.


    ¡®Remain calm.  Feel for it¡¯s magickal energy.  It¡¯s just like we have been doing for the last few months, but this time we are actually going to try and use the energy.¡¯


    ¡°The magickal energy in each object is different, and useful for different things.  The energy within your wooden bedroom door is useful for casting nature spells because of the solid wood in its construction.  But it is also useful for casting teleportation spells because it is a door from one place to another.  An objects nature and its purpose both influence the magickal energy a wizard may draw from it.¡±


    ¡°The candle is useful for channelling light, heat or even divination spells based on sight.  I want you to draw its energy to you and create an orb of light which lights up the room much more brightly than the candle does now.¡±


    ¡®I can feel it.  There is an energy both within the candle, and in the flame flickering at the end.  The energy in the candle is harder to feel, but the energy in the flame is easy, almost as if its eager to be used.¡¯


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°A wizard can cast simple spells using only the magickal energies within his own body and the area around him, and as he gets more skilled, so to does the power of spells he can fuel this way.  But this is tiring.  A good wizard will always try to source as much of the power for his spells as possible from components around him, reducing the amount of his own precious reserves he consumes with each spell.¡±


    ¡°In this case, with your current level of skill, you will find that any amount of channelling will be quite draining.  But the more of the spell you let the candle power the less exhausting it will be.  Take a little and the candle will still burn.  Take a lot and the flame will be snuffed out.  Take it all and the candle will be consumed entirely.  You will not need enough energy to take it all, and in fact drawing in that much energy could be dangerous at your level of control.¡±


    ¡®I don¡¯t want to kill the flame.  Show control of magick by only drawing a small amount to light up the room.¡®


    Mitchell focused on the candle and tried to pull the energy from there.  But it would not come.  It was like a light that was behind a locked door.  He could see it through the cracks around the door, but could not access it.  After a few more moments of that he changed plan.


    ¡®OK.  Let¡¯s go for the easier source.  But don¡¯t kill the flame.¡¯


    The energy from the flame was totally different.  As Mitchell tried to draw energy towards himself, he could imagine an almost invisible tendril connecting the flame to him, and more accurately, to the centre of his being.  Rather than resisting him as the candle itself had, the energy from the flame almost rushed up the tendril towards him.  The flame flickered and for a brief moment, looked like it may go out.


    ¡®Careful imbecile.  Draw it slowly.¡¯


    With patience Mitchell willed the energy to come at a slower rate.  He found he could attune himself to the flame, and he could feel how much energy the flame was producing.  With that attunement, he could draw just enough energy to keep the flame going, while slowly building up energy around him to use in the channelling of his spell.  The flame barely wavered now as he drew in its power.


    Maragon observed closely. He had cast a basic enchantment, allowing him to detect the magickal energies within the room. This spell not only revealed fluctuations in these energies but also identified the specific types of magickal forces at play. This enhanced perception enabled him to monitor Mitchell''s progress closely, choosing not to intervene verbally. It would offer a richer teaching experience to discuss the endeavour once it concluded.


    ¡®OK, we are accumulating fire essence now.  It is only a small amount, but I can feel the warmth building within me.  First part is done.  It is time to cast the spell which turns this into light.¡¯


    ¡®It is just like all the times Maragon channelled the energy and allowed me to tap into it to cast this same spell.  It is no different to that.  Stay calm.  And stop holding your breathe.  Passing out will not impress anyone.¡¯


    Mitchell took a few deep breaths to settle himself. He then started making the meticulous gestures and reciting the incantations required for the light spell. Casting magick, as a wizard anyway, was an art of precision. Every movement and uttered word played a pivotal role in transforming the channelled energy into a manifested spell.


    "Focus, Mitchell. Perfect execution in both verbal and physical elements of the spell culminates in a more robust spell-weave. Though it might not seem crucial now, other magic users could attempt to counter or disrupt your spells. The more impeccable the weave, the more formidable it becomes to them," counselled Maragon


    Get any part of the spell majorly wrong and the spell would fail.  Even minor errors or lapses in concentration and the energy would not convert as quickly, requiring the caster to repeat certain sections of the spell.  Failing to repeat the right sections quickly enough, and your spell would burst and fall apart.  Usually the collapse of a spell was harmless, but Maragon had warned if you channel too much energy, the results could be spectacular and most certainly dangerous.


    ¡°Increase the spacing between your first and second fingers on your left hand.  That will make it easy to push energy into the gap.  And when you form your circles with your fingers, make it a tight circle for elemental magick like this, but a soft circle is better for divination.¡±


    With a minimum of even minor errors, the spell took shape.  Mitchell was aware that a small amount of light was now glowing in the air around his skin, a signature that would tell others who understood magick that he was casting.  With a final uttering of the words, ¡°Ego, Lux Creo,¡± Mitchell felt the energy he was gathering coalesce and an orb of light leapt from his hand and hovered about halfway between floor and roof.  From it a strong white glow filled the room.  Much brighter than the room had been before.


    Mitchell could not help himself and grinned in amazement and awe at what he had done.  After a few moments he remembered the candle and looked down to it, still grasped in his left hand.  The flame burned exactly as it had before.


    ¡°Congratulations Mitchell!  You have completed your very first enchantment.¡±


    Maragon was a hard master, but Mitchell could feel the pride and affection in his voice.

 Chapter 4: Unexpected Encounters & Clandestine Meetings

    <h2>Kell ¨C Outskirts of Kestrel Land, Indiana Peaks</h2>


    4<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Early Spring 845 PBM


    The forests were alive with the sounds and colours of a new Spring.  Everywhere the eye could see flowers were blooming creating a myriad of patchwork colours in blues, reds and yellows, contrasting and enhancing the vibrant greens of the trees and shrubs, in what was considered by many poets to be amongst the most beautiful areas in all of Driax.  A light covering of bracken was scattered across the ground, creating a soft cushion underfoot, and an icy mountain breeze ensured that Winter was not yet completely forgotten.


    ¡°Thuddd!¡±


    The lethal steel-tipped arrow slammed into the thick pine trunk - barely inches above the head of its intended target.


    ¡®By the ancestors, that was close,¡¯ thought Kell, the young Indian warrior at the centre of this lethal pursuit. Terrified, he darted between trees, his heart racing at the closeness of the recent miss, and hopeful to avoid another such encounter.


    He weaved in and out of the trees and shrubs of the mountainous forest, his sure-footed movement borne of years moving through the wilderness, and his mind trying to move in ways to keep as much cover between himself and his three attackers as possible.


    ¡®Just stay alive long enough and my family will save me.¡¯


    He felt an instinct to dive.  He did without hesitation.  He rolled behind the hard cover of a clump of rocks as another arrow passed overhead.  Kell quickly peered over the rocks but could see none of his foes amongst the trunks and undergrowth in front of him.  With fear and adrenaline pumping through his body, he slipped his tomahawk from his belt and edged towards the end of his cover, his eyes continuing to survey the woods, but with no success.


    ¡®Where are they?¡¯


    Unable to see, Kell decided he better keep moving, so he bolted from his cover, weaving in and out of the trees just as before.  Two more arrows lanced out from his concealed attackers but again both were thrown off by the rapid direction changes and neither found their mark.  It was not until a figure stepped out of cover barely twenty feet in front of him that Kell realised why there had only been two shots in this salvo.  One of his foes was now in front of him, and was close enough to touch.


    Dressed in leather skins like Kell, but with the bone based tribal markings of the Antori tribe adorning his clothing and skin, the rival Indian swung his warhammer, a wooden hafted weapon with a large metal hammer on the end.


    With instincts borne more from a life in the wilds than from any conscious thought, Kell quickly brought his axe up in front of his face.  He was rewarded bare seconds later when it was almost smashed from his grasp by an impact with the heavy-headed warhammer, the lethal end of which missed his face by a matter of inches.  Continuing with his momentum, Kell threw his shoulder into his opponent''s chest, knocking the other off his feet and backwards onto the ground hard.  Kell would have been able to continue running but his foot got caught in the man''s quiver and he tripped, landing unceremoniously on his face in the bracken.


    Slightly dazed from the impact, his world slowed.  Sounds of his two other pursuers grew louder, but the winded gasps of the grounded enemy indicated he wasn''t an immediate threat.


    ¡®Get up!  You have to keep running.  Fight through the pain.  Ancestors give me strength.¡¯


    Kell rolled to his feet, feeling a surge of adrenalin fuelled power.  He gathered his tomahawk, and began to run as best he could towards another pair of thick wooden trunks.  He heard a barely muffled scream come from behind him.  He stopped upon reaching the nearest tree, and began to peer into the woods behind for some indication of what had happened.  He could see the man he had knocked over recovering his warhammer but his gaze was fixed firmly on something to the right of him, something that was presently obscured from Kell¡¯s view by the trees.


    The image of another Kestrel warrior, Kell¡¯s tribal people, charge into view with a distinctive, vicious-looking, two-handed war-club held ready in both hands.  With an ease bordering on disrespect the warrior swatted the futile strike of the winded Antori man aside, and drove his weapon into the man''s chest, the huge spike which jutted from the mid-point of the massive weapon now visible punched out the victim''s back.  As the wielder pulled his massive war-club out, the corpse, now unsupported by the spike, fell with a slump to the ground.  Blood quickly stained the surrounding bracken a deep red.


    Kell scanned the scene in front of him as he approached the older warrior, and marvelled at the grace Ka-Took had shown when handling his large unwieldy weapon.  He turned to look for the other two attackers and saw Maguare dragging them by their hair into the clearing.  The lifeless forms bore evidence of their last battle: one pierced by an arrow, the other bearing the lethal marks of Maguare''s tomahawk and hammer.


    ¡°Zalen-ti,¡± Kell called out, a traditional way of thanking another Kestrel warrior for his aid in combat, and implied a debt that would one day be repaid.  But these men were Kell''s father and older brother. Kell accompanied them on hunting expeditions for the precious skins and meat of the stag and other animals that lived in the area.


    The fact that the resulting prey of this trip had not been stag was unintended, but these other men had attacked Kell, Ka-Took and Kell''s older brother, Maguare on sight.  Which was troubling, as there had been a tentative peace between their tribes for several years now.


    ¡°Let''s move. More Antori could be nearby. We should alert our tribe,¡± instructed Ka-Took. The two sons, seasoned by years in the wilderness alongside their father, needed no further urging and set out. When Ka-Took later rejoined them, a distant wisp of smoke and the acrid scent of burnt hair lingered in the air, hinting at the Antori''s fate.


    ¡°Why did he stay behind to burn the bodies?¡± Kell asked Maguare, seeking comfort and an explanation.  Remaining behind to do so was dangerous.


    ¡°¡®He has burned them to ensure they say dead,¡± replied Maguare. ¡°You should always burn Antori bodies to dust. Or the darkness which curses their tribe may return them to life to exact vengeance on their killer.¡±


    ¡®So this is my first encounter with the Antori.  In most of our legend stories we are fighting them or their allies.  A hatred burns within Father for them.  Maguare says they killed Mother.  I was too young, and barely remember her or our life before that day.  But Father has not forgotten.  I have heard he lead a warband of our bravest warriors into Antori lands seeking her, hoping perhaps she had survived and been made a slave, as is often the Antori custom.  But he returned without her, and I believe much of the warband that went with him.¡¯


    ¡®Some say only two warriors returned alive from that band, Ka-Took and Hantoxx.  I don¡¯t know what they found there, but Maguare says it changed Father forever.  I suspect the stories began then about the evil that had grown in the Antori lands, infecting both the animals and the plants.  Nature there is not the way it should be.  Thin, sickly animals.  Lean and weak looking trees.  It as if the ancestors and the nature spirits have abandoned the place or become very sick.¡¯


    I have only strayed close to Antori lands twice in my life.  And may the ancestors be my witness, I say you can feel the evil in the air around you as you get close.  Afterwards, nightmares of strange monstrous creatures hunting for my soul haunted my sleep for almost a full cycle of the red moon.  I would happily never go there again.


    Yet we have had peace for five years now.  So why were these three so close to our lands? And why did they attack us?  Does this mean the peace is at an end?


    Still feeling the adrenalin flowing through his body, Kell picked up the pace and took the lead of their little group.  They were many miles from their village, but it was important they return as quickly as possible.


    Six hours hard march later Kell led his father and brother into the clearing that made up their small village.  Ka¡¯Took gave a quick warning to those on the outskirts of the village to be vigilant, before leading his boys into the heart of the settlement.


    The village had been Kell¡¯s home for several years now and returning home always made him feel safe.  No group of Antori would dare stray too close to here.


    Thin tendrils of smoke spiralling skywards from the village''s heart and the inviting aroma of roasting meat rekindled Kell¡¯s awareness of his hunger. It was time to eat. He trusted Ka-Took would brief the tribal elders. The weight of the day''s events lifted from his shoulders. With a comforting arm draped around Maguare, the brothers made their way to the feast.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    <h2>Vastuk ¨C Hall of Assassins, Mascherata, Drasak</h2>


    4<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Early Spring 845 PBM


    Vastuk Tirilani, or Vastuk the Deceiver to his ¡®friends¡¯, surveyed the seven figures seated at the semi-circular dais before him. Each donned a ceremonial mask, representative of their clan - from the fierce depiction of the Emerald Jaguar to the white skull mask of the Ghost Warriors.


    ¡®Compose yourself. Just assembling them in one room is an accomplishment. From here, House Tirilani begins its ascent to the pinnacle of Drasak society.¡¯


    ¡°You dare call us all together?¡± challenged the typically ferocious representative of the Raging Tigers. ¡°This better be good Deceiver, or tonight you dine with the fish.¡±


    ¡®Play this carefully if we wish to survive until morning.¡¯


    ¡°Forgive me for this breach of protocol,¡± he apologised.  ¡°But I believe you all knew I had invited the others before you arrived this evening.  After all, nothing happens in Drasak without the knowledge of her dear Assassin Guilds.¡±


    Vastuk joined his hands and bowed his head, in what he hoped would be taken as a gesture of respect.  Six figures nodded their heads in agreement.  The Tiger, however, thumped his fist on the table.


    ¡®So nearly everyone.  The Raging Tigers clan are famous for their rage and aggression.  They prefer killing their targets up close, with particular honour going to those who can kill their opponent unarmed.  Aggressive traits like that might make their clan more inclined to take our task.¡¯


    ¡°Perilous times befall us. Surely, you''ve noticed the King''s audacious belief that he should actually govern Drasak,¡± he ventured further, longing to discern the reactions behind those masks.


    ¡®Curse these confounded masks!¡¯


    ¡°The King is deluded, fancying himself as a Klydorian King, or worse, the Merlo Emperor. Alarmingly, many in Drasak are now entertaining such beliefs.¡± Once more, the Capellan and Tiger concurred, and Vastuk believed he detected agreement from the Striking Scorpion.


    ¡°And how would you suggest we solve this problem?¡± asked the Capellan, catching Vastuk slightly off-guard.


    ¡®Curious. We had been told the representatives would likely withhold all comments until they reached a decision.  Apparently these young Capellans do things a little differently.¡¯


    ¡°We need to remind him of his place, to make him more amenable to the proper order of things,¡± Vastuk replied, smiling in what he hoped was a placating manner.


    ¡°Can you perhaps be more specific?¡± enquired the Emerald Jaguar, a surprisingly soft feminine voice.


    ¡®Careful with this answer Vastuk.  Her opinion will hold a lot of weight with the others as the Jaguars are currently the most powerful clan.  But she is also baiting us.  She is forcing us to reveal our plans, thus laying us at their mercy when they chose what to do with this information.  And what we say next is likely a death sentence from any loyal to the King, or perhaps those seeking to gain his favour.¡¯


    ¡°We propose we first assassinate his son. Should that fail, his daughter. And if all else is in vain, we resort to the ultimate measure: ending the King''s life.¡±


    ¡®Even in Drasak, where the Assassin Guilds have largely held sway for hundreds of years, this is brazen.  Are there any here who have the heart for such an undertaking?  Might more than one agree to help?  Could we get them all?¡¯


    ¡°If nothing else, the succeeding King would be loath to defy the Assassin Guilds again after witnessing the eradication of the former''s lineage,¡± Vastuk concluded.


    ¡°And who would be the sponsor?¡± asked the Night Hawk.


    ¡®What you are really asking is who will take the blame if this goes wrong.  In Drasak, the Assassin Clans have long ago seen fit to have the law written that Assassins are rarely to blame for their own actions.  It is the sponsor that suffers the full brunt of the law.  Of course, as no reputable Assassin Clan would ever reveal their sponsor, it is generally a system which works well for everyone involved.¡¯


    ¡®Still, if you go after the King and fail, someone would pay dearly.  Would the acting clan hand over the sponsor to avoid being wiped out?  A loss of prestige in the marketplace is hard to recover from.  But extermination was terminal.¡¯


    ¡°Myself and my family.¡±  As Vastuk uttered the words he knew he was now committed.


    The Capellan bowed in a gesture Vastuk took to be respect.  Not everybody took it so well.


    ¡°My clan wishes no part of this,¡± responded the Jaguar. ¡°But we will uphold traditions and keep your contract confidential.¡±


    Vastuk inwardly smiled.


    ¡®We had dreamed of the Jaguars helping us, but we knew they would not gamble their position at the top of the pile.  However, by inviting all of the major clans and offering them the job. they will all be bound to protocol, and forbidden from revealing our plot to anyone.  The spoils for revealing a plot to assassinate the King would be immense. But with the Jaguars'' public adherence, no other clan will likely defy the convention.¡¯


    ¡°As will we,¡± was all the Hawk said, as he followed the Jaguar from the room.


    ¡®The Night Hawks would have been a nice ally.  Their agents range much further than others, and they will risk missions in places many others will not.  But it is not to be.¡¯


    ¡°And what do you get out of this?¡± asked the skull-masked Ghost Warrior, his voice eerily deep and hollow.


    ¡®The Ghost Warriors.  As much spies as you are assassins.  You deal in information.  We think it doubtful your clan would do something as bold as this.  But you can shape how the others react with your questions.¡¯


    ¡°The King will need to take on new advisers once he has seen the light.  The current ones are part of the problem.  House Tirilani wishes to be chief amongst these.  We will ensure he follows the correct order of things,¡± he replied.  Everyone in the room understood this would also elevate his family''s wealth and power. The rewards, after all, seemed to justify the risks.


    ¡°Your actions may cause other families to rebel too,¡± cautioned the Clan Cobra representative.


    ¡®Clan of the Cobra. Each assassin specialises in killing a member of a certain race.  With specialisation comes mastery.  But can you ever really trust those that can kill that which they know most intimately.¡¯


    ¡°Yes.  And then we can cleanse the Drasak royal court of all the troublemakers in one go,¡± Vastuk replied as calmly as possible.  The room went silent as the remaining clan representatives considered their positions.


    ¡®The die is cast.  Now we just have to hope one of the Clans will have the courage to go with us.  The rewards for them in prestige alone will be considerable.  And while the King of Drasak doesn¡¯t really rule, his favour and influence are still significant if they can be controlled.¡¯


    As the Cobra and the Scorpion left he was down to three potential allies; Clan Capellan, the Raging Tigers, and the Ghost Warriors.


    ¡®The Scorpions were never likely to take this task.  They prefer their targets to be aware of their killer beforehand, enjoying the hunt while their target tries in vane to stay alive.  That would be risky indeed when your target has the resources of a King.¡¯


    ¡°How much does it pay?¡± growled the Tiger. ¡°Much risk equals much cost.¡±


    ¡°Much risk heralds great glory,¡± countered the Capellan.


    For the first time that evening, Vastuk smiled outwardly.


    ¡®Clan Capellan, the youngest of the clans currently on the Council of Assassins.  They have ridden a wave of conflict and anarchy to get here, and may well use more of the same to further advance their cause.  No doubt some of the older clans perceive you as a massive threat so if you don¡¯t grow in power quickly, one or more of them may well take action to snuff you out.  At least, that is what we would do if we were them.¡¯


    ¡°I propose 20% of whatever lies in the royal treasury. A testament to the King¡¯s dedication to the old ways. Each of the seven clans would receive 1%, with the remainder divided among the assisting clans,¡± Vastuk offered.


    ¡°Have any other noble families pledged their allegiance to your cause?¡± probed the Ghost Warrior.


    ¡°None of your concern. I''ve made it clear that this venture''s responsibility rests solely with me,¡± Vastuk replied. ¡°So, who¡¯s in?¡±


    ¡°What of the Xenon?¡± uttered the Ghost Warrior, his voice sounding as though it came from beyond the grave.  ¡°This mission may incur their wrath.¡±


    Vastuk was at least a little surprised by this question, and that surprise reflected on his face just briefly.


    ¡®Why would you bring up myths at a moment like this, Ghost Warrior.  Your image as the clan with all the information would take a serious hit if the market knew you indulged in such superstition.  Xenon means silent death in the Drasak tongue, and I too know the legends that this secret order protects the royal family from the assassin clans, and perhaps also protects Drasak itself from those same Clans.  Those same legends say they were part of the original agreement when the Guild Charter was first signed by King Luciidus II, over three hundred years ago.  Of course, like all good things in Drasak, the charter was stolen and all those who have seen it are dead.  Just like these Xenon, even if they did ever exist.¡¯


    ¡°A children''s tale,¡± he scoffed. ¡°Have any among you ever encountered a Xenon?¡±


    ¡°What of you, Tiger?  Your own clan-lore says your original Guild Master was killed by a Xenon.  Will you risk their wrath again?¡± continued the Ghost Warrior, ¡°I believe they promised to wipe you out to the last cub if you angered them again.¡±


    Even through the mask, Vastuk could see the uncertainty in the Tiger.


    ¡®No.  Could this ghost story really be the undoing of our grand scheme?¡¯


    They all waited silently for a few moments, before the Tiger stood and slowly exited the room.  They could actually see him looking all around, as if he expected a monster to leap from the shadows and slay him where he stood.


    ¡°So who is in?¡± Vastuk repeated, suddenly unsure of himself.


    ¡°We were never in,¡± replied the Ghost Warrior bluntly. ¡°But I wasn¡¯t going to leave until I knew everything there was to know.¡±


    The skull-helmed figure made no attempt to leave the room, but instead just turned to look at the Capellan, who was wearing the strange, idealised ninja mask that was their symbol.


    ¡°We will assist you.  But we kill the daughter first.  The King will be less upset if his remaining heir is a male.¡±


    ¡®Why must we weaken our masterful plans with the ideas of our lessers?  Lesser minds just cannot see the intricacies of it all like we can.  But we need the Guilds onside.  And if this is the price to get the Capellans to agree, then accommodate we must.  We still achieve what we want from the meeting.


    ¡°We can agree to that,¡± conceded Vastuk, although visibly irritated with the alteration to his plans.


    With agreement reached, the Ghost Warrior followed protocol and left.  What was said between a sponsor and the Clan was for nobody else to hear.


    Drawing a deep breath, Vastuk relished the weight lifting off his chest. The stakes were set, and the game had begun.

 Chapter 5: Home

    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Maragon¡¯s Tower, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    4<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Early Spring 845 PBM


    The dark shape of Maragon''s Tower gradually came into view through the trees of the Kilrati Woods.  As Mitchell rode into the small clearing that surrounded the tower he could not help but marvel at the wonder that had created it.  The tower was made of solid greystone and in the dying light it appeared black as the coming night.  In the twilight no features could be seen to break the bleak expense of stone that stretched 40 feet straight up.


    ¡®That is no trick of the light.  Even in broad daylight no windows or doors can be seen.  Maragon makes it clear even to those who manage to find his tower; he does not wish visitors.¡¯


    The night air was getting cool.  Mitchell pulled his cloak tight around him as he moved towards the tower wall.  In smooth precise motions that came from years of practice he went through the magickal incantations and uttered the magical password.  As the spell completed he moved towards the ''door'', stepping through what appeared to be a stone wall, and passing unharmed into the bottom level of the tower.


    The interiors were minimalist: a worn-out woolen rug lay at the foot of a stone staircase, accompanied by a simple wooden clothes rack.  Mitchell slid his pack to the ground and removed his traveling cloak, placing it on the rack, before slowly winding his way up the stairway to the second level of the tower.


    ¡®I am tired.  Sore from riding all day back to town, and now from the walk from town back to the tower.  My legs ache and long for bed.  Perhaps I should heat myself a bath.¡¯


    Mitchell balanced the relaxing feel of the bath versus the effort both physically and magically to fill the bath and then heat the water.


    ¡®I am too tired.  Perhaps in the morning.¡¯


    Arriving at the top, a seemingly fragile wooden door awaited him. Mitchell knew, however, that this door was as secure as any fortress gate. Extracting a small key from his tunic, he unlocked the door, revealing a lavish hallway.


    Rich red carpets adorned the floor, while gold-framed paintings graced the walls. A rug, markedly superior to its counterpart below, lay at the entrance. This rug''s golden-yellow hue and sturdy texture were telltale signs of its origin: a metamandu.  For a start its colour was a metallic, silvery colour, and if one actually touched it, there was a metallic feel to its fur too, giving it strength far greater than that of a bear or wolf.


    The other obvious note was that it was well worn.


    ¡®Metamandu.  A rare creature, that looks like a slightly larger badger, but with a maw like a wolf.  It¡¯s primary diet is metal, and each metamandu¡¯s hide is unique, taking on the hues of the metal it eats and becoming more metallic the older it gets.  A powerful adversary when angered, particularly to knights or anyone else carrying a large amount of metal.¡¯


    ¡®This hide is likely worth a lot of money, but Maragon uses it as a simple entrance rug these days.  Says it will always make me feel welcome and safe when I enter the tower.  That gesture says a lot about the man, and his attempt to be my defacto father.  Maragon has little care for money apart from what he needs to maintain the tower or fund the Saranti Seven.¡¯


    ¡®I have always loved that rug.¡¯


    It was just one of the interesting wares scattered throughout the tower from one of Maragon''s many adventures.  The hallway contained four doorways, each holding finely crafted solid timber doors, and at the opposite end was another cut stone stairway that continued the ascent upwards.  Two of the doors stood open, revealing a lounge and a kitchen. The former was spotless, just as Mitchell left it. The latter, however, was in disarray, with food unpacked from the shelves and left all over the tables and benches, and cupboards left agape.


    ¡®That is not how I left it.  Maragon, what have you been up to?¡¯


    Seeking answers, he moved into the kitchen.  Nearly the whole pantry had been unpacked and left on the table, with only the top two shelves left unscathed.  Although not unusual for Maragon to virtually destroy the place in his absence, this was certainly not what Mitchell had anticipated.  What he found almost as confusing was the way the lounge appeared to be untouched.  Mitchell investigated both rooms.


    ¡®I could swear to Faylen that nobody has used that lounge since I left.  So Maragon returned while I was gone, ransacked the kitchen for supplies, then left again without even stopping to use the lounge at all.  Given his favourite thing is an evening pipe of some exotic flavour while sitting in his lounge chair, this does not bode well.¡¯


    In an effort to get some answers to his rapidly growing list of questions, he moved to the closed door that led to Maragon''s private quarters.  He knocked loudly on the door and waited for the several seconds it usually took Maragon to answer - the old man was not prone to hurrying when he was involved in something - but after almost a minute he realised that his mentor was not being slow; he was not there.


    He opened the door cautiously, a mix of anxiety and relief washing over him when he confirmed his earlier suspicion: Maragon wasn¡¯t there. Barging in on his mentor during a critical phase of his work would have resulted in stern words and a range of unpleasant tasks to do as punishment.


    The big solid bed that occupied most of the room was unmade and some of the blankets were scattered randomly around the floor.  Dread bubbled within Mitchell, concerns for Maragon''s wellbeing surfacing.


    ¡®Could someone have breached the tower?¡¯ The thought seemed ludicrous.  Maragon exuded an aura of absolute control, and the tower always felt like an impregnable sanctuary.


    ¡®But the look of the room could certainly be explained by a struggle, and the pantry could be from someone looking for something.¡¯


    Such a vulnerability was unsettling; Maragon''s tower had always been a bastion of safety.


    ¡®As much he tries to shield me from it, there is no denying Maragon has extremely powerful enemies.  What if he is not powerful enough to always come out on top?  Maybe he was caught unawares.  A warrior/mage as formidable as Maragon is still vulnerable if caught unawares.  Even if only very briefly.¡¯


    With fast, smooth strides he moved towards the stairway to the upper levels and bounded up them.  The third level was the tier where all of Mitchell''s training had gone on, and he knew the layout better than he knew his own bedroom.  He opened the door with a crash and continued down the hallway.  This level only had two doorways in the mid-point of each hallway wall, and another set of stairs to the top-level.


    ¡®Library and research laboratory.  Unlikely he is engrossed in a good book.  An accident in the laboratory is possible.  Let¡¯s start there.¡¯


    The lab door stood ajar, and Mitchell braced himself for what lay inside. To his surprise, order reigned.  The benches that dominated one side of the room were clear and organised, with all the potions and chemicals neatly stacked on their racks in various flasks and vials.  The alchemy tools were all in their correct place, and were all clean and unused.  Along the walls of the room were shelves that contained the tomes of knowledge that Maragon''s research and experiments were based on.


    Mitchell¡¯s attention was drawn to the priceless books on the shelves here.


    ¡®Some of those books are in languages that are very old.  Older than Klydor.  In some cases older than Micronia, and hence the invention of Micronian, the original human language that is still the dominant trade language amongst humans and those that trade with them.


    These books, and many more like them in the library, were how Mitchell had learned the languages of magick; Elven, Archeron and even a little Moresh.


    ¡®Some of these books are now illegible without the aid of magic, as the writing is so old that there are no practitioners alive to translate it.¡¯


    On the room''s other side, remnants of a fire lay ¡ª ash, charred wood, and scattered splinters. Mitchell wasn''t alarmed; Maragon''s fiery experiments often ended with some furniture''s demise.


    ¡®The perils of being furniture in a house owned by a mage favouring fire and lightning magick I suppose.¡¯


    Still confused by all that had happened he moved quickly down the stairs and towards his own room.  Without hesitation he flung the door open and strode in, afraid he might find complete chaos.  The room was in perfect condition.  The only object not as he had left it was the small piece of paper placed on his desk in the corner.


    A note?!


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    He quickly moved to the desk. When Mitchell got close enough to see Maragon''s signature he felt an immediate sense of relief.  He read the note intently.


    ¡®I had to leave quickly.  Please clean up the mess in the kitchen and tidy up my room.  Don¡¯t touch anything otherwise.  Keep things in order until I return.  Practice your Summoning spells and summoning circles.  But don¡¯t summon anything living.  We don¡¯t want a repeat of last time.¡¯


    Succinct and to the point.  Maragon has probably disappeared on one of his grand crusades with his enigmatic companions, the Saranti Seven.  I have met them all, and in fact most have helped in my training at various points, but it feels to me like Maragon holds them all together.  I think he is their leader, and likely the most powerful of them.¡¯


    ¡®I wonder if that is just my bias, as I imagine other children have for their fathers. He insists I never call him father, or even think of him as such.  He says emotional attachments could make it harder for me to make the correct decision at some critical point in the future.  I do not think that has worked very well.¡¯


    Not for the first time Mitchell¡¯s mind began to try and solve the puzzle that was the Saranti Seven.


    ¡®I wonder if the rest of the Seven collect strange artifacts from the past?  I know Brother Turin does.  I bet Javelin does too.¡¯


    ¡®I wonder if they all live in secluded towers like this one?  I doubt it.  Samtha almost certainly likes people too much for that.¡¯


    But as with all the other times, he did not have the answers to do anything other than guess.


    ¡®As usual the note makes no mention of when he might return.  Or provide an apology for making the mess.  Based on previous examples, it could be months before I see him again.  I wonder if I will get a caretaker show-up to look after me and carry on my training again.  Please let it be Samtha.  And please not Brother Turin.  I guess I just hope it is someone.  I do not like being on my own for long.¡¯


    ¡°Welcome home,¡± he sighed aloud.


    <h2>


    Vastuk ¨C House Tirilani, Mascherata, Drasak</h2>


    7<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Early Spring 845 PBM


    Vastuk the Deceiver sat in silence as two representatives from Clan Capellan entered the opulent waiting room. Rich floorings and imposing drapes filled the space, with touches of gold leaf reflecting the room''s splendour ¡ª the best his family''s finances could manage. Yet, in Vastuk''s eyes, it wasn''t enough. Other noble houses outshone his, a reality he couldn''t accept. He believed House Tirilani, and by extension, he himself, deserved unparalleled grandeur.


    But it is still not enough.  This house pales in comparison to that of some of the other noble houses.  And that simply will not do.  House Tirilani deserves nothing but the best.  We deserve nothing but the best.  Our house has no peer, as we have no peer.


    As the two masked figures approached, one took the offered seat and made himself comfortable.  He then reached up and began to remove his mask.  The gesture would likely have helped put Vastuk at east, except that the second figure, a leaner feminine figure, remained standing.  Even with her hands behind her back, she seemed ready and poised to strike.


    ¡°Can I offer you a drink, or some refreshments?¡±  Vastuk waved his hand at a generous buffet of meats and fruits that had been laid on the table beside them, as well as several jugs of wine, juice and water.


    ¡°Juice will suffice.  It would be inappropriate to drink alcohol while working,¡± replied the seated man, reiterating a reasonably common part of the Assassin¡¯s code.


    He placed the cloth wrappings that had been his mask to his side, revealing a stern looking face, clean shaven, with very short hair that was little more than dark coloured stubble, and a face that was perhaps in its late thirties.


    Is that the same voice from the meeting within the Hall of Assassins?  We cannot be sure, but surely with a task as important as this, it makes sense to assign only their best.  This could be as influential for their Clan as it is for us.


    As he poured the juice, he motioned towards the second figure, who with a simple shake of her head declined.


    ¡°You have additional information for me?¡± Vastuk asked, handing over the glass of juice, and then a few seconds later a black card with a stylised ninja mask on it which he had retrieved from the folds of his robe.  The seated figure took the card and passed it over his shoulder to his standing companion.  She studied the card for a few seconds, before signalling her acceptance with a simple nod.


    ¡°The King has received some kind of warning of your plan.¡±


    Vastuk¡¯s heart almost stopped.


    What does that mean?  Will the King¡¯s Guards be storming the grounds any moment.  Does this end with Vastuk¡¯s house aflame and our family dead all around us.  Surely we have a greater destiny than this?


    The Capellans showed no response to Vastuk¡¯s pained reaction, but he thought they both enjoyed watching him squirm.


    ¡°But what about your code?¡± he asked, trying to regain his composure.


    If this is all coming apart, it is not our fault.  One of these damn assassins broke the code.


    ¡°We do not believe it has been broken.  Had the King been informed of your plan directly then would you not be dead already?¡±


    Vastuk pondered it for a few seconds before nodding.


    ¡°The King has sent his children into hiding.  We are still gathering more information but it would seem certain they will be living under assumed identities,¡± informed the assassin.


    ¡°Do you know where they are going?¡± Vastuk asked, his mind already looking for ways to turn this to his advantage.  ¡°They could be much easier targets if they are on open roads.  It should also be easier to conceal what happened to them, no?  Poor victims of a goblin raid on their caravan.  Something of that nature.¡±


    ¡°Do not concern yourself with the killing, Vastuk.  The King¡¯s daughter will be dead soon enough, and if not, then we will kill the son.  In either event the message will be sent shortly.  We are here to confirm one thing.  Are we authorised to continue with the killing even if it must take place in another empire?¡±


    Vastuk considered the implications of the question.  It could create additional challenges if that nation then takes issue with the killing.  It could reflect poorly on them to have a member of the Drasak Royal family killed in their nation, and now we have two powerful foes.  But how often has an outsider ever caught a Drasak Assassin.  The risk seems small.  And where is the most likely hiding place for these children?  I suspect the King will still hide them within Drasak itself, just somewhere he thinks them hidden.


    But if they are to be sent outside, then his long term allies in Cthrag Merlo would be the most likely destination.  That militant society would indeed take issue with an assassination.  Their overblown sense of honour is paramount, and they would be greatly offended on two levels; the dishonourable nature of assassination itself; and they would likely take it as a personal affront that she was assassinated in their lands.


    But they also take fewer precautions, as they are not as familiar with this kind of thing as other nations.  If they wish to kill someone it would be an honour duel, standing in a Circle of Equals.  To them deceit and assassination are so dishonourable as to be almost unheard of.


    The risks are worth it.


    ¡°You have authorisation.¡±


    ¡°This may increase the costs.  Our agents may be operating for much longer in foreign countries.  Do we have an operational limit, or is your house willing to cover the additional costs regardless?¡± the assassin asked.


    This operation already stretches my family¡¯s finances.  To run out of funds before the task is done would ruin us with no compensation.  But if I pull out now, then we have incurred great risk for no reward.


    ¡°House Tirilani always honours it¡¯s debts.¡±


    With a simple nod, the seated figure carefully replaced the wrap around his face and head, and then both figures turned and left the building, fading into the night as silently as they had appeared.


    <h2>Kell ¨C White Lake, Kestrel Lands, Indiana Mountains</h2>


    <h2></h2>


    7<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Early Spring 845 PBM


    "We must be ready to defend ourselves if the Antori attack!" a fervent voice rang out amidst the hubbub of the tribal meeting. The villagers were arranged in rough rows, their backs to him, while facing the five elders seated prominently at the gathering''s front. Ka¡¯Took recounted the northern encounter, detailing the assault and how they had killed three Antori in self-defence. However, to Kell''s disappointment, the meeting was not progressing favourably; the elders appeared sceptical of the urgency for action.


    "We have spoken with Gandyrlak. He assured us of peace between the Kestrels and Antori. His word is steadfast. No Antori war captain would defy Gandyrlak," said Hantoxx ''the Brave'', the tribe''s eldest and most influential figure. As a revered Kestrel legend, his words would likely sway many present.


    ¡°But my eyes do not lie!  They were Antori that attacked us,¡± Ka-Took insisted.


    ¡°Perhaps your hatred of the Antori coloured your view, and you misinterpreted their actions as an attack,¡± suggested Kateri, the most influential female on the elder council.  ¡°Your past actions against the Antori is the main reason you are not sitting on this council.¡±


    Kell struggled to not interject on his father¡¯s behalf.  Although this did confirm a suspicion he long harboured on why his father was not on the elder council.  Ka-Took however, remained calm.


    ¡°While I understand the concern my past may cause here,¡± Ka-Took began, gesturing in a placating manner, ¡°I would hope the council still trusts my judgement enough to recognise when an arrow is fired at one of my sons.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps your son did something to make them think they were about to be attacked,¡± supposed Elsu Windstalker, another member of the council, and Kell knew, a long time rival of his father.  ¡°Perhaps you had wandered onto their lands by mistake.¡±


    Kell bristled at this affront. It was he who had been targeted first, having only hailed the Indians to prevent any unintentional hostilities.  And the idea his father had gotten lost and wandered onto Antori land by mistake was laughable to anyone who knew of Ka-Took, which certainly included Elsu.


    Ka-Took remained standing quietly and did not respond to Elsu¡¯s comments.


    ¡°We recognise your concern, but the attack must have been a misunderstanding.  Gandyrlak must hold his word to honour his ancestors.  As must we.  We will instruct our hunting parties to be cautious and enact village sentries at night.  But no harm is to come to any Antori on Kestrel lands unless you are defending yourself.¡±


    At the mention of the ancestors the whole crowd began to show agreement through their body language.  Ka-Took knew well enough not to push the topic once the council had decided something.  With a simple nod of his head he conceded and sat down.  Beside him he could feel Kell seething with frustration, but with a calming hand stopped his son from embarrassing himself by doing anything that might disrespect council law.


    ¡°Leave it be!¡±  His words were calm and slow but Kell caught the steel edge to them and forced himself to relax.  ¡°We will go and get proof.  We will see if Gandyrlak holds his word or not.¡±


    ¡°But that will mean going into Antori land and...,¡±


    ¡°Not here.  We will talk about it later, son.  Quiet while the elders talk.¡±


    Kell silenced himself but the words of the elders became no more clear or audible to him as his head buzzed with thoughts and emotions.


    I have never never travelled deep into Antori land before.  None who have speak well of the place.  Evil spirits and strange monsters live there.  How does a mortal fight things such as that with mere arrow or axe?


    I want to be a Brave.  To prove myself to the tribe.  And I wish to bring honour to the ancestors.  But I feel an unfamiliar feeling growing inside me.  I suspect this is fear, gnawing at my insides and sapping my strength and my resolve.  May the Ancestors help me overcome this.

 Chapter 6: Investigations

    <h2>Inquisitor Khali ¨C Gates of Mari-kye, Assyrian Sea</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Early Spring 845 PBM


    "Welcome to the city of Mari-Kye," announced Khali, leading her group and their modest cart and horse through the city gates. All four of them were dressed as travelling pilgrims, with all markings of the Inquisition kept well out of sight. ¡°Remember this city is controlled by the five tribes, and they enforce stringent rules on outsiders."


    ''Five tribes, from all over the Korellian plains. This city was intended to stop their constant fighting, and allow the tribes a place to meet, settle disputes peacefully, and to prosper from trading with the other races in the area.''


    ¡°Barbarians setting rules for us more civilised types, and expecting us to follow them is a bit rich, isn¡¯t it?¡± asked Ramirez incredulously.


    ¡°Banning you from carrying your weapons around sounds pretty sensible to me,¡± replied Janus. ¡°Sometimes I expect you to just walk up to people and ask ¡®who is your favourite God?¡¯ and to start smiting anyone who doesn¡¯t say Faylen.¡± Everyone except Ramirez laughed at that one.


    ¡°It is not my fault I am just more devout than the rest of you. Faylen likely has a special spot reserved for me in heaven as my reward,¡± dreamed Ramirez.


    Khali cautioned, ¡°Brandish your weapons publicly, and you might meet your deity sooner than expected. Inside Mari-Kye, only the tribesfolk bear arms. Outsiders, especially armed ones, aren¡¯t looked upon kindly. Keep your weapons hidden or within your rooms.¡±


    ¡°That is easier for some than others,¡± complained Ramirez, gesturing to the two handed sword that was lying in the back of their cart. All of their apparent weapons were wrapped up in a great big rope bound bundle - a condition of entry into the city imposed by the guards.


    ¡°Well, you insist on compensating for the size of one thing with the size of something else, and this is where life gets you,¡± teased Janus.


    ¡°I feel no need to compensate for anything. I was happy to hand over five of my knives if it keeps the peace,¡± rasped Traviston.


    ¡°Sure peace-man. How many blades does that still leave you?¡± asked Janus, doubtfully.


    ¡°More than enough should one of these savages, or anyone else, decide to start something,¡± Traviston replied calmly.


    ¡°Well, just do not get caught with them on you. I do not want to have to either negotiate your release, or break you out of prison. If you are dumb enough to get caught on a weapons violation, it is possible I won¡¯t do either, and I will just leave you here,¡± cautioned Khali. ¡°Remember our mission is simple:¡±


    After making sure she had everyone¡¯s attention, Khali began to count the points of on her hand.


    <ul>


    <li>¡°Remain low key and do NOT draw attention to ourselves.¡±</li>


    </ul>


    ''Should be self explanatory, but best to be clear.''


    <ul>


    <li>¡°Look for barbarians with sigils and tattoos marking them as clan Varkonen. Blood covered axes, weapons, or savage looking animals are the most likely. We think Kravath may have been a Varkonen and our information suggests he came from here before heading to Steiner.¡±</li>


    </ul>


    ''Savages from the north-east, the Varkonen are also the most blood-thirsty of the five tribes. They would probably be my last choice were I recruiting to set-up secretive cults of Dark God worshippers all over Driax, but maybe our foes don¡¯t have a lot of options.''


    <ul>


    <li>¡°Do not carry visible weapons unless you are completely in disguise as a Korellian barbarian.¡±</li>


    </ul>


    ''As per previous instruction. This is a crime in the city, and you will likely spend a day or two in a cell for violating it. I pray to Faylen that I don¡¯t end up picking up Ramirez from a cell dressed in the world¡¯s worst barbarian costume.''


    <ul>


    <li>¡°Do not do anything stupid. Ramirez, that goes double for you. No drinking, no womanising with barbarian women, and no fighting unless it is absolutely critical for the success of our mission.¡±</li>


    </ul>


    ''Perhaps I should have a list for everyone else, and then a list for Ramirez.''


    <ul>


    <li>¡°We are not interested in any other law-breaking unless it involves the direct influence of Dark Powers.¡±</li>


    </ul>


    ''This one is for everyone. There are people everywhere who violate the laws of Faylen. But today is not the day for enforcing misdemeanours. Amongst the god-forsaken barbarians we could be here for years and not make a scratch in the level of moral indecency.''


    <ul>


    <li> ¡°Be careful. For the next two days the Black Moon is at its strongest, which means dark magick is at its strongest.¡±</li>


    </ul>


    ''The joys of relying on magick, and hunting those that do. I get to be an expert on lunar cycles. Oh how I wish for a world that only had one or two moons. I get to track three. One for each of the alignments of magick. There are only 21 days of the year where the black moon ¨C Krushai, is on high and the white moon ¨C Lunari, is on low. But this is the time the followers of light are at our most vulnerable to the worshippers of the dark.''


    ¡°Lucky my sword is just as sharp on all days then!¡± proclaimed Ramirez.


    ¡°Except your sword is in the cart, you big dumb ox,¡± replied Janus.


    ¡°Then I will lure the bad guys to the cart,¡± retorted Ramirez.


    ¡°Oh¡­ that sounds like a great plan,¡± replied Janus, her response dripping in sarcasm. ¡°We have agreed if the Inquisitor dies, I become the new leader of our group of Seekers, right? Faylen help us if it¡¯s Ramirez.¡±


    ''Ok. Time to give the minions something to do. They are getting restless.''


    ¡°I have some contacts to reach out to. If you have any of your own, then I suggest you do the same. Traviston, please find us a place to stay and get the horse and cart stabled. It is about 3pm now. Meet back at the meeting post in the central market at 7pm,¡± ordered Khali. ¡°And I intend to outlive you all, so the only thing you need concern yourself with is whether you should leave your meagre wealth to the church, or to me directly. The answer is of course to me directly, as that way it won¡¯t get squandered on some Cardinal¡¯s secret chamber of sin.¡±


    ****


    ''My investigations have lead us to the Shrine of Many-faces. A strange little shrine largely out of the way where one can come to worship ¡®any¡¯ God. How convenient that there is one of these in almost all cities. Makes it very difficult to truly stop the worship of Dark Gods as what goes on in these walls is usually protected from scrutiny. Even here, far from home, I am forbidden from any magickal prayers within these hallowed walls.''


    ''Lets tread with our lightest step, shall we? The church of Faylen doesn¡¯t have quite the same pull here as in Faylenia.''


    ¡°Priest, may I have your assistance for a moment?¡± Khali called out to the non-descript, grey robed figure, who was tending to some candles under a pretty, but very generic, stain-glass scene of an illuminated man preaching down to some humbled masses beneath him.


    ¡°Of course my child. How may the Gods be of service to you today?¡± a calming male voice called back.


    ¡°How many Gods you claiming to talk for?¡± Khali asked. ¡°Or perhaps they talk to you?¡±


    ''Best to know just how mad this priest is. In my experience most people who claim a God talks to them directly are mad, or attention seeking. If one were to claim multiple Gods talk to them, I can only imagine the degree of mental issues that might cause.''


    ¡°The Gods work in mysterious ways my child. You may within these humble walls, find you are getting the counsel of the God you seek, or perhaps the God from which you most need counsel,¡± replied the priest. ¡°That assistance may come from something I say, something that occurs to you while you are here, or perhaps later as a result of inspiration just from being and praying within this shrine.¡±


    ''Oh¡­Good answer. Allows you to take credit no matter what happens after being here, and for the work of just about any God. Definitely not the response of a mad man. But perhaps one of a charlatan.''


    ¡°What happens when you get a request that might not suit all your patrons? My business will definitely please some of them. But some of the others, not so much,¡± Khali replied.


    ¡°All are welcome. We try not to take sides here. Perhaps tell us what troubles you, and we will see if we can help,¡± suggested the priest.


    ¡°I have come from Steiner, where we had a troubling encounter with someone trying to raise a cult to the Dark Gods within that very city. Our evidence suggests he originates from here.¡±


    ''Let¡¯s be very vague with the ¡°from here¡± and see what the priest assumes in his response.''


    ¡°What do you mean by here, my child?¡± asked the priest. ¡°Do you mean the city, or do you mean this very shrine?¡±


    ''Ok¡­ well played. Let¡¯s try round two.''


    ¡°Definitely the city. Maybe the shrine,¡± Khali replied.


    ¡°Do you have any more information on the man than that? If you can tell me more, then perhaps I can confirm if he was here anytime recently,¡± asked the priest. ¡°We have many people here each day, but I have a pretty good memory.¡±


    ¡°We believe he is of the Varkonen tribe, and goes by the name of Kravath.¡± Khali watched the priest closely, to see if there was any flash of recognition upon his face. But the priest was like the calmest lake. Nothing rippled the surface at all.


    ¡°May the church have the privilege of your name, my child?¡± asked the priest.


    ¡°Why do you need to know that?¡± Khali replied. If I give you my name, that allows you to more easily cast a number of spells that could affect me.


    ¡°So, you want me to recognise a man you were looking for by name, but you think it strange I ask for your name?¡± replied the priest.


    ''Smart ass priest. Ok. Let¡¯s see how you like the truth.''


    ¡°My name is Khali. I am an Inquisitor with the Faylenian church. I seek Kravath because he has committed serious crimes and the punishment for anyone aiding and abetting him will be severe,¡± she replied, a slight fervor inflecting her voice and her eyes as she stared at the small priest in front of her.


    ¡°Ohh¡­ how nice for you. It is good to have a purpose in life,¡± replied the priest, appearing unfazed by her fervor. ¡°I am Madrath. I have tended this shrine for several years now. There is little that happens in this city that I do know about.¡± He bowed respectfully to Khali.


    ¡°I would ask what you want with Kravath, but I suspect I already know the answer,¡± concluded Madrath, as he appraised her carefully. ¡°I know a little of your order. Certainly enough that I do not wish to be your adversary. But if I help you, then I need to know that won¡¯t come back on me,¡± he cautioned.


    ''He does know something. Or he wants me to think he does. If he plays me, then we bathe this place in flame and his congregation can pray amongst the ashes and smoking embers.''


    ¡°What do you know?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You are not alone, I assume?¡± Madrath asked. ¡°What you wish to know will take you places that are not safe for you to go alone. But if you were to have like-minded friends, then perhaps anything is possible.¡±


    ¡°I am not alone, but I will not tell you any more than that,¡± Khali dictated. ¡°I am not sure who¡¯s side you are on. Do you even have a favourite God? Or do you honestly pray to them all evenly?¡±


    ¡°I have a favourite. And then favoured. And some I quite dislike. But this shrine is open to all, so I try not to let personal preferences get in the way,¡± justified Madrath. ¡°But I can help you. And help you I shall.¡± Madrath bowed graciously, before continuing, ¡°Kravath is not the one you need seek. He is but a minion. One of many minions, sent to many places, with the same instruction. Plant seeds for future plans, and future worshippers.¡±


    ''Trying to start up multiple cults in lots of cities at once? That is going to draw a lot of attention to yourself. Which of the Dark Powers would be that brazen? ''


    ¡°Which Dark God is behind this?¡± Khali asked.


    ¡°I dare not utter their name in this sanctuary,¡± Madrath responded. ¡°Even within these walls, that name remains particularly unsavoury among our patrons.¡±


    ''OK¡­ so you want me to guess. Tzy¡¯Lord? This plan is too bold. Kazak¡¯Ta? This plan is too clever. Cyrus? Saleercki?''


    "Cyrus," Khali ventured. Madrath negated with a shake of his head.


    "Saleercki," she proposed. Again, a shake.


    "Drezzim?" Another shake.


    ¡°It isn''t any of the seven Dark Gods your order identifies with,¡± he clarified, halting her conjectures.


    What?


    ¡°Then who in the nine hells is it then?¡± she queried, her tone indicating her level of frustration was rising.


    ¡°A new God. Or perhaps more accurately an old God come again. I will tell you no more of the God,¡± asserted Madrath. ¡°But if you still wish to know more then you need to go to the dock district tonight, and to a den of sin there called ¡®Afterlife¡¯. Tread lightly Inquisitor. That place is frequented by dangerous people and creatures. You would be advised to either go very quietly or not alone. I would suggest preparing as if you expected trouble.¡±


    ¡°I go everywhere as if I expect trouble,¡± explained Khali. ¡°But I appreciate the warning and the information.¡±


    ¡°Seek out Hemas¡¯tan, son of Urungi,¡± instructed Madrath. ¡°He is a Varkonen. He has been bringing many exotic spell components and other illicit goods into the Afterlife in the past few months. And I believe that is where he is training and dispatching anarchists to all parts of Driax. He has a tattoo of a Dragon that covers much of his body, including his face.¡±


    ¡°You wish to know the cause of the cults. I wish the illicit drugs and other sins closed down. I give you this information and ask that you render Afterlife inoperable for a very long time,¡± requested Madrath.


    ¡°Sinners must be punished,¡± agreed Khali. ¡°It will be done.¡±


    As she left the shrine she left a healthy pile of gold coins in the collection plate.


    <h2>Kell ¨C Antori Lands, Indiana Mountains</h2>


    10<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Early Spring 845 PBM


    Navigating through the moonlit night with caution, Kell endeavoured to remain within the cloak of shadows cast by rocks and trees peppering the lower regions of the High Peaks. By day the views from this area were considered spectacular, with grasslands and rolling hills stretching to the south, and the beauty of the Holenda Sea and its coastline to the west. And if you listened carefully, you could just make out the waves crashing into the cliffs. While this may have caused many a bard to break into song and verse, the beauty of the place was presently lost on Kell.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    His focus was singular: a barely discernible shadow weaving through the night ahead, blending so seamlessly with the backdrop that Kell, despite knowing its source, found it challenging to keep his father within sight.


    ''He is like a ghost in the night. I hope my brother is struggling as much to follow me.''


    For the last three days the trio had been threading their way through the High Peaks towards Antori lands, taking extreme caution to avoid any hunting parties that may be in the area. That is, until a few hours ago when they observed a significant group advancing towards the highlands.


    Ka-Took had signalled for silence instantly, his serious manner leaving no doubt as to the threat they were all in. By Kell¡¯s estimate there were over twenty figures.


    ''No hunting party I have ever been in numbered that. This is a war party.''


    That was the worst omen for their little mission and for his tribe.


    ''Were it me in charge, I would already be racing back to tribal grounds to warn the village. It seems father is planning to wait until he knows beyond doubt what is going on here.''


    Kell knew they had to be very close to the small settlement of Veranuk, the Kestrel village closest to the Antori border. All about him there was silence, as though nature herself was watching intently to see what would happen next.


    ''This area should be alive with the sounds of nocturnal animals on their nightly forage. Yet I can hear nor see no signs of life other than my father. What manner of Evil spirits are at work here? Can they sense things we cannot, and gone into hiding? Or has something worse befallen them? I take this warning and tread carefully. May the ancestors watch over us.''


    Then suddenly Ka-Took was right in front of him, one hand motioning again for silence, as the other motioned sternly back in the other direction. Kell turned around unquestioningly but the puzzled look on his face was obvious even in the faint moonlight. He moved off with the same caution, throwing quick glances at his father, trying in vain to read something from his body language. As he receded cautiously, stealing glances at his father for some clue, the chilling screech of a death cry shattered the quiet.


    ¡°Move!¡± Ka-Took ordered sternly with an authority that relied not on volume. Around them the forest came to life as the noise of battle erupted from behind. To Kell the sounds revealed nothing other than combat, but to Ka-Took''s experienced senses they gave away a lot more. To him, the death cries before the clang of steel meant that someone died before they could draw their weapon. The war party had just ambushed Veranuk, and without any of the usual ceremony or drums that Indian lore required.


    As Kell and Ka-Took continued to move, Maguare appeared to the left and fell into stride, speed becoming more of a concern than concealment. With the battle nearby the chances of anyone hearing them was slim, so Ka-Took hastened their escape.


    ¡°War parties often have scouts to help round up survivors and prevent those fleeing from being able to spread word to nearby settlements,¡± stated Ka-Took urgently. ¡°We must get out of here quickly.¡±


    Kell scanned the area in front of him, simultaneously watching his footing in the half-light, while looking for movement further ahead of him. The light was good enough to navigate but nonetheless Kell found he could not sprint safely so his pace was reduced to something between a run and a jog.


    ¡°Look out, we are about to cross the Antori trail,¡± cautioned Maguare. The chances of a scout this far back was small but the warning was still appreciated. Kell tried to peer even deeper into the woods around him, determined that if there were any Antori in the area he would detect them long before they could cause he or his family harm.


    ''Where are you hiding? You will not take us by surprise. Hopefully you all went forwards in the attack.''


    With his attention directed so far forwards Kell never saw the vine strung low across his path. Ka-Took saw it and started to call out but Kell was half a step too far forwards. Kell¡¯s foot caught the vine and triggered the trap left behind in case anyone was following the Antori war party¡¯s tracks.


    With a quick rush of air and leaves Kell was whisked roughly from his feet. when the disorienting tumult subsided, Kell found himself ensnared in a sturdy net, suspended some fifteen feet above, gazing down at his brother and father.


    His elevated position unveiled a group of Antori, being directed by a distinct figure: an almost ebony-skinned man adorned with striking white tribal tattoos, bone embellishments in his hair, and the macabre touch of human skulls gracing his shoulders. A visceral dread seized Kell.


    ''An Antori Witch-Doctor. Father''s warnings about such beings echo in my mind. They are at the heart of the darkness which eats at the Antori.''


    Beneath him his father was frantically looking for a way to cut the ropes that held the netting, but it was almost 20 feet in the air. Kell saw the three Antori warriors drawing nearer. Straining his eyes into the gloom, he discerned a blur of shadowy figures trailing them. In the scant light, he couldn''t make out their details, but they seemed to move on all fours and were roughly the size of large bears.


    ¡°Run! You must warn the elders,¡± Kell screamed.


    ''They cannot save me. Even if they can defeat the three warriors, those other shapes do not look so easily dealt with. Ancestors, please don¡¯t let my mistake doom my whole family. Please spare them.''


    As the figures moved closer Kell could see the moonlight reflecting off what seemed to be long sharp horns and claws extending from the front of their heads and forepaws.


    Below him he could see his father torn by the toughest decision he could ever have to make. While he had no real way to rescue his son, and he knew the Antori would soon be upon them, he could not bring himself to leave his son to his fate. Kell knew Ka-Took would trade his life for those of his sons in an instant, but in this scenario, even his death would do little to alter Kell¡¯s predicament. Maguare tried to lead his father away, realising there was nothing they could do. But still Ka-Took resisted.


    ¡°They are coming,¡± Maguare screamed.


    ¡°Go! You cannot save me!¡± yelled Kell


    Although he only had one real option, Ka-Took waited until the first of the Antori had come into view before accepting it. Only when their arrows started flying past him did he finally turn and start running. Kell heard his father¡¯s screams of anguish as he ran, the sounds audible long after the old warrior had disappeared into the night.


    ''Ancestors, grant them both speed and protection to make it safely back to the elders. One village has already fallen to Antori treachery. Help us ensure that no more do.''


    Suddenly, Kell was hurtling downwards, crashing to the ground in a dishevelled heap. The impact stole his breath, and the net ensnared his limbs, pinning him. He tried to lift himself as the Antori closed in. They encircled him, their voices rising in a coarse, almost beastly language. Behind them, the first of the grotesque bear-like creatures emerged.


    Looking like a large grizzly bear, the figure reared back on its hind legs and roared. But where its normal bear head should have been it had a larger more monstrous head, with a long snout of razor sharp teeth, two large horns, and a pair of red, red eyes. The creature let out a chilling roar, a cacophony that resonated throughout the surroundings.


    The warriors now stood atop the net, jeering and brandishing their axes, all the while continuing to hoop and scream in their harsh guttural tongue. Ka-Took had taught his sons both the Antori tongue and the common tongue of city-folk when they were young, so Kell understood enough of what was being said to know that he did not want them to carry out any of their threats. Kell closed his eyes.


    ''Ancestors, grant me a quick death.''


    He felt a blow to the right side of the head, and a white flash exploded upon his vision. The pain was intense. But short-lived.


    The last thing Kell heard as his consciousness seeped away was the sound of the waves crashing on the distant cliffs.


    <h2 style="margin-top: 1pt">Azzanon ¨C10<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Velluto, Drasak</h2>


    ¡°Halt. Show me your documents,¡± instructed the Drasak guard-captain.


    ¡®Careful. Being caught as a Drasnian spy on Drasak soil is almost certainly going to lead to a lot of torture and death. Run when you shouldn¡¯t, and you die. Don¡¯t run when you should, and you die,¡¯ thought Azzanon to himself.


    Azzanon turned around as calmly as he could, and slowly extracted the identity papers out of the pocket of his ridiculously expensive black suit jacket. The guard-captain¡¯s dark grey uniform, black cape, and elegantly decorated rapier were intimidating, as was the whistle around his neck which could summon more of his number at a moment¡¯s notice.


    ¡°Is there a problem?¡± he asked in what he hoped was a perfect northern Drasak accent.


    The guard-captain said nothing and took the invitation, unrolling it to look at the writing and the wax-seal upon it.


    ¡®The papers are genuine,¡¯ thought Azzanon. ¡®It is me who is not.¡¯


    ¡°Jean Luc Piquet,¡± asked the guard-captain, reading the name from the invitation, ¡°where are you from?¡±


    ¡®I hail from a scenic land where vibrant clothing is cherished and our cuisine is world-renowned. Not to mention, we don¡¯t allow clandestine assassin guilds to puppeteer our empire.¡¯


    ¡®But alas, you mean where is poor Jean Luc Piquet from.¡¯


    ¡°Guldan. You mean have not heard of us?¡± Azzanon tried to get the accent right while injecting an appropriate amount of outrage. ¡°My family deserves better. Low-born are you? Who is your commanding officer?¡±


    ¡®Delicate balance here. The guard is actually doing an excellent job. But if I play the ¡®outraged at the disrespect¡¯ card right I might end all this and he retreats with his tail between his legs.¡¯


    ¡°My apologies my Lord. I am just trying to keep the undesirables out of the noble quarter. They can be trickier than you think,¡± the guard-captain responded, returning his papers.


    ¡°I will let it slide,¡± replied Azzanon. ¡°This time!¡± He turned and strode towards the meeting with his informant, crossing one of Velluto''s signature canal bridges as a gondola floated by underneath, a happy couple enjoying their romantic night.


    ¡®Run young man. Before the love withers and your heart is torn from your chest!¡¯


    Azzanon almost slapped himself to regain focus.


    ¡®Focus now. A contact arranges a meeting at short notice in a a high-risk location and you better keep your wits about you. This better be worth it. This kind of stupid shit is what gets agents killed.


    ¡®So why do I answer her call? And would I have come if she weren¡¯t a ¡®she¡¯? Or if she weren¡¯t beautiful?¡¯


    ****


    Azzanon stepped onto the small wooden gondola, a small flat-bottomed boat almost entirely unique to the city of Velluto. He was helped onto the boat by a rugged looking individual, who helped keep the boat steady as he crossed onto it. Even allowing for his rather exceptional balance and dexterity, Azzanon found stepping onto the rolling deck was disconcerting. Once on-board he was motioned to the front, where a heavily cloaked and hooded figure sat.


    That same pilot and/or manservant then moved to the very back of the boat, from where he could drive the drive the boat using a large single oar, which was both oar and rudder on this strange craft. He also likely could not hear anything of a conversation between the two passengers provided they did not wish him too.


    ¡®The gondola is a pretty special place to have a clandestine meeting. If you trust the driver, it is basically impossible for anyone to listen in on your conversation. Even magickal means is very difficult as you are on the move constantly.¡¯


    He took a seat at the front, and waited for Lady Clarantine to reveal herself.


    ¡®There is a chill wind in the air tonight, but I think the Lady may have gone a little far in terms of how much clothing she needed to keep warm.¡¯


    A few moments after he was seated, the Gondola pushed off from the small landing jetty and started down the canal. The figure at the front of the gondola began to unwrap herself. Azzanon tried in the near darkness to make out enough to confirm it was indeed his contact. With each passing second he was getting more suspicious.


    Awfully cold for a swim. But at least a fast exit is an option.


    As if sensing his discomfort, the figure in front reached up and pulled the shutters back from a lamp which hung on the front of the boat. This immediately cast a lot more light. Lady Clarantine then finished taking off the wraps around her face and shoulders, revealing her beautiful face, green eyes, and her long dark brown hair.


    Azzanon felt the relief wash through him.


    ¡°My Lady, I was beginning to think it wasn¡¯t you and this was some kind of trap,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Your instincts are good. I am not the Lady Clarantine. But this is no trap and you are in no harm here,¡± came the calm reply, holding up its hands in a calming gesture. Azzanon felt panic knot inside his stomach. He considered jumping over the side. But the voice sounded exactly like the Lady Clarantine. He lent forwards to get a closer look. This person looked exactly like Lady Clarantine too.


    ¡°The disguise is magick,¡± said the voice. ¡°But we have information even the Lady Clarantine could never get for you.¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Azzanon asked, feeling very unsure of himself. His hand strayed close to the rapier he had on his left hip for reassurance.


    ¡°You will not need your weapons, Azzanon Raviz, of the Drasnian Intelligence Agency. We know who you are, and that is why we have sought this meeting.¡±


    This gets worse. My cover is blown. Everything I have ever been taught says to jump now and run for my life. Yet my instincts tell me to stay. Is that because if they wanted to kill me, they probably would have already? Or do I just not care if I live?


    Azzanon sat back in his chair, making it clear he would hear what she had to say. Assuming it even is a woman.


    ¡°Your order works very hard to thwart the actions of both the Drasak rulership, and the Assassin Clans, yes?¡± asked ¡®the Lady¡¯.


    ¡°Your attempts to differentiate between the two are cute. But it means you are an either an idiot who genuinely thinks they are different, OR you want me to think they are, which means you are almost certainly an Assassin,¡± countered Azzanon.


    ¡°Who I am is not important. What you need to understand is that now, for the first time in a very long time, there is a Drasak King who very much wants to rule his own empire. So your order may do well to stop hindering him, and perhaps to assist him in his battle with the Clans,¡± the Lady explained.


    ¡°We had heard rumours of this, but nothing concrete. Did you come just to tell me this?¡± Azzanon asked dubiously.


    ¡°No. I came to ask you to stop an act by one of the Clans that would move against the King, and his family directly. They wish to subdue his efforts at wresting control of the kingdom, and they think killing one of his children will do the trick,¡± she offered.


    Azzanon was usually prepared for just about anything an informant might say, but he felt shock at the brazen nature of this information, and how easily it seemed to be being shared.


    Even in Drasak, assassinating a member of the Royal Family is not an everyday occurrence. But why come to us, or me?


    ¡°Why do you need our help? Tell the King and have him stop it,¡± he suggested.


    ¡°We cannot. We are forbidden by ancient codes of conduct. But technically, we can tell you, as you will not tell the King nor any of the Clans what you know,¡± explained the Lady. ¡°At least that is our assumption. Is that likely to be a correct assumption?¡±


    Azzanon considered the question for a moment. It was highly unlikely the Agency would share any information with either of those two groups.


    ¡°I suspect that assumption is correct,¡± he replied.


    ¡°And here comes the difficult part. We need you to stop the assassination. In doing so, you should help Drasak move at least somewhat out of the control of the Guilds.¡±


    ¡°And why would I do that?¡± Azzanon asked.


    In reality, I can think of any number of reasons I would do it. Many of them centre around doing the right thing, preventing a child from being assassinated, and generally stopping the Guilds from doing what they want. But may as well hear why my mysterious benefactor thinks I should.


    ¡°Because the only way you get to actually ¡®win¡¯ your war with the Guilds is if the King here destroys them, or at least renders them politically impotent. And, because your Agency always claims the high moral ground and says you are the side in this conflict. Now is your chance to prove it. Save an innocent child, and help the Drasak people into 336=a better future. If you are the champions of good you claim to be, then you should be willing to help these people, even if they have in many ways been your sworn enemy.¡±


    ¡°Both are reasonable answers. For the record, I find the second one more compelling,¡± replied Azzanon. ¡°And I choose to see that we have issues with the management of your realm, and not the people themselves. After all, there really isn¡¯t much difference in the peoples of Drasnia and Drasak. Founded by warring twins from the same peoples. Our differences are all choices of culture rather than hereditary.¡±


    ¡°We hoped you would see it that way,¡± said the Lady.


    ¡°Of course. With better leadership, your people could flourish culturally, and perhaps one day be almost as cool as us,¡± jibed Azzanon.


    ¡°We are not interested in your definition of cool. But we do very much appreciate your assistance. There is a lot more you need to know, but the most important thing is to know where you need to be. The King has sent his daughter to a faraway place he thought she would be safe; Klydor,¡± continued the Lady.


    Azzanon¡¯s face revealed his astonishment.


    ¡°As we have said, this King is trying to be very different to his most recent forebears. He knows the Klydorians will try very hard to protect her, and that the Assassin Guilds are weak there,¡± explained the Lady. ¡°However, this will not be enough to protect her. You must go and find her and keep her safe. Once the King knows someone has attempted to assassinate her and failed, then he will be able to start hunting here to find those responsible and hopefully destroy them.¡±


    ¡°OK. And let¡¯s say I pack up my stuff and head to Klydor. Do you have a way for me to find¡­¡± Azzanon hesitated as he struggled briefly to remember details on the Princess. She was not in line for the throne, so was not currently of that much interest to the Agency. But deviations in ascension were common in Drasak, so Azzanon had put a bit of time into the current Royal tree. ¡°¡­Gaebriel.¡±


    ¡°Do you know anything of Princess Gaebriel?¡± the Lady asked.


    ¡°I believe she has striking red hair, and they say she is beautiful, but with members of the Royal Family they tend to say that even if it isn¡¯t true. I believe she is coming of age soon. So if nothing else, her age and her hair would give me something to start with,¡± replied Azzanon.


    ¡°Beautiful would not be inaccurate in describing her. She is lean, perhaps even petite, even for a Drasak. She has very long red hair, and quite pale blue eyes, after her mother.¡±


    ¡°Do you know who she is being sent to stay with?¡± asked Azzanon. That would make finding her so much easier.


    ¡°We do not.¡±


    <ol>


    <li> That makes it harder. Answer no to the next one and even I might have trouble finding her.</li>


    </ol>


    ¡°Do you know which city she will be sent to?¡± Azzanon asked hopefully.


    ¡°We do. She is in transit to Lotan now by fastest carriage. But she will travel by boat from Lotan into Klydor, making her landing point almost certainly Port Chandrex. We have limited resources watching for her there, and will hopefully provide more information for you when you arrive.¡±


    ¡°How much head-start does she have?¡± asked Azzanon.


    In theory, the longer this is, the more likely she is dead by the time I arrive. But the answer doesn¡¯t matter. As if I am going to pass up the chance to rescue a damsel in distress. The fact she is Drasak royalty only makes this more compelling.


    Azzanon felt an excitement stir within him he had not felt for a while.


    ¡°Only a few days. But you will not catch her unless you have magickal means available to you that we do not know about. You should figure out how to get to Chandrex as quickly as possible, and just focus on getting there as soon after her as possible,¡± instructed the Lady.


    ¡°Ok. I accept. But we need to discuss some protocols on how I will exchange information with your network. I don¡¯t really trust you yet, so there will need to be some precautions for my own safety, but also that of your agents too. It will be too easy for others to pretend to be agents of yours or mine and to get everyone killed.¡±


    The Lady made a gesture of acquiescence. ¡°Tell us how you would like this to work.¡±

 Flashback 2: First Spell

    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Age 12 ¨C Maragon¡¯s Tower, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    21st Illianshae, Early Summer, 838 PBM


    The room was set, candles encircling them. Mitchell, knelt on his cherished silver rug, with Maragon mirroring his stance on a rug opposite him.


    ¡°Today we will test your knowledge.  And if you pass, then we will move to the next phase of your training,¡± began Maragon.  His beard had the faintest tinges of grey at either side of his mouth, but otherwise he still looked the same as Mitchell¡¯s earliest memories of him.  And from training with Maragon with the sword and other weapons, he had lost none of his vigour.


    ¡°Yes, Master,¡± replied Mitchell, being ever careful to speak respectfully and to not use contractions in his speech, lest he be harshly rebuked.


    ¡°What are the two sources of magick?¡± asked Maragon.


    Ok, the test is on the theories of magick.  And we are starting with easy stuff.


    ¡°Arcane and Divine,¡± Mitchell replied, ¡°Arcane is for those who channel the magick themselves, using the energies within themselves and the items around them to craft spells.  Divine is for those who pray to a divine being, and he provides the magickal energy to fuel their spells.¡±


    ¡°Correct.  Although the divine usually refer to their spells as prayers,¡± instructed Maragon.  ¡°But they are for most purposes, the same.¡±


    ¡°Name at least four types of Arcane casters?¡± asked Maragon.


    Mitchell had always had a very strong memory, so his ability to recall and recite lore back was formidable.  This question did not trouble him.


    ¡°Mages,¡± replied Mitchell, ¡°the most common type of arcane caster, and the ones who formed the Ashar colleges of magick.  A mage studies how magick works, and uses this knowledge to tap into the magickal energies within him and the energies in the items around him to channel energy from one or more of the spheres of magick.  He then weaves this energy into a spell.  Being a mage is the most difficult path, but offers the most diverse range of spells.¡±


    And this is what you and I are, Master.


    Maragon nodded that Mitchell was correct, and to continue.


    ¡°Sorcerers,¡± continued Mitchell, ¡°those with innate magick powers within their bloodline or ancestry.  The powers they may manifest are spells, but much easier for them to cast, harder for us to dispel, and are linked to whatever magickal essence they have within their blood.  If the sorcerer is infused with draconic essence, then his powers will likely reflect his dragon ancestry, and if he is infused with elemental essence, then his powers will reflect whichever element he is infused with.  Sorcerers can attempt to capture the essence from other Sorcerors or magical beasts when they die, but this is a risky process.¡±


    ¡°Sorcerers can be very dangerous.  If they start harvesting the essence from other creatures then they will become very powerful, but usually very unstable as well.  If you encounter such a thing, tread carefully, and report them to the Council of Defence,¡± advised Maragon.  He motioned for Mitchell to continue, using his fingers to show that two of the four answers had been ticked off.


    ¡°Psions,¡± intoned Mitchell, ¡°focusing on an exceptional level of personal attunement and enlightenment, a Psion has powers similar to a sorcerer, but can cast them without any obvious verbal or physical gesture elements, casting them purely from his mind and the energies within himself.  The powers of Psions are generally focused on the spheres of ¡®Mental¡¯ and ¡®Body¡¯ and they cannot manipulate the elements.¡±


    ¡°Correct.  Psions also cannot harvest the essence of other creatures like a Sorcerer.  Psions are creatures of incredible willpower and self-control.  They are to be respected greatly whether they are ally or foe,¡± instructed Maragon.


    ¡°Wild-Mages,¡± answered Mitchell, ¡°these are individuals who have a natural talent for magick, but have not spent the years it takes to properly master the art of casting magick spells.  They are dangerous as their magick will often go awry, potentially causing unintended harm or destruction.¡±


    ¡°Not to be confused with wildlings, who are wild sorcerers who have not properly learned to control their powers.  Both groups are dangerous, and if they insist on continuing to use their abilities without learning control, they can create a very difficult decision.  Do they have a right to continue, given the risk they pose to others?  The answer is always ¡®No, they do not¡¯.  Personal freedoms do not allow you to put the innocent around you at great risk.  I have had to destroy several wildlings in my lifetime.  I wished in several instances that the outcome not be that, but they each gave me no choice.¡±


    ''I can see the emotion and conflict within him as he explains this.  I also note he uses the word destroy instead of kill, either because that makes it easier to live with, or perhaps he thinks they were no longer truly human anymore when he killed them.''


    ''I have answered four, but there are many more.  So why stop there.''


    ¡°Warlock,¡± Mitchell continued, ¡°A mage who has made a pact with a supernatural entity, likely a demon, to teach him magick he otherwise would not know.  Warlocks frequently learn the forbidden spheres, and usually end up corrupted by their demonic mentor.  It is a short-cut to power for those not willing to get there the hard way.¡±


    ''I remember Maragon becoming quite worked up when explaining Warlocks.  I think perhaps he despises Warlocks more than any other caster.''


    ¡°Pitiful wretches who seek to make up for a lack of ability and dedication by cheating their way to power,¡± said Maragon sadly.  ¡°That is not how the world should work, and it does not work for warlocks either.  But the amount of damage they cause when they inevitably lose control of their sanity can be immense.  When you find a warlock, think long and hard about just ending the threat to Driax then and there.¡±


    ¡°Bard, a talented individ¡­¡± began Mitchell.


    ¡°A gifted artist who decides to become borderline competent in a great many things instead of mastering anything, including, unfortunately, magick,¡± interrupted Maragon, some emotion still in his voice.  ¡°That is enough for today on the lore of magick.¡±


    ¡°But I haven¡¯t yet talked about Defilers, Blood Mages or High Magick,¡± complained Mitchell.  ¡°Defilers draw magickal energy from the natural world to cast, but in a harmful way which kills the plants and life around them.  Blood Mages are actually sorcerers who can use their own blood and health to power spells after they would normally have no reserves to cast.  And High Magick comes only from the old races like elves.  It is more powerful than normal magick, but it is more tiring to cast so high mages tend to cast only when absolutely necessary,¡± rushed Mitchell, ticking off the remaining types on his fingers as he spoke.


    ¡°Ok.  Very well done.  Your ability with the lore is exemplary.  You certainly passed the test,¡± commended Maragon.  ¡°As a reward we will commence on the next phase of your training.  Today, you are going to try and cast your first full spell.¡±


    Mitchell beamed.  He loved progressing to new challenges.  He ran his fingers across his favourite metallic, silver rug, using it as a technique to calm himself and ¡®steel himself¡¯.


    ¡°As usual, you will need to stay calm and maintain your focus.  This spell is more difficult than the simple cantrips we have been casting, but I think you are ready,¡± encouraged Maragon.  Maragon set down a candle, its wick burning strongly and casting a pale light.  Mitchell was nervous.


    ''Three years of mastering all the basic techniques from all 18 of the allowed spheres of magick.  Now it is time to take what I have learned and cast a real spell.  Just make sure to not set the room on fire.  Or Maragon.''


    ¡°I have picked a spell for today that I think should be a good building block from the skills you have already learned,¡± continued Maragon. ¡°Do you think you are prepared?¡±


    ¡°I hope so.  I have been studying really hard, and I believe I now have all the basic skills required to do this.  I would likely have picked a universal spell as those are my favourite.  But I think I know which spell you will ask me to cast first, and I think I am ready,¡± Mitchell replied.  His boyish voice was reasonably confident and calm, but there was a tinge of nerves as well.


    ¡°And what spell do you think I have chosen for your test today?¡± Maragon asked.


    ¡°You like attacking spells and you usually teach me that first.  I think you will ask me to do something like a ¡®Fire Arc¡¯,¡± Mitchell replied.


    ''A simple fire spell.  Conjure a ball of flame, and once it is bound tightly, throw it at a target.  Whatever it hits is burned, and likely set on fire.  Maragon was a Cthrag Merlo War Wizard and I think he prefers spells which damage his enemies directly.''


    Maragon nodded.


    ¡°Your reasoning is correct.  I am training you for a very dangerous life.  It is critical you can defend yourself.  And fire spells capture the balance I am looking for in terms of an easy energy to channel, high damage potential, but some risk to the caster if you are lazy or sloppy in your channeling.  Flame longs to burn something.  It does not much care if that is the caster or the intended target.  That risk can make some casters panic and make mistakes.  On the battlefield there is nearly always risk, so this is a good test or simulation for what casting on the battlefield will be like.¡±


    ¡°The cantrips you have channelled the tightest spell-weave in were when casting spells in the fields of Protection, Lightning and Enchantment.  Those you have been weakest in were Nature, Mental and Teleportation.  I picked a sphere in the middle.¡±


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ''To some extent that matches the spheres of magick I enjoy casting the most.  I like Protection, Lightning, and Body Manipulation.  I like Nature, Mental and Charm the least.  I do not like influencing the minds of others or manipulating nature.  Both seem wrong.  I can only guess at what channelling one of the six forbidden spheres such as Blood or Necromancy must feel like.''


    ¡°Channelling is all about drawing magickal energies from within ourselves and the things around us, and then using that energy to shape our spells.  You have sufficient skill and magickal reserves to cast this spell completely from within you, so no components will be necessary¡±


    Mitchell focused on Maragon¡¯s words.  Remain calm.  Use my own reserves.  Do not use spell components.  Got it.


    ¡°Feel within yourself for the energy to channel your spell.  The energy within your self is in many ways the most precious.  It is the easiest to use, but it is also a finite resource.  Once it is gone you will be nothing more than a warrior with a sword and your mind,¡± Maragon counselled.  Mitchell sent his focus internal, and to his inner core.


    ''I can feel it.  The power within me that grows as my skill grows.  It is almost like a tap of water now that I can turn on with ease.  But as Maragon says, my bucket is small.''


    ¡°Begin channelling.  You will know immediately by the feel if it is working as you intend.  With a water spell, you will feel the chill though your entire body.  With this spell you will feel the warmth of sitting near a small bonfire, or perhaps a mildly warm bath.¡±


    ''There it is, the warm glow.  Let us make sure we draw enough.  Channelling more energy mid-cast because you run out while forming my spell-weave is really hard.''


    Drawing slightly more energy than he thought he would need, Mitchell began to form the spell-weave for his ¡®Fire Arc¡¯.  He felt the warmth begin within his core immediately, and before long he could see the light and fiery energy starting to appear and swirl around his body.  Encouraged that everything was going as intended, he focused on gathering the flaming tendrils of magick into a tightly bound orb that he would be able to throw.


    ¡°Good.  Maintain your focus,¡± encouraged Maragon.  ¡°When you think you have an Orb that is ready to throw, I want you to aim for that small stool I have set up over there.¡±  Maragon pointed at a small stool that had recently been damaged by an errant crossbow bolt from Mitchell¡¯s first attempts with the weapon.


    ''Ahh yes.  My old foe the stool.  Wounded in our initial encounter, but you were resilient and survived.  Today I hope to finish the job.''


    Satisfied he had created enough fire magick, Mitchell began to pull all the loose threads into a ball.  His hands weaved around, pulling the tendrils together and then compacting them into an ever tighter ball.  When he thought he compacted the ball enough, he grabbed at the ball.  He knew from playing with smaller orbs how to ¡®hold¡¯ the magick orb in his hand, but not actually let it touch his skin.  The orb was still being controlled through his casting, but the physical action for this part of the spell was to ¡®throw¡¯ the orb at its target.


    ¡°Keep a slightly tighter fist when fusing the threads into an orb.  Keep your 3<sup>rd</sup> finger curled as tightly as possible into your palm on your weaving hand when using elemental magick,¡± advised Maragon.


    Mitchell adjusted his technique accordingly for the last few seconds  of the spell weave.  Mitchell then took hold of the orb.  It did not feel as he expected.  The orb was soft and felt like it was coming apart.  Like a meatball that was not properly bound together.  Hoping a swift release might preserve its integrity, Mitchell hurled it hastily.


    As the energy ball left his hand, it began disintegrating, and with the momentum of his throw, the entire structure shattered, sending faint streaks of light and flame scattering. Quick to react, Maragon cast a water-imbued shield, extinguishing the erratic wisps.


    Disappointment washed across Mitchell¡¯s face, and he began to hang his head.


    ¡°That was actually quite good for a first attempt.  But you did not seal the Orb.  You should take some of the magick energy you have and wrap the Orb to seal it.  Just enough to create a crust that will hold it together,¡± instructed Maragon, his voice calm and without any trace of emotion.¡±


    He quickly cast a flaming Orb and reminded Mitchell of the steps on how to do exactly that.  Mitchell was prone to harsh self-judgement of his failures, but the re-assuring tone in his mentor¡¯s voice brought him back into the moment.


    ¡°Try Again,¡± Maragon instructed.


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡±


    Mitchell began again.  He drew spell energy from within.  He took almost all that was left in his ¡®bucket¡¯.


    ''Get this one right.  You do not have enough energy for a 3<sup>rd</sup> attempt.  Stay calm.  Just focus on each part in sequence.  Gather, Weave, Throw.''


    Once he gathered enough energy, Mitchell again weaved the fiery energy into an Orb.  This time, once the Orb was big enough, he carefully sealed it.  As he prepared to launch it, he felt the orb''s reinforced structure.


    Taking aim, he launched it at the stool.  Throwing an Orb was not quite like throwing a ball or rock.  Throwing those things relied entirely on your aim and the throw itself to propel your object at the target.  With a magickal orb the throw still mattered, but you could alter the trajectory of the Orb with your magick and to some extent guide the Orb towards its target.  There were limitations on how much Mitchell could curve the Orb, but it was enough that it was a simple thing to hit a stationary object such as the stool.


    The Orb struck one of the stool¡¯s legs.  The impact of the orb only nudged the stool very slightly.  But this spell was not used for its concussive impact.  An Earth spell or even a Air spell would have been used if that was the goal.  The purpose of this spell was to burn.


    And that it did.


    The orb burst and the stool was spattered with the flaming magick, and everywhere the magick hit the stool burst into flames.  There was no explosion, such as there was when Maragon cast the more powerful versions of this spell.  But the flames quickly immolated the stool and it began to burn rapidly.


    ''You were a valiant foe stool.  But I have vanquished you on the 3<sup>rd</sup> attempt.''


    Maragon waited until the flames had destroyed the chair before continuing.


    ¡°Very good.  I believe you earned yourself a reward as today you took an important step in your training.  What would you like?¡±


    A reward?  That does not happen very often.  What do I want?  Choose carefully, and do not waste this.  A day off?  Some more of that chocolate Samtha brought last year?


    Thinking of Samtha reminded Mitchell of how much he enjoyed when she came and played her music.


    ¡°A visit from Samtha, or perhaps we could go see a Bard in town?  I want to hear some more music and perhaps some stories.¡±


    ''I love the stories of great heroes.  Good conquering evil.  The adulation for the heroes when they save the day.  I also just like seeing all the people together and having fun.  I wish we went to the tavern in Garet more often.''


    ¡°An odd request.  What do you want to see a Bard for?¡± Maragon asked.  There was a tone of disgust in his voice that really surprised Mitchell.


    ''Maragon usually only uses such tone for people who are lazy, cowards or traitors, but this is the second time he has reacted negatively to the mention of Bards.''


    ¡°I like the stories about history and great heroes,¡± Mitchell replied honestly.


    ¡°There is much to be learned from history and the tales of the great heroes.  I have taught you many of the tales.  None more important than the Champions of Micronia, who I have taught you much about, and will yet teach you more.  But the problem with Bards is they blend the truth with story.  They care more for the entertainment of the tale than its factual accuracy.  And for some like us, that difference can mean death.¡±


    ¡°How can a story kill someone, Master,¡± Mitchell asked naively.  Mitchell saw a pained expression wash over Maragon¡¯s face.


    ¡°I have witnessed young would-be heroes killed because they tried to emulate a hero from one of these Bard¡¯s tales.  I have seen a man overwhelmed and pulled down by a small group of re-animated skeletons.  He was good enough and strong enough to defeat these lowest form of Undead servants.  But he charged in with his sword and tried to hack them to pieces because he had heard the tale of Mazton the Brave,¡± Maragon replied.


    ¡°A sword causes a body to bleed as they cut and pierce its flesh and organs.  A skeleton is held together by Necromantic magick.  It has neither flesh nor organs.  Trying to shatter bones with only a sword is extremely difficult.  A simple warhammer or mace should always be your weapon of choice if you must deal with skeletons up close. The real Mazton was not really that brave, but he was smart enough to arm himself with a mace on that day.¡±


    ¡°Why does he have a sword in the story?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°Because his family had long wielded the legendary blade, ¡®Letum Ferrum¡¯.  And the bard wanted that silvery blade to shine in his story, with light glinting off it as Mazton slayed his skeleton horde.  And the entertainment of the story mattered more than the facts.¡±


    ¡°I have watched a young girl, having just spent 12 years studying magick, get herself killed fighting a Forester¡¯s Bane within a few months of completing her apprenticeship,¡± Maragon continued.


    ''A Forester¡¯s Bane is a carnivorous shrub.  Long sharp stalks which entangle a victim and then cut at them until they bleed to death.  Best dealt with using flame or from a distance.''


    Mitchell did not realise just how many of the monsters of the world Maragon had already drummed into him, along with the best methods to defeat them. But now as he mentioned them, his subconscious immediately offered him the correct method for destroying them.


    ¡°Mareen did not follow her training, and attempted to rescue those she was with by trying to charm the plant to drop her companions.  The Bane is immune to such magick as it has no real mind.  It is a plant.  Then when it had grappled her with a stalk, she wasted her last spell to try and poison the Bane,¡± Maragon continued.


    ¡°And Banes are immune to poison.¡± Mitchell finished.


    ¡°Yes.  As are nearly all plant type creatures.  But Maureen had heard the tale of Grubinger, the ArchDruid.  When confronted by an unstoppable outbreak of killer plants within the King¡¯s Grove he defeats it by supposedly charming it into eating some food he has made as a gift for it, and this food then poisons it and it dies.¡±


    ¡°I know this story. He beats the creature in a battle of nature-based riddles to convince it to take the food,¡± replied Mitchell.


    ¡°Yes.  A very funny and entertaining tale.  But factually inaccurate.  The Druid did indeed speak to the plant, but not in such a way as you could exchange words and riddles with it.  Most plants are incapable of such communication.  They can share information as they are somewhat aware of their surroundings.  And it is likely Grubinger communed with the plant using one of his Nature spells.  I suspect he derived the plant was being corrupted by some dark magick source, which he then destroyed.  Cut off from its corrupting source, the plant either died or returned to normal.  It certainly was not defeated by poison.¡±


    ¡°But your request was for a Bard or someone to tell you tales.  It is your requested reward so it shall be granted.¡±


    Maragon looked around the room.  His eyes came to rest on the taxidermized statue of an Owl.  It was a magickal device with big eyes through which Maragon could monitor this room, using it to watch over experiments without needing to be physically present.  It was useful when experiments were potentially dangerous or just long.  It also allowed him to monitor them while he was away from the Tower.


    ¡°I shall give to you the ¡°Story Owl¡±.¡±  Maragon proceeded to pick the owl up off its shelf and place it on the ground near Mitchell.


    ¡°Story Owl?¡± Mitchell asked incredulously.  ¡°I have seen this Owl for years, and I have never heard it tell stories.¡±


    ¡°And at present it cannot.  But I will enchant it further.  I will enchant it with a great many stories to regale you with whenever you wish.¡±


    As Maragon thought this through he began to see other uses for the Owl.


    ¡°We will put it in your room, and then even when I am away I will be able to watch over you.  It will also be able to instruct you on what training you should be doing next, even while I am away from the Tower.¡±


    ''So the Owl can tell me stories.  But it will also watch me and tell me what to do?''


    ¡°Is it Story Owl?  Or is it Bossy Owl?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°I suspect it may be both, my fine young apprentice,¡± laughed Maragon.  ¡°But it is a powerful reward and you have earned it.¡±

 Chapter 7: Visiting the Afterlife

    <h2>Inquisitor Khali ¨C Afterlife Club, Mari-kye, Assyrian Sea</h2>


    10<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Early Spring 845 PBM


    ¡®The priest, Madrath, was stretching the truth more than a little.  The Afterlife is hardly in the dock district.  It is technically near the water, sure.  But any closer to the outskirts of the city, and it wouldn¡¯t be part of the city at all.  And as for a den, this bar seems to be a cave above the waterline, with, I am guessing, passages leading down through the cliffs to the water below.  My guess would be this place is equal parts tavern, and a smugglers¡¯ den.¡¯


    ¡®Become an Inquisitor.  See the world!¡¯ she said.  My recruiter lied.  I hope she has been killed in some horrible mishap.¡¯


    Khali pulled her plain, boring, and totally not intimidating thick cloak around her to ward off the rather cold sea breeze and approached the entrance.  It was late.  Nearly closing time.  She wanted as few people here as possible for her first visit.


    ¡®And those that are here, will hopefully be drunk.  I would prefer we have no trouble.  But there isn¡¯t a lot of peace and tranquility in an Inquisitor¡¯s life, is there?  So we prepare for trouble, and at least my agents should be handily placed.  Traviston and Janus should already be in the venue.  And Ramirez should arrive shortly.  Ramirez; always enters last because he cannot be trusted not to drink, womanise or otherwise foul up the plan.  There is some saying about blunt instruments which I am sure applies here.¡¯


    There were two bouncers at the entrance to the cave.  But they looked weary and didn¡¯t pay Khali much attention at all.  Inside the cave entrance, there was a decent sized cavern, the floor damp from what seemed to be a mixture of seawater, vomit and blood.


    ¡®Charming place.  The entrance of your establishment should allow potential clientele to immediately evaluate the culture and atmosphere you are trying to foster.  This one says ¡®run away while you still can¡¯.  Unless you are a low-life criminal of course.  Or an Inquisitor looking for low-life criminals.¡¯


    Khali stepped over what she assumed to be an unconscious form.  She briefly considered checking to see if she could assist the figure, but decided that would be very strange to anyone watching, and would definitely draw attention to her, so she instead began to carefully wind her way down some rough-cut stone stairs.  A flimsy handrail provided some support on one-side, but Khali assumed most people leant more towards the outer stone wall for support.  After winding about 10 steps the cavern below came into view.  It was more expansive than Khali had anticipated.


    There was a wooden dock protruding out into the dark waters from the middle of what seemed to be three split levels.  The middle level was the largest and was the one the stairs she was on descended to.  It had a large bar that covered one side wall, a motley collection of tables and chairs, many of which seemed to just be upturned cargo crates of varying sizes, and a small clear space for a band and potentially dancing.  The band, who had presumably been the entertainment for the night, were just finishing packing up and making their way towards the stairs.


    ¡®The dock would make this a perfect little smuggler¡¯s cove.  The five tribes do not strike me as the most law-abiding peoples, so maybe this is just enough out of the way that the authorities do not


    care much about what happens here.  Or perhaps a fee is paid to look the other way.¡¯


    The upper level, which was reached by another flight of stone-cut stairs looked like perhaps it lead to a VIP area, as there was a bouncer at the bottom of the stairs and a thick rope across the bottom of the stairs.  As she descended, Khali could see a smattering of people still up there, including what looked to be at least one ¡®piranha¡¯, a colloquial name given to a race of vicious, carnivorous scaly humanoids who lived in the sea and generally made a living attacking boats and caravans that were camped near water.


    ¡®Not something you see in a bar everyday.  Clearly the clientele here is a little more exotic than most.  Madrath did say as much.¡¯


    The lower level seemed to be below the waterline, but there seemed to only be small puddles of water on the floor.  A rope bridge arrangement linked the bottom level to the middle level, but otherwise there seemed to be nothing else of interest on the bottom level, and there did not seem to be any other exits into other rooms from that level.


    ¡®Perhaps they are awaiting the delivery of more furniture before they set that floor up?  Ran out of cargo boxes?¡¯


    As she reached the main floor, Khali spotted Traviston, his head freshly shaved to a stubble.  He was sitting in a corner table looking very much like a man drowning in his own sorrows, a good sized pile of empty glasses on the table in front of him.  She could not see Janus, but that wasn¡¯t all that surprising.  Otherwise the occupants of this floor consisted of two barmen, a Korellian and what seemed like a half-orc from the look of the teeth and small tusks protruding from his lips, two serving girls, and about ten patrons, five of whom were gathered around a single table singing ribald drinking songs.


    Studying each of them as the wandered towards the bar, she did not see anyone with the dragon markings described by Madrath.  Judging by the markings, the most common peoples here were of the Verdenel tribe, judging by the owl and eye style motifs most of them were adorned with.


    ¡®The Verdenel are considered the smartest and wisest of the Korellian tribes.  That is an admittedly low bar, but if I were to pick a tribe to assist me in starting up chaos cults everywhere, they would be my choice.¡¯


    She was aware that her entrance had not gone unnoticed.


    ¡®I am guessing they don¡¯t get too many women coming here alone.  And certainly not this late at night.  Probably assume I am some kind of lady of the night, or that I am mad.¡¯


    ¡°A whiskey please, barkeep,¡± she called as she reached the bar.  The bar itself was on a separate piece of stone to the rest of the floor, and there was a gap of about an inch between the two.


    ¡®Must be fun when you drop coins or a gem through that gap while drunk.  Maybe that is what the bottom floor is for.¡¯


    The nearest barman, the half-orc, slowly made his way to prepare the order.  As he came back with the half-filled glass another man stepped beside her and waved the barman off.


    ¡°This one is on the house,¡± he said in the native tongue of the five tribes.  It was similar to common, enough that Khali understood what he said, but she did not wish to converse in his language.  He had a scar that ran across his left eye, and the eye within was white.


    ¡°How kind,¡± she replied warmly in common, doing her best to look kindly at the muscled and weathered barbarian standing next to her.


    ¡®Janus makes this look easy.  A smile, flutter the eyes, perhaps flash some skin, and she has men eating out of her hand.  Why can I not do the same? Sincerity?  That can¡¯t be the issue. She hates men more than I do.¡¯


    ¡°It is pretty late for a pretty girl like you to come in.  Where have you been?¡± he asked in heavily accented common.


    ¡°I am new to town.  I guess you could say I have a tendency to go looking for trouble, and for troublesome men.¡±  Khali reached up and lightly felt the muscles in his right arm as she said the second part.


    ¡°Huh.  Well you have come to the right place if you want a real man.  But I must warn you, we do not pay for our women,¡± he warned.  ¡°And we are used to getting what we want.¡±


    ¡°What a coincidence.  Me too!¡± replied Khali.


    It seemed One-Eye was trying to decipher if what she had said was good or bad, when Khali saw Janus coming down the stairs from the VIP area with a dragon-tattooed man, and Ramirez coming down the stairs from the cave entrance.  Janus seemed to be whispering something into the Dragon-Tattooed man¡¯s ear, and pointing roughly in Khali¡¯s direction.


    Janus was dressed in tight-fitting clothing which clung to her alluring figure, and while her natural hair she kept extremely short, Janus had a wig for any occasion, and this night it was a short dark-haired style, with extra length at the back.  Like nearly every hair style, it suited her.  Ramirez was wearing his full suit of white platemail, thankfully minus any Inquisition identifying tabards or heraldry, and his massive sword was strapped to his back.  To say he looked like a man out of place was a massive understatement.


    ¡®Janus is very good at this!  Ramirez really isn¡¯t.  Hopefully he just stays out of the way unless we need him.¡¯


    Janus guided Dragon-Tattoo towards where Khali was now sitting on a bar-stool.  Khali picked up her whiskey as they approached.


    ¡°Your friend tells me you are new to town and want to have a good time?¡± said Dragon-Tattoo.  ¡°I am Hemas¡¯tan, son of Urungi, and I am pretty much the gate-keeper to good times in this place.¡±


    ¡®Ok.  Subject found.  No dead bodies yet¡¯.


    Khali began to take a sip from her whiskey to buy some time to think of a witty response, when Ramirez lunged forwards and knocked the drink from her hand, smashing the glass into the floor, and whiskey all over One-Eye¡¯s legs.


    ¡°They are trying to poison you, Inquisitor.¡± Ramirez exclaimed, certainly loud enough for those nearby to hear, and maybe those further away as well.  ¡°I got a tip off from someone upstairs.¡±


    What the #@&*?!


    Everything seemed to stop, as everyone¡¯s minds raced to process what all this sudden new information meant.  As usually happened, the quickest to act were either the very fast, or the very simple.


    Khali stood as she dropped the illusion that was concealing her appearance, her Inquisitor¡¯s robes, armour and weapons coming clearly into view.  She drew her sword and grabbed for Hemas¡¯tan¡¯s tunic, meaning to pull him closer.


    Ramirez, unburdened at trying to puzzle anything out, simply drew his sword and swung it at One-Eye.  In One-Eye¡¯s defence, the blade did come at him from his blind-side, but he had barely begun to react before the blade smashed into his skull, connecting at an upward angle from his jaw.  His body spun and flew through the air, and he was dead before he hit the ground.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Hemas¡¯tan knocked Khali¡¯s hand aside and started to back towards the stairs, fumbling for the hand axe hanging from his belt.  Khali moved after him.


    From the stairs leading down from the entrance, the familiar voice of the priest, Madrath yelled, ¡°The Verdenel are trying to kill Hemas¡¯tan!¡±  The volume and clarity of the screamed words was incredibly clear inside the otherwise quite echoey cavern.


    ¡®What¡¯s the damn priest doing here?!  No prizes for guessing who tipped Sir Idiot into knocking the drink from my hand.  Now he is using magick to make sure everyone across all three levels heard the attack was the Verdenel.  But why?  I bet I don¡¯t like the answer.¡¯


    And then the chaos started.


    Everyone was either standing and/or drawing weapons.  The bouncer at the top of the stairs to the VIP area fired a crossbow into the closest member of the Verdenel group downstairs.  The bouncer next to the stairs at the bottom of the VIP area moved to protect Hemas¡¯tan.  Janus swept Hemas¡¯tan¡¯s legs out from under him and he went crashing to the floor.  Three barbarians, probably all Varkonen, moved from where they had been drinking on the main level to also protect Hemas¡¯tan.  Other people from the VIP section started coming down the stairs, including several five tribes barbarians, and at least two of the piranhas.


    Ramirez kept hitting things, smashing the downstairs bouncer, and knocking him over the small railing and causing him to fall the twenty feet down to the bottom tier.  Ramirez was laughing heartily and by all appearances, having a jolly old time.  Khali engaged the nearest incoming Varkonen, and parried his axe swing before punching the hilt of her sword into his face and staggering him backwards.


    ¡®I will try once to avoid killing you.  Come back at me again, and what happens next is on you.¡¯


    Traviston had not yet moved.


    There was a loud cracking and grinding sound, and the entire middle floor section of Afterlife began to shake.  The floor started to rotate and angle itself in such a way as to tilt downwards towards the lower level.  Khali watched as the angle of tilt started to increase, and the cheap crate-based furniture started to slide across the floor towards the third level, which now looked more and more like a pit.


    ¡®That explains the disposable furniture.  Is that running water?¡¯


    Khali stole a glance down towards the bottom level, and could see water spilling in from somewhere, rapidly flooding that entire level.


    ¡®This is a hell of a way to get rid of customers at closing time.¡¯


    Around her people started looking for things they could hold onto, but it was clear everyone was too far from the bar or either set of stairs to hold onto anything that wasn¡¯t also moving.  The rate of sliding towards the pit accelerated as the angle of the stone increased.  The three piranhas on the stairs now freely jumped in, with spears, and what seemed like nets, strapped to their bodies.


    ¡®That could be a problem.  OK, time to go down swinging.¡¯


    Khali started to focus and channel a prayer to her God, beseeching him to grant her the gift of exploding flame.


    ¡°As he had promised, Faylen brought wrath on those that had broken his covenant.


    And his flames burned¡­¡±


    Her prayer was disrupted when a large crate smashed into her from behind, and knocked her from her feet.  She helplessly began to slide.  She watched in amazement as Traviston used his sliding table as a step and jumped for the wall, and then began to free climb up towards the top level. The rest of the occupants of the mid-level were not so fortunate, and all now slid down the steeply slanted stone section.  People tried to grab on anything ¨C tables, chairs, each other, or the edge of the platform, but none would stop the inevitable.  Everyone fell into what was already three foot of water, and the water was rising very quickly.


    Khali found her footing as quickly as possible and stood.  As her head breached the water she started cataloguing the issues facing her and her team.


    ¡®If the water keeps rising very soon we will all be underwater.  Bad for anyone not a piranha.  But worst for Ramirez and I in heavy plate armour.  We will not be floating anytime soon.  If there are enemies with ranged weapons above us, then we will just be target practice.  And the piranhas will be lethal as the water rises, and are clearly ready to attack.  But they are holding back, as if they are waiting for something.  The water level to rise?¡¯


    ¡°Welcome to thee Afterlife lagoon!¡± boomed a deep accented voice from the upper level.  ¡°I¡¯m ya host this evenin¡¯, Kezzimeir Stonehammer.  It seems ye misunderstood thee rules of the club and decided that fightin¡¯, and killin¡¯, could happen in some way other than by me choosin¡¯.¡±


    Khali looked up to see a colourfully dressed dwarf with a thick red beard standing at the top of the stairs.  He had a large blue hat upon his head, a motley collection of rings and chains adorning his ears, nose, fingers and neck, and a large falchion held in his right hand, which he was beating flatside first into his other hand as spoke.  His voice was easily carrying across the entire chamber, suggesting a man used to yelling orders and being heard.


    ¡®Dwarves?  Explains the fancy stonework.¡¯


    Conscious that the rope bridge to this level was being rapidly pulled out of reach, and that water was still filling up the level, she began to push a few of the largest boxes together.


    ¡®No idea if this will work, but I need something I can climb onto.  I can see Janus is doing something similar.  Ramirez and most of everyone else is captivated by the speaker above.  Can¡¯t see Hemas¡¯tan.  Nothing I can do about that right now.¡¯


    ¡°To help remind ya of this fact, ye will now fight for me entertainment, and that of me guests,¡± explained Kezzimeir.  ¡°Once we are amused to our fill, I will call a halt to da fightin¡¯, and I¡¯ll let ya¡¯s all out.  Got it?¡±


    Khali nudged the box formation with her armoured leg.  It moved far more easily than she would have liked.  Around her the others were all starting to stare at each other warily.


    ¡®It seems like we have three factions down here: Varkonen, Verdenal, and the Inquisition.  I need a stronger foundation for my heroic stand.  This isn¡¯t the intended use of this prayer, but maybe Faylen is feeling generous today.¡¯


    She touched the box formation in front of her and began to cast a prayer.


    ¡°The gallant knight, Sir Etherton, held the line against impossible odds at the Kyover Pass.


    And with the blessings of his Lord, there was naught that could move him.¡±


    ¡®That is intended to make a warrior more resolute, and harder to knock back or dislodge, but fingers crossed it can do the same to a wooden box.¡¯


    The Verdenel and Varkonnen were beginning to fight, barbarians from both sides swinging at each other in earnest.  Ramirez needed no encouragement, and he too was swinging his blade with enthusiasm, in this case at the nearest Varkonen.


    ¡®With the water now at four feet deep, combat is going to quickly become farcical.  Unless, perhaps you control the higher ground.¡¯


    Khali climbed onto the lowest point of her box formation.  She was pleased to discover it seemed much more rigid and steady than before.  Janus had pushed her boxes together with Khali¡¯s and was climbing up from the other side.


    In the ever deepening water, the Varkonen were struggling.  The one nearest to Ramirez was now floating face first in a rapidly darkening patch of water.  The remaining two were now badly outnumbered by Ramirez and the three remaining Verdenel.  The piranhas were crouching quite sure-footedly on crates, with their nets twirling above their heads.  Apparently deciding they had seen enough, they now threw the nets nearly in unison, and all of the Verdenel were enveloped by the heavily weighted ropes.  The nearest Varkonen was also ensnared, but it didn¡¯t seem like that bothered the toothy-mawed fish-men much.


    Ramirez swung his massive sword in a head-height slash at the last Varkonen.  His target ducked beneath the water and then tried to dive away.  The piranha jumped into the water, which was now over their heads, and began to spear mercilessly at the people in the nets.  Again, the differentiation between Varkonnen and Verdenel did not seem to matter when deciding who to jab their spear into.


    ¡°Got a prayer to turn the water to ice?¡± asked Janus hopefully.


    ¡°Sun God!  Doesn¡¯t exactly scream dominion over water does it?¡± Khali snapped back, as she tried to think of a solution to their predicament.


    ¡°Well then¡­ if we die here.  Thanks for rescuing me from my life of filth, and letting me kill a heap of scumbags before I kicked it,¡± declared Janus.


    ¡°We are not dying in some stupid pond, killed by smugglers and overgrown goldfish,¡± asserted Khali.  ¡°We need to lure the fish-men up here.  We cannot fight them underwater.¡±


    Case in point, one of the piranhas was now trying to spear Ramirez, who had seconds ago had the water level rise above his head.  The big knight was finally trying to make his way to higher ground, meanwhile the piranha was unsuccessfully trying to stab him through his heavy plate armour.


    ¡®I have to end this, or Ramirez and everyone in the nets dies.  Why doesn¡¯t Faylen have dominion over Lightning?  That could be really useful right now.  I need someway to fight underwater without drowning.  That¡¯s it.¡¯


    ¡°Mickael lay helplessly wounded before the demon.


    He prayed for the Lord of Light to fight for him.


    And the Lord did grant him Sol Gladium, the flaming sword.¡±


    As the prayer¡¯s magickal energies reached their zenith, Khali shaped the combination of Holy and Fire energies into the flaming sword, Sol Gladium, and then threw the sword into the water.  Sol Gladium was the flaming sword of Faylen.  Nothing on Driax could extinguish it, and when cast with this prayer, the sword could be directed towards the priest¡¯s foes and it would attack all on its own, without the need for a wielder.  The only requirement was for the priest to maintain a portion of her concentration on controlling the blade.


    Khali did that now, and directed the blade towards the piranha spearing Ramirez.  The water was steaming all around the sword as the water tried its natural best to smother the flame which had been thrust into its midst.  But this was no normal flame.  This was holy fire, and it would not be extinguished.


    The blade flew under-water at the same speed it did in the air, which was considerably faster than Ramirez was moving.  It impaled the piranha through the back.  Ramirez stumbled the rest of the way to the boxes and tried to climb on, but between his wounds, the heavy weight of his armour, and his lack of oxygen, he did not have the reserves left to achieve it.  He fell back off the box and sunk beneath the water.


    The last two piranha were now swimming away from the steam generating object in the water, and towards the box tower Janus and Khali were standing on.  They slid onto the boxes in much the same way that seals do.  Seals are not usually met by armed opponents.


    ¡®You were merciless to those in the water.  Now I return the favour.¡¯


    Before the piranha nearest her could recover its footing, Khali drove her sword down into its torso, pinning its soon-to-be corpse to the crate.  Janus had pulled a pair of daggers from somewhere, and dispatched the final piranha in similarly merciless fashion.


    There was commotion in the VIP area above.  Khali looked up.


    ¡®Please don¡¯t be a dwarf ordering a line of crossbows to open fire.¡¯  She began the first line in a prayer that might protect her if that were the case.


    ¡°Release thee water,¡± came the strained voice of Kezzimeir.  He was now backed into a corner, with Traviston crouched behind him, and one of Traviston¡¯s knives at his throat.  Khali could see Traviston whispering into the dwarves ear.


    ¡°We can take him.  He can¡¯t get us all,¡± called somebody from the upper level.


    ¡°That is true.  But I promise you Kezzimeir will know the judgement of the Lord of Light before you get me,¡± replied Traviston solemnly.


    ¡°He¡¯s right.  Drop ya weapons.  And I said release thee damn water!¡± barked Kezzimeir.  Khali heard some kind of mechanism activate.  She could hear gears grinding again and was aware the water level was now starting to recede.


    Above, she saw one of Kezzimeir¡¯s men with a crossbow considering risking the shot.  And for the time being at least, nobody was paying much attention to those below.


    ¡®It is time for Law-Bringer.¡¯  She began one of her favourite prayers.


    ¡°The Lord of Light said to the Inquisition you will be my weapons.


    Go forth from the light and into the darkness.


    And when you have need of your bow, sword, stake or mace,


    Call for it and it shall be there.¡±


    Inquisitors often fought the most magickal and powerful creatures.  Many of those had magickal resistances which required specialist weapons to destroy them.  This spell allowed an Inquisitor to summon to her hand any weapon from her arsenal, ensuring she would have the right tool for the job.  The last line of the prayer chose the weapon.


    ¡°I call for Law-Bringer!¡±  As Khali stretched out her right arm and pointed it upwards, there was a brief flash of light and her blessed crossbow appeared in her hand, loaded and ready to fire, just as she had left it when she carefully laid out all her weapons earlier that night.


    The head on the crossbow bolt burst into flames as she pulled the trigger.


    ¡®Fly true, my flaming spear of righteous judgement.¡¯


    The bolt slammed into the upper back of the man with the crossbow, and he crumpled to the ground.  But as he fell, he pulled the trigger.


    The crossbow went off and the bolt flew towards his intended target.


    And slammed into Kezzimeir.


    ¡®How unfortunate.  Karma¡¯s a bitch¡¯


    The dwarf screamed in rage and pain as the bolt hit his right shoulder.  Fortunately dwarves are tough enough to survive such a blow.  They could survive many wounds which would kill a human.  They could not survive having their neck sliced open though, and Kezzimeir knew it.


    ¡°Ya damn idiots.  Drop ya weapons right now, or I swear when I get out of this, I¡¯ll skin ya alive meself.  They aren¡¯t here for us!¡±


    Reluctantly the clientele of the Afterlife complied, and everyone dropped or put away their weapons.

 Chapter 8: The Afterlife after-party

    <h2>Inquisitor Khali ¨C Afterlife Club, Mari-kye, Assyrian Sea</h2>


    10<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Early Spring 845 PBM


    Khali sat at the most comfortable table in the VIP area.  Seated at the table with her were the people from whom she needed answers.  The only others still on that upper level were all her people.  Janus was behind the bar, likely cleaning the joint out.  Ramirez was lying on the floor.  Traviston was standing near the table looking menacing.


    ¡°You are lucky Ramirez did not drown.  It was a close thing.  This conversation would be starting very differently if he had.¡±  Khali studied the people around the table.


    ¡®Or if we were in Faylenia, and I had access to my usual facilities.  Isolated, scared and either in pain, or in fear of the pain to come.  That is when people tend to tell you their secrets.  Instead, we negotiate.¡¯


    ¡®Kezzimeir is probably irrelevant, but you can never be too sure.  I would think he will be keen to see things wrapped up so he can get his shoulder tended to.¡¯


    ¡®Hemas¡¯tan, my next link in the chain.  Probably thought he was pretty smart casting that spell to breathe underwater.  Not sure how that was supposed to save him from the piranhas, but maybe he thought Kezzimeir would end things before he died.  He tells me everything I need, or he dies.  Probably ¡®and¡¯ he dies.  I suspect his crimes have already tipped the scales too far to live.  Maybe it was luckier for me than him that he cast that spell.¡¯


    ¡®Kravath was an added bonus.  Was in the VIP area.  Looks really unwell.  Almost as if a massive shard of wood had impaled him about a week ago.  And apparently his masters either can¡¯t or don¡¯t care enough to heal him.  Unfortunately for Kravath, I doubt I need him either, but he gets to live long enough to tell me anything useful, including whether he was enthralling me back in the warehouse, and how the hell he got away.¡¯


    ¡®Madrath.  You played me.  Your explanations better be good or your shrine becomes a pile of smoking ash, perhaps with you in it.  You should probably stop looking so proud of yourself too.¡¯


    ¡°I will warn you that I have cast a zone of truth around this table,¡± warned Khali.  ¡°Anyone attempting to lie will be caught.  The punishment for lying will be unpleasant.  Kravath and Hamas¡¯tan, how you answer these questions may well decide whether you live or die.  Am I clear?¡±


    ¡°Can ya please explain by who¡¯s authority ye think ya can harm me, love?¡± asked the dwarf indignantly.


    ¡°You are a criminal, who is associating with people spreading the word of the Dark Gods.  The punishment for their crimes is death.  Being an accomplice to these actions could also mean death¡±


    ¡°You have no juris¡­ jurikdiction¡­ juris¡­. authority here,¡± stammered Kezzimeir.  ¡°The five tribes don¡¯t accept Inkwazition rule.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry too much about all of that.  The only thing you need to understand is that Faylen claims authority over all of Driax.  Its probably because he created the whole thing.  And rest assured that I take his views on my jurisdiction a lot more seriously than what the five tribes might say,¡± Khali replied firmly.  ¡°Any more questions before we get started?¡±


    ¡°As a fellow priest there are several agreements between the churches that mean you cannot harm me,¡± pointed out Madrath.  Annoyingly he was looking at her, but not directly at her.  His eyes seemed to be looking slightly to the left of her head.  It was disconcerting, as Khali could not tell if there was something stuck on her face, or perhaps something behind her.


    ¡®Are you doing that on purpose to rattle me, you weird little man.¡¯


    ¡°There are agreements between the churches, that is true.  But if you have been helping promote the worship of the Dark Gods, I intend to ignore every single one of them.  I figure when I get to the gates of the heavens, I am going to care more about what Faylen thinks of me than whatever small, misguided deity you worship,¡± replied Khali.


    ¡°Ballotre,¡± was the single one-worded response from Madrath.


    ¡®The God of mischief and trickery.  Frequently also a church involved in the underworld and crime, which they then use to fund the church.  Explains a lot.  Not a minor god.  But not a true major god either.¡¯


    ¡°That won¡¯t save you,¡± assured Khali.


    ¡°It might,¡± replied Madrath.


    ¡®You are still so damn, annoyingly calm.  What do you know that I don¡¯t?  Or do you just have a death-wish?  Maybe it will come out when the questions start.  Let¡¯s start with the dwarf.¡¯


    ¡°Did you in any way promote or assist these two, or anyone else in the worship of the Dark Gods?¡± she asked, watching his body language particularly closely for signs of deceit.


    ¡®Dwarves are naturally quite resistant to magick.  If there is anyone here on whom my spell may be ineffective, it is the dwarf.¡¯


    ¡°Dark Gods ye say.  What would any self-respectin¡¯ dwarven pirate need a Dark God for lassie?  Romard, the mighty God of the sky be enough for any man of the sea!¡± asserted Kezzimeir robustly.  ¡°And we darn¡¯t offend him easily, lest he sink our ships and drown us all.  Nigh¡­ we not pray to any of the Dark Gods here.¡±


    ¡®I detect no sigh of him lying from either my magick or my eyes.  Guess we move onto Kravath.  Can always come back to him if required.  None of them are going anywhere until I know what I need.¡¯


    ¡°Kravath, I will admit to being a little surprised to see you here,¡± Khali began.


    ¡°Go screw yourself, Inquisition scum,¡± Kravath spewed back.  Khali¡¯s expression changed to one of disappointment.


    ¡°Traviston, if you would be so kind,¡± requested Khali.  Traviston reached down and took Kravath¡¯s tied hands and placed them on the table.  He spread out the fingers of his left hand on the table so that each was clearly straight, separated and very much exposed.  He then placed a large, broad bladed cleaver on the table, not that far from the vulnerable fingers.


    ¡°I will get my information.  How many fingers, toes and other ¡­ appendages, we have to cut off before then is really up to you,¡± she replied grimly.  ¡°Would you like a sample of what it feels like to lose something to my blade?¡±


    Kravath was quite wide-eyed now.  He shook his head.


    ¡®Perhaps you will co-operate now.  Although it probably assists in loosening the tongues of the others if you do not.  You losing body parts won¡¯t be quite as convincing to them as losing their own, but it¡¯s close.¡¯


    ¡°Easy one to begin with.  How did you escape the warehouse?¡±


    ¡®This doesn¡¯t require you to tell me of your plans, or anything of your dark master.  If you won¡¯t answer this, then you are unlikely to tell me anything.¡¯


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me, I swear.  I remember being blasted off the altar, and¡­,¡± Kravath began.  He then paused as he considered the words to continue.


    ¡®Altar?  That¡¯s a fancy word for the shoddy table I recall you standing on.¡¯


    Kravath¡¯s eyes drifted towards Hemas¡¯tan.  There was a very slight shake of the head from Hemas¡¯tan and then Kravath stopped trying to finish his sentence.  Khali responded with a slight nod of her head.


    SLAM!


    Traviston picked up the blade in a whir of movement and slammed it down, taking off Kravath¡¯s little finger at the 2<sup>nd</sup> knuckle.  There was silence for a full second more, before Kravath screamed in pain.  He tried to pull his wounded hand back, but Traviston¡¯s grasp was stronger and the hand only slid a few inches.  Traviston;s leaned closer so that his eye was only an inch from that of Kravath¡¯s.


    Kravath was cursing, and most of it quite insulting to Khali and her heritage.


    ¡°9 ? fingers to go,¡± she replied simply.  ¡°How did you escape?¡±


    ¡®Now comes the real loyalty test.  You now know each wrong answer costs you fingers.  Are you really going to lose everyone of your fingers for your secret?  And what then?  We just start on something else.  So will you die for this secret?  I doubt it.¡¯


    ¡°It was Hemas¡¯tan.  He must have cast some spell which recalled any preacher who got badly injured,¡± Kravath replied through his pain.  Hemas¡¯tan¡¯s expression also took a turn for the worse.


    ¡®Very good.  He turns on Hemas¡¯tan and confirms there are other preachers.¡¯


    ¡°That is pretty powerful magick.  Any idea how it worked?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Shut-up!¡± said Hemas¡¯tan, his voice somewhere between rage and desperation.


    ¡°I think it has something to do with our dragon-amulets, but I don¡¯t know more than that,¡± replied Kravath.


    Khali looked to the table where all the items that had been confiscated from these four were now piled.  She could clearly see two amulets depicting a red dragon.  She noted the one from Hemas¡¯tan¡¯s neck was of a much higher quality and value than Kravath¡¯s, even having chips of red ruby for its eyes.


    ¡°Hemas¡¯tan¡­ or anybody else, care to elaborate?¡± she asked.


    ¡°As he said.  Screw you and your Sun God,¡± cursed Hemas¡¯tan.


    ¡®So very brave.¡¯


    ¡°We will get to you soon.  Then we will see how tough you are when its your fingers on the table,¡± retorted Khali, before returning her gaze to Kravath.  ¡°Were you using magick to enthrall the cultists?¡±


    Kravath now sat with his head hung low.  He had broken.


    ¡°Not me.  That was the amulets too,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Back in the warehouse you mentioned someone had given you a gift to protect you from ¡®us¡¯.  Who was that?¡± Khali asked.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    She saw Hemas¡¯tan stiffen again.  She whistled and Janus came over, clearly putting the nights takings from the bar into her pockets as she did so.  Khali gestured towards Hemas¡¯tan and Janus leant in close to him.  A blade appeared in her hand from somewhere.  She leant down, the blade disappearing below table height and towards his lap, and she whispered something into Hemas¡¯tan¡¯s ear.  His eyes went wide and he nodded his head firmly.  Janus gestured for Khali to continue.


    ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t hear your answer, Kravath.¡±


    ¡°Hemas¡¯tan gave it to me.  He said those of us going into Faylenia had a special assignment, so we got special amulets, and he also sent an acolyte with me to help.¡±


    ¡®Interesting.  OK.  Let¡¯s start on Hemas¡¯tan for a while.¡¯


    Khali nodded towards Traviston and then pointed at Hemas¡¯tan.  Traviston released Kravath¡¯s hand.  He immediately cradled it to his chest and clamped his other hand over the bleeding stump.


    ¡°I do not know anything about any of this,¡± interjected Madrath.  ¡°So, can I go?¡±


    Khali mock laughed.  ¡°Nice try.  You sent us here, so you know something.¡±


    ¡°I know they use the shrine to pray occasionally.  I know that tonight I managed to gather all of the various crime bosses into one room.  And by dawn I expect you will have killed my rivals, and hopefully torched this place,¡± replied Madrath.  ¡°When your strong-arm wakes tell him I appreciate his efforts.  His saving you from the poison was spectacular.¡±


    ¡°You were the one who gave Ramirez the ¡®tip¡¯,¡± Khali asked, mostly rhetorical.  Madrath nodded, still staring slightly to the side of her head.


    ¡°Why did you involve the Verdenel?¡± she asked, recalling his magick scream to make sure everyone in the bar blamed the Verdenel for the attack.


    ¡°Those particular Verdenal, the Varkonen here, and your new dwarven friend, currently control many of the criminal enterprises in the city.  They do it in a very sloppy way, and they frequently conflict in ways which spills out and affects innocent people in the city, explained Madrath.  ¡°As of tonight, the church of Ballotre will run things.  Anyone who wishes to continue to operate will need pay a devotion fee to the church, and conflict between parties under our devotion will be banned.  You will have made Mari-kye a much safer city, Inquisitor.¡±


    ¡®And the church of Ballotre much richer.¡¯


    ¡°You had nothing to do with promoting the worship of Dark Gods?¡± she asked.


    ¡®If he answers no to this, unless some other conflicting evidence comes to light, then I cannot punish him for anything.  Nothing else he has done here violates the law of Faylen.  In fact, I suspect the Lord of Light would approve.  Well¡­ if the Lord of Light were to acknowledge that crime and the existence of outlets for certain vices is inevitable.  Which the non-Inquisition part of the church does not.¡¯


    ¡°I did not, replied Madrath solemnly.  ¡°My God prefers to remain neutral in the conflict between your master and the Dark Gods, but we were not assisting them here in anyway.  I wasn¡¯t even supplying them their drugs.¡±


    ¡°Which is actually part of the reason you moved against them,¡± pointed out Khali.  Madrath grinned slightly and nodded.


    Traviston had now repeated the process of grabbing Hemas¡¯tan¡¯s hand, and laying it out on the table.  As he finished unfurling his fingers Hemas¡¯tan¡¯s eyes went wide.  He glanced to the knife and his resolve collapsed.


    ¡°OK.  The amulets have a spell in them,¡± blurted Hemas¡¯tan.  ¡°They trigger if the wearer is hurt bad, and it teleports them back to a oom we have here in Afterlife.¡±


    ¡°Contingency spells linked to powerful summoning or teleportation spells.  Pretty powerful stuff,¡± commented Khali.


    ¡®More powerful than I could manage.  And I suspect more powerful than this barbarian is capable of too.¡¯


    ¡°I will tell you everything I know if you agree to spare me,¡± bargained Hemas¡¯tan.


    ¡°I agree to spare your worthless soul if the information leads to whoever is above you,¡± Khali replied.


    ¡®Of course, I suspect you and I differ on what sparing your soul means.¡¯


    ¡°The amulets were made by a man named Anders.  We had to meet him in Drasak,¡± confessed Hemas¡¯tan.


    ¡®The dam is broken.  We must be careful he does not include lies, but from here he likely tells us what we need.¡¯


    ¡°Where did you meet this Anders?¡± Khali asked.


    ¡°At a tavern called the ¡®Eternal Watchman¡¯.  It was down an alley near the northern markets in Mascherata,¡± replied Hemas¡¯tan, resignation and defeat in his eyes.


    ¡®Mascherata, capital of Drasak, a nation controlled by the Assassin Guilds.  There may be no nation on Driax that is as immoral, or so in dire need of a cleansing inferno to rip through the place.¡¯


    ¡°What did he look like?¡± asked Khali.


    ¡°Tall man, with blond hair and blue eyes.  Strange accent from the west.  Wore plate-mail armour and carried a bastard sword, even to our meeting.  Still felt soft and pretty though, like rich city-folk.¡±


    ¡°Who set up the meeting?¡± probed Khali.


    ¡°We were first approached years ago by a man named Ronardo.  He gave us money and taught us of the Great Dragon.  He later asked us to start doing things for him,¡± replied Hemas¡¯tan.


    ¡®Who the hell is the Great Dragon?  Does he mean Razilin¡¯Tera from the ancient stories?  What does a 1000 year old dead dragon have to do with anything?  Let¡¯s keep that till last.  Don¡¯t want religious zealotry to get in the way of good information gathering.¡¯


    ¡°What does Ronardo look like?¡± Khali asked.


    ¡°Hairless rich Lotese noble.  Fancy clothes.  Speaks a lot.  Likes sound of his own voice.¡±


    ¡®Sounds like most nobles to me.¡¯


    ¡°Did you happen to get the last name of either of these nobles?¡± prodded Khali.


    ¡°Of course.  We judge you by the feats of your father and father¡¯s father,¡± Hemas¡¯tan replied sternly.   ¡°Anders is son of Hightower, a great warrior.  Ronardo is son of Nathoman, although why anyone would claim son of coward merchant I do not know¡±.


    ¡®Ok.  Neither of those names mean anything to me.  But nobles cannot be that hard to find.¡¯


    ¡°What is the plan with all the preachers you are sending off?¡± Khali asked.  Hemas¡¯tan hesitated slightly.


    ¡°I do not know,¡± he replied.  Khali¡¯s magick detected a lie, but she didn¡¯t need it to detect that one.


    ¡®Not a great liar this one.  Strong, violent barbarian types usually aren¡¯t.¡¯


    She looked from Hemas¡¯tan to Traviston, about to give him the signal to begin chopping.  Hemas¡¯tan remembered his predicament.


    ¡°Wait¡­¡± pleaded Hemas¡¯tan.


    SLAM!


    His eyes shot to his hand.  The knife was embedded into the table just to the side of his finger.  Hemas¡¯tan¡¯s breathing was now quite ragged.


    ¡°They are to go and find those who feel the current rulers have forgotten them.  The poor, and those kept under foot.  Speak to them of a new god who wants to return them to power, to allow the strong to take what is rightfully theirs.¡±


    ¡®That could be a compelling message if delivered right.  Not sure it leads to a capable force on the battlefield, but from inside the walls of a besieged city it could be very dangerous.  Hell, even just running amok in a normal city it could be hugely problematic.¡¯


    ¡°Where did you send them?¡± Khali asked.


    ¡°All over.  We send a single agent to each city within two weeks ride of here.  To a few special places we also sent acolytes to assist.¡±


    ¡°And all the preachers are of the five tribes?¡±


    ¡°No.  Many.  But we do not care.  Any believer who is fervent with his words may be a preacher.¡±


    ¡®How very tolerant of you.  Willing to send people of any race to their likely death in a far-off place, likely at the hands of a burning implement wielded by an Inquisitor like me.¡¯


    ¡°How many have been sent back to you?¡± Khali asked hopefully.


    ¡°Two, including Korvath,¡± replied Hemas¡¯tan.


    ¡°Where is the other one?¡± Khali asked.


    May as well bring him to the table too.


    ¡°She died from her wounds.  All we got back was a body.  She had a cross burned into her chest, so we suspect it was one of your order,¡± explained Hemas¡¯tan


    ¡®Ahh, my mistake.  Never assume corruption can only be found in males.  We are better than that.  As for the cause of death, we can only hope it was one of us.  I wonder if they got anything else out of her.¡¯


    ¡°Which city had she been dispatched to?¡± asked Khali.


    ¡°Faylenia.¡±


    Our capital!  What a foolish place to try and set up a chaos cult.


    ¡°Oh good.  The suicide mission.  How did she get assigned that plum gig?  Drew straws, she got the shortest?  Wouldn¡¯t pleasure the right cult leader?¡± taunted Khali.


    ¡°She volunteered.  Believe it or not Inquisitor, but not everyone likes your order,¡± explained Hemas¡¯tan.


    ¡°I assume nobody likes it.  You aren¡¯t supposed to.  We find the darkest parts of the mortal soul, and we cut out the corruption with flaming blades.  If you encounter us, chances are we are looking for you or someone close to you.  And chances are strong that shortly after that you hate us,¡± retorted Khali.


    ¡°Quick side question,¡± Khali interjected into her own discussion.  ¡°Given you have magickal powers of some kind, how come your tribe hasn¡¯t killed you yet?  I thought Korellian barbarians didn¡¯t think much of magick, and the Varkonen least of all.¡±


    ¡°My powers are gifts.  I did not study magick.  The gods wanted me to have these powers.  They mark me as descended from a dragon.  Some of my people tried to kill me.  I killed them.¡±


    ¡®Innate powers.  Hemas¡¯tan is a sorcerer then.   A dragon with water breathing though?  Its possible but it certainly isn¡¯t Red Dragon heritage flowing through his veins.¡¯


    ¡°Who told you that you were descended from a dragon?¡± Khali asked skeptically.


    ¡°Ronardo detected it with his magick.  He said that is why he sought me out.  He can detect those chosen by the Dragon,¡± replied Hemas¡¯tan proudly.


    ¡®Interesting.  Almost certainly a lie.  But a compelling tale.¡¯


    ¡°How did Ronardo tell you what to do?¡± Khali asked.


    ¡°The amulets.  It allows Ronardo to speak inside your head.¡±


    ¡°Can you speak back?¡± Khali asked.  Hemas¡¯tan nodded affirmatively.


    ¡®I guess I will be keeping those.  One to send back to the Inquisition, and one for me.¡¯


    ¡°Can you initiate the calls from your end?¡± Khali asked.


    ¡°I can.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± she probed.


    ¡°You must sacrifice someone to the amulet.  Its blood will activate a connection to Ronardo.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever tried that?¡± asked Khali.


    ¡°I have not,¡± Hemas¡¯tan replied.  Khali kept waiting to see if her lie detection spell would say that was a lie, but it remained silent.


    ¡®Hmm.  Am I willing to sacrifice one of these to try and setup a call with this Ronardo?  I am not.  We will hang the two barbarians.  They are guilty of worshipping the Dark Powers.  The others get to live.¡¯


    ¡°Where would I likely find Ronardo or Anders now,¡± Khali asked.


    ¡°I do not know.  The last time I saw them was when I met Anders in Drasak.¡±


    ¡®No lie detected.  Ok, I think we are coming to the end of this little gathering.¡¯


    ¡°Who is the Great Dragon?¡± Khali asked.


    ¡°He is the Dragon of strength,¡± replied Hemas¡¯tan proudly.  ¡°He rewards those who are strong, and those who build great empires over their weak neighbours.  He will grant Varkonen vast lands to rule, much gold, and many slaves.¡±


    ¡°Does he have a name?¡± Khali queried.


    ¡°He has many names.  The Great Dragon, the Unyielding Fire, Razilin¡¯Tera.¡±


    ¡®So it is the evil dragon from the legends.¡¯


    ¡°You know he is dead right?  Been dead for 850 years or so,¡± replied Khali.  ¡°Died when the paladin Xarron jammed a sword into this chest.¡±


    ¡°He is a God.  He cannot die.  And soon, he will walk the earth again.¡±


    ¡®I feel like if a dragon who died 850 years ago was a God, we would know about it by now¡­ right?¡¯


    ¡°Have you seen any priests of this Razilin¡¯Tera perform feats of magick with their prayers?¡± queried Khali.


    ¡®Not 100% fool-proof test, but other than wizards pretending to be priests, if a priest can call forth magick, then some kind of entity is answering the prayer.¡¯


    ¡°Who do you think created the amulets?¡± replied Hemas¡¯tan.  ¡°I have seen both Anders and Ronardo summon the power of their God¡±.


    ¡®Wow!  If that is true, then this God is real and could be powerful.  I suspect the Inquisition will wish to know of the possible arrival of a new major God in the neighbourhood.  Particularly if it¡¯s the Dragon who tried to take over all of Driax the last time he was in town.  This is also a lucky break for just about everyone here.¡¯


    ¡°We are done here.  Kravath and Hemas¡¯tan, I cannot find you guilty of worshipping forbidden Gods, because technically worshipping Razilin¡¯Tera is not forbidden.  But I will be sending you back to Faylenia, where the church can decide what to do with you,¡± sentenced Khali.


    Both barbarians hung their heads in resignation.


    ¡°The Afterlife will burn,¡± she continued, looking straight at Kezzimeir.  ¡°You allowed cults to gather here, and then to send their agents into my empire.  But I cannot be sure how much you knew, so you get to live.¡±


    Kezzimeir¡¯s emotions played across his face in a flash.  Denial, followed by rage, followed by resignation at the reminder the Inquisitor could do far more than just burn the place.  He was indeed escaping with his life.


    ¡°What of me?¡± asked the priest of Ballotre, his smug grin beaming back at Khali.


    ¡°You are free to go,¡± she replied begrudgingly.


    ¡®You both helped and hindered my investigation.  But dammit, you also manipulated my investigation to your own purposes.¡¯


    She slapped the priest across the face with her gauntleted hand.


    Her hand passed harmlessly through the priest, the image flickering slightly as it did so.


    An illusion?!  But then where is he?


    Khali immediately began a prayer to detect magick in the area around her.


    ¡°Please Inquisitor.  Let us not embarrass you or your lord by trying to see through the illusions of the God of Illusion.  Just focus on the fact we both got we wanted today.¡±


    Her prayer completed.  But as she looked around the room, Khali had to concede she could not see auras of Illusion magick anywhere.


    ¡°May we assist each other¡¯s causes again in the future,¡± came an echoey version of the priest¡¯s voice, but trailing off like it was getting further away.


    ¡°Alright.  You heard the judgements.  Let¡¯s make it happen,¡± barked Janus with enthusiasm.  ¡°Burn the joint.  Two for express travel to Faylenia.¡±

 Chapter 9: Ganderlyk’s Guest

    <h2>Kell ¨C Antorum, Antori Lands, Indiana Mountains</h2>


    15<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Early Spring 845 PBM


    Consciousness came slowly to Kell.  The pain from the side of his head still throbbed, and he could feel dried blood caked to the side of his face and hair.


    ¡®I am lying on cold rock.  But there is warmth coming from somewhere nearby.  My hands are tied tightly behind my back, and from the dull ache from both of my shoulders, they have been tied like this for some time.¡¯


    As he regained his senses, the faint murmur of conversation reached his ears. Recognising the harsh cadences of the Antori language, he recalled his dire situation.


    ¡°Ganderlyk, do not try and go back on our deal now.  Were it not for me, Hantoxx¡¯ sword would have killed you all those years ago.¡±


    ¡°I am not going back on our deal Jakobi, but I fear because of you I have given the souls of all my people to your Dark Masters.¡±


    ¡°We have only one Master, Ganderlyk, and his name is Razilin-Tera.  It was his blessing that healed your wounds and gifted you life anew.  And it is his blessing that gives your people their strength and their allies.¡±


    Barely parting his eyelids, Kell endeavoured to survey his prison without alerting any onlookers that he was awake.  It was difficult to make out details as his surroundings were very dark other than what appeared to be a large bonfire.  As his eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light, Kell could see that he was in a large cave complex, with a large central fire in a main antechamber.  It was this fire that was casting heat into all the surrounding rooms.


    His cell consisted of a small cavern, sectioned off from the main chamber by rudimentary wooden bars, forcibly embedded into the rock.  There seemed to be a section of the bars which could be opened much like a door.  There was also a gaunt, dark-skinned Antori warrior with large sunken eyes standing guard on the other side of the door.


    ¡°And in order to thank him for his blessings, we shall sacrifice the survivors to him, as your offering,¡± continued the first voice.


    ¡°That is not our way, Jakobi.  We should release them so that they might spread fear of our people to the other settlements.¡±


    ¡°But what of your warriors that fell, good Chief?  The ¡®Rising¡¯ requires a sacrifice of souls.  So you must decide to spare your people¡­ or theirs.¡±


    There was a moment of silence as the other figure considered his options.


    Standing near the central fire Kell could see the two figures he had overheard talking.  Kell recognised the larger figure as the witch-doctor he had seen earlier.  This man was obviously fascinated with death, having adorned his body in the skulls and bones of his victims, and he had tattooed his body with ghoulish white markings that made him look in the half light as though he were a walking skeleton.  And it was obvious from both his body language, and the fear on the other Antori¡¯s face, that it was the witch-doctor who was in command of this situation.


    ¡°We thank your Master for his blessing, and we will offer him a gift so that he might return our warriors to us,¡± replied Gandyrlak, although he was clearly pained by his decision.


    Kell¡¯s heart sank.


    ¡®The dark rituals of the Antori are a thing of horror, used to scare little Kestrel children into behaving.  If the survivors of Veranuk are to be subjected to these cruel practices then I doubt many will live ¨C men, women or children.¡¯


    Kell could clearly visualise the faces of his many friends among the people of Veranuk.  He had often visited the settlement on his hunting trips with his father and brother.  The thought that these people would all soon be dead deeply saddened him.


    ¡°And all Razilin-Tera asks in return is that you do as you agreed, and you lead his forces against the Kestrels,¡± Jakobi preached, gaining a eerie reverence with each word, ¡°And upon your great victory you will sacrifice their leader to him.¡±


    Kell¡¯s gaze shifted to the smaller figure.


    ¡®The smaller Antori is the mighty Ganderlyk?  How can this gaunt figure match the Ganderlyk from the stories?  He is smaller than I expected, standing maybe a little over five feet tall.  And rather than a well muscled warrior, this man is more gaunt than the one watching my cell. ¡®


    ¡®It is as if the Antori have run out of food.  Yet at this time of year food is plentiful.  Ganderlyk also has the same skeletal white tattoos across his arms and part of his chest. It is as if they wish to look like they are dead.  May the ancestors save their souls.¡¯


    ¡®Some great evil has befallen the Antori.  From the stories of Ka-Took and Hantoxx, they have not always been this way.  I am sure the source of the great evil is this Jakobi.¡¯


    ¡°It will be done.  But after that you and your Master will leave our people forever,¡± spoke Ganderlyk, hoping to gain at least some hope for his people and their future.


    ¡°Once you have delivered us Hantoxx and his Sword, your debt will be repaid.  We will then leave if that is the will of your people,¡± replied Jakobi.  His Master did not really care for the Antori people.  They were tools.  But a God does need willing worshippers.  Razilin would not give up people who wished his favour.


    ¡°Good.  Now go.  This is still my tribal fire and I wish to be alone.¡±


    Jakobi lowered his head in acknowledgement, and turned to leave the cave, ¡°I do not know why you have put the young one in the cage, but when I come back we will sacrifice that one together.¡±  Kell saw with horror that Jakobi was pointing at him.  ¡°Razilin will revel in his blood.¡±


    Kell closed his eyes, hoping they still did not know he was awake.  As his heart began to quicken, he tried in vane to think of a way out.


    ¡®Could I pull the bars out of the wall?  That would take time and alert the many Antori warriors here.  They would then easily shoot me dead with their bows, or spear me. Attack them when they come for me?  That is likely just changing how I die.¡¯


    Kell listened keenly to see if anyone was approaching but there was only silence as Ganderlyk waited for Jakobi to leave the cave.  He opened his eyes again, slowly.


    ¡°Has the merchant captain arrived yet?¡± Ganderlyk asked the Antori warrior nearest the cave entrance.


    ¡°He has, Chief.  Shall I get him for you?¡±


    ¡°Yes.  And have the captured items brought in here.  The captain will no doubt want to see them.¡±


    The warrior disappeared from Kell¡¯s view.  Ganderlyk paced around the fire.  Kell could faintly here singing, which he soon realised was Ganderlyk.  He recognised the song as an old Indian prayer to the Ancestor spirits, seeking guidance and inner strength.  His voice was full of sadness and despair.  Kell found himself drawn to join him in the prayer, for it was one his father had taught him also.


    Ganderlyk came nearer when he heard Kell¡¯s voice join his.  He waved the guard away, and studied the young Indian carefully as the prayer came to an end.


    ¡°You know the songs of the ancestors in Antori tongue?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I do.  My father, Ka-Took, taught them to me and my brother when we were young,¡± Kell replied.  ¡°I find it odd you honour the old ways with the prayer, when so much of what I see says you have turned your back on these things.¡±  Kell could not explain it but he found an inner peace with Ganderlyk standing before him.


    ¡°You are Ka-Took¡¯s boy.  I knew I could feel something within you.¡±  As Ganderlyk responded he subconsciously ran his hand across a large scar that ran from the top of his right shoulder to just under his right pectoral muscle.  ¡°Your father is an honourable man.  I met him once many years ago.  In another time, you and I may have shared this fire as friends.¡±  Ganderlyk stared past Kell wistfully, and Kell could see he was no longer in this moment.  It remained that way for a short while, before his reverie was disturbed by the return of the Antori warrior.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    With him was another man, although he remained too far in the shadows for Kell to see him clearly.  From deeper within the cave complex a pair of Antori warriors carried in a large pallet covered with Kestrel artefacts.  Kell could see weapons, tools, blankets, jewellery and many other items, all captured from Veranuk.


    ¡°Here Gerard, are many pieces of their culture.  These should bring high price in markets of the merchant man,¡± said Ganderlyk, using the common tongue of the city-folk.  While it was coherent, he was clearly struggling with this language.


    ¡°"Trinkets from the Kestrels might satisfy some, Ganderlyk, but you pledged more than mere curios. I sought an Indian guide¡ªa living one capable of navigating the heart of Kestrel territory,¡± came the reply from the shadows, a voice much more fluent in the common tongue.  Kell could tell that this man was no Indian.  But why this man would want to go into Kestrel lands, or why Ganderlyk, the chief of the Antori, would be helping him, was a mystery.


    ¡°We captured so few alive.  And the spirits demanded many sacrifices,¡± replied Ganderlyk, and Kell could sense Ganderlyk struggling with the shame of his response.


    ¡°That is not my concern.  I did not provide you with a wagon full of weapons and armour for some trinkets alone.  If you do not have a prisoner for me then I will be forced to take the weapons with me when I go,¡± responded the shadowed figure.  While it was a threat, the tone of the voice was not threatening.


    ¡°You cannot do that.  I need the weapons for the upcoming battles,¡± implored Ganderlyk


    ¡°Then give me what I need,¡± replied the voice firmly.  ¡°My employer will not be pleased if I do not return with a suitable guide.  And if I do not get my guide then my employer will not be attacking Ashue-Te, and your attack on the Kestrels will fail.¡±


    Kell¡¯s heart started pounding at the mention of Ashue-Te.


    ¡®Ashue-Te, the central settlement of the Kestrel tribe, and the home of nearly the entire Elder Council.  It is clear that the taking of Ashue-Te is part of what Ganderlyk has promised Jakobi, but I doubt the Antori could ever achieve this on their own.  The Kestrel have many more allies amongst the other tribes than the Antori do.¡¯


    ¡®But what of this mystery man?  If he also commands an army, then combined they could possibly take the Kestrel homeland.¡¯


    Kell slowly moved forwards, hoping to get a better look at this new figure.  But he had barely moved when the guard nearest his cell yelled out in alarm, at which point both the talking figures moved closer, and the shadowy figure moved into the light.


    This figure was much larger than any of the Antori, and wore the armour and trappings of the city folk.  His clothing was primarily an armoured jacket of metal studs and leather, with large metal plates covering his shoulder and left arm.  On his back he carried a massive Axe that was far too large for any practical purpose other than killing men.  He had dark hair and a dark beard, and his face wore an expression of determined cruelty.  Upon his hands he wore magnificent golden gauntlets, each adorned with what appeared to be the sigil of a snake.


    ¡°What about this one?¡± asked Gerard.  Kell could see the hesitation in Ganderlyk¡¯s sunken eyes, as though he was trapped and did not like any of the alternatives on offer.


    ¡°You cannot have this one.  He has already been claimed by another in my tribe,¡± replied Ganderlyk, even though it was specifically for this purpose that he had brought the boy here.


    ¡°Ganderlyk¡­ its time to choose.  Either give me this boy, or I take the weapons and you explain to the other elders why you don¡¯t have the weapons you promised them.¡±  Again, Kell could see the hesitation on the Antori Chief¡¯s face.  His eyes flitted around the room, going from Kell to Gerard and back again.


    ¡°Ok.  But you go quickly, before the Antori warriors return from the Rising,¡± replied Ganderlyk, ¡°and if by the ancestors¡¯ will you see your father again, tell him of what happened here, and tell him we are even now,¡± he added, looking directly at Kell.


    Kell was stunned and did not know what to say.  Gerard did not have the same problem.


    ¡°Suits me.  I do not want to be here when they return anyway; those who come back from that give me the creeps¡± replied Gerard, before looking straight into Kell¡¯s eyes, ¡°and believe me, you don¡¯t want to be here either.  I hear they have a taste for Kestrel flesh.¡±  Kell was revolted by the thought of cannibalism, particularly on him, but had little time to consider it further.  Gerard was now moving quickly towards his cell.


    Kell struggled to rise as Gerard slid open the narrow doorway to his cell and entered.  A brutal strike from Gerard''s metal gauntlet sent Kell tumbling back to the ground. Groggy from the blow, he looked up to see the snake-engraved golden gauntlets reaching down for him. The one adorned with a constrictor''s image hoisted him into the air with distressing ease.


    Kell felt his life being squeezed out of him. He resisted, but Gerard''s strength was overpowering. It felt as if a giant hand was tightening around his entire body, expelling the breath from his lungs. He fought for what felt like an eternity until, starved of oxygen, darkness consumed him once more.


    ****


    Unsure of exactly how long he was unconscious for, Kell awoke to the very strange sensation of the land beneath him rising and falling, as though it was an old man¡¯s chest, struggling for breath after a hard run.  he was lying uncomfortably in a small wooden cage, which on some of the more sudden falls, would bounce around the rather oddly shaped room he was in.


    ¡®Do the earth spirits get angry?¡¯


    Around him he could see the many Kestrel artefacts that had been given to the wagon captain, Gerard, as well as a couple of animals that were tied up in the corner of the room, in a pen barely big enough to contain them.  And the only exit from this room seemed to be the small stairs that lead up to a trapdoor in the roof.  Up above him Kell could hear many people moving about.  There were raised voices going back and forth, all in the city-folk tongue, mostly concerned with tying off things and letting others out.  And all the time in the background, Kell could hear what sounded like wood creaking, and the unmistakeable sound of waves.


    ¡®We must still be in the mountains, but moving quickly.  We are near the water.  Perhaps someone is chasing them, perhaps someone looking for me.¡¯


    This momentarily lifted Kells spirits, but within minutes of regaining consciousness, he began to feel quite nauseous.  Before long he was retching the contents of his stomach all over the floor of his cage.  This continued for several more hours, by which time Kell could only dry retch, having long ago emptied his stomach entirely.  A chilling thought struck him.


    ¡®I have been poisoned.¡¯


    The trapdoor opened, and Gerard entered, closing the trapdoor again behind him.  He was no longer wearing his armour, and his skin had a slightly green complexion.  He carried in his hands a small bowl of soup which he intended to give his prisoner.  A smile appeared on his weary face when he saw the state of the ships hold, and in particular Kell¡¯s cage.


    ¡°"It seems you take to life at sea as poorly as I.  Here, I have brought you some soup.  The sailors say it will settle your stomach.  But it didn¡¯t help me any.¡±  Gerard passed Kell the bowl through the gap in the bars, and Kell could see that although Gerard had removed his armour, he still wore his snake-inscribed gauntlets.  Gerard saw Kell admiring them.


    ¡°Nice aren¡¯t they.  They were a gift from Raul Nadar, Lord Merchant of the Golden Eagle Merchant House of Lotan, to his most trusted merchant captain.¡±


    ¡°Is this the man that you take me to?¡± Kell asked, using the city-folk tongue for the first time in almost two years.


    ¡°No.  My employer is the Red Flag Cartel.  Raul would never give me anything.  I took these from the hands of their original owner after I had driven my blade into his back.  Soon after I killed Raul too.  The Golden Eagle is now nothing more than a sham used by the Red Flag to allow our merchants to go into those places where we are no longer welcome.¡±


    City folk are strange.  While I understand the words he is saying, I do not understand what he is saying.


    Kell considered the soup, but after sticking his finger into it he found it to be cold.  Deciding it would likely only make him sick again he put it back down.


    ¡°Why do you want to go to Kestrel lands?¡± Kell asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t.  No roads, no bars and no beer.  But my employer wants to get a sword.  If he pays me enough I will go, otherwise he can send another man,¡± replied Gerard.


    Why are they so obsessed with Hantoxx¡¯s sword?  Swords are not common among my people.  Most carry weapons that also double as tools for hunting and surviving in the Indiana Peaks; weapons such as axes and hammers.  The few swords we do have are usually family heirlooms from the old wars when the Kestrel¡¯s allied with the Klydorian city-folk from the south against the warmonger Merlos from the East.  The legends say the blade carried by Hantoxx ¡®the Brave¡¯ was given to the Kestrels by the King of Klydor himself for our part in that battle.  Is that why they want it?


    ¡°Either way, you will be the guide that finds it,¡± continued Gerard.


    ¡°What if I will not lead you?¡± asked Kell.


    ¡°You could try that.  And then my master would probably torture the location out of you, or tear it from your mind with magic and leave you a gibbering idiot.  It will go much easier on you if you just help us.  And look at this way.  If you help us we may let you live.  Think of the honour of being the only one of your tribe left alive.  It would be your responsibility to make sure your tribe continued on.¡±


    ¡®How dare you speak like that!  I want to strangle the life from you!  You talk about the death of everyone I know and love, about the wiping out of my tribe, and yet you speak as though it is nothing.  At least you suffer from the same sickness as me.¡¯


    As the ground lurched from another swell, Gerard stumbled off balance, tripping over one of the crates and falling to his knees, now only feet from Kell.  He put his hand on top of the crate to steady himself, but his other hand went to his head in pain.


    Kell wanted to strike out at Gerard, but he was still frustratingly out of reach.  In anger, Kell grabbed the only weapon in range and threw it at his head.  Dazed from sickness and from the fall, Gerard never saw the soup bowl coming.  The edge of the bowl struck his left cheek, throwing its contents all over the face and hair of Gerard.


    Gerard looked up at Kell, but rather than the rage Kell had expected, he saw only cold steel in his eyes.


    ¡°You will regret that.  While I cannot hurt you while my employer still believes you have value, once your use is at an end you will watch while I kill your family.  Then when I am finished with them, I will cut you up.  Before the end, you will beg me for death.¡±


    Gerard stood up, wiping as much of the soup from his head as he could.  He turned and headed for the trapdoor.


    ¡°Hope you enjoyed that soup.  It will now be your last meal for the rest of the week.  For the next three days you will only get water.  And if you throw anything else at me, I will revoke that right as well.  You better hope this leaky boat holds together too, or else you may get the all the water you can handle down here.¡±


    How can this get any worse?  Ancestors, I beg of you.  Please help me!

 Chapter 10: Maragon Returns

    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Maragon¡¯s Tower, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    5<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Maragon had been gone for nearly a month.  There was no advance warning that anything had befallen Maragon or his companions.  Throughout this period, no alternative tutor had arrived to replace Maragon, although Mrs Lucrellin from the village had visited twice to check in on him.  Mrs Lucrellin was a kind widow who brought him food and saw to it that order was preserved¡ªa task she undertook with gentle diligence.


    Mitchell had long suspected Maragon and her had a romantic interest of some nature, as she would frequent the tower late in the day, and then stay overnight.  Other times Maragon would slip out of the tower at night, and sneak off, usually returning before dawn.  Initially they had tried to hide their visits. Then, once Mitchell had clued onto that, they had tried to hide the nature of the visits.


    This stage was the most annoying to Mitchell, as he had to give up his bed and sleep in the lounge.  And yet he was reasonably sure in the morning his bed had not actually been slept in - just made to appear like it had.  Only when Mitchell mastered a sufficiently potent Divination spell could he confirm his suspicions.  He confronted Maragon.  That led to the chat on the birds and bees.  It was clinical and uncomfortable.  The way Hawkin described it made it sound a lot more interesting.


    In the end Maragon simply instructed him to tell nobody in the village, as the townsfolk would see it as scandalous, when really it was none of their business.  After that Mrs Lucrella¡¯s visits were often quite pleasant.  The tower would always be made spotless before she arrived, but this really changed very little as Maragon was a stickler for cleanliness most days anyway.  But the food when she was visiting would be extraordinary, showcasing some amazing dish which Maragon would explain was from some far off land he had visited.  Apparently the key was the many exotic spices Maragon had accumulated in the kitchen.  Mrs Lucrella had commented they alone would be worth a fortune.  Maragon did not care for their value though.  He only wished to enjoy his food.


    Mrs Lucrella''s check-ins were unfailingly kind.  She brought a small parcel of goodies she had baked - usually containing sugary treats that Maragon would not have allowed had he been present.  She pointed out a couple of things for Mitchell to tidy to a higher state.  But otherwise she stayed overnight, enquired to his well-being, asked if he was keeping up his studies, and then left once she was satisfied all was well.  She complimented Mitchell several times about how responsible he was keeping on top of his duties unsupervised.


    Mitchell had tried to maintain a strict regime of magickal study in his mentor¡¯s absence.  This was assisted by several of the artifacts Maragon had within the tower.  The primary aid was ¡°Bossy Owl¡±, the talking Owl statue which currently seemed to rule his life.  In what was now a daily ritual, he stood before Bossy Owl, not for the first time wondering how it worked.


    ¡®A Telepathy enchantment linked to Maragon himself, which allows him to mentally send a pre-standing instruction each day; or perhaps it has a Divination enchantment and it does actually divine what would be the most useful sphere for me to study each day.  I hope it is not just a random sphere it picks each day with no meaning behind it at all, but that would run counter to just about everything Maragon stands for, so I consider it unlikely.¡¯


    His main concern this morning, and it had been a growing concern over the month, was that Bossy Owl was broken.  For the last three weeks the statue had repeated the same instruction every day.  He had never repeated training on the same sphere for longer than a week at a time, and even then it was only when he was struggling with a particular aspect of magick that Maragon refused to move on from until he completed it.


    That was not the case here.  He had been told to just keep practicing Summoning magic, with a focus on the ¡®Summon Person¡¯ spell and the intricate ritual circles that accompanied such incantations.


    ¡®The owl could be broken.¡¯  That did not feel right to Mitchell. ¡®It is still telling stories.  It does not have any left that I do not know almost verbatim, but the stories are changing each night.¡¯


    The next option left him feeling a cold sense of dread.  ¡®Maragon could be dead.¡¯


    ¡®If he did indeed send it instructions on what to tell me, maybe he is unable to send that command, so now it just keeps repeating whatever it was told last.¡¯


    There was the 3<sup>rd</sup> option.


    ¡®Maybe it can divine the future, and it knows at some point soon I am going to have to cast a Summon Person spell, and it is going to be critical that both my Summoning Circle and the spell are cast at the limits of my current ability.  Maybe Maragon has been captured?  Two of my options could both lead to this conclusion.¡¯


    But in the end the speculation was not going to get Mitchell anywhere.


    ¡®I had best keep following the instructions.  The Gods know I am totally sick of making Summoning Circles.  The attention to detail is intense, and the best circles I know can each take hours to etch out, with each circle and rune seeking mathematical precision to ensure the circle will do it¡¯s job.  Some summoning circles amplify the distance of what I can summon.  Some amplify what I can summon.  The scariest ones provide powerful wards to trap whatever I summon within the circle.  Lest whatever you summon wishes to do you harm.¡¯


    The circles Mitchell had been practicing were to amplify distance, and containment.  He thought he was getting better, so he had also started forming ritual circles with elements of both.  When he was finished Bossy Owl would state a simple instruction or comment.


    ¡®Well done.  Task accomplished,¡¯ was the one Mitchell wanted to hear.


    ¡®Acceptable.  You will need to do better next time,¡¯ was barely acceptable but very much preferable to the others.


    ¡®Not good enough.  Please try again,¡¯ or the dreaded,


    ¡®You failed and your focus was lacking.  Clean the lavatory and sewage works then come back and try again.¡±


    ¡®I wonder how the lavatory and sewage systems get cleaned in the months I do not mess up.  Does Maragon do it?¡¯  Mitchell laughed at the completely ridiculous image of that.  ¡®I wonder if he uses an Unseen Servant spell.  Assuming he does, then there is no need to make me to do it all.  Although it is a very effective punishment.  I haven¡¯t misbehaved enough to hear that one in nearly six months.


    Resigned to the fact he was going to keep doing whatever Bossy Owl said, he stepped forward and activated the artifact, tapping it on the head while uttering the magickal command word, ¡°Peto a te duce meis studiis[1]</a>.¡±


    The Owls eyes opened wide.  No matter where you were in the room, it always felt like the owl¡¯s eyes followed you.


    ¡°You should inspect the arrival ring.  Place your own summoning circle around it.  Then continue your study of Summoning, including the spell Summon Person and practice your summoning circles,¡± intoned the owl in a flat, monotone voice.


    ¡®Check the arrival ring?  That is new.¡¯


    The crown jewel of Maragon¡¯s tower, and in many ways the reason for the tower¡¯s existence, was kept on the top floor.  Locked behind a formidable steel door was a huge mysterious gateway that could create a magical portal large enough for men to teleport through.  Mitchell knew that it was guarded by more than just physical locks.  Maragon always spoke of the object as both very dangerous, and very powerful.  But as to where it lead, he did not know, for he had never been through it.


    It was a round arch-like shape with large, strange runes etched into a framework of wood and steel.  Maragon had permitted Mitchell glimpses of it only on rare occasions, but he had imparted enough knowledge for Mitchell to operate it should the need arise.  Maragon had explained its use as a contingency plan in case of emergencies.  Maragon always had contingency plans for everything.


    The chamber the gate was kept in was devoid of anything except for the tower¡¯s solid stone walls and a complex web of machinery and gears that operated the roof.  At the manipulation of a specific lever, the entire stone roof would unfurl, forming an aperture that pointed skywards.  For reasons that had never been completely explained, the gateway required a clear night and a view of the stars to operate.  Upon utterance of the command words, the gateway could draw power from the stars themselves, focus this energy, and open a portal to some far off place, where Mitchell presumed the other Saranti Seven would be waiting.


    Maragon return had always been the same way, except that the return trip always placed him just outside the tower, in the middle of a circle of small tightly packed rocks.  To the untrained eye, the stones resembled a rudimentary firepit, but on closer inspection, one would notice the precisely carved runes on each stone, their exacting arrangement no accident.


    Mitchell examined the arrival ring.  Everything was exactly as he remembered it.  No sign of any disturbance to the rocks or their precious placement.  For the next couple of hours he laboriously put his own Summoning circle around the outside of the arrival ring.  The soil would not hold chalk inscriptions well, so he spent a lot of time finding new rocks that would be suitable to use to hold the arcane sigils necessary for the circle to function.


    Having constructed the circle, he allowed himself a brief reprieve for lunch, savouring the remnants of yesterday¡¯s soup. Post-lunch, he dedicated an hour to swordsmanship, performing a training kata.


    ¡®Maragon always chides me for prioritising magick training over my physical training.  A mind and body must be developed together.  Each is a tool and each is a weapon, depending on the scenario.¡¯


    He looked into the mirrors which were located around the training rooms and took note of the lean form staring back at him.  ¡®Not as muscular as Hawkin.  But I don¡¯t think I need be embarrassed anymore.  I am not the scrawny young boy I once was.¡¯


    The mirrors had initially seemed an odd thing for Maragon to indulge in.  He certainly did not care about his appearance in any vane kind of way.  But Maragon had explained they were useful for analysing your own movements, whether they be with a spell or a weapon.  They allowed you to be far more critical of yourself when practicing, to help ensure your form was as perfect as possible.


    Once he had worked up a good sweat, he washed himself and spent the rest of the afternoon studying tomes on the Summoning sphere, and in particular the machinations of the Summon Person spell.  Near the end of the day his mind tired, and he found his thoughts turning to flights of imagination and fantasy.  Without having meant to, he found himself role-playing a heroic moment in his mind.


    ¡®The fate of the world is in my hands.  Only a greater demon of Tzy¡¯Lord knows the answers we seek, so I must summon him here.  But we must be careful.  If the Summoning circle is not perfect, the demon will break through its barrier, and kill everyone here.¡¯


    ¡®The circle is complete.  I must now summon the demon, its entire essence pure evil.  The demon appears.  It rages briefly against its magickal bonds, but it is trapped.  It answers my questions.  But its arrogance grows with each question.  To the final and most important question, it refuses to answer.  But how can that be; the magick should compel it to answer.  The demon smiles, and steps through a crack it has forced in the summoning circle wards.¡¯


    ¡®I must fight the demon one on one or the tower is lost, and perhaps the entire world.¡¯


    Mitchell imagined the epic battle between he and the great demon.  He jumped and rolled around the floor, dodging imaginary lightning bolts and warding off necromantic tentacles with powerful Protection wards.


    ¡®The demons power is too much and it slowly overwhelms me.¡¯


    Mitchell imagined being struck by one of the Necromantic blasts, and his sword fell from his hand to the floor.  He crawled backwards towards the wall trying desperately to get away from the demon.


    ¡®The demon follows.  Keen to gloat as it casts the final spell it needs to finish me.  But, as it stands over me immersed in Necromantic energy, casting its dire spell which will kill me, I summon my sword back to my arm.  The speed of my simple spell catches the demon off-guard, and I slam the sword right through its demonic hide, and into its black heart underneath.  The demon looks at me in shock.  It tries to stammer one final insult.  And then it dies.¡¯


    Returning to the real world, Mitchell prepared himself a light dinner of sandwiches and retired early.  Bossy Owl sent him to sleep with the tale of the Black Knight, and Mitchell dreamt of the silent avenger''s triumphs in the service of Klydor.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ****


    An immense explosion at the top storey of the tower shattered the night''s silence, abruptly waking Mitchell from his tranquil sleep. As he leapt out of bed, he stole a glance out of his window.


    ¡®What the hell was that?  What time is it?... I guess about three in the morning.¡¯


    Not having the time to give the matter further consideration, he raced towards his door and flung it open.


    ¡®Remember your sword.¡¯  He stopped and grabbed his sword from the wall.  As the vestiges of sleep were cleansed from his mind, his rational mind took over.


    ¡®Slow down.  Speed could be important, but so too could caution.¡¯


    He carefully peered around the corner of his doorway into the hallway. The hallway was empty.


    From upstairs a thunderous boom and a piercing scream erupted, followed by a stream of loud curses which drowned out the rapidly weakening scream.  Mitchell sprinted towards the stairway leading to the upper floors of the tower and began to hurdle them two at a time.


    ¡®Maragon?  Please be okay¡­ Please be okay¡­¡¯


    The doorway at the top of the stairs was flung inwards.  Leaning weakly against the doorway was the tattered and scorched visage of Maragon, his once opulent robe lying around him in ragged strips, crimson stains scattered all over its surface.


    ¡°Stupid, idiot Priest.  Damn Tzy¡¯Lord cultists hiding in the darkness.  Always assume everyone is an imbecile.¡±  The stream of eloquent curses coming from his mouth stopped when Maragon saw Mitchell.


    ¡°Wh...what happened to...?¡± stammered Mitchell, as he rushed to his father¡¯s side.


    ¡°We do not have an excess of time,¡± replied Maragon, gently pushing Mitchell aside. Despite his obvious injuries, Maragon spoke clearly and calmly, raising himself up almost to full height as he walked down the stairway.  ¡°Follow me.¡±


    Mitchell looked through the doorway for some sign of the events that had transpired.  He thought he could see what might have been a charred corpse in the room beyond.


    One explosion.  One thunderous boom.  At least one Exploding Flame spell and a Lightning Bolt were cast.  And who knows what else I could not hear.


    Not wishing or daring to defy Maragon to investigate further, he quickly turned and pursued his wounded mentor down the stairs.


    Maragon lead him down the hallway and into his mentor¡¯s bedroom, quickly going to the cedar desk that rested up against the wall.  Mitchell followed behind, the adrenalin in his body flowing as the excitement of the possibilities engulfed him.  He drew strength from the sight of the Metamandu rug, as a sign of what Maragon could accomplish, and followed the older man into his room.  He had been in Maragon''s room many times before, usually when cleaning the place up, but he had never gone through Maragon''s personal belongings out of respect for the man.


    ¡®Having Maragon go through them in front of me is another thing altogether.¡¯


    With disconcerting nonchalance, Maragon swept the desk clear, scattering loose sheets of paper all over the room, along with books, pens and other instruments of varying value.  The most distressing noise was the shatter of crystal and glass as ink vials and other liquids joined the scattered debris.


    ¡°I hope you are not partaking in this hasty reorganising of your room just to give me something to entertain myself with tonight,¡± joked Mitchell unsuccessfully.  One of the quirks he had picked up off Maragon was being cynical or funny at all the wrong moments.


    ¡°I would not be worrying yourself with cleaning the damn tower if I were you!¡± scolded Maragon harshly, a severe glare being thrown Mitchell''s way before he returned his attention to the desk.  ¡°In fact, I would be surprised if the tower exists at all come sunrise.¡±


    That last comment had the exact effect Maragon had intended - a slap in the face.  Mitchell sobered up immediately and just stared at Maragon in mute shock.  Mitchell had barely even thought the tower penetrable before, and had certainly never entertained the idea of it being destroyed while Maragon was around.  He concentrated solely on what Maragon was doing and waited for his mentor to speak, aware that Maragon would likely explain more when he was ready.


    Maragon closed his eyes briefly in concentration and intoned a phrase that Mitchell could not quite make out.  In response a faint yellow rectangular outline appeared in the top of the desk, its lines slowly expanding in width until, with an audible click, the top layer of the rectangle folded inwards, revealing a vast blackness that was definitely larger than should have been possible considering the dimensions of the desk.


    Maragon carefully reached inside and picked out something.  When he brought his hand back out he held in it two large, perfectly cut, brilliant red gems, the likes of which Mitchell had never seen.  This was apparent all over his face.


    ¡°Stop staring like a dumbfounded boy, it is pieces of coloured rock.  Now listen carefully.¡±


    ¡°What is that?¡± Mitchell asked, accidentally ignoring his mentor¡¯s instructions.


    ¡®There is no way those are just coloured rocks!  Or for that matter even just a common gem.  You would never protect mundane things, regardless of their value, with such a special place.  You do need some kind of wealth to support you, but I do not think that dimensional pocket is where you keep your treasury.¡¯


    ¡°This stone is one of the most important artifacts in the history of mankind,¡± Maragon offered, indicating the stone in his right hand, ¡°and it has been known by many names; the Stone of Evronn, the Gem of Inspiration, and it was at one point part of the Crown of the First King.¡±


    ¡®Most of those names mean little to me, but the Crown of the First King is well known to all Klydorians.  It was forged by Chandrilar, with the help of the Llewyr. It is the hereditary property of the rulers of Klydor.  Legends say no army has ever been defeated with this Crown at its head.¡¯


    ¡°The Stone of Evronn?¡± Mitchell repeated, as his mind tried desperately to recall something from the annals of lore Maragon had made him learn, ¡°Evronn was one of the Champions of Micronia, and the most powerful mage of the early world.  He defeated the Red Dragon, Razilin-Tera.  Did he forge this?¡±


    ¡°Good to know you have being paying attention to our lessons,¡± began Maragon.


    ¡®I think you should thank Bossy Owl.  He did most of the work.¡¯  This time Mitchell resisted the urge to say his thought out loud.


    ¡°He created this stone just before the Champions of Micronia challenged Razilin¡¯Tera and his forces to a duel outside of the city of Laurabel,¡± stated Maragon.


    ¡°Razilin¡¯Tera¡¯s host had already destroyed the rest of Micronia, the first great human empire,¡± continued Mitchell.  ¡°Their goal was to destroy Micronia and if it fell, then they would have conquered most of the known world as there were no other great civilisations at that time to stop them.  If Laurabel had fallen, it also likely would have wiped humans from the annals of history.¡±


    Maragon nodded this was correct.  ¡°But the Champions won that day, paying with their lives.  The stone was then taken by Chandrilar himself when he began his journey west.  It inspired and protected he and his followers, before finally being used in the forging of the original Royal Crown, what we now call the Crown of the First King.  Its magick is part of what inspired the Klydorian troops to victory in the First Great War.¡±


    ¡°And the other?¡± asked Mitchell, indicating the stone in his left hand.


    ¡°An exact replica, intended to be used as a decoy in the event that the wrong people ever tried to get their hands on the original,¡± replied Maragon.  ¡°It was one of three replicas made over the years to keep the real stone safe.  While I forbid you to ever tell another soul, one of the replicas remains in the current Crown of the First King.¡±


    ¡°What... the Crown has a fake stone in it?¡± Mitchell asked incredulously.


    ¡°Not originally.  But it was agreed that it was too dangerous an item to allow to be in a such a public place, so it was swapped with the replica to stop a certain group of people from trying to steal it,¡± Maragon replied. ¡°So the Saranti Seven created a powerful replica that could in fact provide a similar enchantment for the crown as the original stone, but without some of the other ¡­ complications.¡±


    ¡°So you did it?¡± Mitchell asked.  He was more in awe of his mentor at this moment than he had ever been before.  And that was quite a feat considering how often a powerful wizard could cause awe in a young boy.


    ¡°Not me.  The Saranti Seven have been around since the defeat of Razilin¡¯Tera.  One of my predecessors did it,¡± Maragon replied.


    Mitchell¡¯s puzzle-solving brain was going into overdrive.


    Does the King know?  Did the Saranti Seven steal the gem?  Who is after it?  Why is it safer with the Seven than with the King?  Why are the Saranti Seven so old, and yet I have never heard of them in any of the stories?


    ¡°Does the King know?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°His ancestors did.  Whether King Juvrick Andurian II does I do not know.  I have only met the man once,¡± Maragon answered quickly.  ¡°Unfortunately we do not have time to answer all your questions now.  I am sorry.  I wish we did¡±


    ¡°Why is it so important that you show these to me now?  That battle was 845 years ago¡±  Mitchell started, sure that there was something else that he remembered about the historical battle... ¡°And Evronn was defeated by Razilin-Tera early in that battle!  It was the paladin, Xarron, who finally killed Razilin.¡±


    ¡°Just trust me that this stone played a large part in the victory,¡± replied Maragon assuredly.  ¡°And the stone has since played an important part in the foundation of Klydor.  And now her enemies wish to use the stone to destroy everything that was saved.  Suffice it to say that the Seven have dedicated our lives to ensuring this does not happen.  I do not have time to explain everything now, so just listen very carefully to what I have to say.  I need you to embark on a journey that is going to be very dangerous, but it is crucial to what I will be doing that you succeed.¡±


    ¡°You have completed your training and, although I wish you were further advanced in your studies, I have given you the basic skills required to survive.¡±  Maragon was now only cradling the replica in both hands and looking directly into Mitchell''s eyes, as if carefully gauging the reaction.  The original was already stuffed into his tunic pocket.


    Mitchell tried to say something but found himself unable to find the words to even the most simplest of questions, so he instead remained silent and stared dumbly back at his master, waiting for him to continue.


    ¡°For now you must take the replica of the stone to the exact place where the Black Knight saved Prince Ulderan in the First Great War against the Merlos.¡±  The command was so short and blunt that Mitchell waited for several seconds before realising Maragon was finished.


    ¡°But...why?¡± asked Mitchell.


    Because there are people looking for it, and I cannot risk them all following me.  You will have the advantage that nobody will expect you to have it so you will get a good head-start.  But if their magick detects you have one of the stones, even a replica, they will come after you with all their fury.  All you have to do is get it to Chandrex for now.  I will catch-up with you there and give you further instruction.¡±


    ¡°But¡­how will I know exactly where he was saved.  The whole area is likely buried beneath Fort Ajaxin now,¡± asked Mitchell, his voice betraying that he felt this task might be impossible.


    ¡®We built a huge military fortress on that site.  It remains the biggest victory in Klydor¡¯s history, and the only time a united host of Cthrag Merlo clan warriors has ever tasted defeat.¡¯


    ¡°The Black Knight saved him on the right flank of the battle,¡± replied Maragon matter-of-factly, as though his response should answer all of Mitchell''s doubts on the matter.


    ¡°The Plains of Victory cover an area of over 100 square miles!¡± exasperated Mitchell


    ¡°But it has only ever borne one fight of this magnitude.  How hard could it be to find a site of such scale, where the bodies numbered in the tens of thousands, and the magic ripped the very earth asunder.¡±  Again Maragon''s tone held an air of superiority, as though he was teaching a simple student basic facts he should have realised himself.


    ¡®Just ask the question.  Maybe a direct approach might actually extract some answers. The God¡¯s know I have tried more subtle means many times over the years and Maragon has always been too clever or too stubborn to give anything away unintentionally.¡¯


    ¡°What is going on?¡± Mitchell asked bluntly, the frustration evident in his voice that he did not have anywhere near enough pieces of this puzzle to figure it out for himself.


    ¡°As I have said more than once already, we have not the time for lengthy discussions at the present.  There are four bodies upstairs that tried to stop me getting back here and it will not be long before more arrive in an attempt to prevent my ever leaving.  You must be gone before that happens.¡±


    The mention of the corpses and an impending attack ended any thought Mitchell had of pressing for more information.


    Maragon opened up a drawer and took out a small velvet pouch.  He quickly opened up the pouch by pulling on the yellow drawstring and placed the replica Stone of Evronn inside.  With fluid movements he resealed the pouch and tied the drawstrings into a simple knot and held out it out to Mitchell with his right hand.  Slowly and delicately, as though trying to cradle water, Mitchell scooped up the pouch in both hands.


    ¡°Be very careful.  It may only be a replica but it is irreplaceable.  The amount of magic required to create that stone is beyond your limited understanding.  And even as a replica it has power.  I will be able to find you, and it will make it harder for others to find you unless they know exactly what to look for.¡±  In response Mitchell carefully placed the pouch inside his tunic, in a small concealed pocket sewed into the inner lining.


    ¡°You must prepare your equipment quickly and leave the tower tonight.  I must leave you now to make preparations for what is to come.  Travel to Chandrex and I will meet you there in three days where I will explain further.¡±  Without giving Mitchell a chance to say anything further he turned his back and strode out of the room, turning and heading out of sight.  He heard Maragon¡¯s soft steps as he walked up the stairs.


    ¡°Good luck.¡± Maragon called down.


    Mitchell knew he would not see or hear from Maragon again before he left, so he closed the door to his room behind him and began to prepare his backpack for the journey ahead.  He ran over what had happened in his head many times as he packed everything, but nothing made it any clearer to him.  He tried to build up an anger at Maragon for just expecting him to drop everything and travel to the other side of Klydor without giving him the reasons for doing so.  But he could not do it.


    ¡®I would follow that man¡¯s instructions regardless of what they were, or what the consequences might be.  I owe him everything for raising me, and for teaching me everything I know.  While understanding would be nice, it is not necessary for me to do what he asks.¡¯


    He picked up his backpack several minutes later and entered the kitchen, quickly gathering up small quantities of preserved meats, fruits and other rations which could sustain him until he made Chandrex.  There, he would pick up some more provisions for the longer journey to the Plains of Victory.  As he left the kitchen and started walking down the stairs, passing again from the elegant upper levels to the cold and bare stone of the lower level, he felt a new emotion building up inside of him ¨C fear.


    ¡®I am about to leave everything I have known behind.  I am going to cross the entire empire, and travel to places I only know from books.  And there is a good chance I am going to be chased by things powerful and evil enough to level a magickally enhanced stone tower in one night.  And I will do it alone.¡¯


    Yet, as he stepped away from the tower, Mitchell reconsidered.


    ¡®Actually¡­ perhaps not alone.¡¯


    Mitchell found himself walking away not towards Chandrex, but towards Garet.


    ¡®I can think of at least one person in the town who would be happy for the chance to set off on some crazy crusade.  And I would be happy for the company.  If by chance, we do encounter trouble, Hawkin¡¯s prowess in a fight would certainly be very helpful to have around.¡¯


    As he walked away from the tower he was sure he heard the muffled sounds of explosions through the walls.  He was sorely tempted to turn around and race back to the tower; to help Maragon fight off whatever challenged him.


    But then he remembered Maragon¡¯s words ¨C ¡®He is expecting this.¡¯


    With grim determination he continued on the road to Garet, trusting in Maragon¡¯s ability to protect himself.  He deliberately ignored the feeling inside his chest that he would never see his father again.


    <hr>


    [1]</a> I require your guidance on my studies

 Chapter 11: Finding who your friends are

    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Aranson Manor, Garet, Klydor</h2>


    6<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    ¡°You are going where?¡± roared Hawkin incredulously.


    Moments before, Mitchell had tapped on his bedroom window, waking him. After being allowed entry, Mitchell had informed Hawkin of his imminent departure for Fort Ajaxin via Port Chandrex.


    ¡°You know.  The big fort we built when we beat the Merlos.  The one on the other side of the empire?¡± Mitchell replied sarcastically, well aware that while Hawkin was no keen student of geography, he knew where the Fort was.


    Mitchell had banked on Hawkin¡¯s impulsive nature; his outburst during a hunting trip months earlier had not faded from memory. Yet as the conversation unfolded, Hawkin appeared nervous and uncertain.


    ¡°I have some very urgent business to intend to and I am afraid it cannot wait.¡±  Mitchell''s voice was calm and his manner made it appear he was in control of everything at hand, but his insides were churning when for the first time it occurred to him that Hawkin may actually refuse.


    ¡®Please do not say no!¡¯


    Hawkin however raised his eyebrows at Mitchell''s last statement as though something of incredible importance had just been let slip.


    ¡°Your business?...or Maragon''s?¡± queried Hawkin, his eyes showed he doubted that Mitchell had anything to do with this strange behaviour.


    ¡®Sometimes I wish you were as dumb as we like to joke you are.¡¯


    ¡°Maragon has affairs to tend to and is currently preoccupied. I am acting on his behalf,¡± Mitchell responded.


    ¡°You mean he''s too afraid of daylight to leave his stupid tower,¡± snapped Hawkin.


    ¡°Do not talk of him in that way.  He is as brave as any man in the land.¡± Mitchell replied indignantly.  ¡°As usual, there is much you do not understand.¡±


    Hawkin scoffed at that suggestion and shook his head, but knew Mitchell well enough to let it drop at that.


    ¡°What affairs might these be that have you running off into the wilds in the middle of the night?¡± queried Hawkin.


    ¡°I need to deliver something to Fort Ajaxin,¡± Mitchell replied.


    ¡®Slight bending of the truth.  But Maragon did ask me to take the replica ''Stone of Evronn'' to somewhere near the Fort.  So it is not an outright lie.¡¯


    ¡°But it could be dangerous so be prepared for anything.¡±  Mitchell added the last part as he did at least need to let his friend know this trip could be perilous.


    ¡°Danger, hey?...I like the sound of that.  And you¡¯re wanting my company on the road there, right?¡±


    ¡°You are very observant my friend.¡±


    ¡®Normally I dislike the reckless way you brush off danger.  But not tonight.  I did not come all the way here to talk you out of coming.¡¯


    The two friends stared at each other, gauging each other for a reaction for what seemed an eternity to Mitchell.  Hawkin¡¯s facial expressions softened and a shallow laugh escaped his mouth.


    ¡°Just let me get my gear,¡± the big man said as he pulled on a pair of breeches that had been carefully and meticulously screwed up and thrown on the floor next to his bed, ¡°Besides, I can always tell father that I was going to Fort Ajaxin to further my training.  What better place than the central command of the Knights of Klydor.¡±


    Then he motioned for Mitchell to stay, and quietly slipped out the door and into the hallway beyond.  Mitchell felt the tension inside his chest evaporate.  Slowly, the enormity of what he was doing was dawning on him, but having found somebody to accompany him made it all seem bearable.


    ¡®Least I can count on Hawkin to make the trip as enjoyable as possible.¡¯


    Several minutes later Hawkin returned with a small pack that was obviously struggling to contain all of its contents, and slung over his shoulder was the huge scabbard that held his sword.  He had a contagious grin on his face when he glanced at Mitchell.


    When Hawkin slid on a sleeveless tunic, and then slipped a dagger from his desk drawer into his boot, Mitchell knew the time to leave was rapidly approaching.  But he was still caught off-guard when Hawkin moved away from the door, and instead stepped out of the window.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Mitchell asked, although the answer was becoming increasingly apparent.


    ¡°Hurry up, would you.  I''m only doing this for you,¡± Hawkin snapped back.  ¡°And be quiet or you''ll wake the whole house up.¡±


    ¡°I hope your motivation is the consideration of your household''s slumber and not that you do not wish your father to know of your departure,¡± warned Mitchell.


    When Hawkin picked up a shirt of chain-mail he had obviously just placed outside the window during his earlier absence, and began to sneak towards the stables several hundred feet away, Mitchell knew the answer.


    ¡°Relax Mitchell¡­ I left him a note,¡± he called back just loud enough to be heard.


    With a helpless shrug of his shoulders, Mitchell began to move quietly after him.


    ¡®I would not want to be here in the morning when Lord Sarek sees that note - Hi Dad.  Ran off with Mitchell.  Who would have guessed he would be the one to get me into trouble.¡¯


    ¡°Is Peregrin still here?¡± asked Mitchell, suddenly remembering the Llewyrr elf who was staying with Hawkin¡¯s family.


    ¡°He is asleep in the guest quarters.  Please don¡¯t say you want to bring him?¡± queried Hawkin.


    ¡®His skills could be useful if we get in trouble.  But I do not know him well enough to trust him yet, so it is better to leave him here.  I am also not sure he is capable of keeping a low profile.  It will be hard enough to do that with Lord BimboBox.¡¯


    Inside the stables of the Aranson family were eight of the best horses in Garet.  There were chestnuts, blacks, and even Sarek''s old grey which had become a legend to the rest of the militia.  Hawkin wasted no time in taking his riding gear down from the wall, and moved into the stall to gear up his magnificent chestnut mare, Alannor.  As he gently stroked the horse''s nose he turned to Mitchell and pointed to a black stallion in the stall next to his, and then to another saddle that was hanging on the wall.


    Mitchell looked at the horse carefully. Last time out on a hunting trip Hawkin had deliberately given Mitchell the most troublesome horse in the stable.  That had lead to Mitchell struggling mightily and even falling from the horse at one point when a wild boar got spooked and ran right at him.  This was a serious moment, so choosing a bad horse was less likely.  But Hawkin rarely understood the need for being serious.


    ¡®What is the point?  I cannot tell the nature of a horse by looking at it, and hence am powerless to ascertain its character.  Once again I place my wellbeing in Hawkin''s hands.  But if this goes badly again, I cannot promise I will refrain from using my Illusion magick to make him hideously ugly the next time we go out drinking.¡¯


    Mitchell hurriedly began to saddle the horse.  He could have sworn he heard movement from the furthest most stall in the stable, but as that stall was unlit it was impossible to see anything.  Perhaps they had stirred one of the horses.


    ¡°Hurry up,¡± chided Hawkin, more because he was impatient than any concern to save an extra minute before they left.


    ¡®Sure.  Expect me who saddles horses five times a year to compete with you who does it every single day.  Maybe you would look good with two huge warts on the side of your nose.¡¯


    ¡°Your cinch strap needs tightening,¡± instructed a third voice, slightly more melodic and higher pitch than either Hawkin or Mitchell.


    Mitchell¡¯s head snapped around in surprise.


    There stood Peregrin, leading his completely saddled white horse from the back stall.


    ¡®Even his damn horse is stealthy.¡¯


    Mitchell tightened the cinch strap again, and once Peregrin gave him a nod of approval, he finished the rest of the procedure, and lead his horse from the stall.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± asked Hawkin, louder than he intended.


    ¡°I am following you as you attempt to flee your father,¡± Peregrin replied.  ¡°If nothing else I will earn the favour of your family by ensuring you come to no harm.¡±


    ¡°Why not just stop me?¡± asked Hawkin.


    ¡°Because I wish to understand humans, and in particular their ruling class,¡± replied Peregrin.  ¡°Stopping you from behaving as you wish to, particularly when are about to do something potentially stupid, runs counter to the whole reason I am here.¡±


    ¡°How did you know?  Did I wake you?  Don¡¯t tell me you found the note already?¡±


    ¡°I do not sleep.  At least not as you do.  Elves go into a state we call Olos Enyali?, or the ¡®Dream of Memories¡¯ in your tongue.  It is how we consolidate the memories of our extended lives, more a profound meditation than sleep, re-experiencing our past. Hence, I remain more vigilant at night,¡± explained Peregrine.  ¡°I heard figures moving through the house, and so I investigated further.  Once I saw you gather your armour and riding boots and put them outside the window, it was a reasonable conclusion you were about to depart your father¡¯s estate in an unannounced fashion.¡±


    ¡°So you were just creeping around behind me as I moved around the house?¡± asked Hawkin, in a tone making it clear he thought that behaviour was both strange and creepy.


    ¡°I was testing two things; my skills in stealth; your skills in perception,¡± replied Peregrin.  ¡°If it makes you feel any better, most Lie would be deeply embarrassed if an Ala-Lie was able to detect them while they were stealthing.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t,¡± replied Hawkin.


    ¡°If you are intending to come with us, do you not wish to know where we are going?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°I will ask my questions once we are clear of the manor and it¡¯s guards.  I will not be the reason you are detected,¡± replied Peregrin.


    Mitchell nodded his appreciation.


    Hawkin led Alannor out of the stable and along the path that lead through the estate grounds to the town street.  Mitchell followed a close distance behind, while Peregrin brought his horse at the rear.  Their conversation was kept to a minimum of hushed whispers as they moved, and none of them carried any light source, their only vision coming from the moon and the few lanterns that were hung intermittenly along the path.  Even though they were out of earshot of the house, Hawkin remained cautious because there were always two members of the militia on watch in the grounds.


    ¡°You sure you don''t want old Cranky again?  There is still time to change your mount,¡± snickered Hawkin as they rounded the last corner and started to head for the iron gate.  He never saw the reaction, but felt the dull blow to the back of his head.  He turned around, surprised Mitchell had been able to reach him so quickly.  He was more surprised when he saw Mitchell still well out of arm¡¯s reach.


    ¡®Using a simple Telekinesis cantrip to slap his head is not my proudest moment.  Maragon would not be pleased at my using Magick for such a petty response.  But in this moment, it was worth it.¡¯


    ¡°Ouch¡­How in all the hells did you do that?¡± he queried, but if he was going to say anything else he stopped.


    A hundred feet down the path two figures came into view.  But rather than standing at their guard-posts as expected, both appeared to be lying on the ground motionless.  Their red lion''s head crest stood out plainly on the blue background of their tabards, the distinctive crest of both the Aranson family and the militia of Garet.


    Hawkin was spurred into motion instantly, sprinting the short distance to the guards'' unmoving bodies.  With precision that Maragon had taught Mitchell to associate with thieves or warriors, the big man stooped only ever over the nearest one and checked for a sign of life.  Oddly, he could see what seemed like pinches of sand, and some flower petals on the ground in front of them.  When he looked up he saw Peregrin had his bow out with an arrow, and was looking everywhere for signs of a threat.  But Mitchell was calmly walking the two horses towards him.


    ¡°What the...Can''t you see what''s happened?  Both of these men have been knocked out,¡± Hawkin cried.  ¡°We must sound the alarm.¡±


    ¡°Asleep actually,¡± Mitchell replied.  ¡°Keep quiet you stupid ogre or you will wake them up.  As they are only asleep they will awaken soon unharmed, by which time we will be a long way from here.  Alternatively, you could keep screaming at which point I suspect they will awaken now, and you will need to explain why we are stealing two horses.  What is the punishment for horse theft again?¡±


    Hawkin looked at his friend very suspiciously.  ¡°I don''t know how you did this, but you will explain it to me later, won''t you?¡± he asked.


    ¡®I suspect at some point the truth is going to come out, yes.¡¯


    ¡°I did not harm them,¡± Mitchell replied solemnly, ¡°Now please let us move on.¡±


    With that Mitchell mounted his horse and began to gallop out of the Aranson grounds.  With another look at the peacefully sleeping guards, Hawkin shrugged his shoulders to no one in particular and also mounted his horse.  Within seconds, he too was racing along the dark streets of Garet, chasing after the faint form in the distance.


    Peregrin examined the scene closely, and briefly touched the sand and rose petals.  A knowing look came over his pointed features, before he whistled for his mount, mounted it in one smooth motion, and galloped into the streets after his quarry.


    After a few minutes of hard riding Peregrin caught up to the rapidly moving Mitchell and Hawkin.  Out of immediate danger, Mitchell reigned in and slowed his mount down to a slow canter, allowing the others to reign in beside him.


    ¡°Where to first?¡± Hawkin asked.


    ¡°Down Kaver''s Road to Chandrex,¡± replied Mitchell confused, not following what Hawkin was talking about, and aware of only one way to get to Chandrex.


    ¡°You sure we don''t want to see if we can find two more companions crazy enough to join us?¡± Hawkin asked.


    The light of understanding came into Mitchell''s features and he slowly nodded his head.  He alone would have been reluctant to involve them, but if Hawkin also thought it appropriate, then he was easily convinced.


    ¡®Drawing confidence from an idea because Hawkin is in agreement is seldom a good idea.  But in this case I WANT to agree with him.  I hope I do not end up regretting this.¡¯


    ¡°Splendid idea, but their farms are both outside the city, on opposite sides, and we do not have an abundance of time.  If you will be kind enough to retrieve one, then I will make it my duty to find the other,¡± Mitchell replied.


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°Which one do you want me to fetch?¡± asked Hawkin, pretty sure he already knew the answer.


    ¡®I would love to go and get Alicia, but the thought of going to her house this late at night also fills me with cold dread.  I will go and get Davon.  That seems much simpler and safer.¡¯


    ¡°You can find Alicia, I am not as accustomed to knocking on the windows of young girls in the middle of the night as you,¡± Mitchell replied, a large smirk enveloping his face.


    ¡°You mean you¡¯re too yellow-bellied to knock on her window in case she knocks you out, or places a curse on you,¡± replied Hawkin.


    ¡°That is ridiculous,¡± replied Mitchell, trying to sound offended at the suggestion, as the smile rapidly disappeared from his face.  ¡°She could not hurt me, she is only a...¡± Mitchell stalled as he looked for the right word.


    ¡®She is a priest of Chandrilar, and therefore little of her magick is of threat to me.¡¯


    ¡°¡­girl?¡± Hawkin queried, finishing his sentence for him.  Hawkin had been baiting him, and now he thought Mitchell had fallen directly into his trap.


    ¡®Oh No!¡¯


    ¡°Good to know, then you won''t mind a bit when I tell her what you just said.¡±  A smile now covered Hawkin¡¯s features as Mitchell''s showed even more displeasure at the turn in conversation.


    ¡°Please do not do that,¡± Mitchell pleaded.  ¡°That is not what I was going to say.¡±


    Sinister laughter was the only reply Mitchell got as Hawkin rode off in the other direction.


    ¡°What is wrong with being called a girl?¡± asked Peregrin, genuinely confused.  ¡°Is there something inferior about human females?¡±


    ¡°Not particularly.  Although in my limited experience they are capable of holding onto slights, even imagined ones, for an inordinately long time,¡± replied Mitchell mournfully.


    ¡°Ahh.  That is a trait they share with Lie women too then.  However, a Lie woman can do it for centuries.  Try living with that.¡±


    <h2>Hawkin ¨C Road to Port Chandrex, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    6<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    The morning greeted Hawkin as warmly as any other he could remember.  For the first time in many months he was leaving the town of Garet and the suffocating presence of his father.  He was embarking on a grand adventure, and he was able to spend time with his friends.


    ¡®Although I will likely face consequences for my actions this night, I am more excited and free than I have ever been in my life.  This trip will not end in a couple of short days.  I could be gone weeks, months even¡­ perhaps even forever.  Even the grumbling presence of Alicia riding next to me can do nothing to dampen my spirits.  I would not change a thing.¡¯


    ¡°Apparently a priestess of the God of Chivalry and Duty does not like having to leave town in the middle of the night,¡± poked Hawkin.  ¡°Perhaps it is just your way of protesting your ideological differences with the goddess of darkness.¡±


    ¡°Is it possible you came up with this scheme yourself just to get us out of Garet?¡± Alicia queried, as she pulled her travelling cloak tighter to ward off the fresh morning breeze.  Her eyes revealed a definite lack of sleep, while the almost constant yawns told Hawkin they would probably have to stop soon.  ¡°And do not take to referencing the Dark Gods lightly, Hawkin.  Within my church you could be whipped for such associations,¡± she added.


    ¡°Would you whip me personally,¡± he continued, ¡°I might like that... I wonder what the ceremonial outfit for that might look like.¡± Hawkin''s tone was playful, undeterred by the gravity of the conversation.


    ¡°You know people have been flogged to death?¡± she asked incredulously.


    ¡°Does that mean I get a last request too?  Then my request would be to choose the outfit you whip me in,¡± he replied, refusing to take the conversation seriously.


    ¡°I thought priest''s were meant to be about kindness, mercy and forgiveness,¡± called Davon from in front, joining in the light-hearted jests at Alicia''s expense.


    ¡°I could serve my God by performing a couple of ''Last Rites'' if you would prefer,¡± she jibed back, and again her companions broke into laughter.  ¡°What would have possessed me to crawl out of bed in the middle of the night to accompany you three anywhere is beyond me.¡±


    She mumbled something under her breath about a vision, but Hawkin could not make it out.


    ¡®Time to redirect the rage.  Gods, this is fun.¡¯


    ¡°My recollection is you didn¡¯t really,¡± replied Hawkin.  ¡°You initially just wished me good luck and tried to close the window again.  It was only when I threatened to come into your room, dress you myself, and, if necessary, drag you kicking and screaming with me, that you agreed.¡±


    ¡°I could not work out if you were serious,¡± admitted Alicia, ¡°and actually it was when you mentioned Mitchell was going with you that I changed my mind.  You are big and dumb enough to look after yourself.  But Mitchell both warrants and needs protection.¡±


    ¡°I was completely serious.  Both about needing to go, and that I would have come in and got you.  Or should I say I meant everything I said.  Not sure I am ever serious,¡± replied Hawkin with a grin.  ¡°I also think it helped when I told you Mitchell wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to bring you, because you are a girl.  After I saw the resolve in your eyes at that point, I knew a simple, ¡®I will wait out here¡¯ was enough.¡±


    ¡°But I did not say that,¡± pleaded Mitchell from the back.


    Alicia glanced back at Mitchell, then shook her head.  She took her horse up and began riding next to Davon, who was leading the group about fifty feet ahead.


    Mitchell stole a questioning glance at the large figure of Hawkin, now beside him, and saw a beaming grin on his face.


    ¡°But I did not say anything like that.  I know she has always struggled with being treated differently because she is female.  She should be angry with you,¡± Mitchell argued.


    ¡°You have so much to learn when it comes to women, Mitchell.  But do not worry.  Your sacrifice was necessary to ensure she came with us.  You did your duty for Chandrilar.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Mitchell blurted out.


    With a smug laugh Hawkin pranced Alannor up to the front and resumed riding beside Alicia again, leaving Mitchell to ride behind the rest in complete confusion.


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Road to Port Chandrex, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    6<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    ¡°Is it customary for human nobles to mock and belittle their people?  To use half-truths and lies to turn them against each other?¡± asked Peregrin, bringing his horse up beside Mitchell.


    ¡°No,¡± replied Mitchell after considering the question for a few moments.  ¡°Hawkin is just an ass who thinks everything in life is a great big joke because he has never had to work for his place in the world.¡±


    ¡°How far along are you in your Mage training?¡± asked Peregrin, much to the surprise of Mitchell.


    ¡°Wh.. What do you mean?¡± Mitchell stammered.


    ¡°My first suspicion was when we trained together.  Your off-hand rests in a rather strange configuration.  Unless you intend to cast Air magick, in which case it is an efficient way to keep your hand,¡± replied Peregrin.  He mimicked the gesture, stretching three of his fingers to their fullest, but well apart, while keeping his ring finger tightly curled.


    ¡°The way someone holds their off-hand can often tell whether a caster intends to lead off with an elemental spell, defensive spell, or divination spell,¡± continued Peregrin.  As he spoke his hand went through combinations of finger and hand positions, forming fists, circles with thumb and finger, or different combinations of straightened and bent fingers.


    Mitchell found himself nodding at the sage advice, before remembering he was supposed to be denying knowing anything Peregrin was talking about.


    ¡°The proof was you cast a sleep spell on the two guards back at the Aranson estate,¡± replied Peregrin.  ¡°I recognised the spell components of the sand and the rose petals on the ground.  I think I may have also seen a telekinetic slap to the back of your Lord¡¯s head as we rode out of his grounds.¡±


    ¡®Damn it.  Morning going brilliantly.  Alicia hates me.  And it would appear my skills with magick are no longer a secret.¡¯


    ¡°I did,¡± acknowledged Mitchell.  ¡°But please do not tell the others.  My mentor, Maragon, insists I do not share my capabilities with anyone.¡±


    ¡°Then the telekinetic slap was a particularly poor and unnecessary risk for you to take,¡± commented Peregrin.


    ¡°I am sure my mentor would agree with you,¡± sighed Mitchell.


    ¡°I would also suggest you consider learning the enchantment Combat Mind.  I believe you would benefit from that being the first spell you cast in any encounter where you expect to utilise your blade.  I can teach you while we travel if you like.¡±


    ¡°I would like that a lot,¡± replied Mitchell, his spirits momentarily lifted.  ¡°Thank you!¡±.


    ¡°Your relationship with your Lord is also extremely familiar.  I am not yet sure if this is a positive or negative reflection on the both of you,¡± Peregrin replied flatly.  ¡°But I will honour your mentor¡¯s wishes and keep your secret.¡±


    Mitchell looked at Peregrin but could read nothing from his facial features.


    ¡®Does that response mean you know of Maragon?¡¯


    Mitchell would not get to continue the exchange as Peregrin spurred his horse and rode up to join the others riding in front of him.


    ****


    Late that afternoon Davon called them to again stop and rest the horses.  As they tethered their horses Mitchell tied his horse away from Alicia, still too embarrassed to be near her.  And once they had unpacked some of their equipment, he again sat well away from her. She looked at him several times, but she had a strange expression on her face he did not like.


    Davon gave a sympathetic nod to Mitchell, but Mitchell just shrugged his shoulders, feeling powerless to do anything.


    ¡°How long are we going to rest here?¡± Hawkin asked Davon.


    ¡°I think this is our final resting spot for today,¡± Davon replied.  ¡°We rise early tomorrow morning, at dawn, and continue on our way.  We don''t want to tire the horses too much this early in our journey.¡±


    ¡°OK.  I for one am looking forward to getting some sleep,¡± declared Hawkin.


    ¡°We should gather firewood too.  I will cook us something decent to eat for our evening meal,¡± offered Alicia.


    ¡°I assume you will be assigning watches?¡± gently chided Peregrin.


    ¡°Umm¡­ I guess.  Lets say an hour each on watch, and four hours of sleep?¡± replied Hawkin.  Peregrin you can take first watch, then Davon and Mitchell and myself.  Then Alicia can have the last watch.¡±


    ¡°Can I ask why you assigned those watches?¡± enquired Peregrin.


    Hawkin faultered a little in the spotlight of Peregrin¡¯s question, feeling very much like this was a test.


    ¡®Maybe you got this right.  Maybe you lucked into it, but best not let you answer in case you did just get lucky.¡¯


    ¡°You are first, as your need for sleep is different to the rest of us, and you will likely be the most able to remain awake,¡± answered Mitchell.  ¡°Alicia has the last watch so she may be the best rested and can do her morning prayers to Chandrilar, to best prepare her magickal energies for the day, lest we have need of them.¡±


    Peregrin face flashed irritation to Mitchell thwarting his test of the human Lord but covered it quickly.


    ¡°Adequate reasoning,¡± Peregrin replied after a brief pause.


    With that four of the companions quickly set up their camp.  A small fire was built, which Davon dug down into the ground to minimise how far it could be seen from, and bed rolls were placed on suitably flat patches of ground.  Alicia prepared a decent meal from the rations they had, from which each member quickly ate.  After, and with a minimal of chatter, each fell off to sleep.  Peregrin tended to the horses and ensured they were fed and tethered safely.


    ****


    Mitchell¡¯s watch consisted of alternating between wandering around the camp fairly aimlessly, and resting up against a tree listening to the woodland nightlife.  Either way his mind was busy reflecting on his three childhood friends now asleep in front of him, and the almighty task he had drawn them into.


    ¡®I am not really worried about Hawkin.  He has been looking for an excuse to leave town for over a year.  Hawkin is a free spirit who extracts the maximum enjoyment out of everything he does.  If we do indeed have to travel right across Driax, then Hawkin¡¯s ability to find satisfaction in even the most trivial of things will help keep everyone sane.  I am quite sure he is happy to be here.¡¯


    ¡®I suspect Davon is similar.  While not as light-hearted as Hawkin, Davon also has the nature skills to easily prosper on this trek, both in finding the best trails to traverse, and in hunting the occasional piece of fresh meat.  Davon is a lot more reserved than Hawkin, generally preferring the company of the wilds and its animals than that of a bustling town centre, but he is the only person I know who may have a chance of finding signs of a long lost battlefield.  This trip should actually do Davon some good, as it will take him from his comfort zone and out a little further into the real wilds, both of an urban and natural sense.¡¯


    ¡®Alicia is another matter entirely.  She is firmly grounded in Garet, with both her family, and the small church to her deity.  If we do end up getting into trouble, can she really defend herself?  I would feel more guilt if something unfortunate were to befall her, than I would any of the others.¡¯


    ¡®Do I love her?  As long as I can remember she is the one I have wanted.  I know Hawkin flirts with her and competes for her attention, often quite successfully.  She is more protective of me, but there is a difference in the way she treats us.  Our interactions seem to lack the spark she has with Hawkin.  How could she not be drawn to him.  He is attractive, strong, noble and rich. He has a layer of etiquette he can muster whenever the situation requires it.  He is the perfect provider for a family.¡¯


    ¡®I can offer neither a nice house nor a substantial income.  Would you like to share my room in the tower?  Alicia treats me more like a younger brother, fussing over me, trying to ensure that I be kept out of trouble.  But she never looks at me with a want or desire.  I bet she looks at Hawkin that way.  Maybe those warts would be a good addition to his face?¡¯


    ¡®So many times in the last year I have resigned myself that this friendship with Alicia is unlikely to ever progress beyond that.  I think I know she does not yearn for me.  And yet, I continue to hold onto a glimmer of hope that this may one day change.  I cannot be sure if this is love, but what I feel for Alicia is stronger than I have felt for anybody else I have ever known.  I know I would do anything to protect her from the pain and evil in this world.  I would die for her if I had to.¡¯


    ¡®But now I have dragged her into this ordeal with the Stone, and I have clearly put her in the line of both evil and pain.  Instead of protecting her, she might die and it would be all my fault.¡¯


    As Mitchell thought of the Stone it almost seemed to get heavier within his pocket, and he quickly found himself fumbling around and retrieving the little pouch in which it was contained.  Almost excitedly, he pulled on the drawstring and then tipped the large red gem into his open palm.


    As he looked at it closely, he was amazed by its magnificent colour and clarity.  While it had a brilliant red exterior, the more he turned it in his hand, and studied its perfect facets, it almost seemed to have a faint blue hue emanating from deep within its core.  He studied it further, and Mitchell could feel the immense reserves of magick that flowed within.  He was also sure the blue glow was getting stronger.


    ¡®Are you really just the replica of some great stone?  That seems very hard to believe.¡¯


    As he rolled it around in his fingers, he was sure he could sense the raw magical power it controlled trying to surge into him.  He almost felt as though it were reaching out to him, trying to connect on some spiritual level.


    ¡®OK.  Let us see what we can learn about you.  ¡®Knowledge is power,¡¯ Maragon always says.  He also says,¡¯Do not fear the truth.¡¯


    Mitchell cast one of the first spells Maragon had ever taught him.  One that would allow him to see any magical energies within an item as clearly as another would see a bright torch light.


    As the spell completed his eyes refocused and now he could see the magickal auras emanating from the stone.  As he expected, the Stone shone far more brightly than anything he had ever witnessed, even brighter than any of the items Maragon kept hidden up in the upper levels of his tower.


    ¡®This is the real stone!  Maragon must have decided he would use himself as a decoy, hoping that because nobody was looking for me, I may be able to safely whisk the real stone away.  Knowing him, this strategy is not a total surprise - do the unexpected to foil your opponents.  It has been true in the many games of chess we have played over the years, and it was likely his thinking here.¡¯


    Now convinced the Stone in his hand was the real item, Mitchell was unable to resist the temptation to try and reach out and interact with the stone magically.  Mitchell slowly closed his eyes and reached out to the stone with a magical connection, as if preparing to channel energy from it.  Almost immediately he felt a response from the stone, and it was like he had been plugged into a massively powerful battery.  The feeling was invigorating.


    ¡®OK¡­ This is cool!¡¯


    He eagerly allowed the power of the stone to wash over him.  He was vaguely aware of some part of his mind screaming some kind of Maragon based warning about being careful.  But this feeling was intoxicating, and it made Mitchell feel more awesome and powerful than he had ever felt before.


    Even with his eyes closed, he was aware of the red hue that soon surrounded his body, casting a feint light out over his companions and their small camp-site.  All his senses seemed sharper.  He could now see and hear everything around him, both in front and behind at the same time.  And yet this was while his brain screamed at him that his eyes were still closed.


    He could make out the small rises and falls of his companions¡¯ chests.  He could clearly hear the faint sounds of them all breathing.  And he could hear the sounds of small animals moving through the trees above and around them.  He was able to identify the direction of each creature, and determine the exact creature making it.


    ¡®This stone is the greatest thing ever!¡¯


    As he and the stone became more attuned, he felt other senses becoming active as well.  Senses that he had not been aware existed until this moment.  He felt the stone both pulling and pushing him, but he did not understand what that meant and why the stone might be pulling him in conflicting directions.  Like giving in to a strong current of water, Mitchell allowed himself to be pulled along in one of the directions, the one that felt like going downstream to him.  Gradually the images of the forest around him blurred, as though a great mist had rolled in, and then as quickly as it came, the mist retreated.


    Except Mitchell could now see a lone figure of a Dark Knight in the fading mist.  And then as the mist disappeared completely, rather than his campsite, Mitchell could now see a battlefield ¨C a battlefield far larger than any he could ever imagine.  Bodies littered the ground as far as the eye could see in any direction, and still a war was raging.


    Mitchell could see the royal banner of Klydor flying, but the figures around it nearly all the bore mark of the Timber Wolf clan of the Merlos.  The armour the troops were wearing was of a very old style, and it seemed the Merlos were closing around the banner.


    The Black Knight cut a desperate path through the Merlo troops, heading for the Royal banner.  The few surviving Klydorian troops around the King were doing their best to save him, with many of the warriors using their own lives as shields for their Lord.


    The Black Knight dispatched his opponents with a strength and brutal efficiency Mitchell had never seen before.  Armed primarily with a large hammer, he smashed each Merlo warrior¡¯s defences apart with sheer power.  One warrior parried the hammer with his shield, but was knocked over anyway, and then the Black Knight smashed the hammer into his helm before he could recover.  Another tried to dodge out of the way, but the hammer clipped him.  Such was the power even in that faintest touch, that he was knocked from his feet, and felled with a second blow that descended onto his chest with horrific force.


    ¡®This is the ballad of the Black Knight.  I am witnessing the Merlos and Klydorians fighting at a key point on the Plains of Victory.  But am I seeing the battle from the song?  Or the actual battle that inspired the song?¡¯


    The banner-bearer toppled, killed by two of the converging Merlos.  And then a man wearing a tabard with the Royal Family on it stepped into the breach, trying to recover the fallen banner.  He fought brilliantly, driving back the Merlos and laid his hands on the banner.  But then he slipped on the blood and bodies of the fallen and crashed to the ground.


    As the first of the Merlos stepped in to finish the young Prince off, the Black Knight stepped through the lines and parried the finishing blow.  Within seconds he had killed the three nearest Merlos with broad sweeps of his Hammer, and was dragging both the Prince and his banner back behind the Klydorian line.


    The lasting image Mitchell saw was the Black Knight dragging the Prince, with two huge mountains of the Indiana Peaks in the background, each looming inwards as though framing the scene.


    ¡®The stone is helping me!  That image of the mountains can be used to help find the spot.  I have my first clue!¡¯


    Then the mists began to roll in again, just as Mitchell thought he could make out a series of horns echoing across the battlefield.  He tried to focus on the battle and see what was happening, but the mist continued to get thicker and obscured everything.  The image of the battle was gone, and only the mists remained.


    And then the mists were gone also.  Mitchell could again make out the camp-site, and the forms of his four companions, their chests still rising and falling in time with the sounds of their breathing.


    Except something had changed.  There were more than five humanoid heartbeats.


    They were no longer alone.

 Chapter 12: Attacked

    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Road to Port Chandrex, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    6<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Mitchell''s eyes flew open, acutely attuned to the new presence threading stealthily through the nearby woods. His heightened senses detected ten figures advancing quietly among the trees.  As his gaze swept their surroundings, his hand found its way to the reassuring hilt of his sword. With the previous night''s events at Maragon''s tower etched into his memory, he crept from behind his tree to rouse Davon, who lay sleeping, with a gentle shake.


    Davon was only just opening his eyes when chaos erupted from a thick line of shrubs to the left.  Eight dark clad figures burst from their cover, weapons in hand and raised to attack.  They charged straight towards the unsuspecting companions, while the last two figures, armed with crossbows, moved off to flank.  The sudden noise seemed deafening compared to the silence of a few seconds ago.  Mitchell reacted quickly and instinctively, a testament to the training Maragon had given him preparing for events just like this.  He began a short series of chants and gestures, beginning his first spell before he conscious mind was even fully aware of what was happening.


    ¡°Virtus ignis invoco¡±


    (I invoke the power of Fire)


    ¡°Evola verumque meum telum virium.¡±


    (Fly forth and true my missile of energy)


    As he completed the dweomer he felt a surge of magical power go from the stone and through him, massively augmenting his spell.  In response four golden missiles of pure energy shot forth from his fingertips, a pair blasting into each of the lead two assailants.  The force halted their charge, dropping them in their tracks. The others paused, surprised by the resistance, while Davon shook the sleep from his eyes and rolled to his feet.


    ¡®Keep calm.  This is terrifying for good reason.  But that was also cool.  That spell should have only generated two of those missiles.  The stone is making me more powerful.  What else can I do?¡¯


    As the remaining men realised they still held the advantage, they resumed their charge.  Davon had now recovered enough to pick his axe up from the ground and prepare a defence.  He was a warrior not unaccustomed to fighting for his life.  Against the goblins he had been forced to do it on many occasions. Although he had no idea why these men were attacking him, he was prepared to do whatever was required to defend himself.


    With a scream to wake the others he parried the downward thrust of the first attacker.  With the momentum of the attack stopped, Davon swung downwards and smashed the blade of his axe into the man''s knee.  His opponent cried out in pain and fell to the ground almost immediately.  As he fell, Davon pulled the sword from his hand and turned to face the next man with both axe and sword now held ready.


    ¡®Time to find out if any of that melee training has stuck.  Is it too much to hope the Stone might help with this too?¡¯


    Mitchell drew his sword to meet another of the men but, although having trained under Maragon extensively, he had never been in real combat before.  Filled with fear and apprehension he hesitated, and his parry was not as effective.  The blade of his opponent was deflected but it still scraped along his left arm.  He howled in agony.


    ¡®No, did not help at all.¡¯  Mitchell heard Maragon¡¯s words in his head, ¡®Deflect a stronger blow rather than trying to directly parry it.  If possible deflect it in such a way to allow your counter-attack in¡¯


    Three men ran past him and towards the barely awake shapes of Hawkin and Alicia.  Aware that his companions were not awake, Mitchell had to buy them time.  The power of the stone still flowing through him like wildfire, he was able to focus and in doing so time seemed to slow down and he could again hear individual heart beats.  Gritting his teeth against the pain, he deflected the next blow, while simultaneously uttering another series of short, precise incantations.


    ¡°Meam voluntatem figurare illusion¡±


    (My will to shape the illusion)


    ¡°Ego quasi inspiration¡±


    (My self as the inspiration)


    ¡°Replices in occursum meum.¡±


    (Meet my exact replicas)


    Again he felt a power surge through him from the stone as he completed the illusion enchantment, although this one was a smaller surge than the first.  In response his image and the area around him blurred for a brief moment.  When the distortion cleared, instead of facing one opponent, the man found himself facing four figures; each exactly alike the other and all perfect replicas of Mitchell.  Mitchell also noted he was panting from the effort of the last two spells, and could feel fatigue settling into his limbs.


    ¡®No more casting for a bit.  The stone might be giving me more power for my spells, but casting these empowered spells is exhausting.¡¯


    The man Mitchell now ¡®surrounded¡¯ was confused, but fought on regardless, and swung his sword at the nearest foe with all his might.  But to his horror he found that the image just vanished as the blade struck it, leaving his sword to pass straight through the area it had recently occupied.  Overbalanced as he was from such a strike that never met any resistance, he spun 180 degrees and fell to the ground.


    His opponent occupied momentarily, Mitchell turned his back on him and concentrated instead on the men who had run past.  Almost appearing out of nowhere, Peregrin was standing between the men and those sleeping.  Mitchell heard the twang of a crossbow being fired.  Incredibly, he saw Peregrin deflect the shot with his right scimitar.


    ¡®How is that possible?¡¯ Mitchell¡¯s mind, as he had been trained, quickly sought the answer.  On the battlefield a mind must be sharp and figure out what was happening quickly and where necessary adapt your own plan.  In this case, the answer came quite quickly.  So quickly, that Mitchell chastised himself for not figuring it out immediately.


    ¡®Magick!  Remember, all elves have magick, you idiot.¡¯


    Peregrin then met the charge of two of the three.  He had two slender curved scimitars in front of him and was spinning and twirling in a manner much more like dancing than any fighting technique Mitchell had been taught.  One opponent was wounded almost immediately, and the second was clearly completely occupied.


    That left one more.  Drawing his dagger from the sheath on his belt in one smooth motion, Mitchell took aim and threw it.  Despite having practised the action hundreds of time under the careful tutelage, he had serious doubts he would successfully complete it now.  But to his surprise, under duress, his muscle memory completed the task exactly as he practiced it, and the blade spun end over end several times before catching the dark form just to the left of his spine.


    The figure let out a grunt as it struck and stumbled slightly.  While the wound was not enough to kill him, he did scream in pain, and stop to face Mitchell.  The look on his face was of sheer anger and the knuckles holding his mace were white.


    ¡°You''re going to pay for that little man,¡± he forced out through clenched teeth.


    ¡®Judging from the gaps in his dashing smile, this is not the first time this guy has attacked someone.  But on the bright side he looks like he has lost more than his share of those fights.¡¯


    Mitchell braced himself for the next exchange.


    Smiley made it three steps forward before Hawkin tackled him to the ground from behind, the big man easily knocking the mace from his grasp with one great swipe of a forearm, and then twisting the man''s own arm around until he yielded and stopped struggling.  As Mitchell turned to face his original opponent again he heard a blood-curdling scream from the left, but did not have the time to find the cause because his earlier foe was bearing down on him again, having dispatched the rest of the images as well.


    His confidence growing, Mitchell broke the man''s forward momentum with a series of parries and began a cautious offensive pattern of his own.  Meanwhile Hawkin smashed the grounded man with a punch that left him unconscious.  As Mitchell fought on, his mind replayed the sound of the scream, and he began to fear that it was from Davon and not, as he dearly hoped, one of their attackers.


    With renewed fury and vitality he beat at his foe''s stubborn defence, batting the sword aside, and several times cutting his opponent enough to inflict minor wounds.  He had always marvelled at how fast his slender, curved blade could be made to change direction.  Despite its lighter, slender blade, it had cutting power greater than that of most longswords.  The sword was a gift from Maragon, apparently a souvenir from his travels to the Isles of Hohiro to the north.  And now his opponent was learning to appreciate it also.


    ¡°Somebody take the man to the left.  He...¡±  The clang of steel on steel interrupted the remainder of his sentence momentarilty, ¡°He has a crossbow!¡±  Mitchell warned.


    ¡°He''s run off,¡± came the quick reply from Alicia.  He also saw Hawkin fell another opponent, this time with his great sword.


    Mitchell could feel the wound on his arm bleeding, felt the blood soaked material of his tunic sticking to his flesh, and he was starting to tire from the exertions of combat.  His opponent, however, did not seem to be having the same trouble and his blade continued to swing with the same speed and vigour.


    Maragon warned me to pay attention to my stamina.  Wish I had listened.  Be a shame to die because I did not.  He would probably summon my spirit from the afterlife and say ¡®I told you so¡¯.


    It was with great relief that he watched the man hesitate, and then withdraw a step.  Mitchell and he looked into each other¡¯s eyes for a brief second, before he turned and fled back into the wilderness.  Mitchell¡¯s jubilation was short lived, for it was now with a sense of foreboding that he turned to view the scene behind him.


    Peregrin had seemingly held his own against two men at once.  One was dead at his feet already, and the second was well on his way to joining him.  His blades moved in a synchronised harmony with his rapidly moving feet in a way which would be beautiful were it not for the death that surrounded him.


    Davon and the last remaining attacker were involved in combat, the fury of which Mitchell had never before witnessed.  Blood flowed freely from wounds on both men and their clothing was now more crimson than anything else.  Despite the violence, there was a brutal elegance to Davon''s combat style; his axe and sword wielded with an ease belied by their weight. His foe, now purely on the defensive, struggled to parry the relentless onslaught. Mitchell could see that Davon, clearly the superior combatant, was moments from concluding the battle.


    Hawkin was moving in to assist his friend when the inevitable finally happened.  Davon, his sword and axe coming it at opposite angles simultaneously, succeeded in penetrating their poor victim''s defence, his axe biting deeply into the man''s ribs.  As the man stumbled and dropped his weapon, Davon raised his axe again and slammed it into his skull, splitting it and spraying fragments of bone, blood and tissue into the air.  Mitchell could hear the shocked gasp from Alicia as the corpse fell to the ground, and he had to try hard to control his own reaction to such brutality.


    When his friend stumbled and fell to his knees a few seconds later Mitchell began to understand what had happened.  As the pair of weapons that had so recently been wielded with an aura of strength, tumbled to the ground, Mitchell saw for the first time the crossbow quarrel that was embedded deeply into Davon''s ribs.  The realisation his friend was in trouble snapped him out of his stupor and he began to run towards the rapidly weakening form.  But before he could reach out to offer support, Davon slumped face first to the ground.


    Alicia was beside him the fastest, and with an authority Mitchell had never seen in her before, she ordered the other two back.  Acting quickly, she gathered up Davon''s still form, rolled him over, and cradled his head carefully in her arms.  His chest rose and fell weakly as he struggled for breath, and his his gaze was fixed vacantly skyward.


    ¡®Oh, the Gods!  I have killed Davon.¡¯  It hit Mitchell like a hammer to the chest, and he struggled to breathe.


    ¡°We must pack up the camp,¡± called Peregrin, already moving to do just that.


    ¡°Will he be okay,¡± asked Hawkin, barely daring to breathe.  If Alicia heard him however, she did not acknowledge it.  She tore Davon''s blood soaked tunic to see the wound.  With a balanced combination of caution and speed she removed the quarrel from his side, the intense agony which resulted obvious even on a face so weakened as Davon''s.


    With the plug pulled out the blood began to spill from the wound even faster, but Alicia did her best to compress the bleeding with her hand.  Even as the blood began to pour through the cracks between her fingers and run across the back of her hand Mitchell could hear familiar sounds coming from her lips.  With a quick, silent prayer to his own God, he watched as the faint yellow aura surrounded her hand again.  Rather than wind across the flesh this time, the glow remained concentrated and focused on the torn flesh directly beneath her hand.  For almost ten seconds the glow remained, before slowly dissipating until only the same blood-covered hand remained.


    Mitchell held his breath as he awaited the outcome.  With his far greater understanding of magic he knew the difficulty of treating a wound such as this.  Alicia slowly removed her hand and the relief was obvious by the reaction on her face.  As her hand continued to move away the others saw the results of her work.


    The hole which had been apparent in his flesh a minute ago was now gone, and the rushing flow of crimson had now been replaced by just a trickle from what was now only a small break in the skin.  To Mitchell¡¯s untrained eye this looked much less life threatening.  However, closing the wound did not necessarily reverse all the damage and blood loss already suffered, and Davon only seemed to recover slightly.


    ¡°Can he travel?¡± asked Mitchell.  Alicia looked carefully at her patient before answering, as Hawkin turned and disappeared into the woods.


    ¡°I don''t know.  I doubt it,¡± Alicia replied.  The look of concern as she regarded Davon was clear but when his eyes suddenly sharpened and he focused on her gentle features, she relaxed slightly.


    ¡°Are you al...¡± she asked


    ¡°I can ride,¡± Davon gasped forcefully.


    ¡°No.  I think we should stretcher you between the horses,¡± countered Alicia.  The two locked gazes and were still looking at each other sternly a few seconds later when Hawkin suddenly burst back into view from behind a row of hedges.


    ¡°Get the horses.  We have to get out of here now!¡± he roared.  ¡°We have more company in these woods.¡±


    Davon''s eyes widened even more and with a surge of adrenalin he rolled from Alicia''s protective grasp and to his feet, picking his axe from the ground as he did so.


    Mitchell had already begun to run towards their mounts, which were tethered to a group of trees nearby. Hawkin followed closely behind.  Alicia began to assist Peregrin to quickly pack up their equipment from the rapidly prepared campsite, rolling up their blankets and throwing them into a pile nearby.  Davon, eyeing the woods from which Hawkin had run ominously, hurriedly pulled his studded leather jerkin over his shoulders and retrieved his machete from beside his blanket.


    Mitchell appraised Davon again quickly.


    ¡®Alicia¡¯s healing prayer will have repaired some of the damage, and has certainly stemmed the bleeding.  But he is not healed.  Could her healing actually make things worse.  At least before he could not have entered combat again.  In his weakened state further combat almost certainly gets him killed.  But we did not have the time to make a stretcher.¡¯


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Mitchell looked around, and everyone seemed very busy.


    ¡®It is worth the risk.  I would hate for Davon to die, knowing I could have done more.¡¯


    Mitchell quickly pulled a small shard of steel from one of his many component pouches.


    ¡°Virtutem in hoc ferro voco¡±


    (I call forth the power within this steel)


    ¡°In carmine meo sic captionem¡±


    (Into my spell I do trap it)


    ¡°De meo scopum ego facio¡±


    (Onto my target I do bestow it)


    ¡°Fortitudinem suam ad fortitudinem suam¡±


    (Lend it¡¯s strength to his strength)


    As the spell completed the metal shard had crumbled into dust which Mitchell sprinkled over Davon as the latter stopped to pick up his weapons.  Davon felt a surge of strength come over him.  He briefly looked around, but as Mitchell now had his back to him and was walking away, he put it down to adrenalin and continued on.


    ¡°Hurry up!¡± screamed Hawkin as he untied Allanor and threw his saddle over the horse''s broad back.  ¡°This place is going to be very crowded in a few minutes, and if it''s all the same with you I''d rather not be here.¡±


    ¡°All right already.  I can''t pack up your damn gear any faster.  And it might help if someone else would lend a hand.¡± Alicia objected.  Mitchell was busily tying the saddle strap under his mount''s stomach when Hawkin finished, jumping on his horse in one smooth motion and setting off towards Alicia.


    ¡°Forget the rest of it.  Take what you''ve got and get your horse,¡± he ordered, instinctively taking up the tone of voice he used when ordering his troops around in the militia.  Under normal circumstances Alicia would have snapped at him for it.   This was not normal circumstances.


    ¡°You too Davon.  Get your horse and we are out of here.¡±  Rather than the rapid response Hawkin had hoped for, however, Davon calmly turned towards him.


    ¡°How many we facing?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I saw two scouts, one I tagged with a crossbow.  The other one bolted back into the woods before I could reload, but I am sure I saw a couple more scouts deeper in the woods.  Looked like they were running to get more help¡±  Davon just nodded his head slowly in response.  He mumbled something but Hawkin was not close enough to make out what he said.


    Mitchell lead his and Davon''s horses over to the two warriors, passing Davon the reins as he approached.  Mitchell¡¯s horse was now almost fully prepared with all the straps and buckles done up.  Davon''s on the other hand, was completely bare except for the bridle.  No words needed to be spoken to explain.  Time was short and they all knew that Davon could ride bareback as well as any of them could ride fully saddled.  Even in his current state, considering the situation, Mitchell saw no alternative.  Davon climbed onto the back of the magnificent animal as Mitchell used the stirrups to mount his horse.


    Peregrin and Alicia were the last to finish saddling their horses and at last, all of the companions were ready to depart.  With a quick glance at the unconscious and dying forms on the ground nearby, Hawkin began to lead the others out of the clearing at a gallop.


    Two figures appeared from behind the trees to the left, and as Alicia climbed onto her horse, one fired his crossbow at her  The quarrel bit deeply into the creature''s flank.  It stumbled under Alicia''s weight, crashing to the ground and pinning her underneath it.


    Davon wheeled his horse around the fastest and began to charge at the figures, desperate to reach them before they reached their trapped prey.  His axe appeared in hand as quickly as if he had simply willed it there, and he poised to strike.  One figure retreated, making it half way back to the safety of his cover before he was taken in the back by an arrow from Peregrin¡¯s longbow.


    The second kept coming.  He realised at the last instant he would not make it to Alicia in time, and he tried to dive out of the way of Davon''s blade, but the move was only partially successful, and the steel still bit into his shoulder with malice.  Davon continued on past the man, wheeling his mount around a few strides later to allow his axe another opportunity.


    The wounded man must have realised his peril, for he tried to make a break for it, but Davon was on him bare seconds later, the axe punching through the man''s back and lifting him almost a foot off the ground.  As the body tumbled through the air another of the unconscious figures recovered, his freshly broken nose apparent for all to see.  Attempting to remain unnoticed, he began crawling towards the safety of the woods, but as he moved under the nearest shrub, he knew he had been spotted.


    ¡°Leave him and let''s go!¡± barked Hawkin, hoping to get through to his enraged friend, but Davon ignored him and climbed from his horse.


    ¡°We cannot remain here any longer,¡± Hawkin yelled.


    While Hawkin tried unsuccessfully to get Davon thinking clearly, Mitchell dismounted and helped Alicia from under her horse.  A quick glance revealed the state of the horse''s injuries and Mitchell knew that between the crossbow bolt and the obviously broken leg that her horse was mortally wounded.


    ¡®We cannot save her.  Mercy is my only option.  May the gods forgive me for taking so much life tonight.¡¯


    As Alicia turned around to thank Davon, Mitchell drew his sword and put the poor animal out of its misery with a quick, sharp downward slash.  Alicia heard the sounds of the sword slicing through flesh and bone and knew what had happened, offering a few words of prayer for her faithful horse, but refusing to turn around and witness what had become of it.


    ¡°Climb on my horse.  Hawkin assures me that he is much better than the last one.¡±  The shock of combat and all the unexpected bloodshed made Mitchell forget all about their petty dispute.


    Alicia placed her foot in the stirrups to climb up, when the clamour of moving people burst from the woods around them.  Alicia was considering removing her foot from the stirrups again but Mitchell''s two hands firmly on her backside pushed her up onto the horse, he following her moments later.


    Having now finished off the figure under the shrubs, Davon rushed to remount but the first of the new arrivals came into the clearing before he made it.  Four figures raced towards him with their weapons at the ready.  The profanities which streamed from Hawkin¡¯s mouth as he drew his sword were colourful and loud, carrying easily over the sounds of the men racing to join the battle, and continued to flow as he spurred his charger into action.  The men in the clearing were hesitant about attacking an armed and mounted adversary, and all changed course to go after Davon.


    The closest of the three to Davon covered the ground unscathed but the following three never made it.  Another arrow from Peregrin ended one.  Hawkin¡¯s bastard sword ended a second, while the third was knocked to the ground and trampled by Hawkin¡¯s horse.  The survivor of the group never had time to consider himself lucky before Davon''s machete and axe made short work of him.


    The rapid demise of four of their colleagues slowed any more of the attackers.  Three similarly clad and armed figures did dare step into the clearing, but at the sight of a thunderous charger boring down on them they quickly reevaluated their decision and dived for cover.


    Wheeling the horse around quickly, Hawkin urged Alannor on and sped back to where Davon was finally climbing back onto his mount.  With Hawkin in the lead, the group stormed out of the clearing, quickly leaving the scurrying humans far behind.


    <h2>Josak ¨C Road to Port Chandrex, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    6<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    As the four horses carried his quarry away, Josak Norgette looked on with a disgust so palpable it was as if his glare alone could slay all the incompetent fools he found himself begrudgingly working with.


    ¡®Why must Klydor be so bereft of competent mercenaries?  Forces me to work with the dregs like this sorry lot.¡¯


    ¡°Can you not complete the most simplest of tasks I assign you?¡± he roared.  ¡°All I ask is that you capture a group of children.¡±  The figures around him cringed in terror as his eyes settled on each of them in turn, each afraid that this strange figure would snap and kill them for their failure.  The fact he was unarmed in no way reduced his menace.  If anything, it underscored it.


    ¡°I provide you all with food and drink and how do you repay my kindness?  By letting these children walk all over you.  Idiots!  All of you.¡±  His rant crescendoed with each word, echoing like an impending storm ready to unleash its fury.


    ¡®Time to make an example.  They must learn that failure is not an option.¡¯


    ¡°Captain Vance, you are in command here, are you not?¡±


    The tide of men moved aside quickly to reveal a greying man with a larger than normal stomach and an unkempt beard.


    ¡®Look at this poor example of a man.  Clearly not a fan of bathing.  Lacks the discipline one hopes for in a mercenary.  Nothing redeeming about him, and a poor reflection on the whole group that he is their commander.  He trembles now as he attempts to speak.¡¯


    ¡°That is correct.¡±  Captain Vance¡¯s voice held no air of authority at this moment.


    ¡°And am I to assume that you and your men are indicative of the rest of your little brigade.¡±  The volume in his voice had dropped, but all of the venom remained.  So much so, that none of the men present could take his eyes from the shrouded figure addressing them.  Trying to regain his composure in front of his men, Vance raised himself to his full height before responding.


    ¡°Basten¡¯s Brigade are the finest mercenary unit of its size in these parts.¡±


    ¡°Convenient.  I was not aware of any others.¡±  Josak remarked, his tone serenely mocking.


    ¡®I can see your thoughts playing across your face and body as easily as if you were a book.  You realise now I am a complete mystery.  You realise I no longer seem the simple merchant you thought I was when you accepted this mission.¡¯


    ¡®My task was simple. I asked to employ your group of twenty five men to capture stolen goods from a group of thieves.  I paid well - and in advance.  After I promised that a good showing would score your entire brigade a long-term contract, you of course accepted gratefully without asking any questions.¡¯


    ¡®Now you begin to see your actions as a mistake.  You wish you had asked more questions of me, but I suspect the overabundance of alcohol you had consumed beforehand had dulled your mind.  Perhaps congratulatory drinks should be saved until AFTER negotiating contracts in future.¡¯


    ¡°I apologise, but had we brought horses we would have alerted them to our presence sooner,¡± justified Vance.


    ¡°You are as stupid as you are incompetent.  Had we been on horseback we could have attacked before they had even saddled their horses.  Without mounts they would have been unable to get away.¡±


    ¡°But I thought the element of surprise was more important.  The chance of casualties...¡±


    The glare from beneath Josak''s hood made it clear that the lives of Vance''s men were inconsequential to him.


    ¡°I pay your men to engage in battle, not skulk like assassins. Had I desired such, I would have sought the Thieves'' Guild,¡± Josak retorted, a heavy silence falling as both men weighed the other.


    ¡°Why did your scouts attack and not report back to you about the camp location?  We could have easily surrounded them and cut them off from their horses.¡±


    ¡®I can feel your fear emanating off you, Vance.  And I suspect, even without the aid of magick, so can your men.¡¯


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.  Perhaps they were seen and were forced to defend themselves.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±  The reply from Josak was as short as it was definite.  ¡°Your men have no respect for you or your orders.  You''ve grown complacent and lax. You must be replaced.¡±


    The look of absolute shock on Vance¡¯s face was obvious to all, as was his hand now drifting toward the hilt of his sword.


    ¡°What?  Listen here.  You only pay us to work for you.  You have no authority over...¡±


    With a casual flexing of a fist Josak silenced the retort as the rest of Vance¡¯s words were cut off by the gasping sounds of him trying to breathe through a throat that was now horribly crushed.  As Vance clutched horribly at the fatal wound, Josak pointed his hand towards one of the men near the back of the group.


    ¡°You were the sole survivor of the scouting group which found them?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sir,¡± came the reply, appearing a touch tentative.


    ¡°And subsequently returned with their location?¡± asked Josak.


    ¡°Yes, Sir.¡±  This reply was calmer.


    ¡°What is your name...¡± Josak hesitated as he looked for markings of rank on the man''s uniform, then smiled when he found none, ¡°...soldier?¡±  Vance continued to gasp and sputter, falling to his knees.


    ¡®I will also show you all the rewards for doing well.  What does Ronardo call this?  The stick and the carrot approach.¡¯


    Josak watched this new man.


    ¡®I can see the battle on your face as you struggle to portray the right emotion, eager to impress your new employer.  Now, satisfied you have found the right mixture of fear and courage, you will respond.¡¯


    ¡°Drogan..., Sir.¡±  The last bit added on hastily as the young man remembered his place.


    ¡°You are now the commander of this group.  Do you understand, Captain Drogan?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sir.¡±


    With each reply the words became clearer and more confident.  Josak could see that many of the other men were beginning to question his right to choose their next leader but as the dying form of Captain Vance unceremoniously slumped to the earth in front of them, all defiance went out of their eyes.


    ¡°Now that you know what happens to those that succeed, and those who fail me, I trust your efforts to capture these children will be suitably adjusted.  It would be a great shame if I were the death of your entire brigade.¡±  With the calm demeanour with which Josak delivered his last threat not a single man present doubted he could accomplish just that.


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Road to Port Chandrex, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    6<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    ¡°Would you be so kind as to explain what the hell is going on!¡± screamed Hawkin, his tone getting louder and more out of control with every word.  ¡°When you came to get me, I don''t remember you mentioning anything about any of that!... And I am pretty good at remembering things like ¡®armed groups of men will try to kill us¡¯.¡±


    Mitchell recoiled from the verbal lashing, adding yet another layer of guilt to the already crushing weight he felt.


    ¡®I did say it would be dangerous.  But I did not state just how dangerous because if I had you might not have come.  Why can I not just say that?¡¯


    But Mitchell could not find the words under Hawkin¡¯s harsh berating, so said nothing.


    Alicia must have sensed something because she had tried to cheer him up and bring him out of his dark contemplations, but she was also trying to keep a watchful eye on Davon and her efforts were largely unsuccessful.


    Alicia called the riding to a halt when it became apparent to her that Davon was unable to continue.  Hawkin was quickly to his side and helped Davon from his mount.  He helped him to beneath a large oak.  Alicia dismounted and focused her attentions on Davon.  With Peregrin just observing, Mitchell felt very alone against Hawkin''s continued assault.


    ¡°How many were there?  Twenty?  More?  Who sends that many men after five people like us?¡± Hawkin asked.


    ¡°Upon reflection they probably should have sent more,¡± interjected Peregrin coldly.  ¡°We killed 15 men, and in return they seriously injured one of ours.  And that is with them having the advantage of surprise.¡±


    ¡®But right now, the only thing that matters is that one of us is seriously injured.¡¯


    Mitchell turned to his friend.  ¡°I did not know that was going to happen, Hawkin.  Do you think I would endanger your lives recklessly,¡± he pleaded.  ¡°Maragon did not tell me that would happen.¡±


    ¡°Maragon? I knew it!¡± screamed Hawkin, ¡°That old fool will be the death of all of us.¡±  Mitchell turned on him in an instant, the fire in his eyes showing that Hawkin'' shot had hit home.  But just as quickly as it appeared the fire was gone and Mitchell slumped down in the saddle, crushed by guilt.


    ¡®Do not get angry at him.  It is not his fault.¡¯


    ¡°Stop it!¡± ordered Alicia, finally being distracted from her tendings to Davon.  ¡°This pointless arguing is getting us nowhere.  Maybe Mitchell could have warned us more but what is done is done.  All we can do is work out what to do now.¡±


    Hawkin¡¯s expression changed little but he did at least turn his attention from Mitchell.  He instead strode over to the two horses and lead them to a nearby tree where he quickly tethered them.  He did not approach Mitchell''s horse and made it quite obvious he was avoiding him.  Alicia shook her head but Hawkin was facing the other way and missed her disapproval.


    ¡°Can you remember anything which may help us figure out what is going on?¡± she asked as calmly as possible.


    ¡°Not anything clear.  Only the pieces of information that Maragon provided me.  And that is always anything but conclusive,¡± Mitchell replied truthfully.


    Alicia finished changing the dressing on Davon''s wounds and carefully laid his head down to rest on a rolled up blanket, before turning around and settling herself down in preparation to hear what Mitchell had to say.  Once she was comfortable she gestured for him to continue.


    ¡®Tell them everything.  May the truth set us free.¡¯


    ¡°He returned to the tower out of nowhere last night after three months away, and was covered in blood.  He would not tell me what was happening, but he gave me something to take to Chandrex.  He said he will meet me there three days from now.  He told me the tower would be unlikely to survive the night but if I left immediately, I would not be there when whoever was coming for him arrived.¡±  Mitchell looked up and made eye-to-eye contact with Alicia, looking into her eyes for some sign of forgiveness, or at least understanding.


    ¡°I did not mean for Davon to get hurt,¡± pleaded Mitchell.


    ¡°I know you didn''t.¡±  Alicia gave him the most encouraging smile she could.


    ¡°I am also sorry if Hawkin upset you when he said I called you a girl.  I really did not say that,¡± pleaded Mitchell, still feeling uncomfortable that Alicia might be angry with him.


    ¡°Mitchell, I doubted you said it even when he told me.  I came because I wanted to protect you,¡± assured Alicia.  ¡°I just wasn¡¯t going to get drawn into the pointless bickering so I just let it go when we were riding yesterday.  I was never annoyed with you.  And even if I had been, it certainly wouldn¡¯t matter in light of recent developments.  We have much bigger issues to worry about, right?¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± agreed Mitchell, now feeling a little foolish for even bringing it up, but relieved at the same time.


    ¡°Is there anything else you can tell me?¡± Alicia asked.


    Mitchell shook his head.


    ¡°Maragon said he would reveal more at Chandrex,¡± Mitchell finished.


    ¡°So he will answer our questions?  In person?¡± asked Hawkin skeptically, his tone of voice still more hostile than normal.


    ¡°I doubt that.  He rarely answers anybody''s questions.  But he will be sure to tell us anything he deems necessary to continue,¡± replied Mitchell


    ¡°What he deems necessary to continue?  That doesn''t imbue me with confidence after this little affair,¡± scoffed Hawkin.


    ¡°Perhaps something changed that he did not anticipate,¡± defended Mitchell.


    ¡°Why do you have such blind faith in him?  How could a hermit completely out of touch with the real world foresee anything?¡± continued Hawkin.


    ¡°He understands more of the real world than you realise,¡± replied Mitchell.  ¡°You think he just lives as a hermit in the tower, but that is not true at all.  Half the time he is not even at the tower.¡±


    ¡°Where is he then?¡± asked Hawkin doubtfully.


    ¡°I cannot say.  I am sorry,¡± replied Mitchell sorrowfully.


    ¡®I wish I could say more, but Maragon has made me swear never to talk of the Saranti Seven or their activities to anyone.¡¯


    ¡°So its okay to risk my life.  I just can¡¯t be trusted to know why!¡± spat Hawkin.


    ¡°Is this leading anywhere?¡± interrupted Alicia, beginning to realise how difficult it would be to keep these two from each other¡¯s throats until they reached Chandrex.  She decided immediately that the best method would be to keep both busy and their minds occupied with more important issues.


    ¡°Davon''s condition is stable, but it may not stay that way for long.  We must get him to a High Priest soon, and that will not be accomplished by bickering.  Hawkin, leave Maragon alone.  Mitchell, stop defending everything Maragon does out of instinct.  Everybody makes mistakes and if he has, we must be prepared for it.  The way I see it, with those men probably chasing us this very moment, the closest settlement we can make safely is Chandrex anyway, so we may as well get going and see what Maragon has to say when he arrives.  Let''s get a stretcher rigged up for Davon and get moving.  We can talk more on the way.¡±


    Mitchell responded immediately, anxious to be out of the firing line, and dismounted. After tying his horse to a nearby tree he began work by scanning the area and heading towards what he deemed to be a suitable branch for a stretcher.  Peregrin also prepared to move off, moving like a cat as he prepared his bow and a handful of arrows.  Only Hawkin remained stationary.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I am in awe.  Such strong leadership.  You should be an officer in the militia.¡±  A small grin appeared at the sides of his mouth before he made an exaggerated bow and turned away.  Happy to have had the last say Hawkin also began to look for suitable stretcher poles.


    Not that anyone noticed, but Peregrin had the faintest traces of a grin when he saw actual leadership from within this group finally.  And from one of its least likely members.

 Chapter 13: Port Chandrex

    <h2>Alicia ¨C Loyal Bannerman Inn, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    The journey to Chandrex turned out to be much easier than Alicia had feared. The stretcher for Davon was built quickly and easily, with the only interruption being when Alicia needed to properly bandage Mitchell''s arm.


    Mitchell¡¯s wound, though painful, did not significantly impede him. With Davon¡¯s condition temporarily stabilised and now securely slung between Alannor and Swifter, Davon''s mount, the group resumed their travel. Taking minimal breaks for food and to rest the horses, they had reached Chandrex in just under three days.


    And most importantly, they had not encountered any more trouble.


    Now Alicia found solace in an actual bed in a real tavern, with a room all to herself. Davon had been entrusted to the church, and the care of much more experienced healers. Which meant Alicia could get some real rest for the first time in days.


    This also gave her time for reflection.


    ¡®Hawkin¡¯s mood has enlightened considerably since reaching the city. I suppose waking up at sword-point and being forced to defend himself out of the blue rattled him. During the goblin wars Hawkin had always been ready for an attack and knew exactly who and why he was fighting. It appears taking that away had shaken the big man more than he would ever admit.¡¯


    ¡®By remaining calm and asking Mitchell reasonable questions, at least I have been able to put together somewhat of a picture of what is going on. It does kind of make sense that Maragon is really an adventurer of sorts, and not just a crazy old hermit. Teaches me for ever listening to town gossip. Of course when you can never meet the man himself, and Mitchell refuses to tell you anything, what else did I have to go on.¡¯


    ¡®Was still a shock to hear his strange tower in the woods is actually a secret headquarters from which he fights evil. I just assumed its main purpose was cutting off the real world. In fact, Mitchell insists Maragon and his allies do the exact opposite, keeping an eye on events in the world and intervening if required. If true, it sounds very noble.¡¯


    ¡®In fact, this whole crusade sounds like exactly what the church of Chandrilar are training me for.¡¯


    While Chandrilar had followers all over Driax, none moreso than in the kingdom he first established, those who could actually channel prayers into divine powers were still quite rare. Across the entire church of Chandrilar there were perhaps 100 people who could be called Clerics; those with the gift to manifest prayer into actual magickal effects. The fact Alicia could, meant she was truly one of his chosen.


    ¡®It is my solemn duty to use these gifts to fight evil, and to uphold Chandrilar¡¯s core tenets of Chivalry and Duty.¡¯


    ¡®So what do I do?¡¯


    She pondered recent events and tried for the hundredth time to solve a puzzle she knew was missing too many pieces.


    ¡®What do I know? I want to say Mitchell isn¡¯t a liar, but he has sure been keeping some secrets. But let¡¯s assume what he is saying is true. Then Maragon goes of an adventure to fight an unknown evil. Something goes wrong. Maragon races back to the tower, gives some mysterious object to Mitchell to take to Chandrex, and then sends him away.¡¯


    ¡®But I don¡¯t get to know what the object is, other than that Mitchell carries it in a pouch inside his tunic. I probably pushed him on that for longer than I should have, but in the end he was more stubborn than expected and would not tell me.¡¯


    ¡®That boy can be so frustrating. It is like he is two people. One is a na?ve boy who is shy, scared, not very good at anything, and desperately seeking acceptance from the world. The other is a stubbornly secretive fool who clams up and won¡¯t talk about anything real when it comes to Maragon, or his life in the tower. And he might also be a wizard! Chandrilar give me strength.¡¯


    ¡®Hawkin remains skeptical, seemingly unable to believe that Maragon is not the hermit that the village thinks he is. At least I was able to convince him to stop arguing each point. He is too much a warrior to properly conceal his body language, but at least he stopped upsetting Mitchell, allowing conversation to remain as civilised as possible.¡¯


    ¡®Hawkin did bring up one interesting point however. Mitchell had let slip back at the camp that Maragon was meeting him, with no mention of the rest of us. While it could be nothing, Mitchell''s reaction made it quite clear that Maragon was not expecting anyone else. Mitchell promised to clear everything up the moment Maragon arrives but I am unsure of how easy that might be.¡¯


    ¡®What do I actually know of Maragon? Stories and rumours alone! No one in Garet has seen him in years. I know Mitchell lives with him. But Mitchell has never been generous with information on that aspect of his life, and I assumed he didn¡¯t talk about because he didn¡¯t want to, so I didn¡¯t push him. He has said more on the man in the last few days than in the ten years prior. I have absolutely no idea what to expect when this mysterious wizard arrives. In fact, without Mitchell, I would not even be able to tell if he has arrived. I do not have the faintest idea what he looks like.¡¯


    ¡®Mitchell is so adamant he will come, and that he will survive no matter what has confronted him - even though a stone tower could not. If true, that is unsettling. This man would then be far more powerful than anyone in Garet ever dreamed¡¯


    ¡®Next time Hawkin wants me to follow him in the middle of the night I will listen to my better judgement and decline. I should have known these two would be sure to bring trouble, but this time they have even exceeded their previous efforts.


    ¡®But then, perhaps Chandrilar wants me to be exactly where I am. And perhaps those two idiots are the burden he wants me to bare.¡¯


    It was with thoughts such as these that Alicia finally laid her head down on her pillow, and looked up at the beamed roof of the Loyal Bannerman Inn. Less than five yards away a second bed lay unoccupied except for Davon''s equipment, which had been thrown there by Hawkin shortly after having arranged for the priests of Chandrilar to tend to Davon¡¯s injuries.


    ¡®I hope Davon recovers soon. But with the severity of his wounds I suspect he could be in their care for weeks, or even months yet. What if Mitchell needs to keep moving? Will he leave Davon behind? Would I stay with Davon or go with them? I have a duty to both? Based on my vision, I guess I go with Mitchell.¡¯


    Recalling her vision drew her thoughts to Mitchell.


    ¡®In the room next door Hawkin and Mitchell are no doubt doing their best to kill each other. But at least by staying in this reasonably nice quality establishment, the walls are probably thick enough that I will not hear them, Or for that matter, the drunks downstairs after the whiskey and beer glasses start to pile up on the tables.


    Considering all that has happened, things have turned out reasonably well. I have a warm meal in my stomach and a comfortable bed to sleep on. Davon is in the best possible hands and should recover completely.


    Other than the fact that Maragon might show up tomorrow and bring who-knows-what with him, her mind was as clear as it had been since she had closed the back door on her family house three nights ago. Within minutes she was fast asleep and for a few hours the worries of the world were forgotten.


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Loyal Bannerman Inn, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    ¡°I do not think that would be a wise course of action Hawkin. Maragon will get here tomorrow and...well...you know,¡± stammered Mitchell, a plea for reason in his voice.


    ¡®Please give up on this idea and just go to sleep!¡¯


    ¡°But we are in Port Chandrex for Faylen''s sake. I mean you''ve heard all the stories of the nights here, what with all the sailors and travellers passing through. It would be a great shame indeed if we didn''t just sample a bit of it,¡± argued Hawkin.


    Ever since Alicia had retired to her room almost an hour ago Hawkin had been trying to pursuade Mitchell to sneak out with him and enjoy all that Chandrex had to offer. Chandrex was actually quite tame compared to many other cities such as those in far-off Drasnia or Drasak, but for the two townsfolk of Garet, this was a plethora of new opportunities.


    ¡°But I told Alicia we would behave and get some sleep,¡± Mitchell pleaded, his resolve waning.


    ¡°I thought we gave her the other room so that we could slip out tonight. Why else would you let her have all the luxury?¡± Hawkin asked, honestly dumbfounded by Mitchell''s actions.


    ¡°Once you ruled out sleeping in the common room, there wasn¡¯t really a way for the three of us men to share one room. And surely you would not share a room with a lady unless the situation absolutely demanded it?¡± Mitchell asked, his voice showing signs of shock and amazement. ¡°Would you?¡±


    ¡°Ah, but I have. Several times in fact. I found it most enjoyable,¡± Hawkin replied, a big smug grin enveloping his face.


    Hawkin regarded Mitchell''s reaction strangely for a moment, letting the silence hang awkwardly for several seconds. Then he burst into uncontrollable laughter at the look of complete horror on his friend''s face. ¡°You mean to tell me you have not! You need this trip into the city more than I realised.¡±


    Mitchell felt an unwelcome blush of shame and self-consciousness. ¡®Why do I feel guilty for doing the right thing? ¡®Why do I now feel shame and self-conscious for doing the right thing? I wish the wood paneled floor would just open up and swallow me.¡¯


    Hawkin continued to stare at him regardless, with a look of wonder such as a young child may give when seeing something for the first time.


    ¡°I didn''t know you gave her the room out of some kind of moral standard. Had I known that I would have argued for it myself a bit more,¡± grumbled Hawkin, ¡°But seeing how it¡¯s too late for that now I guess I''ll have to make the best of it by dragging you by your ear at least to the bar downstairs. If you don''t like it, you can come back up. But you have to give it a go. What do you say?¡±


    ¡®I want to feel like I belong! That I am normal!¡¯


    Hoping to restore some dignity in his friend''s eyes he conceded, and with a resigned shrug of his shoulders he nodded his head. A feeling of dread closed over him as Hawkin grabbed him by the shoulder and began to lead him out the door. The sound of the door to the room closing ended all hope of escape and he started to traverse the stairs to the hell below. His anxiety started to rise.


    <h2>Josak ¨C Warehouse District, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Josak Norgette waited impatiently in the shadowy confines of the warehouse, Drogan standing silently at his side.


    ¡®The Brigade¡¯s failure to capture the Stone from Maragon¡¯s young apprentice irritates me no end. But I must concede it is not the fault of the Brigade¡¯s new leader. Drogan has tracked the quarry flawlessly, and has already seemed to instill a sense of discipline in the men that was previously missing. Of course that could just be fear of my killing them if they fail me again. Fear is an incredible motivator.¡¯


    As always I have contingency plans, and if this one succeeds then the Stone will yet be mine. It is a risky plan, one that I am sure might cost me more than a few resources. But if Agess Travers has been able to set the bait to lure the Saranti Seven to this very warehouse, then it could all work out well.


    As the two men responsible for closing the trap made their way into the warehouse, Josak felt his vision pulled to the roof of the warehouse, where construction work was just finishing.


    ¡®With Razilin¡¯Tera¡¯s blessing, tonight will bare witness to some of the most powerful events in Chandrex¡¯ history. And I will be the conductor for this magnificent orchestra. And best of all, this will only be the opening Act. Just a shame I will not be here to witness it first-hand.¡¯


    ¡®Springing a trap such as this is always a calculated risk, and I must ensure that regardless of what happens, I am not the one caught in it. No, I can conduct events from elsewhere within Chandrex, and allow the acolytes on site to be the focus point.¡¯


    As the two new arrivals reached him, their vision was also drawn to roof.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± asked Gerard.


    ¡°A blessing from my Master to you,¡± replied Josak.


    ¡®Not entirely untrue. But given this blessing could well result in your death, probably best you know no more of it.¡¯


    ¡°Is it dangerous?¡± asked the other man, a much leaner man with beady eyes and a sharp nose. It was he who had put out the information onto the street that there was a cache of Kestrel artifacts in the warehouse, and that a magnificent ancient sword was among them.


    ¡®You are the fisherman who baited this particular trap. You have proven yourself useful. It would be a loss to the cause if you were to die here.¡¯


    ¡°To you¡­ No,¡± replied Josak.


    ¡®This is also not a lie. The likelihood that Agess Travers will actually draw his weapon and fight is basically none. You will flee if the battle starts to turn against you. As such, the spell contained in this roof is no likely danger to you.¡¯


    ¡°I look after my friends,¡± he continued. ¡®OK. That is a lie.¡¯


    ¡°Down to business,¡± interjected Gerard. ¡°You will see the pretty Indian trinkets are all here. So nice to see you turn a profit in all of this. Where did you want me to bring the boy?¡±


    ¡°Take him to the safehouse,¡± replied Josak. ¡°But be quick about it. You will need to be back here with your friends before midnight. The Saranti Seven could be here at anytime.¡±


    ¡°Do we need to keep any of them alive?¡± asked Gerard.


    ¡®I can see from your face you want this answer to be ¡®no¡¯, but you are expecting me to say ¡®yes¡¯. Then this is your lucky day!¡¯


    Gerard was already looking around the warehouse and the various crates and other items scattered around the floor, clearly planning out his ambush to maximise the advantage of surprise.


    ¡°Actually, I specifically require them to all be dead,¡± replied Josak.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you require information from them,¡± asked Agess, a look of confusion on his face.


    ¡®Do not assume your pitiful limitations apply to me. You are not one of the chosen of Razilin¡¯Tera.¡¯


    ¡°Fortunately I can extract information as easily from the deceased as I can the living¡­ Actually, its easier if they are dead,¡± replied Josak. ¡°Might pay to remember that if you ever get the foolish idea of betraying me.¡±


    ¡°Handy skill to have,¡± replied Gerard, non-plussed about the rather macabre facts Josak had just revealed, or the implied threat. The shudder of revulsion from Agess showed he was not quite so comfortable with the notion.


    ¡°Is everything in place?¡± Josak asked of Agess. ¡°Are they going to come?¡±


    Agess carefully considered his response.


    ¡°I have arranged for the information to make its way into Javelin¡¯s possession. I have also arranged for another man to verify this information. Of course it helps that there are actually Kestrel artifacts here. If this sword is as important to them as you say, then they will definitely come.¡±


    ¡°Will all of them be here?¡± asked Gerard.


    ¡°I cannot be sure,¡± replied Agess.


    ¡°They will all come. It is too important not to,¡± assured Josak.


    ¡®All of the Saranti Seven in one place. A perfect trap to take them all out at once. Javelin, Brother Turin, Samtha, Ragnar Gunnulf, Rivas Sciandria, Balinor, and my most hated foe, Maragon Ward. Each of you have thwarted my order over many years, and I will earn much praise from my Lord for finally wiping your little band from the face of Driax.¡¯


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Do you have my payment?¡± asked Agess. ¡°I have used up a lot of favours for this, and I don¡¯t think I need to explain the risks involved for my whole network if any of them escape.¡±


    Josak reached into his tunic and retrieved two small pouches of gems. He handed the larger one to Agess, and the smaller one to Gerard. Agess immediately opened the pouch and started examining each of the brightly coloured stones in detail.


    ¡°Do you not trust me?¡± asked Josak.


    ¡°Josak, I know who and what you are,¡± replied Agess matter-of-factly, ¡°Should you not do the same, Gerard?¡±


    ¡°I could not tell you the value of any of these stones even if I looked, so what would be the point?¡± he replied.


    ¡°I can do it for you if you like?¡± asked Agess.


    ¡°Agess, I trust you less than I do Josak,¡± laughed Gerard. ¡°I have things to attend to, so I will see you later this evening.¡± With that Gerard turned and walked from the warehouse. ¡°I need to round up my men. They will need to be sharp here tonight, and this had not been expected. I must find them before they are too inebriated to be of any use to us.¡±


    ¡°Then I think I will go too. I will see if I can find out where Maragon and the others are staying,¡± said Agess.


    Once the two of them were well out of earshot, Drogan turned towards his new master.


    ¡°Did you want the Brigade here tonight as well?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No,¡± replied Josak. ¡°You will stay on the trail of the children. I have seen the talents of your little group first-hand, and the Brigade would add nothing here except additional bodies for me to clean up.¡±


    ¡°I will go then and post sentries at the Port and on each of the city gates to see if they leave,¡± Drogan said.


    ¡°Very well,¡± replied Josak. ¡°But they will not leave tonight. They have wounded, and I would expect Maragon will wish to see them before they leave.¡±


    ¡°Then, perhaps once I have the Brigade bedded down and the sentries posted, I might have permission to visit a lady friend I have here?¡± requested Drogan. Josak considered the request carefully. He smiled before responding.


    ¡°I will need you for one meeting, and then you may have the night off. Once you have the sentries posted meet me at the Rose & Thorn tavern near the Port District in two hours.¡±


    Josak smiled at his own generosity.


    ¡®Those who serve me well should be rewarded.¡¯


    <h2>The Shadow ¨C The HighTower Estate, Noble Quarter, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    The assassin known only as the Shadow dropped silently onto the balcony, and then into the room, taking up a position within the thick red drapes that covered the massive manor windows. His employer, Anders Hightower, was in the room, sipping a red wine, and talking with man unfamiliar to the Shadow. That was a problem, as he had information he needed to give to his employer immediately. But he could not risk exposing himself to this stranger in doing so.


    He drew his trusted hand crossbow from his hip. It was much smaller than a normal crossbow, and without the armour piercing capability of its larger cousin. But it was more concealable, and it¡¯s primary purpose was to deliver poison. He selected a small vial of sleeping poison from an assortment of glass vials in a special pouch on his belt. He loaded that vial into the bottom of his custom made crossbow. Through a combination of mechanical genius and a small amount of magick, any bolt he now fired would be dipped quite generously in the selected poison.


    He waited until the stranger turned to pour himself another wine, and with the stealth that can only come from a lifetime of refining every movement of the body, the Shadow slipped from behind the drapes and fired. The poison would generally take only a few seconds. He counted to three. His target reached for his neck, where it felt almost like he had been stung by a bee. And then his knees weakened.


    Andres Hightower, a tall handsome man, with long blond hair and deep blue eyes, had not even looked up when the Shadow reached the other man. As the figure fell to the ground, the Shadow caught him.


    ¡®The wine!¡¯


    He reached out his left hand with lightning reflexes, and caught the glass of wine too, placing it back onto the table without spilling a drop.


    Anders looked up at the noise, opening his eyes wide in complete shock at the dark-clad figure standing there looking back at him. Anders was wearing the well-tailored tunic and pants of a noble, with the crest of a Black Tower on one shoulder, and a Red Dragon on the other. And while there was a large bastard sword sitting in its scabbard next to his desk, the Shadow had no fear of this man.


    ¡°That will be reasonably difficult to explain when he wakes up,¡± said Anders drily, pointing at the fallen body on the ground.


    ¡°I have information you needed to hear. It could not wait,¡± stated the Shadow plainly.


    Anders looked from the Shadow and to the fallen figure on the floor, and back between the two several times before motioning for the figure to continue.


    ¡°I followed Josak to a warehouse in the Port area. Josak has set a trap for Maragon and the Stone tonight using some Kestrel artifacts. They have told one of the Seven, a man named Javelin, that a Sword is there.¡±


    While Anders carefully processed this unexpected news, the Shadow considered his employer and the company he kept. It was generally a good idea for an Assassin to have some conception of what their employer might be capable of. One of the most frequent causes of an assassin¡¯s demise was their employer.


    ¡®You and Josak are both followers of the Great Dragon, and therefore you have the same goals. But you are both jealous and petty, so you are more like rivals. You are not keen to see the older Josak come into possession of either the Stone or the Sword, so now you will decide if you wish to help, hinder, or try to subvert these efforts to your own gain. Why am I always disappointed by my clients? Good, honourable people rarely have need for a man of my services.¡¯


    Anders ran his hands through his long blond hair as he considered how to proceed.


    ¡°He has instructed his man, Gerard, to kill them all,¡± continued the Shadow. ¡°He will gather the information from them after they are dead.¡±


    ¡°Gerard? Interesting. I wonder if Ronardo is part of this too then?¡± Anders pondered aloud.


    ¡®Ronardo. A High Priest of Razilin¡¯Tera, like Josak, and therefore your superior in the order. Although you see nobody as your superior. You have enough ambition that it could devour the sun to achieve what you want.¡¯


    ¡°Surely Josak does not think Gerard and his men will be enough to capture the Saranti Seven alone. Is he planning to be there himself?¡± asked Anders, although really the question was mostly rhetorical. Anders was already shaking his head as he finished the question.


    ¡°He did mention a blessing from his Master. It was related to a circle of magick runes on the roof of the warehouse,¡± replied the Shadow. ¡°I believe it was a summoning circle.¡±


    ¡°Could you tell what he was planning to summon?¡± asked Anders.


    Ordinarily an assassin would be unlikely to answer such a question, but the Shadow was no ordinary assassin. He had studied many different forms of magick, and could even cast a few spells of his own. To be the best, the Shadow was always seeking advantages over both his competition and his prey.


    ¡°There were sigils to the Blood God, and to a diety I could not identify. But from the size of the circle, and the number of acolytes Josak had, I would expect it is a powerful demon.¡±


    ¡°Excellent. This is a fortunate break indeed,¡± Anders replied, his smile broadening. His eyes unfocused as he began to stare into the distance, ¡°Josak, old friend, you have made a grave mistake playing around in my particular area of expertise.¡±


    Anders looked intently at the dark-clad figure in front of him. The Shadow was covered head-to-foot in skin-tight black material. Anders had now spent several hours in his company, but the Shadow had ensured he knew nothing about him, or what he looked like.


    ¡°Can you read enchantments from magick scrolls?¡± Anders asked. This was a very rare skill generally known only to practitioners of magick, but the Shadow was a special individual who came with a very special price tag.


    ¡°I can,¡± the Shadow confirmed.


    ¡°Then we can take care of the demon. Just bring me Maragon,¡± instructed Anders.


    ¡°Alive or dead?¡± asked the Shadow.


    ¡°Unfortunately I do not possess Josak¡¯s affinity for the Dead, so I require him alive. Bring me any other members of the Seven that you can, but Maragon is the priority.¡± Josak¡¯s face twisted in thought, and then he added. ¡°Actually, you can kill the priest, Turin. He has always irritated me the most, and let¡¯s just say my boss and his have had some past disagreements.¡±


    ¡°Your will be done,¡± replied the Shadow.


    <h2>Kell ¨C The Docks, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9th Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Kell was hauled roughly to the top deck of the ship by two of the crew. Weakened after several weeks of travel, starvation, and sea sickness, he lacked the strength to resist, so he co-operated, hoping to minimise the number of times they struck him, or pummelled him into something.


    ¡°Perhaps we should scalp him?¡± jeered the badly scarred sailor on his left. ¡°I hear that is what they do to one of us if they capture us.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like an excellent idea. I bet his scalp could be sold for a few coins in the markets. Cityfolk love buying strange trinkets from the frontiers,¡± replied the dark skinned, eye-patch wearing sailor on his right.


    ¡°Enough!¡± barked Gerard from above. ¡°I am the only one who may authorise any marks being put on our cargo.¡±


    Kell was relieved he did not have to find out if the two sailors had been serious about their threat. But he was also afraid of Gerard. He had only seen Gerard once since Kell had thrown the bowl of soup at him, and that was when he reinstated Kell¡¯s food. Each day Kell had been made to swear he would offer them no trouble, and in return he was fed. He had made that declaration at least twenty times now.


    As he was brought up into the daylight for the first time in weeks, the bright light seared his eyes. He squinted and pulled one hand from his captors which he used to shield his eyes. He blinked until his eyes adjusted, but what he saw was so alien his mind could hardly believe what he was seeing.


    This human ¡®city¡¯ was a gargantuan pile of stone and wood heaped together in a way that made no sense. The natural world had been destroyed and its resources raped to build house upon house for an incredible number of people to cohabit the same space. The number of people he could see scurrying around both on the docks, and all across the parts of the city he could see from the dock, was impossible for his mind to believe.


    His mind was assaulted by the damage they had done to the environment in order to achieve this. His mind could not understand the ¡®how¡¯ of what they had done, but he also could not understand the ¡®why¡¯.


    ¡®Why would people want to live like this?¡¯


    All his senses reported their outrage. The smell of the city was unlike anything he had ever encountered. It was like the worst combinations of sweat, salt and a latrine had all been mixed together and just laid bare for weeks to really let the smell germinate.


    And the noise was also something entirely alien to Kell. All throughout the dock, and what sounded like the whole city, voices screamed, clamouring to have their message heard above the others. Kell¡¯s knowledge of the common tongue was not good enough to make out half of what was being said, but the only thing worth screaming this loudly about should have been ¡®fire¡¯ or ¡®we are under attack¡¯. Looking around he was pretty sure whatever they were screaming about, it was not anything that important.


    Kell found himself more terrified of this ¡®city¡¯ than he was of Gerard. Gerard looked at him, and could see the fear and horror upon Kell¡¯s face.


    ¡°A sight to behold, isn¡¯t it?¡± Gerard asked. Kell was unable to find any words, so he just mutely nodded.


    ¡°We have to go into that,¡± explained Gerard. ¡°Co-operate on our trip, and I will protect you from the threats a city like this has for a na?ve boy of the wilds like yourself.¡±


    Gerard leaned closed, and his voice took on a mean tone.


    ¡°But fuck with me, just a little, as we may make our way through the city, and I will cripple you and leave you for the predators to do as they wish. I can assure you, the stuff these predators would do to you, would make anything a wild animal might do seem tame.¡±


    Kell nodded his head in agreement. He reluctantly put one foot in front of the other and followed Gerard off the boat.


    None of what he saw as he journeyed through just a small section of ¡®city¡¯ made any sense. People screamed messages to nobody in particular. He saw scantily women on upper balconies offering sex to people in the street. He saw drunk sailors staggering around the streets, several of them behaving poorly towards women just unlucky enough to be in the same vicinity, or fighting with each other over nothing in particular. And he saw what looked like sick and poor everywhere, begging for scraps of money, clothing or food. Perhaps most disturbing, was he saw the uncaring eyes of those around them, looking away and pretending not to see.


    ¡°Free lesson, always watch out for your possessions when amongst crowds. Assume everyone is a thief. Especially small children,¡± advised Gerard, pointing his gauntleted hand at two small street urchins moving their way through the crowd. Kell watched as one distracted a well-dressed couple who were holding hands, juggling three coloured cloth balls as he walked across in front of their path. He saw the second scurry up behind the unsuspecting couple, and bumped into the man from behind, but sliced his belt purse, taking all the contents in a smooth motion, suggesting the young thief was well practiced.


    The young man apologised for stopping suddenly and causing the impact, oblivious to the fact he had just been robbed.


    ¡°Why did they rob him?¡± asked Kell. ¡°What did he do to them?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. This is how they survive in this city. My guess is they are orphans, and most likely a thieves guild pays them a small percentage of what they take as food, and gives them a place to stay at night. For those kids it is as simple as rob people of coin, or be whipped and go hungry tonight.¡±


    Kell shook his head incredulously. ¡®How are we the uncivilised ones? We would never let a child fall so far. Ancestors, why would anyone want to live like this? If I manage to survive this, please let me never come to another city again.¡¯


    Twenty terrifying, alien and bewildering minutes later Kell was led into a large plaster and stone building, up several flights of stairs, and finally into a large suite on an upper floor.


    ¡°Welcome to your new home,¡± commented Gerard, as he pointed to a chair.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± asked Kell.


    ¡°This is the room of your new master. I would advise doing exactly as he says. You will not like what happens if you do not,¡± replied Gerard simply.


    The single suite was larger than any lodging or tent Kell had ever seen. And it was full of strange things that seemed to have little function, but perhaps were intended to show how magnificent or powerful this man was. Much of what he saw throughout this building on the walk to this room was the same.


    An elderly Indian man came into the room from an adjoining doorway. Kell recognised his clothing as that of a Kestrel lorekeeper, those within each tribe who learned and recounted the histories of the tribe and of the Indian people. He also wore a strange metallic chain around his neck that he did not recognise, but perhaps it was part of his outfit.


    Kell felt an immediate and short-lived feeling of relief. The old man looked weary, and his eyes were downcast. When he looked at Kell, there was a brief spark in his eyes, but then he flinched, and he looked away, almost ashamedly.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± asked Gerard. His tone was not one of concern or alarm, but more of one who simply did not know who or why someone was here, and that he very much expected an answer.


    ¡°I am Aten¨¢ti. I will look after the young one from here. You may go,¡± replied the old man with a deep voice, and seemingly quite comfortable with the common tongue.


    Gerard did not seem like he was thrilled with this outcome. He appeared to briefly considered his options, before turning to depart.


    ¡°OK. Just tell your master that I brought him here. What happens from here is not my responsibility,¡± he said, as he led his men out of the room.


    Kell looked at Aten¨¢ti to see what he would do next. He was holding a glimmer of hope that this old Indian would be his saviour.


    The old Indian looked at Kell sorrowfully as he went to a large black leather case and opened it. He carefully took out another of the strange metallic chains like he wore around his own neck, and proceeded to move towards Kell.


    ¡°What is that?¡± asked Kell, reverting to his natural Kestrel tongue.


    ¡°You will not like it,¡± replied Aten¨¢ti, in the common tongue.


    ¡°Then do not do whatever you are about to do!¡± replied Kell, again in the Kestrel tongue. Some part of him hoped if he kept using the Indian dialect he might appeal to his fellow Kestrel to help him.


    ¡°I cannot. I am afraid the chain itself gives me no choice,¡± replied Aten¨¢ti, again in the common tongue. ¡°I am forbidden to even use the language of our people unless he gives me permission.¡±


    Kell looked at the chain Aten¨¢ti was now lifting to put over his head. He moved away. Kell wanted no part of that chain.


    Aten¨¢ti looked at him, as a grandparent might look like at a misbehaving child.


    ¡°Child, this cannot be avoided. All you will do is increase your own discomfort before the chain is put on you,¡± Aten¨¢ti told him.


    ¡°Still doesn¡¯t mean I am just going to let you put it on me,¡± Kell replied defiantly. Kell ran for the door and tried to open it. As he reached the door he felt a strange flash of nausea wash over him. His limbs were strangely weakened, and were slow in responding to his command. He struggled on, managing to avoid falling, and he now had his hand on the doorknob.


    There was a 2<sup>nd</sup> flash of nausea. And now strangely his limbs would not respond at all to his mind¡¯s commands. He collapsed in a heap near the door. He tried to stand, but he could not. He tried to move. He could not. All of his limbs were frozen in place. He couldn¡¯t even move his head to look back at Aten¨¢ti.


    ¡®Was that Magick? Am I dying?¡¯


    ¡°I am sorry my child. I do not wish to do this to you. But I have no choice.¡±


    Kell could hear Aten¨¢ti walking over towards him. He both saw, and felt, the strange metal chain being placed over his neck. Aten¨¢ti took care to centre the strange circular clasp over Kell¡¯s breastbone, reaching into his clothing to place the clasp directly in contact with his breastbone. Once his hand touched Kell¡¯s flesh, he felt Aten¨¢ti¡¯s hand recoil, almost like he had been burned.


    ¡°Ancestors, No!. He can¡¯t be.¡± Kell heard Aten¨¢ti whisper. He could not see Aten¨¢ti, but for the next few moments he did not think Aten¨¢ti moved. Then he heard a grunt of anguished pain, and once again Aten¨¢ti was moving his hands towards him. He finished positioning the clasp against his breastbone, and he said something in a language Kell did not understand.


    There was a strange clicking sound, and then Kell felt a sharp pain right through his breastbone. He couldn¡¯t see what had happened as he couldn¡¯t move his head, but it felt like his chest was on fire. He wanted to scream in pain, but he couldn¡¯t even do that. He wondered if the chain was killing him, drilling a hole through his chest.


    After thirty seconds the pain started to subside. He tried to move, and he found that at least his fingers and toes were responding now.


    ¡°Your ability to move will return slowly,¡± explained Aten¨¢ti. ¡°Before you regain the ability to talk, and interrupt me incessantly with your questions, just listen very carefully and absorb what I am about to tell you.¡±


    Unable to move in any meaningful way, and still unable to talk, Kell did the only thing he could. He listened.


    ¡°You are now the property of a man named Josak Norgette. In theory Klydor and many of the other places you may go will not recognise slavery so you will not always be called that, but the chain around your neck will prevent you from telling anyone that you are a slave. You will seem to everyone to be working with Josak of your own free will.¡±


    ¡®I am now a slave?! Ancestors help me.¡¯


    Kell had regained enough movement that he could now turn his head a little. This allowed him to move enough to at least look at Aten¨¢ti. He could see a pained look on the Lorekeeper¡¯s face.


    ¡°I am deeply sorry that you are now in this position. I understand exactly what you are feeling, and what you will continue to feel. I have lived like this for over a year,¡± continued Aten¨¢ti. ¡°The collar makes it almost impossible to disobey Josak, and will cause you pain if you resist, or just take over your body and make you do as he has ordered. Even without being told, it will forbid you from doing anything which works against Josak, and it will not allow you to leave or escape.¡±


    ¡°What does he ¡­¡± Kell croaked, but he couldn¡¯t finish the words.


    ¡°¡­want?¡± finished Aten¨¢ti for him. ¡°I suspect he wants you to lead his forces into the mountains and regain the Sword of Xarron. He believes he needs it to resurrect an old Dragon god of his. He captured me so he could extract all the information I had on old Kestrel legends and histories. He was seeking the sword. I am afraid I gave him the information that has led to the current outcome of he and his ilk sending forces into our homelands to recover the item he seeks.¡±


    ¡°Betrayer,¡± spat Kell.


    ¡°You cannot say anything that is worse than what I think of myself,¡± replied Aten¨¢ti coldly. ¡°But we will see what you say after you have worn the collar for a few months. You are going to do a great many things you regret; I suspect. But you are young, and strong. Perhaps you will in time discover some way to defeat the collar, and regain your freedom as I have been unable to. That is one of the paths before you now.¡±


    Kell found he was suddenly bone-tired, with a weariness to match the most fatigued he had ever felt in his life.


    ¡°You will be very tired for the next while as the chains work their magick on you.  I will help you to a bed so you can rest.  Do not try anything foolish.  You are not strong enough to escape right now anyway, and the chains might just kill you if they try to enforce their will you on in your weakened state.  Get some rest.  I must take you to meet Master shortly.¡±


    Too weak to resist, Kell allowed the old Indian to help him into one of the beds.  And while his mind was in turmoil and horror, he found sleep came mercifully quick.

 Chapter 14: The Ball

    <h2>Azzanon ¨C DeVilliers Manor, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    The elegantly dressed man glided across the floor of the Debutante Ball, his eyes fixed on his target.  The young and eligible children of Klydor¡¯s richest and most powerful families surrounded him, reveling in a celebration of their coming of age.


    ¡®Music ¨C Not the worst I have heard.  Carries a rhythm well enough for dancing, but I feel confident I could play at least two of the instruments better than this band are.¡¯


    ¡®The meal ¨C Surprisingly good.  The chef even managed to avoid burning the venison into charcoal.  Unusual in the extreme in this area.¡¯


    ¡®The wine - was even passable as such.  But some of the wine was Drasnian after all.  Often imitated.  Never duplicated.  Careful.  Do not let Drasnian pride blow your cover.¡¯


    He stepped a little more lightly, and smiled even more affectionately, as he reached his target.


    ¡°My lady, your beauty is like that of the reddest rose¡­¡± he began, addressing the stunning young girl before him, ¡°¡­Sweet and delicate, yet bold and undoubtedly exquisite.  Even from across the room I felt compelled to come nearer and marvel at how resplendent you appear.¡±


    The glint in a young lady''s eye whenever she is paid a unexpectedly beautiful compliment was one of life¡¯s greatest joys for Azzanon Klarence Thibaut III.


    ¡®With such simple words one can accomplish so much, winning favour and trust in only a few precious seconds.  They''ve also landed me in trouble just as quickly, but I''m fairly certain this enchanting redhead isn''t married.¡¯


    The lady, momentarily lost for words, blushed deeply. The group of women around her tittered with barely contained excitement.


    ¡°My name is Lord Ranzar Ackton the third, of Lotan,¡± Azzanon lied, aware that the real Ackton would never be this well dressed, or this suave, ¡°And I would be honoured were you to give me your name.¡±  He waited patiently, his most charming smile in place.


    ¡®I actually have no idea what name she is going by here.¡¯


    ¡°Gaebriel,¡± came a faint whisper, the slightest tinge of a blush colouring her beautiful face.  ¡°Gaebriel Curzik.¡±


    ¡®Using her real first name.  A little lazy, but it does ensure a more genuine reaction if her name is called.  I guess we can¡¯t all be professionals.¡¯


    The young girl with stunning long red hair and pale blue eyes had taken the bait, and now it was time for Azzanon to reel her in.


    ¡®And the best way to do that will be to get her away from these more vigilant chaperones; obviously here to protect her from creatures not all that different to myself.  I dislike pretending to be Lotese, but it is unlikely that the entourage of this young girl would respond so warmly to my true identity.¡¯


    ¡°Would you be so kind as to accompany me in the next dance?¡± he asked, the smile still plainly apparent and his hand now held out to her.  With a simple nod she placed her own hand within his and made to stand up. But before she could do such, Azzanon made a great spectacle of gently kissing the knuckles on the proffered hand.  With a quick wink directed at the nearest of the chaperones, Azzanon led Gaebriel away from their influence and onto the dance floor.


    It turned out that Gaebriel Curzik was a delightful dancer, easily performing some of the more complex and glamorous movements with a grace which was beginning to draw attention to them.


    ¡®I do not think this a good thing.  Under normal circumstances I would like nothing more than to show off and be the centre of attention, but the close scrutiny of an audience will make my mission much more difficult.  Perhaps we should tone down the fancy dance moves.¡¯


    Gaebriel however, seemed to take delight from the attention and began to lead Azzanon into more and more complicated steps.


    ¡®Taking the lead?  How bold.¡¯


    Azzanon was more impressed than annoyed, and did little to stop her.  The results were hushed whispers and gasps of amazement as the two twirled around and around the dance floor.  Gaebriel determined to push her newfound partner to his limits.  Azzanon¡¯s ego required that he prove he had none.


    Azzanon did make a few covert attempts to end the dance after each song, but each time Gaebriel held his hand tightly and requested one more.  With the crowd focus on them Azzanon did not want to humiliate the girl by walking away, and it was hard enough for him to refuse a beautiful woman anything at the best of times.  And he had not lied about that - Gaebriel was beautiful.


    ¡®If I am to have any chance of successfully completing what I have come here to do, I have to get the young Gaebriel away from the other guests and on her own.  Just exactly how I might accomplish that is currently alluding me.¡¯


    He was still looking for a solution when his time ran out.


    The first warning was the alarmed shriek from one of the guests at the front of the hall.  This was followed by the guests at the top of the stairway starting to scurry down the stairs and onto the dance floor in what seemed more like panic than enthusiasm.  When the sounds of smashing glass rang out from the raised dining area which overlooked the bar and dance floor, the music stopped.


    ¡®Now what, genius?  You danced instead of running.  Now, all the exits from the room will be covered.  Well, I could get a bottle of that wine, and watch a room of Klydorian¡¯s finest descend into chaos and panic. I wonder if there are any Knights here on a night out?¡¯


    Four figures clad in skin-tight black garb, with fashionable masks concealing their identity, muscled their way into view up on the balcony.  All on the dance floor froze and looked up at them.


    ¡®Ahh, our new hosts.  I don¡¯t think the theme for tonight was black skin-wraps.  The masks are nice though.  I will grant you that.¡¯


    ¡°Greetings esteemed and honoured guests.  Please excuse the interruptions but your gracious host has stepped out for a minute and he asked me to run things until he returns.  Now what I...¡±  The man''s instructions were drowned out by the shocked sounds emanating from all over the hall.  The voice coming from the lead figure was calm and serene, with an arrogance that made Azzanon want to strangle him.  It was tantalizingly familiar but he could not place a name or face to it.  After several moments of increasing noise and outrage from the gathered nobles, the figure motioned to the similarly clad form on his right.


    ¡°Quiet!¡± barked a deep masculine voice.  About half of the crowd went silent, but Azzanon recognised that control of the audience was on the verge of being lost.


    ¡®Congratulations.  Half of your audience are now too scared to be rational.  These are the rich upper classes.  They do not take surprises such as this well, and they certainly are not used to feeling powerless and being told what to do.  This could get really ugly.¡¯


    People started to panic, and Azzanon could sense they were about to start bolting for exits.  The first figure gestured to his right again and the response was immediate.  Without hesitation the man raised a crossbow to his shoulder and fired.  His target, a young man trying to calm his emotional date, slumped to the ground as the quarrel punched into his back.  The crowd erupted into hysterical screams and people tried to run but found their paths blocked by more of the dark clad forms.  More crossbows went off.


    ¡®Amateurs.  But this is our best chance to escape.¡¯


    Azzanon pulled Gaebriel close and held her tight to prevent her from doing anything to draw attention to herself.  She resisted only slightly before allowing herself to be drawn into the embrace.


    ¡°Stay low and quiet.  If we keep our cool, we will be fine.¡± Azzanon whispered encouragingly.


    He then ducked down low to avoid being seen amongst the panicking crowd, and started pushing his way towards the kitchen entrance, holding Gaebriel¡¯s hand tight to ensure she followed.  Around him the screaming continued, but with the severe nature they were dealing with the crowd, Azzanon could tell these men would soon have it all back under control.


    ¡®There will be much mourning amongst the Klydorian nobility by daylight tomorrow.  And then the demand for justice will begin.  The fallout from this will be monumental.  I would not want to be one of the parties behind this for all the money in the world, either as a sponsor or a participant.¡¯


    As he neared the kitchen, Azzanon could see only one figure left guarding the door.


    ¡®One of the band!  Explains a lot.¡¯


    Two others who had been nearby were now rushing to help their colleagues hold the crowd back from the main entrance.  With a quick glance Azzanon could see that a small group of the young men had rushed the main door, and the guards were struggling to turn them back.  Much of the crowd¡¯s attention was also momentarily diverted.


    ¡®I have often thought it better to be lucky than good.¡¯


    He used a large overweight man with a bright red robe and a ridiculous beard as a screen.  This allowed him to get within 3 paces of the barely adequate lute player.  He let go of Gaebriel¡¯s hand and lunged.  The lute player started to bark a command at the old man to move back, but never even saw Azzanon until his right fist smashed into the side of his head.


    ¡®That is for crimes against music.¡¯


    The man, stunned by the blow, offered little resistance as Azzanon tackled him through the kitchen door.  The sound of his crossbow hitting the floor was concealed by the din in the other room, as was the sounds of Azzanon¡¯s fists impacting the guard¡¯s head twice more.  Azzanon waited a second to ensure the guard was unconscious, and then retrieved both his crossbow and the small sword from the man¡¯s side.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡®This is why in Drasnia, we are allowed to wear our swords all of the time.¡¯


    Noise from the back of the kitchen alerted Azzanon to the fact that his attack had not gone totally unnoticed.  He ducked behind the large central counter that ran the length of the kitchen, as two similarly dressed men in full black bodysuits entered from the kitchen¡¯s rear door.  The two swords they had drawn left little question as to their intent, and from their short lean builds, and the thin curved nature of their blades, Azzanon guessed they were probably Drasak thugs.  If they were, there was sure to be at least one Drasak assassin around as well.


    ¡®What was it my superiors said?  ¡®No Drasak clan will dare to perform a hit on Klydorian soil.¡±  I do tire of being right all the time.¡¯


    Azzanon silently slid a large carving knife off the counter and continued to creep forwards.  He had moved halfway through the room before the first of the men walked around the counter and into view.  Knowing this was the only element of surprise he would get Azzanon threw the knife at this target.  Before even waiting to see if it hit, he then rose up, planted his left hand on the counter, and vaulted across to the other side, towards the second man.


    Azzanon extended his right foot and caught the man just underneath the chin, knocking him off his feet and onto the still burning hot-plate behind him.  The man reflexively recoiled from the hot plate, but not before his hands were badly burned, and he dropped his sword.  Azzanon ended the man¡¯s suffering seconds later when he drove his own sword deep into the man¡¯s chest.  Azzanon then spun towards the first figure in time to see him collapse into a large pile of dishes, still clutching the knife embedded in his chest while knocking several pots and pans noisily to the floor.


    ¡®Well, what do you know?  You can throw a butcher¡¯s cleaver.  May need to rethink those expensive throwing knives.¡¯


    Then the door behind him opened.


    Azzanon spun, sword raised, and prepared to defend himself.  Much to his surprise it was the devastatingly beautiful face of the young Gaebriel that greeted him.


    ¡®This pleases me for several reasons.  One, it shows the young girl has the spirit to follow me on her own.  And second, it stops me having to go back in after her.¡¯


    ¡°Did anyone see you come in here?¡± Azzanon asked.


    ¡°No¡­¡± she hesitated for a few seconds as she stared at the bodies lying on the ground at Azzanon¡¯s feet, and the bloodied sword in his hand.  Azzanon snapped his fingers to get her attention again.


    ¡®Stay with me.¡¯


    ¡°No.  They were watching the fight at the front,¡± she continued, her natural Drasak accent breaking through her thin fa?ade.


    ¡°Good then we must get you out of here right now.¡±  Azzanon grabbed her hands and began to lead her out through the back of the kitchen and towards the rear of the manor.  She initially struggled to keep up because of her shoes, but she quickly kicked them off and was then able to run much faster.


    ¡®Excellent.  The girl is practical too.¡¯


    ¡°Where are all the servants?¡± Gaebriel asked.  Azzanon had already seen glimpses of a few as he moved around.


    ¡°Dead, or unconscious.  We must move quickly or we may soon join them.¡±  Azzanon braced himself for her reaction.


    ¡®It is possible, given her background, that she may have become accustomed to death, but it is more likely that her family have shielded from the murder and assassination that is rampant in her homeland.¡¯


    ¡°Dead¡­¡± fear began to creep into the young woman¡¯s voice, and she began to slow, forcing Azzanon to try harder in his efforts to drag her on.


    ¡®Right again!  She has been shielded.¡¯


    ¡°Princess Jadesson,¡± he waited for his words to sink in before he continued, ¡°these men are here for you.  I am here to rescue you.  Now you must be brave, and try to keep up with me.¡±


    ¡°But¡­how do you know¡­¡±  the young Jadesson was now stammering, and her body language was of someone quite unsure of herself.


    ¡®Who you really are?  Because the Drasnian Intelligence agency knows everything.  Helping Drasaks, our hated rivals, is new though.¡¯


    ¡°That is not important, but I do not wish a Drasak Princess to fall into the hands of the Drasak Assassin Guilds.¡±  Azzanon could see all the questions and emotions playing across her face.


    ¡®Use this uncertainty to make her more malleable.  We have to keep moving.¡¯


    Azzanon grabbed her hand again, and hurried through the kitchen.  This time she did her utmost to keep up.


    Azzanon could see a stagecoach through the rear windows of the manor.  It had a full team of horses at the ready, making it an inviting target, but the two dark-clad, mask wearing guards posed a problem.  With too much of a chance that there would be even more guards out that way, Azzanon decided to head through the door and corridor that lead to the servant¡¯s quarters instead.  Here the previous opulence of the furnishings was quickly replaced with far more functional furniture and fittings.


    They raced past lines of simple beds, and through a very plain meals room, before coming to the double wooden doors that lead outside.  If Azzanon had remembered the layout of the manor right, this should put them only a small distance from an orchard that ran all the way to the front wall of the manor.  Behind them he could hear the sound of people tearing up the kitchen, and raised voices out near the stagecoach.


    ¡®They have found our trail.¡¯


    Azzanon opened one of the double doors and peered outside.  The lights from the house, and those on either side of the main pathway lit up most of the far side of the front gardens.  Fortunately the orchard was relatively dark.  There was little movement other than two figures moving around the front gate.  From here Azzanon could see their white tabards, and the purple dragon symbol of the Klydorian Guard displayed prominently on their chests.  But from the stealthy way they walked, and the small Drasak size of their frames, he doubted that these men were in the employ of the Klydorian throne.


    Keeping low, he stepped out of the doorway.  With a quick glance to ensure there were no unwanted eyes watching, he brought Gaebriel out into the pathway and began to move quickly towards the orchard.  They covered the distance quickly, and then began to sprint through the well manicured rows of fruit trees and beautiful rose bushes.  Azzanon heard the faint exclamations of pain as some of the dry twigs and rose thorns stung Gaebriel¡¯s now bare feet, but the young girl held the pain in, barely missing a step as they rushed towards the front wall.


    ¡®She is tougher than I anticipated.¡¯


    The front wall of the manor was ten feet high, with solid stone base of five feet.  It also had square columns every forty feet, and ornate metal-work spanning these gaps.  Because of the flowery nature of the pattern, the top of the metalwork was similar to a series of blades, and was extremely difficult to climb over without risking potential injury.  While Azzanon was sure he could climb this with ease, he had serious doubts that the young Jadesson could navigate the metal-work safely.


    ¡®Ending the rescue by impaling the princess on a flowery blade is not what I had in mind.  But the column may be far more manageable.¡¯


    Azzanon could hear the sounds of coaches moving through the street on the other side of the wall.  There was clearly more activity among the nobility than just this party tonight.


    ¡®Once we cross that wall we will be in the open.  It is important that we find a faster form of transportation quickly.  We will need to time this just right.¡¯


    ¡°Wait Here.  I will help you up in a moment,¡± he instructed, having already decided it best if he went up the wall first.  With a short run-up, he launched himself off the wall and tried to grab the top of the column.  Standing only five and a half feet tall, this was no small feat.  But his fingers got a firm grasp, and he pulled himself up onto the column.  He could see a stagecoach heading in this direction, and from the look of the heraldry, it was a Lotese Merchant.


    ¡®Praise Faylen.  This could work out perfectly.¡¯


    Aware that he was now in the half-light from one of the street lanterns, Azzanon had to hurry.  He lay down across the column and lowered his hands back down to Gaebriel.


    ¡°Come on¡­ jump and I will grab your hands.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can make it¡­¡± she replied hesitantly.


    ¡°Of course you can, I will grab you.  Please Gaebriel, we do not have a great deal of time here,¡± Azzanon pleaded.


    ¡®You have shown great spirit so far.  Please do not lose your nerve now.¡¯


    Azzanon was relieved when she prepared herself to run at the wall.  She sprinted hard and launched off the wall, in an emulation of Azzanon from only moments earlier.  But her jump was poorly timed. Her bare feet got little traction on the wall, resulting in her missing his hands by several feet.  She looked up at him with apologetic eyes.


    ¡°Try again Princess!  You can do it.¡±  She hesitantly took a few steps back and prepared to try again.  But Azzanon could see the defeat in her eyes.


    ¡°Princess, I can see those strong and beautiful legs beneath your dress.  Lift the dress a little as you run, and you will easily hurdle this small fence.¡±  The young princess nodded and calmly did as suggested.  She looked up at Azzanon and his bright blue eyes gazing back at her and then she looked at the wall again, this time with determination.


    She lifted her dress a little to allow her legs more range of movement, and ran at the wall, pushing off hard this time.  The impact of her feet on the stone wall hurt her, but she easily reached a height sufficient for Azzanon to grab her hands.  He then quickly pulled her up the column, using her as a counter-weight, and lowering himself down the other side.


    ¡®Being dragged across the stonework will do a great disservice to both of our outfits, and I fear the young princess¡¯ dress may be beyond being saved.¡¯


    He could hear the fabric starting to rip as he finished hauling her to the top of the column.


    ¡®She will have to be content with being alive.¡¯


    Letting go of her hand he now dropped safely to the path on the other side.  He reached up to assist Gaebriel in climbing down, who was now sitting on the column facing him, preparing to jump down feet first.  As he looked up at her she quickly pulled her dress back up to cover her now exposed breasts.


    ¡®Thank you for that beautiful gift, Faylen.¡¯


    She gasped only a little at the unplanned exposure, bringing a chuckle from Azzanon.  Recovering quickly, she jumped towards him.  She was lighter than Azzanon expected, her dress making her petite form seem much more full figured.  But her dress, now torn in several places, got tangled around him, and they both crashed to the path, Gaebriel landing firmly on top of him and pushing his face firmly into her recently exposed parts.


    ¡®Please can we lie here just a little longer.¡¯


    Azzanon heard raised voices coming from the manor, and he could hear guards now running towards the front gate.


    ¡®We have been seen.  Playtime is over.¡¯


    Azzanon apologised as Gaebriel struggled to regain her feet, but it was now she who was laughing.  He waited until she was fully standing before he arched his back and flipped back to his feet.  He was a little embarrassed at having failed to catch her, but he would have to wait until later to make amends to the girl and his ego.  For now he had to get that stagecoach to stop, which was now almost upon them.


    Azzanon jumped into the middle of the road, waving his hands frantically at the rapidly closing horses, and their now stunned driver.  The horses were reined in, and they came to a stop, inches from his face.  At that range Azzanon could even smell the horrid breath of the lead horse.  Knowing his opponents were even now getting to the gate of the manor, he had to make this happen quickly.


    ¡°Dear Sir, please assist us.  The manor has been attacked by thieves and they are chasing myself and my beautiful wife.  I am Lord Acktar of Lotan, and I can pay handsomely for your services.¡±  This speech was directed at the occupant of the coach more so than the driver.  It was designed to maximise the chance that the man would assist them.  The Lotese were reknowned for their love of money and in his short speech he had appealed to both patriotism and greed.


    ¡®Either will do at this point.  We just have to hope none of them have ever met the real Lord Ackton, or this could get embarrassing.¡¯


    ¡°Quick Archibald, get them onboard,¡± he heard the coach owner call from inside.  Responding immediately, Azzanon led Gaebriel towards the now open door of the coach, and into the well-appointed interior.  Inside he found a single middle-aged man dressed in a fancy robe, and with a fancy hat sitting on the chair next to him.  He regarded the man curiously for a second, his innate sense of fashion and style offended by the clash of colours and lack of taste in this man¡¯s clothes.


    But then he returned his focus to his pursuers.  Out of the small window in the back of the coach, Azzanon could now see a small group of figures running towards them.


    ¡°Quickly Archibald, they are coming,¡± called the coach-owner.  Seconds later, the wagon started moving again.  Azzanon was greatly relieved once the wagon was moving faster than the people behind it.  His level of relaxation grew as the distance between the carriage and its pursuers increased.


    ¡°Those Klydorians sure know how to throw an exciting party!¡± Azzanon joked.


    Nobody laughed back.

 Chapter 15: In and under the taverns of Chandrex

    <h2>Peregrin ¨C Loyal Bannerman Inn, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Peregrin completed his sweep around the Inn, meticulously cataloguing the entrances and exits in his mind.  These included both the obvious ones and the ones available to a special individual with dexterity and an appetite to climb walls or move along rooftops.


    There were several things he did not like about this establishment.


    ¡®One: there are humans everywhere.  They are mostly proving themselves selfish, incompetent, and illogical.  But I have no solution for that, so we must accommodate this problem.¡¯


    Peregrin began to move back inside and towards his room, and those of the rest of his group.


    ¡®Two: while the building seems reputable enough, some of the clientele seemed decidedly unreputable.  It was impossible not to notice some of the denizens paying too much attention to our group.  Maybe they were staring because I am an elf, but there are enough elves in Klydor that seems unlikely.¡¯


    ¡®More likely they have heard the silly legends that Silver haired elves are rich.  I was warned by my order to pay particular attention to that.¡¯


    ¡®Or perhaps they are connected to the denizens who wish to harm Mitchell and his companions.  This is almost certainly the worst of the possible explanations.¡¯


    But not all of his problems were being caused by external factors.


    Three: because of some strange custom that makes little sense, we did not all just sleep in the one room.  We have split ourselves up, making it more difficult to protect everyone.  But that does not mean I will not try.¡¯


    Peregrin smiled as his eyes, currently attuned to see magickal auras as he walked around, spotted the divination and protection wards around their rooms.  While he suspected the reason, he looked and checked to see if any of the other rooms had these protections.  They did not.  He focused more intently on the auras, and sensed they were divine in origin.  That eliminated Mitchell as a possible source for the wards.


    ¡®At least Alicia has wisdom.  She has protected the obvious entrances to our rooms.  Likely some kind of alarm spell.  That will let me rest a little easier.¡¯


    He returned to his room, making sure to lock his door and confirm his window was latched.  He made himself comfortable upon his bed, and began to clear his mind.  He went through his very well established routine of calming himself so that he could enter his dream-sleep state of Olos Enyali?.


    ****


    Peregrin¡¯s consciousness stirred the moment the lockpick entered the lock on his room.  He could not be entirely sure, but he suspected he had only been ¡®sleeping¡¯ for about an hour.


    He quietly moved from his bed, quickly placing his bedroll on the mattress, and then throwing the bedding over it to make it look at first glance as though the bed was still occupied.  He armed himself with his two scimitars and took up a position behind the door.


    Whoever it was trying to pick the lock, they were either making a statement they were not very good, or that the locks in this establishment were far better than should be expected.  Peregrin very much suspected the former.


    Finally, after some agitation from what sounded like two other voices, the door was unlocked.


    ¡°Remember, just take his stuff and go.  If he resists, try to knock him out.  Only kill him if we have to.  Dead elves probably bring a lot more Inquisitorial attention than we want from a simple robbery,¡± instructed a whispered voice.


    ¡°Right, we got it!¡± replied another voice, apparently somewhat annoyed at the inferred necessity for the instruction.


    ¡°I just don¡¯t want a repeat of last time.  That old lady did not deserve to die, Harold,¡± said the first voice pointedly.


    ¡°She surprised me when she came into the room,¡± defended a third voice.  ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to kill her.¡±


    ¡®Charming.  Simple robbers, who stray into murder when required.  Try to spare two of them if possible.  Harold dies.¡¯


    And then the intruders began to slowly open the door.


    Peregrin let the first two step slowly into the room before he threw his weight into the door, knocking it closed and bouncing the third figure back into the hallway.  Immediately he had both blades pointed at his assailants backs.


    ¡°Surrender and you may live Ala-Lie,¡± he stated calmly.  ¡°Turn around and you die.¡±


    ¡°Give us all your gold and we let you live,¡± replied one of the intruders.  ¡®Harold from the sound of it.¡¯  Harold turned around.


    The first figure, a tall and gangly man with a folded handkerchief over his face, had a loaded crossbow, but it was still pointed the wrong way, and he had not made any attempt to turn around.  Harold had a blackjack in his hand; a padded hammer or cudgel intended to knock someone out with a blow to the head, but without killing them.


    ¡°I wish I still had my mace.  Probably gonna have to hit you a couple of times with this stupid thing,¡± Harold said as he began to move forwards.


    Peregrin never really got to see how good Harold might have been with the blackjack.  He spun under his clumsy swing, and cut a long and deep incision across his belly with one of his scimitars.  He stepped past the likely fatally wounded murderer, and with his second scimitar he slapped the now rotating crossbow out of the masked man¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Surrender.  Last chance,¡± he said urgently.  He was already slowly stepping around the masked figure to put him between Peregrin and the door.  Any second Peregrin was expecting to see the third figure come running back in through the closed door.


    The masked intruder appeared to wait a few seconds, likely hoping for the same thing.  But as the seconds dragged on, and the likelihood of a saviour intervening diminished, he raised his hands and surrendered.


    ¡°Hands on your head, and get on your knees,¡± commanded Peregrin.


    As the intruder did as he was told, the door to his room finally opened.


    Alicia stood in the doorway with her mace in her hand, and a shield held protectively in front of her.  Peregrin could see the final figure was lying incapacitated on the hall floor outside.


    ¡°Are you injured?¡± she enquired.


    ¡°I am not.  This one has surrendered, and this one will be dead very shortly.  He confessed to murdering an old lady during another of their robberies, so I suggest we let him die,¡± replied Peregrin.


    ¡°I cannot do that.  I must, if possible, try to save him,¡± explained Alicia.  ¡°If his wounds are too great then he dies.  And I will not shed tears if that is his fate.¡±


    Peregrin nodded his understanding.  Alicia began to move towards Harold, who was still on his knees, his hands clamped tightly to his wound as blood spilled out onto the ground around him.  With a quick-step, and a flash of steel, Peregrin stepped back towards him and drove his blade into Harold¡¯s back.  He pulled the blade that had delivered the clearly fatal blow back out, and Harold slumped dead to the floor.


    Alicia was clearly a little stunned by his actions.


    ¡°The world is now a better place because Harold is not in it,¡± he replied simply.


    Peregrin wasted no more time on consoling the Chandrilar priest, and focused on matters at hand.  He placed one of his blades on the ground, well out of reach of anyone, and used his now free hand to disarm the intruders of all obvious weapons.


    By the time he had taken the weapons from the unconscious form in the hallway, other people were starting to stir and come into the hallway.  The owner of the establishment also came rushing up the stairs, a large cudgel in his hands.


    ¡°Is everyone OK?¡± he asked.


    ¡°One of the criminals is dead.  The rest are captured.  Nobody else was harmed,¡± replied Peregrin in a very matter-of-fact tone.


    He was puzzled by one thing though.  Nearly all the doors of all the rooms had now opened because of the increasing commotion in the hallway.  But the room for Hawkin and Mitchell remained closed.


    He moved towards it.


    ¡°Alicia.  We may have a problem,¡± he called out.


    He knocked loudly on the door.  He waited patiently but nobody responded.  As he knocked a second time, Alicia came into the hallway.


    When they failed to answer, Peregrin tried to open it, but it was locked.  Alicia called to the owner.  She also placed an arm between Peregrin and the door when she saw he was about to try and force his way through it.


    ¡°Do you have a key which can open this?¡± Alicia asked. ¡°Our friends do not respond to our knocking.¡±


    The owner fumbled in the pockets of his gown and retrieved a set of keys.  Reading off markings on the keys, he selected the right one, and opened the door.


    Alicia pushed her way through to be the first into the room.


    It was empty.


    ¡°They are gone?!¡± Alicia said.  She looked equal parts confused and alarmed.


    ¡°But my alarm spell never went off,¡± she exclaimed.


    ¡°Were you detecting things both coming and going, or just intruders entering the doors?¡± asked Peregrin.


    A look of knowing came over her face.


    ¡°Just those entering.  I saw no need for the other,¡± her shoulders sagged.  ¡°And I didn¡¯t want the spell to go off the moment one of them went to the toilet, or perhaps went downstairs for some water.¡±


    ¡°Then we can assume the most likely outcome is they have not been kidnapped, or harmed in anyway as part of this recent episode,¡± reasoned Peregrin.  ¡°The most likely answer is they simply left.  As their equipment is still here, we can assume they just went out to have ¡®some fun¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I am going to kill both of them,¡± Alicia replied.


    ¡°I assume that is a figure of speech, but I will not intercede if that is in fact the punishment for an act this stupid,¡± Peregrin commented drily.


    <h2>Josak ¨C Port District, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    As Josak recounted his failure in the woods to capture either the children or the precious cargo they were apparently carrying, he could see the smug grin on the blond man standing at the back of the room.    Anders was far younger than Josak, but had risen swiftly through the ranks of the priesthood.  Likely noble born, and accustomed to privilege, he did not hold the proper respect or reverence for those superior to him.


    ¡®You should be grateful to even be in the room.  You are no High Priest of Razilin-Tera.  It was only Ronardo¡¯s favour that earned you admission.  I should not have to put up with your insolent joy at my failures.¡¯


    There were five of them gathered in the wine cellar of an inn not far from the Chandrex port district.  There was the Indian Gin¡¯Tak, who would carry word of their discussions to his master, Jakobi.


    ¡®He will say little, although whether that is a lack of understanding of the language, or his lack of personality, I cannot be sure.¡¯


    There was Ronardo Nathoman, an aging, bald, wealthy Lotese noble, who claimed to be a powerful sorcerer and priest of Razilin¡¯Tera.


    ¡®But I figured out long ago you are more shylock and hustler than an actual accomplished magick-user.  You are charismatic, and you have contacts everywhere. In that capacity you have remained useful to our group.  How you have risen so far is still something of a quandary, but I will not be the one to end you. It is honestly a relief that one of my main rivals is in fact no threat at all.¡¯


    Behind Josak stood Drogan.  Already he was showing signs of great potential, proving to be an accomplished tracker, excellent at getting the most out of his men, and proving quite adept at doing what he was told.


    ¡®You will make an excellent resource.  I impress even myself with my ability to read people and their potential value to our cause almost immediately.¡¯


    And then there was Anders.  Even as Josak regarded him harshly, he nonchalantly ran his fingers through his long blond hair and grinned as though he had not a care in the world.


    ¡®Young, ambitious, arrogant, and naturally gifted at just about everything.  Equal parts mage and warrior, you are an incredible resource.  But your ambition makes you a threat to everything and everyone.  Even now you take great delight in our failures; my failure to capture the Stone, and Maragon¡¯s escape from Ronardo at his tower.¡¯


    ¡°The sword will be in hands soon,¡± offered Gin¡¯Tak in very broken common.


    ¡°That is good news indeed,¡± replied Ronardo.


    Josak had to try and hide his annoyance at this.  Apparenly it had not occurred to Ronardo that if their current machinations were to succeed then Razilin¡¯Tera would once again be walking the earth.  And if that happened, then the race to be his Lord High Priest was on in earnest.


    ¡®That position will be mine.  I have earned it through years of service.  I will not accept any other outcome.  Even if it means making plans to recover the Kestrel sword myself.  It is to that end that I have had my man, Gerard, secure a worthy guide to lead my forces into the Indiana Peaks and steal the sword from under Jakobi¡¯s nose.¡¯


    ¡°And if I were to say the Stone will be in my hands soon, will you congratulate me?¡± Josak asked sarcastically.  ¡°Speak to us of actual successes.  Everything else is just a waste of words.¡±


    ¡°If it is actual successes that qualifies us to speak, then I think perhaps some of us will need to remain silent,¡± countered Anders, his smug grin growing. ¡°Please continue my good man.¡±  Anders indicated for Gin¡¯Tak to continue.


    ¡®Something is afoot.  Anders is brash, but to openly speak against the High Priests like this, in this forum?  This is bold, even for him.¡¯


    ¡°Have your merchants delivered all the weapons and armour for the Antori?¡± asked Josak, directing his question to Ronardo.


    ¡°Yes.  We have now essentially begun using the Golden Eagle merchant banner as our own.  I have had my best man, Gerard, deliver the weapons and armour personally,¡± replied Ronardo.  Josak smiled again.


    ¡®You mean my man.  As I hoped, Ronardo remains oblivious to the fact that one of his most trusted resources is actually in my employ.  Ronardo, you are definitely unfit for the position of Lord High Priest.  And besides, you would look quite foolish standing at the head of a ceremony and being unable to call forth even the simplest of blessings.¡¯


    ¡°Do you have any leads on Maragon¡¯s whelp or the Stone?¡± asked Anders.


    Seething with the desire to lash out at Anders, but mindful of the fact he may still be valuable in all of this, Josak instead motioned for Drogan to respond.  Drogan nodded politely before speaking.


    ¡°We tracked their small group from Garet all the way to Chandrex.  They had wounded with them so the tracks were easy enough to follow, but they were moving too quickly for us to catch them,¡± explained Drogan, and when he could see some confusion he added, ¡±Most of the Brigade are on foot.¡±


    ¡°We know they have taken their wounded to the main temple of Chandrilar.  The rest are either staying there as well, or have found other accommodation within the city.  We are endeavouring to locate them as we speak,¡± Drogan finished.


    ¡°Is the stone in the Temple?¡± asked Anders.


    ¡°And what good would it do you if it were,¡± asked Josak. ¡°The ground is so heavily consecrated that even stepping foot on it would probably cause you to burst into flames.¡±


    ¡°I have allies too you know.  You should try to not snap the throat of everyone who works for you.  You may find you would have more resources too.¡±  With that Anders feigned choking and struggling to breathe, ¡°Hope you have a will prepared Drogan.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ you could summon any one of your little pets.  That is true.  But of course, they would burst into flames even faster than you would.  I know, perhaps you should summon all of them at once and then all rush headlong into the temple together.  Once the combined flames from all of your bodies have burned the entire church to the ground, I will casually pick the Stone out of the ashes.¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°I have some business contacts within the church.  Perhaps they can help us,¡± interjected Ronardo loudly, tiring of the blustering going on around him.  Anders and Josak continued to glare at each other for a few moments, but their bickering stopped.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± conceded Josak, nodding deferentially to Ronardo,¡± See if you can find out if Maragon¡¯s boy is there.  He will be the one with the Stone.¡±


    ¡°I also heard a whisper that one of the Drasak Assassin Guilds had sent a large contingent into Chandrex.  I know it sounds unlikely, but my sources seemed quite sure,¡± continued Ronardo. ¡°If we could find them or their employer, perhaps they could help us,¡±


    ¡°Do you have any leads on Maragon or the other members of the Seven?¡± asked Anders.


    ¡®Quite eager to keep the focus on the failures of Ronardo and myself aren¡¯t you?.¡¯


    The Lotese noble shifted a little uncomfortably, but recovered quickly.


    ¡°We lost him shortly after he left the Tower.  At least two more of the Seven showed up at the tower during our assault.  We believe he may have used a teleportation device in the roof of the tower to teleport away before the tower exploded.  I believe he will come here, and in fact, could already be here.  But other than watching the gates into the city, and a few key places in the city, we do not have much to go on,¡± replied Ronardo.


    ¡°You were using some of our best people in an effort to capture the Seven.  How many of them have we lost?¡± asked Anders.


    ¡°All of them,¡± replied Ronardo, a very sombre tone to his voice.


    ¡®You already knew the answer to this.  You just wanted to make him say it aloud in front of all of us.  Humiliating your own master in this forum?  I hope his punishment of you is half as wicked as what I would do to you for such insolence.¡¯


    There was a moment of silence as the impact of that sunk in with all the people in the room.


    ¡®These are dangerous times for all of us,  We do not have the resources to be losing key assets lightly.  Mercenaries and other such tools can be sacrificed on a whim, but genuine believers must be preserved whenever possible.  What good is a God without any followers to worship him?  From where will he draw his power?¡¯


    ¡°Then it would appear we all have much to do,¡± stated Josak, ¡°From here Drogan and I will continue to follow the Stone.  Ronardo, you keep looking for Maragon.  Gin¡¯Tak, you tell Jakobi that all is coming together as planned and that he can begin moving forwards with the bigger battles.  Our forces will strike at Ashue-Te three tendays from now.¡±


    With that, the five of them packed up their things and quickly slipped out various secret tunnels that would bring them back up into various back-alleys and darkened streets.  Drogan and Josak went one way, staying together until they reached street level, at which point Josak continued on to the Golden Unicorn, the most expensive inn in Chandrex.  Drogan moved off towards the Happy Fighter, a much cheaper establishment, where Josak had put up the rest of the Brigade.


    <h2>Anders ¨C Port District, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Anders stayed with Ronardo until they reached street level as well, where they came out into an alley inside the Noble Quarter.  It was becoming late in the evening so only a few sounds of people moving about echoed into the alleyway.


    ¡°Ahh¡­ Klydor.  So clean they don¡¯t even have beggars in their alleys,¡± scoffed Anders.


    ¡°Do not fool yourself.  It is just a false fa?ade.  They do not have half the wealth of the Lotese.  I suspect they just do a better job of keeping the poor out of the noble quarter than we do,¡± replied Ronardo, eager as always to maintain the superiority of his merchant run Lotan over any of her neighbours.  ¡°Now be gone.  I have a party to attend at the Devilliers Manor.  And you do not have an invite.¡±


    Ronardo was so busy adjusting his brightly coloured clothes and affixing his mask that he did not even notice Anders moving in behind him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you would have enjoyed the ball anyway, Ronardo.  Those Drasak assassins you mentioned are there already.  I had to help with some of the finer points of their plan.  And I am afraid they had orders to kill you on sight,¡± Anders muttered.


    Anders imagined the pompous noble¡¯s eyes widening in fear, as he reached out and clamped one hand around his mouth.  With the other he drove his enchanted dagger into the man¡¯s back.


    ¡°But as we are now running late, you may have already missed the fun and frivolity.  But don¡¯t worry.  I will send the parts of your soul I don¡¯t need on to Razilin¡¯Tera this very night.¡±


    Any sound Ronardo may have tried to make was muffled by his hand.  But Anders did not care what he was saying, he was now focusing on the final spell Ronardo would ever bear witness to ¨C a dweomer he cast from within his Dagger, ¡°Soul-Eater¡±.


    ¡°In anima tua domine dominatur


    (Over your soul I do claim dominion)


    A te memoriam tuam capio


    (From you I take your memories)


    Tuam potestatem sumo pro mea¡±


    (Your power I take for my own)


    As he chanted he could feel the Dark Magick building around them, and could feel it focusing on the ornate silver dragon-hilted dagger embedded firmly in Ronardo¡¯s back.  And then he felt the dagger stealing Ronardo¡¯s life-force, absorbing his power and knowledge and transferring them to the wielder.


    The flow of power when absorbing a powerful soul was often intense, euphoric, painful, and quite exhausting.  But in this somewhat disappointing case, it was all over within seconds.  As the last of Ronardo¡¯s life force ebbed from his body all he heard was Anders¡¯ surprised voice.


    ¡°Is that it?  That was the total power of a High Priest of Razilin¡¯Tera?  Ronardo, you were a disappointment right till the very end.¡±


    Anders withdrew the dagger and wiped the blood on Ronardo before putting it back into its sheath.  He then reached under the slightly pudgy man¡¯s tunic, and removed the ruby and gold dragon-head amulet from around Ronardo¡¯s neck.  This was the final stage in his rise to High Priest, and he smiled as he let the body fall to the ground.


    ¡°Josak will be so excited when he sees me wearing this,¡± he said to Ronardo¡¯s corpse, before walking out of the alley and turning towards the DeVillier Manor.


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Men-at-Arms, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    The tavern setting had not been at all as Mitchell had expected.  After visiting several of the drinking venues in the city Mitchell thought that the occupants of each seemed remarkably similar.


    ¡®We seem to have sailors in all bars, regardless of their distance from the port itself.  It seems these people will travel great distances, including walking past a great many other bars, to seek out a new bar seemingly indifferent to the rest.  We have also found a remarkable assortment of travellers and merchants, each with a story to tell of their greatness, although it does vary as to whether that greatness is in the past, present or future.  I suspect nearly all are lying or being a tad optimistic as to what their past, present or future holds.¡¯


    ¡®And then we have those I can only describe as ¡®roguish¡¯ individuals.  While their clothing and the manner in which they conduct their business may differ slightly, their intentions seldom seem to change.  It feels as though they watch everything just looking for an opportunity to take advantage of someone.  And I fear I stand out as the easiest opportunity for each of them to do just that.¡¯


    ¡®If Hawkin is feeling any such emotions he certainly is not showing it.  He has settled in at a bar or table each time as though he is a regular, and with an ease which I both envy, and find incomprehensible.  He just starts up a conversation with whoever happens to be nearby.  Right now that means a group of rough looking sailors.¡¯


    ¡°Hey Mitchell, come meet my new friends,¡± called out Hawkin, his words slightly slurred from inebriation.  ¡°They are all sailors from the Defiance.  Apparently she is the toughest free-ship around.¡±


    Mitchell tried to smile and acknowledge the men in a friendly manner.  The looks he got back were not friendly.


    ¡°They drink in the Men-at-Arms whenever they are in Chandrex,¡± Hawkin continued.  Mitchell was about to ask where that was, when it occurred to him he was probably sitting in it.


    ¡®It is possible the alcohol is dulling my mind too.¡¯


    One of the sailors in particular looked as though he had lived through a lifetime of fighting, with bad scars covering half of his face and most of his upper arms.  His huge build suggested immense physical strength, and the barely concealed snarl on his face promised trouble for any who annoyed him.  It seemed the people in here knew the sailors, as they all kept a safe distance.  Even the staff of the place seemed to give these four special treatment, with Mitchell finding the barmaids behaviour all too friendly.


    Mitchell remained silent through the banter, feeling out of place and uncomfortable in such a public environment.


    ¡®Of all the places we have been tonight, this one troubles me the most.  There are no representatives of the Klydorian Guard or any other form of law enforcement.  And I suspect related to the first, although I do not know if it is the cause or a symptom, there seems to be a higher proportion of the roguish individuals.  Even Hawkin¡¯s charms seem to be floundering and out of their depth here.¡¯


    ¡®I am convinced that these sailors were not being as friendly as the others Hawkin has spoken to.  If he were to just stop talking, I am pretty sure the chatter would cease altogether.  I wonder if Hawkin has even noticed he is doing 90% of the talking.  Perhaps a better question is does he even care?¡¯


    Neither Hawkin or Mitchell had noticed the hooded figure in the corner of the tavern.  The one watching their every move.  The same one that had now followed them into the last three taverns.


    ¡®Hawkin has already consumed more alcohol than I would have considered possible.  It is a testament to either his body''s tolerance, or how little brain power his body runs on, that he can still function normally.  But he is slurring slightly, so this must be dulling his wits.  How much have the couple of beers Hawkin talked me into affected my own capabilities.  Could I even cast a spell right now?  If Alicia or Maragon find out about this, I am in so much trouble.¡¯


    ¡®I think I better try to get us both out of here before something bad happens.¡¯


    Hawkin had just wandered back to the table of the four sailors, fresh beer in hand.  Mitchell reached to tug on his tunic as Hawkin started talking about his father again. The big, scarred man rose suddenly and threw a massive right hook at Hawkin.  The impact of the blow on Hawkin¡¯s face knocked him from his feet and onto the hard wooden floor of the tavern.


    Mitchell sat there stunned, as the big man rose from his chair and stood over Hawkin, almost daring him to get up.


    ¡°Where is daddy now, little boy?¡± he glowered.


    Hawkin tried to roll away from his attacker, whose raucous laughter was now filling the room.  Those in the immediate vicinity were now scurrying out of the way, while the rest of the crowd started to form a small circle around the ensuing battle.  The chants of ¡°Fight¡­Fight¡± started getting louder with each passing second.


    As Hawkin tried to roll under the nearest table, the sailor grabbed it by its edge and flung it away, knocking over about 4 of the onlookers as it tumbled into their midst.  He kicked Hawkin, but Hawkin blocked the brunt of the blow with his arm.


    ¡®What do I do?  I have no idea¡­  But we have to help Hawkin¡¯!


    Mitchell lunged towards the big, scarred man.  He connected with the full impact of his relatively small frame, and somewhat surprisingly, tackled the sailor to the ground, the two of them knocking over two nearby chairs as they rolled across the floor.


    The sailor continued to laugh, obviously far more comfortable in this setting than Mitchell.  Using his superior size and strength he was quickly able to wrestle his way on top of Mitchell.


    ¡°That¡¯s a braver move than I woulda¡¯ given you credit for little man.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Mitchell replied, almost politely, having no idea how we was supposed to respond to such a comment mid fight.


    Mitchell was unable to say anything else but grunt as his head was now being bashed into the floorboards in time with the crowd¡¯s chanting.  But then the figure above him was gone, as Hawkin dived back in from the side and knocked the burly sailor into the table to their right.


    Mitchell tried to shake off the stars he was seeing.  While still dazed, he was sure he could now see a huge grin on his friend¡¯s face as well.


    ¡®Everyone has clearly gone mad.  I think perhaps this alcohol stuff is the stuff of the Dark Gods.  Probably Salercki, although given this fight we should not rule out Kazak¡¯Ta.¡¯


    The fight was no longer limited to the three of them, as many others were now also scuffling, with most of the fighting centred around the group that had been upended when the initial table had been flung at them.  There were tables and chairs flying across the room, and people now seemed to just be hitting anyone within reach.


    ¡®Absolute madness!¡¯


    It was then that Mitchell suddenly felt himself flying through the air.


    ¡°Why be a spectator, when you can be part of the action,¡± came a deep voice from below him.  Mitchell could vaguely feel the hands of the other two Defiance sailors, hands on his tunic, and then he was sliding across the bar.  Glasses broke and tankards scattered as he hit them before he tumbled into a heap on the far side of the bar.


    Looking up from the shards of glass now scattered through his tunic sleeves and the bandages on his arms, Mitchell could see the bar owner also taking cover from the brawl.


    ¡°I am sorry about the damages, Sir,¡± Mitchell offered apologetically.  But the owner just waved his hand dismissively.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it lad.  The Captain from the Defiance always pays for any of the damages.  They say he¡¯s found the lost treasure of the Northmen King.¡±


    Mitchell brushed as much of the glass off as he could.


    His drunken conscience appeased, Mitchell slowly peered over the bar.  The fight had engulfed nearly the whole bar, and the bodies of the defeated lay among the broken chairs and tables.  Mitchell looked through the chaos for a sign of Hawkin or the sailors from the Defiance, but he instead found his vision drawn to another figure that was wading from the door and into the heart of the chaos with virtual immunity.


    He was a dark-haired man, with a thick beard, a brown studded leather jerkin, and a massive Axe hanging over his back.  Those that swung a blow his way found their arms bouncing off large metal plates which covered both of his shoulders, and he used his heavily armoured left arm as a hammer to smash people out of the way.  His hands were protected by ornate metal gauntlets, both of which seemed to have gold weaved into them creating the image of a serpent¡¯s head on the back of each hand.


    He strode through the room, smashing the gauntlets into those unfortunate enough to come within his reach.  While some of his opponents were facing their attacker, this man seemed to have no reluctance in punching those that were not looking.  In fact, it seemed to Mitchell that this man particularly relished the opportunity to strike from behind, driving the gauntlets repeatedly into the back of people¡¯s heads and bodies.  And in each case the result was the same, with the victim clutching at the struck area, almost as if they had been stabbed, before collapsing to the ground.


    But this man was capable of far more than sniping people.  Several times he was confronted by small groups of people, often the friends of people he had just put down.  Each time he was able to despatch all of the attackers with ease.  Sometimes they landed a few blows of their own ¨C usually they did not ¨C but he weathered the blows like someone accustomed to taking hits in combat.  And then with a series of sharp punches of his own, and the more than occasional wrestling throw, he would leave his attackers in a heap on the bar-room floor.


    ¡°That is Gerard,¡± offered the Bar-keep, ¡°he is a Lotese Wagon Captain.  Very hard man.  Even the toughest sailors leave him alone.¡±


    As Gerard flung another victim through the air Mitchell finally saw Hawkin amid the ruckus.  He was still involved in a melee with two of the Defiance sailors, including the large scarred one, but there were now many others involved.  It almost seemed as if Hawkin and the sailors were now on the same side, fighting off a group of six men.  And although outnumbered, they seemed to be giving at least as good as they were receiving, with the scarred sailor still laughing loud enough to be heard above the din of the brawl.  And Mitchell thought he could even hear Hawkin laughing now.


    ¡®I almost expect a Faylenian Inquisitor to walk in and immolate everyone to purge the Dark influence of this place.  Not sure I would blame them.¡¯


    ¡®I have to get to Hawkin and get out of here.¡¯


    He jumped back over the bar and began to make his way toward his friend when a big drunken man stepped in his path, leering at him with alcohol misted eyes, and a mouth full of yellow and broken teeth.  Mitchell froze.  The next second he was reeling backwards as pain exploded around his left eye socket.  Mitchell tumbled back into the bar from the wild haymaker.  He looked up from the floor, expecting to see a boot or fist coming his way, but luckily for him a hooded figure interceded and with a graceful sweep-kick his would-be attacker fell to the ground.  Mitchell did not want to wait to see the final outcome of that battle, and tried to stand.  He found his feet were no longer responding in a co-ordinated fashion to his brain¡¯s requests, and he instead remained stranded on the floor.


    Hawkin, meanwhile, had just finished pinning the arms of his opponent behind his back, and his new scarred ally was now laying a series of punches into the trapped man¡¯s torso.  Gerard stepped in from the side and grabbed the scarred sailor, lifting him into the air as easily as you would expect him to pick up a mug of ale.  With one hand around the sailor¡¯s throat and the other pulled back and poised to strike, he spoke, his commanding voice easily cutting through the raucous noise.


    ¡°These are my men you are fighting.  And I need them all in working order later this evening.  So if this brawl must continue, either stop fighting back, or I will consider it that you have damage my property, and therefore you owe me a lot of money.¡±  Mitchell could tell that Gerard had now seen the rather bulging money pouches that were hanging from the sailor¡¯s belt.


    The sailor was still flailing and trying to defend himself, but he seemed unable to raise his arms from his sides.  And the strain of being deprived of air was beginning to show on his face.


    ¡®This man is a juggernaut.  What kind of idiot would go up against him?¡¯


    Gerard was just reaching out with his other hand to take the money pouch when Hawkin¡¯s right fist slammed into his jaw.


    ¡®Oh¡­ that kind of idiot.¡¯


    Gerard was shaken by the blow, dropping the sailor to the ground.  But he recovered quickly, and parried Hawkin¡¯s follow-up blow, riposting with a quick hand to the throat.  As easily as he had with the sailor, Gerard now lifted Hawkin into the air, except this time with his right hand.  Within seconds dark green veins began to pulse visibly on Hawkin¡¯s face and neck, and his face visibly contorted in pain.


    Mitchell willed himself to stand, and while he was able to regain his footing, he knew he was moving too slowly to ever reach his friend in time.  But then he noticed the hooded figure moving in, the same one that had assisted him only seconds earlier.  He watched as the figure moved quickly and gracefully through the brawl, and stopped only feet from their combat, beginning to move his arms and legs through a very short precise series of actions and gestures, none of which struck anybody.


    Mitchell could not hear the words, but he recognised magick when he saw it.  It was a Universal spell, but in his drunken haze, he could not make out the spell itself.


    While the figure had not laid a hand on Gerard, he suddenly reacted as if his strength had been sucked from his body.  Suddenly unable to support Hawkin¡¯s weight in one hand, he lowered him to the point that Hawkin¡¯s feet were again touching the ground.  And the green pulsing veins also disappeared from Hawkin¡¯s face.


    Now standing face to face with his attacker, Hawkin hammered another right-hand blow to Gerard¡¯s head, this one clearly staggering him.  But again, Gerard refused to let the blow fell him.  Hawkin grabbed a bottle from the nearby table, and brought it smashing down on the top of Gerard¡¯s skull.  As shards of glass sprayed around them, the Lotese Wagon Captain collapsed to the ground unconscious.  Hawkin grinned like a fool who had won some prize fight.


    The four remaining figures around Hawkin were stunned by the fall of their leader.  But rather than break them, one by one they began to draw their weapons, no longer content for this to remain a simple pub brawl.


    ¡°Hawkin, we have to go.  Now!¡± Mitchell yelled through the din.


    But the four figures were now standing in a line separating Hawkin from the door.  Mitchell tried to channel the energy to cast a simple sleep spell, the same enchantment he had used on the guards at Hawkin¡¯s house the night they had left Garat.  But either the pain in his face or the alcohol in his veins prevented him from mustering even the slightest bit of magical power.


    For at least the third time in the brawl the mysterious hooded figure assisted them.  Moving in behind the two central men blocking Hawkin¡¯s path to the exit, the figure knocked them both to the ground with a flying body tackle, elegantly spinning through the air and catching them both at shoulder height with his feet and elbows.


    ¡®Who is that?  And are they a friend?  Or just a really cunning foe?¡¯


    ¡°Run now, human,¡± ordered the figure, his voice serene and melodic, despite the chaos around him.


    Taking full advantage of the opportunity Hawkin sprinted through the gap, hurdling several people and other obstructions that now lay scattered across the floor.  Mitchell was now also running, albeit more shakily, and he fell into line behind his friend.  As they neared the door another figure moved to block their path.  But Hawkin lowered his shoulder and ran straight through the man, knocking him out of the way and sending him crashing into the wall only inches from the doorway.  Hawkin led his friend through the doorway and into the cool night air, the mysterious hooded figure following only a few feet behind.


    They crossed the cobblestone street, dodging the drunks and beggars, and sprinted down a dark alleyway. But immediately Hawkin saw he had led them into a dead-end.


    ¡°Now what?¡± Hawkin asked, as he sucked in the cold night air trying to catch his breath.


    ¡°Hide,¡± responded the hooded figure.  Both Mitchell and Hawkin responded, and within seconds all three had taken up hiding places behind the few crates and bins scattered throughout the alley.  They saw three of Gerard¡¯s men exit the tavern soon after, and they immediately scanned the street for signs of their quarry.  Gerard exited moments later, holding a cloth to his head.  Blood could be seen flowing down his face, and much of the cloth was now stained in blood.


    When his men could see no trace of Hawkin, he grabbed the nearest drunk and hoisted him up so he could look at him eye-to-eye.


    ¡°Three figures just ran out of here.  Which way did they go?¡±


    The drunk, too scared to admit he did not know, just mutely pointed up the street away from the water¡¯s edge and the wharves of ships.  Gerard and his men began moving in that direction.  Once they had moved about sixty yards away, Hawkin grabbed hold of Mitchell¡¯s arm and started to move out of the alley.  Focusing on the small group Gerard was leading up the street, they both stepped out of the alley and began to sprint the other way.


    Mitchell saw it first and tried to evade, but his dulled reflexes were too slow.


    Hawkin never even saw it coming.

 Chapter 16: The streets can be dangerous

    <h2>Azzanon ¨C Noble Quarter, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    ¡°We must alert the authorities,¡± said the Lotese wagon owner, his voice rising in pitch and volume as the adrenalin started to surge through him.


    ¡®Azzanon, bringing excitement and adventure everywhere he goes.  This man has likely never been in a situation as exciting as this.  Something to tell his grandchildren about.¡¯


    ¡°Agreed good man, but not yet.  I wish to get my wife to safety first.¡±


    ¡®I need to buy some time.  Corruption is unusual in Klydorian circles, their love of Chivalry and all, but someone tipped the attackers that Gaebriel would be at this debutante ball.  Which means I cannot involve the Klydorian authorities until I know who I can trust.¡¯


    Azzanon looked out the rear window of the carriage again as he considered his options.  He saw in the distance a small group of horseman sprinting after them.


    ¡°We are not safe yet,¡± he warned.  ¡°They are after us on horse now.¡±


    The stagecoach was moving along quickly, but the driver was staying on the same road that led away from the rich sector of town.  This was not only making them easier to follow, but also taking them away from the ever-present Klydorian Guard patrols that frequented the wealthy area of town.


    ¡®I wish I was driving the coach - I have had experience controlling vehicles at high speed, albeit while fleeing a crime-scene or some young lady¡¯s place of residence.  But it would be risky trying to climb up front while the wagon raced along like this.  And besides, it is not in character for my dear Lotese noble.  And we do not break character lightly.¡¯


    When the first of the pursuer¡¯s arrows punctured the back wall of the stagecoach, the quality of his performance was irrelevant.


    ¡°Sir, I think it best if I drive,¡± he said to the wagon-owner, as he flung open the door to the stagecoach.  Azzanon did not care for the response, as he was already halfway out the door and trying to climb on to the top of the wagon.  As he pulled himself up, he could see that one of the riders had distanced himself from the others and was now only forty feet from the coach.


    ¡®Great, we have a champion jockey after us as well.  Well, I can¡¯t throw my sword at him, and I don¡¯t have a crossbow.  So I guess our coach-owner will have to forgive me if I use his luggage.¡¯


    Reaching down, Azzanon undid the strap that held a series of boxes and trunks to the top of the carriage.  Most looked like supplies cases and water barrels, but one of the trunks looked of a much finer quality.  It probably contained something either valuable or personal.


    ¡®Oh well.¡¯


    The boxes and trunks tumbled off the top of the coach and bounced into the path of the horseman.  To his credit he avoided the first couple with a display of excellent horsemanship.  But in the end there was nowhere to go.  The horse stumbled as it trod on the water barrel, and fell, throwing the rider over its head and onto the street.  He tumbled awkwardly and then came to rest on the cobblestone street, motionless.


    ¡®Not always good to be the best rider, my friend.  Perhaps settle for mediocrity next time.¡¯


    Azzanon turned, and crawled towards the front of the coach.  Grabbing the rail that ran along the front of the roof, he somersaulted over it and landed on the padded driving bench, startling the poor driver.  Azzanon grinned.  He then parried the clumsy elbow thrown by Archibald a few seconds later.


    ¡°Relax, Archibald, it¡¯s me, Lord Ackton¡± he waited for recognition to show on Archibald¡¯s face, ¡°Now old chap.  If you do not mind, I will take the reins from here.¡±  He could see Archibald was reluctant to hand them over.


    ¡°I know a short-cut,¡± he lied.  Archibald smiled through yellow teeth and passed him the reins.


    ¡®Happy to fire crossbows at moving targets, are you?  The problem around here is there aren¡¯t enough people still up and about.  But are you foolhardy enough to keep firing bows at the coach once we are in a crowded street full of drunken taverners and other nightlife riffraff?¡¯


    ¡®We just have to find such a street, and I know just the place.  Main Street heading towards the port itself.  It is full of drinking holes, ladies of the night, and other nocturnal creatures.¡¯


    ¡°Hang-on.  We have some corners coming up!¡± Azzanon screamed to the two still inside the carriage.


    The stagecoach was of good quality.  It handled the corners wonderfully.  And the horse team were also well trained, responding to the instructions from their driver quickly and efficiently.


    ¡®Mental note - praise the nobleman on his excellent coach and horse-team after the chase.  Also note ¨C if we later need to steal a carriage, this will definitely be the one to take.¡¯


    But a carriage still struggles to outrun a man on a horse, and the horsemen were gaining on them.  With a quick glance over his shoulder Azzanon noted that there were now fewer horses chasing them.  His turns had at least lost some of them.  But those that remained were now well within range, and their arrows were flying into and past the coach with greater regularity.


    An unexpected benefit of Azzanon taking over the reins was that Archibald now had his hands free, and Azzanon noticed with great pleasure that he had pulled a small crossbow from somewhere and was preparing to fire it behind him.


    ¡®Archibald.  You are just full of surprises.¡¯


    Seconds after he fired it Azzanon heard a scream of pain from one of their pursuers.


    ¡®Apparently, you are also a good shot. I am beginning to like you.¡¯


    He also heard a grunt of satisfaction from Archibald.  Azzanon couldn¡¯t help but smile at that.


    Azzanon made the turn into Fishmonger Road, which ran along the harbour¡¯s edge.  Only one more turn to go and he was in Main Street.  Archibald took another shot with his crossbow, but this time he missed.  The riders were getting closer now, two in particular.  Azzanon only needed another minute and they would be safe.  But those two would be alongside the carriage well before then.  If their aim was true both he and Archibald would be shot soon after.


    They were now riding past the wharves, and among the lines of ships there were many sailors scattered around, some on boats, some on the docks, some just wandering the street.  But all paid no attention to Azzanon or his current predicament.  Anybody who did see the coach or the horses following it quickly got out of the way.


    ¡®We need a Klydorian Guard patrol.¡¯


    The two riders behind him were eager to not give him the chance.  They rode up behind and then split the carriage, one thundering up each side.  Archibald was frantically trying to load his crossbow.  Azzanon swerved the coach slightly, risking the wheels on the worn wheel ruts on the street, but forcing the rider on his side to slow up briefly.


    They were nearly at the corner of Main Street.


    The rider on Archibald¡¯s side brought his bow up, taking a few strides to get his aim.  Archibald finished reloading, but it was too late.  The rider fired.


    He hit.


    Archibald grunted in pain and would have tumbled from his seat had Azzanon not grabbed the back of his tunic.  But Archibald was not finished yet.  Hanging there by Azzanon¡¯s hand, he still had the strength to raise his crossbow and fire.  The quarrel struck its target square in the chest and punched him from his horse.


    ¡°Thank you Archibald, you may have given us hope.¡±


    Azzanon pulled Archibald back onto the bench.  He could see the arrow was lodged somewhere in his chest, but Archibald was still moving.  At least he was alive.  Archibald slumped back onto the chair allowing Azzanon to put both hands back on the reins again.  The second rider was now almost alongside the coach as well, and Azzanon could see him bringing his crossbow up to fire as well.


    ¡°A little bit of help perhaps, Lady Luck,¡± he preyed, pulling the reins sharply to take the turn into Main Street.  Normally you would slow before a corner, but Azzanon had needed to surprise the rider on his inside.  As such he was well above normal cornering speed.


    ¡®The coach is good, but this is going to test it.¡¯


    The horses took the turn as commanded.  The carriage followed, its wheels skidding over the cobbletone surface.  His attacker, having momentarily let go off the reins to fire his crossbow had no chance to avoid the large wooden object that had now cut across his path.  His horse stopped suddenly, but the rider was thrown over its head, slamming into the carriage door, before bouncing onto the hard stone street.


    The combined momentum of the corner and the impact of the rider threw the carriage up onto two wheels as it completed the corner.  Azzanon could hear the coach¡¯s frame screaming under the strain.


    ¡®This is either going to be a disaster, or a totally awesome moment.  Please be awesome.¡¯


    The frame held, as did Azzanon¡¯s luck, and the coach came back down on all four wheels again.  He raced up Main Street.  While there was plenty of night-life, there was not a Klydorian patrol in sight.


    Azzanon strained to see as far up Main Street as the limited light would allow.  While he was looking so far ahead, hoping to spot a Klydorian patrol, he missed two fools that came running out of an alley right in front of him.


    Azzanon pulled on the reins in an attempt to stop at the last second.  The horses responded.  But there was no way they could stop in time.  He had seen them too late.  All he could do was brace himself for the impact.


    And then a strange looking, hooded figure appeared from the same alley and tackled both figures out of the way.


    ¡°Get them!¡± came a bellowed order from halfway down the street.  Azzanon turned to see a large, armoured figure with a giant axe on his back.  Gerard pointed his metal-clad finger at the three figures picking themselves up from the cobblestones of Main Street.


    Azzanon¡¯s mind raced trying to process all the information before him.  There were only a few members of the Drasnian Musketeers that would knowingly speak to Azzanon.  But these men, whom Azzanon listened too intently, had often told him that sometimes amidst chaos, there is a clarity of vision that shows you the only course of action.  Azzanon had one of these moments now.


    ¡®Three unknown but curious figures lay on the ground just to the side and behind my now stationary horses.  They are incredibly lucky they weren¡¯t trampled to death.¡¯


    ¡®Forty or so yards behind the wagon, we have a small group of horsemen just rounding the corner of Main Street.  These men are intent on capturing the beautiful Gaebriel Jadesson, Princess of Drasak, and then probably killing her.  They may also kill me, but only as an after-thought.  Azzanon Klarence III¡¯s death will not be an after-thought.¡¯


    ¡®In front of me is another small group of armed men, now calling out for the three figures on the ground underneath me.  How many different things can I get myself into in one night?¡¯


    ¡®And eighty or so yards behind this 3<sup>rd</sup> group, I can see a small patrol of Klydorian Guard, who are just turning onto Main Street.  Praise Faylen!¡¯


    ¡°Get on.  Quickly!¡± he called to the unknown three.


    Mitchell still lay underneath the hooded figure whom had just saved him for the second time tonight.  He tried to wriggle his way from under his mysterious benefactor, but to his surprise his hands pushed up against a pair of firm breasts.  His hands instinctively pulled back in shock.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Before he could apologise the figure was no longer on top of him, having gracefully rolled back to her feet.  She offered her hand to Mitchell, and with a strength that belied her slender frame, pulled him to his feet.


    ¡°Gaebriel, get the door!¡± yelled Azzanon.


    The coach started moving again as Gaebriel swung the door to the coach open.  With no hesitation all three ran for the coach, and in quick succession, Hawkin, Mitchell and their female saviour dived aboard.  Gaebriel pulled the door closed behind them.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± called Mitchell as he landed face down in the carriage.


    ¡°Evening beautiful,¡± added Hawkin when he noticed Gaebriel standing over him.


    By the time the coach reached Gerard and his men, it was already moving fast enough to easily trample anyone in its path.  All they could do was dive out of the way as the coach sped past.


    Gerard glared at Azzanon and the wagon.  Azzanon couldn¡¯t resist and saluted him on the way past.  Azzanon could almost see the steam coming out of Gerard¡¯s ears.


    ¡®And for the final complication, I know that man!  What are you doing here?  Oh well.  Just roll with it.  He can¡¯t kill me twice.¡¯


    ¡°Evening, Gerard,¡± Azzanon called back cheekily.


    And with that, Azzanon drove the carriage up to the Klydorian Guard patrol.  As he hailed the lead rider everybody behind them immediately scattered, almost as if the street itself had swallowed them up.


    <h2> </h2>


    <h2>Azzanon ¨C The Streets of Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Azzanon was aware that all the occupants in the wagon were intently listening to everything he was saying to the guards.


    ¡®Here is hoping they are smart enough to shut up and let me do all the talking.  I don¡¯t their story yet, but if it involves Gerard, I suspect they won¡¯t want the law knowing about it.¡¯


    ¡°Please sirs, you must hurry.  The Manor DeVillier has been attacked.  All of the people attending the Ball have been captured.  You must save them,¡± explained Azzanon, in his perfect Lotese accent.


    ¡°And who might you be, sir? How do you come by this knowledge?¡± asked the guard.


    ¡°I am Lord Ranzar Ackton the Third, of Lotan, and we were riding past the manor when we heard the screams of the nobles inside.  One of their men then shot my brave driver,¡± Azzanon drew attention to the quarrel stuck in the chest of Archibald.  As if on cue, Archibald groaned in pain.  ¡°And then they chased us on horseback all the way here.  Had it not been for the bravery of my driver, and your timely arrival, Sir, we would almost certainly have been killed.¡±


    The guard signalled for the majority of his men to move off and head towards the manor with urgency.  Mitchell could hear the horses hooves on the cobblestones as they galloped off.


    ¡°Who else is in the stagecoach, my Lord?¡± asked the guard.


    ¡°Just my wife and some friends.  But she is quite disturbed by the whole ordeal.  I pray you let me take her now to somewhere safe, and that some of your men ride with us to ensure they do not attack us again.  I understand that you must go so you may assist your men in ending this madness, but perhaps you could leave us the two brave soldiers that are to your left.  In return, I will come down to the barracks tomorrow and tell you everything that I know and help in any other way I can.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± responded the guard.  ¡°Lassiter, Jenkin, take this coach to the Golden Unicorn, and then have the Master-at-Arms assign a bodyguard to their door for the night.  And get a cleric for the wounded man.¡±  He motioned for the other men to follow him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s Go!¡± And he rode off to catch up with the rest of his men.


    ¡°May Faylen light your way,¡± Azzanon called after him.  He then began helping Archibald down and into the back of the carriage.  He opened the door to the stagecoach and took his first good look at the three people he had just saved.


    ¡®One is obviously a warrior.  I can see that from his well-muscled frame.  Probably developed that body wearing all that ridiculous metal armour that Klydorians love so much.  He also wears a small signet ring on his hand suggesting he is of noble birth.  Also indicates he might be dumb, as he is still openly wearing it while out misbehaving.¡¯


    ¡®He has a well-made long sword on his waist.  He is almost definitely either a young Knight Errant, or a would-be, striving to become one.  This sort is quite common among the Klydorian nobility.  Brought up on stories of chivalry and valour.  Their culture is just like Drasnia except less elegant.¡¯


    ¡®The second appears to be a commoner, with nothing to particularly distinguish him.  Well, except for that bruise that is rapidly closing over his right eye.  He also has a strange sword on his waist, and from the look of the hilt it is not of Klydorian manufacture.  Were it not for the boring crossguard, it could almost be a Drasnian blade.  Perhaps the boy is a squire to the first man, although he is getting a little old to be a squire.¡¯


    ¡®The last is anyone¡¯s guess.¡¯


    The final figure was enshrouded in a large green cloak, with a large hood which was only now being lowered.  This act, however, would reveal no further information to the many eyes now staring, as beneath the hood this figure wore a perfectly smooth, curved silver helm, with a mirror-like face-plate that reflected back the appearance of any who looked straight into it.  The long-curved scabbard on this figure¡¯s side, the exotic helm, and the small slender frame, led Azzanon to an unlikely conclusion.


    ¡®Before us is a Guardian, a rare order of warrior/protectors from the woodland realm of Elves.  I know elves are common in the southern forests of Klydor, but Guardians are little more than legends.  The Intelligence agency had vague tales of these people, but I may be the first of our agents to ever see one.¡¯


    And neither had any of the other occupants of the coach, judging from the stunned looks on their faces; including the other two who were with the Guardian.


    ¡®My mission just got a lot more complicated.  Damn my Drasnian curiosity.  It gets me everytime.¡¯


    ¡°Excuse me all, but I need to get this man a place to lie down.¡± Azzanon said, clearly loud enough for all to hear.


    ¡°I am sorry about the coach¡¯s seats, my Lord.  The blood may ruin them¡­Mr¡­ what was your name again,¡± he said the last part just loud enough so the wagon-owner could hear him, but the Klydorian guards could not.


    ¡°Greaves.  Mr Greaves.  My family are wealthy merchants, but we have no titles.  Not yet anyway,¡± came the reply from the wagon owner, also in a hushed whisper.


    ¡°Pleased to meet you,¡± responded Azzanon.  ¡°You are to be commended on your coach and horse-team.  I once had the privilege to drive a royal coach, and I can tell you it was no better.¡±


    ¡®I was being chased on that occasion too.¡¯


    People moved to make room for Archibald to be laid across one of the plush bench seats.  Gaebriel sat so that his head was across her lap, and she could tend to him.  While her dress was probably already ruined, it impressed Azzanon that she did not seem concerned about getting blood on it.  From the way Mr Greaves had moved his silly hat he still had some concerns for his clothes.  That really only left room for four others to squeeze onto the other bench, so the large Klydorian followed him back up onto the drivers bench up front.  Azzanon motioned for their armed escort to lead on, and he started the coach moving behind them.


    ¡°Lord Ackton, I am Hawkin Aranson, son of Sarek.  Thanks for coming to our aid back there.¡±


    Hawkin held out his hand in greeting.  Azzanon shook his hand warmly, bemused a little when Hawkin tried momentarily to crush his hand.


    ¡®Nothing like a pointless test of strength to demonstrate one¡¯s insecurities.  But I have heard of his father and his name.¡¯


    ¡°Think nothing of it.  I would expect any good noble to come to the aid of another.  Besides, I have heard of your father¡¯s exploits,¡± complimented Azzanon.  It would have been a great loss to the world were his son not alive to perform similar feats.¡±


    ¡°I thank you for your kind words of my father.  But did you know who I was before you helped us?¡± Hawkin asked dubiously.  There was a moment of silence as Azzanon contemplated his answer.


    ¡®OK.  The boy is not a complete idiot.¡¯


    ¡°No.  I knew one of the men who was after you.  His name is Gerard.  A Lotese wagon-captain I have run afoul of before.  I figured helping you would annoy him.  At the time that was enough for me¡±


    ¡®Not entirely true.  But it will do for now.¡¯


    ¡°Well, I appreciate your honesty.  Once you get your room in the Golden Unicorn we will be on our way,¡± replied Hawkin.  ¡°It seems you have enough trouble of your own.  You do not need to get involved in ours as well.¡±


    ¡°Please, allow us to talk further when we get there.  I still need to find out what is going on here, and to do that I will need to go and see my contacts.  I will need someone to stay and watch the young girl that is in the coach.  I do not know enough about Mr Greaves yet to trust him, so for now your little group is my best option.  In return, if you tell me your story I will see what I can find out for you.  Besides, wait till you see the rooms at the Unicorn.  Staying there is hardly an inconvenience.¡±


    ¡°Ok¡­,¡± replied Hawkin, as he realised their own rooms really were quite plain.  ¡°are the beds comfortable?¡±


    ¡°The largest and most luxurious anywhere outside the noble quarter,¡± replied Azzanon with a smile.


    ¡°Do they have a bar that would be open late?¡± asked Hawkin, the grin on his face getting larger.


    ¡°They even bring drinks to your room if you ask them to,¡± replied Azzanon as he put his arm around his new friend, ¡°Which I encourage you to do, as I think your King is picking up the bill.¡±


    ¡°I like this place already.  Are we nearly there yet?¡±


    <h2>Inquisitor Khali ¨C Northern Gates, Mascherata, Drasak</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Their simple horse and cart rolled through the gates of Mascherata, capital of Drasak.  The cart had been rolling through the city for some time, with Mascherata having long ago outgrown the original city wall.  The walls now separated the old inner city from a newer outer city, which was far more chaotic in the way it sprawled across the flat and verdant plains.


    Mascherata was a very large city, and most of it had weirdly shaped buildings.  Nearly every building was multi-storey, with sharp, angular and gothic architecture styles common.  Most of the houses had flat rooves with small walls around the edges, creating a space that could be used as a room.  And on nearly all the buildings for the common and poorer areas of the city, the ground floor was smaller than the upper levels.


    ¡®Makes the whole thing look like it would fall over if you pushed on them with even a little bit of enthusiasm.¡¯


    ¡®Drasak.  The empire of sin.  Loose morals around sexuality, drugs, slaves and just about every other thing there is to have moral codes for.  The perfect example of what happens when you let the darker side of society have control of your empire for a few hundred years.  The people here sing about their additional freedoms¡­ well, except for the slaves I suppose¡­ but in reality, they are free to live in any way that the Assassin Guilds can profit from.  And if you become a threat, or a dissident, to the Assassin Guilds, then things end real fast.¡¯


    ¡®I wonder if Faylen would care if I burned the whole thing to the ground.¡¯


    ¡°I don¡¯t think Drasak has been as bad as people suggest,¡± commented Ramirez, his eyes taking in the sights from what looked like an entertainment district, complete with scantily clad bodies waving from higher balconies, and criers standing in front of shops yelling out the day¡¯s specials.


    ¡°The only part of Drasak we have been through so far is Guldan.  I am not sure that counts,¡± pointed out Janus.


    ¡°Why not?¡± asked Ramirez, who had spent whatever spare time he had in Guldan taking advantage of most of the lax moral standards.  ¡°I liked Guldan!¡±


    ¡°Because the Drasak King is trying to convince the world it is safe to come here.  So he has banned all Guild activity in Guldan.  Hence what you saw wasn¡¯t the ¡®real¡¯ Drasak,¡± replied Janus.  ¡°The people were less scared, the visitors were less suspicious, and everyone was just a little more normal.¡±


    ¡°I am not sure what you are expecting, but Drasak isn¡¯t just assassins running around killing people in the streets,¡± interjected Khali, having been here several times before.  ¡°On the surface Drasak doesn¡¯t seem that different to anywhere else, except for its fondness of gothic architecture, shadows everywhere, and some strange aversion to colour.  Drasak has made a fortune from trade, even despite being a touch scary to most honest folks, simply because of its central location.  Most trade going east/west across Driax comes through here.  And most trade going north/south into or out of Cthrag Merlo also comes through Drasak.  From a trade perspective it is probably in the best position of any empire in Driax.  So it is in everyone¡¯s interest to keep the darker aspects of Drasak society out of the common view.¡±


    ¡°So why the ban on the Guilds in Guldan?¡± asked Ramirez, his face adorably showing he understood very little of what was being said right now.


    ¡°One, the King doesn¡¯t rule Drasak, so the ban isn¡¯t real,¡± explained Khali.  ¡°Activity in Guldan is kerbed at best.  But the decree is being partially honoured because the Lotese were talking about building a new road from Heshan to Mari-Kye that would have gone north of here, and bypassed Drasak entirely.  Neither the King nor the assassins want that.¡±


    ¡°The working girls said a bit more than that,¡± added Janus.  ¡°They said things between the King and the assassins are real tense right now.  And the noble families backing each are being forced to choose sides.  They think it will get bloody real soon based on what they hear from their drunk patrons.¡±


    ¡®She always gets so much good intel from the ladies of the night.  I guess it helps to have been one.  It still amazes me how much stuff idiots will brag or reveal to their lady either during or at the end of their paid services.¡¯


    ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t put too much stock in what people say drunk.  Mostly all piss and wind,¡± offered Ramirez.


    ¡°I disagree,¡± said Traviston, in his spooky, whispery voice.  ¡°What people say drunk is usually their real truth.¡±


    ¡°I would still use flame to make sure it was the truth, just the same,¡± replied Janus wickedly.


    ¡°Well, remember, we aren¡¯t looking for a good time.  Ramirez, are you listening?¡± she glared at the big man.  ¡°What we are looking for is any links to the Lotese merchant Ronardo, with a family name mostly likely to be Nathoman. Or a westerner named Anders, with a family name or perhaps a father of Hightower.  Although anyone who is a follower of Razilin¡¯Tera would be worth a chat I suspect.  Remember we know what they look like.  Hopefully that, combined with their accents will get us somewhere.¡±


    ¡°Ramirez, you find us somewhere for the cart and us to stay,¡± commanded Khali, hoping to limit just how much trouble he could cause.  ¡°Do your thing people.  We meet at the northern markets, which were just outside these gates, around 5 for our evening meal.  From there we can decide how many of us go to the ¡®Eternal Watchman¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Try to pay less for the room and stables than it would cost to buy the entire bar,¡± advised Janus mockingly.


    ¡°That was not my fault last time,¡± protested Ramirez.  ¡°She looked like she worked there.¡±


    ¡°And her tits just screamed, ¡®hand over all your money¡¯, right?¡± Janus continued with the mocking.


    ¡°They were a distraction now that you mention it,¡± replied Ramirez sincerely.


    ¡°Get moving people,¡± ordered Khali.  ¡°You can continue taunting Ramirez at dinner tonight.¡±


    The Inquisitor turned and walked confidently back towards the northern markets.


    ¡°I will check the bars and look for mercenaries and off-duty guards,¡± grunted Ramirez with enthusiasm, even though nobody had really asked him what he would be doing.


    ¡°Try to get arrested.  You only slow the rest of us down,¡± jibed Janus, as she walked away from the cart, her large backpack of assorted make-up, wigs and clothes across her back.


    ¡°That¡¯s not true.  I can run faster than you,¡± Ramirez retorted back, stopping to stare at her back.  Then her ass.


    ¡°Thank you for proving my point,¡± was Janus final point before she was lost in the crowd.

 Chapter 17: The Golden Unicorn

    <h2>Azzanon ¨C The Golden Unicorn, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Upon arrival at the Golden Unicorn, the guard quickly arranged their accommodation.  This consisted of a spacious multi-room suite with two double beds, three single beds and a king-bed spread over three bedrooms and a central living room.  The beds were quite comfortable and each had a nice bed set as opposed to the rather plain and uncomfortable blankets in most taverns.


    ¡®This suite is clearly meant for a rich merchant or visiting noble and his family, possibly with a servant or two.  Have to get Gaebriel comfortable.  Then it is time to go.  I need more information to decide my next move.  And only the Agency¡¯s contacts have that information.¡¯


    Archibald was being laid down on one of the double beds, and Mr Greaves seemed to be settling for one of the singles in that same room.


    ¡®Good man.  Looking after his man-servant rather than arguing over a bigger bed.¡¯


    I am the noble here.  I get the biggest bed,¡± proclaimed Hawkin, rather excitedly.  ¡°And let¡¯s order some food and drink to the room!¡±


    ¡®That is more what I expected.  Do I tell him she is a Princess?  Would smash his claim for the big bed.  Last time I checked Princess narrowly eclipses ¡®heir to be Baron¡¯ by about 15 steps on the Klydorian nobility pyramid.¡¯


    ¡°I am happy to sleep anywhere in this place!¡± exclaimed Mitchell.  ¡°Some water would be good though.¡±


    ¡°May I have a word with the three of you?¡± asked Azzanon, pointing at Mitchell, Hawkin and the Guardian.  They each nodded and moved into one of the rooms where they could not be overheard.


    ¡°I need to depart briefly,¡± started Azzanon.  He could immediately see the strange looks he was getting.


    ¡®Except for the Guardian.  I cannot see anything of his face.  Damn mask!¡¯


    ¡°I need more information on what is going on,¡± Azzanon explained.  ¡°That was a lot of people who were used to attack the Devillier Manor tonight.  And I believe a good number of them were from a Drasak assassin clan.  Now I need to try and figure out who and why?¡±


    ¡°OK.  But who are you going to ask at this time of night?¡± asked Hawkin.


    ¡°His contacts.  I suspect Lord Ackton is a spy,¡± deduced Mitchell.  Reactions of surprise and shock were apparent on both Hawkin and Azzanon¡¯s face.


    ¡®How the hell did you guess that?  Magick?¡¯


    ¡°Why would you say that?¡± asked Azzanon.  Partially deflecting, but also keen to know why the accusation had been made before he continued with denying it.


    ¡°You are not a normal Lotese noble.  If you were, you would not be going out again tonight, and you would not leave your ¡®wife¡¯ with us,¡± reasoned Mitchell.  ¡°You think the danger has not passed for either herself or her.  Which potentially means the attack at the manor was actually directed at you, or you did something during the attack so severe that you think those responsible will now seek vengeance.  The first is the most likely.¡±


    ¡®This kid could get really annoying really fast.  But at this stage lying probably does not help.¡¯


    ¡°OK.  Not sure many people have seen through my cover that fast,¡± replied Azzanon, somewhat amazed.


    ¡°He does that,¡± commented Hawkin.


    ¡°My name is Azzanon, and I am with the Drasnian Intelligence Agency,¡± replied Azzanon, dropping the accent and carefully watching their eyes ¨C those eyes I can see anyway ¨C to see if he was being believed.  ¡°Gaebriel is not from Klydor.  Her parents are hiding her here.  But the wrong people found out and some Drasak assassins were sent to kill her.  Now I need to try and find out as much as I can on who is helping them within Klydor so I can keep her safe.¡±


    ¡°I have met one of your order before,¡± replied Mitchell.  ¡°One of your order is an old friend of my father.¡±


    ¡®Who on earth is this kid?¡¯


    ¡°And what is the name of your father¡¯s friend,¡± Azzanon inquired.


    ¡°To be honest, I only know him by what I think is his nick-name.  At least I hope his name is not Javelin,¡± replied Mitchell.


    ¡®I know that operator name.  But it can¡¯t be.  Could he actually be referring to the ex-head of the entire Agency?¡¯


    ¡°Who did you say your father was?¡± Azzanon asked.  He could see a reluctance to answer forming on the young man¡¯s face.


    ¡®Ok.  You have secrets too.¡¯


    ¡°Maragon, the teacher,¡± replied the Guardian.  ¡°Also known as Maragon Ward.¡±


    ¡®Never heard of him.  Not sure if that is better or worse.¡¯


    ¡°I do not know that name.  I may know Javelin though.  He was a big deal in my Agency for a long time¡­ if it is the same man,¡± conceded Azzanon.  ¡°I am going to take a leap of faith here and trust you three.  Partially because I know his father, you may know Javelin, and I know what you are.¡±


    Azzanon gestured to Hawkin, Mitchell then the Guardian in turn as he spoke.


    ¡°And partially because I do not have much choice.  I need the information my network has.  I will be gone a few hours.  If by some chance bad people come for Gaebriel, please keep her safe.  I will make it worth your while.¡±


    ¡°We do not need a reward to keep her safe,¡± replied Mitchell, although Azzanon sensed the others were all about to make similar responses.


    ¡°Keep her in the room with you,¡± requested Azzanon.  ¡°I ask that you grant her the double bed and at least two of you sleep in here with her.¡±


    ¡°Where will you sleep?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°When I return, I will sleep on the floor next to her bed,¡± Azzanon replied.


    ¡®It is a little too early in our relationship for sharing a bed.  I haven¡¯t even bought her dinner yet.¡¯


    ¡®Besides, sharing a bed with a Princess really could get me in trouble.  Or married.  No.  I am Drasnian.  The shame would be too great and her family would have me killed.  Or worse.  Crippled?  Unmanned?  Best not to think about it.  Just leave her be.  No matter how she beautiful she is.¡¯


    Azzanon made to leave.  Mr Greaves briefly interrupted him, asking questions about what happened in the manor, but Azzanon just told him that he and his wife were sharing a moment in the garden, and had escaped over the wall.  Gaebriel was tending to Archibald until the guard could return with a cleric, so Azzanon slipped out the door without her noticing.


    ¡®I need more information to decide what to do next.  I hate to leave Gaebriel, but with that group with her, and an armed Klydorian guard outside the door, she is unlikely to be in any danger.¡¯


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡®Off into the night I go.  I hope the Agency¡¯s contacts are open to late night meetings.¡¯


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    With Azzanon gone, the Guardian anticipated the inevitable barrage of questions from Hawkin and Mitchell.  And to the many unanswered questions they would have.


    ¡°So, who are you?¡± asked Hawkin, using his usual subtlety and charm.


    ¡°Forgive my friend, what he means to say is ¡®Thank You¡¯ for saving both of our lives tonight,¡± interrupted Mitchell.


    ¡°Illian¡¯arner kaffenen noh¡¯keratu, Layluur,¡± came her reply, in a slightly higher pitched harmonic voice.


    ¡°Well that helped heaps, thanks,¡± scoffed Hawkins.


    ¡®This one is brutish, and not very smart.  Why would Maragon choose him to help guard the Stone?¡¯


    ¡°That¡¯s Elven,¡± responded Mitchell, familiar with the language from his arcane studies.


    ¡®This one has some potential perhaps, but his choices tonight suggest he is also either a fool, or one that can be too easily led astray by other fools.  Neither makes him a good choice to be the ward for the Gem of Inspiration.¡¯


    ¡°Ok¡­ So she is an elf.  But what is she saying,¡± pressed Hawkins


    ¡°I am not sure,¡± replied Mitchell.  ¡°I mostly read Elven.  I speak it a little, but she is speaking too fast for me to make sense of it.¡±


    Behind her mask, the Guardian smiled.  It was amusing to be able to hear them talk almost like she was not there and to study them, all the while, they have no idea what she was saying.


    ¡°Kavana, Layluur, Est santuna ta verasich ge Maragon Laygarna,¡± replied the masked figure.


    ¡°I think¡­ its something about Maragon sent her to watch us?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡®But I do not have the luxury to waste time.  I have made contact, and now we have things we must attend to.¡¯


    ¡°Very good, young one.  Your instincts serve you well¡± she continued, this time in a melodic common tongue, ¡°I was sent by Maragon the Teacher to protect you until he and the rest of the Seven arrived,¡± she continued.  ¡°He thought it too dangerous to allow you to run the streets on your own.  It appears he was right.¡±


    Both Mitchell and Hawkin sat there mesmerised by both the beautiful voice that came from her mask, and the reflections of themselves from her mirrored face-plate.


    She knew the magic of her people powered the mask, as it did for all Guardians.  Most people would lose themselves in their reflections, the mask reflecting back at them an image of their real self.  For good and pure people it showed them all their positive qualities, and an image of the best they could be.  For the darker and more evil souls, it showed them all the horrors they had committed and what they had become.  In either case it usually resulted in total mesmerisation of the target, and frequently a diminished ability to fight, either from rapture or horror.


    ¡®But right now I need these two to have their wits.¡¯  So she took the helm off.


    As her hands reached for the back of her head, she quietly uttered the incantation that released the mask.  Small clasps appeared in the smooth surface near the back of her neck, which she deftly manoeuvred.  The back of the helm fell away leaving only the mirrored faceplate and allowed her long golden hair to cascade down past her shoulders.  As she pulled the faceplate away with her other hand, her beautiful elven face came into full view.


    Both Hawkin and Mitchell gasped.  She had the most perfect face, with high cheekbones, small delicate features, and the most amazing violet-coloured eyes that were the equal of any flower or royal silk.  And like all elves her ears were elongated and came to a gentle point.


    ¡®By the Earthmother, they seem as mesmerised now as they were before.  Maybe I have to put the mask back on.¡¯


    ¡°You know M¡­Maragon?¡± Mitchell stammered, even though the answer was obvious from her previous statement.  She nodded, allowing him to continue, ¡°And is he all right?... Can you take us to him?¡±


    ¡°Maragon was being followed by a large group of mercenaries, led by an evil sorcerer.  He asked me to come here and meet you in case he was delayed.  We are to wait here no longer than a day and if he has not turned up by that time, he wanted you to use this.¡±


    The Guardian reached into her tunic pocket and pulled out a small scroll case, from which she unrolled a group of maps and other documents.  From the documents she picked up a scroll covered in strange sigils and patterns and handed it to Mitchell.  She knew Mitchell would recognise it as a spell scroll, from which the uttering of the words would release the magick contained on the page.  They made casting spells easier as much of the power to cast the spell was contained in the scroll as part of the magickal process of its creation.  They also allowed a caster a much greater chance of success to cast a spell more powerful than what they could normally cast.


    ¡°This scroll contains a Summoning spell.  You can read this, and it will allow Maragon to find you,¡± continued the elf.  Mitchell took the scroll carefully and rolled it up, placing it into the pockets of his tunic.  The Guardian could see on his face that Mitchell hoped desperately he would not have to use it.


    ¡®I hope the child is up to this.  Summoning is a dangerous art.  Summoning opens doorways into other Planes, and there are many very dangerous and strange creatures living in these planes.    If he opens up the portal in the wrong location, who knows what sort of demon, elemental or magickal beast may come through.  And if that happens, will his summoning circle hold?¡¯


    ¡°In the past my summoning circles have not been strong enough to prevent anything bigger than a small mouse from leaving whenever the creature so desired,¡± offered Mitchell.  ¡°But provided I can cast the spell on the scroll correctly, we will not have to worry about my summoning circle failing, right? Maragon will not need to be in one.¡±


    ¡°Still, a good contingency plan will be for everyone with a weapon to be at the ready¡­ if it comes to that,¡± Mitchell finished.


    ¡°Sorry.  I don¡¯t understand any of that.  But it sounds like you think my friend here is some kind of powerful wizard.  That is ridiculous.  And you still have not told us your name, which is now quite rude under nearly all the rules of etiquette,¡± scolded Hawkin.


    ¡®The noble forgets his place and speaks based on birthright rather than merit.  How have these humans become such a dominant force in Driax.  Is it just birth rates?  But he is right on the introductions.¡¯


    ¡°I am Eva of the Llewyrr, and I will protect he who carries the Stone of Evronn,¡± she said, looking at Hawkin as she re-answered his question in the common tongue.


    ¡°So why not just talk normally all the time?¡± Hawkin fired back.  ¡°It is rude to speak in another language in front of someone if you can speak in a language, you both understand.¡±


    Mitchell did not seem to mind, however.


    ¡°Some of what I said was indeed words that could have been said in your tongue, although most of the meaning would have been lost.  And that meaning conveys an old elvish blessing that will ward you both from evil spirits,¡± replied Eva.


    ¡°Right¡­,¡± responded Hawkin doubtfully.


    ¡°We will now stay here tonight.  If Maragon has not arrived by tomorrow night we will use the scroll,¡± she continued, ignoring Hawkin¡¯s sarcasm.


    ¡°OK.  I could do with some warm food and a proper bed anyway,¡± agreed Mitchell, ¡°But in the morning we will need to go and get some companions of ours who are staying at another tavern, and possibly another who is being tended to at the church.¡±


    This confused Eva, but she nodded her head in agreement initially.


    ¡®That makes no sense.¡¯


    ¡°Why would you split your group up unnecessarily?¡± Eva asked.


    ¡°Because the others are too weak to come out and party,¡± replied Hawkin. ¡°We¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­One of our companions was injured on the way here, and the others stayed nearby to help tend to his wounds,¡± Mitchell interrupted.


    ¡°Even though you carry an item that could bring about the destruction of Klydor, the Llewyrr, and all of Driax, you willingly take this item out into the reach of Evil just for some fun?¡± countered Eva, an incredulous look on her face.


    Both Hawkin and Mitchell¡¯s expressions changed to that of little children when being told off by their parents.  Neither said anything, and just lowered their heads, unwilling to meet her unflinching gaze.


    ¡°You carry a very powerful item, and with that goes a great responsibility.  You do not yet understand the evil that is out there, right now, looking for you.  Things that do not sleep.  These monsters will never stop hunting you.  The forces of Razilin¡¯Tera seek you.  They think the stone can be used to bring their Dragon God back to life.  They may well be right.¡±


    ¡°The Seven fight against Razilin¡¯Tera and his return?¡± Mitchell said in what was somewhere between a question and a statement.


    ¡°The Seven stand against any evil which threatens to destroy the world as we know it.  Which includes the forces of Razilin¡¯Tera,¡± replied Eva.  ¡°But they are not all you should be worried about, young one.  Then there is The One.  He who carries its soul.  He knows where you are at all times.  And he is coming, even now, getting closer to claiming you and the Stone he so desperately seeks.¡±


    ¡°The One?  Who is he?¡± asked a shocked Mitchell, only partially wanting to hear the answer.


    ¡°He is the Black Baron.  And he wishes to rule Klydor with an infernal ambition that carried beyond the mortal realm.  He will never stop seeking the power of the throne.  And his hunger for the stone means he can sense it, wherever it is in Driax, or I suspect any of the Planes of existence.¡±


    ¡°And he is coming here, now?¡± asked Mitchell


    ¡°He is.  But I have concealed us using an old Elven prayer,¡± replied Eva.  ¡°He knows now that you are in Chandrex, but he will get no closer than that this night.  For now, you should get some sleep.  You will need it in the future.  I will watch over you till dawn.¡±


    ¡°But when will you sleep?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°You need not concern yourself with my sleep,¡± instructed Eva.  ¡°I have been preparing for this moment since before you were born.  I will be fine.¡±


    After a few awkward moments of silence, Mitchell feebly added, ¡°Sorry¡­ and thank you again.¡±


    ¡°Get some sleep young one.  You will need your strength in the journey to come,¡± counselled Eva.  Soon after both he and Hawkin were fast asleep.  Her elven prayer ensured a deep restorative sleep, the hectic events of their past few days momentarily forgotten.

 Flashback 3: Defensive Casting

    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Age 15 ¨C Maragon¡¯s Tower, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    2nd Illianshae, Early Summer, 841 PBM


    Mitchell was tired.  Yesterday had been Sun-Day, the first day of Summer, marking the end of Spring and the biggest celebration of the year in most parts of Driax.  Although Maragon typically refrained from festive observances, they been invited to the widow, Mrs Lucrellin¡¯s, house to help her celebrate the occasion with what little remained of her family in Garet.


    This meant Mitchell had been in town, and not at the tower, which in turn meant he had caught up with Hawkin, Davon and Alicia that evening.  Maragon had even encouraged him to leave the post-celebration clean-up at Mrs Lucrellin''s, which was unusually considerate.  Hawkin had smuggled some kind of alcoholic spirit, which they had sipped at, and then Mitchell had snuck back into the small bed he had been provided at Mrs Lucrellin¡¯s in the very early hours of the morning.


    Now, he was paying the price.  Not only did Maragon intend for his usual studies to continue this very day, but Mitchell was to have a big test and that Brother Turin would be arriving to assist.  Maragon had let Mitchell get about an hour¡¯s sleep in the cart on the way back to the tower, which was a rare concession.


    In the training area of the tower, the trio knelt on meditation mats.  Mitchell fought to suppress any yawns, Maragon seeming surprisingly cheerful, and the old priest Brother Turin offered his wisdom to the young Mitchell about what it meant to be a good young man, the best weapon versus evil, and the difference between those two things.


    ¡°Today would be a very significant day were you undertaking your training with the Colleges of the Ashar, as I did.  The results from today¡¯s test would control which paths you were allowed to go down with your training.  It would forever fork the paths your magickal destiny travelled,¡± explained Maragon ominously.


    ¡°Casting spells at target dummies is easy compared to trying to cast while something is trying to kill you,¡± stated Maragon.  ¡°Today, you are going to undergo a significant test designed to test all you have learned on casting spells to defend yourself against magick attack.¡±


    Mitchell was excited for this test.  He had been anticipating it for months.  He knew amongst the Ashar this was a very important moment in the training for any young wizard.


    ¡®One of the reasons I train so broadly across so many different spheres of magick is so that I will have the exact defensive spell for any scenario.  If Maragon throws fire I can counter with fire, water or protection-based shields, and each has its advantages and disadvantages.  I must watch what is being cast and choose the right defensive spell.  And I must stay awake.¡¯


    Mitchell yawned for what seemed like the hundredth time, covering his yawn with his hand.


    ¡°I want you to start by casting your ¡®Sense Casting¡¯ enchantment,¡± instructed Maragon.  ¡°Once you finish casting it, I want to you to keep the enchantment running by maintaining part of your concentration on it.¡±


    Enchantments were still reasonably new to Mitchell, but it allowed certain spells to be kept running so that their effect lingered as long as you maintained the spell.  It was more difficult to maintain a spell while casting new ones, a little bit like humming a song while you tried to do something else, and this became even more difficult if something happened that might break your concentration.


    ¡®Like being struck by a magick bolt of fire because you were not paying attention.¡¯


    Mitchell channelled the magickal energies from within to cast the enchantment.  This was not the hard part of this test.


    ¡°Extende aspectum meum et da mihi¡±


    (Extend my sight and grant to me)


    ¡°Visio magica vertentes circa me¡±


    (The vision of magical channelling around me)


    Sense Casting was from a sphere of magick generally just called ¡®universal¡¯ magick.  It meant in practice that nearly all casters knew these spells, and while they were generally powered from within, the effort to cast them was usually less than more powerful spells from other spheres.


    ¡°Good,¡± praised Brother Turin.  ¡°Your spell weaves are really very strong for one so young.  You have the potential to be a powerful mage one day, and the heart to be a good person too.¡±


    ¡®Brother Turin is nice, but a bit odd.  An elderly priest of Faylen, he is exactly what you expect most of the time, kind, wise and full of grandfatherly advice.  And then, sometimes, it feels like he is staring straight into your soul.  But not in a good way.  Creepier.  More like he is deciding whether he wants to devour it.  Maybe he can see who we really are by staring into our souls?  Maybe he does not always like what he sees?


    ¡°Now, Mitchell, I want you to concentrate on me and my casting,¡± instructed Maragon.  ¡°First I want you to just try to openly stop my casting attempt.  Use cues from what you can see normally, and from what you can see with your Sense Casting enchantment, to try and disrupt or destroy the spell weaves you see me forming.¡±


    ¡°Counter-casting is often more difficult than deflecting the magick, so this will be the harder part of the test.  I am eager to see how you do,¡± proclaimed Brother Turin.


    Maragon began to draw in magickal fire energy, preparing to cast a simple ¡®fire orb¡¯ attack.¡¯


    ¡®I can see he is channelling fire energy.  I can also see he is doing this more slowly than he is capable.  I should be thankful, I could not stop him from casting anything he wanted if this was for real.¡¯


    ¡°You can try to disrupt while they are still gathering the magickal energy, but this is more difficult, and likely just slows them down,¡± advised Brother Turin.  ¡°Best to wait until they start to cast the spell itself, and then you attack the spell weave directly, or corrupt and take the weave for your own.¡±  The fervor in the priest¡¯s voice grew as the sentence concluded.


    ¡®Wait for the spell weave.¡¯


    Maragon began to cast the fire orb, the spell weave creating flashes of flame which began to coalesce in the palm of his hand into the flaming orb he would hurl at Mitchell.


    ¡®Now!¡¯


    Mitchell began his counter spell attempt.


    ¡°Telum anti-magica quaero¡±


    (A weapon of anti-magick do I seek)


    ¡°Ut conteram hunc vertentes texere coram me¡±


    (To break this channelling weave before me)


    While invisible to the normal eye, with his Sense Channelling running, Mitchell could see the pale, transparent magickal energies around him, and he shaped them into an anti-magick spear.  He then used his magick to propel the spear towards the spell weave Maragon was casting, targeting what looked like the weakest point in the weave.


    The spear impacted against the weave and pierced it deeply.  The spell-weave fractured, and the Orb quickly collapsed in on itself and vanished.


    ¡°Good,¡± commended Maragon.  ¡°Well done.  You have successfully countered, which is the first part of the test.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ excellent,¡± agreed Brother Turin.  ¡°Your speed to channel the spell was also excellent for one so young.  With the right temperament, he could be a powerful weapon.¡±


    Maragon looked at Brother Turin with annoyance.  ¡°I often wonder why Sha¡¯Shayla chose you.  I often wonder about many of her choices.¡±


    Brother Turin apologised with a gesture.


    ¡°I mean he could be a most excellent ally or future member of the Seven,¡± Father Turin corrected.


    ¡°Is that what I¡¯m training for?  To one day be part of the Seven?¡± asked Mitchell excitedly.


    ¡°Contractions!  A short cut in speech is a short-cut in thought, which is death to the wizard!¡± barked Maragon.


    ¡°Sorry, Master,¡± Mitchell replied.  These days he only let contractions slip when he was tired or excited.  Apparently almost nobody in the whole empire of Cthrag Merlo used them.  A part of the Archeron teachings.


    ¡°As for joining the Seven, that is indeed one possibility for you, one-day,¡± confirmed Maragon, before he turned to Brother Turin and said quietly yet firmly, ¡°Train your own successors!¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Mitchell was so excited..


    ¡°Could others join?  Alicia and Hawkin?  We could be the Saranti Ten!¡± exclaimed Mitchell excitedly.


    ¡°That is not quite how it works,¡± replied Maragon.  ¡°And now is not the time to discuss that.  We still have the second part of the test today.  And despite what Brother Turin said earlier, I believe this to be the more difficult part.¡±


    ¡°I would recommend standing for this part.  I want you to defend against these next attacks using your magick.  Parry, deflect or evade the attacks as you see fit, but remember in each case that each attack has different strengths and weaknesses,¡± taught Maragon.  ¡°There are different defensive spells you can use which can be quite specific for a particular type of spell, or others which are more generic in nature.  Usually the more specific the defence, the more likely it is to succeed against the right spell, but also the higher the chance your defence fails if the attack is not what you expected.¡±


    ¡°Yes, master,¡± replied Mitchell, as he tried to calm himself.  Emotions, both excitement and nerves, were racing through him.


    ¡°While the ramifications for you are far less,¡± began Maragon, ¡°I want you to understand the purpose behind this test.  Amongst the Ashar, this test was used to decide an apprentice¡¯s aptitude for combat magick.  And the result here impacted some of the paths for the rest of their training.


    ¡°By less ramifications for you, he means he is going to make you keep doing martial and combat training regardless of what result you get here,¡± interjected Brother Turin with a grin.  Maragon scowled at the priest for the interruption.


    ¡°There are five attacks of increasing difficulty,¡± continued Maragon.  ¡°Defending against four or more of the attacks would see an apprentice recommended for a high combat path such as War Wizard.  Two or more and you could apply for a high combat path, but you were recommended for something less militant.  One or less, and you were forbidden from any of the combat paths for the rest of your training, and would instead focus on magicks which could be used away from battle.¡±


    ¡°How many did you defend on your first attempt?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°Four,¡± replied Maragon, ¡°but I was slightly older than you when I reached this stage of my training.¡±


    ¡°Just defend against each attack.  I will keep sending new attacks at you.  While the goal is to defend them all, almost nobody defeats all of them the first time.  Defending even the first is considered a pass,¡± instructed Maragon.  ¡°Remember, provided the spell does not strike you in anyway, you are considered to have defended it successfully.¡±


    ¡°How very War Wizard of you,¡± mocked Brother Turin playfully.  ¡°Purist mages stand aghast at this modern interpretation of magick defence.  Will we have ballet dancers claiming to be defensive wizards?¡±


    ¡°Provided the attack does not hit you, you defeated it, yes?¡± rebuked Maragon.  ¡°Can we get back to the lesson now?¡±


    ¡°Have you kept your ¡®Sense Casting¡¯ enchantment running?¡± asked Maragon.


    Mitchell had let it drop during the excitement of passing the first part of the test.  He shook his head.


    ¡°Sorry, Master.¡±


    ¡°It is fine.  Please re-cast it before we continue,¡± instructed Maragon calmly.


    Mitchell did as instructed, and re-cast the spell.  He could already feel the fatigue from casting those three spells beginning to sap at his strength.


    Maragon began to cast the first attack spell.  Mitchell could tell immediately it was the same spell he cast before.  As the flame orb began to take shape, Mitchell began to cast a ¡®Fire Shield¡¯ spell.  Defensive spells were generally easier and faster to cast than their attacking equivalents, as the magick didn¡¯t need to be as durable.  It only existed for a very short period of time, and it rarely had to leave the area immediately around the caster.


    To minimise how much he further drained his magickal reserves, Mitchell drew some of the flame energy from the candles burning around them.


    ¡°Clama flammae¡±


    (I call forth a shield of flame)


    Mitchell quickly cast the spell ¡®Fire Shield¡¯, and he was happy the weave of the spell was strong.  A shimmering shield of fire hovered in front of Mitchell.  Maragon¡¯s flame orb arched towards him and impacted against the Shield.  Mitchell had not cast more than a few defensive spells, and never had to resist a real magickal attack before, so he flinched as the orb hit.  There was a fiery crackle, like from a bonfire as the two collided.  The fire shield buckled slightly, but it held.  The orb flashed and burned itself out harmlessly, followed shortly after by the Shield.


    ¡°You should keep the Shield, child, if possible.  Discard it only once you know the second attack cannot also be stopped by it,¡± encouraged Brother Turin.


    ¡®Good suggestion.  That would further conserve my energies.¡¯


    Maragon quickly began the second spell once the first one failed.  This time lightning started to crackle around him as he cast.


    Lightning arrow most likely.  Best specific defence is Earth, but I am stronger with Lightning.


    ¡°Clypeum fulguris voco¡±


    (I call forth a shield of lightning)


    The weave on his second spell was more rushed, but it was still pretty good.  As before, a shield of lightning appeared before Mitchell just before the arrow flashed towards him.  It was impossible to truly track the lightning bolt as it moved too fast, but the shield reacted and intercepted the blast.  There was a double sound of thunder.  First when the bolt streaked towards Mitchell, and a 2<sup>nd</sup> slightly louder burst when the bolt hit the shield.  Mitchell felt static electricity wash over him, and the hairs on his arms and neck all felt the harmless current wash over them.


    This time there was no respite at all between attacks, and Maragon was already casting the third attack.  Looking through his Sense Casting enchantment, Mitchell could see a larger build-up of fire energy, and what looked like three separate fire arrows being formed.


    My shield won¡¯t hold versus that.  This one I better dodge.


    Mitchell began casting an Illusion spell which would confuse and blur where he was standing, to try and get the caster to attack where Mitchell was not.


    ¡°Hac fallacia, locum meum obfusco¡±


    (With this illusion, I obfuscate my appearance)


    The weave on this spell was better than Mitchell had expected.  It blurred the air around him during which time Mitchell also shifted slightly, and when it cleared his image was a good three feet to the left of where he was now standing.  The three arrows streaked forwards, fanning out slightly as they flew.  Two struck the image and one missed on the near side, but none hit Mitchell.  His image vanished as the two missiles hit it, and his true self re-appeared.


    ¡°Nicely done,¡± congratulated Brother Turin.  ¡°One more to equal your master.¡±


    Maragon had already moved onto the next attack, and Mitchell watched as his master began to channel flame energy.  But a lot more than last time.


    This one is going to explode when it hits.


    Mitchell immediately started to cast the biggest water shield he could - he did not even wait until he saw the spell itself being cast by Maragon.  A few seconds later he saw Maragon conjuring a flaming arrow with what looked like an explosive orb on the end.  Mitchell continued to accumulate water energy, intending to totally surround himself in a bubble of shielding water, a spell which really was more powerful than he could easily cast.


    ¡®But I assume this test is supposed to push us beyond our limits if we want to survive all five attacks.¡¯


    So focused on the water bubble was Mitchell, that he lost the grasp on his Sense Channelling enchantment, and it failed.  Maragon continued to cast for a few more seconds longer than Mitchell expected, and then threw the orb towards him.  Mitchell had now channelled more than enough water magick for his purposes and cast his protective water bubble.


    ¡°Murum aquarum voco ad te¡±


    (Wall of water I call to thee)


    ¡°Me contra hanc flammam prot¨¦g¨¦¡±


    (Protect me against this flame)


    The weave was complex, trying to put the shield all the way around him, but Mitchell was relieved to see it was holding together.  The flaming arrow hit it, but something did not look quite right.  The orb on the end was not fiery like Mitchell had expected.  In fact, it looked more like a small pebble now.  The flaming arrow struck the large, but thin barrier of water in front of it.  The arrow hissed and was quickly extinguished as it hit the wall of water.  But the pebble splashed through the veil of water almost unhindered.


    Mitchell stood there stunned as the pebble continued, arching down and striking him across the thigh.


    Brother Turin applauded.  Maragon¡¯s face was mostly neutral with perhaps the faintest hint of a grin.


    Mitchell hung his head in disappointment.


    ¡®I let the Sense Channelling drop, and then I missed the magickal warning that Maragon was using meta-magick to change the original spell.  My defensive spell was more than powerful enough, it was just the wrong spell.  Stupid mistake.¡¯


    ¡°You stopped three waves of the attack.  That is excellent!¡± congratulated Brother Turin.


    ¡°It was always going to be difficult to stop that fourth attack once your Sense Casting enchantment failed,¡± conceded Maragon.  ¡°Once your spell stopped the arrow, and slowed the stone a little, you could have perhaps just jumped out of the way.¡±


    ¡°Just dodging the spell by moving out of the way doesn¡¯t really seem in keeping with the test,¡± replied Mitchell, his voice and mannerisms making it clear he was being quite hard on himself.


    ¡°Contractions!¡± warned Maragon, although with less vehemence than the first time.  ¡°Provided the attack misses you have evaded its effects, and therefore passed the test.  At least, that is how I have always viewed it.¡±


    ¡°And what an interesting interpretation that is,¡± interjected Brother Turin.


    ¡°The thing to remember, Mitchell, is wherever possible you want to have a contingency plan for everything.  If you are attacking someone or something, you have at least one, ideally more, back-up plans in case the first one is not working, or you encounter something you did not expect.  The same with your defence.  Ideally you would have another line of defence or some other aspect to help save you if your initial spell defence fails.¡±


    ¡°How do you have a back-up plan for something you did not expect?¡± asked Mitchell, confusion apparent on his face.


    ¡°There are things that truly cannot be anticipated.  But they are rarer than you think.  If I were to plan an assault on a goblin war camp, I would normally anticipate outlying scouts or patrols, likely with wolves or worgs with a strong sense of smell.  I would anticipate traps, goblins love traps.  I would anticipate goblin warriors, armed with spears, short bows and daggers.  I would have a plan to allow for the possibility of larger goblinoid creatures such as orcs or even an ogre.  I would have another plan to allow for the possibility of magick users such as a shaman or sorcerer.¡±


    Mitchell nodded his understanding.  ¡°And if the goblin leader was riding a red dragon?¡± he asked.  Maragon and Turin both laughed before Maragon answered.


    ¡°I would hope Javelin knew about a minor thing like a red dragon before we began the assault, but if the goblin did indeed have a red dragon mount we did not know about, that would fall into the ¡®cannot be anticipated¡¯ category.¡±


    Mitchell nodded again but was inwardly pleased he had come up with something Maragon would not have a plan for.


    ¡°However, you could anticipate for forces or eventualities so strong your assault can no longer succeed, in which case you would have a plan for your forces to retreat with a minimum of losses.  And with this, you at least have one plan for the maximum number of contingencies.¡±


    Mitchell nodded again, this time with more understanding of the depth Maragon put into planning things.


    "Always have a contingency plan,¡± Mitchell murmured back.  ¡°Thank you master.¡±


    ¡°Congratulations, Mitchell.  You passed the test, and passed it well,¡± concluded Maragon.

 Chapter 18: The Warehouse

    <h2>Maragon ¨C Warehouse District, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Maragon eyes swept the interior of old warehouse.  He was supposed to be meeting three of the Saranti Seven outside this same warehouse, one that supposedly was holding smuggled Kestrel artifacts.  And if their information was correct, this cache may also have included a Kestrel sword that the Seven had been seeking for quite some time.  Having found no trace of the other three outside, they had been forced to investigate inside the warehouse.


    As he moved through the shadows, his thoughts turned briefly to Mitchell.  He hoped the boy had safely reached Port Chandrex.  From what he could divine magically, the boy was fine, but the same magick that he had used to make sure others could not divine the location of Mitchell was also preventing him from doing the same.  He had dispatched a friend of the Seven to find Mitchell, and then to keep him safe once he reached Port Chandrex.  He had also given that friend something to be used as a contingency plan.


    ¡®Contingency Plans.  You should always have them.  Precisely because you never know when you will need them.¡¯


    Rounding a piled series of crates, a large section of the warehouse opened up to his view.  In front of him, lying on the ground about twenty feet away he could see what appeared to be the form of Turin, the old Barovian Priest of Faylen.  In the poor light he could not tell if he was breathing or not.


    He looked to the two warriors beside him and motioned for them to fan out to either side and see what they could find.  Ragnar, a massive warrior from the ice-lands to the north, went left, his wicked Battle Axe held ready to swing.  Balinor Brevin, a Klydorian Knight, went right, his shield bearing the Griffin sigil of Chandrilar, both the founder of his empire and his God, raised protectively in front of him.


    ¡°Where on Driax are Javelin and Samtha?¡± Maragon scowled under his breath.


    Javelin, an aging Drasnian spy - or rogue as he preferred, was the one who had alerted them to the warehouse and its possible contents in the first place.  Samtha was a bard, and the youngest member of the seven.  However she had spent way too many years with Javelin, and these days was almost as accomplished a rogue as he was.  It was definitely possible they were hidden away in here somewhere.


    Maragon cast an enchantment that would allow him to sense the build-up of magickal energies in the area around him, which should warn him of any attempt to cast a spell or use magick either near him or directed at him.  He definitely did not want to be surprised in here.


    ¡°Turin?¡± he called out, as loudly as he dared.  But if the priest could hear him, he was apparently unable to respond.  Maragon needed to see if his friend was alive, and each second may have been the difference between saving him and not.  He cast another spell, this one bending the light around him in such a way that he would appear invisible to all those around him, and he began to move towards his stricken friend.


    ¡®I dislike Illusions.  They are dishonourable.  Let me and my foe see each other and deal with our differences in honourable combat.  But I doubt I will find much in the way of honourable foes this night.¡¯


    The loud clash of steel on steel to the left drew his attention, and he turned to see Ragnar engaging three armed men, although it was quickly down to two before he could blink, as one unfortunate fellow had his head cleaved from his shoulders by Ragnar¡¯s battle-axe.  Only seconds later another battle erupted to the right as Balinor also engaged more of their would-be ambushers.


    Moving quickly, Maragon reached his friend and checked for a pulse, but instead found a small crossbow quarrel embedded in poor Turin¡¯s neck.  From the discolouration of the surrounding skin, if the quarrel had not killed him, the poison surely would have.  With grim determination he stood and strode further into the room.


    ¡®Someone shall pay dearly for this¡¯.  He began to slowly pull in magickal energy in the expectation of needing it imminently.


    With their trap springing shut, more and more figures were now rushing from their concealed hiding spots into the room.  The majority of them appeared to be nothing more than armed mercenaries.  While they certainly had a numerical advantage, Maragon doubted that would be enough.


    Drawing on his mastery of the elemental powers and his already built up magickal energy, Maragon quickly channelled a great ball of flame.  This he flung into the middle of the eight figures now rushing to overwhelm his companions.  A huge fireball exploded in their midst, instantly killing all of them, and scattering pieces of wood, crate and charred body part all over the rear of the warehouse.  The sound of the explosion reverberated throughout the warehouse and left a ringing in his ears.


    ¡®You want carnage.  I will give you carnage.¡¯


    He drew his sword and began to move further forward, aware that his casting of that spell would have ended his invisibility enchantment.  He cast another enchantment to sharpen his mind to the intricacies of battle, which would accelerate his reflexes, and give him flashes of the future just before they happened.


    He would exact more revenge on those responsible for killing Turin, and maybe Samtha and Javelin as well.  As he came into view of the fighting on both flanks, he was surprised to see Ragnar already lying on the ground, surrounded by two other figures, and Samtha trying in vain to fight her way past three more men to get to him.


    One of those nearest Ragnar raised his sword, apparently intent on finishing the big Northman warrior.  Maragon brought his hand up to cast a spell, but in his mind, he knew it would never be quick enough.


    An arrow embedded itself into the man¡¯s chest, and he fell face forwards to land on top of the stricken northman.  Maragon was about to move towards the other man when a second arrow embedded itself in his chest too.  Maragon knew that these arrows would belong to Rivas Sciandria, an elven Ranger from the woodland realms to the south of Klydor.  An ally with a penchant for finding the higher ground in any battle ¨C in this case the roof.


    He glanced up to thank his companion for the help, but what he saw froze him in his tracks.


    Etched into the roof of the warehouse was the largest summoning circle Maragon had ever seen.  Whatever was coming through that particular gate was massive indeed.  And when the sigils started to light up, Maragon did not even need to feel the huge build-up of magickal energy all around him to know that apparently its arrival was imminent.


    He calmed himself and prepared to launch a counter-spell, hoping to disrupt or destroy the spell before it could be completed.  He could feel the power of his own spell building around him and rising up to contest the spell going on overhead.


    With his Combat Mind enchantment now in full effect, he was aware of everything going on around him, even while he focused so intently on stopping the massive spell above his head.  He was aware of Balinor fighting against a great many men.  A battle he had almost no chance of winning.  He was aware of the figures now rushing out towards himself.  He was aware of the torrent of arrows from above that were even now cutting down the figures as they tried to reach him.


    But he was powerless to intervene, with his concentration locked onto the shimmering portal of energy now gathering above him.  He felt many different casters contributing their combined might to complete the complex spell.


    ¡®So I have to overcome many of you, do I?  Challenge accepted.  Let us see if you have the stamina and willpower to match it with one of Cthrag Merlo¡¯s finest War Wizards.¡¯


    <h2>The Shadow</h2>


    What Maragon was not aware of was the dark clad figure perched high up in the rafters pointing a poisoned hand crossbow at him.  Already he had used the mercenaries below as a distraction that had allowed him to strike down three of the much-vaunted Saranti Seven.  And now he was about to shoot the one they needed the most, the Merlo wizard named Maragon.


    ¡®Careful now.  Do not reveal yourself to the archer on the roof.  He has no idea I am in the rafters on the inside of the same roof.¡¯


    The Shadow reposition slightly to ensure he could not be seen from any of the openings in the roof.  Like many who could channel, The Shadow could often feel when magick was being used in the area around him.  His instinct was not nearly as informative as a Sense Channelling enchantment, which could tell you what sphere of magick was being cast and the power level of the spell.  But it had saved his life on more than one occasion.  And it triggered now with the sudden, powerful build-up of magical energy in the air around him.


    He immediately saw Maragon begin to start trying to counter the spell.


    ¡®These Seven have honour.  But alas, I do not take sides based on honour.  My honour, and that of the clan is dependent on honouring the contract.¡¯


    The Shadow quickly confirmed his crossbow was loaded with sleep poison, and took aim at Maragon.


    ¡®You are lucky wizard.  Few survive an encounter with me.  But I have been paid well to ensure you are delivered alive.  And I never fail to fulfil my contract.¡¯


    <h2>Maragon</h2>


    Maragon had begun his arcane duel to try and disrupt the spell.  He could tell the spell was being led by a powerful caster, perhaps one even as powerful as himself.  But that source seemed distant.  The focal point was much closer.  It seemed the main caster was being supported by at least another three lesser casters, maybe more.


    ¡®One on many.  That will be a mighty challenge for any single person.  Let us find those in the room and end them.  If all the focal points here are killed, then the ritual will fail.¡¯


    Maragon had spent his entire life mastering many different aspects of magick.  He was the best the Ashar had to offer.  If the Ashar were the torchbearers of human magick, then he was their vanguard.  Even now, he could feel the spell faltering as the lesser casters were starting to fail under the duress of his counter-spell.


    Focusing in on the magickal channelling he could feel in the room, he was able to sense the acolytes as brighter pinpricks of magickal energy.  He continued to fight the ritual, gesturing at times with both hands, and sometimes with only one, while uttering the disruptive phrases of his spell.


    ¡®Five of them.  One nearby.  Probably laid out in a star pattern to maximise the power of the ritual.¡¯


    Following the source, Maragon rounded a corner and found an acolyte standing on an innate circular sigil, shielded by boxes from all sides except for a narrow passage that lead from Maragon to the acolyte.


    ¡®You are trapped.¡¯


    The acolyte saw Maragon, and immediately dropped her participation in the larger ritual and prepared to defend herself.  She began drawing in Fire energy.


    Likely going for the biggest spell you know.  Understandable, you are badly outmatched, even as I try to disrupt your ritual.


    Maragon ran his right hand across the bottom of his waterskin and drew in just a small amount of water energy.  Feeling the small amount of water across his skin he threw the drops towards the acolyte.


    ¡°Per mandatum meum, aqua ad Ice¡±


    (By my command, water to ice)


    ¡°Et per manum meam proicio te¡±


    (And by my hand, I throw thee)


    The water turned into a large shard of ice which flew rapidly towards the acolyte, impaling her through the chest and against the wooden box.  Her tendrils of flame energy blinked out as harmless sparks as she died, and the spell failed.


    ¡®One down, four to go.¡¯


    But then he felt the sharp pain in his neck.  Immediately his limbs felt as though they were made of stone, and he could feel the poison sapping both his strength and his wits.  He tried to call-out, or even to curse his unknown attacker, but the best he could manage was a quiet moan as he collapsed to the ground.


    Lying motionless on the ground, unable to move, Maragon was forced to watch as the great summoning spell completed.  The outline of a huge winged beast began to take form in the portal that was opening above.  Maragon already knew what it was ¨C a Lord of Battle.  A great demon of the Blood God which revelled in battle and bloodshed.  It was in many ways the perfect killing machine.  Not even the mighty Ragnar could stand against it alone and win.


    ¡®The Seven have not suffered a catastrophic loss in over 200 years.  May the Gods grant us mercy this night.  Rebuilding would take years, and that is time I fear Driax does not have.¡¯


    As the portal flared and blinked out, the 9 foot tall behemoth descended to the ground, its huge wings controlling its descent.  It landed with its huge legs on either side of the prone wizard, but Maragon knew he was quite safe.  The Lord of Battle would pay him little attention as long as there was real battle to join.


    Balinor was now surrounded by bodies, and those few left standing around him were clearly reluctant to rejoin the fray.  While there were numerous wounds covering the great knight, his thick plate-mail had stopped any of them from being mortal. His sword and shield were more than ready to send more of the ambushers off to meet a god of their choosing.


    Even the serpent-gauntleted figure barking orders at his men was having little effect at this point.  While Maragon had no idea who this figure was, he could see clearly he was their leader, and it brought him a small amount of satisfaction to see the blood seeping from several wounds on his chest and legs.  Oddly, the man also had fresh bandages wrapped around his head.


    Any chance this man had of getting his men back into the fight evaporated the moment the big demon touched down.  Half of his men immediately turned to flee anyway they could, while the others stood frozen in fear as their minds refused to accept this nightmare that had suddenly appeared before them.


    Its face was that of a monstrous dog, with an elongated muzzle full of blood-dripping razor-sharp teeth, and it had evil glowing red eyes that were attuned to seek out any warm-blooded creatures in the room.  Its body was humanoid, but far larger than any human could ever be, with powerful muscles that rippled as it walked.  It had four massive arms, two on each side, and two huge bat-like wings which extended from its shoulder blades.  It was encased in a heavy suit of blood-red armour made up of rune-engraved metal plates so thick that no human could wear it without being crushed under its weight.  In its massive upper arms it wielded a double handed axe that was itself larger than any of the demon¡¯s potential opponents in the room.  And it held a shield and wicked throwing axe in its slightly smaller lower arms.


    <h2>Lord of Battle</h2>


    The demon looked at the pathetic creatures wailing in fear in front of it, knowing it could easily smash the life out of them where they stood.


    ¡®Where is the challenge in that?  There is no real combat in slaying someone frozen in fear.  No, the Blood God demands the glory of killing these creatures in battle.¡¯


    With a flick of its finger the demon motioned for the two nearest creatures to attack, using its ability to influence their pitiful little minds and incite a blood rage that would override their fear, and compel them to attack.  Immediately their looks of terror were gone, and both men charged the massive demon.


    With a broad sweep of its great axe both men were smashed aside, their torsos crushed and shattered.  With another flick of its fingers two more men began rushing in.  But their fates would be no different.  One was smashed aside with the giant axe.  The other had his sword strike easily parried with the shield, and the smaller axe was smashed fatally into his chest.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡®Somewhere in this room, may the Blood God grant me a worthy opponent.  Or a Wizard.  I love killing wizards as they pitifully cast their feeble magicks against me.¡¯


    <h2> </h2>


    <h2> </h2>


    <h2>Gerard</h2>


    Gerard saw the demon begin to cut a path of destruction through his remaining men.  He desperately wanted to finish his battle with the knight, eager to stand victorious over the proud and arrogant Klydorian symbol of virtue and honour.


    ¡®But there is no way I am fighting this demon.¡¯


    Its arrival was as much a surprise to Gerard as it had been to the Saranti Seven.  Gerard in truth, cared little for the life of his men when put in the context of endangering himself, but he would not have thrown them away needlessly in a futile battle such as this.


    When Balinor took his eyes from Gerard and turned toward the demon for just a moment, Gerard turned and fled from the warehouse.  He made a silent vow that Josak would have to compensate him handsomely for this.  Being used as bait was not part of their agreement.


    <h2>Balinor</h2>


    Unfortunately for Balinor he did not have fleeing as an option.  Around him he knew at least three of the Saranti Seven lay on the ground, and Javelin was as yet unaccounted for.  As he turned towards the monstrous demon now bearing down on him, he called upon the power of his God, Chandrilar, using a prayer to bless his armour to stand resolute against the almighty blows of the Lord of Battle.  Holy light flared around him, and his armour and shield now glowed with a white-yellow translucent light.


    That prayer was immediately put to the test as the demon¡¯s huge Axe slammed into his shield.  The force of the blow sent a numbing pain all the way up Balinor¡¯s left arm, and he felt the entire frame of the shield bend and warp.  But it withstood the mighty blow.


    Balinor very much doubted it would survive many more.


    Summoning all his courage he stepped inside the demon¡¯s reach and slashed with his sword at the demon¡¯s torso.  His magick blade, an heirloom of his father and father before him, held an edge sharper than any normal sword.  Yet it barely scratched the surface of the beast¡¯s huge, armoured plating.  Balinor ducked and stepped back out of range as the massive axe sailed through the space his head had just been.  As he locked gaze with the huge demon¡¯s glowing red orbs, the beast roared its approval.


    Finally, it had found a worthy opponent.


    <h2>The Shadow</h2>


    Even the Shadow felt his heart skip a beat as the monstrous red demon fell from the ceiling.  And he had known it was coming.


    He watched as the demon began to carve up all those around it.  He had a scroll that would supposedly seize control of the demon for a short time, and then banish it back to its own plane of existence.  But he was quite slow and deliberate in retrieving it from its scroll case on his belt.


    ¡®No need to hurry things.  The demon is doing a wonderful job of thinning out the numbers.¡¯


    ¡®The merchant captain, Gerard, flees.  The wise action, but he sacrifices his men to the beast and makes no effort to save any of them.¡¯


    ¡®The knight they call Balinor is impressive.  He stands and faces an opponent that means his almost certain death.  The tales of Klydorian knights are clearly not all myth and legend.¡¯


    But then the time for watching was over.  The Shadow carefully uttered the incantations on the scroll, making sure to get the inflections of each word right, and carefully channelling the magick he could feel building within him into a spell.


    He felt disturbances in the magick energy he was building.  Only minor variations, but enough that the Shadow was convinced someone not very powerful had tried to disrupt his spell.  Had that person been as capable as Josak or Maragon he knew the spell would have failed, or perhaps even been stolen.  The fact the disruption had done nothing indicated to the Shadow that some of Josak¡¯s acolytes were still alive down there.


    ¡®I would not wish to be those acolytes if the Blood God demon finds them.  The Blood God hates channellers, and his demons revel in their slaughter.  It would be a mercy if I find them first.¡¯


    ¡®Would be fun too.¡¯  The Shadow took more joy in killing magick-users.


    ¡®Most are so impressed with their magick powers they have no idea how truly vulnerable they are.¡¯


    But that was for later.  His present focus was the scroll, and as he finished the last section he felt the surge of magick lance out towards the massive demon below him.  For a few seconds the demon stopped in its tracks, giving Balinor time to pick himself up out of the pile of crates into which he had been smashed, and for the archer who was hiding on the roof somewhere to fire another pointless arrow into the massive, armoured hide of the creature.


    And then he felt the conduit connection between himself and the demon, and he could almost sense the hatred and rage of that foul entity flooding into him.  The Shadow felt a sudden desire for blood, and he wanted to drop down to the floor and slay his prey in an orgy of melee combat.  For precious seconds he considered it.  He almost did it.


    But his mind was strong, and sanity returned.


    ¡®No wonder most sane wizards think demon magick to be a fool¡¯s errand.  But I must now be very careful.  If that demon breaks free of this spell it will seek me out and deal out untold misery upon me for this most egregious affront.¡¯


    He tested his control on the monster.


    ¡°Kill the archer on the roof¡±


    Immediately the demon jumped into the air, where his huge bat-like wings began to beat frantically, and his monstrous form began to climb upwards.  Another arrow slammed into the demon¡¯s chest, but that did little more than provide a tracer for the demon to work out where the archer was hiding.  His ascent accelerated as it surged for the displaced roof timbers behind which Rivas was firing.


    Without slowing it swept its huge axe up through the roof and with a shower of splinters and shattered timbers it landed atop the roof of the warehouse.  The archer had dived aside as the demon broke through the roof, and both shouldered his bow and drawn both curved swords in a little more than a heartbeat.


    The demon looked at the small, slender figure in front of him.  The elf had single slash scars across both cheeks, which ran up through both eye sockets.  He also had scars on both hands, where he seemed to be missing both index fingers.  The demon laughed.  This was a fight this little elf was ill-equipped to win.


    <h2>Rivas</h2>


    The demon smashed through the roof and landed only 16 paces away.


    ¡®Probably 11 of its paces.¡¯


    His mind calculated the odds of the battle instantly, although a lesser mind probably would have got to the same conclusion.


    ¡®Armour is too thick for my light blades.  And even my armour-piercing arrows have failed to do much trying to go through those plates of armour.  That leaves precision strikes to the eyes, maw, armpits or back of the knees.  That means getting him to focus on something else or getting well inside the reach of that axe.  Which means getting killed.¡¯


    ¡®Need another plan.¡¯


    Rivas Sciandria called upon the Earthmother to assist him, casting a quick spell, and preparing to run.


    ¡®This spell usually completes within 7 paces of your average foe.  This demon looks strong more than fast.¡¯


    The big demon began to stride towards him.


    He mouthed the words to the prayer silently, as he was not physically able to say the words.


    ¡°Sit terra matrem meam vocationem¡±


    (May the Earth-mother heed my call)


    ¡°Da mihi liberis tuis auxilium¡±


    (Lend me the aid of your children)


    ¡°Hunc inimicum naturae alligant¡±


    (May they bind this enemy of nature)


    The Earthmother answered his prayers.  His being a mute did not matter to her.


    The roof buckled and threatened to give way under the demon¡¯s immense weight, even before the spell completed.  That slowed it a touch as the demon reconsidered its movement.  Then the wood buckled more as Rivas¡¯ enchantment affected the wooden boards of the roof and they started to move.  Planks of wood started to behave like wide flat tentacles and began to wrap themselves around the legs of the demon.


    Rivas turned and ran.


    The demon smashed its axe down on the planks trying to entrap it, but that just caused that section of the roof to break and collapse inwards.  The demon briefly started to fall inwards with it, but then its massive wings started to beat, and it leaped up into the air meaning to fly.  The timbers around its legs attempted to retain control and pull the demon back down.  But the demon was simply too strong, and its huge legs tore the wooden planks apart and they tumbled back down, both onto the roof, and through the hole to the warehouse floor below.


    Freed of its temporary prison, the demon flew after the running elf.  Lords of Battle were not the most graceful of flyers, but they built up speed well enough in a straight line.  Its maw drooled in anticipation of the kill, and the flesh it would consume afterwards.


    Rivas could sense it was getting nearer.  He was nearing the end of the roof and what was essentially the end of the line.  The warehouse was too high to safely jump, and the nearest buildings were another warehouse, and a large water tower, but both were no closer than 40 feet, which was too far to jump.


    ¡®Odds of dying from fall: 67%.  Odds of Serious injury: the remaining 33%.  Demon following up injury with death: 100%.  Eliminate this plan option.¡¯


    ¡®Odds of out-running demon: 4%, Odds of beating demon in a fight: 1%.  Eliminate both of those options.¡¯


    ¡®Only one thing left.  It is both crazy and unpredictable.  Chance of success: 35%.¡¯


    As Rivas approached the end of the roof he slowed and turned as though he was preparing to make a last stand.  He could see the demon¡¯s maw turn up in what he took to be a sick grin.  He raised his blades to defend.  The left quite high and wide compared to more conventional stances.


    ¡®The demon likely cares little for what stance it¡¯s foe is in.  It has such long reach with its axe, that it can fell most foes before they even get within reach to swing.¡¯


    The demon pulled the great axe back and prepared to strike.  It was vaguely watching that oddly positioned left hand, expecting that to be where the strike would come from.


    Rivas began to back-pedal to the very edge of the roof.  The demon held the strike until there was no way the axe could miss without the elf falling from the roof.


    The demon swung.


    Rivas dropped off the roof.  And fired the special grapple on his left forearm at the water tower.  The axe found its target, and bit into his chest as he fell.  But the blow was far less than it would have been.  The demon had not anticipated this action.


    ¡®Tower is now 32 feet.  Grapple has a 40 foot range.  Based on its speed of trajectory and the speed of the winch, my feet should miss the ground by about 5 inches.¡¯


    ¡®Unless the grapple doesn¡¯t take hold.  Then I die.¡¯


    The portable winch and tow line was an ingenious invention and gift from the gnomish engineer, Gibblik Wondersmith.  It was a reward for the Seven having rescued his family when the Northmen conquered Port Finbar.  Within moments the spike slammed into the water tower superstructure, and the magick in the winch fired and started reeling Rivas in.


    The demon bellowed in rage as its axe only partially found the mark, and now its target started to be pulled quickly out of harm¡¯s way.  The demon altered course and was beginning to fly after the elf and finish him.


    As the ground came closer, Rivas pulled his knees up as high as he could.  With inches to spare, the rope pulled taut enough and he began to be pulled upwards again, towards the top of the water tower.  He crashed into the tower, only partially absorbing the impact with his legs, which sent sharp pain through his injured side.  As the grapple fully rewound, Rivas slumped over a rail and collapsed on a flat section of the tower superstructure about two thirds of the way up.


    ¡®It was the best option available.  But when the demon arrives, the chance of death is 100%.¡¯


    Then the demon suddenly stopped, and dived back into the warehouse.


    <h2>Javelin</h2>


    Perched between the edge of consciousness and the precipice of death, Javelin could feel his life force slipping away.  While he could still feel the pain of the small crossbow quarrel in his back, it was the sharp burning sensation working its way through his body that was causing him the most discomfort.


    ¡®There is an Assassin in the warehouse somewhere, most likely in the roof shadows. Judging from the aim of his shot, and the quick manner in which the poison has disabled me, he is almost definitely a Drasak.  And one of their best too.¡¯


    Unfortunately for the assassin, Javelin had over the years developed an immunity to most of the more common poisons by carefully subjecting himself to them.  In his line of work it had seemed like a prudent course of action, and now he was being rewarded with an acute sense of pain rather than the oblivion of death.


    He took the small vial of anti-poison he had in his tunic pocket and poured its contents down his throat.  While a general antidote such as this would unlikely stop the poison entirely, Javelin hoped it would slow the effects enough to allow him to alter the events of tonight.


    ¡®I am getting too old for this.  My judgement is not what it once was.  My mistake has led my lifelong companions into a trap, and it has cost at least a couple of them their lives.  But I am not done yet.¡¯


    Ignoring the pain he dragged himself further into the shadows of the crate by which he had fallen, and recovered the special hand crossbow that had earlier tumbled from his grasp when he fell.


    He saw Samtha make a familiar clutching motion at her neck, and then watched helpless as she slumped to the ground.  He saw Balinor looking in vane for the shooter when a black and red robed acolyte made the mistake of stepping into view.


    Balinor incorrectly assumed the acolyte was the shooter and immediately moved towards him, sword poised to strike.  The young follower of Razilin-Tera was only halfway through a prayer to save himself when the Klydorian knight¡¯s sword impaled his chest, symbolically stabbing through the head of the red dragon symbol on the front of his robe.


    Javelin started to scan the roof but could not see where the assassin was concealed.


    ¡®I have to find him soon.  I am running out of time.  Both for the Seven and for myself.¡¯


    Then he saw Balinor stumble, and topple to the floor, his sword and shield both clattering to the ground.  While he suspected the assassin had another victim, Balinor was covered in so much blood he could not really be sure if this was just a natural succumbing to his wounds.  Not knowing annoyed him.  Javelin hated being unsure of anything.


    His mind¡¯s fervent need to solve all puzzles and find answers to everything is what had enabled him to become the eyes and ears of the Seven.


    Now he had multiple issues.  The three remaining acolytes were now coming out of hiding and heading for the fallen figures of Ragnar, Balinor, Maragon and Samtha.  Their wicked curved daggers left little doubt as to their intention.


    ¡®Firing means giving myself away to the assassin above.  Not firing means they all die and then it won¡¯t matter what the assassin does.¡¯


    He waited until the very last moment, but when the first of the acolytes bent over Samtha¡¯s crumpled form and raised the dagger his hand was forced.  He raised his crossbow, a special gift from Gibblik Wondersmith, the gnomish engineer, and with a simple pull of the trigger-pin, the quarrel shot out and embedded itself deeply in the chest of the acolyte.  Years of experience told Javelin the man was likely dead before he hit the ground.


    But it was not the hitting power that made his weapon marvellous.  A series of gears on the side of the crossbow¡¯s frame clanked and turned, loading another quarrel from the small magazine of three that sat out to the side of the weapon, and returning the string to a second firing position with only slightly less firing power than the first.


    Before the first target had finished slumping over backwards, a second had a quarrel hit him in the forehead just as he crouched over the prone and vulnerable Klydorian knight.  His 3<sup>rd</sup> shot was a little low, and took its intended target in the abdomen, slowing him, but certainly not killing him quickly enough to stop him ending the life of Maragon.  Javelin was aiming his final shot and had just pulled the trigger when he was beaten to the punch and a quarrel from above slammed into the back of the acolyte¡¯s skull.  The acolyte wilted, and fell forwards, partially covering Maragon¡¯s form.


    Javelin was trying in vain to reload his weapon fast enough to be able to use it again when he heard the massive beating wings pass narrowly overhead.  He struggled to his feet and looked up just in time to see the huge nine-foot-tall demon touch down only five feet in front of him.


    The demon bellowed at Javelin, bringing its face to no more than a yard from his own.  It then raised its giant axe and prepared for the crushing blow.  In a final act of defiance Javelin threw the crossbow at the demon.  But all that did was make a slightly metallic sound as it bounced harmlessly off the massive armour plates that covered the Lord of Battle¡¯s chest.


    The next sound was the movement of air as the axe swung downwards, and it was the last thing Javelin ever heard.


    <h2>The Shadow</h2>


    The Shadow was feeling quite pleased with himself.


    ¡®So far I have managed to take nearly all of the Saranti Seven alive using a Mantak spider poison that will incapacitate rather than kill.  Horrific creature as it prefers to eat its victims while they are alive.  But its venom is amongst the most powerful toxins known to the Assassin Guilds, and I have not yet encountered anyone who can resist it.¡¯


    Only the priest and the rogue had been shot with a lethal poison, an obscure, but quite fatal Scorpion venom.  The priest called Turin had been killed as per his orders.  The rogue, Javelin, had nearly spoilt the whole trap when he saw the circle of runes on the roof. Fortunately the Shadow had been here to see him come in through the roof.  He had been forced to act before he could load another vial with the spider poison, so he went with what he already had loaded, his lethal Scorpion venom.  And one shot to the neck ended that threat.


    Now he watched as Josak¡¯s acolytes emerged from hiding, ready to send the souls of the Seven to meet with RazilinTera using their wicked sacrificial daggers.


    ¡®This is a problem.  A crossbow does not have the rate of fire to take out all of the acolytes before they reach their targets.  But I do not wish to reveal myself by dropping to the floor.  I must concentrate on saving Maragon.  The rest of the Seven will need to ask their Gods for protection.¡¯


    The Shadow was as surprised as the acolyte when the first crossbow quarrel had struck home, ending the threat to Samtha.  At first the Shadow thought maybe one of the four figures he could see on the ground had saved her, but then the second shot took out the figure over Balinor.  No, there was another shooter down there, and Shadow knew it was not the archer who had been on the roof.  He was almost certainly already dead.  Lords of Battle tended to be very good at that.


    His eyes being far more accustomed to dark than most, the Shadow peered into the shadows more intently.  He could just make out the form of Javelin lying next to some of the boxes below.


    ¡°Impressive!  And appreciated.  You will be rewarded with a swift death.¡±


    He recalled the demon, instructing it to kill the surprisingly hardy old rogue.  He then took aim and finished the acolyte that was beginning to endanger his main prize.  With only one target left the Shadow risked using another spell, and simply let go of the roof beams that were holding him.  With three short words and a gesture the spell was completed, and he descended to the ground harmlessly, and more importantly, silently, landing only inches from the final acolyte.


    The demon¡¯s huge frame prevented him from seeing the killing blow on Javelin.  But with one short and sharp stabbing action of his own, he ended both the life of the last acolyte and the threat to the Seven.  He looked down and saw Javelin¡¯s elaborate crossbow on the ground.


    ¡®Very ingenuitive.¡¯


    He picked it up and admired the craftsmanship.  The reloading mechanism was indeed a marvellous device.  And like his own crossbow, he could see it was designed to apply poison to the heads of the quarrels.  This would be a keepsake he would cherish.  A most suitable memento for the occasion.


    He could feel the hatred and anger wash over him as the demon sought out new targets, and could not find any.  Not wanting to test if the demon could over-ride his control and make him the next one, he quickly ended the spell that was holding the creature here.  The demon¡¯s form dispersed back into the plane from which it came, first turning to what looked like a red, misty form of itself, and then vanishing altogether.


    He felt a release of pressure in his mind, as for the first time since he first read from the scroll, his mind was not being assaulted by the primal emotions of the Lord of Battle.


    ¡®Perhaps we don¡¯t ever do that again.  Controlling greater demons is too risky for my sanity.  But otherwise, a job to be congratulated.  A well-prepared plan, carried out with precision.  And now the Saranti Seven are dealt with.  Anders should be pleased.  Very pleased.¡¯

 Flashback 4: Martial Training

    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Age 16 ¨C Outside Maragon¡¯s Tower, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    14<sup>th</sup> Morhel, Early Winter, 842 PBM


    ¡°Why do we have to train outside when it is so cold?¡± asked Mitchell.  He was standing outside the warm and inviting tower, in drizzling rain, and a cold, biting wind, wearing nothing more than a lightweight tunic and a pair of light breeches.  Clothing specifically picked out for him by his trainer.


    ¡°Cold?  This is not even close to being cold!¡± laughed Ragnar Gunnulf, in his thick northern accent.  ¡°And we are outside because fighting is about being tough.  And you are not tough enough to survive, little one.¡±


    ¡®Easy for you to say.  In the North you all live in the ice and snow.  This is probably the middle of summer for you.  You are also the largest and most physically powerful man I think I have ever met, and that includes Sir Balinor and Lord Sarek.  How am I supposed to compete with you on being tough?


    Ragnar stood before him as a mountain of a man, six and a half feet tall, incredibly broad across the shoulders and neck, and with both the muscles and scars that come from fighting for nearly three decades.  He had long sandy blond hair, and as was often the custom for the raiders from the north, wore parts of his hair and beard in tight braids.  He wore no shirt, a pair of linen trousers, and rugged, sturdy boots.  He did have several rings, chains and bracers scattered across his fingers, arms, chest and ear.  The bracers and the leather girdle were both runed and contained several large gemstones, making them look quite impressive and valuable.


    ¡°Choose your weapon,¡± instructed Ragnar.  ¡°I will go easier on you if you pick up something new.  And no casting.  You must learn to fight naked.  Steel vs steel.¡±


    ¡®Seems slightly pointless, as most of the time if I am in melee, I will be enhanced with at least one magick spell or enchantment, but OK, you are the teacher.  Even if you are a brutal, savage warrior.¡¯


    Mitchell looked at the training weapons laid out in front of him.  There were many weapons to choose from: long sword, bastard sword, sabre, rapier, battle axe, warhammer, mace, short sword, quarterstaff and spear.  Each looked just like a normal weapon of their type, except the lethal part was blunted, padded or had in some had its lethality significantly reduced.  These weapons could still wound, and possibly even kill, but the chances of taking a mortal wound while using them was substantially reduced.


    ¡®All one-handed weapons, as I will often need a hand free to cast, although the spear and bastard sword can both be wielded quite well using two hands when required.  I have trained by far the most with the longsword.  It is the traditional blade of Klydor and her Knights.  I will use that.  Not sure I will need to be an expert in too many different weapons, given I will always have magick as well.¡¯


    ¡°I choose the long sword.  It is the blade I have trained the most in, and I think it is best I master one weapon and use my magick to make up for any weaknesses that weapon might have,¡± Mitchell explained.


    ¡®Maybe if you agree with the reasoning, you will elect not to go harder on me for choosing the weapon I already know the best.¡¯


    ¡°Ok.  But you were warned.  Now I will not go easy on you,¡± chuckled Ragnar.  ¡°Prepare yourself.  A savage warrior approaches.¡±  Ragnar immediately rushed forwards, somewhat recklessly, with an axe raised high and held in both hands.


    Maragon had trained him for this exact scenario, so he prepared to deflect the attack and dodge the bulk of his rampaging opponent.  He brought his blade up and parried the large axe.  Ragnar was far stronger than he, even if he was likely pulling his blows, so he didn¡¯t try to truly block the weapon.   As he had been taught, he tried to just deflect the weapon enough so that it would miss down his right-hand side.  As his sword connected with the axe, he also quickly side-stepped to the left so that Ragnar passed on his right-hand side.  He tried to whip his blade around and tag Ragnar on the back, but the impact with the axe jarred his hand, and he couldn¡¯t reverse the blade fast enough.


    Ragnar turned, a grim smile on his face showed he clearly enjoyed this.  He again raised his axe in a somewhat exaggerated stance and swung it downwards.  Mitchell again deflected the blow with his blade, and this time he stepped inside the reach of the big man and with his blade ran it along his stomach.


    ¡°Good.  Many warriors fight too aggressive.  If you just wait, they will give you an opening to defeat them.  I see you get better at deflecting, rather than block,¡± commented Ragnar.


    ¡°Yes, Master.  Your strength last time knocked me on my backside more times than I can remember, even when I did parry in the right place.  The bruises lasted weeks.  Maragon and I spent a lot of time since then improving my technique at deflecting blows,¡± explained Mitchell.


    ¡°Forget the Master thing.  I am nobody¡¯s master,¡± replied Ragnar gruffly.  ¡°I haven¡¯t had slaves in a long time now, and I don¡¯t want anyone calling me that again.  Ragnar is fine.  If we spill blood together you can call me Brother.¡±


    They sparred for another fifteen minutes.  Ragnar picked up different weapon combinations and simulated different styles of opponents.  By the end of the fifteen minutes, Mitchell was lathered in sweat, and had more than a couple of red welts which he suspected would be angry bruises by morning.  He found he was panting, and concentration was harder to maintain as his fatigue increased.


    ¡°Least you are not cold now,¡± laughed Ragnar.  ¡°I want you to pick up the sabre.  I think it might suit you better.¡±


    ¡°Not many Klydorians use a sabre,¡± replied Mitchell skeptically.  But he did as he was instructed, and reluctantly exchanged his longsword for the lighter, slightly curved, single-edged blade.


    ¡®Will be hard to get respect from other warriors carrying this on my hip.¡¯


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Most Klydorian warriors are bigger than you,¡± replied Ragnar simply.  ¡°They can use the weight of the blade to their advantage.  For you, it is likely slowing you down.  Your style is to defend and counter-attack.  Normally I would teach you heavy weapon and shield, but weakling wizards cannot use shields as you need a hand free for all those silly gestures you make.  So you must parry and attack with same blade.  So, you should use lighter blade like sabre.¡±


    Mitchell¡¯s face clearly showed he was torn.  The logic of what Ragnar said made sense, but Mitchell desperately wanted to be accepted as a man within the social confines of Garet and his friends.  Ragnar apparently guessed the cause of his reluctance.


    ¡°Much better to be alive, little one.  You will earn respect from worthy warriors when you show you can carry your weight in a fight.  You will win admiration when you can carry more than your share,¡± advised Ragnar.  ¡°What weapon you use to do it is not important.  I should know.  I have been laughed at for many of the weapons I have taken into combat.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡± asked Mitchell.  ¡°You are a massive mountain of a man, who is a master of swords, axes and hammers.  Who would laugh at you?¡±


    ¡°I wish to master every weapon.  Yes, I can use axes, swords and hammers.  But I learn to use anything as a weapon.  If I meet a person with a weapon I do not know I will try to learn it,¡± replied Ragnar.  ¡°When I carry their strange weapon into battle, others will laugh at me.  Balinor laughs at me all the time.  But then, he isn¡¯t as good as me.  So I laugh last!¡±  Ragnar laughed loudly at his own joke.


    ¡®This man is not like other warriors.  Beneath the gruff exterior lies an artist who takes weapon fighting as a craft.  It is no wonder Maragon speaks in awe of his martial skills, and sometimes even compares him to Zankeine.  Imagine being so good with weapons you are compared to the Laurabel hero who was so good at fighting he literally became the God of Combat after his death.¡¯


    ¡°But how does that work?  I assume often you will not see someone has a strange weapon until you are fighting them?¡± supposed Mitchell, ¡°You cannot then stop the fight and ask them to teach it to you.¡±


    ¡°This is true,¡± chuckled Ragnar.  ¡°But I suspect I do not fight as often as you might think.  So often I can ask, and many warriors are happy to show you.  I will then try to get my own weapon that is the same, and I practice with it.  Even if I think it is a rubbish weapon, I will practice to get at least good with it.  Sometimes you learn techniques that assist with other weapons.  Sometimes you learn something that assists in fighting other weapons.¡±


    ¡°But there are times I have seen a new weapon only when it is being used against me,¡± Ragnar said,  nodding as he did so.  ¡°I try harder to knock it¡¯s wielder out, so he can teach me once we have defeated them.  If he dies, then I try to teach myself how it works.¡±


    ¡°By copying how it was used against you?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°Well¡­ I try to do better than that.  How it was used against me lost,¡± replied Ragnar.  ¡°The thing to realise with weapons, is many have a specific purpose.  Ideally you use the right weapon for the right job.  Let us try some easy ones.¡±


    ¡°Skeletons?¡± The laconic northman asked the question with just a single word, but referring to an all too common magickal construct of a corpse¡¯s bones used by necromancers and other dark casters to do their bidding.


    ¡°Bludgeoning weapons like a mace or warhammer to break up the bones.  Slashing and piercing weapons are way less effective,¡± replied Mitchell.


    ¡°A knight in plate-mail armour?¡± Ragnar asked.


    ¡°The same.  A mace or warhammer will be more likely get through the heavy armour,¡± replied Mitchell.


    ¡°True, but the best choice is a crossbow,¡± Ragnar pointed out.  ¡°The crossbow is designed to punch through heavy armour, can be done at a safe distance, and is such a simple weapon to use that any peasant¡­ or wizard¡­ can do it.¡±  He grinned broadly.


    Mitchell bowed his head in acknowledgement of the point.


    ¡°A skilled warrior with a shield?¡± Ragnar asked next.  Mitchell considered his answer.


    ¡°A flail?¡± he answered, the uncertainty clear in his voice.  ¡°The chained ball allows the weapon to strike over and around the shield.¡±


    ¡°A difficult weapon to use, but one that is designed for that purpose,¡± replied Ragnar, before asking his next question.  ¡°A mounted warrior?¡±


    ¡°Using the same logic as your earlier answer, a crossbow,¡± replied Mitchell.


    Ragnar grunted his agreement.  ¡°And if you must be closer?¡±


    ¡°A polearm.  Something like a long spear or guisarme,¡± replied Mitchell.  ¡°The very long shaft hopefully allows you to dismount the rider before he can strike you with his lance or melee weapon.¡±


    ¡°You know the theory.  You are book smart like Maragon,¡± commended Ragnar.  ¡°Let us teach you the sabre so perhaps you can survive on an actual battlefield.  I am sure paper cuts hurt, but mistakes on the battlefield tend to require more stitches.¡±


    That session went for another two hours.  Ragnar refused to end it even when it was clear Mitchell was exhausted.  Pushing through fatigue and fighting for longer was one of the strategies for defeating a superior foe.  While Mitchell found trying to outlast Ragnar was an exercise in futility, it did prove he could push himself further than he realised.


    Mitchell also realised by the end of the first session, that he much preferred the sabre.  Ragnar also spoke of a rapier, which was lighter and faster again, but Ragnar insisted it was a weapon for those more interested in looking like a warrior, than actually being one, and refused to teach Mitchell how to use one until he had reached an accomplished level of expertise with the sabre.


    ¡°Rapier wielders usually care more for the fancy basket hilt, than they do for the quality of the tiny little blade at the end.  Gold, diamonds, gems, there is nothing I have not seen in these hilts.¡±  Ragnar shook his head scornfully.  ¡°Often the pretty things they put on them completely throw off the balance of the entire blade.¡±


    ¡°But you have some gemmed and runed items,¡± queried Mitchell genuinely, pointing at the girdle and bracers, ¡°What is the difference?¡±


    ¡°Oh these,¡± Ragnar smiled as he looked at the items he was wearing.  ¡°These are trophies I took from people I defeated.  Everything you see on me, I took from another.  Never theft,¡± Ragnar shook his head sternly at his own words,¡± but taken because we met on the field of battle and I won.  On the battlefield you risk everything and if you lose, then by rite you lose everything.¡±


    Mitchell considered the grim message contained in that.  Training was one thing, but if the fight were ever real, the cost of mistakes would be much higher.


    For the next two weeks, Ragnar patiently taught Mitchell the sabre, throwing knife, crossbow and warhammer, the last two being situational weapons for scenarios where the sabre would be of limited value.  After those two weeks, Mitchell felt competent with the sabre and the crossbow, and perhaps barely adequate with the throwing knife and warhammer.  Ragnar gave him training exercises to do to improve his skills with all four weapons.


    Mitchell was weary and sore when Ragnar left the tower.  He liked Ragnar, but he was glad this aspect of his training was over for now.  While his martial skill had improved remarkably, he still much preferred magick to martial training.  Perhaps the best part was he thought he could feel a difference in the composition of his muscles from all the physical exertion they had been doing.  He did like that.


    For two weeks afterwards he found himself walking around with his shirt off, and frequently eyeing himself in the mirrors.  Maragon warned him to stop.  He did not.  So Maragon started implementing more chores, and instructed Bossy Owl to do the same, every time he was caught outside his room with no shirt on.  That soon cured him of the behaviour.

 Chapter 19: The Aftermath

    <h2>Anders ¨C DeVilliers Manor, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    9<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    ¡°We have failed.¡±


    Anders looked intently at the masked figure before him.  Standing almost six feet tall he was quite tall for a Drasak, but Anders was still nearly half a foot taller again.  Anders used his height advantage to look down on the black clad figures before him.  Around him most of Chandrex¡¯ youngest nobles were huddling in fear, either consoling the distressed, sobbing uncontrollably, or just avoiding the gaze of the many armed figures in the room.


    ¡°Was she even here?¡± Anders asked.


    ¡®My intelligence sources will pay dearly if not.  I do not pay for incorrect information.¡¯


    ¡°She was.  We believe she escaped through the kitchen with another,¡± replied the Drasak.


    ¡°Any idea who this other was?¡± asked Anders, strong emotion evident in his voice.


    ¡°We have interrogated her chaperones, and she was last seen dancing with a Lord Ackton of Lotan,¡± explained the Drasak.  ¡°As we can find nobody here who will answer to that name, we assume he was the one who helped her escape.¡±


    Anders ran his hand through his long blond hair as he thought about the ramifications.  Around him the Capellan clansmen were preparing to leave, gathering up all evidence of their being here, including their quarrels, and instead leaving behind evidence that would place the blame on a small cult of human purists that called themselves the Human Purity League.  They were known to despise the close relations Klydor had with the Llewyrr elves, and acts of terrorism were not unheard of.


    ¡°It could be worse then.  At least this man is not part of the Council of Defence,¡± Anders replied.


    ¡®The Council of Defence.  Klydor¡¯s answer to the Ashar colleges of Magick, and also the inquisitorial arm of the Klydor law enforcement.  Their involvement at this stage, particularly if they had the Princess already, could complicate things considerably.¡¯


    ¡°Agreed.  The use of magick to divine what really happened here would make our mission more problematic,¡± the head assassin agreed.


    ¡°Still, your failure presents me with a great many problems,¡± pointed out Anders, in a tone making it clear he was not happy.  ¡°House Tirilani called in a lot of favours to get me to help smuggle you in here, but now this could come back on me.  I would suggest you fix this mess up quickly.¡±


    ¡°We will be gone within the next ten minutes.  The Klydorians will have no idea what happened here,¡± promised the Drasak.  ¡°We have also taken a great many valuables from the guests.  I was instructed to give you half.  Let me know where I can deliver these items too.¡±


    Anders handed over a small card of his own, with an address for a warehouse of his in the dock district.  He would never verbalise such a thing.


    ¡®You can never be sure who is listening, magically or otherwise.¡¯


    ¡°We request your assistance in locating the princess or Lord Ackton,¡± asked the Drasak.  ¡°Our resources within Klydor are far less effective than most other places we operate.¡±


    ¡®Klydor has too many ¡®good¡¯ people, and they value honour over bribery.  Must complicate your line of work no end.¡¯


    ¡°I have my own problems right now.  The deal was: I help you get your agents into Chandrex. And in return you give me the book.  I have honoured my part of the arrangement.  Now I expect you to do the same,¡± warned Anders.


    ¡°My employer has instructed us that we are not to hand over the book until our task is complete.  The book is the ¡°The Manipulations and Machinations of Man¡±, by Korrux Blackstone.  We have concealed the only copy within the city, but it is nearby and can be provided to you immediately on the successful completion of our mission.  Our patron wishes to remind you that you have as much at stake here as he does, and that the penalty for failure should be incentive enough for your ongoing assistance.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you, Deceiver!¡± Anders yelled in frustration, and certainly at a volume that some of the cowering nobles would have heard it.


    The assassins all stirred uncomfortably.


    ¡°I would ask that you keep your voice down.  Otherwise I am authorised to silence it.¡±  The Assassin¡¯s voice remained calm.  Anders did not know whether to laugh or just cast a spell and be rid of this assassin forever.


    ¡°Do you know who I am?¡± he asked, as casually as possible.


    ¡°I am Carthas, Drakin of House Capella, and my employer has issued his instructions.  Who you are outside of this room is of no interest to me.  Yell once more and we will see if you can kill eight of the best assassins in Drasak before one of us gets to you.¡±


    ¡®I do love a challenge.  I also love killing arrogant pompous assassins.  But I can count.  I suspect many of the men you have here are really just thugs, and therefore unlikely to pose any threat to me. I can only see four assassin type figures on the landing around me, which means there are possibly four more I cannot see, each with a weapon pointed at me right at this instant.  And if they hadn¡¯t had their weapons pointed at me before, they almost certainly will now.


    ¡°Very well Carthas.  My deal is now with you,¡± acquiesced Anders.  ¡°I will help you gather information on this Lord Ackton, and on the whereabouts of your lost princess.  But if I do not receive the book by the end of that day, then we will discover if what you don¡¯t know, really can hurt you.  Agreed?¡±


    ¡°That is acceptable to us,¡± Carthas replied.


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C The Golden Unicorn, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    10<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Mitchell awoke to find it already light outside.  Eva crouched in the corner of the room, in the exact same position she was in when he fell asleep.


    ¡°Have you been there all night?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Do not be ridiculous.  It is necessary to flex the muscles from time to time so that they do not cramp,¡± she replied matter of factly.  ¡°You should wake your companion.  While I suspect he will not like you for it, and nor will he appreciate loud noises or bright light, we must be moving early this morning.  I have a safe-house here I will be taking you too.¡±


    Mitchell simply nodded.  As he rolled out of bed he discovered that his head was a little groggy.


    ¡®I hate to think what Hawkin will be feeling.¡¯  He gingerly shook his friend awake.


    ¡°Ahhh¡­ Good morning all,¡± came Hawkin¡¯s all too enthusiastic response, ¡°Ready for another adventure today are we?¡±


    Even with his vision slightly blurred through his newly swollen black-eye, Mitchell could tell that Hawkin looked fine.  A disappointed look must have been apparent on his face.


    ¡°What?  You were expecting me to be green?¡± laughed Hawkin.  ¡°No Aranson has ever had a hang-over.  Our constitutions apparently don¡¯t allow it.  A terrible curse I know, but one I have learned to live with.¡±


    ¡®This seems entirely unfair.¡¯


    Hawkin rolled out of bed and immediately began putting his clothes back on from the night before.  Mitchell was a little embarrassed to see that his friend was totally naked, but Hawkin was not even the slightest bit modest about his well chiselled frame.  Mitchell quickly looked at Eva to see her reaction, but she had already replaced her mirror-helm, so it was impossible to tell what she was looking at.


    ¡®Did she look?  Did she like what she saw?  How can I compete with that?¡¯


    Mitchell finished getting dressed, meticulously adjusting the belts which held the various pouches of spell components he was carrying.  Then he strapped his sword to his side.  Within a few moments they were all dressed and preparing to leave.


    ¡°Do we wake Gabriel and the others, or leave them behind?¡± asked Mitchell, quietly.


    ¡°They should not be involved.  You will endanger them all,¡± replied Eva.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t I get that consideration before I was dragged into this?¡± interjected Hawkin.


    Mitchell turned to his friend to see if he was serious, but there was a broad grin on his face.  Hawkin was clearly enjoying this entire affair.


    ¡°Your role in this was destined by fate long before, young Hawkin.  It was unavoidable,¡± replied Eva, drawing surprised looks from both her companions.


    ¡°Young!  How old are you?¡± asked Hawkin.


    ¡°You mean Maragon knows the others are here?¡± asked Mitchell simultaneously.


    ¡°It is time to leave humans,¡± was all the response they got as she opened the door to the room and stepped into the hallway.  All three were surprised to see Lord Ackton standing before them.


    ¡°Leaving so soon, my dear rescues?¡± he asked, in his flawless Lotese accent. ¡°That would be rude.  Besides we need to come with you, so you can watch Gaebriel while I find out what is going on in this crazy place.¡±  He now appeared dressed in the daily clothes of a wealthy noble, or at least a pretentious, ostentatious one.  Under his arm he held a tightly wrapped package.  On his side he now carried a fine-looking rapier.


    ¡°But how did you know we were leaving?¡± asked Mitchell


    ¡°He was obviously eavesdropping on us,¡± answered Hawkin.


    Eva, who had been silent in the exchange had just finished a short series of strange arm and hand movements and was now regarding all of them quite closely.


    ¡®She just cast a spell.  A universal spell.  A Detect Magick would be my guess.¡¯


    Azzanon started to say, ¡°Lucky guess.  I was on my way to your door when¡­¡± but he was cut off.


    ¡°He planted a magickal device on Hawkin last night.  He has been able to hear everything we said,¡± responded Eva.  She reached up and pulled what appeared to be a small flat black pebble from the back of Hawkin¡¯s cloak.


    Azzanon shrugged sheepishly.


    ¡°Please understand.  That young girl is being hunted by Drasak assassins, who even now seek her location.  There is nobody here in Klydor I can trust, and I must leave her again to find out what is going on,¡± he uttered each word with his natural Drasnian accent, loud enough to ensure the message was delivered with impact, but quiet enough so none other than those in the hallway could hear him.


    ¡°The Llewyrr elves are strange to me.  You do not seem as distant as your Silverestri cousins, and those are the only elves we really know of in Drasnia.  But I know enough to know you won¡¯t stand by and let a princess get killed.  I suspect the same is true of those two.  In return, some of what I have already learned may be of interest to you.  I think our two paths may be at least somewhat intertwined¡±.


    The word princess had shocked silence into Mitchell and Hawkin.  Mitchell barely registered the rest of what Azzanon had said.


    ¡°The fact she is a princess is curious, but irrelevant.  I would not stand by and let anyone be killed,¡± replied Eva.  Eva gestured that Azzanon should see to the princess and began to move towards the stairs to ensure they were not overheard.


    ¡°Princess?¡± Mitchell stammered.


    ¡°Princess!¡± replied Hawkin emphatically.


    The two followed Azzanon into the bedroom with the sleeping Gaebriel.  He woke her gently.  She looked as if she went to rise quite quickly, and then Azzanon appeared to hold her down.


    ¡°Please get dressed your Highness.  I brought these for you,¡± Azzanon said, placing the tightly wrapped parcel on the bed in front of her.  ¡°They will be more loose fitting than you are used to, but I need you to be less recognisable than you would normally be.  We will be waiting for you out there when you are dressed.¡±  Azzanon pointed to the door as he finished speaking.  He quickly moved for the door and dragged the other two out with him.


    ¡°Why did you hold her down?¡± asked Mitchell, equal parts accusation and curiosity in his voice.


    ¡°Drasaks do not share the same rules around nudity and modesty that other¡­ more polite societies do.  There is every chance she would have been near naked under those sheets, and she may have got dressed quite brazenly in front of you,¡± explained Azzanon.  ¡°I wanted to spare you the embarrassment of seeing a beautiful woman naked.¡±


    Mitchell nodded as if it were sage advice indeed.


    ¡°Spare me?¡± responded Hawkin incredulously.  It almost seemed for a moment as if Hawkin intended to reopen the door and offer his services to assist in the dressing.


    ¡°Help me find some ink and paper,¡± instructed Azzanon, hoping to give his young companions something to do.  ¡°There is almost certainly going to be some in as highbrow a place as this.  Important people always think they have important things to write down.¡±


    Quickly a small ink pot and quill were found on a narrow desk in the main chamber.  With a quick note of thanks for the sleeping Mr Greaves, and well wishes on a speedy recovery for Archibald, Azzanon was ready to leave.  As he turned to walk away, he counted out several gems that looked to be of considerable value and placed them next to the note.


    Once Gaebriel emerged from the room, Azzanon then quietly lead her and the others from the room.


    ¡°What were the gems for?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°The stagecoach I am about to borrow,¡± replied Azzanon honestly.


    ¡®Umm¡­ can we do that?.¡¯  Mitchell¡¯s mind raced through the implications.


    ¡®Stealing the carriage means stealing the horses.¡¯


    ¡®Horse theft is a capital crime¡¯


    ¡®The punishment for that is death.¡¯


    ¡°The punishment for horse theft is death,¡± Mitchell repeated back, amazed and horrified.


    ¡°If anything he has stolen from us,¡± replied Azzanon, a broad grin on his face.


    The price I just paid is well more than they are worth.  But I suspect our assailants may well be watching for people purchasing anything resembling a stagecoach, or passage on a coach or boat.  And I need some way to move around, and likely at some point, to leave the city.¡±


    ¡°I think we are quite lucky,¡± laughed Hawkin.  ¡°Least if we die, we get to die surrounded by beautiful women.¡±


    Azzanon looked at the big warrior for a few seconds, before he too started to chuckle.


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.  And I lied about everything else.  I am just here to learn how you avoid getting hang-overs,¡± responded Azzanon, returning to his Lotese accent without missing a beat. ¡°With my lifestyle, that would be a most impressive talent.¡±


    <u> </u>


    <h2>Anders ¨C Anders¡¯ Safehouse, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    10<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Anders signalled for his men to remove the hood.


    They yanked the hessian sack from the wizard¡¯s head roughly.  Maragon¡¯s eyes struggled to make out his surroundings.  He had been dragged up from a dank cellar, and into a lightless large open room that was being used as his interrogation chamber.


    ¡°What is the ritual required to re-join the Stone of Evronn to the Crown of Leadership?¡± asked Anders, a question he had now repeated so often he had lost count.


    ¡°Would you prefer I answer the same as before, or should I make up something new to entertain us both?¡± replied Maragon, his voice hoarse and raw.  ¡°We have had this dance twice already since you captured me.  Why do you think it will go different this time.¡±


    ¡°Because I am running out of patience and I will kill you,¡± threatened Anders.


    ¡°You may find this hard to believe, but that threat doesn¡¯t hold much sway over the Seven,¡± replied Maragon.  ¡°If your kind ever actually shared information freely you would know you have captured us many times.  We have never given you anything.  Even when you have killed us.¡±


    ¡°So you want to die?¡± asked Anders.  ¡®I hope not.  People who want to die are usually a lot harder to get information from.¡¯


    ¡°No.  But everyone who joins the Seven knows the job will at some point likely kill them,¡± explained Maragon.  ¡°Perhaps like this.  Perhaps in battle.  But usually you will die in some lonely way that the rest of the world will never know about.  This is not a position for glory hounds.  You definitely would not like it.¡±


    ¡°You think you know me?¡± asked Anders, emotion creeping into his voice.


    ¡®Careful Anders.  He is goading you.¡¯


    ¡°I do not know anything about you.  You have not introduced yourself.  I can tell you are Klydorian.  Probably a noble.  And it would appear terrified of others finding out what you really are, or you would not be keeping your identity a secret,¡± replied Maragon.


    Anders signalled for his men to take Maragon away again.


    ¡°Do you really think the others will tell you anything?¡± asked Maragon.  ¡°Two of them know nothing of what you want.  One knows something, but not the answers you require.  Only I know what you want.¡±


    Anders considered his options, and he had flashbacks to the recent sessions with the other members of the seven:


    <h2>Interrogation Flashback 1:      Ragnar the Northman</h2>


    ¡°What do you know about the ritual to rejoin the Stone of Evronn and the Crown of the First King,¡± his interrogator had asked.


    ¡°You must stick your cock in your own ass, and then you go fuck yourself,¡± the northman replied, in a deep, thickly accented voice.


    After the first round of beatings that response had changed to, ¡°OK¡­ I will tell you.  You need to sacrifice a virgin¡­ I guess you will do¡­ to Saleercki, and during the ritual, everyone else in your cult takes turns riding you until you cannot take it anymore.  In your final screams of passion the answer will come to you. ¡± The viking grinned, apparently oblivious to the beating he had taken.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    His interrogator had gone to work with some enthusiasm after that, breaking several ribs and shattering at least one tooth.  That is when the breakthrough had seemed imminent.


    ¡°Ok¡­ you win¡­ I will tell,¡± came a much weaker voice, the northman now struggling to breathe, much less talk. ¡°You have to take the crown to a specific place.¡±


    His next words were too quiet and unintelligible.  The interrogator leaned in to hear him.


    And then the crazy northman headbutted him with enough force to knock him out.  By the time Anders other men had intervened and restrained the northman, he had been sitting atop the downed interrogator, crushing his throat with the thick strip of wood that connected the lower part of the chair legs, laughing aloud while doing so.


    ¡®I would say the odds of getting anything useful from him are slim to none.  And he killed my interrogator, hence why I am now asking all the questions myself.¡¯


    <h2>Interrogation Flashback 2:      Samtha the Half-Elf Bard</h2>


    ¡°What do you know about the ritual to rejoin the Stone of Evronn and the Crown of the First King?¡± began Anders.  ¡°Before you answer I want you to know I have cast a spell that will detect if you lie.  Each time I detect a lie I will hurt you.  A little at first, and then a great deal after that.¡±


    Samtha looked at Anders, and while it was hard to read her expression, it did not seem fear was one of the emotions controlling her.  Their weapons and armour had been taken, but Samtha did not wear armour, so her outfit was largely unchanged apart from the blood stain where the crossbow quarrel had hit her.  A multitude of colours clashed across her ensemble, and while she had long hair, most of that came from one side of her head, and a significant portion of her skull was shaved.  Rings adorned her nose, lip and ears.


    ¡°You killed Javelin,¡± she said, in her distinctive drawl, the accent of those born and raised on the western shores of the Sea of Tranquility.


    ¡°I did not.  Josak¡¯s demon did.¡° replied Anders.  ¡°I saved you and all the rest of the Seven.  Josak had given orders to have all of you killed.  Under his plan he would be sitting in my place, and you would be a spirit summoned back from the afterlife to answer his questions.¡±


    Samtha chortled.  ¡°That would not have gone as he expected, sugar.  But I am grateful to be alive,¡± the Bard conceded.


    ¡°How long you remain that way depends on you telling me what I need,¡± warned Anders.  ¡°I do not need you to be dead.  But I do need to achieve my task.  So whether you and the rest of the Seven live is entirely up to you.¡±


    ¡°Ok.  I will tell you what I know.  First, the only reason I know this is I am actually a forest nymph.  Are you familiar with the fae?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I am,¡± Anders lied.  My knowledge of demons is amongst the greatest in Driax.  My knowledge of the fae is that elves are real, and are in some way related to faeries.


    ¡°We are connected with nature in a way you are not.  But it is not because we live in the forests as most assume.  We are aliens who came to Driax on a giant flying ship.  We actually come from a planet in the stars called Avalar.  I myself am the daughter of the Elven Queen, and the result of an intimate fling she had with a centaur prince.  My existence was too scandalous for the royal court, so I was raised in exile.  But I share my alien mother¡¯s connection to nature.¡±


    ¡®This cannot be true¡­ can it?  But my spell to detect lies has not gone off during any of this.¡¯


    ¡°What does this have to do with the Stone and the Crown?¡± Anders asked, trying not to even be drawn into whether the previous comments were true.


    ¡°The Stone of Evronn is actually a shard from the ship we flew here on.  It¡¯s original name is the Shard of Avalon.  Evronn was the pilot of that ship.  He changed his appearance to look human.  That is why he was so much better at magick than all the other humans, because he actually taught the early humans magick.  The Seven¡¯s goal is to reclaim that ship and fly in it back to our homeworld.  There we will dine forever with Xarron, Zankeine, Evronn and the rest of the original Seven.¡±


    ¡®This is ridiculous!¡¯


    ¡°And the Crown?¡± Anders asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.


    ¡°A mind control device we created to control human rulers so they would do our bidding.  But we underestimated how weak human minds were, so we took the stone out and replaced it with a lesser magick item.  Human minds didn¡¯t need the good stuff.  Not like the hamsters we tested the crown on.  They were tough minded little bastards.¡±  Samtha grinned.


    ¡°I rapidly grow tired of this,¡± Anders replied.


    ¡°But you were monitoring me.  Was I lying?¡± Samtha asked.


    ¡°But you didn¡¯t answer my question.  How do I rejoin the two together?¡± Anders asked, doubtful the answer would be beneficial.


    ¡°Oh that is the fun part.  You need the original creature we used to bind them,¡± Samtha replied, leaning in closer to whisper the rest.  Anders was drawn in slightly, but kept out of harm¡¯s reach after the earlier episode with the northman.


    ¡°You must find Glambul¡¯ka, King of the hamsters.  If you present him with a bowl of the finest food, and share it with him, eating from the same bowl of course, then you can place the Crown on his head.  And as you share the same final bite of food, then you may kiss the Hamster.  That will rejoin the Stone to the Crown.¡±  As she finished Samtha bowed her head much as a Bard might at the end of a performance.


    Anders glared at her.  Then to his men.


    ¡°Take her from here.  She is to be given no more food or drink until she concedes that was a lie.¡±


    ¡°Bye, Sugar.  By the way I really like your hair.,¡± Samtha said with a grin as she was lead from the room.  The comment about his hair triggered the Detect Lie spell.


    <h2>Interrogation Flashback 3:      Balinor Brevin</h2>


    ¡®Then came the Klydorian knight.  Least he was honour bound not to lie.¡¯


    ¡°You are Sir Balinor Brevin, of the Order of Chandrilar?¡± Anders asked.


    ¡°I am,¡± responded the Knight, now stripped of his weapons and armour, but still sitting upright and proud.  He was covered in wounds from the battle.  Anders people had healed the worst of them to keep him alive.


    ¡°And you are honour bound not to lie, is that correct?¡± Anders asked.  ¡®I know the answer, but I want him to say it aloud for both of us.¡¯


    ¡°I suspect you know that I am.  But I also have somewhat of an obligation not to aid and abet evil,¡± replied Balinor.  ¡°That would be you!¡±


    ¡°Evil is often just a matter of perspective,¡± replied Anders.  ¡°But I am not here to debate philosophy with you.  What do you know about the ritual to rejoin the Stone of Evronn and the Crown of the First King?¡±


    ¡°A little.  Why do you want to rejoin them?¡± asked Balinor.


    ¡°I am asking the questions here.  Not you,¡± replied Anders.


    ¡®Because while the others fight to capture the items we need to return our Lord to this world, I wish to offer something unique.  I will be seen to have had a hand in recovering the items.  But I wish to present a suitable empire for my Lord when he arrives.  And I can think of none better than that of the descendants of the people who vanquished him the first time.  The Crown will let me take the throne of Klydor.¡¯


    ¡°The answer controls how much I can tell you,¡± Balinor said simply.


    ¡°How about you tell me what you are willing to say now, and then I torture the rest out of you later?¡± replied Anders.


    ¡°Sure.  But if you ever meet a Knight of Chandrilar who won¡¯t die before violating his Oaths, you let me know,¡± dared Balinor.


    ¡®I am beginning to understand why Josak hates the Seven so much.  So arrogant.  So righteous.  And so frustratingly unhelpful.¡¯


    ¡°Just start with what you will tell me,¡± conceded Anders.


    ¡°OK.  First, you should know it was the Seven who removed the stone from the Crown in the first place,¡± started Balinor.


    ¡®Really!  That is something I did not know.  Maybe this won¡¯t be a complete waste of time.¡¯


    ¡°Did the Klydorian Royal family knowingly participate in this?¡± asked Anders.


    ¡°I do not know.  I suspect either way the current King does not know,¡± replied Balinor.


    ¡°If you suspect that, why have you not told them.  Aren¡¯t you honour bound to?¡± Anders asked.


    ¡°No.  If they were to ask me, I would be honour bound to tell them.  Otherwise, I must tell them if I think not knowing endangers the Crown in anyway.  A situation where that would be true has not arisen,¡± replied the knight.


    ¡°If I tell you everything that I know of the joining of the Crown and the Stone, will you let Samtha go?¡± negotiated Balinor.  Anders considered the request.


    ¡®She is highly unlikely to be of any further use directly.  She may still have value in threatening to harm her to get the others to talk.  But that probably only works with the Knight in any event, and he is now promising to tell me everything anyway.¡¯


    ¡°OK.  I agree.  But I release her only after you tell me everything you know.  And it has to be worth something to me.  If you know nothing further, the deal is off,¡± Anders counter-offered.


    ¡°Agreed.  But you take an oath on your Dragon Lord now that you will honour this deal,¡± countered Balinor.


    ¡°OK.  I swear on the Great Dragon, the Unyielding Fire, the One True Lord of Driax, Razilin¡¯Tera, that I will honour this deal.  May I be struck down in righteous flame if I do not,¡± swore Anders.  ¡°Happy?¡±


    Balinor nodded.


    ¡°The Crown was forged with the help of the Llewyrr shortly after the founding of Klydor,¡± recited Balinor.  ¡°But the Crown was taken by Emperor Karshak Kerensky as a prize for his having defeated the Klydorian King in a duel during the Great War.  He, and his successors, then wore the crown, leading their armies as they conquered the nations of the Lestok, Morandia, and defeated the last of the great Highland armies.¡±


    ¡®The Lestok were academics.  No match for a real army of clansman warriors.  The Morands were a nomadic horse people who mostly ran from large engagements.  Their cities burned easily.  Only the Highlanders were real warriors, but they betrayed their own as their own clans were not united.  No magic hat did this.¡¯


    ¡°And then they used the Crown to put down the Traston uprisings,¡± continued Balinor.


    ¡®Essentially, he is blaming the Crown for the whole expansion of the Cthrag Merlo empire.  The Merlo empire is built on an entire culture that supports their armies.  The Emperor can just demand the support of his Clans, knowing they are honour-bound to oblige.  But for another ruler, then the Crown¡¯s powers of inspiration and charm would allow someone to quickly gather support from both the nobles and the common people, which would in turn lead to the ability to raise a large army.¡¯


    ¡®Perhaps large enough to seize the capital, Rashan, and the throne along with it.¡¯


    ¡°Then, soon after, members of the Seven reclaimed the crown.  It was at this time that the decision was made to remove the Stone.  It was too dangerous in its current form,¡± concluded Balinor.


    ¡®I have to ask this, even if I don¡¯t quite believe it myself.¡¯


    ¡°How does it feel to know the mistakes of your Order lead to the Cthrag Merlo empire?  How many people have died because of those mistakes?¡± asked Anders.


    He watched as Balinor squirmed uncomfortably.


    ¡°In some ways your order has done more to promote the ethos of the Great Dragon, than anything we have done.  I cannot so easily point to three different kingdoms that fell in war because of my God.  Perhaps you should change sides?  Your order would be very much appreciated by us,¡± mocked Anders.


    ¡°We are judged by our intentions and what is in our hearts,¡± replied Balinor proudly.  ¡°You deliberately sow chaos everywhere you go, because your dark hearts lust for battle, conquest and death.  We strive for peace, and only through misstep can our actions cause those other things.¡±


    ¡°OK.  But just so we are keeping score, your missteps have caused more glory for my Lord than any of my deliberate actions.  So accidentally or not, the Seven are the greatest agents for Razilin¡¯Tera in all of Driax.  I really should just let you all go,¡± Anders continued to mock.


    ¡°Screw you!  At some point you and I are going to meet under very different circumstances.  You will not enjoy that moment,¡± threatened Balinor.


    ¡°What else can you tell me?  Remember the deal!  You tell me everything,¡± reminded Anders.


    ¡®I must learn not to aggravate someone as they are telling me things I need to know.  But that was too much fun to pass up.  Arrogant, pompous Knight.¡¯


    ¡°That is all I know.  The Crown and Stone were forever split from that time on.  The great wizard, Zarthas the Great, a member of our order, took the Crown and with the help of agents unknown, split the artefacts.  I know great magickal protections were put in place to make rejoining them very difficult, but I do not know what those are.¡±


    Anders considered the information carefully.


    ¡®Is he holding anything back?  There is somewhat of a conflict between his not aiding me, and his promise to tell me everything.  If I ask the right questions, he has to answer truthfully.¡¯


    ¡°So you know nothing more that could assist me in rejoining the Stone to the Crown?¡± Anders asked.


    ¡°I do not,¡± replied Balinor.


    ¡®Ok.  But that does not mean you don¡¯t more that can help me.¡¯


    ¡°Who does?¡± asked Anders.


    Anders was pleased when he saw irritation and reluctance flash across the big knight¡¯s face.


    ¡°You promised to¡­¡± began Anders.


    ¡°I do not need to be reminded of how to keep my word from the likes of you!¡± scolded Balinor.  He took a couple of moments to calm himself.


    ¡°Maragon may know, but I do not think he has all the answers,¡± continued Balinor.


    ¡°Then who does?¡± asked Anders, genuinely surprised.


    Balinor chuckled slightly.  ¡°Brother Turin.¡±


    ¡®You have got to be kidding me!¡¯


    ¡°And nobody else in your Order would know what that old man knew?¡± Anders asked, desperately hoping the answer would give him another way.


    ¡°No.  He was always quite secretive about certain things.  A more complex and dark figure than you would expect from a Priest of Faylen,¡± replied Balinor.


    ¡°Ever heard of the Faylenian Inquisition?  Is that dark enough for you?¡± countered Anders.  ¡°The things they do in service to their God rivals anything done in the name of the Great Lord, Razilin¡¯Tera.¡±


    ¡°Brother Turin was not part of the Inquisition,¡± replied Balinor.  ¡°I guess he just got dark over time.¡±


    ¡®Damn the Seven.  I am going to need Josak¡¯s help.¡¯


    Shortly after that he had Balinor taken from the room, but not before granting him a small amount of food and drink as a reward for being at least somewhat co-operative.


    <h2>Maragon ¨C Anders¡¯ Safehouse, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    10<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Maragon¡¯s mind was racing, trying to engineer an escape for himself or another of the seven, but so far his captors had proven his equal.  His hands were bound tightly behind him, and in a testament to their knowledge of spell-casting, his fingers were also tightly constrained by the ropes.


    ¡®Who has captured us?  Were it Josak Norgette, our long-time nemesis, I am sure we would know by now.  There is no way we could have been his prisoner this long without him showing himself at least once to gloat.  My head still hurts from the ¡®encouragements¡¯ I have been given to talk, and I am reasonably sure my nose, and at least two of my ribs have been broken.¡¯


    ¡°Perhaps I should start cutting off your fingers then, one at a time, to see if that loosens your tongue,¡± Anders replied.  After a few more seconds of silence, he groaned in frustration before continuing, ¡°You may call me Anders.  I am a High Priest of Razilin¡¯Tera, and your new master.  You should consider yourself quite fortunate.  You are one of the first who will give his soul to the new Lord of Driax.¡±


    Anders drew the dragon-head amulet from under his breastplate, and dramatically presented it.  Maragon focussed through the one eye that had not yet swollen shut.


    ¡°I see.  That is not Josak¡¯s amulet,¡± commented Maragon.  ¡°So who did you replace?¡±


    ¡°Ronardo decided to become closer to his God.  I merely helped him with the transition,¡± mocked Anders.


    ¡°I think I can honestly say I am sad to hear he is gone.¡±


    ¡®I would never truly mourn the passing of a Razilin¡¯Tera High Priest.  The gods know I have caused a few of those passings over the years.  But Ronardo always seemed so incompetent and harmless, that in this case his demise almost definitely leads to a more dangerous adversary replacing him.  And from the looks of things, it already has.¡¯


    ¡°Why do you want the Crown?  In all of my dealings with Josak he only ever cared about the Sword or the Stone.  Why the new interest in old Klydorian jewellery?¡± asked Maragon, seeking an answer to the most puzzling part of Anders questioning.


    ¡°No, unlike Josak, I will not gloat of my reasons or aspirations.  I still don¡¯t understand exactly how another member of the Seven is nominated when the old one dies, but I am suspicious there is some kind of knowledge transfer.  I wouldn¡¯t want to give the new recruit an unfair advantage.  So let¡¯s just say I am a Patriot who would really like to hold the Crown Jewels.¡±


    ¡°I do not expect you to believe me, as we both know I am immune to your little divination spells to detect untruths, but my soul goes whole to the afterlife.  The soul is sacred to us, and we would not harm or diminish it, and nor would we prevent it going to the afterlife.  Nothing of me remains or transfers to anyone.¡±


    ¡®That is true.  It is the Champion¡¯s soul within each of us that passes to the next member of the Seven.  So if this goes badly, I will indeed die.  But Evronn will go on, choosing his next soul companion, and bonding with them.¡¯


    ¡°The soul is sacred to us too.  We know how many we will need to both return our Lord back into the world, and how many we will need to feed him once he is here.  But the price of anything worthwhile is substantial,¡± countered Anders.  ¡°If your false prophet was half the master our Lord was, you would try to return him also.  Although I agree with you that Evronn is not worth the effort.¡±


    ¡®You understand so very little.¡¯


    ¡°Do you really expect to get a rise out of me by insulting my Lord?  I am not one of your simpleton order, and nor am I some half-wit fanatic.  My Lord could not care what you think of him.  In fact he prefers you cursing him to anything else.  It is if you start to speak fondly of him that we will be in trouble.¡±


    ¡®Anders is getting frustrated.  Whatever he wants, he isn¡¯t getting it.  How do I get us out of here before he starts killing us.¡¯


    ¡°So are you going to tell me what I want to know, or am I going to have to give you more of the truth serum,¡± asked Anders.  ¡°While I admire your resistance to the first dose, I warn you, at least two of the components are highly toxic and I do not think you will survive if I administer you anymore.  But my chemist has just arrived with another batch, and I am tired of your witty banter.¡±


    ¡°Knowing as I do, the pain and duration of the death that serum will cause, and comparing that to the others you likely have planned for me, I think I am just fine with the serum,¡± replied Maragon.


    ¡°Balinor has already told me much of the Crown, including how it was lost to the Merlo Emperor, used by them to conquer much of the known world, and that at some point after that, your order recovered it,¡± continued Anders.  Maragon also shifted uncomfortably when the Crown was blamed for the Merlo success.


    ¡°Interesting history, but he could tell you that because it likely does not help you in whatever scheme you are running,¡± explained Maragon.  ¡°Unless your order has suddenly taken up an interest in publishing controversial historical books.¡±


    ¡°Then will you at least share how you came to recover it?  I would not have thought the Merlos would be open to parting with it.¡± Anders asked, as it was the one part of the tale he was keen to hear, whether it be useful or not.  Maragon considered his request and could see no harm in re-telling that part of the tale.


    ¡°The Crown was actually recovered twice.  The first by an ancestor of Ragnar actually.  Some of the Merlo Emperors have had a penchant for fighting in their own gladiator arenas.  The Seven were able to use this to place one of our own, Magnus the Wulfen, in their annual Grand Tournament.  Our warrior was the eventual winner, but along the way he became somewhat of a fan favourite for the way in which he would taunt and torment any Merlo opponents he came across.¡±


    ¡°Two of his last three opponents were prominent bloodnamed warriors from the White Lions clan, the same clan as the emperor of the time, and the Emperor took offense to their losing their heads and having them thrown into the crowd.  Seeking to solve the problem in the traditional Merlo means he challenged our warrior to a duel in the Coliseum of Zankeine.  As Magnus was already a free man, the Emperor asked what prize he would wish if he won.  Magnus asked for the Crown.¡±


    ¡°So I assume he bested the Emperor?¡± queried Anders.


    ¡°He did.  The Emperor was a mighty warrior, but it is said Magnus¡¯ line is descended from Zankeine himself.  The Emperor was also given the same fate as that of his clansmen, and his head was sent into the crowd as a gift.  This was not our intention, but the warrior concerned was prone to the most horrible bouts of battle rage.¡±


    ¡°And the Merlos honoured the agreement and gave him the crown after that?¡± asked Anders dubiously.


    ¡°No.  He was held until the clans could hold a Grand Council and elect their new Emperor.  The successor immediately proclaimed that Magnus had dishonoured the duel in the way he handled his victory, and refused to part with the Crown.  Magnus was thrown back into the arena as part of his trial and was made to fight a champion from each of the seven Clans who had accused him.¡±


    ¡°But there are 14 Clans,¡± queried Anders, a fact known to all Klydorians from the time they can first speak and comprehend the stories of the past.


    ¡°Five, including the White Lion clan of the slain Emperor took the most unusual step of abstaining from the vote.  The remaining two, clans Timber Wolf and the Blood Stalkers voted in favour of Magnus.  It was their argument, and the correct one, that Magnus was entitled to do as he wished with the loser¡¯s body in such a duel.  As such, according to Merlo custom in a Rite of Judgement, their champions stood beside Magnus and all three were killed in the resulting Trial, along with five of their accusers,¡± explained Maragon.


    ¡°Shortly thereafter another of our order, Enteris Jarvis, stole the Crown from the Hall of the Clans,¡± concluded Maragon.


    ¡°May I ask why you didn¡¯t just steal it first?¡± asked Anders.


    ¡°Enteris wanted to.  But the Seven voted and it was agreed we were not entitled to it.  The Merlo Emperor had claimed it fairly in an honour duel, and we had to do likewise before we could take it,¡± justified Maragon.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you ever find your honour just a little too inconvenient,¡± exasperated Anders, ¡°Don¡¯t bother answering that.  It was rhetorical.  So what then, you gave the Crown back to the Klydorians?¡±


    ¡°Yes.  It was rightfully Chandrilar¡¯s, and therefore his lineage¡¯s, to wear,¡± proclaimed Maragon.


    ¡°And in return you negotiated to be allowed to build several of your Towers within their lands, correct?¡± supposed Anders.


    ¡°Correct.¡±


    ¡°I did always wonder why they allowed one of the most powerful Merlo wizards, once head of one of the Colleges of Magick, to build a tower within their borders,¡± said Anders, running his hand absent-mindedly through his long blond hair.


    ¡°I am an Ashar wizard.  Do not call me a Merlo.  I am of the empire Cthrag Merlo, but I am not of the Merlo people.¡±  A quiet anger seethed from Maragon, making it clear the difference meant something quite significant to him.


    ¡°What is the difference?¡± asked Anders naively.


    ¡°Allow me to educate you a little before I die.  Perhaps the enlightenment of knowledge can yet save your soul,¡± uttered Maragon.  Anders snorted, indicating how unlikely he thought that to happen, but he did motion for Maragon to continue.


    ¡°The Archeron took survivors from the Battle of Micronia, seeing the potential in humans, and forged a new society built on three pillars.  The Trastons were to tend to nature, and ensure a harmony with the natural world.  The Merlos were taught martial combat to protect the new kingdom from outside threats, and the Ashar were taught the secrets of magick.  These three pillars were to operate in unison and form the perfect society,¡± educated Maragon.


    ¡°Let me guess¡­ the Merlos didn¡¯t follow the plan,¡± interjected Anders, knowing at least some of the rhetoric on the Merlos.


    ¡°Correct.  A good deal later after the empire had become amongst the most powerful, they killed the Archeron, declaring them too weak to rule, and seized control.  They then put down any Ashar or Traston who rose against them.  In the worst of these uprisings they exterminated nearly all of the Traston nobility.  So while to outsiders we are all just Merlos now, to those who know different, the distinction is quite important.¡±


    ¡°But you all now serve the Emperor?¡± asked Anders maliciously.


    ¡°The price of resistance has always been too high,¡± explained Maragon.  ¡°And now there are few left who remember enough to keep fighting.  I however, will never forget.¡±


    ¡°Then I apologise.  You are an Ashar,¡± replied Anders.  ¡°Now¡­is there anything I can say, or threaten to do, that will change your mind about telling me anything useful?¡±


    Maragon shook his head.


    ¡°What if I torture your friends?¡± Anders threatened.


    ¡°Then like so many of our order before us, we will die, to be replaced by another who will oppose you,¡± said Maragon mournfully.


    ¡°What if I offer to let some of them go if you tell me everything?¡± proffered Anders.


    ¡®That is a surprising offer.  This one is different.¡¯


    ¡°You would let all of the rest of the Seven go?¡± asked Maragon doubtfully.


    ¡°No.  I will release Samtha,¡± Anders offered.


    ¡®That is very tempting.  If he does kill all of us, it will take a long time to get the Seven functional again.  Time we may not have.  But if he wants to put the Stone back into the Crown, I cannot help him with that because I don¡¯t know what he wants it for.¡¯


    ¡°It is a tempting offer.  But no deal.  The Seven cannot be accomplices in your efforts to rejoin those artifacts,¡± replied Maragon.


    ¡°Have it your way.¡±  Anders waved his hand and two of his men came in and administered more of the serum.  While it took some time to do so, they were eventually able to force more of the pale green paste into Maragon¡¯s mouth, and then force him to swallow it.


    ¡°And go and give it to the others now too.  I am equally tired of their responses.  I will speak to them all again in a couple of hours when the serum has taken its toll,¡± instructed Anders.  ¡°You may release Samtha.¡±


    Maragon looked at him, surprised.


    ¡°I had already agreed to release her in exchange for the information from Balinor,¡± Anders explained.  ¡°No matter what happens here, I want it to be known I will generally keep my word.¡±


    ¡®You keep your word but would absolutely have negotiated her release twice.  You are a dangerous adversary and much more a threat than your predecessor.¡¯

 Chapter 20: Recriminations and Responses

    <h2>Josak ¨C Golden Unicorn, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    10<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    An angry Gerard stormed into Josak¡¯s large suite at the Golden Unicorn, leading his second-in-command, Garrick.  He stomped right into the main room, where Josak was sitting at the table eating his dinner.


    ¡®He is angry.  Enraged even.  Perhaps he is upset that the demon killed a few of his men.  I hope his angry outburst does not lead to my having to kill him.  It would be a shame to waste such a resource.  But I will tolerate only so much insubordination.¡¯


    ¡°What in the Nine Hells was that?¡± Gerard screamed.  In response to the raised voice, Josak saw two of his followers get out of their chairs and move to intercede.  Josak stood and waved them back to their seats.


    ¡®I am not threatened by anything these two can do.¡¯


    ¡°I trust the demon was useful in dispatching the Seven?¡± Josak replied calmly.  ¡°My apologies for any losses amongst your men, but they would not likely have survived the Seven anyway.  Maragon, while annoying, is still quite dangerous to the mundane.¡±


    ¡°You could have warned us.  We could have worked the demon into our ambush,¡± Gerard spat back.  Josak considered that for a few seconds.


    ¡°Perhaps.  But the Seven may have detected something from the way your ambush proceeded.  This way your ambush appeared to be the real threat, allowing the demon to be a much bigger surprise.¡±


    You will pay us an additional fifty pieces of gold for each of the men we lost.  As compensation for lying to us,¡± negotiated Gerard.


    That offer so soon into our discussion makes me think you are more upset that the surprise could have resulted in your own death, than that of your men. I can respect that.  For the right price in return, all of our resources are expendable.


    Josak cocked his head as he considered the offer, and the fair price for Gerard¡¯s men.


    ¡°Or perhaps we will take the boy back,¡± added Garrick, pointing towards the young Indian male sitting on the floor at the back of the room.  He sneered.


    ¡®This one is arrogant.  He has either misjudged me because I have no apparent weapon, or he just hates all wizards.¡¯


    ¡°And this will be the last time you ever with-hold information from us mage.  Otherwise you will find the Council of Defence suddenly taking up residence in all of your safe-houses,¡± threatened Garrick.


    ¡°Quieten him, Gerard.  Before he hurts himself,¡± replied Josak in a calm tone he knew mundanes found infuriating.  ¡°You will have a thirty gold piece repatriation per lost man.  Now where are the bodies of the Seven?¡±


    ¡°How the hell should I know?¡± replied Gerard angrily.  ¡°You don¡¯t think I stayed around once your pet arrived, do you?¡±


    Josak¡¯s facial expression changed, the fa?ade of control cracking.


    ¡°Have you not heard from your acolytes?¡± asked Gerard.  ¡°I assumed they would rein the beast in once it had finished killing everyone.¡±


    ¡®As did I.  The connection to my acolytes ended when the spell completed to summon the demon.  But the attack should have been finished many hours ago now.  Cleaning up the bodies should only have taken so long.¡¯


    ¡°It would appear the beast just decided to kill everyone instead.¡± jeered Garrick.  ¡°Does that mean it¡¯s now running around Chandrex?¡±  Garrick¡¯s tone indicated both curiosity and excitement at the prospect of that.


    ¡°No.  The magick would only hold it here for a time.  It will have long since returned to its home dimension by now,¡± Josak replied.


    ¡°Then maybe it took your precious Seven with it.  You know, a little snack for the road,¡± continued Garrick.


    ¡®Insolence will not be tolerated.¡¯


    Gerard raised an arm to caution his colleague but it was already too late.  Josak raised his own arm, and flicked his finger at Garrick.  With little more than a word of magick he sent the man flying across the room and into the back wall with a resounding thud.


    ¡°Gerard, head back down to the warehouse, and bring me the bodies of the Seven, and my acolytes,¡± commanded Josak.  ¡°They will all continue to serve me in one way or another.¡±


    A look of horror washed over Gerard¡¯s face at the thought of what that might mean.


    ¡®You should know fear.  Fear of me.  Fear of my Lord.  And fear of my Dark Magick.  And you should know respect.¡¯


    ¡°Leave Garrick here.  He and I need to have a little chat about employer/employee relations.¡±  Gerard turned to argue, but one look into Josak¡¯s eyes told him this was not a negotiable point.


    There was a commotion at the door, and two figures strode confidently through the large double-doored entry of the room.  Again, Josak¡¯s two followers rose to challenge the new arrivals, but before they were even fully to their feet, both were struck with small, bladed throwing stars.  The toxin on them was the same as the one used on the Seven, and within seconds both had fallen to the ground.


    ¡®It would seem I must re-educate everyone on the appropriate levels of respect I am due.¡¯


    ¡°Evening Josak.  I thank you for standing on my arrival, but please... take a seat.  This is your place after all,¡± mocked Anders, the mysterious figure of the Shadow one step behind him.  That shadowy figure moved in way that calmly threatened death to any who got in his way, and he had another of those same stars in between each finger of his left hand, ready to be thrown.  Anders looked around the room, and in particular at the two armed figures near the back, one of whom seemed to have thrown himself into the wall.


    ¡°Did I interrupt another team performance appraisal?¡¯ Anders added cynically.


    ¡°What are you doing here, Anders?¡± asked Josak angrily, surprised that Anders knew where to find him, and even more so that he would dare barge in like this.  ¡°Ronaldo might have a liking for you, but I assure you I do not.  This act of yours will not go unpunished.¡±


    ¡°You know the rules as well as I, old man.  One High Priest cannot discipline another High Priest,¡± Anders added extra emphasis to the last few words for effect.


    A look of dread washed over Josak¡¯s face, which in turn brought a look of pure joy to Anders¡¯ face.  Anders then took great joy in pulling the ruby-laden gold dragon-head amulet out from under his armoured breastplate, and letting it sit with pride on the outside of his magnificent plate armour.


    ¡°I see you grew bored of being Ronardo¡¯s play-thing.  I cannot fault you for that.  That man was an embarrassment to us all,¡± conceded Josak, quickly recovering his demeanour.


    ¡°But then why the full battle-dress?¡± Josak asked, indicating the platemail armour, ¡°Are we just going to dispense with the code and settle this here and now?¡±


    ¡®You are bold boy.  But you are not ready to confront me.  I almost hope we do settle this now.¡¯


    ¡°No Josak.  As much as you may wish that, you will not be rid of me that easily.  Besides, you should show more gratitude.  Tonight, I wish to celebrate my ascendance to this illustrious position by presenting you with a gift.  This very night I have completed the one task that you, Ronardo and Jakobi could not do.¡±  Anders paused for added effect.


    ¡°I have defeated the Saranti Seven, and captured their leader, Maragon.¡±  To illustrate the point Anders slid Maragon¡¯s gem and rune encrusted blade across the desk.


    Anger flared across Josak¡¯s face, as he realised his plan had been manipulated by the upstart before him.  He badly wanted to crush the life from this man, perhaps more than he had ever wanted to do so before.


    ¡®But it would not be fitting on the eve of the return of my master, to so blatantly violate the dictates of his church.¡¯


    ¡°Before you ask, just let me say, it was a really nice trap you set.  Perhaps some of your best work,¡± conceded Anders.  ¡°The only mistake was in not asking for my assistance in carrying it out.  Then you would have had my superior knowledge of summoning at your disposal, rather than working against you.  We could have shared this victory rather than it being mine alone.¡±  Anders continued.  He calmly smiled at Josak before adding, ¡°Do you think Razilin will look favourably on me for this night when choosing his first Lord High Priest?  Or frown on me for working against you?¡±


    ¡°Did you just come here to gloat?  Or is there another reason for your appearance here?¡± Josak struggled to keep his cool, and it was showing.


    ¡°As I said, I came to offer you a gift.  Once I have gathered what I need from them, I was planning to give you Maragon to do with as you please.  I know he has long been a thorn in your side, and I thought you might relish being able to control how he dies, and over what duration.¡±


    ¡®You offer me that was rightfully mine, and in exchange you wish something additional.  Almost makes me wish for Ronardo, and his smiling charm and magick incompetence.¡¯


    ¡°And in return?¡± Josak asked dubiously.


    ¡°Originally I was planning on asking for nothing.¡±  Anders paused as he looked around the room.  ¡°But having seen Gerard here, and the sight of the Indian, I gather you have been working against your fellow Priests for some time.  You are most devious, Josak.  Also makes it a bit rich if you protest too harshly about what I did to you tonight.¡±


    ¡°Hang on a minute...How do you know who I am?¡± asked Gerard.


    ¡°One of the many things Ronardo gifted me with before his unfortunate passing was his memories, including where Josak likes to stay.  Very decadent,¡± he added with a nod to Josak, before returning his gaze to Gerard.  ¡°So I know well that you were on his payroll, one of his most trusted agents in fact.  I also know that the Indian was a guide meant for his use in recovering the Sword of Xarron.¡±


    ¡°Your point?¡± asked Josak.


    ¡°I could claim them both as the rightful heir to all that was Ronardo¡¯s.  The code may not strictly prevent us working against each other, but you know as well as I that you have crossed the line here, subverting agents from another High Priest.  We can call a vote of the High Priests to determine if I am right but then we would both have to wait here until Jakobi came down out of the mountains.  I am not sure either of us really has the patience for that.¡±


    ¡°And how would you explain your working against me this very night, then?¡± demanded Josak.


    ¡°Easy.  I would explain your plan was failing, the demon destroyed, and your acolytes dead.  Only through the timely intervention of my agent here,¡± Anders gestured towards the Shadow, ¡°was catastrophe averted.  The only witness we have is¡­ oh dear¡­ the Shadow.¡±


    ¡°I could rip the truth from his mind.  Or yours.  Lay that in front of everyone,¡± threatened Josak.


    ¡°Sure.  But then I would demand we do a similar ¡®ripping¡¯ from your mind to see all the things you have done to work against your fellow High Priests.  How many decades would we have to dig through,¡± asked Anders.


    Josak could have argued with Anders for days about what was and was not allowed.  Nobody knew the Code of Razilin¡¯Tera better than he.


    ¡®But he is right.  If he calls for a vote of the High Priests on the matter, then it will freeze all of our plans at a very critical juncture.¡¯


    ¡°In return for letting you keep them both, AND giving you all of the surviving members of the Seven in my possession, you will accompany my forces when they go to retrieve the Sword, and you will provide me with one acolyte who can speak with the recently deceased,¡± stated Anders, ¡°But this is a one-time only offer.  If you do not agree right now, then I will keep both of these two, call for the vote, and you will not be allowed to come with us when we do go for the sword.¡±


    Josak considered the options before him.  In reality, the most upsetting part was getting outplayed by Anders.


    The acolyte means little, although tonight has been expensive in regards to those.  I will need to use the summoning circles to bring a few more west.  Going into the Indiana Peaks was not part of my plans, but perhaps it is a path to revenge for this night, perhaps allowing me to take the Sword for my own.


    ¡°Hang on, I am not sure I like being treated as property.  I am not subject to anything he decides... unless the price is right.¡± objected Gerard.


    ¡°You have betrayed a paid service to a High Priest of Razilin¡¯Tera.  Only a rare handful have ever survived such an act.  Speak once more on this and you will not be one of them,¡± retorted Anders, with a venom in his words that was missing earlier.  The glare he gave when he stared Gerard down left no doubt he would carry through on his threat.  ¡°The price is you get to live.¡±


    ¡°That price sounds perfect.  I am in,¡± Gerard replied, with clearly fake sincerity.


    ¡°And what of you Josak.  We now both know what is required if we are to return our master to this world.  We need the Sword of Xarron and the Stone of Evronn ¨C the two items that between them killed him in the first place.  We need his Soul.  And we need a suitable new host body for him to return too.¡±  While Anders knew full-well that Josak knew exactly what was required, he verbalised it to make sure Josak knew he too now also possessed this knowledge.


    ¡°So you were not lying.  You do indeed possess all the knowledge of Ronardo,¡± confirmed Josak, ¡°even the secrets he would not have revealed to anyone.¡±


    ¡°I inherited all of his power too,¡± Anders added.


    ¡°And?¡± Josak asked, at least a little nervous as to the response, and how much power Anders may have inherited.


    ¡°It was even less than you could have dared to imagine,¡± Anders rolled his eyes.  ¡°How he became a High Priest is an embarrassment to all of us.  Josak, you have the Soul in your possession, so clearly I cannot do this without you.  That soul allows you to sense the Stone if it is nearby or ever used, which is also clearly a valuable skill.¡±


    ¡®I can indeed sense the stone, but Maragon has many ways to shield it from me.  Unless the boy tries to use it, it would seem it is hidden magically from me, probably in a pouch or container which hides the stone in a pocket dimension.  The only reason I realised the boy had it at all was he used it near the Tower that night.¡¯


    ¡°And where are his acolytes?  Have you taken them, or should I send someone to find them?  Some of them had potential,¡± asked Josak.


    ¡®I could do with some more acolytes right now.¡¯


    ¡°I have them.  Remember, I inherited all his knowledge and networks.  The networks are impressive.  I suspect even more than we realised.  Did you know he was establishing cults to our Lord all the way to Faylenia?¡±


    ¡®He was?  He may have been more of a threat for the Lord High-Priest than I realised.  Presenting our Lord with a huge number of followers all over Driax would have indeed been an impressive gift.  Now that could be Ander¡¯s gift unless I do something.¡¯


    ¡°I suspected,¡± Josak lied.  ¡°Do you need any help reigning these cults in?¡±


    ¡°I do not.  I was the contact to many of them before my promotion.  And I am already using the acolytes to entertain the Seven.  But I have more reasons why we should work together.  It is also highly likely that of the two of us, only I possess the skills to bring the Lord¡¯s soul into this world and then into another host,¡± continued Anders.  ¡°Well, without consuming myself in the casting, and I do not believe, even with your level of faith and devotion, that you would martyr yourself on the eve of his ascension.¡±


    Anders would have kept going, adding more and more reasons why this plan made sense.  But Josak could already see he was cornered.  He held up a hand to stop.


    ¡°I am in.  I thank you for letting me keep Gerard and the boy.  I ask that you also leave me the one on the ground.  He needs a lesson in manners.  On Razilin¡¯Tera¡¯s soul I pray you are even half as good as you think you are.¡±


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Anders just smiled as he motioned for the Shadow to lead him out of the room.


    ¡°I¡¯m much better.¡±


    <h2>Alicia ¨C A Saranti Seven Safehouse, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    10<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Seven figures were huddled in a small hovel in the poorest district of Chandrex.  While there were no rats, they were the only thing missing from making this humble abode the picture of misery and poverty.


    ¡°Nice safe-house,¡± offered Azzanon, as he mockingly brushed dust off his fancy shirt.


    Mitchell and Hawkin had returned to the inn an hour after dawn, where they had found her waiting downstairs for their return, and none too happy about it.  She had spent many moments scolding both of them, especially regarding the black eye Mitchell was sporting.  Peregrin had remained silent but did seem to enjoy watching the scolding.


    Mitchell and Hawkin were also not alone.  Once she had started to give them the dressing down, three more figures had entered the inn, and stood around like they were together.


    A well-dressed and attractive Lotese noble had introduced himself, and then explained in great detail how they had spent the previous night in the nicest inn in town, and then apologetically compared it to the ¡®relative squalor¡¯ she had stayed in.


    ¡®He is quite charming.  And not bad to look at either, although a little delicate for my tastes.¡¯


    Alicia had quickly gone back to the church of Chandrilar on their way, to check on Davon.  He was stable but would need to remain in the priest¡¯s care for some time.


    ¡®I had hoped the church would provide guidance on what to do next.  With Davon¡¯s condition I was torn whether to remain with him, continue on with Mitchell and Hawkin, or perhaps even return home to my posting at Garet.  I think my heart longs for the safety and comfort of home, and if the church orders me back there, then my guilt would be absolved.  But the Bishop had said that Chandrilar smiles his blessings upon my troubled companions, and that Chandrilar wished I remain with them.  It seems even the Gods want me on this journey.


    The young Gaebriel seems nice enough, but she is a little flighty.  A young noblewoman who does nothing for a living, compared to a farmer¡¯s daughter and devout priestess.  I doubt we could be more different.  Hawkin and Mitchell don¡¯t seem to mind her though.  Hawkin has spent the afternoon trying to impress her with all his ¡®stories of glory¡¯.  I have known him his whole life, and even I can only recall about fifty percent of these stories.


    And I have no idea what to make of the mirror-masked one.  He said nothing.  Almost intervened when I went to touch Mitchell.  And then left almost as soon as we got to the safehouse.  But kept telling Mitchell to relax.  He had faith Mitchell was ¡®up to this if it came down to it¡¯.  What is ¡®this¡¯?  And what strange people have I now been caught up with?


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C A Saranti Seven Safehouse, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    10<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Mitchell knelt nervously on the ground.  Six other figures were huddled in the same small hovel in the poorest district of Chandrex.


    ¡°Nice safe-house,¡± offered Azzanon, as he mockingly brushed dust off his fancy shirt.


    Mitchell and Hawkin had led the others back to their original inn, where they had found Alicia waiting downstairs for them, and none too happy about it.  She expressed her disappointment in them and the decisions they had made.


    ¡®Disappointing Alicia hurts more than when I disappoint Maragon.  Feelings are so weird and inexplicable.¡¯


    Peregrin had remained silent, even as the commoner girl had scolded the noble boy.


    ¡®Actually, his body language seemed to both enjoy it, and condemn it, at the same time.  A massive breach of the protocol he cares so much about, but fun to watch, even though he likely does not understand why Hawkin would tolerate it.¡¯


    Then, as she was nearing the end of the scolding, Azzanon had decided to bring up the amazing inn they had stayed in, and specifically drew attention to how much bigger and comfier the beds were compared to the squalor of Alicia¡¯s inn.


    ¡®I note he didn¡¯t bother to explain we had helped protect a princess.  Just went on how about how comfortable and big the beds were.  How would he know, he was barely in it!  I think he may have done that just to rile her up.  I notice he managed to slip in the fact she was beautiful about three times.¡¯


    Alicia had altered their route only slightly so she could quickly check on Davon.


    ¡®Thank God he is stable and likely to make a full recovery.  I will gladly take that outcome, even if it means he will be too unwell to continue to travel with us.¡¯


    But now Azzanon and Eva had returned and they were all sitting around a small stove heater, as the rain bucketed down outside.  Once Eva had her helm off, Azzanon indicated that she should report first.


    ¡°Maragon is not here.¡±


    Everyone waited for her to continue, but after a few seconds it became apparent she was finished.


    ¡°OK¡­ short and to the point,¡± Azzanon replied. ¡°I can also tell you that around 12 nobles were killed last night in what authorities are calling a brazen robbery during the annual society ball at the DeVillier Manor.  This is of course utter rubbish, as it was actually a failed assassination attempt on young Gaebriel here.  There are also rumours the middle Prince of Klydor might be missing.  I do not understand how your Council of Defence ever learns anything given the quality of information they get on these matters.¡±


    Mitchell followed everything up until the last part, which to his mind, seemed irrelevant.  From what Maragon had taught him the Council of Defence was the order that all mages and sorcerors within Klydor were expected to register with, and they also contained the legal Inquisitorial arm of Klydorian law.


    ¡°But why would anyone want to kill Gaebriel?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°Not sure, but it would seem someone in Drasak has decided to try and climb the social society ladder by removing a few of the Drasak noble houses.  Gaebriel and her family are in the way.¡±


    ¡°And who is Gaebriel within the social heirarchy of Drasak?¡± asked Peregrin bluntly.


    ¡°She is a princess!¡± blurted Hawkin excitedly.


    ¡®Ha!  I suspect Azzanon will not be pleased if he keeps blurting that out.¡¯


    He looked across and saw Azzanon shoot a filthy look at Hawkin.  He noted Alicia also taken aback by the revelation.


    ¡°Why is she here?¡± Alicia asked.  Her tone was more from surprise and genuine wonder as to why a Drasak princess would be in Klydor, given the significant distance between the two empires, but it sounded harsher than that.  Gaebriel hung her head a little.


    ¡°Her family sent her here to protect her, and it is vital we minimise how many people know she is here¡± replied Azzanon, glaring pointedly at Hawkin.  ¡°Her father is attempting to stand up to the assassin guilds.  He is attempting to return Drasak to the normal world where the King actually rules.  But this is a very brave and dangerous act in a nation where the assassins are used to having control.¡±


    Hearing Azzanon speak well of her father helped Gaebriel lift her chin up again.


    ¡°Any idea who is trying to kill me?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Not sure of that either.  The thugs were all gone or dead by the time the authorities got into the Manor.  Whoever it is they have employed one of the Drasak Assassin houses to help them.  But Drasak and assassin do always seem to go together,¡± Azzanon replied.


    While not his intention, his comment hit home with Gaebriel, and she seemed quite hurt by it.  Seeing he had wounded her with the comment on her nation, Azzanon continued.  ¡°If it makes you feel any better Princess, we think it was one of the Assassin Guilds who informed us of this plan.  That is why I was able to intervene.¡±


    ¡°And who might you be?¡± asked Alicia.


    ¡°I my dear girl, am Azzanon Klarence III, of the Drasnian Intelligence Agency,¡± replied Azzanon, returning to his natural Drasnian accent, and bowing gracefully.


    The young Princess gasped in shock.


    ¡°And you would care about the death of a Drasak noblewoman, why?¡± asked Hawkin, referring to the enmity Drasnians and Drasaks generally held for each other.  For Gaebriel it seemed nobody had anything nice to say about her, and it showed upon her face.  Alicia moved to the young girl and put her arm around her.


    ¡°Because we hate to see any Drasak plot succeed, even one against its own people,¡± continued Azzanon.  He offered Gaebriel a reassuring smile, and also went to her.  ¡°And we would like to see the current King succeed in changing things there.  He has sent ambassadors to places such as Klydor, and although that may have just been a cover to allow him to send Gaebriel here, it is a start, no?¡±


    The Drasaks and Drasnians were rival empires far to the east, rivals who had been at war on and off since their empires were first founded after the defeat of Razilin¡¯Tera.  Drasak was famous for the assassin guilds that basically ran the whole empire, while Drasnia was notorious for its fancy clothes, swashbucklers, and extravagant behaviour.  In many ways their peoples were similar, both tending to be short and with darker colourings of hair, and a shared love of food and wine.  Even the style of clothing often led trends in other lands. They rarely agreed on the colour of clothing though.  Drasaks strongly favoured greys and blacks, while Drasnians wore more brighter colours than any other nation in Driax.


    Like many bitter enemies, they tended to focus on their differences.  In Klydor, the Drasaks were viewed as the problem, as they had for the last 100 years also sided with the militant Merlo empire that lay on the other side of the Sea of Tranquility, Klydor¡¯s arch nemesis.


    ¡°My real problem is that run-in with Gerard last night.  That was the name of the man who was chasing you from the inn.  He and I have crossed paths before, and his services do not come cheap.  My instincts tell me at some point we will find a link between his presence and that of a Drasak Assassin guild operating so brazenly in Klydor.¡±


    ¡°And what of the missing Prince?¡± asked Alicia.  ¡°Perhaps the assassins took him when they did not find who they were looking for?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.  I did not see the Prince in attendance last night, and it is usually quite hard to miss royalty.  The combination of large amounts of security, and a roving cloud of fawning courtiers.  I suspect the Prince is simply off doing something or someone the royal court disapproves of.¡±


    ¡°The likelihood our two strings of fate are entangled is high¡± conceded Eva, ¡°but the priority now must be finding Maragon, the Teacher.  Mitchell, you must use the scroll I gave you.¡±


    Mitchell looked around nervously as all attention in the room suddenly focussed on him.


    ¡°Summoning is not really my specialty,¡± he responded meekly.


    ¡°Maragon is relying on you,¡± Eva replied, trying to encourage him.  ¡°Everything he taught you child, was in preparation for a moment like this.¡±


    ¡°Summoning?... Mitchell?¡± asked Alicia, suddenly alarmed.  The church had very strict rules on Summoning as it was one of the more dangerous areas of arcane study.  ¡°Ahh¡­ Mitchell, what is going on?¡± asked Alicia, although the answer was already dawning on her.  It suddenly seemed as if the missing piece to Mitchell was about to make itself apparent.


    ¡°Well¡­ Maragon and I¡­ I mean he has taught me¡­ I have been trained in some of the arts of Magick.¡± Mitchell stammered, but once he started, he found the words flowed more easily, ¡°I have been studying magick under Maragon since I was about seven.  I can cast basic spells, I can brew a few potions, and I can read spell scrolls¡­ most of the time.¡±


    ¡°Mitchell is being very modest.  He is one of the best apprentice mages Maragon has ever encountered and would almost certainly be the top of his class were he studying in an Ashar college,¡± explained Eva.  ¡°Right now, he must use a scroll to summon Maragon back to us, for I fear his life is in great jeopardy.¡±


    ¡°Could he be dead?¡± asked Hawkin bluntly.


    ¡®What if he is?¡¯


    ¡°I believe Mitchell would know,¡± replied Eva calmly.


    ¡®What does that mean?  Does she mean because we are close, I would ¡®feel¡¯ his passing?  I haven¡¯t felt anything.¡¯


    ¡°Now, we must give him room to do his work.  Mitchell, take your time.  You can do this,¡± encouraged Eva.


    Alicia smiled with what seemed to Mitchell to be pride, while Hawkin just shook his head in disbelief and wonder.


    ¡°I would have told you, but Maragon made me promise I would not tell anyone.  He also said that I should never use magick around any of you.  He said I was just endangering you if I did,¡± Mitchell explained.


    ¡®And because I am not registered with the Council of Defence.  Maragon does not believe Mages should have to be registered or controlled in anyway other than what normal citizens must do.¡¯


    ¡°That was before.  Now we really need you to read that scroll,¡± restated Eva, holding her hand up to forestall any other interruptions from Alicia or Hawkin.


    ¡°OK¡­ But I am going to need some time to prepare my summoning circle.  Who knows what will happen if I get this wrong.¡±


    ¡°Exactly what do you mean by ¡®wrong¡¯,¡± asked Hawkin.


    ¡°I once sent my bed into another dimension, where I believe some kind of demon creature set fire to it and ate it.¡±  Several startled gasps escaped the mouths of some of those present.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go get my sword then, shall I?¡± asked Hawkin, only half mockingly.


    ¡°Perhaps the Princess and I should leave?¡± suggested Azzanon.


    ¡°You will be safe here,¡± affirmed Eva.  ¡°This place is protected from magickal scrying so your enemies cannot find you while you remain here.¡±


    Mitchell saw Azzanon looking at the beautiful young princess and trying to decide what to do.


    ¡®The trade-off of additional people to protect her versus getting caught up in our trouble and having her killed by a blade, arrow or spell not even meant for her.  A scry protected safehouse certainly is a strong reason to stay.  I hope they stay.¡¯


    ¡°Perhaps if we got the Princess clothing a little less conspicuous?¡± suggested Mitchell.


    ¡°Yes.  Something that made her a little less attractive or memorable,¡± agreed Alicia.  At least one reprimanding look went her way as others thought that comment was petty.


    ¡®Alicia is not being petty or jealous.  She is being practical.¡¯


    ¡°What I bought her was designed to do just that!¡± protested Azzanon.  Mitchell re-appraised what Gaebriel was wearing.  It was no Ball gown, but it was well tailored, stylish, and definitely made an appealing sight one was likely to remember.


    ¡®Ha!  There is clearly a difference in what the wealthy consider to be common clothing.¡¯


    ¡°In fact, I found it painful to buy that dress.  It is last year¡¯s style, and a colour that is at least three shades from the pastels that you would ideally use to highlight Gaebriel¡¯s hair or eyes,¡± Azzanon further justified.  ¡°Any worse of a choice, and she would be remembered for her fashion faux pa.¡±


    ¡°That dress is better than anything I own,¡± proclaimed Alicia.


    ¡°And if we were seen in Garet, I suspect the townsfolk would be talking about Gaebriel for weeks,¡± added Mitchell.


    ¡°What are you proposing?  We have her wear a hessian sack with holes cut it in for her head and arms,¡± asked Azzanon tartly.


    ¡°I have a spare outfit with me,¡± replied Alicia.  ¡°It is basic pants and a tunic in earthen colours.  It will be a little long in the leg and a little loose fitting, but I think we can make it work.¡±


    ¡°If it helps keep me hidden from those looking for me, I think it is worth it,¡± added Gaebriel.  She looked at Azzanon with her big green eyes, clearly hoping they would stay with the group.


    ¡°Ok,¡± uttered Azzanon, agreeing to both things simultaneously.


    ¡°Can we please focus on the task at hand?¡± interrupted Eva.


    ¡®Looks like the distractions have run out.  Now it is all up to me.¡¯


    It took Mitchell just over an hour to prepare his Summoning Circle.  While he had the more common components for this spell, he was pleased when Eva also provided him with some silver shavings to strengthen the spell.


    Her knowledge of magick in many ways seems superior to mine.  Maragon taught that elven magick is more powerful than that wielded by the humans, so why isn¡¯t she doing this?


    ¡°Are you sure you should not be the one doing this?¡± he asked Eva once the circle of runes and magic sigils had been clearly etched on the ground.


    ¡°I cannot read it.  The scroll¡¯s magick is based in a language I am unfamiliar.  Your understanding of Archeron is far greater than my own.  Our magick is all based in our own language¡­ what you would call Elven.  Also your personal connection to Maragon is the strongest.  That could be important.  If he has been captured, then this connection will help you to overcome the magickal barriers they have likely put up to conceal and trap Maragon.¡±


    With a resigned shrug of his shoulders Mitchell took the rolled up scroll out of his scroll case, and unrolled it gently.  Before him he could see the magick runes etched out on the page, but he was careful not to let his eyes focus too clearly on them until he was ready.  One of the more troublesome aspects of scrolls was once a particular rune was read, it would release its magick and disappear from the page forever.  Only the intial section of a scroll, which served as an introduction and explained the spell itself, could be read safely without ruining the entire spell.


    He took several moments to calm himself.  He was vaguely aware of the looks of encouragement and support from the others in the room, but he deliberately put them out of his mind and focused solely on the task before him.  Only once his breathing was in a controlled rhythm did he start to read the scroll.


    Reading a scroll is like playing in the waves at the beach.  You can prepare for it all you want, but once you are in the wave you really have no choice but to just ride it out to the best of your ability.


    He could feel the magickal energy quickly gathering force as the runes started to fade and disappear from the page.  This spell was indeed powerful, way more potent than anything Mitchell could ever hope to cast normally.  But scrolls made the process simpler, requiring only that the caster read them correctly, and was able to hold the magickal energies the scroll generated long enough to complete the spell.  So far so good.


    The weeks of intense practice on this exact spell certainly helped a lot.


    His concentration waivered only slightly when he heard the hushed gasps of awe from the others in the room ¨C Eva made not a sound ¨C as the blue shimmering portal began to appear within the summoning circle.  Mitchell could feel the magick pulling on something, willing it to appear in the room.


    ¡®I hope I am pulling on Maragon, and not some greater demon of the Blood God.¡¯


    The vague outline of a human form began to appear on the ground, but at this point it appeared to almost be made of shadow, with no real colour or detail to it.  Mitchell wanted desperately to look up to discern if it was his mentor, but he dared not take his eyes from the page.  The scroll was nearly completed, and he dared bringing disaster upon them all if he ruined the spell at this critical juncture.


    As he began to read the last section of the scroll Mitchell began to feel something was wrong.


    ¡®Something is pulling pull back at Maragon from the other side.  Something that from the feel of it, is considerably more powerful than I am, even with the scroll helping me.¡¯


    Mitchell tried desperately to focus his concentration even more, drawing magickal reserves from within himself to try and win what was becoming a magickal tug-of-war.  But it was making no difference.  Even with his best effort all he seemed able to do was hold Maragon where he was.  He was slowly losing ground, and there was no way he could maintain this level of spell for long.


    Whether it was a conscious decision, subconscious decision, or whether perhaps it called out to him, Mitchell would never know, but at that critical moment he found his hand stray towards his belt, and the Stone of Evronn concealed in its pouch there.  He pulled the stone from its concealed position, and immediately felt a warmth from the stone as it touched his skin.  He also felt an immediate change in the magickal energies gathering around him.


    It was not a sudden burst of power, one that might have broken his hold on his spell.  No, this was a slowly gathering power which was simply immutable to the magick arrayed against it.  It wasn¡¯t long before Mitchell could feel Maragon being drawn back through the portal towards him, and he could feel the frustration and anger from whatever lay on the other side.


    Maragon materialised through the portal, his tattered robes and muscled frame illuminated by the portal light behind him.  He rose from his curled up, prone position quickly, and using verbal utterances only, began to contribute his own formidable magickal energies to the portal.  He held out his hands towards Eva, and with lightning quick speed her dagger slashed at the ropes binding his hands and arms.


    No longer fettered, Maragon rose to full height, and began casting more magick.  He took the dagger from her and began a spell of his own.  The dagger in his hand was mirrored by two more identical daggers conjured purely from magickal energy.  As his hand pulled the dagger back and then flicked it through the portal, the two mirrors did the same, and all three flew through towards the targets Maragon knew to be standing on the other side.  Mitchell felt the resistance from the other side weaken considerably.


    Maragon, a look of grim determination on his face, now continued to pour magick into the portal, changing and shaping the spell as his own.  Interdimensional magickal energies started to course around him.  Brief glimpses into other other dimensions flashed before the eyes of those willing to look into the maelstrom of magick growing around him.  The magick being unleashed in the small room was now howling much like a real maelstrom of wind might.


    ¡°Do not look into the dimensional maelstrom,¡± screamed Eva in warning, struggling to be heard over the vortex.  ¡°Creatures on the other side of the flashes might use that to draw you to them or them to you.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± yelled back Hawkin.  Alicia moved to him and covered his eyes gently with her hands, while speaking directly into his ears.


    Mitchell could still feel a tug-of-war within the portal, but it was no longer fighting over Maragon.  Now Maragon was trying to pull other things through the portal before it collapsed.  The impact of the stone was spent.  Now it was just Mitchell and Maragon versus whatever was arrayed on the other side against them, but those forces were now nearly spent.


    Maragon¡¯s casting reached its crescendo, his words booming over the howling winds so that Mitchell could hear the spell-casting conclusion.


    ¡°Et quod a manibus peto, deripio¡±


    (And I rip that which I seek from your grasp)


    With a sudden rush of magickal energy which burst from the portal in all directions, the portal disappeared, leaving the tattered and torn figure of Maragon on his knees, but now two other figures lay behind him, as did several piles of equipment, armour and weapons.  He weakly raised his head and smiled at Mitchell, pride evident in his eyes, before slumping to the ground.

 Flashback 5: Final Exams

    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Age 17 ¨C Maragon¡¯s Tower, near Garet, Klydor</h2>


    25<sup>th</sup> Morhel, Early Winter, 843 PBM


    Mitchell knelt on his favourite silver, metallic mat.  But not in the usual spot where most of his tests took place.  Tonight he and his mat were on the highest level of the tower, next to the giant magickal apparatus that operated the Star-Gate.


    Large mechanical arms, with chains, pulleys and gears were interconnected around the circular wall that made up this large chamber, the largest in the Tower, and one that occupied the entire upper floor.  Tonight the roof was open, allowing a beautiful of the night sky and the myriad of stars that looked down over Driax.


    The Star-Gate, with its round arch and strange runes etched into a framework of wood and steel, was thankfully closed and just sat dormant near the middle of the chamber.


    Mitchell was feeling pretty good.  He knew today was to be the final test of what constituted the traditional Ashar training.  After today, in Ashar society, he would no longer be an apprentice, and would be considered a wizard in his own right.  He had long since discussed with Maragon if this meant he had to leave the tower, and had already been told he was welcome to stay and continue to work with Maragon as long as he wished.  He knew he wanted to stay, so he had no nerves on that front.


    Today he had to show he could juggle the tasks of casting offensive and defensive magicks at the same time.  It was the final test for any wizard with aspirations of a role in any kind of combat field.  He felt a level of anxiety about the test, as he always did.  But he also felt confident he had the skills required to complete this test.  He had studied hard, and his reward was a growing competence in all of the magick disciplines.


    Mitchell was not sure had he truly being studying under the Ashar that he would have pursued a casting discipline that included an active combat role, but under Maragon, and his specialised training course, those were the only disciplines ever offered to him.


    Of the choices he had been given, he had been torn between trying to be like Maragon - a true War Wizard - or one of the other more support oriented combat casters such as the divination and reconnaissance focused Arcane Eyes, or the Shields, who¡¯s primary role was to nullify any magickal influence the opponent might have.


    He had tried to make Maragon proud by selecting War Wizard, but in his heart he very much doubted he had been trained with the purity of that actual calling.  He was borderline capable with his martial skills, but he was no expert.  True War Wizards would have had a great deal more tests based around their martial prowess in this final year of study, and Mitchell suspected he would fail some of those.


    In the end, his training he suspected, sat somewhere in between all three.  Mitchell suspected his use of divination magick was probably stronger than you would teach a pure War Wizard, and his skills at detecting and defeating magick he felt must be stronger than what the War Wizard would know.  Maragon has particularly complimentary of his skills in this area.


    His knowledge across all the spheres of magick was almost certainly better than a War Wizard, who simply did not have the need to learn so diversely across all the spheres of magick.  For a combat heavy role there were some spheres, such as elemental or protection magicks, which were clearly far more beneficial, so they would specialise in those at the expense of competency in others.  Mitchell could proudly claim at least base competence with all the allowed Spheres of magick.


    He tried to clear his mind, practicing what were now quite well-known routines to relax both his mind and body.  He still felt anxiety at times, but he was getting much better now at controlling it.


    The thick door to the stone chamber opened, and Maragon came through with Samtha in tow.  Mitchell smiled even more.  He always liked it when Samtha visited.  With her partially shaven head, long coloured hair, and wild collection of jewellery, she was very different to the kind of person you found in Garet.


    ¡°Hello, Sugar!¡± she said in her distinctive drawl.


    ¡°What reason brings you to us today?¡± Mitchell asked.  ¡°Do you have some insight to teach me which might help with my next exam?¡±  Mitchell said ¡®next¡¯ because he didn¡¯t really like saying ¡®final¡¯.  He did not really want anything of his current life to change or end.


    ¡°When you pass this test, Honey, we are going to go into town and celebrate.  Perhaps see if we can¡¯t get you to dance and sing, and live a little.  Maybe even find you a girl to cuddle.¡±  Mitchell loved the sound of all of that.  Although the last part also made him anxious and self-conscious.  He loved Samtha.  There was always such energy and a spark to the half-elf Bard.  She brightened every room just by being in it.


    ¡°Perhaps we should focus on actually passing the test first, hmm?¡± suggested Maragon with a slightly stern tone.  ¡°Mitchell, you have more than enough skill with magick to pass this test.  Whether you do or not will simply come down to discipline and mental application.¡±


    Maragon took on an air of seriousness and formality, and moved to his own mat.  He looked at Mitchell and indicated it was time to start.


    ¡°This final test is one where you show your ability to successfully cast both offensive and defensive spells at the same time,¡± explained Maragon.  ¡°Samtha is here because this test is always overseen by multiple judges to reduce impartiality.  Samtha will conjure the image of an opposing wizard.  I will then proceed to attack you with a series of spells as though I were that wizard.  You must successfully defeat my spells and destroy the conjured image.¡±


    ¡®Keep your mind clear.  You have done this plenty of times now.  It¡¯s a little like taking a breath in the middle of singing a long song.  You use that small break to cast the defensive spell, then pick back up the threads of your original spell and continue weaving.¡¯


    Mitchell had studied much about what this final test would be, so he was already mentally preparing himself, and only partially listening to Maragon¡¯s actual words.


    ¡°Importantly, as you have trained hard with your martial skills, you may undertake this test in either of two forms,¡± continued Maragon.


    Mitchell broke from his concentration as his mind processed those last words.  ¡®This is not how it goes!¡¯


    ¡°What?¡± Mitchell asked, the confusion plain on his face.  Maragon smiled slightly.


    ¡°I am not training you to be an Ashar wizard.  So my tests are not the same,¡± Maragon explained.


    ¡°Who needs rules!  Rules are for losers and simpletons with no initiative or creativity,¡± exclaimed Samtha enthusiastically.


    Maragon turned a glare towards her.


    ¡°Rules and discipline are the hallmarks of a good Wizard,¡± retorted Maragon.  ¡°But Mitchell will face threats of both a mundane and magick nature.  There will be times he will encounter foes with superior magickal skills to his own.  Having the ability to put those foes into a disadvantage by engaging them martially could be the difference between victory and defeat.  So my final test will provide Mitchell with that same choice.¡±


    Maragon turned his head back towards Mitchell, and smiled encouragingly.  ¡°You may choose to face this final test as a pure caster, or as a martially trained wizard.  In the case of the latter, your conjured opponent will also have martial skills, and you must decide how best to defeat him, combining or choosing between martial or magickal means of attack.  The only requirement to pass the test is that you cast at least one defensive and one offensive spell at the same time at some point during the duel, and that you destroy the opponent before he registers what I deem to be a serious blow.¡±


    Mitchell carefully considered his response.


    ¡®I am pretty confident my magick skills are superior to my martial skills at this stage.  So I should choose a purely magickal test.  But why have I been pushing myself so hard to learn the martial skills if I do not use them now?  Abandon them now, and I likely abandon them at any moment of crisis, and I just become a wizard who carries a meaningless and heavy sword around with him.¡¯


    ¡°I choose to fight a duel consisting of both martial and magickal components.  I feel my chances of succeeding in this test are slightly higher if I choose the magick only test, but I am committed to learning both paths, with a goal of mastering both as you have,¡± Mitchell replied, bowing his head towards Maragon.


    Maragon failed to suppress a grin.  Both Samtha and Mitchell could see the look of pride in his eyes as Mitchell announced his decision, and his reasons for doing so.


    ¡°Very well,¡± he replied.  ¡°Mitchell, please take up your weapon.¡±  Maragon held out Mitchell¡¯s scabbarded katana.


    Mitchell stood and drew the light, yet razor-sharp blade from its lacquered scabbard.  He went and stood behind his mat, and tried to calm his mind and regain his focus.


    ¡°Samtha, as we discussed, please conjure your warrior,¡± instructed Maragon.  ¡°I suggest a Cthrag Merlo clansman.¡±


    ¡°Any special clan?¡± she asked, a mild sense of mockery in her voice.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see how that makes any difference,¡± replied the ever-logical Maragon.


    Samtha took out her lute and strummed a few notes, singing several lines of harmonic words at the same time.


    ¡°Et de mundo mentis suae, Coranthunum vocatum militem¡±


    (And from the world of his mind, Coranthun summoned a warrior)


    ¡°Bellator fuit Merlo Clans, Ursus aureus in corde suo¡±


    (A warrior of the Merlo Clans it was, with a Golden Bear upon its heart)


    ¡°Cuius iussione quam fideli custodia fecit.¡±


    (And his bidding it did do, as faithfully as an honoured guard)


    Mitchell always marvelled at how beautiful it was to watch Samtha cast her magick.  Maragon disdained the inefficiency, and how much slower her musical methods of casting were than his purely practical style, but Mitchell liked it, and appreciated its beauty and its differences.


    Magickal energies consisting primarily of many hues of purple, with a scattering of other colours, began to form around Samthe.  As he song continued, the energies swirled into a small maelstrom, and after a few seconds the maelstrom of purple energy dispersed and a chain-mail clad Merlo clansman was standing where a few short moments ago the maelstrom had been.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    At a quick glance, it looked just like a real human warrior, complete with the requisite powerful stocky build of a Merlo warrior, the Golden Bear emblazoned on his white tabard, and a bastard sword in one hand, keeping its 2<sup>nd</sup> hand free so it could pretend to cast.


    But if you looked carefully there were hints this was a magickal construct.  Its eyes had a purple hue that was unnatural.  If you looked carefully as it moved, you could occasionally see flashes of purple within its appearance.


    Ha!  The image is clearly meant to look a little like a younger Maragon, complete with his Golden Bears armour.


    Maragon seemed unmoved by the image.  Mitchell was not even sure he noticed.  Seeing Maragon remain serious reminded Mitchell he needed to do the same.


    ¡®Regardless of who it looks like, if I hit this thing hard enough, it will shatter and dissolve into nothing, making it easier to kill than a real person.¡¯


    ¡°Let me know when you are ready to proceed,¡± instructed Maragon.


    Mitchell looked at him.  He smiled encouragingly.  Mitchell looked to Samtha.  She was still playing and singing softly, which Mitchell presumed was how she was controlling the magickal construct, but she smiled too.  He returned his focus to the construct, or as he needed to see it, his opponent.


    ¡°May I cast Sense Channelling before we begin?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°You may cast one enchantment of your choice.  We will assume you had cast this already before the encounter begins,¡± replied Maragon.  ¡°What enchantment will you choose?¡±


    Mitchell considered briefly changing his mind and casting something which might enhance his martial abilities.  He could make himself slightly faster, or slightly stronger.  He could enchant his blade with an element such as fire or ice, increasing the lethality of the wounds he might inflict.  But in the end, he was still a stronger caster than he was a martial fighter.


    ¡®As Maragon has always said, ¡®Better to enhance your strengths and use those, rather than buff a weakness your opponent may not be able to exploit¡¯.


    ¡°I will cast Sense Channelling,¡± Mitchell replied.  ¡°Better to enhance my strengths and try to win with that than worry about a weakness that may not be exploited.¡±


    Maragon smiled again.  Mitchell was happy his answers were pleasing to his mentor and father.  He cast his spell, and quickly refocused on the test and his opponent.


    Maragon went and stood behind the magickal construct.  Mitchell reasoned that was so he could cast from behind it and make it seem more like it was the construct that was actually doing the casting.


    Mitchell focused on his Sense Channelling and the movements of the construct, to see whether it would attack with magick or blade first.  As he suspected, ¡®it¡¯ began to cast, and the obvious red and yellow swirls of fire energy began to appear around the construct.


    Mitchell instinctively reacted and began to cast a water shield spell.


    ¡°Clypeo aquarum voco¡±


    (I call forth a shield of water)


    Mitchell felt the strength in his spell weave, and felt confident his spell would hold against the Orb of fire he could see the construct finishing.  The construct waited a few seconds, and then threw the burning orb at Mitchell.  His shield moved in front of it, and for a brief moment the water and fire fought, with a hiss and brief puff of smoke.  And then the flaming orb was gone.


    Mitchell was watching to see what Maragon would do next, when he remembered two things about this test.  He needed to defeat this construct, not just resist his attacks.  He also needed to demonstrate he could cast and defend at the same time.  Mitchell almost laughed at himself.  He was always so cautious and defensive, that he almost forgot to attack back.


    Mitchell began to cast an attack spell of his own.  He chose lightning as in a real fight it would be a great attack versus someone in heavy metal armours.  The lightning would in most cases ignore the metal armour, and would penetrate through to the wearer underneath.


    ¡°Vim fulguris appello¡±


    (I call forth the power of lightning)


    He watched for signs of a second attack.  It was difficult to do both, and he suspected the spell weave he would end up with from his lightning spell was not as precise as it could have been.


    Maragon waited until the moment Mitchell had begun to cast his spell, and then began to quickly cast a quite simple lightning Shock spell.  The Shock spell did not do a lot of damage compared to other lightning spells, but it was fast to cast, short range, and the sudden burst of electrical energy would often stun the opponent, perhaps breaking his concentration on a spell he might be casting.


    Mitchell tried his best to leave his original lightning attack spell in a reasonable state, and quickly tried to cast a defensive shield to block the income Shock.  In some regards Maragon had done him a favour using a Lightning spell, as Mitchell had already been gathering lightning energy in for his attack spell.  He used some of this energy to quickly weave the shield and had it ready for whenever the attack came.


    ¡°Clypeum fulguris voco¡±


    (I call forth a shield of lightning)


    Mitchell waited the few seconds it took for Maragon to launch the Shock spell, clearly much slower than he could have released it, but Mitchell assumed the test had built in times under which they expected an apprentice to be able to complete his spells.


    His shield intercepted the Shock spell much faster than the human eye could have seen or reacted to the lightning itself.  There was a reasonably loud thunderclap as the lightning bolt hit the lightning shield and both dissipated in flash of sparks.  Mitchell waited until he was sure the Shock was entirely defeated, before he returned his focus to his own attack spell.


    The thread of his spell had deteriorated while he neglected it, so he spent precious seconds fixing the weave.  He could see Maragon had waited a few seconds, and was now preparing to cast another spell, which looked like it was going to be an Air spell of some variety.


    Mitchell decided to quickly finish his own spell, then cast his defence, estimating he should have time to do it that way rather than put his own spell on hold again, and risk the whole thread collapsing and having to start again.


    ¡°Et in hasta fingo¡±


    (And into a spear I do shape it)


    He concentrated on being both precise and fast, but in reality, the need for haste won out, and Mitchell knew the weave was not perfect.  But he hoped it was good enough to hold together.  When it was finished he grabbed the strands of magickal energy that made up his lightning spear and he propelled it at the conjured Merlo warrior.


    He watched with hope that his attack would end the test, but had the presence of mind to start channelling Air magick himself, drawing some of the energy from the cool, night breeze, for an Air shield.


    Maragon cast a lightning shield of his own, and with another thunderclap, Mitchell¡¯s lightning attack met the same ineffective fate as Maragon¡¯s initial attack.


    Mitchell focused now on his Air Shield.  He completed it, and waited for Maragon¡¯s completed air attack to come.  As was often the case with Air spells, there was no obvious spell signature like a spear or a sword to see what it was.  In this case Mitchell assumed it was probably a blast designed more to knock him over, or otherwise unbalance him and perhaps disrupt his spell.  But whatever its intention, the blast of air met his Air barrier, and his defensive spell won out.


    ¡®I am being too defensive.  Maragon has cast three attacking spells, and I have cast only one.  So do I try to cast more spells, or try to move into melee?¡¯


    ¡®Treat the test like it was real.  That is a Merlo clan warrior.  There is no way I would engage that in melee by choice - so spells it is.¡¯


    Maragon was now channelling another fire spell.  Mitchell started channelling water.  He would use it to make both an attack and a defensive action.  He just focused on drawing in as much water energy as he could.  He watched Maragon¡¯s spell carefully to determine exactly what it might be, and he saw three small darts of fire forming.  Mitchell used a little more of his water energy for the defensive spell than he had planned, and weaved three tiny shields to counter each of the fiery darts.


    The three darts all bounced harmlessly off his water shields, although he noted the 3<sup>rd</sup> one had nearly broken through the shield.


    Mitchell now shaped his water spell into an Ice Arrow, the water energy rapidly turning into ice as he did so.  He threw the Ice Arrow at the Merlo image.  As expected, Maragon cast a Fire Shield.  For the briefest of moments it looked like his arrow might punch through the shield, but the Fire Shield held, and Mitchell¡¯s arrow was burned away, with only a few drops of water striking the Merlo image.


    One advantage Mitchell had with the way he had played this test so far was that casting defensive magick was a lot easier than casting offensive magick.  Assuming the rules of this duel had an opponent of about the same experience as Mitchell, then his opponent should only likely have one to two more spells he could cast before he would be exhausted.  Any further casting after that risked going unconscious, rupturing something within yourself, or even death.


    It seemed Maragon had come to a similar conclusion.  He said something to Samtha that Mitchell could not quite make out, and the image began to move towards him, brandishing its large sword menacingly.


    ¡®I suspect in the pure magickal version of this test, if you cast enough attacks and defences successfully the opponent ¡®runs out¡¯ of magickal reserves and your next attack wins.  But I have given my opponent other options, and now he can just move in and attack me.  Maragon will likely reduce this one¡¯s number of spells to reflect additional martial training.  I suspect that means he either has no spells left or perhaps one.  And Maragon will likely use whatever reserves are left to cast defensive spells.¡¯


    Mitchell¡¯s mind quickly considered and calculated different options.  He found one he liked.


    ¡®Ok.  I think I have an idea to counter this.¡¯


    Mitchell had now drawn in quite a large amount of water energy.  More than enough for a simple attack spell, but he suddenly had a different idea.


    He slowly backed up, increasing how much time he had to cast before the image reached him.


    Maragon also used this extra time, and the image began to cast something with fire.  Mitchell watched the spell carefully through his Sense Channelling, and he recognised the gestures and spell signatures for this spell ¨C Enchant Flame.  Maragon was casting fire onto the image¡¯s blade, or at least was simulating he had for the purposes of the duel.


    Mitchell ignored the spell and let it be cast.  Firstly, for the duel it likely made no difference.  If the sword hit a decent blow, Mitchell probably failed the test anyway.  Secondly, Mitchell was not planning to ever get into melee.


    Mitchell waited until the image was only a few metres away and then he released the magick from his water spell.  His magickal energy coalesced into a large amount of water which Mitchell splashed onto the ground around the image.  And then Mitchell snapped the water into ice.


    The construct¡¯s feet were now covered in a thin layer of ice which at least temporarily trapped it.  The ice was not thick enough to prevent the construct breaking its feet out, but the ice would remain treacherous to stand on, or to try and move through.


    Mitchell immediately began casting his next spell ¨C an Air Blast, very similar to the one Maragon had cast at him.  But Mitchell hadn¡¯t been standing on a puddle of ice, with his feet trapped.


    The construct broke one foot out of the ice, but very nearly lost its footing doing so.  Unable to dodge or even move yet, Maragon started to cast a defensive spell to protect against the air attack.


    Mitchell completed his spell and threw both hands forward to propel the Air blast at his target.  Maragon had the image raise his Air Shield.  And the Air Shield stopped the Air Blast.  What it did not stop was the sword in the middle of the Air Blast, which punched through the Air Shield and then into the construct behind it.


    The image shattered as it was hit and dissolved into nothing.


    The thrown blade only lost some of its momentum with that impact and kept sailing towards Maragon.


    Mitchell¡¯s joy at seeing the image shatter was suddenly replaced with concern he may kill his mentor.  Maragon was truly surprised to see the sword flying towards him.  He did not manage to cast any defensive spell or dodge before the blade reached his abdomen.


    And then the sword bounced harmlessly to the ground, a metallic clatter as it bounced across the stone floor.


    Maragon¡¯s look of surprise was replaced with a look of pride as he looked at Mitchell.


    ¡°You have passed the test.  And very well, I might add,¡± Maragon stated.


    ¡°I am sorry about throwing my blade at you, I was so engrossed in the duel I kind of forgot you were standing behind the image,¡± said Mitchell apologetically.


    ¡°You do not need to apologise.  I had foreseen the possibility that either myself or Samtha could be targeted accidentally by magick during this duel,¡± explained Maragon.  ¡°I had already cast a magickal ward on both of us which would trigger in that event and disrupt your spell.  You should always have a contingency plan in place for the expected unexpected.¡±


    Samtha moved forwards and gave Mitchell a big enthusiastic hug with her lean half-elven frame.


    ¡°You are growing up,¡± she beamed.  ¡°You are now a fully trained wizard!¡±


    ¡°I do not think I am fully trained.  I suspect Maragon has a great deal more training he has in store for me.  And I will be grateful to receive it,¡± Mitchell replied humbly.


    Maragon smiled again.


    ¡°Sure, Honey.  But for tonight, we take you to town and we celebrate this special occasion.  Go and put on your coolest clothes.  Then I will come in and make you look even cooler before we head out.¡±


    Maragon confirmed it was okay for him to leave.  Mitchell excitedly gathered his things and left the room.


    He punched the air with excitement the moment he was out of the room.  Today felt amazing.

 Chapter 21: Important Truths

    <h2>Inquisitor Khali ¨C Eternal Watchman, Mascherata, Drasak</h2>


    10<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Inquisitor Khali had her arm hooked with Traviston¡¯s and she strode with what she hoped looked like confidence towards the bouncer that was manning the small, unmarked entrance to what she believed was the Eternal Watchman. Already the bouncer had prevented Ramirez from entering, claiming it was a private bar for members and their guests only.


    ¡®This could be a good thing. If they keep a register of members, perhaps they may even have addresses. Fingers crossed stupidity and luck combine to make my life easier for once.¡¯


    As she approached the saw the large bouncer give her a long appraisal up and down. He grinned, revealing several golden teeth, and he made a show of flexing his fists and cracking his knuckles, revealing hands adorned in gaudy rings.


    ¡®Stay calm. Smile and look flirty. Just like Janus does it.¡¯


    Khali tried to smile seductively, but the look was not natural to her in the least.


    ¡°Stop sneering at him. You look like you want to fight him, or maybe eat him,¡± whispered Traviston.


    Her look then became a complete scowl, frustrated with the whole ordeal of human interaction, ¡°Then you get us in!¡±


    ¡°Your will is my will,¡± he replied all too calmly.


    The bouncer was now sneering at Khali, clearly displeased with the look she had given him, and was now likely going to lord his small amount of power over them both.


    ¡°My good man. My God requires that you grant us access to your den of sin and debauchery so that we may carry out his good work,¡± Traviston said, in his deep whispery voice.


    ¡°I am sorry, this venue is for members and their guests only,¡± replied the bouncer, sneering again his mouth full of teeth at them. ¡°Maybe try a church.¡±


    ¡°Ius suum peto ut creator,¡± Traviston replied, with a solemn reverence, briefly shutting his eyes as in prayer.


    ¡°What?¡± asked the bouncer sharply.


    ¡°I am sorry. I forgot you are not blessed with an education. I said, ¡®I claim his right as the creator.¡¯ That means that as Faylen created everything, he is in fact entitled to go anywhere. He is, if you like, a VIP everywhere on Driax,¡± replied Traviston.


    ¡°You and your whore will be getting in here over my dead body,¡± sneered the bouncer.


    ¡°I find your proposal agreeable,¡± replied Traviston, without any hesitation.


    The bouncer looked at him stunned as Traviston punched a dagger up under his jaw and into his skull. In a matter of seconds he was dead, and Traviston was dragging his body further into the alley so it was less obvious to anybody who came by.


    Khali noted as he came back into what little light there was, he seemed to have no blood on his white shirt at all.


    ¡°How do you kill a man and stay spotlessly clean?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It must have been Faylen¡¯s will for this man. The Lord does not wish me to be stained or burdened with this kill, and so I won¡¯t be,¡± he replied.


    ¡®Each person must find a way to live with themselves when they begin to take lives. Most of us lie to ourselves, I suspect, about the justification we have to end the life of another. But Traviston truly believes he is carrying out Faylen¡¯s will and that therefore his soul is unblemished by these acts. I cannot say I feel that way. I think my soul is probably damned for the things I do, but I know somebody has to do them to make the world a better place. It may as well be me. Someone else might screw it up.¡¯


    ¡°Shall we go inside?¡± Traviston asked.


    ¡°We should,¡± Khali replied, gesturing for Traviston to lead her through the door. The tall wiry man skulked forwards and started descending a poorly lit staircase into an underground bar. At the bottom of the stairs was a small coat room on the left, a staircase leading up to the right, and a decent sized bar laid out in front of them. The bar was reasonably well packed, with a slightly smoky haze hanging in the air. From the scents wafting over them, there were illicit drugs being smoked in this place along with the usual tobacco.


    Traviston was standing adjacent to the stairs and looking for a vacant table when a slender female hand reached for his shoulder from the stairs. Traviston jumped as the hand brushed his shoulder, reflexively stepping back and his dagger finding its way back into his hand. He turned and looked up the stairs when no attack was forthcoming.


    Standing on the stairs was Janus. And she held a scantily clad young woman¡¯s hand firmly in hers. The young woman was likely barely past twenty years of age, with blond hair past her ears, a petite, slender frame, and a mildly pixie-esque look to her facial features.


    ¡®Judging by the attire, Janus has found herself a lady of the night. And a reasonably attractive one at that. Why am I feeling jealous?¡¯


    ¡°Fancy meeting you here,¡± Janus said. ¡°This is my new girlfriend, Candy. She and I are going upstairs to a nice little room where she once took a Lord Hightower. He was apparently quite impressed with the place. And if its good enough for a Lord then its good enough for me. Why don¡¯t you join us beautiful,¡± Janus finished, winking at Khali.


    ¡°What about me?¡± asked Traviston.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t welcome. You have something between your legs I have sworn off,¡± she replied.


    ¡°I am not interested in any of that,¡± Traviston replied calmly. ¡°I am not a man of simple vices like Ramirez. I will come with you and guard the door.¡±


    Khali nodded her agreement and all four of them made their way up the stairs.


    ¡°The boss will expect me to charge more if there is more than one of you,¡± the pretty blond girl said.


    ¡°We will make sure you get what you are due,¡± Janus said, her tone matter of fact, but still somehow sultry.


    ¡®And not for the first time I am left wondering what it would be like if Janus were to give me what I am due. Of course, there are strict rules about Inquisitor¡¯s fraternising with their acolytes. So afterwards the Preceptor would almost certainly see to it I get what I am due, and I doubt the memory of the pleasure would last as long as the memory of the pain.¡¯


    When they reached the upstairs room, Janus, Khali and Candy went inside, leaving Traviston in the hallway. It was a dimly lit room with little more than a bed and a small table with a bell on it.


    ¡®I guess it doesn¡¯t need to be any more than this. You aren¡¯t coming up here to play cards.¡±


    ¡°We can ring the bell to get whatever drinks you require,¡± cooed Candy. ¡°What do you feel like?¡±


    ¡°Wine,¡± replied Khali quickly. Candy rang the bell, shaking her butt in a faux dance as she did so, which was a most alluring sight.


    ¡°Did Lord Hightower behave any differently in here than your other guests?¡± asked Janus. ¡°Any particular kinks or oddities I could use to gain favour with him?¡± Janus had moved back next to the girl and was holding her in a swaying embrace somewhere between dancing, a cuddle, and perhaps foreplay.


    ¡°Umm¡­ not particularly. He was quite a religious man though. He kept going on about the Great Dragon,¡± replied Candy as she stared straight into Janus eyes from about two inches away.


    ¡°Did he say what he was trying to do for the Dragon?¡± asked Khali. She almost immediately regretted it as she could see the question interrupted whatever flow Janus and Candy had going, and the blond haired girl stopped dancing and looked at Khali with a look of mild confusion.


    ¡°Why do you want to know that?¡± Candy asked.


    ¡®Damn it! Why am I even here? Apart from the fact that I am extremely turned on by everything I can see before me, of course. But not sure the Preceptor would be very understanding of that motivation. Can I sleep with Janus right here, and say it¡¯s all part of my assignment? I don¡¯t remember them ever covering that scenario in the church¡¯s training.¡±


    ¡°We ran into a preacher who was also talking about this Great Dragon. He was trying to recruit new followers for his cult. She just wants to know if they are all recruiting in the same manner. We could be seeing the beginning of a powerful new religion, right?¡± interceded Janus, trying to cover for Khali and get control of the conversation again.


    Candy seemed to consider the new question for a moment.


    ¡°Lord Hightower definitely wasn¡¯t recruiting,¡± she replied emphatically. ¡°He kept his profile reasonably low. He did meet with some pompous looking noble, but that was done here, in this room. I assume so that nobody would know.¡±


    ¡°He interrupted his time with you to meet some silly noble? Sounds like a very strange man indeed¡­ one who doesn¡¯t appreciate what he had,¡± purred Janus into Candy¡¯s ear, leaning in ever closer to the girl.


    ¡°Oh, it wasn¡¯t like that. It was in the morning after. He paid me for the night and then a bit extra to have the room to himself for another hour,¡± Candy replied, as she began to kiss Janus.


    ¡°Do you know who this noble was?¡± asked Khali, trying very much to focus on the conversation and the information rather than what was going on in front of her.


    Candy and Janus continued to kiss each other for a few more moments, before Janus moved her kisses down and onto Candy¡¯s neck region.


    The young girl seemed a little flustered, but Khali could see her concentrating, and trying to recall information.


    ¡°Never caught his name. I could tell he was noble by the arrogant way he walked and talked down to everyone, even though he didn¡¯t look very tough at all.¡± Candy paused briefly as a look of pleasure washed over her face. ¡°He referred to himself in the 3<sup>rd</sup> person which was at least a little strange. And Anders called him Deceiver, almost as if that was his name. That was the last thing I heard before I closed the door and left them to it.¡±


    Janus began to peel Candy¡¯s clothes from her firm little frame. Khali found herself holding her breath in anticipation of the unveiling happening before her. Within moments Candy was naked and Khali could see all of her from her neck to her feet. It was a very appealing sight.


    ¡°Will you be joining us at some point?¡± Candy asked as she began to peel Janus¡¯s clothes off.


    Khali¡¯s mind was panicking. Part of her desperately wanted to scream yes and somehow become entangled in the gorgeous naked flesh in front of her. But it was wrong ¨C it was completely against the teachings of the Sun-God. And she didn¡¯t really know how to involve herself in way that would be alluring and appropriate to the mood. She was not very good at normal human interaction, little alone how to behave in a threesome as the 3<sup>rd</sup> wheel.


    Janus¡¯s dress had just been pulled from her shoulders giving Khali a great view of her back one of her breasts from the side. The dress would soon be on the ground also, and shortly thereafter Janus would be naked too. It was all too much..


    ¡°Umm¡­ I just remembered there is something I have to deal with¡­ right now!¡± Khali stammered, as she got up and bolted for the door. She didn¡¯t wait to see if anyone said anything. She just got out of the room as quickly as possible,and closed the door briskly behind her. She leant back against the door and tried to catch her breath.


    ¡°Everything OK?¡± queried the deep, whispery voice of Traviston.


    ¡®No! It was horrible¡­ and beautiful¡­ and totally wrong¡­ and totally amazing. Even now part of me wants to throw open the door and run back in. Maybe it isn¡¯t too late!¡¯


    ¡°Janus has it under control,¡± Khali said back uncertainly. Even she could hear the shaky tone in her voice. ¡°She will keep us a breast of things¡­ I mean¡­ nevermind. Let¡¯s go. She can handle things here. We have to find some noble who calls himself ¡®Deceiver¡¯.¡±


    With that she pushed herself off the door and hurried back downstairs, almost knocking several people off the stairs in her haste to get down and out of this place.


    Traviston followed her without saying another word.


    <h2>Anders ¨C Warehouse District, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    10<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Anders strode back into the warehouse, Josak¡¯s acolyte, in tow behind. The warehouse was now a crime scene, and it showed signs that the Council of Defence had already been, and likely would return again soon.


    ¡®No doubt the runes in the roof above and possibly even reports of a large demon running amok in here will have everyone on edge.¡¯


    He approached the guard and the council of defence lackey who had been left behind to watch the place, likely until a more powerful inquisitor could be brought in to magically divine what happened here.


    In Klydor, as with many empires with an inquisitorial legal system, an inquisitor was essentially a crime investigator, and depending on the empire, also possibly the judge. Klydor was generally too sensible to combine judge, jury and executioner into one person, so theirs were really just investigators, often with magickal capabilities, and hence they were a division within the Council of Defence.


    ¡®Contrasting this pitiful wretch with the Church of Faylen Inquisitors, who roam Driax hunting and destroying any creature that their Sun-God declares evil, without remorse or mercy, and the Klydorian version seem quite tame.¡¯


    Anders began to look around. He had no helm on, so his long blond hair hung down over the pauldrons of his plate armour. He brushed his hair back to ensure his family crest of Hightower was clearly visible. The large sword across his back sent messages of its own.


    ¡®Where is the damn priest, Turin. I will have the answers I seek.¡¯


    ¡°Excuse me. This is a crime scene. You have to leave,¡± called out a voice thoroughly lacking in an air of command or authority. Anders considered ignoring him, but decided best not to insult the man immediately.


    ¡®Let us try to avoid bloodshed with the Council. That would complicate my life at this stage.¡¯


    ¡°Why hello there¡­¡± Anders paused and walked a few steps closer, ¡°¡­Inquisitor Captain.¡± He deliberately picked a rank well above what this lowly Arbiter was really.


    ¡°My family, the Hightowers, owns one of the warehouses nearby, and I wanted to check what all the commotion was. You know, to ensure there was no threat to our holdings, or perhaps a threat we need deal with to protect the good citizens of the city.¡±


    The Arbiter seemed like he may have been about to correct the usage of his rank, but then when Anders kept talking, he just let it go.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t really supposed to be here Lord Hightower,¡± faltered the Arbiter, his voice again lacking in conviction.


    ¡°What did you say your name was, Inquisitor Captain?¡± Anders asked. ¡°I just want to make sure when I report back to my family how wise and helpful you were, I get it right. We have powerful friends and I want to make sure the favour of my family and their friends shines brightly upon you.¡±


    ¡°Ahh¡­ its Lando,¡± the Arbite replied. ¡°I require no praise for doing my job. And you should be careful. It may not be safe here.¡±


    Excellent. Having your name should help the efficacy of my charm spell.


    ¡°Puto fidendum amicis Lando¡±


    (I think we should be trusted friends, Lando)


    The first line of the spell was whispered, with gestures that were not particularly obtrusive. The Charm sphere was one that was reasonably easy to use around others. Then you finished the spell with what you wanted them to agree to.


    ¡°I think you should let me stay.¡± That completed the spell. The last part had to be in a language the person could understand, otherwise the suggestion part would not work.


    ¡°What say you?¡± Anders asked the Arbiter optimistically.


    There were a few awkward moments as Anders waited to see if the spell would work. Then the Arbiter went just a little glassy-eyed, as if his eyes lost focus briefly.


    ¡°Of course, my Lord.¡±


    Anders smiled. The Arbiter moved away a short distance and motioned for the guard to follow him, leaving Anders and the acolyte to move around the warehouse unhindered.


    Anders quickly moved from corpse to corpse, searching for the body of the old priest.


    ¡°Pretty easy to see the ones the demon got to,¡± he commented quietly to the acolyte, gesturing to the body of what was probably one of Gerard¡¯s men, its chest cavity largely caved in by what could only have been done by something with supernatural size and strength.


    ¡°The power of the Lord and the creatures he grants us is impressive indeed,¡± responded the acolyte.


    ¡®The fervent words of the true believer. Slightly sycophantic, but our Lord will need as many of these as possible to build up his power I suppose. I should at least try to spare him. But Josak can never learn what I am doing here.¡¯


    ¡°What is your name, Acolyte?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Dimitrei Lyonya, High Priest. It is an honour to serve you.¡± the acolyte replied, in a Moscovyan accent.


    Still takes some getting used to, hearing that honorific used for me. Can¡¯t say I don¡¯t like it, though.¡¯


    ¡°My father is the brother to one of the Grey Council of Moscovya,¡± continued Dimitrei.


    I love when nobles immediately tell you how powerful their family is. Like it¡¯s some great pissing contest on who¡¯s family is more powerful, or that the exploits of your family somehow equate to your personal greatness. The Grey Council is impressive though. That council of channellers forged an empire from the peasants of the north, uniting them to fight off hordes of barbarians and orcs. And now they rule it with an iron fist. Dimitrei here will likely not lack for conviction.


    ¡°We are looking for the body of the old priest, Turin,¡± explained Anders. ¡°He is the one with the information we seek.¡±


    ¡°Yes, High Priest,¡± Dimitrei replied formally, before splitting off to search for the priest.


    Anders focused on finding a body with a single small crossbow quarrel. That narrowed what he was looking for quite a bit in a scene that was otherwise macabre and strewn with bodies. After a few minutes he found him, the crossbow quarrel and the dark robes of a Faylenian priest confirming this was the right body.


    ¡°Over here,¡± Anders called out to the acolyte, using a level of volume that would carry to Dimitrei, but not the Arbiter or the guard.


    The acolyte scurried over quickly.


    ¡°Ok. How does this work? Do we need to prepare anything?¡± asked Anders.


    ¡°I assume his soul will be an unwilling participant in this exchange of information, High Priest?¡± Dimitrei asked, seeking confirmation.


    ¡°I think that is a safe bet yes. His God hates us and all we stand for,¡± replied Anders.


    ¡°Then it would be best to prepare a circle around the body first,¡± advised the Acolyte. ¡°We can use that to bind the soul temporarily and force it to answer our questions.¡±


    ¡°I am well-versed on Summoning circles. Could I assist?¡± asked Anders.


    ¡®I am keen for the spell to work, but also keen to minimise the amount of time we are here. If a contingent of Council of Defence turned up this could get problematic really fast.¡¯


    Dimitrei nodded. ¡°Many of the runes are similar. I can guide you, High Priest.¡± With that Dimitrei passed Anders some chalk and a small pouch. Anders quickly checked in the pouch and saw silver dust, which he knew was to reinforce the runes of the circle.


    They moved the body a short distance to make it harder to see from where the Arbiter and guard was. And then went to work. Anders checked intermittently on the Arbiter, and while he seemed to be wandering around and looking at things, he never came too close to what they were doing.


    The Acolyte was capable, and between the two of them the circle was completed in about twenty minutes. They each checked the runes to ensure they were as close to perfection as possible. They finished the circle by sprinkling the silver dust into each of the key runes.


    ¡°Shall I proceed, High Priest?¡± enquired the Acolyte, once he had completed his own checks. Both were now kneeling side by side next to the runed circle. Anders nodded his assent.


    The Acolyte took out a small skull from a large hip pouch and held it in front of him as he began casting.


    ¡®What a simply delightful thing to cart everywhere. Necromancers must be super popular with the ladies.¡¯


    Even to other casters, there was something unsettling about necromantic magick. The barrier between the living and the dead was sacred to nearly all cultures. Which almost certainly meant it was significant to nearly all the Gods too, regardless of pantheon, from northmen to the Black Orcs. And yet Necromancers dared to break this seal, and their magick manipulated the energies of this barrier, and the energies of both the bodies and the souls of the dead.


    As Dimitrei drew in his necromantic energies, everything around him, including Anders, got colder. The eyes in the skull started glowing red, and while they were looking outwards away from Dimitrei, it felt like they were staring sideways at Anders with a ravenous hunger.


    Anders found himself casting a shroud that would help protect him against Necromantic energy just in case he ended up being the target for one of these spells, whether that be intentionally or by accident.


    ¡°Coniuro clipeum circa me¡±


    (I conjure a protective shield around me)


    ¡°Et a necromantia me defend¡±


    (And I shield myself from necromancy)


    He heard Dimitrei continuing to cast his ¡®Speak with Dead¡¯ spell. He watched as the red-eyed skull began to crumble to dust. The skull completely crumbled into a fine powder, but the eerie red glow from the eye sockets remained¡­but it was now merging and widening into a larger single red spotlight.


    Anders heard the final words of the spell clearly.


    ¡°Advoco animam tuam, Turin,¡±


    (I summon your soul, Turin,)


    ¡°ut meis quaestionibus respondeas¡±


    (to answer my questions)


    There was an eerie howl as a strange wind blew through Anders. It was clearly supernatural, both because it was impossible based on his location, and also just from how it felt, causing a strange feeling to shoot down his spine and through each limb.


    In the red spotlight the ghostly apparition of what Anders assumed to be Brother Turin appeared. His body was partially vague and insubstantial, but his Faylenian vestments were still recognisable as such.


    ¡®You wore them so much, they are actually part of your soul. Interesting. Does that mean my soul is going to the afterlife in plate-mail?¡¯


    The face of the priest was the clearest part of the apparition, and it was clear the old priest was not happy with having been summoned back to the land of the living.


    ¡°You sssshhould nnnot have donnne thissss,¡± said a strange, deep voice, part spoken, part heard within the mind, and part on the wind.


    ¡°Try to ignore him. We get to ask two to five questions depending on how strong his will is,¡± said the Acolyte with urgency. ¡°The magick should compel him to answer correctly.¡±


    ¡®OK. Would have been nice to know that in advance. Two or more questions.¡¯


    ¡°I want to know how you join the Crown of the First King to the Stone of Evronn,¡± Anders replied.


    The Acolyte repeated the question word for word to the shade of Brother Turin. Torment and pain was obvious on the face of the old priest as he tried desperately to avoid answering the question. Several of the runes flashed white and a few went orange as he resisted, with several of the pieces of silver flaring white hot. But the circle held, and the priest gave off an anguished scream.


    ¡°Annn enchantmennnnt ritual mussst be performed withinnn a four-pointed ssstar¡­ unnnder a full black annnd red moonnn. Lunnnari mussst nnnot witnessss the ritual, or it will nnnot work. You nnneed the Crownnn annnd the Ssstonnne at two of the pointsss of the ssstar. The other two mussst be filled by a member of the Sssevennn annnd the sssoul of the Black Baronnn, and each mussst provide their consssennnt for the two artifactsss to be joinnned.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    An audible groan escaped Anders lips as he heard the requirements.


    <ol>


    <li> We need a full red and black moon, and we need the white moon in low sanction. But getting one of the Seven and the Black Baron to agree to the joining? How the hell am I going to do that? How do I even find the Black Baron? That is a supernatural ghost from Klydorian legend¡­ I guess that is question number two.</li>


    </ol>


    ¡°There is something strange happening here. It feels like something else is fighting against us here,¡± warned the Acolyte.


    To Anders the whole thing felt weird.


    ¡°Could it be his God? I suppose its possible Faylen is pissed we are talking to the soul of one of his priests,¡± suggested Anders.


    ¡°It could be¡­¡± the Acolyte sounded unsure. ¡°Try to wrap this up fast.¡±


    ¡°Ask where we find the soul of the Black Baron?¡±


    Again, the Acolyte repeated the question word for word. And again the spirit of the old priest railed heroically against the magick wards compelling him to answer, the runes in the circle flashing orange, and some of them even going red with heat. But the compulsion held, and he was forced to answer.


    ¡°It is innnssside the family crypt of the Blackstonnne family, in Royal. It was returnnned to the finnnal resssting place for Duke Korruxxx Blackssstone.¡±


    The legend says he was the original Black Baron. A noble who lusted for the throne of Klydor so much that he continues to seek it, decades after his death. Least now I know where to find it.


    ¡°Quickly, High Priest. Something is very wrong,¡± said a panicked Acolyte. Anders could see blood dripping from Dimitrei¡¯s nose. ¡°I think there is something else here with us.¡±


    ¡°What risk will the soul pose to any who try to take it?¡± Anders asked. He could see the panic in the eyes of the Acolyte.


    ¡°Ask him!¡± Anders demanded.


    ¡°What risk will the soul pose to any who try to take it?¡± repeated Dimitrei.


    The priest no longer screamed in anguish. The shade within the red lights became less distinct and Turin¡¯s face was no longer recognisable. The necromantic wind and the howling sound it made picked up in intensity considerably. You no longer needed to be a caster to feel there was something supernatural and very wrong about this wind.


    ¡°The risssk from the Baronnn isss nnnothinnng compared to the risssk you facccce right here!¡± came the eerie reply, the voice similar but somehow different to before. ¡°Come clossser. I will whisssper the anssswer.¡±


    ¡°Shut the spell down. Now!¡± barked Anders. If Dimitrei heard him he did not act on those words. He instead crawled towards the red glowing spotlight.


    The feeling inside the howling wind was now painfully cold, and Anders could sense the magick was starting to attack his shroud of protection.


    ¡®Time to get out of here. If this is indeed Faylen, I definitely do not want to be around for his full hospitality.¡¯


    Anders backed away from the red spotlight, the howling wind, and Dimitrei. The Acolyte kept crawling and put his face right into the red spotlight. The red light flashed across his face for a few seconds and ¡­


    Then it disappeared.


    Dimitrei stopped crawling and slowly stood, brushing the dust off his hands and knees.


    ¡°Is everything OK over here,¡± called the Arbiter, moving to investigate. Anders took a few seconds to consider his best response. Dimitrei turned towards him.


    His eyes were glowing red in the exact same way the skull had been doing.


    ¡®Necromancy may not be my specialty, but I am pretty sure that isn¡¯t good.¡¯


    As an expert in Summoning however, Anders did know a lot about demonic possession, and this was beginning to have all the hallmarks of just such a thing.


    ¡°Dimitrei, blink twice in succession if you have any control at all,¡± instructed Anders.


    Red eyed Dimitrei began to move towards him. He did not blink.


    ¡®Ok. Let¡¯s try to banish whatever has possessed him back to its own plane of existence. But that spell takes a while to cast, so I better buy myself some time.¡¯


    Anders began to draw energy from the shadows in the warehouse around him, looking around as he did at both the floor and roof. This spell was much easier and faster to cast, so would complete before Dimitrei reached him at his current pace.


    ¡°In dimensio umbrae pervenio¡±


    (Into the dimension of shadow do I reach)


    ¡°Ab umbra ad umbram volo step¡±


    (From shadow to shadow I wish to step)


    Anders stepped into the nearest shadow, and then shadow-stepped to another one in the rafters of the ceiling. He quickly regained his bearings and looked down for Dimitrei. Dimitrei was staring back up at him with those demonic red eyes.


    The guard and the Arbiter were now approaching, and Dimitrei looked towards them.


    ¡°Whoa. Cool looking red eyes you got there. How about you lie face down on the ground with your arms on your head and nobody needs to get hurt, huh?¡± suggested the Arbiter.


    Anders began to cast his Banishment spell. This was one of the more powerful spells he knew, and it took much longer to cast than simple spells.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know what I am banishing, and I am reasonably sure don¡¯t know its name. We will guess its Turin, but this will be tough.¡¯


    As he began building up the necessary energy to cast the spell he watched as Dimitrei moved towards the other two Klydorians below. The guard seemed hesitant, and he drew his blade and held it out defensively. Dimitrei began to cast. Shadow energy flashed around him and in an instant he was behind the guard. Dimitrei reached his hand out and touched the guard on the shoulder. There was another flash of shadow magick and the guard collapsed to the ground.


    ¡®I hope the Arbiter buys me more time than that. Come on fool, cast something.¡¯


    ¡°Please don¡¯t do that,¡± the Arbiter asked, a lot more politely than forcefully. ¡°I hope you did not hurt him.¡±


    Dimitrei turned his back on the Arbiter and looked up at Anders, who was just finishing his spell.


    ¡°Nunc pervenio et animam vocatam arripio¡±


    (Now I reach and grab your summoned soul)


    ¡°Et in rationem tuam remitto te¡±


    (And back into your dimension do I cast thee)


    A surge of magickal energy streaked from his hands and flew towards Dimitrei.


    Almost casually Dimitrei waved his hand, and a wall of anti-magick appeared in front of him and Anders spell dissipated harmlessly against it.


    ¡°HAHAHAHAHAHAHA¡± echoed a booming laugh from the red-eyed Acolyte.


    ¡°How about I let you two sort this out. You just let me know which one of you forbidden magick-using assholes wins, and I will have a chat with them,¡± offered the Arbiter, backing away.


    ¡®Ok. Whatever this thing is, it is a seriously powerful caster. It couldn¡¯t really be Faylen could it? Could it? It¡¯s using Shadow magick. How hypocritical can a God be?¡¯


    ¡®I can run. But then this thing is loose. That could be bad if it draws attention to us. And it could tell Josak or somebody else what it knows. Damn it. I can¡¯t let this thing live. So how do I kill it?¡¯


    The Acolyte, or whatever it was inside him, began casting. It was immediately obvious whatever the spell was, it was powerful, and it involved an immense amount of flame magick.


    Anders drew his large bastard sword off his back, and prepared to cast his magick defence.


    ¡®If I time this right, this might be my best chance to destroy this thing.¡¯


    He noted the Arbiter was also casting, but he didn¡¯t have a Sense Channelling enchantment running and there were no visual signatures to whatever the spell was. That eliminated most of the elemental spheres so it was unlikely to be directly damaging to the Acolyte.


    ¡®Typical. Even when I am on the same side, the Council of Defence are of no value to me. Why did I even bother to register with them?¡¯


    The Acolyte began channelling the flame magick into two large flaming arrows, hovering above each outstretched arm, with his hands and all ten fingers fully outstretched in from of him. As the spell completed, both hands retracted into fists, except for his pointer fingers, and he swung his arms to point at both the Arbiter and Anders. The flaming arrows leapt from Dimitrei¡¯s hands and flew towards the two targets he pointed at.


    The first arrow streaked towards the Arbiter, and skewered him through the chest. His body fell to the ground, the flaming arrow still embedded and protruding out from his body. His clothes began to smoulder.


    The second arrow flew towards Anders. Anders used his Shadow magick to try and shadow-step away from the arrow.


    ¡°Egrediendo per umbras¡±


    (I evade by stepping through the shadows)


    ¡°Sed ut umbrae dominus eligo quo venero¡±


    (But as the Shadows master, I choose where I arrive)


    That was quite an advanced and taxing defensive spell. But one well worth it. Anders stepped off the rafter he was holding onto, and into the shadow next to him. He then stepped out of the shadow right behind the red-eyed Acolyte.


    Many demons were highly resistant to harm, including being harmed by normal steel. Anders knew enough to cover as many bases as possible when attacking such creatures.


    With a few quick words he engulfed his sword in Dragon¡¯s Fire as he stepped through the shadows.


    ¡°Domine mi, Razilin¡¯Tera,


    (My Lord, Razilin¡¯Tera)


    ¡°quaeso benedic telum meum cum flamma draconis tui¡±


    (I beseech you bless my weapon with your Dragon¡¯s Flame)


    He was already swinging his sword as he stepped out of the shadow and the blade took Dimitrei¡¯s head clean off. In those final moments it looked like perhaps Dimitrei was fighting for control of his body, and the Acolytes body neither evaded nor tried to cast any number of spells which may have saved his mortal form. His body parts crashed to the ground and his blood spilled all over the floor, joining into the already incredibly macabre scene of blood and bodies strewn around the warehouse.


    ¡®Making a host do the exact opposite of what they want to do is difficult. Perhaps, having Dimitrei attack a high-priest of Razilin¡¯Tera was such an egregious offence, that he summoned the willpower to fight whatever it was. If so, I thank you Dimitrei. Your sacrifice will not be quickly forgotten.¡¯


    Anders offered a quick prayer to the soul of the departed Dimitrei, and wished it a quick onward journey to be with their God, Razilin¡¯Tera.


    Then, with a quick glance to confirm the Arbiter was not moving, Anders hurried from the scene.


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Church of Faylen, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    11<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Mitchell stood to one side of the hospice chamber of the massive church, watching the flurry of activity as priests and nuns scurried about tending to the four wounded forms of the Seven. On a separate tablet lay the recently recovered bodies of Brother Turin and Javelin.


    The Silverestri elf, Rivas, seemed to be the most seriously wounded, and most of the more senior healers seemed to be focusing on him and his rather significant wounds. He had been found by Eva shortly after Maragon had collapsed, and she realised he was unaccounted for. They had then brought all the wounded and recently deceased members of the Seven here.


    Mitchell felt sad that Brother Turin was dead. The old priest had been mostly a comforting and wise grandfatherly figure in his life, and in this moment the few strange and awkward moments were forgotten. He would be totally distraught were it not for the fact that Maragon was clearly going to be ok. The priests had reset his nose, he had a splint around his damaged ribs, but he was otherwise doing well, and he was already limping around and generally taking charge of everything.


    ¡®Just like usual.¡¯


    Mitchell had some remorse that Javelin was dead. He did not know the old rogue as well as Brother Turin, but the old Drasnian did teach him how to do accents, and was always good at ¡®smuggling¡¯ in cookies, sweet cakes, or some other morsel of food that Maragon would never approve of. He also taught Mitchell the earliest concepts of critical thinking and problem solving.


    ¡®I hope I make you proud with the way I use that knowledge, Uncle Javelin.¡¯


    Neither Ragnar nor Balinor seemed to have any life threatening injuries, although with Ragnar that was hard to say as he would never admit to an injury. The priests had just finished tending to his face and ribs. He had been tortured the worst of the Seven who had been captured.


    ¡°We have done the best we can,¡± the priest said to him.


    ¡°That is OK. Now I am as ugly as Balinor,¡± the big northman scoffed.


    ¡°How is it that you, who knew nothing of what they wanted, got beaten up the worst?¡± asked Balinor.


    ¡°My charming personality I guess. I did manage to kill someone with a chair. How many did you kill while you were held captive?¡± retorted Ragnar.


    Balinor laughed and shook his head in disbelief. ¡°Is there anything you cannot use to kill someone? Because a chair you are tied to seems pretty unlikely for most normal people.¡±


    ¡°I will admit, the man asking the questions did seem pretty surprised,¡± chuckled the northman.


    Mitchell could see Azzanon was standing with Gaebriel and looking forlornly at the body of Javelin. He was also looking at Samtha, the Bard, perhaps with intentions of trying to comfort her. ¡®Or perhaps he is just awestruck by her odd appearance.¡¯


    Alicia was tending to the wounded. And Hawkin looked like he may have been trying to court Eva. In her defence, she gave no indication of being in any way impressed by him, and that was with her mask off.


    Apart from those he had helped rescue or come to the church with, Mitchell could see three other figures in the church that he knew from previous visits to Maragon¡¯s Tower.


    Mitchell approached Samtha and gave her a big hug. She was standing next to the body of Javelin and it was clear she had been crying a lot. But as Mitchell looked into her eyes he mostly saw a steely determination rather than grief.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Mitchell said


    ¡®What do I say? Javelin has been her mentor and I suspect somewhat of a father to her for years. I imagine she is feeling how I would have been feeling had it been Maragon lying on the stone instead.¡¯


    ¡°Not as sorry as they are going to be, Sugar, when I get my hands on them,¡± she said resolutely. ¡°Josak Norgette, Anders Hightower¡­ both are going to pay dearly for what they took from me.¡±


    ¡®I have heard Maragon curse the name Josak Norgette, but I have not heard of Anders Hightower before, although Hightower is a Klydorian noble family with a decent standing.¡¯


    Samtha stepped back from the embrace and moved with purpose towards Maragon.


    The second figure known to Mitchell was a leaner, dark haired man Mitchell could only remember seeing at the tower twice. He was moving between members of the Seven, and having mostly whispered conversations with each. Mitchell knew his name to be Entreris Jarvis, but what he did for Maragon, and why he was here he had no idea. He moved with a cat like balance, as if ready to strike or retreat at any time, and his dark, form fitting clothing suggested he spent much time moving through the shadows and darker places.


    The last was a fair skinned, brown-haired man in his mid-30s, putting him in-between the younger kids of Mitchell¡¯s troupe, and the mostly older people of the Seven. Mitchell knew him only as Falcon, and he had been training for years with Javelin to be the eyes and ears of the Seven.


    ¡®Apparently the first lesson is to come up with a codename and keep to it from then on, no matter what.¡¯


    Falcon also seemed quite upset at Javelin¡¯s passing. He was in what looked like a very serious discussion with Maragon.


    ¡°When do we strike back?¡± Samtha interrupted, her volume loud enough to draw attention from many people in the church.


    ¡°Not here!¡± replied Maragon sternly. ¡°This is place of peace and healing. We will go elsewhere to discuss¡­ and we must, as there is much to discuss. We must discuss Javelin and Brother Turin with the others.¡±


    Mitchell headed towards Samtha and Maragon to hear the rest of the conversation.


    ¡°Are you trying to meddle in the selection process again, Maragon?¡± Samtha asked, a tone of disapproval in her voice.


    ¡°No¡­ well, Yes,¡± replied Maragon. ¡°Some of the choices are not always wise, and perhaps we can convince them from this side to decline.¡±


    ¡°What is going on?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°I will explain everything. Just let me get us a more private chamber,¡± replied Maragon.


    ¡®You, explain everything. That would be a first. You will tell us just enough to carry out whatever task you have need of us. Unless things really are in a bad way. Worse perhaps than even this looks.¡¯


    Maragon went and spoke with some of the more senior priests, and was quickly provided with a place they could discuss things privately. He quickly gathered Balinor, Samtha, Ragnar and Entreris in the chamber. Mitchell made to follow.


    ¡°Not yet. I must speak with the Seven, and then very shortly I will call for you,¡± explained Maragon.


    The door to the chamber closed. Mitchell stared at the sunburst of Faylen emblazoned on the door long after it shut.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± came a concerned voice from behind him. Mitchell turned to see Alicia standing near him.


    ¡°I am ok. I am a little sad,¡± answered Mitchell. ¡°I knew both of those people lying dead on the stone tablets. But mostly I am lost and not sure what is happening.¡±


    ¡°I know that feeling. Mine is likely similar to yours, except I do not know even the things Maragon has told you over the years,¡± Alicia replied.


    ¡®That is true. This poor girl has followed me from her home with almost nothing to go on other than I needed her help.¡¯


    ¡°Maragon has said he will explain everything shortly. I am not sure if I believe that, but I promise I will tell you anything you want to ask of me once we are finished here.¡± Mitchell tried to smile reassuringly.


    ¡°Can you tell why I am here?¡± she asked, clearly not believing there was an answer to that question.


    ¡°Actually, I think I can,¡± Mitchell replied quickly and confidently. ¡°That is one of the few things I am not confused about.¡±


    Alicia motioned for Mitchell to continue.


    ¡°I meant what I said back at the Rebirth Festival. You have a gift, Alicia,¡± explained Mitchell. ¡°Chandrilar will grant you his blessings through prayer alone. There are devout followers all over Driax who never receive such gifts. Chandrilar has chosen you as one of his clerics and he intends a special path for you.¡±


    ¡°What I have dragged you into, and for that I do apologise,¡± continued Mitchell, ¡°is the exact sort of thing Chandrilar would want his clerics helping with. I think this is your calling and what he wants you to do. There are others who can do any of the things we might accomplish back in Garet. But there are not many who may be able to do what we can do to help here.¡±


    Alicia nodded, then eyes lost focus as she thought about things some more. It looked like she was going to say one thing, and then changed her mind.


    ¡°I am not sure I am ready for this,¡± she stated.


    ¡°I suspect that is how you are supposed to feel. Look at Hawkin,¡± replied Mitchell, gesturing to his big, noble friend. ¡°He has less idea how to be useful than either of us, but do you see any self-doubts from him that he should be here?¡±


    ¡°He should have doubts aplenty,¡± continued Mitchell, ¡°But instead he thinks he is going to save the world, become famous, and possibly marry an elf or a princess. Ideally both.¡±


    Alicia laughed.


    ¡°My point is, you doubting you are the right person to be here is probably why you are the right person to be here,¡± Mitchell concluded.


    Alicia nodded.


    ¡®You appreciate the kind words, but I can see you are far from convinced.¡¯


    At that point the door opened and Maragon was standing there. He beckoned Mitchell, Alicia, Hawkin, Peregrin and Eva inside.


    ¡°Azzanon is Drasnian Intelligence Agency. You don¡¯t know he won¡¯t pick him,¡± whispered Entreris in Maragon¡¯s ear as Mitchell passed.


    Maragon considered briefly then waved Azzanon in too. Gaebriel followed Azzanon. Maragon appeared to be considering excluding the young princess, but Azzanon made it clear he was not coming in if she didn¡¯t, so the mage acquiesced and allowed them both in. Maragon closed the door.


    ¡°I am Azzanon Klarence Ravis III,¡± said Azzanon, introducing himself formally to Maragon.


    Maragon looked tired. Like he was at the end of a very long night and he was trying to get to bed. His skin also had a pale greenish tinge to it.


    ¡°So you are a Drasnian spy¡­in Klydorian lands without their permission¡­ who has rescued a Drasak princess from a plot to kill her by her own people¡­ and then during your getaway, you rescued Mitchell¡­ unwittingly involving yourself in the machinations of the greatest evil Driax has ever known?¡± Maragon¡¯s monologue highlighted the absurdity of what he was saying to everyone crowded into the small chamber.


    ¡°I believe that is the gist of it, old man, yes!¡± replied Azzanon, with a broad infectious smile on his face. ¡°The Gods see fit to ensure my life is never dull.¡±


    ¡®I think Hawkin may have a competitor for being most comfortable while totally out of his depth.¡¯


    ¡°I knew another Drasnian spy well. His name was Javelin. He died tonight. I hope you can be half as useful as he was.¡±


    ¡°Javelin is a legend in my order. May I ask what happened, and how you know of him?¡± asked Azzanon. ¡°And I mean it when I say ¡®legend¡¯. Every young recruit in the Agency was told stories of Javelin in training.¡±


    ¡°He has been the eyes and ears of the Saranti Seven for most of the last twenty years. I believe Javelin knew a great many people, perhaps more than anyone else has ever known. That was his gift. As to his untimely demise, I believe he may have been lead into a trap by one of his informants, probably under the influence of the High Priest, Josak Norgette.¡±


    ¡°Begging your pardon, but I thought Javelin retired over 10 years ago,¡± returned Azzanon.


    ¡°Nonsense, people like Javelin do not retire,¡± replied Maragon. ¡°He simply got a better offer ¨C the chance to work for no pay against hopeless odds, fighting a threat most think we defeated a thousand years ago. And now I offer you an opportunity to do likewise.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a dream come true,¡± Azzanon replied sarcastically. ¡°But even if I wanted too, I have my own mission.¡± Azzanon glanced towards Gaebriel. She smiled in return.


    ¡°How exactly does a weapons smuggler from Lotan end up here,¡± drawled Samtha, as she finally saw past both her grief and Azzanon¡¯s disguise.


    ¡°I suppose I should be flattered. At least when you left me for important work, you weren¡¯t lying,¡± replied Azzanon. ¡°Of course, that didn¡¯t stop it from tearing my heart out.¡±


    A look of great confusion came over Maragon¡¯s already weary face. Mitchell looked around to see that confusion more or less repeated on everyone¡¯s face.


    ¡°You two know each other?¡± Maragon asked.


    ¡°More¡­ or less,¡± they both replied, almost in perfect unison.


    ¡°That¡¯s great,¡± deadpanned Maragon, making it clear he really did not care. ¡°I do not have time for that now.¡±


    ¡°Azzanon, at least listen to what I have to say. Then you can decide which task is more important, and at the very least perhaps report back to your superiors and see if they can lend us any assistance.¡±


    Azzanon bowed with a flourish of his hat toward Samtha, then nodded his agreement.


    ¡°Everybody listen carefully.¡± Everybody gave Maragon their full attention.


    ¡°The Saranti Seven is an ancient order founded during Razilin¡¯Tera¡¯s initial campaign of evil against the good races of Driax. While we cannot be certain, we believe it was Evronn¡¯s mentor who first formed the order, and shortly thereafter Evronn codified it, and created the seeds by which we would forever watch and fight against the followers of Razilin¡¯Tera.¡±


    ¡°He knew even as he was preparing for the final battle at Laurabel that Razilin¡¯Tera had become too great, the number of his devoted followers too numerous, and that upon his death the immortality of Godhood likely beckoned. As such, he wanted an order that, no matter what, would continue to watch for signs of the Great Evil¡¯s influence or perhaps even attempts to return to this plane, which Evronn felt, as long as great evil resided within this world, was inevitable.¡±


    ¡°But I thought the Champions killed Razilin¡¯Tera at Laurabel.¡± queried Alicia, ¡°You are saying he became a God instead and can come back again?¡±


    ¡°They did, but¡­¡± began Maragon


    ¡°Hang on¡­ are you saying the Champions were the original Seven?¡± interrupted Hawkin.


    ¡°¡­Yes, I am,¡± Maragon replied, becoming a little frustrated at the interruptions. A gasp went across much of the room from that revelation.


    Mitchell¡¯s mind also raced at the implications of this new information.


    ¡®That is so cool. Its not everyday you discover your father and his friends are all working for a group descended from what is probably the most famous victory in human history!¡¯


    ¡°But the Champions all died at Laurabel, didn¡¯t they?¡± queried Alicia.


    Maragon held up his hand to forestall the great many questions he could see people wanted to ask.


    ¡°The Seven are very special. Evronn, with the help of the others, created a bond and an oath that they would stand against Razilin forever. Including after their physical forms died.¡±


    ¡®The room just got super-quiet.¡¯


    Mitchell¡¯s mind was racing, piecing together the many things he already knew, with what he was learning now, often solving things seconds before Maragon said them.


    ¡®Does this mean¡­¡¯


    ¡°Each member of the Seven carries within him or her, the soul of one of the original Seven,¡± revealed Maragon. ¡°That soul brings the knowledge and memories it has accumulated all the way back to its original life, before the fall of Micronia.¡±


    ¡®Oh my God! Maragon is Evronn. It makes sense now.¡¯


    ¡®Oh my God! Chandrilar had Xarron¡¯s soul. No wonder he rose from a simple squire to the leader of his people so fast!¡¯


    ¡°Evronn thought it unlikely many of the original Seven would survive the fight at Micronia. That challenge was in fact an act of desperation. But he knew the fight would go on regardless of the outcome of the battle, and thus the Seven were created.¡±


    ¡°Are we talking about the seven champions from the Great Cataclysm, who challenged the Red Dragon, and six of his best to decide the fate of the world?¡± asked Azzanon, clearly playing catch up between his knowledge of ancient history and what was going on in the room.


    ¡°We are. But regardless of the past, it is¡­.¡± a wrack of coughing fits interrupted Maragon as he tried to continue, ¡°¡­it is the current situation we must concern ourselves with. The Seven have lost two of their number. In the coming days or weeks those souls, ShaShayla of the Plainsfolk, and Kennitus Windtalker, will find new hosts. And those people will pledge themselves, heart and mind, to our cause.¡±


    ¡°Why are you telling us this?¡± asked Hawkin.


    ¡°Because two of us are likely to be chosen.¡± replied Mitchell, the full gravity of what was happening hitting him.


    ¡®Within a few days I could be sworn into an eternal fight versus the great evil, Razilin¡¯Tera.¡¯


    ¡°Cool!¡± answered Hawkin.


    ¡®I see Hawkin is even more excited, with no idea of what he is getting into.¡¯


    ¡°Do not be so sure of that, son of Sarek Aranson,¡± replied Balinor. To join the Seven you largely sever ties with your current life. There can never be another cause to which you are conflicted with. I was as dedicated a knight to the throne of Klydor as I could be. But I had to give that up to join the Seven. You must give up everything and give yourself to the cause.¡±


    There was such emotion in Balinor¡¯s words that Hawkin looked chagrined. Mitchell noted both Balinor and Ragnar had the same greenish tinge to their skin that Maragon had.


    ¡°Do you become immortal?¡± asked Azzanon.


    ¡°You do not. You do not undertake this for what it can give to you. This is a selfless act where you give of yourself for the betterment of Driax. Anybody with selfish tendencies, or delusions of glory, best look elsewhere,¡± continued Balinor.


    ¡°We do not have much time. I must prepare you with what you need to know, and then we have things we must do,¡± cautioned Maragon. ¡°Even now, Ragnar, Balinor and I are dying from a serum administered to us in large doses by a High Priest of Razilin¡¯Tera. The priests here have done what they can to slow the poison with their magick, but I fear without a proper antidote we will all soon die.¡±


    ¡°And I will not die to poison,¡± interjected Ragnar. ¡°I will go out in glorious combat and onto the halls of Valhalla.¡±


    ¡°What are you thinking then? Fight me at the very end if it comes to that?¡± queried Balinor.


    ¡°How would that help? Then you would be dead, and I would still die from poison,¡± replied Ragnar, appearing genuinely confused as to how Balinor¡¯s proposal would help.


    ¡°Shut up, idiots!¡± yelled Samtha. Both warriors bowed their heads and went quiet.


    ¡°Meanwhile¡­<coughing>¡­ the three High-Priests attempt to gather the items they think will allow them to bring about a return of their Dragon Lord to this world.¡±


    ¡°How will they do that?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°They believe, and I cannot be sure if they are right or not, that a ritual involving some very special components can achieve this.¡±


    ¡°Why haven¡¯t they done it already then?¡± asked Hawkin.


    ¡°The components, Master Aranson, are somewhat unique, and they don¡¯t have access to them¡­ yet,¡± replied Maragon.


    ¡°What are they?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡®Good one, idiot. You almost certainly just interrupted Maragon ever so briefly from answering the exact question I just asked.¡¯


    ¡°Primarily they have been searching for the item that was used to kill Razilin¡¯Tera in the battle at Micronia ¨C the Sword of Xarron. They know this Sword and the Stone of Evronn are likely keys for a ritual to return him to this world. However, during our recent interrogations I learned they are also interested in the Crown of the First King. This one is new, and I do not know why they want that.¡±


    ¡°Where are these items?¡± asked Gaebriel.


    We know where the stone and the crown are, and for the moment I believe they are safe. The blade has been lost to history for many years. One of his high-priest¡¯s, Jakobi, believes that the sword may have been given to the Kestel Indians around the time of the Great Victory. Without a better hypothesis, I am forced to consider they might be right. It is possible that they have already recovered it, or it is possible they spread word they had found it to lure the Seven into a trap. I am still not sure which.¡±


    ¡°So we have to stop them getting this sword?¡± asked Alicia


    ¡°Or take it back if they already have it,¡± interjected Hawkin enthusiastically.


    ¡°All in good time, my young and enthusiastic friends. First we must get a cure for the toxin that is slowly killing the Seven.¡±


    ¡°What are the ingredients you require, Maragon the Teacher?¡± asked Eva. She brought forwards some small pouches from her backpack, and a hopeful look upon her face. Maragon¡¯s eyes slowly focused on the pouches.


    ¡°If those are healing herbs than you may have some of what we need,¡± he smiled at Eva in a way a teacher might smile at a promising student, ¡°but you almost certainly will not have one of the key ingredients. We require troll blood, a rare and dangerous substance that has considerable regenerative qualities, and will burn the toxin from our blood.¡±


    Eva suddenly sucked in her breath, clearly surprised and perhaps horrified at the suggestion. Most others stood around mutely, wondering what the big deal was.


    ¡°Yes, Eva. Troll-Blood. And we need it to have been kept chilled, but anybody who has any, and is still alive, will already know this.¡±


    ¡°Why, what happens if it isn¡¯t chilled?¡± asked Azzanon


    ¡°Usually, it begins to form itself into a new troll, who then in turn usually kills everyone around, including the person previously carrying the troll-blood,¡± replied Mitchell.


    ¡°And how do you know?¡± asked Alicia.


    ¡°In actual fact I do not know. But that is what Maragon told me when I asked that very question the last time one of his projects required troll-blood,¡± replied Mitchell. Maragon smiled, but it was clear he was weakening.


    ¡°Where do we get the stuff?¡± asked Hawkin. ¡°Not sure I have ever seen any in the general store.¡±


    ¡°The Council of Defence?¡± offered Alicia.


    ¡°No!¡± responded Maragon. ¡°Their involvement now will only slow us down. They will ask too many questions and need permission from too many people to get us what we need in time.¡±


    ¡°They are not likely to have it in any of the herbalist stalls in the city,¡± commented Eva.


    ¡°Then we go to the same place anybody goes when they want something illegal or dangerous¡­,¡± smiled Azzanon, deliberately inflecting his voice with an evil tone, ¡°The Black Markets of Chandrex!¡±


    ¡®The Black Markets of Chandrex are little more than mythical tales of criminals and hustlers to me, usually the sort of stories told around campfires or to keep little children from misbehaving. I can remember Maragon threatening to sell me in the Black Markets once if I did not improve my attention to some minor experiment he had me monitoring.¡¯


    ¡°How do we find these markets? I have not seen any signs for them while we have been moving through the city,¡± asked Alicia innocently.


    Azzanon had to stifle a laugh, and then briefly compose himself before responding, ¡°My dear girl, there are signs but not the sort of ones you are looking for. Those who run the Black Markets are always moving them lest the authorities find them and close them down. It¡¯s the whole ¡®illegal¡¯ part of what they sell that causes the trouble. Amongst my people we found it easier to just run the Black Markets ourselves. Made it easier to find when we needed it.¡±


    ¡°But how can they be illegal if the Government runs it?¡± asked Alicia. A brief perplexed look came across Azzanon¡¯s face as he tried to think the best way to answer that question.


    ¡°Because in Drasnia the Government are better at being criminals than the criminals are. So it¡¯s only natural in short order they become the biggest Thieves Guild, and therefore run the Black Market,¡± replied Gaebriel, spearing Azzanon with a cheeky grin.


    ¡°Ahh sweet Princess¡­ I would love to debate the finer points of politics with you, and the ideal interactions between church, state, the military and the underworld, but I think we better get moving before it is too late.¡± Azzanon gestured towards the clearly suffering forms of the three poisoned members of the Seven. ¡°I can find us the Black Markets, but I have no idea what troll-blood looks like so someone will have to come with me.¡±


    ¡°I will come,¡± said Entreris Jarvis. ¡°But I will go in alone. I do not wish to be seen with you. I will be near if you have need of me, and I will help you find the ingredient if you cannot.¡±


    ¡®How very strange. Totally fitting with everything else about you.¡¯


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you wish to be seen with us?¡± asked Alicia innocently.


    ¡°Because I have friends who would react very badly if they knew I had been associating with knights, spies, princesses, or a great many of you.¡±


    ¡°Do not mind Entreris. He really likes his own company,¡± interrupted Samtha. ¡°I will come with you.¡±


    ¡°You cannot,¡± explained Maragon. You have been in close proximity of Anders too recently. He may be able to divine your location the moment you leave an unprotected site. Best you stay here.¡±


    Mitchell thought Azzanon actually looked relieved a little that Samtha wasn¡¯t going to go.


    ¡°I can go. I at least know what troll-blood looks like,¡± said Mitchell.


    ¡°As do I,¡± added Eva.


    ¡°I will stay and help look after the wounded,¡± said Alicia.


    ¡°I better go too then,¡± added Hawkin. ¡°To keep them out of trouble.¡±


    ¡®Now that is funny a concept. Hawkin is usually the one that causes all the trouble.¡¯


    ¡°Then I will go too,¡± added Peregrin. ¡°To ensure Hawkin does not cause the trouble he is trying to prevent.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± objected Hawkin. ¡°I am standing right here, and I can hear you.¡±


    ¡®I see I am not the only who thinks so. And Peregrin barely knows Hawkin.¡¯


    ¡°How much do we need?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°As much as you can get.  But one vial per person to be healed would be ideal,¡± replied Maragon.


    Mitchell briefly did the numbers in his head.


    ¡®Maragon, Ragnar and Balinor¡­ so three.¡¯


    ¡°Could it assist Rivas too?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°It might.  It is a different potion, but I know the recipe for a regenerative healing potion,¡± replied Ava.


    ¡°If you can get enough for Rivas, then do so.  But the priority is those of us who have been poisoned,¡± instructed Maragon.


    Everyone began to move.


    ¡°Before you go, I need a moment with some of you,¡± said Maragon.  ¡°Please remain behind Azzanon.  I will also need to talk to Peregrin and Mitchell before you leave for the Black Markets.¡±

 Chapter 22: Dangerous Secrets

    <h2>Vastuk ¨C House Tirilani, Mascherata, Drasak</h2>


    11<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Vastuk slid shut the wooden panelled door behind him and stepped into his private study.  This was a place of solitude and privacy, and as he reached into his pocket and removed the now faintly warm, faintly glowing purple orb he felt anxiety and nervousness begin to bubble up deep inside him.


    He knew the orb lighting up like this meant that Carthas wished to speak to him, and Vastuk was both excited and scared about what he might be about to hear.  Would the Princess be dead?  Could their plans have come asunder?  He briefly imagined having to leave his home tonight, to begin a life on the run.  He immediately chastened himself for such foolish thoughts.  Tirilani¡¯s did not flee like common criminals.


    Vastuk pushed the area of the orb that would open the communication, and immediately a light pulsed deep within the Orb, and then a blue apparition of Carthas appeared before him.  The apparition almost looked like a glowing ghost image of the person at the other end.


    ¡°You wished to communicate?¡± he asked, trying to sound calm.


    ¡°The pass-phrase?¡± intomed the image, without emotion.


    ¡°The highest must learn that they have the furthest to fall,¡± Vastuk said, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.  He could see Carthas, and Carthas could see him presumably, so the need for this secretive banter seemed a waste of time.


    ¡°And yet others must climb to ascend to their rightful place,¡± replied the image.


    ¡°Yes, yes.  Very good.  Just as I told you.  Now¡­ your message?¡± the irritation clearly showing in Vastuk¡¯s demeanour.


    ¡°I am afraid the target has escaped us momentarily.¡±  Carthas delivered his report calmly, and almost as if he was oblivious to how bad this news was likely to be to its intended recipient.


    ¡°What?... How?¡± stammered Vastuk.


    ¡°A case of mistaken identity led to our presence being announced a touch prematurely.  It was during the chaos that followed that the target, and a Lotese merchant with whom she was dancing, made their escape.¡±


    ¡°Have we given ourselves away?¡±  Vastuk could hear the desperation in his own voice.


    ¡°No.  The deception protocols you devised appear to have worked.  The Klydorians believe it was the terrorist group, Human¡¯s Purity League.¡±


    Vastuk felt the speed of his heart slow just a little.


    ¡°Do you have any leads where she is now?¡±


    ¡°No.  Our network and that of your local associate are attempting to locate her now.  However, my contacts that are watching the secondary target have indicated he is aware of our attempt, and even now he is being moved to a safer location.  If you wish to authorise a switch in targets, this would need to happen now.¡±


    Vastuk carefully considered what to say next.  Drasak was certainly not the most patriarchal society in Driax.  But as the women gave up their family names in a wedding, taking that of their husband, most powerful nobility still much preferred a son to a daughter, just to ensure their name continued on.


    ¡®Killing the only son is a more significant event, and it will make the necessary negotiations with the Drasak King more difficult later.  But killing neither would make us seem weak.  And House Tirilani must never appear weak.¡¯


    ¡°Kill him.  I met him once, and he is an arrogant fool of a boy.  The kingdom is better off without him.¡±  It was true.  The young Alesi Jadesson was young, good-looking, virile, and had that combination of arrogance and ignorance that Vastuk usually associated with a spoiled upbringing and a sense of entitlement.


    ¡®At some point we would likely have had to take control of him too.  Perhaps the young girl will prove more malleable as a ruler.  Perhaps we could even choose her future husband.¡¯


    The last thought was quite an exciting prospect.  ¡®Dare we dream of putting a Tirilani on the throne?¡¯


    ¡°Very well.  Does our previous authority regarding international boundaries still apply?¡±


    ¡°Which country¡¯s wrath am I risking now?¡± asked Vastuk.


    ¡°The secondary target is currently south of here, preparing to watch the gladiatorial games.¡±  The empire of Cthrag Merlo would be an excellent place to kill someone.  And during the gladiatorial games, even easier.  Massive crowds, plenty of alcohol, and the masses already attuned to bloodshed and violence.


    ¡°Excellent.  That should present you excellent opportunities to succeed.  You have my authority, but do not let failure become a trend, Carthas.  For the price and the risk, I expect the best.¡±


    ¡°I will remind you that the magick we are using is not necessarily secure, so please communicate appropriately, Deceiver¡± cautioned the Capellan assassin.


    ¡°I know.  I just want to make sure you have as much riding on this as I do, Carthas, Drakin of the Capellan clan.¡±


    ¡°Do not play games with me Deceiver.  You might not like the next move I make.¡±  With that the image blinked out, and the orb in front of him slowly went dark.  Vastuk sat alone in the dark for several minutes, imagining alternatively the dreams that could unfold if he were successful, and the shuddering nightmares that could come if his plans went wrong.


    ¡®No path to greatness should be easy!¡¯


    <h2>Azzanon ¨C Church of Faylen, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    11<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    The door to the small chamber closed as the last of the others left.  Azzanon briefly took in the wonderful stain-glass scenes in the roof above him depicting Faylen shielding Driax from the evils that threatened her.


    ¡®Hope you are paying close attention to events right here, big guy!¡¯


    Maragon clung to a chair weakly, but he pulled himself up as upright as he could before he spoke.


    ¡°What I am about to say is probably unnecessary.  But there is a possibility in the coming days or weeks you will be visited by the spirit of Javelin and he may ask you to take on his soul and to join the Seven¡±


    ¡®I see we are just jumping into this.  No small talk first.¡¯


    Azzanon considered the hypothetical offer for a few moments.


    ¡°I think I would be honoured by such a request, but I am not sure I could accept.  I heard what your Knight friend said, and I understand the implications of having to devote yourself entirely to your quest.  I have my own mission, and I could not easily forego my duty to my nation.  My connection to Drasnia runs deep.  Even here and now, when I am thousands of miles from home.¡±


    ¡°Gaebriel is really a Princess of Drasak?¡± Maragon asked.


    ¡°She is.  And she needs my help.  Someone is trying very hard to kill her right now, and I do not know who it is, or really why he is trying to do it, although I have my suspicions on the second one,¡± Azzanon replied.


    ¡°Then on the slim chance the soul of ShaShayla and/or Javelin approaches you, I recommend you decline,¡± suggested Maragon.


    ¡°So you get a choice?¡± asked Azzanon.


    ¡°Absolutely.  This is a lifetime commitment that comes with great sacrifice and usually little reward.¡±


    ¡®Feeding into my greatest fear.  An unmarked grave on an unknown hilltop.  My life and death forgotten.¡¯


    ¡°Sounds like an amazing occupation.  Not a lot unlike mine to be fair,¡± reasoned Azzanon.


    ¡°Our stakes are higher.  The fates of entire empires might ride on things we do.  Particularly at an apex like we are about to go through,¡± reasoned Maragon.


    ¡®Ah, the part where he tries to convince me his cause is more important or noble than my own.¡¯


    ¡°Maybe.  But my stakes seem pretty high.  You won¡¯t be able to convince me my task isn¡¯t important enough,¡± countered Azzanon confidently.


    ¡°I was not trying to.  Each man must find his calling and purpose.  If you have found yours then you are a lucky man indeed.  Although many of the Seven thought the same before they joined.  Eventually they realised our cause trumped theirs because if we failed at ours, it may not matter if they succeeded at theirs.  And at some point you have to decide are you willing to let the fate of the world be decided by somebody else.¡±


    ¡®That is a good argument.  I would concur that most people are incompetent.  It is how I ended up taking most of the stupidly dangerous assignments.  But can I really look Gaebriel in the eyes and say ¡°I am leaving you¡­ good luck?¡±  Of course I can¡¯t.¡¯


    ¡°That is a good argument.  But it still doesn¡¯t save the Princess.  And my obligation is to rescue her first,¡± countered Azzanon.  ¡°After that is done, then we can discuss other employment opportunities.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.  I cannot fault you for wanting to finish that task,¡± conceded Maragon.  ¡°Thank you for helping my boy and the others on the streets the other night.¡±


    ¡°No problem.  Can I ask one question of you?¡±


    Maragon nodded.


    ¡°What was he like?¡±  The ¡®he¡¯ needed not be said ¨C Javelin.


    ¡°He was more dedicated to the craft of gathering information than I think anyone we have ever had in the Seven, ever!  I am not a man given to false compliments, so I mean that as very high praise indeed.  For twenty years he kept us safe and one step ahead of our many enemies.  I will miss him greatly.¡±


    ¡®That sounds very hard to live up to.  And takes decades to do it.  Not sure I have the patience for that.¡¯


    ¡°But what was he ¡®like¡¯?¡± Azzanon asked again.  ¡°As a person, or as a man.¡±


    ¡®Surely, he was a flashy, swashbuckling Drasnian, just like me.  Please say he was like me.¡¯


    Maragon considered his response for a few moments.


    ¡°He was funny, but not like I suspect you are.  He was quieter, with a dry wit that he unleashed only at special moments.  He was so much smarter than most realised, always thinking steps ahead of everyone and how the seemingly minor consequences of an action might spill over into a catastrophe.¡±


    ¡®Starting to sound like a much better person than me.  Glad I don¡¯t have to live up to him.  One more shot at this.¡¯


    ¡°Thank you,¡± said Azzanon sincerely.  ¡°What about vices?  Did he like fine clothes and alcohol?  Did he like to womanise?  Perhaps he gambled?¡±


    ¡°I suspect as a younger man he did.  By the time we met him I think he was passed a lot of that.  He would drink a single fine glass of wine with his meal.  Never gambled.  Said we all did enough of that every day with our lives.  And he dressed very unassumingly.  He preferred to remain unnoticed.¡±


    ¡®Sounds like a character from the legends.  No flaws.  Almost too perfect.¡¯


    ¡®Hang on¡­ he had a legendary soul inside of him.  This comparison isn¡¯t fair.¡¯


    ¡°Which of the Seven heroes did he have inside him?¡± asked Azzanon.


    ¡°Kennitus Windtalker.  He was a Solarian giant from the High Peaks, a mountain range on the far eastern edge of the world.  Of course, around the time of the Battle of Micronia, most of the known world was what we now consider the far east.¡±


    ¡®Wow.  Drasnia is pretty far east.  I know of the High Peaks.  And I know of the Solarian giants.  At least I know what they are today.  Forest loving Giants, who share a kingdom with some forest loving dwarves.  A nature loving giant probably isn¡¯t too bad to have inside you.¡¯


    ¡°What was he like?  Do we know much about him?¡± asked Azzanon.


    ¡°We do.  He was wise, and would not look for fights, but he did not seem to mind being in a fight once one happened.  He was a powerful Druid complete with all the tricks; talking to animals and plants; he could shapeshift into some amazing animals.  He didn¡¯t speak unless it was necessary.  But he loved to record and keep the lore of his people and those of the peoples around him.¡±


    ¡®Sounds a bit more like a real person now.  But nothing like me.¡¯


    ¡°He understood better than most that the world is not black and white.  It is shades of grey.  In order to defeat evil we much accept and acknowledge this.  Not all of our allies will be pure.  And not all of our enemies will be truly evil either.¡±


    ¡°So now they move onto another host, huh?¡± asked Azzanon.


    ¡°No.  Javelin will help Kennitus find a new host, and then his soul will pass on.  Javelin¡¯s service is at an end and he is dead, replied Maragon solemnly.  ¡°The soul is sacred and means too much to us to split it or keep any of it here.  This is why the sacrifice of the Seven is so great.  Their souls do not pass on.  They stay and fight this war forever.  So we genuinely mourn for him.  He is gone.  By the Gods, I will miss him.¡±


    Maragon wiped a tear from his eye.  Then immediately regained his focus.


    ¡°You should still consider what you will do if Javelin does turn up in your dreams to offer you his gift.  While we assume it will be passed to Falcon, it would not be the first time the intended successor declines the gift when it¡¯s finally time to take up the mantle,¡± warned Maragon.


    ¡°I will have my decline speech rehearsed,¡± replied Azzanon, his trademark swagger coming back.


    ¡°Do I need to worry about whatever past you and Samtha have?¡± Maragon asked simply.


    Azzanon considered it only briefly.


    ¡°No.  We ran across each other while I was wearing another guise, playing someone else.  I fell in love with her.  I do not truly know if she loved me back, but we both have tasks, and I suspect souls, which are not suited to playing happy families,¡± Azzanon replied.


    Maragon nodded.


    ¡°If there is nothing else, could you please send in Peregrin next,¡± asked Maragon.  ¡°I must establish his purpose for being here and see if he should be allowed to remain with us.¡±


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Azzanon bowed and then exited the room.  As quickly as possible he found Peregrin and pointed him towards Maragon¡¯s door.


    <h2>Peregrin ¨C Church of Faylen, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Peregrin closed the door, turned and bowed towards the old wizard in front of him.  It was not a particularly deep bow, but by Peregrin¡¯s standards it was a deep bow considering it was being done for an Ala-Lie human.


    ¡°Your presence is unexpected,¡± said Maragon simply.


    ¡®I go where I wish, human.  You should be honoured I am here.¡¯


    ¡°Much about this life is unexpected.  I do not understand why the Seers think humans are important or why the fate of my kingdom must be linked to the fate of this one,¡± replied Peregrin


    ¡°Do you have a problem with humans?¡± asked Maragon immediately in response.


    ¡®My people ceded you half of our forest.  And now you have contaminated it with your settlements and your filth.  You plunder nature, with no idea how to live in harmony with it.  Our women fall in love and marry your short-lived men, creating half-elves and widows who inevitably outlive them.  And perhaps worst of all, our Queen listens to and seems to take orders from your Klydorian king.¡¯


    ¡°No, I seek understanding so that I may see why things are as they are.¡±


    Maragon remained quiet for a time as he seemed to ponder that response.  He coughed, and Peregrin became more aware of the greenish tinge to his skin.  He was sick and fading.


    ¡°Explain what you mean.  How will you seek understanding?¡± asked Maragon.


    ¡°The Seers have taught us that the fate of the Llewyrr people is linked with Klydor, and if you read their prophecies strictly, one could argue linked with the line of Chandrilar directly,¡± replied Peregrin.  ¡°I seek to understand how that can be so when the elves are clearly superior by nearly any measure to that of humans.¡±


    ¡®This one remains calm when what I say likely causes offence.  He shows self-control absent in most other humans I have met.¡¯


    ¡°Which measures are you using?¡± asked Maragon.  Even in his sickened state, he appeared to be struggling to hide a bemused grin.


    ¡®Are you serious?  Is it not obvious?¡¯


    Peregrin held up a hand, and began counting off the points, ¡°Knowledge, magickal prowess, dexterity, martial skill, wisdom.¡±


    He brought up his second hand, ¡°longevity, art, culture, history¡­ shall I go on?¡±


    ¡°Birth rate?¡± Maragon retorted simply.


    ¡®What?¡¯


    ¡°That is the key one here.  It actually trumps all the rest.  The elves, whether you like it or not, are a people who have had their zenith, and your civilisation is no longer growing.  Humanity is growing rapidly.  The future of Driax is more theirs than anyone¡¯s.  Your Seers have the knowledge and wisdom to see this clearly.¡±


    ¡°We are too wise to go to war when we have all we need,¡± replied Peregrin.  ¡°Humans, and all the younger races, fight to take another¡¯s things for no other reason than to prove they can take it.¡±


    ¡°You can have all the reasons you want for why it is as it is.  But these are the facts,¡± stated Maragon.  ¡°You cannot afford to lose large numbers of your people to war.  Humans can.  The Seers recognised this, and knew for the elves to survive you would need allies amongst the humans.  So they picked what they believed were the best of humankind and brought them here.¡±


    ¡®We should not fear the other races.  They are no match for us.¡¯


    ¡°We could defend our borders well enough if we had to.  We did not need this alliance.¡±


    ¡°Why fight at all?  This alliance will keep many potential attackers away as they do not have the resources to fight the Llewyrr, and Klydor, and the Indian tribes aligned with us.  Both of our empires are stronger together.  For what it is worth, and I have a reasonably unique experience on history given part of my soul has lived through all of it¡­ the Seers were right.¡±


    ¡®This one is different.  If he speaks the truth about having an ancient soul inside him, then part of him is older than the oldest elf.  Does that make him more like us than a human?¡¯


    ¡°If your nearest neighbours were the Cthrag Merlo, they would almost certainly invade you.  And if you were allies, they would betray you and invade anyway,¡± reasoned Maragon, with some passion.  ¡°Their appetite for conquest is endless.  If it were the Lotese who were your neighbours, they would exploit you through trade agreements, slowly taking what is yours and stripping your forest for resources they can sell.  But of course, the Seers could see all this when they made their choice.¡±


    ¡°You are upset because you cannot see it,¡± said Maragon pointedly.


    ¡°Grey elves are used to being in control and looking down on everyone because that is how it was for thousands of years in the Silverestri Forest,¡± reasoned Maragon.  ¡°The Llewyrr left your homeland in much the same way as Chandrilar and his people did, to avoid fighting and civil war.¡±


    Unaccustomed to being talked to in such a blunt way by any non-grey elf, Peregrin shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.


    ¡°I know of the civil war that tore your people apart before the fall of Micronia.  Your histories are much slower than ours, because of your longer lifetimes, but the Llewyrr left all of that behind.  To keep the peace your grey elf ancestors agreed to a wood elf queen, as the wood elves are by far the most numerous of your peoples.  They accepted grey elves ruling as a noble caste was not the best thing for your new Llewyrr nation,¡± continued Maragon.  ¡°And then that wood queen agreed to share power and land with a Klydorian king.  In the minds of some of your people, this has moved you too far down the pecking order, and you do not like some of the choices your ruler has made.¡±


    Peregrin wanted to say something, to argue back and refute all of what was being said.  But he could not come up with any decisive argument that was worth using up anymore of whatever energy Maragon had left.


    ¡®It is true.  My issue is I don¡¯t understand the decision because I don¡¯t believe the assumptions behind it are true.¡¯


    ¡°You are young.  This view comes from inexperience, or perhaps from elders within your family.  Hopefully exposure to the world around you will enlighten you to the wisdom in the previous decisions of your empire and its rulers.¡±


    Peregrin just nodded, eager for the conversation to be over, so he could exit the room.


    ¡°Do you acknowledge the threat of the Dragon God, Razilin¡¯Tera?¡± asked Maragon.


    ¡°I do not know if it is a God.  If it is, my people have no evidence of such, and we certainly don¡¯t have any priests or churches to him in our lands.  But I acknowledge it is possible that somewhere within Driax this Dragon God has followers sufficient enough to make him a God.¡±


    Maragon nodded and was about to continue but Peregrin was not finished.


    ¡°But my people have never placed the same level of threat or importance on this event as your people have,¡± Peregrin continued.   ¡°To us a charismatic or fearsome dragon convinced a horde of evil creatures to flock to his banner.  He attacked and destroyed the largest empire your relatively primitive ancestors had built, and then he and his horde were destroyed without the assistance of any of the older races, elves included.¡±


    ¡°The fact the humans handled the threat mostly on their own is all the proof we need that this was never the existential threat is has since been made out to be.¡±


    Peregrin remained calm and just stated the facts as he saw them.


    ¡°Will you help us in fighting him?¡± Maragon asked simply.


    ¡®You choose not to get drawn into a debate on the subject.  Is it because you are wise, or do you know I am right?  You have dedicated your life to this.  No, you believe this is a genuine threat.  You just want my help, so arguing with me is unnecessary if I will help anyway.¡¯


    ¡°I will travel with the young folk of Garet and help keep them safe,¡± answered Peregrin.  ¡°I suspect much of what you require of me, I will be willing to do.  But I will not break the law and if another matter arises which requires I prioritise that, then that is what I will do.¡±


    ¡°That is good enough for me.  If something more important than saving the world from the return of Razilin¡¯Tera comes up, you feel free to do just that,¡± replied Maragon, a hint of derision in his voice.


    ¡®Do not mock me human.  You are asking for my help.¡¯


    ¡°I suspect you would anyway, but if by some chance either of the souls of the Seven should seek you out, please decline,¡± requested Maragon.


    ¡®You do not want me in the Seven?¡¯


    Even though Peregrin had no interest in joining, he was stunned at the suggestion he would not be wanted.


    ¡°Why?¡± asked Peregrin scornfully.  ¡°The Seven would be greatly honoured to count a Bladedancer amongst their number?¡±


    ¡°Let us be very clear.  I think your martial skills would be a huge asset to our cause.  But we need more than that.  You will not sacrifice yourself for our cause.  It will not become your entire life and focus.  We have had very little luck with grey elf members in the past.  And your long life means you are a pain in my ass for a very long time,¡± replied Maragon truthfully.


    ¡®Why would I want to join such a ragtag group?  The Bladedancers are a far more prestigious group than this!¡¯


    ¡°Rest assured, I would not accept if it were offered to me,¡± replied Peregrin.  ¡°If you have no other information for me, I will be leaving now.¡±


    Maragon indicated he was finished.


    ¡°Could I ask that you send in Mitchell when you leave?¡±


    Peregrin nodded as he headed for the door.


    <h2>Azzanon ¨C Church of Faylen, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Azzanon turned after sending Peregrin into Maragon, and went looking for Gaebriel.  Instead, what he saw was Samtha walking purposefully towards him.


    His heart skipped a beat.  He was both excited and terrified of what she might be about to say.


    ¡°Hi!¡± he called out, somewhat lamely.  He gave an awkward wave.


    ¡®Oh, good one.  Very smooth.  Maybe try biting your tongue as you talk next.¡¯


    ¡°So, you were a Drasnian spy and didn¡¯t tell me?¡± she drawled.  She retained that arresting grin on her face, but Azzanon couldn¡¯t tell if she was being playful or was angry.


    ¡°You apparently had some secrets of your own,¡± he replied, gesturing with both hands to the people gathered around.


    ¡°I am not sure if I am more upset you didn¡¯t tell me, or that I didn¡¯t realise you weren¡¯t who you said you were,¡± she responded.


    ¡°I was going to tell you¡­¡± he began.


    ¡°Sure you were,¡± she cut him off laughingly.


    ¡°Listen,¡± he said a little more forcefully.  ¡°That last night I was going to tell you.  I dressed differently.  I started talking without my Lotese accent.  I was going to tell you the truth, tell you I loved you, and I was going to quit being a spy.¡±


    Samtha went quiet.  Her usual bravado and sarcasm absent.


    ¡°But you never gave me the chance.  Once you were breaking up with me, it didn¡¯t really seem appropriate to counter with ¡®I love you¡¯ or ¡®I am a spy¡¯,¡± he continued.  ¡°So I watched you leave.  I got very drunk on that quite bad whiskey, and spent the rest of the night alone in a very expensive room.¡±


    ¡°Maragon called me back to Klydor.  I had to leave immediately,¡± she explained.  ¡°As he said, this life I chose doesn¡¯t leave me a lot of freedom for what I want.¡±


    ¡°Well, I would not be here if that night had gone how I wanted, and I suspect the princess would be dead right now.  So I guess the Gods had purposes for us that trumped what I wanted that night,¡± Azzanon offered.


    ¡°For what it is worth, on another plane of reality, where I was free to make my own decisions, I would not have been unhappy with what you would have proposed,¡± Samtha replied.


    Azzanon nodded his appreciation at her comment.


    ¡°Although I was really torn on why I was falling for an idiot weapons smuggler.  I had thought I was past my ¡®bad boys¡¯ phase.  No good ever comes from dating those sorts.¡±


    Azzanon laughed.  ¡°Then I apologise that my disguise was not good enough to conceal that deep down I was not a bad guy.  I will try to work on that.  It really could get me killed one day.¡±


    ¡°So, we are good then?¡± Samtha asked.


    ¡°I believe we are.  I cannot promise I will not hit on you if I get a few drinks into me.  And if you hit on me, all bets are definitely off.  I am telling myself I am over you, but I am pretty sure even this conversation will have undone at least 50% of the healing I thought I had gone through.  Maybe don¡¯t smile at me.  I find that pretty much irresistible.¡±


    Samtha smiled, and that really did not help.  Azzanon loved that smile, and how her eyes sparkled when she did it.


    ¡°Woo yourself a Drasak Princess and I am sure you will forget all about me,¡± Samtha drawled.


    Azzanon looked to where Gaebriel was standing with Hawkin.  She seemed to be watching he and Samtha, while Hawkin was eagerly watching all of her.


    ¡°Really not sure I should go there, even if given the chance.  Getting involved with the person you are assigned to protect is an amateur move,¡± replied Azzanon.


    ¡°And how do you know that?¡± Samtha asked, a grin beaming on her face.


    ¡°Because we were told in training not to,¡± Azzanon responded, a grin breaking out on his face also.


    ¡°And¡­¡± Samtha probed.


    ¡°Because I have already done that twice.  Both times ended up being huge mistakes which made the mission much more complicated.  Not to mention afterwards on the second one, when I then had to provide protection at her wedding.  So no¡­ I am not keen to repeat those mistakes again.¡±


    ¡°Keep your mind on the tasks at hand.  The forces aligning against us are very dangerous.  A mistake could cost you, or someone close to you their life,¡± advised Samtha.  ¡°Unfortunately I also know that one from personal experience.  Many times members of the Seven have made the mistake of getting involved, and many times, it has resulted in problems or disasters for the Seven.  Enough that we have essentially banned it.  Many of the Seven think any relationship is asking for trouble, but I think we all now know not to mix personal relationships and our roles within the Seven.¡±


    ¡°I will.  Take care of yourself, Samtha.¡±


    Samtha nodded.  As she strode past him she slapped him on the ass, grabbing his butt cheek firmly through his pants.


    ¡°You do have a fine ass!¡± she called out, loud enough for most of the room to hear.  ¡°I thoroughly recommend it to anyone who is interested.¡±


    A slightly sheepish and embarrassed Azzanon then made his way back towards the others.


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Church of Faylen, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Finally alone, Mitchell raced across the room and gave Maragon a firm, but careful, hug.  Maragon was not an affectionate man, and they did not hug often, but to Mitchell this felt like a hugging moment.


    Maragon returned the hug with genuine affection, but Mitchell could see he was weak, and fading.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°I am quite unwell, and still in some discomfort from my injuries,¡± replied Maragon.  ¡°With the antidote I will be fine.  Without it, I think things might be more uncertain.¡±


    ¡®Please do not die!¡¯


    ¡°You have done well getting the Stone this far,¡± commended Maragon.


    ¡°Nice strategy, sending me away with the original and then turning yourself and the tower into a massive decoy,¡± replied Mitchell.


    Maragon chuckled slightly, although the laugher turned to coughing.  ¡°I thought so.  The key was nobody would ever expect it.  How long did it take you to figure it out?¡±


    ¡°When I held the stone when we were camping in the woods,¡± Mitchell answered.  ¡°Once I felt it attune with me, I was sure it was the genuine artifact.¡±


    There was a look of surprise that quickly passed over Maragon¡¯s face, then one of concern.


    ¡°You should not have taken it from the pouch.  There is one who can sense that stone if he is near or if you use the stone.  A high-priest named Josak Norgette,¡± Maragon explained.


    ¡°We were attacked that night.  Not long after I first touched the stone,¡± replied Mitchell.  ¡°But I did not see anyone who looked like he might be a high-priest.  Just some shoddily equipped mercenaries.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.  Perhaps you got lucky,¡± surmised Maragon.  ¡°I would have expected Josak to come for the stone, but perhaps he was wary it was a trap.  He is also cheap, so perhaps he just bought the cheapest help he could find, and they bungled it.¡±


    ¡°I would advise not using the stone again unless things are most dire,¡± counselled Maragon.


    ¡°What?  You are letting me keep it?¡± asked Mitchell incredulously.


    ¡°Yes, I am afraid so.  Do not tell anyone else you still have it.  I cannot take it back.  Now that I have been in Anders clutches, he may be able to summon or teleport me back to him.  I will take precautions, but the risk is still too high.¡±


    ¡®May the Gods protect us!  I have to protect this thing from High Priests of Razilin-Tera?!  Breathe¡­ Breathe.¡¯


    By concentrating on his breathing, Mitchell was able to push down his feelings of anxiety and stress.


    ¡°There is something else.  When I touched the stone it showed me something,¡± said Mitchell.


    ¡°It did?  I am a little surprised.  Usually attuning to an item, particularly that powerful, would take time.  Days, weeks or even months would not be unheard of.¡±


    ¡°I swear, I only had it out of the pouch a few minutes,¡± declared Mitchell.


    ¡°Then it would seem the stone already felt a bond with you, but I do not know why that would be,¡± replied Maragon.  ¡°What did it show you?¡±


    ¡°The battle where the Black Knight rescued the future King.  I saw where it happened, and I saw in the background two giant Indiana Peaks.  I think I could find that hilltop now.  The stone is helping us.¡±


    ¡°It would seem so,¡± Maragon replied, but in a tone that suggested he was not entirely convinced.


    ¡®You do not think that is the complete answer.  But you do not know what the answer is.¡¯


    ¡°Who is Entreris Jarvis,¡± asked Mitchell.


    Maragon was shaken from his thoughts by the question, and was a little slow to respond.


    ¡°He is the forgotten man,¡± he replied wistfully.


    ¡°Oh, Ok then,¡± replied Mitchell sarcastically.  ¡°Do I get anything else on that?  Because you know, your answer did not tell me anything.¡±


    ¡°I am afraid that is one you do not need to know at this time.  All you need to know is you can trust him as you would a member of the Seven,¡± explained Maragon.  ¡°And he will be helpful at the Black Market.  He knows a lot of the wrong people.¡±


    ¡®Typical.  Even now, you play your games with the truth.  It annoys me, but there is no point arguing with you over it.  And you are dying.  I should get going.¡¯


    As if on cue, Maragon suffered a coughing fit.  His strength was now clearly failing, and Mitchell helped him back into a chair.


    ¡°OK.  Well I better get going so I can get his cure,¡± said Mitchell, preparing to turn and leave.


    Maragon had an uncertain look on his face, a rare look Mitchell usually only saw when he was battling in his own mind with something.


    ¡®Possibly still puzzling what my bonding with the stone might mean.¡¯


    ¡°I will leave you with your thoughts.  Do you need anything else from the market?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Mitchell.  Wait¡­.,¡± Maragon began, before another coughing fit.  He swooned as if on the verge of passing out.  ¡°There is something else I need to tell you.¡±


    There was something ominous about how he said it.


    ¡®This is important.  He wants me to know, but he is struggling to tell me.¡¯


    A feeling of dread came over Mitchell, as he anticipated hearing something really bad.


    ¡°If either of the deceased members of the Seven approach you¡­ I need you to decline,¡± advised Maragon, making it seem more like an instruction than a request.


    ¡°May I ask why?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡®Am I not worthy yet?  Have you decided I will never be worthy?¡¯


    ¡°You are likely my chosen successor,¡± Maragon replied.  His eyes seemed to struggle to focus on Mitchell.


    It took a few seconds, but the impact of that response hit Mitchell, and he felt light-headed, and a combination of both elation and awe-struck.  If Maragon wanted to choose him, then he must be both worthy and worthwhile.  It was like the validation he had always craved was finally his.


    For a few seconds Mitchell stood there with a stupid grin on his face.  He wanted to hug Maragon again.


    ¡°But there is something else you should know¡­¡± coughed Maragon.  ¡°I have always taught you the importance of contingency plans¡­  I have been consistent in this.¡±


    Maragon half stumbled, half fell from the chair, and was now lying on the cold hard floor.  Mitchell caught him enough to soften the landing, and then knelt beside his mentor.


    ¡®Contingency¡­ what are you saying?¡¯  The feeling of pride and elation started to turn cold in Mitchell¡¯s gut.  He leaned in closer both desperate and terrified of what Maragon might say next.  But more terrified he might pass out or die before he finished the sentence.


    ¡°You are ¡­ not my only apprentice.¡±


    Maragon¡¯s eyes seemed to focus briefly on Mitchell.


    ¡°I have trained another¡­ his name is Zenghi.¡±


    ¡®What does that mean?  Am I competing with this Zenghi for the right to be your successor?  Who is this Zenghi?  Where is this Zenghi?  Is he better than me?  Are you giving him tests like this right now?  Is this all just a test?¡¯


    Mitchell¡¯s mind was racing over those and what felt like a thousand other questions.


    Meanwhile, Maragon sighed heavily as though he had said what he was trying to, and then his eyes closed.


    Mitchell¡¯s mind was a maelstrom of emotions, but Maragon¡¯s condition forced him to cease with coming up with questions he had no way of answering.  He checked Maragon¡¯s vitals.  The old man was alive.


    ¡®Thank the Gods.¡¯


    He got to his feet and ran to get the priests.

 Part Two - Prologue: The Age of Heroes – The Knight and the Baron

    With the descendents of Chandrilar at the helm, the good people of Klydor prospered.  In the hundred and fifty years since his passing, the intense devotion his people had felt for him had evolved into an organised religion.  Worship of Chandrilar, and the ideals of chivalry, duty and loyalty, were the dominant faith in Klydor.  Within twenty years his Clerics were able to call upon him with prayer in the same manner as those of Xarron and Zankeine had been able to after the Battle for Micronia.  His ascent to godhood was complete.


    But there was also a darkness coming.  For many people had packed their things and come to Klydor, seeking a new life after word of its idealism and prosperity spread east.  And not all of these arrivals held the ideals of Chivalry in as high regard.  In time, some of these new peoples rose to positions of power.  Humans had settled peacefully in the western regions of the Llewyrr forest, but their ever growing numbers was causing unrest with their Llewyrr allies, and while no direct bloodshed had occurred, the rumours were growing that the elves had begun to curse crops, and desecrate water supplies, to starve and drive the humans off.


    The problems were not just internal.  Others had also made the trek west, and new empires had been built all over Driax, and all around Klydor.


    The most powerful of these was the militant empire of Cthrag Merlo.  A martial empire, with structures devoted to support and glorify its warriors, the Merlos strange honour-bound customs and rituals ensured that each generation of warriors were stronger and better than the ones who had come before.  They were masters of battlefield formations, melee combat, and strategy and tactics.  And they were rapidly becoming an unstoppable force, having already conquered or destroyed all of their neighbours.


    And so it was that King Andurien found himself besieged both from within and without.  The Merlos had landed a significant army on the shores of the Sea of Tranquility, and more reinforcements were due each week.  And within his own empire there was, for the first time, a growing unrest with the rule of the descendents of Chandrilar, as poison-tongued nobles spread rumours of weakness and an unstable mind throughout the land.


    Those Dukes still steadfastly loyal to Andurien were torn on how best to address the problem.  Dukes Hammersfell and Norfolk wished to send the army to where the Merlos had landed and drive them off before more could arrive, while others wished to prepare a line of defences at the mouth of the peninsula.  Meanwhile, Andurien¡¯s youngest son, Starick, who had spent much of his youth in the Llewyrr forests, had gone off to gather allies from their neighbours, refusing to believe the elves would not assist them in the coming conflict.  Some even said he had fallen in love with one of the Llewyrr princesses.


    As supreme commander of the Klydorian armies it is likely that Duke Hammersfell¡¯s arguments should have won out, and the Klydorian forces would have set out immediately to crush the Merlo beachhead.  As strong storms (which many Sages continue to attribute to magickal interference) had destroyed much of the Merlo fleet in the crossing, the Klydorian forces would likely have eliminated the small Merlo presence with little bother.


    However, Hammersfell mysteriously died in his sleep.  Several other loyal supporters of the King also befell sudden accidents while on horseback or travelling to the capital city of Rashan, and when the War Council was formally convened, the numbers were not in Andurien¡¯s favour.


    Chief amongst those who sought the throne for themselves was Duke Blackstone, or Korrux the Black as he was ¡°affectionately¡± known.  Korrux had been a simple blacksmith¡¯s son, but had lead a large contingent of his people to Klydor years earlier, then helped as these hard working folk established the city of Royal to the North. He had been named Duke shortly thereafter.  And he had found several like-minded individuals in Duke Garrison of Lleyton, and Lord Warwick of Chandrex to support him.


    Never perceiving how real the threat the Merlos posed, Korrux saw this an as opportunity to make the King look weak, and to finally remove him from power in a swift coup.  As such he instructed those loyal to him to keep the main army in Klydor, but to council that a smaller force be sent out to dispatch the Merlo beachhead.  He knew the forces being sent were too small, and that the most likely outcome was a bloody defeat that would further weaken the King.


    This plan was a huge success, as not only was the smaller Klydorian force defeated, the Duke of Norfolk had insisted that he would not ¡°order others to do what he would not,¡± and had lead the forces into battle himself, dying at the hand of the Merlo Emperor, Karshak Kerensky.  Within Klydor, Korrux was able to use the defeat as a sign of indecisiveness on the behalf of the King, and that this weakness proved he would not be able to handle a problem as strong as the Merlos.  Through clever politics, and the deaths of Hammersfell and Norfolk, this allowed Lord Garrison to assume control of the armies, despite having never been a Knight, and for Lord Warwick to obtain a key position in the legal and judiciary systems.


    But Korrux still had his concerns.  While the elves had withdrawn somewhat from their role guiding the Klydorian court, Llarissa Ent¡¯arryl still remained a faithful adviser to Andurien and Korrux knew she despised him and his cohorts.  If the elves remained a strong presence, Korrux feared they could bring him undone.


    And so he dispatched Drasak Assassins to kill the Elven Queen, whom he knew was visiting the Western sections of her realm, with every intention of laying blame for the attack on the citizens of Klydor, and if possible, King Andurien himself.  Unfortunately for Korrux, the attack failed.  Both the Queen and her youngest daughter, Alyssa, were saved by Starick and a small group of Klydorians, tribal Indians from the north, and elves who had pledged themselves to him.  The main assassin was killed by Starick himself in the Queen¡¯s own chamber in Anwar, while the Queen and Princess looked on.


    But the assassin¡¯s poisonous blade had cut the young Prince, and he too would have soon perished if not for the magick of the elves.  While their healing powers were indeed formidable, even they had no cure for the dark poison of the Drasak assassin.  And so to save him the young Princess, Alyssa, bound herself to him, lending the considerable strength of her immortal soul to his.  This saved him, but forever bound their two fates to each other.  Now nothing could happen to one, without now also affecting the other.


    So moved was the Queen by the young couple¡¯s actions that she consulted the Grey Seers and immediately drafted the Pact of Anwar which was a pledge of unity between her people, the Klydorians, and the human Indian tribes who inhabited the Indiana Peaks to the north.  The Pact was signed by herself, Starick and Kan¡¯Tuk, an elder of the Kestrel Indians who had assisted in her rescue.  This would prove to be a momentous occasion in both Driax and Klydorian history, which may not have happened if not for the traitorous actions of Korrux.


    Back in Rashan, Korrux was told his attempt was successful, and that not only was the Elf Queen dead, so to was Starick.  He was ecstatic, and his mis-informed success also made him cocky.  While the King lead his army out of Rashan and to the east to meet the Merlos on the narrow expanse of land at the entrance to the peninsula, Korrux invited the Crown Prince to dinner under the pretext of a truce during the Merlo conflict.  But rather than offer peace, Korrux instead murdered him.  He had his men hold the young man¡¯s arms, while he cooly stabbed him through the heart with his own dagger.


    With the King now gone, Korrux was free to manipulate this as he liked, and instead told the story of how the Prince had attacked him, and that he had only narrowly been able to fight his would-be killer off by disarming him and using his own weapon against him.  Whether the people believed the tale or not was irrelevant.  The brief investigation was handled by High Justice Warwick, and it was quickly declared an act of self defence.  With all the forces loyal to the King now riding East to try and save the kingdom, there was seemingly nobody left to oppose Korrux.


    Two days after the conclusion of the investigation, High Justice Warwick was found hanging from the chamber-rooms of the Court House, with the symbol of Chandrilar burned into his chest.  The only witness said a Black Knight bearing a white mark of Chandrilar was responsible, but that this mysterious Knight had not spoken, even when he strode past the witness who had stumbled in to see the aftermath.  The witness could not explain it, but once the Black Knight looked at him, he was not afraid.  The witness reportedly said, ¡°True Sons and Daughters of Klydor have nothing to fear from the Black Knight.¡±


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The Klydorian army force marched to the mouth of the peninsula, with the Knight orders as their vanguard.  The pennants of the Sword, Shield and Rose all flanking the magnificent Order of Chandrilar in the middle.  What they lacked in numbers this army made up for in dedication, valor and honour.  They arrived two full days ahead of their Merlo opponents, and immediately began construction of field fortifications and massive siege engines.  Andurien surveyed the battlefield, carefully trying to find the advantages to ensure victory.  While he lacked the numbers of archers and foot soldiers he ideally needed, he would at least have the higher ground from which to launch his cavalry charges, and also from which his few precious wizards and sorcerers would operate.


    When the Merlo army did arrive it was at once a most awesome and yet terrifying sight to behold.  Their numbers were considerable, easily outnumbering the Klydorian defenders by more than two to one.  By indoctrinating the survivors from the various empires they had conquered, the Merlos had built a massive force, with footmen, spearmen, crossbows, and of course their elite Clan Warriors.  But perhaps above all else, it was the colours of the Colleges of Magick that spelt the most doom for Klydorian souls.  The Merlos had many years ago conquered the old Archeron who had established their empire, and now they had at their command the many Ashar Wizards and Sorcerors whom the Archeron had taught the secrets of magick.  It was not enough that the Merlos had the most experienced and elite army in Driax.  On this day, they had the most powerful magicks as well.


    The Merlo army made camp only a short distance from their opponents defensive line, and after some honour duels between their own commanders over who would enter the battlefield first, and from where, the Merlo army began to advance.  While the Klydorian forces were confused and staggered by the duels, several of which resulted in the death of the commander involved, they could not fault the ability nor aggression of the troops when battle was joined only a short time later.


    From the beginning it was apparent the Klydorians did not have the numbers required for victory.  Their knights were easily a match for the Merlos when they charged, but the Klydorian foot troops were easily bested by their Merlo counterparts, and they could not hold the lines long enough for the Knights to withdraw and prepare for the next charge.  Quickly it became apparent that many of the Knights would need to be used to just fortify the lines, and so members of all the Orders were filtered throughout the foot troops after the first day.


    The Merlo advantages in Magick were also taking a heavy toll, with several Knight charges turned back by a sudden hurricane in their midst, or breaches in the Klydorian lines being opened up by hellish blasts of flame.  While the Klydorians were slowly giving up ground, and using their progressive lines of defence to allow them to withdraw in good order, none of it would be enough to turn the tide of battle.


    Added to this was the ineptitude of Duke Garrison, who while in command of the Klydorian¡¯s right flank, had foolishly over-committed his largest unit of Knights, and then failed to provide enough support for them to withdraw, losing over two thirds of the unit.  And then three times he had allowed the Merlos to penetrate deep into his lines, and only narrowly avoided losing the flank altogether when reserves from the Klydorian centre were deployed to shore up his lines.


    A mixture of shock and relief spread through the camp on the third morning when Garrison was found dead in his tent, his sword stabbed down between his shoulder blades such that it appeared to still be in its scabbard, and the symbol of Chandrilar burnt clearly into his chest.  A small scroll lay at his feet with the message, ¡°True Sons and Daughters of Klydor have nothing to fear from the Black Knight.¡±  The only thing the guards recalled seeing was a Black Knight wearing a white crest of Chandrilar around his tent shortly after midnight.  But when the camp was searched, no trace of the Black Knight could be found.


    By the morning of the third day the beleaguered Klydorians were nearing breaking point.  They had been backed into their final defensive positions, and the Merlos were even now beginning to flank and surround the Klydorian positions.  With the final battle about to commence, Emperor Kerensky sent in massed formations of his elite Clan Warriors.  It was time to finish it.


    Andurien gathered his elite Black Falcon Guard around him, and they anchored the centre of the Klydorian line against the best the Merlos had to offer.  Time and again they repelled the Merlo assaults, fighting off waves of fresh and ferocious Merlo clansmen.  Each man gave his life as dearly as possible, often fighting on with several wounds that would have felled a lesser man.  For they were fighting with their King, for the survival of everything they had worked so hard to build.  If they were to lose the day, then the enemy would pay a most horrendous price.


    Finally Kashak entered the midst of the fray himself, leading his clan of Wild Cats straight into the Black Falcon Guard.  It is said the ferocity of that battle was so intense, that around them many troops found themselves no longer fighting, but simply watching these two units match each other blow for blow.  But the Wild Cats had not been in battle for eight hours already, and fatigue eventually slows even the most hardened warriors.  One by one the Black Falcon Guard died defending their beloved King, until with a surge through their now crumbling lines, Kerensky came face to face with Andurien.


    Out of respect for each other they first bowed, then gave each other a Klydorian salute, before each traced half a circle in the blood-stained dirt that would form their Circle of Equals, the traditional Merlo way of two warriors settling their differences.  Andurien¡¯s shield was already broken, so Kerensky threw his away.  And then they fought.


    Andurien was valiant, and exhaustion most surely played a part, but on this day he was no match for Kerensky.  Kerensky quickly broke one of Andurien¡¯s legs.  The Klydorian King bravely got back to his feet, and even landed a blow that broke three of the Emperor¡¯s ribs, but the next telling blow would be the last, and Kerensky¡¯s axe caved in the King¡¯s chest.  The emperor allowed his remaining bodyguard to gather up his body and to depart the field, but with their King dead, the rest of the centre of the Klydorian line collapsed.


    At the same time, over on the right flank the Klydorian line was again crumbling, and this time it was Ulderan, the 2nd son of Andurien and now heir to the throne, who was being surrounded by Merlo forces.  His banner bearer was crushed by a huge Merlo axe, and Ulderan stepped into the breach to reclaim it.  But he slipped on the blood of the fallen and crashed face-first to the ground.


    As the first of the Merlos stepped in to finish the young Prince off, a Black Knight stepped through the lines and parried the finishing blow.  Within seconds he had killed the three nearest Merlos, and was dragging both the Prince and his banner back behind the Klydorian line.  He was safe for now, but the flank was now completely surrounded and there was to be no escape.


    The Merlo battle-horns sounded, signalling it was time to mount the final charge.  But they were answered by a chorus of new unfamiliar horns from both the north and south.  Both sides looked up to see the two new armies enter the fray.  From the North came a horde of Indians, led by Kan¡¯Tuk.  From the South came the Llewyrr elves, led by Starick and Alyssa.


    The arrival of the elves was devastating.  Their massed ranks of archers and rangers tore holes in the Merlo ranks with their unerring accuracy and precision.  And their High Mages were more than up to the task of neutralising the Ashar wizards.  Within moments of their arrival the Merlo forces found themselves fighting nature itself, as the trees and ground lashed out at the Merlo forces.  More than one Merlo regiment was swallowed whole by a sudden and horrible fracturing of the ground beneath its feet.


    The left flank, anchored by the Order of Chandrilar, was actually holding up much better than either the centre or the right flank.  As such, the Merlos there were too occupied to adequately respond to the arrival of the Indians at their rear.  Within minutes their lines had broken and they were trying to withdraw.


    By dawn of the fourth day the Merlos had surrendered, and the Klydorians owned the battlefield.  Their King was dead, but Ulderan had survived.  And they now had an alliance with both the Llewyrr and the Indians that had been forged with blood.  If the Merlos ever dreamed of sending another army, then it too would be crushed.


    The aftermath of the battle was that the Llewyrr agreed to gift half of the forest to the Klydorians as long as they allowed any elves who were living there to remain if they so chose, and to never exploit or destroy the forests or the Earthmother.  And as Starick and Alyssa were soon married, the people responded positively to the alliance, forgetting all of the previous grievances, and resulting in most of the elves remaining to become Klydorian citizens.  The site of the battle was forever renamed the Plains of Victory, and a massive military fortification, Fort Ajaxin, was built to repel any future attacks.


    And finally Korrux received his justice.  When word came back that the Merlos had been defeated, and that both Starick and the Elf Queen were alive, he immediately prepared to flee.  And that was when Llarissa found him.  Using an old elven prayer, she forced him to confront and relive all the sins of his life, forcing him to be judged by his own conscience.  When he saw all the innocent men that had been killed by his machinations, manipulations, and even murder, he lost his mind, running down the hallways of the Royal Palace screaming before throwing himself from the top of the highest tower.


    It is said that his soul still lingers in Klydor.  Too laden with guilt to ever forgive himself and allow his soul to move on, but too strong is his lust for power and revenge to ever stop working against the throne.  To this day, when Lords or Dukes are found to have done evil they often claim the spirit of the Black Baron has possessed them.


    As for the Black Knight, he has continued to appear in times of the greatest peril for the descendents of Chandrilar.  Some believe it is the spirit of Chandrilar himself, others believe it is the spirits of either the Dukes of Hammersfell or Norfolk.  But regardless of his identity, the calling is always the same, ¡°True Sons and Daughters of Klydor have nothing to fear from the Black Knight.¡±

 Flashback 1: First Cantrip

    <h2>Zenghi ¨C Age 9 - Maragon¡¯s Tower, Havik, Trastonia</h2>


    4<sup>th</sup> Carlingshae, Early Spring, 835 PBM


    ¡°Stay calm and concentrate, as I have taught you. Feel the energy within the candle and channel it,¡± instructed Maragon calmly. Maragon passed him a simple candle, its wick burning strongly and casting a pale light. Zenghi was eager.


    It is about time Maragon let me cast my own magick. I have been doing this for months when he is not around.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± asked Maragon


    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± Zenghi replied, ¡°and I have been for some time! You need to stop holding me back.¡±


    ¡°Contractions!¡± rebuked Maragon. ¡°Short cuts in speech are a shortcut in thought. Magick does not tolerate shortcuts. The path you are on has been walked by countless mages. Many less talented than you, but some that were more so. The Archeron know well the risks of a young mage moving too quickly. Magick is about having a structured mind and process. We do not cut corners in anything. You must be ready both physically and mentally before moving onto each new stage.¡±


    This was Zenghi¡¯s life for as long as he could remember. Maragon instructing him in how to live, and filling his day with tasks to complete and challenges to overcome. There was an enforced period for play, socialising and fun, but mostly there were constant rules and barriers preventing him from learning at the pace he knew he was capable of.


    Thankfully Maragon left often, for extended periods. That is when Zenghi really progressed, unhindered in his efforts to become the greatest Mage the world had ever known.


    ¡°Channelling is all about ¡­¡± Maragon was continuing his instruction, but Zenghi tuned him out to focus on his casting. He was good at focusing. So good, that he could barely even hear a faint murmuring sound as Maragon continued to talk.


    ¡®Feel the power within the candle. Feel its life energy being spent in the flame. That wound is how you tap into its power. Draw it in and bend it to your will.¡¯


    ¡°The magickal energy in each object is different¡­¡± continued Maragon, not fully aware of how little his mentor was listening to him.


    ¡®I can feel the power being drawn into me. I have enough for the light spell, but why do that when I can do more. I will show Maragon how good I am.¡¯


    ¡°I want you to draw its energy to you and create an orb of light which lights up the room much more brightly than the candle does now,¡± Maragon instructed.


    ¡°Be careful how quickly you channel the energy,¡± Maragon warned. ¡°Draw only what you can use. Channelling energy is tiring. A good wizard will always try to preserve his energy. And ideally reduce the amount of his own precious reserves he consumes with each spell by using components that synergise with his spell.¡±


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    ¡°Try to find a balance. Remember, the more of the spell you let the candle power, the less exhausting it will be. Take a little and the candle will still burn. Take a lot and the flame will be snuffed out. Take it all and the candle will be consumed entirely. You will not need enough energy to take it all, and in fact drawing in that much energy could be dangerous at your level of control.¡±


    ¡®You do not realise how good I am, Maragon. I will take it all and I will make the lights dance. It will be so bright in here, you will think we are standing in the midday sun.


    Zenghi continued to pull energy. He could feel the flame was already going out, but it didn¡¯t matter. He had now followed the trail of the flame into the energy stored in the candle, and now he was channelling from that thread of power too.


    ¡®I can feel the power growing. I can feel the heat building up inside of me like a power waiting to be used.¡¯


    Maragon watched intently. He had his Sense Channelling enchantment running, and he could feel the reckless amount of energy his young apprentice was drawing in. Zenghi was such a dangerous apprentice to take on. His talent with magick was remarkable, the heritage of power in his ancestry was incredible, but his lust for power and knowledge was insatiable. That was a very dangerous combination in a young wizard.


    Maragon hoped discipline would provide a necessary brake on Zenghi¡¯s ambitions, but it was still very early in that process. It was important the boy learned his lessons, so he watched, knowing he could intercede and shut the spell down if necessary, but resolute that he would not interfere unless he had to.


    Zenghi commenced the gestures and incantations for the dancing lights spell, a more powerful and difficult version of the simple light spell he was supposed to cast. And it was going really well.


    ¡®See my power! I have channelled even more power than I need. I am going to create true Flame and bend it to my will.¡¯


    The Create Flame spell was considerably more powerful than the simple light spell, and even more difficult than the Dazzling Lights spell Zenghi had intended to cast. This spell was something that apprentice mages who had completed their training would struggle to cast consistently. And they would generally be 10 years Zenghi¡¯s senior.


    The energy shaping around his young and frail body intensified, going from a shimmer of light to a fiery wave, the heat from his casting heating his body and being felt all across the room. Zenghi frantically gestured and incanted to control the relative maelstrom of magickal energy he had birthed. A look of both intense concentration and a slightly manic glee was apparent on his face.


    As he brought the spell to near its completion, he grinned. From atop his hand a small ball of fire was slowly blossoming into a small bonfire. He could feel the heat trying to punch through the wall of magick and scorch even its creator.


    ¡®This will be the first of my many victories.¡¯


    He glanced at Maragon, expecting to see shock and awe. Instead he saw what looked like mirth.


    ¡®What? How can he look like that. What I am doing is incredible!¡¯


    Distracted by Maragon¡¯s reaction, and with his emotions rising, this was when Zenghi lost control of his spell.


    The Flame he had birthed was hungry. It punched through the wall of magick he was using to both cast and control it, scorching his hand. Zenghi yelped in pain. And then his concentration broke completely, and the spell failed completely. The fiery energy from his spell that had been swirling around him, and resting in his hand, now flew in all directions uncontrollably.


    The last thing he remembered was the flames engulfing him, the mat he was kneeling on, his clothes catching alight, his screams of terror, and everything going black.

 Flashback 2: First Spell

    <h2>Zenghi ¨C Age 12 - Maragon¡¯s Tower, Havik, Trastonia</h2>


    6th Sylvanishae, Summer, 838 PBM


    ¡°Today we will test your knowledge. And if you pass, then we will move to the next phase of your training,¡± began Maragon. He looked at his young apprentice kneeling on the mat before him. It was still very early in the morning and Zenghi looked tired. Beside Maragon, Brother Turin smiled at the young boy encouragingly.


    ¡®I do not much like early mornings. I do not much like kneeling either. But if I prove I know your silly magick lore, we progress to the next stage of actual magick.¡¯


    ¡°I understand.¡± replied Zenghi, with the minimum level of formality to avoid being harshly rebuked. He glanced at his burned right hand. The only reminder on his body of that rather eventful time he tried to cast for the first time in Maragon¡¯s presence. Brother Turin had offered to heal the scars, but Zenghi declined. The scars were not a reminder of failure for Zenghi. Far from it. They reminded him of the risks one must take to attain greatness.


    ¡°What are the two sources of magick?¡± asked Maragon.


    ¡®This is your test? I could have answered this at 6.¡¯


    ¡°Arcane,¡± Zenghi replied, ¡°which is for those who have magick within themselves, and are the focal point for the power. Divine is for those who pray to a God, and that being is the one who is powerful.¡± Zenghi¡¯s tone left no doubt who he thought was the better of the two.


    ¡°Correct,¡± replied Maragon. ¡°But do not underestimate the power of the divine. You may one day become very powerful, but you are still nothing compared to the power of a God.¡±


    ¡°The Gods are powerful, and hard to understand indeed. Only a very small percentage of a church¡¯s priests will ever have the gift to channel the power of their God into prayers. They are truly blessed. You should not ever underestimate them,¡± added Brother Turin.


    ¡®Sure Brother Turin. Remind us how special you are. Really, you are now just old. You are the past and I will be the future.¡¯


    ¡°We teach so that others may be better than we were,¡± added Brother Turin. Maragon nodded his agreement to that point, then continued with the lesson.


    ¡°Name at least four types of Arcane casters?¡± asked Maragon.


    ¡®A good question. I must understand all the types if I am to beat them.¡¯


    ¡°The most powerful type are Mages,¡± replied Zenghi, ¡°for only the mage can learn and cast any magic. He accesses the magickal energies in the things around him and inside him, and uses that to weave his spells. His only limit is how much he can learn, meaning his power could be supreme.¡±


    Maragon nodded that Zenghi was correct, but added, ¡°Mages are not the most powerful caster. They are the most diverse and flexible, but in terms of raw power, many of the others have less to learn to utilise their powers, and can obtain power in a more limited number of spheres more quickly than a Mage can.¡±


    ¡°The Seven has always had at least one Mage,¡± commented Brother Turin. ¡°Their knowledge of the arcane is usually the strongest. And the Seven prides itself on using knowledge to solve problems.¡±


    ¡®Being a mage might not be the easiest, but it is the road to being the most powerful. I don¡¯t need to cut corners. But I will be the most powerful.¡¯


    ¡°Sorcerers,¡± continued Zenghi, ¡°are born with magick in their blood from some kind of connection to a powerful magickal being, be that fay, arcane, draconic, demonic or divine. Magick comes more easily to them, but they are limited in the powers they can learn. They can increase their powers by absorbing the souls of other powerful creatures, but I believe Mages can do that also if they are knowledgeable enough.¡±


    ¡°Do not ever even dream of such a thing,¡± warned Maragon sternly. ¡°Sorcerers who harvest the essence from other magickal creatures may indeed become very powerful, but they also just as often die in the attempt. Merging souls with powerful magickal creatures who have recently been deceased is very dangerous. And even if you succeed, you often end up mentally unstable as well. The risks for a Mage are even worse, as their blood usually has no special ancestry in it¡± advised Maragon.


    ¡®Usually has no special ancestry¡¯. That is a strange thing to say. You taught me that Mages have no ancestral powers. Children of mages, while they may have great aptitude to be mages, will have no latent powers. So why did you say that? Do I have a special ancestry? Whatever the secret the Brother is in on it too.


    ¡°It is indeed very dangerous. We each must strive to maximise our potential, understanding that the effort to do this is immense. But we must not be too ambitious or we will destroy ourselves,¡± warned Brother Turin.


    Maragon motioned for Zenghi to continue.


    ¡°Warlocks are willing to risk pacts with forbidden powers in order to unlock more magick understanding,¡± said Zenghi reverently. ¡°This knowledge comes with risk and the Warlock may go mad.¡±


    Zenghi sensed he had hit a raw nerve with Maragon, who looked like he was about to explode. Brother Turin calmed him though, with a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and Brother Turin spoke instead.


    ¡°Warlocks are amongst the greatest peril to the soul of mortals that has ever existed. Never accept a pact offered by a demon or any other supernatural being. They always have their own motives and the deal they offer will never be the equal of what you are giving up. You must never consider such a thing,¡± preached the old priest.


    ¡®OK. Both of you agree on that one. But is it just most people are not strong enough to resist the demon?¡¯


    ¡°One more arcane caster type please,¡± requested Brother Turin. Maragon continued to seethe.


    ¡°High-Mages have access to magick in a higher, better form,¡± answered Zenghi, ¡°The Archeron, who taught humans magick, elected to teach their followers normal magick, either because they did not know high-magick, or they wanted their children, the Ashar, to be cast down and defeated by the Merlos.¡±


    ¡°I see he has inherited your political views on things,¡± commented Brother Turin. ¡°His voice but unmistakenly your words. Strange that you, of all people, would carry an axe to grind over that.¡±


    ¡®Maragon hates the Merlos for enslaving the Ashar, who he sees as his people. Why is that hard to understand, priest?¡¯


    Zenghi continued, ¡°This magick is more difficult to cast, but is in some ways better than non-high magick. Like if a non-high mage and a high mage try to counter each other¡¯s spells. High Mages must choose carefully when to cast, as while their spells are more powerful, they are more tiring, meaning they are able to cast less. Most ancient races consider it a crime to share the secrets of High Magick.¡±


    ¡®I have done your little test. We know my answers were right. Let us get on with the next stage of my training.¡¯


    ¡°Well done. Your ability with the lore is satisfactory. You have passed the test. As a reward we will commence on the next phase of your training. Today, you are going to try and cast your first full spell.¡±


    ¡°This is an exciting day indeed,¡± added Brother Turin.


    Zenghi considered this announcement.


    You know I love new challenges. That is why you drag them out and test my patience. You know I am tired from staying up late reading through spell books and journals on the arcane. What you do not know is at least half of those books I am not supposed to have yet. You set this challenge first thing in the morning as you know this is when I am at my weakest. But I see lots of candles arrayed in a circle around us. If your challenge involves casting Fire then I will have plenty of magick source to draw from.


    ¡°As usual, you will need to stay calm and maintain your focus. This spell is more difficult than the simple cantrips we have been casting, but I think you are ready,¡± encouraged Maragon.¡±


    This will not be my first spell, Master. Simply the first one we watch me cast together. I have all but mastered all the basic techniques from all 18 of the allowed spheres of magick, and even a few of the techniques from some of the others. My most powerful spell so far is the one I use to shroud my room so you do not know that I cast spells in there. Brother Turin sees my potential as no other does. That is why he has taught me the shroud spell, and helped me get some spell books you would never let me have, Maragon. But what even Brother Turin does not know is there are some notes on forbidden spheres within those books.


    ¡°I have picked a spell for today that I think should be a good building block from the skills you have already learned,¡± continued Maragon. ¡°Do you think you are prepared?¡±


    ¡°We both know that I am, Master,¡± Zenghi replied. There was a slight tinge to the way he said the word Master these days that implied he did not really consider anyone to be his master.


    ¡°It is a fine line between confidence and arrogance, young Zenghi,¡± counselled Brother Turin. ¡°The first can help lead to becoming accomplished in one¡¯s craft. But the second is the path to ruin.¡±


    ¡®You are not a Mage, Brother, so you do not understand.¡¯


    The aging priest smiled at Zenghi in way that almost suggested he had been listening to his thoughts. ¡°I understand exactly what battles within you, boy. You are wise to speak to me of your struggles. May you continue to find my counsel enlightening.¡±


    ¡°And what spell do you think I have chosen for your test today?¡± interrupted Maragon, keen to get the lesson going.


    ¡®My guess is a ¡®Flame Arc¡¯, because you love Fire spells. I also hope this is what it is. It or some other Fire spell is the only thing for which you have left me obvious targets from which to draw energy from..¡¯


    ¡°I suspect that wooden training dummy is about to burn,¡± Zenghi replied, gesturing towards the stuffed training dummy roughly shaped like a man that was ¡®standing¡¯ about 10 metres away, the only other major object in their training space today.


    Maragon nodded.


    ¡°But hopefully not the curtains?¡± Maragon gestured to the still singed curtains that hung over the small window in this room. They too had been burned in that failed spell, and while Maragon had protected his young apprenctice from the worst effects of the failed spell, several of the objects in the room had suffered flame damage. Maragon left the curtains here as a reminder of what happened to those who tried to do more than they were capable of with magick.


    ¡®You think those remind me of my failure. You tell me that any fool with the talent can suck in large amounts of magickal energy and then lose control of a spell they are not skilled enough to cast. But I see the truth here. Those curtains are a reminder of how powerful I am, and how powerful I will be. The evils of this world are in for a rude shock when I am let loose upon them.¡¯


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    ¡°I am here to heal your wounds if it does indeed go that way, my child,¡± offered Brother Turin. ¡°You just focus on your path. I will ensure you do not come to harm. You are too special for that.¡±


    ¡®Why is it Brother Turin always tells me I am special, yet Maragon goes out of his way to say that I am only gifted. It is like Brother Turin is assured of my grand destiny, but Maragon is not. I will show him. I will show all those who have ever doubted me.¡¯


    ¡°Your reasoning is correct. I am training you for a very dangerous life. It is critical you can defend yourself¡±, replied Maragon. ¡°Fire spells capture the balance you need to learn. They are an easy energy to channel, high damage potential, but some risk to the caster if you are either lazy or undisciplined and aggressive in your channeling. Flame longs to burn something. It does not much care if that is YOU or the intended target. That risk can make some casters panic and make mistakes. On the battlefield there is risk, so this is a good test or simulation for what casting on the battlefield will be like.¡±


    ¡°Nearly all your cantrips have very tight spell-weaves, but your best are in the fields of Fire, Illusion and incredibly, Meta-Magick, a sphere most casters struggle with until they are much more advanced,¡± continued Maragon.


    ¡®Meta-magick. The magick which manipulates other magick. It is the difference between an idiot with a paint brush and true artist crafting magickal masterpieces. Of course I choose to master this sphere faster than others.¡¯


    ¡°Those you have been weakest in are Nature and Enchantment,¡± commented Maragon, although there was no disappointment or judgement in his voice.


    ¡®Those are not weaknesses. Those are just spheres I disdain compared to others. Nature is a pointless sphere if you ask me. Why try to subtly manipulate the natural world when I can manifest and manipulate the power of the elements? Why enchant others with my spells? Why enchant a weapon or armour? I prefer to directly influence and control everything with my own magick. Dependence on others or on items is a weakness¡¯


    ¡°Given your penchant for trying to do more than you can,¡± continued Maragon, ¡°but my wanting you to learn discipline, I deliberately picked a spell you could likely try to overcast ¨C Flame Arc.¡±


    ¡°Part of the objective for this lesson is for you to just cast the spell I have asked for,¡± instructed Maragon. ¡°There is no need to do anything more than what is required. Casting magick is often about using the smallest spell which will get the job done. I have personally slayed many casters who were trying to do some big grandiose spell which I never let them finish.¡±


    ¡®But was the issue they cast too powerful a spell, or that they just did not channel their spell fast enough. I look forward to my first real combat. I bet I am just as fast to cast under the pressure of battle as I am here.¡¯


    ¡®As for my spell-weaves, Master, you do not realise how much I practice Meta-Magick. ¨C I want to be a master at manipulating and changing the energies of magick itself. Start casting a Flame Arc, but as you weave and throw it, manipulate it into a Blade of Steel instead. Now the idiot fool I have thrown it at watches as the blade passes harmlessly through his Flame Ward and strikes him in the heart. As he dies his last thought was I have outsmarted him.


    ¡®My weaves in Shadow and Necromancy are growing stronger too, but I fear I will never get to share that with you. Today is not a chance for me to learn restraint. Today is yet another chance for you to realise how good I have become.¡¯


    ¡°I think it is very good that he shows such a broad base of knowledge across all the fields of magick. You never know which spell or aspect of magick may be required,¡± encouraged Brother Turin.


    ¡°Channelling is all about drawing magickal energies from within ourselves and the things around us, and then using that energy to shape our spells,¡± said Maragon, continuing with the lesson. ¡°You have sufficient skill and magickal reserves to cast this spell completely from within you, so no components will be necessary¡±


    ¡®Not necessary no. But they will be useful and it would be a waste not to use that energy. That is something you always preach Master. ¡®Preserve your energies. They are your second most important resource other than your own blood.¡¯


    Zenghi commenced casting. He reached out for each of the candles and started siphoning power from each of their burning tips, the energy almost effortlessly flowing into him. And quickly.


    ¡°Be careful how much energy you draw. The more energy the harder the spell-weave may be to control.¡± Maragon counselled. Zenghi barely heard the warning, already moving his attention to the beginnings of his spell-weave.


    ¡®I will cast your Flame Arc. But not the basic version you intend. I will cast a much more powerful version, and instead of a single orb of fire, I will conjure and throw two at the same time. Your dummy will be the first of many targets to feel the wrath of my magickal prowess.¡¯


    ¡°Begin channelling. You will know immediately by the feel if it is working as you intend. With a water spell, you will feel the chill through your entire body. With this spell you will feel the warmth of sitting near a small bonfire, or perhaps a mildly warm bath.¡±


    Zenghi commenced creating his spell-weave.


    ¡®The heat is much warmer than that, Master. I am absorbing twice as much energy as you intended. And even now we can both see my skills are more than equal to the required spell-weaving.¡¯


    ¡°His power level is already most remarkable,¡± praised Brother Turin. ¡°He will make an excellent Champion one day.¡± Maragon shot the priest an irritated look, but Zenghi was too focused to see it.


    Zenghi¡¯s chanting and gesturing increased. Around Zenghi tendrils of flame began to gather and were quickly co-alesced into his first Orb. As he sealed and closed the orb it was clear there were still magickal tendrils floating around his body.


    ¡°Careful Zenghi. Those errant tendrils of flame could cause you a lot of harm if they escape the field of your casting,¡± warned Maragon.


    ¡®They are not errant, Master. They are the materials for my second Orb. Behold my power.¡¯


    Zenghi continued to draw fiery energy from the candles, causing two of them to extinguish completely. But any loss of light was more than compensated by the large glowing orbs Zenghi had now sprung into existence.


    ¡°This is not necessary, Zenghi,¡± warned Maragon, a little frustration evident in his voice.


    Zenghi ignored the warning, and focused only on his spell-weave. With almost perfect pronunciation of the Archeron language, and a similar level of mastery of the magickal gestures and movements required to control the magickal energy, his second orb was soon sealed and finished.


    With a flourish that was more dramatic than purely necessary, Zenghi ¡®grabbed¡¯ both orbs in his magickal grip and flung them at the stationary dummy. He guided both Orbs in and they struck roughly side by side, catching the dummy in the chest and right shoulder.


    Immediately both orbs burst and the dummy was covered in fiery magick. It burst into flames and once its straw innards were alight its doom was sealed. Zenghi walked closer to the doomed mannequin to revel in his might. He stared into the lifeless eyes of the dummy as it burned.


    ¡®The first of many. I swear to the Gods I will be ending evil wherever I find it. I will not be swayed by calls for mercy, or by those who lack the will to do what must be done.¡¯


    He did not turn back to Maragon until the dummy was well and truly burned. He could hear quiet clapping coming from the direction of Brother Turin.


    ¡°Impressive,¡± Maragon admitted. ¡°Your expertise is indeed impressive. Even moreso given your young age.¡±


    Zenghi bathed in the praise from a mentor who was not prone to give it falsely. But it was to be short-lived.


    ¡°But we already know you are a gifted caster. Very few are more gifted, or as hard working. Your challenge as I have repeatedly warned, is you are undisciplined,¡± lectured Maragon. ¡°Had this been a real battle, then you have over-spent magickal resources destroying this opponent. You may no longer have enough reserves for the next opponent, or the one after that. You rarely ever know if you will have further need of your magick after the current spell you are casting, so a wise caster always solves the problem with the smallest use of magick possible, maximising his reserves for whatever may come next.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master. But as you said, you rarely know if you will have need of further magick. I knew here that I would not. So I instead focused on practicing a more difficult spell. I was simulating the scenario where I am required, in the heat of battle, to stretch myself and cast a spell that is beyond my normal limits,¡± Zenghi replied, feeling reasonably sure his argument was a well reasoned one. Maragon prided himself on being a man of reason rather than emotion. Zenghi had learned already that if you wished to disagree with him, you needed a sound argument.


    ¡°Perhaps. But you also defied my instructions. Always remember your place. I am the master and you are the student.¡± Maragon glared sternly at Zenghi, wanting to see a look that included both acceptance of this point and perhaps an acknowledgement of his error in judgement.


    ¡®Okay Master. I will acknowledge your point. But I long for the day I make decisions for myself. I will only be held back by your limitations for so long.¡¯


    ¡°Yes, Master,¡± Zenghi replied as solemnly as he could.


    ¡°You must let the boy walk his own path, Maragon,¡± counselled Brother Turin. ¡°He is not you, and I sense strongly that his path will differ from yours. But he will be formidable.¡±


    ¡°Zenghi has incredible potential. And while that potential could be turned into a force capable of doing great good for the world, it could also be a force capable of causing much harm. Those with power carry an incredible responsibility to use it wisely,¡± replied Maragon.


    ¡°But today he has completed an important part in this training. And as is customary he has earned a reward. Because he openly disobeyed me he has also earned a punishment, although on the scales, the punishment will be minor. Today is a good and important day in his path,¡± acknowledged Maragon.


    ¡°What reward would you like?¡± asked Brother Turin, his eyes and whole face showing an eager excitement to know the answer.


    ¡®A reward? Okay. What do I want? I want access to the spell-books you do not want me to see, Master. But would you give them to me?¡¯


    ¡°I want access to the spell-books you keep hidden,¡± Zenghi asked, watching Maragon¡¯s expression intently.


    Brother Turin spun excitedly, clearly keen to see Maragon¡¯s response.


    ¡®Interesting that the Priest of Faylen did not condemn this request. I have been taught the Sun-God despises Dark Magick in all its forms. That should have been an instant refusal for the Brother.¡¯


    Maragon considered his response before speaking, but Zenghi could not tell if he was genuinely considering his answer, or only the way to frame it.


    ¡°It is important that in time you understand the forbidden spheres. You will likely be forced to face practitioners in those Arts after all. But you are too young for that knowledge right now. I have seen the hunger in you to consume all the knowledge on magick that I put in front of you. You would not be able to resist the urge to learn these magicks and add these skills to your own,¡± answered Maragon.


    ¡°Let me very clear about this. The Dark Magick spheres, those we call the forbidden spheres, are all linked to the Dark Gods themselves:


    True Evil = Tzy¡¯Lord, the Dread Magister


    Necromancy = Cyrus, the Reaper of Souls


    Darkness = Drezzim, the Goddess of the Night


    Perversion = Saleercki, the Goddess of Secrets


    Blood = Kazak¡¯Ta, the Bloody Berzerker


    Bestiality = Malar, the Corruptor of Nature


    Technology = Jun¡¯Kar, the Scourge of Science¡±


    Maragon counted the Dark Gods off on his fingers as he spoke.


    ¡°And there are other powers such as Razilin¡¯Tera who allow their followers to use these forbidden spheres as well. Using their magick will corrupt your soul over time,¡± Maragon continued. ¡°But using these powers is also addictive. It feels different to normal magick, and it makes you want to use it again and again, until it takes hold over you and before you know it you are doing its bidding instead of the other way around.¡±


    ¡°You may make another request, or I will grant you access to books that will teach you about the forbidden spheres, but these will not be spell-books like you are looking for. There will be nothing in these tomes that will in anyway teach you how to cast spells or in anyway utilise magick from these spheres,¡± stated Maragon.


    ¡°What is your choice?¡± Maragon asked.


    These are not what I really want, but as Maragon always says, ¡®knowledge is power¡¯.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the books,¡± Zenghi replied.


    ¡°Contractions!¡± rebuked Maragon. A common occurrence as Zenghi still regularly used contractions when he spoke, and even more in his thoughts.


    ¡°I will take the books,¡± corrected Zenghi.


    ¡°With permission, I would like to be involved in the selection process for these books,¡± requested Brother Turin. ¡°There could be much in these tomes that offends my God. Perhaps I can help choose that which will cause the least offence.¡±


    Maragon simply nodded his agreement.


    ¡°And for your punishment, you will prepare the evening meal and clean the kitchen afterwards for the next three days while Brother Turin remains with us. You will also undertake one additional weapons training session per day. You may choose whether that is with me or with Brother Turin.¡±


    ¡°A true mage of my power will have little need of skill with a mundane weapon of wood or steel,¡± complained Zenghi, clearly more perturbed by the combat training than the cooking and cleaning aspect of his punishment. ¡°It is a waste of time that could be better spent on magickal training.¡±


    ¡°You must prepare for scenarios where you must fight without magick. Perhaps you are out of magickal reserves, perhaps you cannot cast for some other reason. Either way, there may be times when your survival could well depend on your skill with a ¡®mundane¡¯ weapon,¡± replied Margon. ¡°It may be the weapon will not always be your contingency plan, but you must always have a secondary plan in case your first one is no longer an option.¡±


    Maragon gestured to the slightly curved scabbard at his left hip. ¡°You think I have not used this to save my life or that of those around me? I have trained very hard to master the use of this blade. The War Wizards of Cthrag Merlo are unequalled as a combination of Fighter and Mage. You would do well to learn from their example.¡±


    Zenghi rolled his eyes.


    ¡®I do NOT want to be a War Wizard. I will just turn the warriors I face into toads. No blade necessary, and certainly no reason to engage these dumb brutes in melee combat.¡¯


    ¡°His path must be his own,¡± counselled Brother Turin.


    ¡°Stop encouraging him. You are supposed to be here to help temper his disobedience. Not embolden it,¡± countered Maragon.

 Chapter 23: The Black Market

    <h2>Azzanon ¨C A secret location, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    11<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    It had not taken long for Azzanon to find the current location of the Black Market, and with a due sense of urgency, he and a relatively small subset of his new companions had headed off.  He pushed aside a series of hanging rugs to reveal a doorway and dimly sit stairwell going down under street level.  He considered each of those with him as they slipped past him.


    The first one to move past was Eva, moving with catlike grace, and keeping her hood up high to reduce how much attention she drew with the silver mirror mask that completely hid her facial features.


    ¡®The enigmatic elven guardian, Eva.  Her face reveals nothing whether she is wearing the mirror-mask or not.  And it would seem it is basically impossible to separate her from Mitchell, whom she seems hell bent on protecting.  But what I cannot figure out is why.  The boy is gifted and clever, but he is still little more than an apprentice.  Losing Eva to save him seems like a rather poor choice.  But these people aren¡¯t stupid.  So there must be something I don¡¯t know.¡¯


    The next to pass was Mitchell.  Looking at him there was nothing significant to remark on.


    ¡®Average looking appearance, wears common clothing of a white tunic and dark breeches, has a travel worn cloak, and no noteworthy facial features or distinguishing marks.  Even knowing he can cast magick, I struggle to see anything exceptional or noteworthy about him.  But he has a quick mind.  Very few have figured out I am a spy as fast as he did.  I bet he is often underestimated.  I suspect it can be a useful gift, if he can figure out how to use it to his advantage.¡¯


    After Mitchell came Hawkin, the big man walking around with his jaw hanging open at the incredible sites he saw, and they weren¡¯t even in the Black Market yet.  His head turned this way and that, noting the people in this shady part of the city, beggars, vagabonds, rogues, and scantily clad women everywhere.


    ¡®Poor boy.  You are just starting to realise that while you might be considered the wild man of Garet, you are decidedly tame compared to some of the miscreants of Port Chandrex.¡¯


    ¡°Remember what I said.  Do not take food or drink from anyone without my approval.  And I would strongly suggest not trying to get a girlfriend while we are down here.  Not unless you wish to hand over a significant portion of whatever wealth you have on you right now, anyway,¡± cautioned Azzanon.


    ¡°It is almost as if you don¡¯t want me to have any fun,¡± grinned back Hawkin.  ¡°Fortunately, I don¡¯t tend to listen to people who tell me what to do.¡±


    ¡®Does he realise how stupid that comment is.  That just means he doesn¡¯t listen to anyone, because it is clearly impossible to listen to someone who doesn¡¯t tell you what to do.¡¯


    The final figure to move past him was the lean and graceful figure of Peregrin.


    ¡®When you watch them closely, elves really do all move with the most incredible dexterity.  This one carries two rather intimidating looking scimitars.  Certainly impressive to look at, but whether he can actually use both of those large blades properly at the same time is another matter.  True fencing is with a single large blade and smaller dagger for defence.  I thought everyone knew that.¡¯


    ¡°Do not take it personally.  He does not listen to his father or his friends either,¡± commented Peregrin as he started down the stairs.  ¡°We are not being followed, by either normal or magickal means.¡±


    That last comment made Azzanon chuckle.


    ¡®At least one of this crew is actually adding value to our mission.  The rest of them are just people who stand out around here, and whom I have to keep out of trouble.¡¯


    Azzanon carefully pushed his way back to the front as the group stepped from the stairs and came to a dimly lit wooden doorway with what looked like two beggars lying against the wall on either side.  They were badly bedraggled, with dirt crusted cloaks wrapped tightly around them, and a dirty old hat sitting on the ground next to the one on the right.  The hat was their collection plate, and it contained a few copper and a single, very out of place, gold piece in it.


    ¡®Nice.  Enshroud your guards in a beggar¡¯s guise.  Use the hat to determine who is supposed to be here and who is not.  If I stumbled down here, or managed to find the place without being truly invited, maybe I put a gold coin into the hat thinking that must be the admittance fee, and then the guards raise the alarm and whatever passes for security descends quickly.


    Azzanon gestured for the others to stop and he moved forwards and carefully placed the silver token he had been given into the hat.  He made sure to let the beggar see the strange markings on it; a dice on one side, and the image of jester wearing a crown on the other.


    The beggar coughed loudly.  Azzanon heard several mechanisms unlock from the direction of the door.  And then the door opened, revealing a large chamber with a surprisingly large number of people bustling around makeshift stalls.


    Azzanon motioned for the others to follow him.


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C A secret location, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    The first sensation was the sudden shift in atmosphere ¨C from the salty, open air of the port above to a close, musky scent of this hidden world. Dimly lit by flickering torches set in iron sconces along the walls, the underground market revealed itself. The air was thick with the aroma of exotic spices and the tang of magic.  Mitchell quickly cast a Detect Magick enchantment to allow him to more clearly see any magick in the area around him.


    Stalls and tables, haphazardly arranged, formed a labyrinthine path through the cavernous space of what was likely a massive cellar. Each vendor, shrouded in hooded cloaks or garish attire, peddled their wares with hushed tones and knowing looks. On one stand Mitchell could see stone tablets proclaiming to be forbidden artifacts from forgotten tombs in the Moresh sands, lying besides staves with magically imbued gems in their headpieces.  On many others, it looked more like stolen treasures were the wares, from within the city or perhaps from one of the ships in harbour.  Jewellery and art objects gleamed in the half-light; their origins as mysterious as their current holders.


    Noting the genuinely magickal aura on the staves, Mitchell motioned for Eva and Azzanon to follow him, and he moved towards the first table.  The vendor was a white skinned human male, but he was dressed in exotic cloths and veils of vibrant colours, giving the impression of someone who had travelled far.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean to be condescending, but its unlikely we will find what we want at the first table,¡± cautioned Azzanon.  ¡°Assume everyone is lying about their goods and nothing is the genuine article.¡±


    Mitchell nodded his acknowledgment of the warning.  As they approached the table Eva stopped him protectively, and made the final few steps alone.


    ¡°We are looking for Troll¡¯s Blood.  Do you have any?¡± she asked, her higher pitch melodic voice clear, even through her magickal mask.


    The vendor appraised his new customers carefully.  Mitchell suspected he was trying to decide if he could con them safely.  He looked into the mirror mask, and was briefly lost in the reflection.


    ¡°I ¡­ I don¡¯t have any,¡± he said very uncertainly.


    ¡°Do you know where we might find some?¡± Azzanon asked.


    ¡°Ahh¡­ seek out Madame Trekeli.  Her stall is near the back, in the dark,¡± replied the vendor as he stumbled away and out of view, clearly shaken by the exchange.


    As they moved away from the stall and deeper into the market Azzanon asked, ¡°What just happened?¡±


    ¡°The stall owner looked into his own reflection in my mask,¡± replied Ava.  ¡°Good people tend to see the best version of themselves, and how they have made the world a better place.  Bad people tend to see the worst version of themselves, and how they have made the world a worse place.  I suspect our vendor may have done some underhanded deals, or sold some false goods, and he got a glimpse of the evil and suffering he has caused.  Evidently, it was quite overwhelming for him.¡±


    ¡°I have looked at your mask.  I don¡¯t recall having any such visions,¡± queried Azzanon.  Mitchell was thinking the same thing.


    ¡°I have not used the magick of the mask on you.  If you ask at a more convenient moment, I would consider doing so,¡± Eva replied.


    ¡°Yes¡­ No¡­ Dammit.  Let me think about that,¡± responded Azzanon.


    ¡®I can understand the dilemma.  We all want to believe we are a good person.  What if you look into the mask and discover you are not.  That could be very hard to get over.  And I can only guess how much more complicated it would be for a spy.  If you do evil to do good, or perhaps just to prevent an even greater evil, where does that leave you on the spectrum.¡¯


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to look.  I know exactly how good I am,¡± interjected Hawkin.


    ¡®Once again, ignorance is bliss for dear Hawkin.¡¯


    As the quintet moved deeper into the market the murmur of haggling voices blended with the distant sound of the sea, a constant reminder of the port city above. The market clearly thrived on the unusual and the prohibited; there was an old sailor offering maps that apparently led to uncharted lands and buried treasures; shady alchemists hawked potions of dubious origin, promising love, luck, or longevity; and a great many cloaked figures skulked around trading in information, secrets, or just plain old theft.


    In the dimmest recesses of the market, where the torchlight barely reached, were the strangest stalls. Here, Mitchell could see spell books written in both known and unknown languages.  There were strange arcane instruments, some of which he even didn¡¯t know what they did, and he thought Maragon¡¯s laboratory had everything.  Mitchell saw one stall in particular being tended by two women, one younger and one older.  The older one drew his attention, with exotic clothing that Mitchell thought looked Eridani in origin, and with her greying hair mostly held back by a brightly coloured shawl.  She was sitting behind a stall of exotic items, many of which emanated at least moderate auras of real magick.


    ¡®If I were to guess, that is Madame Trekeli.¡¯


    He began to move towards her.  The others followed.  The older woman even stood as they approached.


    ¡°Let me handle the negotiations,¡± suggested Azzanon, stepping in front of Mitchell.  ¡°How much should we pay for this?¡±


    ¡°It is a rare commodity.  50 or even 100 gold pieces for a vial is not unreasonable,¡± replied Ava.  ¡°But the price is not important.  I have sufficient funds to purchase the blood if they have the stock to sell.¡±


    Azzanon briefly considered the older woman, but quickly dismissed her and approached the younger, more attractive woman.


    ¡°Hello Beautiful.  You wouldn¡¯t happen to have any Troll blood for sale would you?¡±


    Mitchell intended to listen in to Azzanon¡¯s negotiations, but as he approached the stall it was clear that the older woman was still staring at him intently.  It was as if he, or perhaps Eva and he, were the only things in the Black market worth looking at.


    ¡°It is an honour to meet you Eternal Guardians,¡± she said.


    Mitchell quickly looked around to confirm she really was looking at him.  Apart from Eva standing protectively at his side, he saw nobody else positioned in a way that would be plausible to be the target for her comment.


    ¡°Hello.  My name is Mitchell.  Have we met?¡± Mitchell asked, trying to be polite and hoping she might elaborate on who she was and what she was talking about.  He also approached closer hoping to lower the volume of their conversation and the number of people who might overhear it.


    ¡°Careful.  This one has the taint of magick within her.  Her sorcerous powers could be dangerous,¡± warned Eva in elven.


    ¡°And I am Madame Trekeli.  I offer you no harm.  But I can offer you a reading, if you would have it,¡± the old woman said, bowing her head placatingly as she spoke.


    Mitchell knew the reading was a fortune telling, or prophecy of your future.  Sorcerors were people for whom their magickal gifts were innate.  It was in their blood, usually from magickal inheritance of infusion into an ancestor.  So it was possible this old woman had the gift to indeed divine the future.


    Maragon had always preached caution with such readings, saying most people offering them were frauds, and even for those that weren¡¯t, he personally did not wish to know a fate if he could not avoid it.  Perhaps is was na?ve, but Mitchell felt a little differently about it.  Divination magick, by far the most likely source of such a reading, was not always perfect when reading the futures.  It merely showed the most likely outcome or path.  Therefore, although it may be difficult, Mitchell believed it possible to avoid an unpleasant fate, even if one was foretold.


    ¡®If I am going to be a central figure in key events which might have a massive impact on the rest of Driax, then having some information on the most likely outcome would seem prudent,¡¯ he reasoned.


    ¡°Ok.  If I accept what does it cost?¡± he asked.


    He could feel Eva¡¯s disapproval, but as he was becoming accustomed to, she would defer in the moment and let him make his own decision.


    ¡°A simple donation of a coin.  You choose the colour based on how much you value your future,¡± she replied.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Does that mean the colour of the coin impacts the reading?¡± Mitchell asked dubiously.


    The older woman smiled.  ¡°No.  Your fate is not that pliable.  But I can sense what you can afford, and if you short-change an old woman, then I will short-change the reading.  But I am not concerned about that here.  I can see from your aura already that you will not short-change me.  Place a gold piece in my palm and let us begin.¡±


    Mitchell went to draw a gold piece from his pouch, but Eva beat him to it and placed a gold piece in the old barbarian woman¡¯s hand.


    ¡°I cannot risk her using a coin you have touched being used to divine information on you at a later date,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°You should listen to your protector.  She will die for you,¡± commented the old woman, even though it was unlikely she could have heard what was said.


    ¡°Now, let me get a good look at you,¡± Madame Trekeli said, as she moved as close as the stall table would allow, and stared first at Mitchell, then at Eva, and back again.  ¡°This will work better if I am allowed to touch your skin, but that is up to you.¡±  She held at her hands, one towards each of them.


    Mitchell knew he was taking a risk, but he also knew the closer connection to the object or person being divined, the more accurate the reading would likely be.  He took the last few steps towards the stall and took her hand.


    Eva¡¯s body language made it clear she thought the move unwise, but she reluctantly copied him several seconds later.  Mitchell raised an eyebrow, acknowledging his surprise that she had done so.


    ¡°Once you touched her hand, my doing the same did not really add much risk to our mission,¡± explained Eva.   ¡°It does increase the risk to me, but it may have lowered the risk to you, as perhaps now I am the one divined or summoned instead of you.¡±


    Mitchell turned his focus to Madame Trekeli.


    ¡®If this is some sort of trap, at least react as quickly as possible¡¯


    Mitchell¡¯s enchantment to detect magick was not as well suited to detect the build-up of magick while it was being cast, but he could sense enough to know that Divination magick was indeed accumulating around Madame Trekeli.


    ¡°She looked into the mask, and it did not seem to trouble her.  So she is either likely not trying to harm us, or she formidable enough that she can resist the effects of the mask,¡± commented Eva.


    Mitchell nodded, but he was not sure if the information made him feel any better.


    ¡°Through my gifts I can see things, as they were, as they are and as they will be, although it is not always clear to me which is which,¡± her voice began.


    ¡®I wish she would stop using a word that sounds like witch.  I am nervous enough already that this was a stupid idea and will wake sometime from now with Maragon standing over me and lecturing me on poor choices.  But what if she is doing it on purpose?¡¯


    Madame Trekeli closed her eyes and was deep in concentration.


    ¡°There is obviously a strong connection between the two of you, the Eternal Guardians.  One that will be strengthened by tragedy, betrayal and death.¡±


    ¡°What?  What does she mean by Eternal Guardians?  Does this mean we betray each other?  Does one of us die?  That doesn¡¯t make sense.  Then who dies?¡¯


    ¡°The Great Evil stirs, longing to return and punish those that did not kneel before him previously.  And you two will be key to that conflict.  You bear a catalyst, a powerful artifact of old, but it is being sought by very powerful figures.  Some of whom¡­¡± her voice trailed off as she sucked in a sharp intake of breath, ¡°¡­ are much closer than you might think.¡±


    While it was possible to infer what was said as a threat, Mitchell convinced himself it was not one, so resisted the urge to pull his hand away.  The old woman¡¯s eyes snapped open, and she looked at Mitchell intently.


    ¡°Beware three things.  The Shade lusts for power but trust your instincts when you confront it.  The second evil is petty and jealous.  Turn him against his allies, or they against him.  And finally, beware the one bearing darkness on the inside.  He is your brother, your saviour, and your end.  But you must walk a fine line.  Each of you is destined to defeat a great evil.  If either of you die, there is nobody who can replace you, and evil will likely be victorious.¡±


    Her eyes turned towards Eva.


    ¡°Poor little orphan of the forest.  Do not fear.  Do not hesitate.  Your calling is your calling.  Your mission is worthy of you, and you of it.  You serve one of the greatest purposes there has ever been.  Do not let anyone tell you otherwise, including yourself.¡±


    Mitchell was unsure if it was from their touch, his detect magick spell, or some other instinct, but he could feel throughout her reading that the three of them were linked in a way that went way beyond the simple connection of their skin.  He also felt now as that connection ceased, and things returned to normal.  He felt Eva withdraw her hand from his, but when he tried to pull his hand back, Madame Trekeli resisted.


    She pulled Mitchell into an awkward hug across the stall, knocking many items over, and sending several of them crashing to the ground.  But she seemed unconcerned for her wares.  She leant in close, wrapping her arms around him for balance, and whispered into his ear.


    ¡°You must go.  He is here.  The one that hungers for that which you bear.  Go Now!¡±


    And she let him go.


    <h2>Kell ¨C A secret location, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Kell walked through the bustling thrall of people equal parts demoralised, abhorred, and bewildered by what he saw around him.  Josak¡¯s meeting with Anders had left him in a foul mood.  While he had taken most of it out on Garrick, when he had told Kell he was releasing him from the cage and that any attempt to escape would be the end of him, Kell found it most unsettling.  A fear and hopelessness had draped itself over his whole body, even before the cage door was opened.  He could feel the thing inside him, could feel it¡¯s magick, or perhaps just it, creeping through his body and making its control of him total.


    Kell shuddered now even with the thought of it.  Now he walked through some kind of market, but there were more people crammed into these small canyons of stone than Kell had ever seen in one place before.  And while the crowds made him uncomfortable, it was the noise and stench that was making him want to wretch.  Between the constant yelling of vendors fighting to draw attention, the bartering, begging and general calling out just to be heard, the din was much louder than anything Kell had heard before.  He expected you could have a war in the alleys near here, and nobody in the market would hear you.


    And the stench that came from the manure of what Kell hoped was only from the many donkeys, oxen and horses he could see.  This combined with the sweat of bodies long since washed to create a smell he doubted he could ever adequately explain to another Indian who had not been to a city.  Perhaps the strangest scent was sickening flowery smells worn by some people, that apparently they thought might mask the others.


    Kell dutifully followed Josak and Gerard through the crowd, Gerard¡¯s large frame doing an excellent job of forging a path through the chaos.  In his arms Kell now carried a great many things that Josak was buying from vendors throughout the place.  Some of the items Kell could recognise, such as chalk, flower petals, powdered metals, a winterblanket, and what looked like spices.  But many others, usually contained in small glass vials or skins, he had no idea.  But judging from the metal coins and gems changing hands to purchase them, they must have been worth a considerable amount.  These city-folk had done nothing to dispel his father¡¯s assertion that they were strange and had lost sight of what was valuable in the world.


    ¡°Is that everything?¡± asked Gerard.


    ¡°No, but I think its everything we are going to get from here.  These damn Klydorians couldn¡¯t run a decent black market to save themselves.  I thought initially the vendors were hiding the good stuff.  Now I realise there just isn¡¯t any,¡± replied Josak, reading through a list he had prepared for at least the tenth time.  Kell could make out what looked like about twenty items, and just over half had been crossed out.


    ¡°Do I even want to know what sort of evil magick you are preparing this time?¡± asked Gerard.


    ¡°A divination spell.  I need to find out where the Stone is and why I am having trouble detecting¡­¡±  Josak never finished his sentence, as a look of surprise came over his face, and he began to look around feverishly, clearly trying to find something through the crowd, but seemingly unsure which way it was.


    Suddenly he pushed off in one direction, quite forcefully making his way through the crowd, his eyes continuing to scan the whole area in front of him.


    ¡°It is here.  It is here!¡± Josak repeated, the urgency in his voice growing.  ¡°Come on!  Move!¡±


    Gerard seemed a little confused, but followed along quickly enough.  Kell was slower to react, unsure what to do with all of the things he was carrying.  Aten¨¢ti pointed for him to follow Gerard, and so reluctantly he did, doing his best to carry all of the items with him.


    <h2>Eva ¨C A secret location, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    ¡°We have to go!¡± Mitchell whispered to her urgently.  ¡°I think Josak is here.¡±


    Eva immediately moved towards Azzanon to assist in completing their business dealings.


    ¡°Thank you, your shop is a credit to you, and your prices should ensure your family eats well¡­¡± concluded Azzanon, in a perfect Lotese accent, as he seamlessly adopted the persona of his weapons smuggler alias.  As the younger woman gathered up the pile of coins and gems in front of her, she smiled politely in response to the comment.


    ¡°¡­for the next three generations!¡± Azzanon finished.  The merchant¡¯s smile dissolved as she realised she was being insulted.


    ¡°Troll-Blood is very hard to come by Sir.  There is much risk involved, and hence the price.¡±  Azzanon waved her away as he turned back to his two companions.


    ¡°I should have just stolen it,¡± he said.


    Eva looked at him disapprovingly.


    ¡®Why must these humans make everything emotional and more difficult?¡¯


    ¡°She just stole from us!¡± he countered.


    ¡°She negotiated an amount we were willing to pay.  That is a successful negotiation,¡± she offered, indicating with her hand that it was time to leave.


    ¡°If that is successful negotiation, then kidnapping someone at knifepoint must be called assisted transportation in these parts¡­¡± Azzanon likely would have continued to argue the point but Eva seemed to be pushing him to leave quite urgently.


    ¡°Is there some emergency?¡± he whispered.


    ¡°We believe a very bad person is nearby.  Someone who would very much like to capture us.  And thus, we must leave with much haste,¡± replied Eva.  She began to lead Mitchell by the forearm back towards the entrance of the Black Market, gathering up Peregrin and Hawkin from a nearby stall as she went.


    She tried to strike a balance between speed and composure.  Moving too fast would draw attention to their group.  And down here in particular, people were likely to be overly suspicious of anyone moving too quickly.  Her eyes rapidly scanned a path through the other market-goers in front of them, while also casting around when possible to look for possible signs of Josak.  She had never met or seen the man, so all she had to go on was a general description ¨C tall, lean, with long dark hair and short beard, with grey in both the beard and hair.  And to here Maragon tell it, you could see in his eyes the immense evil and power within him, but also the fear and insecurity that drove him.


    They were about halfway back to the entrance when she saw a figure pushing through a group of people to her right that matched the description.  From this distance she couldn¡¯t see his eyes well enough to verify Maragon¡¯s claim, but she could see him clear enough to see he was frantically looking for something.  And he seemed to be looking at people more than the stalls.


    ¡°Eyes forward.  Don¡¯t draw attention to us,¡± Eva said in a stern, whispered voice.


    She also stopped looking around so much.  She had an enchantment running which would sense if anyone in the area tried to cast anything, and she assumed if Josak were to do anything, it would likely begin with magick.


    ¡®The question is, how much are you willing to draw attention to yourself?  Will you exercise caution in your use of magick in a crowded area such as this?¡¯


    They had not made it much further when she detected a powerful build-up of charm magick.  This magick was mostly used to alter the mind of another, generally making them friendlier, braver or perhaps angrier.  But at the more powerful levels it could affect more people, or do more severe things like compel you to follow a particular command.


    ¡®I do not like the idea of a mob of magically effected humans, and nor do I like the idea of Mitchell, or anyone else in our group having to follow magickal commands from Josak.  This is a powerful spell, but perhaps with the element of surprise I can disrupt it.¡¯


    Eva patiently waited while the caster drew in enough magickal energy to cast their spell.  She kept Mitchell moving forwards, but each second seemed like a minute, her feeling of anticipation and dread growing.  Once the actual spell-weaving began Eva knew she had to act, so she went with a sudden two-fold plan to disrupt it.


    First, she spun quickly, releasing Mitchell¡¯s arm and in one smooth motion grabbed a crystal orb off the nearest stall and threw it at him.  She would have preferred to throw one of her finely balanced daggers, but there was too much chance of harming an innocent bystander.  The orb, while heavy enough to hurt, was unlikely to kill someone.


    Then while the orb was still in the air, she began to cast a traditional counter spell.


    There was little doubt in Eva¡¯s mind that Josak was the more powerful caster, but she hoped the element of surprise with both the orb and the counter-spell thrown at him almost simultaneously would be enough.


    Josak¡¯s spell weave faltered as the Orb hit him in the head.  He yelped in surprise and pain.


    Her counter-spell found the weaknesses in his weave, and the spell broke apart.  The weave was faltering so badly once he was struck by the orb that she wondered if it might have fallen apart on its own.


    ¡®It would seem Josak is not a caster accustomed to casting in the midst of battle.  That will be worth remembering.¡¯


    The crowd around them turned to look at the commotion.


    ¡°Run.  Get to safety!¡± commanded Eva.  She could see Mitchell hesitate.  He did not want to leave them.


    ¡°If he captures what he wants, we all lose!¡± she said as assertively as she could, deliberately choosing words that would not reveal too much to anyone who might hear them.


    Her eyes and Mitchell¡¯s locked onto each other.  She saw acknowledgement of her point register, and then he nodded his head, turned and ran off.


    ¡®Is this my calling?  I hope my fortune is not to die here while he escapes.¡¯


    She calmly cast a spell she had secretly been practicing from the moment she had met Mitchell, in anticipation of just such as moment.  There was a brief flicker in the area around her as her illusion took effect.


    <h2>Josak ¨C A secret location, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Josak held the side of his head in his hands.  He could feel the pain from where the stupid piece of rock had hit him.  He could already feel the blood trickling down the side of his head.  He could feel it on his fingers.  His anger burned red hot.  The insolence of one of these pathetic little creatures to dare strike at him.


    ¡®Somebody will pay dearly for that!  To strike a High Priest of Razilin¡¯Tera is punishable by death!¡¯


    He brought his head back around and looked again in the direction the rock had come from.  And there he saw Maragon¡¯s boy, Mitchell, standing in middle of the market aisle, staring impudently at him.


    ¡°You will pay for that, boy!¡± Josak spat.


    Josak noticed the boy was not alone.  Two others were now forming up beside him.  A young human warrior wearing some minor house noble crest on his tabard, over a suit of chainmail.  Over his back he carried a shield and a large sword, which he now saw fit to draw.  He seemed either nervous or eager.  Josak was never great at reading emotions.


    The second figure appeared calmer.  He was an Elven warrior, with long silver hair and carrying a scimitar on each hip.  Josak hated elves.


    ¡®Always think they are so superior to everyone else.  Well¡­ I get to smash an arrogant elf, an annoying brat, and I get the Stone of Evronn.  Today is a very good day indeed.¡¯


    Josak began to cast again.  This time he would knock them all flying with a tempest of air.


    ¡®That should keep them off me until my barely competent associates can catch up.¡¯


    As Josak drew in the energy for his spell, the air around him began to whip and blow.  His robes began to billow, as did his hair and beard.  He could sense people now scurrying away both around he and his intended targets, and he could hear the raised voices of alarm and fear echoing around the market.


    ¡®Let me show you real power, peasants!¡¯


    He kept drawing in energy.  None of those in front of him were charging at him, so there was no reason to stop drawing in energy, thus making the final spell that much more powerful.  He both saw and felt feeble attempts from at least three different sources to disrupt his spell, but he was ready for that now.  There would be nobody in this marketplace who could stop him now.


    He unleashed the full fury of his storm, throwing both hands towards those arrayed in front of him.  Massive winds ripped from his hands and blasted towards Maragon¡¯s boy, the elf and the petty minor noble.  The boy and the noble flew backwards, crashing heavily into the stalls behind them.  Amusingly, Maragon¡¯s boy threw up a meagre magickal barrier in front of him to protect himself, but it was like holding up a sheet of paper versus a volley of crossbow quarrels, and it made no difference.


    But the ferocity of the storm was not content with just those two.  The full fury howled into the stalls, all of the items on those stalls, the vendors behind those stalls, and then into the stalls on the row behind.  There was total carnage as tables, chairs, people, crystals, books, trinkets, sheets of paper and a myriad of other items were flung through the air by the incredible winds.


    ¡°Witness the power of Razilin¡¯Tera, the Great Dragon, the Unyielding Fire, the One True Lord of Driax!¡± screamed Josak over the howling winds, ¡°And his chosen, Josak Norgette.¡±


    In the back of his mind, part of him was screaming that he was drawing attention to himself, but he was angry.  And he wanted everyone present to see the full power of his God, and of him.


    Annoying he saw the elf had used magick to leap sideways, way further and faster than would normally be possible.  He avoided the worst of the blast and tumbled to his feet about thirty feet to the right.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let any of them get away,¡± he yelled at Gerard, Aten¨¢ti and Kell, who had finally caught up.  ¡°The boy is mine!¡±

 Chapter 24: Confrontation in the Market

    <h2>Kell ¨C The Black Market, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    11<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Trailing along behind Josak, Kell had been balancing the need to watch what was in front of him, and to not drop any of the things he was carrying. He wasn¡¯t sure, but he thought he may have been the only one to see the flicker of light and colour amongst a small group of people slightly to their left, and shortly after he saw duplicate images of the same person appear.


    One was rapidly running away, barely noticeable amongst the other people in the market, and the other was now standing defiantly in front of Josak. He thought he had seen something get thrown at Josak. He wasn¡¯t sure. But he could feel a rage now seething from the man. Annoyingly he felt a strange compulsion to now chase the figure he could see running away.


    He briefly considered resisting, but even the thought of doing so caused heat and pain all along his breastbone. Still keen to resist his new ¡®master¡¯ he instead followed the compulsion but quite deliberately dropped everything he was carrying and set off after his quarry. It brought him a small joy to see all the things scatter and break on the ground, and yet he felt no pain or retribution from his magickal shackle.


    As he ran, he tried just to focus on the figure he was pursuing, ignoring all of the other distractions, people and objects except those he had to navigate to chase his quarry. This was made increasingly difficult as panic spread through the market from what sounded like a hurricane occurring in the market itself.


    ¡®Josak abuses the power of nature. Uses it as if it is his tool or slave. He is abhorrent on so many levels. Ancestors, help me to destroy him.¡¯


    Kell could not have explained why, but he was aware that he was finding it much easier than it should have been to track his target. His quarry was doing his best to sprint through the crowd, and there were now a lot of people trying to make their way for the exit, but he had no trouble following him. There were even a couple of times he lost sight of his quarry, and without really knowing how, he knew the boy had changed direction and run down one of the other mazes of makeshift aisles between the stalls.


    The first time he trusted this instinct somewhat reluctantly, but after he had regained sight to his quarry, he began to trust it implicitly. By the third time he was not even questioning it.


    It seemed the exit was now blocked with people, and for whatever reason people were either unable to escape the market, or were doing so very slowly, creating a logjam of people. He could see the boy now more clearly. He was much closer than before, and the boy had nowhere to run. The boy looked around quickly, trying to see if he was being followed, and perhaps decided to hide until the exit cleared. Whatever the reason, Kell saw the boy skulk off through the rows of stalls and hide under a large table covered with dark coloured cloth.


    Kell hesitated. He realised he should probably be helping the boy rather than fighting him. He didn¡¯t look much different to Kell in age, and if he was an enemy of Josak he was almost certainly a better person than Josak. But the simple thought of that started to cause a burning pain along his breastbone. Kell flinched and reluctantly began moving towards the table and his quarry again.


    He didn¡¯t know enough about this magic shackle to fight it yet. Or at least not enough to fight it over a stranger.


    Unarmed, he looked around, and saw a table with weapons on it. It looked like it sold exotic weapons from cultures that were very different to the knightly weapons common in Klydor. He thanked the ancestors when he saw an axe not too much unlike the tomahawks he was accustomed to. He twirled it around in his hand and found the balance to be a little different. He would not throw this until he got used to it. But it would certainly do for now. He also picked up a large, cruel looking knife which he held in his left hand and began moving towards his concealed quarry again.


    ¡°Where are you?¡±


    Kell stopped at the unexpected voice that almost sounded like it came from inside his head.


    ¡°Where are you?¡± the voice repeated. Kell recognised the voice as Josak.


    ¡°I am chasing the one who ran. You said not to let them get away,¡± Kell replied, feeling a little strange talking to himself.


    ¡°You need not speak your thoughts out loud for me to hear them. You can send your thoughts to me through your mind,¡± Josak instructed. Even through the projected voice he could hear what sounded like frustration, and perhaps exertion.


    Kell tried to answer through his mind.


    ¡°I am following the boy. The one you seek.¡±


    ¡°You idiot! The boy is here. I have him trapped deep within the market with no chance of escape,¡± came Josak¡¯s angered reply.


    ¡°There are two of them. I believe you may be fighting a copy,¡± replied Kell.


    ¡°What?¡± came Josak¡¯s confused and surprised response.


    Kell heard no immediate response, so he resumed moving towards where he believed the boy was hiding. He approached the stall and swiftly pulled back the cloth covering the stall. Several items went crashing to the floor. Kell was not concerned. His focus snapped to the boy who was now revealed, crouching under the stall. Their eyes locked.


    ¡°Help me, please,¡± pleaded the boy.


    Kell considered it. He wanted to. But then he felt the pain starting in his chest.


    Kell began moving forwards. The boy¡¯s eyes looked to the weapons in Kell¡¯s hands, and immediately began to scurry out from under the stall, but in the direction away from Kell.


    <h2>Peregrin ¨C The Black Market, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Peregrin was not entirely sure what was happening, but he smiled in admiration when he saw Eva turn herself into a Mitchell decoy. He saw the figure she was clearly protecting Mitchell from, and both saw and felt the massive build-up of magickal Air energy that figure started summoning.


    He felt an uncertain feeling in his stomach.


    ¡®Is that fear? Couldn¡¯t be. This is just a human. He knows nothing of magick compared to us.¡¯


    He attempted to counter the spell. Magick was not his specialty, but he suspected he was the equal of many human wizards.


    His counter-spell failed miserably.


    ¡®This human is unexpectedly powerful!¡¯


    Peregrin quickly summoned a burst of Air magick of his own and used it to propel himself into an athletic dive. The hurricane of winds thrown by the human were both impressive and horrifying. Even with his magically assisted evasion, the winds clipped him and tumbled him into one of the stalls.


    He quickly bounced to his feet and drew both his blades. A quick glance told him Eva and Hawkin had fared much worse than he.


    ¡®And so it falls to me.¡¯


    He began to move towards the human wizard, who had through either idiocy or genius announced himself as ¡®Josak Norgette¡¯.


    ¡®Almost certainly arrogant idiocy.¡¯


    He saw this Josak was not alone. He had at least two more allies. And they were now moving to put themselves between Peregrin and the wizard. One was a large human warrior, with a massive great axe, a heavy manica on his left arm, and two golden gauntlets adorned with snake sigils. The second appeared to be an older man of Indian origin, although he appeared unarmed, which likely made him the more dangerous.


    ¡®No unarmed man would enter combat such as this unless he had other skills.¡¯


    Peregrin briefly considered whether to keep his Sense Channelling enchantment running, or to swap it for his preferred Combat Mind. The first would give him advance warning of anyone trying to cast spells either near him or at him. The second would give him an advantage in combat by allowing him to see things a fraction of a second before they happened. It was possible to try and maintain both, but doing so got much more difficult, particularly if you were injured or dazed in combat, with the end result being you often lost both enchantments. And once combat was joined in earnest, there may be few opportunities to cast them again.


    ¡®Too many possible casters. I will need the Sense Channelling.¡¯


    The large human warrior was moving towards him, but doing so cautiously, as if gauging Peregrin and what sort of opponent he might be.


    ¡®Caution is wise. Something I have seen little of in these humans. This one is likely a veteran and understands the risks of underestimating an unknown opponent. Although in this case, it may allow me to take a shot at the old Indian before he gets to me.¡¯


    Peregrine began to draw in Air energy. He tried to do it slowly initially, hoping it may not be noticed, and then accelerated his efforts as the spell progressed. The residual air from the recent hurricane was an additional boon, and he found the energy for his spell could be drawn almost entirely from the air around him rather than from his internal magick reserves. He also found he could draw the energy much faster than expected.


    Once he had sufficient energy, he used the magick to grab several items from stalls behind the old Indian, and propel them at him. Peregrin hoped the subtle signatures of Air magick combined with the attack coming from behind may catch his target unawares.


    He felt a build-up of powerful charm magick again, and concerningly another build-up of mental magick. The charm magick, given its significant power level, was likely the human again, leaving the old Indian the most likely source for the other. Neither of those spells had much in the way of a spell signature, both of the magick sources for those being almost clear in colour, so there were no more visual cues to say who was doing what.


    Peregrin couldn¡¯t see exactly what the human wizard was doing, so it was possible he was the target for the powerful charm spell. But he couldn¡¯t adequately defend against all three of his foes. He would have to hope some of them could be defeated more passively. Elves were naturally quite resistant to Charm magick. A result of their superior minds he suspected. So he trusted that this might be enough, or that perhaps the Charm was being cast on someone else, and instead he focused on the warrior and the old Indian in front of him.


    The old Indian was either unaware or simply unable to defend himself from the surprise attack from behind, and the various orbs and trickets smacked into his back and the back of his head. He stumbled forwards, falling to his knees, and his spell-weave collapsed.


    The moment he fell, Peregrin rushed the human warrior. The big human moved well, but his great axe was clumsy and slow. Peregrin easily evaded the first blow and after that the human was giving ground and defending against Peregrin¡¯s flurry of blows with his axe and his manica. Peregrin managed to hit flesh twice, but neither would incapacitate the big man quickly.


    ¡®This plan is only supposed to buy time for the others to recover. But maybe I have overestimated the capabilities of my allies. I hope not. I really didn¡¯t have that much expectation to begin with.¡¯


    <h2>Eva ¨C The Black Market, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Eva sprinted towards the next stall and launched herself over it, using her momentum as she landed to tumble back to her feet. She could already feel her body protesting these movements. She had taken a great deal of punishment and bruising from Josak¡¯s initial hurricane. It had taken all of her magickal skill to maintain concentration on her illusion enchantment as she was being buffeted around. Otherwise the charade would be over, and Josak would likely begin looking for Mitchell again. Eva was determined to ensure that did not happen.


    Fiery arrows of magick slammed into the stall behind her, knocking priceless relics to the floor, and igniting long lost parchments. The one part of her impersonation she suspected was not very accurate was how well she was dodging and evading the various magickal attacks being thrown at her. Josak was expending a very large amount of magickal energy, and thus far, through her magickal mirror-mask and her elven heritage, she had resisted his attempts at Charm magick, and through her dexterity and speed she had dodged everything else.


    Eva did not truly know the extent of Mitchell¡¯s powers or skills, but she doubted he would have been able to evade like she could. Hopefully Josak didn¡¯t know Mitchell well enough to realise.


    She felt another build-up of Charm magick. She steeled her mind in preparation to try and resist the magick, but she never felt an assault of any kind assail her. She glanced around as she continued to run, and became suspicious she may not have been the target of that latest spell.


    ¡°Please. Stop that boy!¡± she heard Josak yell. ¡°He stole something from me.¡±


    Two roguish looking individuals that were either packing up, or ripping off, one of the abandoned stalls in front of her, suddenly stopped what they were doing and looked her way. The one on the left was lean, with long greasy blonde hair and a lopsided grin of crooked teeth. The one on the right was short and stocky, with a balding head of brown hair, and a ragged greying beard. Both immediately drew knives and began moving to intercept her, fanning out slightly as they did so.


    Eva quickly evaluated her options.


    ¡®If I cast anything, Josak likely tries to counter it. He is clearly more powerful than I, so likely he succeeds. I could probably kill these two, but that punishment is not their due. They are petty thieves, although they are only stealing from other rogues and thieves. Otherwise, they are as much victims here as I am.


    So I have to incapacitate them. But I do it quickly or I likely die.¡¯


    Eva continued to run forwards, bringing her ever closer to the two rogues. She pulled from her belt a stick of wood just over an inch thick, and about a foot long. With a simple command word, the stick magically elongated into a full sized quarterstaff.


    Almost without breaking stride she jumped into a slide and began to twirl the staff. It had tiny incisions made into each end which generated a distracting whistling noise whenever it was swung. The leaner, blonde rogue stopped, almost mesmerised by the sound. Eva whipped the staff down and through his lower legs, impacting his shins and causing him to crumple to the ground.


    She then tumbled forwards and under a clumsy stabbing attempt from the shorter, stocky rogue before rolling back to her feet behind him.


    She sensed the build-up of fire magick from somewhere nearby and saw the tell-tale streaks of red and yellow magickal energy as the fiery bolt hurtled towards them. It was clear Josak did not care if he hit his minions, provided he hit her. She threw up a shield of water hurriedly to defend them both. She focused on it, knowing she would need to if she wanted to stop one of Josak¡¯s spells.


    The fiery bolt slammed into the water shield, but the shield held, and the fiery arrow extinguished with nothing more than the hiss and a puff of smoke.


    However, that action had forced her to both ignore the stout rogue, and to leave herself quite vulnerable to him. He stabbed at her from front on. Eva rolled. She felt the blade make contact with her torso. Her momentum, as she threw herself backwards, minimised the depth of the cut, but the wound still caused her to grimace in pain.


    From her position on the ground, Eva twirled the staff into the feet of her attacker. He was thick and heavy, but the quarterstaff was equal to the task, knocking him clean off his feet. He crashed heavily to the ground. She slammed the stick into the back of his head, which in turn slammed his head into the stone floor. She could not be sure if he was unconscious, but he likely wasn¡¯t getting up anytime soon.


    She looked to the first leaner figure. He was already dragging himself away, clearly content to save himself regardless of the condition of his companion.


    ¡®Loyalty clearly not a strong attribute for this particular criminal organisation.¡¯


    Eva flipped back to her feet, ignoring the pain that caused from her stab wound, and continued running. She kept going further into the market and away from the main entrance where Mitchell was hopefully escaping. It had now been too long since she had felt any kind of magickal build-up around her. This was troubling as it may have meant Josak was changing tactics. She sprang into another section of the market and using the stone blocks of the doorway as cover, peered back into the room.


    There was no sign of him.


    <h2>Azzanon ¨C The Black Market, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Azzanon finally extracted himself from the pile of stalls, people and goods he had been thrown into. He reached down and pulled a broken shard of a vase which had partially stuck him, tearing a hole in a very nice shirt as it had done so.


    ¡®I am beginning to have doubts about the choice to help these people,¡¯


    Around him there was carnage. People were mostly running for the small exit. Some were bravely staying to try and salvage what they could from their stand. Or perhaps someone else¡¯s stand. He suspected it might have been the difference between those people who operated their own stand versus those that employed someone to attend one.


    ¡®It is one thing to risk your life to protect your business. But loyalty to your employer only goes so far. Cyclones occurring indoors and rampaging wizards it seems, are on the wrong side of that line.¡¯


    The real dilemma was what was he going to do. All of his training said his mission came first. Normally he would just ignore that, jump in, and go where the ride took him. But this was the first time he could recall where the idea that he might actually die didn¡¯t seem so unlikely. And if that were to occur, what would become of the Princess?


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡®But can I really just abandon these people to this fight? That seems like a most dishonourable form of cowardice. Azzanon Klarence Thibaut III was raised a better man than that.¡¯


    He looked around the trail of wrecked stalls for inspiration. While there were plenty of quite interesting looking items, there was not much which looked like it might help fight a crazed and powerful wizard.


    And then he saw it. A gift from the Gods themselves.


    A Dark Elf repeater crossbow.


    He ran towards it.


    ¡®Please be functional. Please have ammunition.¡¯


    He picked it up and began to quickly evaluate its condition. It had been a few months since he had used one, but these things were all the rage for showing off amongst weapon smugglers. It was a crossbow which largely reloaded itself after you fired, and it could hold spare shots in a special container that jutted upwards from its midline. These extra shots were automatically positioned to fire as part of the reloading mechanism. A trained operator could fire it every 1-2 seconds.


    It looked in fine condition, with no obvious signs of damage. It even had the container for the ammunition attached to it. Unfortunately, Azzanon could also see that the container was empty. He began to look around to see if he could see any ammunition amongst the carnage.


    ¡°Hey! Gimme that. I saw it first,¡± came an almost squeaky, whiny voice. Azzanon looked to the speaker and saw a bedraggled and underfed young man. Azzanon could see he was having the quite day for himself, collecting all manner of ill-gotten goods from the abandoned stalls.


    ¡°And if I don¡¯t?¡± Azzanon asked.


    ¡®Please be smart, kid. I am kind of busy here, and you are a small and very unwelcome problem at this stage.¡¯


    ¡°I¡¯ll make ya!¡± came the reply, with as much meanness and intimidation as the young man could muster. Which wasn¡¯t very much if Azzanon was being honest.


    ¡°I am willing to kill you for it,¡± Azzanon replied calmly, suddenly pointing the crossbow at him. He brought it up and stared at his would-be thief down the arm of the crossbow, accentuating the fact it was aimed straight at him.


    ¡®Threatening someone with an unloaded crossbow¡­ is this one of the high points or low points of my career? I guess that depends on if this fool knows enough to know it isn¡¯t loaded.¡¯


    The young man considered his position briefly. He looked around for help, suggesting perhaps he had friends nearby. But none were close enough to assist him. He gave his best sneer, before turning and running away.


    Azzanon only watched him run far enough to ensure he was no longer an immediate threat. Then he turned to see what was happening to the others.


    He saw the wizard who had thrown the hurricane chasing after Mitchell, firing bolts of fiery magick from his hands at him. He looked around again for quarrels for his new crossbow. It took longer than he would have liked but he found what he believed to be three quarrels for it. He gathered them up and began moving in the direction he saw the wizard go, loading them into the ammunition container for the crossbow as he did so.


    <h2>Entreris, The Black Market, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Everything had been going so smoothly. He had confirmed there was indeed the items they needed in the market. He had even ensured the old Eridani woman who had them would not sell them to anyone else until late in the day. He had loosely monitored them while they were in the market and had seen the purchase go smoothly.


    And then the hurricane happened.


    Entreris was accustomed to watching things. He had done that for longer than he could remember. He would occasionally interfere in subtle ways, manipulating the outcomes of a particular scenario for the greater good. And very rarely he would take a more direct hand in changing outcomes. But he did that as little as possible. It was dangerous. Half of him was not supposed to still be here.


    And the universe knew it.


    But now he could see Mitchell was being chased by the one who carried the shard of Razilin¡¯Tera¡¯s soul. And it didn¡¯t seem like any help was coming.


    ¡®Can we really just watch and let him die?¡¯ Enteris asked.


    The other half of his soul answered, ¡®Interfering comes with great risk because the soul is here. We might reveal ourselves and then we will be a secret no more. This skirmish is not the war.¡¯


    He saw Azzanon, the young Drasnian, moving after Josak with what looked like a Dark Elf crossbow. That crossbow likely posed little threat to Josak, who would almost certainly have some kind of defence up for that. He could see the windy tendrils of a likely Air Shield surrounding the wizard even now.


    ¡®We follow. The Drasnian likely dies, but perhaps there will be an opportunity for us to interfere, and change the likely outcome that will be better than interfering directly.¡¯


    The second half of his soul remained quiet. Entreris took that as acceptance. He always did.


    He followed the Drasnian, remaining invisible. He was forced to deviate several times around areas of light too strong for him to cross without becoming visible. That he would not risk.


    <h2>Josak ¨C The Black Market, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    He had been tricked.


    He cursed not having an enchantment running which would have allowed him to see the illusion for what it was. But you could only have so many running at once. And his Air Shield and his Sense Channelling always seemed the wisest and safest choices. It likely would not have mattered. All his enchantments had broken when that damn rock hit him in the head. And then he had expended significant amounts of magick trying to capture whatever the hell it was that had disguised itself as Mitchell.


    ¡®One of the Seven? I didn¡¯t see any, and unless one has died, I think I know most of them. And Anders should have most of them held captive.


    Although I haven¡¯t heard from him or my acolyte so its possible that has blown up. Would almost make me happy to see, if it means Ander¡¯s plans lay in ruins, the arrogant upstart.¡¯


    ¡®But then who or what is it that I am chasing here?¡¯


    ¡®Doesn¡¯t matter. I will figure out who it is later, and they will rue the day they ever dared try to make a fool of me.¡¯


    He strode forwards quickly, focusing on the feeling in his mind. After the strange message from the Indian boy, he had tried to feel for the Stone. He had already felt it once in this cursed market. And now he could feel it again, and from what he could feel it was escaping his grasp again. That would not do.


    He saw a crossbow armed human coming the other way. He recalled him being nearby the fake Mitchell when this all started. Given everyone else was hiding behind their stall, or fleeing for their lives, it seemed unlikely his being this close to Josak now was a coincidence. And he was beyond caring if it was.


    He began to channel Fire energy, easily his favourite of the magickal energies.


    The human immediately brought up the strange crossbow weapon and fired it at him. Josak casually used a small part of the fire energy he had already channelled to form a fire shield which burned the bolt to ash and then he continued to cast his spell.


    ¡®Pitiful wretch. Now you die!¡¯


    Suddenly there was a sphere of darkness in front of Josak blocking his view, and he could no longer see the human, or indeed any of the market around or behind him. It was likely the human was the centre of the magickal darkness, but Josak had sensed no casting from the man. So somebody else had concealed him. And somebody too far from Josak for his enchantment to sense it.


    It would matter not. He would kill the human. Then his would-be protector. Then the boy.


    Josak drew in more fire energy. He couldn¡¯t see the human male now, but while he was reloading his stupid crossbow Josak would detonate a fireball that didn¡¯t care where he was. It would destroy everything.


    He smiled as he began the gestures to pull the fiery energy around him into the tight orb which would explode on impact. He wished he could see the carnage as it exploded, but he would just have to imagine what the look on his pathetic attacker¡¯s face was as he the explosion ended him.


    <h2>Azzanon ¨C The Black Market, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    He saw Josak now moving back towards him. He didn¡¯t know why. He decided he didn¡¯t really care. Once the wizard¡¯s eyes and his locked, he knew Josak was going to target him next. Red embers of magickal energy began to swirl around the wizard. So the decision was made for him.


    He raised the crossbow and fired it in one smooth motion. From this range he didn¡¯t really need to aim. The quarrel streaked towards the wizard.


    And then a flash of a fiery shield appeared and turned the quarrel to ash.


    Azzanon doubted he could charge across the distance between them before the wizard completed his spell. He didn¡¯t know exactly what spell it would be, but he was pretty sure he would not like it. He could run, but he knew that likely wouldn¡¯t achieve much either. And there wasn¡¯t really anything close-by to hide behind.


    ¡®So we go down firing, I guess.¡¯


    As he went to reload the crossbow his vision was suddenly lost, and everything went dark. Assuming the wizard to be responsible, Azzanon decided to just reload and fire as quickly as possible, hopefully before the wizard could move.


    The repeater crossbow could be reloaded very quickly. It had a lever mechanism right near the ammunition container which pulled the string back and pushed another bolt into the right place to fire it. He did that, and again in a smooth action, brought the crossbow to his shoulder and fired it where the wizard had been.


    <h2>Entreris, The Black Market, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    The first crossbow bolt being defeated by the magickal defences of the soul-bearer was reasonably predictable.


    As was the likely fiery doom about to befall Azzanon.


    ¡®We must interfere!¡¯ Enteris implored.


    ¡®Then we must do it in a way which minimises the chance anybody ever knows we were here,¡¯ Answered the other half of his soul.


    He had deliberately remained far enough from Josak that his attempts to cast spells would not be detected by any Sense Channelling spells. So provided his magick did not target Josak directly, his spell casting would not be picked up, and hence could not be countered.


    This gave him options. He would go with darkness. He was really good with Shadow magick. Always had been. Lurking in the shadows had been his life. His other half hated it. Casting shadow magick drew on dark and evil energies. He was constantly lectured it was a magick to be avoided by those who did not wish to taint their own soul. But the other half of his soul did not offer a better idea. So it remained quiet.


    The globe of darkness was dropped over Azzanon, concealing him from Josak. It also concealed how quickly the crossbow could be reloaded. Instead of 20 seconds or more, this one was reloaded in two seconds.


    This attack had no magickal build-up to detect, so without being able to see it, Josak had no way to even know to put up a magickal defence. This would leave only his Air Shield, a persistent barrier of air to protect him. But given it was made to essentially prevent ranged attacks from hitting their target, it would normally be quite effective.


    Normally.


    As the bolt was loaded and fired, it too was subtly manipulated with magick. The bolt was turned from wood into a bolt of shadowy energy. One that would pass unharmed through an air barrier.


    Importantly, it was a change that Azzanon would never even see. And neither would Josak until it was too late. The only thing left to chance was Azzanon¡¯s aim.


    The second bolt flew through the darkness and slammed into Josak¡¯s shoulder. A shocked look came over the wizard¡¯s face. Fiery magick tendrils lanced out around him as he lost control of his spell, igniting small wisps of flame on the stalls and anything else they touched.


    It seemed like Josak cursed, and then a pop of teleportation magick occurred, and Josak disappeared.


    ¡®A contingency spell. Likely triggered by any serious injury. I bet he cursed because he deeply wishes it had not gone off. This close to the Stone, which he has sought for a very long time, and now his own magick teleports him away,¡¯ Enteris thought.


    ¡®Still, we must not be complacent,¡¯ cautioned the other half of his soul. ¡®If he is not too badly injured he could return. We must get everyone out of here quickly.¡¯


    <h2>Kell, The Black Market, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Kell leapt over the stall and tackled the boy. They rolled over each other several times. Kell could sense immediately he was stronger, and much more adept at wrestling. The boy was determined, but other than dragging out the wrestle, the outcome was never in question.


    ¡®Get the stone. It is likely in some kind of magickal pouch or container,¡¯ came the words of Josak in his mind. ¡®I am coming for you both now.¡¯


    Kell did not know why, but this created a strong desire within him to get this stone.


    Once he had the boy pinned beneath him and somewhat pacified he asked him, ¡°Where is the magick stone?¡±


    The boy¡¯s eyes went wide with what Kell assumed was fear. But the boy didn¡¯t say anything.


    ¡°Where is the magick stone? And the magick thing you carry it in?¡± Kell repeated.


    Again the boy did not answer, but his eyes briefly strayed downwards towards his chest. As if checking whether something was visible, or perhaps still there.


    Kell re-arranged them both so he had the boy¡¯s hands pinned, but freed up one of his own. He then used this hand to reach inside the boy¡¯s tunic and found a pouch concealed within a pocket. As he took the pouch he saw the look of alarm across the boy¡¯s face, and Kell felt him try desperately to wrestle his way free again.


    Kell struck him in the head to stop his struggling, and then once more to knock him out. He then rolled off. Grabbing his weapons from nearby, he ran back towards Josak and Atenati.


    ¡®Can you still hear me?¡¯ he sent through his mind, hoping Josak could still hear him.


    ¡®I can,¡¯ came the reply, but it sounded like someone in a lot of pain.


    ¡®I have the stone,¡¯ informed Kell.


    ¡®That is fantastic. You have done very well.¡¯ Even through his thoughts he could feel the emotional surge that went through Josak. ¡®I will teleport you back to me now.¡¯


    ¡®But how? You cannot see me,¡¯ Kell thought. This one was not intended for Josak to here.


    ¡®Your collar connects you to me. I will always be able to return you to my side. There will never be escape for you. You can only earn your freedom. And I can sense your thoughts when we are connected like this. So do not even dream of betraying me.¡¯


    Kell felt as Josak¡¯s magick reached out for him, and then he was hit with a brief, dizzying wave of nausea. He blinked and when his eyes reopened, he was no longer in the market at all.


    He was back at Josak¡¯s safehouse.


    <h2>Hawkin, The Black Market, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Even Hawkin wasn¡¯t sure anybody was going to believe this story. He and Peregrin were fighting the same wagon master from the other night at the bar, an old Indian, and a bunch of what could only be described as animal spirits, which he was pretty sure the old Indian was summoning somehow.


    The old Indian had strange powers. He had already done something to Hawkin which had caused him to become incredibly nauseous and vomit everywhere. He imagined this must be how people with hangovers felt. It was terrible.


    And the feeling had been getting worse until Peregrin threw something and knocked the old Indian over for the second time. After that Peregrin had told him to fight Gerard and he would fight the Indian. Seemed strange asking to fight an old man, but Hawkin suspected these elves weren¡¯t as good as they pretended, so he wanted Hawkin to fight the real warrior.


    Hawkin had heard a wolf and maybe a bear howl, and then the spirit animals had just appeared. They looked like white, ghostly versions of real animals, including being partially transparent. There was a bear, a wolf and a large stag with scary looking antlers now standing between them and the Indian.


    Even Gerard seemed surprised by their appearance. He turned to the side, equally ready to defend against Hawkin or the wolf, which was the nearest of the ghostly animals.


    ¡°Is your sword enchanted?¡± asked Peregrin, the urgency clear in his voice.


    ¡°Probably,¡± replied Hawkin. It was a family heirloom. It had been the sword of his grandfather and at least his father before that. He imagined he had been told. But he had never really paid attention to any of his classes on magick.


    ¡°Then you should ¡®probably¡¯ use that on the spirits. They will be immune to anything which is not,¡± warned Peregrin. Although the way he inflected the word probably made Hawkin believe he was being mocked again.


    ¡®Arrogant, bloody Elf. I wouldn¡¯t be totally upset if the bear mauls you just a little bit.¡¯


    The wolf ran and jumped at Hawkin. He raised his shield to ward off the attack, but the damn spirit passed straight through it, and he felt it impact against his chest, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground. The feeling of it biting his left arm certainly seemed real enough. And he could feel its weight upon him and its claws scrabbling at his armoured form.


    He tried to use his legs to throw it off, but his legs connected with nothing. They passed harmlessly through the apparition as well.


    ¡®How the hell do you fight these things?¡¯


    Once again, he suspected the answer may have been covered in one of those oft-ignored classes.


    He got his right arm free and smashed the pommel of his sword into the wolf¡¯s head. That connected. The impact of the blow knocked the wolf off him. He saw Gerard coming in as well with a great overhead swing of his axe. He rolled desperately away, and the axe slammed into the ground mere inches from his chest.


    He managed to roll up onto his knees before the wolf lunged at him again. This time he brought the point of his sword up and just held the sword out towards the flying spirit. He braced himself for an impact, whether that be to his blade or to his body.


    The apparition struck the point of the sword with its head and then just disappeared. A faint puff of ghostly smoke was the only indication it had ever been there at all. Unfortunately, Gerard was still very much real. Hawkin saw the great axe coming in again, so he brought his shield up protectively in front of him.


    The axe slammed into the metal shield with a loud bang. The force of the blow knocked Hawkin from his knees and he went sliding across the ground on his arse. Hawkin quickly evaluated his shield and could see it was badly damaged. It was unlikely to survive another blow like that.


    ¡°Yield boy, and you get to live. I am not here for you,¡± offered Gerard.


    Hawkin never even considered the offer. Surrendering didn¡¯t seem very heroic or glorious. And for some reason the idea he might die didn¡¯t occur to him. But he gladly feigned like he was thinking about it, while using that time to get back to his feet.


    He quickly looked to Peregrin and saw him unbelievably leap over a charging ghost bear, somehow tumbling between the bear¡¯s thick body and the not particularly high roof, while running his blade down its back. The bear disappeared in a puff of smoke. He could not see the deer, so he assumed it had already suffered a similar fate.


    Once he had recomposed himself, he replied, ¡°No. I am good.¡± And he resumed his fighting stance.


    ¡°You do know I am better than you?¡± asked Gerald, clearly annoyed he hadn¡¯t surrendered.


    ¡°Then why aren¡¯t I dead yet?¡± asked Hawkin, as he lunged forward with a flurry of sword swings.


    ¡°Because killing noble kids brings trouble I don¡¯t need,¡± replied Gerald, fading back and avoiding the blows quite easily. ¡°But its only a matter of convenience. Once its more convenient to kill you, you will be dead.¡±


    To illustrate the point, he launched one massive attack of his own, his huge axe just whistling past Hawkin¡¯s head. Even Hawkin wasn¡¯t sure if he had just managed to dodge it, or the attack had meant to miss.


    ¡°Everybody drop your weapons, now! This is the Inquisition.¡± came an authoritative cry, which echoed through the market.


    The combat stopped.


    ¡°Come to me, now!¡± said the old Indian with a calm authority. ¡°It will not do for us to be detained here.¡±


    ¡°Looks like you get to live. But don¡¯t cross my path again,¡± warned Gerald, as he began to move towards the old Indian.


    Hawkin was torn. He didn¡¯t know if he should keep fighting to try and detain them, or whether he should be fleeing so he didn¡¯t get arrested. It is likely his father¡¯s connections could get him out of any charges. He wasn¡¯t even sure if just being here was an offence. But Mitchell had bought something, and there was a good chance it was illegal. It was likely better for his family name, and certainly better for the next meeting he ever had with his father, if he was not detained here.


    ¡®How do criminals get away when stuff like this happens?¡¯ He didn¡¯t have any idea.


    He looked to Peregrin, but he looked as confused as Hawkin.


    ¡°We should probably evade the authorities, if possible,¡± suggested Hawkin, although his tone left it halfway between a comment and a question.


    ¡°How?¡± asked Peregrin simply. ¡°We only know of one exit and that is where the authorities are.¡±


    While Hawkin knew that was right in theory, it seemed odd. Surely the roguish people who ran this type of establishment had to have considered the possibility of the authorities showing up. And if they had, then almost certainly they would have secret exits to allow at least the important people to escape.


    He saw Azzanon coming towards them. He had the young cute dark-haired girl from the stall they bought the troll blood from.


    ¡®Excellent. Maybe she knows a way out. Or she needs our help. I wonder how she might reward me if I saved her?¡±


    While his mind pondered the possibilities of the reward she might give him, most of them quite lewd, it never occurred to him that he had little idea how to get her out of here.


    ¡°This is Matrinda,¡± introduced Azzanon. ¡°And she has very generously allowed us to escape with her and her mother from the lovely people with the Inquisition.¡±


    ¡°How many laws have you broken?¡± asked Hawkin with a grin.


    Azzanon theatrically waved him away. ¡°My boy, nothing they could ever prove. But the professional embarrassment with my own order if I get arrested by these amateurs, that I might never live down.¡±


    There was brief flash of light and a pop. Hawkin turned toward the sound but saw nothing.


    ¡°Our foes just teleported away,¡± Peregrin reported, with the usual lack of emotion, as if people teleporting away was the normal way to leave a room.


    ¡°Quickly,¡± insisted Matrinda, as she started to move with urgency.


    ¡°Are you sure? This is the same way Josak was going when he attacked me. He had been going that way before that,¡± queried Azzanon, pointing in the opposite direction.


    ¡°This is the way to the secret exit,¡± Matrinda replied.


    ¡°Where is Mitchell?¡± Hawkin asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± conceded Azzanon. ¡°Where is Eva?¡±


    Hawkin shrugged.


    They began to follow Matrinda, but slowly, as they each looked around for some sign of Mitchell or Eva.


    Peregrin pointed them out first. Eva was moving towards them but coming from the direction of the market entrance. That was also not the way Josak had seemed to be going. And she seemed to have a body floating in the air, trailing along behind her.


    Hawkin held his breathe when he realised it was Mitchell.


    ¡°Is he dead?¡± he asked, the panic evident in his voice.


    ¡°No. He is unconscious,¡± Eva replied. ¡°But he was too heavy for me to carry and still move quickly. We must leave here now.¡±


    Relief washed through Hawkin.


    ¡°What happened to him?¡± asked Hawkin, as they all started to move off again.


    ¡°He was attacked. But I do not know who by,¡± replied Eva. ¡°I do not think it was Josak.¡±


    Hawkin was still pondering who the other options were when Matrinda lead them into a chamber with no other doors. It was dark, slightly damp, and the stalls here all looked old and unused. There was clearly a small section of the wall slid across, revealing a narrow passage that led into the wall. A small pock-faced man urged them to hurry.


    ¡°Quickly. We must close the door. Did you see anyone else coming?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No. We are the last,¡± replied Matrinda.


    They all moved down the corridor and he slid the wall shut behind them.

 Chapter 25: The thin line between Defeat and Victory

    <h2>Josak ¨C Golden Unicorn, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    11<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Josak was torn.  He desperately wanted to heal himself.  To stop the pain that was lancing through his body every time he moved because of the bolt of damned Shadow magick that had struck him.  It was not the first time he had been struck by shadow magick.  He knew all too well the feeling of bone-numbing cold that emanated from these wounds.  It shook your resolve and made you fearful and weak.  And it slowed you.  It was if someone had sucked the energy right out of you.  Applied repeatedly, it would suck the will right out of someone, until they died.


    But he was not going to die from this one bolt.


    And he had desperately sought after the Stone of Evronn for decades.  It contained within it most of the soul of his God, stolen from his Lord at the time of his death, and then used to imprison him for nearly a 1000 years.  And now, finally, it was almost in Josak¡¯s reach.


    He longed to feel the stone in his hand.  To feel his Lord¡¯s souls in his hand.  In the end his desire to touch the stone trumped his desire to end his pain, so he moved towards Kell, grimacing as he did so.


    ¡°Give it to me, boy,¡± he said, his tone short and demanding.  He cradled his injured arm close to his body, but he held his other hand out expectantly.


    Josak knew Kell considered resisting, but the flare-up of heat from the magical shackle attached to his breastbone quickly dissuaded him of that notion.  He moved towards Josak and his outstretched hand.  Josak smiled.


    At the last second Josak recoiled his arm.


    ¡®What if its trapped?¡¯


    ¡®If it were trapped why hasn¡¯t it affected the boy?  Could it be trapped in some way that detects for me?  They know I am their greatest threat.  It would make sense to single me out, would it not?¡¯


    Josak ignored the confused look he was getting from the boy.  He didn¡¯t need to explain himself to his minions.  He cast a spell to detect magickal enchantments and peered intently at the pouch, expecting to see powerful protections and perhaps teleportation enchantments to both protect and hide the precious cargo inside, and then maybe divination spells, linked with perhaps threads of fire or some other elemental sphere with which to inflict massive damage upon the unsuspecting person who triggers it.


    Instead he saw almost nothing.  Just a simple enchantment which made the mundane pouch seem magick, when actually it wasn¡¯t.


    ¡®How the hell did you make it look like that Maragon?  This pouch ought to light up this spell like a blazing fire.  And the pouch has to be magick, or I would be able to focus and sense the stone from a lot further away.  You do have some tricks, don¡¯t you?¡¯


    But then why make it appear magickal at all.  If you want people to overlook it, you could just make it appear totally unmagickal.  Maybe you can¡¯t?  Or perhaps the magick I can see is necessary to act as a masking magick that hides the real magick?¡¯


    ¡®But if that is true, how do I open the pouch.  God damn it!  I could paralyse myself with paranoia.¡¯


    He reached for the pouch.


    ¡®But I could kill myself with a lack of it.¡¯


    He reclined his hand again.


    ¡°Boy, please open that pouch and tip the contents into the palm of your hand so that I can have a closer look,¡± instructed Josak.


    The boy hesitated, but again with the not-so subtle encouragement of his magick shackle, he reluctantly did what he was told.  He untied the simple drawstring holding the pouch together and tipped the contents into the palm of his hand.


    Josak watched intently as his prize fell into Kell¡¯s hands; a clear piece of crystal, a couple of inches in diameter.


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Mitchell gradually stirred as his consciousness returned.


    His head hurt.  It was as if something had stomped on his skull and smashed into a hard stone floor.  He could tell he was moving.  He could feel the air moving around him.  But it was as if he was flying, or more like floating.  There were people around him, but his mind was still too foggy to make out much of what was being said.


    He tried to open his eyes and focus.


    And he saw Eva standing over him, staring right at him.  Her elven face was beautiful, with her pixie like features and gorgeous bob of blond hair, framing her face and her stunning violet eyes.


    ¡°Are you OK?¡± she asked.


    He considered briefly.  His head hurt.  But when he tested his limbs, each of them seemed to be working, and without too much protest.  He tried to stand.


    And immediately fell.  Except Eva caught him.  He put his arm around her for balance.  She was stronger than her small frame suggested.


    ¡°You must be careful.  I suspect you have a concussion,¡± Eva replied.  ¡°My magick can heal wounds, but it does little for a concussion.  You will have a fog in your head, and your balance will be even poorer for some time.¡±


    ¡°Unlikely we notice any difference then,¡± joked Hawkin, leaning in over Eva¡¯s shoulder to take a look at him.  ¡°Or maybe he has been concussed most of his life.¡±


    ¡°This is no laughing matter, young Hawkin,¡± Eva replied.  ¡°Injuries like this can permanently impair brain function.  As while I believe that may not limit some of your people very much, Mitchell¡¯s brain function remaining unimpaired is critical for him to remain of value to Maragon the Teacher.¡±


    Peregrine laughed.  Hawkin seemed confused, trying to figure out if he had just been insulted.


    The mention of Maragon triggered an ill feeling in Mitchell¡¯s stomach.  Something was wrong, but his concussed brain was struggling to remember what it was.


    Eva saw his troubled look.


    ¡°What is wrong?¡± she asked.  She saw Mitchell struggling for words.


    ¡°We have the medicine we require,¡± she said, guessing as to the nature of his concern.  ¡°We are heading as quickly as possible back to the church.  Would you like to keep walking, or would you prefer to be carried as before?¡±


    Mitchell ignored the last part, his brain processing the information.  That didn¡¯t feel like it answered everything.  He was still anxious, and he didn¡¯t know why.


    And then he remembered the stone.


    ¡®It is gone.  I have failed everyone.  We are all doomed and nobody will ever forgive me!¡¯


    Terror struck him, and his legs gave out.  The best Eva could do was slowly settle him to the ground.


    His hands went to the pocket in his tunic, hoping against the reality he already knew, that the pouch would still be there.


    And he felt it.


    His breath caught.  He fumbled for the pouch and pulled it out.  It was the same one.


    ¡®How?  Did I dream the attack?¡¯


    Mitchell knew that wasn¡¯t true.  But his mind screamed this did not make any sense.


    He knew he should not, but he had to look inside.  He needed to know if the stone was still there.


    Eva looked at him with concern as he fumbled the drawstring.  He could sense she wanted to reach out and stop him.  But she did not.


    He tipped the pouch, and the Stone of Evronn fell into his hand. He could sense immediately it was original stone ¨C the one he had carried and attuned with ever since leaving the tower.


    Relief flooded through him.  Mitchell did not understand how this had happened, but he was incredibly thankful it had.


    He could see Eva was very confused.


    ¡°Is there a reason you have taken that out now?  You endanger us by exposing it like this,¡± she warned.


    Mitchell considered what to tell her.  He quickly decided he did not want to lie to her.


    ¡°I lost the stone back in the market.  The young Indian took it from me before he knocked me out.¡±  Mitchell hung his head in shame as he told her of his failing.


    ¡°Then how is it on you now?¡± Eva asked, a look of confusion apparent on her face.


    ¡°I do not know.  Magick?  It is attuned to me and will return to me if we are ever separated?¡± he guessed hopefully.


    ¡®Please have that be the truth.  It means I didn¡¯t just screw up, and it makes it easier to protect going forwards.¡¯


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that is one of its powers,¡± replied Eva.  ¡°Maragon the Teacher would surely have informed me of that if it were true.  It would have a great bearing on the strategies used to protect you and the stone in the event of an attack.¡±


    Mitchell considered her response.  He had to agree with her.  Maragon almost certainly would not have kept that power a secret from the one he was sending to help guard them both.


    ¡°Then what are the other options?¡± he asked.


    Her initial response was nothing but silence.


    ¡®Great.  She does not know either.¡¯


    <h2>Josak ¨C Golden Unicorn, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Josak knew immediately it was not the Stone of Evronn.  He still tried to sense for the stone using his connection to it, but after a few seconds of focusing, he got the confirmation.  He could not sense the stone at all.


    ¡®How can it fucking not be the stone?¡¯


    He looked at Kell.


    ¡®This is your fault!  You incompetent fool.  It is your fault they all got away!  And the stone with it!¡¯


    Kell began to shrink back, to try and increase the distance between himself and Josak.


    ¡®There can be no escaping your punishment.¡¯


    ¡°How dare you fail me!¡± Josak screamed.


    A tumultuous storm of fire and air whipped around Josak.  Through his rage he drew the magickal energies in so fast, and then shaped them into a torrent of fire and wind, and blasted the young Indian.  To Josak¡¯s shock Kell barely moved.  The winds and flame largely arched around him, doing little more to the Indian than ruffle his hair and singe the hairs on his arms and legs.


    This enraged Josak even more.  He put even more energy into the spell and increased its power.


    ¡®How dare you defy me!¡¯


    The increased storm was deafeningly loud.  Josak could no longer hear anything other than the howling winds.  The candles in the room were extinguished by the storm, their pathetic levels of energy meaning nothing to the maelstrom.  That darkened everything.  And through the darkness Josak could see white runes of suppression activating on the magickal manacle embedded into Kell.  The collar was trying to suppress magickal channelling of some kind.


    As those runes sucked the magickal energy from him, the protective bubble around Kell collapsed.  And then his body was hit by the full force of the wind and the flame.  He was thrown across the room this time like he was some small child¡¯s toy.


    He slammed into the wall of the hotel suite.  Then the wall of the suite collapsed under the assault of the hurricane of winds, fire and Kell¡¯s body.  Kell¡¯s body tumbled further, into the next suite, and crashed into the large bed up against its far wall.


    Seeing the interior wall of his suite start to come apart brought some semblance of sanity and control back to Josak.  He knew immediately what he had done was going to be a problem.  The landlord was a very understanding man, and Josak paid generously to have him look the way to all kinds of strange behaviour; people being dragged into his chambers kicking and flailing, strange body shaped objects being carried out of the room, and all kinds of strange noises or smells emanating from his suite at all times of the day and night.  But destroying walls and severely damaging rooms was likely to cross a line from which he may not be able to come back.


    As the incredible storm subsided he also briefly considered if he might have killed the boy.


    But he saw the boy move.  And slowly pick himself up out of the rubble of plaster and timber.


    ¡®Maybe I should have healed myself first.  My temper is worse when I am in pain.¡¯


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Church of Faylen, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    Mitchell lay back on the thick wooden pew of the church, and looked up at the beautiful stained-glass ceilings, but without really taking them in.  His mind continued to try and process what had happened with the Stone, but so far all he had managed to do was to eliminate possible ideas for how it had returned to him.


    Even Eva had been unable to offer anything which Mitchell felt was a good explanation for what had happened.


    ¡®I would settle for a semi-plausible theory at this point!  This is driving me crazy trying to solve a puzzle when apparently I am missing half the pieces.¡¯


    Importantly, the antidote had been prepared and administered to Maragon and the others.  Both Eva and the priests were confident they should all survive, which was fantastic, but the healing would take time.  So now they just waited.


    His view of the windows was interrupted by Eva¡¯s head, her face calm as she looked him over.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I am fine¡­I think.  Still got a headache but my vision is getting better.¡±


    ¡°Still seeing any spots?¡± she asked.


    Mitchell looked around to see if he could find a darker image to look at to help answer her question.


    ¡°A few, but they are getting smaller.¡±


    ¡°Keep drinking water.  And do not go to sleep until the spots are gone,¡± she advised.  ¡°I mean it.  It¡¯s very important you don¡¯t go to sleep.¡±


    Mitchell held up his hands placatingly.  ¡°I get it.  I get it.  Do not go to sleep.¡±


    Mitchell noticed for the first time there was a red-stained patch around a nasty tear in Eva¡¯s clothing.


    ¡°You are wounded,¡± he said, his words halfway between a statement and a question.  He sat up and looked at the area more closely.


    ¡°I am fine.  The priests have healed my injury.  I suffered this fighting Josak and some cronies he charmed into helping him,¡± she explained, before following with a question.  ¡°Do you know how to stitch wounds?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Mitchell replied.  ¡°I have had to help Maragon stitch wounds on himself on multiple occasions.  I have also had to stitch wounds on Ragnar and on Samtha.¡±


    ¡°That is good to know.  It is possible you may have had to stitch this wound on me, and it is good to know you could have done so if it had been required.¡±


    It occurred to Mitchell the wound was rather close to her breasts.  He started thinking about whether she would have had to expose her breasts for him to do so.  He thought it quite likely.  He had never seen a pair of breasts.  He would not have minded having had to stitch her wounds under those circumstances.  And then he realised what he was thinking about, got very embarrassed, and started blushing heavily.


    ¡°How was your stitching?  Did the stitches hold?  Did they leave much of a scar?¡± she asked, oblivious to the self-inflicted embarrassment Mitchell was suffering.


    ¡°I am not sure.  Maragon says I am getting quite good,¡± Mitchell replied.  ¡°Ragnar said I took too long and was too worried about trying not to leave a scar.  He believes scars tell the stories of one¡¯s life.  Samtha kept trying to make me laugh, but afterwards said I did a good job.¡±


    ¡°Samtha was trying to make you laugh?¡± asked Eva, clearly confused.


    ¡°She had cut herself during a bar fight on some broken glass.  I think she thought the blood was making me queasy, so she was trying to take my mind off it.¡±


    ¡°You seem to be in and around bar fights quite regularly,¡± Eva observed.


    Mitchell chuckled.  ¡°Not as much as you might think.  The first time was with Samtha.  We were celebrating my completing an important part of my training.  And while we were in the tavern she dared me to go and ask a pretty girl for a dance.  The girl¡¯s¡­ brother I guess¡­ seemed upset that I had spoken to her.  He came up with two of his friends and told me leave the tavern or they were going to mess up my face.¡±


    A look of concern came over her face, and she seemed deeply concerned for his well-being.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Eva asked.


    One of them took a swing at me.  I partially deflected it, and then he tried to punch me again.  I ducked it and swept his legs out from under him.  Luckily for me, he smashed his head on a nearby table.  That is when his two friends tried to get me.  Luckily Samtha stepped in and handled both of them.  From memory she smashed one¡¯s head into the bar and kicked the other one in the face.  But not before one of them smashed his glass of beer and tried to stab her with the jagged glass.  Some of it punctured her hand pretty badly.¡±


    ¡°I am pleased you were unhurt, but perhaps you should not frequent places which allow the consumption of alcohol,¡± Eva warned.


    ¡°Perhaps.  But a tavern is often a key part of a town or village social structure.  It is normal to go there and hang out with the rest of the people from the town,¡± defended Mitchell.


    ¡®And more than anything, all I want is to fit in and be normal.¡¯


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Eva went quiet for a time, and Mitchell wondered whether she really understood.  It seemed to him that in all the stories the elves were quite single-minded in their pursuit of a particular purpose or calling.  It seemed here Eva was quite dedicated to being a Guardian.  Peregrin seemed similarly dedicated to becoming a Blademaster.  The humans he knew did not seem nearly as dedicated to their craft and sought more of a balance between their work and their fun.


    ¡°Have you considered what Madame Trelecki said at the market?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡®She called us Eternal Guardians.  But she had never seen us before.¡¯


    Eva nodded.  ¡°Some have the gift of what my people call ¡®the sight¡¯.  It allows them to see the paths of fate, and see the future, or the past, or both.  The Seers are probably the most famous of these but they use their magick to enhance these abilities to their fullest potential.  My guess is Madame Trekeli has it.¡±


    Mitchell nodded.  He had assumed as much already.


    ¡°What do you think she meant by eternal guardians?¡± he asked.


    Eva considered her response before answering.


    ¡°Perhaps she feels the strong connections we have with the Seven.  We have each spent a lot of time with people who could be called eternal guardians.¡±


    Mitchell was still getting to know Eva and her mannerisms, but it was the first time she had said something to him where he felt like he knew she was not being truthful.  Or at least not fully truthful.


    ¡°I do not think that is it.  Her gift seems quite powerful.  She knew Josak was there, and I still think her warning may have helped us.  If Josak had captured me himself, maybe he would now have the stone.¡±


    Mitchell watched her face to try and read her reactions to what he was saying.


    ¡®She masks her emotions so well; she may as well still have her mirror-mask on.¡¯


    Once he decided she did not intend to add any comments at this point, he pushed ahead with his own theory.


    ¡°I think it is possible we each become members of the Seven in the future.  That would mean we are both eternal guardians.  And it makes sense.  I think it likely we are both being groomed for it.¡±


    Eva did not say anything.  But he could see in her eyes she thought the same.


    ¡°And our connection grows through tragedy and death because members of the Seven must die for us to become part of it.  In my case Maragon.  I am not sure who you might replace.¡±


    Eva again nodded her agreement.  ¡°I think at the very least your role in the Seven is certain, provided you don¡¯t die before Maragon.  And I will do everything in my power to make sure that does not happen.¡±


    ¡°She definitely called us both eternal guardians,¡± Mitchell protested.


    Eva nodded her head in acknowledgement.  ¡°She did.  But my people live much longer than your kind.  Our lifetime of several centuries likely seems like an eternity.¡±


    Mitchell was not sure if this was another half-truth, or perhaps Eva just did not believe she was special enough to be an eternal guardian.  Mitchell was having trouble believing he might be.


    ¡°Why do you protect me?¡± queried Mitchell.  ¡°There must be others who could carry the stone.  Others more powerful than me?  Heck, you could carry the stone and do a better job protecting it than I can.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.  You are still very early in your journey as a mage.  But Maragon trusts you 100% to bear this burden, and to carry this item without falling into temptation to use if for evil or personal gain.  I also trust you with this, both because Maragon testifies for you, but also from I have seen of you.¡±


    Mitchell felt a flush of pride go through him to be spoken highly of.


    ¡°But it is more than that,¡± Eva continued.  ¡°As Maragon explains it, the stone has a say in this.  And it has accepted you as its protector and has even begun to attune to you.  This was unexpected and quite unusual.  It is for both of these reasons that you cannot easily be replaced.¡±


    ¡°Why is it unusual?¡± Mitchell asked.


    Eva again considered her answer.


    ¡®Likely considering how much she can tell me.¡¯


    ¡°Powerful artifacts usually only attune to powerful souls.  The powers they usually contain are formidable.  These powers may damage or kill a weaker or younger soul.  The stone is an incredible boon to any caster.  But to many, the power will likely be too great to contain, and the risk to both themselves and those around them if ever they were to use it is significant.  But for some reason you have been able to bear the stone and even use it without catastrophe.  Hence, we suspect the stone likes you and is helping you.¡±


    ¡®A sentient artifact likes me?!  In most of the stories the bards tell, that usually results in a weak minded fool doing the item¡¯s bidding.  It never ends well.¡¯


    ¡°And do you think the stone intends to help me, or to wield me to do its bidding?¡± he asked.


    Eva carefully considered her answer, as was her way in this conversation.


    ¡°If your goals are the same, I am not sure it matters.  It is only when they differ that who wields who will be pertinent,¡± Eva counselled.  ¡°Given both of your goals will be to defeat Razilin¡¯Tera and his forces, I think we should be fine.¡±


    She smiled warmly, which helped lift the small feeling of dread that had come over him.


    ¡°What of the other things Madame Trekeli said?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Which part do you mean?¡± Eva asked.  ¡°There are quite a few to choose from.¡±


    Mitchell tried to recall the Madame¡¯s words exactly.


    ¡®We haven¡¯t really discussed the use of the word betrayal, but that one scares me.  I would like to talk about that one last, or later¡­ or maybe never.¡¯


    ¡°The Great Evil would seem to be Razilin,¡± Mitchell replied.  Eva nodded.


    ¡°The Shade I am not sure,¡± Mitchell continued.


    ¡°Me neither,¡± replied Eva.  ¡°I am not aware of any of the powerful agents of Razilin¡¯Tera that you would call shades.  Maragon likely knows many more though.  Perhaps he can help us with that one.¡±


    ¡°The most famous shade in Klydorian legend is the Black Baron.  According to the stories, he possesses nobles every now and then, and tries to capture the Klydorian throne.  Maybe that somehow gets involved.¡±


    ¡°That is a terrifying thought,¡± responded Eva, a cold shiver visibly playing across her body and face.  ¡°I am willing to risk pain and death for the right cause.  But the idea of suffering eternally as some twisted evil spirit is utterly horrifying.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± replied Mitchell, although he had not really given it much thought.  Clearly Eva had, and he did not want to disappoint her and concede he had not.


    ¡°Then we make a pact,¡± she said, with more fervour than Mitchell had been anticipating.  He was slightly scared of what she might say next.


    ¡°We do not allow that to be the fate the befalls either of us.  We both vow on our own souls that we will kill the other, if it comes to that, before we allow them to become an undead creature of any kind.¡±


    Mitchell could see the utter seriousness and sincerity in her face.  She reached across and took his hand in her smaller one.  He would have enjoyed it normally, but right now he really wished she had not.


    ¡°Swear it,¡± she urged.


    ¡°OK.  I swear, if required, I will do everything in my power to kill you if that is the only way to stop you becoming an undead.¡±  Just saying the words was terrifying to Mitchell.  Vows like this were never to be taken lightly, and Maragon had warned him constantly of making vows or oaths. He said good people could do the right thing without needing an oath or vow which could be twisted to make a good person do evil.


    But it was clearly of great importance to Eva that he do it - and so he would.


    ¡°And I swear, if required, I will kill you Mitchell, to save you from becoming a creature of undeath.¡±


    Mitchell found he pulled his hand back from hers the moment he felt enough time had passed for the vow to be sincere.  He felt guilty, like he had just done something he knew he was not supposed to.  But he could not really be sure why.  The vow he had taken was a good one, and one he would earnestly try to fulfil if it came to it.  Although he intended to try much harder to ensure it never came to that.


    ¡°What of the rest of her foretelling?¡± he asked, almost reluctant to go on.  ¡°The second evil which is petty and jealous, or what I though was the worst part, my brother, who is my saviour and my end.¡±


    ¡°I am unsure of either.  Although I suspect any of Razilin¡¯Tera¡¯s high priests likely fit the definition of petty and jealous.  Perhaps she was talking about Josak.  As for your brother, do you have one?¡±


    ¡°I do not know,¡± replied Mitchell honestly.  ¡°I do not think so.  But I was found and taken in by Maragon as a baby.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it is a metaphorical brother,¡± Eva surmised.  ¡°Maybe there is another version of you we will encounter that works for Razilin¡¯Tera.  Perhaps we must work to turn him back to the light.  If we succeed, he is your saviour.  If not, he is your end.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Mitchell answered, somewhat lamely.


    ¡®Or he is another mysterious apprentice Maragon has stashed away somewhere.  Maybe he even is my brother!  But why would he be my end?¡¯


    He chose to keep the existence of the other apprentice to himself.


    ¡®But why do I keep this secret?  I can tell myself because it is Maragon¡¯s secret, and therefore not mine to tell.  But is that it?  Is it because I like that Eva thinks I am special; some kind of chosen one?  If she knows Maragon has other apprentices, then maybe I am just a possible chosen one.  It could just as easily be one of these other apprentices.  Would she ever leave me and go and start protecting one of these others?¡¯


    ¡®What would Maragon do here?  That is one easy.  Only tell people what they need to know.¡¯


    ¡®And deflect attention onto something else.¡¯


    ¡°What did you think of the section Madame Trekeli said directly to you?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡®Perhaps I have learned more than I realise.¡¯


    Mitchell again saw the face he was sure meant she was considering how much to tell him.


    ¡°If you are going to protect me, you need me to trust you.  Tell me everything and make me believe you are telling me everything.  I cannot trust you fully if I think you are keeping secrets from me.¡± he said.


    He saw an almost look of resignation, and then her eyes brightened, and she looked him squarely in the eyes.  They really were amazing eyes.  He almost got lost in them and didn¡¯t hear her words.


    ¡°I am not from a famous family.  Our calling has always been one of tending to the needs of nature.  There is no glory in it, but it is the true way of my people.  We are not really meant to be warriors, or even battle mages.  The elves were meant to tend to the needs of the Earthmother, and her beautiful natural world.¡±


    Mitchell reflected on the legendary elves he knew, and they were all magnificent rangers, sword masters or mages of unequalled skill and power.  Sometimes he just assumed that was the natural way for all elves.


    ¡°In the legends, the elves are always greatly skilled masters of bow, blade or spell,¡± Mitchell said, repeating his thoughts.


    ¡°And those legends are true.  But they perhaps do not call out how unusual elves who¡¯s true calling is combat are.  For many it is a path of great sacrifice rather than glory, taken up only because the times are dire and the need is great.  This was particularly true back before the Llewyrr split from the Silverestri and left our sacred homeland.  But once the great sundering occurred, and the rifts to chaos began to open in our lands, the choice was that a great many elves took up combat as their calling, or we had to leave our homeland.  The Llewyrr today are the descendants of those who chose to leave.¡±


    ¡°I imagine that would have been very difficult, having to leave your homeland,¡± Mitchell surmised, sounding genuinely sympathetic.


    ¡°Perhaps harder than even you could understand, and I don¡¯t mean any insult in saying that.  The elves are connected to the natural world in a way that few, if any, of the other races are.  For us to up and leave our home forest was a little bit like cutting off part of ourselves.  But that was what my ancestors felt they had to do in order to save us.  They felt that losing our forest but retaining our way of life was the better choice than to keep our homeland, but lose ourselves in the fight to keep it.¡±


    ¡®Her description of her people is less awesome than those elves from the stories.  But it is more beautiful.  I have never really felt connected to anything.  I would dearly love to be connected to the earth as they are.  To feel that grounded.  To belong to the place you live.  Or at least where they were.¡¯


    ¡°Do your people feel the same connection to the Llewyrr forest now as you once did the Silveroak Forest?¡± Mitchell asked, hoping she would say yes.


    ¡°We believe so.  The oldest amongst us say it is not yet the same, but it is possible their connection is not as strong as those who have been born more recently.  I doubt we will never really know.  But I know most of my people would fight to the death to save our homeland.  And my parents, and their parents before them, have tended to forest like it¡¯s a part of us.  And I was supposed to do the same.¡±


    ¡®I suspect this is where her story goes astray, where she becomes the orphan of the forest.¡¯


    Mitchell leaned slightly closer to Eva, already showing sympathy for what he expected to hear next.


    ¡°But my calling was not the same as my parents.  I don¡¯t necessarily want to fight.  But I want to right the wrongs of this world.  I want to leave it a better place than it was when I was born into it.  But a Guardian likely spends her life travelling.  At the very least throughout the Llewyrr lands.  And just as likely further than that.  Our justice does not recognise borders as the boundaries to our jurisdiction.  Justice cares not for these things.  You break the law, and you deserve punishment.  The Guardians strive to make sure that justice is received.¡±


    ¡°That is a very noble calling!¡± said Mitchell.


    ¡°Perhaps.  My family saw it as selfish.  They saw it as a calling that allowed me to travel and have great adventures, but one that meant I would turn my back on our responsibility to the forest, and it meant I would see a great deal less of my family.¡±


    ¡°They do not see being a Guardian as a good thing?¡± asked Mitchell, confused as to how that might be possible.


    ¡°They do.  They just think I should have left it to somebody else to do, and I should have kept our family tradition of tending the forest.  Part of the issue is I have a relative who also felt the call to leave his village.  He wanted to be a Ranger, and to travel the length of his woodland home, keeping his people safe from the great many threats that lurk in the woods, and the world beyond.¡±


    ¡°Why was that a problem?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°He got involved in some grand crusade and left the forest.  He was then captured by Dark Elves and tortured for nearly a year.  My family thought he was dead.¡±


    Mitchell only knew stories of Dark Elves.  But in those stories they were evil, night worshipping creatures, who were cruel, made slaves of other races, and were generally untrustworthy and despicable.  Their sadistic and perverse ways were also infamous.


    ¡°But he escaped?¡± Mitchell asked, noting the ¡®family thought he was dead¡¯ comment.


    ¡°Yes¡­ and No.  He survived, but the elf who came back was not the one who left.  They tortured him horribly.  He was scarred, and forever maimed.¡±


    Mitchell knew he should not ask, but he was also desperate to know.


    ¡°What did they do to him?¡±


    ¡°They cut fingers from both his hands to take away his skill with bow or sword.  They cut his face, and both his eyes, scarring him horribly and blinding him, at least for a time.  And they did other sadistic and horrible things that I will not detail here.  Suffice to say they ruined him.¡±


    Mitchell was horrified.  But he also knew who she was talking about.  He knew this elf ¨C Rivas.


    ¡®He is one of the Seven.  Overcame incredible injuries to rejoin them when they too thought he was dead.¡¯


    ¡°Your cousin is Rivas!¡± Mitchell exclaimed.


    ¡°He is,¡± Eva confirmed, with both her words and a nod of her head.


    ¡°But you are Llewyrr, and he is Silverestri?¡± Mitchell queried.


    ¡°Yes, but our people only split around 1000 years ago.  For us there we could trace that time in as little as three generations.  He is what you would refer to as a distant cousin.  But our families are generally small, so we pay more attention to relatives even when they are such.  While I had only met him once, I knew of him, and my mother spoke to his through the trees.¡±


    Mitchell thought it best not to ask how it was that two elves could talk to each other through trees that were separated by thousands of miles.  Elves were innately magickal, as if they were directly tied into the tapestry of magick in a way that other races simply were not.  As such, it seemed they could do things that other races could not.


    ¡°The Seven helped rescue him.  That was nearly a decade ago,¡± she continued.  ¡°I had only just begun my training but the Guardian I was assigned to knew Javelin, and I met Maragon for the first time then.  From the moment we first met he was offering me advice, and teaching me things about magick, fighting, and perhaps most importantly, how to outthink an opponent either tactically or strategically.  We worked with the Seven over many months.  I became close to Maragon.¡±


    ¡°After that my Guardian worked with the Seven a couple of other times over the years, and I got to know Maragon, Javelin and a couple more of the Seven quite well,¡± Eva explained.  ¡°My first mission on my own was one helping the Seven.¡±


    ¡°What was your first mission?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°A half elf criminal named Pretis was skirting the borders between the Klydorian and Llewyrr side of the forest, committing crimes in the Klydor half, then fleeing into the Llewyrr side to escape the law.¡±


    ¡°How evil was this Pretas?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡®Apparently my mind wants all the juicy and shocking details today!¡¯


    ¡°Pretty evil.  He killed at least two people while robbing them, and there were accusations he raped at least one of his victims.¡±


    Mitchell was aghast at the crimes.  Bad people existed everywhere, but Klydor had a much lower incidence rate of this sort of crime than many other places.  Or so Mitchell had been told his whole life.


    ¡°What happened to him?¡±


    ¡°We tracked him down to a hideout on the Llewyrr side of the forest.  In the end, once we found his tracks and were able to follow him to his lair, his capture was actually quite simple.  The hardest part was stopping either of Samtha or Ragnar from killing him afterwards.¡±


    ¡°Ragnar wanted to kill him after you captured him?  That seems quite unlike what I would have guessed him to be like,¡± Mitchell replied.


    ¡°Oh, he wanted to untie him and give him a weapon.  I believe he said to give Pretis a fighting chance.  But we both know that would not have changed the outcome any.  That is still just murdering him, but Ragnar gets to feel better about himself afterwards.  In the end I was able to convince the others that I had to take him to my order, and he had to go through a full trial.¡±


    ¡°What happened to Pretis after that?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°He was sentenced to death.¡± Eva replied bluntly, her tone indicating she was comfortable with the resolution.


    ¡°How was the sentence carried out?¡± queried Mitchell, interested to know how cruel or extreme would the method be.


    ¡°The need for it does not happen often.  In general, my people are very much supportive of life, and in rehabilitation.  But sometimes the crime, as in this case, demands a serious retribution, both as punishment and as a deterrent to all others.  In examples like this the most common method we use is a ritual which translates into your tongue as the Ritual of Returning.¡±


    ¡°The ritual is performed in the forest, under a tree of the condemned¡¯s choosing.  It is a magickal ceremony where the offender is returned to nature, and his body is dissolved into its natural elements, and fed to the forest, symbolising the cycle of life.  We are not so much killing the offender, as accelerating their regeneration into the next cycle, with the belief in that cycle they will be born again and hopefully better.¡±


    Mitchell could see a beauty in that outlook.  He did not think the belief structure behind the way humans practiced capital punishment could be seen in such a positive light.  Hanging, tying people to a post and executing them, or even trials by combat, all seemed to be as much about the spectacle as anything else.  But then he had lived a relatively sheltered life in Garet.  He had seen two hangings in 18 years.  Mostly people had been sentenced to hard labour in the mines for more serious crimes.


    ¡°So your people believe in reincarnation?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°Yes.  But we believe once your soul advances to a certain point of enlightenment you will ascend from this plane, and will not return here again.  This is why our people decline in numbers through the generations.  Our time here, in what your people call Driax, is past its zenith.  Our best souls have moved on, and the rest must now strive to catch up.  It is another reason a calling to combat is considered such a sacrifice amongst my people.  We believe that does a lot of harm to a soul, and undoes much of the enlightenment you may have obtained.¡±


    ¡°And how do you know if a soul such as Petris will come back better?¡± questioned Mitchell.


    ¡°We can never be sure,¡± conceded Eva.  ¡°But we believe the Gods will work with your soul, if you are willing, between cycles.  This can help you improve.  Some of my order also take action to ¡®assist¡¯ this growth between cycles.¡±


    ¡°Prayers for the condemned?¡± guessed Mitchell.


    ¡°Not exactly a prayer.  They cast an enchantment on the condemned, one that forces him or her to live through their crime from the point of view of their victims.  This enchantment is left to run for many hours before the ritual is concluded, and they are allowed to pass on.  It is a method not endorsed by all of my order, as it is quite cruel, both to the condemned and to those unfortunate enough to watch it.  I have only had to witness a small number in my decade of service, and by the end the condemned is often a wimpering mess, pleading for the end to come.¡±


    Eva continued, ¡°My mentor, Namacii Ilrakhar Aenar, did not believe in this practice, often referred to as the Withering Judgement.  He would not explain his reasons, saying I must decide for myself on the matter, but having seen it, I am as worried it might damage the soul more than help it heal.¡±


    While his elven language skills were not great, Mitchell recognised the word Namacii as ¡®Judge¡¯.  He assumed the rest was her mentor¡¯s name.


    ¡°So your parents are concerned you might be killed, or worse, captured, tortured and maimed.  And if none of that happens, the best possible outcome is you damage your soul and then cannot go to this enlightened place where many of the elves already reside?¡±


    ¡°I believe you have quite succinctly explained the issue, yes,¡± Eva replied.


    Mitchell could think of nothing to say which would make any of that any better, so he said nothing.


    After a few moments of slightly awkward silence, Eva broke it with a question, ¡°What did the Madame whisper to you?¡±


    Mitchell considered the final moments of that encounter.  And the critical warning he received.


    ¡°She just told me that the one who hungered for what I was carrying was here.  And that I had to go.  I don¡¯t think she knew his name, or at least she was not willing to say it if she did,¡± he replied.


    But then he thought about more than just the words she said.  A suspicious look washed over his face, and then a half-knowing smile.


    He began to cast a Divination spell, making sure to get a firm grip on his own tunic, as that was the focus for his spell.


    ¡°Per nebulas spatii et temporis¡±


    (Through the mists of space and time)


    ¡°Da mihi visionem huius indumenti humilem¡±


    (Grant me vision of this here humble tunic)


    ¡°Et ostende mihi quid acciderit¡±


    (And show me what happened to it)


    ¡°In foro ante hodie¡±


    (In the market earlier today)


    He closed his eyes and focused his mind on that moment when the reading finished, and Madame Trekeli had leaned in to deliver her warning.  Initially all he could see was the black of his closed eyes.  But then a vague grey mist appeared, before these passed and now he could see himself, near Madame Trekeli, and he could hear her words being said, just as they were in that moment.


    And there he saw it.


    The Eridani woman possessed hands so nimble he could hardly believe it even as he was watching it happen.  Using her close proximity and body contact, she pick-pocketed the pouch from his tunic, and even more amazingly, replaced it with her imitation.


    ¡®I had heard the Eridani referred to as thieves before.  I see they do indeed have some skills in this area.¡¯


    Mitchell remained focused and tried hard to remain attuned to his tunic and the vision.


    ¡®So I know how the Stone was taken, and how I ended up with that other pouch.  But how did I get it back?¡¯


    He watched himself run through the market.  He winced as Kell tackled him, relieved him of the fake pouch, and then knocked him unconscious.


    ¡®Hopefully as I get better with this spell, I can learn to fast-forward through any embarrassing parts like that.¡¯


    And then he watched as Eva came for him, cast a floating disc to put him on, and began to float him back to the others.  Nobody other than Eva came anywhere near him, so he felt reasonably sure nobody had replaced the pouch yet.  At least not without using magick to put it there.


    His vision continued, and then he saw Eva and the pretty young girl from Madame Trekeli¡¯s stall, ushering everyone through some kind of secret exit at the back of the market.  As he was floating past her, the young girl leant over him and performed some kind of supposed blessing.  He could clearly see her put her head on his chest, and saw her hands, almost a blur, reach into his tunic and replace the pouch.


    ¡®I have my answer!¡¯


    As the vision ended he opened his eyes and found Eva staring at him, her face only inches from his.  He shuffled back and away from her reflexively.


    ¡°What did you see?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I know what happened with the stone,¡± he replied, a look of both pride and relief to have solved his riddle.


    He immediately got up and started walking away.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± she asked, although already starting to follow him.


    ¡°I want to find the girl who was manning the stall with Madame Trekeli, or perhaps just the Madame herself,¡± he replied, with a noticeable perk in his step now.  ¡°I will explain on the way.¡±


    ¡°Ok.  Just let me get my mask.  Perhaps we could bring Azzanon.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± queried Mitchell.


    ¡°He seemed quite fond of the girl.  I suspect he has images of her beauty burned into his eyes, and will just jump at the chance to seek her out again.¡±

 Flashback 3: Defensive Casting

    <h2>Zenghi ¨C Age 15 ¨C Faylenian Monastery, Athena, Lestok</h2>


    14<sup>th</sup> Faylenshae, Summer, 841 PBM


    Zenghi approached the door to his training room quietly. For a year he had been living with Brother Turin in a small Faylenian monastery in some hills overlooking Athena, the capital of Lestok.


    He knew Maragon was here and that his training session was to begin soon. Maragon being here was always exciting as it meant a strong possibility of moving to a new stage in his training. He approached the room quietly, as was his way. He could hear voices in the room already. Through the gap in the door he could see Brother Turin and Maragon involved in a tense conversation.


    ¡°There are so many warning signs that he is not suitable,¡± confessed Maragon. ¡°I fear we have a made a grave mistake making him my apprentice. He lusts for power and knowledge and his ambition makes it too likely he will succumb to temptation at some point.¡±


    ¡°You know who his ancestor was,¡± replied Brother Turin pointedly.


    ¡°Of course. That is why I took him on when you brought him to me, and why I keep letting you convince me to continue his training,¡± Maragon chided back.


    ¡®Who is my ancestor? I do not even remember my parents. I assumed they died, probably in some unsavoury way, and hence nobody ever talks about them. At this point, what does it matter?¡¯


    ¡°Then you know two things, as I do. One ¨C He is destined to be powerful. Two ¨C He will have a meaningful destiny, one way or another. Either we shape and make use of him, or somebody else will¡­¡± there was a slightly pained expression from Brother Turin, before he finished, ¡°Unless you want to advocate destroying him?¡±


    Maragon¡¯s head snapped around to glare at the old priest.


    ¡°Then if that is off the table, what other option do you have but to try and temper him into a tool that works for us?¡± asked Brother Turin.


    Maragon seemed to be pained by his options, but he conceded and nodded his head.


    ¡®Would he really destroy me? Do I flee? No, I would lose access to everything I need to train. Perhaps I will need to tread more carefully.¡¯


    At that point Brother Turin turned towards the door and called out for Zenghi to enter.


    ¡°Come in, child of Faylen. Take a knee on your mat.¡± the Brother said welcomingly. ¡°Today should be a very interesting day.¡±


    ¡®Why, because you decide whether you will destroy me today?¡¯


    ¡°Today you will begin your next phase of training,¡± stated Maragon, moving towards his meditation mat and taking his position. The Brother did likewise. Zenghi reluctantly kneeled, but the position grated against his soul and he hated it.


    ¡°How are you finding it here?¡± Maragon asked.


    ¡®Ahh. Small talk. Possibly my least favourite social convention. But I do not wish to be destroyed, so perhaps let us try some.¡¯


    ¡°It is good, Maragon¡­ I mean Master. I do not like the children much, so I mostly keep to myself and study my books,¡± Zenghi replied.


    ¡®That was terrible. Why am I so bad at this? Probably because socialising is a pointless life skill.¡¯


    ¡°It is important to build connections with other people, Zenghi. One cannot hope to achieve anything worthwhile in this life alone,¡± declared Maragon.


    ¡°But this way I use the feelings I get from them picking on me to further my knowledge,¡± explained Zenghi, trying to word things the best way possible.


    ¡®They are simpleton fools, who¡¯s opinion I will not need once I am one of the most powerful wizards alive. Their respect will be mine without my needing to grovel or beg for it. But I doubt that is the answer you want.¡¯


    ¡°And this way it avoids us getting in fights where I may accidentally send them all of them into another plane of existence.¡± Zenghi smiled in what he hoped was a cute and loveable gesture.


    Maragon shot a deeply concerned look towards Brother Turin, who gave his warmest smile back as though nothing were amiss at all.


    ¡®I guess that also was not the right answer.¡¯


    He heard Brother Turin¡¯s voice, and it took him a few seconds to realise this voice was only being heard inside his head.


    ¡®Tell him you will try harder to make friends with the other children,¡¯ Brother Turin suggested, ¡®Tell him you understand you need companions as he has with the Seven.¡¯


    ¡°I will try harder to make friends with the other children¡­ Master,¡± Zenghi repeated. ¡°I wish to learn to have companions as you do with the Seven.¡±


    Maragon¡¯s facial expressions softened. ¡°Good. Please try to do that. Brother Turin, please help him do that. Instruct the other children to meet him halfway.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± replied Brother Turin.


    Maragon¡¯s manner indicated he was now going to return to the lesson.


    ¡°Today would be a very significant day were you undertaking your training with the Colleges of the Ashar, as I did. It would forever fork the paths your magickal destiny travelled as the results from today¡¯s test would control which paths you were allowed to go down with your training,¡± explained Maragon.


    ¡°Casting spells at target dummies is easy compared to trying to cast while something is casting back,¡± stated Maragon. ¡°Today, you are going to demonstrate all you have learned about casting spells to defend yourself against magick attack.¡±


    ¡®Finally. This is one area there really is no way to practice on your own. Luckily Brother Turin has been a most willing teacher in allowing me to practice defending against the various fire-based attacks his God allows him to perform through prayer.¡¯


    Zenghi was about to make some comment like ¡®about time¡¯, but reconsidered it in light of what he just heard.


    ¡°I think I am ready,¡± he replied instead.


    ¡®Which is to say I know I am ready.¡¯


    ¡°You will first need to cast your ¡®Sense Casting¡¯ enchantment,¡± instructed Maragon. ¡°Once you finish casting it, I want to you to keep the enchantment running by maintaining part of your concentration on it.¡±


    ¡®Maintaining enchantments is something I am supremely gifted at. I can maintain more enchantments at once than any normal caster of my skill. This will be easy.¡¯


    Zenghi channelled the magickal energies from within to cast the enchantment.


    ¡°Extende aspectum meum et da mihi¡±


    (Extend my sight and grant to me)


    ¡°Visio magica vertentes circa me¡±


    (The vision of magical channelling around me)


    While Universal was generally quite a boring sphere, Zenghi had worked hard on the elements to cast this sphere. It was crucial in magick vs magick duels, something that Zenghi was determined to be the best at. But he had also noticed the elements in Universal were very similar to those in Metamagick, and he suspected his strong base skills in Universal was why he was so comparatively good at the more advanced Metamagick sphere.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± praised Brother Turin. ¡°Your spell weaves are exceptional for one so young. You have the potential to be a powerful mage one day.¡±


    ¡°I want you to concentrate on me and my casting,¡± instructed Maragon. ¡°First I want you to just try to counter my casting attempt. Use cues from your Sense Casting enchantment and what you can see normally, to try and disrupt or destroy my spell weaves.¡±


    ¡°Counter-casting is often more difficult than deflecting the magick, but is often the more effective defence,¡± proclaimed Brother Turin. ¡°Used correctly, this can save both yourself and those around you.¡±


    Maragon began to draw in magickal fire energy, preparing to cast a simple ¡®fire orb¡¯ attack.


    ¡®I can see he is slowly channelling fire energy, much slower than how he can do it. He is taking it easy on me. I will not accept his pity. Stop treating me like a child!¡¯


    Zenghi began to cast his Counter Cast spell, which would attack Maragon¡¯s spell weave directly, but he would use Meta-Magick to manipulate and try to reflect the attack back at Maragon.


    ¡°Telum anti-magica quaero¡±


    (A weapon of anti-magick do I seek)


    ¡°Ego te flammae globum retro ad te reflectunt¡±


    (I reflect your orb of flame back at you)


    ¡°You can try to disrupt while they are still gathering the magickal energy, but this is more difficult, and likely just slows them down,¡± advised Brother Turin. ¡°Best to wait until they start to cast the spell, and then you attack the spell weave itself¡­ or corrupt and take the weave for your own.¡± The fervor in the priest¡¯s voice grew and he added the second part as running commentary once he realised this was exactly what the boy was doing.


    Zenghi could see the particles of anti-magick gathering through his Sense Channelling enchantment, and began to shape them into a net. Maragon began to cast his spell, but Zenghi waited until he had finished. Once the orb was sealed, Maragon propelled it towards him, and Zenghi threw up his net. Zenghi kept casting, focusing on the much more difficult Meta-magick components to seize control of the Orb.


    The Orb hit the net, and magick flared into the visual spectrum as the net collapsed around the Orb, and white streaks of magick now streaked all over the surface of the flaming orb. The net had slowed the orb significantly, enough that Zenghi was comfortable the orb no longer posed a threat to him.


    ¡®I hope you are ready to play defence, mentor dearest.¡¯


    There was a brief battle between the magic of the Orb versus the magick of the meta-magick net. But the weave on the Net was strong, and more magick had been deployed in its creation than in that of the Orb. The net won out, and Zenghi was able to whip the net around and then drop the net at the right point to fling the Orb back at Maragon.


    There was a grim smile on Maragon¡¯s face as he put up a water shield and easily defended against his own flame attack.


    ¡°Good,¡± commended Maragon. ¡°a touch reckless, but very effective. You have passed the first part of the test.¡±


    ¡®But did I earn your respect? Your praise? Why wont you acknowledge me!¡¯


    ¡°Yes¡­ excellent,¡± agreed Brother Turin. ¡°Very few would be bold enough to attempt that on their first go. You are a wonderfully gifted caster. And your instincts are impressive. Does he know why you train him?¡± Brother Turin asked.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°To be a powerful weapon against evil,¡± answered Zenghi fervently.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± replied Maragon.


    ¡°One day I will join the Seven,¡± added Zenghi.


    ¡°That is indeed one possibility,¡± agreed Maragon.


    ¡°I will lead them, and we will destroy evil wherever we find it,¡± continued Zenghi.


    ¡°I would not want to be evil when you found it,¡± commented Brother Turin. ¡°But remember, it is important we don¡¯t become the evil we are trying to destroy.¡± An expression briefly flashed on his face as though he was going to say something, but then decided against it.


    ¡°It is now time for the second part of the test,¡± instructed Maragon. ¡°I want you to understand the purpose behind this test. Amongst the Ashar, this test was used to separate a good combat mage from a bad one. And in this line of work, bad really means dead.¡±


    ¡°There are five attacks of increasing difficulty,¡± continued Maragon. ¡°Defending against four or more of the attacks would see an apprentice recommended for a high combat path such as War Wizard. Two or more and you could apply for a high combat path, but you were recommended for something less militant. One or less, and you were forbidden from any of the combat paths for the rest of your training, and would instead focus on magicks which could be used away from battle.¡±


    I suggest standing for this part. I want you to defend against these next attacks using your magick. Parry, deflect or evade the attacks as you see fit, but remember to choose the defence which works best against each attack, but balance how specialised you want your defence versus protecting against the unexpected.¡±


    Zenghi happily stood. His physical form was small and frail, but he stood proudly as if he were a giant.


    ¡°I am ready,¡± he asserted.


    ¡°Just defend against each attack. I will send up to 5 attacks at you, one after the other. While the goal is to defend them all, almost nobody defeats all of them the first time. To pass you only need defend against one attack.¡± instructed Maragon. ¡°Remember, provided the spell does not strike you in anyway, you are considered to have defended it successfully.¡±


    Brother Turin looked at Maragon with a bemused look on his face, but said nothing.


    ¡®He chastises you Maragon, for not following the true rules of the Ashar college. Physically evading the spell is not supposed to be one of the options. But you are a War Wizard, who values physical prowess as much as magickal prowess. So you see physically evading an attack as being the equivalent of magically evading it. But I am a true wizard of the Ashar, and I will not degrade myself with such actions. My magick will rule supreme in this challenge.¡¯


    Maragon could sense Zenghi had maintained his ¡°Sense Channelling¡± enchantment, which was good and showed good judgement and mental control.


    Maragon began to cast the first attack spell.


    ¡®Flame Orb again? How very surprising, Maragon.¡¯


    As the flame orb began to take shape, Zenghi began to cast a ¡®Water Shield¡¯ spell, which was a defensive spell that was particularly strong versus a fire spell. There was a small jug of water with three glasses sitting on a small table near the back of the room. Zenghi drew water magick from there. Not because he likely needed to, but because he now always drew magick from his available sources if it was possible.


    ¡°Clypeo aquarum voco¡±


    (I call forth a shield of water)


    His weave was strong, and a water shield appeared in front of him. Maragon¡¯s flame orb arched towards him and impacted against the Shield. Despite all of his secret casting in his room, Zenghi had cast very few defensive spells against real attacks. He reflexively flinched as the orb hit his shield. There was a loud hiss as flame hit water, and a small puff of steam. The orb disappeared harmlessly., Zenghi¡¯s shield spell was also flickering out.


    ¡°Try to retain the Shield, child, if you can,¡± counselled Brother Turin. ¡°Discard it only once you know the second attack cannot also be stopped by it.¡±


    A valid suggestion. Noted.


    Zenghi grabbed the weaves of his Water Shield again, and managed to maintain the spell.


    Maragon quickly began the second spell almost the moment the first one failed. This time lightning started to crackle around him as he cast.


    Going with lightning straight after fire. Is that just because that is your natural preference? My water shield is not the best for this, but it is still pretty good. I will keep it, and just make it thicker.


    ¡°Clypeus aquae me tueor te¡±


    (Shield of water I enforce you)


    The weave on the re-enforcement was strong, and Zenghi was glad he had kept the original defence and just made it stronger. He again drew what energy he could from the water in the room. The lightning arc flew towards him once Maragon had finished it. And it impacted against the thickening wall of water. There was another hiss of water and steam, followed just after by the crack of thunder. The water shield dispersed the lightning harmlessly across its surface.


    Maragon accelerated the speed of the attacks, and was already casting the third attack. Looking through his Sense Casting enchantment, Zenghi could see a larger build-up of fire energy, and what looked liked three separate fire arrows being formed.


    My shield is probably the perfect defence for this, but lets make this interesting.


    Zenghi dropped his shield of water, but late enough that it was clear he had done so on purpose.


    ¡°Why not keep that? It was perfect for this,¡± queried Brother Turin.


    ¡°Sorry. Lost it,¡± blurted Zenghi, a total lie.


    He was already starting to pull the energy for a teleportation defence. He had nothing he could use to power this within the room, so he used his internal reserves only. This spell would use up more reserves than was necessary as rather than just blink a short distance to make the spell miss, Zenghi wished to control exactly where he blinked to.


    ¡°Per dimensiones me velox gradus¡±


    (Through the dimensions I quick step)


    ¡°Per voluntatem meam regere locum exitus mei¡±


    (Through will, I control the location of my exit)


    The weave on this spell was solid, but the weakest Zenghi had managed so far. The three arrows streaked forwards, fanning out slightly as they flew. Zenghi held his defence until the last possible moment then stepped, but rather than going 1 physical step, he blinked through another dimension, and re-appeared in front of the kneeling Brother Turin. The three flaming arrows impacted against the wall of the room. Smoke started to emanate from the wooden panelling.


    Brother Turin laughed. Maragon grunted, but it was not one of admiration. Zenghi was thrilled. But he was also getting tired. This was now four spells which were at the limit of the most powerful spells he could normally cast. And this was one area where is thin, frail body limited him in ways that a stronger, fitter body may not.


    ¡°One more to equal your master,¡± encouraged Brother Turin, as he cast a quick spell to control the flames that were threatening to break out on his wall.


    Maragon had already moved onto the next attack, and Zenghi watched as his master began to channel flame energy. But a lot more than last time.


    ¡®An exploding Orb, mentor. With poor Brother Turin in the area. How could you?¡¯


    At this close proximity to Maragon, Zenghi decided to just counter-cast and try to disrupt the spell-cast directly. He immediately tried to create a spear of anti-magick to throw into the weave for what he thought was an exploding orb fire spell.


    ¡°Hasta anti- magicae quaero¡±


    (A spear of anti-magick do I seek)


    ¡°Ut conteram hunc vertentes texere coram me¡±


    (To break this channelling weave before me)


    The spear was simpler magick than his last few spells, and the weave was strong. Zenghi took aim and threw it at what seemed like the weakest spot in the weave Maragon was forming. Zenghi had to admit, it wasn¡¯t much of a weakspot, but he could still sense where the weakness was.


    The spear flew true and struck the weave causing it to buckle.


    Maragon grunted, but otherwise there was no reaction. Zenghi watched as he repaired the damage. The spear had not failed, it had bought him time, but he would need to think of something else. He noticed something odd in some of Maragon¡¯s casting gestures. There was something there that was not a typical fire casting. He focused on his Sense Channelling enchantment and saw the Metamagick manipulations Maragon was also making to the spell.


    ¡®What are you up to ¡®Master?¡¯


    Zenghi looked more closely and saw the Earth manipulations being applied to the orb at the end of the flame arrow.


    ¡®Is that a joke? I guess it makes sure you don¡¯t kill Brother Turin.¡¯


    Zenghi began to conjure an Ice Shield. It would be water based, to ward of the Flame Arrow, but solid enough to bounce the pebble as well. ¡®This isn¡¯t even that difficult!¡¯


    Zenghi was almost disappointed.


    ¡°Clypeus glacialis voco¡±


    (I call forth a Shield of Ice)


    The Ice Shield weave was strong. He heard a hushed noise from Brother Turin which he took to be appreciation or awe at his efforts.


    The flaming arrow struck the shield. The Ice hissed and a small part of it melted away, but the arrow dissipated harmlessly, and the stone bounced off and landed with a quite thud on the ground.


    Maragon had no indications of praise or any other emotion for Zenghi. He was just casting the last spell.


    The one that when I defeat, I will be better than you were at my age ¡®Master¡¯. Even in his mind, he said the word with contempt. He had no master. Or at least he had yet to meet one who was worthy to call such.


    ¡®The last attack was supposed to look all big and scary, but the challenge was understanding the nature of the attack. Once that was solved, the defensive spell itself was not that difficult. This is a test of magick knowledge and mental agility. Not how big a spell can you cast. But there is no reason I cannot send a message by doing both.¡¯


    Maragon was casting, but there was not a lot of obvious spell signatures swirling around him. Zenghi thought he could feel the air being stirred though. He again focused on his Sense Channelling enchantment, and through it he could see a lot more information on whatever it was Maragon was casting.


    ¡®Air magick, but there is also summoning energies in here too. You want me to think this is an air based attack, but actually it is going to be some kind of creature, which probably means it can avoid many of the defences I might try to stop it.¡¯


    ¡®Of course, if I just steal control of the creature, it won¡¯t really matter what you try to get it to do.¡¯


    A grim smile of self-satisfaction came over Zenghi.


    He began to cast a spell which would combine elements of both metamagick and summoning, which should allow him to manipulate the summoning spell being cast by Maragon and allow him to steal control of the creature as it was being summoned into this plane.


    ¡°Tuam vocationis famam subvert¡±


    Your spell of summoning I do subvert


    ¡°Meus meus erit novus dominus eius¡±


    My will shall be its new master


    ¡®This may well be the boldest and most impressive way anyone has ever defeated this challenge. My legend begins.¡¯


    ¡°Oh, may the Gods of magick be praised!¡± elicited Brother Turin giddily as he watched Zenghi cast his defence up close.


    Through his Sense Channelling, Zenghi could see his spell-weave form quickly, and he began to interject it into the weave Maragon was casting.


    This spell was difficult. More difficult than anything an apprentice of Zenghi¡¯s experience should even be considering. And as he started to combine the very complex elements, it was clear it was taking longer than Zenghi expected.


    He tried through sheer force of will to speed up the process up, but he knew mistakes were starting to appear in the weave. He focused on making sure his weave was strong enough to disrupt the weave of Maragon¡¯s. His imperfections would be in the summoning aspects, not the metamagick aspects.


    His threads successfully punched into the thread of Maragon¡¯s spell, and began to intertwine themselves. The final result was probably some of Zenghi¡¯s best work ever, and he knew it.


    By the time the final blast of air magick took shape, and flew forth from Maragon¡¯s outstretched hand towards Zenghi, his metamagick threads were thoroughly entangled with those of Maragon¡¯s original casting.


    Zenghi raised his hand and the small air elemental, only barely more visible than a normal wind would be, stopped as instructed as began to hover near Zenghi¡¯s outstretched hand. It had worked. The elemental was no longer under Maragon¡¯s control.


    Zenghi instructed it to turn around, a broad grin spreading across his face.


    The elemental did not turn around.


    Zenghi re-issued the command. The smile on his face receded slightly.


    The elemental did not turn around.


    Zenghi could now feel it fighting for control. It was angry at having being summoned here. It was angrier that Zenghi had subverted control of it after it had arrived.


    Zenghi now focused entirely on exerting his will over the creature.


    He could see through his Sense Channelling enchantment that his spell weave was fracturing. The summoning elements had too many mistakes. The elemental was breaking free. Zenghi wished he had a summoning circle around the elemental right now, so that it would be trapped even if it did take control.


    He quickly shot a look at Maragon and Brother Turin, hoping they would intercede.


    Brother Turin was standing and in total awe of the whole scene. He looked incredibly pleased, but with a hint of madness in his eyes. Maragon looked sternly disappointed. Which to Zenghi seemed most unfair. At worst, he had failed only at the last step. A step Maragon had himself failed at.


    Zenghi looked back at the elemental. He was sure its eyes were now glowing a cold blue. He attempted to cast a spell which might repair his original summoning threads. He had no idea how to do such a thing. His spell failed badly.


    And his original threads of control broke. The elemental was free, and with a push of both airy arms it threw his small form across the room, as a child might throw a toy during a tantrum.


    Zenghi slammed into the wall reasonably hard, knocking the wind from his frail frame, and breaking his hold on his Sense Channelling enchantment. He was not seriously injured, but he was badly winded, and unlikely to cast a spell anytime within the next few seconds. He tried to scamper to his feet, but could not stand. He tried to crawl away. Anything to escape to the elemental that must surely be about to strike him again.


    As the seconds passed, his levels of panic grew. He was quite frantic by the time his rational mind had recovered enough to realise there was no alarm at all in Maragon or Brother Turin. They were in fact calmly making their way towards him.


    ¡°You have done very well, my son!¡± exclaimed Brother Turin proudly. ¡°You passed four parts of the test. And I daresay made one of the boldest attempts at the fifth in Ashar history.¡±


    ¡°You are equal parts extraordinary, and a fool,¡± spat Maragon with mildly subdued contempt. ¡°Your talent is on a level I have never seen. Your poor judgement is on the same level. And you refuse to learn from your mistakes, or your hubris.¡±


    ¡°I did as well as you did at this test, ¡®Master¡¯,¡± replied Zenghi resentfully. ¡°But you will never acknowledge how well I have done. I think we both know I am better than you were at my age. And I think that makes you jealous.¡±


    ¡°Please¡­ this should be a great moment. Let us not fight,¡± pleaded Brother Turin.


    Zenghi looked like he wanted to continue. Maragon acknowledged the request and calmed immediately. He offered a hand to help Zenghi up. Zenghi bit his tongue and accepted the proffered hand.


    ¡°Brother Turin is right,¡± conceded Maragon in a conciliatory tone. ¡°Today is an important part in your training and your result was excellent. You would have had your pick of the assignments for the next stage of your training had you been a student with the Ashar.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Zenghi said, pleased to finally get something that actually sounded like praise from Maragon.

 Flashback 4: Martial Training

    <h2>Zenghi ¨C Age 16 ¨C Faylenian Monastery, Athena, Lestok</h2>


    5<sup>th</sup> Carlishae, Early Spring, 843 PBM


    ¡°Why do we have to train outside when it is so early, and so cold?¡± asked Zenghi.  He was standing outside the monastery walls, in a beautifully manicured garden normally meant for prayer or contemplation.  And Zenghi hated every second of it.  He hated weapons training.  He hated being outside.  And he didn¡¯t think very much of the crazy looking woman who was to train him.


    ¡°Cold?  It is Spring!  The guy who usually does this would have you out in the middle of winter,¡± Samtha laughed with her thick drawl of an accent.  ¡°Maragon is going easy on you letting you get your weapons training from me, believe me.¡±


    ¡®Because he knows I am too good at magick to bother with this silly sword and axe business.  These are the weapons for the poor fools who cannot cast, or even more stupidly, can but choose not to.¡¯


    Samtha stood before Zenghi, a smile on her face suggesting she was very much enjoying his sour look and dissatisfaction with this exercise.  Her dark hair was kept in a ridiculous style, with most of it long, sections of it in dreadlocks but the parts around her ears shaved clean.  Zenghi had never seen anything like it other than on her.


    She was lean, toned and muscular, and for the exercise today she had tight fitting clothing which hugged her body and allowed for ease of movement.  And he knew from past experience she had a scathing wit, and a foul mouth.  She was skilled in both weapons and arcane magick, but in a way a journeyman learns a great many skills - she was not a master of either.  So to Zenghi¡¯s mind that made her unsuited to teach him anything.


    ¡°Have you decided which weapon you will pretend to use?,¡± she asked.


    ¡°Do you intend to teach me or mock me?¡± asked Zenghi scornfully.


    ¡°Oh, that is easy, sugar.  Do you intend to try and learn what I teach you, or are you going to do everything in your power to learn none of it?¡± Samtha replied, without missing a beat.


    Zenghi said nothing.  He did seethe though.  He was good at that.


    ¡°You are going to be here for the same amount of time, regardless.  My advice is you may as well try to learn,¡± she continued.  ¡°Its not like learning any of this forces you to forget what you already know about magick, is it?¡±


    Zenghi begrudgingly conceded the point.  He slogged towards a bench which had a vast collection of weapons, or at least their training equivalents.  His eyes scanned across swords, axes, knives and bludgeoning weapons of many different styles, although his mind already knew he didn¡¯t want any of them.


    ¡°Which one takes your fancy?¡± Samtha asked enthusiastically.


    ¡°Based on past experience, I hate them all.  But the heavier weapons I loathe more than others,¡± Zenghi replied.


    ¡°Makes sense.  With your¡­,¡± Samtha paused as she searched for a polite word, ¡°lean frame, you should avoid any weapon which is based on strength to be effective.  That basically rules out the heavy blades, most of the axes, and the bludgeoning weapons.  I would suggest a staff.¡±


    ¡°A mage with a staff?¡± Zenghi asked sarcastically, ¡°How very original.¡±


    ¡°You are welcome to use a rapier, dagger or spear instead, but consider this,¡± she replied, ¡°there are reasons most other puny, weakling wizards who cannot fight use a quarterstaff.¡±


    Zenghi imagined just for a moment using a blast of Air magick and sending Samtha flying across the courtyard.


    ¡®Maybe that would knock that stupid smirk off her face.¡¯


    Samtha came over and picked up one of the long wooden quarterstaffs off the bench.  She twirled it around in her hands easily and casually.  In her hands it looked like quite an effective weapon.


    ¡°You can use the staff to ease your burdens while you do other incredibly tiring things, such as walking,¡± she added as she mockingly leant heavily on the staff while walking a couple of steps.


    ¡°And you can wave it feebly to keep people away from you in a real fight,¡± she continued, now holding the staff out at almost it¡¯s full length to ward off an imaginary opponent.¡±


    ¡°Funny!¡± replied Zenghi scornfully.  ¡°I find weakling casters have to use Charm magicks in the same way.  ¡®Please help me. I am too weak to do anything on my own¡¯,¡± replied Zenghi, mockingly casting a charm spell on an imaginary target.  ¡°Which spheres did you say you were strongest with again?¡±


    Zenghi had hoped his comment would annoy Samtha.  But he was disappointed to just see her laughing at him.


    ¡°Not a bad effort, young one.  But luckily for you I am here to teach you to fight, not argue.¡±


    Zenghi smiled in a way he knew annoyed most people, as though he had won.


    ¡°Otherwise I would point out that angry men who hate on everything are usually just crushingly insecure.  Usually about the size of their brains, bodies or penis.  Sometimes all of them.  Shall we discuss which ones trigger all your insecurities?¡±


    Zenghi¡¯s smile vanished.


    ¡°Probably best if we just focus on the training then. Do you agree?¡± she asked.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Zenghi picked up the other quarterstaff and nodded.


    ****


    Zenghi lay on the hard ground clutching at his left shin, his leg sending waves of torturous agony all the way up his body.  He tried to grit his teeth and hold in the pain, but found himself totally ill-equipped to do that, so instead he screamed.  He howled in pain and rolled back and forwards on the ground holding a leg that he was sure was now broken, possibly ruined.


    ¡°Are you quite finished?¡± asked Samtha.  Her body language indicated no sympathy for him.  In fact she indicated no concern at all.


    ¡°We have been fighting thirty seconds and the first time you have been hit,¡± she said scornfully.


    ¡°You broke my leg,¡± snapped back Zenghi in-between yowls of pain.


    ¡°Broken?¡± she replied, mockingly.  ¡°Even your puny little bones are tougher than that.  Stand up and you will see your leg is sore.  Nothing more.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t¡± he bit back.


    ¡°Ok then, sugar!  I will let Maragon know you failed and are unable to proceed to the next part of your training,¡± Samtha replied.  She turned and began to move away.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Zenghi called after her.  She stopped and turned back towards him with a knowing smile.


    ¡°I will try to stand,¡± Zenghi continued.


    He gingerly tried to stand.  It was painful.  His face contorted in immense pain several times, and he waved his arms around trying to keep his balance with only one good leg.


    ¡°Do you think you fight on past your incredible injuries?¡± Samtha asked tauntingly.


    Zenghi was too sore to even say anything spiteful back.  He just nodded.


    ****


    Zenghi slumped to his knees.  He was exhausted, his frail lean body pushed to its limit.  Sweat poured from him, running down his face, into his eyes, and making it increasingly harder to hold onto his staff.  It didn¡¯t help he was also sore, having seemingly been whacked with Samtha¡¯s staff to every part of his body.  He couldn¡¯t see them yet, but he knew by morning his pale skin would be covered with dark bruises.


    Unless he could convince one of the priests to heal him.  And that seemed unlikely.  They seemed reluctant to use magick just to make life easier and better.  If that truly was offensive to their God, to use their gifts for such trivial or menial uses, then Zenghi was glad he was a Mage instead.


    He tried desperately to suck air into his tortured body, his lungs heaving, but seeming to be useless to restore strength to him.  He doubted he could go on.  Samtha had promised to push him to his limits, and she had found it.  Zenghi wasn¡¯t sure he had learned anything overly useful in relation to the staff, but he was more aware of exactly how far he could push his physical form.


    ¡°Is that it?¡± Samtha asked incredulously.


    Zenghi couldn¡¯t even find the breath to argue with her.


    ¡°Ten Minutes of playfighting and you are totally spent?¡± she continued.  ¡°Whenever you do get a girlfriend, I feel sorry for her.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Zenghi panted.


    ¡°Well¡­ if you want a woman to enjoy laying with you, in the throes of passion, then you will need more staying power than that,¡± Samtha explained to the teenager.  ¡°Our bodies have a complex set of needs to maximise our pleasure.  It is not as simple as your male body.  And it likely needs more than ten minutes.¡±


    ¡°Then you are doing it wrong.  I can use magick to amplify her senses, and make her feel everything like she has never felt anything before.  I am not worried about that. Magick is my tool.  I can easily outperform an ordinary man at just about any task,¡± reasoned Zenghi.


    ¡°And that includes this idiotic stick twirling,¡± he added.


    ¡°Sure.  But when I tell Maragon you failed this part of your training, he won¡¯t let you progress to the next stage.  But I am ok with that outcome if you are.¡±


    Zenghi groaned.  Of course he was not OK with that.  Magick was his life.  His one passion and true joy.  He sacrificed everything else for it, and nothing could stop his training from progressing to the next stage.  His body would be no exception.


    ¡°Can you please fetch me some water.  I think I need some replenishment,¡± he asked.


    Samtha nodded and walked away to get him the waterskin from the nearby bench.


    While she was distracted Zenghi cast a spell which would infuse his frail body with more stamina and strength.  He drew strands of magick from the stones around him and infused his sore and aching frame.  It would not be enough to do miracles.  But it would allow him to fight on.


    ¡®With luck it might even allow be put a bruise or two onto my smug little trainer.¡¯


    It didn¡¯t.


    ****


    ¡°How goes my promising pupil,¡± called the kind voice of Brother Turin.


    ¡°He learns little of what I teach him,¡± called back Samtha in a friendly tone, ¡°so we have compromised to me teaching his body how to bruise.  I would say on that front, he is becoming an expert.¡±


    Brother Turin looked with concern towards his ward.  Zenghi was laying on his back on the hard earth, groaning slightly with each breathe, his staff lying just out of reach on the ground.  His skin was indeed already red in several places, and Brother Turin was sure nasty bruises would follow.


    ¡°But, he kept getting back up.  His body is almost worthless, but his mind and his will are impressive, commented Samtha.  ¡°Has a nasty little tongue on him though.  Usually if you have a tongue like that you can fight well or run fast.  I am guessing he gets into fights with the other kids quite a bit?¡±


    ¡°He does indeed,¡± conceded Brother Turin.


    ¡°And I am guessing he loses,¡± she laughed.  ¡°A lot.¡±


    Brother Turin nodded, his manner revealing frustration and perhaps exhaustion.  ¡°I have had to smooth things out with the Bishop on several occasions just to stop him being expelled from here.  I think with this one, there are some here who would be happy to concede defeat and just move him on.  Although they would never say that too loudly.¡±


    ¡°But you know he might be worth it, in the long run, right?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I do,¡± smiled the old priest.  ¡°And so I will help Maragon, and I will continue to work with him.¡±


    Zenghi lay in the dirt, listening to them talk about him as though he wasn¡¯t even there.


    ¡°I assume his training session is over?¡± asked Brother Turin.


    Samtha considered her response.  ¡°Tell Maragon he tried much harder than he thought he would.¡±


    ¡°Did he pass?¡± asked Brother Turin.


    ¡°Depends what the pass mark is.  Could he defend himself and win a real fight with his staff?  Unlikely,¡± Samtha conceded.


    Zenghi groaned at the thought that all of this might have been nothing, and he forced himself to rise up and stand.  His entire body ached and burned from pain and fatigue.  He got to his knees.  He saw his staff on the ground, and he reached for it.  But the effort was all too much, and he began to wretch all over the ground.


    ¡°But he showed determination and persistence.  Could he stay alive a few seconds longer than he could before today.  Yes I think he could,¡± Samtha said.  ¡°And hopefully that is long enough for him to cast something or for someone else to arrive and help him.¡±


    ¡°The Seven has had Mages who were worse fighters than him.¡± Samtha added.


    ¡°Have they really?¡± queried Brother Turin, with one greying eyebrow raised.


    ¡°Zarthas the Great was pretty useless with a weapon.  But then, he wasn¡¯t with the Seven for his weapon skills.  I think our recent memory is colouring things, because for the last few decades the ¡°Mage¡± has been Maragon.  But his level of martial expertise is well outside the norm for those who have¡­ ,¡± she hesitated as she looked at Zenghi, ¡°¡­held his role within the Seven.¡±


    ¡°That is a very apt comparison indeed,¡± Brother Turin laughed.  ¡°Let us get him back inside, get you both cleaned up, and then we can go and eat our evening meal with the rest of the monastery.¡±

 Chapter 26: Glimpses of Future and Past

    <h2>Azzanon ¨C The Poor Quarter, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    11<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Their search for Matrinda had already taken a few hours, but it was the location it was leading more than the time it was taking which was annoying Azzanon.


    ¡°I thought Klydor was the pinnacle of equality for all?¡± he gently mocked.  ¡°How very disappointing to discover your poor are just as wretched, downtrodden, and smell the same as they do everywhere else.¡±


    Eva shot him a disapproving look.


    ¡®I wonder if all elves have no sense of humour.  Or just the ones I have the pleasure to travel with.¡¯


    ¡°How about you refuse to tell me one more time about why we are out here looking for her?¡± he asked.  ¡°Hoping for a regular customer discount perhaps?  Or maybe offer to buy her a new stall somewhere seeing as how you kind of got most of the black market destroyed, and what wasn¡¯t destroyed was arrested or impounded.  What makes you think she will be happy to see you at all?¡±


    ¡°Because I think her mother knew that was all going to happen and did some quite dangerous things to help us,¡± Mitchell explained.  ¡°Which means we owe her a huge of debt of thanks in addition to her helping us out with the troll blood.  Actually, not just us.  All of Klydor and probably Driax too.¡±


    ¡®I think its amusing when people start making things out to be hugely grandiose in order to make themselves feel more important.¡¯


    A slightly guilty feeling of that thought being quite hypocritical washed over Azzanon.


    ¡®Except of course when I do it.  Then it¡¯s totally justified.¡¯


    The next hour was spent knocking on doors asking alternately if anyone knew of Madame Trekeli, did anyone know of Matrinda, and finally, at Mitchell¡¯s suggestion, did anyone know of the old female Eridani healer or alchemist.


    The last one was the most successful at getting people to talk.  It worked especially well once Azzanon started claiming that Eva was sick from an exotic, non-contagious disease, and they needed someone with special healing powers to save her.  Many a hard heart stared into her eyes and melted, giving them the information they sought - or at least they did once Azzanon managed to convince her to take the mirror mask off so they could actually see her eyes.


    And finally they approached a small, modest home in a street that was close to, but perhaps not quite, the poorest streets in Chandrex.  It had little to distinguish it from many other similar buildings, all of them jammed together in a way that suggested to his non-engineer mind that they were holding each other up.


    ¡®And if one falls, I suspect it would be like watching a game of dominos.¡¯


    Constructed from timber and shoddy greying plasterwork, each house had patchwork repairs that looked like they had used salvaged wood and flotsam that had probably washed up on the shores not far from here.  The exteriors were weathered, tinted with the salt and grime of countless storms, and the roof was made of mismatched tiles and thatched sections likely hastily repaired after each tempest.


    ¡°Be careful when you knock,¡± cautioned Azzanon sarcastically, ¡°you might knock them all over.¡±


    ¡°Show some respect.  This is someone¡¯s house,¡± replied Eva rebukingly.


    ¡°I am sorry.  But you take up a life of crime, and this is still the best you can do?¡± derided Azzanon.  ¡°Why bother being a criminal at all?  I imagine it is real easy to find legal occupations that pay you enough to be dirt poor.¡±


    Mitchell was trying to stay out of the exchange, but Azzanon was sure he saw him chuckle at the jokes.  Before he could continue further, Mitchell approached the door and went to knock.


    ¡®At least a 50% chance this will be the wrong house.  I suspect we may have to knock on quite a few in this strip before we find the right one.¡¯


    The door opened before his hand even touched the wood.


    Matrinda was standing there, her long, curly dark hair hanging to her shoulders, and she wore a simple white peasant¡¯s dress.


    ¡®I am pleasantly proven incorrect.  And beauty certainly is not limited by social status.¡¯


    ¡°My mother said you would come,¡± she said simply, breaking the awkward silence as Mitchell seemingly forgot how to talk.  Whether he was just surprised at the sudden door opening, or lost his ability to speak because of her beauty, Azzanon could not be sure.  It was an inexperienced mistake either way.


    Matrinda looked around the street behind them carefully before ushering them inside.  Azzanon winked at her as he walked past.  She smiled back.  He liked that.


    The home was as small as the front facing exterior suggested, with a single room as the main feature, and what looked like two small bedrooms to one side, and a door likely leading to a toilet out the back.  In this room the main feature was a rough-hewn timber table, scarred by use and time, surrounded by a handful of mismatched chairs.  There was a simple hearth along one wall which would provide warmth and a means to cook, its bricks stained with soot, although it was not currently lit.  Ragged mats offered some comfort for the feet, and covered what looked like a very worn timber floor.  Evidence of patchwork repairs were everywhere.


    The home had a strong smell, which Azzanon thought was a mix of brine, and the earthly aroma of dried herbs.  One thing he did not see was mould.  So the Madame and her daughter were doing their best to take care of the place.


    Sitting in what appeared to be the best of the chairs was Madame Trekeli.


    ¡°Forgive me if I do not get up.  My old bones are tired from the excitement of today,¡± she said.  ¡°I don¡¯t move as well as I used to.¡±


    ¡°Totally OK,¡± replied Mitchell.  ¡°I just came to say thank you and to ask a couple of questions, if you didn¡¯t mind.¡±


    The older lady smiled warmly.  ¡°Questions are the key to learning.  Or at least the right questions are.  You look like someone who has already asked a lot of questions in their life.  Although I am not sure you have yet asked all the right ones.¡±


    ¡®That answer was almost a riddle.  Please don¡¯t answer everything as a riddle.  I hate riddles.¡¯


    Madame Trekeli motioned for them to take a seat opposite her.  Mitchell and Azzanon moved towards the chairs.  Eva remained standing, alert and vigilant.


    ¡°Shall I put a kettle on?¡± asked Matrinda.


    ¡°Not for me, thank you,¡± replied Mitchell.  ¡°But if you want one, please feel free.¡±


    Eva and Azzanon both declined too.


    ¡®This late in the day, the proper drink to offer would be alcoholic.  Although I shudder to think what quality of wine these poor people may have to suffer through.  Vinegar with a fancy label?¡¯


    ¡°Thank you for your help in the market earlier today,¡± Mitchell began.  ¡°Without it, what I guard would now almost certainly be in the hands of the one person who must never be allowed to have it.¡±


    ¡®If this stone is so dangerous, why let the boy keep it?  At some point I may have to stop pretending I don¡¯t know what I am not supposed to know and ask.¡¯


    The old woman smiled.  ¡°My gift has shown me many things over the years.  But almost nothing with the clarity of that moment.  I knew Josak would find you, and that if you had the item on you, then he would have it soon after that.  I was not sure if what I did would stop him obtaining it, but I was sure I had to try.  I suspect the Gods were blessing us today, though.  With his ability to sense the stone I think it fortunate he did not realise the deception once I started trying to take the item away.¡±


    ¡°I suspect at some point he did,¡± interceded Azzanon.  ¡°I shot him with a crossbow, and he had just turned around and was heading straight for where the secret exit was.  Had he been following Mitchell, I imagine he would have been heading to the main entrance.¡±


    ¡°We are all in your debt,¡± Mitchell intoned solemnly.  ¡°You took great risk to yourself to help people you did not even know.  As did your daughter in returning the item to me after I was unconscious.  That is not common.¡±


    ¡°You see,¡± Madame Trekeli said to Matrinda with a smile, ¡°I told you this one was smart.¡±


    ¡°I only gave the item to her to give back to you once I sensed that the evil one had left.  I would not have sent it back into the market otherwise,¡± advised Madame Trekeli.  ¡°But I appreciate you coming all this way to thank us.¡±


    ¡°Actually, I intend to do more than that.  I wish to reward you,¡± countered Mitchell.  ¡°I do not have much, but I suspect it is enough to add some more joy into your lives for at least a little while.¡±


    The old lady smiled.  ¡°I did not do it for a reward child.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± replied Mitchell quickly.  ¡°And perhaps that is why you are even more worthy of one.¡±


    ¡°I Mitchell of Garet, thank you for the aid you and your daughter rendered to us today, and in recognition I wish to give you this small token of our appreciation.¡±


    Mitchell nodded to Eva and she reached into a pouch of gems and took out two moderate sized gems and slid them across the table to Madame Trekeli.


    Azzanon tried to value the gems from where he was standing and guessed them to be around 100 gold pieces each.  Not a forever life altering sum of money.  But a very large sum of money nonetheless for people living like this.


    Matrinda¡¯s eyes lit up, and a big grin enveloped her face.  That brought joy to Azzanon.


    Strangely, Madame Trekeli did not seem particularly affected by the gift.  It was not that she looked ungrateful, but more that she did not seem to be emotionally impacted by the potential monetary gain of the gift.


    ¡®Either she intends to return it, or she is not unaccustomed to having, or perhaps had, monetary sums like this around her before.¡¯


    ¡°Then I, Madame Trekeli of the Kendari people, accept your generous gift.¡±  And she gently reached across the table and slid the two gemstones to be in front of her.


    ¡®And she is not returning it.¡¯


    ¡°But I do have a couple of questions I would like to ask, if you do not mind,¡± requested Mitchell.


    Madame Trekeli gave him a warm grandmotherly smile.  ¡°Ask your questions, Eternal one.  I will be honoured if I can assist you with my knowledge or my wisdom.¡±


    ¡°Did you see anything else in your visions that might help us?¡± Mitchell asked.  ¡°Either initially, or perhaps while you bore the item?  I have to go east and find a place where something happened a long time ago.  My task is not easy, and any clues you might have could be very useful to me.¡±


    ¡°The moment I saw you, I could see the incredible destiny the two of you have.  There has perhaps never been a pair with destinies as strong and bold as yours,¡± Madame Trekeli began.


    Azzanon could not help but roll his eyes.


    ¡®Why does everyone have a grand destiny when it comes to these fortune tellings?  Surely most people are destined to do nothing, and live very plain and inconsequential lives.  But you don¡¯t hear that fortune get told very often.  You will dig dirt.  A lot of dirt.  Your back will hurt.  They you will die.  Nobody will much remember you five minutes after you are dead.¡¯


    ¡°But you are beset by evil and challenges which are powerful enough to break you and your destiny.  Nothing is locked in stone when it comes to the future.  Only the past is certain,¡± Madame Trekeli explained.  ¡°And so, something had branched your fate, and put you in that market.  And in that market, there was a likely event that would have seen you lose the item you guard.  I still do not know what it is, but I knew the man who sought it could not be allowed to have it.¡±


    ¡°I knew there was risk in helping you.  But I have spent my life trying to use my gift to help others.  It is not always as easy as you might think.  Many people do not really want to know about the important things that might happen in their future.  Tell someone they are going to be a magnificent warrior who will find glory on the battlefield, and every young man will believe you.  Tell a young couple they should refrain from having children because it will only bring them grief, despair and madness, and they will hate you for it.  Or they will ignore you.¡±


    ¡®As a spy I can tell you nobody likes bad news.  It doesn¡¯t matter if it¡¯s a prophecy, an opinion, or a fact.  All are as welcome as a case of diarrhoea.  And most of the time they take it out on the messenger.  That is why I like to deliver good news personally, and bad news with a letter, preferably written from 1000 miles away.¡¯


    ¡°I see your fate taking you to another Klydorian city.  It was not one I had been to.  It was near water, but it definitely wasn¡¯t Chandrex.  And your enemy their lurks in the shadows, or perhaps is the shadows.  But not the one they call Shadow.  He may in fact be an ally.¡±


    ¡®What the hell does that mean?  Bloody riddles!¡¯


    ¡°Did you see anything that looked like it was happening on or near the Plains of Victory?  I need to find the exact spot, if I can, that the Black Knight saved a young Prince Ulderan during the Great War.¡±


    ¡®I see the boy has decided to reply with stupidity of his own.¡¯


    ¡°I cannot be sure child.  I do not know your history as well a local might,¡± replied Madame Trekeli.   ¡°But I did see you fighting a thing that was part man and part shadow.  That was on a grassland plain.  But there were things in the vision that made no sense to me.  Perhaps they will mean something to you?¡±


    Mitchell gestured she should continue, leaning closer to take in every soft-spoken word.


    ¡°You are fighting at night.  But in the background I am sure I can see the sun.¡±


    ¡®OK.  Well that makes sense.  Does the opponent also have a dolphin shaped head?¡¯


    ¡°Perhaps it is a globe of darkness spell?¡± suggested Mitchell.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that is the answer, my child.  The area of darkness seems much too large,¡± replied Madame Trekeli.  ¡°But there is more.  I sense a giant barrier is trapping you and your opponent together, and you are in a fight to the death.  Mercy is not an option for either of you.¡±


    ¡°Am I not also there, protecting him?¡± asked Eva, a note of desperation in her voice.


    ¡°I do not see you my child,¡± replied Madame Trekeli, with a sympathetic tone.  Azzanon could see the closest thing he had seen to actual emotion on the elf girl¡¯s face.  It was both confusion and fear.


    ¡®She thinks she must die.¡¯


    Azzanon did not believe much in the certainty of fate.  He believed the spirit was too powerful, and that everyone had control of their own destiny or fate.  But he could see this had rattled Eva.


    ¡°I am sure you are there somewhere.  Probably fighting some other thing that is even worse than the shadow-man.  Something that would surely have killed Mitchell were it not for you,¡± Azzanon said, trying to lift her spirits.


    She turned to look at him, and he could see in her eyes she was desperate to believe him.  She was desperate for any explanation that was better than she was already dead.


    Madame Trekeli could see it too now.


    ¡°Your destiny is to outlive your ward, young child.  If Mitchell survives this fight, then you will too.¡±


    ¡°Are my other companions there?¡± Mitchell asked.  ¡°Can you see them?¡±


    ¡°There were many others there.  Many have fallen before this final epic moment.  I cannot be sure if they yet live.  Some still fight.  But they are trapped outside, in the light.¡±


    ¡°So in this final moment, I am alone against the evil!¡± Mitchell declared resolutely.  ¡°And I must be ready for it.¡±


    ¡°Not entirely alone.  You have on your side a shadow of your own.  But you must be very careful how much you trust that one,¡± replied Madame Trekeli ominously.  ¡°You need him, but he is also likely your end.¡±


    ¡°How do I know how much I can trust him?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°That I cannot tell you child.  I know only that the fates want you two in this fight.  This battle is not your likely end.  And nor is it the end in your journey.  I do not believe there is anymore help I can give you this night.  And it would be best if you were to leave soon.¡±


    ¡°Why is that?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°Because I sense that powerful forces are now looking for me.  They know I have borne your item and they wish to speak to me on this.  But they will not find us.  We will be long gone before they get here,¡± Madame Trekeli replied.  ¡°Pack up our things Matrinda.  As we have many times before.¡±


    Her daughter seemed disappointed.  Azzanon imagined it would be hard at her age to just up and leave everything.  She almost certainly had friends and a life here.  But he knew firsthand what it felt like to have to pack up a life in an instant and move on.  He knew that feeling all too well.


    ¡°Can I help?¡± offered Azzanon.  ¡°I have some experience in moving on quickly, and making sure you leave nothing behind to help would-be pursuers.¡±


    He felt the attention of everyone in the room suddenly shift to him.


    ¡°What?  In my line of work I have had to do it many times.  At best, it happens when an assignment ends.  At worst, it happens when something goes wrong, and I have to leave immediately.¡±


    He moved towards Matrinda. ¡°Come on.  Show me what you need to take.¡±


    ¡°I have seen a vision of you too,¡± said Madame Trekeli.


    ¡°No offence.  But I don¡¯t want to hear it.  I don¡¯t want anything to take the surprise out of life,¡± he replied, without even needing to consider it.  ¡°Even if something is going to kill me, I want to face it upbeat, and with wit and a smile.¡±


    <h2>Mitchell ¨C Church of Faylen, Port Chandrex, Klydor</h2>


    12<sup>th</sup> Kennovashae, Spring 845 PBM


    Mitchell felt bone tired when he finally crawled into the small cot in the church.  He felt a sense of relief that has washed most of his anxiety away.  He had the Stone.  Maragon and the other members of the Seven were going to recover.  Sleep came quickly.


    And he dreamed.  He knew immediately it was a dream.  But it felt different.  Special.  Like it was more real.


    He was standing on a featureless plain that stretched as far as he could see in all directions.  There was no wind.  It all felt very still.  It was dark, and he could see the stars twinkling clearly in the night sky.  They seemed clearer and more well defined than any night he could ever remember looking at them.  He spent time staring at them, wondering at their beauty.


    Did they look over him?  Did they care?  Did they have messages for him if he was smart enough to decipher them?


    He looked for his favourite constellation, The Hunter.  He did not have any reason to feel a bond to that one.  In fact, there were others which probably should have appealed to him more; the Mage, the Burning Tower, or even the Library of the Seekers.  But whenever he looked up at the sky he always looked for The Hunter.  Even in this dream state, he did as he often did in the real world, and he pulled back on an imaginary bow and fired it towards the night sky.


    As a small child it was always the constellation he could find the easiest.  The three starts which made up his belt were easy to see as the formed part of what looked like a saucepan.  As long as he could remember he had hoped the Hunter would guide him on his true path, and help him find purpose, and a sense of belonging and acceptance.


    He was not sure how long he looked at them.  But when he looked at the ground again, he could see two figures approaching.  One was a female figure.  The other was an old man.


    She was wearing the simple and practical clothing of a tribal peoples, with a white tunic and pants with brown stitching used for both purpose and simple decoration.  She had long brown hair tied back with a gathering of feathers.  As she came closer, he could see a caring smile on her face.  One that almost immediately disarmed him of any concern, and he warmed to her.  He suspected he would have even if he had not known who she was.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    This was ShaShayla, of the Plainsfolk.  One of the original Champions of Laurabel.  To hear Maragon describe her, never had a more caring and good person lived anywhere or at any time.


    The older man was even more well-known Mitchell.  He wore the holy vestments of a Priest of Faylen and had a face that suggested both wisdom and patience, with an element of mischief that was not what one expected when dealing with a priest; Brother Turin.


    Mitchell smiled as they approached.  He was slightly anxious, but he was not afraid.


    For the briefest of a second, he thought he saw something flicker or move in the darkness behind the two.  But when he focused on that spot he saw it, he saw nothing.  His smile faltered slightly.


    ¡°You need not fear, young one.  I promise you we mean you no harm.  We wish only to speak and see if you are ready to help,¡± ShaShayla said.  Mitchell found her voice calming.  He felt his concerns drifting away.


    ¡®Careful.  This woman is one of the most powerful Enchantress who ever lived.  She may be good, but her natural powers make you want to believe her and do as she says.  I must keep my wits and make sure my thoughts are my own.¡¯


    ¡°You are cautious,¡± she continued.  ¡°As you should be.  Do you know who I am?¡±


    Mitchell said as clearly as possible, ¡°I do,¡± nodding in affirmation, as he did so.


    ¡°Do you know why I am here?¡± ShaShayla asked.


    ¡°Maragon said if you came, then you would offer me the chance to take on your soul and become one of the Seven,¡± Mitchell replied, going with simplicity and truth in his answer.  ¡°He also told me to decline your offer.¡±


    Mitchell saw a brief smile on Brother Turin¡¯s face.  ¡°Did he just.  He has always been most protective of you, young Mitchell.¡±


    ¡®And so very good at making plans in anticipation of what another might do.¡¯


    ¡°That is because he knows the boy is pure of heart and almost totally incorruptible.  That is why I want him to be my replacement,¡± stressed ShaShayla.


    ¡°Certainly understandable,¡± agreed the old priest.


    Again Mitchell thought he saw a flicker of movement or shadow in the darkness behind them.  But again, when he looked past them, he could not see anything.


    ¡°But we cannot always have what we want, ShaShayla.  You know that.  Sometimes we must do what we must for the mission,¡± countered Brother Turin, but there was a slight look of pain across his face as he said it.


    ¡®What is going on here?  If ShaShayla wants me, then that response suggests there is some reason she cannot have that.  Why? Is Turin trying to honour Maragon¡¯s wishes?  There are entire layers to this conversation I do not understand.¡¯


    ¡°Why can you not choose me?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°Because Maragon has requested you be left for him,¡± replied Brother Turin, but again there was a look of pain or perhaps annoyance on his face as he did so, and this pain transferred through to his voice.  Again, Mitchell could have sworn he saw a flicker in the darkness behind Turin just before he responded.


    Mitchell tried to draw in the smallest amount of magickal energy.  Just a test to see if he could channel in this dream.  He felt the familiar sensation of magickal energy surge into him.  He could.


    ¡°But Maragon may not die within your lifetime.  He is the smartest and best of us.  He may live on and you could die before ever joining our Order.  You are the perfect weapon for the Seven.  I wish to ensure it is one we take full advantage of,¡± replied ShaShayla, speaking directly to Mitchell and imploring him to heed her words.  She turned her head towards Brother Turin before adding, ¡°And it is supposed to be my choice.¡±


    ¡®Supposed to be?¡¯


    ¡°Must we have this same conversation again?¡± came Brother Turin¡¯s voice, but there was something different in it now.  It had an arrogant tone.  His face was now free of pain or discomfort, but there was a different look in his eyes.  One that Mitchell had seen on rare occasions before.  Usually when Brother Turin would act in ways that were unsettling.


    As the two figures seemed to focus on each other, Mitchell cast a divination spell.  It was a relatively simple spell that would detect how many life forces were around him.  He doubted he was powerful enough to dispel anyone powerful enough to cast an Invisibility spell or some other powerful illusion or shadow spell that was concealing their presence.  But none of those spells would mask the presence of their life force.


    His spell detected three life forces.


    ¡®We are not alone!  Someone else is here!¡¯


    ShaShayla seemed shocked.


    ¡°He knows!¡± she exclaimed.


    ¡°Be careful!  You are confusing the boy,¡± said Brother Turin.  But in his normal, more caring tone.


    ¡®And they know too!¡¯


    ¡°Why can I detect three life forces?¡± asked Mitchell firmly.


    Both ShaShayla and Brother Turin exchanged a prolonged look.


    There was that flicker of shadowy movement again.  Close to Brother Turin.  Really close.


    ¡°We are on the edge of the spirit realm,¡± replied Brother Turin.  This is where the souls of the recently departed go before moving on.  You must be able to sense another soul nearby,¡± replied Brother Turin, but there was a pained look on his face again.


    ¡°I do not believe you.  I can see it.  Its shadowy, and its lurking behind Brother Turin,¡± Mitchell said.


    Whatever the shadowy figure was, Mitchell both saw and felt it lunge at him.  It was a weird shape; like a Centaur, except if the horse part was instead a spider, or perhaps a crab.  There was a flash of white light as it tried to strike Mitchell¡¯s head.  One, two, three flashes in quick succession.  But Mitchell felt nothing.


    ¡°Leave him alone!¡± cried Brother Turin.


    Mitchell felt fear and uncertainty.  Whatever was happening here was not at all as he had expected.  But it was clear whatever the shadow was trying to do, something was protecting him.  He looked to ShaShayla and Brother Turin, and he was sure it was neither of them.


    He heard, or perhaps felt, a psychic scream of either anger or frustration from the shadowy creature.  In his head it was very loud, but he was sure he had not heard it through his ears.


    The Shadow retreated again.  How far it went Mitchell was not sure, but it moved back beyond ShaShayla and Brother Turin and disappeared again from view.


    ¡°What was that?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°It really is best if we do not talk about that,¡± said ShaShayla, looking at Mitchell with that caring and compassionate look again.  ¡°There are things that Maragon does not know.  Important things.  He thinks he knows everything about the Seven.  But he doesn¡¯t.¡±


    Mitchell could hear the guilt and shame in her voice.


    ¡®What could the Seven have to be ashamed of?  They defeated the great dragon, Razilin¡¯Tera, and saved everyone!  Did they not?¡¯


    ¡°And he cannot know.  It could jeopardise everything.  On that we all agree,¡± said Brother Turin.


    ¡°If you want me to bear your soul, I have to know everything.  Otherwise, my answer will have to be no!¡± implored Mitchell.


    ¡°All I can tell you is my soul is more complicated than the others in the Seven,¡± explained ShaShayla.


    ¡°It is deeply regrettable some of the things that were done both back then, and since.  But were it not done, then Razilin¡¯Tera would likely not have remained defeated for the last 850 years.  But it is imperative that Brother Turin¡¯s replacement be strong of mind and will, and ideally a resolute idealist who is not easily coerced onto the easier path.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying I was not those things?¡± asked Brother Turin.


    ¡°You were not as strong as I had hoped,¡± replied ShaShayla, her response a mixture of honesty and compassion.  ¡°I think you secretly had desires or perhaps latent sympathies for your Inquisition brethren and their methods.  And I think that was used against you.  But I have a good sense that Mitchell here will not have any weakness that can be exploited.¡±


    She moved a few steps closer to Mitchell and turned her caring and compassionate eyes upon him.


    Mitchell met them briefly, then looked away.


    ¡°What is it child?  Do you not trust me?¡± she said.


    ¡°I do.  Maragon was adamant I could,¡± Mitchell replied.  ¡°But I think you are a Sorcerer and I think your eyes may influence others, whether you intend them to or not.  I will listen to you, but I want to be sure it is just your argument and my logic and reason that makes my choice.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± she replied.  He felt her move a few steps further back again.  ¡°I know this is difficult, but I think we are coming to a critical moment in history.  I have this feeling that Razilin¡¯Tera¡¯s return might be close.  And we need the most incorruptible souls to help us stop that happening.¡±


    ¡°There is merit in what ShaShayla is saying, Mitchell,¡± agreed Brother Turin.  ¡°Adjusting for your young age, you are one of the strongest potential candidates to join the Seven that I have seen.¡±


    ¡°A second ago you didn¡¯t seem so sure,¡± countered Mitchell.


    The old priest flashed a quick look at ShaShayla before he responded.  ¡°I was not myself.  I have regained control of my emotions now.¡±


    ¡°I am afraid I do not believe you,¡± replied Mitchell.  ¡°This other soul I could feel, is this a corruption or perhaps some kind of demonic possession that you have suffered and have managed to hide from the rest of the Seven?¡±


    Brother Turin smiled ever so slightly, like a teacher who is very proud of one of their students.  ShaShayla remained much harder to read.


    Even with your impressive knowledge of magick, I don¡¯t think you are ready, or perhaps even capable, of understanding, what you have just seen.  But I can assure you, this is not some recent affliction we are hiding from the others,¡± replied Brother Turin sincerely.  ¡°Oh No!  I am afraid this dates all the way back to the defeat of Razilin¡¯Tera himself.¡±


    ¡°What I can tell you is the Seven have had help, even from the beginning, from some powerful sources,¡± added ShaShayla.  ¡°Some of them Maragon knows about.  But some he does not.  And its important this remains so.  Nobody within the Seven can ever know everything.  There is too much risk if that soul were ever captured and had information extracted.¡±


    ¡°To be fair, Evronn would likely not have accepted their help.  But we needed it,¡± explained Brother Turin.  ¡°Have you ever wondered why Razilin¡¯Tera accepted the Champions challenge in the first place?¡±


    Mitchell had not.  For the sake of the story, it made for a very dramatic and heroic end.  The human empire of Micronia about to fall.  Seven brave heroes challenge Dragons, Giants and more to a battle of champions.  If they lose the enemy horde agrees to break-up and leave the besieged city.  And the Dragon and his host accept, only to lose.  And the world is saved.


    As he thought about it now, it did not really make sense for the Horde to accept the challenge.  The battle was over.  The city was trapped, and nobody was coming to its rescue.  Maybe Dragons were just vain and arrogant?


    ¡°The battle was over.  Laurabel the city, and the entire empire of Micronia were defeated, and humankind with them,¡± continued Brother Turin.  ¡°Only a future of death or enslavement awaited.  Yet Razilin¡¯Tera gives the humans a chance and agrees to fight the seven Champions.  Now he probably did expect to win.  And he probably would have enjoyed crushing the Champions in front of the walls of all those counting on them.  But it is still a risk he didn¡¯t need to take.  And he had to know it was unlikely he could have stopped his horde from looting and pillaging the city even if they did lose.  The creatures he had arrayed were unlikely to walk away because of a hand-shake bet.¡±


    ¡°Is vanity enough of a reason?¡± asked Mitchell, offering the only reason he could think of which explained it without changing the story very much at all.


    ¡®It sounds like the arrogant thing an evil overlord Dragon is supposed to do, right?  Their arrogance ultimately allows the forces of good to win.¡¯


    But thinking about it now, it did sound more like a children¡¯s tale, than how a real cataclysmic conflict would likely end.


    ¡°Razilin¡¯Tera agreed because a powerful force told him they had magically poisoned the water sources that his whole army had been using.  And they said if he did not agree to the challenge, then they would activate the poison and his host would all die there on the plains outside Laurabel,¡± explained ShaShayla.


    ¡°A host as powerful as the one Razilin¡¯Tera had arrayed, would surely have healers who could negate the poison, would it not?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°Against normal poisons¡­ yes,¡± replied Brother Turin, but there was a slight chuckle and grin in his demeanour as he answered.  ¡°But this mysterious ally was quite formidable, and knew things about magick that none within Razilin¡¯Tera¡¯s host would know.  It was certainly possible he would know of poisons that they could not stop.¡±


    ¡°Why not just poison the host and be done with it, then?¡± asked Mitchell.  ¡°Seems simpler and a lot less risky.¡±


    ¡°I have pondered that exact question since I joined the Seven,¡± admitted Brother Turin.  ¡°I can only come up with two plausible answers.  One: It was a bluff, and no such poison existed.  Or two: he wanted Razilin¡¯Tera to accept the duel so he could ensure he died and part of his soul could be trapped in the Stone of Evronn forever.  Maybe that was his plan all along.¡±


    ¡°The Stone of Evronn has part of Razilin¡¯Tera¡¯s soul trapped in it?¡± Mitchell asked aghast.


    ¡°It does,¡± replied Brother Turin.  ¡°That is part of the key to how it works, and why his followers want the Stone so much.  They need it to return their master whole back into this world.¡±


    ¡°And the Stone seems to have already attuned itself to you.  It wants you to carry it.  You will be perfect to be my new host, and the Stone¡¯s wielder and protector,¡± exclaimed ShaShayla with some passion.


    Mitchell caught the slightest look shot her way from Brother Turin.


    ¡®There is some part of that statement he either does not believe, or does not agree with.¡¯


    ¡°Will you accept?¡± asked ShaShayla, her voice almost pleading with him.  He looked up at her only for a second, and could see the same begging look in her eyes.


    Mitchell considered.  He loved the idea of joining the Seven, and to do it sooner was better.  It validated him, made him a part of something.  As the bearer of the Stone, it made him important.  But another part of him felt like accepting this was betraying Maragon.  He knew he was likely intended to be Maragon¡¯s successor.


    ¡®But Maragon has also trained another option.  I do not know he will pick me!¡¯


    His eyes went to Brother Turin, and he looked him in the eyes, seeing if an answer could be found there.  Unfortunately Turin seemed to be torn.  He had a look of the deepest worry and apprehension.


    ¡°Are you more worried I will accept?  Or that I will decline?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°I am worried about a great deal.  There is no option here which leaves me at peace,¡± Brother Turin replied.  ¡°Honestly, you are likely best suited to replace both Maragon and myself.  I wish the Seven had four more like you.  But we do not.  There is just the one of you.¡±


    There was a brief flash of pain across the face of Brother Turin.


    ¡°Our friend does not like Mitchell as a choice.  He strongly suggests we leave now and find another,¡± said Brother Turin through gritted teeth.


    ¡°Why is he hurting you?¡± asked Mitchell.


    ¡°He is not trying to.  He just wants to be heard.  But for us younger souls, this is a painful experience,¡± replied Brother Turin. ¡°In this place he must speak through another.  He is choosing me out of respect for her, and because I told him to always use me while I yet live.  I guess this is likely the last time I can serve you in this way my dearest Lady and idol.¡±


    A look of genuine sadness passed between ShaShayla and Brother Turin.


    ¡°You have served me so very well for a great many years.  I will miss you, and always think of you fondly,¡± ShaShayla replied, the sincerity clear in her voice.  ¡°Thank you for your service!¡±


    They both turned back to Mitchell.  Mitchell could see tears in ShaShayla¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°What is your decision, my child?¡± ShaShayla asked.


    ¡°I assume the shadowy one remains right?  If I accept he takes up residence in my mind as you do?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°Unfortunately that is true,¡± replied ShaShayla.  ¡°But those strong of mind can resist his influences.  He will be like an annoying voice trying to get you to do the wrong thing, and you just shut it out.¡±


    ¡°Were you able to shut it out, Brother Turin?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°Mostly.  But there were some serious moments I could not,¡± Brother Turin acknowledged.  ¡°I sometimes regretted my actions afterwards.¡±


    A flash of pain registered on Turin¡¯s old face, and then he added, ¡°The method.  I regretted the method, but rarely the outcome.  Mitchell it is important you know we are not divided in our desire to stop Razilin¡¯Tera, and we have on more than one occasion been the reason some machination of his damned cult has been foiled.¡±


    ¡°You must remember that in our line of duty, not everyone on our side is pure, and not everyone we fight is evil,¡± cautioned ShaShayla.


    ¡°Your version of that is much nicer than mine,¡± commented Brother Turin.  ¡°In order to do what we must, sometimes we have to kill good people because they ally with bad people.  And other times we have to work with bad people, because as it happens, evil will often fight other evil.  And you take what help you can get.¡±


    ¡°That does explain how we got our shadow,¡± agreed ShaShayla.  ¡°And he has certainly helped us fight evils.¡±


    ¡°But that is what worries me,¡± stated Mitchell.  ¡°You could not know this, but I encountered an Eridani woman with the Sight.  She gave me a reading of my future.¡±


    ¡°It is a gift that remains more common amongst the old blood than the new,¡± commented ShaShayla.  ¡°And the Eridani are the closest descendants to the people of Micronia.¡±


    ¡°But you must be VERY careful with such things, my boy,¡± warned Brother Turin.  ¡°The Seven have at times being mislead by false prophecies.  Several times it was found out later that the predictions were deliberately wrong to cause harm or mishap to our cause.¡±


    ¡°I am 100 percent confident she means me no harm.  But she did speak of shadows.  She said I must fight on in an epic battle, held in some bubble of darkness during the day.  But she also said I would have a shadow with me, on my side.  He would be the only ally I would have at the critical moment.  But she also said while he was an ally, he would likely be my end.¡±


    ¡°I feel quite sure there will only be one of the shadow we are referring to,¡± said Brother Turin.


    ¡°But there are a great many things which could be referred to as a shadow.  Anything from a human hiding in the darkness, a caster using shadow magick, or even a wraith or shade of some kind,¡± offered ShaShayla.


    ¡°But at this stage I cannot even be sure which one your ¡®friend¡¯ might be.  He might be my ally.  But he could be the thing I end up fighting,¡± replied Mitchell.


    ¡°The safest way to control this shadow will be to accept my soul,¡± declared ShaShayla.


    Mitchell again saw some doubt on Brother Turin¡¯s face with that suggestion.


    ¡°Do the Champion souls have the ability to influence or force you to do something you do not want to?¡± Mitchell asked.


    ¡°No.  Or at least I don¡¯t think we do.  I have never tried it,¡± replied ShaShayla.  ¡°You have access to my memories and my thoughts, you will gain an affinity for the skills that I had, and in some cases, may even gain some of my powers, but that is rare.  Mostly it is just my wisdom, counsel, and knowledge.  I can use these to influence you, but there is no magical compulsion.  You are free to act as you please.  And it is for this reason we try to find souls similar to ourselves.  If you are going to spend a great many years living inside someone¡¯s head, but be powerless to make them do what you want, you need to know they will act in a way you are comfortable with.¡±


    ¡°It is for this reason I need you,¡± she implored.  ¡°You would agree you already know our cause, and you believe in it?¡±


    Mitchell looked at her and nodded.


    ¡°That already puts you ahead of most.  And it seems right now, something big is about to happen, so I don¡¯t want to lose time trying to merge with someone who might not initially feel that way.¡±


    ¡®That part makes sense.¡±


    ¡°You are a strong idealist, which means you will do the right thing, no matter the cost,¡± ShaShayla continued.


    Mitchell again nodded his head.


    ¡®I certainly want to believe that is true.¡¯


    ¡°Then of all the people, you are the perfect choice to take my position.  You know what is required, and you have the mindset to be able to extract the value from the information our shadowy friend has; and believe me it has plenty of value for our cause.  But you will use it without unnecessarily taking his advice, and therefore prevent him pushing us down darker paths than we should be treading.¡±


    Like most, Mitchell found himself believing that he would be able to resist the temptation or lure of whatever this shadowy voice might say.  He believed himself strong and incorruptible.


    ¡°The shadow cannot truly compel you if you do not wish to do a certain thing,¡± advised Brother Turin.  ¡°But his arguments on why you should do something can be quite convincing.¡±


    ¡°He is very good at that,¡± agreed ShaShayla.  ¡°But Maragon will have taught you how to see through to the truth of things.  He will not find you an easy one to manipulate.¡±


    Again, what ShaShayla said seemed the truth to Mitchell.


    He found himself warming to this idea.  He did want to be part of the Seven.  More than anything he had ever wanted before.  He thought about all the great hero stories Maragon had told him.  Or that Bossy Owl had repeated many, many times over.  How he wanted to replicate those great heroes.


    Sarek Aranson ¨C the first hero Mitchell ever knew in person.  In the service of his kingdom he had; killed the Orc warlord Krin¡¯yak on the battlefield, breaking the will of Krin¡¯Yak¡¯s host; rescued Lord Vendermere¡¯s daughter from a black robed Krushai cult; and he lead the charge that carried the day versus the Merlos at Silverton.  Three separate moments each worthy of a song.


    Zankeine ¨C the greatest warrior humanity had ever produced.  He killed three different Clan leaders, including one who just proclaimed himself High King of the North, because he didn¡¯t agree with how bloodthirsty they were.  Was offered the seat of High King and declined it because he did not want the power or responsibility.  And then joined the fight versus Razilin¡¯Tera and in the final battle, as a  Champion, he kills both a demon and a giant before falling to Razilin¡¯Tera¡¯s flames.  And to top it off, he becomes the human God of war.


    Zarthas the Great ¨C Perhaps second only to Evronn himself as the greatest human Mage ever.  Zarthas wanted to dispel the horror and suspicion that many held towards magick.  He hunted dark wizards with zeal, determined to prove that magick would be a positive influence on Driax, resulting in the famous encounter at the Three Trees Tavern, where he confronted four evil channelers at once, and destroyed them all.  With their death, the influence they had been obtaining over the town was ended, and the townsfolk were saved from a ritual intended to open gates to the Demon realm directly.  Zarthas then documented and codified much of his knowledge of magick, with the wisdom of those precious documents forming the basis for the rules and strictures of the Council of Defence.


    Mitchell could hear the words of Maragon or Bossy Owl echoing in his head.  He so badly wanted to be one of these heroes.


    He was going to accept.


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    But then he also recalled other more cautionary tales, their words came streaming into his mind unbidden, told in the firm, warning voice of Maragon.


    The Black Baron, who¡¯s lust for power and the throne drove him mad.  Even upon death his desire remained so strong, that his soul became trapped in this plane forever, doomed to haunt and influence others to try and do what he could not.


    ¡®Do not seek power just to have power.  It will surely corrupt and destroy you.¡¯


    Mishelle Darkrobe was a powerful wizard with the respect of her people and her King.  She even studied under Zarthas the Great.  She started researching dark and forbidden magick only to better understand how to fight it.  She decided she could fight dark magick better if she could use it, probably telling herself she would only use it a little, when it was most needed.  But then others join her.  And whether it was her, or her followers who were first corrupted, the lure of dark magick takes them.  Her entire order went rogue, and caused a lot of death, destruction and distrust of magick before Zarthas the Great ended their order, and Mishelle, in Three Trees Tavern.


    ¡®Do not become the thing you fight.  If you do, even if you win, you lose.¡¯


    And even the great Zarthas, eventually became what he had sought to destroy.  Being around so much dark magick, and likely learning too much about it, eventually lead Zarthas to try a grand ritual which would suck all of the dark magick out of the kingdom, and make it impossible to channel any magick from those dark spheres.  It was a ritual of tremendous power, that would require a huge number of great wizards.


    It was also incredibly dangerous, with a great deal that could go wrong.  But Zarthas assured everyone he could handle the risks.  Even though no such spell had been cast before, including by the elves or any of the older races.


    Zarthas was ultimately killed by his own friends when he could not be convinced to halt his ritual.


    It seemed to Mitchell there were no heroes in the stories he knew who had successfully controlled evil.  Every one of the stories where the hero tries, he invariably fails and becomes the evil which must be destroyed.


    Their common flaw was always pride.  They always believed they were different, or special.  They believed the rules and the risks of delving down dark paths did not apply to them, because they would be strong enough to handle it.


    Mitchell doubted he was more special than all those who had gone before him and failed.


    And he certainly could not endanger the Stone by taking the risk.


    ¡°I respect the fact you have asked this of me.  But I am afraid I have to decline.¡±


    He could see the bitter disappointment on ShaShayla¡¯s face.  She smiled at him and nodded her head slightly in acknowledgement, but there was no warmth in her eyes.  Only sadness.


    Brother Turin was more masked.


    Mitchell thought maybe he could suggest one of the others.  That might help them, and soften the blow of him saying no.


    But who should he suggest?


    ¡®Alicia is strong of mind and virtue.  She is stronger than me in that area I suspect.  But could I bare the thought of having helped put an evil inside her head.  What if it drove her to do evil?  What if I had to then destroy her?¡¯


    The whole idea terrified him to his core.  He could never risk that.


    ¡®Eva?  She is strong of mind too.  And she is already accepting of the mission and its importance.  Her elven blood might also help fight the corruption of the shadow.  She might be perfect.  And if she had the shadow inside her, it would be less likely to be the thing that kills me, right?¡¯


    ¡°What about Eva?¡± Mitchell asked.  ¡°She already knows the mission.  She is already sworn to protect me and the Stone.  And she might be the best answer to resist any corruption from the shadow.¡±


    A sharp look was exchanged between ShaShayla and Brother Turin.  It lasted only a couple of seconds, but whatever triggered it, the feeling was clearly vehement.


    ¡°No!  It cannot be her,¡± said ShaShayla firmly, and with a definite finality.


    Mitchell was waiting for a reason.  But none came.


    ¡°I think we are probably done here,¡± said Brother Turin.  ¡°We should probably keep moving.¡±


    ShaShayla nodded her agreement.


    ¡°Mitchell, it has been lovely to see you one last time.  Take care of Maragon for me,¡± said Brother Turin as his farewell, ¡°And I do think you will make an excellent bearer for the Stone.¡±


    Mitchell went to him and wrapped him in a warm hug.


    ¡°Some of those times when we were together, and you were a little¡­¡± Mitchell searched for the right word¡­ ¡°off.  Was that the shadow?¡±


    ¡°It was my child,¡± replied Brother Turin, his response bringing some comfort to Mitchell and helping solve a puzzle that Mitchell had never previously been able to figure out.


    ¡°But the shadow means well,¡± Brother Turin continued.  ¡°He just isn¡¯t much interested in the traditional definitions of politeness; or right and wrong for that matter.  He has his own definitions, and that is all that matters to him.  But I can assure you of one thing.  He hates Razilin¡¯Tera, and all of the Dragon-Lords of Za¡¯Ha¡¯Doom.¡±


    ¡°His kind are not supposed to be here anymore.  If you tell anyone, then the Gods might find out, and make him leave.  I am sure that we still need him, so its really important you don¡¯t tell anyone about what you learned.  Especially don¡¯t tell Maragon.¡±


    Mitchell pulled back on the embrace enough to look Brother Turin in the eyes, questioning that request without needing to say the words.


    ¡°I believed it enough that I never told Faylen,¡± replied Brother Turin.  ¡°Never mentioned it in any of the thousands of the prayers I gave to him.  Compared to that, what I am asking you is easy.¡±


    Mitchell was stunned by that admission.


    ¡®You believed this secret so much, you concealed it from your God?!  Wow!¡¯


    Brother Turin pulled Mitchell back into the embrace, and pulled Mitchell¡¯s head to his shoulder.  Mitchell let him, appreciating the hug from a man who had been very much an uncle for much of his upbringing.  Brother Turin reassuredly rubbed Mitchell¡¯s back, as he had done several times when he was still a small boy.  That comforting sensation was the last thing Mitchell felt as the dream ended.


    Mitchell awoke with tears in his eyes.  Brother Turin was gone.


    And ShaShayla, and her shadow, were likely now in somebody else.