Into the Icy Darkness II: The Next Generation

And the second part of a special double update

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Night had spread its dark wings across the sky when a damp Baron Valdemar glumly poured over the thin parchment of maps spread throughout his camp. The maps reflected dark orange and blood red back at him, as light reflected from the two precious candles he’d managed to save from the soaking of the past two days.

The Baron gave a slight grunt of tiredness, as his eyes traced a route between two small marks on this large, sprawling depiction of the center of the Empire. One was his home seat, the minor lands House Erelion had not lost in his elder brother’s ill-conceived rebellion some twelve years before.

The other, the small village of Thuyciden, was barely more than a lightly marked speck, its tiny dot now covered with lines and marks from where Erelion’s other commanders present had drawn lines.

“Lord Haldmar needs the Taynor Road clear before he can move his columns in!” Erelion’s ears caught his senior vassal and chief bannerman, Sir Albrecht Manse complain. It was Manse who had provided most of the mounted knights presently in Erelion’s force. “If that road is blocked, Haldmar’s columns could be delayed from joining us!”

“Of good Lord Haldmar even marches at all,” Earl Jyl Bearsan complained. The knight was of small stature, and his massive main of coarse, black beard seemed far out of proportion to his small size. None doubted his arms... as many on the battlefield had found to their despair that this small man could fight with the viciousness of the wolf that was his family’s sigil. This strange combination had led to an odd nickname in his younger days... before the old line of Emperors had ended. Beardstone... for his massive beard and his stout heart.

“Haldmar will march,” the Baron finally spoke, “as will Birstol, Martok, Mays and Harper. They know the time of this upstart house ruling our Empire is over!” Erelion’s hands clenched, voices of the past filling his mind. His brother, on that lost field, watching as his peasants and kerns all fled on the sight of that woman.

The witch in dragonscale, they called her... as they dropped their arms and ran with all the power their legs could muster, his thought bitterly. Mere peasants and kerns... and my dear brother... believing an army with those as a backbone could withstand the Emperor’s battlehardened Imperial Guard!

But we have learned now! Now, we marshal the nobles, and those who would sell their swords for coins! We have an army of honed veterans of fighting, of people eager for the clash of arms! No longer do we rely on the farmer taken from his field, but on the knights who are eager for more than a mere tourney!

“We have learned,” he muttered softly.

“My Lord?” Sir Manse asked.

“It was nothing,” Erelion said quietly, waving away the looks of concern. His eyes once again looked to the maps, taking in the lines of march drawn in.

“Our scouts confirmed what I suspected,” Manse continued, assuming his lord’s silence was a sign to continue, “the Imperial Army has left Iskeldrun, and is making haste towards Thuyciden. They are marching in two wings... the northern under the command of the Usurper,” Manse spat his name for the Emperor out, “and the southern one by the Desert Dragon.” The second name was said far more respectfully... all present had seen what she did to the previous rebellion so long ago.

“How many do they march with?” Erelion said quietly. His mind was already elsewhere, the mentioning of Iskeldrun bringing back other pangs in his heart.

There has been no news of Eyrna or Simeon... no word at all, the lord reflected mournfully. Part of his mind had come to grips with the likelihood that they were already deep in some Imperial cell...

...all the reason more to march with haste.

“The Usurper moves with some forty thousand spears, some five thousand of which are horse,” Manse replied. “The Dragon moves with the same, save fifteen thousand of her number are also horse.” Manse then pointed a finger towards the large walled city drawn on the map to represent the capital. “Our spies also point to the fact that Iskeldrun itself has another twenty thousand, the defense commanded by one of the Usurper’s children.”

“Which one?” Erelion asked. Four children of the Dragon walk in this world... but only two can harm us. If it is the Princess, Iskeldrun shall be an easy mark. None who have spent their lives studying meaningless magic would know how to defend a keep. But if it is the Prince... he has spent his days studying how to fight, and he would make any keep nigh unbreakable...

“We do not know,” Manse confessed, with a bow. “Our network of informants in the city has come under direct assault, and many have been silenced, or refuse to speak any more. The last report we have states that a, ‘great many riders’ left the city two days ago, riding east.”

“’A great many?’ How many is that? Fifteen? Fifty? Manse, your ‘informants’ told us the Empress would be an easy mark once a servant had gotten close to her!” Beardstone snapped.

Manse’s jaw tensed, and he glared at the other knight, before once again confessing, “We do not know. We do know that someone from the palace likely was leading them.”

“Well, that could be anyone!” Beardstone grumbled again. “If this is another column, that means we could be facing upwards of five score thousand! And m’lord,” the smaller man turned to Erelion, “with our columns dispersed as they are, we are in a most perilous position! Should the Usurper concentrate his forces...”

This entire time Erelion had been grating his teeth, slowly and silently. Once Beardstone spoke the obvious, the Baron’s voice erupted into a snarl of his own. “We shall not suffer the same fate as my brother’s armies!” His eyes flashed to all in the crowded tent, sharp with command and fury.

“M’lords, see to your troops. From now on, they shall rise at two hours before dawn, and march until two hours past sunset! We must concentrate our armies into one force!”



Vintressa’s eyes opened, fluttering as darkness covered her vision. At first, she thought it was her eyes adjusting, and then maybe that she was blind. But as her tired mind realized it was deep in the night, the darkness tried to call her back to the realms of sleep. A rustling nearby caused her to sit up suddenly, pushing aside her thoughts of sleep.

“Are you feeling better?” Royukgan whispered quietly. The princess blinked, realizing his voice was not part of any of the nightmarish dreams that had been haunting her the past night. Vintressa could feel bumping distantly along her side, as Royukgan struggled with his covers next to hers. Beneath her back, the bumps and ridges of the grassy ground under her blanket reminded her she was not in the safety of the palace any longer.

“Yes,” the princess lied. It had been two days since the vicious pain in her chest that had almost doubled her over in her mount. She had tried to grit her teeth against the sudden onslaught, only to cry out in agony after only a few seconds. Her world then blacked out.

It had been some five hours later, with a worried Royukgan at her side, that she had come to. His hand had been clasped fiercely around hers, to the point that she now was surprised her fingers had not been crushed. Even now, her stomach and her chest was still sore. It was a distant, far away pang, like a great distant fire causing the night sky to glow faintly.

She heard a sigh of relief, and felt a hand crawling along her arm, till it clasped her own. “Good,” she heard Royukgan’s voice say in the darkness. She could imagine his face, with that loving smile that before this mess had driven her crazy with delight in happier times, beaming at her in the darkness.

[]Then again, that might be some of the herbs they fed me,[/i] her mind darkly glowered. She remembered earlier that morning, when she come to after another dark night. The band had not moved since she had fallen ill. And she’d raved to Aeron and Aegrifyr about it. She remembered them trying to explain, and her shouting that they needed speed. Then Aegrifyr disappeared, and came back with a warm tea, which she had drunk greedily.

And then she’d woken up just now.

We need to move, her mind mumbled again, coming back to reality fully. Numbers, movements, and maps popped back into her head, and she remembered why they needed to move. Her mind’s call changed. We MUST move!

For a split second, she wondered why there was no fire, until remembering her own command when the entire force had joined together.

Only one campfire should be lit, in the center of the encampment, beside the wizard’s tents. We want to keep the chance of our discovery to a minimum!

Gingerly she slipped to the side, away from the voice she had heard earlier, and was rewarded by a fresh rustle of blankets.

“Vin, what are you doing?” Royukgan asked in the darkness.

“We must move!” she complained, urgency giving her voice a texture of command. Her stomach’s aches seemed to not matter anymore.

“Vin, its two hours past midnight. There won’t be any moving for a while... at least until sunrise,” his voice replied. Its measure of calm amazed her dazed mind, giving her pause. “You need your rest, Vin. Neither Master Aegrifyr nor Lord Aeron know what happened to you, but if you are feeling alright now, you’ll feel even better in the morning. And since this is your crazy scheme, we need you to be up and ready to lead us in it!” Vin’s imagination once again provided the smirk she new Royukgan had on his face.

The darkness still called to her, asking her to sleep. Sunrise... four hours her mind thought. Six miles of travel.... Eight if we move... not too much... she closed her eyes.



Royukgan looked into the darkness where his love lay asleep. Wearily, he laid back down, the words of Aeron the Court Mage occupying his mind.

Something related to the very blood running through her veins caused that. It can be the only thing, the wizard’s craggy voice repeated in his mind. Something happened... some kind of powerful magic the likes of which I do not fully understand. If it affected her... it could have affected her brothers and sister... or even the Emperor...

I hate to "dirty up" this thread with something other than this fantastic story, but I'm sure Emp. would like to know at some point that the lurkers from his old thread are reading this thread as well...

As always, nicely done! I find I am waiting for the next update immediatley after I read the current one.

Thank you for yet another brilliant piece of writing Emp.!

Oh, I don't mind the cluttering. Thank you for the compliments, and glad to hear from some of the people reading. (I know people are reading... I haven't viewed this thread 500 someodd times by myself )

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Is this truly wise?” Eyrna heard Vanerthorpe’s voice ask from behind her. The man’s hawk-shaped face was framed by the green of the woods they now slipped through. Once again, the noblewoman saw the nose of the tall bard beside her flare, before turning to confront the annoying man.

“It is, sir,” Tess replied coldly. Her tone conveyed to everyone that she was starting to get annoyed with Vanerthorpe’s antics.

The hooded ranger’s attempts to cow and threaten Eyrna the first night had plainly angered Tess... and his ignorance of her hints and eventual demands that he stop angered her more. These last few days, he had begun questioning her choice to abandon the Caladron family tombs, in favor of moving immediately towards Holstean, then Kulloden.

Part of Eyrna wanted to smile at seeing Vanerthorpe shrink back. The girl held no illusions that Tesseron was a champion under her banner, or that the bard would defend her from all who would threaten; less adept minds might have jumped to that conclusion, but within Eyrna’s head was still one of the better political minds within the Empire.
She’ll likely turn me into the Imperial government... her reputation is for honor and righteousness guarantees that, the noblewoman had already realized.

“What if they were merely late? What if this little one has lied to get us away from them?” Vanerthorpe’s voice asked again as the noises of birds and animals continued around them in cheerful irony. At this, Eyrna was not surprised to see Tesseron suddenly stop... indeed, she’d been expecting this for the past day or so.

“Do you think you would do a better job in charge, Vanerthorpe Eldyr, son of Japes?” Tess said coolly, her face devoid of emotion, only the ice of her voice conveying the very real threat. Eyrna could easily imagine the air coming from the Baroness’ lips wafting in chilly clouds over the ignorant man’s face.

“I would never suggest such a thing, Baroness,” Vanerthorpe tried to backpedal, now realizing how far he’d pushed the powerful bard. “It is merely that you seem headed for something important towards the north, and we know of one vital goal Elsidor needs to succeed. That goal isn’t in...”

Tesseron took a deep breath, and for a second, Eyrna thought she would quickly witness the end of Vanerthorpe. Legends of Tesseron’s dedication to right had also included legends of her power... powers that would have made even the most powerful mages shudder in wonder.

“Do you wish to know what is in Kulloden!?” the bard snapped, stopping her northward march. The undercurrent of anger that had been rising the previous two days suddenly broke through her resolve. “Do you really want to know?! The Crown Prince is in Kulloden! That is why we must get there as quickly as possible!”

At this, Eyrna’s eyes went wide. The memory of Valaron at the ball... angry and haughty in some ways, came back to Eyrna’s mind. So he is so close...

“Baroness, is it wise?” Constans asked quietly, nodding towards Eyrna. The bard’s furious face glanced at the girl, and gave a sickening growl.

“Does she have an army? Do you see a blade on her?” Tess said after a few seconds of silence. “She cannot hurt him more than any of you. Now... cease your prattle!” the bard barked in command, “we have to get to Holstean and raise the alarm!”

“Alarm against what? If they raised Ananias, it is but one creature we fight... and we have the great bard on our side! What should we fear?” Vanerthorpe said, a nervous smile accompanying the flattery on his lips.

“You know not what you speak,” Tess growled, turning with a huff to finish the last few hours journey to Holstean.

In Holstean, we can send some messengers to Vintressa in Iskeldrun... as well as teleport all of them to Kulloden, Tess’ plan reflected in her mind. I would teleport ahead, but Evermyn seems to have less and less control over this band of... people, her mind picked a word just above ‘ruffians.’ I can scarcely trust them to not blurt out that I was at the tombs, or anything else. They must be close by.



It was the second day of a new world for Ananias.

The first was bleary, confused, a series of lights and muffled sounds that he could not understand or decipher. His mind screamed at him he was still under attack, that the bloody woman was still running at him, screaming, that knife above her head. He found his arms, powerful as they were, would not respond. His mouth could not open. His wings could not move.

This day, it was all different.

“My Lord Ananias,” a deep voice greeted his first clear sights and sounds... the dark green of trees. In the distance, he saw a familiar form, one he hadn’t seen in over two centuries...

The outside of White Spine Mountain.

He attempted to jerk his hands free, to find the interloper that addressed him so casually, only to feel his hands held by something immense and powerful, yet invisible even to his magical eyes. He twisted, hard, to feel the same powerful, immovable thing holding him in place.

“You have been bound, with some of the most powerful arcane imaginable. I am afraid you should cease your struggle, before your form becomes injured,” the voice said, before a dark face with blazing white eyes came into view. He felt a finger lightly touch either end of his mouth, and the immovable force seemed to vanish from his lips. To his surprise, he felt his mouth open reflexively, the muscles burning as if they had been locked in a closed position for quite some time...

But I am dead! I am an ice demon... I can rest my sinews as I see fit, and they do not scream in pain as thus! How... why?

He took a deep breath, and as he breathed out, he felt the air rushing over something in his throat. A groan came out... another noise that surprised his mind.

“You may speak, my lord,” the man hovering above. “After you have had your peace, I shall explain to you why you are this way.”

“Who... are... you?” Ananias found yet another surprise. His voice was raspy and thin, not the deep, resonating thunder of an ice avalanche like he remembered from his last form. What AM I?

“My name is Elsidor, we have never had the pleasure of meeting, Your Highness,” the creature said. As Ananias looked back through his memories, he realized what was staring at him.

A dark elf.

“Why... am... I... thus?” Ananias heard his strange voice rasp out again. It is almost as if I am alive again. My voice in life was this way, after the first battle... Memories once again flooded back to him... the banners of Iskeldrun dancing in the wind ahead of him, his own falcon banners fluttering above his own head. A shout, a roar, and the thunder of a mailed surge crashing together...

“I have need of you. And I believe we can reach an amicable agreement... if you assist me, I shall assist you,” the dark elf smiled. “It appears you are bound by powerful magic... magic I can rid you of. In return, I need a certain object from you... it is about the size of two fists, and red...”

“Ah...the...Fire...Stone,” Ananias replied, feeling his voice growing a little stronger. His mind was now absorbing the other sensations flowing over him. The feel of the breeze blowing over his body. The slight tickling on an arm... which Ananias eventually placed as likely a fly. By the chill all over his body, the once King assumed he was naked. “Why...do...you...want...this?” Ananias asked. It brought me to my doom... once SHE took the staff!

“Simply put, King Ananias,” the dark elf replied, using the man’s proper title, “I wish to destroy the Empire of Iskeldrun, something you tried to do when you were alive,” the face disappeared from his view, though the voice continued, “and after your conversion from living flesh into demonic corruption. I know this.” The voice continued, “I know how the Empire stole your victory from you... and after you chased them so long, how you were undercut by them... that they stole the staff from you!”

The staff... Ananias went back to the long, black shaft of iron that had been his power... and his bane. Its voice, persuasive and cool, echoed in his mind, almost as if it was calling him. But it is not, Ananias recognized sadly. The call was merely a shadow of the voice he had heard so many times in life, as a sunflower gave pale reflection to its namesake’s glory. There was no guidance now, no clear call to action, no warning of what traps, what plans, and what deceptions lay ahead.

“Surely you still wish vengeance on them?” the dark elf’s voice asked. “You merely need to give me the Fire Stone.”

Dark rage built in Ananias’ heart, as he remembered past the mailed fist that had slammed into him as his banners flew overhead. The screams, the pain. His keep, burning. His wife and three children carried off by steel monsters clad in the livery of the white and gold, dragons emblazoned on their chests...

And then his mind found itself, and suppressed the rage for his lips could move... his former senses, his suspicions, his reactions honed from years on an iron throne came flooding back. What does this drow want with the Fire Stone? Why would he promise so much for it? Can he deliver on his promises?

“Why should I trust you?” he said, his voice halting, but faster than before. “I scarcely know you, yet you promise me the fall of Iskeldrun. Why should a bare man trust a skulker promising him that mountains can be moved, and seas lifted into the skies?”

“Ah... wise words,” the drow replied. “Simply, this drow shares cause with you, and an enemy of an enemy is a friend in dire times. That, and this ‘skulker’ raised your form not only from the dead, but back into your original, kingly form. A form worthy to sit on the Dragon Throne itself, and put fear in the hearts of those currently there, and the mighty silver dragon that is their guardian. I believe you and this Xanadu are old acquaintances, are you not? Does not the falcon of your House deserve to fly from the banners of the Dragon’s Palace?”

Nothing, Raven’s mind reflected darkly as the light patter of a rain shower pelted her hooded frame. She idly kicked a loose cobblestone on the street as she jogged between carts and carriages. Nothing at all about the Fire Stone...

...but there was much about many other things...

She hurriedly pushed through the gates of her family manor, and dashed towards the large front doors, already held open by a worried look Rose. How is he doing? Did he eat more after I left this morning? Is he sitting up?

“Is he better?” Raven asked, taking off her wet hood. Her mind still recoiled at the image of Val two days ago... her disguise for him peeling away, his real face blanched, eyes rolled back, his breathing coming in swift, labored gasps. For an instant, all thought of the Fire Stone, or of assassins vanished. Instead, she found herself over these few days focused on two things... Valaron, and what caused him to collapse so violently.

To her relief, her sister smiled. “Much better,” Rose replied, “he’s eating again, and those fits he kept having didn’t come back.”

“Has he uttered anything since I left this morning?” Raven asked, already rushing towards the stairs.

“Nothing... he’s quite coherent now. I asked him if he remembered some of the stuff he said during his hours of delirium, but he all he recalls is pain,” Rose said, before looking at her sister funny. “My, aren’t we in a hurry... I told you he was fine. I had to tell him repeatedly to lay down! Hey, did you find anything out about-“

“Yes,” Raven called from the top of the stairs, already dashing towards the bedroom the Prince laid in. He needs to know what I now know! Maybe it can help us piece together what happened!

Part of her feared that when she opened the door, Val would be up and about, despite strict instructions by Raven, and presumably Rose, to lay down. He was a very headstrong and stubborn young man, and Raven was relieved he was merely sitting up on the bedcovers... looking rather cross. That alone showed he was feeling better.

“I am forbidden to move from this bed?” he eyed her defiantly. “That is what Rose tells me your command is. What other things may I do for my lady?” he added mockingly.

“Continue to get better. And you would not deny a lady’s wishes, would you?” Raven shot back. A smile came to her lips, as well as a sigh of relief. “You are looking much better this afternoon than you were this morning, even.” She headed towards the dresser across the room from him, where several of the few herbal remedies she knew from watching her mother were waiting to be mixed.

“And I am feeling better... good enough I should be allowed to get up! Every time I move, your sister threatens to turn me into a jackass, because of my stubborness!”

“And you believe her?” Raven asked, carefully removing a few cloves of parsley, king’s wart, and other small flowers and plants to form a mush.

“One can’t be too careful with your family,” Valaron rejoined. “We need to get going. Rose says I’ve been down for two days now... we need to find-“ Raven heard covers shifting, and spun around in time to chase Val’s dangling legs back onto the bed with her disapproving gaze.

“Be patient,” Raven said, finishing her mixture by adding some water to it to make a cold tea. “While she watched you, I went out and did some searching of my own.” She poured a cup of the mess... altogether it did little more than relax the muscles and slightly dull pain. She held the cup out to him. “Drink.”

“I’m fine. Much better,” Val protested, before her stern look made him finally take the cup. Raven blinked, and suddenly realized that her hand was poised within less than an inch of his forehead as he closed his eyes and drank as she commanded.

What are you doing, Raven? her mind jumped. His eyes flashed open, and he made the now familiar look of terrible pain on sipping it, as if all the Nine Hells were playing in his stomach as the liquid landed. A sharp rebuke ran through her head, and Raven snatched her hand back before he could notice. She rolled her eyes to cover up her action.

“It’s not that bad. If you keep that horrible acting up, I won’t tell you what I found out.” Valaron immediately stopped his looks of horror at her statement, and Raven grinned. “I’ve spent the last two days looking at the small libraries at the Temple of Pelor, after you made those cries in delirium.”

“Which one? The one about you?”

Raven shook her head, as the memory of his night of sickness came back. Instinctively, a knot of worry formed in her belly as a result. Among his many calls to the figures of fever dancing in his mind, two had struck her.

The first, even as Rose, Ari and Raven managed to manhandle the prince up towards a bedchamber, exploded first as bits of idle chatter, that suddenly coalesced into a frightening series of words.

”I see it! I see him! A mountain flanked with snow, boned beast rising from the green sea!”

It had then degenerated into worthless drivel. For the first day, she’d puzzled over the phrase. From his eyes, whatever or whoever ‘it’ and ‘him’ were, they were frightening. She had heard of this before... those with magic in their veins struck low, visions of the future and the past flashing before their eyes.

It was later that night when his second meaningful utterance came. His feverish mind was seeing many things... he mumbled out about beasts, his family, for home. At one point during the soft, feverish chatter, his eyes looked directly into hers, and she had seen something far different in those blue and red orbs.

It was as if they were searching her soul, her past, her future, her very being. A second or two later, they narrowed, and a soft, rasping phrase came from his lips.

”You’ll make the broken eaglet fly again.”

“No... you never said one about me,” Raven said quietly, her mind disturbed by the second, the one she hadn’t been able to find an answer for. I don’t understand what this meant? The broken eaglet? Him? His family used to have an eagle as its crest... but Val’s not broken... maybe I’ll never understand... Val needed rest, and she didn’t want him stretching his mind trying to figure out something meaningless. “Did Rose tell you that?”

“She said I muttered something about flying... she couldn’t hear the whole thing,” Val replied. He looked slightly downcast.

“Well, I did find something that resembles the first one you muttered about... the mountain and boned beast? Have you ever heard of White Spine Mountain?”

Valaron’s eyes narrowed briefly, his eyes flashing as his mind made a connection. “Yes... that was where our parents defeated a creature of some kind. It was early on... I don’t think our mothers had even met at that point.” Val slid himself further down the bed, so he could lay flat on his back.

Raven nodded. “Yes... according to the records in the Church of Pelor, it was an Ice Demon, the remains of a tortured soul that had abused evil magic. The ancient King Ananias.”

“Oh!” Val’s mind laughed. “Of course! Where mum says she was encased in ice, and father had to rescue her!” Raven could see in Val’s eyes the story replaying. “And Ananias was the ancient King holding the original Ice Diamond!” His brow then furrowed. “So, what makes this significant?”

“Um...” Raven said quietly, “White Spine Mountain is only five days ride from Kulloden... to the east.” The same direction the column of light came from when you fell out...

Val’s eyes widened in understanding of what she was thinking. “Something happened under White Spine?”

“Do you remember if you parents ever completely destroyed Ananias’ body?” Raven asked quietly. If not... we might have solved where our adventurer’s looking for a Caladron corpse might have gone...

Val’s brow furrowed again, and after a few moments, he shook his head. Raven sighed.

“Well... Val? Ananias was originally a King of Holstean... and a member of the Caladron family,” she said softly, deciding bluntness might be best here. “He accepted the powers of undeath given to him by the staff, and it was he your parents killed under White Spine,” she burrowed onward. “And that light we saw two nights ago, something happened to you then... a magical resonance, like some magic power had blasted through your very blood...”

Val nodded slowly, following her yet unspoken thoughts, his own eyes wide in understanding of their implications.



The sky seems so red... deep crimson... like blood, Vintressa’s mind wandered, as a distant headache sounded in her head, much like the beating of the distant drums that rolled into her ears. The boughs overhead seemed to rock as her horse cantered onward, the dirt underneath dulling the sound of her movement... and that of the riders behind.

A black roan cantered past, slightly faster than her, Royukgan’s form laid low along its back. She watched as he gave his horse spurs, and she joined shortly afterwards into a light gallop, ducking as branches swung by her head.

Both kept an attentive ear, for their goal lay ahead. Once it was little more than a line on Vintressa’s maps. Now, between the trees up ahead, its brownish form was visible between the leaves of oaks and birches. Above the noise of their own horses was that of the five mounts behind them... the rest of the scouting party. Royukgan suddenly reined up, his hand held up. Vintressa followed suit.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered, his eyes sharp, his slightly pointed ears swiveling. It was one thing about his ancestry that did unnerve Vintressa a bit, and even in this tense situation, her stomach knotted slightly at the movement. He is of the princely blood of his realm... it is common, her mind corrected her momentarily thoughts.

Instead, she concentrated on her own ears, and she heard it as well. Murmurs, a few louder than others... laughter. Clanks... like that of someone repairing a blade or armor. Horses whinnying... steeds far less trained than their own.

“Yes,” she whispered back. A second later, she was already off of her horse, and the dark bay was quickly tied to a nearby tree. She looked up in time to catch a look of surprise from Royukgan, and gave a small, tense smile. He still thinks I should be back with the main group.

A few seconds later, he was off of his animal as well, his mounted tied next to hers. Slowly, carefully in the deepining night, the two, now with the five other guardsmen caught up, slipped closer and closer to the noise... coming from the brown strip up ahead.

The forest here was congested, the undergrowth thick, ivies and small trees covering everything. A recent heavy rain had thankfully merged the dry leaves in the underbrush into far more quiet muck that mixed with the muddy ground. As the slipped closer, the brown ahead seemed to shift, and move. Soon, the shifting revealed itself to be a company of soldiers, clad in dusty brown liveries that now had the shade of mud from a wet march added to their colors.

“Soldiers... the coat of arms is from Baron Haldris... an ally of Lord Erelion,” Vintressa whispered, as the company of soldiers marched by slowly, their spears waving lazily like long, black fingers pointed into the sky. As she watched, an order by some unseen sergeant was barked, and the group stopped, breaking to make camp. A glance further down the road, from whence the small group came, showed lights of dancing fires as far as the eye could see along that brown ribbon in the forest.

“There’s got to be a thousand or more,” Royukgan said quietly. There was a slight tremor in his voice, the noise of someone weighing odds already set heavily against them.

Vintressa looked at the fires, the soldiers putting up tents, running further back to an makeshift armory likely set up further back, two officers or knights in platemail looking at papers.

This is merely the head of the first snake... the first of at least four, her mind visualized the maps she had seen in Iskeldrun. Erelion’s columns were approaching Thuyciden, and Vintressa’s parents, from four directions... the north-east, the north, east, and southeast.

This is the Myrnon Road...the north-east column, she reasoned. The column that if nothing was done, would take her parent’s army in the rear. The Princess was not a formal student of military tactics, but anyone with half a mind could easily see that having someone strike you from behind as you were being struck from in front was a very bad thing...

Can we take them? her mind wondered, looking at the numbers again. On hundred and fourteen versus easily a thousand... and that was only those belonging to House Haldris. There were at least ten other houses with soldiers stacked behind this vanguard... a line of steel that probably stretched from where they were to maybe twenty, or thirty miles back.

A long river... a river of steel... her thoughts turned dark. How can we stop such a river?

And then it hit her... it was obvious. Her mind whirled into motion, plots going. She quickly grabbed Royukgan’s arm, and started pulling him back to their horses. The guardsmen followed.

“Vin?” he asked.

“We’re going to get the rest. We strike them tonight,” she said, confidence brimming in the voice that had been wracked with pain for the past three days.

“My Lord Haldris,” Sir Albrecht Manse gave a bow. The candelight within the lord’s tent made the knight’s plated armor seem like it was bronze, making him look like an Imperial commander of old.

“Manse, Lord Bearsan,” a portly man with a grizzled stubble gave Manse a polite bow, and his erstwhile travel companion a sharp gaze. The candlelight made his normally dully brown livery seemed dull red, the leaping hart in its center now blazing orange like a setting sun. “Welcome to my camp. I trust this night finds Lord Erelion in good health?”

“Excellent health, but not settled in mind, m’lord,” the Beardstone spoke, cutting off Manse before he could reply. “He is concerned with the pace of the march of you and your fellow barons... Mays, Martok and Haldarman.”

Manse winced at the smaller man’s frankness, and wanted to desperately snatch those words out of the memory of Baron Haldris as the large man before them glowered. Not the way to start a conversation with the proud Baron... especially considering the past these two men have...

“You are very blunt, my lord,” Haldris said after a second or two, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. Something else that made Manse wince, as the Baron motioned for them to approach the table in the middle of his tent. “Why does he have such concern? We made ten miles today through roads still muddy, a very good pace! My troops are mostly foot knights... I cannot ask men walking in chain hauberks to jog an additional few miles because your mounted Baron thinks its doable!”

“My lord,” Manse jumped in as the Baron’s voice rose, “Lord Erelion is merely attempting to ensure that all of our forces arrive on the marshalling grounds within a day or so of each other. The enemy is moving, quite rapidly, and we must ensure all of our striking power arrives in one fell blow! You are the vanguard of a column that has the forces of no less than eight houses, and the others cannot move after your troops set camp so soon... the other columns marched till two hours after sundown, while yours made camp before the sun had covered itself for the night!”

Manse allowed a slight bit of pleading in his next request, “Only one quarter of your troops are foot knights. Is there any way your other soldiers could march an additional hour or two past sunset, with you knights making camp off of the road? Or perhaps take a break in midday to march an additional two and a half after sundown?”

“M’lord,” Haldris looked up at Manse, eyes blazing, “first your Lord sent me orders to keep my columns tight, and now he requests I split my forces? After a few days, my knights would lag far behind the others... and should we run into anything, a great deal of my best troops would not arrive at the head of the column in time! Your Lord Baron is no more-”

“Now listen here!” Bearstone snapped. “Lord Erelion is the leader of this army, and he has issued-“

“Erelion is a Baron, the same noble rank as me!” Haldris shot back. “I have more combat experience than that sad sack of cow dung, and yet he-“

“So you insult your commander!?” Beardstone roared back, a hand rushing to the hilt of his sword. “No wonder Eloise is my bride, and not yours!” Ugly words began to fly, and Manse could feel the ears of the entire camp listening to the shouts coming from their commander’s tent.

So it rears its ugly head... again, Manse sighed as the other two jumped into a yelling match in earnest. Lord Erelion is more clever than many of the other nobles... it is too sad that so many Dukes, Counts and the like put ranks and honor above brains...



Breathe, Vintressa, the princess slowly reminded herself, her heart racing as she gently brought her horse around to face the campfires shining through the trees. Breathe, calm... she closed her eyes, seeking to focus her anxiety. After a few seconds, she opened them again, and looked down at the sentry from Haldris’ troops, cut down by an excellent arrow shot from one of the guardsmen now forming behind her.

He could have warned them all! her terrified mind said again, and she felt her heart start to race once more.

She felt, rather than heard, a presence next to her, and saw a black hood, floating just above the mucky ground. It turned, and fell away to reveal the face of Aeron, the Court Mage.

“Did he tell them?” the mage asked, eyes wide. He had argued long and hard the entire ride that this would be folly, that he didn’t know if any of it would work. Even now, Vintressa swore she could see the proud man shaking a bit. At Vintressa’s insistence, he’d put a small levitation spell on himself, to keep down the noise his panicky feet might have otherwise created.

“No... Captain Ulis’ arrow silenced him,” she nodded to the body on the other side of her horse. The wizard floated up slightly, and gave a wince. Body’s with arrows in their face were rarely a nice sight to behold.

Vintressa glanced behind her, her mind wanting to double check after the near disaster. Her eyes, long adjusted to the dark, spotted the hooded figures of several guardsmen behind her... and slight movements further to the left and right... more guardsmen. Somewhere further behind was Aegrifyr, waiting for his instructions. And amongst the guardsmen themselves was Royukgan.

Without a sword, she groaned again.

Only two hours before, as they had been rounding up the other riders and moving them into place, she had seen him unbuckle the rapier she’d thrust in his hands, and pack it away.

“Why are you doing that?” she’d demanded.

“I’m going to fight with what I know how to use,” he’d replied, moving the cloak back to show one of his two sai. Vintressa remembered her worried response.

“Those things can’t stop a heavy sword blade!”

“Neither can your needleswords, I bet,” was his reply.

Hieroneous, watch him, she whispered to herself, before pushing the thoughts and concerns about him from her mind. She needed total focus... this was not a riding romp in the woods with Val, or a fun spar in the armory.

This is the real thing, she thought in a mixture of awe and dread. She felt her hand grab the hilt of her sword, and almost immediately she felt better as her hands gripped the blade tightly.

“Shall I go?” Aeron whispered quietly to her, and Vintressa nodded. As she watched the wizard mumble a few words and then seem to vanish into thin air, her grip on her blade tightened. Slowly, carefully, she drew the rapier out, and held it up. She heard the soft scrapes of other blades coming from their scabbards behind her.

For one last moment, the stories of old, of the deeds others had done floated in her mind. Long ago, she instinctively would have laughed, and said that battle was Val’s future.

How wrong I would have been, she thought. She blinked, at then set her mark... a campfire ahead that was near a the largest tent they’d spotted so far... probably commanders. Quick, fast, do not pause for combat. A slashing ride...

She put her spurs into her horse’s flanks.



“Bearsans,” Manse said, now annoyed. In vain he tried to get between the small, combative man and the larger and no less angry Lord Haldris. “M’lords! Please!”

“You dare to call my motives into question!?” Haldris roared over Manse’s pleas. “You, a mere Earl, and a mongrel cur at that!” Haldris’ own hands danced dangerously close to his own blade, and Manse was sincerely worried that if the argument did not stop soon, blows would be traded.

“Everyone knows that you, Halderman, and Mays are cowardly little curs!” Beardstone hissed. “You ran away from the Imperial tourneys! You were supposed to march to defend the Duke of Erelion and yet you sat back and picked your bottoms with pitchforks! Go ahead, show your bravery!” Beardstone growled, “Draw you blade! Draw it, so the world may know how to get Lord Haldris to actually fight!” Manse was about to shout a sharp rebuke at Bearsans to try to get him to reel in his tongue, when the world suddenly seemed to explode around him.

There was noise, shouts, screams, the ringing of steel against steel. Horses screaming. The tent seemed to suddenly fall about them, poles collapsing, tables collapsing in the chaotic din. For a few seconds, Manse could not see, and it was only by feel that he grabbed his blade and pulled it from its scabbard. In a panic, not caring who or what he struck, he swung, and was rewarded by a ripping sound. The darkness of fallen canvas fell away from him, and his eyes saw a vision terrible to behold, his ears now fully able to appreciate the chaos about him.

As far as he could see, were horses with black riders, their blades slashing to and fro in the light of the campfires. From the woods to the right came hundreds of pinpoints of light... thousands of torches, as well as the distinctive tramp of a thick, powerful battleline thundering through the brush, their armor clinking in the night air.

Manse could not see his horse, so instead he spun in a circle, ascertaining his situation, his blade ready to deal with any foe close to him. A whoosh flashed close to his head, and he heard the dull thwack as an arrow hit an unprotected body. He spun around to see Beardstone up, blade drawn as well, Lord Haldris beside him, an arrow coming from the larger man’s shoulder.

“M’lord!” Manse called, rushing back towards the other two, “We must get you back! They are upon us!” He grabbed Beardstone’s gauntlets and yanked the smaller man behind him.

He could hear another noise, the sounds of feet running as soldiers dashed up the road, towards the other columns in a panic. Their voices were raised in screams, calls for whatever gods they worshiped. Many were only half clothed, and none had weapons. Beyond them, powerful blasts of fire and light lit up the road, where the next camps would be. The mounts of many knights and lords streamed past, riderless, screeching in fright.

Suddenly, right before them, a rider thundered to a halt. Immediately, Beardstone swung his blade, a blow against most riders would have normally struck the animal. Somehow, this creature yanked his mount away, and Beardstone’s blade met only air. A split second later, Manse saw steel flash into the man’s hand, and suddenly he felt a sharp blow to his shoulder, almost knocking him down. AS he stumbled back, Beardstone caught him.

“He’s gone,” Manse heard Beardstone say, “Damn! Can you make it to the woods?” Manse did his best to nod, the pain shooting from his shoulder and down his arm. He felt arms grab him, and slowly, then faster and faster, he came closer to the woods. More horses thundered by, each one making Manse wince, expecting a deathblow. No such blow came, and some thirty seconds or so later, Manse welcomed the feeling of green leaves striking his face.

Once he and Beardstone were safely off of the road, Manse turned back, clutching his shoulder. His good hand snaked to his shoulder, where he felt for his wound. Instead of merely a wound, he felt steel, in a shape he had never felt before. With a grunt, he pulled the unusual blade out. He felt Beardstone put something on his shoulder, and tie it tight. It was then that he realized Lord Haldris was not with them.

The man was still in the middle of the road, screaming at his soldiers and even his foot knights streamed past, running towards the camps of Count Mays and Duke Haldarman. A loose band of foot knights had formed around him... a small wall of iron, no more than 15 bodies in a tight circle around their Lord, whose blade shone brightly in the firelight.

Arrows flashed from the woods, slicing into their ranks. Manse could not see for sure, but he thought he saw Lord Haldris go down. From up the road the tramping noise grew louder, stronger, and finally Manse could make out the dense ranks of Imperial infantry, shields locked, spears lowered, coming in a massive, irresistible line of battle.

A black roan trotted past, close enough that Beardstone was able to grab his reins. Quickly, the smaller man brought the steed back into the woods.

“Manse, quickly!” he called over the noise, and Sir Albrecht was forced to tear his eyes away from the scene, and awkwardly mount the horse with Beardstone’s help. The Earl then clambered up behind him, and took the reins. He put his spurs into the horse, and Albrecht had a moment to turn around to take in the fading scene as the horse’s speed and his own encroaching darkness took him away.

Receding into the night, he could see seven riders clustered around the form of Lord Haldris, who was attempting to rise. The lead rider took his hood off, and Albrecht had only a moment of shock to realize the rider was no he... but a she.

“Can you feel it?” Ananias heard the drow rumble beside him. The once king closed his blue eyes... closing his mind off from the darkness outside. Instead he opened up to a world he had not felt since he took his last living breath as a living man, more than two hundred years before.

He could not see anything, at least in the normal sense. But he could feel things all about. The trees all around... he could feel them, stretching off miles into the distance. He could feel every squirrel, every fox, every fly in the area. Through the tendrils of his mind, he felt them.

And there it was... blazing in power, like a beacon in the darkness. So close, he thought, before taking in its location... then laughing. It sounded like a distant melody to his ears. So obvious!

“Yes,” he replied simply. “Follow me.”



“Why do I need to go back to Isky?” Ari’s musical voice asked. The young dragon’s bright lavender skin pulsated with curiosity, reflecting off of the mansion’s foyer. The darkness outside only made the light coming from him stand out more. “Does Mother Siabrey want to see me?”

“Yes... yes she does,” Raven nodded sweetly, even though her own heart was racing. He’s so innocent! He doesn’t realize what danger we’re all in! Quickly she put Ari’s favorite cloak, deep crimson with a fur fringe. It was expensive and showy, but the reason Ari loved it was simply because, “It feels fun. It feels like silk, furs, and wool at the same time!”

If they managed to raise a dead king, why are you still here? Raven asked herself, before she heard her answer in the room next to the foyer. The scraping noise of a whetstone on steel increased, until Val wandered in, working to work his blade to the keenest point possible. Inside the Dice manor, Val didn’t need his disguise anymore, and Raven’s breath caught slightly at his focused gaze, his red hair now stringy and dingy from not being cleaned.

“Ray?” Ari asked, using his nickname for her, “what’s wrong with Val? You’re-“

“Nothing,” she jumped, quickly turning back to the young creature that didn’t understand. “There,” she pronounced, diverting his attention, “you look like a rather wealthy noblemen... save your skin colors. You know you’re going to have to go as a more drab human.”

“I know,” Ari sighed, his face rather unhappy as his lavender skin shifted to a normal, suntanned brown. He preferred being as close to his dragon form as possible.

“Does he have the money?” Val asked, now holding his blade up in the light, his eye running along its length.

“Yes, Val,” Ari replied. A jingle came from the (now) young man’s pocket. Suddenly, Raven found herself in a deathgrip of a hug from the dragon. “I am sorry I did not get to see you more than a day or two, Ray! I miss giving you rides in the fields!”

“I miss it too,” Raven thought back to only a year ago, watching the world flash by as a prismatic dragon’s wings thumped under her. “One day, you’ll get to do that again!”

“I hope so,” Ari said, muffled into her shoulder. After a long embrace, the dragon gave Val a fierce hug as well, before Rose came into the foyer.

“Come on, now, let’s go!” she said hurriedly. Despite the tone of command in her voice, to both Raven and Val the shimmering of water in her eyes was apparent. “The sooner we head out, Ari, the sooner you get to Iskeldrun and Siabrey, ok!” She spun to look at Raven and Val. “I’ll be back in only one ring of the bells, maybe two. Don’t run off and get into trouble, ok!”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Raven said rather dryly. “Undead king and a sorcerer after the Fire Stone? We’ll be focusing entirely on that.” She heard Val give a grunt of agreement, before the scraping resumed.

Raven stood, watching out the windows beside the door as the two cloaked figures disappeared into the night. A riot of emotions ran through her head... sorrow at Ari’s leaving, worry over him, her sister, and Val, and confusion.

Why did Val react that way, when Ananias rose? That’s if he rose... magic can act through the blood, but there’s no telling. Perhaps someone made a curse on his family from the hill. Perhaps he merely had a convulsion on his own, and the light in the east was a mere coincidence...

Who am I decieving? her mind shot back at her, something very wrong happened on that mountain, and the easiest explanation would be that the demon there has arose again! And what was it that Aunt Tess always said... the simplest solution is usually the correct one...

That means there’s a demon lose, with a mad magician... and we don’t know where they are, or where they are going... Her mind immediately started filling with scenarios, all of which ended in grisy, terrifying death. She felt her breath coming faster, and sweat starting to form on her head as her mind expected a massive giant of ice to loom out of the darkness at any moment.

Then her ears picked up the same noise that had been echoing since Ari and Rose had left... scrape, scrape scrape. She looked up, to see Val, now sitting on one of the ornate wooden benches in the foyer, his blade across his lap, glaring at a point near the tip. He gave a disappointed grunt, and started his whetstone across it again. He looked entirely focused, no rapid breathing, no fearful eyes.

How? Raven’s mind wondered. Only a few days before it had been Val that had been worried once he had discovered his lineage. Now his ancestor, a demon, was on the loose, and yet he seemed focused entirely on the tip of his katana.

“Are... are you afraid Val?” she asked softly. She expected him to look up at her and give the cheerful laugh he always gave when asked a question he thought was dumb. Instead he looked up, and she saw his seemingly calm eyes look directly into hers.

“Are you?” he replied, voice seemingly calm, even.

How do I respond to that? Raven wondered. I don’t want to have him laugh at me!

“Very much,” she said softly, guardedly. She expected his bravado to come forth, for him to laugh and say she shouldn’t be, and that he wasn’t afraid at all. It was the way he always responded... when they were ten and first ran into Ari, it was Val who first approached the dragon, utterly without fear.

“You’re brave,” he gave her a soft smile. “Do you know what my mother always told me? A fool and a coward will never admit they are afraid. A brave and wise warrior will always admit they are afraid.” He held up his katana at arms length, his eye going down the length of the blade again, before turning back to her.

“And yes... I’m afraid too,” he said with a sigh.

“You are?” Raven asked, disbelief rising in her voice. “But you aren’t quaking in your shoes, your knees aren’t knocking, and your breathing is calm! All you are doing is sharpening your sword!”

“That’s why I’m not up in your room, hiding under the bed,” Val replied with a tense smile. “My blade was already sharp... its just I needed something to do, to keep my busy with something other than fear!” His face went a little red, as he let loose his secret.

So the mighty Valaron the Brave is scared... it’s alright to be scared! Raven’s mind jumped, and suddenly she didn’t feel quite so alone in her fright. I just need to find something to do... She reached down to her belt, and pulled out her nagaika, before she suddenly went stiff, looking at Val. Instead of the look of anger she expected, she saw a nervous smirk on his face.

“No sparring,” he said with a grin, before pointing to his cheek. “I’ve been smacked good once by you.”

Raven’s face went a deep red, and she stifled a nervous giggle. Even as she was relieved, and began checking her own weapon, part of her mind started to wonder.

What happened to Val? He was so uptight... a complete jackass at times. Now... For the first time since waiting in line to enter that fateful ball so long ago, Raven’s heart fluttered. And to her complete delight, Val gave her a huge smile before going back to his blade.


Vintressa glared at the man below her. He was bleeding from an arrow in his shoulder, another in his thigh. In one hand he still held aloft a blade that was easily a greatsword... too large for him to swing in his wounded state. She edged her horse closer, her long, thin rapier now gently poking the side of his neck.

“Your men are scattered, they flee before my legions,” Vintressa heard her voice say in an icy tone. Was that me? “Drop your blade and surrender, or you have meet your ancestors far sooner than you anticipated!”

Behind her, the great shadowy columns in Imperial livery continued to move forward. Haldris merely glared at her, and her own anxiety grew. She pushed the blade a little further, drawing a drop of blood.

“Drop your sword!” she snarled. For all that is holy, drop your weapon now! Before it gets here!

The Baron’s eyes met hers in nothing less than utter defiance, but slowly, his blade came down. He gave a sigh, his tired eyes closed, and the sword of his House clattered to the ground. Immediately, one of the six guardsmen with her had it scooped up, and handed it to her.

Vintressa removed her rapier and gave a laugh, relief coming into her mind. One piece to bargain with, she thought, as the vast Imperial columns coming up the road closed, and finally marched through Vintressa, her horse, Lord Haldris, and all gathered.

“You... what? How?” the old man looked confused, the adrenaline in his body waning, his body sinking to the ground in pain and exhaustion. His eyes looked about, terrified and confused as boots seemed to pass through his head.

“Darius,” she motioned to one of the guardsmen nearby, “go inform Aegrifyr he may end his incantation.” Far ahead on the road, the resounding booms of explosions stopped, and she heard the excited groans and whinnys of her horsemen coming back.

“Incantation?” Haldris asked again.

“My dear Baron... surely you should expect a lady to fight far more intelligently than yourself,” she quipped at the helpless man. She motioned to the other five guardsmen, before spurring her horse to a trot. Anxiously, she searched the faces of the guardsmen coming back up the road, more than a few with cuts in their cloaks, red blood soaking their clothes.

Royukgan? she looked, as the lines coming back grew thinner and thinner. Now some of the hooded riders came back with comrades laid over their mounts. Others limped back, without mounts. Vintressa’s worries grew.

Eventually, she grabbed one rider by the arm. “The Prince of Han?” she asked. Please tell me he’s alright! The man’s eyes were almost crusted shut from drying blood that clung to a cut on his forehead. He gave a grunt.

“Unhorsed,” he mumbled, rocking in the saddle. “Fell... middle of...”

Vintressa didn’t see the man collapse onto his steed’s neck. She was busy charging up the road, towards the other enemy camps... at full gallop.

Very good I've been lurking too, I'll admit. Seeing as I used to play Siabrey, I couldn't help but follow up on the children of my beloved character

Great job EV. As always. Can't wait for the next update!

And you missed the update by about 20 minutes...

And I knew you were reading it... you were the one that asked me to keep writing!
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

“Royukgan!” Vintressa called in the darkness, despite the proximity of the enemy. Her only answer was the moans from the wounded laying all about her, some cut, many burned. She reined her horse up, fearful thoughts dancing in her head. What if he is laying on the ground, and my horse steps on him?! Her eyes scanned the bodies laying about even more feverishly.

Slowly she made her way further, her ears ignoring the groans of the wounded, and instead searching for a whisper, a familiar groan. She heard none... and saw nothing like him… no black cloaks, only body after body in the lighter shades of their enemies liveries. For another twenty minutes she cantered onward in the darkness.

WHERE ARE YOU!? she started to panic, fear crawling across her mind like a spider settling into its web. For a moment, she saw a black cloak laying face down on the road, a spear imbedded in the man’s stomach. Terror shredded her heart momentarily, till a light in the gloom showed her that it was the face of a normal man that stared unseeing into the heavens.

“Hey! You!” she heard a voice snarl, and her mind jumped in surprise. Light... here? In the road filled with the dead... Dammit! Her eyes caught a brief glimpse of a torch, and dark figures silhouetted in its orange glow, before she spun her horse around. She felt a rush of air slash along the side of her face, and the snap of an arrow impacting a tree behind her. “Stop!” voices called, as she spurred her horse on.

This road is too obvious... they’ll be able to see me from a hundred feet off! She spun her horse to the left, off the clear road and into the woods. Ducking and weaving, she avoided the low branches and boughs that lashed at her from seeming nowhere. She zigged and zagged, desperately hoping her trail would go cold.

After a few minutes, she reined up her horse, and halted, listening. Off in the distance, she heard the crashing of underbrush, as well as faint shouts. She thought she was safe, until a few minutes later, she heard a loud groan, very close to her... and very familiar to her.

“Royukgan?” she whispered. Even as her heart soared, her hand clamped on the hilt of her rapier. If it is one of them, I mustn’t let him cry out! She heard another groan, followed by a sharp hiss.

“Who… are you? No… Prince… of Han… has…ah… been taken… alive, and I… shall not be… the first!” the voice rasped slowly, and she heard leaves whish and branches snap as he stood. Not more than ten feet away she could see him, standing in the shadows. He was rocking lazily, looking as if the slightest of breezes would tumble him over.

In the blink of an eye, she was off of her mount, and grabbing him fiercely. “I thought I’d lost you! Oh... you poor thing!” she cooed, holding him out to try and get a look at him. It was then she noticed her hands were wet, and she gingerly felt along the middle of his back. To her alarm, there was a large spot where his tunic was sticky.

Blood! she thought in worry. “Don’t worry!” she whispered, clasping him tight again, “Don’t worry! Your Vin will see you back safely!”

Up till this point, Royukgan had been silent in stunned shock. His eyes glowed slightly, as was their part feline nature... and the orbs seemed massive in the dark. He was confused, and finally in the midst of her second embrace, he sputtered her name in surprise.

“I...I’m fine,” she heard him say, just before she heard a slight hiss come from his lips. She pulled him closer to her mount, worry dancing in her unseen eyes.

“Can you ride?”

“Not well,” she heard him admit, grunting more than speaking, “They hit my leg as well... but I can try.” Carefully, she tried to help him up on the mount, only to hear him give a slight cry when his weight fell on his foot in the stirrups. He slid backwards onto the ground with an ignominious thud.

What do I do? He can’t mount! For several seconds she stood in fearful panic, the noise of the men searching the forest growing ever so louder. They were working their way in the direction of the Princess and her friend.

“Stand,” she whispered, helping the prince to his feet. She slid till her shoulder was underneath his left thigh, and hissed for him to try to mount again. “I’ll push up, so your leg doesn’t have to push so hard!” She heard a grunt and a muffled protest, but soon she could just barely see his foot in the stirrup again.

“One... two... three...” she counted quietly, before pushing upwards. She gave a grunt of exertion, which matched his of pain. She slowly rose higher, her legs pushing, until she felt his left leg slide over the animals back, presumably to the other side, for he didn’t slide off this time. Quickly, she clambered on behind him, and grabbing the reins, spurred her horse back towards the south-east... towards home.

The entire ride, she had time to look at his wound, and worry rose even higher in her mind. The wound was large and ugly, obvious a deep stab from a broadheaded spear. A large gash in his tunic was rent, leaving the wound angry and open.

She winced, her Academy mind realizing what this entailed... parts of his clothing were likely imbedded deep in the flesh, and would need to be fished out, otherwise festering and infection would set in. It took little imagination to shudder even thinking about the pain such a procedure would cause.

As they bobbed, the horse cantering slower because of the extra weight, her eyes were caught watching his right leg, the shaft of an arrow coming from its slightly quivering form. Vintressa closed her eyes, and whispered a short prayer as the hushed voices of her own men approached her.



Harrapias’ eyes closed, as he absorbed the last of the pre-dawn silence within the large sanctuary of the temple he was charged. To his ears, the silence that hung in the air was precious beyond all of the gold, silver, and gemstones that decorated the statues and icons.

It was at this time, so early in the morning, where he could focus, and it seemed like there was nothing that separated him from his faith. No bookkeeping, no wayward acolytes to discipline back into the fold, no reports from paladins to listen to, no wayward traveler’s who needed healing.

Because of this, he was immensely annoyed when he heard the stiff, military clip of boots striding down the long nave of the main temple, growing louder as the person approached. Harrapias closed his eyes tighter, hoping the boots would move on, past him, so he could focus on his god. Instead, he heard the boots come to a halt, probably only feet behind him.

His concentration finally disturbed, the priest opened his eyes. I left express orders to not be disturbed. If I am to be disturbed, Lord of Valor, then hopefully it is something important enough to justify it. He turned slowly, and what annoyance filled his heart sank away when he saw the face of the young man in front of him.

On normal days, the paladin would have cut an imposing figure. The young man, Harrapias thought his name was Thurgil, was a brand new admittee to the ranks of the brotherhood, was a young man... barely twenty or twenty-five. His gilt armor was still new, and the sword by his side was undoubtedly sharp and keen. Instead of a fiery warrior of righteousness, Harrapias saw a scared boy.

“What is it, my child?” the priest asked. I’m not so sure of his name now... is it Thurgil, or Thengil? “You look as if you have seen a ghost!”

The paladin swallowed hard, and with a shaky bow, held out to the priest a small piece of paper. “A summary of a body discovered by the City Watch earlier tonight. It might be of-“

Harrapias’ eyes latched onto the florid writing, taking in the details. The first part of the note, written clearly in the hand of the Captain of the Watch, detailed the body of a young boy had been discovered. It had been rotting for several days, and it was easy to see the boy had died from a small but extremely deep stab wound in the back of his head.

Immediately, the martial part of Harrapias’ mind worked into gear. A dagger? That dimension... he reread the description of the wound, No... at least, not a dagger I am familiar with...

As his mind wrestled with that problem, he continued reading. Why does this bear my personal watching? A murder on the streets is heinous, but Thungil here could have handeled...

He stopped, and backtracked over the section that had caught his eye.

”In a grate near the young man was found a rather unusual ring. It had a ruby at its center, with a dragon’s mouth agape on either side. One mouth held a sapphire, the other a diamond. A request to the Jeweler’s Guild revealed this ring is exceedingly rare... only five have been made. Four belonged to the Emperor, Empress, the Crown Prince, and the Princess Vintressa. The fifth was made at the Crown Prince’s request for his manservant... one Hemmel Manquiris... currently a brigand wanted for treason in the recent plot against Her Majesty...

That changed everything. Harrapias had heard all about the plot... far more than many of the upper crust in Kulloden even. The official story spoke of how an assassin had tried to draw blades on the Empress, and had been badly wounded before escaping. Harrapias, as one of the ranking members of the church the Empress personally attended to, knew the full story.

So he is here, then... the paper was released from his grip, fluttering to the floor. It made sense now... an assassin good enough to, at least temporarily, best the vaunted Empress with a blade was someone dangerous indeed. Someone that the mightiest warriors in the land might be needed to stop.

Harrapias looked at the young paladin, and gave him a tense smile. “Report to the temple praetor. He is to ring the bell of muster. Then, report to the mustering grounds, and await my arrival.” The young man bowed, his form not shaking as much at the priest’s precise orders.

Harrapias then picked up the paper again, and rose from his kneeling position. His knees gave a crack, a grumble at this movement, protests the priest was used to. I am growing too old for this, part of his mind mumbled. For all his devotion to the God of Valor, Harrapias was no fool, and he realized that his body had seen fifty-eight winters.

The priest in simple robes was soon out in the cool morning darkness, walking briskly, if stiffly, towards his quarters. I fear this is going to be my last campaign, My Righteousness, he prayed silently. Give my arms the strength to wield my blade as much as it needs wielding... to safeguard His Highness and banish evil from Thy sight...

“How are you?” Manse’s ears picked up a gruff voice. The knight blinked, and groaned as he felt the world rock slightly and something bumped his sore shoulder. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and saw the tired looking face of Lord Bearsans looking down at him.

“I’ve...been better,” Manse hissed, pain shooting from his shoulder down his arm and back.

“Well, we found what caused you so much pain,” Bearsans turned, groping for something. When he turned back around, he held a strange dagger-type object in his hand. It had three prongs, one long, thin one in the middle, and a shorter, curved one on either side. “It took us an hour after getting back to Lord Erelion’s camp to discover what it is... and where it came from.”

“Eh?” Manse raised himself up using his good arm. His other one felt heavy as well as hurt, and he realized that the bandages on its length were heavy with his own blood. His mind was focused enough that he noticed canvas hanging above him, and realized the rocking motion he felt was that he was in a wagon, trundling along...

“Its a sai, I guess,” Bearsans tossed the thing up, and caught it by its handle, “very light. The areas between the prongs are good for catching other people’s blades and wrenching them from their hands, and its light enough it can be thrown.... which appears to be what happened to you.”

“And have you figured out who, or what, is tossing those things about so carelessly?” Manse replied with a wince.

“Well, its got some kind of writing in gilt relief on its side, but no one could read it. One of your lord’s other bannermen, Sir Yusel, I believe you know him? He knew what it was... and that it does not originate from Iskeldrun, or any other part of our realm. It comes from Ak Konylu, across the mountains.”

Manse’s face grew puzzled. How would a weapon from a realm a thousand miles away come here? The Empress has a tendency to carry exotic weapons... but she is with the main army... no where near Haldris’ columns... “How... did it get here?”

“We thought about it for an hour or so, and Lord Erelion has come up with one solution. Are you familiar with the realm of Han, in Ak Konylu?” When Manse shook his head no, Bearsans merely plowed on, “Its a part of the nation of Ak Konylu... imagine a Duchy, save larger and ruled by a Prince. The heir to that house is in Iskeldrun... a Prince Royukgan. We hadn’t watched him often, but likely it was members of the Han Royal Guard that did this.”

“Han Royal Guard?” Manse immediately had problems adjusting to that theory. “But why would they interfere in a civil war in our realm. If anything, they’d be backing us...”

“Do I look like an expert on imperial diplomacy?” Bearsans asked. “I didn’t know where this ‘Han’ was until a few hours before! All I know is that the riders that hit us were a mix of the Imperial Houseguards, and members of the Han Royal Guard. Which means major trouble for us! Han’s armies are likely coming into the Empire as well!”

“Wait... did any of you find a ‘Han Royal Guardsman’ dead on the field? Or capture one?” Manse asked, his mind focusing on this puzzle more than the pain. If so... we DO have a major problem. If they haven’t, it might be a ruse...

“No, we didn’t. But no Imperial troops carry a weapon like this,” Bearsans shrugged away Manse’s concern. “And because of this, Lord Erelion has changed his plan. We’ve changed course, and now march for Iskeldrun. We must take the capital before the Han armies arrive... then Lord Erelion thinks we can come to terms from a position of strength, holding the Princess hostage and all.”

“What?” Manse cried, before wincing in pain. It hurt to breathe too deeply. “So now the entire army is marching on Iskeldrun?”

“No... just Haldris’ wing, and the northern column. The other two are still going to Thuyciden... distract the Emperor while we take his capital from behind. If we tried to concentrate, it might take too long, and the Han armies would have a chance to interfere!”

“Beardstone,” Manse rasped, his pain clouded mind trying to understand, “if Han is across the mountains, it would take months for them to march here! We have time to destroy the Emperor’s army, and seize the capital! Why are... augh!” he fell back, it was hurting too much to prop himself up. As long as the Emperor and Empress have an army to command, they will pursue... and try to destroy us!

“The plans have already been changed... the troops are moving now, even though dawn hasn’t come over the horizon yet. Lord Erelion has vowed we’ll march all through the day and two hours into the night to steal this march!” Beardstone said eagerly. “Haldris’ command has been shattered, so we’re leaving them behind as a rearguard with Haldarman. The rest of the two columns will move out... some thirty thousand spears, ten thousand horse.”

“And... what of the Imperial columns that hit us earlier tonight? If they are bold enough to attack Haldris at night, that tells me there was a major power behind that force,” Manse tried to reason, as if persuading Bearsans the current plan was a bad one would change things. That was a third Imperial army… one not under the command of the Emperor or Empress. How many are there? What if IT hits us?

“Haldris and Haldarman will act as a screen. After Haldris’ issues, Haldarman acted less than willing to move in council... so he has been banished to be the backbone of the rearguard,” Bearsans said matter-of-factly. “He has eight thousand foot, and a thousand horse, not counting what’s left of Haldris’ men.”

“A soiled squire and a few panicked kerns?” Manse sourly groaned. They won’t be able to hold against a nanny armed with a broomstick, let alone whoever unleashed those columns and decimated Haldris. “And Lord Haldris? Did he escape that woman?”

“No. No one has seen him. And I think you were delirious when you saw that ‘girl’ you claimed was holding a sword to his throat. The only one that would fit that description and command Household Guards would be the Crown Princess herself! And she’s not about to be out here leading troops!” Bearsans laughed. “Never seen a mage in my life pick up a blade!”

The Emperor does, Manse thought dimly.



At this early hour, the teleportation chamber in the Mage’s Guild of Kulloden was usually quiet... few legitimate souls traveled at six bells before noon. There was at least one mage present, however, just in case someone did need their services... but the young apprentices that manned the device at this hour often referred to it as ‘sleeping duty.’ No one had teleported in during this time since many of these apprentices were small.

Thus it came as an immense surprise to the two young men on duty to feel a massive surge of magical power in the chamber... the sure sign there was an incoming transit, and a large one at that. With a few shouts of surprise, the two cleared the room, and began readying spells, just in case.

A fine whisker of fog rose in the midst of the room, climbing higher and higher until it touched the ceiling. Then it flashed outward in an instant, bathing the entire room in its distant foggy glow. The room, in theory was large enough for a transit of fifty people, and enough shadows gradually built in the teleportation cloud it seemed very well possible that many were appearing. The clouds started to slow their spin, until finally they abruptly and magically lifted, revealing to the shocked mages a sight they would not likely see again.

Before them was a small menagerie. Darkly cloaked men and women, one with fiery hair and a greatsword, stood in front. Behind them were a bevy of men clad in armor and hauberks made of chainmail, their tunics displaying a gold eagle on a blue background. In the midst of this was a tall, striking blonde, her braids of hair tied ‘round her head like a crown.



Meanwhile...

Hemmel gave a growl, as he dumped a bag of platinum coins onto the small table in front of the halfling.

“Is that enough for you?” he sneered. It had been a long series of days, and the halfling was annoying him with an endless stream of questions. Asking where he was going, who he was. I thought this was a PRIVATE teleporter, where I would not have to answer such babble!

“I... um...” the small creature stammered, looking at the pile of wealth beyond his wildest dreams laying in front of him.

“Half of that is yours, if you just let us go about our business. As I said earlier, our master wants us to conduct this inspection of his mines quickly, before his rivals can try to sabotage their appraisal. He is most willing to pay this much extra for expediency on your part, and the part of your master, Bladonicus.” Hemmel had not lied completely... if Lord Erelion had known what was happening, he certainly would have handed over extra cash to hurry things up.

“Um... by all means,” the halfling scribbled something down in his books, and hungrily pocketed half the coins in the bag, perhaps a hundred or so... likely four or five times what he made in a single year.

Hemmel paid no attention, as he and his band exited the “public teleporter” into the darkness of the early morning of Kulloden. Distantly, he heard the bells of the main temples toll six times, their notes ringing loud and true through the darkness.

“Where is the young dragon?” a whispery, feminine voice asked from next to him in the darkness.

Where would he be? Hemmel’s mind clicked. He still was not completely sure the Crown Prince was here at all. He’d only seen the Dice girl that was supposed to be in Iskeldrun waiting in front of the Hieroneous Temple...

But she was waiting... for someone, he reminded himself. On his brief return to the capital to get reinforcements, he’d listened to rumors... and confirmed that the Crown Princess was still there. That left only one person the Dice girl could have been waiting for...

The Temple of Hieroneous would be the safest place for him, Hemmel thought, but it would also be painfully obvious... and Valaron is clever... The manservant in him still remembered the tricks the boy would pull, or how he adapted quickly in a sparring match.

“I have my suspicions... but for now, we lay low. I do not want us to launch ourselves needlessly about, attracting attention,” he replied. He felt, more than saw, the imperceptive nod of the lady next to him.

As his mind thought, his hand travelled to the inner pocket of his coat, and wrapped carefully around the gift the same woman had given him. He felt the petals, still soft and moist, despite not having seen water in three days. He ran a finger gently over the thorns lower on the dark flower, and reflected on how odd it was that someone could be killed by a rose.



“We cannot hold here!” Aeron’s shout rang in Vintressa’s ear once again. The wizard’s face was flushed with fury and disappointment. “Thirty riders lost! That’s a quarter of our forces!”

“We crushed Haldris’ column!” Vintressa shot back, her own fury reflected in the glow of candlelight inside her tent, “And have plugged up another nine Houses! They had one road... one road that is strewn with wreckage, and they think a large Imperial force is nearby! They will not advance quickly! If we stand here and demonstrate, we can-“

“There is not the strength,” one of the higher ranking guardsmen replied. “My scouts have reported that there are movements to our north... the northern column has left its road, and is moving southwest, not south...”

“Towards us!” Aeron jumped in again. He glared at Vintressa for a few moments, but once she returned his sharp gaze, he gave a sigh. “Princess, I must be frank. I know you hoped they would be stalled... and they are! But for the sake of your men, the ones injured... please, we must retire back to the walls of Iskeldrun!”

“...for Royukgan,” she heard Aegrifyr’s voice say, and instantly she went from disagreement to combative. Her mind roiled at the thought of how she last saw him. Flat on his stomach, a guardsmen attempting to pull the arrow from his thigh as one of the few healers that could be spared tended to the large wound in his back.

“He needs rest! He may not survive a hard ride!” she shouted. Her mind instant regretted the outburst. A princess needs to look to the whole... not the parts, she heard her father’s voice say from the distant past. If one needs to be sacrificed for the many... the one needs to be let go...

“The other injured need rest as well!” she changed her statement to satisfy her father’s memory, her voice still raised but now lacking its former deadly edge. “We smacked them across the face, and they’re stunned! If we continue to peck at them, we could stall them completely! We just need Lord Aeron’s offensive spells, and Aegrifyr and the other mages to continue their illusionary work! By the time we’re done, they’ll think there are hundreds of thousands here!”

“We rode out with one hundred and fourteen... thirty have fallen, and thirty-two more are wounded. We have only fifty-two people healthy to ride...and of those, only forty are people trained in standard combat,” the guardsmen said, leaving the mages’ powers unsaid.

“Your Highness,” Aegrifyr, who had so far remained silent, spoke up, “we have done what you set out to do. Your parents no longer face a force that will outnumber them... indeed, they will outnumber the columns striking in their direction.” He walked over quietly, and put a hand on her shoulder, “we must retire behind the walls of Iskeldrun. The city watch has ten thousand to guard the city walls, and in the city the injured can receive proper care!”

Vintressa fell silent, her skin seeming to boil as all eyes bored in on her. I am the leader... it is my decision. My mind says to ride back... my heart warns me that Royukgan might not make it! The memory of her father’s lessons on government, little quips and statements, and the memories of the words of wisdom Tess left for her echoed in her mind.

What would you do, father? What would you do, Aunt Tess?



“Wake up!” Raven gently touched Val’s shoulder. She’d been up since before the sun had risen, and now its golden rays coming through the windows of her home seemed to frame Val’s face perfectly. He stirred slightly, before a hand rather limply went up and slowly swatted at the sky.

“Go away,” the mumbled, half-awake. He yanked the covers up over his face, so only his fire red curls showed.

“The sun has risen... and we have much that needs to be done! I need another pair of eyes in the Temple of Pelor if we’re going to find the Fire Stone’s location!” she said, purposefully injecting as much cheerfulness in her voice as possible. “Come on... Rose fixed breakfast downstairs... and,” she added to the temptation, “it is roasted ham, raspberries with cream, and eggs speckled with peppers and spices...” It was Val’s favorite breakfast, she knew. Maybe that will rouse him.

“Rose can be your extra eyes,” she heard him grumble, “and ham can last till later.” He groaned again, covering his head up.

Raven’s eyes narrowed. So, you won’t move! she thought, I know how to fix that! She reached over the blankets, and yanked Val’s cover from his eyes. He squirmed in the sunlight, flailing in the air to cover his eyes. Raven’s blood was up, and with a giggle, she used the same tactic her mother used with her when she was a child; she pinned his arms, keeping his closed eyes bathed in the morning light. Val’s gave a groan of protest, his eyes squeezed shut.

It was then she paused, her breath stopped. Her eyes took in Val’s bare chest, and something bloomed in her heart. Her heart, its feelings pent up for the past few weeks with the feelings that flashed over her after she saw him at the ball where everything began, suddenly leapt into action before her mind could respond. Before she understood what was happening, she felt her lips touching his as her eyes closed.

It couldn’t have lasted more than an instant before her head wrested control back from her heart, shouting, What were you doing?! in her head. He is the son of the Emperor! He could have all of those pretty noble daughters! He wouldn’t want you! After you cut his face open, he doesn’t trust you! Terrified, she pulled back, hoping Val would not be incensed by her actions.

“Um...” she stammered, looking down at him. Val’s eyes were wide open, but instead of anger, he had an eyebrow raised in confusion. His mouth was a little open still, and she watched it close quickly as he swallowed hard.

“Um...” he echoed, his own eyes darting about, his skin flushed a deeper shade of crimson than normal. She locked on his eyes, her own full of pleading. Don’t be angry, her heart and mind pleaded. As she watched his own, her mind became confused.

His eyes are darting around like he’s frightened, her mind thought. Like he’s confused too?

“I...um...” she continued to stammer, “I...I...woke you up, didn’t I?” She nervously giggled. It was a major effort to disguise her fear... one that failed miserably. Is he upset? He doesn’t look like it...

“Um... well... um... yeah, you did,” he stammered himself, before a nervous, shy grin formed on his lips. He sat up, his eyes still looking at her... questioning, probing. She found herself locked into the gaze, falling into the deep blue sea...

“Um... well. Myself, Rose, and the servants spent quite a while getting that breakfast ready!” Raven said nervously, a little too loudly for the situation. The smile she gave was a false cover, as she stood. “If you’d like to just head down when you’re ready, um... we’ll...um... have it waiting, ok?” So awkward...

He stared at her eyes for a few moments after her statement, before suddenly blinking, hard. “Um,” he stammered, “Sure...um... let me put on a shirt, and... I’ll be right down.” He rather slowly climbed out of bed, and walked over towards the dresser, his eyes not watching where he was going, and instead looking at Raven’s.

She could tell there was curiosity, still some surprise, and... something else. Caring? No... something more. It took her only a moment to figure out what it was... she’d seen in before between Vintressa and Royukgan. Something deeper than simple caring. Then she realized his smile the night before had contained the same thing. Outwardly, her awkward smile grew a little more, but inwardly, she was leaping in the air, shrieking her happiness.

His gaze suddenly, shyly broke from hers, and he seemed to be putting entirely too much interest in opening a simple dresser drawer. He feels the same way... its too awkward right now for him! Raven realized, and she wanted to whoop again. Seeings the shyness of the normally brash prince, she realized that babbling in happiness might scare him. An internal debate exploded within her, on whether to leave, or tell him everything.

Eventually, her feet started speaking for her, as she was already backing towards the door, and narrowly avoided backing into the wall instead of the door as she watched him. For a second, the same part of her that had taken over when she was waking him up tried to take over again, but she forced it back... keep it under control, until she was out of his presence.

Once she was in the hall, her beet red face flashed an enormous smile. She knew she was still within earshot, and so her whoops of joy were hushed, but for a second, the rest of the world didn’t seem to matter. The fact Ananias and Elsidor, and who knows who else was after them were matters that did not bother her any more.

Today is a good day! her heart sang.

Up ahead, Rose had just reached the top of the stairs and was marching down the hall in a fury. “What is taking you and him so long!” she shouted, before suddenly sliding to a halt. Rose looked at her sister with a confused stare.

“And why are we in such a good mood suddenly?”

“Um... no reason!” Raven said hurriedly. She saw her sister’s eyes glare, as Rose demanded, without words, to hear the truth. For a second or two, the tenseness in the hall between the two grew, until Raven was on the verge of blurting out the good news. Finally, she gave in.

“Well, Val’s coming to help me look at the Pelor Temple Archives!” she lied... poorly enough that Rose’s eyebrow rose in question. Thankfully, before Rose could probe her little story any more, an insistent, hard knocking at the door interrupted.

“I wonder who that could be?” Rose said suspiciously, glaring at Raven the whole while. Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned and started back downt he stairs. With a sigh of relief, Raven followed. She caught a glimpse of his sister looking up, her face accusing her of some hidden secret as she slipped towards a window to peek out. Rose then spun around, her jaw slightly agape.

Its not the dark elf or the dead king, Raven reasoned, they likely wouldn’t knock to come in... more crush down the door. “Rose? Who-“

“Raven? Um... were you expecting a large group of people in dark cloaks?” she asked with worry.

“No...” Raven replied, backtracking up the stairs. Towards her room, and her nagiaka. Dark cloaks... en masse... NOT GOOD.

“Get Val!” Rose shouted, before dashing into the kitchen. As Raven reached the top of the stairs, she heard pots and pans falling, as well as her sister’s high pitched voice screaming at the staff.

Raven was sure no one had covered the upper hall distance as fast as she did running to get Valaron. He was the only one in the house presently with a real blade... Raven had a real weapon, but a long whip in the narrow confines of the house might do more harm than good, and Rose’s dagger was little more than a fancy butcher knife.

“Val!” she yelled, sliding to a halt on the varnished floor just outside his doorway.

“Huh?” he had his tunic on now, but his armor was neatly packed in the corner. Not enough time for him to put it on! Raven’s mind jumped. Val merely looked confused and somewhat bemused at first. Once he saw Raven’s look of panic, however, his look changed to concern.

“Your sword! Get it! Dark cloaks! Many outside!” Raven sputtered loudly, running into the room and shoving him towards his two blades stacked beside the armor. She saw him start to reach for the extra protection, so she helped him by shoving his hands back towards the blades. “No time!”

“Alright! Alright!” he complained, picking up his katana. Raven grabbed his other, shorter sword, which she couldn’t pronounce. For a split second, her mind looked at the blade in confusion. I don’t know how to wield this! She then thought back to her nagiaka, and with ease saw it getting caught on a chair, or a chandelier, leaving her in a world of hurt. She’d worry about this later.

With little regard to politeness, Raven then hurriedly shoved him in the hallway. He broke into a mere jog... a jog that only turned into a run after she ran past him, and bounded down the stairs two steps at a time.

At the bottom of the stairs, she saw the small menagerie of an army Rose had gathered. Raven’s sister had armed herself with a butcher’s knife. The butler held a metal pan, and the two maids held brooms. The latter three looked ashen, and rocked in fear as if a slight breeze would blow them over. They all looked relieved to see two people arrive armed with real weapons... and at least one look as if he could properly wield his.

“Rose, Raven?” a female voice faintly asked from outside. It sounded vaguely familiar, but none trusted its tone. It was too muffled by the door to be sure.

“When I throw the door open, be prepared,” Rose said quietly, slipping quickly and silently behind the door. She unconsciously flipped the knife in her hand into a knife-fighter’s grip. Everyone tensed, as silently Rose mouthed counting to three, and then yanked the door wide.

That almost sounded like Tess... but she’s down at the tombs! Maybe its the assassins returned! Or Elsidor trying to use the arcane to get in! She closed her eyes, held the blade high, and tensed her legs to launch a charge forward. If it is the dark mage, I must be fast!

Momentarily the outside glare blocked their view. Raven heard the butler and maids give growls that in any other situation, would have been comical. As it was, Raven had lurched forward, the shorter blade high above her head as she let loose a cry. Alone in the group did Val have his blade pointed expertly at the figures in the doorway.

Even as she rushed ahead, Raven expected to hear a shout, a rose, and feel the slash of steel going by her. Instead, she heard a very familiar peal of laughter. A tall blonde slipped into the house, hands outstretched, a playful smile on her face.

“Hold, Raven! I’m no thief!” Tesseron Keldare called. Raven’s planned forward charge sputtered to a stunned halt. Rose’s knife wavered shakily, a confused expression on the girl’s face. Val’s sword lowered to the ground, his face also showing his confusion. The maids and the butler upon Tess’ sudden movement inside promptly dropped their impromptu weapons and dashed to hide behind the dining room table.

“Aunt Tess?” Raven asked quietly. Her eyes could see it indeed was the bard, but her mind was still confused. The bard stepped forward again, and now there was no doubt. Behind her streamed in armed men clad in the colors of a city watch that Raven didn’t recognize, even more clad in black robes... and one familiar face.

Eyrna Erelion? Raven’s mind looked at the disheveled black-haired woman in the midst of the dark cloaks. Why is she here!? Rage started to fill in Raven’s mind, remembering how this entire mess began. That... that... bitch! Why did she do that, and start this!?



Eyrna herself had been looking forward to this moment with nothing less than complete dread.

So this is my punishment... to see the Prince and his ‘friend’ again... she inwardly had scowled. Will Tesseron turn me over to him for... exile? No... she is more honorable than that... I have no doubt I shall have my life... but what kind of life will he leave me with? His mother’s fury was legendary, and in the short space of two weeks, she’d done more to injure this young dragon than many in the previous sixteen years of his life.

“You...” she saw the Dice girl... Raven, I think, lunge towards her. Eyrna saw the sword in her hand, and the murder that was dancing in her eyes. The noblewoman expected to feel a momentary blast of steel and then an eternal nothing, but to her surprise, the bard stepped in the girl’s path.

“No, Raven,” she heard the bard say, “there will be no shedding of blood this day. Far too much will be shed on her account.” A small, tiny part of Eyrna wanted to gloat towards the Dice girl. Her common sense intervened, however. Contrite should be the order of this day... at least for now, her astute mind reasoned. With a great deal of self control, she did not respond to the girl’s rage... indeed she did not even look up at her.

Tesseron has shown me much more kindness... perhaps that will be her downfall, as well as the downfall of this motley group. No amount of kindness would bring her father back... or set the wrong that it should have been her father on the Imperial throne...[/i]



Hemmel ducked his head a little lower, his hand reaching over the vendor’s table and picking up a rather ornate and useless butterknife.

“This one looks like its worth quite a bit,” the assassin observed, his improvised village drawl coming out perfectly. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as various cloaks and hoods slipped into the day’s business crowds, having observed the panic signal.

“It is, sir!” the young man selling the various knifes and tableware at this stall agreed eagerly. “Its fluting design was done by Master Xederla, the famed bladesmith!”

I have never heard of a master bladesmith with a name like Xederla, Hemmel grumbled in his mind, And no famous bladesmith would be carving mere butterknives! The assessment of the salesman’s attempts at lying were a welcome distraction, to keep him from sweating up, or otherwise showing his guilty visage.

Why are so many Hieroneous paladins about? Hemmel asked as the tramp of their boots echoed through the crowded stalls of the marketplace. He felt a push forward into the booth in front of him, as the crowds behind him pushed him forward to make way. Seeing the rest of hte crowd turning to gape, Hemmel freely joined them.

Twelve paladins... one of whom is clad in the armor of a Commander, Hemmel counted quietly. That’s far more fighting power than I would normally tangle with... where are they headed? His mind ran through the possible destinations, and he gave a slight smile.

They cannot be headed to the Pelor Temple... Pelor’s own paladins protect that...

Too bad that’s where we are headed... he smiled, before turning back to the knife salesman.


Ananias looked around, and gave a blinding smile. It felt good to feel the life force draining out of a creature again. He turned down to look at the kicking, struggling man, a sun disk on a necklace flying about as he desperately bucked and twisted, trying to remove Ananias’ hand from his throat.

“Your god will protect you... surely,” Ananias smiled darkly, remembering the clerics that had deserted him so many years before in the face of the Empire. “I can feel Pelor’s power right now,” he hissed, eyes wide in delight.

The poor man underneath him struggled only a few more moments, his eyes bulging with the exertion. When he fell silent with a dull finality, Ananias released his body, feeling refreshed.

“Excellent!” he heard the dark elf’s voice in the woods to his left. Ananias turned, and watched as the air seemed to shimmer, before the drow seemed to coalesced out of nowhere. “We shall pattern our disguises after him! Accurate down to the holy symbol itself!”

Ananias’ smile dimmed somewhat... he had already made it known he was not keen on polymorphing, even temporarily, into a cleric of Pelor. But Elsidor’s logic was undefeatable... clerics and paladins of Pelor were the only ones going into the temple that would not be thoroughly questioned upon requesting to enter their ‘lower vaults.’

They likely don’t even know what treasure they have! And to think that it was the Emperor himself that sent those items there! Ananias thought it was the greatest irony. Elsidor had told him what had happened... how the Countess had tried to rise up to overthrow the Empire and been brutally repressed... the staff destroyed, save the Fire Stone. Part of the lost jewels of Zoe, handed over by her brother to the paladins of Pelor to thank them for destroying my great-great-granddaughter!

The last part stung the most... how the Emperors of Iskeldrun had so callously destroyed his family line, and his life’s work... the staff. That all would soon be avenged, in good time. The Countess Lucilda, her infant son Lucius... they both shall see the light of day once again, after he had shattered the Empire that had so vilely destroyed them. The undead king had already begun making plans of what he would do once he was properly seated on the Throne of Emperors. His first order of business would be to hunt down that silver dragon... Xanadu...

Elsidor’s chatter interrupted the king’s daydream.

“...and you would think Holstean would be the appropriate place for Your Majesty to declare your ancestry, and the new order... with myself as your Chamberlain and right hand assistant, of course,” the drow smiled.

Ananias had the urge to frown. The drow had raised him from his end, true, but something about him didn’t seem right. He means to dominate me, Ananias had decided eventually. That will never happen!

“Of course, my friend. I always trust your advice,” Ananias reached back to his former life as a noble, and lied with a sincere smile on his lips. He gave a slight bow, before turning and looking at the brick walls looming in the distance. He heard a few arcane words come from the drow, and felt his skin twist, growing pale in color, his robes changing to a traveler’s leathers... and a small sun disk hanging from his neck.

“I think it is time, my friend, that we go visit some of our comrades at Pelor’s Temple,” Ananias said, pleased at the deeper, more resonant voice of his disguise. Little did he know the chain of events that was about to unfold...