Into the Icy Darkness II: The Next Generation

Raven felt less secure than she knew she should have. A bevy of blades, as well as a legendary woman were now her guards... but as the group marched through the streets of Kulloden, she knew that the large band of people in black cloaks clustered around her, Valaron, and Eyrna stood out like an opal amongst a sea of diamonds.

Thank the gods they’re going to be outside of the temple when we are inside. She realized that in reality, it made no difference... with this menagerie of followers, everyone would know that something was happening, even if they could not see for sure who was in the midst of the throng.

He’s still out there... along with it, she thought of the undead king, the descriptions of old rising in her mind. She gave a mental shudder, and her hand slid a little further away from her body. She felt warm fingers grasp hers, and instantly felt more at ease. Looking in that direction, she caught Val’s eyes on her underneath the plain cloak he wore, and while no smile crossed their lips, she felt protected.

It had been only moments after she’d explained what they had seen off in the east that Aunt Tess had revealed her own suspicions, and the two had agreed on a different direction. There was no way to realistically stop them from raising whoever the drow’s target was... if the person indeed had yet to be raised.

But, if they could find where the Fire Stone was, they could grab it before him. That would mean more searches in the Temple of Pelor’s libraries...



Val looked down at Raven, and let a small, brave smile go to his face. He knew what was going through her mind. It is running through my mind also. He’d seen her with her glass-studded whip, and having her beside him put him at ease. She’ll watch my back... and I’ll have nothing to fear, he told himself.

Far cry from what I thought before coming here. Before the lights in the east, the attack that had laid him low. He’d watched how she’d fretted over him, and at first thought it silly. Then, by the second day, he assumed it was a deep caring. And he found he liked being cared for like that. He felt safe... something he hadn’t felt since blocking an assassin’s blade with his own katana.

And this morning, Val... your slow and dull mind realized what it really was! He’d never looked at Raven in that way before; she’d been more a tom-boy cousin, in his eyes. Someone he admired, laughed with, and trusted. But now...

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shifting of the bodies around him as the black cloaks parted, silently breaking ranks as one. Some slipped to the small shops and stands that dotted Temple Square, others went towards the gates of the Hieroneous Temple, acting as gawking outsiders.

Up ahead, Valaron saw the whitewashed marble wall surmounted by brass sun-disks... the outer wall of the temple complex dedicated to the Light, the Sun-Disk. By far it was the largest of the temples in Kulloden, its expanse larger than the local baron’s manor house and curtain wall. Beyond the wall, the main temple loomed, squat with a domed roof, its gilt covering shining bright in the rising sun.

“I’ll need you to show me where to search. I have never had to search for tomes before, they are usually brought to me,” Valaron admitted to Raven. Before this morning, part of him was happy he hadn’t gone with. He would have been embarrassed to have Raven poring over tomes while he was lost trying to find his first book.

He heard a soft but tense giggle from next to him. “It is not that hard, my prince,” her voice sounded.

I...I’ve never noticed her voice like that. It sounds like... oh curse my poor skills with poetics! Various descriptions ranging from a cool, clear stream to a the warmth of a newly forged blade ran into his mind. He suddenly realized that these descriptions were on the tip of his tongue, ready to burst out in a hurried drabble of words to her. Quickly he reined his mouth in, before he could embarrass himself further.

“...are you even paying attention?” he heard her say, the same very nervous hint of a chuckle in her voice. Instantly his copper skin when crimson, as he realized he hadn’t been looking at her, but staring. Valaron Lucius Caladron! he heard his mother’s voice scold in his head, You are a prince of the royal blood, and yet you don’t have the manners to properly listen to someone when they speak to you!

“I... um... was, but I...” he said quickly, looking for an excuse, before finally giving a sigh. “No. I grew distracted,” he said, a nervous laugh of his own coming from his lips. “I’m afraid books don’t hold much interest for me,” he spoke before thinking. Quickly, he stumbled out the addition of, “But perhaps you can teach me today to start an interest! In the books I mean.” As she beamed at him, the temple walls loomed ahead, as the two passed acolytes and healers streaming in and out of the complex.

I am a prince of royal blood, capable of staring down the most silk-and-satin-clad lady of noble blood... yet Raven makes me stammer and stumble over my words? He looked about, and realized they were almost to the temple. At least we are here safely. After we get inside, I have to focus! Focus! He tried momentarily as they fell into the line of worshippers and petitioners entering the temple, but found Raven’s face kept him from his goal.



Now I must sit inside Pelor’s Temple? Eyrna gave a slight grunt of dissatisfaction as the line in front of her slowly moved. Beside her stood Constans, the man’s black cloak covering his longsword. Eyrna was not foolish enough to expect him to be impeded in drawing his blade.

She listened carefully with her ears, and heard the small chatter going on behind her... between the Crown Prince and the Dice girl. There was no doubt in Eyrna’s mind that something was going on between the two.

If only I could probe her mind, like many of the mages’ can, she thought darkly, I could find out what has happened... what kind of mount this prince is... She gave an inward smile at that thought. Perchance, after I’ve killed her, I can use him before he dies. The dark inward smile formed slowly on her face, and her mind once again plotted upheavals to unseat House Caladron... dreams, she knew, and little more.

The bold, she heard her father’s long gone voice in her head, can make their dreams reality. You only need to see the situation, and to act!

And act I will,[/]i she promised herself.



“Baroness Keldare!?” The name came from the assassin’s lips like some vile curse of old, causing Hemmel to chuckle.

“You speak as if she is a goddess of some repute,” he replied glibbly.

Chali, head of the Blackroses assigned to help him, gave a sharp frown at his rebuke. “I do not fear her, but I have a deep respect for her abilities, and for good reason, Hemmel,” she said sourly, “You walk about as if you are some god yourself. You are not!” The woman returned her hands to tying her long brown braids up, to remove them from her way in combat. “I respect the power of someone that killed an elder in our guild, as well as killed the elder’s paymaster, and the paymaster of the paymaster!”

“You speak of that Ilia as if she was worth something,” Hemmel replied quietly, as his hands slid over his torso, checking his weapons and supplies were in place under his own cloak. “She was not even a member of an assassin’s guild. She was a damn freelancer, and no more!” I am more professional than her! I slipped close to an Empress, and would have killed her save unforeseen circumstances! Ilia could not kill a band of rangy travelers... and let herself be killed by them!

“She was formidable enough that our Elder Belyia thought her worthy to take a job from,” Chali retorted, her eyes not looking at Hemmel at all, instead looking for her other agents. “You speak as if you knew her well. What was she? Lover? Relative?”

“Business partner,” Hemmel said simply, looking out into the Temple Square crowds for his own agents. Unlike the ‘Roses, Hemmel’s people weren’t as skilled with fist to come in unarmed. But their talents lay elsewhere... and they would be no less deadly. “She stole a couple thousand gold from me and ran off. I chased her for a bit, but then after accepting Lord Erelion’s offer some twenty years ago, I became too occupied making money to worry about her errant ass.”

“Ah... so you sold your skills out twenty years ago? For being house-trained, you’ve kept your skills at a fine hue,” Chali chuckled lightly. Those in the ‘Roses, and other professional assassins guilds, looked at assassins who contracted themselves to specific Houses as traitors... they took away from the guild’s customer base. And, in the eyes of many guildmembers, they grew soft in long years of inactivity.

“I try my best,” Hemmel replied, shifting his cloak to the position he liked. Satisfied, he gave a nod, and the two of them joined the crowds on the Temple Plaza, arm in arm as if husband and wife on a shopping run. They made their way towards the throngs gathered outside the House of Pelor.

“And back to the topic at hand,” he really did not want to talk any more of the only person that had cheated him, “yes, I saw the Baroness Keldare and twenty or so folks clad in black cloaks. They were closely packed, like they were guarding someone.”

“And you think that is where our dear friend is?” Chali said quietly. He noticed she refused to say the prince’s title out loud, despite the fact that it was virtually assured that no one in the crowded plaza around them would be able to hear. Yet again she was rubbing her so called professionalism in his face. “Him, and his friends?”

“Yes... it fits his style,” Hemmel commented. Blunt, brash... that tends to be Valaron. His mother was right... subtelty is not his middle name. “I couldn’t see directly into the midst of their group, but I swear I saw a redhead. I think we should go say hello to him before he gets busy paying his respects to Pelor.” I don’t have time for tricks of the mouth! Be quick about what you are saying!

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out, so long as we don’t stop too long. I don’t think everyone is going to want to go see the plaza for too long.” She gave Hemmel a brilliant, if empty smile. Hemmel nodded in agreement. Dispersed approach would indeed be best. My crossbows can watch from afar while your fighters close.



Tess was standing in a seller’s stall that had a clear view of the three streets that emptied into the Temple Plaza, as well as the line into the Pelor temple. It is still so easy, she thought, giving a halfway glance down at the enamored vendor’s wares. Her eyes instead uneasily watched those streets. Evermyn was on the opposite side of the plaza, watching the two streets that left the plaza that Tess could not see.

There was a lighter throng that usual today, likely because today was not one of Pelor’s many feast days. That left the plaza, especially the sections close to the Temple of Tarantor, fairly clear... clear enough that Tess’ sharp eyes could spot anything that appeared too odd.

“And this’n here,” the vendor, a young man obvious more concerned with Tess’ cleavage than the prospect of her patronage, “is especially... special.” Tess paid no attention to the man’s wince, or stares. By her eyes, she was watching the sun glint off of the statue of the Emperor Alexander that graced the top of the Tarantor temple. Her mind, in fact, was watching the young woman clad in well-made dark leathers that was approaching the very stall where she was at.

She’s not armed, Tess observed, something that did not put the bard necessarily at ease. She’d dealt with too many people skilled with using their bodies as weapons. She wasn’t particularly pretty, or oddly clothed. Tess wasn’t sure what had caused her unconscious mind to scream an alarm... until she looked at the woman’s arms.

She’s... holy crap, Tess’ mind jumped. The woman was not heavily built, but her arms were wiry, as twin thin yet viciously powerful mambas. She leaned over, picking up one of the vendor’s ‘less-well-made’ items... a necklace that had several broken stones.

Why is she looking at that necklace? Tess wondered. Her clothes are well made, she should not be looking at a piece of trash like... Nervously, she started to hum a light tune as she feigned looking at another piece of jewelry. It was then the woman shifted angles just slightly, and Tess caught a momentary view of something inside her cloak that solved the entire issue immediately.

The hum changed into a vicious shriek, causing the woman to shudder violently before collapsing to the ground, blood streaming from her ears and eyes. As her cloak fell open, a rose, black as midnight, fell to the ground.

Tess immediately vaulted over the vendor’s stall, and ran at a full tilt towards the now scattering lines in front of Pelor’s House, one thing on her mind.

Protect the Prince!



“What in the Nine Hells?” Val looked up and behind. The noise had sounded like a lady’s scream, yet it echoed strangely, as if it had come from the far end of the plaza. But it was far too loud to have come from that far away, his mind realized. His hand flashed down to the hilt of his katana, as he felt Raven’s hand flash away from his.



Hemmel’s eyes immediately looked to where the shriek had come from. If some young lady dropped her bag of fruit, I swear... he started to grumble, until his eyes saw someone... one of Chali’s assassins, his mind realized, go down. Even before he saw the woman that had seemingly cut her down charging across the plaza, Hemmel had realized all hope of surprise was gone.

“Go! Go!” he shouted, longsword flashing into his hand. The crowds around him broke out into screams as he and Chali broke their hold of each other and charged at full run into the plaza. Once of the ‘peasants’ in front of him sudden spun to face the line of people in front of Pelor’s temple, knelt, and flashed out a large crossbow. With a dull clunk, its bolt slashed through the air.

Hemmel heard more clunks, and saw more momentary lines of black as bolts slashed through the air. Beside his head, he also heard much higher pitched whistles.... arrows. City watch or bodyguards! his mind affirmed, before he ducked into a crowd of people running away, screaming. While going against the crowd would be difficult, it would also make one of those flunkies shooting arrows at him have a harder time hitting their target.

Black cloaks were about, and out of the corner of his eyes, Hemmel could see fighting, some of the cloaks whirling and kicking... Chali’s assassins. Others he saw with blades that danced faster than those belonging to any city watch. The Baroness’ people!

Chali had broken ahead, and unfortunately the crowd of fleeing townsfolk was growing thin. The assassin had also abandoned all hope of surprise, and instead her black rose was out, as she dashed forward, crouched low to be able to slash with her dark weapon or deliver a stunning series of blows.

Not far ahead now, Hemmel could see them, clearly. The Crown Prince, in a brown cloak, had both of his swords out, set in classic scheme. Just like his mother. Beside him, the Dice girl had a long whip drawn... something that made Hemmel want to laugh. A dark cloaked man had a greatsword out next to both of them, and then there was someone else.... he didn’t have the time to know for sure.

Another sharp vicious shriek filled the air, this time coming from above, and Hemmel literally saw Chali’s head vibrate hideously before exploding. The corpse’s entrails flew forward, causing a massive red splatter on the formerly pristine plaza. Hemmel did not need to look up to know what had happened.

That muscial bitch! he wanted to snarl. In one fluid motion, he spun from his low crouch charge towards the prince and reached back into his flowing cloak. His eyes momentarily met her form, screeching and floating in the air, as he slipped out his special jitte. It flashed through the air, and he had the grim satisfaction of watching the Baroness’ form fall ungracefully some twenty feet onto the plaza below.

He’d hoped to use it to take down the Crown Prince, but the Baroness would have to do. He had a longsword and his fists... likely more than enough to take down his former master.


“Pelor’s Flaming Armpits!” Eyrna heard Constans shout, as chaos started. The sounds of screaming, of cries of terror filled her ears, even as whistles and thuds sounded around her, bolts and arrows flashing through the sky. The Prince had his two blades drawn, and the Dice girl had a whip of some kind out.

Eyrna might have been of noble blood, not trained on the rough and tumble streets, but she did have common sense. Initially she slipped behind Constans body, before ducking close to the temple walls, making herself as small a target as possible.

She saw four people rushing towards Constans, the Prince, and the Raven Dice... and she saw one of them literally explode after another one of the horrendous shrieks tore through the air. As the lead man of the other three attacks spun a weapon out towards the floating Tesseron, Eyrna caught a glimpse of his face... and her heart soared.

Hemmel!?



Valaron saw him coming as well, and let out a gutteral snarl. Two weeks of waiting had been satisfied, and the prince bared his teeth in welcome. As the assassin who had so sorely hurt his own mother drew to a halt, Val looked at him. He’ll have much of his breath, but not a full breath. He ran a small distance through a crowd to get here. You have an advantage. As the other two men closed, Val saw in the corner of his eye Raven and the dark man on the other side draw up to oppose them.

“Keep them off of my back!” Val hissed, watching Hemmel closely. Traitor! Traitor! his mind screamed.

To his surprise, Hemmel licked his lips, and to Val’s surprise, he drew a black and wicked looking longsword. So... the wretch knows swordplay? Val’s mind rang, just before his tactical mind took control. A briefest flash of memory from the night of the attack on his mother flashed in Val’s mind.

Watch his free hand, Val’s tactical mind reminded him, as well as his legs. They can be as deadly as his blade! The voice sounded amazingly like his mother’s. Whirling against him might be dangerous... you cannot leave your back on him, even momentarily!

“My prince,” Hemmel said, his voice sounding as if a thousand sand vipers had rubbed their scales together. Val resisted his urge to strike at the mockery, or pay attention to the whistles that sang over his head. Instead, he focused on the man in front of him. The whole man, Val! Look at HIM, not his fists or his blade! his mother’s voice rang.

The noises of battle washed over Val again, as he heard Constans’ blade sing in combat with the assassin that opposed him. The crack of Raven’s nagaika shattered the air next to him, a crack that turned to a grunt, a shout, and a flurry of noise. Nonetheless, Val watched his opponent. Hemmel’s face held a slight smile... a joy at finishing an unfinished piece of work. But when Val took in his eyes, he saw there was nothing... no emotion at all.

“I shall enjoy this immensely, my Lord Caladron,” Hemmel said, and then struck.

A blinding white light was all that Tess could see in front of her. The bard had been to Celestia, and seen where souls traveled for judgment, and this most certainly was not the path.

Where am I? her mind wondered, as a slight murmur filled her ears. Is it monks chanting? A prayer for the dead? Am I not dead, but not alive? The murmur was rising now, until it thundered into a gigantic roar. Desperately, her mind’s eyes swam about, trying to find its source, trying to find the monster she thought was bearing down on her. As she panicked, the roar grew louder than a bombard’s blast, and changed... instead of a continous noise, it broke apart, as if a massive drum was beating right next to her eardrum.

It was then she realized it was her own heartbeat.

The bright white light revealed the white Temple Plaza of Kulloden as she blinked, chaos still enveloping its once pristine walks of contemplation. It took the battered bard a moment to realize what was happening, but her mind jostled back with a sense of urgency once Vanerthorpe’s face fell into her line of sight, blood streaming from his mouth as his eyes stared lifelessly at her. She remembered herself high up, striking low the attackers headed towards the prince... and then a sharp pain... then falling...

Valaron! Raven! The bard tried to turn over, and instead felt a massive, searing pain flood her arms, soon to be complimented by a similar pain filling her belly. Take it easy... you’ve probably been hurt. Move slowly... you will be less likely to be noticed, and you won’t injure yourself more... Slowly, carefully she moved her head downward, and saw the hilt and part of the blade of a thin, rather nasty dagger sticking from her belly.

That’s how I fell, her mind thought rather dispassionately... something that surprised her. She then moved slowly to look at the arm she had tried to push off with, only to see it bent two directions, part of her forearm bone sticking from her skin like a bony knife.

That’s why I can’t push myself upright, the same analytical mind said. Maybe I can roll on the other arm... Gritting her teeth, Tess shifted her legs, pulling her body around slowly. To her relief, her other arm hurt, but not nearly as bad. Now partly on her stomach, the bard could look towards the Pelor Temple, and saw Val’s red head circling ‘round a dark haired man with blade drawn.

She looked down at her belly again, the knife still rising from it angrily. If I don’t get that blade out, I shall soon bleed to death. She moved her legs till she was more on her side, and reached her good arm down, grasping the dagger’s hilt.

You have felt worse Tess. This won’t feel bad at all, compared to what devils have done to you, she lied to herself. Her breaths came rapidly as she coached her courage up, before gripping the dagger tightly and wrenching it out.

Her scream of pain echoed over the plaza.



Raven did not hear Tess’ cry of pain, for it came at the same time as the scream of the assassin in front of her. The woman had charged her confidently, unarmed, and had been surprised when the rough whip at Raven’s side had lashed forth with more than mere leather. Now blinded, the woman stumbled to a halt before another snap of the nagiaka cut her throat to ribbons.

She did hear, however, the rapid song of two blades dueling next to her, and turned in time to see Val and the man opposing him at each other’s throats, their blades whirling and striking faster than her eye could track.

Val! Her first instinct was to jump in behind the man attacking her prince. Hold on! her mind raced, as she frantically tried to gauge distances, trying to track the blur that was the other, darker haired man. However, the whirl and swirl of blades was too fast, too quick for her to get a clear line, and she realized that her nagiaka might very well slash Valaron instead of his attacker.

More yells and shouts caused her to spin back around, and she saw a small group of the dark clad assassins charging towards the prince and his adversary. Six... six of them, she counted, her heart sinking. She knew she could not take them down with her nagiaka alone... and her mind flashed back to the armory... and her practices.

Focus, Raven... she heard a cool, calm voice inside her say. Despite every part of her body screaming not to, she closed her eyes, her nagiaka arm drifting out, away from her body. The battle seemed to slow, and the shouts became beacons in her mind. She felt the magic in her veins flow... rivulets of power forming a mighty stream down her free hand. When her eyes opened again, the panic that had been in them was gone.

As the closest of the six drew within about fifteen feet, she spun her entire body, putting all the torque and power her small frame could muster. The nagiaka sang through the air, whistling as it went. She felt rather than saw, the end of the whip snap around the lead assailant, and yet she kept spinning, stepping backward as she moved. A terrible scream filled her ears, and she could feel the glass shredding through the poor man’s body.

When she again faced the five remaining, their comrade was tumbling to the ground, his stomach shattered open, gripping his innards. She gave the whip a yank that brought it flashing back in front of her, cracking just inches from the other five. They skidded to a halt, as her free hand extended towards them. She felt a powerful release, as if a dam had collapsed in her arm. A small, tiny bead of light flashed from her hand, tumbling through the air towards the midst of the five...



“Move faster!” Harrapias shouted as the loud thunder of some kind of explosion echoed in his ears. His blade was out, as he felt his old legs piston like they hadn’t done in a long time. His breath came quick and deep, the rush and excitement pushing back the pain his body was likely screaming at him.

They’d marched to the Dice manor, only to find it empty. The servants stated that their Lady and the Prince had left for the Temple Plaza to go pay their respects to the Pelor House. I hope to Hieroneous the Merciful that they made it...

As they rounded the last corner and the seventeen paladins poured into the Temple Plaza, they could see a scene of horror and chaos. Bodies were strewn about, as arrows and bolts continued to sail through the air from archers behind turned over stalls and wagons that had been turned into sniper’s nests.

He looked about desperately, only to see something he had dreaded since the first screams had come that violence had exploded in the Temple Plaza. On the far end, he saw the prince, just as the Dice servants had said, save his blades were whirling and dancing about another man’s. There was no air of play in their movements, only the speed and deadly precision of moves intended for deadly results.

An arrow flashed by Harrapias, shortly followed by a small hail of bolts coming from three upturned stalls just in front of the paladin’s own temple. “Flush them out!” he snarled to four of the paladins, who charged towards the offenders, blades raised to inflict the ultimate punishment. The battle priest, for his part, broke his tired legs into another run, across the plaza towards his prince...


Eyrna pressed herself closer to the wall, as bolts and arrows clattered on the stone pavement around her. The noise of swords ringing hurt her ears, which she held covered. Out of barely opened eyes did she see Contans sword come crashing down on the man in front of him, only to have the assassin deftly dodge the heavy blow. Beyond him, the Prince and his attacker were in the midst of a deadly dance, which neither side seeming to gain a good hand. The Dice girl was nervously eyeing the Prince’s combat, and watching a slew of new people charging into the plaza.

How shall I strike out in this, Tarantor on High? she mumbled to herself. She was not gifted in bladework, or much fighting at all. She was quick... That might serve for something, she thought as she watched the massive blows Constans tried to level on his opponent strike air again and again.

But she is unarmed... Eyrna thought watching his opponent, Yet she moves with an arrogant confidence even greater than his. Constans face was now filled with rage at the small creature deftly ducking his blows, and Eyrna caught what was happening. She is tiring him... but for what? Her fists are too small to...

Her mind froze as she saw the young woman flip out something small and black... a small rose. Immediately the entire situation made sense, as the woman deftly dodged another powerful, yet clumsy swing from the bigger man, before flicking the rose along his arms. Constans eyes bulged out, and he stumbled back, gurgling. He collapsed back, shaking lightly in death spasms.

The Black Rose! Eyrna thought with excitement, and now she realized Hemmel’s confidence in charging into the plaza. By now, she had uncovered her eyes, and openly watched as the Black Rose woman now looked to Valaron’s combat, trying to slash the prince.

He and his line deserve nothing less, Eyrna hoped, only to see the Dice girl dash her hopes to the ground. That damnable whip of hers that had downed so many of Hemmel’s comrades lashed out again, and the Black Rose lost her hand in its first strike. As the woman screamed, a second strike opened her from belly to throat.

“Dammit!” Eyrna snapped. Boldness in this? How am I to be bold? her mind thought.



Valaron gave a sharp curse in frustration as he and Hemmel parted momentarily. The prince was breathing heavy, and his arms seemed to be made more and more of lead rather than flesh. Hemmel’s eyes danced with laughter, and his taunts had yet to stop.
“My prince, your mother always said you needed to build up your endurance. Growing tired in combat can be deadly,” Hemmel mockingly chided, before a flurry of blade thrusts and swings from his free hand assaulted him. Val swung his two blades in quickly, slashing circles in front of him, and move designed to force his opponent to give him space. His shoulders were screaming at him... Hemmel had landed a sharp blow on both early in the fight. His heart raced, his face flushed with exertion and anger.

He is trying to anger me, Val heard part of his mind. Valaron heard his mother’s instructing voice in his head again. Taunting is a two edged sword, son. Don’t let your opponent make you strike in anger. Strike only with sureness and resolve, not fury. Val edged back more, his blades in guard positions. He was on defense already, and he could sense the wall of the Pelor temple close behind him. I’m out of room.

“I think of your mother and sister often, boy,” Hemmel smiled wickedly, “and of how I shall use them again and again after you and your father are dead!” He laughed, circling Val like a vulture marking a dead carcass. “Or perhaps I should leave you alive, and let you watch?”

Instantly what coolness remained in Val’s mind was replaced with blind fury. Traitor! Val’s mind screams. Without bidding, only on unseeing, primeval instinct, did Valaron’s katana and washazaki lash out, twin blades of death each intended for one of Hemmel’s eyes.

It took only an instance for Val to realize the mistake he’d made, when he saw Hemmel’s blade dip then slash upward with immense force, catching both of the prince’s swords. Val felt a powerful slug in his stomach, and his body crumpling as he doubled over. A second sharp pain slammed through the back of his head, and he suddenly found himself on the ground. The back of his neck prickled as he felt something ice cold slide along it.

“Stop!” he heard Hemmel’s voice call, and Raven’s voice cry. “Move another step, and His Royal Highness will find himself without a head!” That was Hemmel’s shout. He heard a laugh... a raving laugh, one of triumph. “My prince, it is over! It seems the Dragon did not teach you all her abilities!” There was the noise of him sucking in air, before a whisper floated down to the prince’s ears. “I shall remember this moment when I break in your sister.”

I failed, was all Val could think, rage coursing through his veins. He felt himself tense up, even as his mind realized any movement would result in the blade slamming even sooner into the back of his neck. He heard Raven’s voice crying, offering everything, even herself, if Val might be spared. He does not want you, Raven! Run! He wants me! Val wanted to shout. I have failed... and now the drow will get the Fire Stone... my House will fall, and there will war upon war...

Val felt the icy feeling on the back of his neck move with a sudden jerk, and for an instant he thought it was the end. He expected to suddenly have his sight go black, and feel himself flying to the winds of Celestia, but instead he heard an odd, strange gurgling sound, like someone trying to breath through water. He glanced up, only to see an image that would be burned into his soul the rest of his days.

Against the bright light of the sun, Hemmel’s dark form rocked, then crumpled backwards, the sharp tip of a blade coming from his chest like a spire of Hieroneous rising into the heavens...



Eyrna wanted to scream when she saw Hemmel fall like a ragdoll, the Hieroneous paladin’s blade sticking from him like an obscene finger. The old man gave a sharp curse, rolled Hemmel’s limp form over, and pulled his blade from the assassin’s back. Hemmel had backed the prince so close before dying that Eyrna could almost feel the assassin’s last gasps of life rattling from his throat.

Bastards! she wanted to snarl, her fists clenching and unclenching. Her eyes desperately cast about, until she saw Constans’ still warm corpse only inches from her... a dirk still strapped to his waist.

She heard Val say something to the priest, but she did not focus on them now. Be bold... this is your moment! her heart cried, Strike back for your father! She fumbled with the dead man’s belt, and within seconds had the dirk. Her eyes, wild and feral with fury, looked at the prince and his savior.

Valaron was starting to rise, clutching his stomach. The Dice girl was beside him, an arm around his shoulder. All eyes were on him, and Eyrna realized none were watching her. It was then she drew close...



“Are you alright?” Raven was already by Val’s side. When he grimaced and motioned at his stomach, she was already lifting his tunic... which revealed a blue and black bruise, already massive and angry from where Hemmel’s fist had knocked him low. Another bruise was forming on the back of his neck, and she noted with alarm that he couldn’t move his left arm.

She paid no attention to the silence now surrounding her... the crashings had all ceased. The only thing she noticed was Valaron, and the obvious pain on his face.

“Is anything broken?” she asked again. She heard his teeth click as he gritted them hard, and he nodded yes. Running a hand along his stomach bruise, his ribs underneath felt unnatural... they moved far too easily, and he bit on his lip so hard when she touched them that a small trickle of blood formed when he grunted.

“His ribs are broken, Commander,” she looked up at Harrapias. He was also quickly by the prince, his own hands feeling along the ribs. With this intrusion, Val let out a shout of pain, and then a whimper.

“He has three broken ribs at least,” the priest said quietly. “Run into Pelor’s House, and tell the Holy Light to come forth. Tell him that his friend Harrapias demands it. He will know.”

Raven was up even before the old paladin had finished his request. When she spun towards the Pelor Temple, she suddenly stopped.

For there Eyrna stood, inches from Valaron, a long sharp dirk in her hands.

“No!” Raven screamed, lunging forward, but the Erelion woman had cat-like reflexes, deftly slipping aside, her blade flashing in front of the Prince’s neck. Her eyes flamed with something dark and evil, and Val let out an unholy cry of pain when she hefted him to his feet with dark strength borne of angry vengeance.

“If any of you twitch, you shall find your prince with a new mouth in the midst of his throat!” she snarled. Her eyes were feral, as she pulled him back towards the temple, the blade mere inches from his throat. “I believe Lord Valaron has a Stone he must fetch! She looked about, desperation blazing from her eyes.



The dreams of the bold come true! I am bold! I shall have the Fire Stone! her mind raved as she pulled the Prince closer to the gate entrance to Pelor’s House, putting distance between herself and the terror-struck muddle of survivors. The Prince was thankfully pliant, save it appeared Hemmel had battered him quite bad. He could hardly move.

No matter... I need him only take this stone back to my Uncle... and then... and then... Her mind dismissed the problems posed by using the stone. She had committed... it was too late to change course. She saw the Dice girl headed towards her, eyes pleading again.

“Back away! He will carry the stone for me!” Eyrna shouted. It is so close... only inside the walls of that Temple... She backed closer and closer to its gate.

“That won’t be necessary,” a deep, horribly familiar voice echoed from beyond the walls of Pelor’s Temple. There was a rumbling chuckle of laughter, before the same voice spoke, “You see, dear Lady Eyrna... we already have the stone!”

Ananias felt warm all over as the girl spun to face him, a feeling like warm butter flowing over his body, coming from the large stone clutched in his left palm. It was about the size of a large apple, a perfect sphere that was solid ruby, polished and opaque. The once king fondly thought of only a few minutes before... when he’d first laid eyes on his lost prize, flames seemingly licking in its depths.

As her words echoed in his mind, his brow furrowed. He will carry the stone for me? What stone? They couldn’t be speaking of this one... only I can carry it! I am the last of the line... He looked over to the craggy old man next to him, clad in the bright armor of a paladin of Pelor. Elsidor’s disguise couldn’t hide the malacious smile that filled his lips.

“Very good!” he heard the girl stammer, “Now, hand me the stone, as you promised! Your reward will be the fall of the Imperial line!” she called, making Ananias raise his own disguised eyebrows. It seems Elsidor was busy before he fetched me... the drow is smarter than I assumed. Ananias’ past life had been filled with intrigue and treachery... and he refused to assume that this drow had raised him and would honorably treat to a bargain.

“Lady Eyrna... poor creature,” he heard the drow rumble next to him through his disguise, “you see... I have the Fire Stone now. I have no need for you! Go ahead and kill the Crown Prince... it shall only make our job easier!” As Ananias watched, the wizened crone of Pelor shift, shrinking in height and darkening in complexion until an ebony skinned drow stood, his white eyes blazing. Elsidor’s five companions came up behind him, and they too shifted back to their natural forms, shrugging off the drow’s powerful magic.

The woman’s eyes below them blazed with fury. I would too, Ananias wanted to chuckle, watching her tremble as she held the dirk close to the young boy’s neck. The once king found his gaze drawn to the young man, who likely had no idea what was befalling him.

He has red hair... rather odd. There are no redheaded noble families in the Eastern Empire, where the Emperor comes from... the once King rumbled, before assuming some intermarriage had occurred. Seeings that his erstwhile allies had shifted back, he closed his eyes, and let his magic wash over him. The cloaks and furrows of Pelor’s servant washed away, leaving a tall, gaunt man, a mop of red hair cascading from the crown of his head.

Why do the drow always taunt? he thought as Elsidor continued to mock his former patron as they walked down the temple steps, ever closer to the gate. Bored, Ananias let his gaze look over the rest of the motley people gathered in the plaza. He saw several paladins of Hieroneous, marks for destruction in his first demonstration of what the stone could do. He saw several wounded black cloaks, some with crossbows, some with bows, some unarmed, some with swords. Behind the woman and her captive ‘prince’ was another girl... a few years younger, looking on in abject horror, what looked to be a whip at her side.

Then his eyes caught her.

Off in the distance, laying on the ground, but not dead. Ananias’ eyes alone saw she wasn’t moving, but his other senses told her her heart still beat. Instantly, the once king froze up, the last image of his previous demonic life flashing across his vision. The bard charging him, screaming a deathcry, a dagger high above her head... then blackness.

Dark thoughts immediately flooded his mind, plotting how to get rid of this woman. His mind grew so focused that he did not see the enraged woman holding the prince charge at Elsidor. HE did hear her death scream, as her mouth suddenly began spewing blood. Her charge collapsed a few feet in front of the drow’s feet, and he watched as she gurgled, clawing at the air.

Ah... drowned in her own blood. How... quaint, Ananias thought. He then looked down, towards the still stunned gaggle. “May I kill off the prince with the demonstration of the Stone?” he asked Elsidor. My stone... Ananias thought. Only he would know how to use it properly, not the drow, nor any of these fools below. When Elsidor nodded, Ananias gave a wicked smile.



Harrapias stood, his feet feeling like lead as he watched the Erelion daughter run at the drow, only to see her collapse, blood streaming from her mouth. He saw the drow lean in to hear something the tall red-head next to him said, and the redhead grin at the crown prince.

He wasn’t sure what the brief comment was about, but the look in the man’s eyes told him everything he needed to know. Harrapias’ blade was out, and from somewhere within him, the old warrior found energy again. He leapt forward, a lion charging towards his prey.

I must get close! If I can, their spells will not avail them when steel slices their throats! He heard a suddenly rush, the clank of armor, and knew his paladins were close behind. A brief, unsaid prayer to his protector echoed in his mind, as closed with the two wizards...



For a brief instant, it all appeared as from a bard’s song... the paladins streaming forward, blades above their heads, their echoing call, “Valor!” thundering around the plaza. Until Ananias pulled forth the Fire Stone.

The air all across the plaza seemed to grow thick, shimmering as if the stones beneath were baking in heat. The shimmering fell into globs... red sticky globs, that quickly grew and shaped into the forms of men in full armor.

Thousands of them, covering the plaza, slowly rising to form an army...

The paladins streamed forward as Ananias’ army formed, still coming... until Elsidor’s hand jutted out from his body as a craggy rock overlooks an impudent sea. The elderly lead paladin, along with his comrades, was suddenly lifted skyward. Shouts, cries and screams arose from the throats of some of the paladins, but the old man in the lead merely glared.

Elsidor gave a vicious snarl, and with a horrific snap of crunching bones and shattered skulls, he squeezed his hand shut. What fell to the earth were not the bodies of men, merely piles of pulverized blood, bone and gore.



Raven’s eyes went wide in horror at the scene of mangled ruin that now covered the entrance to the House of Pelor. The two wizards and their five companions started down the stairs, their eyes focused not on her, but on the coughing, pain filled form laying in front of her.

Valaron.

They mean to kill him! she panicked, seeing their approach. I need to do something! Anything! No thought crossed her mind of what would happen if she interfered, no fear for herself entered her mind. Instead, only fear of what these two wizards would do, now that one of them possessed the Fire Stone.

Then her mind stopped.

It can only be carried by someone of Caladron blood! Yet that red head is carrying it... which means he must be...

Her knees quaked again, as she saw Ananias coming closer. The stories her father had told her echoed in her mind... of a beast powerful enough to nearly kill their group of heroes, a towering monilith of ice. Somehow, seeing that creature in the form of a man was all the more frightening.

The four dark drow behind the lead one started forward, past Ananias and Elsidor, towards her love. What can I do? her mind raced. Her mind flashed back, towards a time six years before... and a lecture from her father.

”You should NOT have gone in there with that young dragon! How could you have known it was safe?” he asked her, eyes filled not only with anger but deep concern.

“It was safe!” she heard her own voice reply, bubbly and young. “Valaron, Vintressa, Rose and Shawn were with! Amarine was there too, and if it wasn’t safe, we could’ve fought him off, just like you fought off a dragon, daddy!” she replied smartly, hoping she’d trapped her father.

“No, my dear. It’s not the same. You had a choice whether to fight. In those stories when I fought those demons, those monsters, I had NO choice. There are times where one must be prudent, and avoid danger... and there are times where one must rush danger to overcome it. This was clearly the former, NOT the latter.”

...There are times where one must rush danger... Raven’s mind repeated. Valaron needs my help! He can’t defend himself! I have to defend him! Gone were the normal voices chastising her that she was a mage, not a combatant. Gone were the feelings that she wasn’t up to the task... all replaced with a simple desperate realization of, I must do this!

As if unbidden, her hand rose, pointing at the drow closing with Valaron. There was no repitition of an incantation learned at the Academy, there was no moment of contemplation to focus her energy. The stream of magic running down her arm became a torrent, her desperation, her fear building its power. It rose, frothing higher and higher in her mind, thundering down her arm, until exploding from her fingertips.

Pain shot through her arm, and a primal scream echoed over the noise of the unholy army assembling behind her. A brilliant, explosive crash flashed through the air, a blinding burst of light causing her eyes to see stars.

As the noise died, the purple and green spots in her eyes cleared, and she saw five piles of dust where the drow once stood. Her arm still flared with pain from the untrained, uncontrolled magical blast, yet she found her feet walking forward, towards the other two, her nagiaka once again out, away from her body.

“Oho! A fighter we have here!” the drow openly mocked her. “Her little burst of magic makes her think she is strong!”



Ananias blinked in surprise at the girl’s blast of power. Part of his brain was rather impressed, that so much magic could flow from someone so young. Another part found her foolish, especially when she started advancing on Elsidor. I could have used someone like her in my army that day... he reflected on a time long ago. There was fear in her eyes, but it was controlled, used for extra strength and speed, not soiling her trousers.

“I am Raven Dice, daughter of Maestress Elenya Dice, chief of the Kulloden Mage’s Guild,” the girl said coldly, precisely, as she moved forward. “My powers pale in comparison to those of House Caladron, whose son and blood you are harassing!” she growled. She kept advancing, even as Elsidor laughed at her.

Ananias’ mind, however, was hung on her last phrase. House Caladron? It can’t be... my line is dead! Killed off by the Emperors of Iskeldrun! He looked up towards Elsidor in confusion, as he let a small burst of magic he had not used in a long long time towards her.

“The Imperial line will soon be a ragged house, not worthy of note!” the drow snapped back angrily, his hand already rising in power. “None care of the power of House Caladron, not the power of its Emperor, its Empress, or this jackled fool of a prince!” Elsidor’s hand began to glow with power...



Raven felt nothing but pain... immediate and vicious pain, as if someone’s hand was wrapped around her heart, squeezing and squeezing it, not letting her breathe. She felt her nagaika slip from her grip, the pain growing more and more intense as the drow’s hand glowed more and more. Finally, she felt a burning in her chest, as her lungs screamed for air.

Suddenly, the burning stopped, and the pain abated. She felt her heart beating again, as she fell to the ground, gasping hard for air. She turned her eyes towards the drow, only to see the drow himself hanging just inches off of the ground, as if an invisible set of hands had held him there.



Ananias’ blood boiled, as he stared down Elsidor in his fury.

”I thought you said my House was dead!? My family ruined!?” he roared, his hand still outstretched, fingers splayed wide as Elsidor continued to float.

“She lies! She lies! You would believe that girl who openly defends the son of the Emperor instead of the elf that raised you from your deadly slumber!?” Elsidor rasped in indignation. “Fool!”

“She tells the truth!” Ananias snapped back. I know! I felt it through the small magic I judged petitions with when I was a noble long ago! “My family lives, and rules from Iskeldrun! You would have me kill my own blood!?”

“It did not stop your great-granddaughter!” Elsidor rasped back. “Now drop me, you fool, before you do something we both will regret!”

“I shan’t regret watching you choke! Dung left by mother earth!” Ananias shouted back. You are in no position to threaten me, scum!

“If you kill me,” Elsidor’s voice was growing thin a reedy, as the air to his lungs was being cut more and more, “you will die too! The magic that raised you is tied to me! If... I...die...you...die...” The drow kicked his feet, trying to wriggle loose, and he managed to open his airway a little more. “You agreed this for the Imperial crown?! Its still yours, if you let me go!” the drow offered. “All yours!”

Ananias regarded him darkly, thoughts crossing and recrossing his mind. The images he’d constructed from the drow’s descriptions... his descendent, the Countess, and her baby burning to death in a fiery pyre... the cruel Emperor Alexander supervising the rapine and destruction of his city.

I hated the Countess... she stripped me of my magic when she used the staff... but she was my blood... MY BLOOD, he had snapped when Elsidor had told him. My family is ruined!

And so as my family fell, so shall the Emperor’s House fall!

“Yet now they are alive,” he whispered to himself. His great-great-great grandson was now Emperor in Iskeldrun. Was his mother, the Countess Empress before him? Ananias did not know which part of Elsidor’s stories were lies, and which were truth. Rage filled him again...



Valaron blinked, every part of his body screaming the same thing. Pain. Her arms, his back, his stomach, every part of him had pure pain coursing through it. He heard Raven’s voice, her threat, empty as it was, and he knew he had to stand. For his family, for her, for the Empire.

Come on Val! Get up! he yelled at himself, as he pushed off the ground with his good arm. His back muscles let their anger be known, but tightened as he lifted himself up. Now on his knees, his bleary eyes saw Raven fall to the ground, and then the dark drow lift to the sky.

GET UP! his mind screamed hurriedly, as he set his good arm on the ground, and carefully, painfully moved a leg. Each breath he took burned like a thousand iron daggers into his chest. I cannot fall! he realized, My ribs are broken... a bad fall and one could end up in my lung!

His eyes still fastened on the image of the drow kicking in the sky, yelling at his companion. He then turned to see the red haired man snarling at his companion, as Val reached for the walls about Pelor’s Temple. Leaning into his good arm, he slowly rose, one foot, then the other. Unsteadily, weakly, he stumbled one step forward. He tried to talk, but the pain was too much, and he only wheezed as Ananias looked at him.



That is my blood! Right there! Ananias looked at the copper skinned prince, clinging to the wall with his broken body. The sight of him so broken caused Ananias’ rage to course even higher.

“I came to avenge my defeat! To avenge my family! And I see that has already been done!” he growled, feeling his own magic course through his veins, towards his outstretched fingers. Each digit seemed to crackle with power, and from his fingertips five points of light formed.

They grew larger, lengthing from points into long daggers, the ice that made them shining clear in the morning light. With a roar, he launched them towards the drow. As they grew slammed into his chest, a bright light seemed to silently build from both of them, increasing in size and intensity.

As the light dimmed, the Fire Stone fell to the steps of Pelor’s Temple, before rolling down the last few steps. Like a bauble, it bounced and skittered, rolling forward until it came to a rest at the feet of a stunned Valaron...

Ari looked about him. The midday sun hung high in the clear, cloudless sky, its light reflecting all the colors in the rainbow from the stained glass windowed Hall of Kings towering above the dragon. He sniffed... his human form had the sniffles sometimes.

From Ari’s bright yellow hair, flecks of green, blue and red seemed to trickle down only to vanish before his shoulders. His sky blue eyes looked down, and he gave a worried huff. His clothes were garishly bright, just like he liked them... a bright yellow doublet matching his hair, and lavender trousers that matched his skin. The colors were meant to make Vintressa laugh when she came... they said she would be sad.

A rumbling screech of metal echoed from the far end of the plaza inside the Imperial palace complex, from one of the elegantly designed inner gatehouses whose spires reached gracefully (and from a military standpoint, quite uselessly) into the heavens. A clatter of hooves on stone rose to a rumble, as a column of rideres, their dark cloaks streaming behind them, thundered inside the palace.

Ari looked about them, and quickly found the blonde girl in the lead, already jumping off of her horse. She was working at untying a dark bag of some kind thrown over the back of her mare, and Ari stopped, puzzled as two of the other riders dashed over to help her. They then slid the bundle off the back of the horse, carefully to the ground.

Then Ari saw his head. The dragon didn’t recognize the fellow, his skin was a very pale orange... a color Ari thought strange. There were no other prismatic dragons, and he also watched as the young man’s ears swiveled about as he groaned. No human ears did that. The two riders that had helped Vin carried him off, with Vin looking after them hopefully.

“Vinny?” Ari asked, his voice musical and sweet as he spoke.

Vintressa turned, and Ari saw her blue eyes were deep as the sea, shimmering for a second before a tear coursed down her cheek.

“What happened, Vinny?” the young dragon simply asked. She didn’t answer, instead grabbing him tight and giving him a massive hug. Ari coughed for a second, the hug was so hard, until Vintressa let him go with a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Simple Ari,” she sighed, looking into his eyes.

“You’re hurting? Why? What happened? Can I fix it?” Ari asked in quick succession. “I’ll fix it if I can!”

“Simple, loving Ari,” she smiled sadly. “Unless you are a master healer, I don’t know if you can fix some things. Unless you are a master commander, I don’t know if you can fix other things,” she said softly, before one of the dark cloaks loomed behind her.

“Your Highness,” the man bowed, and Vintressa gave Ari one last pat on the shoulder.

“I need to talk to these gentlemen, Ari. Go on up to the your chambers... I’ll meet you up there as soon as I can,” she said gently, before turning away. Ari stood for a moment, before realizing she meant for him to leave. As he walked away, the dragon could hear hushed tones, hurt tones between Vintressa and the man.

Hushed means secrects. Hurt means... politics, the dragon thought simply as the long shadows of the palace enveloped him.



“Your Highness, we have only ten thousand to watch the city walls... the city is far too large for us to man every portion of the wall... even if we call forth the city watch!”

Vintressa heard the voice of her Household Guard commander, and bit her lower lip, trying to focus her mind here, on the grounds of one of the palaces many plazas, and not in the building next door, where the wounded were being tended. Vin... Royukgan needs you here! she barked at herself. Here, listening to Avaril and the other city defenders! She pushed the painful images of his badly injured form from her mind, his groans and cries during the hurried ride back to the capital.

“So you are saying that unless my mother or father’s armies come up, the city is undefendable?” She started walking towards the Hall of Kings, the usual place for meetings between the Imperial government and its military commanders. “There’s no possible way my mother or father can force-march themselves back to the city before Erelion’s troops arrive.”

“I fear we may have to abandon the city,” Avaril said quietly, the tone so hushed so that no one else could hear his suggestion.

For that, Vintressa was thankful. The last thing her beleaguered Regency needed was a mass panic that the Imperial family and army were abandoning the capital. That would have sparked a mad panic... prices would have soared, and tens of thousands would have clogged all roads leading out of the city trying to flee.

And Vintressa closed her eyes on thinking what they would be fleeing from. Her father had spoken of it in hateful terms, as he told her of the noble rebellion when she was four. The noble armies of Erelion and Comnitas had seized five villages and towns on their way to Iskeldrun, and even to this day, her father’s description sickened her.

When we marched back through, the towns were all burnt. Mothers, some missing limbs, all horribly violated, stumbling through the ashes, calling for children long dead. Men hung from boughs, or were dangling from stakes, doomed to death for defending the honor of their wives or children. Not a child was to be found alive within that expanse... some were dead... many more were dragged off into slavery, cleaning the feet of the knights that had tramped through... or worse...

She shuddered, her mind’s eye watching as Erelion’s army marched into Iskeldrun. The city burning, soldiers running through the streets carrying off the gold and jewels of ten thousand homes, having their way with the women, manacling the children, and slaying the men, the streets running red, oh so red, with the blood of thousands.

“No... we cannot abandon the city,” Vintressa replied softly. I can’t do that to all of these people. There is no way for them to flee the city in time! And this Lord Erelion’s armies are lkely to commit the same atrocities as the last one!

“Pardon, Highness?” Avaril stopped suddenly, looking at her.

We can’t flee... we can’t sit here? What do we do? her mind raced. She heard the noise of feet running behind her, but paid no attention as her heart sank. I don’t know what to do! We have to fight, but how!? Ten thousand versus sixty? My mother or father could beat those odds, but I can’t!

“Highness! Highness!” Vintressa recognized the voice of one of the under-court mages. His heavy breathing belied his portly status... for one of his size to be running towards her meant something important.

“Highness! A teleport came in... from Kulloden, Your Highness!” he breathed out, before having to grab his knees and catch his breath.

Kulloden? Valaron!

“Your brother, His Highness, has returned to us!” the man breathed heavily. “He... he is gravely wounded, but he comes with a stone... large, round and red!”

Vintressa was dashing towards the teleportation chambers before the man could say any more.



“Fetch him some water!” Raven barked, relaying the command from the healer already looking over Val’s battered form. The pain in her chest remained, dull and insistent, but fading.

“Will Val be okay?” Ari’s look was curiousity mixed with concern. Raven nodded her head a hopeful yes, even though her eyes screamed a, “no!” Her mind remembered the tortured look on his face after the drow and Ananias had gone up in that flash of energy… when he reached down to pick up the ruby now caught in his grip, and had fallen forward, more sickening cracks coming from his chest. His agonizing cries as Tess’ warriors helped her drag him to the teleportation chamber, to rush him back to the Imperial palace and its expert healers.

Val’s face looked even worse than before. His normally coppery skin had bled dry of color, and his breathing was quick and shallow, only coming through gritted teeth. The healers had seemed relieved that no blood came from his mouth... at least his broken ribs had not hit his lungs.

“It’ll be alright, Val!” she ran a hand along his forehead, a tear coming down her face. She saw his eyes still followed her, a fact that was giving her strength. He still watches me... he has not faded. “The healer will make things right!”

“If Ray says things are going to be okay, it is! Ray doesn’t lie good!” Ari added with a child-like smile on his man’s face.

“I... hope... so... it... hurts...” he rasped out slowly after the clerics had finished their probings of his wounds. Sweat was forming on his brow, just like it had during the teleportation. And like then, she now cradled his head gently.

Nervously Raven looked towards the other traveler that had come with, who sat in a tired heap in the far corner of the chamber, another cleric checking her over. Raven could hear her Aunt’s protests, very soft. “Go see to the prince. I am fine. See to him,” she kept saying softly, demands the cleric ignored as he bandaged her stomach.

“Go tend to your Aunt Tess, Ari,” Raven said softly. “Someone should be beside her just as I’m beside Val here.” In truth, Raven felt her defenses giving, and the last thing she wanted was to start crying in front of the young prismatic dragon. While he takes the form of a young man, he is only six... young even in human years. She watched sadly as his naive optimism jogged over to Tess’ location, a cheery, “You’ll be okay Auntie, Raven said so!” coming from his lips.

“I...still...have...it?” Val asked her slowly, his eyes looking deep into hers. Raven blinked away the nascent tear in her eye, and cast a reassuring glance to his less injured right arm and smiled at the ruby sphere clasped there.

“Yes. Yes you do Val,” she whispered back, over the start of prayers to Honoria and Pelor, requesting his broken body be mended. She saw Val’s eyes close, and he visibly winced as a rather sickening crunch came from his chest and stomach. The huge black bruise there seemed to lift, as if his insides were being re-arranged. Raven quickly took his hand into hers, and felt a vice-like grip almost crush her palm.

“It’ll be alright... it’ll be alright,” she kept saying softly as the priests moved their hands across Val’s body, other horrible noises rising as Val’s body re-adjusted, wounds bound themselves, and bones slid back into place. The small noise of the whispered prayers and calls finally died away, and the priest of Honoria, one of the elders in that church, turned to Raven.

“He needs rest. Rest for this day and next,” he said softly. “He will be very sore, for quite some time. Some servants should mix some lavendar milk, or poppy wine if the pain becomes unbearable.”

“The... pain...will...not,” Val said hoarsely, still in apparent pain.

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” Raven nodded to the man, only to hear a loud crash from behind her. Before she could turn around, Vintressa was beside her, tears streaming down her face.

“Not you too!” she kept repeating, running her hand over the bruise covering half of his stomach. “Not you too!”

“What happened?” Raven asked, her attention partially diverted to Vintressa. Val is healing now. Now another needs healing of a different kind. She put an arm around the Princess.



“It’s my fault!” Vintressa blurted out. It’s all my fault! Royukgan was right! A battle was not my place! If I hadn’t rode out there, intent on saving the day, he wouldn’t be on death’s door! And enemies would not be marching on the city! All of her pent up guilt and fear tumbled forth, as she leaned over the broken form of her brother.

“What is?” she heard Raven’s calm voice ask. Between tears, Vintressa managed to tell Raven what had happened... her plan gone awry, Royukgan’s grievous injuries, the armies marching on the capital.

“...and that’s why its all my fault!” the Princess sputtered at the end, tears still coursing down from her guilt-riddled eyes.

“They’re... coming... here?” Ari’s musical voice asked, before changing to a growl, rumbling deeper and louder than no man’s should. “Then I will turn to a dragon, and shred them before they can hurt my Aunt Tess, my Ray, my Vinny, and my Val!”

Vintressa only could cast a sad smile towards the dragon. You are so young... you don’t understand yet what this all means! Her tears increased as she imagined Ari bravely trying to fight... she wasn’t even sure if he knew how to. Vintressa’s head lowered, until she was looking directly down in her guilt... directly into her brother’s eyes.

“That... was... very... brave...” Valaron’s quiet voice could be barely heard, but in Vintressa’s mind, it came with the power of a thunderbolt. “...You... saved... mother... and... father.” When she looked down at him, she saw pride in his pained eyes, and a tense, terse grin on his pained face.

“It... was?” she sniffled.

“If... Ari...can... help... I... can... help...” he said again, turning his head slowly towards the orb in his grasp.

“Now, how did they make this work?” Vintressa said an hour later. A warmth flooded her body, radiating from the ruby orb in her hand. It already feels warm. Her heart had slowed, once it became apparent Val was okay. As for Royukgan, she hadn’t seen him, but the clerics had assured her the worst had past. “You said it started to make... soldiers?” She looked at her tired looking friend.

“Yeah, they were forming until Ananias vanished,” Raven mumbled back. Her eyes were no longer strained, as the tenseness in her chest was long gone. “He mumbled something, I couldn’t hear what he said clearly, and I couldn’t make it out on his lips.”

“Well, you aren’t the best lip reader,” Vin replied, before looking back at the stone. Now that we have this thing... how do we use it? Do we WANT to use it? “What language was it? Could you tell?” I can’t use my magical sight on this thing... I think my eyes would burn. Her regular eyes could easily see the air around the stone shimmering from the magical power within.

“None that I know... it sounded harsh, and had lots of growls I think,” Raven tried desperately to remember, only to have her mind draw a blank. “Maybe it was the language of the drow? Or... maybe it was a demon tongue. Ananias gave up his life to be a demon, right?”

“Umhm...” If it requires demonic speech to use the power of this stone, I’m not so sure we should keep it. Vin finally set the orb down on the ground, sitting down next to it, thinking as the warm feeling left her body. Do we want to use this? If it makes soldiers, we could defend Iskeldrun... but how would I tell them what to do? Are the soldiers illusions? Vin asked Raven the questions on her mind.

“I... don’t really know,” Raven said thoughtfully. “They were almost materialized when Ananias killed off the drow, and they melted away once he died,” she shrugged. Vin then looked up towards the five most senior court wizards, who were all busy staring at the stone in puzzlement.

“Master Aeron, can you tell me anything more about this thing?”

“Other than its magic is powerful, deep, and has been touched by evil, no,” the Chief Court Mage sighed. “I would not advise Your Highness to be in contact with it for too long... we do not know what effects it could have on the body.”

“It did not affect Val in an ill way,” Vin replied, picking the stone up again, and feeling the warmth fill her body again. “It... might be useful in defending the city. It makes soldiers, Raven has told us that. What we need to do is figure out how.” The Princess then turned to Avaril, the officer having changed into the more formal silver plated armor of the Household Guard. “How long do we have before Lord Erelion’s hosts arrive?”

“Perhaps two days. His vanguard marches through the villages of Thorpe and Genays as we speak,” he replied. “What does Your Highness intend? As things are, we cannot stand with them in an open battle.”

“I fear it will have to be an open battle. We cannot abandon the souls inside these walls without one,” Vin said slowly, her mind returning to the images of a conquering army inside the walls. She gave a mental shudder. “I am their Princess, I have been charged with defending them.”

Avaril’s eyes looked into the Princess’ briefly, and Vin could tell he was trying to judge her resolve. After a moment, the armor-clad man gave a bow of deference. “As you command, Your Highness.”

“Aeron... you are a master of languages as well as magic. What are some common command words in the Demonic tongue?” Vin asked pointedly. I don’t like this thing either... but I don’t see any other way. If it can help us hold off Erelion long enough we can evacuate the city...



“Nik’Tados Mil’Farghan!” Vintressa snapped, watching the five apparitions form into a line. While her heart trembled as if she had seen a ghost, the five were clearly not phantasmal. They were clad in heavy chain hauberks, the metal being dyed a deep, rusty red. Their shields were blank, the same red coloring that steel. Each carried what looked to be a well made longsword, and their helms were closed-faced, the steel flowing in feather shapes to completely cover their heads. No single part of their body was uncovered by armor or tunic, so it was impossible to see what was underneath.

“Highness, I am not sure if this is wise,” she heard Aeron’s voice repeat, echoing off the walls of the plaza inside the palace. It had taken two hours of guessing to find the command words to make soldiers form. And instead of hundreds, Vintressa created five. It had taken even more guessing to find the ways to get the five to do simple things such as walk forward, move back, and draw their weapons.

Vintressa shot him a defiant look. I got all of us in this mess... and now I will get all of us out! Val is down, Royukgan is down! I have to defend them! her eyes blazed. She heard another voice... this time of her father, coming into her head.

Sometimes, in order to save an angel, once must be willing to dance with a devil, he’d told her long ago after a particularly raucous Council meeting.

“It’s better than the alternative,” she said simply. “Now that I know ‘forward,’ ‘back,’ ‘draw swords,’ and ‘form line,’ we have at least the basics for a battlefield command.” Its all I’ll need, hopefully, she hoped, her mind still sorting together parts of a plan.

“Val is the one that I can see in combat command,” Vin heard Raven say simply, and she turned to look at her friend. Raven’s eyes were a little wide in disbelief at her friend’s change of tack. “You never go onto something without a plan, Vin. What are you thinking of doing?”

I did once go without a plan... and it got us in this mess, Vin’s mind thought darkly. Not anymore. “If we can convince Lord Erelion that there is a far larger army here than he expects, he might pause... hopefully giving mother and father time to catch up.”

“Highness, no one knows the location of your parents or their forces,” Aeron jumped in, prophesizing more doom. “Perhaps your Majesty would be inclined to send out a message by raven or carrier pigeon. Just in case they do not know of our predicament.”

Vin ruffled slightly at that suggestion. My parents are excellent commanders! Of course they will come! She knew if Val was beside her he would say some comment about uncertainties of war... one she knew she would have to agree with. “Yes.. of course,” she replied.

That seemed to set the Court Mage a little more at ease, and he quickly bowed and left to make the arrangements. As he left, Raven walked up to the red soldiers, smacking the helm of one with the flat of her palm. She backed away, wincing as she held her hand.

“Real steel,” she said simply. She wiggled the hurt limb back and forth for a bit , mouthing her pain, and then looked to Vintressa. “So... you are going to make an army of these, to fight the real army of Erelion? How many?”

“I don’t know.” Her mind wrestled with the problem of how to control these things once they were made... and there wasn’t time to go piddling through records in the Imperial Library or dash back to the Temples in Kulloden. She still didn’t know how to make the soldiers go away... And if I control these beasts wrong... Images filled her mind of the raping of Iskeldrun, now at the hands of red-helmed warriors with no faces.

“Maybe make some and keep them as a backup?” Raven offered, her voice rising in naive hopefulness. “Or not use them at all... considering we only know the barest ways to use it?” Vintressa’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she ran her hand over the ruby orb now in a pocket of her cloak.

“I’m thinking we only need the barest ways to use it,” Vin said hopefully. She had an idea, more and more parts of a plan falling in place in her mind. “Come with me, I need to go check my mother’s chambers.”

“What for?”

“A certain suit of armor,” Vintressa smiled, stories of old forming in her head. “Armor of the person Lord Erelion fears most.”



“Vin?” Valaron said weakly. The Prince sat up, wincing as he did so, but that movement alone was far more than he would have been able to accomplish only a few hours before. His eyes wide in wonder was a far larger reaction than he would’ve given then also. Of course Raven assisted him with the former... her eyes had already done the later a few minutes before.

“Yes, its your sister!” Raven cried proudly, looking at the apparition that now loomed in the doorway to Valaron’s chambers. “Come on, Vin!” Raven waved her friend forward.

Uncertainly, the Crown Princess clunked into Val’s room, each step seeming to take an eternity. She wore an elegantly carved steel breastplate, dyed red with gilt, plate armor colored the same covering the rest of her body. Her shoulder guards were made of dragonscale, bending upwards to form vicious looking spikes that jutted from her body. A long sable cloak fringed in gold was clasped around her neck by a brooch of crossed swords, while her head bore a blood red helm, the massive, beautiful form of a dragon cast in shining bronze as its crest.

Her head wandered about slowly and uncertainly, the massive helm and crest undoubtedly weighing down on her head. At her hip hung a katana and washazaki... two weapons she was not familiar with at all.

“How do I look?” Vin’s muffled voice came through the closed helm.

Val’s eyes were still wide. Inside that thing... her voice even sounds like mom’s... “Um... terrifying would be a good word,” he said, awed. “Isn’t that the armor...”

“That scared off the last Erelion revolt?” the muffled voice finished. “Yes. Which is why I wore it. If I can make this Lord Erelion think the Empress opposes him, maybe he’ll run just like his brother did!”

“His brother didn’t run... his soldiers ran. The ArchDuke fought like a lion till he was surrounded and brought down,” Val corrected.

“Same difference,” Vintressa tried to wave her hand, and gave a grunt on trying to raise the limb. She gave up after a few seconds.

“You know in that mess you aren’t going to be able to do any magic of any kind,” Raven said, walking over to her friend and taking the helm off the young girl’s face. “And from your attempt right there, I don’t think you’ll be able to swing that huge sword there.”

“I know,” Vin replied, breathing hard as her body drank in fresh air. “I’m not going to be tilting in this outfit! Just sitting there, looking imposing!”

“What if they call your bluff?” Val asked. It was not with a voice of contempt, but concern. “They’ll still outnumber you, and sis... you don’t know how to wear armor like that!”

“See, that’s where Ari comes in,” Vintressa replied. “As well as the Fire Stone... and our hurried marching.”



“Milord Manse! I do hope you are feeling much better today!”

Albrecht Manse gave a nod, as his hand reflexively grabbed the shoulder in question. A dull remnant of pain still ebbed there, but now he could move his shoulder almost as if nothing had happened. Thank Tarantor and His priests.

“Albrecht, you know the drill. One of the servants will have your spiced wine along shortly,” Baron Valdemar Erelion smiled, patting Manse lightly on the back before returning to his other guests... the gathered lords and bannermen of two thirds of his forces... nearly fifty thousand horse and mercenaries, and some thirty thousand peasant levies.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Manse smiled in return at the new title Erelion had given himself. As his liege lord turned away, Manse had a second to look at the crown he now sported on his head... an iron circlet with seven gold swords rising ‘round his head.

Iron to show his resolve, swords to show his means, and gold to show his blessings, Manse repeated the words of the Tarantor cleric that had crowned him the day before. Emperor Valdemar the First, Lord of Erelia, Prince of Comnitas, Keeper of the Northern Marches...

Manse then felt along his head for the small circlet there as well. His was brass, not iron or gold, and no swords or any other markers rose from its ring. It was simple, all Manse desired for his ‘raising’ to a Barony. As he looked about, all the other nobles had similar circlets on their heads as well... Emperor Valdemar had announced every noble backing him was to recieve an raise in rank, and more lands. Manse managed to track down an unoccupied servant, and quickly had a goblet of spiced wine in his hands before Erelion could rise at the front.

“Milords... those of us who rise to defend the honor of our Empire by defending its rightful heirs,” he spoke clearly, above the noise of over a hundred nobles rising out of their seats in the massive central tent. “We sit tonight barely one day’s march from the rightful hall where this morning’s ceremonies should have taken place. And, I have just recieved word...” he paused, before beaming brightly, “that Lord Hyppyn’s columns have engaged the Imperial armies at Thuyciden!”

A loud roar of approval came from all the barons, their eyes glinting with the idea that Iskeldrun was ripe for the taking, even as Manse’s own smile slipped away. Manse knew the full content of the message strapped to a raven’s leg that had come only an hour earlier. Hyppyn had indeed engaged Imperial troops... a heavy column that included Imperial Guards and heavy horse. But he could not verify if he faced all the Imperial armies, or only one.

And Manse wouldn’t rest easily until all the Imperial columns were accounted for. Even if Hyppyn indeed was battling and pinning down the Emperor and the Empress, there was another column out there... the one that ambushed Haldarman and Haldris’ columns only days before... and then vanished.

We are only one day from Iskeldrun... but we could have an entire Imperial army in our rear! He’d been there, twelve years before, when the Desert Dragon had melted away the first Erelion’s force as if it had been ice stranded under a desert sun. We have thirty thousand levies in our force... if the Dragon is there, we can’t count on them...

“Sir Manse... or should I say, Baron Manse!?” Bearsans laughed, walking up to him. “Your face is long, yet life is short! What is on your mind?”

“I am doing my job as a chief bannerman,” Manse replied. “We know where at most, two Imperial columns are. There’s still another column out there... and I wish I knew where it was at.”

Lord Philemon Haldris, Baron of West Haeld gave a sharp growl at the tunic the servant was handing to him. The brown cloth lacked the mud and dirt that had covered it only recently, but still smelled of blood and earth, a smell that contrasted greatly with the clean, fresh smell that permeated the mundane but clean room in the Imperial Palace he had been detailed.

“Your tunic, milord,” the woman bowed politely. Haldris grabbed the clothing from her hand, and gave a growl of dismissal. To his anger, the serving girl did not leave, she continued looking at him as he donned the cloth over his doublet. He gave her the same look he would give one of his own disobeying servants, only to see her not flinch even.

“Her Majesty also deigns to speak a moment with you,” the woman added.

“Don’t you mean Her Highness?” he replied rather crossly, thoughts rushing through his head of how he would never allow his servants to misbehave in front of guests or captives. She didn’t reply, and he gave a gruff wave of his hand, mentally preparing for the ransom negotiations he knew were about to begin.

That little whelp tricked me! She shan’t get more than a thousand gold from me, that trollop! Ambushing and using tricks instead of honorably facing us on the open field! his mind thundered, as he paced the room.

For ten minutes he paced, growing more and more angry, as his ‘patron’ did not enter. Thoughts ran into his head that she was intentionally playing him a fool, that she was rubbing her heels into his face. Finally, just before he was about to leave the chambers to go find her himself, he heard the door to his chamber creak open. It was the servant girl again.

“Her Imperial Majesty, the Empress Siabrey,” the girl bowed, her eyes cast nervously to someone outside the door.

Haldris’ mind was filled with confusion. At last report, only a few days ago, the Empress was far away, marching on Thuyciden. It couldn’t be her! Impossible!

Then a familiar, frightening clank echoed up the halls towards his room, and Haldris’ blood ran cold.



“Albrecht,” Manse heard his wife call. He looked up, and saw her carrying one of his young boys, the lad kicking and fighting all his worth to get free from her grasp and dash to look over the battlements of their keep again. The Baron Manse laughed.

“I’ll help!” he said quickly running to his wife’s aid. Her portly frame was well suited for carrying many things... struggling ten year old boys were not among them. “I’ll take him aside. Behrtic!” he spoke to his son, “Why do you want to want to get so close to the battlements? You could fall.”

“Papa! Papa!” his young son called, “She’s here! That’s why!” The boy struggled from his mother’s grasp, and dashed over to his father. Quickly grabbing the older man’s hand, Behtric dragged his father to the battlements as well.

When Albrecht looked over the last of the stones, his heart sank. A sea of steel stretched out below, banners bearing the sigil of a silver dragon rising from innumerable places within its mass. A single, thundering roar echoed in the as a figure clad in blood red armor sat in front, mounted on a midnight black steed...

Albrecht sat up, his breathing coming in pants. His back gave him a slight of pain as a reward for sleeping on his lord’s benches the night before, and as Manse looked around, he saw many of the other lords were still there. Some were still snoring away in drunken slumber, while a close few huddled near the front under the light of a short candle, Erelion in their midst.

“Ah... Albrecht. I left instructions that you were to sleep... help you recover from the injury,” Erelion’s voice came in normal tones, despite the bevy of sleeping people around.

“I thank you milord,” Albrecht blinked, “But why, may I ask, is an apparent council of war so urgent it could not wait? We had two days...”

Manse blinked again as Erelion pushed forward a familiar figure, confusion mounting in his head. After meeting Haldris and hearing what he had to say, Manse was even more dumbfounded.

“You were right, Lord Manse!” Erelion boomed happily, “The Empress was not at Thuyciden! But she wishes to discuss terms... she likely didn’t bring her army with her!” Erelion chuckled. The ten or so nobles around him chuckled as well.

“She wants to discuss terms? In a parley?” Manse asked. It doesn’t make any sense! This is the Desert Dragon... the Warrior from the West... the One that Never Surrenders! She would sooner place her blade in half her opponents than talk terms of surrender!

“Yes... in parley!” Erelion laughed. “It appears the dragon that bit my brother has lost her teeth!” The ‘Emperor’ then waved to the maps on the table below. “I’ve been busily myself with determining my Imperial Governors. Might as well be productive if our greatest opponent is surrendering!”

“I... I highly doubt she is going to surrender,” Manse said slowly. “It... it is not in her personality. She would fight before surrendering...” he managed to say before Bearsans, ever active, interrupted him.

“Albrecht... she has a city at her back that cannot evacuate... and she knows what will happen if she fights us for the city and loses. I can keep my troops in line, but many other nobles are not as... diligent,” he waved to some of the slumbering bodies around. “She would not risk the city of Iskeldrun to be able to say she never surrendered to a foe!” There were grunts of assent from the other nobles gathered.

“Well then, milord,” Manse nodded to Erelion, “as your chief bannerman, may I request the honor of accompanying you to this parley?”

“No,” Erelion said, before quickly adding, “Your counsel is well advised, and I treasure it. At this moment, however, I prefer you to watch the army and try to keep in line the more... rowdy elements, while I discuss surrender terms with Lady Siabrey.”

Manse nodded... the slap in the face was unintentional, and part of him realized why he was asked to this. Erelion trusted him. “Your Majesty, shall you be needing an escort to the parley site?”

“Um... yes.. I believe I shall take Bearsans, Lord Wescena, and perhaps twenty of their finest knights,” Erelion said thoughtfully. “The parley site is only five miles from here, and I think that the Empress surrendering might be a sign.”

“Of what?” Manse asked, confused.

“Think about it, Albrecht! The Empress is abandoning the Usurper!” Bearsans said excitedly. “Imagine, if we could use the Desert Dragon against him!” the small man was positively excited. “Imagine!”

Madness, Manse thought, before his mind reminded him, Those in euphoria tend to believe in the stars... “I should think, Your Majesty, that a larger escort would be appropriate.” Manse thought for a second, before twisting their logic around to his use. “It would be a great show of your power if your entire army, even saw the Dragon surrender to you.”

“No,” Erelion said quickly. “We do not want to rub this in her face. According to Haldris, she is considering supporting out cause. We want to be able to persuade her to accept a position leading one of our armies. With her on our side, the Usurper will surely fail!”

“Are you mad?” Manse could not take it any longer. The assumptions, the hopes now taken as truth. “She could easily have lied to Haldris! What if she has forced marched her army out! She is combative by heart! SHE WILL FIGHT!” he snarled.

“Baron Manse,” Erelion’s voice was much harder this time. “I have already decided on this subject, and you should obey Your Emperor.” With those icy words, the subject was settled.

Manse stormed out of the tent.



“Are you alright?” Raven asked uneasily towards the rider and mount next to her. She shook her head yet again, and showers of purple, yellow, and blue sparkles fell towards the ground.

”I’m fine” Ari replied in her mind, his mouth unable to form human speech now. From atop his shoulders, the muffled voice of Vintressa replied she was alright as well, despite the swaying.

“Okay.” Raven’s eyes still had trouble deciphering how big Ari had grown. She had last ridden him when she was in Kulloden over a year prior. The multi-colored prismatic dragon’s form was easily some 80 feet long, his eyes still the same, but his head and snout larger, and more vicious. To someone who did not know him, Ari would look downright frightening... a fact made all the more apparent when he launched into happy descriptions of how well he was doing making “fire, ice, acid and shocks,” with his breath.

The two rounded a bend in the road ahead, the new day’s sun now high in the sky. The forest around cracked and crunched as Ari’s wings, even folded, broke the trees along both sides of the path.

Raven gave a slight gasp at seeing the small host that was waiting for them, underneath a gigantic white ash tree, as Vintressa had instructed. An array of twenty knights, shining in resplendent white armor, shields in parade side, their lances, green and white, rising to the sky.

In the middle and in front of this line were three figures. One, mounted on a bay, was clad in gilt parade armor tinged with green. A black eagle on a green shield was his sigil. Another had white crossed spears on a blue shield. In between them was a man resplendent in gilt armor, a massive coiled snake as the crest of his golden helm.

And to Raven’s delight, she could see eyes widen at seeing Ari and Vintressa, clad in her mother’s armor and mounted on the dragon’s shoulder.

“Remember Ari... quiet and fierce,” Raven whispered. In response, Ari leaned his head up and delivered a blood curdling roar, thunder mixed with a scream that would have made wolves run for their dens.

“My Lord Erelion,” the muffled voice said within the formidable dragon armor.

“My Lady Caladron,” the gilt man smiled. “I have come to you with terms, as you asked.”

“Perhaps Lord Haldris did not inform you correct of my intentions. I have brought my own terms,” the voice continued. Raven watched as Erelion stiffened, a little fury and a lot of confusion in his face.

“Pray tell, my lady, what may those be?” the lord crossed his arms, trying to hide his surprise.

“First,” the muffled voice said sharply, “You and all your kind must lay down your arms. Second, You will submit yourself to the justice of my husband, the Emperor Lucius Caladron. Third, those nobles supporting you shall report to Iskeldrun, where His Majesty shall judge the conditions of your treachery and judge accordingly.”

Erelion noticeably stiffened, his eyes wide with rage. The man stared at her, disbelief shuffled in with his rumbling emotions, his horse even shying back, as if prepping for an explosion.

“My lady... is this some kind of jest?” he asked, voice barely controlled. Raven noticed with alarm his hand was coming close to the sword at his side.

“This is no jest!” The voice within the Empress’ helm shouted, a noise that was quickly dimmed by the noise of horses whinnying. Erelion spun his steed around, his knights lowering their lances, only to hear the monstrosity on the dragon shout again, “If you move, my lords, I am afraid my friend will be forced to use his mouth as persuasion!”

As if on cue, Ari let loose another, even louder roar, this blast directed almost into Erelion’s face. The noise of horses increased and from behind Raven and Vintressa, a column of armored riders with black cloaks thundered up the road, lances in hand.

Erelion’s eyes went wide, looking between the dragon, its rider, and the Household Guard coming up the road. There was a seconds hesitation, before he suddenly whipped his horse around, spurring his steed on for his life as the twenty-two others set lances and charged towards Ari...

i hate to ruin a great story but.... not the dragon

Technicaly difficulties aside... here is the next update (there's a slew of them... backlogged because of the outage).

And what's so bad about the dragon ?

=========================================
Things erupted into a blur for Vintressa. One second, the thin view of her world revealed Erelion looking at her in a look of shock and contempt. The next, she felt the world heave, and suddenly she saw the sky. A thundering roar shook her very armor, and she heard hooves, clangs and crashes.

She tried to sit up, but the armor was simply too heavy. It felt as if lead weights were attached to her back when she tried to sit up, and the same tied to her arm when she slowly moved it to the side. There was a screech, a rumbling loud scream that Vintressa recognized.

Aunt Tess... there must be fighting, her stunned brain realized. After some effort, she was on her side, and felt hands grabbing her, more than one person. Suddenly the sky changed to forest, and Raven’s face obscured the narrow view.

“Are you okay, Vin?” she heard her friend ask. There was a shift again, and suddenly the stuffy, stale air of the helmet was replaced with the fresh smell of the forest. Vin gasped for breath, her hand reaching into the pouch by her side, and she felt relieved that a smooth orb still rested there.

“I’m fine,” Vin replied, now able to look about. The twenty-two knights that had charged towards Ari laid on the ground, their legs splayed, broken lances still couched. No blood showed, and for a moment Vin thought they were dead.

“Is she alright?” Tess limped into view. Raven told her yes, and Vin watched her Aunt limp over towards the fallen knights, kicking their lances away and unbuckling their swords, promising the limp forms, “You won’t be hurt when the paralysis wears off... that’s if you do as you’re told!”

“Ah.. paralyzed then.” Vin looked about. “Where’d Ari go?”

“He took off when they charged him... and you fell off. He panicked, I don’t think he meant for you to fall,” Raven said softly. “He flew off in the same direction that Erelion rode. Here, you need help up?”

Vin grabbed Raven’s hand, and the other hands offered to her by the Household Guard, and pulled herself up. We failed again, she thought morosely, picking up her mother’s helm, We were supposed to capture him. How did it go wrong?

Think, Vin... she told herself. There are other options... these twenty two could become prisoners. From her father she knew that many times nobles would take family members or bannermen of their rivals as ‘guests,’ to ensure good behavior. I should get a look at their tunics... see what houses they belong to. The thought of hostages was one she found morally deplorable... but right now she couldn’t think of anything else. Now I know why father said there is no good or evil in lordship... only good people forced to do evil, and evil people in their own element.

She put the helm back on her head, and slowly walked among the prone men, her mind hoping to see sigils of great houses she could use. She recognized the blue and white family crest of House Bearsans, but that was hardly a major family... merely a vassal of House Erelion.

She ran a hand over the ruby in its pouch, wondering in her mind. No hostages here worthy of a throne, she thought. Neither was Lord Haldris, she thought. Then a thought ran into her mind, and underneath her mother’s helm, a small smile formed.

“How long are these men a captive audience?” she called towards Tess, her voice once again muffled by the ornate metal covering her head.

“About ten more minutes... Majesty,” Tess quickly added after seeing the helm on Vin’s head.

Vin gave a small nod of approval, before opening a pouch on her side. “Gentlemen, I have need of you as messengers,” she said simply as the Fire Stone caught the sunlight streaming down from the heavens...



“I don’t care if the Emperor has not given the orders, I want your troops on the road now!” Manse barked. “I am the one with the Imperial dispensation to command Emperor Valdemar’s forces in his absence,” Manse waved the paper, “and by all the gods, I will use it!”

“Milord, what is the rush with putting the troops on the road?” his opponent, Duke Illyin Haldarman asked. His words were innocent, but the tone was questioning more than Manse’s demands. The Duke had a short, trimmed mane of white, which made his words appear more stately than they were. “His Majesty is very confident that the Dragon intends to surrender.”

“If she surrenders,” Manse replied sharply, “you may strip me of my sword!”

No sooner had he spoke these words than a young squire burst into their camp, his eyes wide with fright. The young man’s mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came from his terrified lips.

Albrecht stared at the young boy for a few seconds, before his annoyance boiled through. “Remove the manacles from your lips! Speak!”

“Milord... His Majesty...” the young man sputtered, before Erelion’s gilded arms shoved the squire out of the way. His armor was scuffed, and Erelion’s new, green sable cloak was shredded and ruined, briars sticking from its torn form. Manse didn’t need to look at his face to tell that his prophecy had come true.

“She tricked me! Pelor’s pissing eyes, she tricked me!” Erelion snarled, storming into the room. “Those troops on the road! I want them marching, now! Towards Iskeldrun! We’ll smoke her arrogant ass out! Smoke her out!” He ripped the cloak from his shoulders and flung it in his fury.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Albrecht said slowly, despite the small voice in his head that told him he should gloat.

“Manse!” Erelion spun towards him, “You were right! By the gods you were right! And I’m going to reward that, after we burn Iskeldrun to the ground! You will be governor of the new capital city I shall build, accept?”

Burn Iskeldrun? “Perhaps Your Majesty should weigh the future of Iskeldrun... after the fate of the Dragon has been decided?” he suggested carefully. If I can separate the two... perhaps we can spare the city...

Manse realized he had said the wrong thing when Erelion looked at him with almost feral eyes. “No. The city will burn.” Erelion said slowly, viciously. Later Manse would be amazed how quickly Erelion’s tone changed, once twenty-two bedraggled, wide-eyed men returned, tales of red magic tumbling from their lips.



“The sun’s coming up, Vin,” Raven said softly, shaking her friend. It had been nearly a full day since the parley debacle, and Raven was surprised she had awoken to quiet and calm this morning... she’d fully expected to awake to horses screaming and swords singing.

Vin knows what she’s doing, Raven told herself again. You have never met this Lord Erelion... Vin has met him several times before yesterday... she’s in a far better situation to judge what he’ll do.

Raven’s attentions were rewarded with a screech, as Vintressa shot up, her hand grasping around. “What! What! What...” her breathing slowed, when she saw it was just Raven inside the tent with her.

“It’s morning... and as your ‘aide,’” Raven held her hands up to mimic the quotes around the title Vintressa had given her in front of the military commanders, “I say its time for you to wake up!” We have a long day ahead... its a miracle Lord Erelion’s army isn’t in our little midst right now.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Vin repeated, rubbing her eyes. “Go find Avaril, Aeron, and the others. By the time you bring them here, I’ll be dressed,” Vin said dryly, her eyes still half shut.

“Um... wouldn’t you like something to...” Raven said, only to have Vin’s grunt and dismissive wave signal she didn’t want breakfast at all.

The camp was exceedingly small for that of an army, but it was the largest camp Raven had ever stumbled through. The soldiers all bore one of two sigils... the white dragon of the Imperial Household Guard, or the mounted red knight on white that signalled the City of Iskeldrun. Only twelve thousand were here, and other than a few captains of the city watch and the few that bore the white dragon, there were none mounted.

And, she reminded herself, One very young prismatic dragon, sorry he dropped his rider and angry that he got poked with a lance. If Ari’s talk after he returned was any indication, he would not dash away when someone struck him with a lance this time. Though I don’t blame him... I would run if twenty men pointed lances at me and tried to run me through too...

It took Raven a good fifteen minutes to round up the people Vintressa had requested, all having been awake for some time already. By their eyes, she could tell some of their thoughts... Aeron’s were concerned as normal, as were Aegrifyr’s. The Chief of the City Watch, someone named Daedles, always was casting worried glances back in the direction of the city, and the commander of the Household Guard, a certain Avaril, was like granite... completely unreadable.

True to her promise, Vintressa was dressed when the small group returned to her tent. She had managed to put on her wool underarmor and a surprising amount of the Empress’ dragonscale before they arrived. Rather quickly, Avaril helped her put the rest of the steel monstrosity on.

“Our scouts have seen stirring within the camps of the Erelion host,” Avaril said a few minutes after the war council convened, “the horse is on the move, coming down the Baranil Road... headed towards Iskeldrun. They have firebrands and sunrods aplenty. We saw many of the squires also had kindling packed on the backs of their horses.”

“And his foot?” Vintressa asked, looking every inch a commander, save her continued troubles moving about in armor.

“If they are moving, it is slowly, after the horse. If I am guessing correctly, they will be at the crossroads of the Baranil Road and the road towards Thuyciden by this evening... from there it is only a few hours march till one reaches the walls of the city.”

It’s rather obvious, Raven. Erelion intends to burn Iskeldrun to the ground. The daughter of the thief turned businessman may not have been a soldier, but she did have common sense. Why else would they have so many sunrods and firebrands? By looking the princess’ face, it was obvious she knew as well.

The City Watch commander could tell as well, and he quickly spoke up. “Highness... my men are equipped to stop disturbances, and catch thieves... not fight with knights on horseback. We have only small shields and short swords... no match for their lances!”

“The Household Guard here numbers only five hundred,” Avaril spoke up. “We can don our heavy mail and function as heavy cavalry in a pinch, but Lord Erelion’s horse numbers over thirty thousand, half of which are knights and their bannermen. It would only take one heavy charge...”

The rest didn’t need to be said. Raven had seen many tourney melees... it was an annual occurrence in Iskeldrun, where two groups of knights fought to the last side standing with blunted weapons. Sometimes one side had a large number of its men dismounted quickly. All the other side had to do was go to the far end of the ring, lower lances, and thunder down...

“What is the status of their magic forces?” Raven asked. “If we brought out the entirety of the Brotherhood of Court Mages, how could we fare?” Something I understand more than blades...

“It would be prudent to guess that each house brought their court mages with...” Aeron began, “and in all honesty, while the Imperial Court Mages are picked and trained to deal with enchantments and deciphering illusions and the like, many of theirs are likely picked for how powerful a fireball they can lob.” That told Raven all she needed to know, and she gave a sigh.

“We cannot hope to best them on the field of battle,” Avaril summed things up. “Unless Your Highness uses all means at your disposal.”

Vintressa looked towards them thoughtfully, before giving a nod... not of assent, but of decision. “Avaril, Daeldes, form up your troops. We’ll form line of battle behind the road junction. Spread your troops wide... two ranks deep instead of the usual six ranks. Aeron, I want some illusions from you of extra ranks behind the real ones. The other mages will make what firepower spells they can.”

“Highness,” Avaril started to speak.

“Vin,” Raven interrupted him. “Didn’t you hear? They’ll run roughshod over us! Shouldn’t we go back to the city walls, and wait for help from your parents?” Or use the stone… it can’t be that bad…

“And wait while they build catapults, scorpions and ballistas, and launch all of those firebrands and fiery pitch over the walls into the city?” Vintressa snapped back. “No! We stop them here! Outside of the city!” Her eyes let all of them know that no dissent would be brooked on this matter... and one by one, the council filed out... save Raven.

“You know if we don’t succeed, he’ll probably torch the city anyway?” she asked.

“Yes! I know!” the princess said, sharpness still in her voice. She glared at Raven for a second, before shaking her head. “I can’t sit by and let them torch all of those people, many of them not able to run away! And if they get their hands on Royukgan and Valaron...”

“Why don’t you use the Fire Stone then? We know it makes soldiers… and you can command them to defend themselves…” Raven asked. It’s the only way, Vin! You are outnumbered, and the enemy is more than willing to crush you between his mailed fists!

Vintressa’s eyes flared slightly at the statement. “Raven… do you remember the stories of that staff, and other items that your parents and my parents fought to destroy so that a great evil was rid of this world?”

Raven nodded.

“That stone,” Vin said quietly, glancing over at the massive red ruby, “we supposed to be part of Graz’zt’s staff. The Countess never added it on… my father made a better target.” Vin’s eyes then went back to Raven. “Wouldn’t it seem that if something was made to be used with such an evil item… it is evil itself?”

Raven suddenly, fully understood.



The day had grown hotter than expected, and by afternoon, Albrecht Manse was fairly roasting in his plate armor, woolen underarmor, surcoat and tunic. From the side of his horse hung his heavy steel shield, of the old circular design. His long, heavy longsword hung there as well. And from the horses in front of his came the heavy, choking dust that had plagued the columns all day on this wide but dusty road.

The day had been one of those that Manse dreaded... excitement and anxiety built up for nothing, only for another rumor of dark columns and mysterious riders filter down the line. For all the might and pageantry of the long column of knights, resplendent in full battle armor and riding eight abreast, banners streaming behind them in the wind, they acted like small children in the courtyard of their parent’s keep. The most recent rumor was that outriders to the left of the column had spotted something to the east... whispers of a woman on a huge black horse, rumbles of a massive beast.

“These outriders act like children in the dark, even in daylight,” Bearsans had laughed when Manse had told him the tale. The small lord had recovered surprisingly well from his rather ignominious capture and release. “Unless that Fire Stone makes people teleport an army, it’s nothing! It cannot be the Empress... she is before us! And the Emperor would have had to spend all day yesterday fighting Hyppyn, and only today would have been able to start his march back!”

Manse was still ill at ease. I will not be at ease until I have seen the Empress’ army, with her at its head, with my own eyes.

Finally, somewhere close to three bells afternoon Manse guessed, he spotted the ‘Emperor Valdemar’ resplendent in his gilt armor, jade inlays of his family’s twin snake sigil curling around a long lapis lazuli column on his breastplate. Overnight, he’d had his armorsmiths modify his crest so that not only was there a gilt snake with ruby eyes, but the six iron swords that were on his crown were now on his helm as well.

“I see you have modified your helm, Majesty,” he said simply. Garish was Manse’s personal thoughts, but he didn’t let that through. The Emperor seemed pleased to hear Manse’s notice of the change, and he put spurs into his white stallion to fall alongside the lord.

“Indeed. I should think I should look both splendid and terrible for the first flexing of my muscle as Emperor,” Erelion responded. “Something that should come in useful soon. Have you heard the latest report?” Manse shook his head no.

“The Dragon has formed her columns athwart this road... just beyond the crossing with the Thuyciden road,” Erelion pointed ahead. “They say she has a line of battle of perhaps twenty thousand foot, and maybe three or four thousand horse.”

“Small numbers,” Manse said aloud, thinking it best to keep the other idea in his head quiet. Erelion looked at him closely.

“You aren’t telling me all of your thoughts. You were right yesterday... likely you’ll be right today to. That is why you are my head bannerman,” Erelion said simply. “Speak your mind.”

“That cannot be her entire force. She is hiding numbers elsewhere. Our scouts said she left Iskeldrun with forty thousand altogether. The numbers you speak leave some fifteen thousand unaccounted for, which raises some alarming questions.”

“I understand,” Erelion nodded. “I was thinking of dispatching Haldarman out of the line of battle, and forming with his foot up facing our east... and taking Eijold and doing the same to our west. That will leave us with...what... forty thousand versus hers? And should she try to ambush us, we’ll be able to stall her until the army can react!”

Manse gave a smile. You read my mind, milord. “Two to one is still favorable odds, my lord. And three to two should be odds close enough that even Haldarman could hold against an ambush.”

“Ari,” Vintressa said softly, running a hand down the dragon’s snout. A purr rumbled from his throat, drowning out the noise of woodcutters hard at work and the grunts of men doing physical labor.

”I’m so sorry I got scared,” she heard the dragon’s bubbly voice softly chime in her head, ”I said I would fight, but they poked at me... I should have been more careful.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, my friend,” Vin continued scratching around the scales on his snout. “If twenty knights had leveled lances against me, I would flee as well!” Vin smiled as she felt the draconic equivalent of a laugh wash into her mind. “I know you’ll stand and fight when and if we need you.”

”I won’t run next time,” Ari announced in her mind. She could tell that bravado did not cause this promise... shame and anger did.

“Next time will be this evening, likely,” Vin said softly, “And I could really use your strength. You may be young Ari, but you are very strong... and smart.” She felt another purr rumbling through her hand as she petted him. “I can only imagine what Xanadu has taught you in the months I was at the Academy!”

His confidence is coming back. Maybe that breathing he spoke about will come in useful. At the very least, he can sit there and look imposing... “Ari, I know you’ll make me proud, and make your Mommy Siabrey and Father Lucius proud as well. You won’t run this time. I know you,” Vin said sweetly. “I only need you to stand here, in the middle of the road. If they get too close, or if I yell, then breathe on them... okay?”

She felt his acceptance of her wishes washing over him. Giving him a last pat, she turned her attention to the noise around her, as men from the city watch cut up logs and fashioned large stakes... enough that each man would have one, it was hoped.

Will shortbows be enough? she thought, looking at the ancient but well made weapons the city watch people carried. Valaron would have been able to recite to her the performance of various kinds of shortbows against plate and chain armor, but he wasn’t here... he was still recovering.

The problem still bothered her when she spotted the first pinpoints of light towards the north. She didn’t need her brother to know it was the light of thousands of suits of mail in the bright sun. A massive cloud of dust hung in the air behind the lights, and in the distance, the rumble of hooves, the whinnies of chargers and the rattle of weapons and armor rose in the air. Vin’s stomach felt like it had tumbled out of her body, leaving a bottomless pit. She felt bile rise in fear, and she fought it down.

He’s coming towards us with a mailed fist... He intends to pummel us to death. She’d learned her lesson about riding dragons, and now spurred her horse, a roan mare, towards the center of the impromptu battleline that was being formed to block the knights path. It was easy to find Raven... she was the only one not in any kind of armor.

“Are they ready on the far left?” Vin asked, surprised at how calm her voice sounded. Her stomach was still queasy, though she didn’t have to fight the urge to retch as much as before. By Raven’s eyes, the fear was in almost ruling her.

“Um... Daedles says he’s got stakes But Vin! What the hell are sticks of wood going to do against mounted knights! With lances!” she gestured towards the host forming perhaps a quarter mile from them. “They’ll just run us over!”

“They’ll do plenty.” I hope. They say you can’t find anything by reading over the history of the Empire’s wars. Perhaps Ananias was good for one thing…



Albrecht Manse looked up at the sun, now entering the final quarter of its daily ride across the sky. The air was still hot, and sticky... not nearly as much as Manse was inside his armor. Erelion had insisted he wear his full plate, just like the others, and Manse was now thankful at how much he’d sweated... the woolen tunic underneath was soaked. He took another long gulp from his canteen... the third one he’d used this day.

Fluttering above his own head was the huge banner of House Manse, a red basilisk on a yellow field. Other banners fluttered in the slight breeze around them... the twin serpents of House Erelion, Bearsans white wolf, the black adder of House Yorens. All around him he heard horses grunting and neighing, knights cursing their squires, and the scraping of last minute sharpening of blades. An army about to hurl itself in battle.

Manse looked across the field at his opponent. There she is. The Dragon was mounted on a dark steed, the dragon Bearsans spoke of beside her. He could make out mounted men... likely Household Guard. The others on foot Manse could not see clearly, but he could see their banners... the City of Iskeldrun. City watch... acting as line foot. I must give the Dragon this... she is brave to take the field with such a force. Now that Erelion had taken the precautions of covering his flanks, Manse was far more at ease.

The heavy thud of warhorse hooves came to a stop next to Manse, and as he turned, he saw Bearsans, the man dwarfed by the great beast of a mount he rode. He flipped up the visor of his helm, and Manse saw the small man was wearing the same fierce grin that he’d worn the day before, setting out to collect the Empress’ ‘peace terms.’

“Looks like we’ll be fighting old men and boys today,” Bearsans shouted derisively. “Not many spoils from this fight, and few ransoms!”

“When the Empress Siabrey leads them, I have no doubt mere boys will turn out to fight fiercer than you think,” Manse replied.

“Pah!” Bearsans laughed. “Look at the shoddy ranks that City Watch has set up! They can’t form a straight line! They look like a gaggle of mongrels! Manse, I care not whether it is a worthy fight or not. All I know is that I claim that Keldare woman as a prize before anyone else!”

“A Baroness is a prize now?” Manse raised his eyebrow. What are we sinking to, becoming like the barbarians to our south? “I should think she would be more worthy as a ransom than a prize.”

“When she uses vile magics to humiliate me, she is not worthy of a ransom, in my mind!” Manse grumbled. “A prize she shall be, and when I’m done, perhaps my bastards by her will be taller than their father!”

And likely no less fiery, Manse thought sourly. “Good luck to you, Beardstone.”

“Luck is always with the small! That is what the halflings say... let us see if it applies to men as well!” Bearsans closed his visor. And armored legs spurred his mounted forward towards the front, the knights of his house falling behind. Shouts and curses arose even more, as Lord Jaypens’ high pitched yell broke over the plain, screaming about someone taking the lead in front of his men.



Vintressa gave a growl perhaps a half hour later, carefully dismounting from her mare. Her mother’s greathelm was quickly off of her head, and the princess once again gasped for breath. She could keep her helm on for only short periods of time, when she needed to take it off, she got off her mount so the enemy couldn’t see. She gave a cursory glance to the Chief Court Mage, his incantations making shadowy soldiers appear behind her own thin lines. The raven sent tow days earlier now sat on his shoulder... a sight that made Vin slightly less annoyed.

She is on her way...

“They’re still positioning, Highness,” she heard Avaril complain. He had donned plate only an hour before, and it was plain the heat was harassing him as well. “They may not come this day, if they continue to jockey around.”

If they wait on the morrow, we’ll have to deal with Erelion’s foot, as well as his knights! Vintressa bit her lower lip slightly, trying to think. That little plan I read about long ago will FAIL if the foot moves up! She needed to encourage these knights to come forward... there was still four hours of daylight left. Enough for us to try to finish this business.

You WANT to fight? Wouldn’t Val be surprised to hear this?

“Raven... come with me!” Vintressa already had the helm back on, and several guardsmen helped her back onto her mount. “Avaril, go find the court mages, and inform them to be prepared... when they stumble, that is their cue. I doubt if they charge recklessly they’ll bring focused mages along to block our spells!”

“Um... how are we going to get them to charge recklessly?” Raven asked after Vintressa as the Princess spurred her horse on. She could only see the princess’ eyes through the slits of the greathelm, but the way they gleamed told Raven Vintressa had a mischevious grin on her face. She reined up just behind their lines.

“Do you remember the trick we learned in Aegrifyr’s lecture... about how to speak from a distance?” Vin’s muffled voice asked. Raven nodded. “Well, Raven, you’re better at insulting people than I am. Ride about halfway out there, use that little bit, and hurl some choice insults. Once they start to move, act like a craven coward and run. If enough of their lords charge after, I am guessing Erelion will order the whole lot to come forward!”

“Um.. okay?” Raven said uneasily.

“It is hot… and they must be feeling such under all of their armor. Hotter people are more prone to fury,” Vin said. “They are more irritable. Goad them… I have no doubt they’ll come!”

“Two marks for easy insulting... the knight with the white wolf banner... Lord Bearsans. One of the ones Tess paralyzed yesterday. And Lord Yorens, the one with the black adder as his flag.” Vintressa suddenly stopped, and read the look of fear on Raven’s face. “Don’t worry... you’re riding a quarter-horse, not a charger, and you aren’t weighed down by armor. It should be no problem to outrun them!”

Raven gave a sigh, not having the same confidence as her friend.



“Oho! I think that the Empress may wish to parley!” Manse heard from one of his knights behind him. Albrecht followed their gaze to the young woman in traveling leathers that trotted to the middle of the field. She bore no white flag, however, which puzzled him.

A rider to the middle field, with no flag of truce... she is too young to be a magical of great power... perhaps she is a peace offering? But who would the Empress send that would be worth trading? That doesn’t look like one of the daughters of the Imperial family...

“My Lord Bearsans!” a young woman’s voice sounded loud over the battlefield, as if she was yelling from right next to Manse. “How does it feel to have been knocked off your mount by a lady’s whisper? I am sure Lady Bearsans can relate to that experience greatly!”

Shouts and cries of laughter arose from the knights around Manse, before a loud, roar drowned out the cacophany. Albrecht immediately recognized the shout. Bearsans.

“You small little piece of crap! Hog armpit hairs are not worthy of your stench, you little cur!” Manse could hear him snarl, all the way in front.

“And Lord Yorens!” the girl’s voice sounded again, “Afraid to draw your blade? What is your concern? An old, toothless fishmonger said you had no problem drawing your blade for her!”

More shouts, and Manse could hear Yoren’s furious shouts for his knights to form charge line, alongside Bearsan’s men. Yet the young woman continued, her small horse cantering back and forth in front of their lines.

“My dear... Baron Erelion,” her voice called, as her horse reined up. “My poor...poor Baron. Craven like his brother’s host! With a gold crown that is not worthy of a brothel mistress! Who in their mind would follow one whose path to crown has sold his promises to many men? Many a brothel mistress should hire your, dear Baron, you might help them further their employees work, for surely you could teach common women of the night to sell their promises as well!”

Manse heard the breath intake, as the woman called out again. “What is this? A mere woman, unarmored, has more bravery than a host of warriors that call themselves the flower of knighthood, the height of chivalry? I think the chamberpot of a loose man has better aroma than this pack of fools! Perhaps too many of you have been too busy chasing the flower of village maidens, and forgotten how to draw your steel blades, as opposed to your fleshy ones!”

She’s goading us, Manse realized as his own fury rose at her sharp and vicious barbs, holding his hands up to signal his men to hold ground. “Do not move! She’s antagonizing! Don’t give in!” he turned his horse, trying to address the lords close to him. “Hold ground!” Too late did he feel the ground tremble slightly underfoot, and hear the loud calls from down the line... among them Bearsans crying, “Erelion!”

Dammit! Manse wanted to curse, as the young woman spun her horse around and charged back to her own lines, craven to the core. He could see now that Bearsans and Yoren’s banners were leading the way, despite the fact that the woman was easily outside their reach, and was screaming away from them faster than they were charging.

“Albrecht!” Manse heard a familiar voice call, and within a second the gilded form of his Emperor was beside him. His visor was up, and Manse could see his face was flushed with heat and fury. By the tenseness he gripped his reins, Manse was sure that Erelion wanted to join the attack.

“Recall Bearsans and Yoren!” Manse shouted, as the noise of horses thundering forward increased, more nobles joining the charge, their ancestral battlecalls on their lips. “Recall them! She wants us to come at her for some reason!”

“Sound the advance,” Erelion growled. “I want her force cut down before nightfall! We’ll ride through the night and destroy Iskeldrun while it sleeps! We have more than her, we’ll ride over her corpse! No prisoners! Craven women like these should not be allowed to live!” Manse could see the vicious glare in his lord’s eye that he meant every word he said.

Manse saw in his mind the burning of the city... women and children screaming in the streets, as mailed knights cut them down, trampled them with their horses. Flames licking into the sky. Then his blood shuddered, as the face of everyone woman became that of his wife, and every child took the look of his young son.

I cannot do that! It... it would bring eternal dishonor to me and my House!

“Sound your own advance, Majesty,” Manse heard himself say. “My men shall stay here.” It sounded as if someone else was speaking and Albrecht was only listening from a far distance. He could immediately see Erelion’s eyes flash, his nose flared, and he began grinding his teeth in rage.

“You... you are no longer by bannerman! Craven! We... dammit I’ll deal with you after this, by god!” Erelion’s visor snapped down, and he grabbed a nearby squire with a trumpet. Three blasts came from the horn, three blasts echoed up and down the now ragged line of knights, and quickly the rest joined their eager companions in charging. Manse watched in disgust as about half of his own men leapt forward as well.

“Here they come!” echoed up and down the line, and Vintressa watched Raven’s horse fairly leap past a few of the City Guardsmen, sweat covering its flanks as she reined the beast up hard.

“I think I did well,” Raven said breathlessly, nodding to the chaotic horde building up speed before them. Vintressa had been right... her horse was back at their own lines before the chargers trying to run her down had come to a full gallop.

“You did do well,” Vintressa put a hand on her friends arm, before her gaze went back to the oncoming host. She hoped her plans weren’t madness... they had worked before, for a certain lord some two hundred years later. The history books she had found before leaving with barely a hundred men to try and stop the people threatening her parents had described the first victory of King Ananias Caladron over the Imperial army as ‘the Battle of the Stakes.’

“Archers!” she heard Avaril call, and watched as the thin ranks of the city guard drew their bows, sounds of leather and hide being pulled taut whispering in the air. The horses hooves thundering towards them sounded like a merely distant rumble, drowned out momentarily when Ari gave a growl.

“Remember, do not shoot at the knights!” she heard her Aunt Tess calling out. “Shoot at the horses! You will not hurt the knights! Put enough arrows in their mount, and the steed and the knight will go down!”

For her part, Vintressa concentrated on breathing, the air inside the greathelm already was hot and stale. She felt her horse shy back slightly, the rumbling growing louder as the streams of banners, shining plate, and vicious lances thundered closer and closer.

If they break through, you will die. So will Raven. And Val, and Royukgan, Aunt Tess... and most of the city behind you, Vintressa! You cannot fail! You MUST win this time! She bit her lip again, this time in worry, her hand reaching down to rub the ruby in her cloak. He could feel its power running up her arm… a warm, fuzzy feeling.

I should use the stone… her mind thought, seeing the hordes to her front. Only it will save me… She felt her hand starting to draw it out of its pouch, but then an image flashed into her mind of the city ablaze, red soldiers cutting down its people. Her hand dropped the stone, and it fell back into its pouch.

The call for archers to fire echoed in her ears, and she watched a hail of black arrows course into the sky. A few knights pitched down, arrows coming from their armor in numerous places. The knights struggled to get up. Their horses didn’t.

“Reload!” The command echoed in her ears, as she saw them coming closer, the city watchmen drawing again on command, and loosing another volley. A few more went down, but not nearly enough to stop the momentum of the charge. Another volley went out, and then another. By now, even through her slits, she swore she could see the eyes of the steeds charging towards them, wide and white in battle terror, the cloth and silk covers on the animals displaying their master’s arms flowing gracefully back as they broke into their final gallop.

“Hold!” she heard Avaril calling to the men and boys of the city watch. Some were already shying, and a few mounted Household guard were quickly positioned behind them to keep shying from becoming a premature rout. The knights came closer, her ears now able to hear the individual battlecries. “Erelion!” “Beardstone!” “Comnitas!”

Closer, and still closer they came, their lances lowered like fingers of death, desperately reaching out ahead of their masters for the men on the ground. It was an immensely powerful, completely unstoppable wall of men, horses, and lances.

“Now!” she heard Avaril call, and the city watchmen dashed backwards, just seconds before the knights would have been able to thrust into their ranks. They ran as quickly as possible, their masked ranks now unveiling Vintressa’s first surprise; thousands and thousands of stakes driven into the ground.



Manse cursed silently as he watched the knights plow forward, banners streaming behind as if in a massive tourney of some kind.

But those are no tourney weapons they face... and there will be no laughing and congratulations after one is struck off a horse. Despite the heat, Manse shivered. Behind him he could count only fifty of his knights, not counting their squires and auxiliaries... perhaps a hundred and fifty altogether.

He was thus greatly surprised when footmen began running past, coming from the east. By their tunics, white hawks on blue background, he knew they were Haldarman’s men.

So there was a trap, Manse thought simply, turning his horse to the left, so they he now faced east. “Prepare to recieve enemy,” he said simply. Maybe I can delay them until Erelion has his way... if she hasn’t planned anything. If it is only foot, we should be able to charge them down…

It was then his ears clearly caught what the soldiers were screaming, and his blood ran cold, despite the heat of the summer’s evening.



Horses are intelligent animals, and chargers even moreso than others. And no intelligent animal would willingly impale itself. The knight’s steeds skidded to a halt, some in time to avoid death, many others not. Knights cartwheeled off of their dead animals, others plummeted as their horses stopped short suddenly. The great crush of knights behind the lead ones drove many of the survivors forward, into the midst of the stakes, unable to turn, unable to move. Then, the second surprise of Ananias’ old battleplan revealed itself.

The court mages, as Aeron had said, knew few offensive spells, but when a hundred of them focused what they knew, be it weak magic missiles or powerful blasts of energy into a standing, teeming mass, the chaos that resulted was terrifying. Ari let out a roar, and simply breathed into the mass, crackling fire, electricty, cold and sheer magical power bowling over entire columns. Explosions of heat and cold, acid and electricity thundered into the massive, huddled ranks of stranded knights, their rear ranks still trying to rein up to avoid the crush.

As the survivors of the charred, burnt and now terrified mass desperately tried to rein their frightened steeds under control, fighting to get away to reform, the final surprise came rushing down into their midst.

The city watch, on orders, turned and drew their short swords, wading into the confused and terrified mass of chivalry. Many of the survivors now found themselves mobbed by men who dragged them from their mounts in the confusion. Many of the knights were no longer mounted, and found themselves hopelessly slow when three or four watchmen surrounded them like a caged animal.

Despite all of this… despite their surprise, despite coming under a withering magical assault, Erelion’s knights fought bravely, fiercely. She watched as her city watchmen were pushed back, their lines bending.

Use the Stone! something in her mind said, and she reached down into her pocket, and the red ruby shone like fire in the sunlight. The warm, calming feeling rushed over her again, and she closed her eyes. She felt her lips start to form words, until a something suddenly thudded into her arm.

She opened her eyes suddenly, as the ruby tumbled down to the ground, landing with a thud in the grass below. She looked up, and saw Raven sitting before her in the chaos, the butt of her nagiaka still in striking position. All around her, thousands upon thousands of reddish blobs began to melt back into the ground, as the Household Guard thundered into the melee.

“If Iskeldrun must burn, let it be by mortal means,” Raven said slowly, before putting away her weapon.

The fighting was desperate and deadly, and those in the rear, fortunate enough to avoid the initial carnage, now spun their mounts around, spurring them on away from the destruction. Their eyes and reactions screamed the same... not the fear Vintressa had hoped, but rage. They would charge again if given the chance.

Thirty thousand knights had made the charge, and Vin watched as perhaps twenty thousand or so galloped away. To her chagrin, many banners were still in good order, especially those that had been in the rear. But to her front, she could see numerous charred piles of knights, as her city watchmen, dragged others back, stripping them of armor and weapons before tying them up.

There’s still some two hours left in the day... they’re going to come at us again. And I have no more tricks... Ananias had decimated an Imperial army with these tricks. The army of knights to her front was already forming a second charge line, and now would not rush into the mass of stakes that had slowed their momentum at the right moment. They’ll either wait for their foot… or call up their mages to charge with them now. Either result would be devastating; the bodies of many of the city watch also laid alongside the dead forms of knights.



Manse watched dejectedly as banners streamed back, turning around in their old position, reforming lines while squires fetched new war lances. He recieved a few looks of derision when the other lords saw him facing at a different angle, looks he met with explanations.

“The Dragon is marching on our flank! She comes from there!” he pointed to the hill and light woods Haldarman’s men had been posted beyond, “in strength! Forty thousand or more!” His shouts were greeted with guffaws, and calls that perhaps Manse had seen an old nanny.

“Everyone can plain see the Empress Siabrey is there!” they shouted back, pointing to the woman in dragonscale behind the piles of dead knights. “Reform with us! Regain your honor, Albrecht!” they called. “Your Dragons are there! She is using tricks against us, but we came close! We shall break through this time, now that we can avoid her traps!”

“Where is the Emperor?” Manse called out to the knights that went by. “Lord Bearsans, Lord Yoren?” All he received were looks of confusion, until a man trotted up beside him.

Erelion’s fine cloak had been shorn from his body, his gilt greaves ripped from his left leg. Blood streamed down the limb from stab wound in his thigh. Burn marks had scoured the armor on his shoulders and his other thigh. Dents ruined his perfect breastplate, and his blade held numerous nicks along its formerly fine edge.

“Manse,” Erelion said tersely. “Why are you facing this direction? We almost-“

“Haldarman’s broken!” Manse replied, desperately hoping against hoping that someone would listen to him. “Someone is marching, in force, against our left! The soldiers from Haldarman that streamed by said it was-“

A deep, powerful rumble seemed to shake the ground underfoot. The rumble grew in volume, until an ear-splitting noise, the depths of a powerful thunder coupled with the scream of a thousand wights rose in the air. Manse heard the whumph of immense wings even before a form out of his nightmares rose above the hill.



“What in the...” Vin heard some of the city watchmen say, in shock. She turned, desperately trying to see what they were pointed at through the slit in her visor. She had heard the ear-splitting roar, and at first she thought it was Ari, roaring in triumph. She had been headed over to give him a scratch for not fleeing when the soldiers began motioning.

All she could see was an immense shadow, covering half of a hillside up ahead. She assumed it was a cloud, until her mind remembered that the there were no clouds in the sky this day. She looked up... and gave a whoop of joy.

Some two hundred feet off the ground was a form that would have made Ari seem like a tiny babe. Its immense jaws had opened, and even from a quarter mile away, Vin could see the beasts’ teeth. From the top of its head an immense frill, taller than the tallest stallion, ran the length of its back, its great wings moving at a steady beat. Whumph, whumph.

Xanadu let forth another earsplitting roar, and Vin could see the knights below wheeling about, their very actions showing them unable to decide what to do. They had met the small 80 foot Ari head on, and taken a beating. But now, the shadow of a dragon three times Ari’s size loomed over them, the great creature enraged.

If Xanadu is here... Vintressa’s eyes suddenly lit up, and she yanked the greathelm off of her head.

“Advance! Move! Advance!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, pointing at the mass huddle of knights twice their number. “Quickly! Run!” She fumbled at her waist, and found her little rapier, and hefted it upward with some effort. Her eyes caught those of her Aunt Tess, and by the twinkle in the bard’s eyes, Vin knew she had seen as well. In answer, Tess pulled her harp out, and held it aloft in reply.



“What trickery is this?” Erelion said, eyes looking up at the monster that hung in the sky above them, like an immense agent of divine doom.

He looks as fierce as the one on the Caladron banner, Manse thought in awe, his ears ringing from the beast’s last blast. He could feel the fear in the air around him, especially from himself. We should have waited for the foot to come up. We should have waited for the mages!

Underneath the hanging vision of doom, a thin dark line rose over the crest of the hill, growing thicker and more powerful by the second. Within a minute, three massive, powerful battlelines were visible, the clank of armored boots echoing up the field, the screams of thousands of steeds and the knights they bore rising above the hills.

“Good gods!” Manse heard Erelion cry as the dragon flashed low over the battlefield, all instinctively ducking as the beast thundered overhead, a veritable windstorm of dust blowing in their face as it passed. Some saw the beast gracefully bank in the sky, turning around before setting gently on the ground, on the other side of the army. Some saw the small army that they had charged not long before dashing towards them, at a run.

Manse himself was still looking to the left, his eyes locked on a woman on a black horse. A curved blade, licked with flames was in her hand, held aloft. Even from this distance Manse could see her red eyes flashing with fury, her copper skin seething. Her armor was plain steel, yet shone with more brilliance than all of the false Emperor's jewels and gitlwork.

Manse’s hand let loose of his blade, and it slid back into its scabbard.