6441 words (25 minute read)

Chapter 1


Elise had never remembered being this tired before in her life. Her eyes felt so heavy she couldn’t open them. Her memory was failing her and she had no idea what was going on. It felt as if the room were spinning and her body was cold and wet. Fear seized her body and rendered it immobile. Elise knew she was moving, but there was no way her legs were carrying her. That only left her with one thought: whoever she ran into must have kidnapped her. Kidnapped?! She fought exhaustion to open her eyes. All she seemed to be able to manage was a small slit of sight. Her captor was male. The feel of his chest next to her gave her the vague impression of a solid build and she guessed he was tall and strong seeing as he was carrying her and she herself was about five and a half feet tall. He wasn’t breathing heavily so he could easily manage her. Her heart sank. This was not a man she could escape easily, if at all, and she was just so tired. She struggled in and out of consciousness. Elise felt his arms tighten around her and panic flitted through her once again. Her imagination was running wild as she thought of where he could be taking her and what he would do with her when they got there. She tried to will herself to stay awake and open her eyes, to fight back, to struggle, to scream; but nothing happened. She remained weak and frightened. Her body was slung over his two arms and was limp. She could do nothing but let darkness consume her once more. Makraim looked at the exhausted, beautiful, mysterious woman in his arms. As he carried her, he found more questions. He was surprised by their collision, but more surprised by the beauty he saw as he recovered from the fall. She lay sprawled on the ground next to him, her hair in disarray. She was light and slender. He had picked her up easily. There was only a moment’s hesitation while he debated leaving her at the inn or taking her back to his home. What infernal notion had compelled him to bring her to his home, instead of leaving her at the inn, was beyond his understanding. She had been running and not paying attention to anything around her. What was she fleeing? He couldn’t tell as they hit, for no one else was around. He felt slight movement as if she were waking. Looking down, he saw slight movement from her eyelids but it seemed as though she was just too tired to open them up. Long black curls cascaded like a waterfall over his arm as he walked with her. Thoughts turned back to the collision moments earlier. Her hood fell when they hit allowing him to briefly see her eyes. He didn’t think on it at the moment but as he looked back on it now they seemed illuminated against the black of the night. Her eyes were wide with fear before the lids closed as she slumped forward. The more he thought, the more questions he had. Questions be damned. He needed to get her to his manor before the cold chilled her to death. The cloudy mission for his king had long evaporated as he made the trek back home. King Bilmarath was a benevolent king who ruled over the vast and plentiful kingdom of Noru. Long ago, Noru was broken down into four regions. Cargaroth, which was governed by the Declan family for over six generations, was on the eastern border. Dentsworth, ruled by the Arots, was along the southernmost border. Maidenrod, ruled by an old noble family whose existence had all been but wiped out - save one woman who held on to her current lands by a thread - was in the West. Ventsworth was a Nomadic land to the North. Count Declan, nobly born, was accustomed to the aristocracy and had garnered a healthy respect from the ruling king for his diplomacy and ability to calm unrest in the kingdom. In his youth, he was quite good at sporting, but forsook mere tournaments in favor of the King’s armies. The Arots were a group of warlike people who believe the king should no longer be ruling over the lands. They wished to assume power. This had caused much fear, unrest, wars, and widespread panic throughout the kingdom. It was while in one such war with the Arots that Makraim saved the life of Prince Bilmarath, the old king’s son, placing the king in his debt. Count Declan had become used to war, squabble, and suffering when he was at a young age serving his king in the army. Now, a tall, fit man with emerald green eyes that still sparkled with the mischief of youth, and long blond hair that fell just below his shoulders, Count Declan made for a commanding visage. There was a war in his very lands, one with the Arots, it took the life of his parents leaving him to take hold of the manor and charge of the lives within it. He thought on his current situation. This would be the first time he failed to do what his king asked him to do and it was all for a mysterious woman who lay in one of the rooms above his current sitting room. Women he was used to…he had grown up surrounded by them. His father had employed many female servants who helped to raise him and his three sisters. Makraim could remember how his sisters used to fight and bicker. He remembered well the fear his mother could put into him and he knew the emotional tirades only too well. His mother had taught him to respect women and his father trained him in the art of being a gentleman. King Bilmarath knew him to be the most chivalrous man in the entire kingdom. He prided himself on this. However, even with all of this “experience,” he was at a loss as what to do. The girl wasn’t even awake, he had never met her, and she hadn’t even spoken words to him…and yet she consumed his thoughts. Tomorrow he would need to continue on his mission for the king. Losing this time could have been catastrophic. He was supposed to be saving a family loyal to the King, not brooding over a woman he didn’t even know. “Although…” he thought, “she is a damsel in distress, is she not?” In all honesty, he really didn’t know. She was plainly running from something. Going against all instinct screaming at him to just leave the woman at the inn in town, he brought her into his home. Elise was the daughter, of Bilmarath’s trusted blacksmith, Vistar. Though Vistar was the king’s most trusted blacksmith, he did not live in or near the palace. He lived in a small town on the border of Cargarath and Dentsworth. He chose this place after his wife had passed, it was perfect to raise Elise. Elise grew up to be quite the beauty. Townsfolk wondered how it was a man permanently covered in soot and of the working class could sire such an other worldly beauty. Elise could not remember a time where she had a mother. She knew she must have had one, as she was spoken about by her father in fleeting moments … enticing bread crumbs dropped carelessly, before Vistar realized and hastily snatched them back. Her father once told her, her mother had the most beautiful singing voice. She could charm the angriest of his customers with just her voice. Since Elise had no mother, she was raised by her father and grew up a little rough around the edges and hardly had the proper etiquette of a lady. It was of no matter though. Everyone she met loved her anyway. She was a bit outspoken and spoke out of turn. She knew her way around a kitchen but preferred to be outdoors. Her father had always hoped to bring her to court one day and introduce her in hopes of her finding a good husband. He knew, though, that she was wild, and had little hope of introducing her to court. Elise could always be found outdoors and there were days that if you approached her, there was a ghost of a long forgotten memory behind her eyes. It always seemed, in those moments, that she was remembering or trying to remember a long forgotten past, a haunting past. It was in those moments you could see Vistar shake his head sadly and mumble to himself. No one ever asked, though, and soon enough Elise would be laughing and nodding along with the townspeople. Elise spent her entire life in Kegan. The dirt roads became a playground for all the babes in the town. The buildings were small and shack-like. The only brick building in the town was the blacksmith’s home. Elise loved the hills behind the house. They were large and covered in the greenest of grass. She would often disappear when she was a child to try to run towards the hills. She would walk in the grass barefooted in the spring. Most girls her age were learning cooking, cleaning, how to be courted, manners, and being introduced at court. They were trained in the art of getting husbands. Elise was different. She was outspoken. She was tough. She was dangerous. Her father was the only one who knew what was underneath Elise’s beauty and he would guard that with his life. He told her if she were ever in danger she was to travel as far as she could and find King Bilmarath. He would help her. She was always confused by this. Who would be after a blacksmith’s daughter? It wasn’t until she was eighteen that she would even remember the conversation she had with her father about running to the king for help. She would soon be fleeing from her home and more exhausted than she had ever been in her life. Currently, Elise was asleep upstairs in Count Declan’s manor. As she slept, she dreamt. Elise looked around. She was in a hidden room in her father’s smithy. The room afforded her a view of the kitchens where she could see a man and her father talking. She remembered this scene. “Vistar, your daughter, she is missing again today.” the man sat down at the table opposite Elise’s father. Vistar tensed and asked, “What brings you to my humble home?” Elise looked at the man, she knew he was the leader of the Arots. The Arots were known to be vicious, and fought against their good King. The man laughed, “You know why I am here. I need good weapons. You will be making them for me. And then we will talk on family matters.” A glint shown in his eye that Elise did not like. He folded his hands on top of the table and leaned forward. Elise knew her father would refuse him and often wondered why he did not just go straight to the king for help. She knew little of this man outside of his dealings with her father. The man was rough and not pleasing to the eyes; he had a wild, unkempt look about him. Elise shivered whenever he was there and would find any excuse to be out of his lecherous gaze. “There are other, more capable blacksmiths. Your praise is high and I’m afraid I just can’t deliver what you ask.” her father nervously looked over at the man whose smile froze on his face. “I see. Well then, I’ll just have to raise my price. I will be back. I’d like an audience with your daughter when I next come. You will have her ready for me. And then we’ll talk about my weapons.” The man stood and stormed out the door. A week later brought the man back. Elise remembered being rushed out of the room when her father had heard the horses. She decided to conceal herself in the next room to listen. Moving inside the house, she could see herself hidden in the lower cupboards of the storage room watching through a hole in the wall as the man circled her father. He paused near the hole she was watching as if he sensed her. She could see him sneer at her father. “Where is she, old man?” he snarled, leaning on a table near the wall. “She is out gathering supplies, my Lord,” came her father’s placid reply, “I was unaware you were coming so soon.” It disgusted her to watch her father give the man any kind of formality. She racked her brain for his name. “No matter.” he turned and paced the room, agitated. “Today I come for your assistance. I will pay you ten times what the King can for your alliance and weaponry.” the man turned and held an arm out to Vistar. “Join us.” A quiet gasp left Elise’s lips. She quickly clasped her hands over her mouth. Elise continued to watch herself in her dream, but it was the reaction of the man that had caught her attention. For just a moment his gaze fell to her hiding place, he knew she was there. “Milord is generous, but perhaps a better suited blacksmith could help you. I have many customers that cannot do without me. I cannot leave them nor will I leave my king.” Her father had the look of a trapped rabbit, and Elise’s heart broke for him. A hatred boiled inside of her. She paid little attention to herself still hiding and listening and watching. “You are the most skilled in all the lands of King Bilmarath.” Seeing this was not furthering his cause, the Arrot man tried another tactic. “Surely you wish no harm to come to your family,” he said. Elise fumed. She remembered thinking that it was an awful thing to say. Vaguely she thought to herself that it was weird being on this side of the conversation seeing as she could not always see the man’s face. Was this really just a dream? Or was it a vision of a past event? Was that even possible? His eyes were alight and she realized he did indeed know she was hidden and meant for her to hear this just as much as he meant to threaten her father. What could this man want with her? She knew many men asked for her hand in marriage but he seemed to not just want her hand in marriage, but to be in possession of her. “You will forge weapons and armor for me, and have them ready in one week’s time. King Bilmarath has no hold over us. You will benefit more from us anyway.” he paced the room and stopped to turn and face Vistar. “Your daughter will be there as well. Since you failed to produce her today and the other times I visited, make her presentable. She’ll make a perfect bride, dear father-in-law.” With that, the man walked out of her father’s house and slammed the door without looking back. Elise watched as she emerged from her hiding spot to comfort her father, who looked stricken with grief. She wanted to close her eyes to all of this. She knew what happened next and she didn’t want to relive it. “Please Father! Take heart. What shall we do?” cried Elise. “Elise, my only, sweet child, you must flee this place! Run now to King Bilmarath’s castle. There, you will be provided with sanctuary.” Elise was already shaking her head. “Father! How is the King to know who I am? Who am I to His Majesty?” “Go Elise!! You must leave this place with no looking back.” With that, her father wrapped her cloak about her and they hatched a plan - and her father promised that everything would be fine once she reached the King and the safety of the Castle. She had tried to convince her father to go with her, but he would have none of it. “I! Will! Not! Leave!” Elise’s outburst surprised herself just as much as it surprised her father. She threw off her cloak and sat, arms crossed in front of her. She turned her nose up and closed her eyes. Her father continued to try to convince her, she muttered and then hummed a tune, her humming eased her father’s nerves and he relented to allow her to stay, at least the week. The dream moved in a blur. Suddenly Elise felt sick as she realized what day she was now seeing. She had heard the sounds of the horses’ hooves. There were shouts. Elise could hear the terror in the villagers’ voices. Her father ran in from the back where he was at his forge. “GO!” he roared. Finally, she saw herself flee from the house. What Elise did not do was look back. The vow to her father kept her going. Elise watched herself run. She knew her feet took her to the nearest town of Ira, still within her region of Cargaroth. Elise did her best to stay in the shadow, slinking around alleys. As she continued her flight down one alley, she was startled by footsteps, and as she rounded a corner she collided into someone. Looking up, she saw a man in a dark cloak. The terror in her boiled over and she screamed. “Who are you? Are you he?” It appeared the man turned and looked right through her dream form. She couldn’t see his eyes, just blackness beneath the cloak. Elise sat bolt upright in bed. Sheets, damp with perspiration, tangled all around her. She realized she must have been dreaming. It was an odd thing, though. Everything seemed so real. The expressions on the man’s face. Things she doubted she really saw in that detail from her hiding space. She raised a hand to her head to wipe the sweat and to try to brush her hair from her eyes while surveying her surroundings. Elise was in a brightly decorated room, lying in a bed of the finest ebony, the sheets a creamy satin. Startled, she took in the rest of the room. On the walls there were beautiful paintings of Tieruran going through each of the seasons. Cargaroth looked to be the most beautiful and Ventsworth was wild and untamed. It appeared to be ever winter in Dentsworth and made her shiver to know the Arots were from there. She looked away from the painting. To her left were four floor-to-ceiling windows adorned with satin draperies. Straight ahead of her was a life-sized portrait of a man. To her astonishment, she saw the eyes of the man she ran into last night staring down from the portrait. To put her in rooms such as these - and not a dungeon or stable - meant she was not a captive? Who was this man? A lord? A duke? Moving from the painting, she saw a family coat of arms - and to the right of that, a shield with two distinct, exquisitely forged swords; swords from her father’s forge. She would know her father’s work anywhere. This man, or at least whomever owned this manor, was in the king’s army. Her eyes returned to the painting. If it was to be believed, the man towered over her, and had haunting beautiful green eyes that appeared to look straight through you to your soul. He was holding a shield and one of the swords. Elise’s thoughts went to the man again. She really had no idea what all happened while she was running. All she really knew was that the Arot man that had been coming to see her father, was after her. She also knew she had fled her town on foot, which she cursed herself for. Elise knew she made it to Ira and she remembered running into a man. The eyes of the man she saw during their collision were the same eyes as the man in the painting. Other than these few clues… she really had no idea who he was or what he wanted with her. He didn’t leave her in the inn; he had brought her back to his own house, at least, it seemed this was his house. Oh God - What if he was working for the Arots? Elise was not thinking clearly anymore. She was sore and tired from her running and lack of sleep. Her mind was wandering far from anything that was logical. Her mind went from the man being another suitor, to a man working for the king, or maybe he was working for the Arots; possibly even working for the King and the Arots. Is there a King of the Arots?Overworked and distraught, Elise found herself in a state of near panic. She walked to the bed and fretted. She marched around the room wringing her hands. The only thing she did not do was make a lot of noise. She didn’t want anyone to notice her. Last thing she needed was to be confronted by the mysterious man. There were windows in the room. If she had looked, she would have seen that night had turned to day and that food was on the table near one of the windows. She took no notice, though. If she had, it may have set her mind a little at ease. Instead, Elise worked herself up further. Finally, after a couple of hours of pacing and an overactive imagination, exhaustion set in once again and she fell asleep with her thoughts on the man in the painting. Count Declan left his servants with one simple order: let the woman sleep. Currently he was staring down a servant that had come to his study. “Find and bring me Goelik.” the servant shrank back towards the door. “My lord, no one can find him. I haven’t seen him all day.” the servant remained in a bow in front of Makraim. “How is it that my head of staff cannot be found?” He walked around his desk and dismissed his servant. “I’ll find him myself.” After finally finding him, “Ah Goelik, where have you been lurking? No matter. Should the King send for me tell him I am fetching the blacksmith. Have the servants prepare two rooms for he and his family. Send up a servant to watch over the girl upstairs as well. Have no one disturb her though. She is to be left to her sleep.” He never gave more information to his servants than he was going to Kegan to fetch a blacksmith and his family. Goelik gave the Count a bow and watched as he left. Goelik had been with the family manor since Makraim’s father was a child. He was an ancient man. The years hardly showed on him, though. It was whispered by some in the house that he was blessed by a sorceress with youth; others said that he was cursed by a witch with immortality. Goelik was roughly one hundred and thirty years old. He remembered what the lands looked like when they were peaceful and remembered the beginnings of the First Arots wars that were fought over the lands. The Arots were a people of dark magic, dangerous weapons, and wanted nothing more than to conquer all of Noru. Long ago the kingdom was divided into different lands to be governed by royal families and reigned over by the king. The Arots did not like their land, believing it to be too small, they wanted more. They sought to conquer all the lands and overthrow the current king. King Bilmarath’s great grandfather fought against the Arots bravely. When he fell in battle, the kingdom descended into chaos. King Bilmarath’s own grandfather was young, too young to really take over the throne. He ruled at the young age of thirteen. The man grew into a wise old king, calming down his people and even going so far as to marry an Arots woman to garner peace. But the Arots were a vicious and greedy people and the peace would not last. The Arots attempted to convince the Queen to kill her husband and allow them to take over. She was with child and refused them, turning her back on her people and denouncing her own blood. Bilmarath’s father’s birth caused the final rift between the Kingdom of Noru and the Arots. They broke away from the kingdom creating a ruling class all their own, away from Noru. The peace was broken. An assassin took life of the King and Queen causing Bilmarath’s father to ascend the throne. He was able to talk through a tentative peace promising the Arots more land and granting them freedom of their own rule as long as they stayed out of Noru. This seemed to appease them and Bilmarath was born. Soon after his birth the Queen was poisoned causing the King to go into a madness. He declared war on the Arots blaming them for his wife’s death and the Second Arots War started. This war was waged for years depleting Noru of resources and manpower. The King’s own son was old enough to fight near the end. The war also took young Master Makraim far from home to fight along side the prince and their king. The war took the lives of Makraim’s own beautiful mother and kind hearted father. Goelik had been nearly heartbroken with grief. He would have done anything to stop the wars and keep what was left of the household safe. Watching Makraim leave now gave him the same sense of foreboding he felt the day Makraim left many years ago. Something was going to happen… and he didn’t like it one bit. He would keep an eye on the people in the house, starting with that female he brought home. Goelik had never seen beauty like hers. Was she enchanted… or using her beauty to enchant? Either way, she was dangerous to this household and she must go. He would watch carefully from the shadows and make sure she didn’t disrupt the household. He would make sure to report anything to his master. He only hoped Count Declan could forgive him any of his treachery. He walked the servants halls, pondering. It had been over ten years since the Second Arot War and Goelik remembered it like yesterday. As he walked in to the servants’ hall, he remembered the day Makraim left. It had been a rainy spring day; young Makraim was mounting his horse to join the King’s army, he was thirteen years of age. His mother and father stood at the gates and waved to him, but he looked past them to Goelik and waved his hat. It would be the last time the young nobleman of thirteen saw his parents alive. The boy had always put his trust in Goelik. Just moments before, he had made him promise to do anything he could to help his parents cope with sending a son off to the war. The Arots were a brutish group, they never took prisoners. As they marched upon the land, they would seek to destroy everything in their path. No one knew who the leader was; no one even knew if their leader was a man or woman. The Arots were only clear on one thing: they would brook nothing but total submission to their rule. Goelik remembered the horrifying day they had stormed the manor: their horses charging through the keep and trampling the grounds, their riders ruthlessly cutting down anyone whom dared cross their paths. Goelik watched helplessly as his master and mistress were slain with the use of black magic - they seemed to just bleed out with no touch of a blade. There was a spell caster among the horses, though he could not see which one it was. Goelik hid his own family, but they were found. It was that day that Goelik’s fear had reached a fever pitch. His family was held hostage by a man on a black horse. He wanted information. It would appear that a seer had told him that he needed to find a girl child. The man was asking questions about the family. Goelik said that the Count and Countess had no children. The man grew angry and told him he lied. Goelik went down on his knees and begged for the life of his family. He vowed to do anything to keep them safe. The man smiled, grabbed Goelik’s wife by the hair, and threw her at him. He sheltered her against him as he watched his children crying. The man circled on horseback dismissing his men in the nearby villages. One rider, the spell caster, stayed behind. Goelik came out of his reverie. Goelik shivered at the memory and what needed to be done to keep his and his family’s lives. No one suffered during that war more than he. His thoughts turned back to his young Master Makraim. The Count was without wife, and therefore without heir. He would need to marry if he were to further his line. It seemed the Count had a soft spot for the beautiful mysterious woman he had brought home the night before. The count had gone so long looking at a woman. Apart from the servant he employed a few years ago, Matsey, no other woman had ever caught his eye. Goelik hated Matsey for catching his master’s attention. He often wondered what about her had drawn his master, but dismissed it as mere uncommon beauty for a servant. He would find Matsey and give her charge of the woman child upstairs. She must be an enchantress to capture his master’s attention so fully that he would belay a mission from his king. He would discover what kind of witch she was to enchant his master so. Perhaps he had found the girl that was foretold so many years ago. A seer foretold a child of power would be born. She would be of an uncommon beauty and whomsoever possesses her possesses the ability to control life and death. If it were she, then all of his sacrifice would be rewarded shortly. He smiled and disappeared into the back rooms of the castle, not to be seen the rest of the day. Word circled around the manor that no one was to step foot into the room where the master had put the strange female. They whispered that he was in love with her. They gossiped that she was a powerful enchantress and all of their troubles were over. Matsey dismissed all of the idle words being spoken and kept an eye out for servants trying to get into the room to catch a glimpse of the woman. She also kept an ear out for movement within the room that would tell her the woman was waking. She was curious about the creature. Count Declan rode steadily on toward the village of Kegan, a journey that would take him two days to complete. As he rode, his thoughts turned back to the woman in his portrait room, sleeping so peacefully. Who was she? Why was she running? Why was she alone? Her exceptional beauty and unknown past only made her intriguing and mysterious. He could tell by her dress that she was not a noblewoman. She was without an escort. Her cloak hid most of her features from him while she ran. When they collided, the cloak dropped briefly from her face. For an instant, as he glimpsed her eyes, he saw fire… quickly replaced by fear and exhaustion. His father would have smirked at the girl and her spark; his mother would be stunned at her traveling alone. Makraim frowned at that thought. He remembered his mother and father well, though it had been over ten years since their death in the wars. It was just one week following his exodus from home that he was called back to take up his father’s mantle and the title of Count. He refused to leave his assignments in the King’s army for his sense of duty and loyalty. Goelik, faithful as ever, even then, was temporarily left in charge of the manor and told to await his young master’s return. The king attempted to persuade young Makraim to return to his home and settle his family’s affairs, though the boy refused. It would appear the King had little trust for his family’s servants. He was wary of leaving Goelik in charge of affairs. Makraim knew him well, though. He would trust him with his life. Goelik was no traitor and would never betray his family. Makraim didn’t want to think on that anymore. He thought of recent times - the times after his return home to settle down after the Second Arot War. The Count had been asked several times since he had come home to look for a wife. The manor needed a lady to look after it, and he must produce an heir in order to preserve his family line, but he could not just choose any woman. Every woman presented as a potential wife seemed so delicate. They were like flowers that wilt in the sun and break at the slightest touch. He wanted someone he could love, someone passionate about life and fiery. His thoughts turned to his household. They would be in charge of the mystery woman he brought home. He only hoped he had made the right choice and she was not deceptive in her frailty. Makraim assumed that Goelik would assign a servant to help her. He would have to get to the bottom of this mystery… and soon. It was approaching dusk and Count Declan would have to find a place to bed down for the night. He was just past Ira and decided to turn his horse around and bed there for the night. They had a nice stable for the horse and he knew there was an inn there that could accommodate him. He would make it to Kegan tomorrow, just as he thought he would. Tonight he would sleep. Early the next morning, Count Declan broke bread with the innkeeper and his family, thanked them for their gracious hospitality, and went on his way. He was hopeful that he would be able to make it to the village of Kegan before anything could go wrong; this area was known to be dangerous. The Arots were on the rise again. His orders were to retrieve the blacksmith Vistar and his family, and bring them to the safety of his manor, where the King himself would arrive to retrieve them. This made no sense to the Count. Vistar was well known for his weapons. His craftsmanship had no equal. Makraim could see the value in having the man with the threat of the Arots, he just didn’t see why the king himself would be protecting him. What was so special about this family? They could be no common peasants. Unease settled upon him. He was beginning to think saving the woman last night was a mistake. He really should have left her in the inn and continued his journey that his king found so urgent. Nearing his destination, Makriam slowed his horse. Suddenly a smell came in waves. He urged his horse on faster, his heart pounding in his chest; he knew what to expect as he burst full speed from the forest, praying it wasn’t so. He was too late. Smoldering buildings surrounded him and the smell of death invaded his nostrils, stinging them and making his eyes water. He began to search for survivors. Maybe the blacksmith and his daughter were alive. Deep down, he knew he was wrong; surveying the smoking ruins, he saw it was too late for the blacksmith and his family. Bodies lay scattered on the ground. The barrage of horrors brought flashbacks of fighting the Arots, so horrible and merciless. Houses lay in ruin all around him. It looked as if any who had not fled were dead… the only ones foolish enough to stand their ground. He made his way through the village of ash until he came to what was left of what had to be the blacksmith’s home. There was a forge on the side and what may have been a workhouse out back. He saw a man with a stake through his chest. He matched the description the king gave him of the blacksmith Vistar. He lay on the ground outside the ruin of his home. This was the man who he swore to the King he would protect, and he had failed. Blacksmith Vistar was dead. In his hand was pinned a note. It read . . . I will hunt down and take what is mine! Sir Garot of the Arots Count Declan’s blood ran cold. Frantically he began searching for any remains of the family. He knew it was all for naught. While looking, he racked his brain for what he knew of Sir Garot. Sir Garot was leading the Arots after their leader vanished suddenly a few years ago. Some say Garot himself killed their leader to take his place. Count Declan knew better. He had fought alongside Garot ten years ago. Then, Garot had watched his entire family murdered by the Arots, and had sworn revenge. It was in that moment he went in search of their leader. Makraim had never seen him again, and had surmised that he was killed when the Arots started marching again. He would never have thought that the man he had fought beside could be the man now leading this bloodthirsty band of men. Yet this note proved his thinking wrong. Vistar must have owned something quite valuable. He would have to send a page boy to the King for further instructions. For now, he was tired and wanted to return home to see what the mysterious rescued goddess was like. There would be time to figure out this enigma of the blacksmith later. He remounted his horse and turned toward home. He would stop in Ira to rest again and ask them to send some people to bury the dead here. With that settled, he turned and rode from the destroyed town of Kegan.


Next Chapter: Chapter 2