Chapter ONE

Kahniel knocked on one of the chipped painted red shutters of the door. It was a ragtag carriage; especially considering the rider within was one of dark ambition to rule the entire continent. The shutter slowly opened with a shrill screech on its worn shutters. Just beneath the shadows of twilight seeping through the crack, large almost purple lips that seemed to wear a permanent half sneer twitched in anticipation for Kahniel to relay his news.
        “The platoon was successful. We await your orders, Master Lamphasaar.”
        A gnarled pale hand seemingly reached out of the darkness of the shadows itself gave a casual wave to signal his approval. The general gave a salute and took one last look at the quiet village below. Here and there children were being roused from their sleep by parents chastising them for trying to sleep in so late when there was work to be done. A farmer was probably grumbling about the encroaching sunlight that was going to alarm the rooster in the yard. All of them so unsuspecting. All of them so…innocent.
        His brown eyes stared down for a moment, abstracted in thought. The humidity was stifling, making the young general’s brown hair curl near his eyes and drip sweat. He angrily swept aside his locks as well as his notions of mercy with it. His face resolute, he turned back to the small village, took a deep breath, and gave a cutting motion with his dark gauntleted hand.
        The sounds of arrows and flames cutting through the orange purple sky were the precursor for the sounds of death and destruction as the arrows thwacked into their destinations. The dreadful fluttering sound of the flamed ends of the arrows sounded like that of the rustling of undertaker robes striding to the morgue to take the bodies of the deceased to their graves.
        The young general watched stoically as the fire caught two houses at a time. Squadrons of the Hooncaliz had placed drums of kerosene; small reeds of bamboo from the Jo’norak jungles feeding out of the drums of kerosene (disguised as simple ale casks) behind several houses ensuring that none would escape the raging forced funeral pyre. The symphony of screams echoed out of the town as the war-hardened general watched the townspeople trying to escape the inferno engulfing the hovels.
        He only gazed with enmity blazing in the reflection of flames and catastrophe in his eyes. Let them burn. Let the whole world burn if need be. If a nation of cinders is what his master wished, then so be it. Such a foolish conceited nation this village belonged to. Kahniel and his master, Lamphasaar, knew that this would hardly be considered a ‘loss’ to the nation of elitists known as the Hovanians; but it would be a suitable threat that would sway them towards making the right decision and surrendering before any more casualties were gained. The thoughts of the bitter ward turned inward as he contemplated how he even came to such a callous and angry demeanor that would force him to produce such thoughts.
        He could see it so clearly. He was ten at the time, close to fifteen years ago. Kahniel felt himself standing in the line of weeping mothers and bleating children once more on that gloomy day of overcast skies and downcast stares. He held in his hand only a bag with his toy soldier made of straw and one change of clothes. The child couldn’t be bothered to carry anymore aboard such a crowded vessel. The continent of Hahnai was in a state of war. It had been as far back as Kahniel could remember. The war had raged on so long that crime was a matter of survival. Whether it was the ever-common story of the “lowly beggar stealing a loaf of bread to feed his starving child”, or the pacifist refusing to participate in the slugfest of nations; the numbers in the prisons were far too crowded. Elbow to elbow to the point where inmates were sleeping standing up; the rulers of the nations had to solve their turmoil. They could put them to death but being that most of their populations were at war, a dead family member would mean a grief-stricken soldier (And possible riots). The next step up from death seemed the most logical: exile. Of course with exile though, came at a cost of a soldier added to the opponents of the warring nations.
        The ocean was a mystery; small coastal fishing boats barely going far enough to escape the view of the shore. Ever since the first historians of Hahnai, the historians recorded battle much more than discovery. The rulers decided that they would ship all their prisoners adrift and let the currents set their fate.
        So there stood Kahniel with his family, waiting to board their destiny. Little Kahniel shuffled his feet, listening with boredom to the sounds of his chains on his feet connected to his mother jingle. Tears streaked Sophine’s face but no longer flowed as she stared blankly ahead; dead on her feet with grief. Though, the young child couldn’t understand why. They finally had his father back from prison. His father had been imprisoned wrongfully for an insubordination charge. Kahniel idolized his father. A stout man, bald and stern; to Kahniel he was a portrait of pride as the general of the Validine army. Kahniel was crushed and beside himself with rage when he had heard about the terrible injustice. The thought that his father, the most honorable man the knighthood could ever hope for, would be charged with insubordination stung his mind with the pain of a thousand angry hornet stings. Two months had gone by until the news that his father had been vindicated of his crime had reached Kahniel. His father told him that they were going away for a while, that there was new opportunity elsewhere and they were some of the “lucky few” to be able to embark on such a journey.
        As Kahniel looked around, he was starting to see his father had spared him the truth: they were going on a journey they may very well not come back from.  It wasn’t until it was their turn to meet the ship guard had it truly sunk in that things were indeed as they seemed and worse.
        “Name?”
        “Sir…” Kahniel’s father hesitated and gulped back his first word mid-gasp before continuing “Derdrek Surelance with my kin, Sophine and Kahniel Surelance”.
        “Conviction?”
        Kahniel’s eyes widened as he looked up at the surly chainmail clad guard. Kahniel flushed with bewildered loathing as the truth began to seize hold. It clutched at his heart as he heard his father wistfully answer “Insubordination in his Lord Valadius Goldmail’s army…”  Kahniel’s eyes grew hot with tears of rage as he could no longer take this atrocity to his father’s honor “Father, what are you saying?! You said it was a mistake. You would never commit insubordination!” Kahniel rounded on the stupefied guard who was now staring to the side embarrassed knowing now that the poor boy was misinformed “And you! You have the audacity to accuse my father, General Surelance, hero of FOUR victories in the name of our Lord Valadius Goldmail!? How dare you!”
        The guard as well as Derdrek were silent. Indeed the guard had heard of the exploits of such an honorable general; perhaps even served under his command in the many long years of Derdrek’s career. He had heard many things about Derdrek; some were true and others laden with lies. The guard regarded the former general with respect and sorrow that such a fate would be dealt to him. There stood a seasoned veteran with wife and child in tow, dishonorably exiled for a crime riddled with controversy to its legitimacy. He realized then he had been silent for a little too long as he cleared his throat, and interrupted the enraged child’s rant “Please silence your child or we will be forced to bound and gag him before boarding him on the ship…we can’t afford anyone to be rousing the prisoners.”

        Derdrek quietly chastised the boy and ushered him on the ship. Kahniel cried out that this was an injustice, this was perversion of the knighthood, and humanity had gone mad; the whole time his father pled with the melancholy angry youth to cease his babbling.

        Kahniel’s throat ached with anger as well as pain as he sat on the deck of the ship. As the ship embarked on its aimless voyage, Kahniel had so many questions swirling about his adolescent mind. Why did his father lie to him? What had has father done to be classified as “insubordination”? But the question that perhaps he wanted answered the most was…where were they going?

        The day was somber but beautiful; as if fate had prepared a neat funeral for the death of these unfortunates’ old life.  Kahniel watched as the mainland became smaller and smaller, drifting from his view but not his memory as everyone aboard the ship came to the grips with the fact that they’d been set adrift. He lingered by the railing for a moment longer before taking stock of his surroundings. A hierarchy was already being established aboard the ship as Derdrek swallowed the lump welling in his throat and called out to all those aboard the damned ship.

        “Attention, my fellow exiles. We have been given meager rations that are expected to last us all a month at sea. As you all may expect, our captors were being generous when they speculated a month. As you all may also expect this ship has no ability to steer. We drift off aimlessly wherever the ‘Current of Lost Souls’ wills. I don’t have to tell you all that this will possibly be the most difficult voyage any of you all have ever made without having taken a step. However, it is to be understood that we are not doomed…” At this last remark there was a wave of doubtful murmurs and a few muttered oaths; but Derdrek still pressed on as resolute as a zealot preaching the existence of a deity “No! We are not doomed! Do you not all see? What did we have in Hahnai? War and strife? If we find land, we have the man power as well as the anonymity to create a new way of life. I will see to it that those who survive will see the dawn of a new tomorrow. We’re not being set adrift; we’re being freed!”

 Once again, like a man trying to fight the tide to walk into the ocean, a wave of doubt crashed upon Derdrek in the form of mumbled doubt and nay saying. His brow furrowed and his jaw set, he was determined that his closing statement would be the final word on the situation. “If you feel that this is a ship towards your graves, then save us some food and toss yourselves overboard, because Death doesn’t need your voice to whisper in our ears.” The murmurs slowly silenced. Kahniel wasn’t sure, but he could’ve sworn he heard over the sounds of the gurgling waves lapping against the side of the vessel; he heard the sound of a yelp or two and crashes into the water.

Kahniel decided to explore the ship after the people dispersed. It was decided without much contest that Derdrek would be their leader. Despite Derdrek’s stirring speech and commandeering of the desolate situation, Kahniel was hardly impressed. His view of his idol was shattered and, like many of the others, thought that the ship’s inhabitants’ destinies were uncertain at best. Insubordination? What could have been asked of his father that he actually disobeyed a direct order and was willing to face disgrace as well as the prospect of death? The questions were like the swaying of the ship; keeping Kahniel unsteady as he tried to walk forward making him slightly sick. He sat down with his mother, the thought still ravaging his mind as his mother comforted him by combing her fingers through his brown hair and every so often gritting her fingers together off to the side to grind away the sea salt she found.

From what Kahniel could tell, he wasn’t the only one feeling nauseous. A symphony of upchucks were heard near the railings from the seasick passengers. He sat against the large cabin in the center of the ship that led to the lower levels accompanied by various other families. Kahniel eventually got his bearings and began to explore the ship.

The wood that was used to build the ship was made out of wreckage from war’s various tolls on different pillaged towns. Kahniel still could remember one board in particular that had to have been placed out of humor by the builders of the ramshackle ship. As far as he could tell it was half an old tavern sign right next to a bakery sign on the floor board; inadvertently reading “Take n’ Butt”. The “vern” in the word “tavern” taken off and sat by the side of a sign missing a ‘c’ and ‘er’ of “Cake n’ Butter” actually gave Kahniel a reason to at least smirk and give him a bit of gumption to think a little more positively. He was beginning to ponder the possibility that maybe his father was right. What was there in Hahnai? War was a way of life on the continent; each nation far too different to cope with each other.

 The Hovanians were an elitist nation of spell casters; their magic second to none on the entire continent they reveled in their abilities and demanded the same of everyone in the nation. Their pride in magic being so strong that for anyone among their number to be inept at the craft were considered outcasts to belong on the bottom tier in society. The Hovanians believed that anyone who doesn’t at least dabble in the ways of magic are inefficient and, ergo, a threat to their way of life.

        The Jo’norak were a nation of barbarians. ‘Survival of the fittest’ wasn’t only a theory to them; it was a rule. The Jo’norak were a strong savage race. Each child at a certain age rumored to have to fight in a coliseum setting to determine their position in society. The Jo’norak were survivalists. No need for wondrous spires or posh mansions for a crude hut that kept out the cold was sufficient. The idea of a ‘library’ infuriated them to no end at the prospect of wasting so much trees for something they viewed as unproductive as studying or quests towards knowledge rather than a hunt. The Jo’norak believed the outside nations were weak and puny as well as perfect targets for conquest.

The Validines, from which Kahniel hailed, were a nation of nobility. All the people were ruled under the founders of the nation itself. Proud bold people who desired innovation and most importantly: growth. The Validines were convinced that they were the favorite of the Creator; destined to rule and bring civility to a chaotic land. Although it was commonly believed that the Creator made the world but leaves the dealings of the mortals to the mortals themselves, the Validines maintain it is only natural they lead and possibly be granted the great Creator’s first divine intervention in this world.

The Joorians were the only race who desired to be left alone and for the most part they were. Many years before Kahniel was even born the Joorians could have been the most powerful race in all of Hahnai. They had in their power a different sort of magic that no other nation could ever hope to master. They had the power of spell lore. The forces of nature heeded the almighty Joorian druids’ spells. Storm clouds eclipsed a once arid sun beaten day at the word of the druids’ sinewy whispered spell. The sun would burst into light in the middle of the darkest forest at the whim of the powerful druids. The druids would’ve been a force to contend with had the Joorians utilized them for aggressive means. However, the druids met a terrible fate only truly known by the Joorians that once worshipped them. Once the druids disappeared so did the Joorians. Many say you can’t find the stealthy forest people lest they invite you into their domain. Not many are invited into the pacifists’ nation and therefore the forest people remain in calm obscurity; not offering aid nor in need of aid of the warring nations.

Indeed perhaps the Joorians had the right mindset, Kahniel began to wonder. If the exiles found a land to claim as their own, perhaps they could create a new peaceful nation; unbeknownst to the outside world and ergo not able to contest power or be of threat to the rest of the world. He then realized that he added his own qualifier to his situation: If the exiles found a land to claim. Kahniel felt his stomach sink, as some of Derdrek’s chosen ‘guards’ came around with a crudely-made food cart; handing plates of meager rations to each person. It came as no surprise when he heard one of the guards mumble to another about the fact that they couldn’t find some of the other shipmates.

He looked up from his plate of food, gazing at the sunset that in so many ways personified this journey. One could have viewed the reflection of the sun dipping on the horizon on the water as a sign that even as the sun wanes, the reflection of light and beauty still remain in the pools of tomorrow. One could also look at the sun itself as if it were an inferno on the horizon that they were sailing into the mouth of.

Kahniel had a fitful night’s sleep with his parents. His father kept tossing and turning on the small nest made of blankets and rags and the warmth of the summer night combined with the body heat of so many bodies within the hull was suffocating. He also found it difficult to sleep when he heard people still retching up on deck.

Kahniel woke up still tired as he headed up on deck to escape the terrible odor of several sweating bodies and steaming chamber pots ready to be dumped overboard. He muttered no word of greeting to his parents and headed up on deck to see if perhaps they had already found land. As he figured, there was no land to be seen; just the endless span of dark blue. Some children had gotten used to the situation and were beginning to find their own fun. They tightly knotted balls of fabric and set them on the deck, giggling and cheering on their ball as it rolled and wobbled back and forth with the motions of the sea towards a finish line made of string. Kahniel couldn’t find such distraction amusing. He was always a quiet stern child with military dreams and adventurous wishes. When kids wanted to play ‘war’, he was often the outcast for taking the game far too seriously and accidentally hurting the children. He had a one-track mind that sated his loneliness with the prospect of glory and grandeur in the face of war. Many a time he would muse of the day that he would dive head first into battle, heedless of the legion of soldiers eager to rip him limb from limb. He wanted that feeling of exaltation that came from fighting for a cause greater than him. He was determined to lay his head upon the dirt after that one death-blow from that worthy adversary. Of course though, these dreams of death upon the battlefield are after he has lived a long military career and as of late Kahniel hasn’t had a military career at all so these are just far off dreams. Kahniel didn’t find it absurd that a child as young as he was already contemplating how he wanted to die. To him, it was the highest honor to be bestowed upon a man to die for a worthy cause.

The military-minded adolescent occupied the next few days with studying his father’s war journals; committing to memory strategies and campaigns both failed and successful. The rations were holding out nicely but only in solemn thanks to those who simply weren’t made for life at sea. Various crew members took their own lives thanks to the depression of being an exile. Some of them feared the worse when the seasickness didn’t clear up soon enough that they tried to be martyrs (or cowards) and threw themselves off the ship so as not to ‘infect’ the rest of the ship.

It had been a week since they had left the mainland and Kahniel was becoming acclimated with the motions of the way the ship worked. It was with luck that the convicts whom were justly sentenced aboard the ship were behaving; although it was impossible to tell who actually belonged on this ship. Derdrek wanted to find out who had committed the serious crimes so they could be monitored but it came as no surprise when the accused names never came up.

The days were long and the nights even longer. One night the adolescent exile will always recall and personify the day he lost his innocence. That night, Kahniel was lying awake on his pallet. He couldn’t figure out what world he was living in. His father guilty of insubordination, people dying in droves, and some people even choosing to end their life made life seem like a question mark with a most dreadful ‘period’ at the end. With a heavy sigh and grunt as he heaved himself to his feet and steadying his legs with the motions of the ship; Kahniel walked up to the deck.

As he looked out the entrance of the lower deck, the moon was beautiful. A lone white beacon that seemed to illuminate possibly the most tragic scene Kahniel could have ever imagined being in existence. Kahniel knew he would never forget that moment aboard the ship.

“Goodness…thirteen whole days we’ve been aboard this ship and we’ve already seen so much…felt so much…” stated the older man with a graying scalp. His eyes could scarcely be seen in the low light of the moon but one could tell they were staring down at his legs spread out before him as he sat. A gurgling cough bubbled forth from the throat of the younger man that couldn’t have been any older than twenty; bringing the old man’s attention towards him. He continued softly “I never thought it would come to this…I hear all the time that ‘no parent should have to bury their kin’…but here I stand. Dasroth… do you remember the week before we left? It seemed so long ago…”

He was interrupted by another wracking cough as the younger man managed a chuckle “Yes, I remember, father. I remember telling little Gerta and Sianna that we were going on a little trip. Of course they didn’t believe us. They may have only been eight and six years old but they knew what us older wiser folk didn’t want to believe…this journey is our last. Father….we both know that if I don’t go I’m going to end up…”Dasroth took a gulp as best he could as a tear trickled down his chin. He nodded meaningfully towards the area where the sick bay was just below. Just like that though, Dasroth was no longer twenty. He looked just like a child looking towards his father for help. Lower lip trembling and cheeks dirty and stained with tears. His father was melancholy at the memory of a son long ago coming to him with a scraped knee; the same expression of fear and pain upon his face as he looked to his father for a remedy. But this time there was no washing off the dirt and blood and putting on a bandage; there was only a helpless father that could only try and soothe a son in his last moments of life. Slowly the two got up without saying a word with the son leaning heavily on his father due to his body being so weak. Tears flowed like rivers down the father’s face as his scraggly chin quivered. He leaned his son over the railing and embraced him tight. The son leaned his chin over his father’s shoulder as he put his weak arms around the one who brought him into this world but now was forced to see him out. The father slowly loosened his arms, which were now shaking in grief, and like a ragdoll his son dropped off the railing into the watery grave.

His father watched as everything seemed to happen so slowly. He watched his son’s eyes close as he fell backwards over the railing with his arms still outstretched in his last attempts to hold that hug close to him in his final moments. He crashed into the water; the ocean swaddling its newest claim in the cool water as the young man sunk deeper…and deeper…until….darkness and silence.

Kahniel watched the old man staring down at the water for long moments. He felt his heart break just as the old man’s no doubt was in shards and crushed to dust. Kahniel knew that he would never know tragedy so deep until he met it himself; but for now he knew he would never forget this moment and there would be a hole in his heart where he witnessed old bury young.

The old man sauntered off in a daze as did the young witness to some unseen cue. He went down below the deck and he found himself lying between his parents, trying his best to hold on to each of them as his dreams drifted off to water...

There were fewer people on deck than the day before. People stayed below deck hardly able to stand. They complained that the night before the seasickness never ended for them and after they had retched all they had within their stomachs that they felt a debilitating pain in their joints that crippled them. There were a few debtor doctors aboard the ship that were doing all they could for the poor malady-stricken passengers. Derdrek took immediate action to quarantine one part of the ship by hanging up old rags from some people’s pallets; including his own. Kahniel out of curiosity peered through one of the grates that were poised directly over the top of the sick ward. He took one cautious glance around the area where the grate was to be sure nobody noticed him ashamedly gawking at the sick. What he saw turned his stomach even more than the ever-shifting ship’s deck.

Gazing down into the poorly constructed grate made of, from what the curly brown-haired youth could tell, was an old deep frying basket; he saw the pitiful sight of the damned below. Doctors (at least Kahniel assumed they were) hovered around the hacking and writhing forms in desolation. They knew there was nothing that could be done. The poor beings laid within their own filth; not having the energy to get up and sit upon their chamber pots. Even if the energy was there, the chamber pot was full of vomit and, much to the disgust of Kahniel, blood. Sunken eyes stared out of gaunt faces, wide with pain and terror as the pain gripped them like a rabbit caught in a snare. The young militaristic pretender was ready for a battle filled with the brutality that only mankind could perpetrate upon one another but no greater fear could have rattled through his mind than the idea of dying so powerless. These people would die ignominiously suffering pain unparalleled with doctors pacing about; not helping but simply waiting for them to pass on before throwing the bed into the ocean along with the corpse. Kahniel’s dark contemplations were suddenly interrupted by a horrified scream as he noticed behind him a woman had been watching with him.

Her blue eyes frantic and wild as she slowly took steps backward, she shook her head as if refusing the beckoning of some unknown macabre figure. The young woman whimpered as she looked down at the grate Kahniel was only viewing moments ago. Confused and startled, the boy slowly got to his feet as people were beginning to look at the woman too.

        “Can’t you all see?! We’re surrounded by Death! Death! Starvation, sickness, drowning?! We’re all dead! This is a ship of living corpses! Well I’m not going to stand around and wait for my turn!” She suddenly whipped some of her long curly blonde hair out of her face, laughing a maniacal laugh that sent chills like that of spiders running down each passenger’s spinal column. She once again started to back away from Kahniel towards the ship railing; her screechy voice singing a morbid nursery rhyme. “He grabs you by the hand. Buries you in the sand. Follow him far, follow him close. Death is taking you and everyone has to go.” She placed her foot on the rail as several of the passengers gasped, pleading for her not to jump. She glanced back at the crowd and, for a moment, Kahniel did indeed believe the woman. Death was there. He was in her eyes and he was beckoning her forth to take her turn.

Derdrek came running up the deck, demanding that she step down off the railing. She didn’t even react as a grin of absolute mad elation swept over her face as she turned her attention back to the ocean. Like a queen at a correlation taking to the podium, she stepped upon the railing regally, falling forward with arms outspread. There wasn’t a sound aside from the water gently lapping against the boat. There was no scream. The helpless captain didn’t take another step forward. No passenger cried or moved as they heard the soft splash of the lithe woman falling into the water. Expressions aghast and eyes downcast, people began to back away from the railing as if it were a freshly dug grave. The veteran knight’s chest was still heaving; sweat dribbling down his bald scalp as he still stared forward at the place where the lost soul had just forfeited her life.

Derdrek broke the silence, gently cajoling the bystanders to disperse from the sorrowful scene. No one knew who the woman was or her reason for being aboard the ship. When asked if they knew her, passengers regarded her as a quiet woman who was broken from the start; if not from prison from whence she came then from the ordeal of the exile in general. Kahniel’s mother gently tossed a small flower folded out of paper over the railing where the woman had jumped to her doom. He went to ask his mother where she got the paper from but noticed that it was their citizenship papers of Validine. Kahniel was a child when he got on that ship. He had seen so many things that it was hard to decipher if this could be his reality or not. At that moment though, Kahniel knew indeed: this was real. The papers that meant everything to his father: their heritage, his title in an army he would die for at the chance; a name to a nation that he was raised in and hoped to grow old in…all folded into trinkets of melancholy farewells aimlessly floating in the current into oblivion. Kahniel walked to the entrance leading to the lower deck, laid his head on his family’s pallet, went to sleep, and dreamt of blue eyes and deadly nursery rhymes.

Kahniel felt his body rolling as he was suddenly tossed against the side of the boat. The skies roared in deafening anger as thunder crashed around them and lightning ripped through the early morning sky. People huddled together as havoc was reeking through the infirmed ship. There was nothing that could be done. They were at the mercy of the storm and they all knew it. Women cried and men screamed as they all tried their best to hold on to parts of the ship to try and resist being tossed about. People were bleeding as they were slammed against walls on their heads or other people’s luggage flew loose. There were even some dead as the sick bay were jostled about and the weaker of the passengers below took a fatal blow from the sides of the ship as they were jettisoned this way and that. It was a grueling scene as limp bodies were tossed in the air like a ghastly garden salad with chamber pots being upturned and various rucksacks being cascaded through the ship’s crew. Kahniel had just regained his footing when all went black as he turned around and saw a nude corpse of an elderly man fly head-first towards him.

When he had awoken once more there was only silence and still. There was a ringing in his ear and heaviness to his brow as he felt some blood trickle down the bridge of his nose. The world was blurred and jolting every time he took a step forward. He shakily walked towards the sound of voices rising and falling…seemingly from the outside of the hull of the ship. He missed his footing and fell on top of a corpse that was broken over one of the ribs of the ship signifying that the ship was stopped and, furthermore, tilted on its side. He hurriedly righted himself, wiping away the tears as well as blood away from his eyes as he ran as fast as he could to the only visible exit. The grate in the wall (What was once the ceiling of course) seemed far away as he tried to run from the gruesome scene he was living. He picked up momentum, every so often having to skirt around a corpse.

He burst through the grate; tumbling five or ten feet to the water below. Frantically he swam towards the shore where all the survivors had congregated. It was all he could stand to keep his head above the water and recall how to ‘dog-paddle’ from years ago vacationing with his parents. He made it to the shore and in the arms of his loving distraught mother who immediately began fretting over the cut on his brow there and the gasps for air here. He looked for his father but found him to be absent during this loving embrace. After all, he may have been a father to Kahniel, but he was still a leader to the rest of these lost souls.

The bald improvised ship captain was solemn as he looked about at the faces of the survivors; for once though Derdrek was at a loss for words. He knew that it was a blessing that they were all alive, he knew that the ship was a moving grave, and he knew that they were all finally free of the troubles of Hahnai; however as he looked into tired eyes and dirty sun-beaten faces it was hard to sum this all up into words. But he took a dry gulp of air and called out to his people

“My friends…passengers aboard what was deemed a death sentence…some of us have received a pardon from the powers that be. Indeed we have lost much and far more than can be measured in numbers. However, now we are truly free. It will be difficult to conceive this, but there will be others like us. I can tell you all now as a former general that the Hovanians planned on doing the exact same as our motherland of Validine…”

At this last remark there is a commotion amongst the survivors until with a motion of his broad hand they are silenced.

“To that I say this: We all share a common goal. We all seek to survive. Nationalities are of no concern to us any longer. We are a new nation. Whoever washes ashore we welcome as brother and sister. We open our arms and embrace the exiles as citizens of this nation we shall build. We are free, my people. Let us all take part in the construction and dominion of this new world!”

Smiles began to beam on the dirt smudged faces of these refugees and light dawned upon their shadowed eyes as they looked upon a new hope

 “Let us build Hooncaliz!”

Cheers erupted from the newly dubbed citizens of Hooncaliz as creation began to take place. It was amazing all that they had in the power of people. In no time lumberjacks, carpenters, blacksmiths, doctors, chefs, and all people from all planes of life began to reveal themselves and a town began to take shape. For the first time in nearly two weeks, Kahniel saw home begin to show itself.

                `                        

        The months that followed that fateful day were some of the most extraordinary Kahniel had ever hoped to see. These were no longer exiles that were cast out from their homeland; these were settlers who had recreated their lives and had a new start. For the first month, at least five ships came in full of refugees from the continent of Hahnai. Derdrek, much to the astonishment of the former Validines as well as the Hovanians, demanded that the Hovanians be treated with equal respect as the Validines who had been there first. “It could have just as easily been the Hovanians who landed here first. We are not rulers, we are merely predecessors and we would have found it most disagreeable had the ship arrived a month earlier than us and they had chosen to behave barbarically.”

        Many of the intellectuals aboard the boat agreed halfheartedly but others took a dimmer view. The months that would follow would be difficult as the newly formed country began to segregate itself. Things were peaceful for the most part aside from the occasional boil-over of hostilities that would result in a small skirmish that Derdrek would have to quell.

        Hovanian and Validine alike revered Kahniel’s father. Validines respected him for his former rank and position in society, the Hovanians for his abundance of common sense and mercy, but foremost everyone respected him for his sense of pride and command in his optimistic constructive attitude.

        The Hovanian children were very rude and uptight; a mere observation, not a complaint for Kahniel. He was treated like an adult and rightly so. Kahniel was always the first one to volunteer for a project with the other men. He helped erect houses and small barns. When random children showed friendly sentiment and offered him a chance to play their games, he would spurn them and make a joke with the older men that only they would understand.

        His stern love for military lifestyle combined with the hardships he had witnessed about the boat of exiles had a profound affect on Kahniel; it had aged him far beyond his years. Idle play and lolly-gagging was far below him and droll (despite his parents urging him to do so) and he only wished to be left alone with the projects for the better of society; hammering a nail in peace or sanding a door frame with the occasional smile and small talk amongst the men working with him.

        One day, Kahniel was working with the greeting groups. They waited at the welcoming arms of either sides of the shore that formed a nature-made dock of sorts; with several hooked ropes ready to snag the ships and ease the boat into shore. From there a group of men began to strip the boat of its lumber and other useful material as the welcome groups began to explain how things worked around their nation. Some people were jubilant and ecstatic at their new lease on life and others were bewildered and hesitant that they were delivered from the hand of death unto the bosom of a new world.

        An older man aged about thirty years old caught Kahniel’s eye. His black hair stringy and tied in a bun behind his head, he had the poise of regal upbringing and an overall watchful gaze about him. The young boy older than his years didn’t know why, but there was a certain magnetism that drew him to the man.

        “Hullo there. My name is Kahniel.”

The man’s response was a glance down towards the boy, an annoyed confusion perking his eyebrow as he turned his gaze back up to scan the scenery.

        “You just got off a ship I see…I hope it wasn’t too rough for you.”

        “It was dreadful. Who is in charge here? A Hovanian? Validine…?” he looked around the island at the various little houses, muttering in thought to himself rather than the adolescent before him “…surely not a Jo’norak; I find my head perfectly in place and my hands not bound. Who is in charge here?” Many new arrivals have questions as they should. Where am I? Are any of my family around? Certainly what this man was asking wasn’t unreasonable but the manner in which he asked was most peculiar to the young man before him. An analytic almost calculating tone tinged the man’s voice “I asked you already, boy. Why do you gawk at me like a stupefied bird instead of answering me?”

        He reclaimed his bearings and answered politely; almost militarily “My father: Derdrek Surelance.”

        “From where does he hail?”

        “Validine.”

        “A man of regal upbringing…?”

        Kahniel became slightly flustered at the interrogation but neutralized his voice and answered coolly “Sir, for someone who experienced such a dreadful trip you seem to have forgotten the distance and length of your voyage. Validine, nay, Hahnai is of incalculable distance away. My father could be the king himself and it would be of no consequence in this newfound land. He has organized and helped raise this new nation from the ground up. And you-…”

        The self-proclaimed ambassador found himself cut off and talking to himself as he trotted in tow with this newcomer in the shallow waters of the beach. Once again, the cogs could be seen through translucent analytical eyes of this stranger as he inspected the men and women getting to work dismantling the ship and trotting the planks and good wood off in carriages. A half-smirk slowly crept up his face as he now took particular interest in the young man following him “this new nation…yes…quite intriguing indeed. Would you be so kind as to introduce me to this father of yours…?”

        Many people who had come onto the shore off the boat had asked the same question; only reasonable to meet the person running things. However, this stranger was indeed…strange. A sense of entitlement permeated the smarmy man as well as a well-thought-out rhythm to his speaking that seemed like he had planned for every possible response someone could ever give him.

        “I suppose so…father once a day holds a town meeting to greet the newcomers and update the current residents.”

        A polite nod and sentinel gaze was the strange man’s response as he walked somewhat ahead of the boy and somewhat in pace with him; as if emphasizing dominance in position but cooperation in being led to the man of interest.

        “My name is Kahniel. What would your name be?”

        “Lamphasaar Kedencee…yes…I think that will do, indeed. How much further?” he made sure to sharply curve the direction of the conversation before heed could be paid to his odd mannerism.

        “Not much further. We are almost to the edge of town...”

Lamphasaar’s head tilted toward the horizon where little houses dotted the coast. His eyes gave away little to Kahniel but the boy could tell he was at least somewhat impressed by their stature.

        They walked into the small town salvaged by small townspeople displaced by fate. Quaint little homes made of drift board and planks. Such was the beauty of pieces of shattered lives in the form of the ships these people were coerced in, now used to rebuild and renew. Little meat vendors lined the streets selling their slaughtered wares and the smithy’s rhythmic pound of molten metal and the hiss of intense heat meeting with cool water echoed in the air. A more delightful sight could not be found anywhere else, in Kahniel’s mind. Here and there children ran about the streets laughing, teasingly jeering the new children who just hit the shore to chase after them. In the center of the town there was a small platform that anyone could understand to be the main podium for the leader to address the people.

        “Father should be arriving fairly soon. He usually comes about an hour after the normal time in which new arrivals have made it ashore.” Added Kahniel in a matter-of-fact tone.

        Lamphasaar was quite amused by how things had turned around for him. Of course though, that wasn’t his real name. In his lifetime he had three different names. The one from birth was “Losmos”. In Jo’norak, it translated to “Waste”. He was born a very frail child but one of amazing intellect. He had the great fortune to be the son of the leader of the Jo’norak at the time, otherwise upon first look of such a feeble newborn the Jo’norak mother would have just as soon discarded him like a miscarriage. Strength and brawn were the key words in Jo’norak culture (of course it was a good thing that it was only two that they needed to remember due to the widespread illiteracy in their number). Whenever treasures and tokens of war were brought back to be appraised, that was about the only skill that the Jo’norak utilized in Lamphasaar. He would abscond with books found unbeknownst to his superiors and learned to read all his own. A very bright boy he was still loathed by his father and even worse so, an outcast amongst his own people for his weak stature.

        It took no scholar to realize that Losmos didn’t belong there. At the first chance, after devising a faulty strategy for his father’s troops to use, he volunteered to follow his father into battle. His father however was unaware that the whole thing was a ruse that his own son had perpetrated; sold out to the Hovanian opposition. Not only did his father’s regiment lose in battle, but his father was also killed in the fray.

        Lamphasaar knew his fate if he chose to stay with the Jo’norak. Even if he was believed by his countrymen, they would just as soon kill him for the lack of use they had for him now that he had no superior that held weight in the country (his mother tragically would commit honor suicide upon news that her husband had passed).

        After a funeral of honor and suspicious gazes, Lamphasaar disappeared to the Hovanian battlefront to join them. Two more names and two more betrayals later, Lamphasaar would have a wealth of military and royal knowledge having worked his way up from strategist to royal advisor in Hovania and Validine respectively; finally it led to a one-way ticket on the current of Lost Souls. Those are different tales from a different time.

        This was now, however, and Lamphasaar was ecstatic to find this premade nation ready for him to conquer. He just needed to bide his time and figure out how things worked.

        Realizing he had been silent for quite a time, he cleared his throat and politely asked “So…how does one go about finding where they belong here?”

Kahniel started as the long silence was broken; assuming that Lamphasaar had simply been people-watching the entire time “Oh…don’t worry. Father will explain. Ah! Here he comes now!”

        The town crier wildly waved his bell as he followed in step with Derdrek. The months had been kind to the undisputed leader of Hooncaliz. No longer was he a stout somewhat pudgy man, but now he was strong and limber from not only providing supervision for these people but also an active member. He didn’t wear some posh robes or anything even indicating he was a man of higher stature in society; he dressed like a commoner much to Lamphasaar’s surprise and somewhat disgust. How could someone know he was someone of such importance? How could people know that the person they were speaking to held their very fate in his hands? The banality of what should be so prestigious irked Lamphasaar to his core.

        “Hear ye! Hear ye! All citizens assemble in the town’s square for public forum!”

People started filing out of their houses and shops; the bulk of them coming from a particularly large building in the center of the town next to the tavern.

        Some of them with trepidation and mild confusion resembling that of cattle corralled out of their pin, others with boredom, and others cheerful and eagerly awaiting with upturned chins toward the modest podium.

        “Good evening old friends and new arrivals (soon to be old friends as well)” a couple of polite guffaws were heard through the crowd as Derdrek began his speech.

        “I am Derdrek. Some of you have asked ‘Who is in charge here? Hovanian or Validine?’ and I answer once more with utmost pride: We are Hooncaliz. All of us. You all have been expected to die but instead I assure you all have found yourselves a new life and a new start; use it well and know that there are no prejudices here and the only thing holding you back is yourself. As many of you have been explained, you all shall begin in the community house.

There, you can decide or reestablish your craft. If you desire to begin a new craft, we shall find you an apprenticeship. This land is plentiful and large and there is plenty of room to establish a new business if you so please. You shall be responsible for building your dwelling. You shall be assisted by carpenters and architects who will design your home or business home that suits your needs and nothing more.” At this last note, Derdrek gave some glances around the crowd to see if this clear pronunciation of lack of posh abodes sunk in. There were a few grimaces but, to the ascetic leader’s pleasure, a sense of acceptance among the majority of new arrivals. He continued:

        “They will not work for free though, of course...”

        “Although it sure seems like it!”

        Derdrek grinned and shook his head at hearing the town smart aleck put in his jib before continuing.

        “…a barter shall be agreed upon in exchange for their service. Until then you all shall contribute to the building of this new world. Some of you will assist the carpenters and architects in the construction of the houses. Some of you will watch the children of single parents and others assist in the education. Everyone will earn their keep and so long as we all work together, there will not be an outstretched palm begging for help. Welcome one and all. Welcome to Hooncaliz.”

        A round of applause sounded proudly from the crowd as Derdrek walked off the podium; a smile of satisfaction beaming upon his face.

        Lamphasaar realized as the praised representative was coming towards him and Kahniel that Derdrek was a member of the knighthood. For that he was thankful. After all, he was last on the Validine’s side; not that anyone would know. The hawkish schemer was entirely behind the scenes as the lead strategist. He was exiled after having tried to usurp the throne from the king of Validine: Valadius Goldmail. Nothing substantial was proven but enough circumstances and attitudes were enough for Valadius to make a move first and have Lamphasaar bound, gagged, and stored in the bottom of the next exile ship out of the continent. Cordially he extended his dainty hand to Derdrek with a slight bow.

        “My liege…”

        “ ‘Derdrek’ will do nicely, thank you.”

        “Erm…yes…Derdrek…I am Lamphasaar. It is an honor to meet someone who has built such a wondrous nation out of nothing…”

        “I assure you it was not only me. All of us who set foot on this beach have created all that you see.”

        “Why, yes, of course. How modest of you…well although there are many hands to lend you aid, I offer you my mind. In my time I have advised many an influential figure and I’m sure you will find me of monumental assistance.”

        Derdrek perked an eyebrow and had a twinge of disdain in his eyes before smoothing it to one of polite understanding as he nodded with a courteous smile.

        “I thank you for your offer but I assure you…everything is under control. I need no advising for my opinion is ultimately immaterial. The decisions made for the welfare of our country is decided by the people; I merely convey it to them. The system I just elaborated to you and the rest of the people was decided after weeks of public debate and trial and error. Crime is handled justly and swiftly. Every law has been agreed upon by every member of the populace who desires an opinion on the matter. I know your type and I know you recognized me from an old life. I mean you no rude sentiments, Lamphasaar, I assure you; however the fact that you pick me out from my old life somewhat disturbs me and I would appreciate it if you never mentioned it again. I hope you will become comfortable with the way things are and will find ways to put your ‘mind’ to good use for the community. I bid you good day and wish you well. Come, Kahniel. We must go discuss with the architects tomorrow’s projects.”

        The two men shook hands at last; a wry smile upon the lips of Lamphasaar and a befuddled expression upon Kahniel’s as he followed his father’s lead. His father had met many aristocrats who felt like they belonged on a higher pedestal and even felt as if they were better suited to run the nation than the democratic system. However this was the first time he had responded so forthright and even somewhat aggressively. The young son to the leader pondered all of this as he barely listened to the meeting between the house planners and his father; coming to the conclusion he had to find out more about this peculiar fellow Lamphasaar.

        “No no no NO! For the last time, Kahniel it is: step, pivot, windmill stroke, drop back!”

        “Yes, master!” With a graceful step, Kahniel executed the instruction flawlessly this time with an expert flourish.

        “At rest. These past few weeks, I have promised you that with dedication and patience, I would tell you why your father fears me. Indeed, you have shown a great amount of both and you have done so without incurring your father’s interest. As promised, I will tell you why he fears my advice. Be seated at my feet. My dear boy, your father knows that I am destined for greatness. For you see, over the years of my life I have absorbed one of the most powerful things in this world: knowledge. Up until my exile from Hahnai I had worked with the greatest leaders of all the nations. I know all of their strategies as well as their strengths and weaknesses.” Lamphasaar’s eyes twinkled with an eager greed as he gave a triumphant sigh, as if in ecstasy, recalling his greatness. He smirked as he looked down at his pupil “You see, Kahniel…every nation has their use. That is the key, my apprentice: To use them. Your father was quite right, Kahniel. We do have the ability to create a new world. And, with your help, we can take over the old one and build a new more perfect world…”

Tyonthalay, took a deep breath; trying to gather the courage to speak to the chieftain of Jooria: Danarj. As she swept back her golden hair, she looked out the window of the grandiose tree house. She looked out the window in deep contemplation as she saw children practicing pan flutes and laborers shouldering large sacks of fruit to carry up the giant ladder leading to the main suspended ‘street’ around the network of tree houses. So much was puzzling the matriarch as some huge changes were about to happen, whether the Joorian civilians knew it or not.

        For the fifth time she took in a deep breath and stood up to march into the chieftain’s quarters. Her legs began to feel weak as she stood up making her wince at her own cowardice. “It’s only your husband…” was her mantra as she still stood there frozen in place. She cursed her reluctance and mentally told herself to take that first step. “Your opinion matters just as much as his…you have got to say something…”

        Her dainty bare foot took a step forward.

        She felt the knot in her stomach tighten, seemingly tied to her chin as it tilted downwards in concentrated determination.

        She took a lesson out of her meditation rituals, closing her eyes and standing upright; tilting her head all the way back before letting out a deep breath.

        She began walking with such silent grace it was comparable to a panther prowling a jungle on a hunt. As she walked down that hallway to the main throne room where her husband was seated, she sauntered in as he was stooped over his chair; reading with intense interest a note of some sort. Although his head was as gray as the deepest overcast of a winter’s day, his face normally was as young as a man of no more than twenty. However, she began to notice stress wrinkles permanently etched on his forehead and a worn out half-lidded gaze had overtaken those once peaceful yet jubilant pools of green.

        “Danarj, your wife humbly requests your audience…” she said with mock eloquence that often tinged any other person who was seeking to speak with the chieftain.

        “My love, Tyonthalay…normally you are still meditating with Shaz…what brings you to my chambers?” his smile was that of a man who barely had the strength to do so.

        “I will be speaking with him shortly…but for now there is something I must talk to you about. This Lamphasaar fellow…I will be blunt…I simply don’t trust him. Hear me, Danarj. Let us cut all ties with this peculiar outsider and have Jooria strike out on its own. We can reestablish the way of the druid and create a new safe haven away from this rising malevolent force…”

        “My dear Tyonthalay. You know what you suggest to me is out of the question. I assure you we will be safe if we simply acquiesce to this Lamphasaar fellow…” Danarj began to trail off, his gaze abstracted as Tyonthalay soothingly called his name back into attention; his eyes only slightly lifting to meet the beautiful blonde Joorian woman.

        “You don’t trust him either…do you?”

        “Well, we Joorians seldom trust anyone outside our own race…”

        “Sometimes we don’t trust anyone within our race…”

        At this snide comment Danarj rose to his feet and, with the swiftness only the Joorian are renown for, was staring eye to eye with his wife “Tyonthalay, what happened has already come to past and there is nothing that can be done about it. Bringing up such past mistakes does nothing but disgrace yourself and I.” He bites his lower lip and looks down as he realizes just how angry he was at himself rather than his wife for mentioning that mistake.

Letting out an exasperated sigh he softly held his wife at arms-length; looking deep into her large hazel eyes “My love…we haven’t a choice in the matter. You expect us to fight…which in itself is a tremendous thing to ask of our people. It would take months to reacquaint our people with the ways of druid lore and even more time to have them battle ready. I promise you, my dear, everything will be fine.”

        Tyonthalay looked into her husband’s eyes and the last thing she saw was assurance. She looked into those weathered wrinkles embedded in purple half-moons of a man whose mind was lost in questions that daunted him into insomnia. They shared a small tender kiss as she managed a meager smile.

        “Yes…you’re right. Perhaps I am worrying too much and need to go meditate with Shaz…thank you for clearing my mind, Danarj.” She then gave Danarj a deep embrace; one that seemed to be summoned from the very depth of her soul as he returned with only casual effort because he wasn’t truly understanding what was happening at that moment like she did. She held him there for a good period of time before wiping her eyes hastily and turning to exit the chambers.

        She took the long route to find Shaz’s room. As she walked along the many twisting paths she took sometimes to truly take in the glory of the Joorian stronghold. The Joorians lived in complete seclusion to the rest of the world. The one and only Joorian village was the size of a country yet people couldn’t find it as if it were but a house lost in a labyrinthine neighborhood. Many say that once you enter the Joorian forest, without a guide, you are as lost as a newborn; a result of the ancient druidic spell lore placed on the forest. Indeed such powerful spell lore is missed by the Joorian people; a part of their cultural heritage. As Tyonthalay sauntered down a rope bridge gently brushing aside one of the many exotic beautiful flowers native to the Joorian lands her mind went back to that fateful day so many decades ago.

        Tyonthalay at the time was no older than seventeen winters and had been studying for many years prior to become one of the blessed druids. The prerequisites to be a druid were quite daunting. One was to spend years dedicated to learning about nature and the ways of the druids; performing many feats that handed one’s life to the mercy of the wild. One most notable feat was that of the “Approval of the Claw”. The druid-to-be must approach a bear, a panther, a wolf, and a cougar to make a single claw mark on their shoulders; symbolizing the bond and trust between the druid and nature in blood.

        Tyonthalay had only recently completed her “Approval of the Claw” and was very close to concluding her apprenticeship to become a full-fledged druid. A bright student, a beautiful blonde-haired woman with hazel eyes and the admiration of a highly influential council member of Jooria (Danarj); life was ideal for young Tyonthalay.

 It wasn’t until some of the younger blood within the country started getting worried about the warring nations trying to include them in their slugfest. Indeed they had some need to be worried. The Joorian druids were an untapped war machine that was envied tremendously by the rest of the continent.

 Their spell lore was not contingent upon nearly as much nilthem as the other forms of magic. Nilthem, any magic user could tell you, is an entirely different energy one exudes from their body; far different than physical energy. Some magic users are adept at controlling the rate in which they expend their nilthem through spells and others have a very miniscule understanding of how it works. Once a magic user expends their nilthem, they are physically and mentally drained and unable to cast the simplest spells for a varying period of time depending on the caliber of spellcaster.

However, spell lore is a different sort of magic only druids could comprehend. With the aid of the energy of all living things around them that only they can draw from, they weave their craft in a different sort of magic that only taxes them small amounts of nilthem; making them a resilient powerful force in addition to their ability to summon and command the wilderness and its inhabitants.

The younger generation decided that the presence of power is a contest of power; the only logical recourse for them to do away with the druids. Immediately Tyonthalay was forced to hide her scars from the Approval of the Claw as the high council of Jooria denounced the druids.

At first, things were mild. Druids would practice their craft in secret and many of them moved to the temple of Joortalas; the druidic academy. However, this wasn’t found feasible to the high council. This was still a latent problem that they didn’t care to have festering; awaiting the day some warlord comes burning a path through the forest to find the powerful druids.

The high council decided the only logical decision was to annihilate the druids. Danarj was only an inexperienced council leader so despite Tyonthalay’s pleas to speak up for the druids he sat idly by and allowed the mob of civilians and guards (Jooria doesn’t truly have much of a standing army) to storm Joortalas and murder every druid in sight. Several civilians were killed as it was utter bedlam in Joortalas. One wouldn’t know what they were witnessing if they came upon the sight of men riding on bears to maul men and women who were only moments before, swatting furiously at swarms of angry hornets. The battle raged for days until finally the head druid and the last followers clambered into the main temple and cast a curse upon the temple. Masses of vines encased the massive temple in an impenetrable cocoon; sealing within the last druids who gave their lives in the process to protect the almighty Natruitia Compendium.

The Natruitia Compendium was the ultimate handbook to the druid way of life. It held the secrets of how the druids bonded with and performed druidic spell lore. Legend had it that the druids swore that they would return once the spell lore was truly needed once more and the proverbial chosen one would present themselves to the temple and master the druidic powers, bringing a new world order.

        The Joorian queen wasn’t sure, but she was determined to be that chosen one. Danarj was wrong. It was very clear that this Lamphasaar was seeking utter and complete domination and she found it hard to believe that if the Joorians acquiesced to this tyrant’s rule that he would simply let them be. He would storm into the Joorian’s land and declare martial law and then who knows what would become of the peace-loving people of Jooria?

        The only solution was to undo the mistake that they had made only decades before and use the power of spell lore to defend themselves…with or without the approval of Danarj. By the time Tyonthalay snapped out of her deep contemplation, she realized she had been staring off into Shaz’s room for a somewhat awkward period of time.

        Shaz blinked as he too came out of his deep meditation. He looked up at his mother with a perplexed stare as it dawned on him just how long she was standing there “Is there something wrong, mother?”

        “Son, I have been telling you for some time now that things may change greatly very soon. It has been sixteen winters since your day of birth; and during that time I have taught you many things about our heritage and who we are…and were…as a people. And now, it’s time we remind our people once more. Pack your things and tell no one. We leave tonight…”

        She heard the privacy shade draw to the side as her husband entered their room. His footsteps were shaky as he began to undress in the darkness like an athlete weathered from an exhausting workout; ready to feel the sweet relief of slumber.

        Tyonthalay heard him make a small grunt as he climbed into the bed beside her. She turned a little ‘in her sleep’ away from her husband as she felt his weight shift as if to stare down at her; waiting for him to lay down and fall asleep. But, she still felt his eyes on her and heard him murmur softly

        “My love, Tyonthalay…if only you knew how much I wish we could follow your advice. We can’t possibly put up resistance with Lamphasaar. He will be arriving within the week to sign the treaty…as if we posed a threat of any sort in the first place.” He struggled to keep his ire at a quiet level, clenching his fist angrily before letting out a wistful sigh “Indeed there are many things I wish I could take back…I was so weak back then though, Tyonthalay…and in love…I feared for your safety if I posed an opposing opinion and I feared for your safety as you were a fresh graduate of The Approval of the Claw. I was so helpless and I curse myself for not having been a stronger man then…” just then, she felt him lean over as sleekly as he could to place a tender kiss on her cheek; feeling a slight dampness from his cheek to hers. His last words were a croaked whisper “I know that you’re a fierce and strong soul, Tyonthalay…I just hope that you don’t do anything too reckless. I…I….I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you. Good night, my love. Perhaps things will look better in the morning.”

        Tyonthalay felt him lay back down and almost instantly his breath was slow and rhythmic as he drifted into what she hoped were easeful dreams.

        She cherished that moment lying next to her husband and was truly contemplating taking his advice. Perhaps it was better to lay and wait for things to take care of themselves. If this ‘Lamphasaar’ fellow is indeed as powerful as he says he is, maybe he will just do away with the bickering nations once and for all and leave the Joorians be.

        That prophecy seemed nice and cozy to Tyonthalay and she wished she could believe it. She wished that she could simply sit and wait for things to get better but she knew and, deep down, her husband knew that events weren’t going to happen like that. She steeled herself as she took one last loving glance down at her husband before leaning down and returning the tear-stained kiss he had only minutes before laid upon her cheek.

        She tied a black cloak around her and left the bedroom without looking back at the life and love she may very well never see again. Her feet felt heavy and her hips kept wishing to pivot and turn on her heel to go and lay back in that bed of optimism and uncertainty. She pressed on to find Shaz.

        Shaz was waiting beside the base of the main tree that served as the strongest support for the network of tree houses. A symphony of crickets filled the calm brisk late night air as Shaz’ grey-blue eyes scanned his surroundings for his mother. His mind was swimming with many questions he had answers for but hardly seemed feasible enough for him.

        Indeed, his mother had taught him that they once possessed a great power in the form of the druids but she informed him that they were long-since banished. Shaz wasn’t sure to what extent they were banished but he was absolutely sure that they were gone and never to return.

        As for ‘reminding their people who they were’, Shaz hadn’t a clue of what she meant or how she proposed to carry out such a task. He was told never to breathe even a word of the power of the druids so he was very curious as to how dangerous what they were doing (whatever that was) was.

        Shaz was studious, quiet, and solitary. He marveled at nature and found great pleasure in learning more about it and how it came to be. Ten winters after his day of birth, his mother noticed his adoration of all things to do with nature; she began to teach him in secret the many faceted heritage of druidic spell lore. He was enamored at the idea of coming face to face with a black bear in a sense of trust and homage. Truly his breath was taken from him when he learned that the druids not only conversed with the animals but also commanded nature itself in the form of weather and natural occurrences. It all seemed so unfair that the people he belonged, or maybe even destined to be with, were banished and beyond his reach.

        He felt a chill of giddy desperation vibrate throughout his body as he scratched his frizzy brown hair as if it were something to do to kill time. He then noticed his mother cautiously descending the vine hanging off the top deck of the Joorian village. Shaz could tell she had a very solemn mien so he neither said nor asked anything for the time being.

        She withdrew a small compass and map from her bag; using the moon’s light as her lantern to decipher which direction they should head.

        “We head north to the nearby Validine town.”

        Tyonthalay quickened the pace that she walked so as to hint to Shaz that she didn’t feel like entertaining questions at the moment; although the young teen knew this wasn’t the time to ask questions when he saw the shine of tears glimmer the reflection of the full moon as Tyonthalay pressed on. And so the two pilgrims marched on in moonlit silence. The buzz of frogs and crickets droning into the night in symmetry with the unanswered questions of uncertainty that lain ahead.

The smell was putrid in the stable as Shuras dug his shovel into a pile of dung; turning the shovel slightly in the nearby cart of excrement. He turned his face away from the sight and took in a deep breath of fresh air before digging his shovel back into the piles of filth.

        The air was hot and sticky in the capital city of Akrowel. Outside the stable there was the hustle and bustle of the market day with laughing mischievous children traipsing about food carts and home remedy traders calling out their sales-pitches to anyone willing to listen…and there Shuras was…purposely scheduled to do such drudgery by his superiors so as to ensure utmost inconvenience when it came time for him to go shopping; delaying him so severely by the time he would go out, only the most rotten fruits and meager selection of meats were available.         

        He unwittingly gave a sigh of irritation before realizing he inadvertently huffed the flatulence of a nearby horse; dry-heaving and nearly adding to his mess to clean up. Regaining composure, Shuras continued the task at hand.

        “SHURAS!”

        Shuras clinched his eyes shut; as if the problem would simply go away if he didn’t see it. The problem stayed and bellowed even louder even though he was far closer than before.

        “SHURAS! You are still cleaning the stables? At this rate you aren’t going to be able to re-shoe the horses and clean the general’s saddles! Move your ass, you worthless pile of waste. Speaking of which…” The mustached crimson haired general smirked as he scooted a ball of horse dung across the floor just beneath Shuras’ heel when he was turning to face his demonizing superior. With a loud squeak of his heel his leg flew from underneath him causing him to spin and fall directly into the cart of waste.

        Laughing derisively, the spiteful armor clad superior marched out the door.

        Shuras sat there for a moment in the dung as he compressed his lips and squinted in impotent fury. He slowly stood up out of the cart; digging his shovel one more time to conclude the chore. Walking out of the stable he gave a knowing grin at his own cleverness as he conveniently concealed the fact that he actually had already re-shoed the horses and cleaned the generals’ saddles; otherwise Lieutenant Darius would have found some other menial task for him to do.

        As he strolled through the city, there was sadness to his stride. Long ago there was a five year peace armistice signed during the Great Prisoner Exile. During that time the countries agreed that a mass exile was the sign they needed that the war had gone on long enough. The economy immediately sprung forward as no longer were so much of the nation’s resources allocated to the war effort. Men and women came home to loving adoring families. Banners of peace were hung and festivals of bountiful harvests that weren’t feeding soldiers. For once the smoke of war had cleared and the future looked a little brighter.

        It wouldn’t be enjoyed for long, however. With a sudden boom in the population from the returning veterans in the Hovanian and Validine nations as well as a general war-lust from the Jo’norak; war would break out once more thanks to a need for land, prejudice, and bad blood that had soaked the soil only a short while before.

        It was a pitiful thing to Shuras as he walked through the streets and saw sales stalls struggle to get even a small profit off their wares. He remembers perusing those streets with the knight who trained him; the laughs they shared during that time of peace and the hope he had that someday he would be more than just a squire…he quickly shunned those memories as he noticed one of the rarest sights one could catch in Hahnai: not just one, but two Joorians.

        It wasn’t unheard of to see a Joorian or two. Some Joorians would catch the wanderlust and explore the world outside of their little forest nation. More often than not, likely they would return after they saw just how hateful and war-filled the world tended to be.

        Both of them dressed, for what they must have assumed to be, in very ‘average’ clothing; however it would appear to Shuras they failed miserably. There was a blond haired woman who was wearing stockings over her shoes. She held her jacket like a shawl as it was over top of her head; the sleeves dangling over her shoulders. The younger man, who Shuras assumed to be her son, was wearing mismatched boots with what appeared to be leggings that were cut off half way down. They both looked bewildered as people furrowed eyebrows and stared curiously at the wandering pair just as Shuras had been.

        Shrugging, Shuras turned and headed into the local tavern. Like clockwork, he saw one of his closest dearest friends. He was nearly bald atop his stout head with a permanently furrowed thick bush of black eyebrows. He stared with a scowl at his pint of liquor. Though the idea of drinking a pint of liquor would daunt most men and make them assume the man attempting such a feat was trying to get blind stinking drunk; this was but a trifle for this giant-of-a-man.  He drank his hard liquor without so much as a wince as he brushed a giant bear paw of a hand across his freshly shaved upper lip. He felt the pale area where there once clearly was a mustache with a grimace, turning his gaze upwards and trying to manage a smile.

        “Shuras, my good lad, how goes it?”

        Shuras grins as he gives a quiet chuckle; already knowing the response to what he is about to say “I have my complaints, old friend…how about yourself?”

        “Blasted knight’s council has a lance stuffed up their asses! You would think that having to shave off my beloved mustache of B’ktar Derimeade would be punishment enough but, NO! They insist on not even allowing me to appeal…”

        Shuras stifles his laughter as he hears his friend’s hysterics over the same issue he complains about every time he and Shuras meet. He takes a seat opposite to B’ktar as he waits for the typical main grievance he brings up every time. B’ktar continued ibid to his swelling anger.

        “It took me a long damn time to grow that mustache but when it was atop these lips, it wasn’t just a ‘bit of hair’! It was a glorious statement to the knighthood! Why, to think that they’re wasting my time making me wait before I can grow it once more is a…”

        “B’ktar, I insist that you let the past subject not hinder you from rejoining the knighthood…I am not worth a boycott of such a fine warrior as yourself.”

        “Balderdash! It’s just as criminal to keep you out of the knighthood as it is for me to be kicked out for speaking against the insult to your honor after such a tragedy had befallen…” B’ktar stopped, clearing his throat as he looked away with a bit of a flustered tone. “My…my apologies, Shuras…I didn’t mean to bring that…”

        Shuras nodded softly and stared off into space as he felt the life drain from him. A dismal air permeated him suddenly as the memories washed over him like a dreary autumn rain. So many things had changed. Ever since that day when B’ktar had fought so hard to allow Shuras surpass the rank of squire that he almost took a swing at the commanding officer; thus leading to his suspension from the knighthood and the disgraceful shaving of the mustache that is hallmark to the knighthood.

        B’ktar grunted as he felt slightly dejected by his own faux pas. He reasoned politely “I don’t think we’re any better off trying to stay with the knighthood anyhow…some shady things going on at the palace, I’ve heard.”

Shuras gave a quiet sigh and nod as he suddenly felt drained, perching his chin upon his palm as he leaned heavily on the table “I have been overhearing the same among the high-command as well. They say some strangers have been claiming to be the new rulers of Hovania and were seeking a truce of sorts that required concessions to them…”

“New leaders of Hovania?”

“That’s right. I’ve been hearing after the strange Dagar Massacre, the Hovanians haven’t been seen much on the battlefield.”

B’ktar nodded slowly as if trying to put together pieces of a puzzle in his head slowly “Yeah I heard a little something about that…it was far too covert to be Jo’norak. If it were the work of Destrok then it would have ended in a lot more pillaging and battle but from what I heard, the offenders burned and left without so much as a clashing of swords…you don’t think it was the Joorians do you?”

With an incredulous glance from Shuras, B’ktar bit back his question and stared back at his mug of liquor as if something particularly interesting were floating in it; even dipping one of his meaty digits into the strong liquor.

“I saw two earlier that couldn’t master stockings first, shoes second; I doubt they could handle a sword. Much less burn down a village and institute a new regime within a country that has been fighting for centuries.” Shuras scoffed as he motioned for the bartender to bring him a mug of something much less harsh than his friend’s drink.

As the bartender left after setting the mug in front of Shuras, B’ktar changed the subject. “The bartender complained to me earlier about that fellow…”

        The blonde haired squire slowly swept some of his light wavy hair from his eyes as he leaned inconspicuously and turned his head just enough to catch a glance of the man with the corner of his eye. “He doesn’t appear to be doing any harm…” he said slowly so as not to sound foolish if there is actually something obviously amiss about the wiry figure.

        “Not doing any good either. Bartender said he’s been here since they opened. Hasn’t ordered a single drink, hasn’t said a word. Bartender asked me if I would throw him out. I told him if by the time you and I left he hadn’t left; I would take care of it for him…”         

        Neither Shuras nor B’ktar could see the man’s eyes from beneath his cloak, but somehow it seemed as if he not only was watching the two, but he also heard every word B’ktar said…although didn’t care too deeply as he gave a loud yawn and propped his boots on the table.

        The tavern door creaked open as Shuras recognized the two Joorians he had noticed only moments ago. They walked across the creaking floorboards of the shabby tavern towards the poorly finished bar.

        The bartender gave them the same curious roving of pupils that all the other Validines had given the pair. He gave a perfunctory nod as he went back to cleaning out the mug he had in his hands. “What’ll ya have?” he gave a heavy sniffle and wiped his sleeve across his nose; trying to make his appearance mildly presentable as he swooped his thinning pieces of black hair across his largely bald scalp.

        The woman cleared her throat and asked softly “Erm…yes…I’m looking for the names of a good sell-sword or two…”

        “I reckon you ought to go to the local thieves’ guild then.”

        The woman appeared uncomfortable; flustered as she cleared her throat once more “I would prefer some…less….uh….” She stammered as she began to stare at the ground as if to search for her words in the dusty grime of the floorboard.

        The barkeep rolled his eyes and even walked away from the woman as he grabbed up another mug and growled murderously “Listen, Joorian, I know you people like to roam away from your quaint little tree-houses to see what real life is like from out of the shade of the trees; but not every tavern you’re going to walk into is going to have a sharpened blade brandished by a grand ol’ hero. Now, I will not have someone soliciting for some common thugs to…”

        “Escorts! We are looking for escorts bold enough to assist us in our quest…” The woman suddenly got quiet as she made her back rigid and straight; even hiking up her misplaced stocking as her voice grew stentorian “And I am not looking for some common thugs as you so plainly put it. We are looking for some heroes that will help my son and I change the world for the better on a quest of destiny.”

        The blonde squire slowly turned his head back to the hulking former knight with a mischievous grin. B’ktar began to shake his head as if answering ‘no’ to any question Shuras may have nonverbally proposed.

        “We’ll help you!”

        The woman turned around to face the source of the exclamation. She was beautiful; exquisite natural features molded to every curve of her face as she began to smile “Will you really…?”

        The surly livid former knight grits his teeth as he goes once more to protest but is promptly cut off by his friend’s introduction “My name is Shuras Coldsteel. You may call me Shuras. This here is my good friend and travelling companion: B’ktar Derimeade.”

        “Yes, yes absolutely charmed. May I speak with you a moment, Shuras? In private?” B’ktar wrapped one of his big meaty fists around the majority of his companion’s arm and dragged him to the deserted corner of the bar.

        “Shuras, what do you think you’re doing?! We can’t go with these Joorians. We don’t know what their intentions are. The fact that they’re even here is strange enough. I hate, kids, Shuras. I’m no one’s baby sitter…”

        He did his best to peek around the massive form of his friend to inspect her son for the first time. A fit looking young man; not brawny by any stretch but no feeble teenager. Shrugging, he stated after completing his inspection “Looks like a young man capable of holding his own, if you ask me. Come now, B’ktar. What do we have here? Dung scooping and constant outrage? Let’s go with these two Joorians and see where it takes us.”

        Before another rebuttal can be given, the squire edged his way around his friend; giving a jovial smile to the mother and son “We have made up our minds! Let’s depart. I have everything I need with me as does my red-faced friend behind me.”

        The tremendous ex-knight’s face was ‘red’ to say the least; vehemence painted on his visage as he trudged over to the Joorian strangers to shoulder past them out the door in defeat.

        The woman looked to the remaining newly-hired escort in question as he gave a dismissive wave of his gauntleted hand “Don’t worry about him. He’s just…excited. So, I didn’t catch your name, my dear. What would your name be?”

        “My name is Tyonthalay…and this is my son Shaz…” She introduced demurely; as if there was reluctance to using her real name.

        Shuras nodded at first but as they walked out of the tavern, he couldn’t help but wonder if he recognized that name. Very little was known about Joorians. They don’t allow any foreigners into their forests and it is said that if anyone were to attempt, they’re never seen again. No one knows if they disappear by malevolent or benign means. Whenever summits take place in attempts by the Hahnai leaders to perhaps do negotiations of peace or hostages the Joorians have no reason to attend. No hostilities have been made towards the Joorians because they have never stated a desire for more land and certainly no one wants a third enemy to join in on the bout; especially ones as mysterious as the Joorians. For all Shuras knew, he could have been standing next to the general of the Joorian people or even…

“Make way for Lamphasaar! Make way for the ruler of Hooncaliz and the future ruler for Hahnai!”  Trumpeted the voice of a herald accompanied by the sounds of horns and marching. Within view they could see down the main strip of the capital town of Validine flooded with marching ranks of purple and green troops and robed figures walking alongside the grand carriage that looked like a converted Hovanian carriage. Over the Hovanian standard of three blue stars surrounding a black circle in a triangle pattern, there now lain a green ship with a purple skull centered within it.

        The townspeople made way for the peculiar former symbol of Hovanian dominance roll down the cobblestone streets toward the Validine castle. Even guards didn’t know what to do about these strange newcomers as they would stand with the townspeople, perplexed and somewhat worried as an eerie air hung above the march.

        The carriage rolled to a stop in the mud at the gate of the enormous castle of King Valadius. One of the knights next to the gate with a perked eyebrow cleared his throat and held up his hand in a halting motion unnecessarily to the strange newcomers.

        “How in the abyss did you get past the main garrison to get here? Furthermore, who are you and what is going on here?”

        A man of exceptional body structure approached the knight. He wasn’t too brawny and he wasn’t even near thin; a seemingly perfect combination of might and an eminence of intelligence in his demeanor. He seemingly gave a signal to someone; who though was lost to the guard’s recognition.  He cleared his throat and calmly explained “I am General Kahniel Surelance. Behind me is the carriage that belonged to the former royalty of Hovania. Seated within is a man you and the rest of this continent will address as emperor. His name is Lamphasaar, and he demands that your king reveals himself and surrenders. The garrison you mentioned has already witnessed the strength of the Hooncaliz. Do not force the innocents here to be on the same boat.” There was a particular malice to the final note of the general’s explanation that the guard found eerily familiar.

        The guard looked hard into that face. There was something so particular about how this man before him was staring at him. For years he had served King Valadius faithfully. He was near the ripe age of forty-five and was only a few years short of retirement; given the much simpler job of day guard at the gates of the castle. In all his years he had only seen a hatred so severe maybe twice before. Once on the field of battle and then another time…he couldn’t place it. He knew it wasn’t in a hostile situation and he remembered it was of utmost declension to the normal duties of a soldier. He stared for a little a while longer in contemplation before he was interrupted by the carriage door opening.

        Out from the carriage stepped a lithe elder male maybe a couple years older than the guard standing before Kahniel. He was clad in a robe that was a dark prune-like purple with a forest green seaming. His face was gaunt and tightly pulled on his skin as if his skin were parched; almost skeletal as the only particularly protruding feature to his face (even in comparison to his small narrow nose) was the dark purple lips that pouted slightly. The guard had to give credit where credit was due though; for such a small man this Lamphasaar fellow could speak loud enough to shake the clouds from the sky.

        “Valadius Goldmail! I address you without the prefix ‘king’ for it is now a misnomer. From here on out you will address me as ‘Emperor Lamphasaar’ and that shall be a privilege for you to even breathe those words. At my command is a legion of skilled and devoted soldiers. They were all cast out of your nation as well as the Hovanian nation during the Great Prisoner Exile and we have returned to claim what is rightfully ours. Come forth, Valadius, and surrender your kingdom; lest the Hooncaliz slaughter the innocent people of your country!”

        The people were gravely silent. This was all so much to take in. Several of the villagers at hearing of the origin of this army were shocked as they began inspecting the faces of the soldiers in the Hooncaliz army for perhaps a familiar face of a relative lost all those years ago. And yet others could not be distracted from the last warning that Lamphasaar gave. Some began to back away from the soldiers they were so curiously inspecting before and some at the backs of the crowd didn’t wish to wait around for Valadius’ answer.

        Lamphasaar was cool and placid as he stared up at the main balcony from which Valadius typically delivered his edicts. Everyone’s eyes were fixed upon that platform to which their leader would decide all of the people’s fates that were surrounding the lethal armed soldiers of the Hooncaliz.

Out from the stone archway of the balcony stepped an older man with a long grey mustache hanging down just below his lips. Wearing the royal colors of crimson red and gold he adjusted his bejeweled crown passed down from so many generations of the magnificent monarchy. Although the man was clearly near the ages that beckoned death to grip them at any moment; he had his chest thrust in pride as his stare was resolute and firm.

        There was a hush in the crowd as the king went to belt out his reply but before even a single word could be uttered…a heavy whistling sound cut through the air followed by a loud thwack. Just like that, the king looked down making the crown atop his head slide down over the edge of the balcony. People were aghast as they watched that symbol of everything they stood for tumble to the ground below. They watched as the symbol of authority, pride, hope, and comfort shine in the sun as it spun with every foot it took before it hit the ground. With what sounded like the world itself clattering to the hard stone; the crown hit the ground then rolled down the stone path to the gate.

        Nobody moved and nobody spoke as they saw their king slump over the balcony; blood slowly dripping off the balcony from the arrow impaled through his heart. There at the gate sat the crown. The shine seemingly lost in the gravity of the situation. The symbol was dead with the king who wore it.

She couldn’t believe it. Everything was coming together. She remembered when thinking of how to make this all happened seemed like such an unattainable goal; that she wouldn’t even make it through the country side of Validine to the capital. It had been a long journey stopping in every town in search of a sword-for-hire but every single one of them laughed in her face and told her that if she was looking for a mercenary her best bet was to try the biggest city. Sure enough there she was. She had in tow two strong brave fighters ready to escort her and her son to the fallen city of Joortalas. It had been close to four days since she had left Jooria and her thoughts were going back to home and what her husband’s reaction was. The last he said to her it seemed as if he knew.

        And what of Shaz? He had hardly said two words to Tyonthalay the entire way. He did as he was told and managed a smile when they were attempting to dress like the people in Validine; but otherwise this was all so new to him to the point of awed quiet. The world was so much different outside of the Joorian forest and there was a part of him that wondered why his parents had kept him from exploring it. There was even a part of him that disliked his parents for having sheltered him for so long; part of Tyonthalay knew this so she allowed him his silence.  

        They were just approaching the gate of Validine when the gate was abruptly flooded with the ranks of strange soldiers wearing national colors unrecognizable.

        “What in the abyss…?”

B’ktar couldn’t even finish his exclamation before they heard something that made the color drain from Tyonthalay’s face. The voice that may have well been a town-crier reading out a death sentence at the gallows:

        “Make way for Lamphasaar! Make way for the ruler of Hooncaliz and the future ruler for Hahnai!”

        Tyonthalay backed away from the whole spectacle slowly as she tried to take Shuras by the hand to do the same. He looked back at her and noticed her ghostly pallor. Her lower lip was trembling as she urged him to retreat with her “Please…we must go. Terrible things are about to happen.”

        “Shuras! They’re heading to the castle! Let’s go!” B’ktar bellowed as he followed the crowd.

        As a squire and a small part of the knighthood, Shuras couldn’t help but feel a slight call to duty. He was in a quandary that only had one slight solution and that was to encourage his newly found entourage to follow. After all, when this turned out to be nothing they could leave together then. There seemed to be no harm in simply investigating such a strange event that was clearly a clan of crazed zealots.

        The Joorian queen pulled on the Validine patriot’s gauntleted hand trying to call to him over the roar of the commotion of marching feet and the chatter of confused townspeople following the strange parade. Before she knew it, she was lost in the crowd with only a few of Shuras’ digits clasped in her hand as she was pulled along. Just as quickly as the rush had begun; they had come to a stop. The crowd was hushed as everyone eagerly tried to listen to what was being said at the gate of the Validine castle.

        The folksy royalty of Jooria felt like she was suffocating. She was reminded of a cluster of pigs in a feeding frenzy as everyone eagerly leaned their heads forward to hear better and a few would squeal to each other the small sentence fragment they had overheard from the speakers at the gate. There was a hush over the crowd as everyone heard the deep voice of what Tyonthalay could only describe as deception and dastardly intentions:

Valadius! I address you without the prefix ‘king’ for it is now a misnomer. From here on out you will address me as ‘Emperor Lamphasaar’ and that shall be a privilege for you to even breathe those words. At my command is a legion of skilled and devoted soldiers. They were all cast out of your nation as well as the Hovanian nation during the Great Prisoner Exile and we have returned to claim what is rightfully ours. Come forth, Valadius, and surrender your kingdom; lest the Hooncaliz slaughter the innocent people of your country!

Tyonthalay heard the one thing that, oddly enough, the people of Validine had seemingly skipped over momentarily before they realized the gravity of the situation. She heard “lest the Hooncaliz slaughter the innocent people of your country” and it seemed, much to her relief that would be short-lived, B’ktar and Shuras had heard that as well.

“Shuras, please we must leave…” tears began to well up in Tyonthalay’s eyes as she could no longer keep the desperation out of her voice. There was an eerie feeling that made her stomach sink and her breath catch in her throat as she looked into the blonde forever-squire’s eyes.

        It came as no surprise when there was a bellow from the crowd of absolute shock. Tyonthalay and Shuras craned their necks to see the dreadful scene of the king slumped over the balcony with arms limp. Shuras’ eyes grew wide with horror and rage as he witnessed the death of his leader.

The air caught in her throat and seemed to drain her of her weight from her toes as the Joorian queen could only stare in shock at the several Hooncaliz soldiers taking hostages and demanding allegiance of the knights. The instance the knights drew their weapons, one by one the Hooncaliz painted the streets red with the essence of the lives of women and children.

What could this mean for Tyonthalay’s husband who only recently made a pact with this malevolent beast? Was her husband even still alive? She saw the reflection of her future in the crimson puddles of death laden in the streets of Validine as catastrophe took hold.

“Shuras! There’s too many of them! They’re swarming through the gate! We have got to get out of here!”

Shuras was bewildered as everything was crumbling around him. Innocent civilians cut down by the marauding Hooncaliz as they began their grizzly bloody invasion. The chaos was only compounded as several of the Hooncaliz shook off their dark robes revealing Hovanian skilled battle mages. He grabbed Tyonthalay’s arm and they began to flee for their lives.

B’ktar was stopped by a Hooncaliz soldier before one swipe of the mighty broad sword cleaved the man in half; a feat only few could claim to accomplish. Tyonthalay vomited all over the front of her strange blouse as she witnessed the entrails spilling from one of the halves of the body in twain.

Everything was happening so fast and the knights of Validine weren’t ready for such warfare; the battles never reaching the capital before nor truly many towns. This was a challenge as knights traipsed through the scrambling number of civilians while trying to face the enemy. Several of them lost their lives as they would accidentally harm one of the civilians they were sworn to protect only to have a soldier of the opposition impale them upon their unforgiving blade; blind-siding the benevolent knights in the middle of facing their inner turmoil of guilt in damaging an innocent ally.

        A creeping realization began to wash over the terrified queen like a torrential downpour of icy fear; the fear that only a parent could know or understand: She didn’t know where her son was. At that thought, all others became secondary. She no longer feared the horde of Hooncaliz hectoring the streets and brandishing their weapons at her or the willowy whispered syllables only the Hovanian wizards could comprehend. She broke the grip Shuras had upon her arm and tore through the crowd calling wildly for her son.

        Shuras called out to her urgently as she began to push through the bedlam taking place. He saw her blonde hair bounce up and down as she traipsed through the fighting when her ridiculous ‘head scarf’ came off. His path was blocked as two soldiers wielding machete-like swords he had never seen before slashed at his chest; narrowly missing as he ebbed back. With a daring dive he launched himself feet first into their shins. Both of their bodies gave a slow spin as both of them were crippled on the ground with shattered shins. Shuras took the opportunity to stab them both in their midsection before darting off to look for the woman he was supposed to be escorting.

        The madness as blood seemingly sprayed from all directions as butchers joined the fray with cleavers in attempt to defend their homeland and parents took bold stands to protect their family was deafening as Shuras attempted to wade his way through. A seasoned veteran, Shuras was hardly harried by the amount of chaos surrounding him as his eyes scanned the murder landscape for Tyonthalay. Due to a collapsing corpse, the squire had to make a twisting lunge out of the way of the body so as not to be trapped beneath the heavy-set man. That one action made him lose his bearings; eyes darting about as he brandished his long sword and tried to figure out where he was in relativity to the town he had grown up in all of his life.

        He saw the brown haired son; clearly quivering as the crazed citizens pushed and jostled him about in their attempts to flee threatening to trample the youth. Rushing through the crowd, Shuras dove in the path of a Hovanian wizard attempting to do a contact-magic spell to Shaz; lopping off the hands of the wizard quickly. The small fragile hands fell to the ground, once alive with the eerie red glow of magic, now pale and twitching with the remaining nerves in a macabre display as if trying to play the organ at their own funeral. The wizard clad in purple and green howled in agony as he got to his knees in a futile effort to somehow pick up his severed hands with the profusely bleeding nub-wrists.

        Shaz ibid to his mother vomited all over the wizard in front of him in absolute appalled horror as his squire-savior hurried him away from the scene. The world as Shaz knew it was laid before him in the worst truth possible: that his parents were right. The world outside of Jooria was a terrible place full of war-hungry brutes that wanted nothing more than to watch the world crumble to desolation; for them to stand upon their pedestals and claim to be rulers of a nation of rubble.

        B’ktar had Tyonthalay arrested by the arms as he clearly had wrestled her away from the mob trying to lead her to safety. Her eyes lit with relieved jubilation as she wriggled out of the grasp of the hulking warrior and clung to her son with tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. There was no time for celebration as B’ktar confirmed Shuras’ thoughts

        “We’ve got to get out of here! We are outnumbered two to one!”

        As they all dodged and held onto each other’s hands through the crowd of hysteria, Tyonthalay was lost in a daze of woe and horror as she couldn’t help but make unseen parallels between the entry of the Hooncaliz in Validine and the entry in her homeland of Jooria. She never had such regret for being right about a premonition than she did at that moment. As they made it to the outskirts of the woods, they all stopped and stared as Validine, a monarch, and a hope burned black and shrieked despair.

“Block all the exits! Slay anyone who resists!” commanded Kahniel as he strutted towards the palace gate, stepping over the corpse of the guard whom he dispatched only moments before; taking care to look into his lifeless eyes and sneer. “Insubordination, indeed…”

        As he grabbed a hold of one of the iron bars and slid the gate down the track laid in the cobblestone, he saw the inert body of a Validine guard dotted with arrows slowly roll down the side of the wall landing in a puddle of blood. All was starting to become calm as civilians surrendered and sat on the ground guarded by Hooncaliz. It was when Lamphasaar’s carriage was rolling through the gate that the general motioned for the guards to follow the new emperor in and assure that he doesn’t meet any resistance within the castle walls. It was doubtful by this time that anyone was left in the castle except for a few servants.

        Rows of citizens sat on their hands, guarded by Hooncaliz who were awaiting their general to give them orders. Soldiers began to put out fires made by resisting civilians and Hovanian wizards’ fire spells that went out of control. The general looked into the faces of the huddled Validines; heads lowered in despondence and confusion as their world was being changed before their very eyes. Compassion was lost on the young general; lost on that ship years ago.

        He ordered a colonel nearby him to begin corralling all the citizens in the town square and to not tolerate any insolence. With an affirmative nod the colonel began to walk in the direction of the nearest subordinate. As soon as he took no more than four steps, there was a sound of a blade gliding through skin. Kahniel’s eyes widened in surprise as he saw the soldier’s head roll off his shoulders; slowly bending to his knees and falling to the side as his body oozed blood onto the ground. He quickly drew his long sword and looked this way and that to find the source of this skilled assassin that decapitated one of the general’s most skilled colonels in a blink of an eye.

        A warrior clad in all black was perched on a nearby awning hanging above a restaurant. He wore a mask that was all black aside from the small eyeholes where Kahniel could see the whites of the assailants’ eyes staring coldly back at him. From behind his cloak the warrior of exceptional build drew and brandished his massive scythe. The blade was made of the most pure shining metal the general had ever seen, watching every drop of crimson from the fresh kill drip to the ground. Several soldiers were shocked staring at the strange looking mysterious figure wielding what most people considered to be a farmer’s tool rather than a weapon.

        “Archers! Fire!” cried Kahniel in rage at the ostentatious warrior with the gall to outright challenge an army by himself. Arrows cut through the air as the tips craved the blood of the courageous lone warrior.

        Dashing across the awnings with supernatural speed the masked man dove in the air and with the momentum of his body he launched at the nearby cluster of archers reloading their bows. With a spinning horizontal arc the warrior made a clean cut of most of the archers as their heads were rendered from their shoulders. Other shorter soldiers had quarters of their skull sliced from them as they fell in a bloody heap; their brains still pulsing visibly with their last thoughts.

        A soldier tried to lunge at the dark clad executioner but no sooner had his blade got within a foot of his target did he find his body had been split down the middle; his opposition in how his feet were planted in lunging position causing his body to fall in a line of halves.

        Just as Kahniel was about to enter the fray, the deadly man made his exit using a common wizard spell to teleport himself away from danger. The general surveyed the scene of carnage in building fury. This one man had dispatched a squadron of seven archers and two of his best soldiers in a short span of time….one man made this new blood bath.

        “Back to your business! All soldiers begin gathering all the civilians in the towns’ square! Deal with any insolence with no mercy!” Kahniel roared as he stomped over to a soldier like a child who just had an uninvited party guest leave the party in shambles. “Assemble a team of five of our top soldiers and have them meet at dawn near our newly established captain’s quarters and wait for further orders.” The soldier gave a nervous salute as he passed by the horrible pile of corpses freshly made by the masked man.

        The general of the Hooncaliz could not have been more upset. Who could have made such a debacle of deaths? He was clearly a novice at the wizard arts if he could teleport as well as, to what Kahniel could figure, excels his speed to that of a little more than a blur with a fairly common spell.

As if the Hooncaliz had always occupied the castle, the soldiers opened the gate for the general as he approached, shutting it behind him as he walked through the puddle left by the incumbent king.

        The emperor was already nestled in his throne as the servants that once obeyed the king apathetically began to take down the old royal colors of the Validine and tossing them unceremoniously into the wheelbarrow behind them. The emperor’s smile was dissipating as he noticed the perplexed somewhat angry expression of his ward approaching him.

        “My lord, a strange assassin just murdered a squadron of our archers as well as two of our soldiers.”

        “By himself…?” asked the frowning emperor slowly as if he wanted to give the general time to interrupt and inform him there was more to his report.

        “Yes, master Lamphasaar. He was a very skilled warrior with what appeared to be minor spell knowledge. He made very short work of our men with finesse I would speculate was of a very well-seasoned veteran.”

        Lamphasaar pursed his lips as he struggled to maintain calm. “Suppose we could hire that mercenary from before to take care of this nuisance?”

        During the master’s request the general was already shaking his head. “You forget, my lord, we had told him to leave after the deed was done so as not to arouse suspicion amongst the conquered people that we may have been behind it.”

The older man sitting in the seat of a dead man rested his chin on his hand as he was lost in thought, calmly dismissing Kahniel to disregard the incident for now and to concentrate on getting the ceremony ready for the emperor to address his new people.

        The emperor was lost in thought at the amazing lethality of this warrior who killed nine men in such a short period of time and, even more impressive, lived. As Lamphasaar stood he drew his robes closed tighter as if he felt a slight chill, in the back of his mind that it came from something other than a draft.

        The group walked in silence as everyone had so much on their minds. Half of them had grief for their deceased monarch who they loved deeply like a father while the other half lamented the uncertainty of their actual father or husband. Birds in the midst of the silence still sang their songs and a rabbit or two would scamper into the brush as the four mourners walked the steps of a funeral dirge.

        Shuras wiped his eyes before realizing he was still clutching his sword. He cleared his throat and quietly sheathed his blade before asking quietly “So, Tyonthalay…what is our quest exactly?”

        She didn’t answer immediately. It seemed as if she was wrapping up an inner monologue to make peace with whatever it was that was happening to her life. She let out a calm sigh and said resolutely “We are heading to Joortalas.”

        B’ktar, who wasn’t listening before, heard her mention Joortalas and felt rage build up within him “Joortalas?!Are you mad, woman?!”

        “Calm down, B’ktar. What is the matter with you?” Shuras glanced back at the red faced short-tempered knight with a look of annoyed confusion.

        “Oh come now! Surely you remember the druids of Jooria.” B’ktar began to speak faster with conviction as he glared with slight derision at Tyonthalay who had lowered her eyes to the ground “Yeah girly over there knows. A while back the Joorians would have actually made some formidable allies. But, no. They decided that they never wanted any part of the war so they did away with the druids; chased the poor tree-hugging wizard asses to their little city. Rumor has it that the place is magicked through and through and I don’t want any parts of it!”

        They had all stopped by now and were staring at B’ktar who had his arms crossed with a surly pout on his face. A tense silence was laid over everyone as the terrible history the fiery knight had regaled resonated in all of their minds.

        “What he says is true. Thanks to ignorance and cowardice we lost a great power. However, with your help we can restore it. We have all now witnessed the power of the Hooncaliz. I shall tell you what I intend on telling the other leaders when we meet. I am Tyonthalay: Queen of Jooria. Separate we are a drop of water. Together we are rushing tsunami ready to wash away the sins of old and bring forth a new world. Will you help me?”

        B’ktar’s mouth was agape at what he just heard as Shuras mirrored his exact reaction. Shaz interrupted and stated quietly “And I am the prince of Jooria. Please help us…”

        Shuras’ eyes were down on the ground as he began to take this all in. They were asking so much of him and B’ktar. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever see himself performing a quest for royalty. So much was at stake. If he failed this time, it could mean the life of not one but two members of a royal family.

        “We couldn’t possibly help you…” Shuras answered quietly, the expressions of the mother and son becoming that of disappointment before the squire finished his sentence “…by ourselves. We are going to need to seek the help of a magician of some sort.”

        It seemed like there was a point when anger was so intense that it couldn’t be detected. The only expression someone could manage was that of a severe lack of expression; as if blank. “We are going to a city…lousy with magic…and we’re going to need to get a wizard…wonderful. Well. Let us head to the mercenary camp and scare us up a wizard.” The burly knight led the way walking past them without so much as giving them a glance.

They walked through the forest in complete silence; B’ktar leading the way. Tyonthalay leaned over to Shuras and asked quietly “Is your friend alright?”

“I just watched several people who I cared for and held dear killed in the streets like pigs. My king was given a dishonorable death. We are on a quest that stinks of magic with two Joorian nobles; one fresh out of the womb. At this point, I don’t care, my lady. So, am I alright? I haven’t a clue.”

As Shuras listened to his longtime friend confess the ache in his heart in addition to the mystified analysis of current affairs, he couldn’t help but feel the same way. The two had fought battles together and seen a fellow comrade die in a clash of blades. However at the capital city of Akrowel, the last thing they had seen was honor. That’s what made the deaths hurt so bad in the two warriors’ hearts, the fact that these had been people who had no intentions of joining a battle. They were helpless and unsuspecting caught in the bloodbath of the merciless Hooncaliz.

The smells of wild herbs and game roasting over an open fire flooded the nostrils of the party as they began to approach the mercenary camp. Ramshackle little caravans parked one beside the other with roofs constructed of old canvas the travelers found or even stole along their various paths.

Mercenary camps weren’t rare in Hahnai. There were some people that genuinely didn’t care what side they fought for so long as it paid. Whether it was a safe escort to help a trader walk through the warzones unscathed or even the higher-up officials of different nations who didn’t want any missions done to be tied to them; the mercenaries were never out of work.

The span of different mercenaries was vast. There was the small-time mercenary used for spying and thievery to men and women who towered over even B’ktar and ask immediately upon meeting “Who do you want buried?”

B’ktar grunted to get the attention of a more generic looking mercenary who was sharpening his daggers. He looked up at B’ktar, a couple of small cuts dotted his face and he had sloppy scraggly brown hair “What do ya want?”

“Looking for a wizard for hire. Anyone I should look for?”

The mercenary shrugged in the direction of a few mercenaries sitting around a campfire with books in their hands. B’ktar flipped a silver coin in the direction of the mercenary as he walked towards the supposed wizards. He leaned towards Tyonthalay and gave a small sweeping motion to all of the wizards sitting with spell books, committing their spells to memory. “Take your pick…”

As Tyonthalay’s eyes scanned the unwitting line-up of wizards, there was one that stood out among the rest. A wizard clad in blue and black fabric of gorgeous velvet entirely unfitting to a mere mercenary living in the woods. He had a small patch of facial hair under his chin, his small lips moving indescribably strange patterns that only a wizard well-versed in the magical arts could manage. He had a regal handsome look about him which furthermore confused the Joorian in a mercenary camp. She subtly pointed to him for B’ktar. He as well seemed a bit confused about the wizard’s demeanor “Hm…he is wearing the Hovanian colors. Well, Hovanians are usually pretty skilled in magic as we saw…” Observed Shuras as B’ktar scoffed “Whether it comes from a dog or a king, shit still smells. Ask him if you’d like…”

        As Tyonthalay was about to walk towards the wizard, the burly knight burst into a sprint in the direction of a cloaked stranger walking into the encampment. He drew his great sword and swung heavily in a downward arc at the man who so easily side-stepped the blade with the grace of a doe jumping a creek. The bald lumbering behemoth roared as he gave another leaping slice of his tremendous sword, the man almost making a complete 90 degree angle with his back as the sword soared above his torso leaving him unharmed as he stood back up with a perplexed look on his face. Shuras quickly ran to stand in front of his long-time friend.

“B’ktar! What in the name of the abyss are you doing?!”

“That’s the bastard that killed our king! That’s the assassin!” roared the enraged knight as he continued to try and dodge his way around his companion to attempt once more to maim the man in the cloak.

The man perked an eyebrow and then shrugged “A job’s a job. If it makes you feel any better I was intending on it being my last mission. Surprising I’m standing before you, yes?”

Shaz interjected with a gulp as he approached the dark haired assassin “Did…did the Hooncaliz hire you to kill the king of Jooria as well?”

The assassin stroked his pointy chin as he eyed the teenager before him curiously “No. I didn’t kill him; however I would say that his chances of being alive are pretty slim. I see you all aren’t too fond of introductions but my name is Teektel. I don’t work strictly for the Hooncaliz. If the price is right, I will work for anybody. I only give a mild apology for killing your king, ex-knight.” The huffing giant still ibid as he was being held back by Shuras. The apathetic assassin continued with his explanation in a matter-of-fact tone.

“However if I didn’t do it for them, they would have hired another mercenary to do the job or there would have been a battle within the city gates that would have left your beloved capital to the fate of Dagar.”

The burly man slowly calmed down as the cold killer finished his piece. There was a part of him that wanted to remain livid. The truth was so hard to bare that in these times the best-case scenario for how this would have all played out is the death of their leader. Tyonthalay was the first one to speak after a short period of silence “Will you help us, Teektel?”

This question caught all of them off-guard. Before them stood a man who had just killed a major leader of a people and just inadvertently informed them of the demise of her husband and she was now asking for his help. What she followed up asking was all the more shocking “Please…we haven’t much money but I assure you once these awful Hooncaliz are disposed of you will be handsomely rewarded…”

Everyone aside from Teektel was aghast; a lazy smirk on his face as he gave a chuckle “Indeed, you are someone I will want to keep my eye on, lady Tyonthalay of Jooria. However, I don’t think I will help you all…yet. Continue on your course though. I’m sure we will meet again. Now, I must take my leave. You all have drawn enough attention to me as it is. They will probably want to try and follow me out of here and kill the man who just, as you all announced to everyone in the camp, killed a king.” He mumbled something about skull-carriers, a common term for assassins who carry the skulls of the deceased targets to collect their bounty, before seemingly vanishing into the brush.

        The matriarch of Jooria stood there as if drained for a moment; she had hardly listened to the rest of what Teektel had said. This peculiar stranger knew who she was. She remembered him mentioning something of Dagar but hadn’t a clue as to where that was or what he meant. Where was she, in these times? Standing in an assassin camp, blood on her shoe-socks, about to embark on a dangerous journey to resurrect an old power; it was only a couple days ago she was waiting in bed for her husband to sleep unaware of what lain ahead.

B’ktar huffed and straightened his armor that was slightly disheveled as he approached the Hovanian who was watching all of these events unfold. “You. Hovanian. What’s your name?”

The wizard apparently hadn’t expected after all that had just transpired the party to stay around the mercenary camp for he had to think a moment before answering “Errr…Costra. What can I do for you…?”

“You look like you’re royalty…you also don’t seem to be cut from the cloth to be a mercenary…”

Costra scratched the back of his head as he looked down and away, a small flush upon his face as his somewhat nasally voice raised in pitch “I don’t…know what you’re talking about…been a mercenary my whole life…”

Shuras was now looking strangely at the wizard as well. He was wearing very extravagant robes and seemed very well tuned to the ways of magic. Why would the Hooncaliz allow this wizard to leave their ranks? What’s more, he had very distinct features to him that seemed familiar. If Shuras didn’t know better he would swear that Costra was royalty. He had only seen one or two peace conferences in his time in which all the leaders wanted to try to find some middle ground and end the ceaseless bloodshed; so he couldn’t be too sure if this man before him resembled the leaders of Hovania.

“Do you want to purchase my services or not?” Costra asked in a somewhat despondent manner as if this whole situation he lived was not ideal. Tyonthalay joined back in the conversation, almost mirroring Costra’s demeanor as she nodded softly and proposed Costra join their cause. After he packed up his staff and small belongings, the odd hodge-podge of nationalities set forth on their journey.

Although the address to the newly conquered people went smoothly, Lamphasaar’s mind was far from at ease. That masked warrior irked him beyond all reason. The conceit of taking on his soldiers single handed and then vanishing with a simple spell! The emperor was seething with impotent fury as he sat in the carriage.

Kahniel watched the soothing country side roll past them slowly, the carriage jumbling every so often as they would hit a bump. Body guards who also acted as commanders of the army rode in a diamond pattern with the carriage; one in the front, one in the back, and one on each side.

Kahniel called to the carriage driver to ask how far they were from their destination. When he received his answer, he promptly told his body guards and subordinates to begin to fall back until they receive a signal.

Lamphasaar tented his fingers until he was sure that the general had no more business to take care of. He admired his young ward. It seemed like only a week ago him and Kahniel had rallied all of the people of the nation to their cause and set to work on building an elite army with the best traits of half of the Hahnai nations. At this point they had already taken over Hovania, killed the king of Validine, and were already in the process of hunting down any Jo’norak outside of the country’s boundaries; yet despite all things going according to plan he was restless. The budding emperor was growing tired earlier and felt his bones grow weaker. The one thing that no matter the amount of body guards nor soldiers willing to die at your feet, one can never prevent old age from happening to an emperor.

To snap himself out of the gloom that normally settles over him whenever he thinks about the topic, he abruptly asked “So I assume that we are all ready to take care of the person of interest?”

His general’s eyes turned away from the window as he cleared his throat “Indeed, Emperor. The men have begun to fall back and we are approaching the forest. Soon we will be one step closer to reigning supreme over Hahnai.”

“And the other person of interest?” asked Lamphasaar in a lower tone.

“You understand that we have a lot more on our plate than that, Emperor. Your condition hasn’t been an issue recently and I don’t think you need to worry…”

“Don’t you tell me what I need to do, you pustule! Every day I feel this feeble frame grow a little weaker. What use is having a nation if I will have to part with it soon!?” exclaimed Lamphasaar, face red and shaking as he glared at his second in command. However, Kahniel hardly blinked at the outburst. Ever since his master had heard of the person of interest, it was all that he could think about. Everything that was just shouted was exactly how the tyrant felt. He grew more aware of his age the instant he heard of the legend of an artifact that granted whoever owned it immortality.

Of course this was but a legend. It had been sought after for years; perhaps as long as the world had turned. A couple decades ago it was said to have been found and there was someone who walked among Hahnai that possessed the relic; possibly over a hundred years old now and could look like he was but twenty or thirty. For every five or six people who claimed it was a hoax, an equal amount swore to its actuality. Ever since Lamphasaar arrived, he has been trying to acquire information as to the most recent adventurers who went questing for the ancient device and has only come up with a large list of names; no evidence of  any of them even still among the living.

Kahniel acquiesced to his master and said gently “I have glanced over the list we found. If you would like, on the way through our forest I shall brief you on what was found out about the medallion…”