"Chosen 2 ''

"Chosen 2 ''

BY;fernand jiro

From the Testament of Life:

For it is written

In days of ancient thought

That we were born of light

Pure and unspoiled

Then the Age of Defilement came upon us

Impurity permeated all

The High Father bathed us with water

And we were reborn.

For it is written

In the days after the cleansing

That we lived anew

Different yet the same

Then the Age of Strife burst forth

Struggle became life

The High Father bathed us with fire

And we were forged, united.

                The shadows crept slowly across the field as the last remnants of the sun’s light pierced through the sinister, cloudy sky.  Darkness surrounded the landscape and the thick stench of the deceased pervaded the air.  Life seemed foreign.  Even the blades of grass were withered and limp, too weak to stand upright again.  As lightning flashed across the sky horrific scenes of pain and sorrow were displayed, frozen in time.  The bodies of the dead were littered about as far as the eye could see, a testament to the brutality that marched across the field.

                Raleigh stood on a gently sloping hill above the carnage and disastrous display of mayhem.  A shiver ran up his back to his pace face; beads of cold sweat slowly trailed down his skin.  All around him, assaulting his senses, was death.  Dark cries of those that feast on carrion echoed through the air, creating a chilling symphony of the night.  It was all he could do to keep from falling to the ground, sick with disgust.

                “Do not fall,” said a gentle voice on the wind, tickling his ears lightly.  Raleigh looked around to see from where it came.  Lightning flashed again and Raleigh clamped his eyes shut, scared to see the images that he knew were scattered all around him.  None of the faces he knew but something about what was happening seemed familiar.  Intense anger and fear welled up inside of him, pushing against his will to burst out in response to his surroundings.  An urge to lift his face to the sky and cry out nearly overwhelmed him, tearing at his being.

                “No,” he whispered.  “Not like this.”  A tear ran down his cheek as he tried to hold to his sanity.  Its warmth gave Raleigh an odd sense of comfort in his cold, dark surrounding.

                He held his staff tightly in his right hand, supporting himself for fear his knees would give way.  Slowly, a thick, warm substance oozed onto his hand.  With a ragged breath, Raleigh slowly opened his eyes to see what it was.  Horror flowed through his body when he saw his staff had begun to bleed.  His left hand rose with a will of its own to touch the area the blood came from, pulling back red-tipped fingers.  “Gallen,” he whispered to himself, realizing that was the spot that Gallen’s blood had landed.  Fear paralyzed Raleigh, wanting to throw the staff down and at the same time knowing that he should not.

                “There is no need to fear,” whispered a second voice.  Raleigh felt a tug on his robe and looked down to see a small, bright white light clinging to his leg.

                Another flash of lightning flew across the sky.  Goose bumps spread across Raleigh’s skin in waves as the air grew cold and moist.  Every muscle in his body tensed as the lightning increased in intensity and ferocity.  His eyes were drawn to the ground at his feet, each flash of lightning revealing what he feared and hated most.  Before him, at his feet, lay his nightmare.

                The wind picked up and in its growing gusts Raleigh could hear, “You could not save us but you could save her?”

                Raleigh fell to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes.  The blood from the staff began to flow more freely, a sign of his betrayal.  “No,” he moaned. “I…I did not…”

                The light beside him again whispered, “There is no need to fear.”  Raleigh felt warmth exude from the voice, as if it took him in a loving embrace.  For a moment he felt at ease.  But then wind became fiercer and Raleigh grew cold once again.  The lightning flashed one last time and Raleigh knelt face to face with the demons inside of him.

                “Why did you not save us?” the wind howled again in accusation.

                With a jolt Raleigh sat up in his bed, covered in a cold sweat and disoriented.  The light from the large pyre in the courtyard of the Academy softly illuminated his room.  The scent of burning wood blanketed all other smells and calmed his nerves.  Raleigh wiped the sweat from his brow and with a deep breath slipped out of bed, wishing not to return to that dream.

                After donning his white night robe, Raleigh left his room to walk and clear his mind.  Without thinking he let his feet choose his path for him.  Raleigh did his best not to think lest his mind wander to the images of his dream and the emotions it would undoubtedly bring up.  As he entered the courtyard of the Academy, standing on the second floor over looking the fire, he wrapped his robe around himself tighter.  His gaze was drawn to the flickering flames at the center of everything.  The crackling of the embers inside the flames intertwined with the subdued howl of the wind, an unpleasant reminder of his dream.

                Five days had passed since the reception at the palace.  Rumors spread as fast as lightning through the sky about what had happened.  Speculation and hearsay conjured all manner of explanations to explain the assassination attempt, from a secret military coup to a demonic attack.  There was even talk of an alliance between Jalstiria and one of the other Crowns through marriage.  Many people of the city of Hyllro, Jalstiria’s capital, visited the temples and houses of the High Father to offer their prayers and to seek advice of what to do in light of the tragedy that almost happened.

                Mornic had not returned to the Academy since leaving for the reception.  He was called upon to help with the spiritual matters of the populace and that of the royal family.  His time was spent at the temples and the palace, advising the queen in the matters at hand.  A storm was brewing on the horizon; many events were taking shape all around Jalstiria.  It was only a matter.

                A cold wind blew through, fanning the flames and sending shivers up Raleigh’s spine.  He looked up to the sky to see the full moon overhead, relieved that it was a cloudless night.  The horrifying images of his nightmare lingered just out of reach of his minds eye but he knew they were there, waiting to return; waiting to haunt him.  With a shake of his head Raleigh leaned against the railing, both hands gripping tightly.  Hanging his head low he took deep, slow breaths.

                “It was not real,” he murmured to himself.

                He turned sharply to walk on, struggling to avoid the thoughts that skirted around in his mind and not paying attention to where he was going.  Neither him nor the hooded priest saw each other and collided forcefully.  Raleigh was knocked down onto his back while the priest stood still momentarily, stunned from the impact, then grunted and began to hurry on.

                Raleigh stood up quickly to apologize.  “I am very sorry, sir.  I should have been more…careful…sir?”

                The priest did not stop to listen to Raleigh’s apology.  He brushed past him in a hurry, silent and shadowed by the hood of his robe.  Raleigh was stunned by the priest’s refusal to speak or even to acknowledge his presence.  There was no doubt in his mind that the priest had his reasons but the suddenness of it took Raleigh by surprise.  His eyes followed the shadowed figure for a moment before shaking his head and continuing on his own path.

                The priest continued to walk and entered a dark, secluded corridor as he hurried out of the courtyard.  After several steps inside he turned into a room, closing and sealing the door firmly.  He leaned his back against it and lifted the hood of his robe.  The light of the moon shone through the only window of the room onto the priest’s face, his green eyes looking to the soft white disk in the sky as if to ask for redemption through strands of dark red hair.

                “Why did they have to arrive then,” he asked himself.  “Couldn’t they wait until morning like the rest of the sheep?”  He pulled his blood soaked hands from the sleeves of his robe and stared at them.  The red fluid was thick and still warm to the touch.  “Why?” he asked himself again before slamming a fist onto a shelf nearby.  The pain that shot through his arm was hardly noticeable, serving only to refocus his thoughts.

                His memories floated back to three days before.  He knelt on the floor in an intense pillar of light that bore down from the ceiling above.  A dirty, lanky old man stood before him in a similar column of light, both contrasted by the deep, surrounding darkness of the room they met in.  There were others in the shadows, watching, analyzing the young man kneeling before them.  The air was dry, the scent of sand lightly dancing about.

                “You have your assignment,” stated the old man to the younger one, his voice strained and grating.

                Soft murmurs emanated from the shadows for a moment before a clear, strong, cold voice boomed through the room.  “Are you sure he can handle this task, Mansle?  Our plans have gone to far now to have any one part fail now!”

                Mansle arched his eyebrow, slowly looking left and right to the shadows.  “Caslian is the best there is.”

                “What proof do we have?” asked the voice again.

                “The disputes between Hasen and Zikal speak for me,” replied Caslian in a quiet, deliberate voice, still kneeling before Mansle.  The cool air just above the granite floor clung to him, biting through his clothing.  It was a refreshing feeling compared the heat outside.

                “What do they have to do with your current task?” exclaimed the voice, booming and echoing from all directions.

                Calisan slowly rose to his feet and turned to his right, his stare locked into the darkness.  He murmured softly, “Peace among the territories would have succeeded if Governor Triost had not…fallen from the bedroom into the sea.  I am sure your needs have been met by the continued chaos.”

                Murmurs filled the shadows again until the voice burst forth again.  “He will suffice, Mansle.  Do not fail us.”  Shuffling sounds and footsteps resounding through the room closed the meeting and within moments utter silence filled blanketed all.  Mansle looked to Caslian for a long time from his column of light.  Caslian slowly turned to the door and strode confidently to his task.

                “You know the importance of this assignment,” growled Mansle.

                Caslian paused and turned back to give Mansle a sideways look.  “Weaken the Church by killing its leading figure,” he muttered.  “What else is there to know?”

                Mansle rushed out of the light to grab Caslian.  “There is no room for your attitude or your pride!” he exclaimed.  “The Church’s support of the royal family gives them a strong advantage.  If Jerroni lives then the coup will fail!”

                A dark fire burned in Caslian’s eyes as he stared deep into Mansle’s.  With a slow, calm motion Caslian took a hold of Mansle’s hands and removed them from his shirt.  “The priest will die as planned.  There will be no obstructions,” he replied coldly.

                Mansle took a small step back.  “Be sure of it,” he stated flatly.  “Remember, method of death is not an issue.  The more…brutal, the better.”

                “Brutal,” Caslian whispered to himself as he came too from his memories.  The light of the moon seemed innocent and pure to him when compared to the insidious actions he performed only moments before.  He reached his red-stained hands into the sleeves of his robe and ripped the instruments of murder from the sheaths on his forearms.  The blades were still wet with the blood of his victims; the light of the moon gleaming from the metal and blood as if to mock him.

                “Why?” he asked himself again.  Kalben Jerroni was the archpriest of the High Father and one of the most prominent figures of the Church.  His death would have sent the Church into chaos until a new leader could be established.

                “The perfect time to strike!”  The words from the cold disembodied voice echoed in his ear.  A coup planned to overthrow the royal family and put another family, a figure head, into power.  Caslian’s part had been simply to assassinate Jerroni to open the window of attack while the Church struggled to regain order among their ranks.

                Caslian did not care about any of ramifications though.  He merely did what he was told to do, as an instrument of death should.  His continued life called for the extinguishing of another life.  It was his gift, his talent, his reason for living.

                The blood was thick on his hands, the smell pungent and inescapable.  Killing Jerroni was a simple matter.  He died quickly and the artwork that was to be the discovery of his mutilated corpse was nearly complete when it happened.  Caslian’s faith in himself and his purpose was brought into question as two innocents entered the room.  With two quick movements both were dead.  Silent and efficient, the creed Caslian followed his entire life.

                He slowly moved closer to the window to watch the moon.  It was low in the sky now, warning the assassin that the morning light would soon arrive.  On the horizon, towering over landscape stood the ancient Jalstirian palace.  In a moment of crystal clarity, Caslian knew his fate and his destiny.

                “A perfect time to strike,” he thought to himself.  He replaced the blades into their forearms sheathes and pulled the hood back over his head.  Despite himself and the profound epiphany, a sinister grin crossed his lips.  “This will be a coup to remember.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

                As the light of the early morning sun bathed the palace of Jalstiria lightly in a golden shower, Queen Laye sat on her throne, a tired look blanketing her face.  The smell of the freshly extinguished torches hung thick in the air as the light from the outside filtered into the room through the delicate and ornately colored windows.  The quiet stillness blanketed the room with serenity that permeated every part of the throne room.  Alone, Queen Laye sat in the utter silence, waiting.

                The doors to the throne room slowly creaked open to allow Pallan entrance to the silence.  Queen Laye slowly nodded as Pallan strode confidently to her, stopping to kneel before the throne.  Pallan’s armor glittered softly to the light encompassing them while her eyes sparkled.

                Queen Laye nodded to Pallan and said in a soft voice, “Thank you for coming.”

                Pallan straightened her posture to a statuesque poise.  “When you summon me, your Highness, I shall come.  Always.”

                “I know, my friend,” Queen Laye said with an attempt to smile.  “I called you here because of an errand that requires the utmost secrecy.”

                “Secrecy, your Highness?” asked Pallan.  It was then that she noticed throne room was devoid of the normal guard compliment.  Her gaze slowly floated back to the queen and realized that “secrecy” meant complete.  “Am I to believe that I am the only one privy to this errand?”

                “Yes, you are,” replied Queen Laye.  She pulled a note from of a velvet pouch on the side of the throne.  “These are the additions I wish to make to the expedition.  Due to the nature of these people I do not wish anyone else to know about them.  It may prove difficult to bring them here if news of their arrival came out.”

                Pallan approached the throne, curiosity filling her mind as she pondered who would require such measures, and took the note.  She carefully unrolled it and began to read.  After a moment her eyes widened, reading the full note all the way to the end, before lifting her eyes to question the queen.  “Are you sure about her?”

                Queen Laye slowly nodded.  “I believe they will be invaluable.”

                “Yes…but…her?”

                “Pallan…please.  I do understand the consequences in her coming, which is why I made those precautions in the note.”

                Pallan she read over the note again.  “It will take some time to contact them,” she said.

                The queen smiled successfully this time.  “I believe that both are currently near by.  It should not take more than a day or two to reach the both of them.”

                “How…?” Pallan began to ask, looking quizzically to the queen.

                Queen Laye smiled with a slight mischievous sparkle in her eye.  “The Tournament in Balisten is occurring this week as well as the Tun’tane in Oalsif.”

                Pallan nodded with realization.  The Balisten Tournament was the last in a series of combat Tournaments where fighters were pitted against each other in many diverse fighting scenarios, from one on one combat to team fights.  Fighters from all over the kingdom entered the Tournaments to compete against each other for the glories to be had.  Some wished to earn the respect of their peers while others fought for honor for their homeland.  Most fought for the large tribute of gifts and money, however.  Many nobles endorsed the Tournaments by supporting the fighters that entered.  These fighters would in turn pledge their loyalties to the nobles, becoming prizefighters.  Other nobles offered venues for various traveling Tournaments to fight in and the rewards to the victors.  A few of the more affluent statehoods and lordships even went so far as to set up a Tournament of their own to join the series.  Because it was the last Tournament, many of the combatants from the previous Tournaments attended to fight again.  Due to the amount of people that have continued to come over the years the Tournament’s location was finalized in the large city of Balisten, south of Hyllro.

                In sharp contrast to the battles and hardships of the Tournaments, the Tun’tane was a quiet festival held in an unassuming village a short distance southwest of Hyllro called Oalsif.  It was a celebration of peace and contentment, both in the world and in oneself.  Those who came to the festival often meditated or prayed for hours in silence, though this was not the sole purpose of the festival.  Stories, music, and games were all part of the Tun’tane as a celebration of peace in life.  Though small, many came to the Tun’tane to join in that very celebration.

                “I shall leave for Balisten immediately, your Highness,” said Pallan with a low bow.

                “Thank you, my friend,” replied Queen Laye.

                Pallan turned and hurriedly walked to the door.  The echoes of her boots striking the stone resounded through the throne room, joined with the creak of the opening and closing of its doors, leaving Queen Laye alone again in the silence of the throne room.  In that moment of stillness her heart went out to Mayla and in an instant the queen was on her feet, hurrying to her daughter.

                The sun had risen high into the sky when Queen Laye silently entered her daughter’s room and smiled.  “How are you, my dear?” she asked with a soft smile.

                Mayla looked up from her lap as she sat on her bed.  The princess’s image was concealed behind a cascade of light pouring in from her window.  “Who is it going to be?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

                “What?” replied her mother, slowly approaching Mayla.  She noted the arrangement of the candles on her dresser, a ward against dark forces.  The queen assumed the candles were the reason why Malya had refused to leave the room since the attack.  As she drew nearer Queen Laye saw her daughter’s eyes were red from lack of sleep and her face pale.

                “There was a message from Thyse, was there not?”

                Laye took her crown off and laid it down on her daughter’s dresser before sitting next to her.  “Yes, there was.”

                “Who is it going to be?” Mayla asked again.

                “I was going to tell you when the time seemed right,” replied Laye, reaching out to take her daughter’s hand in hers.

                “Mother,” whispered Mayla, demanding to be told.

                Laye lightly caressed Mayla’s forehead, moving a few strands of her unkempt hair out of the princess’s face.  “The messenger came from Thyse three months ago offering a marriage proposal.  His name is Prince Darquain, heir to the throne of Thyse.”

                Mayla nodded slowly.  “Why?” she asked.  “Why did you not tell me?  Why did you…lie to me?”

                “I did not lie, my child,” replied Laye.  “I wanted you to choose whom you will marry.   I wanted you to find true love and happiness but…there are those that would use the marriage for their own gains.  Bringing two Crowns together as one would…”

                Mayla looked deep into her mother’s light green eyes.  “I wish to go there immediately.”

                “What?  Why would you want to do that my child?” Laye asked, puzzled and shocked by such as request.

                “I…do not feel safe here.”

                “There is no place safer than the palace my dearest child,” replied Laye.

                “If there is not then there is no place safe anywhere!” screamed Mayla as she began to convulse.  “Father was murdered on his throne; I was attacked at the banquet!  Please, mother!  I am not safe here!” 

                Laye’s body fell limp.  Her heart constricted upon itself and tears began to cloud her vision.  She stood and returned the crown to her head, closing her eyes to think.  “There is no guarantee that you will be safe out there either.”

                “I…cannot stay here,” uttered Mayla with a shaky voice, curled in upon herself and on the verge of tears.  “This place…holds nothing but death for me.  And…if I am to marry a man I have never known before then…I wish to meet him before that day.”

                Queen Laye turned to her daughter.  “Do you wish to leave me now?” she asked.  “If you go we may not see one another for some time.”

                Mayla fell out of her bed and into her mother’s arms, crying into her gown.  “I cannot stay,” she repeated.  “I refuse too.”

                Queen Laye clenched her eyes together and whispered, “As you wish, my dearest.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

                “Mayla.”  The name echoed in Raleigh’s head as his mouth silently flowed from one syllable to next.

                “What was that, Raleigh?” asked Instructor Perith.

                Raleigh snapped from his thoughts and stood slowly, looking around to the sight of the eyes of his classmates focused on him.  Snickers and giggles emanated from all around him.  His face reddened and his mouth became dry as words attempted to escape in vain.

                Instructor Perith coughed softly and lightly rubbed the tip of her nose.  “Did you have something to add to the discussion?”

                “Discussion, Instructor?” asked Raleigh, grasping for any clue to what had been going on while he was daydreaming.

                A sigh escaped the instructor’s lips as she rubbed her eyes in irritation.  “Please everyone, we cannot fully explore anything if we cannot think and talk freely about it.  Raleigh, why is the institution of the territories, lordships, and statehoods an important and central part of our government?”

                Raleigh relaxed visibly, thankful for the chance at redemption.  “What we know of as territories originally grew out of the clans that were united by Domaen Palima, The Forge.  As the clans expanded they took hold of lands and established themselves.  Eventually, as the clans grew bigger they found different ways to organize their ruling systems, the two predominant ways being the lordships and the statehoods.  These ruling systems are vital because in a land as vast as ours power must be delegated.  The ruling family deals with the larger issues that affect all or most of Jalstiria.  The statehoods, lordships, and territories handle matters that concern them alone but must conform to the law set by the ruling family.  It is the same system that each Crown uses since the Broken Crown Wars.”

                A smile crossed the instructor’s lips.  “Very nice, Raleigh.”  She looked around the classroom to Raleigh’s peers as he sat down, relieved.  Fixing her eyes on the boy to Raleigh’s right she said, “Laere, Raleigh brought up a very important figure.  Just who is Domaen Palima?”

                Laere gulped as he stood up.  “He came to us as an instrument of the High Father to lead us through the Age of Strife.”

                “And what was the Age of Strife?”

                “A time where there was constant warfare.  Domaen Palima pull together many of the warring clans and used them to unify the others through the Trial of Fire.”

                “Excellent,” replied Perith.  “The royal family from each Crown is directly descended from Domaen Palima and it is his bloodline that has ruled each.”

                A mutter from the back disrupted Instructor Perith.  “Maybe it is time for a new bloodline.”

                “What was that, Kelth?” asked Perith, annoyed but not entirely surprised.

                Kelth Retur, the son of one of the most powerful and influential noblemen in Jalstiria, stood confidently.  Two strands of his long brown hair framed his face, while the rest was staunchly head back in a long ponytail.  “I said maybe it is time for a new bloodline.”

                “Such as your bloodline, Kelth?” replied Perith.

                “You will address me as Sir Retur, and yes, my line would be much stronger.”

                Raleigh clenched his fists and thought to himself, “Arrogant.”  He cut this thought off, however, to calm himself.

                Instructor Perith shook her head in disappointment then looked out the window as the hourly bells rang.  “Class is over now.  Have a good day, students.”

                The students gathered their possessions and filed out of the classroom, eager for the midday meal.  Raleigh walked alone with his staff in hand, lost in thought.  As he turned a corner a voice came from behind that interrupted his reflection.

                “You did not care for what I said, did you Raleigh?” asked Kelth.

                Raleigh paused, looking up slightly but refusing to turn around.  “I think it was out of line.”

                “Why?  It is true.  The queen cannot hold this country together by herself and she refuses to take a husband.  She is weak.”

                “She is stronger than you could imagine,” said Raleigh before starting off again.

                “Listen here, commoner,” started Kelth in a stern voice.  Raleigh spun around, staring deeply into Kelth’s jade eyes.  He opened his mouth to begin to speak, then looked down and away.  Kelth laughed as he pushed past Raleigh and walked on to the midday meal, leaving one final insult.  “As I thought, nothing but a weak commoner.”

                Raleigh sighed and leaned against the cold wall.  “Commoner,” he uttered quietly.  He took a deep breath, standing there in silence.

                The light touch of a warm hand startled Raleigh from his thoughts again.  Mornic smiled at his young apprentice and embraced him tightly.  The warmth of his large body comforted Raleigh in his moment of doubt.  “I have news,” Mornic said quietly.

                “What is it?” asked Raleigh with a puzzled look on his face.

                Mornic put his arm around Raleigh’s shoulders and started to walk.  “There is an expedition being planned to investigate the sighting of a mysterious ship on the horizon.”

                Raleigh’s eyes widened.  “A ship on the horizon?”  But that is…”

                “That is why I was asked to attend the expedition.  It will be the experience of a life time.”  Mornic’s eyes sparkled with an excitement that echoed in his voice.  “To meet other children of the High Father.”

                Raleigh walked along side Mornic, speechless and dumbfounded by the news.  “I…”

                “Yes…you, my boy.”

                “What?” asked Raleigh, stopping suddenly to stare at his mentor.  “What about me?”

                Mornic smiled impishly and spoke slowly, his deep voice resonating in Raleigh’s ears.  “You are coming with me…on to adventure my boy,” he said while staring into Raleigh’s eyes.

                Raleigh let go of his staff, the echo resounding throughout the now empty hallways of the Academy.  His mind raced through thought after thought, imagining people, places, ideas, everything that they may encounter on such an adventure.  Within a matter of moments his mind was in a daze.  “I…I am unworthy…”

                “Nonsense my boy!” shouted Mornic, laughing as he patted Raleigh’s back forcefully.  “I can think of none better than you to accompany us.”  Raleigh started to protest but was cut off when Mornic smiled in his usual way when planning on turning Raleigh’s world upside down.  “Queen Laye believes it is a good idea too.  She is very interested in meeting you.”

                “What?” asked Raleigh in utter shock.  “She wants to meet…me?”

                Mornic nodded with an excited, but gentle smile.  “She wishes to thank you for your deed the other day at the banquet.”

                Raleigh turned to face Mornic and lowered his head.  “Thank you, sir.”

                Mornic arched his eyebrow.  “For what, my boy?”

                Slowly rising to meet Mornic’s gaze with his own, Raleigh responded in a soft, humble voice.  “For taking me in when I was alone, for believing in me when no one else did, and for…for being there when I needed you.”

                “My boy,” Mornic whispered back, taking Raleigh into his arms and holding him tightly.  They stood there together, embraced and silent.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

                Within two days there was a bustle at the Jalstirian palace.  A steady hum of murmurs and gossiping filled the palace as news of special guests spread among the servants and guards.  No one knew exactly who they were or why they were coming though stories of enchanters and sorcerers commissioned to guard against another assassination ran rampant.  Other lesser-told stories suggested members of an expedition were on their way.  Others told of emissaries from one of the other Crowns coming to visit.  Despite the best efforts of many of the servants nothing was revealed that was not deemed ready to be revealed.  The identity of the mystery guests was not to be discovered by anyone.

                Inside the throne room of the palace sat Queen Laye in her throne, holding a proud posture as she awaited the arrival of her honored guests.  Along with the queen stood General Tizmak with four of his personal guards.  He had arrived early for a meeting with the queen about the security between the territories, lordships, and statehoods and stayed at her request in the throne room to meet with the guests.

                The sudden creak of the wooden doors startled Queen Laye but she quickly regained her composure.  “Steady,” she whispered to herself.  “This is important.”

                Four hooded figures quickly entered the throne room, the smallest one, no bigger than a child, stopping to look as the doors creaked closed again, after which the figure turned and hurried to catch up with the other three.  They stopped before reaching the queen as Tizmak’s personal guard took position to form a barrier.

                Queen Laye lifted her hand and spoke quietly.  “Please, these are my personal guests.  Do not treat them with such distrust.”  The guards looked to their general, who nodded, and returned to his side.  The queen smiled and stood to greet her guests.  “Welcome and thank you for indulging my requests.  I am sure it was…awkward but I am very pleased you all arrived safely.”

                One of the figures pulled his hood back to reveal a young man with black hair that hung down to the nape of his neck and sky blue eyes.  He then tossed his robe onto his shoulders to reveal an almost full suit of plate mail.  The young man bowed low and rose with a cocky smirk on his face.

                “It was odd to travel as we did, your Highness.  However, one does not come by a royal summons everyday.”

                The queen smiled.  “I am happy you could come, Sir Ralth.”

                General Tizmak’s face lost its rock hard gaze as he realized whose presence he was in.  “Daegan Ralth?” he muttered softly.

                Daegan turned to the general and nodded, still holding his smirk.  “The one and only, General.”  He bowed again in a slightly more showy fashion.  “This here is my companion, Squill.”

                Another figure removed his hood to reveal a young man with short brown hair and brown eyes who immediately smiled nervously to everyone with a shaky wave.  “Hello everyone!”  He looked around the throne room with eager eyes.  “I can’t believe we are here, in the throne room,” he said with a sigh of excitement.

                “Calm yourself, Squill,” Daegan said with a slight hint of condemnation.  He looked to Queen Laye and bowed low again.  “Our services are at your disposal, your Highness.”

                Queen Laye smiled joyfully.  “General Tizmak?  I assume you know the reputation of this young man.  I have asked him to join the expedition.  I am sure you would not mind having his skills at your disposal, would you?”

                General Tizmak strained composure.  “Of course, your Highness.”  The general’s mind, however, raced with fury at this development.  “She does not trust me…the whore does not trust my judgment for the expedition,” he thought to himself.

                “Is something wrong, General?” asked the queen.

                “No…no your Highness,” responded Tizmak, still restraining his emotions.  “I am merely curious as to why you wished to have these two fine young men added to the expedition.  Especially when you, yourself, suggested that the military compliment be…appropriate.”

                “Yes, I did say that,” answered the queen.  “But I also said that I would add whatever I felt will be necessary.”  With a motion to her four guests she added, “I feel they are necessary.”

                Daegan turned to the remaining two robed figures.  “Speaking of what is necessary, might we know who you are?”

                The taller of the two remaining figures lifted her hood.  An attractive woman with grace, long black hair, and obsidian black eyes stood before them.  Her slightly pale skin contrasted sharply with the brown robe and her black hair while her face was adorned with various green markings that accented her exotic nature.  She turned her head to face Daegan, her eyes penetrating deep into his.

                “My name is Imogene,” she answered in a smooth, soft voice.

                Her companion, with some difficulty, pulled her off her whole robe.  A young girl with bright red, curly hair and blue eyes smiled out to everyone.  “My name is Bria!  It is a pleasure to meet all of you.”  Bria seemed very proud that she was able to say the statement the she did, looking up to Imogene who nodded in approval.  The queen smiled brightly at the innocence the little girl exuded.

                The general eyed Imogene for a moment then pulled his sword out.  “Your Highness!  Be wary…she is a demon!”

                Imogene shot a sharp glare to the general as his personal guard drew their weapons as well.  Queen Laye’s gaze fell upon the general as she exclaimed,  “Explain yourself, General!”

                Tizmak pointed to Imogene.  “She is cursed, your Highness!  Surround her!”  The soldiers circled Imogene, keeping their distance to be ready for the unknown.  The general continued.  “Those markings on her face are of the cursed!”

                Daegan fell back to draw his weapon, a large, double-edged two-handed sword that had been his trusted weapon for many years.  Squill followed suit by drawing his own sword for battle.  It felt odd having to fight without his trusted shield but under the circumstances in which he arrived at the palace he did not have much choice.  Both fighters eyed the now very dangerous looking woman.

                “Stop it!” shouted Queen Laye.  “I know who and what she is.”

                General Tizmak nearly dropped his sword at her words.  “What?  Your Highness cannot expect that…”

                 “I invited her here because of her unique abilities, General!  Now put your weapons away!” demanded the queen.

                Daegan and Squill looked to the queen and then to each other.  Slowly they lowered their weapons to their sides, holding them ready to strike, just in case.

                Tizmak could not believe what he heard.  “I…you cannot…she is…”

                “Do not make me ask you again, General,” declared the queen firmly.

                General Tizmak lowered his head briefly before a dark laugh slowly rose up and echoed through the room.  “You have lost your mind,” he murmured.  Everyone in the room stared at the general in shock.  He lifted his head with a sinister grin.  “And to think I plotted and planned for years when a simple case of insanity would have sufficed.  Guards!  It has begun!”

                “What are you talking about, Tizmak?” asked Queen Laye, faltering a step at the insidious tone General Tizmak spoke in.

                “Quite simply…a rebellion, your Highness,” replied Tizmak in an air of satisfaction, bowing slightly to add a sting of contempt to his rebellion.

                Queen Laye stood as firm as she could, her hands shaking and her voice cracking.  “You…are threatening me?” she asked.

                “You have no right to rule this kingdom!” shouted Tizmak in near bloodlust.  “It is time that someone with power took the reigns.”

                “Like you?” asked Daegan, eyeing the general.

                “Why yes, boy,” he said calmly, confidently.  “I suppose I would be the power behind the throne.”  He looked into Daegan’s eyes.  “It would be quite a tragedy if you were to be implemented as part of the Queen’s insanity.  Join us and you will receive quite a reward.”

                Daegan looked to Squill whose skin turned as white as snow.  “Join with the Queen and die,” he started, “or join with you and live a lie?”

                “Is there anything wrong with that?” asked Tizmak, enjoying his greatest moment.  “The truth is subjective.”

                Daegan hefted his sword and pointed to the Queen who could barely stand now.  Her body was in shock at the betrayal, the last piece that broke her strength.  The only thing she could do now is quiver in sorrow and grief, her thoughts only of her daughter.  Daegan grinned to her, staring into her eyes.  “Tell me something, General.  What do you know about the truth?”

                With a swing of his great sword, Daegan sliced the back of the nearest person in the general’s personal guard surrounding Imogene.  Squill jumped to Daegan side, a smile and a sigh of relief escaping his lips.  More guards burst into the throne room and surrounded Daegan, Squill, and Imogene, out numbering them ten to three.

                “Seems our relationship together shall be short, my dearest Imogene,” commented Daegan, his face holding his trademark cocky grin.  “Such a shame too.  A lovely lady such as yourself should not have to face such an end.”

                “That remains to be seen,” replied Imogene.  The air around them slowly began to stir as she looked to her left and right.  Daegan and Squill engaged the guards, fighting hard against the overwhelming odds.  They fought bravely, holding their own well enough as they faced five opponents each.

                Daegan’s skill as a swordsman was legendary in Jalstiria and his performance against the traitors to the crown proved the legends to be true.  He fought with a blend of fervor and style that was almost inhuman, and he knew it.  The constant, cocky grin was frozen on his face, never flinching, as he seemed to know just where and when the next attack would come from.  Squill, however, was falling back.  Though he had not suffered any wounds the attacks were coming closer and closer to breaking through his defense.  He was fighting a purely defensive battle.  There was no affording an offensive response to any attack without risk of exposing himself to a fatal counter attack.  Out of the corner of his eye, however, Squill saw that Daegan had already bested two of the guards.  A new fire burned inside as the need to push on fueled his fight.

                General Tizmak glared at the two fighters then faced Imogene.  “You,” he called out as he pointed.  “Witch!  Shall we see what you are capable of?”

                The air around Imogene coalesced into a furious column of air as her robe flew back and twin axes at her sides rose from their holsters to her delicate hands.  The combatants in the room froze at the display of unnatural power.  Imogene’s eyes turned deep black as she stared directly into Tizmak’s eyes, the markings on her face glowing a subtle green.  Her face still held the calm she entered the room with in contrast to the animation of the column of wind around her.

                Tizmak snarled.  “To cowardly to face me without your curse?”

                Three flashes of light flew across the throne room followed by the collapse of three guards to the ground, dead.  Small daggers were driven into the backs of their necks with precision accuracy.  From the shadows stepped a robed man with dark red hair and green eyes.

                Tizmak’s face contorted with astonishment and anger.  “You!” his voice boomed.  Caslian nodded as he pulled the blood stained blades from his their forearms sheaths, poised to assist should the need arise.  “You have sealed your fate, traitor!” the general shouted.

                Caslian again nodded.  “Yes, I have.”  He lunged forward to Tizmak and slices at his left arm, ripping through the general’s sleeve without cutting the skin.  Rolling forward in the lunge, Caslian managed to slip away from Tizmak’s subsequent attack that tore the rip open even more to reveal an intricate tattoo.  “There,” pointed Caslian as he came out of the roll.

                A howl of rage burst from Tizmak’s lips as he charged Caslian.  Before he could move very far, however, he froze.  The column of air surrounding Imogene subsided and she casually walked over to Tizmak.  She peered him up and down before focusing on the tattoo.  “You are of the Taige,” she stated flatly.

                Tizmak’s eyes widen with confusion and fear.  “How…do you…”

                Imogene turned to Queen Laye and said, “Look for others with this sign on their left arm.  You will find all of your traitors.”

                Tizmak attempted to move but could not.  “Guards!” he shouted.

                “They cannot hear you,” murmured Caslian, eyeing the general with a glint of pleasure in his eye.

                “There will be no sanctuary for you, traitor!  You will be hunted down!  Death will be a merciful release for you!”  Imogene returned her axes to their holsters and lightly touched Tizmak’s forehead.  He instantly fell unconscious to the ground.

                His remaining guards dropped their weapons and surrendered, kneeling before Daegan and Squill, realizing there was no hope to pursue the battle any further.  Caslian slowly walked to Queen Laye, who was still in deep shock from what had happened, and knelt before her.  He tossed the two bloodstained blades to the foot of the throne.

                “Kalben Jerroni is dead.”

                Pallan and Citro burst through the doors of the throne room with a large compliment of guards just then to see a scene that could not easily be explain.  They looked to each other and then to Queen Laye who just fell into her throne, unable to speak.