"Dusk Of Innocence: Chapter 7''

By;Fjm(Abby SArita photos)

 The small, somber procession made its way to the gates of Argenault as the last rays of sunlight dimly touched the sky.  One of the guards ran forward.
            “Halt,” he said, “The city gates close at sundown.”
            “Then we are just in time,” Markas said, looking at the last feeble bit of sunlight as it faded into the twilight.
            “I’m sorry sir, but the gates have been shut,” the guard said, “None but citizens of Argenault my enter the city now, due to the orcs..”
            “We have urgent news concerning the orcs,” Ian said, riding forward, “Is Captain Jameson on duty?”
            “Aye, yes sir,” the guard said, “But I’d have to send word, you see…”
            “This is our urgent news for the Captain,” Ian said, indicating Lady Perval’s remains on the back of Kirin, “And we need to take it to him at once.”
            The guards eyes grew wide at the sight of a body. He paused and then said, “Follow me sirs.”
            The guard led them through a smaller gate and along the wall until they came to a large tower.  They left their mounts and entered the tower.
            “Do you know this Jameson?” Markas whispered to Ian as they climbed the tower stair.
            “Personally, no,” Ian , carrying Lady Perval, whispered back, “But I knew a name and sometimes a name is enough.”
            The guard knocked on the door at the top of stairs and was answered with an “Enter”.
            They followed the guard into the small chamber, which looked out over the Argenault Valley.  Seated at small desk was a handsome young man in uniform.
            “What is it?” he asked without looking up.
            “Captain, these people said they had news of the orc encampment and asked to see you.”
            “Couldn’t they have just given you this news.”
            “No, he couldn’t” Ian said, before the guard could reply.
            “Well,” Jameson said, “What is this news that you had to deliver personally?”
            Ian laid the bundle that contained Lady Perval on the Captain’s desk.  He pulled back the makeshift shroud to reveal her pale, bruised face.
            Captain Jameson’s face became pallid, his eyes widening with shock.
            “Evangeline?  What treachery is this?  What do you intend by this?” he cried as he jumped up.
            “She was taken prisoner by the orcs.  They did this to her,” Ian answered.
            “What proof do you have of this?” he asked, he eyes still locked on Lady Perval’s face.
            “You have my word,” Markas said, stepping forward, “And the word of these good people.”
            Jameson finally looked up at them, “And just who are you?”
            “I am Sir Markas Tau of the Golden Gryphons.  This is Miss Emily Rosewood of the Tower of Secrets, and Master Ian, mercenary.”
            “And, you swear, the orcs did this?” he asked, his voice faltering.
            “I witnessed it myself and will swear by Torus,” Markas said, “We sought to rescue her, but were too late.”
            “I will deal with this matter personally,” Jameson said, staring at Lady Perval, “Soldier, take these people to Alphesus.  He can tend to their injuries.  I have to go report to my superiors.”
            “Is that all your going to do?  Report this?” Ian asked, angrily.
            “No, it is not!” Jameson responded hotly, “Trust me, the orcs will be dealt with, one way or another!
“Very well,” Ian said turning to leave with the others.
“And…thank you.  Thank you for bringing her to me,” the captain said, suddenly sounding more tired.
“You’re welcome,” Ian said, as he nodded and started down the stairs.

*****

            As they followed the guard through the darkened streets of Argenault, a black blur came zooming down out of the night sky to them.
            “TiTi!” Emily exclaimed, as the raven gracefully landed on her shoulder.  He held out his leg to which was attached a small piece of parchment.  Emily removed it and slipped it into one her pouches.  From another, she produced some bird seed which TiTi eagerly gobbled up.
            “You were hungry,” she said, “I bet you’re tired too, after such a long journey.  Go find a place to rest.  We can meet up later.”
            TiTi cawed appreciatively and nimbly jumped off her shoulder and took off into the air above the city.  The guard was staring curiously at Emily when Markas came over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
            “Sometimes, it just better to not ask,” he said, smiling, “So, who is this Alphesus?”
            “He is priest in the Order of the Martyrs, sir.  He runs their chapter house here,” the guard replied.
            “The Martyrs serve the poor,” Ian said, “I have enough to pay for treatment.”
            “Yes, but good luck trying to find a priest or healer at this hour,” the guard replied.
            “My injuries aren’t that bad,” Ian said, “I can wait until morning.”
            “Well, sir,” the guard replied, “I’m just following orders.”
            “And besides,” Markas added, “I would prefer that someone more experienced in these matters than myself take a look at you.  What I did was rudimentary first aid at best.”
            “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Ian said.
            “Please,” said Emily, “I’m sure it couldn’t hurt to have your injuries taken care of now?”
            “Fine,” Ian grumbled.
            They made their way to plain, but well kept building on a rather shabby street.  The guard knocked on the door and old man dressed in a simple homespun robe answered.
            “Greetings,” he said, “How may the Order of the Martyrs assist you?”
            “I’ve brought you an injury,” the guard said.
            “Ah, well come in, come in” the old man said warmly.  They entered as the guard saluted Markas and left.  They entered into the Order’s main chamber, a large common room furnished with simple tables and benches.  They followed him through another door into a smaller room which seemed to serve as the infirmary. A few bare cots lined the wall, one of which held a slight figure who occasionally coughed.
            “Here,” Markas said indicating Ian.
            “Ah, young man,” Alphesus said, “I’ll need to examine you.  If you can just remove your armor and shirt.”
            Ian reluctantly took off his breast plate and shirt while Emily obligingly looked the other way.
            “Ah, well it seems that someone has already healed the most serious injuries,” Alphesus mused.
            “That would have been me,” Markas replied, “However, I only know how to channel the energies granted to me by Torus.  I have no medical knowledge and couldn’t tell the extent of the seriousness of his injuries.”
            “Ah, my son, you have done well,” Alphesus smiled, “There are some injuries that should be attended to, but it is no trouble.”
            Alphesus pulled a simple clay medallion with the picture of two open hands on it from his belt.  Markas recognized it as the symbol of the god Amelas, the god of suffering and sacrifice.  This wasn’t really surprising, as from what Markas knew, the Order of the Martyrs had been founded by a priest of Amelas and the Order was the closest thing to an organized church for the Amelas’ followers.  Alphesus chanted softly and the medallion glowed faintly.  Its light traveled mist like around Ian’s bare and bruised chest.  The bruises faded and the gash above his ear disappeared completely.
            “There,” he said as he put the medallion away, “You may feel some stiffness the next day or so, but you should be fine.”
            “Thank you,” Ian said, as he pulled his shirt back on.
            “I know it is very late but why don’t you all join us for evening meal,” Alphesus said.
            “We wouldn’t want to put you to anymore trouble,” Ian said.
            “It is no trouble,” Alphesus replied, “We feed any who walk through our doors.  Besides, the taverns will not be open at this hour.  Thelonius!”
            A tall, willowy figure with bronze skin and a shaved head walked through the door.  He was dressed in a simple tunic and breeches and barefoot.
            “Thelonius, my brother,” Alphesus said, “These good folks will be joining us for evening meal.”
            “Ah,” he said, bowing to them.  He then retreated back through the door he came in.
            “Thelonius is what my order calls a Wanderer,” Alphesus said, as he checked on the other patient in the infirmary, “They are perhaps the closest thing we have to knights.  Like you, they are trained in combat and are called upon to defend the innocent.”
            “Ah, but unlike most knights they eschew all material goods,” Ian said knowledgably, “And their lives are dedicated entirely to wandering the world, helping any they find in need.”
            “You are familiar with our order then,” Alphesus said brightly, as he led them back into the common room.
            “Yes, old father,” Ian answered as he sat down, “And I know you will not take payment for your services.  But I must insist on making a donation to your Order.”
            “It is not necessary.”
            “I know, but I insist,” Ian said as he took several coins from his rather small purse and set them on the table, “You will probably put them to better use than I would.”
            “Then I thank you for your kindness,” Alphesus said, as he reverently picked up the coins and placed them into a donation box by the door.  As he returned to his seat, a door on the other side of the room creaked open and Thelonius entered with five bowls balance precariously on his arms and on top of his head.  As he approached the table, he gave a small shrug and the bowls bounced from him, up into the air spinning, then landed neatly in front of everyone without spilling a drop of the broth they held.  Emily clapped her hands, delighted.  Thelonius bowed slightly and then took his seat.
            “Ahem,” Alphesus cleared his throat, “Excuse Thelonius, he’s always had a bit of a flare for the dramatic.”
            “Oh, that was wonderful!” Emily exclaimed.
            Thelonius smiled, “Thank you, Miss…”
            “Emily.  Emily Rosewood,” she said, returning his smile, “And this is Sir Markas Tau of the Golden Gryphons and our good friend Ian.”
            “It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Thelonius replied.
            “Shall we?” Alphesus said, nodding toward the food.  The others bowed their heads.
            “Oh most generous Gods, we thank you for this fare and humbly ask for you blessings for all who sit at this table.”
            They began to eat, when Ian turned to Emily and whispered, “What was your uncle’s reply?”
            Emily reached into the pouch and pulled out the curled up slip of paper. She read silently, as she did her face fell.
            “What is it?” Markas asked, “What does it say?”
            “My dearest Emily,” she began to read aloud, “It took me some time, but I have discovered a magical object that fits your description.  The text was several hundred years old and elven, dating back before the Great Schism that caused the Sylvari to leave the Qualari cousins.  It is indeed a magical orb that allows the wielder to mind control others.  While anyone could use the orb to control one other soul, in the hands of a powerful mage it could be made to control several at once.  The Qualari Elves, fearful that it would be used in the upcoming conflict with their cousins, secreted it away.  The orb had many names, but the one I think you will find most significant is the Heart of Archeos.”
            A stunned silence followed.
            “Well, at least we know he’s got one,” Ian finally said.
            “We need to report this to Sir Tiberius immediately,” Markas said rising to leave.
            “I’m afraid you will find that rather hard, as he is not in residence at the Order currently,” Thelonius said quietly.
            “How do you know this?” Ian asked.
            “Because, I came here seeking an audience with him on behalf of my own Order,” Thelonius said, “I was informed that he is still traveling back from the south and is expected to arrive tomorrow.”
            “Well, this definitely complicates things,” Ian said through gritted teeth.
            “I’m sorry if you cannot explain the situation more,” Thelonius said, “But my meeting with Sir Tiberius is in regards to state of affairs in the world right now.  I have my own news to convey to him as well.  I would gladly exchange my information with yours and perhaps you could come with me to my audience tomorrow to discuss the whole situation with Sir Tiberius.”
            Markas looked at Ian and Emily.  Ian seemed to assess Thelonius for a second then nodded.  Emily nodded as well.  Markas explained the events of the past few weeks with Ian and Emily filling in the gaps.  Thelonius and Alphesus listened intently.
            “Well, my information confirms what Sir Tiberius told you,” Thelonius said after Markas had finished, “I’ve come from our chapter house in the north.  There have been sightings of demons to the far north, north of Fursk.  But more disturbing is that the Northmen seemed to have disappeared.”
            “Disappeared?” Markas asked.
            “Well, there are those who still remain in towns like Fursk, Vorjran, and Rodel.  But none have come through the pass from Forscat or any of their other settlements for some time now.  Not one single trade caravan.  And those who’ve gone to investigate have not returned either,” Thelonius said, “Moreover, I continued to hear troubling stories on my journey here.  Several riots have broken out in Rodel.  Matra and Venan has seen a marked increase in the goblin population.  Several people have gone missing between Argenault and Castoia.  And the dwarves have stationed extra guards at all of their outposts.”
            “Outposts?”  Markas asked, “What kind of outposts?”
            “The dwarves live in the Underworlds,” Emily replied, “Most of the Underworlds are just that—places that simply exist under own world.  Huge caverns filled with wildlife native to that environment.  However, the deeper you go, the more sinister it becomes supposedly.  It’s said the ancient evil Maelus lies at the lowest point of the Underworlds.  The dwarves have various outposts where the more sinister parts of the Underworlds open to the rest.”
            “Yes,” Thelonius replied, “And the dwarves’ concern is so great that they have even sent an emissary to King Raythburn.  I traveled with him for much of this journey.   He is also to meet with Sir Tiberius tomorrow.”
            “My, my,” Alphesus sighed, “Such dark times.  But as the old saying goes, if you fear the dark, light a candle.”
            “What good will one candle do?” Ian muttered.
            “It will help a little,” Alphesus said, “But imagine if everyone lit a candle.”

*****

            They spent the night at the chapterhouse and woke early the next morning.  They thanked Alphesus for all his hospitality.  Thelonius agreed to accompany them to the front gate as Ian wanted to see if any progress had been made on the orc situation.
            The morning sun rose over the horizon, filling the streets with a rosy haze that seemed to soften the otherwise cold, grey streets.  The lamplighters hurried along the streets, extinguishing the streetlights.
            Emily watched curiously and mused aloudd, “I wonder why they don’t have magic street lamps like in Carsonia?”
            “Because, this is where the Burning Times started hundreds of years ago,” Ian said, “And while other parts of the world have once again embraced magic, Argenault is still rather distrustful of it.  As is most of northern Crolis, truly.  It’s why I’d suggest you’d be as discreet as possible.  Argenault tolerates scholars, but just barely.”
            “Oh,” Emily blushed.
She of course knew about the Burning Times.  They had happened well before she was even born.  She had read about it, though.  King Maien had grown increasingly paranoid about the wizards living Crolis and in particular the Wizard Council and High Mage Valert.  Eventually, fueled by the whisperings of his High Magistrate, the King ordered all magic destroyed and all wizards slain, starting with Valert and the High Council.  The wizards went into hiding, eventually finding sanctuary in Carsonia, which had been founded under the ancient law “Protected are all who enter this city.”  Carsonia then found itself at war with the rest of Crolis, which seemed to happen anyway from time to time in history.  The Sylvari elves, finding themselves in the middle of the conflict, sided with the wizards and Carsonia, as they themselves practiced magic and the ancient treaty they had with city held firm.  There were a few battles but eventually a treaty was reached.  The out and out practice of magic was still outlawed, but the “study of” magic was allowed.  Hence wizards became illegal, but scholars of magic were perfectly legal.  Carsonia became home to several universities, set up specifically for such study.  And really, at least in Carsonia, all that really changed was the terminology.
            But that had been hundred of years ago, before Emily’s time.  She mused it was odd, the elves always were remarking on the short memories of humans but here was an ancient prejudice that have survived as longer than the lives of some elves.
            As they approached the city gates, they saw a procession of knights enter the city, led by Sir Tiberius. Two of the knights carried a large shield between them on which lay a shrouded figure.
            “Sir Tau, Miss Rosewood, Master Ian, and Master Thelonius,” Sir Tiberius said, “I would wish you well met, but it is a grave morning indeed.”
            “What has happened?” Markas asked, glancing at the shrouded figured.
            “Well, I had hoped to be here sooner,” Sir Tiberius said, “But it seems Darklore decided to exact his revenge for the Temple of Sylva on the hamlet of Pfranc.  He unleashed the plague on them.”
            Markas’ jaw clenched, Emily gasped, and Ian cursed.
            “By the time we got there, the whole village was infected.  We had to slay them all.  Then we burnt the village to the ground.”
            “Truly, then at least you freed the villagers’ souls,” Markas replied.
            “Yes, but that is not the worst of it,” Sir Tiberius said, “Like I said, it delayed us.  On our return, I had intended to confront the orcs encamped outside of Argenault on some rumors that had come to me that they had violated the terms of their treaty with King Rathbyrn.”
            “They had,” Ian interjected, “They had kidnapped the Lady Perval.  We tried to rescue her but…but we failed.  Kratlok killed her.  Thanks to one of the half-orcs in his camp, we were at least able to retrieve her body.  We returned it to Captain Jameson, but he didn’t seem as if he were going to do anything.”
            “I’m afraid that is far from the case,” Tiberius said, glancing sadly at the shape on the shield.  Did you not know that Captain Jameson had at one point been betrothed to the Lady Perval, before her father was incarcerated?”
            “No,” Ian said, as his face went ashen.
            “We found him where the orc encampment was.  He must have been unable to convince his superiors to go confront the orcs.  So he went by himself.  And they slew him.”
            A silence followed.  Emily looked at Ian and Markas and could see her own guilt reflected in their eyes.  They had been the ones to take Lady Perval to Captain Jameson.
            “Wait,” Thelonius said, “You said where the orc encampment was?  What happened?”
            “That was the strangest part of all,” Tiberius said, a dark expression on his face, “The orcs were gone by the time we arrived.  The encampment, everything.  Only poor Captain Jameson’s remains were there.”
            “I’m afraid we have dire news for you too,” Thelonius said.
            “That is not unexpected in these times,” Tiberius said wearily, “I must return Captain Jameson to his family.  I will meet you at the Order’s mother house shortly.”
            Tears welled up in Emily’s eyes and she felt rather guilty as she wished for nothing more but to return to the safety of the Tower so she would never have to experience any such tragedy again.

Thank you for your patience. I was Fernand jiro marantal has written the story "Dusk Of Innocence'' on may 25 to june 5 2012. Abby Sarita my choice, to describe his character, the story you have read, Many thanks again.!

 , I am Fernand jiro marantal. been grateful.!

"Dusk Of Innocence: Chapter 6''

By;Fjm(Abby photos)
  The mood the next few days was as somber as the grey skies above them.  The rain had mercifully stopped, but the knowledge of what they might find at Argenault still hung over them.
            Everywhere they went, Markas realized, Darklore had already been—Brue, the Tower of Secrets, and now, Argenault.  Ivanus and Emily were right, Darklore was luring them.  But where?  And why?
            The why bothered Markas more than anything else.  Darklore was so powerful, what was keeping him from simply appearing, grabbing Emily, and spiriting her away, as he had done with Krumar?  Markas had two theories, one slightly more comforting than the other.
            The first was that, for some mysterious reason, Darklore wanted Emily to join him of her own free will.  Their last encounter had nearly confirmed this theory.  Darklore had seemed if he was trying to woo Emily—or maybe break her.  Markas was somewhat comforted by this theory because he had come to believe that Emily had a strength a character that would never submit to Darklore.  However, Darklore might just be playing with Emily, and when he got bored…Markas didn’t like to think about it.
            The other theory was more comforting, if it were true.  Markas wondered why Darklore just didn’t unleash his undead horde on the world.  Something was staying his hand, some unknown force that couldn’t be accounted for yet.
            But Markas kept his thoughts to himself as they traveled in silence.  Even Jonathan had enough sense to remain quiet, though it seemed to Markas that he was more pouting than actually concerned in any way.  Meanwhile, Emily continually searched the sky for TiTi.
            At one point, Ian turned to Emily and said, “Something might have happened to him.  He is just a bird after all.  Some predator may have caught him.”
            “No,” Emily replied, “I would have known.  I would have felt it.  But TiTi is far away right now.  I can barely sense him.  I can’t even tell where he is, only that it’s far from here.”
            As they left the Forest of Sanctuary, they arrived in the Midlands which were patchworked with the various estates of Crolisian nobles.  Markas had expected to have to go well around this area to make their way to the King’s Highway, as one needed each noble’s permission to pass through their holdings.  However, Ian had been employed by many of the nobles, either as a bodyguard or in the various little skirmishes that broke out amongst the noble houses.  Ian didn’t know any of the nobles personally, but he seemed to know someone on each estate who could procure permission for them quickly.
            It became fairly routine after a day.  Ian would call over some worker and have him deliver a message to the noble’s steward.  Shortly thereafter, an old comrade or even the Lord’s steward himself would ride out personally to deliver a mark of passage and talk with Ian for a bit, usually inquiring if he was available for employment.  Ian would politely decline and then they would continue on their way.
            So two days later, when Lord Boringer’s steward came riding up to them, it was not unexpected.
            “Well met, Master Ian,” the steward said as he approached.
            “Greetings Master Wallace,” Ian replied.
            “I’ve brought you out a mark of passage,” Wallace said, “But I rode out here in hopes that I might persuade you to take up arms again in Lord Boringer’s behalf.  The pay’s excellent, almost double what it was last year.”
            “I’m sorry, but I’m already in the employ of these good people,” Ian said, indicating Emily, Jonathan, and Markas, “This is Sir Tau, Miss Rosewood, and Master Silverthorn.”
            “Ah, I see,” Wallace replied, “Well, perhaps they would be willing to renegotiate your contract.  I believe Lord Boringer would be willing to buy it out in order to employ a sword like yours, Ian.”
            “Look Augustus, what is going on?  Nearly every noble between here and the Forest of Sanctuary has offered me employment, often like you, double what it was last year.  Why the sudden need of armed men?”
            “Haven’t you heard?”
            “No,” Ian replied, “I’ve been in Carsonia the past two months and I was working on ships to and from the Spicelands before that.”
            “Well, it happened shortly after you left Lord Perval’s employ.  You remember he was in a nasty skirmish with Lord Randolph in the Northlands?”
            “Yes,” Ian said, “I even have some scars as souvenirs from that one.”
            “Well,” Wallace continued, “Perval came off the better, after that.  He’d made his point, though he could never prove that Randolph was in league with the Dague Noir.”
            “The Dague Noir?” Emily interrupted.
            “The thieves guild that operates out of Argenault,” Ian answered, “The slave traders we encountered by Brue were Dague Noir.”
            “Dague Noir that far south?” Wallace said, “Thought that was the territory of the Carsonian thieves guild.”
            “It is,” Ian said, “But convention has never stopped the Dague Noir before.  Anways, I remember that Lord Perval effectively broke any power that Randolph might have had in court with his little offensive.”
            “That’s what most of us around here thought,” Wallace said, “But a few months later, Lord Perval was brought up on charges of High Treason, convicted, imprisoned in the Argenault dungeons, his lands seized, his house razed, and his family sent into exile.”
            “What?” Ian asked, astonished, “What proof could they possibly have?”
            “Was rather flimsy, if you ask me,” Wallace said, “Some documents discussing the assassination of King Rathbyrn that had Lord Perval’s seal on them.  Not even his signature mind you, just his seal.”
            “So that’s why all the Lords and Ladies are so keen to hire extra help?  Are they afraid its going to happen to them next?” Ian asked.
            “Partly, I’m sure,” Wallace said, “The ones further out at any rate.  But well, those closer….well, what happened next was unbelievable.”
            Wallace paused, the continued, “Well, just over a month ago some orcs arrived in Argenault.”
            “Orcs?” Markas said, “There haven’t been orcs in Crolis for over twenty years.  Not since they were banished after the Orc Wars.”
            “I know,” Wallace said, “These orcs came from one of the craggy little islands they had been banished to, led by an orc called Kratlok.  He came before the king and asked for reparations for what his people lost in the Orc Wars.”
            “What?” Markas, Ian, and Emily exclaimed in unison.
            “I know,” Wallace continued, “Everyone expected the king would laugh them right back to where they belong.  But he didn’t.  He gave them Lord Perval’s holdings instead.”
            Silence followed.  Ian, Emily, and Markas all looked at each other.
            “But how?  Why?” Markas asked, finally, “The orcs agreed to leave.  It was in the treaty.”
            “Kratlok claimed the treaty didn’t take in account the half-orcs.  Said since they had human blood in them, they had as much a claim on their homeland as any full-blooded human.”
            “Half-orcs?” Ian said, darkly, “Oh yes, bastard children born from the orcs raping the women in villages they raided.  Using them to claim land, it’s disgusting.”
            “Well,” Wallace said, “To be fair, most people don’t take too kindly to half-orcs, nevermind the poor things really didn’t have much say in their parentage.  Most people just chased them off, as if they were orcs.  However, the orcs, or at least this Kratlok’s clan, welcomed them with open arms.  Are quite a few among his number I guess.”
            “Still, that’s a flimsy argument at best,” Ian said, “And the king agreed to this?”
            “Yes,” Wallace replied, “And its why all the noblity near Perval’s holdings are keen to beef up their defenses.  So far the orcs have kept to themselves, but who knows how long before they take to raiding again.”
            “I’m sorry for the situation Augustus.  And in normal circumstances I’d gladly join you,” Ian said, “But my employ with these people is of a somewhat personal nature and I don’t think there’s any amount of money that could change my mind.  If I run into anyone in Argenault who might be interested, I’ll send them your way.”
            “I appreciate it, but I’m pretty certain most of the available fighters in Argenault are already employed.  The ones worth their salt are at least.  I’ve sent men down to Carsonia and I know some of the nobles are looking as far north as Fursk.”
            “Well, thank you for the mark, Master Wallace,” Ian said, “I wish you luck with the current situation.”
            “Thank you, Master Ian.  We’ll need all the luck we can get.  I wish you luck with your endeavors, as well.  Gods bless.  Sir Tau, Miss Rosewood, Master Silverthorn.”
            “Torus be with you,” Markas said, as they rode off.
            “Northerners?” Ian mused, after they were a little way off, “They must be desperate.”
            “Northerners, like raiders?” Jonathan asked, confused.
            “No,” Emily replied, “From what I understand, the northern people are a confederation of tribes.  The raiders are from a sort of renegade tribe.  The majority of Northerners are decent people, though some claim a little primitive.”
            “Well, of course,” Jonathan replied, “They are Northerners after all.”
            “Nothing ‘primitive’ about them,” Ian said, “Life is much rougher up in the Icelands.  Tougher breed is all.  The raiders used to attack trade caravans going between Fursk and the Iceland camps.  Then both the Fursk authorities and the Northerners began the crack down on them.  That’s why they moved south.  Better, weaker targets.”
            Markas thought he saw Ian grimace for a second.
            “I’m sorry if we are keeping you from gainful employment,” Markas said, “It’s obviously a good time to be a mercenary right now.”
            “I suppose,” Ian said, absently, “Don’t worry about me.  I’ve got enough to get by on.  Besides, like I told Master Wallace, I’ve got a personal interest in all of this.”
            Ian glanced over at Emily.
            “What are you talking about?” she smiled, “I hope your still not worrying about me.”
            “I hope you are worried about the best way around that orc encampment,” Jonathan said, “Sounds like nasty business.”
            “Actually,” Ian said, “I thought we should go and investigate it.”
            “You aren’t serious!” Jonathan exclaimed.
            “I am.  I don’t mean to ride up into the midst of them, but I want to see this encampment for myself.”
            “Whatever for?” Jonathan asked.
            “Because,” Markas answered, “It seems awfully suspicious that the King would just give the orcs a prime holding so close to Argenault.”
            “Unless,” Emily added, catching on, “Someone was controlling him with magic.”
            “Wait,” Jonathan said, “It can’t be Darklore.  That doesn’t make sense.  Master Wallace said that it all started after Ian left, over two months ago.”
            “Well, actually it’s more like eight.  I was on a ship for awhile there,” Ian said.
            “See, even less sense!” Jonathan said, “Darklore only left to go to Argenault a few days ago.  He said so himself.  We ran into him remember?  And before that he was off attacking the druids and that waste of a village…”
            “And my Order,” Markas interrupted solemnly.
            “Exactly,” Jonathan said.
            “Actually,” Emily said, “That only accounts for the past month or so.  We don’t know what he was doing eight months ago.”
            “Still, I thought we were supposed to be protecting Emily.  I seriously doubt taking her into an orc encampment is protecting her.”
            “We aren’t going to get too close,” Ian said, “Just close enough to take a look.  If they’re up to something, I want to know about it.”

******

            The four of them were crouched on top of a hill, looking down into the Argenault Valley.  In the far distance, they could see a small dot which was the capital city.  But that wasn’t what had their attention at the moment.  Directly below them at the base of the hill was the orc encampment.
            “This is madness!” Jonathan hissed.
            “I know,” Ian said, lowering his spyglass, “Handing over the land of a well respected noble to a bunch of greedy orcs.”
            “No, I mean us being here,” Jonathan said, “We should be doing everything to avoid them.”
            “It’s easier to go around them if we know where they are,” Ian smirked.
            Emily giggled softly, “Why Jonathan I do believe you got Ian to smile.”
            “Really, Emily, this is not the time the time for humor,” Jonathan said, tersely.
            “Actually, humor is an appropriate way to break the tension in some situations,” Markas said.
            “Can we just go now?” Jonathan said.
            “Yes, though I am curious why you wanted to come here,” Markas said to Ian.
            “Well, in part, I had to see it myself to believe it,” Ian said, gripping his fist, “I didn’t know Lord Perval personally, but I had the privilege of working for him.  He was a good man.   The Royal Court is full of so many corrupt nobles who care nothing but for their own pleasure and power.  Perval wasn’t like that.  He fought to make sure there were laws to protect the common folk—the merchants, the farmers, the crafts people, the servants, and the poor.”
            “But that’s not the only reason why,” Markas said, “I don’t think you’d risk Emily’s safety for that.”
            “No,” Ian said, “I want to know what those orcs are up to.  The connection to Darklore is tenuous at best.  I was hoping to find…something.”
            “Well, other than a bunch of semi-drunk orcs, I don’t think you’re going to find anything else out,” Jonathan said, turning to leave.
            “Wait!” Ian said, raising his spyglass to his eye, “No, it can’t be.”
            “What is it?” Markas asked.
            Ian numbly handed Markas the spyglass.  Markas looked down.  In the center of the camp, a large orc had appeared, dragging a naked woman behind him.  Markas watched as the orc lashed the woman to a pole in the center of the encampment.  All the orcs had gathered around them and their catcalls reached them all the way on top of the hill.    The large orc signaled another orc over.  Markas watched as the other orc began to whip the woman mercilessly.
            “Is it over?” Emily asked her hands over her face.
            “No,” Markas said, looking away.
            “That’s Evangaline Perval.  Lord Perval’s daughter,” Ian said.
            “I thought Master Wallace said that his family was in exile.  What is she doing down there?” Emily asked.
            “I don’t know,” Ian said, “But we can’t leave her there.”
            “Oh, yes we can,” Jonathan said, “Better her than us.”
            Ian started to say something but Emily cut him off, “How can you say that?  How can we let that poor girl suffer?”
            “I didn’t say not to do anything,” Jonathan said, “We can let the town guard know at Argenault.  They’re much better equipped to handle the orcs than we are.”
            “He has a point,” Markas said, “There’s at least eighty orcs down there.  I doubt we could take them all.”
            “Yes, but given recent events, I’m not sure the authorities in Argenault would be rushing to her rescue,” Ian said, glancing down at the valley.
            They all stood and followed Ian’s stare.  Lady Perval’s screams had stopped and the orc’s cheering had died down to sound of drunken rabble.
            “Well, they’re drunk,” Ian said, “That’s one advantage we have.”
            “And we have the element of surprise,” Markas added.
            “Sir Markas, you can’t seriously be considering this?” Jonathan exclaimed.
            “We can’t just leave her,” Markas said, “And Ian’s right. We cannot be assured that the authorities in Argenault would help her.”
            Jonathan sniffed, “Well, if you are going to follow the advice of someone like him over my own council…”
            “Stop it!” Emily said passionately, “How can you be so uncaring, Jonathan?  What if that were me down there, would you just simply walk away?”
            “Of course not,” Jonathan said, slightly taken aback, “I’ve been charged with protecting you.  We all have.  It’s you I’m thinking of now.  We can’t just lead you into danger.”
            “Emily can stay up here,” Ian said, “She won’t be in harms way.  Will you be in range enough to help us from here?”
            Emily pursed her lips and peered down the hill, “I should be, though if I’m not I could always move closer.”
            “No,” Ian sighed, “We don’t want to put you danger if we can help it.”
            “I should be in range from up here,” Emily said.
            “Good, stay up here and help us as much you can,” Ian said, then paused, “You can stay here with Emily, Jonathan.”
            Markas glanced at Ian.
            “You should be in range with your bow,” Ian said, “Emily, I want you to promise me that if anything goes badly, and I do mean anything, that’ll you’ll flee.”
            “But…,” Emily began.
            “Jonathan’s right,” Ian said, “It’s important to keep you safe.  We aren’t that far from Argenault.  If anything happens to rest of us, you need to head there.  Go to Sir Tiberius at the Order of the Shining Light.  Let him know everything.  Promise me?”
            “I promise,” Emily said, resolved
            “Now then,” Ian said turning to Markas, “How many do you think you can take?”
            “Well, that depends,” Markas said thoughtfully, “By myself, I could only handle three, maybe four at a time.  But on Kirin, well, I could probably be very difficult for a large group of them.”
            “Good, good,” Ian said, “And that’s really the key.  We just want to keep them busy.  In fact, if we can avoid killing any of them that would be best.”
            “But why?” Jonathan asked, outraged, “You yourself have been disparaging the orcs.  Why should we show them such mercy?”
            “It’s not mercy so much as handling this correctly,” Ian replied, “However much we might not like them, they are there with the permission of the King.”
            “Killing them could be construed as a crime,” Markas said, “We don’t want to cause more trouble than we have to in Argenault.”
            “Exactly,” Ian said, “Sir Markas, you create as much of distraction as you can.  Emily, if you could use that entangling spell of yours to keep them tied up and whatever else you can think of.  Jonathan you slow them down with your arrows.”
            “And just how am I supposed to do that?”
            “Aim for the injury, not the kill,” Ian said, “Try to hit their arms and legs.”
            “Fine,” Jonathan said, as he unstrapped his bow, “And what will you be doing?”
            “I’m going to try and sneak around the side and rescue Lady Perval,” Ian said, “Once I have her, we retreat back to Lord Boringer’s estate.”
            Markas mounted Kirin and readied his lance.  Emily gracefully traced some sigils in the air and a faint glow appeared around Markas and Ian.  Ian drew his sword.
            “Are we ready?” Ian asked.
            Everyone nodded.
            “Then let’s get on with it,” Ian said, as he started down the hill, “Remember Emily and Jonathan, wait until Markas has their attention before you start your own attacks.”

*****

            Emily watched as Markas and Kirin took to air and plunged down into valley.  She held her breath, her hand gripping a clump of silvery arachnae webbing.  As she watched, the orcs were roused from their drunken stupor as Markas swooped through their camp.  Emily watched as the orcs regrouped preparing for Markas’ next attack.
            “Tangaletia!” she cried as she slammed the webbing into the ground.    She smiled as she heard the orcs cries of surprise as a fluffy cloud of slivery threads rose up from the ground underneath them and entangled them.
            She glanced over at Jonathan, expecting him to be firing arrows into the fray.  But he simply sat there and watched.
            “Jonathan!”
            “What?” he said, dispassionately, “I think this is a rather ridiculous thing to do.   I’ll wait up here and let those fools get themselves killed.  Then we can flee.  Unless, you’re rather just go now?”
            “I can’t believe you,” Emily said, as she turned and blew a white powder towards the valley.  She traced a sigil in the air after it and a few orcs in the valley below fell into a deep sleep.
            “Oh really, Emily,” Jonathan sighed, “Heroics are all well and good in their place, but really one has to think of oneself first.”
            “Coward,” Emily said as she rummaged through one of her pouches.
            “What did you call me?”
            Emily blew another puff of powder, traced another sigil, and a few more orcs fell asleep.
            “I called you coward.  I’m just sorry it took me this long to realize what you really were.”
            “You stupid wench,” Jonathan spat back, “I was the only one who argued to keep you safe and this is the thanks I get!”
            “You were never concerned with me.  I see that now,” Emily said.
            “What?  You’d rather I was more like that ruffian, Ian?”
            “Ian is far nobler than you’ll ever be with all your foolish posturing.”
            Jonathan stood up.
            “I’ll show you.”
            Jonathan charged down the hill.
            “No!” Emily cried, “Jonathan!  Come back!”

*****

            Clang.  Ian’s sword reverberated as it made contact with an orc’s axe.  A little more force and he watched the orc fall back from his blow.  A few more came at him, but in their inebriated state they weren’t much of a match for him.  He quickly reached for his flask and took a sip as he sidestepped another orc’s clumsy attempt.  After all, nothing wrong with making this fight a little fairer.
              As he punched an orc out cold, he glanced over at Markas who was diving down into the camp on Kirin, not giving the orcs with bows time to get a volley off.  It was then that Kratlok emerged from a hut and surveyed what was going on.   Ian hoped the fracas would be enough to distract him from their true purpose.
            Just then, a familiar figure came running down the hill, brandishing his bow.
            “Fear not fair maiden, for I shall rescue you!” he cried.
            Kratlok laughed as he ran over to the semi-conscious Lady Perval and with one swift action twisted her head.  A sickening crack echoed in Ian’s ears.
            “NO!” he screamed.
            The other orcs took advantage of Ian’s momentary distraction and he felt a blow hit him in the back and knock him off balance.  He went to right himself when another orc landed a blow to the side of his head.  There were more than he could handle.  Another blow hit his chest and he was certain a few ribs had broken.  They swarmed around him, totally aware of what his purpose was.  There wasn’t much he could do but defend himself until the end.
            Suddenly, he felt a tug on his shield arm.  He looked up to see Markas holding him, pulling him up on Kirin, out of the fray.  Ian pulled himself up behind Markas.  Neither of them said anything as they flew to rendezvous with Emily.

*****

            They stopped by a copse of trees well south of the orc encampment.  Markas sought his god’s help and healed Ian’s injuries best he could.   He managed to fix the broken bones at least and stop the bleeding from the huge gash above Ian’s ear.  Ian was still very much bruised though and sore all over.  The sun was starting to set.  Emily wanted to stop, to let Ian rest and Markas wanted to press on to Argenault.
            “It’s only just an hour to the city,” Ian said as he tried to stand up, wincing at the pain, “We should press on.”
            “Fine, but you should drink this first,” Emily said as she handed him a concoction she had been making while Markas had healed him.
            Ian sniffed the mug, doubtfully.  He remembered the last herbal remedy Emily had given him.  Emily looked at him expectantly with those huge, deep green eyes.  Ian held his breath and took a swig.  It didn’t taste bad at all.  It had a warm, sweet taste and Ian felt his pain was dulled some.
            “I could have just used my flask,” he said, as he handed Emily back the mug.
            “Well, there’s no reason you still can’t if that wasn’t enough,” Emily replied.
            “Ah, well there you all are,” a voice said cheerily.
            They all turned around to see Jonathan saunter over to them and seat himself on a fallen log.
            “It took me ages to find you.  I had to avoid the orcs, of course.  Well, I guess if you all listened to me in the first place, it wouldn’t have been a problem.  I won’t hold it against you, but maybe next time you all pay more attention to my council.”
            A stony silence followed with three equally stony stares.
            “What?” Jonathan asked, “I did advise against it.  You were the ones so intent on ‘playing hero’.”
            At this, Ian leapt up and lunged toward Jonathan.  He was stopped when Emily grabbed his arm.   He winced as it still hurt and turned to yell at Emily to let him go, that it wasn’t worth protecting that waste when he saw the expression on her face.  She was still staring at Jonathan, with an icy cold fury he had never seen before and hadn’t thought Emily capable of.
            “I believe,” Markas said, carefully, taking advantage of Ian’s momentary pause, “That it would be best if we part company Master Silverthorn once we reach Argenault.  If you still intend to go there, that is.  We are about to head there now and you may accompany us to the city walls, if you wish.”
            “Seriously, you jest, Sir Markas?” Jonathan replied.  Markas stared at him grimly.
            “Emily?” Jonathan appealed to her, “Surely, you do not wish to part company with me.  After all we’ve been through together?”
            “I think it best that you do not continue on with us,” Emily said frostily.
            “Ian?”  he said apprehensively, “I know we’ve had our differences, but surely…”
            “Go,” Ian said darkly, “And be glad that’s the worst you’ll get from me.”        
            “But why?  What offense have I given to you all?”
            “Surely, you must feel somewhat responsible for that girl’s death?” Markas asked.
            “How so?” Jonathan replied, somewhat offended, “It was because no one heeded my advice that the girl expired.”
            “What!” roared Ian, “You were supposed to stay at the top of the hill and use that damn bow!  Not run down like a fool and announce to all the orcs what our objective was!”
            “Well, blame Emily then,” Jonathan replied coolly, “She was the one who accused me of being a coward.”
            “Because you were just sitting there doing nothing!” Emily said fiercely.
            “You wanted me to prove myself and I did,” Jonathan said.
            “Prove yourself?  What are you talking about?” Emily asked, looking at him confused, “Markas and Ian never have felt the need to prove themselves.  They’ve always just tried to do what’s right.”
            “Aha, I knew it.  You want to involve yourself with one of them, fine.  I see now that you have been just toying with my affections all this time,” Jonathan sneered.
            Emily looked exasperatedly at Markas and Ian.  They both looked as confused as she did.
            “As I was saying,” Markas said calmly, trying to get a hold of the situation, “If you wish, you may continue on with us as far as Argenault.  We should be there shortly.”
            “I will not waste another moment of my time in that simpering harlot’s presence.  But trust me, Miss Emily.  I’m sure you will sorely regret choosing them over me,” Jonathan spat and turned and left.
            The three of them stood their in silence for a moment.
            “That was…odd,” Emily finally said.
            “I don’t think he was ever quite right in the head,” Markas said.
            “Still, I don’t understand,” Emily said, “Why he was like that?  Why would he ever believe there was anything between he and I?  Or between yourselves and I?”
            “He’s a liar,” Ian replied, “To be a good liar, you have to make everyone believe that you believe the lie.  If you lie enough, you actually start to believe your own lies.”
            They pulled themselves up onto their mounts and were about to leave when a rustling from the nearby trees stopped them.  Ian thought it might be Jonathan, returning to beg them to allow him to continue with them when a large half-orc carrying a shrouded figure stepped out of the shadows.
            Ian’s hand went to his sword, Markas’ to his axe, and even Emily had a hand on one her many pouches.
            “Please sirs,” the half-orc said, “I haf only come to deliver the lady’s body to you.”
            “Kratlok ordered you to do this?” Ian asked suspiciously.
            “No, sir.  If’n he knew I was here, he’d have me killed on the spot”
            “Then why risk it?” Markas asked.
            “Well, sir, Kratlok told me to get rid of her quick like.  But that didn’t seem right.  Her family, well they should know what happened to her.  An’ she should get a proper burial.”
            “Why should you care?” Ian asked, curiously.
            “I know what you think.  Think we’re all heartless brutes.  But…I grew up here in Crolis.  Me mum was human.  But I soon learned, except for her, most humans have no use for us.  Not that the orcs were much better.  But Kratlok was.  He took us in when no one else would.  Told us we were just as good as the full blooded orcs.  I don’t always agree with way he does things, but he doesn’t want to kill me on sight for who I am.”
            Ian, still stiffened by pain, slipped off his horse and walked over to the orc and took the body from him.
            “Thank you,” Ian said.
            The orc nodded and slipped off back into the shadows.  Ian took Lady Perval’s remains over to Markas who helped secure them on the back of Kirin.  He went over and mounted his horse.
            They all looked at each other and then headed toward Argenault.

"Dusk Of Innocence: Chapter 5''

By;Fjm(My photos and Abby)

  As they approached Brue Village the next morning, they could see plumes of a grey smoke billowing into the air.  Marta gasped.
            “Let’s hurry,” Markas said.  The other quickly picked up the pace.
            They could see a young man staggering towards them.  His clothes were torn and his face bruised.
            “Marta!” he cried and then sunk to his knees as the approached him.
            “Henri!” Marta cried as she rushed forward and threw her arms around him, “What happened?”
            “Must hurry,” he gasped, “Raiders…the village…everyone is locked in the inn…I escaped…the fortuneteller…he…he…”
            Henri’s eyes rolled back and his body went slack.  Marta shrieked.  Markas ran over and used his holy symbol to heal Henri.  Henri’s eyes rolled back and he groggily shook his head.
            “Stay here with him,” Markas said to Marta as he stood up.  He mounted Kirin and started toward the village.  Emily and Ian quickly followed, but Jonathan paused.
            “Perhaps, I should stay…” he began.
            “You’re coming,” Markas cut him off tersely.  Jonathan quickly followed.

            The acrid smell of smoke filled Emily’s head as they entered the village.  The raiders, dressed in rough hides like those at the inn, were scurrying about like rats, carrying things out of the houses.  If it was valuable, it was thrown in a large wagon.  Otherwise, it was tossed into one of the many large fires that had been lit in the square.
            “Stop!” yelled Markas.
            The thirty or so raiders stopped, stared at Markas for a second, and then dropped whatever they were carrying, pulled out their weapons and charged towards the small group.
            “Crap,” Ian muttered, sword ready.
            Instinctively, Emily reached into her pouch and pulled out a handful of fine, silvery threads and slammed them into the ground.
            “Impedementia!”
            Fluffy, silvery webbing floated up from the ground underneath the raiders’ feet.  The silvery tendrils that made up the web began to wrap themselves around the raiders’ legs.  As they tried to free themselves, they only became more and more entangled in the webbing.  Some tried to hack at it, but their weapons and arms became entangled as well.
            “Good job,” Ian said to Emily, then turned to help Markas handle the eight or so who had managed to avoid Emily’s spell.  
            Emily felt a small surge of pride but she didn’t dwell on it, instead casting ghost arrows to help Markas and Ian.  She glanced over at Jonathan expecting him to be shooting his own real arrows, but he just stood there, mouth open.
            “Jonathan!” she yelled.
            “Oh…sorry,” he said his face pale white.  He reached for his bow and started shooting arrows, though he seemed to be hitting few of his marks.

*****

            Ian and his sword were one as he finished off another raider.  He turned around to see Markas on Kirin chasing the remaining few down   He was about to go help Markas when he heard a voice boom behind him.
            “What’s going on here?”
            Ian turned around and saw him, kobold at his side.
            Krumar.
            Ian charged and quickly as he could and with one blow knocked the kobold as hard as he could.  The kobold went flying and Krumar, still surprised by the attack, let go of the chain.
            “Emily!” Ian cried, “Keep that kobold busy. Krumar is mine!”
            Ian faced the large man.  Krumar smiled and grabbed his sword.
            “Am I supposed to be afraid of you?” he grinned.
            “Yes,” Ian replied and charged at Krumar.
            Krumar was ready and tried to parry Ian’s sword but Ian broke through Krumar’s defense and elegantly turned around and landed his blow.
            “Hmm,” Krumar said as he swung at Ian, “You’re better than you look.”
            Ian parried the blow, “I have a few questions for you. Surrender now and I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt too much.”
            “Ha ha.  So confident. I like that, makes it so much more fun when I gut you.”
            “Well, then I’m sorry to disappoint you, but,” Ian smiled and in one swift move, he disarmed Krumar, sending the large man’s sword flying.  Ian pointed his own sword squarely at the large man’s chest.
            “Now, like I said, I have some questions for you.  If you surrender now, I promise I won’t make this hurt too much.”

*****

            Emily cheered silently inside.  The raiders had been subdued.  She took the extra step of casting a sleep spell on those who had been entangled in her impednmentia spell.  Markas and Ian had taken down the few who had managed to avoid the web.  She had frozen the little kobold.  And now Ian had defeated the leader of the raiders, Krumar.  The only one they had to find was the fortuneteller.
            Just then, a sinister laughter echoed through the village square.  An elf dressed in ornate black scholar robes materialized behind Krumar.  He tossed his long, golden blonde hair back carelessly as he continued to laugh.
            “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” he said, turning to Ian, “Krumar still has his uses.”
            The elf extended one of his long, slender fingers and tapped Krumar on the shoulder, causing him to suddenly disappear.
            “No!” Ian screamed, “Bring him back!”
            The elf raised his hand and a large blast of red energy threw Ian back several feet.      
            “Ian!” Emily and Markas yelled as they ran over to him.  As they approached, Ian groggily stood up.
            “He’s fine,” the elf drawled, “I didn’t kill him.  I still might, but I haven’t yet.”
            “Who are you?” Markas demanded.
            “A Golden Gryphon?” the elf said, amused, “Now I was pretty certain that I had wiped you all out.”
            “What?” Markas replied.
            “Fool.  It was my army of undead that destroyed the Golden Gryphons.  I was certain that I had killed you to the man.”
            “Well, you didn’t,” Markas said, gritting his teeth, “I’m still here.”
            “Hmmm,” the elf mused, “Well, we’ll see how much longer I allow that.  I am curious how you survived.  What’s your name?”
            “Sir Markas Tau.”
            “Well, Sir Tau, how did you survive?  If I had to guess, I’d say you’d have to be a bit of a coward.  Is that it?  Did you go and hide while my army annihilated your comrades?”
            “No,” Markas growled, “And if you call me a coward again, I suggest you be ready to defend yourself.”
            The elf laughed.  He laughed so hard he doubled over.  Markas brandished his axe and started to step forward, but Emily grabbed his arm.
            “What?” Markas said, “Someone has to stop this fool.”
            “That fool is casting spells without verbalization,” Emily whispered, “It takes a very advanced degree of magic to do that.  There are maybe three, four wizards in all of Carsonia who can do that.”
            Markas lowered his axe and whispered, “What do we do then?”
            “I don’t know,” Emily whispered back.
            The elf finished laughing and looked up.  His silvery blue eyes fell on Emily.  Emily felt as if her heart had suddenly turned to ice.
            “Who are you?” the elf said, slowly.
            “Emily Rosewood,” Emily replied, just as slowly, unsure what the elf was up to.
            “Rosewood,” the name dripped off his tongue.  He looked her over once more, “A scholar, I see.  And judging by your age, maybe out of university, what a year?”
            “No,” Emily replied, feeling a resolve she didn’t know she had in her.
            “No? Then how long?” the elf quizzed her.
            “I did not attend university.  I have been apprenticed to Ivanus Arcanus of the Tower of Secrets since I was an infant,” Emily replied.  Every scholar worth his spellbook knew who her uncle was.  She hated to rely on his name but maybe if she could bluff him, make him think she was more powerful than she was, maybe she could buy them a little time.  She knew why she went cold when he looked at her, at her friends.  He meant to kill them, there was no reason why he wouldn’t.  He was just toying with them.  She could see it in those cold, cold eyes.
             “Interesting,” the elf mused, “The resemblance is remarkable.  Who are your parents?”
            “I’m an orphan,” Emily replied, her stomach turning, “I told you that Ivanus has raised me since I was an infant.”
            “Hmmm,” the elf said, taking a step closer to Emily, his eyes suddenly gleeming, “You have very beautiful eyes.  The green in them, it’s very unique.  I’ve not seen eyes that sparkle like that in some time.  They make me feel like I know you already.”
“Yes, but we still don’t know who you are,” Ian interrupted, clutching his side.
The elf bowed, “I am Darklore, Lord of Decadris.  And since Sir Markas and Miss Emily have been good enough to introduce themselves, who are you?”
“Ian.”
“Just Ian?” Darklore asked, smiling.
“Yes.”
“How appropriate,” Darklore replied, “No name for a nobody.”
“Nobody or not, you terrorized this village and helped a known criminal escape,” Ian said, up righting himself and lifting his sword, “You have a lot to answer for.”
Darklore laughed again. His laugh was cold, hard, and sharp.  A chill ran up Emily’s spine.
“My, my.  You are just as amusing as Sir Markas,” Darklore finally said.
Ian and Markas readied their weapons.  Emily had a spell ready, her fingers ready to trace the sigil.  But her spell wasn’t for Darklore.  It was shield that would hopefully protect Ian and Markas if they had to fight.  But even then, Emily wasn’t sure how effective it would be.  Darklore was powerful; she could practically feel the magical energy emanating from him and it was beginning to make her feel a little dizzy.
“And where are you going?” Darklore said suddenly, turning to Jonathan who had been backing away, “That’s very rude.  You haven’t even introduced yourself yet.”
“Jon..Jonathan…Silver..r..r..th..thorn,” he stammered.
“A dirty half-human,” Darklore sneered, “Well, the others have given me reasons not to kill them on the spot.  I offer you the same chance.”
“Emily’s…a…a half-elf too,” Jonathan faltered.
Darklore grinned, “Yes, I suppose technically she is.  But she is a far better quality one than you.  Pathetic.  Death, I guess then…”
A large silver ball or energy appeared in Darklore’s hand.
“No!” Emily cried out.
“No?” Darklore paused, looking at Emily, “He really is pathetic and I so feel the need to kill something.  I’ve really been showing quite some restraint.  Why shouldn’t I relieve the world of this waste of space?”
“Because he is our friend,” Emily said, her whole body shaking, “If you try to harm him, we will be forced to fight you.”
“I could kill you all,” Darklore said, smiling sinisterly.
“You might have to if you try to kill Jonathan.  We could not just stand by and let you kill him,” Emily replied bracing herself.
Darklore stared at her intently.  Emily could feel his gaze trying to intimidate her, to break her.  Finally, he smiled a sort of queer smile that was not threatening but not warm either.  There was a smugness about it Emily couldn’t place.
“Very well, m’lady,” he said, bowing to Emily, “I’m afraid your eyes have me enchanted.  I cannot harm you, so I suppose I cannot harm your ‘friends’ either.”
Emily sighed.  He wouldn’t kill them; she saw it in his eyes.  Something about her, he didn’t want her dead.  She didn’t understand why, but she still got a sick feeling in her stomach as he looked at her.
“Well, my dear,” he continued, “I would like to stay and chat some more but I have quite a busy schedule.  My army is about to lay waste to the Temple of Sylva.  And of course I want to stop by and have a chat with Ivanus.  I haven’t spoke with him in ages.  And I should probably destroy this village before I go.  It’s served its purpose.”
As the last words left his lips, Darklore’s skin began to melt.  Quickly, it fell off in large fleshy lumps to reveal an ebony skeleton.  He held up his skeletal hands and a sphere of glowing green energy began to form between his hands.
“I must be going my dear,” he said turning to Emily, “You and your ‘friends’ might want to start running before this hits the ground.”
And with that, Darklore vanished.  Emily quickly ran forward and caught the ball of energy incasing it in a silvery sphere of her own.
“Hurry…warn the temple…evacuate the village…” she said, straining to contain the spell.
“Emily?” Ian asked.
“Please…I won’t be able to hold it very long.”
“Jonathan, come with me,” Markas said, mounting Kirin, “Ian, you evacuate the village.”

*****

            Markas felt Jonathan squirm behind him.  He had never flown with someone else and he knew that Jonathan’s weight was probably slowing Kirin down, but he didn’t want to leave Jonathan and Ian alone together if he could help it.
            They quickly soared over the quiet forest below, quickly approaching the temple.  They landed and Markas jumped off Kirin and ran inside. Standing in the temple’s main chamber was a solitary druid.
            “You there,” Markas called out, “Where is everyone?  You’re all in great danger.  You must leave.”
            “I am sorry visitor,” she said softly, “But I am the only one who is available to help you.  The conclave has begun and may not be disturbed.”
            “An army of undead is heading for this temple,” Markas said, “You all have to evacuate.”
            “We can’t,” the young druid pleaded, “We are in conclave.”
            “Look, you don’t have to interrupt the whole conclave, just Silnas.  Tell him Emily’s friend Markas is here.  Tell him what I said about the army of undead.”
            The druid paused as if she was about to say something then nodded and ran off.  A few second later she returned followed by Silnas.
            “Sir Markas, I hope this is not your idea of joke,” he said.
            “I’m afraid not.  An evil lich by the name Darklore has raised an army of undead.  It’s the same army that wiped out the Golden Gryphons.  It’s on its way here. You have to evacuate.”
            “I’m afraid we can’t,” Silnas said, “The druids of Sylva are sworn to protect this forest.  If such an army approaches, we will have to stay and defend the forest and this temple.”
            Markas sighed.  He looked around at the plant walls and wondered how they could be defended.
            “Thank you, Sir Markas, for your warning,” Silnas continued, “You should get going before the army arrives.”
            Jonathan turned to leave, but Markas grabbed his arm, “We’re staying.  You’ll need all the help you can get.”
            “Thank you,” Silnas said, “Follow me.”
 They followed Silnas out to a large open air amphitheater filled with hundreds of druids who began to whisper as they entered.  They walked down to the stage where a beautiful elf with pale green skin stood.
“Silnas, what is the meaning of this?” she asked, “What has happened that would require interrupting the conclave?”
“My lady Oleria,” he said, “Sir Markas brings news of an army of undead that heads toward the Temple of Sylva as we speak.”
“An army?  Is this the great disturbance we have felt?  How is this possible?”
“My lady,” Markas said stepping forward, “It is possible.  This army has already annihilated the Golden Gryphons.  It may arrive at any moment.  I would advise that you all evacuate, but Silnas has told me you are sworn to defend the temple.”
“Yes, good sir knight,” Oleria replied, “We are.  We shall defend her to the very last.”
“My lady,” Silnas said, “If Sir Markas is correct, it may be prudent to send the neophytes away.”
“Yes, it will be,” she replied, “But the rest of us will be required.  The Archers and the Guard shall assemble in front of the temple to face this challenge when it comes.  The rest of us shall see to reinforcing the walls of the main chambers in order to protect the temple.  The neophytes will go to Brue Village.”
“My lady, I’ve just come from Brue Village.  It has been attacked by raiders and the lich who leads this army, Darklore, left powerful magic to destroy the village.  Send them to Carsonia.  There they can get word to other officials of other temples of what has happened.  Furthermore, it would be futile for your guard to take Darklore’s army head on.”
“Well, then what do you suggest, Sir Markas?” Oleria asked.
“Is it possible to get to the roof of the temple?”
“The temple is a living, breathing entity.  We can shape it into whatever we need.  We can make stairs to the roof if need be.”
“Then reinforce the main chamber as much as possible.  Have your guard and archers on the roof with myself and Jonathan here.  I will create a beacon of my god.  This will weaken the undead.  Then we will barrage them with arrows and whatever druidic powers you have available.  The beacon will only last a few minutes but, hopefully, that will be adequate.  If we can hold out long enough, perhaps we can get reinforcements from Carsonia.”
“Very well Sir Markas,” Oleria replied, “I will take your council in this matter and ask you along with Silnas to lead our forces.  You all have heard the plan.  Archers and Guard of the Seer, prepare for battle.  Neophytes, prepare to make haste to Carsonia.  The rest of you follow me into the temple.  We have much work to do.”

*****
            Ian watched as Markas and Jonathan flew off.  He looked over at Emily.  Her skin was very pale and large drops of sweat were beginning to drop of her forehead.
            “How long can you hold that?” he asked.
            “Twenty minutes…maybe thirty,” she said through gritted teeth.
            Ian looked around and saw Marta and Henri walk into the village.  He ran over to them.
            “Quickly!  Your village is in danger.  We need to evacuate everyone as quickly as possible.”
            “A merchant ship stopped in the docks yesterday to re-supply,” Henri said.
            “Perfect,” Ian said as he started to run over to the inn.  He cleared the debris away from the front of the door and threw it open.  The villagers cheered but Ian quickly tried to quiet them.
            “You are still in grave danger.  There is a spell that will destroy your village.  Right now, my scholar friend is keeping the spell from happening, but she won’t be able to do it very long.  You all must hurry to the merchant boat at the docks.”
            “Where should we go?” one man asked.
            “Go to Carsonia,” Ian said, “And report to the Captain of the Guard what happened here.  Now hurry!”
            Ian watched as the people of Brue village as they rushed down to docks.  He had to stop a few who wanted to run back and get some possession. But otherwise it went very smoothly.  As the boat was preparing to leave, Ian saw Henri walk towards him with three horses.
            “I don’t think they’ll be room for those on board,” Ian said.
            “They’re not for us, they’re for you.  Miss Rosewood and yourself will also need to make a quick retreat,” Henri said, handing him the reigns, “The third one is for your other companion.  Marta wanted to make sure we repay you all in some way.”
            “Thank you,” Ian said, “But we didn’t do anything.  We couldn’t save your village.”
            “You saved our lives,” Henri said.
            “I’m just sorry we couldn’t do more,” Ian replied, “You better hurry.  I’m not sure how much longer Emily can hold out.”
            “Farewell, then,” Henri said as he ran out to the boat.
            “Farwell.  Take care of Marta,” Ian called out.
            He turned back to the square.  Emily was ghostly white now, soaked in sweat, her entire body shaking.
            “Emily, can you mount this horse?”
            “Not…without….putting….this down…”
            Ian reached down and carefully picked her up. Her body quivered violently in his arms but he managed to get her up on her horse.  He then mounted his own horse.
            “On the count of three let go of the spell.  Then ride like mad to get out of here.  Ready?”
            Emily nodded her head.
            “One, two, three,” Ian counted.  On three, Emily dropped the spell.  Neither of them paused to watch it hit the ground.  Instead Ian urged his horse into a fierce gallop and could hear Emily doing the same.  He held his breath until he heard a large explosion.  Suddenly, there was an intense heat coming from behind him.  It grew warmer and warmer, until a large force slammed into his back.
            As he tumbled from his horse, Ian looked around.
            Damn, where is Emily?
*****

            Markas stood atop the Temple of Sylva.  He could not quite see over the canopy of the trees, so he could not see if the army approached.  His instinct was to jump on Kirin and scout out to see if he could locate the army.  However, he fought that instinct—he was not prepared to loose another sacred place because he was out patrolling.
            He looked around at the Archers and the Guards of Sylva.  Neither group were actually soldiers, none of them had been trained for battle.  He looked around at their anxious faces and could sympathize.  He, at least, had been trained for this.  He had his training he could fall back on; he could use to stabilize himself as they waited.  The Archers, however, had been trained as elite hunters.  They usually worked alone, hunting down a single abomination that might wander into the forests’ protected boundaries.  The Guard of the Seer was a select few druids who had been trained to use the awesome powers of nature in combat.  Their main job was to protect the Seer, sometimes running her errands in the world at large.  Neither group had any training in large scale war or battle tactics.  Their fear was palatable, though they all did their best to hide it.
            Markas turned towards them and said, “Remember, wait for me to release my beacon.  That will be your signal.  The beacon will weaken them greatly and make your own attacks more effective.”
            Several of them nodded mutely in reply.
            “Yes,” Silnas said, stepping next to Markas, “Follow Sir Markas’s plan.  Remember, you have been trained to fight undead.  I know it was not an army of undead, but still, you know their weak points.  Use your training.   And remember, you fight for our great mother, Sylva.  She is with you now—in the trees that surround you, in the air you breathe, in the sunlight that beats down on your skin.  Feel her.  Harness her power.  She will be with you when you go into battle.  Blessed Sylva!”
            “Blessed Sylva!” the Archers and the Guard cried in return.
            “You aren’t a rank and file druid, are you?” Markas asked as he turned to face Silnas.
            “No,” Silnas said, “I am an elder.  One of five who oversee all the druids of Sylva.”
            “How come you didn’t tell us this?  Emily didn’t even know, did she?  And I assume she’s known you for quite some time.”
            “Amongst the druids, my rank has little meaning other than the extra responsibilities I assume.  I am of the same importance as the newest neophyte.  We all serve Sylva.  We all do our duty to the best of our ability.”
            “I understand.”
            “I thought you would,” Silnas said smiling, “You are…”
            But Silnas stopped, his eyes growing large.
            “What’s wrong?” Markas asked.
            “The forest is silent.”
            Markas listened.  It was silent—no birds, no crickets, no leaves, no wind.  The vacuum of noise unsettled him.
            Then he heard it.  It started out as a light whooshing noise.  Then grinding and clanking noises followed.  Then he heard the noise he had been dreading—the low, murmuring moans of the undead.
            “Ready!” Markas shouted, “They come!”
            As the noise approached, it grew louder and louder, like a large wave. The wave crashed and suddenly the undead army came swarming through the trees.
            “Wait for the beacon!” he shouted.
            Zombies with their rotting flesh, skeletal warriors clad in rusty armor, animated corpses—they all came oozing out between the trees as if they were one large mass of decay.  Markas looked over at Jonathan who had turned a sickly shade of green.
            “Don’t worry,” Markas said, smiling, “You get used to the smell.”
            That really didn’t seem to comfort Jonathan any, but Markas had more important things to worry about.  The undead were almost at the temple wall.  He placed his hand on his holy symbol, raised his other hand into the air, and cried out, “By Torus’ will I denounce you, foul creatures of Decadris!”
            A bright gold light appeared above the army causing them to crouch and shriek in agony.
            “Now!” Silnas yelled.
            The druids let forth a torrent of arrows and nature.  Fire fell from the skies.  Lightening crackled into the army below.  The air was so thick with arrows that a fly couldn’t have flown between them.  When they were done, piles of undead lay at the base of the temple.  A cheer went up from a few of the druids, but quickly faded as they watched more undead surround the temple, completely covering the mass of fallen corpses.  Quickly, they began tearing and slashing at the temples living walls.
            “Again!” Markas shouted.  The druids began their assault again.  Even though they were taking many down, more would just pour through the trees to take their place.
            “Quickly, downstairs!” Silans called, “They will break through any minute!”
            Everyone rushed down to main temple chamber where they joined the other druids who were concentrating their energy into maintaining the temple walls.  Around them, they could hear crack after crack as the undead relentlessly continued to tear at the temple walls.   Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for what seemed to be inevitable.
            “Children of Sylva,” Oleria said as she stepped into the center of the room, breaking the silence.
            “My lady,” Silnas said, interrupting her, “You must go hide.  You must protect yourself.”
            “No Silnas,” Oleria said gently, “This is the sacred temple of Sylva, my mother and goddess.  I, like any other of her faithful, will defend it to the last.  For the great mother!”
            “For the great mother!” the other druids cried.
            The cracking grew louder and louder.  One by one, undead soldiers began to poke through holes in the walls.  The druids would attack them and try to patch the hole.  But the undead were like water behind a dam, going to break through at any second.
            Was this what is what like at the citadel before it fell? Markas thought, Were my comrades inside, waiting for their last battle?  Is this my last battle?
            Suddenly, large holes broke open on three sides of the temple and the undead came massing through.
            Whatever your will, Torus.
            “For the Glory of Torus and the honor of the Golden Gryphons!” Markas shouted as he charged at the undead, battle axe raised.

*****

            Ian stood up.  He hadn’t been harmed in the blast.  His horse was standing nearby and next to it was the other horse and Emily’s horse with Emily slumped on top.
            “Emily!  Emily, are you ok?” Ian shouted as he ran over.
            Groggily, Emily sat up.
            “Yes, I think so,” she said weakly, “The villagers got away?”
            “Yes,” Ian said, as he helped down off her horse, “The villagers escaped by boat.”
            “Good.  I’m sorry I couldn’t dispel that magic,” Emily said, “It took everything I had to contain it as long as I did.”
            “Don’t worry,” Ian said as unrolled his bed roll, “You saved those peoples lives.  If it weren’t for you, we may have never even gone there.  Now get some rest.”
            “But the temple…Markas…” Emily said wearily, “We need to…we have to go help them.”
            “We will,” Ian said as he lifted Emily off her horse and set her on the bedroll, “But you’re in no condition for another battle. We have horses so we can get there rather quickly.  So rest.”
            “You should at least go,” Emily said as she collapsed on the bedroll, “You aren’t tired.”
            “I can’t leave you here defenseless,” Ian said as he sat next to the bed roll, “Now rest.  The sooner you rest, the sooner we can be on our way.”
            “I’m sorry,” Emily said as drifted off to sleep, “I’m sorry I’m so weak.”
            “You are probably one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” Ian whispered as Emily drifted into unconsciousness.  He grabbed his flask and took a sip.    

*****

            Pain seared through all of Markas’s body.  His axe felt so heavy, but if he put it down, if he stopped, he was certainly dead.  The undead continued to swarm around him.  He couldn’t see anyone else—Oleria, Jonathan, Silnas, or even Kirin.
            I can’t stop now.  If this temple falls, Darklore will push his army on—on to Carsonia, to Argenault.  It must end here.
            A surge of skeletons and zombies knocked him down.  He tried to get up but they were covering him, holding him down.  This was it.
            Torus, I seek your mercy.  Do not let me become one of them.
            As he awaited that final blow, he thought he heard a trumpet sound.
            “By the Shining Light, I banish thee retched creatures,” a strong voice bellowed.
            A sparkling light filled what was left of the temple.   The zombies and skeletons shriked and writhed on the floor.  Markas stood up and saw a knight on a large grey horse.
            “Hurry!” the knight called, “While they are weakened!”
            Markas looked around and saw about thirty knights and several elven soldiers, as well as many of the druids.  Quickly, he took up his axe and began dispatching the undead.  With the new reinforcements help, they began to drive back the army of undead.  They would have completely wiped them out but, as if listening to an unheard voice, the undead retreated back into the forest as quickly as they had attacked.
            As the knights prepared to chase down the remaining undead, Markas saw Kirin who was about to go along for the chase.  He whistled and Kirin turned her head and bounded towards him.  She cawed loudly and nuzzled him with her beak.
            “Yes girl, I’m glad to see you too,” he said as he patted her side, “But we still have work to do.”
            Markas mounted Kirin and was about to ride off and join the other knights when the knight on the grey horse rode over.
            “Sir Markas Tau?”
            “Yes?” Markas replied, puzzled.
            The knight removed his ornate helmet.  He had a strong face and flawless dark skin.  Only the grey at his temples and depth of his brown eyes revealed that he was probably a lot older than Markas.
            “I am Sir Crispin Tiberius of the Order of the Shinning Light.  I was afraid I was going to miss you when I left to come here, but it seems that the gods have brought us together anyway.”
            “Yes, sir,” Markas replied, “I was on my way to Argenault when I received a request for help from Brue Village.”
            “I see,” Sir Tiberius responded, “Well, let’s hurry and finish up with these blighted.  We have much to talk about.  Very much to talk about.”

 We have to hurry,” Emily said as she rolled up the bedroll, “I can’t believe you let me sleep so long.”
            “Well, what was I supposed to do? Drag your unconscious body back to the temple of Sylva?” Ian asked, arms crossed.
            “They might have needed our help.”
            “I’m sure Markas got there in time and they were able to evacuate the temple before the army even arrived,” Ian said grabbing his bedroll from Emily and putting it on the back of his horse.
            “You don’t know that for sure,” Emily said, mounting her horse.
            “Look,” Ian said as he mounted his own horse, “If it had been just me I would have ridden straight through to the temple.  But I had you and you were ghost white and barely conscious.  It would have been foolish on my part to drag you in that condition into a potential battle.”
            Emily looked as if she were going to say something but stopped.
            “Fine,” she finally said, “Let’s just get going.”
            They rode on in silence.  Ian kept trying to convince himself that he was right, that Markas got there in time and warned the temple.  After an hour, he had himself convinced that not only had Markas got there in time, but if he and Emily had pressed on as she wanted that they would have come across nothing but an army of undead.  By the end of two hours he was convinced that Emily was just ungrateful, that he had saved her life twice now—once from the blast at Brue Village and once by not going into the army of undead.
            As they continued along in silence, Ian wondered if they should continue to the temple as the undead army still might be there.  It was growing dark and the undead would be more powerful in the dark.  And the two of them were hardly a match for an army of undead.
            “Look, up ahead,” Emily whispered, breaking his train of thought.
            Ian looked ahead and saw several lights.  As the soft blue orbs came closer, Ian could make out several draped figures, many of whom were carrying torches lit with the same magical blue light he had seen at the temple.  Six of the figures carried a stretcher of some kind.   Walking next to the stretcher was translucent greenish figure of an elf woman.
            “Oleria,” Emily gasped.  She jumped off her horse and ran over to the ghostly figure.
            “Oleria!”
            Ian dismounted and quickly followed.
            “Ah, my child,” the ghostly figure said, “It is good to see that you are safe.”
            “Yes, but Oleria,” Emily said, clutching her arms, “What happened to you?”
            “I fell in the battle to protect the Temple of Sylva,” Oleria said.
            “Then Sir Markas didn’t make it in time?” Ian asked.
            “Sir Tau did indeed arrive in time to warn us.  Because of his bravery, the temple, though tattered, still stands.”
            “You stayed, even after he warned you?” Ian asked.
            “We sent the neophytes away as a precaution, but yes we stayed and fought.  As the servants of Sylva, we are sworn to defend her sacred sites.”
            “But Oleria, what happened?  Are you?”  Emily asked, hesitantly.
            “Yes, my child.  I have died.  There was no Seer trained to take my place, so the Goddess binds my soul to this world until another Seer can be trained.  Once there is one to take my place, I will be able to pass on in peace to the other side.”
            “Oleria, I’m so sorry.”
            “Do not worry, my child,” Oleria said, “I will be at peace with the Lady Sylva soon.  Do not mourn me, for I have lived an honored life and had an honorable death in the service of my Goddess.”
            With that Oleria turned away and the somber processional continued down the forest road.  Emily and Ian stood in silence and watched them walk away.
            “I’m sorry,” Ian said, finally breaking the silence.
            “It’s all right,” Emily replied, “Oleria said not to mourn her.  I barely knew her even.”
            “Still,” Ian said, “You were right.  We should have pushed on to the temple.”
            “No, you were.  I would have just made things worse,” Emily said and then turned to mount her horse, “Come on.  We should probably meet up with Sir Markas and Jonathan.”
            “Yes,” Ian said, as he mounted his own horse.
            Once again I failed and once again, because of me, someone lost their life.

*****

            The sky was turning orange and pink with the setting sun as Ian and Emily finally approached what remained of the Temple of Sylva.  As they approached, a horrible smell overtook them.  Ian watched as Emily quickly pulled out her handkerchief and covered her nose and mouth.  Ian just did his best to hold his breath.  As they entered the clearing where the temple had stood, Ian silently took in the devastation his hesitance had helped caused.  All the outbuildings of the temple complex were gone, completely destroyed.  The temple itself still stood, but barely.  What had once been an intricate display of the druids’ magic was now a ragged pile of branches and sticks.
            The ground was littered with rotting bodies and skeletons—the remains of the undead army.  Several druids, elves, and knights were already in the process of cleaning up, finding the wounded and tending to them.
            Knights?
            There were at least forty knights around the battlefield.  Ian looked at the insignia on their armor.  These were knights from the Order of the Shining Light, the most prestigious order in all of Crolis, perhaps all the world.  Ian, like every other young boy, had grown up hearing tales about their brave heroic deeds, dreaming that one day he might join them.
            “There they are!” Emily suddenly cried, jumping off her horse and running towards five figures that were standing near the temple ruins.  Ian dismounted his own horse and quickly followed.
            “Thank goodness!  You are all all right!” Emily said as she ran up and hugged Silnas, “I was so afraid.  We ran into Oleria on the way here and I was so worried that you…”
            “I know,” Silnas said, warmly returning Emily’s embrace, “I was very worried about you too.  Thankfully, Sir Markas did arrive in time to warn us; otherwise I’m afraid none of us would have survived.”
            “Of course,” Emily said, moving her hug to Markas who awkwardly hugged her back, “Thank goodness you’re all right too.  I’m afraid I’ve caused you nothing but trouble since I asked you  for help.”
            “It’s my duty to protect others,” Markas said, “I didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done on my own.  And I’m very glad to see that Ian and yourself survived as well.  You managed to evacuate the village?”
            “Yes,” Ian said, stepping forward, “Luckily, a merchant ship had stopped for supplies.  I had the entire village board the ship and head for Carsonia.”
            “Ahem,” Jonathan said, clearing his throat.
            Emily let go of Markas and wrapped her arms around Jonathan who seemed to squeeze Emily too tight for Ian’s tastes.
“Of course I’m glad to see you too,” Emily said, “I was worried about everyone.”
“You need not have worried about me, fair Emily,” Jonathan said, “I would survive a hundred armies of undead just to see you again.”
Ian snorted.
“We had lucky break as well,” Markas said, as Emily stepped out of Jonathan’s embrace, “The Order of Shining Light and a regiment of Sylvari elves arrived in time to change the tide of the battle.   Emily, Ian, this is Sir Crispin Tiberius, First Council of the Order of the Shining Light.”
“The..the Sir Tiberius?” Ian stuttered.
“It’s an honor,” Emily said, curtseying.
“The honor is mine, Miss Rosewood,” Sir Tiberius said, as he took Emily’s hand and kissed it.  Emily cheeks turned a bright scarlet.  He then turned towards Ian.
“And you must be the mysterious Ian,” he said.
“Yes sir,” Ian replied, bowing, “It is an honor to meet you.”
“And this,” Silnas said indicating a handsome elf with long brown hair, “Is Prince Nathienas of the Sylvari elves.”
“I must thank you all,” Prince Nathienas said stepping forward, “The Sylvari obviously place great importance on the Temple of Sylva.  We are very luck that you all uncovered this plot, that Silnas managed to send word to our capital Del’oreintias, and that Sir Tiberius and his knights just happened to be visiting us at the time.”
He turned and bowed to each of them, ending with Emily whose hand he grabbed and kissed.
“Miss Rosewood, it is a honor to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you,” said in elven.
“You have?” Emily said, surprised, “But how?”
“Well, certainly it is because,” Nathienas started, but was suddenly interrupted by a glare from Silnas, “Well, Ivan is perhaps our most notable human resident.  The ruling house of Del’oreintias tries to keep informed of the comings and goings of the Tower of Secrets.”
“Oh, of course,” Emily replied, a little flatly.
“Sir Tau has been filling me in on your journey so far,” Sir Tiberius interrupted the elven interlude, “Your encounter with Darklore is only the latest in a continuing trend of disturbing events.  There is this army of undead of his that attacked the Golden Gryphons as well the temple.  Dragons have been spotted everywhere.  Silnas said that the Temple of Sylva have been facing increasing numbers of monsters in the Forests of Sanctuaries and Silence.  The raiders have been relentless on all the main roads, making travel all but impossible for most.  There are reports of hordes of Hellspawn to the north.  Every underground guild seems to have increased their crime rate.  Strange storms have spawned off all the coasts.  And there have been strange sightings of ghosts from the borders of the Wastelands.  The resources of the Shining Light have never been stretched so thin.”
            “What does the king think?” Markas asked.
            “The king thinks nothing of it,” Sir Tiberius replied, “He accuses the Order of trying to create a panic.  He is in denial.  So we have no help from the throne.  Carsonia supports us, but will not move its own troops to help because it is afraid of retribution from the king.”
            “What about St. Ridgestone?” Ian asked.
            “The Knights of St. Ridgestone are at our side in this at least,” Sir Tiberius responded, “Many of my order had their origins there.  However, whatever is happening is much larger.  If our world is to survive, we must unite everyone.  Not just humans, but the elves and dwarves too.”
            “Well, after this you can count on the support of the Sylvari Elves.  An attack on the Temple is the same as attacking them,” the prince said.
            “Yes, but the Qualari to the east still keep their borders shut to us,” Sir Tiberius said.
            “I cannot believe the king does not believe you,” Markas said.
            “It is sometimes hard to see the larger picture,” Sir Tiberius said, “Especially, if that picture is not pleasing.”
“That’s what my uncle said before I left,” Emily said, “That things were happening but not too many people were putting the pieces together.”
“He did?” Sir Tiberius said turning to Emily, “Who is your uncle?”
“Ivanus Arcanus of the Tower of Secrets.”
“Ah” Tiberius said, “I should have realized that he at least would understand what’s going on.”
“Emily, your uncle!” Ian said, “Darklore said he was going there next!”
“That’s right, he did say he wanted to talk to him,” Emily replied calmly.
“Sir Tau,” Tiberius said, “I have your next mission.  Travel to the Tower of Secrets as fast as you can.  Miss Rosewood, I assume you will wish to accompany him?”
“Of course,” Emily said.
“Good,” Tiberius said, “Sir Tau, report back to me in Argenault when you are finished.”
“Yes, sir,” Markas replied, saluting.  He then turned to Ian, “Well, I guess this is farewell.”
“How so?” Ian said.  “Look, I have unfinished business with Krumar.  And he is apparently working for Darklore.  So it seems for now my best course of action is to continue to assist you and Emily.”
“If that’s what you wish,” Markas said, “I appreciate your assistance and will help track down this Krumar too in the process.  Jonathan, are you staying behind?”
“Certainly not!” Jonathan piped up, “I will continue to offer my assistance to the fair Miss Emily in anyway that I can.  Besides, the Tower of Secrets sounds like a most fascinating place.”
Ian scowled, but Markas ignored him and said, “Well, then lets make preparations and be off.”

*****

            They set out within the hour.  Markas felt more at home, riding on Kirin.  They couldn’t fly, but since the others had the horses from Brue Village, he could at least ride her.  He wasn’t sure why, but it was simply more reassuring to be sitting in her saddle.
            The Forest of Sanctuaries was quiet and peaceful, much like the temple had been.  That was strangest thing, the temple had been ruined but the surrounding forest was still perfectly intact.  The same was true when it had attacked the citadel.  They had come with no warning and left with no trace—a stealth army.
            He pulled Kirin up along side Emily.
            “Emily, I’ve been thinking,” he said, “You said Darklore is very powerful, right?”
            “Yes.”
            “Is he powerful enough to create an army of undead and teleport it around wherever he wants?”
            “I don’t know that any one scholar is that powerful,” Emily said thoughtfully, “It would take a lot of Darklore’s energy just to control the army.  I imagine that’s why he does not attack along with them.  To create a portal big enough to transport an entire army would take an enormous amount of energy, just one way.  Even he might find himself over-taxed from it and lose control of the army in the process.”
            “Then how is he doing it?  How is he moving his army without anyone noticing?”
            “Hmmm…” Emily mused, “There are a couple of possibilities.  The most obvious is that he has help.  If he had other scholars to create the portals that would free him up to control his army.”
            “Who in their right mind would help him?” Markas asked.
            “There are many scholars who dwell in the darker arts, even thought its illegal.  I’ve seen them come to the tower to do research,” Emily said in a hushed tone, “My uncle always said that once a scholar starts down that path, there is no turning back.  The need for power becomes all consuming and they loose sight of the true nature of magic.  To embrace the darkness with no light is the path to self-destruction.”
            “Speaking of your uncle, aren’t you worried about him?”
“No,” Emily smiled, “I’ve only seen one scholar more powerful than Darklore and that is Uncle Ivan.”
“You think it’s possible that your uncle already defeated Darklore?” Markas asked hopefully.
“If Darklore tried to attack him,” Emily replied, “Then yes.  It would be no match. Unless…”
“Unless what?” Markas asked.
“Well, one of the other possibilities,” Emily said uncertainly, “If Darklore got his hands on an Archeon…well, then…”
“What’s an Archeon?” Markas asked.
“An artifact from the beginning of the world.  There were some powerful magics in existence in that time, powers we can barely begin to comprehend today.  If he had gotten his hands on one of those…”
“What?”
“Well, just as a scholar can imbue an object with magic, they can just as easily siphon off power from one.  Most objects would just be quickly destroyed this way.  But an Archeon, well, that would be like an endless source of magic.  A scholar could siphon off power and never run out,” Emily said, and then added, “In theory anyway.”
            “Theory?”
            “An obscure work by Algeris Estanallo,” Emily said, “Highly theoretical and a bit controversial.  But then much of Dr. Estanallo’s work is.  Last I heard, he was let go from University D’Insolite because his work was becoming too dark for the regents’ tastes.”
            “So no one has actually done it before?” Markas asked.
            “No,” Emily said, “Most people would be crazy to do it.  It would cause all sorts of imbalance around the person doing it.  The physical cost alone would be very high.  And it’s not like he could just go down to local marketplace and just barter for an Archeon.  They’re extremely rare.  Only three are even known to have ever existed.”
            “So Darklore probably hasn’t tried it?”
            “Well,” Emily hedged, “Any normal scholar wouldn’t.  But Darklore is a lich.  The process to become a lich is complex, horrible, and dark from what I understand of it.  You would have to be crazy to become a lich, to go so into the darkness that you wouldn’t care who or what you hurt.  Especially an elf.  They’re normal life span is hundreds of years; they are seldom interested in immortality.  If Darklore is crazy enough to become a lich, well then…”
            “He’s crazy enough to try to siphon magic off an ancient artifact full of unlimited power,” Markas finished, disinheartend.
            “Still,” Emily said, “That particular theory is rather obscure and most people don’t know about it.  Its quite possible Darklore has never heard of it.  The only reason I have is that my time at the tower left me with an inordinate amount of reading time.”
            “Where are these Archeons at?” Ian asked, interrupting.  At least he was paying attention, which was more than could be said for Jonathan who was merrily singing.
            “No one really knows,” Emily said, “Any information that may have existed on them was destroyed in the Burning Times.”
            “What about the races that didn’t try to destroy all magic, the elves, the dwarves?” Ian asked.
            “If they know, they aren’t telling the humans about them,” Emily said, “Not that I entirely blame them.”
            “Darklore was an elf at one point,” Ian said.
            “Well, that is the form he chose to appear to us as,” Emily said hesitantly.
            “You think he knows where one of the Archeons is?” Markas asked.
            “With our luck, he probably already has all three,” Ian said grimly.

******

            Emily had never really realized how out of the place the Tower of Secrets seemed.  A traveler could be going through the old growth of the forest, and then out of no where they would be in this huge clearing with this massive grey stone tower.  Even more out of place was the country out buildings and modest farm that seemed to surround it.
            As they approached, a portly older woman in a plain dress came running out from the tower.
            “Emily!” she cried.      
“Mama Greta!” Emily cried as she dismounted and ran towards her.  Mama Greta swallowed Emily up in a huge hug.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away long,” Mama Greta said as she released Emily from the hug, “I knew you would come home eventually.”
“I’m only home for a visit,” Emily said, “We need to consult with Uncle.”
“We?” Mama Greta said, then turned towards everyone else, “Oh my, company.  Are these friends of yours?”
“Yes,” Emily said brightly, “I’ll introduce you as we go in.”

*****

         
            Mama Greta led them into the tower’s parlor, a large spacious room filled with a mismatched assortment of chairs.  A fire flickered in the large stone fireplace but the magical lights had not been lit as the sun streaming through the leaded glass windows illuminated the room sufficiently.
            “Have a seat dears,” Mama Greta said, as she went to leave, “I’ll bring up some tea.”
            “Emily,” Markas whispered, “Where’s you uncle?”
            “Don’t worry,” Emily said, as she settled into her favorite chair, “He knows we’re here.  No one can enter the tower without him knowing.”
            “Oh,” Markas replied, as he sat on the fireside bench rather stiffly.
            Emily wondered what was taking her uncle so long.  It seemed unlike him to not be waiting for them in the study.  Ian sat down in the worn oak chair in the corner, sipping on his ever-present flask.  Jonathan settled down on rather cushy damask chair and absent-mindedly tuned his mandolin.  Markas sat there as if was waiting at attention.  Emily just sat there and twisted her fingers, wondering what was taking Uncle Ivan and Mama Greta so long.
            “Emily,” Jonathan said, finally breaking the silence, “This tower is absolutely amazing.  It must have been extraordinary to group up here.”
            “I suppose,” Emily replied, “Honestly, it was somewhat routine.  Everyday the same—chores and studying.”
            “Still, this is an impressive holding,” Jonathan said, “Exactly how much of the surrounding land does your uncle own?”
            Ian snorted.
            “Well,” Emily said, ignoring Ian, “We use about fifteen of the surrounding acres for our farm.  The tower’s completely self-sufficient.”
            “Impressive,” Jonathan said, “How many servants does he have to help run the farm and the tower?”
            “None, just Mama Greta and myself,” Emily smiled, “Well, now I guess its just Mama Greta.”
            “Just the two of you?” Jonathan asked, lowering his mandolin.
            “Well, there’s a lot of magic involved,” Emily replied.
            “Of course,” Jonathan said, chuckling softly, “This is a scholar’s tower of course.  There must be tons of magic and treasure here.”
            “Oh, this isn’t just any ordinary tower,” Emily said, sitting up, “This is the Tower of Secrets, the largest repository of magical knowledge in all of Crolis.  Scholars from all over come here to do research.  None of the universities libraries can begin to rival the depth of knowledge contained within these walls.  We’ve even had elves from Qualari.”
            “Impresive,” Jonathan smiled, “It must be very exciting to think that you will inherit this someday.”
            “Me?” Emily said, “I never really thought that I would.”
            “But surely, as his ward, you are his only heir?”
            “I suppose,” Emily replied, hesitantly, “I’ve just always assumed that Uncle would pick the most qualified scholar he could find to assume his role, if he passed on.  And I would never presume that I would ever be worthy of such a position.”
            “You do yourself a great disservice, Emily,” Jonathan replied, leaning towards Emily, his voice dripping with honey, “Ivanus handpicked you to be his apprentice, when you were only an infant.  Surely, he must have seen something special in you.”
            “The only reason he took me in is because of a promise he made to my mother,” Emily sighed, “I’ve managed to learn that much at least.”
            “But still…” Jonathan began.
            “Leave her alone,” Ian interrupted, “She’s made it pretty clear she isn’t heir to this tower.”
            “I was trying to make polite conversation while we wait,” Jonathan said huffily.
            “Where I come from,” Ian said, taking a sip from his flask, “It’s not polite to ask your host about their inheritance.”
            “That’s interesting,” Jonathan said, his lips pressed into a tight smile, “Considering we don’t know where you’re from.  I mean where I come from belligerent drunks are not consulted for etiquette advice.”
            Ian stood up and put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
            “Go ahead,” Ian hissed, “Say that again.  I dare you.”
            Jonathan rose slowly, “I called you a belligerent drunk.  And quite frankly, I’m not sure why we’ve kept you around as long as we have.   You are obviously not fit to be around quality people like Sir Markas, Miss Emily, or myself.”
            “You wouldn’t know quality if it were standing a foot in front of you,” Ian spat back.
            “Stop!” Emily cried, “You can’t!”
            “My former apprentice is quite right,” said a grey-bearded scholar who had suddenly appeared next to the fireplace, “No act of violence may be committed here.  The tower will prevent you in any way it can.”
            “Uncle!” Emily smiled.
            “My pardon,” Jonathan said, gracefully returning to his seat.  Ian nodded to Ivanus and then returned to his own seat.  Ivanus walked over to an ornately carved chair and sat down and folded his hands in his lap.
            “It is good to see you too, Emily,” Ivanus said, “But I doubt you are here to stay as Greta wishes.  So introduce your companions and we can get on to what business brings you here.”
            “This is Sir Markas Tau, the last surviving member of the Golden Gryphons, the bard Jonathan Silverthorn, and the swordsman Ian.  Everyone, this is Ivanus Arcanus, Master of the Tower of Secrets.”
            As Emily finished her introduction, Mama Greta entered with a tray with tea and biscuits.
            “You’ve barely been gone a week,” Ivanus said, “So what brings you back here so quickly?”
            “Darklore,” Emily replied, “A lich.  He said…”
            “I know Darklore,” Ivan interrupted, “And he was here.”
            “So you’ve defeated him?” Markas asked hopefully.
            “No,” Ivan replied, “He was here and then he left.”
            “But you said he was here,” Markas said, “And you’re still alive, so it only stands to reason…”
            “Emily, you didn’t explain to them the laws that govern the Tower very well, did you?” Ivanus sighed.
            “I’m sorry, Uncle,” she replied, then turned to Markas, “The Tower is open to any who come seeking knowledge.  As long as Darklore came seeking knowledge, with no intent of causing harm to the Tower or any of its occupants…”
            “He could come and go as he pleases,” Ian finished, “Which means he could waltz in right now and there wouldn’t be a thing we could do about it.”
            “Exactly,” Ivan replied, “I’ve known Darklore for quite some time, but it has  been ages since he came to the tower.  I wonder what he is up to, and I wonder, dear Emily, how you came to be involved with him?”
            “Well,” Emily said squirming in her seat, “I was in Carsonia and stopped to eat before I went to the University d’Estoric when a big brawl broke out.  Ian, Sir Markas, and Jonathan were all there.  Some raiders caused some trouble and I may have used my magic to assist Sir Markas in stopping them.  Well, this girl named Marta saw me and asked me to help her because Darklore was causing trouble in her village, Brue Village.  Of course, we didn’t know it was Darklore until we got to the village.  And I was certain that he was going to kill us.  I mean he tried to destroy the whole village—he could have easily dispensed with us.”
            “I see,” Ivan said, and then calmly took a sip of tea, “Why don’t you all help yourselves to some tea and then we can discuss your adventures in detail.”

*****

            “Hmm…” Ivanus mused after listening to them recount the events of the past few days, “Very interesting.”
            “Is that all you have to say?’ Ian asked.
            “No, I have a few questions for you all,” Ivan said, “First, Emily, Sir Markas mentioned a prophecy you received from Oleria.  It is important we know exactly what it was.”
            “Uncle,” Emily said, looking down, “I don’t think it’s important…”
            “Emily,” he said sternly, “Let’s hear it and then we can make the decision.”
            “The dusk of innocence is at hand,” Emily recited dutifully, “Four stars converge in the land of the ancestors to fight the darkness.  The heart beats in the hand of death.  The blood of Rosewood spilt; it will destroy the heart, unseen.”
            A sharp silence filled the room as Emily finished, all eyes staring at her.
            “Emily, my poor Emily,” Mama Greta cried as she ran over and wrapped her arms around Emily.
            “It’s all right, Mama Greta,” Emily said, “It’s just a prophecy.  We have no way of knowing what it predicts.”
            “I’d say pretty clearly,” Ian said, “That it predicts something bad is going to happen to you.”
            “I thought you didn’t believe in prophecy?” Emily asked.
            “I don’t.  It’s our own choices that make our destiny,” Ian said, as if he hoped that would cancel out the prophecy entirely.
            “Exactly,” Ivan said, “Oleria’s prophecies are not condemnations of fate.  Rather they are precious clues that will only make sense when the time comes.  It does us little good to discuss it now.”
            “So, why did you bring it up?” Markas asked.
            “Because it may be important when the time comes and its better you all know it,” Ivan said, “And I think it may help Emily to not be burdened with it on her own.”
            Emily had to admit that it did feel better to let everyone know, once they had got past the initial worry.
            “Ivan!  How can you say such things after hearing something so horrible?  It is clearer to me more than ever that she must stay in the tower!” Mama Greta yelled.
            “Greta,” he said softly, standing up, “I can no longer keep Emily safe here.”
            “But surely Ivan, you…if anyone, this place,” Greta sobbed.  Ivan placed his hand on her shoulder.
            “Greta,” he sighed, looking in her tear filled eyes.
            “I know,” she said wiping away her tears, “I knew when we took her in, I’d have to let her go someday.  I just didn’t expect it so soon.  But, she’s grown into fine young scholar, like I knew she would.”
            Mama Greta wiped away the last few tears, smoothed her apron, and turned to rest of them and said, “Excuse me dears, it’s just bit shocking to hear something like that about…about your own…”
            “Daughter,” Emily finished for her.
            Greta smiled, “Yes, my daughter.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get dinner ready.”
            Greta left the room, while Ian and Markas exchanged looks.  Emily felt a little warmer inside.
            “What about Darklore?” Markas asked, “What can you tell us about him?  What exactly did he want here?”
            “I hadn’t seen Darklore in some time,” Ivan said, “He took up residence in Decadris some time ago.  I thought perhaps he was content to surround him with his ‘precious undeath’, but given recent events I’d say I was wrong.”
            “Precious undeath?” Markas asked, grimacing.
            “Yes,” Ivan said, “At one time, when Darklore was known as Leovan Lightlore, he was perhaps the most brilliant Elven mage of his age.  The Qualari thought he would do great things.  But as with many who are great, Leovan had a touch of madness.  No one is sure why, but he became obsessed with achieving immortality.  It is a pursuit that has driven many men mad, but elves because of their longer lives usually find such pursuits uninteresting.”
            “But Darklore did?” Ian asked.
            “Yes,” Ivan said, “The magical arts are all about pushing the constraints on the mortal world.  But there are lines that can’t be crossed, except through the use of the darkest magics.”
            “And immortality is one of those lines,” Markas said, “Only the gods can be immortal.  And they are the only ones who can grant it to mortals.”
            “Essentially,” Ivan smiled at Markas, “Leovan thought he found a loophole.  He believed that the secret to immortality lies in undeath.”
            “That’s insane,” Markas blurted out.
            “Quite.  But I said that Leovan was a bit mad to begin with.  His delving into the dark arts completely pushed him over the edge.  The Qualari, worried, sent him away to contemplate in solitude.  They believe he was grieving the sudden death of his wife.  A method the Qualari often use to help those they find troublesome”
            “But he didn’t just go and contemplate,” Ian said.
            “No.  He returned as what you saw.  A lich.  But unlike most lich, he found a way to maintain his elven appearance.  He claimed he found immortality for the elves.  That they would be immortal gods like Adori once were.”
            “Adori?” Markas asked.
            “The first race of beings in Crolis,” Emily said, “They existed millions of years before the elves or the humans or even the dwarves.  Not much is known about them except that they destroyed themselves.  A great magical explosion.  It’s what created the Wastedlands.”
            “Why would he want to be like the Adori if they blew themselves up?” Jonathan asked.
            “Because it’s said they were immortal.  And they were powerful magic users on top of that, more powerful than even Qualari Elves,” Ivan said, “I believe the Adori may have been the source for his interest in immortality.  If he could achieve their greatness, then he would achieve something truly amazing.  However, upon realizing their secrets had long been destroyed, he turned to darker means to achieve his goals.”
            “You said he returned to the Qualari Elves.  I’m sure they weren’t happy to see him,” Ian said.
            “No.  They weren’t.  They drove him out of Qualantari forever.  He roamed the world for quite sometime, his powers ever growing.  Then he eventually settled down in Decadris.”
            “But he’s up to something now,” Markas said, “What did he want when he came here?  What books did he want to look at?”
            “He didn’t want to look at any books.  He wanted to know about Emily.”
            “Emily?”
            “Me?”
            Ivan sighed, “I was hoping I would never have to tell you this Emily, but it does seem unavoidable.  You are one of the last Adori in the world.  Perhaps the very last.”
            Emily felt everyone’s eyes fall on her.  She reached up and touched the tip of one of her pointed ears.
            “But I’m a half-elf,” Emily said, “I…I can’t be an Adori. You said they were powerful and immortal but…I’m…I’m just….”
            “A child,” Ivan said, “By Adori standards.  Just over a century and a half.  Of course, the Adori aren’t truly immortal but have an impressive life span…nearly 5000 years.”
            “Just how old are you?” Ian asked.
            “163,” Emily replied but then turned her attention to her uncle, “But the Adori died out.”
            “No.  Some survived,” Ivan said, “They spread out into the world.  Your parents and a few others lived in the village near here.  The others died out.  And when your parents had to leave, they left you with me to keep you safe.”
            “But what would he want with Emily?  It’s not like she knows the secret of the Adori,” Ian said.
            “No,” Ivan said, “But the Adori did leave several artifacts in the world that can only be used by those with Adori blood.  Which means that anyone, whose elf, human, or half-elf can use them…but an Adori could use them to their full potential.”
            “What do you mean?  How can both elves and humans have Adori blood?” Markas asked.
            “After the destruction of their home, what we now call the Wastedlands,” Ivan said, “The surviving Adori went and settled in other places.  Some rejected magic entirely—seeing it as the cause of their downfall.  Others tried to immerse themselves in it to try and understand what happened.  But both groups changed over time, their life spans shortened.  Their physical features changed.  The anti-magic groups became humans, the over-magic groups became the elves.  Only the few who remained neutral on the matter remained unchanged.”
            “That’s a blasphemy!” Markas said jumping up, “Everyone knows that the human gods created the humans and the elven gods created the elves.”
            “Theology and history are different subjects” Ivan said, “But let’s not stray too much from the topic at hand.  If Darklore has gotten a hold of one of the Adori artifacts, he may want Emily in order to activate its full power.”
            “Well, what are these Adori artifacts?”
            “The Archeons,” Emily interjected.
            “You mean, like the ones you talked about on the way here?” Markas asked.
            “Yes,” Emily said.  Ivan threw an inquisitive look at Emily.
            “Well, Darklore seems very powerful, even more so than one would expect for a lich.  I remembered an obscure theory I had read on tapping an Archeon for its power and thought that might be what Darklore is doing.”
            “Ah, Estanallo’s Theory of Proportionate Transfer,” Ivan said, “Insane.  Brilliant, but completely insane. And that would explain his express interest in you…with you he could not just control an Archeon but release all its power, the power of a god.”
            “A god?” Markas asked.
            “Yes.  And not any god—Archeos.”
            Jonathan laughed, “Archeos, the god of existence?  Ha, he is so weak he can’t even grant his own priests power.  Hardly anyone worships him anymore.”
            “You would mock a god?” Markas said jumping up. Ian also stood up, glaring at him.
            “Calm down, Sir Markas,” Jonathan said nervously, “I didn’t think Archeos was a real god.  Just some crackpot cult that had faded from existence.”
            “Well, I can see your confusion as there was a rather dubious cult that worshiped Archeos,” Markas said, “But Archeos is real and as far as anyone knows, the oldest god.  Though a matter of theological debate, there are many who believe that he is the Elder God responsible for creating the world.”
            “And the Archeons are said to be artifacts created at the beginning of the world,” Emily continued, “Hence the name.”
            “Did you tell Darklore any of this?” Ian asked.
            “Most of it he already knew,” Ivan said, “But I did confirm his suspicions that Emily is indeed an Adori.”
            “What!  Don’t you realize that you’ve sealed her fate!” Ian yelled jumping up.
            “No,” Ivan replied calmly, “Darklore did not even need to come to me to find out such information.  There are other, quicker methods.”
            “Then why did he bother coming here?”
            “I thought it was rather obvious.  How did you know to come here?” Ivan asked.
            Emily’s face fell.
            “He told us where he was going,” Emily said, “And we followed.”
            “Wait,” Markas said, “You mean he wants us to follow him?”
            “But why?” Jonathan asked.
            “Because it will be easier if I go to him than if he tries to come after me,” Emily said.
            “That’s insane,” Ian said.
            “We followed him here, didn’t we?” Emily asked.
            “Yes,” Markas said, “But now that we know what he wants, we wouldn’t be so foolish as to keep playing his game.”
            “But if he has an Archeon, which he most likely does,” Ivan said, “You will need to chase him to get it.”
            Ian glanced at Emily and said, “Well, we can chase him down while Emily stays here.”
            “I’m afraid that will not work.  Just as Emily can unleash the full power of an Archeon, she is the only one of you who can destroy it.”
            “Well, once we find it, we can bring it back here,” Ian replied, “Then Emily can destroy it.”
            “No,” Emily said, standing up, “I’m coming with you.”
            “You can’t,” Ian said, “It would be too dangerous.”
            “And it will be too dangerous for you if I don’t go.  The only reason he didn’t kill us all back at Brue was because of me.  If you show up without me, he will kill you all, as you will no longer be useful to him.”
            “So you suggest we just hand you over to him instead?” Ian asked, jumping to his feet.
            “No,” Emily said, “But if we want to get close enough to get the Archeon, I have to come.”
            “This is insane,” Ian said, glancing over at Markas, “We can’t let her put herself in such danger.”
            “He’s right Emily,” Markas said, “It’s too much of a risk.  None of us could ask you to do it.”
            “I would gladly stay behind to help protect you Miss Emily,” Jonathan interjected.
            “That won’t be necessary,” Emily said, “Because I’m coming.”
            “Emily,” Markas sighed, “We’ve been through this.  We can’t ask you to put yourself in such danger.”
            “You’re not asking me too.  I’m volunteering myself.  And if you don’t take me with you, I’ll go on my own.”
            Ian shook his head, “Emily, I appreciate that you want to help but getting yourself killed isn’t going to help anyone.”
            “He won’t kill me,” Emily said, “He needs me alive.”
            Ivan cleared his throat, “Emily will either accompany you or she will go on her own.  I will not attempt to keep her here.”
            Emily cocked an eyebrow and smiled at Markas and Ian.  Ian sighed exasperatedly and looked at Markas.  He then turned to Ivan.
            “How can you let her do this?  You could keep her safe here.”
            “I could, but this is Emily’s choice to make, not mine.  After all, I had hoped to hide her among the scholars in Carsonia.  I gave her a letter of introduction and instructed her to go straight to the university but she apparently became a little sidetracked.”
Emily grinned sheepishly.
“She is welcome to stay if she chooses,” Ivan said, “But I know her fairly well and can reasonably guess what her choice is.”
            “I choose to go,” Emily said.
            “I suppose we better take her with us, though I don’t think we can guarantee her safety either,” Markas said.
            “So do you want to go get yourself killed now or can we at least wait until tomorrow?” Ian said acidly.
            “I do not believe that the matter is that imperative,” Ivan said, “I’m sure Greta has put forth her best effort for dinner and you’ve all earned at least one night in a good bed after all the rushing around you’ve been doing.”

The rain came in torrents from the stone grey sky as they set off the next morning.  Markas watched as Emily hugged Ivan and Greta good bye.  Part of him desperately wanted to make her stay here, to insure that she was safe.  He wasn’t sure what it was about this peculiar red-headed girl, but in the short time he’d known he’d become rather fond of her, like the younger sister he never had.
            And whatever Ivan said, it still seemed very foolish to play Darklore’s game this way.  He couldn’t see what could be gained by giving Darklore exactly what he wanted, especially if it meant sacrificing Emily.  And he could tell the Ian agreed with him.  Though he hadn’t said a word all morning, the scowl on his face let everyone around know that he wasn’t pleased with the situation at all.
            Emily mounted her horse and turned to wave one last time at Ivan and Greta.
            “Send word home often!” Greta called out.
            “I will,” Emily called back.
            They set off down the small forest trail on their way to Argenault.  After much discussion the night before, the consensus had been that the capital city seemed the logical place to go.  Markas had to report to Sir Tiberius and Ivan had sent his own missive for the Order of the Shining Light.  Markas suspected that this was Ivan’s way of supporting Markas.  Emily had wanted to go to Decadris, Jonathan thought it might be best to stay at the tower until they get wind of what Darklore was up to, and Ian, oddly, seemed to have no opinion and just said he would go wherever they wanted, then stormed off.
            An hour into their journey, Markas was cringing thinking about the oiling he was going to have give his armor after being out in the rain for so long.  Ian, Emily, and Jonathan were all hunched over, cloaks pulled over their heads.  Emily sneezed loudly.
            “Gods bless you,” Ian said.
            “And you were worried about Darklore,” Emily smiled, at Ian, “At this rate, we’ll all catch our deaths from the rain.”
            “No, we’ll drown in it before then,” Ian replied.
            Emily sneezed again.
            “We should have waited this out at the tower,” Jonathan whined.
            “I don’t believe we have the luxury of waiting,” Markas said, glancing at Emily, “Right now, we have the one thing that might let us stop Darklore.”
            Emily sneezed once more.
            “Oh, this is ridiculous!  My cloak is already soaked through,” she said.  She reached into her pouch, pulled out a small piece of glass in her hands, and chanted some strange words.  When she opened her hands, a burst of sparkles flew out, hovered over everyone for second, and then formed a clear dome over each of them.
            “Brilliant!” Jonathan exclaimed, “Emily you certainly know how to take care of a man, don’t you?”
            Emily blushed, “Well, it’s not that impressive.  Rain bubbles are pretty common in Carsonia, aren’t they?”
            “True,” Markas said, “But unless you can cast it yourself, the charm is expensive and only temporary.”
            “Don’t worry,” Emily said, “I can use my magic to keep these up as long as we need them.”
            “That won’t tax you too much?” Ian asked.
            “It shouldn’t,” Emily said, “And if does, I’ll dismiss them.”
            They continued on, the rain pounding down.  Markas watched as the drops stuck the bubble forcefully and then dribbled down the dome.  It was if the rain was angry at Emily’s domes and was trying unsuccessfully to break through them.  Suddenly, a red rain drop hit the dome.  Then another and another.  Soon, they were surrounded in the crimson mist of the downpour..
            “What’s going on?” Emily gasped, “Is that?”
            Ian reached a hand out under the dome, let some rain fall on it, and then smelled it.
            “Yes, it’s blood.”
            Suddenly, a hard, shrill laughter echoed in the woods around them.  The horses stopped and Markas halted Kirin.
            “Ah, I thought you might never get here,” Darklore’s voice rang through the woods.   Suddenly, he stood on the path in front of him.  The domes above them burst and the rain stopped immediately, thought the sky remained grey and cloudy.
            Ian’s hand went to the grip of his sword and Markas reached for his lance.
            “Please gentlemen,” Darklore smiled, “You’d already be dead if I wanted it so.  I’m just here for a friendly chat.”
            “So that’s why you rained blood down on us?” Ian asked.
            “I like to make an entrance,” Darklore said, “Especially when there is a lady to impress.”
            “I’m not impressed,” Emily said.
            Darklore smiled, “Well, I won’t give up, so easily fair Emily.  I intend to woo you with everything I have.  I daresay that if I had a heart, you would have captured it Emily.”
            “What do you want?” Markas asked.
            “Oh, I want many things, knight,” Darklore sneered, “Many things that you would probably find distasteful.  But for now, I only wish to inquire about Emily’s destination.”
            “Like we’d tell you,” Ian said through clenched teeth.
            “I assumed as much.  After all, when you are in competition for a fair maiden’s heart, you don’t assist your rivals,” Darklore smiled mockingly.
            “What in the Void are you talking about?” Ian asked.
            “Please, I’m sure you’ve all been telling yourselves that you are following Emily around for some noble reason,” Darklore taunted, “But I’m so familiar with how mortals work.  You all desire her on some level.”
            “You’re insane,” Markas exclaimed.
            “Many have said that to me,” Darklore said, “However, I’m still around and they are not.  Anyways, I have other matters to attend to, so Emily, if you will be so kind as to tell me your destination?”
            Emily paused for a second.  She then smiled a very forced smile and said, “Argenault.”
            “Most excellent,” Darklore said, “It just so happens that my next business is taking me there as well!”
            “What kind of business?” Emily asked, almost sweetly.
            “Well, an associate of mine is having a bit of problem with King Rathbyrn.  So, I’m on my way to see if I can use my power of persuasion to change the king’s mind.”
            “Like anyone would let you within a mile of the king!” Markas exclaimed.
            “Oh, I don’t think a personal audience will be necessary,” Darklore replied calmly, “Though I’m sure if I wanted to, I could be in Rathbyrn’s personal chambers right now.”
            “If you think any of us are just going to stand by and let you harm the king,” Ian began, but Darklore cut him off.
            “I’m not concerned with anything any of you do,” Darklore said, “But I’m afraid I’ve wasted too much time with you.  My dear, Emily, until we meet again.  Tel’me atene yedone.”
            And Darklore was gone.
            The rain returned, but it was only a light drizzle.
            “Emily, what did he say to you?” Markas asked.
            “It’s elvish,” Emily said, “My love, think of me.”
            “How could you tell him where we are going?” Ian asked, exasperated.
            “I told him because I knew if we were going somewhere he didn’t want us, he would tell us where he would want us to go.”
            “So, he wants us to go to Argenault?” Jonathan asked.
            “Definitely,” Markas said, “And more importantly, Emily got him to tell us what his next move is.  If he’s planning to attack the king somehow, it’s ever more urgent we get to Argenault to warn him.”

*****

            They continued on well after nightfall, when it was agreed that they needed to stop to let the horses rest.  Emily impressed them all with a small cottage she summoned for them to spend the night in, out of the rain.  It wasn’t very large, but contained two bunk beds on the inside, a small table, and a small fireplace.
            “Why didn’t you use this spell when we traveling to Brue?” Ian asked.
            “I didn’t know it then,” Emily replied, as she pulled a candle out her bag and lit it with a magical blue flame, “It’s one of the spells I looked up before we left.  Thought it might be useful.”
            “Most definitely,” Jonathan said, as he plopped down onto one of the bunks.
            “Well, let’s not get too used to it,” Markas said, as he began to remove his armor, “I want to get up as early as possible so we can make good time to Argenault.  I wish I knew what he was planning.”
            “He said something about wanting to change the King’s mind,” Emily said thoughtfully, then a look recognition spread across her face, “Marta…”      
            “What about Marta?” Ian asked, as he took a sip from his flask.
            “Not Marta herself, but something she said,” Emily said, thinking hard, “That everyone important in her village started acting strange, as if they were in a trance…or being mind controlled!”
            “Mind controlled?  Can Darklore do that?” Markas asked.
            “Not easily,” Emily said, as she started pulling books out of one her saddlebags, “It’s dark magic to be sure and we know he’s not above that.  But, well, the strength of the soul is very powerful.  The magic required to suppress it is phenomenal.  Darklore’s definitely powerful enough to do it to one person, but Marta made it sound like several people in the village were under his control.  Combine that with all the other magic he was performing and he should have seemed more exhausted than he was.”
            “Then how?  An archeon?” Ian asked.
            “Maybe,” Emily said thoughtfully, staring at the pile of books in front of her, “But I’m thinking it might a more mundane magical object.  Still, I’ve never read about one that could control more than one person at a time.”
            Emily started paging through one of the books, shut it, and picked up another.
            She sighed, “These are all useless.  I brought spellbooks really, not research tomes.  Even if I had access to the tower, it’d take forever to search without knowing what type of object to look for.  I didn’t see Darklore wearing any talismans or carrying a staff, so we might be able to eliminate those….”
            Emily paused, “He came to Marta’s village as a fortuneteller, with a crystal ball!”
            Emily reached into her bag, pulled out a piece of parchment, quill, and ink and began to scribble furiously.  She flung open the door to the cottage and whistled.  Soaring out of the blackness, TiTi flew towards the cottage and landed on Emily’s arm.
            “Listen, this is very important,” Emily said, as she attached the parchment to TiTi’s leg, “Make sure Uncle Ivan gets this.  And bring his reply back as fast as you can.  Understand?”
            TiTi cawed and then flew off into the inky blackness.  Emily turned around to Markas and Ian’s quizzical expressions.
            “I sent a note to Uncle Ivan to look up mind control orbs.  Hopefully, if we know more about it, we can stop Darklore,” Emily said.
            “We may already be too late,” Ian said.
            A silence fell across the room as Ian, Emily, and Markas looked at each other.
“The King is well protected,” Markas said, “Hopefully, well enough that it will even take Darklore some time to get to him.  We’ll need to report this to Sir Tiberius right away.”
            “Well,” Emily said, “How about  I make some dinner and then we all get a good night’s rest, so we can set off early tomorrow.”