Fantasy

Prologue

               

         The sun was setting in the west, a fiery orange ball casting long savage tendrils into the darkening red hued sky.  A lone figure stood above a large crater, his shadow casting a pall over the barren land below.  A black cowl covered the man’s head so that his features were indiscernible, and his long flowing robes rustled in the stiff, chilly breeze.  He leaned heavily on a large wooden staff and even though a hood covered his face, his demeanor was that of abject sorrow and grief.  It was as if the weight of the world pressed upon his shoulders, and his back bent with this heavy burden.

         Around him in all directions, lay the signs of utter destruction and desolation and a frigid, shrill wind blew over this barren land throwing dirt into the air, causing it to stir about in miniature tornadoes.  A huge crater, dark and foreboding, stretched out before him as far as the eye could see, a testament to some terrible tragedy.  The ground was an angry, charred black and no traces of color could be seen anywhere across the obliterated landscape.  It was a land of death, a land of the dead and the spirits of the dead sung their songs of vengeance and retribution into the swiftly moving wind.

The melodies attacked the heart of the man and caused his soul to cry out in pain for this place, this empty land, existed because of him.  The desolation was homage to his selfishness, the destruction a witness to his failures and his mind longed to turn back the hands of time to day when the ground was not blackened and charred but green and vibrant.

Back to a time when a wondrous city rose from the valley floor with crystal towers that seemed to stretch to the face of the Gods themselves and then beyond.  Back to a time where laughter echoed against the hills, and the sounds of children playing rang in the air instead of the sound of the incessant wind howling over the barren land.

         It was a distant time, a time long gone, and no amount of power or prayer would ever bring it back.  Even the Gods could not mend this ragged scar and the shame he felt seemed insignificant to the destruction that lay around him.  There was only one service he could now perform, one last rite, and with a heavy heart, he went about the task.

         This was not only a land of the dead it was a prison of the dead.  The souls whose lives had been so tragically lost were imprisoned here in the bowels of the crater trapped by their own will and refusal to accept their fate.  They were waiting to be set free, to realize that their duty to life had ended and that they could now escape to a land of no memory or pain.  It was his duty to do this and though duty was something that had never mattered much before, it mattered now.

         He stretched out his staff and instantly a blue light erupted from the point and began to spread out over the length of the crater.  Almost immediately, a white wisp, seemingly of no consequence, began to drift up from the bottom of the crater as if being called by a long lost friend.  The phantoms gathered around this blue light stretching now nearly the entire length of the crater and began gyrating in a dance of chaos.  Both friend and foe joined this dance becoming indistinguishable in the glare of radiance that illuminated the once darkened land.

         The Magician, for that is who he surely was, closed his eyes and raised the point of his staff to the sky above.  Instantly, the clouds parted as if by a giant hand and a rift opened into an old world never seen by the living.  The phantoms ceased their dance of chaos and floated effortlessly up into the awaiting rift as if being called by an unheard voice. 

One by one, the spirits of the dead escaped their prison of their own will and joined the greater energy of life itself where they would cease to be many and become one.  They rose higher and higher into the great isle of the land of the dead and the great Light, the creator of All, greeted each and took them into his realm.

         The Magician opened his eyes for he felt the presence of the ones he had truly come to release.  They were standing in front of him, their faces barely discernable, their bodies lacking cohesion.  As they solidified, he stared into their faces and saw the accusation in the eyes of his wife and the sorrow in the eyes of his son.  They knew his terrible secret and they reaffirmed his guilt and shame. 

No longer able to contain the pain that gushed like a torrent from his soul, the man collapsed to the ground, sobs choking from his throat.  He felt as if his heart would burst from the guilt and regret, and more then anything else, he wanted to embrace these phantoms and beg for their mercy.

          But there were no words he could say to these spirits.  There was no apology he could utter and no atonement he could give that would make right what he had done.  They were mere memories and thus no longer able to give absolution.  In the silence, his crimes were echoed, an unspoken indictment communicated to him with eyes of sorrow.

         The two memories stood there for only a moment longer then they too disappeared never to be seen again but thought they had departed, the specter of their accusations still remained.

         The Magician struggled to his feet and stared back into the crater that was now truly dead.  All of the spirits were at rest and their pain was no more for only the living felt pain.  There would be no more work to do today, tomorrow, or ever again. The age of the magicians had come to an end for he was the last of his kind.  He would disappear into the world and no one would see or hear of him again.  Isolation would be his punishment and loneliness would be his atonement for this was the only absolution he could offer.

         His work done, the Mage turned to leave.  He looked back at the land of his youth one last time and swore to those he could not hear him, that he would never absolve himself of their deaths.  No matter how many years passed, he would never let go of this guilt.  It was his to bear for all time, a weight he would carry to the end of his days. 

         In a voice choked with tears, he yelled this oath but now only the wind heard his words and it did not answer back nor did it seem to care.

II.

         Time passed and the days became months and the months became years and the years piled up until finally a century or two had passed.  Such things as time matter little to a magician with true power and the Magician, whose name was Merrick, lived quietly in self-imposed exile atop a mountain, secluded from the rest of the world.

         Below him lay the kingdoms of the world, each built by men for the glory of a few who claimed power by birthright.  They quibbled and warred and kingdoms rose and fell and all of this mattered little to the magician who no longer cared for the cares of others. 

But two kingdoms were beginning a saga that would resolutely bring the recluse out of his solitude and into a world in which he no longer belonged.  They were the Princedom of Do’llon, which was ruled by the House of George, and the Princedom Ailkerat, which was ruled by the House Karlen.          

         These two Princedoms were a part of the larger Kingdom of Bateer, a loose configuration of seven lands that stretched from the Sea of Gragor to the Mountains of the Jesolrac. Each Princedoms was ruled by their Prince who in turned swore allegiance to one king who ruled the entire kingdom.

         For now, the Prince of the House of Monewae ruled the Kingdom of Bateer but when he died his son would not inherit the throne as was customary in other lands. 

The rulers of each kingdom had decided this in age out of memory for once long ago; chaos ruled the land instead of kings.  Each house waged unbridled war against each other and houses fell only to rise again to take power.  No king was safe, no kingdom secure, and each ruler feared the coming of the next day for it may well be his last.  The heads of kings sat atop pikes more then they rested on the shoulders men.

         Such chaos can last only so long, and in one lucid moment, the kings of all seven lands came together and decided on a novel way to end the wars.  Each house would rule the Kingdom for only one generation.  No house could ever gain supremacy for each knew that with the passing of their king, another from another house would take his place and retribution would be swift in coming.

         Each prince swore an oath to the king and each prince swore to obey and protect the Kingdom with armies and supplies. 

         In theory, the wars between Princedoms would end and peace would reign since now a king controlled all seven lands and no two lands would dare wage war for fear of retribution from the other five. 

In theory, it was sound plan, but the king had no real power.  His army consisted of only a few thousand men donated by each Princedom and these men were more apt then not to take arms for their prince over their regent. 

         The wars never ended but their frequency decreased, and in time, it became much more profitable to trade then to war.  Great wealth poured into the coffers of each Prince and all but one of the Princedoms became rich beyond dream. 

The one that did not share in the wealth was the Princedom of Ailkerat, a small land at the foot of the Jesolrac Mountains.  The land here was too rocky to grow abundant crops, and though large hills surrounded the entire Princedom, there were no precious metals lying under the dirt waiting for discovery. Envy seized the hearts of the Princes of Ailkerat and it festered inside of them eating away at them until nothing was left but a cold, barren husk.

         In stark contrast, the Princedom of Do’llon was one of the wealthiest in the Kingdom.  They had found gold and silver in the hills, and the land was rich and fertile and with each harvest, there was always a surplus.  Great wealth poured into the Princedom’s coffers and it rulers reveled in the majesty and power that wealth gave them.

         These two realms sat against each other their boundaries set since time out of memory and they lived peaceably as the centuries passed.  But now a dark cloud had settled over the land of the Ailkerat and a pestilence had taken the mind of their young prince and had turned him to hatred. 

This Prince now sat on his throne and looked out onto the rest of the world with unbridled want.  It would all become his and all would pay homage to him.  For too long, he and his kingdom had nothing but now fate had intervened and the wheels of destiny were pointing to him and his family.  His first conquest would be the land of Do’llon and he would take the Princedom by the sword and leave the House of George with no heirs.           

         It was this pestilence, this whisper in the dark that would take the magician from disinterested on onlooker to active participant.

         But for now, Merrick sat in his den his beard flecked with gray and his eyes dimmed by time and sorrow.  Loneliness had taken a terrible toll and the magician had lost the luster of his youth and now appeared broken and abused.  He spoke to no one and no one, or so he thought, knew of him and only the memories of his crimes kept him company. 

         They whispered in the dark his terrible secrets and they laughed as he withered like a dying flower at the power of their words. “Murderer,” they whispered, “betrayer of all you loved” and though anger clouded their words, they still held truth, an undeniable truth.  The conscience of the betrayer was the worse of companions, and daily it tortured him leaving nothing left but a broken husk that waited for sweet death.  If one were to tell him that all was not lost, he would laugh at them scornfully and curse them away, but fate was not done with him and his role in the doings of man, were far from over.





Chapter 1

Introduction to Night

         

          Prince Calvin of Do’llon knew that this would be his last day.  He sat atop a horse on a hill and stared down onto a valley where his sons stood with his army.  Across from them lay the army of the Ailkerat, a fierce some lot of mercenaries and cutthroats who had come to lay siege to his land. 

They had twice his number and all of them were trained in the art of killing and warring.  The elderly Prince’s army was more farmers and peasants then true fighting men, and he cursed himself for his negligence in allowing his army to become so. 

         He had petitioned the King to send the Kingdom’s army but had gotten no response.  The once insignificant Princedom of Ailkerat now had an army numbering in the tens of thousands and great fear had gripped the other Houses.  They all waited to see the outcome of the battle before they involved themselves, hoping that the Princedom of Do’llon could weaken the army of the Ailkerat just enough to give them the advantage.  It was despicable and he cursed each House for their treachery. 

         There had been no war since time out of memory and he and his fathers before him had become lax and lazy and had not wanted to pay to have a standing army.  It had become much more important to grow the treasury then to grow the army.  But now a mad Prince from land no larger than one of his grand estates was laying siege to his kingdom and he so few skilled warriors to fight him.

         He sighed and let go of his regret for it would do him no good now.  If today was his last, then he would greet it with courage and honor and would take his rightful seat next to that of his fathers in the Hall of the Brave.  All men must die and no man can decide when but few blessed men could decide how. 

         A trumpet roared through the hills and the elderly Prince saw his diminutive army march forward their lances down their faces determined.  He felt tears sting his eyes as he saw how bravely these farmers and peasant carried themselves into what must be certain death.  They held their heads high and their backs were straight, and no man gave any signs of turning to flee.  These were his people and he loved them to a man.           

         He drew his sword and spurred his horse forward.  If their blood was to flow, then his would flow with them.  If this was to be his last day, he would die with a sword in his hand not setting on hill while his brave subjects died below. 

         As the Prince charged down the hillside, his bodyguards watched and marveled at his courage.  Here was a man of seventy years and he showed no fear and this bravery drove them to join him in the fight.  They raised their swords high and their voices screamed in defiance of death and joined their ruler on the field of battle.

           The only one left on the hill now was the Prince’s youngest son Allen, a boy of only eighteen years.  He was certainly old enough to fight but his hand was malformed and he could not hold both a shield and sword at the same time. Of course he could fight on foot, but for a royal to fight on the ground was demeaning and a dishonor to his House and he still would not have been able to hold both a sword and a shield.

         So, he sat on his mount, a gray mare more suited for plowing then riding, and he brooded as his father and brothers waged a holy war against the mongrels from the North.  He watched as his kingdom fought bravely and nobly attacking the enemy with utter disregard and it seemed they were actually beginning to get the upper hand when black horse with black robed rider rode slowly forward into the melee.  A hood covered his face hiding his features hiding his face from view but even still, there was something sinister about this man as if a dark shadow followed wherever he went.

         It was a strange sight, this rider, for it seemed that the war did not touch him.  A path seemed to open in front of and around him and he rode unharmed into the midst of clashing steal and flowing blood.

         He dismounted and Allen saw him take a large staff from his saddle and place it firmly into the ground.  In a voice that carried to the heavens and beyond, he uttered a single word and the pace of the war instantly changed.

         “Taapazzobeal.”

         It gibberish a word seemingly of no meaning but as soon as he spoke it, his staff began to glow fiery red.  Then the land began to shake and dark clouds billowed up into the sky above, and thunder rumbled with unbent ferocity.  In only a moment, the land opened up and a large rift formed cutting into the bowels of hell itself.  An acrid odor of death and decay wafted into the air and the rank odor of thousand tombs opened all at once hit the men on the field causing to wretch in disgust.

         All men on the field of battle were now silent and still.  All eyes were wide and all mouths were agape with fear and wonder.  A shriek not of this world erupted from the crevice and all could feel that this was something evil, something unworldly and unholy.           

         As if to confirm their thoughts, a thing of hell with jowls of fire and eyes of the inferno leapt from the chasm into the world of man.  It unfurled its giant wings and raised its lizard head, and roared in glee reveling in its newfound freedom.  Droplets of lava dripped languidly off its fangs assaulting the ground with fire and turning it black and charred and everything the beast touched withered and died.

         It was beast of the past when the world had been savage and light did not exist.  It was a thing whose time had long since past but which was now allowed to return from the world of the dead and evil to the world of light, the world of man.

         In supplication, it came to the man in black and bowed its vile head in reverence.  In a voice of the grave, it spoke.

         “What is your command my master.  Why have you summoned me from the land of darkness?  It is not yet our time.”          

         The man laughed a terrible laugh, a laugh of no humor, a laugh of cruelty and degradations.

         “Kill the warriors of Do‘llon.  Kill them until I command you to stop.  Revel in their deaths and bathe in their blood.  Do it now for your time is nigh.”

         The beast roared again and all the men on the field fell to the ground their eyes wide with fear, their hands shaking in outright terror.

         Prince Calvin heard the words and saw the monster but his mind would not accept what his eyes were telling him.  This could not be.  Monsters and magic did not exist in the world of the enlightened but here and now stood proof otherwise.  Here and now stood the end of the war, the end of his land, and the end of his life for there was simply no way anyone could fight such a thing as this. 

         The beast headed his master’s command and began his savage attack on Prince Calvin’s men.  With unbridled rage, the monster ripped through men and beast killing any man wearing the colors of the Do‘llon.  In its talon hand, the monster held a great sword of fire that it wielded with wanton disregard severing the bodies of men and beast alike in an inferno of death and merciless rage.  The screams of the dying rose up in the air until it echoed in the heavens, a cacophony of pain and terror.  By the thousands, the men of Do’llon died and Prince Calvin’s army was diminishing into nothingness.

         Calvin surveyed the situation and realized that there was only one option left to him.  The Prince grabbed his bugler and ordered the terrified man to sound the horn of retreat.  The only chance they had was to escape into the safety of the walls of the castle and the hope walls of stone could withstand the fires of hell.  It was a feeble chance but it was the only one they had, and Calvin clung to it.

         The horn, however, was unneeded for each man was already fleeing to the castle tossing their weapons aside as they went, forgetting all discipline in their want to survive.  The Calvary trampled over the men of the infantry and brothers knocked each other aside wanting nothing more than to escape certain death.  Swords and bows were useless against the beast from hell for what good were weapons against such a monster as this. 

         As they fled, the man in black placed his staff into the ground once again and uttered the word ‘Taapazzobeal.’

         The monster stopped and anger exploded in its eyes but still it was unable to resist the power of the command.  It turned and slithered back to the feet of the man who had summoned it and bowed its head once more and awaited its orders. 

         “Go back to where you belong you monster of hell.  Go back to the land of no light, the land of no hope.  Go back and live out your sentence.”

         The beast roared in anger not wanting to return to a land where it could not kill and could not feel the joy of the slaughter.  This land was ripe with life to destroy and the beast existed to destroy all that lived.

         “Go back and I may call you again, stay and I will destroy,” the man in black warned.

         It could not disobey and it went back into the pit with a roar of indignation and anger.

         Another man on a jet black horse wearing a crown and donned in a gaudy armor of gems and gold trimmings rode up to the magician.  Throwing his helmet to the ground, he confronted him.          

         “What the devil are you doing Maelore?  We had them beat and you call off your little pet.  Release him again and let’s finish these bastards of Do‘llon.  I want to see the blood of their princes flowing across the ground.”

         Prince Karlen was a young man full of himself and his own prestige.  He had dreamed of being a great emperor or perhaps of even being worshiped as a God but had thought this only a dream, a near impossibility.  He was the lord of a small Princedom with little gold and very little of anything else of value.  The only thing Ailkerat had in plenty, were stones that littered the ground and made planting a near impossibility.  Barely a winter passed, without hundred dying of starvation from lack of a bountiful harvest. 

          They were the dregs of the great Kingdom of Bateer, and they had never counted much to the grand kingdom.  Nothing could change their station for they had no means of escaping the land that destiny and ill fortune had place them in.  A land of fewer promises did not exist and Karlen cursed his birthright for placing him as lord of such useless place.  If it were possible, he would rescind the throne and go, and live in exile in some place where no one knew his name or former station for such was his shame.

         But, nothing could compare to the dishonor when his house had been passed over in line of kings. It was time for his family to take the crown and Karlen and his father dreamed of all that they would do when Karlen took the throne, but once again, fate had been cruel to the House of Ailkerat. 

         The Congress of Princes had passed Karlen over with no explanation or apology and he could do nothing but sit there feeling shame at such a disgrace as the other Princes smirked behind their hands.  He was helpless prince on a useless throne and all knew that he would not offer a word of protestation and he hated it, hated it with a passion.

         This was his station until a strange magician had entered his land and had filled his head with ideas of conquest.  At first, the Prince had thought him absurd for his army barley numbered a thousand and his men lacked training, and perhaps more importantly, they lacked the basic armaments to win a battle. What chance would they have against the well-oiled machines of the Princedoms?  They would utterly destroy them and the other princes would carve up his land like greedy hyena at feast.

         But, this magician had power that both astounded and terrified the Prince.  With a word he could make man fall to the ground writhing in pain and with a look he could bend the will of the obstinate to his point of view, but more importantly then all of this, he could conger gold from worthless metal. 

         It was a gift often talked about in the lore of the land but until Karlen had seen it happen, he believed it only a story to amuse children and awe the simple minded.  He thought this until the Magician Maelore had taken rusted scraps of shields and with mere words spoken in a strange tongue, had turned them to gold.

         With his power and his ability go conger gold from the air, the small Princedom of Ailkerat had been able to hire mercenaries from all over the land.  These were men of low repute who did not fight for a flag but rather for gold, but with Maelore’s help, gold was something that Princedom now had in abundance.

         And so, the vagabond Prince had marshaled an army and had marched on the Princedom of Do’llon to take the land of the rich and plenty and make it his own.  It was the first step in grand plan and soon all the lands of the Kingdom would bow to him.  He would no longer be a worthless Prince from a worthless land but instead all would hail as emperor and all the Houses would serve him.

         But now that the first victory of the larger campaign was within his grasp, the Magician had called off the attack and the battle was left unwon.

         “I said call him back and let’s finish this thing,” Karlen roared, his nostrils flaring, his eyes wide with anger.

         The magician sighed, and turned and faced the young Prince. 

         “Your highness, if I call back, Taapazzobeal, it will be to destroy you and your men not the men of Do‘llon.  Do not order me you witless fool.  I do not serve you and you would do well to remember that.”

         Karlen’s face blanched and he backed up dropping the fiery gaze of the magician.  It would not to due to anger such a powerful man as this.  No, it was much better to wait until the right time and then he would show him who served whom.  A well-placed arrow to the back and the magician would not order him again, but now was not the right time.  There was still too much to do and Karlen had still not won his glory.

         “As you wish Lord Magician,” he stammered.  “I am merely flushed with the thrill of battle.  I meant no disrespect.”

         “You are flushed with your own self.  Do not let it happen again your highness.  Remember, all that you hope to be is dependent upon my goodwill.  Cross me again and I will disappear like a wisp of smoke and then you will see how long your gold will last.  Your army will abandon you faster than rats scurrying from a sinking ship. 

         Now, do as I command. Take your men and surround the castle.  I must leave for a little while and while I am gone, you will do nothing. You and your men will not fire one volley at the walls and will not make one charge at the gate.  You will sit there like good little boys and wait for my orders.  I hope I am making myself clear to you.”

         Karlen stared at the staff of Magician with both fear and want flaming in his eyes and bowed his head in acquiescence. 

         The magician smiled though again there was only malice in his eyes.

         “Good, when I return you will shortly have the head of Prince Calvin decorating the walls of your new castle. Until that time, do as I command and do not dare cross me.”

         The threat was obvious and Karlen felt fear grip his heart.  The Magician was not a man he could dare to disrespect.

         In a blink, the Magician disappeared and Karlen stood alone staring at nothing with both fear and resentment burning in his eyes.  Who was this magician and where did his power come from?  Was he a benefactor or was he merely using Karlen to further his own interest?  Why had he chosen his Princedom to help when there were so many others much more suited for conquest?  There were too many questions but one thing was certain, he did not trust this practitioner of the arts, his goals were not the same as his. 

         He grabbed his captains and ordered the castles surrounded for his men to make camp.  He would follow Maelore direction for now.  For now, it would not do to lose his benefactor.  For now, all must remain as it was, but only for now.  Soon, the time would come and he would set all things right.

         “Tell your men to prepare for a long siege.  Tell them they will be paid for their patience, but tell them no one and I mean no one is to move on the castle.  You must control the mercenaries.”

         The captain looked disappointed for the promise of loot was too tempting to resist but he saluted and left to carry out his Prince’s strange orders. 

         This war was going to last longer than Karlen hoped and curse the magician for it.  He spurred his horse forward wondering just what the magician was up to now and wondered not for the first time, if the magician was friend or foe.  His worries would do him no good for he had thrown his lot in with the devil and he would continue on with him no matter how hellish the journey became.

II.

         King Calvin stood in the midst of chaos as his people rushed in all directions frantic to get into the security of the castle walls.  The army of the Ailkerat had not pursued or harried the retreating soldiers and the demon that had raised the monster from the depths was nowhere in sight. This was a blessing for his soldiers were scattered everywhere and the gates of the castle were wide open as if inviting the invaders in.  If the enemy wanted too, he could probably storm the castle and take it in only a matter of hours. 

         Somehow, he had to restore order in the melee and get garrison up to the walls to prepare for the coming attack and someone had to secure the damn gate before the whole of Ailkerat army flooded in.  Gods, where were his sons?

         He grabbed a passing sergeant and ordered him to regroup his troops and the Prince shouted above the chaos for someone to close the gates.  The fate of those left beyond the gates was dour but Calvin could do nothing about this for he had to secure his castle. Calvin whispered a silent prayer for them. 

         In a matter of minutes, the sergeant had gathered troops and positioned them as best they could to defend the castle.  Soon, other Captains began to grab running soldiers and ordered them to their positions and finally the castle’s defenses were as ready as they could possibly be.

         The Prince stared at the walls and marveled at how few his army now numbered.  Where once ten thousand had stood, now a mere five thousand stood and these men were wide eyed and waited for eventuality of death.  The beast from hell had done its job well and the chances of victory were slim.  If and when Karlen stormed the gates, it would be over and the blood of the people of Do’llon would stain the ground for years to come.

         There was always a chance another Princedom would intercede but this was a slim chance for most Princes did not feel it was their business to interfere in the doings of their neighbors.  In all likelihood, the realm of Do’llon was all alone and whatever fate awaited it was its to face alone

         When order had somewhat been restored, the Prince realized how tired he was, more tired then had ever been in his entire life.  To think, victory had been so close, so close, until that beast of hell had appeared at the bidding of the strange man in black.  Who was that man and why was he helping the enemy of the Do’llon was a question that would soon need answered.

         Question upon question ran through his head but one above all others plagued him. Where were his sons?  Since he had entered the gates of castle half carried by his bodyguards, he had not seen them, and as each minute passed, he was beginning to fear that death had found his sons.  It was indeed a tragedy for a father to outlive his sons.

         “Father, I had given you up for dead”

         Calvin turned and saw Elbert standing in front of him his armor bloody but his body whole.

         They embraced and relished for only a moment in the joy of finding each other alive and they smiled happy smiles but soon, the pressing needs of situation pressed back onto them and each man’s joy vanished.  Calvin regarded his son, his face a portrait of sorrow.  His family had ruled Do’llon for a thousand years and now it seemed he would be the last of line to do so.  There would be no continuation of his rule and a tyrant would sit on the throne of fathers.

         “Have you seen Allen or Thomas,” he asked in a tired voice.  “Allen was on the hill with me.  He should have been there first into the castle but the boy is so dense that it’s possible he still out there on that hill.  I have not seen Thomas since the battle began. 

          “Allen is fine father.  He’s in the castle with Constance.  Thomas is hiding, probably thinking that the walls will soon fall and that he will die.  I have not seen him nor do I care too.  We have more important things to worry about like what we are to do with army surrounding our city and what are we to do about that damned magician?  With one word, he could bring the walls of this castle crashing down into the mud.  I tell you we simply can’t fight this type of war against such an enemy as he.  We have lost over half our men and the ones left, are still stunned with fear.  It will not take much to bring us down.”

         Elbert voice was high with fear and Calvin would be lying if he said he did not feel the same trepidation, but now was not the time for fear and he swallowed it and considered the situation.  Two of his sons lived and this was a blessing for if his eldest had been cut down, then today would not have been a total loss. 

         Thomas was the eldest son and thus the heir to the throne.  He was also a constant complainer and a habitual worrier.  His heart was filled with his own want of glory and he cared nothing for his people or their well-being.  Elbert was one year younger and though he lacked Thomas’s polish, he had his father’s bravery and his Father’s sense of honor.  He was the favored son and Calvin often wished that Elbert had been born first and thus heir to his throne.

         Calvin sighed and straightened his back, and stared at his son dead in the eyes.  He spoke in a voice that decried his age and he spoke in defiance.  “We will fight them until the last man falls and then we will cross back over the river of the dead and fight them as ghost.  I will not lay down my sword until the Gods take it from me and send me to the land of no memory.  These bastards will not have our land as long as I live.”

         Elbert nodded his head in agreement and smiled back at his father.  He would have answered the same way.

         Both men turned to sound of hoof beats on stone and saw Thomas riding toward them his sword drawn but his armor and blade free of the blood of men. 

         “Father, brother, I thank the Gods for your safety,” he stammered in a voice full of fear and panic.  “I have just returned from the field of battle barely escaping with my life.  Father, we are in a sorry lot.  We cannot hold these walls for long.  I fear our deaths are at hand.”

         The Prince eyed his eldest son with unhidden contempt in his eye.  It was obvious Thomas had not raised his sword to defend what was destined to be his.  He had coward in the shadows like a terrified boy instead of facing his enemy as a man of honor would do.  It was the nature of Thomas and it was something he could not change, but this was a worry for later.  Now he had to see to his kingdom.  Ignoring his eldest son, he gave his orders.

         “Come my sons, let’s get out of this mess and meet in the Council Room.  We have much to discuss.  Elbert, gather what lords and captains you can find. Tell them to bring their best ideas for we must come up with some way to get out of this mess. Thomas, inspect the garrison on the walls and make sure they are properly proportioned and supplied.  Calm the men and get them into some sort of order.”

         Calvin turned to leave when he heard his eldest son snorted contemptuously.  The boy was about to put his foot in his mouth once again.

         “That is the job for a lowly captain not a Prince in Waiting.  I will gather the Lords, let Elbert see to the walls.”

         Prince Calvin face turned a fiery red and he grabbed his son by his helmet and lifted him so that their noses were touching. 

         “You will do as I command or I will throw you over the walls to the enemy below,” he shouted in rage.  “Now, go and do not test me again.”

         Thomas pushed away from his father anger etched on his face and galloped off to carry out his orders.  Elbert said nothing but the anger in his eyes matched his father’s ire. 

         “I will see you in the council room father.  Please, go and have a servant fetch you a drink, you do not look well.”

         The Prince smiled and the anger in his eyes vanished.  This was his true son, all that was good in him lived in Elbert and he was thankful that Gods had not cursed him with just Allen and Thomas.

         “My old bones will hold a while longer but a drink does sound.  Gather the nobles and our captains and we will share a drink together.  We must think of a way out of this mess. Gods know I do not see how, but we must try.”

Elbert saluted and left and the Calvin stood alone staring at his meager forces with his mind running rampant.

As rode to his palace, his mind pondered the situation he was now in.  A ruler had to have bravery and honor in the face of an adversary, but most all, leader had to have hope and determination.  Hope to keep his subjects morale and determination to have hope when all others have sunk into despair.  But now Calvin, who to all was a great ruler, could not find much to be hopeful for.

  Thomas was right, the walls would not hold and there weren’t enough men to hold back the onslaught that was soon to come.  In days or perhaps hours, every man, woman and child in the Princedom would be dead or a slave.  He knew where his head would be and he rubbed his neck already feeling the bite of the axe on his skin.

         What would be would be, but for now, he had to do everything in his power to protect his people.  Perhaps just perhaps if they held out long enough and if an archer could get a clean shot of that damnable magician, they could hold back the army of the Ailkerat.  In its long history the walls of Do'llon had never been breached by an enemy and so just maybe they could still win.  With an ember of hope burning in his heart, the Prince of Do’llon went into his great hall looking for a drink.

III.          

         Allen, the youngest Prince of Do’llon, sat with his sister in her chamber staring out the window at the army that was surrounding his home.  He was a small boy and his size coupled with his deformity had forced him to withdraw into the world of books and scrolls.  The intellects of the Princedom marveled at the breadth of his knowledge and the passion of his want to learn.  Books were his escape for it was the one and only area that he could out do his brothers. 

But, books were a poor substitute, for what he wanted most was to grab a weapon and stand beside his father and fight like his brothers had fought.  He wanted his father to look at him the way he looked at Thomas and Elbert, with respect and pride.  Instead, he looked at him with both a look of pity and disgust as if he felt both sorry and embarrassed for his son.

         He knew his father wondered how such a thing as he could come from a highborn.  It was a great burden to Allen to know that his father wished he had never been born and it was a great burden to know that if he died today, his father would probably sigh with relief.  Many times, it was a great burden just to be alive.

         Constance had no such plight for many thought that she was the most beautiful woman in the entire Kingdom of Bateer, perhaps even the world. For years, suitors had come to whisk her away but none had captured her heart and none had won her over.  She, like Elbert, was very much like her father, and held her honor above all things, even love. 

What bothered Constance the most was that her father would not allow her to don a weapon and defend her home. She was as capable as anyone, but the backwards thinking of the day prohibited woman from joining in such things as swordplay.  It was despicable and she hated the world for it.

         In many ways, her brother and she were alike.  Both Allen and Constance desperately wanted to have their father’s respect and both of them hated the roles fate had woven for them. It was because of this, that brother and sister had become very close and it would be no surprise to anyone to find them together in this time of turmoil.

          Constance broke the silence, her voice soft and melodious but her words tinged with fear.  Her life before now had been so perfect with each day filled with servants and free time and she could not come to terms with the fact that an army was right outside her window waiting to destroy her and her family.  It all seemed too fantastic to be real.

         “Allen, what do you think is going to happen,” she asked in a quiet voice.  “Do you think we can hold them back?” 

         From her window, the Army of the Ailkerat looked invincible in size and Allen was unsure of how to answer his sister.  Being a boy of only eighteen years, he answered clumsily and without thought. 

         “I don’t know sis.  The last time we were in the mess was during the reign of Prince Besull and that was over to five hundred years ago.”

         “What happened then,” Constance asked again her voice barely above a whisper.

         Allen smiled but it was not a smile of joy, it was more of a wince.

         “I believe they held out for over a year and then when the food ran out, they began to eat each other.  Besull, thinking that as Prince he should get the best of the food, ate over a hundred people before his own subjects threw him over the walls to the enemy below. 

         The Historian Datus wrote that the people opened the gates and welcomed the invading army in with open arms and great cheer.  It was only when the invaders started butchering them that they realized their mistake.  I tell you sis, a besiegement is not the greatest of things to have to endure.”

         “You sure know how to make a girl feel good,” Constance snorted her face turning ashen white. 

         She paused for a minute and gnawed on her lower lip her agitation evident.  There was something she had to say but she wasn’t sure how to say it.  The world was a cruel place and she was just beginning to understand just how nasty fate could be. 

         “Do you see the magician out there Allen,” she said absently.  “I wonder what he will do now.”

         There was a tinge of awe and fear in her voice and Allen knew his sister wanted desperately for him to assure her that their situation was not as hopeless as it seemed.  Though he now understood this, Allen could see no reason to lie to his sister for what would be would be and so there was no use living in a fantasy world.

         “I don’t know but I tell you this, if he wants the walls to come down they’ll come down.  I never saw anyone with that kind of power.  You should have seen the beast he conjured.  My God sis it defied imagination.”

         Allen realized too late that he was doing a very poor job in consoling his sister.  He had just told her that more than likely she was going get killed or worse.  It was rare indeed for an invading hoard to treat a woman of Constance's beauty with anything but lewdness.          

         “Look sis, Dad will know what to do,” he said deciding that perhaps that a little bit of hope wouldn’t hurt.  “We can’t give up hope just yet.  Okay, let’s just see what happens.”

         Constance turned away and was silent for a moment.  When she turned, her face was solemn but her eyes were fierce.

         “Promise me that if they breach the walls you won’t let them take me, Promise me that you’ll get a sword and kill me.  I would not ask this of you if I could do it myself but I cannot.  You know what happens to your soul if you send to the other lands with your own hands. Please promise me this.”

         Allen faced blanched and his mouth dropped opened with stunned disbelief.  This was the last thing he had expected her to say and he could scarcely believe that his sister was actually asking him to kill her.

         “Sis, I can’t do this,” he stammered.  “My Gods you’re my sister.  I can’t even fathom taking your life.  Don’t ask this of me.” 

         “Who else am I to ask?  Thomas and Elbert would laugh at me and Father would lock me in the tower.  I don’t want some smelly man to ravage me.  I don’t want to be some man’s plaything.  I don't want to live only to amuse some filthy, inbred bastard. This would not be life; it would be a never-ending hell.  If you love me as you say, then do this courtesy for me and save me from this hellish nightmare of a life.”

         Allen closed his eyes and wanted more than anything else, to be back in the library reading a tome with no worries in the world.  He wanted to put his feet up on a stool and sit by a roaring fire and read a book while the day dwindled away outside.

There was relief in books for in books he could go to fantastic worlds where he could soar with eagles or crusade with knights.  There the troubles of real life wouldn’t find him and there he could be the man he wished so fervently to be and there he would not have answer his sister’s terrible request.  Bu though he wished this, there was no escaping reality and Allen closed his eyes and steeled himself against his raging emotions.

         “I promise you sis that if I’m able I will do you this service, but I tell you this; I will decide when all hope is lost not you.  We can hold out at least a month if that damn magicians stays out of it.  Then and only then will I keep my promise.”

         He got up and left the room not waiting to hear her response.  He did not want her to see the tears streaking down his face.