The First Quarter

The First Quarter.



Chapter one; a brief Introduction





The year was 272; the sun was still giving life to a steadily growing world. The buds of human lifestyle were beginning to blossom, with the creation of settlement and farming, though life still relied on the Beings of Magic. The Beings of Magic were born into the world as if scattered and hidden. Sometimes a Magic Being could be born into a family that had never shown magical ability and other times there would be stories of long intricate webbings of relations that had the Gift.

    The Four Quarter’s which once had been nothing but a verdant endless plain sometimes interspersed with small deserts, lakes or forests, were beginning to become tainted with the evils that come with human nature; Hunting, war…death.



Herschel pondered what he was about to do with all these things in mind. The dark, finality of the night cloaked him as the deer native of the First Quarter frolicked casually through the nearby thicket, paying him no mind.  Human nature, instinct…his brown eyes scoped the landscape that lay before him, not unlike the deer that alarmingly paused and stared. It bolted as a clash of metal rang out through the once silent night. She had already started, strange…but no, it did not matter, it would not affect the fate he would give her. Not in the slightest.



With a sudden graceful and soundless movement he bounded effortlessly down towards the source of the noise. His elbow length, blonde-white hair, fanned out behind him as he ran, bare footed. In what seemed like only seconds, Herschel found himself outside a house that stood solitary in a large copse. The house was not dark as was expected during the night, but rather a downstairs light; a flickering yellow highlighted the slender silhouette of a woman.



He had been studying this woman; she sickened him. She was skilled with weapons, any weapons in fact; blade, blunt, marksman. Fancied herself as some sort of War Goddess, he didn’t really care for war, that didn’t concern him. He had one mission in life…and after tonight he would be one step closer to fulfilling that mission.



Directing his eyes away from her, he looked for a point of entry. The door would be locked, windows may well be too. Wait. What is she doing? Herschel smiled a cruel smile; she was coming to him. Opening the door she walked out of her house and looked around, conscious of the weight of the falchion that she was clutching. Lowering to his haunches, he carefully moved around so as to catch her unawares. With his soundless movement and cloak of darkness he pounced and disarmed her quickly, holding her by the throat.

“Dear, oh dear,” His voice was cruel, but soft, almost a whisper. “Morrigan, we are in trouble.” He squeezed her hand, so that the sword fell to the floor with a dampened clatter.

What surprised him most was that she wasn’t fighting, why wasn’t she fighting? He pulled and pushed her to the floor where he held her with an arm and a leg. With relish he withdrew a small knife and laid it with slight force against her neck. She wasn’t even sobbing. Women, in his mind were weak, ready to put physical abuse and torture onto the mind and body of any man they pleased. He lowered to her level and pushed the knife in a little deeper.

“How can you – how could you? “ He asked his voice filled with a ringing rage, which was reflected in a mere whisper.

“Are you talking to me? Or your mother?” Morrigan asked, choking slightly against the force.

Shocked, he almost released her, but recovered quickly, so she knew did she? Oh well, she still deserved to die, she was female. So with a strong hand he drove the blade into her neck and sliced, relishing in the blood that splattered across his face.





Chapter two – welcome home.



Marcello, smiled as the first sights of his village came into view. Home at last. He tucked a blonde tuft of hair behind his ear in relief and smiled.



As he walked through the familiar streets, the sounds and smells that he had got used to came back to him and washed over him with a calm warmness. He had been at Herculean, helping them rebuild houses.



Marcello was one of the Beings of Magic and had been training all his life. There had never been exact schools of magic, not really, but always a Master of Magic that trained the Beings for two months each year. Usually there were only about four Master’s to each quarter and these had to travel between the six main settlements in each quarter.  There wasn’t a lot of time for them to teach, but thankfully the classes were very small, usually consisting of about ten people. Marcello had been named as one of the most talented and his rank was Samurai Knight. It was a rank that was usually found in the East, but one that he had fought to pursue.



The quant houses he passed held people that were poor, many could not even feed their family, but they waved and put a brave face on it. They all knew that Marcello had done much for the poor sector in which they had to live, while the king lived in splendour along with his beloved aristocrats.



The King in which they whispered was named Abhey; a fat man that spent his money on comforts that purely satisfied his own cruel soul. This would not necessarily be a problem if the man had no others in which to concern him, but he did, not only that of the villagers in which he ruled but also that of his own flesh and blood; His daughter; a young flower, a true princess, with dark eyes and black hair named Brianna. She was such a woman that floated on air rather than walked, both with her mirth filled life, dew drop eyes and Marcello loved her. This was out of place, inappropriate, but the love had unconditionally grown as he grew up with her. He was an orphan and Abhey had taken him under his wing. This was one thing that Marcello had to thank him for, but could not push the thought that it was a drunken agreement or the selfish thought that a magic boy under his roof would do nothing but benefit him.



She was one thing that he could not wait to see. They were not exclusively together rather she did not know of his feelings toward her. In a way he somewhat hoped she didn’t and would never know. It was a weakness, a horrible weakness.



Marcello lived within this poor district; lived as they did. It wasn’t because he took pity on them but rather that they were nicer people than the aristocrats that he used to have to deal with when he lived within Abhey’s castle. He pushed his front door forward with an effort; it always got stuck. His living room was just as he had left it, covered in mess, though he did find a new addition; a small enveloped note. Swooping down he picked it up, turned it over and discarded it on the small coffee table that stood in his living room. Whatever it was could wait until he had had a bath he thought retrieving the bucket from the corner and beginning to fill his bath from the outside pump.

    The purple hero ranked robes that he wore were off colour with dirt, while the sode that protected his shoulders, was encrusted with mud and dug into him painfully. The kusazuri meanwhile was also not its usual colour or texture either.  His yellow sash that told the residents of the Four Quarters that he was a Samurai Knight was also turning slightly brown. Stripping off quickly he relished in the warmth that the water gave him, ruffling dirt out of his sandy blonde hair.



  It wasn’t until about half an hour later when he had finished his bath and dressed in his overlarge emerald shirt and black trousers that he remembered the note. Now feeling a bit more relaxed and refreshed he recognised the writing that adorned the parchment. This note was from Jase. Jase was a friend; no more than a brother. They had known each other for as long as Marcello could remember. Sighing with a smile Marcello wondered what it was that Jase wanted.

To his surprise however, all the parchment held was five or so words; ‘Meet me outside the castle 11pm’



Checking his watch he slowly rose from his seat on the floor and fastened his katana around his waist. What a peculiar time, eleven PM was, he thought as he shut the front door behind him. Everything was black, the houses dark and everything seemed still except, it wasn’t; there was a strange, eerie sense of movement in the shadows. Though, Marcello wasn’t scared, he knew this village like the back of his hand.



Soon the dark spires of the palace that once stood proud in the middle of the elegant Village of the Lupus loomed in front of him. They would be imposing, he supposed if it wasn’t for the fact that he had lived within them. Had once sat at the top of each and every tower and just watched everybody go through their lives, while his stood still in pain, but then that wasn’t a topic for now.

He loved the architecture that blossomed in this castle. There were eight spires in all, each and every one reaching up as if to reach heaven. It was said that they were meant to be graves; tributes to every king and queen that had ruled in the Village. This was so in that their faces were carved into the towers respectfully. Brianna’s grandfather now graced one of those towers watching over them all.



Many of the villager’s wished that he still did own the throne. He had been a kind and gentle man. In his rule there had been no poor sector, no slums. No one was exactly equal, they all had their money differences but, he had made a person feel as if money, appearance, was not something that was vital for survival. Marcello wished he could have lived under his rule. Instead he had to live under that of Abhey, an obnoxious man that cared not for those who could barely make ends meet. In fact Abhey felt that the poor were as they are because they could not be bothered to be much else; a dim-witted and ignorant view, that Marcello had never seen in any other part of the Four Quarters.  He stared up at the spires at where he believed, Tuan, now looked upon his once great Village. As the spires represented royal deaths that had occurred within the city the great archways that marked the palace’s entrance represented life. The original architect had carved nature into the archway, from budding plants, water, to wildlife, fish, quadrupeds, birds and the animal that represented their village; the wolf.

    Marcello noticed his friend outside this archway, looking impatient as was his want. Jase was an amazing man, he was one of the first people to master both black and white magic, but he was certainly the youngest. At just twenty-two he could wield the elements but also cure the many diseases and abnormalities that came from life. He wasn’t dressed in his hero regalia, but if he was he would be wearing both white sash for the white mage and the blue sash for the black mage along with the customary purple robes. His grey eyes seemed to reflect the fate that he had achieved a mixture of the black and white magic’s that could be learnt, but these were often hidden behind fairly long strands of brown hair. He was physically perfect, with sharp square features and a cool gaze that was framed by a soft, warm colouring that occupied his cheeks, though the only ‘imperfection’ was a long thin scar that ran from the bridge of his nose to his jaw bone in a lengthy sweeping line.

“Hey,” Marcello half whispered, half shouted to Jase.

Jase merely half waved and walked forward to meet him.

“What’s going on why did you want me to meet you?”

Jase didn’t answer for a minute, but then answered his question softly.

“A baby was born with the Sight this morning.”

“How do you know?”

“I had to deliver it.”

“Ah.”

“The white mages here have left.” He said “It sounds selfish but I am swamped. I can’t cure everyone.”

“They’ve left?”

Jase nodded. “I don’t blame them. People came to them every day with new diseases because of the abhorrent conditions in which the poor have to live. They have tried complaining, but well you know what he’s like,” Jase said gesturing upwards at the castle. “He just ignored them every time.”

Marcello looked downwards not really knowing what to say.

“A baby with the Sight? Is that bad?” He asked eventually.

“It will need a lot of attention. It is a Magical Being, a very special Magical Being, it will require a lot of feeding, a lot of attention that the parent may not have.” Jase answered.

“Will it have visions straight away then?”

“On the contrary, many babies born with the Sight start off blind.” Jase explained.

“So what are we doing here?”

“Making a friendly protest.” Jase said forming magic in his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait!” Marcello said recognising him forming fire.

“No, go away, men like Abhey only respond to violence!”

“Yes, but by throwing you in prison or stringing you by the neck!” Marcello said grabbing Jase at the wrists, trying to wrench them apart,

“No-Marcello-ow!”

“Um…Marcello?” A soft silvery voice asked from behind the two friend’s struggle.

Marcello looked behind him with dread.

“Brianna, hello.” Marcello rushed as he turned around.

“What are you doing here so late?” She asked. Her tone was light and not completely void of accusatory implication.

“Uh…well, um”

Marcello was interrupted in his failing communication by Jase.

“Do you realise that I had to deliver a baby this morning because all the white mages have left the village?”

“Yes I was faintly aware of that.” Brianna said crossing her arms across her chest. “But you are deciding to vandalise my home like a child because of this?” 

“What else can I do?” Jase said a vein in his temple becoming more pronounced.

“Go home and let me handle it.”

“Thank you, Brianna we’ll do just that.” Marcello said before Jase could once again open his mouth.

Hesitantly Jase walked alongside Marcello back into the poorer area of the village

“She’ll do something about it.” Marcello assured Jase as they got to the point where they had to go their opposite ways.

“Hmm…hope so.” Jase muttered as he walked away thoughtfully.

‘Must have had a bad day’ Marcello thought as he went to bed. Jase was never usually that reactionary but he supposed that Jase had been driven rather close to the edge. The people of the Village of the Lupis were always in need of something, as they were always left wanting by their ‘king’.

‘Oh well life goes on.’ Marcello thought.



Chapter three – Princess to Damsel.



Marcello awoke the next morning naturally, after a long strangely tranquil sleep. This day would be good. He had some down time, where nothing needed to be done.



Though, Marcello had found that when a day started out this good, everything had to go horribly terribly wrong, or at least he would find it out, especially as a resounding heavy knock battered his front door. He didn’t even need to get up to answer it however as the door was blown forward by the bluster of a short sword.



The next thing that graced his vision was the gentle fluttering of red cloth before he was viciously pulled upwards from his rest. He knew who these people were; guards; but why were they here and for him? While a man twice Marcello’s size held him fast the other men took to tearing his small living space apart. Marcello, on the other hand had nought to say. What could he say? There was nothing that he had to hide, but he didn’t know what it was they were looking for.

“There’s nothing here, sir.” One guard addressed the guard that was holding Marcello.

The big man did not falter his hold on Marcello while he began to speak to him and this started to infuriate him.

“Excuse me,” He said his voice rising before he could stop it. “But what exactly were you hoping to find?”

“I do not have the permission to talk to you.” The guard said in monotone.

“What? Don’t have permission? So you have permission to search my house?”

“This isn’t a house, sir,” Another guard answered. “It’s a hovel.”

To this many of the guards sniggered and the large man that was holding him roughly pushed and pulled him through his own front door, or at least, what was left of it.



The people that had seen the men enter Marcello’s house now, gathered around it hoping to know what was going on, what was happening to the man that had done nothing but fight to look after them. They saw him held, restrained, and their eyes all went to the floor. No one would fight for him they didn’t have the strength. Besides they would loose what little things they had.

“Go about your business.” The guard shouted.

The people didn’t need to be told twice, but they did hope with all their might that the person that had been protecting them wasn’t really a criminal, that the guard had got it wrong.



Marcello was taken on the longest, most shameful walk through the village that he had ever had to endure. He knew where they were heading; the palace. What had he done now? The king had never gone this far before, not so far as to physically hurt him to make an example of him.



The king himself, once they had got to him, was staring distantly out of a window. He did not even pay much attention to him as the guards deposited Marcello on a nearby chair and announced him.

“I have kept you in this house, when no one else would; when you were alone and orphaned.” The king said distantly “and you have abused that.”

“What? I haven’t done anything you and your guards –”

“SILENCE! Just listen…” The king interrupted. “You have abused that…have stolen something precious from me.”

“Stolen?”

“You have taken my daughter.”

“WHAT!?”

“You don’t need to pretend to be outraged Marcello. It is common knowledge that you have been infatuated with her for a long time. You have obviously snapped and taken her. I will give you two options, either you go and get her, bring her back here. I shall give you an escort or you die. Simple, right?”

Marcello was lost in unfamiliar waters. What on earth was he on about? Why would he kidnap Brianna? Who had?

“Yes, no, I suppose, but –”

“Good so what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll go get her.” He said feeling supremely dejected.

“Good boy.” The King said patronisingly. “Oh and so you are aware just how serious my threat is…Irilo?”

A tall man entered the room. Marcello guessed that he was probably in his mid-thirties, dressed in all white, though Marcello had never seen him before. Irilo slowly raised his left arm upwards and suddenly Marcello found himself face to face with the barrel of a gun.

“Whoa what’s your problem?!” He said getting up quickly, but Irilo had already taken aim and had shot him in the shoulder.  Marcello felt the bullet tear through the muscle just under his collar bone, where blood poured out warm, tainting his shirt with a dark patch of wetness. The pain was bad, almost unbearable, but oddly manageable. He knew that really all he had to do was meet with Jase; he would sort the wound out.

“You will, no doubt take Jase with you, but you definitely will take Oughtnal. If you kill him, I’ll kill you anyway.” The king had retaken his place at the window staring outward indistinctly. “You can leave. Oh and Marcello, I have spies everywhere so don’t try anything. Oughtnal will find you at the encampment in the forest.”

He was more of less thrown out of King Abhey’s castle. Marcello began to realise that right now, he needed to be quick, he needed to get to some sort of medic. Reluctantly he put a hand around his wound and squeezed, attempting to stop the bleeding. Fortunately he didn’t have to go far as Jase ran towards him and supported him to the ground.

“Illy told me that guards had come for you, what happened?” He asked ripping Marcello’s shirt away from his injury.

“Brianna has gone missing.” Marcello said wincing.

“What?”

“The King seems to think that she was kidnapped; that I kidnapped her.”

“But that’s ridiculous.”

Marcello nodded. “Yep”

“Well then, what, he tried to kill you?”

“No this was a sort of warning shot I guess. I have been told to go get her.”

“But you have no idea where she is.”

“Even if I wasn’t being accused of this crime I would want to find her, Jase.”

“I know, but-”

“Are you coming or not?” He asked testing his newly healed shoulder.

“Of course!” Jase said feeling slightly affronted as he ran to catch up with Marcello.



He had never seen Marcello this way before. With his shoulders held back and pulled up to his full height; he was aggressive looking and possessed a certain sort of dictatorial power without saying or doing anything.

“Where do you want to meet?”

Marcello turned towards his friends’ voice. His face was set and harsh while his response was almost mechanical.

“The encampment in the forest.”



Abruptly, Marcello found himself in his home alone. The once halfway tidy place in which he lived was now a shambles. He supposed though that perhaps now he would not have to go searching through draws for countless little items that he may need on his journey.  His robes were dry enough to wear so he busied himself putting them on, trying his hardest to push the new development of his life as far away as possible. He had no idea who could possibly have brought themselves to kidnap Brianna and Jase was right he had no idea where they could have taken her either. What a mess.



The bag that Marcello usually used hung empty and useless on the back of a nearby chair. It was a heavy leather thing that held all he ever needed and was equipped with more pockets and compartments than he knew what to do with. Satisfyingly he kicked and shoved fallen objects out the way as he packed his bag with the necessary equipment that would ensure that he would stay alive for at least a month without stopping at any settlements.



He’d been hard on Jase, well he was upset. His weakness had finally caught up with him and it had stung him. Jase would forgive him, he understood; he always did.

‘Well better get going’ He thought. 



The encampment in the forest had been placed there in Brianna’s grandfather’s reign. There had been a war in his time. Nobody had seen it coming but that didn’t stop the onslaught of the almost otherworldly men that had burnt the village to the ground. They had never really recovered at least the poorer class hadn’t, while Herculean still was steadily recovering, with Marcello’s help, when he had time to give.



Now, about twenty five years later the encampment was practically unrecognisable amongst the delicate shades of green and the bright shafts of light that lazily crept through the gaps of the forest canopy. Jase was sat cross-legged by the black stain of soot and ash that had acted as a campfire all those years ago.

“Hey” Marcello muttered, trying to smile but failing.

“Ready to leave then?” Jase asked turning towards Marcello just in time to catch his smile break.

“No we need to wait for the king’s escort Oughtnal.”

“Oh he ordered you to get her.”

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t make that very clear, did I?”          

Jase merely shrugged



Marcello walked over slowly and sat next to Jase staring toward the long since burnt out fire.

“What are you going to do after you find her?” Jase asked carefully.

“How do you mean?”

“You can’t think of her as a weakness really.” Jase said “You love her”

Marcello avoided Jase’s gaze. It wasn’t that he thought less of Brianna, it was just well, he didn’t know. Brianna and his feelings for her were confusing, straying confining and yet he still found himself going to help the person that unintentionally trapped him. He was beginning to think it was a futile attempt trying to resist her.

“Not exactly, I mean I don’t think she’s any weaker than I am or anything”

“That not what I meant and you know it.” 



Oughtnal took his time getting to the two boys. He knew they were both in Hero rank and therefore he had no idea why he had to go along. If they wanted to kill him they would and could. He didn’t even want to go as their escort, he didn’t agree with what the king had said. There was absolutely no proof that Marcello had taken Brianna.

He emerged through the trees to find them chatting grimly around the old campfire, outfitted in weapons. Eyeing Marcello’s sword particularly he announced himself and smiled. His gaze was met with aggression and then confusion.

“You’re Oughtnal?” Marcello asked.

Oughtnal nodded.

“What’s your…profession?”

Oughtnal frowned

“He means what do you fight with?” Jase asked

“Oh I fight with a Valdris.”  Oughtnal said brightly withdrawing the strangest weapon Marcello had ever seen.

It had a handle that fitted into Oughtnal’s hand perfectly, while blades jutted out of the handle at each end of the long cylindrical-base. 

“I have only seen a few people wield those.” Jase said peering over Marcello’s shoulder. “They are very close combat, usually used by the light and speedy.”

“Yes,” Oughtnal confirmed “and are now the default weapons of the king’s guard.”

“Since when?”

“It is very new.” Oughtnal admitted. “Abhey has been very paranoid that he is being watched; that someone is planning an attempt on his life. So he has been obsessively collecting the fastest and most agile boys in the village to become his guard so they can get to him quickly.”

“You know” Marcello said wrapping an arm around Oughtnal’s shoulders. “I thought you were going to be a pain in my side,”

Oughtnal looked uncomfortable in Marcello’s grasp, but didn’t fight it.

“Well you just need to know that I still have to do my job”

He let go of Oughtnal. “Shall we get going then?”



Chapter four – Hershel’s current mark.



Herschel had been riding for days. He was tired, hungry and fed up of the new load that was laid against the back of his horse. Even though he was so exhausted he drove the horse on further, it would probably die soon he had not stopped to feed it in days, but he needed to get as far away from that village as possible. Its king was enough of a nut job to drive him mad let alone his insistence on sending several men with weapons after him. How bothersome.



No, he couldn’t stand it any longer he had to stop. Pulling sharply on the horse’s reigns he settled the horse within a large thicket. Unloading his new passenger he laid the young woman on the floor in the cool blades of grass.



Attaching a feed bag around the horse’s muzzle he stared over at the unconscious woman. Oh how he longed to kill her. Her long black hair carefully hid her face, shiny and soft it held her peach complexion in a gentle embrace. He sat down beside her and swept it back. Such beauty was incarcerated in her tender features and what a petite neck sloping into the soft bones of her shoulders. His hand almost fitted all the way around that calm fragile neck. Yes, he tested his theory, almost, with a sense of possession his fingers began to tighten around her neck, squeezing harder and harder. Stop, he mustn’t. If he killed her now what royal leverage did he have for later? Yes, it was best to leave her as she was for now.



A smile stretched across Herschel’s immaculate elfin face. This would be fun.



Chapter five – Jocose; city of ‘joy’



After borrowing horses from the king’s stables, they set out in their journey. Marcello really didn’t have any idea where Brianna could be. In all his twenty-three years he had never faced a challenge even remotely close to the complexity of this one.



The only real option that he had was to search every city systematically, or at least ask the monarch/governor of each city. There would have to be leads somewhere. Closest to the Village was Jocose so that was the first city on the list in which to check.  The only problem was that Jocose was a dictatorship. It’s leader usually had guards outside the city shooting ‘trespassers’ if anyone dared get closer than twenty feet to any wall of the small urbanised area. Somehow they would have to prove that they were friendly and in need of seeing the ruler of the city.



Jase had an idea as the city became a visible speck on the horizon. As the three young men got to the thirty feet mark of the outside of the city they could see the guards clutching their small but powerful guns.  Expectantly they drew back the triggers, making Marcello shudder; he had already been shot in the past week, he had no desire to do it again. 

“Okay.” Jase said dismounting his horse and preparing himself.

Marcello watched as Jase moved his hands. It was almost like he was dancing in the air in front of him with just his hands. The movement was fluid, his wrists giving the illusion that his hands were spinning slowly in their sockets. It amazed him, as Jase’s hand movements crafted a white dove in front of his eyes. It was perfect down to every detail, except that the dove consisted of contained waves.

Jase whispered into the doves’ water-feathers, and then allowed the bird to fly away towards the guards.



Faintly Marcello could hear the bird issue a voice similar to that of Jase, though it was an octave deeper. He caught a few words of the bird’s utterances; Jase had told it to convince the guards that the small party meant no harm. At least that was as far as Marcello could understand from the few words he could catch.

The guards, themselves, however looked very sceptical about the bird. In a way Marcello could hardly blame them. Jocose was a place that was ruled by brawn, magic and intelligence was something they were rarely exposed to in their small enclosed section of land.  A few minutes passed and as Marcello watched a man that was twice the size of the other men that stood guard around Jocose’s entrance appeared and addressed the small water dove. It was starting to fade, but managed to repeat its words. The man turned towards the small party as the dove completely faded from sight. He nodded and gestured towards their gates. Each of the guards lowered their guns to their sides so as to show that they were not to be harmed. Knowing this the party slowly approached, quickening their pace as they were assured of the fact that they would not be shot.



“Sirs” The large man said as they come close to him. “I’m General Kaiser. As I understand it you are here to determine where your kidnapped princess has gone?”

“Well,” Marcello began “We are just after any information that could help us”

“Yes, rest assured that we are in no way blaming you or your noble country” Oughtnal put in.

The guard raised an eyebrow. “Yes well, do not be too offended when I say that I personally will be escorting you at all times, you do not leave my side. I will take you to Dictator Onan and will be present during your meeting with him.”

Marcello nodded civilly “We have nothing to hide”



*** 



Onan’s residence was unlike anything that Marcello had ever seen. One thing that differed from his norm was that it was more of a series of offices and studies all compressed together.  The effect gave a visitor to the residence a sense of coldness, unfeeling numbness.  As they passed each darkened room Marcello peered in expecting to see countless office workers busily scribbling away, but every room appeared empty.

“Excuse me, But why are these rooms vacated?”

“Because they are not needed.” Kaiser muttered as if Marcello was stupid.

“Then why build them?”

“Well if you had a load of power you would get what you wanted, right; Even if there was no sense in your decision to acquire it.”

“But then that’s a waste of manpower and space.” Marcello said “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Nope, why would it?” Kaiser asked “I’m not the one that’s in power”

Marcello frowned deeply.

“That makes no sense. You must have some kind of emotion towards your dictator’s decisions and policies.”

“Nope. I don’t get paid to think.”



“Clearly”



A debonair voice drifted down from a large staircase that Marcello had failed to notice in his close examining of the guard. Marcello raised his head to look up at the source of the voice and found his eyeballs assaulted by the image of a rather bulky man wrapped in all sorts of furs, fine silks and cottons.  His face was a plumy red colour that clashed horribly with the forest greens that coloured his various sheets of clothing. What hair that was left on top of the man’s fat head was thin, wispy and grey, adding to the age that was clearly sculpted by Mother Nature into his face. It was a wonder as to how this man had managed to take over such an able-bodied city, but then maybe the man before them had been years younger when that time had come.



“Sirs, Lord Onan.” The guard bowed towards his leader and offered the small party to him.

Onan made the kind of face that would suggest he had something disgusting and perhaps rather mouldy under his nose.

“Who are you people?” He asked.

“We are Beings of Magic from the Village of the Lupis; we are under the kings direct orders.”

“Ah King Abhey, what a man he is, no respect for the people he rules over.” Onan quickly judged. “What does the old blowhard want exactly?”

“Sir, I mean no disrespect,” Marcello put in quickly. “But I am afraid you do not understand. The king’s daughter has been kidnapped.”

“Brianna?”

“Yes sir.”

“Hmmm”

Onan considered a minute.

“Yes that is rather troubling news.”

Though Marcello loved Brianna and knew that in his mind, in his world, that her disappearance was cause for alarm, he had to wonder why a dictator that lived several hundred miles away was concerned by this intelligence.

“Syaoran?” The dictator called.

Marcello froze, surely he couldn’t mean-?

A small boy around the age of six padded to the side of the dictator and grinned up at him. His hair was an almost blonde, brown that was long enough to tickle the top of his ears. The child’s small body was encased in loose sheets that were not unlike the dictator’s.  Syaoran was an average child, though his pupils were a resplendent purple colour and that was something that was unusual even for the Four Quarters.

“He’s sweet, isn’t he?” The dictator asked fondly.

“Marcello?” Jase whispered towards him.

“Yes lovely.” Marcello replied to Onan rigidly.

With great difficulty Onan sunk down to his knees and addressed the boy.

“Dear, I need your pendant.”

The boy’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry I will buy you a better one.” Onan smiled.

Also smiling the boy took from around his neck a pendant that glowed with a strange illumination that Marcello had never seen before. The pendant itself was shaped like the symbol of the city; a fist holding a great war- hammer.

“This,” the man said finally approaching them. “You will need it. I cannot explain why, nor do I really want to, but rest assured that it will help you, even if it doesn’t seem as such.”



Marcello stared at it as it was passed into his hold. It was a strange, foreign object and that simple fact made him cautious of it. Having said this, however, Marcello felt an unwelcome trust that he had no control over blossom in his chest as he continued to stare.

“Elfish, right?”  Oughtnal interjected.

“Elfish?” Marcello repeated.

As a reply Onan dipped his head. “You should go now. Find the princess.”

“Bye!” Syaoran said brightly.

Marcello grimaced at the boy and waved a hand as Onan ruffled his hair.



As the three left the palace, Jase stopped Marcello.

“Do you want to tell me what that was?”

“What do you mean?”

“That boy; I have never seen you react that way before.”

Marcello stared at him.

“It’s a bit complicated.” He said distantly

Jase scowled at him.

“But-”

“I’ll explain one day, just not now”



***



In actuality Marcello would have to reveal his ties with the small boy a lot sooner than he had thought, especially as on the horizon the small dilapidated town of Herculean swam into view. Though their greeting within Jocose was not entirely friendly they were met in Herculean with hostility.  Riding through the gates of Herculean, they were dragged off of their horses and thrown into a dungeon.



“Oh well at least we get free hospiltality” Marcello said brightly.



The hay strewn cobbled flooring was cold and hard. It seemed to suit a horse rather than humans, though it was not a left open place and was well guarded. There was only one way of seeing the blue sky outside and that was in the form of a very small window that was just about big enough to fit Marcello’s hand through it.  Though it was small, it was big enough to let the joyful gossiping of women at market, the boisterous discussion of men and the playful screams of children echo into the small space.



Time, was slightly abstract within the cell, though not as nonrepresentational as if they had been completely cut off from the world. The three of them recognised for example when it was the end of schooling, by the increased amount of noise of older children. Slowly the day faded into night and the general chatter and bustle faded and died completely.



“Hang on a moment.” Marcello said suddenly. “Do you hear that?”

They all listened.

“I don’t hear anything.” Jase muttered

“Exactly”

Marcello shifted his weight within his seated position.

“Herculean. It’s destitute, remember. There should be the noise of hundreds still at work to rebuild the city.”

Jase opened his mouth to release a suggestion when the heavy grinding of metal reached their ears.

Quickly they all turned to the source of the noise and Marcello rose from the floor expectantly.



A young woman entered the cell. She was quite clearly not a fellow prisoner.

“Queen Verona” Marcello gave a small bow.

Queen Verona was a woman of Twenty-Two years; her small soft features spoke of an unseen gentleness, her lips were crushed velvet that screamed of warmth and her violet eyes sparkled with intelligence. Her chocolate brown hair framed her long face and today, it had been pulled up and elaborately tied atop her head.

She wore a long dress, which clung to her figure by the presence of corseting around her torso while the skirts flowed down past her hips till it reached the floor. The effect of the skirts gave the impression that she was floating or drifting rather than walking, while the patterning that adorned the whole dress was as intricate as her personality.

“Marcello,” She sighed. “I never thought you capable of kidnap.”

“I’m not.” Marcello spluttered, caught off guard.

“Marcello,” She said for the second time. “Follow me. Don’t worry your friends will be fine here.”



Marcello walked down the corridors of the dungeon, following Verona, wondering furiously what had possessed her to turn on him. Eventually he found himself in a lavishly decorated room with her. It was suited for her and designed after her, but for now that was none of his concern.

“Marcello…” She muttered softly. “I don’t know what to say to you. I thought you were better than this.”

“I saw Syaoran.” Marcello burst out suddenly.

“Where!?”

“Jocose, He’s Onan’s now apparently.”

Verona sighed with remorse. “It seems like such a long time ago that we were a family, you, I and him.”

“Well we never were, not really, we weren’t allowed to be.”

“You have to consider that I was sixteen at the time and in control of a country. It would not have worked.”

Silence fell between them.

“Can I just ask one question?” Verona asked quietly