Ama-Gi Society

Chapter One: Dawn at Unepti

It was dawn, and the bright morning sun shone through the window of Velben’s room in the north tower of Unepti Castle. The heat was becoming uncomfortable, but, for his aching muscles, it was somewhat soothing. He was still feeling the effects of yesterday’s fight. That fact, combined with his love of sleep and his reluctance to perform his daily chores, made him want to laze the day away in bed, yet he knew he could not. He was scheduled to see the king today for some reason or another; though what that reason could be he didn’t know. He had never been summoned like this before, and he was only slightly excited about it. He had heard of men who had been called out by the king who ended up in the dungeon or worse. Oh well, thought Velben smugly, I guess I have no choice. Besides, I haven’t done anything worth punishing . . . have I?

“Hey!” a voice made him jump. “Get up, sleepyhead! It’s breakfast time!”

Not again, he thought. Every morning for the past week, the boy had come into Velben’s room at daybreak and woken him up for breakfast, as if Velben couldn’t smell the wonderful aromas of the kitchen from his room. The young lad had been sharing a room with Velben ever since he had arrived the previous week, and he hadn’t ceased being annoying. He was a short boy, barely coming to Velben’s chest, and also a scrawny one. He had ruddy hair and self-proclaimed elven features, though Velben doubted there was any elven in the kid. If there was, the grace and height of that majestic people had disappeared altogether, leaving the lad with only green-tinted eyes, a seemingly delicate skeletal structure, and slightly pointed ears. He also wasn’t blessed with the elves’ long worldview, and accordingly, not their patience. At the moment, he couldn’t stop jumping up and down in excitement.

“C’mon, Velben! Get up!” the boy pleaded.

“Shut up, kid,” Velben muttered sleepily, burying his face in his pillow.

“Hey, my name is Guyll, and I’ll thank you to remember it.”

“Ok, then. Shut up, Guyll.”

“Aww, you’re no fun,” the boy murmured as he walked out. He was most likely ten years old or more, but didn’t act like he had gotten past five. He was prone to pouting, jutting out his lower lip, and making immature jokes. He also had the ability to put on a puppy face that seemed to win the adults over, and therefore, he generally got what he wanted. But, despite his immature mannerisms, Guyll was crafty and often quite clever.

Velben was another story altogether. He was tall, well built, and had a knack for combat that most couldn’t match. Lately, he had been getting into more and more fights and sparring sessions because people wanted him to demonstrate his skills, and also because Velben never hesitated to show off in front of the girls. The grounds masters of Unepti castle, where he had been living for the past fourteen years, continued to give him harsher and harsher warnings, but, as he was a distant relative of the king, he hadn’t been assigned to the gallows or lashed yet.

Unepti was a farming community ruled by Lord Mandamar VIII. The entire establishment held about five hundred citizens, from nobles, to knights, to simple tradesmen and farmers. The cottages and places of business were mostly wattle-and-daub, but some were thatch, or stone in the case of the blacksmith’s. The castle itself wasn’t much to speak of, either, as it was neither large nor pleasing to the eye. It was constructed of rough stone, and the few arrow slits and meager battlements didn’t do much to make it impressive-looking. Still, Velben had lived there for as long as he could remember, and he loved those ugly stone walls with all his heart.

There were four main towers, with a keep that took up most of the room inside the walls, although there was room enough for an orchard, a gatehouse, and a small pond where some of the residents swam or fished. The castle’s drawbridge actually was fairly nice. Made out of thick oak planks, they were bound together by iron bars and raised or lowered using huge steel chains. There was a moat, though usually the drawbridge was down anyway. The twelve flags that hung from the castle’s walls depicted the colors of the countries of the world, as well as Unepti’s own colors: gold and crimson. The only people that weren’t represented by a flag were the Hituthi, the humans of the Glacier to the north, and the many different peoples of Kellsvard Isle, a huge landmass out in the Marbeth Ocean, far to the northeast.

This morning, though, he was too sore to think of things like this. Yesterday he had been in another tussle, this time with a boy named Gary. Velben had won, but not before receiving many a blow from the opposition. His eye was blackened, his arms and legs hurt, and he had a large burn on his back. He still couldn’t believe how he had gotten that last wound. In a last-ditch effort, Gary had picked Velben up off the ground and hurled him through the window of the blacksmith’s shop. He had landed on hot coals, leaving his back scorched. That particular incident had enraged Velben, and, once he got back to his feet, he had grabbed around Gary’s neck and choked him until he passed out.

“Oh well,” he groaned to himself again as he lay there remembering it all. “At least I didn’t have to pay for the whole window.” He had gotten lucky there. Gary had had to pay for most of it, as he was the one who caused it to be broken. Still, Velben’s coin purse was now a little too light for his liking. He had been saving up what little he earned around the grounds, but another incident like that and he’d be out of money.

He stretched, yawned, and finally rose out of bed, wincing a bit as he put his shirt on, the cloth rubbing against his burn. The pain added to his reluctance to move, but the thought of a meal eventually won him over. Still half asleep, he gingerly made his way to the mess hall and pulled a tray off the top of the stack. Each morning was the same in Unepti castle. You’d wake up at dawn, hobble down to the hall, and get in line with a tray. This could sometimes be a long wait, for there were, on occasion, up to two hundred people in there at one time. After the meal, each person who ate was expected to wash his or her tray, though not everyone did. If you weren’t watching, you could end up with a tray that had yesterday’s meal still stuck onto it.

As Velben waited his turn, he spotted a man sitting alone in the far corner of the room. The man looked completely foreign to the castle, wearing a black traveling cloak, hood pulled up to conceal his eyes and face. Velben even thought he could see a sword hilt sticking out from under the folds of the cloak, though he couldn’t quite be sure…

“You want some grub, or not?” the serving man drew Velben’s attention back to food. He muttered, “Yeah,” and when he looked back in the corner a moment later, the strange man was gone, cloak and all. That’s odd, he thought to himself, I’ve never seen a man dressed like that before. I wonder where he disappeared to so fast? The part that was even odder was that none of the other fifty or so people in the mess hall seemed to notice the stranger.

Velben shrugged to himself, too sleepy and sore to contemplate such oddities, meandered over to a table, and sat down. The food wasn’t especially interesting this morning, consisting of spiced porridge and a couple biscuits, but the porridge smelled delicious, so he shoveled it down and was finished before most other people. He was hungry enough to go back for seconds, but he was still wondering about that strange man. Unable to do much about it right then, he decided to head back to his room. As he exited the mess hall, he passed Gary.

“Hey,” the boy got Velben’s attention, “Good fight yesterday.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Velben answered unenthusiastically.

“And I’m sorry about the whole window thing. Next time, though,” Gary said matter-of-factly, “You won’t be so lucky.”

“Luck, was it?” the grounds master Wilfred appeared out of a side passage. He was gaining in years, but had the physique of a young man. He was a respected and feared figure at Unepti, for he was also very strict. “It looked to me like he trounced you.” This remark got gasps of indignation from Gary. “It matters not either way,” said Wilfred in an effort to forestall any argument. “Why don’t you boys just go to your rooms and remain there until first training begins, hmm? We wouldn’t want any more…accidents, now would we?”

The two boys grudgingly nodded in obedience, and each went their own way. Gary’s room was on the east side of the castle, since he wasn’t a person of high stature. Technically, Velben wasn’t either, but the king had been kind enough to allow him the luxury of the north tower, even if he had given him the smallest room. That didn’t bother Velben in the least. It gave him bragging rights that most other boys his age didn’t have. However, with Guyll staying in the north tower as well, Velben almost wished his room was somewhere else. He still didn’t know why the boy was there, but since it wasn’t that important, he hadn’t investigated it very thoroughly.

Just then, he thought of something: since he was already walking around the castle, why not head to the infirmary to get his bandages changed? The doctor who had administered them had told him that the dressings needed daily renewal. So, having decided on a plan of action, he wandered down one of the westward halls as opposed to taking his usual route of going north. As he turned the corner into the infirmary hallway, he could hear a lot of activity coming from the open doorway. He peered inside and saw that there were many people in sick beds. Most were covered in bloodstained bandages, and the nurses and other staff were milling about in a panic.

“What’s going on?” he asked a passing nurse.

The woman stopped, tried to catch her breath for a few seconds, and then said, “These are sick people from the village. They were the first few through the doors, but there were at least fifty more outside trying to get in.”

“Sick people? They look like they’ve been in a battle!” Velben exclaimed, puzzled. “What happened to them?”

“Oh, it’s just awful! It’s a strong fever combined with a wasting disease that eats the flesh off their bones. We’ve been so busy trying to keep them alive that we haven’t had time to announce it! We don’t even know where it came from! I suggest that you leave while you can, lad, and quickly, before it claims you as well!” And with that, the nurse ran off again to attend to an elderly man who had red, sweating skin and was shaking uncontrollably.

Just then, the full horror of the moment struck Velben. The sick men and women had been lying here all morning, and whatever was causing it could have spread throughout the entire castle already. He silently cursed the nurses who had left the infirmary door wide open, aiding the sickness in spreading. All of a sudden, leaving seemed like an incredibly smart idea. However, his conscience wouldn’t let him escape without the other folk of Unepti knowing about it. There were too many people here whom he cared for. He had to tell the king.

He bolted out the door and almost slammed into the wall as he turned the corner into the north hallway. He made a left turn into the Royal Corridor at the far end and skidded to a stop in front of the king’s door. The two guards standing to either side of the portal lowered their halberds in a large X across the door.

“Halt!” one of the guards shouted at him. “State your name and business.”

“My name is Velben Maradash, and I must inform the king of something. It’s urgent!” The words came out in an anxious rush.

“Well, I recognize the name, and you fit the description of the lad the king wished to meet with today,” the second guard said indifferently. “Very well, right this way.”

With that, he turned, opened the door, and guided Velben through with a firm grip on his arm. The room was the grandest Velben had ever seen. The vaulted ceiling was at least a hundred feet high, and the walls were covered with brightly colored tapestries and hangings. The gold-inlaid floor tiles were shaped in the intricate design of a large dragon, and golden statues in the likenesses of the past kings of the country lined the wide columns on either side of the hall. The large flag of Unepti, a golden crown on a field of crimson, hung on the far wall, directly above the dais where the king’s throne rested. The throne was a thing of beauty, also, and it appeared to be pure gold; the armrests were shaped like the heads of dragons. But despite all the fabulous ornamentation, the most majestic figure in the room was the king himself, Mandamar VIII. Dressed in elegant crimson silk, the king was a stunningly handsome man. He sat slightly hunched forward with his right elbow on one of the armrests and his chin resting on his closed fist. His crown was a wonderful work of gold and jewels that amplified his regal bearing greatly. King Mandamar was a well-built man of his mid-forties, and he looked as if he knew how to use the sword resting sheathed against the throne. It was also apparent that he was a very hard and serious man, for the look in his eyes was like ice.

“My Lord!” Velben exclaimed as he hurried into the room.

“Hey!” the guard yelled. “Who do you think you are, boy? Show respect to your lord!”

“No, it’s quite alright, Sir Ovalla,” the king interrupted. “Please don’t get upset. I don’t mind. There are enough who bow and scrape around here.” Sir Ovalla bowed timidly, looking ashamed.

“Sir,” he said curtly as he withdrew to the doorway.

Mandamar looked at Velben for a moment before saying, “Now, how may I assist you, young master Maradash?”

Velben was startled for a moment by the title, but he soon recovered. “I apologize for being so bold, Your Highness, but I have urgent news!”

“And what would that be?”

“There are sick people in the infirmary. The village has been stricken with a wasting disease! I know I’m not your advisor, but I believe the castle should be evacuated before more people get sick as well!” He finished, breathless. The words had come out in a rush.

Mandamar’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “Well, that is dire news indeed. Why did no one inform me of this?” he said to Sir Ovalla, who was still standing near the door, stunned.

“I – I didn’t know, Your Majesty. It is news to me as well,” the man responded, a nervous look on his face.

“Well, go and make sure this report is true. If it is, we shall indeed have to evacuate. A wasting sickness…and at a time like this…hmm…” The king put his head down in thought. Sir Ovalla exited the room, running toward the infirmary. After a few minutes of silent pondering, Mandamar raised his head and said, “Well, as for you, Velben, I wished to see you today anyway, so it might as well be now. Don’t worry,” he said, seeing Velben’s expression turn to fear, “You’re not in any trouble. I merely wanted to give you something.”

Mandamar rose from his throne and walked down the few steps that formed the dais. He then crossed the room to a side door, motioning for Velben to follow. Slightly confused, Velben did so. The room where the king led him appeared to be a pantry or storage place. The shelves held food, drink, books, and random other objects, but the one the king took off the top shelf was a small box. It was a cube two inches wide and two inches high, with strange, wavy runes on all sides. Mandamar held it out to Velben and the boy hesitantly took it. He was turning it over and wondering what the symbols meant when the king spoke.

Chapter Two: Legacy of Blood

Velben Maradash,” Mandamar began, “Do you remember your parents?” This was not at all the question the boy was expecting, and he blinked in surprise before replying, “I’m afraid not, My King, for they both died before I knew them. My mother while giving birth to me, and my useless father before that.”

A hint of anger began to build as he recalled the tale he had been told of his pitiful sire; it was a tale of a cowardly man who hid from his enemies, and it was from these enemies he ran again, but not before impregnating his poor mother. He left her in their ramshackle hut of a home, on the fringes of the tundra, to fend for herself and their not-yet-born child. Upon first hearing this description of him, Velben had grown to deeply resent that man. What kind of childhood would he have had if his father had remained with them? Would he still be in Unepti Castle, living a life of semi-luxury? Of course not. However, it most certainly would’ve been beneficial for Velben to have met the man. He was never even told his father’s name.

“Well, that is sad, indeed, though no fault of your own,” the king remarked. “When we took you in, we had to tell you something to sate your unending questions of who you belonged to in truth, for you knew this was not your original home. At some points, you woke up from nightmares, shivering as if remembering long days spent huddling in the cold. Our nurses wondered where you came from as well, but we (meaning your father’s friends and trustees) couldn’t let the world know who you really were.”

“Friends and trustees? Who else is there?” Velben asked, astonished that his dastardly father even had any friends.

“There are quite a few of us, most of whom you don’t know, nor do they know you personally, but they do know that their goal in this life is to aid and protect you if it is within their power. We call ourselves the Furies. I’m not entirely sure where the name came from, but your father founded the group. He knew the situation he faced was dire, and if the worst came, he wanted to make sure his bloodline continued.”

Velben mulled this over, and he kept wondering why all these ‘Furies” would feel that his father’s, and if effect his, bloodline should be that important. He asked Mandamar this, and the king, after a moment of silence, replied, “My boy, within your veins runs the blood of dragons.”

Velben’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. Presently, he realized he was staring stupidly, and quickly regained his composure.

“Um, are you sure?” he asked querulously.

With a wry grin, the king answered, “Positive. You are the last of your kind, the very last Wyrmkin, and it is the duty of the Furies to make sure you are not harmed. It was your father’s wish that you find a wife one day and procreate, thus sustaining the bloodline and, ultimately, your race. Until that day arrives, we will do anything possible to fulfill that wish.”

“But why? Why do you respect my father so much? He was a coward!” Velben was thoroughly confused, and it was becoming apparent.

Now it was Mandamar’s turn to become a bit upset. “Your father was none such. He was brave, honorable, and valiant in battle. He rode at my side in past wars, fought for what he believed to be right, and was headstrong to the end about the Wyrmkin’s superiority over normal humans.” The last was spoken with a chuckle. “Renian Maradash was a great man, and you should make it a habit to remember that. I understand your ignorance. However, the tales you were told were simply falsehoods, lies to hopefully keep you safe, and so far they have. Now that you are older, I hope you can appreciate this heritage and strive to uphold your father’s wishes, as I and my fellow Furies do.”

Renian, thought Velben wonderingly. So that’s his name. Finally, after all the years of pondering, he knew his father’s name. And yet, somehow it seemed to fit perfectly with the story Mandamar was weaving. Because the king was so open and honest, Velben had already accepted this new tale in place of the old one. He liked this one much better anyway. It was still difficult, though, to forget the long decade-and-a-half of hate he had lived. He knew that over time it, too, would fade away.

“Did you know my mother, too?” Velben asked hopefully.

Mandamar smiled. “I most certainly did. Vivian was a marvelous woman, and it was a blow to all when she passed birthing you. Don’t blame yourself, Velben. Almost all Wyrmkin mothers die in the birthing process, simply because of the stress of giving birth to a part-dragon youngling. It was a tragedy, but one that she faced with courage. She knew what may happen to her when she lay with your father. If a Wyrmkin planted his seed in a woman, that woman knew the risk of death, and your mother was no exception. However, she also believed the risk was worth it, for bringing another such as yourself into the world was an honorable reason to die.”

This was all becoming a lot for Velben to hear at once. So many beliefs and assumptions about his parents had just been dashed away, and he needed time to adjust to them. Therefore, he changed the subject. “Why did you give me this box?”

The king seemed to understand the switch. “Within that box is something that will aid you greatly on your journeys. In fact, I was told it would be pivotal to your success. I know not what is inside, but I do know that it is extremely important that you hold on to it. Never lose it, no matter what the cost to retrieve it, aside from your own life. That is how important the box is. You will need to discover a way to open it, though. I do not possess that knowledge. You’ll know when to use whatever lies within when the time comes, so fear not.”

Velben shook his head in amazement. “How do you know all this?”

A small laugh erupted from the man. “Velben, I told you, it’s my job. Apart from just being a king, of course.” Then, in a whisper, he added, “Which is dreadfully boring, by the way. Never take the position if someone offers it to you.”

Suddenly becoming serious, the king said, “The words I have spoken were meant for you and you only. The blood of your people is thinning out desperately, and the nations of Drakmord will need you. You may be skeptical now, but in time you’ll see. The abilities of the Wyrmkin are vast. You’ll notice things that your old senses couldn’t notice before. Things will happen around you that wouldn’t normally happen, and there won’t be an explanation for them. You will understand someday. Someday soon, I think.”

He was very confused now, but he bowed deeply nonetheless. This sounded too crazy to be anything but truth. “Yes, Your Highness.”

The king looked at him severely. “Do not do this for me. Do not even do this for yourself. Do this for the world. It needs your aid.” Then, in a gentler tone, he added, “Now go. And remember all that I have told you. I don’t know what perils you will face, but in the face of any of them, remember who you are and who you are capable of becoming.”

As Velben turned to leave, still awed by what had just happened, he remembered the sick people. Apparently, so did Mandamar.

“And do not worry, my boy,” the king said, “The people will be safe. I knew you were telling the truth. I could see it in your eyes. I will evacuate the castle before more harm can be done. But hurry. You must go your own way, now. Farewell, Velben, and good luck.”

Chapter Three: Dowervale

Once Velben got to his room, he gathered his meager belongings (some clothes, coin purse, some precious stones, and the strange box) and slung them across his back in a satchel. He stuck his small dagger in his boot sheath and his practice sword in his belt, hoping he wouldn’t have to use them.

With his knowledge of the inner workings of the castle, he soon located an old, unused corridor in the northeast corner of the keep and followed it. After about five minutes, he came to an unguarded doorway near the stables and slipped out of the castle. As he rounded the castle walls and passed by the front gate, he realized that the nurse woman had been telling the truth. There was a large crowd of sick people in front of the gate, some lying on the ground in agony, some banging their fists against the hard oak. The sight made Velben want to be sick himself.

Trying to put the thought from his mind, Velben half-ran down the slightly sloping hill leading away from the castle. Once he arrived at the village, he strolled as casually as possible down the main avenue, avoiding people, farm animals, and anything else that could stall him. He was almost at the edge of town, almost free, when he heard an urgent voice from his left.

“Hey! Velben!”

Startled, Velben turned about and looked for the person who had said his name. Then, he spotted Guyll motioning for him to come into the alley where the boy was hiding.

“Great,” Velben muttered to himself sarcastically. “Just what I needed.”

As he walked into the alley, he saw that Guyll had a large bag slung over his shoulder, containing what appeared to be food and traveling supplies.

“What are you doing with that?” asked Velben, pointing to the bag.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m coming with you. We can escape together!” At this last declaration the boy looked up at Velben and grinned from ear to ear.

“Hey, how did you know about that?” Velben asked, surprised that the message to evacuate had spread so quickly.

“After you left the mess hall, I followed you to the infirmary. I mean, I was expecting you to go to our room… ”

“I had to get my bandages changed,” Velben interrupted. Suddenly he was all too aware that he hadn’t accomplished his goal, and his dressings were beginning to itch and stick to his back. I’ll just change them myself, he thought.

“Oh, so that explains it… Anyways, when you went to the infirmary, I saw all those sick people, and I heard the nurse say they had a disease.” Guyll’s face turned sad at this point. He looked up at Velben as if the older boy would make him feel better.

“I know it’s scary, but as long as we leave now, we’ll be alright,” Velben reassured him. “Everyone else should be leaving sometime soon, and I’d bet they’ll go by ship up to Fort Meng. But I don’t want to risk going with them because if the disease got on the ship…” Velben used this as an excuse to not tell the boy about the king’s “gift”. Guyll’s eyes went wide though, thinking about the possibility of what Velben said. “But don’t worry,” Velben added quickly. “We’ll be fine, like I said. And so will they.”

The kid’s scared out of his mind! He thought to himself. I wonder where his family is. Velben hadn’t had any actual family in over ten years, so he didn’t know what it would feel like to have to leave them behind. His futile attempts to recall his deceased parents were unsuccessful and didn’t comfort him, so he banished the thought from his mind. He was more concerned about what he and Guyll were going to do now. And although he was reluctant to take Guyll along with him, he wasn’t going to force the kid to stay behind in a dying city. Besides, he reasoned to himself, perhaps he’ll be of use to me. After all, he did manage to hide himself from me until now.

So, they walked back out onto the main road of the village of Unepti, and with only a quick glance back at the castle, Velben and Guyll left behind the lives they had known for many years, in pursuit of an uncertain goal. Their only companions were the cries of the sick from the village behind them.

Chapter Four: Sir Holzen

There had been many different ways that Velben had been woken, but a rock between the eyes hadn’t been one of them. Until today. The sharp pain quickly brought him out of a restless slumber, and he stood up dazedly, looking around for his attacker. He found none, however. Puzzled, he put a finger to where the rock had struck him, and when he pulled it back, there was a drop of blood on it.

As he tried to get his bearings, he began to remember the previous night. He had finally decided, after wandering what felt like many miles down the dusty road, that he should rest. He had crawled under a bush alongside the path and attempted to fall asleep, but images of Guyll being slaughtered by terrifying men in black cloaks with yellow eyes kept coming into his head. It was hours before he finally fell into a fitful slumber.

Now, he was angry. Angry that someone had thrown a rock at him, and angry with himself for what he had done the previous night. He strode purposefully up the next hill, meaning to give whoever decided it was alright to hurl stones at sleeping travelers the rough side of his tongue. When he peered over the top, he was startled by what he beheld.

A brightly painted wagon, pulled by two draft horses, was parked askew on the edge of the road. A man, dressed in extravagant clothing that was just as bright as the wagon, lay bound and gagged in the dirt before a pair of orcs. They were repulsive creatures, with black and green mottled skin that appeared to be half rotten, and mangy tufts of hair sticking out of their mismatched armor. They each wielded a short sword, spiked and notched, and each had numerous daggers hanging at his waist. They were arguing how to cut the man up, and which cut of meat would taste the best over a fire.

Instantly, the confusion left Velben, and the only thing he felt was that he had to help this poor fellow and destroy the orcs. But how? Looking down, he realized he still had his practice sword in his belt and his dagger in his boot. An idea occurred to him. This would be the perfect time to test his swordsmanship. He felt confident he could win out over two pitiful, disgusting orcs. He drew his sword and started walking down the hillside.

“Hey!” Velben called.

The orcs stopped bickering and looked in his direction. Upon seeing him and his sword, they began to snarl and spit, waving their own blades at him. Velben assumed a fighting stance and slowed his pace as he neared them, trying to remember all the lessons Wilfred the grounds master had taught him.

The orcs each moved to an opposite side of Velben, trying to perform some sort of pincer attack. This took Velben by surprise, for he hadn’t expected much intelligence from these creatures. All right, no more assumptions, Velben thought. He tried to circle to his left to confront the smaller of the two, but the orc dodged out of the way. As it did so, its companion rushed Velben, catching him off guard.

Velben had just enough time to avoid being skewered, but he received a nice cut to his side. Surprisingly, he felt little pain. All it did was anger him further. He cried out as he ran and jumped on the nearest orc. He brought his sword up, then down in a vicious swing that clove the helmet of the orc in two, and his blade buried deep in the monster’s skull. Unable to pull it free at the moment, he let it fall and reached for his dagger.

The other orc wasn’t phased by his partner’s death, and he lunged with his blade, aiming for Velben’s chest. Velben quickly rolled past the creature and brought his dagger up into its stomach. The orc growled angrily, seemingly unaffected, and backhanded Velben, sending him sprawling. He was knocked momentarily dizzy, for the orc had hit him with an iron gauntleted fist.

Weaponless, Velben tried to defend himself and kicked out at the creature as it jumped at him. He caught it in the chest, but the monster’s weight rendered his blow ineffective. As the orc came down on top of Velben, the wind was knocked out of him. Snarling, the orc raised his hand to stab Velben with one of its daggers, but suddenly stopped, a look of surprise on its ugly face. Velben looked at it, and saw an arrow sticking out of the orc’s chest. He took the opportunity to punch it in the face, knocking it over as it died.

Velben stood up slowly, still disoriented from that blow to the head. He looked around for the source of the arrow and was surprised, as well as extremely relieved, to see Guyll standing atop the hill, bow in one hand and nocked arrow in the other. He was smiling.

“Guyll!” Velben cried out. He quickly gathered his weapons and started running for the young boy. When he reached him, he pulled him up in an embrace.

“Hey, put me down!” Guyll cried, indignant.

Velben did so, then looked at the boy, suddenly puzzled.

“How’d you get here so fast? And where did you get the bow?”

“Well, to answer the first question, I’ve been running most of the night. For the second, I bought it back in Dowervale.”

Then, a thought occurred to Velben. “Hey, what happened to that evil man? Did he follow you?” Suddenly anxious, Velben peered over the top of the hill and gazed back up the road, seeing nothing.

“No, he didn’t follow me. I ran after you when you took off, since you’re the leader and all, but I got lost in the streets. I was going to take a short cut and catch up to you quicker, but I couldn’t find the way out.” Guyll looked almost embarrassed by this.

“That’s alright. As long as you’re unharmed, and alone.”

Guyll nodded. Then, as if seeing the man and the wagon for the first time, he said, “Whoa! Look at that! Hey, do you think we should set him free?”

Velben glanced at the extravagantly dressed man, struggling against his bonds, and nodded. “Yeah. He didn’t look like he was a friend of the orcs, seeing as how they were talking about eating him and all. Besides, we saved his life. That should count for something.”

They started toward the man. His eyes widened at the sight of them, Velben covered in blood, and Guyll with his bow drawn. Velben took out the man’s gag.

“What’s your name?” Velben asked.

“What’s my name?” The man sounded slightly offended. “I’ve most likely brought your city supplies for the last twenty years and you don’t even know my name?”

“I might recognize it if you tell me, but I don’t remember you.”

“Well, I guess you might not have actually seen me. My name is Hendrik Holzen. Sir Holzen to you.” The man looked up at Velben, somehow managing to make it seem like he was staring down his nose at him, even though he was on the ground.

A hint of recognition entered Velben’s eyes. ‘Sir’ Holzen had indeed been supplying Unepti village with supplies and things for a long time. Velben had heard of the man, who was rumored to be eccentric, and also to possess one of the biggest egos in Drakmord. He was the one whom this road, the Holzen Trade Route, was named after.

“Ah, so you do recognize the name. Well, at least you’ve heard of me.” The man tried to stand, but had a difficult time of it, as his hands and feet were still tied. “Do you mind?”

Velben cut the man’s bonds and helped him to stand. Holzen stood there dusting himself off and examining his multitude of jewelry, making sure everything was still there and in good condition. Velben glanced again at the gaily-painted wagon and was suddenly curious what was inside it that the orcs could want.

“This is your wagon?” Velben asked.

“What? Oh, this? Well of course, it’s mine! Who else’s could it be?”

“What’s inside it?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“The orcs must think it’s valuable, whatever it is.”

“Yes, well…” Holzen seemed reluctant to go into any detail.

While the man was muttering to himself about rudeness and wasn’t paying attention, Velben walked over to the rear of the wagon and pulled aside the cover flap before Holzen could stop him. He peered inside and saw four large barrels, among dozens of other small things, sitting prominently in the center. They were labeled: WARNING! EXPLOSIVES.

“Why in the world do you have explosives in this thing?” Velben asked, thinking the man was indeed insane to carry something like that around.

“Hey! Don’t look in there! I told you it’s none of your business!” Holzen hurriedly shut the wagon flap. “Now just you back away from there!”

Velben stepped back, but he wasn’t about to let Holzen get away without an explanation. He owed them that much, at least.

“Answer me!”

“I don’t have to answer to you! I don’t have to answer to anyone! I can trade whatever I want! I have a permission form signed by Galen Andrak, Lord of Palanest! If you wish to contest him, I suggest you gather an army, and a large one at that! It just so happened that for some reason, the elves of Vilnaria told me they wanted gunpowder. And also, for some reason, it just so happened that a fine gentleman in Denbar had four barrels of it on hand. So, knowing that I could make a wagonload of money with it, I graciously took it off his hands. Quite legally, I might add. And I intend to sell it to these elves, and make that wagonload of money I mentioned!”

By the time he was through, the renowned Hendrik Holzen looked quite out of breath and extremely irate. He huffed angrily, and unconsciously dusted off his velvet tunic again. Then, with an ill-tempered “Good day”, he climbed into his wagon seat and prepared to drive off.

“Wait!” Velben and Guyll called almost at once.

“Why should I wait for you?” Holzen sneered back at them.

“Because we saved your life, and we need a ride,” Velben sneered back.

“Saved my life? You obviously have no idea who you’re talking to. I, Sir Hendrik Holzen, am also an acrobat of some renown, and it was only a matter of time before I would have worked my way out of those crudely tied bonds and dealt with the orcs myself!”

“Yeah, right. Not before they would’ve cooked you,” Guyll muttered under his breath.

“Besides,” Holzen added, “I don’t give rides to anyone unless they can afford it, and quite frankly, you two country bumpkins don’t look like you could do so on a year’s wage!”

Velben glared at the man icily.

“So, if you don’t have any other stupid requests for me to decline, I’ll just be on my way!” With that, he turned his back on them, preparing to leave.

All of a sudden, Velben was worried. He had left his satchel of clothes and things back at the inn in Dowervale. He hurriedly felt in his pockets and was horrified to find nothing in them.

“Looking for this?” Guyll asked.

He was holding Velben’s coin purse. Velben snatched it and looked inside. The strange box was there, as well as his precious stones, but he noticed a few coins missing, presumably spent on Guyll’s bow.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, only half meaning it.

“No prob. But you might want to tell Mr. Colorful over there that you have money, or he might take off without us.”

“Hey! Sir Holzen!” Velben hollered, as the wagon began to move. “Hey! I can pay you!”

The wagon slowed to a stop, and Holzen’s head poked past the side of the wagon.

“Oh, really? With what, rocks?”

“Yes, actually. Precious stones!”

The man’s eyebrows rose with skepticism.

“I have a few turquoises, a couple onyxes, and…” Velben added the last one reluctantly, “a ruby.”

Holzen’s eyes brightened at the prospect. “Oh! Do show me!”

Velben walked over and held it in his hand so the man could see it. Holzen reached out to take it, but Velben closed his fist. “You can have it if you agree to take us with you on your travels until we decide we want to get off.”

Holzen looked uncertain. His eyes stared at the ruby hungrily, but his brows knit with reluctance. Finally, though, the allure of the ruby was too strong, and he gave in.

“Oh, all right. Give me the stone and get on.”

“Thank you, sir,” Velben said gratefully. He and Guyll climbed onto the wagon, gave Sir Holzen the ruby, and, with a flick of the reigns, the brightly colored wagon, gunpowder and all, set off towards Vilnaria, far to the south.

Chapter Five: The Border Patrol

As the trio meandered their way south on the Holzen Trade Route, Velben began to like Sir Holzen more and more. He quickly became friendlier, and after a few miles of traveling, he even stopped complaining about providing transport for what he called ‘worthless children’. Still, every so often he would reach a hand into his coin purse to lovingly pat the large ruby inside. Velben felt something akin to loathing for this man’s love of wealth.

However, as the day dredged on, and the miles were plowed under the wagon’s creaking wheels, and the dust cloud behind them billowed into the air, Velben stopped thinking of Holzen altogether. He was already getting homesick, and he kept having fond flashbacks of his time at the castle and the friends he had there. One boy he had gotten along with particularly well, Zanell, kept popping into his mind. They had been troublemakers together, stealing bread loaves, pinching the serving girls’ rears, sneaking into all the hidden places of the castle where they weren’t supposed to go. Those were the days Velben really missed. The sheer wonder of all the hidden depths of Unepti left him encapsulated in memories for quite some time. How he wished he could go back.

This reminiscing reminded him of the king, and the strange runic box he had been given. Reaching into his pouch, Velben withdrew the odd, decorated cube and held it before his eyes, examining the inscriptions. Wrought in gold and silver, they exuded a strange sense of power, and caught the eye when the sunlight glinted off their dazzling surface. Now that he was concentrating on it, his fingers tingled slightly when they touched the box.

“What have you got there, lad?” Holzen asked curiously, glancing over in Velben’s direction.

“Oh, nothing much,” Velben responded. “Just a little memento from the castle. King Mandamar gave it to me.”

“Looks pretty valuable.”

Velben looked up sharply, drawing the box a bit closer to himself. “What do you care?” he challenged.

“I only care insofar as I’d hate to see such a lovely thing get lost someplace, when you could make a fortune with it,” Holzen said innocently.

Velben relaxed a little. “Well, it’s not for monetary comfort. It’s just a memento.”

“Alright then, lad, take it easy. Just a bit of advice, though,” Holzen remarked casually, “Be extra careful with that thing once we arrive at the elven border. The people of Vilnaria have an extreme passion for magic. One could even call it an obsession. One wouldn’t be too far wrong, either. Their whole lives are shaped around mysticism and sorcery. That box looks magical, so if I were you, I wouldn’t let them know you have it. They might just decide they need it more than you do.” Holzen looked sincere enough, so Velben nodded and thanked him for his advice. Then, sighing, he placed the box back in his pouch, out of sight and out of mind for the moment.

The leagues passed, and as they drew nearer to the elven country, Velben found himself growing more and more nervous. He’d never even seen an elf, only illustrations in books and such, and those were few and varied considerably in each illustration. He thought he had a general idea of what an elf should look like (judging partly from Guyll’s supposed elven features), but it was only an idea. He didn’t know the Vilnarian culture or language, not even simple things such as a greeting or how to properly address them. After thinking this way for a while, he realized that he didn’t want to go anywhere near Vilnaria.

Velben was just about to open his mouth and tell Holzen this when Guyll shouted, “Velben, look!” as he pointed away south.

A sudden sense of dread settled in the pit of Velben’s stomach as he saw what Guyll was pointing at. They had been on the road longer than he thought, and they were less than a mile from the great trees of the Vilnarian forest. Even at this distance they could clearly see a strange shimmer overhead. It looked vaguely like heat waves in the summer air, except it was tinted bluish-purple and didn’t distort Velben’s vision. It hovered there, like a great dome over the entire elven nation, guarding it from whatever harm would befall it. The sight took Velben’s breath away.

“You see that, lad?” asked Holzen suddenly, alarming him.

“Y - yes, I can see it. What is it?”

“That, my boy, is magic.”

Magic? Velben couldn’t believe it. Sure, he’d seen performing mages produce small puffs of flame or make flocks of birds appear out of nowhere, but this was far beyond anything he’d ever heard of. He would have sworn that only the gods had such might. But somehow, Velben knew Sir Holzen wasn’t lying. The great bluish shimmer in the sky was raw magic, and it scared him a little. He was so stunned by the spectacle, all he could say was, “Why?”

“It’s for protection. People other than the Vilnarian elves can’t use magic inside that shell. That includes magic items. Also, any magic thrown at that barrier, unless it is insanely powerful, simply dissipates, like it had never been. Of course, the elves don’t take kindly to anyone tryin’ to break through it.” Holzen chuckled to himself.

Velben didn’t find it amusing at all. He was terrified now. Guyll, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of it. He stood up in his seat, mouth agape, craning his small neck as far as he could to try to get the best view. His eyes were like saucers as they tried to take it all in at once, and Velben thought he looked rather silly, somewhat like a baby stork or goose.

“Wow,” Guyll muttered. “Velben, it’s . . . amazing!”

The older boy chuckled nervously. “Yeah, it’s great.”

“Oh, come now,” Holzen chimed in, “It ain’t all that bad. As long as they let us in, they’ll let us stay there with no further troubles.”

“Yeah, that’s the part I’m worried about.”

“What? How come?”

“How come?” Velben nearly shrieked. “I’m a nobody from a city miles away! How can you believe they’ll let me in? And Guyll’s no better!”

“Hey!” Guyll retorted indignantly, “I am too better than you! I’m an elf! Well, at least partially.”

“Oh, settle down, both of you!” Holzen scolded. “I won’t tolerate anxiety on my wagon! It makes me nervous. Now just sit down, shut up, and we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, eh?” Velben bit off his own retort and Guyll sank down to his seat, disgruntled.

For the rest of the way, the only sound Velben could hear was the squeaking of the wagon’s wheels as they clattered down the dusty road.

                                                      * * * * * * * *

Half a world away, in a dank stone prison cell littered with straw and waste, a man, shrouded in shadows, sat in silence. He didn’t move a muscle; he simply sat there with his back to the wall, brooding. He was revising his escape plan.

Originally, his idea had been simply to murder the guards and steal their keys when they came into his room, but now he realized this simplistic plan wouldn’t work. The guards were well armed, and there were always at least two of them. He should’ve known. The lord of this keep wasn’t stupid; of that, the man was certain. He wasn’t sure who the lord was, but he was apparently intelligent enough to realize he had a trained, experienced killer in his dungeon. And he wasn’t going to let him simply escape. No, to escape would take an incredible amount of skill and it would be extremely risky. Well, one thing this man had was skill. And he had great need to escape, for there was work to be done now that the Mancers were loose. So he sat, waiting for the correct moment to enact his plan.

After a long time, the dark man stood. Moving to the lone window of the cell, which was set high in the wall and barred, he drew back his hood, letting the light of the full moon caress his pale elven features. He was indeed elven, but his particular breed was shunned by all the others. He was a drow, a dark elf, all of whom were cast out by the rest of elven society because they were believed to be evil. That assumption, as in this case, was generally correct.

And Diamus, drow warlock of the First Division of Immora, was feeling particularly evil tonight. He smiled to himself, a twisted, malevolent smile, and he began to laugh.

                                                     * * * * * * * *

The young elf saw the trio coming from many miles away. The dust cloud they raised could’ve been seen by anyone within twenty miles in this flat, barren country. As the ridiculously colorful wagon drew closer, his sharp elven eyesight could pick out an older man, a child who appeared to be half-elven, and a human boy who looked to be in his mid-teenage years. It was sometimes hard to tell with humans. He decided the wagon must belong to the man, for he was dressed in colors as bright, if not brighter, than it.

Signaling to his partner, the elf readied his longbow. The trio didn’t appear to be armed, but it was always safer to assume they were. In this place, with the aid of the elven homeland’s inherent magic, he would be able to pick them all off from almost a mile away before they even knew what had happened.

Nalarin nocked an arrow to his bow and waited.

                                                     * * * * * * * *

As soon as Velben saw the elf sentries, he began to panic. He had been hoping for the last few minutes of the trip that the elves would be friendly and just let them in without any confrontation. But now that he saw the pair of armed sentries, both with longbows at the ready, and looking like they knew how to use them, he desperately wanted to go back home. For a moment, he even considered jumping out of Holzen’s wagon and running back the way they came, even if he hadn’t gotten his money’s worth with the ruby yet.

Somehow, he managed to remain in his seat. Velben didn’t think it was a good idea to go running off within range of those bows. The elves, in all probability, would not hesitate to put a yard-long shaft between his shoulder blades if he did.

Holzen drew up the wagon a good twenty feet from the pair.

“Alari’a’in!” Holzen said in what Velben took to be a greeting. “Asti nu rila marvesti po’idria.” The elves looked somewhat taken aback by this.

One of them cocked his head slightly and replied, “Vir sevri an driaki?”

”Asti sevri driaki Unepti,” Holzen replied without pausing.

“You speak the Vilnarian tongue quite well, human,” the other sentry said approvingly. “Where did you learn it?”

“I am a traveling man; you pick up many such things during your journeys,” Holzen explained as if it were no great thing.

“I see,” the elf looked slightly dissatisfied with his answer. “No matter. You know the entrance phrases, but you cannot enter our forest, good sir.”

Holzen was suddenly alarmed. “Why ever not?”

“Non-elves are not welcome. The trees are uncomfortable with strangers. You must be of the blood to enter.”

Now, Holzen was becoming quite frustrated. “I didn’t travel all this way just to be turned back! I brought your precious gunpowder just like I said I would. And I’ve been here before! Did you change the rules while I was away?”

“The rules have always been the same. Only if you are of the blood or have the blessing of the High Lord Viralanak may you enter.” The elves raised their bows just slightly, but enough to warn against further testing their patience.

The other elf, Nalarin, spoke up, “You have entered before because you have been welcomed by the High Lord, Hendrik Holzen. The pair traveling with you has not. The child is part elven, so he may enter. However, the other boy is . . . something else . . .” At this point, Nalarin looked sharply at Velben. His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. “No, the boy may never enter these lands. He brings catastrophe on his shoulders, and death as his companion. And as you are the one who bore him here, you are not welcome in Vilnaria either.”

“WHAT!” Holzen exploded. “Do you have any idea how much money I make off you elves, and how much you depend on me bringing you things? You need me!”

Velben didn’t even hear his ranting. He was still shocked by the first bit of news.

“What? I don’t bring death to anyone! What are you saying?”

“You, child, bring more death than you know upon all.” Nalarin looked slightly horrified as though he was just now becoming aware of it.

“No, you must be mistaken!” Velben’s heart was racing now, and Guyll was gaping at him wide-eyed, looking ready to bolt at any second. The elves just stared at him in that fierce way that made him think they would shoot him where he stood at any given moment. Velben thought he was going to be sick. First the hooded man, then the sickness, then the runic box, then the orcs, now this! The whole series of events was becoming too much for him to take.

“I don’t bring any trouble!” he nearly screamed at them, trying to get them to see sense. “None! I don’t want to harm anyone! I’m just looking for a place to stay for a while!”

Nalarin looked him sternly in the eye. “You will never find shelter within these woods, Wyrmkin, so long as you bring death and destruction with you. We will never surrender to the shadows.”

Velben was breathing heavily in a panic, and he looked towards Guyll in disbelief, only to discover the boy was gone. Startled, he spun around, searching for his companion, and finally shouted, “Guyll! Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” came the sudden reply from just behind Velben. The boy was standing, chin held high, with a barrel of gunpowder in hand. He looked like he might tip over at any second from the weight, but he also looked defiant.

“What do you think you’re doing with that?” Holzen shouted, whirling on Guyll in an instant. “That is worth more money than your combined lives! Put that down right now!” The man’s face turned red with frustration when the boy didn’t comply. If anything, he hoisted the barrel even higher, as if to get a firmer grip.

“Hendrik Holzen,” Nalarin’s partner called, “leave him be. He is delivering the powder that you failed to. The boy is the only one still welcome here, so we accept his offer. In return, we give him this.” Reaching behind him into a satchel Velben hadn’t noticed before, the guard pulled forth a Vilnarian short bow, just perfect for someone of Guyll’s stature. As he extended his hand to give it to the boy, Guyll dropped the barrel in excitement.

“Wow! Velben, look at it! It’s beautiful! I bet it can shoot for miles!” Guyll was beside himself with amazement. “Thank you!”

“You are more than welcome, Guyll,” the guard replied solemnly, retrieving the discarded barrel. “And now we’ll just need the other barrels.” With that, he strode to the rear of Holzen’s wagon and gathered them up.

“Hey! HEY!” Holzen shouted, “Those are mine! Do you hear me? Mine! Get your filthy elven hands off of them! Where’s my payment? I demand payment!” All the while he shouted at the elf, he tried to wrest the barrels from his hands, to no avail.

Velben had no idea what was happening. The situation was completely out of hand, Nalarin being the only one not running around in a frenzy, but remaining with his bow at the ready, watching Velben closely. As the pair’s eyes met, a shiver ran down Velben’s spine. Those cold, calm, calculating eyes made him feel like his mind and soul were being probed, explored. It was a feeling that was decidedly uncomfortable.

“Wyrmkin,” Nalarin spoke suddenly, “My advice to you is to take this wagon and go back north. You aren’t welcome here, and you’ll be received less kindly the further south you journey. The eyes of Immora are all around, and the Keeper of the Rift is not a kind being.” Even though Velben had no idea what the elf was talking about, he thought he could sense honesty and even guarded kindness in him.

“Take the wagon?” Velben asked, confused. “It’s not mine.”

“That is why you must take it. Holzen will no longer need it. We will take him to the elven capital, Miltieth, to see that he is not corrupted or evil by nature. If we find him to be true, he will be released; if not. . .” The elf didn’t have to finish his sentence to get the message across.

“Holzen’s not evil,” Velben said, trying to defend the poor man.

“Then you should have no fear of leaving him in our care. He will be repaid for this loss if we find him innocent. Do not worry, Wyrmkin. Go north, toward Guardia. Perhaps you will find answers there.” With that, Nalarin’s partner had managed to extricate himself from Sir Holzen and at the same time capture him, even tying Holzen’s arms together.

With one last look at Velben and a quick bow, Nalarin, his partner, and a yelling, struggling Hendrik Holzen, along with a few barrels of gunpowder, turned and disappeared into the Vilnarian forest.

Velben was left dumbfounded. Guardia… he thought to himself. How ironic.

Chapter Six: Guardia, the Fort City

The man of flame was angry, not only because he had been woken from his long sleep and immediately ordered to go questing after someone, but because he was hungry.

It was late in the day, the sun not quite slipping below the horizon, and Borthar sat on a boulder, sharpening his axes. The dual weapons had been his friends and companions for untold years, and they had yet to let him down. So here he sat, honing their already keen edges to further perfection, letting his rage grow hotter, feeling his blood literally boil in his veins.

Then, he suddenly hopped down from his perch, sheathing the weapons in their hip straps. His fiery red eyes glared about, selecting a target. Approximately a half-mile across the field where Borthar stood, a lone rider was galloping down the dusty road, heading in Borthar’s direction. The large man on the horse wore dark, wild clothing, and wielded a wicked-looking spiked flail, as well as long battle claws on his hands. Even at that distance, the pair locked gazes, red eyes wild with fury, blue eyes composed and dangerous.

With an animal roar, the man of flame surged forward, gaining speed swiftly. The man on the horse did nothing but sheath his flail and spur his mount faster.

In the last few seconds before they met, Borthar unleashed a mighty ball of flame the size of a man, hurling it directly at his intended victim. But just as it connected with the horse, the large man leaped off of it, sailing through the air, and launching a bolt of blue lightning at Borthar.

The move caught the man of flame directly in the chest, stopping his momentum and blasting him backwards to the ground.

As the horse was instantly consumed by Borthar’s fireball, the larger man landed effortlessly near him. He stalked his attacker, wordlessly eyeing him as Borthar stood, seemingly unaffected by the lightning blast.

With a strange glint in his eye and a slight grin, Borthar looked at the man and said, “Tralladhon.”

“Borthar,” replied the big man, “It’s been long since last we met, little brother.” A slow, mocking smile stretched his rough features. “And still, I am better than you.” Coarse laughter rumbled forth from his barrel chest.

Growling, Borthar retorted, “Shut up! You cheated!”

“Did I, now?” A steely light returned to his gaze. “How would you like to test me again then, weakling?”

The grass around Borthar’s feet withered from the heat of his anger. “Oh, I’d like that very much, brother. Shall we use weapons this time?”

“Whatever you decide, make sure neither one of you dies. It would make things slightly more difficult for the rest of us.” The voice belonged to an elegant-looking woman in a blue dress, icy blue eyes matching the icicle protruding from her forehead.

“Zira!” Tralladhon exclaimed. “What do you want?”

The woman stepped forward, her gaze falling on both of them. “Oh, nothing. I just happened to notice a fireball and a bolt of lightning, and I wondered what would cause you to be so stupid as to give your positions away.”

“Hush up, Ice Queen,” Borthar growled. “Mind your business.”

Her venomous look made him cringe. “If I were as foolish as you, I would freeze you right now and leave Tralladhon to tear you apart! However, I’m not so eager to be seen.”

“Then may I suggest we go our separate ways before more conflict erupts?” Tralladhon interjected.

“Very well,” Zira replied, glancing at Borthar with disdain. Then, she turned and vanished in a cloud of snowflakes.

“Until we meet again, brother,” Tralladhon said, and then he vanished as well, this time with crackles of static electricity.

Borthar remained where he was, quivering with rage. The whole exchange had only made him more furious, and he was still hungry. Cursing under his breath, the man of flame stalked off to locate something edible.

* * * * * * * *

“Are you ever going to say anything, Velben?” asked Guyll, sadly looking at his companion. The older boy didn’t respond. Disappointed, Guyll sat back down in the bed of the wagon.

Velben had been in an almost trance-like state since they had left the Vilnarian border. The elves’ accusations of bringing death with him had taken a toll on the boy’s psyche. He had taken Holzen’s brightly painted wagon, with all of the man’s trade goods in it, and headed north, per the elven sentry’s advice. At the time, and even now, there hadn’t seemed to be any other choice. Guyll had been happy, for with the gift of his new bow, he soon stopped thinking about the past and started imagining the grand adventures he and Velben could have together. They had a wagon, which allowed them to travel faster, a destination, and a new weapon to protect them.

None of it mattered to Velben. Within him, a battle was raging. On one side was Velben himself, fighting to do the right thing, but not be swept away by forces he didn’t understand. On the other, a huge mass of inevitability, destiny, and unforeseen futures threatened to drag him down with its weight. He couldn’t help but think the latter would win.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally.

“For what?” Guyll queried, uncharacteristically serious.

“For everything. For taking you with me, for getting you involved in my problems, for running away and leaving you behind in Dowervale, and expecting you to follow my lead, when I don’t even know what I’m doing.” Velben looked down at the floor of the wagon.

“It’s okay, Velben,” Guyll reassured him. “It’s not really your fault.”

“Well, yeah, it kind of is, but… thanks, kid.” A weak smile lit up his gloomy features. Guyll grinned back, happy again.

* * * * * * * *

After a long, weary afternoon and evening of traveling, the wagon was finally drawing nearer to Guardia, the legendary fort city. As they came closer, Velben suspected he would have been overawed if he could’ve seen the entirety of the massive walls of the city. As it was, however, there wasn’t enough light left to see much beyond the first fifteen feet or so of the walls’ height and about that far to either side of the massive – barred – gate.

“Oh, no!” Guyll shouted in despair.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find some way in,” Velben reassured him, though he wasn’t so sure they actually could find a way in. The walls appeared to be constructed of a kind of smooth stone devoid of hand- and footholds, so they wouldn’t be able to climb over them. Besides, Velben was loathe to abandon Holzen’s wagon to thieves or whoever else might be out here.

Peering as high as he could into the darkness above the gate, Velben shouted, “Hey! Is anyone up there?”

A single weary-looking guard in chainmail peeked over the ramparts.

“Who goes there?” he challenged.

“My name is Velben, and I’m looking for an inn.”

“Well,” the guard replied irritably, “You’ll find none here until morning, when next the gates are unlocked, and I’m sure by then that you’ll no longer require one. You may as well move along.” And, as if that settled the matter, the guard returned to wherever he had come from, leaving Velben and Guyll staring after him, aghast.

“That is just plain wrong,” Guyll declared flatly.

“Indeed,” Velben concurred, “But there is little we can do about it.”

“He’s right, you know.” The voice came from the shadows to their right, as an obviously old man hobbled out towards them. “Those guards can be extremely inconsiderate of others, especially ones such as yourselves.”

The last bit was spoken with a slight inflection, and Velben thought this fellow somehow knew whom, or rather what, they were. He quickly reached for his sword, and Guyll tensed.

“What do you mean by that?” Velben challenged.

With a chuckle and a calming gesture, the man said, “Steady, lad. There’s no need for anger. I simply meant that you aren’t from around here. Am I wrong?”

Velben relaxed a little. “You’re not.”

“See? I could tell from the fact that you’re not a knight, and you don’t act snotty and stuck-up like a merchant, eager to become rich at Guardia’s market.” With a friendly smile, he added, “Don’t worry. Whatever secrets you may have are your own, and besides, I couldn’t harm you.”

Feeling a bit silly, Velben removed his hand from his sword hilt and asked, “What do you want, then?”

At this, the man replied rather shyly, “Actually, I was merely going to offer a room at my home for the night, in exchange for a few gold pieces. I usually come out here in the evenings for this reason, because the guards rarely let anyone through after dark, and my wife and me are short on funds of late. Either way, the room is quite humble, but I entertain with stories, and my wife’s a wondrous cook.” A faint glint of pride shone in his eyes at the mention of the woman.

“I love stories!” Guyll shouted excitedly, shattering the semi-silence of the night. Velben couldn’t help but grin.

“It sounds great, sir. I actually enjoy stories as well, and a hot meal is very inviting right now.”

Smiling again, the man said, “Very good. My wife will be happy for the company. Follow me please.”

He turned and plunged into the blackness and the wagon trundled along after him. Velben supposed they would try to enter the city on the morrow.

* * * * * * * *

Velben couldn’t believe their good fortune. Here they were, worrying about whether or not this old man (whose name was Samuel, they discovered) was a threat, when he was actually the most hospitable and kindly man Velben had ever met. The man’s boasts were not idle, as it turned out that his wife, Meritha, was indeed a marvelous cook, and she served the four of them a delicious meal of some sort of vegetable stew and fresh bread.

After the meal was over, Samuel called the boys over to the hearth for his promised storytelling. He sat for a few moments in silence, choosing a tale befitting his guests, and chose one from many centuries ago, before most of the current nations were formed. Taking a breath, Samuel began:

“Far to the southeast of Guardia, beyond Palanest, seat of truth and righteousness, lies the dwarven realm of Rargenn. Back then, it wasn’t known by its current name, and it sprawled across hundreds of miles of plains and mountains, unchallenged by any other people, for none were as mighty as the dwarves. They mined, hunted, farmed, and lived wherever they wished, and had the largest, most skilled fighting force in all of Drakmord. Or so they thought.

“The dwarven leaders, whom they called Thanes, were among the best warriors of all the people, but they were also loved and respected by their charges, and were elected to lead the dwarven population. However, over time, as the dwarves’ enemies grew fewer and fewer, the need to be powerful warriors grew less and less, until the Thanes no longer worried about spending their resources on training troops, and the dwarves’ legendary fighting skills diminished.

“In these years, the dwarves thought themselves invincible, because no one had challenged them in so long. Then, in their moment of vulnerability, they awoke one morning in the spring to find an army of mythic proportions drawing nearer to their villages and farms. At the army’s head was a figure of monstrous size and strength, with six arms, each wielding an enormous sledgehammer. With a terrifying roar, the beast send waves upon waves of minotaurs and hellish undead creatures swarming over the unprepared dwarves. In desperation, the short folk fled to the few mountain strongholds they still had, where they tried to make a stand against the evil hordes massed against them. In their hearts, however, the Thanes knew their people would be slaughtered if they did not retreat.

“So that’s exactly what they did. Leaving a brave contingent of stouthearted warriors behind to ensure their escape, the Thanes and the surviving dwarven people fled to the largest mountain citadel of them all, Rugall. They sealed the massive stone gates behind them, guaranteeing that none of the evil creatures could get in.

“To this day, the great historians are still unsure why the dwarves were attacked. But they know who attacked them: Rothiel Driden, the immortal evil himself. For all they know, he had little to gain from the wanton attack, but he succeeded in cowing the dwarven nation completely. They’ve not been seen or heard from since that attack. Never have they unsealed their mountain.”

After Samuel was finished telling his tale, there was a long silence while the boys digested all the new information. They’d never heard of the dwarves in stories where they weren’t dispensing justice among their foes and turning the tide in long-past wars. To think that the mighty race could be beaten by anyone, any force, was very hard to understand for the young boys. And Rothiel Driden, the legendary mastermind behind countless conflicts, the source of many people’s fear, was the one who finally defeated the proud dwarves? It was just one more thing to add to Driden’s reputation for ruining lives, destroying people’s livelihoods, and committing acts of unbelievable cruelty all across Drakmord.

Seeing the boys’ reactions to his sad tale, Samuel decided to tell them another story, this time a much happier tale, about an apple farmer who discovered one day that he was growing his orchard over an ancient elven holy site. The magic inherent in the place allowed him to grow extraordinarily juicy and delicious apples, and he gained great fame and fortune across Drakmord for his wonderful fruit. Following this tale, Samuel proceeded to tell happy stories, doing his best to cheer up his young guests before they went off to sleep. By the time the boys were nodding off by the hearth, Samuel was sure that they’d have no bad dreams, and instead would dream of lovely places where the people were happy, there was no illness or evil, and everyone lived out the full extent of their lives in peace.

He hadn’t meant to scare or upset the boys, but he felt it important for them to understand that there was indeed evil in the world, and that they needed to be very careful on their travels. After he tucked the boys into his own bed, Samuel walked back over to the hearth and fell soundly asleep in his old chair.