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Twist Of Fate

Prologue

Death plays a part in life as much as life does with a mortals’ death.

- adapted from the Book of Life

First there was darkness. Then as a flicker of light appeared, the universe was born. From that light, new beings appeared whom mortals now call the five Ancient Gods. These five Gods had among other powers the ability to create life and also to take life as they so desired. The five Gods dwelt in peace as none was able to usurp ultimate power and reign upon the very beings that they had so easily created. The five Gods then created Emeritus, a world where they could place their creations-much like a chess board with live pieces. A world where they could watch and even tamper with the affairs of mortals whenever it pleased them.

The five Gods also chose to dwell among their creations, as each God looked over their personal creations. Morga the Goddess of Life created the Morgans, a race of people who worshipped the earth they lived on, and in time these people became great farmers and healers. The Morgans lived to the North of Emeritus where the land was fertile. Asgrad the God of Death created the Gradans, a race of mismatched troll-like people whose sole intent in life was to die in battle as they felt this was the only way to honour such a god. The Gradans evolved and became great masters of the dark arts and alchemy. The Gradans, through alchemy created other beings such as the giants and the demons, beings spawned to do their bidding. Asgrads’ brother, Thull the Warrior God spawned the race of Alrons. The Alrons were a race of knightly people, brave and skilful with weapons. Then there was the Goddess of Fate, Hera who choose not to create beings as she found it cumbersome. She soon found out however that without a race of her own to look over made her presence unnecessary. At a loss, she sought solace by altering and changing the path of each mortal on Emeritus. Soon she too was looked upon by each race with equal awe and dread. The last god had many names but was commonly known as the Dark One, and chose to create a race very similar to the Alrons but different in character called the Grolim. The Grolim were a harsh race with an equally harsh custom of sacrifice and self mutilation, as even their political system had intones of deceit, double-cross, murder and clan warfare.

As time passed on, the races on Emeritus flourished and prospered. The Morgans and Alrons came together and formed an allegiance known as the Allegiance of Maloren, which was where the historical event took place. Because of the allegiance, Maloren was to become the heart of the Morgan-Alron empire. Both races’ lived happily as one and also shared deities for a time. The forging of the two races was also blessed by Hera. Upon seeing the blossoming and thriving Morgan-Alron empire, the Nameless One hatched a plan to throw the allegiance into turmoil. The Nameless One enticed the help of the Gradans with promises to reveal the secrets of the dark arts. The Gardans’ god Asgrad was to busy leading the dead to the Graylands that he was unaware of the Nameless One’s wrong doing. This was because the gods had very meticulous rules on pilfering other worshipers. The Nameless One knew that the other gods would not sit by and watch as their creations were besieged by his mighty army and sought a way to destroy the other gods. After the other gods have been eliminated, he would turn his wrath upon their mortal creations. For many years, the Dark One waged war with the other gods, namely Thull, but in the end the Nameless One was bested. Seeking revenge, the Nameless One sought other means to destroy those who stood in his way of conquest, glory and power.

In his quest, he came upon a jewel of great power. Enough power to reduce complete worlds to rubble with a mere thought. The jewel was not of Emeritus. It was forged in the fires of an unstable sun which exploded and hurled the jewel towards an unknown blue-white planet that in time would be known as Emeritus. It was not a mineral yet it was also not a metal. One name for the jewel was ‘That which is none, yet all.’ Aeons passed and the jewel lay forgotten under mounds of dirt. As it came to pass, the Nameless One who was navigating the Travelling Portals sensed a surge of raw energy, causing him to fall out of the portal stream. He emerged from the portal only to find the great jewel lying at his feet, pulsating with power, as if alive. Picking up the jewel, he sensed that it was the cause of the surge of energy he felt in the portal. Returning to his sanctuary, after months of study, he came to the conclusion that the jewel was indeed a source of infinite raw power, but it was uncontrollable.

However the Nameless One was not able to use the jewel as he was not able to unravel its secrets. He could not harness the power within the jewel, as if the jewel refused to answer him. In a desperate attempt to unravel the secrets of the jewel, which he called the Blood Stone, as it was a dark, wet red, a colour similar to it’s liquid namesake, the Dark One placed the Blood Stone in Thull’s procession, as a gift. As the Nameless One had hoped, Thull began to understand the workings of the Blood Stone. Soon Thull had full understanding of the Blood Stone and at once knew the grave consequences if ever the Blood Stone was to fall into the wrong hands.

Cursing the very day he had placed the Blood Stone in Thull’s procession and fearing that Thull had already worked out his scheme, the Nameless One sought a way to quickly retake the Blood Stone before Thull made any attempt to destroy it. Knowing of Thull love for Morga, the Nameless One devised a portal into which he enticed Morga. Unknowingly, Morga had participated in the Nameless One’s evil plan and was imprisoned in the portal. Upon knowing the fate of his beloved Morga, Thull challenged the Nameless One in a duel. A duel in which Morga and the Blood Stone was the prize. Thull then secretly forged the Blood Stone onto the hilt of his great sword and covered the hilt with a piece of chain mail. From sword to will both gods battled tenaciously, levelling mountains and creating canyons. The battle raged for days, and at the end of the fifth day is seemed that both gods were bested.

Summoning his universal might, the Nameless One lunged madly at Thull. Paring away the Nameless Ones blade, Thull uncovered his sword hilt. Maddened by the sight of the very jewel he sought, the Nameless One fell upon his sword in grief. With his dying breath the Nameless One said, “Rejoice while thy still can dear Thull, for thee hath not seen the last of me. Rejoice for there will be a time when I shall walk the mortal world again, Blood Stone by my side.” “Thy speak of walking on Emeritus fondly, Dark One. But thee shall not cross from thy eternal sleep to the land of flesh and blood as long as the Blood Stone is in the procession of one that is pure of heart. Thy shall try, but succeed thy shall not. Even if the Blood Stone is taken from the care of the pure hearted and used to free thy from slumber, thy shall be thwarted,” answered Thull.

Thinking the Nameless one bested, Thull left in search of Morga. Seeing the opportunity arise, the Nameless One reached out a cosmic hand and caught an unformed planet in his mighty grip. Like a child plucking an apple, the Nameless One willed the unformed planet towards Thull hoping that he would be caught unaware and be crushed. Was it luck or the cosmic wheel no one knew, but somehow Thull sensed his peril and countered the oncoming planet with a spell of stillness. The unformed planet came to a close orbit around Emeritus. “Even with thy dying breath thy still cause malice? Is thy hate for life so great?” asked Thull. “Life, death, it means nothing to us Thull. We are the Creators greatest achievements and so will the Grolims be my greatest achievement,” answered the Nameless One. “I have bested you in a fair duel. Go peacefully knowing that you were a skilled opponent, but blinded by rage and hate. You have not only lost your life but your humanity as well.” “Curse humanity. Before I am ushered into the Graylands I leave humanity with a last gift. Know yee that my will is strong and the Age of Moons shall come again.

The sky shall burn brightly in turn,

Five for the Highlords in their halls of stone,

Of their fates a yearning they shall learn,

Shall come The Dark Lord on his fire throne,

Ravaged will the people be,

The joining they must not see,

In the land of the Endless Way,

Return to Emeritus shall darkness hold sway,

The Highlords shall know the bond in time,

For if not human kind shall pay for their crime,

One will rule them all, one to find them all,

One to bring them all and one in darkness to bind them all,

And the last save them shall she,

If not placed the Stone of Sage,

The Walls of Mist where it must be,

Will come the dawning of The New Age,

So shall the Breaking be averted.

The crater marked planet was to become Emeritus’ only moon. That was to be known as the Age of The First Moon. So ended the great battle of the gods and the day was called Banapis, which meant victory. Thull soon found Morga and parted from the accursed place where the Nameless One lay fallen, not knowing that the Nameless One was not dead but merely badly wounded and asleep. Soon came the followers of the Nameless One, the Grolim who upon seeing the slain god sought solace by building a great city where the god lay. The city was called Dar-Torlok and the body the Nameless One was placed in a catacomb under the city. From that day the Allegiance of Maloren was annulled as each race felt betrayed by the very gods they were to worship. The Alrons felt that Morga was the cause of all their hardship and likewise the Morgans felt that Thull was to blame for the Age of The First Moon.

Only the love Thull had for Morga stilled the tide of war that threatened. Morga, still deeply in love with Thull could not turn her subjects, forced her people away from Thull’s in order to prevent bloodshed. On that day, the Gods spurned love and left mankind to fend for themselves’. It was the day of Leaving. The leaving brought much grief, for with the leaving of the Gods, they took with them the most powerful magic’s and wonders of science, wowing that one day during mankind’s greatest need they would return. The ages pass, and the Gods fail to return.

Now, even the Blood Stone lies forgotten, waiting, bidding it’s time for the final battle between good and evil.

Chapter One

Fight not with thy fist nor thy sword but with thy wits.

- a remark to Rand by Merlin

“Rand, come here at once!” “Yes mother?” replied Rand innocently. “Don’t you give me that tone boy. You forgot to cover up your tracks when you and James raided the parlour,” said Marian pointing to the floor which was covered with muddy footprints. “Clean this up at once. After that there are a few extra chores for you. Go to the barn and clean out the stables. Then go get some more firewood.” “But mother it was James’s idea. He should get extra chores too,” grumbled Rand. “Don’t be silly. James is at the barony and I think Baron Folgar would notice if one of his squires went missing. Oh no, I’ll see to him later. Go on now, and if you finish your chores you can have a piece of apple pie after supper time.” Stepping outside, a blast of warm pollen laden wind told Rand that it was another beautiful day. The sky was a deep blue and the three moons of Emeritus could be seen clearly, even in the morning.

Spring was in the air and the thawed snow made the farm muddy, but Rand did not mind. “Hello Betty,” he said absently to the milk cow. She nuzzled him fondly knowing that he would lead her out to canter in the field. After leading the cow out for her morning canter he set out to finish the rest of his chores. The blacksmith was out of town, stocking up on supplies for the smithy. Rand and the other apprentices were given the day off. Soon he was gathering fire wood in the forest near the farm. The forest was quiet. The slight afternoon breeze stirred the tall oaks and cut the midday’s heat, while rustling the leaves only slightly. Birds flew over the great trees and chirped at him as though acknowledging him. The faint tang of sea salt mixed with the sweet smell of summer made Rand feel alive. Rand was a tall boy, slightly taller than the boys his age , with sandy brown hair and dark black eyes. With his sly smile and his roguish charm he was easily liked in the barony. He was admiring the beauty of a marsh woodpecker when he heard the sound of horses approaching. Work horses or ‘Duns’ could be seen almost every day. Fine healthy stallions however were a rare sight. Battle charges with chain mail were even rarer.

Rand was not the type of boy to sulk in bushes but something made him jump for cover. He hid in a clump of wild berries and lay still. The horsemen, five altogether trotted their horses carefully, as if looking for something or someone. The wore the emblem of the Baron of Liyad, a baron who had obtained a barony about five miles to the south of the farm in Sendar . A voice in Rand’s head said, “Don’t come out now or they’ll figure you‘re the one they are looking for.” The strange voice seemed to be familiar yet strange at the same time. Compelled by the voice, Rand stayed hidden. “The scum seems to have escaped captain. Can we go home now, cause’s the wife’s got a leg of lamb roasting since morning. Brewed me self a cask of ale too. Had it chilling in the river,” the first guard said. “Chilled ale you say?” said their captain. “I don’t suppose your wife would mind if you treated your captain to dinner now would she Ben ?” added their captain. “No, I don’t think she would, seeing you’re the captain and all. Besides, I wouldn’t want to be here when Baron Folgar’s men come patrolling.” “A good point. Well let’s go men. I think it’s time for merry making,” said the captain as the guards galloped away. As Rand was about to crawl out of the bush someone grabbed him from behind and placed a hand over his mouth. “I’m not going to hurt you, boy so don’t be afraid.” Turning, Rand saw that the voice belonged to a short weasel faced man with black hair. He was wearing a bear fur cloak and matching elk boots. The man released Rand and said, “I know I am an idiot for wearing fur in summer but I came upon them just hanging on some rack wasting away. Is there an inn near by? I need to rest.” “Yes there is. Just follow this road for about a mile or so. It has a sign saying ‘The Blazing Sword’. You can’t miss it,” replied Rand. “Oh forgive my manners, I am Brian of Banar,” said the stranger. “And you are?” he inquired. “I am called Rand.” “Rand,” Brian said, trying out the word. “It’s a good name.” “Why were those guards looking for you ?” “Just a little misunderstanding you see. They seem to think that I was obtaining their gold in an illegal manner.” “What?” said Rand, not understanding. “Quite simply they thought that I cheated at cards, a game of poker to be precise.” “And did you ?” “Oh no! They were a little drunk and I did have the upper hand but I did not cheat, though I did bend the rules a little,” said Brian with a smirk. Something about the short man made Rand relaxed, and putting his suspicions away he guided Brian to the inn . The voice in Rand’s head grew silent and soon he dismissed it as his imagination . At the inn Rand and Brian exchanged curt good-byes and went their separate ways.

Running back, Rand barely made it to the barony before the gates were closed, as the sun was already setting, and had to make excuses to the guard, Sergeant Korit from Moran. “Your mother must be worried sick, so you better have a good excuse,” he said. “Yes sir,” Rand said obediently. The only problem was that he did not have a good excuse. “James was the one who was good at making excuses,” thought Rand to himself. The street was illuminated and Rand could see the Night Watch lighting the street lamps ahead of him. Rand had never been to any other city but based on the stories James told, Sendar was the only city to have proper lighting at night. Not that the other cites had no lamps, it was just the Night Watch were always lax in illuminating the other cites properly. Rand thought it was a waste to light up all the lamps in the street, a few would do but he never really understood the need for the streets be well lit at all times.

Reaching the farm, Rand headed towards the stable and climbed up to the hay loft. He had previously hid some of his mother’s old pots and pans there. He had them mended at the forge and wanted to surprise her later but he figured it would come in handy now. Stepping in the back door he was surprised to see his mother waiting for him in the kitchen. “Where have you been Rand da`Uldar this late in the night?.” “The forge mother,” Rand answered holding up the pot and pan. “The forge?. And I trust you headed straight home after that?” she asked again. “Yes mother,” he replied. He did not like lying to his mother but he did not like being thrashed with an oak sapling either. “Well don’t just stand there, come and help your Ma with the table. After dinner you may help your Dad at the inn.” “Yes Ma,” replied Rand. Rand’s father ran an inn by the name of ‘The Shining Path’. “I wonder why I did not tell Brian about Dad’ s inn ?” “What are you talking about son ? Quickly eat your dinner and then help your Dad. The way you act I sometimes believe that you are not yet at the age of choosing.” “But I am mother, I will be eighteen years old next Willow Eve,” argued Rand. “All right, all right your Ma knows you better because I’d be the one who gave birth to you. Now if you are done with your dinner you may go and help out your Dad.”

The inn was just behind the house. Uldar sometimes had to see to the customers when the inn was crowded especially in the month of Willow Eve. Most of the travellers who came to Sendar were priests and the followers of Chad, the God of Priests. Dad said Chad was one of the new gods and that his family worshipped Thull the Warrior god. Rand couldn’t see why farmers and merchants would want to worship a warrior god unless they planned to do some regular fighting, not the type of brawls that occurred when one man insults the sheep the other man’s taking care off. “What do you mean by stupid sheep. I don’t go around making a mockery of your ugly, smelly, filthy and unkempt pigs now do I,” could usually be heard before a fight started. Dad say’s that men get edgy when the cabbage patch is hoed and watered and there’s nothing to do, and that’s what usually causes them to ‘occupy’ their time by shouting obscene remarks at each other. As Rand reached the inn heard a few oaths muttered loudly, coming from inside the inn. Then he saw a poster placed beside the inn’s sun sign.

“Must be important. Dad would not let anyone to put up a poster out side his inn,” thought Rand. Rand looked at the poster. It read, ‘JOIN THE CITY WATCH. ATTRACTIVE SALARY WITH ANNUAL LEAVE. SEE THE WORLD THE WAY IT WAS MEANT TO BE, BACK STREETS, ALLEY’S, SLUM’S AND ALL. MEET COLOURFUL PEOPLE AND LEARN THE FINE ART OF NEGOTIATION. LEARN TO USE EXOTIC WEAPONS AND OTHER FORMS OF MARTIAL ARTS. YOU NEVER KNOW, YOU MAY BE THE NEXT WATCH COMMISSIONER! SIGN UP AT THE HEAD WATCH STATION ON WILLOW EVE.’

As Rand was looking at the poster a man came through the inn’s door. It wasn’t the way a man would if he had opened the door but more like he was thrown out. It was Old Man Sealegs. The old man looked up at Rand and said, “Sorry Cap’ain I must’ve slllliipppeeedd on the wet deck. That’s all Cap’ain and no I’ve not been in the rum casks again,” he said, his breath reeking of alcohol. “I am not...,” started Rand. “Oh well,” he thought and said, “Why yer snivelling fool! I’ve told yer we’re going to set sail in the morning and yer go off and get drunk. Now get bellow deck and sleep yer drunkenness off before I throw yer filthy carcass to the sharks. I need every one of yer wide awake when we set out to Queg and the Endless Sea’s rough this time of the year. Now get!,” to the old man, imitating one of the sea captains at the harbour “Yes sir Cap’ain, right away Cap’ain,” said the old man as he ran off. Rand never knew that the old man could run so fast. “Good acting,” said someone from the shadows. “Who said that?” “Only me,” came the answer. “Yes. But I don’t suppose you have a name of somesorts?” asked Rand, who was currently wondering why his eyes couldn’t see well in the dark. “Oh well if you really must know it’s Asbrosh Stonehammer,” replied the voice. “Stonehammer? You’re a dwarf aren’t you.” “My you are certainly observant,” came the voice with a tint of sarcasm. “It wouldn’t be too much to ask you for your name then would it?” asked the dwarf. “Oh I’m sorry, I am called Rand da` Uldar.” Stepping out of the dark alley the dwarf was about as tall as Rand’s waist with an axe slung over his back. Surprisingly the dwarf had no beard or eyebrows. “It’s the beard isn’t it. It’s always the beard. Look, just because I’m a dwarf it doesn’t mean I have to have a beard. You see I am an alchemist,” said the dwarf, as if his occupation answered all of Rand’s questions. “ Your’ an alchemist?” blurted Rand as the only alchemist he knew was his uncle, and he didn’t quite remember what the man looked like. “Yes. How’d you expect the dwarfen race to produce all that good steel without a few good alchemist? Are you all right. You suddenly look a little flushed around the face.” Remembering his manners Rand had the courtesy to look embarrassed. He did not know that dwarfs had other professions besides mining and cracking heads. “Standing out here in the cold with you sure is fun but I believe that it would be better if we were inside, you know with the warmth of the fire and all,” said Asbrosh. “Yes I do think you have a point there,” agreed Rand opening the inn’s door fore Asbrosh. The inn was full and slightly noisy. Not noisy as in when men got drunk but with arguments. ‘The Shining Path’, owing to it’s name attracted many priests, religious bigots and also their followers. And when priests of different religions come into close quarters there is bound to be some subject to preach about, such as which deity is the most powerful and so on. It did not bother Uldar though, as long as they paid and took the fight out side.

He spied his son coming in and waved to Rand. “Son, we have a full house so I am going to need your help serving,” he said unaware of the dwarf. “There’s a group of dwarfs at the end there who can’t seem to have enough of my ale and they practically ate a whole boar I had roasting on the hearth since evening. Now they want stewed boar and a bard who knows how to sing ‘Gold ! My Glorious Gold!’. Oh hello there,” he said offhandedly to Asbrosh. “Say might you know the lyrics to that song ?” he asked Asbrosh. “Oh that old song,” Asbrosh said. “I thought the latest dwarven hit was ‘This Is My Gold So Hand’s Off!’,” he added. “Oh no that was last week. The latest craze is ‘Gold And It’s All Mine’. I here it’s quite popular down in the dwarf water front,” said Rand, cutting in. “Well at least tell me who I’m talking to. I’m Uldar, Rand’s father.” “Asbrosh Stonehammer.” “I guess you’re alchemist by the looks of it.” “Oh yes. That’s what you get mixing all those ores and minerals. You’re sitting down happily mixing away when ‘Poof’ , and you’ve lost all your facial hair,” said Asbrosh pointing to his face. “Dangerous work, but the money’s good. How old are you?”

Some individuals will never understand why some people find the issues of age a sensitive one. Therefore they will go on asking any person they meet for their age, even after the first few encounters had turned ugly, for the individual of course. Uldar was one of those individuals. Surprisingly Asbrosh did not take it personally and answered, “I am about forty five years old.” And that really surprised Rand. “Forty five years old! You don’t look that old,” he said, and almost immediately wished he didn’t. “Well I’m not actually forty five human years. You see one dwarf year is about two human years. So I’d say I’m about ninety,” said Asbrosh with a hint of irritation. “I thought all humans knew that,” he added. Despite himself, Rand blushed again, embarrassment showing on his face. His father had moved to the end of the bar, serving a customer. “I think I will have a talk with my fellow countrymen.” “I think I’ll follow you,” said Rand.

Walking over to the table the other dwarfs were occupying Asbrosh said, “Honour upon your house and mistress. Honour from Asbrosh Stonehammer.” From dead drunk to up right and sober, that was the fastest change of attitude Rand had ever seen. “Honour upon Asbrosh, honour upon The Golden Throne and honour upon clan Stonehammer,” the other dwarfs replied, trying very hard to stand at attention. Apparently not all of the drink had gone out of them. “Here I am only known as Asbrosh Stonehammer. I left the Golden Throne on Stonemount and I expect it to stay there. How fares my father ?”“The Overlord is most displeased wit... ,” and the first dwarf was cut off with a sharp stare from Asbrosh. “I left Stonemount,” said Asbrosh as if reminding the dwarf. “Um, yes. Your .... father is displeased, because of your....impromptu leave. “Well I did write him a letter,” replied Asbrosh. “As you say my lor.. ,” and the dwarf was cut off again, this time by a nudge from one of his mates. Catching himself he added, “Your letter was written in Calamari ink my lo.. um, Asbrosh. And the letter was quite near the fire place.” “Oh I see. It didn’t set the fireplace on fire did it?” “I’m afraid it did Asbrosh. It also burnt down the fireplace mantel and surrounding curtains.” “Oh no!” Asbrosh replied looking a little worried. “No one was hurt I gather?” he said hopefully. “No, no one got burnt alive if that’s what you’re saying, but it was a really good fire,” the first dwarf replied cheerfully. “I hope father forgives me.” “Well he does, in a way. At least he kept your old treasure chest intact. But he did take all the gold in it for his own treasury though.” “Well, that’s all in the past now. Oh yes, I do hope you leave a healthy tip when you lot settle accounts. Healthy for you that is,” said Asbrosh raising his eyebrows. “Good idea. I wonder why we didn’t think of it before,” came the general answer.

“That was quick,” said Uldar seeing Rand and Asbrosh return. “Well they thought I was someone else, someone with rank it seems. I must say that made it easier to calm them,” said Asbrosh. “They also said something about leaving a little something behind for the good service and that great tasting boar,” he added rubbing his thumb and forefinger together imitating the well known sign for money. Uldar smiled knowingly. “Dad, do you know about the sign on the door?” asked Rand. “The one about the City Watch. Aye , I placed up myself. Wonder why it didn’t say anything about Maloren though. It’s the Maloren City Watch that’s doing the recruiting.” “Maloren!” gasped both Rand and Asbrosh. Maloren, the city of marble, fountains of magical design and dome of fire that kept the city forever in summer. Maloren was the centre of the Alron Kingdom. The long line of Alron kings had, following tradition, added new architectures to the Royal Palace and even the city is self. The current city was awash with buildings of different dynasties and time periods.

“Haven’t been there. Heard about it though, but I must say it does sound exciting, I mean with the City Watch and all,” said Asbrosh. “Yes it does,” agreed Rand. “Aye. It’ll be good money too with little work and free housing. They be looking out for young lads on Willow Eve. And they say that they need a good blacksmith apprentice,” said Uldar looking at Rand earnestly. Rand’s eyes looked as if they were about to fall out. He couldn’t believe his ears. “Do you mean it Dad?” “Yes. Talked it over with your mother. You’ll be leaving for Maloren a few days after Willow Eve. At least it usually takes a few days for the coach driver to sober up, with all the festivities and all.” “But what about James?” “The baron’s sending him to Maloren too. Something about learning the ways of court. You two will be staying at your uncle’s house, you know, Vashti. I hear he’s got his alchemy shop running again after last year’s ‘accident’,” Uldar said, emphasising on the word ‘accident’. “What ‘accident’? Are alchemist’s allowed to make mistakes?” asked Asbrosh innocently. “Well Vashti was conjuring something up in his laboratory when he accidentally mixed up a strong batch of Qugen Fire. But he didn’t know it was Qugen Fire, so he set the beaker down near the fireplace. Made quite a spectacle, turning night into day, and blew his roof right off.” “And you’re going to stay with the man?” “Well he’s really not that bad. And he’s quite close to the King himself. Well actually his son, the Prince.” “Well when the City Watch find bits and pieces of you two all over Maloren at least they’ll know who to look for,” said Asbrosh who broke into laughter, followed by Uldar and Rand. The laughter caught on and soon everyone in the inn were laughing heartily. The rest of course, did not know what they were laughing about.

The Portal Stones began to glow brightly casting an eerie light over the elegant tapestries in the room. The room was big, large enough to accommodate almost thirty people. The floor was made of fine marble ; the finest in fact, coming from the sacred mountains surrounding Rivadale. As the glow faded, in it’s place was a young man, about eighteen years old one might say. His eyes however betrayed his secret. His eyes were a deep green, not out of the ordinary for one born in Emeritus. His eyes however shone with the flare of wisdom, wisdom that could only come from years of living and learning. His face was chiselled and shaped much like exposed stone. The harsh conditions of Rivadale demanded a hard demeanour much like the one processed by the young man. He was not only young by human standards, he was also young by elven standards being only thirty-eight. He was at an age where he would have to meet the Shapers who would in turn determine his destiny. His name was Garlad son of Killian.

Stepping out of the Portal Stones Garlad stood with his hands clasped together in front of him as he was shown earlier by one of the Elders. He was to wait for the Shapers at the entrance of the Portal Stones. “Shapers,” he thought. How fitting a title for people who will, at the end of the day mould his very life, his profession, his marriage and his place in the elven society. He was wakened from his daydream by a faint rustle. Turning, he saw the Shapers for the very first time. There is a long standing doctrine that dated back to ancient times that prohibits the discussion of what really happens during the Shaping. Most of Garlad’s elders cringe at the very mention of the Shapers. Mothers would spin tales of horror and fear about the Shapers to frighten their mischievous children. Now Garlad knew why the Shapers were looked upon in awe and sometimes fear.

The Shaper’s body glowed dark-blue, like the night sky. The Shaper was human like, though its general body shape seemed to shimmer and change. White specks littered the Shaper’s body. At first Garlad mistook them for sign’s of station, like the ones on the Elder’s robes. Then he recognised the white specks for what they really were. Stars! The Shaper was wearing the universe, or rather the Shaper was the universe. Garlad fell to his knees, with his head slightly bowed and his arms clasped together, a form he only assumed when in prayer. “Please, stand,” said the Shaper sounding oddly like a young girl to Garlad. “Your will,” answered Garlad, standing straight. “I am neither male nor female. And yes, your mind is open to me,” the Shaper said suddenly. Her mouth didn’t seem to move but somehow Garlad heard and understood her. “Mindspeech! But that skill has been lost ever since the First Moon. Who or what are you?” he asked, his fear giving way to his curiosity. “Please one question at a time. I am the Shapeling. I will guide you on your Kazel-Bar ; your journey through life. Secondly, the skill of mindspeech has not been lost, merely forgotten. Now with the arrival of the Highlords it will be restored to the world.” “The Highlords,” scoffed Garlad. “They have not walked the earth for centuries. Why would they return now?.” “The Highlords have been away for approximately three thousand years. The time has come for a new era, the Fourth Moon!. The time has come for the Highlords to walk this mortal plane again!.” An abrupt darkness came over Garlad and he lost consciousness. “The time has come for the Highlords to walk this mortal plane again,” was the only thing he could hear over and over again. “... the Highlords to walk this mortal plane again ... the Highlords... ten thousand years ... new era ... Fourth Moon ... the Highlords ... ,” then the darkness came over him completely.

Lucius ... it ... is ... time. Go ... go ... forth ... and ... reclaim ... what ... was ... rightfully ... mine. This ... time ... darkness ... shall ... prevail.” “Yes my sovereign. The Highlords will be enticed to serve you. Beware Highlords, for the Fourth Moon rises and with it comes death!” answered the Highpriest, prostrating himself before an altar of green flame.

Across the Endless Sea from the Highpriest, an almost similar warning was heard by a group of people. Unlike the Highpriest however, they intended to save the world, not enslave it. “The Fourth Moon has arrived, as in the Prophesy . We must make preparations to greet the Highlords.” “Have we identified the prophesied ones?” asked one of them. “Yes. Seekers have dispatched. They will make contact with the prophesied ones soon.” “But can the Fourth Moon be averted? Can they accomplish what Jacobias Truske, Gerofery Dolet and Karen Armald could? I sometimes think that in time, the Prophesy will fail and we will all end up as slaves to that demon!” asked the first. “Enhance your calm brother,” said the other, presumably the eldest among them. “We were appointed as Guardians to ensure the fulfilment of the Prophesy, as were our fathers and their fathers before them. We will not stop now. The future of mankind rests in our humble hands.” “Yes I am sorry brother. I have control of my feelings once more and am calm now,” said the first.

Quietly shuffling out of the dark and dank room, the priests robes could be clearly be seen, white with a red flame ; The Order Of Life. After the room was empty, a figure stepped out of the darkness. “So the Highlords are here again. I guess there’ll be another big war soon,” said the man. He was young, about twenty-five, with a blond beard, trimmed neat. He wore his long blond hair in a braid, tucked under his blue velvet cloak. “My, this is news. Must be off,” he said to himself again and was gone in a puff of blue smoke. Unknown to the young man, there was another presence in the room. The presence however was not a man, not even human but more of a shadow of sorts. “The Highlordsssss. Luciussss will be pleased.” And it to vanished, this time without a trace.

“Squire James, good morning. I trust you slept well. Your presence is required in the stables. Something to do about your trip to Maloren.” “Thank you ma’am,” James answered the chambermaid with a smile. Looking himself over the mirror in the kitchen and satisfied with what he saw, he set out to the stables of Baron Folgar. James was Rand’s older brother, older by a year. His flaming red hair and his serious demeanour made him an excellent squire, or so said his peers. Leaving the kitchen where he had just broke his fast he headed over to the stables. He could not help admiring the barony for some reason, like a feeling of kindred. The barony was a quaint castle, just the right size for an individual of Baron Folgar’s stature. Fifty-years old, thirty of them spent in court made the Baron circumspect of court politics especially his own. He was an individual who knew his place and didn’t ever try to climb the aristocratic ladder to wealth and power. At least that was what the other nobles thought of Folgar. Those who knew him however, described him differently. He was actually a shrewd individual, and never without a backup plan. He was also a generous and jovial person, and one who really knew how to throw a party.

“Ah, Squire James just the man I was looking for.” “Sir Gaylord, good morning. I was told someone wanted to see me in the stables? Was it you my lord?.” “Good morning. Yes it was I. Tell me Squire James, can you handle a sword?.” Blushing slightly James replied, “Yes my lord, but not very well.” “Good, an honest answer. Not many young men would admit to that. Here take this,” he said handing over a practice sword to James. It was more of a piece of stout wood, wrapped in rags, probably to cushion the blows one inflicted on an opponent. “Now, swordsmanship is very important. First of all you may need it to save your life and secondly to attack someone, bandits for instance. All right, now come at me,” he said raising his sword in salute. James did the same and swung his sword low. The trained knight, and one of the barony’s own swordsmaster easily parried it away, in turn slashing upward, towards James’s chest. James finding himself in a tight spot, raised his sword in front of his face, first to parry, then to hack, crudely one might say, at Sir Gaylord. What James didn’t take into account was the fact that his practice sword was not even in his grip but was now lying a few feet from his feet on the ground. “You’re actually quite good. But keep in mind what weapon you are currently using. Your technique seems to suggest that you’re more at home using a war axe than a sword.” “But I’ve never seen a war axe before, let alone use one.” “Perhaps it’s what you used in a previous life. Come I think I saw an axe in the smithy. After you are properly equipped we shall continue the lesson.” James and Sir Gaylord walked over to the smithy, James leading. The smithy was currently in use, evident by the rhythm like hammering that could be heard from afar and the cloud like smoke bellowing from the chimney. Upon closer inspection, James saw that his brother Rand was hard at work hammering out a bronze breastplate that was most probably dented during last week’s jousting tournament. “Ho Rand. Hard at work it seems,” shouted Sir Gaylord. “Greetings Sir Gaylord. Your helm is ready, and I took the liberty to add some leather lining inside to make it a little comfortable. It’s with Doram, inside,” said Rand pointing towards the forge rack. “Thank you Rand. Say, you wouldn’t happen to see an old war axe lying around would you?.” “War axe you say,” came a rough reply from somewhere inside the smithy. Peering into the gloom James couldn’t make out the person, with the glare of the forge in his eyes. “Doram?” called Sir Gaylord. “You sound like sawdust.” “Doram’s not here, whoever he is, but I’ll be happy to answer any questions as soon as I clear up an old argument.” All of a sudden something small and furry charged towards Sir Gaylord, wrestling the knight down to the ground. “Hah! You’ve become soft Gaylord,” said the mass of animal furs. “Brian?” said Sir Gaylord in an astonished tone. “Brian?. Brian of Banar?” said Rand. “Who in the seven seas is Brian of Banar?” said James.

Chapter Two

Leave misery behind-the Graylands await in eternal slumber.

- adapted from The Book Of Death

The Will Of The Gods.

Deep in the shady sadness of a wale,

far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,

Far from the fiery noon, and eve‘s one star,

salt brown hair’d Thull sat, quiet as stone,

Still as the silence about his palace,

still as the forest, as the mist that hung above his head,

Like a cloud on a cloud, he pondered,

thought and schemed,

A plan was in need, as a fair Lady was in distress,

taken not by love nor duty,

As was taken by greed, ill thought and desire,

for it was fair Morga that left,

Taken asunder by foul a person,

For great was his need for the bloody stone,

Now in the hands of Thull alone.

First Verse of The Will Of The Gods. Written by a Druid before the Age Of The First Moon. The song chronicles Thull and the mighty God’s struggle against the Dark God. Some say that the song may have been added to by other Druids of the Order Of Life as through the Ages Of The First, Second and Third Moons. On how this song has survived roughly three thousand years is beyond the scope of this writer. It is said that Morga persuaded Hera to cast a protection spell on the above mentioned scroll, making them ‘lucky’, hence it brought luck to it’s keeper. The enchantment was said to have turned the tide of war between Darkness and Light, causing Light to prevail. It is also said that the scroll was actually kept by the King of Maloria and has been in the royal treasury for a millennia. This version however, is unexciting and therefore this writer finds it impossible.

“But Sir Gaylord, he’s a thief!,” said Rand. “Oh come now Rand. Brian’s’ not that bad. He is just eccentric and he loves to haggle,” answered Sir Gaylord. “Oh and this is James, Squire to Baron Folgar’s court. He’s Rand’s older brother,” added Sir Gaylord. “Nice to meet you,” replied Brian. “Likewise,” said James. “Nice ring you have there, lapis lazuli I presume, from the colour.” “Yes. You have an appraising eye, Brian,” said James. “More like itchy fingers,” added Rand icily. “Come now Rand, I’ve told you that I was wrongly accused by the Baron. I did no wrong.” “All right, I will, for now.” “Now that all of you have been properly introduced, why are you here Brian?” “What! I am deeply hurt Gaylord. Must there be a reason for my visit? Can I not come to see an old friend, or am I not a friend any more? I must say, these days I don’t really know who my friends really are,” said Brian. Nodding as if he understood Brian, Sir Gaylord said, “Very well, to the inn then. Squire I shall see to acquiring the axe we were looking for in the Barony armoury.” “Yes sir,” answered Rand. Wiping his dirty hands with a blue handkerchief with the initials R.U. , Brian said, “So long Squire Rand and apprentice Rand. May the gods bless you. “And may the gods bless you to Sir Brian,” answered James. As the knight and his friend walked away Rand exclaimed, “Wait a minute, that was my handkerchief!.” The only reply Rand heard was James’s laughter.

Ordering two mugs of Uldar’s best ale, Brian and Sir Gaylord sat at a table far from the hearth. Far from the dancing light and far from prying eyes. Sir Gaylord’s cheerful face turned sombre as he faced his old friend. “Now tell me,” was all he said to Brian. “You know, you’re not going to like this. Maybe we’ll wait for the ale first, okay?.” “No, the ale can wait. I know what you have to say can’t.” “You’ve changed Gaylord. It’s all this knighthood business, riding off in plate armour to save princesses, duelling by the Code and living honour bound. You’re not the fun loving squire I knew.” “And you’re not the street thief I knew either. Now will you get on with what ever you’re supposed to tell me!” Gaylord raised his voice. Immediately a hush fell over the room and all eyes fell on the knight. The spell however was broken when a stranger stepped into the inn. Dressed in a heavy blue cloak, he absently started to brush of the dust that had gathered on the travelling cloak. A cold gust of wind blew in and threatened to blow out the fire in the hearth. All eyes then turned to the stranger to the relief of Gaylord. “Close the flaming door,” someone muttered. The stranger complied, then took of his heavy cloak. The man had red moustache, long and thick and looked weary. His face was young, about twenty bordering on thirty. He wore a red cape patched with an assortment of other pieces of cloth and he wore them with pride as a badge and carried a lyre, strapped on his back. Those drinking in the inn recognised him as a bard.

The bard took a seat by the bar and waved to Uldar, recognising him as the inn’s owner. “Pray tell dear sir, mayest thou be the owner of this fine and comely establishment?.” “Aye, that be me. And don’t be fancy talking me, I know your type.” “My type? Please sir I assure you that I am no thief or brigand. I am bonded to my guild as you may see,” he said holding out a miniature gold flute, the symbol of the Guild Of Bards. “Aye that be proof. Will you entertain us. The crowds’ bound to pick up on an ill night like this. If so, ale and room I’ll gladly share.” “I will be honoured to entertain such civil gentlemen.” “What be your name now?.” “Journeyman Charles Koor at your service,” said Charles with a flourish. “A Journeyman? I’ll be Uldar. Have you travelled far?.” “Yes I have. Liyad, Vareta and Lyris have I seen and many other wonders of the world. This dear sir is the last inn I am to play in, to complete my apprenticeship. Then I am of to Maloren for the final testing. But I tarry, come I shall amaze you with a ballad of my own writing.”

Taking the lyre off his back the proceeded towards a small stage Uldar had placed at the end of the bar. Live entertainment was always welcome in the Shining Path, at least when everyone was sober enough to look up from their ale tankards. The bard proceeded towards the stage, strumming the lyre softly. The crowd hushed as soon as he stepped on stage. Bowing with a flourish he said “Dear Lords permit me to introduce my self. I am Journeyman Charles Koor and I have been given the honour to perform in this distinguished inn. It is my pleasure ...” at this point one drunk customer, annoyed by Charles’s long introduction shouted “Oi! Get on with it will ‘ye. Me ale’s going stale” and the whole inn burst in laughter. “Why thank you dear sir to point out the obvious,” Charles said smoothly. “If it’s song you want, song you’ll get. I call this one ‘Love, Life And Death’.”

This living hand, now warm and capable,

Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold,

And in the icy silence of the tomb,

So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights,

That thou wouldst, wish thine own heart dry of blood,

So in my veins red life might stream again

And thou be conscience - calm’d - she, here it is,

I hold it towards you.

Fair maiden.

Given towards me in youth,

Willing, loving and caring,

Forever,

Shall thy love chill my fevered day,

And thy love warm my frozen bones at night.

Only so shall my blood flow,

Rich, thick, red over yours

For only in death shall we part

Our separate ways.

And when Charles finished the whole inn burst into applause, the drunk heckler cheering the loudest, followed by Uldar, Rand and Asbrosh. They at least, recognised true talent. The drunk heckler was a large man, with red flaming hair and beard. He wore a leather vest with silver studs, splotched by beer stains. Strapped to his back was a battle axe, large and deadly. The big brute looked as if he knew to handle it and eyeing the axe, most of the inn’s patrons made way, the ones that were sober enough at least. Walking up to the stage, he raised his hand in friendship. “Me name’s Lord Borric. Me friends call me Borric The Berserker.” One look at the man and Charles immediately knew why. “Sorry about the jeering. I was drunk. You really can play the harp,” he added. “Lyre.” “What!” the big man exclaimed as his face turned a shade of angry purple. “No one calls Boric a liar and lives to see the morn sun,” he shouted and promptly eased the battle axe from its sheath on his back. “No, no you misunderstand me Lord Borric. I was only correcting your comment, about the instrument I play. It is called a lyre, a close cousin to the harp actually. The harp is actually quite a large instrument, or so seems the one in the royal music hall.” “Oh,” replied Borric with a look of chagrin mixed with regret, as he was obviously looking forward to a tavern brawl. “Would you at least settle for a little arm wrestling?” “I’m sorry my lord but arm wrestling tends to get out of hand and we wouldn’t want to inconvenience the innkeeper, would we?” “No I guess not. Well I’m off to get drunk. Coming ?” “I thought you were dunk.” “I am. But it’s still not enough. I can still see straight. Do you want to get roaring dunk or not?” “Now there’s a good idea. I think I know a place near the waterfront where the beers’ not watered down, at least not much.” “Not the ‘Flagon’ by any chance is it ?” asked Borric dubiously. “Why yes, you do seem to know your waterfront dives. Come on, let us proceed to intoxicate ourselves, just for the fun of it,” said Charles. “And we’ll get roaring drunk too,” added Borric. “Drunk yea or nay, you’ll be sleeping in the stables. I’ll get my son to fix up a pallet,” said Uldar to Charles. “I thank you, my esteemed innkeeper for your hospitality and good treatment of me. I however, would not mind a pallet in the barn, lest I wake the horses whilst in drunken stupor.” “Come, I hear the beer calling me.” “I bid ye good bye for now good innkeeper for Lord Borric and I have a prior engagement elsewhere,” said Charles, bowing. “Aye best you be going,” replied Uldar with a curt nod. “Rand get a pallet from the store shed and set it up in the barn, the loft at least,” Uldar said to his son. Outside, lightning flashed and thunder boomed. The first droplets of the brewing storm could be seen in the ungodly illumination. “It’s going to be a long night,” Uldar mumbled to himself, and promptly began serving his other patrons.

Outside the ‘Shining Path’ something moved in the alley. The alley was illuminated for a second by the lightning but the outline of the shadow remained black as night. Moving with stealth, the Shadowspawn managed to catch a glimpse of Charles and Lord Borric leaving the inn. “Yesss. It will be a long night forrr you Keeper. The prophesied one shallll be retrieved.” The shadow slowly made its way towards the inn, unruffled by the rain that was beginning to fall. As the Shadowspawn reached the inn, it took the shape of a human monk, dressed in black velvet robe imitating the Order Of The Dead. No person would likely cross the path of the Order, and the Shadowspawn knew that. As the Shadowspawn entered the inn, the inn grew quiet and all heads turned towards the Monk of the Dead. Some moved out of the monk’s way, others cursed under their breaths. The Order was not a popular one, seldom seen, usually during outbreaks of sickness and war. The Order dealt in death and dead bodies. Some said the Order was evil, others felt the Order was only doing what no one else cared to do; tending the dead. Walking slowly, the Shadowspawn chose a table far from the fireplace, a table shrouded in shadows cast from the dancing flames. “Yes. This will do nicely,” it thought to itself. Soon a serving wench came to his table, nervously eyeing him. “What’ll it be Father ?” she asked. “Asgrad be with you my daughter. I’ll have some light red wine, from Runon if possible.” “That we have,” she replied and was off. Scanning the crowd, the Shadowspawn saw other priests, dressed similarly in robes of different colour. Some wore brown, the local priesthood, blue for the Order Of Healing, green for Verdure Allegiance and one in grey; a sorcerer. There was also a Druid in one corner, his silver robes and thistle leaf design shining brightly in the light. “Good. None of them will be able to stop me. The prophesied one shall be mine tonight.” Calling to mind the invocation that would make visible the essence of the prophesied one, the Shadowspawn began to chant under its breath. Eager in anticipation, the Shadowspawn closed its eyes in order to concentrate. Every word had to be uttered precisely or the invocation would not bear fruit. Nearing the end of its chant, the Shaowspawn’s concentration was broken when it was drenched by a pitcher of wine. “By the blood of the dead... , ” the Shadowspawn began to curse, rising from its chair. The curse was forgotten when it saw the cause of its disturbance. The grey robed sorcerer was standing in front of it, pitcher of wine in hand. Young and youthful, the blond hared sorcerer did not look intimidating. “I beg thee forgiveness brother. I am clumsy at times. Permit me to clean up the mess, at lest,” said the sorcerer waving a hand over the spill. Instantly the wine cleared and the Shadowspawn’s robe dried. “It is a small matter brother. We are all human, and all of us make mistakes. We shall all journey to Death’s Hall in time, yes ?” said the Shadowspawn smoothly. The sorcerer nodded understanding and said, “How rightfully so, dear brother. As a sign of friendship, please permit me to buy you a drink, more wine perhaps?.” By now the rest of the of the heads in the inn were turned towards the Shadowspawn and the sorcerer. “Damn this fool,” thought the Shadowspawn. “I must regretfully decline brother, as the evening grows late. I must be going. Thank you however for the offer,” said the Shadowspawn aloud to the sorcerer. “A pity then,” answered the sorcerer with a slight bow of the head. The Shadowspawn stood and fished in its purse, placing a copper bit on the table for the wine that it did not yet see, let alone drink. Leaving the inn the Shadowspawn once again took its own shape, the shadow. Inside, the inn’s atmosphere returned to normal.

Outside the storm broke over the barony. James looked through the arrow slits in the fencing tower and saw only flashes of lightening. Something felt wrong. They had given up looking for a battle axe and now fenced with rapiers, light yet deadly. “Ho squire, pay attention lest I skewer yee,” said Sir Gaylord. “Is something wrong? ” “No my lord, it’s just this storm. It... it feels wrong somehow,” answered James . “Wrong you say? But it is the right season for strong winds, the South Winds from the ice shelf. It doth bring storm and ill weather, but a little rain will never hurt. Come let us continue,” said the knight raising his sword to meet James’s. His meeting with Brian had ended early and now both of them were duelling in the fencing tower. “I guess you’re right. Maybe I just tired. May I be excused my lord? ” “Yes. Get some sleep. You are going to need it for the ride to Maloren,” said Sir Gaylord who turned to stare at the storm.

Chapter Three

- A honest thief makes a corrupt politician -

Thieves Guild.

The storm however, did not bother two men in the city. In fact it’s dark clouds and howling winds were a boon. Silent as ghosts, the thin and the small shadows moved past the watchdog, now dead with foam around its mouth. The poisoned meat worked perfectly. The tall thief picked the lock carefully, Dromn the Goldsmith would have placed traps. After a while an audible click was heard, and the small man moved from his watch post, into the shop. Crouching low, he scanned the room for any ingenious traps. He immediately spotted a tripwire by the worktable, and waved to his accomplice to enter.

Making sure the tripwire lay undisturbed, they proceeded to loot the smith of his belongings. Opening the work drawer, Grog; the fat one found a pouch with three gold rings inside, inlayed by rubies. Dromn the Goldsmith was indeed a master as his work was flawless. “No. Leave it,” said his partner Zornic. “The master smith must be allowed and encouraged to build his business again and so ripen it for another plucking. Never kill the hen that lays the golden eggs,” he added, quoting the Thieves Guilds first rule. Satisfied by what they found, both of them left the shop, making sure to lock the door back. That way the robbery would go unnoticed longer. Walking slowly, as not to attract attention, both of them moved off in a southerly direction towards the Guild. After awhile two thugs joined them, as protection. In addition there was the comforting knowledge that both were armed with silver daggers, courtesy of the Guild. The two thugs moved to flank them, then one moved ahead of them as point, the other behind as a rear guard. The motley bunch moved off at a quicker pace as the rain was getting heavier. “Damn this rain. I smell like a wet dog.” “Come now Grog, because of this damned rain there is not a soul outside on the streets. Hera, she smiles upon us.” “It looks more like she’s crying over us,” answered Grog. “Aye that she be.” Coming to a junction the group turned towards Pillar Alley. The alley was named after the pillars that stood along the alley, advertisements of builders and masons then any real need of architecture. Tall pillars, short pillars, even broken pillars were placed along the alley, shading the alley from moonlight. There the group stopped. Grog sent the first thug ahead as a scout. After awhile they heard the thug whistle, signing that the alley was safe. Still the two thieves were wary. Counter-thievery was not unknown in the city. The penalty of thieving outside of the Guild was high, and stealing from other honest thieves higher. They couldn’t go any higher than death. Creeping ahead, Zornic inspected each pillar. Before the robbery, both of the thieves had inspected their escape route, making sure it was safe, isolated and far away from the numerous guard houses in scattered around the city. It seemed to Zornic that there was something amiss with the pillars. For one thing there seemed to be extra pillars now. “ Grog, how many pillars were there on the left side this morning? ”“Eh? Pillars? How would I know? Why?” “Oh, no reason at all.” It seemed to Zornic that the alley would be a perfect palace for an ambush. In fact Zornic was quite sure that some dastardly villain (or villains) had placed extra pillars along the alley. One hard push by someone from behind the pillars and it would surely topple. Whether or not Zornic should pull Grog out of the way was yet to be known. Paying extra attention to the pillar, he failed to notice a figure on the rooftops. A the group of thieves almost reached the end of the alley, the figure yanked on a rope and one of the smaller pillars gave way, falling across their path. Then a second pillar came crashing neatly down, cutting off their escape. Drawing their swords and knives, the thieves formed a defensive circle, weapons pointed outward.

With their attention pointed outwards, they failed to notice a figure landing silently into their circle. One thug turned to face the enemy, but soon found his entrails hanging from a deep cut. Slumping to the uneven cobblestones, he cried out to his fellow compatriots. Turning to find the enemy within their defences, the two thieves lunged at him with their knives while the second thug drew a long curved dagger in favour of the sword he held. The second thug soon found a second enemy when another dark figure came into the moonlight. By now the rain was letting up and the clouds clearing. The second figure held a long sword and came forward. The thug, outnumbered, threw his dagger towards his foe. The figure neatly parried the dagger with an up-wards stroke and strode closer. Behind him, the thug could hear steel clashing as his two pursemasters battled it out with the first attacker. With the grace of a cat the second attacker leapt forward with his blade, intending to skewer the thug. Paring the sword aside, the thug swept the attacker off his feet, causing him to fall to the wet ground. Leering, the thug stood over the attacker, sword raised. The leer turned to horror when the thug found the hilt of his dagger protruding from his chest, its blade buried deep within his heart. The second attacker rose to his feet, only to see the first attacker finishing off the second thief with a smack to the head with the hilt of his sword.

Walking towards the first, the counter-thief said, “Well, I guess it’s fifty-fifty yes? Or would you like to battle it out? ”“Nay, half of the loot it’ll be. My name is Fritz.” “Just Fritz? No matter, I am called Blade.” “And you think my name’s unusual,” said Fritz. “Come Fritz, let us depart, lest the loss of these two be noticed. My place is closer. Please allow me to be your host tonight.” “Very well, lead the way then,” answered Fritz, wondering how Blade knew his place was further than Blade’s. Both of them left Pillar Alley and headed towards Blade’s place. Blade took Fritz through alleys, squares and crooked streets, never stopping for directions or landmarks, no mean feat in the dark, damp night. After awhile they came to an inn by the sewer, the one connecting all the smaller sewers in the city. “Come, let us have a little drink.” “In this place?” asked Fritz dubiously. “Oh don’t let the exterior fool you. The ale and wine here matches the Kings standards. Come,” entering the inn, Fritz saw that the inside was at least cleaner, and less fragrant. Sitting himself near the serving table, Fritz followed suit. “Ho bartender, two pitchers of ale, and one red wine. The good stuff, mind you, not watered down vinegar and grape juice. And bring two tankards of ale.” The tankards of ale came almost immediately, and the bartender sent his scurrying boy down to the basement to pick up their order.

“So, what is a northerner doing in this city, so far south?” asked Blade. Wearily, Fritz said, “It’s a long story. I guess there were ‘differences’ between me and the thieves guild in Moran. More raiders then thieves. They robbed and killed someone they shouldn’t have.” “Your parents? Sister or other sibling? ”“No. Actually they butchered my whole town. One of the thieves left the town gates open for marauders. I was only a child, so I was spared. If you call being taken as a slave lucky. They travelled around Sloc, Burd and Spol. I lived with them, eyeing the thief that betrayed my town. Fifteen years, I toiled as their apprentice blacksmith. Then one day they decided to raid Feron. The pickings were not as easy as my town. Feron was well fortified, and they had cavalry support from the nearby outpost. Most of them died in the raid, but the one I wanted managed to escape, and fled to Maloren. It is a good thing, that he escaped. Now I get to hang him with his entrails.” “Aye, slowly at that,” said Blade. “Then why the thievery? Is it money you seek? ”“Nay. I have some information that the man I seek, Myers, is now in the Thieves Guild of Maloren. I wish to find him.” “And I shall help you. Long have I looked for someone to help battle this evil.” “Aye let’s drink to that! ”A few minutes later, the bartender handed them their jugs of ale and wine, and Blade paid him. Leaving the inn Blade said, “Come. I would like you to meet someone.” And again Blade led Fritz through the maze that was Maloren.

Soon Blade slowed and then stopped completely. Pointing towards an ally, they came to a flight of stairs. Looking towards Fritz, Blade said, “You should be able to go upstairs.” Fritz blinked. The flight of stairs were made of wood, some rotten with age. In some places the wood was completely worn away. There was no rail to stop someone from falling down. “Come, quickly.” Moving up first, the flight of stairs groaned under Blade’s weight, but held. A few moments later, Blade signalled Fritz to follow. Hesitating, Fritz placed his foot on the first stair gingerly. Moving up, he found that even tough the wood looked rotten, the stairs were quite sturdy, aside from the groan of timbers. Suddenly there was a crack as the timber gave way. Fritz found himself looking down ten feet of empty air. Hastily he hugged the wall, so that his weight was evenly spread. Cursing, he made it up the stairs slowly. Twenty flights or so and Fritz reached Blade. Fritz was wet with perspiration and exhausted from his ordeal, but Blade only smiled. “I keep the stairs well mended, only in a few places is the timber rotten and soft. The creaking stairs make sure I get no unwanted guests.” “I almost got myself killed.” “Come now, I would have tried to save you, but my weight would have caused the whole flight of stairs to fall.” Taking out a bronze key, he turned the lock and pushed the door open but did not enter. A hollow thud rang against the door. Stepping in, he bade Fritz to enter. Closing the door, Fritz saw that a heavy crossbow bolt had embedded itself into the door, about chest high. Smiling, Blade dug the bolt out and lighted a lamp with flint from his pouch. As the room came into view, Fritz found himself in a palace instead of a dank, rotting room. The walls were granite with marble in some places. Banners of every imaginable colour and rugs of thick silk littered the walls and floor. In some places there were light bowls, the type made by the Magician Guild, expensive but they gave off bright white light. Blade must have noticed the look on his face as he said, “This whole building was actually made out of stone and marble. My grandfather bought it and spruced it up so that no one would know that he was really a rich merchant. Pretty devious of him, but most of his money still went to the King when he died. The rest he left to my father, and now it is in my procession.” “The whole building? This far away from Merchant Street? Your grandfather must have been a very successful businessman, a sly one at least.” “Aye that he was,” laughed Blade. “What was his name? ”“My grandfather? Duke Robert E. Howard the Third.” “Duke Robbie!,” Fritz choked. “He was a bastard! The King’s bastard no less. No disrespect meant.” “None taken. Yes he was sired on the wrong side of the sheets, but he was a good man. A man of honour. When the High Advisor Rodric planned treason, my grandfather stood behind the King, his half brother, even when the other Lords backed down. He placed his own money on the line, something he would have never done, just to make sure the King was well protected. He himself was a good swordsman, a Blademaster even. After the rabble and revolt was quashed, the King made him a Knight of the Realm, the title to be passed down to his son and so on. When he died father took his place, guiding the Prince-Heir, now King. But Rodric and his fractions were not done with Maloren. With well placed lies, my father was soon branded a traitor, to be executed on sight. He was ordered to leave Maloren but he refused, and sought out the King. On the night he was to meet with the King he was struck down by an assassin’s knife, in the back. None claimed responsibility, but I was there. I know who threw the blade that killed my father. And now I will kill him. My father used to say that revenge was a dish served cold, and I will serve my revenge with a cold blade, the one used to kill my father,” answered Blade flipping out a dagger with a black blade, from his sleeves. “Wait a minute, that means you are ...” “Duke Robert E. Howard the Fifth,” Blade finished for him. “A branded outlaw, traitor and coward. But you can call me Blade.” “Ha! Blade it is then,” said Fritz spitting on his hand and offering it to Blade, who did the same. Shaking hands Fritz asked, “Now who is this son of a sea witch? ”“All in good time my friend, all in good time. Now I would like you to meet my betroth.” Following Blade into the room, Fritz was once amazed by it’s size. It was large enough to be a warehouse. They soon came to a long corridor lighted with oil lamps. Blade took Fritz to the first room and knocked. Smiling wiry, Blade said “Never anger a woman, even if she is promised to you.” “Good advise,” answered Fritz. “Enter,” came a voice from inside the room. Entering, Fritz found himself assailed with sweet smelling incense and perfume. “A room fit for the queen,” thought Fritz absently. “I would like you to meet the Lady Roweena, First of Maloren,” said Blade to Fritz. “Princess Roweena!” said Fritz falling to one knee. “Come now, none of that. Here ‘we’ become ‘I’ and palace formalities are best left in the palace.” “Yes milady. Thank you milady,” answered Fritz as he stood with a worried expression. Only Blade and Princess Roweena wore smiles. “Dinner is ready. I hope you will be gracious enough to dine with us Sir Fritz,” said Roweena. “It is my pleasure milady, but it’s just Fritz, milady.” Blade smiled and his smile was echoed by the princess. “Come,” she added leading them to another room with a table large enough to seat thirty. “Gods! What have I got myself into now?” thought Fritz to himself as he sat down to the finest meal in his life.

CHAPTER FOUR

“This tastes like dog meat!”

- overheard in ‘Sohaili’s Sausage And Meat Shop.’

This day on one paw, all fingers open (five). Snort here again. Snort live. Rhem town gone, Orc Horde burn down. Not so fun because all villagers already leave. Snort no know village trap. Dwarf put many (more than two paws) barrels of dwarf spirit under village, in mine. Then set fire. Go boom! Very toasty now in mountains now. But Snort no discouraged by many orc deaths because Snort have good plan. Plan come to Snort in sleep. Snort say ancient ancestors send plan to Snort.

Snort get human and dwarf good. Snort send troll axethrowers up Rhem River, and wolf cavalry down Eula River. Snort go straight to Stonemount. When all human and dwarf troops come and stop siege, they come from back. Fight dirty, win early say Snort father. Snort get them good. Priest’s kill human and toss insides in fire ceremony, say good day for battle and dark gods with us. Keril, Warleader of Orcs say Snort good Captun, maybe become clan chief someday, if Snort live. Keril stay with main camp, send others to fight. Keril say he no scared, only need to plan war in camp with priest’s so no can go fight in battle. Priest bring magic, tell all orc solider to drop to ground when hear loud scream. Then priest make big fireball at human. Snort no like magic, no work good, still burn orc army and human army. Priest’s say they call shadow assassins, Snort no see one so Snort know priests bluffing. Snort is clever. But Snort very sure human and dwarf troops no know what Snort do, so Snort win this fight for sure. Yesterday, day one paw, with one finger down, human dragonriders attack night camp, burn down some camps and troops. Wolf cavalry very happy, good cooked meal hard to find in mountains. Other orcs not happy, say Snort to not let wolf cavalry eat dead orcs. Snort say good idea, later wolf cavalry say orc meat good eating, then maybe eat Snort too, so Snort say wolf pack leader to not eat burnt orcs. Wolf pack leader not happy with Snort, but Snort let wolf cavalry eat dead human and dwarf. Snort good captun. Ogre horde leave orc camp, no fight human. Ogre leader say they big, always get hit with arrow, but Snort make them leave ogre catapult with army. Now Snort only have to find big stone, put on catapult then attack human and dwarf. No big stone, Snort use dead orc. Snort clever. Snort go now, Snort no blood for ink anymore.

- excerpts of an Orcish Captain’s war journal during the war of the Third Moon.

“He is awakening.” “Has he healed completely?” “His body yes, his mind, I am not so sure. His time has been the longest. Why?” “You know better than to ask. His Kazel bar is only for him to know. For now we must awake him. He has wasted much time.” “Killian? Is that you?” “Yes Garlad it is me. Are you well.” Shifting his body in a sitting position, Garlad turned to the face of Killian, his father. “Killian, I have met the Shapeling. She, nay it has given me a duty, to perform. The Highlords they come!” The mentioning of the Highlords turned the faces of Killian and the healing priest pale. “Hush now. You must not mention the Highlords. The Shapeling, it is your Kazel-bar and none other. Rest now. Tomorrow you return to Elvandar.” Moving away from Garlad, Killian beckoned the healing priest to come along. Outside, in the cold hallway of Rivadale Killian asked the healing priest, “The mark. How has it come to rest on his palms?” “Forgive me Killian for I do not know. The works of the Shapeling are a mystery to all. But this talk of the Highlords, they will bring fear to our people and Emeritus as one. What can be done?” “Nothing, my friend,” answered Killian. “But we must make sure Garlad’s Kazel-bar is completed. My heart tells me it may hold the balance between the Light and Darkness.” In his room, Garlad lay staring at his palms. On them were branded the Treemark, sign of the Elvelords.

Garlad walked down the cold halls of Rivadale. He had slept, but not soundly. He had terible dreams, of war and blood. He saw men face dark poweres. After awhile he found that he too was battling a shadow, and losing. As the shadow reached over to embrace him he woke up and found himself in his room, safe yet drenched in cold sweat. He felt tired, as though he had truly done battle. He rose from bed, washed and exited to break his morning fast. Reaching the kitchen he found only the kitchen boy there. “Hail and good morn. Do you have some bread and fruits?” he asked. “Good morn. It is already sunup my liege. The cooks have left me tending the lunch fires. But there is some trail bread, for your journey.” “My journey? Where, pray tell, am I going?” “Killian has made it known that you are leaving us for Elvandar. You do not know?” “Elvandar! But the passes are snowed in. How are I to leave?” “I have called the Pegasus to aid you,” came a voice from behind. “Killian,” said Garlad as he turned to face his father, “ Why are you sending me away? Have I done something wrong? It is because of these, is it not?” showing the Treemark on his palm. “Garlad you must understand. The Highlords have brought nothing but pain and suffering to Emeritus and our people. War, famine, death and destruction, I fear Emeritus is facing extinction. This age of moons might be our last. You must fulfill your Kazel bar. This you must do. The Pegasus’ will help you in your quest.” “But what must I do. The Shapeling did not say. How am I to stop the Darkness?” “Be patient, my son, for the Shapeling works in many ways. You will know when the time is right. Tell me what do you feel now?” “Tired, and angry perhaps. I am being sent away from my people, my city of birth.” “Come, rest and eat then. I fear that your journey will be longer then all of us expect.”