Theran Nightwind knelt down in the dense underbrush, making sure to be absolutely silent. He had grown up in these jungles. The invaders had not. He know how to pass through the wet, dense foliage unnoticed, as swift as a wild weretiger. The invaders did not. And they were coming this way.

Not if I can help it.

His right hand always on the hilt of his bone-daggar, he looked through the bushes, listened to the sounds of the forest, listened for any slight variation in nature's usual song. He wasn't completely alone in the jungle. He had the forest on his side, and of course there was Frazni, as always. But he was the only human around, besides The Enemy. He, his drakeling, and his connection with nature were the only current defense against the enemy that threatened their very livelihood.

For a long time, there was nothing. But he knew better than to get complacent. He had to stay alert, be ready for them when they did arrive. And they were coming. He could feel it in the air, feel it in his heart. The time to fight for Clan Drakken had come.

The enemy had already swept its way through Western Pazarae, using politics and inheritance to gain a precarious hold over the people. It wouldn't last, Theran knew. They had been forced into accepting someone like Archibald Mortag as a leader, tied down as they were by their strange concepts of money and politics. But the Easterners were different. The Eastern clans were not driven by politics or the need for pacifism above all. The Drakkens were warriors. So was The Enemy. The similarities ended there.

We still know how to hold on to our way of life, he thought, And we are willing to fight for it, just as surely as The Enemy is willing to fight to take it away from us.

His musing came to a quick end as he heard an unfamilliar rustling in the trees. Nothing native to this forest made those sounds. It was Them, all right.

He crouched lower into the underbrush, and wrapped his hand tighter around his dagger. They were coming.

He saw them come out of the woods, so obvious that an idiot would notice their presence. The Thlarknians were dressed in the brown and grey uniforms of their homeland, nothing outlandishly bright, but still more noticable than the carefully camoflaged warriors garb that Theran was wearing. But the real give away was how they moved. Completely clumsily, like the alien outsiders that they were. They behaved exactly like he expected Thlarknians to behave -- arrogantly and stupidly, with their long swords whacking loudly against the underbrush. Just like Thlarknians, to treat the forest as their enemy, instead of the powerful ally the Paza'i believed it to be.

Theran meditated for a moment, forcing himself to calm down, prepare for battle, and suppress the tight knot of fear that was threatening to grow in his stomach. Just like training, he thought.

He hadn't intended to go to battle today. It was like any other day, except that he was separated from the rest of his hunting party. He'd been attempting to find them when he felt it, that feeling in the air that something was wrong. And then he knew. The Thlarknians were headed this way. He knew they'd come to suppress the insurgents in East Pazarae soon enough, but he hadn't thought it would be today. He hadn't thought that he'd be the one to find out about it. He hadn't thought that he'd be alone, with no time to go back and warn the others. But that was indeed the way it had turned out, and he'd be the Chieftain of all Fools to go down without fighting back.

Maybe he was the Chieftain of all Fools for fighting, too. There were, after all, more of them than there were of him. But he would never be able to live with himself if the Thlarknians took control of Drakken Village and he hadn't done a thing about it. He had to fight back. He had to, on this unexpected day, be fully prepared to fight and probably die for Clan Drakken. He was a warrior, and nothing less was expected of him. He was ready.

The lead Thlarknian marched forward, using his sword to cut through the trees, causing a few birds and rodents to scatter as the branch they had been resting on fell to the forest floor with a smack. No respect at all for the Sacred Forest, Theran fumed inwardly.

He slunk backwards like a tiger on the prowl, ready to strike. And he would have gotten them, too, if his drakeling hadn't interfered.

Frazni suddenly flew up from the ground, fluttering wildly and chirping in excitement.

"What the Darkness are you doing?" Theran hissed, but it was too late. The Thlarknians had already noted his position, and were switftly coming forward. "Frazni, come back here!" he shouted, although he knew it wouldn't do any good. The deed had been done.

Frazni obediently flew back and landed on Theran's shoulders, chirping and sounding quite pleased with himself. Theran wondered what was going on, Frazni had never given him away like this before! Why had the drakeling inhibited his attack on the Thlarknians?

And then he noticed that the bone daggar was still in his hands, and he was standing, quite exposed, to the Thlarknians, who carried not only much longer metalic swords but also magical fire-arms ... he didn't have a chance to fight back now. Was that why Frazni had stopped him from attacking? But what good would it do?

The Thlarknians raised their swords when they saw him, as if to charge. Without thinking, he leapt deftly forward with the intention of stabbing the lead Thlarknian in the arm with his bone knife ... had Frazni not gotten in the way again, resulting him in tripping and dropping his knife -- which one of the soldiers quickly confiscated.

"Where did you come from, boy?" the lead Thlarknian asked, speaking down to him in an obnoxious, condescending manner.

"I am from the village of Drakken, not far from here," he replied evenly, inside seething at The Enemy's self-righteous manner.

"Our peacekeepers have had troubles in that area with insurgants," the man replied. "I don't suppose you would be one of them, would you?"

"You threaten our people and our way of life," Theran replied, which was his way of answering without answering.

"We intend to threaten nobody," the Thlarknian replied. "We simply want to give you proper education and facilities and freedoms of a civilized society. Your people exist in poverty on this otherwise useless spot of land. We come only to help."

"The Forest of Drakken is sacred and powerful!" Theran shouted back. "You would only destroy it with your swords and hatchets; poison it with your magic."

"The point is, you did attack us when we had nothing but peaceful intentions," the Thlarknian replied. "Which is why, per regulations, we must take you with us."

Theran didn't want to admit it, but suddenly he felt a slight tingling in his spine. "Take me where?" he asked, trying not to show the sudden fear that had gripped him.

"Only to Port Felanthryn," the Thlarknian replied. "Not far from here."

To Theran, who had never been far from his own village, the Western City of Port Felanthryn seemed like a universe away. But then, he did not have the fancy modes of transportation that the high and mighty Thlarknians had.

"You will not take me to Port Felanthryn," he said decisively, "You will allow me to return home."

The Thlarknian actually laughed, the nerve of him! "I'm afraid it is government regulation," he said. "Insurgents are to be taken to the Capitol. You will return to your home eventually."

"How long is eventually?" Theran wondered.

"That all depends," the Thlarknian replied, "On how well you cooperate. Now come with us. We don't want to make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Frazni cooed softly, as if suggesting that Theran really ought to go with the Thlarknians. He wondered why his drakeling companion suddenly seemed to be taking sides with The Enemy, but he figured he wasn't about to find out any time soon. He was sorely tempted to run back to the village, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew that might do more harm than good. It looked like he didn't have any choice except to go with the Thlarknians. But Gods help him, that did not mean he had to like it!

The journey to Port Felanthryn would have taken three days by unicorn, but the Thlarknians, carrying an unwilling Theran, made it in one. Theran had never flown on a gryphon before, and he was terrified, at first -- until he actually got into the sky. There was a freedom up there in the sky, flying above the trees of the Sacred Forest, seeing his home from this amazing view. Mother would disapprove, he knew. So would most of his kinsmen. The Drakkens believed that flying was something sacred for the birds, dragons, and gryphons alone, and not meant for humans. To fly above the trees like this was to try to be far too much like the Gods. And yet, this freedom ... it was hard not to smile, even when he knew he was headed towards his certain doom.

The Thlarknians were marginally more civil to him than he had dared to expect. They didn't mistreat him, really, but they still treated him like he was their inferior, and that they were the absolute good descending from the Sky to Enlighten him. He hated their condescending attitude, but at least they hadn't tried to kill him. Or done any more harm to the Sacred Forest. Perhaps he was wrong in trying to attack them after all.

No, he thought, Clearly I was wrong, because had I not attacked them, then I could go home, and I wouldn't be being dragged across the sky to the Gods only know what. But it is something, isn't it, this flying... Gods save me, what would Mother think?

The flight ended quickly enough, however, and he was about to find out that his fun was going to be over from then onward.

The nation of Pazarae, although united for over a century now, had always been divided into East and West. The Westerners were a druidlike people, who worshipped nature and strove for a peaceful and harmonious existence. The East, in the Sacred Forest (known to non-Paza'i as the Jungle of Judgement because it was next to impossible to navigage) had always been a loose confederation of tribes and clans who, like the Westerners, worshipped nature -- but did not always live in peace or harmony. Over a hundred years ago, Tanezar Felanthryn of the West united the tribes of the East and created the modern-day nation of Pazarae, and it was after him that Port Felanthryn, the only major city in the country, was named.

Port Felanthryn was also Pazarae's capitol, and therefore the place where Archibald Mortag, the unhappy leader who had become ruler of Pazarae by a fluke of inheritance technicalities, lived for half of the time. Since becoming ruler, Mortag generally spent the summers at his original home, in Thlarknia, and the winters here in Port Felanthryn. It was March now, so the not-so-beloved regent was probably getting ready to head home (good riddance!) but hadn't quite done so yet.

Theran was immediately surprised by the size of the city. The buildings were all so large, and close together, and the roads were actually paved with cobblestones (imagine that!). People everywhere used magic, and not just natural magic at that. There were light shows and projections and everything else imaginable, all fueled by Thlarkmet. He knew that such things would surely be illegal anywhere else in Pazarae, but Port Felanthryn was owned by the Thlarknians. And so the people who lived here were forced to deny their identities. Or maybe they were simply apostates. It was difficult to tell.

They arrived at a large building at the end of the main road, and Theran was reluctantly dragged inside. As they walked briskly through the main hall, he gawked at the gaudiness of the marble floors, crystal chandaliers, and fine artwork which defined this hall. Theran had no concept of what was expensive and what wasn't, but he knew that none of this glittering euphoria would be anywhere to find in Drakken Village. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

The Thlarknians then lead him up a long flight of marble stairs to a room, where he was told to sit down on a plush leather chair. He looked at the table before him, made out of some fine, dark wood. He found himself instinctively wondering about the life that had been lost to furnish this office, and wondering if those who had killed it had properly thanked the Gods. He seriously doubted it.

The two soldiers left, leaving Theran alone in the room with an overstuffed grey haired man who looked down upon him with a condescending nature, just like every other Thlarknian he'd met. He was not Archibald Mortag, he knew. He had feared for a moment that it would be, but no, that would be stupid. They didn't bother the Lord and Regent with such foolish matters as jungle natives that didn't behave themselves. The nameplate on the desk said that this man's name was Noran Baxter. He'd never heard of him, but judging from the office, he was probably someone important. Making sure jungle natives were assimilated and lost all of their sense of self must be seen as important work, then. Great.

"So," the man said without further ado, "I hear that you tried to attack three well meaning Thlarknian soldiers while they were on patrol in the Eastern Jungle," Baxter said, his voice an irritating calm.

"I did not want my peoples' way of life to be threatened," he replied truthfully.

"And what made you so sure that they were going to threaten your way of life?" the old man demanded.

"I saw what you did to the other tribes. I didn't want that to happen to us. At least when Felanthryn conquered us we were allowed to go about our normal customs and traditions and rituals. But you would destroy all that we are."

"We outfitted the villages with indoor plumbing and magical air conditioning and even projectors and the best educational system; all the conveniences of a modern magic-using society. I see no harm in that. We were simply reducing poverty. And yet, you re-pay us by trying to kill us?"

"We never asked for any of those things," Theran replied. "We simply wanted to go about our way of life. The Thlarkmet you mine and the magic you use and then subsequently foist upon us harms and insults the natural world that we hold sacred." He was surprised at how calm his voice was, even when faced with these condescending b*st*rds.

"We mean no harm to your way of life," the man replied. "We just want to improve the quality of your life and magic does that. Surely you must see that!"

"How can our way of life be preserved when you spit upon and stomp on everything that we hold sacred?" Theran replied, feeling strongly that this meeting was going nowhere.

The man had nothing to say, which led Theran to believe that he had won, at least for a moment.

"Have you ever been to school?" the man asked finally.

"I was well trained in the rituals and customs of my people from a very young age," he replied. "I also am a valuable member of my clan's hunting party."

"Indeed," Baxter replied, and Theran noted a slight sneer curling at his lip. "But do you know how to read? To do basic figuring? To use magic?"

"Of course not," Theran said.

"Well then I suggest it is time you learned," the man said.

And thus it began, and Theran became introduced to the Thlarknian's most insidious torture device.