The Story That Never Ends

JIMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Lol I am when ever I can be! FOR ALIVARIA!!!!! Lol (I TTLY spelled that wrong : /)

I am!!!

I am!!!! This story has been on hold for ever!!!!!
I wish there was someway to post the entire story that we have so far….I'd like to read the whole thing :)

I could create a thread to do that, or I could post it here….

That would be neat! :)

Which one would you prefer?

A separate thread might be more efficient. Then again, it would make a lot of sense to keep it on the same page.

I really don't mind…either way would be fine, if you want to do it :)

O.K., then. Here comes the entirety of the story on this thread. :)

I’ve read little parts here and there and always got myself sorely lost and confused.
I can’t wait to read the whole thing!!!!!!!!

I know. It really is amazing. :)

Here it is, all! The last half has not been edited, so please forgive any confusing parts, grammatical errors, and spelling errors (Also, name changes have not been implemented, so we still have such names as Rowan and Lady Arwen. :)

(P.S. I will be posting the chapters as I am able. We have, I believe 17 chapters right now, so you can look forward to having them posted soon.)
(**You can post comments in between my postings of chapters, but when I am done, would you all not mind removing them. That way, we can read the story from beginning to end without any interruptions. :) ****)

(EDIT: Hmm… It is not letting me post… I will have to work on the problem.)

Is it to big you think? :S

I don't think that is it… I am working on it now. :)

Yay! :)

Ugh! This is the only reason that BB is not good…….echo echo

Agreed Well, it ends in just 10 days. :P

That will be a happy time yet a sad time sigh….

Ugh! This is the only reason that BB is not good.......*echo echo*

…….sigh……

Ok so why don't we get the entire story thread going???

Well, Jimmy was trying to do that (he edited some things it is REALLY AWESOME now instead of REALLY Awesome) but the computer was having some problems and he had to go back to college but i am going to see him tomorrow so I will remind him to get the story up :P!

(I'll break the silence)

Kathyrn didn't know how long she had been running. She didn't even know if she was being followed. All she knew is that her destination was Lier's lair. She didn't know what she would find; in fact she didn't want to imagine what she would find. when she arrived however, all was calm. There was no apparent evidence of a battle, or recent bloodshed. She found it peculiar and decided to walk very slowly and cautiously toward the entrance. 

(How did I do? :))

(Good! Though, since we just went to Lord Melkior and Lord Arsoth, I think we should expand more on that and how he found that Lord Arsoth did not have the king, but that is just my opinion! Thank you SOOOOOO much for writing something! It was good!!!!!!!!!)

(Thanks! I was worried that I might have missed something because I had trouble following the story before. i'm glad that I was able to keep it alive though. :))

(quotes Toy Story 2 You saved our lives! We are eternally grateful!)

(LOL!)

[ :) ]

( lol :) wait so what is the climax here going to be???? I thought it was going to be the fight at the Castle so when we edit the story we r just going to fix the time problems and make that the climax? Cause I think that would be perfect. :))

LET THE RESURRECTION BEGIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The BB is over cry sob laugh and scream!!!! Sad but happy!

Or not……

Sorry I'm not very good at actually writing….. I think everyone else is confused I think it might be a good idea to start the entire story thread.. just so everyone is caught up.

I have an idea……..but we need input.

http://www.memverse.com/forums/forums/introduce-yourself/topics/brickmaster-2-0?page=134

I had an idea too, and don't think I was kidding! Glossopoeia forever!

FYI everybody the life of the "party" (Jimmy) Is coming home this week and when that happens fist against palm no sleep all writing jk!!!!!!!

That's great!!! LOL! :)

I have a few questions….

1. What is the name of this world? And the names of the kingdom(s)?

2. Are all of the characters here from the same nation?

3. Are there other nations in this world?

4. What is the geography of the kingdom? I mean, what's the lay of the land, what would be the most common food grown or made in this region?

5. We're basing this kingdom off of England, right? Most medieval-based stories are.

6. Is this world going to be "frozen" in the medieval age of technology, or is innovation allowed? For example, an old inventor who creates a small steam-powered boat that he uses for fishing. Would that be considered too high-tech for this world, or can we slowly advance the technology available to the people?

I wish I could answer all of those… but it's been so long, even though I've been one of the main contributors, I don't know how to respond yet. facepalm I'll work on it.

I can answer those :)! Just let me do it tomorrow as i am quite busy tonight….but I'll probably get to you tomorrow!

@everyone-Can't wait to hear everyones additions hint!!!!!

Wow! Wow! Wow! I read through this entire thing yesterday. This is AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There's still some editing that needs to be done on stuff like capitalization/punctuation, but otherwise it's turning into a great story.

Just one question, and I may have just missed something here… but there's a part in the story where it talks about Britton being led to the Lord by the way Ronan treated him. I thought Ronan became a Christian after that, though - when Sir Quinn died…..

Keep up the great work guys!!!

I am so glad you like it! Everyone is just so amazing! By the way, I have done a bunch of editing, but I have yet to post the edited stuff. The capitalization and spelling stuff is all fixed. :)

Ah, ok. Cool! By the way, I like the section where the angel rescues the nobles trapped in the cave…. his name just happens to be the same as my brother's name! ;)

Ummmm…. We really need to get this started up again. :)

Yeah…
I would help but I'm dreadful at writing and I don't really know what just happened….

Can someone answer my questions?

We don't hardly know who you are….

So, you're discriminating against me just because I'm new?

Welcome! I bag your pardon? I didn't know you found that discriminating. :S Sorry!

You're not new! :)

Hi, all! I am reading through the story again. I will try to post it, but Memverse has been acting up for cutting and pasting. I will let you know how it goes. :) There are, by the way, 16 chapters as of right now. :)

Here it goes! Remember, there are still a bunch of editing issues (spelling, Grammar, names, plot holes, and such), but we will sort through that soon. I would ask that you all not comment on the thread until the entirety of the story has been posted. That way, we will have an uninterrupted block of text. :)

Chapter 1



The forest was oddly silent. The only sounds that could be heard were footsteps on the dry leaves. Not a bird, not a voice, not even an insect broke the eerie calm. A young man, with broad shoulders and brown eyes, crunched through the leaves at a fast walk. As he walked, he looked quickly from side to side. There was a look of terror on his face – a terror that showed his fear of pursuit.

Snap!

He heard the noise of a breaking twig on his left. His instantly turned his head in the direction of the noise, while at the same time he drew his long sword. As he strained his eyes beyond the steep, tree-dotted ridge that was positioned on his left, the young man thought for an instant that he saw a figure retreat behind a tree. He could not be certain of this, however.

Snap!

He heard yet another sound directly behind him. He was certain this time that the sound was man-made. He spun around, his sword gleaming in the dying light of the evening. He stepped forward a couple paces, carefully avoiding the many twigs and branches that lay across the ground. As he did so, however, he felt a powerful blow upon his head. Red, yellow, and white lights flashed before his eyes. He clutched his head and staggered, falling to the ground. He felt himself beginning to lose consciousness, but right before his eyes closed, he noticed the form of an enormous man in a black cloak – a cloak marked with the insignia of a red dragon. His mind swirled. He felt that what he saw was somehow terrible and deadly, but he could not remember why. He closed his eyes, and knew no more.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


A dark, muscular warrior, who was missing his left hand, stood over the now motionless body. The hilt of his sword had done its job well. As the bearded man stood, he gazed upon the fair figure on the ground, now marred by a large lump on his head. He was almost sorry that he had harmed such a powerful young man. Of course, he shook himself and very quickly brushed that thought away.

The soldier turned as he heard several other men draw near, some from over the steep ridge and others from the low, muddy hollow that the wounded man had just traversed. Nearly all of the approaching figures wore dark grey cloaks inscribed with the symbol of a dragon red as fire. Most of them were robust and bearded, with the tall frames and dark hair that often accompany men from the far West. Each bore a look of grim purpose and resolve, as though each knew his precise, delegated task and would not let anything stand in his way of accomplishing it. The only exception to this rule was Lord Traius, the commander of the band. A head taller than even the tallest of his men, he bore an expression of ferocity and cruelty. From the peculiar, erratic movements of his hands to the strange twist of his lips, one could see that he delighted in slaying he did not trouble himself if his own men died, aslong as they helped him achieve his ends. It was Lord Traius who wore the black cloak that the young mans saw as he fell by the hand of the hidden soldier.

As soon as Lord Traius drew near the prostrate figure upon the ground, the man who had struck the blow approached and said to his commander. "What should we do with him? We could carry him to Carivia."

Lord Traius replied with anger and impatience, "Search him, then slay him! He is weak, and of no use to us. He bears no insignia, and he does not look like a spy."

"But, my lord, Lord Drakin sai-"

"I said kill him, Korg! I don't care what Lord Drakin said!" The angrier Lord Traius become, the more his hands quivered.

The soldier answered timidly, slowly backing up to the ridge, “My Lord, with respect, Lord Drakin is your superior, and a member of the Council. As such, it would be wise to –“

With a flash, Lord Traius’ drew his sword and, with almost incredible force, brought it down upon the unfortunate Korg, who buckled to the ground. Without hesitating Lord Traius raised his blade again to finish the senseless young man. He was gone. Lord Traius looked up and saw with horror that another man, golden-haired and dressed in brown, was carrying the young man out of sight into the thicker woods to the right.

“After them!” Lord Traius shouted as his men ran into the forest with drawn swords and knives. “It’s one of the order, and the young one must be in league with them. Catch them or you are all dead men!”

The soldiers swallowed as they ran. Either the two fugitives would be caught and killed, or they would.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The young man, carried in the arms of a stranger, slowly opened his eyes. He was surprised by the continual jolting he felt and by the horrible headache that throbbed within him with the force of a blacksmith’s hammer. He slowly lifted his head and saw that he was being carried at a furious pace through the same forest where he had previously received his wound. At once he felt a surge of terrible pain, and he quickly raised his arm to his feel his head. He tried to speak, but he was instantly silenced by the strong, gasping voice of the man carrying him.

“Now—is not the time for words! We must fly! In a short time it will—be dark, and until that time our lives depend upon speed and silence. I—will tell—you everything soon.”

The young man kept silent. He was still disoriented after his blow, and he did not think it wise to ask any more questions from the man, who was surely struggling under the weight of his burden. At any rate, he soon drifted back into a world of blackness.

The tall, blonde man continued his desperate pace for some time, but he could not sustain it forever. He slowed to a measured trot, never ceasing to look over his shoulder for pursuers. Finally, he approached a large, circular clump of low bushes that he knew to be his destination. He laid the younger man upon a patch of soft ground, and disappeared behind the bushes. He soon reemerged, leading a beautiful white horse that tossed its head and snorted as though it were accustomed to speed, danger, and battle.

The wounded young man had, by this time, regained his senses. The sudden halt of the rocking motion of the blonde rescuer’s arms had shaken him out of his deep slumber. He looked up and, upon seeing the man, said with multiple pauses of weariness, “Thank you, sir, for – your help. I am – in your debt.”

The other man waved his hand with an air of kindly disapproval. “Say no more. It is what all true followers of the Almighty and of the Order would have done. I was very near you when you were attacked. I heard you cry out, so I came as swiftly as I was able. Thankfully, I was on this side of the forest when those soldiers came upon you. It would certainly have gone hard for you then.”

The young Count nodded.

“I have yet to ask your name,” the tall man said with a smile. “I am anxious to know the one whom I had the pleasure to help.”

“I am Rowan, from the castle of Carivia. Before the Council came to power, I was the Count. Now I carry that title in name only.”

The other man started. “The Count of Carivia? Why, I have heard the name spoken of in my Council with King Archen – at least, the former king. He told me that you were going to arrive at the refuge in the Kolgarriat Mountains sometime very soon. This is wonderful. It is an absolute privilege to rescue a fellow noble and, I should hope, friend. As for myself, I am the Duke of Assen.”

Rowan smiled. He had heard of the Duke of Assen – how many brave deeds he had done with his close and dear friend, King Archen, and how they had joined together to retake the country of Alavaria and restore to it its rightful name.

“I have come here from Arandan,” continued the Duke, “where I only just escaped with my life. I regret to say that ten knights, brave as any who ever drew the sword, have fallen. The Almighty delighted to spare me, though, and I was able to escape with my horse and my skin. I could not but think that it was for some purpose, and I see now that it might have been this.”

Rowan was just going to express his admiration for the Duke, when suddenly he noticed an intense uneasiness in the white horse’s manner. At first he thought that it was his presence that made the horse stamp and shy back continuously, but when he saw the horse gaze nervously towards the north, with his eyes flat against his skull, he knew that something else was coming.

The Duke of Assen seemed also to notice this change. His warm smile turned to concern.

“I had hoped that we had lost them earlier. The darkness normally would cause them to turn back. Well, we shall pray that the Almighty will preserve us long enough to escape. Can you ride, Count Rowan? I know you might not be able to with your injury.”

“I will be fine. As you said earlier, speed is necessary.”

The Duke nodded. “Aratar is a good horse.” Then, without hesitation, he lifted Rowan into the saddle. He then stepped into the bushes and brought out some small containers of water, which he intended to place within the saddle bags. He was but twenty steps away from Rowan when, with a loud cry, a throng of armed men rushed upon them. The Duke of Assen, realizing that he could not make it to his horse in time, drew his sword and ran to a nearby piece of elevated ground. As around two dozen cloaked warriors fell upon him with their swords and knives, he began to hew them down with his own shining blade. Those who bore the red dragon quickly surrounded him and cut off his escape.

Against such odds as this, it was mere foolery to think that much chance existed for the duke. He held the high ground, and as a master of swordsmanship and quick of foot it was a difficult task to break his guard, but even then he was facing at least four attackers at one time. He was able to resist their early charges and the thrusts of their knives, but his assailants quickly changed tactics and, instead of attempting to overwhelm the duke with strength, tried to strike the gaps in the duke’s armor and so bring him to the ground. The duke’s body was soon pierced by many wounds.

Rowan looked on helplessly during this part of the conflict, too weak to draw his sword. In the dying light he could scarcely tell who was the enemy was and who was the Duke of Assen. The scene before him apeared like a gasping, clashing blur of grey, brown, red, and flashing white. Rowan broke out of his stupor, however, and urged his horse forward. He hoped to break through the body of men and to rescue the duke. The milk-white horse he rode, however, refused to move. Trained to obey only the voice of his master and to enter no clash of arms without him in the saddle, he stood still and stomped the ground impatiently. His nostrils flared at the sound of battle.

Suddenly, six of the soldiers left the party attacking the duke and began running towards Rowan. The young Count was terrified. He cried out in a loud voice, mustering all the strength he could and desperately trying to get the horse to move.

Suddenly, in the midst of the circle of the fighting men, Rowan saw a giant figure stand up straight, with his sword held high, glancing quickly towards him. In what was now the first hint of moonlight, Rowan saw that the man was the Duke of Assen.

Since he was first cut off, the duke had anxiously tried to reach Rowan and Aratar. Weak and wounded, he knew that it was his only refuge. While he knew that he could call on the horse to come, he also recognized that Rowan would not survive the blows that the soldiers would give as he tried to mount. He sought to break free of the swarm of enemy steel, run for his mount, swing in into the saddle, and ride off. He was nearing this goal, when he heard Rowan’s cry. When he looked up and saw the six soldiers nearing the horse and its rider with sharpened blades, he knew what he had to do.

Rowan saw his friend as again he was pierced with a knife. He stood out like the moon on a field of black. For an instant, their eyes met. The Duke’s eyes betrayed a compassion beyond Rowan’s understanding, and he smiled at the wounded rider. Rowan felt within that it was a smile of love and resignation.

“Aratar!,” the Duke’s voice rose above the din, “Nevar eika Alar! Leave this place!”

The horse reared on its legs and, in a fury, sprinted off into the night, only just eluding the skilled strokes of the six soldiers. Rowan shouted aloud as the horse galloped off, and he watched in horror as he saw the duke fight on against impossible odds, giving up his only hope of escape to spare him from death. He couldn’t understand it. In spite of his bravery, his friend had no chance. Why would he do such a thing? These thoughts plagued Rowan’s troubled mind throughout the ride. Try as he might, he could not slow Aratar’s breakneck gallop. For more than an hour they rode, Rowan struggling to stay awake.

Finally, he spotted the light of two low fires in the darkness. The horse came to a sudden stop, and Rowan slipped off, plunging into deep and uneasy slumber.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Rowan! Rowan? Is he dead, Sir Quinn? Oh, please don’t die, Rowan!”

“I don’t know. I wonder why he came here. Wait a minute! He is moving. Praise the Almighty!”

Rowan groaned as he heard the two voices. It seemed to him in his pain that the voices were whirling about and echoing endlessly within his head, bounding off the sides and jumbling his thoughts. He gave another groan.

Upon hearing these obvious signs of life, the people behind the voices began to gently shake Rowan, entreating him to open his eyes. Upon doing so, he saw two of his closest friends, Lady Arwen of Anandale and Sir Quinn of Casuil, a kind knight of high distinction who had known Rowan since he was a child. Indeed, the two were almost family to the young count, especially Sir Quinn, who was like a father.

“Lady Arwen?” he said to the woman, who was very beautiful and who had curly brown hair.

“Rowan! You are alive!”

“Could you doubt it, Lady Arwen?,’ Rowan smiled.

Lady Arwen gave a light laugh. “Only for a minute, Rowan. That cut on your head looks frightening. You must have lost quite a bit of blood. I have sent for some bandages, and I hope to have you healed in no time at all.”

Sir Quinn then spoke, “I heard you were in the area, lad, and I hoped we would see you. I just never expected to see you like this.”

Rowan smiled. Sir Quinn had the strange habit of calling him “lad.” For the longest time, the young count had hated it, continuously reminding Sir Quinn to simply call him “Rowan.” Recently, though, he had taken a fancy to the name, especially as it was given out of kindness, rather than arrogance. “Neither did I. Some men took me from behind as I was going through the forest. But I should probably tell why I ws alone in the first place. I did hire some armed villagers and woodsmen to guide me to the Kolgarriat Mountains, but when I awoke yesterday morning, I found that my entire guard was gone. I was a bit suspicious, but at the time I was mostly angry at having lost all of my supplies. I decided not to stay where I was, but to proceed with caution. I had heard that Lord Traius and his men were in the area, but I felt I could avoid them well enough. Anyway, I was cut down. I should have died then and there. However, I woke up in the arms of the Duke of Assen!”

‘We guessed that you had met the duke after we saw Aratar. But what was he doing there? I heard that he was in Arandan, north of the Arvin woods. Where is he now”

“He said he was escaping Arandan. He said that many were slain there by the Council. I would assume this was done under the command of Lord Alexandr. I am afraid though, that by rescuing me, he gave his own life.”

“How so, my lad?”

“We were ambushed by Lord Traius’ men – at least, that is who I believe they were – and the Duke was cut down. Before he
died, though, he commanded Aratar to take me here in safety.”

“Treacherous brutes!” shouted the enraged Sir Quinn. He turned slightly red, however, when he noticed the surprised faces of Rowan and Lady Arwen. “I am sorry, my lad. My temper is still…temperamental.”

Lady Arwen then spoke up. “If we can, we should try to recover the Duke’s body and send it to his castle for proper burial. The Council, of late, does not seem to be as active as it has been, and I think that at least some of us ought to pay our respects to the king’s closest friend. Then, we should ride without delay to our secret refuge in the east.”

Another knight who had been listening, Sir Myles, then joined the conversation. He was short and not as muscular as others, but he was exceptionally quick of foot and a master, both of swordsmanship and of adapting to the fighting style of his opponents. He seemed to continually bear a smile, and he always wore the most fashionable clothes available, particularly when they were white. “I think that would be an excellent plan” he chimed. “Who will lead the Duke’s burial party?”

“I should say none other than the Lady Makennah,” answered Sir Quinn with a smile.

Rowan’s eyes opened. “Is Lady Makennah here too? How many nobles are in this place?’

Sir Quinn laughed. “Over fifty, Rowan. Many nobles that you know have come with us to speak to the people. You will soon be able to talk to the others, but only after you get some bandages and some sleep.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


Meanwhile, Lord Traius’ men streamed swiftly back to the place where their commander stood, waiting for them impatietly beside a small fire. As they approached, he looked at them in surprise and anger. Far fewer than had departed were returning.

“What happened?” Lord Traius barked.

“My lord,” one of them said, “your orders have been carried out. We caught the two as they were preparing to fly on horseback. We killed the stronger one, but the other, unfortunately, was lost to us.”

Even in the darkness, the soldiers could see their leader’s figure stiffen. “How is that?,” he yelled. “How dare you disobey my orders. You are to do all that I command, down to the smallest detail. I said kill both, yet you come all smug and content after letting one escape to give away our position?”

The soldier spoke up once again. “We did all we could, Lord Traius. He escaped before we ever could have reached him. Besides, Lord Drakin gave strict orders that –“

They suddenly heard the sound of Lord Traius’ sword being unsheathed.

“Dweltar, you saw what happened to Korg, and I never want you to mention Lord Drakin in my presence again.”
The men looked confusedly at each other. Lord Traius was a servant of Lord Drakin. How could they avoid speaking of him?

“You see, Dweltar” Lord Traius continued, “we are no longer going to serve Lord Drakin. That blubbering fool cares only for torture and seclusion, rather than for battle. Do you think we shall long survive if the insolence of Lord Drakin incites the wrath of the rest of the Council?”

“But we have done much to help the Council—“

“Yes, but we are also Lord Drakin’s personal soldiers. We have made serious blunders due to that fool in Carivia, and if the wrath of Omb comes upon the castle, it will fall upon us first. No, we must take control of the city and do his work properly. Too long we have suffered under his insults. We must be free of the Coun—Lord Drakin.”

“But we can’t simply—“

“It is I, Lord Traius, who is the master of your fate now. You have angered me, Dweltar, and I give you a choice. Swear allegiance to me and forsake Lord Drakin, or die! The same choice is before you all, but Dweltar shall be the first to choose."

Dweltar stood still. His, stained with the blood of the brave Due of Assen, perspired heavily. Loyal to his first dark lord, even to the point of having spied upon Lord Traius in the past, he sought a way to avoid the fate he felt would come for refusing the offer. He decided instantly on a course of action. He drew his dagger and, with strong and careful hand, flung it at the Lord Traius. He intending to pierce the armor beneath Lord Traius’ cloak. The dagger, however, missed its mark, for Lord Traius saw the glint of metal by the firelight and ducked heavily, causing the weapon to merely graze across Lord Traius’ face as it whizzed past.

"You wretch! You will die for this!" Lord Traius rushed forward and swung his sword. Dweltar fell, dead at the feet of the betrayer. 


Lord Traius then turned and, with bared and clenched teeth, spoke to his 16 remaining men. "You have seen how I handle anyone who rebels against me. Swear your allegiance to me, and me alone. I am your master; you no longer serve Lord Drakin. We will overpower him and the—we will overpower him and rule Carivia ourselves! The garrison will be sure to follow. If you are with me, bow and swear your allegiance! If not, you will die by my sword."

The men stood silent. They were reluctant to turn their allegiance so quickly. The Council would be furious that they took arms against one of its members. But they also knew that the reward for expressing contrary opinions would be instant death.

"I will serve you, my lord," one of his men said, stepping forward and bowing down on one knee. The other 15 soon followed suit, affirming their loyalty to their leader.

"Now," Lord Traius said, "follow me, and we will overtake Carivia. We will put Lord Drakin to death, and the red dragon shall replace the blue! Let us be off!" 
The men ran a number of miles to the north, where they had hidden numerous horses. Upon mounting, they rode off towards the edge of the forest and to the Straden Mountains just beyond with determination, ready to do anything to fulfill the every desire of their new master.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


Rowan awoke hours later to the sensation of Lady Arwen shaking him and urging him to rise. He felt his head. Strangely, although he felt weak, the pain had almost completely disappeared. This, he thought, came from some medicine he had been given or the bandages carefully wrapped around his head.
They must have been put there while I was sleeping, he thought to himself. He then spoke aloud, “What is it, Lady Arwen? Is it almost time for the morning meal, or have I slept through that aready?”

“I am afraid I am not awakening you for peasant reasons, Rowan. One of our scouts just came in and said that he spotted several dark horsemen approaching from further south. They probably are the Lord Traius’. Still, I don’t think they know that we are encamped here.”

“Then why don’t we just wait here quietly?”

“It is important that we move at once in order that they do not discover us and report our position. Although I think we could handle the red dragons of Lord Traius, we could not now withstand the Council’s massive armies. Come, we must hurry."

Rowan hesitated as he rose. “Lady Arwen, what about the Duke of Assen? Were we not going find him and give him an honorable burial?”

Lady Arwen nodded as she began packing her saddlebag with various items, including important documents.

“It is important that we do so, Rowan. More important than you know. Of course, as you said, it is the reverent thing to properly bury him and give thanks to the Almighty for all that he has done for us, but it is also important that recover him because we think he is carrying one of the King’s –“

Before she finished, Sir Quinn blew three low, short blasts on his horn, loud enough to be heard by all the knights in the camp, and quiet enough to be imperceptible to Traius’ force on horseback.

Lady Arwen began packing and moving to and fro at a quicker pace as she continued, “But do not worry. Sir Quinn has dispatched several nobles under Lady Makennah to recover the Duke’s body and to give it burial at his castle. What little you could tell us of the location of last night’s combat was given them, and they should succeed.”

“I should have liked to accompany the party.“

“I understand. He did much to help you, but you are more unwell than you think, Rowan, and there were reasons for haste on the part of Lady Makennah.”

Rowan was slightly comforted at this, but he still wished that he could have been one of those told off to find the Duke of Assen.

Meanwhile, all the people around Rowan began to mount their horses. Knights and nobles of all descriptions – fierce warriors from the North, Barons and Counts from the great towns of the East and the West, and even an Earl from the Southern plains – were present. Rowan had heard of many of them, but he had personally known only a couple. He was awestruck at being in the presence of so many brave men and women, all united in one effort: to put the king back on the throne of Alavaria.

For many years, the wise and kind King Archen had ruled the kingdom. The country was happy, and there were very few indeed who did not benefit from the king’s sense of justice and his efforts to make the nation prosperous. However, a few powerful men, nobles of various great houses, resented the King’s rule. Some hated the way he treated everyone equally; others abhored what they saw as injustice; still more reviled the mere presence of a king; and all despised his reliance upon the Almighty. For these reasons, nine lords conspired and set in motion a plot to overthrow the king and to rule the country in their own fashion. Known as the Council of Lords, these men gradually took over the country. The strong fortresses of Carivia, Forenton, Ambrest fell after hard fighting, and those of Garakor, Veilano, and Omb fell through treachery. With the fall of the last great fortresses, the Council of Lords claimed absolute power over the nation, renaming it Kornaiden as a way to erase the memory of a previous age.

King Archen, however, had not been entirely defeated. After the great tower of Modharada had been taken and razed at the hands of the Council of Lords, he had taken flight with a small but intensely loyal band of followers. These followers, who called themselves the Order of the Nobles of Alavaria, though they were not all nobility, had pledged themselves to following the Almighty, the One True God, and to restoring the land peace that had prevailed befor the Council began to reign from Omb, the City of White. The Order been hunted down ruthlessly by the Council of Lords for over ten years. Of the five hundred original followers of the king, less than two hundred remained. While a number had arisen to take the places of the fallen, bringing the total following of the king to around three thousand, this was nowhere near the number of people within Alavaria itself. The people where shackled by their fear; they were terrified of the Council and the one who controlled it. Whole cities were razed and their inhabitants slaughtered in the first years of the Council’s rule. Even the pleas of their king could not lift the surviving peasants and townsmen out of their stupor of fear.

The look of courage and devotion on these men, however, sworn as they were to sacrifice themselves and to protect the others of the Order with their lives, immediately inspired Rowan with a similar sort of courage.

Sir Quinn grunted as he lifted Count Rowan up onto a horse. 
"Don't move around too much, lad," he said. "Keep flat against the neck of the horse, and your pain should not be too unbearable. We will try to get you some help when we get to the castle." The wounds you received might feel better now, but the pain should return once the strong medicine we gave you wears off. 
Sir Quinn turned to the other knights. "Friends, now we must be swift. Lord Traius’ men are very near. Let us be silent. In time we shall rejoin the party sent by Lady Makennah to bury the Duke of Assen, who as you all know, suffered an untimely death at the hands of Lord Traius. He is in God’s hands, but we ourselves must still seek to preserve the lives given to us. We have only minutes to leave. Ride on!”

The group of horses and their riders began their journey at a swift walk toward the east, bearing a little to the north, making sure to make no sound that could give Lord Traius’ trained men the idea that enemies were near. It was a densely wooded area, filled both with oak trees and with curiously shaped firs whose needles seemed almost blue in the early light. The ground was rolling and broken by occassional low ridges and by dark grey rocks that were splintered and fragmented, making them very difficult to climb on or over.

Rowan would occasionally moan of pain as his horse carried him over the small hills and valleys, but he tried to suppress his discomfort as much as possible. He spent his time in conversation with the various people around him, all of whom won his admiration with their tales of daring fights and escapes.

Soon, the party turned away from the setting sun, towards the east. As they continued to travel. the woods began to grow less thick and the ground became less broken and strewn with leaves. The party soon found themselves beyond the trees and at the edge a long low plain, covered with tall grass, that stretched out as far as their eyes could see. Upon turning their heads to the north, they saw the treeline recede a couple miles towards the horizen, where it stopped at the foot of a low but strangely snow-capped mountain, one of the many that formed part of the Straden range. Just outside of the woods, however, and under the shadow of the mountain, was a large, walled city that in the light appeared golden orange. It was circular, and it looked like it contained many strong and thick walls.

“Carivia!” cried Rowan. “the Fortress of the West.”

“We shall soon be within her walls,” Sir Quinn said with a smile.

“Will we? I would like that very much. But why are we going to an enemy stronghold. What about the Council? And Lord Drakin? And the people? Would not they recognize you, or even me? Isn’t Lord Traius from Carivia?”

“Well, lad, I do not know how to answer all your questions quite properly. Yes the Council uses the city now. After the guard turned on you three years ago, they have, almost to a man, faithfully followed Lord Drakin. Omb has sent many faithful troops to keep the loyalty of the city. It is a prized possession of their now.”

“Then why are we going there?”

“Because it is a center of information. Though you were thrust out, Rowan, I have kept up a number of friends within the walls, and they have proved vital in telling us many of the Council’s plans, especially those that concern Lord Drakin.”

“Yes, but, why are we all going there. There are forty of us. Could we not wait in the woods?”

“It is necessary that no one goes into the city alone. Things that are vital to the king cannot be allowed to die with a single messenger, however sad that image may seem. It is dangerous, and as a result an entrance requires careful disguises, disguises that work best with a group. We have friends, and they may be able to help, but I cannot count on that. The best chance exists when we have about a dozen in the party. We will be going in with about thirteen of the Order. The rest, under the Earl of Ralgasor, are going to go East when the night comes. They will cross the plain and the Kolgar Marches, and it is to be hoped that they will find the king in the secret refuge in the mountains beyond.”

The group of horsemen, by this time having turned again into the woods, then broke up. A small party of trusted knights, including Sir Quinn, Lady Arwen, and Rowan, walked slowly to the north, while the rest under Novar, Earl of Ralgasor, waited until nightfall to make their long journey east.

It was just past sundown when the smaller party approached the Castle of Carivia, and the air began to take on a thicker, smokier texture and to gain a bluer hue.

Before they left the forest and strode toward the gate, each of the nobles, as if out of nowhere, quickly pulled on dirty and mangled cloaks and hoods and tied most of their horses to nearby trees. Those who had chanced to wear elegant clothing were told to change their outfit completely for fear that they should be discovered. All complied with this, except Sir Myles, who insisted with a smile that his cloak hid his rich gamrents and could not possibly be seen.

To further master their parts, they smeared dirt on their hands and faces; they also drooped their shoulders and bore a sad expression, an expression that was often seen among the people since the Council took over. Even the two small horses they decided to bring seemed to act more like pack-horses. With the disguises complete, the party approached the walls.

It was almost entirely dark by this time, and lights were brightly shining from the outer wall. They could see guards on duty. 
As the group approached the closed gate, a lone soldier called out gruffly from the top of the wall,
"Who goes there?"

"A friend. We are here to check on our wares within town.”

“At night?”

“It is a strange time, but we were delayed all day. Please, do be kind and open the gates, for the wolves are many at this time of year.”

A mocking laugh came from the wall, but it was suddenly halted by a sharp voice that called out, “What is the matter here?”

“Oh—Captain, these—a number of people claiming to be peasants are at the gate.”

“How many?”

“About the usual number.”

“But at night?”

“I am suspicious myself, sir.”

“I will deal with this.” The newcomer called out, “Who are you, and why do you approach the gates of Carivia in the darkness?”

“We are peasants, and we are here to check on our wares within town.”

“Well, I can’t—one moment, are you in need of salt?”

“No, and we can give thanks for that.”

There was a moment’s pause, then the soldier called out, “Open the gate.”

A low rumbling echoed through the darkness. The massive wooden doors of the castle swung inward, and the relieved “peasants” passed through unharmed. A soldier was waiting within the large, square courtyard that lay beyond the entrance.

“I thought it was you, Sir Quinn” the man began. “Your disguise nearly fooled me, even though you did give the signal. It is certainly better than your last one, when you pretended to be a roving band of jesters. That was—an unforgettable night.” He and Sir Quinn gave a short laugh, then became serious. “Anyway,” the man continued, “I will order the drawbridge lowered.”

Sir Quinn spoke quickly. “Thank you, Gradlem. There is much to talk about. I should tell you that we have come with a wounded Count Rowan!" Quinn said, trying to keep his voice down. "We need to get him help immediately!"

“Count Rowan! Certainly! I would do anything for my old master,” he answered immediately in Quinn's same quiet tones, smiling at the young Count, who could barely keep upon his feet. “Go to the usual place. I will make sure nothing happens.”

The members of the Order walked through the courtyard in silence, careful not to attract any attention to themselves. As they crossed the massive square and walked the horses from one massive oaken door to another, they warily glanced around, not knowing who might recognize them. There was no need to fear, however, for their plain clothes sufficed to keep attention away from themselves. Sir Quinn led them to a hidden side door built into the end of the wall just past the courtyard’s far gate, covered over by tall stalks of grain and sacks of wheat. The group waited for a patrolling guard to pass by them, then set to work uncovering the hidden stone door whose edges blended into the thin cracks in the wall. After they had cleared everything away, a brawny man took Count Rowan from his horse, and Sir Quinn opened the door. The party headed in, leaving two behind to watch the horses and to cover over the entrance before the guard returned and discovered them. They would enter by another way.