The Story That Never Ends

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The Prince of the Fallen: A Tale of the Nobles of Alavaria

by Memversers4Him

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 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 twigs and branches that lay strewn 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.


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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 half 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.

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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.”

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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. He, 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!" 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 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 Counc—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. Still, as each looked around, he could not feel sure that he could escape if he refused. Each man thought that the others would turn on him to save their on lives, and they felt 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 and raising his one dark eye to his master. The others soon followed suit, affirming their loyalty to the dark lord.

"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.

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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—ah, 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.

Chapter 2

Many hours earlier, Lord Traius passed the camp that had recently been occupied by the Order. Had he but looked carefully, investigated the horse-trampled earth, and noticed a peculiar silver pin encasing a pearl that had been dropped upon a flat stone, he would have discovered them quickly. In his haste, however, he did not notice anything that was worth a halt. Now, as he rode in the early afternoon, he passed unaware the party of the Order who were riding a little to the east.

Now, with the cool air of the evening in their faces, Lord Traius and his band of dark warriors raced furiously through the trees that formed the extreme northern edge of the woods and that indicated the risining slopes of the Arvin Spur, and small range of mountains that curved south from the Straden Range instead of east, dividing the the northern part of the Arvin Forest in two. Occassionally, the low dwelling of a charcoal-burner’s dwelling would flash past the riders. At other times, the horsemen noticed the smoke of isolated villages billowing away in the distant sky above the dying trees. Lord Traius did not pay much attention to these signs of peace and and life, however. In truth, he was thinking more about his plot to overthrow his master, Lord Drakin. He knew that he had a difficult task before him, a task that would require the use of his greatest faculties to accomplish. By rebelling against the Lord Drakin, he made himself a renegade – an enemy of both the Council and the Order. This did not contribute to his chances of success.

“My lord,” one of his younger warriors asked him during a brief halt by a swift-flowing stream, “if I may, where are we going? Carivia?”

Lord Traius was silent.

The man continued, “You know we are willing to serve you. You are our lord. How, though, do you propose that we take Carivia? It is a strong fortress, and Lord Drakin has many men.”

Again, Lord Traius did not open his mouth. He just stared at his men, his hands twitching imperceptibly.

Desperate to have get some response, the young man again spoke. “Do we have friends inside who will assist us? If not, how will we pass through the walls?”

Lord Traius placed his left foot in the stirrup of his horse, and made ready to throw his other leg over the back of the animal. As he did do, however, a mocking voice called out from one of the soldiers, “Our lord is silent because we aren’t going to have help, Varin. He is our lord, and we will serve him, and, this he knows, will die for him. We are going to fight against the whole garrison, and we shall lose. Only Lord Traius will escape.”

The face of the young solider, Varin, turned white as he heard this, and Lord Traius paused in his attempt to mount.

“How dare you,” the young man said. “Surely you lie!” The group of men began to murmur. They were the best troops in the kingdom, so they thought, but even they could not take Carivia, the Fortress of the West, alone. Lord Traius could very well be crazy, they began to think. Maybe he was leading them to their deaths.

The speaker, an older man with a long brown beard speckled with grey and with a steely gaze, stepped forward. If any had observed him carefully, they would have seen his palms sweat and his gaze momentarily falter as he approached Lord Traius. He continued, “You are going to bring us into danger with no chance to escape. We shall be caught instantly. You yourself know that, though we can get into the city and even kill Lord Drakin, we could not get out, let alone rule. The garrison is too loyal, and the Council too great.”

Varin was furious. He had served with Lord Traius for three years, and it was he, not Lord Drakin, to whom he had always owed his allegiance. Though Lord Traius was ruthless, he thought, he would not send his soldiers on a hopeless mission. “You lie, Mar” he cried out, drawing his sword. Lord Traius did not stop him. “He would never do that.”

Mar again stepped forward. “Oh, really? Let me hear him say it himself, instead of having an little weakling say it for him.”

At that, Varin dropped his sword and swung his fist at the man’s face. Mar dodged, and the powerful blow barely missed. Varin suddenly found his arms pinned to his side. Mar had charged forward and grabbed him around the waist. He was lifted into the air and hurled to the ground. The older man leaped upon him, using his legs to keep Varin’s arms pinned, and punched the younger man repeatedly in the face.

“Call me a liar, will you?” Mar yelled over and over again. For over a minute this continued, the other warriors stunned. They wanted to support the older man, but the glare of Lord Traius kept them silent. Their commander suddenly rushed forward and threw the man off Varin, who was by that time utterly unconscious.

“Enough!” Lord Traius cried. He pointed to Mar, who now stood silently, ready to receive his punishment. “Do not forget that I am commander here. You do not know anything about what is going on, and were a fool for challenging me. I trust that this will be the last time you demonstrate such insubordinance. Still, you showed courage, and your point is a valid one. Yes, we are going to Carivia to kill Lord Drakin, and I can assure you we shall prevail. I have a plan for any possible situation we may face, and none of those involves dying recklessly. Again, you know less than you think, so do not claim to know more than your commander. I shall not be as gracious next time.”

Lord Traius again placed his foot in his stirrup. He swung onto his horse, and said. “We will need new and fresh mounts before we make it to the city. We will also need to be well supplied with armor and weapons. The armory of the castle is excellent, but we cannot count on that when we are in battle beyond its reach. We shall make for the mining and forging village on the west side of the Arvin Spur of the mountains. After we take what we can, we’ll ride through the Pass of Farin to the castle. The guards of the pass and of the gates will not suspect us. Soon, they shall be on our side.”

With that, he spurred his horse onward and turned slightly towards the west. Most of the men were at least a little more comforted, and they set out with a will, carrying the injured Varin with them as they went. Mar was the last to mount up, and he did so with a smile. His accusation had brought a needed distraction. Enrol had got away and made for Carivia and the eastern end of the pass. All had gone according to plan.


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


Lady Makennah and her party galloped across the northern countryside to the small fortress of Assen. Having found the Duke’s body in the forest, pierced through countless times and surrounded by a ring of slain enemies, they had placed it carefully on Lady Makennah’s horse and continued their journey, each thinking long about the prospects of success for putting the true king back on the throne of Alavaria.

They knew that, as long as it remained a war between highborn nobles and lords, there would be no chance of success. The Council had maintained a great spirit of fear among the people and done a brilliant job planting agents in the towns and hamlets, spinning rumors of the great strength of the Council and of the weakness and cruelty of the Nobles of Alavaria. Moreover, the Council had made it a capital crime, punishable by death, for anyone to call the nation by its former name, Alavaria, meaning in the nation’s language, “Praise”. Instead, they were only to call it Kornaiden, meaning “Land of Greatness.” In this way, the Council sought to erase the people’s memory of the land’s former state and to erase any reference to the Almighty in the creation of the nation. This law had been strictly enforced, and over 3,000 men, women, and children had been executed for simply uttering the name of their homeland.

If the Order could convince the people to rise from their fear and to join the king in restoring righteousness to the land so plagued by injustice and death, then, they felt, victory could be achieved. Of course they relied on help from God, but they knew that their duty was to use the positions and talents the Almighty had given them and to fight to preserve the nation that had so faithfully served the Lord.

These thoughts passed through the nobles’ minds as the journey through the beautiful forest wore on. Makennah's young horse, having only recently been trained, was having some difficulty keeping up with the other horses due to the added weight of the Duke’s body, but other than that, the journey passed uneventfully

After a few hours, night began to settle on the autumn forest, and the group had to stop for the night. They set up a small camp, tying their horses to nearby birch trees and arranging the large rocks which littered the ground into a circle. They then proceeded to light a low fire, using birch bark as tinder. They made great efforts to keep the fire small and to prevent large amounts of smoke from rising, as they wished to keep themselves from being easily seen. Little did they know, however, that they had been seen already, and that behind one of the trees was a pair of eyes, intent on the party, just waiting for them to fall asleep.

Rowan woke suddenly from his deep slumber and tried to sit up. As a sharp pain rushed through his head like a hot iron, though, he quickly changed his mind. “This injury is definitely taking a long time to recover,” he thought to himself. “I wonder how a blow like that could cause so much pain.”

He suddenly realized that he was lying in a pile of soft straw and, not understanding why, looked around the dimly lighted room and tried to remember the events of the previous day. It was hard. The room was low and small, roughly shaped like a pentagon and surrounded by thick walls of red stone that contained various small doors. He stared blankly at the set of steep stairs ahead of him. They looked as if they led straight to the ceiling and abruptly stopped. The walls were bare and the only things in the room were the pile of straw on which Rowan lay, a small round table, and a few wooden chairs. The only light came from a wood fire that burned on the wall furthest from Rowan’s bed.
The air was a bit musty, but besides that the room was really rather comfortable, if not a little crude.

For a moment, Rowan did not recognize the place, but in a flash he remembered. The saferoom, he thought. He knew then that he was in Carivia after all, and not in some lowly mountain cottage. “So we made it through all right, he thought to himself. “I am glad. I wonder where Sir Quinn is now?” 

The door that was furthest to the right quietly opened, startling Rowan. His surprise went away, though, when Sir Quinn walked into the room. 
"Rowan! You’re awake! How are you, lad?" 


"Never been better." Rowan sighed, trying to smile. Sir Quinn laughed.

"Well, you slept for quite a while. About a day and a half, in fact.”

Rowan was surprised but only slightly. “Have I? Well, I suppose it makes sense. I guess I have had my fair share of rest then.”

At this, the young man tried to rise. His friend, however, held him back.

“No, no. You must take what rest you can. There is much to do, but now we have a little time.”

Rowan looked at him, noticing for the first time an air of discomfort on Sir Quinn’s face, as though something deep down was troubling him. “And how are you feeling, Sir Quinn?” He asked softly.

“I have had an awful feeling” he said, “about our comrades who went to take the poor Duke of Assen to his castle. I cannot explain it, but something tells me that all is not quite right with them. At his own request, I sent Sir Myles out last night to find them and to give them news that we arrived safely and did not prematurely take our course east. Our friends may meet with danger, and it is good for them to know that help is nearby. I have not heard from him as of yet, nor do I expect him to arrive for a long while. In the meantime, I am rather nervous, as are the others.” He gave a deep sigh, and Rowan noticed a raspiness in his friend’s breath. _it must be the air in here_ thought Rowan, _or the constant strain. I wish I could help him in some way_.  

Sir Quinn continued. “Anyway, I believe you know where we are?”

Rowan nodded. “In the castle’s saferoom, or treasure chamber.”

Sir Quinn smiled. “True, lad, but without the treasure. As you can probably guess, this place was ransacked soon after you were overthrown. The men who had done the vile deed were killed by Lord Drakin shortly after the Council attained power. He stole their gold, but apparently never heard from their lips of the chamber, which was, as you know, rather large though very secret. They were reluctant to tell the tale, even under torture. When the garrison turned on you and you were forced to flee, I took it upon myself not to let an opportunity go to waste. I and a number others thought it an excellent place to seek refuge and to get information. As a result, we turned it into a meeting place. Of course, that it was in the castle of the Council meant that it would not be used often. Still, we knew it would be helpful. 

“Wasn’t that difficult? How did you not get caught?”

“It didn’t take much effort. We merely moved some furniture in and built the fireplace you see over there. Hmm…the fire’s getting a bit low. But anyway! Of course, we connected it to the kitchen fireplace above with a small pipe so as to get rid of the smoke without exciting attention. We have a friend or two up there who lets us know when it is safe to build a fire. Of course, we make sure to do so only occassionally. We also bring in air through a couple clever tools. I could never understand how they work, though. Others put them in.”

Rowan’s face bore a confused expression. “How did you know about the room, Sir Quinn?”

“It is quite simple, my lad. You told me yourself.”

“What! Did I?”

“Do you remember long ago when we played Archoret in my village?”

Rowan nodded with a smile. Even though Sir Quinn was an important leader of the Order, he occasionally had time for sport, and Archoret was one of his favorite pastimes.

Sir Quinn continued. “Well, I was hiding the castle treasure and you and your soldiers were trying to find it. It was a new map, and I had made it myself. Well, it took you a long time, and you said, almost to yourself, that just as in the game, you had a real secret room of treasures even more difficult to find than that on the map. I spoke with Gradlem, who was the captain of Carivia’s castle guard, and after hearing him agree with your statement decided that it would be the perfect place for a refuge of the Order.”

“That is incredible, Sir Quinn. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I had some deep suspicions regarding my servants at the time. They followed me everywhere, if you recall. I took care of the problem later, but at the time, I simply could not afford to be heard asking about it. Only by the Almighty’s design was I able to briefly ask Gradlem without notice.”

“I see. What is our plan now?”

Sir Quinn paused for a moment. “Well, we will soon get the information we came for. We may also be able to stop Lord Drakin if he has plans to destroy any villages or kill any of the people. After that, and if Lady Makennah needs no assistance, we will ride to meet King Archen.”

“What about me? Will I be going as well?”

“Lady Arwen and I have decided that it will be too dangerous for you to go along with us to the king.”

Rowan sat up in surprise. The pain again rushed to his head, but he pointed at his sword and said, “I am just as willing to die for the Order as anyone, and I do not say it lightly.” 

Sir Quinn knew from the light in the young man’s eyes that he spoke the truth. However, he replied, “We just don’t want you to relapse into that dreadful fever you’ve been having for the last few hours, Rowan. Lady Arwen in particular thinks that a journey to the Kolgarriat Mountains would be too much for your health, and she has much knowledge in such matters. As a result, I am going to leave Sir Myles here with you until you recover fully. As soon as he comes back, we will leave, and you will then ride to meet us at the cavern.”

Rowan was a little disappointed. His head, though it still throbbed, felt better every minute, and he did not want to leave the companionship of all the knights. However, he was comforted at the knowledge that Sir Myles, a knight whom he had liked and admired for his cheer, was to accompany him. As a result, he accepted the plan of Sir Quinn.

“Now, my lad, until Sir Myles comes back, there is not much we can do. We have been poring over the map of Alavaria, trying to find the best possible strategy as we move on ahead, but I think my head has had enough of that for a while. What do you say we have a go at Archoret?”

Some documents of the Order were quickly pushed out of the way on the table, and the special map was laid out. Rowan silently chose his location for the secret room. Sir Quinn’s imaginary forces had just begun to search the dungeons, and Rowan’s were just beginning to descend the outer staircase, when suddenly the two heard the sound of a grunt.

“Who’s there?” asked Sir Quinn with a start. He very well knew that none of the Order were nearby. They were all in the small meeting room or the sleeping quarters, behind closed doors.

Silence met Sir Quinn’s challenge. Slowly, the broad-shouldered man drew his long sword and, rising from his seat, whispered, “Someone is here. I heard him just now. I know you are wounded, but if you will crawl over to the doors and sound the alarm, I can block his escape.”

Rowan weakly nodded. He was just about to slip out of his bed of straw when, from the shadows of the wall closest to the flight of stairs, a husky voice called out. “You will stay here. Do not get out of that straw or make a sound, or you shall die!”

Both Sir Quinn and Rowan spun around. A man dressed completely in black had emerged into the light. He himself brandished a intricately engraved dagger. It was long for a weapon of that sort, and it bore a cruel and jagged appearance.

Seeing that they were discovered, Sir Quinn lunged forward to to disarm the black figure. He swung his sword in a sweeping arc from the right, but the unknown man had already prepared against that attack. As Sir Quinn swung, the figure lightly dodged the blow, and with an almost astonishing speed, gave the hand that bore the sword a cut, causing Sr Quinn to release his weapon. The sword smashed into the wall and fell with a crash. The newcomer leaped toward it and, before Sir Quinn could respond, picked it up and placed the point of it upon Sir Quinn’s breast. The great knight stood motionless, surprised that the fight had changed so quickly. He gave a short gasp. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?" he said in a surprised voice, as he slowly and secretly began pulling a dagger from the rear of his own garment.

"Who do you think I am?" the man scowled, backing Sir Quinn toward the low but still burning fire. It was obvious that the intruder was relishing the moment.

"I can only assume that you are an unfortunate agent of the Council." 


The man smiled. He was middle-aged, with black hair and an even blacker beard, and he had a light scar that ran from his left ear to his mouth. He spoke again, “I am _told_ to tell you that in the name of the Council, you are to remain in this room and to refrain from your treasonous actions. You cannot escape, and if you attempt to do so you will be cut down at once." 

“But…” Sir Quinn continued.

The man smiled. “But we both know that is not quite true.”

At once Rowan remembered. The underground passages!


"How did you get in here?" said Sir Quinn carefully. The dagger was almost out of its sheath now.

"Silence! That is for me to know and for you never to find out." 
With an evil grin, the man reached for the papers upon the table, grasped them in his gloved hand, and cast them into the roaring fire. “As I said, you can and will certainly try to escape, and there is little I can do to stop it. Still, I can at least destroy all that would have made this little stop useful to you.”

Rowan's mind was racing. He knew that Sir Quinn had a dagger -- he always carried one –but now Rowan just needed to create some kind of diversion to give him a chance to use it, but how? The man had his eyes and blade fixed upon Sir Quinn, and he would not remove them. What about the rest of his comrades in the adjoining rooms? How could he get their attention? Highest is Rowan’s mind, though, was one vital question: How did this man know about the hidden room? 


Rowan, unable to think of anything ingenious in the strain of the moment, decided merely to ask the intruder where he came from. Rowan hoped to take advantage of the man’s pride and draw away his attention long enough. _Just for one second_, Rowan thought.

“Did you come in through the stair door? If so, even my eyes missed it, and that is indeed a feat.”

The man laughed. As he did so, he turned his eyes toward Rowan and opened his mouth to speak.

With lightning speed, Sir Quinn whipped the dagger around and struck the man on the face with its hilt. He fell to the ground, seemingly senseless. Rowan watched as Sir Quinn ran over to the fire and quickly grabbed the papers that burned within. Most were severely damaged but recoverable, having been shoved beyond the low-burning embers. One, however, had escaped rescue, and they could see it burning in the inferno. Rowan could not see which one it was, but he could see grave disappointment in Sir Quinn’s face.

As soon as he had recovered the surviving papers, he turned to see what the mysterious man would do, and whether he was still unconscious, but he was gone. "Where did he go?" He said quickly. 


Rowan, who was paying attention to Sir Quinn all the while, said, "I don't know, Sir Quinn. I was not watching him at the time.” 
Rowan met Sir Quinn's worried gaze, then glanced around the room. 
"He could not have gone too far by now; let's sound the alarm." 


Sir Quinn nodded and began pounding on the inner doors. Half-awake knights suddenly became wide-eyed as they listened with horror to Sir Quinn’s tale. As soon as he was through, Sir Quinn quickly opened the small door on the lefthand wall at the base of the staircase and sent small groups of knights through it. Within were the dark passageways that lay beneath Carivia. “If the man escaped,” said Sir Quinn, “it must have been by the tunnels. We would have seen the light if he had gone by the staircase. Also, this door is the most silent.”

Rowan, now alone in the room, laid his head back and forced himself to relax. He found this impossible. He reached for his sword and drew it out of its plain brown sheath. He cocked his head and gazed at each of the doors. _What if he is still here?_, he thought. This fear, though, proved to be unfounded, as nothing disturbed the stillness for many minutes. He became concerned for his friends. They could only afford to be exposed in the tunnels for so long. If they did not find him soon, they never would, and the time would come to fly. The secret was known.

Still, he turned his mind from that unpleasant thought to another. He felt anxious about that lost document. He had asked Sir Quinn in a worried voice what it contained and how much information was lost, but he did not have time to answer.

He picked himself up and, with great effort, brought himself to the near-extinguished fire. Within the embers was a small scrap of paper that had not burned. It bore curious lines and letters that to Rowan were impossible to understand.

At that moment, Sir Quinn entered the room gasping.

"What was the result of your search, Sir Quinn?" Rowan asked weakly. "Were you able to find the intruder?" 


"No, unfortunately. He seems to have disappeared without a trace. I am going to call back the rest. If the villain has escaped, lad, we do not have much time. You should get ready to go.”

He was about to turn, when Rowan stopped him and asked, “Wait, Sir Quinn! I found a part of the burned document in the fire. Did you want to see.”

Sir Quinn rushed over and looked at the charred scrap. Much to his surprise, Sir Quinn let a hearty, though slightly restrained laugh. His face turned red and the tears started to flow, then he said, “Rowan, you should really see your face! That was no secret document. That was the playing map for Archoret!”

Rowan himself could not contain his laughter. Sir Quinn’s attatchment to his map had been the cause for that earlier look of disappointment. Sir Quinn then grew silent, and his back stiffened, as if remembering the importance of his task. Again, he ran through the door and into the darkness. As he ran out, Rowan could still hear a muffled chuckle in the passage, growing fainter and fainter until it faded away altogether. 

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

Lady Makennah’s party had, in the meantime, experienced a significant alteration in both its position and its fortunes. The previous night, they had fallen asleep peacefully in the small encampment, leaving Sir Doran, famous for his vigilance, as watchman during the night. When the party arose shortly after dawn, they ate a quick meal of bread and drank from small flasks of water. When they had been refreshed, they prepared to set out again. Lady Makennah recovered the cloaks they had spread upon the ground as blankets; Sir Elviron and the Baron DuBatz scattered rocks over the ground of their encampment, endeavoring to erase any trace of their stay there; and Sir Doran saw to the horses. 

Suddenly, a short cry was heard from Sir Doran. "Lady Makennah! The Duke of Assen’s footwear has been stolen in the night!" 


The other nobles gave exclamations of surprise.

“Are you sure that they did not fall off during our ride yesterday?” asked Sir Elviron.

“I am positive. I rode behind Lady Makennah all yesterday, and the Duke’s boots were immovably fixed on him the entire ride.”

"But it is impossible!" the Baron DuBatz exclaimed. "Even if someone could have eluded your watch, there is no reason why he should have taken our comrade's boots." 


Sir Doran said humbly. “No action is impossible with the Almighty and with his servants. Still, I too see no reason for such a theft. What do you think, Lady Makennah, about this dishonorable deed?”

Lady Makennah, throughout the entire conversation, had grown deathly pale. "Actually, my lords, there IS a reason. One that could bring death to all of us, including the king..." 


The lords started, each inwardly quesioning whether he heard right. How could boots determine whether they lived or died?

Sir Elviron spoke up. "Hurry on, Lady Makennah – if this be as important as you say, we have not a moment to lose!"

"The reason The Duke was being followed was this." She held up a small yellowed envelope. "This is why he, the Duke of Assen, was journeying to Arandan last fortnight. He was, I believe, supposed to meet with several other knights new to the Order, and to give them a document identical to this." 
Lady Makennah continued in a somber voice, "It contains the secrets of our order - names, locations, and numbers. It also contains our only knowledge of the doings of the Council of Lords, including the names of its primary fortresses and the locations of its secret documents. King Archen made two of these confidential reports to preserve against one of the copies being accidentally destroyed.”

“This envelope I have kept safe since I received it from the King, trusting that the other copy would also escape notice by the Council of Lords. Unfortunately, the second copy was concealed in the heel of the Duke of Assen's left boot…which has been stolen during the night.”

The faces of the other lords became white as death. 
"Do you mean to say, " the Baron DuBatz began, "that the Council knows our every member, our every base, and our every location?!" 
"I do," Lady Makennah said softly, tears coming to her eyes. All became deathly silent.

Omb, the City of White and the Jewel of the Southern Slopes, sparkled brilliantly in the light of the sunset. The 12 towers of Ralgothomb, arranged along the famed white walls of the city, appeared like twelve sentinels standing guard over the capital of the kingdom. The great gate of Omb, wrought with the toughest iron and inlaid with the richest silver, was at the same time beautiful to a friend of the city and formidable to an enemy. Although all gates must eventually fall to a powerful ram, that of Omb would have lasted long and held firmer than any other gate in any other fortress. With the Orgasor Mountains blocking the eastern and southern approaches to the city, it only had to truly defend itself on the northern and western sides, and they were cosequently strong. White stone from the far south and some of the rare blue stone of Amruil were brought by the ton to form the fortifications, and they not only made the walls seemingly impenetrable, but they made them beautiful as well.

While the great city might have been beautiful on the outside, however, it was black and evil within. In a dimly lit room far within the protection of the walls of Omb, the Lords Melkior, Rolkran, and Telrond, three of the most prominent of the Council of Lords, bent over a map of the land and discussed their future plans. 


"I don't like it!" exclaimed a man of small stature but with deep and loud voice. It was Lord Telrond. "It is as I have been trying to say for days now. Traius should have returned by now with his report. Drakin would not dare prevent him from giving it, and if he was lost, think of the advantage it would give the traitorous nobles!" 


Lord Melkior, the chief of the lords present, then arose. He was one of the rare men who filled the room with his mere presence. He was not particularly tall, but the breadth of his shoulders, the sharpness of his features, and the presence of a prominent red scare that ran from his forhead to his right shoulder turned the heads of all who saw him. "I believe,” he said slowly, “that Lord Traius is in no more danger than we. We recently received a report from him that led us straight to one of the rebels’ chief refuges. It was, as a matter of fact, the fortress of Arandan.”

Exclamations of outrage broke from the dark lords.

“This news would, of course, assure us of Lord Traius’ safety,” said Lord Rolkran, the Council’s compassionate though money-loving secretary, “but it would also reveal that one of our own, Lord Alexandr, is is a traitor! As commander of Arandan, he could not unknowingly have allowed the nobles to dwell and plan within his very walls!”

Lord Telrond cried out in assent, drawing his dagger in the violence of his feelings. Lord Melkior held up his hand. “Do not be so quick to condemn members of the Council, my Lords, or we will soon find ourselves in a power struggle that none here can win. The count has enough influence to cut us off if we show signs of inward squabbling and division. You know what he can and would do…” The nobles knew only too well.

Lord Melkior continued, “I know for a certainty, by reading Lord Traius’ report, that Lord Alexandr is not a traitor. He is young and not of much experience. The secret was well hidden, and few of us could have discovered it were we in Alexandr’s place. We will let him go…this time.”

“What did the message tell you, other than that Arandan was a refuge of the enemy?” asked Lord Rolkran.

“It told us how we might take the fortress from within. Lord Traius knows many men –though few would wish to know him – and he knew how to make them join us. There is so little reason for resistance now. The weak betray their friends eagerly to save their own skins.”

“Well, what did you do about it?”

“I told the count, and he and Lord Alexandr personally led the party of soldiers into a secret cave below the castle gate. The count has only just returned from thence.

Lord Telrond raised his eyebrows. “And the refuge was, of course, destroyed?”

Lord Melkior smiled an unnaturally gleeful smile. “Of course! Along with the traitors who were present there. Around ten knights were put to the sword, only one or two having escaped. We also killed the weakling who betrayed those of his Order. As we all know, treason is a crime.”

Telrond gave a chuckle, while Rolkron remained silent.

“This is excellent news, my lord!” said Lord Telrond. “We are well on our way to total victory.”

Lord Melkior frowned. “In spite of this, we need more information if we are to totally crush our enemies." 


Suddenly a man burst through the door. He had red hair and the black, scarred marks left by a long-ago plague upon his face.


"My lords," he exclaimed with a proud face that displayed rather unkempt teeth, "for years we have searched for such this; for years we have struggled for this; for years we have sweated and labored for this; but I can finally have the honor of telling you that at last we have the ability to end the conflict between the Council and the Order once and for all. Now, I present to you most secret and vital information of the entire Order!”

He stepped forward and threw an envelope upon the table. It looked rather wrinkled, and the blue riggon that bound it was rather frayed about the edges.

The others leaned forward and picked it up as the red-haired man continued. “In this document are a complete list of the Order’s refuges, its role call of members, its list of supplies, and even its short-term plans. It is one of the king's own reports, found by one of our more brilliant spies in the boots of the slain Duke of Assen." 


All the lords gave evil and ruthless smiles.

“Lord Saxon,” exclaimed Lord Melkior, “I congratulate you on being the first of the Council to hear this news! We must tell the Count, our commander, at once. Ah, the King was a great fool for keeping all this information in one place. There will be feasting at Omb tonight!”

The other knights gave a great laugh, and soon Lord Melkior settled down to more carefully read the document. The other lords watched in eager anticipation as Lord Melkior glanced through the paper. For some reason, however, the triumph they saw in his eyes was replaced over time by an expression of anxiety. Something, they knew, was not quite right.

Lord Melkior looked up from the king's report and slammed his fist on the table. 
The other lords started, and Lord Rolkran asked in his rather high-pitched, whining voice, "What angers you, Melkior? Is the document not what you had hoped?" 


"No!" hissed Melkior, "It is everything I could ever have hoped for. Everything! Except for the single detail which would seal our triumph!" 
The Lords stared at him blankly. 
"The name of the prince!" He shouted, "If we just knew who he was, we wouldn't have to concern ourselves about the other rebels. Destroy him, and their fearful insurrection would instantly be quelled…well, the moment their aged king died." 


“I don’t understand, my lord,” said Lord Saxon, “wouldn’t the rebellion continue under another leader?”

“You obviously don’t understand the people of Kornaiden! Right now, they are under our thumb, but there is a chance that they could be roused through great urgings to support the former ruler and his line. Only this sense of duty would shake their fear of us. Tell the people that their king is coming, and his son, and they will throw us off in a moment. We mustn’t give them that chance. Under any other leader, the people wouldn’t so much as lift a finger. That is why the destruction of the Prince is so vital. We NEED his name!”

"But the victory will still be ours, regardless?" asked Lord Telrond, hesitating a little. 


"Of course it will!" cried Lord Melkior, slamming his fist again. "Of course! It will just take that much longer." 
Send this document to Lord Drakin at Carivia," Lord Melkior said to Lord Rolkron. "He will then pass it on to Lord Traius, our primary agent. With this information, he will be able to crush the remnants of the king's followers." 


Lord Saxon answered with a sinister look. "One of Traius' victims may very well BE the prince." 


"Exactly so! We must act quickly in order to prevent the country from joining our enemies. Less than one hundred names are on this list – one hundreds rebels left to destroy before the country is completely and absolutely ours. Any other followers will simply melt away once they are gone. Lord Saxon?" 


"Yes, my lord?"

"Send out our swiftest agents to these locations. They appear to be the rebels' chief refuges. Tell them not to kill if possible, but to destroy all documents pertaining to our counsel. They know what to do if they ARE threatened. Lord Traius will send assistance so that the real purging of the enemy forces can begin." 


Lord Telrond, who had bent over to listen to the words of a new and cloaked messenger, suddenly stood upright, his face flashing in a deep crimson. 
"What is it, my Lord?" Melkior asked impatiently. 


"Lord Melkior, I have just received a report that that concerns a conspiracy from within our ranks. It concerns the Lord Traius." 


Lord Melkior started. "Speak on."


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

Lady Makennah’s party stood in stunned silence. They knew that, if what they heard was true, they had not much time to live. They would be ruthlessly hunted down and destroyed by the Council’s forces. Desiring to complete their grave mission, however, regardless of the cost, they pulled themselves onto their horses with fearful hearts and plunged into a gallop, still making for the Duke of Assen’s castle.

Lady Makennah thought long and hard as they rode, trying to think of what the Order could do now. All of the nobles’ refuges were now known to the enemy; What could they possibly do? Where could they go to continue plotting against the Council of Lords if they could no longer take refuge in any of the places where they had painstakingly made friends and forged allies? Makennah thought hard, but she could not think of a single place. 


The twilight of that day marked the time when Lady Makennah's party reached the Duke of Assen's castle. After holding a small and solemn burial service outside of the walls, in which Sir Elviron thanked the Almighty for the Duke’s sacrifice and for his devotion to his king and his friends; Lady Makennah, the Baron DuBatz, Sir Doran, and Sir Elviron walked into the castle.

As was the case with the castle of Carivia, the Duke of Assen's fortress had been honeycombed with trap doors and secret passages. One of the last strongholds of the Order to remain uncaptured, it had become a valuable safehaven for knights and nobles hunted by the Council’s men. The tunnels and passageways had been created to prepare against a possible capture – a very wise action.

Lady Makennah and the other lords swept through one of these into a small room littered with maps, dried provisions, and water.

The five nobles inside looked up with both surprise and gloom. 
"Why, Lady Makennah!" one of them said. “What brings you to this refuge? I thought King Archen sent you and Sir Quinn to the Western forests?" 


"He had," she replied. "Unfortunately, however, terrible misfortunes have occurred on the way. The Duke of Assen has been slain and one of the King's own reports is in the hands of the Council of Lords.”

The nobles gave an exclamation of anger. "This explains it!” one of them, the Count of Terema, said.

“What does it explain?” asked Lady Makennah, confused.

“When we came here earlier this morning from the South, we found EVERY ONE of the hidden documents and maps in this room destroyed. We had been here before on previous missions, and each of us knew where the useful papers could be found, but in each hiding place we found only dust. No doubt this destruction was at the urging of the Council. They must be far swifter than we had previously thought.

"That I am sure it was,” answered Lady Makennah. “But the question still remains – what we are to do now? If we remain, the Council’s soldiers will come and put us to the sword, but if we flee we will have no refuge…" For the second time that day, tears came to Lady Makennah's eyes. "What can we possibly do now?"

Chapter 3 


Lord Traius and his eleven men stormed on horseback into a small iron-mining village near the Straden Mountains. 
"You know what to do, men," Lord Traius shouted with drawn and glimmering sword. "Attack!"

Twelve fierce warriors raised their daggers and rode shouting at the top of their lungs into the village. 
The few villagers that were about were immediately thrown into a panic, running to and fro, screaming and crying out. The Lord Traius’s men cut down anyone, no matter his age, who got in their way as they made their way through the street. They split apart as they went, searching for weapons, money, and fresh mounts. They succeeded in stealing fresh horses from the inn stable and newly forged swords from the blacksmith, along with whatever coins they found among those they had slain. Those houses that they did not tear down they lit on fire. They did this not for the sake of destroying evidence of their presence, but merely for the pleasure of seeing them burn. Then, when they all had ample provisions and felt satisfied with the great amount of destruction, they left as quickly as they had entered. The men laughed as they looked back at the poor, smoldering village. They then rode off at full gallop toward the Castle of Carivia–and Lord Drakin.

For a long time they rode in complete silence. Although the journey from the castle to the burning villages was, by a straight path, only a matter of miles, between them lay treacherous mountains that could not possibly be crossed. Lord Traius thus continued on the path that led through the gap in the great mountain chain. It was a long and cold ride. It had been used as a sort of toll road by the Council, and many a traveller had been stopped and robbed by the Council’s men as they journeyed across. Lord Traius, however, had no time for argument, so each man they came across was ruthlessly cut down without a word.

The swift pace of the horses was not halted for some time. Suddenly, as they reached the thick of the forest on the other side of the mountains, a hail of arrows suddenly cut into the band of horsemen, whizzing through the air and twanging against the chain mail of the band. The influz of destructive missils was so instantaneous and effective that it cut down the half before they were able to make any response. About two dozen men were hidden in the trees around the path, firing down a deluge of black-shafted death. 
Lord Traius pulled up on the reins of his horse. Immediately grasping the peril of his situation, he urged his remaining men to retreat out of the range of the arrows.

As soon as he had done so, he turned with a flash of rage upon those with him. 
"What just happened? How did they know our position? Those black-shafted arrows, which slew SIX of our number, can only have come from one manufactory. That manufactory is, as I should know, used solely by the Council of Lords! It is plain that one of you must have passed on our plans of attack to the Council. This amounts to murder, treason, and infidelity to me, your true lord and master! The man responsible shall die!" 


"My lord," one of Traius' men replied with hesitation, "even assuming that one of us would even do such a heinous deed, how could you know that one of the slain was not the betrayer?" 


With an evil smile, Traius replied, "Because the slain were in the front ranks. A traitor would have remained well in the back of the line to avoid the destruction he knew would fall on his comrades. As soon as the attack began, I took note of who remained far behind, quavering as his comrades fell by the arrows of the Council. Enrol, step forth!" 


A tall man with a black beard, who had the look of a rat caught in a trap, came forward. With a look of grim resolve, he tried to draw his sword. Lord Traius, however, was too quick, and before Enrol could do so, Lord Traius’ blade fell upon him with the force of ten men. Enrol collapsed lifeless upon the cold ground.


Lord Traius, his eyes flashing with the fire of hatred and determination, called out, "We shall continue our journey through the northern passes. It is a longer ride to reach our goal, but as the Council knows our plans, we must do what we can to accomplish our aim. Stealth, rather than speed, must be our ally. I have prepared for such an event as has just befallen us, and we have lost little in losing manpower. Our feat shall be all the more memorable. Now is the time for action. RIDE ON!" 


Hours later, within the barren treasure chamber of the castle of Carivia, a solemn council was held between the concerned members of the Nobles of Alavaria. Rowan still lay quietly on the hastily made bed, even then too weak to rise on his own strength. Sir Quinn stood over him, his countenance filled with concern and alarm. Lady Arwen and the several others of the party stood next to him, all clutching small bundles. 
"What was the result of your search, Sir Quinn?" Rowan asked weakly. "Were you able to find the intruder?" 


"No, unfortunately. He seems to have disappeared without a trace; But Rowan, we must leave here immediately. Only minutes ago, Gradlem, the officer of the castle guard, came and warned me of our imminent danger. Somehow the Council has stolen information concerning our whereabouts and doings throughout the entirety of Alavaria. As you know, they have already destroyed many of our hidden documents detailing what we know of the Council's proceedings. Gradlem also informed me that the soldiers are very close to discovering the door to the chamber, and would certainly be here within ten minutes to destroy the remaining documents enclosed within. We have gathered them together to take with us on our flight."

Rowan face grew deathly pale. He had not expected to have to leave the safe refuge of the hidden room. “But then,” he thought, “it was bound to come sooner or later, especially with the intruder. Still, I wish it had come later.”

"We still have reason to give thanks;" continued Quinn "Gradlem also told me that the Council still has no knowledge about his own loyalty to our cause. As one of the leaders of the garrison, he was one of the earliest informed of the Council’s plot to slay us in this very room. Without him, we would certainly have been sitting here in ignorance when the Council burst in to slay us all. The Almighty certainly is gracious. It is a wonder, though, that they have not cut us down already. My only idea is that the intruder found his way in accidentally, and only just discovered this room. If that is the case, he could only have just told the commander about our presence.”

“That certainly would explain the delay,” said Lady Arwen.

“It is only an idea. However, we must hurry to escape before they arrive. Gradlem can only do so much to stall them”

Sir Myles then stepped forward. “But how are we going to actually escape, Sir Quinn? None of us know the way through the underground passages.”

Sir Quinn paused. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Rowan! You used to live here. Do you know the way out?”

Rowan, who had till then remained silent, then said softly. “I did live here, Sir Quinn, but even my knowledge would be useless. The passages do not lead beyond the walls. If we came to the surface, we would find ourselves still in the city. We could hide there for a time, but I think Lord Drakin and his men would soon find us.”

“Then how are we to escape?” said Lady Arwen.

"I do not know," replied Sir Quinn with a deep sigh. “We must do all in our power, however.”

Everyone grew very grave. Sir Quinn solemnly bowed his head and Lady Arwen looked as though she was on the verge of tears.

Suddenly, and without any warning, a young man burst into the room through the main door that led to the passageways. All of the party turned, drawing their swords in terror as they did so. Their eyes turned to this unarmed newcomer, who appeared not to have been followed.

"I know a place where you could escape!" he said. "I am a blacksmith in Dwenden, and I supply this castle with swords and the like. The way to get to the castle from here is quite difficult by the normal way, and there are robbers and bandits along the road. To save time, we dug a tunnel from my shop to a spare cell in the dungeon, which leads up here. You and your comrades could stay in the tunnel until the danger has passed!"

Rowan and Sir Quinn looked at each other. This was just what they needed! Still, however, they felt that they needed to be cautious.

“Does the Council know of this tunnel?” asked Sir Quinn.

“No, my lord. The Council, specifically Lord Drakin, has stationed men all along the pass road to rob all travelers of their possessions. Because I often travel to and from the town with my wares, I found out quickly that it is quite unprofitable to be continually robbed. I and a few others worked to build this to evade those robbers. If Lord Drakin knew, we would surely feel the steel of his sword.”

"That is remarkable! What is your name, sir?" asked Sir Quinn.

"My name is William," he replied. "I am Gradlem's cousin. I hear you know him well."

“That we do.”

“It was from his lips that I heard of Lord Drakin’s scheme. I felt I should try to aid in your escape.”

“Thank you for your help, William. Your coming is--”

Just then they heard a hideous cry sounding from outside. Lady Arwen and the other nobles desperately grabbed the stack of documents as Sir Quinn carefully picked up Rowan and shouted, "To the tunnel!"

William led the nobles through a door and into a maze of corridors and passageways, each lit by dim torches that looked as though they were nearly extinguished. Once or twice the party had to wait breathlessly as an inhabitant of the castle pushed past on his way to the surface. The passages were not unknown to the city, but they were only occasionally used. Each of the party hoped that they would not be questioned as to their purpose for wandering about the castle in such a place and at such a time. However, this fear was never realized.

Finally, William opened a door and stepped into what they all knew to be the dungeon. William cautiously bribed one of the guards with a gold coin and entered into a small pitch-black cell.

"It is just behind this stone," he whispered. "I loosened the mortar to make the passage easy to and from my workshop."

The party turned white as they heard the sound of yells and movement above them. Sir Quinn thought he could make out a voice demanding the whereabouts of a party of armed traitors. With a grunt, William wrenched the stone from its place and pushed through the created hole. The others of the party began to follow.

Twelve of them had pushed through, when all of a sudden, the unthinkable happened. The tunnel around the knights began to quiver. Very soon the quivering turned into a rumble, followed closely by a roar. This roar finally culminated in a great crash as the entrance to the tunnel collapsed in a heap of rock and dirt...with two of the nobles STILL outside. The party inside the tunnel listened with terror as they heard the armed men from above enter into the cell to confront their unfortunate comrades.

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

"No!" Sir Quinn gasped in horror as his and Rowan’s escape route collapsed in before his very eyes. He set Rowan down and frantically tried to remove the barrier of stone which now blocked the entrance to the tunnel. Every second the voices of the soldiers grew louder and louder.

"It's no use, Sir Quinn," Rowan finally said in a weak voice.

Sir Quinn nodded in agreement, "It looks like this is the end of us, and it seems that all that remains is for us to pray to the Almighty.”

Rowan whispered in a barely audible tone, "We must fight."

"What?" exclaimed Quinn, "but you can barely move, let alone fight!"

Just then, the prison door burst open and huge, dark warriors, with swords drawn, rushed into the room. Their insignia was black with a red diagonal stripe. It was, they instantly knew, the Council’s men.

“Who are you?” Their leader shouted.  Upon meeting silence, he commanded his soldiers to slay the two men.

With a sudden surge of strength, Rowan let out a terrific yell and jumped to his feet, drawing his sword. Sir Quinn, although himself among the bravest of the Order’s leaders, was struck with amazement and admiration at Rowan, and he found himself drawing his sword as well.

"For the King!" the two shouted in unison as the evil band of warriors fell upon them with their many swords.

Sir Quinn and Rowan fought with the desperation of men who knew their cause was hopeless, but which was nonetheless worth dying for. They knew that they, and possibly their companions in the tunnel would be lost if they did not fight to the last. They tried to sell their lives as dearly as possible, and the soldiers in the front ranks fell back at their heroic onslaught. However, more and more of the evil band poured into the dungeon, and the strength of the two defenders began to wane. Many of the Council’s soldiers lay dead upon the ground, but at last the two brave warriors fell. Rowan first, then Sir Quinn as he was trying to protect the young count. The Council’s men bent over them to deal the final blows when a tall form in a flowing black and red cape strode in.

"Take them alive!" he said in a tone of superiority and deadly coldness. He turned toward the wounded leader of the soldiers. "Do not be so quick to kill outright, captain! These two will make nice additions to my dungeon, and we must get much information from them before they actually perish."

"Yes, Lord Drakin" the weak and humbled man said, bowing deeply.

The remainder of the band, severely diminished by the final efforts of the two brave knights, picked up Count Rowan and Sir Quinn and, willfully avoiding the task of bandaging their captives’ numerous wounds, strode out of the room and out of the castle.

Lady Arwen and the nobles with her listened with horror at the sounds of clanging metal and steel. When, after a brief span, the struggle seemed to cease, they had begun to hope that Sir Quinn and Rowan had been saved. However, upon continuing to hear the gruff voices of the enemy, they mournfully concluded that Sir Quinn and Rowan must have fallen. The breadth of the wall of earth and rock made it impossible for them to grasp the truth of the situation.

With hanging heads and heavy hearts, the Nobles of Alavaria followed William through the passage toward Dwenden and the Straden Mountains. After an hour’s silent walk, the knights found themselves in the cool, fresh air again. In spite of their sorrow, their spirits rose at the sight of the blue sky and the sunshine.

The next minute, however, the world came once again crashing down to their feet. Upon walking out of the tunnel entrance into the light they had so desired for its warmth and peace, they found that that light also shone upon immense and terrible destruction. They saw that William's blacksmith’s shop, the entrance to the tunnel, was completely destroyed. Every one of his swords and pistols had been stolen. The nobles walked into the street of the village; devastation and death met their eyes.

Slowly, and with feeble steps, the party picked their way across the wreckage, searching for any sign of life and for any answers that could be obtained. From the side of the town nearest the mountains, they saw an old woman kneeling at the front of what appeared to have been her former home. It was now a smoking heap of charred wood. Lady Arwen walked over to the woman, who they now believed must have been the only remaining inhabitant of the town. "Please, my good woman, who did this dreadful thing, stealing the iron and slaying both young and old?"

With a sob, the old woman replied, "My dear, the bloody destruction you see came at the hands of Lord Traius. May the Almighty repay him for what he has done."

Chapter 4

Rowan woke slowly, vaguely aware of something cold around his wrists, ankles, and neck. Every muscle in his body ached and his head throbbed with pain. He tried to move, but a burning fire that winded its way throughout his body soon halted that attempt. His body was covered with open wounds.

His brown eyes snapped quickly open at the sound of movement beside him. In the dim light, he saw a rat scurry along the ground of the large, filthy cell. He hazarded the pain of another attempt at movement, and he glanced about the room. What met his eyes was a familiar shape in the corner; it was Sir Quinn. For a moment he was confused, thinking that this was just another confused nightmare, then the events that took place in the cell came back to him. He was just opening his mouth to speak to Sir Quinn when he heard a key jingling in the lock. He looked up at the large door that kept him and Sir Quinn away from the light of day and his companions, wherever they were…

A large man strode with steely grey hair and a limping gait strode into the and stopped in front of the prisoners. He flashed an malicious grin towards them.

"You two,” he pointed to Quinn and Rowan, "come with me. Lord Drakin wants you in the interrogation room for…” he chuckled, “questioning."

The man unlatched their shackles, and Sir Quinn and Rowan followed him cautiously, reeling with pain but continuing to look about them for some means of making their escape. No opportunity came, however, for the man very abruptly turned them from the long stone passage and took them up a narrow, winding staircase. Upon reaching the top of the staircase, the limping man turned left and led them into a small, richly furnished room. Within the room, on a velvet seat, sat an evil man, dressed in luxurious clothing with a long cape which streamed down from his shoulders – Lord Drakin.

"Well, well, well!" Lord Drakin said with a sneer as the two walked into the room behind the soldier. "If it isn't the infamous Count Rowan and Sir Quinn! What, pray tell, were you two doing in the dungeon of my castle?"

"It is not your castle, as you well know, and we will not tell you anything," Sir Quinn said firmly.

"My, my, what boldness for a man who is completely under my control, and whom I could slay at the slightest word. Do you think that I do not have ways to force you to tell me?"

"We will tell you nothing, no matter what you do to us." Rowan said, trying to emulate the courage of Sir Quinn.

"Oh, you may say that now, when you are feeling little pain; but I assure you, you will soon break. You will be taken to my torture chambers to be questioned concerning anything we do not already know–and, as you are well aware, we do know quite a lot about you rebels already. Whether you die in the process, I care little. I can assume, though, that you do not want that to happen, so you would be wise to tell us all that you know. Guard, take them to the torture chambers!

"Oh, and one more thing, my 'lords'," Lord Drakin said with a sneer as he followed Rowan and Sir Quinn into a chamber the purpose of which they all knew only too well. "Escape is impossible. Seeing as I am a kind and merciful man, however, I will tell you a little bit about the Castle of Carivia. I would not want to deny you a sporting chance if you were so fortunate as to break free of your bonds."

"I am already aware of the layout of the castle. As you know, I helped to build it," Count Rowan said boldly.

"So you would believe. You would be surprised, though, how much it has changed for the better. You may not be aware that, since the Council of Lords rightly took the throne from King Archen, I performed a little ‘remodeling' of this fortress."

The Lord Drakin began to speak in that very particular tone of a man who has genuine pride in his work and in his own unimpeachable genius. As he spoke, he grew increasingly enthusiastic.

"The castle is composed of five concentric rings of wall. Each wall becomes progressively more impregnable as you move out from the central fortress. Between the walls are an entire army's worth of Kornaiden's finest soldiers, half of which are always on duty. Fifty catapults line the outer wall to wreak havoc upon any foe arriving with the foolish hope of capturing the castle. The armory of the garrison is unparalleled – only the finest blacksmiths and carpenters are used to turn out thousands of Kornaiden's finest swords, catapults, and battle machines. Against forces such as these an enemy is without hope. Death, destruction, and chaos would be the only things that attackers, from the outside or from within, would find for themselves."

Count Rowan racked his brain in the effort to remember a possible weakness in the castle's defenses or in the Lord Drakin's "remodeling." It was not that he had any real hope of escape, but he was trying to his utmost to avoid the cold glare of Lord Drakin and to avoid any show of the terror that had frozen his heart. Finally, with an inward sigh of satisfaction, he remembered the underground entrances to the castle. They were not, as he remembered, exactly tunnels, but they could have been left unguarded by the Council.

"I tell you all of this," continued Lord Drakin, his voice growing more vehement and high pitched, "not merely so that you may know of the hopelessness of escape, but that when you die in this very room you may know that no one - NO ONE was near that could possibly have given assistance! Not even the God you serve can deliver you now. I defy your Order and your God. In fact, I challenge your God, your ‘Almighty One’ to deliver you in this hour. Know, my lords, that your God, if he does not answer this challenge, is a powerless one. They say He gives grace to help in time of need, but I can assure you, no such help will come as you are stretched upon the rack. This is the dominion of Lord Drakin. As you lay at the mercy of these instruments and devices, know that you are painfully and absolutely alone. Alone physically and in the realm beyond, you are solitary and at my mercy. I and the Council am your god! You have fallen, and so shall EVERYONE who attempts to raise a sword in your lost cause!"

The oily faced guard, who as described earlier had grey hair and a limp, smiled wickedly at Count Rowan and Sir Quinn as Lord Drakin loudly closed the large metal door of the torture chamber. 
"Time to get started," the man said with horrible glee, rubbing his filthy hands together.

While the grievously wounded Count Rowan and Sir Quinn found themselves hopelessly trapped within the city of Carivia, another, very different party was silently making its way into the city.

Inside the vast system of passages that ran underneath the castle, a change might have been seen in the walls of one of the smallest and most neglected of tunnels. Cracks began to appear on the stone framework, the mortar which bound the stones began to crumble and shake, and one could have heard a faint sound of hammering that seemed to come from behind the walls. One might have seen the cracks grow slowly larger, while at the same time have heard the thundering of the hammer grow in volume and intensity. One would, after a time, have seen the wall give way, and from the midst of the rubble stride forth one man, tall and covered with armor that showed signs of having been worn in many battles and conflicts of war.

Indeed, this man did stride forth, silently stepping into the passage followed by five men as grim and determined as he. Besides the hammer that the first tall man bore, all of the party brandished newly forged and sharpened swords that seemed to glisten in spite of the darkness. The tall man turned and harshly whispered to those around him.

"The tunnel has brought us beneath the fourth ring of the city. We shall make our way into the central apartments of the castle. From there we can, if necessary, obtain documents as to the proper passwords and signs necessary to use the weapons and to command the castle's soldiers. We may also find there the prime target of our enterprise - the man I have sought for so long a time. If we are quick, as well as flawless, we can achieve victory, power, and, what is more, revenge! Do all understand?"

"Yes, Lord Traius," was the solemn reply.

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

William, Lady Arwen, and the few remaining nobles stood disheartened, irresolute and greatly troubled as the old lady finished telling her story and walked away weeping into the forest. 

All ruminated on the current situation. The Council had never before been so outwardly vile. They knew that at times people had been killed for standing in the Council’s way, but never before had an entire town been destroyed without cause. They all came to the discomforting inward conclusion that the Council had resorted to terror tactics to keep the people further within their control. They all thought this likely, considering that the people despised the Council and preferred the king. Still, it seemed odd that a people already reduced to submission should suffer such punishment.

As they thought, a girl slowly and sorrowfully walked out from the woods away from the mountains toward the ruined town. Her eyes were fixed on the ground and she held a small basket in front of her. When she caught sight of William her face instantly brightened.

"William!" she cried as she ran toward him and was caught in his embrace. "William! I was so worried that you had been killed! Praise the Lord you are all right."

“What do you mean, Kathryn! How could you have known I was in danger?”

“Only an hour ago I came from the castle through one of the side pathways, which you said helped would help me to avoid the bandits. When I came to the town about an hour ago, I saw it completely in ruins. I was scared, William! So scared! I knew that you were gone forever and that I was left alone. I couldn’t bear the sight of the destruction, so I started back to the castle. I went a little bit further, but William! How could I leave you like that, lying as I thought you were beneath the fire? I began walking back, still terrified of this dreadful place, and here you are. Oh, praise the Almighty!”

"Yes, my dear sister!" William replied, a tear falling down his cheeks. "Praise the Lord indeed! I see now that in trying to save the lives of these brave nobles I have in fact been saved myself. If I had not gone to them, I would have surely been killed in the sudden raid upon our beloved village. I couldn’t bear the thought of you trapped alone in this horrible land of fear."

The girl smiled sweetly as her eyes filled with tears.

Turning to Lady Arwen and the remaining Lords, William smiled, his eyes still moist with joy. "This is my sister Kathryn. She works as a handmaiden at the Castle of Carivia." Lowering his voice almost to a whisper he continued, "If anyone will be able to find information about your friends, whether living or dead, it is her."

The wounded Sir Quinn knew better than to struggle as a muscular guard lay him on the rack to be stretched, but everything in him wanted to fight back, to try to get free. He knew, however, that doing so would be useless, for although he could overpower two guards, one of the with a limp, he could never make it out of the castle, particularly when several more soldiers were posted right outside the room. Violence would only end in his death. He therefore fought the urge to retaliate.

The guard locked Sir Quinn's hands and feet in the iron, stock-like structures on both sides of the stretching rack. He then began to slowly turn a crank beside the machine that pulled Sir Quinn's arms and legs in opposite directions.

As this was happening to Sir Quinn, Count Rowan was being led by the oily-face guard to another corner of the room, in which a fire pit blazed brightly. After tying Rowan to a post in the corner, he gleefully approached a metal poker whose end was lying in the fire and picked it up. At the end of the poker was a circular shape, glowing red hot from the fire it had just been in.

"Take off your shirt," the guard growled at Rowan.

Rowan's eyes widened. Were they actually going to touch him with that burning metal? He could not bear the thought. He hesitated to obey the guard's command.

"Take off your shirt!" the man bellowed.

Rowan reluctantly complied and slowly took it off. He gulped. Would he be able to endure torture like this without revealing any information? He tried to convince himself that he could, but as the glowing brand came closer to him, he wasn't so sure. Lord Drakin’s words had struck terror in his heart. As he had listened, he had less and less faith in his ability to overcome. He felt himself hopelessly at the mercy of the wicked man and his guards.

"Tell us what we want to know, and this thing will never touch you," the guard grumbled, though he looked wickedly eager to get started.

Rowan set his face firmly, trying to make his appearance look more resolute than he felt inside. As he heard Sir Quinn give a loud cry from the other room, he set his teeth and said, "Never."

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

Lady Makennah and the nobles about her stood silently in the dim and disheveled room. By the candlelight, little could be seen except their tired faces. Each face bore an unmistakable look of utter despair. Everything they had believed, every thought that their own safety was secure, had fallen to pieces. Nine countenances stared upon the floor, each clouded by thought and reflection.

Suddenly, Lord Elviron looked up with a fiery eagerness in his eyes that was uncharacteristic of his usually calm and tranquil demeanor.

"What can we do, Lady Makennah? What we can and MUST do is warn the rest of the Order that the cause is in immediate, if not mortal danger! We must send to the king, our friends at the western fortresses, and Sir Quinn, the Lady Arwen, and their party. With the Council in complete knowledge of our every base and stronghold, we cannot hope to survive long enough to instill courage in the people. We must warn our friends and spare them from the horrible fate that befell the Duke of Assen!"

Lady Makennah, the Baron DuBatz, Sir Doran, and the rest of the nobles looked up with surprise. Sir Elviron’s words had broken the trance of despair that had held them all captive. Yes, there was something that they could do. There returned to their faces even a flush of hope and resolve.

"You are right, Lord Elviron," Lady Makennah slowly declared, the light coming back to her face. "I was wrong to have given up hope when what is needed most in this land is courage. There truly is more that can be done. Come, let us seek to warn the remaining members of our order and tell them to keep their documents in absolute safety. Sir Doran and I will ride to warn the king, while the Baron DuBatz, Sir Elviron, and the Count of Terema will ride to join Sir Quinn and the Lady Arwen. The rest of you shall scatter among the western forests to our hidden refuges, although” she sighed, “they are not so secret anymore."

The nobles looked upon their leader with devotion and respect. Finally, they were to be directly involved in the struggle and were possibly to come face to face with the Council's men. The death and burial of the Duke of Assen were fresh in their minds, but when the nobles split up upon their desperate missions, they did not ride in silence or gloom. Instead, they rode with a cheer that would have lifted the spirits of the most melancholy and sullen of men. With a final farewell, they lost sight of the each other, little expecting the havoc that would soon be wrought upon their own ranks.

Chapter 5

Lady Makennah and Sir Doran rode until they reached the foot of the Kenridge Mountains. By then, their steeds were tired and the night had fallen to the deepest shade of black. Although Sir Doran advised that it might be better to wait until they were closer to the king before they rested, Lady Makennah declared that the horses were simply to tired and that it would be impossible to pick their way through the forest at that time of night. Sir Doran relented at this, and the two hastily prepared a camp. Exhausted, they went to sleep.

It might appear as though their decision to sleep beneath the foot of the mountain of Trenn was insignificant and irrelevant to the tale now being told, but in reality, even the smallest of choices can have the gravest of consequences. Even the flapping of a butterflies wings can, if given enough time, create a whirlwind. For Sir Doran and Lady Makennah, however, the consequences of this seemingly small decision would be far worse.

Sir Doran's eyes open in a flash. His trained eyes opened in a flash, peering around in the darkness, trying to discover the cause of the quick and unnatural sound he had heard but a moment before. Suddenly, as he did so, the silhouette of a menacing creature caught his eye. At first, Sir Doran thought that it might be a deer or some other forest creature. He was wrong about the first theory, but he was all too right about the second. Bounding toward the sleeping form of Lady Makennah was a great beast that could be taken for nothing else but a wolf. Sir Doran instantly drew his sword, and as he did so, he shouted to awaken his friend. Thankfully. the wolf pricked up his ears at the sound and started careening toward his new victim. The brute swiped at Sir Doran's uplifted arm, bdriving its claws deeply into his wrist. His sword fell to the ground.

The animal bared its teeth once again, but as it leaped upon the man, an arrow penetrated it's heart, and it fell to the ground a lifeless creature. Lady Makennah fitted another arrow – a very rare weapon in Alavaria - into her bow. This was not done without cause, however, for the two were now surrounded by a pack of ravenous wolves.

Sir Doran swung fiercely at the vicious beasts that encircled them, trying to frighten them away from the purpose that was reflected intheir fiery eyes.

"Back! Back, you foul creatures!" His blade struck its target on one of the wolves' necks, and Lady Makennah fired another successful shot into the chest of another pouncing creature.

With swing after swing and shot after shot the two began to decrease the number of the hoard quickly, but it seemed that more and more wolves continued steadily to come no matter how much they fought. It also did not help that the night was cloudy, and what little bit of the moon did break through the clouds did not allow them to see full the location of every assailant.

Gradually, however, the wolves began to dwindle in number. Many had turned from the nobles and sought to devour their companions. This made them easy targets and allowed more room for Sir Doran and Lady Makennah to fight with those who still attacked.

The advantage, though, was not to last. One of the beasts suddenly attacked Sir Doran from behind and dug its claws deep into his back. Doran cried out in pain, and Lady Makennah whirled around. She quickly fired an arrow into the creature, causing it to slump to the ground. Sir Doran lay on the ground, unable to rise.

Lady Makennah, now alone in the fight and unable to effectively use her bow, dropped it and drew a dagger that she had saved for close combat, now necessitated by the fact that no one could watch her back. She glanced around quickly, straining her eyes. It appeared that only five or six wolves were left. These circled slowly. They knew the fate of their comrades and were determined not to share their fate. Suddenly, two of the wolves darted for Sir Doran, who had uttered a groan of pain, while the other three charged upon Lady Makennah herself.

Lady Makennah, raised in the peaceful town of Ambrest – peaceful, that is, until the Council had conquered it through treachery – was unused to such combat as she was now faced with and was totally unused to the dagger she now bore. She was always herself calm and constrained, given to compassion and dedicated in the full to the cause of the Order. She was, however, unused to moments of life-and-death. Such a women, it might have appeared to many, would have been unable to successfully overcome the deadly and terifying attack of the wolves upon her and her friend. In reality, Lady Makennah knew what it meant to protect friends at whatever the cost. She had lost her two younger brothers to a wolf on their first excursion to the forest beyond Ambrest’s walls, and she had always promised herself that, if she ever had the chance, she would never left anyone she knew suffer the same horrible fate.

With a combination of terror and determination, she turned her back on the three wolves that pounced toward her and rushed to Sir Doran. The wolves were upon him, tearing him with their claws. Lady Makennah set her teeth and, with inexperienced hands, drove her dagger into first one wolf, then the other.

Just as she had performed this task, the first wolf of the three behind leaped upon her, the others following on its heels. With a cry of pain, Sir Doran lifted his weakening arm and struck the wolf upon lady Makennah, wounding it gravely. Lady Makennah, for a moment in a daze, turned and struck the wolf, killing it. By then the other two wolves had come up. The exhausted Lady makennah regained her feet. Standing over the body of her friend, she held the wolves at bay.

“Now,” she thought, her nervous fingers clutching her weapon, “I must do the deed. My brothers died and I…” The first wolf pounced. Lady makennah now spoke, her voice rising to a terrified scream. “cannot save them, but -” she struck the first wolf to the ground. “I can help save another.” The final wolf charged forward, its teeth bared and its savage eyes glowing even in the darkness. For one moment, Lady Makennah was tempted to run. But she stood firm and, with a steady arm, drove her instrument into the wolf. The momentum of the bound meant that the wolf knocked her off her feet, but she quickly recovered and, making sure that no more enemies remained, rushed to Sir Doran's aid.

It was, however, too late. Sir Doran lay on the ground, his face ashen white.

"Thank you, my Lady," he whispered. "With all my heart I wish I could have accompanied you to the king. You - fought bravely and - saved me from imminent death. You are more courageous than even I had taken you to be. No, don’t!” he said, as Lady Makennah reached for a bottle of medicine. “I am beyond curing. I know. Lady Makennah, you have been a cherished friend, and a stout warrior when you needed to be. I trust and pray that you shall fulfill our goal and stay in safety long enough to warn our friends."

Lady Makennah could only nod, tears starting to flow from her face.

Sir Doran smiled, and with those words to Lady Makennah, the noble man breathed his last.

Lady Makennah wept tears of grief. She had protected her friend, but not enough to save him. Still, she had done through her courage more than anyone in Alavaria with twice her strength and experience might have done. Reminded of her urgent mission, she soon gathered her thoughts and made her way out from among her former camp. She was determined not to remain in an area where more wolves could arrive at any time, and so, giving one last look back upon the circle of slain wolves created through her heroic efforts and the efforts of one of her closest friends, she set out. With set face and a deep purpose, Lady Makennah mounted her steed, which through some miracle had escaped the destruction of the wolves, and galloped off northward toward her Lord and King.

It was a feat unparalleled in the history of the land. Never had so many fallen at the hands of so few. In the castle of Carivia, guard after guard fell, slain by unknown and desperate hands. Such was the skill of these dark soldiers that the alarm had still not been given by the castle garrison until the unknown warriors had reached beneath the fifth and most heavily guarded ring of the city.

With a swift and silent charge, Lord Traius and his men cut down the guards that formed a line in front of the door that led upwards to the commander's chambers. Leaving his men to form a small guard at the door, Lord Traius mounted the stairs that led into the inner rooms of the castle.

As Lord Traius walked with a rapid and sure step, he prepared his blade and his mind for the conflict he knew would come. He soon reached a junction in the hall and, turning down the right-hand passage, came in sight of the room he sought. With a grim smile, he turned the handle and walked into the full view of Lord Drakin, a member of the Council of Lords.

Lord Drakin had heard through one of his servants of the conflict in below, but he had not had the time to sound the alarm. When Lord Traius walked in, he had only just picked up his sword and scabbard and reached for the door handle. Upon seeing Lord Traius right before his eyes, he drew his sword and calmly declared, "What, my Lord, could possibly have led you here to assassinate my personal guard?” Lord Traius remained motionless, grinding his teeth and flashing his eyes in an almost mocking rage. Lord Drakin continued, “May I also inquire as to why you have apparently turned your allegiance against the all powerful Coun-" Before the Lord Drakin could finish his interregation, however, Lord Traius was upon him. Although Drakin’s fame as a swordsman was widespread throughout the land, his skill paled in comparison to that of Lord Traius. Only three times their swords met, and upon the fourth lunge Lord Traius' blade struck home. With a gasp and a look of hatred, Lord Drakin collapsed upon the floor.

"And that, my Lord, is proper payment for my treatment at your filthy hands."

Lord Traius strode out of the room, satisfied with his work. Still, however, a great difficulty lay before him: he had yet to completely capture the castle. He may have killed his enemy, but for that to be of any use he needed the castle itself, the most fortified castle in the entire land save that of Omb. Though this great task confronted him, he remained undeterred in purpose. He had a plan.

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

"If you are able to tell us, young lady," asked Lady Arwen, "what is going on in the castle. Are Sir Quinn and Rowan yet alive?"

Kathryn looked up at Lady Arwen in confusion. "I do not know Sir Quinn or Count Rowan," she replied. "As I came through the path in the woods, though, I saw a tall man and with him five men in dark clothes dressed for battle. Do you think he is going there to help us?"

Lady Arwen turned white. "I do not think so. Those of the Order do not wear black armor. Kathryn," she said faintly, worried that what Kathryn had seen might possibly have an important effect on their mission, "what did their armor look like exactly?”

Kathryn though for a mement. “The men have a red dragon imprinted on their shields."

Lady Arwen looked up in surprise. “That emblem belongs to only one group: Lord Traius and his followers. He is one of the most ruthless in the land. Kathryn, did the men you saw say anything?”

"Why? What is the matter?"

“Did he, Kathryn?”

“Yes. He said something about Lord Drakin being a fool and worthy of death. I was surprised at this, and as he rode by one of his men added that they would take the castle easily. Just before they went out of hearing, I thought I heard one of them laugh, ‘sparing none, prisoners and…’ something alike!” 

Lady Arwen let out a deep sigh, and spoke very gravely: "This bodes not well for our friends. I fear that they are in grave danger.” 

The rest of the party looked on in surprise. How could Lord Traius even take the castle of Carivia? He had only a handful of men. They, however, began to understand Lady Arwen’s fear when they remembered that she had known Lord Traius before the Council arose, and she had told them of his atrocities which had excited the rage of even King Archen. If anyone could take the castle and cause the deaths of their friends, it was Lord Traius. A gloom began to fall the party.

Kathryn looked up. “What are we to do, Lady Arwen?”

“I don't know, my friend, I don't know."

Kathryn slowly raised her head and looked up into Arwen's eyes. Slowly, but audibly, she said, "Well, there is one thing we can do, and that is pray.”

"Yes," exclaimed Lady Arwen, dropping to her knees. "Let us ask the Lord for direction and guidance."

The wicked-looking guard with the limp and the oily face froze in mid-motion as he held the red iron inches from Rowan's chest. At the very moment when it was to touch his bare skin, those in the room heard loud banging at the outer doors of the torture chamber. The man looked at Rowan with disgust and promptly threw the iron bar at his head and made for the door. Rowan felt the burning metal hit his face and the rest was blotted out by a burning world of blackness.

When Rowan awoke with a groan and with a surge of pain, he found himself back in the same dingy cell he had occupied only a couple hours earlier. The young Count gave another moan. His many wounds had still yet to be bandaged and had been growing worse by the hour. In spite of his great pain, though, Rowan raised himself up and looked about for Sir Quinn.

That man he found in the corner of the cell, to all appearances either asleep or unconscious. Rowan cried aloud for Quinn to open his eyes, but it did not avail. Rowan persisted in his efforts and eventually the brave knight opened his eyes and give a smile so faint as to be almost nonexistent.

"Rowan!," he whispered. "I am glad that you are alive, although I do see that horrible burn mark on your face. I forgot about its presence when we were brought here, but I believe I do still have some salve which, I hope, will help relieve the pain." Rowan found the salve without much difficulty, and he soon set about applying it to both his own wounds and to Sir Quinn's.

Sir Quinn continued, "It won't do much good in the long run, though. I am surprised they did not finish us off earlier, when we refused to talk. You saw the look on the guards’ faces." Rowan gave a hasty nod. Sir Quinn continued, "I don't know how much you remember, but I heard them depart. In my pain I did not track the time, but it must have been some hours later before another man took us both back to this cell. I tell you, Rowan, something strange must have happened. The look on the second man was full of confusion and fear. I heard him mumble about 'the end' and 'chaos'." Something must have happened, but I am at a loss as to what. Regardless, I am sure that they will have it sorted out by this time, and they will continue their vile work to such an extent that no salve in the world would do us any good."

The young Count listened in silence, racking his brains as to what it all meant, while at the same time preparing himself for a death that was sure to come. But as hour after hour passed, and not one came to the dungeon in which they lay, they began to wonder about the the theory they had made. The area about them seemed to be deserted, but as they heard activity above their filthy cell, that possibility was dashed. It never occurred to them that Lord Traius was at that moment attempting to overtake the castle, defeat Lord Drakin, and become the most powerful lord of the land.

It was not until the late evening that three men in black armor made their way into the dungeon. Rowan and Quinn could see that one of the men had the keys in his back pocket. They looked at each other, for these men were nothing like the jailers had looked like. They were all large, muscular men, with tough faces and greasy black hair.

"If there was only some way we could get hold of those keys," whispered Quinn to Rowan. "Then we could unlock our cell, and perhaps even escape this horrible dungeon."

Chapter 6

Deep inside the Forest of Kolgarriat – a dense woodland closely bordering the northernmost of the lofty Kenridge Mountains – a group of men gathered. They had each come from long distances to reach the place of meeting, a great cave whose narrow mouth opened upon the thick forest.

Within the cavern, a number of large lamps were alight, and one or two small fires blazed. A yellow-orange glow shined off the silent faces of those who stood or sat in a great circle, creating a rather eerie effect. The only sounds were the crackling the fires and the anxious breathing of those present.

A sudden voice broke the reigning stillness. “Now,” it said, “may we at last begin? I believe all who are going to come have arrived.” The voice came from a gruff, weather-beaten man who stood poking a small fire a little outside the circle.

Another man, taller than the first but less powerfully built, replied, “Yes, we have waited long for this meeting, and we cannot afford to wait much longer. Sir Walter?” He looked to the man sitting on a chair near the center of the circle, quietly stroking his grey-flecked beard with his eyes fixed on the ground, deep in thought. At the mention of his name, however, he looked up.

“I know that you have travelled far, Desmond,” he said. “Most of us who do not reside here have. We cannot decide anything, however, until Sir Quinn and the Duke of Assen arrive. They have given their word to come, and we have given ours to wait.”

“Three days we have done so,” answered the man by the fire, “and they have not come. Winter is coming, Sir Walter, and time is precious. Perhaps the king—“

“The king would not approve of beginning a Varam without them, Kazer. You know that. Now, we have come to beseech the Almighty for our cause and not to begin a council of strategy.”

“The king will be back soon from his walk,” a lighter, more musical voice answered. “I say that Kazer and Sir Desmond are right, and we should request the king to begin the Varam as soon as he returns. Our friends can join our discussion when they arrive. It would be a shame not to make use of the time we have to plan while we have it.”

Sir Walter paused. It was clear from the approving nods about him that those present would not agree to any more waiting. The Council’s grip was tightening, and not a second could be spared.

“Very well,” he said. “I just hope that our judgment shall not stray without the rest of the Order.” He sighed. “Let the Varam begin.”

Those who had been lingering ouside the circle, like Kazer, now drew near with anxious faces.

“We must, of course, thank the Almighty for preserving us thus far,” Sir Walter of Anandale began, using his voice with commanding effect. “He has indeed been good to us, and His mercy toward each of us should never be forgotten.” Most of those present gave exclamations of agreement. While some disregarded the Almighty as a superstition, other recognized his power and his hand in the workings of the land, and they sought to praise Him for his works. The Almighty, according to His followers, used to often speak to the people through certain chosen people, but these communications grew more and more rare, and now no one could remember the last time a messenger had arisen. Still, many continued to follow and worship Him, particularly the poor and those of the Order.

Sir Walter continued, “Still, there is much that remains to be done before we can accomplish our ultimate task of putting the king back on the throne and overthrowing the Council of Lords – a body who fears neither man nor even the Almighty. Many courses, both for the short term and for the future, are open before us. For a body as small as ours, complete obedience and precision is necessary to gain success. I trust that we can settle upon a path which we all understand and with which we all agree.”

After a chorus of assent, Sir Desmond arose. “Sir Walter speaks the truth regarding the necessity for agreement. We have only just begun to recover from the chaos of the Council’s takeover, and we need order, uniformity, and agreement. Now, I say we should wait for the large party of Sir Quinn to arrive, and then use our combined forces to strike individual outposts of the Council. They are scattered throughout the country, causing the people to live constantly under their shadows and those of the larger fortresses. If we act successfully, we can give much frustration to the nine lords.”

A large part of the group nodded heavily at this suggestion. Sir Desmond was well known for his great skill in commanding small, coordinated groups of men. Thus his proposal, coming as it did from experienced lips, inspired many with the possibility of victory. However, as Sir Desmond again sat down, a young but fierce-looking charcoal burner by the name of Aroka arose. “Sir Desmond gives a suggestion that, to my one ear, might appear wise. He forgets, though, that the Council has armies, and that those armies will be sent against us. No matter how much we may try, we will be caught if we continuously attack.”

“Not if we move quickly. We can strike where least expect—”

“They will find us nonetheless. I am of the common people, something that few, if any of you, can say; I know the people. They are so paralyzed by terror, caused by the massacres and the destruction, that they would even betray us to the Council.”

“We can simply avoid them. They will regain their courage by witnessing our success from a distance.”

“Avoid the people? No, Sir Desmond, that would be foolishness. The small outposts you speak of are in the towns. You could avoid the lazy eyes of the guards, but not the eyes of the farmers, smiths, and charcoal burners nearby. You might find some willing hearts, but some of them are black, or at least a darker shade than they ought.”

Sir Desmond, visibly frustrated that his plan was shot down so quickly, raised his hands, saying, “Well, what do you suggest?”

“I propose that a much quicker move be made against the Council. As Sir Walter said, we are so small. I say we send a two or three of us into Omb or Forenton, where they will kidnap one of the Council, perhaps even the Count of Omb himself. We could then persuade him to destroy the Council and to restore to us our land. I myself would gladly volunteer to be a member of this party, should it be accepted.”

Many gave hearty cheers at this suggestion. It was bold, and for many who were tired of waiting and watching, it seemed like the perfect scheme. It solved the problem of massive bloodshed, for if the plan were to miscarry, few would suffer as a result. Even Sir Desmond appeared pleased with the proposal. However, Sir Walter again rose. “I hear you, Aroka,” he said with a smile. “Your plan, like Sir Desmond’s, comes from a brave heart and a skilled mind. However, I fear that it would simply not work. You misjudge the men with whom we are dealing. They are evil, cunning, and greedy to the greatest degree. Even if we could capture a member of the Council, be he the lowest of their ranks or the Count of Omb himself, he could not order the others to go against their wills, at least to the point of dissolving the Council. The captured man might beg the others to do as we say, but the others would never comply with an order that would strip them of their power entirely. Anyway, fewer members of the council means more power to the rest.”

A ripple of whispers swept across the room. Aroka said, “Well, what then should we do? How else can a handful overcome castles, fortresses, armies, and spies? We need swift action if we are to do any good.”

At this, a tall and aged man, a newcomer, stepped forward to the center of the assembly. His authoritative appearance was was one that could cause even the most talkative of men to become silent. His clothing was neither extravagant nor new, but his eyes were as bright as gemstones and his beard was as bright as the purest silver. He bore himself as one who had known much pain –of a different kind than physical – but who made great struggles to not let it affect him.

Walking to and fro with but the slightest of limps, the King of Alavaria – for king he was – addressed the silent assembly. "My friends," he said, “I was unaware that we were beginning the Varam. Sir Walter told me it would no begin until the arrival of our other friends.”

Sir Walter spoke haltingly. “I—am sorry, my king. We did not think it wise to—wait longer. We—”

The king raised his hand. “It matters not, Sir Walter. It matters not, for the Varam has begun, and we ought not to stop it now. I know that each of you is as devoted to the cause of restoring peace and happiness to Alavaria as much as I. The proposals made by Sir Desmond and Aroka came from good and noble hearts, but they will in the end prove to faulty. We must look to the chief problem at hand. The main barrier to our success: fear. Aroka, how many of the common people on your side of the Kenridge Mountain have pledged themselves to our Cause?”

“But a handful, my King.”

“Could you tell us all why you and Kazer alone are here while the rest of the people remain at their homes?”
“Right now, very few of the farmers, small merchants, and others speak their support of the Order. It is not that they do not agree with us or do not love the king; it is a gripping fear of what will happen if they do something against Omb. Soldiers and spies are everywhere, save in the extreme South, and others and I have seen far too many people killed for one complaining word. My own sister was killed last winter by a raid on her villiage. It had given us a number of horses and one or two cloaks.”

“The scoundrels!” someone cried out. “How could people be so evil?”

“They have to kill” Aroka replied. “They need to break us. Years have worn us down, and we have fallen into a kind of sleep. A small number of us are willing to risk our lives, but we have to do so carefully. Families with relatives in the Order are killed, and it discourages many from even attempting to help us.”

King Archen nodded, then paused. His eyes sparkled with the vigor that his body could not easily display. He raised his voice, “Friends, we must reclaim the kingdom that was once ours and the people’s, destroy this evil once and for all, and fight for freedm too long lost. How can we do this? Only by shaking the Alavarians from their stupor. We must save them from having to obey and support those who fear neither injustice nor cruelty. This can only stop if the people join, not only with their hearts, but with their actions. I know that they feel as we do, but we cannot continue to fight alone. No, we need their assistance. We must make this, rather than covert attacks, our primary goal. The sword is not what is needed. It is powerful, but a heart that fears it not is more powerful still."

As the King spoke these words, silence reigned over the group of men. What the king said had indeed been unexpected. They had thought that King Archen, no matter his love of peace and his wisdom, would have been the first to order militant attacks to purge the land of all who had caused him to lose his throne. They too had secretly desired an opportunity to deal a heavy blow to the Council through a strike of some kind, but the strategy of the king completely countered their expectations. At first, they desired to protest his plan as too distant and not useful for the present, but the more they thought, they more they saw the wisdom and importance behind it.

Sir Desmond arose, a smile on his face. "Yes, King Archen,” he said. “Although I must admit I thought not at first, I think your plan is the wisest at the moment and shall—”

All of a sudden, the sound of a horse galloping reached the ears of the men. The noise continued to flood the cavern for a moment, growing steadily louder, when suddenly grew faint and disappeared altogether close to the cave’s mouth. The rider had stopped. One of the knights got onto his stomach and peered out.

"It is Lady Makennah!" exclaimed the surprised knight.
King Archen stood, “And Sir Quinn?”

“He is not with her. I wonder if something happened to the others?”

“We shall soon know.”

"King Archen!" said Lady Makennah as she entered the cavern. He dress was muddy, torn,and stained with blood. Wisps of her brown her were flung in every direction, and there was sadness in her eyes. "Something horrible has happened!"

"Lady Makennah," the King said with a sigh, expecting the worst, "let us hear your news. Are Sir Quinn and the others still alive?”

Lady Makennah raised her head with a slight look of surprise. “Yes, when I last saw him he was well. It is not Sir Quinn of whom I have come to speak, though. After we heard of the massacre of Arandan and of the Duke of Assen—“

“What?” gasped the king. “What massacre?”

Lady Makennah was startled. “What do you mean, my king? Haven’t you heard from the Earl of Ralgasor?”

“I have heard from no party anything of a massacre. I was unaware that the Earl of Ralgasor was even here.” He looked around sharply, but no one with the earl had arrived.

Lady Makennah spoke with surprise, “Something must have happened, then, on the way across the plains and the Kolgar Marches.” She proceeded to tell the king all that they had heard from Rowan concerning the Duke of Assen and those who died at Arandan. The news hit the king very hard. He had loved the duke as a brother. Still, while he was visibly grieved by the story, he still kept a smile of relief when he heard of Rowan’s own own escape from danger.

“And what was the lad’s name?” he asked again. “Are you sure it was Count Rowan?”

“Quite sure, my king.”

“It is incredible that he escaped with his life. Is that all your news?”

“That is, I am afraid, not all, my lord. I take full responsibility upon myself. I pray you to understand beforehand, though, that we did all in our power to prevent this from occurring."

"Speak on, Makennah."

“In the effort to transport the Duke of Assen's body to his castle for burial, we found that one of your dispatches, one of those with the complete lists, was stolen by the Council's henchmen. It had been hidden in the duke’s boot"

"How is that possible?" said the stunned king. “Was it missing before you found the duke?”

“No, it was still there. Someone stole it beneath our watch.”

“Who do you think?”

"We know not. When I learned this, I instructed those with me to warn those in our further refuges of the danger. I know not how they have fared, but I regret to say that Sir Doran, in accompanying me, was slain by a pack of wolves. He died with honor defending me from death. I continued on to warn your majesty and to seek your wisdom."

The room was silent. The sheer weight of her news struck a horrible blow upon all those present. Even the King was at a loss for words. He bent his head, pondering the double blow of his friends’ deaths and of the loss of such an important document. When next he looked up, a tear glistened in his eye.

Although the great Council of Nine declared that they were equal to each other and shared the power of rule, they all knew that one of their number was truly in command. This great leader was the Count of Omb, the man who initiated the great rebellion and who still exercised his influence over the eight other lords. He had long presided This ultimate leader of the Council of Lords sat brooding in his vast chambers within the great seat of the kingdom. He had only just received word of Lord Traius's rebellion, and he was furious. He had heard from Lord Drakin that Traius was a dangerous character, loyal to nothing but his own interests. He had hoped that the money and power Lord Drakin had offered Lord Traius for his services would have subdued him long enough for the Council to stamp out the Order. “Of course, it had to come sooner or later,” he thought, “but this is sooner than I wanted. He can, of course, do no real damage, but it does distract from our purpose.” He tapped his fingers on the large oak desk in front of him, pondering what his next move should be.

He had expected to crush Archen’s followers within the year and to be the unquestioned ruler of Kornaiden – for, indeed, he had determined to take full control of the Cuncil once peace was restored. Traius's recent uprising, though, had temporarily put an end to this dream. He would have to find a way to defeat both Traius and the rebels without causing any other disturbances throughout the kingdom. He believed he had the troops to crush both, but he also knew that he would need to be careful not to anger the people, who could easily rise against him were they to break free of their terror. The Count of Omb continued to think. “The only way I can see is…yes! We must use the Order’s dispatch against them, but not as we planned. Before, finding and destroying their hiding places and important documents, then capturing them when they finally fell was the goal. The dispatches would have helped, but I can do still more. I could use the dispatch, not to help destroy, but to help capture. With the knowledge the dispatch contains, I will seize the nobles in their little refuges, and bring them before Omb for the whole nation to see. They will die slowly – painfully – as examples to prevent the people from rising. I can thus start to move against the others. Lord Melkior and Lord Traius must go first. Perhaps I should do the same to them as I plan to do to the rebels--make him and his followers an example. Yes, that is the best plan.” 

So the commander’s thoughts ran, until he withdrew himself from his reverie and called in Lord Arsoth, a member of the Council and the commander of his army. When he entered and the Count rose to his feet, a sharp distinction could be seen between their appearances. The Count of Omb was not nearly as stout as the military commander, nor was he as tall or powerfully built. Still, the raw power displayed in the countenance and bearing of Lord Arsoth was, in a sense, overpowered by a calm fierceness on the part of the count. While Lord Arsoth lurched slightly forward as he walked, the Count of Omb stood in a very stately manner with not the slightest awkwardness in his manner. Although all members of the Council bore a look of malice in their eyes, something within the eyes of the Count seemed to shoot a pale red fire. 

After giving the customary salutation, the Count of Omb said, "Lord Arsoth, take eight hundred of your best men and journey to the castle of Carivia. Warn Lord Drakin of the peril posed by Lord Traius. With his special guard gone, you will need to do all in your power to protect him. Drakin has the garrison, but he has no brains. At the same time, send you men to find the traitor. Kill everyone who resists, but spare Lord Traius himself and his close followers and bring him to me. You must _not_ kill him. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord," the commander said with inward anger. He did not like the Count of Omb’s habit of ordering the soldiers without consulting the rest of the Council.

"Then go, and do not make me wait long, or I shall have to ride out myself. I want Traius here as quickly as possible. We must crush our enemies swiftly so that we won’t have to worry any more about rebellion."

"As you wish, my lord!" With that, Lord Arsoth left the Count's chambers. As his footsteps slowly faded out of hearing, the Count himself returned to his former brooding. He remained in the same position for some time, his hand on his face with his eyes gazing at a map of the country and at the many banners of the knights and nobles his men had put to death.

The fire smoldered and died, yet the face of the Count remained unmoved in expression. Suddenly, the great iron doors opened, revealing the face of Lord Rolkran, grinning and silent.

The leader looked up, and upon giving the customary salute, Lord Rolkran entered the chamber, lighting a torch as he did so.

"My lord, I have just received word from our commanders in the west that everything has gone as planned...even, shall I say, better than was planned."

The great Count looked up with his flaming eyes, which expressed a violent pleasure.

"That is excellent, my lord. What exactly are the results?"

Lord Rolkran gave a solemn bow. "My Lord Count, all of the nobles' western fortresses have been entirely destroyed. The castle of Camesh, the towns of Amruel and Casuil, and the forest of Muil housed outposts used by the former nobles to plot against our rule. With the former king's dispatch as evidence – for we heard of its contents and used it in our actions - your armies burned the outposts, the castle, and the towns to the ground, along with the knights inside them. We also intercepted four knights in a body, all journeying to the western fortresses. We found that these were traveling under the order of one of our enemies -- the Lady Makennah, I think one of them said. They were, of course, killed."

"What!," the Count said, his voice beginning to rise. "Could you possibly have misunderstood my orders? _No one_ is to be slain needlessly!”

“But, my lord, your orders were to kill all those of the Order we might find!”

The Count of Omb was just about to reply in a fury, when he caught himself. He had forgotten that he had only recently decided upon his strategy. More calmly, but still with traces of annoyance in his voice, the Count again spoke, “My apologies, Lord Rolkran. Although the nobles are scum, I believe now that our path to victory is not through destruction, but through a slow and gradual acceptance of ideas. There is certainly time for death, and we will bring it when the time comes. However, now is the time for inward destruction anddeception. Lord Rolkran, if we can get the nobles to declare us sovereign, or to kill them before the peopl, we shall have finally secured our rule. No further mistakes of this kind shall be made, am I clear?" 



"Yes, my lord," answered Lord Rolkran, cowering under the fiery eyes of the Count of Omb.

Lord Traius knew that he had put himself in a difficult position, but he had a plan. He was certain that retaliation from the Council of Lords would come swiftly and painfully, but he had already come up with a solution to defend against their attack, at least for a time.

Taking two of his men along as bodyguards, he quickly made his way to the outer wall through the tunnels he had used to overtake the castle. He emerged just outside of the courtyard which straddled the first and second walls. He promptly strode through a small crowd of confused guards to a short staircase, which led him to the walkway at the top of the castle's outer wall. After the excitement and panic of the tunnels, only a few soldiers had remained on the wall, these looking utterly confused. Traius made his way to the center of the walkway, just above the fortified castle gate.

He then held his trumpet to his lips and blew a long blast, which he knew from experience would signal all the guards of the castle to come to the courtyard. In a few seconds, a large number of soldiers began to pour through three gateways into the immense courtyard. Soon, every guard in the castle had assembled before Lord Traius, none of them having any idea what was going on and nervous that those who had murdered so many beneath the city were now free to wander around without any opposition.

Traius looked down and, with a deep, booming voice addressed the crowd. "Soldiers of Kornaiden, I am, as you probably know, the Lord Traius. I have assembled you together here to inform you of some dreadful news. Throughout the past several years, a force in rebellion against the Council of Lords has arisen which has attempted to put the false claimant Archen back on the throne of Kornaiden. This rebellion has been struggling against the Council for some time, but recently it has begun to grow weaker; in fact, we have almost conquered it entirely.”

"Recently, however, your commander, the Lord Drakin, has been negligent in fighting against the rebels. It was even reported that he sent aid to a group of them when they had almost been destroyed by the Council of Lords. Because of this, I took it upon myself to come here and put an end to Lord Drakin's insufferable insubordination and stop his mutinous tendencies.

One of the soldiers then called up, “Forgive me, Lord Traius, but rogue armed men are at this moment within the castle’s walls and might be threatening our homes at this very mom—“

“Peace! All shall be explained. Only minutes ago, I went to Lord Drakin and ordered him to cease his rebellion against the Council and help us to destroy the rebels led by Archen. He refused, and even tried to kill me. I fought back of course, and soon saw that there was no other course of action to take but to kill him myself. So, the former Lord Drakin now lies dead within his chambers."

Gasps arose throughout the crowd of soldiers, but Traius motioned for silence.

"My fellow Kornaidiens, it was a necessary evil. With all my heart I had hoped to be reconciled with Drakin, but I found that it was impossible and was forced to put an end to his rule – a rule marked by rebellion. I am truly sorry that it had to come to this, but now I fear that something I had not previously anticipated is going to come upon us. I realize that I made the mistake of coming to confront Lord Drakin without the permission of the Council of Lords, and now I am quite certain that they will retaliate. They will likely think that I myself am involved in a sort of rebellion, and may send troops to stop me. I do not think that I can successfully reason with them, for you know the sort of man the Count of Omb is, always taking fancies that rebellion is in the air. If it does come to that, and I do hope it does not, I will need your help. You must ward off the Council's men so that I can at least try to explain my actions and not be killed for something I did not mean to do. Will you help me, my friends?"

Lord Traius’ plan was well sprung. After Drakin, Traius was the natural successorto the castle. By appealing to their pity and upholding his nobility and honor, we planned to win their hearts. Slowly, he believed he could make loyal soldiers out of them – soldiers loyal enough to go to pitched battle with him against the Council.

A tall, muscular soldier with a red beard and an authoritative bearing strode forward to the front of the crowd. With a yell that was sure to have been heard among every one of the throng he said, "And why, my lord, should we, soldiers of the Council, pay for your mistake and for your sense of justice and treason? You committed the wrong, so why should we all suffer for it?"

There was a murmur of assent among the garrison. The man's logic was sound, and they began to look suspiciously upon the Lord Traius, and whispered among each other. In the confusion, no one noticed that Lord Traius' own men had disappeared from sight.

Lord Traius himself answered the charge of the red headed men with feigned kindness. "My friends, and particularly you, Gradlem, I ask you to assist me not for selfish means, desiring to save my own skin, but to save yours as well. If the Council were to enter the castle's gates, they would find among Lord Drakin's documents evidence of the treason I just told you about. As you are the castle's garrison, and thus Lord Drakin's bodyguard, they would hold you as co-conspirators and would doubtless slay you to the man."

A gasp arose from the soldiers, and they began to shift uncomfortably on their feet. The red haired man, however, was undeterred. With a courage and a confidence that shocked those around him, he declared," It may be true that our lives are in danger; it may be true that Lord Drakin was a traitor; it may also be true that you are as genuine as you claim to be. However, I for one am not going to raise arms against anyone unless I know that the crime warrants the punishment. You are, I see now, a fraud.. This man," he cried, "is the one behind the attacks upon the guards in the underground catacombs. I see it all now. As such, we could not in good conscience support such a man - a murderer. The Almighty, whom I follow, would not allow it."

Although the garrison shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the Almighty, whose worship was forbidden, they still more recognized the prudence of holding their tongues and seeing the outcome of this verbal struggle.

Lord Traius' face at the man's words turned nearly purple with rage. "That is an outrageous assertion. Who are you to accuse me?"

"I am a man with simple logic, my Lord. You left, I recall, but a few short days ago. Since that time, you have not come through the main gates. How, may I ask, did you get in here, through our watch? You could only have come by tunnel! In such manner the only plausible explanation for your appearance without my notification is that you murdered the underground watchmen."

Once again, a great murmur rippled through the crowd.

Lord Traius staggered. In spite of his genius, he had not anticipated the question. In an instant, he changed his strategy and silently moved to his secondary plan. He gave a quick nod towards one of the courtyard walls.

"Very well. It may be as you say. However, the circumstances don't change. Your death will be sure if you refuse to give me assistance."

"Then we refuse," said the red-haired man. "You can't keep us from leaving before the Council arrives."

"Actually, I can." Two successive booms met the ears of the garrison. The gates to the courtyard were closed and barred. The soldiers, in surprise, looked up. Lord Traius' men had turned the catapults on the wall toward the courtyard. The garrison and Gradlem were trapped.

Chapter 7

Count Rowan watched the three muscular men as they lumbered like giants down the hall, wondering how he could ever get the keys from them. It seemed an impossible feat. At first, he thought that these men were ordinary jailors, charged with the task of guarding and feeding the prisoners. Soon, however, this idea was dispelled.

The three men stopped in the middle of the dungeon passageway. One of them called out, "All prisoners, to attention! Come to the front of your cells." The dungeon rang with the sound of clinking chains and cheerless groans from the many prisoners.

After a moment’s silence, the large man again spoke. "We are here to free you from your bonds," he boomed. Rowan nearly choked in astonishment. Sir Quinn dragged himself up to Rowan, a look of confusion on his face.

One of the prisoners further down the passages called out in a mocking tone, “Oh, I am quite sure he is! He means to kill us all, no doubt.”

The other prisoners gasped and clamored to the back of the cells, for if death was the object of this impromptu visit, then they would make sure that their lives would not be easily purchased by a sword thrust between the bars.

"What is going on?" Rowan whispered.

"I have no idea," Sir Quinn answered quietly.

The soldier in black again lifted his voice, "To attention! If you mock me I will give you the steel blade you so deserve. Of course we do not mean to kill you; on the contrary, all of you may go free if you agree to do what we tell you. In the courtyard, there has been a sort of… uprising among the soldiers. Keeping them in check – and, especially, keeping them from leaving – is essential. Do not ask any questions, for answers will not be given. Simply do what we tell you, and you will be freed. If you disobey or try to escape before we let you go or after, you will be instantly killed. Will you do it?"

Shouts of affirmation erupted throughout the dungeon. Although they were still somewhat cautious of this rather improbable circumstance, every prisoner was willing to do anything he could to be free from his chains. Count Rowan and Sir Quinn, however, remained silent. They could not overcome the feeling that something was not right with the soldiers who had so suddenly offered them freedom right after they had been tortured and assured of their deaths.

The three men traveled down the passageway, unlocking every door and every chain. They ordered each prisoner to assemble at the front of the dungeon.

As they came closer to Rowan and Quinn's cell, Rowan whispered, "Should we go with them, Sir Quinn?"

"No, I think not. Something tells me that we are being asked to partake in some evil plan."

"But what will they do to us if we refuse? We could very well be killed."

"Quite true," Quinn sighed. He lowered his head in thought for a few seconds, then suddenly raised it with a brightness in his eyes. "I have it! I know what to do."

The man with the keys suddenly appeared in front of the cell. He turned the key in the rusty lock and threw open the door. As he came in and began to unlock their chains as well, he said, "Assemble at the front of the dungeon to await further instructions."

Rowan and Quinn shakily stood up as the guard left the cell. "Quick," Sir Quinn said. "Come with me to this corner of the cell."

Rowan went with him, but was obviously confused. "What are you doing? Shouldn't we go with them?"

"No, we must stay here. Remember the secret tunnel in this dungeon? We must wait until everyone is gone, and then we can escape through it."

"But it is buried under a huge pile of rocks! How can we ever get through it?"

"We'll have to dig, my lad. It may take some time, but it's our only hope for freedom."

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


"Amen." Lady Arwen stood up and brushed leaves and small twigs off her skirt.

Kathryn did the same. 
"What are we going to do now, Lady Arwen?" Kathryn asked as Arwen mounted her horse. The horse side-stepped impatiently as the graceful lady looked down at the young girl. 


"We need more information, Kathryn. We need you to go back to the castle in Carivia and find out what is happening. Be careful. Go with God, little one." Kathryn nodded and turned to walk back through the woods. "Oh, Kathryn," Lady Arwen
called. Kathryn turned back to face her. "The young Count Rowan and Sir Quinn were captured by Lord Traius. If he is there, our friends may be near. Unless…" 


Kathryn nodded again, understanding the unspoken words of Lady Arwen. "I will look for them, Lady Arwen." She looked around for the other knights who were standing at a distance, conversing quietly.


"William?" Kathryn ran towards her brother. William turned around and held his arms open as his sister ran up to him and gave him a hug. 


"I love you, Kathryn." William hugged her tightly and kissed her on the forehead.

"Be careful. I want to see you again."

"I love you too, William." Kathryn pulled back. 
"I have to go."

She turned and ran into the woods, not looking back. 
Sir Myles shook his head as he mounted his horse.

"You've got one brave little sister there, William. You should be proud."


William nodded as he, too, mounted his horse. "I love her with all my heart. After my parents died, she was the only family left. We are very close." 


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


A few hours later, Kathryn arrived at the castle. Hiding behind a tree, she cautiously peered around it to scout out the area. Many of Lord Traius's guards were stationed near the drawbridge, so she quickly took that off her list of options. 


After looking around a bit more, Kathryn decided her best plan would be to go deeper into the forest before moving on. 
She carefully tiptoed into the leaves, careful not to step on any twigs that might give her away. 


Deep in the forest, Kathryn carefully circled around the castle until she reached the back, where a secret tunnel was hidden. Quietly moving towards the entrance, Kathryn pulled out her small bow and fitted an arrow on the string. 


Suddenly, a hand grabbed her from behind covering her mouth and pushing her bow down to prevent her from shooting. 
Kathryn kicked but to no prevail. Finally, she bit down on the hand that was holding her captive and immediately she heard a low moan and the hand dropped from her face. 


"For someone your age, you sure do have strong teeth!" A familiar voice whispered, chuckling. 


"Britton!" Kathryn whirled around. 
Britton bowed. 


"Th