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. 


"The one and the same, here to help the brave Lady Kathryn on her quest to save the princess!" He frowned. "Should you be the princess and I be the one to rescue you?"


"Britton, be serious. The castle is under attack. Can't you see? This isn't time for jokes." Kathryn scolded. 
"Sorry." Britton apologized, then swept his hand across his brow. "I had a hard time keeping up with you," he explained. "I was following you to make sure you didn't do something stupid."


"Stupid? Britton, the only thing stupid that we're doing is the fact that we're standing around while innocent people are dying in that castle. We've got to do something." Kathryn stomped her foot.


"That's why I came to get you!" Britton explained, turning and walking deeper into the woods, expecting Kathryn to follow. After a few yards, he looked back to see Kathryn standing in the same place with her arms crossed. 


He sighed and put his hands on his hips. "Just follow me and you'll understand."

Kathryn slowly and hesitatingly followed her young friend into the forest. He led her a short distance off the road into a small cave comprised of several bushes, low growing trees and a rock. 
She sat on a low branch, folded her arms again and looked up at Britton.

He sighed then began, 
"A lot has happened sense you left the castle this morning. As I am sure you have already guessed, Lord Traius and several of his men have captured the castle. They have slain the Lord Drakin and all of the soldiers of the castle are being held prisoner. I was out gathering wood for the kitchen ovens when it happened and as soon as I found out what had taken place, I made straight out for your place. And I could not believe what I saw there…. I arrived just in time to hear your plan and follow you back to here."

Kathryn's eyes fell to the ground and she shook her head. Looking back up she asked, 
"Have you heard anything of the prisoners Sir Quinn or Count Rowan? Do you know if they are still…alive?"

Britton looked up with saddened eyes.

"I am simply a cook's assistant, Kathryn. I perform my duties and see little of the intrigues and evils of the castle. When I was younger, and served under the former Count of Carivia, my life was happy and I could go anywhere and talk with anyone, even the young Count, so long as I performed my duties. After the dark lords' rebellion, however, that changed. I have been unable to go anywhere but under the greatest restrictions. I have permission to speak freely only to my fellow kitchen servants (who are a sad lot, let me tell you). This being so, Kathryn, I have very little inside knowledge of your friends. The Lord Drakin was a cruel and vile man, but he was certainly better than the evil that has now taken over the castle. Lord Drakin cares not for instant death, but Lord Traius does. It is likely that, if your friends were not slain by some lowly guard, they will have survived long enough to be sent to Lord Drakin's torture chambers."

"Surely, though," said Kathryn, her face now pale, "the young Count Rowan and Sir Quinn could still be alive?"

"Certainly they could, especially because of today's confusion. We wouldn't have long, though, because as soon as Lord Traius gets the castle under his thumb, he will not be hesitant to spill the blood of the guilty and the innocent. He will probably kill all the prisoners and those who had any hand in opposing his rise."

Kathryn's face grew whiter still. "Britton, we have no time to lose! We must save the brave nobles and assist them in escaping! You do know what they look like, don't you? We will need to recognize them in order to know that they are the ones we are supposed to aid."

Britton's own face turned a shade paler. With wide eyes, he said, "I thought the nobles gave descriptions of the two to you! I am certain that I shall recognize the young Count, for I often spoke to him when I had the freedom to do so, but Sir Quinn is a knight that I am unfamiliar with. I don't know at all what he looks like, or what he is wearing, or anything about him. I…I suppose we need to trust in the Almighty that they are together when we arrive."

Kathryn replied, "I was a fool for not asking more about their appearances, but you are certainly right. God will, I hope, show us the way to save these two men. How, though, are we going to get into the castle. I beg you not to say anything resembling, 'Why, a tunnel, my dear Kathryn,' or 'Of course, Kathryn, we shall travel by a tunnel,' or 'Kathryn, how else but by a tunnel?' Cannot an adventure involve going through the castle gates?"

Britton laughed. "I am sure it could, but that is not always possible. Come, we won't be going through either means. I have a better idea in mind.”

Chapter 8

CRACK!


Lady Makennah woke with a start and looked around, trying to remember where she was. Then she remembered.

Sitting up, she drew her sword and quietly crept to the edge of the cave. 
There she found Sir Walter, keeping a silent watch with drawn sword and keen eyes. Lady Makennah approached him. 
"Greetings, Sir Walter."


Sir Walter started and turned around. "Lady Makennah! What are…the watch is not, to my knowledge, to be changed for three hours at the earliest?" 


"Indeed, you are right. I thought I heard something out there, a snapping twig or branch that seemed to betoken some unnatural movement."


"Yes, I heard the same noise. I have been very vigilant since then, but I have heard not the slightest sign of the noise, or any noise, since then." 


"I suppose it might be nothing, after all. Still, something struck me about it." Lady Makennah sighed. "Well, Sir Walter? What do you think of the King's plan. Do you think it wise?"


"Indeed, I think King Archen's plan is very wise. His reliance upon the One True God and his desire to gain wisdom from Him have made the King both wise and courageous. I think, that, through strength, perseverance, and bravery, we shall see our land happy again."


"What do you think of the specific parts of the plan, though, Sir Walter"


"Truly, I see much to admire. The greatest difficulty to the success of our cause is lack of support. The Council's iron grip is fastened upon the people of the land. If once we could break it, we should have thousands of brave followers at our command. These followers would be farmers, however, and no soldiers. With the desertion of the army during the great uprising of the Council of Lords, the vast majority of fighting men were lost to us. If, as the king proposes, we can train them, our numbers would allow us to crush the Council's forces and to take back Alavaria stronghold by stronghold. The only difficulty I see is that–"

SNAP! 


Sir Walter and Lady Makennah spun around, swords drawn. 
"There it is again," whispered Lady Makennah.


"It still might be just a wild animal or something prowling in the–" 


Suddenly, loud voices were heard in the distance, and numberless torches came into view. 
Sir Walter turned white. "Lord preserve us," he gasped," it is the army!"


"What army?" Lady Makennah whispered, her face grew pale as she spoke. "Lord Traius?" 


Sir Walter groaned. "Yes." He shook his head in despair. 
"Oh Lord, have mercy upon us!"

Makennah said in an undertone. "What are we to do?" 


"I do not know," Sir Walter sighed. "We do not stand a chance against any army this large. This could be our end." 


Lady Makennah nearly broke down and wept. After all these years, was this to be how it ended? Was King Archen never to reclaim his throne? Were all their struggles to be in vain? 
In spite of her heavy heart, she pulled herself together and said weakly, "I'll go alert the others. You stay here and continue watching their movements." 
With this, she hurried off to the cave's sleeping quarters. Entering the dimly lit room, she shouted, "Everyone, wake up! We are under attack!"


Instantly the dozen or so sleeping men jumped to their feet. Demanding questions rang through the room. "Attacked? By whom? How did they find us?"


"I do not know how they are here," Makennah said, "but they are just outside the door, and approaching rapidly. I assume that it is probably an attack led by the Lord Traius, so… this could be our last hour." 
In a matter of seconds every man had armed himself for battle, and they followed Lady Makennah to the cave entrance.

When they arrived, the face of each man in the company fell. A vast army of dark warriors was marching swiftly through the forest, straight for their cave. 
Each one of the King's brave helpers were closely watching the movements of the warriors coming closer…closer, and each heart was going up in fervent prayer for delivery from their cruel foes and for strength to fight them, if it came to that. 


Suddenly, the leader of the opposing group spun around, and facing his group of warriors, said in a voice of authority… 
"Commanders and soldiers, I ask you to behold the cave wherein the great enemies of Kornaiden are cornered. No doubt many of you questioned my soundness of mind when I took you out of our path of travel for an unknown purpose. Our scouts captured a peasant, a charcoal burner who resides in these woods, and he revealed that the former King himself lives in this very area. I kept this information from you in order that no traitor might warn the enemy band.”

“You doubted your commander, Lord Arsoth, member of the Council, but you now see that you were mistaken and that, instead of capturing the insignificant Lord Traius, we have found the greatest prize in the kingdom." 
He turned and pointed to the cave opening. 
"Those figures you see standing in the cave mouth no doubt hear our words. Let them know that they shall not escape. If they do endeavor we shall burn them out with fire. Do not think," he continued with an evil grin, now speaking to those at the cave's entrance, "that you shall escape by some tunnel or contrivance of that sort. I have two hundred of my men scattered throughout the woods, charged to keep a careful eye out for suspicious activity. I am afraid that you shall finally suffer the consequences for your continual insurrection. Now, men, to victory!" 
Hundreds of warriors rushed up the slope, filled with a grim determination to slay all they would find. 


The Nobles of Alavaria all drew their swords. For an instant hope gleamed bright, for they had remembered that the cave had a secret exit. Although not a tunnel or anything made by human hands, it would allow a human to pass through in emergencies of the kind now facing the knights. At Lord Arsoth's words, however, that spark of confidence was extinguished. They knew they must fight or die. 


King Archen, however, said, "My friends, now is the time to act! We must not fear the hand of evil, for God blesses those who trust in him. There are thirty of us here, and fully six hundred of them before us. Better thirty against two hundred than against six hundred." 


"Do you mean to say, my King, that we should still endeavor to es–" 
"My lord, now is not the time for doubt!" 
"But we could not possibly all get through in time!" 


"Then, my lords, you shall see your king die defending his friends and preserving their way of escape. Lady Makennah, I urge you to depart first of all. The rest of you shall follow." 
The nobles rushed down the passage towards the opening. They began to scramble through the narrow crack, for that was what it was.

Already the host of the Council were entering the cave mouth. 
Sir Walter, King Archen, and the brothers the Count of Nevra and the Count of Arma watched over the retreat of their comrades with drawn swords. 
Fifteen still remained in the cave when the mass of black warriors came flying up the passage. 
The instant before the blades met, the thought flashed through each one of the nobles that, even were they successful in holding the retreat, almost certain death would meet them on the other side. Death leading to death. The blades met with a flash, and each knight gave a silent prayer such as has been given few times in all the world, from the true bottom of their soul.


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


In the wood surrounding the cave of the fugitive lords, two hundred men gathered together. Not scattered throughout the forest as their commander had ordered, but huddled together under a small outcropping of rocks, conversing in low tones.

"I say what Lord Arsoth is doing is treason!" one man, who seemed to be their leader exclaimed "He was sent out to capture Lord Traius and reestablish our control of the fortress at Carivia, not bring us all out here to follow after old peasant's fantasies!"

A murmur of agreement went up from the band of troops. They had not enjoyed their difficult impromptu march through bush and briar, and the thought of spending their time roaming throughout the woods in search for a handful of rebels was even less pleasant.

"What do you suggest we do, Sir Denvoir?" a young energetic soldier asked.

"We do what we were commanded to do! We march on Carivia, capture Lord Traius and bring him to our lord, the Count of Omb as we were sent to do! If Lord Arsoth wishes to risk his honor and disobey his lord's command, well that is for him to decide. But we, we do not need to follow recklessly on-ward into the destruction he has chosen. We shall make our own choice, we shall follow our great commander and gain the glory which shall be awarded to our brave efforts!"

"Hooray, hooray!" they cried, "Down with the traitor Arsoth! Up with Sir Denvoir! We shall follow him to the victory!"

"Are you with me!?" Sir Denvoir shouted.

"Hooray! On to the battle! On to the glory!"

"Then forward!"

The enthusiastic soldiers shouted as they ran forward after their new leader.

—— 
King Archen, Sir Walter and the two brothers fought bravely as their comrades made their slow retreat through the small passage way.

Their higher position and narrow path to the cave made their predicament more favorable, but four were no match for six hundred. For every enemy that fell, two rushed up behind him, and slowly, step by step, the fugitives were pushed backward, into the cave.

King Archen and Sir Walter fought ferociously until they were the only two still left in the cave with the soldiers.

"Go through the passageway, Sir Walter! I will be right behind you!"

"Yes, my king!"

Sir Walter turned and began to squeeze himself through the small crack that would lead him to safety, when he suddenly heard an exclamation of pain behind him. He whirled around just in time to see the king fall to the ground from a deep sword wound in the shoulder.

"My king!"

"Go, Sir Walter! Leave me here. You must flee with the others!"

"I will not abandon you, my king!"

With these words, Sir Walter came back out of the passage and stood beside his fallen king, valiantly warding off the innumerable soldiers trying to break through. He fought harder than he ever had, knowing that his efforts could save his friends outside from being caught by the soldiers that were sure to pour through the passageway as soon as its entrance was unblocked.

He swung harder with every stroke, causing dozens of soldiers to fall before him. But in a matter of minutes, his body began to tire greatly, and he slowly began to lose his strength. In a short time, he was unable to fight any longer, and he fell to the ground in exhaustion.

One of the soldiers, seeing this, shouted with glee and rushed forward. He raised his sword and was about to thrust it into the king's heart. But before he could bring it down, another sword suddenly protruded out of his chest. He groaned and fell to the ground lifeless.

"You brainless fool!" Lord Arsoth shouted, pulling his sword from the man's back. "We need them alive!"

He bent over the king with a sneer. "So, Archen, you thought you could hide from us? You should have known that eventually you would be discovered." Arsoth cackled with glee. "And now you have! Oh, how thrilled the Count of Omb will be when he hears of this!"

Chapter 9

Count Rowan and Sir Quinn concealed themselves as best they could in the darkest corner of their cell. As soon as they heard the sounds of hundreds of gleeful feet fade away, they set to work at once.

Softly, and with great care, they made their way over to the cell that signaled their escape – the same cell which had but a few days earlier sealed their doom. When they reached it, they found it just as Rowan had described, piled with tons of rocks and marked with the signs of an intense struggle.

Sir Quinn gave a feeble smile. "My lad, you showed true mettle in this cell. You fought as the king himself would have done, with bravery and honor, in spite of your many wounds. I am proud of you, and I pray to the Almighty that your sacrifice should not be for nothing, but that it would be the instrument that allowed us to survive long enough to escape."

Rowan gave a modest smile.

"And now," continued Sir Quinn, "to the work set before us! I trust the salve has done its job well enough for us to make some progress."

Indeed, Sir Quinn's salve had worked wonders. Although both were still weak from a great loss of blood, the pain from their many wounds had almost disappeared.

With a grunt, Sir Quinn began to heave and lift stones from the blocked entrance. Rowan began to do the same. Rock after rock, boulder after boulder was hurled away, until finally, after several hours, a narrow crack could be seen near the top of the heap – a crack leading to absolute blackness.

Sir Quinn clapped Rowan on the shoulder. "That's the stuff, lad! Now, just a few more boulders until freedom."
They set to work with a will, and still more stones came hurtling off the heap. Suddenly, however, the unthinkable happened.

While Quinn and Rowan had been digging out the tunnel, they had formed a pile of the fallen stones to the side, to get them out of the way. As they continued, the pile had gotten rather high. At the present, as their work was finally nearly finished, the rocks had piled up to just over the heads of the two men.

Rowan was bending over to pick up another large stone when Sir Quinn suddenly looked up and saw a large boulder teetering on the edge of the pile, just about to fall down.

"Rowan, look out!" he shouted. He rushed over and pushed the confused young count out of the way just as the stone fell. Quinn tried to get himself out of the way as well, but it was too late. The massive rock tumbled straight down onto his back, pinning him to the ground.

"Sir Quinn!" Count Rowan shouted in horror. He rushed to his companion's aid and, with a little effort, pushed the boulder off. The man groaned in pain.

"Quinn! Quinn, are you all right?" Rowan asked, turning Quinn over carefully.

With another groan, he answered weakly, "I do not know, my lad. I think my back is broken, and possibly some of my ribs as well. And I'm having some trouble breathing."

"No, this is not possible! This could ruin everything! I need you, Quinn!"

"Don't worry, son! Everything is in the Lord's hands. He will care for us, and this will all turn out in the way He wants it to."
Rowan sighed. "And what if it doesn't? What if you die? What then? Is that what the Lord wants?"

"It may be, Rowan. And if it is, you need to be strong and trust in Him."

"How can I trust in a person who has let us go through so much hardship? How can I trust in a person who would let so many good, noble people be murdered like dogs?"

"Rowan, you should not speak that way. The Lord works in mysterious ways sometimes; ways that we may never understand in this life. But you must trust Him anyway. He will work it all out for the good of those who love Him."

Rowan couldn't bear it any longer. "And what of those who don't love Him? What of those who have never understood why everyone around them love so dearly an invisible Being who does nothing for them but let them suffer?"

Rowan carefully took the Sir Quinn's salve from under his clothes and, amid sobs, began applying it to Sir Quinn's crushed body.

"I can't believe," continued Rowan, "that a cause as noble and as right as ours could be so thwarted by evil. If the Almighty is truly almighty, he would give us the victory."

Sir Quinn's breath grew more raspy as he answered, "My lad, the One True God, whom I serve, is not a God who hates and who punishes good. It is not in His nature to make the way easy for us. He blesses the good, but He also puts their trust in Him to the test. The Almighty could at any moment remove our suffering, but –"

"Then why doesn't he?"

"Because, my son, he has a perfect plan that may involve hardship. The Council might – might be victorious; we might all fall, but the Almighty will receive the glory. He hates evil, but his plan may involve something bigger than what we – may know."

The contortions of Sir Quinn's body and the rattle in his throat made it all too clear to Rowan that his friend and mentor's end was near.

"But how – HOW could he cause your death? I have not been his true follower, while you have. Would He spare me and let you die? Is that what he really wants?"

Sir Quinn gave a great cough, then smiled. "He desires that none should perish, but that all should come to repentance. I, my son, have fought the good fight and have done – my duty – to the king. Perhaps, through my death, He will lead you to – come to him and to know that His way, though not always clear, is right. Trust in Him. Though you perish, you will be in His everlasting hands."

The tears came freely from Rowan's face. He struggled inwardly with Sir Quinn's words. That knight was silent for what seemed ages. Rowan soon saw that the light was going out of his friends eyes. Suddenly, animation returned to Sir Quinn's limbs, and he said.

"Rowan, do you remember how you stood your ground in the torture chamber? I saw as the guard pushed the – burning prod close to your face. You could have avoided the blow, but you never flinched. The Almighty demands the same devotion from His followers. Stand strong, under the – suffering and the trials; trust in Him, and your reward will not simply be peace, it will be life, and that in eternity with Him."

Once again, a foggy look came over Sir Quinn's eyes. He reached out and, with a gasp, he grabbed Rowan's hand.

"Rowan, will you trust Him, no matter – no matter the cost?"

Rowan's struggle finally ceased. The God whom he had heard spoken of throughout his life was a God who cared not for the suffering. It was an invisible being that could not be relied upon. Some days He would be for him; some days He would be against him. He now saw that the Almighty was not intent on rewarding evil but on achieving, through that evil, good. He would use His faithful servants and would sometimes, not out of wrath, but out of a perfect plan and a perfect love, take them home. He, Rowan, had only to trust and repent of his unbelief in order to achieve consolation and hope, even in death.

With a quavering voice but a steady heart, he said, "By the grace of God, Sir Quinn, I shall."

Sir Quinn gave a final smile as his soul bonds of his world and came into the presence of the Almighty God.

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

When Lady Makennah finally reached the small widening in the tunnel just before the exit of the cave, she heard Sir Desmond who was the next behind her whisper, 
"My lady, let me go out first, to see if there are guards placed around us."

His voice sounded strange after such a long time of intense silence. She pressed herself tightly against the wall of the cave to allow him room to pass.

The exit was more of a hole in the roof of the tunnel. As Sir Desmond slowly stood up and looked out the exit, he expected any moment for an arrow to be shot through his chest or a knife to be stabbed into his back. His muscles were stiff from crawling through such a tight area for so long. He glanced around in each direction, looking for anything suspicious. The forest was perfectly quiet. A chill ran down his spine as he crawled out of the cave and into the forest. The only sound to be heard was the quiet chirping of birds. 
He bent down and helped Lady Makennah up, still cautiously looking about him. 
Suddenly, a loud noise was heard through out the forest. A sound of shouting. Both lord and lady started at the sound. It was far in the distance, and as it continued on, it grew quieter and quieter.

"I think – they're leaving!" Makennah said quietly, after a moment of intent listening.

"It may be a trap…" replied Sir Desmond, as he helped the next lord out of the tunnel. "We must continue to be on the look-out."

Sir Desmond cautiously stepped out of the safety of the cave's secret entrance. He looked all around, his keen eyes watching closely for any sign of a guard posted nearby. Nothing significant caught his gaze, so he whispered back to Lady Makennah and the twenty-six lords behind her, "Come out, but cautiously. There does not appear to be anyone nearby, but we must not take any chances."

Slowly the nobles and lords began to file silently out of the narrow passageway. Soon all of them were gathered in the small clearing, each one entirely unsure what to do.

Sir Desmond silently counted the men as they came out. "Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight… Hold! Where are Sir Walter and King Archen?" The men looked back and forth among themselves, but their two leaders were nowhere to be found.

Sir Desmond's heart fell. Was it possible that the two men who had been the greatest leaders among them were left back in the cave to be captured–and possibly even killed–by the Council's soldiers? He approached the entrance to the tunnel and called the names of his two friends. He was holding on to the slim hope that perhaps the two men had merely taken longer to get through the tunnel, and would round the last corner at any moment. But they never did.

Sir Desmond fell to his knees and wept bitterly. Why did they have to be the ones? Why could not he have been left behind instead? Lady Makennah approached him and put her hand gently on his arm. "Sir Desmond, do not mourn. Sir Walter and the king are in the Lord's hands now. We can do nothing more for them."

Desmond looked up into the darkness of the tunnel. "Goodbye, my dear friends. May the Lord protect you."

He rose to his feet and turned to his men, trying to shake off the emotion that had briefly overtaken him. "We must block the tunnel," he said, his voice shaky. "Bring some fallen trees and cover over the entrance, so that the Council's soldiers will have to get through them before they can follow us. Better yet, set them on fire once we have piled them up. That will certainly buy us some time."

The heavyhearted group quickly set out to obey Sir Desmond's command.

Chapter 10

Ten of the knights were sent out to form a line of scouts around the secret cave entrance. Within the circle of their watch, the other eighteen knights began to hurriedly carry sticks and branches from nearby trees. To cut off the Council's men completely, however, they needed to block the opening completely with hewn logs and other heavy obstacles. The knights, wiping their brows, set to work hacking at the trees with their swords. This was not very efficient, as they soon realized, for the sword blades both failed to cut through the sturdy trunks and gave off too much noise, putting them in peril of discovery.

Deciding to make due with what was already collected, Sir Desmond and the other knights piled the branches across the narrow opening to the cave.

"We must hurry, for I am sure they are coming!," said Sir Desmond. "I cannot comprehend why it has taken them so long. Nevertheless, we must get this lighted and run for our lives."

One of the nobles on guard returned and told Sir Desmond that he could see torches going steadily towards the North.

"That is good. It is probable that Lord Traius called off his strict watch in this area of the forest, or at least sent his men to search elsewhere."

By this time Sir Desmond had set flickering a small bundle of tinder he had carried with him. Smoke soon rose from the mass of branches that covered the entrance, and that smoke turned almost instantaneously into flame. It had been a dry summer, and the wood caught fire rapidly.

Sir Desmond turned and drew his sword. "Now, my lords, let us depart from here. We have not a moment to lose!"

The knights on guard filed back towards the burning pile.

"Where are we trying to reach, Sir Desmond?," asked the Count of Nevra.

"That I know not, but this fire has given away our position, so we must hurry. I would advise we go towards the South."

Without wasting any time the knight set out at a run, all the while keeping a keen ear open, ready to challenge the slightest sound that could announce an obstacle to their desperate flight.

The Count of Omb sat at his desk, his hands stroking his beard thoughtfully. How could he crush this rising against the Council? “The aged king is near his end; he must die soon, but the Prince! If we only knew his name.” He spoke softly to himself, saying it over and over as if it were echoing off the walls of a giant cave. He suddenly sat upright, then sat down. “No, it would never work…….Or could it.” He sat at his desk for a quarter of an hour more before ringing the bell, at which one of his many servants entered.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Assemble the Council.”


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



The seven lords present sat down at a long table in the dark meeting room waiting for their leader. He came in, lowered himself impatiently into his chair, and instantly started. “My fellow Lords,” exclaimed the Count of Omb, “We have almost crushed the rebellion of these…criminals.” The last word he spit out as if he were spitting out poison. The other nobles exchanged evil grins. “But,” began the Count again, “we have one setback, the prince. Who is he? If the king mysteriously and suddenly ceased to exist…” He paused smiling wickedly, “ Well, you all know very well. Such an occurrence would, of course, make his son the king in his place."

"Making it harder to completely subdue the country!,” yelled Lord Telrond, banging the table with his fist.

The Count of Omb held up his hand.

“The dispatch which we have cleverly abducted did not disclose the name, which is most unfortunate.”

“My lord," interrupted Lord Alexsandr, the youngest of the Council, "what do you want us to do about the matter? Gripe about it?” The other lords chuckled.

“Silence! Or I will have your head!” The room was instantly silenced, for they all knew that the Count was not one to threaten lightly. “I plan for one of you to take upon yourself the responsibility of capturing the king… alive."

Voices shouted out, "Alive!? Spare our greatest enemy?"

Without hesitation, the Count of Omb continued, "We will force the information regarding the prince out of the old man until he breaks. Trust me, he WON"T be spared the punishment he so deserves. You all understand he will be guarded well. Who is willing to be a man and undertake this task? ”

Lord Melkior stood up with a puffed-out chest, and with his powerful voice spoke first, “I, my Lord, shall go with all my men.” The Count smiled inwardly. He wanted the king, and even if Lord Melkior died in the process he would have no hard feelings. In fact, he felt rather threatened by the powerful man with so much influence over the other Council members. “Very well, I order you to set out before dawn.”

“Yes, My lord.”

"And Lord Melkior," added the Count with a calm and withering smile, "if you do not succeed in bringing the old king before me yourself, and fail in your mission, I am afraid your position will be rather…unpleasant."

Lord Melkior gave a hard swallow, then he walked briskly out of the room, his figure followed by the blazing eyes of the Count of Omb.

Britton instructed Kathryn to follow him, then stealthily made his way out of the forest and toward the outer castle wall. He stopped as he approached it, then started moving around it, looking closely at the stones that comprised it as he went.

"What are you doing?" Kathryn whispered. "How is this supposed to help us get inside the castle unnoticed?"

"Have patience, dear Kathryn. I just need to find–ah, here it is."

Britton stopped at a part of the wall where there seemed to be no mortar holding the stones together. He put both hands on the wall and began pushing against it.

"Britton, what are you doing? Are those stones loose?"

"No, I'm just pushing on this stone for the fun of it," Britton joked. "Of course the stones are loose! Now come help me, if you would."

Kathryn rolled her eyes at Britton's sarcasm, then began helping him push the stones.

"How did you find out about this weak spot in the wall? And why did you never tell me? We always share everything with each other."

"True enough; and I would have, if I had not only recently discovered this place."

"And how exactly did you discover it?"

"I just happened to be passing by this part of the wall a few days ago, carrying some sacks of potatoes for the cook, when I stopped to rest. I leaned my hand up against these stones, and one of them moved a small bit. I looked at the wall in surprise, and noticed that there was no mortar around a few of the stones. I didn't search into it any further at that time, since there were others around me, but I came back to it last night to see if it could be broken through. When I discovered that it could, I planned on using it tonight as an escape route for you and me to flee from this place and Lord Drakin. But the events of today have rather altered my plans somewhat, wouldn't you say?"

"Quite so! But are you really saying that we could have fled the castle tonight if it hadn't been for what has gone on today?"

"It would have been very likely."

"But since you apparently want to flee, why have you not done it before? You are often allowed out of the castle to gather wood; why didn't you just run away on one of those occasions?"

"Well, for one thing, I would need to bring provisions. It would be difficult to give the cook a good reason for me carrying a large sack of food while I go out to collect wood. For another thing… well… I would… want you to come with me."

Kathryn stopped and looked at Britton. She looked like she was about to say something, but Britton suddenly exclaimed. "Oh, look at that! I think we've made a wide enough hole now to get through. Follow me." Britton slipped through the hole and walked briskly down the stone path just inside the wall. Kathryn sighed and followed him.

Upon emerging on the other side, Kathryn looked around and noticed for the first time the immense loneliness that surrounded her. Not a person was in sight, neither soldier, nor cook, nor stable boy. She gave a quick shudder, then ran to join Britton, who was a few steps ahead of her.

"Where is everyone, Britton? I see no sign of any of the servants, and where is Lord Traius?"

Britton looked up and said, "Well, I suppose they – the soldiers I mean – are still in the courtyard, either still trapped or —" He paused for a moment in deep reflection. "The servants are likely hiding in their homes. Having discovered what was going on, it would be quite natural."

Kathryn thought for a moment, then her eyes brightened.

"Britton, I think that we should try to save the garrison. If we could but open one of the gates, we could show them to the hole we got out of, and then they could all escape with their lives!"

Britton shook his head. "It is likely that none of them are still living. Lord Traius is not a patient man, and if the standoff that I told you about lasted any longer, he probably would have sent his man to silence his opposition. Anyway, Kathryn, we have a mission to perform. Lady Arwen herself told you to find Rowan and Sir Quinn. It is only right that you should obey her orders solely and without risking yourself on an impossible task, for truly, it would be impossible."

Kathryn was once again silenced. She thought about what Britton had said. He was probably right. To open one of the gates would be nearly impossible. Neither of them had any idea as to the strength of Lord Traius' force, and it was wise to assume that it was numerous. "No," she thought, "I suppose Britton is right."

Suddenly, in a flash, she remembered. With a cry, she shouted in terror, "Gradlem!"

Britton, upon hearing, also turned pale. Gradlem, Kathryn's cousin, was one of the chief captains of the castle guard. He was a brave man and well liked by the garrison, though he made no secret of the fact that he followed the One True God. Although the Council, particularly the Count of Omb and the Lord Drakin, hated the Almighty, they allowed this self-professed believer to remain in the castle because of his great leadership abilities and knowledge of weaponry. They kept a close watch on him, however. Britton and Kathryn realized with horror that, as a member of the guard, Gradlem would almost certainly be among those within the confines of the dreaded courtyard. Whether he be living or dead, they must find out.

"Oh, Britton, Gradlem is in there!" She pointed toward the high wall just within view that announced one of the entrances to the courtyard.

"I know, Kathryn, but our mission must still take priority…" He saw that he was starting to doubt his position. The look in Kathryn’s hazel eyes made him stop short.

"Britton," she said as a tear fell down her cheek, "I know what my – our mission is. We were sent to save the lives of two brave men who stood up against evil and did what was right. Behind that wall are hundreds of men – one in particular, who I am sure have done the same. You said earlier that a group of men refused to turn their arms against their comrades and to follow Lord Traius. These men, Britton, have stood for right, just as the Almighty commands us. It becomes our duty, I think, to save these men if possible and to support good when it fights evil."

Britton stepped back. The wise words, coming from such a young girl, struck him with astonishment. He saw the determination in her teary eyes and knew what it was he had to do.

Chapter 11

Rowan knelt by Sir Quinn's body with a large rock still in his hand. He felt as if he had had the breath knocked out of him. He studied Sir Quinn's face. It looked so empty and peaceful at the same time. Almost like a well kept but uninhabited home. He snapped himself out of the fog he was in and looked down the tunnel. He heard the tramping of feet coming down the tunnel. He quickly picked up Sir Quinn body now cold as death and hide in the corner of the cell. He closed his eyes and prayed that whoever was coming would not see them. He paused for a second and heard 2 voices…

Meanwhile, two knights had approached Lady Arwen and her party at Dwenden. The first knight lifted the visor of his helmet and began to speak.

"My lady," he said. "We have come to tell you of some very dreadful news. I am Sir Caston, a messenger sent from King Archen. The cave in which the king has been hiding has been discovered by the Council, and now is surrounded by about two hundred men! There is a passage leading out of the cave, but as I said, there are two hundred men surrounding it."

"Oh, how very dreadful indeed!" cried Lady Arwen. "Is there any way they could have possibly escaped?"

"We do not know," replied the second knight, who had now also removed his visor. "We departed as soon as the evil band of men was spotted. I am Sir Bradley, also a messenger from the king. I have come to warn you of something else. There is a traitor on this very ground." Then, pointing his finger he added, "The traitor is him."

His finger was pointed at Sir Myles.

Sir Myles's face blanched. "Me–I–are you saying that I am disloyal to the Nobles of Alavaria? How dare you accuse me of such a thing! I am fully committed to conquering the Council of Lords and putting King Archen back on the throne of Kornaiden–or rather, Alavaria!"

"So you say in word," Sir Bradley said slowly, "but I believe that your actions would prove otherwise."

"What actions?" Sir Myles sputtered. "Have you any proof of this ridiculous assertion?"

"I believe that I do. When Sir Caston and I were back at the cave where the king was hiding, we heard a large group of soldiers, approximately six hundred in number, approaching. We were gathering wood far from the cave, so we had no time to run back and warn the others, but we hid ourselves and listened closely to see if we could find out who sent them.

"We saw the leader of the group approach the entrance to the cave and announce that he knew that King Archen and some other nobles resided there. He claimed that this information was revealed to him not long before by a messenger sent by a traitor within the ranks of the Nobles of Alavaria."

"Ha! And that is your proof that I am the traitor?" Sir Myles scoffed.

"I am not finished. After the man had said this, we overheard one of the soldiers in the back ranks say, 'Ah! He must be talking about Sir Myles, the one who's been leaking so much information to the Council of Lords about the rebels. I've heard he's been a big help in crushing the rebel forces.'" Sir Bradley looked Sir Myles in the eye. "Well?" he asked questioningly.

"I–I–" Sir Myles stuttered.

"I know I did not mishear the man. And he would have had no reason to lie about such a thing. Have you, Sir Myles, been leaking information to the Council of Lords regarding the Nobles of Alavaria?"

"I… oh, all right. All right! Yes, I am a traitor–a turncoat, a backstabber! For years I have been sending secret information to the Council, revealing rebel hideouts and movements. I joined the rebellion shortly after it started only so that I could do this. I have always served the Count of Omb, and him alone; not that fool Archen!"

Sir Bradley gritted his teeth. "How did you send the message regarding the location of the king? You have been here the whole time."

"As you said, I sent a messenger. Shortly after we arrived here, I gave a boy who lives in this village an envelope that revealed the whereabouts of the cave in which the king has been hiding. After a little… persuading… I sent the boy to the Count of Omb. Apparently the Count sent quite an army out to capture the king."

Sir Bradley glared furiously at the traitor before him. "You fiend! What other information have you revealed to the Council?"

"Up until recently, I have never been able to reveal to them anything significant. But just a few days ago, a grand opportunity revealed itself. Shortly after the Duke of Assen was killed–I assume you have now heard of this "tragedy"–I was standing nearby. I happened to know that something very important was concealed within his left boot, so I stole it when no one was looking, and later sent it to the Council of Lords."

Sir Bradley's eyes widened. "One of the king's dispatches containing the location of every rebel base in Alavaria!"

Sir Myles chuckled evilly. "Precisely. Unfortunately, the document did not contain the location of the king and his party; they had moved to the cave they are now in–or were in until now–only recently, and the dispatch had not yet been updated to account for the move. That is why I sent the message as quickly as possible."

Sir Bradley stared at Sir Myles, aghast. "How could you deceive us for so long? How could you allow yourself to be such a murderous traitor?"

"It has not been difficult," Myles sneered. "I always hated the way King Archen ruled, and when the Council of Lords took over the country, I wanted to help take down the people who still remained loyal to him. Pretending to join their ranks was the best way I could think of to do it. I have never served Archen, and I never will! Long live the Count of Omb!"

Sir Myles had by this time drawn his sword. It glistened in the light, like some fantastic jewel, and all the nobles present could not help but feel uneasy. In spite of their rage, they well knew that Sir Myles was the best swordsman present, and one of the best in the land. They had inwardly questioned Sir Myles' ready tongue, wondering why he had chosen to reveal so much information. They now saw with horror that Sir Myles didn't intend for the information ever to leave them and warn the other nobles. From the look in his eyes, they saw that he meant their deaths to seal his story forever.

They quickly grasped their situation. Having not suspected treachery from within, they had encamped within a small hallow of ground that dug into a cliff. Surrounded on three sides by sheer walls of rock, with a narrow opening large enough to fit only one rider or two nobles at a time. Sir Myles, throughout the course of his interrogation, had artfully edged himself around so that he was now standing at the opening, ready and willing to kill any who endeavored to escape. Moreover, he stood on rising ground, making it easy for him to kill any who dared approach, even were they mounted on horseback.

"Lady Arwen," said Sir Caston with a brave expression on his face, "Let us cut down this traitor – this fiend who dared to call us his comrades, and ride to save our lord and king!"

Lady Arwen sighed. She watched as Sir Myles brandished his sword and made ready for battle. It seemed like it was just one tragedy after another – battles and deaths falling far too frequently one each other's heels.

"Sir Myles," she said, "Please, do not do this wicked thing! If you persist, it is likely that you and many of these knights will perish. Repent of your deed, or at the least, let us go in peace."

Sir Myles laughed at them. "You couldn't possibly take this ground. If you all charge, only two can take me at once, and I shall be more than a match for them. You ask me to repent. Here is my answer. A life of evil, accompanied by comfort, is far better than the life of suffering you nobles lead. I'd infinitely rather live a life of power than a life of submission. The Council offers power; the Order offers death – a death that you all will soon realize!"

The knights sadly resigned themselves to a conflict they knew must come. As a last effort, Sir Bradley stepped forward. "Lady Arwen, this man has done evil and won't back down. We don't have to fight, though. We should simply wait until he falls asleep. He certainly can't stay standing forever. When he falls, we shall be able to escape."

William, who had until then remained in the rear of the party, then spoke up. "I am afraid, my lord, that that simply will not do. While Sir Myles was speaking a few minutes ago, a small shadow came within view – the shadow of, I thought, a child. That child was almost certainly one of Sir Myles' messengers, for it walked secretly and carefully, as though it did not want to be caught. During Sir Myles' explanation, I saw it pause, and then run swiftly away, no doubt to warn nearby followers of the Council. If this is the case, we cannot afford to wait any longer."

The other knights agreed. Sir Myles still stood, laughing at the party, when Lady Arwen uttered the words, "Nobles, I give you permission to attack. For the Order, for the King, and for the Almighty!"

Lord Arsoth was giddy with excitement. As he bound the true kings hands and feet, he laughed at muttered to himself, an evil grin overspreading his countenance.

"Oh, bless this day, the happiest day of my life!" He exclaimed shrilly. "You!" he said, pointing at one of his men, "You, bind his comrade there in the same fashion." Turning to the king he said in a condescending voice, "We certainly would not want our friends here to escape, now would we?" 
The king did not reply. He suffered it bravely, quietly. Praying the whole time for God to strengthen him for what lay ahead.

At the sound of the piercing cry, which, from the cave's mouth, was heard behind the invading army, Lord Arsoth's smile faded. A look to deep concern covered his face, the evil gleam in his eye turned into a look of panic. 
"Who could that be?" he asked anxiously, giving the forest behind him a searching glance, scrutinizing it for any clues as to where that noise could be coming from.

"It sounds like a battle cry!" The soldier who had been ordered to tie Sir Walter replied. 
"That indeed it does" the terrified Arsoth said, breathing heavily.

At that moment a huge fire began blazing not far in front and to the left of them, and the sound of many feet running was heard heading to their right. 
Alarm spread through the troops. Each turned and looked about him, not sure in which direction to flee.

Lord Arsoth violently pushed King Archen against the cave wall, and turned about, himself just as confused as his band of soldiers. Trying desperately to regain his lordly calm, he shouted,

"Men! Let us go forward together to the clearing we discovered on out march hither, there we will be better prepared to face any onslaught that may occur. 
"Although, I have not the faintest doubt that all we now witness is only caused by our own guard who have successfully captured the enemy trying to evade their just rewards. 
"For I am certain" he continued, laughing harshly as he kicked King Archen who lay motionless on the ground, feet and hands tied together behind his back, "that these dogs have not even enough followers to surround us so. We shall come back for these two just as soon as we discover the cause for such commotion."

But as he descended toward the clearing at the head of his troops, moving more of a run than a march, it was obvious that he himself did not believe what he had been saying.


As soon as the enemy had gone some distance, Sir Walter began cutting himself free as best he could, rubbing his cords against a rock.

"My lord the king!" he cried, "Are you alright?"

"I am well," laughed the king, "Except for the fact that I'm not as young as I once was and being twisted up like this is not the most agreeable position."

"Praise be to the Lord!" Sir Walter sighed and closed his eyes in silent thanksgiving. "In a moment I shall be free and will come untie you. We must hurry before they return. Whatever do you think is causing all that noise? What do you think has become of our friends?"

Chapter 12

The voices Rowan heard were both those of young boys. Even before they came into view, Rowan could make out some of their rapid conversation.

"–would greatly help my family. Lord Drakin, though cruel at times, pays well, and I am sure that my information would please him greatly."

"I suppose. This tunnel is incredible! We have been walking for quite sometime. I wonder how long it took to build… how did you come across it again?"

"Sir Myles told me about it yesterday. He said it was the quickest way to inform Lord Drakin of the latest developments. Although he said some rocks would be in the way, he believed I would be able to uncover the opening. That is why I brought you."

"I am glad you did. This is amazing!"

Rowan sat back in astonishment. These children were messengers for Sir Myles, and in league with Lord Drakin? That would mean that Sir Myles, a knight whom Rowan had befriended during his time with the other nobles, was nothing less than a traitor! Anger began swelling up in his breast, and he began to have evil thoughts toward Sir Myles. However, he remembered a conversation he had with Sir Quinn a long time ago.

He had been angry when a young boy about his age named Britton had gone up to him, laughed in his face, and called him "an ordinary orphan," even though he was a Count. He was tempted to respond with violence towards the boy, for his lack of knowledge regarding his parents had always been a sore spot in his heart. Sir Quinn, however, had wisely intervened. "Do not get angry, my lad, at what others do to you. They may not follow the Almighty, and if that be the case, how can we expect them to want the faith we have. That young lad insulted you and falsely called you an orphan, a story I cannot tell you now. It may be God's plan that showing kindness to him can win him to God." Although he had not fully understood his words, Rowan responded with kindness towards Britton, even though it was unpleasant. Eventually, through continued kindness, he had actually become quite good friends with Britton and they knew each other almost as brothers. Britton also came to know the Lord through the way Rowan treated him.

Count Rowan smiled at this recollection. He resolved that, through the strength of God, he would not bear enmity toward Sir Myles if ever he should meet him. He then turned and waited until the young boys came into view.

Rowan could hear that the boys were very close. Their footsteps echoed throughout the tunnel.

"I think the opening is right around this corner, Asher." Rowan could plainly hear all they said.

They came around the turn, and to their astonishment, they saw a dark eyed, handsome young man, despite the fact that he
was a bit unkempt.

The boys themselves were fair-haired, like most of the people of that part of the country, and had well-rounded figures. They were not much more than twelve years old, and there was a look of excitement in their eyes, a look that very often comes into the eyes of young boys who are upon an adventure.

With a cry they jumped back into the tunnel. Rowan realized that he could learn quite a bit about what the Council knew from the information held by the two boys. He called after them. "Wait! Please come back!"

The two boys replied, "You are a convict! We dare not. Come on, let's leave."

"I am no convict," Rowan said again. "I am a free man." Rowan considered adding "now" to the end of his statement, but he thought better of it. The two boys inched nearer to the light, still showing doubt on your faces.

"See, I have no chains, and the door is wide open."

The boys noticed this and their uneasiness gradually disappeared at the sight of Rowan cheerful face.

"What are your names?"

"I am Isaac, and this is Asher," said the taller of the two boys.

"What are you doing here?," asked Rowan.

The boys thought for a minute and conversed among themselves, then said, "We are trying to warn the commander of a dreadful combat that is about to take place, if it has not already. We are trying to aid one of Lord Drakin's most trusted soldiers, Sir Myles, to destroy a great party of rebels. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"I will try not to, but please, tell me more about this battle."

"I cannot say any more, for I don't know much else, other than the location of the fight, which is very near the town on the other side of this tunnel. I did hear that Sir Bradley is among the rebels, though. Anyway, I think it is time we went to see Lord Drakin."

With an outward smile but with inward agony, Rowan watched as the two boys left his cell and went off towards the dungeon entrance. Quickly realizing that he would need speed to help his comrades, he carefully picked up the body of Sir Quinn, which fortunately Asher and Isaac had not noticed, and ran into the tunnel.

Rowan knew he did not have much time before the Council’s soldiers exited the castle when they heard the news brought by those boys. They might notice him. He ran down the tunnel as silently as he could. After a time, he could finally see daylight in the distance. He stopped in his tracks. He thought he heard the moan of a man. Voices. Rowan knew that if this was the soldiers of the Council….no, not now, not as he was approaching freedom?!?! He suddenly stood erect as he heard what he thought to be familiar voices. He approached nearer.

“We desperately need supplies. I thought you said, Sir Elviron, that a town full of provisions was here? It is of no fault of your own, of course, that it is destroyed, but I think it would have been better had we found a halting place not so close to Carivia and better suited to treating the Count’s leg.”

“You are quite right. However, you well know that Carivia is not so dangerous as may seem. We have a refuge there.”

“I am afraid that the dispatch probably revealed that refuge. Lady Arwen and Sir Quinn, if they escaped, would be near here.
That is the main reason I brought us to this place.”

Rowan’s eyes lit up with joy, friends were right out side the cave! Friends. Rowan started running, but not before he reverently placed Sir Quinn’s body at the cave’s entrance.

“What was that?” Exclaimed the Baron DuBatz in a warning tone as he caught the sound of footsteps.

“It’s me, Baron!” Then in a quieter tone, “Rowan.”

Rowan emerged from behind a large charred tree.

“Rowan! It’s certainly good to see you here. Where are Sir Quinn and Lady Arwen?”

“Sir Quinn…has fallen. I do not know the whereabouts of Lady Arwen.”

All three of the men gasped at the death of their friend, who they knew has an honest, chivalrous, and brave knight.

“That is indeed a tragedy.” Said the Count of Terema, with a sadden look of his face.

Suddenly Rowan remembered Isaac and Asher and their story. “Baron, I believe some of our friends are in danger.” He then explained to them the whole story of the boys and the part about Sir Myles being one of Sir Drakin’s most trusted soldiers.

“This is serious. We must see to this matter.”

As the four men went slowly onward, careful to avoid further injury to the Count of Terema’s broken leg,

“Count, What has happened to your leg? Is it badly injured?”

At this statement all three knights burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Asked Rowan inquisitively.

“It is rather a humorous. I was riding my horse and sudde-“

Suddenly, they stopped short, as they heard the sound of clashing metal, and they as they came to the entrance of a three walled cavern and saw Sir Bradley, Sir Caston, fighting in mortal combat against Sir Myles. At that moment, Sir Elviron stated with surprise,

“Well, at least we found th-“

As they all looked on, they gasped in horror as Sir Myles dealt a mortal blow to Sir Bradley.


"Kathryn, I know this is hard for you, but we're going to have to wait." Britton said, trying to deny what he knew he had to do.

"Britton, I can't! Gradlem has a family! William, me, his wife, and his children! We can't let him die!" Tears began to trickle down Kathryn's cheeks as she tried to run towards the battle.

"No! Wait." Britton took a deep breath and stepped in front of her. "I will go. You must continue on the mission that Lady Arwen sent you on. I will go to find Gradlem." He pulled his sword out of his scabbard and saluted. "I go to fulfill your request, Lady Kathryn!"

Kathryn didn't smile. "Be careful, Britton." She turned away towards the dungeon, then turned back. "Please, Britton. Don't die!"

With those words, Kathryn turned and ran towards the dungeon.

"Dear God," Britton prayed as he watched her leave. "Please protect us both."

With those words, Britton turned on his heel and headed for the high wall.

He knew that, whatever he did, it would have to be fast and well-executed. Although he still doubted whether any in the courtyard were alive, he pressed on with the goal of at least finding out their fate.

He reached the wall and, without finding means of scaling it, he looked around rapidly. There, at the right side of the massive gate that led into the yard, he saw a door that led into the second wall of Carivia's fortifications. Upon testing it, he found with delight that it was open. He peered in cautiously and, when his eyes got used to the light, he saw that a staircase went spiraling up to the right, leaden to the top of the wall. He knew that, by climbing this staircase, he would be able to see what was going on below, so he set out at a run, taking three stairs at a time.

A large oaken door met him at the top. He opened it one sliver at a time and saw in the dying light that there were dozens of captives on the walls! By the state of their clothes, he knew that they had but recently been in the dungeons. He wondered how they could have escaped, and where Lord Traius's massive forces were.

"Perhaps these criminals rose up against Lord Traius," he thought. "In that case, there is a chance Gradlem could be alive! 
Then again, their faces don't look particularly friendly. I wish I could see down into the courtyard from here!"

Britton jumped back when he saw two men coming nearer towards the door, armed with great sticks. He prayed desperately that they would not open the door and discover him. Fortunately, the two men stopped just outside the door. They had merely been trying to light torches by placing a special oil on their sticks. Containers of the oil were scattered all over the castle, as Britton well knew. The terror of the two men, however, had driven it completely out of his memory.

"How long does it take to starve a person into submission?," one of the two released prisoners asked.

"I don't know. A couple of days perhaps. Just be happy we were able to convince Lord Traius not to slay them all."

"You are right. Freedom is precious, but I would not like to have it at the cost of others' lives."

"Lord Traius has been growing more anxious," the second man said nervously.

"I know. I think he is starting to change his mind. I feel sure the order will be given for us to fire upon them. I just don't understand their stubbornness."

"It's that red-headed fellow -- Gidlaim, or something like that -- that has caused it. I heard that he gave Lord Traius quite the tongue-lashing before we were released."

"He deserved it too, the brute! Still, if the garrison refuses to save their own lives, Evron, I see no reason why we should hesitate to save our own. If they don't take the opportunity to save themselves, why should we risk all for them?"

The second man paused. "I suppose you are right. Still, I wish there was something I could do."

"What can you do? Lord Traius is watching every move from that tower of his, and his men are patrolling the walls. If you make a wrong move, they will be upon you, and not only them, but the scum of the dungeons would gladly turn you in for reward."

"I don't know. I just wish I could do something."

Britton smiled. He knew what could be done. He rushed down the stairs and made for the dungeons. He had to find some rags, such as a convict would wear, and hurriedly. The lives of hundreds might depend on it.

"King Archen, and Sir Walter, follow me," said a voice behind the king. He turned and looked at the person before him. He was a tall man with a shining face and blond hair. "I am Landon."

Sir Walter and King Archen slowly stood up, upon finding that their bonds were gone. The man started walking through the passageway, and the two followed. Soon they had reached the end of the tunnel, and Landon stopped.

"Your comrades are safe and making their way to a place of refuge. Fear not, gallant men," said Landon. "For the Lord is with you. Let Him carry you to the finding of your son, Archen, and to victory!"

And as quickly as he had appeared, the man was gone.

"King Archen," said Sir Walter in a shaky voice. "I believe that man was an angel sent from the Almighty!"

"Indeed, I think the same, my good knight," replied King Archen. "Now, let us find our comrades and escape!"

Sir Bradley screamed in agony as Sir Myles' sharp blade penetrated deep into his shoulder. Sir Myles chortled evilly as he turned to face Sir Caston.

"Surrender now while you're still concious, foolish knight," Sir Myles taunted, "Or you shall taste the death of my sword as well."

"Never!" shouted Sir Caston.

Sir Caston bravely charged toward the evil knight, but it was clear that Sir Myles' taunting words were not empty. Sir Caston was tiring rapidly and his strokes were more careless and unprecise. In one last final effort, Sir Caston thrust his sword towards Sir Myles' heart, but Sir Myles side-stepped the blow, and sent his own sword crashing down upon th blade of Sir Caston. Sir Caston's blade clattered to the ground and Sir Myles reeled back for the final blow. Just the , a lone silhouette of a figure came flying over the edge of the cliff behind Sir Myles and landed right on Myles' back. The two rolled across the rocky ground and then at the same time shot back into the air. All of Lady Arwen's party gawked in surprise as the sun shone brightly on the face of the newcomer--Rowan!

Sir Myles quickly recovered himself and mockingly laughed at the newcomer, " Who do you think you are to challenge me... boy!"

Rowan was tempted to flame up into anger, but he recalled his thoughts about Myles in the dungeon of Carivia, and simply said, " I am a humble knight of the true king of Kornaiden, and in the name if the king, I shall put an end to your traitorous doings." Rowan didn't flinch and stood tall with his sword drawn.

The braveness of the young man made Sir Myles slightly cower, but he quickly gathered his strength and aimed a full-force blow for Rowan's head. Rowan parried the cut, and countered with a combination of cuts and slices of his own, putting Myles slowly in the retreat. While in prison, he had been longing for battle, and now he had the chance of a duel, he was putting all his heart into it. The duel went on for some time, but at last Myles took a careless slice, which Rowan quickly parried and then sent his own sword towards Myles' heart. Myles was unable to recover and Rowan's blade went clear through Myles' chest and out his back.

Rowan pulled back and Myles fell to the ground with his face a crimson red, and his eyes bulging and spewing out hatred. His jaw dropped and his expression was one of disbelief but slowly changed into one of deep recognition.

"Surely... you are...," he stopped and clutche his chest in pain. Then he spoke his dying words, "the Prince!"

Rowan started. As Sir Myles fell dead, he became lost in a stupor. A combination of his still-healing wounds, the fury with which he fought, and the shock at the words of Sir Myles made him unable to respond even as his friends gathered around, laughing and crying.

This state of confusion lasted for several moments, but Rowan soon shook it off and began questioning his friends and being questioned by them.

"How did you get here?," Lady Arwen finally asked. "We had given you and Sir Quinn up for dead when the tunnel collapsed. How could you have survived?"

Rowan answered, "It is rather a long story, Lady Arwen, but I will say that we escaped Lord Drakin's torture chambers through great effort and tried to make our way here. Unfortunately, in the process, Sir Quinn lost his life."

Gasps came from the other knights and nobles. Sir Quinn was one of the most loved of the Order, and his death dealt everyone a serious blow. Slowly, and with great effort, Lady Arwen responded, "He is with the Almighty now." Everyone gave an inward assent at her words.

"Rowan," asked Sir Caston, "how were you able to arrive so quickly? Did you come through the tunnel Lady Arwen told me about? It was certainly providential that you arrived when you did. Had you been any later, I should have certainly fallen by Sir Myles' sword."

"I was able to remove the rocks that blocked the tunnel and to travel through it. Still, I would not have arrived in time had I not had the help of Sir Elviron, the Baron DuBatz, and the Count of Terema."

At that point the three knights rode through the narrow opening, smiles on their faces. They were also greeted with great enthusiasm by the other knights.

Stories continued to be shared. Groups gathered to hear the experiences each had during the last few weeks. Some laughter was heard, but weeping was more frequent. Soon all began to set about burying those who fell in the fight, namely Sir Bradley and Sir Myles. As they worked, they discussed the sad incident.

"Sir Myles was a vile traitor," said Sir Caston. "All this time, he appeared to be as motivated as we were, while all the while he was giving away information that could have led to our deaths."

Sir Elviron then spoke up. "We must work to ensure that such an incident does not happen again."

The other knights nodded their heads.

"Rowan," asked Lady Arwen, "you were there as Sir Myles fell, and you witnessed his last words, although we were too far away to hear. Did he give any indication that there were other spies in our midst?"

Rowan was silent for a moment. He decided that it would not be wise to say that he was recognized as a prince. In the first place, he did not himself believe in Sir Myles' words. In the second place, he felt that it would be arrogant or inappropriate to so set himself up above his comrades, all of whom he looked up to, by claiming that he was a form of royalty.

For these reasons, he merely answered, "No, Lady Arwen. Nothing of importance was said."

With that, the knights continued their work, held a solemn burial service, and set about to make their plans for the future.

Britton hurried as fast as caution would permit as he made his way to the dungeons. He knew his plan was risky, but he now felt sure that it was what he had been called to do. Even if it cost his life.

Britton had been orphaned at a very young age, and for many years he had raised himself. He had done whatever pleased him and lived only for himself. That is, until he met Gradlem.

Gradlem had found Britton on the worst day of his life, sitting outside the castle against a tree, quietly sobbing. Britton had said something very cruel and spiteful to the young Count of the castle, and now was sorry he had said it. Not because he felt any guilt for behaving so wickedly, but because he was sure the Count would punish him and send him away, and he couldn't bear the idea of humiliation.

He had just decided that he would leave now and not wait to be sent away, when he stood up and saw a tall young soldier smiling down on him. Britton shrunk back a little from him at first but the soldier was very kind to him and finally succeeded in getting the little boy blurt out everything that had happened.

Over the next few months, the young soldier met with Britton often, even sharing his meals with Britton and taking him to his house to spend the nights so the boy wouldn't have to sleep in the stables as he usually did. The soldier taught him about the Lord, and how God had sent His Son to die in their place, and that he could not truly be an orphan if he had a Father in Heaven.

Britton's life was never the same after that, even though he often failed, he no longer lived for himself, but for Him that had loved him and died for him.

Gradlem had also been the first to introduce Britton to Kathryn and William. They treated the young orphaned boy as a brother. Not only had Gradlem showed the boy that he had a Heavenly Father, but he and his cousins also acted the part of an earthly family for the lad.

And now, thinking back over his life, and blushing a little as he thought of his first meeting with Gradlem and the Count of Carivia, Britton silently prayed for his Lord to help him and strengthen him in this endeavor to rescue the man who had first lead him to the Throne of the King.

Out of breath, he finally arrived at the dungeon. He was, for a moment, surprised that there were no guards on duty, then he remembered with embarrassment that that was because there were no prisoners to guard. Still running at the top of his speed, he grabbed some convict’s clothing from the prison store room. He turned around to run back to the wall, but ran into a small figure -- Kathryn!

“Why are you here Britton?” Asked Kathryn inquisitively. “You are supposed to be saving lives!”

“Well, so are you,” He said with a smile. “This is part of my plan. Have you found Count Rowan and Sir Quinn yet, Kathryn?”

“No. I can’t find them anywhere. I am getting nervous.”

“I’m sure you’ll find them. I don’t have much time. I have to go!” And with that he raced out of the dungeon to execute his plan.

Britton crept toward the walls of the Courtyard where the released prisoners were at their stations by the catapults and other various machines. It was a rather difficult task to avoid attention because he was wearing the clothes of a convicted criminal. Slowly he went along, his eyes darting in all directions to notice any moving forms.

He slipped onto the walls unnoticed though the same door he had looked through only minutes before. He looked around. Britton wondered where Evron was. He was vital to carrying out his scheme. The short stalky man had been a noticeable character last time but Britton could not find him amongst the vast gathering of fugitives and soldiers. It was some time before the young man found the object of his search. The older man was leaning against the wall behind a catapult. He was the only one within hearing distance, which meant a grand opportunity.

“Evron! Evron!,” Whispered the boy. Evron looked around sharply. Seeing no one, he went back to his musing. Britton sighed. He’d have to get closer. He slowly walked up.

“Evron, Don’t look at me but listen to me closely.” Said Britton leaning against the same wall and speaking with clenched teeth.

“What do you want?” Said Evron, speaking in the same manner.

“Do you like what Lord Trauis is doing?”

“Of course not! No one does. He is about to kill innocent men.”

“Do you want to help save those men?”

It took Evron some time to take this in. Some young convict boy was going to try to save hundreds maybe thousands of men? And he wanted his help? This must be a trap. He did want to save the men, but if this was a trap… No, he couldn’t help. He looked at the young man out of the corner of his eye. His face was determined as if he was going to do this no matter what. His eyes expressed hope for help from him. What could he say?

“Yes, young man. What is your plan?”

That same night, King Archen and Sir Walter cautiously made their way towards the cave’s secret entrance, still quietly discussing their mysterious visitor. They carefully picked their way over the smoldering embers of the fire Sir Desmond had made and then, grunting in pain from their many wounds, swung themselves onto the forest floor, breathing slowly and deeply.

“My king,” asked Sir Walter in a whisper. “Do you think that they could have survived? The two hundred men Lord Arsoth spoke of might have proved too much for our friends.”

King Archen shook his head. “I have hope, Sir Walter, that they are still alive. I see no sign of the men Arsoth spoke of. Perhaps it was just a trick, meant to make us think there was no escape. Any way, that commotion near the cave entrace was sure to have called the soldiers, if thy existed, to that location. Finally, the man who helped us to escape told us that they were all right, and I have no doubt as to his honesty. Of course we should still be careful, but I think that, right now, we have little to fear. We shall trust in God for protection. He has preserved us this far, and I believe he will continue to do so.”

“You speak the truth, my king,” replied Sir Walter with a louder and more confident tone. “What do you think our plan should be now? Should we see what caused that battle by the cave mouth? The attackers could very well have been a party of the Order, in which case we should provide assistance. We could also make for one of the western or southern refuges.”

“They are known by the Council, Sir Walter. I am afraid that option is not wise at the moment. Your first idea might be a good one, but I think that there is too much danger of being discovered. I would suggest that we head toward the south, not to enter one of our customary refuges, but to find a new one and to meet with our friends who might not have heard of the danger we are all in. I remember passing through a friendly village near Forenton that seemed loyal to the Order. I think we should make for that.”

“As you wish, my king. I do wish we knew what the commotion was about, though. The timing seems almost miraculous.”

“That it does. But then, the truly miraculous is often not visible to our eyes. The greatest miracles mant times are those we don’t see, just as the bravest and strongest of hearts are not in those who appear brave and strong, but in those who, although small and inexperienced, have hearts like lions. I may be wrong, Sir Walter, but I think that the greatest of miracles take place within people and individuals; maybe that is what the Almighty intended. Flash and fire are powerful in their way, but the true mighty acts of God are so often the steady pull of His love. Little by little, piece by piece, a heart is transformed through his mercy and grace. Yes, the conflict was miraculous; but just as miraculous are the tranformations that occur every day within people. Those are acts that I will always admire. I only wish that the Almighty will someday see fit to transform the heart of…”

The King trailed off in deep contemplation. Sir Walter rose, staring at the king with a smile.

“Truly, my king, you were meant to be a poet. You are wiser than I, a fact I will never dispute. I think, though, that it is safe to be on our way.”

With that, the pair made their way into the darkness, their hearts bright with the light of hope.

Chapter 13

Evron looked up with a smile after hearing Britton's scheme. "I think your idea might work. It is dangerous and hare-brained, but still, I think it might work. What is your name, friend?"

"My name is Britton. I am not really a convict, but I am have to rescue the garrison and I felt this disguise would be the best way to go about it. I do look odd, though."

"No odder than the rest of us," laughed Evron quietly, but with a hint of sadness. "Still, I have to warn you that to carry out your plan we will need more than just the two of us. I was in solitary confinement for nigh on three years, and I have no real knowledge of the loyalties of these men. Many were imprisoned rightfully for crimes they committed – murderers, thieves, and the like. There are also those who were sentenced by Lord Drakin for merely breaking minor laws. Those men burn with hatred at the castle and would be glad to harm anyone associated with that lover of torture. Still others, regardless of their kind hearts, would do anything just to be free – just to live." Evron sighed. "I was imprisoned simply for leaving the castle to carry a message to my family. I bear no real enmity for the garrison. I am sure there are others who feel as I do, who shun the shedding of blood, but I could never find out who they were. Fear seals lips better than anything."

Britton looked up sadly. “And pain opens it up better than anything, as Lord Drakin knew.”

Evron nodded.

Britton’s spirits were dampened at the older man's words, but he summoned the courage to say. "It will be hard, I know. We may be betrayed. But I have to try. Leave it to me, Evron."

With that, Britton turned from the catapult and began to walk away. Evron, however, laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Do not think, Britton, that you will escape notice. Lord Traius is master at present, and he and his men are vigilant." He paused and subtly pointed toward a low tower built into the inner wall. "Lord Traius constantly keeps watch from that point. We are convicts to him, and any suspicion of treachery will bring his men upon us. If he can kill the garrison, he can certainly kill you."

Britton nodded and walked off along the wall, Evron looking after him with a nervous gaze.

Britton appeared to be doing his job well. He quickly entered into conversation with convicts, talking to them and frequently laughing. After a time, he would walk away, leaving the convicts where they were or, more rarely, subtly pointing them to the catapultnear Evron. Britton was almost halfway around the wall, and Evron had entered into earnest conversation with the five men who had joined him.

Suddenly, Evron looked up with surprise as he heard the heavy oaken door opening. He turned his head sharply to look. Four dark figures emerged from the black opening and were headed toward him. As Evron looked more closely, he saw red dragons emblazed upon the figures’ black garments. He knew what was going to happen.

"You men," one of the warriors called to the six gathered around the catapult, "Lord Traius has ordered you to fire down upon the garrison. He has been patient too long. Send the message down the line. He will signal shortly to begin the barrage."

The six men were silent. They bore a look of determination upon their face that was all too evident to the newcomers.
The figure who had spoken earlier, a young and powerfully built man with an anxious face that showed he did not want to be upon the wall giving such orders, slowly opened his mouth. "Well, you have the order, so fire. On pain of death, fire!"

The men silently looked over the courtyard walls. There, silently despairing, was a crowd of men, hundreds strong. Some of them had piled stones, carts, and armor in a foolish attempt to climb the wall, and a number of others pounded at the inner gate, hoping vainly to gain the assistance of friends further within the city. The great majority, however, just paced to and fro, looking up at the walls and hoping to see the faces of friends peer back.

The sight filled the convicts with anger. Evron steadied them and replied. "We shall not do as you have said. We cannot slay the lives of men who have stood for what they believe to be the truth. Many are evil, that is true, but we, at least, shall not take part in a massacre."

"How dare you!" shouted the guard, who drew his sword, as did the other three soldiers. By that time, many of the surrounding convicts had rushed to the scene. Their was anger on their faces. If Lord Traius’ men were forced to kill the six for treachery, Lord Traius himself would certainly never release the rest. They knew that to those on the outside of a prison, all criminals are alike, and that if the lord of the red dragon had to kill some, he would eventually kill all. They mocked the six, jeering them and telling them to follow their orders. Those remaining at their catapults began to prepare the heavy stones for a bombardment.

The black soldier ordered them one last time to fire upon the garrison. They were just about to refuse, when Evron called out with a slight smile, "Men, it is useless to resist. They want us to fire, and so we shall."

The other five men, instantly understanding him, turned the catapult at an angle, so as to point it toward the great castle gate.

With a great shout, Evron cried out, "Fire!." Instantly, a great stone was seen streaming through the air and hurtling into the castle gate. Although strong, it was not designed to withstand such a strong blow at so close a range and from within. It was broken open with a great crash and with a thick shower of splinters. Upon seeing this, the garrison gave a great shout and rushed for the opening.

Lord Traius' soldier and the scum of the dungeons, however, were outraged. They instantly made for the six convicts.

Britton, who had watched with amazement the success of his original plan, now saw with horror that his only allies were to be destroyed without mercy. At the moment when it was needed most, he had no plan.

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

Rowan, Lady Arwen, Sir Elviron, and the other knights and nobles of their party slowly tramped through the forest. While the great majority rode on horseback, the rest walked or trotted alongside. The ground was dotted with trees large trees that contained many branches. For the most part, the forests that lay west of the Arvin Spur were thick and exceptionally difficult to navigate. One who was very familiar with the ground, however, could pick out easier ways to traverse the ground, ways that were more open and that could allow the passage of horses. William was such a guide. He walked at the head of the weary party pointing out certain landmarks that were well known to him.

“That is the great tree of Korrinden,” he said, pointing to a tree ten paces wide and at least one hundred feet tall. “It is said that it was planted by the first settlers ever to come through the Farin Pass from the East.” He later pointed to a curiously shaped boulder that looked like a crown. “That is Modhorada Rock…at least, that is what me and my sister call it. It looked like a royal crown, so we thought it fit to give it a kingly title.”

This went on for a long time, the party veering around tightly packed clusters of trees, winding through narrow, green valleys, and listening to William speak with his simple, kind voice. After a while, Lady Arwen asked, “May I ask, William, where this refuge is that you mentioned at the Council? Did you say it was to the south of the Arvin Woods?”

“Actually, my Lady, it is not to far from this place, inside the forest.”

Lady Arwen suddenly halted her horse, and the others of the party did the same. She looked at William in confusion and displeasure. “Within the woods, William? In the very ground most frequently covered by the messengers of the Council? You know very well that the Omb itself lies to the east and south of the forest, so what do you mean by having us halt for a few days there? We shall be found and killed.”

“I am sorry, my lady, but you agreed that Liar’s Lair would be the best place to halt.”

“I thought, William, that it would be well out of the sight of the Council. You said that it would be impossible to find.”

“And so it will be, Lady Arwen. It will be just as unlikely for the Council to find there as anywhere beyond Omb and south of the Arvin Woods. Trust me when I tell you that we shall be safe there, and that long after every other hiding place should have been discovered, Liar’s Lair would still remain secret.”

“I do not like this, William, but we will trust you. Let us pray to the Almighty that you are right, at least for a couple of days.”

The next leg of the journey was more quiet. The members of the party felt an awkward silence on the part of Lady Arwen and William. They were in deep thought, each thinking of the safety of the others and the wisdom of the current plan.

William may well be right, thought Lady Arwen, but this is not what I had envisioned. What would the king say? The four nights needed to cross the forest I can bear, but only with great watchfulness and in great need. We have need, but we cannot rest four or five days in one place in the midst of enemy country. Rowan and the Duke of Assen certainly learned the perils of the woods, and I could not bear to lose anyone else.

William’s thoughts soon turned to the hideout itself. It really is a safe place. Lady Arwen has no need to be nervous; she will see when we get there. Kathryn and I were saved from the raiders that one time by hiding there, and they never found us. Yes, that was a fearful night. He smiled as he remembered his many memories of the place. When they were younger, Kathryn, Gradlem, and he had accidently discovered the refuge and they often pretended they were dragons roaming about their secret cave – mainly for Kathryn’s sake, the older two always insisted. Those were happier times, even though the shadow of the Council still loomed over the nation.

Before leaving their previous camp, William had used his knife to cut a message in a tree. Careful not to give anyone else the information of their whereabouts, he had just said "At Liar's Lair," the play name Gradlem had given the little cave. He knew only Kathryn, Gradlem, and himself would know the significance of the carving, and he hoped that if they were in trouble they would find friends at the secret refuge.


After a good hour of walking of silent riding (and tramping), they arrived at Liar’s Lair – at least, that is what William said. The others looked around in confusion. Peering through the autumn trees on all sides, they could see nothing that looked like a secret refuge. All about them, the ground was flat and, save fot a couple large clusters of boulders to their right, unbroken. They looked at William.

“Well,” asked Sir Elviron with a hint of surprise in his voice, “where is this msterious Liar’s Lair, William? It is well-hidden wherever it is. I do wonder, though, how it could fit our horses.”

William smiled. “Do not worry about that. Follow me.” At that, he turned to the right and went towards the boulders. At first, the party thought that he was going toward the largest-looking cluster, which looked about fifty feet wide; however, he instead turned toward one of the smaller groups of stone. It lay between the bases of two steep mounds, the only ones within sight. As the group appoached, they saw that the rocks in front of them, while they seemed to form an impassable barrier to the small valley between the hills, actually contained a small crevice that could allow one horse at a time to ride through. Also, they saw that what had seemed a small clump of boulders was actually quite large, as it appeared to go through the small hills and beyond.

Pleased, but not entirely convinced, Lady Arwen again spoke, “Ah! This is marvellous, William. Still, I do not see how this will hide us from the Council’s men, if they learned we were in this area. If someone comes along near these two hills, he might easily find the entrance.”

“Maybe, with great help and a keener eye than I have ever seen, my lady, but they will not get much farther than the entrance if they find it.”

Sir Elviron mumbled something about the danger of having to post armed guards, but Lady Arwen quickly stopped him. “Very well,” she replied. “Let us see.”

William entered the narrow gap between the boulders, and after him rode Lady Arwen, then Rowan and Sir Elviron, and then the rest. They continued slowly forwards for about a minute, when suddenly the path widened so that three horses could ride abreast. On each side, walls of rock rose to about twenty feet in height. It seemed to the riders that the ground beneath the horses’ hooves was dropping and the walls around them were rising. Suddenly, those in the front came to a halt. Before them, a seemingly impassable wall of stone loomed. It was composed of a single, unbroken boulder, and nowhere could the knights of the Order see an opening in the stone that could hide a thimble, let lone a company of people and horses. Again, they looked to William, who all the while sat smiling, looking keenly at the faces of his companions.

“Well, William, is this it?” asked Rowan. It is certainly defensible, but it is rather cramped.

At this, William chuckled. “Not quite, count. Follow me. Oh, and I would advise you all to dismount, if possible. It will be near impossible to ride the rest of the way. They all did so, though it was difficult for the Count of Terema, who winced in pain as he placed his feet on the ground. Despite Lady Arwen’s best efforts, the wounded leg began to look worse, and the count’s face had recently begun to grow more pale. With the supporting shoulders of friends, he was able to follow the others, who had turned to the wall on the left.

This wall was more broken, comprised of smaller stones and fewer massive boulders. Towards one of the larger rocks William then turned. “This rock was not here when I fist came to this place,” he said, “but I put it here to cover up what is concealed inside. Step back!” With that, he carefully positioned his fingers and, with a mighty groan, pulled on the stone. With a loud creak and a crash, the rock was wrenched from its place and flung to the ground a foot or two away. The others expressed admiration for this display of strength, but those feelings turned to ones of amazement when the party saw yet into the opening created by the stone’s removal. Another narrow passage that continued into the wall of stone and led sharply downhill. After about ten paces, it disappeared into a dark opening in the ground.

“Liar’s Lair is a cave?” Rowan asked. William shook his head and continued into the darkness, leading his horse behind him. The opening in the ground, or cave, was actually but a short tunnel that, when entered, went steeply downhill and to the right. Very quickly, however, the knights found themselves going uphill and again emerging in the light of day.

What they saw when they emerged, however, filled them with wonder. The tunnel had led them to the other side of the massive barrier that had blocked their way only a few minutes before, but the other side was much more inviting. It was a place that truly had an air of imagination and even enchantment about it. Black and green moss-like plants covered the rocks surrounding the enclosure. It was filled with soft grass and only one or two trees. Most peculiar of all, the small circular space about thirty paces across was as quiet as a pond in the autumn.

Awed, they yet again turned to William. Lady Arwen simply said. “William, I…this will do splendidly. Thank you. The walls?”

“Impossible to climb from the outside,” he said. “And unless they saw the smoke of a fire beyond, no one would want to. There are other ways out as well, if they are absolutely needed, but they are nasty ways, by which we could not bring horses. I have made sure that those are completely invisible to any from the outside. I did it for fun before, but I see the use in it now.”

“Good,” replied Lady Arwen, “may the Almighty be praised, and may he preserve us here for but a few days at least.”

Each dropped down exhausted onto the ground and was soon fast asleep.

Chapter 14

Rowan awoke with a start. Something had disturbed his sleep. 


"Sir Quinn? Sir Quinn?" he quietly called out in the darkness to his dear friend, but after a moment of silence the dreadful truth recurred in his mind. He slowly sank back upon the ground.
The young count choked back tears, "This is going to be a lot harder than I thought." He tried to compose himself. What was it that had troubled him so? 


“I must have been dreaming," he sighed. "About that traitor Sir Myles. What was it he said? 'You are the prince'? What strange last words. The prince of what? Alavaria? Of course not. Sir Quinn would have told me. Or someone at least. I cannot have been made a count without someone knowing, right? And why was he looking at my sword when he said it? Did he say that because I won our sword fight and he thought I was the prince of swordsmanship?" That seemed way too ridiculous to Rowan. There were many men far better at swordsmanship than he. He wouldn't even have been able to beat Sir Myles had not the traitor been so full of himself and already wearied from his first engagement.

Rowan laid down, shut his eyes, relaxed his frame, and tried to fall asleep again. But those strange words kept running through his head "you are the Prince." He thought they would drive him mad. The horror in his eyes, the moment of recognition, and the choking tone played themselves over and over again in Rowan’s mind.

In such a heavy atmosphere of quiet, Rowan could not help letting his mind wander. He thought about all that had happened, his mind once again resting on the tragic death of Sir Quinn. He thought about his unfortunate injuries throughout the past several days. Lady Arwen had applied a salve similar to that borne by Sir Quinn, and his wounds had nearly healed, but he still weak and sore. One cut on his leg and one on the back of his head had given him particular trouble. He wished he could have been well enough to have better helped Sir Quinn.

Suddenly, over the silence of the little clearing and the heavy breathing of his friends came the sound of the snapping of a twig and a low groan. Rowan froze, and strained his ears to listen for another noise. He heard yet another sound, this time coming from what seemed a very close distance. Rowan' mind once again snapped to attention. Although the walls were thick, he knew that very loud sounds could still carry through. He resolved to find out the cause of the sound, as it could very well have come from the Council's spies.

He first approached William, who had, in spite of the safety of the enclosure, taken watch by the stone that had earlier covered the cave entrance and asked if they had also heard the sound. He said that He had, but he didn't think it anything but branches breaking as a result of the wind.

Rowan, unconvinced, asked permission to briefly leave Liar's Lair. William, who had gained great respect for Rowan after his conduct the day before, allowed him to find the cause of the sound.

"Be careful, Rowan" he calld out. "Lady Arwen, Sir Elviron, the Baron DuBatz, and the rest will need you to be present at our council of war later today. We cannot afford to lose you."

Rowan grinned nervously, then quietly made his way through the narrow entrance and found himself again in the open Arvin Forest. He strained his eyes. For the longest time he saw nothing, but as his sight adjusted to the darkness, he thought he saw the form of a man lying face-down in the earth, just a few steps from himself. Glancing around to make sure it was not a trap, Rowan approached the figure.

As he came nearer, it became clear to Rowan that the man was wounded. He bent over quickly and tried to see if he could help.

"Stay away, you vermin!" the man cried in terror, suddenly opening his eyes. "I will not be your servant. I serve the king and the Order!"

Rowan quickly replied to the delirious man. "Do not be frightened. I am a member of the Order. I am here to help."

The man smiled, then sighed. "Praise the—the Almighty I came–here, then, but it is – too late." He visibly gasped for breath. "Send this message to – the king: all our western fortresses are destroyed. We – are slain to the last man."

“Wait!” cried Rowan. “What happened, and how did you escape?”

The man had a far off look in his eyes, now flashing in the dim light of the stars. “Somehow they knew, somehow they came, and somehow we fell. I crossed the Straden Mountains hoping to find Sir Quinn of the Duke of Assen. After – my horse – was frightened. I fell and—a rock hit—Long live—”

Rowan started in horror as the man closed his eyes and drew his last breath.

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

To the north and east, on the outermost wall of Carivia, Evron and his five weaponless companions found themselves charged by a mass of men, of whom were four of Lord Traius’ armed soldiers. In the split second that followed, Evron glanced to the right and to the left. No escape. There were too many. It was death or… Evron looked behind him, into the courtyard, then lifted his eyes. Miraculously, his glance locked with that of the terrified Britton. He gave him a quick, meaningful glance. Britton, with horror, understood his intentions. At the top of his lungs, Evron yelled to the other five, “Jump!” He then threw himself over the wall just as vile hands grabbed at his clothing.

While the five were quick to heed his command, some were not quick enough, and two were cut down in the very act of leaping over the wall. The others screamed as they fell for what seemed like an eternity. “They are falling, falling to their deaths,” thought Britton as he lost sight of the jumpers. He rushed over to the wall’s edge, which was crowded with those who wanted to see what had happened to Evron and the others. Just as he reached the wall, an exclamation of outrage burst from the bearers of the red dragon and of terror from the wearers of prison rags.

Five men stood up, wet and laughing.

“A water trough! And an unusually large one at that. What is it doing here in the courtyard?” said Britton in astonishment. “They must have changed since I have been here!” Said Britton, laughing hard. It was true. The four men, supposedly falling to their deaths, had actually fallen into an enormous crescent-shaped water trough, such as was usually found in the largest stables of the land to waters. Such troughs were rare in the cities, but they were not unheard of. Britton thanked the almighty that it had been placed there instead of under some other section of the wall. How miraculous, he thought.

“Hurry!” said Evron below in a commanding voice. “We must follow the soldiers out the gate they will soon fire on us. Blend in!”

“Fire, you fools!” yelled Lord Traius, bursting through the door of the tower and onto the wall where the men were stationed. “They cannot get out, and I want them all dead! Stop them from getting out those gates.”

As the men ran to fulfill this command, Lord Traius turned to the four soldiers in black. “I want you to find some men who can ride and that have familkes, to take weapons and prepare to pursure the garrison into the forest. Some will escape the walls, and we cannot allow any news to reach the Count of Omb – yet.”

“Yes, my lord,” one said hurriedly, “but why with families?”

“They are criminals, and they might be tempted to escape once outside and on horse. Family in the city will keep their…loyalty. Now move!” The soldiers ran across the wall, quickly speaking to and ordering the men who manned the catapults, giving last-minute instructions to those who were unfamiliar with their weapons.

Meanwhile, those on the ground had already begun a mad dash for the broken gate. They did not know whether the blow upon the castle entrance had been intentional, but they certainly knew that they were in peril. Many thought it was the signal for an attack. The gate toward which they ran was itself massive, and the enormous shards of wood that now lay everywhere in the entrance greatly slowed the escape of the men. At the point when the first had begun to pass beyond the wall, the catapults came alive. From above came massive boulders of death, and they crushed dozens of the men crowded in the entranceway. While many were killed by the catupults, however, many others rushed out as fast as they could to avoid the same fate as their companions. It was a terrible slaughter with no chance to fight back.

Running with all his might, Evron led the other three men in a mad dash across the courtyard to the gate. Although they had fallen in water, the impact of their landing still caused them to hobble as they ran. Evron’s breath came in grunts and gasps, and many times he was nearly crushed by a heavy stone from the wall, but he pressed on.

"Come on, we are almost there!" he managed to gasp out. "Keep runn-" but his words were cut off. Evron stopped short of the gate, and the other 3 men nearly ran into him. A stream of bleeding and terrified men poured back into the courtyard, yelling in anger as they went.

Evron tried to grasp the men as they poured back. “What is going on?” he cried. “Flee! There is death in the courtyard.”

“We are under attack out there. They have come, but not as friends. They won’t listen!” was the reply.

“What?” said Evron, as he pushed past the flow of men and made his way to the entrance. In front of his surprised eyes were nearly two hundred men in battle line, cutting down all who approached and steadily advancing toward the gate. They all wore dark clothing, which told Evron that the force had been attempting to approach the castle unseen. He instantly realized that the force thought the garrison was attavking them, so they had raised high their banner. It was a white dragon on a field of black: the banner of the Council.

Already, some of the catapults on the wall had turned outwards and were firing on this new foe. As the force had brought no catapults or siege ramps with them, only a battering ram, they could not return fire. Lord Traius was smart.

There was terror and consternation in the air as, under a withering fire from the walls, the soldiers tried to explain the situation to the leader of the newly arrived troops. They, however, did not listen and cut down the soldiers. Evron boldly ventured forth and, because he was weaponless and without armor was shown to the commander.

That commander was Sir Denvoir, the very man who had a couple nights before deserted Lord Arsoth and journeyed with his two hundred men to capture Lord Traius. He turned purple with rage upon hearing of Lord Traius' ruthless slaughter of the garrison, and immediately ordered his men to stop killing those escaping the courtyard. Already over two hundred of them had fallen at the hands of the catapults, and thirty or so more by the hands of Sir Denvoir’s soldiers.

Sir Denvoir ordered the disordered the group of men to retreat beyond the range of the weapons on the wall; then, upon seeing the three remaining convicts, determined to question them briefly as to what was going on within Carivia. Evron began to explain how the four, imprisoned under Lord Drakin, were released by Lord Traius for the purpose of slaying the garrison, when Sir Denvoir held up his hand.

"You were imprisoned by Lord Drakin?" he asked in a tone of anger.

"Yes, commander."

"And you had the audacity to escape your confinement, in spite of your clear sentence?"

"We had little choice, my –"

"Silence!" yelled Sir Denvoir. "You have violated your lawful sentences, and the penalty for that is death."

A gasp arose from all present. They little expected the convicts' brave deed would earn such a reception, and they wondered at Sir Denvoir’s anger when much larger troubles were pressing. Sir Denvoir, though, was a peculiar man who cherished honor and duty to the point where it became more important than everything else, and to him, a disobedience to a sentence was no small thing. He rose to quickly deal the blow with his sword, but the soldiers from the garrison intervened.

"These men are the cause for our escape!" said one of the captains. "If it weren't for their brave action of breaking open the door, we would not be alive."

Evron looked at the speaker, a tall man with a red beard. I suppose he must have seen me fire the catapult, he thought.

Sir Denvoir paused, his sword in hand. "Very well. The Council pardons for your offense, though I do not like to grant this reward. I shall look into this more later. Now, let us off to the attack! Lord Traius cannot be allowed to live."

The four men breathed a sigh of relief, but the garrison instantly stiffened.

"Do you mean to say, Sir Denvoir," said the same tall man, who was, by the way, Gradlem himself, "that we are going back into the castle?"

"Of course! My orders are to capture the traitor Lord Traius, and your orders are to guard that castle. Seeing that we both have unfulfilled duties, I think it wise that we return."

Another soldier stood forward. "But how are we to get in? The best we could do is make the courtyard, and there the two gates that lead further into the city are barred and locked. It would be certain death with so few of us!"

Sir Denvoir paused for a moment, lost in thought. He was a man of the Council’s, but his courageous sense of duty motivated him oftentimes to do what was right. He knew that, no matter the cost, he must remove that scourge of the land – that villain Traius. Still, how could he go up against such odds? The fact was, he couldn't. If only the other gates could be felled, like the first one, there would yet be a chance. They could reach the wall, and even the armory for weapons, and maybe a supply of the rare weapon, called the bow.

Suddenly, Evron gave a shout. "I have it!" he cried. "Britton!"

Chapter 15

Rowan rushed inside Liar’s Lair to tell the others the terrible news.

“What is the matter, Rowan? You are a pale as death!” Baron DuBatz said as he looked into Rowan’s eyes with a look of concern.

“That is what I have witnessed, Baron! Death has just occurred”

William and the Baron DuBatz started in surprise. “What do you mean, Rowan?” 

As Rowan related the story, both William and the Baron DuBatz showed a look of concern that grew into a dark frown.

“This is indeed a terible tragedy. We must go tell the others after we have burried the messenger. Not a moment is to be lost. There is an ever more pressing need to figure out what we must do next.”

And with that, they set off to do what they had stated.

“But the Council would assuredly be in that part of the country, which, as you must know, would make it unreasonable to go further with your plans!” Shouted Sir Caston with some anger.

The discussion of the party’s next plans had become a very heated argument. Sir Elviron and Sir Caston desired to go west toward the mountains and the recently destroyed fortresses to see how much damage had been done and to avenge those who had slain their comrades. The Count of Terema, the Baron DuBatz, and Lady Arwen believed that the best plan was to go toward the South and warn those of the Order there of the great danger they were in. The rest of the party was devided equally between the two groups.

As their argument continued, Rowan looked blankly through the hedges that surrounded Liar’s Lair. He was not at all thinking about the best plan, but was again thinking about Sir Myles last words. “You are the Prince!” rang through his head. He heard that King Archen once had a son he sent away for safe-keeping . He had even heard that the prince’s name was changed and that the son did not know he was the prince, so that if questioned he could not tell it to the Council. “Could I be…NO! Unthinkable! I am a orphan, a deposed noble who was the son of deposed nobles, not even worthy to see the king face to face. Then again, Sir Quinn did say once that I was not an orphan. He never told me why…Still, it can’t be!” Even then, as he thrust those thoughts out of his head, they kept returning. “Why can’t I forget those words?”

But as the argument got louder and louder, it inturupted his thoughts and made him listen to the arguments. Sudenly He heard the sound flesh striking flesh. He turned around and saw that Sir Elviron had struck the Baron DuBatz in the face. Finaly Rowan came to his senses,

“Listen to yourselves!” Rowan shouted, jumping to his feet. “You sound like little children. As Sir Quinn would say, ‘Being angry is like holding a burning coal and believing that it is burning someone else. No matter what you think, you are the one who gets burned.’ You might be fighting over a important subject but it is not worth wasting time, energy and...friendships over. We are all here to make this land a kingdom that serves the Almighty. If that is truly our goal, we should in all ways act like his servants.”

The others were quiet. One and all, they bowed their heads in shame, thinking over what Rowan had said.

“What a authoritative way he said that.” Thought Lady Arwen to herself. “Really, he is the most worthy of us to be in command.” Then aloud,

“He had a right to say that. We have all been selfish.”

After a moment’s pause, Sir Elviron walked over to the Baron, who was still rubbing his jaw. “We’re sorry. We did not mean to get so angry over it. Are you all right, Baron? I am extreamly sorry about the blow. I guess I got a little excited.”

The Baron DuBatz rolled his eyes playfully, “A little?” He said touching his cheek and wincing at the pain.

After that the discussion was a peaceful talk between all present. Each party again gave their opinion as to which way they should go. Rowan listenined attentively to their words. After they had had their say, he sat thoughtfuly thinking.

Lady Arwen then asked, “Rowan, do you have a suggestion as to what we should do?”

Finally, he presented his thoughts. “I would say that going south would be the best idea. If we go west, the Council’s armies could be all that we find. We cannot afford to lose another man. If we continue south, we might just meet the King and the army. That is, if they are still alive and safe.“

The others talked a little more on the subject and finally came to an agrement.

“Well then, my lords,” said Lady Arwen with a smile, “We will head south in three days’ time. That should give us enough time to wait for young Britton and Kathryn.”

Kathryn sat down on a rock and buried her head in her hands. What had happened to Sir Quinn and the young Count? She couldn't find them anywhere. She felt as if she had failed her mission and she wanted to cry.


"Oh Lord. Help me." She sighed, choking back tears. 


At that moment, it occurred to her that, not only were the nobles missing from the dungeons, but all the prisoners. There weren't even any guards. 
Were the prisoners stuck in the courtyard with the soldiers? Or had they all been massacred when Lord Traius had captured the castle? 
Kathryn desperately hoped it was not the latter. But then, why wouldn't Britton have told her if the prisoners were with the soldiers? Perhaps in the intense pressure of the situation, he hadn't thought about it.

Either way, she must know. This task had been assigned her, and she must find out what had happened to the nobles. 
She stood up and darted toward the rest of the castle, but as she turned out from the dungeon passageway, she ran smack into a tall man with a long sword in a sheath at his side. There was something bright red across the back of his dark cloak.

Terrified, the girl staggered back and turned to run from him, but a strong hand grasped her arm. She kicked and pulled, desperately trying to free herself. 


"Stop your struggling or you will die!" He said, pulling her around to face him. 
Kathryn shrank from his awful gaze. Resistance was futile. 


"That's better" He said with an evil laugh. "Perfect timing I must say, young lady, I was just in need of a messenger."

She put one hand behind her back, and slipped it into the hidden pocket behind the leather belt around her waist.

"What do you want from me?" she said, face to face with the man. His dark eyes bored into hers, and his features split into an evil smile.

"Only for you to deliver this mess-"

"Lord Traius!" shouted the horrified Kathryn in the middle of his sentence, recognizing the man from his many visits to the castle as chief agent of Lord Drakin. "You – You – are you really him?”

"Of course! I have much to accomplish and will not at all be troubled if you are hurt in the process. If you want to stay alive, you will not struggle or speak unless I tell you to. When we get up to the wall, I will point you the way to the enemy forces outside the walls. You will go to them and urge them to surrender. Say that no hope remains if they attack and that, if they don't surrender, a thousand of my troops shall come from the north and cut them down. "

Kathryn knew that Traius' threat was a lie, but she also knew that it was useless to resist. With anyone else she would have instantly made a run for escape, but with Lord Traius, she knew that she hadn't a chance. He would kill her for disobedience.
Lord Traius was not respecter of age. No matter the danger, she must obey or perish.

Lord Traius, dragging her along by the arm, brought her up the stone stairs nearby and out onto the courtyard wall, the scene of the great struggle of only a few minutes before.

With her free hand, Kathryn felt the small dagger that lay concealed at her side, a gift of William's a year or two back. It had been given as a toy, meant only to be used in their imaginary battles at liar's lair, but Kathryn now thought that it could be the means of her escape. She could never have harmed someone with it, but she felt that, were she tied up or put in the dungeon after completing Lord Traius' task, she could free herself and make her escape.

It was still dark when they stepped onto the wall. By the light of the torches, though, Kathryn saw the figures of over a hundred men, helpless and groaning, on the courtyard floor. Everywhere, the destruction of the catapults was seen, and Kathryn had never before seen such devastation, not even when her village had been burned.

She turned to Lord Traius, fear and anger in her eyes. So overcome with emotion was she that she could only gasp out the words. "How could you?"

Lord Traius, who had been talking to his five men in a malicious voice, suddenly turned around and said "I said SILENCE!" In a flash of anger, he struck Kathryn a heavy blow across the face with his gloved hand.

With a cry, she fell to the ground. Exclamations of surprise rose from the convicts who saw. Although they knew Lord Traius' reputation for brutality, they little knew how evil and ruthless he truly was. Only Lord Traius' soldiers were silent at the cruel blow.

With a shout of outrage, one of the convicts, a boy only about sixteen, flung himself upon Lord Traius. Although armed with only his fists, he pummeled and battered until Lord Traius' supporters broke up the conflict.

Lord Traius rose, wiping his bloodied lip. At such close quarters, he had been unable to use his sword. He then rose, his face almost purple with rage.

The soldiers drew their swords to kill the rash boy, but Lord Traius held up his hand. "You are needed on the walls," he said. "Until this girl recovers, we will need to prepare for another attack. I on the other hand, shall have this pleasure."

With that, he drew his sword and advanced to slay the boy. In the brief moments while he was speaking to the soldiers, however, another, silent, conversation was occurring.

The boy, held fast in the arms of Lord Traius soldiers, glanced on the ground at the friend he knew so well. She, still disoriented and overcome with pain, failed to look up for a long time. When she did raise her eyes, she opened her mouth at the sight of Britton, dressed in convicts clothes and apparently about to be executed.

Their eyes met, and Kathryn glanced at her dress, beneath which was the precious dagger.

Britton nodded, and just as Traius began to advance upon him, he gave a violent shove, driving his elbow into the chest of the man who held his right arm. With a cry, he released his grip. This allowed, in one split instant, for Kathryn to reach down, draw her dagger, and toss it quickly up to Britton. In a flash Britton caught it and, with a loud cry, thrust it at the man who held his other arm. He too let go and, in the small moment when the infuriated Lord Traius raised his sword to deal a death blow, he jumped to the left, burst through the crowd of men and, slashing as he went, made for the other catapults.

As the vast majority of the convicts had left their posts to watch the fight between Lord Traius and Britton, the lad was able to make his way almost without opposition, to the furthest catapult. With a grunt, he spun the machine around and pointed it directly at the gate which commanded the entrance to the inner fortress. He knew that, although what he was going to do might make the Council commanders of the city, he would be avenging the deaths of of the Garrison and of the village of Dwenden. He might even be able to save Kathryn in the confusion.

The crowd of convicts had almost reached him when, with a loud cry, he released the mechanism and sent a large stone into the gate. As with the other, this broke open with a great crash. Avoiding the hands grabbing at him and the swords raised to strike, he leaped over the wall. Only this time, there was no water-trough to break his fall.

Chapter 16

Earlier that evening, Lord Arsoth and his men arrived breathless at the small clearing in the woods, pursued closely by a small band of warriors.

"There must be hundreds of them, my lord!" cried one of his captains, panting with want of air. "Did you see that fire, and how our men fell by the dozen? Only an army could have done this."

Lord Arsoth snapped back in a voice that showed he was far from wearying. "Do you think I do not know that, captain? From the direction the body came upon us, we can see that they have cut down all our scouts. I don't see how they could have got through Sir Denvoir's defenses, but it has happened, and we cannot change it. They cut through and, in preventing our escape, have cut us down. Still, I am willing to test their nerve. Even an army can waver if the other side shows a bold face."

He paused for a moment. His reeling band of men stopped immediately, placing their shaking hands against the trees. Lord Arsoth called out.

"Here is a defensible place. This clearing stands on rising ground, and the enemy cannot see it until he finds himself on clear, open ground. There are a full two hundred of us left, and we could face this band of rebels and beat them too, I say. I know they surprised us. At their hand and the hand of their friends in the cave, we have lost three-quarters of our number. The slain were not simply unfortunate casualties of war, they were your brothers, cousins, and sons! It is time we do our duty, stand our ground, and be avenged. Down with the accursed rebels! Long live the Council and the Count of Omb!"

The other soldiers gave a half-hearted cheer. Although they respected their leader, they also knew that they could not resist forever. No other force of the Council was near to support them, and they had no provisions. In addition, they had no idea of the numbers of their adversaries. As far as they knew, an army was coming to destroy each and every one of the party. They listened to the nearing cries of the pursuing party and, drawing themselves up in formation, stood silent, each soldier possessing a great feeling of uneasiness.

Meanwhile, the band of nobles, the same that had so valiantly attacked Lord Arsoth's men in the act of capturing the king, ran swiftly through the forest in pursuit of Lord Arsoth, giving great cheers as they went.

They had traveled long since they had split off from the great party led by Sir Quinn, Lady Ariana, and Lady Makennah. They were, in fact, the same thirty nobles who had left to meet the king days before when Sir Quinn and Count Ronan went to the Castle of Carivia. After a perilous journey that had delayed them long, they had reached the secret abode of King Archen. Arriving just in time to see the charge of Lord Arsoth's soldiers into the cave, they were filled with grief and, in a desperation, sought to avenge their friends.

They had been surprised at the strange absence of the Council's guards behind and around the cave's entrance, but they determined to use it to their advantage. Although maddened at the cries of their comrades – yells they took to be their last – they worked steadily at the creation of large piles of firewood, drenched by flasks bearing the same type of oil that Britton saw used in the castle of Carivia. When the fight was heard to be over and the calls of the council still echoed in the cavern, the party put their plan into action.

They lit the wood and, giving a mighty shove, they thrust it from over the cave's entrance right into the path of the Council's men. The pile on the right failed to burn, but the pile on the left was caught up in such a mass of flames that it would have been impossible for Lord Arsoth's soldiers to have retreated in that direction.

The courageous band of the Order positioned themselves behind the trees to the right of the cave entrance, and as the soldiers poured out in a panic and began marching into the forest, they quickly and silently employed their swords.

In the darkness and confusion, they were not noticed by the commanders. After many had fallen, however, Lord Arsoth realized the danger and gave the order for instant and hasty retreat, at which point the Council's men broke out in a run. They were then pursued by the nobles to the clearing mentioned by Lord Arsoth.

Here the Council's men had positioned themselves on top of the rocky hill in three lines, each composed of around seventy men. Lord Arsoth stood at their head, his eyes glistening and his mouthing displaying a cruel smile.

"Now, men," he said. "They will be here before a minute has past. Remember, this is not to be a last stand. This clearing is so sudden the the front ranks will be in the middle of it before the notice can be given. They are disordered and at our mercy. When they come, slay them all."

The troops gave a grim laugh.

Lord Arsoth continued. "If they keep on, come back to the hill and we will show them the taste of our blades!"

Seconds later the party of nobles, praying that the Almighty would deliver the enemy into their hands, found themselves unexpectedly in the clearing, at the mercy of their greatest adversaries.

"Charge!" cried lord Arsoth. The great army of the Council, terrifying in the moonlight, swept down the hill, swords lifted high.

As he fell through the air, Britton closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as he prepared for the unavoidable slamming of his body against the stone pavement beneath him. His expectation was met within a second, and he hit the ground hard, falling mainly on his feet. He cried out in pain as what felt like fire shot through his legs and up his back, and he instantly crumpled to the ground.

He quickly tried to get up, but he found that he could not. He had at least sprained, and possibly even broken, both his ankles. He looked back at the wall, and saw Traius's men and some of the convicts heading toward the broken door to come and, presumably, kill him for what he had just done. As he watched the men fast approaching, he quickly realized that this could very well be his last few seconds to live. He had no way to escape this time, no exit strategy. He was unable to move, and a dozen armed foes were coming toward him to kill him.

He lowered his head and closed his eyes. "Lord, I thank you that you have allowed me the privilege of glorifying you through my life. Now I pray that, if I am about to die, you would allow me the privilege of glorifying you through my death." He looked up again at the group of angry men, swords drawn, running swiftly toward him. "Lord, into your hands I commit my spirit." One of Traius's men finally reached Britton, and he immediately lifted up his sword to deal the young man the death blow.

As the sword flashed through the air, a loud cry suddenly sounded from the walls on which most of the convicts still stood guard. The sound was not enough to stay the hand of the dark soldier, but it was a shock powerful enough to turn the soldier's blade so that, instead of falling upon Britton's head, it sliced into his right soldier.

"What is happening up there?" called the soldier, raising his sword to finish off the helpless Britton.

The answer came bellowing from the walls. "Brace yourselves! We're under --" before the voice could finish, it was drowned out by the voices of over one hundred men pouring through the main gate and into the Courtyard.

Lord Traius's men, distracted by Britton's single-handed assault upon their leader, had not noticed that Sir Denvoir's troops had put into action their strategy of a second attack. The Council's men had gambled that the lad Evron had spoken of within the castle would be able to help clear the way to victory. Thus, as the red-striped flag burst into the Courtyard and the soldiers noticed the the shattered gate that opened the way to the inner city, they gave a great cheer and charged toward the small body of Lord Traius' men within the Courtyard.

Led by Sir Denvoir, these were easily cut down. In the meantime, though, the men on the walls had begun to employ the catapults to great effect, sending boulder after boulder into the mass. A score of soldiers and two of the five convicts alongside them were struck down by the catapults, but by that time almost all of the soldiers had crossed the gauntlet and entered into the inner city, where they were ordered to take possession of the main armories and inner walls.

There was, however, one man of the attacking party who had not left. That man was Evron. As soon as he entered the castle and realized with joy that Britton had been successful in opening the gates, he had looked close to the walls and, amidst the many bodies of the garrison who had fallen in the attempt to escape, he saw the figure of a young man, supported by his left elbow, and looking straight towards him. He realized with shock that the poor boy was Britton. Breaking away from his comrades and under a storm of fire from the walls, Evron determined to save his friend if he was wounded, and to rescue him from the hail of stones.

Upon reaching his side, Evron quickly took in the situation and, carefully picking up the limp form of his friend, raced across the courtyard. By this time, the whole concentrated fire of the walls was upon them. Apparently, Lord Traius had not deemed it wise to send off men to counter those who had entered the castle. With the assistance of the freed captives, he far outnumbered the attackers, but if he left the fortified walls, he might be caught at a disadvantage. Thus, boulders from over a dozen catapults screamed through the air towards the two.

Under the archway on the far side of the Courtyard, a mass of ruins lay heaped in the opening, mostly caused by stones and wooden shrapnel which had fallen when the door had been broken open. Unencumbered by heavy burdens, the soldiers of the Council had been able to pick their way over and into the castle. Evron, however, reached the mass of wood and stone with caution, realizing in an instant that he could not make it across without placing Britton down.

Suddenly, however, Sir Denvoir himself appeared beside him. Having witnessed the bravery of Evron from beyond the 
Courtyard, the loyal servant of the Council, in spite of his evil heart, determined to do his duty and to provide for all his men, no matter the cost. With Evron's great thanks, he picked up Britton and, with both working together, began to make their way over the rubbish.

They had almost crossed beyond the range of Lord Traius' catapults, when suddenly a massive boulder came hurtling in the air, crashing into the midst of the small party. In the crash that followed, the unconscious Britton was flung into the safety of the inner castle, out of the range of further stones. In the rain of debris that ensued from the striking stone, no one within could tell what had occurred.

Suddenly, however, a cough was heard, then a shout. "Where -- where are you, friend? Britton? Convict?"

The call was repeated, but it was suddenly cut short by a gasp that could be heard above the shouts of Lord Traius' men.

Sir Denvoir stumbled over the wreckage, collapsing on the other side in a mass of scrapes and blood. One of his chief captains then came up. "What happened, sir? Do you need help? Where are the others?"

Sir Denvoir looked weakly at the seemingly lifeless body of Britton and replied. "Continue on, captain. There are no others."

A man rode through the woods at full speed. 


"You there!" He shouted, "I have a message from Lord Arsoth." 
Lord Melkior lifted his head as the man jumped down from the horse in front of him. The man immediately recognized him as a Lord of the Council,


"My Lord! I'm extremely sorry for my hasty words! I….I.. did not re…" 


"What is you message?!" Lord Melkior cut the man off from his ramblings. 


"Lord Arsoth has the king and one of his knights in his possession," blabbered out the man eager to regain favor with his Lord. 
Lord Melkior's face twisted. His life depended on his own capturing of the king. He drew his sword and layed it against the messenger's neck. 


"Swear to me that you will do as I tell you and I will let you live." 
The man began to tremble. 


"I swear," he replied.


Lord Melkior removed the sword from around his neck and smiled evilly. 
"Good. Carry this message to the count of Omb. Tell him Lord Melkior has captured the king."

"But, my lord, Lord Ar-"


"Speak nothing of Arsoth. You do as I want!”


"Yes my Lord" bowed the man promptly he once again mounted his horse and rode on. 


"Now," thought Lord Melkior, "Lord Arsoth must be destroyed! But how…”

After not too many minutes of thinking, Melkior snapped out of his thoughts.

“You there. Slave!” He called. A short and tired-looking man came as summoned.

“Yes, master?”

“Prepare my steed,” he said slowly, evilly anticipating the scene to come.

In the chaos of the events Katherine had been forgotten. She stood in horror as she watched her best friend in the whole world jump over the courtyard wall to his almost certain death. Her first impulse was to scream his name and run to the edge but she knew it would be pointless. 
Tears welled up in her eyes. 

She knew her mission to find Quinn and Rowan was hopeless. She had searched as far as she could. Where ever they might be they where in the hands of the Almighty now. All she could do was find William and Lady Arwen. She had to face the others and tell them she had failed. At any rate, she couldn’t look over the wall any more and see her friend lying at the bottom. 

She glanced around and moved silently towards the direction in which she and Britton had entered the castle. There were no guards in sight and Lord Trauis was now focused on Britton's demise and upon ordering the catapults. As she slipped away she said a prayer for Britton and Gradlem. 

She walked until she came to the hole quickly until she came to the same hole in the wall she had entered only a short time before. This time, though, only one would pass through it. She ran her hand down the uneven surface and tears poured down her face. 

She headed carelessly towards where she had left William and the party of nobles with him. She couldn't stop thinking about Britten and the chaos in the courtyard. For hours she walked, growing more and more tired and grieved as she continued. She knew she was getting closer to where she left the other nobles when she spotted something on a large tree. 
"It's William's handwriting! Lier's lair." She spoke aloud. 
Her heart raced. something must have happened; with renewed urgency she ran further into the woods.

Lord Melkior rode through the forest as fast as his horse would go. He had not seen Lord Arsoth since the day he had left for his mission, and Lord Melkior vowed that he never would see him again until it was the day of Arsoth’s death. He, Lord Melkior, was to be Lord Arsoth’s slayer. His mind wandered back to his situation, and his heart felt like it was on fire with hate. Arsoth would gain great glory and prestige with the Count of Omb for capturing the king, and that glory would be his own death sentence. Melkior was recognized as the most cunning and artful of the Council (besides its great leader), and it would be an enormous blow to his pride if another were to succeed in such a skilfull action as capturing the king himself.

It had, for a long time, been Arsoth and Melkior’s joint-plan to overthrow the Count of Omb and to become rulers of Kornaiden. They both saw the Count of Omb as a threat, and far too powerful to allow to remain in authority. It was the intention to keep the “hostage” until he willingly gave them the right to rule. “Now,” Lord Melkior reflected, “Lord Arsoth has decided to seek power for himself. In capturing the king, he must be trying to enhance the Count of Omb’s authority over the Council, as well as his own! We shall see how that turns out for him!”

His continually vile flow of thought was cut off. He had not noticed that he had been on the steed for hours and had just arrived at the destination.

That is, he had arrived, but he did not then know it.

Chapter 17

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

Just as she stepped within the green walls that bordered the secret refuge, Kathryn heard the sound of a light breath to her right. In her terror, she let out a small scream.

"Kathryn!" cried the source of the sound she had earlier heard. It belonged to Rowan himself.

"Count Rowan!" cried Kathryn. "I am… glad to see you. I thought you might have been…"

Kathryn flashed a quick smile of happiness and satisfaction toward Rowan, then collapsed upon the ground out of stress and exhaustion. She had borne much hardship in the past hours, and her final arrival in safety among friends had overwhelmed her.

When she awoke a couple hours later, she was greeted by many smiling and inquisitive faces.

"Please, Kathryn," Lady Arwen asked softly after Kathryn had drunk some much-needed water,"can you tell us what is happening at the castle? It is important that we leave no one of our own in danger if we can prevent it."

Kathryn sighed. "All has gone horribly wrong. I am afraid that I am no use to you all for any real help, for I found no trace of either the Count Rowan, who is here right now, or Sir Quinn. The castle has been taken by Lord Traius, and though the Council is, I think, trying to take it back, they are at the mercy of Traius' well-planned defenses. I brought a friend with me – one I could trust, and we tried to free the prisoners that Lord Traius had taken. Gradlem was with them. We did our best, and Britton performed bravely." Kathryn paused. A tear rolled down her cheek. "Britton is with the Almighty now. He sacrificed himself in freeing Gradlem and the garrison from Lord Traius. He also tried to save me from Traius' particular harm. He struck me, and Britton stood up to him. In doind so, he incurred the wrath of lord, and fell to his death over the wall."

The others started in surprise, begging Kathryn to tell them more. As they listened, they grew more incensed. It seems that the burning and slaying of a village was only a very small part of what Lord Traius was capable of. They began to realize more and more that Lord Traius was an enemy possibly even more dangerous than the Council – one who would not stop at power, but who would continue to burn and destroy all in his path.

When Kathryn had finished, and Rowan and the rest had told their tales, William, who had been holding Kathryn all the while, spoke up. "I do not know about you all, but something must be done about Lord Traius and the Council. We cannot let this man to take any more lives!"

The others of the party gave grunts of assent. They all felt an inward burning – a desire that told them to avenge the deaths of so many innocent men and women.

Lady Arwen then calmly voiced her opinion. "Very true, William, but nothing can be done at the present moment. Our best plan would be to continue South to meet the king. We agreed that it would allow the best opportunity to regroup and to re-ignite the hopes of the people."

"But people are dying now, Lady Arwen! We must not let it persist."

Rowan then spoke. "By now the bloodshed is out of hand, William. If the Council is fighting Lord Traius, as Kathryn says, then there would be no point all or one of us heading that way. There would be so much chaos that nothing could be accomplished, and we would be fighting not one enemy but two. No, we must pray that the Almighty will administer justice. At least the garrison has largely escaped, and for that I am thankful. Still, we cannot afford to lose any more brave men like Britton."

William nodded, realizing the truth of the Count's argument.

The Baron DuBatz then came forward. "When Miss Kathryn has rested, I think that we should be on our way. There is not a moment to lose if we are to meet the King and arrange for our operations. Perhaps we can take advantage of the apparent in-fighting of the Council? If we act soon, they will still be disorganized – perhaps disorganized enough for us to meet with success."

The others all agreed, and after another five or six hours of rest and preparation, the little group set out for the south, ready and willing to take up any task that would aid the rightful king and his cause.

Now, it is a fact that in the darkest times of life, when pain seems to be the only sensation and life seems to be a confusing mass of whirling cares and torments, that a light will oftentimes pierce through the darkness and fill an individual with a desire to persist and to live on. Even when one feels his life slipping away, something within him will make him grasp at the life – grasp toward that pain and embrace, if not for the sake of living, then for the sake of fulfilling some deeper, more important mission. For the brave, courageous, and dying Britton, lying close to where his recent friend Evron now lay dead, it was the hope of the success of a party he had only just joined that spurred him to new exertions and struggles for life. As his soul began to slip away from the pain that chained him to the earth, he remembered the Order, what it was meant for and the hope that it brought. He remembered the darkness of the world, and something inside him told him that he must fight against that darkness. No, wait… That was not his only reason. Perhaps there was a different reason, something – or someone – that he could not leave behind…

In any case, Britton fought the pain and the urge to succumb to sleep and uttered a cry for help that rose beyond the chaotic sound of the castle courtyard. It was loud enough to grab the attention of Sir Denvoir who was, at that moment, hurrying away to confront Lord Traius and bring him to a fate as evil as that Lord Traius would bring upon him were he to fall into his hands.

Now, there is another fact that also pervades this life. Beneath the cold crust of some men, even the crust of men of duty, is the warmth of compassion. This compassion can break the bonds of evil intentions if one but allows its entrance into one's heart. Sir Denvoir was such a man who possessed the faint sparks of compassion. He was certainly a man of duty. He had no fear of bringing Britton across the courtyard, but once his duty had been done, he had no reason nor desire to care further. His duty now meant only that he was to kill lord Traius or bring him before the Count of Omb. This meant that he, like all of the Council's loyal men, cared not in the slightest for the lives of people or their persons. He was willing to earlier kill the three convicts, and if necessary he was willing to kill many times over.

Britton's cry, however, struck something in Sir Denvoir that he had not felt since the beginning of his service to the Council. Even in the heat of battle, he stopped in his tracks and turned around. That cry for help, if this does not sound ridiculous, reminded him of a life and nation in which he had once lived – of a time in which kindness and mercy triumphed even over duty.

Sir Denvoir responded to that call by abandoning his efforts for the moment and risking his life yet again, going beyond what duty demanded and bestowing compassion. He rushed to Britton, reached beneath his mail shirt, and ripped a long piece of cloth. The catapults in the courtyard had, by this time, begun to be moved with difficulty to the second ring of the wall in order to better reach the troops that were at that moment trying to break down the barricade to the first ring, on which the majority of Lord Traius's men were stationed. Sir Denvoir, however, ignored the missiles and wrapped the cloth around Britton's broken leg. He then took still more cloth and wrapped his head to stop the tremendous bleeding. Although Britton still bore numerous untended wounds, Sir Denvoir was not able to find any more bandaging. He simply stared stared at Britton, astonished and struck by the look on his face – a look of one who seemed desperate to live but who was still surprisingly calm about what seemed to be an inevitable fate.

All this time, though, Sir Denvoir was needed on the wall. After a time of simply watching Britton warmly and caring for his wounds – a time that might have lasted only five minutes – Sir Denvoir left the firing line and again drew his sword for the purpose of duty. What had once been an evil life through and through had, for an instant, been revealed for what it could be. Sir Denvoir was still a man of duty, but something inside of this man of the Council would never be the same.

It has been said that evil is a consuming fire: that it neither rests nor sleeps until it has been satiated. It has also been said that those bent on destruction are urged on by an unstoppable force, and that nothing can stop their journey down a path of cruelty. While often true, this understanding fails to account for the need of sleep. A wicked man, even those as determined as Lord Traius, cannot continue forever, and even darkness must slumber. So it was with the Count of Omb. Largely unaware of the endless commotion at the Castle of Carivia and ignorant of the noble forces gathering in the South, he lay upon his bed. That article was raised off the stone floor and bound by four wooden posts, each of which was the trunk of a tree long dead.

It might be said that the Count slept soundly, but even then his dreams were troubled. Swirling images and collages pushed through his brain like swarms. They spoke of horrible deeds that were yet to be, sword thrusts yet to be administered, and weeping children yet to form tears.

A nervous knock resounded at the door.

“Permission granted.” Said the Count of Omb gruffly, half asleep. A small man stepped in, his small, sunken eyes showing fear.

“My Lord, I was told to see you immediately. I had no idea… forgive me, sir. Melkior – Lord Melkior – has captured the former king in the North.” The Count sat up in shock. His eyes betrayed their notorious blaze as he looked with anger and disbelief upon the sudden messenger. That man, however, rubbed his hands together and kept his eyes upon the rough floor.

Sensing that the man desired light, he gave permission for a torch to be lit. Still, his eyes did not move from the subject of his gaze, waiting for his news to be explained.
The messenger, however, said nothing. Evidently, he had expected the Count to be pleased by the news, and his reaction had made him rather nervous.

“What do you mean, ‘Melkior captured the king’?” the Count finally muttered, almost to himself. “He left only a short time ago; there was almost no time. Did you see this capture?”

The messenger opened his mouth. “I did not see the capture, sir. I know, though, that it occurred. I could hear the cheering right as… a messenger rode up to tell me that it had happened.”

“Strange…”

“It is true, sir. Melkior has taken your worst enemy.”

Seemingly absentminded, the Count of Omb replied, “Go about your work as usual, Adinaz.” As he commanded, so the confused messenger did.

“How could Melkior have captured the king in so short a time?” The Count yelled as soon as the heavy door closed. The name of Melkior caused his eyes to flash in rage. “It is impossible! It is utterly impossible. There was no time…” He gave another exclamation of anger and, leaning back in his chair, closed his eyes in thought. His rough hands, many times stained with other’s blood, stroked his dagger.

Only a few minutes later, however, another knock thundered upon the door.

Upon admitting this new and unknown messenger, the Count of Omb urged him to be brief.

“Of necessity, my lord. To understand, though, you must hear from the beginning. I and many others serve under Sir Denvoir, a faithful servant of yours – as you well know. We were with the Lord Arsoth when he turned against your orders. He believed a peasant’s word that the King himself was nearby. The army found a group of rebels, but it surely was too small to contain the king. Sir Denvoir had the courage to take his two hundred men, myself included, to find and capture Lord Traius as you commanded.”

The messenger stared closely at his lord’s face, desperate for some sign of confirmation to justify what could be seen as treason. The Count’s face, however, betrayed no emotion. The man continued, “We made it to Carivia a few hours later, intending to warn Lord Drakin of danger, but catapults and swords were all that met us. They were – they were led by Lord Traius. One can only assume that Lord Drakin is dead, and the garrison has been turned. Of course, Sir Denvoir was determined to attack and to reclaim the fortress. I was sent to tell you but a moment before the actual assault. This was but nine hours ago, my lord.”

The Count sank back into his seat, his face paling, searching his mind for a familiar form upon which to concentrate his anger. “Traius,” he muttered as his eyes filled with rage. “Denvior will continue the onslaught and must assuredly win.” He still did not, however, reply to the messenger, who was evidently still recovering from the long journey. Suddenly realizing that he had not dismissed the man, he did so at once and returned to his musings.

He thought for a long time. He envisioned destruction upon the soul of any who defied him, and for Traius, something must be done that was special. Continued musing. Silent thoughts.

Another knock sounded on the large wooden door. “I said you were dismissed!” roared the surprised Count of Omb as his angry contemplations were broken in their stream.

“It is I! A messenger from the army of the South.” A firm voice answered.

“Proceed,” He said reluctantly. He prepared himself for still more terrible news.

“My lord,” the muscular man said calmly, “I am a scout under Captain Kargor of the army of Lord Telrond. We have captured the infamous Sir Walter–”

The Count looked up with pleased surprise that he tried to hide with a firm glance. “Continue, man!” he ordered.

The man sighed and said, “Take pity, my Lord. I am but the messenger.”

The Count of Omb was now showing anger. “My pity depends upon the truthfulness of the information,” he said.

The messenger, slightly relieved, replied, “The former king and his servant – captured, as you might have heard, by Lord Arsoth – apparently escaped. The knight and king were traveling together. While my superiors were resting, I came upon their trail. I found the servant, going by the title of Sir Walter, but the king escaped and we saw no more of him. We do indeed count the rebel as a great prize, my lord. As much as he tried to resist, we extracted much information from him.”

“You have done well.” He said smiling darkly and rather slyly. “But if you wish to keep your life, bring Adinaz the messenger to me in my office chamber within the hour!” The messenger left the dim, though luxuriously furnished, room.

The Count of Omb was deeply confused but now he had started to grasp the situation. Did Lord Melkior really capture the king, or did Lord Arsoth? He had two conflicting reports, and the truth had to be made known.

He donned his attire, strutted angrily to his spacious office and sat down at the roughly carved desk. He straightened his black glove and awaited the two messengers.

The two messengers burst through the door, fear so filling them that they could not stand without shaking. The Count laced his fingers together, his eyes darkening as he looked at the first and last of the three messengers he had greeted that day.

“You both say that the former king of Korniden was captured−” he was interrupted by acknowledgment of the two men. “But you say differently of the means of the capture.” He was now pacing back and forth in the room. Suddenly in a loud tone, throwing his dagger in a fit of rage into the wall, “Under pain of death, death, men! who captured the king?” His white teeth were clenched together; his black eyes pierced through them. He saw the smaller, first messenger flinch.

“Ah! Adinaz, will you tell me?” He terrible smile sent the small man cringing under the feeling of terror.

“Melkior, my lord.” He puffed out his chest in an effort to appear confident. It did not fool the steadily haunting gaze of the powerful man.

“Well then, you…what is your designation?” The larger man acknowledged the name of Krendian, the Count continued. “Who do you believe captured the king?”

“Lord Arosth is the original captor my lord. If this man say otherwise…” He turned to the smaller man; Adinaz’s shrunken eyes showed fear, if not terror, “He is a liar. We know by evidence obtained from the captured knight that the king and had been captured by Lord Arsoth, suffered to escape, and recaptured by Captain Kragor and his men.”

The Count of Omb applauded and turned to the other. “Very good, Adinaz. But you did not think over your plan. Melkior could not have found or captured the king in less than a fortnight in this surrounding country. Very well played. Did Lord, or former Lord, Melkior tell this delightful little story?”

The little man was now sufficiently frightened and cried in torrents, “Oh! My Lord, please do not blame me! I came to tell you that the Lord Arsoth had captured the king, but Lord Melkior intercepted me and told me he would kill me if I told you of Lord Arsoth, but please do not kill me due to that man’s jealousy and deception. He was going to kill me!” The Count smiled weakly and replied.

“I will not kill you. Only I will carry out Melkior’s plans. Guards! Take this man to the courtyard and dispose of him in the usual method.” The guards dragged the screeching man out as the Count of Omb situated his glove sufficiently on his rough hand.

“Krendian, you have done very well. I am pleased that you have done the ‘right’ job.” He sneered. “Tell Captain Kragor to bring Sir Walter to me at once! And never again bring me the news of the former king ever escaping! Am I understood?” He roared. The man smiled slowly and walked out.

The Count of Omb grimaced and sat down again upon his large desk. He curled his finger together, and exhaled darkly. “Melkior!”

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

"Did you see that!"

The Baron DuBatz turned sharply around with alarm. "What do you mean?"

Kathryn, seeing the serious expression on the Baron's face, suddenly let out a laugh. It felt good, only it reminded her of Britton, who could always twist his face into so many interesting and funny expressions. "Oh, I am sorry, Sir Du— I mean, Baron Dubatz! I just saw a bird, and it was the most magnificent blue! I think it was a Karmor. I didn't mean to frighten you. I have just always liked birds…"

The Baron smiled. "I understand. I am sure it was a beautiful creature."

"I…I should not have laughed. How…" she paused, her lips beginning to quiver and her face betraying an expression of shame. "How can I be so cruel as to even think of birds when just a few hours ago I watched my truest friend die?"

The Baron, who had been walking in front of Kathryn (he had given his horse to the girl to help her as she regained her strength), turned around and walked toward her. He halted the horse and looked Kathryn steadily in the eye. Slowly, and with the peculiar accent used by the people of the East, he said, "Miss Kathryn, it is one of the greatest gifts of the Almighty that, no matter how dark the clouds may seem, light will still break through and pierce the armor of the clouds." He smiled. "Your friend died to save you. He died that you might be happy and that others might be happy as well. Of course, to jest about that would be wrong, but to forbid laughter or cheer, well, that would certainly not be what he would want. He seems like the type of friend who would be the first to admire the Karmor."

A flood of memories rushed upon Kathryn. She remembered how she and Britton had built river rafts with their friends, how Britton (before Lord Draking had forbidden the practice) had held yearly races at the castle that had been the talk of all the children of Carivia, and with incredible prizes; and how she and Britton had, at Britton's suggestion, switched the chief cook's sugar with salt a few hours before the castle supper. This last memory was among her favorite stories, and she had laughingly told it to the little children of the castle for a long time. Remembering these things, she could not help but smile again. "Perhaps you are right about Britton." Her face suddenly regained its concern. "But what about our task? There are so few of us against the Council. It almost seems as though the real story is between the Council and Lord Traius, rather than between us and the Council. How can we think that we will take Alavaria, and especially laugh and jest as we try to, if the we are but an afterthought?"

The Baron thought for a moment. He took the reins from Kathryn's hands and began leading the horse along. By the look on his face, Kathryn thought that he too had thought about those same things. How could it be possible when the people did not listen, when traitors could arise, and where there were too few leaders?

"Kathryn, what I said about the light is still true. It will break through the darkness, but only if you let it. Joy, or happiness, is a persistent thing: it likes to keep knocking at the door. If, though, you keep locking it, it will eventually cease knocking. It is still there, trying to break through, but avoiding it simply barricades the door and adds to the armor of the clouds. I suppose I mean to say that even now, we can and should laugh. We serve the Almighty, and though we may not carry the day, we should not despair. We cannot deny ourself joy when we serve the joy-giver."

Kathryn nodded. There was much truth in the Baron's words.

He continued. "As to the rest, though, I would say that it does look bleak. Traius seems to be the major player at the moment, distracting the Council. The Count of Omb, though, has not forgotten us. He is going to use all his forces to remove threats to his power, even if they are members of the Council itself; once he does this, he will be free to kill us. it is my belief that, no matter how hard the Council may try to ignore us or focus their attention away, they cannot shake the knowledge that our ideas, our beliefs, are far more deadly to them than a civil war amongst the Council. They know that once we can shake the fear of the people, we shall be as powerful as they. They will do their utmost to stop us and to reinforce their grasp. They, most likely, will succeed for a time, but we must not lose hope. As I said earlier, we have the Almighty on our side."

Again, Kathryn nodded. The Baron DuBatz had given her much to think about. "Maybe Britton's sacrifice was not worthless," she thought. She had been struggling with the idea that Britton's sacrifice and bravery, while it may have saved her life and the lives of others, was ultimately in vain because she and they would only succumb to the power of the Council of Omb. Now, she believed, there was actually a chance. She gave another laugh, and that one felt even more refreshing.

"Well," the Baron continued, giving a wink to Kathryn, "it looks like we shall have to spread some joy throughout our group. Going towards the South, I thought, would be an encouraging thing. After all, we should be able to re-group and re-organize. But just look at Count Rowan, depressed as…as a shovel."

Kathryn giggled at the clumsy description, but as she looked at Count Rowan, riding the last horse in the long line, she felt that it fit perfectly. "Count Rowan," she asked, "what is the matter?"

Rowan turned sharply around, placing his hand upon his sword hilt as he did so. For a long time, he had been deep in thought, scarcely thinking about the path his feet took. He bore a deep-rooted expression of anguish, and his usually smooth, kindly face was broken by wrinkles that told of an intense inward struggle, or debate, within himself.

The sharp look he gave Kathryn in his surprise was stinging, and she looked away.

Embarrassed, the Count called forward, "I am sorry, Kathryn. There…has been much on my mind. I did not know it was you." 
Kathryn expressed her forgiveness, but Rowan seemed not to hear. A calm came over his face, and he drew back the reins of his horse, bringing it to a halt as the line continued to move forward.

Seeing what was happening, Kathryn turned and rode up to the motionless horse, the Baron following on foot.

"Is there a problem, Count? We won't make it to Ralgosor by the time Lady Arwen hopes if we do not hurry."

Count Rowan sat up a little straighter. "I…am not going to Ralgosor."

"Wait!" The Baron started, " what do you mean? That is our course."

"Not for me. I am going back to Carivia."

"Carivia! Why would you want to go back"

"There is something I need to do. Lives and our safety are at stake."

Kathryn jumped in. "But the battle is long over by now. It was over by the time I found you. Sir Denvoir and his men were able to get through."

"No. They may have gotten through, but they cannot have won so easily. There is something Lord Traius knows, and that I know, that will have changed the course of the battle, I am sure. Sir Denvoir has not triumphed, and if Lord Traius has not already won and killed all, the fighting has stopped, with Sir Denvoir, unwillingly, on his side, along with the convicts you spoke of." Rowan paused. His voice had grown more animated as he spoke, and now he lowered it to a whisper. "I think I know how to stop Lord Traius, but if the worst comes to the worst, I will fight him single-handedly to protect the land from more violence at his hand. I know you are surprised, but I only just decided upon this, what you might call dangerous, path. You must not let the others know until it is impossible to keep it concealed. I do not think Lady Arwen and the rest would allow me to do what must be done."

The Baron stuttered, "But – Rowan, this – this is what we need. The Council shedding the Council's blood. It gives us time to organize and -"

"Baron, we must never, if possible, permit the shedding of blood. What I am trying to do will help save it. The Almighty will protect us."

With that, Count Rowan turned his horse and began slowly making his way to the North. All the while, he was watched by an anxious Baron and a hopeful handmaiden.

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Well, folks, there is the entirety of Prince of the Fallen as it is written right now, coming in at a total of 59,062 words (approx. 236 pages)! I estimate we will only need seven or fewer chapters to finish, and after that is just editing. :)

I read the entire story as it was on page 81 over the past couple of weeks. It's really awesome! I look forward to hopefully diving in (who knows how much I'll actually get done, but whatever) next month! xD

I read the entire story as it was on page 81 over the past couple of weeks. It's really awesome! I look forward to hopefully diving in (who knows how much I'll actually get done, but whatever) next month! xD

^^^^^^^^

YEA!

about the editing…
there are quite a few words that are spelled wrong or are put twice like 'the the' or have a space where it's not supposed to be like: any way.
When I edited all that i got 58,916 words.
just to let ya'll know

Coolness!!!!! I'll have to print this all out and read - I am not an e-book reader…

Anyway, I found Kathryn's background if y'all still want it. :)

Kathryn

At 13 years of age, Kathryn is much more skilled than most her age. After both parents died in a fire, William and Kathryn went to live with their older cousin Gradlem and his familiy. She is a very good archer, having been trained by one of the best (Arwen, hint hint). Once, she was betrayed by a friend that put her and her family in danger.

Weaknesses: Doubts of her worth, has a hard time trusting people unless they meet William's approval
Strengths: willing to risk her life for others, loves unconditionally

It's short, but that's what I came up with…..a few years ago. :P

That's great! I don't think I had ever seen that.

Two thing I am wondering about is: of what was she betrayed (and by whom) and how was the fire that killed her parents started (and why)?

These might have already been explained somewhere in the story, but I don't remember…

Who should we do next?

Rowan, Britton, or King Archen would be nice. :)

Also, I will try to post an addition in the next couple days. We just need to start tying some loose ends up a bit more.

^Someone already did one for King Archen, though it was quite a while ago^

Ok! :)

Oh and I might not post long additions like some people do.

Did we just forget about this or something? :(:(:(

No, I sure haven't. But people grew up and haven't had time… :(:(

Hmmmmm……..

Wow, nobody's been very active on here for a long time. x(

I love the plot!! And all y'all are great writers! Now I'm sorry I didn't see this sooner. I might like to help after BB's over! I'm not very good at writing, though I do enjoy it when I have the time. :)

Well well well look what we have here! XD

I totally forgot about this! These were great times. Still wish we could finish it up, though I'm not sure how many of y'all are still around. :P

Jimmy actually got on Memverse? O.O xP

What Zach said xD I was thrilled to see Jimmy had posted and particularly on this thread.

Haha, I know, it's about time I checked in on y'all, made sure you weren't getting too crazy. How's life? Hope you guys are doing great. :D

Hmmm, you might be a bit too late on that one… xD We're doing pretty fantastic, though most memversers in general are in somewhat of a state of post-nationals gloom. How are you doing?! I've got to hear a little bit from Daniel. I can hardly believe you're almost done with college!

The End.

Chapter 1: For Harambe's Sake

great story :), Hope there is a second book…and maybe i'll join in creating a new story