Darmen, his wife Camielya and their son, Shad, were escorted by a ring of Home Guard cavalry towards their villa on the northeast edge of the city.  There they would collect as many of the important documents in Darmen's care as possible as well as the vestibules of state accorded to Darmen as Crown Heir.
        Behind them in the city battles were raging between the Dragonlands' army and Raoul's personal army of slavetaskers.  The battles were short and the soldiers who fell wore the colors of the Dragonlands.  Raoul's men were sober and prepared for the battle while the Dragonian soldiers were drunk from the celebration and unprepared for the battle that had started from within the city.
        More of the Home Guard awaited the prince and his family at the villa along with a carriage and fresh horses.  Over a dozen of the Home Guard were mounted and waiting for the prince.
        "We have as many of the documents as we could find, Your Highness," called out a captain of the guard.  "Hurry, we must get you to the river docks and onto a ship out of the Dragonlands."
        Darmen shook his head as he mounted the steps towards the villa.  "There are still things that I must take with me, hidden in the house," he cried.
        The captain looked at Camielya in bewilderment.
        "The signet ring and royal seal," Camielya replied.  "They will be needed no matter where we go.  Without them, Darmen has no authority anywhere else."
        The captain cast about him in desperation to understand the need for these things and the need for Darmen to personally retrieve them.  The captain's only worry was to get the royal family out of the city before the slavetaskers arrived.
        The air was suddenly pierced with the sound of arrows in  flight as shafts appeared out of the darkness of night and found their marks in members of the Home Guard.  Cries of pain and death shook the captain's resolve.
        "Here!" Camielya cried, pushing her wailing baby son into his arms.  "Take him out of the Dragonlands.  Now!"
        There was only a moment's hesitation on the part of the captain.  His eyes looked into the eyes of the royal consort and he understood.  Camielya was willing to sacrifice herself to save her son and to continue the line of the Dragonblood.  The captain turned his horse and spurred it forward, tucking the child close to him, protecting the wailing infant from the flights of arrows.
        Camielya's elven mastery of magic had long been unused but she brought forth as much of her skill and power as she could and used it as best she could, searching out the attackers and silently killing them one by one.
        A sharp blow struck her from behind and she fell, her legs crumpling beneath her.  She saw a slavetasker standing over her, the hilt of a short sword held in his hand.  From behind the slavetasker emerged the face of Grand Citizen Raoul.
        "Where is the child?" demanded Raoul of his slavetasker in a low, stern voice.
        Camielya's last coherent thoughts of her life were that Raoul would never know where her son had been taken and that he would never have the chance to kill the last of the Dragonblood.

        When Meleketh brought the Druidihaim  into the capital city it was merely to take possession of a prize already won.  The city was under siege and broken.  Raoul and his slavetaskers had done their work well.  What little resistance that remained was quickly being crushed.
        Meleketh smiled to himself, revealing his teeth and they shined dimly in the moonlight.
        "It would seem," he said thoughtfully, "that we have been given a city to pillage."  He raised his sword in triumph to his troops and bellowed at the top of his lungs.  "Let the sacking commence."
        There was a wild holler from the length of the column as the Druidihaim complied with the order and they took their part in stripping the city of its pride.  The crown of the Dragonlands was quickly turned to brass.
        "I see that the Grand Citizen has done his work well," said Judeo as he emerged from shadow, mist rising from the grounds and the tattered robes materializing from the air.  "So long as he has the members of the royal family then everything will have proceeded according to plan."
        Meleketh smirked.  "The Crown Prince never even took the time to learn the magics to defend himself and his family.  Truly a base fool."
        "To each their own," Judeo responded softly.  "Remember, Darmen was something of a black sheep in his family.  He had other agendas to look towards.  Magics held little importance for him."
        Meleketh shook his head.  "Power is everything," he said, clenching his gauntleted hand into a tight fist.
        "No, Meleketh, it is not.  Faith is."
        Before the drow lord could formulate a retort, Judeo had disappeared back into the darkness that he had sprung from and the drow was left grinding his teeth in frustration.  Meleketh had power and for him it was the most enjoyable thing that he possessed.  And the most rewarding.  What could faith provide?  He did not care.

        Starlangof maintained private chambers and laboratories in the lower levels of the castle where he practiced his magic, conducted his research and entertained himself with good books and engrossing hobbies.  One of his hobbies had been to build a complete model replica of Darcoth'maern.  Every street and building had been replicated in all exactness.
        Starlangof touched a finger to one of the streets where ghost images of the looting army were projected by the magics of the model.  As Starlangof touched the tip of his finger to the street on the model, a flame arose from his fingertip and held its position, waiting for the instruction of the necromancer's will to guide it.  Starlangof lifted his finger and pointed the way for the flame to continue.  It did so, racing down the cobbled street and engulfing the invaders.
        At the other end of the board Sh'gar did the same, touching the board, creating a flame and then pointing it on its way.  The shadowy images of the Druidihaim  writhed and screamed soundlessly on the model streets.
        In the real streets of the capital city the fire storms raced, taking their victims by the hundreds and charring the cobbles of the streets and the sides of buildings.  Here the screams were not silent, but loud, filling the confined spaces with reverberations and echoes of the death songs.
 

        Meleketh cursed as he heard the cries and saw the fires.  He hadn't expected this.  He had assumed that Starlangof would conserve his energies for the battle with Judeo.  Instead, it was being used to destroy the Druidihaim and with it, the druidihar, the drow, Meleketh's people.
        Meleketh called out for Raoul and received a quick response from the Grand Citizen.  Were there other necromancers in attendance at tonight's festivities? demanded the drow lord.
        Yes, replied Raoul.  The centaur, Sh'gar, was at Starlangof's table.  I am unaware of any other necromancers being in attendance.
        Meleketh seethed at the news.  Why did you not warn me of this before?
        You did not ask,  was the flippant reply from the slaver.
        I'll have his tongue for this, thought Meleketh bitterly to himself.  For now it was up to the drow lord to combat the might of two necromancers.  Judeo would not exert his power to tame the magics of the necromancers as he reserved his energies for the impending battle with the High Lord.  And if the High Lord was left to Judeo then to whom did the centaur fall?  To Meleketh, of course, who would have to fight an opponent stronger than himself using trickery and skill in place of sheer power.
        Meleketh went about undoing the work of the necromancers, dispersing the firestorms.  Doing so meant subtle and tricky work, navigating the threads of magic to ensure that the firestorms went out and stayed out.
        One by one the sheets of fire dispersed and remained gone as the necromancers were blocked from recasting the same spells.  The work was taxing for the drow lord and the heat of the flames were soon felt in his blood.
        Meleketh then sent forth commands for the army to regroup and to storm down the main avenue which led to the gates of the castle itself on the east side of the city.  The survivors of the firestorm were eager to let blood in exchange for the deaths and injuries caused by the mystical attacks.
        Meleketh put himself at the head of the rushing army, brandishing his sword and rallying the monstrous troops against the last defenders of the castle who had gathered outside of its closed gates to make one last stand and to hopefully take as many of the Druidihaim  with them as possible.
        The battle was bloody and fierce as Meleketh, followed by his legion of drow, ripped through the sparse defenders and stormed the gates, throwing troops against the wrought iron to force it down.
        Behind the drow, magics went to work combating the invaders as balls of flame raced out of the sky, holes opened in the earth and swallowed scores of invaders whole, closing over them once again.  A hail of stones followed that and then crashing waves of water which appeared out of nothingness, swept over the Druidihaim,  and then disappeared again, taking troops with it to drown in the river or the ocean or the darkness of nothingness.
        The main body of the Druidihaim  army was unimportant to Meleketh.  Only the castle and the prizes that waited within concerned the drow lord.  There were few defenders left in the castle proper and these the drow warriors dispatched in haste.
        Meleketh extended the will of his mind and searched out and found the necromancers below him where the private chambers and laboratories of the king were kept.  He sent an invitation to them.

        Starlangof and Sh'gar appeared in the throne room of the castle, situated at the rear of the edifice and itself being a relatively newer edition to the castle.  It was a round room constructed of preserved hardwoods varnished and polished to a gleam.  The floor of the throne room was composed of a milky white marble naturally swirled with rosy striations.  The throne room overlooked the River Blue at the back of the castle and which river ran along the eastern side of Darcoth'maern. The carved Dragonthrone itself was set upon a raised dais in the curve of the eastern side of the room.  A ring of windows was set both in the roof and along the upper circumference of the wall, giving an excellent view of the horizon and allowed light to filter freely into the room, when there was light to be had from outside.
        In Starlangof's hand the Staff of Ancients glowed bright.  In Sh'gar's hand a sphere of brightness illuminated the dark room.
        Without warning the centaur was shoved with raw force away from Starlangof and into a wall at the far end of the throne room.
        Starlangof turned and regarded the throne, which was hid away by the shadows of darkness.  The darkness broke away slowly, as if mist were rolled aside by a gentle breeze.  There sat Judeo, Apostle of Necronus.
        "Welcome, Starlangof, King of the Dragonlands and High Lord of the High Council," called Judeo as he sat on the king's throne.  "This is the night of the Harvest Festival and the harvest is blood."
        Starlangof roared and lashed out with raw force at Judeo.  The apostate countered it and swept the power back at Starlangof, felling the aged wizard from his feet and knocking the Staff of Ancients from his hands.
        Judeo looked up with interest.  A distant memory of the staff came to him along with knowledge of other objects of great power and might.  The Pieces of Power someone had once named them. . .  Knowledge of a craftsman and his skill, forging three of these pieces, linking them with three others that had already existed and the plotting of a grand scheme wherein the pieces would be joined and used as a key to unravel, or preserve, reality.
        Judeo's will leapt at the staff and took hold of it, pulling it towards him.  Starlangof, coming back to his senses took hold of the staff as well, using the power of his mind, and pulled it back towards himself.
        The contest of wills continued for agonizing moments, the staff swaying in the air but not making significant progress to either of the magic-users.
        Sh'gar had recovered himself from the attack that he had received and saw the battle being waged between Starlangof and Judeo.  The centaur necromancer made his reprisal attack at the dark figure, pulling up slabs of the throne room floor and throwing them at the seated figure.
        Judeo started in surprise and countered Sh'gar's attack, only to lose his grip on the staff.  The gleaming staff of shadowwood  flew back into Starlangof's hands.  Reunited with his talisman, Starlangof began to channel his power through it once more and directed an assault of magic against the apostate.
        Judeo held his place, leaning forward in the throne and setting his own power against the king's, mystical wash spraying the entire throne room.
        Starlangof concentrated his power and then unleashed an arc of sizzling white flame, the heat of which made Sh'gar break into a sweat.  The fire engulfed Judeo, but did not harm the creature of dark mists.
        "I have withstood the fires of the Dragon Queen; this pales with her fury," mocked Judeo.  He rose slowly within the tumult of the fire storm and strode down the steps of the dais towards the necromancer.
        Starlangof broke off his attack and wove a more elaborate spell, swinging the staff in deliberate and detailed arcs and motions, tapping the floor at each of the four main compass points.
        Sh'gar shielded his eyes as the power of the spell was unleashed, centering around Judeo and shaking the entire castle, waves of force imploding upon the center of the spectre, reverberations moving outwards and running through Starlangof and Sh'gar.
        There was an audible gasp from Judeo as the misty creature slumped, his form drawing inwards on himself.  The spell abated and still Judeo did not move, affected for the first time by the spells of the High Lord.
        The burlap-covered form suddenly jerked as Judeo clenched a fist and raised it quickly upwards.  In response to his actions, the floor heaved and a spire of stone and earth erupted under Starlangof's feet, carrying the wizard high into the air and crashing him through the glass dome of the throne room.
        Starlangof fell back through the opening and downwards, too stunned and battered to check his fall.  The stone spire retreated even faster than Starlangof fell, sucked back into the ground and then sealing itself, the floor unmarred by the actions of the spell.
        The old wizard crashed upon the floor in a pile of beard and robes, the staff clutched in his hand with a deathly grip.  He did not move, laboring hard to draw breath and remain conscious.  The necromancer had not engaged in mystical battle for centuries and he had long forgotten how physically taxing such battles could be.
        Sh'gar, seeing the state of his friend, trotted quickly forward to help.  He was stopped by the sibilant voice of a new player in the game.
        "Not so fast, centaur," Meleketh warned, looking down the shaft of an arrow tipped with a druirsteel  arrowhead.  "The High Lord will fight his battles alone and without the help of farm animals."
        Before Sh'gar could neutralize the drow lord, Meleketh loosed his arrow and watched it fly true into the flank of the centaur.  It struck home and dug deeply, the barbs running along the sides of the arrowhead ripping through flesh and planting themselves firmly in the centaur's side.
        Sh'gar winced in pain, a strained sound escaping from his clenched teeth as his rear leg sagged and buckled under him.  He soon collapsed completely upon the floor of the throne room and panted for breath, the pain from the arrow searing through his equine body and spreading to his human torso.
        "Very good, General," praised Judeo as he approached the fallen king.  "Finish him.  You may keep his head as a trophy.  His entire carcass if you wish."
        "I never did like these freaks of nature," Meleketh hissed as he sighted again, aiming for the human heart in the chest of the centaur necromancer.  "Crosses and half-breeds."
        "Johuo," gasped Sh'gar in a desperate plea.
        Judeo whipped around, facing the injured centaur, the red eyes in their hood growing hot.  Blood-red flame engulfed his hand as he raised his fist and aimed fire at the necromancer, intending to burn away all traces of the one who had spoken that accursed name.
        The flame never reached Sh'gar, nor did the second black arrow.  Sh'gar himself was incapable of preventing either from striking, weakened and fevered by the arrow and the poison that the arrowhead was covered with.  Both were stopped by the shields that Starlangof had thrown into place around the centaur.
        Judeo turned towards Starlangof, who still lived, breathed and moved.  The High Lord of the High Council, direct descendant of the Creator and Forefather, Aastineus, as well as descendant of the dragon queen, Mautra,  rose slowly and shakily to his feet and propped himself upon the Staff of Ancients.
        "Thank you for your help, old friend," Starlangof said as he twisted the space around Sh'gar and sent the centaur back to the Highlands to be tended by the physicians in the High Council's Sanctum.
        "As for you, druidihar,"  continued Starlangof in an icy voice.  "I do not take kindly towards attacks on my friends."  The staff flared bright, blinding the drow lord and causing physical pain to the creature of darkness.  Meleketh, arms raised over his light-sensitive eyes, backed away from the damaging brightness until his back met the wall.  There he melted backwards into his shadow and was gone from the scene of the battle.
        Starlangof turned to Judeo, a sad resolve in his eyes.  "And what of you, old friend?  I had wondered what became of you these past few months, after you had made plans to go to Galtos-frey.  I had prayed that no ill would come to you, Johuo.  This is who you are, correct?  My old friend, the Mastercraftsman Johuo, necromancer and councilman on the High Council."
        Judeo regarded Starlangof with hatred burning from his eyes, the mist of his form agitated and spreading outwards from the dark burlap robes which defined his being.
        "I am only Judeo, the Apostate.  Once I served other gods, but no longer.  Now I serve only my one, true master, Necronus the Undead, who lies entombed in the wastelands of the prison moon of Galtos-frey, placed there by your beloved Forefather.  I am sent here to free him by spilling the blood which binds him.  I am sent to spill the blood of the Draconian line and you are its patriarch.  To your grave, old man!"
        The shouted words marked the beginning of the battle which ensued as both masters of the magic arts dueled in the throne room of the castle, attempting to destroy, drive mad or wear down his opponent.  The battle was quick and intense and quickly ended.
        Starlangof was rooted to one spot as gravity held him down and the reality of his being was bent and twisted, agony contorting his face as Judeo's power attempted to rip the king limb from limb.  Starlangof maintained his wholeness more by unthinking will than by conscious thought.
        The Staff of Ancients was ripped from his hand and went flying into that of Judeo's.  As the wood of the staff touched the misty fingers of Judeo the softly shining light of the wood became dark, fading into black, still shining with inner power, but twisted by the touch of the apostate.
        Starlangof was released from the spell that threatened to rip apart his being.  The aged man crumpled to the floor and lay still, his breath barely audible in his own ears.  All of his strength was spent; there were hardly any more spells to call upon and no power to erect those spells.  He had lost to the creature of darkness.  There were only two things left for him, death or flight.
        Judeo strode close to the fallen wizard and looked down at him.  "It is over, old man.  The injustice done to my master is about to be repaid.  And once your blood has soaked the earth, drunk by my master, and your flesh cut from your body as a trophy for the ages, then your son will follow, and then your grandson.  Then the eternal bonds of Necronus' tomb will be forever broken."
        Starlangof looked up at the darkness that stood over him.  "Darmen," he whispered and then, "Shad."  Sadness filled him as did the pain of loss which centered in his breast and immobilized him more surely than any spell.  "Even the babes shall not be spared the steel of the knife?  Truly your motivation is a wicked one."
        "Waxing poetic in the face of your death, Starlangof?  How like you."
 From the folds of his sleeve Judeo drew a blood-stained kress, long and twisting.  It was fashioned of druirsteel,  forged by the armorsmiths of the druidihar  and anointed with the blood of innocents.  There had been hundreds of distant cousins to the Draconian family.  Judeo and his fellow servants of Necronus had weeded out many of those distant relations in whom the Dragonblood ran thin.  All done discreetly, quietly.  Most of the distant relations were not even known to the main family anymore.
        "Not this night, Judeo.  I will not die by the hands of a friend who has fallen from the graces.  After all, Mautra must be avenged, as well as my children and the children of my lands."
        Starlangof's form faded away, slipping into the wind and nothingness as he took himself to the Highlands and the home that he kept there.  It took the last of his reserves to perform the spell, to fix the location in his mind's eye, and to ward off Judeo's attempts to hold the necromancer in place.
        But Starlangof escaped from under Judeo, though Judeo had won the battle.  Starlangof's escape was a signal that the war was not yet over.  There would be a reckoning one day.  It also meant that Necronus would not be freed this night.  So long as one of Aastineus' direct descendants lived, the dread god of Unlife would not walk free.
        "What now?" queried a cowed Meleketh, still smarting from Starlangof's earlier attack.
        "I have failed," muttered Judeo.  "My master will not be pleased, nor will his other servants be happy with me.  I can only hope that the other two members of the Dragonblood will sate the thirst of my master, if only for a short period of time."
        "We had best find the Grand Citizen and collect the offerings," said Meleketh.  Though insolent to a fault, Meleketh knew when not to cross his lord and master.  This was one such time.  Though exhausted and spent from the battle with the now deposed king of the Dragonlands, Judeo remained powerful, wrathful, and held the Staff of Ancients, which magnified his powers even further.
        "Let us hope Raoul has not failed in his duties," Judeo said.
        Judeo's words were final in their meaning and the drow lord prayed that the Grand Citizen had succeeded where Judeo had failed.
 

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