Chapter One: The Beginning

A blaze of heat of heat hit the young Sindian as he reached the top of the parapet. Even with only his loose robes on, a thin bead of sweat appeared from underneath his white turban. It was unusual for a Sindian to perspire in such a way, but the royal court were an exception and this man was technically a member. But Iksandhar was very different from the Rajah and his pampered sons reclining on pillows below. The Sindian absentmindedly adjusted the sleeves on his robes so that they covered the marks on his upper arms. The blue and green swirls tattooed there revealed him to one of the most powerful mages in the land, while still in his young twenties. So the fact that he sweated was not due to personal weakness but due to the blasting white hot sun which now scorched the land, blighting everything in its sight.

Iksandhar moved swiftly to the edge of the tower to inspect the view that now stretched out below him a hundred miles. His eyes had to adjust to the glare reflected of the white-washed buildings below, but then he could make out the comings and goings of the merchants and their helpers. Beyond that were the town walls, also painted white, and beyond that the farm-lands of his people. The mage shuffled in his robes a bit, and produced a wand from somewhere hidden. Then without a conscious thought he mumbled a few words underneath his breath. Suddenly a scene twenty miles to the north sprang into his field of vision as though it was ten feet away. A young girl shepherded a few goats next to a muddy river. Her bare feet and simple clothing a striking contrast to the jewelled merchants in their colourful robes below him. The fields she tended were poor, only a few tuffs of hardy grass had survived the unseasonably hot weather. And yet this parched valley was once considered one of the most fertile regions of the mumlyket. This was further evidence on how dependent the Kingdom of Sind was on the merchants that plied their trade through the stretches of the desert. They brought in grain from the east and traded for exotic goods. Then they went all the way home and did the opposite. Always the Sindians took their cut and kept their kingdom alive. The wizard followed her actions curiously for a few moments, but then moved his view again. This time he was magically scrying the horizon. Searching to the limits of his power.

Something was definitely there. He knew that it must just be an approaching dust storm, but this grey smudge on the horizon annoyed him as much as the blazing sun. They were out there somewhere! A vast army the likes of which had never been seen before. A huge collection of men and monsters all intent on destroying this land and enslaving its people. The rajahs and generals put all the current raiding and the loss of contact with the kingdoms furthest outposts down to the actions of the barbarian tribesmen. The desert nomads had always been a scourge before, but always disorganized and as prone to fighting each other as attacking the city dwellers they despised. But long hours spent peering into his teacher’s crystal ball had revealed that, somehow, someone had managed to bind the desert nomads together. And worse than that! They were joined with goblins, orcs and worse. This had never happened before: the riders of the desert would have considered allying with these sorts of beasts sacrilege until a year ago. It was this knowledge that had brought the young man home from his studies in Glantri. However, his warnings had fallen on the deaf ears of men who either would not or had been paid not to care.

He knew that his kingdom's armies which were now blindly marching west to “punish the desert men” were doomed to fail. They underestimated their foe, and rode off with pennants flying in search of a quick victory and glory. His friends at their lead had called his warnings the ramblings of a coward. He was afraid; but not of danger. (He’d seen things in his teacher’s chambers which would cause lesser men to crumble.) No, he was afraid that within a month this city of beauty and culture would fall.. Suddenly this gem on the edge of the desert would be in the hands of those who would tear it down and destroy all that generations had worked so hard to create. It could not be this way, the mage thought. There had to be a way to save it all, and he was the one to find it. But first, how to escape the spying eyes of the court which were already almost assuredly in the pay of the enemy . . .

Two thousand miles east and three months later some very different men looked down from their walls into the foggy morning below. They were definitely not of noble birth and had no concern for the fellow countrymen that they saw in the smelly gutters of Specularum below. This was probably fair, since the beggars, thieves and other miscreants of the city felt very much the same about them. Specularum was the capital city of the Duchy of Karmeikos, and it teamed with life and filth. And most of it seemed to be trying to cram into the streets in the cool mid-morning. Through all this pushed an elf of tall stature. He seemed to accept the constant interruptions forced on him by over zealous shopkeepers, and the numerous detours he had to take to get around those loading goods from carts or those just half dead in the gutters. The elf's name was Turadyl, and he had been around humans long enough to learn to accept their follies. Unfortunately they had not learned to accept him, as the looks from some of the locals revealed to him. But this did not stop him making his way through the morning dew to the castle gates in front of him where the soldiers looked down.

The sergeant of the guard was not having a good day, and he knew it would not get better.

"The Duke has really lost it now," he said to the private passing time next to him, "Sending troops to some far-flung corner of the land is one thing. But offering to take volunteers off the street and send them? Half the city would sell their own grandmother for a warm meal, but that doesn't mean they'll make great troops though, does it?" The sergeant rubbed a spot where his chain mail was chaffing him. "Come noon we'll have a horde of cripples invading us and we're just meant to let them in, give them a sword and send them on the next boat west? I don't think so." The soldier's companion wisely choose to remain silent in tacit agreement at this point, knowing that this was the only way he would be allowed to stand around doing nothing.

It was at this point that Turadyl arrived at the open double gates of the keep where the two men stood chatting. He said nothing, merely eyeing them for the few seconds until they realized that they had company. When the sergeant saw him, he gave an involuntary start.

"Elf! What are you doing here?" he asked in a rough tone. "We have no need of craftsman here!"

The elf merely smiled, quickly assessing the man's stance and bearing. Although the large soldier was probably a capable fighter, the elf was confident that he was the superior of the two. "I am here to sell something, but only my skill, not any 'elven-wares'. I'm here to enlist."

The sergeant looked the elf up and down. "We don't have any elves here you know. They don't much seem to like us humans being in charge. If you join you'll be the only one of your kind here" Both the sergeant and his mute companion looked closely for the elf's reaction.

Turadyl paused. "That would be exactly what I'm looking for."

The sergeant broke into a broad but forced grin. "Then sir, you are most welcome here." Looking to the soldier beside him he grumbled, "Show this kind sir over to the recruiting office." Staring back into the elf's eyes he added, "If you please sir."

Turadyl stared back expressionlessly and followed the soldier.

The fog finally submitted to the noon-day sun. As the day grew busier a small line formed in front of the keep, although it was not nearly as large as the sergeant had predicted. Few people were poor enough that they were willing to throw their lives away so flippantly. The call had gone out yesterday for volunteers. Volunteers to travel half way around the world to fight in a land that few had ever heard off before. Someone had invaded the Kingdom of Sind, far to the west. But more importantly this same army was now threatening to invade the Republic of Darokin. The land next to their own Duchy. The logic was simple. If the Republic fell to such a large force, then the Grand Duchy would be next.

But the rumours were scary. It was said that the army was made of men who were born on their horses and loved the desert. That they were bonded to creatures of evil. That trolls and giants travelled with them and ate the flesh of those left on the battle field. Apparently the enemy didn't take prisoners, but did stop for lunch.

If this sort of knowledge affected the man who now rode to the keep through the noisy street, he gave no sign. Those before him moved out of the way or risked getting trampled beneath the arrogant stare of the warrior. A long fringe of brown hair obscured the weather beaten features of a man whose flush of youth had long since been replaced by a hardened visage. The warming sun glinted off his breast-plate into the eyes of those who leapt out of the way of his horse, at least until a few disgruntled shopkeepers tried to throw gutter muck at it.

Rodrick did not concern himself with those below him, in fact he hardly noticed them. He did however make sure that the six foot long bow strapped to his back did remain attached to his pack and didn't go 'wandering' into this den of thieves. He hated this dung heap, but since it was offering work he was here. With his tall well muscled frame he could never be mistaken for anything but a warrior. He had made a living of his skills for many years now.

It was probable that he never even saw the queue at the gate, he certainly didn't respond to the cries of 'queue jumper'. He stormed along the length of the line, and dismounted in one fluid movement taking hold of his horse's reigns. He looked down from his six foot two height to the stocky sergeant in front of him.

"What business have you here?" asked the sergeant in a rough tone.

Spreading his arms, Rodrick looked dramatically at his well worn armour and weapons with a surprised look on his face. "Why... I do believe I'm a soldier!" he said sarcastically. "This is an army isn't it?"

The sergeant looked steady at Rodrick for a second, wondering just what would happen if he sent him to the back of the que. But then, not many volunteers arrived with their own horse, weapons and a full suit of armour. This man was obviously different. The soldier shrugged. "I'll send you to the recruitment office straight away sir," he said and then barked at one of his men behind him. He was soon rewarded with a private scurrying towards him. "Show this gentleman to the recruiting hall." Another man appeared to take care of the warrior's horse.

Rodrick removed his pack and longbow from his horse before letting the soldier lead it away. Hoisting his pack over his shoulder, Rodrick followed the other man to the recruiting office.

Malthus half stumbled through Specularum towards the Garrison. It had been years since his feet had trod the winding streets of Marlinev, or whatever the new leige lord called the city. Unlike the other two unusual visitors of the day, no shopkeepers asked him to inspect their wares and people moved out of his way. It was certainly not his stature that encouraged them to do this. Malthus was only of average height, although lean and muscled. It was something in the man's red-eyed and almost fevered appearance that stopped conversations and made eyes follow him. He moved along in a stumbling gape, not fully aware of those around him. Occasionally a half muttered word escaped his mouth. A few people whispered ‘fever’ or ‘fanatic’ from behind their hands, but none made a move to assist or stop him.

This included those in the line in front of the keep. They merely stared in surprise as the unkempt mad man walked past them to the gate, and decided it would be best not to interfere.

The sergeant did not share this conviction. The large man in chain mail stood directly in the path of the newcomer, arms firmly folded over his chest. Everybody stopped talking and watched to see what would happen next.

"If you want to join you'll have to get to the back of the line. Not that I'd bother. Since we're only sending men abroad, not diseases like you. And when you get to the front of the queue I'll just throw you back into the gutter where you came from."

The man mumbled something incoherently through his beard and moved to step around the soldier.

"Didn’t you hear me old man? Move away before I make you wish you were somewhere else."

Suddenly the grey haired man's chin jerked up, and his crystal blue eyes latched onto the sergeants with such intensity that it hurt. "It is a strong man indeed that would resist Halav's biding. I would had though you wise enough to not be that person." Suddenly Malthus' entire visage changed. It was as though he realized where he was and what he had to do for the first time. A gnarled hand reached beneath his rough shirt and produced a symbol, a hammer, at the end of a chain. As held the symbol high, the sergeant noticed the there was an identical tattoo on the neck of the man's creased flesh. Malthus turned around so that all could see. In a loud and clear voice he boomed, "I am a priest of Halav, doing the God's business. Do any wish to stand in His way?" More than a dozen pairs of eyes suddenly hit the pavement and silence stretched down the street. A few paused to touch at their hearts, clearly also practitioners of the old religion.

Behind him, Malthus' antagonist was suddenly apologetic. "I'm so sorry Father! I had no idea! You are welcome to enter, but perhaps if you told me what you want I could help you quicker?"

"That's simple," replied Malthus with a disarming smile, "I need to join."

Even Turadyl was getting impatient in the large recruiting hall. He thought the army was meant to be efficient, if that was the case this rag-tag bunch of humans had a lot to learn. People had been rushing round all morning. First of all setting up tables and chairs, and then to receive those enlisting. He had been one of the first into the hall, and therefore close to the front of the line when they had started taking names. Off course when he had got to the front they hadn't seemed to know what to do with him. Something about not having authority to enlist 'demi-humans'. Did he ever hate that word!

It was not so much that it was a word which recognized him as being non human. This he accepted and was proud off. It was that the word bound him in with halflings, those weak inhabitants of the fertile Five Shires. And dwarves, those short, gruff, bearded people that should have disappeared off the face of the mountains long ago. Some even included orcs and goblins in the same word! How could he ever live with that?

The humans were slowly working towards taking the names of the riffraff that were straggling in. He went back to the desks but was told that he would have to wait for their commanding officer, who would not be in till later. So the elf sat with an elf’s ageless patients, and availed himself of the simple food and drink provided and asked himself why he even bothered with this race. He knew the answer offcourse. He was no longer welcome at home and the humans were a good way of stopping the loneliness. And they were just so amusing with the way that they rushed into things and never bothered to sit back and think of the consequences.

Take that one for example, Turadyl thought as a large man in plate mail armour walked in. He was a good example of the whole human technique of brute strength over brains. The elf watched as the man strode confidently in and looked at an empty chair nearest to the entrance. Suddenly the man glanced up, just before sitting down, and made eye contact with the elf. Firmly and slowly the man straightened, and then started to walk in Turadyl’s direction.

Although trying not to be judgmental, Turadyl prepared himself for a confrontation. He had been in troubled with these bravos before, but saw little to worry him here. Although the man might be more a match for him physically, he had brought down bigger with the quickness of his sword. And, he thought, an elf always has magic to fall back on. Turadyl did not count himself an expert in such matters, merely a dabbler, but it always managed to tip the scales in his favour in tight spots before. He watched as the warrior closed in from the other side of the room. Fighting him would ditch his chances of getting into the army of course, but Turadyl wasn't too worried about that. The whole joining thing had been a bit of a whim for him, he had only been thinking about it for a week which was extremely quick, and just saw it as a way to get to the west where he had never been before.

Of course, about three chairs either side of Turadyl were free as though locals were scared of catching diseases or something from him. The man sat down in the chair on the elf's direct left.

"I'm surprised to see one of your kind here," the tall man said. "The Duke doesn't normally welcome elves into his forces, although you are all most welcome to live under his protection."

Turadyl wasn't sure how to respond to this. At least the opening wasn't too brutal. "This isn't exactly the Duke's army. And where we are going I think you will be just as much a foreigner as I am."

The man nodded. "I think you are right. But that still doesn't change the fact that you will be alone with a whole heap of humans out there. Have you thought this all through?"

Turadyl grimaced. Maybe he was wrong and it was better to be lonely that to hang around with these insufferable humans. At the moment spending the rest of his life in the forests of his homeland seemed like a good alternative. Perhaps it was time to end this wandering phase of his life. His face must have shown this.

It seemed as though the man sensed the elf's agitation. "Hold on! Hold on! I'm not trying to make decisions for you one way or the other. And if you do come along I would be glad to guard your back. I fought alongside some of your people in Selenica" The fighter shifted uncomfortably in his plate mail and offered his hand. "I'm Rodrick, its good to meet you."

Turadyl was genuinely surprised. He took the other man's hand saying, "I am Turadyl Feadiel, son of Valadyl Faediel, of Feador in Alfheim. You are from the Republic?"

The other man shrugged. "Originally. I started my military training there. But Darokin and I never really agreed on a lot of things. Like the way that wars should be fought. So I started hiring myself out to people who thought more along my lines. Until recently I was in the Freeholds up north, and didn't hear that the Republic was sending troops over till it was too late. I would have gone, after all, its my country we're talking about. I figured catching a boat with the Karameikans was the next quickest way to get there - free."

The elf noticed that Rodrick referred to the Heldan Territories by their old name. They had been conquered for several years now. Clearly this man had been fighting for their independence. A noble cause, but a foolish one since it unlikely that the Heldanic Knights could be forced out now.

He was a little worried about the way this man said that Darokin and he didn't agree on the way to fight wars. Darokin was renowned for the way it handled foreign affairs diplomatically and tried to avoid force. But then it would fit perfectly into the stereotype if this Rodrick didn't agree with these methods. Suddenly Turadyl realized he was now expected to tell something of his own story.

"I am really here by accident. Until a month ago I was first hand on the "Venture", a Minothrad vessel based out of fortress island. That was until recently we were attacked by pirates. We fought them off, but our ship was crippled in the process. By the time we made it to Specularum, the contract had expired on our cargo and our we all suddenly found ourselves out of a job. This just seemed like the quickest way of getting back to sea again. And then there is the chance to see the West. That will be an adventure." Turadyl suddenly stopped when he noticed that the other man was not even paying attention.

"I know that man," Rodrick was muttering to himself. He was staring at a soldier who had just arrived in the room, walking next to some sort of wild man by the look of it. The soldier was dressed in the same garrison garb as everyone else except that there was an intricate gold braid on the cuff of each arm. A scar on the commander's face and his thick set bulk marked him as a warrior. The pair drew nearer. The officer apparently deep in conversation with the wiry grey haired man walking beside him. Turadyl thought the old man looked half crazed, but there was a feeling of power to him. As they drew closer he saw into the man's eyes and recognized the look that is only seen in those who are touched by their gods.

Suddenly Rodrick leapt up, "Karlos! It is you! What are you doing over here? Did you desert?!"

The commander was taken aback, but quickly recovered. "Rodrick! Its good to see you! I thought you had disappeared in to the Freeholds for good!" The man emphasized this with a heartily slap on Rodrick's back which set his armour ringing. "What are you doing waiting out here? Its been years since we left the Chancellor’s service. Come inside to the duty room, we have many things to discuss with the Father here." The soldier motioned to the dishevelled man by his side. "Please come over this way."

"So I was right," thought Turadyl, he is a cleric.

Rodrick got up, and gathered his backpack from beside him. He took a few steps before he remembered his new friend. "Karlos, my companion here needs to be briefed also."

The commander looked back into the elf's eyes with a neutral stare before sliding into a broad grin. "Good! We need more of your kind with us. Please all of you, follow me."

Rodrick stared at Turadyl with a smile that said a little of "that’s-how-you-do-it", then started walking. Rolling his eyes a little, Turadyl picked up his gear and followed him.

The day aged and finally the sun threatened to fall. The line in front of the keep grew and shrunk and by the time the gates were shut at nightfall was gone. By the days end over two hundred souls had pledged to join the Duke's crusade, for better or worse. It was with relief that the sergeant ordered the gates shut and bolted. The day had been long and hard work. He was looking forward to things getting back to normal, and his life being a lot easier. In fact he was about to leave and return to the barracks when a loud knock was heard from the other side of the door. Grumbling, but still responding, the sergeant pulled back the spy hatch and looked outside.

Two darkly robed figures stood in front of him in a street that suddenly appeared to be lightless. One was tall, at least six feet, and appeared to be large framed beneath his dark coverings. The other was significantly shorter and leaner of body. A distinct chill placed itself between the man shoulders. This was just too weird for the end of the day, and he decided to get rid of these two until tomorrow when it would be somebody else's problem.

"The keep is shut for the night sirs," he said politely. "If you come back tomorrow the Duke will be happy to handle any matters you may have to discuss."

The taller one answered. His voice was a broad, deep bass. But in a strange way pleasantly sonorous. "Perhaps we could handle matters now. My comrade and I would like to join the Duke's forces going west. If you would be so kind as to let us in we would like to talk to the commander."

The sergeant stared out at the pair of them. He wondered why he hadn't told them both to leave yet. It had something to do with the tall one's voice. It didn't sound like the voice of someone who wanted to harm him, just someone who wanted to help. And it wasn't as though it would take more than a few seconds to let them in, was there really any harm...?

This was madness! Of course he wasn't going to let them in! "No. No. No!" the sergeant exclaimed shaking his head as though to clear it. "Get a room for the night and come back first thing in the morning. Someone will see you then. We are closed."

He imagined that the tall one straightened a little when he said that. That was too bad. They weren't coming in and that was that. The sergeant heard a grating noise to his left. He looked over, but could see nothing in the twilight. Suddenly he felt something push against his stomach. It was the door! It was opening! The noise to his left was now a screech as he could see the huge beam that secured the door was being lifted by... nothing! The sergeant stumbled back as the gates opened enough for the two figures to enter. Scared senseless, he tried reach for his sword and scream out the alarm at the same time…

Suddenly, the large man locked eyes with him and intoned some word of power, and all thought of alarm vanished. He realized how crazy that would be. A stupid grin appeared on his face as he recognized his friends. "You scared me half to death!" he chided.

The tall mage pushed down his hood as he stepped round the door. His young twenty something features smiled at his new found friend. "I am sorry about that, but I thought you were going to leave us out there all night!" He reached out and brought the smaller robed figure through the doors as well. The small one also pushed back his hood. But he did not look happy to see the friendly sergeant, he looked horrified. The taller mage ignored this. "I am Meltar, and this is my student Alexander." He said by way of introduction. "Please, we don't want to disturb you, friend. Just take us to the recruiting office and you can get to you bed." The sergeant smiled happily and rushed to obey. What a privilege this was!

The young Alexander waited till the sergeant was several feet in front of them before following. The horrified look at gone but there was still a worried look on the teenage face beneath his curly brown hair. "Master! Should you have done that?" He whispered. "He was not an enemy, just a man doing his job."

Meltar sighed and then gave his pupil a sickly sweet smile. His voice oozed confidence and charisma even without magic. "You have much to learn child. Sometimes you have to commit small wrongs to achieve a greater good. This is one thing that this journey will teach you." His face smiled at the boy ten years his junior. "Anyway, I just saved us a night's accommodation costs!"

The office was Spartan but functional. The commander wouldn't let them take their seats until they had introduced themselves. The wild man introduced himself as Malthus, a wandering priest of Halav. Turadyl didn't who he was, but figured he must be moderately important if he could wander around looking delusional and still get taken seriously. Rodrick introduced himself to the cleric in a slightly more arrogant manner than he had used on the elf. "Padre, please tell me. What exactly is your position in the church?"

The wispy bearded man smiled a little while answering, "I am merely Halav's tool my child. Although the council has seen fit to appoint me to the rank of bishop. This is mostly ceremonial of course, as I spend most of my time in the woods."

"The woods," Rodrick queried, "Is there a temple there?"

"The world is Halav's temple. I find more of him with the trees and the animals, and in the honest homes of Halav’s people than sitting in some sewer-like city." Malthus sniffed. "I find that no matter how thick a building's walls are in Specularum, one can always smell the street."

"That's because our streets are also our sewers," Karlos said cheerfully, "Not like Selenica is it my old friend."

"I s'pose the Duke has more important things to consider right now," replied Rodrick, "Like trying to stop his people being eaten by dragons or trolls. City maintenance tends to come a poor second to those kind of considerations."

Karlos smiled, but then looked weary. "I wish you were here on a social call. But you now have even less time that you think. The Padre here was just telling me about a vision Halav gifted him with just recently. Perhaps you could begin again Padre, so that our two friends here can also listen."

"Yes. Of course." replied the cleric. His eyes suddenly clouded as though thinking of a disturbing thought. "My story beings a month ago while visiting some friends of mine in the west of the Westron Woods." Turadyl glanced up at this pronouncement. Not many people had friends in the Westron Woods and he wouldn't have picked this cleric to be one of them. The rough cleric patted his motley beard and continued. "I know the road well, so was both surprised and annoyed with myself when I realized that I had strayed of the path. I found myself in a glade were the sun didn't penetrate the canopy of the green trees above, and the morning fog still hung low on the ground even though it was near mid-day. Thinking to have a rest before I continued on my way, I walked across the glade to sit down at the base of a tree, but I never got there."

The cleric peered out from beneath his wispy grey hair, and continued. "As I reached the middle of the glade a blazing light suddenly struck me from high above. The leaves seemed to part and I suddenly knew that Halav himself was trying to pass a message to me! I stared up, hiding the glare with my hand." Malthus raised his hand up, as though showing his actions on that day. The cleric was obviously mesmerized by his own tale, but Rodrick was not. He looked backwards and forwards at Turadyl and Karlos incredulously.

"It was then that I began to make shapes out in the light. A shape passed across the sun, it was a mountain. Then, out from it came a... a creature. It was terrible. Before my eyes I saw it swallow the sun, till all the light was gone. In the darkness, the hideous darkness that was left behind was a man. But he was not a man, he was a beast. Long teeth, white fangs, wild hair tied back. I knew then that I had to find this man and destroy him. I saw after he was gone trees and green." Malthus looks at the others in the room. "It was then that I passed out. When I came to I was lying on the main road again. Somehow I knew this 'thing' was in the West and it was might duty to find him, and see him gone from this world. I know that if I merely go in that direction that Halav will guide me to find him. So I wandered in almost a daze until I came to this place. It appears that I am meant to journey with you all!"

All the three other people in the room remained silent. It was Rodrick who spoke first. "Were there any mushrooms in the glade?" he asked.

When the cleric looked confused he continued. "This is the biggest load of dwarf-droppings I have ever heard," he simply stated.

Malthus rose quickly to his feet. "I will not have you insulting the guidance of Halav!" he exclaimed with fists clenched. "This message has been given as a warning and you would do well to heed it."

"I'm not saying Halav isn't trying to look after us!" Rodrick placated with open palms, "I'm just saying that you probably didn't see anything at all. The Westron Woods have a strange way of making people seeing things that aren't there. You are more than welcome to come with us and provide your healing skills cleric, but don't come on some sort of wild goose chase."

At that point a fourth person entered the room, although only Turadyl noted him. The elf recognized him as the sergeant that had greeted him downstairs, but something was different. The man's eyes had a slightly glazed look as he called out to get his commander's attention. Suddenly Turadyl felt a prickly sensation grow between his shoulder blades. There was magic involved here! It was then that the elf saw who had followed the soldier into the room.

A tall robed man appeared in the doorway, his hands hidden in the long sleeves of his dark clothes. His hood was drawn, revealing a strong looking face with dark, curly hair. A smile grew on his face as he saw the room’s occupants and he opened his mouth to speak.

Turadyl did not wait for the spell to be cast. With a single movement he rose and mule kicked his chair with the heel of his feet. At the same time he cried out, "Sorcery!". The seat leaped out and headed for the man's startled face. The robed figure had to dodge to one side to avoid being concussed, and that was all the time the elf needed. With the noise of ringing steel, Turadyl's long sword was drawn from its sheath. Within a moment he covered the three strides to the mage, and had his blade at the man's neck.

The sergeant also reached. His actions were a combination of fear for his friend and his natural disliking of elven-kind. He reached down to get his own sword, hoping to slay the elf before he was even noticed. He was never able to draw it though, as Rodrick's gloved fist connected with his chin. One second the soldier was leaping to react, the next he was sleeping on the floor.

By this stage the mage's head was pressed up against the wall, trying to inch his body away from the elven blade. His eyes were wide with fear and his mouth firmly shut. Turadyl was glad to see that he at least had sense enough not to try to speak; that would be the end of him. "Wait!" Cried out a small voice from outside the room, "We're here to help, not hurt you. Please let my teacher go!"

Turadyl looked out of the corner of his eyes at the new figure. He was also robed but of much smaller stature, in both height and girth. His hair was curly, but much fairer than his master's. The look on the boys face expressed his horror, but the elf was not about to take chances. He returned his gaze fully to the taller man. "Speak mage, but don't make it a spell. At the first sound of an incantation you day ends here, very badly"

The dark stranger gulped, and looked around the room. The soldier on the other side of the desk, who was obviously the commander had just managed to arm himself. The other two men were now also armed. When he had entered they had been gripping each others shirts in a way that suggested they had been having a heated discussion just before he came in.

The tall one now had his sword in his hand, while the wild looking one had produced a hammer from underneath his robes. The mage decided to try a small dose of the truth.

"My name is Meltar", gasped the man. "My student and I are both from the Karameikan school of magic. Were we invited here! I can prove it! Please, inside the pocket of my robe is a letter of invitation from the Duke this whole thing was organized a week ago."

Turadyl looked at the man distrustfully. "Rodrick, if you please." The tall fighter looked up from the sleeping sergeant and joined the elf. "How did you know?" He asked as he reached in the mages pocket. "It was the sergeant," replied the elf, "He was smiling at me. When a human does that there's probably mischief afoot. Our friend has him charmed him, isn't that right? "

The mage wriggled and slowly turned his eyes down to look at his old friend now unconscious on the floor. His hands made a slight movement within the folds of his sleeves. "Not anymore," he muttered.

Rodrick raised his eyebrow as he retrieved the letter and passed it onto Karlos. The commander inspected it quickly, noting the seal was intact and then ripped it open. He read for several seconds. "It appears that our guest here is telling the truth. Both he, and his student, are to be going to the west on a military vessel." The soldier passed the letter back to Rodrick for inspection, "This seems to come from pretty high up. You better let him go elf, if you kill him the paperwork I'll have to do will be horrendous."

Turadyl didn't relax for several seconds, and when he did it was slowly. There was something that wasn't right about this man, no matter what his story. Meltar stared down as him as the sword was removed from his neck, then straightened his dark brown robe. The gaze which didn't leave Turadyl's eyes had now gained a mocking tone.

"I will be joining you, as will my student, Alexander." The mage looked disapprovingly outside the room. "Come in boy. The danger is passed now, for all the good you did me." The young man entered the room, and the mage continued while looking down at the sergeant, "I'm sorry to use such methods, but I was worried that if we didn't enter the fort until tomorrow that I was miss the sailing of your next ships. Three of them are sailing tomorrow, aren't they?" The mage queried.

"Yes," replied Karlos, "But that was not meant to be public knowledge. How did you...?"

"The school of magic has ways," replied Meltar. "In any case we shall be boarding in the morning. We have an interest in the disturbances occurring in the West and as you can see the Duke has seen fit to help us with them. I do hope there will be no complications."

Karlos looked to respond, but before he could Rodrick spoke.

"What exact interests do you have in the West?" He asked.

"That," replied the mage with a sickly smile, is something you don't need to know."

The commander now found his chance to speak. "So be it," he declared. "But understand this mage, if you entrance any of my men again you will no longer be welcome on any vessel in the Duchy. And this will apply whether you are one mile from land or one hundred." He stared at Meltar to make his point clear.

The mage replied with another smile. "Understood, and once again you have the School's humblest apologies."

With a sigh the commander summoned some guards to escort the magi to their rooms, and clear out the sergeant. The man, he was assured by Malthus, would wake in the morning with a pounding headache but little else. He also made arrangements for the cleric and Turadyl to be quartered for the evening, which left him alone with Rodrick and a bottle of brandy from the Shires.

"Quite a day," remarked Rodrick. "If this is how a lot of your days are in the army, you would be safer joining me as a mercenary."

The commander scoffed, "Some mercenary. You always fight for the weakest and poorest side. You really do have a lot to learn about economics."

Rodrick smiled, "I like it more that way. Its the only way I can get a challenge these days." Rodrick’s smile faded quickly. "What do you think out chances are? Honestly... The Republic is not set up for this sort of large scale war. You know that. And Karmeikos is too tied up with just protecting what it has here to be able to push its strength any further. Are the stories they say about what is happening out in the desert true?"

Karlos thought a little before answering, "You mean are men and monsters fighting along side against us? I suspect this is true, and I fear it. Never before has such a thing happened. You've seen how hard it is to keep discipline in a human force, now imagine that with orcs in the middle! If it is true there must be some incredible way that they are managing to keep them all together. Their leader must be strong willed and powerful to demand such obedience."

Rodrick sipped his drink, "We live in troubled times. Things are changing. All we can do is flow with the river and try to influence things in the small ways we can."

Karlos did not answer for some time, "It might take more than that this time if we want to survive."

Chapter Two
Back to Book One
Back to the Main Page