Winter's Peace / PART 1

Dedicated to my beautiful Wife.

Thank you for your love and support!

~ C. Rorke Wall

Circa 268 n.t.

Nasalia, Semana

Illette pulled the hood of her fur-lined cloak back from her face and let the frosty air tickle her eyelashes. She took in a deep and refreshing breath and then smiled contentedly. Winter had always been her favorite season, and the peaceful snow covered scene around her could not have been more perfect.

The branches of the quiet pines behind her slightly sagged beneath the thick layer of snow that covered them. Any time a slight breeze would waft past, thousands of tiny snowflakes would leap off the branches and flutter to the ground in a graceful dance.

Above her, pillow-like clouds floated slowly through the clear, crisp, blue sky. And ahead of her, the edge of a cliff dropped off, exposing a breathtaking view of the lowlands below. The entire scene, in every direction, was covered by the delicate blanket of clean, white snow. Shades of chill-blue shared the landscape where shadows hid the ground from the sky.

Illette untied the velvet ribbon that held her soft white cloak in place, and let it slide off her shoulders and fall to the ground. The rich maroon dress she wore still kept her warm enough for the time being. Besides, she didn't mind the cold.

She brought her arms up at her sides and began to twirl around, allowing her mind to lose itself in the memories of her childhood. Around and around she danced. She began to laugh, caught up in the serenity of the moment.

On one of her turns she caught sight of a man on a horse approaching her and she ceased her play.

"Illette?" A tall, broad shouldered man dressed in a thick bear fur, dismounted and strode over to fetch her cloak. "Have you lost your good senses, my child? Put this back on before the cold overcomes you."

Illette obediently turned around and allowed her father, the Count-Palatine Koenraad, to place the cloak back on her shoulders. He mumbled deeply as she retied the ribbon, "...Prancing around in the snow as though you were a child..."

Illette turned back around to face him, and smiled. "I don't know what came over me."

"I do," he replied, and then looked out at the quiet expanse below them. "Winter. You have always loved it so."

"Would you change it about me?" Illette's voice had a smooth tone that was very calming.

Her father reached a hand up to gently run the back of his fingers down one of Illette's auburn locks. "I would change nothing about you, my sweet child."

She laughed. "I am your favorite, aren't I. Admit it!"

He smiled and placed a finger in front of his lips. "Sshh. Tell no one."

Illette turned her head slightly, then, and took in a deep breath. "Do you smell the evergreens, Father? Though covered with snow, the scent escapes still. And this crisp air heightens its distinctness."

Koenraad took a moment to enjoy the silence with his daughter. Then he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and strode back toward his large charger. "I was sent to remind you of the festivities forth coming." He mounted the tall, black stallion. "Your mother would like your help with preparations."

Illette rolled her eyes. "Must I attend?"

"Your constant desire for solitude is unhealthy."

"Solitude has its benefits. But it is not that at all. It is the guest list."

Koenraad's brow furrowed. "The guest list? What is wrong with the guest list?"

"Nothing, but that the names on it make me ill."

"Daughter..." Koenraad scolded. "Do not speak so disgracefully of the members of our class."

Illette sighed and turned around to face the cliff's edge. "Being born into that society wasn't my choice. I would much prefer to have a gala in Ruud."

The Count-Palatine laughed. It was a rich sound that came from deep within his broad belly. "Please do not repeat that near your mother."

Illette spun back around. "But it is true, father. The people down in Ruud, that mother considers so beneath her, are of much greater worth than any of the pompous fools that-"

"Illette!" Koenraad interupted sternly. "It is improper for you to speak in that manner, and I will have no more of it."

She responded to his scolding by looking down at the ground.

Koenraad relaxed his stern expression. "It is a sad truth, my child, but we each have our place in life. Do not fight against yours."

"Yes, father."

"Will you then promise me that you will help your mother with preparations, and also be in attendance at the festivities?"

She nodded.

"Good. Thank you. That is much more becoming of you." He then looked around to find her horse. After he found none, he looked at her in confusion. "Don't tell me that you walked here."

"I did," she responded.

He shook his head. "You are incorrigible, Illette." He then beckoned for her to come to him. "Climb up here with me, then. I will take you back."

"No, father. Thank you, though. I just really would prefer to walk."

Koenraad decided not to push his offer. He nodded in farewell and then turned his charger around. But then he turned back around. "Oh... I nearly forgot. Not that it is a matter of importance... I just thought I would warn you."

"Warn me?"

"Guess whose name just got added to the list you are so fond of."

His daughter shrugged. "I am sure I have no idea."

"Do you remember Druson Madoc?"

Illette stood absolutely still, and her mood turned immediately sour. "Druson Madoc? ...Druson Madoc, the arrogant bully? Druson Madoc, the Rogue of Maerdyn? Druson Madoc, the Blackguard?"

"I thought you would recognize the name."

"When did he get back?" She stomped one foot furiously on the ground. "How did he get back? Shouldn't he have died in battle, or something?"

Koenraad motioned for her to calm down. "Illette, tame your voice. The Trefor's of Maerdyn will soon be able to hear you, if you keep on as you are."

"Aaah!" Illette clenched her fists and stomped again. "I hate Druson Madoc!" She pointed an accusing finger at her father. "And you, knowingly, still made me promise to attend?" She dropped her hand and clenched it into a fist again. "I won't go. I am sorry father, to have to dishonor myself by breaking my promise, but I absolutely will not go."

"Now, Illette, I liked that young man no more than you. He was always looking for trouble, and if I remember correctly, he teased you mercilessly. But that was near four years ago now. He is returning to us with title and land."

"He had a title before he left! Two actually! They were Imbecile and Miscreant!"

"Well, the only title you will be concerned with tonight is Guest," her father retorted. "As I said, I have no care for him, either. But we will act our place, and do so with dignity. Do you understand me, Illette?" He then reiterated by saying, “Our beloved home, Fionn-arleen, has ne’er had a black mark on its honor. And I will not have a daughter of mine ruining that reputation in one night by stabbing a guest at a ball!”

-----

Later that evening, following the preparations, Illette stood at the window in her chambers and stared out at the darkening landscape below. She was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder.

“Mi’lady,” her handmaiden, Nola, said gently. “It is time to go down to the Hall.”

“Already?” Illette sighed and turned away from the window. She then looked at her handmaiden seriously. “I hope you aren’t going to be referring to me as mi’lady all evening.”

“I must. Your mother would be furious if I called you by name in front of the other nobles.” Nola then smiled comfortingly. “Relax. The night will not go on forever.”

“Well, we’re about to find out.”

(TO BE CONTINUED...)

The Village of Pranow / PART 3

Circa 300 n.t.
Dannaar, Ero'ia

Lleu Danson dismounted and gave his old horse a grateful pat on the neck. Next to him, two other men dismounted. They were Povl and Walder, his two recruits from Daelom's Gorge. They weren't locals of this area, which is what Lleu attributed his success to in recruiting them. For if they knew the reputed nature of their quest's destination they would probably not have agreed to come. The pursuit of riches was all they were aware of.

Lleu viewed their surroundings. They stood in an open square. A light drizzle of rain had turned the ground to mud. A Dannan church stood silently to their right; its stone walls were now old and worn. To their left was a squat blacksmith shop. Firelight danced within, and the ring of the blacksmith's hammer echoed off the small, humble, row of homes that dotted either side of a muddy path in front of them. Beside the blacksmith shop was a stable, where a boy could be seen inside, huddling down against a stall-door trying to stay warm.

Lleu pulled his cloak closer about his body and led his horse in the direction of the stable. Behind him Povl and Walder followed.

"Finally we can get out of this rain," Walder grumbled.

Lleu glanced over his shoulder and smiled to see Walder characteristically waddle-walking behind them.

Povl commented, "Not a very lively place is it..."

Walder nodded and said in a low tone, "I don't think they get visitors here very often."

Lleu walked into the stables and nodded to the boy who was now rising to his feet. "Is there room for our horses here?"

The boy brushed straw off his trousers. He looked to be around 14 years old. He wore a fur cap on his head that was pulled down over his ears. He had to push it up a bit in order to get it away from his eyes. "Yes, there's room. And I'll tend to 'em for a silver piece."

Lleu reached into his coin purse and retrieved a coin. As he handed it to the boy he asked, "You wouldn't happen to know a man by the name of Garst, would you?"

"Garst? Of course I know 'im...unfortunately. If only Pranow was bigger. Then maybe he could be avoided."

"Why do you say that?"

"Bad luck, that one." The boy stuffed the coin into a pocket inside his coat.

Povl raised an eyebrow. "Made himself some enemies, has he?"

"Nah... He's the quiet type. Keeps to himself mostly, and never really bothers anybody."

"Then why is he bad luck?" Walder asked.

"He's cursed."

Povl exclaimed, "Cursed?" He spit on the ground and stomped where it landed.

Lleu shook his head in aggravation. "Oh stop your superstitious foolery." He looked back at the boy. "Can you just tell us where we can find him?"

"And where can we find some food and a bed?" Walder added.

The stable boy pointed the direction of the row of houses outside. "Next house down, across the road, is Marny's place. She has extra rooms that she lets people stay in, as long as they aren't Demrians."

"Sounds like a good woman," commented Walder.

Lleu shook his head again.

The boy continued, "As for Garst, he's got a small place on the other side of town, past the graveyard. You can't miss it. It's the only one out there."

"Thankyou." Lleu handed the boy another silver coin, and then pulled up the hood of his cloak before going back out into the cold drizzle.

---

Lleu rode along the muddy road alone, his pace slow. Behind him was Pranow. Ahead of him was the graveyard, situated on a short hill, with the edge of a dark forest just beyond. And all around him mist was rising up from the ground. It had stopped raining, and now the evening was quiet and still.

Lleu pulled gently on the reigns and his mare stopped. The setting made him feel leery, and the proximity of the giant Hon-abrel Mountains ahead only added to his unease.

Gathering his wits again he nudged his horse onward. "Let's go, girl."

The shack at the end of the road was barely fit to live in. It was situated right into the forest without any clearing around its perimeter. Various furs hung from its walls, and animal bones littered the ground in front. As Lleu approached, some sort of furry creature rose to its feet at the entrance of the shack and stared at him intensely.

It was some sort of large cat, as best as he could tell. He had seen mountain cats that were the size of dogs, but this one before him stood almost three and a half feet tall at its muscled shoulder blades. It was long, too, but Lleu couldn't tell just how long from his current position.

A low growl began rumbling from the large cat's throat. Lleu immediately pulled on the reigns, afraid to go any further. It was then that a man stepped through the doorway to place a calm hand on the cat. The growl ceased, but the intense stare did not.

"Who are you?" the man asked. He was tall and broad shouldered. His hair was dark, shaggy, and unkempt, and his jaw was covered with coarse stubble. He wore animal hide trousers and fur-lined, muddy boots. His tunic was also made from sewn together hides. He wore no coat, despite the chill in the air, and the sleeves of his tunic were rolled up as though he had been working at something. "Do you not speak?" the man asked after a brief silence.

Lleu stammered, "I- I am sorry. Forgive me- My name is Lleu Danson, and I am looking for Garst."

"I am Garst," replied the man.

(TO BE CONTINUED...)

The Village of Pranow / PART 2

Circa 300 n.t.
Dannaar, Ero'ia

Lleu Danson pushed open the front door of a shoppe in the old, and cold, town of Daelom's Gorge. The bell chimed, alerting the shopkeeper of Lleu's presence.

The shopkeeper, Hamund Jahnson, rose up from his chair behind the counter and greeted his customer with a nod. "Can I interest you in a new axe, or spade? I just got in some fine tools."

"I am not interested in buying anything today."

Hamund tucked his thumbs into his belt. "Then what can I do for you?"

Lleu sat a knapsack on the counter and unbuckled the strap. "I might have something you are interested in." He flipped back the flap and reached inside.

When he brought his hand back out he was holding a silver necklace of delicate workmanship. The shopkeeper leaned against the counter to get a closer look. Lleu laid it down in front of him.

The shopkeeper noticed thin veins of crystal running through the small silver links. He looked up and asked, "May I pick it up?"

"Of course."

Hamund touched the necklace and commented as he lifted it upward, "It is cold...so very cold. Have you been storing this in a snow bank?"

"I have not. It has felt like that the entire time it has been in my possession."

"Marvelous work..." Hamund turned the necklace over in his hands. There was no pendant, only a band consisting of tiny, diamond-shaped links. Intricate designs of an unfamiliar style had been carved into the surfaces of the links. "From where does it come?"

Lleu shrugged his shoulders. "I was hoping that you would be able to tell me."

"You mean you do not know?"

"Two days ago I fished it out of Daelom's River, just a mile south of here."

The plump shopkeeper turned around to retrieve a glass that would magnify his view of the necklace. "Out of Daeloms' River, eh? That explains how cold it is."

Lleu shook his head. "Perhaps you did not hear me. I drew it out of the river two days ago." He pointed his finger at one of the links and its crystal-like veins. "I don't believe these veins are made of crystal. I believe that they are actually made of ice."

Hamund looked up from his magnifying glass and raised an eyebrow, but then promptly looked back down to see for himself. Through the magnified view he could see the clear veins with detail. He slowly shook his head in disbelief as he identified tiny fingers of frost reaching out from one of the veins. He bent his head lower and breathed slowly onto the necklace. The frost melted away, leaving a hint of moisture on the links. But as his breath ended, the frost immediately began creeping out from the icy veins again.

"Amazing..." the shopkeeper whispered. He gently placed the necklace back on the counter and then stood up straight.

Lleu said to him, "I have only been in this town for a week, and so have told no one of my discovery. Honestly, I just haven't trusted anyone yet. But you are reputed to be an honest man, as well as an intelligent man. I am hoping that I can trust you."

Hamund could tell, from the tone in Lleu's voice, that there was a plan behind his visit to this shoppe this day. "You believe there are more pieces like this, and intend to find their source."

Lleu placed his hands on the counter and leaned forward excitedly. "I am not a fool. I know that this necklace is worth a great deal. And its workmanship cannot be singular. It appears to be a cultural piece...belonging to some long lost civilization, I am sure."

Hamund folded his arms across his chest. "A long lost civilization, perhaps. But you found this necklace in Daelom's River."

"And?"

"That means it came from the Hon-abrel Mountains. That means your lost civilization is to be found in the Hon-abrel Mountains."

"And your family, having resided in Daelom for generations, is said to know this area better than anyone-"

"But not the Hon-abrels."

"How can that be? The mountains loom over this town's very doorstep!"

The shopkeeper shook his head. "You are obviously not from anywhere near here."

"I am not," Lleu stated. "I am from Riversburg. But what of it?"

"Simply put, there are beasts in those mountains... monstrous beasts. It is dangerous and harsh enough just living at the base of these giant mountains, let alone risking all we work for to venture into their forests." Hamund pushed the necklace back toward Lleu. "I am sorry. I appreciate you coming here today, but I neither have the money to buy this from you, nor the desire to risk losing my family and my business. Men who go into the Hon-abrels don't come out."

"Lleu looked down at the necklace. "Monstrous beasts you say? Well I say that is superstitious nonsense." The disappointment of being rejected was visible in his expression.

Hamund offered, "Do not lose heart. Your situation is far from bleak." He laughed. "Truthfully, I envy you. You can take this necklace to Alidaan and sell it for more that what I profit in a year!"

Lleu did not look encouraged. "I admit that the idea of how much it could be worth has me excited, but there is more to it." He took the necklace and placed it back in his knapsack. For a moment, he did nothing more. He simply stood before the shopkeeper in silence. Then he said, "Perhaps I am too much a dreamer..." He paused to hang his knapsack over his shoulder, and then said in a lighter tone, "I suppose the necklace has awakened my boyhood curiosities and need for adventure again."

"There is more to it than that, though, isn't there."

Lleu looked at the shopkeeper almost sadly. "Do you ever ask yourself, 'What has my life been worth?'" He then sighed. "I have accomplished nothing, and I don't want to die...meaningless."

Hamund thought about the other's words for a short time. "I would not feel right with myself if I encouraged you to run off into those mountains, for my opinion is still that no good can come from it. But..." He paused while he debated whether or not to continue. "If you are determined, then perhaps I could at least point you in a more successful direction. There is a village called Pranow not far from here. Do you know of it?"

Lleu nodded. "I have heard of it."

"Go to Pranow and ask for a man by the name of Garst. He is the only one I know of that has gone into the Hon-abrels and come out again. And not just once. As I understand it, he lost a close friend to those mountains over a decade ago. He has been obsessed with finding that friend, refusing to believe he is dead. The poor fool lives a sad life, and he is doomed to die without ever seeing his friend again. But his wreckless disregard for his own life could prove useful to you, for he knows the Hon-abrels better than anyone."

Hope reappeared in Lleu's eyes. "Garst was his name?"

"The south road will take you to Pranow. The village is no more than a day's ride from here."

(TO BE CONTINUED...)

One Man to Bring Down Many / PART 1

Circa 195 n.t.

Zarognia, Brunity

In 194 n.t., King Breggon of Zarognia banished a man by the name of Ditrik Borzlan to the Mountains of Zarg. His specific crime to deserve such a punishment is unknown to most, but what is known is that Ditrik was a hateful and vindictive individual. Upon being released from his chains and left behind in the unforgiving Mountains of Zarg, Ditrik immediately journeyed north to the warlike city-state of Belosk. There he revealed the weaknesses of his mighty kingdom to the oppugnant warlord, Grulgar Guusdan, and his obese brother, Ondrei.

Grulgar, having watched the prospering kingdom to the south with covetous eyes, called forth his barbaric army and marched across the Edgard Bridge. Within a week they had laid two towns to waste, and left them in charred ruins. Rogan ships, docked at the town of Oszkaar, were used to take the barbaric horde down the Skie River, bringing them to the doorstep of Zarognofe, the Rogan's beloved capital on the island of Falrelv.

King Breggon led the defense, but when Grulgar's army proved to be far more aggressive than the Rogan king could stand up against, he retreated into Castle Falrelv...

Inside waited the traitor, Ditrik. King Breggon's son, Perion, watched from the top of a flight of stairs as his father was stabbed to death by the loathsome "Borzlan Fiend".

Prince Perion, a brawny young man of twenty years, was about to leap at his father's murderer, but was pulled back by his good friend, the Archduke Jaromir Ryszard. Chaos ensued as the horde from Belosk charged into the Castle Falrelv. Perion escaped with Jaromir's aid. But to where, no one knows but Jaromir, and the years of dungeon life since have not yet dragged the secret from him.

Six years later, two peasants stand at the head of an army. Vadik Stanslov and Rurik Peytr do not know if the true heir of Zarognia still lives, but they will overthrow the cruel Grulgar... or die trying. With luck, they will free the Archduke and learn of the heir's whereabouts. Zarognia will be free again, and peace will be restored.
But Rurik is losing hope, and his wounds have made him weak. They have won every battle thus far, but the fighting has always been at locations of their choosing, on grounds unfamiliar to the invaders. Now they stand on the shores of Lake Zarognofe, with their capital and Castle Falrelv on an island a great distance into the lake.
Their army currently hacks away at the forest behind them in order to construct ships, but Rurik fears the fortifications of Falrelv. He is not sure he wants this fight anymore.

Beside him stands Vadik...determined as ever.

(TO BE CONTINUED...)

Villa Gregoria

Circa 274 n.t.
Disaeylah, Chairgo

Dysis sat idly on a wooden bench that had been built into the arched entryway that allowed access into the farm behind her. She stared out at the rolling hills beyond their walls. The scene was almost hypnotic... Not a tree was to be seen, just a dusty road winding its way through the tall grasses of this open land she was now to call home. A gentle wind sent ripples, like waves, through the expanse of grass blades. A few thin clouds floated in the sky, seemingly enjoying the warmth as much as she.

The sound of her aunt's voice interrupted her trance. Dysis turned her head in the direction of the villa to see if she was needed. Enora, her aunt, stood just outside the atrium underneath a marble archway, calling to someone other than Dysis. Her view was cut off by the entryway she sat in, so couldn't see who. It didn't seem terribly important, though, so she allowed herself to relax again. She pulled her legs up so that she could rest her chin on her knees.

Despite being several miles from any towns, the Villa Gregoria was luxurious. It was technically a farm, and signs of this fact were still apparent, but it had been owned by House Hirdalio for many generations. It was now a very lucrative business, and beyond the walls of the estate it operated on a relatively large scale. Dysis knew, without having to see them, that several servants on the other side of the villa were at that very moment hustling about amongst the stables and pig pens performing their various duties. And then perhaps a hundred more servants were currently beyond the walls working the fields, mostly harvesting wheat this time of year.

Dysis admired her aunt for managing everything so effectively. Enora was a precise and decisive woman, and she never shied away from hard work. Though, one might not believe it if they saw her. She maintained an elegance that was worthy of the Emperor's court. Dysis thought the woman was gorgeous. And it wasn't just because of her outward appearance. Her Aunt Enora was a gracious Lady, a pleasant hostess, and an attentive mother. Dysis liked to think that if her own mother were still alive that she would be just like Enora.

Concerning her uncle, the Tribune Feryx, Dysis had not yet had an opportunity to get to know him very well. He was frequently traveling away from the estate on imperial business and she had only been there for a month. In fact, it was only a few days ago that Dysis had met him for the first time. During her entire stay thus far he had been gone... fighting in a war that Dysis knew only a little about... a war that had taken her father from her and left her truly alone...

She pushed the feelings of loss and loneliness back down to where she hoped to eventually imprison them. She distracted her thoughts by watching her aunt. By this time Sefrono, Feryx and Enora's son, entered the scene. It was apparently to him that she had been calling. After a few words that Dysis could not hear, Sefrono left his mother and headed in her direction.

He waved at her as he approached, and called to her, "I have to go 'fetch' my father. Care to join?"

Dysis twisted in her seat and lowered her feet back to the ground. "Do you know where he is?"

Sefrono shrugged. "No...not exactly. But I have a guess that I am fairly confident in."

He was now near enough to her to extend his hand toward her and help her stand up. Dysis impulsively brushed herself off and straightened the fabric of her stola. Her cousin waited patiently beside her.

Even though they were not brother and sister, Sefrono and Dysis could have passed as such. They were both nearly sixteen years of age, had typical L'disian blonde hair (despite their Dessane heritage) with blue eyes, and very tan complexions (their more Dessane-dominant characteristic).

"And where will this guess be taking us?" Dysis asked her cousin.

"Oh, don't worry. I think you will like it."

-----

A half hour later Sefrono reigned in his horse and Dysis followed suite. Ahead of them was the remains of an old fortress. The ground around its base was flat with relatively little vegetation, which contrasted greatly with the tall grass of the rolling hills around the area. Rocks and rubble were scattered around the area and patches of moss covered their surfaces.

Dysis assumed that the ruins must have been an important location during its time because it was a large structure. None of the towers' roofs remained, and nearly the entire west wing had completely collapsed. But other than a few more signs of degeneration, the fortress still stood intact.

Dysis did not have to ask to know that a battle took place here. It still surprised her, though, when she looked down at the ground and saw the skeletal remains of a man. A large, oval shield covered most of the skeleton, but the rusted armor was still easily identifiable - he had been a Yuaelan soldier. Other boney remains lay scattered on the ground to the west.

"What is this site?" Dysis asked.

Sefrono responded, "Khriselon."

Dysis pulled on the reigns to stop her mare. "Khriselon? I had no idea that you lived so close."

Sefrono nodded and then said, "I frequently find father here."

They made their way to a portion of the ruins where they could enter with their horses. Dysis looked about her and decided that they were in what must have been a dining room. The ceiling had caved in at the far end of the room, revealing a soldier's quarters above. Sefrono nudged his stallion back into a walk and they left the room to follow a dim corridor toward the center of the fortress. They passed through occasional rays of light that streamed down through cracks in the ceiling above them.

They exited the corridor and stepped out into an open courtyard. The inner walls of the structure rose up around them, except to their left, where the rubble of the west wing began. To their right, a grey stallion grazed on the short layer of grass that covered the ground. It was Sefrono's father's horse, but the Tribune was not in sight.

They dismounted and Sefrono pointed toward some stairs directly ahead of them. "This way."

After going up two flights of stairs Dysis followed Sefrono out into the open air again. They were now on the ramparts. The Tribune Feryx stood before them, facing the green hills beyond.

When he heard them coming he turned and greeted them with a smile. Dysis felt the pang of sadness that she always felt when she saw her uncle. He resembled her own father so closely that she could barely tell him apart from the man in her memories.

"What brings the two of you to this solemn place?" the Tribune asked softly.

"Mother sent us." Sefrono answered.

His father nodded and looked up at the sun. "The afternoon is nearly gone. I suppose I should have headed back long ago."

Sefrono stepped over to the waist-high wall of the ramparts and leaned over to drop a pebble over the edge. "That is alright," he said, "I wanted a chance to bring Dysis here anyway."

Feryx looked at Dysis. "Have you not visited this site as yet?"

Dysis shook her head.

"Well then, let me welcome you to Khriselon." He indicated that he wanted her to stand beside him, and then turned back around to continue staring out across the land of Disaeylah.

Dysis commented as she stood next to him, "A great victory was won here. Why the ruins?"

Feryx leaned forward, placing his forearms on the stone of the short wall. "History calls it a great victory..."

"Was it not?"

Feryx looked over at her, and for a moment he gazed at her thoughtfully. She could not interpret the expression, but it hinted at sorrow. At last he responded quietly, "Victory is an ideal."

Sefrono walked over to where they were and leaned onto the wall, copying his father. "Mother says that we just had another victory. That is why you got to come home."

Feryx conceded, "We prevailed in our attempt to stop the Nasalics, and in so doing ended the Daran War." He was quiet for a moment. "I guess that is victory."

"Hundreds of lives have been saved," Sefrono added.

Feryx looked again at Dysis. "Yes, but hundreds of lives had already lost."

Dysis clenched her fists. "We should not have stopped at Cathgily! We should be marching through Nasalia even now, making them pay for those lives!"

"I understand why you feel that way," Feryx said gently. He placed his hand on her shoulder. "You do not grieve alone, dear niece... I lost a brother when you lost a father."

Dysis glanced up into his sympathetic gaze. "...But?"

"But you cannot replace the loneliness in your heart with hatred."

Sefrono stated, "The Nasalics are worthy of our disdain. They-"

He didn't get a chance to finish. His father spun around and took hold of his Sefrono's arm sternly. "Where did you get such a notion? It shames me to hear such a remark out of you. The Nasalics are an ancient and noble people. I cannot express to you in words the pain that I felt inside," he released his son and placed his clenched fist against his chest, "every time I had to raise my sword against them."

"They were going to invade Moriant, our ally."

Feryx shook his head. "Son, do not make assumptions based on ignorance." He softened the tone of his voice. "We will talk more about this, but not now. Just trust my word," he turned back around to face Dysis as he finished talking, "and know that our conflict with the Knights of Nasalia is over. They should not be considered 'enemies' anymore."

"Yes, father," Sefrono responded humbly.

But Dysis remained quiet for a moment. She looked out at the waves of grass bending to the power of the invisible wind. Finally she asked, "Is it true that the battlefield, the Field of Cathgily, will soon be covered with flowers?"

Feryx nodded. "A rare Saerith Rose was planted in the place of every man that fell that day. A blue rose for every Nasalic, and a white rose for every L'disian."

"Where will my father's rose grow?"

Feryx hesitated, and for a moment he considered not answering. But then he said, "Underneath a lone Piri Tree at the center of the field."

Sefrono quietly dismissed himself. "I will be waiting with the horses," he said.

Feryx then reached into his tunic and withdrew a necklace with a dangling silver pendant. "He wanted me to give this to you."

Dysis accepted it and stared down at the pendant in her palm. Delicate carvings of an unfamiliar style adorned its surface. She lifted it closer to her face, and then noticed the small clasp on its side.

She opened it, and inside was a note...

The Village of Pranow / PART 1

Dannaar, Ero'ia

Situated against the base of the giant Hon-abrel Mountains was a goat herders' village called Pranow. It was cold most of the year round, and blizzards were frequently heard screaming through the nearby ravines of the foreboding mountains. The villagers stayed clear of the Hon-abrels because blizzards were not all that terrorized within. In fact, there were none as yet who had ventured even beyond the lowest grazing fields just beyond the village. Even the bravest of men were quickly deterred when they were pointed out the large wolves (or as the villagers called them, "direwolves") that would come down to stalk the forest at the edges of those far fields.

There was no need to venture into those reaches... the goats got all that they needed here, the farming was good not far away, and the hunting they did in the woods just north of them satisfied their needs.

---

Circa 287 n.t.
Dannaar, Ero'ia

Garst, a boy of 12, was hunched down behind a pranorn bush and peered through its pale leaves at a grove of trees beyond. He was slightly annoyed by the "babbling" of the brook that flowed beside him. It drowned out the subtle noises he listened for. Then there it was! The branch of one of the trees ahead of him shifted up and down. Garst tightened his grip on his wooden sword, and then crawled around his bush.

A branch lower down shifted and so Garst paused. He wished that the leaves of the tree were not so thick, so that he could better see his opponent. He hated that he did not know whether or not he also was being watched. After a brief moment the boy continued his crawl forward.

Suddenly, there was a loud snap! The sound was immediately followed by a yelp and then several cracks! Garst jumped to his feet and yelled his battle-cry as his opponent crashed to the ground.

"Defend yourself, Keftin!" shouted Garst as he charged forward.

The opponent, another boy of 12, curled himself into a ball. Garst smacked him once with his wooden sword.

"Ouch!" Keftin reached out in search of his own weapon. "Unfair! Unfair attack!"

Garst smacked the outstretched hand. Keftin promptly snatched it back.

"Unfair, I said!" Keftin shouted again.

Garst held his sword at the ready. "I told you to defend yourself."

"I just fell out of this blasted tree, you cur!" Keftin sat up and rubbed his sore hand. His shaggy blonde hair hid his eyes as he bent his head and examined his injuries.

"War doesn't stop for fools who fall out of trees." Garst let his weapon hang limply by his side. "If anything, you deserve to die first."

Keftin looked up and flashed his darker haired friend a sarcastic smile. He then winced and said painfully, "I think I pierced a lung."

Garst, the taller of the two friends, reached a hand toward Keftin to help him up. "That is ridiculous. If you had, you would be shriveling up as we speak, and I don't see any shriveling."

"Shriveling?"

"Of course. All your air would be escaping out, leaving you an empty husk."

"And they call us Demrians crazy..." Keftin accepted the help up and then brushed off the little twigs that still clung to him.

Garst stuck his wooden sword through his belt. A thought suddenly came to him. "Hey, we aren't very far from the cave, are we?"

"The Cave of the One-Eyed Troll?" Keftin looked suspiciously at his friend. "Garst, no."

"Oh come on. Don't be so craven."

"I'm not being craven." Keftin defended. "The last time you dragged me there... Oh I don't even want to talk about it." He started walking the direction of the village. "Not to mention that the cave lies deep in The Forest."

Garst remained where he stood. "Hardly 'deep'. It is barely a stone's throw."

Keftin whirled around. "We aren't supposed to go in there!"

The two boys crept slowly toward the entrance to the cave. Keftin glanced around him nervously.

"You're cowardice is going to bring us bad luck." Garst whispered harshly.

"Bad luck is the only companion to those who enter The Forest," Keftin retorted.

They stopped at the 7ft tall entrance to the cave. They lowered themselves onto their bellies and peered into the darkness.

"If our moms knew where we were right now..."

Garst laughed and patted his friend's shoulder. "But think, we will become legends when we return with Blacksmith Jon's mule."

Keftin muttered, "I really don't think that ole' troll kept the mule as a pet, Garst."

"We'll get its bones, then. Either way, it will make us the most talked about boys in all of Dannaar."

An eerie sound, which the boys interpreted as a groan, echoed out of the depths of the cave.

"That's it..." Keftin pushed himself up to leave. "I am going." Just then a something cracked. The sound stopped him in his tracks. He looked down at his friend. "What was that?"

Garst hopped to his feet. "I don't know."

"Well did you see anything down there?"

"It didn't come from inside the cave."

The sound of a stick snapping in half caused both boys to turn abruptly!

To their right, from between two large coniferous trees, a wolf stepped toward them. The boys were too afraid to move. The wolf was nearly as tall as a horse, and its fur was dark and thick. Shades of dark grey and brown could be identified as the beast paused in a patch of light.

Garst instinctively put his hand on the hilt of his play-weapon.

A strange feeling came over Keftin, calming him somehow. He looked over at his terrified friend and said, "Run, Garst."

Garst didn't take his eyes off the beast in front of them. "We will both run... We will make for the Juneg Tree and climb as high as we can... someone will-"

"No, Garst." Keftin said sternly. "We will not both make it. You must run... all the way. Don't stop until you reach Pranow."

Garst looked over at his friend in anguish. "What are you saying?" The expression of resolution he saw on Keftin's face made him even more afraid.

The wolf's jaws parted and a low growl rumbled out of its throat.

"Run, Garst... RUN!"

The beast leapt forward.

Garst's heart skipped a beat and he impulsively bolted into a run. His destination, the village was all he could think about. "Keep up with me, Keftin!" he shouted as he ran. "Don't stop, Keftin!"

Behind him, he heard a scream. His heart leapt into his throat. He jerked to a halt and spun around.

Keftin pounded the beast with clenched fists, but his struggle was in vain. The oversized wolf took hold of one of the boy's legs in its jaws and roughly dragged the boy backward.

"NO!!!" Garst cried! He fell to his knees as he watched the beast jump into a run and disappear into the depths of the forest.

Introduction to TaeAra

TaeAra is just one of eight worlds rotating around the binary stars, Tyrenollo and Stelunops (Ali'fantasea Solar System). In size, it is slightly smaller than Earth. Two moons, Ceiphra and Pirveos, orbit her atmosphere. Ceiphra has thick rings and is an intimidating sight in the night sky for those who have never before visited TaeAra.

Numerous civilizations exist here, but two stand out foremost above the others. These are rivaling empires that originated as one. They are the L'disians of the I'landisan Empire, and the Yuaelans of the Yuaelan Empire. Many lives on TaeAra have been affected by these two super-powers. As a result, these Empires will frequently be named in many of the stories, etc, given hereafter. Having said so though, there are still many mysterious, exotic, and distant lands that hold their own stories entirely unaffected by the dominance of the super-powers.

You will come to experience a little of all the above mentioned as you journey through the posts of this blog...

~ C. Rorke Wall

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Pronunciations:

Ali'fantasea {al'ih'fan'tay'shuh}

Ceiphra {see'fruh}

I'landisan {I'lan'diss'un}

L'disian {luh'diss'ee'un}

Pirveos {peer'vee'o'ss}

Stelunops {stel'un'op'ss}

TaeAra {tay'ah'ruh}

Tyrenollo {teer'en'oh'lo}

Yuaelan {yew'el'un}

***

Email me: author.c.rorke@gmail.com