Chapter XIII Commercial: Reckoning

Chapter XII Commercial: Journey to the End

Chapter XI: For the Love of a Woman

ic thought to himself that today he would die.

It was clear that he'd finally gotten himself into a mess that he would not be able to get out of. There would be no magical fixes... no eagles whisking him off into the sky... no magic smoke created from Wolfric to mask his escape. Whatever fate beheld him today, he would stand and face it like a man.
Strangely enough, he knew that if he had been given the opportunity to escape, he would not have accepted it. For he could think of no better reason than to die for the one he loved.


What's become of me? He wondered to himself. Once I was a nobody.. a drunk and a scoundrel. Like Wyveryn. With no hope and no one I cared about. Now? She's changed me. She's made things matter that didn't matter before. And if I walked away from this today just to save my life, I wouldn't want a life without her.

It was such a shocking realization that he almost didn't notice when the door of the cell opened. In came one of the higher ranked guards. He stood in the doorway and nodded his head to everyone in the room, then his eyes rested upon Tic.

"You're much smaller than the man you fight today."

"I know." Said Tic matter-of-factly.

"It is likely that you will lose."

"I know." It didn't help to hear it.

"Is there any way we can get him out of this? That I could fight in his place?" Asked Aeroth.

"I'm afraid you do not understand our customs. The one who challenges the husband is the one who vies for the lady's hand. There can be no other way. I thought to come here and inform you of what to expect. The Lady Aurora... I have known her since I was boy. She has always been kind to me. I owe her this much. For if you fail today, it will be both your heads on the chopping block."

Tic's face went white.

"The Bretnach will cheat." Continued the guard. "But if you cheat, they will execute you. Because he is their leader and he is one of them, they tend to... turn a blind eye to his "techniques". You should be prepared for whatever comes your way. For should he come at you with magic, you must not break the rules or they will call the tournament in his favor."

"Great." Said Tic.

"This is sounding better and better as we go along." Wyveryn muttered under his breath.

"You must not kill your opponent. But again, if he should accidentally kill you, then likely they will look at it as a justice being done. You are, after all, an outsider."

"I'm getting that impression..." said Tic.

"No striking directly below the belt or above the neck. Hand to hand combat only. No magic. The Mach Ronans hate magic."

"We gathered that." Said Aeroth.

"And the Bretnach... he is one of our best fighters. And a large man at that. He will tower over you. You'll have to be quick and you'll have to be clever if you're to beat him. In addition, you'll need one more thing."

"What's that?" Tic asked.

"Luck."

Aeroth sighed. "We thank you, soldier, for your information. Would that there were something more that we could do..."

"There isn't. But it seems that the lady's eye favors this young man. And I've learned that can give a man more than an extra surge of strength for when he needs it. And believe me, you shall need it." He glanced behind him at the doorway.

"They'll come for you soon. I was never here."

"Of course." Said Tic, and watched the man go. Suddenly he felt sick to his stomach.

Aeroth laid a hand upon his shoulder. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"And if I don't? They'll kill her."

"Maybe not. Maybe if we--"

"If we what, Aeroth? The seven of us take on the entire Mach Ronan Army all by ourselves? This is the only way and you know it."

"Well, I wish there were something we could do to help you."

"There is," said Tic as he heard the door unlocking again. "Pray."



It was not the guards come to get them, but Aurora herself. She was dressed in a long gray cape, her hood covering her face. But when she revealed herself, they saw that she'd been horribly beaten. Her lip was bloodied, and there were swellings forming on the side of her face. The injustice of it made Tic's blood boil.

"What did he do to you?" He hissed.

"He did what it is his right to do. But I did not come here to talk about that. I came here to apologize to all of you. In our desperate situation, I never thought that bringing you here would jeopardize your own lives. I am so, so sorry for what I have put you through. Please know it was not my intention for things to turn out this way. I have requested that, should I be executed, my dying wish would be to release you. I hope that my wish is headed. And Tic.."

She turned to him, tears brimming her green eyes. "I have something I need to say to you. I would say it in private but... there is no time. And no way for me to get you out of here, even to speak with you for a moment. So I will simply say it. I ran away from this life to find a life of my own choosing... to essentially become a free woman. And eventually... hopefully... to find a man whom I choose and who in turn chooses me. I fear that I have placed you in not only a life-threatening situation, but one which you may feel honor-bound and obligated to see through. I am here to tell you that you are no obligated to me in any way. You are free to do what you will, and that what happens to me is due to my own choices long before I met you. I do not want you to do something foolish just because of my own mistakes..."

"Hush... hush." He took her hand and held it gently in his. "This is of my own choosing. If you are offering me the chance to do what I want, then I choose this.

Know that more than anything in my life, it is clear to me that I want meant for this. So if you came here to talk me out of it, then I'm going to have to ignore you."

Despite her tears, she smiled.



The hillsides of Brón of the Hill thundered that morning. They shook with the tremors of marching feet and a bloodthirsty crowd clapping and shouting. The grass shivered with the vibrations. Everyone waited at the bottom of the hill surrounding the fighting circle. Only the guards left up by the prison cell remain above and away from it all.

Tic was hauled from his cell and shoved down the hill rather harshly. His hands were tied in front of him, perhaps for show. It certainly pleased the crowd. They jeered at his and threw tomatoes at this face. He simply kept his head held high and followed the long winding road down into the valley. There a large circle of stones surrounded a flat space of dirt. Here was where he would fight the Bretnach. And here was where he would probably die.

A tingle on the back of his neck caused him to turn his head and see the distant dais where the Bengar sat at his place. Beside him, heavily guarded, was Aurora. Even from far away, she was still so strikingly beautiful that it caught Tic's breath. The expression on her face was one of suppressed horror. She looked straight at Tic, and he back and her.

To the center of the ring came the Bengar, Aurora’s father. It was
a sign of his power that he silenced the crowd with a mere motion of
his hand.

“Mach Rona, an outsider comes here today to challenge the Bretnach and win the hand of my daughter.”

A chorus of boos rang out over the valley. Tic glanced at Aurora, and her face was like stone. This was not going well for him.

“You know the rules, my countrymen. No blows above the head. You may not kill your opponent. No blows directly below the belt. And absolutely NO magic. This is hand to hand, the strength of a man against the strength of another man. To be pushed outside of the ring is instant loss. The strongest man wins my daughter!”

The crowd cheered.

“Opponents. Approach!”

Tic walked toward Aurora’s father, trying to hold his head high. He was terrified that his knees would give way. And he’d decided to stop looking Aurora’s way, for it was making him lose his nerve. But the moment he locked eyes with the Bretnach, he realized the situation went from grim to impossible.

The first time Tic had seen Aurora’s husband, he was perched on top of an eagle. And then once on land, the Bretnach had been mounted upon a horse. So Tic really hadn’t gotten the full sense of his size. Now, he felt like a dwarf about to take on a giant. Not since Jigger had he seen such a man of immense proportions. It was clear why he was the leader of his people. Mach Ronans revered brute strength, and the Bretnach was undoubtedly unmatched. Tic felt sweat break out over his brow, as he caught villagers passing coins among themselves. He almost laughed. They are taking bets on my life. Like this is some game to them.

The Bretnach spit on the ground before them and sneered at his opponent. He wore no shirt, just a kilt and sandals. And the veins bulged in his arms. Tic found himself staring at them in a sort of hypnotic way, as if they would pop out at any moment and strike him.

“Competitors, do you understand the rules?”

“Aye.” Said the Bretnach.

“Yes.” Said Tic.

“Then all that’s left is to fight. May Tyr have mercy on you both.”
And then the Bretnach raised his hand and dropped it. The fight was to begin.





At first, the giant man toyed with Tic. He laughed heartily as they both sized each other up. The crowd jeered and hollered, passing gold pieces between each other.

“You think you can come to this country and steal my woman? Do you think after me she would welcome a man of your size?”

“I think she would.”

“I beat her senseless last night. I kicked her while she was done. I licked the blood off the corner of her mouth. And you know something? She liked it. She begged for more.”

Tic felt his blood boiling, but said nothing. The Bretnach ran at him but wasn’t able to grasp anything.

“You’re quick. But that will only take you so far.” He lunged again, this time landed a blow to the gut. Tic grunted and rolled to the ground.

The blows kept coming. He would get one in every now and then, but Tic found himself letting his mind wander—as if he were moving into some kind of trance. His thoughts moved to Aurora… the color of her red hair. It was like he was floating through it… as if he were the wind. He thought of her green eyes with specks of blue around the edges. The left one had a flicker of gold in it. He adored that small piece of her. Few knew the real Aurora Bengar. And certainly these people—her countrymen and family—knew her the least.

Tic knew that Aurora was a picture of determination, rarely showing her feelings. Her expression might seem stoic to these people, but he could read her like an open book. Try as she might, she was never able to conceal her true self from him.

He hadn’t noticed it initially, but there was a slight accent to her tone. She flicked her tongue over her bottom teeth, the symptom of a Mach Ronan brogue she’d worked hard to eliminate.

It was these tiny details that had put Tic in this ring today. He didn’t just love the idea of Aurora, he loved her idosincrocies. And more than anything, he loved her enough to save her from this brute, even if that meant forfeiting his own life.

Taking each blow felt like being trampled by a horse. He gasped for a breath but could not find one. He felt bones shifting around in his face, and when a blow landed twice in the same spot, Tic felt as if he wanted to die from the burning pain.

But then, as if experiencing the next moment in slow motion, he saw his first opening. The Bretnach may be a giant barbarian, but he was not quite as fast. The Mach Ronan lunged, and Tic leapt upon him locking him in a choke hold. He felt the giant fighting against him but was unable to loosen his grip. Suddenly the tables seemed to turn. Somewhere, Tic sensed gold pieces being passed back to their original owners. The crowd was surprised by the sudden change events. A few of them even stopped cheering for the Bretnach, and stood in stunned silence.

Hold on, Tic kept telling himself. No matter what he does, if you lose your grip, it will be the end of you. Hold on, Thomas.

The Bretnach flung himself onto the ground, landing with his full weight on Tic.

“Oof!”

Still he did not let go.

He could feel his opponent losing strength, and saw that his face and neck were turning bright red. Not only was he losing air and energy, but his fury was rising. Several times, in an attempt to get Tic off his back, he flung himself to the ground. But to no avail.

And then the rules changed. Tic felt the Bretnach pause for a moment as if to gain his strength. But the next blow was to Tic’s ribcage. From the piercing pain that he felt, he knew it was more than knuckles that had struck him. The Bretnach had donned some kind of small weapon, and had stuck it in the muscles between his ribs. Tic cried out and looking pleadingly to the crowd for someone to call the fight. But just as he’d expected, no one seemed to notice. Or to care.

This was what he’d been warned of. The closer The Bretnach came to losing, the more he would find subtle ways of cheating. But still Tic held on, for it was all he could do. It was likely the only thing keeping him alive.

The Mach Ronan then cheated for the second time. Tic had no idea how he did it, but it happened in the blink of an eye. One moment they were attached to each other, the next moment they were not, and the Bretnach was standing beside him facing him. If Tic didn’t know any better, he would say that his opponent had just teleported. Once again, he searched the expressions on the faces of the crowd, but they merely roared in a collective cheer quite pleased that their favorite was now in a good position. He locked eyes with the Bretnach and knew instantly that he had been duped. No magic in Mach Rona? Tic realized that was a great illusion. Only those of Elladrin blood had the natural capability for teleportation. And this giant man was no Elladrin.

“I’m going to tear you limb from limb, little boy…” said the Bretnach in a jeering manner. His eyes flashed angrily as his hands touched his weakened neck. “When I’m done with you, I’m going to take her and bend her over. I will do things to her that will hurt her. Maybe kill her. But slowly. And painfully. I’m going to enjoy it as much as I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

Tic knew he had to end this match. His strength was depleting rapidly, so speed was of essence now. Once more the Bretnach launched himself at him with a loud outcry. And Tic felt the presence of his father in his mind’s eye.



“There are ways to weaken or even kill a man without so much as picking up a weapon, Thomas.”

They were walking through the Fearwood Forest, returning from a successful hunt. His father’s beard was getting long and overgrown like the wild brush, and his grey eyes were calm and focused like they typically were after a long day of training.

Thomas Flick was eleven summers and growing very tired of being a boy. He loved when his father allowed him to go on the hunt, but was ready to begin his sword training. Allen Flick had made it clear that they would begin with sticks, much to Thomas’s disappointment. Still, whenever his father made it a point to teach, Thomas listened.

And he learned.

“All right. I give in. How can you weaken or kill a man without a weapon?”

“Hold your right hand up, Thomas.”

He did.

“And now your left.”

He held up the other, frowning.

“With just my hands?”

“The hands are the second most important weapon against an opponent. Whether they are wielding a sword or without, they give you your control.”

“What is the most important weapon?”

“The mind.” Allen winked at him.

“Now you’re teasing me.”

“Am I?” His father dropped his bow and arrow, along with the bag full of the hare they had just caught. “Come attack me.”

“Just like that? Attack you?”

“Yes. Strike me in the gut.”

“I’m not going to strike you in the gut!”

“Scared?”

Thomas flushed, and launched himself at his father. He didn’t wish to hurt him, but he would not be called a coward. He thought he moved at lightning speed, but his father was faster. Thomas felt his father grab both his arms, spin him around and pin him against his chest. And the next thing he knew, his neck was pinned with his father’s forearm. In fact, he was completely unable to move.

“If I applied pressure with my hands, I could steal your breath from you. Depending on how long I press, it might cause you to lose consciousness… and all of this without a weapon.” Allen released his son. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Seems like your strength and size were more of a weapon than your mind.”

“Is that was it seemed like, now?” Allen raised his eyebrow. “I will tell you a secret. The truth is if you are clever enough, strength and size have little bearing on the outcome of a fight. Use your mind to outsmart your opponent. Use your hands to attack them where they least expect it. Or just a good old fashioned conk to the head does wonders provided they don’t see it coming.”

Thomas laughed. “Will you show me how you did that then?”

“I will. If you can master it, then I will begin your swordmaster training.”

Thomas’s heart leapt in his chest. “With real swords??”

But Allen just laughed and rustled his son’s hair.

“Don’t push your luck.”



With a single movement, the Mach Ronan whipped Tic over his head so that he landed hard on his back. The blow completely knocked the wind out of him and he gasped unsuccessfully for breath. A cheer rose up from the crowd. More gold was passed between them. He even saw a group of kilted men clapping each other on the back and laughing heartily with mugs of ale in their hands. It made Tic disgusted. Twice now he had been forced to fight for the pleasure of a blood-thirsty audience. First at the Wizard’s Game in Stonehold, now to win the hand of a woman. Only this time, his companions were unable to help him. And he was losing. Badly.

It was as if his father stood behind him, whispering his ear.

“You have to see your opponent’s weakness, Thomas. What is it?”

Tic wiped blood from his nose. “He has none. He’s a fortress!”

“Even a fortress has weaknesses. Look how he leads with his left side…”

Now that he looked, he did indeed see that the Bretnach was left-handed.

“His right side is the weaker. You had the correct idea before, attempting the choke hold. But you hooked yourself to the wrong side. Go for the right…”

“Go for the right…”

At that, when the Bretnach launched his final attack, Tic swerved underneath him and hooked himself like a leech onto his right side. Once again, he took to the choke hold, but his father’s words had been wise… the Bretnach was unable to reach around and attack him from such an angle. He could still throw him to the ground and smother him (which he did on several occasions), but it was reassuring to feel that the man was finally losing strength.

“Tic… Tic… Tic… Tic…”

The chant started from one person in the crowd. Tic couldn’t see who, but the chant spread. The tables were turning, and this time it was in his favor. But if the Bretnach did not fall soon, he knew he would lose his advantage. For he felt his body broken and bruised. He felt the incision in his ribcage where blood was pouring out. He knew his face must look ashen, and that his nose was broken. Every muscle in his body cried out in pain. This would be his final attempt. But if it failed, he would lose the fight. And likely… his life.

Fortunately for him, the Bretnach was in a similar state. So silently, slowly, the air left his lungs and he fell to his knees, and then collapsed into the ground allowing for a cloud of dirt to billow into the air.

Tic wondered for a moment if he was dead. He couldn’t feel his face. And his body refused to let go of the choke hold, as if he had gone into a state of rigor mortis. All he heard was nothing and then…

A great cheer.

They lifted up his broken body, calling his name and passing him amongst each other as their hero. He’d won their respect, and the wife of his opponent, and only at the cost of nearly dying.

A small price to pay, he thought to himself, as they carried him up the hill to the castle.




The prisoners were released immediately upon Tic’s win, and summoned to the castle for a royal celebration. Where moments before they had been treated as outcasts and criminals, they were now catered to like kings. Each of them was permitted their own bath, and new clothes. They would not receive any of their magical items until outside of Mach Ronan territory, but they were given ample amounts of ale to make up for it. And in the castle courtyard, they were the personal guests of the Bengar. Seated at the head table like royalty, it did not take long before the companions were well on their way to being drunk.

Marco disappeared for a long while, exploring the halls of the modest castle.

Aeroth engaged the Bengar in a conversation about Mach Rona’s place in the Kaembran Empire, giving him a better understanding of where these people stood.

“Yvander Lux was a great man.” Said the Bengar after taking a long sip of drink. “I knew him, and considered him a friend. He did the right thing, trying to rid this land of magic. For no good has ever come of it. Take those damn Centaurs, infringing on our lands and declaring war on our people.”

“Those damn horse-people claim that Mach Rona was theirs during The Age of Magic, and we stole it from them during the Age of Twilight. This is our land by right, and I’ll personally stab anyone through the heart that says otherwise!”

“Here here!” Cried Aeroth. “But what news of Kaembra?”

“You no doubt saw the billows of smoke from the southeast?”

“Aye, we did.”

“It comes from Black Alder. The city is under attack by Okra’s forces. And no doubt, she will fall soon.”

Aeroth was stunned. “And you will sit by and let this happen?”

The Bengar shrugged. “It is not our way to sit back and watch, Paladin. That may be the Shambalan method. But is Mach Ronan nature to take sides, and to side with the Liberist cause. But to make an enemy with Okra… he is too powerful for our lands. Right now, the only thing saving our kingdom is ancient treaties from the Age of Twilight. Treaties that sprouted from the early Liberist theories. Do you know why those dragons that were hunting you turned around when you landed here? It’s because Okra is bound by our ancient treaties. No magic may enter Mach Rona, by any element. He honors that treaty for the moment. We support him with our forces. In return, he helps us fight those blasted Centaurs.”

“But if we were to uncover, say, that Cardinal Okra was being less than honest with you… that he planned to take Mach Rona next…?”

“Then I doubt you’d have any trouble convincing the clans to unite and rise up. It’s not me you have to convince, Paladin. It’s all the other idiot clan leaders. And most of them are off in a corner making love to some whore right now or just getting pissed drunk. None of them, I suspect, has their mind on politics just now.” The Bengar took another sip. “But why should they, eh? It is my daughter’s second wedding day! I woke up this morning, thinking I would be planning her execution and funeral. Now thanks to your friend, her honor has been saved and my daughter is returned to me. It is hardly time for politics! Another ale!”

“Aye!” They toasted to his daughter, while Aeroth considered ways to unite the clans of Mach Rona to their cause. If only all the clan leaders were as open… and as drunk… as the Bengar.



Wyveryn was surrounded by many female admirers, all of which were terribly curious about his culture and his many adventures. But when they saw the red-haired girl approaching, one by one they made excuses to leave. Soon Wyveryn found himself quite alone with this mysterious, seductive creature in a tight brown leather corset and tartan dress. She was short, but did not lack a figure. Her bosom was laid out like a cheese spread, so that the half-elf found it extremely challenging to take his eyes off her assets.



“You are the one they call Wyveryn, yes?”

“I am.”

“All the girls are whispering about you. I’ll admit, I find you very… intriguing.”

Her voice was like sultry caramel, her lips like candied apples. Wyveryn knew almost instantly that he would go anywhere or do anything she wanted. For there was something about this girl that was quite… compelling.

As their conversation carried on, he noticed she sidled closer and closer to him until she was right under his nose, her breasts pushing against his chest. Every sense in his body, every hair on his skin, was alert and at attention.

“Is it true that you are the grandson of Yvander Lux?”

“It is.”

“What is is like… being the grandson of a great man?”

“It’s… “ He searched for the words. “It’s just as you would imagine it.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “A vague and mysterious answer, Wyveryn Lux. Just as I expected. Again… intriguing.”

“So you asked me a question, now it’s my turn to ask you a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Why did all those girls leave when you came around?”

She grinned delightfully. “They do what I ask them to do… even if I do not need to use words. I wanted them to leave. So they left.”

“Do you typically get what you want?”

“Not typically. Always.”

“What is your name?” He asked her.

“Aisling.” She whispered into his ear.

“Aisling…”

And then she leaned into him and kissed him passionately, pressing her warm body against his. Giving into pleasure, Wyveryn happily went down without a fight.



Tic sat in the healer’s bed, surrounded by clerics tending to his many wounds. His bleeding had stopped, and there were bandages all about his body. He was fairly certain he’d cracked a knuckle and maybe two ribs. But he was alive! And that was enough to feel a full sense of satisfaction.

That was when he saw her. When she appeared by his bedside as if like a ghost. His heart thudded in his chest and his breath stopped completely for a moment, as if he’d been struck once more.

The Aurora Bengar that Tic had fallen in love with was a warrior. A woman who tossed her beauty about as if she was completely unaware of it. She wore armor and wielded a sword. She was comfortable with this as if it was her natural state.

But what he saw was another side of her. Gone was the armor. Gone was the chain mail. Gone was the sword at her side. Instead of being tied back in a loose pony tail, or in a messy braid, Aurora’s hair had been brushed smooth and lay in cascading waves about her shoulders. She wore a hunter green gown with the tartan sash of her clan about her shoulders and waste. The gown hugged every line of her curvaceous body, striking Tic with her womanly form. She was, to him, the picture of ultimate femininity.

And oddly enough, though it was nothing like the Aurora he knew, she wore this well. It was as if she was just as comfortable in the green gown as she would be in a soldier’s uniform. Her body moved in a slightly different manner. Her hips swayed a bit more freely. But there was his beautiful Aurora with her chin held high and her proud stature no less appealing.

Just when he thought he couldn’t love her anymore, she always taught him otherwise.

She dismissed the nurses with a brief word, and then pulled the curtain around them for privacy. It was only then, when they were truly alone, that her shoulders fell and her lovely green eyes with the one speckle of gold filled with concern.

“Are you all right?”

“I’ve been better in some ways,” he said, smiling weakly, “and in other ways, I’ve never been better.”

She touched his palm gently and ran her hands along his cheek. That was when he saw that she must have been crying.

“Tic, what you did for me out there… what you went through… I can never thank you. I can never repay the debt which I now owe you—“

“Let me be clear on one thing, Aurora. You owe me nothing. Just you being here next to me is reward enough.”

“Tic…” She struggled for the words.

“Thomas.” He corrected her.

“Thomas… it is not too late. You have defeated my husband. My honor is restored. You don’t have to marry me if you don’t want to.”

He sighed and then pulled himself up so that he could face her eye to eye.

“There are battles for good and there are battles for land. But there is no doubt that this was for love.”

She said nothing, but listened.

“Aurora, I would gladly be your husband, if that is what you choose.”

“Oh Thomas…” she wiped a tear from her eye, “I chose that a long time ago.”

And then she leaned into him and let her lips linger a while on his mouth. For that tender moment, he forgot the pain.





“Where’s my daughter?!” Cried the Bengar, slamming his mug of ale down on the table.

“She is preparing herself for the pre-wedding ceremony, my lord.” A servant informed him.

“Not that one, the other one!”

“Lady Aisling has not been seen for some time, my lord.”

Aisling. Aeroth remembered the name. He’d seen the girl earlier. She was hard to miss. But he hadn’t realized that Aurora had a younger sister. Worse, he realized he’d seen her disappear… with Wvyeryn. This could be bad. Very bad.

But the Bengar was in good spirits, though his speech was so heavily slurred that it was at times difficult to understand what he was saying.

“I tell you what. If you can convince the other clan leaders to sign a treaty against Okra,” he said, taking another swig of ale, “then I will fight for you. And I will stand on behalf of your cause when they question me. But you have to understand how Mach Rona works, Paladin. We have no king. I am one clan leader among many. Which is why it is no small task to convince us all to fight as one. We make no move unless the vote is unanimous. But if you find the right cause, such as a threat from the Centaurs, or a betrayal by the Cardinal, you will have no problems in unifying the clans and creating such a treaty. Mach Ronans hate treachery. It really makes us want to kill things.” He laughed. “But onto happier things. A toast, Aeroth Ravenswing! To marriage!”

“To marriage!”

“To love! And to beautiful women, for Mach Ronan women are the most beautiful of all!”

“Aye!” Cried Aeroth, clinking his mug against the Bengar’s.

“And to my youngest daughter, let us not forget about her. May she find herself a man as strong as your friend Thomas!”

“It looks like she’s already started, since she disappeared with my other friend, Wyveryn, about an hour ago!”

There was a pregnant pause.

“What?”

Aeroth almost choked on his beer.

“So how about that treaty….?”



Tic & Aurora’s wedding took place at the Edge of the Pillars of Túr, overlooking the vast ocean and the islands to the north. It was a breathtaking view, the fresh smell of the sea spray floating up their way. The morning sun was golden, the grass was dewy and glistening. Aurora wore a flowing but simple white lace gown with the Bengar Tartan flung about her shoulder. Tic had been cleaned up and given his own white tunic and kilt with a leather vest. And gathered about the couple was every clan of Mach Rona, as well as their trusted companions.


The ceremony began with each clan beating their shields in one unison rhythm. And then, as the priest began to speak, the people fell into a hushed silence.

Tic stood facing Aurora and knew that he would never forget this moment. How far he had come from just a few months ago. What a different person he’d been before he’d met her. It was Aurora that had finally coaxed him into manhood. He was proud of this woman who’d chosen him. And honored, in fact, that in affording her the freedom to choose whom she pleased, she’d chosen him.

There were many gathered on the cliffs that day. But for Thomas Flick and Aurora Bengar, there were only two souls who joined as one. Two people who had battled impossible odds together promised to fight side by side for the rest of their days, no matter what the future may hold. And in a time of darkness, a glimpse of light twinkled at the edge of the Empire.

Chapter XI: For the Love of a Woman

Chapter X: Battle and Flight

here are times in a man's life when he steps outside of his body and knows the feeling of watching himself. This is not by magical means. But merely a natural reaction to fear. Aeroth knew such a moment, for though he was a paladin knight, trained for battle by General Lux himself, he was not absent of fear. And there was a thought picking in the back of his brain that they had been lucky so far to lose so little. There had been Hiroko, of course, who was a great loss. And Jewelynna, of course. But the baby still lived, and so there was still hope. But here in the dungeons of Stonehold, it was hard to cling to hope. He could barely cling to a light. And all around him was darkness.

Weapons sliced through the darkness. Simultaneously, wings batted loudly and the cry of a horned demon erupted in the throne room. Aeroth could remember little of the details, for he went into a mode of killing. Each time he entered a battle, he prepared for death. It was a silent prayer he spoke to himself. And this creature... this Blackguard... had been hunting them. Whether or not they would all make it out of this alive he did not know. The girl he'd rescued was half-dead herself. He thought about her. He thought about Marco, and Tic. And little baby Brillowyn. He couldn't let them down now.

Rather quickly, the fear fizzled away and dissolved into blind anger. It was a dangerous place to go. His father had always warned himself of blind rage in battle, but Aeroth felt himself grow into a more focus warrior this way. It was a fine line he tread. The Blackguard was merely a fallen paladin... one who had let his blind rage turn him to darkness. But Aeroth danced such a dance many times before, and he somehow knew with the protection of the Golden Battle axe, he would not die today.

Not today.

There were times when everything passed into slow motion. And then they sped up with blinding speed. Everything was dark in a moment, and they fought foes unseen. He heard screams. Was that Aurora? The dark-haired girl? Where was Tic and Wyveryn? Were they all right? Where was Marco? Who had Brillowyn?

There was a light spell cast and suddenly they could see. The horned demon was heavy in battle with Tic and Wyveryn, and the Wyveryn-dragon was fighting a duplicate of itself. Brilliant! Aeroth felt an odd moment of pride for his "brother". He must have used the Mirror of Opposition. And then another moment of dry humor. Now there were far too many Wyveryns in the room.

Which left the Blackguard.



"By the blood of Ekarmordi, I will skin you alive and enjoy every moment, Aeroth Ravenswing."

"Come face me man to man, if you dare, Blackguard. I am not so easily killed. Just ask your Drow King."

The Blackguard sent a wave of pain over him. It tore at his flesh like a thousand daggers running through his skin. He threw his arms up for protection, falling to one knee. As he did, he caught sight of two wolves out of the corner of his eye. The Blackguard had called a familiar, and Wolfric had matched it. Dammit, if he could only figure out the answer to his riddle. He might have a fighting chance against this magic. But no fallen paladin would face him head on, man to man. Still, he didn't know how much longer he would endure this.

And then Banger was at his side. She was still heavily wounded, but she moved like a trained soldier. Instantly he was grateful for her presence. The others fought as individuals. Banger had been trained by Lux and Paladonia. She knew how to fight as a unit.

"Banger," he barked at her, "stay back to back. Let nothing get behind us. And keep moving forward."

She nodded in understanding.

Another wave pain washed over him. He staggered and caught sight of the battle that was going on behind him. Someone had jumped onto the back of the horned demon and was stabbing it with a weapon. The creature was severely injured and wailing madly. Was that Tic? Or Wyveryn? Aeroth could not see. Where was Marco? For an instant, he wondered if the magician had betrayed them all and run away with the child. But he pushed the thought from his head as he rose to his feet again.

He slayed the Blackguard's wolf with barely a thought.

"Now I'm coming for you." He said.

The horned demon gave a cry and then it died. The Wyveryn was injured but it still flew overhead in a fit of fury. One claw caught Banger and she was knocked against the far wall. Tic cried out and ran to them. That was when Aeroth gave a cry and rushed the Blackguard.

The Battle Axe that he wielded was bright golden in color, and it gleamed when it struck the Blackguard's sword. It seemed to fill Aeroth with a power of another man's will, as if Lux was wielding it himself. The initials engraved into the blade cut deeply into the blackguard's armor, drawing blood. Red mixed with gold. It was strangely beautiful.

Face to face, Aeroth could see the hatred seething from the fallen paladin's face. His teeth had been ground to points. His skin was so while that the blood vessels and veins could be seen right through it. His eyes gleamed a deep crimson like the color of a dark wine. And he sneered at each attack as if he enjoyed it. Like it was a game. Something was wrong. It couldn't be this easy. Was this all planned?

And then the lights went out again. Aeroth found himself flailing in the dark. Panic arose in him. Was he dead? Was the Blackguard upon him? Was the Wyveryn dead? Where were his companions? Had Aurora been killed? Aeroth was used to low light and enclosed spaces. But he did NOT like total darkness. It was unnerving.

And then Wolfric cast a light spell and they could see again. Aeroth came slowly to his feet.

The Blackguard was gone.

Just like that. Like he had never been there to begin with. The horned demon lay crumpled on the ground one side of he room. The Wyveryn was crumpled on the other side. Tic hovered over Banger. But she was a hard one to kill as well, it seemed. She came to her feet and fended them all off, refusing to be treated for her wounds. The girl who'd been prisoner here in the dungeons was shivering and half-naked in the far corner. And Marco was at the door on the far end of the chamber, holding a... rubber key?

"Where did he go?" Asked Aeroth.

Tic shrugged. "I don't know. But he's gone for the moment. And we need to get out of here. now. Cut our losses and run."

Aeroth agreed. It was time to leave the chamber and descend down into the last level of the dungeon. Somehow they were all alive and surprisingly unscathed. They'd been lucky... this time. And Aeroth knew better than to press his luck. For like a tall glass of wine, luck eventually runs out.

************************************************************

Down, down down they descended where it was so cold that even Wolfric shivered. And when at last they touched solid ground, they stood before a vast lake. Though it was dark in the vast cave, they made out the wreckage of an old pirate ship. It rested against a sand bar as if it were dozing.

Aeroth folded his hands across his chest.

"Well, what now?"

Wyveryn seemed to be deep in thought. "I'll go over."

"Not alone your not."

"I'll go with him!" Said Tic.

"Oh great. The Dynamic Duo." Aeroth muttered under his breath. But it was no use arguing with Wyveryn, for as usual, he'd already started wading into the water. The paladin, irritated, turned to Banger and raised his eyebrow. "How is it that I'm supposed to deal with that? How, I ask you?"

She simply shrugged, sitting on the ground and placing the baby in her lap. "You deal with it just as you would anything else that's been thrown our way since this all began. Take it in stride."

Aeroth snorted. He didn't like that answer.


*************************************

The old ship was actually not very old at all. In fact, it seemed in fairly good condition. As Tic and Wyveryn explored it, they discovered very little dust on the deck, and wooded slabs that were quick finely made. The sails were torn, of course, but other than that, it seemed like it should sail.

"But where would the wind come from?" Tic wondered aloud.

"The wind for what?"

"For the sails, you dolt."

"What makes you think the sails were what moved it?"

"Why have sails at all?"

"For aesthetic purposes? Maybe they rowed?"

"That makes no sense. And if they rowed, they would need a vast crew. Where are they?"

"Probably below deck would be my guess."

"Well then," Tic said, opening the hatch, "after you."

Wyveryn dropped down the hatch and moved about on the deck below, letting his eyes fall on anything of interest. Truthfully, there wasn't much to see. No skeletons. No treasure. It was all very dull and disappointing. Tic, on the other hand, explored every nook and cranny, taking in as much detail as he possibly could.

"This way."

"What do you see?" Wyveryn asked.

"Footprints. There is a door at the end of this hallway. Someone is there. Can you see the light?"

Wyveryn nodded, suddenly growing quiet. It had occurred to him that there might be someone still alive aboard the vessel. But after all they'd been through in these horrific dungeons, he didn't want to take any chances. They came to the end of the hallway and pressed their ears to the door. Wyveryn looked at Tic and the warrior nodded his head.

"You open the door slowly and I will..."

But before Wyveryn could finish his sentence, the door had already opened wide. He tried to leap aside, but it was too late. The woman inside had already seen him.



"Who's there?"

She was elderly, with long silver hair down to her waist. There were lines across her face, but her cheekbones were high and there was some kind of light in her eyes that seemed intriguing. As if at one time she might have been a great beauty. It wasn't hard for Wyveryn to recognize an elf when he saw one. The body was too slender, the face too narrow for a mere human. But what was an old woman doing on a stranded ship in the middle of a dungeon?

"Who are you?" Wyveryn asked.

"Who are you?" She asked back.

"I believe my friend asked you first." Said Tic.

"Are you making the rules up now?"

"What do you know about this ship and what it's doing here? How long have you been here?"

"Long enough." She said.

"You're being cryptic." Tic observed.

"You're being presumptuous." She retorted.

"All right." Wyveryn stated. "We can go back and forth like this all night long. It's obvious that you have no reason to trust us. And we've no reason to trust you. But for the sake of time, I'll just tell you that I am Wyveryn and this is Tic. We and our companions have been traveling through this labyrinth for Tyr knows how long. And we're looking for some... "

"Your companions?"

"Our what?" He seemed confused.

"You said "your companions". Which would imply there are others with you?"

"Oh.. yes. But not here. Well, here, but not here here. They're back on the shore."

"Wyveryn, you're blabbering like an idiot."

"I know! She's making me feel extremely awkward! And as I said, we're looking for some... hey, is that a book you're writing?"

She slammed it shut. "I am not writing. I am reading. And that is mostly certainly no business of yours."

It was then that they noticed all the other books in the room. This must be the ship's library. Many of them were ancient looking, but the one on the woman's desk was of particular interest to Tic. For he'd seen that the author was Horatio Fitzigigg.

"Where did you get that book?" He tried to dodge her and grab it, but she was too quick for him. Old though she may look, she was nimble as a mouse. The woman grabbed it and clutched it behind her back. And there was a dagger at her waist which she pointedly grabbed the hilt of.

"I will ask once again." Tic said, his patience growing thin. "Who are you?"

"My name is Oriana," she answered, "and that's about the only thing you'll get out of me for now."

************************************************

Back on the shore, Aeroth was feeling very, very tired. His body ached for sleep. Well, his body simply ached. And Tyr only could know how long it would be before those two miscreants sent a boat back to get them. He felt his eyelids growing heavy...



The axe blazed into his vision. It gleamed a perfect gold, and then those initial "Y.L." seemed to catch on fire, grabbing him and pulling him into a dream. Suddenly he was back in Lux's old quarters. Back in Cöthrom. The old man was as Aeroth always remembered him: hunched over his desk scribbling on parchment paper. His back faced out. Only this time, there was someone else there with them. A child. A little girl with golden locks of hair. She wore a beautiful green robe, and by the look of her, couldn't be more than five or six years of age. It was impossible to tell. She peered over Lux's shoulder, examining his work. Then she notice Aeroth and tapped the General on the leg.

Aeroth felt his heart thud in his chest as his father turned to look upon him. The old face, that bearish smile... so familiar. He'd practically forgotten it. Even the smell overcame him. The mixture of cigar smoke and lavender from the flower pots. The General laughed and came to his feet.

"Son. I have missed you." Aeroth wiped tears from his eyes and let his father engulf him in a bear hug. He caught sight of the front door, and memories of the last night at Cöthrom came back to him. He couldn't help but remember holding his father's bloody body against the door. The wound which Marco had inflicted. A sharp pain filled Aeroth. He'd shoved those thoughts aside, but being here brought it all back.

And yet the dream was so vivid that it seemed his father was perfectly fine and happy.

"I... missed you so much."

"Now, now. We're soldiers, Aeroth. No need for tears. The important thing is that you're here now, and there is a mission at hand. Sit, sit. There is much to talk about. I see that you've found the axe."

Aeroth took a seat. "I did. It had your initials on it."

"Good. We wouldn't be able to be here right now without the axe. That's how I know you have it. You see, I left a little piece of myself in that weapon. Though it may not be as good as the real deal, when you wield it, you will have my aided strength."

"I will accept that with great honor, father."

The little blonde girl danced up beside the General and whispered something in his ear. He laughed and patted her head affectionately. "Forgive me, Aeroth. I'm an old man, and I've forgotten my manners. This is Lady Brillowyn. She's been here for a while now, keeping me company. I'm very grateful to her."

Aeroth was stunned for a moment. Then he nodded his head formally. "It is a pleasure to meet you, young lady."

"She says the pleasure is all hers. But listen, Aeroth. Time grows short. You need to get on that boat. And you need to leave this place. Get Brillowyn home. Only the magician knows the way. He doesn't remember, but you need to help him remember. Do you understand me?"

"Marco? But he murdered you."

A strange look came over Lux's face. "All things happen for a reason, Aeroth. And nothing can be done about that now. He is the only one who knows how to get her home. I can assure you, Brillowyn is the key. If she dies... then Okra will be the least of your worries. The balance of the world will be in turmoil, Aeroth. She is the key. Save her, and save the world. She dies, and the world turns to darkness. You see, Aeroth, whether or not people believe in a one God, the world still operates through balance. You've seen what happened to the world's balance when we removed all magic. Kaembra entered a thousand years of perpetual twilight. The Age of Twilight, as they call it. And now, that magic has been unleashed. Only it is washing over the world like a tsunami wave. Kaembra can only take so much before it breaks. Just like anything boy. Even steel can break if you add too much pressure to it. Balance, my son. Always balance. Remember that."

Aeroth nodded. "I will, father."

"And one more thing... it's time to forgive. Even those who don't deserve it. Wouldn't you say?"

The paladin shook his head.

"Very well then," Lux sighed. "For now, you know where to find me. She and I will always be here when you need us. Let that give you comfort. But move quickly, Aeroth. For there isn't much time left...."

And Lady Brillowyn danced over to him and whispered in his ear, "Take me home, Aeroth. Please, take me home."

That was when Aeroth woke up.

****************************************************************

It took a long, long while before Tic came back for them. Even Banger was starting to get restless. There were greetings once aboard. And questions about the old woman. There were even questions about the prisoner who'd been rescued. So they took some time to find out who was who and what was what.

Arabi-anea was an elven girl, a commoner from Black Alder. It was clear she was a native, with her dark skin and dark brown hair. They had manes like their midnight colored fire steeds. Arabi-anea seemed to be a girl of few words, but it was hard to tell if that was just her personality or if it stemmed from the horrors she'd experienced in the dungeons of Stonehold. She did confess to them that she'd been captured on Redemption Day, which would mean that she'd been here for six weeks. She seemed stunned that it was already spring. When last she'd seen the light of day, it had still been winter. And she'd been with her horse, Dae-vin, whom she seemed disoriented without. This made sense, considering Alderans were given a horse shortly after their birth, and bonded with it as they grew. Rarely were they ever seen without one. And Arabi-anea had been on foot for weeks now. No contact with her animal. She was clearly devastated that it could be hurt, injured, or dead. But there was no way of knowing.

They asked her how she'd been captured, and she answered only that she'd been walking with Dae-vin in the woods. Then a hand covered her mouth and that was the last thing she remembered. She'd awoken in the dungeon. It was a horrific nightmare that she was still not fully certain she'd escaped from.

Oriana was still being very cryptic. It was amusing or annoying depending on how you looked at it. But they were at least able to gather that she had not be aboard this ship when it had crashed here. She'd been here for at least a week. And according to her, all this old barge needed was a little wind.

"Well, why didn't you say so earlier?" Asked Wolfric. "I can give it some wind if someone helps to mend the sails."

"It looks like we have some work ahead of us." Said Aeroth. "And everyone needs to pull their own weight. If we're going to get out of here, we have to work together. All of us. Arabi-anea and Oriana, I'd like for you to tend to the sails. Wyveryn, there is water below deck that we need to start taking out in buckets. I'll put you to that task. And when others are finished, you should join Wyveryn. Banger, Tic... see about the anchor. And Marco, I need to talk to you..."

************************************



They worked diligently throughout the night. Soon the sails resembled their former glory, and though Wolfric doubted his ability to generate the much needed wind power, he mustered up all his strength and blew.

"He needs help!" Cried old Oriana. "Banger, to the helm. Grab the wheel! Wyveryn, Tic, tighten the ropes. We need those sails taught!"

"Do as she says!" Barked the paladin. "Sail, dammit! Sail!"

As if the ship bowed to Aeroth's will, they heard a thunderous creak and then the whole vessel wrenched forward. The sails filled with wind and they were floating on the lake in the middle of the endless cave. A cheer came over the deck. They'd done it! And after all they'd been through, Aeroth suddenly felt a surge of pride for his companions. It was, perhaps, the first time they'd ever worked together as a unit to achieve something. He'd never been given the chance to command an army. But this must been what General Lux felt when everything worked like a finely tuned machine. This was what baby Brillowyn had been trying to get them to do since the first moment they'd found her. Why was it so hard for them to trust each other? Why was everything always so hard?

He kept wondering these things as he caught Tic slip his arm gently around Banger's waist. It would seem the bond was growing tighter amongst some more than others.

*************************************************************


They sailed for a week, it seemed. Thankfully there was food below deck. It wasn't good food. But it was nourishment. Oriana was able to show them where everything was. Even the little nooks and crannies. She'd proved to be very helpful. But she was still mysterious and cryptic. Aeroth did not care for that. He'd had enough mysteries in the last few months to last a lifetime.

There was one incident between Oriana and Banger. The old woman had brought the book up with her when she'd emerged from the hatch. And of course, this was the book that Tic had noticed was written by Horatio. As the others got wind of that, there was many questions. The old woman seemed loath to answer, almost as if she enjoyed toying with them like fish. It got so that the questions escalated. Voice raised. Yelling began. And then the threats.

It was Aurora who took matters into her own hands by snatching the book and holding it up for all to see. "This is what divides us. Pages. Pages in a book. Is it really worth all the secrets, old woman? Are these pages really worth dividing a crew? A crew which has helped you get this ship out of here. And will help you get out of Stonehold."

When Oriana tried to grab for it, Aurora held it out of her reach. "I don't like lies, old woman. And that goes for all of you. I'm tired of omissions. Of partial truths. It's time we lay things out as they are. That we tell it like it is. If there is something in here that pertains to our quest, I want to know about it. And I will share it with all of you. For gone are the days where we can act as individuals. There are things at stake here that are bigger than just you or just me. Any clue which will lead us closer to the end... I will take it. Am I making myself clear?"

Oriana gulped and nodded. The others hung their heads shamefully. All except Tic, who gleamed at her with unabashed pride.

Opening the book to the page that Oriana had marked, Banger began to read...

Dated the 2nd of Pentagrom, in the year of the Gael


My interest in the lost art of the Psion dates back to a childhood, I’m afraid, when it would have been much more convenient to will things be done with my mind rather than do them myself. That topped with the intense desire never to grow up thrust me into a career of historical study. Why history, you might ask? Because it is forever reversing the effects of time, and thus-allowing one to remain as young or as old as I like.

It was in the city of Tradesdale that I first heard the old wives tales. Long ago, in the heart of the Age of Magic, a war was raged. They called them the psionic wars, for there were people who walked among us in the Kaembran Empire-people who looked or talked like you and me-who could do things with their minds. Psionic powers. Telepathy, Extrasensory Perception, telekinesis, psychokinesis, precognition, and the like. Some were born with exceptional gifts, if you will. Many thrived under these talents. Others abused them. Such is human nature, after all. Tyr discusses balance in his teachings. And understandably, the presence of Psions in our world frightened and threatened those who were not.

Thus began the Psionic Wars. A terrible genocide was said to have raged in our Empire, not just in the city of Tradesdale but all throughout our world. It was in these years that the Great Divide was built, separating the north from the south. Nowhere seemed to be safe. Fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, even babies… none were safe from persecution as the wars raged on.

It is at this point in my story that I come to what intrigued me the most. There are tales of a young mother who, in a desperate attempt to hide her psionic son from certain death, she hid him along with several other boys in an old, rotted warehouse. She instructed him never for any reason whatsoever to leave that house, and to await for her return. For until she came back, he would not be safe. And she promised to come back as soon as she could. So then-here’s the interesting part-she cast a spell on it. The house, rather. In all my years of magical study, I have never come across such a spell, nor have I ever been able to deduce how it was done. The spell kept all within the old warehouse the same age. A spell of eternal youth, if you will. I believe this was done so that no matter how many years passed by, the young mother could return to her child and they could pick up where they left off.

But days passed. And then weeks. And then months. She did not return.

The boys, of course, had to survive. There was food in the warehouse. And water. But it ran out quickly. And though they were terrified to venture outside, they did so at night-stealing what they could. At first it seemed like the spell would last inside the Warehouse and out. But soon they were horrified to discover that should they leave the warehouse for more than 24-hours, their true age would catch up with them and they would quickly and painfully die.

This warehouse came to be known as the House of Rot, and the boys were known as the Forgotten Children. None of them knew how long they’d lived their, but as more and more came to the house, they built a structured government amongst themselves-giving each other code names. Some of them, I believe, went by several names, as they believed it vital for no one outside the House to know their true identities.

They developed customs and rituals. And eventually a leader emerged-none other than the boy who’s mother had cast the spell on the House. In earlier readings they seemed to refer to him as the Boss. But on several occasions, I’ve come across the name “Peter Skyfe”. I believe that was his true name, though I’ve yet to verify it.

I’ve collected the names and nicknames of some of the others. The Brain, was one of the smaller boys who came to them in later years. And the Quiet One, whom I believe was Peter’s closest confidant.

And now to the reason I’ve written this book. Peter was a scientist. He used to the top floor of the House for his experiments. For ages, he tried to find a way to leave the house and retain his youth. After years of study, trial and error, I believe he concocted a cure. And with this, he and the Forgotten Children left the House of Rot and were never heard of again. Whether they died or lived there is no written evidence. But it is my belief that they survived, and I will spend my life studying how they did it and where they migrated to.

What became of these boys? These Forgotten Children? Were they ever reunited with their parents? Or were they always ever just that… forgotten?

-Horatio Fitzigigg

********************************************

There was much speculation after that as to Oriana's purpose for being here on the ship. Marco was also particularly fascinated with Peter Skyfe and what he had to do with all of this. Aeroth found himself wondering what Okra was up to. As did the others. It appeared to be on everyone's mind. Even Marco had mentioned that they would likely be followed by Okra's men.

And at the mention of Okra's name, they fell into another collective dream. It had been some time since baby Brillowyn had joined them. And together, they returned to Stonehold for a glimpse inside Okra's quarters.




It appeared that Oriana and Arabi-anea had felt the dream as well. So that settled it. They were now a part of the mission, whether they liked it or not. By the dazed expressions on their faces, they likely had no idea what they were getting into.

Then Wyveryn heard what sounded like a waterfall ahead.

Tic heard it, too.

But as they grew closer, they found that the water was not actually falling. It was rising.

"A water... up?" Wolfric said in wonder.

"It would appear so." Said Marco.

"Can you steer the ship away from it?" Asked Aeroth.

"No. The ship seems to want to go towards it. The water is moving it in that direction. I don't have enough strength to pull us back."

"Then it looks as if we're going forward."

As they did, the bow of the ship tilted upward. Slowly... ever so slowly.. they began to tilt.

"Everyone attach yourself to something. And don't let go! Now! Now!" Aeroth barked the order. The crew willingly and frantically found anything they could to fasten themselves to the deck.

"My books!" Cried Oriana.

"... Will have to remain where they are!" Aeroth cried back. "Hang on. We're going for a ride!"

Up, and up and up they went, until the ship was fully vertical. The water up carried them up through the mountain until their ears popped. And then at long last, they leveled out and sailed to a cave opening where the lake came to an end. Dazed, they grabbed what little belongings they had and emerged into the sunlight.



It hurt Arabi-anea's eyes, for she'd been in the dungeons the longest. But she didn't seem to care. For they were at the top of Mount Mythical, on a landing of some sort. And she was alive, and quite happy to be so! The snow capped mountain was brusque; the air was thin.

They stood upon a platform with ancient engravings. Clearly this structure must have been built during the Age of Magic. There are symbols and runes, pictures and figures in several different languages. One of them was elven. Most of them were not legible to the company of weary travelers. The wind was heavy, but thankfully it was early spring, and not mid-winter. It was bearable, though frightfully cold. Aeroth longed for his old winter cloak that he would wrap around him when the caves of Cöthrom grew cold and windy.

"What is this place?" Asked Wyveryn.



"Tyr's Landing." Marco explained, running his hands along the rune carvings. "It was once a place for as a landing for creatures of flight. Dragons... pegasus... but primarily it was a base for eagles."

"Eagles? Why eagles?"

"Not just any eagles, Wyveryn. Great Eagles. The kind a man could fly upon. During the Age of Magic, it was a common way for men to travel. There are landings all over the Empire. Two to the south; near Tradesdale on Mount Sléa and at the top of Mount Cöthrom. And three to the north; one in Matsudai, one in the Duchy, and one on Mount Mythical in the Barrow of Mythical Creatures. We much be at the top of Mount Mythical. There was said to have been one at the highest towers of Stonehold, but my guess is those were torn down long ago."

"Mount Mythical. We're all the way up there?!" Wyveryn couldn't believe it.

"That city in the distance..." Wolfric asked, pointing to a wall of smoke. "Where is that? It looks like a war."

They all peered to where he indicated. Marco's face went white.

"That's Black Alder."

"What?" Arabi-anea looked shocked. "It can't be!"

"He's right." Said Tic. "According to the map."

"But what's happening? Why is it burning?" She looked almost frantic.

Wolfric put a hand on her shoulder. "It must mean that Paladonia has finally turned against the Empire. She refused the hand of marriage offered to her by Cardinal Okra. My guess is she, like a Mach Ronan princess here, prefers to marry of her own accord."

Banger blushed.

"And so Okra would turn his forces against my people?!" Arabi-anea looked aghast.

"Simeon Okra will do anything he deems necessary for personal gain. Fear not, little one. Paladonia is a force to be reckoned with. She will never let Black Alder fall. And there are many who will come to her aid. Mainly King Sameh, her neighbor in Matsudai."

"As well as the Boreal Duke." Chimed in Wolfric.

"I found something." Said Wyveryn. He pointed to a slot in the landing. "It says 'COIN'."

"Indeed it does." Said Marco.

"I don't think we should--"

"You never think we should do anything, Aeroth." Wyveryn muttered.

"Perhaps I"ll give it a go..." Said Oriana. And she dropped a coin in the slot.

Nothing happened.

"Well, now. That was an unfortunate waste." She said with disappointment.

"Wait. Look!" Marco pointed to the sky, where the clouds parted and a team of Great Eagles bellowed their arrival. They were indeed a terrifying and glorious sight. Not quite as large as a dragon, they were could still carry the weight of at least two people upon their back. The group cried out in fright and ran for the cover of the cave.

It was Arabi-anea, a druid and a great lover of animals, who greeted the beasts when they landed.

"There there," she said, petting the largest one. It squawked and ruffled its feathers.

"I think they're friendly!" Oriana exclaimed in amazement.

"Well then, I'd say that opens up our possibility for travel."

"We should go to the south and help my people!" Insisted the druid.

"I'm afraid it wouldn't be safe right now, Arabi-anea." Aeroth answered. "I have complete faith in Paladonia. You should, too. Our mission is too important. Should we fail at it, nothing Paladonia does to save your people will matter."

Arabi-anea nodded, tears in her eyes. "I see. Well, I will go with you. Until I can return home, it seems I have nowhere else to go."

"Matsudai is a place I would like to visit one day." Said Marco. "But my gut tells me to go to the north. To the duchy."

Wolfric's face lit up like that of a child's. "To the north it is then!"

They mounted up. As Tic helped Aurora onto their eagle, he noticed a strange expression on her face. She saw him examining her, and sighed.

"I am uneasy, Tic. I can't hide such things from you."

"What is it?"

She shrugged. "It could be nothing. Just a feeling. It's just... I spent a long time running away from the north, you know. And now, these eagles will be flying directly over my homeland. A place I can never, ever go back. It is like dangling a carrot in front of my face. I long to go home, but it terrifies me because I know what would happen if I did."

"What would happen?"

She gave him a long look and said nothing.


**************************************************************

Tic gave long thought to Aurora's words, but as their eagle lifted them into the sky, he forgot everything and simply held on for dear life. To his right, he could hear Wyveryn shouting and whooping in delight, and Wolfric saying something about how he was going to be sick. In truth, Tic was trying to show Aurora how brave he could be, but it took him several minutes before he could open his eyes.

When he did, though, he saw a sight before him that he would etch itself in his memory for the rest of his life. The clouds parted and he flew over his beloved homeland of Kaembra. The grass was so green... the mountains seemed so small from up here. It looked so delicate and yet bursted with beauty. He felt a surge of heart for his country.

Aurora's red hair flew into his face. She smelled celestial, a scent specific to Aurora only. Nothing flowery. But exceedingly feminine. He drew her close to his body and felt her allow the close proximity.

There was something the passed between them during their silent flight. As though they were suddenly the only two people in the world. Her body pressed against his kept him warm against the frigid air. She felt so wonderful to him. How had his father kept her a secret? How had he not noticed such a beauty before? Because suddenly in the last few weeks, Tic's heart had begun to open a crack. And Aurora and somehow crept in. Now it occurred to him as they soared through the sky that he would do anything for this woman. And when this was all over, he couldn't imagine his life without her.

Tic longed to tell her how he felt, though he didn't want to break the spell of silence. So he simply enjoyed holding her and feeling her against him, letting the wind and her hair breeze past his face. Until he felt her stiffen and then he knew something was wrong.

"Dragons." She said.

"Where?"

"There. They must have known we were coming."

Tyr's balls. Tic called out to the others, but they'd already seen them. And there were too many to take on.

"Are the eagles fast enough?" He asked.

"No. We have to land."

"What do you mean?"

"Trust me, Tic. It's the only way. We have to land now, or they will catch us."

"Can't they just pursue on the ground."

"No. Just trust me. There's no time to explain. Dive!"

"Aeroth, follow us!" Shouted Tic, and their eagles dropped altitude. Sure enough, once they were close to the ground, the dragons changed direction and ascended back into the sky.

"They're leaving!" Cried Wyveryn. "We're saved!"

"No." Whispered Aurora. "We are not."

There was a large group of men waiting for them on the hilltop where they landed. Clad in leather armor and kilts, their weapons were drawn and they parted for the group. Though they were angry and clearly aggressive.



"Off your mounts, trespassers!" Cried a man with a thick Mach Ronan brogue. The party dismounted one by one. And as the last foot touched the ground, the eagles lifted their wings and took off into the sky.

"Who are you and what are you doing on our lands?"

"Now, please, we can explain everything if you'll just put down your weapons." Said Aeroth. And that was when he noticed that all of them were staring at Banger.

"Can it be?" Said the large leader in shock. "Princess Aurora of the Bengar? My wife?! You dare return here after what you've done!! You dishonor me, you disgusting whore!" And before any of them could react, he'd backhanded her face. She crumpled to the ground.

"Hey!" Tic ran for him in a rage, though his companions held him back.

"What did he mean 'my wife'?" Whispered Oriana to Wolfric, who said nothing.

"How dare you touch her!" Tic said seething.

"I will touch her however I choose. I am her husband! And how dare you trespass upon these lands, and ride upon creatures of magic! How dare you threaten me, the Bretnach! And you carry this traitorous witch in your midst. My men will take you to your prison, where you will be tried. But first, we will deal with my oh so loving wife. I've been waiting for this day for some time."

******************************************************

Once again, they found they'd escaped a prison only to find themselves in another one. This building was its own separate structure. And they were all together in one room. All, save for Banger.

From what they'd gathered, Aurora had been given to the Bretnach as a bride. She'd run away on her wedding night. This was grounds for execution. The warriors were cryptic with them, saying only that she would be tried tonight. And as for what was to become of them... it was unknown. The Mach Ronans obviously distrusted magic. So it was probably not in their favor that they'd rode in a Great Eagles.

The door to the prison cell opened and a man with a graying hair and beard walked in. He had the appearance of a seasoned warrior. He wore two braids on either side of his face, the mark of a Mach Ronan. His kilt was blue and hunter green plaid, which Tic recognized to be the color of the Bengar clan. He reminded Aeroth of a great deal of General Lux... only a bit shorter.

"Did the centaurs send you?" He asked.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

The man slammed his fist into the wall. "I'll not tolerate lies from your mouth, magic user. It is my job together to determine what kind of threat you are to my people. You come to my lands, riding creatures of magic, disturbing the peace of my people, drawing attention to us and possibly breaking several treaties with the Empire and the Centaurs. You don't ask the questions. I do. So I ask you again. Did the centaurs send you?"

"No."

"Who did?"

"Nobody sent us. We came from the south and we're on our way to the Duchy of DeargaÍn."

"How is it that my traitorous daughter came to travel in your company?"

"You're her father?!" Tic's question was accusatory.

"What did I tell you about questions, boy? I am her father, though I am not proud to say so. For what my daughter did brought great shame upon my clan. I ask you, did you bewitch her? Did you force her to run?"

"Run away from the Bretnach?" Asked Aeroth. "That nice fellow? She did that of her own accord. Can't say that I blame her."

"You come here and dishonor my people, and now you mock our customs?"

"How can I mock that which I do not understand?"

"Precisely, magic user. There is obviously much you do not understand. So let me educate you. My daughter was a gift to the Bretnach. When she chose to run away and leave her sacred duty behind her, she not only dishonored herself and my clan, she broke fundamental rules that have been a part of our religion and culture since the dawn of time. She knew this upon coming back here. And so, she shall be tried and then she will be executed."

"For what crime?" Asked Aeroth. "For refusing to marry a man she does not love?"

"For disobeying her father, and her husband. For dishonoring her clan. And for refusing to do her sacred duty as a woman. To bear children."

"Of all the backwards, twisted ways of thinking!"

"This from a man who rides eagles into Mach Rona. Stupid."

"So what will happen to Aurora? Will she really have a fair trial?"

"It is happening as we speak. And unless there is a man who is willing to stand up to our greatest warrior, the Bretnach, and claim her as his own, she was die tomorrow."

"What do you mean a man who will claim her as his own?"

"Our custom is that if one man wants another man's wife, he can challenge the husband in a fair fight. Hand to hand combat."

"I accept the challenge!" Cried Aeroth.

"Um... Aeroth?" Marco tried to interject, pointing to an extremely irate Tic.

"I will not let such an injustice happen! I will fight for Aurora's hand! And I will devour your mighty warrior for supper!"

"Aeroth!" Marco snapped.

"And if you so much as harm a single hair on that woman's head--!" Aeroth swung his fist and made contact with the Bengar's jaw. He barked in rage, and threw one back, striking Aeroth so hard that the paladin actually fell to the ground.

Towering over him, the Bengar sneered. "You're not fit to fight for the hand of my daughter. You wouldn't last two heartbeats."

"I will fight for her." Tic stepped forward.

The Bengar seemed to notice him for the first time. "You're small. And scrawny. You could never challenge my son-in-law and win."

"I'm stronger than I look. And I love your daughter."

Everyone stared at him. Aeroth rubbed his aching jaw.

The Bengar considered him for a moment, then stepped back. "Very well, what is your name, boy who loves my daughter?"

"Tic."

"What kind of a name is that?"

"Short." Murmured Wyveryn. Oriana elbowed him in the gut.

"Very well, Tic of the Magic Users. Tomorrow morning you will fight the Bretnach. If he wins, you will face execution and my daughter will die. If you win, you gain my daughter's hand in marriage. May Tyr have mercy on your soul."

He turned and walked out the door.

Aeroth kept rubbing his jaw. The old man could throw a punch. "Tic," he asked, "are you certain you want to do this?"

"I've never been more certain about anything in my life."

And by the look on his face, no one would be able to talk him out of the agreement he'd just made. There was nothing they could do. Tomorrow Tic would would fight for Aurora's life. And take her as his wife. Or die trying.

Chapter X Commercial: BATTLE & FLIGHT

Chapter IX: The Dungeons of Stonehold

shiver of dread passed amongst them, perhaps from the frightened child, or perhaps from the sense of danger they descended down into the darkness of the dungeons. For some, like Aeroth, it was a mixture of uncertainty and a welcome to enclosed spaces once more. For others, such as Wyveryn, it was a descent into claustrophobia. The connection between everyone was keen, stronger than ever, as the sick baby’s heart pumps faster and faster. Protect me, she seemed to plead. Some of them would do so willingly. Others fight the paternal sensation.

The Trickster took them to a bottom of a set of stairs, turned and faced them, his torch lighting the features of his face. He was a handsome man. Still ageless. Still mischievous. The stubble on his pronounced chin never seemed to grow or shorten. It is always the same length. His ears, they noticed, are slightly pointed. That of half-elven descent. Perhaps they'd never noticed that before.

“Well, this is where I disappear into some shadows of my own. You may find this hard to believe, but you are not the only people that need saving tonight. As you go forth, you will not lose your way so long as you keep to the right. Always keep to the right. If you forget, or if you take a wrong turn, I am sure you will have some great stories to tell when all is said and done. Make no mistake, weary travelers, the way beneath the city of Stonehold is a treacherous one. But I guarantee you there is one way in, and one way out.

The tunnels below you lead to an ancient city, that was once said to belong to a beautiful Queen. She and her children perished there, their bones dug up on an archeological dig many years ago. But this Queen was distrustful, and set her hallways full of traps… and treasures. I’ll leave it to you to determine which is what. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, isn’t that what they say?

“So farewell and good luck. As always, I doubt this is the last we shall see of each other. I would say to try to stay out of trouble, but some things fall upon deaf ears.”

He’d left them with torches, but their weapons and belongings were still back somewhere in the Stormhold Fortress. Aeroth grumbled something to himself about his axe. Tic felt naked without his short swords. Banger, who carried the baby upon her back, seemed weary. But down they descended the winding staircase… the deeper they went the more they felt a chill. And an odd wind seemed to pick up, but where it came from, they did not know. There were no windows about. This hardly seemed the likely place for a draft.

When at last they reached the bottom, they came to a small foyer and a pair of hallways, one to the right, and one to the left.

“We go to the right!” Aeroth said stubbornly.

“Why are you so quick to trust a man who’s name is the Trickster?” Asked Wyveryn.

“Because surely if he wanted us dead, we would be dead.” Marco stated matter-of-factly. “He obviously wants or needs something from us, and until he gets it, I don’t believe he means us harm.”

“Depends what you mean by harm,” Wyveryn scoffed. “Dropping us off in a dungeon maze beneath the city of Stonehold with nothing but our rags and some torches. He’s probably having a good laugh upstairs.”

“Much as I enjoy this banter, I don’t plan on standing here all day.” Tic said hastily. “There’s someone right behind us. Do you hear that?”

The group hushed, and indeed, many of them could hear the click, click, click of a heel against the cold stone steps. They were slow and steady, but definitely descending down towards them.

“Maybe it’s the Trickster?” Wolfric wondered.

“Doubt it.” Said Tic.

“What’s that?” Asked Marco, pointing to a piece of parchment paper plastered loosely up against the left wall. It was just far enough out of their eye sight to see clearly, but Marco wondered what it could be. As he moved, Aeroth grabbed his shoulder.

“That, my friend, is to the left. We do not go to the left. I say we leave it.”

“Fine. I’ll go to the right. You all can follow me if you want to.” Wyveryn began to walk towards the right hallway. But Marco pulled out his own mirror and took Wolfric’s goblet to create a sort of magnifying glass. Indeed the parchment had some writing and the drawing of a man on it.

As Wyveryn stepped into the hallway on the right, a rippling sensation was experienced by all, as if the walls, floor, and ceiling had suddenly become water. And then, just like that, the parchment paper was plastered to the wall on the right. Wyveryn blinked his eyes, visibly confused by what had just happened.

There, before him, was an old parchment paper, with the picture of an ageless, handsome man upon it. In big, bold letters at the top was written: WANTED. Then “DEAD OR ALIVE”. And the name… “PETER SKYFE”.



“Peter Skyfe…” Marco whispered curiously under his breath.

“I’ve heard that name before.” Said Aeroth.

“Indeed.” Wolfric muttered in agreement. “But what is he doing down here? What a strange place to put a Wanted Ad.”

“But the even bigger question now is, did the dungeon just shift? Is right now left?” Tic asked.

“We go right.” Said Aeroth. “It’s our best choice. We follow what the Trickster told us.”

Click… click… click… Marco heard the soft footsteps coming from up above. The moved slowly… almost lazily. But they were coming down the winding stairs.

“Someone is coming…” Marco’s words broke through the discussion. “May I suggest we move forward? Hastily?”

It was the first time the party agreed. Under Aeroth’s direction, they went to the tunnel on the right. But Marco stayed behind to see who was following them. In the shadows he would wait, just as Allondra had once taught him. He wondered where she was at this very moment… did she ever think of him anymore? Or was she completely consumed with Okra by now…?

****************************************************

The first door they came to was (thankfully) on the right. No need for discussion there. As always, Aeroth wanted to discuss how to open the door, whereas Wyveryn simply opened it and walked inside, heedless of a dangers before him.

The room was circular, and domed. Large totems of giant faces protruded from the walls. Each appeared to represent a different emotion. And all were about ten feet high, the mouths large enough to be a doorway, the eyes meant to be windows. From left to right they read the inscriptions of the sculptures:

Fear. Happiness. Sadness. Wisdom. Anger.

Instinctually, Aeroth cast a “detect evil”, and sensed four evils in the room. Four evils. Five heads. Only one would be safe to pass through. He muttered a curse under his breath.

“Perhaps we should try Anger? Since it is, after all, the one on the right?” Wolfric put in.

“And if we’re wrong?” Tic asked.
“There’s only one way to find out!” And with that, Wyveryn stepped through the mouth of “Anger”.

“Seems good to me!” He shouted back at them.

Aeroth muttered another curse under his breath, this time even nastier than the first.

************************



Marco, who had been waiting at the bottom of the steps, listened intently as the footsteps grew louder and came closer. His hand gripped his sword, preparing for battle. But then in the next moment, when the person should have come into full sight, the footsteps vanished into nothingness. There was no one there. He felt nothing but a small gust of wind. And where that came from, he had no idea.

Marco was shaken. He didn’t like this place, not one bit. Turning on his heel, he went to join the others.

***********************************

The company was in a hidden tunnel that curved around behind the totem heads. It looked like a thieves room. For whatever went on in the hall could be viewed through the eye windows, or the mouths. Yet something smelled of death in here. It was dark and foreboding, and still that strange gust of wind kept raising the hairs on the back of Wyveryn’s neck.

As they poked and prodded their way about, Wyveryn noticed the first body as he turned the corner. By now, he must be behind happiness totem. Beyond the first body was a second, and then a third, all fully armed with usable weapons. He reached for one.

Aeroth grabbed his arm. “Don’t touch them! I have a bad feeling about this place.”

“It’s just a sword.” Scoffed Wyveryn.

“I don’t know. He may be right.” Tic said cautiously. “He said he detected evil in this place. How do we know..?”

“We don’t know until we act.” Said Wyveryn. The baby let out a small cry as he grabbed the hilt of a short sword.

Instantly he realized his mistake. His hand became icy cold to the touch, the coloring became white. His veins became blue, and the shocking cold started to creep up his wrist, into his forearm, elbow and then up towards his shoulder. In a panic, he tried to loosen his grip, but he sword would not let him.

“Somebody do something!” He cried, hearing his voice rise.

Wolfric instantly laid hands on him and went to work. The color seemed to creep back down his arm, but it took so much out of Wolfric that by the time he’d finished and Wyveryn’s arm was healed, he’d been drained of much of his healing powers.

“Wyveryn--!” Aeroth began.

“It turned out fine, Aeroth. Just leave me alone.” Not interested in a scolding, he kept moving through the array of dead bodies. Of course, he could not shake the feeling of terror that had just overcome him. So he would, instead, try to divert his attention.

Marco sensed things here. Things of a magical nature. Perhaps it was the wind that guided him, but he felt that same shimmering feeling against the wall, as if something secret were written upon it. He ran his hands over it, trying to see the words, but could not. And then, an idea came to him. Pulling out his little pocket mirror, held it up and look at the wall through it.

He was right! Sure enough there were moonlit words written right there. And through the mirror he could clearly make them out:

“Ekarmordi’s disciple lurks in the darkness below. Beware, traveler, for all who enter here become the hunted.”

Ekarmordi! The Drow King! Marco’s heart skipped a beat. He called the rest of them to his side, and recited the words of warning to them. Their faces went white. None were pleased to learn this bit of information.

“Who is Ekarmordi?” Asked Wolfric.

“The Drow King.” Answered Aeroth. “And he’s no friend of mine.”

It was at this point that Wyveryn noticed the battle axe on the far end of the tunnel. By now, they must be standing behind the sadness totem. The weapon was propped up against the wall, as if placed there with great care. It peaked his curiosity.

Meanwhile, Marco had dropped a potion on one of the short swords the caused it to gleam gold. Once he figured it was safe, he grabbed the hilt and no harm came to him. Smiling at his own cleverness, he sheathed his new weapon.

Aeroth noticed the axe as well. Now both he and Wyveryn were staring at it.

Banger held the baby close to her, lulling it back to sleep. She stood close to Tic, and he could feel her breath on his face. Even in this dark place, she smelled sweet to him.

“I don’t know how to explain this, Tic,” she whispered, “but it’s as though the more time I spend with the baby, the more she gives me the ability to “sense” things. And I sense that this dungeon… these walls… are somehow alive. And breathing.” She ran her hand along the wall, touching it as though she were touching a pregnant belly.

He frowned. “I believe you. What do you make of it?”

“That there is something down there that waits for us. And there is something down there that needs us. They are not one and the same. And the only way out is to go down. Does that make any sense?”

Tic nodded. “It makes sense to me.”

His words seemed to reassure her. For she was not a woman of prophecy. She was a realist. A woman of the sword. Sensing things and feeling things that were not there… it made her uneasy. What would her father say? A Mach Ronan who hated all things magic. She’d grown up Liberist. How strange now to be filtering magic through the vessel of a baby.

Aeroth and Wyveryn noticed the initials on the axe at about the same time. Y.L. Yvander Lux. With the insignia of two scales: Tyr. His heart pounding, Aeroth crossed over to it and made to grab the hilt.

“Wait!” Said Marco, who scurried over to drop another potion upon it. “All right, try it now.”



Aeroth grabbed the mighty axe by the handle and immediately it glistened gold. And it felt like home. Whether or not he imagined it, he could practically smell General Lux there beside him. Without a doubt, this had been his war axe. He rarely was seen without it. But what was it doing here? A hundred questions popped into his head as Wyveryn, growing impatient with the group again, decided it was time to leave.

He took a step through one of the mouths before Marco and the others could stop him. Once again, his foot turned to ice and painfully he watched the whiteness creepy up his calf to his knee. Wyveryn cursed as Wolfric hurried to him to performed what little spells he had left. By the time they were done, the foot had healed, but Wolfric was left with practically no abilities. And where they were going it was likely they would need a cleric.

“Dammit, Wyveryn, why can’t you just wait a moment before you prod ahead like a madman?” Aeroth spat. Wyveryn said nothing. For he knew he’d been foolish.

They went out the same way they went in—through the mouth of anger. And when they left the room, they turned right down the hallway.

There came a door on the left. And the hallway veered to the right. Aeroth, Marco, & Wolfric moved on. “Always keep to the right” were the Trickster’s words. Aeroth planned to heed them.



But Wyveryn, of course, had other ideas.

“What do you suppose is in there?” Wyveryn asked Tic, pointing to the door.

“Dunno,” shrugged Tic. “But it’s on the left. I doubt you’ll find any volunteers to go inside and see.”

“I’ll do it.” And when Wyveryn opened the door, the shimmering that had appeared before appeared again. This time, a solid wall appeared behind them, blocking their way back. And a solid wall appeared in front of them, blocking them off from Aeroth, Wolfric, and Marco. The only way to go now was inside. They would have to see whatever was on the other side of that door.

“You had to go and do it, didn’t you?!” Tic threw his arms up in the air. Banger glanced worriedly behind her at the baby she carried on her back, who thankfully seemed to be sleeping.

“How was I supposed to know it would do that?”

“Because it was on the left. The door was on the left. Right is good. Left is bad. That’s what we figured out. And you keep ignoring that. And look what happens to you? You almost lose an arm and a foot. Now we’re stuck here because you’re an idiot!”

“Well, let’s just see what’s inside.” And when Wyveryn pushed the door open, all their torchlight went out.

From the darkness, Tic’s voice rang out.

“Great. Just great.”

They would have been in sheer and utter darkness had it not been for Wyveryn's sword, which cast of a faint glow. But even that was not enough to penetrate this large and seemingly endless room. The wind here was greater than anywhere else in the dungeon. So much so that it seemed to draw them inside.

They hugged the walls, creeping to the right. Aware that something must be there, lurking, waiting for them. Not knowing what it was practically sent Wyveryn into a panic. The only thing he was grateful for was not being able to see the expression on Tic's face. For in that moment, if their lives weren't already being threatened, he was sure Tic would try to kill him.

Something swished past him. He felt a coldness. And the wind picked up even more, pulling him away from the wall and towards the center of the room. He fought it, always trying to keep one hand against something solid.

And then came the first attack.

It seemed to take a bite out of his shoulder, whatever it was. And when he spliced through the air, they heard a pitiful wail. When he pulled his sword back there was clear colored ooze upon it that, after a moment, seemed to vanish into thin air.

"What the--?"

Tic and Banger started waving their swords about. Tic felt himself make contact with at least two foes, but whatever it was they were fighting they could not see. The wind was practically a maelstrom, drawing them all to the center of the room. And his instincts told him that whatever was in the center of the room was not good. He tried with all his might to keep to the wall. Though he didn't know how long he could manage that.

Something whizzed by him in the darkness and let out a bloodcurdling wail. He flailed with his sword but struck nothing. And at long last, Banger seemed to make contact with whatever the last foe was. Her sword was covered in goo, which eventually disappeared. With it, the wind slowed down and died away. The lights from their torches were re-lit. And they found themselves standing in a barren, circular room. There were no bodies. Nothing. It was as if it had never happened.

Tic wondered if the walls were still up outside, but he got his answer when he saw Aeroth's face at the door.

"What happened?? Are you all right? We tried to reach you but we couldn't."

"We're fine now." Banger answered, drawing herself up with the baby upon her back. Walking over to Wyveryn, she shoved him in the chest. Hard.

"If you ever do anything like that again, I will personally kill you myself. Slowly and painfully." And with that, she stormed towards the open door.

Tic smirked.

And then Banger felt to her knees. She was dripping blood.

"Aurora!" He ran to her side, and got there faster than any of them. What he found was a crimson stain on the side of her blouse, and it was getting bigger. He tore that side off to reveal a gaping wound, so deep they could see ripped muscles and a bit of bone. Banger gritted her teeth through the pain. She hadn't felt it before now, and overcame her completely.

"What happened to you?" Aeroth said, dumbfounded.

"There's no time to explain. Hand me a garment. I need to stop the bleeding."

"I can do better than that." Wolfric stepped forward. Tic grudgingly gave him permission to hold her. The cleric laid hands on her and saw the tears in her muscle start to repair. A bit of color returned to her face. And then, just as suddenly, the wound reopened.

"I don't understand..." Wolfric muttered.

"It's the baby." Banger said through gritted teeth. "She's taking my strength. Whoever is the closest to her she takes the most from. It killed Jewelynna. And now she's taking it from me."

Quickly, Aeroth tried to pull Brillowyn off her back.

"Leave her!" Instructed Aurora.

"But she is hurting you!" Cried Wolfric, aghast.

"Just patch me up, Cleric. Wrap me, tight, so I don't lose anymore blood. It's a nasty wound, but not a mortal one. No sense wasting your spells on me. Let my body heal on its own. I'm used to that. And I'll be fine."

"But--"

"Just wrap it!" She sounded annoyed. Obediently he took a long piece of material and began to bind her open wound. Aeroth nodded, knowing he would have done the same. He admired her strength. But he still looked worried.

Tic's mouth was slightly ajar. He'd never known any woman as brave as this. And when the binding was finished, she stood up as if she were none worse for the wear and strode out the room. He could not hide his admiration.

*********************************************

On they went, jumping at every sound, ghostly whispers in their ears. And every now and then, a set of footsteps could be heard in the distance. Wyveryn was oddly quiet, frustrated that every move he'd made had caused trouble, and that he'd needed someone to get him out of his own messes. It was embarrassing. Banger refused to make eye contact with him. Her pride only made him feel more guilty. It reminded him of his mother. When she was upset with him, she got quiet. That was much worse than yelling or screaming. Wyveryn decided he'd done enough damage tonight. So when they came to the next hallway split and came to another door, he made no move to go near it.

This time, it was Marco who approached it. Picking up his hand held mirror, he raised it to look at the moonlit words written on the door.

"DO NOT ENTER HERE--PETER SKYFE"

But Marco, who was normally the cautious one, found himself intrigued. It was as if the dungeons of Stonehold were presenting him with an exceptionally challenging puzzle. And the magician could not refuse the bait. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. Inside was a small room with nothing but a chest against the far wall.

Before Tic or Aeroth could do anything, Marco had tied a rope around his waist and handed it to them.

"Hold this. Pull me out if I tug it. Immediately."

"Marco, I don't think this is--"

"Just do it, please."

And in he went, hugging the right side of the room. The rope dragged behind him, Tic grasping it from the doorway. the party gathered around, peering inside but careful to stay in the hallway. They watched the magician gingerly make his way toward the chest. When he got there, he examined the lock and found it to be open--seemingly without any traps. And so, with his heart pounding, Marco lifted the lid.

The result was anti-climactic. Inside was nothing more than a blank parchment paper. Furrowing his brow, he pulled the mirror out of his pocket again and read the moonlit letters.

"I told you!"- PETER

And the door slammed shut.

Water began pouring into the room from the walls and the ceiling. Frantically, Marco tugged at the string tied around his waist only to discover that it had broken in two. Sticking the parchment in his vest, the water moved up from his knees to his thighs. And then to his chest... his shoulders. He searched and searched for an exit... a way out. And somewhere, he wondered who his Peter fellow was and why he was playing tricks on them. Undoubtedly, he was the one who wrote the moonlit messages on the doors and the walls and the parchment. What was the purpose of setting traps such as these? To keep people out? But they were such pointless traps-almost set for amusement. Like they were created from the mind of a child.

And as that last thought came to him, the water lever rose to his chin. He would have slapped his forehead if he could, because somehow in all the thinking, he'd forgotten his power to teleport. So in the blink of an eye, he vanished from the water-filled room and landed in the hallway behind Wyveryn. Still catching his breath, he saw that none of them noticed his sopping wet form sprawled on the dungeon floor.

"Marco! For the love of Tyr, someone do something!" Aeroth cried.

"The door is locked!" Said Tic.

"Well, bash it open!"

"All right. One... two..."

"I appreciate the sentiment," Marco interjected, "but I no longer need you to bash in the door. In fact, right now, I would very much appreciate the use of a towel."

Everyone turned and let out a collective gasp.

"You're sopping wet, Marco!" Banger raced to his side.

"What happened in there?" Asked Aeroth.

"Trap." Marco stated matter-of-factly, spitting out some water from his mouth. "Nothing in there but trouble. We should move on."

Wyveryn smirked. "At least it wasn't me this time."

Everyone ignored him.

The magician did, however, show them the letter.

"Peter again. Peter Skyfe." Said Aeroth. "The one we saw in the Wanted Ad. Who is he and what does he have to do with this place?"

"He's obviously the one who's setting the traps." Said Tic.

"Whoever this Peter is, we will likely find messages from him as we move along. Keep your eyes and ears open. And help me up." Banger and Tic pulled the wet magician to his feet.

"Anything hurt?" Asked Tic.

"Only my pride." Came the answer.

***********************************************


As they continued on their way, wearily watching the walls and listening to whispers through the air, gusts of wind whistled silently past them. It heightened their senses as they once again wondered where it was coming from.

And then Aeroth took a step and the floor beneath him gave way. he felt himself falling... falling into the darkness. He reached out but only grasped the air.

Marco caught the giant paladin by his collar. But quickly felt his grip slipping.

"Help!" Marco screamed. And then Tic was beside the magician and together they pulled the paladin up to floor level.

They all sat there in a heap, just breathing.

"I really, really, don't like this place." Tic muttered.

"All the more reason to press forward." Said the winded paladin.

*********************************************

One more door they checked on this level, just a few feet past that hole in the floor. And though nothing special appeared inside, Aeroth felt his mind leave his body. It was as if he was floating above himself, and then everything changed. Suddenly he was no longer in the dungeon, but outside. At night. There was a pristine waterfall, speckled with fireflies. The moon cast a purplish glow about this place. He smelled the water and the fresh grass. It was such a soothing relief from the terror of the dungeons.

And then he saw her... a woman shimmering and silver, gliding to him from the opposite riverbank. Indeed she did not appear to touch the ground, but float slightly above it. Her hair was dark, her skin was pale with an unearthly shimmer to it. Her ears were pointed, but she was not elven. Nor Elladrin like Marco. What she was he could not quite determine. Regardless, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

"I am Queen Bemminnen of the Fey. I believe you have my daughter in your keeping. I pray that you bring her here safely. For our land grows ill and dies in her absence. Brillowyn must be brought home. And to help you in your quest, noble paladin, I offer you a gift. The Cage, a seemingly insignificant object, has a power offered to you. But it may only be given to one who is worthy of receiving. Solve my riddle, and you may unlock the secret of the cage."

"There are four brothers in this world that were all born together.
The first runs and never wearies.
The second eats and is never full. The third drinks and is always thirsty.
The fourth sings a song that is never good."

Aeroth thought and thought, wracking his brain. Four brothers... born together...

"I know the answer." He said. "The first runs and never wearies. He is water. The second eats and never is full. He is fire. The third drinks and is always thirsty. He is earth. And the fourth sings a song that is never good. He is wind."

"Well done, Paladin. But to answer a simple riddle is not enough to unlock my gift. You must do that which you know is necessary now. You must welcome the one into your heart with love and forgiveness. And when you do this for me, you may know the power of the Cage. Farewell, noble paladin. Hasten to me."

In a shimmer Bemminnen was gone along with the waterfall and the riverbank of fireflies. He was back in the dungeons, staring dumbly at a wall.

"Aeroth, are you all right?" Asked Banger.

"I... ah... did anyone see anything strange around here?"

"Define strange." Muttered Wyveryn.

"You would have known it if you'd seen it. Nevermind." And with that, they pressed on and came to another set of stairs which brought them downward. Banger couldn't explain it. She felt as through they were going in the right direction but also blanketed with a sense of doom.

**********************************************

Wyveryn and Wolfric both experienced the same senation, though none were aware of the other. Wolfric's vision came to him shortly after Aeroth's. His riddle was "Feed me and I live, drink me and I die". Instantly he replied, "Fire." and the ethereal Queen granted him Fire Breath to use in battle.

Not all gifts were as simple as that. Aeroth still struggled to puzzle out what piece of the puzzle he was missing. And once down on the third floor of the dungeon, Wyveryn had his own experience. It occured in a room of mirrors. From the moment they stepped inside, an odd feeling came over him... as if all this was meant to happen and had been foreshadowed long ago. The company stood in a bedroom of what must have been a wealthy noblewoman. Perhaps once this place was exquisite, but now it was dark and withered--a gloom hanging over it like a ghostly whisper. The bed, the empty drawers, the colorless rug... all of it seemed... odd. but strangest of all were the mirrors.

They covered the walls and the ceiling. There were even some placed upon dressers and nightstands. Wyveryn caught a glance of himself in one that had been been broken, and shivered. What was it about this place....?

"Who lived here?" Aeroth wondered aloud.

"An ancient Queen," Marco answered, running his finger along a dusty table. "It's said that they do not know what happened to her husband, but that she had two daughters. Her name is also unknown, but her body is mummified in the Stonehold museum. Strange that this place has not been touched for years. One would think they would have turned this into some kind of tourist attraction. But it appears as hollow as a dead tree."

"A Queen who lived in the Age of Magic?" Asked Banger.

"Yes. Over two thousand years ago."

"What was her name? I don't believe I've heard of her."

"I cannot remember. In fact, I do not believe her name is known. However...." He said, walking to the nightstand beside the bed.... "there were some who nicknamed her the Queen of Despair." And with his eyes wide, he picked up a dusty tarot card, brushed off the spiderwebs, and held it up for Wyveryn to see.

The ranger's face went white.



"When were you planning on telling me this, Marco?" He asked.

"I only just remembered it now by putting two and two together. Your card that you received from the old gypsy woman in Legend's Hollow... can it see it?"

Wyveryn pulled it out of his pocket. They compared the two.

"Exactly the same. Interesting."

"But what does it mean?" Banger asked insitantly.

"That we just got one more piece of an impossible puzzle." Answered Marco.

"Seems like every time we get the answer to one question, five more questions pop up."

But Wyveryn stopped hearing them, because he smelled the grass and heard the waterfall. Suddenly he was swept away into the vision. Queen Bemminnen glided towards him and gave him his riddle to solve.



"The one who triggers this
The Mirror of Despair
Must first Seek
The Ancient Queen’s Lair
Unleash this on the one who
Is, of this, long overdue:
"The poor alone possess me; yet the mean
And grudging rich oft give me to the poor,
Who yet are not made richer than before."

Wyveryn thought a moment.

"Compassion?"

She rewarded him with a wry smile. "It is not enough for you to answer the question and to speak the word. You must find it also within yourself in order to activate my special gift to you. Good luck, half elf. May you find your way to me soon...."

And just as quickly as it came, the vision faded.

*****************************************************************************************

Wyveryn had thought the Queen of Despair card might have meant death or something possibly even worse for him. Now that he had seen these chambers and realized that this woman was a real person, he suddenly knew what he had to do. On the other end of the bedroom was another door, which he opened and stepped into the hallway.

"Wyveryn!" Shouted Aeroth. "What are you doing?"

"Walking. What does it look like?"

"We move together. As a group. That was what we agreed on."

But Wyveryn wasn't listening to him. "There is crying coming from that room ahead.

The party rushed to the doorway and saw the half-elf standing before an exquisitely carved door. Indeed, faint sobbing sounds seemed to be coming from inside. Aeroth shook his head.

"You're not going in there."

Marco touched the paladin's shoulder. "Perhaps you should let him make his own decision, Aeroth. We will be here to help him if he needs it."

The paladin grumpily folded up his arms and said nothing. And just like that, Wyveryn clicked the door open and stepped inside the room.

************************************************************************************

His heart was pounding for many reasons and not just out of fear. The room was dimly lit, and seemed to belong to that of a young child. There were toy boxes and a rocking horse. Several mirrors laid about but none as many as in the Queen's bedchambers. The sobbing was louder now, and some instinct inside of him told him to hold of his mirror.

When he looked through the piece of glass, he saw what the chamber once had been--golden, brightly colored and full of joy. He saw a young girl with dark hair and braids dancing and playing with her dolls. But when he pulled the mirror away, he was struck with the reality of the chill in this place. The aura of sadness, much like in the Queen's bedroom.

And then his heart pounded faster as he saw there was someone on the bed.

It was a small bundle under the covers, but undoubtedly that was the source of the sobs. Unsure of what to do next, he looked at the bundle on the bed and asked, "Child, why are you crying?"

There came no reply.

Meekly he took a step forward. "Child, are you sad? Is there something I can do for you?"

Still nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he moved to the edge of the bed and even put his hand on the bedpost.

"I need you to help me. I need you to tell me what I can do help you. I'm not the one that normally does this kind of thing. I'm usually the one who creates all the messes. But for some reason, it was foretold that I would come here, and I would be standing here before you now. It's just that now that I'm here... I don't know what to do.

I have grown into a broken man, little girl. A broken man with no compassion. Even the friends that I travel with, I do not treat them as friends. But the truth is... the truth is that I would not be standing here before you if it were not for them. And where there was no compassion in my heart at the beginning of this journey, I owe it to them that I can stand here and say this to you now with my head held high. I've been changed, little girl, whether I meant for it to happen or not. And so this new Wyveryn wants to help you. I want to stop being broken like the mirrors in your mother's room. Teach me how to fix myself. Tell me what you need from me and I shall do it."

Reaching towards her, he touched the covered and drew them away, revealing an empty bed.

"What...? I pour my heart out to you and you're not even...?" As he spun around, he saw her. A small child, with long dark braids in a white chemise. Her skin was pale, her eyes red from crying. She stood in the middle of the room and stared at him intently. At first, he panicked, thinking that she would attack, but then she reached up her arms to him and he welcomed her into a warm embrace.



"There, there..." he said, tenderly stroking her hair. It was only then that he realized her sobbing at stopped, and she'd vanished from the room.

When Wyveryn came to his feet, he found himself once again at the waterfall. Queen Bemminnen was there, but this time, the little girl was beside her.

"I see you have found compassion in your heart, young ranger. And you have saved this little girl from a very long and sorrowful ritual. For that I thank you. There is but one more task to unlock my gift. I hope to see you shortly."

Then he was back in the room, his mind reeling from all he had seen and felt.

************************************************************************

When Wyveryn emerged from the room, he seemed a different man. They poked and prodded him for answers, but only Tic got the full story. For some reason, Tic was the only one Wyveryn fully trusted at the moment.

"I've only one card left."

"One Queen of Despair card? What happened to the other one?" Asked Tic.

"It disappeared when she did."

"Well, then you should know there is one more door a few more paces down the hall. There is music coming from inside. And this time, it should be me that goes. You look rustled."

Wyveryn did not put up an argument. Aeroth was angry that no one was consulting him as Tic disappeared into the next doorway down. Once again, he folded his arms across his chest. There were many virtues to Aeroth Ravenswing. Patience was not one of them.

***************************************************************************

It was the same sort of room Tic stepped into, only this one belonged to a girl a bit older. There were dolls and toys, but in the center of the room was a piano. And playing at the ivory keys was a raven haired girl with her hair pinned up. She seemed to take no notice of Tic.

He came inside and carefully sat beside her on the chair. When he finished the piece, she looked up at him expectantly.



"That was beautiful." He said.

Unexpectedly, the girl stood from her stool and strode towards him. Like Wyveryn, Tic's instinct was to draw his sword. But he stayed in his seat and waited to see what would happen. Delicately, she bent down and whispered into his ear these words:

"No brother is perfect
Near or apart.
Brother must forgive brother
Let him back in his heart."

And with that, she vanished on the spot.

Tic slowly rose to his feet, wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and stared at the spot where the girl had once stood. He felt changed. So much had happened to him since the fall of Cöthrom. He had seen and endured many things. But he knew this would affect him. To know that the power of love was so great that these two little girls must have endured several lifetimes of sorrow just to be released now... it was an overwhelming responsibility such as he had never known.

As quietly as he'd entered, he left the room.



******************************************************************************

Wyevyern told no one-not even Tic- that he'd seen the Queen Bemminnen one last time. There were two girls at her side, the daughters of the ancient Queen. They thanked him for what he'd released them from. And Bemminnnen bestowed upon him the gift of the Mirror of Opposition. Up to four times in a day he could cast this mirror to reflect whatever beast or person opposed them. The mirror would then create a duplicate of that opponent and the two would battle each other. It was a gift only spoke of in legends. Wyveryn could not fully grasp the honor that had been handed to him.

*******************************************************************************

They came to another set of stairs which led them down deeper and deeper into the dungeon. When at last they reached a landing, Banger took Tic's hand.

"Something's down here. The baby tells me she can feel it."

"Was this what you felt upstairs?"

"Yes, but stronger now. Stay close. It is too dark for me to see."

Indeed the only light in this place came from Wyveryn's sword and Aeroth-who'd produced a little light of his own. They were obviously in a cavernous room, but the ground here was earth and not stone. It unnerved all of them that they could not see what was ahead.

"Stay close" Instructed the paladin. And then his foot touched the first arm.

It was severed from the body it had once belonged to.

Aeroth grimaced and stepped around it, only to find a torso, ripped in half. What creature could to this?

Another arm... a leg... a human skull... this place was littered with death. And after wading through the sea of body parts, they came at last to the other end of the room and discovered something hiding there.

It was a woman, bound, bloodied and tied with her hands and feet behind her. Wild were her eyes, but she seemed blinded by the light as if she had not seen light for weeks. Her skin was pale and her hair was dark. Her clothing was tattered and torn, and there were bruises and claw marks on her skin. And from the point of her ears there was no doubt this was a full-blooded elf. She seemed terrified when they came closer to her, but Aeroth put his hand up.

"We're not here to hurt you." He insisted. Then, taking a step closer... "I'm going to unbind your mouth."

He did so.

"You have to get out of here." She said desperately. "He is coming back. Already it may be too late-"

And then from behind them they heard a door close and a set of footsteps at the stairwell they had just come from. The party turned to see a dark figure lined in the doorway. Black was his armor. White was his hair. Red were his eyes, with a sneer on his lips. He looked like a rabid beast unleashed from his cage and hungry for food. There came a wicked smile over his face.

"And what have we here?" Asked the man in the black armor.

"It's the Blackguard!" Hissed the bound woman. "Now it's too late. He's come for me, and now for you as well."

But Aeroth stepped forward, proudly facing his foe.

"I am Aeorth Ravenswing. And you are not to harm this woman."

"Aeroth Ravenswing?" The deep voice hissed with amusement. "So many are looking for you. My lord, Ekarmordi, will be so pleased when I tell him that I've killed you... but not before I've toyed with you first." And with a flick of his gloved hand, there came a bloodcurdling scream from above them.

The party gasped and looked up, seeing two creatures descending upon them. One was a horned devil, a wide grin spread across his evil face. And the other?... A Wyveryn. A cousin to the dragon, with a serpant-like body, a claws sharp enough to rip through steel and flesh.

"Kill the lights!" Cried Marco. And so they did. For this would be their mightiest battle yet... and it would happen in the dark.