Sci Fi & Fantasy / Alixander Fey: Heritage (Analysis)

Alixander Fey: Heritage.

Part one of the DragonKnight Quintet

The Prophecy

the ring is broken—now at last
gone the master of the past
another soul must rise and bring
hope again—on hidden wing

a ring—once more—must needs be forged
charged with pow’r from Aduil’s gorge
take now this gift—from heaven’s sky
bear it up and wield it high

but more than this your quest requires
—even now there burneth fires—
retrieve the stone of ancient race
banished now from Aduil’s face

now with this power you will see
anger, wrath, and jealousy
of friends and comrades—who will take
arms against you—in their hate

the elder now are gone from thought—
but your pow’r their kinship bought
the crystal—staff—and sword begin—
scepter of what might have been

the ancient magicks must return
captured now within the urn
and with the magicks—kingdoms old
rise to take us in their fold

Prologue

“My lord?”

Two piercing green eyes opened suddenly, spreading emerald light into the shadows. The low, steady rhythm of heavy breathing resounded throughout the room, bringing with it the musty smell of extreme age. Permeating the entire chamber, a deathly cold chill pierced flesh and bone. Evil darkness loomed overhead like a curtain, choking out all signs of life. Against the incorporeal shadows that danced across the chamber, one single object stood out in the inky blackness: the centerpiece of the room, a tall dark throne adorned with stone skulls. The throne dominated the entire chamber, kindling a sense of inferiority in the servants who rarely frequented the room. As the emerald eyes moved, a deep throaty growl echoed across the near-silent throne room.

“Who dares disturb the Lord of RavenCrest?”

A frail, blue-cloaked man shied away from the powerful voice, quivering in stark terror. Gripping his staff until his knuckles turned white, the wizard sucked in a shallow breath and smoothed his robes with a sweaty palm. “I do,” he said.

“And who are you?”

“I am Gallas, high Necromancer and Governor of WyvrenKeep.”

Bemused by the pride in Gallas’s answer, the voice only snorted in reply. Within the chamber, the darkness itself seemed to tremble. Gallas listened to the rustling of scales with curiosity and patience, knowing that he must play this game to gain an audience with his lord. Suddenly, the rustling stopped, and a low, guttural laughter sounded throughout the room. Destitute of any mirth, the throaty chuckles bounded off the stone walls, echoing around Gallas until the sound grew nearly too loud to bear. The mocking laughter finally ceased as the same faceless voice spoke one heartless word.

“Fete.”

A gust of wind blasted through the chamber, stirring up dust and rustling the necromancer’s robes. As the arcane wind brushed across the stone walls of the keep, it blew past several dozen rows of unlit torches. These the wind ignited with magical fire, promulgating blazing light across the room. There were hundreds of sights to see and wonders to ponder in the throne room of the Lord of RavenCrest, but Gallas found his gaze drawn to one in particular—the source of the voice.

A large, iron-scaled black dragon lay curled around the throne, flicking its deadly tail menacingly. Each of the dragon’s black claws boasted a width and breadth greater than Gallas’ entire body; each unbreakable scale would yield enough raw ore to forge an entire suit of armor. The creature’s titanic black wings formed a blanket of shadow that covered nearly the entire chamber: try as he might, Gallas could not see the throne room’s ceiling. Resting atop a large and powerful neck, the dragon’s immense head sported two long horns and ominous green eyes. At the wyrm’s command, black fire could roll forth from her nostrils and consume anyone in her path.

The dragon looked down at Gallas curiously to discern whether he was friend or foe. As she craned her neck, the drake’s mighty head came within inches of the trembling necromancer.

“You wish me to awaken my lord?” she asked through a puff of stale breath.

Slowly, Gallas mustered the courage to nod his head. Looking up to the dark throne, he trembled under the might of his lord’s awesome power.

Dax Olesa leaned back against the skull-encrusted throne, sleeping peacefully as he rested his head on his hand. The black dragonknight’s raven hair fell loosely over his face, hiding his dark and handsome features. Gallas knew that, were the lord to open his eyes, they would glow with the same baleful green light that emanated even now from his dragon’s. Completely black and tipped in rough edges and spikes, his dragonarmor glimmered in the firelight from the nearby torches. On the man’s right hand, a large, golden ring sparkled with intense magic. That ring, Gallas knew, was the very artifact that gave lord Olesa his control over the ancient black dragon, Elika. Were the ring to shatter, the drake would go mad in confusion, destroy everything in its path, and return to the wild. In the center of the ring, a large red gemstone grabbed Gallas’ attention. Since the day that Olesa had placed the ring on his finger, the gemstone had shone with a bright crimson glow. Never before, however, had it glowed with the wicked light that illuminated it now. Curious, the necromancer forgot the reason for his audience with lord Olesa; instead, he wanted to know why the ring was glowing.

Eyeing Gallas for a few more seconds, Elika tilted her massive head upwards, suddenly loosing a fearsome roar that shook the very foundations of RavenCrest Keep. Gallas stepped back in fear, holding his staff up to defend himself against an attack that never came. As soon as Elika dropped her head, the dragonknight stirred.

Opening his eyes slowly, the Black Lord of RavenCrest looked to his dragon. “Elika, is something wrong?”

The dragon shook her entire body and smoothed out the scales of her wings with her snout. “Nay lord, but a fool has come seeking an audience with you.”

Olesa stood, sweeping his cape back and peering down through the darkness at Gallas. When his green eyes finally met the necromancer’s, the dragonknight smiled. “Ah, my servant. What do you need?” Stepping down slowly from his throne, he drew near Gallas and extended a hand in greeting.

The blue-robed necromancer bowed low in obeisance to his master and kissed the outstretched hand. Looking back up to barely meet the dragonknight’s eyes, he spoke. “M-my lord… I came to discuss the progress of our arms-forging. We nearly have enough to supply the entire army once again…” Gallas’s voice trailed off as he stared in wonder at his master’s ring. Although Olesa seemed not to notice, the red gemstone glowed fiercely, as if fire burnt within it. “My lord…” he began. “Your ring, I have never seen it glow like that.”

The dragonknight smiled and turned around. Walking back up to his throne, he sat down and extended his hand, gazing at the ring. “Whenever I cast dragonmagic, it glows like that,” the dark lord explained.

Gallas looked around uneasily. “Are you casting any spells now, sir?”

Smiling ominously, Olesa shook his head. “No. You see, the gemstone glows whenever the ring works its magic—and right now, the ring is trying to get my attention.”

“Can you answer it?” Gallas asked. “Make it stop?”

The dragonknight chuckled at his servant’s ignorance. “No,” he replied. “I don’t want to make it stop. It’s sending me… a dream of sorts.”

“A dream, my lord? What is the dream about?” the necromancer asked as he gazed at the ring in wonder. The burning light of the blood-red gemstone seemed to draw him in with its magic, inviting him to lower his defenses and accept its control. He jerked his head to the side, and the magical influence disappeared.

Olesa sat back and laughed heartily. “My slave, I have found another DragonRing!”

Gallas jerked his head upward at the simplicity of his master’s declaration. “My lord? A DragonRing?” Gazing at the floor in wonder, the necromancer nervously twisted his hands around his staff. “Calladus must know—he commanded that we tell him the moment we find another one.”

Stroking his chin, the dragonknight replied. “And tell him we shall.” Nodding towards Elika, Olesa continued. “You will accompany me to the NightHaven Forest, where I shall report my discovery to our dark vampire lord.”

The necromancer bowed in obeisance again. “Yes, Lord.” Pausing for a moment, he continued. “Sir, if you can safely deliver this prize to him, imagine the rewards he will heap upon you!” Dax Olesa nodded in agreement, and Gallas, careful to avoid trying his master’s patience, asked one final question. “My Lord, where is the ring?”

Lord Olesa answered with an amused smile. “BlackWood Forest.”

Part One: The Broken Ring

Chapter I

Immersed in the surreal bronze light cast by the setting of the sun, Derez KnightVeil crouched behind a massive oak with a sword held tightly in his armored hand. Trying desperately to stay hidden, he crept slowly through the shadows of BlackWood, the ancient forest that surrounded his hometown. Each tree stood over one hundred feet tall, spreading massive branches throughout the air and providing shelter from the cruel autumn rains that often stormed over the lands of the south. The wood owed its name to the ashen grey bark of the trees. These thick, massive sentinels grew the toughest bark in the land. No arrows—not even elven arrows—could pierce these impregnable sentinels of nature.

Traveling silently through the looming forest, Derez came across a small clearing that stretched on for another hundred feet. No trees inhabited this clearing, and the grass and vegetation grew sickly and sparsely. Cluttered by several grimy tents and a small fire pit, the meadow had obviously been used as a camp, but now the tents seemed to be unoccupied.

Stepping out from behind the cover of the trees, Derez lowered his blade and looked around. The knight examined each tent for motion or any other signs of life, but he could see nothing. Raising a hand and tilting his head backwards, he spoke a few quiet words. “Porel, Roz, scout this camp and report.”

Without making a sound, two fully armored knights stepped out from behind him and crept swiftly into the camp. The shadowed pair ducked in and out of tents, tossing chairs and stools around as they searched. Derez watched their shadows through the light canvas of the tent until a booming voice sounded behind him.

“It looks empty,” the voice said. Derez turned to see a large knight step out of the wood, holding a silver axe in his left hand. Cozak StormBlade was one of the biggest and most powerful warriors in all of BlackWood’s armies. With power, speed, and berserker determination on his side, he had quickly risen through the ranks to gain the favor of Warlord Gu’mas.

“That’s impossible,” Derez insisted. “The knights of RavenCrest have been using this camp for weeks. It must be an ambush.” Derez, the captain of the small band of knights, sheathed his sword as he saw Porel FireWind and Roz CaslteGale returning from scouring the camp.

“Captain!” Roz shouted as he approached Derez and Cozak. Raising his long wooden spear and planting its shaft into the ground, the young armor-clad knight halted. “Sir, the place is totally abandoned!” Just like the rest of the knights, Roz wore a full suit of silver-toned armor imprinted with a black rose, as well as a sturdy helm with a thick visor and a tall, black feathered plume—the armor and sigil of the Knights of BlackWood.

Derez ripped off his helm in frustration, revealing his short-cropped brown hair and his dull hazel eyes. Tossing the helmet to the ground, he slapped a hand on his armored knee and cursed. “What? How is that?”

“Well, sir,” Porel began, “there are still some things left there—beds, blankets, parchments, and some food—but weapons, armor, and anything important is all gone. The knights just upped and left.” A top-notch archer, Porel had gained popularity after rumors spread within the army that he had stuck an arrow through Gu’mas’s plume from the top of the BlackWood Tower without even attracting the Warlord’s attention.

Taking off his own helm and letting his sandy-blond hair spill to his shoulders, Cozak crossed his arms in thought. “Why would the knights abandon a perfectly good camp? And why would they leave the camp intact?”

“Perhaps they planned on coming back to it,” Roz suggested.

“Or perhaps,” Cozak bellowed in his characteristically deep voice, “they retreated.”

-—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—--

Crying out in surprise, Alixander Fey quickly yanked back on Ramath’s reins, forcing the horse to buck wildly and turn to the left. Across the wide, expansive field, the young knight could hear the thunder-like drone of dozens of large feet. A cloud of dust hovered over the area from which the sound emanated, and soon a rampaging herd of boveox burst out from under the curtain of dust. Dozens of the large quadruped beasts sprinted forward in mad determination, whether to attack or escape Alixander could not tell. The mounted knight watched for a moment in awe as the massive and powerful creatures bounded across the plain, their large horns bouncing up and down with the rhythm of their beating feet.

“Stampede!” Alix shouted, and almost as if she could understand Common, Ramath reacted. The horse galloped down towards the boveox, baying loudly and attempting to guide the large beasts back towards the fields. But it was no use. The large, brown-furred cattle continued to sprint forward, nearly running over their master and his horse in the process. Tugging on the horse’s reins, Alixander Fey followed the stampede, trying to gently guide the boveox at least back in the direction of the farm. Within a few minutes of hard riding on the dusty field, the young knight finally succeeded in calming down the large bovine creatures. Snorting loudly and kicking up more dust, they gradually came to a melodramatic halt and resumed their quiet grazing.

Turning his horse around again, Alix reached down and patted the beast’s flank, congratulating her for her help in stopping the runaway cattle. “Now,” he said softly. “Let’s go back and see what caused all that mess.” Seeming to understand her master perfectly, the horse bobbed her head again. Alix gently prodded the muscled beast back in the direction of the smoke that still hung like a blanket over the northern portion of the plains. Ramath trotted into the dust cloud without complaint, but the farther out into the plain they traveled, the more uneasy the horse became. Alixander Fey noticed this, and he placed his hand reassuringly on the horses flank.

“What’s wrong, girl?” he asked. Within seconds, his question was answered.

When Alixander Fey had first seen the stampede, one thought had consumed his mind. Boveox are creatures of battle. What could make them flee? It was true: in more rural areas, boveox had replaced horses as the staple of the cavalry. Even here in the larger town of BlackWood, boveox were used to haul catapults, ballista, and siege towers. So, these large beasts of burden, although they doubled as cattle and provided excellent milk and meat, were not cowards. What on Aduil could make them stampede?

As Alixander Fey and his horse finally cleared the hovering dust, they reached the northern border of his father’s land. The entire farm had been surrounded by a large stone wall topped with a split-rail fence that doubled as a palisade. Even Ramath, known throughout the land for her skill in jumping, could not clear the wall. It provided excellent protection against invaders, wolves, and even neighbors. Now, however, the young knight could see that a large portion of his father’s wall had been destroyed, as if by the strength of a giant. Standing around the strewn pieces of the wall, several spindly black-clad men brandished swords. They were freakishly thin, and as Alixander drew closer, his nostrils were assaulted by the stench of death.

“Easterners?” he asked himself aloud. The lands of the east were notorious for the evil warlords that inhabited them, and if anything wicked ever happened, it was commonplace for the people of the west and south to blame the east. Only BlackWood had truly escaped this fate: the nearby town of RavenCrest was ruled by a Dark Lord and had been a thorn in their flesh for some time. Still, Alix had fought and killed the black knights of RavenCrest, and never had he seen the silhouettes of men as unearthly as these. Drawing his sword, Alix tried to guide his horse to the black-clad men, but Ramath shied away and refused to go any farther. Chuckling to himself ominously, Fey realized why the herd had stampeded. The dark-robed men emitted an evil, sinister aura that pricked his skin in gooseflesh and sent shivers up his spine. Only the cool wind had stopped the knight from noticing that his body had inadvertently broken out into a sweat, and that his sword arm trembled.

Looking up and seeing the mounted, fully armored knight, the thin, skeletal men conversed with each other for a moment in short, choppy sentences. Finally, one of the men, obviously the group’s leader, turned around and decided to run. Unquestioningly, the group followed him in retreat. Alix longed to follow them on his horse, but Ramath refused to go one step farther. He could dismount and chase them on foot, but he was wise enough to know that he could never catch up to them. Guiding his horse back towards the farm, the knight cast one more look back at the retreating invaders.

What kind of man frightens animals with his mere presence? Shaking his head, Alixander returned his attention to his farmyard duties.

-—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—--

Soaring over the grey, haunted reaches of NightHaven Forest, dragonknight Dax Olesa surveyed the armies that gathered below him. Here, near the dark citadel of his master Calladus, undead slaves and vampire ghouls could walk the earth unhindered by the light of day. The burning daystar, by the order of the Creator-God himself, refused to shine its life-giving rays anywhere near the looming Shadow Tower. Empowered by the evil that charged the very air, Elika now glided towards that self-same tower, ferrying her master to his audience with the most powerful dark lord alive on Aduil.

As Olesa and Gallas rode the magnificent black beast, they marveled at the imposing glory of the Shadow Tower. With its three large spires and its circular, coliseum-like base, the tower was unique among all the citadels of the world. Hundreds of undead soldiers and vampire slaves surrounded the tower at any given time, protecting their black master from harm. Ages ago, dragons had circled the tower in defense as well, but those drakes had died long before Calladus took the throne. No matter how many dark lords bemoaned it, dragons were rare in the lands of the east.

Folding her wings behind her back, Elika lighted on a large platform attached to the tallest of the three towers. This platform led directly into the citadel’s throne room, built to allow the dragons of old to come and go at their whim. As Elika knelt down to allow Olesa and Gallas to dismount, several vampire attendants came and took her reins to lead her into the throne room.

One of the slaves knelt before the dragonknight. “You have returned, Lord Olesa,” the ragged vampire hissed. “Our master is busy now; we should not disturb him. Do you bring urgent news?

Dax smiled confidently. “Tell your master that I have returned to fulfill our contract.”

The vampire’s pale blue eyes widened in surprise. Looking back towards the Elika, he cleared his throat and tried to stammer a question. “C-contract? Do yo-you mean… the dragon?”

“I have found a ring,” Dax Olesa replied.

Even as the dragonknight spoke, the massive doors leading to the throne room creaked open slowly. Gallas and his master looked up to see a slight, black-robed form standing in the middle of the doorway, arms hanging loosely by his side. The cowled figure stepped forward, and the smell of rotted, poisoned flesh accompanied him onto the platform. Kurna, Calladus’ most trusted servant. One of the most powerful necromancers in the east. Raising his hand, Kurna beckoned for Olesa, Gallas, and the dragon to follow him. Turning back towards the throne room, the necromancer guided his new guests to their audience with his master.

Gallas smoothed out his deep blue robes in nervousness, but Olesa boldly followed the necromancer past several large doors and into the expansive, dark throne room. Elika followed behind them with slow, heavy footsteps. As soon as the dragon had completely entered the room, Kurna closed the massive doors with a magical wave of his hand.

Steping forward, the necromancer bowed humbly to his master. “My lord, Olesa has returned. He speaks boldly of fulfilling his contract.”

Across the room, a figure stirred in pleasant surprise. Calladus, strongest of all the dark lords in the east, greatest of all the mortal men in Aduil, leaned forward with interest, resting his chin in his open palm. His slight, almost delicate features were offset by his fearsome, hellish red hair. Even with thin hands and arms, sharpened teeth, and a slender waist, Calladus still possessed inhuman strength. Wearing heavy black armor with blood red trim and wielding a demonic blade, the Vampire Lord had earned his god-like reputation through countless impossible struggles. “To fulfill his contract, you say?” The vampire turned his gaze to the DragonKnight. “Tell me, how do you plan to fulfill our contract?”

Sweeping his cloak back, the dragonknight stepped in front of Kurna and placed his hand on his sword hilt. “Years ago, my lord, we made an accord. I wielded a power that you had never seen before—the DragonRing. You used your black magics to capture Elika and present her to me as a gift. In return, I would serve you until the time when I could locate another DragonRing and deliver it to you.”

Calladus nodded. “Yes, and you have served me well all these years. But do you have it? Have you found another DragonRing?”

Dax Olesa smiled. “Lord, last night I experienced a vision disclosing to me the location of another DragonRing.”

Growing impatient, Calladus slammed his fist into the ground. “Do you have it?”

“Nay, Lord, I could not trust even one such as myself to bring it to you. Instead, I come with the ring’s location. Now, you can send Daien, or Vayne, or one of your greatest commanders to retrieve it.”

“Where is it?” Calladus demanded.

“In BlackWood Keep, my Lord.”

-—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—--

This seen requires more extensive editing, because of several plot holes that it creates.

Later that day, Derez and his crew gathered around the fire of the black knights’ former camp, roasting fresh meat and enjoying the spoils of their patrol. BlackWood was nearly at war with the town of RavenCrest, and any knight that found the enemy’s provisions while on the field had been authorized to confiscate them. This order had been made concerning weapons and armor, but the knights jokingly used it as a way to justify their stay at the camp. In all reality, Derez and his companions simply needed a break from the day to day grind of a looming war. Now, the sun set and the knights feasted upon their stolen, roasted tog, laughing loudly and exchanging stories, songs, and poems.

“Did you ever hear that Camon asked Rachel to marry him?” Cozak began with an unruly laugh.

Roz gasped. “He really asked her? What a pig!” The knight leaned over on his friend, laughing at the thought of the fat man and the beautiful young woman together in marriage.

“And I’ll bet the fair lady told him as much!” Derez roared in excitement.

“Nay!” Cozak said. “She fainted! And when she woke up, she vomited! Right on his boots!” The four knights laughed uncontrollably, leaning on each other and falling to the ground in joyful glee.

“What a pig!” Roz exclaimed. “Now, hand me another thigh!”

Derez reached over and pulled another sizzling piece of meat from the fire, handing it to his friend. Great luck had befallen their little band—Porel had stumbled on several full togs, skinned, breaded, and ready to be fried. The knight had placed the animals over the fire and within moments he and this patrol could be heard throughout the entire forest, laughing, poking fun, and playing practical jokes.

The war that loomed over their future would not be pleasant, and these men thoroughly enjoyed their brief and playful respite.

“Goblins are such morons!” Cozak declared. “How did they think that the black knights would never find their stash of food? As hungry as we are, if they had roasted this meat then the entire army would have scoured the forests to find the source of the smell!” Indeed, Porel found evidence that sneevil hands had skinned the tog, and that the knights of RavenCrest had simply stolen it, much like Derez’s band had done only hours before.

The tiny goblins that inhabited BlackWood forest were nasty creatures, the tiniest race of goblin-kind, often given to a height of less than three feet. The green-skinned species grew very little hair other than the tiny strip of fur running vertically down the top of their otherwise bald heads. The goblins sported large ears, hooked noses, bright blue eyes, and wickedly sharp teeth. They were known throughout the world as thieves, and indeed, there existed no place on all of Aduil where they were not known, for goblins infested every forest, glade, and wood known to man.

“I’m surprised that Alix hasn’t followed us out here yet. Poor guy—I hope everything with his father goes all right.” The fifth member of their little band and one of the town’s three warlords, Alixander Fey had made his reputation as a skilled poet and a fearsome warrior, but recently his father, a magister in the town, had fallen ill, and the young knight spent most of his days at home, tending to the family farm. “What is that other one poem he wrote, the one about the Dragon Rider?”

The knights looked at each other for a moment, until Derez remembered the first line of the poem. “Beyond the mountain and the sea,” he said.

“Ah, yes.” Porel sighed. Then, quietly, almost mournfully, he began to recite.

“Beyond the mountains and the sea,
There is a place where men are free.
No fear will e’er this place molest,
Held so close to Fate’s kind breast.

“Where no orcs pillage, no fires burn—
At last! A place where evil’s spurned.
Where Men and Nature are at peace;
And even the poor wear a golden fleece.

“A Dragon Rider stands tall and proud
And skies above him are free of cloud.
The sunbeams make his armor bright:
And over the land he spreads his light.

“These Dragon Riders—few are they;
But they must help where e’er they may.
For wrong will soon its evils hurl
At all the good across the world.

“His Dragon is tall, his sword is bright
And he will give all for the cause of the light.
For as long as there is such place
That is held so dear to good Fate’s face,

“These Dragon Riders, they will fight
Dragon Riders will spread their light
For those places beyond the mountains and seas
Those places where all men can live free.”

“Now there’s a poem,” Derez agreed when the archer had finished. “It inspires hope—almost like the world isn’t completely full of evil. There is good out there somewhere.” The knights sat in silence for a moment, meditating on the message of the poem, but Roz could only stand the silence for so long.

“If there is good out there, it’s nowhere near BlackWood Keep,” Cozak muttered. “Have you heard the latest tale of RavenCrest?”

“No,” Derez said gravely. “What evil brews with our neighbors now?”

“The Lord of RavenCrest has always ruled over WyvrenKeep. If the Lord gave any command, the town would jump to obey. But recently,” Roz said darkly, “they have formalized this agreement. The Dark Lord Gallas has just been elected governor of WyvrenKeep.”

The knights sat in silence for a moment, stunned at their sworn enemy’s latest crime. “Who is this Gallas?” Derez asked. “I know him not.” Count Dax Olesa, the Lord of RavenCrest, was a well known figure to the knights. An evil sorcerer and a powerful swordfighter, Olesa was said to ride a massive black dragon named Elika. But the knights had never heard of man named Gallas, and new occurrences always seemed to be bad occurrences when RavenCrest was involved.

Cozak leaned forward, speaking in an ominously low voice. “He is a wizard—a magician. He uses dark magics to turn men into wolves and ravens, sworn to serve him.” Naturally fearful of magic and awed by their friend’s tale, the companions leaned forward, listening earnestly to what the large knight had to say. No one but Cozak made a sound. Even the birds seemed afraid, or else the knight’s earlier clamor had driven them away.

“He casts spells that can make grown knights sleep like babies, even in the middle of a battle. He commands lightning, ice and even fire! He threw a fireball at a BlackWood tree once, just in frustration, and the fire from the tree could be seen from the keep!” Almost as if to accent the knight’s story, the cooking fire leapt forward, dancing in the darkness of night. “It is said that he has an army of bloodwolves that serve him.”

“A grim tale indeed,” Derez said while standing to his feet. “But we must soon return to the town; perhaps we should pack our things,” he suggested.

“Wait,” Cozak said. “We’ve all given a story or a rumor or something, but you’ve said little, captain. Give us a song!”

Derez nodded and stood to his feet, intending to recite a poem called simply “The Rose,” but as soon as he opened his mouth, the fire flared into a towering spire of heat, knocking him back as it burnt upwards towards the sky.

“Tis an omen!” Cozak shouted. As he spoke, a gust of wind blew across the camp, instantly snuffing out the fire. Just like that, the blaze died.

“An omen indeed,” Porel said. “But an omen of what?”

As the knights stood in wonder, a blood-curdling scream wrenched them from their awed complacency. The scream came from just outside the camp, and as the knights rose and drew their weapons, a bloodied figure burst into the clearing, screaming in insane hysteria.

-—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—--

Alixander Fey stormed into the front room of his house and threw himself down on the couch. Sighing heavily and stretching his tired muscles, the young knight disassembled his armor slowly and placed the pieces on the ground. Alix laid his head back on the couch and propped his feet up, rubbing his neck to massage his tired muscles.

“Alix?” a woman’s voice called. “Alix, are you home?”

Alixander Fey smiled as he always did when he heard Sara’s voice. Sitting up out of respect for his sister, he called out a reply. “I am; I just got back in from the field.”

Bustling into the room and carrying a few pots and pans, Sara greeted him with a gentle smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re back so soon.” Alix watched for a moment as the young woman hurried about, busy as always. After their mother had died, Sara had taken on many of the responsibilities associated with motherhood—cleaning , cooking, and insuring that her father and brother never left the house without looking respectable. Alix marveled at his sister’s diligence, and he did everything that he could to help—for the very same fire that claimed his mother’s life marred his sister’s body permanently.

Seven years ago, raiders from the town of RavenCrest had crept into the town and attacked several of BlackWood’s key leaders. As one of the chief magisters on the Grand Council, Matthew Fey’s house presented a prime target for the vandalism. The fire had trapped Alix within his room, and, unable to escape, he was forced to listen to the screams of his mother as she died. Worse yet, his sister had been trapped as well, on the other side of the collapsed wall that ensnared Alix. The young man had clawed and pried at the burning wall, but to no avail. On fire himself, crying over the wails of a perishing mother, Alixander Fey watched as his beloved sister lost her arm and most of her side to the greedy, rampaging tongues of flame. Matthew had eventually pulled them both out, but not before the damage had been done.

Sara, slender, beautiful, and gracious, lived with one arm. Where her left arm should have been, a tiny, scarred stump waved around uncontrollably. Sara tended to hide it in the long folds of her dress. Before the fire, Sara’s hand had been given to the eldest son of Gu’mas, Warlord Michael; they were to be married in the fall. But when Gu’mas’s son saw the monster that his bride had become, he called off the wedding without a second thought. In truth, Sara was still beautiful. When she wore a full dress, it was often impossible to tell that she was so scarred. However, her whole left side from the neck to the knee was one large scab, a fact that Alix knew would prevent her from ever getting married.

Alix loved his sister dearly, and he did everything that he could to help her. But still, the memory of watching her burn haunted him. To this day, he could not see fire without freezing up in panic. He was no coward—fire did not scare him. But upon seeing flame, his mind took over and automatically stopped his body from moving.

Sara walked over to the couch and began collecting the armor pieces to put them away.

“You don’t have to do that,” Alix protested. Standing to his feet, he bent down and helped her retrieve the armor suit. After they had mounted the brilliant armor in its place on the wall, Sara ran her hand through her short blonde hair and glanced over at Alix.

“Really, it’s ok,” she assured him. Turing back to her pots and pans, she continued. “So, what happened today? Anything exciting?”

“Oh, Lihova,” Alix cursed as he returned to his couch.

Shaking her head in playful disgust, Sara tossed a small pan at him. “You shouldn’t use such strong language around a woman,” she scolded. “So, what happened?”

Accepting her rebuke graciously, Alix caught the pan and set it on the floor. He knew he should not speak of the Gods so, but sometimes his tongue sliped. “There was… a stampede.”

Dropping a pan on the counter, Sara looked up from her work in fear. “Is everything okay?” she asked with a hint of desperation in her voice. “We can’t afford to let any more cattle go before winter sets in.”

Lying back down on the couch, Alix shook his head. “None of the boveox got out, but that isn’t what worried me. The stampede started when someone broke through our wall.”

Sara took a step back. “The wall? It’s broken? How bad is it?” Completely forgetting her work, Sara stared intently at Alix and awaited his answer.

“It’s a large hole,” he explained. “But what gets me is who did it—I saw the vandals as they were escaping, but they were… strange.”

“Strange?” Sara questioned. “What do you mean?”

Running his hands through his hair, Alix struggled to find words to express the way he felt. “They were… not really there. They wore black cloaks and had swords, but they were just too thin to be human. They were almost like… walking skeletons.”

“Now there’s something I haven’t seen in a while.”

Sara and Alix both looked to the doorway, where their father leaned up against the wall and wheezed quietly. For the past five days, Matthew Fey had been sick with a fever, and by the doctor’s orders he was to spend the next two weeks in bed. That was the only reason that Alix was at the farm now instead of with the army.

“Dad,” Sara scolded. “You’re not supposed to be up!” Rushing over to her father, the woman placed her arm around his shoulders and guided him to the couch beside Alix.

“I’m fine!” the older man protested as he swatted at his daughter’s hand. His skin was paler than usual, but his strenght had returned to him in full. When Sara placed him on the couch, he grunted and turned to his son. “Now, what about these walking skeletons?”

Alix was taken aback by his father’s question. “I meant that they were as thin as skeletons, dad. Even if there was such a thing as undead, they’d never come as far southwest as BlackWood. The dark lords—the undead will stay to the east in NightHaven.”

Matthew leaned back against the couch and chuckled softly as Sara and Alixander watched in curiosity. Knowingly, the man placed his hand on Alix’s shoulder and asked him a simple question.

“Son, did you hear any explosions when they tore down the walls?” Alix shook his head. “Well then, neither did my boveox. So, what about seeing these men made the boveox stampede, do you suppose? What kind of… of man could scare boveox with just a look?”

As the truth of his father’s words gripped him, Alixander Fey’s face grew ghastly white. They were… undead?

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