Alsherok

The patrol made their usual rounds of the palace walls, marching smartly and briskly, eyes alert as they scanned the surrounding area. The walls were a good ten feet across, with heavy fortification and patrolled by the soldiers of the First Company, who were under direct command of Imperial Commander Madaane himself. Madaane was a man in his early forties, well-muscled and a veteran of many wars and skirmishes despite his young age. His rise to the highest commanding position ever was a legend in the barracks, so swift and marked with glorious victories it was.

In his twenties, he had been assigned to a small border strike team to the south of the capital, which had been constantly harassed by groups of rampaging trolls. He had devised a plan to trap the trolls, and the commander in charge had implemented the idea instantly. The idea had worked splendidly, and Madaane received his first promotion within a month of graduating from the Agnor Soldier Training Faculty. This was just the first of many promotions that he would receive in twenty years of distinguished service, eventually leading to his exalted command.

But there were mistakes that he had made; minor ones that although had resulted in an unnecessary loss of human lives, had never cost him a battle. Yet today, Madaane felt plagued by a sense of impending destruction. He was particularly disturbed when he thought of the king's disappearance early in the morning. The news had yet to leak out to the general public, for which Madaane was thankful.

The company that had been on patrol during the early morning was the Third Company, under the capable hands of Commander Daven i"Lych. Madaane had every faith in Daven and the way the Third was run; yet the king had disappeared under their very noses. That this had occurred at all was unbelievable. The situation was under control, but there was no guarantee that matters would go as planned. In fact, Madaane rather expected matters to deteriorate from here. That was why he had called his Company together to brief them thoroughly.

"Keep a sharp eye out for any intruders," he instructed his men during his briefing. "I want no laxity tonight," he warned the battle-hardened group of fifty soldiers under him. "The important thing is that you ensure the safety of all the occupants of this palace! You," he jabbed a finger at the group, "have been trained specifically for this duty, and you have been trained in special fortification tactics as well as light infantrymen. I expect you to put those skills to good use! Do you hear me?" He eyed the First Company with a fierce stare.

"Yes sir!" the men answered immediately, standing stiffly at attention. "Very well, dismissed." Madaane waved at the group. "But I want to see Korv and Seri. You two will remain behind." The men in his company saluted before trooping out in a military fashion. Madaane placed special emphasis on discipline among his troops, and anyone who did not meet that standard was promptly dismissed from the company. And as the First Company was the elite company, all the recruits were eager to make the mark. Duty with the First Company meant a guaranteed promotion in the future. Since almost everyone adhered to his standard, Madaane had yet to dismiss more than five recruits.

When all the troops had filed out, Korv and Seri came closer to their commander to listen to his orders. Korv was a tall, well-built man, who served as Madaane"s second-in-command when the situation required. He was marked as the next one to succeed Madaane, and Madaane's pride in him was considerable. Korv was dressed in plate armor, sword by his side. Deep purple ribbons fastened to the hilt waved gently in the breeze, the tiny golden bells pealing forth a tuneless song.

Rank One Seri was one of the five female recruits that had made it to the First Company, and was the rawest yet. Despite her recruit status, Madaane had high expectations for this girl. She had been top of her class in the Training Faculty, and that earned her the honor to join First Company. But that was not all. She had the drive of a perfectionist, and she never refused any duty. She did everything without complaints, and she did tasks efficiently. That was why he chose her for this duty.

"Now listen up," Madaane launched into his speech without any preliminaries. "What we say here goes no further." He waited for their affirmative nods before continuing. "The king has disappeared under our noses early this morning. We have information hinting that there will be an attempt at civil war within the next two days, and that this is the first step. I have no need to brief you on the possibility of that outcome. I believe that you know all too well what will happen to us." There was silence as he spoke.

"Sir, may I ask a question?" Seri asked when it became clear that Madaane would not continue talking for some time. Madaane nodded once. "I am assuming that our current objective is to prevent the civil war when I ask this question." she began, looking at her seniors. Korv nodded. "What are our chances of preventing the war and how much information have we got?"

"We have not much information." admitted the Imperial Commander. "There are several unreliable reports that the war will begin soon, and we have a trusted informer who assures us that the war will begin within the next forty hours." He tapped the map behind him. "This is where reports say the war will begin."

Korv scrutinized the map. The area was a small township on the border of Chega and Aver Kia - both farming duchies - somewhere due north of Talshire, the duchy where the current capital was situated. Open grasslands surrounded the township, scared only by the roads that led to the capital. "Are we sending our troops down, sir?"

"It is too early. If we scare them away, it will be difficult to obtain another warning." Madaane shook his head. "Our best bet is to have pockets of advance groups lined within a designated area of the town. We will carry out cut-and-run tactics to buy us some time." "But will they rid us of the threat of civil war?" Seri asked. "And are we sure that is where the war will start?" Sharp girl, thought Korv, not without some admiration.

"That is a good question." the commander said. "We have not decided whether to believe the report or not. My main reason for calling you here is to give you your duty. For tonight and all subsequent nights, you to escort the Younger Prince Reichert wherever he goes with another five soldiers. If the war does reach our palace walls, you will bring him down to the Catacombs below the castle. There you will be joined by another group of ten soldiers who will then lead you out of danger. Is that clear?" "Yes sir!" Seri saluted right hand at her temple, left hand clamped tightly about the ribbons and bells that adorned her sword. She was proud to be given this honor. It was not everyday that a Rank One was allowed to draw such privileged duty as to guard royalty. Usually, they preferred to use more experienced soldiers. Then again, the more experienced soldiers were needed to guard the palace. "You will hand these assignment orders to the following people. You will be expected to take good care of the Younger Prince." The commander of the First Company handed the five assignment slips to Seri. "Now, dismissed!"

Seri saluted again then closed her hand over the slips. "Thank you, sir!" She spun sharply on her heels and marched out of the briefing room. "Good recruit." commented Korv. "She will rise far in the Imperial Army." "If there is an Imperial Army left." the commander said ominously. "We have to see to that meeting with the other commanders shortly. It is to be an important one, so do not absent yourself. And remind Jorin to be there. His help will be needed." "Yes sir!" Korv saluted to his commander. Madaane nodded once, and the second-in-command took himself out of the room to see to his own tasks. The Imperial Commander frowned as he sank into deep contemplation of the best strategies to be used in case of assault.

Later in the afternoon, Seri reported to Madaane. "Sir, we are prepared to begin the escort system." Madaane looked up from the palace plans he was studying. "You were supposed to begin the minute I gave you the assignment orders, Rank One Seri. What caused the delay?" A stricken look crossed the fifteen-year-old's face. "I am sorry sir. I thought that you wanted the escort system only at night." The face was now impassive and her back ramrod-straight. "I am willing to accept responsibility, sir."

"I know I did not say that the escort was to be carried out during the day, but as a soldier, you must think ahead. The war can begin at any time. You must be prepared to face it." Madaane leaned back in his chair, and regarded the girl who stood there. She returned the look without flinching. She has courage, this lady warrior, Madaane thought appraisingly. Korv was right, the girl would go far if she survived this war.

"I will forgive you this time, Seri. This is your first mistake. You will learn - better learn - that war does not tolerate mistakes. And this is war. You will be more careful and think furthers ahead the next time, Rank One Seri. Dismissed." He returned to the papers and maps that lined his table after gesturing dismissal.

"Thank you, sir!" Seri saluted in relief. After her dismissal, she immediately went to the barracks below, determined to do better. The room she and her companions had been assigned to be a small one, with a few benches leaning against the walls. "We begin guard detail now," she announced to the five people in the room. They looked up with some surprise at her brusque command, but moved to obey her. She was, after all, their leader, no matter for how short a time span.

"Is this information reliable, Commander Madaane?" The man asked impatiently. "It is as reliable as possible, Commander Shavij." "That is no answer, Madaane. How can we make decisions based on unreliable information?" Shavij complained loudly. "There is a large element of risk in this undertaking." "There are always elements of risk in all our undertakings, Shavij. It is part of our job." Daven spoke quietly. "There is no choice in this affair. We regret the loss of lives as much as you do, even more so because we have to send in highly-trained men into this war that has no guarantee for success."

"That is not the point here, Daven i"Lych. I will not send my men into a situation that is wholly uncertain!" Shavij pounded the table. "Those are good men out there, with families and a whole life ahead of them. I want to make sure that their sacrifice is worth it!" "Your loyalty to your men is greatly admired, Commander Shavij. If it will make you feel any easier, we will have Jorin here to perform a scrying." Madaane waved at the purple-robed mage that occupied a seat in a corner. "Would you do us the honor, Jorin?"

"Certainly, Commander. Give me some quiet, and I will begin the scrying." So saying, he closed his eyes and murmured a word. Silence fell among the ten commanders seated at the table. Korv stood by his commander, as did all the second-in-commands, waiting patiently for orders. The sky, glimpsed through the slits in the stone walls, was turning a leaden color, and a cold breeze swept the scudding clouds ominously across the sky. Korv could almost smell the storm approaching. Everyone"s attention was focused upon the mage that sat in his chair at the end of the table. Suddenly, Jorin shuddered, turning a startling shade of white, before collapsing into his chair, shaking violently. "What is the matter, Jorin?" Madaane said, half-rising from his chair worriedly. The mage gulped in some air in an effort to steady him. Some color returned to his cheeks, but he still shook. "The war began over two hours ago. It is heading steadily towards and will reach us in little over half an hour." At the sudden pronouncement, everyone could only stare at the bringer of the bad news. "They are, I believe, attacking from Aver Kia. They also have several other smaller forces prowling the area." Jorin added shakily.

A peal of thunder broke the stunned silence. "Begin fortification at once!" commanded Madaane in a crisp tone of voice. "You will rouse all available troops and prepare for the war. The rain will prevent the use of boiling oil, so don"t bother trying. Get the catapults up on the battlements and get your men equipped in wet gear. Jorin, what is the estimated number of troops heading our way?" "Nearly five hundred. Fifty percent of the troops are professional soldiers. The rest are armed with the usual pitchforks and staffs." Jorin had apparently recovered from his fright. He looked adequately calm and collected, aside from the fact that he was still a little pale. "Number of mages and healers?" Daven asked. "Fifty in all, that's the maximum. No dragonriders at all." "That's a relief," someone said, voicing all the thoughts of the men at the table. The main air fighting force of Agnor, the dragons ruled the sky. With the aid of human riders upon their backs, they could wreck entire buildings at one go, and still have time to finish off a few more buildings at a leisurely pace.

"Send out for reinforcements." Madaane snapped at Korv, who promptly saluted and ran out of the room. "Don't bother trying, Commander." Jorin shook his head. "There are other attacks being made on all duchies on our side, namely Jida, Kregg, Ishien and Xian. The largest force is headed towards Farheight. You won't get any help from that quarter." "That leaves us in a fine mess," exploded Shavij. "The odds are just about even, in fact, we are worse off. We have only four hundred or so troops and maybe twenty mages." He looked askance at Jorin, who nodded. "And only five healers to deal with this." The commander of the Second Company swore long and loud. "You need a hell of a miracle to get us out of this one, Madaane." "We are, by my calculations, at a slight advantage, Shavij," Madaane disagreed. "You forget that nearly half their number is comprised mainly have untrained soldiers. Their mages are of Red-class rank at the most, and the same goes for their healers. We have a solid force of four hundred, more if we include the city guards, and these units are all trained. Our twenty mages are Red-class and higher, while our healers are Blue-class and above. Aside from that, we have our mage sources right here in the capital. We should be able to defeat these rebels."

"Then why are we here and wasting our time?" Daven asked sharply. "Let's get to it!" At the words, Madaane nodded. The other commanders took it as a signal to leave, and they all made their exits to begin the difficult task of defending the palace. "Madaane, a word with you first," Daven said quietly to his long-time friend. "Make it quick," was the response. "Shall we prepare to evacuate the castle?" "Yes." The Imperial Commander answered without hesitation. He knew from experience that luck played an important part in war, and experienced and well-equipped armies had lost to their poorer counterparts before. No sense in tempting fate. "Get all the officials and their escorts down to the cellar level and tell them to prepare for flight. Warn the mages to ready themselves for any magical messages."

"Very good." Daven said with quiet approval. And softly, "Watch your back, Madaane. Watch your back." "I will, Daven. You watch yours." A grim smile, then it softened. "Take good care of yourself. Else who am I going to depend on to cheer me up?" "Korv will be there for you, Madaane. He"ll be there, unless death takes him first." Daven said soberly. "He loves you a great deal, Madaane. He"ll do anything for you. Make sure you take well care of him." "I know. I love him too." Daven exchanged a long look with his best friend. Then the commander of the Third Company vanished down the hallway. Overhead, a peal of thunder sounded ominously.

"Enemy approaching at twelve o"clock, distance approximately five miles!" The alert drifted across the howling winds. "Get to your battle stations!" Madaane climbed the stairs that led to the guard tower. "You"re dismissed, soldier!" he yelled above the winds. The guard that had given the alert nodded and raced down to the battlements, hand over his sword hilt. Madaane looked out from under his oilskin cloak. There was a sudden flurry of movement accompanied by the tinkling of bells, which he ignored. During the past half-hour, the rain had begun to pour heavily, and now the field that faced them was sodden and visibility had been reduced considerably. But despite all the rain, Madaane's sharp elven eyes could discern the charging mass of men that threatened the country. "The rain will hamper our efforts a great deal," he muttered under his breath. Then, in a louder voice, "Load the catapults, and prepare to fire on my count!"

"Yes sir!" came the shouted replies. Then came the heavy twangs as strings were pulled taut and stones loaded into the huge spoon-like cups. "Ready sir!" "Pour it!" Madaane gave the command. His soldiers uncorked small bottles of purplish-blue liquid and emptied the contents liberally onto the stones. There was a strange smell as the last of the potion was absorbed into the boulders, but long familiarity made the soldiers ignore it. "First line, hold ready to fire . . ." Madaane called out, hand upraised. The enemy was two miles away and drawing closer. "Fire!" called out the commander. "Yes sir!" As one, the catapult strings were released, and the boulders flew forward. Twenty boulders crashed into the front line of the charging forces and exploded into the unnaturally dense blue flames of mage-wrought fire. Thin streams of clear vapor rose into the darkened sky and the screams of the dying filled the air. The first point went to the home team. But there was no time to gloat; the front line had comprised mainly of the inexperienced soldiers, and these were not a real threat to the palace.

"Second line, fire!" "Yes sir!" The second line of twenty boulders flew in. More death screams were heard, rising and falling with the howling wind to form a dreadful song that froze many a soldier's heart. "First line, reload! Second line, prepare crossbows!" Madaane gauged the effect of the two lines of boulders. The front line had been swept clear away, as well as some of the second line. The second string of boulders had demolished the fourth line, taking several other combatants with them. "Fire!"

The strings sang yet again as the boulders swung forward, lobbing the tenth line as the army of rebels surged forward. "Crossbows!" A low hum sounded as nearly a hundred arrows sped forward, half of, which met cold blue fire that burnt the arrow to crisp before it could touch anyone. "Mages," Madaane swore under his breath, tracing the origin of mage fire back into the midst of rebel forces. Despite the rudimentary shielding he was capable of, the taste of magic still stung. By now the rebels had come right up to the walls, some of which were placing stout ladders against the stone walls. But Madaane had briefed his men well; as soon as four or five men had begun to climb to the top, a soldier set fire to the ladder while another pushed the flaming wood away from the walls. These promptly crushed their fellow soldiers under them.

Madaane continued calling out orders from his position on top of the guard tower, keeping an eye out for the reserve forces that were supposed to swarm out and surround the rebels from behind. These did not appear. Where could they have possibly disappeared? "Commander!" Korv came up the ladder in three swift strides. "There is an urgent message for you from the mages! They request that you go to their chambers immediately!" Korv looked out anxiously from beneath his hood, fat drops of water dripping from the edge of the cloak and splashing to the ground.

"Take command here at once!" Madaane did not hesitate. He drew the hood of his cloak up and went to the edge of the tower where the ladder was. He paused and said, "Do whatever is necessary to see our country through this." "Yes sir!" Korv saluted as he watched his senior slide down the ladder. Then he somberly turned his attention out to the battlefield. Where was the Third Company?

"What is so urgent, Jorin?" Madaane opened the door to the mage working chambers without knocking. His face was wet from the rain, and he looked extremely impatient. He pushed the dripping hood down and swept the damp locks away from his face. Pale green light illuminated the twenty mages that sat in a circle around the large crystal that provided both light and magical source for the mages.

"The Third has run into trouble." Jorin answered in a worried tone. "They have been ambushed by another segment of the rebels while waiting for the attack signal." "Damn!" Madaane swore. "How badly hurt are they?" "Seriously hurt." another mage spoke up. "They have lost two-fifths of their troops and another one-fifth are near to dying. Nearly five are missing, including some of the top officers." The mage looked exhausted and worried, his hands clenching and unclenching in the folds of his purple robes. Madaane froze, his heartbeat accelerating as fear slipped icy fingers triumphantly around the core of the commander. He had never feared for someone so much in his life. "Daven?" he whispered hoarsely.

Jorin looked at him and said softly, "I"m sorry, but he is nowhere to be found." The High Mage lowered his eyes. Madaane looked incredulous, unbelieving, then his face crumpled into shock and grief. But that did not last long. Resolutely, he shut his grief away into his secret heart, the way he had when his wife had left him behind with his son. Life must go on, he thought fiercely to himself. The war is the most important thing here! Madaane steeled his heart and made his face into a mask that fooled no one. "Good work," he said curtly. "Jorin, see if you can include some magical attacks into the fight. If the Third is unable to join in the fight, then we need some other form of backup." "Very well, Commander." Jorin nodded at his brothers. They bent their heads in concentration, and murmured a word. The green light intensified until it was almost blinding, and Madaane had no choice but to leave the room.

Deep in the basement level of the palace, Seri and her charges were crouched by the wall, maintaining a defensive circle around the Younger Prince. They had been here for almost an hour, together with the other escorts of various important members of the palace. It was deathly silent in here.

Reichert sat behind the ranks of soldiers, the shadows formed by flickering torchlights hiding his face from view. He was sixteen, four years younger than his brother was, Elder Prince Gregroi was. Gregroi took after his long-dead mother in terms of his looks - long, fair locks of hair and a delicate face - but he had the strength and determination of his father the king. His deceptive mild looks often fooled his opposition into underestimating the elder prince, but they soon learnt that Gregroi was not what he seemed.

Reichert was different from his brother in more ways than one. He inherited his father's dark, brooding face framed with ebony curls as well as the physical stature of his father, who had been a strongly-muscled man that fought with brute force. Reichert took no lessons in fighting, despite his natural affinity. He learned, instead, to play the flute, which he cradled lovingly now in his hands. The only object that indicated that he was of the royal family was the necklace he wore about his neck. A single black pearl ornamented a gold choker, which was drawn up closely around his neck. The necklace was no empty symbol. Ever since the dawn of history, each house and duchy had his or her own colors. Talshire"s color was gold, and Reichert's family had adopted black as their own color. This gave rise to easy identification of each individual and his background. A scuffling noise sounded from the back of the room, where the entrance to the Catacombs lay. Instantly, the guards were on the alert, swords drawn out of their sheaths. The noise came closer.

Madaane's first thought as he reached the battlements was what the hell is going on here? The scene was one of pitched battle. Some of the rebels had managed to get to the top of the battlements, and they were now cutting their way through to one of the entrances of the castle. Madaane drew his sword swiftly out of its sheath and charged into the fray. He cut his first four opponents down by sheer force, nearly cleaving the fourth into half, so fierce was his charge. "Drive the rebels back down!" he called out fiercely, giving hope and fresh determination to his men. "We will protect this castle!" The screams and pouring rain did not deter his voice in the least, and it resounded over the battlements with ringing clarity, matching the constant peal of bells on the hilt of swords raised to do battle.

"Yes sir!" The battle continued with renewed vigor, the First Company spurred on by the sight of their commander slicing his way through the enemy in the pouring rain. The raindrops fell steadily even as the rebels fell, until the ground was awash with both blood and rainwater and the stifling stench of death filled the air. "Cut off rebel support lines!" he heard Korv call from a distance as he engaged yet another farmer armed with a pitchfork. A quick slash had the man twitching upon the floor, and then he turned his attention to cutting a path through the bodies to the guard tower. His charge was brutal; every one that stood in his way was another that died. He arrived at the guard tower in time to see a soldier - not one of his or her own - clamber up the ladder that led to the guard tower. "Korv!" he screamed as a terrible fear, more terrible than the previous one, gripped him. For a second, he stood paralyzed, and then he swarmed into action. If his earlier charge had been brutal, there was no way to compare his charge now. Blood splattered him as he slashed a path towards that seemingly unattainable ladder. His hand closed upon the wooden rung and he hauled himself up.

"Are the troops in position yet?" "They are already in position and are no doubt in the catacombs by now." "Excellent, Lester. And how are our armies doing?" Lester smiled thinly. "Everything is proceeding according to plan." The stooped man pointed at the map stretched out before them. Army one is already at the palace walls and causing sufficient disruption in the castle to allow our troops to sneak in without being noticed, through the city itself." Lester moved his gnarled finger over to where high mountains were indicated to the east. "Army two is currently facing some difficulties with the dragonriders, but they will receive backup support soon if all goes accordingly. Armies three, four and five are facing no exceptional problems as of yet." Lester"s smile turned sour. "I hope you know what you are doing, bringing Reichert in like that. He is, after all, a Master Bard." "Don"t worry unduly, Lester. I know Reichert well. He"ll come quietly."

The scuffling sounds came closer, echoing hollowly with a distinct regularity in the stone dungeon. Soldiers strained their ears to catch the sound of bells, a sure indication that soldiers were approaching, but there was no musical tinkle. But there was another kind of music. Reichert put the flute to his lips, and before anyone could stop him, blew a few questioning notes that hung like silver droplets in the air. Seri's initial reaction was of stunned disbelief, and then her hand swung out and pushed the flute away roughly.

"Quiet!" she hissed, hand returning to her sword hilt. But Reichert was not listening. At least, not to her. From deep within the catacombs, there sounded a bass note that resounded loudly until its echoes shattered the original sound into tiny polished fragments. "Enemy approaching." Reichert said softly, hand tightening imperceptibly over the flute. "And how do you know that?" snapped Seri in a whisper. But Reichert did not answer. A healer nearby answered for the Younger Prince. "His Highness is a Master Bard." At that one sentence, understanding dawned upon Seri. Master Bards were rare in Agnor, simply because few people were born with a combination of magical and musical abilities that were linked. But when a Master Bard did surface, he was incredibly powerful, since his scope of magic was only limited by his imagination, and his music. "Sorry, your Highness," Seri said apologetically, turning a faint shade of red. "I didn't know." "That's okay." The dark hid the smile. The smile faded away with an odd sigh. "Let's worry about the enemy first." Reichert put the flute to his lips and blew a soft tune. The song was oddly comforting, with softly rising and falling notes that fell like the light patter of rain on a summer's day. Each note was clear in tone and pitch, each like a tiny drop of pure gold, lingering within the softly glowing confines of the room before disappearing with a gentle echo. All within the room listened, spellbound by the beauty of the music.

Then, slowly, the final note danced into the distance, leaving behind a quiet awe and admiration. "That was a defense ward. It should protect the people in this room from coming to too much harm." Reichert explained in soft tones. "Thank you, your Highness, but I think we can manage." a soldier in his escort sneered, turning his back on the younger prince, hand tightening over the hilt. Reichert looked quizzically at the soldier and shrugged. The scuttling noise that remained unheard during Reichert"s music had now increased by tenfold, a harsh, rustling sound that conveyed urgency and a certain practiced cruel eagerness. The guards who had let their weapons fall to the side now raised them again. The confirmation of the threat only made them more determined. The sound built almost unbearably to a sharp, distinct shuffling, and then all hell broke loose as the enemy burst in upon them.

The musty darkness was far too warm for his comfort, the beads of sweat tracing rivers down his body as he motioned the troops forward. His hand brushed the sandy walls that made the narrow confines of the catacombs, and he jerked his hand abruptly away. If he were not careful, the entire tunnel would collapse and take him and his men with him. It had been only one hour ago that he had brought his men in, but he was already dehydrated as if he had spent a day in the Chega deserts. He unstoppered his waterskin and drank deeply from it, the warm water proving a relief to his parched throat. He wiped his mouth as he lowered the skin, seeing that most of his men had gone on ahead. Using hand signals, he signed for the men to continue with a minimum of noise, especially since they were bringing with them Kawai.

Kawai were large beetles; almost as large as a dog and equally dangerous. Their six feet shuffled against the floor, alarmingly loud in the confines of the catacombs. The men stopped as they came to another turn and waited for the commander to reach the front. Cursing in four different tongues under his breath, the commander squeezed himself towards the front. Unhesitatingly, he headed left. The torches flame wavered a little, throwing shadows over the walls. He paid them no attention. He had traversed these passages since he was a young boy, and he had brought his brother here too, in those far away years of childhood. He was at home here; each nook, cranny and scratch was as familiar to him as a wife is to a husband of twenty years. But now was not the time to be emotionally involved in such matters of the past. The past was long gone, even dead, the commander reflected grimly as he took another turn without thinking. Time to grow up, Gregroi, he thought firmly. His hand fell automatically to his side where he gripped his sword hilt. The black ribbons that previously adorned the hilt had been used to deaden the sound of the bells, and it felt strange not to feel or hear the bells. In fact, all bells had been deadened by order. As he took another turn, he recognized the final turns of passage that would lead to the opening. He motioned for silence and he got as much of it as he could. Then the tune sounded. Curious, innocent, it lingered within the air, as if almost testing the atmosphere. Then, with quicksilver speed, it was gone. But that was not the end of the music. From somewhere behind them came a deep tone, low and gravely, pushing relentlessly forward and catching some of the men in its inexorable rush. Then, it too, faded into nothingness.

The curse words came again freely to his mouth. There was no need for silence now. His brother had found them, and there was little he could do about it. The only thing he could hope for was to get to the end of these passages with as much speed as possible and capture his brother. "Forward!" he commanded sharply, leading the way with a jog. He had not moved for than a few meters when another tune sprang to his ears.

He had heard this many times before, the crown prince realized as the first few strains filled the air. A defense ward, he thought grimly. He turned to spur his men on, but they were rooted to the ground, astonishment on their faces. Most of them, Gregroi realized, had never heard a Master Bard before, much less one as gifted as his brother. "Get a move on!" he snarled, yanking hard on the sleeve of the nearest soldier. That stirred the men into some life, he thought with some satisfaction as the soldiers came abruptly to their senses and followed his lead into the unknown. As he rounded the final corner, the tune faded into nothingness and he gripped his sword firmly. He had been given his orders to capture his brother and any others they could, especially the advisors and any young, gullible soldiers, who could be persuaded to their cause. Then there was no time for thought as he burst into the dungeons.

The first charge had caught the defenders by surprise, prepared as they were. An explosion of activity followed a stunned silence. The advisors cowered at the furthest end, fear written on their faces. Not Reichert. He put the flute to his lips and spun a small spell. It required no more than a few notes, and its effect was soon rapidly felt. A simple tiredness befell the invaders. Caught unawares, nearly half of them submitted to the drowsiness overwhelming them. Then, Reichert felt his spell shatter as another mage cast a counterspell to it. Another few notes and a shield surrounded him, sparkling with blue light. Seri pulled her sword from its sheath and charged straight at the leader. Her strokes were swift and sure, but they were parried easily with astonishing grace. A quick dodge saved her from having her sword pulled out of her hand and she engaged a maneuver she had learnt by herself. She lunged forward, her heart directly above the gleaming point of the sword. She planned to twist aside at the last moment, but her opponent's actions gave her no need for that. Gregroi gasped at the sight of the soldier charging straight at him and spun his blade out of the way, mindful of his instructions. That second in which he had acted cost him no small amount of pain. Seri's blade, honed to razor sharpness, buried itself deeply into the crown prince's side. A quick twist and she disengaged the sword triumphantly. Then she caught a glimpse of the man she had been attacking, and shock stole her composure. "Your Highness!" she exclaimed, automatically extending a hand to catch the crown prince as he staggered backwards. As her hand closed upon the sleeve of the man, some blunt object struck her glancingly at the back of her neck, and her vision faded into opaque blackness. Her last feeling was of her hand slipping from the sleeve. "Your Highness." she murmured as darkness claimed her. The magical bonds he spun about the Kawai would not last much longer. In fact, they were weakening too quickly for his liking. What surprised him was that the mages on the other side were not engaging in offensive magics. All they were doing was creating defenses in reply to his probing attacks. With some concern, he watched as a group of three soldiers congregated just beyond his shield. They held their weapons menacingly out in front of them and one probed the shield with his sword. "Come on, nice and easy now." The elven soldier said with a grim smile. "You"re to come with us, Reichert." "Never!" Reichert said defiantly as he continued to spin spell after spell from his flute. The tunes were rapid and quickly, some hovering over the room while others faded away into nothingness as soon as the ear caught its sound.

"Don't say we didn't warn you," another human soldier said as he brought his sword down sharply over the crackling blue shield. The magical shield held effortlessly absorbing the physical attack. The extra energy it absorbed was channeled into Reichert, and he spun the energies into bolts of mage fire that seared the nearest soldier's chain mail. The elven soldier lunged forward to throw himself bodily against the shield. The unexpected attack gave the other soldiers the chance to aim their swords at the weakest point in the shield. At first, it refused to yield, then with a soft sigh of ripping fabric, it tore.

"Korv!" Madaane screamed hoarsely into the whipping winds. The sight of red blood filled his vision. The floor of the guard tower was slick from rain and blood, a body lying prone in the corner. An arm was flung over its face, clothes dark from water and more importantly, blood. His gaze traveled from the corpse to the lone figure standing. At first, red rage stole clarity if vision from him. Then, slowly, as if rising up from murky waters, distinctly sharp elven features came into focus. Madaane felt as if he was staring into a mirror, so similar were the features that gazed unwaveringly back at him. "Korv," he said as recognition dawned, his body sagging with a relief from tension. He had never felt so drained in his life. Slouching a little, sword held loosely in his hand, he approached his son.

"Korv," he repeated tiredly, "I was so afraid for you." The words slipped out without thought. "That's all right, Father." Korv spoke tiredly as well, but extended his hands to Madaane to enfold him into a hug. Madaane took the hands into his own, but instead of hugging the young man, he stared intently into emerald-green eyes. "What is it, Father?" Korv asked, a trifle discomforted. "Nothing, nothing," Madaane sighed. "Just an old man"s dreams and hopes . . ." he let the sentence trail off. Suddenly, Korv found that his father looked very old and bent. Far older than his forty years. In fact, he looked closer to two hundred, if not older. A bit stiffly, he hugged the Imperial commander. Madaane looked a little uncomfortable, unaccustomed to the openly displayed emotions. He patted his son awkwardly on his shoulder, looking embarrassed.