Dragon And Rider And Master

Chapter 1 There once was a teenager, Alaric, who had lived by himself for most of his life. The townsfolk were fairly nice to him and helpful if he ever needed anything. He held up his own and worked odd jobs—he worked on a farm in the spring, and helped forged swords in the winter. He did whatever he could to make a living and continue to rent the hut he lived in to his landlord, a very rude and harsh man named Tashibo. Tashibo, other than being Alaric’s landlord, was a merchant who traveled from time to time. There was supposedly a big convention coming into town, from the king himself. All of the people of Ivanfvl—the city he lived in—despised the king. He let them die of starvation, yet he didn’t care. It was rumored he had a dragon and was a proficient magician, but it was all rumors; no one knew the truth. Alaric carefully sheathed his hand-a-half-sword and attached his money purse to his belt, preparing to buy whatever he was interested at the convention. Alaric wore a gray-colored jerkin and light brown breeches and old leather boots. He walked out of his hut and walked a few minutes to Ivanfvl. He was in awe. The city’s center was packed! There were many tents set up and all of the folk of Ivanfvl were there, listening and watching. It was fairly early in the morning, so the boy was fairly surprised so many people were there. “… There is a chance for each of ye to begin King Ianweg’s dream of recreating the dragon riders, as he himself is a rider!” Well, that confirmed it, Alaric thought grimly. Their evil king was a rider. “For only two pennies ye may step up, and pet the egg however you want to try to coax it to hatching for ye!” Many people hurried into the line, old and young, Alaric one of them. He didn’t want to work for the king, but he would at least try for the egg. Hesitantly, he eyed the man; he looked like a thug, but he saw the emerald-color egg on a perch and knew it was definitely a dragon egg, so he decided he might as well give it a shot. Alaric heard the town’s bard, Nobe, murmuring and swearing about having to pay to try to be the rider, and saying how it should never be allowed, but most people ignored him. A few folks respected the bard, but must had insisted that he was once a great swordmaster and scholar, but now he’s merely insane. Alaric wasn’t quite sure what to believe, but he knew this was too big of a chance to pass up regardless of what the old bard said. Only three people were in front of him. He was getting anxious, so he readied the two pennies in his hand. He knew it was robbery, since the cityfolk were poor, but he adamantly wanted to do this, so he was going to. He would not be denied the opportunity.

Finally, it was his turn. He smiled to the old thug, handed him the two pennies, and begun trying to coax the egg into hatching for him. He rubbed it all over, and thought things inside his head about it hatching for him and why it should. A few minutes later, he rubbed it once more, and stepped aside. The boy was walking around through the magnificent tents when he saw Tashibo. He grimaced, and tried to run away so the landlord couldn’t see him, but it was mighty too late: the cruel man had saw him. Running towards him, he bellowed, “Ye little thief! Come hither!” Sorrowfully, the boy obliged. “Hello, sir,” he said grimly. “Hello, sir,” the landlord mocked roughly. “I have been here and there for the past few months, so that’s… three months of rent overdue.” He pulled out his fat hand, indicating to pay him. “Pay up, you runt.” Furiously, he fished through his purse and handed the mean man ten pennies, which was a good deal of his work from that year. The landlord looked at him suspiciously, and then said finally, “Very well. Oh, and,” he added, smiling evilly, “me relatives are coming to Ivanfvl in a month. Which gives you one month to leave the hut. Ye hear?” he inquired, glaring. “What?” he roared, furiously. “That’s me home!” he snarled, consumed with rage. “I pay you every time you say to, I clean it to perfection as you insist, I do everything you ask!” “Watch it,” Tashibo said coldly, “or I’ll make you leave now.” “Aye, sir. Sorry,” he replied, although it was obvious he was not sorry for what he had said, for he knew it was unfair. Sighing, he walked away and bought something from one of the food merchants, munched on it miserably, and began to leave Ivanfvl and head to his hut when he heard a holler from the thug who had the egg. “Wow! Th’ egg hatched to you farm folk!” he roared, chuckling merrily. “The dragon will locate you immediately.” And so, the little hatchling ran all over, and searching for the person who made it hatch. And it ran straight to Alaric. People gasped. Some swore. Some hollered it was rigged. Some were happy for Alaric. Most were just too awed to even react. Alaric did the only reasonable thing—he picked up the dragon, and ran for his life. The people were very, very angry and envious. He knew he couldn’t best that many people. A few people said he was very proficient with the blade, but against a raging crowd, he knew it would be foolish to even try. He looked at the dragon hatchling with a glitter in his eye. “Me, a dragon rider!” he said, chuckling amusedly as he ran very quickly to his home. When he got there, he quickly made a pack of the provisions he had, put his purse in it, and then he mounted his horse, Hayle, and put the dragon in his palm, and rode off, away from the people.

The hatchling looked at him curiously, but it didn’t say anything. Finally, Alaric heard a loud and sharp noise in his mind. Hondira! the voice yelled. Hondira! the voice yelled once more, more insistently. Hondira is I! it yelled once more, vibrating in his mind. Alaric finally understood. The dragon’s name was Hondira. “Are you a male or a female?” he inquired softly as he rode away from the village. Are you male or female? it repeated inquisitively. “That’s what I asked you,” Alaric snapped impatiently. And it is why I’m asking you, the dragon replied simply. “Oh… I’m a male. And my name is Alaric.” And I’m a female, and my name is Hondira. See? We can get along just fine if you understand I too have questions. “Right” was all he said. He was too dumbfound to understand all of this. The little emerald hatchling seemed to be smiling in his palm. He began to sweat nervously. “So, uh… now what, Hondira?” You’re the rider. I’m just the baby dragon, it replied playfully. “Thanks,” he said sourly. As he rode on into the Woods—which were a very spooky and a place no one went if they had any sense—he heard someone trailing him. “Someone’s following us.” Correct, Hondira agreed. It is an old human. “Thank you for notifying me ahead of time,” he snapped bitterly. You never asked! “Right, well,” he growled furiously, and he turned to see who was pursuing him, and to his fury he didn’t see or hear anyone any longer. He grimaced; whoever it was knew how to be heard but remain hidden when people looked for them, which was good, but bad for Alaric’s hope of finding who was trailing him. After a few minutes of not finding anyone, he finally snarled, “Who is it, old creep!” “It is I!” a familiar voice replied curtly. “Nobe.” Alaric froze. This old bard didn’t seem to be an unfair or unjust fellow, so he stopped and turned to see the old man in his mottled robe with his rapier at his side. “Why were you following me, Nobe?” he asked, his voice portraying confusion, hatred, and worry. “Now my profession is a bard,” Nobe replied delicately. “I went from sword legend to many things, then retired as a swordmaster, then retired and went to live life as a bard. I used to sing and recite poems and past history, but now I can live history!” he roared excitedly. “What were you when you were growing up?” “I keep me secrets, boy,” the scholar replied coolly. “As any learned man very well should. Regardless… I’m coming with you, wherever you’re going.”

Chapter 2 After a few minutes of negotiating, it was decided that Nobe would accompany them on their journey. With a little persuasion from the bard, he convinced Alaric that his knowledge of the continent and his ability with the blade would prove vital in order for them to survive. “And,” he added ruefully, “I may temporarily end my retirement to help you with the blade.” So it was settled. He would be going with him. He had a very fast warhorse that he rode on. Nobe also had a pack of provisions on his horse, which would help them when they were running low. “And what,” Nobe inquired, eyeing the emerald dragon hatchling, “is its name?” “Her name is Hondira.” “Ah, a female dragon.” He smiled appreciatively. Hello, Hondira. My name is Nobe. A few seconds later, he realized instantly that this man was talking to the dragon. “How can you communicate with her too?” he roared enviously. “Who said I could, or could not?” he asked mysteriously. “It was obvious. You were concentrating really hard and looking at you, and she made it obvious she received something mentally. How?” he demanded once more, this time more impatiently. “One of my many secrets,” Nobe replied elusively. “Now quit bickering and let us continue on so we can leave this forsaken wood, ye hear?” And that ended Alaric’s inquires of Nobe’s past and his abilities, despite how much the young rider wanted to know. When it was getting dark, Nobe finally exclaimed, “And now we rest! Alaric, you might want to have Hondira explore around and learn the area; it will make easier when she’s large enough to carry.” Alaric relayed the message to her, and she agreed and half-walked, halfflew off the ground around the woods. “As for us… I’ll light us a fire and we can spar.” The bard got ten nice, flammable pieces of wood and took two sharp stones and began to rub them together. Finally, a flame was produced. The man grinned as it expanded all over the wood and lit and became very large. “And now we spar!” “We could injure one another!” he objected. “More like I could injure you,” he countered with a grin. “Give me your sword.” He turned around, murmuring something, then handed it back. “There; I dulled yours and mine. It will wear off when we finish.”

The rapier’s blade was skinnier than his hand-a-half sword, but it would be a good match. Nobe expertly nailed him on the shoulder, and he roared in pain, where the bard explained that it was dulled, not powerless. Grimacing, Alaric swung his blade like a semipro, trying to counter all of the bard’s moves. Finally, after thirty solid minutes of nothing but counterattacks, Nobe announced, “You’re a mighty competitor! A great swordsman. Good thing you’re a dragon rider. Only elves could best you.” Alaric smiled broadly at the compliment, and winced as he continued on. “But we shall still practice, practice, practice every chance we get. Even a dying elf could beat you with a few swings of its blade. We must work on that. Elves could beat me too, as all humans, but you must learn to do certain things that will make it less likely to occur.” And then they ate. Nobe only ate berries, for he insisted once you live among the elves for a while, you adapt to their vegetarian nature. Abruptly, he said, “We must go to the Legion.” “What’s that?” Alaric inquired as he gobbled down a rabbit, and he smiled as he saw Hondira returning with two mice in her mouth as she devoured them. “Rebels. They fight against the Kingdom with everything they have. Their leader is anonymous, except to a member of the Legion themselves. Few are lucky enough to know how to get there. I, however, do, thankfully.” “You’re a member of their rebellion,” he stated, grinning. But the man didn’t answer to that, but instead he said, “Everyone will want you dead, you know. A dragon rider, unpledged to the king? That shan’t go down too well for you, my boy.” “Aye, I feared as much.” “Now we rest,” Nobe murmured. “I’ll take first watch and wake you later.” “Good night.” Good night, he said again, this time to Hondira. A good night it is, the little dragon agreed, giggling mentally. Nobe roused Alaric and then retired to his makeshift bed. Alaric sighed and stood up, looking around. Hello, came the voice of the emerald dragon. How did you sleep? Not long enough, he replied ruefully. And you? Well enough, I suppose, she said, thought it was apparent she was thinking about something. What? He asked insistently. Soon we will be forced to face King Ianweg, she said sadly. His dragon, Vel, is a dark and black dragon. He will easily overpower us with our vast ignorance. How did you know of Vel?

The dragon smiled mischievously. We dragons are a smart and observant breed, you know. Then he heard a loud noise, and Hondira said, ‘Night, and then he no longer felt her presence lurking in his mind. The next thing he knew, he was being hollered at, “How could have fallen asleep!” You fool! Hondira bellowed out mentally. Between Nobe yelling aloud, and the dragon yelling mentally, he was ready to burst. “I—I…” he gulped nervously, “… didn’t mean to.” “Bah!” he roared angrily. He seemed to simmer down, and finally said, “Very well. What is done is done, we can’t undo it. Therefore we must move on.” Mounting Hayle wearily, he followed Nobe deep into the forest. He knew it was a bold move to put faith in this mysterious old bard blindly, but he saw no other alternative at this point. After a few hours of walking, they were nearly at the end of the Forest. They kept trudging on, until finally their horses began to act weirdly. Nobe made a face. Get Hondira away from here! NOW! He roared nervously, making it obvious something was about to happen, but he wasn’t sure what. Hondira! Leave! Quick! He threw the dragon hatchling off him, and she tumbled down and scurried away, for her wings were much too small for her to even consider flying. “Well, well, well,” a taunting voice sneered. “If it isn’t Master Nobe!” he roared, laughing icily. “And a little apprentice, eh?” “Dernden!” “Correct,” the voice continued. The man walked into vision. He had very pale white skin and piercing half-gold half-red eyes, which was very odd. At his side was a long, pale sword with a red ruby in the pommel. He wore a long red robe with the sigil of Ianweg. Then the man—Dernden—began to roar in an unintelligible language, and as he did so, Nobe roared back in the same tongue, fighting off whatever he was doing. All that Alaric heard was “…ignarus veneficus!” roaring from Nobe’s mouth, although he knew naught what it meant. Soon, however, when he finally understood they were most definitely about to fight, he swung out his sword, and as he began to charge at Dernden, the man snapped out, “Redimio vestri!” A millisecond later when he tried to lung at the man, he was bound to the ground and couldn’t move. The man smiled, amused. “I am a sorcerer, boy!” he sneered, laughing heartily. “I am the most powerful man alive who roams this forsaken lands, save the King himself! “Perdo vestri conscientia!” he finished, and Nobe and Alaric slowly but surely began to lose consciousness. “Fools,” he laughed coldly. Dernden finally nodded his head and ten soldiers came and picked up their bodies. And then the two finally blacked out.

When they woke up—however much time had passed they knew not— they were heavily drugged and very weary. “Where are we?” he asked Nobe weakly. “We’re…” he paused, looking around. “We’re in Dilbave, a city in the Kingdom. The earl is very harsh and is completely loyal to the cityfolk… and to Ianweg.” And then memory returned to Alaric, and he snapped out accusingly, “You knew that sorcerer, did you not?” he accused, but didn’t give him time to reply, for he continued on loudly, “And you didn’t warn me he was a sorcerer! Nor that you were, either,” he added coldly. “It was many of the secrets I said I would have disclosed. And is my right to do so.” Then he scrutinized Alaric roughly. “And I am not a sorcerer. A sorcerer is someone who uses spirits in the other realm to accomplish their magical needs. I’m a magician,” he said adamantly. “And don’t be confused, he was no normal sorcerer. He is a dark sorcerer.” He sighed. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you about another thing, either,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not a human.” “He’s an elf,” came a rough voice, and Dernden approached them gloatingly. Alaric gaped in horror. “He underwent certain procedures to lose his elvish appearance as well as his elvish ability. That is… until he did what he was committed to do—bring up the dragon rider.” The dark sorcerer eyed Alaric piercingly. “Where is your beast?” Alaric had forgotten Hondira in the heat of the moment. He tried to reach out for her, but his mind was too fogged up and he was too far away. He shook his head. Annoyed, the sorcerer continued, “Nobe! Bah! Such a human name. Why don’t you tell him your elf name, eh there, Nobe?” With a cold murmur of his tongue, the sorcerer laid a spell on Nobe, and through force, he growled out, “My name is… Altus.” “Tell him why you picked Nobe, Altus!” With an impatient growl, the sorcerer performed the spell again, and the man spoke weakly. “Altus means noble, so I adopted the name Nobe, removing the l from my name, and changing it to the language of humans.” With a defeated sigh, he growled, “Solvo meus alica!” Nobe—Altus’—appearance began to alter greatly. His ears got very pointed, his eyes turned almond, he looked in a word: handsome! He became a few inches taller, and he looked much stronger. “An elf, in Ianweg’s control!” Dernden sneered, laughing hotly. “Thank you for bringing this rider to us, Altus. Thank you!” Finally, the sorcerer yelled out something unintelligible and a dark liquid eased itself into both of their bodies, rendering them powerless and highly drugged. “Good day, boys.” And then he walked right out of the cell, after murmuring an order to the captain roughly.

Days later, they awoke in the same dark and dry cell. Alaric shot right up, with hurt him gravely—the pain from being drugged and powerless all crashed down him at once. Wincing heavily, he glared at the elf. “So, you lied to me, elf.” Nobe said nothing and remained emotionless and weary. “You’re not a human. You’re a wise elf. And obviously a powerful one. How did you make a spell to dwarf your powers largely, so when you fought you were that of a human?” He shook his head. “You went to large lengths to conceal your identity. Why?” Altus sighed miserably. His pointy ears were drooping, as if in shame in himself. “I am the prince to the house of Perdian,” he finally said sadly. “I am one of the highest elven lords alive.” Altus groaned in pain, shaking all over. “The spell took many years for me to create and store enough powers to execute it. But after a long time, I succeeded in changing my appearance and my abilities —and my name.” He smiled sadly. “I wanted to protect the newest rider from the influence of King Ianweg. “And I did… and I let that particular rider straight to the king!” he began to shake even worse and weep sadly. “I am a very old elf, you see. Yet… I made a foolish mistake!” he began to chastise himself heavily. Finally, Alaric snarled, “Shut up!” he roared. “Quit being so self-piteous. I can’t even contact my dragon! We are too weak to do anything. So I want some answers before he respells us.” With a heavy sigh, he continued threateningly, “How did you know Dernden?” “Dernden was not always a dark sorcerer. He used to be a Legion activist; he used to be a regular, good sorcerer. Then he began to delve even deeper and harsher into the dark side of sorcery. His personality began to change, and he went even darker and harsher. He tried to assassinate the Legion leader, and was failed. In fury, he began to go straight to the dark sorceries, no longer practicing the regular sorceries. Dernden summoned three fiery spirits into himself; they were very powerful and evil and turned him completely deadly. He was already evil as it was, and summoning three fiery spirits into him completely ruined him. “Ianweg claimed him as his own. With Ianweg’s help, Dernden summoned one more spirit into himself—an elvish ghost. Somehow, he found the ghost of an elf, bound it to himself, and then forced it in him. So there was Dernden: he was a human, and now he was three-parts spirit, one-part ghost. Ianweg taught Dernden a powerful incantation, rendering all of the entities into one, making what Dernden is today—an extremely powerful, immortal beast.” Alaric took it all in slowly. It was too much to handle. “How did he survive all of those entities coexisting inside him?” “I do not know, unfortunately,” he replied wearily. The two quieted as the guard captain neared their cell. The captain was human and wore a simple gray robe with the sigil of the Kingdom. With a falchion at his hip, he entered, carrying a vial of dark a potion.

Chapter 3 Wake up! Hondira yelled out distantly, worriedly. Wake up, please, Alaric. Please wake up. I need you! From the intensities of the dark potion the captain forced on him hours ago, it took him a while to register who was contacting him mentally. When he realized it was Hondira bellowing at him mentally, he weakly responded, Hello, my little emerald beauty. Finally! She said, growling. I’ve spent day after day trying to contact you. I’m pleased I finally have. I’m close to the borders of the city you’re in—which I learned was Dilbave—so that is probably why it easier for me to arouse you. They must be drugging you quite heavily, for it has taken me forever to arouse your conscious just barely. Alaric nodded to himself. Aye, he agreed sadly. We’re at their utter control. They took our weapons, and I know no magic, and Altus is no help. Altus? Who’s that? The little dragon inquired, surprised. For the next few minutes, Alaric explained all about the man they knew as Nobe. He’s been being drugged more than I; I assume that is because he can use magic while I cannot. He sighed. Last time we were drugged, however, it was from a potion, and not from the dark sorcerer Dernden, so it wasn’t as potent or painful. After a thoughtful sigh, he added, So, are you growing any, my dear Hondira? Aye, she growled, I am at least the size of an overgrown lizard. By time I see you, you may be able to ride me, she growled ruefully. I can’t breath fire yet, only hot smoke, else I’d come in and free you myself. Right when he was about to reply, he felt her leave his conscious. He scowled. Was Hondira hurt, or did she lose her ability to contact him over the long distance? Whatever the reason, he wouldn’t know, for the captain came to him, put a dagger to his neck and drew blood, then forced the dark potion in his mouth, then knocked him unconscious roughly and then poured the remainder in Altus’ mouth. The next time they were awoken, Alaric felt much more stronger, and he could tell Altus did too. For the first time since their imprisonment, they realized they were the only people in the prison, which explained why there was only two guards, the captain, and occasionally Dernden there. This time, however, when the captain entered, they were not drugged, but their hands were bound instead, and since they were still weak, they couldn’t fight back. A handsome looking man entered the prison. He had wore sleek black pants, and he wore an overcoat that went to the tops of his pants. At his side was a gleaming sword, and he had a richly feel to him.

“The earl of Dilbave,” the captain said, smiling unpleasantly, “is here to question you two.” The earl smiled coldly as the captain unlocked the cell and the earl entered. With a wave of his hand, the captain and the guards itched away. The earl scrutinized them before saying anything. He was a wary man and knew he would not be deceived. “Do you appreciate my hospitality?” he asked abruptly. “What!” Alaric roared and attempted to stand up, and collapsed on the cold floor immediately—he was still very weak. “What hospitality do you speak of? I’ve been spelled, drugged, and beaten. I see no hospitality, my good earl.” “What a pity,” the earl murmured annoyed. “Regardless, I must decide what to do with you now.” He continued waving his hand for some odd reason, as if signaling something, but nothing occurred, so he finally chuckled icily and quit. “His Royal Highness is aware of you, but since the dragon is under his command… you’re both utterly useless.” Sickness entered Alaric’s stomach as he heard what had happened. His poor, baby Hondira had been attacked or injured, thus severing their previous conversation. The earl smiled gleefully from the reaction the boy gave. “So you were talking to your dragon, eh!” With a flick of his finger, he finally said, “This elf will be of use, but you—you… you’re useless.” The elf lord looked worried. He wasn’t quite sure what to do in this particular predicament. He knew Dernden was very powerful, and that he had personally concocted the potion they were constantly being drugged with when Dernden was too busy to see to them personally. With a defeated sigh, the elf finally said softly, “I’ll give myself up for the exchange of his life be freed.” The noble began to lapse in loud and obnoxious bellows. “You’re already given up, elf! You’re under our control.” He smiled slyly. Something unexpected happened next. Altus’s face went extremely pale and he began to make a face, as if in terrible pain. A second later, he mumbled, “Prolixus incendia,” and a large blast of red, hot flames shot at the earl. Being no spellcaster himself, the earl was burnt heavily and fell down, screaming in horror. Altus stated, “Binding our hands is of little usefulness,” he said weakly, as he jabbed his foot into the earl and then exited the cell, which the captain never relocked. The captain and the two guards drew their swords as if to stop them, but when the elf gave them a steely glare, they dropped their swords and ran in the other direction. Grabbing Alaric’s hand-and-a-half sheathed sword, Altus threw it to him, who belted it hastily. Altus grabbed his rapier, unsheathed it, and murmured, “Exsisto vigoratus!” as he directed the spell to his rapier. “What did you do?” Alaric inquired as they ran away from the prison. “I imbued my sword so that when we’re attacked—which we shall be soon—all we have to do is touch the sword to mine or your flesh and it shall heal us.

“Reach out for Hondira’s consciousness. I think the earl lied to us simply to infuriate us, which was his greatest flaw.” Hondira! he roared, reaching out for her mentally. Alaric! You sound like you’re more energetic than previously. Instantly, Alaric sent her a visual picture of where they were at, and they waited patiently and a few moments later, an emerald lizard was half-running, half-flying toward them. Hondira was about three feet long, and her wings were about eight inches long. They weren’t long enough to fly for very long distances, and she certainly couldn’t carry him yet. I missed you, Alaric whispered weakly, as he continued running. Ever so badly. I’m glad we’re reunited. As I am to you, she replied softly, as she half-flew along beside him. It seems they hid your steeds? Aye, he growled, They took Hayle and his mount. We were in too big of a hurry to even bother to go find them, though, but they were not at the prison. The elf lord spoke hesitantly, “I fear if we go straight to the Legion, we may inadvertently lead the Kingdom straight to the Legion’s headquarters.” No one spoke for a while, and Alaric grimaced as what he was informed of. It made perfect sense, yet it was unfortunate they had no other option. Could you not best the ones who follow you? Hondira asked thoughtfully to Alaric. Shrugging, Alaric relayed her question aloud to Altus, and the elf replied softly: “No. We can’t risk it. Some may be more elusive than others.” After a few minutes of thought, the elf added softly, “The leader of the Legion is a tan human named Halt. He is a vigorous swordsman, one of the best there is.” He paused, eyeing Alaric sadly. “I’ll escort you as far as I can… but Dernden is killing me.” He shook his head wearily. “His sorcery he inflicted on me was more potent—it was deadly. We’re enemies, so he wanted me dead instantly.” He sighed thoughtfully. “I’ll be gone in a few days.” The elf stopped running and walked to the river. With a growl, he murmured, “Animadverto!” Alaric didn’t bother asking what it meant, for he knew he would soon find out. In a lower growl, the elf added quietly, “Halt.” A millisecond later the nearby water turned into a tall and strong looking man. A second later, the elf added, “Sermo!” which the elf quietly explained was the word for speech, enabling them to hear what was going on. “… This is getting ridiculous! We need to continue raiding the Kingdom. You question me, warlord? Me, your liege lord, your leader? I will have you flogged if you continue with these ridicules!” The warlord in question snarled, “With all due respect, Sire, the people under me are under me, not you directly.” The leader of the Legion sputtered in rage, but contained himself. “Very well, Warlord. If you wish to remain chieftain over the tribe, you will do as I say and continue with the raids. Do not test me.”

With a defeated nod, the warlord murmured his forgiveness and trotted away. The leader sighed and began to grumble about the lack of help and how all of the good helpers left him, and he murmured Altus’ name. The elf froze. With a sigh, the elf released the magic. “It seems tensions are worse than we originally perceived in the Legion, eh! A man ranked as king must threaten his own warlords. Ridiculous.” However, the rider noticed that the elf was incredibly pale. The dark liquid and the sorcerer’s spells must really be injuring him. Plus, the toll of holding that spell for so long and the sorcerer’s torture must really be a lot for poor Altus. Hondira sighed sadly. As sad as this may be, Alaric, you must ask him how to learn magic before he dies, else it is unlikely to survive! Mustering up his courage to ask his elvish mentor to teach him one last thing before he passed on, he said hesitantly, “Hondira and I agree that I must know magic in order to survive.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. “I know you’re dying, but so will we if you don’t teach me at least the fundamentals.” Altus looked at him, and faltered away. “I’ll teach you, and then I’ll go shroud myself and let the poisons finish me off after I direct you toward the Legion.” With a rueful glance, he said softly, “The language of magic is direct and precise. I will teach you only the basics. “For fire, you must envision a flame and bellow out ignis, for ignis means fire in the language of magic.” With a smile, he nodded encouragingly. “You try, Alaric.” With a flicker of nervousness, the boy snarled out, “Ignis!” and a green flame erupted from his palm. It wasn’t very big nor powerful, but the elf seem satisfied. “Considering you just learned it, very good. Now you could be more specific, and say broad fire, but that’s a bit too advanced for the little time we have. “Next you need to know how to scry someone. In order to do so, say Animadverto, and then say the person’s name to which you’re scrying. Then, after you say their name, in order to hear what is being said, say Sermo, and you will be granted the ability to hear what is happening.” For the next hour, he instructed him on the language of magic. A second later, the elf exclaimed, “And my purpose is now fulfilled.” With a sad smile, he murmured a loud spell, and a shroud of darkness engulfed himself, and he was petrified instantly, crippled, and paled, and then nothing was visible but the shroud. Hondira looked worried. Well then. He sent me the way to the Legion. Then let us go! Alaric exclaimed excitedly. The dragon’s mind merged into his, and he saw the way to the Legion. They had a very long way ahead of them. We must find me a mare and some provisions. Steal them is more like it, she corrected ruefully. We do what we can, he snapped back defensively.

They were out of Dilbave, that much he was sure of. He glanced around, and the only thing he saw was a tavern and a hut with a sign that said fresh cheese. With a wince, he murmured, I’ll go into the tavern and talk to the bartender and see what we can arrange. Wait outside. No! Hondira snarled furiously. Every time we part, something dangerous or deadly occurs. We can’t risk it. And we can’t risk not to risk it! Very well, little one. But if you get injured or captured once more…! The dragon let the threat lie in the air, for Alaric was already walking toward the tavern. He tried his best to hide his sword and entered the tavern hastily, pretending to be in a hurry or to be eager for some beer. The bartender scrutinized him heavily; instantly Alaric wondered if they had put out an award or alerter for him, but he reasoned he just escaped—they couldn’t have done anything like that yet. Reaching into the bartender’s consciousness, he forced the thought into the man’s mind that Alaric was just an average boy ready for some drinks. As he warily stumbled to the bar, he said roughly, “Ye sellin’ any preeeviseions?” he inquired, trying to sound illiterate. “Aye, I sell provisions,” the bartender slurred. “Dried meat, cheese, bread, wineskins, waterskins,” the man said, bobbling his head. He wore a white apron and had bloodshot eyes. Alaric could easily see the barman was a drunkard. “Alright,” Alaric replied. He instantly shot into the man’s mind, and implanted the thought for the bartender to offer them for free. “I’ll go get a pack and you can take them on the house,” the man said, confused as the words left his lips, but he did as he said. Alaric paled and began to sweat a lot. He had never took complete control over someone’s mind before, and it was hard to do so with the beer and other alcohol floating around. Hondira breeched her way into Alaric’s consciousness and merged her strength into his own, making him stronger and no longer so sweaty and weak-feeling. A moment later, the barman returned with a rough-canvas pack with meats, cheese, loafs of bread, wineskins, and waterskins. Appreciatively, the young man nodded his thanks and walked on. With a mischievous grin, he walked around back and he saw a warhorse—a white mare. He smiled. “Good picking,” he said. In a quick motion he mounted the horse and took off; Hondira flew beside him.

Chapter 4 The day was long and hard, but they were no longer in the Kingdom’s territory. They were in independent territories, but they still had many days of traveling ahead of them. Adjusting the satchel attached to the mare, he scowled. Alaric turned his head frequently, trying to find Hondira, but had no such luck. She told him she would be gone for a while to go hunt, and he still hadn’t found her, nor could he find her mentally. Alaric heard a loud clank of metal trailing behind him. He froze, worriedly. He knew he could cast a spell if they proved to be dangerous, but the energy required was something he didn’t have at this point in time—he hadn’t had the opportunity to stop and sleep yet, so he was very weary. He sniffed the air, and noticed a grim odor. Realization flooded over him; it was Dernden who was trailing him! The grim smell was that of when he summoned his dark spirits for magic. He grimaced; he knew he would be at the sorcerer’s utmost mercy if he caught up with him. Digging his boots into the horse’s side for it to go faster, he reached into the horse’s mind and instructed it to go much faster. Immediately, the mare took off running full speed. Alaric heard the man running quicker; he became very worried as he realized the man was even closer now than he had been previously. “Give it up,” the voice said flatly, which Alaric confirmed it was Dernden. “You’re tired, and you’re little emerald isn’t here to lend you any strength.” Dernden wasn’t dressed in armor; he wore a simple maroon robe with the sigil of Ianweg and had his pale sword at his side, which Alaric knew was the clank he heard. “I have no one here but myself,” he added coolly, “and yet I shall easily overcome you. I don’t appreciate stomping on earls, young man.” Alaric hissed in rage, and hollered out, “Ignis!” and a large, hot burst of emerald flames left the palm of his right hand. Amused, the sorcerer rasped out a counterspell, and the fire bounced right back at him. Before Alaric could stop it, the fire had burnt him. Weakly, he glared at the dark sorcerer. “Don’t bother with your little baby spells,” the sorcerer snarled. “I’m more powerful than you, boy.” “So what do you want with me? You said it yourself; you’re more powerful. I’m useless to the king.” “Ah, so you are,” Dernden agreed half-heartedly, “but the king can’t have a rider running loyally to the Legion, now can he?” he added, smiling knowingly.

The rider instantly blocked his mind so Dernden couldn’t use any mind magic to extract the location of the Legion. “Give it up,” he said flatly. “You lost.” With an evil grin, he said, “The king will overlook the earl situation if you come willingly.” “Never!” Alaric roared, enraged at the proposal. Alaric unsheathed his sword, and swung it at the sorcerer, but the Dernden lazily murmured a spell and the blade was deflected and fell out of Alaric’s hand. Annoyed, the sorcerer unsheathed his pale sword, and then he nodded for Alaric to get his. When the rider obliged, the sorcerer added gloatingly, “Don’t attack when the other is unaware; especially when the other is more powerful than you.” Alaric made the first move; he swung his hand-and-a-half sword straight at the pale blade, and lazily the sorcerer deflected it, and from the intensity of the deflection, Alaric’s blade faltered slightly. With grim satisfaction, the sorcerer noted that the rider’s blade had dented and looked slightly curved. With amusement, the sorcerer pointed out coolly, “Your blade is dented.” He swung his pale sword at the dented blade, yet the blade couldn’t stand up to the sorcerer’s; it was too weak. “How does yours never dull, nor dent?” Alaric inquired in astonishment. With a wicked grin, the sorcerer replied evenly, “Another majesty I or Ianweg could teach you if you side with us. But I’d rather you didn’t, but I must convey the message. I’d much rather kill you.” But with a wave of his hand, he explained, “My blade is enchanted.” With a grimace, he spun out to attack Dernden, but the blade fell off; the only thing in his hand now was the hilt. The sorcerer laughed thickly, and lunged at the rider, pinning him down, the blade to his neck. “Fool!” he roared. “You’re no match for me.” Not trusting himself to speak, the rider merely spat on the sorcerer who was atop him. Knowingly, the sorcerer added roughly, “Evinxi!” The spell was designed to restrain the rider. Out of no where, thick ropes appeared on the rider, binding him and immobilizing him. Smugly, the sorcerer began to gloat, but what he said was in a blur to the boy. Gasping for air, he hollered, “Ignis!” Unfortunately, the restraining spell also had another add-on—it sent any spells back at them. The large blast of emerald flames were shot right back at him. Helplessly, he reached out into the dumb mare’s consciousness. Horse! He roared weakly, Are you smart enough to comprehend? Neigh! The mare replied mentally. Good enough, the rider growled nervously. Run full speed at the man beside me, and do your best to knock him down. Understand? Neigh-neigh! It replied dumbly.

Alaric wasn’t quite sure if the horse truly understood all he said, but he knew it did understand some, for the mount ran full speed at the sorcerer, knocking him over. Dernden roared in pain as the horse stomped all over him. A moment later, it ran the other way, tromping all over him once more. It did it a third time, and then it quit, flopping down wearily. The sorcerer didn’t even cast a spell to defend himself. Restrained to the ground, he tried to look up, and he finally saw why—the dark sorcerer was unconsciousness. Alaric! Hondira yelled warmly. Are you okay? No, he said sharply, seeing the emerald lizard high in the sky—that was the highest she had ever flown! The sorcerer Dernden came, bested me, ruined my blade… I instructed the horse to stomp on the sorcerer, and luckily it did. So its unconscious. But I need you to get these forsaken restraints off of me! Patiently, the emerald dragon landed on him. Pausing to look for the focal point of the spell, she finally found it. With a quick crane of her neck, she bit down as hard she could on the focal point of the restraint, and it immediately disappeared. She grinned. There we go, she said smiling. Noticing the unconscious and tired mare, she gave it the energy to wake up and run. Satisfied, she nodded for Alaric to mount the horse. Let’s go. Only a three or so more days until we get to the Legion. Alaric nodded. “Merge your strength into me, O Emerald,” he pleaded. Obligingly, the dragon did so. “Evinxi!” he hollered out, learning the spell from the sorcerer. As soon as he cast the binding spell, he regretted it. It was a very complex and extremely powerful spell. He knew right away that it was a spell for the accomplished magicians, not novices. Alaric turned incredibly pale and weak, and so did the dragon. Alaric slid off of the horse and hit the ground. He couldn’t end the spell until it was done. A second later, the spell had been cast. The sorcerer was restrained. Fool! She roared scolding him. You could have warned me you were going to cast a powerful binding spell you just learned from an EVIL dark sorcerer, she snarled. I’m as weak as dying cow! That took a large toll of my energy, and all of yours; you would be dead were it not for me. Ignoring her scolding, he weakly remounted the horse and continued on his way to the Legion. “I’m sorry,” was all he said, and even then it was begrudgingly.

Chapter 5 There was only one day left. They still in independent lands, yet there was only a hut or so every now and then. Hondira was at least six feet long by now and had a wingspan of three and a half feet long. She still couldn’t spit fire, but her steam was getting much more detrimental and hot. We are very near to the Legion, the dragon pointed out eagerly. Soon, we will be in the Legion territory. She sighed. Unfortunately, when we get there, we will be forced to swear unwavering loyalty to Halt, no doubt. The boy shrugged. “Anything for training,” he said curtly. “The elf Altus didn’t teach us enough. We need knowledge in order to survive, Hondira!” Do not scold me on what we need and don’t need, she snarled. I may be younger than you in years, yet already my wisdom surpasses your own! Alaric closed his lips; he knew it would be foolish to retort to the prideful dragon. Instead, he said, “Fly ahead, O Shining Emerald,” he said, leaving the plea hanging. “We must be getting near.” With a growl, she obliged. He saw the emerald dragon launch herself into the air, and flew ahead into the clouds, looking for any signs of the Legion. Alaric wondered if the elves lived in the Legion, or somewhere else, and if the elves looked at Halt was their leader, or had an elf king or queen alternatively. With a grimace, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind and prepared to brace himself to experience the Legion. He hoped that they would dearly have a weaponsmith to forge him a blade, or give him one. He knew it was a futile hope to think they would give him a rider sword—it was said that the elf smith who forged them long quit his trade, for he said the riders were ungrateful and undeserving. Only a few more hours! The voice of Hondira instructed eagerly. I’ll wait for you where I am. And with that, she withdrew herself from his consciousness. Eagerly, he dug his boots into the mare’s side. He wanted the horse to move faster than it was. With an annoyed snap at the mare’s consciousness, it finally neighed loudly and took off running faster than ever. Now that he knew he was near, he was much more nervous than previously. Alaric looked selfpiteously at the hilt of his sword. No one would be able to fix that; he wouldn’t permit it. Two hours later, he saw the dragon hovering by a mountain. As soon as Hondira saw him, she flew down to get him. There are human spellcasters at the top. They wanted to probe me, but I refused until you were here. They attempted to attack me when I refused. Over my dead body! He roared. He looked at Hondira concernedly. Can you really carry me? You’re not very big.

It will only take a few moments and you will be off me, she replied quietly. When we get up there, we can have someone get the mare and our provisions. As he sat atop the dragon, he was in much pain. Her scales dove deeply into his skin. He grimaced; Alaric wished he had Hondira had a saddle so he wouldn’t be so hurt. A moment later, the human rider slid himself off of Hondira and onto the top of the mountain. “Greetings, Dragon Rider,” one of the three spellcasters murmured. “So you are real.” “Am I?” Alaric inquired curtly. “Well then!” he said, smiling sarcastically. “I hear you threatened O Emerald,” he added humorously. “Did it… offend you?” “Now why would it offend me?” “Oh!” the first one continued, smiling. “I didn’t think you would be offended; we only insulted an animal.” The dragon rider looked at the spellcaster in shock. Worriedly, he sent a reassuring thought to Hondira mentally. “Are you insane!” he yelled inquisitively. “Of course I care!” The spellcaster looked worried. “Now let’s hurry. I need to talk to Halt.” The three spellcasters wearily approached Alaric. With a sigh, they murmured something and dove into his mind, probing it harshly. They were going deep; they were trying to see how he met Altus, how he met and got Hondira, and his ability of the language of magic. Roughly, Alaric jabbed out at them coldly. It was as if an icy dagger stabbed their minds. In weak fury, they immediately dropped to the ground, very weak. With a grim smile, Alaric said, “You should not probe what is not yours to know” was all he said. And then the rider spun on his heels and Hondira flew him down the mountain, on the side of the Legion. As he was flown down, he was in awe. Large tents were all over. There were maroon-colored tents, which he immediately recognized as the tents of the leaders. As he dismounted off of Hondira, he saw many people rush out of their tents to see him. Many people rasped out things in a tongue he didn’t comprehend. “Take me to Halt!” he yelled, commandingly. With a wry smile, a man dressed in a brown jerkin and pale black pants walked forward, with a broadsword at his side. “You seek me, O Rider?” “Lord Halt,” the young rider murmured, bowing. “I expected you to be dressed in royalties. My apologies.” With a cool wave of his hand, the leader explained, “We’re not a rich people, you know, Rider. I don’t waste our funds on my looks.” With a steely glance, he nodded to his maroon tent. “Come.”

Warily, the dragon rider nodded and followed the leader of the Legion. The leader murmured something to the guards outside his tent, and they obediently walked away cautiously. The leader sat down patiently on a wooden chair, and nodded to one on the opposite side, begging the rider to do the same. He looked at the rider patiently, waiting for him to speak, yet he did not. “I heard some troubling news,” the lord finally said. “You attacked our spellcasters.” “They lashed out mentally at me,” he maintained thickly. “I did what was well within my rights, my lord,” he said scornfully. Lord Halt looked at him sadly; he just gazed at him before he responded. His voice soft but strong, he replied, “I suppose, but our spellcasters are rare and not the most powerful around. We can’t have them mentally injured.” When Alaric said nothing, Halt grimaced. “Must you be so hard to converse with?” Still, the rider didn’t reply. The lord shook his head dismally. “I see—be that way.” With a stiff nod, he added, “You sought out us; I didn’t seek out you. Why must you be so stubborn?” he demanded. Before Alaric could even consider replying, the warlord he had seen previously entered. With a curt nod to the rider, the warlord said evenly, “Sire, there are more pressing matters at hand than that,” he said, nodding toward Alaric. “The spellcasters are no longer there. It appears they have been killed; they were ambushed, and, due to their weakened state”—he glared at Alaric —“they were easily overcame and captured, thanks to dear rider.” Even though Hondira was out of the tent due to her size, she said sharply, If you know what is best for you, Chieftain, watch how you speak! The warlord made a weak face as he realized it was Alaric’s dragon scolding him. With a sigh, the warlord proceeded, ignoring Hondira, “We must assume it was an act of Ianweg, and act appropriately.” “I’m aware of what we must do, Warlord,” he replied sharply. “I do not need your help.” “I apologize, my lord.” He shook his head annoyed. “Be sure it does not happen again.” Then he thought about what the warlord had said, and added, “You and your tribe must go through the Pass and seek out who it was. Take them into your care and bring them to me at once. Understand?” “Potvrdni odgovor,” the warlord murmured curtly. Due to the rider’s puzzled look, the lord replied with amusement, “He said ‘aye’ in the language of his people.” He shrugged. “He is from the Dalen Plains, but he sought refuge among the Legion. His people are fairly wealthy and a strong people.” As if reading his mind, he added, “And yes, there skin is a tanish orange.” He smiled grimly. “The Plainsman aren’t to be trifled with.” With a knowing scowl, the rider muttered, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

The lord looked at him, and with a wave of his hand, he grumbled, “Go on, Rider. What is it you must share with me?” “I know who slew the spellcasters.” Halt looked at him interested, nodding for him to proceed. “The former Legion activist, Dernden.” The leader of the Legion began to hiss loudly. “The man who was and who is are two totally different things.” He shook his head furiously. “He’s no longer himself, you know! He has spirits and an elf ghost inside him,” he snapped out defensively. Alaric looked at Halt, alarmed. “Calm yourself, Lord Halt!” he snapped. “I do not know who he was… but I do know who he is now.” He grimaced. “And after being in his care two times and escaping, I’m in no hurry to return to it.” Halt gasped. He looked at Alaric, as if trying to see if he was trying to fool him. “You’re kidding. No one alive has escaped Dernden.” With a mocking gesture, he shrugged. “I have.” With a sigh, he added, “However, the first time was with the assistance of Altus.” Cautiously Halt eyed Alaric. He didn’t speak, he merely looked at him. All at once, the leader was sizing him up: he had escaped Dernden, and he knew of the elf Altus. With a wince, “What befell Altus, then, that he is not with you?” “He past away,” Alaric replied bluntly. “Dernden drugged us both on potent potions and cast dark spells on us, yet the ones cast on Altus were more harmful and powerful—they killed him.” It was as if Halt’s world came crushing down: he hadn’t expected the great elf Altus to die! “Ah,” he growled tearfully. “I swear by my sword I shall slaughter my own bližnji!” “You’re what?” “Oh,” Halt said in an undertone. “I forgot you don’t know the language of the Plainsman. Bližnji is their language for brother,” he added weakly. Astonishment overtook Hondira and Alaric. Dernden and Halt were brothers? Mentally, Hondira said, They have little resemblance. Relaying what Hondira said out loud, the leader snarled, losing his composure, “And THAT is because spirits and an evil elf ghost coexist inside him! He is already himself anymore, Dragon!” Immediately, Hondira had regretted telling Alaric to say that. Sorry, Alaric. I didn’t think he would react so defensively. The dragon sighed. I wonder if we should help the Plainsman Warlord—technically, it is our fault that they were so weak. Regardless if they were so weak, they would still have been overcome by the sorcerer. He’s too powerful to be denied. Halt shook his head wearily. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It is a raw nerve. Few know he is my bližnji.” With a wince, he realized he hadn’t even asked their names. “My apologizes, Rider and Dragon, but what are your names?” “My name is Alaric.”

And mine is Hondira, the dragon replied, and Alaric relayed what she said aloud to Lord Halt. The leader was about to say something, but he paused when one of the guards who were guarding his tent rushed in. “Sire!” he said professionally, and then murmured hurriedly: “The Plainsman shaman contacted our spellcaster via magical means and confirmed it is Dernden. The shaman is trying to best him with his magics, but the dark sorcerer is winning gravely.” Halt merely nodded his thanks and told the guard to leave. As soon as he left, he slid out of his chair weakly. Halt’s own brother was going to destroy one of the most proficient spellcasters he had! The Plainsman only had one caster, and that one was that particular shaman. He was a very strong spellcaster, but everyone knew no one could stand up to Dernden for too long. Finally, Halt said, “You shall rest tonight. Tomorrow you shall be tested for your proficiency in magic and swordsmanship. Be ready.” He stood up formally, and he reached for a large horn and blew into it softly. A moment later, the voice of a guard requested entrance. “Erect a tent for Rider Alaric, guard.” “Yes, sir!” the guard replied, gesturing for Alaric to follow. Hondira growled, displeased with being ignored. The guard looked worriedly at the dragon, and walked a few paces ahead of them out of fear. Amused, Hondira quit growling and debated how that guard would taste in her stomach. The guard found a pale green colored tent and quickly put it together. “Here you go, Dragon Rider, Dragon,” he said, nodding. Hondira looked at it, and growled as the guard left, These people expect me to fit in that tent? Maybe for tonight, but by tomorrow I will be much too big. With a sigh, she entered the tent and flopped herself down. After he sat on the cold ground for a while, finally a page came to him. “Sir!” the page said, bowing. “I come bearing sleeping materials.” With another bow, he handed him a pack that contained blankets and a sleeping bag. In his other hand contained a pack full of clothing. “Here you go,” the page said, smiling eagerly. “One pack is for your sleeping, and the other is for your clothing tomorrow.” With a mutter of thanks, the page scurried off. After he set out his sleeping bag and pulled a blanket on him, he went to sleep.

Chapter 6 The next morning, an older page was inside his tent, screaming. Alaric looked at him alarmingly. The page was bellowing about—finally, Alaric saw why. Hondira had the page in her paws. Put him down, Hondira! he snapped impatiently. With a growl, she flung him out of her paws. Weakly, the page grimaced weakly. “Sir,” he said, glaring at the emerald dragon, “Lord Halt requires you spar with Felöî,” he instructed. With a smile, he added, “To get to the spar fields, go past the homing grounds—the tents—and in the distance you’ll likely see targets for archers. Beyond that is the sparing area. You’ll find Felöî there.” With a wave of his hand, the page bowed and departed. Growing, he sat up and went to the pack that contained his clothing. He took off his old and sweaty clothing and looked at his new ones in the pack. There was a cotton undershirt, which he put on, and then a light gray jerkin, and a very light color brown of breeches. He put his belt on, and his boots, and then he said to Hondira, What are you going to do, Shining Emerald? I have yet to decide, she replied lazily. I’ll let you know later. Good luck with Felöî. Dressed in his new and more comfortable attire, he followed the page’s instructions and sought out his sparring field. With a smile, he past the archery grounds and men sparring with sharp shorts. Alaric sent Hondira a mental picture of where he was at in case the dragon wanted to watch him spar. The field was fairly large and at the back of it, against the wall, was a large rack of weapons, about seven and a half feet high. Grimly, he realized he would have to get a weapon from the rack when he found Felöî. “Hello,” a man about thirty years old said, approaching him with a faint smile on his lips. “My name is Felöî; I am the Legion’s sparring master.” With another grin, he nodded to the rack of weapons. “Let’s go pick out a weapon for you to use. Our best smiths forged them. Later, when you have time to go to the elvish cities, you may be able to convince the widely-renowned elf smith to forge you a rider’s blade, but until then…” Alaric nodded, forcing a smile. He knew he badly needed an enchanted blade, but until he had the opportunity, he would have to make with what they had. He examined the weapons on the rack. There were maces, hammers, spears, broadswords, falchions, rapiers, long daggers, short daggers, very sharp knives, and other types of swords. Finally, the sparring master selected a longsword—ahand-a-half-sword—and handed it to hm. “Our specialists said that you used to fight with a longsword?” “Aye, Felöî.”

Satisfied, the master handed him the longsword. Its hilt was a pale yellow and its scabbard was a very, very light pale yellow. He strapped the scabbard to his belt and messed around with his longsword for a while. Finally, he announced, “It shall do!” Felöî seemed very pleased. With a grin, he instructed, “When you go to your magic tutor—whomever it may be, I do not know—ask him to add some spells to it. No one can enchant it like an elf, but see if your tutor can’t at least add some useful spells to it.” Alaric nodded. “As you wish, Master,” he said, bowing. Pleased, Felöî swung out his falchion. For the next few hours, the two fought and fought. Despite how Alaric had bested Nobe—when he had used a spell to restrict his abilities to appear that of a human, instead of his true abilities as Altus—he had never fought the real Nobe, Altus. And now, he realized that Felöî was a very good swordsman. It was no surprise he was the sparring instructor. The two were aware a page was watching them spar, but they said nothing, and just continued to strike and counter. Thirty minutes after watching, the page said formally, “Nicely done, Master Felöî, however, Rider Alaric is needed with his magic tutor.” Sweat dripped down both of their foreheads as they quit sparring. They both turned and looked at the page. “Rider Alaric, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your next instructor.” With a quick bow to Felöî, Alaric sheathed his sword and walked with the page. Eagerly, the page handed him a loaf of bread and some cheese, explaining he’d need his energy to cast the spells. Finally, they were on the other side of where the tents were, in a cave. “This is your magic mentor’s room. Good day, Rider,” and then the page left. “Hello!” a voice murmured, halfheartedly. “I am Ĺènûm.” The spellcaster was in the back of the dark cave, sitting quite happily. With a move of his hand, he murmured, “Lumen!” and the cave erupted with light. “I am your magic instructor.” Alaric bowed respectfully. “I am Alaric,” he said, feeling foolish. “I was mentored by Altus for a little bit before he passed on about magic. I know the fundamentals.” Ĺènûm nodded thoughtfully. He was about six feet tall, and he wore a sky-blue robe and matching boots. At his side was a purse of money, and he had dark gray eyes and white hair. This magician looked pretty intimidating. With a sigh, he said, “If only the elf could have taught you more! Humans know nothing compared to elves,” he shook his head sadly. “Magic is their nature, whilst most humans must learn magic if they wish to pursue it.” Alaric just bobbed his head up and down, too tired to do much more after his sparring with Felöî. Finally, the magician declared, “We’ll start with the light, I suppose.” With a quick grumble—and a snap of his finger for special

effects—the lights went out. “Using the spell I used previously, summon forth the light. The word is lumen.” Obediently, the rider hollered out eagerly, “Looomen!” To his dismay, the room stayed dark, yet he felt weaker than a dying man. The magician gaped in horror, and screeched in fury. “You must say the word correctly!” he said, criticizing him impatiently. “If you mispronounce the spell or add too much emphasis, the spell may devour you. You’re lucky it only took a lot of your energy.” With a sigh, the magician explained carefully how to pronounce it. A moment later, Alaric said carefully, “Lumen!” The room lit up, although just barely. Ĺènûm smiled encouragingly. “Very good!” he said, grinning. With another whisper, the light vanished. “Try again, but this time be more forceful.” And so for the next ten or so minutes, he cast and recast the spell until Ĺènûm was satisfied. Finally, it was almost as light as when Ĺènûm did it, so he let him quit. “And now let’s try to summon forth a large blast of fire. “Prolixus incendia!” the magician said loudly, and broad fire erupted all over the room. Unlike Alaric, when Ĺènûm cast a spell, it was just the color of what the spell was. However, when the rider cast the spell, it was always a shade of emerald, which he assumed was from Hondira. Alaric tentatively repeated the spell, and only small flames erupted from his palm. Scolding, he had to keep doing it and doing it until it was good enough. After he had tested his ability to perform many spells, Ĺènûm finally realized Alaric was very weary. “I shall give a report to Halt in a while.” “Thank you, Dominus,” he muttered. Alaric learned he was to call Ĺènûm dominus, meaning master in the language of magic. Mustering up his courage, the rider said hesitantly, “Dominus Felöî instructed me to see if you could add some spells to my blade. He knows that you can’t put such enchantments like th elf smith, but to do something that may save me in the long run.” With an elegant wave of his hand, he motioned for Alaric to leave the sword. With a bow, he said, “Thank you, Dominus.” With another bow, he left the cave, which was now dark, for Ĺènûm extinguished the light without hesitation. As he headed to his tent, one of the people he immediately recognized as Dalen Plainsman from the color of his skin said, “Warlord Obilježiti and Lord Halt seek you in Halt’s tent, Rider,” the Plainsman rumbled. With a nod of thanks, he turned the opposite direction and headed to the largest, maroon tent. He wondered what the two needed of him, and he also wondered what kind of name Obilježiti was. Outside Halt’s tent he announced himself and then opened it and entered. He saw the two positioned on chairs, talking grimly. With a scowl he sat down on the other chair, and eyed the two patiently. Finally, after moments of silence,

Halt said, “Well, you were right, Rider,” he said, growling by the end of his statement. “Oh?” Alaric inquired, confused. “It was Dernden, without a doubt—Obilježiti’s shaman died facing him. That’s four spellcasters killed, Alaric. Four!” Evenly, the rider retorted, “If you’re implying it was my fault, it was not.” The two gasped at him; they hadn’t expected him to retort to them. “Regardless if the three were full of energy, Dernden could’ve killed them with a spell. They were incompetent. Besides, even if they were competent spellcasters, he could have overtaken them easily.” And then he glared at the warlord. “And I never told the Warlord for him to go after and see why and who did it, now did I?” A cool smile formed on his lips. “That was you, Halt,” he said, jabbing a finger at him. “So the shaman’s lost is your fault.” Halt was too awed to speak. No one talked to their commander liked that! Bitterly, he roared, “You are lucky, Swiftongue, you are not under my allegiance yet. I regret not forcing you to pledge utmost fealty to me. I suppose I will be forced to do it sooner; your insolence won’t and can’t be accepted, Alaric!” With a snarl, he added, his voice even colder, “And congratulations on being proficient in all of your fields tested.” The warlord, however, didn’t seem pleased with how Halt handed things. In his sharp voice, the warlord glared at the rider. “My tribe, that of the Dalen Plainsman, is the largest in the Legion. I have over two hundred Plainsman under my command, Rider. Do you hear me? Two hundred! How would you like to know that because of you, I withdrew my tribe? Eh!” Don’t retort, little one. Where are you? He demanded. On the other side of the mountain, hunting. But I can still hear and see in my mental eye what is going on. Do not bite back, Alaric; just ignore him. Regardless if you take Halt’s oath, it shan’t grant the Warlord any power over you. With a steely glare, he stuck his chin up and demanded, “So now what am I to do, my lord?” he said, eyeing Halt expectantly. “You”—he said, pointing at Alaric—“are going to learn to fly perfectly and then we shall try to get in contact with the elves and make them aware of your presence.” “There is but one flaw,” Alaric argued, “Hondira isn’t big enough for me to fly on her yet.” “Oh?” the warlord asked, smiling wryly. “Yet you flew her up the mountain to get to us?” Bitterly, he pulled up his breeches and revealed large wounds, with old blood caked on his leg. “And I have that as a reminder! She’s not big enough, and nor do I have a proper dragon saddle.”

Halt smiled evasively. “One is already being fashioned for you.” With a grin, he said, “And I think you’ll see Hondira is much bigger than before. Young dragons grow a lot over night, you know, Alaric.” “Dismissed,” the warlord added, growing. What kind of name is Obilježiti anyways! He exclaimed, as he talked to Hondira. He was in his tent lounging, but she was flying back from her hunt. I believe, she replied, thinking heavily, it means Mark in the language of his people. Since when do you know foreign languages? He asked, dumbfounded. He could hear her shrugging her bulk. I don’t know, Alaric. I just know it means Mark, alright? She asked, insistent. Dragons know many things others don’t know why, and this is one of them. With a fierce growl, she said, But I’ll teach this Warlord to insult and degrade you! He would not DARE if I was there with you. Alaric didn’t bother to point out that he was pretty confident that the warlord would do as he pleased, regardless of what intimidating figure was nearby. A moment later, a littler page than previously—he was only maybe eight —appeared carrying a silver tray. Laying it barely inside the tent, the page departed with a wave. He scooted over, pleased to see a well-cooked meal on the tray. It had a goblet of wine, two large chicken breasts, a buttered potato, and a small chocolate cookie. Satisfied, he sat back and ate his meal and drank his wine. By time he was finished eating his meal, Hondira was back. Halt was right—Hondira was bigger. Already she looked to be at least ten feet long! You’ve grown, he said affectionately. And you haven’t, she replied, although politely. Alaric ignored her jest, smiled, told her good night, and fell fast asleep. The next morning, he saw a tan skinned girl dressed in a brown velvety dress with a large ruby on her finger walk in. She had a small dagger at her side in a red sheath. With a thin smile, she said, “Wake up, O Rider.” Startled to see this beautiful young lady, he jumped straight up. She had dark gray eyes and red hair that came to her ears. After the lady bowed to him, he finally was no longer so enthralled. “Hello,” he replied politely. “And who, may I ask, are you?” The lady smiled, but it seemed a bit steely, but it was a smile nonetheless. “I am Lynee,” she said, with an elegant bow. “I am Halt’s niece,” she added, with strong amusement. Startled, he looked at her skeptically. With a cool smile, she added, as if reading Alaric’s mind, “I am from Halt’s wife’s side, but his niece nonetheless.” She smiled dismally. “My aunt—which would be Halt’s wife—is unfortunately dead, along with my mother. Do not ask about my aunt to Halt if you value your life.”

With an odd bow, he nodded. “As you wish.” Eyeing her once more, he finally said inquisitively, “So what nationality are you?” He cursed himself mentally for being so abrupt. “I am that of the Newmen clan,” she said, smiling lightly. “My aunt, Halt’s wife, was the Newmen clan queen. From her wealth, the Legion prospered, and the Legion had many willing and strong men and wise women.” She smiled sadly. “When she died, she past it onto her younger sister, my mom. Unfortunately, my mom was getting ill after she ascended to the throne, so the Newmen Earl seized the throne, saying she was too ill to rule.” With a devastated sigh, Lynee went on, “the earl made himself the queen’s regent and ruled while she was ill. The earl put her in a special chamber, and forbade anyone seeing my mother except for him. I was enraged, and so was Halt—his sister-in-law was off-limits, even to the leader of the Legion! “And so they warred. Finally, since the earl forbade anyone but himself seeing to her, she died.” A tear lolled down her cheek, and she may no move to move it. She only cried more, and finally continued, “The clan, under the earl, withdrew itself from the Legion. We lost a good hundred archers, at least a five hundred soldiers, and many tacticians. Additionally, we lost tons of funding.” She sighed. “The earl disowned me of my rightful spot as queen—and of all my inheritance money. He took it all. “The only thing left to me is what there was no way he could take: my steel dagger with a ruby in the pommel, and my ruby-colored scabbard, and the ruby on my finger. They were my mother’s treasures, and her mother before her, and so on—he could not deny me what was easily proven. However, what was merely speculated, he could, and did.” Finally, she wiped the continuous tears away from her cheeks. She smiled, despite her persistent tears. “Halt, however, befriended me. Even though the clan supported and funded us, the vast majority lived in our homeland, a good week from where we currently reside. Halt took a temporary leave, and with three soldiers, he sent to find me. And he did—miles away from my clan lands, weeping and distressed, close to death; I hadn’t eaten in three days at least, I was so distraught. “And then he took me to the Legion. He had me eat for hours. And then… and then he made me his sole heir! I am to ascend to the throne as the leader of the Legion when he passes on.” Shock overtook Alaric. Hondira didn’t comment, but she sent mental emotions of sadness to the rider. “And so I am.” She smiled once more. “Now come—your saddle is ready.”

Chapter 7 Less than an hour later, Lynne, Alaric, and Hondira were at a large tent. With a slight bow, the bulky man who made the saddle handed it to Alaric politely. A moment later, Lynne smiled and said to the emerald dragon, “O Emerald Dragon, may I add this saddle onto you?” Aye, brethren of Halt, the dragon replied, and Alaric said it for Lynee aloud. With a bow and a beaming grin, the lady walked to Hondira and put the massive saddle on her. It was rough but nice, and on both sides were two large satchels to put things in them. “I know it is very large, Hondira, however when you’re done growing, it shall fit better.” Alaric mounted the dragon proudly. With an embarrassed grin, Alaric said, “I would be honored if you would ride with us, Lynne.” The lady look flustered. Hondira didn’t say anything, but merely waited for her answer. It was evident she didn’t want to offend them, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to regardless. Cleverly, she said, “Mayhap when Hondira is bigger, I shall. But I’m in no mood to strain our hope of finally laying war on the Kingdom.” And she turned and walked away quickly, not in the mood to be pursued any further. She doesn’t want to be with us, he said annoyed. And then a moment later, Hondira hopped into the sky happily. A moment later, they were soaring into the sky. That’s not necessarily it you know, Alaric. Hondira replied softly, shaking her massive head. She’s just uncomfortable. You were being flirtatious with her, and she wasn’t sure how to react. What! He roared, furiously. She was crying out her life story for goodness’ sakes! Alaric was enraged. I thought SHE was flirting with me, so I responded by offering her a ride of a lifetime. Hondira didn’t reply, she merely sighed sadly. A few moments after ignoring Alaric, she finally said, Let’s go to Klettur. The young rider didn’t even bother to ask where that was. He knew he’d find out soon enough—and he did. Klettur was what they called the mountain which protected them from any unexpected sieges. This was also the area where the spellcasters were slew. Alaric became weak with nervousness; he didn’t want to be around this area, yet for some reason Hondira insisted on taking him here. Hondira flew down the other side of Klettur—the side which was the neutral lands, not Legion. Look, she commanded Alaric indifferently. Annoyed, he looked, but saw nothing. And then he looked ahead. Sadly, he shook his head, and said aloud, “The Kingdom is here. They have found our location.”

Alaric reached for his belt, and realized the unfortunate fact—Lènûm still possessed his blade. Weakly, he reached out for his magic tutor’s mind. The magician had an impressive block to his mind, and it was very hard for Alaric to penetrate it. Eventually, Lènûm realized it was his apprentice trying to reach him, and lowered his block. Aye, Alaric? Dominus! Alaric yelled in alarm, The Kingdom is here! What? Lènûm demanded doubtfully. Where? They are on the other side of Klettur, but they are here—large, massive camps of them! There has to be ten thousands of them, Dominus! Alaric could feel his master grieving weakly, but didn’t reply right away. Finally, he said uncertainly, I shall perform a powerful—and highly taxing—spell that will teleport your blade to you. It shall make me very weak and useless for a while, but it is well worth it. I forced some enchantments on it, and we shall see how it holds. Thank you, Dominus Lènûm. Mentally, he sent his emotions of thanks, but quickly ended the send of his emotions, for grief overtook them. Tell Lord Halt before you send it, please, to ensure you don’t lose consciousness and lose the will to tell them. And then he heard nothing, and felt Lènûm withdraw himself from Alaric’s mind. Hondira flew high into the clouds, so that the Kingdom wouldn’t know they knew of their presence. They could still have the element of surprise so long as nothing gave it away. Moments later, he heard a loud bang come out of nowhere, and then he realized it was because of the appearance of his longsword. Looking below, no one seemed to notice. “Hondira, can you breathe fire yet?” Let me see. And then they flew down abruptly, and she sent a large mass of flames flying out from her mouth. Flying quickly into hiding, she growled in affirmation. “Then we shall attack now. It shall disorganize them temporarily, giving us a major advantage.” Hondira didn’t seem to dislike the idea, for she launched herself down, hovering a half-mile above the camps. The people were screaming in terror, and Alaric bellowed out: “Surrender to the Legion, or be eliminated!” A frighteningly familiar and cold voice replied, “You’re in no position to negotiate terms.” Dernden had a large sneer on his face as he growled out a spell, rising himself to Hondira’s and Alaric’s level in the sky. “We can easily plow straight through Klettur, and besiege you. You may be able to give us a temporary advantage, but this is only one-third of the party sent to remove those ridiculous rebels. There are two other massive parties days back that will be coming soon, little rider.” “Lux lucis vas!” A large ball of emerald light was shot straight at the dark sorcerer’s forehead.

“Filiolus!” Dernden yelled, and an invisible ward was erected around him, protecting him from any magics that he thought of on the top of his head that an inexperienced spellcaster would cast. We need to part, Hondira said weakly. I’ll fly and send fire on their tents before they can attack or flee. You can mimic him and use a flight spell to stay aloft and fight him. With an agreeable nod, he flung himself off of Hondira and yelled out, “Navi!” Instantly he was flying even with the dark sorcerer. However, unlike Dernden, he was getting very tired and weak. The spell to keep him aloft was very taxing on him; he couldn’t keep it going for too long. Hondira was flying, launching large rounds of flames all over them. Dernden didn’t seem very bothered by it, though—he just wanted the rider to be slaughtered, although Alaric knew that King Ianweg wouldn’t allow him to be killed. The dark sorcerer roared, “Congelo!” Alaric was immobilized as soon as the spell was launched. Dernden was very smart—by immobilizing him, Alaric couldn’t end the flow of magic that kept him aloft, and that could eventually kill him. Dernden smiled coldly. “Do not try to best me, little rider. I have knowledge you’ll never know!” Hondira tried to delve into Alaric’s mind to end the flow of magic, but it wouldn’t work—the immobilization included his mind. She sent masses of fire on the Kingdom soldiers, and then flew straight at Dernden, releasing a large blast of flames. Dernden smiled roughly, replying cleverly before it hit him, “Ostendo sum,” which reversed her flames and sent it straight at her. Weakly, Hondira fell straight out of the sky, and landed on a large tent of many soldiers. She heard them bellow out in pain, and then she lost consciousness. Finally, Dernden released the immobilization spell on Alaric. “Vulnero veneficus!” the rider snarled out unwisely. Lènûm had begun to teach the spells of death, but had only scraped the surface, and Alaric had just cast one. However, to magically kill someone with a spell of death, it required lots of energy—more than energy than Alaric had. Alaric witnessed the elf ghost seeping out of the sorcerer’s body. The rider recognized it as an elvish ghost for there were pointy-ears and a very smooth face, like that of Altus’. Then one spirit seeped out of him, and finally Alaric lost consciousness, but the spell wasn’t ended—it was still going on, and Alaric wasn’t able to end it unconsciously.

•••

Lènûm never completely withdrew himself from Alaric’s consciousness. He sensed Alaric had lost consciousness, so he quickened his pace to find Lynee. “Lynee, ma’am!” he roared, running very slowly due to his weakened state from sending the sword to Alaric. “Alaric is going to die! He cast a spell of death on

Dernden, and it cast the ghost out and one spirit, but the spell is still going on… and he’s unconscious. It will kill him! And Hondira lost consciousness, too.” She shook her head weakly. “What do you want me to do?” Her inquiry started out tenderly, and by the end it sounded very demanding and cold. “The army is on its way now to fight the Kingdom; they’re going through the hidden and concealed passage.” She sighed miserably. “Uncle won’t let me fight, nor get near the battle.” Lènûm sighed miserably. “But he’s going to die, Madam! Die!” he shook his head feebly, crying weakly. “He can’t die, Madam Lynee.” She cast him a steely glance. “Do not cast this on me, magician.” She spun on her heels, and sighed. “I have no spellcasters remaining at camp to contact our other ones; I cannot help it, Lènûm.” The magic tutor growled as he saw her trot away. But finally, she turned to him and said, “Come. I need you, Lènûm.” “Aye, Madam,” he said feebly, and tried to quicken his pace to follow her. The lady went to her uncle’s personal armory and selected a golden helm with the Legion emblem in the center. She placed it on her head, and instructed the magician to enchant it. He tried to protest, saying he was too weak, but she forced him to. After enchanting the helm, he passed out due to overexertion. Lynee grimaced, but decided it was necessary. She then selected a pair of very thick leather pants, and slid them on. Lynee then pulled off her dress and grabbed one of her uncle’s jerkins and then put on steel chain mail. Putting her dagger inside her jerkin, she selected a steel broadsword that had a golden hilt. Satisfied, she strapped it and its sheath to her belt, and then she waited patiently for Lènûm to regain consciousness. By the time she had found herself a mare and armored it, he finally regain sense of things. “Madam,” he murmured weakly, but she put up a commanding hand, shutting him up. “Hush,” she snapped impatiently. Nodding to her sword and chain mail, she ordered him, “Enchant it.” She put up her hand once more, for he tried to protest. “Do it, Lènûm. NOW,” she roared, as she dismounted the horse so he could enchant it. Shaking all over, the old magician placed his hand on the mail, murmured a crude enchantment and did the same to her sword. Feebly, he bowed. “So you asked, so it was done, Madam,” he said, sliding to his knees, tears strolling down his cheeks. “Now get up,” she snapped. “You’re coming with me. I’m going to need a caster to protect me.” Lènûm looked at her in astonishment. He expected her to follow her and save her when need be; he was weaker than a snail from all of her persistent enchantment demands. Summoning all of his courage, the weak and sobbing magician replied coldly, “I refuse, Madam. When all is said and done, have Halt flog me if he

wishes, but I will not go with you, Madam Lynee, for two reasons. One, with few people here, that would leave the land on our side of Klettur available to be besieged with so few here. Another reason is I’m simply to weak after the teleportation spell to Alaric, plus your ever so insistent need for enchanted items!” Roughly, he hefted his robe up, and wiped the tears of pain and misery from his eyes. “I am staying here, Lynee,” he said again, this time with absolute, unchanging finality. She finally nodded sadly. “Get out of my sight,” she replied scornfully. “Uncle can deal with you as he sees fit. I needed you—and you abandon me.” Sourly, she rode away into the secret, well-hidden and protected Klettur passage. There was a Dalen Plainsman guarding its passage. With a polite gesture and bow, he stepped aside, allowing her to enter the secret passage. After Lynee entered the passageway, the guardsman went to his pockets, producing two large flint stones. After a few moments, a flame was produced; he quickly leaned over onto a rope that stretched throughout the tunnels, and it lit the hidden way light enough to see. Nodding her thanks, she took off as quickly as possible in the tunnel. What seemed to be like hours later—when in truth it was only a mere thirty minutes—she reached guard on the other end—he was just a regular member of the Legion, not a Plainsman. He eyed her, and with a bow, he said, “Madam.” He then bowed once more and walked out of the tunnel, and in a hidden spot he hid a canteen. Without any more time wasted, he drenched the rope, so no one could see the tunnel way. As soon as the lady had exited the passageway, the guard rolled a stone over the door, and he looked through his very small peep hole to see what was going on in the war. Lynee pulled her broadsword from her sheath at her side and bravely ran into the battle scene. She saw Hondira on the ground, unconscious and being injured by the Kingdom; she saw Alaric’s spell still going on, and Dernden still being pained. And then behind the camps, she saw another large portion of the king’s troop’s marching in. Worry overcame him—they were going to be besieged in a short period time. The niece of Halt looked for her uncle, but saw him nowhere. Dismally, she did the only thing reasonable—she urged her horse straight to Alaric. Dernden was too busy losing power to be able to stop her, so she dismounted, set her sword beside Alaric, and tenderly applied a rough pressure point to him. “Wake up, gosh!” she roared, slapping him as hard as she could. And then the Kingdom troops surrounded her. Three had their bows pointed directly at her head; the others—about seven—had long broadswords directed at Madam Lynee. “Surrender!” they yelled out in unison. “Never.” “It really wasn’t a question. If you refuse, we’ll just kill you.”

Chapter 8 Lynee remained calm, looking at them fiercely. She did many things at once, she moved, flung herself away from them, and swung out her dagger she hidden in her jerkin when she dressed herself. Since she moved, four arrows struck her. Luckily, thanks to Lènûm, she survived the arrows—the enchantment had been potent enough to keep her alive. She saw all of the spirits and ghosts being banished from Dernden. “Who relieved me of my inner strength, my new life, my new me?” he demanded coldly. The soldiers averted their gaze, looking at him—Alaric was not dead, but he was deeply unconscious: the spell had ended. “He did,” one of the archer’s said, pointing to Alaric with a trembling finger. Dernden shook his head coldly, roaring in the unintelligible language everyone knew to be the language of magic. The spirits and the elf ghost was once more sucked into his body quickly. His eyes rolled in the back of his head; he fell backwards, disoriented. A moment later, after that distraction, the swordsmen approached Lynee, about to attack her in the neck, since they knew her armor was resistant by a spell. Just as one of the swordsman approached her, about to stab her, a wild man jumps off of the top of Klettur, swinging his blade around the man’s neck. It was Warlord Obilježiti, the chieftain of the Dalen Plainsman. Obilježiti had his dvoivični štap in his hand, around the guard’s neck. All of the Dalen Plainsman had a double-edged staff; a dvoivični štap that they fought with. It was a four foot long staff, with a very thick and rough piece of wood that all Plainsman found in their native lands. The warlord flung the dvoivični štap and drilled the edge with the sword into man’s neck, knocking him down. “Anyone else want to oppose Madam Lynee?” the warlord demanded in a very accented voice, impatiently. The people dropped their weapons weakly. He smiled wickedly, satisfied. “Good decision.” The warlord was dressed in a very dark gray cloak. All of his Plainsman were dressed in a regular gray cloak, but he wore the darkest of all, symbolizing leadership. On the back of his cloak was a long and thick leather strap; all Dalen Plainsman had them—it was their holster for their dvoivični štap. Obilježiti put his staff in its holster and went to his side, pulling out a long, sharp knife, which all of the Plainsman had. They used their knife for many things, especially killing at close quarters. He examined Lynee. “To what condition are you in?” “I am fine, sir,” she said, bowing, although she had no real reason to do so. “Thank you, Warlord.”

“It is my pleasure, dear Lynee,” Obilježiti said simply. But he looked worried, so Lynee knew something was up. “However, Halt and a small group went to approach the coming Kingdom troops from a good deal length away.” He shook his head. “As a commander in Halt’s court, and a warlord within my rights, he said I am to take control of our entire army until he can return.” With a grumble, he knelt down to examine Alaric. It was evident he still disliked him heavily, but he did so regardless. He looked at Lynee. “I’ll get a few of my most trusted warriors to stand by you and watch Alaric until he recovers.” With a loud rumble in his tongue, three buff warriors approached him, there dvoivični štap in their hands, ready. He told them what to do, and then he turned and left roughly.

••• The warlord growled as he made his way back up to the top of Klettur. He knew as chief of the entire army now his job was more pressing any more important more time consuming than before. Obilježiti was pleased to see the hornmen at the top, too. They sounded horns in rhythmic patterns to mean different things. He approached the hornmen and commanded: “Sound the horn to go full force.” A moment later, loud, rhythmic horns roared in one way, signaling it. All of the people took off running, swinging their swords and axes menacingly. The warlord walked away, worriedly. This wasn’t turning out very well. In no time, they would be overrun, and he, Obilježiti would have to sound the retreat. He shook his head wearily. Things would have to be changed. As he turned around, he looked square in the eyes of Alaric’s green beast. “Well, well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you, beast?” In a rough grumble, she replied curtly, I shall get you back, Warlord, for how you acted to my rider when this war passes. Meanwhile, however, I need to know what befell my little one. With a grunt of amusement, he replied, “From what I could tell, he cast a spell he simply couldn’t control, lost consciousness. It bested Dernden—the spirits and the ghost was removed from his body, rendering him that of a regular, wicked man. However, he recast them into him already, but he’s very disoriented. I believe that only wacko Ianweg himself knows the dark spells to get the entities to remerge into Dernden successfully. Any competent caster could slaughter him, I do believe.” I see, rumbled the voice of Hondira thoughtfully. And how is Alaric as of now? “He is unconscious,” the warlord replied lazily, “however Halt’s niece and three of my best are watching him.” Hondira nodded her large bulk, seeming please. So, when do we win this war, Warlord?

At that, he paled considerably. With a weak sigh, he admitted quietly, “We win when I command them to sound the retreat,” he replied quite honestly. “If you and Alaric hadn’t done as you wished and waited for us… we may be in a different predicament, but alas, we are not.” Get on, Obilježiti, Hondira commanded emotionlessly. Now! Startled, the warlord flung himself atop Hondira’s mass, sliding his feet into the saddle hesitantly. And then Hondira threw herself into the sky, and let herself drop till she hovered just barely over Alaric. Prying into his mind, she awoke his consciousness. Weakly and tiredly, the rider awoke. He was very disoriented, weak, and considerably skinnier. He looked around—he saw nothing but slain Legion for miles among miles. Alaric looked at them all piteously. “I need training if we have any hope of winning,” he snapped. Biting back a snarled retort, instead the warlord replied without hesitation, “You must train with the elves, immediately.” “No!” “What?” “Impossible!” “No time!” Lynee and the three Plainsmen’s voices all drowned into one roar, amounting to the same thing: no. The warlord cast them a steely glance, and then looked at Alaric, seeing his doubt and confusion. “Halt is miles ahead with a small party, mainly consisting of spellcasters. He commanded me to be in charge of the Legion in his absence. I think the best thing we can do is get you trained by the elves as soon as possible.” I agree, Hondira agreed without hesitation. We shall go. Alaric looked at Lynee sympathetically—she had no desire for him to leave so soon, especially when the Kingdom was at the doorsteps of their hideaway. “We need to go,” he said tenderly, trying to convince her. She merely sighed and didn’t reply. Then he turned to Obilježiti. “We don’t, however, know the location of the elf territory.” He grimaced, and then he roared as loud as possible, “Sazivati određeni član mudar pojedinac!” And then a very old and feeble elf approached without hesitation. “I am Jölń,” and then he sighed, and spoke in a quiet, sad whisper, “king to the house of Perdian.” Realization swam back to Alaric—Altus was the prince to the house, so this elf was his father! The old elf smiled dismally as he saw the realization strike him. “Aye,” he said nodding, “Altus be my son.” Jölń sighed dismally. “I left my people, as did Altus. The Seat of Perdian has not been sat in for generations.” He looked at Alaric with newfound amusement. “Until today.” He shook his head. “I wished my sons could sit beside each other, knowing the truth, yet one of them went to the grave unawares. I’m pleased the other one is not yet dead and shall now know the secret.” The elf looked Alaric right in the eyes, and said flatly, “Alaric, you are the heir to the Seat of Perdian.”

Chapter 9 The warlord looked at the noble elf in shock. Alaric looked overwhelmed. Hondira seemed amused. Lynee looked a mixture of infuriated and disbelieving. Jöln saw their expressions and explained, “I am over a thousand years old. I saw a beautiful human maiden, and I wanted to make her mine. I disguised my oldness and reenacted my old appearance. She found me enchanting. She married me off… and then at your birth, she died. I took you to that town and fled, knowing your brother was there, watching you.” This was all too much for Alaric. He was a Halfling; part elf, part human. He saw Jöln and finally realized the truth of his meanings—he was to take up the place as the king of the Perdian house. For a while, Alaric didn’t reply. He finally said, “So I am a king.” “Nay!” the elf said hurriedly. “A common misconception to those who know little of elvish politics.” Jöln winced, and then explained, “There are many houses in the elf political system. The Perdian is one of the wealthiest and most influential, though. The king of each house is recognized as a lord or lady in King Eventine’s elvish court. They are not a king in there own right, but merely a king over their own house.” Alaric made a face, and Jöln laughed. “It is very confusing, I admit, for an outsider.” He touched his forehead, and sent the location of the elf city. “You must go there with great speed. My time has come. My dynasty may continue now, and my son knows who he is. My life is complete.” With a satisfied bow, he disappeared, with only a flame remaining of him. Hondira smiled. You finally know of your heritage. You knew! He accused in awe. Of course, she said, smiling. There was a large similarity between your mind and Altus’; I put two and two together, Alaric. But he only smiled sadly. He just met his father, to see him die. “I can’t be active in the Legion and worry about elvish politics!” he said suddenly, worriedly. “This is true,” Obilježiti said brusquely. “However, we need elves!” The warlord shook his head desperately. “Altus and Jöln have been the only elves here in a good century. We need them to help us again. They have shut us out.” “So you want me to be the toy you use to get them to reunite with us.” The warlord growled. “Potvrdni odgovor,” which Alaric learned previously was yes in the warlord’s tongue. “Please,” he added, which shocked both Hondira and Alaric. “Since you have actually been kind”—here the warlord erupted in a loud and cold growl—“I shall agree to do so, and I shall leave immediately.”

So it was settled. Warlord Obilježiti had command they had a large satchel full of provisions, and one his people relinquished theirs to him. He thanked them, and when no one was around save the warlord and the rider and beast, he said softly, “Alaric, you must get a rider’s blade crafted. It is of the necessity. And try to bring home any Perdian jewels you’re permitted to remove from their nobly hoard.” “Pawtvevrdani awdagevor,” he said, politely. The warlord erupted in laughter. “Good enough for a yes, I do suppose.” With a wave, he sidestepped and got out of Hondira’s way, and she took off, flying to the elvish city that Alaric’s father had told him of. The city was named Kaupunki, according to the mental map he had sent them. It was the city of the nobles; Eventine and the royal houses and other elves of great importance. Alaric was thinking of all the riches he would soon posses and he was getting very, very excited. And now we’re in the Kingdom, Hondira murmured weakly. I’m not so sure this is a good idea! The elf city is past the other side of the Kingdom, past neutral lands… past everything. I can go on without stopping for at least two days, but it will be very taxing. Alaric grimaced. He knew it was very risky, but it had to be done. “I know,” he grumbled aloud, “but I must claim the throne to Perdian as well as be tutored with the elves. And we need their warriors, which you very well know.” Hondira wasn’t used to be so harshly criticized by anyone before, so she knew Alaric must be worried or distressed about some matter, so she didn’t bite back harshly. Instead, she inquired tenderly, What bothers you, my rider? He exhaled sadly. I… I find out my dad was a noble, a great man. And I find out I even have a father! Just for him to shrivel up and die, just as Altus did. I can’t stand it, Hondira! She nodded compassionately. I understand. But he had lived too long and had fulfilled his purpose, Alaric. You must understand that. More pressing matters are at hand than elves dying. Later, they were two days from Klettur, so Hondira slid Alaric off of her. Alaric munched on the dried meat and bread and cheese the Dalen Plainsman gave him, and waited for Hondira to return from her hunting. He heard a loud and painful squeal; he realized instantly as he touched Hondira’s consciousness that she had devoured two pigs, and she was going for two more. Then he heard two more nervous and painful squeals, and could feel her eating a way at them. And then they were back off, soaring high in the sky, flying away deep to Kaupunki. By nightfall of the second day, Hondira finally said, I must rest. And then she lied down and spread herself out, and Alaric snuggled under her wings for rest. He knew they would only have a few hours of sleep—it was foolish to rest in Kingdom territory, but they had little alterative: Hondira could fly no more without sleep.

The next few days Hondira went as quickly as possible. We should be there be in the next day or so, Hondira! he yelled excitedly. Aye, that we shall, she agreed lightly. But I must eat, Alaric. I must eat. I’ve went too many days without rest, nor food; I must eat. Hondira slid Alaric off of her, putting him on the top of a tree. Wait here, she commanded indifferently. I sense a large buck and a doe not far from here. I’ll be back soon. Alaric’s consciousness followed Hondira. He noticed her use her mind to immobilize the buck, fling her wing over it, and then devoured it in one large bite. A second later, with a loud growl, instead of even immobilizing the doe, she just threw her massive paw at it and snapped its backbone, and then devoured her. Hondira saw a little baby deer, sighed sadly, and devoured it without any use of stopping it. It was dead before it knew what happened. Satisfied, she said to Alaric, Let’s go. With a massive jump, she was bending down for Alaric to remount her. Shrugging, he mounted her, and off they went. I’ve grown, she said, grinning. I’m almost a full-sized dragon now! Aye, he agreed, humoring her. And a mighty one! Vel—Ianweg’s evil dragon —himself should cower in fear of what you can do! Thickly, she replied, Do not humor me, Alaric. I know when you are and when you are not. With a growl, she concluded, And you most certainly are. Do not! You forget my mind is bonded with your own, you know. Silence ate away at them now. Alaric was too annoyed to reply; he knew it was pointless to offend her. If he did, she may slow down, and they most certainly needed to reach the elf city of Kaupunki as quickly as possible. He considered scrying the city, but since he only knew the name and that it was a city of a forest, he knew it would be hopeless. With a sigh, he looked ahead, and began to grin gleefully. “We’re here! We arrived at Kaupunki.” Pleasantly, he did his best to look good, but he didn’t. His jerkin was ripped and torn, and his breeches had gushes of blood and it looked like one big rag. The only thing that looked good besides Hondira was his longsword. With a grimace, he began to lose large amounts of energy. At once, he erected his wards, knowing their must be a prevention spell of some sorts blocking them from entering. However, the wards had no effects. Despite how he strengthened them, he was continuously weakened. With a groan, he commanded Hondira to land, and was pleasantly surprised and relieved to see an elf dressed in full armor eyeing them intently. “State your allegiance,” the guardian said roughly, unsheathing a very, very long and crafty-looking blade. “Now.” “I am Alaric of the Legion, and this is Hondira.” Hondira made a growl of recognition. “Please, end the spell! It will kill us!”

“Nay,” the guardian replied emotionlessly. “Only elves are permitted here.” With a wave of his hand, he added, “And the Legion officials never contacted us.” Alaric lost it. In a snarl, he yelled, “And that is because you ended ties, and retreated to your cities and hid, weak and scared!” The guardian cast them a steely glare. Finally, he said flatly, “So, perhaps you’re correct.” With a wave of his hand, he easily broke beyond Alaric’s mind wall and delved into his mind, overpowering him. With a sigh, he nodded. “You are who you say you are. “I am Enel, guardian of Kaupunki. I am of the house of Delvor.” He is a prince! Hondira said in awe. Huh? He said he was of the house of Delvor, not that he was a prince, Alaric replied doubtfully. Delvor is the house Eventine is in, she replied coldly, not liking to be questioned. “You are Eventine’s son.” It wasn’t a question—it was a statement. The guardian laughed heartily, shaking his head. “Nay, nay!” Alaric glared at Hondira. “Now, now. Don’t glare at thou beast, young rider.” He smiled. “I am his grandfather.” Alaric gaped in awe. Enel continued unperturbed, “I am over two thousand years old. Eventine’s father died in a war. He had Ianweg on the ground, Vel immobilized, and then that traitor Dernden sliced my son right in the back as he cast a spell. It killed him.” He shook his head wearily. “Eventine is at least nine hundred years old, though. Don’t be fooled.” With a shrug, he explained the taxing spell placed on Kaupunki. “The spell would kill any mortal,” he said, eyeing him skeptically. “Yet it only weakened you.” Here it was—the moment of truth. With a shake of his head, he said bluntly, “I am… I am Altus’ brother. I am… Jöln’s son. I am the king of my house.” The elf looked perplexed. “I am Halfling.’ The guardian nodded now, not seeming too surprised. “No wonder your mind seemed a bit inhuman. It was.” With an elegant smile, he said, “Good luck getting the Seat.” And with that, he began to yell something very unintelligible but Alaric could tell it was in the language of magic. Alaric looked worried when the guardian said Alaric’s name in the spell. However, a moment later, the rider didn’t look so strained. “The spell now knows to accept you and shan’t try to obliterate you.” A second later, Alaric remounted Hondira, and she flew to the center of Kaupunki, where the elves homes were located. “Veho!” People yelled in surprise, happiness, and astonishment. Immediately, a tall, handsome looking man stormed out of the mansion that was the administrative hall. It was, without a doubt, Eventine. The elf king studied Alaric. The people got quite, all waiting patiently to see how their king would react. “Granddad Enel accepted you.” He wasn’t

asking a question—he was stating it. “Therefore I trust you, Elf of Perdian.” The other people of Perdian gasped. Eventine had light blue eyes, and very pointy ears, and long blonde hair that came to his cloak. He had a leaf green cloak on with a longsword at his side. He looked very handsome. “Come.” With an elegant wave of his hand, he beckoned to him, nodding to the halls. “We shall go to my chambers.” Then he looked to another elf who was dressed in an off-white robe—like the rest of the lords—and said softly, “Now we discuss the matter of the Seat before we do anything else.” Alaric’s relative didn’t even acknowledge his presence. He merely cast him a cold look, turned, and went to the halls, as he was told. Finally, Alaric followed, and Hondira patiently stayed outside, awaiting his return. After they entered the chambers and everyone was seated, the king finally said softly, “Marn, great-nephew of Altus, you have done many good things as a lord in my court. However, you were only a lord as the prince and king of Perdian were not present. The heir—nay, the king—is here, unfortunately. And by his rights, he can claim himself the king. “I apologize, but I also thank you for your services. They won’t be ignored, but nor can my obligation to follow the rules.” Marn glared hatefully at Alaric, saying nothing. Finally, Alaric said, “I feel it was my Father’s dying wish, his sole wish for me… to claim the throne.” He didn’t meet Marn’s eyes; instead he looked at the elf king. “Therefore, I must be the head of the house. It was—nay, is—his dying wish to me.” Eventine smiled. “Well spoken, Rider. Well spoken.” Unperturbed, the rider continued, “The elves must return to the Legion.” The elf king smiled unpleasantly. He didn’t say anything for a while, but finally he spoke, his voice flat and icy. “You wield a highly political position, you know, Rider Perdian,” he said honestly. “The elves shall not like knowing you have a larger pledge to the Legion than to us.” Hondira brushed her mind calmly into Alaric’s mind, willing him to be kind and compassionate, but Alaric blocked out his dragon. Thickly, he retorted, “They are leaderless, you know.” The elf looked surprised. “Leader Halt and a small party are attacking. The Kingdom invaded. Warlord Obilježiti is the acting leader.” He sighed. “They need you in battle, not cowering in fear, Eventine,” he said emotionlessly. The elf scrutinized him before speaking. Finally, the king said softly, “You know nothing of our custom and life, Rider.” His voice turned cold, “You are soon to be my vassal. I shan’t approve of such hostility to me ever again.” The rider made a face, saying nothing. Finally, the king continued, now annoyed, “However, I shall dispatch an envoy momentarily.” The king left, and it was just Marn and Alaric. Coolly, the former lord of Eventine said with finality, “There went the utmost and unquestionable respect for Perdian,” he said disdainfully.

Alaric smiled. “My father wished me to the throne, cousin,” he said. “And so it is to be, so it is. Release your jealousy.” Marn cackled evilly. With a cool gesture, he explained, “No Halfling is normally accepted—especially as a king’s vassal. I’m no longer a lord, unfortunately, but the other lords shan’t accept you. I shall be on the throne once more in due time, Rider. In due time, I shall be. Mark my words.” Later, Alaric and Hondira were walking around Kaupunki with a man named Thomas, who Alaric learned was the priest’s son. Thomas was very pale and had a long and expensive tan robe with a gold necklace with a bronze cross on it. “You don’t know of your history,” the man said. It wasn’t a question—it was a fact. Thomas proceeded unperturbed by Alaric saying nothing, “I’m going to take to you to the underground halls of Perdian.” He saw the rider’s look of surprise, so he quickly explained, “Underground in Kaupunki is an extensive network of halls for all houses.” A moment later, the priest’s son went to the center of the city and opened a latch and eased himself down. Wearily, he said to Hondira, “Sorry.” And then he motioned for Alaric to follow and shut the hatch. Alaric could tell it didn’t please Hondira to be left out, but he didn’t bother mentioning it to Thomas. And then he said, “In the halls contains the hoard of each House, accessible only be the house king.” Alaric smiled. He would get to see his treasures soon. Ignoring Alaric’s silence, the man added wisely, “And now to tell of your ancestry.” With a nod to a large picture of an elf and a large white dragon, the man said with a broad grin, “Your great-great-great grandfather Jaren was a rider himself.” With an elegant bow, he added, “And he was actually the leader of Gens of Veho, which translates literally as ‘Order of Riders’. He was a great man, Jaren.” With a nod, the elf pointed at a large, thirty-feet long treasure chest. “Chant the keyword to open the chest.” Alaric looked at Thomas dumbly. “I know of no keyword.” The elf scowled. “Yes, you do.” After a long time of thinking, he wisely chanted, “Gens of Veho!” To Alaric and Thomas’ surprise, the treasure chest flung open. Grinning, he said, “I had no idea it would work, but it seemed to make sense.” As he looked into the treasure chest, he was awed. He saw many jewels and other magnificent things. He saw an off-white scabbard, and picked it up. It was a rider’s sword. Jaren’s sword. He unsheathed the sword, and smiled in delight as he saw the sword’s name inscribed in ancient runes. It said: Opulentia. “It means power in the language of magic,” the elf said matter-of-factly. “May I have it and wield it as my own?”

Thomas made a hesitant look, and finally said, “It is in the hoard, therefore you may. However, no elf shall be pleased to see Opulentia in the hands of a Halfling, even if it was the many a-great grandchild of Jaren.” The priest shrugged. “However,” the elf continued, “Opulentia is a white blade.” He made a face. “Hondira is an emerald dragoness. Jaren’s dragon, Opulent, was white. Rider swords are the same color of their dragons.” He shrugged. “As the rider swordsmith no longer fashions blade, it isn’t too unreasonable for you to wield it.” Thomas smiled. “Opulentia is one of the most magical blades ever crafted.” With a snap, he said commandingly to the blade, “Animadverto!” Instantly, the blade shone in different colors, sending out pulsations only Thomas understood. Finally, the elf explained, “That spell indentifies all magics laid on Opulentia. It is resistant to rain and rust; it cannot dull; it is simply magic; it has much energy stored within; it curses any non-riders who come in contact with it; it has a charm of Perdian placed on it; and lastly it has a spell so no magic can destroy it.” Alaric gaped. Thomas continued with renewed amusement, “Most blades merely have resistance, no dulling and a selective curse laid on it. Opulentia has much more.” He smiled. “It is a fitting blade, though it pains me Hondira isn’t the color of Opulent. You would bear it undisputedly.”

Chapter 10 Later, in the public square of Kaupunki, dressed in a rich, elvish tunic, Alaric and Hondira stood in front of all of the elf lords and Eventine. At Alaric’s side was Opulentia, his ancestor’s blade. Eventine boomed, “Today is a magnificent and a sad day! I shall begin with the sad things. First, news have reached us that the prince and king of Perdian are dead; Altus and Jöln have past beyond us. “Secondly, Marn is no longer a vassal of the me. He had to step down now that the king is here!” The crowd silenced in confusion. Grinning, the elf king continued mysteriously, “Presenting, Rider Alaric Perdian, king of the house!” A moment later, Alaric mounted Hondira and approached King Eventine. With a wave of cool acknowledgement, the rider smiled at everyone. Eventine then proceeded, “The good news: Alaric is Jöln’s son; he is a Halfling. And he is a new rider!” The crowd screamed with excitement. One rebellious elf woman spoke out flatly, “He bears the rider blade!” The crowd silenced with shock. “He bears Opulentia. He’s a Halfling. He is not to be Eventine’s lord!” Alaric thought of speaking, but the elf king Eventine did it for him. “Please, please,” the king said waving his hand impatiently, “I think I pick who is to be my vassal, aye?” The woman quit talking now with a worried look on her face. “I was not aware of him wielding Jaren’s blade, but it is fitting. Jaren Perdian is his ancestor.” Finally, the king said excitedly, “And now for the oath of the Seat! “Do you, Rider Perdian, accept my request of office as my vassal, and elvish lord?” “I do.” “And do you, Rider, realize you will be under my utmost control?” “Aye, I do.” “And then do you, Dragon Rider, swear to be kind and considerate and fair to the elves under you?” “I do.” “And do you comprehend, O Rider, your loyalty to the elves now outranks that of the Legion?” Hondira made a face, and growled mentally to Alaric, Respond wisely, Alaric. He is trying to trick you into this, you know. With a prolonged sigh, the Halfling replied coolly, “I swear an equal alliance among the two, which shan’t be a problem when the elves realign themselves with the Legion.”

A few of the elves in the crowd chuckled unpleasantly—even some of the lords seemed amused how wisely the rider had twisted what was asked of him. With a steely glance, the king nodded, though it was obvious he was not pleased. “Then repeat after me, Rider. EGO trado mihi in vestri validus manuum.” I surrender myself into your mighty hands. Alaric wasn’t sure what it meant, but Hondira explained what it meant. With a shrug, Alaric repeated what was asked of him. With a grin of accomplishment, the king then said as he unsheathed his elf blade and tapped the Halfling’s shoulder, each once. “Then you are a lord under me.” Some cheered. Some bellowed in fury. Some just waited to see what happened next. And something did happen next. Opulentia, Jaren’s blade, magically came out of its sheath and floated in front of Alaric expectantly. Eventine and the elf council were completely baffled, but no one said anything. Some wondered if it was perchance Alaric’s mind magics working on Opulentia, but everyone knew better than to think that. The sword began to shake and glisten, as if it were doing something. And it did. As soon as it quit shaking magically, a large white beast flew out of the sword. Opulent. The elves gasped. Some yelled out, “Solvo is deceptio!” Release this deception, yet nothing happened. Finally, Hondira, Alaric, and all of the elves’ mind heard a loud and magically magnified voice—Opulent’s. Hello, elves of new. And hello, Rider Alaric and Dragoness Hondira. I am Opulent, an old and wise dragon of Rider Jaren, who has since past into the dark and lonely abyss. As he was dying, he cast a spell—my spirit and being itself was transformed into Opulentia. When that occurred, the blade’s magical potent quadrupled. It still is, mind, from my presence inside it. Jaren cast the spell to protect me and to protect the next generation of riders. I’ve been in there too long, inactive in the Perdian hoard. My spirit and being could only be released when a Rider of the next generation touched me, and a spell activated me. The High Priest’s son identification spell made me alert, and when Rider Alaric touched me, I was slowly aroused. I knew my time would soon come to train and fight. It pains me to know that the mad King Ianweg and his evil beast Vel are still alive and active. It also hurts me to know the elves have no sworn alliance with the Legion. The large male white beast glared at Eventine inquisitively. Why, Elf King, have you withdrawn your protection and support from the only hope of survival of what is right? Answer truly or face what is mine to give. It was very quite for a while. Finally, the elf king replied carefully so that he didn’t overly offend the dragon, “Because we felt what they were doing was useless so we might as well seek refuge and maximize our power in secrecy. I,

however, at the new Lord Alaric’s request, have sent an envoy to the Legion, O Dragon.” Opulent didn’t seem pleased, nor did he seem to be buying it. He retorted, So, by living in secrecy, you think you maximized your power? To maximize one power is easily done by using it—by fighting! I don’t believe your reasoning for the withdrawal. This retort obviously infuriated Eventine, but he waited to see if Opulent was finished. The dragon continued wisely, I know why you withdrew your kingdom. You didn’t like the Legion leader having control of your elves. Your pride could have potentially been the fall for the good of men, for the Legion, were it nor for Alaric’s demand of you to reunite. All of the lords were awed by what this dragon had accused him of. Eventine paled, and said nothing. Moments went by, and people were eyeing the king expectantly. Clearing his throat, the king responded defeated, “You are correct.” He had a look of disgust on his face. “Why should we, the elves, an extremely powerful and proud race, submit ourselves to human rule? Why, O Dragon, why!” He calmed down a little, and replied convincingly, “And that is truly why I withdrew the elves.” Jaren’s dragon made a face of amusement. At least you admit defeat when forced to, he replied. Opulent made a face as if he were toying with his meal before he ate it. Regardless, you must prepare the elves. They need to be ready by time the envoy notifies you or returns here. Comprehend? His voice like steel, he replied, “Aye, Master Dragon.” Opulent took Alaric and Hondira to the rider quarters. With a move of his bulky head, the dragon commanded, Open the door, Rider. Quick to appease, the rider dismounted Hondira and quickly opened the massive door. Satisfied, Hondira and Opulent entered the large palace. Hondira gaped; Opulent grinned. This is your home, Rider and Dragon. Our home now, actually. The beast launched himself higher in the air and entered Opulent’s chamber tiredly. Hondira went up to a chamber higher than Opulent with Alaric atop her. The next day, Alaric was aroused by Hondira and Opulent’s talking. Finally, he snapped, “Thanks for waking me up.” Growling, Opulent replied, Any time, Halfling. Any time. Alaric made a face. He was too tired to speak mentally, so he said aloud, “Who is training me?” The white dragon shrugged its large bulk. Someone shall, little one. Hondira and I are leaving to train. Good day. Hondira appeared to be too sucked into Opulent’s words—she didn’t even bother telling Alaric good bye. Feeling sorry for himself, he slid himself down the pole and then grinned in spite of himself seeing new clothing in front of him.

With a slight nod to no one in particular, he undressed and clothed himself in a medium brown tunic. With a slight smile, belted Opulentia to his side and walked out of the rider quarters. Alaric made a face as he saw many elves walking around and doing daily tasks. He saw an elf approaching him with a cool smile. “Rider,” he replied with a curt nod. “Elf.” “My name is Lacertus.” The rider forced a smile. “I am Rider Alaric Perdian,” he said with a shrug. “How may I help you?” Lacertus smiled coolly. “I am to test your ability in fighting.” He was about hundred years old, and by elf years, that was very young. Lacertus was dressed in a long-sleeved, tree-bark brown shirt and he wore an off-black breeches. Lacertus had long blonde hair that went to his shoulders and he had pointy, elvish ears in the hair. With an elegant swing, the elf reached for his gray scabbard. He coolly unveiled an elvish sword. All elvish blades were the same—they were half of a scimitar, and half of a longsword. The tips were magicked so that it couldn’t dull, but otherwise it was just a regular blade. With the elvish sword in his hand, he made a threatening gesture. “Bring it.” “Here?” Alaric demanded roughly. “We are just beyond the rider quarters! This is hardly a practice field, elf.” With a gloating smile, the elf taunted, “Afraid to be embarrassed in front of everyone, eh?” Quick as lighting, he pulled Opulentia from its scabbard. “You will learn never to question a rider, Lacertus!” With it fitted properly in his hand, he made a quick lung at the elf, and the elf with inhumanly speed sidestepped. The sword remained hanging in the air, many feet from the elf Lacertus. With the elf blade in his hand, he swung quickly on his feet and threw himself at Alaric. With the blade pressed against the Halfling rider’s neck, he was very worried. Some of the elves laughed unpleasantly, and Alaric was very embarrassed. In rage of being humiliated, he yelled out, “Prolixus incendia!” Immediately, a large blast of emerald broad fire shot at Lacertus. The elf looked at him in shock. “Dare you?” the elf demanded furiously. With a snarl, he snapped out something unintelligible that Alaric didn’t comprehend and the fire froze and disappeared. Lacertus was furious now. With a wave of his hand, he bellowed, “Ignis!” Alaric was very humiliated now. The elf’s simple snarl out of fire was much more powerful and painful than Alaric’s broad fire. As soon as his humiliation ended, the fire struck his arm. Weakly, the rider dropped Opulentia, and the elf swung his sword at Alaric’s arm. Blood poured out mercilessly.

••• The elf king Eventine’s envoy was on the other side of Kaupunki. He made a face. The elf was dressed in customary envoy attire—he wore a long and light yellow robe and had a necklace with the elf insignia on it. At his side was the elf blade—the half-scimitar, half-longsword. He growled—the rider hadn’t lied: they were at war. Impatiently, the elf murmured a spell and he rose into the air and went to the top of Kaupunki were the Warlord Obilježiti was standing looking worried. The envoy made a face to the warlord, and he finally eyed him. “An elf?” he demanded in shock. He eyed the envoy’s necklace—it was that of the insignia of the envoy. “Why are you here?” The envoy made a smile. “My name is Zahod.” With a pleased grin, the elf continued, “Rider Alaric requested Eventine send an elf party to investigate if the Legion is worthy of our reunion.” He made a face. “The king saw no reason to send a party, so he sent me—his official and royal envoy.” The warlord nodded, scrutinizing the elf. He didn’t speak anything at first; he was too shocked. Finally, Obilježiti said honestly, “Halt is no longer here, envoy. He and a small party went to slow down a large party advancing— Dernden slew the party but saved Halt and took him into custody. Alaric disoriented the dark sorcerer, so he wasn’t as powerful as he used to be. Ianweg will reunite the ghost and spirits within him and he will be very powerful. “As soon as he slew them and detained Dernden, Halt and Dernden disappeared. It took one dark spell to slaughter the party. It was very gruesome. Halt commanded that I lead the Legion in his absence.” He looked pleading at the envoy. “Please… please tell King Eventine we need the elves.” The envoy nodded. He made a gesture of recognition and then he slid himself down the side of the mountain. He saw the Legion being slaughtered by a simple fling of the swords. Zahod grimaced—it couldn’t continue like this. As a Kingdom soldier approached the elf, he snapped out, “Ignis!” The soldier fell to the ground, scarred completely. Zahod made a face—the soldier didn’t die. With his blade in his hand, he crushed it into the soldier’s head, crushing his skull. He made a face—he didn’t like do such gruesome things to people, but sometimes it had to be done. He wiped the blood from his sword—he hadn’t fought a true opponent in at least a century. More of the Kingdom soldiers began to flock themselves at Zahod—he knew instantly that they all recognized him as an elf. With his sword in one hand, he began to cast his favorite spell, “Ignis!” The soldiers were burnt very badly. He yelled, “Lumen!” A large sphere of light bounced off each of them, finishing them all off.

Satisfied, he walked away from the people and continued to see all of the people fall. The envoy made a face. Furiously, he ran to a puddle of water, snarled out a scrying spell, and allowed it so he could talk. “Eventine!” he bellowed. “They need us—they need us!” The king looked startled; he turned deadly pale. “Dare you question me and snap at me that way!” the elf maintained impatiently. “However, what do you mean?” The elf made a cold glare and said—now politely—“They need us. Warlord Obilježiti is competent over his tribe, but he is unaccustomed to such power. They need us.” Eventine made a dismal face. “We can’t assist them in this skirmish.” Before the envoy could snap back, the king continued, “We simply cannot get a whole army to the Legion unnoticed, Zahod.” The envoy looked shocked. “Do you not comprehend?” he demanded wearily. “This could be the end of the Legion! The Kingdom is at Klettur—this shall be there Permaneo Vita—there last stand.” Zahod noticed the king’s brows thicken. He simply shook his head sadly. “It cannot be done, my emissary. It is impossible.” Finally, Zahod inclined his head, admitting the inevitable. Finally, the king added sounding adamant, “Release the spell, Zahod. Now. You look weak and extremely pale. I trust you cast many spells while you were there. Go rest and return to me.” Begrudgingly, the elf released the magic, but muttered to himself, “There. I released it, but I’m not returning. I’m helping these people.” Tiredly and weakly, the elf stumbled to the field commander. With a polite bow, Zahod said, “I have cast many spells and talked to my king. I need a tent to rest in safely and I shall sleep briefly and continue to help.” The commander hesitated. It was obvious the man wanted Zahod to continue helping—the Kingdom had them surrounded. With a sigh, he told him with dismal, “Take my tent.” Then he explained how to get to it. Thankfully, the elf envoy ran to the tent and rested heavily. When he awoke hours later, he heard a loud and powerful trumpet, signaling a thing he knew all too well, and hated—the sound of retreat. Zahod made a weary face; they had admitted defeat and were fleeing to the other side of Klettur. He had a small reserve in his blade, and he mentally dipped into it and depleted it, sucking all of its energy he had saved into his body. He knew he would need it to cast many spells and to fight. With his elf sword in his right hand, he ran out of the tent. “Lux lucis Flatus!” A humungous, eye-blinding explosion of light continued to erupt from the elf’s inner magic reserve. He cast it to buy the Legion time to retreat with as little casualties as possible.

It worked. The Kingdom soldiers were so disoriented by the spell that the Legion had all disappeared by time the elf released the spell. With a cool grin, he muttered a spell and made a smaller, less impressive explosion and he slithered away into the tunnel and made his way back to the safe side of Klettur. Zahod made a sad face. All was lost. The Kingdom now knew exactly where the Legion entrance was. He shook his head sadly—they would have definitely lost were it not for his casting superiority. Some of the Dalen Plainsman approached him tentatively. They looked worried and wary. “Is something troubling you, Plainsmen?” Finally, one of the Dalen Plainsman replied curtly and dismally, “The Poglavica was kidnapped, sire,” he replied with a strong accent. The elf made a confused face. He thought for a while, and finally understood the meaning. “The Warlord has been captured?” “Potvrdni odgovor, sire,” the same Plainsman replied. Zahod nodded thoughtfully. He shook his head worriedly, realizing how bad the situation was. He knew that Warlord Obilježiti was the regent in Halt’s absence, and now they were both gone. “Who is to lead the Legion in their absence?” The Plainsman moved his dvoivični štap toward Zahod. “Me?” he asked in shock and in confusion. “Potvrdni odgovor,” the Plainsman responded warily. “You. The Poglavica had specific orders hollered as he was being overwhelmed. Trust the envoy—he shall lead you.” Zahod was astonished. “You mean you knew the Warlord was being overwhelmed and captured, yet you did nothing?” he demanded adamantly. The Plainsman cast him a steely glare. “We do as we are told, elf.” He shook his head curtly. “We were told to stay put and ensure we were evacuated and retreated successfully. We did just that.” The elf finally realized all of what was happening. He, a simple emissary of the elven king was about to assume full duties as running the Legion. The Plainsman added softly as the other Dalen Plainsmen walked away, “I am Sčepati, the vitez of the Dalen Plainsmen.” Zahod had a confused look, and the man clarified, “Once more I forget you know only the basics of my language. A vitez is a royal knight pledged to the Poglavica. There are typically three vitez who are to succeed the Poglavica should he die.” He shrugged. “We are also highly political people.” The elf smiled softly. “Thank you, Vitez Sčepati.” All came down on that elf—all of the lives of the Legion depended on him. On his ever move. On his ever decision.

Chapter 11 The next day, the elf was asleep in his tent when he saw a beautiful maiden dressed in brown run in, screaming shrilly. With a cold glance, the girl shut up. “How may I assist you, woman?” he demanded coldly, still very tired. The woman tilted her head wearily. “I am Lynee,” she said, but that meant very little to the elf who knew nothing of the Legion folk. Seeing his confusion, the girl replied curtly, “I am Halt’s niece.” Instantly the elf shot up and looked at her warily and with renewed interest. Zahod wasn’t are Halt had a blood line. He looked at her patiently, as if trying to size her up on how he should reply. The regent wasn’t sure if she was a polite and gentle lady, or abrupt and hostile. Carefully, he replied softly, “I was not aware Halt an existing bloodline.” A cool smile formed on her face, and she bowed, laughing slightly now. “Few people were privileged enough to know. Your own king wasn’t even aware of my existence,” she smiled politely now. “Mind you, I’m not here to take your spot as ruler.” Her last statement flustered Zahod. He began to turn red and shook his head a lot, making himself look foolish. “I—I wasn’t worried about that; if you wanted it, it was yours.” But despite his statement, he wasn’t sure he would have so willingly relinquished control to such a young woman. A bit wearier, he inquired, “So what did you need, since you awoke me so early?” Now she flushed red, grinning. “Well,” she replied slyly, “I tried to arouse you, but it failed, so I began to scream.” She laughed, very amused. “Regardless, the vitez requires you.” Zahod looked confused. “Which one?” he asked wearily. She laughed heartily. “He is the only one.” The elf made an inquisitive face, and shook his head abruptly. “Nay,” he countered decisively, “the vitez said there were three.” Now it was her turn to be confused. “Did he say there were, or normally, or typically, or something of the sort?” The elf scowled. “So he did, so he did,” he said, inclining his head with amusement. “I merely assumed he meant there currently were three.” She shook her head sadly. “The other two vitez past away.” She smiled now. “However, Sčepati isn’t exactly a vitez. Technically speaking, he is a olovo vitez—the lead knight.” Madam Lynee smiled. “He isn’t an arrogant man—vitez is satisfying for him.” With a wave of her hand, she said, “Now change, and meet him.” And then she left.

The elf was confused. Who would send a noblewoman to him as some page or messenger? That was very odd. He thought she was fairly pretty, but he also knew that he didn’t have time for such thoughts—plus, the girl possessed no immortality, such as he did. Zahod ignored the thoughts of her beauty and dressed himself in a fresh robe and then he went to the vitez’s tent. He knew he needed to talk to King Eventine, but he knew there was very little time to scry him at the moment. With his sword at his side, he made his presence known, and the Plainsman knight eagerly called for him to enter. With his gray cloak on and his strap and his double-edged weapon placed in the leather strap, the vitez looked very intimidating. Finally, the Plainsman murmured, “I apologize for arousing you so early, sire.” Zahod shook his head, waving it off. “No matter,” he replied politely. “However, by elect, I am a noble now, and you are a noble, too—to save us time, let us speak informally.” With a shrug, Sčepati accepted the elf’s proposal. The vitez finally made the decision—Zahod needed to know. Warily, the Plainsman murmured, “The Kingdom is pounding at the tunnel of Klettur… with a flag of truce.” The elf looked shocked. With a slight smile of amusement, the Dalen Plainsman continued, sounding weak and worried now, “But Ianweg selected a hearty bunch to send. Dernden—whom we assume is no longer so disoriented, three sorcerers, and a magician.” He glared into space. The regent nodded thoughtfully. He, too, glared. “There are so few Legion spellcasters. Regardless of what flag they bear, they may try to seep into our mind. I shall only take spellcasters who know how to block their mind.” The elf made a thoughtful sigh. “But I know of so few.” With a cool wave, the knight left his tent and Zahod heard him bellowing out orders for things to do. Once more, the envoy of Eventine wouldn’t be able to contact the elf king—more pressing matters were on mind. After patiently waiting, a witch and old magician stumbled into the ten. “This is Cleopatra,” the vitez said politely. “The magician is Lènûm.” The elf nodded thoughtfully. Witches were very weak with their spells—they could only cast spells from bones and herbs. However, if the human witch could block her mind from the Kingdom, he was satisfied. The man, Lènûm, was old but he could tell he seemed fairly skilled. Zahod sighed thoughtfully; the Kingdom had five spellcasters. The Legion would only be walking out with three. The Dalen Plainsman knight obviously noticed what the elf was thinking, he added, “I will send one of the Plainsmen with you.” The knight began to holler in his tongue to the Plainsman, and a moment later a muscular looking Dalen Plainsman warrior approached. With his long hunting knife at his side and his double-edged weapon at his back, he looked impressive.

They were still down by once person, but it no longer mattered. And then with a turn on their heels, Cleopatra, Lènûm, Zahod, and the Plainsman all left the tent and headed to the tunnel. The elf was very wary and nervous, but he knew they couldn’t be ignored. He also knew that Dernden could obliterate him should he want to, regardless of the flag they wielded. Slowly and hesitantly they walked onto the other side of Klettur, standing face-to-face with the Kingdom’s most proficient spellcasters. Dernden didn’t say anything yet; he was too busy grinning wildly to bother commenting. Zahod was furious, but he wasn’t going to speak until the dark sorcerer did. And he did. “Hello,” he said with a mocking bow, “I see the elves finally left their hidden abode and helped the Legion.” Zahod’s face gave away that he was the only one there. Dernden laughed coldly. “You’re the only elf here, eh! Fascinating.” With a cold gesture, he added flatly, “So, who leads the Legion in Halt and the Warlord’s absence?” Without hesitation, Zahod replied boldly, “I am.” The sorcerer examined the elf with flickering amusement. At once the sorcerer noticed the elf’s attire and laughed. “They selected you—a mere envoy of your scared king!—to be their leader? Ha!” Annoyed with being criticized, the elf snapped, “You had the flag. Now what do you want, traitor?” He didn’t even bother laughing, but his own eyes had a cold smile in them. With a mocking bow, Dernden replied, “I thought it would be suitable to discuss the price for the Warlord.” His party chuckled unpleasantly and then began to cackle loudly. “I was thinking a few hundred thousand golden coins.” Zahod froze. The sorcerer wasn’t bargaining for Halt—which was Dernden’s own brother—but instead just for the warlord. Zahod made a hasty glance to the others: he knew they didn’t have that kind of money. The old man, Lènûm, replied brusquely, “That is robbery! You know we hardly have a thousand gold coins!” He glared so boldly at Dernden that the elf could have swore Dernden looked slightly surprised by the old man’s bravery. The sorcerer shrugged. He didn’t mind at all. “Then there is no deal.” Then Dernden began to chant unintelligibly, and the other casters all bellowed out the same thing: they were converting their strength to the dark spellcaster. They all disappeared, with no remaining but dust. “That spell is extremely taxing. It is hard to send an item someplace, let alone a group of five people!” Zahod exclaimed. The others merely shrugged and headed back to Klettur. They made a face. “There went the opportunity to rescue the Warlord.”

Chapter 12 Alaric was disoriented and in grave pain. As soon as his elf opponent forced him to drop his sword—Opulentia—he struck his arm. Blood poured out endlessly. Satisfied with that days, Lacertus left him there, bleeding. Alaric lost consciousness a few minutes after Lacertus departed. When he awoke, he was in the rider’s quarters, being tended to by a petite, beautiful elf. She had long, white-blonde hair and she wore a very pale yellow dress with a darker yellow color for her sandals. Unlike the other elves, she had only a long knife, rather than their elf blade. Alaric eyed the petite elf tentatively. “Who are you?” he finally asked warily. He jerked too quickly to sit up, and felt a massive pain surge all over his body. Weakly and in much pain, he fell straight back down on his bed in worst shape then when he woke up. The elf didn’t bother replying for a while: she just kept tending to him, pushing lots of medical remedies down his throat. After she was done, she replied bashfully, “I am Laurel.” She smiled, and then looked away, saying nothing. The rider nodded with contentment. He didn’t bother to ask any more— he knew she was beautiful and her name, and in his book, that was all he needed to know. As she poured another remedy into his mouth, he began to feel very woozy. She shyly waved to him, and that was the last thing he remembered before he was forced into an enchanted sleep. He awoke a day and a half later to see Laurel sitting there, sipping in a hot broth. Smiling, she pushed the broth to him. Alaric waved his hand indicating he didn’t want the broth, but Laurel persisted, “You have had nothing in four days aside from remedies. Eat!” Realizing his stomach was now growling in overtime, he slurped down the hot broth. Looking wolfishly at her, the petite elf said with a hearty laugh, “I’ll go fix you some more.” She took the bowl and slid down the poll and then he lost sight of her. Alaric realized that while he was asleep, Hondira nor Opulent had bothered to talk to him, or arouse him—or help him when he was losing consciousness. A pang of jealousy ate at Alaric—Hondira wasn’t even there today. She must have already been flying with Opulent and learning. The king strutted in warily, eyeing him with disgust. “You’re an embarrassment, you know?” he demanded curtly. “You let an elf get the better of you, so you ignorantly cast a spell against him, you lose, and you lose four days of crucial training! You sicken me, Alaric. And you sicken your family name!”

Laurel cast the king a cold and hateful glance, but he merely returned the favor. Handing the bowl to him, the petite elf positioned herself in the chair once more beside the rider’s bedside. Finally, the king said, “Well! What do you say for yourself, boy!?” Looking downcast, the rider replied coldly, “Every attack on me has been correct, sire,” he said, spitting out the word sire. Eventine ignored the fact that he had called his allegations an attack and merely smiled smugly. “So what do you intend to do to make up for them?” “Blast that little Lacertus out of my sight!” he roared. “I will not be undermined by an inferior. I am rider, I am a lord! And I’m a guest!” Eventine looked startled by the rider’s outburst. Technically speaking, all of what he countered with were good reasons to strike down the elf. The king, however, did not seem pleased with his outbursts. “You, alone, are leaving Kaupunki,” the elf said bluntly. “We will find you an enana yegua—an elf horse.” Seeing Alaric’s confusion, he lost his rage momentarily and explained, “Some elves devote their lives to merging their spirit with a horses, thus making it more useful in life. Elves give up their whole life and being to let a horse be more intelligent, useful, and powerful—an enana yegua,” the king explained, now back to his furious self with Alaric. The rider looked puzzled. “Why am I leaving, and alone? Hondira and I go together, no matter what. Thus why I am a DRAGON Rider.” The king waved it off. “Halt and Obilježiti are captured. You’re going to go save them.” Alaric looked awed. “You expect me to dance my way into Festung Stadt, on a horse, slay all those who get in my path—including Dernden!—and save them, alone? Ha!” he said, spitting in Eventine’s face. Surprisingly enough, instead of reacting brutally, the elf king merely wiped the spit off and eyed him fiercely. “I know Ianweg lives in Festung Stadt, and it is his city. But you must—and will—go alone. Taking Hondira and Opulent or one or the other would attract too much attention.” The Halfling glared at Eventine. “Sire, if you think taking an elf horse into Kingdom lands will not go unnoticed…” The king waved it off. “It won’t. But it will attract less attention to you than two or one beast flying with you or under you would do.” Alaric finally stood up, quickly redressed himself, turning slightly red that Laurel didn’t look away, belted Opulentia to his side, delved deeply into Opulentia’s magic reserve and depleted a good bit—he needed the strength. Alaric blew a kiss to Laurel behind the king’s back and walked away with the king, warily and tiredly. The king yelled out, “Bestia!” Alaric was in awe. A white mare with elvish ears—pointy—and all around beautiful, like an elf, appeared in front of him. He was surprised and yet

very pleased. Wearily, he mounted Bestia, and Eventine instructed him, “Vado!” And Bestia took off running as fast as can be. Alaric was in shock as he felt Hondira’s consciousness brush against his mind, calming him, and then it left just as quickly as it came. Luckily, this elf horse was even faster than Hondira—they should be able to get to the Kingdom in a day if all went well, which Alaric hoped it did, since Eventine provided him with no food. Previously the king had used the language of magic to instruct the beast to stop, so as they neared the end of Kaupunki, he instructed flatly, “Subsisto!” Bestia stopped abruptly, and Alaric flew right off. He was pretty sure he could hear the horse giggling apologetically, but he impatiently ignored her. He went to a nearby tree and quickly ate some berries, then he remounted the mare and commanded, “Vado!” as the king had done. Bestia neighed and took off running faster than before! Alaric was in shock how quickly this elf horse could run. He was certain that the mare was going quicker than even an elf could do so. By the nightfall, he was at the gates of Festung Stadt. There were two weak looking guards, both with a seven-foot spear in their hands and a scimitar at their side. He considered how he’d kill them. He dismounted the elf horse and hid her. With a growl, he attempted to take control from their mind, but it was blocked. He began to chant furiously: the death spell. A moment later, one of the guards fell down, paler than a white ghost, dead. The other guard fell down pale and bleeding, but barely alive—Alaric needed him. Warily, he stumbled to the barely alive guard. “Open this gate, and I shall spare you.” It took him a while to move, but when he did, he opened the gate, instead of even attempting to make a run for it. The guard bowed clumsily, and the rider said softly, “Punto sangre,” and the blood quit seeping out of the guard. “That is my gift unto you. Spread the word—Ianweg shall fall by the Rider Alaric!” And then he entered the gate, grinning in spite of himself at the in awed guard. He summoned forth Bestia, remounted, and continued to proceed into Festung Stadt. Alaric began to think of what to do now. The strength of the death spell and then to heal the guard was very taxing on him—he was only a mediocre spellcaster as it was. Tiredly Bestia continued to walk wearily. A few minutes later, he saw the jail. He made a confused face—would it really be that easy? With a nonchalant shrug, the rider dismounted and went to the entrance of the jail. “Patefacio,” he commanded, as the door opened and flew backwards. He saw four guards—one that appeared to be a captain and the other three appeared to be normal guards. “Effrego suum lacertosus!” He didn’t kill have the energy to cast a fully-fledged death spell, so he used the alternative—he broke all of the guards bones so they could not pursue him. “May this be a mark of the rider,” Alaric added coolly.

He looked through the cells, and he thankfully saw the Warlord Obilježiti. He went through the other cells, but he couldn’t find Halt. Alaric sighed—he figured Dernden was dealing with Halt personally. “Warlord!” he snapped impatiently, waving at him. The chieftain made a wary face. “Who are you?” He looked more closely at him and immediately recognized him as Alaric. “Rider!” he said, chuckling. He made a face, and then he added, “Watch out—the guards are here!” “I cast a spell to break their bones,” the rider replied indifferently. “Patefacio,” he cast, and the cell flew open. He looked surprised. “I’m mildly surprised there was no advanced spell cast to make all spells impossible to cast.” Obilježiti made an annoyed face and he walked out of the cell tiredly. It was obvious they had kept him highly drugged. He stumbled over to the rack and grabbed his dark gray cloak and his picked up his dvoivični štap and put it in the leather strap. He then grabbed his long knife and resheathed it at his side. The warlord looked wary. “We won’t locate Halt, you know,” he said dismally. “Dernden took him personally and began to administer harsh punishments.” He sighed sadly. “I think he sent him to Dernden’s personal keep.” “The sorcerer has a castle?” he inquired, surprised. The warlord nodded thoughtfully. “A keep—a very small castle that is very easy to protect.” He shrugged. “It isn’t too far from here, though.” Obilježiti looked downcast. “I’m afraid he may try to coax him by using magical means to join the Kingdom, Alaric.” The rider nodded—he was of the same opinion. “I considered that too. Dernden is his brother, and was an activist.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m too tired to go to the keep now, though, sir. I must scry whomever is leading the Legion, and then scry Eventine and notify them of our situation.” Alaric and Warlord Obilježiti departed the cell, and he quickly magiced the door so the guards couldn’t escape. Locating a pool of water, he did the necessary things to scry and speak, and he said softly to Eventine, “Bad news, sire.” “Aye it is!” the king snapped. “You awoke me, boy! I was sleeping!” Patiently, Alaric replied quietly, “There are more pressing matters, sire.” Looking downcast, he continued in a very tired manner, “I have located and saved Warlord Obilježiti of the Dalen Plainsmen.” Eventine looked pleased and puzzled—he hardly saw how saving the warlord was a bad thing. “However, Lord Halt is not there. Dernden has taken him personally to his keep and is administering his personal punishments to him.” He sighed sadly. “We’re afraid he may attempt—successfully or not—to turn Halt to the Kingdom by using dark, magical means.” The elf king made a face. “I see.” He shook his head. “Contact the Legion. Scry out Zahod—he just contacted me. Apparently, he is the regent in the lord and warlord’s absence.”

The rider quickly ended the scrying and made a painful noise—he was extremely tired. He scryed up Zahod the envoy and explained what he had just told Eventine, then he ended the spell just as quickly: he was too tired to keep the spells going. Bestia carried both Warlord Obilježiti and Alaric outside of the gate of Festung Stadt, where Alaric erected a weak ward to protect them while they slept. Hiding themselves in the bushes, they slept. They awoke tiredly the next morning to see many guards running around and bellowing. Alaric finally understood what they were saying: “… stop them! Find the prisoner!” Immediately he shot up and explained to Warlord Obilježiti that they were searching high and low for him. The chieftain of the Dalen Plainsman nodded wearily. “I suspected as much,” he growled. “We must go to the keep, Alaric.” “What is it called?” “Pugnaculum,” he replied roughly. Thinking for a few minutes, the rider replied softly, “That translates literally as ‘fortress’. Why would he call it that?” he demanded. The warlord made a face. “How would I know?” he snapped. “Now let’s go.” Obilježiti hopped on Bestia and Alaric did the same, though begrudgingly. Alaric commanded Bestia to go to Pugnaculum and the warlord explained where it was from where they were at. “Vado!” Alaric added and the horse went as fast as lightning, running in full speed to the location described by the man. About two hours later, they saw Dernden’s keep. It was a three-story castle but it was relatively small. It was an off-green; it was so off it was almost a sad-looking gray. On the top was a flying flag that bore two sigils—one of the dark sorceries and one of the sigil of Ianweg. The two argued for a while as to who should go, and after the cold persistence of Obilježiti, they decided they would go together. With the dvoivični štap in both of the warlord’s hands, and then the rider unsheathed Opulentia, they ran full speed to the entrance. “I estimate there are about ten to twelve other people here, not counting Dernden himself and Halt.” The warlord nodded warily; it made sense. The sorcerer would need some servants to help him work and guard the keep. There was one, strong looking guard with the same, long spear that the guards had previously when Alaric slew them. Obilježiti used the staff part of his weapon to fling himself at the guard; the other part, the blade, jabbed itself into the guard. While the blade was stuck in the guard’s chest, he was still alive, although just barely. Unsheathing his long, hunting knife at his side, he stabbed him right in the heart. Cleaning his weapons, he resheathed them and opened the keep. Grinning, Alaric followed the warlord and entered Dernden’s keep. With any luck, Dernden wouldn’t be at the keep.

Head of the guards at Pugnaculum examined the two of them as he saw them enter. At once, Alaric could tell he wasn’t of the same nationality as the other Kingdom were. “The herra er ekki hér,” the captain replied in his common tongue. Alaric made a face. He wasn’t sure what the man was saying, and he could tell Obilježiti wasn’t too sure, either. With a growl, the captain repeated more insistently, “The herra er ekki hér!” “We do not speak your language, guard,” Alaric snapped impatiently. “The herra er ekki hér.” This time, Obilježiti thought about what the lead guard said. Finally, he said softly to Alaric, “I know who they are! He is a Nynun.” At the word Nynun, the lead guard looked the warlord straight in the eyes, boldly. “Stríðsherra Obilježiti!” the Nynun guard yelled. The warlord nodded coolly to Alaric. “He said… Warlord Obilježiti,” he said with a faint smile. “The Nynu tribe lived not too far from our Plains, before we moved to the Legion… except their tribe went to the Kingdom.” “ÉG geta ekki leyfa þú fara framhjá, Stríðsherra,” the guard snapped. “You must let us pass!” the warlord insisted. “You must.” “The herra mega eini skriflegt leyfi það,” the guard maintained adamantly. This time, the only words the warlord understood were ‘herra’, meaning lord, which obviously referred to Dernden. With a sad nod, he allowed Alaric to attack the guard. It was obvious the Dalen Plainsmen were friends with the Nynu tribe, so Alaric decided he would just use his sword and severely injure the guard, not kill him, unless he was forced to. With Opulentia in his hand, the guard understood what that symbolized. Wearily, he pulled out his scimitar from his belt and lurched at Alaric mercilessly. Coldly, the rider swung Opulentia and blocked the guard’s thrust. The Nynun guard wasn’t a terrible swordsman, but he was bit too eager and didn’t pay close enough attention. While Alaric was fighting the guard, Obilježiti considered to go and look for Halt, but eventually decided against doing so. The battle last for fifteen minutes, by which point the Nynun captain had blood pouring everywhere. Finally, the guard growled, “ÉG uppgjöf,” and dropped his blade, surrendering. Pleased, Alaric murmured a spell and healed his own wounds, then he swung his sword at the guard again, hurting him and the guard lost consciousness. With a shrug, the two continued on into the keep. Obiljeziti decided that there must only be a few other guards, and the rest must be servants. “Well, well, well, boys!” a voice roared that the two knew all so well. “Glad to see you here!”

Chapter 13 Alaric looked up on the stairwell to the second-story and saw Dernden beaming coldly at them, dressed in a long, maroon robe with his sword at his side. The rider could tell just by looking at the sorcerer that Ianweg had put the elf ghost and spirits back into him—even stronger than before. “You have killed one of my guards and the other is unconscious.” He made a tsking noise. “Now that’s not very nice!” “Give us Halt,” the rider snapped coldly. “Now,” he added, trying to sound more in control than he really was. Dernden laughed brusquely. “Halt was only kept here when he first got captured for me to administer my dark arts to him and extract some valuable information,” the sorcerer replied honestly. He made an insincere shrug. “For some reason, King Ianweg wasn’t so sure I wouldn’t be soft on him, so after I administered my dark sorceries, he was taken from my keep.” The warlord and Alaric looked worried. They knew this wasn’t going to end well now—they broke into one of the most powerful spellcasters keeps for no reason. “Oh,” the warlord replied inadequately. Dernden smiled wolfishly at Obiljeziti. “I hear you escaped from the jail cell, eh?” Many things happened as soon as the sorcerer said that. The warlord bashed his blade part of his staff into the sorcerer, while Alaric released a very potent immobilization spell on him. “Ignis!” Alaric added, scorching the sorcerer. The sorcerer made a taunting face, so the rider summoned forth another blast of fire, and Dernden lost consciousness. “Let’s go, Obiljeziti,” the rider said wearily. They hasted up the stairwell to the third floor. As expected, there was one Nynun guard on that floor who had a long spear, identical to the guard at the entrance. Letting the warlord deal with the guard, Alaric swerved into the room the guard was protecting. It was Halt. But he looked nothing like Halt. He had inflated, red eyes, a pale black skin, and he looked completely miserable. Even though the Legion leader looked at Alaric, he truly had no idea who he was. Alaric was too baffled to even speak —Dernden had been administering some very high sorceries on the poor man. He looked like he could die any second. “Halt,” he whispered desperately. Dernden had taught Halt the language of the Nynu tribe, and forced Halt to forget his common language. “Hver gera þú leita að?” he demanded. “Speak your common language, Halt! Not the Nynun language.”

Halt made a sad, uncomprehending face. “Hvaða gera þú þörf?” he demanded sadly, not enjoying that the two couldn’t understand what the other was saying. Wearily, Alaric replied softly, “The herra er vondur,” using the little bit of knowledge he knew of the Nynun language. Furiously, the man hissed, “The herra er ekki vondur!” Alaric finally understood that despite his insistent attempts of saying the lord is wicked, Halt persisted in saying the opposite. Couldn’t he realize that if the lord wasn’t wicked, he wouldn’t be under magical influence and poisoned? Alaric tried to release the magic possessing Halt by a few rudimentary spells, but they didn’t work. Desperately, Halt said, “Leyfi,” he whispered, nodding to the door. Even though Alaric was ignorant of what the man had actually said, he knew the meaning—leave. Begrudgingly, he headed to the door, and seeing the Nynun guard was still fighting, Alaric barked, “Prolixus incendia!” The largest blast of green fire the rider had ever produced left his palm, enveloping the guard. Warlord Obiljeziti looked downcast—he could tell the mission was unsuccessful. He made an annoyed look and said softly, “So, do we leave Pugnaculum?” he inquired tiredly. Alaric made an uncomfortable face. The rider knew that King Eventine and Zahod would not be pleased if they returned without the Lord Halt, though it seemed highly improbable that even an elf could undo the spells cast on Halt— only Dernden himself could remove such dark things forced upon him. The warlord could sense Alaric’s hesitance, so he nodded warily. “I was thinking the same thing, boy.” “So, what do you recommend we do?” Alaric asked impatiently. The warlord shrugged. “I’m sure Dernden is close to locating the focal point to the immobilization, and then he’ll come at us in full force—and win.” He sighed. “If we forcibly take Halt, then the sorcerer’s spell will never be lifted on him and he will be confused and weak for the rest of his life.” Alaric shrugged thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t mind making the keep mine, you know,” the rider said greedily. “It is very nice and fairy fortified.” The warlord glared. “No. We don’t have time for a fully-fledged siege on a castle, Alaric! Think!” Alaric smiled gloatingly. “With Hondira and Opulent with me, who is to deny me? They by themselves could obliterate any who is in our way.” The warlord Obiljeziti sighed reluctantly. Wisely, he countered adamantly, “You want a castle in Kingdom territory?” He shrugged, growing impatient. “I’ll erect a powerful ward that will only allow those with my permission to enter, powered by those surrounding.” Obiljeziti sighed. “Very well,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “Now we need to go.”

The two walked slowly down the stairwell. By the time they were at the bottom, Dernden was standing there, grinning coldly. Nobody said anything. The warlord looked wary—he wasn’t sure what to do. Alaric was simply too awed the sorcerer had found the focal so quickly. The dark sorcerer smiled gloatingly at them. “I hope you’re in no rush to leave,” he replied coolly. Fast as lightning, Alaric roared the spell and he and Obiljeziti burst straight through the roof. The two stumbled and hit the ground, and quickly mounted Bestia. “Vado!” the two roared in unison, weakly and nervously. Alaric had performed the rise spell previously, but lifting another, heavier person was very difficult on him. “Bestia, go to the Legion,” he said, and sent him a mental map of how to get to Klettur. By the time they were at the Legion, Alaric was asleep and Warlord Obiljeziti had to command Bestia to stop. The warlord wearily began to pound as hard as possible on the door, waiting for them to open. The stone blocking the secret tunnel rolled open, and the normal Plainsman guard began to talk rapidly to his warlord, then he lit up the tunnel and the asleep Alaric and the warlord were walking on foot, with Alaric in Obilježiti’s hands. The next thing Alaric remembered, he was in a tent and was sleeping soundly when Lynee entered unannounced. She didn’t say anything, but merely looked at him piteously. Begrudgingly, the lady handed him a large, fried bird. Thankfully, Alaric ate at it, and she watched and when he was finished, she finally snapped, “So, you left my Uncle to be with my disgrace of an other uncle.” Alaric wasn’t sure how to respond. If he had taken Halt, then he would have surely died—however, with Dernden constantly over him, administering the spell, he would be sure to keep him alive. Instead of replying, he just looked down, and his mind went to having something to drink—he was extremely thirsty. Despite himself, he realized she deserved an explanation. Quieter than a whisper, he said informatively, “If I had taken Halt, no elf could have even recanted the spell placed on him. However, by leaving him with the wicked Dernden, he would constantly administer the curse, but even to keep him alive. He would take care of him. Sad but true.” Lynee glared at him, not in the mood. “Whatever, Rider. Whatever,” she spun on her heels and left the tent in rage. Alaric did the only reasonable thing—he quickly redressed, belted Opulentia, threw the bones of the bird outside, and ran away, following her. “Lynee, wait!” he demanded. Despite her occasional fiery temper, she was very nice and beautiful. But she didn’t bother waiting. She maintained her regular walk and ignored him. The other people outside of their tents quieted as they witnessed

the scene. Uncertainly, Lynee entered the warlord’s tent. “Get rid of Rider Alaric now!” she said roughly. “NOW!” Alaric entered the tent, his mouth agape. He shook his head sadly, tears rolling down his cheek. “Calm yourself, Lynee!” he cried, brushing away the continuous tears. “I—we!—did our bests, girl! We did the best of our ability in that given situation. We had to be cautious.” She turned boldly and looked him square in the eyes, retorting, “I’ll remember that when Uncle overpowers you.” “Why would Halt try to attack me, Lynee?” he demanded furiously. “Who said I meant Halt?” She inquired mischievously. “I meant Dernden,” she said flatly. “He will overpower you, too.” The warlord was in shock. No one had ever heard the lady speak of the traitor as her uncle, nor had anyone seen her speak so abruptly and disrespectfully to Legion’s main hope at survival. Warlord Obiljeziti finally said sadly, “Lynee, control yourself. We did the best we could have done!” “Did you, you think?” she asked quietly, the tears strolling all over her beautiful face. “Because I don’t think you did!” Alaric was too furious to bother listening any more—he just left the tent, and left the Legion. He stormed over to Bestia and mounted her and instructed her to go back to Kaupunki, adding, “Vado!” Later he was in Kaupunki and he released Bestia. Then he ran to where he thought Laurel’s hut to be, and, to his pleasure, he saw her there. Running into her hut, she smiled at him. She was wearing a yoke-yellow dress with pale red roses and her usual brown sandals. “I want you, Laurel.” “Do you, really?” she said softly, eyeing him intently. “Is it I, or Lynee you want?” Her response startled him mildly. How had the petite elf been aware of Lynee, much less his feelings for her? Brushing what Laurel had said away, he replied honestly, “It is you, Laurel. You and only you.” Finally, she broke down. Satisfied, she began to undress herself, and by the time she was done, so was Alaric. The two flung each other on Laurel’s bed. The next morning, the two were very happy but very cold, too. She looked at him lovingly as she kissed him romantically, “Are we to raise our children in the Legion or here in Kaupunki?” He turned away dismally. He didn’t want it to come to that. “Neither, my dear,” he said finally, looking sad. “It is wherever you choose to raise them. I cannot have any part in their life.” She looked at in him shock. “Alaric! Regardless of your duties as a rider, you will have some downtime, and by fathering them, you now additionally has duties as a father.”

Alaric nodded, downcast. “When this war subsides, we will live in a magnificent castle not too far from Kaupunki. That I promise to you, my love.” He kissed her warmly, then he said sadly, “I must go to Eventine now and report my previous success—or lack thereof, depending on your views of it.” After kissing him once more, she moved out of his way and he hopped out of bed, putting on a fresh pair of brown breeches and a white jerkin she had woven for him previously and belted Opulentia to him and put on his same, worn boots. Waving to her, he left her hut and walked to Eventine’s hall. Boy, you had fun, a familiar voice grumbled in Alaric’s head. Hondira! he yelled happily. I haven’t seen you in a long time—well… I still haven’t seen you. Where are you? I am training with Opulent in another elvish city. We shall be back by the afternoon, and if you’re not busy—here she laughed, making it obvious she meant Laurel—then meet me at the rider’s quarter and we shall catch up. Now it is hard on me to talk to you at a distance, so I’ll talk to you then. And then her presence withdrew itself from his mind. Smiling, he went to Eventine’s hall and entered his room unannounced. Grunting, the king gave him permission to explain what had occurred. “I found Warlord Obilježiti as I previously said. The two of us went to Pugnaculum—Dernden’s castle. It was only a few brief hours from Ianweg’s city. When we got there, we met Dernden’s guards—the Nynu tribe. We slew those who got in our way, and as soon as I bested the captain of the guards… Dernden entered his keep and made his presence known. “Warlord Obilježiti launched his weapon into the dark sorcerer while in the same moment, I immobilized him. Previously Dernden had said Halt was no longer there, but the two of us new better. With the sorcerer immobilized, we quickly headed up the stairwell and located Halt’s room. “He dealt with the guard outside of Halt’s door and I entered. He was completely at a lost, black, and mystified. He spoke only the language of the Nynu—he couldn’t even understand his common tongue! “I considered taking him with me, but I decided against it. I knew that if I took Halt, he would most certainly die. The curses placed on him were extremely potent, not even an elf could remove them. So I decided if he stayed with Dernden, he would at least be alive and properly administered. A bit foolish, but it made sense and it secured his life for a little longer, at least.” Eventine nodded, seeming pleased with his vassal’s story. “That is good. You did well.” He smiled. “Lynee is here, by the way—she’s just outside my building.” Nodding, he cautiously exited the building. He saw the lady standing there with a large satchel around her; she had a very cold, grim smile on her face. “Come on, Alaric. Let’s walk and talk,” she murmured seductively. Taking the bait, he followed her lovingly. “Aye, as you wish,” he replied coolly.

“So, Alaric,” she said as she embraced him quickly, kissing him with an impatient smile on her face that he didn’t notice, “have you figured the truth out yet?” she demanded mysteriously. From the beauty of Lynee, he wasn’t really listening to what she said. He just kept smothering her with kisses until she finally pulled away and restated her question. “You’re Dernden’s hand.” Finally, Lynee nodded coolly. “It took you long enough to realize which uncle I truly serve.” She smiled in accomplishment. “I’m not some poor, honest to God help me little lady, either. I am a mind master. I was at Pugnaculum when you and the warlord were.” She smiled curtly. “I used my mind magics to force you both to think I wasn’t there. “I was the one who took out all of Halt’s knowledge. I made him think he was a Nynun lunatic! I did Dernden’s bidding, spied for him whilst in the Legion,” she laughed, growing to the climax of it all, “and pretended to be in love with you. You’re such a tool.” After she said that, she reached gingerly into her satchel and produced a maroon piece of velvet that contained a multi-colored sphere. “Halt’s memories,” she explained politely. “Ignis!” he bellowed, sending a blast of emerald flames at her. They had absolutely no effect. Obviously Dernden had erected a top-notch ward that protected his little niece from all spells cast her. She made a taunting face. “So powerless. He only made a ward that protected me against the simplest spells, for that is all you know,” she jeered coldly. Despite what she said, it was completely true. Alaric only knew the basic, simplistic spells. He yelled out a slightly more complex than usual spell of death, but her ward protected her from that, too. He growled. Alaric wasn’t sure of what other spells he should use. Leave it to us, Opulent and Hondira said in unison. Seconds later, large blasts of white dragon flame and emerald flame scorched her, but she didn’t die—she merely was burnt. Alaric was shocked. How had she survived that? They didn’t use any spells for dragon flame—it was just their being. “Uncle also protected me from any dragon attacks. I’ll only be scarred.” With a sly smile, the girl disappeared magically. But Alaric knew she came here for a reason, and whatever that reason was, she had it. What was that about? Opulent roared. “She isn’t who see says she is,” Alaric replied honestly and retold them of what she had said.

Chapter 14 Dernden made a face as he saw Lynee appear in front of him. He had imbued some spells on her satchel so all she had to do was touch it and it would transport her to his keep. Dernden wore an unusual maroon jerkin and gray breeches with his regular pale sword at his side. He cast her an inquisitive glance, and said, “So, did you succeed in getting what we needed?” “Aye, Uncle,” she hissed eagerly. “I secured the Flame.” Eagerly, she pulled from her satchel a frozen flame. Dernden laughed coldly. “Good job, my dear,” he said lazily as he took the frozen flame from her. Weakly, she asked, “You’ve never told me what the Flame is. What is it, Uncle?” Making an annoyed and impatient noise, Dernden explained, “The Flame is the elves pride and joy. It maximizes their power when they touch it—they only do so before they go on a quest or go to war. The strongest casters made a paradox—they froze an eternal flame.” He smiled brusquely. “Without the Flame, the elves shan’t be as strong when we fight them. Additionally, if I can penetrate the protective layers of ice, then I may be able to destroy the Flame, which shall kill many of the elves—they shall die of grief.” Lynee nodded, sounding pleased. She enjoyed seeing the Legion fail, especially because they were so ignorant and blinded by her obvious alliance. She was quite the actress, she admitted quietly to herself. With a dismissive gesture, Lynee took her signal and retreated to the second floor where her room was at. Tiredly, Dernden yelled, “Kapteinn!” The weak Nynun captain stumbled down the stairwell and approached him. He was in much pain from the strong and efficient blows of the rider. “Já, herra?” Without responding, the sorcerer began to cast spells on the Nynun guard. He was healing his internal wounds as well as erecting a strong ward against him—if anyone were to cast a spell on him, it would turn on the caster and push the caster on the brink of death. “Hvaða did þú gera, herra?” the guard asked worriedly. “ÉG added a deild , kapteinn.” With a wave of his hand, he snapped in his own language, “Dismissed.” He made an annoyed face—speaking the Nynu language annoyed him. Sometimes they lacked the necessary words to explain what he truly wanted. With the Flame in his hand, he went to his room in the third floor, across from Halt’s, got a bowl of water, and scryed Ianweg.

“Massster,” he hissed eagerly. “Yes, my dear chamberlain?” At that, Dernden made an annoyed face. He didn’t look at himself as a chamberlain—chamberlains were merely assistants. Dernden looked at himself as Ianweg’s equal. Letting the cold jibe pass him by, he continued, pretending to be unperturbed, “The elven Flame has been secured and is in my control, Master.” “I see,” Ianweg replied coolly. “Your niece”—here Dernden winced: he didn’t want the king to know of his niece existing or doing his work—“obviously knows where the elven of Kaupunki is.” It wasn’t a question—it was a flat statement. “So we should launch attack on them as soon as possible.” The sorcerer didn’t bother replying to his king—he knew nothing he would save could possibly dissuade him from doing it. Plus, if he tried to, it may look like he actually favored or pitied the elf. In truth, Dernden knew what would really happen: the elves would win. Or would they, without their precious Flame? After considering it, Dernden nodded. “Aye, my master,” he finally replied. “I shall get the army ready as soon as possible.” “Nay,” Ianweg replied flatly, his blank eyes looking at Dernden. “I shall.” With a wave of his hand, he explained coldly, “I have been storing energy in my sword—Corruo’s—reserve for centuries. I shall finally unleash my power, and they shall cower in fear!” Dernden was certain he could hear Vel growling eagerly in excitement, preparing to fight. “I shall have my armor crafted and Vel’s, and we shall launch the war. Leave Pugnaculum in no less than three days.” Something odd happened next—the king released the scrying spell. No one had ever heard of the person scryed releasing the spell. Shrugging, Dernden knew what this meant—war was coming, and with King Ianweg in it directly, they already won. Pugnaculum had one Nynun smith, and he was very good and proficient. The Nynun crafted all of Dernden’s armor, weaving the darkest spells into it. The smith was a sorcerer himself, and an evil one at that, but nowhere close to Dernden. Warily, the sorcerer went to the guard’s home in the basement of the keep. Bowing insultingly, Dernden replied, “War is coming. I’m leaving in three days.” As he thought of how his armor should look, he explained, “A very pale maroon steel armor shall do fine. Weave the darkest and most magical spells fathomable into it.” And then he left. Unsheathing his pale sword, he focused on the pommel where the ruby was and transferred all of his current energy into its reserve. He figured it would be needed in the war. Now very tired and weakened, he stumbled to his room and slept. He knew everything would go well—they had already won the war by Ianweg’s involvement.

The next two days went by rather quickly. On the last hour of light on the second day, the smith proclaimed as he carried the pale steel armor up to Dernden, “It is ready!” Producing his chain mail, gloves, platelegs, and his visor, the smith grinned broadly. “I was debating on whether or not to make you a breastplate instead of mail, but I decided with mail—it would be easier and lighter to travel in.” The sorcerer grinned. “Thank you, smith.” The smith was the Nynun he liked the most: he spoke Dernden’s language. Even though he wasn’t asked to leave for another day, he decided he would prepare himself. Slipping the mail over his jerkin and the legs over his breeches, he then put on his gloves and his visor. With a wave of his hand, the Nynun left. Dernden walked to the second floor, where all the other Nynun people slept, and yelled for Lynee. Talking to them all, he said flatly, “I shall be going alone. Lynee shall be the hefðarkona in my absence.” He didn’t bother translating it to their language—he saw no point. He said “hefðarkona” which literally meant ‘lady of house’, so he knew they understood his niece was to be the acting lady whilst he was absent. With a wave of his hand, he left his keep, sealed it magically, and mounted a large, fit, dark warhorse. Constructing powerful spells on the horse, he nodded satisfied. Having the horse go extremely fast, Dernden headed to Festung Stadt eagerly. He knew they would win this war.

Chapter 15 The next day, Alaric was awoken by a young elf. He was screaming in terror, but the rider was too tired to comprehend what he was saying. “… war!” At the sound of that, Alaric perked up. “The Kingdom is here! The guardian is dead!” Alaric froze. “Enel, Eventine’s granddad?” he demanded weakly. The young elf nodded dismally. “The extreme warding spell was destroyed—magically. The Kingdom is less than an hour away. You must get ready!” The young elf nodded to a pile of emerald armor. “Many elves have worked on perfecting and enchanting your armor, but they knew they didn’t have time to continue working on it—it was war.” And the elf left. Hondira? he demanded worriedly. Where is Opulent? Alaric observed a gigantic pile of armor that was obviously Hondira’s, for it was the same emerald, though a bit darker. Wearily, he helped dress Hondira. Opulent is with Eventine. He’s trying to calm him from the death of his grandfather, but he is also trying to advise him. With a move of her tail, she was dressed and looked very intimidating. Not bothering to take off his sleep ware, he placed the steel chain mail on him and the plate legs. He noticed there wasn’t a visor, gloves, nor a shield, but he figured it was a good as he would get. Buckling Opulentia to his belt on the platelegs, he went to the other side of the rider quarters where he saw was a loaf of bread and some berries. After hastily devouring his crude breakfast, he mounted Hondira, and they went to join the other elf lords and Opulent. In distress, Eventine roared, “The Flame has been stolen! The elves are shaking in fear—no one knew of this save the elves!” Alaric asked what the Flame was, and the elf king hurriedly explained. “First the spell was collapsed, Enel slaughtered, we find the Kingdom near, and now we find the Flame no longer here!” Alaric immediately understood. Worriedly he explained his previous encounter with Lynee and he now guessed she took the Flame. The king nodded sadly. “It would make sense, I should think,” he replied. “The elves are dressed and ready, but no elf has went to war without being blessed by the Flame.” A runner approached them. “Milords,” he said, bowing impatiently, but he knew better than to be disrespectful. “It is confirmed Ianweg and his beast are approaching with the Kingdom.” All eyes turned to Alaric, all with the same question: Could he take him? “Thank you, runner. Dismissed,” an elf lord with long, brilliant red hair said curtly.

Opulent said softly to Alaric, Think carefully before you respond to the obvious question in their minds, Alaric. Be careful. Bearing what the large white dragon said, he said wisely, “Can I defeat him? No. Can I give him a fight? Yes.” The answer seemed to satisfy the two dragons and a few of the lords, but the king and the other lords seemed unimpressed. With a sigh, Eventine proclaimed, “They are here. Prepare!” he yelled shrilly. Will you find with us, Opulent? Alaric inquired as he and Hondira took flight. The white dragon replied sadly, I have no rider, Alaric, he said gently. My loyalty is with the elven race now. My energy shall be at your disposal, but only from a distance. As if remembering, Alaric felt the dragon’s consciousness ease into his sword. I transferred a good deal of energy into Opulentia’s reserve. Get ready, Alaric. The Gens of Veho only fought King Ianweg once, and they did it together, not singlehandedly. And with that being said, Opulent launched himself into the sky, flying in the opposite direction. The Kingdom was in Kaupunki. Immediately, Alaric grew nervous as he saw the king and his massive beast. The king was at least seven feet tall, with a large longsword in his hand, with a gigantic gray jewel in the pommel. He was dressed in no armor, which surprised Alaric at his boldness. He merely wore a long, billowing, light gray robe with a thick looking belt. Vel, however, was dressed in armor. The black dragon had what seemed to be silver armor on him. Every part of his body—even his stomach, with was where Hondira had no protection—was coated with armor. Alaric was certain he heard Hondira gulp nervously. “And so it begins,” he whispered softly to Hondira. A large mass of soldiers ran in, with Dernden in the lead on a large, black horse. The rider twisted his head to see Opulent—the Kingdom was in awe another dragon existed. “Opulent!” the loud, deep voice of the king roared. “So you are alive.” “Correct,” Alaric replied curtly. Ianweg smiled wickedly. “Another dragon shall perish by Corruo.” With a smile twisting on his lips, he demanded adamantly, “Do you know what Corruo means?” Once more portraying his ignorance for the language of magic, Alaric shook his head. Ianweg erupted with laughter. “It means ‘Destroyer’, in common tongue, boy!” Alaric decided Destroyer was a good name for a sword that had killed so many dragons. The king—surprisingly—didn’t attack Alaric, but instead merely instructed Vel to turn toward the elves. With Corruo meaning destroyer, it gave Alaric an idea. “Attero!” he yelled at a group of approaching soldiers.

The spell literally meant destroy, and it did just that. The group— containing about seven—were destroyed immediately, their blood pouring all over. Hondira snapped, You should not have used what Ianweg told you to attack them! Oh, I shouldn’t have? And if I didn’t, elves may have died fighting them! He retorted defensively. Dismissing the jibe, the two continued to fight—but elves were dying. The elves were failing. After a few moments of witnessing it, Hondira finally decided sadly, We need to separate. Conjure a spell and stay in the air, but I can’t do this. I can’t see elves die. No! Alaric challenged weakly. No—if we do that… that would be doing what Ianweg wants! Dismally, the dragon nodded her head. We are given two options: do as he obviously wishes and separate, or watch the elves all die. He finally nodded. Her logic was realistic. Gingerly removing his feet from the saddle, he hollered a spell that kept him in the air. Hondira flew in the other direction, sending blasts of flames all over. Alaric eyed Dernden on the ground, and he was instantly infuriated. The sorcerer was dueling Laurel! First off, the rider was mad that the elf had come to the war when it was a large possibility she may be pregnant. And second off, he was mad she hadn’t told him of her impending doom. Immediately releasing the spell, he tumbled to the ground, unsheathing Opulentia. With the sorcerer unaware, he swung his sword down the sorcerer’s back, blood erupting all on Alaric. Wincing as the blood got all over his emerald armor, the sorcerer turned and looked Alaric straight in the eyes. “Did you really think that would kill me, rider?” he demanded furiously. “Look at my back, you fool.” For some reason, Alaric obliged. As he looked at the sorcerer’s back, he realized the worst—his back wasn’t his own: it was a spirit’s that had been forced into him. Laughing coolly, Dernden explained, “My true being is locked inside my heart, with many layers of spirits protecting it.” Right as the sorcerer was about to cast a spell on Laurel, the rider hollered out, “Attero!” It worked. The sorcerer’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell down, weakened and disoriented. The ghost and spirits left his body, disappearing immediately. Laurel looked at Alaric in shock. “Is he… dead?” she demanded worriedly. “I think not,” Alaric ventured. “Levitas!” A bolt of emerald lighting left the palm of the rider’s hand, striking Dernden once more. “Now I say he is.” As soon as Alaric was sure the sorcerer was deed, everyone’s ears were in drastic pain. The king and Vel flew over Dernden, roaring something so loud that everyone in Kaupunki heard it. A ghost as black as Vel flew out of Dernden and then the king yelled something else and the ghost disappeared.

Ianweg looked right into Alaric’s eyes, and launched a curse at the rider. Before the rider could even protect himself, the powerful curse struck him. Flying backwards, flames erupted internally—the king had sent a curse to attack him on his insides. He grimaced and yelled; he didn’t even know such curses existed. Hondira was busy with dueling soldiers, but Opulent roared in fury and flew fast as lightning at Vel, biting right into the dragon’s armor, and threw it off. Large, repetitive blasts of white fire burned Vel and Ianweg. The evil king started to erect a ward against Opulent’s flames, but he didn’t have the time. Opulent had pulled the dragon so far, the king flew right off the beast’s back. Stop! Vel roared in fury, unleashing larger and stronger blasts of flame. The fire burnt Opulent horribly. He knew that challenging Vel was unwise, but he had no other choice. You stop, Vel, he snarled. I’m not! And then more, hotter blasts of fire left the white dragon’s mouth, intending to kill Vel. It didn’t. Ianweg began to scream in fury, and immediately he was on Vel and all elves within a half-mile radius were slaughtered. “Until we meet again, Rider,” he snarled, and he and the Kingdom troops completely left. Only less than a hundred Kaupunki elves survived, plus Alaric, Opulent, and Hondira. There were two elf lords alive, and Eventine was missing, but it was confirmed he was seen alive at the end of the skirmish. “There is a council to be held, rider,” the two lords said flatly. “Come to Eventine’s halls.” Go, Hondira commanded. We’ll be fine.

Chapter 16 In Festung Stadt, the king was pleased. They had won, and he had confirmed his growing suspicion: Opulent was alive. Despite that the forsaken rider had slaughtered Dernden, the king had extracted the dead sorcerer’s dark ghost and took it with him and sent it to his castle in Festung Stadt. I hate performing necromancy, he growled to Vel. I’d prefer if you didn’t, actually, the dragon said curtly. I don’t like the smell when you summon the dead, nor do I like him at all. Ianweg glowered at the beast. “Luckily for you,” he replied deeply, “your opinion means nothing to me.” Walking toward his bookshelf, he selected a large, thousand page book of necromancy. It wasn’t widely known, but the king was a very adept necromancer. Flipping through the many pages, he finally found what he wanted—to resurrect a recently killed ghost. However, he knew that he would have to find a body for Dernden. Making a face, he hollered for a wealthy but fairly unknown lord and snapped a spell and immediately the being of the lord disappeared. He had killed his sense of being, leaving his body still upright for Dernden to possess after being summoned. After he set up the candles and the book was on the page of the ritual, he began to chant the spell, and at times he could see glimpses of Dernden. After two hours of pure chanting and casting, the dark ghost of the sorcerer began to shimmer and appear, but it continuously left as quickly as it came. He grimaced—it was as if someone was forbidding the ghost from being summoned. Glaring, Ianweg chanted a spell that relieved the ghost of anything that may have restricted him. Then the king chanted the necromancy once more, and this time when he was finished, the dark ghost of the sorcerer appeared for good. “Master,” the shade of Dernden said thankfully. Ianweg nodded in acknowledgement. “You embarrassed me, you know, Dernden,” the king said emotionlessly, but his eyes showed his blazing fury. “My personal invention, killed from a few spells?” he demanded, shaking his head. “A disappointment. Give me one—one!—reason I should bind your being into this man’s body. Explain why.” Making a face, the shade sighed thoughtfully. Finally, he replied flatly, “Because you need me. I was the head of all of the guards. I am a competent spellcaster, but even the most competent have some problems at rare times.” Go to hell, the dragon snapped.

Ianweg likewise seemed unimpressed. “Vel is correct. You’re a disappointment.” Desperately, the shade pleaded, “Finish the necromancy! Bind me to a body. Please, Dominus.” Go to hell, Vel repeated forcefully. Glaring at Ianweg, he snapped, Release the spell and let him die. He was a useless slave—he was a good tool when alive, but he’s dead and he shan’t help us. If you don’t release the spell, I shall do it for you. Ianweg seemed to agree with Vel on that matter, too. “Don’t worry, Dernden. I shall find a new tool.” Grinning wickedly, he added immediately, “Lynee shall be quite the tool. With her knowledge of mind magic she learned from you, imagine how she shall be when I tool with her mind, making her know what I wish?” Dernden turned incredibly pale. He didn’t want her to be involved that much. Finally, he said flatly, “You must tell her the truth if you do anything, Ianweg. I’m her father. Halt’s wife is her mother.” The king chuckled with renewed amusement. “You’re her father, and you slept with Halt’s wife while he was married to her? Wise.” He shrugged, making it obvious he was unperturbed. “I feel she deserves to know the truth.” Go to hell, Vel repeated coldly. I may be a wicked, evil beast, but sleeping with your sister-in-law is simply wrong! Smoke flew from his mouth in fury. “Once more, I agree with my dragon,” Ianweg snapped. A moment later he said, “I shall terminate all sorceries in works at Pugnaculum, take the Flame, and let the keep rot.” With a dismissive gesture, the king snapped, “Enjoy the spirit realm.” And then the king smiled broadly as he released the spell and the dark gray ghost of Dernden disappeared, doomed for eternity.

Chapter 17 In Eventine’s halls, the silver hair elf was sitting in his respectable chair during all council meetings, and the dark red hair elf was sitting in his, but Alaric had no chair as he was new. He just sat down in Eventine’s, despite the elf lords protests. “My name is Lord Northö, rider,” the silver hair elf lord said flatly, obviously disliking Alaric. “And my name is Lord Anäthen,” the other lord said kindly, unlike the other elf lord. “And mine is Rider Alaric.” He figured calling himself Lord Alaric were merely infuriate them, even though it was true. Plus, he really didn’t want to be a lord, he just needed the perks for the Legion. After glaring at Alaric for a while, Northö finally said impatiently, “Eventine is missing, but it is confirmed he is alive. Who confirmed it is unaware, but we are completely positive that he is alive. I personally searched for the king’s consciousness and I’m sure I sensed it. I’m not sure where, however.” Then the other elf lord, Anäthen, spoke quietly, “We lost over two hundred plus elves.” He looked downcast, feeling very sorrowful. “The elves were considered to be the strongest, most magical race around. However, when two or three soldiers were facing an elf, the elf died. That is unheard of!” Trying to do damage control, Alaric maintained, “The elves didn’t have the Flame. That could have possibly effected their fighting skills.” Northö laughed brusquely. “You believed in that fantasy?” he demanded fiercely. “It’s mythical! Sure, the Flame exists, but it has no powers other than it is a paradox!” Anäthen and Alaric gaped at the other elf. “How dare you!” Anäthen swore furiously, not appreciating the other elf denying their beliefs. “How can you possibly deny the power of the Flame?” he persisted. “It blesses and protects those who touch it.” Once more, he laughed in his same, brusque laughter. “I never sought the Flame, and I am alive.” Alaric was frustrated. He wasn’t sure whose side he should take, if of any of their sides. Finally, the rider said flatly, “Back to more important matters.” Northö coughed obnoxiously and said, “We need to abandon Kaupunki.” “I need to go to the Legion,” Alaric replied. Anäthen and Northö gaped in shock. “How could you leave us, you—a lord!—when there are so few nobles alive? We suffered a major setback, rider!”

Sadly, he replied fiercely, “I must go,” was all he said. “Opulent shall stay here, however,” he said flatly. “I swore an allegiance to both people.” The two elf lords finally nodded, accepting defeat. Northö said curtly, “I’m going to release an official statement of Kaupunki Council to the few survivors.” And then the lord left Eventine’s halls, leaving the two alone. Anäthen finally spoke with finality, “You’re a liar,” he said, finally laughing. “I know,” Alaric replied. “I think that, with Dernden gone, Halt may not be under his dark influence.” The lord nodded politely, pleased that the rider had finally confessed what he had really intended to do. Smiling, Anäthen said, “And after you confirm your leader’s condition, you’re going to the Legion?” Impressed with how quickly the Lord Anäthen had comprehended it all, Alaric nodded. “Aye.” “Then may your trip be successful.” Come, Hondira. We must go. But before he left his halls, he removed his emerald armor and said, “I ask that my armor is repaired.” Mildly embarrassed by his attire—he was in his pajamas—he left the room. Pleased to see the rider quarters were not damaged, he rummaged in and hastily dressed himself in a white robe and mounted Hondira. “Good bye until later, Opulent.” Until later, Rider, the white dragon replied, bowing his large bulk politely. Try to find a way to notify me of your leader’s condition as soon as you find out. “Aye, I shall.” With a smile twisting on his lip, he asked, “I ask that as a friend you search out Eventine and ensure he is and remains safe.” Inclining his head, the dragon agreed to do so. Satisfied, Hondira and Alaric flew away to Pugnaculum. Alaric sent Hondira the mental map he had previously used to find the sorcerer’s dark keep. Northö despises me, Alaric growled as they flew on their way to Pugnaculum. I’m not sure why, though. I really like Anäthen, though. He shan’t be so cold when he meets me, she snapped arrogantly. I won’t approve of it. Anäthen, I agree, seems like a fine elf. Did you tell him about the, er— possibility?—with Laurel? Alaric moaned. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t feel he deserved to know of my personal love life. He shrugged. As soon as we are done in Pugnaculum and have went to the Legion… I shall go straight to Laurel. Hondira merely smiled. She was considering scolding him, but she finally realized the truth of the matter—every other person had love, so why couldn’t he? We are near Pugnaculum. Already? He said, awed. Aye, she said excitedly. I flew twice as fast. He saw the keep once more and unsheathed Opulent and prepared a spell. He instructed Hondira to wait by the third floor window, where Halt was

being kept. Entering wearily, he saw the captain of the guards. “Attero!” Instantly, the guard’s blood poured all over, and he fell down immediately. Not in the mood to be messed with, he already had the spell ready for when Lynee approached him, were she there. He grinned broadly—no one else was there, or not going to show themselves. Running into the room, he saw Halt: he was pale and disoriented. The leader was eyeing him, puzzled. “Where am I, Alaric?” he demanded coldly. “Halt!” he yelled happily as he ran and hugged the Legion leader. “This is great news!” Then he retold what had happened since his inactive state, including the slaying of Dernden—and the truth about the traitor, Lynee, his own niece. He gaped as he learned the truth of Lynee. “Surprised, are we, ignorant uncle?” A girlish voice demanded as she entered the room. It was Lynee, alright. “How could you?” he insisted weakly. “Why?” She laughed coldly, shaking her head. “You’re no spellcaster—Uncle is. He taught me how to be a master at mind magics. He imbued various of my items with various spells: spells of protection, of teleportation to Pugnaculum, of many things.” Halt made a sorrowful sigh. “I can’t believe you.” “Atte—!” Alaric began, trying to cast the destroying spell on her, when Halt firmly intervened. “Don’t,” Halt warned brusquely, talking like he used to. “I shan’t see her slaughtered, rider.” A smile twisted on his face as he cast, “Congelo!” Immediately, Lynee was immobilized roughly. Curtly, Alaric said eyeing Halt, “She is deserving of death. She has stolen the elf Flame.” Warily, Alaric stumbled toward Lynee, pulling her satchel from her. He gaped. Halt’s memories weren’t there! He looked to Halt, who nodded—he immediately understood: Halt had already known about Lynee, he merely restated or confirmed it. He did, however, find the frozen elf Flame. Excitedly, he removed it from her satchel. Growling, he released the immobilization spell. “Surrender yourself, Lynee!” he demanded. “I, as a newly-elected elf lord, can get an official pardon for your acts so you shan’t be killed, merely imprisoned.” The lady chuckled unpleasantly. “Nay, I shan’t!” And then she touched something inside of her satchel, and disappeared instantly. She touched another imbued item and disappeared! Alaric cursed to Hondira. Eyeing Halt, he quickly scryed Anäthen, Obilježiti, and Zahod, explaining of what he had found. Then he had Hondira reach out to Opulent and she personally took care of informing the white dragon. “Come on, Halt. To Klettur we go!” Gingerly he opened the window to the room and he mounted Hondira, nodding for Halt to do likewise.

Two days later, when they finally arrived at Klettur, they entered and were immediately welcomed by a large, brilliant crimson banner that said welcome. Halt was busied by Warlord Obilježiti, and Alaric walked away dismally. Lènûm approached Alaric weakly. “I heard about Lynee,” he said softly, delicately. “I’m sorry.” The rider didn’t even look the magician in the eyes. Curtly, he replied, “Don’t be. It is a concern that extends to Hondira, but certainly not you.” Unperturbed by Alaric’s hostility and telling him to leave him be, he countered adamantly, “I know you loved her. It cannot be easy on you.” This time, Alaric Perdian looked him straight in the eyes. Alaric’s eyes portrayed a cold, infuriated fire burning within them. “Do not talk about things that are not your concern!” he roared. “I didn’t love her.” Lènûm glared at him mercilessly. “If you did not have intense feelings for her, then I am a joke and not a magician.” “It pains me to be informed you’re a joke,” he countered, not giving in. “But I had no feelings for her.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Ah, so I forgot,” the old magician replied. “I forgot of your love night with Laurel.” He froze, awed. How had the old magician been aware of his wonderful, flawless night with Laurel? Calmly, he demanded, “How do you know of Laurel?” “I never left your mind, Alaric.” Even as the magician said that, Alaric had evaluated his mind—four presences were lurking in it. His own, Hondira’s, Opulent’s—though distantly, and one he recognized as Lènûm’s. “How dare you!” he snarled. “You should have withdrawn yourself when you noticed me having—my time.” “Why?” he persisted. “If anything were to happen to you, I would have known.” In rage, Alaric shot a mental dagger to Lènûm’s mind in fury, but the magician craftily blocked it, erecting a thick wall to Alaric. Overcoming Alaric’s own boundaries, Lènûm sent calming emotions into the rider’s mind, trying to calm him and make him understand his reasoning. “Listen, Alaric,” he said softly, begging, “I needed to remain in your mind at all times. If you died, we would know where and why; if you lost consciousness, we could come and save you. Think, Alaric—please. I beg of you to reconsider your anger.” Alaric spun on Lènûm, about to punch him in the nose, when the magician said sharply, “This rage is uncalled for, Alaric!” Then he began to chant quietly, and moments later, he had successfully put the rider to sleep, hoping to ease his fury if he had time to sleep on it—forcibly or not.

When he awoke, he was in the tent he was in previously and Hondira brushed against his mind, explaining she was out hunting. The next day, Halt entered. “Alaric… I owe you.” Alaric looked down, although inside he was grinning. “Yes, you do,” he finally said, erupting in laughter. “It is a good thing to see you happy, grimly smiling, and leading the Legion once more.” His laughter subsided, but he was still beaming happily. “I have a few things to do, but I must leave soon. I have the elven Flame, which they greatly need.” Halt smiled knowingly. He exited the tent and reentered a moment later, carrying a fresh robe for him with an unfamiliar sigil on it. Beaming from ear to ear, he explained, “It is the symbol of the Order of Riders,” he explained, smiling. Alaric gaped, excited. “It is the sigil of Gens of Veho?” Smiling, Halt nodded. “Zahod, being an old elf, studied very highly and was alive during the Rider’s reign, so he knew of the symbol and drew it for our designers and they replicated it on the newly fashioned robe.” Pleasantly he took the robe from Halt and undressed—even with Halt in the room—and excitedly put in on. There was a shining golden embroidery on it. Strapping his belt around his waste, he said thankfully, “I appreciate this noble gift.” Bowing, he continued, “I must talk to Lènûm, get some provisions, and leave.” Nodding with understanding, Halt allowed Alaric to leave. Walking to the cave Lènûm was known to live in, he was pleased to see Lènûm there, but the magician didn’t seem pleased at all. He seemed pale and weakened. “Overtaking a rider’s conscious and then putting a spell on him, fighting his wards… isn’t easy, boy,” he said, his voice portraying endless hatred. “Bloody good you are,” he snarled. “Forgive me! I was rash and unfair.” And then he explained his reasoning and his side of the story, and Lènûm begrudgingly accepted his view of the story. The two talked and finally, Alaric departed from the cave. It was very dark now, so the rider did the only reasonable thing—he summoned forth light. “Lumen!” he roared as a sphere of emerald light appeared directly beside him. He said his good-byes to various other people, and then he and Hondira were on their way to Kaupunki.

Chapter 18 When in Kaupunki, the two were greeted warmly by Opulent. Resurrecting the Gens of Veho are we? “Halt had it added on a robe he gave to repay me,” Alaric replied, hugging the large dragon’s neck. Nonetheless, Opulent replied flatly, it is time you know of your ancestors—the Order. Hondira, you’re welcome to stay, or help the elves. I shall help the elves repair, Dominus Opulent, she spoke quietly, and then she left, approaching Lord Anäthen and explaining what she could and what she was willing to do. Opulent and Alaric walked into the forest, where Opulent begun the tale. Jaren and I were the first riders who openly opposed King Ianweg—ever. Over five decades, Ianweg magically created a magic female beast for Vel to mate with. It was not a dragon—it was an illusion; a magic beast. How it succeeded to make a real dragon egg, no one is sure, but it did. It and Vel produced twelve eggs. Under the command of the elf king, we invaded Festung Stadt. Ianweg was away, so we easily stole ten eggs. We could have stolen more, were it not for a dark sorcerer appeared—similar to Dernden, but more powerful and wicked. It began to summon dark, evil spirits. Taking the message, I and Jaren fled with the ten eggs. The sorcerer sent practically the whole Kingdom army against us, and none of it worked. We went directly to Klettur—it was closer than Kaupunki. In Klettur, we did as we were commanded—we were to find five human riders. Jaren put the five eggs on a pedestal, and many human Legion members were presented the eggs. Eventually, over a course of a decade, five human riders were selected. Jaren had them swear their loyalty in the language of magic, and then he put a part of his mind in their being, making them be in unbreakable loyalty to him. After the decade past, they stayed in Klettur for one more decade. Legion warrior and magicians trained the five newly inducted riders to the Order. After that decade past, the five rider and their dragons, Jaren and I went to Kaupunki. Putting the remaining five eggs on an alike pedestal, after nine years, the remaining five eggs had hatched. The human riders were being trained by the elves whilst this period was passing. After the five new elf riders were sworn into the Order, they trained with the Legion warriors and magicians for a decade. When that past, they returned to their home town and trained for a decade. After that period of time had past, Jaren had a strong Order of people behind him. The elf smith had forged each of the elven—counting Jaren—a rider sword. One of which you bear today, Opulentia. With the order of eleven riders—five humans, six elves—counting Jaren, they went and waged a war on the Kingdom. It lasted for only three years.

Ianweg hated it. He had one rider in his service—him. He tried to use dark spells and sorceries on the eggs, trying to get them to hatch for his evil folk, but the eggs remained strong and refused. Ianweg, being both the most competent magician and even a more competent sorcerer, separated himself with Vel. Vel fought the Gens of Veho with the dark sorcerer mounting him for a month. During that month, no one knew where or what King Ianweg was doing. However, it was apparent that Vel and the forsaken sorcerer were merely buying their master time. When the first month ended, Ianweg entered the battle, on the female magic beast. He had resurrected her being and quadrupled her power. Switching the sorcerer, he mounted Vel, whilst the sorcerer mounted the beast of sorceries. They were fighting in a distant continent: Jaren and Ianweg agreed on one thing in life—it wasn’t fair to fight on their continent. By doing so, it could risk the lives of innocent people. On an island continent, they warred and fought. By the third and final year, only eight—counting Jaren—of the Order was alive. The other had been slain by Vel and Ianweg. At the final year, the king had commanded for the sorcerer and the beast to leave. With Corruo in his right hand, with his left he cast a spell that paralyzed them all. With Destroyer in his wicked hands, he ran at the dragons, jabbing it into their hearts. With the blood pouring from them, he dismounted Vel, threw himself under the beast, and drank the blood. By drinking a dying dragon’s blood, his power was once more doubled. He did this until there was only Jaren and I and two other of the Order alive, and by that time, they had overcame his spell and found its focal point and won. Sensing how it would turn out, Ianweg remounted Vel, his lips dripping with dragon blood. After he drank the dragons blood, he had killed the rider with Corruo. He left. But even though some many argue it was a retreat of defeat, how might one say that? In one official battle, the Order already were losing. For three more centuries, the three—two humans and Jaren—lived in the Legion, training and leading rebellions. Occasionally, they flew into the Kingdom, campaigning from the skies, casting spells and laughing that Ianweg never left his castle after that particular battle. Opulent quit moving and finally lie down, tired. With his tale completed, he shut his eyes, but Alaric knew he didn’t go to sleep—it hurt the dragon to remember. “You mentioned there were twelve eggs,” he probed, “yet you already hatched, so you weren’t of the ten. So who were the other two?” With a flicker of amusement, Opulent replied softly, Hondira was one. She was, as you know, in the Kingdom city you lived in, and they intended to make you swear loyalty to the king, but that obviously turned against them. The dragon chuckled unpleasantly. And as for the remaining egg—a golden egg—no one knows. Ianweg works heavily to ensure it hatches soon, but only time shall tell. Only time shall tell.

Chapter 19 Luckily for the elvish survivors, the village hadn’t been touched. It was only the royal parts of Kaupunki were the battle occurred. As soon as Alaric had finished talking to Opulent, he ran full speed to Laurel’s hut. Entering without waiting for permission, he beamed up at her. “Hello,” Laurel replied, smiling tentatively. “I talked to a doctor today.” Alaric made a face. “Isn’t it a bit early to tell?” She glared at him impatiently, throwing her hands up in the air. “Once more you portray your ignorance of elves. As soon as a babe was potentially convinced, one may check. Elf babies are born in three months. They mature and form quickly,” she added, smiling wolfishly. Alaric was very surprised. He hadn’t heard about elf babies only taking three months. While that could be a good thing, it could also be a very bad thing. If King Ianweg attacked again, the baby could die. Alaric couldn’t bear that. He finally said with a smile, “That’s great. Soon we shall have a babe between us.” She could tell he was very uncomfortable about talking about it, so she dropped the subject. Looking at his very nice looking robe, she ventured, “Resurrecting the Order?” she said, hopefully. Despite himself, he grinned broadly. “Nay!” he yelled playfully. “Halt had these robes made for me and the Gens of Veho sigil on it, representing a new era of riders.” He frowned, thoughtfully. He continued, “However, an order of riders wouldn’t necessarily be so bad, but—” “But,” she finished for him, “the only egg is in Ianweg’s control. And two riders would hardly be a very… enforcing order.” She was right, and he knew it. He had considered talking to Hondira and Opulent about thinking of reproduction between the two—despite the fact that Hondira was very young while Opulent was very old, dragon offspring were needed badly by the Legion. But he decided it would be rude to ask his master to produce with Hondira, so he didn’t bother mentioning it to Laurel. Wearily, she said, “Well, go on. Be a rider. Save us all.” By the end, she was rolling her eyes at him, but he smiled. Alaric bowed mockingly and exited Laurel’s hut. Approaching Anäthen, he muttered, “Where is Eventine?” Lord Anäthen looked worried. He shook his head sadly. “He was located. And he was dead.” He sighed sorrowfully. “The Kingdom succeeded.” As he looked at the sigil, an elf approached him. Looking dismal, the elf said flatly, “And so the odds are shifted. Kingdom: Two riders. Legion: A rider and a dragon.” “Speak again?” the two demanded furiously.

“Was I not plain enough?” the elf snapped sharply, ignoring the fact the two outranked him immeasurably. “A new rider is among us.” He glared at Alaric. “Dismissed,” Alaric said coldly. As he looked at Anäthen, he knew this was horrible. Alaric couldn’t take on Ianweg, and especially not a rider who will be trained by Ianweg! Reluctantly, Anäthen asked inquisitively, “We must identify at once who the rider is, Alaric. At once.” He nodded peacefully. “I could not agree more. Hondira and I shall go immediately and locate this rider.” Lord Anäthen smiled weakly. “I’m coming too, rider.” He wasn’t asking— he was telling him that he was going along. “You may be strong”—here he looked down, making it obvious he knew Alaric was not—“but I am stronger. I’m older, wiser, and I’m an elf. An elf, a dragon, and a Halfling should be an interesting match for a new rider and dragon, Alaric.” He will slow us down, Hondira growled. But he’s giving us no choice, obviously. He’s a lord, too. If he weren’t—and weren’t so kind—I would tell him no. But he’s my equal and polite, so I shan’t reject him. Sighing audibly, he said, “Very well, milord. We shall leave in an hour.” Anäthen left to go notify the other lord. Entering Eventine’s halls, he was pleased to see his armor and Hondira’s. Putting her massive armor on her, he then put his chain mail and plate legs over his robe. Adjusting his belt, he existed the halls, pleased to see Anäthen dressed in a breastplate and platelegs. Great, she said sourly. He’s wearing even more weight! Growling as the two mounted her, she finally took off and headed to Festung Stadt. She couldn’t fly nearly as fast, nor as efficiently—but she flew nevertheless. By nightfall, she had reached the capital city of the Kingdom. Anäthen wisely pointed ahead—right to a gigantic golden dragon. Alaric whimpered. “How did a hatchling grow so quickly?” he roared, not bothering to remain silent. Anäthen seemed as surprised—and nervous—as Alaric. “Ianweg’s dark sorceries would be my guess.” He groaned. “This shall be interesting.” Sitting atop the golden monstrosity was a warrior wearing golden armor, which went very well considering his dragon was gold. The rider stood up, unsheathing a bright gold rider’s sword. Alaric was infuriated—how had the king had a sword forged for the rider? “Well, well, well!” the loud voice of the mysterious rider roared, as he stood up. He wore simple golden chain mail, golden platelegs, a golden helmet, and had his golden rider’s sword in his right hand. “I wondered when you would come and meet me, O Rider.” “I’m glad I was of service to you,” Alaric snarled. Anäthen hid—he didn’t want the other rider to notice the elf just yet.

Chuckling brusquely, the rider continued tauntingly, “Guess who I am, Rider. Guess!” Alaric’s first guess was Lynee, but the voice was definitely that of a male, so he knew it simply was not the traitor lady. He asked Hondira, but she had no idea, either. “Clueless,” he replied, giving in. “I am Maxedous.” The way he announced it, it was if the name was supposed to mean something to Alaric—it didn’t. “You’ve not heard of me?” he roared furiously. He shook his head honestly. “Nay, rider.” Silently, he wasn’t so sure he even wanted to know. “I am a spellcaster most people fear!” he snapped sharply. Alaric grinned. “Sorry to disappoint.” Imbuing a destroying spell on Opulentia, he commanded Hondira to get close enough to fight the rider with his sword, while still on Hondira. The mysterious man Maxedous grinned broadly. Alaric made a quick fling of his arm toward the man, but the gold rider immediately dedicated the pre-imbued spell and deflected the blade by erecting a mental ward around him. He’s strong! Alaric roared mentally to Anäthen, not wanting to reveal the elf’s presence to the opposing rider. I noticed, the lord snapped. He is a spellcaster most fear, apparently, he added dryly. I’m not sure what to do. I know Ianweg has maximized his power, Alaric. This could be dangerous. “Attero!” Alaric roared, casting the spell from his left hand. “Ignis!” the golden rider hollered. The spell of destroying and that of fire clashed into the middle, dissipating into nothing. He smiled broadly. “You see, even the simplest spells can do wonders when your powers are energized by a darker force.” Alaric eyed the golden dragon beneath Maxedous. It had shining red eyes. At once, the dragon lunged at Hondira, and she accidentally flung him off of her; he was now on the golden dragon, face-to-face with Maxedous. The rider didn’t even see Anäthen, hanging on for his life on Hondira. “Surrender,” Maxedous said coolly. He won’t hurt you! Hondira bellowed. He wants us safe—Ianweg does, I should say. Two riders in his control would be simply fabulous. “Never,” Alaric spat. “Pity.” Unsheathing his golden rider’s sword—Nex—he smiled at Alaric. “Do you know what Nex means?” His throat dry, Alaric replied softly, “Death.” Maxedous smiled, seeming pleased. “Indeed it is.” Nex was next to Alaric’s throat a second later, too quick for Alaric to even react. Lord Anäthen began to chant vigorously—no one was sure what he was casting, but it was evident he was casting a strong spell. Lazily, the rider erected a ward around himself and his golden dragon, not seeing the spell as a threat.

A bolt of red energy penetrated the ward, knocking Maxedous right off of the dragon. Nex fell from his hand, falling the other direction. Snapping at Anäthen, he instructed, “Get his sword!” Shoving the elf off Hondira in the direction of Nex, Alaric hopped off of the golden dragon, following Maxedous. “Levitas!” He roared, and emerald lightning left his palm as they fell from the sky. The rider was losing consciousness, though very slowly. As he was falling, Alaric registered exactly what the rider had said—energized by a darker force. Losing energy, Alaric quickly bellowed, “Orior oriri ortus!” Immediately, Alaric shot back up in the air. Looking down, he saw exactly what Maxedous had meant—there was a darker force energizing him. Releasing the spell hastily, the rider flung himself down from the sky towards the darker force—a gigantic, black spirit with fiery red eyes. Meanwhile, the two dragons were fighting, exchanging large blasts of flame. As he flung the fiery spirit to the ground, he noticed it seemed to be in pain. He hoped that with his pain, it would sever his mental connection with Maxedous. The Lord Anäthen had Nex in his hand. He bellowed for Alaric to switch —the elf lord threw himself onto the spirit and began to cast spells and stab it. Alaric chanted the flight spell and then after he was directly above Maxedous, he released it, tumbling on top of him. The rider quickly stood up and pointed Opulentia at Maxedous. The golden rider merely smiled sadly. As Alaric went to send Opulentia to Maxedous’ neck, the rider lazily erected a mental ward, which caught Alaric off guard, making him drop his rider’s sword. “What!” Alaric said sharply, infuriated that even with the spirit being occupied and Hondira being occupied with the dragoness, he could still remain very powerful—he was even newer to the rider business than Alaric, yet much stronger. With a pale smile on his lips, Maxedous explained, “I told you—I’m a Kingdom renowned spellcaster.” He shook his head sadly. “Even with the spirit heavily occupied, all of its energy is flowing through my veins. Plus…” He looked down, as if pondering whether or not he should tell Alaric. Figuring it would hurt the Legion rider’s ego, Maxedous added coolly, “Plus, at the battle where the Order were slain… You know how Ianweg was thought to have drank the dragons blood?” He grinned broadly. “He did—but not all. For two of the dragons, he had their blood seep into a vial, which he had me drink two days ago when Thya hatched for me.” Alaric had to admit—it did explain why the rider was so infinitely powerful. With the spirit’s help, with the blood help, and with Ianweg’s additional help, Maxedous should be extremely powerful, which, unfortunately, he was.

Slyly, Alaric began to quietly mutter a spell, and as he was about to say the last syllable, he found his mind being attacked by an extremely powerful entity. He immediately recognized the force as Maxedous’ and went to enter his mind, when Maxedous attacked out harshly and then immobilized the rider’s mind and body. Impatiently, the enemy rider demanded, “So, Alaric—do you wish to swear allegiance to the Kingdom, or go to Ianweg, spit in his face, and be devoured alive?” With his mind immobilized, the rider couldn’t even bother replying. Hondira noticed Alaric’s mind being shut up, so she immediately threw Thya off of her and flew full speed to Maxedous. Picking Maxedous up violently with hr claws, she demanded, Release the spell, rider! NOW! She roared mentally, not liking the enemy rider hurting Alaric. “No!” Maxedous snapped. He began to chant loudly and a moment later, Hondira’s claws were on fire. Weakly and in rage, she threw Maxedous so fast that the rider fell and landed on his arm. Shockingly enough, he didn’t break anything—yet. Now that Thya was free from Hondira, she quickly flew and Maxedous mounted her eagerly. “Until next time, weaklings!” And then the two flew off. Lord Anäthen was fighting the spirit one minute—and then it disappeared as soon as the rider left. After an hour straight of loud chanting, the spell finally left Alaric alone and he regained mobilization. “Let’s go,” Alaric growled sadly.

Chapter 20 Alaric was infuriated. Were it not for the elf lord’s assistance, they— Hondira and he—would have suffered under a new rider. He had no real, strong magic tutor: he had to teach himself, studying ancient scrolls of magic. After Lord Anäthen left, he and Hondira went straight to the rider’s quarters. At that point, the rider had no desire to see Laurel—he didn’t want to admit his failure. Wearily, he undressed himself and put on a silky pajama robe and lie down on his bed, reading magic scrolls. Hondira left and flew to go find some food elsewhere. Flipping through the ancient documents, he really didn’t find anything that would help him against Maxedous. Growling as someone knocked on the door, he barked loudly, “WHAT!” In strutted Lord Northo and Lord Anäthen; Anäthen shot Alaric a warning look, telling him to watch how he acted to the other elf lord. Glowering, Northo said sharply, “I do not appreciate being yelled out.” Shaking his head, he continued, “We are evacuating.” Alaric spun around instantly, looking Anäthen square in the eyes. “Who authorized this, elf!” Boldly, Northo retorted, “The two of us did.” The rider laughed coldly, glaring at them both. “Unfortunately I too have a say as a rider and as a lord, Northo.” Alaric now understood why Lord Anäthen looked worried and warning: he was afraid to see how the Halfling would react to knowing the elf lord made an authorization without consulting him. Sighing, Anäthen said softly, “It has already been sounded and made known. We’re merging with the forest city of Wald. The elves are already preparing to leave, Alaric.” The rider shook his head in disbelief. His own friend—or, so he thought— had betrayed his trust. The rider was already furious there was another rider, and that he had lost; now the only elf friend he had—save Laurel—was betraying him. Shaking his head, the rider said indifferently, “Do as you wish. I’m going to Klettur.” Walking away in fury, he called mentally for Hondira. Putting on a warm cape around his pajama robe, Alaric put on his belt and mounted her. As they were about to leave, Opulent appeared and said warningly, Calm yourself, Rider! It is what is for the best. Alaric didn’t even listen to Opulent. He tried to block out the dragon’s consciousness, but the other dragon was too strong. “And I am doing what is best, Opulent. Do not try to stop me.” Go! He snapped to Hondira mentally. Unwillingly, Hondira sent a pleading look to Opulent and flew away. But she wasn’t going to Klettur—it appeared she was just flying.

Shaking her bulk of a head, she said scolding, You need to control yourself, Alaric. Alaric glared into the air. I am, Hondira—they got what they deserved. I am a lord. I am a rider. Even if it I wasn’t one of the two, I would still have a say in such an important thing! Shaking his head, he continued, If the Gens of Veho were still organized and together, I could have stripped them of their lordship for not consulting me! Hondira merely sighed dismally. She knew he was infuriated about losing to Maxedous, and being ignored and undermined by his equals didn’t please him. She said flatly, What was is no longer. Alaric shook his head. “No, really,” he replied coldly. As he saw the elves walking away—some on elf horses, some merely walking—to the city of Wald, he also something that made him so furious: the golden rider was very near Kaupunki. Opulent, Hondira whispered, the golden rider and his beast are near Kaupunki. Ending her thoughts with the white dragon, she spoke directly to Alaric, We must not let them see us. But Alaric’s pride wouldn’t permit that. “Levitas!” A large blast of emerald lightning exploded from his palm, hitting the rider in his golden armor and merely bouncing off, leaving him uninjured. Maxedous wasn’t sure where they were, but he now knew he had successfully found the elf territory. “Unda!” The enemy rider roared, sending a blast of yellow water shooting towards Alaric. “Navitas!” Alaric countered, sending a large blast of emerald energy toward the water. Instead of dissipating into nothing, the two spells merged together as Maxedous muttered something—that combined them—and they shot powerfully at Alaric, knocking him off of Hondira. Roaring a spell, Nex appeared in Maxedous’ hand. He had cast a powerful enchantment that took the spell from Anäthen and returned it to him. Hondira wove down to get him, and then as she did, Thya pounced. Sending large blasts of golden fire, the golden dragoness fought Hondira. Before Alaric could cast the flight spell, or before Hondira could remove Thya so she could save the Halfling rider, he fell and hit the ground—hard. Blood seeped from his head and he immediately lost consciousness. Hondira and Thya battled furiously, and Maxedous cast painful spells at Alaric’s dragon. In Hondira’s mind, she could sense Opulent nearing. Be careful, Opulent. Alaric lost consciousness and is bleeding terribly. I’m not able to able him: the pair keep—She stopped immediately, noticing someone on Opulent. Laurel. Opulent! She bellowed in rage, She’s pregnant! How could you?

Calmly, he flew to Alaric and Laurel erected a ward that blocked Maxedous’ futile attempts to injure her. Opulent replied craftily, I had no choice. She was insistent on coming, so I allowed her to. Hondira knew she could not let Laurel get hurt: if she did, Hondira was very afraid of how Alaric may react. Sinking her claws into Thya and then sending fire into the other dragon’s eyes, she flung Maxedous very far away from them. With no one but the dragoness, Hondira thought she could take the golden dragoness—and she was wrong. Thya got the emerald dragon’s claws out of her and reeled back. A millisecond later, she sent thousands of blasts of yellow flame one right after the other at Hondira. She was burnt very badly. Sending one last fatal blast, she, too fell from the sky, losing consciousness. “Orior oriri ortus!” the voice of Maxedous screamed. He shot up in the sky and mounted Thya. Maxedous yelled, “Navitas!” at Laurel. And Thya attacked Opulent when the dragon was unsuspecting. The two flew into the sky and battled, whilst Maxedous took Laurel. The ward was very weak and crumbled as the spell reached the invisible, magic boundaries. Grimacing, the petite elf attempted to resurrect a more powerful one when Maxedous snapped, “Don’t.” He then bowed theatrically, roaring, “Prolixus incendia!” Laurel glared hatefully at the enemy of the Legion. She didn’t bother to defend herself as the spell burnt her immeasurably. Touching the wound, she closed her eyes and chanted quietly. It was a spell that extracted all of the spell’s energy and converted it into her own energy stream. When she felt she had enough of the spell’s energy in her own, she hollered girlishly, “Levitas!” Maxedous dramatically blocked the spell by reinforcing his magical boundaries. With his boundaries intact, Laurel’s counterspell would not end until the boundary’s magic subsided. As long as Maxedous could maintain that particular ward, then Laurel would eventually die from exhaustion from the inability to end the spell. Laurel pleaded softly, “I am with child, Veho.” She shook her head weakly. “Please—let me leave in peace.” Sighing theatrically, he dipped his head down and up immediately. In a wise voice, he stated, “The rider’s child, to be precise.” The petite elf merely shrugged her sad shoulders. She knew it would have been foolish to lie to the smart rider. Growling, she said, “Aye, Veho. The baby is Alaric’s. Please, release this spell. It’s crushing me.” She began to reach to her surroundings to get more energy to keep the spell—and her being—going for a little longer until she could persuade Maxedous to end it. The golden rider glowered at her. “You’re little self-pity act won’t work with me, girl,” he snapped.

At that moment, he felt Thya be in severe pain, and his mind wavered. At that moment, Laurel exerted extreme pressure on the rider’s mind. She then cast loudly, “Ignis!” The enemy rider fell down as the elf put painful pressure on the rider’s mental boundaries. Enraged, the rider re-strengthened his mental boundaries, forcing her out. In his common dramatic tone, he snapped, “Girl, stay out of my mind.” Sweat fell down his chin wearily. “Attero!” Laurel’s mind couldn’t take it. From the extremity of the rider’s force in her mind, from the spells—especially the destroying spell—she felt the baby be on the brink of death. Glaring painfully at her, she roared, “Levitas! Navitas!” She wasn’t surrendering yet—her baby wasn’t completely gone, yet. He laughed, which made her jump. It was a cold, harsh laughter. “Humus!” he bellowed. Everything made that was composed of earth—boulders, the dirt, the trees, everything—shot at the elf, encasing her. Satisfied with the rider’s temporary prison he made for Laurel, he could hear her screaming and bellowing weakly. Trying the spell again, he cast, “Attero!” It worked. All of the earth—the boulders, the dirt, the trees—that had encased her flew in every which of direction. The girl’s blood flew all over. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. And, like most of the elves, she shriveled into a flame and died, leaving just her black ashes. Meanwhile, Opulent noticed Laurel’s presence leave his mind— completely. Worriedly, he bit into Thya and swung her as hard as he could, throwing her very far away. Flying hastily to the evil rider, he was very sad and disturbed. Laurel wasn’t there… but black elf ashes were. Dipping his teeth into the rider and burning his shoulder, Opulent demanded in a threatening manner, What did you do to her!? Calmly and dramatically, he bowed and then said in a fake sympathetic voice, “What is done is done. Let us not dwell on the past.” Opulent growled loudly, so he worriedly continued, “She threatened and attacked me and posed a potential threat, so I removed her.” In his old, wise, and booming voice, the dragon roared, How dare you! She was the mother of the rider’s child! And she’s an elf. Losing his theatrical and cool side, the golden rider snapped impatiently, “Dragon, hush. I—just stop. The elf is dead, I am alive. Simple.” Opulent lunged to the enemy rider. Roughly, Maxedous cast his spell once more than burnt a dragon’s feet. In rage, Opulent launched Maxedous away from him—on the opposite side of where he threw Thya. By time Opulent had launched the Kingdom rider, Lord Anäthen ran in, roaring out spells that even the dragon had no idea. After a moment, Opulent realized that the elf lord was trying to heal Alaric’s wounds and Hondira’s.

Thya groaned in pain and in self-pity as she wove down for Maxedous. The enemy rider wearily mounted the golden dragon and they left Kaupunki.

Chapter 21 Zahod, the elf envoy, wasn’t so pleased. In his one-week reign, he had become accustomed to power—to the throne. And then when Warlord Obilježiti and Lord Halt returned, the elf was removed of his temporary post. He begrudgingly went to a pool and scryed King Eventine, but it wouldn’t work. The elf tried many different scrying spells, but none worked. It was as if the king had erected a ward preventing him from scrying him. Unless… unless he was dead. Zahod shook his head weakly. The king couldn’t have died… could he? Immediately scrying Lord Northo—for he was the king’s chancellor—he saw the elf exiting the city of Kaupunki. Zahod felt very dizzy. What had happened? His own city looked completely horrid! “Northo!” he roared. “What occurred?” The chancellor made a wary face. He hadn’t located the voice. After considering who it could be, Northo remembered it must have been a scrying spell. Replaying the voice in his mind, he recognized it as Zahod’s. “Zahod!” the lord replied, faking sympathy. “You missed much. Only Anäthen and I survived out of the lords.” The elf envoy gaped. “Alaric died?” Making an impatient noise, he shook his head. “I don’t consider him a lord,” he retorted calmly. “He is a Veho—” “—and he was made a lord by Eventine.” Remembering that Eventine couldn’t be scryed, the elf asked the dreaded question. Flatly, the chancellor told him the king was dead and explained all that had occurred—from them moving to Wald, and every single event. “Lord Anäthen fled back to Kaupunki, for some odd reason. He refused to tell me why.” In fury, the envoy released the spell. The Legion hadn’t even been told of the siege on Kaupunki! Walking slowly to the vitez’s tent. He held the Dalen Plainsmen knight to the highest regard. Wearily as he bounded into the tent, he talked to Sčepati about what he had learned from the chancellor. The vitez shook his head. “They didn’t even tell us?” “No,” Zahod snapped. “Nor that my own king died!” He shook his head. “The elves services won’t be offered. Lord Northo is a heartless man—he’s the king’s chancellor. Northo’s father was Enel’s cousin. The lord is distantly related to the king.” The knight made a quizzical face. “Why is the elf so harsh to the Legion cause, Zahod?”

The elf chuckled unpleasantly, shaking his head sadly. “If only I knew, if only I knew.” Warily, Zahod left the tent and went to the warlord’s tent. Retelling the Dalen Plainsmen chieftain of what they neglected to tell him, Obilježiti made a cold face, telling the elf to be quiet. It was said that two dragons—an emerald and a white—were flying over Klettur and landed. Running out, Zahod said, “Oh. It’s only Hondira and Opulent.” “Who the heck is…” the warlord paused, glaring at the envoy. “You mean to tell me the legendary dragon is alive!” Zahod looked to the ground, nervously. Inclining his head with finality, he replied, “Aye. He is.” Then he noticed there was a rider on top of Opulent. “It also appears Anäthen is on him, and Alaric is on top of Hondira, but the Halfling appears to be unconscious.” Warlord Obilježiti stormed from the tent and looked the white dragon square in the eyes, furious. “The Legion is thankful you notify us you’re alive, Dragon.” Coldly, Opulent bit back, You’re welcome. Bowing his head coldly, he replied, There are more important things to talk about. “Such as?” Such as how to defeat the Rider Maxedous and his beast Thya; such as how to prevent Ianweg and Vel from returning to Kaupunki and taking over, this time in full battle armor and ready to fight. This time… this time, we have to be ready. But will we be? Opulent inquired, finished his thoughts. End of Dragon, Rider, Mentor