Hollow Atraxia

The sign read “Fen Village”, it was painted on in deep black. The wood of the sign was weathered, belying the sense of new from the painted words. It stood on two posts in front of the crumbling stone wall that was opposite of the road to the actual village. Here was where the paved road began, a separate stretch branching off into the village while Fen Road disappeared out of sight to the North. It intrigued him, the village. He had been used to ruins like the temple. But, even while the other men passed the sight of the village by as less than normal, Octair stopped to stare.

He was careful not to reveal his awe at what seemed to the men to be ‘a mediocre village’. But a feeling he had never felt before welled up within his heart, it lifted his head and straightened his back. It put a small smile on his lips, and the fire back in his eyes. Pride. Not pride for anything he’d done, but rather for what his fellow men had done. They could create such wonderful things with their lives, things that had been long destroyed in his past. So he felt pride, for his fellow humans, he felt pride that the world was doing quite fine.

The wagon train was camped just outside the village, with minimal guards set to watch over it. It was only noon, but they were to spend until tomorrow morn here. Just about all of the men were in the village, which could almost be called a city in of itself. Tradition, going by what his fellow Royal Guard members said, deemed that they stayed in only the best inn for the night, and buy only the best ale. And those two things could only be found at Fen Inn; not the only inn and tavern in the village, but the largest and the highest of quality.

Alone, he walked through the streets of the village. There was one main street, paved directly to the center of the village. It was the busiest and the largest. At the very center of the village was the monument, a large stone tablet taller than any man with words engraved on it. HERE STANDS THE FINAL MOMENTS OF KING FEN was the only part of it easy to make out. The rest of the words which continued to fill most of the space on the table were somewhat small and read of various unimportant things. Mostly it was about the life of the king Fen. Surrounding the monument was a circle of houses, most of them had two stories with windows overlooking what could only be the market ‘square’. And a market was what it was, for all around there were vendors of different types and carts filled with different things, and different people haggling over a variety of items. The constant noise of everyone in the village made it impossible for him to make out anything of what the people were saying unless he stood a few feet away. He himself browsed the wares of the market square, never stopping for too long as he made his away around.

It wasn’t until he came upon a shop with many different clothes hung in display did he pull his coin purse out and think of buying. His armor was well and good, and would be for some time until he could afford better, but he also needed plain clothes. Especially if he were to match suit with the Princess. That though confused him immediately, he didn’t think he had any desire to be with Vivien. Even more so since she was someone of royalty, and he a mere mercenary. He shook his head to himself, he was getting too comfortable with the ways of this world.

Instead of turning away though, Octair entered the shop which filled out the entire first floor of the building. Immediately a small man, bowing his head and clasping his hands, approached him. “Welcome sir, I see you are in need of… fine clothing.” Octair, honest to himself, had no idea what he was doing. So no matter how full of remarks the man was he would gladly take his help. “Yes, I do need… something. Plain clothes. I’m not sure what to wear though… or buy.”

For a moment the man seemed to size him up, looking over him this way and that, sometimes even fiddling with the clothes he wore. “Hm. Yes, well. A gold mark, nothing less, and I’ll go about measuring your fit. There’s need for assurance that you can pay, you see…” Before the man had even finished speaking Octair had pulled out his coin purse and held out one gold coin. He immediately took it, never showing any surprise at the jingle in Octair’s purse, but he felt as if the man was ripping him off. One gold mark though, was only one of fourteen in his purse.

Before long the man had Octair’s armor off, even with much reluctance on Octair’s part, the man seemed to be pulling off his armor and and clothes as if it were his business. Though, he supposed it was. At one point, as Octair had handed him the last of everything but his breeches, the man carefully eyed the few clothes Octair had with extreme interest. Bewilderment, Octair thought it was, and he could guess why. The clothes he had worn were subtly different from those of any he had yet seen in this world. Not much different, but to the trained eye of the tailor it made all the difference. He didn’t remark though, not until he turned back to Octair and saw him in his whole, without the covering of all his clothes. His skin, bare, showing the testament of his past. Then the man suddenly got a strangely soft look in eyes, and smiled a very gentle smile as he patted Octair’s shoulder. He thought he heard him mumble, “poor boy…” but it was too quiet for him to make out.

Soon after that Octair was once again fully armored and on his way down the street. The man hadn’t asked for more money, and instead assured Octair that he would have his new clothes brought to him tonight. Octair hadn’t bothered to ask how he knew where he’d be tonight.

The village was a lively place, more than anything he could have imagined. And the experiences of the village were by far more than anything he had read. It was a large place, yet at the same time very small. He continued walking until he found himself at the edge of the forest, on a dirt trail that was the boundary between village life and forest dwelling. The forest seemed comparatively dark from where he stood in the light of the open village, giving more sway to the separation of the two. And it was the dark of the forest, strangely enough, that called to him with gentle voices.

“You can stand there all ya like,” chirped a voice nearby. He turned to stare at the source, an elderly woman in rag clothing even worse for wear than his own, standing at the entrance to a hovel at the edge of town. It was the only hovel, he noticed, that was facing towards the forest and not away from it. “Pray, just don’t go in. Silly beasts know enough not to eat ya where ye stand, but take one foot in those woods and mark me good, they’ll gobble you right up!” After what could only be a warning, the woman ducked back inside her hovel, shutting the door tightly behind her. He turned back to the forest, again feeling a longing for it as the darkness materialized in his sight.

But he wasn’t eager to return to a world like that of which he came, so instead he stepped away and made his direction back towards the center of town. It was at the inn he would find the pleasure of company he sought, the warmth of friends and of fire. He never looked back at the forest, and he never saw the glaring eyes watching him from the darkness as he strode away.

The Fen Inn wasn’t hard to find, just like the men had made it sound, it was the largest building in the entire town. It was still only two stories high, but the building stood on a corner and walking around it one could see the vastness of it. There was a main entrance on one side of the corner, where the tavern obviously sat, and on the other was a side entrance with the stable. The entire inn was the size of eight large houses put together. And, judging by the number of windows, had a great deal many rooms. It was indeed worthy of a princess staying here.

Rather than enter the bustling tavern where the main entrance to the inn lay, he chose the side entrance and found himself in the stables. It was packed with horses, one in almost every stall out of a long row of stalls, and they nickered and eyed him suspiciously as he passed by the front of them. The men who rode horseback during the journey, many of them Royal Guardsmen, hadn’t been permitted to let their horses in the town. Instead they were cared and watched over by servants in the outlying field, as much of a field as it could be with all of the trees. Octair had seen the princess ride horseback into town upon a gilded horse, only four other men had accompanied her on horseback and one of them had been Larro. She had been wearing her leather armor, but still managed to look noble, and the people of the town had noticed, bowing or cheering as she passed.

As Octair passed a stall he noticed a beautiful horse, and on the railing of the stall was a gilded saddle. The princess’s horse, he recognized it to be, which meant she was already inside. Not a surprise, she had ridden the horse here after all. He approached the stall and watched as the horse gradually sauntered over to him. When he held out his hand to pet the horse affectionately he was interrupted by a small rustle above him. Immediately his hand went to his sword, but he didn’t unsheathe it as he stepped back to peer up at the face of a child. The boy was laying in the hayloft above the princess’s horse, a lopsided grin on his face. “Oi, sir. The punishment for horse-thieving be death here, you know. But I s’pose if you were willin to risk your life for just any horse it might as well be her Highness’s.”

Octair lowered his hand from his sword and went back to the stall with the princess’s horse, ignoring the boy as he dropped down beside him. The horse gratefully accepted the hand that pet it.

“Uwah, sorry sir, guess you not be a thief. That horse knows you, alright. Wouldn’t even approach me when I offered friendship. That there horse is mighty trained, fer sure. Pardon me for askin, sir, but you don’t much look like one of the soldiers, but yer wearin armors like one?”

Octair was having a hard time discerning if that had even been a question, but shook his head before saying he was a mercenary hired to the princess.

“That explains it, then. So you’ll be stayin here like the rest of them? Just make sure ol’ Brolly knows yer one of ‘em or it’ll cost it ya double.”

“Where can I find him?”

“He ain’t hard to spot, sir, he’s mighty wide if you know what I mean, wears a greasy apron like I figure every innkeeper does, and the only hair on his head is his beard. You’ll find him right good.”

Octair nodded his thanks to the boy and walked to the door that lead into the inn. When he looked back, the boy was still at the princess’s stall, gazing at the horse within.

Immediately inside he was confronted by a few choices as to where to go. To his right he could hear clangs and noises of a kitchen, he could smell the meats they were cooking as well, making his mouth water in appetite. To his left were a set of stairs leading to the second floor. But the tone of a lute caught and held his attention from directly ahead. With it were many voices, some of them singing, some of them cheering and yelling, amidst it all were many other sounds. But he heard only the lute, and his heart skipped a beat as he took a step forward towards the noise. First, the sight of many men came into view. It was a large common room, with a dozen large wooden tables scattered about and benches along the walls, with chairs everywhere. Serving girls fluttered about, bearing food and cups to the men who sat at the tables. When the entire common room came into view he saw the small platform at the very front and his eyes rose to the man playing the lute. His heart sank as he looked upon the face of the man, not recognizing him for a friend he thought he was.

It was silly of him, he realized, hoping for a friend to be here, to be alive. Him being here was miracle enough, but a second was too much to hope for. The lute was different from the one he had seen his friend play, but still a lute with it’s oval shape and strings to play by. The man thrummed the strings, producing a steady tune by which some of the men in the common room, mostly those that had a mite too much to drink, were singing a song to. They weren’t very good at it, but it lightened the atmosphere in the inn and put a smile on every face.

And at the very center of it all was Elk. The large man stood out in a crowd, easily a few heads taller than anyone. He had his own cup, which was frothing over as he swung it this way and that in good cheer. He didn’t sing though and Octair decided that might be a good thing.

The boy had been right about the innkeeper, although not a spectacularly outstanding man to spot, he did, nonetheless, stand out. With his bald head and short, scruffy beard he could have been taken as any other of the men in the tavern. Except he was the only person here who was rather… large. And not in a muscular way, his stomach bulged out over his belt and was even more notable by his apron that hung off of it and never touched his legs. Octair met the man close to another door to the kitchen, which was fittingly large for the inn. There the man stood, arms crossed, smiling at the patrons to his establishment. He had noticed Octair approach, and turned to him as he closed the distance. “What can I do for ya?”

Octair turned his head and eyed the common room, thinking of his options. He remembered what the boy had said and started with, “I’m another soldier in the Royal Guard, staying the night here like all the rest.”

The innkeeper eyed him dubiously. “That don’t look like no standard wear for a Royal Guard. How can I be sure you’re not just swindling me for a discount?”

He frowned for a moment before his eyes came to rest on Elk, who was still merrily drinking. The happiest he had seen him since he had met him. Octair pointed to Elk, and with Elk’s size it was only too obvious who it was he was pointing to. “Elk, there, can vouch for me if you’d like.”

For a moment the innkeeper stared intently at him, frowning in consternation before suddenly laughing loudly. “Aye! Elk? I’ve known the giant almost all me life! That you even know his name proves everything just fine. It’ll be four silver for everything ye need, you don’t have to pay the full gold. I’ll get ya a fine room upstairs for ya.” He whistled loudly, which was impressive given his stature, and waved. A servant girl hustled over quickly, “show this fine lad to the baths, when he’s done show him on up to his own room.” The servant girl smiled up at him, it was a weak smile showing her exhaustion from working with such a busy inn. But he smiled back and followed her as she led him back down the hall, stopping midway to open a door for him to go through. “This is the entrance to the baths,” she spoke in a small voice, “the next room has all you need, leave your things in this room, please. When you’re done I’ll show you to your room.” She left then, closing the door behind her, leaving Octair alone in the room. There was another door opposite to the one he came in, where he suspected the baths to be. The room he was currently in wasn’t very large, but had wooden benches built into the wall all around.

Octair sighed with acceptance as he removed his sword and laid it on the bench, then began removing all other clothes. Uncomfortably naked, he felt vulnerable as any man should be without a weapon, and opened the second door. Steam assaulted him as he entered into the second room. It covered his skin with warm moisture, making him even more uncomfortable. This room was much larger than the other. Seven copper tubs were lined up against the farther wall, already full with steaming water. To his right, the wall that held the door he came through had stools lined up with wooden shelves in front holding soap and brushes, along with a bucket of similarly hot water by the stool. It was to his left that he noticed another servant. The boy was without a shirt, and he looked up at Octair from where he sat on the floor. His mouth opened, as if in surprise, before he quickly looked away.

Octair looked upon the boy, his skin clear and without any noticeable scarring. He smiled to himself, thinking that that was the way it should be. He went to one of the stools first, and there he began a diligent washing. Using both the soap and a brush, he scrubbed away a weeks worth of grime before dumping the contents of the bucket over his head. He held no embarrassment for washing in the company of another, even when that company stole glances at him when he thought he wouldn’t notice. The water of the bath was hot, but not impractically so. He allowed himself a small sigh of enjoyment as he sank into the water, dunking his head once before relaxing. It was a surprise the room wasn’t full, with the number of men staying the night at the inn.

After a while the water became lukewarm and his skin pruned, he decided then it was time enough for relaxing. The servant boy was still doing his best to look away as Octair got out of the tub and made his way to the door. He stopped just before leaving, and said without turning away from the door, “is there anything to dry myself with?” After a moment the boy replied, looking away from him, “there will be a towel.” Octair grunted, a little confused as to why he was being treated in such a manner, then went into the other room where the air was much cooler. There was a towel, like the boy had said, and everything but his belt-knife and boots were missing. As he dried himself off with the towel, he stared down at the clothes that now sat where his others would have been. Then he thought back to the tailor, promising to get new clothes to him by the end of the day.

It was a tunic of black and white, a soft, long-sleeved collared shirt that buttoned up nicely was half black and half white, separated down the middle, the sleeves were black where the torso was white, the cuffs were the same way, and the collar was entirely black. It fit him well, good work by the tailor himself no less. The pants reached to his ankles and were entirely black along with the socks. His boots, though black, were faded and didn’t go entirely well with the tunic. Strapping the belt-knife on, he left to the hall feeling renewed.

In the hall awaited the previous serving girl, this time her smiled had much more energy to it when she looked him up and down. “Looks good on you sir. Just this way to your room, if you please.” Again, he felt naked without his sword and hoped to find it and his armor waiting for him in his room. So he followed close behind her as she led him up the flight of stairs and past a great many rooms until she stopped in front of his and opened the door for him. “This is it, sir. If you wish for anything, just ask and it’ll be free of charge.” She gave him another smile before leaving back the way they came. Inside was more lavish than he had anticipated, there was an actual bed for one thing and a wardrobe against the wall for another. A thick rug was spread across most of the room and a small table sat against the window overlooking the street. The bed wasn’t as amazing as the one he had seen in Princess’s wagon, but it would be the best one he had ever used. The only one he had ever used, actually. And as he had hoped, his things were on that very bed, the servant girl must have brought them beforehand. Outside the window the sky was already dark, but the town was not so. Lamps dotted the streets, on poles or hanging from building walls, and they were already lit with a small flame. By itself, the flame wasn’t much to cast away the dark of night, but altogether they lit the streets enough one could comfortably walk through them.

Octair was a little disappointed he had wasted so much daylight wandering around the town. But he convinced himself that perhaps in the morning tomorrow there would be enough time for him to really see what the town had to offer. For now, he though of food and grabbed his coin purse sitting next to his sword. He didn’t think it was necessary to bring the sword; he wouldn’t be leaving the inn.

Opening the door to his room, he could hear the merriment of the men still below. Instead of heading directly for the stairs though, he turned the opposite way and began to walk by all the rooms. A door opened to his right and a man, a soldier presumably by his rough appearance, stepped out into the hallway. Octair nodded in solemn greeting to the man, who nodded similarly in response, and as he passed he glimpsed into the room he had come from. Expecting to see a room like his own, he was surprised as inside opened up into one much larger room. Beds, not quite as nice as his own, crowded the large room inside. A few men were already snoring restfully on a few.

The door closed soon after he had passed by, and he didn’t look back as the man walked the way he had come, creaking the wood with every step as he made it to the corner where the stairs were. Continuing around a corner, Octair almost stopped and slinked back around the corner, out of sight. Here, a new hallway out of sight from his room, stood two guards dressed in the armor of Royal Guardsmen. He didn’t recognize them; there were many of the Royal Guard he hadn’t met yet. They stood on both sides of a door, their postures not lazy but not alert. The door they guarded was one of only three doors on that side of the hallway and the other two were placed well away from it, hinting to it being a rather larger room than the rest. There was only one reason men would be up here guarding a large room while the others were below enjoying themselves and that was the princess.

Since he didn’t recognize the men, he doubted they recognized him. Praising his good choice of new clothes, he began to walk by without so much as a glance when the door opened. Cursing his bad timing, he stopped, knowing that he would never make it around the next corner without causing alarm and suspicion, and watched as a person he hadn’t expected walked into the hallway. “Octair!” Larro called to him with unexpected bonhomie, and strode to meet him. “Almost didn’t recognize you in those clothes,” his hand made a motion summing up Octair’s appearance, “same unruly hair I see. What are you doing up here, while there’s drink and excitement downstairs?”

His glee was infectious, and Octair found himself smiling along with him. “Just walking. What about you? What are you doing coming out of her Highness’s room?”

Larro laughed, “Had you fooled, didn’t they?” He nodded towards the two guards, “they’re guarding my room, actually, as a distraction. Every bloody fool on the street knows the princess is here, why point out exactly where with a couple of guards? No, she’s in the bigger room next over. There are, of course, men inside.”

Octair had to admit, he had been completely fooled. He had assumed royal entourage meant royal confidant. But the tactic impressed him, and he saw Larro in a new light. “Going down to join the rest now?”

“Yea.”

“I’ll come with, then.” Larro gave him a puzzled look, but that disappeared as they made their way to the stairs down. Halfway down the stairs, the puzzled look came back. “You walk very quietly,” Larro poked at him. Octair’s steps didn’t make any noise like Larro’s did. “Yea,” he said nonchalantly, “it’s a habit.” They didn’t talk further as they finally made their way towards all of the carousal. The tavern was still as full with raucous men as before, though he didn’t see Elk among them. Atop the small platform, the man with the lute still played. He probably couldn’t stop if he wanted to. “I’m going to get something to eat, how about you?” Octair turned back to Larro to see him frowning at the scene of the tavern. He only shook his head in mute response and continued frowning at all the men. Wondering why, Octair followed his gaze to the more inebriated few. There were more than there had been before. Better yet, he didn’t see any place to sit, a lot of men were standing with their drinks and nowhere to go.

So he sighed and gave Larro a look that told him not to wait on him and turned to the door to the kitchen. The innkeeper hadn’t been in the tavern, but he did find him here. Standing with his arms crossed and a pained expression on his face, he stood listening while a woman as large as he shook a plump finger at his nose. The woman had a hard expression on her face and wore an apron even dirtier than the innkeepers. Her hair was covered by a white scarf and her mouth moved in angry speech. Octair couldn’t hear what was being said, even if it did seem to be none too quiet, as many other women were making noises of the kitchen. All of them eyed the innkeeper and the woman with amused expressions on their faces, as if this were a common thing.

He found himself feeling sorry for the innkeeper, but opted not to interfere. Instead he caught the attention of a nearby girl. “If it isn’t too much…” he pointed out the innkeepers situation with his eyes, “…trouble, might I have something to eat?” She turned to the innkeeper and the woman then smiled at him. “No trouble at all, sir. I’ll get you a plate, so you can just make yourself comfortable in the common room.” He nodded, thinking it a good idea, if only he could somewhere to sit.

That worry was unnecessary, he saw, as he went back out into the common room. Some men who had been enjoying the festivities far too much now stood to the side, still as cheery as before. Larro was seated at a table near the corner, and with him was Neth. Octair joined them, sitting across from Neth, wondering when the man had shown up. “How did you manage to convince them?” he asked, nodding to the drunken men now trying very poorly to dance to the music of the lute. At least they weren’t bothering with trying to sing anymore.

Larro flashed him a grin, “benefits of rank.” Octair opened his mouth to try and jibe Larro with a sarcastic comment, but was interrupted by a steaming plate of food setting down in front of him. His mouth snapped shut with a click of his teeth as he eyed the strange, but appetizing, contents of the plate. The plate wasn’t small, by far, and held different foods. Meat he didn’t recognize took up most of the plate, then there was a small bowl of dark brown soup, and lastly a strange, round vegetable with brown skin. Faintly did he recognize it as a potato before he had taken a quick bite of it. It was hot, almost too hot, and the flavor wasn’t wonderful but something about it was just delicious. It was gone before the serving girl even had the chance to ask them what they would like to drink.

Neth ignored the conversation, only staring between Octair and the plate of food. Larro, though, spoke up for all three of them. Requesting ale all around, he leaned into giving the girl a flirtatious look. Octair continued to eat, the potato already gone and the soup almost so as well, watching the other two with faint amusement. Towards Larro especially, he had seen how ridiculous flirting could become and watched as the girl ignored Larro’s insinuations with delight. He waited until the girl had gone and Larro had settled back with a grimace to actually laugh.

Larro directed his grimace at Octair, “I’d like to see you try.”

He had to put down the leg, at least he thought it was a leg, of meat before he actually spoke. “I’d much rather watch, I can be much more appreciative of it that way.” Larro only grunted. “What is this by the way?” Octair didn’t wait for the answer before continuing to eat.

“Chicken,” he said bluntly, then eyed the drunk men as they started to sing to a new tune. Neth was as silent as ever, now he sat not really looking at anything. Octair had cleaned the plate by the time the serving girl had returned with three mugs of ale in hand. She took away his plate with an odd smile at him while he gazed into the wooden mug suspiciously. The liquid was as brown as his soup was, it wasn’t what stopped him from immediately chugging it down though. Out of the corner of his eye he looked to the drunk and foolhardy men suspiciously and at what they were drinking. But he was thirsty, and he wasn’t one to refuse what was kindly offered to him, so he took a cautious sip. The taste surprised him, it was bitter. So bitter it was almost sweet. He took a second taste, this time rolling it around his mouth thoughtfully. He decided he liked it, not enough, he thought offhand listening to the failed attempt at singing by the men, to drink to such a state. So when all three had finished, and Larro had offered another, he politely refused.

There was no telling when the drunken men would sober, most likely not until after a nights rest. And no one could tell when they would give up their attempts at singing. Instead of waiting so see, Octair casually stood and bid the two men a good night, then made a prompt return to his room. His sword was still on the bed, where he had left it, and the rest that he owned was the same. Picking up his chain-mail shirt, he stared at the crescent-moon emblem with nostalgia. To think, not long ago, taking off his armor would have been unimaginable. Now he strode about without even a proper weapon. Sighing, he decided he was getting too soft in this peaceful world, and moved everything off the bed and over to the table. A quick glance out the window showed only a couple midnight strollers on the streets, he partially closed it so the light would still shine in. His sword he left standing against the wall by his bed. He still felt ridiculous in the black and white clothes he wore, but it wasn’t a feeling of dislike. Not wanting to ruin bran new clothes, he decided not to sleep in them and slid beneath the warm sheets of the bed with nothing but his briefs. It was more comfortable than he had imagine, and already he was dozing off. When sleep finally took up he let it with no worries. No princess, and no monsters, invaded his peaceful dreams.

Dawn the next day brought their departure. The sight of a long train of wagons was impressive, and the fact that they all held soldiers; intimidating. The air was dry and warm, there were few clouds above and the sun hung in the sky with a heavy shine. Each wagon held it’s number of men and those men were sheltered by the wagon. Octair sat at the very back of a wagon the Royal Guard had appropriated, and if it weren’t for the wooden board that served as a guard he would have been kicked off the wagon more than once. And as the other wagon was not far behind, that most likely would have ended most painfully. But he had no worries, and he sat with his back resting against his pack like all the other men did.

He couldn’t help but feel sorry for those who drove the wagons and also for the wagons at the very back. Being in the wagon itself protected them from all the dust that was being kicked up, but the drivers were exposed to it all. The driver on the wagon behind didn’t seem to mind very much, he only kept his hat pulled down over his eyes and stared at the ground in front of his wagon. None of the drivers were soldiers, for whatever odd reason that wa+s. Instead they were common-folk, or so he was told, who were the experts of the experts on wagons. When one broke down, they knew how to fix it.

Octair turned to his fellow passengers, none of them were awake. Well, it wasn’t so much as they weren’t awake as they weren’t alert. He knew only some of them actually slept, he could tell by their steady breathing and the way they relaxed against the wagon, no matter how hard the wagon was jarred by the uneven dirt road. Everyone who weren’t those truly asleep were trying to be, their eyes were closed and their positions comfortable as can be. Not very many were in the wagon with him, he counted only seven others. One of them was Neth, who sat to his immediate left sitting upright with his eyes closed and his head down.

It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since they had departed, the sun was directly above showing it was midday. But already he was feeling restless, never had he endured such torture. He pulled himself up higher as a particularly nasty bump shifted him partially onto his back. His chain-mail shirt jingled ever so slightly every time the wagon shook, and his was the only one. There was no need to adorn heavier armor when they would only be traveling all day. Those riding horseback at the front and very back of the wagon train did, so they would be ready for anything. All the foot-soldiers on the other hand… probably should, but by the attitudes of everyone he guessed they had made this trip many times without trouble and saw no need to wear anything more than leathers. Even then, only Neth in his wagon wore leathers and Octair still wore his usual protection.

Another harsh bump shook the wagon, he had been in his thoughts and wasn’t prepared. The back of his head met with the hard side of the wagon and drew a muffled curse from him. Neth opened his eyes and gave him a look of mild amusement. So far, Octair was the only one suffering the journey.

All day they were suppose to travel like this, and every day until they reached Areth. He was used to his feet, he was used to walking or even running for days. But never this, never a hard wagon or so many men. Since there were so many men, and so many necessary supplies, their pace was incredibly slow. He had never had beasts to ride upon for travel, and yet he was sure he could travel more quickly than they were currently.

The sun was halfway below the horizon when the horses lagged and they finally stopped for the night. Even those who were so used to this kind of travel fled the wagons to take rest by campfires. Many of the men went to the nearby forest carrying small axes in a hurry to collect firewood while some daylight still remained. Others began clearing places to sleep and for campfires. The plant growth they cleared away was never too large, evidence of their yearly visit he suspected.

The Royal Guard wasn’t given chance to rest like the others, and that of course meant neither was Octair. As soon as they had stopped and shuffled out of the wagons, Larro came striding up and pointed to Neth and Octair, motioning for them to follow. Without a word, Neth immediately followed close behind Larro as he strode away again. Octair was at least grateful for being out of the wagon, and he had done far too much sitting today. Placing a hand on the hilt of his sword for assurance, he quickly caught up with the other two before they had gotten far.

Of all the wagons in the wagon train there was only one that a rich brown wood completely enclosed with a door and wooden steps for easy access. The make of it was quite impressive, the door seemed to fit so well and the cracks showed so little light it was hard for even Octair’s good sight to see. There could only be one person in the camp that used such a grand wagon.

Larro drew up short of the wagon and turned to Neth and Octair as they stopped behind him. “This is her Ladyship’s carriage,” he told them, as if they didn’t know it already, “I’ve got the shifts already laid out with the rest of the men, and since you two seem to be getting along so well you’ll be doing shifts together. You’ll be the first, just come here as soon as we stop for the night.” For a moment he held silent, straining to continue. When finally did, he didn’t look very pleased. “Octair, her Ladyship requested to see you.” Larro turned and nodded to the two men currently guarding and put one foot up on the steps. He lightly rapped on the door and after a moment the door opened showing a young woman who bowed her head and held the door open. As soon as the door had opened Larro stepped down and motioned for Octair to enter while avoiding eye contact.

As he made his way up the steps Neth took his place beside the door. When he was inside the carriage the servant girl closed the door behind her as she left, leaving him alone with the princess. All that had been in her tent was now in the carriage. A soft violet fabric separated a room beyond from this one which held the rugs, cushions, the same lavish desk but with nothing on it and the chair that went with the desk rested behind it. The princess appeared as she swept aside the violet fabric and he caught a glimpse of a very comfortable looking bed, or at least a bed he thought it was. Nothing with so many pillows and thick blankets could be anything but a bed.

Princess Vivien wore another dress, this one had no frills and decorations and was a purple only a little darker than the violet fabric behind her. For a moment he forgot to bow, or to speak. Quickly realizing his error, he bent to one knee. Between the few seconds of him bowing he hadn’t noticed her close the distance between them. A small, soft hand came to rest on his shoulder, absent of any jewelry. “Please, you needn’t kneel in my company.” He raised his eyes to look upon her face, and there he saw a small smile, her expression half asking and half demanding. So he stood, all too aware that he was still wearing clothes he hadn’t taken off since they had first met. And she, with this new purple dress, must switch between her armors and whatever else she wore when she wasn’t a warrior princess leading her men. With just this dress and her armors she already owned more clothes than he had his entire life.

He kept his eyes staring off at nothing in as respectful a manner as he could muster as he stood facing her only a couple feet away. “M’lady called for me?” His eyes were drawn to her as he waited for her reply, he saw her staring at the crescent emblem on his armor, thinking as she did.

“Yes, I just wanted to talk. Please, sit.” She directed him to the cushions neatly arranged for sitting. As he ungracefully plopped down onto one of them, he watched as she slowly bent her knees and lowered herself onto her own cushion, finding a position with her legs underneath her. He had wondered how she would sit like this while wearing a dress. For some odd reason he felt himself a tiny bit disappointed. “I had hoped to talk about many things,” she spoke softly, as if speaking too loud would frighten him off, “but I understand that it’s been a long day of travel, so I won’t keep you long.”

She was right, it actually had been a long day for him. Not a tiring one, just a frustrating and dull one. He made a small sound through his noise as if to laugh, “not at all, speak what you wish, M’lady.” The M’lady came a little later, he had almost forgotten to address her properly. But she didn’t seem to noticed and instead smiled.

“First, tell me of these dark creatures. Like the one you… saved me from.” If her smile couldn’t get any brighter, it did.

Octair had expected this much sooner, so it wasn’t hard for him to explain. “It shouldn’t need much explaining; they kill, they hunt, they destroy. They’re… one could say…”

Her Ladyship provided, “evil?”

“Mindless. They have no evil intent, you could say this is all they know. It’s bad for us, yes. It’s even bad for the world. But evil? We- my people, believed that it’s simply their purpose to do what they do.” A small smile touched his lips, but never reached his eyes. “And we believed it was our purpose to stop them.” The princess gave him a moment as he remained silent for a short time, stuck in the memories of the bleak past. “Well, is there anything specific you wish to know about them?”

“I fear I may need to know everything. What exactly is their purpose?”

“Beyond killing and destruction? I don’t know. They have always sought something, since the beginning. They move in a manner that speaks of intelligence, they have a chain of command from strongest to weakest, and there was always the feeling of a… leader above all of the fiends of the dark. But all I’ve seen from their actions is destruction.” It was surely a grim topic, and as such there were moments of grim silence.

“Is that what they are called? Dark ones?”

He shook his head. “Khedara olse’kheday.” She gave him a questioning look. “One spoke to us once, to me. That is what it called itself. Though I do not speak their strange tongue, I was told it means ‘Devourers of the Nothing’. Khedara, we called them. But we took to calling them dark ones instead, out of fear and respect.”

She was stunned to silence, a strange look he couldn’t decipher appearing on her face. “One of these wolf-like creatures of darkness spoke?”

Again, he solemnly shook his head. “No, those are mere beasts. Weak, compared to all the kinds of Khedara there are. The one that spoke was a person, but not a person. At first glance, they are in the shape of humans, standing on two legs with two arms and a head above the shoulders. But they are covered in an armor harder than any metal, not metal but solid darkness darker than a moonless night, and their head is like a helmet with nothing but two dark pits where eyes should be. Their eyes, you see, are the darkest part of them, although they seem to have no eyes at all. And when one looks at you, you can feel it, an icy feeling runs along your skin and your heart fills with more fear than you have ever felt before.” He was silent again, he didn’t let it show, but deep in his heart he still feared that gaze. “Ever since the Khedara came to be there have been reports of men who wore armor darker than dark, who appeared without being seen and disappeared without a trace. Very few are the cases where one of them has been killed.”

“…You said it spoke to you, what else did it say?”

His brow drew down, part trying to summon the exact words and part displeased at ever having to remember. “It’s words were carved into my mind, it spoke these words even though it had no mouth to speak them from. It’s voice was a painful rasp, like a thousand pebbles sliding over each other. When we encountered it we tried to kill it, we didn’t even notice it get so close to us. Nothing worked. Magic never touched it, knives and bolts bounced off it, spears couldn’t pierce it, even our swords and our axes couldn’t so much as scratch it. When we finally relented, it was then it spoke to us, not having moved from the place it stood. It spoke as if it didn’t care, as if we were just ants beneath it. Said few of us remained, said it took no delight in hunting us like it’s comrades did. Spoke things we didn’t understand, spoke of it’s empire of darkness, and was gone as quickly as it came. After that, we named them Deviants.”

The princess was taking it well, if she even believed in what he was saying. She shifted in her position and rested her hands in her lap. “I remember, before, you were surprised. You said you had thought you had destroyed them all. If these Deviants were so invulnerable, then how could you have thought you killed them?”

He shrugged, not really sure how to answer her and destroy her hope of an easy weapon against the Khedara. “Magic. Ancient magic, we used it to wipe them out. It…cost a lot of lives to use it.” Now he was stricken by grief, again puzzled by why so many had died yet he lived to be in this strange world. “It could only be used once. And it didn’t work, they are still here.”

A knock came at the door, light but urgent. It caught Princess Vivien’s attention, but she seemed perplexed as to how to respond. He stood and gave her a quick bow as she sat and watched. It was as good a time as any to end their conversation, and there really wasn’t much else to say on his part. So he turned and went to the door before she could muster any words of protest. When he had opened it he stared at a humble man dressed in odd clothing. “Urgent letter for Mistress Vivien.” Octair stood aside and waved him in, as soon as the messenger was inside he left the carriage, closing the door behind him. It was somewhat rude, he realized, but hopefully with the urgent message she would forget about him entirely. At least, for a while he hoped.

Neth had already finished his shift it seemed, as neither of the guards who gave him a quick look-over were he. The cool night air was refreshing, and the stars above were soothing. Octair stepped away from the carriage, wondering where he should go. His pack was still in the wagon, and with it everything he needed for food and sleep. So he decided that was a good a place as any to start.

The men weren’t as cheery as they had been the first night, instead of warm conversations that could be heard all across the camp, there was hardly anyone chatting at all. More than a few were already drowsing by their fires, while others were at their shift.

He passed by what could only be Elk’s wagon along his way. The wagon was larger than the others, had what looked to be a small chimney to the front of it, and was completely enclosed, much like that of the Princess’s carriage only far less fancy. Elk sat on a large step to the wagon with his usual steaming cauldron nearby and a few barrels placed neatly to the side. The cook looked as tired as any, like he had been the sole maker of the entire cauldrons contents. Maybe he had been. Neth had told him, answering one of his many questions on the road, that he did indeed have servants to help. But they always seemed to be out of sight.

It was either too dark or the cook was too tired to recognized Octair as he walked by. He would be back soon to wake the cook up from his dozing when he had his bowl though.

When he did reach his wagon, he recognized it by memory and the words scrawled on the side, he found Neth silently wiping his sword inside. The man looked ready for sleep, only he wasn’t. When Octair leaned inside to pull his pack where he could search through it easily, Neth turned his head to him and nodded slightly in greeting. Pulling his bowl out of his pack, he nodded back to Neth then turned and began his walk back to where Elk stood guard over his cauldron.

Elk was precariously asleep when he did get to him. His cauldron sat on the ashes of whatever fire he had used to heat the contents of the cauldron. They were still brightly hot though, and so was whatever was inside the cauldron. Deciding against waking Elk just so he could fetch him his meal, Octair approached casually silent and took a peek inside the cauldron. More soup. The smell told him it was the same soup too. He couldn’t complain though, it was good soup. So he grabbed the ladle hanging from the side and scooped some into his bowl. And as he turned to leave Elk was none the wiser.

By the time Octair got to his last stop for the night he had made up for the ride in the wagon. Neth was still inside the wagon, the only one who was, and was laying down with his eyes closed. But when Octair pulled himself onto the wagon with a little protest from it Neth put a hand to his sword and opened his eyes. He simply watched as Octair set his bowl aside and began unrolling his cot and unfolding his blanket. It was only when he began quietly slurping his soup did Neth close his eyes again. So as long as Neth didn’t snore, Octair deemed the wagon a suitable place as any to sleep.

When all the soup had been finished he thought for a moment and turned to Neth to ask a question. But the man was already asleep as far as he could tell, and he didn’t want to wake him. Riling the man up was fun, making him needlessly angry was something else. So Octair simply took out his waterskin, wineskin he would never have it be, and filled the bowl with water, It served as a good method for drinking and washing and also to clean the bowl as there were no sources of water nearby that he knew of. Or was willing to find in the dark. After that he made himself comfortable under his blanket and propped his sword for quick and easy access. Then he lay and watched as the clouds drifted slowly by, the stars showing brightly in spots. To this, he finally found peace and with it-sleep.

Everything went the same the next day. Except early midday they stopped along he road where a small river ran alongside. The road itself actually curved alongside the river until it straightened out at the same place it would have been without the river. As if the river had come after the road. The oxen took deep drinks over time while the drivers watched them, and the men refilled their own supply of water and cleaned various things. It wasn’t long though, before they were back on their way.

Throughout the entire trip in the wagon the forest had been on both sides of the road, with clearing enough for camp on either side. The temple was deep in the same forest, at the heart of it all. Some of the men in the same wagon as Octair opted to tell the story of how that very temple had been there long before the forest. And the forest long before any men. “How do you know, if it was here before any men were?” he asked them, and they’d only laugh and wave away his questions. Always, even when Erdusk was but tiny villages so long ago, there was a woman to visit the temple to pay respects and ask for favor from the eight gods. “The prettiest woman of all to go, and if none to choose only the wisest can she be.” When Erdusk finally united against the barbarians of the East, it was decided that no other woman but the princess could fulfill this role in tradition.

But the forest had always held it’s share of dangerous creatures, and on the year that the princess to the seventh king Fen had been killed by a very creature of this forest, the king wept for three days for the loss of his beloved daughter. And after, with sorrow and anger in his heart, he built a paved road to this very forest and through it as he fell every tree within a furlong of the road. Paving a road as he went, for every day he had mourned he spent a year cutting through the forest. Until finally he dropped dead, of bad health it was told, while cutting down a tree himself. And there marks the end of the paved road. The people knew well now the danger of the forest and the next king finished the work, cutting down the trees until finally a safe passage was made to the temple. “Where the paved road ends,” a young man of the Royal Guard across from Octair told him, the spinning of the tale still lit in his eyes, “they cleared a half a league away to one side and at the very center built a stone monument in remembrance. It’s still there to this day, only a village surrounds it and the forest has reclaimed most of what was cleared.”

“Aye,” another man of older years spoke, “good old Fen Village at the end of Fen Road. Got the best tavern all way until Areth itself. I’ll give ya a mark if you can guess the name of it.” All the men spoke up at once, their good cheer returned, “Fen Inn!” Laughter continued as they talked amongst themselves, their conversations mostly centered around ale and the village. It was still two days yet until they did finally reach the village.

When Larro walked back to Octair he had already strapped his new long-sword onto his back. It wasn’t long enough to really be necessary, but on his back was where it felt comfortable. “Good choice,” Larro told him when he saw the sword, “makes you stand out even more. Here.” The leather purse that had held the coins he used to pay for the sword was placed in his hand, it still jingled with coins inside.

“Thanks, why are you giving me this?”

“No need to thank me, you bought the sword. Those are wages for half your trip, the other half will be paid to you when we reach Areth.”

For a moment Octair was stunned before he couldn’t help but laugh. “Such a giving fellow.” He wasn’t rich now, but by the weight of the purse he knew he wasn’t poor either.

“Too giving. But if you feel guilty I’ll let you pay for some of my drinks at taverns along the way.” The two set off again, Octair still trailing slightly behind as Larro wound through hustling servants and soldiers, and around tents that were gradually being packed away. All of the commotion made Octair realize just how hard it was to support so many men.

“Where are we headed now?”

Larro didn’t spare him a glance back at him, and continued resolutely toward their objective. “To the War-room. First you’ll have to give Neth back his sword. He’s not the type to complain or care about it, but it’ll save him the trouble of having to find another. And another thing, when we’re around other soldiers, and especially officers, call me ‘sir’. I don’t really care about the title, but it’s a matter of requiring respect from those of lower rank.”

“Aye, sir.”

“You’ve been acquainted with Elk, our cook?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So he’s told you of the common dislike of hired-swords?”

“Yes Captain.”

Larro gave him a look. “Real funny. I would tell you to be careful around those not in our troop, but you don’t seem like the type to take advice. At least, not from me.”

“I’ve already had a quaint introduction with that sort of situation. I don’t think anyone will cause problems, in fact I’ve already become acquainted with some of them.”

“Good, we’re here.” Larro said it before the tent of her Ladyship was even in sight, and they didn’t actually see it until rounding the corner of a tent. As before, two of the Royal Guard were standing by the entrance to the tent, each armed with a long pike for defense, and one had a short-sword while the other did not. It was obvious the one without the short-sword was Neth, and Octair recognized his face as they got closer. “Octair, stand guard next to Neth. Sorry, I can’t take you in this time. Shouldn’t be too long, just stand there and look tough.” After that, he disappeared behind the flap.

Octair already had the short-sword out and handed it to Neth who took it without comment and went back to staring at nothing. He tired to take a similar pose, standing stiff and at the ready beside Neth. And as interesting as the scenery was, the sun hadn’t gotten much higher before he had grown restless. “Shouldn’t be too long?”

His lips were the only part of Neth that moved when he answered Octair’s question. “A few hours maybe.”

Octair grew silent again, but after a while he decided there was nothing wrong with making conversation with his fellow guard. “So when’s the next meal?”

Neth was still unperturbed. “Dusk.”

“Hm. Do we always eat soup?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes we always eat soup?” Octair was trying to hammer away the stoniness in Neth’s composure. It didn’t seem to be working very well.

“We might have soup for days. Sometimes we have meat, sometimes other things.”

It amused Octair how Neth’s tone was as stiff as his composure, yet he still answered all of his questions. “Is there an higher-ranking officer above the Captain?”

Finally he got a reaction out of Neth as he turned his head slightly to look at Octair. “The Royal Guard only has Captains.”

“That’s it? Is it the same for the rest of the army?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

Octair laughed, but was sure to be quiet about it, as he could hear the conversations being held inside of the tent. “You’re nice enough to give me answers.”

Neth remained silent for a moment. “The army have more officers and separate the men more.”

Octair smiled, he must have gotten to him somehow. “And the Royal Guard doesn’t separate the men?”

“Don’t need to. We all have only one duty, to protect the Royal family.”

“I noticed at first meal that a lot of men don’t like me being here. Are you the same?”

Neth looked at him for a moment, as if to judge better. “No,” he said plainly after he looked away again.

“And why’s that? And don’t tell me it’s because you’re not the type to care about the small things.” He smiled a bit to try and lighten the mood.

Neth glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. It took him a while to answer, but eventually he did. “Because you’re stronger than me.”

The honesty in that statement made Octair laugh, and he had to try hard to force himself to be quieter. “What makes you think I’m stronger than you?”

“Intuition. You hide it well, but I get the feeling whenever I look at you that you shouldn’t be taken lightly. I only thought so when I saw you with that sword on your back.” Octair was silent for a moment, which caused Neth to glance at him out of curiosity. What he saw was a blank stare directed at him. “…What?” He asked, a little put off by Octair’s sudden silence.

“Nothing, you just talk too much for a guard is all.” Neth raised an eyebrow at him, the first real change in his expression. “You really should be quiet, they might hear us.” Neth’s expression returned to it’s original blank-look, but he snorted out breath through his nose. “You just laughed at me!” But Neth ignored his accusation with a mocking glance in his direction. “So… this temple we’re camped near, it’s in Erdusk, right? Then why does the Princess of Erdusk need so many soldiers? Shouldn’t just the Royal Guard be enough?”

“The King sent them, not wanting to spare any protection for his only heir.”

“The Princess is his heir? Isn’t it normally the eldest son?”

“The King chooses his heir from his children, it is often the eldest son. But cases where there is only a daughter have happened before. The Princess will marry whom the King chooses for her.”

“So it could be you, or even me who may become king?”

“No. Most likely it’ll be a Nobleman. Perhaps even a Prince from one of the other kingdoms.”

“But there’s a chance right? One of us could become war heroes and gain the favor of the king.”
Neth only grunted at the idea. “First you would need a war.”

A moment of silent, but for the muffled voices within, encompassed the two for a long stretch of time before Octair began to speak. He was about to ask Neth if wars were common here, but before he could do so the flap of the tent was pushed inside and a man stepped through. Although the man was much bigger than Octair, he didn’t quite compare to Elk. What was unique about him was his missing eye and his scarred, shaved head. With the one eye he had he turned to Octair in a menacing glare before stomping off into the camp, a smaller man following close behind.

Octair was opening his mouth to ask who that had been but Neth spoke first. “Charsty, the Raid Squad’s captain. Why the King sent him with us is beyond me to question.”

“Who was that following him?”

Neth shrugged in dismissal. “A lower ranking soldier I presume.”

Shortly after the Raid Squad’s captain had exited the tent, others followed in suit. Fortunately, they didn’t all glare at Octair. Not all of them at least. After about the tenth person to leave, Larro, that is ‘Captain Larro’, stepped through the flap with a grim expression plastered on his face. Neth saluted Larro with a fist to his chest, and Octair followed suit.

Larro stepped closer to them both and looked around in suspicion. “Bad news. Don’t tell this to the other men, we don’t want to get them spooked with the ridiculous stories popping up from this.” Neth nodded and made to look as if he was uninterested and deaf, Octair only listened closely. “Another one of those beasts you met in the temple appeared, at a village on route back to Areth.”

This didn’t actually come as a surprise to Octair, but it did serve to dishearten him. “What did it look like?”

Larro blinked at the tone of voice Octair used, cold and demanding, almost like a leader. “It was… dark, like you mentioned.”

“What was it’s form? Did it have four legs? Two arms? Claws? Fangs? Wings? How big was it? What happened to it?”

“I… it was reported to have been on four legs, like a large wolf. It killed seventeen townsfolk and six armed guards before it died in a fire that took an inn. They didn’t find it’s body, but no one saw it escape the fire.”

Octair nodded in grim satisfaction, even if it killed many and hadn’t actually been killed by any. It was still dead, fire was a good weapon against many of them. “You won’t find a body, but it’s dead. They’re lucky it was the lesser type, just a dumb beast.”

Larro looked upon him in reaction to his words in shock, and even Neth raised an eyebrow at his indifference to hearing of the event. “A dumb beast? You mean there are different ones like that?”

“Don’t know how many types,” Octair shrugged, “we were never surprised when a new one showed up. But the closer to animals in appearance they are, the weaker they are. A bone structure to smash, a head to lop off, a dumb beast to outsmart.”

“There are more?”

“I don’t know. To be honest, even where I come from I thought we had killed them all. But we’ll be lucky if we only hear of another hundred cases like this one.” This had put a small fear in all of them, and they kept silent as if to mull it over. Enough time had passed that the sun was gradually sinking to the West, and only a few tents remained standing in the encampment.

“Just remember, don’t speak of this to the men. We’re all going to have a nice, relaxing and uneventful trip back to Areth. You two trade shifts,” Larro turned to the other guard whose presence Octair had completely forgotten about and spoke up, “you too Jim!” Then he nodded to the both of them and walked off towards one of the few remaining tents.

Octair turned to Neth, suspicion in his eyes. “He…get’s to sleep in a tent tonight doesn’t he?”

Neth turned and began to walk North towards the wagons. “Yep.”

“And we get to sleep on the ground…?”

“Or the wagon.”

Octair sighed, and he had just gotten used to the security of the tent and the luxury it provided. “Well, it’s something I’m used to.” He continued to follow Neth until they reached the line of wagons where many men were camped in groups around small fires. Many of them were eating and chatting softly. And as soon as Octair wondered what they were eating what could only be described as the cook’s wagon came into view. In front of the wagon was Elk, easily visible, with his cauldron and spoon in hand. This time there was no line, only a few people coming and going as they speedily collected their share of food. Neth had disappeared as Octair had ogled the food. He had forgotten how hungry he was, and that there was such fine foods to look forward to at the end of the day.

Neth could take care of himself, better than Octair probably could. So he made his way around campfires and groups of men until he reached his pack among the wagons and retrieved his bowl, then he made his way to Elk and his hoard of foods. The giant of a man looked worn out, with good reason. It seemed Elk was always on duty, serving up food for the men. He didn’t even call out when Octair approached him. “I’d like to make a complaint, this food is just too good to hand out for free.”

A spark of anger lit in Elk’s eyes when he heard of a complaint, not recognizing that it was Octair who spoke it at first. “Complaint! Why I-!” He stopped in the middle of his shouting to think about what he just heard and who it was he was shouting at. It took a few moments of Octair smiling widely at the joke for Elk to catch up on what was going on. “Ooh…! You really think I could sell what I make?” As serious as Elk asked that, Octair couldn’t help but smile even more.

“I’d say you could put your name on meat and people would buy it.”

The big guy certainly wasn’t as slow as one might expect from someone his size, he caught on to the joke immediately and laughed heartily. “A little late for supper might you be?”

“Yeah, they actually had me doing what I’m getting paid for.”

“What’s the world coming to?” Octair stuck his bowl out, and Elk promptly filled it with what little remained. “Got ya on the Royal Guard I hear? Ye won’t be seeing any action there.” Elk got a little dangerous glint in his eyes as he stared into Octair’s. “Nobody tries after the Dawn family.”

“I can imagine, if this is the strength of their guard every day.” Octair made brisk farewells with Elk, as the man seemed ready to collapse and still had to clean up. So he took his bowl of steaming soup among the campfires until he spotted one near the wagon he had placed his pack in. There were only three others sitting at the fire, and one of them was a familiar face.

As Octair sat inside the light of the fire, one of the two he didn’t recognize whispered something into the ear of the one whom he did. Drake looked up from whatever he was doing to see Octair sitting opposite of the fire. Fortunately all he did was glare and snarl a bit at Octair before going back to whatever he was doing while all three of them chatted together quietly.

Octair had no interest in a pointless confrontation with a man of such small character. Even if he did get into an argument with Drake, the man simply had nothing to give in the way of intellect. He was far more interested in his meal and the warmth of the fire. Fire had not been an impossibility in the dark realm he had come from, but it was a rarity. Often times there was either no wood to be used as fuel or there was too much risk the light of fire presented. The chain-mail, along with the leathers and metal pieces that served along with it as armor, gradually soaked up the heat from the fire until it served to keep him quite warm. By then he had finished the meal he had been given and rose to clean his bowl. The stream from before wasn’t hard to find, and he had no difficulty making his way there in the dark. For what little dark there was, the moon was almost full and shone upon the landscape providing plenty of light to see by. Completely unlike the dark realm, where even during the day it was dark.

At the stream, he knelt at the edge of the water and held his bowl in the softly running water. The reflection of the moon and the stars upon the water caught his attention, and he leaned over the water until he could see his own face. It had been ages since he had seen his own image, the mysterious waters of the Cave of Ending, the cave he thought he would die in, didn’t reflect anything. His face was haggard and unshaven, leaving a stubble of a beard covering his jawline. His hair he cut whenever he found it was too long and in the way, but he had done so with a knife and no desire to make it pretty and even. That showed now, his silver hair was unruly and long, a testament to his previous lifestyle. He decided then he’d have to get it cut properly, and have a nice a shave. Maybe even don new clothes. His armor had saved his life many times, and had served him well. But was there really any need for it anymore?

He tried to smile at his reflection, and thought he almost succeeded when his teeth showed. The realization that he had met more people in the past day than he had his entire life was disconcerting. All the people he had known in the past were all so different from each other, different from him. To all these people of this world, who all seemed very similar, he wondered how very different they saw him to be. Staring intently at his reflection, he ran a hand through his hair. His eyes weren’t the same as theirs, his hair, the set of his face, the pale color of his skin, all these were not the same. When everyone was different from everyone else… he fit in better then than he did now.

Footsteps sounded from behind him, becoming closer and closer. The approaching person was walking as quietly as they knew how, but his sharp ears heard them nonetheless. Thinking to turn the game around and catch them by surprise, he didn’t turn around and instead kept his eyes on the waters surface. So when the person finally did get close enough and stop behind him, he saw who it was. “Unless you’ve come to wash your dishes, which I doubt one such as you would have to do, may I ask what you’re doing out here, away from camp and so late at night…. your Highness?” He saw the surprise on her face from her reflection in the water.

“How did you know?”

Octair sighed to himself, careful not to let her hear it, and stood to face her. She was wearing her leather armor and had a leather helmet on her head, partially covering her features. “Know what?”

Princess Vivien crossed her arms and stared up at him with a frown on her face. It was then that Octair realized she was a head shorter than him. All of her royal attitude from before had kept him from realizing it, and most of that was gone now. After all, it wasn’t very lady-like to dress up in leathers and sneak out of camp in the middle of the night. “How did you know it was me? I’m wearing a disguise. Or how did you even know I was here? You didn’t turn around, and I was very careful about being quiet.”

He knew he was being rude by not addressing her properly and by not being humble like commoners should be towards those of higher birth. But he still didn’t entirely understand the rules and aspects of this world. “Tying your hair up and wearing a leather helm doesn’t do much to hide the grace in which you walk and the way you hold yourself. Nor does it really hide much of your features either. And you weren’t that quiet.” Octair moved off to the side a bit and knelt by the water again to finish cleaning his bowl and getting a drink.

She knelt next to him, a little too close for his comfort, and obviously wasn’t here for the water because she took no interest in it besides staring at it. “I was completely silent, I couldn’t even hear my own footsteps.”

This time he couldn’t hold his sigh in, and she perked an eyebrow in hearing it. “Yet none of this answers just why you’re here, m’lady.”

It was her turn to sigh, causing him to perk his own eyebrow. “Being… the king’s daughter isn’t as free as people believe it to be. It’s actually quite restricting, with many duties I have to do even if I don’t like to do them. Though I suppose that’s hardly special.” His questioning frown hurried her to explain further. “Sometimes I just need to focus on myself more.”

He wasn’t really questioning her, it was beyond rude to do such and was by far not his place to do so. But he supposed the princess had remained behind in the tent. When he stood he offered her his hand, more out of kindness than anything. She smiled softly and took it. “You know, there’s something different about you. And I don’t just mean your appearance, or your strength, or that you saved me. There’s something that just makes me want to… trust you.”

A grunt from him was all that he wanted to reply, but he said, “That’s odd.”

The two began to return to camp. “Am I the first to tell you this?” She watched as a sort of grim smile spread across his face when she asked him this, and it startled her that it shook her so much.

“No… I’d say you were the eighth.” The two said nothing more, even when he had accompanied her back to her tent could she not summon any words to speak, and he waited for none as he turned and strode off into the dark, wearing that same grim smile.

By the time he had finished scrutinizing his new pack of goodies, he was thoroughly impressed by it all and grateful they had given it to him for free, a number of men from the army all wearing their armors and weapons started filing into the tent of the commissary. “Ah,” Elk spoke up at the sight of them, “shift change already eh? Better get these boys fed,” he grabbed the bowl Octair had used, since he had his own now, and thumped off back to his post in the kitchen. He turned and waved as he went, “I’ll be seein more of ye tomorrow!” Octair waved back before standing from the table and making his way out from under the tent of the commissary to under the night sky filled with stars. He stopped then, remembering he still had no weapon besides the belt-knife Elk had provided him in his pack. Digging through it, he finally found the knife and pulled it out. It was about as long as the length from the tip of his middle finger to his wrist. Not something that could really be considered a weapon.

Nonetheless, he hooked it onto his belt and continued to the tent where he was meant to sleep, figuring he could find a more suitable weapon in the morning.

It wasn’t hard to find, since it was near the Princess’s own tent and it had been pointed out to him earlier. Once there he quickly found the only empty cot off to the very side. There were already a few blankets folded and clean resting atop what he took to be a thick cloth sack filled with hay. Not exactly a bed fit for royalty, but more luxurious than he was used to. There were no rugs covering the ground of this tent, and the many comings and goings of the men had scuffed the ground to the point where most of it was dirt. Normally he never took his armor off, he slept with it, he bathed with it, as rare as finding enough water to do so was in the world he was from, he did everything with it on. Because taking it off was sure to get him killed. But now it wasn’t so, there were no creatures of the dark here, or not very many.

Trusting in the fact that he was surrounded by many warriors that could serve as protection, or at least to wake him up before anything got to him, he began to strip off his boots. They were stiff, like they were brand new and needed breaking in, and his feet were sore. Once he had those off, he laid back on his cot and used the blankets to cushion his head. It was warm enough to go without covering, and he still wasn’t comfortable with taking off the rest of his clothes and armor just yet. So as uncomfortable as it felt, he slept with all but his boots on. And it didn’t take long for sleep to have him.

He didn’t sleep very well. It seemed as if half the camp was awake at a time, men were constantly shuffling around outside, and sometimes inside the tent where he slept. And Octair had a very good habit, one you had to have to survive where he came from, and that was to instantly come awake every time there was a noise near him. Most of the other men in his tent were still sleeping when light started to fill the sky again. It was a relief, the brightness of day coming back again. From then on he decided he would rise with the sun. There were no set routines he was used to, he and his group slept when they needed to, when they could, sleep. And usually that wasn’t regular and could go on without for days. There had been no rising and setting sun then.

Now, he was still astounded by everything around him. But he wasn’t the type to be sidetracked. Since he already had his armor on, he was quick to get up after pulling on his leather boots. By the time he had made it out the door others were rising. And he noticed they went without most of their clothes, speak nothing of their armors, when they took to sleep.

As soon as he stepped foot outside the tent he was accosted by one of the men standing guard by the entrance to the Princess’s tent. “Her ladyship has asked to see you as soon as she has awoken. You are to wait in the War-room until she is ready to see you.” He then stepped aside and held out what Octair recognized to be his pike to direct him into the tent.

The first thing he had wanted to do was find a suitable weapon he could use, but he supposed he could wait further. He didn’t think he would be needing one immediately, but he felt vulnerable without. While thinking about the hierarchy of these people, Erduskians as they would be called, men of Erdusk, he swished the tent flap aside and entered into the room he had been in just yesterday. It hadn’t changed, and the guard stayed outside leaving him alone to wait. There were no chairs to sit on, besides the one behind the lavish desk. And he had the feeling only the Princess could use it. So he stood, acutely aware that he probably didn’t smell very good, waiting to be addressed by a princess. Such things as royalty hadn’t existed in his world. Well, they had, but long before he had been born. Kingdoms were the first to be destroyed, after that it was every man, woman, child for themselves.

It didn’t take as long as he had anticipated for the Princess to appear. He was in the middle of taking extreme interest in the rugs beneath his feet, with all the various designs, when he heard a small cough. Octair quickly looked up to see the lady he had seen in the temple and the princess he had seen later replaced entirely by a woman in all-leather armor covering every inch of her but her head. Her hair was tied back, so it wouldn’t get in the way. And she even carried a small sword at her hip, with a gem encrusted at the base of the hilt. The sight surprised him so much he forgot to kneel. Fortunately she didn’t seem to mind, only smiling with mild amusement. “Same clothes as yesterday?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have as much of a wardrobe as your…highness.”

Even though he hadn’t been trying to be funny she laughed at what he said as she made her way to stand a few feet away. “I’m afraid not many do.” There was a short moment of silence which made Octair feel like he should be saying something in response, but he could think of nothing. “I hope that the provisions are to your liking…?”

“Yes, indeed, of course. I’m very grateful Princess.” It was sincere, he was grateful.

“Please don’t call me ‘princess’. Call me…Vivien.”

Octair wasn’t exactly knowledgeable about the affairs of kingdoms and royalty, but he knew it’d be disrespectful to call any persons of high rank by their names. “I could never…”

She sighed, but quickly moved on. “I suppose not. Very well.”

He got the feeling she was disappointed. “Uh…m’lady?” It was better than calling her by that which she had asked him not to. Even if he still felt it was a little disrespectful.

“Yes?”

“Everything is all well, and I’m grateful…But, I don’t have a weapon. If I’m to be any use…”

“Ah, yes. Neth?” She hadn’t spoken very loud, but the guard who had directed him earlier entered and quickly went to one knee with his head bowed. “Your Ladyship?”

“Rise,” was all she said and he did. “Neth, remove your sword.” He did, and presented it out to her. She took it and removed it from the sheath in a deft stroke that proved her swordsmanship. “Will this do?”

It was a short-sword, and while it was a weapon he wasn’t unfamiliar with, it was neither one he preferred. “Of course, I’m more than grateful.” She quickly sheathed it again and handed it out to him. Octair quickly took it and bowed his head over it in respect and gratitude.

“That is all Neth.” The man turned and disappeared through the flap as quickly as he had come. “We”ll be on the road to Areth tomorrow. It’ll take us approximately a month to reach there. This temple is on the edge of our Southern border, and Areth is located far to the North. Until then you will be placed under my command, but you will also be taking orders from any high-ranking officers. That includes the captain to the Royal Guard, whom which you will be taking direct orders from. Go to him now, you are excused.” Through all of this her tone with him was cold. Or one could say the voice royalty uses to command.

He bowed slightly, even though she had turned away, and he quickly left the tent. It was brighter out now, and the sun could be seen over the tents. The sword wasn’t to his satisfaction, it was too light and too small. But he conceded that he could acquire a better one later on. Octair knew he had disappointed Princess Vivien in some way, and so now she saw him as a normal soldier far beneath her dignified rank. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. What he was to do now was to come to understand this new world, and, he supposed, to live in it in some way. And he already knew he could never live in it involved with someone of royalty.

Before heading to the commissary to see Elk again, he attached the sword onto his hip. It would be a while before Octair would fit in and know full well what he was to do. But for now, until he met this captain he was to take orders from, his stomach was the one in charge.

The commissary this time was different from before. This time he could see clearly all the tables and all of the food. This time he wasn’t to be eating his share of food alone. Most of the tables were full of the soldiers, and there was still a line in front of the stands that held the food. Even with the men blocking his view of the kitchen, he could still see Elk’s head above them. Although somewhat inexperienced, Octair could tell every man here was very professional about the way they went about their duties. Even still, the air was filled with the muffled voices of the soldiers as they merrily ate and chatted amongst themselves. It was a warming sight, and he found himself longing to be a part of it.

“Ooooooh!” Elk shouted above the heads of those in the line as he spotted Octair coming under the shade of the tent. It certainly served to stop him in his tracks as he stood to watch as practically every head swivel to see what all the shouting was about. “If it isn’t my hired friend! Come come! Take yer helpins while its warm!” Now every set of eyes rested upon him, and he realized that he stood out with his dark blue chain-mail shirt, while everyone else wore their standard silver armors. The main difference were the emblems, Octair wore his own crescent moon, but every other man wore the symbol of their kingdom; a sun half hidden behind the horizon.

Elk proceeded to swish a few men out of the way with his wooden spoon, the men couldn’t help but duck out of the way of the large dirty utensil. Octair had left the pack Elk had given him in the tent beside the cot he had slept on, but he had remembered to bring his wooden bowl for the food. When he held it out over the counter Elk sloshed a large spoonful of steaming soup into it. “What the Fifth, Elk? You got some hired scum as a friend?” The man who was next to Octair spoke up, ignoring him besides giving him spiteful looks. The others at the tables continued to eat their food, but all chatter had stopped, and the other men in line remained silent but interested.

“Ah! And if you have a problem with it Drake boy-o, take it up with the Lady herself! As she’s the one who’s the better judgment to hire him!” Elk finished it with a final wave of his wooden spoon and went back to his duties. Drake, the one who had spoken up in complaint, was obviously still not finished with it and turned to glare at Octair, opening his mouth to speak.

But Octair had no interest in listening, and since he had his food, he turned and walked away from the line to find a place at a table to eat. Many seemed to share the feelings of their comrade, and either ignored him or made to block any space he could use. One man, though, a cheery fellow with light-brown hair and a silly grin on his face waved him down. As Octair approached, the man waved aside the two opposite to the table from him and they went about scooting apart and convincing the men next to them to make room. Before long a space had opened up and Octair filled it.

It was when he sat down and had his bowl between his hands that he realized how crowded the tables were, and why. Unlike the others, Octair had only his wooden bowl which held his soup. While wooden cups and a variety of spoons and plates, both metal and wooden, lay scattered atop the tables. The cheery fellow who had invited him to the table noticed his predicament. “Oi. What kind of hired-sword travels without the basic necessities? Or even a sword on his back in which he is hired!” Some around him laughed, but Octair took no offense to it. What they were saying was true, and he couldn’t exactly tell them he had come from another world, or place, or wherever exactly he hailed from and he had done so with only the armors on his back. “They provided you with the basics though. I guess that was to be expected! But you’re gonna have to buy anything and everything else with your wages!”

Buy. Speaking of the transaction, he had yet to see the currency these people used. Though he was confident in his assumption that they used coins of rare-metals as the kingdoms of past in his world had. It was funny, really. How alike this world with its kingdoms and people were to the kingdoms that had existed in his ancestors day.

“Bah!” It was a rude noise, and it came from a bald, burly man a couple people over and across the table from Octair. “You need none of that!”

The man directly across from Octair, the one who seemed to be the charismatic social-leader of those seated around him, leaned forward over the table to raise an eyebrow at the bald man. “Oho. So says the barbarian. Unlike you D’jor, we civilized peoples cannot inhale all of our food at once.”

The man named D’jor grunted and raised his wooden bowl still full of soup above the heads of the men and spoke up. “And unlike you,” he started, reenacting the previous mans speech, “Hurgis, we are men who eat like men!” And then he took the bowl to his lips and in one sitting swallowed down all of the contents of the bowl. The contest between the two, the charismatic man who Octair now knew by the name of Hurgis, and the bald one by the name of D’jor, seemed to be a routine for them. And all the men around were laughing and either chugging their own bowls of soup, or trying to. The laughter only heightened when there were those who couldn’t and usually ended up spilling hot soup in their laps. Octair couldn’t help but join in at the insisting of those around him and ended up as the winner of the contest when he chugged his own soup more flashily than D’jor had, all the while laughing mildly at the game.

“So, friend! You never graced us with your name, oh proud defeater of D’jor.” The laughter had settled down, but there were still a few snickers here and there. Most had gone back to their own talks and eating whatever food they had left.

“Octair,” he told Hurgis in response. And Hurgis in turn raised his mug of whatever he was drinking and bellowed, “The third bless Octair, defeater of D’jor in the mighty game of men!” More men took this up, even D’jor with good humor, and raised their cups in good cheer. It seemed to Octair that he was fitting in already.

Although Octair would have liked to continue this way for much longer, all the men had duties. And, Octair was reminded, so did he. So it wasn’t long until Elk began furiously ringing a bell and bellowing for everyone to get out of his kitchen or their balls would be in the next soup. He used many more artistic words though, which seemed to make the men more spirited in leaving. Since everyone seemed to be heading in the same direction, Octair went ahead and followed Hurgis’s group, which consisted of Hurgis himself, D’jor, and the few who had sat with them.

It was then that Octair was gifted with another blessed sight. Right on the Eastern edge of the encampment ran a large stream. Not big enough to be called a river, but big enough to easily support the needs of the army. At first, he was shocked at what the men were doing. Water hadn’t been too rare a sight in his world, but it wasn’t as abundant as this, and never as clear and…perfect. And the men certainly took it for granted, they were, without remorse, washing their eating-wares, and even their dirty clothes. Of course, how else would they get clean? But the sight of it was still incredible to him.

Slowly, he kneeled at the edge of the stream, other men crowded around him going about their business, and he softly stuck a hand in. The water eventually swirled into his gauntlet and was cool to the touch. He brought his hand back out and removed both of his gauntlets. Then he put both of his hands in, letting the water wash around them. He pressed his hands to the softness of the ground in the stream, and he felt the dirt be carried away from his hands.

Suddenly there was a very cold splash in his face and he reeled back in shock. Hurgis, kneeling next to him, laughed at the look on Octair’s face. “What? Never seen water before?”

“Ah…” He took the small cloth that Hurgis offered and dried his face with it before handing it back.

“You come from a desert or something?”

Octair just smiled at him before saying, “Something like that.” That left Hurgis a little bewildered, but his friend on the other side of him bothered him and he turned away without further interest. Octair put his hands back into the streams and cupped water up to his lips before drinking haughtily. The water was just water, not sweet, but not the tight bitter he was used to.

Before washing his bowl clean, he drank his fill of the streams water. By then only a few stragglers remained at the stream. He had seen Hurgis and the rest leave already, to fulfill whatever duties required of them. And he supposed it was time for him to find out just what was entailed of a hired-sword.

When Octair returned to the camp, men were clamoring to tear down tents here and there. Even Elk was busy ordering around sculleries and other kitchen help to get things put away. For a while he watched as the tables in the commissary were easily taken apart and shuffled off. Still unsure of just where he was to report to, he returned to the tent in which he had spent the night. Inside, men were rolling up their cots and packing away any loose items. The lamps inside had already disappeared, and so had a great many of the cots. Octair copied them, and went to roll his own cot up surprised at how the thickness of the cloth helped keep it rolled, and finished it by tying it up with a strip of cloth that was attached to the end of it. It couldn’t possibly fit in his bag, so he watched as others tied their own cots to the tops of their packs. He then realized he could do the same with his own, and quickly did so.

After that, he slung his pack over his shoulders and followed as the others left the tent and went to the North side of the encampment. There Octair was, yet again, astounded by a new sight. By now he had grown accustomed to seeing new things, and so was only interested, not awed and surprised, at the long rows of large wooden wagons. Nothing was yet attached to the wagons to pull them, but he could see large oxen grazing attended some distance away. A paved road of cobblestones, he had seen such a thing before in the ruins of kingdoms, stretched as far North as the eye could see. “You’re the last, you should hurry.” Octair had noticed the man approach, but only paid him any attention when he had spoken. The man pointed to one of the wagons, they almost all looked the same save a few.

Octair nodded his head in thanks and went to the wagon. It was basically a square block of wood. The driver of the wagon would sit alone on a bench at the front, the rest of it was sheltered with only the back opening to let light in. It was entirely wooden, he presumed, for better protection and carved on the side panel were, in very small letters, the words ‘Royal Guard’. Looking closely, other wagons had similar etchings, only two other wagons with the same words. Inside were packs much like his own, and still space left enough for his. He set his pack on the very end where he could have a good view outside the wagon. It left him in the sun, but he didn’t believe he’d be doing any sleeping.

Once back outside the wagon, he looked around and saw that the entire encampment was busy packing away other wagons. Even with the many men, he knew packing everything away would still take most of the day. At least, he thought skeptically, not all of the tents are like Princess Vivien’s or it would take more than a few days.

Octair hurried back to camp, not knowing exactly where to go, he returned to the tent he had come from. Fortunately a familiar face awaited him there.

Larro put a fist to his chest in greeting to Octair until he did the same then held out his hand. Octair took it and was pulled into a friendly greeting. “I hear you’re not on so great of terms with the Ladyship after all, eh?” Larro was a little too happy with his announcement, and smiled a little too much when Octair admitted it with a shrug. It was like he had completely changed from the other day. “Now we can be friends! Even if I am your commanding officer.”

“You’re the captain?”

“Indeed.”

Octair shook his head a little ruefully but put a smile on his face. “I guess she really does want me to suffer.”

Larro continued to laugh, and even though he put his smile away, his eyes shone with amusement whenever he looked at Octair. “The Royal Guard isn’t involved with any of the packing away, besides their own supplies. Most of the tents will be taken down by the servants, the others by the men. Although some of the men don’t like it, it keeps them busy and makes things move faster, and it also prevents the need for too many servants.” In the middle of all this Larro turned and began to walk, Octair only followed him, and once at the end of his explanation he noticed Octair’s expression. “It may not be done this way in most of the other kingdoms, but the King believes a happy servant is a better servant.” They were still walking as he laughed suddenly, “We must be doing something right, we’re the biggest kingdom in all the lands.”

“Really?”

Larro gave Octair a look he couldn’t quite understand. “Well, Erdusk is one of the three Powers.”

“Powers?”

“By the Second, man! Did you crawl out from under a rock? The three Powers, the most powerful, largest, and wealthiest kingdoms of all the kingdoms; Erdusk, Kalanth, and Fal’ute.”

Octair grunted his understanding, but couldn’t help but put his intelligence to question yet again. “How many kingdoms are there anyway?”

This time Larro gave him a flat look that made him feel stupid, though he had his reasons for knowing so little of the world. Very exclusive, unsharable, reasons. “How many? Sorry, I forget you’re without education, you’re a mercenary after all. Well, there are nine. And right now, none of them are at war. Though it’s bound to happen sometime. Peace never lasts long.”

Octair was a little confronted with the idea of war. It just seemed so…stupid. He knew people had differences, and not everybody could get along. But what’s the point of killing so many of each other over petty differences? As he continued to follow Larro, he had to shrug the idea away. There were just too many things he didn’t know about this world.

“The high-ranking officers meet in the War-room, that’s the room where I took you when we came from the temple, where we’ll discuss tactics. There will be a map out to look at, so I’ll bring you along each time.”

“You’d do that for me?”

Larro laughed before turning his head to give Octair a sly smile. “It’ll be amusing to see how her Ladyship will act towards your appearance.”

“Speaking of that, won’t she just demand me to leave?”

He shrugged as a passing denial. “Royalty can’t be so direct. Politics, I guess.”

Politics? Octair thought apprehensively, he was right when he chose to distance himself. The conversation had drawn their attention away enough to make their arrival at their destination quick. It was an interesting stretch of small tents, colored differently from the others. These held all differently patterns and colors, and were embellished with golden trimmings. And unlike the tents of the army, these tents were more pointed at the top to create a cone shape. The flaps of each tent were fully drawn, revealing the interior. Each tent held something different inside, from weapons to mugs to a variety of items Octair didn’t recognize. The tent they stopped in front of was one filled with weapons.

Every weapon was made of metal, there were no bows. Maces sat sticking up from their racks, swords covered by their sheaths lay horizontally in theirs, and axes of all different sizes rested in various spots all around the tent. Octair turned to Larro, who was eying the swords. “Why are we here?”

He spoke without turning to look at Octair. “To get you a sword of course.”

“I didn’t ask for one. And I already have one.”

Larro laughed and turned to him with an observant look. “That short-sword looks as out of place on your hip as a bow would look in the hands of Elk.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s obvious you know how to use it, it just doesn’t look like it fits you is all. So go ahead and pick one.”

Octair only grunted but stepped to the rack of swords. He grasped a long-sword and held it up for a moment before putting it back and doing the same for another one. It was the fourth one he tried that felt, if not great, right in his hands. The sword slid free of it’s scabbard with a quiet metal ring. It wasn’t as nice as his own sword that he had left behind, but he never expected to see one quite like that ever again. The metal was polished enough he could see his reflection, and the hilt was wrapped with leather giving him a comfortable grip. A plain, rectangular piece of metal was the guard.

When he was satisfied with inspecting it, he slid it back into its scabbard and turned to Larro. “I’ve never seen a man so picky with his weapon.” He held up a small leather purse and jingled it in his hand with satisfaction. There was a man sitting on a stool in the corner who was certainly no warrior, with his bald head, long beard, and muscular build that showed signs of life in a smithy. Larro approached the man and the two engaged in a calm, but intense discussion. After a couple of minutes Larro opened the purse and placed a few coins in the man’s hand.

Chapter Two

It was a long walk of silence until she had led them to the outside. By the time they had stepped foot outside the maze of the strange temple, the sun was already rising above the horizon. At least this gave him a sense of direction, knowing that where the sun shone newly to the day was East. He knew that, but he had never actually seen the sun before. There had always been an overcast of darkness that were no mere clouds. It had blocked out the light almost entirely, leaving the world in dark tones. But this place, it had no overcast, there was no darkness. “Time sure flies when you’re trailing a pretty lady through danger,” he chided sarcastically, but she was distracted by something and his attempt to lighten his mood went unattended. “Can’t see how,” he muttered in response to her lack of communication.

As she kept to herself in thoughtful silence, he scanned the area, always on alert. With deep thoughts, he looked back on his life and realized that being aware of everything around ones self was a necessity for survival. Before now, anyways. Around him were the same beautiful trees he had seen previously. Though he knew now it was not a dream, that word was the only way to describe what he had seen then. Listening carefully, he could hear a thousand chirping voices. Shrill, yet beautiful with the slow rustle of the trees and all their millions of leaves swaying in the breeze. A memory of words in an old book he had once read in his younger years came to mind. “Birds?”

“Have you been living in a cave all your life?” The words jolted him out of his speechless recognition. Apparently she was done with her thinking and stood with her full attention on him. He noticed breathtakingly how her long, dark brown hair seemed to glow with the light of the sun, strands picked up by the gentle wind and slowly twirling as if in dance. Their eyes locked together and, oddly enough, there was one strong emotion he felt as her green eyes bore into his; hope. A little embarrassed that a simple damsel could affect him this way, he averted his eyes back to the trees and words jumbled out of his mouth. “I had only ever heard of them in a book.” She gave him a confused look full of askance, but before any words could be said they were interrupted.

What could only be the dull thump of hoof-beats became increasingly louder as the riders approached. The shrill sound of steel being drawn sounded suddenly in the air as the men on horses closed the distance. He found himself reaching for his sword on his back, only to remember that it wasn’t there. Glancing back to the ruins from where they had come, he weighed his options. Unarmed, engaging in close-quarters inside the temple would be advantageous until he could pick off enough of them to insure a clean escape. Turning toward his companion, he prepared to grab her arm and shout for her to run. But one look at her expression stopped him.

As the sharp end of a blade came to rest in his face, so were bows drawn to aim at him. Bows? He thought in puzzlement, bows are weapons to kill men. Surveying the newcomers that surrounded the two, he noted their equipment and critiqued their appearance. In fact, the entire group is barely fitted at all with any weapons that would be used against the dark creatures, a tell-tale sign they weren’t accustomed to them. And he didn’t even bother to mention how unskilled they were with the weapons they held. Their very stances dictated their inexperience.

“Larro,” she, his companion, spoke firmly to the leader of the riders, whose blade was currently at his neck. “My lady-”, the man spoke with deep respect in his voice, but was cut short by her. “Withdraw your weapons.” The look she passed around told she expected to be obeyed without question. Although the man she had named Larro struggled with discontent at the order and almost spoke, he finally obliged and all the men had put away their weapons. Larro nimbly hopped off his horse and stepped forward to bow to the lady, whom the savior of she was starting to believe some sort of princess.

When Larro stepped back again, he stole a glance at the unlikely hero. “May I ask, your Ladyship, who this man is and how he is so important as to you not wanting us to rid him of this world.”

Wow, I think I just made a new friend, he thought with a grunt. Next to him, his partner, the Ladyship, answered that question. “He is a friend, Larro.” It was a brisk statement, countered rudely by Larro. “A friend my lady?”

“Yes,” she smoothly ignored the barb in that question, “he saved me inside… more than I can say of you and your men Larro.” The man looked shocked and humbled at the same time. “Speaking of which, I never did get your name, warrior.”

He bowed seriously to the lady. It was undue to be sarcastic in such a situation, being unarmed and outnumbered, no matter how untrained the opponents are. “As I never did get yours, m’lady.”

“Very well. I am called Vivien.” Larro interjected here, with a serious tone and a face showing pride. “Daughter of the almighty Dret Dawn, king of Erdusk, the most powerful kingdom in all the lands.” Vivien gave him a look of strained patience, seeming not to enjoy the formalities.

“So, Vivien Dawn is it?”

Larro, of course, took that horribly, “That’ll be mistress Dawn to you!”

Ignoring the man, he went on. “My name is Octair Atra-” he stopped in the middle of his given surname. It was more a title than a name, given as a reward for champion, or some such thing back in the days of war and chaos. But he had failed that expectation. “No, Octair is the only name I carry.”

Although she raised an eyebrow in curiosity at his secrecy, she voiced no issue. “I thank you again for saving me from that monster. It was most impressive.” He tipped his head courteously in response to her words of gratitude. “Larro, I’m borrowing your horse until we return to camp.” This she said while climbing mount onto the large war-horse, Larro, unsurprised, voiced no complaints.

Well, of course, Octair thought, she is a princess after all. Larro turned towards his men and gave them orders to accompany the princess back to camp. They all rode off, without Vivien giving him even so much as a glance as they disappeared out of sight. Being left to walk with him, Larro didn’t seem the least bit happy. Punctuated by his silently starting off to their destination.

Octair followed him, also silently engrossed with the heavenly scene around him. What seemed only normal to the natural inhabitants of the world seemed like an amazing miracle to Octair. Used to only darkness beyond measure, lifelessness and evil, simple green trees and the beautiful blue sky were all just incomprehensibly magnificent. For a time he lost himself in the sights of animals he had only heard told in stories of the old age before the Dark Wars. But, as he should expect, peace did not continue on forever, even in such a wonderful world as this.

“You saved her, my lady said.” Larro’s aptitude for the simple continued to astound Octair, or so he thought amusingly. That wasn’t all Larro had to say apparently, as he stopped walking suddenly. It was all Octair could do not to run into him, so he stood facing the man curiously. “I thank you, and I apologize for my behavior.” This he said turning to Octair with a seriousness that left no humor to be found.

“No, I can understand. Apology accepted, and-” Octair stared into his eyes, “you’re welcome.”

Larro bowed his head momentarily in gratitude for the words. “But- Octair was it?” He only nodded. “What exactly did you save her from? The sacred temple is bounden, granting the promise of no harm among any who may visit. Though men may not pass upon the holy grounds of any of the ancient temples.”

Octair frowned at the facts of this new world, an interesting culture, I can see that already. “It was just a dark one.”

Larro’s full attention was with Octair now, curious of this danger. “Dark one? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Really? You don’t have them here?”

“Not just in Erdusk, I’ve never heard of them anywhere. And you say you know them?”

Octair gazed off in thought for a moment. Could they have followed me? Why is it that only since I came here they have appeared in this world? Why do I bring such terror with me? “Indeed, I know them. But even I am bewildered as to how they are here, so illogically appearing in a place they should not be.” Both of them took this thought in silence, but Larro continued to walk without thinking far on it. It would not do to be so pessimistic in such a beautiful world, after all.

Even on foot it didn’t take long for the two to reach the camp. Octair was yet again astounded by the incredibility of this new sight. Although lacking the natural beauty and grace of nature’s trees and animals, the setup of the camp was in its own way magnificent. Compared to the surroundings, the camp was a harsh sight of a jumble of tents lined with the sharp gleaming of metal. He could tell there was a system to the arrangement of tents, but it wasn’t designed for beauty. Every tent was the same dull gray and moss green but for one. A larger tent than the rest, by height and by size, loomed placed in the middle of the camp with its own colors of moss green and deep purple. It was only too obvious whose tent it belonged to.

“Come,” Larro said as he waved passage to a sentry posted on the outskirts of the camp, “I would assume my lady wishes to speak further with you.” He led Octair to the singular tent in the center of camp and there nodded to a guard standing alert at the entrance to the tent. The guard nodded back in recognition instantly and resumed to stare off in duty. Light was dimming outside as the sun began its last descent behind the horizon. And with it, Octair’s heart. For a minute he stood staring at the yellowish light of the sky in the distance in mute depression. Memories of the past welled up within him and the realization of this new world came with them. His face hardened with his known despair, and he glanced aside to the tent where light from a flame danced. It flooded to the ground at his feet as the flap was pushed aside. Larro appeared and waved for him to enter.

Octair did so and inside the tent was revealed another unique beauty. Various rugs, an obvious luxury only afford by the noble or royal, were scattered throughout covering the grass. Only half of the tent was visible to him, the other half blocked by a wall of silk. The other side was most likely where the princess slept. This side held a chair fitting for a lady and a desk carved of a beautiful dark wood. On it were various supplies suited for a member of the royal family. Other than that, there were a few candles hanging from the ceiling and enough room to hold a meeting.

But his appreciation was dulled for it from his despair. Even the sight of the princess in a new more lady-like dress fitting for a princess did nothing to wave away his apathy. He came to his knee in a bow alongside Larro until the melodious voice of the princess summoned them to their feet. When his eyes met hers he knew she had noticed the change in his mood since the temple, he also knew the glint in her eyes for the suspicion she felt in reaction. She focused her attention on Larro, who stood formally straight with absolute attention yet looking into the distance and not at the royalty before him.

“Were there any nuisances on the walk back to camp?” There was a hint of doubt in her voice, but Larro took no notice of it.

“No, m’lady.”

The princess nodded her satisfaction, “Good.” Her eyes found his again and without straying from them she continued to speak. “Larro, I wish to speak with this man alone.” Larro nodded his understanding and left without further commotion. “Impressive,” she now spoke to Octair, “there was not even the slightest objection from Larro, in the little time it took for you to reach here on foot it seems you have gained his trust.” His vivid blue eyes kept her attention completely rapt as he continued to stare into hers like many men dare not do. “What country do you hail from?”

There was a moment of silence before he answered her truthfully. “I am a man of no land, lady.”

“So are you a mercenary then?”

“I guess you can call me such.”

“What is it you were doing in a temple where a man is forbidden to be?”

“It was dark, I was in need of shelter, I awoke to find myself in the room where I incapacitated the beast that was after your life. I had no knowledge it was a place forbidden to me, please accept my apologies for such a transgression.” The way he spoke was dead of any tone, too formal.

She didn’t like it, she much preferred the man who had acted a tavern whore. It made her regret not laughing then. She hardly ever had the opportunity to laugh these days. “Since by being there you saved my life, it is nothing to dwell on. Where is it you are headed now?”

Octair couldn’t think of any excuses, not having any knowledge of the world and the kingdoms would seem strange, especially if he was supposed to be a mercenary. But he thought of one place he knew. “Erdusk, by chance I was heading there.” He held his breath hoping she wouldn’t take to being suspicious.

She didn’t notice anything. “What city?” The question was innocently asked but put Octair in another difficult position.

“I hadn’t decided yet.”

“Then, if it isn’t too much to ask, why don’t you accompany me to the capital of Erdusk? Areth is a beautiful place, and once we reach my father I’ll be sure to pay you handsomely for all that you’ve done.” Unbeknownst to Octair, deep down the princess was hoping strongly for him to accept.

Not being able to think of any real reasons why he should refuse, he didn’t. “Then I shall accompany you to Areth, princess. In what capacity shall I be in your service? It wouldn’t do for me to be just a guest.”

“You’re right, of course, then you shall be… my personal protector. I’ll give you your own authority to come and go. You needn’t take orders from anyone but me.”

Octair bowed slightly in humble acknowledgment. “Then, where may I spend the night?”

“Talk to the guards outside of my tent, they will make room for you in the tent across from mine. It is where all of my personal guards are assigned.”

He straightened from his bow and turned to go, she stopped him as he pushed the flap aside. “Octair?” It was the first time she had said his name and he turned to her with some of his enthusiasm regained. “Thank you.” Accepting the thanks, he nodded his head and the flap closed behind him blocking the light from flooding into the night.

Above him shone a scene that took his breath wholly and washed away all of his previous feelings of despair. Specks of light more than dotted the sky, lighting the darkness of night in a brilliance of shining stars. The entire night sky was awash with them, some forming what looked to be a river of light above. Some shining brighter than others. He didn’t know how long he stood there fixated on that beauty before his thoughts were interrupted by a rough voice beside him. “You’ll be staying in the tent directly in front of you, there will be an empty cot you can have. The food stuffs’ is to your right, the tables and tankards, you can’t miss it.”

Octair thanked the man for the directions and, not quite feeling up to sleep, headed to the right for the commissary. If he could remember correctly, he’d been days and days without food. The pangs of hunger, even starvation, were something he was used to. Had this been his world and he surrounded by darkness and dead black land he would’ve just ignored his hunger. There hadn’t been much to eat then, what with all of the land so dead it made a desert look like paradise. But in such a beautiful world as he was in now, it just wasn’t right to go on an empty stomach.

Everything was all so very new to him, he felt like a child. He was at least familiar with the foods set out in a line under the open tent that was the commissary. A gruff man was behind it fiddling with something out of sight, his broad back facing Octair. Running his eyes over the various platters of food placed systematically on the thin long table made him choke up. Smelling all the sweet fragrances, feasting upon all the sights with his eyes, even the emptiness in the pit of his stomach were things he was suddenly grateful for. It was a tearful moment without any tears, his had dried up long ago. He realized he was very happy to be alive.

The cook turned then and surprised Octair with a light sound of recognition. “Already! By the Third! Ye’d best not be trying to siphon out any extra rations from me, thief!” He waved around a redundantly large wooden spoon still covered with whatever he was stirring, goblets of the stuff flew this way and that with the motion. It was a large spoon by far, as big as any sword, but in the hands of the cook it looked small. After he was done flinging food about he stared at Octair with interest. An awkward silence settled over the commissary then, and in the middle of it the large case of a cook took his thumb to a splatter of food that had landed on his cheek and, still silently staring, stuck it into his mouth. The recipient of the cooks giant gaze didn’t bother mentioning that he still had most of the contents of what he was stirring in his grizzly beard.

“That armor…” the cook grunted his appraisal, “that ain’t no regiment standard. Yer that hired-sword every’uns been talkin’ over.”

Octair couldn’t say he was wrong, but it was surprising to hear it. “Are you sure? I only got here not long ago.” The cook surprised him again by bellowing with laughter, his robust demeanor reminded Octair of a once friend what felt like long ago… He eyed the cook again, except maybe not as dumb…

“Oh I be sure! There be no other but ye that isn’t sworn to the legions of Erdusk here. Ye be a rare case in particular, the princess don’t partially take to hired-swords, nor do most in the ranks.” He gave way to a moment of silence to give Octair a chance to make talk back, but he was one to rather not speak much, if at all. The cook, on the other hand, was quite taken to the frivolity of small talk. Or any talk at all really. “I’m sure ye be starvin enough fer fives lads, and here I am talkin yer ear off! I be guessin that ye don’t have no issued eatin wares, so fer now use this one ‘ere.” He shuffled through a large chest that couldn’t be seen from behind the setup of foods and came up with a dull wooden bowl.

When the giant of a cook handed it towards him and he took it, he realized the bowl wasn’t the size of a teacup, it just looked so in the hands of the large man. “My thanks, I suppose I really should be introducing myself, since I’ll be in your care from now on. My name is Octair, warrior extraordinaire,” he said with a flourish mimicking royalty in a humorous manner, the bowl posing as a sort of crown.

Octair got what he intended as the cook grinned and wiped his hand on his apron before sticking it out in greeting. As they shook, Octair got a very good idea of the difference between the sizes of their hands. “Extraordinaire?” The man laughed, it was a mouthful for him. “Right fine to meet ya Octair, I don’t s’pose ye could tell me yer age, eh? I mean no offense- with yer odd hair it be mite hard to tell, see.”

Octair laughed softly as they let go of the shake. “No hurt from that friend. Truth be said, I’m not really sure of it myself. Where I hail from, see, weather’s always the same. If I had to put a guess to it though, I’d say about twenty-six cycles.”

“Ah, I figur’d ye were from some far land, ye got that look bout ye. I’ve seen thirty-one winters m’self.” He grunted, it was deep and sounded like a dull hammer hitting soft earth. “Almost forgot me name, ill-mannered of me. It be Elk by the way, I be called that, ya see, cause since the moment I were born they say I had the thick legs of an elk.” His deep laughter filled the commissary tent again, “Not so much these days, these days they be like tree-trunks. Move like em too,” it was a moment before the laughter stopped and Elk shoved his giant wooden spoon into the large cauldron of whatever he was cooking and wiped his hands on his apron, adding to the greasy marks already there. “Go ahead and take what food ye like, I’ll run off to supply and grab a pack of supplies ye’ll be needing.”

Elk trumped off then, leaving Octair to imagine the ground shaking with his every step. It wasn’t so of course, he was about the same size as one of his companions. Kurst, a powerful, if somewhat slow, warrior. One of his band that he once led. Octair was left staring at the bowl in his hands, wondering where his companions were. By the Dark, he wondered where he was. But something inside of him knew he would never see his companions again. So he bucked himself up, blocked out his emotions as he was so good at doing all this time, and filled his bowl with soup and grabbed a half of a loaf of bread to eat with it. And he relished it. Mostly he was accustomed to meats and the very rare chance of natures gift of fruits and vegetables. His stomach gurgled as he grew hungrier remembering the past times when he would often go without food for weeks, often eating plain grass whenever it could be found for that alone was miraculous then. And now here he sat, eating foods he had only heard told of in his childhood in a world filled with green.

It was a form of healing, and a damned good one for him. Taking all this in, besides the lower Dark One he had killed, this world seemed to be lacking hardships. The light, the scenery, the people, the food, even the dark made his past seem like a bad dream that had finally ended. If it weren’t for the armor he wore, and the pendant hung around his neck, hidden from sight, he’d think it really was just all a nightmare.

A loud thump accompanied by various wooden clicks startled him, and in his surprise he almost spilled what was left of the soup on his lap. On the table now sat a large cloth bag with an earthen color to it. It was of very simple design, leaving only one flap to open and close. Octair scowled up over his shoulder at Elk. “How can something so damn big be so damned stealthy?” He was a little embarrassed that he had been so out of it that Elk had snuck up on him.

The one who had done the sneaking let out a short burst of laughter and smacked Octair on the back in good cheer, almost causing him to lose his dinner again. “The First must favor you! In return for your services you have been commissioned these goods and are to be lavishly retained on our return trip to Areth.” All of this he spoke extravagantly, and in good humor to get the point across that they had been more than willing to provide for Octair in recompense for saving their princess.

Octair was grateful, especially towards Elk who had seemed to take a liking to him. But all he did was crinkle his brow and said, “You sound funny when you speak plainly.” As it was said in all seriousness, this caused Elk to roar with laughter and he went back to finishing off the rest of the soup.

“Plainly? Plainly!” He was still laughing about it when Octair had downed the remainders of his meal and pushed the bowl to the side. Elk had seen him finish and shoved his pack towards him, it slid roughly and came to a stop in front him, and Octair was glad he had moved the bowl out of the way. “There ain’t be much in it, see. Just yer own bowl, a few tins to carry foodstuffs in, a belt-knife they give to the lot of us when we enlist, a wineskin, though I think they mean fer us to use it fer water,” he gave Octair a knowing wink at the last part, “and whatever space ye got left is fer yer own personal items.” It really was a large bag, and mostly empty on that. He could probably fit his armor with a few other clothes into it and still have plenty of room for a couple of blankets. There were two leather straps he could hoist over his shoulders to carry it and a few loops and strings on the outside of the pack for whatever equipment he needed to bring that couldn’t fit inside.

Precursor-

The waters ran deep, a brilliant blue glow emitting from water too pure and clear. The light reflected off the luminescent cavern ceiling and rugged walls, bathing the pure onyx veins in light strangely synonymous to the darkness. An image unfitting of the world torn to abstract nothingness beyond the caverns entrance. A world where hope did not exist, where good had fell, and even evil became non-existent without it’s counterpart as comparison. Where lives dimmed and grew less and less, holding no value even to their growing rarity. No omnipotent force existed to guide the tragic souls, even that belief of hope lost in the dark even darkness shunned.

Such made it easy, this decision of finality. An end to anything good, but also to the worse. All individuality had been lost with the commonality of mind, of hopelessness, of hollow tragedy… By this, all would question the existence of soul, yet who other held explanation for the energies those here gave towards the oblivion willingly, perhaps even anxiously, brought? The many here, a pitiful seven, yet holding numerically a large percentage of the remaining world’s, of life’s, population, formed something they not understood. With that forming, they gave not their meager lives, but their eternity. The pool, impossible existence, not of water, glowed brighter still with each of their wills given. He was the last to drop into the watery pit of eternal end, an oblivion every existence, evil or naught, feared. His comrades already gone, his last piece was the key, and as his body fell forward to melt softly into the blue, the lock clicked open, and no white, no black, nothing… nothing showed.

Chapter One

In a scene of only white, water rushed. A soothing sound, but altogether a rough sign of life. Water overlapping water roared with the sound of it, and gradually, through the countless minutes… for what seemed too long for time, the roar grew dim. And slowly, the whiteness transcended, fading into the background of something grander.

It was to this something that he opened his eyes. The noise of the water was still present, but other sounds could now be heard. A winged creature glided overhead, passing him by without offering him notice. It landed nearby, upon one of the many trees on either side. The sensation of the water running through his clothes and armor was chilling, but refreshing. Something he had forgotten long past. The bird, a creature he had only heard stories about, disappeared from sight as the river he floated upon carried him away. Reaching for the bottom of the river, he felt no ground. Odd… he thought without heart, I could have sworn… I had already sunken to the depths…

Eventually, the sun appeared directly overhead, shining brighter than he had ever imagined it could. Heaven? Could this be the existence that awaited him after his death? But… he didn’t believe in heaven. Thrusting his arm above him, the water dripped onto his face as he grasped to hold the sun. Something unachievable, but so enticingly provoked. Would he start to believe in this place as a heaven? Even if he was unsure if he believed he had a soul? And if so, where were the others?

These questions came to mind, and a normal person… no, a person not born of his world, would have cared. Those thoughts slipped away with the current, and he could almost believe his sins did as well. But there was darkness on him no light could wash away. And so, he drifted. And he drifted… The water soothed him to sleep at some point, leaving him with the curiosity that if he were to awaken again… would this all be gone? Or, would he be gone?

There, he found himself awake, situated on a hard surface, no longer flowing freely. Water would pick his hand up periodically, but otherwise he was dry. Warmth soaked its way through his clothes and prickled along his skin. Though allotted to memory of terrible times, it still held comfort. For a time, he lay there, listening for sounds, refusing to open his eyes, lest he find the light gone. Vibrations ran along his back, disturbing his peace. Never having any hope to start, he opened his eyes. And once again… they found only darkness.

But he picked himself up, as he was used to doing, and shifted to look at the surroundings. The first that caught his eye was the light, and his heart moved. Ignoring all else, he clumsily stood and walked to bathe in the brightness. The moon was the source, also the many sparkling stars in the sky. His knees gave way, and he sat there, staring up at the beauty, tears rolling down his cheeks. Hope smashed into his mind, and into his heart, harder than anything had before. In all his life, nothing ever touched him in such a way. Staring at his hands, that hope pervaded. If I exist… then so does, now, the world? Confused, and without knowledge of this new world, he slumped against the side of a wall… and he smiled.

Her steps hit the floor with minimal noise, her heavy breathing sounding heavier than her run. Fleeing from only Atraxia and the Seven know what, she wound her way through the ancient temple, sure of something close behind her. The brown stone walls, and similar floor and ceiling, were rooted with plants, overgrown as befitting of a temple older than countries. With a misstep, her hand sought support from the green of a vine clinging to the wall. She found none, as her weight easily pulled free the delicate vine and she crashed to the floor, earning a few scratches and bruises in the morrow that would pain her for days. If she lived long enough to see those days, she would welcome the hurt of living. The unmistakable sound of claws ripping over the stones interrupted the sound of her heart beating in her ears.

Afraid that this would be her last, she dove quickly through a doorway near her, and prepared to make a run again. But when she looked for her way, she found only water running through a natural path in the ground of a room with only one entrance, and a broad opening in the ceiling in which the moon shone in. A sound caught her ears and she quickly turned in alarm towards the doorway in which she came. Expecting a beast, she found only an odd man staring at her from his spot against the wall near the entrance to the room. His eyes spoke volumes about him and his past, but his gaze nor posture left any impression of strength. The clothes he bore were heavy armors; chain-linked mail and leathers covering all but his head where hair with the silvery glow of the moon fell in rough waves to his shoulder. The colors of the armor were of a country she had never seen, black and midnight blue.

Before any questions could be asked of each other, she heard the ominous sounds of her pursuer close the distance. A blackness not like the mans armor shrouded the beast that stepped through the doorway, piercing her with a savage and bloodthirsty stare, even though the thing held no eyes. Terror gripped her as she stepped back, doom shrouding her hope. But as the beast stepped forward to lunge at her, it’s prey, the man stood with movement faster than anything she had seen and grappled the thing to the ground. He was unarmed, but after a minute of struggling, there was a loud snap and all went still.

A sharp intake of breath fanned her hope to flame yet again as the stranger heaved the creature aside and stood. She was at a loss for words, as this beast had been done in easily and expertly by this unarmed person, where she had imagine many with weapons would have failed. He stared blankly at her, with an expression she could not read, and he made no move, as if lost in his own reality.

So she made her own move, a mixture of relief and happiness, gratitude and friendliness for her saving. Also was the anger, moved by the event and fueled by confusion. “Who are you?” Those words came out harsher than she would have liked, yet not without reason. “This place is sacred, no man may enter here. The only entrance is guarded, how have you come here? Why?” So many questions, all spoken with a flare of temper, which did nothing to promote the stranger’s communication, nor did it affect the man in any way. Least, he was now paying attention to her.

There was a long time of silence before he startled her with a fit of laughing. She felt her face redden, saved and then laughed at. “What?” To her own surprise, she asked with less of a temper now.

The man managed to put his laughter down, but his face held a smile in which she was just now finding distinctly attractive. His features spoke of a people she had never seen, nor heard of. “Oh,” his rich voice was a sudden batter upon her senses, melodious and deep with strength. “It’s just, this is a strange predicament I’ve found myself in, is all. Here I was, accosted by confusion as to how I was made to be in this place, then came along a helpless damsel chased by a weak little beast. Next thing I find myself being lectured by that very damsel I saved as to how I am trespassing on supposed hallowed ground, so I shan’t have been here to save you.” His smirk irked her, “as for the comment about any man being forsaken here, well, who’s to say I’m a man? I’m far too pretty after all.” Undignified, he picked up the hem of his chain-mail shirt and swished it to and fro, the perfect imitation of a tavern whore, even giving her a flirtatious wink that she could find a hilarity in itself.

But she put a mask on her emotions and kept the humor bottled up as she used the small part of her that was angry to set her tone. “Nonsense.” In a manner of disgust, she turned away from him, her sleeveless white dress swirling with her. With noble dignity, she strode out of the room.

Even as he was wholly confused, he set such feelings aside as he hurried to follow the ‘lady’. But even as he stole glances at her shapely figure, a form he thought no man could resist, he could not help but feel troubled over the beast he had just slain. One of his many nightmares of the past, a dark creature. Fortunately, it had been one of the lesser types, something he could deal with easily. Well, he thought as he followed the girl, keeping his sight above her waistline, I am no mere man.