Chapter 12

“So this is our savior,” she said, offering her hand. “Archen, I presume? It is about time we met.” Her eyes explored his face as though in search of a mystery there.

He took the hand in his and brought it to his lips. “I am only a plain warrior, your Highness. What greater assistance can I give you, than to die today in battle?”

Eve turned her back on him, facing the window. “Your life may yet be required of you. Who can say? All our lives may be poured out before an hour has passed. Still, my remaining confidence is in you, and the Sword of Flame my Father spoke of.”

Doctor Merrill looked up sharply, “Your Highness has discovered it?”

“I mean to.” She turned around, the vial in her hand.

“No, your Highness. I must protest! A second dose – the effect may be disastrous. You may not survive it!”

“No, do not look at me that way, doctor. I am neither saint nor martyr. What chance do I have to survive if I do not risk it?” She took a step backward, “WHERE IS THE SWORD OF FLAME?” The doctor started forward, his hands raised. But it was too late. The vial was already at her lips.

Her eyes opened wide in shock. As if thrust by an invisible power, her body flung backwards against the window and crumpled to the ground. Instantly the crimson bottle flew from her hand to shatter against the wall.

The doctor reached her first and bent over her convulsing form. Her mouth moved wordlessly. As the potion flowed through her body, her eyes shuddered in a silent plea.

From all around them the vaporous response shrieked. “Within bone, muscle and pounding heart, you will find the two-edged blade.”

***

The stableboy swallowed hard. The moment for recanting had long since passed. “Doctor Merrill, Sire. I’m sure it was him.”

***

The doctor cursed, looking first at the girl struggling with pain on the floor, then at Archen. “What devilry is this? Can you decipher the riddle?”

Archen was silent, as if he heard nothing. He seemed to see a vision on every side, etched in fiery letters on the wood-paneled walls, the very words he had read by firelight that morning.

I have hidden your word in my heart
That I might not sin against you
For the word of the Lord is quick and powerful
Sharper than any double-edged sword
It penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit
Joints and marrow

“The Book of Peace,” he whispered, returning the doctor’s questioning glance. “The sedja molenko. The Sword of Flame is not a sword at all – it’s a book.”

Chapter 11

“Out of the way, boy, if you please!” Jeed commanded with irritation.

“I beg your pardon, Sire,” the boy said meekly, crushing a frayed cap between his hands, “But there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

“I have no time for idle talk, my son. We’re on the verge of a battle.” Jeed pushed past the boy and continued his hurried stride. “You know the order – to the Armory with you.”

Undaunted, the boy trotted after Jeed, “Yes Sire, of course Sire. I will go, but first I’ve got to tell you. Because if there’s a traitor, well then, you’ve got to know.”

Jeed stopped abruptly, turning to face the boy with interest. “What was that again?”

***

Archen took the sword and shield the unit commander held out to him. They were weak, ill-made instruments, but Archen didn’t notice it. His heart was tightened like a coil about to spring, every muscle and nerve on high alert. It was an odd, familiar feeling, this rushing of blood through his head, this single consuming focus: Find the enemy and destroy it.

“You there!” Something slipped and clicked out of place. Archen looked up, displaced. For half a lightening moment, he did not know who, or where, he was. “Yes, you there!” The commander motioned to him, “You are wanted in the palace. Go with the doctor here, he’ll escort you.”

***

The terrible ranks of Ty’Goth grew steadily nearer. Five hundred yards. Four hundred yards. The glint of steel flashed as every beast drew his sword and every yellow eye gleamed with the hunger to kill. Three hundred yards. The archers on the wall drew back their bows and held their breaths. Two hundred yards from the Royal city, the creatures broke into a run.

***

“Yes, Sire, and that’s what I wondered, too,” the stableboy flushed under the governor’s stare and looked at his feet. “I know it isn’t a crime, strictly speaking, to be outside the city walls. I was myself, you know. We all were, but it wasn’t just then. It was after that, when I went back to get the King’s standard. Didn’t seem right to leave it on the ground, but they’d all forgotten it with the excitement of—“

“What are you talking about, son?”

The stableboy was flustered. “Behind the tree, he was hiding behind the tree. You know the big old oak out there? He was hiding on the other side of it, but when I went back for the flag he slipped around the side and I saw him, not a stone’s throw away.”

Jeed bent down and grabbed the boy’s shoulders with both hands. “Saw who?”

Changes to Chapter 9

If you have already read chapter nine, please read it again. I made a few minor yet significant changes to it today.

Thank you.

~Eve

Chapter 10

Thousands upon thousands of Ty’Goth were pouring from the forest. It was as if a giant’s hand had laid a dark shroud over the plain, blotting out any glimpse of grass, shrub or flower. Only this mantle seethed, it boiled, a teeming beehive of intensity coming steadily closer. Our doom, Eve thought. That black sea will break upon our walls, and the walls will not hold it.

“How long until they reach us?”

“Perhaps ten minutes. Not more.” His hand was on the door to leave, but she beckoned for him to stay.

“My friend, I tell you plainly that our one hope rests in finding Archen at once, before it is too late,” she said.

“That is no hope at all, then,” replied the doctor tensely. “By what means could we hope to do that now?”

“By Suffering.”

***

Jeed made it only as far as the gate of the courtyard. There he was stopped short by a boy in common clothes who barred his way. "Please Sire," he said, and Jeed recognized him for the castle's youngest stableboy. "A word first."

***

“I don’t follow, your Highness.”

“Suffering.” She put a hand to her neck, pulling out the silver chain that had been concealed under the bodice of her gown. On the end of the chain flashed a small glass bottle, the color and size of a strawberry. “You know that my Father has a gift of Prophecy. I also have a gift. This is the Vial of Suffering. I am told that with a drink of this, I can get an answer to any question I ask.”

He peered at the bottle, turning it over and holding it up to the light. “How is this accomplished? Have you used it before?”

“I have not. My father charged me to employ it only at great need.” Trembling slightly, she took the vial back in hand and removed the stopper. A faint scent of cinnamon rose into the air. “I think our need may never again be this great.” With her lips pressed to the bright glass, she hesitated. "I wonder, do I drink first, or ask first?"

"I am inclined to think, ask first, then drink for the answer."

She nodded, threw her head back, and called out, "WHERE IS MY FATHER'S MESSENGER ARCHEN?" then gave a solemn toast and drank.

Fire. Eve choked and sputtered as the liquid flames licked down to her belly, spreading fingers of agony through her veins. She stumbled and collapsed against the doctor's arms, and he carefully lowered her to the floor.

A soft hissing sound came from her hand. With some difficulty she pried open the fist she had closed around the vial. Inside the glass the potion swirled a murky black, and a high inhuman voice issued out. "He passes under the likeness of your grandfather."

"He passes...?" Eve struggled for breath and clarity, the pain ebbing to memory. "What does it mean?"

"It is a riddle, of course."

"A riddle. Yes. Then the likeness...must refer to--"

"The statue!"

"Outside the Armory! Doctor, you must fetch him to me, quickly!"

He was already running for the door.

Chapter 9

High on the city walls the trumpet sounded. One long, high blast, followed by two shorter notes a third lower. From his offices in the palace Jeed heard it, and cursed. One terrible hour you have survived, but a second is imminent. So the next terrible hour had arrived. He dashed out in the direction of the city gates, shouting orders to the guards.

***

Archen and his three friends heard the blast, also.

“It’s time,” Durran said grimly, standing. “Handshakes all around. Good? Alright.” He faced Archen, “The order went out yesterday. If the alarm should sound, all capable hands must report immediately to the Armory.”

“I’m coming with you, of course,” Archen nodded, addressing the unvoiced question.

“I am too,” Olivia spoke up. “And don’t you dare try to stop me.”

***

Coming up the great marble steps that led to the palace’s east entrance, Eve heard the blast, as well. She gripped the doctor’s arm, her face turning deadly white. “Oh, no,” she cried. “Not yet. We’re not ready.” Her legs would not support her; she swayed and felt close to fainting. Indeed, she wished she might.

All around her, through blurring vision, she was faintly conscious of figures, people running, excited and frightened shouts ringing out. Father, help me! A hand clutched at hers. Eve blinked and saw a woman, barely older than herself, holding a toddler with a tear-streaked, dirty face.

“Highness! Prophetess!” the woman cried, almost fiercely, “Are we going to die?”

Warmth spread throughout Eve’s limbs, she felt as if time lay suspended. So this is the real enemy, she thought, This terror that robs men of their souls while death is still miles away.

“I am not a prophetess, that is my Father’s gift.” Eve said, “But now be quiet, and listen to me. For what do you hope, and what do you fear? I tell you that there is no greater hope than for a noble death, and no greater fear than a coward’s demise. You must resolve in your heart to live and die valiantly. Then you will find fortune in both life and death.”

“Pardon me, your Highness,” Doctor Merrill broke in gently from her side. “But I think I must get you to a safe location. My office is close by, in the east tower. Please allow me to take you there. I will then attempt to locate Lord Jeed, who will no doubt wish to station guards over you.”

For a moment Eve appeared ready to refuse, then a subtle light flickered in her eyes. She nodded, and without a word allowed herself to be guided up the steps into the palace. Together they climbed the steep stairway that led to the doctor’s study, a cheery, wood-paneled room with a long, low window on the south side, overlooking the battlements.

Beyond those fortress walls she gazed, and the shock of what she saw sliced through her composure.

Chapter 8

But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
Then I will lift up my face without shame;
I will stand firm and without fear.
I will surely forget my trouble,
recalling it only as waters gone by.
Life will be brighter than noonday,
and darkness will become like morning.

Could it really be morning already? From other rooms in the house, Archen could hear amiable voices bantering with one another, the treading of feet outside his door. The light coming in through the windows and the cheerful morning noises had built so gradually, they had not interrupted his study, until now. Archen turned a page and continued to read.

You have filled my heart with greater joy
than when their grain and new wine abound.
I will lie down and sleep in peace,
for you alone, O Lord ,
make me dwell in safety.

He had not been able to sleep. Closing his eyes had only cleared the stage for chaos to perform. Try as he might, he could not escape from the images of blood-soaked forests or charred Ty’Goth limbs. In vain he attempted to stretch past them in his mind, to grasp some memory of calm simplicity, but there was nothing. Nothing apart from the turmoil of the last day, twisting and tightening his nerves.

Lighting a fire in the grate of his room, he had sighted a coat of arms and blade mounted on the opposite wall, illuminated by the flames. He had taken down the sword, testing the weight, first with his right hand, then his left. The movements came instinctively to him. Am I a soldier? He had wondered, I think I’ve done this before. Only, it was different somehow…

A muted impression rose up, of clamoring, angry voices and the clash of metal on metal. As quickly as it came, the memory vanished. Troubled, he had placed the sword back against the wall and paced the room.

It was then that his glance had fallen on the small leather book, resting on the mantle above the fireplace. Opening it to the middle, he had read:

I lie down and sleep;
I wake again, because my Lord sustains me.
I will not fear the tens of thousands
drawn up against me on every side.

Arrested by the simple purity of the lines, Archen had settled in front of the fire with the book in his lap.

A soft rap on the door brought him back to the present, announcing the girl Olivia, “Are you hungry? I made breakfast.”

“I’m famished,” Archen replied truthfully. “I can’t remember the last time I ate. Of course, lately I can’t remember anything, so that might not mean much.”

She laughed easily, “I knew I liked you. We’d better hurry, the boys tend to eat like it’s a competition, so—“ she stopped suddenly, “What is that?” she asked, indicating the book in his hands.

Archen turned the cover over, reading, “The Book of Peace. Frankly, I think it is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever read. Listen to this—“

“Wait.” She placed a hand on the book, “Archen, you can read this?”

“Yes,” he answered cautiously, surprised by the emphasis of her question. Then “What--!” for she grabbed his hand and dragged him behind her down the hall, calling all the while for her brothers.

“What’s going on, Livi?” Durran asked, looking up from the table as the two raced into the room.

“It’s nothing, really,” Archen answered, confused, “Your sister seems shocked that I can read, that's all.”

“Not that you can read, what you can read,” she explained, pointing to the book he held.

“I don’t believe it.” Durran said quietly.

“Believe it, why it makes perfect sense now!” cried Kite breathlessly, “He must be from the past!”

“No,” said Durren slowly, “No, it’s a fine theory, but it won’t work. He speaks our language.”

“Ah, I should have thought of that.”

“I’m still here,” Archen said dryly. “Would someone please tell me what you are all talking about?”

“This book, the sedja molenko, is about a thousand years old.” Durren explained, “I think it was used as a kind of prayer book for the ancient kings. But in any case, no one has spoken that language for centuries. What we are all wondering about is how you can read it, when no one else alive can.”

Chapter 7

Eve closed her eyes momentarily, trying to focus. She could hear the words clearly, but they seemed to slip away before she could string one up with another and understand its meaning. “Say that again, please?” She asked.

“I said, he’s not here.” Doctor Merrill repeated. He too seemed to be having a hard time concentrating, rubbing his eyes and looking in a confused fashion at the empty bed.

“I can see that. Where is he?”

“I -- I can’t explain it. I was in the next room, reading, and I must have dozed off…” the doctor said unevenly, “But even so, I’m normally a very light sleeper, I should have heard even the least noise…”

Eve took a deep breath, Father, what now? What am I to do? Her fingers idly ran over the small silver chain around her neck as she considered the dazed man in front of her. Suddenly she gave a little gasp, “Doctor, look at me!” Eve sat on the bed and put a hand under his chin. Raising his eyes to hers, she studied them for a short moment. “It’s the same,” she whispered at last, “Oh, we’ve been great fools, you and I.”

“What is it? What is the matter?”

“Doctor, did you examine any of the sentries that were on duty the night before last, at the time of the attack?”

“I did. It was I who first determined they were under an enchantment.”

“And how did you determine this?”

“The pupil of the eye was enlarged to almost twice its normal size. Very typical of black magic sleep spells. I’d studied them years ago, but I’d never actually seen it in practice before.”

Eve motioned to a gold-framed mirror mounted on the opposite wall, “Have a look at your own eyes, Doctor. I think you’ll find the condition not quite as pronounced. It must have been a shorter spell, nevertheless, I’m certain you were put to sleep. Get your coat, we’re going to need to return to the palace and consult with Jeed immediately.”

The doctor’s hands shook, “I, enchanted? No, no, my dear, the idea is ludicrous. A man of my -- my intellectual ability—“

“Do you really mean to suggest that you are too clever for black magic?”

Doctor Merrill paused only a moment, then swallowed, “Right. Let’s be off then.”

Chapter 6

The stableboy turned over in his make-shift bed of coarse straw. Sunlight was just beginning to stream in through the chinks in the stable walls, cutting pale yellow lines through the air, holding captive the dust that danced and spun within its rays.

What if he was wrong? The doubt tugged at his conscience, relentless, pricking his memory for a foothold. What if he'd been seeing things? It's all fine to say, "I know what I saw," but who could ever be totally sure of that? And if he mispoke, a noble man's reputation, maybe even life, hung in the balance. Was he so sure of himself that he would risk that? With all the heady excitement of the previous day, could he really trust entirely his recollection of events?

But then again, what if he was right? That was the most terrible thought of all: that one of the most loyal, trusted men in the kingdom might very well be a traitor.

The stableboy raised his hand over his head, gazing at the sturdy brown fingers. What could a man trust if not his own eyes? His eyes told him he had five good fingers on his right hand - how if there were really only four? Five fingers were necessary to properly grasp a sword, but only four were needed to hold a dagger. Should he trust his eyes and pick up the sword, or obey his fears and reach for the dagger?

No, he decided at last. It is a day of brave men. Men who have the courage to wield strong swords and stand up to the enemy, whoever the enemy might be. He would go immediately and demand to speak to the princess. He would tell her what he had seen.

Chapter 5

Just between Archen and the fire stood a small cluster of people, about his own age, he guessed. Two boys, the oldest perhaps a head taller than Archen himself, the other of medium size, and a girl with long yellowish hair. It was the girl who was speaking. He moved closer to listen, though still keeping himself mostly hidden in the shadows.

“Oh, I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. Please, let’s go home,” said she, burying her face in her hands.

“Come now, Livi. You’re going to have to be braver than that!” the younger boy replied, his voice resonating with excitement, “This is a national emergency. It’s no time for you to start acting like a girl, you know.”

“And I suppose,” she retorted, and Archen saw her turn and make a face at the boy, “this is no time for you to start acting like a human being, either.”

The boy appeared delighted, clapping his hands. “Brilliant, that one was! You’re getting better all the time.”

“She’s right.” The tallest boy spoke up, his voice soft yet woven through with authority, “but not about you, Kite. We’re not needed here, and Lord knows there will be much work for us in the morning.” He placed an arm around the girl’s shoulders, “Come on then, let’s go home.”

All three turned to face him. The boy called Kite let out a low whistle. "The hero of the hour!"

Instantly Archen regretted the rashness of allowing himself to be drawn into their conversation. He must look like a fine fool, evesdropping on strangers this way. But Kite grinned affably, "Are the rumors true? Did you really lose your mind?"

"Kite, don't!" The girl cried out.

"It's alright. I'm afraid it's quite true," Archen admitted.

"Rotten luck, that is. What do you say, Durran?"

The tall boy stepped forward, his hand outstretched, "All I know is, a friend of the King is a friend of mine. I'm Durran, and this is my brother, Kite, and my sister, Olivia." He paused, "But I guess you don't know your own name."

"No, I don't. They've been calling me Archen, though, and that's as good a name as any."

"Better!" burst in Kite merrily, "They might have called you Balpheous, or --"

"Archen it is, then." Durran interrupted. "Have you got a place to stay the night, Archen?"

He hesitated, thinking of the place he'd fled from in such a hurry an hour ago. "No, I haven't."

"We'd be honored if you would stay with us. We have a house just a short walk from here, with plenty of room, an extra bed for the night, and Olivia is a marvelous cook."

"No, don't refuse," Kite said, clapping him on the back, "We're all in agreement. It's settled."

Chapter 4

The sweet oblivion of nothingness faded away, like the dripping of a willow tree after a heavy rain. Archen was standing in the middle of a dense forest, on all sides surrounded by endless autumn foliage, with fiery golden leaves overhead and underfoot. It would have been achingly beautiful, were not every tree trunk smeared and dripping with blood.

The whispers began softly, gradually, first on the left, then up ahead, behind him, swirling about his head. “Too late…it’s too late.” A fleshless voice, quite close, behind him, “Run, run away.” He whipped around, but saw nothing, just the ghastly soaking trees. Then the mad laughter, ringing out, “They’re coming.”

He ran instinctively, driven by the frantic pounding of his heart, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The voices were on all sides of him now, louder and persistent.

Then he saw it, up ahead. Not twenty paces away it stood, peacefully, under a heavy bough, and watched him steadily. Archen tripped, pitching forward to the ground. Consciousness rose up to hit him hard, throwing him into the inky blackness of the bedchamber. Get out, get out! He stumbled, awake, but still firmly in the grip of terror.

Somehow, he fumbled to the door, threw it open and dashed down an unfamiliar, deserted hallway. Panic shadowed him at every step, nipping at his heels. Ahead, a dim light showed under a door. He rushed to it.

Outside, the crisp night air filled his lungs and sent clarity buzzing in his head. Archen bit the inside of his lip, relief flooding him at the answering pain that meant he was, in fact, awake. He fought to steady his breathing and take in his surroundings.

The sky above was littered with stars, providing ample light to see the kind of garden, or courtyard, where he stood. A little to his left he found a low wall, which he succeeded in scrambling over with only modest difficulty.

Something was wrong.

Archen made his way down a wide lane. In the distance, an orange glow lit up the sky and an odd burning smell filled his senses. But it wasn’t the glow or the smell that puzzled him. Clearly these were the result of a fire. No, what puzzled him were the people.

At every new road he turned onto, weaving his way towards the fire and what he supposed to be the center of town, he encountered more and more people. Some moved quietly and purposely as he, others simply stood about as if in a trance. A baby’s wail cut through the air, unanswered by a parent’s soothing hushes. On a street corner crouched an old woman, rocking back and forth, moaning wordlessly.

He turned and came into a large open square, and here he stopped. The sickly burning smell was overpowering, making him gasp for breath. In the middle of the square was the fire, blazing thirty feet into the air. Archen watched as every few moments, one of the townspeople approached and threw logs on it.

No, not logs, Archen realized, his stomach clenching. Bodies, and pieces of bodies.

He remembered in a rush all the questions they had asked him earlier, about the Ty’Goth, the creatures that had invaded them and against which he was expected to help them. These were their bodies being flung on the fire, their burning stench filling the air. He leaned his back against the cool stone wall, close to fainting, and waited for his head to stop spinning.

Chapter 3

“I am exceedingly sorry, your Highness,” Doctor Merrill said, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him. His voice, thin and precise, conveyed every impression except apology. “Had I but known you were on the way, I would certainly have delayed the…er…the treatment.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A sedative.”

“Good doctor, I pray you are joking.”

“I surely am not. The patient was in extreme discomfort, and—“

“How long do you expect him to sleep?”

“I cannot say for certain. It was a most effective dose. Very likely he will not stir until the morning, at the soonest. As I said, a most effective dose.”

“Tomorrow morning?” Had she been a little younger, Eve might have stamped her foot in frustration. “Sir, this arrangement is not acceptable. I need to speak with him immediately. He may have information that can serve us in this time of crisis—“

“That is your business and more than I know. His health is mine.”

Eve took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “You are right. It cannot be helped." She paused, deciding on a different tactic. "Doctor, you’ve been with him all this time. Did he – has he said anything, regained any memory of who he is and what he came to us for?”

The older man shook his head gravely, his manner changing to one of accomodation. “Lord Jeed and his associates have already questioned the patient at great -- I say, at excessive -- length, and if I may say so, tired him out considerably. He could tell them nothing useful. I gather he has no recollection of anything that occurred before he arrived at our gates.”

Eve was lost in thought. “And yet…you know, it seems my Father sent him to us, but why? Of what use could one man be?”

“Your highness, I would not venture a presumption in matters of state. Just as I expect you to make no presumption in matters of ... medicine.” He gave an amused chuckle.

“I see.” Eve laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you for your help, doctor. Your expertise has been invaluable. Promise me you’ll send for me the moment he’s awake.”

“But of course. The very moment.”

Chapter 2

Forty-five paces from the royal apartments in the southern division of the palace, down a short flight of steps and a shallow hallway, was the modest living quarters for the Princess's female attendants. No very grand space was afforded these two faithful servants. The common drawing room was so small, in fact, that six people could not comfortably stand together within its walls. Nevertheless, they had stood obediently all night, six large men in full armor, from the time the first alarm had been raised until Jeed dismissed all but one from their company in mid-morning.

In a small recess beyond the drawing room, veiled by a tapestry depicting the legendary green dragon Reikes, was a small door, guarding a secret room. It was in this room that Jeed had hidden the King's daughter Eve, and from which he now went to fetch her. Upon entering the narrow chamber, he was arrested by her low voice, singing --

"I had fainted,
Unless I had believed to see
The goodness of the Lord
In the land of the living."

“Your Highness, I apologize—“ he began, but she instantly whirled to him, startled.

“What tidings, my lord?”

“Only evil, I fear. The Ty’Goth attacked us with no warning, and though we routed them, there are so many dead and injured, we have not even counted the loss.”

She was silent for so long, looking at her hands, that Jeed wondered for a moment if she had even heard him. “Can I – can we bear it, my lord?”

“We must bear it. But I admit my heart has been turned to water. I believed – we all believed, I wager, that the Ty’Goth were a thing of ancient history, if not mere legend. We had no fear of attack, we were completely at peace. And now, with the King away, our defenses…it is in regard to these defenses that I come to seek your aid.”

“My aid?”

“Your Highness, the report I have for you is of an extraordinary nature, and I do not yet know what to make of it.” With this he handed her a letter, bearing the King’s seal, newly broken.

“To Jeed, the sometime Lord Governor of Our Realm, from His Majesty the King. Be strong and courageous. One terrible hour you have survived, but a second is imminent. See, I have sent you my servant Archen, so that in him you will place your full confidence. I have given him authority to wield the Sword of Flame, and your enemies will crumble before him. Be strong and courageous, I will return before the end.”

She looked up then, a singular expression knitting her forehead. “What is this? What can it mean?”

“It was found in the pocket of a young man who arrived by horse this morning. He is a stranger to us, but he wears the uniform of one of our warriors.”

“But who is he? What account does he give you?”

“He can give no account, Your Highness. He does not know himself. I have assumed him to be the servant, Archen, of which Your Father writes, but he has not said so. He appears to have no memories at all. And this is my great trouble, which necessitates your council. We are in peril, as you know. By this foretelling of the King’s we can be sure the Ty’Goth will strike again, and all our hopes rest in uncertainties. Have you heard of this weapon, the Sword of Flame, can you tell me what it is?”

“I have not heard of it until this moment.”

Jeed winced, “So say all the council. And the young man can tell us nothing. What then are we to do?”

Eve was silent for a moment, thinking. “My lord, you know I do have a gift. Nothing so great as my Father, but some small ability…”

“I recall it.”

“I will see this Archen, and speak with him myself. If there is any service I can do you, it will be done.”

Jeed led her with a hand through the small door and gave instructions to the remaining guard, then addressed the princess again, “This is all I hoped. I leave him to your care. Unravel this mystery with all haste, if you can. There are too many other matters which demand my attention at the present – our military position, identifying the dead, the injured and the living…” his voice trailed off in anxiety, “Your Highness, I fear I make an ill politician."

"Yes, that is true," and here she kissed him lightly on the cheek, "which is why we are content to be governed by you."

Jeed stood still until she and the sentry had disappeared from view, his hand still resting thoughtfully on his cheek where she had kissed him, and muttered, " 'Some small ability' indeed!"

Chapter 1

Jeed made all haste down the steps to the courtyard, where they laid the young man. The charwoman was kneeling over the body, administering water from a small clay jar and dabbing at his bruises with the corner of her apron. All her motherly tenderness was in those hands as she smoothed his forehead and attempted to restore the boy. Jeed ran a hand over his tired eyes, before putting his arms around her shoulders, gently pulling her aside.

With a sudden cough from the young rider, and a groan of agony, he was revived. In a moment Jeed was certain he had never laid eyes on him before, a lad only of maybe 19 or 20 winters, maybe less. He had a hard, outdoor look to him, with tanned skin and a rather dirty, bruised face, but he wore the fine gilded armor of one of the King's high-ranking soldiers. Although it appeared he had no serious injuries from his fall, yet his face was contorted with such a fierce pain that Jeed feared he would soon pass out again.

“Good citizens, convey this unfortunate son into my chambers, of your courtesy. And Gambius,” here Jeed addressed an official at his side, “Do you quickly assemble the palace physician and my council members to me, at once.”

"My Lord, all the council members?"

Jeed paused and considered, "No, not all of them. Do not worry her Highness. I will see her myself as soon as time and circumstance permit."

Prologue

The great city, the city of the King of Kings, was attacked by evil forces while the King and his army were away, at war with distant enemies to the east. A large slab of rock had been split apart in an underground cave deep in the woods, and from that the hordes had come. Half man, half creature, savage beasts with dark, leathery skin and green, unblinking eyes, they had surrounded the Royal city during the dead of night, and scaled the walls while the night-watchmen slept, an enchanted sleep, cast upon them by some evil sorceror in their dark ranks. They crept unbidden into the Royal city of Yasalle and attacked while the people were sleeping, killing some mercifully in their sleep, dragging others from their beds and slaughtering them in the public square, torn limb from limb.

Fortune, however, turned as the day began to break, and the inhabitants of the Royal city mustered the best of their strength to beat the enemy back. When the last of the creatures ~ Ty'Goth, they were called ~ had either escaped (and so many had escaped, scuttling back over the castle wall like insects) or been killed...before all the dead men lost had even been numbered, named, buried or mourned, the leaders of the noble town met to discuss how to get word to the King that he was needed at home. Few volunteers could be found willing to risk their lives to ride through the dark woods where the Ty'Goth had been seen retreating, and where they might certainly be lurking still, preparing for another deadly assult on the city. Nevertheless someone would have to go, and immediately, The inhabitants of Yasalle could not be sure they would survive another attack, especially with dark magic a constant threat, and the night-watchmen ~ still asleep, still enchanted ~ a constant reminder of it.

Just then a rider, a lone rider on a white horse, was seen emerging from those black woods, a tall standard flapping behind him. An alarm was raised. Jeed and the city leaders rushed to the castle walls, anxiously watching the rider's approach. Would the wind never blow that banner out, so the standard could be identified? What more could Fate bring on this terrible day?

Still a quarter-mile from the city gate, the rider fell from the horse and lay on the plain as if dead. As one body, Jeed and all those gathered with him upon the wall gasped. From their high perch they could clearly see the banner which the rider had carried, and which now lay discarded on the ground ~ it was the banner of their King.

Before the command could be given the gates flew open and the people rushed out. The castle's youngest stableboy, who had for the first time that morning borne a sword, rushed out. The governor's charwoman, whose two sons had died in the fighting, her two sons that she had not even buried or mourned, rushed out. The two brothers Durran and Kite, and their young sister Olivia, who were the three nearly grown children of the famous knight Xander the Red, gone at war with the King, these three rushed out. Indeed it seemed all the living left in Yasalle rushed out from the open gates to come to the aid of the fallen rider. When every hand that could touch the unconscious young man had lifted him from the ground and carried him inside, it was the stableboy who turned at last to retrieve the King's standard from where it lay, forgotten on the damp morning grass.