Welcome to Gaia! :: StarFlight: Twilight's Call

Okay, this is the first chapter of a novel I have been working on since 6th grade.It is not as good as I want it but it will be once I have finished the whole novel and add and subtracted things.

Chapter One


The land of Honniara lay sleeping as the stars twinkled in a velvet black sky. The three moons, Celeste, Chloe, and Chelsea, bathe the land in a silvery light. Their light shined through the leaves of the Western Woods, it broke through the Swampland mists, shimmered on the tops of several mountain ranges, it flashed on the sands of the Eastern Desert and reflected off the oceans and seas. The light of the three sisters was even powerful enough to disperse the darkness of Exile, even if it were only for a few hours. Even the gloom of the Black Lands could not withstand the light of the three sisters. The land was at rest. But somewhere, deep in the darkness of the Western Woods, a lone wolf howled in fear.

There was a peace over the people, as children snuggled under their blankets and their parents slept in another room. Except for, perhaps, a few Elves making sure their forests were safe. Honniara was a land of mystery and magic, full of dangers .It was a land where alchemy was a true science studied by some, taught by others, learned by many and known by few. It was a land of great beauty where the air was clean and crisp and where the grass was evergreen. Goblins roamed the mountains and Dragons ruled the skies. One would not be able to enter a mountain mine without the Dwarven miners knowing it or wander through a forest without its Elven eyes watching you. Rivers were filled with fish and all manner of creatures walked the land. There were creatures here you’ve only seen in your dreams. There are trees that move and mountains that talk. The wind whispers songs and whistles tunes from days long past. Creatures of the night slip deeper into the shadows.

The tide rolls in and out with the phases of the moons. Merfolk play beneath the rolling waves, the moonlight glittering off their scales. The seagulls sleep, lulled to dreamland by the gentle rocking of the ocean currents. On land, wild horses sleep under a blanket full of stars. The call of a nightingale hangs in the air. The screeching of the night owl as it swoops down on its first meal of the night pierces the still air in the forests.

In the Swampland, herds of drider sleep on dry patches of land. Rats slip through underbrush. Bats soar across the sky, chasing their night’s meal, shrieking with delight. Grasshoppers and crickets strike up the orchestra, as the coa-coa bird begins it song, joining the mockingbird and owl in the chorus. Frogs sing in their deep baritone voices.

A chilling December wind rustled through the leaves of the trees, trees that were twisted by the sinister force that once resided in that forest. Seemingly unaware of his danger, a solitary knight rides through, the fridge December air. His horse snorted and paused, stamping the ground. The knight urged him on.

The knight’s blonde hair shone in the pale moonlight, so it appeared that he was crowned with stars. He was fair-faced and tall. His beard was neat and trimmed. His lone gray eye showed no fear, though it was filled with unease. His other eye was sealed shut from an old injury. Kind and gentle, yet stout-hearted, he pressed on through the knight was exhausted. His armor was dinged in several places but he did not appear to care, our friend the knight.

Indeed, he was a man of no fear, because the armor he wore was light, and he traveled alone, with no company, save his horse. He had never taken a squire, as he did not feel the need to have one. This knight, as brave and true as any ,was Sir Leonard of WaterMain, a city just north of the Sea of Greanton .He was one of the land’s greatest knights, and had an intense loyalty to his king.

He wasn’t in the best of moods, however. Passing through the Western Woods on so cold a night was not his idea of a good time. In fact, passing through the Western Woods at all was not a good idea. But orders were orders and he had to obey, even if the king had sent him here at the request of the Dragon King. Sir Leonard snorted. He had no love for the king of Dragons. Dragons always made him uneasy. They were far larger then he was and he did not like feeling small.

The midnight mists curled around the knight and his horse. The owls hooted somewhere in the darkness. The light of the three sisters filtered through the trees. Despite this, nothing could rid him of the uneasiness the filled him. What he wouldn’t give to have someone else there. It would have been good to have a bard or a cleric at least .Even having one of the Elf King’s wild mages would be alright with him, despite his apprehension around them.

The eerie stillness of the Western Woods was unnatural. The few remaining tribes of elves that lived there were hard pressed to return the forest to its former glory. The Western Woods had once been the most beautiful forest in the land. That was before Mornara, however. Mornara was a sorceress who lived several hundred years ago. Legend has is that she tried to sign a treaty with the first kings of all the free races in order to by time for her to build an army to take over the land. Her plan hit a snag, however, when the kings discovered that she had kidnapped and enslaved half of Honnoria’s Drow population. The kings said to her they would not sign the treaty unless she freed the Drow.

“The Drow are evil, but even they do not deserve this,” they told her.

Her refusal sparked the Great War. The elf king then, the father of the current elf king, had been the only king not to survive. He had sacrificed himself so the other kings could defeat her. She was chained to her throne by the dwarf king, and transported to Callistro Prison, which stood on a large hill at the foot of the Western Mountains. Mornara’s source of power, a fist size black onyx called the Devil’s Eye, had been locked away in the prison as well. The prison had once been under the command of the elves. For whatever reason, the prison had been abandoned a hundred years prior. No one was quite sure why.

However, it had been Mornara who twisted the trees, poisoned the rivers and streams and drove many of the Wood Elves that had once lived there from their home. She had tainted an entire forest with her evil magic. There was a part of the forest that the Elves had been able to restore and although it was slow going, the stubborn Wood Elves wouldn’t stop trying. It was that bloody single-mindedness that made the Elves fierce warriors, despite their desire to avoid violence whenever possible.

Leonard shuddered and pulled his worn cloak around himself. There was little sound. No crickets, no bugs, just the owls, his horse’s hooves and the occasional howl of a wolf. He looked behind him, the nagging feeling he was being followed was growing. At the sudden howling of a pack of wolves his horse reared and nearly threw him.

“Whoa, Demon! Calm down old boy. There we are .No need to worry,” the knight said patting Demon’s neck.” We ‘re almost there, old friend.”

Urging Demon on, Sir Leonard sighed, his breathe rising in the air. The air had gotten cooler .With a chance, they were in for snow. He frowned as dark clouds passed over the moons and white flakes began to fall. His breathe rose in the air as he glared venomously at the dark, twisted trees

“Wonderful. Just wonderful. If I am not attacked then I shall freeze to death“, he mumbled angrily to his horse as he pulled his cloak tighter.

He stopped Demon at the base of a large hill surrounded by a gate of black stone. At the top of the hill, under the shadow of the Western Mountains, there it stood, dark and cruel, Callistro, the Black castle. Dark and foreboding, the prison was silhouetted against the clouds and the snow and the mountains. The Western Pass, the trail that leads through the mountains to Exile, was only a mile or so away. Exile was the one place no one wanted to end up. It was a land of snow and ice, a place where only the worst prisoners were kept. Leonard often wondered why Mornara wasn’t sent to the prison there.

The midnight mist curled around the human and his horse, and spiraled up around the building, making the prison look all the more eerie. Leonard took a deep breathe and proceeded, entering an enormous courtyard, filled with the bodies of the dead. He tethered his horse and crinkled his nose as he looked around. The smell of dead, decaying flesh hung in the air. The rotting corpses that littered the courtyard gave him the creeps. They were covered in a light blanket of white. He looked around for a few more minutes before walking up a corkscrew staircase at the far end of the courtyard.

After wandering through the prison for some time, Sir Leonard throw open a set of double doors, leading to a once splendid throne room .The smell seamed to grow stronger and once again there was the feeling that he was being followed. Maybe it was a premonition of sorts. He wouldn’t have ever believed in premonitions if not for the Elf King. He looked around the room, even more revolted then before. The air had gotten very heavy.

There was a throne on the far side of the room. On it was the rotten corpse of what must have been a beautiful woman chained to the chair. She wore a ragged black dress that was once most have been very elegant. Her crown was of the blackest obsidian. Her hair was falling out and dead. She was once Mornara, Witch of the Western Woods and Queen of the Black Castle.

Was it possible that thing had once been one of the most powerful beings in the world? The Great War was almost 500 years before. Taking one last fleeting look at the woman, he left. He paused a second time, before turning back around and walking up the stone steps that lead to the throne. The chains that bound her rusted but they held fast. Probably of Dwarven make. He tapped on her crown as he held his breathe. As he turned his back, the moldy carcass began move and twitch as if alive.

He continued his search. Coming to the prison’s gargantuan treasury, the knight found what he was looking for. The Devil’s Eye sat on a pedestal in the center of the room. Most of what was in the Treasury was covered with one hundred years of dirt and dust. The rare metals and precious gems were worth a lot of gold. Why the place hadn’t been raided was beyond him. He picked the stone up, turning it over as it sparkled in the silver light. Leonard placed the Devil’s Eye into a small cloth pouch on his belt. He finally began to make his way back to the main courtyard. As he walked down the corkscrew staircase that feeling of being followed came back.

Leonard didn’t like that feeling. It was quite unsettling to feel like one was being followed, then when one turned around there was nothing there. As a Knight, he didn’t often need to look over his shoulder, unless he was certain that something was indeed following him. However to have the feeling of being followed, but not knowing if there was something following you, had put him on edge. It was a place he did not like to be.

Sir Leonard climbed on his horse and started down the path. Demon snorted, ears twitching. There were no owls now and even the wolves had fallen silent. Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t that close to dawn that the owls should stop. And the wolves were always making some sort of noise. A snarl from the path up ahead made his blood run cold. He slid down from his horse and pulled his sword. Prepared for the worst, Sir Leonard crept carefully down the slope. The twisted trees and darkness hid much from him. It all seemed to close in around as he walked down the slope .The snow fall had become heavy.

He knew not what he would find. If only I had the senses of an Elf, he thought. Hearing a growling noise from behind him, he whirled ready for anything. The fearless knight had found what he wanted to find. But it was not what he was expecting. What happened next I cannot say. But what I can say is that the freshly fallen snow was stained with blood.

The sun was shinning brightly over the city of Lohan, the capital of the human world. It was a beautiful city filled with people of all races and all walks of life. The marketplace was filled with sounds and smells as people bought and sold goods. Music and celebration were in the air. After all, the crowned prince had just celebrated his eighteenth year. There was always a celebration when the crown heir reached his or her eighteenth year. And, of course, the crown heir doesn’t turn eighteen every day.

The city’s cobblestone streets were filled with people talking, wishing the prince happy birthday as he passed on his way home. He thanked them and wished them a good day. He was smiling and bright. The prince was as kind as and gentle as his mother with all his father’s strength and wisdom. A celebration here lasted for days. Lohan was a city of commerce and trade. Merchants came from all over to buy and sell goods here.

There were shops and stores of all sorts and there were smells from all over the land. There were people from neighboring towns, even some no human visitors, all over. Flowers lined window sills and wound up pillars. Carts rumbled along the cobblestone streets, wheels creaking. You could find anything in Lohan, especially if you knew where to look. The people greeted each other cheerfully.

However, there is a darker side to the city few people see. Even though there were good people in Lohan, there were an assortment of thieves, vagabonds, assassins, dishonest merchants, and other forms of scum roaming the streets and alleyways. The Royal Guard did their best to keep order and did their jobs well. The harsh December winter was days away, as snow almost never fell over the city until Midwinter. Until then, the Guard had their hands full.

The beauty of the city pulled in many visitors .The streets were clean and neat, and it seemed flowers were everywhere in the spring. Most, however agreed the most beautiful building in the city was the castle itself, Castle Hours. Standing tall in the center of the capital, Castle Hours is called such for the huge gold and silver hourglass with intricate Elven designs carved in it that stood in the castle’s main courtyard. The hourglass was said to have been a gift from the Elf king to the first king of humans as a thank you for assistance during the Great War and for its twelve tall towers, one for each hour of the day. Etched on the huge front doors are these words:

“Every journey begins with a problem and ends with a solution
Every riddle has an answer, every adventure has a hero
To those who threaten the innocent may justice be swift.”

At the moment a large Dragon sat in the courtyard closest to the current king’s meeting room, while Roger III, king of Honnoria and lord of Twilight, paced the length of the room. The room was bright and sunny with all the windows open, mostly so the Dragon could poke his head in to speak to the human. A long oval table stood in the center of the room with a large hourglass carved in the center. There were chairs on ether side of it that were evenly spaced with a great chair on one end for King Roger. Silver banners hung about the room. The family symbol was stitched on them: again the hourglass with a pair of swords crossed over a shield behind it.

The king himself was a grim man with high check bones and deep teal eyes. He kept his hair short and was as clean-shaven as a boy of fifteen. He was as fit as someone half his age, despite his forty-seven years. He had seen war although the Great War was long before his time. It was he that had sent our friend Sir Leonard out on his dangerous mission. He had not heard from Sir Leonard for several days. Leonard was his most trusted knight and was always in contact. Roger had paced the length of the room several times before his guest became agitated.

“Roger, I pray you, sit down. You’re making me dizzy. You need not worry about Leonard. He can handle himself,” Moonshine growled.

“I know, I know. But I cannot help worrying. I’ve known Leonard for most of my life. He is a good friend, but he tends to get himself into trouble,” the human said, sitting down and massaging his temples.

Moonshine chuckled, sticking his head in one of the windows. The silver Dragon was several hundred old, with deep scars and one ear in taters. He’d seen war and battle, had even fought in the Great War. On the battlefield he was a legend. His deep azure eyes sparkled with laughter and kindness. He was not as large as some but bigger then others. As Dragon King, he worried about his people, but also about his friends and their people. Since the Elves had abandoned the prison, the Dragon had worried that the Devil’s Eye would fall into the wrong hands. Moonshine applauded the efforts of the Elves to retake the forest, and eventually the prison.

“You worry too much my friend,” Moonshine said.

“I do not,” Roger said, adjusting his position in the chair.

“Yes, you do, Roger. You worry far too much. You were gray at twenty,” a laid-back, honeyed voice said from the opposite side of the room.

The two kings looked over. Standing in front of the great double doors was a majestic Elf. He was tall and slender, standing almost six and a half-feet, with a youthful face that was so pale, it was almost colorless. He was one that would live forever, everlasting, destined to hold the beauty of the morning sun over the mountains for eternity. His long crimson hair fell to his knees, pulled back and braided. He was dressed in a soft azure tunic and silver leggings. An intricately designed sword hung from his belt. The regal leader rose to his feet and walked towards the elf, arms open.

“Brand! You have arrived at last!” the man threw his arms around his friend who, in turn, hugged back.

The elf’s good-humored smile could light up any room. His sweet-tempered nature made people like him. The elf king, like his father before him, could see past, present and future, an ability that had aided Roger in the past.

“What brings you here?” Roger asked, gesturing to a chair.

“I had a vision my friend. It’s a premonition and a bad one. Something is very wrong. Your knight ,the one you sent to that ,” Brand paused, what color that was in his face drained from it as he spoke,” ....that place, he is the gravest danger.”

“But Sir Leonard is my best knight. He knew what he was going against when I gave him his orders. Leo went well prepared,” the king said, sitting in the chair beside him.

“He was not prepared enough Roger. Great harm will befall him on his return journey or perhaps he has been already, I am uncertain,” Brand replied, shifting uneasily in his chair.” You must send someone out to look for him.”

Roger laughed. Brand rose, his moon pale skin flushed slightly with anger and irritation. He felt affronted. His closest friend laughed at his gift, something that had never happened before.

“You mock my abilities! I am certain that Sir Leonard is in danger!” the Elf cried, rising to his feet.

“No, no good friend. Sit please! I pray you forgive me. I am worried as he has not written, but he is returning today. We shall see,” the human chuckled, pushing his companion back into his chair.

“Roger may believe in your abilities, yet I do not,” Moonshine snorted in a teasing manner,” I have no time for your tall tales little Elf.”

Brand rose to his feet, opening his mouth to respond with an equally teasing comment and as Roger was about to interrupt the doors flew open, as though some greater force willed them to open. A figure in a dark cloak with a hood pulled over its’ face glided into the room as though on air. It carried a staff of oak and chestnut with a pink opal in the form of a rose on the top, the mark of a Druid. With a sweeping bow the figure removed its’ cloak.

Standing tall and forbidding, was a silver-haired half-Drow with bottle green eyes, his mouth set in a deep frown. His face was smooth and gentle as an ocean-washed stone, with no sign of the ruthlessness he had endured in the past. His face reveled much of his mixed heritage. His eyes reflected the depth of his magic and the power of it. Those bottle green eyes pulled in the light and reflected it tenfold giving him a peaceful dreamlike quality about him that made him seem almost enchanting. He bowed once more. The three kings froze for a moment, taken aback by the abrupt entrance.

“I pray you forgive my rudeness, my lords, however I have the worst news possible. My brothers and I have been keeping an eye on Sir Leonard, but just hours ago he passed beyond our sight,” the half-Drow said sorrowfully, his voice as hollow as a neglected mine.

It was time for Roger’s face to go ashen. He dropped into his chair, and placed his hands over his face. Brand placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder in a half gentle, half told-you-so manner. The sorrowful half-Drow swayed in his place a look of anguish and helplessness etched on his face. The fact that he was so upset worried Brand. He had never seen his mage suffering so because he failed to keep track of someone.

“Relax my friend,” the crimson-haired Elf said to the half-drow, who took several deep breaths to regain his composure.

“Now what do we do?” Moonshine asked, shifting in his place.

“I suppose that...we must send out a small squadron of knights to find him and retrieve the Devil’s Eye,” Roger said when he regained his ability to speak. The monarch sent for a messenger. He needed to summon his best knights. Brand’s visions showed the truth and the human feared without them, the world would not survive.

The light of the setting sun sparkled on the Great Salt Lake, as a young man astride a white stallion galloped along the beach. His obsidian black hair fell just past his shoulder blades, framing a youthful face, as his golden eyes reflected the sunlight. He was tall for a human, standing 6’3”, yet he was as gentle as a warm summer breeze from over the mountains. Tray Hjiid of Salt Lake, Knight Commander of the Knights Twilight under the service of the king, rode into the courtyard of his home as a messenger walked up to him. He signaled to his mount and took the letter the messenger handed him. Opening the letter, a pair of gold eyes scanned the parchment, and the young knight’s face paled.

“Are you troubled my lord?” the messenger asked.

“Very much troubled,” Tray responded, folding the letter once more.

This was bad, very bad. Something dreadful had happened to Sir Leonard, he could feel it in his bones. He told the messenger to bring a message to the king that he would come. Tray put his horse in the stable and bounded up the back steps to the hallway that led to his quarters. He slid through the kitchens and up into his tower bedroom.

The castle at the Great Salt Lake was ancient but well kept. Tray’s family had been among the king’s most trusted advisors for generations. Knights from Tray’s family had served the crown for thousands of years. Tray was his father’s only son and when his father had passed away ten years prior, Tray had become the youngest Lord of the Great Salt Lake at the tender age of ten.

As he silently packed his things he began to ponder .He expected that the rest of his squad would be summoned. It wasn’t often all of First Company’s senior officers were together. When the occasion called for it, two or three of them would get together but it was rare the whole group would be called in, unless this was worse then he thought, which it probably was. He placed his long hair into a loose ponytail. Although First Company was quite large, this mission would probably call for only the senior officers, however, because of the need for surprise. He left a note for his family and saddled up his gelding. The gold and strawberry gelding stood patiently, waiting for his master to climb aboard. When the young knight swung into the saddle, Golden Star sifted a bit and snorted. Tray turned him towards Lohan and away from home.

As the young knight left his horse in the castle stables, he was greeted by the half-drow. The half-drow was dressed in a tight black tunic tucked into his black leggings. A black vest covered his chest and gray silk ribbon kept it closed. He leaned on his oak and chestnut staff.

“Greetings Chrome,” the human saluted.

“And to you as well, Tray of Salt Lake, “the half-drow responded with a sweeping bow. “This way please.”

“As you wish,” Tray responded, following the half-drow. ”Why has his Majesty summoned us?”

“It is best if your king explains it himself, when all others have arrived,” he responded.

“Chrome, I pray thee, tell me,” the human asked, “I must know.”

The half-drow inhaled deeply, muttered something in his native tongue, and refused to speak further. They continued in an uncomfortable silence. Tray was not mistrustful of Chrome but the half-drow was nerve-racking. His power over magic was unmatched by any. They followed the hall to the meeting room. Tray looked around the brightly lit room. The rest of First Unit had already arrived.

Sitting at the far end of the table was his majesty, King Roger, with his oldest son Suki on his right and his oldest daughter Acron, on his left. Both were dressed in the gray cloaks, green tunics, brown leggings and black boots of trained rangers. They sat with their backs straight and their heads held high.

Acron was her mother’s child. Her skin was a vivid rose and she had electric blue eyes that could pierce the soul, both signs of her fey ancestry. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and it curled down the back of her neck, then finally onto her shoulder. She was much more tomboyish then her younger sister, although the two girls looked alike. Alana, still training as a ranger, was not present and would not accompany them.

Their brother Suki was much different. Although he was the heir to the throne, Suki was not truly a member of the royal line; he was an Elf. Orphaned as an infant, the eighteen-year old Elf had been picked up by a knight. His father’s body had never been found but his mother had given him to the knight, pleading with him to make sure her baby was raised in a good home. She died moments after entrusting her only child to the knight. The Elf had wheat-blonde hair that curled down to his neck to fall upon his shoulder; his eyes were orbs of black and cerulean swirling together. He was tall and extremely lean, and his leanness made him seem taller.

Pacing the length of the room, if one could call it pacing, was an enormous centaur. From the waist up was a young man with deep brown eyes, from the waist down was the painted body of a mustang, covered with scars from old battles. A pair of horns protruded from the top of his head and arched backward. This giant of a centaur was Benjamin. He wore a steel gray tunic that appeared as though it had been ripped and sown back together again. His short ruby-red hair was spiked up, like the Centaur had been electrocuted by a wizard‘s lighting bolt. He sifted his weight, adjusting the glaive that hung at his belt. Benjamin never used a sword. He was far too tall. Standing 6’8, the intricately carved glaive, with its three-foot blade and five-foot cherry hilt, was the only weapon he could use that wouldn’t trip him up or weigh him down. As a Mountain Centaur, Benjamin was still not full grown; a full grown mountain Centaur could be well over seven feet.

Also seated at the table, next to Acron was a fiery mountain Dwarf. His black beard was neatly brushed and his hair tied back. There was a hint of grey beginning to tint his beard and hair, but no one dared mention it. His armor, though slightly dinged, was of good quality. A well worn battle-axe was laid across the dwarf’s lap. He wore a threadbare black cloak in desperate need of repair. The Dwarf had a scar across his face from some old battle. The stout, gruff Dwarf, whose name was Gren, was the oldest member of First Unit. The dwarf simply grunted a hello at the human, simply casting the half-drow a dark look.

“Alright. Now that we are all in attendance, I shall explain. We do not have much time. I have called you all here because Sir Leonard has vanished and his mission has gone unaccomplished,” the king began.” I am sending you on a very dangerous mission. We do not know what exactly has happened to Leonard but we know he is in the gravest of danger.”

Tray’s suspicions were correct. Sir Leonard was in danger. The human frowned deeply as the king explained what Leonard’s mission had been. Although he respected Roger, who had always been somewhat of a father figure to him, having no father himself, Tray’s opinion that sending Leonard in alone was a foolish idea and said so. Suki rolled his eyes playfully, while his sister shook her head.

“Well, his Majesty did not ask for your opinion Master of the Salt Lake, did he?” grunted the dwarf.

“I am allowed to voice my opinions, master Dwarf, as are we all and the last time I looked, it was I, not you, who led First Company,” Tray growled back.

Their argument would have continued for hours, if Chrome’s brothers had not chosen that exact moment to appear. Although they were triplets, only the two oldest were identical, though it was easy to tell them apart. Chrome, the eldest, who could be very flighty at times, had a habit on leaning on his right foot when confused. Sliver, the middle one, was a ranger and he had a scar across his nose that was easily noticeable. It was the only scrap of difference between the two. Both of them had the same smooth features and bottle green eyes.

Tattoo ,the youngest and most unusual of the three, was a spy and assassin and had the traditional red eyes of a Drow except for the aloof, frost-glazed cerulean pupils that caused a slight chill as his eyes danced around the room. You could feel an icy grip take hold of your heart if he glared at you. His name came from the large tattoo on his back that told of the Great War. His face was hard and stern; more so then ether of his brothers’ .A spy and assassin during the war, Tattoo had been caught by Mornara and she’d had his mouth sown shut. They had been unable to remove the stitching from his mouth. The half-drow spy survived only on water and a strange green liquid kept in a flask at his side.

“Now, now, gentlemen, please. This is a grave matter .Save your petty argument for some other time,” Chrome said smoothly.

The two knights fell silent. Benjamin, who was required to stand, shifted his weight, snorted and replied,” Please, continue sire.” The king sat up straight.

“I do not know how long this will take, so I’ve taken the liberty of planning ahead. Now, his Majesty, the Elf-king has requested that Tattoo accompany you, for good measure,” Roger spoke simply in an even-tempered voice,” I want you to find Leonard and assist him in completing his quest. Now, if you will all make your way down to the stables so you can help the stable hands load the supplies and decide which horses will be going with you. You’ll only have a day to prepare- .”

“Hang on! Just one moment! You mean I have to work with that thing!” Gren exclaimed, jumping from his seat, causing the chair to topple backward, and pointing at Tattoo.

The assassin started forward, hand on the hilt of his sword, but Silver stopped him and shook his head. The assassin returned stepped back, growling rancorously. The dwarf continued to fume while Suki scolded him for his insult. Roger got everyone to relax as he sent out orders to the stable hands. The troop marched out as Silver righted the fallen chair.

“Do you think they will succeed, your Majesty?” Silver asked his voice as hollowed out as his brother’s.

“I hope so Silver. I hope so,” the sovereign responded, rubbing his hands together.

The stables were bustling as Tray drifted through. The horses were being outfitted for the long travel. He smiled upon seeing Benjamin give two stable workers a hard time. They were trying to place carry-bags on him. The centaur snorted and backed up. When he caught sight of his friend, the tall centaur said,” Tray, I pray thee, tell these bloody fools that I am no pack horse?”

Tray couldn’t help but laugh. Some of those working in the stables felt that if it had the body of a horse it was a horse. Tray pushed the men away and began unloading the packs from the centaur. The giant of a Centaur yawned as the last bag was removed.

“Do they expect me to fight with that on my back?” he asked, his fiery temper rising.

“Relax. Take deep breathes and keep your temper,” the human reminded him.

The centaur continued to grumble as he adjusted his tunic. Tray moved to place the bags to a pack horse. The knight did not like the fact that they were being sent into that hell with very little preparation. He knew that Sir Leonard’s life was in grave danger but another day’s preparation would have been good. Pushing his black hair out of his eyes, Tray quickly loaded the pack horse, gave it a pat and walked off.

A light tap on his left shoulder caused him to turn. Suki’s strange eyes, black and cerulean swirling together in deep pools of light, locked on his gold ones. So rare was it that his friend was serious that Tray was taken aback, but true to his nature, the lord of the Great Salt Lake did not show it.

“Am I permitted to assume that you feel as uneasy about this whole wee little thing as I am?” the Elf whispered.

“This is no wee little thing. It is a disaster,” he responded.

“’Tis a wee little disaster. Nothing we cannot handle, but what is it that has you so shaken?” Suki’s slivery voice questioned, as his dark eyes bored into his soul.

“We should have gotten more then a day to prepare,” Tray growled.

Suki slung a long, slender arm over the shoulders of his friend and lead him to the entrance.

“I know how you feel, my friend, but think of the kind of man my father is. He often went into battle with only the preparation of a few minutes,” the Elf said, trying to make his long bangs stay in place.

All in all, there were seven horse : two pack horses, Tray’s strawberry and gold gelding Golden Star , Suki’s black stallion Fren, Acron’s brown mare Lallana ,Gren’s pepper gray mare Has’la, and Tattoo’s white and silver stallion Krisling. With the preparation done and the sun not yet set, First Company started out towards the Back Castle.

The questioning sun set over the land, bathing the land in gold light. Bored to the point of sleep, and annoyed at the empty silence, Benjamin began to whistle to himself. These silences were rare but none of them had ever felt so heavy. Eventually, the whistling got on Gren’s nerves, like many other things often did.

“Stop that blasted noise!” the dwarf growled.

“Oh, don’t be so cantankerous,” Benjamin snorted, cracking his neck.” Don’t forget I’m taller then you are.”

The others couldn’t help but laugh at the two. Benjamin was being bluntly honest, as always, true to the nature of every mountain Centaur. Tray reined his horse as Lady Night laid her dark blanket upon the sky. While Acron built a fire, the others set up camp. She knew this was a dark business in which they were involved, but the young princess was not worried in the least. She was a warrior surrounded by warriors in the middle of a forest.

Despite the severity of their mission, or perhaps because of it, the members of first company couldn’t help but tell ghost stories around the fire. It prevented an awkward silence to which Benjamin’s infernal whistling was the only cure. Most of the stories were more amusing the frightening. Even Tattoo smiled at a few, including Tray’s, which was an old family tale about why the Great Salt Lake was salty and how it got that way.

The room was shrouded in darkness; the only light was from the three sisters, filtering through the thick dust and the barred windows against the dark silhouette of the chair. The chains were still in place, and Leonard was glad of it. The monstrosity that had attacked him was hidden in one of the corners, snoozing away. The young man who controlled it had not yet figured out how to unlock the dwarf made lock and remove the chains that bound the corpse to the chair.

The young man paced around the chair, incessantly muttering to himself. Leonard was safe, for the moment, stuck in an electric cage. He knew that the young man’s friends were hidden in the heavy shroud of darkness somewhere, including the wizard that had summoned the cage. The young man was a curiosity in himself. His flowing ruby hair fell in thick heavy curls down to his feet. It was amazing that he did not trip on his own hair. His black armor gave the impression of being made from dragon scales, and though he appeared to be a knight, no sword hung at his belt. Instead, wrapped around his slender waist was a long steel chain with a sharp iron spike on one end. His eyes were a deep teal, with a resounding darkness pooled with in them.

The young man’s eyes darted around the room. He seemed uncomfortable in the driving darkness. He seemed out of place in this hell. Leonard massaged his wounded arm, thankful that the bleeding had stopped. The knight was eager to get out and warn the king of the looming danger. He hoped that the young man didn’t know that the Devil’s Eye wasn’t in the prison treasury. That would put his life in further danger and set his mission back farther. A seasoned knight, Leonard knew better that to rile an unstable adversary.

Leonard watched the young man with a critical gaze. The young man tugged at the chains again, before adjusting the chain around his waist. He shouted into the darkness and a frightened Goblin skittered into the light. The young man gave orders to the goblin that bowed and nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to leave. Leonard shuddered at the sound of the Goblins shouting in their native tongue. The knight didn’t know much Goblin but he knew enough to know that the Goblins were up to no good. Leonard had never been particularly fond of Goblins. They were a nuisance more often then not.

The young man resumed his pacing, lost in deep thought. Leonard wanted to talk, but he feared to anger the young man further, when he was already quite angry. An angry young man such as this one would have no problem killing. The young man’s lips moved, as though he were talking to himself or perhaps to someone off in the darkness.

Tray had a map of the area spread across his lap. He had seated himself on a large rock by the stream where the horses were drinking. With a deep sigh, he traced the route they had taken thus far , and it paralleled Leonard’s. He figured they would have to pass through the Wasteland Plains and to do that they would have to pass through a thin passage way between two high cliffs. The cliffs that rose up on either side of the narrow pass had been a vantage point for the Allies during the Great War.

Tray sighed again, as he traced the path they needed to take through the Western Woods to reach Callistro. He figured they would not be able to take their horses with them, if they wanted to make a quiet entrance. Besides, many domestic animals refused to enter the twisted forest. He didn’t want to leave them at the passage’s exit, near the Wasteland Plains or at the place where they would enter the forest. He believed the Wasteland’s harsh weather would harm them.

The only rational option was to send them back to Lohan. Golden Star was an intelligent animal, and could easily lead the others home. The young knight turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Here . Eat,” Suki commanded, handing him a plate of food.

“Thanks,” the human said.

“How dreadfully boring is it to go over the route we’re taking to get to where we are going for almost an hour?” the Elf asked, removing the map from his friend’s hands and rolling it.

“I want to make sure we are not attacked by whatever King Brand believes attacked by whatever he says attacked Sir Leonard,” Tray answered , his mouth half full as he took the map.

“Fear not, friend. We are on the alert for the creature as is. If you continue to worry so much you will become grey-haired young, like my father, “the Elf said, smiling as he patted his friend on the shoulder.

Tray shook his head, allowing a small smile to creep onto his features. For an Elf, Suki was very mellow and even mellower then was normal for a ranger. Tray cast a glance around at the beauty of the land. In three days time they would leave the beauty behind and enter one of the most barren wastelands in the realm, one of the eeriest places as well: the Wasteland Plains.

The Wasteland Plains were said to be a place were where nothing could survive, a statement that was not entirely untrue. While no plants that live there thrive, what did live in the Wasteland Plains were not creatures one would want to meet. It was mostly Golems, scavengers of all sorts, a few tribes of Orcs and, much more notably, the being known as Fenrir. Fenrir was an Elf, but unlike most Elves, who fall into one of five types of elves (and many sub-types), Fenrir did not fall into any of the Elven sub-races. In fact, no one knew what type of Elf Fenrir was and he probably didn’t know himself. He was many centuries old, perhaps older then even the Dragon King’s father, who was quite old.

As the only albino Elf on record, Fenrir carved out a living on the Wasteland Plains; exactly how he managed, no one was quite sure. The Elf Druid saw it as his duty to look after anyone passing through the plains, no matter what their purpose for passing through the plains might be. Perhaps, he would help them, if they came across him. Fenrir had to look after a large area alone, and he was hard to find unless he wanted to be found. Then again, most people usually didn’t go looking for Fenrir; he went looking for them. They would need to hurry if they wished to reach their destination. Callistro was still many miles away and they had not much time left.