Book of Prophecies

By James Richmond

An ancient evil awakens and threatens destruction of the entire world. The clues to stop it lie in a sentient tome known as the Book of Prophecies. Can a humble priest of St. Columba and his associates, survive long enough to unlock the secrets held within, or will they succumb to the war that plagues the nations? What part do the druids play in all of this? The answers to these and other questions are but a turn of the page away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716768705

James Richmond

James Richmond is a country boy at heart. He was born in rural Wetumka, Oklahoma in 1957. Growing up he knew that someday he wanted to serve his country, just as his Father and two Brothers had, then return to his hometown, rural life. He served twenty years in the United States Air Force as both a Security Policeman and an Intelligence Operations Technician. James traveled extensively in the Air Force, often away from his wife Debbie, and their two children, Travis and Lynnsey. Throughout his military career James knew that someday he would settle down where his roots were. In rural Oklahoma, with his Family. James enjoys playing guitar, singing, hunting, fishing, and spending time in his vegetable garden. He and Debbie love spending time and playing with their Grandchildren now.

Book preview

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

BOOK OF PROPHECIES. Copyright © 2020 by James Richmond

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing 2020

ISBN 978-1-71676-870-5

Description:  What starts out as a simple expedition to find a sword, turns into much more for Andor and his friends.  As they battle their own demons within, Andor must unlock the one key that will stop the utter destruction of all they hold dear.

The Dacian Draco image is used under the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License, by Philg88 and samhanin, 12 April, 2011

Forward

Stories are derived from one’s imagination, which is inspired by the multitude of experiences of one’s life. The Book of Prophecies is no exception. While being a work of fantasy fiction, it draws heavily from the Bible. The prophecies themselves are taken from the books of Daniel and Revelation, and the sayings of Andor from the book of Proverbs. Sprinkled throughout are hidden treasures, or Easter eggs, for those who have shared in their lifetime some of the same experiences that I have.

While the Book of Prophecies is about one person’s journey in discovering the meaning of the prophecies, the story touches on several hot topics such as slavery, which is known today as human trafficking. Indeed, several of the characters in the story have their own demons to deal with.

It is my hope that along the way you, the reader, will not only enjoy the journey, but in the end will come to your own Soul Search.

--- James Richmond

Part I: The Lost Prince & The Fair Maiden

The old priest made his way to the bookcase where he paused momentarily.  The bony digits of his frail wrinkled hand slid out from the sleeves of his green robes and made their way to the spines of the ancient lore stored there. Slowly caressing each in turn, his dimming eyes finally located his prize. He pulled the large tome from its home and feebly carried it over to his desk nearby, where he gently laid it down.

He lit several candles on the desk, and for a moment just viewed the cover.  It was made of bronzewood, and letters seemingly burnt in the wood formed words in some unknown script.  After several moments the letters somehow moved, arranging and rearranging themselves until a title formed on the cover, Prophetic Scriptures of St. Columba.

The tome then opened to the first page seemingly on its own as the elderly priest had yet to touch it since he laid it on the desk.  The pages were emerald in color, as if the precious stones themselves were somehow infused therein.  Again the unknown script was present, almost glowing from within the emerald pages.  After but a minute, they began forming words.

The desk candles flickered as if a slight breeze were present.  The elderly priest began to read the words out loud,

"Behold, there shall stand up yet three kings in the Beautiful Land; and a fourth shall be far richer than they all: and by his strength through his riches he shall stir up all against the Realm of Darkness.

A mighty king shall stand up, with a crown of gold; he shall rule with great dominion, and do according to his will.  And when he shall stand up, his kingdom shall be broken, and shall be divided toward the four winds; for a portion of his kingdom shall be plucked up, even others on his borders."

Just then a strong wind blew open the shutters of the window behind him and a raven settled on the windowsill, giving a loud 'caw'.  The priest ignored both and continued reading, And he shall be strong and one of his princes; and shall seek to unite with that Holy Land; but the Prince of the Covenant shall be given up to she that begat him.

As he spoke those last words, the raven cawed again.  Outside, a lightning bolt struck with a loud boom.  A strong wind blew through the window, ushering in a conspiracy of ravens.  Their cawing was deafening as they swooped in as one, buzzing the old priest, causing him to fall out of his chair and onto the floor.  The resulting air current, along with the storm gusts, caused the candles in the room to extinguish.

Another bolt of lightning boomed nearby and then came the rains.  The wind picked up in intensity, howling as if it were trying to outdo the deafening cawing of the unkindness.  The old man was on his hands and knees, trying his best to stay out of their way. 

The room was completely dark, save for the flashes of lightning outside.  Rain began to pelt the old man in the face.  If only he could get the shutters closed and latched, then he would try and deal with those cursed birds. 

As he bared his face to the rain and wind, he tried to peer through squinted eyes.  He began to crawl to the open window when suddenly his hand felt something.  It had the feel of wood, but not like that of his chair.  No, this almost felt like a gnarled root. 

His hand began tracing it as it ran along the floor; no, wait. The floor. He was not on stone any longer.  It had an earthen feel; as if he were outside.  He continued to trace the roots toward the window, crawling in the darkness, getting drenched by the rain, which now seemed to be hitting him from every direction. 

His hand finally reached stone.  As he looked up, another flash of lightning lit up the sky for a brief moment.  He froze in his tracks.  What was that he saw?  It seemed to hover in the air.  Was it a raven?  No. Too large for that.  But it did have wings.  The ravens. Where did they go?  He hadn't even realized he no longer heard their infernal cawing until now. 

Another flash. 

It's still there.  Large. Man-like.  Perched on the window sill.  No. Not the windowsill.  The window was gone.  Perched on what? 

Another flash. 

A column of some sort. Made of stone. 

Another flash. 

It had horns. He reached for the mace at his hip and realized he didn't have it.  Of course not; he was in his study.  No need for weapons. But he was not in his study.  He was here. In this storm.  With this...

Another flash. And another.  Each with a deafening boom. 

Now he could see, long enough to confirm that it did indeed have wings. And horns.  Why hadn't it attacked?  Surely it saw him. 

Another flash. 

The storm was picking up in intensity.  Another flash.

It wasn't alone.  Another one was atop a like column to his other side.  Between lay a broken gate.  Off in the distance the storm seemed to center on some sort of edifice. 

Another flash. 

He could almost feel the electricity around him.  It permeated the air, causing a pale blue glow.  He could see that a bog led up to the evil looking structure.  Through the mist, he could barely make out a dark form slowly approaching the structure.  It moved along the bog as if it were floating. 

The mist began to surround him, getting thicker, obscuring his sight. The storm began to fade, the rumbling of the thunder turning into muffled voices, until finally in the darkness he could make out Yes, my Queen. We will have the whelp soon.

Then everything began spinning, and a thrumming grew in his head.  Were the ravens back?  The darkness began to slowly subside in concert with the increase of the thrumming.  At first he could make out several small dark figures, swaying back and forth.  Were the ravens doing some sort of macabre dance?  As his eyes began to focus, he realized the dark figures weren't ravens at all, but a group of dark robed figures standing in an inward circle, chanting.

He was witnessing some sort of dark ritual.  What was the object in their midst?  The chanting got louder and louder, its crescendo culminating in an abrupt halt.  As the chanting stopped, one of the dark figures opened a scroll and began reading, On three, in six, lies nine... 

The next morning the elderly priest was found under his desk, glazed eyes staring at nothing, and repeating the same word over and over...Doom. Doom. Doom.

The Lost Prince

Henwick

The sun was just below the treetops as he neared the little hamlet.  Thin plumes of blue smoke dotted the valley below, signs that spring had not quite arrived.  A small herd of sheep was grazing nearby and the bark of several dogs could be heard. 

The forest and meadows that he had grown accustomed to the past couple of days gave way to fields and orchards.  He had enjoyed the hospitality of the little gnomes that lived in the meadows and was reluctant to leave; however, his purpose for coming here demanded that he not linger there any more than necessary.

The dusty road, rutted by the many wagons that traversed its path had finally brought him to his destination that started in Languedoc some thirty leagues to the north. As the man peered from behind the hood of his brown robe, he could see a herdsman tending his flock. 

Good eve, the man said.

The weathered herdsman looked at him for a moment and then continued about his business saying nothing.  On the other side of the road stood what looked to be the local church. It was a simple structure and, situated atop the hill as it was, kept faithful watch over the little hamlet below. 

The man dismounted his horse and, tying it to the fencepost, entered the church.  Two cushioned chairs flanked the fireplace whose warmth made cozy the somewhat smallish study he found himself in.  A hard bench was against the wall nearby, which he chose to forgo while he waited.  After a few minutes, when it didn't appear anyone was coming, he rang the tiny bell hanging next to the table that contained what appeared to be several religious tracts and a poor box.  A couple of minutes later a man dressed in the green robes of St. Columba entered the study.

Good eve, sir, the priest said. I am Onfroi, assistant cleric to Canon Enguerrand.  How can I be of assistance to you at this late hour?

The man reached into his robes and pulled out a scroll.  Handing it to Onfroi, he said, I am Andor. The Bishop of Languedoc sent me.

Onfroi broke the seal on the scroll and began reading.  When he was done, he instructed Andor, Come with me.

Onfroi took a lit torch from a wall sconce and led Andor downstairs into the basement area.  They went through the kitchen where a serving woman was just finishing cleaning up for the night.  Onfroi led Andor through a long hall that displayed various religious relics, and into an area containing cells. 

You can sleep here, Onfroi said, pointing to one of the cells that appeared to have been prepared in advance.

Breakfast is served at the second bell.  Be on time if you want any.  The Canon will see you in the morning.

I would like to look around the village some before I turn in, Andor said.

As he turned to leave, Onfroi replied, As you wish.

Andor made his way back upstairs and outside.  Deciding his legs needed stretching after his ride here, he left his steed tied up and began to walk into the village below.  A small bridge gave access across the stream that cut a path through the village.  He passed several buildings on either side of the road until he came to the largest of them all.  The wooden sign above the door displayed a dragon holding a flagon of beer, and the words 'Shady Dragon Inn.'

The door to the inn opened into a large room of rough-hewn tables and chairs.  Large tree trunk pillars supported the dark, smoke-stained ceiling overhead.  A fireplace against the far wall had a small fire crackling in it.  Quite a few patrons were in this place eating and drinking, and several barmaids and potboys bustled about, bringing food and drinks and taking away the empty plates and flagons. 

Andor was immediately greeted with the smell of roasted mutton.  As his mouth began to water, he made his way to the bar straight ahead.  The hostler was an elderly man with grayed hair and glasses.  Andor asked for an ale and, after laying his coin on the trestle, took the frothing mug and walked over to an empty table in the corner of the room that was partially hidden in shadows.  As he rested, sipping on his ale, he watched the patrons and reflected on recent events.

At one table, a group of four men were drinking and playing cards.  Andor noticed this group right off, as one had the black hair and golden-hued skin of the nomads that lived to the far north.  He was attired in loose fitting clothes and had a quarterstaff at his side.  Andor had never actually met any of these folk before, but had read about them during his studies in the holy city of Avignon, where after four long years he was finally confirmed as a priest of St. Columba.

At his confirmation, it was assumed by most that he would join the Order of the Green Robes.  After all, he had excelled in his knowledge of the scriptures, and would therefore be perfect as one who made sure those of the flock remained true to the faith, not twisting the scriptures to fit their own desires. But he saw himself rather as a servant and protector of the faithful, so on his confirmation day, he chose the Order of the Brown Robes.  That was a blessed day, one he would always remember, for it was also the day he would meet the Archcleric of Avignon. 

His memories were suddenly interrupted by a loud boom.  As his eyes focused again on the room before him, he saw a small crowd gathered over a large muscular man sprawled out on the floor.  A man of average size, but wearing armor, was standing over him, flagon in hand. 

The large ones never can hold their ale! he said as he downed the last remnants of his flagon. Hostler! Another if you will! he proudly exclaimed as he wobbled his way over to the bar. 

The hostler ignored the drunk and came around from behind the bar.

Take Cerf to the back room so he can sleep it off, the hostler instructed those that were standing over the man.

Andor’s eyes shifted back to the card game. It seemed to have taken a turn for the worse for the nomad and the brute of a man sitting across from him.  The other two had quite a bit of coins piled in front of them, which they both scooped up and left the table. 

The nomad slammed his fist on the table and, looking at the man across from him, got up and made his way to the stairs leading up.  The hulk followed him. 

Andor called one of the serving wenches over to him and ordered some mutton stew.  His grumbling stomach couldn't take the wonderful smell any longer without indulging. 

As he waited for the wench to return with his meal, he continued surveying the room.  One of the card sharks had taken his winnings to the bar and was trying his charms on one of the serving wenches.  He seemed full of himself, or perhaps it was the local mead he was full of, but nevertheless he wasn't having any success with his intentions.

The wench ignored him as best she could and, taking a steaming bowl from off the trestle, made her way toward Andor.  Her would-be suitor followed close behind - nay, beside, his newfound mead in hand, all the while continuing his attempt at winning her over. 

As the pair got to Andor's table, she placed the bowl down in front of him and, turning briskly around, sped off.  Andor took this moment to give the wench reprieve from the fool's entreats. 

Ah friend, he said. I couldn't help but notice how well you fared at the gaming table.

That was all the pause the wench needed to make her escape.  Whether finally realizing the futility of his attempt or succumbing to his enormous vainglory, the hound gave up the chase and sat down with Andor.

Aye.  The yokels aren't much for losing their coppers, but I did manage to find a couple of fellows that didn't hold too tight to their coin purses.  Too bad for them, 'cuz I'm a might fair richer for their trouble, he responded with a sly grin on his face. I'm Hawkeye. What are you called friend?

I am Andor. I take it you are not from Henwick?

Is that what this place is called? Nay. My friends and I are just passing through on our way to some ruins east of here in the Gnarled Woods.

It doesn't seem as if your friends are too fond of you at the moment.

Who? Those fellows? thumbing to the table he was playing cards at. They aren't my friends. Just a bunch of birds. No, my friends are sleeping off our journey here.

Well maybe I will meet them tomorrow. If you're still here that is.

Aye, we should be. We have some more provisioning to do before we head out.

Finishing the last remnants of his stew and brew, Andor said, Well now, that hit the spot! Thanks for the company. I must go close my eyes as well. Good eve Hawkeye.

Aye, to you as well.

With that Andor excused himself and went back to the church and the bed that awaited him.

...

The next morning Andor woke to the sound of the church bell.  He washed his face from the bowl that was on the table next to him.  Someone must have just put the water there as there was none the night before.

After getting cleaned up, he made his way into the kitchen where Onfroi and two other men were already having breakfast.  One of the men had dark hair and wore green robes.  Andor guessed he was Enguerrand.  Onfroi was the first to notice Andor. 

Ah, good morning Andor. Sit and partake with us.

Pointing to the brown-haired man, This is Enguerrand, Canon of our church here in Henwick.

Good morning Onfroi, Canon Enguerrand.  Nice to meet you, Your Grace, Andor said. It smells wonderful in here.  Turning to the serving woman, My compliments, ma'am.

The woman returned, You're too kind, sir. Please, sit.

Andor indeed sat and had the most wonderful meal his mouth did taste in some time; even better than the mutton stew the night before.  After satisfying his belly, he turned his attention to Enguerrand, I had expected to see Canoness Elfrieda.  I hope she is well.

Yes, Enguerrand replied.  Canoness Elfrieda is the chief cleric of this church.  She is, however, away on a sabbatical.  In her absence, I have taken over her duties.

Pulling out a scroll and passing it to Andor, Enguerrand spoke again, As you can see, referring to the open scroll, the Archcleric wishes you to await the arrival of a knight from Fochereach named Eric the Good.  He should be here within a fortnight.  You are to assist him in his mission, whatever that may be.  In the meantime, feel free to acquaint yourself with our humble village.

After reading the scroll addressed to Enguerrand, Andor rolled it back up and returned it to the Canon.  Turning to the serving woman, Many thanks, ma'am. T'was a most delicious meal. I hope to be partaking of your cooking again soon.  Good'ay.

He excused himself and went about Enguerrand's offer.  Outside it was a brisk morning.  Tiny droplets of condensed ice crystals formed small clouds as he exhaled.  He pulled the hood of his robe over his wavy brown hair, mounted his steed, and began a slow trot toward the Shady Dragon Inn. 

A shopkeeper was opening up for business.  A sign showing a pile of neatly stacked coins let Andor know this was probably the money changer.  A gnome was waiting outside for the shop to open and entered between the two guard dogs who sniffed at the gnome as he passed.  He gave a start as one sniffed a little too close for his liking, and he scurried inside before their sniffs turned into something more.  The dogs' owner, an armored mercenary guard hired by the shopkeeper, smiled as the door slammed shut. 

Andor continued along the road until he reached the inn.  As he was dismounting, he noticed to the east a copse of neatly trimmed trees.  A pathway led from the road into the copse and disappeared from his vantage point.  He decided to investigate what had escaped his notice the night before.

As he neared the pathway, he could see that as it entered the copse, it was flanked on either side by stones of blueish hue, equally spaced along its length and leading up to a cairn.  Andor continued into the copse following the path until he reached the man-made rock formation.  If he hadn't figured out before now that this was the grove of a druid, the presence of the flowers, nuts, and berries that had obviously been left as tribute to the Old Gods confirmed it.  All manner of small animals went about their business, not a care in the world, as if Andor was not even there.

As he was enjoying the serenity of the place, a man draped with a cloak and carrying an ornately carved staff approached him. 

Good day traveler.  I am Lochru, Keeper of the Stones, Wielder of the Ashen Staff, Tree Tender to some.  What brings you to my grove?

Well met friend.  I am Andor, priest of St. Columba.  I am here for no other purpose than to give homage to the All-Father and the beauty that he created.

Putting forth an open palm, Lochru said, The All-Father would accept your tribute as well as your homage.  The care of his children is not without its cost.

Andor reached into his robe and produced a silver coin. 

His children are many, friend, Lochru interrupted.

Andor returned the silver coin to his pouch, and produced a coin of gold.  Lochru nodded his head in approval and accepted the coin.

May the All-Father bless your travels, Lochru exclaimed.

May he bless my time here as well, Andor added.  I will be staying in Henwick for a while.  And may St. Columba grant you wisdom in your endeavors.

I will leave you then.  If you need my assistance I am but a call away.

With that Lochru turned and disappeared the way he came.  Andor lingered for a time, musing over what tales he had heard about druid groves.  Aside from being places of sanctuary for nature's creatures, it was said that long ago, they could act as gateways, allowing the traveler to journey long distances in a short amount of time.  These gateways were usually made of three large stones arranged in the shape of an arch.  He didn't see that type of structure here at this grove, nor did he see any guardian of said gateway, which always protected against unauthorized entry; or so the tales said.  He had never actually seen any such gateway before. 

Not wanting the day to escape him, he made himself leave this shrine to the nature gods and headed back to the inn. 

A Fresh Start

The sailor knocked on the cabin door and announced, Master Bookbinder, it is time.

After a moment with no response, he again knocked on the door and repeated his summons, Master Bookbinder!

Still no reply. 

Bloody recluse! the sailor muttered to himself as he turned and left. 

From inside the cabin, the footsteps of the sailor could be heard growing faint until they were gone.  The bookbinder sat up in bed and quietly muttered as if praying.  A short time later after getting dressed, packing a backpack, and glancing in the mirror in approval, the bookbinder left the room that had been home for nearly a month. 

Topside, crewmembers scurried about in the moonlight, the captain shouting orders, giving commands to make ready the boat for docking.  Leaning over the edge, the bookbinder let out a sigh of relief as Ferry's Crossing came into view.  The journey had been long and arduous, starting far to the south in the port city of Mazarron. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the boat came alongside the dock and was tethered secure.  The portly bookbinder barely waited for the gangplanks to be lowered before quickly exiting the boat and disappearing in the darkness of the little village. 

Finding an inn, the bookbinder quickly secured a room and went inside, closing and locking the door behind.  Suddenly, the body of the bookbinder started to morph.  What was once rotund was now shapely.  The crop of red hair grew long and turned black and curly.  The homely features of an elderly bookbinder changed to that of a beautiful young woman. 

Opening the backpack, she pulled out one of the books therein and began studying its contents.  After a few minutes, she faced the door, waved her hand in the air, and said, Secure.  Satisfied that she was protected, she climbed into bed and went to sleep.

Waking the next morning, she went about transforming herself into the bookbinder again and left the inn.  She started walking down the road heading west, eager to put her past behind her and start afresh. 

A Sword is the Answer

It had been several days since Andor first met Lochru.  During that time, Andor had gotten to know quite a few of the inhabitants and visitors alike of the quaint little village.  He had become friends with the hostler of the Shady Dragon Inn, one Oswald Gunderson.  The two had spent several nights sharing tales, mostly Oswald, and mostly what he had heard from adventurers passing through over the years. 

On occasion, they were joined by Cerf, the fellow who had lost the drinking contest Andor's first night here.  Cerf had tried to persuade Andor to contend with him in the drinking of mass quantities of ale, but to no avail.  Andor liked to always keep his wits about him. 

He that hath no rule over his own spirit, is like a city that is broken down, and without walls, he told Cerf.  Cerf just walked away, slowly.

Andor met Hawkeye's friends as they were on their way to explore a ruined castle to the east.  There was Devan, a man dressed in pale blue clothes and draped in midnight blue, whose hood always cloaked his face from view; and Xavier, wearing a dark blue hood and cloak, lavender pants, and a violet tunic.  He was haughty in nature giving an heir of superiority, as were most that hailed from the Southern Coast.  Hawkeye's jovial demeanor was a beacon of light in this trio. 

They left in the morning and returned from their foray at dusk, exhausted and dismayed.  Apparently the track from the village to the ruins was heavily overgrown.  They had spent the entire day hacking their way through the undergrowth. 

While they were away, two others arrived in town.  One looked to be a woodsman from the Gnarled Woods.  Andor overheard him say his name was Jovan.  The other was an interesting looking fellow.  His hair and mustache were black, and he wore a white tunic over his armor.  But what set him apart and drew Andor's attention were the daggers he wore.  He had them all over his body.  There were two strapped to his back, two at his waist, one in each boot, and four in a cross-strap at his chest.  He also had a sword strapped at his hip, but that seemed like an afterthought.  His name was Marakai.

Andor was talking to Oswald one afternoon when a man in bright armor entered the inn.  His tabard bore an insignia of a spotted owl clutching a bolt of lightning in each of its two claws.  This was well known throughout the land as being the symbol of a knight of the holy order of Hieronymus. 

Ah, Sir! Welcome to the Shady Dragon Inn! Oswald greeted the knight immediately upon seeing him. 

How may I serve thee?

I was told I might find a priest named Andor here, the knight replied to Oswald while looking at Andor. 

I am Andor. How may I be of service?

I would speak to you, the knight replied, then looking to Oswald, in private.

Yes. Yes, of course! Oswald said, stepping from around the trestle, This way, Sir.

Andor and the knight followed Oswald across the great room to a dark, inconspicuous corner near the table Andor had sat at his first time here. Oswald took out a key ring and unlocked a door. 

If you please, Oswald said, instructing the two to enter.

The door opened into a sizable room with a round table and several chairs. 

Shall I light a fire in the hearth? Oswald inquired.

We will not be here that long, the knight replied.  Now if you will excuse us.

Of course, Sir, Oswald said as he took his leave.

When the door was shut behind him, the knight spoke, I am Eric, servant to Hieronymus, and loyal to the king of Fochereach.  Motioning to the chairs he continued, Do you wish to sit?

Taking him up on his offer, curious to what a knight in the service of the King would want with him, Andor sat down at the table.  Eric however remained standing. 

Sir? Andor said, motioning to another chair. 

It was a long ride here.  I'll stand, Eric replied.

What brings a knight of Hieronymus to a small village such as this? Andor asked. 

It has come to the King's attention that something of great value lies hidden in a ruined temple east of here.  I have been charged to assemble a group of... he paused a moment, searching for the right word, adventurers, he decided and continued, to aid me in my search.

How exactly do I fit in this? Andor inquired.

I was instructed to seek you out here in this village and have you aid me in finding those worthy of the task at hand.  I would assume that you would be accompanying me in the search of the temple as well.

What is it we will be looking for? Andor asked.

A sword, Eric answered. 

Testing Grounds

The next day the group of adventurers Andor had assembled headed out for the castle.  Although Eric's target was a temple farther east, Andor convinced him it would be wise to first test the group's mettle at these closer ruins. 

As the group, which numbered eleven was preparing to leave, a large muscular man with long black hair and a scraggly beard rode up to the inn.  He got off his horse, tied it to the post, and started inside. 

He stood at least six feet-four inches and wore a cape of brown fur.  He wore no armor, but carried a hammer and a large sword at his side.  He cast a glance at Andor, who caught his gaze.  His eyes were cold as steel and penetrated Andor's soul like a sharp knife.  The barbarian said nothing and continued into the inn. 

The group mounted their horses and started towards the ruined castle.  It was mid-morning, the sun was bright, and a cool breeze was blowing out of the south.  Birds could be heard chirping their spring songs, and squirrels and the other woodland creatures could be seen scurrying about as the group passed by. 

After a couple of miles the area began to sink and become boggy.  The beautiful songs of the birds ceased and were replaced by weird wailings, croakings, and other strange sounds.  The air was thick and rank, and tall marsh plants grew thick and made travel difficult despite the clearing done by Hawkeye and his two friends the day before.

Off to the left the silhouette of the castle could be seen in the distance.  The whole area seemed unnatural, almost as if it were sickly and dying.  Even the trees seemed to be in a death grip from the strangling loops of creepers and vines. 

Jovan got off his horse and knelt down inspecting the mud.  Someone has been here this morning, he said.  Everyone be on you guard. 

He continued afoot, leading his horse through the muck.  As they approached the castle, they could see that it was definitely in ruins.  The whole upper level was demolished, as was parts of the lower level.  The drawbridge was lowered and the gates had been battered down. 

The group dismounted and staked the reins to the ground as there wasn't anywhere to securely tie them otherwise.  They drew their weapons and advanced cautiously over the fallen drawbridge. 

The room they entered was quite large.  There was a tower immediately to the left, and a huge staircase was in the far right corner. 

Spread out everyone, Eric said, and be on your guard. 

Jovan was searching the floor and found a set of footprints in the dirt.

Someone is here, he said. Their tracks lead up those stairs.

Slowly the group made their way to the stairs, keeping a watch behind them and making sure no arrows came from the arrow slits that were all along the wall.

The doors at the top of the stairs had also been battered down at one time.  Someone was definitely there as burning torches were in the sconces at either end of this room.  It had apparently once been a great audience chamber as there were tattered banners and tapestries on the walls, and what had been richly appointed furniture was in a shambles on the floor.  Now leaves and dust covered the floor, and cobwebs were everywhere. 

Most of the group had entered the room when a door in the far right corner opened and out walked six men dressed in leather armor and carrying weapons of various types.  They were not aware that the group was present as they appeared quite surprised to see them standing there.

After their initial reaction, a loud