Crimson Sun

By Colby Dunn

A long-lasting treaty shatters. The horns of war echo from the east. A conflict ignites that will determine the outcome of all life in the Hidden Lands. Caleb Rambrant of Tritus must rise to defend his homeland from the sudden invasion of Talgoth, the rising kingdom led by a merciless queen. Joined by a blacksmith's daughter, hex-casting wardens, and a mysterious shape-shifter from across the sea, Caleb sets off on a quest for retribution...but forces more hostile than foreign steel await them on the road.

The struggle of power kindled by the sister blades begins a new cycle...and Fate is watching.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Colby Dunn
• Release date: Jan 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005120009

Book preview

To my wife, Lola who powers everything I do.

None can say the will of Fate.

He sits on thrones of gold and waits

upon the destinies of men,

upon the paths that they will take

until He greets them at the Gates.

None can know His endless scheme.

Light and Dark, the blades He crafted

channel the flow of the rapids of time.

Nations clash with greed and hate

until He greets them at the Gates.

Dweller of the Crushed Isles

· Author Unknown ·

CHAPTER 1

GRIMHALL

Caleb Rambrant sat forward, staring into the consuming darkness. Hunching away from the cold stone walls, he grasped the hilt of his sword, leaning against it for support. The air had grown thick and dank as he and his men had made their way through the passage under the keep. Now they waited in position. From somewhere further in, slow dripping water echoed rhythmically in Caleb’s ears, as if the very foundations of Grimhall’s keep were weeping their last tears before the cruel reality of defeat overcame them. And cruel it was. Grimhall’s treason had sealed an inevitable doom, and the great deity Fate had turned His face from them once and for all.

Caleb could not help it. The darkness of the passageway cast a damp shadow on the feelings he vainly attempted to suppress.

Where are my scouts? Caleb thought to himself. With each passing minute he envisioned the horrible scene ensuing outside: the green plains of Salosia stained red with the blood of men who just weeks ago were deemed allies of Tritus. The blood of alleged traitors and his own countrymen.  And for what?  Caleb’s mind raced. There had to be a mistake. He knew King Rawlin and knew that he was not the man to betray them. He would not have started this conflict. Not him.

In his brooding, Caleb could nearly hear the echoes of war reverberating through the layers of stone and earth, but there was only silence.

Where are the scouts?

He promptly shook off his worries and straightened his back, ready to move at the signal.

Through the thick darkness, he sensed the faint rustling of the thirty men crouched ten spans ahead and he pictured his friend Anselem sitting directly in front of him against the opposite wall, his warden robes trailing away from him onto the wet rock.

Don’t give into sleep, my friend, Caleb whispered into the dark. He heard his friend stir with a soft chuckle.

Sleep, Anselem responded. I think not. I’m simply saving my strength should the need of a hex arise.

Let us pray it will not. There’s no telling what we may encounter up there.  Caleb gazed in the direction of the hatch above them though he couldn’t see it. I would suspect the scouts should be coming back soon.

Or else a slew of Grimhall troopers come to burn us out of this rabbit hole, Anselem said in a tone that was all-too serious.

Caleb imagined the scene and abruptly dismissed it.

That won’t happen. It can’t happen. If we all die here, this war will go on and could even spread back home to Tritus. If I can just get to King Rawlin...this can all be averted. He will listen to me. I’m sure of it.

Leave those concerns to me, Ansel, Caleb reassured him. There will be no men of Grimhall marching down here. Not a soul is being spared from the battle on the fields before the keep. The plan will work, he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Suddenly a strange echo from deep within the passageway they had traveled pierced the sharp silence. He heard his men shift in the dark as their hands tightened on the hilts of their swords, but Caleb didn’t move. He knew the sound.

The passage was still for a few short moments until the expected sign from the scouts emerged. A small ball of light, perhaps one hundred spans off, pulsed once and died back down to nothingness.

Anselem, Caleb said. It is time.

Anselem responded without a word as a soft white hue started to faintly sprout and as the darkness fled from around it, Caleb saw Anselem’s features illuminate before him. Stark shadows danced across his face and against the rugged stones of the wall behind him. He was holding his hands out in the proper hex formation, and Caleb could see the light pouring from the scars in his palms. Anselem squinted down the tunnel where the sign had appeared.

For a moment while the tunnel was visible, Caleb shot a reassuring nod to the armored men all waiting in a huddle. Some had drawn their swords already while others tightened their gloves or adjusted their helmets. They responded with quick nods of their own. Caleb could see the handful of wardens in the back of the group wearing robes similar to Anselem’s, rubbing their palms as well.

Anselem’s light vanished in an instant and then was rekindled for the second time, finishing the signal and remaining lit.

That’s it then, he said almost to himself. Grimhall is as empty as it’s going to be.

Caleb stood, placed his horned helmet on his head and fastened his sword to his side.

Right, he said to the others who had scrambled to their feet. We make for King Rawlin’s chambers as swiftly as possible. Captain Anselem and I will lead. Avoid engaging the enemy at all cost.  Caleb had to swallow a lump in his throat when he heard himself refer to the Salosians as enemies. But there was no going back now. If we are forced against any foes, do all you can to spare them and strike only in defense. Wardens, this will largely be up to you. If they get close enough, we will be forced to cut them down.  The wardens at the back nodded firmly. We are here to end the Grimhall Crisis before it spreads over into our lands. We are here for the peace of Salosia and Avondale. Questions?

Silence surrounded the men as if they too shared his grief.

Fate be with us. He tapped his forehead twice and cupped his mouth in reverence and they all did the same.

Move out!

Anselem moved to the wall next to Caleb and held his hands above his head, illuminating the hatch in the stone above them. They hoisted Caleb high and carefully he pressed against it until the rock jumped out of place with a loud grate. He slid the chunk of rock aside and peered into the room above.

He felt a surge of relief as he saw exactly what he expected: a small but empty room lined with dusty wood boxes, grain crates, and shelves of perished foodstuffs. The place had been long-since abandoned and he noticed there were no candles in the sconces on the walls. Their information had been correct. Nodding below that the way was clear, he scrambled into the room and one by one, helped the men up as quickly and silently as possible. By the time Anselem broke his hex formation to climb up, the wardens in the room had replaced his light with theirs. Without speaking a word, they replaced the stone slab and filed out the door.

The group worked their way up a winding staircase and down some halls before the light from their hexes gave way to the soft burning glow of lit torches from the room ahead. They crept along like shadows into the light to find a disheveled dining hall. The tables and chairs were pushed aside carelessly, some overturned with uneaten food strewn about. A lone cat sat on the back of a chair and watched them, its tail swishing back and forth accusingly as if it were a spy for Grimhall lacking the power to hinder them.

They had no idea we were coming, Caleb thought.

The feline watched them as they cautiously made their way through the maze of clutter and through the large doors at the opposite end of the room. They found themselves in a wide hallway cut from the same crude stone as the old keep although it was garnished with thin red carpet that trailed down the center and up the stairs beyond.

Caleb drew his sword and Anselem prepared for any hexes he would have to cast, keeping his hands out in front of him at the ready. They had only gone thirty paces down the hallway when the sounds of dozens of falling metal feet echoed from the level above them accompanied by vague shouts and grunts.

Almost as if the group shared one mind, they darted down a branching hallway and extinguished as many torches as they could, veiling themselves in shadow.

Sure enough, they could hardly catch their breath before a group of forty-five soldiers of Grimhall came storming down the stairs past them in a stampede of urgency.

Caleb and Anselem watched from the dark as the wave rushed by.

Hurry!  They are pressing their way to the gates! yelled the one at the forefront who seemed in charge of the little brigade. Move!  Draw your weapons!  This is the last stand of Grimhall!

Caleb shut his eyes tightly as he heard the words.

The commander continued spouting orders along with a few other words to instill bravery in their hearts as they ran down the hallway and bent out of sight. When the sound of their footfalls had faded again to a low rumble, the group of men emerged from hiding.

Did you hear that?  The day is ours, Anselem said with an empty grin. Caleb nodded.

Our time is shorter than I thought. Come!  We have no time to waste!

The group of men glided up the stairs as their eyes darted from side to side keeping aware of their surroundings. The sewage passage they had taken under the castle had disoriented him more than he thought it would.

It had been three years since Caleb had been to Grimhall with his own King Halis at the time he was first made captain and if it had not been for the maps they had studied in the war councils back in Tritus, he would have truly been lost. As they finished climbing the stairs to the second level they stood face to face with a ten foot statue of ancient Grimhall himself and suddenly Caleb’s confidence in their path returned. The king’s chambers were near.

Caleb led them on but as he rounded a corner, he froze. Caleb found himself looking into the eyes of an armed trooper with a huddle of others close behind him. The leader jumped back, and they all drew their weapons.  

Tritus scum!  How did you get in here?

Hold!  We are not here to kill, Caleb said. Lay down your arms and you will be spared. 

The soldier in front turned his head to one of his subordinates without taking his eyes from Caleb and Anselem.

Run!  Warn the king! he ordered. The soldier obeyed and turned to flee.

Don’t let him escape!  Caleb exclaimed. A wide grin crossed Anselem’s face and all at once every armed man sprang into action.

The enemies rushed forward as Caleb’s men charged to meet them. Anselem dodged off to one side while his hands contorted together into a tangle of fingers, making the formation of a first degree hex that would halt the fleeing man’s escape.

The foremost soldier charged Anselem, attempting to stop his hex but his blade met Caleb’s in a flash of sparks. With a quick deflection to the side and a heavy kick to the chest, Caleb sent the man to the ground and into the rock wall. His head collided with the stone, and he rolled to his side unconscious.

Caleb turned to see Anselem pursuing the messenger who was nearly out of sight and darted after them, leaving his men to finish with the others.

Caleb clenched his teeth in frustration at shedding blood after all. He spat away the sour taste in his mouth, and he hoped that this was the only time they would veer from their intentions.

He caught up to Anselem as they entered a large, empty courtroom with a fifty-span ceiling and narrow, squared pillars lining the length of the walls. A set of heavy doors with a large coiling serpent, the crest of Grimhall, painted on the face of it stood at the end of the chamber.

Beyond was the throne room.

He entered the court just in time to see the runner turn and Anselem unleash his hex upon him. A gust flew forward, and the man froze as it went over him as though his body were suddenly bound by a heavy rope. He fell flat on his face and struggled to move his limbs in vain. Keeping his hands in formation, Anselem yanked them quickly to his side, sliding his captive across the floor and out of the way even as Caleb’s men and the other wardens came rushing into the room to detain him.  

Ready yourself, Caleb said to his companion. Whatever lies behind those doors will secure our future or seal our doom.

Very encouraging, captain, Anselem mumbled.

They pushed the doors open and jumped inside, ready to meet the last horde of soldiers defending the king. Anselem had already started preparing a hex, but his hands dropped to his sides at the emptiness that greeted them. The room was dark and completely vacant, the throne sitting abandoned against the backdrop of a large stained-glass window. The silence was thick, the air cold and Caleb’s heart reached out to grasp a feeling that was not there. Relief?  Disappointment?

I don’t understand, Anselem muttered in frustration. Where is he?  He turned a few times in confusion. He’s not here.

Caleb ventured in a bit further and shook his head, confused. But we made sure, he said mostly to himself. He has to be here!  Wasn’t the soldier coming just now to warn him?

Escaped?  He could be halfway to Talgoth by now, Anselem said, imagining the worst scenario possible. He’s betrayed us for those savages, and now he deserts his people and flees to the queen like a grewl to his cave.

Caleb paced and looked down the passageway they had traveled, expecting to see enemies piling in to trap them, but only his men stood watching from a distance.

Caleb placed his hand against his helmet.

We secured all of the main gates and the waterfront. There is no other way out of Grimhall. He must be in the keep somewhere...but it would take days to search it completely.

Perhaps he has taken his own life out of shame, Anselem suggested with a snarl. Or it could be a trap. Anyway, he isn’t here, so we had better get moving before the battle is won.  He signaled for his wardens, and they nodded, turning to leave. Reluctantly, Caleb signaled for half of his men to follow and ordered a few others to return back down the tunnel and inform Commander Arvus. Anselem paced and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he noticed Caleb still as stone, squinting and listening to the silence.

What is it? Anselem whispered, checking around him again with a suspicious eye. Caleb raised his free hand.

Wait.

Slowly scanning the walls, Caleb made his way around the edges of the throne room looking up and down the long banners hung on the wall adorned with the serpent crest of Grimhall until he came to the plinth where the throne sat lonely and desolate. Caleb could feel Anselem watching intently as he cautiously climbed the stairs and stopped before the great chair. He stared at it a moment then sheathed his sword and, gripping the arms of the throne with both hands, heaved it aside. It toppled over the landing and cracked onto the stone floor below. There before him cowered King Rawlin II of Grimhall.

The aging man had been curled up into a ball with both of his old hands covering his head, but as soon as his cover was torn away, he lashed out like an animal released from its rope and with a shrill cry delved for Caleb’s throat with bony hands.

Fate thrust you down to the pits! he roared.

Caleb jumped back in surprise, and brandished his sword in defense, but King Rawlin stopped short, blinking with wide eyes. He was the man Caleb remembered but instead of noble and wise, he looked weak and utterly pitiful, like a child lost in the rain. The wrinkles on his face seemed much deeper than he remembered, and his eyes were wide with terror as they searched his face. His thick black robe was lined with a cusp of fur, yet it somehow looked cold. Caleb needed the moment just as much to take in what he could not believe was King Rawlin.

Young Rambrant?  Caleb, son of Daymon?

A surge of relief came over Caleb as hope of stopping the war appeared on the horizon.

I knew he would talk. I knew it.

He stepped back a few paces just in case and sheathed his weapon.

Indeed it is I, your Highness. You remember well though it has been more than three years since King Halis brought me here. I am honored.

Anselem crossed the room to the base of the stairs leading to the throne’s platform. Caleb turned to him and gave him a small, reassuring smile. Relief spread across Anselem’s face, and his small huddle of men outside the chambers eased back. King Rawlin wore a hint of a grin although it didn’t feel right somehow. He was staring through Caleb absently as if he were not even there. An odd uncertainty sparked in Caleb but before he could do anything else, Rawlin placed a hand on his shoulder.

Yes! Yes! I could not forget the son of Daymon Rambrant visiting my halls, he said joyfully as he walked him down the stairs where Anselem stood. You were a new captain then, if I recall. Your first trip to Salosia and to Grimhall. 

He left Caleb at the stairs and walked on a little further. He spoke with his hands behind his back and his eyes to the ceiling as if he were recalling his most blissful memory.

We must prepare a feast for your return. Yes!  A feast!  Guards, he called to the empty room. Guards!  Come at once!  Caleb’s men outside the doors exchanged concerned glances.

Caleb found the same confusion in Anselem’s eyes. The odd feeling grew in Caleb’s mind although he still could not place what it was.

There is no one here, king, Caleb said firmly, determined to accomplish his mission. When I came those years ago I witnessed the renewal of a bond of trust between our nations. A treaty of fealty against the rising in the Esterlands, and Tritus has come to believe that you have broken that treaty.

King Rawlin stood frozen with his hands still locked behind his back. He turned his head and gave them a sidelong stare.

Treaty...

Caleb could not distinguish if it was confusion or contempt in his voice.

You have sent armed forces to the Esterlands to join with the ranks of Talgoth our enemies, Caleb continued. And when we sent for an explanation, you returned our ambassador back to us in a basket. Your Highness, as we speak, the blood of your people and ours is being spilt. Tell us what is going on, and we can end this conflict. We have come to put an end to all of this madness.

The old king’s shoulders moved up and down as a slight chuckle built and rolled into a hysterical cackle. Caleb’s heart sank.

Anselem spoke up for the first time, undeterred by Caleb’s bafflement.

King Rawlin, time is short. The keep is won for Tritus. Call your men back before all of them have fallen!

The laughter stopped almost instantly, and Rawlin turned to face them as if he had never noticed Anselem was in the room.

A mighty warden has also come, he said nodding in approval and motioning to the robes Anselem wore. Anselem gave a half-hearted nod. Caleb could see he was growing impatient with the king’s antics. He opened his mouth to speak again, but King Rawlin cut him short.

You obey orders and thrust your sword at those whom your king wills, but you understand nothing.  As he spoke his words started to slow and his eyes drifted upward in a daze. His face had turned slightly pale and his hands were trembling. The Lioness has more than just her legions of Talgoth at her side. Her powers cannot be repelled by any force on earth; cannot even be comprehended by men, not even those of the mighty city of Tritus, he spat out with a sneer, his eyes narrowing with hate. I had no choice but to swear my allegiance.

Traitor... Anselem breathed.

The queen...she has...undeniable powers. Specters from other worlds do her bidding, he said as if he were half in a dream, his eyes darting quickly around the room.

Enough of this nonsense, Anselem said impatiently. Come willingly, King Rawlin. I will bind your hands, and we will march to the gates and end the conflict. No more of our men need to die out there.

Anselem stepped forward with rope that had emerged from his warden robes, but the king recoiled from both of them as if Anselem had unveiled a venomous snake.

No!  You do not understand!  Neither of you! he yelled like a lunatic as he staggered backward. I was told to maintain Grimhall or die trying!  You cannot claim victory!  The world belongs to Talgoth and the Lioness!

Caleb and Anselem closed in on him as he retreated, and he stumbled over his mantle, falling onto his back.

King Rawlin, Caleb shouted attempting to bring the old man back to reality,  by order of the King of Tritus, you are under arrest for breaking the treaty of peace and conspiring with the nation of Talgoth!  We have orders to take you back with us dead or alive, and we prefer the latter. Get up, and we will bind your hands. Let us be done with this!

Suddenly, as he lay on the floor, he pulled a small dirk from his tangle of royal garments and jumped to his feet. His demeanor had now completely changed; King Rawlin II was gone. Caleb and Anselem took a defensive stance, ready for the pathetic man to pounce on them.

Your highness! Caleb yelled. His voice was filled with anger more for his dashed hopes of peaceful resolution than for the king’s actions. "Drop your weapon and come with us now!  Your men are dying, and any moment Tritus will claim the victory and be stampeding toward this very room. It is over!  Stand down!"

I would rather suffer the wrath of any legion than abandon my orders here, he said with his dazed look again. His voice trembled. I cannot...face the queen...in failure. The specters...

He’s mad! exclaimed Anselem.

Without warning, King Rawlin broke out of his trance and rushed Caleb, swinging his dagger in a whirlwind of hysteria. The king caught him by surprise, but Caleb skillfully avoided his attacks, determined still to reason with him. Anselem had retreated a safe distance away, and started forming a hex with his hands that would seal the old man’s doom if need be.

No, no hexes!  Caleb ordered as he deftly moved backwards to dodge the king’s wild jabs, seeking an opening to seize his attacker’s wrists. Stop this madness! he yelled, but the King seemed not to hear. Caleb felt a sudden urge to run his sword right through him. Clearly, the king was a lunatic and would not comply with their terms. With a crazed scream, King Rawlin threw an unusually quick jab, and the blade of his dirk sank into Caleb’s flesh in the small unarmored section between his chest plate and his shoulder. He cried out in pain and staggered back to place a better distance between them. Anselem moved in behind the old king, his hands poised in the proper position to cast a powerful warden hex. He obeyed his orders and waited for the command. Glancing quickly at his wound and confirming it was nothing too serious, Caleb’s face turned grim, and he held his sword out before him. The time for formalities had ended.  

Where is the man I knew?  Where is Rawlin, the brave king who showed such kindness to me?  Friend of my father?  You have chosen the path of a traitor!  Let it be known before Fate that Tritus gave you the chance to mend your mistakes, but you refused.  If you lash out, King of Grimhall, die by cold steel.  Behind those words, Caleb prayed with all his being that the king would cease his attacks. He could not kill a friend of King Halis, a man he used to respect. He would not.

Fate has no interest in mankind, Rawlin slurred. He abandoned His world long ago to stand idly by as we burn each other. It is His way.

Rawlin’s hands dropped to his sides, the dirk hanging loose in his fingers. Caleb followed his lead and lowered his sword, but in an instant, the king dashed forward, the dagger leading the way, aiming straight for Caleb’s gut. It was all too easy.  Caleb turned to the side at the last moment, clear of the king’s attack, and he thrust out with his own sword passing it straight through the old man’s heart and through his back. The old man gave a cry cut short by the ebbing of his life, and madly clutched the blade of the sword, the edge slicing through his fingers to the bone.

Caleb stared in wide disbelief at his attacker, whose eyes brimmed with tears. He had dispatched many foes in his eleven years as a soldier but never one like this- an ally of his beloved king. A man whose life determined the peace of two nations.

As he looked into Rawlin’s fading eyes, he recognized him as the king he once knew, his memories flooding back at once. King Rawlin was strong then; a noble superior that as a fresh soldier, he had admired. And now, as a mere captain, he had impaled that man like a hog on a skewer.

His flash of thought broke away as King Rawlin’s body went limp, and his weight pulled Caleb’s sword down to the floor. The dead body slid off of the blade and fell to the ground with the blunt sound of the inanimate. Anselem’s hands lowered from their hex formation, and a shocked and perplexed expression spread across his face. They both stood over the corpse in solemn silence, sad and bewildered, watching the blood slowly seep out from under the body. Caleb’s men entered the room cautiously with weapons drawn, but they stopped at the sight of the fallen ruler.

Go, Caleb finally said. Find Commander Arvus and tell him what has happened here.  His voice was soft and trembling.

The men bolted away. Caleb looked down accusingly at his sword as if it had made the kill of its own volition.

Caleb, Anselem ventured, stepping forward and rubbing the scars in his palms. You tried everything. There was no more you could have done here.

Caleb tapped his forehead twice and cupped his hand to his mouth in customary reverence, praying the soul of the departed to be left in the hands of Fate.

I have failed, Caleb muttered. I’ve failed a nation and slain a king. When Grimhall’s defenders learn that their king is dead, there will be anarchy...chaos.

You’ve done your duty, Anselem said after a pause.

Caleb turned from the body and paced back and forth. Far beyond the walls, they heard the blasting of horns; the horns of victory. The sound felt hollow as it echoed in the dark, empty chamber. Caleb turned at the sound and hurled his sword across the room with a shout. It bounced with a ringing echo and slid to a stop on the cold floor.

CHAPTER 2

WAITING IN THE NIGHT

THE ENCAMPMENT WAS well hidden amidst the rocks and dense trees of the woods of Avondale, with few torches lit to keep their concealment. Hundreds of glowing yellow eyes blinked and swayed in the darkness, the eyes of armed grewls hungry for the kill. Their enormous gaping mouths were lined with jagged teeth that resembled broken glass and they pulled and tugged at the raw meat their masters had thrown to them shredding it to pieces before gulping it down into their putrid bellies. They were vicious beasts of the wilds, usually scavenging in much smaller numbers but Talgoth had herded them into a swarm of dangerous filth. They did not make for the smartest soldiers, nor was their kind known for their speed or prowess in battle, but they were wicked to the bone and despised humans more than anything else. They knew no emotions but that of hatred- hatred toward humans and even other grewls. Most grewls stood to the shoulders of the average man but their broken postures usually bent them much lower. Their grey skin hung from their bones like wet shredded rags and the nails on their long fingers and giant toes were just as sharp and serrated as their teeth. Whenever a weapon was not handy, these made fine substitutes.

The horde of grewls sat in clusters in the dark, clothed in the robes of Talgoth, dark and crested with a burning blood-red sun. They wore them uneasily and grunted amongst themselves, trying to stave off their hunger for the promised fresh meat of the humans. Not one among them wanted to be there, but somehow they had been forced to. Each time one of the creatures began to get up and sneak away into the night, it would turn and see the large silhouette of the masked man looming at the end of the camp and fall back onto its rump and cover its head in smoldering fear.

Two men walked briskly through the trees, dodging the grewls and trying to keep even their clothing from brushing them. The man farther behind, Palson Materill, wore an expression of repulsion on his sharp features, his long nose turned as much in the other direction as possible, until they reached the looming figure at the edge of camp. The masked man stood over a table and looked down at a blood-stained map illuminated by one small candle in the center that was burning its last hour of wax.

The man was tall and broad, as thick as a tree, and wore a dark colored cloak over heavy armor. The mask on his face encompassed nearly his entire head and sharp horns twisted out the sides of it. Its shape resembled something like a skull with deep holes for the eyes and a hideous twisted smile of silver teeth making the whole something that seemed could only be forged in the darkest corner of the earth. The queen of Talgoth, the Lioness herself, was the only one who dared look into the mask as she spoke to him.

Next to the man stood a sickly-looking creature, half human, half grewl. The dark-skinned creature was bulky and strong, but even he looked down at the ground in fear next to the tower of metal that stood beside him. The half-breed looked up in relief as the two approached.

As the candlelight began to illuminate them, Palson shifted slightly behind his superior Verfold whom he followed, just enough to cover the mask of the towering man from his sight. Here he could comfortably listen, if he cared to, while Verfold the fool tried to elevate himself.

Verfold folded his arms and grimaced at the map. He threw his dark cape back behind his shoulder in protest and whipped his wind-ruffled hair out of his eyes.

Sir!  We have just heard from my men near the city. They sense a stir within Tritus. With all due respect, we must move out tonight. If the other garrison from the south has not reached us by now, then something has happened to them. We must take action or all is lost! he stated with a dangerously commanding air.

Quiet Verfold! the grewl-man snorted through protruding teeth, perspiring anxiously. You’re impatient. If something happened to them, we would know it. If they were found, we’d already be fighting. We need to wait longer. My people will come.  His voice was foul and spit fell from his mouth as he struggled to speak without his normal slur.

"Your people? retorted Verfold with a grunt. You are half man and yet you consider yourself a grewl. Perhaps the garrison would have arrived quicker if they were being led by a full man and not a ruined half-breed, M’erzuk!"

M’erzuk snarled as inconspicuously as he could, the glare of the masked man fixed upon him like a stone wall. M’erzuk gripped the hilt of his scimitar and raked Verfold with his eyes, but Verfold’s attention shifted back to the map.

Palson had been shifting nervously behind Verfold from the moment tensions rose. He watched with eyes partially hidden by his dark hair that hung around his face and down to his shoulders. He detested M’erzuk just as much as Verfold, but had the sense not to show it here. He knew he could kill both M’erzuk and Verfold by the sword if he chose, but wondered how well he would fare with this battle of words. Such confrontation was meaningless.

The man in the mask stood as still as a statue, his awful metal face grimacing down at them. They never knew what was going on behind the mask and that was the terror of it. Was he staring at you and plotting your death?  Was he asleep and not even listening?  Only Fate knew. They were ever left to interpret the steady glare of the black, empty eyes and the twisted smile of pointed teeth.

Verfold seemed to recognize how out-of-line he had been and the danger in it. He coughed and continued, this time with a softer voice but no less aggravated.

My Lord, the garrison is late and that can only mean that they have been compromised. If that is the case, patrols from Tritus could be on our trail at this very moment. It is foolish to wait any longer.

He looked down at the map and gestured to the wood pieces scattered across it that represented the other camps lying in wait throughout the dense forests that dotted the kingdom of Avondale.

Even without them, we can still take the city. We must attack tonight!  Those from within will make up for our loss.

Palson’s eyes shifted to M’erzuk who was clamping his mouth together tightly, clearly holding back his thoughts, whatever vile things they might be.

Suddenly all of them straightened when the masked man spoke. His voice was deep and raspy like the sound of rock grinding against sand. As his words seeped and echoed between the metal teeth, Palson felt a shiver move through his spine. A few of the closer grewl soldiers shuffled further away from the table.

We wait, the man said. The queen’s plans are beyond that of your understanding.

Verfold looked at the ground in artificial humility but was obviously fuming inside.

Yes, M’erzuk quickly agreed. Yes sir, right you are. The queen knows all. The garrison will come, and then our attack will be perfect.

Verfold sucked in his breath quickly, accepting that his argument could hold no sway.

I see, he said slowly, forcing submission, his voice heavy with displeasure. We wait, then. But I shall head a small troupe around the perimeter and look for signs of our lost brigade of grewl muck.

He gulped after he heard his last words leave his mouth with a bit too much contempt. He was pushing his luck. He glanced up at the mask once again as if he would be able to see some sign of his master’s annoyance. The hellish face made him turn away.

I take my leave, he concluded nearly knocking Palson over in his rush to depart as quickly as possible.

Stop, came the words from behind the mask.

Verfold froze. Palson’s heart began to beat faster.

There was a thousand-year silence around the table as all looked on, waiting for the wide shadow to speak. At last his next words came, slow and creaking.

What are your thoughts, young captain? the masked man asked pointing to Palson.

Palson’s eyes grew wide and his body tensed as the gaze of the skull slowly turned in his direction and waited menacingly for an answer. He swallowed hard and ran a quick hand through his hair as he wished with all his will that he could shrink and disappear.

My lord, he stuttered after a moment of gathering his wits. Of course I- I stand by your council and the council of the queen, sir. And... he trailed off and looked at Verfold who was watching him with wide-eyed intensity as if any one of his words would melt the very world they stood on. He didn’t care what Verfold thought- he was a fool. But something about the mask made his valor seep out the bottom of his boots.

And...well, Palson continued. I think it may be unwise to leave the camp even in search of the garrison. It- it may prove disastrous to our plan. You have commanded secrecy, sir and General Verfold has forgotten this.

Several more lifetimes of silence passed by in a few seconds as the demonic shadow’s metal face took in his words and processed them carefully. Everyone flinched when at last the masked man moved from his spot behind the table.

Despite his heavy gear and mountain-like demeanor, his movements were swift, his armor creaking atop his joints as he seemed to glide over past M’erzuk and Palson. He stopped directly in front of Verfold.

The menacing skull-face stared down at him, and Verfold did not return the look. Palson noticed for the first time as Verfold stood there helpless, the faint sounds of breathing beneath the mask. The mask. He recalled hearing rumors about the mask from some of the men- some kind of terrible secret it held, and he wondered if he was about to behold something he did not want to see.

Sir? Verfold began but stood in silence when the man’s hand moved to his side and slowly drew his large sword from its sheath.

I see now I have made an error, Verfold said, pathetically attempting to backtrack in his haughtiness. The sword emerged fully and hung down by the towering man’s side and his deathly gaze of silence endured. Verfold glanced down at the reflection of the candle fire dancing in the polished blade.

Y-you would displease the queen, he stammered. She selected me. I alone can lead our men to victory as you desire...

The masked man lifted his arm and dropped a heavy hand on Verfold’s shoulder. Palson thought for a moment it was a reassuring gesture and permission to leave when suddenly the man’s hand grasped Verfold firmly and his other came up and plunged his sword into Verfold’s stomach.

Verfold’s eyes slowly rose up to meet the cold face before him.

You alone can lead them? came the deep resonating voice from beneath the mask. I think not. This is the will of the Lioness.

Verfold struggled to say something, but the man released his grip letting his dying body fall into the dirt where he remained, motionless.

The mask turned to the fear-stricken onlookers.

"Captain Palson Materill. Your judgment is wiser than his was. You are now General Palson."

Palson rattled where he stood and nodded with bewilderment.

Yes- yes sir, Lord Marmius. As you wish.

CHAPTER 3

THE JOURNEY HOME

CALEB SQUINTED THROUGH the dirty, fogged window of his room within the ship as it glided away from a depressing and bleak view of the land. Against a backdrop of beautiful, rainy country billowed enormous tendrils of smoke rising from the fire of war, like thick black trees twisting and vining into the heavens. The fire mocked the departing victors as a testimony to thousands of lost lives of brothers and kinsmen, doused hopes of peace and the end of a long lasting friendship. The terror of Talgoth was spreading from the Esterlands like a festering disease and infecting all that stood in its path. The tumult of war had ceased, and a serene yet gloomy calm moved in to replace it, making the moment seem like a cheerless painting.

Caleb turned from the window. The tight space was occupied with a small bed, a quaint round table covered with maps and documents of battle, and a stool. His eyes moved to the stand on which his armor hung, tired and beaten. The breastplate and guards for his shins and forearms