The End of Story #3

UPDATE: The posts for Story #3 have been moved to their own home at www.quickstick.com/story3 and the slate on this spot has been cleaned off in preparation for the next story. Stay tuned - It will begin either Sunday the 18th or Monday the 19th. It's fictionman's turn to write the first post, and we haven't even discussed what we'll be writing next, so it should prove interesting.

RaynDragon

Chapter One - Kyla

Clouds covered most of the sky. She looked, but she could not see the owl. She waited and listened. If the owl was successful, it would cry out in victory and it would be her turn to hunt. If the sun rose and the owl still cried out its warning, then she would turn and go back to camp and warn the others that today would be a bad day for battle.

She was not afraid of these Elar. She had seen them, and at first they did not look too unlike people. They shared many of the same features. But there were important differences.

She knew not to shoot arrows at the gleaming garments they wrapped themselves in. Those were hard metal, and her arrows would have little effect through them. But those metal garments were heavy. She had seen one, even touched one taken from a slain enemy.

No, she told herself, a people that had to hide themselves behind such protection only showed how weak and fragile they were. The elder shaman had painted her skin before she had left camp. Swiftness, accuracy, guidance--these were the marks he put upon her.

The owl shouted out its loud hunting cry, and her ears told her the bird was diving for the kill. It was only a moment before she heard the labored flapping of wings. The bird carried victory in curved talons. It was her sign.

She clucked softly to her mount and the horse moved forward through the tall grass. She advanced slowly. The Elar had good eyes, but still they would see movement before anything else.

The sky lightened slowly with the approaching dawn. With daybreak the cloud cover would leave, and there would be battle under the open sky, the way it should be. The Elar camp was between her and the coming sun, so she would give them no silhouette to see. They would be unlikely to see her coming.

She heard music coming from their camp before she got close enough to see the smoke rising from their many fires. From the fires and tents she could see that there were very many of them. There were more Elar than there were her own people behind her. Numbers were not what determined victory, she reminded herself.

The closer she got the more slowly she advanced. There was enough time before sunrise. She would be in range when the time came. When the sun first appeared over the far horizon she would fire one arrow and take the first life of the day. It would be their only warning to the Elar. It would be a message that said, "if you want more death, come, and we will give it to you." She had been told the Elar had never heeded such warnings before, but they would have that chance today.

As the sky lightened more she could see the smaller shapes of Morgule slaves. She had never met a Morgule herself, but had heard many stories of their brave warriors and mighty ships. Though small in stature, they had ruled the seas for centuries until the Elar had come. It was said that it had not been the Elar warriors who had driven the Morgule from the sea and enslaved them, but the Elar conjurers. The Morgule had fled as the sea itself was turned against them. Now, the once-proud people were only allowed to live if they grovelled before the Elar and served them well. One trader had suggested that the Elar only advanced into the grasslands to replenish their dwindling supply of slaves as they killed them for the smallest offense. Kyla had laughed at that. Her people would never allow themselves to be enslaved. He had only replied that the Morgule had once made such claims as well.

The horse twitched nervously and she stopped. The sound of the music the Elar had been making had shifted. There was more movement in camp now, and it seemed to her as if the music was now a signal to wake those who had been sleeping. For a moment she worried that she had been discovered, but saw that they made no move to advance out of their camp just yet. It looked as if they were eating and dressing in their metal armor. She knew her own tribe would be eating a light breakfast and preparing for battle as well.

Her horse snorted quietly and stamped its feet restlessly, and she scanned all around her, searching for what was unsettling it so much. She stroked it's mane and whispered softly into its ear to calm it until a movement caught the edge of her vision and she turned towards it for a better look. Her heart caught in her throat as a new figure stepped out of one of the campfires.

Fire elemental, she realized in horror. It's dark black skin seemed to glow in cracks all along it, and it seemed to be staring angrily down at one of the Elar. They've brought a conjurer, she thought to herself. She freed an arrow from the quiver at her hip, and pulled her bow to readiness. In the dim light, she sighted down the arrow at the robed Elar as he and the elemental stood motionless before one another.

What happens if I kill him? she suddenly hesitated. She had no idea how much control the conjurer currently had over the elemental and if it would still obey the remaining Elar if she killed the one who'd summoned it. She only knew that if the elemental reached the tall, dry grasses they would burn before it, taking away one of the main advantages her people's warriors had in defending their homelands. Will killing him send it away or free it? She knew little of conjuring spirits, as it was considered enslaving the forces of nature themselves - something her people would never do.

Kyla closed her eyes a moment and prayed before focusing and aiming for the conjurer's neck. She could only hope that killing the conjurer would free the elemental and that it would respect her people and leave as a result. She held her breath as pulled the string taut and then the arrow flew from her fingers on her release.

In her mind she envisioned the flight of the arrow. She knew that the arrow existed in both the physical world and in the dreaming world of her mind. She had been trained to step from one world to the other, so that events in one could affect events in the other.

With her eyes she saw the physical arrow in the same space and the same arc through the sky as the arrow in her mind. Both arrows struck true in the conjurer's throat. She almost never missed.

The conjurer clutched at the arrow, surprise obvious even from this distance. He clawed at the arrow with his hands as he dropped to his knees. She knew what to expect from the wound. With both her eyes and her mind she saw the bald man start to sway front to back unable to even scream. The man coughed a few more times before falling.

She looked at the other people in the camp and saw them looking around in confusion. Some called out alarms. A few looked towards her. She sat high in her saddle. She would not turn until they gave chase. That was their way.

But mostly she watched the elemental. For a moment it stood looking down at the little figure lying near its feet. One fiery foot kicked at the body, igniting the cloth of the robes. It was only then that trumpets finally sounded in alarm.

At the sound of the trumpets the elemental looked around it at the encamped army. It said something unintelligible. It's voice was the sound of a roaring fire, but impossibly loud. Elar warriors stepped back, drawing long, straight swords.

The elemental picked one warrior up with one hand. Its fingers were large enough to wrap completely around the man. The man's screams carried to her with the wind. She was too far to smell the man's flesh burning, although she knew it had to be. He did not scream for long, and when he stopped screaming the elemental dropped him.

Many of the Elar had long bows and the fired arrows at the elemental. The Elar bows were simpler, just carved wood bent into a single curve, too long to use on horseback. Her bow was layers of wood and horn bonded together, and it had additional curves outward at the ends. She knew that her bow would be more powerful than the Elar bows.

None of the arrows seemed to have any real effect on it. They lodged in the black skin where they started burning. The arrows fell to the grass--most of them burning.

One Elar in particular was bellowing orders although it was difficult to hear him over the roar of the elemental. While she did not understand what he was saying, she could see the Elar warriors stepping back several paces, away from the elemental. The archers held their bows ready but did not let more arrows fly. The warrior who'd given the commands did not draw his sword, but ordered others to make a circle around the Elemental with buckets of water, dousing the ground. Kyla leaned forward on her horse, watching carefully.

The elemental seemed more angry with this than he had about the arrows. he leaned over, reaching out and managing to grab one of the warriors who'd been pouring the buckets. The warrior screamed until he grew limp at which point the elemental threw him at the others. Most managed to dodge their comrade, and afterwards stamped out the burning grasses where his body landed. She noticed briefly that the body seemed to shatter when it hit the ground, as a piece of wood might after it had been burned to black ash.

The commanding warrior said some things to the elemental, reading from a book in the process. The elemental seemed restless, pacing the edges of the circle of water that had been poured around him. It seemed to Kyla as if he could not cross over it though. He grabbed whatever he could find inside the circle, including the conjurer's body, and flung it at the commanding warrior, who dodged every time. She did not know if it was something from the book the commanding warrior read or if the elemental itself chose to do it, but suddenly it began to glow bright red through the cracks in its blackened skin-like outer coating. Without further warning, the elemental seemed to explode into a thousand firey sparks that burned bright, angry red before settling into ash. Then the ash started to spiral, like a tiny black tornado, growing thicker and stronger as it gathered. The bottom of the funnel made it's way to the campfire from which the elemental had originally stepped and seemed to burrow into it, disappearing into the flames.

Once it was gone, the commander ordered the fire snuffed out before he turned his attention towards Kyla. She hadn't wasted her time while she was watching. She had another arrow ready on the bow and for a moment she saw the commander hesitate, as she was pointing it directly at him. She let the arrow loose, moving with it in her mind for a moment as she planted it at the edge of his boot, just in front of him. Heed the warning, Elar, she thought, wishing he could understand her. Turn back this day. Do not bring death to your men.

The Elar seemed to cock his head for a moment, as if he'd heard her, before turning and bellowing at his warriors, pointing in her direction. She waited another moment, for them to actually start running in her direction, before she turned her mount, gently nudging his sides with her calves. The horse put its head down and began to gallop away, just as the first arrows began to sing in the air from behind her.

She turned her head long enough to see the arrows in flight. She had been told that the Elar arrows would have longer range then hers, but would travel more slowly. They almost looked lazy in their arcs through the sky, and avoiding them was not difficult.

The trumpets behind her changed tunes, but she did not know what the Elar war songs meant. She did not look back again. Either they would chase her for battle, or they would heed the warning and not follow. It was out of her hands now.

Her horse crossed the distance between the two camps quickly. She knew it would take the Elar much longer on foot weighed down as they would be by their armor.

Her camp was at the top of a hill. She passed guards concealed in grasses as she approached. She knew where to find them, and she slowed when she reached them. It was a more relaxed ride up the gentle slope of the hill.

The sun was up behind her now as she arrived at camp. The warm light brought out the red colors in the red and brown hides that made up their tents. She was greeted by a number of warriors. Her father, Rynik, was the chief warrior of their tribe, and she went to him first. She slid off her mount before him.

"They have been warned not to come," she told him. "They had a conjurer who made a fire elemental. I killed the conjurer, one of their chiefs was able to banish the thing. I did see how they contained it first. They poured water in a circle around it, and it could not cross."

"Thank you, Kyla," he said. "We will make ready in case they have another conjurer."

"Would they have another?" a young warrior named Torlain asked.

"It is wise to be prepared," Rynik said. It was a saying she had heard often in her youth. "Go ready yourselves for battle."

She gave her father a nod of acknowledgement, as did Torlain, and then moved out of the way as Rynik turned to address some of the other warriors nearby. Torlain turned and moved off towards the shaman's fire, but Kyla had already attended to that earlier. Instead, she took her horse for water and food first, stroking his neck and speaking soft words of encouragement to the animal while it drank and ate. She stopped at her sleeping furs long enough to replenish the two arrows she'd used and add a second quiver to her belt before making her way to the altar to pray.

Someone had already stoked the coals in the stone bowl at the altar, and she added a few of the sweet-smelling grasses to it, kept there for that very purpose. As they caught fire and burned, from the heat of the coals, she took a moment to inhale the almost intoxicating scent they gave off. It gave her a feeling of strength, for which she thanked Aldanara, Goddess of All Nature. She moved next to the small ceramic jars that contained pigments derived from berries and flowers they gathered. The elder shaman had used the same type of pigments to mark her earlier in the day, but now she marked herself further in prayer. She first drew animals of strength and quickness on her arms and legs, asking Aldanara to keep her from faltering during battle. She then unlaced her shirt and drew the symbol of her tribe over her heart, asking Aldanara to keep her tribe safe from harm. Last, she took the sharp knife that lay upon the altar before the image of the Goddess and made a tiny cut on the side of one arm, until a small amount of blood appeared. She allowed this blood to spill into the silver cup that also sat upon the altar. There, it mingled with the blood of the rest of her tribe and the blood of any animals who'd lives had recently been taken to feed the tribe. She wiped the blade clean and left the tiny wound to heal itself as she knew it would.

She gave one last prayer of thanks before lacing up her shirt again and moving with her horse towards where the other warriors were gathering. The drums were playing, calling all tribal warriors to arms. The Elar had been spotted. The drums also told that they had stopped to gather in a more organized fashion.

She mounted her horse, nodding to several of the nearby warriors who'd acknowledged her arrival. She saw others mounted as she was, bows in hand, and she unslung hers from over her torso again, making it ready. Her father stood at the front, watching for the scouts to return and confirm the Elar's progress.

The drums fell silent. More and more Draheld warriors gathered, mostly in front of her. Her position for the moment was towards the back. Most of the warriors around her were more experienced than she was. She secretly wished that she felt as confident and ready as they looked.

She touched the straps holding her equipment in place. There were the two quivers of sixteen arrows each at her belt. She had a knife at her belt also, but she did not expect to use it in battle. She checked the two sabers over her shoulder, ensuring that they were snugly enough in their scabbards but loose enough to be drawn quickly.

A breeze toyed with her hair, and she smelled a hint of wild flowers in the air. Her horse shifted its hooves, waiting. It would be his first true battle, too, and she felt his nervousness. She whispered soothing words to him.

She heard the drums of the Elar before they were in sight. Their drums were slow, and their lines advanced into sight gradually. They stood in ordered formations. Banners on tall staves decorated their ranks periodically.

She didn't know a number for how many of them there had to be, but there were clearly more now than she had guessed from her prior observation. For each in her tribe there were four or five Elar. She saw no other elementals, and for this she was thankful.

She could see the scouts between them and the Elar. One of them turned and fired an arrow towards the Elar. It sailed high and landed before them. It was the last warning that would be offered. It marked a boundary: come no further than this.

The Elar only continued their advance--they even quickened it. A tribal horn called out a long, sad note when the Elar passed the marked arrow. It was the call to attack. Her tribe spread out and surged forward. She guided her mount in with the rest.

They spread thinner, spiraling around the Elar. They were more mobile than their armored enemy. The Elar bows fired their slow arrows with no effect. The first Draheld arrow flew straight and caught an Elar in the neck. He fell. More Draheld began firing, and she joined them as she was trained to do.

The first of her quivers seemed to empty far too quickly. It was up to her and the other archers to take down as many as possible before the warriors on foot reached the enemy. While she had participated in the occasional small encounter before, this was far different from the usual animal hunts she'd become so proficient at. Even following the arrows with her mind did not always ensure the arrow made it to a vulnerable area on her targets, and a few of her arrows had bounced uselessly off armor. It took time to aim properly for the small amounts of flesh that showed through the armor, and she found she needed to keep her and her mount moving if she wished to continue avoiding their arrows. While she did manage to make most of her arrows at least wound their targets, and several seemed to have taken the Elar they hit out of the battle, she was disappointed with the overall effect as she dipped her hand into the second quiver. The Draheld warriors had nearly reached those of the Elar, and it did not seem as if nearly enough of the Elar had fallen yet.

She was pround of her mount, however, who seemed nervous but still remained still and steady beneath her. Now and again she spoke words of encouragement to it as she drew the next arrow. It would not do to have the horse show fear now, and she did her best to quell her own fears so that he would not feel them.

She was several arrows into the second quiver when the Draheld warriors gave out a battle cry as they engaged the Elar. The Elar drums heightened, and the Draheld horns heralded it as well, although the difference in notes they each used was considerable. The Elar drummers played a note that sounded more angry and determined than anything else, while the tribal horns played mournfully, reflecting the knowledge that many would die here today. The Draheld did not seek battle with the Elar. It was the Elar who had come here insisting upon it.

She needed to aim more carefully now, and turned her attention to the Elar archers instead, now that their warriors were engaged. She saw that the archers were less armored than the warriors, and were distracted now that the melee battle had begun. She was able to slow her movements and make nearly all of her arrows count, killing many of them before her own quiver was empty. Then she slung her bow carefully across her torso again before drawing her sabres and urging her horse into a charge. She leaned forward, into the momentum of the horse, and flanked in from one side to slice at one of the Elar warriors in passing. Sparks flew as her blade scraped loudly against his metal armor before she and her mount moved quickly away, out of range for him to swing his blade at her in return.

He tried, of course. His armor made him slow, and his straight sword was obviously heavy. Avoiding it was easy at first.

She circled with him for a moment, trying to get the right angles to swing at parts less covered. Metal covered his chest and back, parts of his arms, and his thighs. There were gaps at joints, particularly around the hips. Hips were bony; she didn't try to swing there.

He swung at her more, advancing, but she backed away. Eventually she lunged forward towards his left, and she brought her right sword along the side of his neck. It was enough to bring out a lot of blood, and he staggered back away from her clutching his neck. She moved on.

She next found herself in the middle of action. There were so many more of the Elar than there were Draheld. She saw fallen from both sides, and when two swung at her she just found herself fighting to stay alive. She dodged and parried with both swords.

One of the Elar swung at her horse, and she barely jumped it out of the way. As it was the sword nicked flesh and the horse nearly panicked. One of the Elar got kicked in the process, but two more replaced him. Her horse reared up and kicked one of them, crushing the Elar's skull.

She swung aggressively now, hoping to keep the Elar back. Most of her swings that connected only glanced off metal, but a few found softer parts. All she could think of was that there were so many, that they were hard to kill, and that she didn't want to die.

Then, as if sensing her fear, the Draheld horns sounded another mournful note. One she'd only heard used in training. Retreat the horn sang sadly. Her heart dropped to her stomach. Never in history had her tribe retreated from battle. She sliced at the nearest Elar with a combination of anger and terror as she tried to determine the quickest way out of the fighting. She couldn't see any other members of her tribe that didn't lie dead. She turned her horse and found herself face to face with the commander she'd seen before. Unlike the Elar warriors, he sat astride a large horse, larger than her own. She tried to dodge to one side, meaning to slip alongside him and hopefully try and cut him with one of her blades while passing, but he turned, closing the gap she planned to use for the escape. She began to panic, realizing she was almost entirely surrounded.

She saw another potential to get out. A gap that was rapidly closing, but if she jumped her horse she could make it. In the disance, the horn sounded again, more urgently this time, calling the tribe back from the battle. They would move quickly. If she didn't join them soon, they would assume her to be dead and leave. She'd have to search to find them.

She prayed to Aldanara then, begging the Goddess to help her escape and rejoin her tribe. She rushed forward, bringing her knees and feet in to let the horse know what she needed him to do. The horse leapt into the air, clearing the gap and putting them at the other side of the Elar warriors. The Elar commander moved his own horse forward and said something to the other Elar there. They turned, moving to surround her again.

She turned her horse, again searching quickly for the best way out of the battle, when one of the bodies on the ground caught her eye. The world seemed to spin for a moment, frozen in time as she stared at the time-weathered face of her father. One eye stared glassily back at her through the blood spattered across his brow and cheek. There was a long, deep cut down the front of his chest. Kyla's breath stopped in her throat as she found herself just staring at him. She suddenly had no idea what to do next.

Then movement brought her back to the moment and she turned her head just in time to see the commander bringing the hilt end of his sword down across the back of her head. She tried to feebly get her arm up in time to block the blow, but it only glanced off his armored arm instead as pain shot through the back of her skull. Then she was falling, her balance lost. She found herself on the ground next to her father, staring in shock at him. One of her blades had gone skittering away on the ground, out of her hand. She couldn't catch her breath. Another blow came, and she found herself wishing for a quick death as the darkness fell upon her.

Chapter 2 - Father Rolin

"Yes, come in," he said, and sighed. He set his quill down and moved the papers aside. Tormas came in leading a stranger. The stranger was well dressed. He had black trousers tucked into tall boots, a loose white shirt under a snug black vest, and wore a grey shoulder cape. His black hair was combed straight back from his face.

"This man has come to speak with the Bishop," Tormas explained, "but the Bishop is busy, and said that you would hear this man." Tormas clutched the hems of his robe sleeves the way he did when he was particularly nervous. Bishop Doran must have been stern with the boy again.

"Certainly," he said, rising. He straightened out his cassock before extending a hand to the stranger. "I am Father Marus Rolin, and you are?"

"My name is Anton LeWinde, I am here on business of Duke Coulforth of Westshire, and would speak to you in private."

"Certainly," Marus said once more. "Tormas, I have duties I must attend to before long, I doubt you are without chores of your own to keep you occupied for some time..."

"Of course, Father," Tormas said almost eagerly before ducking out, closing the door behind him.

"Shall we sit?" Marus said, gesturing to a chair and taking his own. LeWinde followed the example.

"Not all of what I have to say needs to be said in private, specifically," LeWinde said, "but some of it is not for younger ears."

"I understand," Marus said. "The boy does in truth have much that needs be done, as do we all."

"I'll try not to take more of your time than necessary. My instructions were to speak with Bishop Doran, but it seems that will not happen. War appears to be coming to our lands. Word is that the Elar have launched invasions on three of the continents. We have just gotten word that they have started invading tribal lands. These are not raids, Father, but military incursions."

"So there is still several hundred miles of grasslands held by warrior tribes before these Elar become a problem then, no? So why does the Duke wish this to be a Church matter, may I ask?"

"The savages? They might be able to intimidate borderland villagers, but they will do little to slow the Elar. The Duke's seer has warned us of a few things. For one, they are making rapid progress everywhere they go. For another, their conjurers are summoning elementals and demons greater than can be dismissed by common wizards. For that we will need priests."

"I might remind you that most elementals can be dismissed without even a wizards intervention if one has the right tools. Kill the conjurer, contain the beast, and eventually it will get bored and go home. You don't need priests for that sir, just soldiers with a little backbone. And research has always shown that pulling demons into this plane is difficult and dangerous. I find it unlikely that the Elar - "

"The last messenger reported that a demon sits at the center of the main marketplace at Riverport," LeWinde interrupted him. "I doubt I need remind you of the importance of that city for both trade and travel. The Elar seem very calculated in where they choose to advance. Those of the city who defy the Elar are fed to the thing in front of the rest of the population! This has left many of the troops themselves free to advance beyond the city, even before the Elar had brought in more reenforcements. There have been more reports of demons sighted than anyone cares to realize. The Duke is concerned. They may not be on our doorstep yet, Father, but they are coming. There is little chance the savages will manage more than to slow them a short while. In the meantime, the Duke feels we should prepare a proper defense."

"While I will take this news to the Bishop, I assure you," Marus told him, slightly irritated at having been interrupted, "I must remind you that the Duke himself has no authority over the church. We have many other duties to attend to right now that we cannot just drop everything to begin mounting a defense for something that is likely still months away." He indicated the papers on his desk. "Right now, we have crops failing on the western slope, and some sort of plague afflicting the villagers of Nerrickstone. Not to mention all the other, smaller requests made of us by our congregation, the caring of our own farm and fields, the education of our young students, and the care of those who live here with us, in need of our assistance. The Duke's lands have increased over the last five years and we are the only church servicing their faith in his holdings."

"Frankly, LeWinde, we are overworked as it is and getting less and less students interested in carrying our burden each year. It seems that the allure of wizardry or knighthood is far more enticing to young boys and girls than the humble life of a priest. I am sure the Bishop will spare the Duke the resources when it becomes necessary, but it seems a bit early to be neglecting our other duties." Marus sat back in his chair and sighed.

It bothered him that so much of his own duties seemed to be dealing with the political end of the church as of late. It added a bitter twist to his calling that he found himself resenting, despite his best efforts. While the younger priests spent their time healing the sick and tending the fields - activities he always found fullfilling and rewarding - he spent more and more time speaking with disgruntled farmers who's crops weren't yeilding what they'd hoped for, or self-important land-owners who felt that their monetary contributions to the church each year should allow them some sort of status to be healed if they caught even a simple cold, when a village away an epidemic was killing people. It was becoming more and more often that his head would be throbbing by the time he went to sleep each night.

"I think, perhaps, you don't understand the scope of the war that is coming, Father," LeWinde spat out angrily. "The seer has told us of the devastation that comes - "

"Then perhaps you should have sent her to speak with us instead," Marcus said, cutting him off. "I have said I will relay your news to the Bishop. Now, if you don't mind, I do have other duties to attend to." He stood up and moved to the door, where he opened it and waited.

"The Duke will hear of this," LeWinde said, standing up. He moved to stride out the door and then stopped in front of Marus, looking him intently in the eyes. "The seer saw this as well. But then, she also said you will not be at this church for much longer, priest. Perhaps your successor will be more reasonable."

Marus raised an eyebrow in surprise as LeWinde strode out the door. He stood there for a moment, mulling over that little tidbit of news.

Eventually his eyes fell on the papers he had been preparing. No, he told himself, he was no longer in the right frame of mind to write them. They would wait. He had plenty of other matters to attend to.

He went over to the window. He always shut it when leaving the room. It was his habit, and he was a man of comfortable habit. There were few clouds in the sky, but the one time he had not closed it there had been a rainstorm that had damaged some very old books.

He looked down at the grounds outside first. Some local farmers had come to help in the fields, working alongside the monks and nuns and lay clergy. Some of the farmers would simply be loyal worshippers, some would have been healed or cured of something and showing their gratitude. He swung the glass pane shut and hooked the latch to hold it.

He walked across his little office and shut the door behind him. Tormas was in the hallway.

"I know it is not charitable to say, but I do not like that man," Tormas said.

"He is his Duke's man," Father Marus said by way of explanation. "Come, we can speak of it while I attend to some things."

"What news did he bring?" Tormas asked as Father Marus started down the hallway towards the narrow spiral stairs.

"News of war," Marus told him bluntly. "The Elar have brought the conquest they made on the sea to the mainland now. It seems it was not something the Morgule did to offend them after all."

Tormas paled slightly.

"They took the sea in a matter of months, Father," Tormas pointed out. "How long will it take for them to move across land?"

"It will take them some time, Tormas," he assured the young man. "Do not worry yourself just yet. The Duke's main concerns have always been for his own interests. He just wants to ensure that we'll be there to keep him safe from harm when they finally do get here. The Bishop will put plans in order for what to do when the time comes, I am sure, but we have more pressing matters right now that need our attention. We will not play bedmaids to our cowardly Duke just because his seer is already having visions of their arrival here." He spoke the word 'seer' with some distaste. The methods of seers were little more than old women peering into tea leaves, while he himself had received divine images from the Gods on more than one occasion. While he'd met the woman and confirmed her faith in the Gods and the church, she still chose to play with her odd methods. She had been lucky in her readings on more than one occasion, and the Duke paid her well to keep her at his side.

"She was right about the storm last year," Tormas pointed out. "Perhaps she is lucky again this time?"

"While it would be foolish to ignore the news completely, Tormas, we have received no such warnings from the Gods, despite our daily prayers for guidance. I am sure the war is coming, but it is still many months away. I will bring LeWinde's news to the Bishop's attention, but it is not time yet to strike the match of fear in our congregation."

"I understand, Father, of course," Tormas bobbed his head.

"Now I must speak with the Bishop while this is still fresh in my mind," Marus told him. "I'm quite sure you have more chores yet unattended. We can speak again later if you wish."

"Yes, Father. Thank you Father." Tormas bobbed his head again, reminding Marus of one of the hens, before he went running off down the hall.

"Tormas!" Marus called after him, lending a disciplinary tone to his voice.

"Sorry Father!" Tormas called, slowing suddenly to a walking pace. Marus rolled his eyes and sighed as he turned and knocked on the door to the Bishop's office.

"Come in," Bishop Doran called out. Marus turned the latch and pushed the door. It opened with a groaning creak, and he winced at the noise. It seemed that no matter how often the door was oiled the creak refused to leave. He had joked yesterday about holding an exorcism.

"I had that door oiled just this morning," he explained, "did it not help at all?"

"The wood is old and warped. Would that a creaking door were our only problem, no?"

"Point taken."

"So, what message does the Duke send this time, Marus?"

"The Elar are expanding their conquests, now moving into the plains. He's worried that they're headed to us. His seer has apparently made some dire prophesies. He wants us to provide priests to banish what the Elar conjure."

"And you told him...?" the Bishop said, trailing out the last word and lifting an open palm.

"I'm saving the We Aren't An Order of Warrior Priests speech for next time. I told him that there would still be time yet, and when the time came we would spare what resources we can afford."

"Yes, you are more diplomatic than I at times. I'm glad I had you deal with him. Thank you."

"Some of his news comes from messengers, not just the seer," Marus admitted. "He had news of a demon in Riverport. Aparently they are increasing the number of demons they are summoning."

"Yes, that agrees with what I have been told as well."

"The Gods have spoken with you on this?" Marus was surprised. The Bishop was not usually quiet on such matters.

"I have been kept informed on this war for some time. The Duke's seer is right. The war will come here and we will be needed when it does. But we must not neglect our congregation in the meantime. Some of them may prove very important to us when times get tough." The Bishop did not look at Marus directly as he spoke, and Marus wondered what all the man had been shown. It was not Marus's place to question the man further on what the Gods chose to share with him, when his own inquiries on the war had been left unanswered.

"Aparently the seer also has said that I will not be here much longer," Marus said instead. He still wasn't sure what to make of that information, and was hoping the Bishop could shed light on that as well. Instead, the Bishop looked up with some obvious surprise.

"Interesting," Bishop Doran said. "Is she threatening us now? If so, she's getting overly bold, no matter how close to the Duke she's become."

"I don't know," Marus admitted. "I'm not sure what to make of it myself."

"The Gods will reveal what we need when the time is right," the Bishop said, not for the first time.

"Yes sir," Marus nodded.

"Meanwhile, we seem to be getting to the end of this plague. Father Ryeth has sent a request for more herbs," the Bishop slid a piece of paper across his desk towards Marus. "He's had some luck easing the symptoms with some of them who are still waiting for healing. They've also finally managed to contain the situation and convince the villagers to stop leaving the village. The other two towns they infected seem to be complying with the request a lot better than the first and he doesn't think it will spread further than it has."

"This is good news indeed," Marus said, picking up the list and looking over it quickly. It was all herbs they grew here at the church in one of the large gardens next to the fields. "I'll put the students to collecting these right away. Hopefully we can send Father Ryeth what he needs before tomorrow's eve."

"Good," Bishop Doran nodded. "I shall keep you no further then. Theran guide you Father Marus."

"And you, Bishop. Thank you," Marus bowed his head respectfully before leaving the room, attempting to close the squeaky door quietly behind him. He then took the list and headed to the church classroom.

He folded the list and tucked it in a pocket as he walked. His soft shoes made quiet footfalls on the stone floors. He approached Brother Reffin sweeping in brown monk's robes, and he waited until the monk had swept a clear spot in the hallway. He nodded to Brother Reffin, who put his hands together and nodded back. Marus smiled and continued on his way, leaving the monk to sweep in thoughtful silence. The whish-whish of the broom faded behind him as he walked in his own thoughtful silence.

The south wing of the church was the school building. It was also the dormitories for both the nuns and monks, each with their own areas. Those aspiring to be priests spent their time living the life of the monastery while they learned.

The monastery wing was actually the oldest part of the church, built more than two centuries ago when more of this was frontier lands. War had claimed the larger part of the church, but this part had held an orphanage at the time. No catapult stone had ever fell on the orphans.

He pulled the rope hanging at the monastery entrance, ringing the old bronze bell. It made a deep but gentle note. There was no rule that said priests were required to ring the bell before entering, but every priest here had been a student inside first. Respectfulness was never forgotten.

A nun in white robes answered the door. Her head was shaved, which meant she was still new here. He didn't recognize her.

"Hello, Father," she said in the hushed tones that were the only ones allowed beyond the door she held open.

"Hello Sister," he replied in similarly hushed tones. "Where might I find Father Engler and his class?"

"They are in the music room, Father."

"Thank you," he gave her a nod and she put her hands together as Brother Reffin had, nodding back in response. He headed inside and heard her gently closing the door again behind him.

The music room was the only room in the Monastery where the hushed tones could be forgotten a while. As a result, many of the younger students developed a quick love of music during their studies. Other than music class, students were required to speak quietly even when outside the Monastery to work in the gardens and fields or for the occasional nature walks that Father Engler would take them on to increase their knowledge of the plants and wildlife in the areas surrounding the church.

Father Engler himself was the oldest priest at the church. While his bones were beginning to stiffen with age, he never seemed to lose his energetic manner, especially while teaching. Students who thought they could get something past the elderly priest were quickly put right in their assumptions. Father Marus had been a student under Father Engler himself long ago, although the priest had not looked quite as old back then. Over the years, Father Engler had delegated some of the more labor-intensive duties to his more advanced students, but had simply refused to step down from his role of teacher. It never ceased to amaze Marus how mobile this man remained when they had elderly in the church's care who weren't nearly as old and couldn't manage to even feed themselves anymore. Father Engler maintained that teaching the wisdom of the Gods kept him eternally young inside even though his body kept aging. Marus believed him. Every time he saw the priest there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes over whatever the latest student antic had been.

When he entered the music room, he stood quietly off to the side for a moment, listening as the students practiced one of the choral pieces. There were only seven students currently in Father Engler's class, but some of the youngest of the nuns and monks accompanied them, the voices combining and filling the room with the chorus to one of the classic songs of the Gods.

Ardana brings us in the world
with loving arms of grace
Kielle is who we thank for health
her healings we embrace
Theran shares with us his guidance
his words are ones we seek
Ogrun shares the strength we find
to turn the other cheek

The old priest turned. "Hello, Father Marus. One moment, please."

Father Engler turned back to the students. "That will be enough for now. It is close enough to lunch, perhaps some of you could lend a hand in the kitchen and help it along."

The students all nodded and filed out of the room. They walked slowly and deliberately, as at this point in their teachings every action they performed was supposed to be purposeful and deliberate. It was a teaching that many of them would find very helpful later in life. That had at least been the case for Marus.

"Ah, the one class they are never in a hurry to end sooner," Engler commented softly and a little sadly after the last had left.

"They are young," Marus reminded, "as were we once, despite what some joke about you."

"True, true. You were no better yourself then. And yet you turned out, so perhaps there is hope for them yet." Engler ran his hand over his scalp as if pushing hair back out of his eyes. It was a gesture of habit that was becoming unnecessary a little more than two decades ago when Marus was a student.

Marus pulled the list from his pocket and unfolded it. "Father Ryeth has nearly finished containing the plague outbreak. There are some herbs that he needs to complete his treatments. I have a list, if you could have the students gather them?"

"Oh, certainly," Father Engler replied, peering at the list. "They will appreciate the time outdoors, I am sure."

"Thank you, Father," Marus clasped his own hands together and nodded his head at the man.

"One of these days, Marus, you will learn you no longer need to do that now that you have reached the rank of priest. You are my peer now, not my student, and have been for some time." Engler's eyes showed his amusement.

"I am well aware of that fact, Father Engler, but you still hold the position of teacher as well. Some habits are difficult to break with someone who has helped me so much with my calling."

"Nonetheless, you should not show me such preference," Engler waggled his finger.

"Yes, Father," Marus replied with a smile. "I shall try to remember."

"See that you do. It is better that you do not show undue reverence for those who stand in equal footing to you."

"As always, you leave me with some words of wisdom. I thank you, Father Engler."

"You're welcome, Father Marus. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd better make sure the students are actually helping the kitchen staff instead of hindering their progress. I'm rather hungry myself." Father Engler gave Marus a nod before turning and heading out of the room, leaving Marus standing there alone for a moment. He sighed and headed out of the music room and back out of the monastery. He was hungry himself, but the reminder of lunch made him remember that his charge would be getting hungry as well.

Alldeh wasn't officially his charge, but he'd taken pity on the man and tended to most of his needs himself. Most of the others in the church tended to avoid him and only do what they needed to in caring for him. Marus headed to the infirmary and walked past the whitewashed walls and clean white linen curtains that hung between the beds. He nodded at the nuns and monks in attendance there and moved past them to the hallway beyond. Alldeh had a private room. He'd been far too disturbing to the other patients in the infirmary to keep him there.

There was already food in the infirmary, so he stopped. Lunch today was soup, which Alldeh would have trouble eating. There was also fresh bread, and he soaked some of it before draining most of the remaining broth from the bowl.

Even the room next to Alldeh's was empty. The monks and nuns of the infirmary peered in through the little window in his door throughout the day, mostly to make sure he was safe. There had been one time he had clawed at the wall until he tore a nail off and they found him smeared in blood. Another time he had scratched at his face until it bled. They all avoided him as much as they could, however.

Marus stopped at the door and peeked in through the tiny window. The door had been built for a jail, but they had needed a door with a window. The broken man stood at a wall, scribbling something on it with chalk.

Alldeh was a short man. They were all pretty sure he was about the same age as Marus, but he looked closer to sixty than forty. His dirty gray hair was coming out, but more on the left than on the right.

Marus knocked softly before unlocking and opening the door. He went in and closed the door behind him. The room had a simple cot, a small table, and a short, three-legged stool. He set the bowl on the table and walked over to Alldeh.

The drawing took up much of one wall. There were lines and shaded areas, but he couldn't make out what it was.

"What are you drawing today, Alldeh?"

"Drawing."

"Yes, I see that. Are you drawing something specific? Is it something you've seen before?"

"Drawing."

Alldeh stopped his drawing, tapping the chalk over and over at the same spot on the wall. There were no straight lines, and he didn't see any noticeable patterns. Sometimes Alldeh drew spirals; sometimes he drew symbols; sometimes it was nothing intelligible. Some of the symbols he had called magic. He had shown some of the symbols to wizards who had assured him they weren't actually magical wards or anything powerful.

"I brought you food, Alldeh, are you hungry?"

"Hungry. Always hungry. Always hungry," the old man croaked, but he didn't so much as look away from the wall. He fell silent and started rocking back and forth.

"Good, Alldeh," Marus told him. "I've brought you some bread. It's soft with soup." He took the bowl over to Alldeh and brought it in front of him, hoping the smell would catch his attention. After a moment, Alldeh looked down at the bowl and then droppped his chalk to take it in his hands. Marus stepped back a moment to let him investigate the food. Alldeh always seemed to check it thoroughly before eating, as if inspecting for mold or bugs hidden within. Today seemed no different as the man sniffed and poked his chalky finger into the lump of sodden bread over and over again.

"Not right. Wrong component." Alldeh stood up and suddenly flung the bowl across the room, where it clattered against the wall next to the door before bouncing across the floor. It left a wet smear on the wall where the bread had hit before that too had fallen to a soggy heap in front of the door.

"WRONG COMPONENT!" Alldeh screamed. "WON'T WORK! NO TIME!" Then he turned back and snatched up the chalk again. He crouched down to another spot where he erased chalk from the wall with the arm of his shirt before beginning to draw again. "No time," he continued muttering over and over again.

"Alright Alldeh," Marus told him, trying a soothing tone with his voice. "We don't have to eat right now. I thought you might be hungry is all." Marus turned and gathered up the bread back into the bowl, wiping the floor and wall with a cloth from his pocket and setting them aside. He had hoped that today would be one of the better days, where Alldeh showed more clarity of mind, but feared it was more the opposite.

He was especially surprised when he checked the chamber pot, however, to find that it had been used. Frequently when Alldeh was in such a state he would forget entirely and there would be a mess to attend to. Just to be sure, Marus gently checked the man, but found that Alldeh had managed to keep himself both dry and unsoiled. Alldeh seemed only mildly distracted by Marus, focused instead on the drawing he was working on. Nonetheless, Marus kept up a soft monologue so the man knew what he was doing and wouldn't be alarmed by anything Marus did while moving about the room. He left the room for a few moments to empty the chamber pot, but when he returned Alldeh was still in exactly the same spot, drawing and occasionally muttering under his breath and poking at the drawing disapprovingly.

He crouched down next to the man, attempting to see the drawings from the same height, in case it might make a difference.

"What's wrong with it?" he tried asking.

"Color wrong. No. All wrong. Too much red."

Marus squinted at the white chalk lines on the wall, failing to see any "red" in the picture. It looked as if some areas had been purposefully smudged with dirt to make them grey, but he couldn't be sure if that was part of the drawing or just another area Alldeh had erased with his arm.

Suddenly Alldeh screamed out an anguished cry. He threw the chalk and looked up at the ceiling.

"Can't remember!" he shouted. He moved to a corner of the room and curled up, weeping. A dark stain spread on the man's pants.

Marus sighed, wondering how close me might have been to actually communicating with whatever part of the man's mind was still whole. He still held strong to the belief that there was such a part. Few others still harbored any hope of it, but Marus believed in hope.

He had preyed to Kielle for the power to heal the man, but She had told him that what needed to be healed was not the man's body, but his soul. She had explained that the man needed time and a safe place and to be cared for. Marus had never given up before, he was not going to stop now.

He took up the bowl and left to get fresh pants, a bowl of water, and a washcloth. When he got back, Alldeh was still in the corner crying. Marus washed the man's face some before cleaning up the rest of him. Alldeh never shifted his gaze from the nowhere he was staring off into.

By the time he had gotten Alldeh cleaned up again the man had calmed down some and Marus was finally able to get him to eat a little. Marus had gone back for more bread with soup and this time brought a spoon with and fed the man himself. He got about half the bread into him before Alldeh suddenly just fell asleep. With a sigh, Marus draped the blanket over him before gathering up any loose items that he'd brought into the room and leaving. He dropped off the remaining laundry and dishes before he finally grabbed some lunch for himself.

He took his lunch to one of the flat rooftops on the dormitories where the priests had their quarters and offices. It was lovely weather this time of year and he liked to sit up there. He could see for miles all around the church and he felt it helped him keep perspective over all the paperwork that ended up on his desk. While other priests had more specific duties, the Bishop had made him one of his assistants, which meant his job encompassed a great deal of things, frequently involving the congregation on a broader scope.

He sipped at the soup, which was heavy with vegetables and somewhat salty. It was to be expected, however, at the end of the month as it was. The stores of fresh meat were growing smaller. At the beginning of each month, many local farmers would send wagons by with a donations of meat or poultry. From the east side, by the river, there would be a wagon of fish to be salted as well. The arrangement had been a long-standing one between the church and it's congregation, and had begun long before the duke had arrived. It became more difficult each year, however, as the Duke demanded more and more out of the people on his land, padding his own coffers and ignoring their needs. Still, each month they came. Even the farmers, ranchers, and fishemen knew who would help them if times grew tough. Marus found himself worrying more about how they would fare in the coming war than the duke in his small stone-walled castle. He knew that soon they would hear that the war was coming this way, and people would make the trip out to the church, not the Duke, to ask for assurance that they would be protected.

He thought again about LeWinde's cryptic message that he would not be here long. Why would I leave when such difficut times are coming to this church? This is my home. Or will I be dead? Is that what he meant? There were too many possible ways to read what had been said, and in the end Marus set the thoughts aside, knowing he had more pressing matters that needed his attention.

With a sigh, he realized his lunch was gone already, and he left the rooftop to return his bowl and spoon to the kitchens. He then made his way back to his office, and the stack of papers that awaited him. It was also nearing on the afternoon hour when the priests saw members of the local congregation and heard any greivances they had or concerns they wished to voice. Some just came to ask for guidance of advice. He always needed to be in attendance if possible, as the Bishop had him see those of higher ranks - town mayors, richer landowners, and the like. These were the same people who's papers littered his desk usually.