Patterns of Sunlight

        By Josh Dasher

Dedicated to the Original Fans

And my continuing support

Hannah and Krysi

And Masters ‘06

Part I:

Also Entitled:

The Vagabond and the Sun

The Prophecy had long been foretold that in the years to come, out of the gutter, would arise a Hero. Whose destiny it would be to lead the people from there levels of destitution and corruption and lead them to a new place. But that was thousands of years ago, with the banishing of the Seers and Prophets this prophecy died out, and the story was forgotten. But it would take more than mere forgetfulness to turn back the tides of this preordained event. So here, in the twilight of evening a hero must arise and usher in the Sunlight.

          The city sat on the cliffs overlooking the river Sienne, and city that had at one time lead the world in its search for truth and justice. But with the banishing of those values came the welcoming of a dark era, where mans fight was to survive and only that. There could be no higher calling, because man wanted none.

          A nation where once philosophers sat, discussing the truth and the value of life, where peace reigned supreme. Whose goal was pursuing arts and purity. This nation was no more. This was the city of Caire, ironic now in its search for carnage, this city that once had Nations bowing before its wisdom had been the seat that welcomed in a new world, a World where that which was old was not a history, but simply was not. Where a select few fought to keep the past alive, but most did not know that the past existed.

The long dark of the street added little to the mood of the evening. The pools of water and mud running along the cobblestones appeared to be a pool of slime sitting in the shadow. These, the lost corners of society, were the real depravation of human society crouched in their own detritus, trying to hang on to the final chapter of a lost culture; a place where the reign of Monarchs was nothing more than the reign of criminals, a shattered kingdom where the strongest arm and the heaviest weight had all the power.

          A world where law and liberty did not exist and the will of man was thrown under the power of a select few.

*****

          It was this world that became the birthing place of Troy, a child abandoned by what parents he could claim. His chance for life was little, but perhaps somewhere a star was looking on wishing him good graces. An old man with a gnarled rod in his hand tottered down the dark paths of the netherworld His cane tapping upon the stone in the street. Perhaps this elder was nothing but an old man, but for Troy he was an angel.

          He raised him from his childhood, among others of his brethren. Who they were he never really knew. But it was apparent that they were always hiding, always running. They struggled through life praying that perhaps they might just survive one more day.

          Their only training they could offer was the harsh reality of life. But perhaps living is not such a bad teacher. It was a life of violence, one where your chances for surviving depended on how hard you could fight for a scrap of food.

          As he grew he realized that there was no beauty in this blackened world, no love in this land of hate, and no peace in a kingdom of war. The first time he was forced to kill someone to survive was at the age of nine; he could taste the bile in his mouth for days, but knew that he had no choice. There was no right and wrong, only what one must do to survive.

          His only hope was to wait for that still nonexistent sunlight. The years passed slowly as time began its tutorship, the old man died when Troy was only twelve, he had left him with nothing. Life moved on slowly the crime was still on the rise. He could remember years ago seeing banners of royalty flashing down the great streets, but they did not even travel there anymore. Crime lords recruited the strongest and luckiest of the lads in order to teach them the art of crime. Troy was never among them. He was lucky to go to sleep at night with a bite of bread in his stomach. The rarest commodity was pure water, which could not be bought with any money. And of that he had nothing. He grew into a young man, picking up some of the master art of thievery from observation. He was not a man of great strength, but his quick wit and intelligence was able to keep him out of most fights. He tricked one of the better fighters into teaching him the basics of sword fighting. There was no time that could be called his childhood. By the age of thirteen he had fought for his life any number of times. He did not know that there was a right and a wrong, he had no morals, and his only goal was to survive.

          What mentors he did have explained to him nothing but the harsh reality of life, teaching him to steal, cheat, and fight. There were no gentle side to life; only by himself could he dream of something besides this darkness.

          What little he knew of the world outside the city was not anything good. If someone only knows one thing than that one thing is everywhere. Whatever dreams of light one might have were a vague part of a false reality. The world and its culture was in decline, crime was growing, and war was on the borders. To often now the streets are choked with soldiers, clogged with the feet of charging horses. The city was forgotten in its struggle for itself to survive. There were no rights; there was only violence and bloodshed. If the culture had any sport it was nothing more than an inglorious battle of gladiators. Sometimes trainers would come through and convince a street monger to come with them. Where they were going was however unclear. They were used as bait in the glory of bloodbaths in great coliseums.

*****

          The news came later that year, the emperor had been dethroned by a raider, the senate had been abolished and the building had been destroyed. Troy had seen the capitol once before, it was a large building, but it was pockmarked with the decay of rebellion after rebellion.

          The lower classes were slowly milked of every ounce of life they had. It was not their country, but that of the overlords. And those that did not follow them were either forced into the coliseums or went into hiding. The aristocracy was nothing more than a marauding band of pirates, forcing people to do their will with sheer force as their only weapon. And they were a hard taskmaster. Time after time the masses that had now dissolved into absolute despotism tried to overthrow the government, time and time again they were beaten back. 

*****

          It is two years later, by fifteen Troy had become nothing but another street waif. He had risen in strength and had made some small name for himself. The only money made on the street was winning bets in street fights, and he had won his few. And yet Beauty still kept her shining face hidden.

          The early morning is the only time among the rabble when the sun can actually be seen in the street. The world for these people is nothing but shadow. But for Troy this was his one chance to see the sunlight. It seems that there is an ideal in sunlight and darkness, those people who truly are dark will flee to their darkness. But those who’s life is forced upon them will look towards the light as there strength.

          As he stood there in an unfamiliar alley, he could see the sunlight flicker through the air. Dust seemed to catch the light with its glow and light the street with an unearthly fire.

          “Perhaps,” Troy thought, “Could I see the sun bid us farewell from the top of the wall?” he looked up to the bleak rock in front of him. Being grabbed by the idea he reached for the nearest protruding rock. His shoulders burned as he climbed carefully above the darkness.

          Finally his hand reached the top of the wall, with one last pull he knew he was on top. He could almost feel the sun with his eyes closed. He peeked his eyes opened and saw beauty. Perhaps we cannot understand coming from the rat filled gutter, filled with a stench of garbage and sewage, where no beauty could reside, to a land where darkness had no place. The last rays of farewell fell across the city and the sun slowly began its last decline over the horizon. Troy began to turn and climb down when he heard a light crunch. With a sudden gasp he fell backwards as the stone broke from under his resting place. He dropped suddenly, and with a final cough fell to the ground below. The side of the wall he had never seen before. Pain ran through his chest as he gasped for the air that his lungs no longer held. Slowly as he lay there his pain began to recede, and slowly but surely he passed into the only realm of peace he had ever entered, sleep.

*****

          He awoke slowly the next morning to the sound of birds twittering through trees and water running. He opened his eyes slowly, and for the first time he saw a sight he would not long forget. He was lying in a flower garden by the side of a small creek which flowed out of a nearby fountain. The wall where he had come from was still behind him, but it was as if he had entered a different world.

          It was then that his ears detected a sound that he had not heard before. It was a voice, a high voice in the distance laughing. It was a cheerful and charming laugh, unlike anything he had ever heard. He heard splashing and shrieking, but nothing like the screams that had haunted his nights before. He knew that the sound was from someone the likes of who he had never met before.

          And then he saw her, running from the garden, shrieking and laughing merrily chased close behind by a girl several years her junior. Never before had he seen a face like hers. In all his life the only ladies he had ever seen had been those cripples and hags that sat at the street corner groping and grabbing asking for a piece of change. Here was something from a dream. She was not tall, but slender, with flowing red hair, and a face so distinguished she could not be from his world she had what looked like a crown of ivy in her hair.

          He was suddenly very aware of the dirt and grime covering his face and hands; it was strange, never before had he felt a reason to appear clean. As the two girls drew closer he looked around quickly in hope he saw a place to hide. But no place was to be found. He saw the younger of the girls draw up quickly and look at him with a gasp.

          She looked at him with a strange look and walked over to him. Troy realized that this was not his world; there no sooner would he have been seen there as killed. But there was no hostility here. The younger child smiled at him with a mischievous grin.  

          “Hello,” she said, “are you quite all right?” her voice was light and happy, seeming like she had not a care in the world. You could tell that the older one was cautious, but even she looked excited.

          “No one has ever come to visit that way before,” the smallest girl giggled.

          “Well, I did not come to visit.” Troy said, his rough voice seeming to cut through the air.

          “Well, I’m sure your not supposed to be in here,” the older girl spoke, seeming almost cross, but perhaps just nervous.

          “Don’t listen to her,” the younger girl said, “I think it’s funny. I’m Meg, and I’m seven years old.” She chattered happily. “And I think it is kind of nice that you came to visit.”

          “Meg! You know that we aren’t supposed to talk to strangers especially from that side of the wall.” Her sister reprimanded her.

          “Why, you’ve never been to that side of the wall, how do you know it’s so bad?”

          Troy looked on in a bit of confusion. Conversations had never been a big part of his life. He had always spoken as little as possible, knowing that a sentence in the wrong place would do nothing but get his ears boxed. But maybe he could speak here; perhaps he might try and talk to them. They seemed harmless enough.

          “I’m sorry; I tripped as I was up there.” He mumbled.

          “What were you doing on the wall?” Meg said curiously. “It’s awfully high.”

          “I wanted to see the Sun.” he said.

          “Well that’s funny, is there no sun over the wall? Because we always have the sun here, well, except at night, but then it’s sleeping.” She laughed as she said it.

          “It is hidden by the buildings, there’s no light.” He said, warming up to this whole conversation idea.

          Suddenly a voice floated over the garden, “Meg, Angelle, time to come in now.”

          “Oh my goodness, it is Ms. Grey, I’m afraid we have to go now.” Angelle said.

          Meg smiled at him mischievously, “you can come back tomorrow, and I’ll show you our pet horse.” She grinned at him as she walked slowly away, looking back every couple of seconds.

          “Goodbye.” She said.

          Her older sister stayed behind, “Did you really fall off the wall? No one has ever come over from that side.”

“Yes, but it is probably time I go back.” Troy said.

          He turned and began climbing up the wall, “Wait,” Angelle said, “You will come back?”

          Troy looked back, Perhaps he could, he thought, “I’ll try.” And with that she turned and began to make her way back through the garden. With a final sigh he looked up and slowly began making his way to the top of the wall. It was a different life that he was leaving, wholly unlike that dark place he had come from. A place that here in the light of morning seemed far enough away to be a dream.

*****

          As he descended into the dusk his mind thought only of the beauty he had just seen. Never before had any kind of purity entered his life, but now as he thought of Meg and Angelle he realized that they had something he did not. They had love, at least for each other, and compassion for anyone else.

          But he had to forget about that light, because once again his thoughts were forced to turn to the blackness, that deep impenetrable murk and filth that polluted the once beautiful but now corrupt city. He rested his head on the stone by the gutter, “What would it be like to be in that other place.” He thought. “What kind of life do the people over there lead?”

          He heard someone cry out in the dark, begging and imploring someone not to hurt them. And then he heard an unmistakable screech of a blade being pulled from a sheath and whistling through the air. And once again this culture of crime had claimed another victim. “Life shouldn’t be like this” thought Troy, “whatever it is supposed to be, it isn’t this. There has to be a better place.” And with the thought that maybe somewhere over the wall there was hope, he went to sleep.

          He awoke to the feeling of motion running over his chest, looking up quickly he brushed off the rats that had joined his home in the gutter. The nosed their way off into the sewage and grime of the cities filthy streets. Sitting up and looking around he realized for one of the first times that he was not sure where he was. He remembered the wall and what had happened, but had been so preoccupied that he had forgotten which way he had come. With a start he wondered if he could ever find his way back again. He began walking up one street and then another trying to find a familiar landmark. He recognized some of the shops and slums that he passed.

          Seeing a small group of soldiers approaching Troy felt carefully for the reassuring feel of the blade under his jerkin. The old man he had been trained by had been good, but his training would be useless without a blade. He gripped the handle of the weapon firmly and strode down the street. To his relief the guardsmen passed by without even a look.

          As he looked beyond the soldiers he saw the entrance to an alley he thought he may have recognized. “Was this the place?” Troy wondered. He walked quickly down the cobblestones looking to his left and right. Yes, there it was, he had found the wall. Without even thinking to look around he began climbing the wall.

          Suddenly a gruff voice rang out, “You there, lad, where in blood’s name do you think you’re off to? Even my grandmither knows better than ta steal from ‘em Richies in broad daylight. Get off of there ‘fore I calls the guards on you.”

          Troy looked around and saw a large man standing in the shadows. With a start he realized that he had been foolish and incautious. He dropped to the ground and said rather eloquently, “I apologize, I was only climbing for the exercise, I no more want to steal from them than you.”

          The rough man guffawed at him and pulled a sharp looking stone dagger out of his pocket. “I din aye know who you’re try’n to fool street brat, but I know a thief when I sees one. And I ought to kill you right here, we could use with less thieves here than we have already.”

          Troy thought desperately and without thinking slid his hand toward his own dagger. “I am sorry, but I’m not going to let you do that.” 

          “An’ who is goin’a to stop me, boy?” he leered. He lunged with the dagger, but Troy was ready for him. He leaped aside and turned with his own blade already in his hands. “Oh, warrior boy, is that how it is going to be?” He tried again to plunge his dagger into Troy. Troy sidestepped and kicked him calmly in the knee, breaking the kneecap and forcing the man to his knees, with a steady grip he pulled the man’s head back and put his knife to his throat.

          “All I want is to be left alone.” He growled through his teeth. With a final shove threw the man to the ground and stomped off. He was disgusted by this filth, not for a minute could a man let down his guard in this place. Had the man been a yeoman it would have been to late for Troy to react. He would have been pierced by a shard of stone and left to rot. The burial of the dead was not a privilege given to anyone not a close friend of the emperor. For whatever he believed about life, he believed that death was a place of dread. And in not burying the dead he left them to wander in a constant twilight, forced to haunt his enemies.

*****

          With this final threatening thought Troy turned back to the wall. Glancing around this time he saw that he had no company but the rats. So with a quick turn he began his best attempt at climbing the wall. Once again he had to start again and again in doing this task. Starting up one way only to realize that the only climbable spots were within feet of where he sat.

          Finally almost an hour later he pulled himself onto the eaves of a nearby building. And looked down into his little paradise. He could see more clearly now where he had been yesterday, before his focus had been on the sky. Now Troy knew that there was even greater beauty than the sun.

          He could see a large house sitting back in the trees. The garden was huge, almost the size of the city square. “Obviously” he thought “this must be the house of one of the senators. Maybe even the emperor himself. It made him curious about whom exactly Angelle and Meg were. The building was large and rambling with alabaster pillars flowing out from the veranda. It was built of stone and looked as if it was impenetrable. The windows actually had real glass in them, like only the government buildings had these days. Flowering trees towered over the structure, once again proving that in all its beauty nature outweighed all the unnatural glory of mankind. Flowers lined the garden paths; they were well groomed as if they had been meticulously cared for by a garden nymph itself.

          Thinking quickly Troy saw what looked to him like a way down. He turned and slowly and carefully made his descent. It was different than last time indeed, because now he knew where he was going, he was descending into someone’s paradise.

In one corner of the garden there lay what looked like a small graveyard. Inside in there were numerous monuments to leaders of the beauty that the city used to be. Ivy had crawled slowly up them until they appeared to be clothed in a natural dressing. He picked this spot to sit and rest, sitting in the sunlight, smelling the fragrance put off by the garden, and listening to the birds singing sweetly in the trees.

He sat there behind one of the monuments, catching his breathe and trying to figure out what he was thinking. He knew he had no right to be here, that if he was found he would be tried and killed in the corrupt system that was poorly called justice. All he really wanted to do was see Meg and Angelle again, never before had he seen purity. It frightened him almost, the idea that someone could not be afraid.

He heard voices coming from inside the second level of the house loud cries, raised in argument. He tried to catch what they were saying, but could gather nothing from their words. What or who they were he did not know, clearly though it was two men with fists raised in conflict.

He sneaked quietly up towards the house, watching cautiously for any guards or servants. Seeing no one he planted himself firmly to the stone and stopped to listen.

“Artimais, whatever you believe about the senate it is not the place for action. My people are ready to engage the empire.” A loud voice said.

“You and your band of rebellious fools will be killed at the snap of the emperor’s fingers. We must fight this power in parliament.” The other man, apparently Artimais cried.

“We have tried your way, the only chance you could have is the death of the emperor, but he is not getting any older fast.” The second voice cried.

“But for every ounce of blood shed that is another man we will not have when they are truly needed. The Emperor is easily now a hundred years old, he cannot live much longer than he is now.” He stated adamantly.

“This doddering old man that you speak of could even now crush you with his own fists. I do not know what evil sprite aids him, or what demons his magicians command, but I do know that we cannot wait for this man’s death. It is time to fight. If we do not take back the republic now soon enough the senate will be abolished, and by then there will be no more hope.”

“Desothenies, whatever you believe there is no army in this city capable of defeating the Emperor’s guardsmen; they cut their teeth on their daggers. Every man that you bring into an engagement will be wiped out. You will do nothing but demolish what moral the masses still hang on to. Even with his unnatural strength and health the Emperor is human, he must some day fade away, but until then our fight cannot be one of swords, but of words.” Artimais declared.

Suddenly Troy was grasped with a realization he was being watched, he looked around quickly and saw no one. Suddenly there was a great crashing noise and a gate by the house was splintered with the force of a battering ram. A group of soldiers came through the opening. Without even looking at Troy they rushed into the house. Seconds later there was a great clash of arms and cries of surprised men. A soldier stumbled out the door with glistening blood covering his sword arm, his hand hanging limp at his side. Suddenly a blade seemed to grow from the center of his back, and choking on his own life he fell limply to the ground.

Then Troy heard a sound he realized he had been waiting for with dread, a scream rang from the house, a scream livid with terror and fear. A pane shattered in an upper story window and a man tumbled to the ground like a rag doll. His clothing was torn and ripped. They had been made of fine linens and he wore a gold chain around his neck. The conversation on which he had been eavesdropping had come to a very sudden end.

Suddenly the tomb by which he was hiding rocked, with a startled look Troy glanced at it. And to his wonder and amazement a small trapdoor had opened at its base. A young woman, probably in her late twenties came out furtively. She held a small sword in her hand on which the blade was tinged red with blood.

Coming behind her in a bundle was Meg and Angelle. They both looked shocked, as if they had been hurried from their beds and into the tunnel. They turned to head to the gate. “No,” whispered Troy secretively.

The young lady looked around quickly, and with a quiet gasp looked Troy right in the eyes. “Who are you?”

“My name is Troy, if you go outside the gate soldiers will capture you. We must climb the wall.” Troy said.

Without hesitation the lady began issuing orders quietly, Troy was amazed at the way she was calm even in the midst of adversity. They began working their way up the corner of the wall, using both sides as stepping stones, and also a tree that hid them from view. Slowly but surely he helped them until they sat some thirty feet above the garden, in the corner of the next building.

From here he had a bird’s eye view of the city, and from that perspective memorized the path that they must take to safety. Helping them slowly up the finally reached the roof of the nearby building. They scrambled along from roof to roof along the street moving slowly and cautiously along the skyline.

Troy was forced to move slowly, with their long almost ceremonial gowns they had a hard time keeping up even still. Their shoes were small and high heeled, not made for anything except for maybe walking. He constantly wondered exactly why he was doing this. He did not even know who these girls were, and had never even seen their older companion before. For all he knew their family was indeed traitorous to the crown. But with as much knowledge as he had of such things he did not know that that was such a bad thing. Everything he had ever heard about the current government had been bad; he had seen their soldiers move through the streets forcing their way through a crowd. Riding heedlessly and not caring who they might run right over. Perhaps he may be able to help bring around some little hurt for this government and its mongrel leadership.

 After reaching a good distance away he once again helped them slowly down with the help of a nearby ladder.

He did not really know why, or even what he was doing. He had never helped another person in his life. Why now when he had seen these people that needed help had he stooped down to offer a hand? Never before would he have thought of helping anyone in the slums. They seemed below help, not even honest enough to make a good day’s wage.

Perhaps it was because of their honesty, maybe the look of trust in their eyes. Maybe Troy would never really know, but what he did know was that whatever he was doing it was the right thing.

*****

As they lowered themselves to the street Troy finally realized their predicament. He noticed that not only Meg and Angelle but also the other women were wearing fine dresses clearly hand tailored. They would become prime targets for any criminal roaming the streets, for they also wore fine jewelry the likes of which here could never be found.

Perhaps his one robe could disguise one of them, but three? Impossible. Looking around he noticed a small shop. Wick’s Bookshop. Although he had never been taught to read he had visited this shop many times. Wick was an elderly gentleman, and perhaps the only man respected by everyone. Even the crime lords knew better than to steal from Mr. Wick. Too many times in the past people had tried to work him into a corner, or force him into their deal. And too many times that same person would suddenly find himself in a situation that was not to his benefit, a sudden closure of every financial asset they had, or perhaps an unlucky experience with a carriage. Every time it could have been an unlucky turn of events, but in a world of superstition it was easy to allude to much power to a single man.

There was a jangle of a bell as they sneaked slowly into his shop. It was not loud but Troy knew that their presence was now known. Why he was taking this chance Troy did not really know. But what he did know was that Mr. Wick was a man with little love of this government that hung like a knife on a thread over the head of every common, or perhaps not so common, man in the city. Perhaps he might jump at the chance to aid an enemy of this inequality.

It was then that Troy saw him; he was not a big or intimidating man. At least not in size, but it was obvious with one glance at his eyes that he was no simple shop keeper. A light seemed to dance in them, with some kind of deep mischief, and yet a look of seriousness that could set the most rowdy of children to silence.

“Welcome, although, by your appearance it does not seem you came to purchase my humble book collection.” He said, with a quizzical look on his face.

“And from your current look of bewilderment it does not look like you came to sell one to us.”  Troy replied, a somewhat natural sense of humor was surfacing.

“But you have brought guests, and my sense of hospitality is telling me that they are hungry, and perhaps thirsty besides being in a certain state of disarray.” He said shortly.

As we walked into the room he looked with a sudden start at Angelle, but then went on as if nothing had happened. He bustled around the room talking to himself, all the while putting tea on a platter along with biscuits and such things. With a kind of glaring look he asked out of the corner of his mouth who the ladies were who had come along were.

“Well, to be quite honest, they are the reason I’m here.” Troy said.

“Really, and I’m assuming that you want me to do something for them?” He grimaced. “Because I’m truly quite busy right now.”

“Mr. Wick, you’re about the only person I could think of to come to. These people need help; they were attacked by Imperial soldiers who are even now searching the streets for them.” Troy said bluntly.

“Ah,” Wick brightened, “so you are bringing me a chance to help some renegades? Perhaps this is not as bad as I first thought.”

Still with a grimace, but with a kind of twinkle in his eye he motioned everyone to follow him. They descended into one of the lower levels of the bookshop. Then entered what looked like someone’s private quarters. Troy glanced around with surprise at the obvious wealth of the person who lived here.

“My humble abode,” Mr. Wick said, “not as nice as some, but a lot nicer than many other places that could be offered.”

They kept moving rapidly, traveling from room to room.

“Ah, here we are,” He said. As they drew up to a blank wall, that was carved ornately with what seemed to be almost a story. Small figures seemed to dance out of the panel, obviously the lifetime work of a master craftsman. With quick and deft finger movements Mr. Wick slowly but surely manipulated small crevices in the paneling. Until suddenly with a quiet snap a piece of the wall began moving slowly inward.

“My little love of the current Government.” He said this almost sarcastically, “Has led me to create certain accommodations that are, somewhat unapparent.” He grinned vibrantly this time, almost as if he thought he had made a joke. 

They looked at the dark stairs that descended downward.

“Alright, let’s go.” Troy said.

The party descended into the darkness. The only light was from a small lantern Mr. Wick had brought. Water dripped around them and moss lined the walls. They were in a small stone passageway almost to low to stand in. The brick on each side of them looked like it had been there for hundreds of years. As it went on it turned and twisted, and even regularly became a narrow stairwell that dropped quickly into the pit.

This went on with some regularity until they came to a small wooden door, with a not so small lock made of heavy iron. Mr. Wick pulled a key from a chain round his neck. With a click loud in the silence the lock turned and the door turned open.

Instead of the grime of before they saw a small room, sparsely but well furnished. I seemingly undersized fireplace sat in one corner. A rack of swords leaned against one wall.

“As is tradition in families of a higher heritage we have for years had a small personal catacomb, deep below the floor.” Mr. Wick began to explain. “This rather great annoyance has given me a rather nice secret study. The small door you see will lead you to the public catacombs. If you must escape it is your best chance.”

Angelle nodded and thanked Mr. Wick curtly. The shock that she had been in seemed to have worn off. The lady with them seemed to have fared worse, however, she had said nothing the entire journey.

“Ms. Grey, please, I need your help with Meg.” Angelle said to her.

So this was Ms. Grey, Troy thought, he should have realized it before then, but had not even thought of it. It seemed like it had not mattered.

Angelle had been carrying Meg on her shoulder through the last part of the tunnel, and she now helped her lay down gently in the bed against one wall. He realized then how tired they all must be, they had probably not ever run in their life. Aristocrats, they never did anything with their lives. Nothing but sit in their small powdered wig and claim they had some power. Even though all power was now controlled by one man, the Emperor.

“I apologize for this necessity, but I am afraid that I must return to my shop, in the hurry I cannot be sure if I even closed the door.” Mr. Wick apologized.

“Thank you,” Troy replied, “I’ll stay with them.”

“Indeed lad?” he said, with a piercing gaze that almost frightened Troy. “You do that, and then we’ll see I guess.” And with this last statement he turned and strode back up the corridor.

Troy turned around to see Ms. Grey sit slowly into the chair. He stared at her in what could have been called disgust.

“What happened?” he said. Pointed as much to Angelle as Ms. Grey.

“We heard Lord Guicciani talking with a raised voice to father.” Angelle said, understanding that she could probably answer more clearly. “They were almost shouting with each other. Mother was standing back in the hall with a worried expression on her face. We did not know what was going on.

“There was a loud noise outside the window and we suddenly saw soldiers in sable and silver, they were armed and running into the house. One of the servants yelled, and they ran for their own weapons. They met them in the hallway. All we could hear was yelling and screaming. We could not tell what was going on.

“Then Ms. Grey came into the room, she had a sword in her hand. She grabbed Meg and then gasped something about the passage. Then we were running, I remember glancing out the window as we ran, and I saw someone on a horse gallop into the garden, he was armored like one of the Emperor’s lieutenants.” She whispered this almost as if she was telling a story. Not like something that had happened.

“We ran down the tunnel we heard some crashing noises in side and could smell smoke. We got to the end of the tunnel and threw the door open, and you know what happened then.” She finished.

“Who was your father? Why were you attacked?” Troy said, he knew he could not press to hard, but felt that he must know who he was helping.

“Father is a Senator. He believes that the Emperor needs to step down and let the Senate control the country again. For a long time we were worried because he had had his life threatened by a lieutenant. An officer of the Emperor, but nothing seemed to happen.

“Lord Guicciani is a friend of father’s; he believes that we have to fight the Emperor, with arms. Father says that we cannot fight, because the Emperor’s warriors are to strong. But others believe that if we had enough men we could possibly force him from his throne.

“They were arguing about it, when we were attacked. Father said that if we were forced to fight he would, but until that happens he would do his best to win the battle in Senate. He hoped that the Emperor would finally pass away, he is old, and rumors from the castle have told us that his heart has been failing. But there is no proof.” She continued.

“The Lieutenant must have gotten permission to crush what he called a rebellion from the Emperor. He probably had spies watching until father and Guicciani were together, and once they were he ordered his soldiers to attack. We do not even know if Father is alive,” With this final revelation she to began to find a place to lie down.

Troy turned to the chair by the fireplace; he had far too much on his head and perhaps his conscience to sleep. He sat down softly hoping not to wake Meg who had now fallen asleep.

“Troy,” he heard Angelle’s voice behind him.

“Yes?” he turned towards her. The firelight danced in her eyes as he looked at her.

“Thank you,” she said. And with those final words turned on her side and promptly went to sleep. 

*****

Troy sat staring into the fire until long after everyone else was soundly asleep. He did not know where he should go, or what he should do. One part of him said he should let it all go, he had done his part. But another one of him, and possibly the side he most wanted to listen to, was telling him to help. To do anything he could to help them locate their father.

If the Emperor had truly killed them than it was important that the rest of the Senate knew. He had not told Angelle of the man who was thrown from the window, but he did not know if this was her father. It was possible he was still alive.

He went over his options time after time, if he decided to help them he knew that he would need to get them out of the city. Although this spot was safe it would not last long enough.

Troy was also sure that there were ways to reach the outside of the city through the catacombs. And although the surrounding area was not pleasant there was food, and there were people who would help. Many of the people in the country would happily shelter someone who was running from the Emperor. He had heard of different escapes from the city rather constantly. Of small bands that helped Senators that had fallen into bad light with the Emperor.

There were, he knew, groups within the city that may have information as to the welfare of their father, if he could but find them. Mr. Wick may have information. It was obvious now that his little love of the government went beyond simply causing mischief. He was far to organized for that.

His first thought though must be to Meg and Angelle’s safety. He would speak to Mr. Wick in the morning about it, for some reason, whether he was comfortable with him or not, he felt he could trust him with Meg and Angelle. If nothing else, than because of the gleam in his eyes.

With these thoughts run amuck through his head he began nodding slowly but surely off to sleep. As he closed his eyes he could see the fire like the sun peaking through clouds between his eyelashes. Perhaps in the midst of the storm he had found the eye. And for the first time in possibly all his life Troy fell asleep believing that he was doing the right thing.

*****

          The next morning he awoke as Mr. Wick returned once again. He turned towards Troy as he walking in.

          “You must take them out of the city. I cannot keep them here.” He said at once, seriously. “I trust you with their life.”

          Troy nodded and agreed.

          “I have friends outside the city that will help you. You must hurry; the Emperor’s soldiers will begin searching the city as soon as it is day. You can move through the catacombs up to the city walls. Beyond that you will have to use your own intelligence to get out of the city.”

          “Yes, sir.” Troy was not sure why he automatically used that tone of respect, but he knew that he could trust Mr. Wick. “Perhaps.” He thought, because Mr. Wick was the first person that had ever trusted him.

          They left as soon as they had woken the children and Ms. Grey. The door to the catacombs beckoned darkly. A flickering torch led the way as the party moved slowly down the tunnels. A constant number of turns left them lost and confused. They were forced to put complete faith in their bookkeeping guide.

          Water dripped from the ceiling, making the trip cold and miserable. The light bouncing off the walls showed the small alcoves that held the decaying bodies of a long past time. Their last unread mementos were burned into the rock by their heads.

          With a final turn they began to ascend a last stairwell. Set at the top of the flight of steps was a door. It was engraved with images meant to ward away the dead spirits, who were now stuck deep underground to haunt their final dominion. And with this final barrier to pass they knew that they had almost reached the streets.

          The door creaked open and sunlight filtered in through the dust. Troy sneaked his head out the crack and looked about anxiously. He stood at the end of a small passageway in what looked like a courtyard. It appeared to be the private entrance from one of the great houses in front of them. He saw to his left the city wall, rising up and up, great and impenetrable to the high gables and walkways that protected the city. Troy could saw its rock balustrades rising up from the ground. Passageways and stairwells led up its height. It was made of sold rock He could see the blood red banners of the Emperor snapping in a morning breeze. And more clearly and with more apprehension he could see the shine of the sun glinting brightly off soldier’s helmets.

          With a hushed whisper he commanded everyone to follow him, and with his hand behind him to guide, led them rapidly to the bottom of the wall. They knelt in the shadows next to a great stone buttress that seemed to go up endlessly. A small gate could be seen leading into the tower. Troy knew that they must get beyond this wall to safety, but that they could not use a road. Imperial troops would be searching the city in mass by now, scouring the streets for the very family Troy had sworn to protect.

          He approached the small gate with caution; his hand gripped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles showed white. With his shoulders pressed against the wall he sidestepped to the entry. He could hear no noises within and with a final deep breathe walked in.

          A small room lay in front of him, it had a fire crackling in one corner with a pot of hissing water suspended above it. Armor and weapons lay haphazardly about like someone had thrown them as they were removed. Troy realized he was standing in a guardhouse, and that it would soon be occupied when the morning guard was rotated.

          He hurried back outside and gathered the others. They walked back into the room very quickly. From there Troy quickly analyzed where he could go. The only way he could see, was further into this maze that must be the fortress. He walked a crossed the room, making sure that the others were following closely. A large metal studded wooden door lay in his path. Troy placed his hand on the knob and turned it slowly.

          His caution was without need however, for beyond him lay nothing but a low passage that seemed hewn into solid stone. He moved forward rapidly his shoes clicking loudly on the uncut stone beneath his feet. He looked back to see Angelle closing the door behind them. With a yell he said to wait…but to late and they were sealed in their fate.

          Knowing there was now no choice Troy moved on through the halls, looking left and right anxiously as they came upon more passages sloping off to the left and right. Regularly they came upon a stairwell ascending up into the blackness, but Troy knew that moving up could not help them. For on top of the wall would give them no way to leave.

          Suddenly Troy heard a yell off in the distance, a violent curse of an Imperial guard. They could hear other voices now join the first, and then with clarity the harsh sound of a soldier yelling orders to search the halls. With no other options in front of them they turned and fled down the halls. Gazing to his left suddenly Troy saw a stairwell descending downwards, without thinking he turned quickly and began making a descent.

          The stairs went on for some time, until they gradually slopped out and led once again to bare stone. There was more moisture here in the walls and floor than there had been higher up. The realization hit Troy that they were in a cellar. He also realized that there was sure to be an easy way to stock this room.

          Turning around slowly in all directions he espied a passageway on his right. He turned and they began their trek once again. Suddenly Troy could hear water running, a slow trickle but as they continued it became louder and louder, until it was an almost unbearable roar.

          With his last steps bringing him around the corner Troy stopped in shock, not believing that what he was seeing could be true. It was a cave so large that in it lay a vast subterranean lake. On this lake were great docks where ships busied themselves loading and unloading cargo. It stretched on into such a distance that Troy could not distinguish the far shore. Massive pillars of stone reached down from the roof to come to rest on the shore. There were large fires everywhere, and the water was lit up like a holy flame, casting reflections and shadows over the walls.

          Here was an operation so massive that Troy could not believe it existed, it simply had not occurred to him before that all the buildings that had ever been built had been built by hands, but this was unlike anything above. This was huge.

          Perhaps if it had not happened then Troy would never have elapsed from his mental slumber, and stared dazedly at the wonder in front of him. An arrow whipped past his head to land driven into the sand. Troy felt a sharp sting in his shoulder and saw that it had cut through his sleeve and slashed his arm.

          He threw himself to the ground and looked around hurriedly for the source of the arrow. He saw now the three men by one of the ships staring up at him gaping, one held a bow tightly in his hands.

          Troy launched himself through the air and landed behind a boulder lying nearby. As he caught his breath he dared another look, the men were still there, and suddenly another arrow flashed by his face. Suddenly he saw shock register in the yeoman’s face. But perhaps no more shock than Troy himself to suddenly see an arrow protruding from the man’s neck. The soldier sunk to his knees and collapsed on his face.

          Looking back Troy realized that Ms. Grey had a bow in her hand and a look of satisfaction on her face. He did not have time to wonder just exactly who she was before he jumped up and ran towards the other two men using the precious time he had before they realized what was going on.

          He drew his sword as he ran, and quickly cut down the first man. The second would not be so easy. The man jumped back like a cat and went for the sword at his belt. He drew it smoothly and fluidly and went into the pose of a trained swords man. Troy attacked with blurring speed, knowing that if this was not finished soon more men would come than he could deal with.

          Their blades clashed and blue sparks flew from the metal; it was like a dance of death, the swords flowing in and out almost too rapidly for the eye to follow. The flickering of the bonfires around them caused the blades to glow as they moved in their glittering arcs. They moved rapidly up and down, but Troy knew that his trainer had done his job, and with a final flurry of moves his sword bit flesh. He stared at the man as he slowly sank to the ground, his life flowing freely from a gash in his chest. His lips were moving in what looked like a final prayer. With a final gasp he fell to the ground.

          Troy looked up then and saw Angelle and Meg running down to meet them. Looking up further he saw Ms. Grey, a sword in her hand, from where it had come he did not know. The party in the hall had finally found them. She moved with a fluidity of no fighter he had ever seen, dancing in and out striking where least expected. But she was losing ground.

          He realized then what he must do; he grabbed Angelle’s hand and ran for the nearest ship. The gangplank was lowered, and as yet they had not been noticed. They ran forward and boarded the ship; he turned and ran quickly for what looked to be the hold. Dashing below they wedged themselves in a part of the cargo hold.

          They sat down, and it was then that Troy saw the tears running down Angelle’s face. Perhaps it was the shock, or the loss of Ms. Grey, but she just stood there crying silently. Not knowing really what he was doing Troy reached out for her, and put his still blood splattered arms around her. How long he sat there he did not know, the next thing he remembered was feeling Meg’s weight leaning against his side and hearing her soft snores. It was possibly only then that Troy finally realized what he was doing. He was a protector. He had heard the story from a storyteller in the square, about a man who spent his life protecting those people who needed protecting. Perhaps this was what Troy had been made for. If he had been stronger maybe he could have saved Ms. Grey. But now that was too late, but all that was in the past. He could think about it later, right now he was protecting the two girls who right now trusted him with his life. And right at that time he could think of no better thing, so with his arms still protecting his consorts he went to sleep.

*****

          He awoke to the sounds of men’s voices and a gangplank being lowered. The rough voices of the sailors were loud and crisp against the call of sea gulls and birds. Suddenly he realized with a start that the sailors were in the hold. And they were unloading. If he was not careful they would be caught. He tried to locate where they where by the sounds of their voices. But was unsure, he knew only that they were between him and the hold’s passageway to daylight.

          He slowly and quietly awoke Meg and Angelle; they had to start moving before it was to late. They crawled slowly forwards, trying to pinpoint where they were still safe. His hand gripped the handle of his sword tightly, as he knew not when he might run face to face into a grimy sailor.

          Suddenly he caught a whiff of fresh air, a great relief after the stagnant stench of the hold. He moved towards it and saw a large open porthole, and was relieved to see the ship’s anchor lying only a few feet below. He turned to help Meg and Angelle down, and they began their descent, but as he finally helped the last girl down he heard a yell behind him. Their sleeping corridors had been found.

          Troy turned to swing himself swiftly over the edge, and just as a man turned around the corner he dropper below the rim of the port. They were near the shore and so struck out swimming as rapidly as they could. The salt in the water stung their eyes as they swam for the far bank as rapidly as they could. They finally crawled soggily onto shore, water dripping from their clothes and hair.

          They glanced around to take bearings of their location; they were standing on the shore of the great river. Next to them, towering into the sky, were great stone pillars, a weather-beaten colossal to the might of the water. A long port ran out to the ship, which was rapidly discharging its cargo. A village lay next to the shore, but it did not seem like an idle village, but a fortress, guarding the great river. Though Troy knew little of these things he believed that they were preparing for war.

          A tower lifted high into the sky, and on top the banner of the Empire fluttered in the morning breeze. The sun was out and shining and few clouds could be seen. In the distance Troy could see the edge of a great forest, and beyond that mountains, the height of which he had never seen. It was his first time out of the city, and for Angelle and Meg, though they had once vacationed to a country palace it was the first time in the wild.

          The foam of the river could be seen washing onto the shore, departing debris from all parts of the known world. It was a sight like Troy had never seen, a great land, almost untouched by man, wild and free enough to be home to things or creatures greater than his wildest dreams. A land where the power of man seemed a thing of the future, where one could travel for hours, even days or years, without seeing the signs of another man.

          This was the wild land that Troy had come to, and now, he did not know if they could survive. Unless he found a place in which to learn the art of surviving this place they would die. From starvation, food poisoning, or who knows what else in this God-forsaken, or at least man-forsaken land. He looked around, for some sign to head towards, some guiding banner to lead his way.

          And then he saw it, fluttering over the edge of the nearest hill, a green banner, with a great dragon following its lengths. As he watched he saw the rider top the hill. It was a man in armor, carrying a heavy battle sword, and behind him followed a vast army, a wave of cavalry that seemed to move as one great fluid piece.

          That was when the realization hit Troy, the stories that had been trampled by the Emperor were true, battle was raging in the borderlands, with that question came another. The stories that barely reached the ears of the citizenry, of strange beasts and men, were they also the truth? Troy believed he was about to find out.

          He could see the soldiers upon the walls and turrets hurry to their places, in hopes that they could hold their own against this vast tidal wave of men. Their archers drew back to the ready, bows stretched taunt. Infantry filed along the wall tops preparing to meet whatever men could breach their barriers.

          Shouts suddenly filled the air, seeming to come from the direction of the army. With what looked like fear they turned away and began moving back towards whence they had come. Troy looked on in amazement as he saw what had turned the tide. Not only were the story of the fearsome beasts true, but some were fighting on the side of the Empire.

          As the army had ridden closer to the castle gates the massive iron doors had suddenly fallen backward, leaving in its stead a force of beasts, Troy hesitated to call them dogs, but that is what at first glance they appeared to be. Great dogs, with pure white fur, their fangs were sharp and pointed and their mouths hung open in a fearsome grin.

          Troy instantly felt rooted to the spot, as if the sight of these beasts had paralyzed his body, but let his mind leave without him. He turned, without thought, fear pulsing through his mind, even though he knew that he was in no danger.

          The great dogs howled with a ferocious sound and leapt towards the army, which was now fleeing in mass chaos back towards the trees. The one man that Troy had seen at first, with the great banner in his hand was standing between them, his sword flashing with the burnish of naked steel in his hand.

          The first of the animals reached him, and with a great lunge carried himself over his horse’s head, driving for the man’s neck. Instead he sank himself deeply into the man’s sword, and fell to the ground, its dark blood staining the ground below him. Again and again the animals threw themselves on him. And again and again he sliced away, his army growing more distant as this went on.

          Suddenly Troy saw two of the beasts leap from either side, and carry the man to the ground with their weight. He staggered to his feet, moving more slowly now, as an armored man on the ground must do, trying to hold his ground against the animals.

          With a last effort the man reached to his side, where a long horn of ebony, wrapped with silver lay. Grasping it the man blew long and loud into it. A sweet sound filled the air, crisp and clean, but also sad as if it knew that it signaled the end. A light filled the man’s eyes, and with a strange cry he threw his sword arm into the air.

          There was a blinding flash of white fire, so bright that you could not see. When Troy regained his sight the man was nowhere to be seen, the beasts lay on the ground, either dead or pitifully wounded. The grass around them was blackened as if by some explosion, and there was a spot bare of vegetation where the man had stood.

          Unsure of what now to do, Troy turned and hurried back to Meg and Angelle, taking her hand, and holding Meg on his broad shoulders he turned and hurried away into the woods.

*****

          Troy awoke the next morning still exhausted, but knowing that he must get up. Looking around he remembered that fast journey through the woods, until they came upon an abandoned shack by a small brook. They had rested there for the night, tired, sore, and with pangs of hunger unsatisfied.

          Meg lay where she had fallen, asleep almost as she hit the ground. Troy could see the stains and cuts upon her small figure, she was bedraggled and exhausted. He could not imagine how much more she could handle before it simply became too much. He knew it was his job before anything else to keep both sisters alive.

          Looking around Troy realized that Angelle was no longer in the hut; he walked outside and saw her sitting beside the small stream. She also looked tired and bedraggled, unsure how to possibly imagine or accept what had happened. She looked up at Troy when she heard him walk closer and smiled at him through her tired and tearstained face. It amazed Troy that people could still smile even in a time like this, he could not smile when times actually were good. Let alone in a time when he had idea where to go or what to do.

          He realized that what was happening was something he had never known before; someone trusted him to make everything else alright. He did not know if he would trust himself with that, let alone want someone else to trust him as well. But he knew that because that was what had happened, that he could not let that trust down.

          He reached down and squeezed her hand, and then carefully helped her to her not so stable feet. Troy knew that she was so tired she could barely walk, but so awake that she could never sleep. He knew also that while they stayed in one place they would never be safe, so they had to move on.

          His hope and belief was that if there were other enemies of the Empire that he could safely bring Angelle and Meg to them, and then entrust them to more apt and caring hands. But for now, he was lost, unsure of which way to go in the forest. Troy had never been outside of Caire that he could remember, and he would have felt just as much at home among the forest as he would among the distant stars that he used to stare at as a younger child.

          Troy slipped back into the abandoned shack and gently and quietly picked Meg up in his arms, no use waking her until she felt like it. He could carry her for a long distance. He began walking deeper into the woods, Meg in his arms and Angelle following closely behind him.

          As they got deeper and deeper in Troy actually began to become more comfortable with his surroundings, you could see the sunlight filter down through the tree branches, stopping to light passing particles of dust. Butterflies would flitter their way past them and birds could be heard whistling away happily in the trees. Whatever monsters there might be in this world they had no place here.

          Sometimes however Troy would glance about nervously his brain would create distant figures or whispers on the wind. He told himself to ignore it, knowing that whatever it was he was simply imagining things. But it refused to go away. His hand slowly closed over the hilt of his sword, simply for the comfort of having it close by.

          He realized that if attacked there was little he could do with Meg in his arms, and that he would be surrounded before he had a chance to defend himself. He sat down on a nearby log and sat Meg down beside him. Suddenly his heart leapt, because from where he was sitting he could see something that he had not been able to see before. Beneath a nearby pile of underbrush Troy could see berry bushes heavily laden with large blueberries. Troy had eaten the same blueberries in the city, and knew that eating them would be safe.

          He rapidly began picking them as quickly as he could; Angelle got down on her knees beside him and began the same process. He filled everything he could imagine filling with the blueberries, and then walking back to Meg they began to eat them, the sweet taste of the berry juices filling their mouth as they ate quickly. They soon forgot all manners they had once known in order to fill themselves as they had wanted to for several days.

          Troy suddenly felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. He heard the sound of steel being drawn from a sheath and a commanding voice asking him his name. With a slow motion he raised his hands up, knowing that acting without knowing who was behind him was folly.

          “My name is Troy, I mean no harm to you or this forest.” He said, in his best attempt at a strong voice.

          “You have entered the domain of the Ronyin’ Evan answer truthfully, are you an ally and friend to the Emperor and his dark armies?” A voice with a strange accent asked suddenly.

          “No, the Empire killed these ladies parents, they are under my protection and we are running from his armies.” Troy replied, hoping that the truth was the best course of action.

          “If you lie than I will strike you down where you sit,” The voice said.

          “If you strike me where I sit you will never determine if I lie.” Troy  replied. “My name is Troy, this is Angelle, and her sister Meg.”

          “And I am Dom Kavosch, scout and general of the Ronyin’ this is Romulin, my steed. You may rise, I will not harm you.” He said, less harshly this time.

          Troy stood and turned, to look with amazement on both the rider and his steed, the man was tall, very tall. With pointed ears and long flowing hair. His features were chiseled and elongated; there was a kind of fluidity about him. He seemed to shimmer in the light, sometimes almost difficult to see against the trees. And upon his back were long glittering wings, nearly translucent.

          But even this oddity paled in comparison when you saw this creature’s steed. It was easily twice as tall and the human like creature was, it was a crimson red,   its head was shaped like a great eagle, with long feathers flowing out from the nape of his skull. Its body was that of a great horse, but with claws instead of hooves. It had piercing eyes and a long beak; Troy had never heard of or seen anything like what his eyes were seeing now.

          “I suppose you have never seen a Gremulin before, have you boy.” He said, haughtily.

          “No sir, I have not. Please, do you know someone that might help us? We have been without food and supplies for several days. We are exhausted. Is there a place here that we might stay?” Troy pleaded.

          “You can return with me, after that we will see what the Elder’s say about you and your friends. They may allow you to remain here with us.” With this final word he sheathed his sword and turned to his steed. Troy helped Angelle to his feet, he could see she was frightened by this man, but he also knew that he could help them.

          They walked for what seemed like a long time, and at intervals the man quickly left into the woods around them, he seemed to be listening and watching intently. Troy could not see him using his wings, and was not sure if he could even fly. They seemed to be more a part of an elaborate natural camouflage, because when he waved them rapidly he nearly disappeared.

          The trek continued for some time through the woods, all kinds of scenery passed them by as they continued on their journey; Rivers, strange and exotic vegetation, great trees that seemed to leap upon the skyline or sag with their immense weight. Butterflies greater than Troy had ever seen before flitted among the flowers.  Small animals rustled in the underbrush.

          There seemed to be no life among the woods though, Troy wondered more and more where there travels were taking them. He had  seen no sign of any civilization or camp. Dom Kavosch continued on in his long galloping stride, until he reached the edge of a great river. But instead of stopping like Troy had assumed he would he strode right into the churning water and seemed to walk along its top without any effort at all. Troy looked on in amazement, until he saw under the white water a rock bridge, mostly submerged and covered with slimy moss that the man had walked across. Troy began to move down the bank towards it slowly, he held out his hand the entire way across, firmly holding Angelle’s in his. The water rolled around his feet trying it seemed to suck them from under him and send him tumbling down the river. A long while ago Troy had helped Meg crawl onto the Gremulin’s back, which is where she sat now. The creature strode quickly across the bridge, not fearing the crossing at all. Finally Troy reached the other side, his legs were shaking with fright, swordsmen and warriors he could at least stand against, but there was nothing he could do against the power of a river.

          As they reached the far bank Troy saw for the first time that there was a small worn path weaving back and forth in and out of the trees in front of him. They began to follow it, and as they did so the path became more and more obvious, turning from a footpath into an open trail, a trail into a wide avenue of dirt, and later on Troy could see the remains of a cobblestone road beneath his feet.  Even in the distance now Troy began to see ruins, crumbling stone towers, fallen walls, statues among the trees, he could see where buildings used to stand and the mortar of their foundations. He realized that the culture he was now seeing existed hundreds of years before his own, and he knew that it was greater than the city he had come from, but had somehow fallen into ruin.

          “It is the city of a fallen people.” The winged man said, “Long ago they ruled this land, far further than the city you are from could claim. They had many holdings and were rich from their economic mastery. They turned from economy and searched for wisdom, climbing high mountains to find ancient lairs of truth, seeking out those who knew what they sought after. Then they turned from their wisdom to war, using the skills they had searched out and taken to heart to make great machines of murder. Their armies were vast, undefeatable hordes of perfectly trained soldiers. People thought there was no stopping them, and indeed, no other power possibly could. Or so it was thought.

           “There was actually a force that could stop them, themselves, they began to fight not to win, but simply to fight for the glory of splashing the blood of a different man on the ground, they became a corrupt force moving through cities murdering violently, pillaging, destroying, raping, and slaughtering all who lived within.

          “And that was their downfall, for they became so corrupt that they tore themselves apart from the inside out. It was the loss of a great culture, for with their greatest warriors also went some of their greatest minds. Their most powerful Magistars went with them to battle, and were then killed or became so wasted in their vile practices that their minds were crushed.

          “Now look at what you see, a people who will always live in their shadow. There are some of us who believe that this corruption will happen and is happening again. And we believe it is our duty to stop it. We will not see man fall back into an Age of destruction and darkness as they once did. We have employed every man that is able and willing to fight, but most importantly to live for that cause.

          “It is our duty and our honor to protect our wisdom and valor, our greatest magicians are being found and murdered by the new Emperor, the scholars are being banished and their books burned. Any man with enough strength can leave a headless horde of fallen men, he simply must let them live and convince them that they are the greatest men in the world. I know you have watched what I know say, you know of what I speak.

“And we must stop it. That is who we are, the Ronyin’ we are here to stop the destruction of everything we have lived for. This is why we chose to live in the shadow of this city, so that we will always be reminded that with our strength and honor comes the duty to do what is right. You, who have stumbled upon us, or we upon you, must either accept this burden and honor. Or we will be forced to once again throw you to the woods and wolves.” With this final warning he made it clear that he was finished talking and turned once again, heading towards one of the largest ruins they could see.

          Troy could now vaguely see movements of other people in the woods, staring or watching, or else simply moving along doing their duty. Some were humans; some were like the man who had led them here. He could see some others in the shadows he did not dare to claim he knew what they were. Strange creatures that had been banished from the city he had come from.

          They continued on their way until they came forward to a large gate, it was a bright wood, polished till it seemed to shine. Lamps burnt around it, and I great standard was raised over its head. A long banner, there was a great field of green on the banner, with a long serpent weaving back and forth along the length of it, weaving around a long metal blade of a sword.

          There were guards at the gate, taller looking and stronger than the guards of the Empire, possibly because they were not human at all, but a different creature all together. Made mostly of spikes and points, they wore no armor but seemed to have no need of any, their skin, if you could call it that, was hedged with long sharp looking spikes, and these were rising from a kind of plate armor that was attached to them like the shell of a turtle.

          As soon as they Troy’s guide they stepped back quickly, and lowered their heads. Troy realized quickly that this man carried great weight among these people; he must be a leader or a general.

          The gate creaked slowly open for them, Troy could now see how thick the gate was, it was great wood, several feet thick and intricately carved with statues, emblems and shining runes. The gate was connected to huge chains which were harnessed to another strange creature, almost giant in size. Who with all their weight were pulling against the great gate.

          Inside the gate was a large open corridor, paved with white marble colored stone, standards of different companies of soldiers were raised along side this long avenue. He could see a great camp of men standing throughout this area, some of them looked strong and brave, others sullen and angry, but around all seemed to hand a great feeling of dread and fear. Troy could sense a feeling, as if these people already thought they had lost a battle that had not even begun. They continued down the stones towards the large structure, Troy could now appreciate the true size of the building before it. Even in decay it was an impressive building, it rose nearly a hundred feet into the air.

          Suddenly Troy saw a party of cavalry charge into the square; a banner was floating over their heads. Most of this party was a human, dressed from head to toe in plated battle armor. Long swords were flashing at their waists and their helmets held long plumes that flowed out behind them. At their head Troy saw a great knight on a large golden horse, he was covered in white and gold armor with great swans decorating the horse’s armored skirt. His armor shined so brightly that he seemed to glow from were he sat upon his stallion.

          He rode forward into the square like a triumphant hero with his legion of knights following haughtily at his tail.

          “Devon, Knight of the Swan, it is a proud title to bear, and he knows it as well. But now he rides in like a conquering hero, realizing naught that his plans are all in vane. He believes that we simply must strike against our enemies in the strongest way that we can, but what he does not realize is that our strongest strike is but a willow wand against the current forces of our enemies. Even know he returns from a battle that was more a rout than a defeat.

          “He does not realize that we must gather strength, not strike now. And if we strike it cannot be in a battle, but a strategic penetration of the enemy’s domain. We must carry out a battle in such a way that they cannot fight back, but this he does not realize. One would not believe how much and how often an idea of honor can get in the way of intelligence. A battle should not be fought with honor against an enemy with no honor, and he does not realize this fact.”

          Dom Kavosch sighed heavily, it seemed that the weight of all these people were on his shoulders.

          “Ah, I speak in vane and out of place, welcome Troy; this is the TriQuan Courtyard, welcome to the city of the true kings. You know very little of our culture, our way of war. I can tell simply from looking at you that you know not little of fighting, but you must be trained if you are to join us, and your skills carefully honed.

          What we do not have in men and weapons we must be able to defeat the enemy in skill. Many of us, simply as a gratitude from our creator are given greater strength, stealth, or skill than a human, but I will say that you have an advantage. For unlike other races, that have a single dominating capability you have the opportunity of learning all these skills. And that is our weapon against the bland soldiers of the Emperor, trained as a single man.

          “For a great army it has always been successful, but we do not train an army as much as we train a ghost, a man of terror, and a spy. That is what you will become if you join our ranks.

          “I will have it arranged that you are given the opportunity to meat with a recruiter, if you so chose to join us you will spend years in training and battle, rarely seeing a home or a place to stay for a period of more than a few days. This is your decision.

          “Please make your self at home here, there are many things to see, many people or creatures just as smart and wise as yourself to meet, take no offense if someone takes offense to you, and simply be polite. You will adapt and I am sure you will be fine.” With this he turned and began walking away, his steed dutifully following him.

          Turning to Angelle he said to her, “You should get some rest, we will both be very busy for the next couple of days.” Angelle realized when she looked at him that many thoughts were moving through his mind. She wished she could reach out and help him, but she also knew that he must make these decisions on his own. A large part of her wanted him to stay, she felt safe around him, even though he was dangerous. But she knew that he would leave, she was not sure how, she simply knew. He would join their cause and fight, not simply to fight but because of that feeling he would have, that belief that something good could happen.

          “Perhaps,” she thought, “He might even be able to help my father, if he is still alive.”

          Angelle wandered off away from him, keeping Meg’s hand held tightly in hers. She continued walking until she came upon a long stable; she walked in and recognized that comforting smell of musty straw. She began looking at the horses, some of the finest she had ever seen. Armor for them lay along the wall, shining with polish and care.

          Suddenly she heard a voice behind her, a strange voice, one she knew she did not recognize.

          “Angelle?” A voice said, “Is that actually you?”

          Angelle turned to see an old lady, who did look familiar, but she did not know from where. It was as if she was someone’s shadow that she recognized, but who she did not know.

          “You are Angelle? Aren’t you?” She continued.

          She suddenly realized she was ignoring this plea, and stammered back, “Yes, yes…I am.”

          “You would not know me, but I know you very well, my sister was your guardian for many years, and your uncle, he was…well…he meant much to me at one time. Your nurse, Ms. Grey, she was my sister. I am Tania.”

          “You knew Ms. Grey…and my uncle, who is my uncle? I had only heard of him, but I thought he was dead.” Angelle replied, thunderstruck.

          “You mean you never knew? Your father never told you? Ah, I suppose that would make sense, you see, your uncle was a warrior and one of our strongest supporters and greatest allies. He ran a secret organization in the city, from his headquarters, a small bookshop that he owned. His name was Wick, Thomas Wick.”

          Angelle gasped, “Mr. Wick was my Uncle?”

          “You mean you knew him? Tania replied, “Yes, he was your Uncle, we knew each other well, some might say we were lovers, but that was many, many years ago. Tell me, is he alive and well? And how is my sister?”

          It was then that the flood of the last week hit Angelle, Mr. Wick, the catacombs, the battle by the docks, Ms. Grey dying trying to save their lives. How would she tell her this, that her sister was dead.

          “Tania, your sister fell in battle in a last attempt to save both Meg’s and my own life. I am sorry that I must be the one to bring you this news, and I want you to know that her death was not in vain. She died that we might live, and live we will.

          “I promise you that I will help the cause that she must have believed in so strongly.”    Angelle surprised herself at the strength with which these words were said. She realized that she had changed, she was no longer a girl anymore, she was maturing, though faster than she would have liked.

          “Mr. Wick on the other hand still resides in the city leading the men and supplies that he has for so long. I know little of what he does do, but I do know that he does much and that much he does well.

          “I know that you will probably want to be alone now, I am sorry, the grief and pain is not yours alone. Is there a place where Meg and I could rest, simply until tomorrow wakes?”

          Tania looked shaken, but still steadfast; with a nod she turned and began to walk towards a door at the end of the stable. She brought Angelle to what looked like a dormitory hall, where many people were hustling and bustling from room to room. She was shown into a small alcove, a quiet spot with a small window looking out into the lush forest.

          With the peaceful sound of birds and the rumbling of a distant stream she fell fast asleep.

*****

          She awoke the next morning, and looking out she realized that it was not even dawn. She heard an unfamiliar noise out the window, the stomping and pawing of a horse coming from the stables, and the snort of an animal in the cold of the early morning.

          She could hear voices, but they were indistinguishable and she could not tell if they were in the same language. Suddenly she sat up, a feeling of dread filling her. She realized what it was she could see out the window. She threw her covering blanket from her and quickly stood; stopping only to grab the fresh clothing that had been laid out for her.

          She ran from her room to the end of the hall and threw open the door, shivering as a blast of cold morning wind hit her with force. She looked around quickly before making her decision; she turned and ran towards the stables.

          It was there she saw him, saddling a horse near the stable door, dressed in a leather jerkin with his sword strapped to his side. And then she knew that he was leaving. She did not think but ran to him, he turned and saw her coming towards him. She realized that she may not see him again for a very long time.

          She held out her arms to him and he took her in a strong embrace, she was almost crying now, unsure what kind of a person she would be without him here along side her. He just held her there, for what seemed like minutes, and then whispered a soft goodbye in her ear. He turned quickly and mounted his horse, spurring it towards the gate where a company of cavalry was waiting. He turned once more towards her as his horse left the entryway, his hand raised in a final farewell. His last picture of her was burned in his mind, standing there, alone in the middle of a strange land, with tears running down her face. And he wondered, “Is this what it is like to love someone? To fear you will never see them again when fear is something you do not know?

Part II:

Four Years Later…

Also Entitled:

Beyond the Gates of the Ronyin’ Vale



 

The long caravan wound slowly through the long hills, men shouted back and forth, cattle groaned, wheels turned in the soft dirt. Along its side companies of men carrying banners of different leaders marched along the side of the caravan. They had come a long way; this was one of the greatest and longest trade routes in and out of the great city.

It was also, or had been in the past, the safest. But now something had changed. There was a single stretch of woods which must be traveled through in order to reach civilization on the other side. It was a vast empty space, empty of any culture that anyone had known. But in the past years and months it had become fraught with danger. Many caravans would reach the woods and either return empty handed or never be seen or heard again.

This is why the caravans required great shows of military strength, bands of mercenaries had formed recruit able bands of men who would protect and guide the great caravans. It was a career full of wealth; a mercenary was one of the easiest and most common jobs to hold in any market city.

It had been rumored only as to what happened to the caravans, no one had ever returned to tell a story, they simply disappeared. And for these reasons commerce became slower and more dangerous, but for the daring who did attempt it, if they succeeded it would be even more profitable. So some did, and this was one of those caravans. It contained hundreds of carts and wagons, thousands of horses and soldiers. It had emptied the city it had left of every contingent of mercenaries, it was prepared, but they just did not know what for.

They had been on the road now for weeks, winding through mountains and valleys, hills and dales, cities and villages, picking up more wares and men, selling and trading some of their own. And they were now nearing that stretch that had become a great mystery for all men. The front of the caravan had reached a point where they could look out over a long green valley, lush and quiet. Perhaps to quiet, but not a land that seemed dangerous, especially to so large a party. They began the long descent down the road, nearing the dark green edge of the forest. It was huge, larger than any other forest these people had seen. It was an indistinct blur in both directions with no end could be sighted.

They wound out for almost a mile along the road, unable to stay in contact with either end except by horseback. They put their strongest vanguard in the front of the caravan, believing that any attack would come from that direction. And being all prepared began that fearful march into the woods.

*****

Several miles away in a small valley a small camp lay hidden among the brush. You could see soldiers waking restlessly and moving around the camp. They began walking around, gathering gear or beginning their breakfast, cooked over small smokeless fire. The soldiers gathered there were not only human warriors, but many creatures of different types. There were elves, tall creatures with shining translucent wings, Gremulins walked around camp, carrying burdens for those men smaller or weaker than themselves.

Suddenly one of the guards at the border of the camp snapped to attention and yelled out, the men dropped whatever they were doing and stood up quickly, their attention grabbed by something no one seemed to see.

Suddenly though a crystal peal of sounds echoed through the woods, and you could see rising over the trees a great white horse with long golden wings. There was no man or beast on the horse’s back, for he himself was the leader of these men. Some had first had difficulty following a horse into battle, but no one could question that he understood a battle better than any other man here.

He landed in the small clearing, stomping and pawing the ground, and then with a noise that would frighten many when they heard it issued from a horse’s mouth, he spoke.

“Soldiers and guardians, once again our strength is tested, a caravan, larger than any we have seen is now reaching the far borders of our domain. We will arm and strike; for the materials carried on this caravan now belong to our cause.”

A cheer came up from the men, their moral rising as they anticipated again battling for their ideas and their leaders. These men were brave, strong, and ready to fight. They had undergone much training until they were now the most elite soldiers known to the world, and they were known to the world. But the world thought that they were ghosts, for no mere man or beast could fight as these soldiers did, it was impossible. But so many things are impossible for someone who does not know about it.

On the edge of the camp a man walked into the glade, he was tall and strong, a long battle sword was strapped to his broad shoulders and a longbow was in his hands. He was wearing the armor of the elite light infantry division, a warrior of the highest stature within this force. His name was Troy, a soldier and a leader, for that is what he was. In four years, arriving here when he was but a young sixteen year old he had trained hard and risen quickly through the ranks of the ghost legion.

He had risen from the bottom and now was one of the top, being in charge of his own garrison of ten infantry, but not just any ten infantry, they were the best of this army’s best. They could strike faster and fight harder than any other warrior they knew. And now, at only twenty years of age Troy was their leader. He had spent the past four years in training and battle, fighting for the cause of the Ronyin’ Evan, the honorable renegades of the Empire.

The last time he had been in a city, or even seen a town was four years ago, when he had left Angelle in a square by the stables on that fated day when he had left to begin his training. He had not seen her since, but her face was rarely far from his thoughts, and always he thought of one day returning. He knew by this time she would be a young lady of the court, nearly 19 years old.

And there would be Meg, her younger sister; she would be 11 now, training to become what her older sister now was. He remembered carrying them through the woods so many years ago, and being found by Dom Kavosch, the legendary scout, guide, and general of the Ronyin’ soldiers. He wondered often if they would ever meet again, he knew that he lived among the southeastern fringes of the forest, being more at home among the grass and stars then the trees, and thus when he could sneaking forth to spend his days roaming free, but always returning when he was needed.

Troy’s soldiers inhabited the western borders of the forest, where they kept close watch on the actions of neighboring cities and countries. It was the goal of the Ronyin’ to bring other cities to their aid, because only with this added strength could they possibly hope to defeat the Empire. For each caravan of one city that they destroyed they sent a large purse of money to the same country, telling them that those men that would join them were safe and that they were thankful for the donated supplies. Many leaders of these cities, without telling its men and citizenry had opened negotiations with the Ronyin’ hoping secretly themselves to have a share of the spoils in the Empire finally fell.

All the cities and cultures of the world felt heavily the burden of soldiers and taxes dolled out by the Empire, and many would be happy to see them fall, but none were willing to take a chance, rather living in peace under a heavy yoke than a life of freedom fraught with danger. Only the younger men of the cities or the bravest leaders had actually joined the forces of the Ronyin’ those rebel soldiers who’s renown in fighting and their willingness to fight against the suppressing Empire attracted many who also wanted to fight. And fight they would.  

*****

          The camp disbursed quickly, packing gear and setting up supplies, preparing to move out into an intercept point with the oncoming convoy. The soldiers looked bright eyed with anticipation. Only four years ago Troy remembered seeing the looks in their eyes when he first laid sight on their soldiers, they were a hopeless band without a leader, and the leaders they did have knew nothing of what they should do.

          They had been sullen and weary, unwilling to fight, or to die, for something that they believed in. But a change of leadership had come about, for a single Ronyin’ had found a cave in which many stores of wisdom had been laid up and protected by a band of monks, a band which were led by a great warrior king who had devoted his life to preserving the wisdom of his race for a time when it would be more readily welcomed.

          He had been convinced that the time had come and had led the soldiers to victory time and time again, though the victories were not great, no captured cities or killed leaders, they were victories. And when one sees that they are winning they are willing to keep on the fight, hope was renewed within them and their fight had been renewed.

          The soldiers traveled expertly through the brush and trees, moving almost without a whisper through terrain thick with vegetation. Even the great packs upon their backs and the weapons that they carried slowed them down but little. These were war’s experts, and proud of that they were.

*****

          The caravan continued weaving with the path as it followed the course of a small river winding through the trees. They looked nervously and closely into the woods, but saw nothing of which they should be afraid. There were frightening statues hidden among the moss and trees on the side of the road, leering faces carved into rock, staring back when they stared forward.

          Suddenly the very front of the caravan halted, standing in front of them was a single man, he was wearing a hooded cloak and between his hands a bejeweled and frighteningly bright sword stood at the ready. He lifted his head and his eyes seemed to flash, a glow coming from beneath his hood.

          “Welcome, this is the domain of the Ronyin’, if you so choose you may return now to where you came, your supplies have entered our domain without or permission and must either be sold or taken from you, the decision is your own. If you so choose and wish to you may join our cause, the plea of the poor and the tired against the oppressing enemies of truth. I would not suggest fighting, it would do you no good.”

          If by magic or by some illusion his voice carried awe inspiring power, and could be heard by almost all of the men, yet it seemed no more than a whisper.

          Suddenly one of the mercenary soldiers pulled a bow to his ear. “I’ll be damned before I listen to an old priest.” He snarled, and began to fire.

          The old man before his suddenly threw back his cloak, grinned at the man, and raised his hand. The arrow seemed to leap from the bow towards the old man, and the bow twanged where it had been released, but it never reached its destination. Before it could a burst of fire enveloped it and it fell to the ground in ash and smoke.

          “Your problem, not mine…I’m afraid you just damned yourself,” the old man said, “Now I think I’ll have to have you killed.”

          He whistled with a powerful voice, it seemed to grow and become stronger as it went on.

Suddenly another whistle joined him, but it was not the whistle of a human voice. A long arrow sped out of the trees and buried itself in the man’s chest. He gasped as he looked down, not realizing what had happened. Blood began to seep down the man’s shirt. He fell to his knees and collapsed in the dirt.

          Several men dropped their weapons and moved to join the old man, the rest of their soldiers yelling taunts and swearing at them. Looking up the old man simply said, “Anymore?” when no one else moved he turned and walked into the woods, the new soldiers following him.

          The mercenaries were unsure what to do, or where there enemy might be now, they deployed as they normally would, their moral dropping fast when they realized they still saw no one. The caravan once again began moving, but this time at a snail’s pace. Suddenly the guard at the front of the line dropped his sword and screamed, falling over dead. No one could see what had happened until he fell backwards and the arrow could be seen protruding from his neck.

          Still the soldiers saw no one. Suddenly they heard a strange yell, turning they saw a line of soldiers charging towards them.

          “To Arms! To Arms!” the captains yelled. Archers began to pour arrows into the line of men, but just as the first arrow appeared to reach them the line of soldiers evaporated and the arrows disappeared into the woods.

          “It’s a bloody ghost,” a soldier cried out, “we are fighting a bloody ghost army!”

          They looked around warily, not seeing anyone again. They continued marching, not even stopping this time when they heard the cries of men along the caravan’s line dropping with a thud, a long arrow imbedded in their chest or head.

          “Come out and fight you scum.” A leader screamed at the empty woods.

          “More than happy to oblige you.” A voice suddenly whispered in his ear. The captain turned, drawing his sword…and saw no one. The nearest man to him was one of his trusted lieutenants. He cursed the spell that grasped his mind.

          Suddenly they turned a bend in the road, before them was an old tower fluttering high with banners, and in front of it lined a polished line of tall warriors.

          “Still here?” a familiar voice said, “Well, that was stupid, but I am impressed.”

          The old man stood in front of the solid line of polished metal and swords grinning frightfully at him.

          Suddenly he let his hood drop from him, no old man stood under there, but a warrior dressed in emblazoned steel with a great crest on his chest. A long naked sword was still grasped in his hand.

          “Ah, surprise, surprise,” he said. “Archers ready!” he raised his left hand. “Fire!”

          A long row of black arrows sped towards the soldiers, easily cutting down the first rank.

          “Form up!” The captain yelled, “Archers to the ready, Return Fire!”

The mercenary’s soldiers opened fire upon the enemy. “Rush them men!” His sword was drawn out and he ran straight towards the knight in front of them.

          The two sides clashed hard, swords were drawn and swinging back and forth, hewing at openings in defenses and armor. Great cries could be heard coming from both sides and the ground quickly became slick with the flowing blood of soldiers. Archers from the woods continued to rain down arrows upon the caravan, taking a great toll of casualties.

          Suddenly a man at the top of the tower blew a long horn with a great blast. He raised a sword and motioned an unseen ally on. Immediately a great host of birds, unnamed beasts and flying horses filled the air. The mercenaries began yelling with fright, their line faltered and began to break. The beasts of the air crashed into the enemies from the top, their claws or hooves crushing their helmets or grabbing their eyes.

          The tide of the battle had turned for the better; the mercenaries had turned and began fleeing back towards the wagons, creating a position of defense. The attack was successful. Ronyin’ forces followed them into camp breaking into their defenses and fighting them along their way. With the lack of moral they were displaying the enemy surrendered easily or were killed easily if they would not…the battle here had been won. But this was not the battle.

*****

          Almost a mile away, watching another far quieter part of the caravan Troy lay in wait. He was on the top of a small hill, almost invisible among the trees, and from that spot he could observe all their movements. Even from here the battle could be heard ranging a long distance away, but Troy was not worried, no mercenaries have ever stood up to their trained soldiers.

          Their target was a single wagon, it was heavily armored and well defended, but if it could be captured would be worth its weight in gold. It was the personal wagon of the leader of the caravan, but besides only that what was contained in that wagon, to be sold to the Emperor himself were documentation and papers full of wisdom about many different subjects, but most specifically a box, containing diagrams for some of the greatest war machines ever invented.

          They had been captured from their inventor, who was then killed, they had not been designed as a weapon of war, but machinery that could help advance society, but had been twisted to corruption. And with those weapons in his hand the Emperor could have little chance of being defeated now, or ever by any force that the Ronyin’ could muster.

          Beyond any cost those weapons and diagrams must be kept from his hand. The corruption of the Empire was limited to the Emperor’s power, the less power the less he could force the people to do his will and the stronger the will of the people would be. But if he had the weapons and tools to control anyone or anything there was no stopping what he could force the city to do for him.

          Next to Troy was Remy, his second in command, Remy was a small man, of small stature, but few could match his wits or his skill. He was a brilliant master of swordplay, one of the few soldiers that could still defeat Troy in a sparring match. He was many years Troy’s elder, but chose not to lead, even though the position was rightfully his. He simply wished to play a smaller part.

          Troy’s little army moved down this hill and through the trees, now that they had left their packs behind they moved like ghosts through the trees and vegetation they were truly invisible.

          They reached the very edge of the road, but it was a wide avenue, and he realized that there was some twenty feet to the edge of the wagon. There must be a way to get closer without being detected. Troy turned to Remy, who he could see was already smiling, a sign that his brain was thinking quickly.

          Suddenly Remy gripped his bow and arrow, strung an arrow, and put on its tip a small red cube. He drew it to his ear and fired it long down the line. It struck the side of a canvas wagon and then exploded, flames leaped high into the air.

          The guards around the caravan yelled and turned, and the instant they did so Troy and his men broke cover. They ran forward quickly, moving as fast as their feet could carry them. The first guard turned and saw Troy running at him, but before he could scream Troy buried a long dagger into the man’s side and grabbed his mouth.

          His units quickly did the same, and were almost undetected by the first group of soldiers. Suddenly he heard a man yell, and an arrow whipped by his head.

          “To sword!” Troy yelled, each soldier reaching for his longer blade. They moved quickly striking left and right. Troy found himself surrounded by four of the enemy, grimacing he turned to combat. He pulled a long dagger from his belt and gripped that tightly in one hand, while his long sword was firmly grasped in the other.

          The first mercenary ran towards him, swinging his sword wildly, Troy deflected the blade downwards and struck at the unarmored space near the neck. The man’s eyes went wide as he felt the blade of the knife bite into his skin and his warm blood suddenly running inside his armor. Troy quickly flipped his sword upwards and decapitated the man’s head from his shoulders. Two more men came at him, both swinging their swords from an opposite direction, blocking a blade with each weapon Troy spun inside their guard and slammed the hilt of his sword into a man’s helmet, he felt a sting on his back and realized that the other man had pulled his own smaller knife and tried to stab Troy in the back. Troy stomped down on his foot and then kicked him in the leg, the spike on the end of his boot imbedding itself in the flesh on the man’s thigh. He turned in again until his back was against the man’s chest pulled his sword high and stabbed it behind it. The man gasped and fell away from Troy, who turned and finished off the other attacker with a single strong backhand stroke of his sword.

          Looking around he saw each of his men standing over their own attackers, their blades still held ready. The mercenaries had fallen all around them. Troy turned quickly toward the wagon. Reaching the door he tried to pull it open, but as he assumed it was locked from the inside. Pulling out his sword once again he buried it into the wood around the handle, sawing away until he found the lock. He snapped that and then pulled it open once again.

          Inside the wagon was a dusty pile of chests, in a small room, with another door at the far end. Troy knew exactly what he was looking for. He grabbed a small iron bound chest and pulled it out, opening it quickly to check the contents inside. This was it. He passed it to Remy who was standing outside the door. They then began to pass out the chests, working until the room was empty.

          Once it was they walked away from the cart, Remy turned and tossed another of the small red cubes inside, watching as it exploded into smoke and flames. With this they turned and walked back into the woods.

*****

          The camp was in an uproar, throwing around new spoils that they had been allowed to keep, eating and laughing uproariously, a rowdy group of soldiers were wrestling in a nearby field. Troy looked with pride on the men here, not only did they know how to fight and kill, but they also knew when and how to have a good time.

          Suddenly though Troy heard a high scream, a women’s scream. He believed it came from a nearby tent. Walking there quickly he saw a group of rough men had thrown open a wagon to find a group of young girls, probably slaves, who they were now shoving around and handling them roughly.

          Troy suddenly yelled, “Stand back, soldiers!” He strode into the middle of the group, “Who started this? If I am not answered you will all be executed. Whose idea was this?”

          A rough looking man meekly raised his hand, “I opened the wagon, sir. I suppose the blame is mine.”

          “And do you know what your penalty should be?” Troy looked at him sharply.

          “No sir, I knew no regulations against it.” The soldier replied, already knowing he was wrong.

          “Tell me, soldier, if you found a man so handling your own wife or loved one? What would you do to him?” Troy replied, harshly.

          “I would kill him, sir, on the spot.” He said, only then realizing what his statement meant.

          “So you would, as would I. If we act like this, if we treat people like this, we are no better than our enemies; we are a shamed army claiming to fight for good and at the same time ruining that picture and harming our cause. This will not be allowed. When you believe in something you do not let pleasure get in the way, to do so is to show the limit of your belief. And a limited belief is not a belief at all.” Troy said.

          The soldier looked stricken, not only afraid, but also as if he had realized now what indeed he had done.

Suddenly shame seemed to fill his face, as if he realized what he had done, and what he deserved.

          “You will be publicly flogged for what you did, I am sorry, but you now understand that this must be done.” Troy said, knowing that this would be an unhappy spectacle.

          The man nodded, turned on his heel, and strode from the tent. Troy sighed and followed him towards the exit, ordering the men to find the girls they had found in the cart some food and supplies. If their soldiers were resorting to this for sport Troy feared that soon they would become no better than the army of old, who had fought for good, but finally destroyed themselves.

          He walked towards the middle of the camp, finally arriving at the large standard in the center. He bowed his head in respect, and turned to face the throne like structure resting beside it.

          “Congratulations, Troy,” a voice said, “If it had not been for your men and their bravery the enemy may have left with the plans and documents still in hand. This is truly a day for you to celebrate.” Troy turned and saw the same Magistar from the battle.

          “Lord Tristan,” Troy replied, respectfully raising his gauntlet to his forehead. “I would not take the glory of this battle from its true leader. It was your brilliant mastery of nature and magic that even gave my men the opportunity to get to where we were. And for that I thank you.”

          “Indeed, not taking the honor for yourself, ridiculous of course, but respectable and understandable. I am giving you an opportunity here, I know that in your history you once lived within the city, and that is where you first learned many of the skills which were later perfected…I am going to give you a chance to return to that city.” He said solemnly.

          Troy’s mind whirled, “Return to the city?” he thought, “what for?” He asked Tristan.

          “Ah, I have gotten word from Dom Kavosch, within the city one of our greatest supporters has been imprisoned for some time. We only just learned of it. I believe you know the man, or at least would have heard of him. He was a Senator before the Senate was abolished, a Senator Artimais.” He said.

          Troy gasped, it was Angelle’s father, the Senator he had seen captured so many years ago. Did she know he was alive? Troy doubted she had had any word, his mind wandered to her once again, where was she, what was she doing? Suddenly he realized that Tristan was looking at him. “So you do know him, Troy, in fact, it would seem you know his name well.”

          “Sir, it was on his behalf that I first left the capital and came to the forest. I was guarding his two daughters from the Empire’s soldiers, when they found out that I was I had no choice but to leave the city for good.” Troy’s mind was flashing with memories, more in detail than any he could remember.

          “Good! So he has a daughter, well, all hope for his family may not be lost then. Do you accept this mission? Do not think it will be easy, for fighting among trees and among crowds of people are wholly different tasks. You will do it then?”

          Troy smiled, hoping perhaps that before he left from the woods he may have a chance to return to the Ronyin’ castle and see Angelle again. “Yes, I will accept this task, how many men do I bring with me?”

          “You will return to the castle,” Tristan said, “Dom Kavosch will meet you there, he will be coming, and you may pick one man from among your unit to come with you. Your horse has already been saddled and prepared for you, leave as soon as you can, and Godspeed.” With this Tristan turned and walked back towards his large tent.

          Troy quickly walked back to his men, knowing already which one he would take with him. “Remy, can I borrow your brains?” Troy yelled to one of his men sitting by the fire.

          “Sure, captain, one minute!” Remy proceeded to pull a dagger from his belt and making a motion to cut his head off his shoulders. It had become a joke among the men every since the first time Troy had asked him that question.

          “This is not much of a joke actually, we are going to the city, to rescue a Senator, and unless you have a great objection you are coming along.” Troy said, seriously.

          “The city, aye? Sure, I’ll come, sounds like fun, the markets, the buildings, lots of Imperial blood to spill. A Ronyin’ holiday that. Let me grab my bags.” He turned and began stuffing the nearest sack with all the food he could lay his eyes on.

          “Remy, we are stopping on the journey once or twice, no need to pack more food then you way.” Troy said, grinning now, unable to help his smile.

          “Ah, I see, but this isn’t supplies, just snacks for along the way.” Remy grinned back and stood up. “So where are the horses?”

*****

          They rode on for several hours, stopping once to eat some of Remy’s snacks, it had been a long time since Troy had been to the castle, he had returned once, in the middle of the night, but then had to leave again immediately. But his thoughts, as could be imagined, were not on the towers or the gates, or the great green standard at the end of the field.

          He was thinking of an image that had been burned into his mind long ago, of a young girl standing in a field by a swinging open door. Her hand raised in silent farewell, and silent tears streaking her face, as he rode off into the night nearly four and a half years ago. Would he have the chance to see her again? Would he even recognize her?

          Remy just rode along in silence, gazing knowingly at Troy’s puzzled looks. He remembered once, a long time ago, when he had felt similar feelings riding into the gates of the Ronyin’ Castle, his had been different though, for the reason he had left the cities and moved out into the woods was not a girl, as Troy’s story went, but a flying horse who had somehow come to the outside of his steps.

          He knew that if found this beautiful animal would be killed by soldiers, and did his best to hide the animal away and care for him. Until one day the greatest surprise of all happened, the animal talked to him. Remy heard his story, and realized that he must help. So riding on the back of the horse he had flown from the city, it was something he would never forget, that ride at night, under a bright pale moon, looking down at the little houses with their sleeping people. People, who did not know and did not care what the rest of the world thought, did or believed.

          So he had traveled here, finally being picked up by Ronyin’ soldiers, he had become noted very rapidly for his quick wit and his sharp mind. Finally being chosen for the ghost soldiers, which was where he met Troy. Finally they were reassigned together, and with their small group of men had gone to do much to help the Ronyin’. They wished only for a chance to strike back at the man and his armies that had taken so much from them, and was willing to take so much more.

          Now was probably the largest chance that Remy could remember, to strike at the real heart of the Empire, no soldiers could often claim this chance. And he felt that they could do it.

          Their horses continued on, needing little guidance by either of them. The scenery was incredible, a small rock bridge went out over a river, and it was nearly invisible for it was hidden in the haze of a great waterfall. If you had not known it was there you would have walked right past. The horses stopped in the middle of the bridge, and Troy looked out down the gorge that the river continued to cut out. It was a vast waterway, if a man was to fall there; there was no hope for his survival.

          They continued on through valleys and around hills, parts of the land were so densely wooded you could not see two feet beyond the path. In others though the light danced through the woods and there was very little underbrush. You could see the sun filtering down through the trees, drawing patterns of sunlight along the forest ground. Fireflies could be seen dancing in and out of the grass, and a small brook trickled by in the distance.

          Suddenly Troy felt he was being watched, his intuition had been honed through years of swordplay and he knew he was rarely wrong. He then realized that this sensation was caused by the nearness they were to the first way post. The Ronyin’ way posts were guarded by great and powerful eagles, which could see a man coming from over a mile away. Eagles were one of the wisest and most powerful beasts that the Ronyin’ had in their armies, their intelligence was beyond measure and their language by a peculiar evolution could be understood by anyone, though an eagle would rarely talk.

          Troy could feel their eyes on him as the two riders neared the first gate. The gates themselves were simple affairs, simply a large weaved gate with a small tower on one end and a long banner flying from its top. Simply getting through an unguarded gate would be an easy task, but the guardians of the gate could not be defeated easily.

          Remy threw his head back and whistled a strange noise, Troy repeated the motion. Slowly, as they watched, a black speck in the sky became larger and larger; finally they could see the wings and the body. A great eagle spiraled through the wind, coming finally to halt suddenly in front of them.

          “Welcome travelers, your coming has already been made known to us and you may pass.” The bird bowed in such a manner as only a bird can and with a twist of its wings left the ground again, leaping higher and faster into the air as it went upwards.

          With a burst of speed Troy’s horse rode through the gate, Troy smiled, and with a kick of his boots the horse was flying crossed the ground. Troy was going home.

*****

          Angelle knelt by the small flower, trying to coax it to life. She was trying hard to concentrate, but her mind refused to focus. She kept picturing the gate by the entrance to the garden opening, and a strong warrior walking through. A warrior she had not seen in years but was sure she would recognize. “Flower, Angelle, the flower.” She told herself, trying to focus on the task at hand. “I hate gardening,” she told herself, “flowers look nice but do not do anyone any good.”

          Suddenly she felt water on the ground, looking down she realized that she had smothered all hope of the flower coming to life. Her large can of water had tipped over, drowning the flower and drenching her skirt. She stood up with a huff and strode away from the scene of disaster. Embarrassed that she could not complete even so simply a task.

           She stopped by the gate to watch little Meg at her own work, amazed at her gentle skill and quiet nature. Angelle could not imagine spending hours at a time focusing on one tiny detail until it was just perfect. Though often she wished she could. Her mind went out once again, thinking about the future, why should she focus on the plants? The whole world was at war, her loved ones had been taken from her, and here she was on her knees in a garden. “Oh, shame.” She said, and turned to the gate.

          She closed the gate and looked out crossed the TriQuan field, the great expanse of grass and marble that was the home to the Ronyin’ Castle. Towering walls stretched in both directions, and the castle’s keep had been rebuilt in all its former glory. “Oh, if only Troy could see it now, instead of what it used to look like.”

          She glanced around the landscape, taking in the fresh air and the shining banners. Suddenly she gasped, for from the smaller gate two horses rode through. On their backs were two men, in uniforms of black and green, the looked prepared for war and also as if they had just traveled a long distance to get here. But many of these details escaped her, for one of the men she knew instantly. He was different, larger, stronger and darker, but still the same man.

          She turned to the nearest guardsmen next to her, and asked him. “Who is that man in the distance? On the great black horse?”

          “Indeed, milady that is Troy, the warrior and guard. He is the leader of the ghost soldiers, and is just now returning for the first time in years.” Turning he asked, “Do you know him?” Realizing only then that at his very first words the girl had run away from him and towards the horsed soldier. “Funny girl, can’t go running after every general in the army.” He muttered, and then went on about his business.

          Troy looked about at the long field, hoping to see at this moment the figure of a young woman somewhere in the compound. Seeing no one he turned to dismount. He saw a crowd gathering and coming towards him, but even as he saw it he quickly dismissed that first thought. In the midst of the crowd, like a rose among daisies he saw her running towards him. She was beautiful, much more beautiful than he remembered, and older now.

          “Take your pick, Captain, no use waiting for the right one to come along.” Remy said mischievously.

          “I already have…” Troy said, not even thinking. “I mean, err…uh, I already have to go.” He said, his whole face turning red under the tan.

          “Well, very well then, go, wherever it is your going. But I’ll stake my life on the fact that one young lady might not be thrilled to hear you say so. And you might want to turn around.”

          Troy turned, and then realized that Angelle was almost to him. He had rehearsed this moment many times, but now that he saw her his mouth was dry and his mind seemed to stop. The only thought he could later remember clearly was thinking that running that quickly was not very ladylike.

          Angelle stopped when she got to him, realizing that she could not make a scene. “What if he doesn’t even know me?” She thought rapidly to herself. Gathering herself as she drew near she curtsied deeply and held out her hand. Hoping she might him and herself from some embarrassment.

          Instead of taking it and kissing it he held it tightly and then pulled her to him, embracing her strongly. He smiled to himself, “maybe it was not quite to plan, but it did not go off half badly.” He thought. He backed off and then smiled at her. Words still did not come.

          “Females,” a voice snorted behind him, “bad lots they are.” Troy turned to see Remy smiling at him sarcastically. With a gallant swing Remy left his horse and landed on one knee, taking Angelle’s hand he kissed it lightly. “Romulus Diocentritus the III, but you can call me Remy, and please forgive my captain. He is terribly untrained when it comes to seeing a beautiful lady acting as she should.” He winked at her and then stood up.

          Suddenly Remy heard a whistle behind him; he felt himself falling and landed on his back. He looked up to see he was staring down a sharp piece of metal with Troy at the other end. “I may not be the gallant sport you are, Remy, but I am an excellent cook and I have heard that Knight Errant’s can provide splendid meat.” By this point a grin had split Troy’s face as he looked down at him, silently thanking him for letting him recover his grip.