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Guys,

I started writing a fantasy novel a few months ago after finishing a sci fi novel I'm trying to get published and I just wanted to get a sense of whether its worth the effort. I'm posting the first two chapters and a prologue. I'm also thinking of posting the first three chapters of my sci fi novel as the publishers want only the first three chapters to make a decision and maybe you guys can be a barometer of how good those three chapters are...let me know if there's interest in that option.

Anyway, here's the prologue with two chapters to follow:



Prologue


“Tell us a story.”

The old man smiled, his wrinkled face crinkling in the bright campfire. He pulled the cloak around him, keeping the night chill away. Of course, the young ones gathered around him showed no sign of noticing the evening’s chill. Such was the way of the world.

He sighed heavily.

“So, you want to hear another tale?” He asked, his voice deep and resonate. In his youth, he commanded legions into battle, now he wove tales to entertain the new generations that followed.

We fought the war for that didn’t we? He thought to himself, admiring the fire in the children’s eyes. They were vibrant and alive. Gods, how he was happy for them. He had his time, it would soon be theirs. He hoped that the war that was fought, the sacrifices made would buy them a future that they deserved.

“Yes!” several shouted in unison.

“You all recall the past tales I’ve told, yes? Can you think about them for a moment, because they are very important in the telling of this story.”
The children leaned forward, eyes focused in rapt attention.

“There is the history of our wonderful world, Phantus. There is the first Age...do you remember what it was called?” He asked, looking out at each one.

“The Age of Dreams!” One young little boy shouted dramatically.

“Yes, the Age of Dreams, where Dragons filled the brand new skies and the Faye, the first great race trod paths of power. During this time of glory even the gods roamed freely, spreading their essences into things and places, these essences would later take on the form mages call manna. From manna springs magic, the stuff of power and enchantment. It is said that at this time Rom, the great sky father forged the very canopy of blue and black that covers our world, from his forge, the sun, sprang our world and all other places in our realm.
“His manna was the most potent of all, and soon he grew so powerful and his responsibilities so great that he needed other gods to aid him. His need to create set his blood on fire and from the sparks of this fire the gods came into being, lightning spilled from his eyes as he looked upon his new creation and he deemed it good. Among his children was the beautiful and wise Atrivia whom looked out upon the world and granted it the power of reason and knowledge, she would ever be the goddess of wisdom. Mighty Ajax strode the world, at times riding his warhorse and reveling in the conflicts that would soon be known as war. Silent Ninia sank into the sea and took it as a lover and from her sprang all manner of sea creatures and in from her rages sprang the mighty storms the wrack the Great Ocean Sea. Mysterious and dread Morgaine stood a silent watch over a great pit. None knew why and soon she was left to her own devices, but as time wore on, her’s would be an awful destiny.”

“What of the Faye?” One little girl asked.

He looked upon her and smiled wistfully.

“You have always loved tales of the Faye, have you not little one? Yes, well, the Faye were mighty back then, the only race to trod Phantus and they were marvelous, they shone with a light brighter than some of the gods and they built magnificent cities, floating on the clouds themselves. They were elemental children, plugged directly into nature itself and so they shared a special relationship with the world. It had been here before the gods, they merely filled it with the things we know so well, the mountains, seas, forests and animals. But the essence of what Phantus was has always been here and will always be here. The Faye were its children, always in tune with the essence of the world.

“At this time, they say, the gods grew jealous, for the Faye did not wish to see them as they were, instead they treated them as children. The Faye were here before the gods and they would be here after the gods. This did not sit well with the children of Rom and they conspired against the Faye.

“The unthinkable happened, a Faye died. It was to have tragic consequences that echo on into our own age, my young ones. You see, in the Age of Dreams, death itself was a dream, a fantasy to be contemplated. The first death solidified this fantasy, made it real. A great roar ripped through the eternal sky as life knew an end. Only one person laughed. Mysterious Morgaine keeping watch over the pit known as Gesh. She had been waiting for this moment since her creation and she threw open the pit and the first spirits of the dead rushed in to fill the yawning chasm that was Gesh. Morgaine had become the goddess of death and decay.”

Some of the children shuddered, several warily looking over their shoulders.

“The coming of death shattered the Dream, Phantus had finally awakened and the Age of Dreams was over. The gods fearing this mysterious force that swallowed everything and could not be stopped fled into the After Worlds and created realms of their own to escape this awful fate, but the After Worlds paled in comparison to Phantus, and ever would the gods look in on us and influence our world, for it had been their home for a timeless age.

With the end of the Age came the Sundering. The Faye, desperate to halt the progress of this plague and to atone for its creation, for some whispered that it was a Faye which had slain another which sparked it and not the gods at all, set on a course of action that would affect the world forever. They took their perfect essences and ripped themselves asunder, in the hopes that in the perfect light of their beings, new races would spring forth.

They were correct, out sprang five perfect eggs. Each bristling with possibility. The Faye as they began to fade away knew that they must bless these eggs from which the new races would spring or nothing would be remembered of them. The first egg they looked upon favorably and they stated that it would be the race that would most resemble them, they would inherit not only the fair aspect of the Faye but they would grant it their supernatural grace and most importantly of all, they would be like children of Phantus. They would be connected to nature itself. As imperfect offspring, their connections would never be as deep or primal as the Faye’s but it would do.”

“Who were they?”

“I see one was not listening too closely when I first told this tale. Never a mind, these were called Elohim, or to the more ignorant, Elves.”

“Next they came upon the next egg and the Faye called upon their mighty strength and lent it to the egg, then they called upon their resilient natures and fed it to the egg and finally gifted it with a love of crafts and creation that had allowed them to construct cities in the skies and weapons of wonderful power, for these beings would be the only ones with the secret of forging manna into things.”

“I know who they are!” one boy shouted and was quickly shushed by his older sister.

“The Drondasti or as some lacking manners would say, Dwarves.

“The next egg was smaller than the others and the Faye remembered their own youth and the children they would no longer have and as such they decided this race would be a monument to those lost generations. They gifted them with the sweet innocence that could turn any dark moment into light, the Faye’s joy that could light the darkest places of the earth and the powerful gift of truth that all children share but these would have in abundance.”

“They’re just like us!” One of the older ones piped up.

“They a became the Du’en or as they are known to the perpetually grumpy, Halflings.

“They came upon the fourth egg and they suddenly realized that there seemed to be no more gifts to give. The physical prowess had been given to the Elohim and Drondasti. The Du’en had inherited the gentler natures, what was left? Never fear, called out the leader of the Faye, we have the most important gift to give, we have to this being our inner most thoughts, we grant it our intelligence to out think the mighty Drondasti and the imperial Elohim. From this vast intelligence they will craft empires and cities that span the world, we then grant it our ambition and will to follow through with their mightiest creations. They will never look upon the world in satisfaction, they will strive forth, reaching for the horizon and never looking back, and most importantly of all, we grant them our most precious gift...our dreams, from which all reality springs forth and they can escape to them when they wish, for it is well known that among all the races of Phantus, only one dreams.”

“Us!” They shouted in excitement.

“Yes, this being they simply called man. The last egg lay forgotten and abandoned, it had been a stunted thing, the last vestiges of Faye power created it, but never truly completed it, so they abandoned the egg in their dying light. However, fate would be cruel and as the Faye died in their sacrifice, Morgaine goddess of death, angered by their defiance of this new force she wielded strode upon the plain of creation and demanded a halt to this new life. She cursed the newly formed beings, to feel her touch. The Faye, in a last effort could only shield one egg, the closest, the first, the Elohim. The rest hid from her power, the Drondasti found a great hiding place under the earth and they were merely brushed by her dark power, the Du’en fled into the hills, so small that it too barely touched them, but poor man, he was struck fully by her curse and man knew death all too quickly.

“Man managed to flee as well and there was only one egg left, Morgaine looked upon it and a cruel plan was conceived. She gifted it with a hunger for death and an ease from which to deal it. She called upon her brother Ajax to grant it a warlike spirit kindred to his own. Dark and twisted it arose and the first Orc was born. She bade it to hunt the others until they had all joined her realm, and filled up Gesh to the brim with souls. To this day, the awful bastard offspring of those noble beings wars against his brothers and sisters, blindly trying to carry out those first orders.

“The sundering continued as the Faye faded away and the Orcs multiplied, mating with all manner of beasts until it created Ogres. The Ogres found the lost tribes of man and enslaved them. For years man toiled for the Ogres and cried for a hero to come and rescue them. Rom, took a great interest in this being man, although a creation of the Faye, their fiery spirit and creativity appealed to him and he sent them not one, but two heroes.”

“The twins!” A little boy exclaimed.

“Yes, Tal and Rojas were their names and they were borne in the pain and suffering of human bondage. Tal was gifted with the knowledge of creation, in his mind lay the foundations for great inventions and wonders. Rojas was a warrior born, and he took to the art of war and mastered it before becoming a man. They escaped after a great storm washed away the city in which they were enslaved. Gathering their fellow men and women, they fled South, evading capture from the Ogres until coming to the mouth of the river Europhix. Here, Tal envisioned a mighty city that would span both banks of the river. Rojas envisioned an army from the band of refugees assembled before them.

Rom whispered to the rulers of the Drondasti kingdoms under the SeaHawk peaks and they offered friendship to the refugee kingdom sprouting before them. The Drondasti gave the twins a gift for each. Tal wanted stone masons to lay the foundations to his city. The Drondasti as we all know, are the finest stone masons on Phantus and they readily agreed to do as Tal asked. The Twin Cities were born on this day as the first stones were laid.

Rojas had a far more simple request. Weapons. He wanted a multitude of weapons and armor to supply the army he would soon raise. The Drondasti lords looked upon the ragged band Rojas planned to call an army and wondered how it would be possible.

Tal’s grand city became a beacon of hope for humanity. Slaves everywhere began to revolt and escape to this symbol of freedom. Rojas’ army grew steadily.

Imagine the shock among the Drondasti when within three years Rojas asked for more weapons and armor. He had formed the first two legions ever to march on Phantus, among them the legendary Homeguard. Of course, this success traveled far and the dread Ogre king heard of this human city and rumors of a human army. Ogres would not abide a city of vermin, much less an army of those same vermin growing on the border of their kingdoms, besides, human slaves were revolting at an alarming rate and it was time to squash this symbol of human independence.

Grigorix, the ogre king, assembled his horde and began a lengthy march to the Twin Cities. Human spies sent word and Rojas smiled as he realized that this was his moment, it was man’s moment.
He assembled his legions and bid farewell to his twin with whom he had never been parted and they knew that this may be the last time they would ever see each other. They held each other for a long moment and parted, Tal remaining in his growing city and dream, Rojas marching out to meet his destiny.

The armies met on the plains of Ithis. Rojas showed the ogres what strategy and tactics meant as his incredibly disciplined legions slaughtered Grigorix’s howling hordes. The battle was won and Rojas marched on the rest of the ogre kingdoms, riding the waves of victory and picking up new soldiers along the way.

The Tal-Rojan empire was born of these victories. The Ogre kingdoms fell, one by one until they were driven into the hinterlands, never to be seen as an organized force again. Man was master of his destiny again and he grew so powerful, sweeping across the entire continent and making an empire that stretched from the Great Ocean sea to the Tantalus. The other races could no longer deny the truth, this was the Age of man. The Drondasti in their great mountain halls watched man take his place of ascendance. The Du’en lived their lives as they always did, not truly caring whose flag fluttered overhead. The Elohim, unknown at the time, stayed in their northern havens, leaving the world to their younger brothers to rule.

The Tal-Rojan empire endured for millennia, surviving such upheavals that would have torn apart lesser kingdoms. Then, slowly but surely things began to unravel, and there were natural disasters and the migrations from other lands by barbarian hordes. Chief among these migrations were the Elohim who swept down from the North where some horrible cataclysm had taken place, burning all the manna to the north in one explosive blast that laid waste to hundreds of leagues of territory and destroyed magic forever in those lands.

The Valorians, horse lords from a land far to the East, beyond even the Iron Mountains, came searching for a land promised to them by their silent god, Eru. The Bashti revolts crippled the empire as well. Gladiators from the great games, the Bashti, led by Rek who they would call The Liberator, fled to the East. Renown for their martial prowess, they fought their way through war bands of Orcs streaming westward looking to test the floundering Tal-Rojan empire. They founded their first city, Vendara, and swore to free all men everywhere from slavery.

Mages did not escape these times of chaos. Living in solitude, many of these powerful men had grown to be consumed by hubris. They ruled their fiefdoms like gods, torturing and toying with the folk that were unfortunate enough to live near their keeps. Eventually, this was too much and the people rose as one and declared war against this men who thought themselves gods. The clerics of the pantheon were only too happy to lend their own form of magic in the battles that came to be known as the Mage slayer wars.

They were dragged from their towers of magic and burned as the frustration of centuries exploded into a decade of bloodshed and slaughter. The mages almost all died out, the only thing that saved them from eventual extinction was the largest flight of dragons ever seen since the Age of Dreams. They too were fleeing the catastrophe that destroyed the Northern marches and they were ancient wyrms of power and fire.
No army could withstand their rampage. However, an alliance of mages gathered near the shores of the Dragonscale Sea and did battle with the Dragon flight. Those present state that it was as if the world had gone mad as lightning erupted from the sky, water elementals summoned from the Dragonscale extinguished the infernos caused by the Dragon’s fiery breath. Mountains of earth rose up to meet the dragons as the air itself seemed to ignite with the manna fueled miracles run rampant.

The dragons were driven off and the human empire was saved. The mages were hailed as heroes. The survivors immediately took advantage of the good will fostered by their stand. They formed the Guilds to create an organization that would police itself and halt the spread of mad mages. The Guilds swore to the rest of humanity that they would never abuse of their fellows again and to this day, they have kept that promise. Of course, they never forgot the place the clerics of the pantheon played in the wars and they never forgave them.”

“How many guilds?” one little girl asked with a mischievous grin.

He snorted.

“I am the one that asks the questions, little one, but to answer that one it is simple, three guilds for the three faces of magic. There is the Sun Guild, representing the face of order and law. There is the Night Guild, representing the face of chaos and entropy, and the Moon Guild representing balance and nature.”

“Odd that, your story seems to focus on the Tal-Rojan empire, yet the Valorians were given a neat sentence, no mention of the Great Crossing, twenty years of hard traveling through lands that hated us, through Orcrist and the blood thirsty orcs, giants and other barbarian hordes. Driven solely by two wills, Tyree, Eru’s favored son and first king of Valorian and Eru, the All Father. He promised a land to dwell in till the ending of the world. We followed this edict and have settled in Valorian and we have become a pillar of the new world.” a young man said with much pride but just the right touch of humility. He looked closely at the young man. He was quiet and powerful, proud nose and sparkling sharp black eyes. He had the look of royalty about him, most Valorians did. Something about those people demanded that they be noticed, and in many instances followed.

“If you wish to tell stories young one, then you may, but this is my story. Valorian figures quite prominently in this upcoming tale. You must be patient.”

The young man nodded slowly and settled down. Disciplined and honorable, those qualities had saved them so long ago.

“Where was I? Oh yes,” a look of sadness crept into his eyes. “The empire fell. Man was cast into darkness and ruin for a time, but then the Bashti rose up and they formed their own empire, declaring slavery illegal in this new world and beating the orcs back until they had nearly over run all of Orcrist. To the west, the Valorians had settled into their promised land, previously Tal-Rojan lands mind you.” he added with a playful scowl at the young Valorian who smiled. “They formed an alliance with the Elohim known as the Silvan brotherhood. This was unheard of, mind you. The Elohim had swept down into the Starfall Wood and declared it the Elohim Heartlands. The Tal-Rojan empire too weak to do anything watched helplessly as lands that had all once been under one banner and under human control were now apportioned to barbarians and non-humans.

“The Elohim declared the Heartlands off limits to humans and any human found within its boundaries would be summarily executed. They called it the Silvan Concorde. The Green legion, the elite unit created to fight in forests and wooded areas was lost during this time, the Elohim advance was so quick that many assumed they had simply been over run. What no one would know for 500 years was that the Green legion formed a separate peace with the Elohim and were declared the Sanctioned Ones, humans allowed to live within the Heartlands. Outsiders simply called them Rangers.”

The Tal-Rojan empire further splintered as a group of merchant city states declared themselves independent and came to be known as the Eagle Talon Confederacy, The Du’en found themselves independent for the first time in millenia but they did not even notice. Silently, they fell under the protection of the Elohim and the Valorians. The summer estates of Mandara fell under the sway of a mad emperor and declared themselves a theocracy with the emperor as Rom incarnate. This madness continued for sometime.

“The Bashti expansion eastward was so rapid and successful that it gave rise to the name of this new age - The Age of Expansion and Conquest. They were reaching heights of greatness, when a dark time came to our realm as from the north descended an army that quickly crushed and captured the northernmost provinces of the Bashti empire. I won’t go into the details of the endless series of Dominion-Bashti wars that followed. All that is important to remember is that The Dominion had arrived in our story and they were led by Shytak the Foul one, Shytak the endless, Shytak the Butcher, whatever appellation you would like to accept, most of them fit his nature and some don’t even come close in describing the evil inherent in this undead sorcerer.

“Shytak hungered after the Bashti empire and little by little he whittled it down, one province at a time. Even the orcs started to return in numbers and they too drove the noble Bashti back until the empire had shrunk to nearly half its size at the time of its glory.”

His voice dropped perceptibly and he looked out at his assembled audience. They were all quiet now, leaning in a bit closer.

“This is where our story begins, the Elohim content in their wood, the Bashti braced for another war, the Tal-Rojans consumed in another round of self examination and political in fighting, the Valorians oblivious to the world around them, content to revel in the worship of their god and knights questing for adventure, the Drondasti feeling secure in their mighty mountains, the Du’en wanting the world to stay away from them and the world simply was taking a deep breath, for a storm was coming...”

“What kind of story is it?” one little girl asked.

“Will there be love?” her older sister added immediately.

“Oh yes, there will most certainly be love. Love that challenges the very gods themselves, love that breaches the veil between life and death, and love that redeems a fallen angel.”

“Adventure, I want adventure.”

“Oh, mighty warriors will clash on the field of battle, great siege engines will breach walls that were once unbreachable, heroes will stride the world like giants and they will come face to face with the greatest forces of darkness ever before assembled. Damsels in distress and men in distress will be rescued by these same heroes. Dragons will be slain, kingdoms will crumble, forgotten legends remembered and the world will never be the same, for an Age will die and another will rise up in its place.”

“Magic, will there be magic?”

“Magic you say? Mages will make war upon each other and let loose such power that will make the world tremble. They will make war upon one of their own who has transcended death, the Guilds will be broken and a new order will rise.”

“Will good conquer evil in the end?” one lone voice asked from the back.

He peered over the crowd and smiled mysteriously.

“That remains to be seen....you see the story never truly ends...but come now...it is time to tell my tale, and it begins with a gathering storm.”

Hmm me = find very nice so Stravo can write more than vs fanfics

Unity War

Book One:
The Gathering Storm

by

Frank Fontaine



Olivia floated alone in the void. She could feel the deep heart beat of the universe reverberating through the darkness. She felt the biting cold of the void eating at her and she held herself in a vain attempt to warm herself. There was no warmth in the darkness.

She heard the scream begin as a small buzz in the background, grow to a low murmur and the darkness began to shake around her. She felt herself begin to fall in the darkness. The scream came.

It shattered the darkness with a primordial intensity. Light flooded in and fire burned away the darkness and cold. Olivia fought the natural reaction to cover herself from the fire and instead steeled herself, stared into the firestorm and withered the scream. She no longer mattered, only the vision did. Atrivia, the goddess, was speaking to her and one did not turn away from her when she spoke.

The void was replaced by a large statue, carved from the unearthly white marble quarried from the Sea hawk Peaks. The statue was the famous one of Rek the liberator that stood proudly in the main square of the city of Vendara. This statue was a wonder of the Bashti empire, standing at the center of the city, it towered over all other structures yet its features were carved with care so that the face was completely life like.

The scream continued, long and ragged. She could feel the pain in the scream. Pain of incredible loss and betrayal. It was a scream of a parent who had lost a child. The scream pierced her like a lance and she almost doubled over in pain. The statue was screaming.

She looked up at the proud face of Rek the Liberator and she was shocked to see streaks of crimson running down the statue’s marble face. The Liberator was crying!

Then she heard the drumbeats. The drumming was incessant and evil, like a great black heart. She saw the dark shapes congregating around the feet of the great statue. They danced around in great loping apelike movements. She instantly recognized the silhouettes and the ape motions as belonging to Orcs. Orcs, the primordial enemy of man and the mortal enemy of the valiant Bashti empire.

Orcs, celebrating at the feet of the founder of the Bashti empire. The empire that had fought the orcs in a series of bitter wars and forced them across the river Tantalus and away from the human heartlands. Now they celebrated in the very center of the Bashti empire at the foot of their greatest monument.

Could it be? Was it possible that the vision was foretelling the Bashti’s fall?

The statue’s scream ended abruptly and it exploded in a shower of white marble. She noted in horror that the white marble shifted into black droplets of blood and gore that splattered all around her. She turned away only to face a large burly man standing in front of an anvil.
He was beating on the anvil and she knew that this was the source of the evil drumbeat that the orcs had danced to in glee. The man looked up at her with eyes black as pitch. He smiled and it disarmed her. The smile was a kind one, almost gentle.

“Olivia, you are confused?” He asked in a gentle voice but thunder rolled behind it. She knew the voice of a god.

“You are Rom, lord of the sky.” She said in a low voice. He smiled again and commenced to beat on the anvil. He was shaping something with his hammer. His arms were massive and the muscles rippled like living entities. He was lord of the pantheon. Creator of the heavens and all life underneath it. He was lord of Phantus and patron god of the Tal-Rojan empire. She had never met him before. Her visions had never gone beyond sporadic images she had trained for years to interpret.

“Olivia, high priestess of Atrivia, my fair and wise daughter.”

So many questions fluttered through her mind. Why was the High god speaking to her. Why was Atrivia not present? What did the images mean?

“Your questions will all be answered, high priestess. But time is short.”
His tone had grown urgent and for the first time she noticed how pale he looked. Almost like a ghost. Something was wrong with the vision, it felt strained and disjointed. Usually when Atrivia sent her a vision it was a startling panorama of images which she had to interpret with her wisdom. Instead this vision seemed to come in spurts, almost as if it were being blocked by something else.

“Your wisdom is indeed worthy to be high priestess of my daughter’s followers. You are correct, something is in the air, sweet Olivia. A dark power is rising, a storm is coming.”

Thunder followed his words and the air grow heavy with humidity. Angry thunder heads roared in overhead blocking out the bright sky. She saw sprawling green forests stretch out before her. Massive trees, some as old as Phantus itself, rose up into the sky trailing behind them a thick canopy of emerald leaves.

She heard the bird song floating on the cool spring breeze that came in off the great Dragon Scale Sea. The smell of blossoms clung to everything here and the pale white petals of dozens of wild flowers danced on the breeze that caressed her as she walked into this huge stronghold of nature. The colors were vibrant and alive. Life stirred under the foliage. Animals raced away into the deeper wilderness leaving behind only fleeting images. She felt the ground shift underneath her with every step. The soil virtually bursting with life. Leaves stirred in her passage and crowned her head in a verdant green crown.

She closed her eyes and listened. Listened to the still wind that carried upon it the sounds of birds, chirping insects. The stirring of great trees. A brook was babbling loudly just over a hill top. The cool sound of the running stream made her want to race to it and plunge into its cool waters. To bathe in the purity of this silvan paradise.

“Do you know this place?”

She nodded, feeling the answer welling up within her. She had never been here but she had heard so many tales of the great forests to the north of the Twin Cities. This was the Elohim Heartlands. The home of the elves.

Then the harsh beating began again. Rom was pounding on his anvil and it completely distorted the sounds of the forest. The bird song withered to a long mournful call for the past. The babbling brook became the harsh marching feet of an army on the move. The chirping insects became the sounds of the wounded, moaning for attention and relief. The soft breeze angered into a storm.

The storm screamed through the air like a wild animal in search of prey. The sky darkened to a wild black that frightened her. It threatened death and chaos. The trees screamed as their leaves were peeled off in violent cascades of green. The leaves themselves sickened to a pitiful black and they showered Olivia.

She turned back to Rom, fear gnawing at her.

“Rom! What is happening?! The forest is dying!”

He looked at her sadly and she noted with a growing sense of alarm how pale Rom had become. She could see the silhouettes of the objects behind him as if he were some great old dusty mirror, which reflected objects around it rather dully.

“You have answered your own question, daughter of Atrivia. The great Elohim Heartlands are dying around you. The storm that has overwhelmed the Bashti has screamed across the land to come here.”

“What is this storm?” She almost screamed at him as the wind kicked up and almost took her off her feet.

He answered but it was drowned out in a clap of thunder. Great angry red walls of fire hungrily lapped at the huge trees of the Heartlands. She could feel it all dying around her and then she heard the desperate cries of the Elohim themselves.

The Elohim. The care takers of this realm. They tended to the forests with a supernatural care. Now they died with their forests. She saw them moving with a grace that only they had. Leaping from tree to burning tree in a desperate attempt to put out the blaze that devoured them. Their movements, as graceful as they were, did not hide the fear and desperation they felt as they moved. She could feel their pain. Just as they were linked to this verdant land so they died by it. As the forest went so did the Elohim follow. Into ashes.

“So safe and secure in their realm. In their hubris they have withdrawn from the world of man in a tragically mistaken belief in their own timelessness and invulnerability. Now they pay the price for a lack of vision.” Rom intoned and continued to beat on his anvil. She squinted through the stinging clouds of hot embers and saw that he was shaping an object on his forge. What it was she could not decipher.

The screams of the Elohim became louder and more desperate. They fell burning from the treetops. Death blossoms of fire falling to earth in a vain attempt to extinguish themselves. She cupped her hands over her ears to try to block out the pain. It was useless. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as more and more plunged to earth. The great glades of trees began to shriek like human children and collapse under the devouring touch of the flame.

“You will need this daughter.” Rom said through the frenzy and held up an intricately carved sigil. It still glowed red hot and he plunged the sigil into a bucket of water by his feet. Steam erupted into a geyser around her, clouding the vision and muting the screams.

Olivia tried to calm herself. She breathed in and out and tried to remember the sigil that he had shown her. Its image was so blurred and indistinct that she could not remember. How could that be. Her sight was second to none. She could always bring back the information in the visions Atrivia sent her. What was happening?!

She screamed in panic despite all her years of training in self control. It all slipped away when confronted with the impossible. The gods did not speak clearly to her anymore. How was she to lead her people without the divine guidance?

Then she found herself floating in the air of an azure blue cloudless sky. Down below a great land sprawled beneath her feet. She was higher than any bird ever dared to fly. She felt suddenly jubilant.

This land was bright and new. As fair as when Phantus was first crafted by the celestial lords. She could see huge rolling hills and massive forests that beckoned to her in innocent wonder. Great rivers cut through the land in swathes of the palest blue. She felt as if this land had not been touched by man. Then she heard the call of the great blue falcon.
She looked up into the sky and saw the falcon soaring above her. It glided in an elegance that brought a smile of awe to her face. It screamed again in a call of love. The falcon dove in toward her and plummeted below her feet. It rose again, cobalt blue wings extended in a powerful sweep of muscles.

She felt the updraft of wind catch her like a child’s kite and whip her up higher. She laughed out loud in utter joy. The falcon came up underneath her and she settled on its back. She could feel the power coursing through the great bird as it continued its flight over the pristine land below her.

The falcon seemed to speak to her. Ease her fears. It soothed her with an overwhelming sense of love and devotion. She could feel its love humming in the being of the falcon. She knew the falcon would never allow any harm to come to her. She was its lady. No higher honor could be bestowed upon her.

She ran her fingers through the thick cobalt blue feathers of the falcon and urged it higher. The falcon soared up closer to the sun. She shouted her joy into the sky and held on to the loving falcon. Memory faded for a moment as she became one with the sky they were dancing in.
She could feel the certainty in the falcon. It was sure of its place in the world and a deep fire burned within it. A fire of faith. Faith in the one god that it worshiped. The falcon was at peace with itself and had no need for the outside world. All it had was all it needed. A sense of peace had settled over Olivia and the falcon.

Then the pounding began again. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. No, not here.

The falcon began to climb again and she held on tightly. Then she heard a thunderclap and the falcon screamed. Not a scream of love or devotion but one of pain. She felt hot liquid splash against her cheek.
Olivia’s eyes snapped downward and saw the jet black arrow jutting out of the falcon’s wing. Bright crimson blood smeared across the wicked barbs of the head of the arrow. The falcon’s flight faltered then it began a quick spiral downward. The sky had darkened into a tempestuous black tapestry. The storm was here.

Olivia screamed and held on to the falcon, begging it to rise into the air. To overcome the pain and conquer its impending death. But the evil arrow glinted evilly and she noted for the first time the smears of grey on the barbs. Poison tipped. The falcon was dying.

She cried for the death of such a noble beast. Why?

As the ground rose up to meet them she found herself fading from view and soon all there she could see was the thick mist that brought her here. She faced Rom, who was nothing more than a ghost. She could see right through him, all substance was gone and even his voice seemed faraway.

“Olivia, the falcon is too engrossed in its own pride and faith to look beyond its lands. The falcon does not know that the storm is coming for it too. An unseen hunter stalks it from below. The falcon must be warned.”

The mist parted as if by a strong wind and she saw the glorious Twin Cities, her home, glowing in the darkness. But it was not glowing because of the light of hundreds of homes. It was not glowing from the light of the eternal torch that stood proudly atop the highest tower of the city, Rom’s tower. It was not lit up because it was the largest and greatest city on Phantus.

The Twin Cities were burning.

Fire was spreading everywhere. Destroying the centuries old wonders of the city. The massive ivory walls that had protected the glorious city were battered down by massive siege engines and dark figures were roaming the streets like hungry predators. These were not the shapes of orcs that brought fire and death to the Twin Cities.

She looked closer, feeling the heat from the fires and hearing the screams of the dying. The wounded were cowering in the shadow of the temple of Eres goddess of healing and fertility. The temple of Atrivia lay in ruin. Blasted by Rom knows what manner of siege engines. Blood ran through the streets in rivers. She waded through this panorama of death that she knew must please Morgaine, goddess of death and decay. And what of Ajax, god of war? Was he in his blood lust now, rejoicing at the doom brought about by man’s insane desire for destruction? The gods must be divided in this destruction.

Then she saw them. Jet black armor, moving in quick organized packs, like wolves. Their blades in their hands, stained with the blood of hundreds of innocents who did not ask for death. The armor was as black as night, as black as their hearts. She recognized the standard they bore on their chests. The standard told her all she needed to know about the threat that faced the Twin Cities and all of Phantus. That which threatened to engulf the Bashti empire in hordes of orcs, the burning of the Elohim Heartlands to the north, the killing of the noble falcon to the west, it all belonged to the madness and evil of one man.

Shytak of the Dominion.

The black knights stopped and stared at her. Their expressions unseen behind their jet black visors, the standard of the Dominion on their chests. A red open hand, fingers fully splayed open with crimson streaks coming outward from the hand in various directions like the rays of a hidden sun.

“There’s one, get her!” One barked.

The others raced after her, blades extended to add her blood to all the others.

Olivia turned and ran, only to face the sight of a huge eagle laid out on the steps of the Tal-Rojan senate. It had numerous wounds festering on it’s body. A figure crawled toward the eagle. The figure was dressed in the armor of a Tal-Rojan warrior, the golden armor of High Centurion of the Tal-Rojan Home Guard.

Olivia shook her head in denial. No, not him, not here.

Marcus Decimus Antonitus, High Centurion of the Tal-Rojan Home guard crawled to protect the eagle, blood spilling from wounds all over his body, his armor pierced all across his chest. He held his blade in his only good hand, the other gnarled by blood and a vicious wound to his arm that had destroyed the nerves working his hand. Marcus crawled under one wing of the great eagle and waited death with the symbol of the Tal-Rojan empire, the eagle.

Marcus saw her and she almost screamed his name. He smiled weakly at her, as was his way. Marcus would never show weakness even at a moment such as this. He was Marcus Antonitus, there was no moment to admit fear.

“The eagle stood alone just as Ganymede predicted, Olivia.” He coughed and blood stained his lips. He looked into her eyes, this time he looked angry, as if betrayed.

“The falcon did not come to save the eagle as he predicted later. All is lost. The storm has come and we have fallen. All I regret is not telling you how much I loved you.”

Olivia could no longer see him through the veil of tears in her eyes.
“But you have.” She whispered then she felt the cold steel hands of the knights grab her and whip her around. She screamed as they brought their blades to her heart.

“Die vile witch!”

She kicked and pulled on one knight’s visor, ripping it off. Underneath was the rotting face of a corpse. Flesh hung off it in tatters and it had one good eye that was turned upwards toward the heavens. She screamed even louder now and the knights spoke with a voice that chilled her soul.
The voice was dark and malevolent. It spoke with the absolute certainty of madness. The voice ripped through all of her illusions like a cold blade. It laid her bare and forced her to face the vision in its entirety. The voice belonged to something that was not dead yet not alive. To an entity that wielded power of magicks long ago forgotten by others. It ruled its kingdom in absolute power.

This was the voice of Shytak.

“They may try to warn you but it is too late. I have shut them away from the world. They can no longer help you. Humanity faces me alone. I will crush the Bashti then sweep westward to burn out the arrogant Elohim, and stalk the oblivious Valorian into oblivion. Then of course there are the Twin Cities. You see what I have planned here do you not foul priestess!” The voice hissed. The knights turned her head and forced her to look upon the Twin Cities.

The fires had spread everywhere and nothing remained untouched. Dead lay sprawled everywhere. Men, women, children even their animals lay slaughtered in piles all around the once great city. Knights moved through the corpse of the city like vile maggots. Laying waste to all they could find that had not been sullied by their touch already.

She felt the cold touch of the blade on her neck.

“They can no longer help you, Phantus is mine. This is my storm, it has a name, Shytak. Now join your people spying witch. Your vision has a price, your life!”

The blade tensed on her neck and Olivia refused to scream. She closed her eyes and prepared to face the inevitable.

“No! You have no power over her here. She is still ours!” The voice of Rom boomed over the cacophony of terror and death. The feeling of the blade on her neck was gone.

She fell to her knees and she cried.

All gone.

Marcus was gone.

Rom touched her shoulder but she felt almost no substance in the touch. She looked up through tear swollen eyes.

“Is it true? Are you leaving us?”

He too looked as if he were about to cry.

“Dear Olivia, we would never leave mankind. We are their gods, we watch over them, guide them. What is happening is not by our design. Shytak has found a way to block us from this world. We no longer can communicate with our priests and priestesses. Our power is cut off from the mortal world. This is our last act before the shroud covers all of the world.”

“Your power is cut off from your clerics?!” She cried out in urgency. Without the power of the gods the clerics themselves were powerless. They received all of their magick from the divine will of the god they worshiped.

“No, Olivia. The shroud does not prevent all intercourse with humanity. The shroud cannot completely block the sacred link between the gods and their focus here on Phantus. We can still lend a portion of our power to humanity when called upon.”

“You speak as if our power will be diminished.”

Rom frowned, and she noted with alarm that he actually faded from view for a moment.

“I’m afraid that the even though the shroud cannot block all intercourse it does interfere with that most scared link with humanity. Our power will diminish an in accordance so will the magick of our clerics. They will soon realize this if they have not already.”

Olivia wanted to believe that this was all a horrid dream. Not a vision. That she would awaken and all this was nothing more than the figments of a bad promegenant.

“Listen closely, my power is almost gone, the shroud has fallen over the world, and only I, the lord of the pantheon and sky can speak now if only briefly. The vision was clear as we could make it and to show you how powerful he has grown he even tried to murder you while under my protection. You must warn those empires that I have shown you. Only then can you face Shytak. Alone each of you will fall easily before the might of this devil.”

“His ambition is not limited to this world. Should you all fall he will turn his sights upon the pantheon itself. Without humanity’s faith to reinforce our own power we will surely fall to his fell magicks. If you must remember anything you must remember that in Unity there is strength. Above all Shytak fears unity.”

Rom’s voice began to fade and his body winked out of existence.

“Do not fear the unknown, Olivia. The gods have invested their fate in you and by extension, humanity. Your fate is in your own hands. We have faith in you.”

The voice was gone as was the mist. She stood alone on a barren featureless plain. An object glinted at her feet. She bent over and picked it up.

The sigil.

She looked at it closely now and saw that it was in a shape she could not recognize. It was a magick sigil in a letter she did not know. Power hummed in it. She knew that it was a key. A key to her mission. How to use it still escaped her.

“You will never use it.” The voice whispered in her ear.

She whirled around in fear. The corpse knight stood before her and it whipped its hand out choking her. Olivia kicked out and tried to break the steel like vise. The knight let out a guttural laugh and continued choking the life out of her.

“It is over for you, prying priestess! You will be the first to fall.”

“No!!” She screamed.

It’s grip closed her throat even further and her lungs were on fire. She tried desperately to gasp for life giving air but none came to her lungs. She struck at the knight in a futile effort to loosen its grip. She even tried to strike it with the sigil in the hope that some magick it was imbued with would protect her. Instead, the knight smiled obscenely and tightened its grip further. Blood roared in her ears and her vision began to blacken into a blurred tunnel.

“Death comes for you witch. The world has no savior now. No warning for its impending doom. I have foiled the gods’ last desperate plan. Fools! No one defeats Shytak. The end will come in a storm of rage.” It spat at her. She felt consciousness beginning to slip away and her pain became dull and faraway. In a last ditch effort she called on the only person she could count on.

“Marcus!!!”

There was a thunderclap and the sky exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors and shattered images. Sweet air flooded into her lung and she gasped loudly, gulping it down like sweet nectar.

She felt strong arms around her and remembered the corpse knight. She screamed and reflexively pulled away. The arms would not let her go. But a voice called out her name.

“Olivia, please, High Priestess it is me.”

Her eyes snapped open and she saw a face she thought she would never see again. The face was young, younger than one expected from someone with the responsibility of the defense of a nation. He had dark grey eyes that were clouded with worry. He had the proverbial Tal-Rojan aristocratic nose, long and aquiline. His face was capped with a mane of blonde hair that was well kept and ran over his shoulders.

Marcus Antonitus, High Centurion of the Tal-Rojan Home guard was sitting in her bed holding her tightly with his large callused warrior’s hands. They were not the soft hands of the average Tal-Rojan patrician’s hands. They were the hands of one who has fought in numerous campaigns. His experience was also reflected in his eyes. Although he had a young face, he was the youngest High centurion in Tal-Rojan history, his eyes betrayed experience far beyond his years. They were the eyes of one who has seen it all. An old man’s eyes.

“Marcus.” She gasped.

“It is I, you called for me, high priestess. In your sleep. The attendants claimed you were in the throes of a most violent nightmare. I came as soon as they called.”

Olivia looked around her room to orient herself. She was lying in the center of a huge bed, more than three times her size. The silk sheets were strewn about in clumps and were damp with her sweat. She could smell the fear in her room. She could also smell the air, heavy with humidity of a coming storm.

The storm! The realization steeled her into action. She had no time to cower in her bed like a frightened little girl. She was Olivia Agrippa, High priestess of the temple of Atrivia, goddess of wisdom. She could not delight in the luxuries of those who did not have responsibilities.
She rose from the bed quickly and with a purpose. Something thumped onto the floor.

“What’s this?” Marcus asked as he bent over to pick whatever fell off the floor.

She turned slightly to investigate and almost gasped when she saw what Marcus held in his hand.

The sigil.

He held the sigil of her vision in his hands. It had come through with her from her vision! This had never happened before in all her life. The gods had given her something and it crossed over with her.

“Give it to me.” Olivia demanded. Marcus looked surprised by the steel in her voice. He handed it over to her and as their hands touched. There was the sudden electric jolt of emotion at the contact between them. She looked into his eyes and saw those beautiful grey eyes regard her with a softness she had never seen in him. He was the consummate warrior. He never showed tenderness or compassion. Yet whenever Olivia was in his sight he always had a tender word for her. His eyes never grew hard. He was someone else for her.

She turned away with the sigil gripped firmly in her hand. She must not allow him to see any emotion in her eyes. She could never return the feeling he had for him.

He was promised to the niece of a descendent of the emperor’s line. She would never want to inflict any hardship on him because of her own weakness and lack of control over her own emotions.

Most important of all was her own oath to her goddess. Atrivia preached that the fount of all wisdom in humanity came from women. Men were slaves to their own passions and drives. Women must remain calm at all times to allow the wisdom that was their birthright to flow from Atrivia. As such no men were allowed as priests of Atrivia and more to the point in Olivia’s case, the high priestess of Atrivia must always remain unsullied by the touch of man, a virgin until the day she dies or abdicates her position. Thus far in the last two millennia no high priestess of Atrivia had ever abdicated her position.

The sigil hummed in her hand and gave her the strength she needed to go on with her plan. She must warn the others. The preparations must be made now.

“Marcus, I have had a powerful vision sent to me by Atrivia.”

“Priestess.” He said and stood up from the bed. He wore the great golden armor of the High Centurion of Tal-Roja. On the floor by her bed was the golden helm of his office. Great red plumes from the fire birds of the Sea hawk Peaks adorned the top of the helm. He may have been summoned quickly but he never traveled without his armor. It signified all that he was. His muscular arms hung at his sides calmly waiting. He was tall for a Tal-Rojan as was she. As she glided over to her bureau she instantly realized by the chill on her flesh that she had been sleeping naked and Marcus had been very professionally keeping his eyes on her face.

She motioned to the attendants standing in the doorway. They quickly skirted past Marcus and the attendants, acolytes of the order, expertly tended to their high priestess. One draped two tunics over her arm to display them to Olivia. One was a pale rose colored tunic with her badge of office stitched prominently on its shoulder, the other was a sharp white tunic that had the badge of office embroidered on the crimson sash that she must always wear at her waist.

She pointed to the white tunic as another acolyte began brushing her hair with an intricate silver brush. She turned slightly to face Marcus. She noted with pride that he had kept his eyes on her face. He was not one simply drawn to her by basic instincts of the flesh. What he felt for her was true.

What she felt for him was true as well.

But it could never be.

“I need heralds to be called forth and riders to accompany them.”

“For what purpose?” Marcus asked curiously, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The acolyte behind her slipped the tunic over her head and quickly fit it over her body and tied the sash off in an ornate knot. The other acolyte stopped brushing her hair and placed an ornate silver hairpin through her hair and reached for her pale brown calfskin boots.

“There is a great danger to Tal-Roja, Marcus. A danger that will require us to move quickly.”

“A danger to Tal-Roja!? I will mobilize the Home guard!” Marcus snapped. Before she could say anything else he was mobilized. A danger to Tal-Roja was something he could never let pass. He was responsible for the safety of the once great empire and Marcus took his responsibility very seriously.

“Comsus!” Marcus barked over his shoulder.

Comsus strode into the room in proper military fashion and snapped to attention. His fist raised to his heart in a quick salute. Comsus was Marcus’ aid de camp. He was his right hand and Marcus had every confidence in the slightly older man. He had the look of a grizzled sergeant but was immaculate in his manner.

“Your orders, High Centurion?” He asked in a clipped conservative tone.
“Mobilize the Home guard. I want all barracks on alert and call in the cavalry from the fields. I want the city gates shut and in siege preparations by the time I get back to my headquarters.”

“Yes sir!” Comsus replied bruskly and snapped his salute. He began to turn sharply on his heel when Olivia spoke again.

“Marcus! Hold!”

Marcus raised his hand and Comsus stopped his turn and stood at attention. Olivia wondered sometimes if the man was nothing more than an automaton. He always acted in proper military fashion. Never a wasted motion, or hair out of place. It was uncanny sometimes. She could see why Marcus depended on him so much.

“You must hear me first. The danger is not here, yet. First, I must warn all the others in danger.”

“Who, High Priestess?”

“First, we must warn our allies the Bashti of an impending attack.”

“From who?”

“The Dominion.”

“The Dominion? Again?!” Marcus’ voice betrayed the resigned bitterness of the rest of Phantus concerning Dominion and Bashti relations. The Dominion and Bashti had fought a series of bitter wars throughout the Third Age. News of another war was not a surprise to anyone. They were bitter foes, grappling to the death. This time however there was an added wrinkle that would surprise everyone about this particular Dominion-Bashti war.

“And the Orcs to the East.”

“Orcrist?! Dear Priestess, if the Bashti were to face the combined might of the orcs and Dominion at the same time, I fear for them. It will be a dark day in Bashti.” Marcus said gravely.

“Fear for us all noble Marcus. This attack will not stop at the Bashti frontier. This time Shytak wants all of Phantus under his boot.”

Marcus nodded and looked at Comsus. Comsus nodded crisply and continued standing at attention.

“Second, we must send a detachment up north to the Elohim Heartlands.”
“Whatever for?” Marcus asked loudly. Outrage colored his voice. She sighed. She knew this was going to be the hardest part of her mission of warning.

Relations between the Tal-Rojan and Elohim were chilly at best. The Tal-Rojans were still bitter about losing the Star fall wood to the Elohim migrations and they constantly suspected the Elohim of attack and kept a watch on them since the fall of the wood so long ago.

The Elohim did not make it any easier to trust them. They had proclaimed the wood territory of the Elohim and a protectorate from the hands of man who had almost destroyed the wood before their arrival. The Elohim in a declaration known as the Silvan Concorde declared that any human found in their wood would be killed, no exceptions. The Elohim prosecuted the Concorde zealously.

Marcus by all rights should be surprised and hesitant. It was up to Olivia to change all that.

“Marcus, please. We must warn the Elohim of the impending attack.”

“Why must we warn them?! When has Shytak ever attacked the Elohim.
Everyone knows it would be madness to strike at those devils in their own wood. I myself would never dream of such an attack. It would be tactical idiocy to challenge them on their own soil. The Elohim fight like phantoms in their treetops, showering their foes with their damnable arrows.”

“Marcus,” Olivia tried to interrupt.

“I cannot accept the fact that there will be an attack on the foul Elohim.” He said loudly.

She sometimes found it hard to love this man. This was one of those times. Marcus was a patrician, what he knew was fact, his opinions ruled his life, no matter that they may be outdated or based on nothing more than fancy. He was so thick headed and stubborn sometimes that she wondered why she ever felt anything for him.

Then he looked at her with those stormy grey eyes and she knew why.
Still, he must be taught a lesson.

“How dare you question the will of Atrivia.” She said in an imperial whisper. The exact tone and cadence carried with it a secret power. Magick. Handed down from generation to generation of high priestesses. The power to glamour, strike fear or cow with the voice was key to a high priestess. Her voice was her sword, and Olivia’s sword was sharp.
Marcus stopped in mid-sentence and stared at her. His grey eyes betrayed shock and shame crept into his face.

Olivia stalked toward him forcing the acolyte that was trying to put her boots on to jump back.

“You are High Centurion, master of the armed forces of our empire. I am the High priestess of Atrivia, the goddess who has been the keeper of lore and wisdom for our empire since the time when Tal-Roja founded the Twin Cities here at the mouth of the great river Europhix. She has guided our empire from its inception, giving her advice in visions to her priestesses so that they may pass this on to the leaders of our empire. The emperors and now the senate. Do you presume to know more than the goddess, than I”

She said her words in the same imperial whisper. Each word spoken into his face and staring into those eyes. Now more than ever she could not succumb to emotion. She had to succeed or all of Phantus would fall. There was so little time.

He blinked under the verbal assault. Each word working its magick in his will. Forcing him to confront her logic, battering down his stubborn views.

“High priestess, I do not assume to...question your orders.” He said hesitantly. Comsus frowned.

“Good, then prepare to send our representatives to the Elohim Heartlands.”

“There is one problem, High priestess,” Marcus added hastily.

She looked at him intently.

“They will kill any who enter their wood.”

“That is why the escort must enter unarmed, and I will join them.”

“You?!” He exclaimed.

“Yes, I will go with them. It is Atrivia’s will.”

“Never mind that! No High Priestess has ever left the enclosures of the Twin Cities. You can’t quote history or pedigree at me now. I won’t allow you to be the first.”

Olivia fumed and stalked over to her dresser. The acolyte rushed over and slipped on her boots, one at a time as Olivia thought about her argument. Marcus was right. No high Priestess had ever left the safety of the Twin Cities throughout the long reign of the Tal-Rojan empire. Marcus had all precedent and history on his side. Olivia had the will of Atrivia on hers. She gave a silent prayer to Atrivia and forged ahead.
“Marcus, I have seen it as clearly as day. The gods have made it clear to me. I must go ahead with our ambassadors with this.”

She held up the sigil. The humming seem to grow louder. Marcus stared at the sigil. He seemed to see something that Olivia did not. Comsus stared at it as well, a look of awe on his face. Just what was it they saw. The sigil grew warm in her hands. The humming died down again to a low buzz.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon.” Marcus said quietly. Comsus looked sharply at Marcus.

“May I speak, noble Marcus.”

“Please, Comsus. You’re advice is always welcome.” Marcus said warmly. He smiled at his aide.

So, Olivia noted, he is also his friend as well as most trusted aid. Marcus chose his friends well. Comsus had a clean aura about him, free of deception and mistrust.

“With all due respect, we cannot be lulled into allowing the high priestess to leave on account of what we have seen or what we think we saw. The fact is it would be a terrible thing should the high priestess be killed by the Elohim. Especially if dark times are ahead as she claims.”
Marcus nodded sagely.

“Comsus has a point, High priestess. If you are killed our link with Atrivia will be broken, just when we need her wisdom the most.”

“Marcus, if I am to be killed it is the will of the gods and nothing, not even the walls of the Twin Cities, can save me. If it is the will of the gods that I see the Elohim then nothing, not even you, can stop me from doing so.”

“You’ll go alone?” Marcus asked in horror.

“If I must.” Olivia answered earnestly. Her eyes never wavered from Marcus’. Comsus shook his head slowly. Resignation.

“I have no choice then.”

“None at all. Even if you were to set guard outside my door I will find a way. This means so much to me, please Marcus.”

Marcus looked at her a long time. Then he smiled. The smile melted her heart and she smiled back at him. He looked so radiant. She would deny him nothing, save this.

“Very well. The senate has criticized me for being the most unconventional commander they have ever known. I will live up to that criticism, dear Priestess. I will mount an expeditionary force of peace, with you at its head.” He said grandly with a hint of mockery in his voice. His sneer at the word senate said much to her.
Marcus was not a Republican. He disliked the constant bickering within the senate. He longed for the days when the emperor ruled the empire absolutely, with the senate acting as a rubber stamp for his will. As a military man, Marcus appreciated centralized control. Olivia appreciated the personal freedom brought about by Republican government. Still she had to admit that of late the senate had become a much more divided body, thus with the senate divided, Tal-Roja was divided.

“Marcus, you are a wonder.” She laughed.

“And the last stop on our voyage?” Marcus asked.

“Valorian.” She answered as the acolyte finished lacing up her boots.

“Valorian?! Why of all places that backwater?” Marcus asked in horror.

“They are in danger. We must warn them. As I understand it, they are our allies.”

“Yes, Yes, I know about the Treaty of the Black Spear. But Valorian is nothing more than a backward kingdom that deigns not to interact with the rest of the world. For the love of Rom they are allied with the Elohim. I can’t think of another human kingdom allied with those pointed eared devils.” Marcus said exasperated.

“They are key, I feel to this entire effort. Their knights might prove to be of use against the Dominion’s knights.”

“Priestess, those Valorians will probably never even listen to you.”

“And why ever not?!” She asked surprised. She did not know much about the Valorians. They hid themselves away in their own kingdom, content to live apart from the rest of Phantus. All she really knew about them was what she remembered from her vision. The falcon had been so noble and loving. Secure.

“They are, of all things, monotheists. They believe in their one god, Eru, I think, and in no other. I doubt they will believe in the words of a priestess of a goddess they don’t believe exists.” He answered with a grin.

Olivia could not believe that if the Valorians were as noble as the falcon in her vision that they would deny the existence of something as basic as other gods. Could it be that they were as close minded as Marcus in certain ways. That they would believe that only their gods existed and no other? The thought troubled her. What if Marcus was right? What if they did not listen to her?

She could not doubt her mission now. Too much depended on it. She would deal with the question when she came to it.

“I must go on Marcus, whatever the barriers and risks.”

Marcus threw up his hands.

“You are determined to go on? Do you realize that this trip of yours will take months to accomplish?”

“Time is against us Marcus. The quicker we start the quicker we get this over with.”

“You realize, of course, that we must get Senate approval in order to mount such a force.” Comsus added ominously.

“The senate.” Marcus hissed. “They will not be as willing as we are to let you leave the Twin Cities.”

“Then they must never know I’m leaving.” She said mischievously.

“High Priestess?! Deceive the senate?” Marcus asked astounded by her matter of fact statement.

“Not the first time.” Comsus added dryly.

“It has been done before.” She added echoing Comsus’ statement.

“They will not allow me to go.” Marcus added in a sorrowful tone.

“Why ever not?”

“Because I am too valuable a resource for the empire. I will be wasted on this mission. They need me here, especially if war is coming.”
“What if we were to tell them that the gods decree that you bear the message?” She asked.

“Another lie?” Marcus asked sounding troubled now. As a military man he may dislike the senate but he did not feel comfortable lying to the authority he had sworn to uphold and protect.

“Who said it was a lie? You were in my vision as well, so you should come. It gives you a chance to speak to them in military terms, terms I am unfamiliar and uncomfortable with.”

Marcus looked at Comsus with a questioning look. Comsus shrugged.
“If you expect me to go to the senate with this story we had better talk it over. We need to devise a plan to present to the most honorable senators.”

“I would like to point out that perhaps it will not be so difficult to obtain permission to allow Marcus to leave.” Comsus said lowly.

“What do you mean?” Marcus asked looking at his aid with perplexed expression.

“The senate does not exactly take Marcus’ presence in the Twin Cities well of late. They have been asking me in private to arrange an inspection tour of our forces throughout the empire, specifically outside the Twin Cities.”

“Those little bastards.” Marcus murmured.

“They are well aware of Marcus’ reputation with the troops. They are afraid of a possible coup.”

“Me?! Lead a coup? I am a patrician, by Rom. It is my duty to serve the senate whether I agree with them or not.” Marcus exclaimed in outrage.
“Nevertheless, this could be a blessing in disguise. They will not question your absence. We can leave together.” Olivia winced at the last sentence. It certainly did not come out the way she wanted it to. Or did it?

Comsus hid his discomfort at the situation he saw unfolding before him. He was absolutely loyal to Marcus. Truth be told, Comsus and the others had been waiting for Marcus to give the order to stage a coup. They would follow him into death. It was the patrician way, the Tal-Rojan way. Now he was seeing something disturbing. Could it be possible that Marcus Antonitus, High Centurion, was in love with Olivia Agrippa, High Priestess of Atrivia?

The possibility was astounding. He knew that Marcus was promised to a woman from the line of the emperors, a niece of a high placed senator. The same senator that had nominated Marcus to his position as High Centurion. He also knew that the High Priestess had to remain a virgin all her life to retain her position. A romance between these two would destroy them both. Comsus hoped that they knew this. He did not want to see Marcus fall.

“Well then, it is decided. Let us plan.” Marcus said with a smile.

Olivia looked out her huge balcony window. She saw the Twin Cities just waking up in the pre-morning light. Some buildings were beginning to stir, people were walking out into the streets. She could hear the movement of horses and their carriages below in the long winding streets of man’s oldest city.

The sky however was dark, clouds heavy with rain were rolling in on the horizon. She could feel and smell the humidity in the air. The electric charge of thunder. Many called it Rom’s rage. This time she doubted it.
She could feel the shroud too. It had fallen over Phantus like a dead thing, clinging to all that was once vibrant and alive. She felt numb inside. As if a limb had been amputated. The best part of her was cut off from the other side. She had touched the divine so many times. Could it be that she had begun to take it for granted?

Now it was gone. The divine touch was missing. The shroud felt cold and cloying and even her faith seemed to barely prick it. They were truly gone.

Man was truly alone.

Marcus walked up behind her. He looked out at the sky and frowned.

“Looks like a storm is gathering, priestess.”

Olivia nodded slowly.

“I know Marcus, I know.”

Chapter 2

The Summons

The storm exploded over the wasted plain below. Huge roiling black clouds released torrents of rain that lashed the parched earth below. Lightning slashed across the onyx sky. From the heart of the storm a figure galloped out trailing fire.

The figure rode a great black Faye horse. Its crimson eyes blazed in the darkness. The horse galloped on the stormy air, each hoof strike drawing a jet of fire upon impact. Its muscles moved with a fluid grace underneath the taut coal black skin. Each breath blew forth an icy mist from its flaring nostrils.

The rider wore ebony battle armor. The armor had wicked barbs all along the arms and legs. The open hand crest of the Dominion was proudly displayed on the rider’s chest. The armor did not seem worn, it seemed to move with the rider like a second skin. The great helm of the rider was a an ornate dragon’s head.

The rider raised his arm and held out a lance. Lightning erupted out of one cloud and struck the lance with a fantastic burst of light and sound. Tendrils of St Elmo’s fire licked along the lance and down the rider’s arm.
The rider howled with a savage scream, urging the storm on. As if in response the storm’s fury increased and more lightning screamed out of the sky. The winds howled, almost drowning out the rider’s own cries.

Almost.

His cries were far more primordial than simply loud. They came from the deep recesses of the rider’s being and they sounded like the echoes of nature itself. His cries were answered by huge booming claps of thunder and a jagged lightning strike that seemed to split the very sky in two.
The rider urged his horse on with a swift movement of his legs and the horse rode through the thick storm as if the rain were nothing more than flower petals, the wind nothing more than a spring breeze.

Below them a massive castle loomed on the horizon. It stood at the center of the blasted plain below. The plain itself mirrored the sky in its darkness. Lone trees scattered below looked gnarled and bent by the passage of the years and numerous tempests. The castle itself seemed to be carved out of obsidian. It glinted evilly in the light of the angry sky. Huge towers jutted into the sky like the teeth of some great predator.

The rider began to descend toward the castle, his howls of fury were only matched by the mad shrieking wind. Nature itself had lost all reason and was venting her fury at the urging of the lone rider.

The gates to the massive fortress slowly opened. Its chains gave a frantic loud shriek as if they were ready to break at any moment. The rider raised his spear one last time and gave an orgasmic shout of triumph. Lightning answered his call and struck the lance a direct blow that caused it to glow an intense white. Electricity danced madly along the rider like an excited lover.

The gates fully opened outward like the yawning of a great beast and the rider landed on the open gate without a sound. The horse snorted in excitement as the storm seemed to suddenly pass over the castle and the wind died to a strong gale and the rain no longer struck like arrows.
A team raced out of the castle and immediately tended to the rider. One group grabbed the horse by the reigns and the great black Faye horse snorted in derision at the mortals trying to control it. She knew only one master.

The rider dismounted in one fluid motion and patted the horse on one of its massive heaving flanks. He turned to face one of the attendants that had rushed out to meet him.

“Welcome home, Lord Tempus.” The attendant announced regally and bowed deeply.

The armored warrior nodded his acknowledgment of the greeting and removed his great helm.

Lord Tempus was tall and lean. His face was handsome and proud with an other worldly quality to it that made him seem almost angelic with his high cheek bones and well chiseled nose. His ears were slightly pointed but were covered by the long mane of ivory hair that cascaded down his broad, powerful shoulders.

His deep indigo eyes calmly regarded his trusted major domo. Tempus moved with a restrained grace as he walked away from his great Faye horse. Hirai moved with him as they walked into the castle.

Tempus strolled down the long obsidian corridors of his ancestral home and with each step he took deeper into the stronghold a wall of torches lit in greeting. The darkened halls were now illuminated by their steady glow.

“I trust the mission went well.” Hirai asked as he followed Tempus. Hirai was an old Elohim. One could never tell from looking upon their faces. Elohim never aged. He looked to be about 27 human years old but he had served his lord for centuries. He still had a rosy expression as was common amongst his kind. His eyes were a blazing emerald and glinted softly under the torch light. He too moved with the same restrained grace for it was well known that the Elohim were the most graceful race on all of Phantus. Save for perhaps Lord Tempus. No one knew the inner workings of the castle and Lord Tempus’ affairs better than Hirai. Lord Tempus trusted no one more than Hirai, if he could ever trust anyone at all.

Tempus smiled. It was cold and seemingly devoid of joy.

“Victory, as usual. We fought those barbaric warrior women from the valley of the Iron Mountains. Fiercer fighters I have never seen. They had our orcish allies on the run before I arrived.”

Hirai nodded knowingly. The sight of Lord Tempus on his mount was enough to break the will of any sane fighter. The way he simply rode on the air and dove down on you with his mighty lance, it was enough to shatter the morale of anyone, human or demi-human.

“There was one Hirai that did not run before me. She stood her ground holding her sword at the ready to attack. It took me by surprise.”

“Rare indeed.”

“Yes.” Tempus murmured and strolled into his main hall. A massive hearth stood in the center of the hall. As soon as Tempus stepped into sight the hearth erupted into a bright blaze and the snap crackle of the fire was a welcome sound to him after many nights of camping out in the wilderness away from home.

The table was set with all manner of delicacies and delights. Hirai always saw to it that Tempus was never want for anything. Hirai had never failed him. Tempus stood at the huge dining table carved from the stout wood of the mighty oaks from the Elohim heartlands that could seat an army. Only one place was set.

Tempus nodded to Hirai. Hirai clapped his hands once. The sound echoed down the empty corridors like a thunderclap. Instantly a retinue of servants materialized from the surrounding shadows and surrounded Tempus.

Each carefully undid the straps of his enchanted Faye armor. It had to be done in a precise order with a precise rhythm or the armor would kill those attempting to undress him. Slowly the armor came off and a beautiful Elohim woman approached and lifted a great cloak made from the furs of a long dead beast, twice the size of anyone in the room.
She elegantly placed the robe over Tempus’ body just as the last piece of armor was pulled away and placed into an enchanted coffer. Tempus held his hands over the coffer and whispered a quick and quiet prayer over it. The language was ancient and none had been able to speak let alone understand it on Phantus since the First Age, the Age of Dreams. The tongue sounded slightly like the Elohim tongue but each syllable seemed to carry with it a power beyond anyone’s understanding. As if the language forced one to be a sorcerer in order to speak it.
The cadence was like a song yet it carried with it a rhythm of its own. Hirai himself only knew a few phrases taught to him by Tempus. It had taken him centuries to perfect those phrases and even now Tempus gently chided him for his atrocious accent. The long dead language was of the legendary Faye.

The Faye were the first. The race from which all others sprang. At least the legends stated it that way. The last surviving Faye would never answer the eternal question of what happened to the Faye and where they had gone. All traces of the once might civilization were long gone. Their wisdom had died out and no one remembered them. The Faye were all but a legend, even now fading from memory. All but one.
Lord Tempus nodded solemnly and the attendants whisked the coffer away and disappeared into the shadow, save for the beautiful Elohim woman who now bowed before Tempus. Tempus touched her head lightly and she seemed to shudder from the touch as if it were bitter cold. She moved quickly then to serve him his wine, pouring it into a gold goblet crafted by Dwarven smiths deep inside the Iron Mountains.

Tempus walked reverently to the hearth and raised his right arm. In it he held the mighty lance he had caught lightning with during the storm. He held it up high and the lance seemed to drink in the light from the hearth’s fire. He inclined his head in silent meditation then bent the head of the lance toward his lips and kissed it gently.

However, no matter how gently he kissed the blade it always cut the flesh of his lip. Hirai noted with awe how his amber blood dripped down from his lip and he gently smoothed the drop of blood along the blade all the while whispering a prayer of thanks. He finally hefted the lance one last time and shouted the words,

“Sleep well, Soul cleaver.”

He then carefully placed the lance over the hearth in a mantle place carved from white marble by the hands of seven master crafts dwarves long ago, when Phantus was still young. The lance glinted with a deadly glow over the mantle.

Tempus then turned like the wind and was in his seat before Hirai could blink. He wrapped the great furred robe around his body and sipped the wine. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then let it out in a relaxed sigh.

“Excellent, as always, Hirai.”

“Thank you, milord. It is from a rare vintage we imported from the Tal-Rojan Empire.”

Tempus regarded the dishes arranged before him and nodded his approval. To his left was a large roast duck, marinated in a mulberry wine and topped with a rare Kilusko fruit from the Shattered Isles. A plate full of sea urchins were proudly displayed in a flower pattern, at the center of the urchins was a sea anonyme, sauteed with butter. To his far right was a steaming bowl of thick brown soup mixed with lentils. An excellent array of choices were laid out before him.

He looked at the duck and nodded toward it. The beautiful Elohim appeared again over his shoulder and began to carve the duck in swift yet simple strokes.

“No matter how far away I am, no matter how long I am away, I know I can always count on all of you to serve me. You truly make this feel like home.”

Hirai and the Elohim woman smiled lovingly at him. There was nothing any of them would not do for him. It was a small token of their esteem to serve him in this manner. It was the least they could do for he who had saved them.

The Elohim woman gently placed the slices of duck on the fine silver plates. Tempus smiled up at her.

“Thank you, Vistaina.”

“My lord.” She inclined her head toward him.

“Is there any boon I may grant either of you?” He asked.

Both were surprised by the spontaneity of his offer. Tempest was in a rare mood this day. Hirai had noted with growing concern that ever since he had allied with the Dominion and actually began leading their forces Tempus had grown darker and moodier. He never broached the subject with him. It simply was not his place.

Vistaina knelt before him and kissed his hand. Tempus looked down at her and smiled warmly. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, until today. She had beautiful azure blue eyes that reflected all of her emotions as clearly as glass. Her face had a soft glow that emanated from her like a halo. Her raven black hair was done in a simple braid that was tossed over her thin shoulders.

She was thin as a reed and looked as fragile as a china doll. A strong wind might break her, he mused. Her movements were like an intricate dance. She always dressed in simple dresses despite the numerous gowns he had showered upon her in gratitude for her services. Her wardrobe would match any queen of Phantus for its richness and beauty.
She looked up at him with eyes full of love.

“My Lord, all I want is one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Please, leave the Dominion and come back to us. You have grown so dark of late. Return to those who truly love and understand you.”
Hirai stared at Tempus and watched the shadows play across Tempus’ face. He never would have dreamed that anyone would directly tell him what they had all noticed. But if anyone was going to tell Tempus it would be Vistaina.

Vistaina looked at him imploringly, holding his hand. Tempus looked down at her, his eyes were hooded and Hirai could not read his face. He simply looked at her for a long silent moment.

Suddenly he smiled. A warm loving smile that eased Hirai’s fears. Tempus reached out and gently ran his fingers along her cheek.

“Dearest Vistaina, if anyone can demand that of me it is you. If I have become dark then I fear the days ahead. They will be darker still and so will I.”

Vistaina bowed her head, her forehead touching his hand. The disappointment was obvious. She did not want to show Tempus her face. It was not right to berate him for his choice. He was the lord of the castle and he had saved all of them from fates worse than death and they owed him.

He touched her head and lifted her chin gently to look into her eyes. Tears glistened in those beautiful azure eyes. His own deep lilac eyes regarded her with nothing but love.

“Dearest Vistaina, I will grant you anything else but this. My alliance with the Dominion is my choice. I must continue with this alliance for my own reasons, reasons you cannot yet comprehend.”

“I understand my lord, but from now until the ending of the world I will ask for nothing else. You may have joined the Dominion for your own reasons, my lord, and I may not comprehend them but I do know what I see and feel. I see the greatest being I have ever known slowly growing darker and colder as the time goes by because of his connection with the foul Lych, Shytak. I cannot stand idly by and watch this happen.”

Tempus smiled even more broadly now. Hirai felt that Vistaina was drifting closer and closer to insubordination but he held his tongue. She had certain freedoms within the Castle Forlorn and Tempus suffered her honesty because he wished to hear it.

“And I would expect nothing less. I shall grant you a boon whether you wish it or not.”

From within the folds of his robe he pulled out a rose. A magnificent flower of incredible beauty. The petals seemed to be made from liquid silver and they moved of their own accord, rippling like a thing alive. The rose sang with every ripple of the petals. It was truly a marvel and one Tempus must have brought back from a faraway land.

Vistaina’s eyes widened at the sight of the singing rose. Tempus placed it in her hands and closed her fingers around the stem.

“Take it. It is yours. I brought it from high in the Iron Mountains where no mortal has tread. The moment I spied it I knew that it was yours.”

“Your kindness as always my lord is greater than any other. I humbly accept your gift but I will continue to press my boon,”

Tempus nodded sagely.

“I expect no less from the woman I call my conscience.”

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment then Tempus turned to face Hirai.

“And you old friend. What shall I grant you?”

“Just one thing my lord.” Hirai said walking closer to Tempus, head bowed respectfully.

“Name it.”

“I would very much like to hear the story you bring from the Lyrian valley. The story of the fearless warrior woman who stood her ground against you.”

Tempus laughed. It boomed throughout Castle Forlorn and thunder echoed off in the distance.

“Noble Hirai, you never cease to amaze me! Of course I shall tell you the tale of the fearless warrior woman and the terrible Faye warrior. But this boon is for all to hear. Come, my children, gather round and hear the tale.” Tempus stood and motioned with his arms for all to gather round.

From all corners of the castle his servants materialized from the shadows and gathered around their master. Soon the great hall was filled with all manner of servants, cooks, maids, serving wenches, seamstresses, tailors, craftsmen, stable hands. They all watched with rapt attention as Tempus began his tale.

“It all began with the attack on a Lyrian outpost. The orcs called upon the Dominion, their secret allies, to help them over come the outpost which had been giving them so much trouble of late. I arrived to find the attack already underway and the orcs getting themselves slaughtered, as usual.”
“I attacked, ready to inspire with my actions. I called upon the elemental forces of the storm to aid me and the sky darkened and the wind kicked up huge clouds of dust and dirt. I urged Frenzy onward and attacked the warrior women of the Lyrian valley. These women have rejected men in every way and live alone in a vast community in the valley. They are great warriors and fearless to a point. Some have called them fanatics, I called them targets.”

“I slaughtered as I went. Soul cleaver flashing in my hand taking their pathetic mortal lives from them in a single pass. They began scattering before me, some calling me by the name of their god of evil, Sargos. I fancied this and howled in victory when one warrior woman stood her ground atop a pile of dead orcs and called out a challenge to me.”
Tempus looked out over his servants. They were all enthralled by his story. The exploits of their lord was always enough to excite them. The only tales they had of the outside world were given to them by Tempus. They rarely if ever left the castle. The surrounding blasted plains were hardly welcoming and they had all their needs looked after in the castle. There was rarely a need to leave. But they were always eager to hear of the outside world.

“I, of course, could never deny a challenge issued and dove with Frenzy. Soul cleaver flashed in the dying light blocked by the dark clouds. The warrior woman locked eyes with me and she never flinched, never blinked. She simply held her blade ready to strike me down. That was not going to happen.”

“Soul cleaver struck with all the force of Frenzy and my strength behind it. She had managed to raise her shield at the last moment and as Soul cleaver struck I knew from the humming of the shield and the massive discharge of manna that the shield was enchanted. Too bad for the shield. It shattered in two with the force of Soul cleaver. No mortal made enchanted item will ever be a match for the weapons of the Faye.”
“She screamed in shock and horror but at the same time brought her blade around and struck me firmly across the chest.”

Some in the audience gasped at the thought of their lord being struck in battle and many more instantly looked down at his chest. Tempus opened his robe to reveal his chest.

“Her blade was not enchanted and thus my armor easily turned her blade away. Soul cleaver’s passage did not end with her shield and continued onward into her chest. She screamed in agony and I pulled away from the battle. I sensed instantly that although the wound was grave it was not mortal. If she got to a cleric of healing she might actually live. The enchanted shield had done its work. It had saved her life, barely.”

“Did you finish her?” One asked from the back of the crowd.

Tempus smiled absently. He seemed to have been lost in thought for a moment, as if in reverie.

“No.”

The single word hung in the air like an accusation.

Some looked at each other in obvious confusion. It was unlike Tempus to spare anyone in battle. Hirai saw the look of longing on Tempus’ face and wondered.

“The battle was over, the warrior women fled into the jungle of their valley the orcs claimed a victory that I had secured. I have returned to my home to rest, and be with my family.”

The servants all smiled and clapped for their lord who bowed before the assembly. He looked out all his assembled children and memories came to him. Each and every single he had saved from fates worse than death. Some were saved from fates of utter mundanity while others were saved from doom that paled before death. Each and every one owed him a debt of gratitude and many welcomed the simple life he offered them. They were his children in many ways and he loved them all.

“My tale is finished, sweet folk, perhaps I will have another for you soon.”
The servants did not need to be told to go about their business, they all thanked him quickly and faded back to their jobs, smiling.
All but Vistaina and Hirai.

“You approve?” He asked as he sat back down and began eating.

“This warrior woman, there was something more?” Hirai asked.

Tempus paused as he chewed on the succulent meat. He looked at both of them.

“I believe that no mortal has ever quickened my blood as she has.”

“Is it possible?” Vistaina asked in shock.

“Quite.”

Vistaina and Hirai looked at each other. Tempus had nothing but contempt for mortals.

“I see you both disapprove. You know then how part of me feels by this revelation. Mortals are nothing more than insignificant gnats on the body of Phantus. The Second Age, the so called Age of Man was nothing more than a heartbeat in the life of a Faye. Their life spans flash before my eyes like the briefest flickers of a candle. Yet here I stand before you and say that one mortal has captured my heart. All because of her bravery. She faced me without fear in her heart. I looked deep into those eyes of deepest brown and saw not a shadow of fear. Even the bravest of their kind hides their fear behind bravado.”

“Not her, she has shown me her spirit.”

“What will you do?” Hirai asked.

“Nothing.”

Vistaina looked at him wonder.

“You have claimed you love her yet you do nothing? Go to the valley, take her and bring her here. I will teach her what it means to love one who is like the sun.”

“Sweet Vistaina, where would I be without you? No, I will not do this for it would mean that Tempus is a slave to his passion. This is a human trait. I am Faye. We are slaves to nothing.”

Hirai understood and nodded. Vistaina frowned but stood silently.
“I know that if it is fated I will meet her again, if not I will live and she will be dust before I blink.”

Tempus sat quietly for a moment, eating very little and his thoughts exploring roads he cared not to share with the others.
Then there was a loud booming at the front gate of the castle. Hirai’s head turned quickly to the sound and Tempus casually continued eating. Visitors to Castle Forlorn were unknown. Hirai rushed out of the great hall to confront the unknown. Vistaina continued looking at her lord. Tempus ignored her and ate.

Hirai rushed back into the main hall minutes later and looked flustered if that were possible. Hirai prided himself at having seen it all in Tempus’ service.

“Yes?” Tempus asked as he sipped at the sweet wine.

“My lord, there is someone requesting an audience with you.”
“Who or what is he?”

“He claims to come from Imperator Shytak.” Hirai announced loudly then his voice dropped to a low hiss.

“He is undead, my lord.”

Tempus stopped in mid-chew. He looked up at Hirai and anger crossed his features. Outside lightning crashed and a thunderclap roared across the landscape.

Tempus swallowed.

“There is a foul undead treading in my castle?” He asked, his voice low and dangerous. Outside the wind began to howl, rattling the great windows of the upper towers.

“Yes, My lord.”

Tempus stood up slowly and motioned for Vistaina. She was instantly by his side.

“What you are about to see is a foul abomination. You will show no reaction no matter what you feel or what it does. Do not give it the pleasure of showing any reaction. It craves such things.”

“Yes, my lord. I understand.”

“Show the foul thing in Hirai.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Hirai disappeared back into the main corridor.

Tempus could feel its presence now, like a chill in the air it clung to him and made him feel sick. The thing was not of nature and thus was anathema to his Faye spirit, which was plugged into the elemental force of nature.

The abomination strode into the main hall. The air grew cold and foul. It stood before them and preformed a mock bow.

“Lord Tempus, greetings from Shytak, Imperator of the Dominion.”

Tempus looked unmoved and barely inclined his head in return.
The thing stood up and stared at Tempus. Its red eyes glowed with an eery light. It was wrapped in long flowing dark robes that hid ancient armor underneath. Its helm was in the shape of a griffin and looked as ancient as the rest of the armor. It moved with a slow deliberate pace but Tempus knew they could move with a fluid rapidity that matched his own.

Shytak had sent one of the Circle to meet with him. These foul undead were the results of dark magicks that twisted the soul of a great hero and transformed them into these parodies of life. It was Shytak’s revenge against the greatest heroes in history. He raided their tombs and preformed his dark rites over the bodies, tearing their spirits back from the After worlds and twisting it in the process. The fell thing that was born was nothing more than a slave of Shytak’s.

The ultimate irony was that these great heroes, all paladins of the past, were now servitors of a great evil. The huntsmen of the Circle. Shytak’s thirst for revenge and corruption knew no bounds.

“What is your message.” Tempus asked curtly. Vastaina stood behind him coolly watching the thing. He was proud of her. She showed no emotion. Fear fed these creatures and he would not allow it to feed from his house. This was a serious breech of etiquette on Shytak’s part, to send one of his servitors to Tempus’ home. There had better be a good reason.

“Lord Tempus, Shytak demands your presence at the Citadel.”

“Demands?” Tempus whispered.

The storm outside suddenly broke and lightning crashed directly overhead. Hirai closed his eyes. The storm had broken as had Tempus’ rage. The huntsman had said the wrong word to Tempus in his own home.

“Demands!” Tempus roared.

The huntsman took a hesitant step backwards.

Even the dead fear Tempus, Hirai mused.

Tempus stalked forward and reached for the huntsmen. It hissed in defiance and began to draw its blade.

“How dare you demand anything of me! Do you know who I am!”
He grabbed the huntsman and it screamed. The scream was awful. It sounded like a wild beast screaming underwater. Bright light flared at the contact between Tempus and the huntsman. The dark cloak it wore was ripped from it by the blast and the thing stood before them naked, in its wraith skin.

It was completely invisible save for the glowing red eyes, like torches they flared in the darkness of the great hall as Tempus stared at it with a withering gaze.

“I am Lord Tempus, last of the Faye! My people walked this world before it ever knew the touch of man. We walked Phantus when the mountains were but hills and the forests were nothing but saplings.”

The thing was suddenly illuminated by a flash of lightning through the stain glass windows. The flash revealed a skeletal figure with wicked eyes. It tried to back away from the angered Faye.

Tempus followed it and grabbed it by the throat. The thing howled, the howl of the damned. Tempus smiled ferally into its face.

“You disgust me, fell beast. I should crush you here where you stand.
No one demands anything from me. If I go to the Citadel it is by my hand and will alone. You tell your master that I will come when I please. I am no one’s slave, to come at their beck and call. You tell him that Lord Tempus will come when he wishes.”

It struggled under his grip but Tempus held on tightly, the wraith flesh rippling under his elemental touch, the touch of life itself.

“Now begone foul one!” Tempest hurled the huntsman against one of the many columns in his main hall. It crashed against it without a sound and it immediately fled from the hall. Another flash of lightning revealed its rapidly receding skeletal form.

Tempus stood silently for a moment, the storm began to calm. Vistaina glided over to him quickly and held him, putting her head on his shoulder. Tempus raised his head and wanted to let loose a scream of rage. The outrage still pricked at him. Only Vistaina’s calming presence saved him from another outburst.

“My thoughts are troubled, Hirai call upon my dancers, I wish to see The Fall of Winter.”

“My lord, perhaps another dance..”

“Do you question my orders?”, He hissed.

“No, my lord.” He said hastily and clapped his hands.

Dancers appeared in the center of the great hall and bowed lowly before him. Vistaina hesitantly drifted away from him and walked over to the dancers. They conferred silently for a moment then turned to Tempus and assumed the positions of the opening dance.

Tempus sat down and stared intently at them and nodded almost imperceptibly.

The dance began.

It was an ancient dance of Faye origins. No race save the Elohim could ever hope to perform the dance. It required a sense of balance and refinement of motion that no other race could hope to accomplish. Even then Hirai felt that the Elohim did not do the dance justice but Tempus supported this. He had no other way of seeing it performed anymore if not for his Elohim servants.

The Faye dances were many and intricate but the Fall of Winter was a morbid yet beautiful dance. What it represented was beyond Hirai but it always served two purposes for Tempus, it depressed him or made his already dark moods worse. It did not soothe. Yet he insisted upon its performance when he felt this way.

Hirai never understood why he insisted upon torturing himself in this way.
The dancers moved in a slow tempo, almost dangerously slow. It forced them to move in positions not meant to be held for more than a moment but the dance forced them to hold it far longer than that. It created an emotional impact of utter sadness that made Hirai want to cry for sorrow. He always watched Tempus at the start of the dance as they weaved their sorrowful tapestry.

He never cried, never shed a tear. But he always looked, alone. So very alone.

Hirai stood loyally by his side when Tempus spoke lowly, in a faraway voice.

“Hirai, the summons can only mean one thing. Dark times are ahead for all of Phantus.”

Hirai nodded. There was nothing more he could say.

“Dark times ahead for all of us.” Tempus whispered.

Stravo I have only read the prologue, and generally I like it, I can see Tolkien/Feist/D&D influences. The only problem that I could spot was in when describing the faye, the narrator said 'plugged into nature'. It's nothing big, but the term plugged just doesn't sit right for me in a fantasy novel, as it has too many modern conatations. Something more like 'woven' would have been more appropriate.

But on the whole I liked it, hope it get's published so I can go out and buy it! Good Luck!

Intresting... Bean is intrested

Thanks guys, I appreciate the comments, and Crown thanks for pointing that out, I THOUGHT when I wrote it that it just didn;t sound right but alas its one of those details taht slipped by when I cleaned it up to post it. My only excuse is that its a first draft, but criticism is exactly what I'm looking for. I've always felt more comfortable writing sci fi and in some places I'm sure it will show, but this is an idea I've been kicking around for years that I finally began to commit to paper.

I've just read the prologe so far and as usual it was very well written in my opinion. From that beginning I'd say the fantasy world is pretty standard fare, though I know it's hard to come up with differing ideas in that genre. I liked the way you incorporated a little bit of our history but I didn't really like the way it was spoon fed to the audience. It was a lot of foundation to take in at the beginning of a story.

I still need to get into the actual first chapter so I can't say too much more than that.

I hope that doesn't sound too harsh. I don't mean to be. I just thought I'd offer my opinion. Whether you think it's of value is another story altogether...

And let me know how getting your story published is going. I've got something I'm working on too and would like how the process treats you.

Thanks Mark, and don't worry about being harsh, I posted this specifically looking for criticism since fantasy is not really my bag. I wanted to see if at least it was done alright and not to derivative. The setting doesn't worry me as much as the story itself. I just want to tell a story incorporating some of my favorite myth elements (Roman History, Medieval Knights, Wizards and prophets.) but at the same time I don't want the reader to roll his eyes and go "I've seen that SO many times already."

I'll be glad to keep you up to date, right now its in the very prelimnary phases of the process. I'm cleaning up my intro three chapters and will be mailing them out soon. As I understand it the decsion won't be made for at least three months.

Well as I said before Stravo good luck! I look forward to seeing it in a bookstore near me!:mrgreen: