From the darkness, it came, and to the darkness, it returned. Death had come like a plague in the night. Torn bodies lay motionless, soaked in warm blood. The marks of battle had stained the soil, all around The Balen Hall.
"Your Grace, what would you have us do with those who survived? The Magee priests and the Esternlund soldiers," Asked Eadwig Alaine. Eadwig sat mounted on his horse, to the left of the King, as the Vanguard Commander always did in battle. He waited for Kline Wullmont to respond as rain fell from the sky and clashed loudly with the mud below. Eadwig wore a tense look upon his thin face. He was a small man, but as great as any general in Miriela.
A shimmer of moonlight reached down through the clouded night sky. It lit the ground around The Balen Hall, just enough to see the slain men that surrounded it.
But the king did not see the terror before him. Kline Wullmont only saw one thing, opportunity. The last of the invading Esternlund Army had been defeated, and at the hand of his Vanguard. The kingdoms of Miriela had been weakened by their attack, but the Vanguard remained strong through the Great War. King Wullmont had rid the lands of the Eastern invaders, and soon he would not only be king to Ferenor, but to all the kingdoms of Miriela.
But the power he so desired would not be achieved with mercy and compassion. Rage had filled Kline's heart and it had begun to change the young king, who's lust for power grew more with each day. Those who had survived were enemies. The Esternlund soldiers, invaders from the East, and the treasonous Magee priests who granted them shelter and food. There was but one fate which awaited them all.
"Burn them," Responded King Wullmont. "Gather the in the field, and burn them all." The King's face was still and his words were soft. He was stoic, numb to the chaos of battle.
"I asked about those who survived, Your Grace. Not the dead," Shouted Eadwig through the rain.
"They've acted in treason. And therefore, have a single fate, fire. Just as the faith tells us, Eadwig. Find me in the Balen Hall when you are ready, I want to watch the Gods deliver their justice," The King said. His gaze still remained lost in the distance, peering through the rain.
"Very well, Your Grace. I will have a group of men prepare a fire. I shall have another gather the Magee women and children and prepare for the march to Ferenor," Eadwig said to his King.
"Sir Eadwig, you are getting old, have your ears began to fail you?" King Wullmont turned to cast his gaze upon Eadwig as he spoke. "The fate of a treasonous people is found in the flame. All of them," Said the King.
"I will find you when the men are ready," Eadwig said as he left.
Kline took the reins of his horse and began to turn away. The battle was finished, and the king was to meet with his council inside the Balen Hall. But before the horse could trot away, an unfamiliar voice reached through the patter of rain. It was laughter. Kline looked down at the feet of his horse, where he saw a Magee priest, laughing as he slowly died in the mud.
It bothered him to see it. He wanted them all to suffer. Anyone who would dare challenge the throne he had taken, he hated. The mud splattered high upon his legs as Kline dismounted his horse. With the rain pouring even harder than before, Kline drew his dagger and knelt near the dying man. The dagger's steel sunk into the priest's flesh, not enough to kill, but deep enough to start a red pool of blood. Kline drug the priest's head from the filth and looked into his desperate eyes, searching for mercy but certain it would not be found. Blood started to slowly pour from the priest's mouth, as he fought to speak.
"You know not what is to come. You know not what waits for you in the North. Kaeon Dane has seen your fate, great king. He has seen the fate of Miriela herself. It won't be long before you too lay dead in the mud," The priest continued to laugh, as he coughed up blood and spit.
The words cut through the rage in Kline's heart, and struck fear. He was terrified of losing his throne, for he had sacrificed so much to have it. He was terrified to die himself, perhaps why he was so willing to bring it to others. The dagger stayed trembling upon the Magee's throat, and Kline found himself frozen in fear.
"My King," A voice called out and broke Kline's trance. His blade was too slow, the priest lay dead in the rain. His face cold and pale, his eyes now scaly and grey. Kline looked up from the mud to see one of his soldiers, waiting behind him. "The High Council awaits you in the Balen Hall, they asked me to remind you."
"Very well," Kline mumbled to himself, his eyes still lost in a trance.
The priest's words followed him, as he led his horse towards the Balen Hall. The Magee people served the God of Sight. A God who gave them eyes to see these things which had not yet happened. Kline wasn't a religious man. He didn't believe in the Gods of Ferenor, much less in the Gods of others. But a lust for power often influences the minds of men. And the thought of losing his throne was far too chilling to dismiss.
The Balen Hall looked like little more than an ancient ruin. The blood of the Magee who had worshiped there was splattered against its stone walls. The voices of Lord Aaron Tielly and Lord Jallen Izzet, members of the Royal Council, bellowed out its open doors. The council waited.
Since Kline had taken the throne, he had constructed a High Council. Lords Izzet and Tielly were his advisors, though he seldom adhered to their advice.
The inside of the Balen Hall was as much as Kline expected. A large pit for a fire sat in the middle, surrounding it on all sides was a large wooden table. And sitting at it, were three men.
"My Lords," King Wullmont said, as he entered the Balen Hall.
"Your grace," Lord Tielly and Lord Izzet said simultaneously. They both stood from the table and bowed before their king. The third man stood, but did not bow.
"Your Grace, the last of the Magee. The High Priest, Kaeon Dane," Said Lord Izzet.
Lord Izzet stood with long brown hair, flowing down to his shoulders, and a beard, trimmed and proper. He was a brave man, courageous and honorable. He had fought for Ferenor for many years, even before Kline was king, as had Lord Tielly. But Jalen Izzet could simply not set down his sword. Even in his old age the man still fought with the Vanguard.
Kaeon Dane stood silently, his old eyes filled with tears. His hair was white and long and his brittle body shook with terror. He had the look of a man who was ready for death, who had accepted its imminent arrival.
"We found him on his knees, here in the Hall, crying like a coward," Said Lord Izzet.
"He has not said a word. It seems defeat was too much for the trader to bare," Said Lord Tielly.
"Kaeon Dane, when you lead your people out of the Unknown North and arrived in Ferenor, I granted you land. The old kings of Ferenor shed their blood to capture the Balen Hall. But still I gave it to you and your people, and only asked of one thing in return, your allegiance," King Wullmont said as he stepped quickly towards the priest. "But you have betrayed me. You have broken your oath. You have offered an enemy refuge in a time of war. No King, nor any God could forgive such an act." The King continued his pace, his heavy footsteps crashing against the floor. He drew his sword slowly. "Only death will atone for your decisions. Death for you, and the rest of your people. Will you take any last words with you to your grave?" The King asked. He stood directly in front of Kaeon now, his sword ready to strike.
The priest stood in fear, as his lips began to move, unable to produce a sound. The King drew back his sword, ready to push it through Kaeon's flesh. But finally, he spoke.
"You must find the boy," Kaeon said softly. "I was wrong. I had seen visions, from the God of Sight. He showed me a foreign army who took Miriela, every city crumbled and every King knelt before them. I thought the visions I had seen were of the Esternlund army taking Miriela. And so I chose to aid them, because I could not stand the thought of leading my people to their deaths. I thought by helping them, they may spare us when they took this land. But I was wrong. My visions were of another," Kaeon said.
"Who then, priest?" Kline asked, his sword still at the ready.
"The army from the Unknown North, the army of the Queen in the Shadows."
"The Queen in the Shadows? The tales of maidens? Certainly, you take me for a fool," Kline said.
"The sights of my God are never wrong. And I know them to be true, for I saw more. A boy is amongst us, the Shadowborn. He is touched of the Northern darkness, a power which no other living man has ever possessed." Kaeon looked to Kline with sincerity. "By the time I had seen these things, the Esterns were already having our ale and eating our bread. I had already given them quarter. But I did what I thought was best for my people, but I was so wrong. If you care for your people like I did mine, you mustn't kill the boy. Find him, for he is the one who will save Miriela from those I saw in my visions. Only the Shadowborn, touched by the darkness, will be able to defeat the darkness itself. Her army is coming, Kline Wullmont, and if you don't have the boy, you will fall, your throne will crumble, and every kingdom in Miriela will die under a blanket of darkness."
Kline pushed his steel blade through the priest's belly. He was uninterested in his reasons.
The Esternlund army was dead, and now the treasonous Magee with them. "Have the body burned with the rest. They deserve no proper burials," The King said. He sat, as did the Lords, they needed rest from the toils of war.
"History will remember this day as the day Kline Wullmont saved The Realm and all of Miriela from the Esternlund force," Lord Tielly said, with a smile on his face.
Lord Tielly was a sensible man. He understood the king's wishes, and adhered to them. Lord Tielly never cared for battle. He figured he would prefer to die in a bed, somewhere warm. Though most anything sounded preferable to a knife in his stomach and a foreign soldier bidding him farewell.
He was a short man with a bald white head, paler than snow, and face that seemed older than it was. Wrinkles and scars hid his youthful soul under a mask of time. It was a mask that war had given him. He was fifty years of age, and a good man. His patience made him a trusted councilman, a wise one as well. He was slow to judgement, and always prepared to give a thoughtful response when his king needed it most.
"This is no time for ale, or for celebration, my friends," King Wullmont responded. The Lords looked back at their king, in confusion. "The enemy has been defeated here, on our land. But what King sends his men ahead to battle without leaving even more to defend his own city's walls? For all the men and ships Easternlund sent, they surely have just as many protecting the land they call their own. Have we truly won? Look around us. The five kingdoms all suffer, Ferenor the least, thanks be to the Gods. Our forests burn, cities nearly turned to rubble and ruin. If this is victory, then what a strange thing it is, for it is little different than defeat," Said King Wullmont.
"This is true, Kline, it is true indeed. We have faced a force stronger than any army Miriela has seen. The first attack from a foreign country, ever to step foot upon our soil. Yet, here we stand. The armies of each of Miriela's kingdoms have stood together. And now you stand victorious. Call for them to bend the knee. Unite The Realm and become the first King of Miriela," Said Lord Tielly.
"Now that would be an occasion for ale," The King responded.
"But you're right, Kline. The Esternlund force will return. Perhaps even more powerful. They will not stop until they take this land from us. The other kingdoms know of this. They have no choice but to bend the knee to the only kingdom strong enough to defend them, Ferenor," Said Lord Izzet.
The King took a deep sigh. War never ceased in Miriela. But perhaps it finally could. Perhaps Kline could rule all five of its Kingdoms.
But the words of the Magee priest, still haunted the king's mind. Stories of the Queen in the Shadows, the Shadowborn, the army of the Unknown North, they were all tales of Miriela, told through the ages. Surely, they were no more than just that. But Kline could not let the thought of slip from his mind. For any challenge of his throne obsessed his mind, and tormented him day and night.
"My Lords, what I am to tell you must remain a confidential matter, more so than anything we have discussed before," The king said.
"Of course, my King, we are sworn to it," Lord Izzet said.
"We are here to serve you, to serve Ferenor," Lord Tielly said.
"The Magee, their God of Sight," King Wullmont said.
"They suggest they can see into the future. Did they see their own deaths?" Lord Izzet said sarcastically.
"A Magee priest traveled to Ferenor, before the Esternlund army had crossed the Redbridge into the West. He sought out my council, to warn me. He had seen a vision from the God of Sight. He saw the Order of the Magee, plotting with Esternlund men against Ferenor. He saw a small boy with the face of a shadow, who's heart was black, and whose blood was poison. A Northern army covered Miriela in darkness. And as the Esternlund crossed to the West of Miriela, word was brought from the scouts of the Magee's treason. Still, I wrote it off as coincidence," Said the King.
"And that is all it was, Kline. Mere coincidence," Said Lord Izzet.
"On the field of battle a Magee priest spoke of a Northern Army. And now here, at the Balen Hall, Kaeon Dane speaks of the Shadowborn. I no longer believe it to be a coincidence. I am starting to wonder if the old tales of the Unknown North are more than simply tales," Said the King.
Lord Tielly and Lord Izzet were silent. They knew their king and they trusted his judgement. His words were honest and they knew that what he spoke of he believed to be true.
"Priests all speak in riddle, Your Grace. The whispers of a priest are often enough to drive a sane man mad." Lord Tielly paused and took a sip of ale before he continued. "If this is indeed true, however, if we do truly have a child capable of such things amongst us, then he will make Ferenor the strongest kingdom in the world, not just Miriela. Not only would you be able to unite The Realm, and rule all of Miriela's kingdoms, but your conquest could spread to other lands as well," Said Lord Tielly.
"This child could prove a means to victory for us, true victory. The sort of victory that leaves no room for future wars. He may lead an attack upon all our enemies. Your throne could span across the world," Lord Izzet said.
"Perhaps, but we cannot be sure. And we must also find the boy. If there is one who truly has this power, surely it will be shown. Keep all of the Magee children together and bring them to Ferenor," Lord Tielly said.
"The East will strike again. The boy may be our only chance to survive another Easternlund attack. And if a soldier of such strength one day fights in our ranks, none will dare challenge my rule," The King said.
"Your Grace," Eadwig said as he entered the Balen Hall. "The fires are ready, do you still wish to watch the Gods deliver their justice?"
"I have had a change of heart, Eadwig. Burn the men and women, but spare the children. The sins of a mother and father should not fall upon a child. We shall take the children back to Ferenor. Go ahead and deliver justice, I have more important matters to discuss," Kline said.
"Very well," Eadwig said. And with a bow he left for the fields. Kline turned back towards the High Council and continued.
"In Ferenor, the very Magee who came to me years ago, still remains. He could not return to his people, so I granted him land outside of Ferenor, in exchange for his allegiance. I will go and speak with him, and find out more about this boy, who he is, and how we can use him for Ferenor," King Wullmont said.
A back door in the hall opened and closed, and brought with a loud crash. The three stopped and wondered if a priest had managed to hide away.
"Someone is with us. Wait here, I will go and see." Kline stood quickly from his chair and followed the noises. He knew the information that was being discussed held too heavy a consequence for another to hear. He already began to question whether informing the two lords was the right choice.
The King followed the sounds to the backdoor of the Balen Hall, a door that was still slightly opened, as if someone had just exited through it. He opened the door and stepped back out into the rain. A dying torch that sat over the doorway lit a small area around him. Footprints. They were smeared deep into the thick mud, slowly eroding in the rain.
Kline pulled the torch down from the top of the doorway and followed them. He squinted his eyes tightly, as he peered through the rain. The torch could not bear the rain for long. As it extinguished, Kline was left stumbling about in the dark.
His thoughts began to spiral into a gust of paranoia, that slowly swallowed his mind, like a snake devouring its prey. He worried of a spy, maybe of Esternlund, maybe of Highland, or Cranst, Oaksguard even. They would come for the child; they would come for the throne.
By now, the King had lost track of the footprints all together. The rain had washed the trail away in the mud, and without a torch he could see very little. Not far in the distance, the King noticed a small flame had just been lit. The red hue contrasted heavily against the black of night. Kline hastened his steps and followed the flame to the stable nearby.
He entered the stable, to escape the downpour of rain, and wiped the water from his face. The sounds of crackling flames and heavy breathing filled one of the stalls towards the middle of the stable. Kline drew a dagger from his waist and quietly approached.
The stable door screaked as it opened, Kline's hands set forward and ready to attack. But what was waiting on the other side of the door was no spy or priest. Instead, sitting in the hay, was a small boy. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he shivered violently, freezing in the cold. The boy was startled by the Kings appearance, and looked fearful for his life. He shuffled back into the corner, his eyes large and filled with fear. His breathing became heavier and he sat silently.
"What business do you have here, boy? You Magee children should be with my men. Come, you are lucky that I don't have your head for sneaking around the Balen Hall," King Wullmont said.
"Your Grace, I am no Magee. I am from Highland, my name is Barenton Vanderst," Said the boy.
"Vanderst? How am I to believe that a crying boy in a Magee stable is to be the Prince of Highland?" Asked the King.
"My father is King Vanderst, King of Highland. I swear it, look, my house sigil." Barenton pulled from under his shirt a necklace, the sigil of a golden eagle, the sign of House Vanderst.
"What are you doing south of Highland?" Asked the King.
"My father, the King, he has gone mad. He wished me dead, and he's ordered it from his men. My mother heard word before the royal guard sought to kill me. She sent me away in the night, and told me to travel South and find a caravan that rides toward Cranst. The Duke Bannister is my mother's cousin. She said I would be kept safe from my father within the walls of Cranst." The boy was talking quickly, tripping over his words in a whirlwind of anxiety and fear. "I entered the Balen Hall searching for food, and shelter, Your Grace. I left when I saw the sight of Lords. I'm sorry, Your Grace." Barenton cried and choked and tried to speak properly to the King.
Kline put away his dagger, and took a deep breath of relief. The young boy was no threat. He truly felt empathetic for the young prince, but he did not have the luxury of compassion, war had taken that from him. Kline knew his focus must be upon Ferenor, and the people within its walls. Taking the prince to Ferenor would eventually bring Highland soldiers to his city's gates.
"Very well. And when you were in the Balen Hall, did you hear any of the words that the Lords and I discussed?" The King pressed.
"No, Your Grace, I did not hear a thing," The young Barenton said. His tears began to dry up and the warmth of the fire began to calm him.
"You do not look like a man who deserves to die. I am a fair King. Yet, I cannot offer you passage to Ferenor. It is too close to Highland and your father will certainly hear word of your presence there. Your mother was right, Cranst is the safest place for you. But the travel there is far, you won't make it alive without a horse, even then your chances are slim. Can you ride?" Asked King Wullmont.
"Yes, Your Grace. I ride well," Barenton responded.
"Good. I cannot offer men to escort you, and I cannot promise you safe travel. I wish that I could boy, but a King must first protect those who live within his own walls. Maybe someday you will sit on a throne, and then you will understand. But I can offer you a horse, and whatever food I may have in the Balen Hall. It isn't much but it will last you a few days if you ration it well. Ride to Cranst," The King said. He looked about the stable and noticed one of the Magee's horses. "The horse there. It is yours Barenton. Take it. I will have food set outside the back door of the Balen Hall. Take it when you are ready to ride. I wouldn't wait here long if I were you. Your father's men will ride south, if they haven't already. May the Gods protect you Barenton Vanderst." Kline handed the boy his dagger. "But do not forget to protect yourself." The king gave Barenton his dagger and left the stable.
Kline was relieved. Selfishly, he cared little for the boy's life, but he found comfort in knowing there had been no spy. He continued back to the Balen Hall where he gathered some extra food and placed it outside.
"No need to worry, just a boy, lost in the rain. A peasant, a stable boy. He meant no harm, he was just seeking shelter from the storm," The King told Lord Izzet and Lord Tielly as he sat back down at the table.
"Very well, then knowledge of the boy is confined within this room," Said Lord Tielly.
"And so it shall remain," Said Lord Izzet.
"Indeed, so it shall remain," King Wullmont said softly. A feeling of worry slowly crawled upon the King's skin and sank its way deep into his core. He knew the hearts of men all sought after power, including his own. He had in his possession perhaps the greatest power, locked within a child's potential.