As I sat there beside Kalom, he began speaking about his time in the imperial military, and his time as a captain of a bombard unit. He talked a long while about his experiences using tar bombs to destroy enemy trench and bunker lines. I was impressed to say the least, the guy had talent for commanding it sounded like. Takes a good aim too, launching mortars, or in his case ‘bombards’. The mention of bunkers brought back some unwanted troubles, but quickly I managed to shelf them again. No use dredging up that shit, not then at least. I could have sworn I heard a lighter snapping shut as I focused on Kalom, nearly shuttered at that, but kept my cool.

  “And then as we heard the horn blow,” he was saying, “we let loose the final volley we had left and then BOOM!”

  He exclaimed the word with his hands thrust forward, which was somewhat silly but did not at all take away from the story, if anything it added some emotion to the tale.

  “That bunker was gone, nothing but a blackened mess. And that’s why I know my way around a tar bomb, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid, but still that was quite an amazing story.” I said.

  Kalom patted me on the back, which despite his strength did not hurt this time. He lowered his arms onto his knees and looked up at the sky above, the bright blue heavens above occasionally blotched with the puffy white clouds, seemed so peaceful to him. His smile faded, and took a somber expression.

  “Nelson?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “You said you were a mercenary, yes?”

  “I was,” I responded. “When I was a younger man. A long while ago.”

  My own expression was grim, but it was my own fault. I had poked the bear, and now it was my turn to get prodded it seemed. Kalom turned to look at me, I could see the age on his face, its wear shown despite his common youthfulness. His eyes were tired, bleak. The best way to describe his gaze was that of an icy pale pain, the gaze that I knew well.

  “Do you have any regrets in your career?” He finally managed to stutter out.

  I had paused, unsure what to say. I hated talking about my work, always have. So him asking me that question started to bring up to the surface some more unwanted memories. Ones better left in whatever filing cabinet held them in the deepest recesses of my mind. Gored comrades, executions, civilian casualties and allied alike. But before I could answer, my saving grace appeared.

  “There you two are!”

  The voice was sweet and caring, a gentle breeze fit to break the discomforting silence. It was Lais. As she came into the alley I could see that she was in a dress colored sunflower yellow, and her usually long and flowing hair had been braided, and adorned with flowers of all different kinds. She stood there speaking to us, but for what felt like a brief moment, time seemed to stop. She was so beautiful that I could not help myself, finally when she noticed me staring she burst out laughing and I came back to my senses. Just in time for Kalom to snap his fingers in front of my face.

  “Hey, kid. Wake up.”

  I warily eyed Kalom, who was half snickering and half sneering almost. It was very hard to tell at the time. Lais, who was now trying to get a grip on herself, took a few deep breaths.

  “You know," she began, “it’s very rude to stare at a lady, especially one you aren’t courting.”

  She was still regaining her balances but for the most part the outburst had subsided. Despite her words, she was not angry with me, but rather seemed almost amused at my careless daze. But I could feel Kaloms glance on me like a knifepoint despite his own humored reaction, so I treaded carefully.

  “Sorry Lais, I didn’t mean to cause any offense.”

  “Offense? Nonsense, I’m rarely offended these days, and certainly not by mere wandering eyes.”

  Kalom huffed. “What my sister means,” he said, “is that she attracts looks from practically every man in the village.”

  “That’s certainly a crass way to put it.” She replied, her tone shifting to one of slight reproach.

  “Sorry again,” I reiterated, “but you look alot different than the day you found me is all.”

  “Oh the hair, you mean?” She turned her head to the side showing off her braids.

  “Oh uh, yes the hair was different, that’s what caught me off guard.”

  She smiled again, before motioning for us to follow her out of the alley. And as we did so, we had no idea what awaited us soon after.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Gregori~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Gregori was growing ever more tired as the time passed, but despite that he continued his vigil. Watching from the bushes his ire began to build, with every passing moment of time he became more impatient and frustrated, unable to find his target in all the crowds. Berma had fallen asleep against a tree just behind him, nuzzling up between exposed roots in the ditch they were next to. As noon rose and began to set, the dark elf started to doubt that he would find his quarry. Thus frustration turned to fury and then to a pained worry.

  “Show up already, you fool.” He quietly demanded to nobody.

  He looked behind and to Berma, as he saw the fat man fast asleep, he felt a little calmer, more relaxed. He started thinking about sleep himself, but quickly shook that notion away as he tore his gaze back to the plaza ahead. And just by chance, he found what he was looking for.

  As he turned, he had a brief glimpse of me, walking behind my two companions, before I disappeared behind a stall.

  “Finally,” he said, turning to his sleeping partner. “Berma. Berma get up you fool!”

  He rushed over to his friend and shook him, tearing the man from his dream. At this he was not at all pleased.

  “You old cretin, I was surrounded by beautiful women and rum. You could have at least waited till I had my fill.”

  “You can drink your wicked rot-gut when we get home, now get up.”

  "Fine, fine I'm up. Anyhow, why are you so excited? You finally found yourself a woman?”

  Gregori jabbed his finger in the markets direction, “I saw him, relay to the men that they are to follow the two sun walkers and the human when they pass.”

  Berma shot up, bowed and began to run into the brush and down the line. As Gregori sat there, the other did as he was told, relaying the message to the conspiracy. He ran through the underbrush, quick as he could. Despite appearances, the man was a competent runner.

  “Which human?” asked one particularly nasally man from their plot.

  Berma, in a hurry replied, “the only one who isn’t with us you imbecile. Now go, get to the duties you were hired for.”

  And with that he continued on his path, like Paul Revere heralding of the redcoats march.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Goldwater & Co~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Lais and Kalom walked ahead of me while I hung back and spied the sights around me. It really was a beautiful place, the bright colors and the smiling and happy people going about their day was a sight that brought about a smile of my own. Back in my homeland, people smiled and were usually upbeat but lacked a certain truthful quality about them. Their smiles always seemed so hollow to me. It had only been ten years since the last invasion attempt from the statist reservation, so I always choked it up to shell shock or paranoia among the folks I saw. I had seen a fair share of death in my lifetime, alot of shit regular people wouldn't stomach. I was pushing forty-five, but been in war since twelve years old. The first smell of smoldering ruins, the burning tanks would radiate heat so intense it would melt anything that got close. That included guns, so you were advised to stand clear of disabled armor. I had seen what war was really like, barely a teenager then, lost alot of buddies when the reservation sent its fighters into the Appalachia. Moral of the story I suppose, is that kids shouldn't see that stuff. Though we didn't really have a choice. Give up our freedoms and be slaves to the statists; or fight back, kill them before you got killed. My mind had wandered a little too deep through memory lane, when something suddenly made me start for my gun.

  As we neared the edge of the village on the west side near the forest, it seemed very quiet for some reason. The trees were gently swaying in the now dimming light As evening came ever nearer. Kalom and Lais were still engaged in conversation, giving no heed to myself. It was then as we were out of sight from the rest of the village that something I should have noticed sooner came to my mind, and in an instant I yelled to my friends to warn them. The birds were silent.

  "Ambush!” I unholstered my pistol, aimed towards the tree line, and focused the sights right as one of the thugs began to jump from the bushes.

  As the two elves, startled, turned to face me, I was hit from behind by something hard. The pain came a split second later and I could feel the back of my head pulsating, splintering almost. As I fell to the ground my pistol landing beside me, I blurrily saw Kalom and Lais fighting almost a dozen figures in cloaks, as dark as the shadows the trees themselves cast. Kalom took one of the assailants by the collar and hoisted him over his head and onto the ground behind himself just as another shadow rushed up behind and plunged a hunting knife into his right hip. He gritted his teeth, but to the audible and terrified astonishment of the assassin, Kalom took hold of the man's arm, twisted it and forced him to let loose the grip of the blade. With visible and considerable agony, Kalom pulled the cloaked figure to the front and as he did so, with his knee, rend the man's arm upwards. The sound of bones breaking was grotesque, and pierced the cloak's fabric with a gush of blood and red slathered white shards. The man screamed as Kalom then let the man fall to the ground. As he did so, he sprinted towards yet another of them, swinging his fist. He missed as the assailant ducked and spun around to kick Kalom where the knife had struck. He fell to the ground, caught off guard and in pain from his wound, he stayed down and drifted into unconsciousness.

  Lais had done a better job at fighting than Kalom, and was just as brutal. Two more of the assailants lay dead before her, a knife jammed in one of the men's eyes and another whose brains had been dashed against a tree. Despite this, she had been captured, and bound. A potato sack had been placed over her head. Soon they did the same to Kalom, though they first took some turns hurling obscenities at him, and kicking him. Cowards. Then, in my slowly incapacitated state, they came before me. My head was swimming, but I could still hear their conversation.

  “This the one the boss wants?” asked one man.

  “Aye, so don't you be going causing anymore a’his blood to be spilt” Said another, gruffer voice in reply.

  As they bound and blinded me, I could only feel the embrace of sleep as the pain faded and I slowly passed into shadow.

  When I came to, it was dark and the floor I was laying on was damp. It was an earthy and foul smelling place, but I had been in worse. My hood was gone though I was still tied up, and before me was a small room with a wooden door. It was old and rotting, the place had clearly not been taken care of for years, and it fit perfectly with the two dirt and mud covered cloaked men guarding said door. They both wore their hoods, covering their faces, but I saw one had a beard in the ember light from a pipe he smoked.

  “Where am I?” I asked, trying my best to sound cordial. I hoped to try and curry good will, maybe they would be receptive and give me some inform-

  “None of your concern for now, just be patient and our boss will be right with you.” Said the bearded man.

  I said nothing more, just sat there on the wet floor waiting. I could not tell what time it was, or how long I sat silently, but the guards were getting anxious. The bearded man had put away his pipe long ago, presumably out of tobacco, and had been leaning against the left-side wall by the door.

  “Where is he?” The other man spoke up to his companion.

  The bearded man shrugged his shoulders, “Why would I know?” he replied.

  “You should go see if he’s coming, otherwise we’ll be guarding this guy for a fortnight.”

  “And we’ll be digging latrines for a year if we get caught off our post, idiot.”

  The two continued to bicker about who, if either, should go and find their leader. But suddenly the argument stopped as the door swung open violently and smacked the man with no beard in the face.

  “Gahh” he yelped in a nasally voice. “My damned nose, ugh.” He cupped his face, blood starting to seep through his fingers.

  "gonna need a doctor for that one" I thought to myself.

  A third cloaked figure entered the room, and approached me. The strangers eyes were piercing, and showed both pity and contempt. He removed his hood to reveal a very different face, and I was surprised by what I was.

  An elf, a dark elf to be more exact. At first glance, he appeared to almost look like a woman with how graceful he looked, but soon that was corrected.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  The man leered down upon me, and without saying a word took his left boot and kicked me hard in the stomach. I collapsed onto the floor in pain, I had taken blows to the stomach before but that kick had some power behind it.

  “Sorry about that,” he said to me in a more masculine voice than I had expected. “You and your friends killed some of my best men so I needed to vent off some steam. Hope you don't hold it against me.”

  I tried to sit up, only to collapse again from the echoes of pain, I looked up at him, gritting my teeth. Now, I was understandably pissed after that, but I also understood his anger. And to be fair, had to respect his choice of outlet. Better me than his own men he probably figured.

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  “Don't worry, I won't.” I seethed.

  I sat up finally, unclenching my jaw, and continued;

  “Had I been in your position I would have done the same thing, or probably worse if I'm being honest.”

  The elf grinned, “is that so?” he began. “Perhaps you can give me some pointers?”

  “Ha, no way. I may be a fool but I ain't that stupid.”

  His smirk vanished and he went back to his previous stern expression.

  “So you're Nelson, it's good that we finally met in person.”

  A shiver rose up my spine at the mention of my name. Then I remembered that my friends were taken captive too. Had he already known my name, how would he have known? Or perhaps he was told it by Kalom or Lais, and under what manner of duress?

  “How do yo-” I tried to say but he cut me off.

  “Know your name?” he finished. “Simple, the taller one told me. If you're wondering whether or not I hurt him or your woman friend, don't be so quick to presume. I may be a hard man, but I'm not a barbarian like you humans.”

  The guards at the door eyed one another after this comment, the newly sored one still holding his nose, now dripping blood and staining his hand and the breast of his cloak.

  I grinned,“Barbarian, huh?”

  “Yes, barbarian. I hate humans, your kind always look down on mine, despite our superiority. It's repulsive. Worse still you ruin everything you touch; kingdoms, craft works, even the arts and culinary aren't safe from you. What imbecile boils chicken!?”

  “Wow, you must have really been holding that in for a while, kid. Last time I heard someone vent like that was my old Commissar in Rhodesia.”

  The elf paused, unsure what exactly ‘Rhodesia’ was, though he got angrier after that.

  “Are you trying to make me mad? Not many prisoners would dare talk back against their warden, Especially not one such as myself who works for the king.”

  I was getting tired already of talking to the man, and had decided to just play along for the time, hoping that I would find some way out of the situation. Despite being annoyed at the kidnapping, I was pleased to hear he hadn't hurt Lais or Kalom, though whether he was actually truthful I could only guess at. He did not strike me as the dishonest type, but I also had no choice but to trust his word.

  “Alright, I'll keep the snide comments to myself.” I replied.

  “Good. My name is Gregori, in case you were wondering who I am.”

  “Unusual name, I know of only a few people with it. One I knew who used to be alive, and another who was alive way before my time.”

  Gregori smiled for a second, before turning to an expression of mixed emotion, resembling some cross of quiet seething and attempted stoicity. We looked at each other for a while, not speaking. I assumed that last comment for whatever reason struck a nerve, despite it just being an observation. But in reality he was thinking what to ask me, many questions rushed through his head before he spoke.

  Water dripped from the ceiling and onto the floor in a corner of the room, the plucking, the only sound which was heard in the otherwise silent space. It was getting on my nerves. I eyed the corner of the room, near where the guards stood. On a single peg, more like a key rack, my holster was hanging. The gun wasn't in it, likely got picked up and ... bingo. It was sitting pretty on a chair just below the pegs. I thought myself lucky the idiots had the sense to snatch it up, but then I worried perhaps they decided to try it out. If they used up the ammo I was screwed, but I doubted that thought after a moment. They probably assumed it to be a weapon given my attempted shooting of it, and thus didn't want to mess with it. It was a solid theory at the time, not like I had anything much else to go off of.

  “Ok,” Gregori began. “So I know your name, and that your an otherworlder. But I still do not know why the king wants you, so I have some questions to ask if you don't mind.”

  One of the guards tried to speak up, but Gregori turned swiftly and pointed to the door.

  “Both of you, out for the moment. Let nobody inside without my permission.”

  “But boss,” the bearded one said, “We aren't supposed to question the kings orders, what if you get in trou-”

  He was cut off by Gregori, raising his voice.

  “I said out. now!”

  The men both frantically scurried out the door and into the hallway. They fled up the stairs, shutting the door behind themselves.

  “Now then,” Gregori continued, “Let's begin the interrogation.”

  “Sure thing, what do you want to know?”

  “Why does the king want you?”

  “I don’t know.” I replied in earnest. “I’ve been wondering that myself ever since I was informed of your plot.”

  Gregoris' eyes went wide, and he took a step back, it wasn't as much as fear, but more like a shock to the man.

  “Somebody told you?”

  He stepped forward again, closer and squatted down to look me in the face. His breath was hot and his brutal eyes were fixed on mine, in them I saw something of myself back during the wars. A young man, filled with hate, with pain and with a battlelust. I had no idea at that moment what drove his will more; His anger at his foes such as I, or his love for the job he had. Either way, I regretted my previous insults, not out of fear, but of respect, and an empathetic pain.

  “Who told you we were coming?”

  “I don't know who he is”

  “You are a terrible liar,” he remarked.

  “I’m not lying, he wore a mask, didn't catch a name.”

  Gregori took a few more moments to search my eyes, before standing up and stepping back again to sneer at me.

  “My mistake then, I don’t detect any mischief in you, but that masked man had to have been informed somehow. This is disturbing to me.”

  “Sorry, but I’m just as lost as you are.”

  “It’s funny,” Gregori remarked.

  “What is?” I asked.

  “Both the woman and the man said you were polite and kindly, yet here you are in my midst, and you started off very rude. Were you putting on a show for myself or for them?”

  “Well, I'm a prisoner at the moment, so understandably I am a little upset

  “Fair point.”

  Gregori questioned me for another hour at most, prodding into my past, my present, and trying desperately to figure out why king Eli was after me. After the interrogation, he had learned of my mercenary work and life in my world. Both of my triumphs and my personal sins. He learned about how I had joined the Sealand Contract Forces at fourteen, how I had fought in combat zones across the globe till I was in my thirties.

  “So these ‘French’ were a race of people you fought in the jungles?” He asked in one conversation.

  “Not a race, still normal humans. They come from a place called France.”

  “The jungles were not their home I’m guessing?”

  “On the contrary, they had lived there as colonists for almost a century but when the Brazilians came they-”

  “Brazilians?”Gregori inquired.

  “Oh, right, I hadn't got to that part yet, they were a nation native to the jungles. They thought the French were subhuman and wanted to cleanse the region of them”

  “Why was that?”

  “Well, at the time, me and my men had no idea that the Brazilians were genocidal, we were just hired to hunt down the terrorists in the jungles, turns out though that the Brazilians were being influenced by the Atomwaffen Nazi’s an-”

  Gregori stopped me, “What did you just say?” His eyes widened in fear. His expression was nearly a silent panic.

  I was taken aback, he looked shaken and was almost pale despite his dark skin, like he had seen a ghost.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That word you used, ‘nat-see’”

  “What about it?” I said, but then remembered what Malkolm had told me.

  Objectivism, communism and fascism, as well as others; all existed in some form or another in this world. All brought here by people just like me, and all twisted and shaped to fit into this world's mold as well. But by the way Gregori sounded, he knew at least about the Nazi's, which was grave news. I was not looking forward to meeting the many resident ideologues of the world I had found myself in. Never was one for politics, everything to alot of people was black or white, good or bad. I had seen firsthand what ideals do to people, and what happens to them when those fragile misconceptions are shattered.

  “The king’s father, and grandfather, were both of the nat-see religion. They worshiped the god Vrill. Does that sound familiar at all to you?” Gregori asked.

  “Oh, so they managed to make an actual religion out of it? That's kinda sad and funny in equal regard.”

  I couldn't help but laugh at that explanation. I had fought Waffeneers for quite some time, and never once had they tried to call their ridiculous bullshit a religion, so to hear such an absurd development was beyond the pale.

  “What's so funny?” he asked.

  “Nothing, don't mind me,” I said, still laughing. “Let me guess, this Eli guy is a Nazi too, eh?”

  Gregori shook his head, “no, King Eli does not follow the religion of his predecessor, I do not know what faith he follows.”

  Gregori and I said nothing else for a while, he however eventually did turn to leave and as he did so I made one last jab at him. As he reached the door I yelled out;

  “By the way, your paralysis poison was pretty useless.”

  He froze, before violently grabbing the handle. He swung the door open and then slammed it behind himself. As he ascended the stairs he had mixed feelings about the whole sordid affair. In his mind he was stewing, the answers I gave and the information I divulged had plunged him into a spiraling doubt about Eli’s intentions.

  “I don’t get it” He said in his mind to himself. “Why would that bastard want a washed up, self pitying mercenary?” Perhaps he has some hidden wealth or maybe he is a distant relation, a pretender to the throne possibly?”

  As he reached the cellar door’s top step and knocked on it, he gave one last thought to it. “Whatever the reason, Edme comes first. I must keep her safe, even if I have to go to extremes.”

  As he knocked, a slit on the top of the door opened up, revealing a pair of brown eyes which peered down at the elf.

  “Aye, I’ll open the door sir.” Came a gruff, accented voice.

  It was not unlike that of what you or I would know as ‘Indian’ but colorfully incorporating or perhaps mocking an Italian way of speaking. I know, very helpful description.

  As the door opened Gregori saw several men working, packing up bags and loading a cart just outside the dilapidated structure. It was night, and the darkness concealed the activities of the gang, who went around the village in secret stealing provisions. The door closed behind him, where an elderly brown skinned human stood. His hair was braided and his face was covered in black striped paint to make him blend in more with the shadows. Many of the men had done the same, hoping to further increase their chances of concealment in the dead of the moonless hours.

  “How long-,” Gregori said to the man, “-until the provisions have been gathered?”

  The man lifted his hand and stuck out a thumb sideways, this meant about halfway done.

  “It will take another day at current my lord, however if it rains, it may take an additional day to that at most.”

  “Good. Keep up the good work. By the way, where is Berma?”

  The man shook his head, “No idea. The fat bastard was supposed to be helping us. But if I know him, he's probably helping himself to the village's booze somewhere.”

  Gregori hissed quietly. “I will find him, keep the men working.”

  The man bowed slightly as Gregori infiltrated the village in search of his friend.

  --------------------------------------Eli ‘The Gladius’--------------------------------------------

  The room was dark, illuminated only by the light of three braziers. Each one was located behind the massive stone chairs in the center of the chamber. The thrones were in a circular position, facing the man before them, dressed in regal garb and a crown of branches upon his head. Upon these cyclopean seats sat three titanic large red cloaked figures, concealing their faces and bodies, all except their porcelain bare boned hands. The robes they wore were the same as Karill’s, bearing a withered tree. The rooms walls were all imposing, stone engravings besmirched the otherwise pure granite with scenes of torment and suffering. Images of elves being drawn and quartered, humans burning in lakes of flame, and dwarves listlessly wandering a realm of mist, sobbing.

  The robed figure on the left spoke, his voice a thunder in the small room. It was like the walls were built to make a speakers words echo and ring to bring discomfort and pain to those who heard it, a torture chamber of sound.

  “You will not surrender your duties for the sake of a single elf, mortal!” The giant boomed.

  The human standing before the three, had his head cast down, as to not look upon these dark figures. The man was none other than Eli, king of the Imperium.

  “The dark elf bitch has no part in the plans of the divine council. And we certainly shall not change our plans to help keep one pseudo-immortal cretin alive. Are you hearing me, Eli?”

  “Y-yes lord, I hear you.” Eli said obediently in response. His fear grew with every passing moment, he dared not test their patience with excuses nor sass.

  “Brother, perhaps allowing the children of the black sun to aid us in our task was a foul on our part?” said the third giant to the far right.

  “Hush now, honored brother. For it is not we who must be in error, for we are the plan makers. Surely, the mortals should be grateful for our generosity and do as we say. Thus we must show them the error of their own follies.”

  The third nodded, “very true my honored brother. I do not doubt any longer. Truly I tell you these pathetic soul bearers should be joyous at our allowance of their continued existence upon this rock.”

  The middle one banged his fist upon the throne's armrest, nearly breaking the stone and sending small chips flying across the room.

  “Enough banter!” his voice was deeper and more violent, it sounded almost like a man speaking through a grated mask. “Eli, you shall do as you have been commanded, as your father hath and his father before he!”

  “But my lo-”

  “I did not ask you a question, mortal king! You speak only when told to speak!”

  Eli did not say the rest of his sentence out of terror. For as long as he had been alive, the deep council had been pulling the real strings behind the Imperium. His father served them faithfully, though his grandfather had his doubts. They were beings of untold power, and though only three in number; not any alliance of armies could hope to dash their plans nor match their might he thought. The wars, the city plans, the genocides, all were faithfully carried out by Eli’s family under the direction of these puppeteers. Many on the outside would assume that Eli was the king, and therefore was the most powerful, but if they knew the truth despair would panic all.

  “You shall carry out the extermination as we requested?” asked the one on the left.

  “I shall my lord,” Eli began, “But what if any survive?”

  “Then you would have failed, and punishment shall be administered.” Raged the middle.

  The third one put up one hand placatingly towards the middle one, “steady your wrath my brother.” He rose from his throne and stood before Eli, glaring down at him.

  “Eli,” he began, "the Daeg, the little folk, must perish. It is more important than one elf, to bring about our goals. We must have the race of the little folk, water the land with their blood. The ritual must be completed. ”

  Eli nodded dejectedly. The giant waved his hand and Eli was ushered out of the room by a pair of royal guards wearing armor bearing the same withered tree. As he left the room through a large pair of stone doors, he sighed with relief. He stood there in the hallway's torchlight, his mind focusing on Edme, trying to think desperately. As Eli did so, he was approached by a man from the darkness, wearing red robes. Eli knew the figure well.

  “How did it go, your majesty?” The man said.

  “They once again refused my requests. Both for the suspension of the genocide, and for-,” he paused briefly, thinking back to Edme the last he saw her, “-her medicine.” he finally groaned.

  The man, now in the light along with Eli, sighed while gently shaking his head in disapproval.

  “My lord, the council are hard men. They do not care for our wishes. But they are just masters, and they promise us the powers of the old gods. Perhaps there is another way to save the lady Edme without the medicines they have?”

  Eli shrugged, “I don’t know where to look, Karill. I have traveled the entire Imperium and sent my best scouts even further. But this so-called ‘cancer’ sickness has no potion, no infusion, no cure that I can conjure up nor find. The council seems to be the only ones with such medicine.”

  “Perhaps they will provide the medicine when in a good mood?” Karill chimed in.

  Eli nodded, “possibly. But what would put them in such a mood, besides murdering the Daeg?”

  “I think it might be the only way, sire. Besides, you have been ordered to do that anyway. Going against the council is suicide, thus I recommend just completing the task, then asking humbly for the medicine again. And while I know that the Daeg are potential taxpayers, lord, I'm sure the council will provide monetary recompense in some other way.”

  “Very well Karill, I will try.”

  “So, what are your orders, sire?”

  Eli looked up to one of the torches in the hall, its flame dancing brilliantly in the darkness, and the shadows contorting across the wall like people running from the fire. He stood there, transfixed on the glow and the flame, and then turned to Karill stoically. The tire and wear of decades evident on his face.

  “Assemble the army, they march for the marshlands.” He then turned and began walking away, Karill quickly in tow. “And tell them to leave not one Daeg alive, nor a single tree un-charred.”

  ----------------------------------- Goldwater & Co------------------------------------------------

  Lais struggled against her bonds. She had been at it for hours by then, and her wrists were covered in rope burns which had become exceptionally painful. The room was not unlike that of the room I was being kept in, but had no leakages from the roofing, allowing the area to be more dry in comparison. Though the walls perspiration and the stench of wood rot continued to linger. To her left was Kalom in a shadowy corner of the room, sitting and leaning against a wall. His hands bound just as hers and a bloody bandage, completely soaked crimson, around his waist. The blood had started to pool beneath him somewhat, worrying Lais greatly. He had not stirred nor spoken for the entire time, and Lais was concerned, she could not see his face, could not tell if he was merely unconscious, or worse. After a few minutes more of pointless struggle, Lais, frustrated at all that had occurred up till that point had enough and yelled.

  “Damn you bastards! When I get out of here I swear you'll will all regret this!”

  “S-Stop yelling.” a voice stammered.

  Weak and cautious, the familiar sound both shocked and comforted Lais, who, upon looking over to her brother, began to tear up.

  “Kalom?” she whimpered.

  “don't worry, I'm not dead yet.”

  Lais dragged herself the best she could across the floor and over to Kalom, not paying any mind to the blood now seeping into her dress. She placed her head on his shoulder, and trying to hold back the tears, silently sat there leaning against him. Kalom was struggling to breathe well, with the blood loss and the very real possibility of internal bleeding it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to stay awake. but he couldn't tell whether he was already sleeping or not.

  He glanced over at his sister, and started to drift into thought. He remembered the first time he had hurt himself, he was eleven then. He had fallen out of a tree and cut open his side on a rock, the pain was not unlike what he was then experiencing. He thought about how Lais, his little sister, had berated him as he lay there crying on the ground for “being a dunce who doesn't watch his footing”. But after a while she cooled down, and taught Kalom how to bandage a wound properly to stop the bleeding. As he drifted back to reality, he eyed the bandage on his side, the sloppy work and the loose fitting which led to the continued bleeding only made him chuckle.

  “H-hey sis,” he began.

  Lais looked up at him, tears running down her face silently.

  “These pricks should learn how to make a proper bandage, *ack* l-learn from you.”

  Lais nuzzled close to her brother, and began to laugh silently, and so did he. An hour passed, then two, nothing happened. Nobody came for them, and his wound still wouldn't close. Kalom thought back again, to other times and places, his life flashing in and out as frequently as his consciousness. His first wolf hunt, coming home from the war, mothers funeral, Lais dumping a pitcher of water on a local pervert. It had been a full life, a few hundred years of memories, most good. But he thought that if it was to be his last day, he did not want to leave his sister alone with a corpse to bury. So he held on, and kept doing so. Lais tried her best to hold on to the dwindling hope she had left. Her brother was dying before her eyes, and she could do nothing. Shame, rage, panic all assaulted her thoughts and feelings as she struggled to make sense of it all. She promised that she would get even after it was all over, that is if she survived. She would kill that Cith bastard, Gregori. The blood pool had stained both their clothes thoroughly, and Lais once more began to try and hold back the flood of emotions that lay just below the surface as she looked down and saw the very life essence of her older brother oozing from a crudely bandaged wound.

  After another hour, finally the door to the room opened slowly. The two of them watched and waited, Kalom less so due to his condition. A head popped around the frame. The sight that beheld them was startling and relieving in equal measure; they saw me, face splattered in blood and putting my finger up to my mouth to keep the silence. The escape was on.