The Glass Empires: Adventures Of Brouder The Crow King: The Glass Empires, #3 2s392

The Glass Empires: Adventures of Brouder the Crow King S. C. Coleman

Table of Contents

Title Page

The Glass Empires: Adventures of Brouder the Crow King

Summary:

Chapter One | The Lone Wolves

Chapter Two | The Fox Brother

Chapter Three | The Poacher

Chapter Four | The Mare’s Escape

Chapter Five | The Mad Bride

About The Author | S. C. Coleman

Books in this Series

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© Copyright S. C. Coleman 2021, All Rights Reserved

Summary:

It is the eve of the ceremonial g of the Treaty of Molina, a pact signed by all the nations of the Greater Continent. The Treaty has maintained a shaky peace among the nations, but storm clouds gather on the horizon. While the Age of a Hundred kings has all but past into myth, the scars of the Great Period of Shadow stand as a monolith to a forgotten age. The greed of men shall never be sated. The dark forces, that once ravaged the continent, now threaten to engulf its inhabitants once more. Four champions stake their claims upon this world, but which will choose between selfish greed and a greater good for all. This epic story follows our third hero, who is an old warrior that fights for a long-lost cause. Traveling through a desolate forest, this hero will be brought to his breaking point. Will he succumb to a daunting fatigue, or will he prevail, and become stronger for it? “To my fellow kingdoms, we gather in my halls of this great city of Molina to bring an end to this discourse that has torn our beloved land apart. Let this treaty, our signatures affixed, stand in protection of our realms; that our subjects might live in peace, that we may replace dread with hope, and our dead with children. Thus, I decree, Nicolo of the Rose Flower, King on the Mountain, Champion of the Waste, and Red Skeleton of the Shadow, that every autumn this treaty shall be renewed, with an accompanying feast.” -The Treaty of Molina, Signed beneath the last moon of the Age of a Hundred Kings and the Great Period of Shadow

Chapter One

The Lone Wolves

Asmall party of warriors gathered around a small fire, just outside the Castle of Klorn. The prestigious castle was an old family fortress, housing one of the oldest ruling families in the Klausvein lands. Surrounding the castle for miles, the Dead Forest possessed nothing but a field of leafless trees. Not a living creature, apart from adventurous humans, ventured into the Dead Forest. Within the barren wasteland and among the vast maze of crags and hills, a small party could hide in a cave, or ravine. The whole area had a spooky atmosphere to it, and the small castle patrols rarely ventured off the main roads. Many that did were never heard from again, while those that returned were changed forever. Although many legends circulated about the castle, and the Dead Forest, none had been proven true. The castle had remained in the hands of House Klorn, for as long as its inhabitants could . The legendary castle had defeated every foe that sought to breach its walls. However, it was a dreary monolith to the past, and only worth sieging for the glory of conquest. There were no valuables inside, only a retched and lonely garrison. These inhabitants would mindlessly stroll through its cold stone halls, going about the same business they had for hundreds of years. Kendrich the Young Wolf, as he was called by his fellow scouts, was a relatively new addition to the group of hard-bitten rebels. This was their fourth lunar period in the Dead Forest, and they were to up with Tanggar’s band, south of the castle. Tanggar was a Krugar sympathizer, who had ed the Wolves, against the Hohen occupiers. However, Brouder, leader of this band that was camped to the north of Klorn, correctly perceived Tanggar as a simple mercenary. In fact, Tanggar had betrayed the Wolves on more than one occasion, even leading to the deaths of some. So, Brouder was cautious of meeting with the Krugar warlord, delaying his band for nearly thirty nights now, as it would be more prudent to arrive late.

The group camped around a small fire, with coats of deer skin pulled tightly around their shoulders. Their heads were covered by rodent fur hats, consisting of an assortment of different vermin, that had all sorts of decorations attached. Brouder had a crown of raven feathers attached around the bill of his raccoon fur hat, which he had sown into the brim himself. These feathers had been taken from his pet bird, Fremet. Brouder’s loyal bird would often assist his companion in battle, by following Brouder’s arrows into an enemy’s flesh, or initiating a fight on occasion. Fremet could be easily distinguished from the carrier crows, used by the Wolves for correspondence. Fremet stood twice times the size of the other ravens, a true king among his fellow birds. Fremet’s wingspan reached over ten feet and his body mass was nearly the size of Brouder’s chest, a truly unmatched champion among beasts. The proud raven normally perched itself atop a tree overhead, or rested in Brouder’s shoulder pad. To allow the birds vicious claws to take ahold, Brouder had to wear three thick leather pauldrons on his right shoulder. Brouder was a husky and stout man with dark curly hair and a long curly beard. His bushy eyebrows cast long shadows over his icy blue eyes, set back in his head like two crystal pools. His long mouth was permanently withdrawn, behind his huge bushy beard. Brouder stood at a shorter height than others of the Klausvein blood, around five feet and five inches. With his defined characteristics, the others tended to believe that he had ancestry with the shorter Krugar peoples. In all, there were five wolves left in Brouder’s band, they were; Kendrich the Young, Breiven of Eukar, Drakven of Krestau, and Grevord the Wise. Grevord was the oldest of the wolves, with a long white beard and wrinkled skin. On the other hand, Krendrich the Young had seen the least number of moon cycles. At his two hundred and sixteenth moon cycle, Kendrich stood nearly seven feet tall, with shoulder length golden hair. The boy possessed not even the fuzz that foretold of a beard. His blue eyes were darker than the others, but his skin was just as pale. Meanwhile, Brieven and Drakven could have been twins, standing just slightly shorter than Kendrich, they both had dark hair and icy blue eyes. They wore short and wild black beards, with the curly hair tied into knots. However, if the two similar men were to shave their beards, their facial features might set them apart. Their skinny bodies had been toned down over years of living off the land. The band often referred to these two as the twins, a nickname which neither cared for. In addition to beards, the men wore two quivers of arrows on each hip. The arrows were accompanied by a small recurve bow, attached in a sheath to their lower backs. Across their shoulders was a large bow for distance, with the string across their chests. “When are we meeting up with Tanggar?” Drakven, after taking a bit from his

roasted squirrel, spoke to the band leader. “It won’t be long now, Drakven,” Brouder answered, while poking the burning coals with a stick. “We have to get moving here soon. There is time for one more story from Grevord.” Brouder looked over at the old man, who had been entertaining the group with old tales of great battles. Grevord knew many of the ballads, speaking of ferocious monsters and old legends, mostly forgotten in the new age. “Which story would you like to hear this time? I can regale you with tails of the mighty wolf Wargren. I can tell you of his howl that would shake the mountains, and cause the trees to tremble.” “We have already heard about Wargren, and no one believes he is real.” While speaking, Breiven fought hard to keep his wineskin away from the thirsty bird, Fremet. “I would share Brieven, it is not wise to test Fremet’s temper.” Brouder’s teeth flashed in a smile, behind their cage of curly black moustache. Breiven, exasperated, gave up and poured some wine into a hollowed-out log. He was about to drink what was left, but the bird snatched it away, instead of drinking the wine from the damp log. Breiven scowled, but dared not retrieve his wine skin from the bird’s sharp black beak. Fremet, placing the wine skin in his right talon, drained the contents in seconds. Drakven laughed at Breiven’s misfortune, before the rest of Drakven’s roasted squirrel was stolen by the large bird. The two grumbled, unable to do anything about Brouder’s feathered bully. “Why does he never steal any of your things?” Breiven tossed a twig over at Kendrich, who was eating some nuts and dried mushrooms. “I couldn’t answer that. I am not a raven whisperer.” Kendrich smiled at the two, as he tossed a nut over to Fremet. The bird’s large beak opened, and the nut disappeared in a blink. “Perhaps, I have enough sense to not taunt a raven, with claws the size of my arm. It could be that; just as a thought.” “There is your answer,” Brouder flicked a hot ember at Breiven, “Fremet likes Kendrich, and he doesn’t like you. Perhaps if you two fed him occasionally, then he wouldn’t steal from you.” “I have thought of the perfect story, my companions.” Interrupting, Grevord had

a twinkle in his eye, as he shifted on his chair of a rotten log. “I will tell you of the Mad King of Klorn.” Grevord held up a finger while he spoke, as if pointing to the sky. “This is a true story from the Age of a Hundred Kings.” “The Age of a Hundred Kings? I have not heard of this age before?” Kendrich propped himself up on an arm, as he was laying down on a bed of dirt. “Many cycles ago, before the Stag took our lands, and the Fur War burned our homes, these forests were ruled by the Mad King of Klorn. In this time, the forests were green, and this mighty king had returned from a campaign in the east. A feast in his great hall was held in his honor, but this feast was not solely his. You see, he had recently married an exotic princess; the daughter of King Pagul. However, the king became more and more distressed, as the days ed. His young bride became filled with the king’s heir, but the king became even more melancholic. He would withdraw more and more from feasts, and istration. His young bride, having no experience in these matters, attempted to keep the king’s realm from falling into disarray. However, on one night, the King of Klorn locked himself away, and would not allow himself to be seen for many moon cycles. When the King finally emerged from within the castle, he had grown old and grey. Unable to keep the kingdom in her king’s hands, the king’s young princess had been murdered by the king’s advisor. The king’s heir had followed his mother unto death, thrown out of the famous high tower of Klorn. The king, disoriented and unknowing, entered the great hall. The treacherous advisor was sitting in the king’s throne, proclaiming himself ruler of the king’s lands. Many moon cycles had ed, and all present were shocked by the appearance of their old king. Then, the advisor was deposed, and a great feast was held. However, when the king asked where his princess had gone, the hall fell silent. The merriment died, and the advisor fled from the throne room, having escaped from his chains. Exasperated, the king went from attendant to attendant, asking, “where is my queen?” All fled from him, and the hall, unable to answer his question. However, when the advisor and the rest of the court returned, with a host of guards in tow. That Mad King of Klorn had vanished once more. Many nights ed, and the Mad King of Klorn ed once again into memory. Then, as the treacherous advisor was reaching the end of his cycles, the king reappeared. The advisor was sleeping in the great chambers, at the top of the Tower of Klorn. He was having a dreadful nightmare, when he awoke to see his forgotten king, standing at the edge of his bed. The advisor sat up, not believing his eyes. “Where is my queen?” The old king spoke with a hollow and empty voice. The advisor was groggy, and weighed down by

drooping eyes. However, the king did not leave. “Leave me alone!” The advisor shouted and leapt from his bed. He lunged for the king, hoping to throw the king out of the window. As he had done to the king’s heir and wife. However, the advisor tripped in his delirium, and fell from the tower in the king’s stead. Once the advisor had died, many in the court became afraid. One by one, the king appeared to them, driving each one into their own guilt ridden madness. Thus began, the curse of Klorn. The horror of the king is said to fall on the castle, every hundred moon cycles, when the king will once again go searching for his forgotten bride.” “I have heard a different version of the Curse of Klorn.” Brouder, his eyes narrowed in doubt, stared over at the old man. However, the other warriors were visibly nervous due to the ghostly story. “There are many versions to the curse, and many stories, but only one is true. The Mad King rules the halls of Klorn to this day, and that is why none have breached its walls.” “Perhaps, but that bastard traitor gave it over to the Stag without a fight.” Brouder spat in the fire in contempt, and the group fell silent in thought. “In a way, the Stag breached its walls without firing a single arrow, or one of their cursed lightening branches, that spit fire and cloud the fields in ash.”

DRAKVEN AND GREVORD returned to the campsite, just after Breiven had finished telling a story. Breiven spoke of a time when he slept with a lord’s mistress. However, Kendrich and Brouder had grown tired of Brieven’s partially true stories, even Fremet, the raven, distracted himself with other things. In fact, when Drakven and Grevord approached, no one was listening to Breiven. Unfortunately, the campfire was smaller than the one they had the night before, and this fire had been placed in a hole, with leaves over the top to obscure the smoke. So, the party had taken to wearing more clothes for warmth, rather than depending on the fire, which was mostly embers now. They had only used the fire for cooking. Despite the unlikelihood of being scorched, the raven kept his distance from the smoldering embers. Fremet had taken to jumping around, flying in circles, and poking his head underneath his wing pit. Between Fremet’s antics and Breiven’s self-aggrandizing, Drakven and Grevord’s arrival was a relief for the party. “I hope you dirty vagrants got some sleep. A carriage has departed the gates of Klorn. It looks as though we will get no more sleep this night.” Drakven happily announced, as he strode into camp like a conquering hero. “The blood of the Great Wargren runs through our veins, we need no sleep.” Brouder’s gruff voice cut off Breiven, who was just about to speak. “Come, let us take up our bows.” Brouder gruffly command and turned to his bird. “Fremet...” The large raven flew over and landed on Brouder’s shoulder, with all the grace of a courtly dancer. “Tonight, we hunt beneath the blood moon. The great jaws of Wargren accompany us tonight.” “May we soon him, on his great hunt.” The others echoed the end of the Oath of the Wolf, as they headed south. Their cargo was always packed and ready to go, so it was no trouble to break down the camp. Covering their tracks, some dirt was thrown into the hole, and they erased any evidence that they were ever there. “Which gate did this carriage come out of, and do you have any notion of its charge?” Brouder spoke his question in a normal tone, as they were still far from their prey. “No notion of cargo, but it did have Hohen markings, so it could be royal.

Perhaps, it holds a valuable target for ransom.” Drakven grinned, his rotting teeth glinting in the moonlight. “It exited the East gate onto the Klorn Road.” “They are probably heading to the Three Heads.” Grevord added a comment, in an un-dampened tone. “At least, they will have to through it.” Breiven added his matter of fact opinion. Always stating the obvious, the group had begun ignoring him over the cycles. “What is the strength of resistance?” Brouder’s face was drawn up in contemplation, speaking only basic questions. Something was on the band leader’s mind; something that he would not voice aloud. “I could only see ten men, four on the carriage itself and six riders behind. They were carrying short barrels and straight swords. The six behind also carry lances.” Grevord matter-of-factly stated, and Drakven nodded along. “If only we had the others with us. We would outnumber them two to one.” Breiven reminisced at their earlier losses. “We are the ones outnumbered two to one, now. It is best we keep our distance and pick them off.” Krendrich was the first to offer his idea. “Indeed, my dear young warrior, we must hunt as the wolf that has lost its pack, extremely cautiously, but these are royal guards. They are not likely to break formation. They fight as a group, eat as a group, and defecate as a group. Even as they sleep, there is always more than a pair of them on watch. No, we shall not find weakness among them.” The group began to grow quieter now, as each of the Klausvein warriors prepared themselves mentally for the engagement. A light mist had descended upon the dead trees, as the five fellows continued towards the carriage, and the Eastern Road of Klorn. None of them were worried, they had conducted a thousand such ambushes, sometimes with less numbers, and the moon was on their side. The promise of excitement got their blood flowing and adrenaline pumping, which helped to protect against the chill of the night. The moon was red, and, fortunately, their vision was not too hampered by the light fog. While they continued on their path through the darkness, the small band applied removable dye to their faces. They covered all bare skin from the nose down in a black mixture of soot and mud. The top portion of their face, just the forehead, cheeks, and nose, they covered in a red

dye made from ground up rock dust and insects, mixed with butter and made into a creamy paste. The effect of their war paint made the Wolves of Klausvein a frightening sight to behold. Although, the red would only be visible after their caps were removed. “Grevord, take the twins, cross the road south, and flank the Hohen party.” Brouder whispered orders, as the group arrived at the road. Farther down the road, towards Klorn, they could see the bouncing lights of Hohen torches coming their way. “Understood, my alpha, as you say, it will be.” Grevord replied, before leaping across the dusty dry road, followed by Breiven and Drakven. “Grevord...” Brouder’s harsh voice called out after them. “Do you where to reunite?” “Where the Fox drinks.” The reply was whispered back, but a little loudly, somewhere in the dark on the other side of the road. “Good man,” Brouder whispered to himself, as he and Kendrich continued down the road. Soon, they came upon the perfect ambush point; a cluster of dead trees, with a rotten log fallen between them. “Which bow?” Kendrich’s simple question would tell him what type of ambush this would. “Short bow.” Brouder’s reply was direct and succinct, which garnered a sigh from Kendrich. Slowly, the two warriors pulled the short recurve bow from their sheaths, and waited. It didn’t take long before the torch lights of the carriage came bobbing down the road. The two lucky warriors of Klausvein waited patiently, controlling their breathing and their excitement. Kendrich’s hand moved to one of his quivers, as the lights bounced only a few feet away. His breath quickened as he watched the lights through the trees, and heard the baying of the horses. However, Brouder’s hand stopped Kendrich. The young warrior was confused, but he let go of the feathers on the arrow, which he was about draw on his bow string. Suddenly, as the two warriors waited for an opportunity, something happened; an eerie howl arose from the darkness around them.

“Almighty wolf,” Brouder cursed in a low foreboding tone. His eyes became wide as he looked over at Kendrich. In reply, the young warrior’s expression was one of confusion. They both held their breath, as the howling continued. Then, suddenly, as it had started, the howling stopped. The two warriors dared not breath, as gruff comments could be heard coming from the carriage. The two warriors slowly looked at each other again. This time, Brouder did not stop Kendrich from notching his bow, as Brouder did the same. They slowly placed their backs against one another. Then, the two warriors crouched and faced towards the darkness, waiting. Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot erupted in the night. This deafening sound was followed by a stifled scream. Brouder drew in his breath, with a hiss, and then Kendrich heard his bow string twang. However, nothing followed, save for silence. The howling started again, followed by a random series of gunshots, and then all settled again. The two warriors remained still, attempting to keep the commotion from unnerving them. A few more stifled screams were followed by more sporadic gunshots. As the sounds began to grow quieter, the two warriors knew the carriage had ridden off into the distance. The two Klausevein men dared not move, unsure of what exactly had attacked the carriage. After what seemed like ages, the sounds had died down and Brouder decided it was time to move. He nudged Kendrich and the two crossed over the road towards the South. “Eyes and nose open, we do not know what shares the night with us.” Brouder quietly commented to Kendrich, as they both peered in alternating directions. Kendrich’s bow string twanged as he fired an arrow, but instantly notched another. “Filthy fornicating stag shadows,” Kendrich hissed, as he realized that his arrow had only struck a tree. “Quiet,” Brouder sharply whispered back in reply. Then, suddenly, a figure appeared. The dark shape, at first, looked like just another tree. It did not appear human, was very large, and bent over. However, it couldn’t have been much bigger than Kendrich, who immediately let his arrow loose. The shot was soon followed by Brouder’s own. The arrows were answered by a human cry of pain, and the figure disappeared into the night. “By the Great Wolf, what in a whoreson’s name was that?” Kendrich breathed heavily, but he was very confused. “I legitimately thought there was a group of them out here.” Brouder laughed, as he and Kendrich shared their confusion. However, the two men kept their voices

low, not wanting to disturb whatever was hiding in the dark. “Whoever this person is, they survived a run in with ten armed soldiers. Our arrows also didn’t kill him.” Kendrich whispered as he though allowed, wondering who that person could’ve been. “It could be a she.” Brouder responded, slowly knocking another arrow to his bow. “We know nothing of this new enemy, but it can be no friend.” “Surely, you don’t believe in wolf people.” Kendrich chuckled under his breath at the thought. “The Outlaw Confederacy has Wolfmen. Let us only hope that these are not the same warriors. I have heard little of them, but their barbarity is infamous throughout the continent.” Brouder responded nervously to his compatriot, as the two carefully continued south. They walked, still in a crouch, scanning alternating directions with their blue eyes. “Perhaps, Grevord will know more.” Kendrich and his companion picked up their pace. “Fremet, fly...” Brouder braced himself, as the massive raven tensed, launching himself from Brouder’s shoulders. Brouder let out a slight grunt as this happened, and the black bird vanished into the night. “Fremet will let us know of any more visitors, let’s get to the Fox Hole.”

ALONG THE BANK OF THE Saugren, the river that flowed beneath the shadow of Klorn, Brouder and Kendrich traveled. The two searched for their three companions, while keeping a low to the river bank ledge. Following the engagement with the carriage from Klorn, the group was supposed to reunite along the river. However, were there no souls to be found, and Brouder had decided to continue south toward Tenggar’s band. The two had been awake past thirty hours now and the effects were beginning to show. Their shoulder’s slumped, their movements were slow, and they watched their surroundings with seemingly empty eyes. Although, were they to be asked, the two formidable warriors of Klausvein would swear on the Great Wolf that they were not tired. “Did it get colder?” Kendrich looked up at the noon day sky, which was grey with cloud cover. “It got warmer in truth.” Brouder peered up at the watchful night sky. “Watch your breath.” The middle aged warrior spoke in a casual tone, as he stepped over the bank, and into the slow-moving river. “That is very strange, why do I feel colder?” Kendrich spoke mostly to himself, as he hadn’t noticed Brouder leave his side. “That is the chill of wakening!” Brouder yelled over at Kendrich. Startled, the young Kendrich turned around, only to see Brouder rummaging under the river’s murky surface. “What are you doing?” Krendrich crossed his arms in front of his chest and shivered, not daring to enter the likely freezing water. “Come on in, the water is comfortable.” Brouder winked at Kendrich, as he moved down the bank, still bent over and rummaging. “You could return to your mother’s womb, if this life is too hard for your delicate nature.” “Really?” Kendrich was exciting at the prospect of warmth, but yelped as soon as he dropped over the bank. “You Stag shite!” Kendrich’s face was one of hurt and anger, but he was too tired to seek out vengeance. “I never said it was warm.” Brouder laughed, as he stopped rummaging, clearly finding his query. Taking ahold of an object under the water, Brouder strained

against something heavy. “Come over here and help me?” Brouder barked in a frustrated tone, while gritting his teeth. “Did you catch us lunch?” Kendrich waded over, his teeth chattering in the wet cold. “Have you gone mad? I can’t catch a fish with my hands during the day, let alone at night.” Brouder growled in frustration, as his efforts were bearing no fruit. “I have something better.” “I suppose it’s more stale bread and swamp water for breakfast,” Kendrich bent over beside Brouder, the latter handing Kendrich a portion of a crusty rope. “I told you to clean out your skin, it always gets moldy without proper care.” Brouder and Kendrich grunted as the pulled together. They pulled until their backs were up against the bank. “You might be allowed a new skin at our next stop.” “What is this thing?” Kendrich was about to let go of the rope, but then Brouder gave him a side glance of disapproval. “Our ride,” Brouder rummaged some more under the water, causing a long wooden board to break the surface. The board was rounded on the top and looked like a well carved log. “Let go of that rope, and help me with this.” The two heaved the log over. They were met by a boat, made from a hollowed-out log. “How long has this thing been here?” Kendrich gave a look of iration, as the long barge bobbed up and down in the water. “As long as I have been a child, for sure. Who is to know? Perhaps, it has been here since the time of my father. Now stop dawdling and let’s get across.” “There is water still in it though,” Kendrich’s response garnered a look of light contempt from Brouder, who simply tipped the boat, to let out some of the water. “Would you like a silver spoon? Would you desire a romp in the king’s bed?” Brouder tilted his head and laughed, while thrusting out his pelvis, and sticking out his tongue. Reluctantly, Kendrich climbed over the side of the boat, splashing himself with freezing water in the process.

“Come now, we need to hurry. There is no time to waste.” Brouder reached around the other side of the boat and produced a rope. Kendrich saw the rope was connected to the boat’s side through a ring, and he was surprised that he had missed it before. “How far is it?” “How far is what?” Brouder absentmindedly listened to Kendrich, as the two pulled on the rope. While the boat moved slowly across the river, as the rope rotated around the ring. “Wherever we are going?” “Far enough, and we have to hurry. I would bet a flagon of honey blossom wine that Klorn has already dispatched patrols. We don’t want to get caught out here, when they come hunting for us.” “I think we could take ‘em.” Kendrich laughed, once Brouder had turned to look at him, with a confused expression. Brouder responded by laughing heartily, but quickly lowered his voice. “Sound carries over water, you know?” “Then you should cease chattering.” Kendrich chucked slightly, and Brouder smiled at his young companion. The two ceased speaking, reaching the other side of the river soon after. Then, the two placed the boat back under the water. Using some heavy metal objects as weights, which they had found underwater, upon arrival at this bankside, the boat was weighed down enough, to disappear back under the murky depths. The two continued south, silently darting through the ominous skeleton like trees, with their short bows still drawn, and an arrow notched to their triple wrapped bowstrings. The trip was boring and uneventful, and it had reached the later period of the day, when the two decided to make camp. Tucked among the endless landscape of dead trees, the two men dropped down onto the cold ground, their backs up against a thick tree trunk. This tree was truly magnificent, frozen solid, as if it had been carved from stone by the most skilled of masters. The lifeless branches stretched out over head, like the many arms of a mutated skeleton, and the cold trunk was almost the width of a house. Once upon a time, when this tree was alive, a person could have made it their home; the branches providing shelter from the elements. However, it had been a countless number of seasons, since any greenery had been seen in the

Dead Forest. “We cannot rest long, my friend; we must take only a few minutes each. I will take first watch.” Brouder smiled over at Kendrich, who needed no further convincing. As Kendrich slipped into a silent slumber, he remained upright, sitting against the tree, and shivering relentlessly. Meanwhile, for Brouder, rest would never come, and the two would continue on their journey after Kendrich had rested.

Chapter Two

The Fox Brother

KENDRICH THE YOUNG and Brouder had traveled many miles on foot, so they were extremely exhausted at this point. Unfortunately, neither had gained much sleep over the proceeding nights, always fearing a pursuing force behind them. Although this fear was mostly driven by the imagination, in some instances this was a reality. As the phantoms of danger pursued the two, Brouder wondered why there was no sign of Klorn’s garrison in the countryside. Fortunately, at this point, the two companions had encountered not one soul on their way to the border, and the safety of the Krugar-Klausvein border was a short distance away. The two companions desired rest above all else, and their water skins had run out. Along with all the food that they had brought, the two survived by digging up water and foraging for anything to eat. The desolate forest of dead trees sustained little vegetation; it was as if it was more a desert than forest. In fact, the only distinction, between the Dead Forest and a sand filled desert, was the presence of water in the ground. A few moments, in their delirium, the two had thought to eat bark from the trees. However, the two found their petrified trunks impenetrable to a knife. Therefore, it was a hopeful sight when they reached the outer line of Tanggar’s encampment, signified by a white ribbon tied to a tree branch. Tanggar, of the White Foxes, ensured safe age for the Wolves of Klausvein, in the Krugar lands to the south of Klorn. On the other hand, the influence that Tanggar held within the Wolves gave Brouder pause. He knew that he must always have his wits about him, when dealing with the nomadic warlord. Brouder and Kendrich the Young had only just ed by a white ribbon, when horses appeared on the horizon. Similarly, Klausvein Wolves began to appear around them, and Brouder realized they had been surrounded. It was all of a sudden that dozens of arrows were pointed at them, some closer than others, and the horsemen stood as sentinels on the fringes; ready to charge on command. In response, Kendrich, uncertainly, fingered the string on his bow, while holding the wooden frame of the short bow on his back. “I am Brouder of the Grey Wolf and this is Kendrich of the Young Wolf. We come to seek refuge under the White Fox! We come from where the fox drinks!” “Crow King!” One of the horsemen approached; his horse taking up a trotting pace, with the rider was shouting at Brouder. This man stood tall atop his black horse and carried a long lance. Wearing typical fox warrior garb, he wore a

conical helmet, with long white strips of cloth tied around the helmet’s peak. In addition, he wore scale armor of hardened leather, with white markings painted along its surface. The iron studded armor sat atop a thick fur tunic that fell past his knees, and guarded a black undershirt. Furthermore, the sleeves of his fur tunic had cloth frills sown into them. The warrior appeared as a cross between a sophisticated noble and a savage nomad. Above the tunic, his black beard was long and shiny. The beard cascaded over his chest and covered most of his leather breast guard. While his dark eyes were set back into his skull at an angle, his previously broken nose was angled to the right side of his face. Surprisingly, these were all common features of his group, but separating appearance of this man was his lack on a right ear. It was apparent that this veteran was an officer of Tanggar, as he wore a white sash across his chest. “I am no king! I am a wolf!” Brouder, offended, puffed out his chest and shouted up to the warrior. “You are the Crow King!” The warrior shouted back in Brouder’s tongue, with a broken accent and horrendous grammar. “May we ?” Brouder motioned ahead, while attempting to ignore the warrior’s antagonizing words. “Of course! Crow King!” Laughing, the warrior galloped away. The other warriors melted away as well, leaving the two travelers seemingly alone once more. “I wonder where that damn bird has flown off to?” An exhausted Brouder mumbled to himself, as he and Kendrich stumbled forward. They were flanked by a group of four riders, and six fellow Klausvein warriors, as they made their way to the camp. Finally, after nearly an hour of walking, the two came upon Tanggar’s camp. From a distance, it seemed like the encampment of a small force, with only enough space to field sixty or so. However, this was a deception, as the tents were shared, which was a practice common among the Fox People of the Central Sea. Most of their settlements were along the bank of the sea. Always a troublesome area, these people’s fiercely independent nature was a common thorn in the side of the northern governments. While not all the fox people had a quarrel with the Krugar crown, many left of their own volition, to other causes. One such warrior, Tanggar, had left to the Wolves of Klausvein. Although, this decision was made to seek fame and fortune, rather

than for any moral desire. Tanggar, influential enough among the White Foxes, had brought nearly two hundred mounted warriors with him. The sharing of tents hid their numbers, but this was not the original purpose of their practice. The tents were fashioned larger than normal, and created a higher degree of comradery among the warriors. Unfortunately, this encampment had been positioned at a low point in the terrain, so it rested in a small valley. The tents rose up like small perfectly circular white mountains. Tenggar had little knowledge of the terrain, so he had not planned for flooding. On the other hand, it barely ever rained enough to cause of flood, in the dead forest. So, the positioning of the encampment helped to hide it from the horizon. Also, due to its position, the camp would be a muddy quagmire, caused by a steady drizzle from above. This would be trouble for the horses and footmen alike, were a hasty escape to become necessary. Fortunately, for defenses, the encampment was surrounded by a perimeter of stake pits. To disguise the danger, the pits had been covered by a flimsy cloth, with dirt caked on top. Brouder knew of these fox traps and could avoid them easily. There were only two entrances to the encampment, both signaled by a single pole with a long white strip of cloth. As was custom, there were no guards positioned at the entrance. The fox warriors had no need of guards, as there would be groups scouting many meters away. As he entered this encampment, Brouder was greeted by calls of Crow King! And Black Wolf! Of course, both were incorrect and irritated Brouder. Out of necessity, he was forced to ignore the loud insults, and push onto the center of the camp. Easy to spot, Tanggar’s tent loomed like a behemoth in the center, with the smaller tents circled around it in a spiral. His tent was the closest the group had to a command center. Surprisingly, there were over a hundred men and horses housed underneath, which was the majority of Tanggar’s force. As Brouder and Kendrich were escorted through this tent, they immediately recognized the countenance of Tanggar. He was encircled by five Klausvein Wolves and ten other White Foxes. They were all laughing and drinking bowls of white liquid, but Brouder turned up his nose at the sight of the revelry. “Crow King!” Tanggar called out, thrusting his bowl of sour milk into the air, causing much of it to slosh out onto the rug below. “Come! us!” Tanggar waived to his men gathered around, and two gave up their wooden stools. “Who this young wolf that accompanies you?” Tanggar eyed Kendrich and Brouder’s muddy shoes with mild disgust, as all others were barefoot underneath the tent. “He is Kendrich the Young,” Brouder answered, as he and Kendrich sat down.

While Brouder spoke, Tanggar shoved his bowl of sour milked into Kendrich’s hands. The young warrior looked around in confusion, not used to the aggressive customs of the White Fox people. “He is a fledgling and has not merited advancement to a faction.” “When was it that you ed the Greys?” Tanggar spoke to Brouder in the Klausvein tongue. While his pronunciation of the dialect was filled with errors, he spoke the best form of the language among his countrymen. “Many moon cycles past, too many to count,” Brouder quickly replied, “where are the fires?” Brouder looked around and rubbed his arms. “If it is no trouble, Leader of Foxes, is has been many days since my companion and I have had a proper rest.” “It is no trouble; you shall not rest on the ground this night.” Tanggar motioned to the piles of pillows lined up along the edge of the tent. “What is mine is yours, my wolf friend.” While speaking, Tanggar shoved a freshly poured bowl of sour milk into Brouder’s arms. Aware of the fox customs, Brouder accepted the drink, but made sure not to touch a drop. On the other hand, Kendrich spat out a mouthful, after tasting it. This caused everyone present, even the other Klausvein wolves, to laugh uproariously. “First, we have some pressing matters to discuss.” Brouder leaned forward and placed his bowl on the ground. “What troubles you, my dear old Crow King?” Tanggar laughed and sat back in his chair, draining his newly acquired bowl. The hospitality of the foxes revolved around the alcoholic drink, made of fermented mare’s milk, and bowls were always stacked outside of a gathering circle. They were placed next to an enormous iron bowl of the alcoholic liquid. “Where are the rest of your men?” Tenggar pointedly posed his next question, without waiting for an answer to his first. “I heard that you brought twenty warriors from the north.” “Many died,” Brouder, displaying little emotion, gritted his teeth to remain composed. “Only two of you survived?” Mildly paying attention, Tanggar was now looking behind himself, and playing with a spirit tail, which was a ceremonial toy made from the hair on a horse’s tail. However, despite the many distractions, Tanggar took the time to glance suspiciously over at Brouder.

“There were three others, but we got separated outside the castle.” Brouder replied with confidence, as if he had not noticed the suspicion from Tangger. “I implore you, great fox, tell me, have any wolves arrived of late?” “We were the last to arrive and it has been many moon cycles since we crossed the Dead Forest.” One of the Wolves leaned over and stared at Brouder skeptically. This warrior was tall, with red hair, and wearing a bear fur robe over his shoulders. “How many of the factions are present, then?” Brouder stared back, unflinching. “First, there is myself and my men. We also have Fugren of the Blacks, and now you; Brouder of the Greys. We have three representatives of the six factions, but us Browns and Fugren brought a hundred more men than you. Has the Grey Faction become so weak in these waning days? Only two wolves are available to ally with us here?” “We have seen better days.” Brouder sighed and crossed his arms, unhinged by this news. “So, the three others have not arrived. That is troubling.” “Crow King, what is this pressing news that obstructs your rest?” Tanggar, giving up on playing with his spirt tail, turned back to the conversation. “We split up to ambush a caravan coming out of Klorn.” Kendrich, wanting to be included, spoke up. However, Brouder, along with the other Wolves, all glared at him. On the other hand, this outburst, by one of lesser rank, seemed like nothing out of the ordinary for the white foxes. “Did you succeed?” Unmolested, Tanggar looked over at Kendrich, causing the other wolves to squirm in their seats. “Something strange happened,” Kendrich leaned in, ignoring the looks from the others. “There were all of these howls, followed by the thunder of Hohen weapons. Then, the carriage fled down the road.” “Did you get a look at the beast that attacked this troupe?” Tanggar, appeared interested, further aggravating the other wolves. “It was dark,” Kendrich leaned back in his chair, dismayed. “I think I shot one when we fled ourselves, but I can’t be sure.”

“You shot one?” One of Tanggar’s eyebrow raised up on his forehead, signifying surprise. During this discussion, while Kendrich told the story, Brouder noticed one of Tanggar’s warriors favoring his side. However, there appeared to be no sign of a wound, but the warrior’s body was covered by a long fur tunic. “What is wrong with you there?” Brouder motioned over to the warrior, who was surprised that he was being addressed. “Don’t mind him, he got in a fight with some of the other men.” Tanggar laughed and relayed Brouder’s question in the white fox language, which caused the other warrior to laugh also. Then, the other foxes, not included in the conversation, began laughing also. They began chattering and punching one another. With this display of merriment, it was apparent to Brouder that these warriors had all been sampled much of the sour milk. On the other hand, out of all the Klausvein Wolves, save for Kendrich the Young, none had touched a drop of their beverages. Having taken note of this fact, Tanggar offered something that they couldn’t refuse. “Your companions are aware of this already,” Tanggar curtly address Brouder and Kendrich, “but we foxes have some of your honey wine. Let us have a celebration after you two rest.” Tanggar smiled; the sculpted features of his wide face formed into a mischievous grin, marred only by some old crisscrossing scars. Realizing discussions had ended, Brouder tapped Kendrich’s leg, and the two stood. Then, they walked over to the side of the large tent, weaving their way through horses and men. Collecting some pillows, the two found a spot large enough to sleep on. Once out of ear shot, Brouder whispered to Kendrich. “We should be preparing, rather than drinking.” Grumbling, Brouder spoke in a hushed and irritated tone. “The Stag will not let this attack go unanswered.” “We will meet them where they stand. Besides, they wouldn’t dare cross the border.” Kendrich responded to his older leader in a brash, but still quiet tone. “Do not trust these barbarians, they are planning something. I can feel it in my bones. They are not telling us everything.” Brouder looked around, suspiciously, at the laughing and drinking men. “Perhaps, as we don’t trust them, they aint trust us neither.” Kendrich and Brouder lay down next to each other, drawing their fur cloaks tightly around their bodies. Using this method, the two shared body heat, which was necessary

to keep warm, without a fire. With their backs positioned against one another, and their cloaks overlapping for extra warmth, the two began to drift off. “You may be correct,” Brouder mumbled incoherently. “Either way, keep your wits about you.” Almost as soon as Brouder had finished his sentence, he and Kendrich were fast asleep.

THE NEXT MORNING, TRUMPETS and shouting awoke Kendrich and Brouder. At first, the two thought that a force was preparing to attack, or perhaps they were already under attack. On the other hand, an attack on the camp was unlikely. The reconnaissance of the well-placed Klausvein Wolves and White Fox Riders would signal invaders, long before an attack could be mounted. So, there would be no need for trumpets. Confused, Kendrich and Brouder looked around, as men were rushing through the tents. The warriors were collecting supplies and carrying freshly repaired weapons from the camp smithy. Among the weapons collected, the majority of the white fox riders carried a long spear, with a long curving blade attached at the point. The lance could effortlessly slice through a horse’s legs, or a man’s torso, and the riders called it the Fox’s Scythe. In conjunction, the white fox riders carried a saber and pistol. Both weapons had been stylized to fit the characteristics of each rider. However, only the saber was made in the White Fox fashion. The pistols, obviously imported, still had the Molinese skeleton etched into the metal handle bottom. Every warrior’s weapon was a sign of pride, and it was a great offense to steal a rider’s weapon. As such, each of their arms was signed in some way. Unlike the wolves, who collected the bows from fallen comrades, the white fox riders buried each warriors’ weapons with his body. Interestingly, the white fox riders did not exactly bury their dead, but placed their bodies at the Gates of Kugum. Due to the sentimental value of the rider’s weapons, it was no surprise when a groggy Brouder witnessed a rider ambush a Klausvein wolf. The rider was smaller than the Klausvein warrior, and the wolf easily shrugged off the attack, returning a blow in kind to the attacker. The two squared off for a fight, and the rider snatched up a nearby saber. In response, the wolf unslung his long bow, to use as fighting staff. The two barely had enough time to feel out one another, before another rider returned to find his saber missing. This ultimately led to a scuffle between the two white fox riders. While his attacker was distracted, the Wolf of Klausvein backed away from the fight. Unfortunately, he bumped into yet another rider’s reaper lance and caused another scuffle, which escalated into more fights. The fighting only ceased when a shout rang out. All faces, some bloody, turned to see Tanggar in the entrance. The fox band leader looked around, shook his head, and walked over to Brouder. “You rest good, Raven King?” Tanggar leaned up against a tent , but quickly moved, as one of his riders came to unhook it from the canopy. “Come, so we are not under, when canopy come down.” Tanggar headed towards the opening of the felt tent, and a half-asleep Brouder followed. Kendrich followed a

few steps after, the lack of rest taking more of a toll on him. “What is happening? Why are we breaking camp?” Brouder rubbed his eyes and straightened his fur cap, and its crown of raven feathers. He adjusted the old leather shoulder covering, with its many claw marks, and fastened the iron wolf head broach that held his fur cloak together. Kendrich, on the other hand, had a crudely carved wooden wolf’s head broach for his cloak. “Riders from village came when you rest.” Tanggar was excited and a glint was lit behind his eyes. While they spoke, one of Tanggar’s warriors delivered the leader’s large white horse to him. “Exciting news they bring.” While Tanggar spoke, the three men watched the massive center tent collapse in on itself, and a group of riders rolled the felt up. Where there had once been a robust tent encampment, now only a group of men and horses remained. “Come, you shall have eat and drink.” Tanggar motioned for Kendrich and Brouder to follow. They followed Tanggar at his right side, and both remained in excited anticipation. In fact, Brouder and Kendrich were forced to Tanggar’s right, as the warlord’s left side was taken up by his horse’s large frame. The white stallion was being led by a rope, with white strips of cloth tied to it. “What did they have to say?” Brouder looked around for the supply cart, as they walked; his stomach grumbling from mild starvation. “Carriage by village and need us attack.” Tanggar grinned, showing a collection misshapen teeth, with two long teeth in the front. “We must catch before reach Pagul.” “Who is in the carriage?” Kendrich spoke, finally waking up, as the three soon reached the baggage line. Upon reaching Tanggar’s baggage line, Kendrich and Brouder were each given a piece of dried horse meat, and a cup of blood. As the two begrudgingly accepted the sustenance, Tanggar laughed at the two Klausvein wolves’ sour faces. “The Krugar princess,” Tanggar accepted a portion of horse blood and meat for himself, both disappearing down his throat in a flash. Watching Tanggar’s comfort with the food choices, Kendrich and Brouder followed his example, as the hunger in their bodies overcame their disgust. Additionally, the baggage master, a rider that watched over ten pack horses, also gave Brouder and Kendrich drinking bladders, which were filled with horse blood. Unfortunately,

Brouder and Kendrich had to trade their water skins for the blood filled bladders. “You be like Fox Broders now.” Tanggar smiled with his misshapen and dirty teeth. “Why are we attacking the Krugar princess?” Brouder’s question made Tanggar scowl, as the two Klausvein wolves were given strips of dried horsemeat, wrapped in horse hide packages. “No much time for talk.” Tanggar snapped and motioned to the warriors around them, already mounted and ready to depart. “Come, crow king.” Tanggar mounted his own horse, a large white stallion, and held a hand down for Brouder. Sighing, Brouder took ahold of the white fox warlord’s hand in assistance. As Brouder was hauled up to sit behind Tanggar, Kendrich looked around for his ride, which presented itself as white fox rider atop a spotted mare. Since none of the Klausvein wolves rode horses, they were carried by Tanggar’s men. “What about the Hohen forces in our rear?” Brouder spoke through the wind that suddenly assaulted his face, as Tanggar’s band broke into a full gallop. Brouder’s arms were wrapped around the chest of Tanggar. The warlord sat up much taller on his horse than Brouder, which made the ride increasingly uncomfortable. On the other hand, Tanggar gave no sign of discomfort at Brouder’s nervously tight hug. “Your bird can tell us.” Tanggar’s gruff voice could still be heard through the rushing wind, as he and Brouder were repeatedly jostled atop the horse’s rough back. Due to the uncomfortable ride, Brouder was thankful for the thick cloth that was laid over the horse’s back; otherwise, Brouder’s legs would already be chaffing. Despite his great discomfort, Brouder made no mention of it. “Fremet has not returned since the attack on the Klorn Road.” Brouder could not hide the worry behind his voice, but Tanggar simply laughed at this. “Many moons we know each other, always bird come, and always Crow King worry.” Tangger slapped Brouder’s leg, causing the latter to scowl. “We safe; bird god watch over us now.” “I hope he returns soon.” Brouder grumbled to himself, as the wind whipped past his ears. Meanwhile, the force of many white fox riders, some carrying Klausvein Wolves, charged through the Dead Forest like a thundering quake.

The scenery around them ed by at a sickening pace, for the wolves that were unaccustomed to riding on horseback.

BROUDER AND THE OTHER wolves had been carried on horseback for hours, and they seemed more exhausted than the horses that bore them. The sun was setting, but fortunately it was at their backs, and would be an aide in the coming skirmish. To make matters better for the attackers, the Krugar princess’s guard was taking a rest from their travel. Along the opposite side of the main road. Many yards in front of the Dead Forest’s southern tree line, the East Fox Road ran parallel, and towards the massive walls of Pagul, but the city lay far off in the distance. The old city offered shelter to the princess and her company. However, the proximity of Pagul had lulled her party into a false sense of security. The city walls were still a day’s ride and no reinforcements would come to their aid in time. Despite this, the ambushing forces of white fox riders and Klausvein wolves had no easy task ahead. They would still have to contend with well-trained, and disciplined, Krugar riders. The Krugar standing army of mounted warriors, hailing from the mighty city of Ulgar, were considered superior to the coastal Fox Riders. The Krugar riders consisted of grenade carrying archers and lightly armored lancers. The lancers, a type of charging cavalry that could break formations, wore scale armor and iron masked conical helmets. While the lancers carried hide shields, the archers carried only short bows, arrows, and grenades. It was well known throughout all the kingdoms that the Krugar riders could shoot the wings off a fly, and they had no need for firearms, but the grenades would often come in handy. Their grenades were something special, and primarily used in combat against other riders. In fact, the princess’s carriage was escorted by two hundred of these lethal mountain archers, and three hundred lancers. Meanwhile the Klausvein wolves, and white foxes, hoped their advantages would be enough to avoid significant losses. With the setting sun at their backs, and the enemy momentarily camping along the road ahead, the Klausvein wolves had arrayed themselves in a line at the edge of the tree line. They remained crouched, to avoid giving away their position, and their white fox counterparts awaited the call to arms; a few yards deeper into the forest. Under the shadow of a dead and petrified tree, Brouder shivered against the biting autumn wind. He watched along the line of the Krugar guards, as some had dismounted, and were resting near their horses. Brouder expected that about half of the princess’s force was occupied with sleeping, eating, or relieving themselves. However, the princess was visibly not present, likely resting inside her carriage. Naturally, she was the main prize of the attack. Due to the unknown

location of the carriage’s cargo, Tanggar had instructed the wolves to wait until they saw her, before initiating the attack. Alternatively, everyone along the line was anxious to fight. They could only wait so long before the commanders lost control of their men. Brouder could see the looks of anticipation on the faces of his fellow warriors, to his right and left. Puffs of hot breath escaped their lips and their eyes were glued on the Krugar enemy. The princess’s carriage, imported from Hohenburg and made from the black wood of the Lower Kluvirn Forest, still bore the colors of House Hohen. It was elegantly designed, with golden stags on each of its four upper corners, and was painted in forest green and black. Although the carriage had been made for the Krugar House, it had not been styled in their fashion, since the Krugar colors were blue and white. On the other hand, the Krugar flag was carried by the vanguard and rearguard of the princess’s escort, clearly signaling their allegiances. The banners, currently planted in the ground beside the road, flew the white stallion of House Krugar, rearing atop a circle of blue. The white stallion, and blue circle, had been placed atop a field of gold. The image would have been more striking, were the riders bearing the standards into battle. The tip of the banner poles carried a rearing golden horse, and these standards were known as the Gilded Stallions. They were coveted by all enemies of House Krugar, and the attacking forces, lying in wait, drooled at their visage. Unfortunate for any standard bearer, it was great dishonor to lose a Gilded Stallion, and one such offender would be severely punished. Meanwhile, on their way to the Renewal Ceremony at Molina, the princess must have been carrying other valuables, and Brouder wondered at what other riches they might find. More importantly, Brouder wondered at the cost in blood that they were about to pay. Finally, a growl echoed down the line of Klausvein wolves, with a warrior growling to the one beside him, and so on. This was the signal to notch arrows. Prepared to fight, Brouder and the other wolves already carried their long bows in hand. Now, they pulled a handful of the long, arm length, arrows from the quivers on their backs. The wolves stood and stepped forward, out of the tree line. Each wolf placed their arrows into the ground in front of their feet, and notched an arrow to their bow. Surprisingly, the princess’s party had not yet caught sight of them. In fact, one of the guards was even facing them, with his manhood out of his tros and in his hand. The Krugar warrior was decorating the ground with a stream of liquid, as he vacated his bowls. Yet, another Krugar warrior was busing squatting along the road, and relieving his body from the long journey. While watching this unaware Krugar soldier, Brouder and the other wolves drew back the tense string of their long bows. Then, as if a flock of birds

has suddenly entered the skies, the wolves let loose a volley. Once the arrows were airborne, the wolves of Klausvein all let out a loud howl, which did the trick, and alerted their prey. The princess’s guards all began shouting and running, some still with their breaches around their ankles. Meanwhile, Brouder and the other wolves began laughing, as the arrows came whistling down upon their marks. Some arrows found a home in the black wood of the princess’s carriage, while others tore through flesh. Brouder followed his fellow warriors in releasing another volley, but this time less arrows found a mark. Now, most of the princess’s guards had mounted, but many were still busy composing themselves. Some lay wounded on the ground, and howling in pain, while still others lay dead and bleeding. The dirt road was splattered with blood, and some of the guards looked like pin cushions. Even throughout the sudden chaos and carnage, a small contingent of Krugar lancers and archers were mounted. They were even formed up into a staggered line. Without waiting for their disoriented compatriots, the small force spurred their mounts into a gallop. Brouder estimated the force around fifty, but he had no time to count them. “Short bow,” Brouder barked over to Kendrich, the only warrior under his command. However, the same call went up among the other warriors. While the wolves exchanged bows, some of the mounted Krugar riders fired a return volley. Even as a few arrows from the Krugar archers found marks in the Klausvein line, the wolves remained unfazed. One warrior collapsed, from the Brown Wolves, after an arrow landed in his shoulder. Standing back up, the warrior snapped the arrow’s shaft off, and stepped back into the trees. He would fight no more this evening. On the other hand, slinging his long bow back onto his back, Brouder stepped forward, and drew the shorter bow from its sheath; located at his lower back. Now, the true test came. The two faction representatives, of the Black and Brown, blew with all their might on two musical war instruments, fashioned from ram horns. Unfortunately, Brouder had his horn taken at his last battle, in the forests outside the Crown of Klausburg. The loss of his ram horn signified Brouder’s failure as a faction war alpha, and he would be entrusted with no more men, until he could take back his ram horn. Without a horn, Brouder was subject to the commands of his fellows, and their horn blasts were deafening. Their deep notes carried across the field like the sound of a canon blast. However, the horns did not slow the approach of the charging Krugar force, but it did call the white fox riders into the fight. They came out of the forest like white wraiths, their armor and faces splashed with white paint. Tanggar was in front, leading his men in a headlong charge. Their mouths were opened wide, and filled with their blood chilling shrieks of war.

This was a famous sound, made by the nomadic forces of the west, and the sound was made to fill their enemy’s hearts with terror. The shriek was like that of an eagle, diving onto its prey. Although the fox riders had no beaks, or talons, their intimidating lances were held aloft. Their menacingly curved spear points were facing towards the sky, ready to inflict more carnage among the princess’s guard. The battle cry of the white foxes, mixed with the howl of the Klausvein wolves, caused some of the Krugar men to panic and flee. Although, there were not enough Krugar deserters to make a difference. In fact, most of the princess’s party was formed up now. At least, those well enough for battle had ed into reinforcing ranks. Seeing they had little part in the coming clash, Brouder and the other wolves dropped down onto a knee. They allowed the white foxes to either ride past, or leap over their heads. Once the fox warriors ed the wolf line, Brouder and the others stood back up, watching the backs of their mounted allies. Surprisingly, the white foxes had only painted their fronts, and their back armor was bare of any white paint. However, the white ribbons tied to their arms, and across their necks, flapped behind them, like many tiny white banners. With the center of the charging white line, the small Krugar force collided. Spears snapped, men were lifted off their horses, and some were skewered by the weapons of the enemy. Brouder watched, as a Krugar warrior was sliced in half, by the long-curved blade of a white fox reaper, which was sometimes called a glaive. While the crescent spear of the white foxes was unwieldy, even on foot, somehow these riders were very skilled with the weapon. Although, the lances of the Krugar forces seemed more effective, the white fox spear was intimidating, and completely severed the limbs from enemy bodies. It was very disconcerting for Brouder to watch a Krugar rider have his arms hacked from his shoulders, or a horse’s head to come straight off its body. There was no time for contemplation of the vicious scene unfolding before their eyes, as the wolves had to be ready to cover any gaps in the white fox line. The few Krugar riders that made it through faced the flying arrows of the of Klausvein wolves behind. Meanwhile, the flanks of the white fox line, uncontested, continued past the Krugar vanguard, and attacked the forces on the road. A second collision was imminent, and far more gruesome than the first. Horses screeched, as they became wounded, and men cried in agony. All of the voices, shouts, and clashing metal ed in an orchestra of carnage and pain. At the front, Tanggar was fighting by the princess’s carriage, where the princess had left the safety of its wooden walls. Otherwise, the princess might have been able to escape. Instead, she was on foot, and firing arrows at her white fox enemies. Tanggar rode by and grabbed her by the arm, wrenching her up onto his horse in

a swift motion. After the princess jabbed an arrow into his ribs, Tanggar struck her across the face with an elbow. Then, he wheeled his horse around, and rode for the cover of the Klausvein wolves. It was fortunate that Tanggar returned at this moment, as the Krugar guards began to use grenades. The bright lights of the grenades, and sharp sounds, shocked many of the white fox horses, and startled them into a panicked flight. Tanggar’s own mount panicked, and lurched forward in an uncontrollable gallop. Fortunately, the Krugar riders that pursued him were struck down by arrows from the Klausvein short bows. After capturing the princess, the whole field fell into complete disarray. The Krugar guards had lost their charge, and fought frantically to regain her, but they were in a panic. The white foxes, some remaining behind to fight, retreated towards the forest. Additionally, the Klausvein wolves were firing many arrows at a time. Taking whole handfuls of arrows out of the quivers at their backs, they fired the whole bunch, in the space of a second. Brouder felt the burning of his exhausted arm, as he lost count of the arrows that he had loosed. His stomach was cramping and sweat was pouring from his brow. Yet, the Krugar riders kept coming. Finally, after most of the white foxes had escaped, the Klausvein wolves broke and retreated into the forest. Some of Tanggar’s white fox riders, separated from the group, stayed behind; fighting to the last. However, Brouder cursed the white foxes, as they had taken their prize, and left the wolves to be ran down by the enraged Krugar guards. Brouder barely ducked a Krugar lance over-head, as he looked around at his fellows. Klausvein wolves were being impaled by Krugar lances, and skewered by Krugar arrows. Skillfully, Brouder was able to bring down two more riders, before he made a break for a hollow in a large tree trunk. Climbing inside, Brouder’s whole body shook, as he listened to the carnage beyond. Afraid to step outside, Brouder could do nothing to save his fellow warriors from the Krugar wrath. He would remain there in the tree hollow, even after the sounds of death had died down. Brouder had many suspicions about Tanggar, but never believed the white fox war band leader would do this. He simply left them to die.

Chapter Three

The Poacher

Brouder awoke in the hollow of his tree, starving and cold, under his dirty fur cloak. He was sore and aching from being crammed inside a tree for hours. His exhausted body had given out after a few hours of listening to the screams of the dying. Now, he was feeling the pain of his robust frame being crammed in a tree for hours. He had to crawl out of the hollow using only his arms, as his legs had succumbed to a lack of blood flow. He sat up against the tree, panting, as clouds of hot breath turned into mist before his eyes. His long bow had been lost among the dead, but Brouder still had his short bow. He was also out of arrows in his quivers, having lost the majority during his scramble to enter the tree hollow. While leaning up against the tree, Brouder looked out on the field of petrified grey trees; watching over the decomposing bodies. This forest was so strange, Brouder thought. There were no carrion birds, no insects, and no rodents to clean up the bodies. The corpses of Brouder’s companions, betrayed by their allies, would be allowed to decay unmolested. Although, with only two nights having past, and the preserving chill of the autumn air, the bodies would not decompose for some time. In fact, it was likely that many bodies had been fossilized here. Were he to bring a shovel, Brouder might uncover the remains of battles long past. On another note, with Brouder being a single man, both starving and exhausted, he would barely be able to bury one body, let alone a couple hundred. Furthermore, Brouder knew his bow and arrows painted a target on him, and there were no Wolves of Klausvein that could him in the area. Therefore, Brouder made the decision to do the unthinkable. He would leave his bow and arrows in the hollow. However, before he would leave the hollow, Brouder searched for a long bow to accompany his short bow. Reuniting the tools of the Klausvein Wolves, Brouder gave a ceremonial burial to all his companions; by burying two bows and two quivers in the tree. Brouder also buried his Klausvein Wolf identity with the weapons, as he would never be able to return without his bows and quiver. Finally, Brouder placed the crown of raven feathers, placed atop a fur hat, inside the hollow as well. To finish the ceremony, Bouder picked

up a dead man’s water skin, and sprinkled a few drops over the objects inside the hollow. “As you are cleansed in life, so to do I cleanse you in death. May you into the next world with no taint of life on you.” Brouder spoke the customary prayer of the cleansed, before invoking the Old Wolf. He flung his arms out, opened his face to the sky, and howled. His howl was that of pain and misery, carrying the souls of all his dead brethren in its tune. This howl was like that of the lone wolf, having lost his pack, and calling out to the wild; in despair. Brouder in one long breath called on the Old Wolf, the titan that wore the crown of trees, to come and collect these of his pack: for their last adventure. With those rites done, Brouder picked up a long stick and hobbled away from the hollow. He ed by so many corpses as he went, still and frozen to the ground. This petrified forest was like a graveyard, and the grey cloud cover increased Brouder’s empty feeling inside. He wished that he could leave all of this behind, and finally wake up from his nightmare. He wished that, someday soon, he would wake up a see the sun shining, feel a clean wind on his face, and here the songs of birds. How he missed bird song, and all the sounds of the forest: not found in this barren wasteland. With these thoughts in his mind, Brouder wondered how many nightmares he had awoke from. In fact, all the nightmares seemed to blend together, as if his sleeping nightmares were no different than his waking ones. Life was a nightmare, dreams were nightmares, so what exactly was a nightmare; Brouder thought. Either way, Brouder realized he could not the last time his stomach had been turned by the sight of the dead. As he continued along no particular path, Brouder ventured north and away from the slaughter. Brouder’s path would take him towards the Castle Klorn, and he had to come up with a good story before he got there. Unfortunately, vagrant would not be a good cover, as vagrants were executed upon confession, or discovery. In fact, there was almost no story that Brouder could tell, and avoid punishment. During his hobbling journey north, Brouder wondered what had happened to Kendrich the Young Wolf. Surely, he must have perished in the carnage that Brouder had left behind. The thought of the young warrior’s light, extinguished so quickly, before he had gained any battlefield glory, made Brouder’s blood boil. The young man had died, because of the betrayal from Tanggar and his white foxes. Brouder knew they should never be trusted, and always cautioned against working with those barbarians from the west. However, Brouder had said

the same of previous battles, but none had headed his warning. So many he knew that had died unnecessarily, and yet he could few names. He wondered just how many names he had forgotten: how many had perished in all the battles that he had fought. Kendrich was one of many warriors, and the only imprint that they left on Brouder was dread, dread of his own mortality. All of those faces of proud Klausvein wolves, lifeless in some field, or on some mount, mixed in Brouder’s mind. Now, all Brouder saw was skin, two bows, and two quivers. There was almost a relief for Brouder, in leaving behind his bows and hat, as if he were finally free from his shackles and prison bars. The more Brouder thought about his freedom, the quicker his pace became. Whatever punishment awaited him at Klorn paled in comparison to the one that awaited a Wolf of Klausvein. Brouder had forsaken his identity, and was no longer an elite warrior of the Klausvein Wolf Factions. Now, he was just a man, a man with no identity. Certainly, if Brouder did not figure out something, then he would be hanged in Klorn: solely based on suspicion. What was he to do? Brouder wondered and walked, as he gouged lines in the dirt with his walking stick. The only thing that Brouder knew, was the Krugar princess had been captured. Only Brouder and the princess’s guards knew of this, but the guards could not ride on Klorn, and Pagul lay many miles south. It would take the guards at least two nights to ride on Pagul, and they were likely hunting the white foxes, but they would send some riders to deliver word. Although, that word would not reach Klorn for many moon cycles. Something had to be done, and Brouder would make certain that all Hohen knew of her fate. The one thing that gave Brouder hope was his last vision of the princess, as she was carried away by the warlord Tanggar. She had stabbed him savagely, before he had taken the weapon away from her. That wound would at least slow the white fox war band, and Brouder was counting on this to strike back. However, Brouder expected the garrison at Klorn would not believe him. He needed a very convincing tale to tell the guards, but nothing was coming to his mind. Perhaps, abandoning his image as a wolf of Klausvein would not be so easy. Despite all his rage and despair, Brouder had a deeper worry that threatened to plague him. Deep in the back of his mind, Brouder knew he was broken. The trouble was not whether he would lift a weapon again, but rather if he could. The old warrior felt, deep inside his body, that he had seen his last battle. Some cowards become courageous warriors, while some courageous warriors are made cowards. In Brouder’s case, he was an old warrior in decline, and he knew that he should have died many years ago.

THE CASTLE OF KLORN was an ancient and formidable structure, but its days of splendor were long gone. Now, only a skeleton loomed atop the hill of Klorn. The Castle itself was like a black monument to the past, and an omen of the darkness that ed through its halls. The Mad King of Klorn had once lived here. Although, many believe that story to be only a legend. The high tower of Klorn stretched up towards the sky, like a black finger pointing towards the dark clouds, and watching over the Dead Forest of petrified trees. The tower of Klorn had its ring lit up this night, the small circle of windows reflecting the light of a couple dozen candles. Halfway up its four-story structure, the ring of flickering windows were the only openings on the black tower. All the way at the top, a ring of open-air battlements housed four defensive Hohen heavy cannons. The cannons faced each of the cardinal pointes and their mouths looked menacingly down upon the countryside. Any forces that approached from the cardinal points, would have to answer to these large guns, and would be harassed from many miles off. However, only a single guard stood watch at the top of the tower, in the Raven’s Roost as they called. The guard was puffing clouds of smoke out of his pipe, and dangerously leaning against the gap in the Raven’s Roost ramparts. His leg dangled over the side, and he leaned up against the ten-inch-thick stone wall, in the gap left for the cannon. A few feet in front of his face, the guard ired the bronze barrel of the Hohen cannon. It was nearly twice his size and very heavy, so heavy, in fact, that the guard wondered how the cannon was carried up the tower. Since the guard was busy puffing on his pipe, and not scanning the horizon with his spy glass, he never saw the lonely figure walking among the dead trees below. Road weary and bedraggled, the shadowy newcomer hobbled through the barren forest. Leaning on a walking stick, he approached the gates of Klorn, unnoticed. Below the tower, the garrison at Klorn was in a similar state as the guard above. Hardly resembling the disciplined Hohen army, these soldiers were busy lounging about, playing card games, and sleeping. A handful of guards manned the castle walls, but they had become complacent in the recent years. Most of these soldiers resented being stationed at the edge of the Hohen empire, and they had, at least, one serious court martials a piece. All the guards had been flogged once, at least, and they resembled more of a criminal organization, rather than a professional garrison. It was unsurprising how little time the Lord of Klorn spent in the castle. There was a meager list of activities here, inside the castle, and any townsfolk, that had once resided outside its walls, were long gone. Now, only a

small populace inhabited the ghostly castle. On the other hand, the castle was well defensible, and could hold out against any siege, with only a small garrison. In fact, the garrison was much larger than necessary to defend its walls. Even this larger than normal force never noticed the figure that walked straight up to its gates, unmolested. The figure pounded on the gates with his walking stick, rapping on the wood repeatedly, until a muffled voice answered from inside. “Who is it? What ghost visits us at this late hour?” The muffled voice was angry, and strung together slurred words that were almost incomprehensible. The figure made no attempt to answer, his shadow covered body leaning against the wooden gate. When the gate opened, the figure collapsed inside. “How do you have knowledge of the postern!” A half-awake guard, with his uniform barely put together, demanded the stranger answer. However, the stranger had collapsed on the cold ground, and was unconscious. The guard growled and grumbled, before calling out for assistance. Two other, likely lower ranked, guards hurried up from opposite directions. One was wearing only black tros and a white undershirt, with his two dark green suspenders lazily dangling down his legs. He was barefoot and visibly intoxicated. On the other hand, his counterpart was a half-asleep soldier, with his uniform on backwards. The second guard also had a serious case of bedhead, with tufts of hair sticking jaggedly out on one side. The first guard to arrive, coming from the east of the wall, had wild black hair that cascaded over his shoulders. The other guard to arrive had short cropped hair, and wore a black and green felt tricorn hat, cocked to onside. Underneath, the guard wore a black cloth watch cap, and his one visible ear was pierced by a copper ring. In likeness to his uniform, the second guard’s hat was on backwards. Alternatively, the soldier that had answered the gate, an older man in his later moon cycles, grumbled as he walked away. The old guard disappeared into the postern’s wooden guardhouse. Leaving the two other men to sort out the newcomer, they stood over the stranger and stared down at the body. This stranger had curly black hair and was rather short, with a stout body. His fur cloak was stained with blood, and torn in many places. “Do you think an animal got him?” The intoxicated guard asked his half-asleep comrade. “I think he is a poacher. We should take him to the brig and sort it out in the morning.” “Truer words, never spoke. The cleansed one smiles on you this night.” The

drunk guard chuckled, as he clapped a hand on his compatriots’ shoulder. “What do you say about commandeering a cart from the stables?” “I will not be flayed for horse thievery!” The half-asleep guard lazily objected to this idea. “Fine!” The other guard grumbled angrily. “Since you want to do it the hard way, you take his ass!” The drunk guard squatted down and lifted the stranger up by the arms. The other guard, barely aware of where he was, stepped between the stranger’s legs and lifted. The two guards clumsily shuffled along, between the wall of the keep and the outer wall. “It’s the other way, idiot! We’re going toward the bailey, stag turd! Do you want to carry this thief the long way?” “Who pissed in your ale?” The groggy comrade mumbled, and the other guard simply ignored the incoherent comment. “Are you enjoying the view? It looks like you are planting your seed in this thief. You do know that two men cannot have fawns, right?” The drunk guard laughed, as his tired partner struggled between the stranger’s legs. “Oh, shut up you drunken doeson!” The tired guard shouted between heavy breaths. “Just don’t get us lost you sleepy fawn.” The drunk guard laughed, but his laughter was cut short by a sharp rock under his foot. The drunk guard yelped, as his barefoot stepped down hard on the jagged stone. Meanwhile, the tired partner seemed not to notice. In fact, he barely noticed when the two encountered the wall between the keep and the battlements. The two guards shuffled through a small wooden door, and out into the castle bailey. The courtyard was surrounded by dozens of old wooden buildings, all of which had random guards stumbling through the alley ways. “Who is that?” A drunken guard called out from between two buildings. However, the two, carrying the newcomer, said nothing in reply. They came to the entrance of the castle’s cellar, just at the base of the keep. “We can cut through the cellar.” The drunken soldier, with a glint in his eye, dropped his side of the unconscious stranger; the stranger’s face half landing in a hot pile of horse manure.

“I don’t want to be flayed for stealing food.” The groggy soldier, not noticing that his companion had dropped his end of the unconscious stranger, attempted to continue forward. The stranger’s face was dragged through the manure, as he was pushed along the ground by his legs. “You are using him to plow, what man lover are you. I think we should replace that uniform with a dress.” The drunken guard laughed, as he pulled open the heavy oak cellar doors. “Perhaps you will wear a dress properly.” “You’re one to talk. I bet your feet stink like deer shite.” The half-asleep companion soldier stopped moving his cargo, and waited for his counterpart to lift the other side. “You mother liked them last night, when she licked them clean.” The drunken guard laughed, as he stepped backwards and down the wooden cellar stairs. “My mother is dead, you doeshite.” The tired guard almost tripped down the stairs, as he stepped into the cellar. This soldier nearly dropped the unconscious stranger’s legs, but managed to regain his balance, before completely losing his footing. “Come on bootstrap robber, lets raid a couple flagons.” The drunk guard dropped his side of the stranger, once more, and began rummaging through the dozens of sacks around them. Meanwhile, the cellar was large, consisting of six stone rooms, and this room was filled with sacks. “The ale isn’t here, you drunk doe tail! It is a room over.” The tired guard, realizing this time that it was only he that carried the stranger, dropped the unconscious man’s legs. “What has tainted you two grave-robbers!” A commanding voice barked down from the top of the cellar stairs, as a crisp autumn breeze swept in through the opening. “Deershite! It’s the BreikLieutenant!” The drunken guard scampered away, and the groggy guard followed him, tripping over sacks of flour as he went. “Oh, what have those two vagrants done to you?” A tall and commanding officer of Klorn’s garrison, his face freshly shaved and his uniform crisp, stood over the unconscious stranger. “You must be one of the castle attendants, lost in those

cursed woods, but what happened to you?” The guard, thinking himself a sort of sleuth, kneeled and touched the stranger’s blood caked fur cloak. “Well, nothing like the morning to sort out the night. Don’t worry, we will discover the truth, if these villains don’t kill you first.” The watch commander stood; his face drawn up in a perplexed fashion. “What did I ever do to deserve this post?” Then, the watch commander grumbled to himself, as he hoisted the stranger onto his shoulders. Grunting, the watch commander ascended the cellar’s stairs, not noticing the other two, hiding behind stacked flour sacks. While walking across the courtyard, four guards, with bags under their eyes, looked over and saw the struggling watch commander. They made eye with the tall Hohen officer and looks of shock flashed over their faces. In unison, a group of guardsmen rushed over to help the watch commander. “I was about to have six men on the whipping post this night.” The watch commander arrogantly scoffed at the four guardsmen, as they sheepishly took the unconscious stranger from the watch commander. “Clean him up and find him a room in the barracks! Keep a guard posted over him though, with a six-hour rotation! Move!” The commander spat, as he berated the four guardsmen. “Yes, commander!” The four guards hurried off, eager to get away from their tyrannical watch commander. “Now, time to track down those two piles of doeshite that were raiding the cellar.” The watch commander, snorting in contempt, marched off to form a search party.

“HE’S AWAKE!” THESE were the first words that Brouder heard when he awoke, coming from the lips of a Hohen soldier. The weary old wolf of Klausvein sat up in a bed of straw and burlap, with a feather pillow that smelled like sweat and dirt. Brouder’s body ached, and he felt his limbs creek, like the timbers of an old house in a windstorm. His small room was clearly not a prison cell, but he was not a visitor either, as a Hohen soldier sat in the corner across from Brouder’s bed. The soldier, with his boots kicked up and propped on the only other chair in the room, wore a poorly kept soldier’s uniform. His black frock coat was unbuttoned and fell lazily open, to expose his sweat-stained white undershirt. In addition to the soldier’s pitiful ensemble, his dark grey pants were caked in dried mud. Furthermore, his two leather black boots had been kicked off, placed under his footrest, and smelled like horse dung. The soldier’s black felt tricorn hat rested on his elongated stomach, with the tip of his standard issue bayonet peeking out from underneath. The soldier had been reading a small pamphlet that went unrecognized to Brouder. However, even in his groggy state, Brouder noticed the strange title and picture on the cover. The small book, which could only have been a handful of pages, seemed very odd. A collection of animals gathered around a fire on the front cover, all artfully drawn and drinking flagons of ale. Written in the large moon that overlooked the gathering, the title said, “Where Creatures Speak”. “What book is that?” Brouder’s throat was hoarse, and it took him a few moments to untie the words. “Quiet and wait until the watch commander arrives. Here is some water.” The soldier was emotionless in his reply, as he picked up a wooden cup, from the almost miniature table next to his chair. Handing the cup to Brouder, the soldier’s hat and bayonet fell onto the floor. The rifle, leaning against the wall behind the soldier, also fell onto the floor with a loud thud. Cursing, the soldier repositioned the rifle, and picked up his hat and bayonet, after Brouder had accepted the cup of water. Once the soldier returned to his book, the door to the room swung outward, and the watch commander stood in the doorway. He was well dressed in his BreikLieutenant officer’s uniform, his young face was clean shaven, and he filled up the doorway with a robust frame. “Have your senses left you!” The BreikLieutenant, looking over at the lazy soldier, immediately started yelling. He had a ridding crop tucked under his left

shoulder. Brouder half expected the watch commander to begin beating his subordinate with it. The only other weapon on the watch commander was a long straight blade at his hip, its handguard iron forged and snaking around the top half of the handle. “Put you boots on! And button your coat! Are you a soldier of Hohen, or a doeshite bastard that mixed with a wolf’s entrails?” “I am from Black Bastion,” the soldier growled in a low and contemptuous tone. “Black Bastion is under the Hohen crown! You are not worthy to wear this uniform, lazy scoundrel.” The Watch Commander was livid, and his pale face was flushed red. “What does that say about you? Who did you shite on to get put in charge of us thieves and brigands?” The soldier smirked, hoping for a reaction from the commander. “I was sent here to put you lot in line, like proper Hohen regulars.” The Watch Commander kicked the soldier’s legs off their resting place, and the soldier grimaced from the strike. With a sour look on his face, the soldier collected his things and hurried out. “I delivered you here last night. Lucky for you I did, as two of the doeshites on watch were going to put you in the brig.” The Watch Commander sat down where the soldier had been, and kicked off his own boots. He then placed his sock covered legs on the chair opposite him, taking up the same relaxed manner as his subordinate had been in. In addition to his sword, Brouder noticed a pistol, tucked into a leather frog, on the other side of the Watch Commander’s belt. “Although, I half expect that you belong in the brig. Still, someone who dares travel the Dead Forest at night is either mad or desperate. So, nefarious stranger, tell me why you took such a risk to come here.” The officer removed his metal spiked helmet and unbuttoned his white waist coat. “My name is Bouder-” Suddenly realizing his mistake, Brouder cut himself off, to gather his thoughts. The Watch Commander’s appeared to take not of this abrupt pause, but made no mention of it. “My name is Brouder from Eukar.” “You don’t appear as a citizen of the eastern region of the empire. What brings you, so far from home?” The Watch Commander’s eyes were steadily narrowing, so much so that he was almost squinting. “I am soldier of fortune, traveling to the Krugar Haganate, and looking for

employment.” “I see no weapons, and the kingdom hasn’t been at war in many cycles. I could see you more as a poacher, but there is no game in the dead wood.” The Watch Commander slightly tilted his head and leaned in towards Brouder, studying Brouder like shopper at market. “You are very astute, commander. However, poaching is illegal, and, as you pointed out, there is no game in the Dead Forest.” “Yes, and yet a poacher lies before me in a soldier’s bed, after nearly killing himself to make it here. Also, I happened to take note of the blood on your clothes, and minor stab wounds on your back. It appears you were coming from a rigorous fight.” “I was, indeed, in a fight, but not of my own making, commander. I saw this black carriage and its escort of mounted warriors come under attack. I barely escaped myself. The attackers were also mounted, and they took a lady from the carriage. I didn’t recognize any of them.” “So, someone with mounted guards, and in a carriage, was attacked on a road by a group of mounted warriors. How did you escape? I saw no horse when you arrived.” The Watch Commander crossed his arms over his chest, incredibly suspicious of Brouder’s story. “I did have a horse, but it was wounded in my escape and I had to leave it behind.” “Your story is incredible.” The Watch Commander rubbed a hand over his cleanshaven chin. “There was an attack on the Lady of Klorn’s carriage. Although, that was many moon cycles back. Surely, you do speak of the assault on her. She was traveling by Klorn road and she was not captured.” “No, I did not recognize these people, but the carriage was Hohen.” “Was this south?” The watch commander’s face started to become worried. “We did receive a report from Hohen, only a few cycles back, written in the hand of the Krugar High Counsel. Could they have come from the west?” The Watch Commander was becoming intrigued now, but Brouder expected that he still did not believe. Brouder simply shrugged, and the Watch Commander remained

silent. Then, a knock came at the door. The guard shouted that a group of riders were approaching from the south.

Chapter Four

The Mare’s Escape

In those early hours before dawn, when the birds sing but no sun shines, the enlisted and commissioned officers of Klorn’s garrison gathered under the southern wall. Lanterns and torches were still lit; bending with the wind, like orange leaves on a willow. A chilly breeze swept across the hills and wafted across the castle grounds. Causing the garrison to shiver and their teeth to chatter. These winds were unimpeded by the petrified trees of the surrounding forest. Despite their heavy cloth uniforms, the soldiers without their grog ration were visibly encumbered by the freezing winds. Many of the soldiers lazily patrolled, with arms crossed and heads down, even ignoring the harsh words of their watch commanders. The patrolling soldiers gained a reprieve, when the BreikLieutenant of the garrison called all the watch commanders to him. Strolling up as if he were shot from a cannon, the garrison’s leader showed no sign of morning chills. His brow was furrowed, his eyes set alight in rage, and his arms swung rigidly at his sides. While he stormed towards his commanders, the BreikLieutenant’s heavy black great cloak billowed out behind him. The tall burly man struck an intimidating visage, which caused his watch commanders to lower their gazes. Coming to a halt in front of the semicircle of watch commanders, the BreikLieutenant’s face flushed a deep red, but he refrained from speaking. The BreikLieutenant simply glared at his tired and cold watch commanders, some still shaking off grogginess, as they had only just awoken. “Meit Breik,” one of the watch commanders began to speak, but the BreikLieutenant held up a hand. The watch commander fell silent and nervously eyed his superior. “Who authorized a break from protocol?” The BreikLieutenant final spoke, after what felt like an eternity for his watch commanders. “Which deershite did this?” Still, no answer came from the watch commanders. One stifled a yawn, after the BreikLieutenants hard stare glanced to the tired watch commander. “You were

fine officers when we came to this castle, but it seems you have become like these men. What a disgrace.” The BreikLieutenant shook his head, breathing deeply and composing himself. “A full-report can wait, and the culprit will be thoroughly punished, but I want to know what unclean beast has trampled here this night.” Still, no answer came from the watch commanders. “In all that is cleansed, if one of you doeshites does not speak, I will personally contaminate the earth with you.” The BreikLieutenant ground his teeth, and almost started shaking from rage. “Who was on watch ed the late moon?” Still, no answer came from the nervous watch commanders. The BreikLieutenant sighed and folded his arms under his great cloak. The group stood for a little while, with the BreikLieutenant staring at his watch commanders, and the watch commanders each attempting to avoid his gaze. “The moon was hidden this night.” One of the watch commanders finally spoke up, perplexed by losing feeling in his fingers and toes from the cold. “Who was on this wall! Wolf baiting doeshite!” The BreikLieutenant’s fury immediately focused on the watch commander that had just spoken. “It was I,” one of the watch commanders simply replied. Finally, the BreikLieutenant seemed to calm. “Make your reports, then. The rest of you will be dismissed.” The BreikLieutenant snorted out a puff of hot breath and produced a pip from under his cloak. While packing his pipe with tobacco, he listened patiently to his watch commanders. “All is safe and secure at the bailey, meit Breik. There is nothing new to report at this time.” The first watch commander, on the BreikLieutenant’s left, spoke and saluted. The BreikLieutenant nodded in reply, and the watch commander backed away. The next reports followed, until only the southern wall’s watch commander remained. “Now, report on these events at the southern wall.” The BreikLieutenant puffed lightly, producing intermittent clouds of smoke from his nostrils. “A stranger, with the look of a poacher, arrived from the forest. I ordered him to be quartered with the men, with a guard to be changed on the hour.” “You put a criminal with the men.” The BreikLieutenant smiled as his watch

commander peered back nervously. “How fitting, what is one more thief.” “The traveler is still very weak. I can only imagine how he survived the Dead Forest.” “Carry on,” the BreikLieutenant waived dismissively with his pipe. “Then, not long after the traveler’s arrival, a rider approached, and the patrol sounded the alarm.” “Broke protocol,” the BreikLieutenant interjected dismissively. “They were very unusual circumstances, meit Breik.” The Watch Commander shuffled his feet uncomfortably, attempting to keep blood flowing through his veins. “What did this rider want, that it warranted a breach in protocol?” The BreikLieutenant turned his head to the side and scanned the battlement patrols. “The rider was a westerner, wearing white sashes, and he said a name that I did not recognize.” “No matter, the westerners are all the same. Barbarian doeshites that make children with horses.” “He said they had the Krugar princess captive.” The Watch Commander continued, attempting to ignore his BreikLieutenant’s condescending demeanor. “Why should I care if a couple barbarians steal a barbarian whore? She has probably been had by so many stallions that she is half horse herself. You must know, the greatest minds in Hohen have proven these westerners to not be human. It has been proven.” The BreikLieutenant began to lose focus, muttering to himself and staring into the distance. “Is she not betrothed to the Crown Prince?” The Watch Commander received only a slight nod from the BreikLieutenant. “The rider also spoke of a wounding to their leader. They said that they would trade the princess for medicine.” “How did you ascertain all of this? Do you speak their language?” The BreikLieutenant’s eyebrow raised, glancing sideways at his watch commander.

“No meit Breik, the rider spoke poor Molinese. It took some time to understand him.” “Very well,” the BreikLieutenant waived with his pipe. “What was the name of this leader? That is if you are able to speak gelding.” The BreikLieutenant chuckled at his own joke. “Tengair, Tangren, Tanggor,” the Watch Commander feebly struggled to pronounce the name. “Tanggar...” a light erupted in the BreikLieutenant’s eye. “This is a rare opportunity, indeed. Muster the men, we set forth when the sun breaks shadow. Get the poacher ready. He could be of some use, and put him in some shackles, for all that is cleansed!” The BeikLieutenant knocked his pipe out on his leg, preparing to depart. “Meit Breik, what if they outnumber us?” “No matter how great a host, barbarians cannot withstand the discipline of Hohen regulars. Although, the vagrants that reside here are barely Hohen.” The BreikLieutenant eyed his patrolling soldiers with disgust, before departing for the stables.

THE SUN WAS STILL RISING, as the first rays of morning rose over the walls of Klorn. The castle and the Dead Forest had seen many days of dreary grey weather, with intermittent storms. However, snow had not come to the forest since the Age of a Hundred Kings, when the King of Klorn chased away the snow. It was said that the King of Klorn ushered in a green age for the forest, which was called the Field of Jewels. That was many lifetimes ago. Just as the king’s line ended in madness, the once mighty forest followed him into death. Now, with the sun casting its bright morning face over the forest wasteland, a horrifying scene spread out before the host from Klorn. Three riders, and nearly a hundred and fifty men, marched through the castle’s south gate. With the southern road long since reclaimed by the earth, the men walked along no path. They simply headed south, as no living thing obscured their path. Not even an acorn, nor a single leaf could be seen. The landscape appeared as though a thousand grey skeletons stood watch; for a king that would never return. No bird song could be heard and not even a mosquito could be seen. This forest was more desolate than the grey desert in the east. In fact, only the wind could be heard, howling like a mother over her newborn’s grave. The forest obscured nothing, so even a smile breeze would sound like a gale. This cursed place took an immediate hold on the men. Where once they had been singing and chattering, they all fell silent. Their faces had been brighter and lively inside Klorn’s grey walls, but they had fallen to worry upon leaving. Brouder, with his hands bound by rope, was the only among the band that showed no signs of the forest’s effect. Unsurprisingly, most of Klorn’s garrison had not stepped foot outside the castle walls in many moon cycles. “They could’ve left a straighter path.” One of the two Watch Commanders, atop his horse, grumbled at the mismatched hoof trails. Left by the western barbarians on the return to their camp, the trail was a crisscrossed maze of hoof and paw prints. “To what animal do these other prints belong?” “Perhaps, they uncovered your mother!” The other Watch Commander, laughing uproariously, could not resist this teasing opportunity. “One, ugly as you, could only have come from unification with a bear!” “Silence thyselves, doeshite vagrants!” The BreikLieutenant snapped at his commanders. “Bring the poacher!” The BreikLieutenant, his great coat fluttering from the man’s sudden movements, quickly twisted around in his saddle.

Brouder was shuffled forward, escorted by two downcast soldiers, their black and dark green uniforms appearing grey in the sunlight. “Meit Breik, you summon me?” Brouder, speaking the Hohen tongue with the same accent as the soldiers, peered up at the BreikLieutenant. With unwavering eyes, Brouder stared back at Klorn’s garrison commander. The BreikLieutenant, taken aback at Brouder’s look, leaned away and narrowed his eyes in thought. Clearly, something in Brouder’s manner had raised the garrison commander’s suspicions. “Tell me, pitiful poacher,” the BreikLieutenant continued eyeing his captive suspiciously, “what does one as thyself see in these tracks?” The BreikLieutenant’s large brown horse shied away as Brouder shuffled forward. The BreikLieutenant and his two watch commanders wore the uniforms of the Hohen Stag Kavalars. However, their splendidly white uniforms, with dark green trim, appeared grey in this place. In fact, even their metal antler helmets appeared in a grayish hue. Even though the three Stag Kavalars wore a lighter shade of grey, than the soldiers, the whole host looked nearly void of color. Although some color of their uniforms was visible, the band appeared as though all colors of life had been stripped away. Only Brouder, wearing his animal skins, could be readily identified in the landscape, although he could still blend in with the environment. “Well, as I know these western barbarians, they will obscure their tracks. This, as it seems to me, is not such a circumstance.” Brouder knelt, plunging his bound hands into the grey mud, and began digging. However, there appeared to be no pattern to Brouder’s digging. He would throw mud around and savagely attack random patches of mud or dirt. “Have you become struck by fever! Cleanse thyself of this madness!” The BreikLieutenant, suddenly forgetting his suspicions, struggled to control his skittish horse. “Hast mine horse become struck in tow?” The horses of both Watch Commanders became skittish also, threating to throw their riders. “Cease thyself of these unclean acts!” The BreikLieutenant shouted at Brouder, as the garrison commander’s horse began to stumble into the soldiers. All the soldiers had gathered in a semi-circular to watch, but now they scrambled away from the frightened warhorse. The men bumped into each other, some tripping and falling on one another, as they barely avoided being trampled.

“Horses have become mares!” One of the Watch Commanders shouted in exasperation to the other riders. “Cease this madness!” The Watch Commander added to the BreikLieutenant’s order, even though Brouder had stopped digging. While the three commanders struggled to control their mounts, Brouder looked over the muddy ground. As if oblivious to his surroundings, Brouder’s concentration was not even broken by flying mud. A large clump a wet grey earth splashed across Brouder’s wild beard, but his eyes stayed focused. “Hah!” Brouder exclaimed and jumped forwards. “What have you unearthed?” The BreikLieutenant, finally managing to scramble off his horse, fought to keep his mount from bolting. Wrenching hard on the horse’s reins, the brass bit began to bend. The horse’s neck muscles were flexing, and his veins were on the verge of bursting. The wild look in the horse’s eye became ever worse, until the horse finally reared and snapped his bit. The BreikLieutenant, dejected, let his hands drop to his side. The man appeared as though all meaning had been stripped from his life. The stallion, one of his oldest companions, disappeared into the desolate forest, leaving the BreikLieutenant with an empty pair of reins. The BreikLieutenant was left in a fog, as the Watch Commanders barely managed to secure their own mounts to trees. Although, some of the men had regained their senses and helped the Watch Commanders, it was too late for the BreikLieutenant’s horse. “Meit Breik?” One of the Watch Commanders placed a hand on the BreikLieutenant’s shoulder, stirring the older garrison commander from his blind sadness. “Yes?” The BreikLieutenant turned around, an emptiness reflected in his gaze. The two Watch Commanders flanked Brouder. Simply holding out his hand, Brouder met the gaze of the distraught garrison commander. Surprisingly, the BreikLieutenant seemed to find strength in Brouder’s gaze, as the two communicated in an unspoken tongue. “Take it,” the Watch Commander coaxed the BreikLieutenant forward and the garrison commander reached for Brouder’s hand. A large ball of grey mud dropped into the BreikLieutenant’s hand. “It is only mud.” The BreikLieutenant began to show signs of irritation, looking inquisitively at his Watch Commander.

“Look,” the Watch Commander pointed deliberately at the mud ball. “Feel inside it.” In response, the BreikLieutenant sighed and began playing with the mud ball. His eyes suddenly widened in surprise, his fingers encountering a sticky fluid. That all too familiar feeling a thick coagulating blood stretched over his skin. “I don’t understand. How is the possible? The blood clots before my eyes. This is not possible.” The BreikLieutenant stared down in disbelief, looking at the mass of mud and coagulating blood. “I cannot explain it, but I don’t expect an encounter with barbarians any time soon.” Brouder reached down and held up a handful of grey mud, blood, and fur. “Whatever in this unclean world could have happened here? What has been conjured by these doesons of mares?” The BreikLieutenant looked around at the ground, realizing the coagulating blood was everywhere. It had all been uncovered by Brouder and caused the BreikLieutenant to lose his horse. “Some abhorrent magic has taken place here.” “Commanders!” One of the men shouted and pointed to the south. Possibly an even greater sight struck the band as a figure began to approach; sprinting and stumbling periodically. The figure had long and wild hair. Clearly a woman, she was completely naked, clothed only in grey mud and blood. They heard a throaty cry come from her, before she tripped and fell face first into the mud. She pulled herself to her feet, and continued running, waiving her arms frantically. “Raise the antlers!” One Watch Commander sounded the call to arms, while the others sprinted out towards the woman. His boots splashing grey mud, the Watch Commander drew his straight sword. The commander nearly slipped, himself, as he came to the filthy and naked woman. He threw his cloak over her, and scooped her delicate body up into his arms. Sprinting back, the watch commander’s determined features were also marred by confusion. “Who is she?” Another commander called out to his comrade, while directing the men into a defensive circle. “Prepare for horse and lance!” The Watch Commander shouted and raised the point of his sword towards the sun. The men were arrayed a three-line deep circle, with a nearly twenty-foot wide diameter. Not all the men were in formation, as they had been lost in the madness. The most veteran of the soldiers managed to form the formation and point their rifles

outward. These men made a wall of bristling musket barrels, that menaced only the trees around them. However, no attackers were visible. In fact, not a single creature was visible on the horizon. After the other watch commander returned, bearing the mud-covered woman in his arms, the men relaxed. However, the watch commander ordered them to remain in formation. Meanwhile, the BreikLieutenant strolled over to the lady and wiped some of the mud from her face. Still, the BreikLieutenant could not recognize anything about her, nor could any of the men. “Who are you my fawn?” The BreikLieutenant spoke, but the lady seemed not to understand. Then, she spoke, but in a foreign language. “Could this be the princess?” The Watch Commander, that bore the naked young woman, looked up at his BreikLieutenant questioningly. “We must return to the castle. This woman has seen an unknown horror. Perhaps, she will even know of this magic blood that scared away a hardy horse of war.” The BreikLieutenant placed a hand on the shivering lady, as she pulled the watch commander’s cloak tightly around herself. The BreikLieutenant leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, to comfort her. Sighing, as the woman continued to shiver and mutter to herself, the BreikLieutenant shook his head in exasperation. “Come, let us return to Klorn’s walls.” “Don’t need to tell me twice.” The other Watch Commander collected the two remaining horses and ordered the troops to move out, as he wearily eyed the surrounding forest.

Chapter Five

The Mad Bride

Following their adventures outside of the castle, the entire expedition party retired to the massive store cellar. Tucked far back, among the bags of rice and flour, Brouder ed a merry band of drunk soldiers. Every member was present at this gathering, save for one soldier, who had stepped out to relieve himself. The soldier’s name was Rudtham. A young soldier, Rudtham had an infamously small bladder, and had to relieve himself many times during the night. None could sleep, after what they had been through, and all were attempting to keep their minds occupied. While the other soldiers in the garrison were envious of this treat, the garrison commander had ordered the night off; for himself and all others present. However, Brouder suspected this merriment had an ulterior motive. After all, why were they hiding from the rest of the garrison? It would be very unfortunate that the young Rudtham had to relieve himself, at this moment, and his small bladder would land him in great peril. “My dear fellows!” The garrison commander stood up, waiving a flagon of dark beer, which freely sloshed over the sides. The commander was extremely drunk, in addition to all the others. Brouder was the only moderately sober individual at this gather. The commander had, previously, been playing cards with the other commanders. Four of them sat in a circle, with the bottoms parked on the tops of barrels. The card game, known as the Wicks Wacker, was an old game of skill and trickery. As all the good games require, an opponent had to trick his other opponents into a trap, while avoiding those of his fellows. Humorously, the Wick Wacker had not gained its name from the objective. Rather, its name was derived from playing the game by candle light. Often, the cards would be set on fire by the single candle, in the center. An odd tradition, this game was always played with one candle in the middle of a ring of players, all squinting around it. “Listen up!” One of garrison commander’s card game compatriots shouted above the din. Slowly, a hush ed over the room, like slowly moving tendrils

of fog. “Much abridged my dear stag tail,” the garrison commander winked at his subordinate, and his card partners nervously laughed in reply. “This forest of despair, that has been our prison for many cycles now, plays tricks on the mind. I am certain that many of you believe what we witnessed this past day. However, you must reconsider, for the sake of thyself and all those beside. I believe, none of you thieving rat traps are in need of a reminder, of the fate that awaits the mentally unclean. If one word of this past day is spoken, you might endanger all of us present here, tonight. Therefore, if I hear rumor that a tongue has moved, that individual will become feed for worms! Is that understood?” The resounding reply was undeniable, all had heard and understood, save for the poor young Rundtham. As the garrison commander retook his seat, another of the commanders stood, and Rundtham returned to the cellar. Ashamed at his own absence, Rundtham carefully retook his seat. Unfortunate for him, Rundtham was successful in his deception, and none were aware of his return, as all eyes were fixed on the new speaker. “We have received word that the Crown Prince is only a day from arrival, as you all . This news was shared before our departure, as you all . If you wish to keep your antlers attached to your doeshite bodies, then no word will be spoken to the prince of his princess. Surely, he will take note of her state, himself. Especially concerning the death of her attendant, the Prince must see her state, before he is regaled with such difficult news. I believe, once he sees the princess, he will understand what she has done. , the princess is above the law, but you all are not. If the prince suspects our minds unclean, we could all be facing his antlers. That is all my fellow stags. Drink the black water, and push the past day from your minds. We must carry-on in the same manner as before. , you are all regulars of Hohen, and hardy stags!” The commander raised his tankard of dark beer above his head, and drained the entire pint. The rest in the room did the same, and then returned to the previous din. While many in the room were on their third or fourth pint, and nearly slobbering over their games, Brouder was still nursing his first. After such chaotic events, and a drastically varied diet, Brouder was worried what an excess of beer might do to his stomach. Furthermore, he was still an outcast among the garrison, and sat by himself in the corner. However, things could be worse, as Brouder was no longer a prisoner. Instead, he was allowed guest rights, but with very little lead way. Fortunately, he was no longer bound, and was allowed regular meals. None would talk to him, but he felt the past day had bonded him to the garrison, more

than any other could. Brouder thought back to the blood on the ground, that seemed to almost be alive, as it refused to solidify. Additionally, the odd state that the Krugar princess arrived in was extremely strange. Certain questions would need answering, Brouder knew. Why was she naked? What was she doing alone? And, how did she escape Tanggar’s clutches. However, no answers could be had from the princess, as she was struck with a horrible madness. Only one hour after arrival, the princess, without warning, stabbed one of her attending guards. The man’s wound, a fatal gash in his neck, also refused to clot. Fortunately, only the soldiers from the expedition had seen this, and they quickly cleaned it up. The death of one guard could easily be forgotten, but the death of the Krugar princess would be an unforgivable error. Therefore, the garrison commander had the princess clothed, and the tied to a bed in the tower. This way, she was kept alive, but unable to harm another of her attendants. There were no maids, as only the garrison resided at Klorn, now. The lady Klorn had taken all of the civilians with her, when she abandoned the castle, a few moon cycles beforehand. So, three uncomfortable guards stood watch over the shrieking and wriggling princess. The BreikLieutenant, and garrison commander, was very careful in handling this situation, and ensured only soldiers from the expedition remained to guard her. After all, as he saw, the less soldiers involved, the better. Brouder attempted desperately, to push these worries from his mind, and focus on anything else. In this endeavor, Brouder glanced around the room, watching the many card and dice games. Only one pair of soldiers was playing the game of trumpets, which was the only game that Brouder was familiar with. These two soldiers Brouder knew, both were rather intelligent individuals, but their names were easily forgotten. Finally, sick of being alone, and extremely bored, Brouder slipped behind a pile of burlap sacks; filled with some sort of product. He quietly and stealthily crept along the outskirts of the party, until he reached the cellar stairs. Quietly bounding up the stairs, Brouder exited into the crisp night air. He exhaled heavily, as he vacated the dingy atmosphere below. The entire group of soldiers had an issued pipe, which all were smoking. The thick fog of tobacco smoke poured through the door, like a heavy floating blanket. Brouder walked along the edge of the keep, hoping to avoid the prying eyes of the night watch. Since his understanding was shaky, as to his present status, Brouder hoped to avoid any unwanted attention. However, he did notice a small open gate, which must have been forgotten, during the chaos of the daytime. Unfortunately, as he peered towards a possible salvation, Brouder watched a guard approach and

close this gate. Grumbling, the guard stormed off, hoping to avoid blame, Brouder presumed. While sauntering across the dark and muddy courtyard, Brouder peered up at the great Klorn tower. It peered back at him, with the top of the tower’s windows casting a faint light into the darkness. It was like the lighthouse on a rocky shore. However, the tower of Klorn presented the only safety, from the barren wasteland beyond, which was the opposite of a warning lighthouse. The towers four cannons stretched, like black tongues, out from the round parapet of dark stone. The whole tower seemed like a great black and tall figure, with a head of colorful eyes, that stood watch over a dead forest. A forest that would never again live. Brouder wondered if the forest had an effect on the previous days, if it was a curse, as many believed, that caused so much destruction here. On the other hand, Brouder wondered if the garrison commander was correct, in his presumption of insanity. Was the petrified forest playing tricks on their minds, or did the visions of the past day really take place? Brouder hoped these questions would be answered upon the prince’s arrival.

THE NEXT DAY, THE of the expedition stood out, in the welcoming formation. All the of the expedition comprised their own formation; ten men abreast, and three deep. Clearly, all of them were nursing harsh hangovers, with some even vomiting in formation. Their entire group stank of beer, and some were barely able to stand up straight. Fortunate for him, Brouder was not in as sorry of a shape as these men, as he stood behind their formation. Brouder, and the rest of the expedition party, were surrounded by other formations. Although not quite as big, the other formations were placed in a semi-circle, around the expedition formation. While the garrison commander stated this position was a place of honor, Brouder suspect the surrounding formations were intended as a threat; in an attempt to sew the mouths of the men shut. Additionally, while this presentation was the best the men could muster, they still looked like a rabble of vagabonds. Despite their best efforts, their once dark colored uniforms had become stained grey. The men had holes in their shoes, jackets, and waistcoats. Some even wore strips of dirty cloth, in an attempt to keep out the biting cold. While they tried their best to look presentable, it clearly had no effect on the crown prince. Turning up his nose at the formation, the crown prince rode through the eastern gate of Klorn. Cast wide open, the men saw the crown prince, and his retinue, from a great distance. The cannons above shook the ground, as they fired a shot each, which signaled the arrival of royalty and their guests. This was all part of the ceremony, but it still shocked some of the men, who hadn’t heard the cannons sound in many moon cycles. In fact, the cannon booms even spooked the horses below, as the cannons were Hohen heavy guns; the largest kind on the continent. The crown prince struggled to control his mount, as twenty stag kavalars did the same. Also, while the crown prince rode at the head of the small party, Brouder doubted this was the case for the whole journey. Clearly exhausted from the journey, the crown prince was visibly annoyed, as he waited for the formalities to be completed. First, the garrison herald announced the crown prince’s arrival, after the echoing sounds of cannon fire had drifted into the distance. All of the prince’s names and titles were spoken, followed by reports from all of the commanders. Brouder thought this practice strange, as a brief inside the command chambers would be more fitting. Instead, the commanders shouted out practiced rhetoric, and the crown prince nodded his replies. Despite shirking his traditional responsibilities, the crown prince could not be held able here. He was subject only to his father and the general

counsel, so he could ignore almost any regulation with impunity. The commanders, taken a leaf from the prince’s book, skipped over many of the ceremonial steps; cutting the time of reporting down to thirty minutes, instead of two hours. Then, satisfied the Crown Prince was lead up the tower, to meet with his princess. Brouder could only imagine what had taken place above, as he patiently waited in the stables. Sitting on a wooden stool, Brouder watched a man lazily grooming one of the few mares left. A large number of the garrison horses had fled, during the expedition. Now, Brouder only counted five, but he also had little knowledge of the castle, and all its nooks and crannies. There could be more horses, he thought, while watching the stable boy change out the mares feed trough. An odd thought suddenly popped into Brouder’s head, as he watched the boy work. These men must not have to worry about rodents and other vermin, as the only animals alive, in the wasteland, were brought by the garrison and the prince. However, this mare looked very old and frail, unlikely to survive many more moon cycles. “Poacher! Mount up!” The garrison commander startled Brouder out of his day dreams, as the commander rode up on another old mare, who did not look much better than the other. The commander motioned to the very mare, which the stable boy was still working on. Showing no sign of attention, the stable boy immediately dropped the feed that he was carrying, and began saddling the mare for Brouder. “We need you on this next expedition. The prince wants to venture beyond the wall and see, with his eyes, the location that we rescued the princess.” As he waited for the mare to be saddled, and half-listened to the commander’s words, Brouder noticed a slight glare from the commander’s eyes. There was clearly an unspoken message there, and Brouder nodded in reply. Satisfied, the commander rode off, after proudly lifting his chin towards the sky. After the mare had been saddled, which took more than a few minutes, as the stable boy was also hungover, Brouder caught up to the expedition. The Crown Prince, his kavalars, and the garrison commander, had only ventured a short distance beyond the walls, and they had much distance to cover. Brouder thought it odd that only he and the commander accompanied the prince’s party, and the prince did not want any others from the garrison to accompany them. In fact, Brouder thought he saw some suspicious glances directed at the garrison commander. Keeping his mouth shut, Brouder rode just behind the prince and the garrison commander. In addition, Brouder was thankful that he had been

given an old mare, because she seemed to recognize his lack of skill. In fact, this was the first time that Brouder had ridden a horse by himself. A part of Brouder thought that the garrison commander knew who he was, and offered him this horse on purpose. Fortunately, Brouder had to do nothing but sit in the saddle. The horse seemed to follow the garrison commander’s horse, wherever it went. Once the party arrived at the rescue site, Brouder was surprised to find nothing odd a foot. First, the blood was there, but old and long dried. It was as if their visions from before had been imagined. Additionally, none of the horses seemed bothered by the blood, a major change from the last expedition. However, the main fact that struck Brouder the hardest was not the lack of unnatural blood, or thick fog. Instead, Brouder noticed an encampment not very far off. The massive white tents of Tanggar were visible in the distance, and the garrison commander was aghast, his jaw stretched wide, and mouth hanging open. The crown prince glared over at the garrison commander, and spurred his horse into a gallop. The prince’s kavalars galloped after, leaving Brouder and the commander in their hoof beaten dust. Brouder waited for the commander to come to with the situation, and then they continued forward, on to the encampment. A horrific a confusing scene struck them, as the two arrived at the camp. Bodies, petrified, were strewn throughout the tents. As they came to the main tent, Brouder saw Tanggar, or at least portions of him. His body parts petrified, Brouder had been hacked into five pieces. His torso was tied to the middle tent post. His head had been placed above the tent, hung on multiple ropes, with his appendages strung up in a similar manner. The camp was also covered in dry blood, which had mixed with the grey dirt around. One of the kavalars jumped down, and picked up a severed arm. The arm looked as solid as the trees around them. Speechless, none present uttered a word, they all simply stared at the encampment, in confused horror. Silently, the kavalar got back on his horse, and turned to face the prince. All others followed suit, all hoping for a reply. The crown prince simply turned his horse around, and galloped away from the camp, as quickly as possible. Happily, the others followed.

BROUDER WAS SLEEPING outside, as his quarters had been liberated by one of the prince’s kavalars. As there were no more rooms left, Brouder was given a bench in the stables. Here, he had placed a pile of straw, but it did not help very much. However, this hard bed was better than the desolate forest outside the castle walls. Additionally, Brouder had a roof over his head, which protected from the sleeting rain. Despite the roof, water still got into the stables, and chilled Brouder to his bones. However, even if his situation was only a step up from days before, Brouder would have gotten no sleep, even if he was put up in the most luxurious travel hause; in the rich city of Hohenburg. The past days had brought Brouder to his breaking point, and he wasn’t sure if he could continue anymore. He wished to retire to the desolate north, and find an abandoned cave along the coast. While freezing in the cold, unable to start a fire, for fear of spooking the horses, Brouder couldn’t help but dwell on the past few days. Every event he had endured was burned into his mind, as if a hot fire poker had been placed there. Yet, somehow, Brouder felt happy. Perhaps, this was madness. When surrounded by despair, Brouder could not feel anything else, but happiness. Instead of emptiness, or sadness, Brouder felt happy and content. He felt as though he was in the greatest place on the continent, and his life could only improve from here. This strange denial of his life scared Brouder, and he wondered if the Grey Fever had finally arrived. Had he spent too long in the forest? The grey fever was sickness that struck the few that remained in the forest. The longer a person remained, among the petrified trees and spooky landscape, the more likely the sickness became. Brouder had spent a large portion of his life in the Dead Forest, but he had always taken periods of rest in the north. Now, he had spent the longest time here of his entire life. While these thoughts were spinning through his head, Brouder was met by the only thing that could surprise him; at this point. A large black figure dropped from the sky, and swiftly entered the stables. The trusty old mare was startled, but quieted down pretty quickly. The dark figure was Brouder’s companion, who had flown off many days back. Brouder thought the bird had finally abandoned him, but here he was; Fremet. As if a dream had come to life, there he was, Brouder’s old friend, suddenly returned. The bird had finally come back, in Brouder’s greatest moment of need. The bird perched on the back of Brouder’s bench, and looked down on him like a great black angel. The bird’s wings were outstretched, barely fitting under the small stables, as Fremet momentarily balanced himself. Brouder gasped, as he realized what was clutched in the

raven’s talons; Brouder’s thick fur cloak and hat. Somehow, the raven had found Brouder’s hollow, and retrieved his clothes. Right now, these gifts were far more precious than any other, and Brouder greedily snatched them from the bird. Understanding, Fremet gave no sign of annoyance, at Brouder’s demanding manner. With a deep sigh, Brouder drew the thick fur cloak around his shoulders, as Fremet used a talon to place the hat on Brouder’s head. Despite his age, and greying beard, Brouder almost appeared many moon cycles younger. He was overjoyed at the bird’s presence, and the gifts that had been brought. In fact, despite the rain, Fremet was completely dry underneath. As tears of joy streamed down his face, Brouder buried his face in the raven’s ample chest. While Brouder sobbed into his animal friends breast feathers, the ravens head flicked to the side. He saw something in the darkness, and quickly pecked Brouder on the shoulder. Bring his damp face out of the bird’s bosom, Brouder glanced out into the rain. At first, only the pounding of the rain could be heard, and the heavy splashing of rain drops in the muddy pools, outside of the stables. However, after he listened carefully, Brouder heard the telltale sounds of a struggle. Again, Fremet pecked Brouder on the shoulder, and Brouder hesitantly stood. Then, as if a great wind had entered the stables, Fremet leapt from the bench. His wings fully expanding in the blink of an eye, one flap of his mighty shoulders propelled the large bird into the night, and he disappeared into the darkness above. Immediately, Brouder felt the bird’s absence, and his stomach became twisted with longing. However, Brouder had little time to think on this, as the sounds of a struggle became louder and closer. Then, Brouder saw where the sound came from. There were figures fighting in the courtyard. Reluctantly, Brouder ventured out into the night. With icy water entering through the holes in his boots, a numb Brouder slogged through the thick mud, but he attempted to move quietly. Fortunately, due to the loud rain, Brouder doubted anyone knew of his presence. Ahead, a group of men were busy fighting among themselves, and payed no attention to Brouder. These men were hard to differentiate, as they were obscured in the darkness. However, grunts and shouts told Brouder of the serious nature of this fight. The flash of steel told even more, and Brouder knew this was a desperate fight, rather than a simple brawl between drunks. There were five men, and two were fighting three. Even as Brouder squinted into the night, curious about the nature of these men, a dark object dropped from the sky. Like a silent cannon ball, Fremet struck one of the three assailants. In a blur of feathers and blood, the impact of the large bird

lifted the man off his feet, flinging him into the mud. Fortunately, as quickly as he had arrived, the bird had left. The strike shocked all present, as the man lay dead on the ground. The four men stared at each other for a few moments, and then they noticed Brouder. The other two assailants must have thought that Brouder was some phantom, because of his hat of raven feathers. In panicked screams, the two ran. In a few moments, they had disappeared into the night. Also, Brouder noticed the other two fighters had not run away, and this was likely due to exhaustion. One of the men collapsed into the mud, likely suffering from grievous wounds. The other dropped his sword and fell to his knees. Waking from his surprise, Brouder strode forward and caught the kneeling man, before he fell into the mud as well. After a flash of lightening ed by, the face of the stranger was illuminated, and Brouder gasped. He was holding the crown prince. At that moment, many things were ing through Brouder’s brain. He held, in his arms, one of the main enemies of his people; someone he could simply leave to die in the mud. However, there was little time for Brouder to ponder. As another man came bursting out of the cellar. He was pursued by two others. Although, the odds were quickly evened, as the phantom of Fremet arrived once more, like a black avenging angel. His massive talons ripped the head of one of the men from his body. Meanwhile, the man’s partner stopped his pursuit, immediately. Dumbstruck, the fleeing man turned around and drove his blade into his pursuer’s chest. Completely filled with shock, this pursuer made no cry, but simply fell to his knees, and then into the mud: he was dead. The single survivor, screamed up into the sky, but it was a cry of an exhausted and thankful individual. The man’s shoulders slumped, as he panted heavily, but only for a few moments. Turning around, he rushed over to Brouder. Breathing heavily, this warrior could barely speak, but he was able to command well enough. “Can you walk?” The warrior demanded of Brouder. “I don’t care what this night has brought me, or who you are, but you have not killed our prince, and that is a miracle.” The soldier, still breathing heavily, did not wait for a reply from Brouder. Instead, he helped Brouder lift the prince, and placed the prince’s body on Brouder’s shoulders. Then, aggressively pushing him forward, the guard drove Brouder towards the castle’s cistern. On the other side of the overflowing stone bowl, stood a small iron gate, the one that Brouder had arrived at. Suddenly, as he walked through the gate, Brouder felt the assuring hands of the guard leave his back. Brouder turned around, to see the guard standing in the archway. Beyond, Brouder could hear the shouts of other assailants. Although he could not see the warriors face, Brouder felt the man’s determination, and knew

the man had accepted his fate. Exhausted, and having lost all feeling in his feet, Brouder stumbled into the night. His only comfort coming from the guardian above.

About The Author

S. C. Coleman

S. C. Coleman has written stories since a child. Among many published works, he has a long list of accomplishments outside of writings. Serving honorably for five years in the Marine Corps, S. C. Coleman also retains fluency in multiple languages, including Spanish and Portuguese. Growing up in Ohio, S. C. Coleman always wished to explore the world, and has traveled to many places, but writing stories has always been his main ion.

Books in this Series

The Glass Empires The Glass Empires: Adventures of Pipen the Aristocrat The Glass Empires: Adventures of Doron the Snake Keeper The Glass Empires: Adventures of the Red Dove The Glass Empires: Adventures of Brouder the Crow King

Books By This Author

A Dark Triad

In a perilous star system, far from earth, a hero arises from a society built on murder and intrigue.

Israeli Fighting

An explanation of the history and concepts behind Israeli martial art: including the many styles, systems, and forms that exist today.

Language I Am: The Path to Language Success

A practical guide to language learning, and how to better oneself in this learning discipline.

The First Valkyrie: Dawn Bringer

The arduous journey of an orphan will culminate in a great battle, when her powers become fully realized.

The Tournament of War [Out of print]

Follows a fictional tournament of war, between different nations and on an uninhabited island.