The Glass Empires: Adventures Of Doron The Snake Keeper: The Glass Empires, #2 1u59a

The Glass Empires: Adventures of Doron the Snake Keeper S. C. Coleman

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

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Summary:

Chapter One | The Circus Arrives

Chapter Two | A New Patron

Chapter Three | Hot and Bothered

Chapter Four | The Duel in the Garden

Chapter Five | Doron’s Dilemma

Chapter Six | Peacemaker

About The Author | S. C. Coleman

Books in this Series

Books By This Author

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 story follows our second hero, a merchant from the southern lands, Doron Snake Keeper. He is the Speaker for the united tribes of the southern region. While playing games of political intrigue, Doron stumbles into an unforeseen nest of vipers. He finds himself thrust into a scheme of epic proportions. Will he prevail, or be devoured completely? The Treaty of Molina, likely to be signed once more, will usher in a new age of prosperity, scheming lords and officials sharpen their knives. Rather than peace, war appears imminent. “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 Circus Arrives

Princess Illonia, the youngest of the Karolinda sisters, loved to watch the sunrise every morning. At the same time each day, her pale countenance could be found at the top of the western tower. The western tower overlooked the Scale Road that led up the mountain, and into the great city fortress of Molina. Illonia the Third’s grey eyes matched the overcast color of the sky. Her eyes were considerably different than those of her older sisters, which retained a darker hue. In fact, her older sisters were often called the Iron Women, for the color of their eyes. On the other hand, General Farenda was more often referred to as the Iron Bitch, rather than woman. Although, none dared to say that name to the General’s face. Different than her sisters, Illonia was the only one referred to as the faire silver princess. Despite being loved by the people, Illonia barely loved anything. Although, she did love the sunrise. This morning, Illonia was wearing a scarlet dress, embroidered with many little golden skeletons. The dress was heavily padded against the cold, and the sleeves were turned up to show a wool lining, dyed black. Her lovely, and recently combed, black hair fell past her waist. Her hair, blowing around her slender figure like a shoal, would momentarily cover her grief-stricken face. She would wear a blank face around others. When she was alone, her features would betray her true feelings. However, at this time she wore a saddened smile, with her ruby colored lips slightly turned up at the corners. The sun was rising over the mountain’s face and cast its beams upon the cobbled Scale Road far below. The sky had turned from an overcast grey to a pale violet, and tears began to form in Princess Illonia’s eyes, as she watched the landscape changing color. The princess shuddered, as she suddenly felt eyes upon her. Like a frightened deer, her head snapped to her left, only to see a young guardsman standing there. The guardsman’s ice blue eyes and hers met. They held a petrified stare for a few moments. With neither brave enough to move their eyes away from one another, only a strong gust of wind broke the spell. In response, the guardsman

recomposed himself and bowed to the princess. In bowing, the guardsman had to readjust the long-gun on his shoulder. This movement struck the princess as odd, since the Molinese soldiers never bowed. However, she was so shocked, herself, that she did not pay it much thought. This guardsman wore the flat grey and brownish red uniform of the Molinese Mountain Hawks. These Mountain Hawks heralded not from the city of Molina, but a small mountain village close by. Not being from the city, these warriors were considered country folk, but also respected as brave fighters. This legion of Molinese sharpshooters were wellknown across the Greater Continent, for their deadly accuracy. This guardsman, who was a Mountain Hawk, was rather slender and short. He was not much taller than the princess, and his demeanor did not match that of a confident soldier. In fact, he carried himself more like a sophisticated court attendant, rather than a guardsman. Furthermore, the Mountain Hawks did not usually guard the walls of Molina. These thoughts all quickly ed through the princess’s head, as rapidly as the breath that escaped between her nervous lips. “Good Morning, Soldier of the Skeleton.” Princess Illonia composed herself, and spoke with a special dignity. Even as she surveyed the clean-shaven young man’s pale features, the brisk morning air turned his lips a slight purplish color, and the rising sun cast a pale bronze hue over his ivory flesh. “Good Morning, Princess,” the guard bowed again, “Pardon me, for I am just upon my rounds.” “Very well, carry on.” Princess Illonia gave a slight curtsey, as the young guardsman shuffled quickly past her. The princess returned to watching the sunrise, but the image of the guardsman would not leave her, neither would the warm feeling that ed through her body at his presence. However, something about the young man made her feel a deep foreboding. Who was he? She wondered, while staring at the sparse clouds, just beyond the mountain face. Suddenly, something else caught her eye. A flash of light winked up at her from the Scale Road below. There, she noticed a long caravan coming up the road. The flash of light must have been a glint off the armor that the caravan guards wore. She recognized a few of the sigils on the caravan’s banners and called out for the guard to return. She hurried over to the spiral staircase, but he seemed to have vanished, as if he had just been a phantom of her mind. She returned to the cutout in the stone wall of the tower and watched the party making their way up the steep road. Further down the caravan line were camels, heavily laden with packages, but closer to the front was a group of heavily armored riders on

horseback. Following close behind these riders was a column of footmen, and all bore the markings of tribesmen from the deserts to the south. The most important of the riders was a face she recognized, riding in the vanguard. The speaker of the Tribes, Doron Snake Keeper, as he was commonly called, wore his usual multi-colored robes, with highlights of gold in the stitching. His heavy set figured embodied every idea of wealth and indulgence. Flanking the delegate from the tribes was an ominous looking woman, and a man that displayed the look of priest from the Zoran Order.

IN THE GREAT HALL OF Molina, the caravan from the Tribes waited. The Queen Regent, Illylia the Third, had instructed her court priest to greet the visitors, which was an unexpected turn of events, as it was not the custom. The priest, clothed in the dark scarlet robes of the Order of Populla, stood at the base of the throne stairs, with his hands clasped in front of his pelvis. Up the stairs, three chairs rested, with the central one being slightly elevated from the other two. The three chairs had been carved out of silver, with velvet lining, and a skull had been etched into the back of the central chair. The skull had two large rubies for eyes, and the arms of the chair were formed into skeleton arms. This center chair was fashioned to give the appearance of being embraced by a silver skeleton, the symbol of House Karolinda, and the current Molinese Kingdom. Guards of House Karolinda flanked the ten pillars that lined the sides of the rectangular throne room. These court guards wore the black and red uniforms of the Molinese Red Skeletons. The skeleton warriors were the most elite of the Molinese infantry. They wore tall black hats with a red plum at the peak. The hats formed a conical shape, with a short visor and a white skull embroidered in the center. Their faces were like solid rock, showing no emotion. Their hats gave them an extra foot, which only added to their tall and imposing demeanor. However, the dark and foreboding atmosphere of the Molinese court little affected the representatives from the southern tribes. There were three people that presented themselves to the court. In front of the other two, Doron Snake Keeper stood, the Speaker of the Tribes. His multi-colored robes, golden highlights reflected the flickering torch light, cast small dancing light beams through the hazy courtroom. His robes alone seemed to give a comical tone, to the otherwise oppressive atmosphere of the room. However, behind the Snake Keeper, a woman stood. She seemed to counter-balance the wealthy man’s joyous clothing. Standing like a tall sentinel, long jet-black hair fell just past her shoulders. Her long tunic, falling just below her knees, was made of a heavy cloth and colored in dark blue, with a dusting of tiny white crescent moons. She stood like the priest of Populla, with her hands clasped in front of her crotch. Sleeves falling just short of the coat underneath, the barely visible iron rings of her mail tunic cast a faint reflection off the torch light. Her boots were made of a thick leather, with the toes turned up into a metal point. At her waist hung a long saber, attached to a black leather sword belt. The saber was housed in a curved black leather scabbard, also dusted with white crescent moons. Furthermore, the sword belt also had three pouches on the right side, opposite the saber. The hilt of the saber was also curved, the opposite way of the blade, with a crescent

moon as a hand guard. Although the hand guard was large enough to protect only a single knuckle, its curve could catch other blades. The handle was wrapped in black leather, like the scabbard, and formed into a curved iron crescent at the pommel. The edges of the crescent at the pommel led into long twin strands of black horsehair, which dangled nearly a foot past the handle. The quiet warrior woman also had black tattoos, which snaked up her neck and stopped at her jawline. The tattoos were fashioned in a particular pattern, showing no beginning and no end. Strangely, if a person stared at the tattoos long enough, it would seem as if they were moving, but that effect could just be light of the candles, which is what the Molinese court priest thought to himself. Finally, the priest of the Zoran Order, standing just behind and to the left of Doron, wore a simple burlap robe, with a long dark purple cloak wrapped around his broad shoulders. The priest was nearly as heavy as Doron, with a slightly smaller gut. He also wore a dark purple turban to compliment the cloak. The purple signified him as a high-ranking member of the Zoran Order, while the simple clothes underneath showed the humility of this particular religious group. The priest also sported a long dark brown goatee, with the rest of his old and wrinkled face clean shaven. Furthermore, the priest had the addition of two golden rings, with a pearl strung on each, pierced through his ear lobes. Without giving any attention to the newcomers, the leaders of Molina entered their courtroom. Off to the left of the thrones, three Red Skeletons entered and took up positions around the thrones. One stood to the left, one stood to the right, and one stood behind. All three carried the Molinese dueling sabers, with a thin guard, connected in a sloping square over the handle. Proceeding the guards, entered the queen, and all turned to face her. The Molinese guards all gave their salute, their right hands clenched in a fist over the left breast, while the priests and Doron took a knee. However, the woman to Doron’s left made no movement. The Queen Regent took a seat. Her sisters, along with the Molinese crown prince, entered. The prince took his seat on the right of the Queen Regent, while her sisters stood behind the thrones. Finally, Populla, the Forty-first, entered, proceeded by the court interpreter. The Holy Populla, leader of the Order of Populla, was the religious leader of Molina. His girth could challenge that of Doron’s. He wore long scarlet robes, with golden trim, and a diamond shaped hat of the same color. The tufts of hair that peaked out from under his cap had grown white, and his wrinkled skin hung off his face like that of a rooster’s neck. Next to him, the Queen Regent Illylia wore the royal Molinese garb, ed down over a thousand years from the first King of Molina. Her crown was a red velvet conical hat, with rubies set into an exterior golden frame. Her

robe was also red, but with purple lining, and dusted with golden skulls. Her freshly combed dark brown hair fell around her shoulders, and her iron grey eyes stared blankly at the visitors. A banner of House Karolina hung from the rafters of the thrones. The banner showed a black skull in the center, crossed by fields of grey and red. Just before the Queen, Populla, and the Crown Prince were about to sit, they all surveyed the long hall. Then, they saw the woman just behind Doron’s left, still standing, and their faces turned sour. “Who is this here? How dare you bring one of her kind here!” Populla, unrestrained, shouted in anger and hatred. His voice boomed and echoed through the long stone hall. “Who let her in?” The old man suddenly turned to face the court priest, who humbly lowered his head in submission. “She is with my caravan,” Doron, his golden row of upper teeth glinting in a smile, spoke almost perfectly in the Molinese tongue, while still kneeling. The Queen held up a hand and all fell silent. She gave a look of condemnation to Populla and sat. All that were kneeling stood, and all that were saluting let their hands fall. “I see that you have grown fatter, Snake Keeper.” The Queen spoke, and her interpreter repeated the words, only in the trade tongue of the Tribes. “Please address me as Speaker, High One.” Doron, still smirking, bowed his head in a gesture of respect. He spoke once again in Molinese, which gained a hiss from the Queen. “I, Queen of the Skeleton, implore you, respect the customs of this court.” The Queen responded, and the translator parroted the reply. Doron’s smirk turned into a frown, followed by a sigh. “I see you have grown older over the years, High One.” Doron cheekily smirked again, speaking in the trade language of the Tribes, and looked to the interpreter. The interpreting, without hesitation, told the Queen that Doron was pleased to see her high countenance. The Queen nodded and waived a hand dismissively. “Who is this woman that has distressed the Holy Populla? Why does she dare bring herself so armed into my courtroom?” The Queen, her jaw erect and her eyes condemning, clutched the arms of her throne chair tightly. “She is a Sword of Midnight, most esteemed High One.” Doron responded

plainly, and the translator repeated his words. “We know who, and what she is.” Populla interjected, after the interpreter finished relaying Doron’s words. “This is an insult to our order, and that of the Zoran.” Populla glanced over at the priest of Zoran, who grimly looked back in reply. “What would you suggest we do with this insult?” The Queen calmly turned to Populla, her eyes narrowing. “We must obviously make an example of her; this must not go unpunished. It matters not that she is accompanying the Speaker of the Tribes.” Populla stated his reply, as if it were clear to all present. “I will not risk war,” the Queen paused for thought, before continuing, “over something so trivial.” The Queen responded dismissively, before turning back to face the visitors. “This would not cause war.” Populla, exasperated, replied to the Queens statement. “After all, her kind is abhorred in the Tribes, just as much as here.” Populla gave a sour look to the woman in question, who remained with a blank expression. “Very well,” the Queen looked over at Doron, “you have brought this insult upon us, Snake Keeper. Therefore, you shall decide the punishment for this insult. Certainly, the Tribes would not be happy to hear of this treachery.” The interpreter turned and relayed the message, after a short delay. However, Doron had already grown flush with anger. “Is that wise?” Populla began to whisper to the Queen, but he was interrupted by Doron. “I am the Speaker of the Tribes, any acts carried out against myself, or my caravan, shall be treated as acts against the Tribes!” Doron stood to his full height, and bellowed his reply across the hall. The room fell silent, as the Queen’s eyes flashed with anger. The interpreter repeated the words, but this did not change the sour expressions. Doron calmed himself quickly, before showing his palms in a conciliatory manner. “I fear as though things have grown tense, perhaps news of the Southern lands will appease the mood.” The interpreter relayed the message, and the Queen laughed in her characteristically shrill tone.

“You bring this drama every time you visit, my grand Snake Keeper. Why do you persist with these jests?” The Queen shook her head, still chuckling, and the interpreter responded. Doron smiled, bowing his head respectfully. “I will ask her to leave then, but she must remain outside of the hall.” “Not with those weapons!” The Queen firmly slammed a fist on the arm of her chair, after the interpreter had relayed Doron’s words. Nodding, Doron turned to the tall woman behind him, and she listened in cold composure. Then, she spoke, before turning to leave. However, before speaking, she placed her left hand firmly around the handle of her saber. “Gortala Boruthai.” The woman’s voice was soft and melodic, as she spoke words that seemed to reverberate around the room, full of crisp confidence. “Which tongue was that?” The Queen leaned over, whispering to Populla. “Which ever it is, I’m sure it is a tongue that should have never been spoke. All those, whom speak in the tongue of the Swords of Midnight, must have their heads cutoff, and their bodies purified in fire.” Populla’s answer was not to the Queen’s liking. She sat back in her chair, a look of perplexed worry written across her features. “Who is this woman, so important, you would risk gravely insulting this court?” The Queen spoke firmly, but somehow her words had lost some of their effect. “She is called Oazcy, a Sword of Midnight.” Doron plainly stated, still holding a slight smirk. “What is a Sword of Midnight?” The Queen responded, once the interpreter had finished. Populla hissed and commented a response under his breath. “A band of whores and vagrants, desecrating all that is holy.” “A proud order of warriors.” Doron mysteriously stated his response, in contradiction to Populla. “Let’s move on,” the Queen waived dismissively, but Populla would not be appeased. “She must be punished, or Doron must be.” Populla whispered to the Queen, but

the grinning Doron heard all. “Fine, a duel then, and let us be done with this.” The Queen shook her head, and waived dismissively once more. “Oh High One, may I speak on this matter?” The priest of Zoran interjected, speaking in the language of the Tribe of Zeilax, the High Tribe of the desert lands. The interpreter looked flustered, as he looked to the Queen, and then to Doron. The Queen began to grow angry once more. “Do you not know this speech, oh man of tongues?” She looked over at Populla, after glaring at her interpreter for a moment. “I believe that is the tongue of a lesser Tribe.” Populla answered back, as if only his word could be true. Doron, still smiling, repeated the priest’s words in the Tribal trade language. “Speak!” The Queen, glad to finally be making some headway, sat up in her chair suddenly. “The Swords of Midnight are famous warriors. It would be folly to have her duel any Molinese swordsman.” Once the priest’s words had made their rounds through the various languages, the Queen laughed. “You think that some woman can best a saber of the Molinese stock, let alone a nobleman, in a duel! Have your wits forsaken you!” She slammed a fist on the arm of her chair. “The duel will happen! We shall see which brave man of Molina shall take up arms to defend this slight. I was planning on our Snake Keeper to fight the duel, against another grey haired trader, but now!” The Queen was enraged, but also excited by the prospect of a fight. Doron, smiling, gave a knowing glance to the priest at his right.

FOLLOWING THE POLEMIC discourse at the court of Molina, Doron Snake Keeper and his companions headed to the lower quarters of the city. Doron and his companions strolled past buildings in shambles, and poor wretches with barely any protection against the biting winds. A street woman caught Doron’s eye, as he ed her by. She was clothed in dirty and old rags, with a single torn red cloth wrapped around her right arm. Doron was unsure whether the woman’s wrinkles and white hair came from age, or the state she lived in. In this state, she likely had lived her entire life. While this woman ed through his mind, Doron realized that he hated this city above all others. Despite his trading experience, Doron never dared travel farther east than Shaene, but even that city seemed livelier than Molina. Although, Shaene was filled with even more bandits and vagrants than Molina herself. In fact, Doron’s group had not even walked far past the town square, and yet Doron knew exactly what situation awaited them in the lower quarters. He made careful not to carry more silver than necessary in this city, as that only invited dangerous looks and prying eyes. Instead, Doron and his group did their best to appear insignificant. However, Doron kept his robes underneath a burlap coat, and he thought about the rest of his caravan. The officers in his company had likely arrived at the royal visitor quarters already, and would be finishing the storing of all they had brought. These supplies would be placed in the royal visitor’s warehouse, waiting to be used in the coming ceremony, which would bring many foreign visitors to the city. If nothing else, Molina was kind to its visitors, at least that was how they wished to be perceived. However, the experienced Doron was aware of the truth behind the façade of this city. He had lived in this den of vipers many times, and, if the peace between their peoples held, he would spend many more years visiting the grey city. Everywhere red banners and red paint could be seen decorating the stone and thatch buildings of the upper quarters. However, in the lower quarters, stone turned to wood and mud. The lower quarters were prone to fires, which consumed the lives of thousands in a matter of hours. Time, the most precious commodity in the city, and it decided the outcome of every encounter. It was better to have every minute calculated before it was spent. This was a personal law that Doron always practiced. Even now, he was calculating the amount of time they would spend in the lower quarters, and the least amount would be best. “I hope you’re up for a duel, Oazcy.” The priest from Zoran made small talk, as the group strolled down the walkway.

“I know this is your first time in the city, High Priest, but here Populla has ears at every window, and eyes lurking in every shadow. Watch your words carefully.” Doron interjected, taking a factual tone with his compatriot. “You have spoken these words many times during our journey. It matters not, the Populla wouldn’t dare touch another holy man.” The High Priest was surly and proud, which caused Doron to smile slyly at the priest’s ignorance. “It is not Populla that you must worry about, but rather his agents. They will steal your breath in the night, and vanish upon the rising dawn. It will be as though you simply remained asleep in your bed, never to awake again.” Doron’s golden toothed smile added an ominous effect to his words. The priest, pretending to be unfazed, repeated his question to Oazcy. “Gortala Boruthai.” She plainly responded in her melancholy sing song voice, without even directing a glance at the priest. Subsequently, the priest looked away from her and sighed. “The world ends where I touch shadow.” Doron responded to Oazcy in the tongue of Zeilax, so the priest would understand. Then, Doron touched his index finger between his eyes and pointed at Oazcy. She returned the gesture. The interaction caused the priest to scowl, clearly confused. “I understand that a Sword of Midnight has no decorum, but can you at least pretend to be pious, Doron? Please?” The priest’s tone was conciliatory, but he dared not speak the words that were on his mind. To avoid offending the Doron and Oazcy, the priest kept his words less antagonistic. “I have a reputation to uphold my dear priest. What would they think of good ol’Doron Snake Keeper, if I were to slack in my debaucheries?” Doron laughed, as the priest snorted and picked up his pace, so that he would be walking farther ahead of Doron and Oazcy. Once the priest was out of ear shot, Oazcy whispered to Doron. “Not trust we him.” Her grasp of the Zeilax tongue was elementary at best, but Doron understood, and nodded his head in response. “Hey priest! Where are you going?” Doron shouted, laughing, and the priest turned around. Indeed, the priest was about to turn down an alley. He would likely have gotten lost in the maze of hovels, descending into the lower quarters.

“Where are we going?” The priest retorted in an annoyed tone, as he headed back up the sloping road to re his companions. “You will find out once we arrive. It is the hidden gem of Molina.” Doron winked at the priest, who seemed to not notice the sarcastic gesture. “So, who do you think will accept the duel, Doron?” The priest, again trying to strike up small talk, directed his question towards Doron. Seemingly, the priest had given up on speaking to Oazcy. “It will likely be Lord Saternino, but have you even met any of the lords of Molina, priest? How would you know of whom I speak?” Doron replied in an accusatory and dismissive tone. “This is the first time that I have visited this strange land, yes, but the Lords of Molina traveled south in recent cycles. The number I met can be counted on the leaves of a dead tree, but I have heard of them.” The priest, pulling his purple cloak tighter around his shoulders, suddenly was aware of the cold wind. “This is the first time that you have left your lavish estate, or seen any lands outside of Xelma, priest.” Doron’s tone was biting, perhaps even as much as the cold wind. “You, above all, shall not speak to me of estates, Speaker of the Tribes.” The Zoran priest returned the tone, resentfully, and Doron gave a bawdy laugh in reply. “Will you tell me of this Lord Saternino, Snake Keeper?” The priest changed his tone to one of conciliation. “In truth, he is second to the Lord Graucus in saber skill, although I wouldn’t tell him that. The two men have a long-standing rivalry. They share the sort of rivalry that matches prodigious skill to experience. The two are the best-known duelists in Molina, but have never faced one another. It would certainly be a match for the ages.” Doron spoke, as the trio entered a place out of nightmares. The lower quarters opened wide, after Doron’s group ed by a patrolling company of guards. This made Doron smile, ing just how militarized this city was. However, a similar sight would be visible in Xelma. The only difference between the two cities was the purpose for routine patrols on the streets. In Xelma, each of the high tribes owned a territory in the city, and their wandering guards marked each territory, but here the patrols were made to keep the peace. In this way the soldiers of Molina appeared more as an occupying

force, rather than a friendly one. Doron was well known in the city, and so the patrol let him with his cohort unmolested. However, Doron would’ve welcomed a delay, as the nightmare that lay before them was one of squalor and despair. The streets of the lower quarter teamed with vagrants, sleeping in any corner they could find, with all seeking protection from the harsh winds. In fact, in some places, skeletons lay where a warm body once lived. These skeletons were mixed between people, rats, and other creatures. The sweet air smelled of death, sickness, and manure. The lepers and poor were segregated to this portion of the city. With Doron’s every visit, the lower quarters seemed to grow ever larger. The mud and stick houses, if they could be called houses, were put together with no architectural skill; each built on top of the other. Everything was crammed together. Cuttpurses and cutthroats skulked through the city in gangs, like schools of ravenous fish. One of these groups made way for Doron’s group and he smirked, as the priest steadily become more uncomfortable in this place. The cuttpurses watched the trio from the alley ways, barely wide enough for a dog. Finally, after Doron and his companions walked past a young boy with a dirty face, who was eating a living rat, the priest picked the conversation back up. The priest was clearly uncomfortable with the rat’s screeches, as the street boy hungrily devoured the tiny body. “Why would Lord Graucus not fight this duel, if he is the best saber in Molina?” The priest nervously drew closer to Oazcy, who showed no notice. Although, her swinging hand moved closer to her saber. Even Doron was fingering the pistol beneath his colorful robes. “Well... for two reasons. First, it would be considered below his station to duel Oazcy. For the second reason, he is due to depart for the lands of House Hohen. At least, that is what his correspondence stated, before we departed Xelma. I sincerely hope that he is still here. After all, there is a substantial discrepancy between our two calendars.” “You keep correspondence with the nobles of Molina? Why would it help us for him to remain in the city?” “Of course, I keep correspondence with the nobles here!” Doron laughed loudly, as the group continued down the street. The lower quarter dwellers seemed not to notice; no doubt due to the intimidating female sentinel, with her crescent moon saber, and the ring mail shirt that was hidden below her long tunic. “Did you believe that I only keep discourse with the court and merchants. Do you

think so little of me, priest?” No answer followed, except for a sullen look from the priest, and Doron continued. “Lord Graucus would be a better option for Oazcy to duel. He is, shall we say, more reasonable than his counter-part.” “What do we care of Oazcy’s fate? And, I still believe it a folly that you dismissed our guards.” The priest scoffed, as he looked around at the poor wretches living in the streets, their periodic side glances making the priest shiver. “Oh, don’t be so stubborn priest. The Swords of Midnight can be very useful, and extremely lucrative.” Doron smiled, his golden tooth smile, and glanced back at the stoic woman behind. The priest gasped in surprise as the trio arrived at their destination. The tavern stood out among the shamble of buildings around it, as it was clearly built by skilled craftsmen. Hanging over the buildings solid oak doors was a flag with the words “Molina’s Hidden Gem,” written in red paint upon its cloth banner. The banner flapped wildly in the cold wind, making the words difficult to read. “So, you weren’t making a jest. This place really is the Hidden Gem of Molina.” The priest gasped to himself, as he read the sign, and Doron winked back in reply. Despite the early hour, the tavern was overflowing with customers. As the trio entered, they realized that the tavern housed an array of clientele. Many lesser nobles could be seen cavorting with merchants and artisans, and many commoners were mixed in. “What are we looking for in a place like this?” The priest drew his body away from a pile of vomit, as the trio filed in through the door. A look from Oazcy sent a drunk suitor scurrying away, about to reach out a hand to touch her body. “There is no need to worry yourself about that, just have a drink, priest.” Doron laughed, as the priest scowled. Then, Doron slipped through the crowd, over to a table in the corner. “Ahhhh, Marcius det Sforza!” Doron greeted a merchant, flanked by two mercenaries. The two mercenaries wore cutlasses and pistols, and both attempted the most intimidating looks possible. “Meit amicio! Snake Keeper, it has been ages!” The two men laughed, and exchanged kisses, before they sat down across from one another. The priest went to sit as well, but one of the mercenaries pushed him back. Pouting, the priest went to find another chair nearby.

“I see the games have been good to you, Marcius!” “I see your tribes have been good to you, Snake Keeper. How in Populla’s holiness did you manage that?” Marcius was filled with dramatic exasperation. “The Tribes are not known for their promotion of merchants. Last I was in Xelma; you were no more than a peddler of curios.” “The Tribes saw my worth.” “In coin perhaps.” The two laughed at Marcius’s joke, just as Oazcy arrived with Doron’s flagon of cider, and she stood in front of the mercenaries. They eyed her with desire, but neither dared touch her. They noticed her hand, which was clasped around her saber’s hilt. “So, tell me, where might a man find the best entertainment around here?” “Oh, well you know that I only employ the best, Doron. Whatever is your fancy?” “As I stated, only the best suit me, my friend. Wherever debauchery might be found, I seek the kind that a lord might not want known?” Doron put emphasis on the last phrase, which sparked a twinkle in Marcius’s eye. “I know that place, my old friend, but first we must have a drink! A salute to old times, when we were much poorer, and much younger.” “I apologize my old friend, but time is late, and the hour is pressing.” Doron waived away the drink, and handed his tankard to Marcius’s mercenary guards. “Oh, hot from the journey I see! Look no further than the Rilio Ricio for a place where nobles gather!” Marcius smiled and lifted his drinking goblet to Doron. “I thank you, old friend. Perhaps we shall have a drink soon, when time is no longer our enemy.” “Indeed, Snake Keeper. I look forward to spending coin with you. Although, I much prefer making it with you.” While he spoke, Marcius eyed Oazcy, as if he were looking at a prized horse. “Come Oazcy, we have some whores to visit.” Doron grinned, but he was

disappointed at Oazcy’s expressionless face. She silently followed, while looking for the priest. He had taken to drinking from another man’s goblet, as the victim had ed out in his own vomit. Doron simply walked up to the priest, placed a large hand under the priest’s arm, and dragged him to his feet. Doron grunted at the priest’s weight. However, Doron was deceptively strong for his figure of indulgence, and managed to drag the priest from the bar.

Chapter Two

A New Patron

OUTSIDE OF THE ROSE Guild, Doron Snake Keeper and his two companions stood in awe of the second hidden jewel of Molina’s Lower Quarter. The green and pink door’s paint was chipped and peeling, signifying its old nature, and the three-story building tilted slightly to the right. Decrepit slums were built against its sides, causing the air to stink of human manure, and the sweet odor of rotting corpses. “This is the place that your dear merchant lord directed us to?” The priest of the Zoran order chuckled, and Doron rolled his eyes in reply. “This is the place,” Doron shook his head, and pounded three times against the decorative bronze floral knocker. Answering the door, a woman stood, dressed in a light mint silk dress, which bore her perfectly delicate, dark-skinned, shoulders. She was barefooted and wore an array of metal bracelets and necklaces. Her long dark hair, stunning hazel eyes, and slender body, portrayed the beauty of a lady from the southern tribes. “Gustov never disappoints.” Doron winked at the lady and accepted her hand in his, in a gesture of politeness. Then, she led him through the narrow doorway, as his wide figure caused an embarrassing scene. Unfortunately, Doron’s body became stuck, momentarily, in the doorway. A few pieces of wood came off, as he pushed his ample figure through the slender archway. The other two followed, but Oazcy glanced down each side of the street, suspicious that they had been pursued, since the Hidden Gem tavern. However, although no suspicious figures were present in the alleyway, Oazcy remained vigilant, and on edge. Upon entering, each one of the companions bore their own expression. Doron smiled sadistically, Oazcy looked around in curiosity, and the priest scowled in horror. Directly in front was a narrow stairway, flanked by two long pillars and heading straight up. Additionally, the sounds of pleasure filled the air, accompanied by an oppressive stench of mixed perfumes and sweat. “A pleasure house!” The priest shouted in horror, his tone rising to a high pitch. “How have your days been, Xala?” Doron ignored his priest’s apprehensions, and addressed their guide. “Does my silver snake require a song?” The lady, who had welcomed the companions, sensually drew a finger up Doron’s leg.

“My dear flower, the hour does not allow, I am ashamed to it.” Doron smiled and stopped her searching touch. She gave a look of disappointment, and retracted her hand. “Still, you stand the only champion to reject my charm, my dear Snake Keeper.” The lady replied with a flirtatious look, but aware that her charms did not work on Doron. “One day, Xala, I promise you, with all my heart. Your charms are irresistible, and would melt even the most stoic of men.” Doron took her hand, and placed a quick peck on her smooth olive skin. In response, she smiled tenderly, sighing. “Gustov awaits you up the stairs,” she winked whimsically, “where nobles gather.” While guiding the group up the stairs, the pleasant lady eyed the curious Oazcy, and the uncomfortable priest, with a sly smile. “Come, priest, I will show you to the dining rooms. You will experience far less sin there, at least that of the flesh.” Laughing, the woman walked through a corridor and waived for the priest to follow. He did follow, but after some coaxing by Doron, while laughing at the priest’s complaints. “Come, Oazcy, let us continue with our business.” Doron, having some difficulty pushing his figure up the narrow steps, grunted all the way. Waiting on the heavy set Doron, Oazcy patiently followed, sneezing a few times under the heavy scents. After a few moments of Doron’s struggle, the two entered Gustav’s lavish and oddly quiet apartments. “Gustav?” Doron looked around at the rooms, filled with cushions and artfully crafted chairs, accompanied by elegant wooden floors. “Here!” A voice responded in Molinese, with a foreign accent. Doron, with a suspicious expression, looked over at Oazcy. She returned the look with cold expressionless eyes. He shook his head, venturing in the direction of the voice. Then, the two entered a relatively empty room, when compared to the others. The only things in the room were a collection of ferns and ornate vases, placed along the walls in a seemingly random order. In the center of the room was a strange sight, garnering a puzzled look from Doron, while Oazcy gave no expression. The nude pale bodies of a man and woman were intertwined, on a long purple velvet lined bench, with two tall arms rolled up on the sides. The four legs on each corner were carved into paws. In front of the bench was a nude man, standing before a large easel. The canvas painting showed a scene very different than the one in front of the painter. The two naked people had been

portrayed in a forest, engaging in a sexual scene, and underneath a lemon tree. After the two entered, the man on top of the woman rolled over, only to expose his erect manhood for all to see. Oazcy raised an eyebrow in contemplation, while Doron chuckled slightly, and crossed his hands in front of his crotch. “Lord Graucus,” Doron nodded to the naked man, and then to the other naked man. While Lord Graucus’s pale body was large and well sculpted, Gustav’s was slender and possessed long deer like legs. Gustav had long flowing blond locks of hair, while Graucus had short cropped black hair. Also, Gustav had icy blue eyes and Lord Graucus had steel grey eyes. On the other hand, the woman underneath the Lord of Molina was a beautiful and slender woman. She had voluptuous gifts, with an hourglass shaped pale body. She had curly black hair, gathered elegantly around her shoulders like ebony clouds. Her face was one of stunning Molinese beauty, with well styled eyebrows and brown eyes. Likely for the purpose of painting, each of their bodies had been shaved and lathered down in oil. “I see the days have done well to you, Lord Graucus and Lady Nivela.” “I am no lady, Doron Snake Keeper.” The unashamed woman smiled and took a grape in her hand; from the golden plate on the mahogany table, next to the bench. “You are... my lady,” Lord Graucus smiled and placed a long kiss on the lips of his mistress. “Regards from our dear friend accompanies my arrival.” Doron interjected, hoping to avoid any further developments in the love match. “How is the Hidden Gem? It has been many days since I have laid eyes on that scene of depravity.” Gustav continued painting as he spoke, clearly presenting irony in his statement. “I see you have brought your new prize.” Lord Graucus smiled slyly, as he ired the warrior woman Oazcy, standing just behind Doron. “It is my pleasure to introduce Oazcy, a Sword of Midnight, to you illustrious gentlemen, and lady,” Doron bowed to Nivela, who smiled warmly. “Well done,” Lord Graucus clapped loudly, “she is a fine specimen. What I wouldn’t do to take her off your hands, and add her to my collection.” Gustav smiled, as he looked back and glanced over Oazcy. She showed no expression,

while she leaned up against the doorway, placing a careful hand on the hilt of her saber. “Does she speak our tongue?” Lord Graucus sat up on the bench, greedily eyeing the warrior woman. Gustav sighed in annoyance, and threw his paintbrush across the room, soon followed by his color palette. Clearly, the painting had been ruined, and Gustav was not amused. “Xala! Chairs please!” Gustav clapped his hands together, and placed his unfinished work against the wall. The elegant dark-skinned woman, that had welcomed Doron, entered the room. She was followed by two large pale skinned Molinese men, carrying three purple and velvet lined chairs between them. “Come, ladies and gentlemen, me in my court, so our proceedings may end with pleasure for all.” Gustav smiled, baring his short canines and slightly bent teeth, as he placed his bare bottom on one of the chairs. Doron and Oazcy stepped forward to claim the other two chairs, as two more attendants entered with a table covered in wine and food. “This is a white citrus wine from the vineyards at Golden Point. It cost me several Hohen horns and let me gift you a secret...” Gustove leaned over towards Doron, as if to share a juicy piece of gossip, “the exchange rates are horrid.” Gustav, laughing, accepted a glass from Xala, but Doron rejected the one offered to him. However, Oazcy took a slender glass from Xala, and eyed the lightly colored golden liquid with a curious look. Doron glanced over to her, slightly shaking his head. “Has she never seen wine before?” Gustov smiled at Oazcy, like a boy eyeing a new and curious toy. “I believe she is playing a game.” Doron laughed, and took the glass from Oazcy, who smiled back at Doron, and the others. “This is not why we have come. The hour is late and the day pressing.” “I heard news of your circus at my aunt’s court.” The middle-aged Lord Graucus leaned back, as his mistress fed him small pieces of cheese. “Therefore, let us dispense with these formalities, will you accept the duel?” Doron touched his right index finger to his lips in contemplation. “You mean; will I help you show off your new prize for the arenas?” Lord Graucus, barely paying attention, continued to play with his mistress.

“You are more astute than I give you credit, my dear Lord.” Doron leaned back in his chair with a sly smile, hoping to stroke Graucus’s ego. “My aunt is unfortunately more astute as well. She has dispatched me on a diplomatic mission to House Hohen, to help them on their journey here. She says the g ceremony is of the most import, and nothing could be of a greater honor.” “Yes, the Renewal Ceremonies will take place soon. I, myself, must play my part in the festivities.” Doron placed his hands around the collar of his robes, as his tone betrayed doubt in the lord’s resolve. “There is always a way, my dear lord. You must accept the duel, lest you forget all that I have done in your name. Fame can be taken away, as easily as it is given. The first saber in Molina can be undone, with a simple word to the wrong opponent.” Doron’s eyes narrowed, clearly attempting to convey a threat. “Is that a threat Snake Keeper?” Lord Graucus responded with his own narrowed eyes. “Surely, my dear lord, you do not accuse one of my nature.” Doron wore the look of a dejected puppy. “I merely wish to assist you in making the correct decision, for all of our sakes.” “Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is not conducive to the conversation. We must all take a breath, and continue in a courtly manner.” Gustav held up his hands and leaned forward, between the two antagonists. “Never change your manner, Gustav.” Lord Graucus leaned over, clapping his nude friend on the shoulder. “Lord Saternino is to fight, then.” Doron sighed and crossed his arms. “This journey has been fruitless.” “There is some argument to be made against this duel. In the first place, it is unprecedented, and against all customs of Molina.” Gustav offered his suggestion, with a flourish of his hand. “Your warrior here is a sword of midnight, besides, and she should best the flower of Saternino with little trouble.” Lord Graucus raised his shoulders, attempting to add emphasis to his comforting words.

“Oh, my gentle Gustav, this duel must take place. Populla will certainly voice his concerns, along with the voices of the other lords.” Doron leaned over and placed an encouraging hand on Gustav’s arm. “However, I know our dear queen’s mind, and that of Lord Saternino. He will wish to prove himself against a foreign blade, and our queen loves to watch duels. We simply need him to champion the subject, with you to step in at the final moment of reckoning.” Doron shook his fist firmly, in the direction of the naked Lord. “Oh, my dear Snake Keeper, I simply cannot disobey me queen’s wishes, even if she is a deplorable hag.” Speaking, Lord Graucus refilled his goblet, while Gustav spirted wine out of his mouth. “My Lord! Hold thy tongue, the shadows hear all.” Gustav leaned forward with a terror-stricken expression, but Lord Graucus simply rolled his eyes and swallowed a gulp of his wine. “You must take a page from my book, my dear Lord. I say request not permission, rather beg forgiveness upon success.” Doron grinned, producing a coin from his belt’s pouch. The coin was solid gold with the stamp of the Tribal Merchant’s Guild on its surface; a torch circled by a wreath. “It seems we have a business venture in mind.” Gustav slyly glanced over at Lord Graucus. “I care not of your fantastical ideas, just say it will be done.” Doron waived his hand, placing the coin on the table, among the forgotten feast of fruits and honey. “It is done; you have your duel!” Lord Graucus slammed a fist on the table, causing Gustav to yelp in a feminine tone. Due to the wine carafe shaking from the vibrations, Xala rushed forward to stop an accident. While this took place, Oazcy looked around the room, with an expression of little understanding. “We have need of this man’s sword?” Oazcy spoke to Doron in the Zeilax tongue, her eyes glancing down to Lord Graucus’s now flaccid manhood. “Other sword.” Doron whispered his reply in the language of the tribe of midnight. “I do not understand; you wish to use that man’s sword. Which one?” Oazcy gestured over towards Gustav.

“I shall never again try to converse in your tongue.” Doron chuckled at Oazcy’s confusion with the situation. “We require his saber for the duel. The metal saber.” Doron gently clasped Oazcy’s scarred and strong, yet beautifully feminine, pale hand. She nodded back with a smile, and squeezed Doron’s hand with her own. “Oh, how I wish I could derive the meaning behind your words. If sound were color, your tongue would possess the characteristics of a lilac.” Gustav waived a hand in a flourish above his head, smiling at Doron and Oazcy. “You are about to recite poetry.” Doron’s expression hardened to boredom. “I will have you know that the court of Molina is well taken by my style, like a jewel of a woman that has just bloomed.” “Come Oazcy, our business here has been concluded.” Doron gestured to Oazcy, but turned to the others for one last word. “Should, for some reason, this plan not come to fruition. My lovely warrior here must hone her skills for the contest. It is my wish that I will see both of you two days hence. If not, may the shadows keep you.” “Shadow sees all.” The three naked people replied in chorus, and Doron departed the room with Oazcy in tow.

NESTLED IN THE UPPER quarters of the city, the skeleton tower watched the sun rise over Molina’s walls. The most foreboding presence in Molina, the skeleton tower saw all; housing the skeleton keep, the great hall, and the royal guard. The Molinese royal guard was made up of units that rotated from the First Molinese Division, and they were well indistinguishable from normal military units. However, the majority of the First Division was quartered in the barracks that were situated in the lower quarters. Additionally, the royal palace, often referred to as the Rose Quarters, resembled the Rose Guild’s house in its coloring. However, the palace was far more pristine and elegant than the old Molinese pleasure houses. Next, the palace grounds, made up by a series of buildings that surrounded the Rose Square, were backed by the Skeleton Keep. Next to it, the Rose House was a large building opposite the keep, with stone walls and stain glass windows. The building reached three stories in height and was flanked by a plethora of other stone buildings. The Rose House had a brightly painted pink and green roof. It was surrounded by flower beds and tall hedges. In fact, its door, made of oak, could fit a horse through its wide archway. Like the roof, the door was painted green, with flowers carved into the stone archway around it. Torches lined every corner and alleyway of the Rose Square, along with hedges and flower beds. Fortunately, Doron, as Speaker of the Tribes, was compelled to stay in the Diplomat’s Wing of the Rose House. His quarters were well suited for a person of his standing. The Speaker’s Quarters looked out onto the Rose Gardens; a small open-air square in the center of the building. These rooms totaled fifteen, with space for attendants and his most elite in the entourage. Along with the Speaker’s chambers, rooms had been furnished for any tribal leaders that wished to visit the old city. However, at this moment, Doron was alone with the companions with his caravan. Doron expected the arrival of the Leader of the Tribe of Zeilax at the very least, as the Star Prince liked to sample the pleasures of Molina’s court, and sometimes meddle in Molinese politics. On the other hand, it was rare for any of the other Tribal Princes to visit. The Star Prince and Doron had become old friends and political partners, over there years of being the sole southern representatives. In fact, now, Doron wished the Star Prince was here now to help him with current troubles. Furthermore, Doron realized that his troubles were about to become worse, as Gustav burst into the Speaker’s Hall. The hall was a rectangular stone room that could hold up to a hundred persons. Additionally, two hearths stood at opposite ends of the room, but only one was lit now. While Gustav entered, the

Speaker was seated against the window, looking down on the Rose Gardens with a book in his lap. His literature, the Book of Shadows, which were the religious texts for the Order of Populla, was open to the page on burial rites. As Doron looked up from his riveting subject, he saw Gustav in a panic at the opposite end of the room. Candles were lit along the wall, and along the central oak table, casting a cozy glow over the room. If the candles weren’t enough, the fireplace ed in the symphony of flickering lights, illuminating Doron’s half of the room. Sitting with her back to the fireplace, behind Doron, Oazcy was staring out her window at the Rose Gardens below. Just outside, the torrents of rain had ed, but a slight sprinkle had continued its patter on the stain glass windows. These intrigued Oazcy, until Gustav’s entrance. Following Gustav was Lord Graucus’s mistress; Nivela. Also, the two were also accompanied by Xala. Unlike their previous meeting, all wore clothing in this encounter. Gustav wore a black cloak, with a green waist coat and a green feathered hat. The hat’s feather was grey, speckled with black dots. Alongside Gustav the Artist, Nivela’s curly black hair fell around her shoulders, and her pale brow was drawn up in worry. She wore a grey cloak with a silver and ruby flower broach, while her yellow and silver embroidered dress peaked out from underneath it’s cover. Xala, on the other hand, wore the long flowing dress of her culture, a black silk garment with a silver embroidered neckline. Across her shoulders, Xala wore a spotted cat hide shoal. Her hair was protected by a white and black patterned cloth, covering all but her face. Conversely, Doron and Oazcy wore the same clothing from before. “Our troubles are mounting my good Speaker!” Gustav rushed over to Doron and took his hand, placed a kiss on the rotund Speaker’s paw, before seating himself. Nivela followed in a dignified manner and held out her hand for Doron to kiss. Doron obliged and Nivela took a seat as well. Xala strolled up behind the two and stood by the window next to Nivela. Doron stood and took her hand, placing a kiss on the beautiful attendant’s dark flesh, before sitting back down. “The sun has set my delicate man, what brings you to my quarter at this hour?” As he spoke, Doron gestured to Oazcy, who stood and went to fetch the kettle from the fireplace. “Surely, my guests will not turn down some chamomile tea,” Doron winked at the Lady Nivela and Gustav, “it comes with honey.” “There is no time!” Gustav flushed, but accepted a cup from Oazcy. Nivela and Xala accepted steaming cups as well. Then, Oazcy poured herself one, and returned to her seat. “Our cause is lost.”

“Lady Nivela, would you care to inform me of the situation, which bothers our dear friend so?” Doron closed his book with a thud, and placed it on the window ledge. “Lord Graucus was collected by Lord Borilo, Prefecta Piccono of First Division’s First Legion, and Captain Truanto.” “Was he arrested?” Doron’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, but he retained composure; assuming nothing, as was his way. “No, they departed for Hohenburg not an hour ago. Lord Graucus has left with them and he will not be present at your champion’s duel.” Nivela calmly replied, with her hands folded in her lap. “I expected this might happen and I have contingent plans. I suspect this duel can be avoided until the Lord’s return.” Doron looked over to Gustav, as if for an answer, but quickly realized none would come. “If not, Oazcy will simply duel Saternino.” Doron dismissively replied, as he went to pour himself a cup of tea. “Do you expect that she will prevail? I have read about the Swords of Midnight, but Saternino is the best saber in Molina. We all know how Lord Graucus’s reputation was fabricated,” Gustav paused for a moment of thought. “Could not the legends be fabrications as well?” “All legends are fabrications my dear lady, but skill must be seen to be believed. I have witnessed Oazcy’s abilities, and I have witnessed Saterninos.” Doron returned to his chair, carrying a fresh cup of tea. “The duel will be difficult, and none can say who will prevail, but I believe in my champion and her abilities.” Doron smiled and looked back fondly at Oazcy. “That does not answer my dear Gustav’s question, Snake Keeper. You told me never to engage in a contest, without assurance of victory.” Lady Nivela interjected, hoping to get a straight answer from Doron, although she had little faith in the outcome. “That is not all!” Gustav, becoming more and more agitated, finally interjected. “I have been censured by the court! My patron has left to hang!” Gustav, exasperated, threw up his hands and dramatically hid his head. “Dear Gustav is exaggerating, but we have lost the apartment in the Rose Guild.

Without a patron, who will fund our living expenses? Also, Gustav’s exhibition at the Gallery is in jeopardy. He brings drama to the situation, but the situation is still somewhat dire.” Lady Nivela placed a hand on Gustav’s shoulder as he sobbed into his arm. “Gustav, my dear fellow,” Doron placed a hand on the hysterical young man’s leg, “worry not. I will be your patron.” “Sincerely?” Gustav looked up, his eyes red and puffy, as salty tears dried on his powdered cheeks. On the other hand, Lady Nivela’s expression became more worried. “I have one simple request.” A glean entered Doron’s eye, as Lady Nivela’s look of suspicion deepened. “I wish to choose one of your exhibitions at the gallery at the Renewal Ceremony.” “Yes, yes! Anything for my dear Doron, the Illustrious Snake Keeper and Speaker of the Tribes.” Gustav was overjoyed, as he took Doron’s hand and began fervently kissing Doron’s cheeks. “I will inform the guild! All is not lost!” Gustav exited the room, almost skipping to the door. Xala turned to follow, but Doron motioned for her to stay. “I do not know of your intentions, but somehow I feel as though implications come with this offer. Though, we require your patronage at this moment, and it is appreciated in this time of need.” Lady Nivela, although forcing a delighted smile, held a deep sadness behind her eyes. “I will give anything, and do anything, for my dear forgotten rose, Lady of Merchants. I see myself as your father now, ever since that day of deep shadow.” Doron showed a golden tooth smile, as he took Lady Nivela’s hand, and tears began to well in her eyes. “Oazcy, fetch the Speaker’s Attendant.” Doron called back to his companion in the tongue of Zeilax. “At your command,” Oazcy replied with a broken form of the language and departed the room. “My dear Lady, worry not. All shall be well; have you been keeping up on your studies?” “Yes-” Lady Nivela was interrupted as the Speaker’s Attendant entered. Named

Zatra Full Reed, she was a heavy-set woman with a large bosom and a pig like face. Like Xala, she had the darker skin tone of the southern desert tribes, and her robust size was nearly double that of Doron. “Zatra, will you gather some of my guards to escort this gentle lady and her companions to the lower quarters?” Doron looked over at the heavy-set darkskinned woman, who smiled warmly and nodded her head. Meanwhile, Oazcy, her tasks accomplished, returned to her window. “Which warriors would you prefer? I can gather some of your personal guard or send some of your mercenaries.” Zatra, crossed her arms behind her back, and lazily rocked side to side, as if some tune played that only she could hear. “Take some of each, mercenaries can never be fully trusted.” Doron waived a hand and Zatra bowed, betraying no disagreement with Doron’s order. “These will act as your guard until you are back on your feet and can hire your own mercenaries.” Doron nodded over to Lady Nivela. “How will your warriors feel about protecting foreigners?” Lady Nivela stroked her forehead, as she spoke. “My warriors are loyal, do not worry. They will defend all that I put in their charge; even a wounded mouse,” Doron chuckled slightly, “leave now and worry no more.” Smiling, Doron kissed Lady Nivela on the forehead, and she departed the Speaker’s Hall, with the attendant Xala en-tow.

Chapter Three

Hot and Bothered

Molina, the Old City on the Mountain, was coming closer to the Renewal Ceremony. Still two moon cycles away, the ceremony would increase the city’s traffic over the following days. Already, visitors were coming from the surrounding mountain villages, castles, and mines. In fact, royal visitors, as far as the tribal sands, had begun arriving; following the arrival of Doron Snake Keeper, Speaker of the Tribes. The already crowded city, with slums built upon slums, was already reaching capacity. Soon, as guests from other nations arrived, less well-off folk would be forced to encamp outside the city’s walls. Also, in the coming days, the city would become a morass of trade and merriment, accompanied by the criminal and nefarious elements that proceeded all grand events. However, one spectacle was bringing early arrivals. The duel for the respect of House Karolinda and the Crown of Molina had reached the ears of nobles, and commoners, across the land. Word of the duel was on the lips of all in the city. Even some visitors, that had come only for the Renewal Ceremony, were anxious for the fight. In fact, the hype of the coming duel was generating its own spectacle. Gambling houses were placing bets on the fighters, with the overwhelming majority in favor of Molina’s champion. However, as the champion had not yet been named, the choosing of Molina’s saber was on everyone’s mind. Even some shops were selling dolls fashioned in the visage of Oazcy. Drunkards took to the streets, shouting about the greatness of Molina’s warriors. During this time of emotional instability, Doron Snake Keeper kept more and more to the upper quarters, fearing a mob in the lower quarters. Some armed disputes had even taken place, as national pride swept the city. The many foreign visitors had to watch their backs, lest a knife suddenly find itself between their ribs. In fact, the safest way to travel through the city was to don the garb of Molina. Despite this, foreigners continued to wear their own attire and went relatively unharmed, as the streets were still patrolled by the, always professional, Molinese Skeleton Guard. Although, extra protection was still encouraged, for those that could afford it.

Doron Snake Keeper sat in his study at the Speaker’s Quarters in the Rose Palace. Sunlight illuminated the room through pale pink, stained-glass, windows. Cast in morning light, the stone room was decorated with elegantly carved wooden fixtures, painted green. Oil lamps and candles were placed around the room but remained unlit. Adding to the study’s décor, the room’s four walls were lined with bookshelves, while an oval oak table was placed in the center. The table was close to the floor and at leg height, for those gathering around it. Four comfortable chairs, made from padded cloth and oak, were placed around the table. Adding to the decorations, a tall vase, filled with pink, green, and white flowers, was positioned in the middle of the table. This vase lay next to a stack of Doron’s chosen books. Doron, himself, was sitting in one of the chairs, a leg crossed over the other, and a book in his lap. Across from him, sat Oazcy, also reading. There were four entrances to the room, each door made of thick oak and painted green. Outside, the day was still early, so the two were still dressed in comfortable clothing. Oazcy’s saber rested comfortably against the arm of her chair, while she leaned over the book in her lap. She wore a pink and green nightgown, no doubt borrowed from her chamber in the Speaker’s Quarters. However, to protect against the cold, she also wore an embroidered blanket around her shoulders. The blanket, also borrowed from her room, was decorated with pink and green roses, cast on a white surface. On the other hand, the Speaker of the Tribes wore his lavish golden and multi-colored nightgown, with a warmly padded vest, buttoned over his robust stomach. While Doron wore golden and multi-colored silk slippers, Oazcy was barefoot. Unfortunately, the room was oddly chilly, despite the crackling fireplace in the room’s hearth. The room’s fireplace was situated behind Oazcy and faced north. In her lap, Oazcy had a large book, filled with drawings of different of animals. Meanwhile, Doron read a book with small words written on every page. “Does that book offer a good read? Or shall I say a good picture?” Doron, having reached his fiftieth page, decided to strike up a conversation. “I suppose words are pictures in a certain way,” Doron mused to himself. “This book has words!” Oazcy snapped back, speaking in broken Zanesh, the language of the Tribe of Zeilax. “Yes... but you can’t read Molinese!” Doron, smiling, brandished a finger in victory. Oazcy scowled, and sat back in her chair. “What does it say?” Oazcy held up the book so that Doron could read its cover.

“The Creatures of the Old Mountain, written by Lord Celofano of House Valese.” Doron’s eyes sparkled, as he read the words and ired the visage of a blue bird on its cover. The elegant book was decorated with a golden border and bright blue words. “He was a great man; may the shadows keep him.” Oazcy’s nose wrinkled, as Doron spoke of shadows. “May the light of midnight watch over him,” Oazcy added with a cold tone to her voice. “Who was this man?” “Lord Celofano ruled at Hawks Peak and he built the Hawk Mines, in the Age of the Second Arcon of Molina. That was a brutal time, but not as the past ages. I knew him well. He was a wise and curious man.” Doron smiled, his eyes seeming to be looking somewhere off in the distance, and his mind wandering through a different time. His fond smile was also shrouded in sadness. Oazcy slowly closed her book and leaner forward. “Were you good friends?” “He was my closest friend, and he loved his birds. Those damn Blue Hawks of Molina were more his children than his flesh and blood. I only wish that his son had enough honor to carry on the name of the Lord of Hawk’s Peak.” Doron’s sad smile disappeared and was replaced by a scowl. “That bastard whoreson is nothing but an uptight and pretentious slave driver. He acts as though Molina is about to go to war, and needs all the ore it can get. Fortunately, Lord Celofano did on some of his knowledge and curiosity to his granddaughter.” Doron smiled again, his eyes returning to reality, and meeting those of Oazcy. “You know a lot about these people.” Oazcy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What kind of man are you?” “You know me, Sword of Midnight! I am but a humble merchant.” The mischievous look in Doron’s eye returned some comfort to Oazcy, who leaned back in her chair. “Tell me more of these times past.” “Have you not read the chroniclers of old? Surely, all those books in the Star Tower have told you of the Greater Continent’s past.” “There are some things that cannot be read in books. Besides, we mostly study

our arts and our history books, which come from different parts of the continent. The books are in languages that I do not speak, and few in our order have the talent of many tongues.” Oazcy looked sadly out the window, there was a sadness of lost opportunity in her eyes. “By your arts, you must mean your saber.” Doron grinned, the morning sunlight glinting off his golden teeth. “Among others...” Oazcy smiled, enticingly, and placed her book on the table. “Do you desire any tea, Snake Keeper?” Oazcy stood, stretching her stiff limbs, and picking up her saber from its resting place. “That would be appreciated, with honey and milk please.” Doron returned to reading his book, as Oazcy went to leave, but Doron called after her, before she stepped through the north-eastern door. “Make sure those donkeys outside haven’t fallen asleep on watch!” As Doron spoke, Oazcy chuckled and closed the door behind her. Doron had only scanned past a few words in his book, before he was interrupted again. The door on the other side of the fireplace, the north-west, door burst open. Standing in the doorway was Gustov, likely with more visitors behind him. Doron sighed and looked up from his book. The dramatic artist was panting, with beads of sweat forming on his brow. Gustav was certainly in a frenzy about something and he pushed his way into the room. He was followed by his attendant Xala, the shady slum lord Marcius det Sforza, and Lady Nivela. One other newcomer entered the room. His eyes widening in surprise, Doron’s vision was assaulted by the grotesque visage of this visitor. Doron watched the heavily scarred man stand behind Marcius’s chair, his stature so high that his head almost touched the ceiling. The man was pale skinned and likely came from the Molina, or a northern kingdom. He was a hulking beast, and looked as though he could carry two large horses on his back. His head had been shaved bald, but his face was so disfigured, as to make only his nose, eyes, and mouth visible. His other features, such as cheeks and chin, had been so ruined that his face appeared as shapeless mass of pale skin and scar-tissue. The large man carried a Molinese saber at his side and wore a green and pink waistcoat, with a black cloak fastened over his shoulders. Also, he wore a golden ring in his right ear, signifying a life as a slave. “Who is this monster?” Doron made no attempt to hide the awe in his voice, not even noticing as Gustov, Lady Nivela, and Marcius took the vacant seats.

“Never mind that,” Gustov spat, as he shook, and frantically coughed the words out of his mouth. The young blond man was obvious intoxicated on spiced wine. “All is lost!” “Perhaps you should keep better track of your things, then you won’t keep losing them.” Doron smiled, as he spoke, and Marcius laughed instantly. The joke also gained a chuckle from Lady Nivela, but Gustov was not amused by this. Now sulking, Gustov crossed his arms, snorted, and looked up towards the ceiling. “Marcius the magnificent! How is my old friend?” Doron held out his hands and the two men embraced, kissing each other twice on each cheek. “The Lady of Merchants, looking rosy as always.” Doron smiled and kissed Lady Nivela’s outstretched hand. She smiled warmly, as he pressed his lips to her milky white hand. “Gustov is not wrong,” Marcius began to speak, but he was cut off by Gustov. “Thank you! Finally, will you fools listen to me now?” Gustov slammed his fist on the table and looked around with wild eyes at the others. The whole group spoke in Molinese, but Doron was the only one who retained a strong accent. Despite his foreign birth in Hohenburg, Gustov had become Molinese, after his parents immigrated; when he was very young. In fact, Doron believed that Gustov never learned his mother tongue, which slightly tickled Doron. “Be quiet drunk bastard!” Marcius gruffly shouted at Gustov, who returned to pouting. Marcius sighed, before speaking again. “You have a big problem. The people of this city are clamoring for the duel, and your plan for Lord Graucus’s part fell though.” “I already know this, Marcius.” Doron coldly interjected, expecting some more bad news was about to greet him. “It seems as though your hopes of postponement will go unheeded. Not only that, but any hopes that you had of objection will go unheeded, as well.” “How do you know this?” Doron’s voice began to rise, as he demanded quicker answers from Marcius. “The ArchPopulla, or the Lords of Molina, might object. After all, it is unprecedented for a woman contender to be taken seriously, on the proving ground. Some may see it as a slight to custom and culture.”

“What of the Late Lady Pelenia? She fought on the proving grounds once, in an age long ago.” Lady Nivela offered her two sense to the conversation, hoping to raise the spirits of the room. “That was a different time, and a different circumstance.” Marcius waived a hand, dismissively, and ignored the comment from Lady Nivela. “The crowd does not want to see a tired old man fight, with all respect to a dear old friend,” Marcius lowered his head and hand in conciliatory manner. “Furthermore, have you ever known the Queen to follow the objections of her counsel? Not only do the people want this fight, but so does the Queen. She loves this kind of thing, and no one has seen a Sword of Midnight outside of their tower, let alone fight. She is a novelty and this duel is inevitable, unless the Queen can be replaced this day.” A silence suddenly fell over the room and all faces went pale. “Marcius... Shadow watches all within the city.” Doron, his brow furrowed in worry, placed a hand on Marcius’s shoulder. “In truth, Populla keeps the shadows, but I rule them.” Marcius curled up the corner of his mouth, in a confident smirk. “Do not speak these things, Marcius, please, I beg you.” Lady Nivela jumped forward and kneeled in front of Marcius. Taking his hand in hers, she clasped it between her own, in a pleading gesture. “You rule of a couple blocks of slum houses and gambling dens.” Gustov looked over in contempt at the baron of villainy. “He has far more lucrative enterprises than that,” Doron smiled and clapped Gustov on the shoulder, who immediately answered with an offended expression. “Fine, you can all rot in shadow, I care not.” Gustov returned to staring up at the ceiling, his body draped across his chair like a cat. “I have returned with tea, for you and your guests.” Oazcy smiled warmly as she entered the room. This time she was wearing the garb of her order, complete with boots and long tunic. Doron sighed and was slightly saddened that she had changed out of her comfortable attire. Things were getting serious. “Is there more bad news? I never learned what Gustov was bothered by today.”

Doron smiled, as he picked up his porcelain teacup and began to sip. “Gustov’s fretting can wait, it is about a woman, as is the custom. The decision for who will champion Molina takes place today. We must depart for the Proving Grounds, soon.” Marcius waived away a cup from Oazcy, who nodded and offered it to Lady Nivela. She accepted, excitedly, and retook her seat. Oazcy took up a position behind Doron’s chair, and the group continued to chatter about things. Then, Oazcy glanced over at the disfigured man, standing behind Marcius chair, but no apparent intimidation was visible behind her eyes. She simply scanned over his large figure, and disturbing features, as if she were simply peering over a quiet hill. Her gaze then turned to the pink windows and she wondered how many men she had fought; how many more she would fight, before her own time came?

DESPITE THE BRIGHT sun, the Proving Grounds at Molina were still slick from the nighttime rains, as the day turned into afternoon. This day was uncharacteristically hot, for the autumn climate, and the inhabitants of the Old City Mount were enjoying every moment of it. In fact, the soldiers tasked with security, were having trouble holding back the vagrants and peasant travelers, and the stands were already packed to capacity. Sitting under an overhang of cloth and wood, the nobility and royal visitors each had their own section. In the middle, placed upon a platform of wood and iron, the Queen was accompanied by her attendants, and family. Below, the merchants, artisans, and craftsmen sat on a raised wooden platform, with an overhanging stone wall as protection. In front, the muddy grounds stretched for a hundred yards in either direction. Sometimes, horse races and other events were held here. The most notable of these events were duels, whether judicial or otherwise, and these provided yearlong entertainment to the inhabitants. All citizens of Molina, and foreigners, could be challenged to a duel at the Proving Grounds, for any reason. However, those with no martial honor could concede, or call on a champion to stand in their place. Should this be the case, the duelist’s tribunal would investigate the claim. Whether the combatant lacked martial honor would be decided by the tribunal. If found wanting, then the combatant would be marked a coward, and penalized for it. Subsequently, should the perpetrator be found out as a coward, his life would be forfeit. Traditionally, women could not be challenged, nor fight on the Proving Grounds. Although, this tradition was once broken in the curious case of Lady Pelenia, the last of her house. “We must find a better way to deal with all of these people.” The old Queen grumbled loudly, as she fanned herself with a collection of rigid cloth strips, attached together to form a half circle. “This city always gets crowded at this time of year.” Princess Illolia commented, while sighing and shaking her head. She sat to the right of her queen mother. While the queen and her daughter complained, the young Crown Prince Faren clapped his hands in excitement. Two citizens, that had previously been scheduled for a duel, stepped out onto the field. The two, one a hawker from Hawks Peak and the other a simple serving boy at a tavern, possessed no skills with a blade. So, the middle-aged man and the serving boy had each agreed on the pistol.

“Why is it so hot!” The queen regent grumbled along with her daughter. “We should do something to speed along these oafs, and get on with the selection ceremony. “The queen, with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, leaned over to Princess Illolia. The latter chortled, while hiding her mouth behind a hand. “Do you think Farenda would fight on the Proving Grounds, mother?” Princess Illonia spoke up; the youngest and most beautiful. However, her older sister, having sured 240 moon cycles on the continent, looked visible aggravated by the interjection. “Hold your tongue!” The queen snapped at Princess Illonia and, leaning across Princess Illolia, struck the younger girl across the face. “I will not have that name spoken in my presence. I banished her to that cesspit, so I would never feel her presence under another moon.” The queen huffed and wrinkled her nose in disgust, as she repositioned herself in her wooden chair. The young Princess Illonia held her red cheek in her hands, while all the men around her looked on with pity. Meanwhile, the older of the two sisters pouted that no attention was being paid to her. During this time of familial strife, some of Molina’s high society were filtering in, but those that witnessed the outburst were visibly shocked. The ArchPopulla, sitting on the right hand of the Crown Prince Faren, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was obviously perplexed by the queen’s lack of decorum at this moment. To the ArchPopulla’s right, Lord Fareto of House Locune pretended to not notice. He was the Grand General of the queen’s forces, and Master of the Rose. House Locune, which was the oldest family in the city, and once ruled the throne. That lifetime had long past, but the House of the Rose still ed their old position on the Old Mountain Plateau. Due to their position in society, in the stands to the immediate right of the queen’s platform, House Locune had fifty seats allocated for their house. To their right, the House of Canonese was allocated forty seats. Beside them, the House of Valese was allocated thirty, and, finally, the House of Swae was allocated twenty. Although the Order of Populla forbade acolytes to attend the events, the queen had allocated the last hundred seats to them, always to stand empty. Meanwhile, at the queen’s other hand, royal visitors were given a total of five hundred seats. This allowed enough room for all the delegations from other nations. None ever dared divide the different kingdoms into sections; an attempt that would bring drastic consequences. Instead, the royal visitor seats were first come first serve. Fortunately, the different nations generally divided themselves up, with the Speaker of the Tribes, and the attendants, always arriving first. Sometimes, the Krugars sat intermixed with the Hohens, but the tribes always sat separate. There

was no apparent order as to who sat closest to the queen, as the delegations from each nation were equal. It always struck Doron with awe at how well the Treaty of Molina had held up, despite all those nations that broke it in the past. Fortunately, none from the Hohen lands, nor Krugar lands, had yet arrived. As such, Doron and his companions were allowed the entire visitor section to themselves, but they chose to sit closer to the queen’s platform. Doron sat with Oazcy, Marcius det Sforza, Gustov, Xala, and Lady Nivela. This band of outcast misfits, that Doron surrounded himself with, often drew contemptuous looks from all that saw them. The intermixed guards that surrounded the group projected an intimidating barrier, which deterred those that would otherwise have voiced disapproval at Doron’s actions. Doron, having brought a diverse collection of fighters from the south, had ed his men with those of Marcius. The well-protected Criminal of Molina, as he was commonly called, brought nearly twenty well paid, elite, Molinese mercenaries from the Lower Quarter. On the other hand, Marcius’s brute was nowhere to be found. Across the two aisles, that ran parallel to each side of the queen’s platform, the nobility of Molina was filing in. Due to the bout about to take place below, there were no customs adhered to, while entering the stadium. No lords or ladies addressed the queen, or paid homage, they simply looked over at the royal platform. Nearly everyone was in a dejected or irritated mood, due to the uncharacteristic heat of the afternoon. In House Locune’s section, Lord Graucus Locune, the First Saber of Molina, had departed for Hohen lands, and would not be present at the choosing ceremony. This fact bothered his father, Lord Fareto, who failed at hiding the disappointment. However, his second son, Lord Saternino Locune was present. Lord Saternino was the Second Saber of Molina, and Aide to the Tribes. Since Doron was present at Molina, Lord Saternino was not required to go and collect the Speaker of the Tribes. The early arrival of the Speaker had become expected by the Molinese leadership, although they hated how Doron routinely disrespected and played tricks with their customs and laws. Next, Lord Romilo Locune, Third Saber of Molina and Aide to the Horse, had departed for Pagul some nights back, so he also was visibly not present. Fortunately, Lady Harmonia Locune, Daughter of the Rose and Aide of the Skeleton was present, along with House Locune’s Mother of the Rose. Lady Venusia Locune-Swae, despite having five children, was a picture of regal beauty. She always sat erect and her face remained an expressionless symbol of purity. Her auburn hair fell across her shoulders and down to her lower back, while her sparkling brown eyes rested delicately on all she saw. The lady was a paragon of decorum and regal elegance. Opposite the lady, Lord Fareto, her

husband, always looked on her with sadness, imagining just how successful of queen she might have been. The allies of House Locune, House Swae, had all representative’s present, although one did not sit in their section. Lady Nivela, having been cast out by her father for impurity, remained in Doron’s charge. Also, she had been stripped of all birth rights. However, she had been allowed to retain her title as Lady, more as a joke than as a serious position. Her father, Lord Borilo Swae and General of Molina’s First Division, sat without even glancing at his disgraced daughter. Next to him, sat the Lady Mila Swae-Locune, who would sometimes glance sadly over at the daughter that she had not seen in many cycles. On the other hand, Lady Nivela’s brothers, Lord Rodrigo and Cosimo, followed the example of their father. The two rivals to the alliance of House Locune and Swae, Houses Valese and Canonese, were just arriving. Lord Perecino Canonese was proceeded by his three sons; Pertinus, Piccono, and Perecinito. Although Piccono Canonese, Prefecta of First Division’s First Legion, was supposed to depart with a delegation to Hohenburg, he had suffered an accident, and was confined to his quarters. Still healing, the young man hobbled with a wooden crutch, and bandages were placed all over his body. The accident occurred when an iron cannon blew up near him, killing its four operators. After the injured Piccono, Lady Tribiana Canonese-Valese had ed only a few moon cycles ago, leaving her husband a grief-stricken widower. He still wore the black of mourning, known as wearing the shadows. Furthermore, he spoke to no one, since he took the vow of silence at her death. The Canonese allies, House Valese and Keepers of the Blue Hawk, filled in a few minutes after their counterparts. Lord Antonino Valese, who had taken to always wearing his military uniform, strolled up into the stands. He was followed by his pregnant wife, Lady Mariana Valese-Canonese, who was proceeded by the daughter. Lady Celoferania Valese was the current and only child of the older couple, but she was a disgrace to House Valese. In the eyes of the other nobility, Lady Celoferania was unruly and an overly curious child, who had taken up an unlady-like profession; the art of the smith. Her father bore the contempt with the stoic bearing of a proud military commander, as he was both General of Molina’s Third Division and Keeper of the Mountain Hawk Farshooters. Although Lord Antonino disproved of his daughter’s actions, he would defend her to a fault, as if he did indeed approve of her life choices. Finally, the perplexed and unhappy faces of Molina’s aristocracy had all arrived, but the choosing ceremony could not yet take place. The two dueling combatants were shaking, as they faced off at thirty paces. The two were inexperienced and neither wished to take the first shot. The royal family continued to grumble at

the delay, while everyone else watched on in boredom. The lower-class spectators were also bored, starting to shout words of encouragement, while others simply began to heckle. The Master of Duels, standing off to the side, on the muddy contest grounds, blew on his whistle, and the crowd died down. “This field shall be silent!” The Master of Duels’ booming voice racked across the stands, before he turned back to watch the stalemate. “Hardly a field,” Lady Nivela leaned over and whispered in Gustov’s ear, which garnered an uncontrolled feminine cackle. He quickly covered his mouth and looked with wide eyes over at Lady Nivela. Doron and the other companions immediately broke into laughter. “Silence!” The Master of Duels glared up at Doron’s section, and the group immediately fell silent, acting like school children that had just been caught in a prank. “Prince Maygo! The Star Prince!” Doron, shouting in excitement, suddenly startled everyone, and all eyes turned to witness a new visitor enter the stands. The regal countenance of the Grand Prince of the Tribes, Maygo the Star, approached Doron’s group. He was accompanied by a retinue of ten formidable guards. His men, the Zaranza Riders, were infamous desert cavalrymen that had ed into legend, for their ability to disappear among the Zoran Dunes. These men were clothed in golden spotted fur cloaks, with golden cords that were stitched into patterns on the cloaks’ surfaces. They wore black cloth across their faces, with only their piercing dark eyes showing. Furthermore, the men wore dusty turbans of cloth on their heads, and no visible armor was present. Although, their weapons were hidden beneath their cloaks. Trailed by these men, the Grand Prince of Zeilax carried himself like a king. His pointy black beard nearly blended in with his dark sunbaked skin. The desert prince wore purple robes, with golden trim and spotted frills at the end of the wide sleeves. The spotted coats were that of the black desert panther, an elusive animal that only hunted at night. His coat was black, but had visible brown spots along his hide, a thick fur that was highly prized by the desert people, as a sign of strength. The animal was an expert hunter, only leaving his lair at night, but his constraint was also his downfall. Despite this, panther hunters would still have to contend with the animal in their dark cavernous lairs; a dangerous proposition for even the most courageous. The Zaranza Riders all wore cloaks of the same spotted panther hide.

“My Speaker! How are you, old friend?” Prince Maygo laughed, and leaned in, to kiss Doron; four times on the cheek. Doron returned the favor, each time having to dodge the prince’s brilliant purple turban, with many small diamonds positioned through gold inlay along the fabric. “You come early?” Doron took the Prince’s arms in his hands. With the Prince returning the gesture, Doron pulled Prince Maygo down into the chair next to him. “Silence!” The shout from the Master of Duels was harsher this time, and he blew his whistle twice. “Best not offend the Master of Duels,” Grand Prince Maygo leaned in towards Doron with a grin, “he would challenge us to a duel. What will we do then, with no Master of Duels?” The queen, overhearing the handsomely dark-skinned prince’s comment, stifled an uncontrollable laugh. The two princesses also ed in the stifled laughter, but Princess Illolia’s was obviously affected, as her laugh came after the others. “Why don’t you us up here, handsome prince?” The queen was ed by her eldest daughter, in eyeing the prince with lewd desire, while the youngest Princess Illonia simply looked at him warmly. The prince stood and bowed. “Where shall I sit, dearest Queen Illylia? Might I add that your beauty would reflect the desert sun so brightly that all would be blinded.” Still bowing, the prince held both his arms crossed over his chest and his hands on his shoulders, in the customary Zeilax sign of respect. “They are speaking in Molinese?” Oazcy leaned over and addressed Doron in her broken dialect of Zeilax. Doron simply nodded. “The Grand Prince knows Molinese?” “Who do you think taught him?” Doron winked over at Oazcy, who was taken aback, and returned to watching the endless stand-off below. “Come, bring the prince a chair!” The queen shouted, and one of her attendants rushed to find a chair. Since the stands were made of wooden planks, and fixed to the frame, the attendant had to depart to find one. The grand prince stood, a mischievous smile on his face, and stepped down onto the queen’s platform. He completely ignored the older Princess Illolia, who had her hand outstretched for

him to kiss, and immediately took a knee in front of the youngest daughter. “Who is this mountain flower that sits before me? Where have you been hiding, and where is that young girl that I left here so many moons ago? It appears the she has bloomed very well.” Grand Prince Maygo smiled with his lust filling his eyes and the young Princess Illonia blushed red. “You have a woman and a whole harem full.” The queen, a scowl plastered across her face, pulled at the grand prince’s sleeve. The male nobles of Molina were all horrified as they looked over at the spectacle. Their bodies were tense and ready to reach for their weapons, but then the grand prince stood and bowed once more to the queen. Following this gesture, she smiled and comfortably shifted her overweight body, putting strain on her wooden chair, and threatening to break it. “My apologies, I was overtaken by the beauty of your daughter. She will make a glorious prize and strengthen your house.” The prince continued bowing, which then began to make the queen uncomfortable. “Yes, yes, sit down prince.” The queen touched the grand prince’s arm, and carefully guided him into the chair that had been place next to her. Princess Illolia didn’t seem to mind having to make room, as she was sitting next to the handsome dark prince. However, both the queen and the older princess were annoyed by the Maygo’s flirtatious looks towards Princess Illonia. “Duel Master! End this already!” The queen, slamming a fist on her armchair, shouted down at the muddy field. “We cannot bear this heat up here!” Ignoring the queen’s command, the Master of Duels turned to the table next to him. On the table, a candle was burning, next to scrolls that were held down by golden paperweights. This was the lists, as the Molinese referred to the dueling schedule. The papers were nearly all filled up, although most duels would end in a similar manner to this one. “The candle has reached its limit,” while the Master of Duels spoke, he turned towards the contenders, and stealthily snuffed out the candle behind his back. Although everyone in the stands saw this action, none made any argument, as all were grateful for the Master of Duel’s breaking the rules, in favor of timeliness. “The two contenders are charged with lacking martial valor, or being taken by cowardice! You shall both be judged accordingly, under the customs of these hallowed grounds, and the laws of this land!” While the Master of Duels spoke,

the two contenders began to panic, and the younger one accidentally fired his pistol. The shot flew past the older contender, who immediately flinched and evacuated his bowls. All in the stands were shocked, and their eyes were wide in surprised. The crack of the pistol shot echoed across the city and the whole area was covered in a stunned silence. The Master of Duels, his face red with anger, ran forward and grabbed the young man by his collar, taking the pistol from his hands. “Guards! Take this imbecilic child to the shadow cellar!” “No!” The young man shouted, tears pouring down his face, as two grey clad red skeleton guards dragged the young man through the dirt, and out of the Proving Grounds. The Master of Duels walked over to the older man, who looked down in embarrassment at his soiled tros. Urine was pooling around his feet, while the fowl stench of defecation made the Master of Duel’s nose wrinkle in disgust. “Go home and clean yourself, you shall live this day.” The Master of Duels clapped the stunned man on the shoulder. Then, the old man turned and left in a daze. “Now, we may commence the Choosing Ceremony! Who shall defend the honor of Molina against this foreign challenger? Will the Sword of Molina triumph against those of the Midnight Moon? Who shall answer his country’s call?” The Master of Duels spread his arms in a grand gesture, before bowing with a flourish. “She is a woman!” Lord Fareto suddenly stood and shouted down towards the Master of Duels, who was taken aback by the sudden verbal assault. “My dear Lord,” the Grand Prince Maygo stood and bowed towards Lord Fareto. “I am not your lord,” Prince Fareto, snarling, spat towards the Grand Prince Maygo. Then, the prince suddenly stood, his eyes wide and full of fire. “Lord Fareto, it is hot, and you have lost control of your sense. Please, leave and clean off the day with a bath.” The queen stood and motioned for the Master of Roses, and grand general, to leave. He looked back and forth between the prince and queen. “Bah!” Lord Fareto waived his hand dismissively and charged out of the stands. “My honored Lords and Ladies, I have some idea of your customs and traditions. Also, I have some knowledge of the people that call themselves defenders of the Midnight Moon.” The grand prince addressed the Lords of Molina, and their

faces all bore the same grievances as Lord Fareto. “Please, listen to the prince, this duel will happen, but I want my lords and ladies to be in agreement with the crown.” The queen added to the grand prince’s words, which only further angered the noble houses. “The Swords of Midnight are celibate and never sire children, nor engage in any physical activity of a sexual nature. As such, the warrior must not be considered as woman, for her value is not in childbirth. It will be of no great loss if she were to fall. So, see her as a warrior and not as a woman.” “You lie!” Lord Borilo Swae, following the path of his ally, stood and wagged a finger at the grand prince. “I see her tits! She is woman warrior, and very tall, but, just because none would bed her, does not give her the just cause to be considered any more than a woman! She must not be allowed to desecrate these grounds.” “I would bed her! Sure, she is tall, but she is beautiful, and I expect sweeter than any fruit!” Lord Perecino Canonese stood, his sarcastic smile only broken by the long scar that stretched down the side of his face. “Shut up! I was blocking shots and blades when you were still sucking at your mother’s tit!” Lord Borilo turned and snapped at Lord Perecino. “I say she does not fight, only because I would hate for the continent to lose such a jewel. I say we fight instead!” Lord Perecino, whipping his long brown hair in a flourish, clasped the hilt of his saber. “You are under an oath of silence!” The ArchPopulla snapped at Lord Perecino; the latter quickly regaining hold of his bearings and sitting back down. “What a mess, I apologize grand prince for witnessing the court in this manner. These many moon cycles have been hard on us all.” “Do not apologize to him!” The queen snapped at the ArchPopulla and then turned back to the Master of Duels, who was patiently waiting on the queen. “Come, let the Choosing proceed!” The Master of Duels bowed and then walked over to his table. Picking up a blank scroll, the Master of Duels began to speak loudly. “I call upon the men of Molina to answer the call! In defense of this city’s honor,

and the honor of all of us, who shall it be! First, I will ask that volunteers step forward. Shall none heed, the Sabers of Molina will be called upon. Only the bravest and best shall be chosen, but all men of Molina are encouraged to bring their names forward!” The Master of Duels raised a burning candle and placed the parchment in the fire. “This flame symbolizes the eternal fire of Molina that burns in all our hearts, and the blank parchment shows that all citizens of Molina will defend her walls to the last breath. We shall not be ed by paper and ink, but our legacies shall be written in shadow!” The Master of Duels then placed the candle on the table, after the parchment had burned up. “Answer the call! Answer the call! Answer the call!” The Master of Duels began a chant that was then taken up in chorus. Some peasants began to step forward, some artisans, but none were respectable enough for the Master of Duels. He scowled at those that stepped forward. “Is that all the Old Mountain has to offer! Where are her brave warriors? Answer the call I say! Answer the call!” “I shall answer!” Lord Pertinus Canonese stood abruptly, his dark and curly hair cascading down to his shoulders, and a fire lit behind his dark eyes. “No! I shall answer!” Lord Rodrigo Swae, his red face filled with rage and contempt, could not allow a Canonese to represent Molina, unchallenged. Then, Lord Saternino Locune stood.

Chapter Four

The Duel in the Garden

“W ell...Doron, you are among the dunes, with a horse and no water.” Grand Prince Maygo spoke, as he stood next to Doron Snake Keeper. The two men were ed by a handful of allies and attendants, as they watched Oazcy train. She was preparing for the coming fight, in the training room of the Speaker’s Quarters, in the Rose Palace. “The Lords of Molina and the Grand Populla might have talked the duel down, if it weren’t for your advice.” Doron, attempting to keep his voice calm, couldn’t help let a slightly resentful tone slip through. “I wish you had warned me of the situation that you were cooking here. Such information would have been useful before I arrived.” The Grand Prince directed a side glance in Doron’s direction, but his customary charming smirk was etched across his face. Accompanying Oazcy in the training room, and the two men of Zeilax, were the usual offenders: Lady Nivela, Marcius det Sforza, and Gustov. Zatra Full Reed, Doron’s heavyset mistress of attendants, had some of Doron’s slaves bring in wicker chairs, and tea for Oazcy’s small audience. Although, Oazcy was barely bothered by the eyes watching her, she was visibly focused on the coming fight. Oazcy, a part of the Cleansing Star Order, followed the prefight ritual of her cast. “Doron, my friend, you have spent much time with these people of the Midnight Star. Tell me, what is this ritual that our warrior practices?” The Grand Prince Maygo leaned over to Doron, as if the two were sharing some sort of secret. “Certainly, my prince, as I am but your humble servant.” Although Doron’s words came out in a conciliatory manner, the envy in the Grand’s Prince’s eyes told of a vailed superiority. Doron sat back in his chair and crossed a leg over the opposite knee. Doron’s chin was tilted slightly towards the ceiling, as if her were

about to give a lesson to school children. Meanwhile, as the two talked, Oazcy practiced movement exercises with her saber. The blade moved slowly around her body, as she had tied stone weights over her frame. Oazcy moved through the exercises slowly, her encumbered body not allowing for speed. However, her skill was evident, in a smooth transition between each movement. Oazcy was dressed in her customary Midnight Star clothing. The white crescent moons, dusting a long tunic of dark blue, which shimmered in the candlelight as she moved. These crescent moons were made from reflective shell, and caused a mesmerizing effect on any that saw them. In fact, some might even say the shells seemed magical. Meanwhile, the upturned metal tips on her leather boots sometimes created a scraping sound, as she slowly stepped from one place to another. Among her mesmerizing clothing and skill, the female warrior priest also bore two other objects of superior elegance. Her saber and necklace struck the audience with eyes of wonder. Specifically, the saber of midnight had a well pronounced backward curve to it. The blade was the same width along the curve, widening slightly towards the end, before it formed into a curved point. The metal of the blade was unlike any had seen before, as it had a glassy hue to it, and seemed to almost resonate with a low hum. The blade was inlaid with many small silver moons and eight pointed stars, all interconnected with elegant vines. Conversely, her necklace was an eight-pointed star, connected around her neck by a chain of the same metal in her sword. The star itself was made of many types of crystal, specifically eight types of crystal, held together in a silver frame. “Father!” The Grand Prince’s son, Barbo, had just entered the room, from the corner door, behind where Oazcy’s spectators sat. All faces, save the highly focused Oazcy, turned to face the sunbaked young man. Barbo, the Pirate Boy, as he was known across the lands of the Greater Continent, stepped into the room, with a swagger that almost rivaled that of his father. The proud son of the Grand Prince stood tall, with a lanky frame. His body, although very well-toned, looked almost undernourished. The Grand Prince’s heir wore a vest of purple, with golden patterns intricately embroidered across its surface, while his baggy black and white striped pants bunched out around the ankles. He wore leather boots that were up turned at the point, and formed into a metal spike. Also, while his darkly tanned arms and chest were bare under the vest, he was protected by a thick cloak of white fur and feathers. Taken from the hide of the rare white otters, and the white feathers being from a swan, the Grand Prince’s son’s coat was worth a fortune in any territory. However, only a man would attack the infamous Pirate Boy, and his five Zaranza riders. The young man’s bodyguards

stood around him like statues. Their faces were covered by black cloth, with only their eyes showing. Unlike his father’s saber, the Pirate Boy and his guards carried scimitars, combined with two pistols to a man. Barbo was a handsome boy, despite his gilded teeth, and the scar than ran from his forehead to his navel. Furthermore, this grinning heir to the Zeilax Princedom brought a dangerous atmosphere with him. A negative energy seemed to buzz around the young sea warrior. His jaw, that jutted out like a cliff’s edge, showed the profile of a blustery, but prodigious, youth. The young man wore a fully-grown black moustache that crossed his face like two paint brush: a surprising genetic feat, for a man of his age. As he was in his two hundredth and twenty-eighth moon cycle, Barbo had two more cycles before his Rite of Zoran. This ritual was a trial that marked his ing into manhood, where his shoulder length black locks would be cut, and he would be forced two survive two moon cycles alone; among the dunes. This test was what all men of Zeilax had to look forward to. The children of Zeilax looked on this feat as the most difficult of their lives. However, Barbo the Pirate Boy was unafraid, having already had made name for himself at sea. He was considered by many to have departed from the ways of Zeilax: the horse-riding people of the desert. He had purchased a ship, and sought his fortune among the watery seas, rather than the sandy ones. Captain of Zoran’s Pride, Barbo was already accused of raiding two Hohen ships of the line. Whether these accusations were true or not, Barbo reveled in the fame that his underdog legend had brought. “My son!” Grand Prince Maygo stood abruptly, his face was flushed with excitement, and his arms immediately opened wide for Barbo. The prince’s son, grinning, stepped forward and placed a firm hand on his father’s shoulder. Barbo stood taller than his father, by an inch, but Maygo was better built and had broader shoulders. Grand Prince Maygo was disappointed that his son would not embrace him, and Doron’s scowl grew deeper. Doron made no attempt to hide his contempt for the Zeilax noble, turned pirate. “I hear this city has more excitement than the Storm’s Straight.” Grinning, Barbo winked over at Doron, as Barbo spoke in Zeilax. “Don’t worry about those rumors my son, I never believed them.” Grand Prince Maygo clapped his son on the shoulder. Then, the two bumped elbows with their hands clasped together, the customary greeting of the Zeilax. “You are lucky that you left behind no proof to start a war.” Doron sourly

commented and Barbo winked at him, as Maygo pretended not to notice. “Come, my son, watch this specimen of a warrior that Doron discovered among those star priests.” Grand Prince Maygo, smiling, motioned for Gustov to give up his seat. Reluctantly, the artist from Hohenburg complied, playfully sitting on Lady Nivela’s lap. “Oh, I have no doubt that she is a formidable. In fact, I have a Sword of Midnight with me as well. He protected me many times.” “Isn’t it customary for a Sword of Midnight to carry the Eight Points, and the Midnight Saber?” Doron looked over at Barbo skeptically, expecting the Grand Prince’s son to be telling another blustery lie. “He certainly must not be among this lot.” Doron, scowling, motioned to the cutlass carrying Zaranza Riders. “Do not insult the Zaranza!” The Grand Prince’s words were followed by hisses from four of the five veiled bodyguards. They all wore leather armor, no shirts, black baggy pants, leather riding boots, and black turbans that wrapped around their faces. This was unlike the customary Zaranza rider garb, of all black robes and turban, concealing all but their eyes. “These are no Zaranza!” Doron spat, furiously shoving a hand towards the men, in a gesture known as Goat Birthing. This was a highly insulting gesture among the tribes, and each of Barbo’s guards placed hands on weapons. “Let’s all calm down now, and not forget what my son was speaking of.” Grand Prince Maygo held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture, while his son leaned back in his chair; grinning. “My Sword of Midnight is here.” He waived to the man that stood to his right, who immediately removed the veil from his face. This time, Oazcy looked over, her eyes narrowed, as she eyed him thoroughly, but she said nothing. “Why does she look at the Prince’s son’s man in that way?” Lady Nivela called over to Doron in Molinese. The Grand Prince was about to answer, but Doron immediately spoke over him. “He is an outcast, banished from the order forever. He bears the mark of the black star.” Doron, without looking over at the man, pointed to the eight-pointed branding on the man’s forehead.

“What do you have to do to obtain that mark?” Lady Nivela walked over to Doron’s chair, and plopped herself down on the floor beside him. She brushed her dress underneath, and sat with her legs to one side, while she placed her hands over the arms of his chair. She looked like a dutiful daughter, listening to the stories of her father. “Only the shadows know.” Doron’s tone was ominous, as Oazcy looked over at him, with sadness in her eyes. She continued to practice her saber movements, but her demeanor had changed slightly, showing the effect that the banished Sword of Midnight had on her. Barbo continued grinning, as all eyes watched Oazcy move through her exercises.

THE DAY OF THE DUEL was like any other in the old mountain city; dreary and cold. Despite the depressive atmosphere, the city was bathed in drifting clouds that ed through the buildings like phantoms. The Queen, bed ridden, had called for the duel to be held in the Rose Square, between the Rose Palace and the Skeleton Keep. She was laying on her side in a large bed, with a veil drawn across it. The periodic movement of the veil was the only sign of the Queen’s attention. Her bed, positioned on the balcony of the Rose Palace, faced across from the Skeleton Keep. The banister was gilded in gold, along an iron frame of rose stems, and attendants surrounded the Queen. Her family was placed on the balcony below, while she, herself, was surrounded by twenty guards. She was also accompanied by the ArchPopulla and five handmaidens. In fact, due to the large bed, this was the maximum number of people that could stand on the balcony, as there was no more space to accommodate more. The bed of the Queen took up the space of at least twenty people. It was, by any measure, an enormous piece of furniture. Meanwhile, her family, on the balcony below, was accompanied by ten Red Skeletons, and Doron. Accompanied by his attendants, and the Grand Prince of Zeilax, Doron was grateful that the Maygo’s son had decided to the mob below. The mob below was swelling to unprecedented numbers. In fact, while the Rose Square itself was empty for the duel, the streets and allies were packed with multitudes. Barely held back by lines of Red Skeleton guards, keeping the square empty, the mob was a teaming mass of foreigners and locals alike. Despite the thick formation of guards, three lines deep, all had become exhausted, trying to hold back this mob. However, the guards were professional, and would not break under any weight. In fact, some of the multitudes had constructed elevated viewing platforms that ascended upon themselves. These platforms blocked every street level entrance and exit to the Rose Square, causing serious anxiety for the guards below. Alternatively, another dangerous situation was brewing above. The two rival Molinese factions, consisting of two allied families each, were positioned atop balconies on either side of the Queen’s balcony. The Locune-Swae faction had many of their family present, while the Valese-Canonese faction rested on the other balcony, with less numbers. It was very telling that the Queen trusted foreigners around her family, more than she trusted her own nobles. On the other hand, the duel was poised to commence, after the ArchPopulla stepped up to the Queen’s balcony. In the ing few hours, any confrontation was unlikely: at least, not until the duel had taken place. The hands of the ArchPopulla were outstretched, and so the masses in the streets quieted down. His voice boomed across the courtyard, as he gave

the benediction of shadow. “The Shadows call to us now, for one of these two brave souls shall soon be claimed. to lead us there. I, the ArchPopulla and Master of Shadow, tell you, present here on this day, that I shall guide the loser on their path to the shadows.” “I don’t think Oazcy would appreciate that...” Doron, sitting in a chair next to the Grand Prince, whispered in Zeilax over to Maygo. Doron leaned in close, as if he were sharing a secret. In response, the Grand Prince chuckled loudly, and received looks of condemnation from the others. Even the ArchPopulla, pausing in his benediction, looked over the banister, and down at the culprits. Pretending, Maygo and Doron also looked around, as if they too were looking for the offenders. The ArchPopulla looked at them sourly for a few moments, before straightening his body and continuing. “Shadow sees all!” The ArchPopulla’s final words echoed among the buildings, and among the silent faces that looked up at him in reverence. “Shadows see all!” The reply was echoed back by a multitude of voices, crying out in unison, as Lord Saternino Locune stepped out from the gate to the Skeleton Keep, walking out onto the Rose Square. His presence was met by a thunder of voices. All in the streets chanted, “shadows see all!” Although, the chant soon devolved into shouts of, “Champion of Roses!”, “Champion of Molina!”, and “kill the whore of stars!” It was to these chants that Oazcy, a Sword of Midnight, stepped out onto the square, arriving from the Rose Palace entrance. She stepped through the green doors, and out among the flowing mists. She had left her tunic of stars behind. What had been hidden underneath, was now borne to all. Her ring mail tunic reflected light, even in the overcast weather. The tunic’s metal was a metallic black, like her sheathed saber, and gave off an eerie supernatural effect. Her long black hair was tied back. Meanwhile, the tattoos, that snaked up her neck, appeared as wriggling black serpents. Her face was expressionless, like a slab of carved marble. Despite being from a famously sunny region of the continent, her skin was paler than Lord Saternino, whose face was also expressionless and cold. The only signs of emotion, on his part, were the tensing muscles at his jaw line. Lord Saternino wore a dark pink cloak, with green roses embroidered in staggered patterns along its surface. The cloak was trimmed with gold and Lord Saternino’s close cropped, curly black, hair rustled in the slight breeze. Fortunately, the Rose Square was wide enough to comfortably fit nearly a thousand men. However,

these two were alone, as they strolled out among the grey stone cobbles. Lord Saternino’s footsteps made nearly no noise, while Oazcy’s metal tipped boots made a slight clacking sound, as she walked. “What happens now?” Grand Prince Maygo leaned over to Doron and whispered, as the area fell silent once more. “Oazcy will need to remove her clothes?” Doron leaned over to Maygo and answered in an annoyed tone. As he spoke, Lord Saternino undid the bonds around his cloak, and let it fall to the ground. He wore only a loin cloth over his gentles, with a Molinese saber clutched in his left hand. The saber had a thin square guard over the handle, and an intricately leather wrapped handle. The scabbard was green, with pink roses etched into the metal bottom and top sections. The roses were rendered pink through shells that had been ground down, and inlaid into the metal carvings with clear resin: an invention on the mountain. Surely costing a fortune, Doron wondered at the scabbard’s value, and why such a plain sword rested inside. Meanwhile, Lord Saternino’s pale body was built like a bull. His muscles were etched so deep, and so sharply, as to cut, while his legs were built like tree trunks. In addition, his vain covered arms looked like two perfectly formed slabs of granite, and his chest had two large pale pectorals set upon it, like perfectly carved stones. Meanwhile, the scar, that stretch down the side of his rib cage, told of an old dueling wound, that had only just missed its mark. Coupled with this, Lord Saternino sported a shoulder wound from a dueling shot, and the scar from a strange burn on his other shoulder. Opposite him, Oazcy looked perplexed by the almost naked Lord. She looked up at the balconies, searching for Doron. However, Doron tried to make himself smaller in his chair, an impossible feat with his rotund belly. “You must remove your clothes, Sword of Midnight!” The Grand Prince Maygo, laughing, leaned over the balcony and called down to her. However, his response was met by a blank stare. “Tell her, Inanilla Bortenteseni, and Gortala Boruthai.” Doron, not wishing to look down, spoke to the Grand Prince Maygo calmly. The Grand Prince then looked back over the balcony, but somehow the Sword of Midnight, Oazcy, had already heard. She immediately unbuckled the thick black leather belt around her waist. The Grand Prince, his features showing a perplexed expression, wondered how she had heard Doron, from nearly thirty feet below. However, unaware of the Grand Prince now, Oazcy lifted the black ring mail over her head, and

revealed a thickly padded tunic underneath. This was then removed, as she undid the knots in its back. While Oazcy did this, Lord Saternino suffered in the cold. His nipples stuck out, like two magical angry warts. Oppositely, Oazcy pulled her arms out of the sleeves on her padded tunic, to reveal a nearly see through white gown underneath. She then removed this, to reveal a naked, somewhat feminine, body. However, her body was far from attractive. Any man, or perhaps woman, that might have been anticipating the removal of Oazcy’s clothing, was to be sorely disappointed. Not only were her breasts very small, almost mirroring the chest of Lord Saternino, but she also had well-trimmed black hair all over her crotch. Furthermore, her body was completely covered in the intricate black tattoos that seemed to move on their own. In conjunction, Oazcy showed a body covered in tiny scars, that crisscrossed through her tattoos, as if she had been scratched by a thousand cats. Although her frame was slightly smaller than Lord Saternino’s, she was, possibly, more intimidating in appearance. Her body was carved like Lord Saternino’s, although slender, and the skin that showed was even paler than his. She was visibly a warrior of his equal, and Lord Saternino was impressed by this priestess before him. Gritting his teeth against the cold, Lord Saternino undid his loincloth and let it fall to the ground. His manhood was shriveled by the cold, and hid among the curly black bush on his crotch. Two rather large testicles hung down, like two white raisins, below his curly black bush. Comically, there were audible sighs of dismay, as the onlookers realized just how disappointing the naked warrior woman was: let alone, that, now, a naked man stood in front of her. “What is wrong with this place?” The Grand Prince Maygo returned to his chair, and whispered a rhetorical question to Doron, who simply chuckled in reply. Oazcy kept her eight-pointed star necklace on, but her mysterious bag she left, attached to her leather belt. The eight-pointed star dangled between two barely rounded breasts, that nearly resembled the chest of a man. Her body was the image of a sculpted warrior priest, having endured in immeasurably life of misery and hardship. She was honed into a more of a machine than woman. Across from her, Lord Saternino’s body was a visage of disciplined training and extensive experience in dueling. The eyes had turned from sexual anticipation, to the anticipation of blood. Without warning, the two duelers began. Mirroring each other, the two warriors drew their sabers, and placed their scabbards carefully among the grey cobbles. Then, they each took a stance that portrayed the variation in their combat styles. Lord Saternino faced his right side, the one holding his saber, towards Oazcy. His right and left foot made an L shape. Then,

he placed his left hand behind and his back. His legs widened into a deep posture and his frame leaned forward, towards his opponent. Conversely, Oazcy positioned herself back. Her left side faced towards her opponent, with her left hand dropped low towards the ground. She stood in a crouch, with her butt stuck out behind her, and the point of her saber held in front. Unique to this style, she held the saber in her right hand, so her right arm stretched across her body. While Lord Saternino resembled a stone pillar, Oazcy looked a like a black and ivory snake, coiled and ready to strike. Everyone held their breath, with the only sound being the whistling breeze. Then, the two opponents moved, slowing creeping towards one another. The two masters of sabers were hesitant to take the first move, as one misstep could mean death. Also, neither was familiar with the other’s style. Their faces were expressionless and seemed almost as frozen as the mountain peaks above. They both moved with determination and intention, raising the level of anticipation with every slight movement they took. The nipples of both seemed to get sharper, as they spent more time in the cold, and a slight shiver had started in each of their bodies. In fact, their resistance against the cold was another testament to their discipline. Suddenly, each of the two leapt into action, once there were only a few steps between them. However, they both opened with faints: both stepping forward quickly, and then immediately stepping back. The points of the swinging sabers ed within inches of one another. Then, they each settled back into their stances, taking a few moments to analyze the other’s movement. Shouts began to start in the crowds, until the ArchPopulla held up his arms to silence them. The two warriors seemed not to notice, as the two duelists began circling one another. The audience assumed they were in for another period of posturing, until Lord Saternino decided to spring into action. He advanced suddenly, with three short forward slashes. The blade of his saber quickly carved the air, ing within inches of the retreating Oazcy. Not leaving her stance, she quickly moved backwards in short bursts, until Lord Saternino’s third strike, when she ducked off to his right side. Like a coiled snake, suddenly striking, she was a blur. As Saternino’s arm was coming back from the third strike, her saber cut up towards his back. However, Lord Saternino’s body moved at the last moment. Only the tip of Oazcy’s saber sliced open his back. His right shoulder blade now had a gash, but the blood only beaded around the fresh wound. It was just a flesh wound, but Lord Saternino was surprised by the cut, and Oazcy was impressed by his quick reflexes. Indeed, the Second Saber of Molina was no fraud. However, the fight was not over, as Lord Saternino struck back. Oazcy was off balance from the coiled strike, and Lord Saternino capitalized. He brought his

saber back around, to cut at her chest. In response, Oazcy winced slightly, as Lord Saternino’s saber tip cut through the top of her right breast, just above the nipple. She had leaned back at the last moment, avoiding any severe damage. The two warriors backed off from one another, both eyeing the other with curiosity. All eyes were transfixed on the action, but every little engagement drew a great cheer from the crowd. Blood had been drawn. Then, Lord Saternino kneeled, and Oazcy came up out of her stance. The move was greeted with sighs, and angry jeers. Thus, the duel was over and Lord Saternino had capitulated the fight. There would be consequences.

FOLLOWING THE DUEL, Queen Illyllia had summoned everyone of importance to her chambers. Unfortunately, Lord Saternino and Oazcy, having only just terminated the duel, had no time to dress properly. The two had hastily applied bandages to their wounds, and redressed in their under clothes. Lord Saternino had replaced his loin cloth and his cloak, while Oazcy had put her nightgown back on, accompanied by her padded tunic. Meanwhile, the Queen’s extravagant bed chamber was filled with her attendants, guards, and the Molinese nobility. As was customary, the two rival factions took up positions on opposite sides of the room. Doron and the Grand Prince stood between the two factions, but behind the two duelists. Lord Saternino had immediately kneeled in front of the Queen’s bed, while Oazcy stood patiently behind him. The atmosphere of the dim room was charged with anticipation, while the ArchPopulla looked as if he was about to faint from his old age. The lords whispered among one another, while all watched the still curtains over the Queen’s bed. No movement had come from behind the bed curtains, since everyone’s arrival, but the condemnation of the Queen could be felt radiating from behind them. “What would happen to this city, were I to leave? This worry keeps me awake at night. You would all serve a better purpose for the vultures. If the shadows were to permit me a respite, you all would have the city in flames, before my corpse was not yet a day old!” While the Queen’s shrill voice erupted from behind the curtain, none dared move, or draw a breath; none, except Doron and the Grand Prince. The two looked at each other: Doron, with his golden toothed grin, and the Grand Prince with his sly smirk. “What are you two smiling about!” The Queen’s voice lashed out from the curtains, like the whistling of a whip. “How dare you insult us in this manner! Illyllia!” Grand Prince Maygo, his smirk vanishing from his face, immediately retorted. His voice boomed like that of a cannon’s echo. “What! Forgot not where you stand, Grand Prince!” “Forget not who you address, Queen!” The Grand Prince Maygo immediately shot back. However, Doron presumed there was an entertainment quality to this, supposedly serious, banter. The Lords looked around at each other, more in pretend anxiety, than worry. There was something that felt staged here.

“Why have you summoned us here, oh Great One of the Old Mountain?” Doron interjected, seeking to push things along. “This duel was, by far, more insulting, than the Speaker of the Tribes bringing a Sword of Midnight to my hall. Imagine my surprise, when this next insult came from none other than the Second Saber of Molina, given the duty of defending the crown’s honor. You!” Lord Saternino stood up as Queen Ilyllia spoke, with his head bowed towards her. “You were entrusted with the honor of the Red Skeleton, but I find you here, today, having spat on the Red Skeleton! Do you see Molina as yours, do you think this city to be your whore house, to command as you see fit? What do you have to say for yourself! Speak Second Whoreson to Molina!” While the Queen’s words seemed to have no effect on Lord Saternino, his father’s skin was turning red in anger. “In that moment, that I crossed my blade with this warrior of the Midnight Star, I realized that there was no honor in contesting a woman. The ArchPopulla was correct. Were I to defeat this woman, there would be no honor in it.” Lord Saternino smiled slightly as he shot a glance over to the old ArchPopulla, whose face had soured at the accusation. “I chose to end the duel, and avoid any further disgrace to the crown.” “Any further disgrace to the crown! It is I that approved this fight! You stand there and accuse me of disgracing my own crown!” The Queen’s voice had become so shrill that Doron half expected the windows to shatter, as if a sudden windstorm was ing through. Then, the Queen’s voice died down and she took a few moments, before speaking again. “What is this my Master of Shadow, I never expected you to betray me in this manner. Yet, also, I never expected a Saber of Molina to deny my word in such a way. What am I to do with you now, Lord Saternino, and your Shadow Priest?” The Queen’s words, intending to cause harm to the ArchPopulla, placed the desired effect on the old man. The ArchPopulla’s sour face turned into a scowl, as he glared over at her bed curtains. “Oh, but I would never command shadow, shadow sees all, and it sees the short comings of its speaker.” The ArchPopulla bowed slightly towards the Queen’s bed, but his eyes were filled with fire. “Lord Saternino!” “Yes, my Queen, what is your command?” Lord Saternino kept his eyes affixed to the ground. “You are here, in front of all these high-born witnesses, stripped of all legal

titles: both hereditary and given. You shall be cast out, like a dog into the street. From here on, you are no more than a beggar. Be gone!” The Queen’s shrill voice reverberated around the room and caused Lord Saternino’s father to become flushed with anger. However, Lord Saternino voiced no protest, as he abruptly departed the room. “I will speak with you at a later time, Doron Snake Keeper.” The Queen’s tone was ripe with malice, but Doron unabashedly retained his golden toothed grin. “Get out! You are all intolerable and vexing!” One by one, everyone filed out of the Queen’s chamber, with only a handful of attendants remaining behind. The Queen’s large guard contingent took up positions outside the Queen’s door, their faces barely showing the confusion that most felt. Meanwhile, the lords of Molina waited, until the Queen’s door had closed, before they began voicing their disagreements with what had just transpired. Lord Locune was unsurprisingly bitter at the Queen, for casting his son out in that manner. He was ed by Lord Swae in their contempt, while the Lords of Valese and Canonese began a series of underhanded insults at their rivals. Conversely, the Grand Prince Maygo and Doron looked at each other, their eyes betraying an amusement at the dysfunctional Molinese court. Oazcy dutifully followed behind them, although the duel in the cold had taken its toll on her.

Chapter Five

Doron’s Dilemma

Following the eventful days past, Doron had barely left his quarters in the Rose Palace. The days seemed to mold together, as the toll of court intrigue wore on the rotund merchant lord. He was visibly exhausted, as he strolled through his quarters, not even changing from his orange and yellow sleeping gown; trimmed with purple and red. In fact, Doron barely ate and hardly slept. It was as though his mind had simply ceased to function. In addition to his sudden state of despair, Doron had begun to stink, as he had not bathed for several days. He also wore a scraggly black beard that draped over his chest like the withering branches of a dying tree. He was an old man, and these last few days had drawn out what little youth he had left. A wrath lost in delirium, only Oazcy’s momentary ing through the parlor, or lounge room, reminded Doron of the recent past. Although Doron had ed through such sick spells before, he never was this struck with melancholy. Such events often proved as omens of dark days to come, and Doron feared the Continent was to face a catastrophe like no other. This day was turning out to be like the others, as Doron continued through his dark haze. He sat across from the Grand Prince Maygo, who eyed his old merchant friend with worry. The two half-heartedly played the Field of Trumpets; an old Hohen strategy game. Doron, only half-aware of his surroundings, still perplexed the Grand Prince. Maygo’s brow furrowed in contemplation, while rubbing his temples, as he pondered his next exasperated move. Meanwhile, Doron barely noticed, when Maygo placed a horn blower next to his kavalar; granting his cavalryman movement on the next turn. However, the Grand Prince gasped in surprise, as Doron made a seemingly foolish move. In response, Maygo immediately pounced, moving his pieces, accompanied by horn blowers, to flank those of Doron. Unfortunately, Maygo soon realized he had only sprung Doron’s trap, noticing the forgotten piece at his own flank.

“ my friend, do not look only to where I go, but also where I have been.” Doron smiled, struggling to utter his words in Zeilax, and slowly moving his artillery piece. Maygo growled, as Doron’s artillery struck Maygo’s three pieces in its fire path. Maygo lost two kavalar units, with their horn men, and a Hohen heavy gun. “Your Hohen guns might outrange mine, but the difference lies in how you use that which you are given.” “You are a rotten camel whore, Doron Snake-keeper.” A distressed Maygo sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and staring intently at the board. “Do you possess the power to move the pieces with your mind?” Doron chuckled, followed by a heavy cough that took many moments to recover from. When Doron had regained composure, he sat back in his chair with cold and empty eyes. He stared into the fire, blazing in the hearth, and seemed to lose all focus on his surroundings. “Doron!” Marcius det Sforza and Lord Saternino suddenly burst into the room. A flabbergasted Zatra Full-Reed was attempting to hold the two men at bay, but to no avail. “What is the meaning of this!” Maygo shouted in Zeilax, and drew his scimitar. Also, in a breath, Oazcy had burst into the room from the opposite door, her blade already in hand. Seeking to avoid a conflict, Lord Saternino kept a calm demeanor, and kept his hands clasped behind his back. Meanwhile, Marcius stood in front of Lord Saternino and surged forward, pushing aside Zatra. “You donkey’s ass!” Marcius barely got his insult out, as the Grand Prince Maygo stepped forward to confront the blusterous Molinese merchant. Marcius reached forward to grapple the Grand Prince, but Maygo had moved out of the way, and smoothly swept Marcius’s feet out from under him. The incensed Molinese merchant, with the breath knocked from his lungs, rolled over and coughed. Standing sternly over Marcius, like a sunbaked school master, Grand Prince Maygo kept his blade at the ready, but away from Marcius flailing arms. “Where are your bodyguards?” Maygo, speaking broken Molinese, placed his other hand behind his back, in a gentlemanly fashion. Maygo had taken to wearing the Molinese waistcoat and waist high tros, but specially made with a Zeilax flare. The Grand Prince would often wear the styles of other cultures, but more as a curiosity than any political statement.

“We have some troubles and we beseech the Speaker for his help.” Lord Saternino took up the mantle of speech, as Marcius was still in the throes of labored breath. “You have no place here, vagabond!” Maygo spat on the ground, puffed out his chest, and raised his jaw towards the ceiling. Then, in true Molinese fashion, he raised the point of his scimitar towards Saternino. The gesture was an unmistakable challenge. In response, Lord Saternino’s left foot twitched to move forward, but he hesitated and stepped back. “True, I may no longer be a lord of the Molinese Houses, but I am a skilled fighter.” Lord Saternino drew his saber, and then let it clatter to the ground. As he dropped the weapon, he raised his hands submissively. While these events transpired, Oazcy had carefully maneuvered her way across the room, and now stood a few feet from the group. Her left hand rested on the handle of her saber, but she had not yet drawn naked steel. “You were bested by a woman!” The Grand Prince looked over at Oazcy, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Perhaps not a woman, but a priestess at the very least.” “There was an agreement struck.” The tired voice of Doron came wafting from his chair, like the creaking of old floorboards. “That’s right! We are here to collect!” An incensed Marcius stood and drew a long dagger from behind his back. “Do that again!” He hissed at the Grand Prince, who blankly looked back at the Molinese merchant, but Maygo never lowered his scimitar. “What is your worry today, that it cannot wait for the morrow?” Doron sighed and struggled to stand. Abandoning her position, Oazcy hurried over, and ed the Doron under his right arm. She breathed a little heavier under his weight. “A great and troubling matter has shaken the halls of the Eastern Trade House, of which you were once a member.” Marcius, ing the knife to his left hand, raised his right hand in a fist. “I am aware of my past exploits. What is the grave matter that you speak of?” Doron groaned and leaned on the gaming table. Grand Prince Maygo, sensing the tensions were dying down, replaced his scimitar in its sheath.

“Come, let us share some leaves with water.” Maygo held out a cup of tea to Marcius, who promptly slapped it from Maygo’s hand. A dark presence immediately entered the Grand Prince’s eyes, a look Doron had seen often in the ruler of the Zeilax tribe. “Come friend, leave him.” Doron calmly, but firmly, address the Grand Prince, but nothing seemed to stir him. Marcius, angry and without remorse, prepared to fight Maygo. “Who are you?” The Grand Prince Maygo growled, clenching his right hand over the hilt of his scimitar, ready to draw again. “You dare strike the Master of Sands, the Sunborn Desert Walker, you who are not even a lord.” The Grand Prince, speaking lowly in his mother tongue, stalked around to the side of Marcius. Unbeknownst to the two, about to kill each other, Doron had nodded over to Oazcy. Suddenly, she leapt into action, catching Maygo’s hand, before he could draw his scimitar from its sheath. Then, the bottom of her boot struck Marcius in the jaw, even as he lunged forward to stab Maygo. Marcius fell once more to the ground, this time with a bleeding jaw. Meanwhile, the Grand Prince pushed hard against Oazcy’s hand, but she held firm, and stared back into the dark eyes of the Grand Prince. “Marcius det Sforza, pull yourself together. Speak plainly, and let us avoid this unnecessary distraction.” Doron was scolding as he offered a hand to the angry Molinese merchant. “You backwards whore infector.” Marcius spat out a tooth as he sneered at Oazcy. “Lord Locune struck a deal with you! His own son was cast out on your behalf!” Marcius waived a hand at his new bodyguard, still standing in the doorway. “I am aware.” Doron plainly answered, blankly looking back at the hostile Marcius. “At the Lord’s words, I came to bring you. This is something that you must see for yourself.” Marcius, leaning forward to look into Doron’s tired eyes, dabbed his sleeve at the blood on his jaw. Doron sighed, mustering all his strength, and stood. Doron’s belly hung out like a large yellow barrel. “Very well, but I must dress first.” Doron chuckled, as he stumbled away, and the others seemed to lighten up a bit.

“Hurry then. There is not much time.” Marcius crossed his arms and Doron left the room, not requiring help this time.

A SCENE OF CATASTROPHE greeted Doron and his retinue, as they followed Marcius and the fallen Lord Saternino. While Marcius det Sforza plunged forward like a spooked bull, Saternino Locune seemed cautiously on-edge. While Marcius strode with little abandon, Saternino held back, with his hand always resting upon his sword’s hilt. On the other hand, Doron was skeptical, keeping his distance from the raging Marcius. The group was traveling from the Rose Palace to the Lower Quarters of the city. On this journey, Doron was accompanied by the Grand Prince Maygo, the priestess Oazcy, and a contingent of twenty guards. Half of the guards were provided from Doron’s mercenary stock, while Maygo supplied the other ten. Furthermore, Marcius det Sforza had brought five of his champion sabers also. Of the five sabers, one stood out among the rest. This prize fighter that Marcius brought to the pits was the reigning champion of the golden rose competition. He was a stout and tall giant, with a chest length reddish brown beard. This beard was divided into five braids that were all tied together by golden ribbons. While his beard was artfully assembled, the warrior wore wild, shoulder length, hair that was starting to show signs of greying. The towering giant stood nearly two feet above the tall Saternino and was an awe to the Grand Prince Maygo. The large, red-bearded, man wore a white fox fur across his shoulders, covering a network of intricately drawn blue and black markings, which closely resembled the collection of tattoos on Oazcy. While Marcius’s other guards carried two smoothbore pistols a piece, this giant guardian carried only a large, single headed, battle axe. Scars crisscrossed his tattoos and his elongated green eyes affected a mesmerizing and horrifying stare. As an odd addition to this mighty warrior’s ensemble, he wore an emerald stud in each ear. “Who is he?” The Grand Prince Maygo, grinning like a school child, whispered to Doron in his own native tongue. The red bearded giant glanced over at Maygo, appearing to understand. “That is the Great Red Fox Barbas, Rat Catcher, and Commanding Enforcer of the Eastern Trade House.” “Such a foreigner certainly holds a high reputation in this land.” Grand Prince Maygo continued to gaze in awe at the giant, but the Great Red Fox pretended not to notice.

“His reputation is well earned. He is from the Northern Steppe, and one of the few Great Foxes to be seen in modern society.” Doron eyed the large man, holding back a look of contempt in his eyes, along with a deeply rooted fear that Barbas invoked. “Why does such a man serve as this greedy merchant’s bodyguard?” Maygo motioned towards Marcius, with contempt permeating the question. This tone Barbas took note of. “He is Marcius’s man,” Doron motioned to the two intertwined gold bands around Barbas’s neck. “Would that such a man was mine, I would conquer the known world in a single moon cycle.” The Grand Prince eyed Barbas lustfully, but was suddenly drawn from his trance, to visit a scene of horrendous destruction. All in Doron’s retinue gasped in shock. Molina’s Hidden Gem, the once great Inn of the Rose Guild, was a pile of rubble. A perimeter of destruction spread out from the Inn to surrounding housing districts, with an untold number of dead buried within their homes. Once, this street was busy and towered over by huge buildings. Now, the whole area had been flattened. Doron could see across an expanse of, at least, ten buildings to the next district. Several of the heads of the Eastern Trade House stood in front of the catastrophic sight. Among those present, was Lord Fareto Locune, Head of the Locune House and the Rose Guild. The Locune Family, the oldest in the city, was the only noble house to possess a powerful guild within the city walls. They once ruled over the city, in an age long ago, before the House of Karolinda was ever spoken of. Accompanying the head of the Rose Guilds were the other guild rulers, comprising the Eastern Trade House. This would have been an ample time to execute all heads of the Trade House, exposed in the open as they were. However, once they retreated behind the Trade House walls, they would be hard to target. Always prudent, Doron believed this attack was intended to drive a separate purpose. Unfortunately, Doron knew these grief stricken and enraged heads of the guilds would not listen to reason, as their hearts had been greatly damaged. In addition to Lord Locune, the heads of the Hands Guild, and the head of the Hearts Guild were present. The Hands Guild ran the fighting pits, and an alternative illegal slave trade; an activity enriched through the pits. As such, the Guild was split among two heads. Andreo Messenta ran the fighting pits, while Margaren Tutoni oversaw the city’s slave trade. While buying and

selling slaves within the city walls was illegal, owning slaves was not. This gave the forbearers, to Margaren and Andreo, an idea to circumnavigate these old laws. Fortunate for them, Margaren and Andreo inherited a Guild Empire that maintained a strong monopoly over one of the most lucrative trades in the bustling city. Margaren, daughter of the second inheritor of Molina’s slave markets, had become heavier over the years. She was once a fierce maiden, but she was now plump and buxom. However, she held a certain sexual allure to her, which always intrigued Doron. He held a soft spot for her, more than some of the others. As he was of merchant stock himself, Doron liked all the guild leaders, even the enemies of the Eastern Trade House. Meanwhile, Marcius det Sforza, being the Great Unifier and Master of the Eastern Trade House, held a meager fortune compared to the others. Despite his humble origin, Maricus’s sat at the table of the most powerful Molinese trade house, which spoke of his tenacity and intelligence. Finally, the Hearts Guild was run by a frail old man, named Gardono Astetheni. Additionally, his daughter, Cluden, was poised to inherit the old man’s Apothecary and Public Works empire. However, the man seemed to be granted and endless number of moon cycles. Despite his physical frailty, the old man was strong of mind, and boasted a comparative fortune to the others. It seemed as though he would never die. Due to their high status in the city, each of the guild heads brought their own house guards and mercenaries, with Margaren and Andreo bringing the most. “Why do you keep so many defenders?” Doron heard Gardono chiding the two heads of the Hands Guild, while attempting to distract from the tragedy before them. “They make in numbers, what they lack in quality.” Marcius laughed and waived dismissively at Margaren and Andreo’s guards. Interestingly, all of the guards wore intertwined dual golden rings around their necks. “Our slaves could match any of yours.” Margaren gritted her teeth against the insult and stormed towards Marcius, her light olive skin flushing red. In response, Barbas stepped forward, as if on cue. This caused Marcius to smile smugly, and Margaren and her guards skulked away. “You could match any of mine, eh?” Marcius chuckled, before his face turned sour, as he looked around at the rampant destruction before him; reminded of the purpose to his visit.

“Someone has destroyed one of your houses.” Gardono calmly surveyed the scene, heavily wheezing, as his old lungs struggled to breath. Shakily stepping forward, the old man’s eunuch helped him along. “They may have destroyed a property that I own, but they shall never destroy mine own house.” Lord Locune, visibly enraged, glared at the burned piles of rubble. Meanwhile, Doron noticed the small charred arm of a child, dangling out from under a blackened wooden pillar. He felt his tender heart sink, but maintained his composure. This would surely not be the last catastrophe to occur in this rotting mountain city. “They must pay in blood.” Marcius growled in anger, nudging a burned torso with his toe. Part of the unidentifiable remains fell off, and rolled down the street. “We must not take hasty action, for we do not yet know who has taken this horrid action.” “Sure, we know, the Saber Group could have been the only perpetrators. They seek to weaken this Trade House, and make crow bait of our corpses.” Marcius snapped at Doron, and Marcius’s tone told of betrayal. Doron assumed that Marcius had expected more for warmongering. “You have no seat at the table, who are you to speak on matters of the Trade House?” Margaren scowled at Doron, before realizing she had just offended the others. “Doron is our guest! Although he holds no seat, he is an old ally. You have him to thank for many favors.” Lord Locune spoke in his characteristically lofty demeanor, as he scolded Margaren. Then, he continued with a thought, as if she had never spoken “There are many enemies of this Trade House, but somehow the Saber Group is always involved in actions such as these.” “Friends all, while these matters are very pressing, surely this is not the place to discuss such things.” Gardono spoke in a labored manner, his voice barely audible above the others. “The old man is afraid of a little breeze. Perhaps he will catch a cold, and we might be rid of his wheezing.” Andreo laughed at his quip, along with Margaren, but the others simply ignored his comment with distain.

“We shall retire behind the walls of the Trade House, and plan for next steps. However, this Trade House will, from now on, be considered in a state of war. So, sayeth I!” Lord Locune held up his hand, in a gesture towards the sky: a move that the other guild leaders reflected. They also repeated his words, “so, sayeth I,” showing their agreement with his statement. Doron felt uneasy at this show of unity among the guild heads, as he expected rash decisions to come.

THE EASTERN TRADE HOUSE, headquartered at the junction of three districts, was a marvel in the old city. This trade house was a fortified hub of operations for each of the partner guilds. It was a castle with ten-foot walls that protected four large buildings. The walls, placed on the corner of the Rose Garden District, watched over all foot traffic ing through the junction. While three of the four tall buildings functioned as operation centers for each member guild, the central building was the physical headquarters of the Eastern Trade House. Having situated themselves in the place, the heads of each guild now convened in the trade hall, which included a meeting table of dark oak. In addition, the lavish walls in the dimly lit room were covered in golden depictions of roses, accompanied by stain glass vials that were transfixed on red circles, and many iron fists. The table itself was carved in a similar fashion as the walls, but the atmosphere of the room held a more contemporary motif. In the corner was a large drum and line of pipes, the modern musical instrument that orchestrators used at this time. A musician would write music and play on this modern mechanized marvel; pumping air through the pipes with a foot, while his hand touched the keys that opened the valves. In conjunction, the musician would use his other foot to beat various drums, that were controlled by keys on his other hand. A single musician could create the sounds that normally required a whole drum and flute line. Despite this expensive machine, a harpist played a calmingly melodic tune in the corner. The machine dominated the room at the head of the table, sitting directly opposite the seat of Marcius det Sforza, but it sat neglected. In addition to the dominating machine, Marcius presided over the house, but Lord Locune held the real seat of power. Marcius placed this Lord on his right hand. The other guild heads sat to Marcius’s left, while all other sat down from Lord Locune. This set up caused much animosity within meetings, but Marcius had not yet figured a better alternative. The final piece that brought the room together were the paintings. Large seven-foot-tall portraits of the Trade House lined the walls, obscuring the decorative etchings on the walls. This was an affront to art, in Doron’s opinion, but he had no say in the room’s design. Meanwhile, Lord Locune’s son, Saternino sat next to him, and Doron sat next to Saternino. The eyes of Lord Locune’s large portrait kept a presence on the back of Doron’s neck that constantly made Doron feel as though he was watched. On the other hand, Grand Prince Maygo seemed to show no sign of discomfort, as he comfortably sat next to Doron. Fortunately, Oazcy stood like a protective

stature behind Doron, alleviating some of Doron’s discomfort at the painting. Similarly, Barbas stood behind Marcius, while other guards stood along the room’s walls. These guards stood in sections, with Rose Guild house guards lining the wall on Lord Locune’s side of the table. In addition to all of those guards, the circular wall behind Marcius was lined with his personal mercenary guard, and the others had their own guards behind them. The room was charged with a tense air of hostility, which came as no shock following recent events. While Doron sat back in his chair, a tired looked stitched across his face, the of the room quietly bickered about their next actions. “We must strike at the obvious culprit quickly and decisively.” Marcius, reiterating his simple martial strategy, slammed a fist on the table. “We come from a position of supreme power in this city, but we must act decisively, before we lose our opportunity.” “How many times have we been over this,” Lord Locune rubbed his temple with a finger. “You may be correct, but the Saber Group will have insulated against an attack by now. Also, any action we take against the Saber Group will cause the Southern Edge to encroach, while we are otherwise occupied.” “Then we strike the Southern Edge Trade House, and take them off the board.” Andreo Massenta added to the already swirling pool of ideas. “The same issue arises if we move against the Southern Edge, which will spell certain demise for us.” Gardono Astetheni reflected the statement of Lord Locune. “The Saber Group will certainly seize the opportunity to take us off the board as well.” “Why doesn’t our friend from the south move against the Southern Edge, while we take on our old rival.” Margaren Tutoni grinned, hoping Doron would take the bait. “Doron does provide a balancing presence to the situation.” Saternino unknowingly backed Margaren in this vocal contest, while the others eyed Doron for his reaction. “As I stated before, I will back no rash action. We simply do not have all the facts.” Doron calmly responded, as Margaren’s face became smug with contemptuous glee.

“Are you mad!” Margaren’s partner, Andreo went on the offensive this time, smiling and yelling at Doron. “Who else would dare make such a blatant provocation, besides the Saber Group!” “This sand snake spoke out of turn,” Margaren hissed smugly in Doron’s direction. “I am no game piece, to be used by this council, nor any other.” Doron’s simply shrugged and smiled back at Margaren. She certainly was formidable in the arena of political candor. “Unfortunately, Margaren is right, and I must ask you to depart this chamber.” Marcius waived a hand for Doron to leave. In response, the rotund Speaker of the Tribes sighed and stood. “I hope you all don’t burn this city down, while my friends and I are still inside.” The others chuckled as Doron heading for the exit. Also, the Grand Prince Maygo, who had barely paid attention to the proceedings, looked up in surprise. He quickly stood and followed, as Doron and Oazcy departed the chambers together. Once outside the chambers, the Grand Prince Maygo, Oazcy, and Doron, left down a golden hallway. “Your plans seem to not go as expected here, in Molina.” The Grand Prince Maygo commented to Doron, as they ed by a patrol of Rose Guild House guards. “No, it went as expected.” Doron chuckled, while placing his arms through his robe sleeves. “I sincerely ire that lady Margaren, tongue sharp as a dagger, and wit to match. She knew exactly how to remove my voice of reason.” “Are you going to their war?” No stranger to conflict, the Grand Prince Maygo spoke about a possible guild war, as if it were no more significant than an afternoon picnic. “I fear the forces behind this conflict have something more insidious in mind.” Doron’s eyebrow furrowed, as the trio descend a flight of stairs. “Clearly some group within the city is looking start a guild war, but to what end I know not.” “Is the great Snake Keeper at a loss? Stumped by a simple guild rivalry?” Maygo chuckled and nudged Doron, playfully.

“That was a name thrust upon me, and I never itted knowing the intentions behind every action.” Doron, scowling at the remark, stepped through a large gold lined arch. “Sure, you would never it such a thing.” Maygo grinned, as he and Oazcy followed Doron through the archway. “We must visit the skeleton empress,” Doron, with an air of determination, strode through a long hall of empty tables and chairs. This was the Eastern Trade House’s economic war room, which had stood empty for nearly a decade. “Only she can prevent a guild war at this point.” “The rose lord will not take that action kindly.” Maygo glance over at Doron. Clearly, Maygo enjoyed these types of dramatic situations of intrigue. “Perhaps it is time to allow the inevitable to happen. Surely, this peace that was brokered would never last.” “Perhaps,” Doron sighed begrudgingly, “but we must try and avert a war; especially, on the eve of the g of the treaty.” “This is a very auspicious time for a war within the city, just before arrival of the Northern Stag and Horse.” Maygo, dripping with sarcasm, hid an air of contempt behind his words.

Chapter Six

Peacemaker

Doron Snake Keeper’s fourth day in the queen’s court was shaping up to be like the others; uneventful. Each day he came with the same news, and each day he was told to wait. She was indisposed and refusing all visitors. Despite Doron’s continuous please, she refused to see him, or anyone else. Visitors had come and gone, none gaining her ear. No matter of spoken urgency would compel her to appear, and the guards were never forthcoming with information. While Doron waited, he was ed by door guards, and a restless Grand Prince Maygo. Next to the window, an oval cedar table was placed, which let in long beams of morning light. It was next to this table that Doron sat, with a hot green colored drink, with the consistency of mud, poured into a glass chalice. This chalice had been placed upon a wooden saucer, which would absorb some of its heat, while a silver pot and ladle was positioned in the center of the table. A few other empty glass goblets had been placed around the base of this pot, and all the goblets had swan neck handles, connecting from their mouths to the wooden saucer base. Meanwhile, the greenish mud drink was called a Marsh Monster and Doron had to specially request it. As most in polite society drank milky or fruity beverages in the morning hours, the Mud Monster was considered the drink of forest dwelling barbarians. Since the beverage was unfit for high society, very few in Molina were even aware of this bitter drink’s existence. So, Doron was able to drink it without judgement, although the Grand Prince Maygo turned his nose up at the delicacy. While Doron drank this thick and energizing brew, he peered around at the other tables in the room. Most were empty now, all the high-profile guests having left without seeing the queen, but a few others were still in the room. Save for the two guards, standing by the adjacent entrances, a group of minstrels played a low tune. While the bored minstrels occupied their time, and pleased the others in the room, a scribe was busy at a light wooden desk in his corner; lit by the sunbeams that streamed in through a small window. This scribe wore the robes of the Order of Populla, but he was clearly of a lower rank. However, the minstrels remained solely for the delight of Doron and the Grand

Prince of Zeilax. This, Doron surmised, was because the minstrels came from Hohen lands to the north. Likely in search of opportunity in the old city of Molina, the minstrels came to the waiting chambers every day, but they would likely never gain audience with the queen. Even when she was accepting visitors, she never met with anyone below the rank of a noble. Not even wealthy merchants were allowed audience with the queen, and this the minstrels must have known, so their presence was intended to pleasure the guests; in hopes of gaining future employment. “Why don’t you relax and drink something?” Doron held a drink, while comically tilting his head to a side. “I would rather drink a hot glass of snake piss.” The Grand Prince replied, disgustedly, in Zeilax. “Apologies, Snake Keeper, I have little patience when trouble is brew on the horizon.” “In this season of the treaty, these current events show of a greater storm.” Doron sagely commented, while replacing his glass of Marsh Monster on the table. “I only desire to know the storm’s source.” “Were you to ask these mountain rats, they would say my desert.” The Grand Prince’s words were biting, but he ensured the guards did not overhear his tone. “They would have that we southerners are warring barbarian tribes. Such are the cataclysms we create that there should not be a soul left in our lands.” “Surely, you have not this soul of which you speak.” Doron grinned, and the Grand Prince smiled slyly back. Just then, one of the doors to the waiting room quietly opened. Lord Locune strolled into the room. Strangely, while the Lord of the Rose House brought two house guards, none of his sons were present. As Saternino was no longer allowed inside any royal chambers, he would not be present, and the Lord’s other sons were all occupied elsewhere. This would be the first time that Doron saw the lord unaccompanied by any of his tall sons. However, his daughter stepped into the room, succeeding the two-house guards. Doron immediately felt a shiver run down his spine at the sight of her. Also, the Grand Prince’s glance was even drawn in her direction, and suspicion seemed to enter his gaze. The Skeleton Aide was the position given to the Lady Harmonia of House Locune. She wasn’t an unattractive woman, but her permanently smug face marred any beauty that she might possess. Furthermore, all sorts of rumors circulated about her secret dealings with the queen, and all in the city feared this

noticeably young Lady of House Locune. Even her father seemed to distrust her greatly, keeping a healthy distance from where his daughter stood. While nothing on the surface of the Lady’s features gave away the dark creature that hid beneath, the Lady of Locune had a reputation that spanned all the known continent. None dared even utter a whisper of dissent in her presence, as those offenders often disappeared the next morning. Very few were safe from her touch, as even a hint of opposition to the Skeleton queen would cause several strange circumstances to fall on the source. She was one of the most mysterious agents of the queen, but essentially a slave of the court. While Doron never believed in the rumors that circulated about her, he still felt eerie under her emotionless stare. “Where is your statue? Has she returned to her shell?” Lord Locune, making a dry attempt at humor, asked about Doron’s visibly absent bodyguard: Oazcy. “I see you brought the Skeleton’s ears with you.” Doron grinned, but gained no response from the Lady Locune, who simply stared back; unblinking. Her long black hair had been carefully brushed and fell past her nearly flat chest. She was at least two feet shorter than everyone in the room, but even the guards appeared uneasy in her presence. She wore a black dress, dusted with red skeletons, and a white frilly undergarment. The dress she wore appeared almost like the robes of the Order of Populla, with a high black and white collar that kept her chin pointed up. Silver skeletons, attached to chains, adorned in the center of her dress, aligned in cascading rows. Her skin was so white that it almost appeared translucent, showing an interconnected network of blue veins, where flesh was visible. In addition, her dark eyes seemed to reflect no light, and her eyes lids barely ever blinked closed. She was like a wraith, causing nearly no sound, while she walked: her white slippers only causing the smallest of brushing sounds. Also, she dressed in an odd fashion for any society of the continent, but any comment to the like would never be made to her face. “Never mind my daughter.” The Lord Locune seemed to hesitate when he called her his daughter, something which he had never done before. Doron noticed this, but immediately assumed this was due to the long absence between them. After all, the Lady Harmonia Locune had not been seen for many moon cycles. “There is trouble in the lower quarter. I fear while you sit here, waiting to see the Queen, war among the guilds is already underway.” “I suppose that means your prize will never see the fighting pits.” The Grand

Prince Maygo, still speaking in his native tongue, commented humorously to Doron. “Perhaps, but she is famous now, and people love their mythological warriors. They will certainly want to see a champion of Molina best her. Where there is desire, there is opportunity. Her day here will come.” Doron smiled back to the Grand Prince, both clearly not taking Lord Locune seriously. The Lord of the Green Rose was becoming irritated, as he watched Doron and Maygo banter in their foreign language. “Speak in the court language!” Lord Locune shouted, but quickly realized how this made him look. Nevertheless, the attentions of Maygo and Doron were now focused on Lord Locune. Out of the corner of his eye, Doron viewed the Lady Harmonia Locune, who had watched the spoken altercation with a blank expression. “Very well, prickly man. Speak to us of this dispute between guilds that you call war.” The Grand Prince, with an air of superiority, spoke with a slight smile on his face. Lacking a response, the Lord Locune ignored Maygo’s condescending manner, and instead address Doron directly. “Come, send us , or all will be lost.” Lord Locune held out his hands in a dignified, but beseeching, manner. “While the early rays of morning had yet to rise above, the Hammer Guild was raided.” “You say, raided.” The Grand Prince Maygo seemed intrigued by this word, but Doron knew it was a simulated interest. “In what style was this raid?” The Lord Locune’s brow furrowed at this odd question, and simply carried on with his report. “One of the Hammer Guild’s weapon caches was seized. Many instruments of war were liberated, and Lady Mila Swae has levied guards to patrol the Saber Group Districts. I fear the guilds have already amassed forces to strike us.” Lord Locune spoke urgently, but was perplexed to find no such response from Doron. “This seems like the work of the Hands,” Doron chuckled at the prospect of the full-hardy Margaren and Andreo. “The Hands Guild would not move without a Trade House blessing.” Lord Locune rebuked Doron, barely able to contain strong emotions at the lack of care

paid him. “This was clearly an outside agent, attempting to stoke tensions with our rival. We must act swiftly, before the city burns. If Lady Swae and the Saber Group march into Eastern Trade House territory, then we will be forced to respond.” Lord Locune slammed a fist on the table for effect. Although, this action only gained a raised eyebrow from the Grand Prince. “It seems that you could solve this by speaking with the Saber Group.” The Grand Prince, crossing his arms, calmly scolded the Lord Locune. “I would be delivering myself into the hands of a rival.” The Lord Locune suddenly stepped back, and erected his body in a dignified manner, aghast at the Grand Prince’s lack of understanding. “Very well, I will speak with Nivela, and see if she cannot deliver your message to her mother.” Doron sighed and took a swig of his drink. “Although, Nivela is not pleased that Gustov perished in that inn fire. She partially blames the Eastern Trade House for his death.” Doron glance over Lady Harmonia Locune, who seemed to have faded into the background. During the discussion, she had not moved from her original spot. “This time is most inopportune for a war between the guilds. I pray to the Great Populla that the Lady Nivela may get this tasked done.” Lord Locune, dramatically, motioned towards the Skeleton banner on the wall. “There is no venomous serpent behind every wooden branch. What does one such as you know of war?” The Grand Prince’s lip curled in disgust, as he hatefully commented in Zeilax. The Lord Locune turned to leave the room, paying no attention to the insult that he had no hope of understand. However, the Lady Harmonia Locune remained behind. She had only one thing to comment, before leaving. “The Great Populla, Master of Shadow, will watch over you in this endeavor, as the Populla sees all.” Her mouth moved, and spoke words, but her face made no other motions. She left as she had come, but her departure seemed to lift a heavy weight from everyone’s shoulders. Doron glanced over at a relieved guard, who smiled back in contentment. “Who was that girl?” The Grande Prince Maygo spoke in hushed tones, as he helped Doron to his feet.

“No one in this city really knows anymore.” Doron simply evaded the question, as he and the Grand Prince also left the chamber. “You best see to your son, and ensure it was not he that raided that battery.” Doron haughtily commented to the Grand Prince, as the two walked towards the exit. “That son of mine is a scorpion. When he is not stinging with his tail, then he is crushing with his claws.” Maygo laughed and Doron scowled, detecting the fatherly pride behind Maygo’s words.

WHILE MOLINA WAS ON the verge of a guild war, the king of Hohen was arriving to the old mountain city. Doron had seen this very scene play out many times, and he was tired of this constant political strife. Each year, when the wind grew brisk, all sorts of schemes were hatched. The rumors of wars, famines, and other catastrophes circulated on every tongue. Yet, none ever came, and each year the treaty was signed once more. This g ceremony would be like every other. The representatives of each kingdom would gather in the Treaty Chamber, where the original document was first drafted. The treaty would be read, followed by the names of the original signers, and the kings would draft their names once more. This event bored Doron to sleep, and he was awfully glad that every assigned name was not read. After all, when Doron had taken over, the scribe had read out every signal signature. This took nearly a whole period of sunlight to read, sometimes even continuing past the sun’s descent. Every year the same king had signed the document, until another king took the throne, succeeding the previous one. This created a whole new book, full of the same repeated name. Once even, the scribe, that read the names, fainted from exhaustion. At that moment, all present agreed to cease reading every single signature, and carry on with only the originals. Unfortunately, the original document decayed into dust. So, the words had been etched into stone tablets, with each signers’ name added to its roster. In fact, the ceremony had changed many times over Doron’s tenure as Speaker of the Tribes, and he was happiest with this newest form. The representatives would scratch their names on a piece of parchment, that was then burned under the tablets, and this would signify the addition of their names. Although, many had argued that this eroding away had caused the g ceremony to lose all meaning. According to them, the ceremony had simply become an excuse for nights of debauchery and drunkenness. The ceremony had lost all of its original purpose: the reminder of the perils that had brought the treaty into existence. Nevertheless, the arrival of the Grand King of Hohen was an extravagant one. Although, the welcoming party was in a sad state. Where once the Molinese royals would have taken the opportunity to show their wealth, only a few nobles came to greet the king of Hohenburg. Alternatively, it had been a long time since the Krugar kingdom had brought any splendor to the ceremony, due to their incessant conflicts with coastal invaders. It had been even longer since the southern tribes had brought any of their splendor, but Doron always made it a priority to accurately represent his nation. The Southern Tribes had no excuse for

their lack of regard for the ceremony. Despite the Krugar kingdom’s reasons, the house of Hohen was also under constant strain from their rebellious Wolves of Klausvein, but the Hohen nobles always managed to present themselves in an illustrious manner. The King Freidheim rode at the head of his outfit and he was proceeded by his glorious Royal Stag kavalars; the bright sunlight dancing on their beautiful metal antler helmets. As the parade of the great Hohen caravan trotted through the streets of Molina, to ultimately terminate in the Rose Palace courtyard, few bystanders were gathered for the procession. This was a sorry sight indeed, and Doron ed a much larger gathering for Oazcy’s duel with Saternino. Now, the inhabitants of Molina had hide under their beds, for fear of a fiery guild war. Even the travelers to Molina had fled, and now Doron feared the feast would be a dull affair as well. Doron looked around from his balcony at the Rose Palace and surveyed the scene. Although it was far from the splendor of past ceremonies, the combined efforts of Doron and Hohen had rescued the situation. Doron had arrayed ranks of his own guard forces for parade. Nearly four hundred men, of intermingled warriors from different tribes, formed a long single man line. Behind this line of warriors was Doron’s animal circus, which he maintained outside the city walls. The animal circus made up the second rank behind the warriors, and a large black elephant dominated this scene. Doron’s elephant wore her silk tribal sashes, one for each tribal color, and a tiara of gemstones; with each gemstone signifying one of the tribes. In fact, so many tribes were included in the union of Xelma, that none could be distinguished among the rainbow of color. To rectify this, Doron made sure to include a place of honor on this magnificent beast for the most powerful of the tribes. The beast’s tusks had silver chains draped over them, to signify the white sands, with blue sapphires attached, representing Xelma’s bountiful seas. This splendorous sight was less than Doron would have hoped for, but it at least pleased those guests present. None could take their eyes off the magnificent elephant, as she was completely different than Doron’s last. During the previous ceremony, Doron had brought a brown elephant, but this one had an entirely black hide. Almost as a perfect complement to the elephant, the arriving procession was a sea of black and forest green; while the Royal Kavalars and the king dressed in their usual white and green colors. One face stood out to Doron and perplexed him greatly. Doron wondered why the Krugar High Counselor, Orggul Small Face, was accompanying the Hohen procession. While it was not uncommon for the Krugar royals to visit with the Hohen, they had never arrived to Molina in unison. The absence of the Krugar princess also gave Doron pause. While he had

thought it odd that the Krugar had not arrived prior to the Hohen, he was even more worried now. Doron was certain something had befallen the princess. Fortunately, the ceremony would go on, as the Krugar High Counselor would represent the Krugar kingdom. Another worry that plagued Doron, was the Skeleton Queen’s visible absence, as the royal chair was placed upon her balcony. In fact, guards flanked her chair, but she was not sitting in it. The chair was empty, and so was her balcony, save for the two guards. The handful of Molinese nobles that appeared on the balconies, turned up in bed clothes, and stayed only to see the Hohen king. Doron was saddened by this sight, but a salute from the Hohen king’s Kavalars lifted his spirits. Following the welcoming parade in the square, the representatives of each kingdom gathered in the Treaty Chambers. Located in the Skeleton Keep, the Treaty Chambers consisted of dimly lit rooms that resided above the crypts. These ancient rooms had housed the original signers of the treaty in another bygone age when times were more primitive. Then, at that time, each signer had placed themselves in extreme danger, as ripe targets for a trap. Now, the representatives ed as friends; in a peaceful ceremony that promised further tranquility on the continent. The g Chamber could only hold a few, so the entourages remained in the Waiting Chamber. Within the g Chamber, a single wooden podium faced the most powerful of the continent. Upon the pedestal sat a lit candle and a single piece of blank parchment. A priest of Populla stood behind the pedestal, dressed in the ceremonial black robes and red skeleton sash. He wore a round scarlet hat, with a ring of black skulls embroidered around the band. Also, the priest wore a white collar of silk, with a wire frame that formed it into a disk. This priest was tall, silent, and erect. Meanwhile, another priest wore the same garb, as he stood by a stone tablet. This tablet was positioned behind the first priest and bore the inscription of the first signers. Finally, the representatives arrayed themselves shoulder to shoulder, in front of the pedestal. From left to right stood; King Freidheim the Seventh of House Hohen, Krugar High Counselor Orggul Small Face, Doron the Speaker of the Tribes, and the Grand General of Molina Lord Fareto Locune. The room was silent for a few moments, save for a cough from Orggul. Deep below the chamber, somewhere in the crypts, drums began to beat. This signaled the commencement of the ceremony. The drums reverberated below and seemed to shake the floorboards. At this signal, the first priest began to speak. He held a low tone at first, welcoming all the representatives, but gradually raised his voice to a boom. He spoke with the power of ten thousand, nearly deafening those present. The doors behind the representatives, and to the left and right of the

priest, suddenly burst open. All the chambers beyond housed the other attendants, and they were all clothed in the ceremonial red and black. Doron glanced over, slightly smiling at the visage of Oazcy and the Grand Prince. However, Doron was unsure whether it was indeed they, as the candle was the only source of light in the rooms. The flickering light danced around the rooms like tiny phantoms, casting eerie glows upon each face. All were silent, and unmoving, as the priest spoke. Soon, the introductions were over, and the first priest fell silent. Just behind the stone tablet, the second priest began to speak, reading the inscription there in. “To my fellow kingdoms, we gather in my halls, here in this great city of Molina. We bring an end to this discourse that has torn our beloved land apart. Let this treaty, our signatures affixed, stand in protection of our ed realms; that our subjects might live in piece, that we may replace dread with hope, and our dead with children. Thus, I decree, Nicolo of the Emerald Rose, King on the Mountain, Champion of the Waste, and Red Skeleton of the Shadow. This treaty shall be renewed upon every change of this land’s first leaf, when the trees foretell of new snows. As the leaf brings the new season, a feast shall bring the new peace. Should a signer be found absent at renewal, a successor shall present their person before us. Shall a successor be of just absence; a speaker shall be elected. However, should no just persons be present, nor just cause provided, the offender shall be deemed an enemy of this treaty; their lands and titles stripped, to be acquired by force and given to the party of most righteous claim. This Treaty of Molina is here signed by; Freidheim of House Hohen, first of his name, King of Hohenburg, Lord Protector of Gold Point, Black Bastion, Torburgen, Hoheim, and Ward of Serpents: Brouder of House Klorn, first of his name, King of Klorn and Lord Protector of the Fur Road: Yohann of House Klausvein, third of his name, the Crown of Klausberg and Lord Protector of Forests: Agrathe of House Failia, ninth of his name, King of Lunskar, and Ward of Storms: Pagul of House Krugar, High Qagan, King of Ulgar, Defender of the Plains, the Ocean Rider: Meithrax the Fish Lord, Lightening Voice, and Speaker of the Tribes: Lumelynn of House Lumaine, Lord High Emperor of Lumaine, King of Shaene, Lord High Protector of the Islands, Ruler of the Eastlands and Southlands.” At this point, the priest quieted down, likely due to vocal strain. This, Doron figured, was signaled by a sudden and slight cough. The first priest picked the speech back up, in a nearly seamless transition. “Let it be done and peace once again reign. Shall any party, here in, become an enemy of this counsel, they shall invoke all our wraths. Then, a counsel of war

called, an Arcon of Molina is to be chosen. This defender of the Treaty will be imbued with all its authority, to lead our ed forces against this offender.” At this point, there was a brief pause, which allowed some respite to the attendees. Still, none dared move from their places. In due course, the second priest took back up the mantle of speech. Then, the priest spoke of the houses that had been struck from the treaty, the Arcon, and named conflict. This would stand as a reminder, to all others that might break the treaty. “In the Great Cursed War, the First Arcon drove the Emperor Ghaelynn, of House Lumaine, off this content and into the sea. Our Arcon seized the eastern lands for Molina, while the southlands were given to the tribes. This First Arcon, the Skeleton Prince Caspiuseno of House Karolinda, took the Red Skeleton as his Arcon name; hencerforth, he was known. the Red Skeleton stood as Arcon, against Lumaine, until his death. The Second Arcon brought the treaty against the forces of House Klorn, House Klausvein, and House Failia. They were destroyed in the Great Fur War, their lands were seized, and each kingdom now resides under the Hohen Empire. Such is the way, Prince Freidheim the Sixth, then in his three hundredth cycle, took the name of Hulmgan, the Hammer, as Arcon. Hulmgan the Hammer brought the treaty against Borgaste of House Klorn, Lothurick of House Klausvein, and Fraithamant of House Failia. These enemies were defeated, but Hulmgan the Hammer was slain in battle. Then, the Arcon’s spirit was brought against Lunskar, and the place was burned to the ground. It now stands as a monument to the fallen Arcon.” The priest paused for a period, before continuing. “Now, may the signers step forward and renew the peace of these lands.” “I, Freidheim, the Seventh of my name, stand before this counsel.” The King of Hohen strode forward and took up the quill, in the first priest’s outstretched hand. “With this mark, I bind House Hohen to this treaty.” “I, Orggul, the High Counselor of Krugar, step forward.” Orggul strode forward and took the pen, but then took a step back. “The Krugar Princess Kutine represents the High Qagan Guyuk, who remains absent by illness. As she was captured by our enemies, I represent her in this endeavor.” “Step forward.” The priest motioned, and Orggul leaned in to sign his name. Then, he stepped back to his place. “I, Doron Speaker of the Tribes, present myself before this counsel.” The large

rotund figure of Doron hobbled forward, and he took the quill. “Under my voice, I bind the Tribes of Zeilax, Zaranza, Shorazur, Jotartep, and the Council of Lesser Tribes, to this treaty.” As Doron stepped back to his place, he noticed an ashamed presence from Orggul, who had incorrectly carried out his ceremonial duties. This would result in a slight punishment. “I, Lord Locune Fareto, of the Emerald Rose and Grand General of Molina, deliver myself to this counsel.” The Lord stepped forward and took the quill, but stepped back, as Orggul had done. “I represent Molina and House Karolinda, as the Queen is indisposed.” At these words, Doron curled his nose, as this was not a just absence. However, none had made a fuss before, so the Molinese representatives had used this excuse with past signers. This occurred before Doron’s time, and he figured it to insignificant to raise the issue. “Step forward.” The second priest parroted the first’s words. “Endowed by the crown, I here bind the Great Mountain City of Molina, House Karolinda, and all others under our skeleton, to this treaty. With this mark, let us usher in a new period of peace between our kingdoms.” Lord Fareto stepped back into line, his face glowing with pride. “Let it be known that Orggul Small Face, High Counselor of Krugar, has brought shame to his charge. Therefore, a reconciliation shall be taken by each of the Kingdoms as remedy. This reconciliation shall be chosen by each of the offended, but shall not be determined as fatal. These parameters as deemed fair and just, shall be agreed upon, or let the opponent raise their voice.” The priest held up a hand and paused for a moment. “This punishment now agreed, the treaty signed, and all other matters to rest, let us commence with the feasts.” There was a cheer from all in the room, and a liveliness entered all present. Despite the bleak seriousness of the occasion, Doron felt his spirit rise. This was his favorite part of the ceremony.

FOLLOWING THE SINGING, a whole cycle of the moon would be spent locked away in the Treaty Chambers. Feasts and spectacles would be presented to the guests through the time. In fact, Doron had even secured a place for Oazcy in these events. However, he was saddened that the artist Gustov would not be able to present his works. Another had taken up this task, but many were still enraged at the artist’s death, in the attack on the Rose Guild’s inn and brothel. While Doron slept, after a long night of drinking and merriment, a loud crack awoke him. This sounded far off, but was the unmistakable sound of a cannon firing. For their safety, and for the period of Treaty Solidification to , the guests would not be allowed to leave the Skeleton Keep. This custom seemed about to change, as a groggy and hungover Doron stumbled from his bed. It was at this moment that he noticed a silhouette on the wall, watching him. The small holes at the corner of the room let in moonlight, which showed the phantom to Doron’s weary eyes. This feeling could not be shaken, and Doron’s gaze seemed to be returned by the silhouette. Doron felt a shiver run down his spin, as the silhouette seemed to move. Then, suddenly, he heard Oazcy’s voice. He had not seen the door to his room open, nor heard her enter, but she was there. She hissed, as all the breath escaped her lungs, and the flash of her blade cut at the space where the silhouette stood. The sword stopped in the air, as if it had struck flesh. Oddly, no cry came from the shadow, and Doron figured both he and Oazcy were imagining this threat. Oazcy did something then that Doron had never seen from her. She produced a smooth and milky crystal, from that bag around her waist, that seemed to sing under the moonlight. In response, the silhouette withdrew and faded back into shadow. Unfortunately, there was no time to question this event, as another cannon boom rang out from above. Also, raucous activity could be heard from the hallway outside, and curiosity invaded Doron’s sleep starved brain. Doron glanced over at Oazcy, who looked back with a hard stare. Then, suddenly, the two were suddenly interrupted in their unspoken communication, as the door to the adjacent room flew open. Doron heard the door swing wildly on its hinges, slamming into the wall next to it. He and Oazcy turned to face the oncoming threat, but it was difficult to tell who their intruders might be. Meanwhile, the only light in the room was that of the moon, cast through the small barred window. However, the newcomers bore torches that illuminated their faces. Doron immediately recognized the visage of his old friend, the Grand Prince Maygo. There were three others with him, Maygo’s personal guardsman,

and two guards of the treaty. The Guardsmen of the Treaty were specially picked for the task of defending the Treaty Chambers, and were selected from each of the nations. Doron could tell that these two hailed from a place of sunshine, as their skin was tinted darker than most. However, they seemed to be of a different stock than Maygo’s man, as the two had a nearly bronze complexion. Maygo’s man was a Zaranza desert rider, with a more olive complexion, and sun baked skin. Wherever these two came from, it was significantly more humid. While Maygo’s man wore the long saber of a Zaranza rider, coupled with a shot nosed pistol, the other two wore the weapons that accompanied their uniform. They each wore two straight blades, one short and the other long, on their left hips. On their right hip, was a long-nosed pistol, and both carried long axes. They wore light blue and dark green coats, with a red scarf and brown tros. Additionally, the Guards of the Treaty wore a cream undershirt, which had taken the place of purple. Many changes had been made to this unit of the years, and their numbers had dwindled from a thousand, to a meager hundred. Their uniforms once included a gilded sash to represent the kingdom of Lumaine, a fur cape for the Klausvein, and a few tokens to represent others, but these relics were long since destroyed. Whatever these two men once were, or wherever they came from, it mattered not, as they had been raised under the Treaty’s Banner. The Guardsmen of the Treaty swore an oath to protect it, and their allegiance was only to the Treaty, which they would defend to the last man. There was no safer place right now, with chaos erupting above. “Get to the Holding Chamber!” The taller of the two Treaty’s Guardsmen barked an order to Doron, after a few greetings had been exchanged. “We have been told that most of the others have already reached the chamber.” Maygo uselessly commented, as Doron and Oazcy followed the prince’s guards out of Doron’s quarters. The wide hallway could fit ten abreast and stretched up at least fifteen feet. The old Treaty Chambers really were a feat of craftsmanship, from a bygone age of legends. As Doron and Oazcy trotted next to Maygo and his man, the two guardsmen kept three paces ahead. It was apparent that the guardsmen were uneasy and anxious to reach the Holding Chamber, but all accommodated Doron’s rotund figure, and lack of physical stamina. Suddenly, shouting came from behind them, and Doron managed to pick up his pace a bit. A formation of ten guardsmen, formed into two columns, ed by Doron and his group, sprinting towards the sound of chaos. Rather than carrying axes, half of these guardsmen were carrying their customary muzzle loading rifles, while the others had their swords drawn.

“What is going on back there?” Doron demanded of Maygo, through painful gasps of air and heavy breathing. “We never made it towards the commotion.” Maygo’s voice was drowned out by a loud grating sound, coupled with an undertone of screams from the city above. “I believe they are securing the entrance to the Treaty Chambers, but these two have not been forthcoming with information.” Maygo continued after the raucous noises had quieted enough, and scowled towards the guardsmen ahead. “I was coming to collect you, when I ran into these two. Halan and I had to almost force them to visit your chamber first.” “I am grateful,” Doron panted. Finally, the group came upon the Holding Chambers at the end of the hallway. Doron leaned against one of the tall pillars that flanked either side of the chamber’s doorway, which had one of its tall stone doors wedged open. This room was a formidable tomb, which would seal in all the resent signers of the Treaty, protecting them from any outside incursions. Once sealed, there would be no way into the chamber, or out, as the inhabitants would be secured behind walls of stone. Additionally, the stone doors were as thick as the length of an arm, while the rest of the room was surrounded by the mountain. The chamber was the most secure of all places in the city, but it was also the most perilous. After catching his breath, Doron followed the others into the fortified chambers. On the other side, Doron laid eyes on the Holding Chamber, for the first time in his life. However, he was not impressed. The Holding Chambers were more a series of rooms, rather than just one. There were no doorways that separated the chambers, but pillars of stone were arrayed in rows, to give the impression of walls. Doron could immediately see a stable, that housed a team of horses, which would be used for sealing the doors. These horses would be hooked up to ropes that would pull on wheels, in the internal mechanism of the doors, and swing them closed. This action would seal off the inhabitants for all time. Furthermore, this tomb was a way to ensure the continuation of the Treaty. Should a catastrophe befall the signers, to undermine the ceremony, their deaths would ensure the Treaty’s continue in perpetuity. It was a step that had never been taken, and a great worry was plaguing Doron’s mind, at this point. He had never been ushered into the chamber before. Fortunately, as custom dictated, all within the Treaty Chambers would be sealed in, alongside the signers. It was the duty of the Treaty Guard to seal the doors behind them, fending off any attackers. Therefore, all were hesitant to make this stand, and the anxiety was the faces of

all present. Besides the stables, the Holding Chamber was divided into five portions, by the walls of stone pillars. These sections included the Waiting Well, the Guardsmen Quarter, the Previsions House, the Signers’ Casts, and the Empty Hole. Subsequently, these names had been carved into each of the pillars that surrounded the rooms, and they were written in a variety of languages. The simple names were apparent to all present. Unsurprisingly, the Treaty Guardsmen lived in this place, so they had become accustomed to its ominous ambience. Their quarters resembled those of a military barracks, save for the lack of privacy, as there were no walls. Their quarter had their beds, training area, and other places that were required. Meanwhile, the latrines were located at the Empty Hole, which was essentially a series of pits, dug deep down. To avoid the inherent draw backs of this latrine system, the guardsmen had installed wooden ones that could be removed and cleaned. However, there was always a faint stench of excrement in the room. Naturally, Doron had sworn that he would never die in this excrement ridden tomb, but this time he may be forced to break that oath. This he thought, as he followed his companions deeper into the huge chamber. They ed the Provisions House, stocked with an untold portion of supplies, some for the guardsmen, and others for an extended stay. On their other side, was the Signers’ Casts, a serious of ten-foot-tall statues that bore the face of each signer. All the old heroes were depicted here, even the treaty breakers were left. This place showed almost no touch of the outside world or the modern age. Only the rifles of the guardsmen reflected modern technology, otherwise the place had not changed for many moon cycles. The group finally approached the Waiting Well and halted, as only the Empty Hole lay beyond. The Waiting Well was, as its name suggests, a large pool of water. This would provide sustenance to those in the chamber, for as long as they might survive. It would also give, those present, spiritual guidance, as representations of the different faiths were present around the well’s rim. However, there was nothing on the side that faced the Empty Hole, due to the insult that might present. Instead, a bronze tub had been placed on one side, with a shrine on the other. The shrine was one of the few relics of the old religious sect that Oazcy belonged to. The shrine consisted of three poles that formed a pyramid, with an orb suspended between each of the pyramids’ sides. Also, these orbs were constructed from the same milky material that Oazcy had wielded earlier. Finally, a tent frame was constructed at the front of the well, with interlocked rings forming a covering. This tent, like the pyramid, was small, and could house

two or three people at a time. Finally, one last religious monolith of a bygone age existed. A large metal fan, six feet high and six feet wide, spread a hand of overlapped fingers that resembled the tail of a peacock, and was situated next to the tent of chainmail. These places represented the three main religious rites that were practiced during the g of the original treaty. Although, some of the practices had changed by this time, this place was untouched. However, it was not these relics that first caught Doron’s eye, and struck him with the heaviest feeling of dread. He suddenly felt the methodical pounding of his heart, heat rushed through his body, and his fingers began to tingle. Also, Doron suddenly felt his feet on the ground, tasted the damp and stale air on his tongue, and heard a faint shouting coming from beyond the chamber. His whole body felt suspended in a state of motionlessness, weighed down suddenly by all the gravity of the room. Despite its size, the chamber suddenly seemed small. In a flash, Doron realized that all hope had been snatched from the world, as if the breath were stolen from his own lungs. Two bodies lay at the edge of the well, flanked by twenty guardsmen, ten to each. Each body was flanked by two groups of five, holding out an arm to the corpse. Across the pool, standing in the water, at the edge, were three priests of Populla. Each had their eyes closed, and heads bowed, with the hands overlapping on their chests. The two corpses were being laid in the water, and Doron faintly heard a gasp of shock from Maygo. However, Oazcy and the other guardsmen remained as quiet as the motionless chamber. On the other hand, Maygo’s man dropped to his knees, and covered his mouth with a hand, seemingly shocked. Doron could feel others coming into the chamber, but all were immediately frozen in silence. The simple awe of the situation, and overwhelming dread that accompanied the scene, held everyone in a suspended state. Only Maygo and his man gave any impressions, as everyone else was dumbstruck. Only Maygo, his man, and the guardsmen, laying the bodies in the well, were moving. All others were frozen like statues. In fact, a group of guardsmen, that came hurrying up, voiced their concern, but immediately fell into silence at witnessing the scene. On the left, clothed in a dark green and golden nightgown, was a tall figure that bore a crown of dark silver and black gold antlers upon his head. It was the king of Hohen, his face as white as a bed sheet, and his lips were as blue as freshly picked blueberries. Next to him, was none other than the grand general himself, and lord of the Green Rose. Fareto Locune was dead, appearing in the same way as the king of Hohen. The two were void of all sign of life, and their eye lids had been drawn closed. There were no signs of wounds on either of them, in fact

there was no apparent cause for their fates. To revive them, the guardsmen had brought them to the well, hoping the ancient water might impart life back to them, but this was a wasted effort. They brought the bodies out the water. King Freidheim was wearing the Hohen colors on his nightgown, while Lord Locune wore some plain cream-colored nighttime tros. The two were placed side by side on the cold stone floor, and the three priests stepped forward, kneeling in the water, after stepping into the pool. Almost on cue, Oazcy stepped forward, and took a knee between the two. This seemed to anger the priests of Populla, who opened their eyes and stepped backwards, out of the well. Oazcy folded her feet under her bottom and began undressing. Most were too paralyzed by the scene to notice. However, the priests were visibly irritated, and they quickly withdrew. Oazcy removed her garments and armor, placing them into a neatly folded pile. She was now completely naked, with goose bumps forming on her pale skin. The black tattoos that weaved their way over her body seemed to ripple and move. Like the coiling scales in a basket of snakes. The tattoos moved, while Oazcy’s body remained motionless. Oazcy remained like this for a while, surrounded by a room of terrified faces that could only look on in horror. Either the Treaty would not be renewed this cycle, or all those present must seal themselves in the chamber, forever.

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

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