Seeker of Truth

[Galadas]

By the time Joan opened his eyes again, they were riding over the bridge, the city was gigantic, like nothing he had ever seen before. There were horses riding around more than four in a row, carts of provisions heading back and forth. His head felt like a bag of rocks, and his gaze never meant to meet that of Elize. Yet as soon as he had seen enough of the dark city, he returned looking at the woman who had brought him there.
She was as cold as the atmosphere at the city, and she looked painful. He still didn’t want to submit to his faith, but there was nowhere for him to go. He wondered about Lord Rahl, he did that often enough, and he feared of what he might see, what he might find. What the Daharan Lord had in store for him, whether it was indeed life or it was dead. He placed his head against the soft hair of the horse, and tried to close his eyes. Tried to sleep and to dream, but all he did was think, restless and afraid. They entered through a big stony gates, and guardsmen eyed them suspiciously, but nodded when they saw the red of the Mord Sith. If she was once a lover to Lord Rahl, then she known among all those others. He took note in that, with her he was safe. A boy from beyond the wall, a farmer, not a city boy compared to the city called People’s Palace or something.


Reemus bend his back and pushed the flap of the tent away. He found his little brother sitting by a table at the light of a candle.
Thomas Shorshall was born without any feeling in his legs, his mother was terrified by the birth, and she never truly knew how to accept it. Their father was a different story, he was certain he would heal his second son, and give him his legs back. After Thomas was strong enough to live without mother’s milk, their mother gave up on him. Father spent years trying to find a cure, and Reemus spent years playing with his little brother.
When father died and Reemus went to learn with Mikial Tora, Tom was left to live with their mother. No one ever found a cure for him, their father was desperate, their mother irritated, but the two kids played and played, as if it never mattered that Tom didn’t have legs to walk on.
‘Long time no see, brother,’ said Reemus.
Tom turned, and even while it had been five or more years, the boy looked no different. He had the same light blond hair, though longer, he had dark blue eyes, though deeper. But they were different in much other things. Reemus was tall and strong, his shoulder were broad and his waist was smaller. Reemus’ face was commonly, Tom looked like a farmer’s boy, not that of a lord.
‘Reemus! What are you doing here? Mikial said I would see you on a fortnight, you were at Aydindril, storming the city.’
‘Seemingly not,’ Reemus answered. All the lies that were told the boy, Tom never questioned what was told him, yet those things would protect him. ‘I was scouting the area and we had to pass through this town, nothing important though.’ He seated himself opposite of his little brother. ‘I’m happy to see you, Tom,’ he said, smiling.
‘So am I,’ the boy replied, a childish grin. ‘Rather sooner than later.’

[Cara]

Elize lead Joan's horse through the gates. Lord Rahl's personal servant was waiting for them. Elize expected that Lord Rahl had known she had been here since she entered the city. He had spies and informants everywhere. She wasn't surprised that he had known.
She jumped down and landed softly on the ground. She took Joan's horse and held it, her eyes watching his.
Joan gave a slight nod before jumping off the horse.
Lord Rahl's personal servant was more like a body guard than a servant. He stood almost 7 feet tall, full of sheer muscle. His was known as The Narsan, or just 'Narse'. "Mistress Elize, you were expected more than four days past..." he said, his facial expression never changing.
"And horses never sleep," Elize snapped back, glaring at The Narsan.
"Lord Rahl does not look fondly on lateness."
"I heard you the first time," she snarled, grabbing Joan's arms tightly. Joan supressed a yelp of pain as she twisted his wrists behind his back and skillfully bound them with rope.
The Narsan walked over, dwarfing Elize in his giant shadow. "You did not have him bound at all times?" he questioned.
Elize turned and faced The Narse. "Are you questioning my tactics?" Elize said, her voice calm. It was then that Joan saw a hint of, could it be, fear? It had vanished from the giant man's face as quickly as it had come, but Joan was sure he had seen it. There was a moment of tension before The Narsan stepped back. Elize had won.
"No, Mistress Elize," he said, glaring at her. "I was only concerned that the boy would..."
"Enough," Elize said. It wasn't harsh, but her word was enough to silence him. "Do not question me. Do not criticize my ways. If you have a problem with me, say it bluntly so that I can...address it," she said, simply. There was a threat in that message. The man only nodded. "Now, bring me to Lord Rahl."

Aslen took a step into the second circle. Andrioth stood before her. In this inner circle, it seemed that it was just them. She could not see outside to where the other wizards stood chanting. "I cannot say what will happen," he said softly. "This has never been preformed in our lifetime, or even hundreds of years before that..." He swallowed, as sweat beaded on his forehead. "All any of our readings say that the one who brings about the spell must face themselves, and that if they do not, they will... they will never be the same." Aslen nodded, as she took Andrioth's hand. "I will be with you, Aslen." Andrioth paused. "I love you."

Luchin turned to Ademai, who found herself staring at Luchin. She quickly straightened herself, staring at the headless wizard. "Throw away the body. I want this man's head catapulted into the city."
"Catapulted...?" Ademai said, staring at Luchin.
"Yes, Ademai," Luchin said, cleaning his blade along a handkerchief. "With the rest of the bodies..."
Ademai felt a smirk forming on her face, as her shock faded. "Are you saying what I think you are saying?"
Luchin looked straight at Ademai. "I want you to tell the generals to send the order to gather all the bodies of the fallen and load them in the catapults. At dawn tomorrow I want all the catapults launched into Aydindril.
"But, Marshal Coladar, won't the spells around Aydindril prevent the bodies from entering the city?"
Luchin smiled. "Since the bodies are not that physically threatening, then I believe the wards will allow them to go through. Call it a terror tactic."

Aslen gasped as she felt the power tear through her. Images, sights, sounds and scents flooded her mind. Then suddenly it was entirely calm. She blinked. Where was she? She could feel the heat of the sun on her skin before she opened her eyes. "Andrioth..."
The sun was indeed out. The sky was so blue; Aslen had never seen it so blue before.
"Andrioth!" Aslen shouted, confused. What was going on? What about the spell? What had happened? Was she dead? Andrioth gave her a strange look, before turning away. "Andrioth! Aslen shouted. Suddenly she was running through the forest, her dress tangling her legs. "Hey wait up!" Andrioth was running away from her, but she wanted to play.
Aslen gaseped as Andrioth ran by her, a little boy. She saw, what could only be herself run after him, laughing. "Can't catch me," Aslen said, sprinting past Andrioth. Andrioth reached out, shouting a word. A purple flash erupted from his small fingers. Aslen tripped, falling. "Andrioth! That is cheating...."
Aslen was astounded. Was this what Andrioth meant when he said she had to "meet herself?"

[Cara]

The Narse just nodded, stony-faced, turned and started walking.
"Move!" Elize growled, shoving Joan forward after The Narse. "And don't you dare disobey me..."
Joan felt numb as he walked through the vaulting halls of the People's Palace. So this was the capital of Dahara. The land that he scourged and pillaged Melidis and brought up the divide.... What would this Lord Rahl look like? How would he be? If The Narse and the mord-sith were anything to represent Lord Rahl, he wasn't looking forward to meeting him.

Elize's footsteps echoed off the flagstone floor. The Narse was silent the whole way. He didn't speak too often, merely a gesture could send a proper message. The Mord-Sith did not have the best relationship with the man - if one could call him that. Yet, they worked well together in the name of Lord Rahl.
Elize glanced over at Joan. She could read him like a book: scared, of course, with eyes stilled in amazement, sadness hung to him like a shadow, his hands gripping each other in white knuckles.
She gave his bindings a rough, hard tough, making him stumble. Joan looked at her, and in that moment she saw him as the boy, just a man, that he was. She turned away, and looked at the Narse's back. She quickened her pace, not to be lead like a bad puppy back to the master. No, she could announce herself!

Joan felt like he was walking forever through a labyrinth of stone, when finally they had reached a pair of gigantic wooden doors. The Narse pushed these open for Elize as if it was nothing. She stepped through, not even glancing at The Narse.
The room was brightly lit, with the high windows to the back filled with colorful glass. It was a magnificent room, and at its center stood a tall, handsome man. Joan knew; this man was Lord Rahl.
Elize and The Narse took a knee, kneeling down, head bowed. Elize grabbed Joan's rope and yanked him to the floor. Joan fell, his knees banging the stone tiles. He grimaced. Lord Rahl looked down to them. He was tall with broad shoulders and dark long hair that fell just to the nape of his neck. His eyes were a cool and steady blue as they fell to Joan and he smiled.

[Galadas]

The whole camp seemed asleep at that moment, as if it had always been just a resting place. But on the morrow, the soldiers would pack, both their weapons and their gear, and they would move, half a day ride from Luchin, half a day ride from Reemus’ shame. The battlefield, the deaths, a different Marshall, it was his fault, he had left the army without his strategic brain, out in the open.
Reemus had built on the army, he had worked it all out, the strategies, a little board game with different moves all the time, except if they truly worked, or no one was left to remember it. Now the army, his army, had to do it without him, and with Luchin, and however long he prayed for his friend to do it right, to do it perfect, but could he? Could Marshall Coladar, who was all but perfect with a sword or two, do what needed to be done and take them to where they were meant to go? Take the city?
He doubted it, but he shouldn’t, Tom told him time and time again that there was no reason to doubt Luchin, he had never met him, but Reemus always trusted his little brother’s judgment. He rolled around on the matrass that was given to him, sleeping right next to Tom, just inches away, like old times.
But he couldn’t sleep, didn’t even feel tired. He thought, time and time again, he wondered, thing after thing, and he nagged, one strategy after another. Marshall Tora would not deny his help, he would gladly listen to the one he trained, but he would never admit to it. And so Reemus would, offer his help, first to Tora, for the ride, after to Luchin, he would need it, however, more than Tora.

Joan was caught in his breath, his whole body was caught in his breath. He was afraid, no, he was scared to death, not of dying, not of Lord Rahl, but of losing who he was. They would turn him, why else did they need him, he was meant to work for the enemy, the bad guy.
He was afraid to become someone he wasn’t, not to boy from behind the big border, the lazy guy who ran around doing nothing and whatever he liked, he was going to be something else, a weapon, a warrior? Leverage? He knew not, but something was going to happen, and it was going to happen to him.
His eyes were wide, his hands shaking uncontrollably, and his whole body took to that. He couldn’t say a word, his mind was a city being bombed, and his soul felt like it could ripple and die, and all he knew with it, all he was.
He felt like he could pass out, but he shouldn’t, he couldn’t prove weak, if he didn’t already.
I’m just a boy, please, just a boy! he thought, he begged.
He tried not to look at Elize, tried not to look anywhere but deep into the eyes of the Lord of Dahara, until he could find the courage to say… something at least. But he didn’t, there were no words, or maybe there were, but they never passed even his mind.

[Cara]

"Rise," Lord Rahl said. Elize stood in one graceful movement, her eye trained on the man.
"My Lord, I bring before you, Joan Chibnal, hailing from Westend, the Heartlands, as you requested." She bowed her head.
"You are late," Lord Rahl said.
"My deepest apologies," Elize said, her face unchanged, but Joan had spent enough time with the mord-sith, and he saw the slightest tightening of her fists. Lord Rahl seemed to see it too. Joan glanced at The Narse, who did nothing to hide is smirk. Elize shot him a look, which quickly dropped the expression from him.
"You may leave us," Lord Rahl said to Elize.
"Lord Rahl, this boy is my charge."
"Leave us."
Elize nodded and bowed again, glancing at Joan quicky as she turned. For a split second Joan saw...sympathy? saddness? He couldn't tell exactly what before she had dissappered through he large doors, with The Narse trailing behind.

"Ah, Joan, I am sorry for my...rough accommodations," Lord Rahl said smoothly, stepping lightly from the dias. Joan could see now that Lord Rahl was in his early forties, with silken black hair, untouched by grey. His eyes were keen and sharp, but they seemed quite kind. He was dressed in greys. The fit his cut figure nicely, accenting his brilliant blue eyes.
If Joan hadn't known this was Lord Rahl, he would have assumed this man was a rich, but nice older gentleman. He didn't seem at all the threatening kind, but he remembered Elize. For the first time he had been with her, she had never said a harsh, sarcastic, or snarky comment back to Lord Rahl. She had walked with fluidity, but there was a tenseness in it. Was it from fear? Pride? Or just was it a the tire of a long day's ride?
"I understand Elize can sometimes show the wrong impression. The mord-sith are my trusted guards, but they have their own mysterious - womanly - ways," he said with a laugh and a wink. Joan stayed silent. "Well anyway, I wish to welcome you to the Daharan Empire, and to my home, the People's Palace," he continued good naturedly. "Are you hungry? Tired perhaps?"
Joan swallowed, his throat suddenly too tight and dry. "I guess I am a little hungry," he responded, nervous.
"Great! I'll have a meal prepared then," Lord Rahl said, affably. "Come along..." he said, guiding Joan through a different pair of doors. "It would be most excellent to get to know you over full stomach and some good wine!" Joan followed, bewildered. This was the terrifying man, the emperor of Dahara, the infamous, Lord Rahl?

[Galadas]

The field was aflame with torches while the dark sky loamed above, the silence broke time by time by the whispers of soldiers. Bodies were dragged from the ground and loaded on wagons, only those of the Daharan were given a proper burial, yet they were rather set to flame if the choice was up to Evana, but it had to be done soon, without drawing to much attention to the field. If the battle was over, she might dig them all up to have them burned anyways.
She stared with disgust at the mutilated bodies that filled the wagons. At the other end of the field, the soldiers were readying the catapults, the big machines were dragged along the grass and met up with the wagons at the far end, where they melted away in the darkness, charging along the front line in complete silence, covered by the night. In the morning they would attack, a brilliant plan made up by Marshall Luchin Coladar, but cruel, so cruel. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t argued with him, it was probably because he was in the company of Ademai Tervill, who seemed overly fond of the whole plan. She wouldn’t even been surprised if the Mord-Sith was jumping up and down with excitement, but the girl kept herself together.
The sun was close, the morning would wait a few more hours, but they were moving fast. She was convinced they would make it on time, but the other Lieutenant Generals were worried. Not just about their tight schedule, surely they weren’t quiet convinced that a Marshall with no General to support him, could dare an attack and not fail. They were deemed to make mistakes, especially at this stage of the war.
Hardest of all, they were all praying for the arrival of Marshall Tora, whilst she wasn’t. Her father would mess the whole thing to hell, he would shake his head at the sight of the young new Marshall, and take away all his plans, replacing them with whatever plan he had in mind. She knew her father better than anyone, and she knew he would take the change to reunite the army under his lead if it passed his eyes. She feared that might mean the end of their victories and bring damnation to the army itself.
And meanwhile no one had any idea where Reemus Shorshall was, nor why Lord Rahl had decided to return to the People’s palace, while he secure his place more if he was here to support his army win the war. If just Reemus had remained Marshall, and continued what he had been doing the past years, they might not have found themselves in such a difficult situation. Yet, her job now was to trust Luchin with his decisions.

Joan followed Lord Rahl, but he wasn’t quiet believing it himself. His feet were actually walking, while his mind was running. He was even more confused than he had been before, this man before him was nice, not threatening, and he didn’t want to kill him, just getting to know him. Did he even have the right to be scared, in such a non-scary situation?
The small rich kid from Westend decided not to ask questions, he thought that might make it worse, like it had done with Elize.
They walked into a large hall, a big table at the center, and as Lord Rahl said it had been prepared with food. More than he had seen the past days, his belly just started to rumble, all the pain and longing for home forgotten. A man had to eat, right? Even a man as small and young as Joan.
He was still careful, seating himself after Lord Rahl had settled down, and eating only when the man opposite of him had swallowed his first piece. He could see him eyeing him, in a strange way as if to bully him, a rare smile, and doing everything to prove he had no evil intentions.
‘So, how was your trip?’ the lord asked.
Joan almost chocked on a potato, surprised by the question, almost as if he was asked to come to the People’s Palace, that it was all some big joke. Oh, how he suddenly felt all but content.
‘It was… long,’ he answered, shaking. Small talk, and before you knew it he was swearing some oath to obey the Daharan lord for as long as his life would last, or maybe longer. He was ready to pass out now, he would welcome it, but it didn’t happen.

[Cara]

Aslen ran after the younger versions of Andrioth and herself. She had never seen her and Andrioth so....at peace! She could scarce remember a time when she wasn't drilling, practicing, and learning. Her childhood had been so fast, if it had existed at all, that she couldn't remember any of it.
Suddenly her younger self fell, and everything was thrown into color. Aslen gave a shout as bright light pierced her eyes. When she opened them, she was in front of a vast crowd. She was staring down at a man whose face she would never forget. Her first confession.
“You are here charged for the murder and rape of four women, and are here sentenced for Confession,” Aslen heard herself saying. She reached out and grabbed the man about his throat. She felt the surge of magic travel through her. The man gasped, his eyes going back for a second, before falling back. Aslen almost collapsed to the ground herself, if it wasn’t for her sister who helped her to her feet.
“Oh, Confessor Aslen... I’m so sorry.... I killed not just four women, but six...” She felt her sister’s warm tears on her shoulder, then suddenly Aslen was pulled back. It seemed like forever, but in a matter of moments, she was seeing, as if for the first time, every Confession she ever made. Even those times she never had intended to Confess... It was painful, happy, and sad. She saw her mother again. Her sister... Oh her sister... Then standing before her was Andrioth, handsome and glowing.

Luchin gripped his sword tightly, as he stood in the pre-dawn light. The men were working on hacking up the bodies of the dead and loading them into wagons and catapults. Heads, if they weren't already separated, were cleaved from their bodies. It was a bloody mess, and the stench of rotting flesh hung rank in the air.
"Marshal Coladar," one of his commanders said. “the catapults are ready.”
“Good. We enter stage one of day one in her siege of Aydindril.” Luchin took a deep breath before yelling, “Fire!”

Elize turned as she heard the doors click closed behind her. The Narse watched, his ugly face twisted into a cruel smile. Elize glared at him, sneering. “Do me a favor and drop that grin from your face before I rip it off,” she said, simply. Elize was rewared with a flicker of fear in his eyes. The Narse, despite being three times as large and twice as tall as Elize – only standing at 5’3 – winced at this, and dropped his expression to nothing.
Elize left him at the door, as she made her way through the People’s Palace to the Keep.
Everyone she passed, quickly stepped out of her way, never making eye contact with her. They kept their heads bowed in respect...and fear. Elize smiled at this. It was good to be home. She couldn’t wait to get to the baths and relax and clean the grime of travel from her body.
The room fell silent as she stepped through the door. Elize eyed everyone cooly in the room. Her sisters. Her family.
“Mistress Elize, you have returned to us,” a young woman said. She smiled. It was then that the tension broke, and soon everyone was smiling. It was only alone like this, could Elize let herself actually smile. But only for a moment. Even within her family here, there was always someone trying to best her. She was Elize Mesaro, one of Lord Rahl’s favorites, and many hated her for that.
“As I always do,” she said. “Is there a bath prepared?” she said, her eyes flicking towards one of the newer Mord-Sith. “You there,” Elize said, her voice sharp. “Prepare me a bath. Make it hot, and do it right or you will be sorry.”
The young girl bowed, quivering, and hurried off.
Kora sidled up to Elize, as Elize made her way to her room. “Meg. She was initiated while you were away,” Kora said. “Weakling, I think. Broke too easily.”
“Too many do, now a days,” Elize said. Kora followed her into her room and closed the door. Elize stripped off her torn leathers and clothes and kicked them into a heap on the floor. She stretched her naked body, giving a sigh to have the days-old clothes off.
“The girls have been talking,” Kora said, closing the door. She heard the sound of the lock click in place. Elize tensed, but didn’t reply, her back to Kora. Kora continued. “They said that Lord Rahl sent you on some huge...errand. You, his pride and joy, just to fetch a stupid little boy from Westend...” Elize could feel Kora getting closer. “What was so important about such a mission?”
Elize turned to Kora. “You have authority to ask me such questions, and you know better. So unless you wish to leave this room with a broken bone, I suggest you find a new line of questioning,” Elize hissed in warning. Kora glared back, her amicable posture suddenly tensed for fight.
“I bet it was nothing more than an errand run,” Kora sneered. “Pity, someone such as you with such notoriety...” Suddenly Kora lunged forward, like a lioness attacking its prey. Elize spun around, moving to grab Kora, but her red leather was smooth and slick, making it hard to grip. Elize cursed her silliness. She should have seen it. Kora had been eyeing up her position even before she left, it was just Elize let her previous friendship get in the way. The only person she ever could fully trust was Ademai. And she was with the army. She missed her friend a lot. Why did she have be sent on such a mission? Why couldn’t she be with the army, helping the generals and fighting hand to hand, the war against the Confessors?
A pain caught her in her side. Kora’s agile caught her on her naked ribs. Elize grunted, very used to that pain.
“Elize...tisk, tiskp” Kora laughed. “You are loosing your touch!” Kora caught her in the face with the back of her hand, breaking skin. Elize fought back, careless to the fact that she was without her clothes and agiel. Elize swung around, feigning injury. Kora moved in for the final blow, and Elize jumped under it at the last moment, bringing her fist into Kora’s face. Elize twisted Kora’s wrist, stealing her agiel from her. Before Kora could right herself, Elize had her knee into her throat, agiel resting over Kora’s heart. One twich of Elize’s fingers, and Kora could be dead, but Mord-sith never killed eacher....barely. They always had the breath of life. A few minutes in the underworld never hurt anyone.
“Who is loosing her touch?” Elize growled, digging her agiel into Kora’s chest. Kora gave a whimper of pain finally. Resignment. “I thought so,” Elize said, standing. She spit a wad of blood onto the floor. “Now get your ass up to attention.”
Kora stood, her hand over her chest. “Yes, Mistress Elize.”
“Go and make sure my bath is ready. If it is, I will have you and Meg’s hide...”

Aslen drank in Andrioth, as he took her hands in his. Suddenly Aslen felt a pain in her heart. She gasped. “What is happening?” she cried.
“The wizards they are trying to warn you. Warn us,” Andrioth said, his voice measured, “but my love... we must go on!” Andrioth said. “I do not know what will happen if we end the Recokoning Spell now. I do not know what will even happen if we finish this, but we can not look back.”
“But they are trying to warn us!” Aslen said, staring at the door that he appeared to her left, as a tunnel suddenly opened in the middle of the air, to her right. She stepped towards the door.
“Aslen,” Andrioth said, gripping her hands. “We can’t...” And he pulled her into the tunnel which closed immediately behind them. Aslen couldn’t help but feel her stomach sink at this.

[Galadas]

Reemus woke to the sound of a whole division of trumpets filling the morning. As if back into some sort of rhythm, he stood and dressed quickly, Tom watching him from the safety of his blankets. One young breadless soldier strolled in and helped the cripple dress, while Reemus figured to be of help.
Together the two dressed Tom in a fine red doublet of velvet, whilst he brushed his strong dark blonde hair.
When Ream Entered, the two Shorshall brothers had begun with their breakfast and smiled at the friendly face.
'Tora wants to speak to you,' the giant of a man said to Reemus, it is probably better to say goodbye.
'Goodbye? Already, I thought that at least we could share breakfast!' Tom offered, he seemed not to like the idea of being left behind, but after a night he had understood. There was no place for him on the battlefield. 'They're not riding until an hour from now, the sun hasn't even showed!'
Reemus shook his head, kissing his brothers brow. 'Can't let the Marshall wait, Tom. I'll see you soon, okay?'
The boy sighed, drawing his brother in for a hug. 'Don't die, okay? Not today.'
The new-made General pulled back. 'Not today,' he replied, before exiting the tent.

Joan swallowed, staring at the Lord. 'What am I here for?' he asked, biting through a piece of greasy meat. He had forgotten how nice a baked meal tasted, baked and cooked. 'I suppose I'm here for a reason, something...'
'We need you, Joan,' the Lord answered, watching the boy.
'Why, I can hardly lift a sword,' he tried.
Lord Rahl laughed softly, resulting in a nervous smile on Joan's face. 'You're special.'
'Why, because I can't be confessed?' he was still confused, but no one ever gave him a solid answer. 'What do you want from me?'
The Lord shook his head. 'You're too tired to have his conversation, it's best you go to sleep.'
Joan didn't want to sleep, but he didn't want to protest.

Marshall Tora had taken a new place as his headquarters, a tent not far from the walls of the city. He stood outside, his face stern as he watched the troops ready themselves. His expression didn't change when Reemus appeared, completely battle ready, packed in red, his arms, legs and torso protected by mail, and his helmet tucked away under his arm.
'Seems like your replacement isn't one for waiting,' the Marshall said when the General was within hearing distance. 'Better even, he has been busy since you left.'
Reemus rose an eyebrow. 'What is Mars-'
'He's firing trebuchets filled with bodies at the city we're supposed to take,' Tora said sharply, taking a glass of red wine from his servant.
'Ay, sounds wonderful,' Reemus replied, with a sarcastic glance.
Tora ignorer the remark. 'I want you to ride out and demand an explanation, we'll follow you in a good hour.'
'Ride out? Now?' Reemus shook his head. 'Sir, are you certain?'
'Very certain, you'll ride alone, be fast about it.'
General Shorshall wavered a moment, but understood there was nothing he could offer that would save him. 'Very well,' he replied, demanding the last word, and he was off.

[Cara]

Aslen felt as if she was in a dream. Pain, happiness, everything. It was some of her happiest memories and her worst, all centered around the fact that she was a Confessor. She experienced every spectrum of emotion and every memory that she had ever Confessed anyone. How many? Hundreds? As her power grew, so did those she Confessed. She felt herself weep, tears streaming her face. No Confessor was immune from the pain of the Confessed. It was a burden. To be Confessed was to loose all that you were; you became a slave to that Confessor. Then she saw Joan's face. There was a strange tingling that went through her. She hadn't been able to Confess him!
Suddenly in what felt like forever, but only a few seconds at the same time, she was standing in an ancient hall, Andrioth at her side. His hands were cool, wet with sweat. She looked around. It was breath-taking. It made the ancient beauty of Aydindril look like a common palace. Each panel of stone was a masterpiece in color and masonry. She couldn't have described it even if she tried.
Before her stood a woman and man all dressed in white. She knew immediately that they were a Mother Confessor and First Wizard. She took a gasp as she stared at the woman. She was beautiful, regal and fierce in her Confessor splendor. She didn't need to be told who these two people were...
"Mother Confessor Aslen, I present to you the First Mother Confessor Mithian and her First Wizard Gleaor."

Elize gave a sigh of pleasure as she slipped off her soiled mord-sith leather and into the scalding bath water. She leaned back and closed her eyes.
"Bath oils!" she snapped, eyes still closed. She sensed the girl's presence and put out her hand. Oils were set in her hand. She didn't know how long she spent in the water, but it was cool when she finally stepped out and took the robe that was folded in wait for her. She stretched, feeling each vertebrae pop. Yes, she had missed this!
Meg bowed when she saw Elize, fear apparent in her eyes. Elize smiled, the corners of her lips twisting up. "How long has it been since you joined our Sisterhood?"
Meg looked confused. "It has been a month."
"And do you enjoy it? Have we not provided?" Elize said, watching the trembling girl.
"No! I mean... Yes! You have provided. I am in your debt, Mistress Elize," she said with a bow. She saw the bruises just under the surface of her clothes.
"Hand me my agile, girl," Elize commanded. She watched the girl as she moved to do so, trying to betray nothing. But to touch an agile was the worst agony imaginable. The girl did it without complaint though. If Elize hadn't been watching for the slightest tremble of her lips or the slight moisture in her eyes, she wouldn't have noticed anything. Meg dipped her head and held out Elize's agile. Elize didn't take it from her.
After a moment, Meg looked up, confused. "Mistress Elize, is there a problem?" Elize didn't respond, only watched the girl. She was much stronger than Elize had originally thought. Her hair was brown streaked with auburn. So much like her sister's... And her eyes were dark, almost black. Finally she reached out and took it from Meg. Meg didn't sigh in relief, only bowed again. Elize sighed to herself. Yes, she was very strong...
"Meg," she said, saying the girl's name for the first time directly to her. "How would you like me to teach you?"

Aslen dropped to her knees, followed by Andrioth. "First Mother Confessor Mithian..." Aslen said, eyes to the floor. These two, who were said to have started the Confessor line, died over 1,000 years ago. It was Gleaor, her First Wizard's magic, that made her into the First Mother Confessor, and her twelve Confessor sisters. It was from her that Aslen's line had been born.
"Rise, my child..." Mithian said. "And to you, Andrioth, First Wizard of Mother Confessor Aslen Lorell."
Aslen stood, her eye's soaking in these two legends before her.
"Aslen, my child. Why have you come here?"
She was confused. "What...what do you mean? Where is here?"
"This is the Temple of the Winds." As if that made any sense. Aslen had never heard of such a place.
"I don't understand. I thought I was to... discover a way to defeat the Darahans with a Reckoning Spell...."
Mithian's smile was both knowing, sad, and happy. "And so you have."
Andrioth spoke for the first time, and Aslen was reminded that he was there with her. She took his hand in hers. "Mother Confessor Mithian. We seek your knowledge for the rites of a Reckoning Spell. The home you once knew long ago is in grave peril from the Daharan's. Your line is dying out. Aslen is one of the few remaining Confessors. I know not who shall succeed me in my position as First Wizard."
Gleaor nodded. "We know this, young wizard. We know all." As if reading Aslen's mind he continued, "The place, the Temple of the Winds, exist outside time. I know you would not have risked creating such an entrance into this world if you were not in a dire situation, yet we can do nothing but provide information."
"You came to preform a Reckoning Spell, so that is what you will find out," Mithian finished.
"I humblest apologies," Androith said, "but too much has been lost to time. We have little knowledge on what a Reckoning Spell will do."
Gleaor narrowed his eyes. "It is one of the darkest spell created, and uses the magic of a wizard and the power of a Confessor. It is death manifest to set upon your enemies."
Andrioth looked at Aslen. "We want to do it. It will end the war. Kill Lord Rahl and stop his armies in their paths!"
Mithian stepped from her throne off the dais. "Aslen, know what you are requesting."
"The death of my enemies," Aslen said, confused.
Mithian shook her head, sadly. "No, the death of all Confessors."

Meg looked at Elize, here eyes wide. "You would teach me?"
"I would do more than that... I will teach you how to live."
Meg fell to her knees, kissing the floor. "Mistress Elize, do you me incredible honor!"
To a mord-sith, the process of training was a long one. And not without pain. A young girl was kidnapped and trained for months until they were broken. Sometimes it took only a few weeks, but they were weak. Mord-sith had to be strong. Most girls broke in two or three months. Sometimes four if they were especially strong. Elize took two years.
Then they would kill their fathers. Even after they were inducted into the Sisterhood of the Agile, they were not yet full mord-sith. They had to be taught by an elder mord-sith in the ways of mord-sith. Close to an apprenticeship, but bloodier. Elize was Lord Rahl's favorite, and with her friend, Ademai away, that position was undisputed.
She had never taken on a trainee, but she saw something in this girl. Meg had a fire that she had seen in herself.
"Get me my leathers."

[Galadas]

The horse made way over the plains without wasting a second, its strong muscles heated by the exercise, while its rider felt his thighs hurting and burning underneath his trousers. Reemus ignored the pain, the walls of the city where he had stayed far too long heading out to meet him, but the city seemed abandoned. The forces that he had long held under his control spread out along the plains before Aydindril, setting Marshall Coladar’s plan in motion. He felt the rage that it gave him, the sense of betrayal, because he would have never given consent to such a plan, it was rash, and he himself had proposed the idea of waiting for Marshall Tora’s arrival.
The sun slowly moved up the skies, but its real light stayed out through the mass of heavy clouds flying over. It was going to be a dark day, and he feared of what Luchin’s actions would unlock. The Confessors wouldn’t wait within their walls for them to stop.
He rode his horse into the lines of soldiers, directing the beast towards the catapults, where he figured he would find Luchin. No one seemed surprised at the sight of a horse and rider flying through the battlements towards their leader, they were all busy with bodies or in awe of their handy work. The sight of it was disgusting, heads and limps and torsos. How had they turned to such barbaric ideals.
‘Luchin!’ he yelled when recognizing his friend from afar. ‘What in the Creator’s name are you doing!?’ He jumped off his horse, his face was a mask of disappointment. He only wondered whether Marshall Tora was on his way. ‘What is this plan of yours?’ He edged closer to Luchin, not allowing him to explain yet. ‘Marshall Tora is on his way with his army at his side, shocked by this sudden attack, you were supposed to hold.’

[Cara]

Luchin turned to Reemus. "Ah Reemus!" he said, with a wicked laugh. You have come to see us to victory. I am glad you could make it..." he said, ignoring Reemus' shocked expression and the rage in his eyes.
"Good Gods, Luchin! What are you thinking!?!" Reemus said, he stepped forward, only to be shoved back by Ademai. In his rush to get to Luchin, he hadn't seen Ademai standing besides him. "Ademai?"
"He knows what he is doing, Reemus," Ademai said, not moving, her agile between Luchin and Reemus.
"But the gates..." Reemus said, trying to ignore the agile in front of him. "The magics... How would you break through?" He looked at the catapults full of corpses. The smell was overwhelming. The smell was everywhere was bodies were launched over the walls of Aydindril into the city.
"I have the key to the first gate," Luchin said, not looking at Reemus. "The blood of the wizard has seen to that...."
"Then what?" Reemus said, angrily.
Luchin turned suddenly to Reemus. There was almost a mad gleam in his eye. He stepped close to Reemus, a thin smile on his lips. "I die."


Meg was waiting when Elize finally dried herself and had finished braiding her hair. It fell down to the small of her back, even after she had twisted it around the top into a fist bun. "Mistress," Meg said, bowing, her arms outstretched with the folded leathers. Elize picked it up and pulled them on, glad to have her second skin on. She took a breath before slamming her fist into Meg's face.
The girl gave a startled cry of pain. "That is for tolerance." She drove her back hand into the girl's other cheek. "That is for discipline."
Meg sat up, her eyes watering, her hands to her face.
Elize sat back, her face expressionless. "You did not really understand what I meant when I said I would train you. You are broken, but unbound and raw," she said. "Get up."
Elize flexed a gloved hand and the girl flinched. Instead of slapping her, Elize dealt her a harsh kick to the stomach. Meg doubled over. "You show no fear," Elize commanded. This time the girl rubbed the tears away and stood at attention. "You are like stone - raw and undiscovered. I have seen that there is value in you and your mind and heart are strong. That is why you are my first trainee," she said. She saw Meg's eyes lift. "But to become pure you must go through a long and painful process. And that is not just physical pain. I will teach you disipline. I will teach you tolerance. Strength. Self-control. And most importantly to be fearless."


Aslen and Andrioth looked shocked. "The death of of Confessors...? How can that be?"
First Mother Confessor Mithian smiled again; so sad yet so wise. "The Recoking spell was made of that of the balanced magic that is formed in a Confessor. Back in the days of old, wizards had this same magic, as Wizard Gleaor does...did. But it has long since died away. That magic still lingers in a Confessor's power to Confess.
"A sacrifice is needed to preform this spell. And it is fed by magic. Your magic, Mother Confessor Aslen."
Mithian pointed at Aslen's heart. "If you want to preform this spell, you must feed it with your magic."
Aslen felt herself go cold all over. Her magic? "And....And.... if I preformed this spell?" She feared the answer.
"You will eventually lose your powers," Gleaor said.

[Galadas]

It was ridiculous, that was the only thing running through Reemus’ mind as he stared at the new Marshall. He saw the madness in his eyes, and figured that Luchin never had the strength to be what Lord Rahl wanted him to be, the power was too much on him. Well, even if he had lost his place as Marshall, he would never allow anyone to make a bold move which would involve the deaths of too many of their men. He had learned as much, a victory in which you lose more than half your men was indeed a useless victory.
He took out his sword, surprising Ademai with a swift attack that was aimed at her head. He pushed the side of his sword against her torso, keeping her out of balance, before he was able to loosen the agil from her strong hands. His advantage was that he had trained with her ever since he became a Marshall, and though she always figured he could never defeat her, he had learned well. He moved in with the point of blade and released a blow that resulted in her tumbling backwards. The center of his attack then shifted towards Luchin, who had a great skill in combat, but failed to comprehend what was going on until the point of Reemus’ sword brushed against his throat.
‘What are you doing!?’ he demanded from his former friend.
Luchin held up his arms, the smile still on his lips.
Reemus turned his head a bit, the catapults were still working, and only those in ear range seemed to notice that their former Marshall was holding their new Marshall at sword point. ‘Cease fire!’ he yelled, his voice thrilling through the air. The soldiers hadn’t forgotten who used to be their leader, and the last pieces of human trash flew over the wall, the sound of confusion rising up as the soldiers directed their eyes to their Marshall.
‘You’re going to explain to me what you think you are doing, Luchin, and I will decide whether your plan has any deal of success.’ He pretended for a moment that he had the power to take his former position back.
‘Reemus, let him go!’ a familiar voice shouted at him. He only felt something sharp stinging through the thin fabric around his neck. ‘You are playing a dangerous game.’
He didn’t need to turn to know it was Evana, having no idea what plan Luchin had laid out for her and the other, and for himself. He decided to ignore her. ‘Explanation, now!’
‘I’m taking the city,’ Luchin answered, rage flowing on his face now, but still that smile.
‘Hell you’re not!’ Reemus placed on hand on Luchin’s shoulder, only then knowing it was a wrong move.
The Marshall grabbed the hand, moved sideways, and drew Reemus in with all his strength. He made a fist out of his free hand, and as the former Marshall staggered forward, sword still pointed at him, he punched him right in the face.
Reemus came crashing down, only kept up from hitting his head on the ground by Luchin still having a hold of him. His shoulder exploded in pain when it hit the hard sand, and his sword was released. He had to fight back though, because he knew well enough that if Luchin managed to master him, he would have to watch as the young Marshall killed himself and so many others. He pulled him to the floor, pushing himself off as he reached for one of Luchin’s swords.
That might have cleared it all, he could easily master Luchin if the boy had only one sword to fight with, with two he was deadly. Yet, just as his fingers brushed the fine leather of the hold, a sharp pain caught him at his side.
Evana moved in, her sword piercing through the mail that protected his vital organs, and cutting off Reemus’ attack on her Marshall. She closed her eyes as the point of the sword disappeared through the layer of fabric and she could feel she had cut through skin.
The newly-made General fell back to the ground, exhausted and doomed. Pain was emitting through the right part of his body, and in desperation, he searched for his sword.
‘Continue firing,’ Luchin said to Evana, as he pulled out his sword, and pointed it at Reemus’ thrice wounded shoulder.

[Cara]

Lunchin glared down at Reemus, smile gone. "Get up," he said. Reemus didn't move. "Get up!" Luchin nodded to the men besides him and they stepped forward and grabbed Reemus, hauling him to his feet. Luchin stepped close, blade still resting between him and Reemus. "That was a stupid move, general," he said, his voice cold. It was so unlike Luchin. "Don't you ever do something like that again."
Luchin stepped back and turned to the men holding Reemus. "Get him to the healers! I won't have him dying on my watch. Bind him though. Put two men on his watch," he hissed. As Reemus was dragged away, Luchin turned to the watching soldiers. "Back to your posts," he commanded before turning to Evana.
"Sir?" she said, her face an attempt to be impassive.
"He does not like my plan, but I never thought he would attack me..." Luchin said, his brow deeply lined. "I will go speak with him soon enough. He will understand. If not I will make him."


Elize walked through the halls, Meg by her side. Meg now was dressed in the black garb of a Mord-Sith in training. She wore a collar, which a thin golden chain hung, the other end held by Elize. On lookers might think Meg a prisoner, but she held her head high, and her gaze was bright.
Elize made her way to Lord Rahl's chambers. The guards let her pass without argument.
Lord Rahl was still eating with Joan when she entered. Meg dropped to her knees, while Elize only bowed her head. "Lord Rahl..." she said, her eyes not leaving him.
"Ah, Mistress Elize..." he said, with a smile. Lord Rahl stood, glancing at Joan. Elize did not look Joan's way. "Thank you for join us." He looked at Meg, raising an eyebrow. "You have a trainee..."
"Do not mind her, my Lord. She is nothing."
Lord Rhal smiled. "Yet let us talk where nothing can hear us."
Meg bowed and backed out the door, leaving only Elize, Lord Rhal and Joan alone in the giant hall.
"Please, be seated," Lord Rahl said.
"I will stand."
"Very well. Then let me start.... Joan, are you done with dinner?"
Joan glanced at his food. It was untouched.
Lord Rahl smiled. "Well, my Chib," Joan glanced up at Lord Rahl at the mentioned of his nickname, "you probably want to know why you are here."
"Yes...."
"I had Elize here bring you safely from Westend to The People's Palace because I need your help."
Joan was shocked. "My help? You, the Lord Rahl, is looking for my help?"
He nodded. "Yes. You probably know that Dahara is at war with Melidis. It is because of the Confessors and the wizards that serve them. The Confessors are vile creatures. They are things of evil magic, in the guise of people who give justice. No, they rule with absolute power and use their Confessor powers to great evil. Mistress Elize can tell you of all their terrible powers. To be Confessed is the worst thing that can happen to you, for you will then serve that Confessor until your death, but you will lose your own will. Not even a Mord-Sith is powerful enough to evade this fate when Confessed.... All except you."


The First Mother Confessor stepped forward and before Aslen knew what was happening, she had grabbed her throat.
Aslen felt searing pain rip through her and a blinding light seared her vision. There was the thunder without sound. Aslen finally realized she was closing her eyes. She blinked, suddenly realizing that she was back in the solar tower of the Confessors Palace.
"Andrioth...." she said, turning to him. He was pale, eyes wide.
"Aslen, he said, taking her hands. They were shaking. "My powers..."
"Are gone. For now. It was payment for us entering the Temple of the Winds..." Andrioth said, his face still pale and...frightened, Aslen realized. She had never seen Andrioth frightened before. He had always been so strong and brave.
"What now?" she asked, looking out window. Below the city was in chaos.

[Galadas]

Joan had a hard time taking it all in, he had known about it though. That had been the reason he was brought here, without any harm befalling him. He shook his head slightly, ignoring his confusion. ‘If I do this, can I go home?’
Lord Rahl nodded. ‘When this is all over, we’ll make sure you get home safe and sound.’
That’s what he understood. There was no when, or where, or what. He just had to trust that he would survive it all and return to his father, his mother and his sisters. If otherwise, he hoped at least that Rahl had the decency to send his body back to where he was born. He was afraid of dying though, more than he was of never returning home. ‘What is it I need to do?’

Reemus didn’t do anything to stop the guards from taking him away. He was too weak and his body ached of pain. He knew Marshall Tora was coming closer, and if only he could warn him of what Luchin was planning on doing. He feared for all their lives, and he couldn’t shake off what he had seen. The idea of the General with that look of insanity in his eyes, it angered him.
Lord Rahl should’ve never given him the new lead.
He watched carefully as a healer took care of his newest injury. The blade had stung, but he knew that Evana wouldn’t dare to turn against her Marshall. He sat up straight, listening to the sounds of catapults, of soldiers waiting and gazing. Meanwhile, no one had any idea what the enemy was up to, because behind the walls of the city, it was silent.

Under Tora’s command, the Calvary was first to dispatch from the camp, he lead them on his own stead. Hoping to meet Reemus there before the battle, he wondered if there was going to be any trouble with the new Marshall. He had always trusted Shorshall because he had been his student, and under his control as well. Now he stood for a different challenge.
The soldiers roared with laughter, this would be their first fight in many a month, and they looked forward to it. The one city that they needed to bring down to have the probability of returning home. It burned in their hearts.
‘No one has ever broken through the walls,’ one of his Generals said. ‘Reemus hasn’t of yet, and I don’t think this new boy will know how to get in.’
‘Only with the strength of the Magicians,’ Tora added.
‘How will any of us ever get our hands on a pair of magicians?’
Tora shook his head. ‘Let us hope there does exist another route in.’

[Cara]

Luchin stood back. They were more than half way through the bodies. The smell was lessening, but even so, he had to pull the cloth of fabric tight to his nose. His hand went to the necklace around his throat. Meg.... he thought. His younger sister would be waiting for him when he returned home. This necklace was from her. A token of luck and safe keeping. She had given it to him a year go when he left with Marshal Shorshall for war.
Now Lord Rahl was holding her hostage with the Mord-Sith. She would be killed if he did not obey! And part of that was to keep his tongue. He was spelled to not utter a single word to anyone. He hated Lord Rahl, and every moment he saw Ademai by his side he was reminded why he had to take Aydindril. For Meg. She was probably being tortured this very instant, trapped in the bowels of the Keep with those Mord-Sith!
Luchin shook himself from his depressing thoughts. No, Lord Rahl said he had a plan for him. To what end, Luchin could not tell. But he knew he would die. Lord Rahl never told him that he would, but in his heart he knew it to be true.
"Keep the bodies coming!" Luchin screamed. Let Reemus think him mad if that is what it took to win. He would bring down the walls of Aydindril.

Aslen walked in to the great room. She had called all the high powers of the Confessors to this room.
"Mother Confessor!" one of the wizards said. "What news do you bring?"
"Grave news," Aslen said. "The magic that I have relied on has failed me," Aslen said softly.
"What?" a young Confessor said. "How can that be so? You are the Mother Confessor!"
"We already tried to fight in the open. Even with our force of Confessors and wizards to turn the army on itself, it has only slunk back to saftey and grown stronger! Our spies say that that Tora's army has arrived. They are at full power once again. We cannot risk another open attack, and yet they hurl our dead back over our walls in mockery!" Orlik yelled, standing. He slammed his fist on the table and green sparks flew from his clenched fingers.
"Our walls are strong. They have never been breached in all of our history. The magic in them is as old as the line of Confessors. Dahara has smashed themselves on our walls for hundreds of years and failed. Why sould this be any different?" another wizard demanded, looking around. Some people were nervous, others were relaxed as ever. They city of Aydindril was impenetrable. That is what everyone said, but Aslen was doubtful.
"When... when I was fighting. I had been weak. Very weak, but still my sister and I fought on." At mention of her sister, people quieted down and looked somber. Her sister was only one of many Confessors and wizards who had died at that last battle. They had a victory, but it was a costly one. "There was a young general named Luchin Coladar. We had successfully Confessed Marshal Shorshall's other generals, but he was the last. His prowess with a blade had prevented me from getting close. Andrioth couldn't touch him; his magic had no affect on Coladar whatsoever. I have never seen it before, but still I managed to touch him. I Confessed him. He fell back, but when he rose, he was not mine. He just looked at me, dazed and confused. I should have slit his throat right then and there, but I was shocked, and their soldiers were so many. My sister was hurt, and I could not get to her.....So Andrioth and I escaped. Barely. Yet, I still see that general. Our spies say he was recently made Marshal, replacing the decorated Marshal Shorshall. That speaks gravely for what Lord Rhal has planned." Aslen looked at everyone. They were in shock, Orlik more than anyone. "To sit around and do nothing is to wait for death!"

Lord Rahl nodded, smiling amiably. "You made a smart choice," he said. It was then that Joan saw a glint of...cruelty underneath that kind, fatherly outward appearance of Lord Rahl. Joan suddenly had the feeling that if he had said no, Lord Rahl would have had his way anyway.
"Mistress Elize here did such a fine job bringing you here to me safely, that I have decided to have her escort you to Aydindril."
Joan looked at Elize. He had spent just enough time with her to read the small changes in her body language. She was skilled at concealing her feelings, but right now she was so displeased with this idea that her hands clenched themselves.
"My Lord," Elize said. "Could the boy not be taken by someone else?"
"Who else?" he said, watching her. "You are the best person for this important task."
"I have an trainee..." Elize said.
(I am changing it in the previous post, so that Lord Rahl does not know who the trainee is)
"That is fine. I shall provide another mount."
Elize bowed, not wanting to argue the point any longer. "Of course, my Lord."
"You will leave tonight."
"Tonight!?" Elize said. "But my Lord, we only arrived this morning..."
"Tonight, Elize," Lord Rahl said, his voice cracking like a whip. Elize dropped to a knee, bowing. "I will have supplies ready with the Argrenths."
"Argrenths...?" Joan asked.
Elize looked up, a wicked smile on her face. "Wolverines."