Then came the fast paced beat of the drum.  With one single note from a horn the siege has started and armored soldiers charged forward their opponent until they clashed and the fighting had begun.  Pennants of blue were mixed among the fray but the red ones stayed uniformed and in line where priestly figures stood.

            Those who wore red on their armors then broke the defenses of the blue and entered the outer city.  A loud siren sounded and miners along with their families scrambled to get into the inner city and into safety.  Soldiers in blue fought on trying to defend their people. The siren finally stopped and the inner city’s gates closed.

            The outer city has been breached and people were held safely within the rocky walls of Bastok.

 

            That night the darkness was washed by the light of the fire.  The outer city was put into the flames by the army that held the red pennant of San D’Oria.  They revel not in song or festivities but that of solemn prayer.  Their plan was halfway accomplished and the only thing left was to lay claim to the inner walls of Bastok.

            When the priests have done their communing with the goddess, the soldiers then retreated to their made up tents and did their private celebration.  Among their lips they cheered and praised their young king Archeufagis R D’Oraguille.

 

            With a flute in his hand, Neuranel Lumaise trudged down the dry rocky path up a hill in which Bastokans had called Vomp.  He was tired not only from playing music but also from the battle that happened earlier.  He was part of the little group that infiltrated the outer defenses of Bastok.  Quick with a dagger, in which he had lost during a scuffle with a warrior, he was able to carry forth his mission.

            Settling for a dark corner, he leaned against the wall and lifted his flute up to his lips.  About to play a soft note, he stopped when he heard a noise nearby.  Instinct told him to beware.  According to Bastokan history, this hill was said to be a favorite hiding spot for goblins.  In his mind, he swore at himself for losing his only weapon and he will definitely not going to use his flute as one.  One weapon he had at that moment and that was music.  Locating the direction of the noise, he played a lullaby.

            After a minute of playing, he heard a noise as if something fell on the ground.  His music stopped and he cautiously approached the source of the noise.  Just around a rock formation, by the tree, there laid a young girl quietly sleeping with a wooden wand in her hand.  Neuranel almost laughed at himself for fearing a young hume.  He knelt beside her sleeping form and examined.

            She had red short hair; round face and an expression that made his heart skip a beat.  She was not as beautiful and regal like any elvaan women but that youth and probably a sweet smile were enough to catch a male hume’s eye. 

 

<<==================>>

 

            Durene was never been as afraid as she was right now.  Among the pack of wolves she was their only prey. 

            After being found by this intriguing elvaan bard, she was then forced to be his ‘slave’ to save her own life.  Neuranel was his name and had an amazing tenor voice.  Durene always marveled and was awed of this tall majestic race, for their beautiful sculptured face and graceful demeanor.  Since she was raised among miners, men were proved to be harsh and rugged while women were lewd and loud.  In contrast, these elvaans were something of another world to humes.

            Now, standing among them, she felt like a sinner standing before gods of olden times.  In their full regalia armor, paladins, warriors, archers alike were watching her every move as they waited for their young king.

            Neuranel’s comforting hand clasped her arm and she looked at him.  He smiled at her, encouraging what little courage she had.  What would they do to her now that they know she was among the pure and civilized elvaans?

            Before her, the tent opened and out came their king, in shining ebony armor.  His corn silk hair grazed lightly on his shoulders and looked at her with blue piercing eyes.  He seemed a pure epitome of a god, and Durene realized why everyone praised him as king of San D’Oria.  There was no expression whatsoever on his handsome face but examined her closely then with a nod of his head, his own general came forward.

            “Your majesty, Lord Neuranel had been harboring a spy among our grounds.  She was caught sneaking around your camps,” the General said.

            Neuranel stepped forward.  “Your majesty, I’m sorry to have disturbed anyone but I have forgotten to mention one of the prime rules to my…”

            “You only speak when spoken to, Bard!” the General snapped.  “Do not overstep your bounds.”

            The king raised his hand to silence his officer.

            Durene was amazed at how they all obediently do what their king says even if they were simple gestures.

            “Close your mouth and look down, Dur,” Neuranel softly said to her. 

            Embarrassed by her childish behavior she did as she was told. 

            The king then turned, but before entering his tent he whispered something to one of his guards. 

            The guard bowed and looked at her.  “His majesty commands you to follow him within.”

            She was then pushed forward by Neuranel and she hurriedly went inside the tent.  The bard was about to follow her when the guard blocked his path.

            “Only the hume must enter no one else.”

            “But I own her.  She’s my slave!” Neuranel argued.

            “His majesty owns you therefore he owns her as well.  Go before the point of my sword meets your heart,” the guard harshly said.

            Durene seen and heard no more when the flap of the tent was pulled down behind her.

 

==================== >>>>

 

            Standing before the king of San D’Oria was totally beyond what she had expected.  She had admired and hated to admit that she lusted over him.  Right now, as she watched him watch her, she realized he was a totally different person that she envisioned him as.  She was the romantic; this elvaan was a heartless tyrant.

            “I believe you are aware that I can easily end your life here and now and give your pretty little head to your President,” he said softly, his voice still having that youthful tone, not as deep as Neuranel.  “But I am a reasonable leader, and I know why Neuranel keeps you.”

            Durene lowered her eyes.  “I don’t know what you are talking about, your majesty.”

            He approached her and placed a hand behind her neck.  He pulled her close, their faces inches apart.  Durene could smell a faint scent of evergreens and sandalwood.  Her heart quickened and all she could do was to directly stare at his icy blue eyes.

            “You have seen something that little of us had in our lifetime.  You have in your power to evoke ethereal beings that none of us cannot control. Tell me who you have in your control?” he asked.

            “I don’t know what you are talking about, sir,” she replied honestly.  Durene’s gaze went down to his lips. She wondered how his kisses would taste like.  Would she dare steal one?

            “Or would you rather have me kiss you then tell me who did you make a pact with?” he asked, the corner of his lips turned up a little.

            She blushed and merely closed her eyes. 

            “Look at me!”  He shook her roughly and she once more opened her eyes and glared at him.

            “I have no idea what you are talking about.  Pact?  I made no such thing with anyone!” she said softly but her voice failed to hide the growing irritation she’s having with the young king.

            He let her go.  She almost lost her balance realizing that he had held her almost off the ground.  The young king went to his bed and took out a small book from one of his packs.  Returning to her, he was furiously flipping through the pages and when found the spot, turned the book around and held it before her.

            “Do you see anyone familiar?” he asked.

            Durene’s eyes widened to see good sketches of creatures, some almost hume like and others plainly looked like beasts.  Each image had a name written in elvaan script which she was unfamiliar with.  The very top corner something caught her eye.  She almost giggled remembering a fond memory of her childhood.  There was a rough sketch of what seemed to be a puppy with long beautiful tail.

            Trying to recall and smiled remembering from the back of her mind the name, Carbuncle.  That was the puppy that she played with when she was a little girl.  That was the puppy that warned her of goblins when she roamed around the hill.  That was the same puppy that saved her father countless of times in the mines.

            “If you have not seen any of this, maybe you have seen this one?” He flipped the page and showed her a large sketch of a ferocious wolf as it would seem.  The small book then closed.

            “That blue puppy, I’ve seen before as a child.  But I’ve never spoken to it nor even made any pacts with a baby dog!” she said, still puzzled to where this was heading.

            King Archeufagais was starting to be frustrated.  He grabbed her wrist and led her outside the tent.  The guards, soldiers and his officers were surprised to see them, much less have the king touch a lowly hume.  He pushed her before him and crossed his arms.

            “Summon it!” he commanded. 

            She clenched her fists.  “I don’t know how, and it’s just a puppy!  It was just a figment of a little girl’s imagination.  Carbuncle isn’t real!”

            There were gasps around her and she knew she knew nothing of what they knew.  What was it that she’s missing?  What do they know of Carbuncle?

            “Neuranel!” the king called.  From the crowd the bard emerged and kneeled before the king.  All of a sudden the King Archeufagais roughly took the bard by the hair and pulled out his ornate sword.   He held the sharp end against her protector’s neck.

            “Evoke it, or watch him die!” the king threatened.

            Durene shook in anger.  She watched, seething in hate and feeling helpless not knowing what to do.  The sword then made a cut on Neuranel’s neck, the blood staining the perfectly shiny blade.  The bard merely closed his eyes and held his breath, expecting his death any sooner.

            “Last chance hume.  I will count to three,” the king said.  “One.”

            She closed her eyes trying to suppress the anger she was feeling and concentrated on the image of her childhood friend.  It had been years that she has seen that puppy.

            “Two.”

            Durene’s only instinct was to save her only protector.  There is nothing else she could do but protect him the only way she could.

            “Three.”

            She charged, her hands out and sought the king’s neck.  Archeufagais pushed the bard away from him and caught her hands before it touched him.  He proved to be stronger than she was but she struggled.  One thing that came to her mind and the only thing she always say in her heart when she was in despair, “Please, help me kind friend!”

            Oblivious to what was happening, the king pushed her aside and she felt a sharp pain on her bottom as she landed on the hard ground.  A bright blue ball jumped at the king and, agile as ever, he merely moved out of the way.  Those around them drew their swords but held their grounds waiting for the signal from their king.  The bright blue thing then landed and made its way to her side.  Her eyes widened in recognition, seeing a friend she had thought to have disappeared forever.

            A laugh broke the tension and everyone turned to the king.  Archeufagais, with his hands on his hips laughed. It was not a whole-hearted laugh but like that of a boasting laugh, almost evil that it chilled Durene’s bones hearing it.  Those around were puzzled but they slowly put away the weapons they had drawn out.

            Like a small child, he approached her, ignoring the little blue creature that watched him with caution.  Going down on one knee, he leaned his head forward and gave her a lingering kiss on the lips.  When they parted, the king quickly stood up and casually walked back to his tent.

            Those who watched the show slowly dissipated until there were only the two sitting figures left.  Still having Carbuncle by her side, she slowly crawled towards Neuranel.  The elvaan bard looked at her briefly then looked back down again.

            “You should not have done that.  Now, he will use you for your abilities to fight against your own hometown,” he sadly said.

            “He was about to kill you!” she exclaimed.

            “He cannot.”

            “He killed his brother to get the throne.  Ending your life would be nothing to him at this moment.”

            “Ignorant hume.  He will not kill his only bard in the army.  That would be a stupid thing to do.”  He shook his head in dismay.  “The king doesn’t have mages in his army.  What more would you think to gain by killing the only bard?  Even more so, Windurst will be at his tail if he kills one of their own who happens to come into this campaign in diplomatic reasons.”

            Durene furrowed her brows in confusion.  Meanwhile, Carbuncle skipped to stand before the couple and watched them with its big beady eyes in curiosity.  It tilted its head to one side and eagerly waited for any commands.

            “Look,” Neuranel continued, “My past is of no consequence here.  Right now, we should retreat to our tent and decide what I should do with you.  I believe his majesty will make you get all the avatars before he laid a siege on Bastok.  For now stay out of everyone’s sight.  The more you do the more they will find a reason to kill you.”

            Both of them slowly stood up, aiding each one, and retreated to their tent followed by a little shinning blue creature.