Tredge rose up out of the earth like a thousand slabs of course, angular granite as they drew closer to it. A city that was older than any recorded history, it was massive, easily twice the size of any other city between the Chasm and the Wall. It had been the seat of the Grakan Dynasty since Graka I conquered the Rogue Wizards and established order throughout the land. Since then, it had only grown, in terms of wealth, prestige, and above all, population, to become the awe-inspiring capital city that it was. The impressive brilliant silver cylindrical towers of the rich nobleman dominated the skyline. Angular, pyramidal structures of less stature also dotted the horizon, homes to various groups of Possessors. Running a ring around this thick group of tall structures were buildings that grew progressively smaller as one got further and further away from the center of the city. At the center of all this was the palace of the King, a structure that appeared to violate the very laws of nature. Slender at the base, and broad at its peak, it was said that powerful magic had been used to construct it. Indeed, the land's most powerful Possessors were in the court of the King.

The might of Tredge was not lost on Gretum. Though he was a farmer, he had travelled to Tredge on numerous occassions to sell his grain and trade for supplies. Additionally, he had accompanied Karlo Westjan, the Wall Knight for whom he was a squire, to the court of the king. Each time he rode the trail through the outskirts of the city, he got a tingle of excitement as the buildings grew larger and larger. The greatest city in the land was awe-inspiring even to those who lived within its borders.

Today he was not here to sell grain, or purchase a new plow, or to surprise his son with a new map for his collection. Today he was at Karlo's side, carrying a pack full of weapons and supplies. Today he was in the service of the King. Karlo had not specified why they were going to Tredge. Indeed, Gretum wasn't sure if Karlo even knew. It could be a ceremony of some sort, though such ceremonies typically accompanied a festival or celebration, and there were none until the harvest, which was nearly a month away.

Westjan rode coldly, without saying a word. That was simply the way that he was. An older man, Westjan had been knighted more than a thirty years ago, and with each passing year he said less and less. His face said less than he did - a plain, dull expression that conveyed nothing to those who looked upon it. No feature was particularly impressive, and no feature was particularly unimpressive. Karlo was simply a Wall Knight representing a small farming community north of Tredge. Gretum, though he would not say it aloud, might have remarked that Karlo seemed wholly disinterested with the business of being a Wall Knight, and from his experience, he was not alone among the other Wall Knights.

But perhaps this was part of who they were - the King's sword and shield, supposedly undaunted by any challenge and unafraid of any danger, and willing to sacrifice their lives for the King and the land, with an unquestioning and uncompromising look on their faces all the while.

However, Gretum found all of that to be a bit too dramatic. Karlo Westjan was bored stiff. The Wall Knights had not formally exchanged blows with anyone in several years. Occassionally, they were dispatched somewhere to ferret out a group of rogues who were plaguing traders and small towns, but that was the extent of their functional use. The kingdom was united, and even remote portions of the kingdom that were less accountable to the King had their own enforcement and didn't need the support of the Wall Knights. Though their training was rigorous, and though they swore allegiance to the King, and though they swore to sacrifice their lives in the name of the land, the Wall Knights were more ornamental than anything else.

Most of the Wall Knights were recruited from the families of the nobles who lived within the city of Tredge. Their great towers that dominated the city, demonstrating the prestige and greatness of their family. So, too, did their sons dominate the ranks of the Wall Knights. Karlo had been selected because his small town had traditionally been represented with a Wall Knight. The Wall Knight before him had become ill and died, and several members of the King's court had assured the people of Trilus that one of their own would be allowed to replace him. Karlo had been selected because he was the strongest and most agile of everyone within Trilus. He was given very little choice in the matter. Gretum was sure that this was also a reason for his chronically expressionless face - a face that passively accepted the role of Wall Knight, but did not embrace it.

Karlo and Gretum were making their way into the city now, beyond the fields of grain and rice that encircled the remote outskirts. The buildings grew larger and larger, and the density of people greater and greater. In any other town throughout the kingdom, their arrival would have been heralded and celebrated. But not in Tredge, not in the city from which the Wall Knights sprang. Hundreds of other Wall Knights would probably make their way down the very street that Karlo and Gretum were walking, and would likewise receive little attention. There was a group of three Wall Knights walking perhaps a quarter mile ahead of them, easily identified by their cold blue helmets and armor emblazoned with the seal of the King. Next to each of them was a squire, like Gretum, carrying a small load of supplies.

Squires were not accorded the same prestige that the Wall Knights were, but it was by no means an unrespectable thing to do. Indeed, if that had been the case, Gretum never would have become one. The people in Trilus considered him quite worldly. People treated him with a degree of respect that was reserved for those who placed themself in harm's way in the name of the King, which all squires definitely did. In fact, it was said that more squires lost their lives in combat than Wall Knights. There were even famous squires who had performed incredible acts of bravery and heroism. Many squires were just as deadly with a sword as their Wall Knight counterparts, and simply lacked the connections or the opportunity to be knighted officially.

Hundreds of people now crowded the street, half of them soliciting, and the other half fending off the solicitors. Somehow, the stream of people who were moving into the city diffused past the throngs of people, and managed to make some headway. Gretum knew that it wouldn't get much more passable until they were within the gates of the King's compound. He reached into the small satchel tied to his belt, and pulled out a small piece of Runic. It was worth about as much as a smoked sausage, and he began looking around for someone who was selling something resembling a smoked sausage.

"Traditional dried fruits from the south! Only the finest traditional fruits from the south!"

"Frighteningly powerful charms that will illuminate your way in the darkest of times! Act fast, for bad fortune may be around the corner!"

"The Herb of Life has powerful magical properties only known to the mightiest possessors! One spoonful will lengthen your life a year!"

Gretum grimaces at most of these fellows, and furnished several other sour expressions so as to dissuade them from talking to him. He had to get his sausage fast, before the crowd became so thick that he could not easily navigate through it while simultaneously making a purchase and keeping up with Karlo. Gretum could see the first of the Possessor Towers a short distance away, at which point any attempt to acquire a sausage would have to be abandon. He snuck his large load between a pair of journeymen, and just in front of a pack animal. He ducked around an assembly of Tredge guards, who were trading dirty jokes with one another and looking menacing. A moment later he was standing face-to-face with a man who had enough sausages hanging from his stand to feed all of the Wall Knights in the land. Gretum settled for one, and handed the man his piece of Runic.

"A sausage for the gentleman, then," said the sausage salesmen to a young boy sitting to his left. "You must be a squire, then, sir, are you not?"

Gretum smiled. "Yes," he said calmly.

"There are quite a few Wall Knights converging on the Kingís palace today," said the man. He was observant. It took a keen eye to discern that there were indeed a few more Wall Knights roaming the streets than usual. Gretum fancied himself the proud owner of a keen eye, and certainly didnít expect the local sausage salesmanís eye to match his. Or perhaps he was just making conversation while he sold Gretum a sausage.

"Does it have anything to do with the slaughter of the Northern Villages?"

This took Gretum completely by surprise. The comment was specific enough to indicate that the man was not merely engaging in conjecture, he had heard this from some one. Who had heard it from someone else, who had heard it from someone else, and so on. It was also a valid reason for the King to assemble the Wall Knights, which only added to its plausibility. Perhaps this was the reason that Karlo had been forced to don the blue armor once more, and make his way to Tredge. Perhaps this was the reason that Gretum had gathered up his things two nights ago in haste to join Karlo on his journey.

The man handed Gretum his sausage. "Iím not sure why weíre here," he said to the man as he took the smoked meat. "Thank you."

Gretum rushed back to Karlo again, and reached his side right before the crowd became unreasonably dense. It almost seemed busier than usual. They passed between the first two Possessor Towers, and entered the inner portion of Tredge. As usual, Karlo did not say anything the rest of the trip. Gretum could not forget what he had heard. He listened to the rumble of the crowd, hoping to hear another small kernel of information that would confirm or deny what he had heard from the sausage man. Though he heard nothing more of it, he could not get it out of his head.

The Northern Tribes were a group of small towns consisting of perhaps a couple dozen people each. There were hundreds of them, however. They were not that far away from Tredge, perhaps a couple weeks away at the most, on the other side of a forest at the base of the Wall. Gretum didnít know much about them, but he did know that it would be foolish for a group of rogues to attack them - they would incur the wrath of the Wall Knights and be destroyed. That would be the case even if they attacked one of the southern towns, let alone someplace as close as the Northern Tribes. If there had indeed been a slaughter, it made even less sense. Any monetary gain that might be realized simply would not be worth risking a war. There was no logic in it. Gretum kept rolling this over and over in his head, and each time he arrived to the same conclusion ñ there was no logic in it.

The ratio of shameless salesmen and paupers to passers-by grew lower and lower with each step in the direction of the palace. Similarly, the ratio of red-armored Tredge city guards to passers-by grew higher and higher. The buildings also became more and more polished, more refined and visually pleasing. None more so than the palace of the King. At this point, it was impossible to ignore the majesty of the great structure. Made of the same ethereal substance that the Wall was made of, it glowed white in the light of the sun. Its shape resembled that of the Possessor Towers that ringed the city, but upside down ñ a slender pyramid, stuck upside down into the earth, with the broad base hanging magically in the sky.

There was no doubt in Gretumís mind that without the wisdom of the Possessors, the structure would not remain standing. Indeed, he was asked to describe the palace to people in his hometown, and even the small mock-palace he had constructed out of wood would not stand when he stuck it into the earth. The sheer power that such an unnatural structure conveyed to those who walked towards it was enough to send shivers down Gretumís back. Gretum had seen his share of Possessor tricks. He had seen fire burst forth from the hands of an apprentice Possessor. He had seen a brick conjured up into existence from nowhere. He had even seen a Possessor rise up into the sky for a matter of moments, and then fall safely back to the ground. But none of this came even close to the sheer impossibility of the palace.

Gretum ate the last of his smoked meat before they sauntered up to the gate of the palace. A tall and beautiful gate the height of two men encircled the palace. The gate towers were small inverted pyramids just like the palace, but they were much broader at the base and did not appear to require Possessor magic to remain standing. There was a large double-door within the gate tower, and the door was thrown open to admit a line of Wall Knights that extended far into the crowd. Gretum and Karlo fell in behind another Wall Knight-squire pair.

"Why do you think weíre here, Karlo?" Gretum asked his companion. Gretum refrained from talking to Karlo while they were travelling. Karlo didnít like small talk. Gretum was to the point where he was unable to keep silent about what he had heard from the sausage salesman. Additionally, he was hoping that someone in front of them or behind them would pick up on the conversation and add to it.

"I suspect that our services are required somewhere in the kingdom. I expect a long journey," said Karlo Westjan calmly, looking straight ahead of him and not altering any feature on his face or body while he spoke. Most Wall Knights were like this ñ stone-faced and cold most times. It was part of their training, and part of what people expected of them.

"Iíve never seen this many Wall Knights in one place before. What could possibly warrant such an assembly? There are enough Wall Knights here to conquer the kingdom thrice over," Gretum said, hoping to break through the presumption that this was just another off-the-shelf Wall Knight function. It was perhaps a fruitless gesture when it came to Karlo, but he could tell that others around him were already taking notice of his words, and had similar questions.

A squire behind him gave him a subtle nudge. Gretum turned to him, and the man leaned over. "I have heard that someone from the Northern Tribes has gathered together an army," he said quietly. "I have heard that the Northern Tribes have been wholly subjugated already."

Gretum frowned slightly. "I myself have heard things," he said quietly. Karlo would disapprove of this gossipy talk, but it was something that the squires did a lot. "I heard from a street vendor that the Northern Tribes have been slaughtered altogether."

"Perhaps the years of peace are over," the young man said grimly. Those words echoed in Gretumís head, and sent a bad vibration all through his body. For so long, evil had been kept at bay. The world had moved forward. Great cities had been built up from the ruins of the destruction wrought by the war against the Rogue Wizards. A person could travel from the Northern Wall to the Edge and not overtly fear for his life. But like everything else, it cannot last. Like everything else, inactivity only invites complacency.

A solemn mood descended upon Gretum and the others in the line. No one spoke. It was as though they already knew what specific evil they were to face, and they were already afraid. Slowly but surely, the line moved forward, and Gretum and Karlo reached the double doors of the gate tower. Four red-armored guards looked at them with steely eyes. "Name," said a clerk sitting at a desk between the guards.

"Karlo Westjan," Karlo responded.

"Order," the clerk said.

"Northern Civilian Order, Second Class, out of Trilus," Karlo said automatically.

There was a brief moment that the clerk spent flipping through a couple of sheets of paper, apparently locating Karlo, verifying the information he had supplied, and then examining the intricate badge upon his breastplate that identified him. The clerk nodded, and the guards motioned for him to move through the gate tower and into the outer courtyard of the palace. "You will be staying in the barracks to the left, and your squire will camp in the outer courtyard with the rest of the squires. Move on."

Gretum nodded, and followed Karlo through the gate tower, and through a second set of double doors, and into outer courtyard. There were hundreds of people dotting the courtyard, some of them Wall Knights, and some of them squires. The base of the palace was behind yet another beautifully crafted wall, even taller than the first one. The courtyard was a lovely grassy paradise, with a stream running through it, and several bridges arcing over the burbling water. Flowers of every variety Gretum had ever seen grew in circular gardens uniformly distributed throughout the courtyard. Brilliant statues of Graka I through Graka XI also adorned the courtyard, looking up confidently, all of them trained towards the south. Ornate stone fire pits also dotted the landscape.

Karlo turned to Gretum, and Gretum knew that he was actually going to address him. "I am going to go and secure a place in the barracks before they fill up. I will meet you by the statue of Graka IV on the morrow. You may do as you please until then," he said authoritatively. Gretum didnít mind it, it was all part of the job of a squire. His role was that of assistant, and Karloís role was that of master. Karlo was the sword of the King, a Wall Knight, in the service of the kingdom, a subject to Graka XII who would willingly thrust his sword through his own breastplate in defense of the land. Gretum was the honorable squire.

Gretum fished in his satchel and withdrew a small satchel of personal items, and passed them to Karlo. He nodded politely to his Wall Knight, who turned and walked towards the barracks. Gretum then began lugging his large sack full of weapons and supplies over towards the statue of Graka IV.

The squires were congregating in small groups all throughout the courtyard. It was getting late, and the sun was beginning to set. Gretum pitched his belongings at the base if the statue, and sat down next to them. His legs graciously thanked him for the rest. Eventually, several squires set their things down next to Gretum, and joined him there. "Iím Gretum," he said to the young man nearest him.

This young man was scarcely older than Gretumís own son. He was spindly, with long blond hair tied pack in a pony tail, and pale freckles on an even paler face. His features were sharp and acute. Gretum wondered how he could manage to lug around the sack seated beside him, for it must have weighed nearly as much as he did. The young man shot him a brief, timid look and said, "Iím Ryp." Immediately, Gretum could tell that this young gentleman was fairly shy.

"Where are you from, Ryp?" Gretum asked, opening up one of the man satchels around his waist and pulling out a cylindrical smoking pipe.

Ryp continued to look off into the distance, as though he was completely disinterested in Gretum. "Iím from Yurist."

"Ahhh, from Yurist? Iíve been there. In the woods that divide the Northern Tribes from here, isnít that right?" Gretum said with genuine interest. He hadnít been very far west, and had never met anyone from the Northern Tribes. Granted, Yurist wasnít one of the Northern Tribes, but it was close enough.

Ryp didnít say anything after that, and since Ryp was going to play the part of the shy squire, Gretum realized he was going to have to play the part of the inquisitive squire. "I myself am from Trilus, not far from here."

Gretum began stuffing dried leaves from one of his satchels into the pipe he had produced. They were shen leaves, leaves that were thought to possess certain magical properties. Because of this, many people frowned upon casual use of the plant, but Gretum was not one of those people, and neither were most of the people in Trilus. In fact, it was thought that the shen leaves provided those who used them an insight and clarity of thinking that was otherwise unattainable. Gretum wasnít sure about any of that, but he did enjoy ending a long journey with a small amount of shen. And if this Wall Knight gathering was to be anything like past gatherings Gretum had attended, he wouldnít be the only one sucking on a shen pipe.

"Why do you think we are here, Ryp?"

There was silence, and Gretum thought for a moment that Ryp wasnít going to answer his question.

Ryp first shot him another brief, timid look. "I donít know," he said cautiously. Gretum again gave Ryp a moment to say something a little more interesting before he came at him with another question, but it didnít happen.

"Have you heard anything strange about the Northern Tribes?" Gretum said, inhaling deeply and letting the smoke fill his lungs. He closed his eyes briefly and enjoyed the initial taste of the shen inside of him. The first inhalation was the last one he would taste until the next day.

Ryp didnít shoot him a look before responding this time. He simply stared off at the darkening skyline, where the buildings were getting harder and harder to discern, and were all being replaced by small points of light at their peaks. Tredge was a beautiful city at night.

"I have heard that many people are dying," he said curtly. "I have heard that many people are dead."

"Iíve heard that as well," said someone on the other side of Ryp. He was a larger, older man than both Gretum and Ryp. He had long hair, tied into braids, with many ornaments decorating them. His hair was bright red. His complexion was tanned and leathery, and a beard as ornately decorated as his hair covered most of his face. Though Gretum couldnít see him very well, since he was sitting on another side of the statue, he already had him pegged for a very large man, the type of man that would wield a large weapon.

"Iíve heard that hundreds of people are dead. Iíve even heard that the Northern Tribes are no more. Perhaps it is true, and perhaps it is not. I do suspect, however, that we will find out soon enough." The man rose to his feet, and crept around the statue where Gretum could get a better look at him. He was indeed a large man, and just as Gretum suspected, he carried a large weapon. The axe that he carried easily weighed more than Ryp, but what was more impressive was the large sack, which weighed at least as much as the axe, that was slung over his shoulder in addition to the weapon. "I am Quon, from The Beth."

"I am Gretum, from Trilus, and this is Ryp, from Yurist."

"For a small suck upon that instrument of yours, I will gladly offer you a nugget of advice you and your friend shall soon thank me for," said Quon with a grin. Gretum grinned back at him, and lazily held the pipe up to the enormous man.

Quon from The Beth reached a mighty hamfist down and clutched the small pipe, and brought it up to his face and nestled it into a small orifice that was mostly concealed by his thick red facial hair. A moment later the pipe was withdrawn, and a cloud of smoke billowed out of his mouth and nostrils. He replaced the small cylinder in Gretumís hand, which in turn, replaced it in Gretumís mouth.

"The fires are about to be lit, and we should move to one of the firepits now," Quon said. "We donít want to be separated from our baggage, after all. There are enough squires here that I suspect it may become difficult to keep track of oneís belongings."

Gretum finished taking a final hit out of the pipe, and replaced it in his small satchel. "Youíre probably right," he said pathetically. Gretum didnít want to move his large sack again, but Quon was right. Leaving it here by the statue might be a bad idea. He only wished that Karlo had returned from the barracks to tell him where, exactly, he had been housed. After quickly surveying the plaza, and trying to identify Karlo out of the throngs of people that were mulling about, Gretum decided that there was no way in hell he was going to see him even if he was there, and he might as well just admit defeat and go over to one of the fire pits with this large gentleman from The Beth. He hefted the large sack up. Ryp, despite his apparent disinterest in everyone around him, rose up with them, and followed them to the nearest fire pit.

Moments later, great wagons full of firewood were wheeled out of small sheds located at the base of the outer wall, and parked near each of the fire pits. Squires began to unload the large logs, and stacking them into the center of each pit. This was a regular practice among the squires. Every time the Wall Knights were summoned to Tredge, the king presented the squires who camped on the plaza with a bounty of beasts to cook in the fire pits and kegs of ale. After all, most of them had come from very far away, and were in the mood for nothing else. Just as Gretum, Ryp, and Quon approached the brick-edged fire pit, large groups of squires began converging towards them, with their large sacks thrown over their backs. They had effectively beaten the rush.

The Wall Knights, on the other hand, were gathered into a chamber within the palace to eat dinner with the nobles and the King himself. That was where Karlo would probably wind up going, though he would have to do it without a change of underclothing, because Gretum had those items in the large sack that he was planning to sit atop around the fire. It was a very extravagant affair, or at least that was what Gretum and the other squires had been told. But none of them would trade the revelry and comradery that the squire festival on the plaza provided them.

The group of three took their places at the edge of the pit, throwing down their large sacks. Quom immediately began helping to unload wood from the cart, along with Gretum and several other squires who had already made their nest of packs and staked out their territory for the night. Once a large enough pile of wood had been stacked in the center of the fire pit, the shy and timid Ryp stepped forward, produced a small stick and lit the fire. There were many ways to produce fire, and every squire had that capability, but in a large enough group of squires, one of them tended to have a fire stick. A fire stick was a trinket imbued with a small amount of Possessor magic that enabled the user to start small fires. It wasnít potent enough to use as a weapon, but it was perfect for lighting up a ball of brush to get a fire going. Gretum was surprised that Ryp possessed a fire stick - they were quite expensive and hard to obtain. He concluded that the mysterious Ryp must be in the service of a rich Wall Knight.

Gretum sat on his pack, between Ryp and Quom from The Beth. "I wonder what variety of beast we will be burying our teeth into tonight," said Quom. "Tell me about your homeland, Gretum!" Quom had a natural jubilance and charisma about him that Gretum found quite appealing. Quom was a leader of men, someone whom others would fight for. He was clearly the type of squire who most likely rivaled his Wall Knight in fighting ability. His Wall Knight was probably a person of noble birth, someone who needed looking after.

"I am from Trilus, a small town north of here, near the North Wall. We are all farmers, mostly."

"Fairly good farmers, in my estimation, at least that is what the quality of your shen would seem to indicate," Quom said with a bright red grin. "So you are a farmer yourself, then?"

"Yes," Gretum responded. "Though I cannot claim to be responsible for the fine shen that you smoked, my family and I are responsible for some of the finest grain that has ever been grown in the land."

Quom nodded. "Excellent. There is no nobler way to spend oneís life than raising crops. The Beth is only good for growing one thing, and that is warriors. And there is far less use for warriors than grain." He paused a moment and gazed into the growing flames of the bonfire. "And I suppose that is a good thing, however my heart yearns for combat, and my soul yearns for the chaos that only war can bring."

Several cheers erupted from a few of the two dozen or so squires seated around the fire. They were obviously the same variety of squire as Quom was ñ warrior squires. "Killing a bandit on the Eastern Trail simply does not compare to killing a foe in the context of a battle fought in the name of the King," Quom continued. He now had the ear of everyone on his side of the bonfire. All of the warrior squires were nodding their heads in agreement. Even some of the pack-toting squires who had never held a sword in their life were with him.

Gretum still felt as though it was appropriate to speak to Quom specifically, despite the fact that it appeared he might stand up and begin addressing the crowd at large. "Tell me about The Beth, then," he said to Quom.

"The Beth! Thereís no finer place in all the land, my friend, though most wouldn't agree with me, I'm sure! Flat as a blade, and nothing but grass, everywhere you look! A place where you can see your enemy, and your enemy can see you..." Quom was getting fairly worked up, feeling the eyes on him, and responding. "However, lacking enemies to do battle with, I instead do battle with the earth. Possessors have us digging great pits in the earth for them, to mine the metals below, and that is what I do." Everyone around the fire nodded, thinking of their homeland.

There was a small eruption of activity behind the rows of people sitting around the growing flames of the fire. Several barrels of liquor were being tapped, and men were already lining up at the kegs to draw from them. Still no sign of the food, though, which left Gretum a little anxious. He was not really keen on drinking alcohol, and the sausage that he had consumed on the way into the city had not filled his belly very effectively. He was really looking forward to whatever it was that the King was going to feed them.

Someone passed Quom a leather mug full of ale, and he threw all of it back down his throat in one swift motion. "I do hope that the King has seen fit to honor his loyal squires with a bountiful feast this evening. I suppose that such a feast will only be as grand as the task that he asks of us."

Gretum pulled out his pipe and prepared to smoke some more shen. As he did so, he couldn't help but notice that Ryp was gazing into the fire with such intensity it looked as though he were going to explode. Gretum wondered how such a fellow could have become a squire, for he looked as though he wanted no business being a squire. He was small and spindly, though he had muscled his large pack over to the fire capably. But muscling a pack across a paved courtyard is nothing compared to wrestling a pack through the forest. But he was here, and certainly, his Wall Knight would not have taken him if he had not been useful in some way.

"Young Ryp, Ryp from Yurist, tell me about your homeland!" Quom said, apparently sensing the young lad's detachment from the group. This might be his first trip to Tredge, his first foray inside the gates of the palace of the King. Gretum was very much the same way his first time making camp with so many strangers from so many places. Nervous, awkward, worried about the others accepting him. Ryp would not have any trouble fitting in with a fellow like Quom around, that was for sure - he was a leader, someone who unified people.

Ryp pulled his focus away from the fire and looked up at Quom. "What?" he asked. Several of the men around the fire let out a bellow of laughter, along with Quom.

"Tell us about Yurist, for I doubt there is a single man from Yurist among us," Quom said.

"Lots of trees," he said meekly. "And lots of Possessors."

"And what do you do in life, aside from navigating your way through all of the trees and Possessors?" Quom said, prompting a good deal of laughter from the men once again.

"I make things," he said, nervously surveying the many men who were now focusing on him. "Trinkets and things."

"What sort of trinkets?" Gretum said, wishing to make the inquiry seem less like a malicious inquisition and more like a casual conversation, which it was. Ryp seemed the type of fellow who might easily confuse the two.

"Mostly... Charms and jewelry and other crafts for people to wear and use," Ryp said. He seemed to be growing more and more uncomfortable with the conversation.

Quom received another mug of ale from someone who obviously considered him a person worthy to run and get a mug of ale for, of which there were several gathered with them around the bonfire. "Are you a Possessor, then?" he asked.

There was silence. And more silence. For a moment, it seemed as though Ryp was not going to answer the question. Possessor squires were rare, but they certainly existed, just as warrior squires existed. Squires came from a wide variety of backgrounds, and it would not have been out of the ordinary if Ryp had been a Possessor. Indeed, it would explain many things, such as his frail build, and shyness.

Just as the silence became nearly unbearable, and right before the men were prepared to pick up the conversation and move on, Ryp answered Quom. "No," he said plainly. "I just make regular things."

Gretum exchanged glances with a couple of other men around the fire. Ryp was a very strange fellow, it was clear. No one was quite sure what to make of him. He was an odd fish, not like anyone most of the squires had ever seen. At this point in the conversation, no one quite knew what to do with it, except move on.

Quom continued to lead the conversation around the fire, eventually rousing everyone to sing a version of the King's Chant, an ancient battle song that everyone tended to know. A cart was wheeled out with several fresh-killed goats, and spits were assembled over each of the fire pits. The goats were cooked, and the appetites of everyone there was satiated. More ale was consumed, and more shen was smoked, and more songs were sung, until the sun went down, and it grew dark. As it grew dark, the conversation became more subtle and quiet.

Gretum found himself sharing a final pipe full of shen with Quom, who seemed ready to relax for the first time since Gretum had met him. Many of the men were already asleep on the ground, with their heads resting on their bags. The fire was not the raging inferno that it once was, and instead it was establishing a very mystical atmosphere, along with the stars glowing above.

Despite the comradery, and the food, and the shen, Gretum still couldn't help but run through all of the possible reasons for them being assembled. He was surprised that it hadn't come up while everyone was drinking and eating. It seemed to be a question on the tip of everyone's tongue, because of the sheer amount of Wall Knights that had been summoned.

Several years ago, a group about a quarter the size of the current one was brought together, and they had been dispatched to retake a small town overrun by rogues on the Eastern Trail. The combat had been light - the rogues were no match for a trained group of warriors. They had spent most of the time cleaning up the mess, burying the dead, and rebuilding the town. This many Wall Knights - perhaps five thousand of them, at least - were enough of a force to overtake a large city, or even wipe out an army. There were far more than Gretum had ever seen at any sort of event, such as the harvest, or the Grakan Festival. That, accompanied by the fact that there didn't seem to be any particular reason for celebration, pretty much ruled out any kind of pageantry. The only logical reason this many Wall Knights would be here at the capital now would be to engage an enemy as powerful any the world had seen since the Rogue Wizards.

"Why do you really think we're here?" Gretum asked Quom after lighting up the pipe and sucking down the pungent smoke. Quom hadn't addressed that question since they had first spoken.

Quom took the pipe, and after placing it briefly to his mouth, between his thick whiskers, exhaled a cloud of smoke over the fire. "I expect that we will be dispatched to fight the enemy," he answered. That was perhaps the most brief response Quom had given to a question that entire evening.

"Who is the enemy?" Gretum quickly came back at Quom.

"Someone who is in the vicinity of the Northern Tribes," Quom came back at Gretum, just as swiftly. He returned the pipe to Gretum.

"Rogues?" he said before taking another hit.

Quom did not respond as quickly this time, and received the pipe and took another hit before speaking. "I know of no band of rogues powerful enough to take hold of an entire town, least of all one of the towns of the Northern Tribes, let alone all of them. I've been told by many that the Northern Tribes sport some of the greatest warriors in the land. Iíve also been told that their Possessor magic is unparalleled. If they have been conquered, then I expect we will face a worthy enemy."

There was a brief silence between them. Quom appeared to be deep in thought. "There are two possibilities, in my estimation. The enemy is either an army seeking to wrest political control away from the King. Men, like you and I, who simply give their allegience to another. If this is the case, than I do not fear them. I have killed all sorts of men, and though I acknowledge that I am not the strongest or most agile in the land, I do believe that our Wall Knights will have victory over any other army they might face."

"What is the other possibility?"

"That we are not dealing with men at all. That we are dealing with beasts, or something akin to beasts. Something unknown and mysterious. Like the Rogue Wizards, or worse. Creatures emerged from mythology to destroy us. This is what I fear, Gretum, and little more."

Gretum didnít say anything after that. He just looked at the dwindling fire and thought of his son, Segrum, who was north of Tredge. He thought of his wife. And he thought of everything that he had been told about the war against the Rogue Wizards. The atrocities that had taken place during that time were unspeakable, and it was difficult to frame them as events that actually took place on the very soil that Gretum stood on, in the very land that Gretum made his home. It was said that so many people were killed, that even now there were still less people populating the land than there were before the war. That might have been difficult to believe, but so were most of the stories that came out of the war.

If the Northern Tribes had been sacked a few days earlier, and the enemy was making their way to the capital, they could be at the outskirts of the city within a week. This fact occurred to Gretum as the pipe returned to him. A quick inhalation, and a deep exhalation. "They could already be in Yurist," he said quietly, looking to his right. Ryp appeared to be asleep there, his head on his sack, his neck awkwardly bent in a position that would surely give him an ache the next day.

"This is true," Quom said, also looking at young Ryp. "But it is unwise to think of such things, Gretum. All will be revealed to us in time, and we will meet the enemy eventually. When and where we meet the enemy, and what happens between now and then is irrelevant."

They both sat there around the fire for the rest of the night, smoking the shen pipe and staring into the fire, wondering where they would be bound the next day. Or if they would be bound anywhere at all. Perhaps there was nothing at all wrong ñ perhaps this was simply a rare, impromptu gathering of Wall Knights in celebration of something or other. Perhaps the rumors about the Northern Tribes were all false secondhand accounts of some minor occurrence. Perhaps a farmer had been eaten by a yerta in the woods one day, and the story had been passed on throughout the land until it had been completely bastardized into the freakish mutated tale it had become. For if the harsh realities that the tale implied could scare an immense warrior from The Beth, it certainly would bring the kingdom to its knees.

All of the squires awoke the next morning. It was a bit of a chore for most of them, what with all of the food and ale and shen that had been present the night before. Gretum was packed and ready to go, as he always was, by the time the sun had crept above the horizon. Ryp was similarly prepared, and didn't seem to be suffering any ill-effects from his ridiculous sleeping position. Quom, on the other hand, was fast asleep, even by the time Karlo had arrived at the statue of Graka IV. Gretum hefted the pack over his shoulder, and began striding towards the statue. He waved to Karlo, who was fishing through the throngs of people with his eyes, looking for his loyal squire.

"Karlo!" Gretum shouted, steadily plodding towards the statue. Karlo finally noticed him, and stopped scanning the masses of squires and Wall Knights. The stern and impassive look of the Wall Knight returned to his face.

"How went your evening, Karlo?" Gretum asked him after he drew up close. Karlo was already dressed in his armor and uniform, ready for both battle and celebration. Gretum wondered which it would be for them this morning.

Karlo passed the small satchel of personal items back to Gretum, who in turn placed them back into the large sack. "The evening went well. We were treated to the finest meal weíve ever been treated to. The King passed through every dining chamber, and welcomed us all to Tredge, and proclaimed that there were more Wall Knights in Tredge than there ever have been."

Gretum could not hold himself back from asking the obvious question, the obvious query that was on the tip of everyoneís tongue. "Did he say why we are here?"

"The King claimed that we would all be briefed on this morning," Karlo said. "We are to assemble in this courtyard in the next hour, and he will address us." That was all he was going to say on the matter, and most likely, he had already revealed everything about last night that he was going to reveal.

In the next couple of moments, Wall Knights spilled out of the rows of barracks near the entrance of the palace grounds. In response to this, hundreds of squires pulled themselves out of their deep slumber and quickly clamored about their camp, gathering things together and readying themselves for whatever their particular Wall Knight had in store for them. Gretum saw Quom quickly whip into action as an aristocratic looking Wall Knight no larger than Gretum approached him. Clearly a noble, probably someone from the city who represented The Beth, and who clearly would not fare well in an armed conflict without the service of Quom. Ryp, on the other hand, began polishing the armor of a large warrior Wall Knight, a true Wall Knight. To each his own.

Slowly but surely, the chaotic mass of people began to order themselves in preparation of the Kingís address. Thousands of Wall Knights populated the courtyard, in a broad quarter-circle around the corner of the inner palace wall, between that wall and the outer wall. At the point of the inner wall, an ornate wooden structure had been wheeled out, a structure that was obviously intended to be a speaking platform for the King. The people oriented themselves towards this podium. Gretum and Karlo found themselves near the back of the quarter circle, near the statue of Graka IV. Quom and his Wall Knight happened to be just a couple of yards away, as well as Ryp, though it was of little importance, since fraternization with anyone aside from Wall Knights was pretty much implicitly prohibited. Even the Wall Knights were refraining from talking to one another, as the ordering maneuver reached completion, and the rows of fancily dressed courtiers began to assemble near the podium, signifying the immediate arrival of the King.

There was an intensity in the air that had not been felt by any of those present in all of their years as Wall Knights and squires. Never before had such uncertainty, and such a foreboding atmosphere taken hold of everyone. The last time the King had addressed an assembly of Wall Knights, the attendance had been less than half of what it was that morning. They had been assembled to quell a small band of rogues in the region of the East Wall, a task that could have been accomplished effectively with perhaps a dozen Wall Knights. But this was far different. Gretum didnít have the whole story, but he had never heard such a cohesive variety of hypotheses. Everyone had to see that something was gravely wrong. The mere fact that the King was addressing them in the morning, as though they were to move out immediately, was scary enough as it was, independent of any of the rumors that Gretum had heard throughout the previous night.

Two large iron gates off to one side of the podium creaked open loudly, and the sound rendered the crowd of people completely silent. Several thousand soldiers stood there, respectfully, as a man in a brilliant blue robe was ushered out to the courtyard. Two large Wall Knights flanked him on either side, and matched his pace seamlessly. The man surveyed the rows and columns, glossing over them as he swept his glance from one side of the sea of soldiers to the other, just before he began to ascend the stairs of the podium. There, his Wall Knights were relieved, and each took a place on either side of the podium, each holding a pike erect between their hands.

King Graka XII. Entrusted Expellor of Evil. Typhonic Protector. Captain of the Knights of the Wall. Keeper of the Chasm. He possessed hundreds of titles that had been collected by his ancestors so long ago, during the war against the Rogue Wizards, all of which explicitly called for his assistance in the event of trouble.

Graka XII stood before the thousands of Wall Knights with a confidence that was overpowering, He was a short but stout man, and looked to be someone who might hold his own in combat. There were twin swords buckled around him, both of them a shimmering blue, the same color as Wall Knight armor. In many ways, he resembled all of the men that he was speaking to, except for the blue jeweled crown atop his head. The men would do anything for their King, as had been the case with the Wall Knights ever since the beginning. And so they waited for their King to speak, and command them, and lead them to whatever Grakan glory awaited them.

"When I was a child, I often asked my father about what the war against the Rogue Wizards was like. Like all of our fathers, my father was not alive during that time. But he told me what his father had told him, and his father before him had told him, and so on. He said, ëWar is something that one hopes to leave behind quickly.í This is something that rings true even in our day, when war is nothing but a distant memory. Though we may celebrate that war, we only celebrate it because it is over.

"It is in this tradition that I have called all of you together here today. You have all pledged yourselves to me, just as I have pledged myself to the people of this land. A danger faces all of us. The prospect of war looms, and threatens to envelope the entire land. Just as Graka I did over a hundred years ago, I will do now. I will dispatch my Wall Knights out to defend the people, and to provide a united front against evil and tyranny. I send my Wall Knights out to do the most noble of deeds - prevent a war.

"Several runners from the Northern Tribes brought to me some disturbing information. The small town of ?????? was overrun, and all of the citizens were killed. The town of ?????2 was being attacked by an unknown group of invaders when the runner took flight, and later that night, ?????3 came under attack, and dispatched another runner. So far, we know of fifteen townships that have come under attack, all of them within the Northern Tribes.

"The Northern Tribes have already begun to assemble a force of warriors that will defend ?????4 <city right next to the forest>. We will meet them there, and then proceed to hunt down and destroy this unknown enemy. We will not allow another war to interrupt our peaceful lives, and our own personal pursuits. We will not allow our citizensí lives to again be forfeit in vain. The events of the war against the Rogue Wizards will not repeat themselves, because we will immediately provide a united front against the enemy.

"I now implore you to go, with the spirit of righteousness and solidarity at your side, go to the Northern Tribes and defend the honor of the land. I go with you, not only as a sovereign, but as a brother, to fight with you, and to die with you, and to insure that these invaders learn of our unity, and perish at the hands of it."

With that, Graka XII received an uproarious response from the crowd, the traditionally solemn Wall Knights giving way to the sheer euphoric emotion that the King had delivered to them. Swords were thrust into the air, and men growled at the top of their lungs, and both squire and Wall Knight alike embraced one another in anticipation and celebration of the coming victory. The glory that had eluded generations of Wall Knights was soon to be had once again, against a worthy foe, in defense of the land, with the King by their side.

Gretum could hardly contain excitement. Though considered fairly unflappable by most who knew him, as the King walked off the podium, he found himself whooping and hollering along with the other several thousand men gathered in the plaza. He suddenly found himself wishing that he had a sword, or some other weapon that he could triumphantly wave around in the air. But he had to content himself to vicariously enjoying Karloís triumphant weapon-waving, just like most of the other squires. The chaos of that one moment seemed to last forever, as the king was again joined by his personal guards, and ushered back through the inner gates of the palace. The furor continued as a Wall Knight rose to the podium, a fairly decorated Wall Knight with several sashes of nobility around his neck, and nearly a dozen pins of valor upon them.

This was Captain Exel, the actual hierarchical leader of the Wall Knights. They had all seen him before, for it was he who led them into battle against the rogues and thieves and highwaymen that they had engaged in the past. He enjoyed both the favor of the noble-class of Wall Knights, for he was indeed a noble, and the warrior-class of Wall Knights, for he was indeed a warrior. "My brothers, we are now poised to write our own chapter in the history of the land, and instead of a chapter of bloodshed, we will write a chapter of victory. We will destroy these invaders, my brothers, and show everyone in the land that we will not tolerate warlike activity, and we will not tolerate those who seek to uproot us from the peace we all know.

"We will begin marching as soon as possible, men, so please find your officer, and he will have instructions for you," Exel said.

He returned to the base of the podium, and began speaking with a group of ten or fifteen other highly-decorated Wall Knights. They were the Supreme Order, the highest-ranking Wall Knights, the small group that basically made all of the decisions on the battlefield. Gretum had only seen a couple of them before, because only one of them had been required for the small operations that he had been a part of. Each of them commanded approximately two-hundred Wall Knights, an Order. Those Orders of two-hundred Wall Knights were in turn commanded by about ten officers, who worked with their Supreme Order officer.

Karlo and Gretum began looking around for Vistuk, their Officer. Vistuk was a fairly old man, a Wall Knight for most of his life, and a noble for a small portion of his life due to a marriage in his favor. He was a warrior and a strong man, a man whom all of the Wall Knights in his Order respected. It occurred to Gretum that they might not find Vistuk, if he had stepped down from his post, which was not outside the bounds of reality given his age. If that was the case, they might have some difficulty organizing themselves ñ they would have to find other people from within the Order and see if they knew who currently commanded the Sub Order that was once commanded by Vistuk. Gretum hoped that wasnít the case, not only because he didnít want to deal with that eventuality, but also because he trusted Vistuk, and respected him. There were few other men that Gretum felt comfortable taking orders from, and on the eve of perhaps their most important battle, he wanted Vistuk in charge.

The buzz of the crowd was quite loud, almost intolerably so, but through it all, Gretum and Karlo both heard a voice. "Karlo Westjan, Northern Civilian Order, Second Class, out of Trilus," the voice said. It was the unmistakable raspy bass of Vistukís voice. Karlo and Gretum both turned to see the old man, who was at least in his seventies. He was as tall as Karlo, though he had been much taller years ago. He had a long gray beard, and long gray hair and eyes to match. He looked like someone who could pass for a king, especially when he was wearing his Wall Knight armor.

Karlo immediately embraced his Officer of over ten years, whom he had not seen in almost a year. Gretum then shook his hand. "Good to see you, Vistuk," Karlo said, reverting to the polite stand-offishness of a Wall Knight. "I was worried you had been replaced."

"The allure of being a Wall Knight has not worn off on me yet, Karlo. Where are the rest?" he asked.

"I have not seen any of them yet, sir," Karlo said to his superior. "We could be organizing ourselves for a while. Iíve never seen this many Wall Knights before."

"There have never been this many Wall Knights assembled before. But we will organize quickly. See? The Supreme Officers are going to organize all of the Orders, and then within them we will organize the Sub Orders. I estimate it will take an hour," Vistuk said confidently. He finally looked to Gretum. "Tell me, Gretum, how goes the harvest?"

Gretum enjoyed talking with Vistuk. There were very few Wall Knights who would address squires that were not their own, let alone Wall Knight Officers. He was an excellent man, a fine leader, and Gretum had as much allegiance to Vistuk as he did Karlo. "Though it is a month away, I foresee it being bountiful," Gretum responded. "Where is Tella?"

Tella was squire to Vistuk, and someone that Gretum had traditionally spent his free time with while they were deployed. Tella was a female, one of perhaps a couple dozen in the entirety of the squire population. She was a lot like Gretum ñ well educated, shen smoker, and a farmer. She was like an older sister to him.

"Tella is helping to arrange our rations in Yurist. That will be our first waypoint, where we will collect some food, and then make our way through the forest. A lot of the Officer squires are there preparing supplies for us," said Vistuk.

"Well, then, let us make preparations for the journey," Gretum said to Vistuk. He couldnít believe that they were going to Yurist. It was a logical place to break camp, since it was almost right between Tredge and the Northern Tribes. The fact that it was the hometown of the mysterious Ryp was the interesting.

Large groups of people moved back and forth across the courtyard, organizing themselves and slowly creating order out of chaos. Vistuk, Karlo and Gretum were eventually joined by several other Wall Knights and squires. Vistuk collected all of the twenty-three people in his Sub Order that he could find, while the Supreme Officer of the Northern Civilian Order attempted to gather together all the three-hundred and fifty people in his Order. Though it seemed like nothing more than thousands of people mulling about randomly, eventually progress was evident. Most of the people in Gretumís general vicinity were all in the Northern Civilian Order, and most of Vistukís Sub Order had been gathered together.

"All right, is everyone here?" Vistuk said loudly to the crowd, looking at all the faces, and trying to eyeball the attendance. He then read through a list of everyone within the Sub Order, and verified that everyone was there. The last name on the list was of particular interest to Gretum.

"Craen Brust, Third Class, out of Yurist," Vistuk said, reading down the list mechanically. A hand was raised in the back of the assembly, and Gretum couldnít quite see who it was. There couldnít be more than a few Wall Knights from Yurist. Gretum crept around a few people, and verified what he suspected. Craen Brust was the Wall Knight who happened to have a young and timid squire named Ryp.

Gretum held off on approaching young Ryp and talking to him about the interesting coincidence. There would be plenty of time to do that on the road. The journey would probably take about two or three days, depending upon how hard the Officers pushed the men. He could pick Rypís brain the entire time if he wanted, since his only obligation on such a journey would be to transport his pack and keep all of the gear in good condition. It would also be interesting to see how the frail young man managed to heft the pack of a Wall Knight through the forest. He had carried it all the way to Tredge, so he must be able to carry it all back.

"Okay, men, settle down, Iíve got some things to say," Vistuk said, waiting for the men to get silent. Everyone was there, so they were basically ready to move out. "Weíve got our orders. We are to proceed directly to Yurist, in the Northern Forest. There, we will pick up rations and move out towards the Northern Tribes. We will track down the enemy, and engage them, and destroy them, in that order.

"I donít know what we are facing, men, but as the King said, it could be anything. But weíve taken out groups of as many as fifty rogues without a casualty, and I donít see us being at a disadvantage against any enemy. So, I donít want any loose talk, I donít want any gossip, and I donít want any pessimism," Vistuk said loudly and firmly, like a leader should speak. "Iím speaking to you squires, tooÖ"

"So, letís move out. We donít need to wait for anyone, we can just leave, so make you way through the crowd, and we will regroup at the edge of the city. Go!"

With that, everyone began to move out, quickly. Most of the other groups were still being assembled, so they had to work their way through the crowds of people to even get in the clear. When they did, it was easy going. They went through the outer gates, and were ushered suddenly into the city. It was a regular day in the city of Tredge ñ and thick blobs of people were mulling about. It was almost no easier to move through the city than it was to move through the thousands of soldiers trying to organize themselves. It was slow.

Gretum spent his time thinking about what they would face. He was a little bit nervous about their mission. Danger was something that he had implicitly had to accept when he became a squire. It was part of the job. But they had never engaged in anything resembling actual warfare. They had never faced an enemy that they were not certain would be overcome. And that was the difference in this case ñ at least, for Gretum. He couldnít be sure of the attitude that the Wall Knights held. Karlo seemed confident enough. He even seemed a little more animated and content that they were heading off to battle against an unknown foe. But most of the squires were a little wary. Gretum wanted to discuss the questions and uncertainties that he had, but because of what Vistuk had said, he refrained.

The group of Wall Knights and squires was at the edge of the city before the sun had reached its peak, and it seemed that it took a lot less time to emerge from the city than it did to enter it. And so, they found themselves moving through the grain fields that encircled the city. Twenty-three Wall Knights in majestic blue armor, each carrying majestic blue swords on their belts, and each wearing a majestic blue helmet. At this point, Gretum found his romantic side returning to him once again, through the fear, and he found himself thinking of things to write, as he did when he was young.

Years ago, when he was a simple farmer in a small town in the middle of nowhere, it struck him that he wanted more out of his life. He did not wish to be some mythical hero who completes a great quest, like those that were written about in the Tales of the War. He did not even wish to be someone who necessarily became fabulously successful in any way. He simply wanted to do something more than most people did. He did not want to be like the dozen other farmers in his town. He did not want to die, and leave absolutely no trace of his existence in the world when he passed.

His parents had educated him, just as he educated his own son. He could perform mathematics, and he could read and write, and that was already more than most people in the land could claim. Gretum began writing about his town. He would write stories about his farm, stories about his child, and stories about his friends. But there came a time when those stories all became meaningless. He would read through the wonderful books and stories that had been written, particularly those that had been written during the war against the Rogue Wizards, and he immediately knew what he had to do. He had to write about the world ñ he had to write about something more important than his farm, more important than his town. It was during this period that Gretum decided to become a squire. The opportunity arose when Karlo Westjanís previous squire, Guerra, became ill and could no longer perform his duties. Gretum immediately took the position, after demonstrating his ability to carry a pack for several miles without tiring. He was in good shape then, and still was, so it was not a problem.

Ever since then, he had carried with him a magical writing utensil that he had purchased in Tredge for a sizeable sum, and paper, which he made himself. He wrote down things that were on his mind, at night, as he sat by the fire. The first time he came to Tredge, he filled every single piece of paper that he had with his scrawlings, and he had to purchase more the next morning to satisfy his need to record his thoughts. He had written volumes about Tredge, mostly accounts of his visits there, but also pseudo-fictional stories that satisfied his need to be a little creative. He also wrote about the other places that they had traveled, and what they did there. He wrote about people they had met, and the interesting things that they had seen. Karlo also asked Gretum, on several occassions when the two were sharing some ale, if he would write a story about him one day after he was gone so that people would remember him. Though he would never speak of it outside of that context, Gretum knew that he meant it, that he longed for the immortality that only a biography could give him.

Though he found many of the thoughts he was having melodramatic, at best, he did feel a certain excitement. He felt as though he was embarking upon a mission that would decide the fate of the world. He felt as though he would tell the definitive story of their triumph. He hadnít had those feelings since the beginning. He began compiling a story in his mind as they walked along the trail, paced vigorously by Vistuk. He was to drawn inward that he scarcely spoke a word for the better part of the day.

Eventually, he spotted Ryp hovering towards him while they walked, his massive pack awkwardly hovering above his center of mass, somehow failing to topple off of him. Gretum wandered a little closer to the young man.

"Young Ryp, it appears that weíre going to be spending a little more time together," Gretum said, turning his head towards him briefly, as they continued down the path, in line with the rest of the men.

"Yes," he said, demonstrating his absolute inability to carry on a conversation without the other person having to perform painful and frustrating verbal surgery on him. Gretum was unphased, however, and feeling rather tenacious.

"Well, Ryp, it also appears that you will be able to briefly return to your hometown before we approach the enemy," Gretum said, hoping that he hadnít touched some sort of nerve. Ryp didnít look any more worried about the situation than he did the previous night. Gretum still calculated a slight possibility that the enemy might indeed be waiting for them in Yurist, but the King probably wouldnít have had Yurist be their first waypoint if there was a chance the enemy would be there. Ryp probably figured that, too, so Gretum figured he could address the topic of his hometown.

"Yes," Ryp replied again.

"Tell me about your Wall Knight," Gretum said, offering up a question that there was no yes or no answer to. Definitely a challenge for young Ryp - something that might force him to actually construct a response longer than one word.

"Craen? Craen is a boxer," Ryp replied, almost looking interested in conversation for the first time since Gretum had met the small fellow.

"A boxer? Fist fighter?" Gretum asked, yanking out his shen pipe as he walked. There was something about burgeoning conversations that made Gretum feel like smoking shen.

"Yeah, fist fighter. Heís beaten everyone in the woods. Thatís why he wanted to be a Wall Knight."

"He looks young. As do you, young Ryp. How long has he been a Wall Knight, and how did you come to be a squire?" Gretum asked, before taking in a massive amount of shen smoke.

"Heís been a Wall Knight for a year. Heís my brother, so I went with him," Ryp said, looking at his feet while he walked. Gretum almost let out a loud, bellowing laugh.

"Your brother!" he said loudly. "Hah! Youíre a squire for your brother! Thatís just fascinating!" Gretum said, happy that he had found yet another nugget for his writings that evening. Ryp did look a little like Craen, but only in the face. They both possessed very sharp and angular features. But for the most part, Ryp did not resemble his brother at all. He was short and skinny, while Craen was tall and burly. He couldnít have been much older than Ryp, but there was no way such a discrepancy in their size could possibly be made up for.

"Yup," Ryp said calmly.

Gretum smiled, returning to his shen after his mild outburst. "So, what did you do in Yurist?"

"I just made things," Ryp said, returning to brief, cryptic statements once again. Gretum recalled the strange veiled answers Ryp tended to give when questioned about making things, so he didnít even bother to pursue it again.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Well, what did your parents do?"

Ryp stalled a moment, actually stopping. "My parents are dead," he said. Gretum stopped along with him. Then he started walking again abruptly, and Gretum followed. He cringed at having brought up something seemingly inappropriate. It seemed like there was just no talking to this young boy ñ every single route one attempted to take in talking to him seemed to end in disaster.

"Oh," Gretum said, as they continued walking.

That was the last Gretum spoke to Ryp that afternoon. He immersed himself again in his romantic pursuits, envisioning a storyline in his head and revelling in it. They were approaching the forest, and the green against the blue skyline was simply amazing. It was a massive blob of greenery, and as they approached it, it seemed to begin to wrap itself around them. By the time they reached the subtle edge of the forest, it was in practically all directions. A moment later, the trees were overhead, and the sunlight was occluded, and the mysterious environment of the forest dominated everything.

It had already been getting dark when they reached the entrance to the great Northern Forest, and it almost became impassably dark as they entered. Vistuk did not tell them to stop, though, so they did not stop ñ they kept going, even as a few of the men began to misstep, and a few of the squires began to complain amongst themselves. Gretum was not among them, and neither was Ryp ñ they quietly continued on, even though their limbs were growing numb with exhaustion. The Sub Order hiked a few more miles into the forest, and Vistuk finally gave the order for everyone to stop and break camp in a small clearing, where the trees loosened their grip on the trail.

Gretum immediately layed down his sack and sat a moment, enjoying the pleasant feel that swept through all of his muscles as he finally ceased using them. Ryp positioned his pack next to his. Craen sat down next to him on the ground. Karlo was talking to Vistuk and a couple other Wall Knights. A few of the other squires joined them, forming a circle. Eventually, a few groups of squires ventured into the forest and returned with foraged wood, and built a fire in the center of the small circle.

Gretum pulled out a couple of wrapped meats, and roasted them on the end of a stick in the fire. Once they were finished cooking, he passed one to Karlo, who briefly thanked him and returned to his conversation. Gretum then wolfed down his portion, and quickly pulled out a sheet of paper from his sack. After blurting out a couple of lines of writing, a brief synopsis of the dayís adventure, he produced his shen pipe for the last time that night. He then settled into a sedate, impassive state, gazing into the fire, as out-of-context fragments from three different conversations floated in and out of his mind. A moment later, it seemed, everyone was asleep, except for young Craen, who was still crouching by the fire. Gretum suddenly found himself completely awake and aware, and he pulled himself up.