PROLOGUE
King Zenerth’s boots clapped on the hard stone floor as he paced about the room. The sweat made an echoing ‘pit-pat’ noise as it fell from his brow to the stone. Occasionally, his right hand reached up to his head, his thumb massaging his right temple and his index finger massaging his left temple. His hard face showed his age and wisdom through a complex series of lines, or what many others would call wrinkles. The roots of his once dark black hair were beginning to grow gray. He was dressed rather unfitting for one of his caliber, with just his small clothes and a red cape. His shirt was darkened with nervous, icy sweat. If one were able to see him there, pacing back and forth in his throne room, they’d conclude, without a doubt, he was troubled. They’d be right.
It had been at least a month since civil war had erupted in his country, and only two weeks since Mallintire, the country that bordered Zenerth, had officially declared war on Zenerth as well. As it turns out, the civil war wasn’t actually a civil war at all, but rather Mallintire attacking Zenerth. The King was replaying all the events that had led up to the civil war in his mind, and he concluded that the termination of his previous advisor was the source of the problem.
King Zenerth fired his advisor exactly two months, one week and three days ago. Zenerth speculated that, out of spite, his previous advisor was able to rally the people against him. Balzac, his previous advisor, never liked the King much anyway. One could say it was a mutual relationship, Zenerth hated Balzac, just as Balzac hated Zenerth.
After Balzac was terminated, people began to riot in the cities. At first, there wasn’t much violence, certainly not enough to warrant military action. The ‘major’ riots were mostly noisy, with only a few innocent citizens receiving minor injuries at the hands of intoxicated rioters. However, this all changed when one rioter killed a soldier.
The riot had taken place in Jindark, the capital of the country, the location of the castle. Citizens with signs that read "Reinstate Balzac Methados", pitchforks, torches, and extremely loud voices marched straight up to the castle gates. After twenty minutes of rioting, the soldiers that were out on town-duty returned to the castle. They tried to stop the riot peacefully, but this failed. They drew their blades, and a fight erupted. It wasn’t until one soldier and ten commoners lost their lives that the fight stopped, and rioting subsided.
After that incident, King Zenerth long struggled with the idea of civil war. Rumors came of Balzac Methados allying with Mallintire, and receiving military support. It was clear that if the rumors were indeed true, Balzac intended to start a coup. After three days of intense debate between King Zenerth and his two new advisors, it was agreed that civil war had indeed been started, and military action should be taken.
The new advisors were a big mystery to everyone, including King Zenerth. They were always seen together, clad in black cloaks, with their hoods drawn up so their faces were shrouded in shadow. The stoic men never raised their voices or became emotional. It was eerie to be in the same room with them, you had a feeling that they were other-worldly. However, Zenerth’s most trusted and well accomplished General, Raffza Itchel, had recommended them, so the King almost blindly followed them.
Soon after King Zenerth had announced the use of military action to stop the riots, a mysterious unit of soldiers attacked a town in Zenerth, near the border. Highly trained and most likely professional, they swiftly occupied it, and began to set up crude encampments. Zenerth’s military advisors, who referred to themselves as Hunter and Ashtar, speculated that it was Balzac’s army on the move. Their speculations were confirmed within the week, and they suggested that a swift, decisive and covert military strike be put in effect to reclaim the town.
This marked the first official day of what was then believed to be civil war. Military action was indeed taken, and the city was reclaimed in the name of Zenerth. All seemed to be well, for a while. Two weeks passed without another incident. However, on the second day of the second week after the reoccupation of the town, Dragil, contact with the unit was lost. It was assumed that Balzac’s forces had struck again, and the King, with his advisors, began to work on a more effective plan of occupying Dragil.
After another two weeks of hot, sweaty debates and heightened tensions, a plan was finally decided upon: Lans Lagi, accomplished swordsman and head of the First Knighthood would take twenty of his most skilled men into the heart of the border, and re-occupy Dragil by any means necessary. At the same time the plan was finalized, Mallintire declared war upon Zenerth. A letter from Balzac validated both this, and the King’s speculation that Balzac had conspired with Mallintire to start a coup.
That brings events up to now; Zenerth pacing back and forth in his increasingly warm throne room. He was expecting two things, a visit from Raffza Itchel and a final briefing with Lans Lagi. He was nervous, his perspiration icy as a draft blew in from an open window. A visit from Raffza Itchel could only mean one thing; the General was up to something. Judging from prior experiences, the King didn’t like the prospect of Raffza planning something.
Zenerth heard a loud, obnoxious creaking noise off to his left, and turned to face it. A large draft of air blew in from the chamber’s opening doors, chilling Zenerth’s face to the marrow. A silhouette of a man could be seen in the slowly opening doorway. As the silhouette moved out of the shadow of the massive doors and into the light of Zenerth’s chamber, the King sighed.
It was Raffza Itchel, as the King had suspected. Oddly, Raffza was clad in his gleaming golden battle armor. He stood at an even six feet tall. His eyes were like piercing blue daggers, and his facial hair was grizzly and dark. He had short, messy hair that looked like it could use a wash. His dark blue cape fluttered in another draft as the chamber doors swung slowly closed.
"Well, I fear I know you too well, Raffza. Out with it."
"Out with what, sire?" Raffza smirked as the words came out of his mouth, and he bowed slightly. "Do you think that I have something up my sleeve? Something bold, and daring? Why, I’m shocked, sire!" His smirk increased, and a strange glint was in his eyes. He looked guilty as sin.
"Do not play games with your King as if he were a twelve year old boy, General!" The Kings voice was harsh, loud, and pierced Raffza’s ears. Zenerth meant business, and obviously wasn’t in a playful mood. "Tell me what ‘bold and daring’ plan you have, or I’ll have you temporarily stripped of your rank and forced to spend a week within city limits. I’ve not the time to stand here and play mind games with a childish General. You have five minutes."
At this, Raffza’s smirk faded, and he straightened his shoulders, saluting his King. "Sir, forgive me. Let me get to the point... Don’t you think it’s odd that the enemy attacks Dragil so adamantly, though it’s just a small town of no importance? What is the advantage of having Dragil in their grasp? Well, I’ve been mulling over these very questions for quite a time now, and I’ve drawn only one conclusion: The enemy plans to take Shoom’locke!"
Shoom’locke was a Zenerthin fort-town, which was well prepared for a war. However, the problem lay within manpower; at the current time, there simply wasn’t enough of it. The fort was vaguely square if viewed from above, with a twenty foot high stone wall encasing it. The wall was built so that archers could climb up stairs from behind any side, and shoot down upon invaders. At the corners were large watch towers, which were full of weapons and armor alike. Within the walls was the town, which was a major supplier of food and tools for the military. If Mallintire took Shoom’locke, the Zenerthin military would be crippled.
After a long while later, nearly a full three minutes, the king looked down solemnly and sighed. "I suppose that you are right," he said, looking up. "However, you and I both know that we can’t spare the men; they are needed elsewhere to control the riots. The safety of the people comes first."
Raffza chuckled, and scratched his grizzly facial hair. " ‘Safety of the people’, you say. Hah! If you were really concerned about the safety of the people, you’d give me men enough to protect Shoom’locke! For, if Shoom’locke were taken, all would be lost. Our main source of supplies would be cut off, and we’d be in quite a jam. You know this. And, even if we did take just a few men from each town, the riots wouldn’t increase very greatly. At least not as much as if there were no men at all, which is exactly what would happen should Shoom’locke fall!"
The King sighed again, and turned around, facing his throne. He looked up, though, staring out one of the windows, watching the sunrise. He had forgotten that he hadn’t slept yet, and he was getting very tired. "Very well, Raffza," he said, waving his right arm. "You have the permission to take as many men you see fit. But, you must realize that you may not come back again, as I suspect that attacking Dragil was just a decoy so that the enemy could lure us wayward, clearing a straight path to Shoom’locke."
After what seemed an eternity of silence, Raffza let out a chuckle. "Yes, you’re quite right... I may not come back. But that won’t stop me from trying to protect my country to the last." Raffza turned on his heel, his boots clapping on the stone floor as he walked out the door.
Zenerth stood there for a time, watching the sunrise, until he heard the sound of footsteps on stone approaching. It was Lans Lagi, he assumed. Turning around, he found his assumption to be dead on. "Greetings, Sir Lagi."
"My liege," Lans said with a bow. "It is an honor." Lans was a tall, well built man. He was wearing simple armor; a chain mail over his shirt. His face was hardened, but not unkind. His eyes were blue, like Raffza’s, yet not nearly as cold. He had a rather inviting face, and he carried himself in such a way that was humble, yet self assured at the same time.
"You know well your task. You do not really need to be briefed... except, there has been a change of plan. After you have secured Dragil, I want you to ride westward towards Shoom’locke. There you will meet Raffza Itchel’s unit. You are to assist him in the defense of Shoom’locke. And, don’t worry about Dragil, I suspect the force there will join a large force that is headed for Shoom’locke."
"Understood, sire, I shall not disappoint you." Though the King couldn’t see him, Lans bowed again, and walked out of the King’s chambers. With a loud booming sound, the doors closed. Zenerth let out a sigh, and looked at his feet again.