Young Writers Society

Sorry guys, not accepting yet until the plot etc is worked out, need to organize it with my friend halfway across the country, and this is the easiest way to do it. If you're really keen on joining, have any feedback or questions, don't hesitate to PM me.

I'd really appreciate it if no one randomly posted on this topic until everything is sorted out. Thank you

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It was sometime past noon; the sun was high in the sky, the heat radiating off the overturned soil in hazy waves. The sparse scattering of clouds gave respite from harsh light, though the clouds quickly dispersed before the shade could be used effectively. The trampled grass was dry and brittle, and the once peaceful meadow was not the way it had been, only days earlier.

There was not a movement to be seen across the valley besides the odd patch of burning pitch, the flames dancing to a music of their own, or where the wind played with stalks of tall, seed-heavy weeds. The cobblestone castle, only metres away, stood hauntingly, the drawbridge down, the archers in the towers watching with their bows drawn.

“Give word!" The cry startling some crows who had begun to feast on the entails of a soldier's open stomach, "On your son’s head, that you will allow us to safely retreat!” King Gulford Raiet yelled across the body-strewn battlefield, his voice echoing off the ridges and trenches, cutting through the eerie silence. His army standard flickered in the wind, held up by the flag bearer; or rather, impaled in the boy’s stomach. The coppery smell of blood tickled his nose, and King Gulford knew his blonde beard was heavy with the blood of his victims. His broadsword rested against his knee, rusty from the days of fighting, and Gulford imagined that the slime that encrusted the blade was probably the cause of most of his later kills, as it poisoned the soldiers when it sunk into their flesh. His armour was dented in places, the bent metal rubbing across the chainmail underneath, aggravating the bruises on his skin. The king hefted himself up and peered over the dirt mound in the general direction of where he thought the reply would come from. His army general lay on the ground beside him, trying to appear hardened, but absolutely devastated by the loss of his men. The man’s double-sided axe was chipped, and his gloves were nearly worn all the way through, but despite his weariness, he waved a blood-stained white rag in the air.

A golden crown soon surfaced amongst the trodden mud and blood of no-man’s land, and King Harry Addsett smirked down at his rival of fifty years, “You willingly admit defeat, Gulford?” They were surprisingly close enough to make out the minute details of each other's well known faces. Gulford's greying blonde hair, drenched in blood, weary green eyes; Harry's dark hair seemingly not a strand out of place, triumphant eyes so blue it was almost hard to distinguish the pupil from the iris. But most important was the smug grin of satisfaction on King Addsett's clean face that rubbed King Raiet the wrong way.

Gulford ground his teeth until his jaw ached and didn’t reply until John Bane nudged him, “Aye. But I demand we have your son as a failsafe as we leave this cursed valley.” He met Harry's unfathomably dark eyes, "After we are a safe distance away, I will personally cut the ropes from your son and leave him to be collected."

There was a small pause as the other king considered the man's wishes, “You and what remains of your army will retreat and never set foot in my country again?”

“Aye." The King Raiet said warily, "On your son’s head, though, should you betray this treaty. Everyone alive has heard me promise my part, will you allow this war to cease?”

Added some on, changed some. Possible spoilers

He didn't answer for several moments, making the hairs on the back of Gulford's neck rise with warning. Abruptly King Harry turned and beckoned a finger at his standard bearer, who was white with fear, and slick with sweat. The pole trembled in his hands.

"Go forth and fetch my youngest son, Phillip." All who heard could not believe the monumental decision the cruel king had made; to sacrifice the chance to wipe out the entirety of what remained of the Bazynteen army. Even the most lowly of footmen remained unconvinced of the king's intent.

The standard bearer nodded sickly, got on one of the last remaining mares and fled to the nearby castle. The King of Bazynteen watched the man in green and blue livery disappear into the distance and sighed, "I'm sorry to have put you through another war, John." He wiped at the blood that dripped into his eye, "It was another show of bad judgement on my behalf. I thought we had the upper hand on them, this time."

John hid his frown behind his helmet, "It cannot be helped now, my king. What is done is done."

"If only I had listened to you-"

Trumpets sounded from the top of the battlements of the castle as the standard bearer returned with the youngest prince of Cruciot wrapped in a blanket, a small circlet of gold around the boy's head. King Harry didn't even look at his son as the man got off his horse and nervously handed the child over to General Bane, expecting to be attacked at the last second.

The remaining troops of Bazynteen and the six times as large in force of Cruciot watched on, holding their breaths, knowing that if anything went wrong, they would have to fight once again. Men shifted awkwardly, trying to stay in position, others twitched, their hands hovering over the hilts of their weapons.

King Harry laughed and said to King Gulford, "You weren't expecting us to flank you from behind, and cut you off from fleeing, were you?"

The other King grimaced, "It was something new that we weren't ready for."

Harry gestured and the entire force of his army formed two columns that extended the length of the battlefield and out of the valley, "In your honour, I have decided that you should feel as royal as you are, with my soldiers either side of you, ready to do my bidding."

General Bane's suspicion heightened and he tightened his hold on the infant in his arms, "My lord, this doesn't look or feel right."

Gulford inclined his head slightly towards his old friend, "I get the same feeling, but there is nothing we can do if we want some survivors from this awful battle."

Slowly what remained of Gulford's legion assembled themselves in front of the intimidating army. Gulford and John advanced to the front of the army of around seventy wounded men, some of them supported by their allies. The king and his general were the only two left on horses; the entire four-score of cavalry lost when men in trenches rose hidden rows of stakes for the horses to impale themselves on.

King Harry laughed as the small army marched through the two lines of armoured men. When all of King Gulford's army was surrounded by his own, Harry shouted, "This will make sure your empire will lack men of any fighting age for a long time!" And the single toot of a hunting horn spelled doom for Gulford's soldiers.

"Traitor!" Gulford cried, defending himself with his sword, the feeling of dread and utter saddness upon his heart, "Murderer!" Arrows from the battlements flew like deadly rain upon the Bayznteen men, some of the arrows ablaze with burning pitch.

The general urged his horse up to his king, fighting to reach him, "We must flee! You must survive, your highness."

The king angrily spat in a voice loud enough to carry over the sounds of men dying and the clang of swords, "You give up your own son for this dishonour! You are filth, Addsett!"

King Harry chuckled, his laughter like a bell ringing in Gulford's ears, an alarm - a warning - sounding at the back of the his mind. Time stood still, frozen, as the two Kings' eyes met, clashed like the blades of the warriors around them. A smile curled up onto Harry's face and in less than a whisper, though Gulford heard it with stinging clarity, remarked, "One life for a war won? Common sense, friend."

Gulford couldn't bear to look into the man's eyes any longer, the amount of hidden animosity and violence radiating from them glaring him down, so he glanced away, sadly absorbing the details of the battle. Surrounding him was a field of crimson grass. Men – old, young, married, single, with children, barren – both his and his enemies, sprawled upon the ground, both long and short swords impaling their bodies, not moving, except for the occasional post-mortem twitch. Curdling screams of pain echoed on across the dwindling battlefield. The subject of Gulford’s eyes was none of this; it was simply and plainly the waste of life.

A minute tear, unknown, formed in his eye and trailed slowly down his cheek. He had not wanted this. Gulford closed his eyes, taking in a deep death, attempting to destroy the image forever burned into retinas. He knew, even as he tried so very hard to forget, he would always remember this. Always.

The metallic screech of two bloody swords clanging as they met together in a series of blows in front of the King of Bazynteen abruptly snapped him out of his reverie. It was at that moment in time he also noticed that something was tugging at his arm. He listlessly turned his head to see. General Bane was yanking violently at his sleeve screaming obscenities and what appeared to be nonsense into his King's ear.

"We must flee. Now!"

As Gulford silently nodded, one slow bob of his head as he gained his bearings, he held at bay the grief which would be ever denied and muttered under his breath in a hate filled whisper, "Then run like cowards we shall."

The battle was scarcely mentioned in the country of Bazynteen except in whispers; it was a tragic loss of lives and to speak of it was said to bring about the same bad luck to the family of whoever uttered a word about the ill decision of the King to attack his rival. When the battle was discussed long enough to satisfy the gossipers taste for rumours, it became widely known that the King had ordered the attack without the prior planning necessary for such an assault on a well guarded castle, especially so soon after the plague had swept through the kingdom, taking the lives of so many already.

While it was true that any man would want revenge over the murder of his only son and heir by a mercenary who confessed on the rack that he had been hired by King Harry, the hurried formation of the troops and the call to arms by all able men was a terrible mistake.

Of course the King of Cruciot had planned for this "sneak siege", and had organised a trap that effectively bottle-necked Gulford's army, and it was like lambs to the slaughter. Harry had his men dig trenches and disguise them; he had archers manning the towers with pitch ready to be set on fire; his cavalry were awaiting the blast of a trumpet to signal when they should flank and cut off Gulford's army from escape. While King Raiet's army was out-numbered 3-1, and the victims of a surprise attack, a good half of King Harry's regiment was destroyed by Gulford's well-trained army.

General John Bane and the King were the only survivors out of the 400-strong battalion and the people of the palace were too concerned about the lack of triumphant soldiers marching home, that Bane was able to smuggle the baby in through the servants way. His respect for the King had never diminished, regardless of what had happened, but the choice to spare the innocent boy was something Bane was proud of. He looked down at the sleeping infant's face and hoped that the boy would grow up in a country unspoiled by turmoil. John knew that the Bayznteen army would never be as strong as it used to be; there was only the old men who had retired plus himself to recruit and train new soldiers now. The next few years for the General would be hard, conscripting boys from homes that had already lost so much to fill in the empty slots of the battalion. The God's forbid the consequences of having to accept females to make up numbers.

The king entered his chambers, waving off the healers, medics and attendants, shutting the door firmly behind him. He sank wearily onto his bed and looked at John. John ceased his own musings, placed the child on the bed and knelt to take off the mud and gore covered boots that the King still wore, and had trekked through the palace.

"You've made the right choice." General Bane said in way of assurance.

Gulford turned his head and peered at the boy, mixed feelings stirring in his heart. He felt anger at Harry's betrayal, grief over the recent loss of his only son, guilt over the loss of so many of his good men and curiously, hope. The child opened his eyes and piercing blue irises stared back at him. He reached out one chubby hand towards the King's tattered beard and giggled.

Bane watched on, feeling the same pain the king felt, knowing what caused the heartbreak; Casius had been like a son to him too, and seventeen winters of age was too young for a lad to die; before he felt the embrace of a loving woman, or the slice of sword through unrelenting flesh.

The king smiled at the child through his tears, touching the boy's soft cheek and said, "My son. Andonis."

Bane's eyes widened slightly, the only ever tell-tale sign of this battle-hardened warrior's shock, and darted to look at the king's face, but Gulford's eyes were only upon his new son. As Bane's gaze fell back onto the child his expression softened momentarily. It lay awake, not crying, dribbling onto its chest staring straight at the King, an aura of pure happiness emenating from it.

Its eyes were mesmerising. Bluer than the ocean. Bluer than the hottest flames. More blue than the winter sky after a week long thunder-storm. It was hard to compare the colour of its eyes to anything naturally ocurring in nature. Bane mentally shook his head to correct himself, His eyes. Not its.

With one more quick glance at the baby with a mop of dark brown hair, and with a mannerly bow, Bane smiled, "I shall leave you two alone for a while."

King Raiet passed the story on that he dallied once with a mistress of the street when his beloved wife died and that Andonis was the product that he had been supporting in secret. No one questioned him; the boy was seen running about with a gold circlet around his head, and surely only the son of a king would be given such a priceless ornament to wear. When the woman who was supposed to be Andonis' mother was searched for by the curious, the only record of her was her death certificate, cause being the plague. Andonis was brought up as the king's son, and soon after the announcement, the people of Bayznteen forgot the mysterious circumstances in which he entered the life of a royal.

It took four years for General Bane to reinstate the army to the former number, but it could never amount back to the same quality. He had to travel to the very outskirts of the kingdom to find adolescents young enough to be taught correctly but old enough to learn, and to buy the necessary horses from greedy merchants that could smell the General's desperation. The castle weapon-smiths toiled for months to make the keen-edged swords, rapiers and axes and smelt the arrow heads the new army required, and the seam-mistresses were run ragged clothing all the new recruits. The biggest addition to the army was the archers, and to Bane's horror, the archers consisted of almost solely women. It was decreed that females were not be actively visible in war, and the local populace of blood-thirsty girls bypassed that by slipping in through the very obvious hole given to them. The General did have to admit that the women had steadier hands and made excellent archers - in practice, anyway; the King had avoided the prospects of any type of war, this time wisely keeping peace with all neighbouring kingdoms as his own healed.

By the fifth year after the war, the army had the appropriate number of captains and it started to run itself, giving John more time to focus on helping raise Andonis. Thirteen years passed quickly for Gulford raising his new son, but the years took their toll on the old King. While Andonis prospered, grew strong and quick, Gulford steadily became frail and weak.

Andonis was raised under the influence of the whole castle and the surrounding town. Everyone knew him, and as such, he knew a fair bit more about his country than his surrogate father realized. He grew up under the feet of the kitchen cook, learning how to season soups, albeit badly; he played in the stables, brushing manes and cleaning hooves; he worried the blacksmith with the way he toyed with molten fire and he was seen around the carpenters, rebuilding sunken structures. The boy's learning was diverse, not only did he have the best tutors in literature, the arts and music, but John Bane was his weapons trainer, and Andonis was one of his best students.

One of Andonis' remarkable talents was hand-to-hand combat. General Bane had been desperate for trainers in the first year after the war, and as such, had hired many different men of unique fighting skills to fill the gaps. It didn't take long for Bane to appreciate the impressive array of moves each martial art provided. The trainers were eager to teach each other their own ways, and the collective methodology that arose from the combination of the hand-to-hand combat techniques from different countries was referred to as te.

At the age of sixteen, give or take a year, Andonis was a collective and confident young man. And he knew his father was dying.

The King sat, encapsulated by a large wooden throne which showed just how frail he was in comparison, like a twig within a cart. His breath came out in heavy and ragged gasps of air. Andonis watched carefully from the side as his father led the Bazynteen Court. Pain clutched his heart whenever he saw his father like this, for it hurt when Andonis wasn't allowed to help him. The King had told him he had wanted to retain his dignity, his honour.

A small red gemmed pendant on a thick silver necklace sparkled at the King's chest and Andonis watched at the sun's rays shining though the open window reflected away and danced as Gulford breathed. Once, when just a boy, Andonis had asked to wear the necklace, but Gulford had gently rebuked him, telling him it was for "the King's own" alone.

Andonis had smiled trying to be bright and happy as before he had asked, but inside he had felt crushed. As a small child he knew his mother was not of royal descent and he thought his father might not love him for that reason. This new "shunning" of him was just more evidence in the long list contributing to the fact that his father didn't love him. Of course, Gulford had seen through the boy's clumsy expression and when Andonis had asked to be excused from company for the night he returned to a present resting upon his pillow.

As the King judged a peasant wisely Andonis glanced to his own chest to examine the miniature replica of the same necklace of his own. A small reminiscent smile grew on his face. Andonis had been somewhat spoilt when he was younger, but he knew from that lesson as well as countless others, that straight forwardness was the best approach to any situation.

Andonis watched with bright eyes as the last civilian left the court and he flew to his father's side to help him stand. As he drew closer he knew his suspicions were not just that. The man's eyes were going milky white, his skin a pallid yellow hanging off muscle-less bone and his walk was but an old man's shamble when it used to be a proud stride.

Carefully laying a hand onto his father's shoulder, he pulled the weight onto himself, dragging one of the king's skinny arms over his other shoulder and inwardly steeled himself. Direct approaches were good approaches... he tried to convince himself as the words to make a proper and un-insulting sentence writhed around in his head.

Taking a deep breath he finally opened his mouth to speak and - was cut off by his father's dry, but somewhat bemused, voice, "I know you've been watching me, Andonis."

Andonis's cheeks went red, and he cleared his throat, "And how do you know that, your majesty?"

Gulford chuckled at first, but slowly it escalated into a fit of wet coughs. Once the King recovered, with the help of Andonis patting him lightly on the back, he replied, "You have eyes like the sea. They're like deer eyes at night! I can spot them at once... I trust you have reason to ignore your princely training?"

"This is the first time I've shirked my responsibility!" Andonis voice grew higher as he defended himself, "You can hardly blame me when you look so-" he physically stopped himself by slapping a hand over his mouth.

Gulford turned a harsh gaze to his son and in an icy tone replied, "So what, Andonis Raiet of Bazynteen?"

The presence that had always been in Andonis' head, that odd mental twinge that occured when Andonis was feeling any strong emotions, spoke up, <Calm>, it whispered before it withdrew back into the depths of his mind. The single word strengthened Andonis' spirit and he met his father's gaze, "So not yourself, father."

The king sighed and wearily closed his eyes, "I know my time is near, son." His bottom lip trembled slightly, "And I know that you are ready."

"Don't say things like that!" Andonis said, enraged, "You can still. . . can still. . ."

"Can still what, Andonis? You and I, and all the people of the court and palace know that I am old, that I'm past my prime. I am withered and yellow, I'm tired and aching, and the God's help me, I don't know if I want to be tethered to this creaking body any longer!"

A tear rolled down Andonis' cheek, "But I don't want you to leave." The presence in his mind writhed, feeling its host's pain, not knowing why Andonis was so sad, but experiencing most of it watered down over the tangible link they shared.

The King's face softened, but just as he was about to speak, General Bane appeared at the entrance of the court, his helmet held under his arm, dressed in the leathers of swordsmanship training.

"Your magesty, you wished I be here?"

"Ah Bane, right on schedual." The king cast a sly look in Andonis' direction, and the mood change both worried and relaxed Andonis, "I'm after a quick debriefing on how my son is taking to his training."

The general rose one bushy eyebrow at his lord, "As you well know, Andonis is already one of my best students at archery, fighting, horseriding, tatics; he even surpasses your benchmark when I first met you, Guldford."

"So would you say that he's capable enough to be a captain in our new army?"

John blanched, but tried to hide his surprise, "Sir, he's only seventeen or so winters old. . ."

"And his skills far surpass your other students and the ones that have graduated, as you told me the other the day. I don't see the problem with giving him a rank and some responsibilities." The kings eyes grew dull again, and both knew what he was thinking but didn't say.

"Of course I can give him the status." Bane said gently, "But it's up to Andonis if he wants to accept the role."

Andonis’ mouth opened and closed a few times as he desperately searched for the correct words to reply. He did not want to be sent to war now! Words finally stammered out momentarily in protest, but then he locked eyes with his father. In that calm, weathered gaze Andonis gave way almost instantly. If his father wanted this, then so be it. Grounding his teeth, a nasty habit he had picked up from the King, he fell to his knee and grasped at the King's hand.

"Father, you know I would take this status with full heart, but I want to stay by your side as long as I can. You know how much I would love to finally get vengeance upon the King of Cruciot for all the lives he has stolen." As Adonis spoke, squeezing the King's hand in his own, not baring to look into his eyes, a hidden glance passed between the two men Andonis most respected, their eyes glinting with concern.

The prince whipped his hand away and stepped a few feet towards an empty corner, "Oh, you know how much I begged to be able to finally be put to some use, to contribute to our fight, but now, when I want this the least, you ask this of me?" Andonis quickly wiped away a tear, wanting to hide his distress, even though he was sure his cracking voice was giving him away. The voice at the back of his mind tumbled around in protest, silently screaming its discomfort at this despairing feeling.

Gulford looked solemnly at the young man's wide shouldered back, "Son, you have known for some time. I didn't think you were blind. Let an old man die in honour, away from prying eyes which would watch me decay. I don't want you to see your father lying on his deathbed too weak to even to clean himself. I don't want that. But, it is your choice. You'll get used to responsibility sooner… or later."

Andonis swallowed back a shriek of anger and coughed as the ever familiar voice spoke again <Calm>. Taking a breath to balance himself and his emotions, Andonis turned back around and bowed stiffly, his eyes still partially watering in both frustration and anguish. He ran a gloved hand through his hair and then nodded his head down, "If this is what you want, my King, I shall serve."

Gulford smiled weakly, masking his concern for his son with false joy, and clapped him over the back, "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Andonis's bright blue eyes met his and the King was forced to look away in guilt. Luckily, General Bane was in the room and he saved the situation, "So, Andy, when are you going to let us meet this girl I've been hearing all the rumours about lately?"

Andonis face went bright red, his shoulders slumped resignedly, he pouted and he waved his hands wildly about trying to wave off the issue, "They're only rumours! I helped her with the farming!"

Gulford chuckled at his son's antics, then he grew silent in thought, He'll take on the crown too young. I have to drag every last wink of energy in this body to give him enough time. The King grinned a little, as General Bane ducked just missing one of Andonis’s flailing hands, “Be careful, you might poke someone’s eye out!”

Andonis smiled back his father, and then returning his attention to Bane he narrowed his eyes, "Besides, if I let her meet you, I wouldn't even stand a chance!"

Even though John Bane was getting on in his years, he still had unaging rugged good looks which could bed him any indecent lady within the city. The King's trusted advisor took this in stride and grinned cruelly down at the Prince, "So, you are interested in her!"

Andonis's face blushed dark red and he glanced down at the floor so he wouldn't dig his grave any deeper. Gulford muffled a sigh, Too young.

-----

"You know what this reminds me of, Leonard?" asked a man about his mid sixties, his dark brown, almost black, eyes glinting in pure enjoyment.

The guard he was talking to went sheet-white and began to quiver in fear, scared of the attention upon him by such a daunting figure, "W-wha-what, m-my m-ma-maj-majesty?"

"That wonderful moment - thirteen years ago. Look how they flee, like the vermin they are!" chortled the King of Cruciot as he watched his latest opponents, or some would say victims, in war run for their lives.

"Father, why are you letting them escape?" asked young man, sitting upon his horse, reclining comfortably to watch as their soldiers ran swords through the enemies unprotected backs.

"Doesn't it amuse you?" Harry growled, eyeing his son with mild interest which he almost never showed.

"Didn't mother ever tell you not to play with your food?" asked Xavier, a smirk blooming on his handsome face.

The King's slap was like a ten tonne war horse slamming into the side of the Prince's cheek. The force was so strong Xavier was knocked from his seat and he fell sprawled on the dirt. Harry spat down at his son's face, "Don't mention your mother in my presence."

The young man pulled himself off the ground, into a straight stance, bowed low and then replied instinctively, "Yes, sir!"

Harry chuckled at his kingly powers and he raised an eyebrow at the dishevelled look his son had taken from his fall, "And go clean yourself up. I wouldn't want our soldiers thinking they can walk around like pigs."

With a flick of the reins, the King of Cruciot trotted off back to the castle, leaving Xavier alone, amongst dead bodies. He clenched his fists in anger and muttered quietly, darkly to himself, "I shouldn't be treated like this."

A wisp of smoke fluttered around him, but clouded on his shoulder in a small ball. Xavier smiled cruelly as it took shape, "What now, messenger?"

The cloud had transformed a small lizard with wings, puffing smoke out of its nostrils, and a forked tongue darting in and out its mouth. It hissed out, "The lady beckonssss, sshe ssayss the game beginsss."

The Prince stood in apt attention, his eyes wide, "Tell her I'll be there as soon as possible."

The miniature demon nodded and in a puff of smoke he was gone. Xavier took a deep breath and heaved himself back onto his horse, "And so the King moves."

The magus lived a very simple life in the Cruciot monastery within the mountains. They rose an hour before sunrise to the toll of the bell tower and attended mass in the temple of the gods, kneeling on woven mats laid upon straw. They then broke their fast before going off to do their assigned chores, teach, learn or train.

Favian had lived there for almost as long as he could remember, just like everyone else, and just like everyone else, he had snippets of memory of his previous life; flashes of stone walls, small pudgy feet and hands that were not his own, long ash-blonde hair that belonged to an angular female face that he assumed was his mother. Children born with a strong magic talent were scouted out annually under King Harry's audit by Seekers and a band of soldiers as guards and then taken to the monastery to learn the ways of a magus; how to control the latent talent that lay otherwise dormant in their veins.

Children with some talent but not enough to be able to use it in any useful way were called majere and sometimes Favian envied the children who weren't torn away from their homes. There were countless cases of royal or noble bloodlines dying out from the unfortunate effect of magus being barren. It is theorized that using magic killed the life force that men impregnated women with, and women didn't bleed monthly after using their talent. As such, royals or nobles born and discovered as a magus were removed and disowned from the descendent bloodline for the continuance of the family. Curiously majere could still conceive.

Favian looked up from the scroll he was reading as someone entered the library.

"Acolyte, the Head Friar wants to see you."

The adolecent rolled up the piece of parchment and followed the errand boy through the corridors carved out of the mountain cliff face with wide open windows that revealed the sprawling countryside of Cruciot.

It didn't take them long to reach the chambers of the head friar, and the errand boy was dismissed with a wave of the man's rough hand.

"Favian, my lad, I trust you have been reading up on how to conscript the newest round of acolytes in preparation for tomorrow's journey?" He guestured at the straight-back chair in front of the table before him.

Favian sat and replied, "I have, sir, and I believe that I am ready."

"Yes," said the friar, "I chose you for many reasons; your devotedness, your good manners and sound knowledge of the human psyche place you at the top of the list for finding new talent. Not to mention your considerable skill in magic and detecting it."

The young man knew all this and didn't take pride in any of it. His aptitude in magic and literature did not make up for his skinny frame or his absolute lack of co-ordination that made him the laughing stock of most of his classes when he tripped over his own feet.

While the acolyte enjoyed his life at the monastery, he longed for a chance to redeem himself in the eyes of his peers, and if he, the most accident-prone student in the guild, managed to bring back a horde of new talent and come back in one piece, Favian knew he would appear mightier in the eyes of his rivals.

"Yes sir. I am ready."

As Andonis all but collapsed into the tent's cloth entrance he glanced nervously around at the small inside. He wasn't used to such "accommodations", without his creature comforts. He caught himself eyeing his bedroll in disdain. The newest captain moaned out loud, he had just come off night watch and his eyelids were dragging closed.

Andonis ran a hand through his cropped black hair and let out a sigh, he had never thought he was as well-bred as this. He even used sleep in the barn sometimes. A confused frown found itself on his face as he thought back on it.

His mouth dropped open in realisation; he had always woken up with a blanket or pillow underneath him and he had never bothered to question it. Andonis looked to the roof of his tent and prayed to the Gods that he wouldn't look like an idiot.

Crawling out from his tent, muttering obscenities, he made his weary way to the campfire which was at the last of its life, dwindling out, though a few embers still burned bright. A smiling red headed man greeted him, "Look who crawled out from the land of dreams."

Andonis swatted a hand at Bane and let out a suppressed sound of frustration, "This tent is awful! I swear there are twenty-thousand rocks underneath my roll that disappear every single time I look for them."

The General chuckled a little then smiled knowingly, "You'll get used to it. That or... you die of exhaustion."

Andonis glared at Bane, his blue eyes drilling into Bane's, "Gosh, General, thank you ever so much for the vote of confidence."

The stout man brought a hand up and mussed up the Prince's hair, "You're very much welcome, you wretch. Anyway, try and get some sleep, I'm leaving you in charge for the next village, I'm heading back for a while."

The man grunted as he stood up from the log and began to walk away, but then stopped suddenly. Andonis was clutching at Bane's sleeve keeping him in place. There was a moment silence. A single ember came alive and flared up into partial flame. The new captain swallowed loudly and then asked what was on his mind, "Is it... is it father?"

There was a moment hesitation as Bane thought deeply about his reply. Andonis waited in solemn silence. The General cleared his throat and then stated, "No."

Andonis felt tears form at the corners of his eyes, but he violently wiped them away. He could always tell when Bane was lying. Always. With a heavy heart he watched the General's back disappear into the darkness. The last ember died.

The prince crawled back into his tent, lied down on his bedroll, pulled on his flimsy blanket and closed his eyes. He hated not knowing, he hated not being there for his father. He hated it all. Unwanted tears began to leak from his eyes. As he tossed around in bed his trying to fight the urge to scream, the soothing voice at the back of his head began spoke, <Sleep>.

Andonis was momentarily surprised at what a simple task that was. He merely let everything go. It was easy. And he slept. Even on those seven rocks that Bane had hidden inside his roll.

---

Favian took a deep breath, the horrible feeling he felt inside his chest had overcome him and he shook his head, I can't give in to nerves now. Steeling himself, he lifted his clenched fist and... rapped lightly upon the wooden door.

Clearing his throat, he knocked a little louder, "Mrs Duncan? Mr Duncan?"

The patter of many feet on wooden floorboards alerted him to the presence of someone's behind the door. For a minute there was no answer. Favian raised a confused eyebrow, "Miss Duncan?"

The door swung open, nearly smashing into Favian's face. A plump, round woman carrying a child on either hip with three little toddlers scampering around her feet answered, "Whadya want?"

Favian swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, "I, uhh, am looking for potential magus."

The lady gave him a discerning look from his head to his toes, muttered something to herself and looked to choose one of her children at random. It was a small mousy looking boy with soft brown eyes. Unhesitating, she pushed him out of the door, "This one."

Favian caught the small child who looked no older than five with his hands. He smiled gently and raised a hand, "I'm Favian. What's your name?"

The boy's bottom lip began to tremble and he let loose with his tears. The young acolyte was lost. He had no idea how to react to this situation. In all the years he had been learning this had not been included into his lessons. He stood there and stared blankly at the child.

Then he was overcome by a completely irrational feeling, but with nothing else to lose he brought the child into a hug. Slowly, the mousy boy began to calm and instead he just pouted indefinitely.

Favian smiled at the small sleeping forms that lay in the two double beds of the room. After nearly a month of seeking, he had found nine children with the potential to be strong magus, all under the age of five. Two had already learnt how to summon a weak flame, and one showed the signs of being a powerful healer. He knew he could find more, but he had only a few gold coins left and he still had to pay the innkeeper for the room last night, and manage to sustain ten people on the remaining for the week's journey on foot back to the monastory.

Bobby was the first to wake. He had learnt quickly with Favian that if he was neat and tidy, he would be treated as an adult, and so had willingly accepted and worn the traditionaly black smock that the magus wore until they chose a specific talent to follow. Bobby was 5 years old and wasn't quite sure why he had been taken away from home, but he understood that Favian wouldn't hurt him, and he had been enjoying the company of his new friends.

He didn't hesitate is waking the other four in bed with him. Soi was a small black boy with hair as frizzy as an agitated cat. Mikael was the only light-haired person in the room, and by far the most feminine. Quarr had a cheeky grin and a foul mouth. And Sorscha was the "Boy Twin".

On the other bed four girl magus still slept. Sascha, Sorscha's twin lay next to Hayley, the one snoring who was the chubbiest out of the children, but surprisingly she seemed to lead the other girls. Jess was the tallest out of the children and was very awkward in her movements, and Favian favoured her as she reminded him of himself. The last girl was the child who was most saddened by having to leave her home, and she hadn't talked or made a sound except for sniffles since she had joined the group.

Soon all the children were up, talking and joking around, and Favian felt absolute satisfaction in the current situation.

"Faaaaaaaavian." Whined Hayley, "I'm huuuuuuuungry." The other children were quick to lament their own starvation, and the noise in the room grew unbearable.

"Enough." Favian said quietly, sending out waves of calm towards the young ones, "When you are all dressed and ready, we'll go downstairs and have breakfast."

----------------------

Andonis woke to a stifling hot tent, and a sore back. The sound of men talking and the smell of burning bacon cooking over the fires were comforting and familiar sounds to Andonis now. He had been patrolling the borders for the last two weeks without the support and guidence of General Bane, getting to know the country folk and trying to get used to sleeping outdoors without the comfort of a warm bed, or a hot bath.

The boy believed he hadn't been this filthy since he was a child, making mud castles with the other scullery lads, a good ten years ago. The prince rolled out of his blankets and tugged on his boots. He only needed to put on his leathers as he had taken to sleeping in his day clothes.

There had been no skirmishes yet, and the patrol was really just a month out of the castle to toughen Andonis up to living away from home.

Peering outside, he noticed that it was barely past sun-up and the low sun cast a strange orange haze that tried to combat with the still dark sky, creating a certain twilight that only occured when it was neither day nor night.

Stepping out of his tent, he was immediately greeted by his best friend who had been his sparring partner in weapons training, and friends ever since the the prince was knocked onto his backside by the young boy. The whole class had gone silent and watched with their breaths held, wondering what the heir to the throne would do. Even General Bane, at the time, had been a bit concerned, knowing that he couldn't interfere and had to let Andonis figure out the best thing to do, by himself. To the surprise of the entire class, Andonis had laughed ruefully and held out a hand to be helped up. Jaak Spinner had helped the prince up, his heart beating from the panic, but his mouth smiling with his missing baby teeth.

Jaak was shorter than Andonis, but made up for the lack in height with a considerable amount of muscle in his thighs and legs. Spinner was also two years older, and a fair bit more aloof with the world around him. He didn't have to try hard to make people laugh, and could get out of any predicament he put himself in by telling stories. Andonis found that he was happiest spending time with Jaak, mucking around and doing nothing, lying in fields of wheat.

"Sleep well?"

"Nah, mysterious rocks under me kept me up most of the night."

"Really? This camping spot was actually really good this time." Jaak said, looking around at the relatively smooth surface of the thick grassy ground. They had set up camp in a small corpse of trees that provided enough cover should it have rained, and also hid their small patrol of twenty men from any roaming bandits.

"Boys, we're heading out soon, pack up your tents." Captain Parry called from one of the camp fires, "And if you want any of this. . ." He shook his head disparingly, "This sad excuse of a breakfast, better make your way over soon."

The fire pit that the hunks of bacon and bread were toasted on was dug about a metre into the ground so that the smoke wasn't so obvious as the wind stole the trendils away before they had a chance to rise tellingly into the sky. A lattice of welded metal sat on the ground above the hole, and a rough pan that looked as if it might have been an old shield in a previous life, held the burnt food.

"We ran out of fat to grease up the pan." Another soldier said defensively, pouting. Some of the other men were already eating their share, squatting on their haunches and talking quietly.

Andonis' stomach growled and he readily devoured the portion of too-salty ham and hard travel bread he was given. Spinner was an unusually slow eater, and so while Andonis waited for his friend to finish, he packed up his tent and other belongings into the saddle pack his black mare wore.

Ebony neighed softly into the bag of fodder wrapped loosely around her snout, and Andonis ran his fingers through her slightly tangled mane. The other horses nibbled quietly on the grass, most of them already saddled.

Spinner materialized by Andonis' side with this bundle of cloth, "Apparently we're heading out now. There's smoke on the horizon that seems suspicious."

Favian playfully threw his soggy sock at one of the nine potentials. The potential ducked just in the nick of time and picked it up to peg it back. It was the small sad girl whom the acolyte collected last. Favian bemusedly remembered his own cringing reaction at breakfast when he had discovered the girl's name was Cretin.

Cretin's explanation was that she really didn't have a name, but her mother just called her that. The sock hit Favian on the face and Cretin giggled, her sadness almost entirely gone. The young magus acolyte had done a fine job at explaining where he was going to take them and they seemed to be taking it rather well. He hadn't realised how fun children were. They had been constantly nagging that he should play "Socks" with them. If he weren't born a magus he would've loved to have some. Though he could now taste his sock, he was still having a strange moment of immaturity.

Quickly, he dismissed such thoughts, playfully grimaced and roughly put on a deep manly voice, "Dare you throw a weapon at me! I shall destroy you for this!"

Then he rolled his other sock off and ran after them, swirling it like a lasso in the air, keeping his weak body in mind. They skittered from the spot like fleeing birds and he singled Sascha out, then taking aim he pelted the sock forth. It hit her back directly and left a dirty sludge.

Favian began to laugh as she turned around, but it transformed into a cough which racked his whole body. Favian's eyesight began to blacken and he fell to his knees, his body unbearably exhausted. He cursed his weak stature and took a few deep breaths. As his vision began to clear he noticed the nine potentials standing in a semi-circle in front of him with worried eyes.

Soi spoke, his partial lisp almost undetectable, "Favi, are you alwight?"

Favian forced a hand up and mussed the wild boy's hair, and replied, his voice hoarse, "Fine. Fine."

The five closest potentials helped him to stand and he brushed gingerly at the dirt on his knees. He looked at his bare feet and looked around, "Does anyone know where my socks are?"

The children looked shocked and glanced around, they were nowhere in sight. Favian forced a playful grin, "I'll tell you what. I'll take a rest and whoever can find my socks first gets to...."

They leaned towards him to listen intently and Favian suddenly shot his hands out to tickle them, his delicate fingers dancing, "Not be tickled by me!"

They ran away giggling, yelling at each other over who would find the socks first. Favian stood straight as long as he could and as soon as they were out of sight he fell to the floor, panting. As his concentration broke the socks appeared to materialise a few metres away where they had been playing.

Favian smiled weakly and leaned onto his arms. A few moments peace would be worth his extra exhaustion. His eyelids dragged themselves down and Favian fought to stay awake. He frowned, surely it wouldn't hurt to have a nap, would it? A yawn escaped his mouth and he rolled on his side.

His eyes closed and Favian drifted off to a world where he was older, he wasn't so weak and was filled with children which were his.

----

Favian awoke to a scream.

---

Xavier bowed so low his hair skimmed the floor, "My lady. Eruo Viator said you had something interesting to say to me."

He had just returned from his travels, even though he had been galloping with haste, the war he had been in was in a far bordering country. A hand, slim, milky white and so soft it looked like it was made of silk, poked forward from the curtains and touched the prince's forehead, gently raising his head.

"The little demon didn't tell you what I said exactly did he?" asked a feminine smooth, but sharp voice.

The woman's silhouette was visible, but her details could not be seen. Xavier lifted his head and gingerly gripped her hand in his, bringing it to his lips, "No, he merely said the game has begun. I have yet to hear the details."

The hand darted out of his reach and patted him on his head. Xavier leaned into her hand and closed his eyes. His teeth gritted, "I am sick of this pretense. I am so much better than the King. Why must he think he is strong?"

"Shhhh. You know he is not stronger or purer than you. You are chosen. You are the son of someone very powerful. Don't mock him by complaining about petty things. If you wait and listen to the instructions all your pains shall become worth it."

The hand withdrew and the white-haired prince stood out of his kneeling position, "My lady, is there anything you need me to do?"

The Lady cast her mind back to when she had asked the very same question of the Great Dark Ones, and they had told her to marry and marry well. By coincidence, or the powers that be, Prince Harry Addsett of the Kingdom of Cruciot was visiting the island of Mavok to sample the wine it was famous for. The princess only had to bat her bright blue eyes at the prince, smile with her full lips and use her persuasive charms before she had the prince wrapped tightly around her little finger. By the evening she had him in her bed, and in the morning they were conveniently found by her father who became outraged. Harry knew he had made a mistake, and could only agree to a sunset marriage that night.

But the future king of Cruciot wasn't stupid, and correctly guessed that the princess had deliberately put him in this predicament. For this reason, Harry endeavoured to make his wife's life living hell. He forced himself upon her every chance he could get, begetting her many times. She had countless miscarriages, and only gave birth twice to live, breathing children. Eventually she became barren from continuous internal bleeding.

The silhouette disappeared from the curtain, but a voice whispered to him, "You are to dote on the King. If you stand by him you will learn your next move. Wait, and watch carefully. The game has begun, we don't want to make any false moves."

Xavier nodded, bowed again and then turned and left. He disappeared down the hallway, his strides long and purposeful. The walk of a prince, or of a man who thought very highly of himself.

If he had listened he would've heard the soft, smooth yet sharp laughter following him out of the room.

At first Favian dismissed the scream as playful childhood banter, but the feelings of pain, horror and anguish that he was feeling from the surrounding townspeople and what remained of his brood of potentials made him sick to the stomach and he promptly threw up, barely missing himself with the brown lumpy liquid. His eyes streaming with tears, the taste of bile on his tounge and his throat dry from vomiting, Favian unsteadily got to his feet and walked as if blind out of the room.

He was guided by his magus senses, and the sickly sweet smell of cooked flesh to descend the wooden stairs and look upon the destruction of the tavern room. A barmaid's body lay like a rag doll across a smashed table, her off-white kitchen smock stained with dark red blood. The innkeeper's head stared at Favian unblinkingly from the middle of the room, while his body, or what Favian assumed with the limited coherency he had was the innkeeper's body, rested almost peacefully against the bar. Other bodies of the inn's guests were scattered around the room with gleeful abandon.

At the sight of Mikael's scorched body, identifiable by his light blonde hair, curled into a foetal position in the fireplace made Favian dry wretch, as his stomach tried to empty itself once again. The smell. The smell is so sweet. The magus clutched at the stair railing, trying to keep himself up.

More screams echoed off the rough stone walls, and Favian desperately mind-saught the children he had grown so close to over the past weeks. Six of his nine potentials he couldn't reach, their minds blank and dead to him, and he weeped in dispair. Bobby, Cretin and Sorscha were the only children that still cried out to him, pleading with anyone who could hear them to save them.

Gathering his strength, Favian limped out of the inn and into the street of the small village. Everywhere he looked people were in a state of death. Some were clearly dead and unmoving on the plain cobbled road, other's twitched with the final throes of life, and the remainer were either attempting to flee or being murdered outright.

There were soldiers everywhere. Their livery of green and blue identified them as footmen of the Cruciot army. Favian summoned a fire ball and hurled it at a man about to catch a running woman. The man screamed as the fire ate at his flesh, burning him alive. The magus swayed slightly, and cast his mind towards the children he realized that he considered his own.

Sorscha could not be reached now, and Favian blanched as he was hit by the emotions of the two surviving potentials. Watching from their eyes, Favian could see that Bobby and Cretin had been using their weak fire magic to hold of the soldiers, but an archer had been sent and Sorscha was riddled with arrows. They were using the town's well as cover.

As soon as Favian could determine where they were, his broke off the connection, and felt a bit of his soul tear. He gasped for breath and stumbled down the street, idly using his magic to phase in and out of reality to evade the clumsy strikes of soldier's weapons.

By the time he reached the well, it was too late. Bobby and Cretin lay lifeless on the blood-stained dirt, their faces serene in their death. While it was clear that Bobby died from the arrow through the neck, Cretin didn't have any marks on her. But the void that Favian could feel leeching the life force from the things surrounding her alerted him to how she died. Cretin had used up so much of her energy to defend herself and Bobby that she had given up her life to do so.