BOOK 1: THE ROYAL SOLDIERS Written By Christian A. Ciccone: aka Sykonee (~)

Based on events from Dragon Warrior IV

“Order and unity is the way of the world...and our lives. Break that unity and the world falls into chaos...”

- Frederick Calgor: IXth Royal Soldier of Burland, 5th Century

Chapter 1: Enter The Royal Soldiers

Ragnar Calgor walked an easy pace to the conference room despite the urgency of the meeting. Although usually quick to respond to a call from the King, he was in no real hurry to sit at a table with young soldiers complaining to him about their uniforms or wages. A disgusted snort involuntarily escaped from the captain; the very thought of a royal soldier being paid to service his kingdom made Ragnar’s stomach turn. When he first joined the royal soldiers, their only concern was to the King and the protection of Burland’s citizens. Sadly, many of the skilled warriors in the kingdom since then saw their abilities better suited for the mercenary trade. The only way to attract new soldiers was to pay for their services. There were a few who still served their duties by the traditional ways but, unfortunately, what they had in heart, they severely lacked in skill. It truly was a terrible state the proud heritage of the kingdom’s protectors had fallen into and, as captain of the Royal Soldiers, Ragnar could not help but feel some responsibility towards its downfall. Whatever it would take, though, he promised himself that, before he retired, the name of the Burland Royal Soldiers would once more be held in high regard. Upon arriving at the meeting room, Ragnar could already hear some of his soldiers bickering amongst each other. Looks like I’ll have to make a dramatic entrance, he thought bitterly. Ragnar steeled his eyes and barged into the meeting room. “What’s all this bickering about!” he demanded in a commanding tone. Most of the soldiers jumped out of their seats and saluted to Ragnar as a superior. At least some things haven’t changed, he thought. “Well,” Ragnar said, tapping his foot. “What’s going on here?” “It’s Sir Elric, Sir Ragnar,” one of the youth’s replied. It was Sir Sandor making the accusation. Sandor was a bit of a problem for Ragnar. He was a very disobedient soldier but an exceptional fighter. Although Ragnar was far superior in technique, Sandor was more agile and cunning. Most of their spars had ended in stalemates of late and the Ragnar could easily see Sandor becoming next in line for captain. That was, so long as his disregard of standard rules and regulations no longer was an issue. “What about Sir Elric?” Ragnar asked Sandor. “He’s been seeing my woman and I won’t stand for it!” Sandor said, nearly fuming.

“That’s a lie!” Elric, who was not much younger than Sandor, exclaimed. “I just helped her carry her baggage from the store. It was my duty as a royal soldier to aid a lady in distress.” Ragnar heard a snicker from one of the other soldiers but he couldn’t place the source, so he let it slide. Ragnar sighed. He really was not the father type to discipline in personal affairs. He believed that one should stay out of another’s private life. However, as the captain, he had to do something to maintain order amongst the other soldiers. “Alright,” he finally said after a moment’s thought. “Let’s work this out. Sir Sandor, you said that you saw Sir Elric with your ‘woman’. What was he doing?” “He was carrying her shopping bag to her home,” Sandor explained. “And the way they were talking and laughing with each other, it’s clearly obvious that something’s going on!” “Is this true?” Ragnar asked Elric as he rubbed his bushy mustache. “I admit we were talking and telling a few jokes to each other,” Elric shrugged, “but where’s the harm in that?” “You see!” Sandor exclaimed, pointing a finger at Elric. “He even admits it!” “Um, yes,” Ragnar said, trying hard not to laugh. He couldn’t believe how these young soldiers would overact to the smallest things. Gaining his composure, Ragnar stood straight and said in a serious voice, “Sir Elric, I find you guilty of interacting with a fellow human being. Now, take your seat and never do it again.” The rest of the soldiers began to laugh. Sandor flushed a deep red with humiliation. Elric looked around and slowly sat back down, unsure if Ragnar was serious or joking. Ragnar smiled as he sat down at his seat. He liked to make a fool of Sandor every so often. It put the young soldier at a disadvantage and deflated a large enough ego. “Nicely done, Ragnar,” the soldier beside him said. “Thanks, Sir Harald,” Ragnar said. Harald was the only royal soldier that was older than Ragnar, by at least ten years, and held his elder in high regard. Harald had taught Ragnar how to fight with skill instead of brute strength, and had been a good friend as Ragnar had grown up as a royal soldier. “You just have to put these guys in their right place.” “That’s for sure,” Harald said. “And, please, just call me Harald.” “We’re on duty right now,” Ragnar said. “You never change, do you?” “Wouldn’t for the world, Sir Harald,” Ragnar smiled. “You could be a little more relaxed, you know.”

“And what? Become like them?” Ragnar gestured to the other royal soldiers, who were talking, or arm wrestling to see who was the strongest. “Just look at how bad it’s gotten. “Sir Sandor’s one of the best soldiers we have but he’s egotistical and self-centered, hardly becoming traits of a good soldier. “Sir Elric at least tries to keep up our traditions but is too gullible. “Sir Garn’s a decent warrior but worries more about whether he’s going to find a woman to show his skill off to before he grows old than his actual duties. “Sir Mandrake is here only because it pays better than being on guard duty all day long. “Sir Darnell has delusions of grandeur and hopes of great adventure instead of keeping consistent with his swordsmanship. “And then Sir Denuve, who’s as clumsy and incompetent as they get.” “And your point would be?” Harald asked. “That the once proud royal soldiers of Burland are beginning to crumble around us,” Ragnar sadly stated. “You and I are pretty much what are left of the old ways.” “Maybe so,” Harald said, “but it takes young blood to carry on tradition.” Ragnar just shrugged solemnly.

Chapter 2: The King’s Command

A few moments later, the King’s advisor stepped into the meeting room and the royal soldiers of Burland looked his way. “The King will be here soon,” the advisor said. The royal soldiers nodded and stood to attention. King Burnard XXI then entered the room. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. Whatever the problem was, it was certainly taxing the aged ruler of Burland. Before the royal soldiers could give him a formal salute of devotion, the King held up his hand and said, “Everyone, at ease.” Most of the royal soldiers sat back down non-ceremonially. Ragnar frowned at them but relaxed a bit as well as he sat down, although keeping his posture straight. King Burnard made his way to the head of the table and sat down, his advisor taking his side beside the ornamented chair. He sat still for a moment, tapping the table with a single finger. Ragnar could tell that he was contemplating his next words. The problem must be dreaded indeed. Finally, the King spoke. “We have two problems here. First off, you know that monster activity has increased of late.”

Sandor stood up. “May I speak, your majesty?” Ragnar looked at the young soldier. He couldn’t believe the open contempt that Sandor displayed. When Ragnar had first joined the royal soldiers, if you ever interrupted the King, you were quickly thrown out. And to Ragnar’s surprise, King Burnard nodded for him to continue! “Your majesty,” Sandor continued, “while it may be a sign of something being up, increased monster activity isn’t all that much of a deal. What do he have around these forests? Slimes, healers, and, to a lesser extent, babbles. Hardly worthy of notice, you see.” “In most cases, I’d agree with you,” the King replied. Sandor sat back down, smiling broadly. He looked at Ragnar, almost saying, “That’s one for me.” Ragnar couldn’t wait for the meeting to be over. Just being in Sandor’s presence made Ragnar’s stomach upset. “However,” the King continued, “that is no longer the case. My spies informed me the beetle-men of the mountains are beginning to roam the country-side.” The royal soldiers began to mutter to each other. The beetle-men hadn’t been seen out of the mountains since ages ago. Their very existence was starting to slip into that of myths. “Are they a major threat?” Harald asked the King. “Thankfully, no,” the King replied. “They are only scouting parties and travelers have been able to deal with them if they do happen to encounter any. However, this apparent act of aggression does raise some concerns.” “You mentioned there are two things,” Ragnar said. “What is the other?” The King nodded and replied, “The mothers from Izmit came to me in tears this morning begging for help. Apparently, their children have been disappearing.” “Is that it?” Darnell said, a little stunned. The King glared at Darnell and the soldier slid a bit further down in his chair. King Burnard regained his composure and stated, “As King of this country, I cannot ignore their problem, however trivial it may sound. Do you understand?” Darnell nodded sheepishly. King Burnard stood up then and said, “This is my command. Find the cause of these disappearances. If they are at all related with these increased monster sightings, report to me immediately.” The King then left the meeting room, followed by the advisor. The soldiers muttered to one another for a moment, stunned by their assignment. It wasn’t long, however, before Sandor stood up. “That is our mission?” he exclaimed. “A handmaid’s errand?” “It does seem trivial, doesn’t it,” Darnell agreed.

“Exactly,” Sandor said, slamming a fist into the table. “Soldiers such as us deserve far better.” A few of the soldiers began to agree and started to voice their disapproving opinions as well. If Sandor wanted to hide a confident smile, he certainly made no effort in it. Ragnar quickly heard enough. He stood up and yelled, “Shut up!” The royal soldiers instantly stopped and looked in his direction with attentive gazes. “Whether we agree or disagree with our lord’s decision is irrelevant. We have all sworn an oath of fealty and, thus, must obey his commands. And, if I must as your captain, I order you all to go to Izmit this instant. Is that clear?” “Aye, sir!” everyone replied. “Then you are dismissed,” Ragnar calmly stated, regaining his composure. He put both hands on the table and leaned forward, allowing his stress to ebb before he added, “All except Sir Sandor.” The royal soldiers gave their captain a stunned look but did as told, silently leaving the meeting room. As Harald passed by him, the older soldier gave Ragnar a light tap on the shoulder. “Are you okay?” he silently asked. Ragnar nodded and waved him off, not once looking at his friend. Harald kept a concerned look on him but eventually left, leaving the captain and Sandor alone. The moment everyone had left, Sandor said with a smirk, “So, are you going to give me a personal pep talk?” Knowing getting into yet another shouting match with Sandor would accomplish nothing, Ragnar kept his cool and calmly said, “You were out of line, Sir Sandor. I will administer a proper punishment once our assignment has been accomplished. Until such time, I expect you to behave accordingly as a royal soldier, otherwise I will be forced to increase your penalty.” Sandor kept a straight face. “Is that all, sir?” “No, there is one more thing. I’ve tolerated your continued disobedience for the sole reason that you are an exceptional fighter, a quality I have to admit is beginning to lack in soldiers these days. However, you are treading a very tenuous line and believe me I would not be hesitant to cut you loose should it continue. Is that clear, Sir Sandor?” “Yes, sir,” the soldier flatly replied. Ragnar nodded. “Then you are dismissed,” he said, leaning forward once again. As Sandor was about to leave, he turned to Ragnar and said, “And you should know, Sir Ragnar, that I have far more support with the rest of the soldiers than you. So, should you try and cut me loose, you could very well cause a revolt within your ranks.” Ragnar looked up at Sandor to give him a lashing retort but the young soldier had already left. The captain let out a frustrated growl as he slammed his fists into the table.

Chapter 3: A Brief Good-bye

“Is there anything else, sir?” the young squire asked Ragnar. “No, you can go,” the soldier replied. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a couple of gold coins. “Make sure you keep the armory well polished,” he said as he gave the coins to the young squire. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone but if the stables are cleaned out by the time I return, I’ll give you double of what you just got.” The young squire’s eyes lit up. “Y…yes, sir!” he said, giving Ragnar a formal salute. The soldier saluted back and the boy ran off, probably eager to get to work on the stables. Ragnar smiled as the young squire ran off. It filled his heart with a bit of hope that perhaps the boys of a younger generation might want to become soldiers because of the heroic deeds of Burland’s past. Such deeds that his father had done and many others before him was what inspired a younger Ragnar to become a royal soldier himself. If young boys were going to rely on soldiers like Sandor for inspiration, though, the state of the royal soldiers of Burland was going to be very sorry indeed. A frown replaced Ragnar’s smile as he turned around to put the rest of his supplies into his travel pack. Every day, he regretted allowing Sandor to become a royal soldier a little more. Granted, it was the King who made the final decision but usually based on a captain’s recommendation. King Burnard’s role in it was merely ceremonial. Ragnar had no one to blame but himself. How could he have known Sandor would have turned out the way he did, though? During his trials, the young soldier had displayed every trait that was becoming of one Ragnar would have been looking for. His true colors only seemed to come through when he was officially accepted within their ranks. It was a poor decision on Ragnar’s part but one he was going to have to live with. Still, for as much as Ragnar did not like the rebellious soldier, he did agree with him on one thing: their current mission. He really did not know what his King could be thinking but a mission to find lost children seemed paltry compared to a far more important concern regarding the beetle-men of the mountains. If the monsters were becoming aggressive, wouldn’t it be a better idea to prepare the castle for a possible invasion? A royal soldier’s first and only duty was to the castle and its citizens, not fishing communities far north. However, the King’s command was the King’s command, whether Ragnar agreed with it or not. A timid knock came from his door. “Yes, come on in,” Ragnar said, not looking up. “Aren’t you even going to look at me?” came a woman’s voice from the door. Ragnar looked up and saw a woman dressed in a long, plain brown dress and had auburn hair flowing down to her shoulders. She was just a few years younger than him and Ragnar jumped up when he saw her.

“Mary!” Ragnar rushed over to hug her but she resisted him. “Is there something wrong?” “You were going to leave without even saying good-bye, weren’t you,” Mary said to him, giving him a glare. “That’s not true!” Ragnar exclaimed, taken aback by the statement. “I was going to see you after I finished packing.” “I’m sure,” she muttered, sitting on the bed. Ragnar could tell something was disturbing her but he wasn’t the brightest when it came to a woman’s feelings. He decided it would be best to continue packing. A minute later, Mary suddenly bolted up, went up to Ragnar, and nearly shouted, “How can you be so insensitive!” “What? What?” Ragnar fumbled. He did not know what to say. He had already explained to her why he hadn’t seen her yet but what was he to do about it? “The children!” Mary said. “King Burnard gave you your orders a day ago and you’re still here while mothers are crying!” Ragnar almost let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized she meant the disappearing children. “The other soldiers are taking care of it,” he explained. “I... felt it would be better if I concentrate more on the reason for the beetle-men’s return to the valley. It is a more serious threat than-” “Have you no compassion!” Mary cried. “There are people disappearing all over this country. And all you care about is a few mythical monsters from the mountains that-” “Wait a minute!” Ragnar interrupted. “What do you mean ‘people’ are disappearing? I thought it was just children.” “Oh, Ragnar,” Mary said, falling into his arms. “I was talking to Flora and her husband, Alex, has disappeared, too.” She started to sob. “Ragnar, I look into the sky and it’s making me nervous. Something is definitely wrong, and if anything happens to you out there, I... I...” Ragnar gently kissed her on the forehead and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be all right. I’d worry more about the other soldiers. They haven’t had much training outside of the castle.” Mary smiled at Ragnar as he gently stroked her auburn hair. “Don’t you worry,” he whispered.

* * *

Mary owned her own farm just on the outskirts of the castle town of Burland. When her parents passed away, she inherited the land and, instead of selling it like most

single daughters would, Mary decided to keep and maintain it in honor of her parents. It had not been very successful but made enough money to keep her land away from tax collectors.

One year at a castle fair, the fledgling farmer fell in love with a new royal soldier by the

name of Ragnar displaying his swordsmanship in a mock duel. Her mother had taught the best way to a man’s heart was his stomach and Ragnar was no exception, his burly frame demanding a voracious appetite. She invited him over for dinner one night and the two had been a couple ever since.

That was eight years ago and Mary was still patiently waiting for Ragnar to propose to

her. He claimed he couldn’t because, as a royal soldier, he had already dedicated his life to the King of Burland. Mary often wondered why she stuck with him if he wouldn’t marry her. In the end, the conclusion was always the same: she loved him and he loved her just as much. If they couldn’t have the Master’s blessing now, they would once Ragnar’s service was over, whenever that time came.

The couple had lunch together as Ragnar described his plans in Izmit. He didn’t really

have any, hoping the other soldiers would take care of the situation before he arrived. As a kind gesture for Mary, he promised her should he hear anything of her friend’s husband, he would look into it as well.

Once lunch was over, Mary walked with Ragnar to the outskirts of her farm. “Are you sure you don’t want a horse?” she asked. “You’ll reach Izmit much faster if

you do. I honestly don’t mind lending you one.” The soldier shook his head. “Horses and I understand each other very well. They don’t

like me and I don’t like them.” Mary rolled her eyes. “Hmph. You’re a disgrace. Who ever heard of a royal soldier

who didn’t ride a horse?” “Knights ride horses, m’lady,” Ragnar replied with a playful nudge. “Not soldiers.” Their faces suddenly grew solemn and they embraced each other for a long time. “Farewell, Sir Ragnar,” Mary eventually said. “Have a safe journey.”

“I wouldn’t want to have any other kind,” Ragnar smiled. “Go on,” Mary said, teasingly pushing him away. “Why are you still here? Go and catch up with the others. Your country needs you.”

Ragnar kissed her forehead and set out over the country, waving good-bye.

Chapter 4: The Valley Road

Burland Castle was located at the southern end of the country of Burland, nestled against the end of a large valley. Protected by the large mountain ranges surrounding it, the only access to the large castle was from the north. Obviously, this created some trading problems for ships from countries like Bonmalmo and Santeem that couldn’t reach it. Therefore, many of the

merchants traveled to the ocean side at the northern part of the country and set up trading towns all along the shore. The most prominent of these villages was Izmit as it had grown in size of late. A large river divided the country into a northern half and a southern half and the river was usually much too rapid to fjord and too wide to build a sturdy bridge over top. So, to keep trade fluid, King Burnard the VIII had an underground tunnel built. People at first thought he was a lunatic but, amazingly, it worked, and Burland was able to prosper. In the early days of Burland’s history, when caravans traveled the broad valley road to the castle, bands of beetle-men would occasionally attack the caravans. The royal soldiers of old eventually routed the creatures to the mountains and caravans were able to travel without incident. Ragnar, who had been walking for most of the day, took a break by the side of the road. As he ate his rations, he looked around. The soldier rarely ventured further than the farming communities surrounding Burland Castle so he never had much of a chance to enjoy the scenery his country had to offer. The valley really was a sight to see. Beyond the broad road lay a deep forest thick with firs that climbed up the mountains as far as the eye could see. Snow still capped most of the mountaintops but the spring was bringing its warmth and most of it would probably be melted away in a couple of months.

The sun was beginning to disappear over the mountaintops but Ragnar wasn’t worried about it. The sun always set early in the valley. Actual twilight wouldn’t be for another couple of hours after and he had plenty of time to make the tunnel before the nighttime monsters would be active.

Ragnar put his food back into the pack and pulled out some water. He took a long gulp and just listened to the birds chirping for a moment. Un-expectantly, he heard something else, a sort of rustling from the nearby brush. Ragnar quickly put down the water and grabbed his copper sword from his side. It was possible that it was nothing but an animal or even just the wind but the soldier was never one to take a risk. Clasping his hand tightly on the hilt of his sword, Ragnar wished his King would allow the soldiers to upgrade their equipment to something a little stronger than copper swords but the weapons were very economical for a small country. Besides, their light weight made them effective one-handed weapons against slimes and healers, the only kind of monsters the Royal Soldiers had had to deal with for the last hundred years. Ragnar had no idea how they would stand up to beetle-men. Slowly, Ragnar moved towards the bush. He strained to hear any more movement. Every so often, he heard the bush rustle again. It was definitely something larger than a slime or healer. The soldier stopped, ducked behind a large boulder, and waited. Moments later, two beetle-like creatures burst from the bushes. They stood not more than three feet tall but had mandibles a foot long that could probably chomp through Ragnar’s leg if they were inclined to do so. A strange, clicking sound came from their maws and they looked at each other quizzically with beady, blue eyes. Were it not for their menacing jaws, the soldier figured Mary would find the monsters rather cute.

Cute or not, however, their sudden appearance meant they had intended to ambush him. The soldier figured it would be best to kill the monsters quickly so they wouldn’t be able to alarm more of their kin. An efficient tactic formed and he waited for the moment to implement it. As the beetle-men rushed by Ragnar without even noticing him behind the boulder, the soldier saw his chance.

Ragnar jumped out from his hiding spot. He towered over the monsters by more than three feet so the soldier kicked the closest one. The stunned beetle-man went flying and smashed up against a rock.

The other beetle-man quickly turned and charged Ragnar, its mandibles barred forward for a deep bite. Ragnar side-stepped and caught the monster’s jaws with his sword, managing to throw the beetle-man to the ground. He then brought his foot down onto the monster’s back and crushed its spine as his boot cracked through its tough exoskeleton. The beetle-man let out a high-pitched screech of pain before it died. The other beetle-man finally got up and charged Ragnar. The soldier crouched down and stuck his blade forward just as the monster reached him. The blade pierced the monster’s hard skin and its heart. Grimly, Ragnar pulled his sword free of the corpse, something that was not too easy because of the exoskeleton. Not so dangerous after all, he thought but recalled what King Burnard had mentioned at the meeting. These beetle-men were only scouts, most often fodder for an army.

Chapter 5: Burland Tunnel

The rest of the trip through the valley went without further incident after Ragnar’s encounter with the beetle-men and he was able to make it to the Burland Tunnel just as twilight had begun to settle. The entrance held an old, rocky arch above the path that was carved right into the ground, a steep path leading down into the moldy depth underneath the river. Pulling a kerosene-soaked torch from his pack, the solider used his flint to light it. Its flame instantly revealed his surroundings. Before he entered the tunnel, Ragnar noticed something by the entrance with his torchlight. There were several small bones leading into the entrance, probably from some rodent animals or rabbits. He didn’t notice any campfire pits nearby, so humans did not eat these animals. Ragnar knew of only a few other creatures that could create so many bones in such a small area: slimes and healers. That could mean the monsters were becoming daring enough to venture into the tunnel. The soldier didn’t like the way things were beginning to look. If the beetle-men became daring enough, it was possible that they too would start to inhabit the tunnel as well and traveling between Izmit and Burland Castle would become a very dangerous venture. If armed escorts were going to be needed, Burland’s defenses were going to become stretched to the limit. Still, this was the only way to get to Izmit. Sword in hand, Ragnar entered the tunnel.

The ground was quite muddy and Ragnar had trouble keeping his balance as he walked down the steep path underneath the river. It wasn’t too long before he came across flatter ground, however. The tunnel was quite dark with Ragnar’s single flame lighting the interior. Still, the soldier was able to make out several tributary paths along the main one, probably made from flood waters carving them out during heavy downpours (a sometimes too common occurrence in the country of Burland). If any monsters were to ambush someone, these tributary tunnels would be ideal hiding places. Ragnar steeled his senses and strained to listen for any kind of movement. He could hear water dripping in several places, and the faint roar of running water high above, but the tunnel was otherwise silent. As he ventured further into the tunnel, Ragnar began to notice as strange smell in the air. At first he guessed it may have been just some sort of mold growing on the muddy walls but as the stench grew stronger, the soldier began to identify it with much greater ease. It was the smell of rotting flesh. Something had made a kill but Ragnar’s torch revealed no blood on the ground. Either it was brought in from the other side of the tunnel or it had died in here. The soldier rounded a corner and nearly passed out from the stench that assaulted him. The ground in front of him was littered with the corpses of healers. Skittering among the dead monsters were several slimes. The tiny, jelly-like creatures had a veritable feast for them here. Although not really dangerous, slimes were very brave if they were in large numbers and were known to attack humans should they feel threatened. Ragnar decided it would be best to scare the little monsters off. Grabbing the shield strapped to his back, the soldier began banging his sword against it and rushed forward, roaring like a wild beast. The slimes immediately scurried away from the dead healers and into the shadows of the tributary tunnels. Ragnar approached the corpses and picked up one of the dead healers. Healers were sort of like a jelly-fish, except they could float on land due to an incredibly light gas naturally produced inside their bulbous head. They also had a knack of quick recovery. If you slashed at a healer but didn’t kill it, its wound would often close in an instant in the way a ‘Heal’ spell would do it for a human, hence being called healers. Like slimes, they were not really dangerous but a large group of healers could mean trouble if they latched on to you with their tentacles. After studying the corpse, Ragnar found out that it was killed by a sword slash, and recently too. A quick examination revealed the same cause of death by the rest of the healers. Someone had been through a bit of battle here. Ragnar couldn’t tell if it had been the work of the other royal soldiers but it still showed a sign of just how bad the monster activity was starting to get. If there were this many healers in the tunnel (and maybe more, Ragnar didn’t know), then the slime and babble infestation could be just as bad. He had already seen a dozen slimes but he had been able to scare them off easily. Ragnar hoped the dead healers would attract any slimes or babbles away from him. As Ragnar left the corpses, he noticed the slimes were timidly returning to their feast. Good, he thought. At least they aren’t following me. The tunnel continued on a steady but relatively flat downward slope and Ragnar noticed a few streams running down. Eventually, he came across a small underground lake. The soldier

noticed that it seemed to have shrunken of late, seeing a dry bed around it. This was obviously the very bottom of the tunnel for several small streams of water spilled into it from the surrounding tributary tunnels. From the far side of the lake, Ragnar noticed a flicker of light sparkling off the dark water. The soldier instinctively went into a crouch and shielded his torch. Someone else was in the tunnel as well. While it could be nothing more than a traveler coming through, it was possible torch carrying beetle-men may be lurking in the tunnel. The soldier approached cautiously, remaining as hidden in the shadows as possible. As he drew nearer, he was able to make out more of a figure. Whatever it was, it was definitely humanoid. It seemed to be floundering about in the edge of the small underground lake, its splashing in the water giving no indication that it was trying to hide its presence. Even disgruntled grumbling could be heard.

The closer he got, the more detail Ragnar was able to discern. It was a human. In fact, Ragnar was shocked to see just which human it was: Sir Denuve, covered in mud, and fumbling about to fish his sword out of the lake.

“Hey, Sir Denuve!” Ragnar called out as he rushed over to the royal soldier. Denuve, not expecting anyone, jumped out of shock. He then slipped on some mud and fell on into the water. Clumsy as ever, Ragnar thought bitterly. Ragnar walked over and helped Denuve up. “Thank you, Captain,” he said. The younger soldier tried to brush the mud off to appear presentable to his captain but realized the futility of it and gave up. “I’m sorry that I look like such a disgrace.” “That’s all right,” Ragnar said, more concerned with the soldier’s well being than his appearance. “Are you fine?” “I’ve been better,” Denuve replied, his head a little low. “It has not been a pleasant past few hours.” He then resumed fishing his sword out of the water. “Um, if you don’t mind my asking,” Ragnar said, trying to help his fellow soldier, “but you wouldn’t happen to know why there’s several dead healers back there?” “Great work, huh?” Denuve said, smiling broadly. “Yeah, they tried to ambush us but we took care of them in no time.” “Who’s ‘us’?” “Me, Darnell, Mandrake, and Sandor,” Denuve replied. “Where are they now?” “Well, um....you see...” Denuve began hesitantly. Ragnar didn’t like how this looked and grabbed Denuve roughly. “What happened to them?” he demanded.

“I....don’t know,” Denuve replied shakily. “During the attack, I chased after a pair of healers down a tributary, and, um...got lost. By the time I made my way back to the main tunnel, they were gone.” Ragnar couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Three royal soldiers abandoning another during a time of battle? Such a thing was unheard of in all of Burland’s history. “When did this happen?” he asked. “I guess half a day ago,” Denuve shrugged. “I was lost for quite some time.” Ragnar didn’t know what to do next. Just the thought of royal soldiers abandoning another made him sick to the stomach. He thought about going back to the castle to report this but the King probably wouldn’t like the idea of Ragnar putting off the search for the children. No, it would be best to continue on to Izmit and confront the soldiers there. “Come on,” Ragnar said. “I’ll buy you a new sword at Izmit. Right now, I think we should get out of the cave with nightfall upon us. If there were that many healers in here during the day, I dread to think of what could be lurking in here at night.” Denuve sighed and nodded. The two royal soldiers began to make the climb out of the tunnel.

Chapter 6: Izmit

The road to Izmit was clear of monster activity but Ragnar didn’t let his guard up for an instant. If he had been attacked south of the river, where an imposing castle stood, it would have to be worse the further away he ventured. So, Ragnar forced Denuve to quicken his pace. The younger soldier was weary from his trials in the tunnel but kept up with Ragnar. As they made their way to the seaside town, Denuve explained to his captain what had happened.

He and the other soldiers were traveling had arrived at the tunnel late and decided to camp outside its entrance. Wary of the report of increased monster activity, they had felt it would be a safe idea to have no fire and keep double watch.

However, because of the double watches, the soldiers had overslept and, in their rush,

were improperly prepared to venture into the tunnel. Denuve figured it was how the healers were able to ambush so effectively and scatter them.

Ragnar was disturbed by many of the things the younger soldier’s told him. Of course,

the rudimentary things like oversleeping and a lack of discipline annoyed the captain but they paled in comparison to the trouble in the tunnel.

Even for soldiers as lax as the group had been, a force of slimes and healers such as the

one Ragnar had seen could not have snuck by them. If what Denuve told him was true (and Ragnar saw no reason for him to be lying if he admitted to oversleeping) then the monsters must have been living in the tunnel for a while now.

It was a growing problem but once Ragnar and Denuve finally reached Izmit late in the evening, he found himself at the mercy of a new, more important problem: finding an inn to stay at.

For a town centered on business in the northern region of Burland, Izmit wasn’t a particularly large. It more or less had the essentials of the shops needed for a town: markets, armories, a Zenithian Temple. It made a convenient marketplace for the many small villages that dotted the Burland coastline. A commercial town such as this, however, usually meant a large amount of inns for merchants to stay at while they peddled their wares. The first one Ragnar found, an inn named The Seaside Breeze (a bit of an exaggeration since the ocean was a few miles away) wasn’t a large inn but there was enough vacancy for Ragnar and Denuve to bed down for the night. They went to their rooms and Ragnar fell asleep in a few minutes, dreaming of olden days when the royal soldiers commanded respect amongst others.

* * *

Ragnar woke up late the next morning. He cursed himself for not being responsible and bolted out of bed. He washed up, got dressed, and put on some casual clothes before going down to the eatery for some breakfast. When he got there, he saw that Denuve was already up and eating. He was also sitting with two other men that Ragnar recognized instantly: Harald and Garn. “Ragnar!” Harald called out to him. “Glad to see that you finally caught up with us.” Ragnar went over and sat with his fellow soldiers at the table. A serving girl came over and Ragnar ordered for some porridge. “So,” Harald asked, “how’re you faring so far?” “I’ve been better,” Ragnar muttered, his thoughts still concerned about what the other soldiers did to Denuve. “Is something wrong?” Garn asked between mouthfuls of bread. “Have you heard what happened to Sir Denuve here?” Ragnar asked the two soldiers. They nodded and Harald said, “It really is a terrible thing. I couldn’t believe it when Denuve told us.” The serving girl brought Ragnar’s food and he tipped her a couple of gold pieces. After he had taken a few mouthfuls, he asked, “Where are the others right now?” Garn shrugged. “Harald and I were the first ones to arrive here. Sandor, Mandrake, and Darnell arrived shortly after but left. We haven’t heard from Elric yet.” “Do you know where Sandor went?” Ragnar asked. He was anxious to have a little chat with him regarding his behavior in the tunnel.

“I’m not sure,” Harald replied, “but I think they mentioned something about that old watch tower west of here.” “What tower?” Denuve asked. “Didn’t you see it when you came out of the tunnel?” Garn asked, a bit shocked. “It was dark when we got through,” Ragnar explained, “and we were weary and wanted to get to Izmit before the night monsters became more active.” “Hmm, well apparently there’s a tower in the middle of a lake out west,” Garn said. “Sandor thought it was a bit suspicious, so I guess he went to check it out.” “I see,” Ragnar muttered, half-heartedly poking at his porridge now. Harald sensed his friend’s mind was elsewhere and asked, “What’s on your mind, Ragnar?” Without even looking up, Ragnar replied, “On my way to the tunnel, I was attacked by a pair of beetle-men.” “Beetle-men!” Garn and Harald exclaimed in unison. “Then the reports are true,” Denuve said. “They really are coming down the mountains.” “Are you all right?” Harald asked. Ragnar nodded and muttered, “They weren’t really that big of a deal. Just scouts, really.” He looked up, a bit of fury in his eyes. “But it annoys me that here we are, the Royal Soldiers of Burland, sitting at an inn, worrying about lost children.” He slammed his fist into the table, rattling spoons and forks. “There could be a damned army out there and our King isn’t doing anything about it!” His colleagues were silent for a moment. Ragnar spoke true. Searching for missing children was usually better left to parents and, as the protectors of the Burland Kingdom, the possibility of an invading army of beetle-men was more urgent. “Ragnar,” Harald said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know how you feel. I’m sure we all do. But the King has given us an order.” Ragnar gave a defeated look to his friend. “Besides,” Garn said. “Harald and I have found out some things that may interest you.” “And what is that?” Ragnar asked, focusing more on his porridge again. “These children have been vanishing under unusual circumstances,” Garn replied. “That is, they have been simply vanishing from thin air.” “How’s that?” Denuve asked, quite interested.

“Well, the first one was being tucked in by his mother. He asked for a glass of water and his mother went to get it. When the mother returned, the child was gone.” “That’s odd,” Denuve muttered. “No signs of break-in or anything?” “None,” Harald replied. “Just vanished into thin air.” “The other child, the son of the innkeeper here, disappeared even faster than that,” Garn continued. “He was playing with a friend and his mother was keeping an eye on them. His mother claims she looked away for a second and when she turned back, he was gone.” “Gone?” Denuve asked, a bit surprised that a child could disappear that fast. “Just like that,” Garn said, snapping his fingers. Denuve began to think for a moment, then asked, “Wouldn’t this child’s friend have seen something? I mean, he was there the whole time, wasn’t he?” Garn and Harald looked at each other for a moment. “You know,” Harald said, “we never even bothered questioning the children. Maybe we should do that.” He turned to Ragnar and asked, “What do you think?” Ragnar scooped up the last of his porridge, dropped the spoon and few gold coins into the bowl, and stood up. “I think that I should get Denuve a new sword,” he replied and headed out of the inn.

Chapter 7: A Mystery Partially Solved

Ragnar slowly walked down the main road of Izmit to the town’s shops. The citizens, up several hours earlier, were bustling through the streets with activity. People from the seaside villages were rummaging through various wares while trying to sell or trade their own to the merchants. It was still early spring and foreign wares from Bonmalmo and Santeem weren’t going to be available until the summer, so the streets weren’t quite as busy as it would get later in the year. Several people stopped by the Zenithian Temple as well. The Zenithians, according to legend, were a race of omnipotent beings that served the Master Dragon, a god of extraordinary power that looked down upon the world, guiding the human populace. It was said if you had followed the Zenithian ways, you were granted permission to live among the Zenithians when you died.

Although Ragnar didn’t disbelieve in any of the religion, he viewed the dedicated sermons a waste of time compared to the important responsibilities of a royal soldier and never made it a habit to attend the temples unless duty required it. In the soldier’s mind, whether there was a place to reside in the afterlife was irrelevant. Such concerns were for the future while his concerns remained in the present.

Ragnar made his way to one of the few weapon shops in Izmit after gaining some directions. He viewed the merchandise there and saw many fine weapons on display: a variety of whips, chain sickles, and even spears made of iron. However, he didn’t need to waste his time with all of the fine weaponry. All he needed was a copper sword for Denuve. “How much?” Ragnar asked the merchant, pointing at one on display. “One hundred gold pieces,” the merchant replied. It was a little more than Ragnar had expected but a promise was a promise. “Here,” he said, reaching into his money pouch. “That’s one hundred fifty. Give it a good sharpening.” The merchant nodded anxiously and hurried the sword into the back of the shop to sharpen it. Ragnar leaned against the wall, taking in the gossip of some of the shoppers. Most of it was trivial stuff; what one husband did to their wife, or whom one woman met at the school.

He overheard a couple of women talking about their children. Maybe they knew something about the disappearances and Ragnar decided to question them while he waited.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Ragnar said, giving them a gentlemanly bow, “but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversations. Were you discussing about the children disappearing?” “What if we were?” one of the woman asked, eyeing Ragnar up and down. “I am Sir Ragnar Calgor, Captain of the Royal Soldiers of Burland,” he said, again bowing. “By the King’s command, I am here to investigate the disappearances.” “Really,” the second woman said. “Well, what have you found out, Sir Ragnar?” “Not much, actually,” Ragnar shrugged. “It seems these disappearances have baffled the townsfolk just as much.” “Well, we weren’t talking about the disappearances,” the first woman said. She seemed to have an alluring edge to her voice now but the soldier ignored it. It was not in his nature to be attracted to women in such a manner. “Yes,” the second said. “I was just telling Angeline that I was glad they finally locked up that crazy nut who’s been hanging around the children. I told my son not to go near him but I still caught him with the loon.” “He was locked up for stealing some bread,” the woman named Angeline added, slowly approaching the soldier. “Um, I see,” Ragnar stuttered, backing up a bit. He really didn’t want to have anything to do with this woman. Sure, she was attractive but his heart was set on Mary and Ragnar didn’t want to be unfaithful to her in any way, including leering at other women. He decided it would be best to stall her by asking some pointless questions. “Uh, do you know what this guy’s name is?”

“What did you say his name was, Paulina?” Angeline asked, her eyes steeled on Ragnar, “Alex, was it?” The second woman nodded and said, “Yeah, it seems he lost his memory or something like that. Must have been through some ordeal.” Ragnar didn’t really pay attention. This Angeline was getting closer and he didn’t have much more room to back up. He noticed the one called Paulina was beginning to giggle. Where was that blasted merchant? It shouldn’t take this long to sharpen a sword. As if on cue, the merchant returned with a freshly sharpened sword. “And will there be anything else, kind sir?” he asked as he handed the sword over to Ragnar. “No, nothing else,” Ragnar replied quickly, grabbing the sword. “Thanks!” And he rushed off, thankful to be away from the temptress. He looked back to make sure he they weren’t following him and noticed the two women were laughing with each other. Ragnar didn’t know for sure but he had a suspicion he had just been played the fool.

* * *

“Here’s your sword,” Ragnar said to Denuve, dropping it un-ceremonially in front of the soldier. “Uh, thanks,” Denuve said, hesitantly picking up the sword. “Is there something wrong?” Harald asked Ragnar. “Just got to learn how to keep my mouth shut,” Ragnar muttered as he sat down at the table. He still couldn’t believe he had been humiliated in the public like that. So far, this trip to Izmit had not been going great. They were wasting their time at an inn when the threat of a beetle-men army lurked, nearly half of the royal soldier contingent had abandoned one of their own, and now this. Moments later, Garn entered the eatery and joined them at the table. “So,” Harald asked, “what did you find?” “Not a whole lot,” Garn muttered. “Just a variation of what the innkeeper’s wife told us. The kid said he saw his friend playing with some shoes they had found. When the mother looked away, he put the shoes on and the kid saw him fly into the sky.” “Now that is much different,” Denuve said. “The mother said that he just disappeared but his friend said that he flew into the sky.” “You know how kids exaggerate things,” Garn said to Denuve. “That’s probably all he meant.” “Still,” Denuve argued, “shouldn’t we put it into consideration that-”

“You know what I think,” Ragnar interrupted, finally looking up. The others looked at him. “I was talking to some townsfolk and they told me the children had been hanging around a crazy person lately. I think this guy probably kidnapped these kids.” “Do you happen to know where this lunatic is?” Harald asked. “They caught him stealing bread and threw him in the jail,” Ragnar replied. “It might be a good idea if we questioned him a bit,” Garn said. “Agreed,” Harald said, “but only two of us should go. If he really is crazy, we don’t want to alarm him.” The others agreed and decided that Harald and Ragnar should go. They headed over to the jail, which was located down a shabby path at the north end of Izmit. A single guard was stationed at the entrance, which lead to a few underground cells. Once the soldiers identified themselves, the guard eagerly let them pass.

There weren’t many cells; apparently, crime wasn’t a major problem in Izmit. The few cells they had were surprisingly tidy for an underground jail. Each had a single bed, a bowl of water, and a desk with a stool! Ragnar could almost go as far as to saying that a prisoner could be treated like a guest in cells like these. In Burland Castle, all cells were bare-floored with a couple of blankets, and a bowl of water was given to you every six hours.

“We should approach quietly,” Harald said in a hushed voice. “We don’t want to scare him.” Ragnar nodded in agreement. However, upon nearing the cell, they heard someone jump up and start screaming, “Help! Help! They’re after me! They’re all after me!” There was an eerie silence after that, then a timid voice asking, “Does anyone want to play with me? I’m so very lonely. I’m your friend! I won’t hurt you.” “Look’s like we found our lunatic,” Ragnar whispered, and they went up to the cell. Inside was a dirty man, probably in his late twenties, wearing tattered clothes. He was huddled up against the far corner of his bed in a fetal position. He seemed to be mumbling something but neither soldier could make it out. Harald went up to the bars and said in a low voice, “Excuse me. May we speak with you for a moment?” The man in the cell looked up and saw the two soldiers. He bolted up and rushed to the bars. Harald and Ragnar backed up, thinking the crazy man was going to ram into the bars. However, he stopped just short of the cell door. “I was hungry!” he cried. “That was why I stole that bread! I was just so very hungry!” Harald looked at Ragnar for a moment before he cautiously approached the crazy man. “Uh, that’s not why we’re here,” he said. “Oh,” the crazy man said, somewhat cheerfully.

Ragnar approached the cell as well. “Um, we were just wondering if you could answer us a few questions?” he asked. The crazy man sat down on the floor and started to toss rocks at the water bowl. After a moment, he turned to the soldiers and said, “Yeah, sure. What y’a wanna know?” The soldiers looked at each other again, unsure as to how they should proceed. Ragnar started the questioning. “Exactly what kind of relationship do you have with the children here in Izmit?” “They’re my friends!” the crazy man smiled broadly. “We go and play together! It’s lots of fun.” Clang! “Yes!! And it counts! Two points for the home team!” “What do you exactly do?” Harald asked. “We go and play at the...” His voice trailed off for a moment. He stopped his throwing rocks and looked around him, as if he were making sure they were alone. He stood up and motioned for the soldiers to come closer to the bars. Harald hesitated but Ragnar pulled him over with him. The crazy man motioned for them to put their ears up against the bars. The soldiers did so and the man cupped his hands and whispered into their ears, “We go and play at the secret playground.” He then suddenly spit into their ears! Ragnar and Harald, caught by surprise by the disgusting action, jumped back. The man started to giggle like a little child and resumed his game with the rocks and water bowl. “That’s it!” Harald said angrily. “I’m not going to waste another minute here! He’s obviously just some loony.” Ragnar regained his composure more quickly than Harald and said, “But this ‘secret playground’ might be where these missing children are. We should ask him further questions.” “You can,” Harald said, jutting a finger in Ragnar’s chest. “I’m going back to the inn.” And with that, Harald stormed out of the jail. Ragnar couldn’t blame his friend. Trying to reason with this crazy person was like trying to reason with a four year old and Ragnar wasn’t too fond of children who were as irresponsible as this man was. However, Ragnar figured if he was going to get anywhere with this mystery, he was going to have to push him further. “Um,” Ragnar began, trying to smile, “that was, um, really, a funny joke there. But do you think you could refrain from doing that, Mister...um...” “Alex!” the crazy man finished. “My name is Alex, but the kids call me Al.” “Right,” Ragnar said, not really paying attention. “Um, Al, I was wondering. Where is this secret playground?”

“Can’t tell,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s a secret!” Clang! “Yes! He scores! No one can stop him!” Ragnar let a low growl of frustration escape from his chest. He wanted to break down the jail door and wring the truth out of this lunatic but he realized it wouldn’t do any good. It would be like trying to beat up a child. He would probably begin to either cry or bite and kick him. Ragnar figured there wasn’t anything else he could accomplish here, so he said, “Well, thanks for your time, um, Al. I have to be going now.” He started to leave when the crazy man suddenly jumped up and grabbed onto Ragnar’s shirt through the bars. Ragnar was about to brush him off but paused when he saw the crazy man’s eyes. They were filled with absolute terror. “Please don’t go!” he pleaded. “They’ll get me if you leave!” “Who?” Ragnar asked, having finally gotten the filthy hands off of his shirt. “Those mean little green things!” the crazy man cried. “They’ll latch onto me, suck my guts out, and... and....” “Whatever,” Ragnar muttered, figuring it to be just another mad rambling. He walked away, still hearing the crazy man scream in terror as if something was attacking him. Ragnar ignored it as best as he could until he got outside again. Still, there was a lingering feeling inside his head, as if he should know that name Alex from somewhere.

Chapter 8: The Bathing Pool

“I’m telling you,” Ragnar argued at the table, “there’s bound to be something at this ‘secret playground.’ We should try to interrogate him further!” “It’s no use,” Harald said, leaning on the table. “He acts like a child and children have an annoying ability of keeping secrets really good when they don’t want adults to find out.” He sat up then, and said, “Besides, it’s probably just that crazy guy’s home.” “But it is very possible that he kidnapped them,” Garn argued. Ragnar looked at the fellow soldier. At least someone was supporting him. “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Harald replied, “but so far, we have no evidence of that.” He turned to Ragnar and added, “Besides, trying to reason with him is nearly impossible with the state of mind he’s in.” Denuve returned to the table then, bringing them all mugs of ale. “Let’s not worry about that now,” he said. “Let’s just sit back and enjoy the bit of rest we can get now.” Garn and Harald nodded, and eagerly grabbed a mug each. Ragnar hesitated.

“Come on, Ragnar,” Harald said, patting his friend on the back. “We all know how you feel, but, right now, there’s nothing we can do.” Ragnar looked at Harald and said, “There’s plenty we could be doing besides sharing mugs of ale. We could be questioning that crazy man further, or talking with the children, or searching for this playground, or-” “Or just trying to relax for a bit,” Harald interrupted. “We can resume our search tomorrow. The children are probably already put to bed by now, anyway.” Ragnar nodded slowly, reluctantly agreeing. He took a mug for himself and took a large gulp. “Yeah,” he muttered, wiping the foam from his mustache, “I guess you’re right.” The others nodded, and began to indulge in the nightlife of Izmit.

* * *

A little while later, when the eatery began to clear out of drunken men, Harald and Garn helped the passed-out Denuve off of the table to go to their rooms. Ragnar said that he’d be up later. He wanted to clear his head a bit before he went to sleep. Garn and Harald nodded and dragged Denuve upstairs. Ragnar walked slowly outside, taking in the cool spring air. He had to admit, he did have a pleasant time tonight. He had fun having a few arm wrestles with his fellow soldiers, he enjoyed sharing moments with his friends, and he especially laughed when Denuve tried to hit on some of the serving girls, only to fall on his face in the attempts. Times like that were rare at Burland Castle. Although they weren’t up all night like the guardsmen, the royal soldiers had to keep their heads clear should anything suddenly happen. Izmit was relatively quiet at night. A few drunks wandered the streets but nothing else could be seen. Ragnar had quite a few drinks but wasn’t overly drunk. Every Calgor in his family history had been able to hold their liquor easily, and a table would have to be full of empty mugs before a Calgor would be on the brink of passing out. Ragnar’s own father was among the best of them. After a moment, Ragnar noticed that he had wondered some ways from the inn. Actually, he had no idea where he was at this moment. Izmit seemed much larger at night. He stood near someone’s house with trees surrounding the back. He heard someone behind the house, so Ragnar thought he would ask directions from whoever was behind the house. As he walked over, he noticed he was starting to stumble a bit. The alcohol was beginning to take a stronger effect on him for some reason. Maybe a walk outside wasn’t such a good idea, he thought. He burst through the wall of trees and came to small pool of water. In the water was a woman bathing! She turned and saw Ragnar, letting out an ear-piercing screech. “Aahh!” Ragnar cried, covering his ears. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” “Get out of here, you drunk!” she screamed, covering herself with her arms.

“Yes, yes!” Ragnar said, slowly backing up. “I’m leaving!” A few seconds later, he was behind the tree barrier. He was about to leave but stopped for a second. He had an overpowering urge to just take a quick peek again. A voice inside of him said, “No, it is wrong. You are a Royal Soldier. It is indecent. And what of Mary?” However, another voice, which the alcohol had seemed to unleash, argued, “Guys do it all the time. Tonight’s a time to let go of your responsibilities. And besides, Mary wouldn’t mind if you just took a quick peek. How would she find out, anyway?” In the end, Ragnar’s primal instinct got the better of him and he sneaked back to the tree barrier. However, when he looked, he didn’t see anything. The woman had submerged all but her head. She was obviously taking no chances this time. Ragnar sighed and started to head back when he noticed some movement on the other side of the bathing pool. Someone else was trying to get a peep show as well! Ragnar’s alcohol-fueled logic didn’t want another person to have what he was denied, so he sneaked around to the other side of the pool. Once there, he saw a young man was trying to catch a glimpse of the naked woman. Quietly, he crept up to the young man and tapped him on the shoulder. The young man jumped in shock and spun around, seeing Ragnar with arms crossed over his large chest. “W...what?” the young man stammered. “I wasn’t snooping!” “You expect me to believe that?” Ragnar asked, trying to sound imposing between slightly slurred words. The young man went up to Ragnar with a pleading look in his eyes and said, “Please keep quiet! I’ll do anything!” Ragnar rubbed his mustache for a moment. “Anything?” Ragnar asked. The young man nodded quickly, taking a quick glance back to the pool to see if he missed anything. Ragnar still wasn’t thinking too clearly, so he thought that maybe this young man might know something about the secret playground that had been plaguing his mind. He asked the young man about it. “Secret playground?” the young man said, confused. “Yeah,” Ragnar said. “You know, the one that Al keeps bragging about.” “Oh,” the young man said, suddenly realizing. “You mean Alex in the jail.” “Yeah, whatever,” Ragnar muttered, beginning to get a little irritated. “Beats me,” the young man shrugged. “Far as I know, he came from the Burland Castle. Could be there.” “Right,” Ragnar mumbled, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe he just wasted his time with this young man. “Thanks,” he said, before walking away. The young man smiled broadly and resumed his snooping position.

As he walked away, Ragnar suddenly had a thought. He turned and shouted as loud as he could, “Thanks for nothing!” The sound of a startled gasp and splashing confirmed that Ragnar’s little plan worked. Chuckling to himself, he made his way back to the inn.

* * *

Ragnar woke the next morning with a mild headache. He half expected it, going to bed a bit dizzy. He groggily made his way downstairs and joined the other royal soldiers at a table in the eatery. “Well, look who’s finally up,” Harald said, smiling. “Have a long night?” “Sort of,” Ragnar replied, scratching his head. “I got a bit...lost.” Garn chuckled, while Denuve just smiled weakly. Apparently, Denuve was in worse shape than Ragnar was. Ragnar sat down, ordered some porridge, and leaned back in his chair. The others were looking at him. “What?” he asked. “Well,” Harald said, smiling. “Tell us what happened.” “Nothing,” Ragnar muttered. “I wandered around for a bit, talked to a few people, and came back.” He stopped for a moment and sat up. “What? Is there something wrong?” “Oh, nothing,” Garn smiled. “We just heard that someone matching your description made an unexpected visit at a bathing pool.” Ragnar flushed. The others began to laugh. Ragnar tried to explain his side of the story. “I was lost, and heard someone. I was going to ask directions. I never realized that it was a bathing pool. It was an accident!” He could see that he was not going to win the support of his fellow soldiers. “I’ll have you know that I stopped another voyeur,” Ragnar argued further. “Yeah, how?” Garn managed to ask between laughs. “He gave me some false information, so, to get back at him, I yelled out his position,” Ragnar said, although he could tell that they were not really paying attention. “What did he say?” laughed Harald. “Oh, nothing much,” Ragnar muttered, not really seeing the point in it if it did not defend his position. “He just said that guy in the jail was from Burland Castle and that...”

Ragnar’s voice trailed off. Something just dawned onto him. He remembered where he had heard the name Alex before. Mary had mentioned that her friend’s husband, Alex, was missing. Could this be the same Alex?

“Guys!” Ragnar said, bolting up. “I think I know of a way to jog that crazy guy’s memory and find out where this secret playground is.” “How’s that?” Harald asked, wiping a few tears from his eyes. “His name is Alex,” Ragnar explained, “and he has a wife in Burland Castle. If he were to see her, maybe he’d snap out of that state of mind he’s in, and he’d be able to tell us the whereabouts of the secret playground.” “Are you nuts?” Garn asked, looking seriously at Ragnar. “Are you going to go on the word of a lunatic?” “It’s the best lead we’ve gotten,” Ragnar argued. “It won’t hurt to try.” “What if you’re right?” Harald asked. “How do we bring him back to Burland Castle? He’s in no traveling condition right now. There’s no way we could bring him back to the castle, especially with the increase of monster activity.” “That is a problem,” Ragnar muttered, rubbing his mustache. “Maybe we could bring his wife here,” Denuve mumbled, rubbing his temples. The others looked at him. “That’s just about all we can do,” Ragnar said. “I think it would be safer if we brought a sane person on the road.” Harald shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “We’d be risking the life of a woman for a shot in the dark.” He looked sternly at Ragnar and added, “And what if this man isn’t her husband? Do you realize how devastated she would be?” Ragnar hadn’t taken that into consideration. Harald spoke true. It really was a shot in the dark and he’d be violating one of the most important codes of the royal soldiers: always protect the commoners. Still, it was the best lead they had, no matter how remote it was. Ragnar stood up and said, “I don’t care what you may think. I’m going on my intuition for once. I’m going back to the castle.” At that, he began to head up to his room to gather his things. “Ragnar, wait!” Harald called out to him. Ragnar turned and was ready to say he wasn’t going to change his mind. However, before he could speak, Harald said, “I’ll come with you. It’s too dangerous to travel alone now.” Ragnar looked at his friend and smiled. “Thanks.”

Chapter 9: Ambush!

Ragnar and Harald left Izmit later that day. Garn and Denuve stayed behind to keep an eye on the town in case anything turned up.

They walked a quick pace, wanting to get to Burland Castle before night. The road was clear of activity, save a few villagers heading to Izmit.

Once they neared the tunnel, Ragnar could see the top of the tower Harald had mentioned. It poked through the canopy of a large forest and a few birds circled over top of it. Few people knew exactly where the tower had come from but there were some rumors. It was said that, when Burland was in its infancy, it was used as a guard tower. If any invasion fleets were to come to Burland, the guards in the tower would be able to spot them well before they neared the coast. However, such an invasion never did come, mainly due to the fact that none of the empires of old wished to bother with the remote country. So, the tower was eventually abandoned. Ragnar wondered if it might be a better idea if he should go to the tower right now and confront Sandor, Darnell, and Mandrake. However, he decided not to. They had gone there more than a day ago and were probably long gone. He’d be able to talk with them when this mission was over. “Ragnar!” he heard Harald call from up ahead. The soldier rushed forward and saw Harald studying the ground in front of the tunnel. There were several tiny tracks. They didn’t look like anything an animal would leave. These tracks were much too uniform. And they were leading out of the tunnel. “Beetle-men,” Ragnar mused. “Are you sure?” Harald asked, looking at his friend. “No,” Ragnar replied, “but it sure looks like the kind of tracks a large walking insect might leave.” “That means that they’ve already braved the tunnel,” Harald muttered, rubbing his chin. After a moment, he asked. “Do you think that there might still be some in here?” Ragnar shrugged. He couldn’t tell the number of beetle-men in the tracks. For all he knew, it was just a couple of scouts like he had encountered. “All the same,” he said, rubbing his mustache, “I think we should equip our shields.” Harald nodded and they undid their shields from their backs and strapped them on their preferred arm. Then, swords in one hand and a torch in the other, the two soldiers went into the tunnel. The mud was drier than when Ragnar first went through but it was still difficult to walk down the steep entrance without sliding a bit. Sunlight filtered in for a little ways but soon the soldiers were solely relying on their torches for light. Knowing that that wouldn’t be enough to see into the tributary tunnels, the soldiers quickly increased their sense of hearing as well as sight. Aside from the sound of running water, the tunnel was still very quiet. Ragnar didn’t notice the stench of rotting healers anymore, so the slimes were probably aware of their presence, just too timid to attack. Soon, they came to the underground lake. The soldiers strained to hear any movement but all they could hear was running water. Ragnar didn’t like it. If there were beetle-men in the

tunnel, he wanted them to at least make some sort of indication they were around. If they were noisy enough by the road, why couldn’t they be just as noisy here? They passed the lake and made their way through the southern half of the tunnel. It was still very quiet. “Be careful,” Ragnar whispered. “There’s a bunch of dead healers around the corner here, and there were quite a few slimes skittering among them.” Harald nodded and gripped his sword tighter. Ragnar noticed the smell had gone down and when he rounded the corner, he saw why. Only a few scraps of the healers were still around. Everything else had been eaten since Ragnar was last here. He didn’t like that. When he came through here before, the amount of slimes he saw couldn’t have eaten all of the corpses he saw. There had to be more lurking around, but where? The soldiers crept forward slowly, not wanting to attract attention to them and to listen for any kind of movement other than their own. They were about to round another corner when Harald stopped short. Ragnar looked at Harald, wondering what he was doing. Harald motioned to the corner and to wall beyond it. Ragnar looked there and saw something he hadn’t seen before. The shadow of a beetle-man! Ragnar grabbed his sword tighter and nodded to Harald. Harald nodded back and the two soldiers stuck their torches into the ground and silently put their backs up against the wall. It was a certainty the monsters had seen their light by now and would attack. Hopefully they would be able to catch them by surprise. Seconds later, five beetle-men burst around the corner, screeching some sort of battle charge. They were larger than the ones Ragnar had fought but he and Harald still towered over them. Just as the beetle-men rounded the corner, Harald, being closer, struck out. The first beetle-man caught a copper blade at the neck, and thick, green fluid spilled out. Harald tried to wedge his sword back out but it was caught in the hard exoskeleton. Ragnar quickly went to his aid. Sword extended, he charged the beetle-men, roaring like a bear in an attempt to scare them. The beetle-men, seeing how one of their comrades had fallen so quickly, backed up. They started to make clicking noises, tiny feelers between their mandibles moving rapidly. Harald finally got his sword free and joined Ragnar. “Two against four,” he said to Ragnar. “I like those odds.” The beetle-men charged, their giant jaws chomping savagely. Ragnar used the same technique on the lead monster as he used before. As the beetle-man got close enough, he brought his sword down and caught the monster’s jaws with his blade. He then threw the monster down to the ground and smashed its spine with his foot. Harald fended off the second attacker with his shield, then crouched low into a spin, his sword extended. The beetle-man managed to dodge the attack, though, and charged forward,

ready to bite into Harald’s open flank. However, Harald had used the missed attack as an advantage and continued his spin. By the time the beetle-man got to Harald, his shield was there waiting. The shield smashed into the giant insect and the monster flew against the wall, where it crumpled to the floor. Ragnar’s attack on the first beetle-man left him momentarily open for another to attack. The fourth beetle-man lunged forward, bit through his clothes, and pierced his skin. Ragnar grunted in pain but it didn’t slow his attack. He glared down at the beetle-man, fury in his eyes. The beetle-man released its grip on Ragnar and pointed its blue eyes up. It saw Ragnar, saw him bring his blade up high, then no more. Harald quickly stood up when he heard Ragnar grunt. He saw his friend finish off the beetle-man that attacked by jamming his sword through its head but he was wide open to an attack by the last one. The remaining beetle-man realized this too, but saw that it could never defeat the skilled soldiers. Deciding its own life was more important, it ran back up the tunnel. Harald knew that if it got out, it could get reinforcements. Grabbing his torch, he chased after the beetle-man. The shorter monster knew that it was futile to try and outpace the soldier, so it darted into a tributary tunnel, hoping to lose Harald. Harald stopped short. He had no clue how deep this tributary was and Ragnar was still back there, possibly badly injured. But if he did leave, the beetle-man could double-back and they could have a whole platoon of beetle-men waiting for them at the outside. Gritting his teeth, Harald entered the tributary. The tunnel wasn’t very big but Harald still had enough room to maneuver easily. He strained to listen for movement. He faintly heard running steps ahead but that was all. Eventually, the steps stopped. Harald stopped as well, trying to listen for any details. All he heard was the low hum of river-water roaring high above. Either the beetle-man had come to a dead end or it had stopped to ambush him. Harald kept on creeping further. A moment later, he heard an ear piercing screech ahead, then a splat as if something had fallen into the mud. Harald stopped, wondering if he should continue. His curiosity got the better of him and he proceeded. The soldier’s torchlight revealed the cause of the screech as soon as he found the monster. In front of him lay the beetle-man, its face in the mud. Slithering all over it were little green blobs: babbles!

Harald gasped and slowly started to back away. Babbles were quite dangerous if one of them latched on. Their poison would eventually slow you down and several more would come to cover you, eventually absorbing the entire body. It was a fate no one would want to share, even if it was on your worst enemy.

Hoping not to attract the vile little monsters, Harald slowly turned and got ready to run back the other way. Before he was about to escape the babble lair, he felt a piercing pain on his leg.

* * *

It had taken a while but Ragnar had finally managed to pull his sword out of the beetle-man’s head. He couldn’t believe he had done such a stupid thing. Of all the finest training a royal soldier could have, he resulted to brute strength above all other tactics. He saw Harald run off in chase of the last beetle-man, so Ragnar followed him. As he walked, he checked the wound the beetle-man had given him. It wasn’t as bad as Ragnar had thought. The beetle-man had only pierced the skin. It would sting for a while but it wasn’t serious. He suddenly heard an ear-piercing screech from one of the tributaries. Looks like Harald got it, Ragnar thought triumphantly. He waited by the tributary entrance, keeping an eye out for any other beetle-men or worse. After a few moments, Harald limped out of the tributary. He looked weak and was clutching his leg. At first, Ragnar thought the beetle-man had somehow wounded his friend but when he looked at the spot Harald was clutching, he saw there was green slime oozing from out of his fingers. “By the Master!” Ragnar gasped. There was a babble stuck on Harald’s leg. He went to help his friend but Harald held up his other hand, shaking his head. “It will only latch onto you,” Harald said, gritting his teeth. Once in the additional light of Ragnar’s torch, he dug his hand down underneath the green slime and twisted his hand around. The babble latched onto his hand and began to pulsate, trying to suck on the blood there. Still gritting his teeth, Harald closed his eyes and began to beat his hand against the wall. Ragnar winced at seeing his friend abuse himself like this. After a minute of this, the babble slipped off of Harald’s hand. It tried to slither away back into the darkness but Harald undid his shield, put it over top of the babble, and pressed down. In a few moments, green slime oozed out on all sides of the shield. Harald brought his shield up, and green slime covered the ground and shield. There was no way the babble could have survived. Ragnar rushed over to his friend and caught him before he collapsed. Harald managed to look up at Ragnar, and whispered, “We’ve got to get out of here, fast!” Ragnar nodded and carried his friend out of the tunnel.

Chapter 10: Home Again

Ragnar slowly made his way down the valley road. Harald was unconscious in his arms, his blood vessels already beginning to burst from the babble poison. Unless Harald received a proper antidote to neutralize the poison, he would not survive long.

The sun had gone behind the valley’s mountains a few hours ago, and the night monsters would soon be active. Time was running out.

The extra bulk Ragnar was now carrying made it difficult for his wound to heal properly.

His thin bandage was soaked in blood and was beginning to soak through his clothes. He was

getting dizzy from the lack of blood but he had to push himself forward. Both of their lives depended on it.

However, Ragnar eventually saw the faint glow of city lights. Smiling weakly, he quickened his pace.

* * *

“...And then, I said ‘What do you mean we’re out of stock! If I were you, I’d start running to the hills before I use our wares on you!” The man laughed, as if the comment was meant to be funny. Mary and Flora just smiled weakly. The man quickly realized the joke had failed so he stopped his laughter, looking very embarrassed. “Excuse me,” Flora said, standing up. “I think I should start cleaning these.” She gathered up the plates, and headed into the kitchen. Mary could tell that something was bothering her. Flora’s expressions during the dinner with Oscar, a local weapon’s merchant, had been distracted. Mary stood up as well, to see if she could help her friend but Oscar grabbed her arm before she could leave. “So, what do you think?” he asked her. “What do you mean?” Mary said, jerking her arm away from the merchant. “My chances,” Oscar said, looking into the kitchen. “What kind of a chance do you think I have with her?” So, that’s it, Mary thought. The ‘casual’ conversations in the town surrounding Burland Castle, the frequent dinners they had been sharing, and the failed attempts at jokes; all just trying to get closer to Flora. “You know that she’s married,” Mary said, protecting her fragile friend. “Yes, but-” Oscar began but was cut off quickly by Mary. “But nothing,” Mary said, quite definite in her words. Oscar nodded shakily and Mary went into the kitchen. She heard him mumble, “How long will she wait? I hope she will give up hope so I can marry her.” Mary gasped but kept her mouth shut. She would have loved to give Oscar a good verbal thrashing but it wouldn’t solve much. Alex was still missing and Flora would just be a target for the next leering young man after Oscar was finished. Mary walked into the kitchen and saw Flora leaning over the sink, staring outside. The moonlight highlighted her already bright blonde hair, and her pale skin sort of gave off a ghostly beauty that Mary had always been envious of. It was no wonder why so many men in Burland were after her now that Alex had disappeared.

“Are you all right?” Mary asked her friend, gently touching her shoulder. “Oh, Mary!” Flora said, startled. “I didn’t hear you come in!” Mary looked outside as well. It was a clear night, a rather rare sight in the early spring. The moon was just setting over the mountains and glowing brightly over the forest. There were several stars out. The constellations were easy to spot, none more prominent than the stars that made up the Zenithian god, Master Dragon, taking up half the night sky. “That’s our constellation,” Flora said, pointing to a cluster of stars. “What?” Mary asked, confused. “Right there,” Flora said. To Mary, it looked like two strings of stars joined at the middle. In fact, it almost looked like a lop-sided ‘H’. “One night,” Flora explained, “Alex and I were star-gazing and he pointed to those stars. He said, ‘No one has named that one there. I think I’ll call it Alex-and-Flora.’ He said that the stars joining the two represented our marriage vows, unbreakable and everlasting.” “How romantic,” Mary breathed. She wished Ragnar would do something like that for her. He really did try to be romantic but often would fall flat on his face. Still, he cared for her as much as his duty. That was all Mary needed. Mary then heard Flora begin to cry. She quickly grabbed her friend, hugging her close. “Mary!” Flora sobbed. “He’s been gone so long! So very long! I lay awake at night, thinking he’s going to come through the door but he doesn’t! I look outside, expecting to see him come over the horizon but he’s never there! Oh, Mary, I’m so scared!” Her tears became uncontrollable then and cried into Mary’s chest. “Don’t worry,” Mary said, hugging her friend tightly. “He’ll come back. Love will find a way. It always has.” “I wish it were true,” Flora mumbled. They stood there for several minutes, Flora spilling her sorrow onto Mary and Mary comforting her as best as she could. Suddenly, Oscar burst into the kitchen. He stopped short of the two women, unsure about himself. Mary looked sharply at him, obviously annoyed. “Um, sorry,” he stuttered, “but there’s some commotion at the front gate. Two of the royal soldiers have returned, and in bad shape.” “What?” Mary exclaimed. She instantly feared the worst, a flashing image of Ragnar being carried in on a stretcher, blood soaking his clothes. “Do you know which ones?” Oscar shook his head. She looked at Flora, who had gotten over her brief fit of sadness. “I’ll be all right,” she said weakly, rubbing her eyes of tears.

Mary nodded and began to head out. As she passed by Oscar, she saw an anxious look on his face, as if he was waiting for her to leave. “Come on, Oscar,” she said, firmly grabbing onto his arm. “They may need some able men to help them.” “But...” he stammered but Mary had already dragged him out of Flora’s home.

* * *

“How is he?” Ragnar asked the priest. “He’ll be all right,” the priest replied, “but the poison did much damage. I’m afraid that it’ll be days before he makes a full recovery.” Ragnar nodded and started to walk away. “I’d suggest that you get some rest too,” the priest called out but Ragnar didn’t hear him. His thoughts were trained on the problem at hand. The King was asleep right now, so he’d have to wait until morning before he could report to him. The other thing that was troubling the soldier was he had no idea how he was going to get Flora back to Izmit on his own. It was a relatively easy task for him and Harald to defeat the beetle-men in the tunnel but Ragnar did not know how he would do against such a group on his own, all the while protecting a woman. “Ragnar!” he heard someone call out his name. He turned and saw Mary running from the main hall of the Zenithian Temple towards him. All of his problems instantly disappeared at seeing her. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed her in just three days. As she reached him, Ragnar grabbed Mary and gave her a hard hug. “Ragnar!” she cried, still in his embrace. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Ragnar put her down gently and replied, “Just a minor scar. The clerics treated me just fine. I’ll be in good shape tomorrow morning.” Mary smiled and kissed him repeatedly, grateful he was alive and well.

Chapter 11: The King’s Gift

Ragnar woke up from his bed, feeling refreshed and new. He hadn’t realized how much more comfortable the castle’s beds were than the inn’s at Izmit. He looked beside him. Mary was sleeping peacefully. Ragnar smiled, stroked her hair, and got up. The soldier checked on his wound in the mirror. There was only a tiny line where a large gash had once been. The soldier marveled at the healing the clerics at the Zenithian Temple could accomplish. It would have taken a dozen medical herbs to do what they did in a few minutes. After he had gotten dressed, Ragnar immediately rushed to the King’s audience hall. The other night, he had made a request to the guards to bring Flora to the audience hall as well. He hoped she would be there by now so he wouldn’t have to waste much time here. The sooner the children were found, the sooner he could carry on with the preparation of Burland’s defenses. The beetle-men problem was worsening by the day.

The audience hall was in the middle of the castle on a second floor. It wasn’t overly big, but decorative. A large, red carpet stretched out over the floor. Small bundles of plants were in the corners and on the sides were tiny pools of water, holding exotic fish in them. A large, blue curtain covered the back wall and the throne rested in front of it. The throne held the Burland flag at the top: a great stag overlooking the valley from high above the mountains. The King sat in his throne, talking with his advisor. He still looked agitated but not as weary any more. To his other side, a jester was playing his flute, providing mild entertainment for the King. Ragnar didn’t see Flora anywhere. The soldier turned to one of the guards and asked if they had seen her. The guard shook his head. Ragnar nodded and was about to head out to grab the woman when he heard the King call him. “Sir Ragnar! Great to see you in fine condition! I heard all about the tunnel.” Forgetting about Flora for the moment, Ragnar walked towards the King, bowing in front of him. “Your Majesty,” Ragnar said. “Rise,” King Burnard said. “Rise. We’re all friends here.” Ragnar nodded and stood up. After a moment, he said, “So, you know of the attack…” “Yes,” King Burnard nodded. “I had no idea it had gotten that bad. Travelers had told me the tunnel was beginning to become infested but just with a few slimes and healers.” “It’s worse than you think,” Ragnar said. “When I first went through, I came across a portion of the tunnel that was strewn with dead healers. Sir Denuve had told me that he and some other soldiers had killed them.” “Indeed,” the King muttered, rubbing his bearded double chin. “There’s that, plus the beetle-men problem,” Ragnar continued. He paused for a moment, then added. “I fear that we may have an epidemic on our hands.” “I’ll decide what we have on our hands, Sir Ragnar,” the King said in an even tone. Ragnar looked at the King, confused. “I’m sorry,” the King sighed, “but I’ve had so many problems lately. There’s been word that some of our trading countries may not be coming, and that certain wares won’t be showing up. I’m just so very tired from all the negotiations.” “I understand,” Ragnar said, although he really didn’t. World politics never concerned him. The only thing he ever had to worry about was his training to be a royal soldier. He then remembered about Sandor’s behavior in the tunnel and decided now would be a good chance to bring it up. “Your highness,” Ragnar began, “there’s something of much urgency that I must tell you.” “Yes, what is it?” “Your highness,” Ragnar said, “Sir Denuve told me that-”

A woman at the front entrance of the audience hall suddenly interrupted Ragnar. “Alright, I’m here! Now, what’s the problem?” Ragnar turned and saw Flora walking down the audience chamber. Ragnar had only met her twice, both times at Mary’s home. “Perfect timing,” he muttered sarcastically to himself. She walked up to Ragnar and gave him a half-smile. “Hello, Ragnar,” she said. “Have a fun night?” “Um, well...” Ragnar stuttered. He heard the King and his advisor chuckle and Ragnar flushed. What was it about women that seemed to want to embarrass him in public all the time? “So,” she said. “Why am I here?” Ragnar regained his composure and said, “You may want to sit down.” “I’ll stand, thank you very much.” “Very well,” Ragnar shrugged. He paused, rubbing his mustache. How was he to tell her? He looked at King Burnard, who was just as interested on why Ragnar had requested Flora’s presence at the audience hall. Ragnar sighed. This was not going to be easy. Finally, he said, “Your highness, I believe that I have found some evidence as to the whereabouts of the missing children of Izmit.” “Is that so?” the King said, leaning forward. “What have you discovered?” “A crazy man in Izmit said that he and the children would go and play at something he called the secret playground,” Ragnar explained. “I believe that it is possible that he kidnapped them and is keeping them at this playground. However, he wouldn’t tell us where it was when we interrogated him.” “I don’t see what this has to do with me?” Flora said. “I was just getting to that,” Ragnar said. He paused, took a breath, and said, “Flora, I have reason to believe that he’s… your husband.” Flora looked at Ragnar. Her face became frozen, as if she had just seen a ghost. Her breathing became haggard and her knees weak. She began to collapse but Ragnar quickly caught her. “H...how do you know this?” she asked weakly, tears beginning to fill her eyes. “My only proof is that his name is Alex, your husband’s name,” Ragnar said. “There could be a thousand Alex’s in the world!” she screamed. “How do you know that he’s mine?” “Someone told me that he’s from here,” Ragnar said, trying his best to calm her. She roughly pushed him away and Ragnar was thrown off, surprised. She then crumpled to the floor,

sobbing. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at her. Even the jester stopped playing his flute. Aside from Flora’s sobbing, the audience hall had become deathly quiet. Slowly, Ragnar kneeled down beside her. He gently touched her shoulder and said, “I wouldn’t be doing this to you if it wasn’t important. But it is. If there is the slightest chance that that man is your husband, I need you to come with me to Izmit.” “Sir Ragnar!” the advisor gasped. “Do you realize what you’re asking?” “Shut up!” Flora snapped at the advisor and he backed up a bit. Flora wiped her tears from her face and replied, “Ragnar, I’ll go!” She roughly grabbed Ragnar’s shirt and cried, “Take me there, please! I must know for myself!” “You have to realize,” Ragnar said, gently getting Flora’s hands off of him, “that it is no longer safe to travel out there. Sir Harald and I, two seasoned royal soldiers, hardly made it back alive.” “I don’t care!” Flora cried. “I’ll defend myself with a frying pan if I must! But I must get to Izmit!” “I may be able to help you, young lady,” King Burnard, who had been discussing with his advisor, said to Flora. “While I cannot spare any guardsmen, I can give you something else.” He nodded to his advisor, who ran out of the audience hall. The King then stood up out of his throne and walked over to Ragnar. “How is the wind in the tunnel?” he asked the soldier. “Kind of mild,” Ragnar replied, somewhat confused. “Any wind from outside will usually blow through. Why?” The advisor then came running back into the hall and handed the King a small, blue bottle. “This is why, Sir Ragnar,” the King replied. “Inside is a water known as Fairy Water. It is a rare import from far south and we only get a few dozen bottles a year, making them quite a premium.” “What does it do?” Ragnar asked, eyeing the bottle. “It has a certain smell that monsters detest,” the King replied, shaking the bottle a bit. “You sprinkle it on yourself and the wind carries the scent for many miles. Any monster in a five mile radius won’t come anywhere near you until the water evaporates. I usually use it when I have to travel on the roads. “We only have five bottles left in the entire kingdom. I’m giving you and Flora one to help you get through the tunnel.” King Burnard gave Ragnar the bottle of Fairy Water and Ragnar carefully held onto it. “Thank you, your majesty,” he said, bowing.

Flora went over to the King and gently kissed his cheek. “Thank you, your highness,” she whispered into his ear. “You have no idea how much this means to me.” The King smiled and kissed her hand. Flora blushed. The King then assumed his seat at the throne and said to Ragnar, “Sir Ragnar, you may go now. I can trust that you will find the children?” “Don’t worry, your highness,” Ragnar replied, bowing. “When I return, it will be with only good news.” The King nodded and Ragnar and Flora left the audience hall, the sound of a flute once again filling the air.

* * *

Ragnar pulled out a large chest from his closet. Surprisingly little dust covered its frame considering how long it had been in here. The last time anyone had needed to use its contents was more than a decade ago. The soldier opened the chest with restrained excitement. He had waited for this day ever since he had become a royal soldier. At times he wondered whether there would be a need for it given the relative peaceful nature of the times he lived in. Inside lay his family’s legacy: the Calgor armor. He pulled out the finely polished set of bright red half-plate armor and placed it on the bed. A little deeper within the chest was a red, iron helmet decorated with a plumed ridge. He held it up for a moment, wondering how many battles the helmet had seen in its history. Putting the armor on, he took a look in the mirror. It fit him as though he’d been born to wear it all his life. “You look like you’ve come from ancient history to pay us a visit,” Mary’s voice came from the room’s entrance. Ragnar slightly jumped out of shock from her sudden appearance. He supposed he should be annoyed by her constantly surprising him but he loved her too much to be bothered. “I admit it’s a bit dated compared to current designs,” the soldier smiled, rubbing his hand through the plume, “but this armor’s been a part of my family’s heritage for generations. I figure it will bring me some luck.” “Sir Ragnar Calgor,” Mary coyly said as she seductively wrapped her arms around him, “don’t tell me you are becoming superstitious?” “Heritage has nothing to do with superstitions,” he replied as he stroked her hair.

Her face suddenly became solemn. “So, you’re off again,” she sighed.

“I came back once. I’ll be back again.” “What if it isn’t her husband?” Mary asked, regarding Flora. “She will be devastated. I don’t want her hopes to vanish as quickly as they’ve been brought up.”

“I cannot promise anything,” Ragnar replied back. “I’ve already told her this but she insisted to find out herself. I guess it’s important enough for her to risk her life.” “Yes, but...” Mary began but didn’t finish. She herself hadn’t been able to convince Flora either. No matter how much she tried to convince her this trip might be a bad idea, her friend remained determined. Flora had even packed with her a large skillet as a weapon; the whole lot of good it would do against a beetle-man. Ragnar and Mary undid their embrace and Mary looked up at Ragnar. “Please take care of her,” she said. “Don’t worry,” Ragnar said, stroking her hair. “I’ll protect her with my life. It is my duty to do as such.” Mary nodded and they kissed.

Chapter 12: The Power Of A Skillet

“How much further is it?” Flora asked anxiously. Ragnar sighed and replied, “We’re almost there.” Flora nodded and Ragnar focused on the road ahead. Flora had been asking him the same question every hour since they left Burland Castle and he was thankful that this was the last time he would have to answer it. The sun was beginning to set and Ragnar sighed again. Every time the sun began to set, his nerves became more agitated. It seemed his luck would fail him whenever the sun disappeared behind the mountains. First, it was the two beetle-men by the road, and then it was his experience at the bathing pool, and finally the ambush in the tunnel. What would happen to him this night? Unconsciously rubbing the breastplate of his family’s armor, he hoped his ancestors might help his luck a little tonight. Soon, Ragnar saw the tunnel entrance. He held up his hand and Flora stopped. “What is it?” she asked. Ragnar didn’t answer and pulled out the bottle of Fairy Water the King had given him from his pack. He undid the lid and spilled half of its contents into his hands, rubbing it over any exposed skin. He didn’t detect any smell coming from the Fairy Water but he trusted his King that the liquid would work. “Here,” he said, handing the bottle over to Flora. She sniffed the bottle, unsure of herself, but eventually followed Ragnar’s lead. Ragnar held up a moistened finger into the air, testing the wind. It wasn’t overly noticeable but enough to carry whatever scents the Fairy Water gave off to keep monsters away. “Okay,” he said to Flora, “stick close to me. We don’t want to get separated in the tunnel.” Flora nodded and grabbed the large skillet she had brought with her.

Ragnar looked at her, somewhat amused. She really did intend to use the oversize frying pan as a weapon! He hoped it wouldn’t come to that but any extra help would come in handy. The soldier donned his shield, lit a torch, and walked forward, Flora just a step behind.

“Watch your footing,” he whispered to Flora as they entered the tunnel. “It is quite steep here.” As if to prove his point, Flora suddenly slipped in the mud and began to slide down the steep incline, screaming all the way down. “Flora!” Ragnar called after her but she quickly disappeared down the tunnel. “Damn it!” he swore under his breath. The soldier sheathed his sword and made his way down the tunnel as quickly as he could without slipping himself. In a few minutes, he could hear Flora muttering various curses at herself. At least she’s all right, Ragnar thought and quickened his pace. Soon, Ragnar saw Flora sitting down in the mud, huddled up in a little ball. “Flora!” Ragnar called out to her. “Are you fine?” She looked up at Ragnar and he saw her face. The once, pale skin had become caked in mud. Thin streaks of tears ran down her face. “Oh, Ragnar!” she wailed. “Look at me! I’m so sorry! I...I really didn’t mean to do it. It’s just that...” Her voice trailed off as another set of tears began to well up. Ragnar couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. He walked over to her and helped her up. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling. “There’s an underground lake up ahead where you can wash some of this mud off.” Flora smiled back. “Thanks,” she said, giving him a hug. The mud on her clothes smeared on the fine polish of his red armor and she gasped, somewhat embarrassed. Ragnar just smiled and lead her to the underground lake. As they walked, Ragnar noticed the beetle-men he and Harald had killed the other day were gone. There were no signs of other beetle-men, nor of slimes, healers, or babbles. The Fairy Water must be working. Soon, Ragnar and Flora came to the underground lake. Flora set her stuff down and kneeled by the lakeside, splashing water on her face. Ragnar kept an eye out around the tunnel. So far, he hadn’t seen or heard any indication of monsters in the tunnel but he didn’t want to be caught by surprise. Flora rubbed her face clean of the mud and tried to get some of the mud out of her hair. She gazed out into the lake as she ran her hands through her hair and suddenly noticed something among the ripples she was causing. Something that seemed to be floating towards her! She quickly stopped what she was doing and kept still. “Ragnar!” she breathed as quietly as she dared. No response. Flora quickly darted her head and saw that Ragnar had stepped towards one of the tributaries, apparently checking it out. He was too far away to hear her unless she yelled.

Flora looked back out at the lake and saw that the floating creature was getting closer! Panic crept through her mind. What was she to do? Whatever that creature was, it was almost upon her. Ragnar would never be able to get to her in time. She did the only thing possible at that moment: she grabbed her skillet and ran into the water. Before the creature could even react, Flora started to bang her weapon repeatedly on the creature, water splashing everywhere. It had a hard, shell-like covering, and her hitting sent vibrations down her spine. She realized, though, that unless she persisted, the monster would probably be upon her in an instant. Hit after hit, Flora was relentless. She felt adrenaline pushing her to keep hitting, to never stop. She began to scream with rage; in anger of all of the torment her soul had been put through the past few weeks; her thoughts of Alex, and how much grief she had been through in his absence. If she let this creature get her, she would never see him again, and he would never see her again. She was not going to let that happen and she kept on hitting her skillet with all of her fury, her weapon ringing out through the cave. Several minutes later, Flora began to tire and her hitting ceased. The creature did not move. Flora breathed shakily, slowly realizing what she had done. She had actually killed it! A strange sensation crept through her body. Never before had she actually killed anything in cold blood; a few animals for dinner perhaps but never a monster. Hesitantly, she reached a hand forward, just to make sure. The shell felt granular, with several ridges along it, almost like chopped firewood. She slowly went up to the monster to get a better look at it. She gasped when she saw what it was. It was a long piece of wood floating in the lake. Suddenly, she heard clapping from behind her. Flora turned and saw Ragnar clapping his hands. “Bravo!” he said. “I do believe you have killed it!” Flora began to shake all over, filled with embarrassment. She couldn’t believe how stupid she must have looked, standing in waist deep water, attacking a piece of floating wood. “At least we won’t have to worry about logs with you around,” Ragnar chuckled. “Shut up!” she cried, and threw her skillet at Ragnar. The soldier ducked and the skillet clanged against the tunnel wall, sending a ringing sound throughout the cave. Furious, she began to slosh her way back to shore, sputtering several curses under her breath. “Are you all right?” Ragnar asked, smiling as he offered her his hand. “Let’s just get the hell out of here!” she cried, throwing his arm away and storming down the tunnel. Smiling to himself, Ragnar ran to catch up.

Chapter 13: The Reunion

Ragnar and Flora made it to Izmit later that night. They had not talked much on their way there since Flora was very upset. She was soaking wet, caked in mud, and humiliated.

Ragnar could understand it if she did not want to talk. In fact, the only thing she had said to him was not to bring up her behavior in the tunnel. Ragnar gave a Royal Soldier’s oath never to bring it up. Once they got to Izmit, Ragnar started to head over to the inn to check on Garn and Denuve. However, Flora grabbed him and said, “I want to see Alex.” “It’s late, Flora,” Ragnar sighed. “We can go in the morning.” “Now!” she firmly insisted. Ragnar realized there would be no way he would be able to argue with her, so he brought her to the underground jail. The jail was lit by a single torch at the entrance so was darker inside than the last time he was here. Ragnar entered first, trying to listen for Alex. He heard a bit of mumbling but that was all. Flora bolted past Ragnar and went from cell to cell, calling out, “Alex! Alex!” Eventually, she came across Alex’s cell and looked in, seeing Alex huddled in the same fetal position Ragnar had seen him in when he first came here. “Alex?” Flora asked timidly. The crazy man looked up and ran up to the door. “Hi! I’m Alex but the kids call me Al! Would you like to play with me?” Flora studied him for a moment, and then suddenly cried out, “It is you!” She began to cry. “Oh, thank the Zenithians, it is you!” Alex looked confused. “Do I know you, ma’am?” Flora looked at him intently, her tears spilling down her face. “Alex!” she cried. “Don’t you even recognize me?” He stared blankly. “I’m Flora! Your wife!” “Oh!” Alex said and, for a second, Flora and Ragnar breathed a sigh of relief. But then Alex said, “We’re playing house! You’re the wife and I’m the husband! Am I right?” “No!” Flora cried, starting to get frustrated. “I really am your wife! Don’t you remember this?” She roughly grabbed Alex through the bars and gave him a long, passionate kiss. When she finished, Alex looked at her, blinking. “Um, ma’am,” he said, “we’re only pretending, aren’t we?” Alex began to blush like a little boy. Flora was about to cry, giving up all hope to regaining Alex’s sanity, when a sudden thought occurred to her. “Alex! Do you remember anything at all?” “Like what?” he asked, beginning to toss rocks at the water bowl. “Our stars?” Flora pushed. “The ones that you named after us? Do you remember that?” Alex made a scoffing sound and said, “Of course I remember that! Who could ever forget mushy stuff like...”

His voice trailed off, as he suddenly recalled something. Alex began to look around the cell, then at Flora. “Flora?” he asked timidly.

Flora’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” she cried. “Yes, it’s me! Do you remember me?” Alex slowly stood up, looking confused. He looked over his hands, noticing they were filthy. He then looked back at Flora. He looked at her for a very long time, as if he was taking in all of her features one by one. Finally, Alex ran up to the bars. “By the Master!” he cried. “Flora! W...what happened to me? What came over me?” “It doesn’t matter!” Flora cried out. “All that matters is that you are all right!” Flora then kissed Alex repeatedly, crying with so much joy that she had never felt before. Ragnar, who had been watching all along, stepped up to the two. “Ahem,” he muttered to Flora, “I...don’t wish to be nagging but I really must talk with Alex for a moment.” “Yes,” she whispered between kisses. She took a step back from Alex so Ragnar could talk with him. “Yes, of course.” “Thank you,” Ragnar said, and he turned to Alex. He looked so much calmer now compared to when the soldier had last seen him. Ragnar rubbed his mustache, trying to decide how to proceed. He didn’t want to accuse Alex of anything but in order to find his secret playground he would have to be forceful. Finally, he asked, “How much do you remember?” “Bits and parts, I think,” Alex replied, rubbing his temples. “I remember I was coming home after running some errands here in Izmit when I was attacked by little green blobs by the road.” “Babbles,” Ragnar muttered to himself, remember the one that had latched onto Harald. “They swarmed all around me and started to stick to me,” Alex shuddered as recalled the terrifying event. “I fell on the ground and started to roll, trying to shake them off but...but...there were so many of them! I...I ran back to Izmit, my mind going insane with fear. The last thing I remember clearly was a group of farmers’ kids taking a hold of me, then everything is a blur.” “You’re lucky that you are alive,” Ragnar said. He paused for a moment, thinking. “Do you remember seeing me?” he asked, taking his helmet off so Alex could get a better look. “Vaguely,” Alex said, straining his eyes. “You were here the other day, am I right?” “That’s right,” Ragnar said calmly. “Then do you remember telling me about the secret playground?” “Somewhat,” Alex replied, rubbing his chin, “but I don’t remember why.”

“That’s all right,” Ragnar said. The soldier figured he was going to have to start from the beginning anyway. “Children have been disappearing from this village lately. Now, I realize that you were...” Ragnar paused, trying to choose the right words without offending Alex and Flora. “Crazy?” Alex suggested. Ragnar looked at him with surprise. “More or less,” Ragnar said, shrugging. “I realize that you were ‘crazy’, but do you at all recall taking the children to this secret playground?” Alex shook his head. “More like the other way around,” he explained. “When I befriended them, they took me there.” “So you never did kidnap them,” Ragnar said, a little disappointed. His entire theory had just collapsed around him. He was back to square one. “Good heavens, no!” Alex exclaimed. He paused for a moment, and then asked, “What ever possessed you to think such a thing?” “It was my only lead in this silly investigation,” Ragnar explained half-heartedly. “It still is a good one, though,” Alex said. “It could be these children are just getting lost on their way there.” Ragnar shook his head. “They have been disappearing here in the village and under strange circumstances.” “How so?” “They’ve been vanishing into thin air,” Ragnar replied, snapping his fingers. “Their mother’s see them, then they don’t.” “Oh, yes!” Alex exclaimed. “I remember now! The children were telling me that Pocos was playing with some shoes he found at the secret playground when he flew in the sky.” “Pocos?” Ragnar asked, confused. “Yeah, the kid who’s parents owns the Seaside Breeze,” Alex replied, rubbing his chin as he tried to remember more. Ragnar rubbed his mustache. There had to be some sort of connection. It was right in front of him but he couldn’t see it. Whatever the answer was, it would probably be at the secret playground since that was where Pocos had found the shoes. “Do you remember where the secret playground is?” Alex thought for a moment, then replied, “Here, I’ll draw you a map in the ground.” Alex and Ragnar knelt down and Alex began tracing lines in the dirt. “Here’s Izmit,” he said, placing a small stone near the top of his map, “and this large area here is the forest. Right about here” -he pointed to the closest point the forest came to Izmit- “is an old sign saying ‘Do Not Play in the Woods’. From that sign you take four giant steps forward and then four giant steps left into

the forest. You should come across an old path which will lead you to the children’s playground.” Ragnar studied the map. The directions were simple enough, something that children could memorize easily. This was his last gambit. If he came across this place and found nothing, Ragnar couldn’t think of anything more he could contribute in this investigation. “Thank you very much,” Ragnar said, shaking Alex’s hand. “I should be able to clear up your little crime here and you and Flora will be able to be on your way home in no time.” “Thank you, Sir Ragnar,” Flora said, giving him a tender kiss on the cheek. Ragnar smiled, nodded, and left the two alone to each other.

Chapter 14: Darnell’s Tale

“They left?” Ragnar cried in disbelief. “When?” “Sometime yesterday,” the innkeeper replied. “Two of the royal soldiers came back yesterday and one of them, Sir Sandor I think his name was, convinced the other two to leave with him.” Ragnar swore under his breath. How did Sandor do it? Despite abandoning him in the tunnel, Denuve had still gone with him. And Garn, why had he left? He would follow orders like any dedicated soldier, and he and Harald had left direct orders to remain in Izmit. Did Sandor have that much influence over the rest of the royal soldiers? “If it’s of any consequence,” the innkeeper said, seeing that Ragnar was agitated, “one of the soldiers that came back yesterday is still at the Zenithian Temple.” Ragnar looked at the innkeeper. “What do you mean?” “He came in with Sir Sandor in pretty bad shape,” the innkeeper explained. “He had some nasty gashes on him.” Ragnar thanked the innkeeper and rushed over to the Zenithian Temple. It was still dark out and the streets were very quiet. He noticed the moon was partially blocked by some clouds. He gazed at the clouds as he walked quickly. They weren’t very thick but he could tell that they originated from the mountains to the east. There was a storm definitely coming soon if they continued their course. Ragnar soon arrived at the Zenithian Temple and he quietly stepped inside. Dimly lighted by torches hanging on the wall, ghostly shadows danced across the various stained glass windows. Along the walls were various paintings of Zenithians. They all relatively had the same features: pale skin, green hair, and large, swan-like wings sprouting from their backs. At the far end of the temple stood a statue of a large dragon. Ragnar only knew this imposing looking creature was known as Master Dragon, the Zenithian God.

In front of the imposing statue was a podium surrounded by several small candles. A priest and a priestess were kneeling in front of this podium, apparently engaged in some sort of

prayer. Ragnar didn’t want to interrupt but he needed to find out where this other royal soldier was.

Silently, Ragnar walked up to the priest. Before he could speak, the priest politely asked, “Is there something I can help with, Royal Soldier?” He hadn’t even turned around to face him. “How...?” Ragnar began, shocked that the priest had known that he was there but he quickly decided that he didn’t really want to know. “Um, yes. I heard that you have one of my comrades in care here.” “Yes,” the priest replied quietly, still not looking. He motioned his head slightly, and a cleric suddenly appeared from the shadows. “Brother Garon will take you to him.” The cleric walked over to Ragnar and motioned for him to follow him. “Um, thanks,” Ragnar said, hesitantly following the cleric. They went to the side of the hall and entered one of several dorms along the wall. Inside the small room were a bed, a chair, a small desk and a single candle lighted. The desk only had one large book, probably containing Zenithian religious documents. In the bed was a man with heavy bandages covering his face. Ragnar squinted and saw that it was Sir Darnell. “Thank you,” Ragnar said to the cleric. The cleric nodded and left the tiny room. Ragnar silently sat down on the chair and looked at Darnell. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Ragnar considered leaving his comrade to rest but so many questions tugged at him. The only way he would be able to get any rest himself tonight would be to wake Darnell up. Gently, Ragnar touched Darnell’s shoulder and whispered his name. Slowly, Darnell’s eyes opened. Darting his gaze left and right, he tilted his head and noticed Ragnar. “Captain!” he said, smiling weakly. “Great to see you. Come to pay final respects?” “You aren’t through yet,” Ragnar smiled. He paused for a moment, and then asked, “Are you feeling all right?” “Better than before,” Darnell said quietly. Ragnar paused again. He didn’t want to push his comrade’s endurance but he needed answers. Eventually, he asked, “Do you think you’d mind telling me what happened?” “Not at all,” Darnell replied. “I’ve been meaning to get it off of my shoulders anyway...”

* * *

Darnell hacked away the dense foliage in front of him. It almost seemed futile, for every bush, scrub, or branch he chopped away with his sword just seemed to be replaced by another. It was as if the forest didn’t want him to go any further. He looked back, checking that Sandor and Mandrake were both behind him still. Sure enough, both soldiers were still with him, hacking away at the forest just as much as he was.

Darnell turned his head back to the task at hand. They had been pushing through the forest for at least an hour now. From the perimeter, it didn’t look like it was that far to the tower they saw when they exited the tunnel. Darnell quickly pushed the thoughts of the tunnel aside. They had been lucky to escape the large den of healers. In fact, if Sandor hadn’t noticed the flicker of movement from the tributary tunnel, they would all have probably been ambushed and killed. Darnell suddenly thought of Denuve, who had blindly rushed off down a tributary chasing after a couple of healers. Darnell had tried to convince Sandor and Mandrake to go searching for their missing comrade but they assured him he would be all right, and that the missing children were more urgent. Although he made no indication of it, Darnell secretly despised Sandor for his decision. However, he was unable to do anything about it. Sandor was a superior, and any refusal of orders was considered an act of treason. Reluctantly, Darnell followed Sandor and Mandrake out of the tunnel, leaving Denuve alone to fend for himself. Now, not even half a day later, he was leading their little group to an old, abandoned tower.

Darnell had no idea why Sandor was possessed to get to the old watchtower. Everyone knew the ancient structure was hardly worthy of notice. Darnell pictured it out in the middle of the lake covered in moss, mold, and vines.

A hack here, a slash there, and, quite suddenly, the forest opened up. He was now standing on the edge of the lakeside. The lake was relatively round and quite murky. There were no signs of beaches, just the lake reaching up to the very edge of the forest. Some distance in the center of the lake was a small island and on the island stood the old tower. From this distance it looked in relatively good condition, given the fact that no one had inhabited it for several hundred years. “There it is!” Sandor said, his voice full of excitement. “If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Darnell said, “but why is it so urgent that we get to this tower?” Darnell didn’t like to question a superior but he had to know the reason for their being here. “It makes perfect sense for the children to be here,” Sandor replied, his eyes fixed on the tower. Darnell looked at Sandor, expecting him to add more. However, Sandor started to walk along the water’s edge, always looking at the tower. “Well, how’re we going to get across?” Mandrake asked, following Sandor. “There’s no way that I’m going to swim. That water’s gotta be freezing.” Sandor studied the water for a moment, and then said, “Start making a raft. We’ve got to get to that tower.” Darnell and Mandrake looked at him, confused. Sandor, noticing they hadn’t moved, shouted, “Now! That’s an order!” Reluctantly, Darnell and Mandrake did so. In a few hours, a seven-log raft was made and ready for launch. Sandor immediately hopped on and Mandrake slowly got on as well. Darnell hesitated.

“Something wrong, Sir Darnell?” Sandor asked impatiently. “I think you should tell us why we’re going to that tower, sir,” Darnell replied. “There’s no possible way the children could get over there. They lack both the strength and the ingenuity of making a raft to cross the lake. And I seriously doubt that a kidnapper would use the tower as a hiding spot. It could collapse at any minute and it wouldn’t do any good if he was crushed while holding children ransom.” “My motives are irrelevant!” Sandor snapped. “You will follow orders or be tried with treasonous acts. Understand?” Darnell stood still for a moment. He didn’t like the situation he was getting into. Sandor was definitely not letting on about all that seemed relevant. It was perfectly clear that he had an ulterior motive behind going to the tower. What it could be, Darnell couldn’t begin to guess. However, Sandor was a superior and he had to follow Sandor’s orders, whether he liked them or not. “Understand?” Sandor repeated, more forcefully. “Yes,” Darnell muttered, and hopped onto the raft. Mandrake pushed them off and all three began to paddle out into the lake. Aside from the ripples they were causing, the lake was very still. Hardly any wind was causing waves and Darnell figured one could shout from one side of the lake and another person on the other side would be able to hear them as clearly as if they were side by side. Darnell looked at Sandor for a moment and noticed he was completely entranced by the tower that loomed before them. What was it about the tower that made him so damned obsessive? In fact, Darnell figured that Sandor wasn’t even concerned about the children; that he was using this whole scenario as an excuse to come to this tower. When he thought about it more, Darnell began to see a much larger picture. Abandoning Denuve in the cave, leaving Izmit in such a hurry, and now threatening him to get to the tower. Whatever it was that was drawing Sandor, Darnell didn’t like the thought of it. No one should be this obsessive. Despite whatever consequence he would receive, Darnell stopped rowing and threw his rowing stick into the water. Sandor and Mandrake looked at him, confused. “Just what do you think you are doing?” Sandor asked calmly. His mouth twisted into a strange smile, which made Darnell just a little more nervous. “I am disobeying an order,” Darnell said defiantly. He stood straight and rigid, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Mandrake,” Sandor said without even looking at the soldier, “keep rowing.” Darnell looked at Mandrake. The soldier looked at both of his comrades, apparently trying to decide which side to choose. Without a word, Mandrake looked away and kept rowing. Darnell didn’t know what to think at that moment. He had hoped that Mandrake would side with him but it appeared that Darnell was on his own.

“So,” Sandor said, placing a hand on his hilt as well. “Open treason. You do realize that such punishment can be very severe.” “That’s for our King to decide,” Darnell said grimly. “Indeed,” Sandor muttered. He paused for a moment, running a hand through his raven black hair, “but why should we bother our King with such trivial matters.” “W...what do you mean?” Darnell asked, not liking where this conversation was going. “Well,” Sandor began, rubbing his chin, “treason is a violation of the King’s command. The King would probably not like to have treasonous persons within his kingdom.” “You should talk,” Darnell muttered under his breath. “Death would be the appropriate sentence,” Sandor said, fingering his sword hilt gingerly. “The King would never hand out such a sentence,” Darnell argued, becoming worried. He quickly looked around. They were halfway across the lake, too far to swim anywhere. He was trapped on the raft. “He should,” Sandor said evenly, smiling evilly. Without any warning, he whipped out his sword and slashed at Darnell. Darnell had expected such an attack but didn’t know when it would come, so he was caught partially off guard. He managed to get his sword out in time but didn’t have it in a good enough position to completely deflect Sandor’s attack. The force of Sandor’s blow knocked Darnell’s sword from his hand and Sandor’s blade bounced towards Darnell, slicing down his shirt. A thin line of blood followed the blade’s path and Darnell instinctively grabbed onto his chest. Almost too late did he realize that such an action left him wide open to another attack. Before Sandor could strike again, Darnell ducked. Sandor’s blade came within inches of Darnell’s head. Darnell used his momentum to bowl down Sandor. His only hope would be to knock him off the raft. They collapsed in a heap at the edge of the raft, Sandor’s sword falling out of his hand into the lake. Darnell managed to get on top of Sandor and began to push his head into the water. However, he had forgotten that Sandor still had his hands free. Before he even realized it, Sandor punched Darnell in the head and grabbed onto Darnell’s sword. Darnell got up, shaking his head. He looked at Sandor and saw that he had a sword in his hands. Darnell quickly looked around the raft for a weapon but there were none. Sandor charged Darnell, knowing the advantage was fully his. Darnell tried to dodge but, in the limited space, Sandor managed to cut a deep gash into Darnell’s leg. Darnell screamed as a fiery pain shot up through his body. Sandor then slashed again, this time across Darnell’s chest.

Blood spilled out onto the raft and Darnell’s head began to swim with dizziness. His vision began to cloud as he collapsed onto the deck. He was no longer feeling any pain, just an immediate sense of peacefulness. He looked up and saw Sandor prepared to deliver a deathblow. He was saying something but Darnell couldn’t hear clearly. Whatever it was, it must have been insulting. Darnell tried to spit at Sandor face but too much blood had mixed with his saliva already, and it just trickled out onto the raft. All Darnell could think of that moment was how short of a life he had lived, how he had never really been able to do any real adventuring like he had always dreamed of doing. Then again, death was often considered the ultimate adventure. It might actually be worth all of the pain. Darnell waited forever for Sandor to finish him off. It seemed that he was going to die from pain before the final blow would be delivered. What was taking so long? Slowly and painfully, Darnell looked up again.

He might have imagined it but Darnell swore that he saw Sandor huddled over Mandrake. Mandrake wasn’t moving at all. Why was that? Did he fall asleep while they battled, or did Sandor kill him too?

Suddenly, an arrow shaft thudded right in front of Darnell’s face and he gasped in shocked, forcing even more blood through his mouth. He looked around and, through clouded vision, saw several arrows flying from the tower. The tower was shooting arrows at them! Luckily, it wasn’t a good shot as most of the arrows fell wide of the raft. Darnell didn’t have much more time to contemplate it. He could feel his mind slip from consciousness. His head collapsed to the raft again and he felt like he was swimming in the water just a few inches from his face. The last thing he remembered seeing was Sandor pushing Mandrake’s body into the water, an arrow protruding from Mandrake’s skull...

* * *

“...And that’s all I remember,” Darnell finished. Ragnar was nearly fuming from hearing Darnell’s tale. He always figured Sandor was a problem but he never figured that Sandor would ever do something of this sort. And Ragnar couldn’t do a thing about it. The royal soldier code strictly stated any soldier that disobeys a direct order from a superior was charged with treason. In essence, Darnell was guilty but surely King Burnard would overlook the circumstances. “One thing bothers me,” Darnell muttered, interrupting Ragnar’s thoughts. “Why did Sandor save me instead of just dumping me off of the raft like he did to poor Mandrake?” “I know,” Ragnar said, rubbing his mustache. “It is all very confusing.” There was silence for a moment as both soldiers took in their thoughts separately. Finally, Ragnar looked up and said, “I think I should go to that tower and have a little chat with Sandor.” Ragnar didn’t really know what he would say but he would at least be able to order Sandor back to the castle. Once Sandor was out of the way, at least he wouldn’t be able to cause any more harm.

Ragnar was about to stand up when Darnell suddenly bolted up and caught Ragnar by the arm. “No!” he exclaimed. “You mustn’t!” “Why?” Ragnar asked, shocked not only by Darnell’s statement, but also by the fact that Darnell actually had the strength to stop him. Darnell paused for a moment. Ragnar noticed it almost looked as if he was looking behind him. Ragnar turned to look to see if there was anyone there but all he saw was his shadow flickering on the stone wall. Darnell then looked up at Ragnar and replied, “The children are more important right now.” “But-” “Sandor can wait,” Darnell said, relaxing his grip on Ragnar and settling back down in his bed. “He will have to return to the castle sometime and I’ll make sure he will gets what he receives. Finding the missing children is what matters right now.” “I...” Ragnar began, but stopped. Darnell was somewhat right. The longer he waited, the more trouble the missing children could end up in. Besides, Garn was a superior to Sandor. He was smart enough to look out for himself and Denuve should Sandor try anything funny again. He would just have to trust them. “I understand,” Ragnar said, grabbing a hold of Darnell’s hand. “You get some rest now.” Darnell nodded. Ragnar smiled and left the tiny room. As soon as Ragnar left, a shadowy figure emerged from the corner. “I’m sorry,” Darnell said. “I nearly blew it.” “That is all right,” the figure said in a quiet voice. “So long as he continues on his quest.” “But it isn’t right that Sandor should go unpunished,” Darnell muttered. “It isn’t for us to decide whether it is right or wrong,” the figure said quietly. “Our destinies are designed by Master Dragon, and Sir Ragnar Calgor’s destiny is to search for the missing children.” The shadowy figure began to leave the room but paused by the door, allowing some of the hall’s light shine on his priestly robes. He turned to Darnell and added with a wry smile, “Besides, the Master loves irony.” Darnell looked at the priest as he left. What did he mean by that? he wondered. However, he did not have much time to ponder it as he felt drowsiness setting in once again.

Chapter 15: The Secret Playground

Ragnar walked uneasily towards the forest. He was uneasy about venturing in the wild alone. A horde of beetle-men could easily ambush him, or several babbles could suddenly surround him like they did to Alex, leaving him completely insane with fear. After seeing what one of the vile little monsters had done to Harald, Ragnar was not overly keen on discovering what it would be like to battle babbles on his own. Ragnar looked out towards the eastern mountains. The storm clouds were beginning to roll down the hills and would probably envelope Izmit and the rest of the Burland coast with a thick, gloomy fog the next morning. Ragnar just hoped he would be finished with his investigation in the forest before any rain fell. A few minutes later, Ragnar came across the edge of the forest that Alex had pointed out to him. Now all he had to do was search for the sign. He walked along the perimeter of the tree line, probing and poking through the several, thorny bushes that surrounded the perimeter. It wasn’t long before he found a very old and moldy sign. The words carved into the wood were all but eroded from various elements and wood insects. Ragnar stepped behind it and followed Alex’s directions. He tried to chop away at the tangled bushes and elm branches but they proved much too tough. Realizing it would be better off to keep his sword sharp, he sheathed his blade and pushed through the thick foliage. Four steps south, four steps east, and Ragnar came across a barely noticeable path. It appeared to be an old deer trail but long since abandoned, probably due to the increased monster activity in this part of the country. The branches hanging above the path were very low but high enough for a small child to walk through without any inconvenience. However, Ragnar’s above-average height proved to be a mild problem, as he had to push his way through the several branches as he made his way along the path. He tried to keep an ear open for any monsters that may be lurking around but the noise several birds were making made it difficult. He figured he probably didn’t have much to worry about, though. Slimes, healer, and babbles usually were not all that active during the day. Ragnar hoped the same held true for beetle-men. It took some time but Ragnar eventually came across a clearing in the forest. In front of him was an old shed, possibly used by hunters who would hunt for food in the woods. It appeared to have been abandoned for some time now. Was this the secret playground? Ragnar strained his ears to pick up the sound of anyone around but all he heard was the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. Just as well, the soldier guessed. He really didn’t want to have to explain his presence to any children that may be playing here. Ragnar checked the exterior of the old shed. It had decayed over time but it looked like it could still support itself for another decade or so. Whoever had built it had meant it to be used for a very long time. He cautiously stepped inside, careful not to disturb the rotting frame. Floorboards lined along the bottom and several jars were lined up against the far wall, probably once used to store food and water but now homes for various spiders and insects. Having found nothing of interest in here, the soldier went back outside.

A cold wind had blown in from the east while he had been in the shed and Ragnar

shivered. There didn’t seem to be much to hide here and the storm clouds appeared to be drawing closer, much faster than he had calculated. Not wanting to be caught outside should a sudden squall spring up around him, Ragnar prepared to head back. However, just before he was to leave, he heard someone faintly call out to him, “Come this way...”

At first, Ragnar just thought it was a trick the wind had played on his ears but he soon heard it again, someone distantly saying, “Come this way...” It seemed like the voice could have been all the way in Burland Castle, yet was as clear to him as if he were standing beside the speaker. Ragnar stood still, listening for the general direction the voice was coming from. The voice called out again and he figured it was coming from a little ways in behind the shed. Curious, Ragnar walked behind the shed and cleared away the bushes, following the voice. It sounded like a familiar female he once knew, long ago in his past, but he couldn’t place a face to it. The ground he walked on was very soggy, as if the last rainfall still hadn’t seeped into the ground. Ragnar found that his boots were becoming filled with muck but he ignored the discomfort, entranced by the voice. Brushing aside a large elm branch, Ragnar didn’t even notice a pile of stones until he bumped his knee into its hard structure. Ragnar immediately doubled over, clutching his knee and swearing to himself. After he regained his composure, Ragnar suddenly noticed that he had been totally entranced by the voice. He could have been left wide open to an attack, or worse. He was going to have to pay better attention to what he was doing. Ragnar looked down at what he had bumped his knee into and discovered that it was an old well hole. There didn’t seem to be any water buckets but there was a rope tied on the inside. He tugged at the rope and found it was quite strong, easily able to hold a large man. The rope wasn’t all that old either so it must have been put here recently. Ragnar’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the voice entered his mind again, this time louder. “Come this way...”

He definitely recognized the voice this time from somewhere in his early childhood. It was feminine, very caring and touching. The kind of voice that could erase the entire pain one might suffer in a day as you went to bed.

It was the voice of his mother...

* * *

“Ragnar, time to get up...” The young boy slowly lifted his eyes. Why did he have to get up? He was so comfortable here in bed. It was so cold out right now that he could see icicles hanging from his frost covered windows. I know, he thought. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear her. He went back under his covers and turned away from the door to his room.

“Ragnar,” the voice said again, more sternly this time. “Wake up! Your porridge will get cold.” The young boy smiled and ducked his head underneath the covers. He was asleep. Why should she bother with breakfast when he was so nice and warm underneath the covers? He heard movement from behind him and the young boy kept still. If I don’t move, she’ll think that I’m asleep and leave me alone, he thought and held in his breath. He waited a long time, not moving a single muscle to alert his mother that he was awake. He listened for some movement and heard none. He was inclined to come back out from under the covers but his mother could just be playing a trick on him, pretending she was gone. No, it would be best to wait for a few minutes before he ducked his head back out. Still, he heard no sign of movement. He couldn’t hold his breath any longer, and let it out as quietly as possible, trying his hardest not to move his body as he took in another large breath of air. It seemed he had been underneath the covers for at least ten minutes. How much longer would he have to wait? It was getting really, really hot now and he had trouble breathing comfortably. His father had always warned him that if you hid underneath your bed until it got really hot, you would begin to roast like a pig over a spit. The young boy began to sweat nervously. What was he to do? If he ducked his head out, he would be forced to get out of bed and eat porridge. But if he stayed underneath for too long, he’d roast to death! Not liking the idea of the latter, the young boy quickly ducked his head out of bed. Cool air rushing into his face gave him a refreshing sensation. “There you are!” a woman on a chair said. “I was wondering how much longer you would be under there for.” The young boy leapt out of bed, and rushed over to the woman, hugging her. “Mama,” he wailed. “Don’t let me roast again! I’ll never stay under covers that long again!” “Whatever do you mean?” the woman asked, confused by the young boy’s anxiety. “Papa says that if I stay underneath covers for too long, I’d roast like a pig on a spit!” the young boys said. “Oh,” the woman said, as if realizing something that the young boy didn’t. She hugged him and then slowly got up, gently letting the young boy drop to the floor. She grabbed his hand and said, “Come on. Time for porridge.” The young boy looked at her, wondering if it might have been better off staying underneath the bed and risk being roasted alive. He hesitated. “What’s wrong?” the woman asked, smiling gently. “N...nothing,” the young boy replied.

“Then let’s go,” she said, still smiling. The young boy followed slowly but still resisted a bit. He really didn’t like porridge. It seemed like he was eating slimes when he ate porridge, all mushy and gooey. “Come on,” the woman said, tugging gently on his arm, “Come this way...”

* * *

“Come this way...” the voice beckoned. Ragnar shook his head, not realizing that he had been daydreaming. His earliest clear memory of his mother had caused a deep welling in his stomach. He didn’t have many memories of her but each one was dearer to him than anything he had in his possession. Now was not the time to let his thoughts stray with painful memories, however. Someone, or something, was imitating his mother’s voice. Whoever it was, it was coming from deep in the well in front of him. Wanting to find out the source of the voice, Ragnar grabbed a hold of the rope in the well and carefully lowered himself down. The walls of the well were surprisingly rough. Ragnar had expected them to be covered with mold and mud from years of decay but the walls were clean. Not only that but the path down the well was clear of branches that would probably fall into the well and get caught on the way down. Someone would have had to clear the branches out to do that but whom? Ragnar reached the bottom much sooner than he expected. Not much sunlight filtered down, so he could only see a few inches ahead. He undid his pack and pulled out a torch. As soon as the torch was burning Ragnar looked up, expecting to see the perpetrator of the voice. Instead, he saw a long tunnel ahead, stretching far beyond his torch’s light. The walls of the tunnel were covered with moss and mold. This was apparently a very old tunnel. “Come this way...” the voice said again, coming from beyond the darkness ahead. Ragnar hesitated going forward. It all seemed like a trap. The tempting lure of his mother’s voice and the long dark tunnel ahead was much too suspicious. Why would he be hearing his mother’s voice? Why not someone else’s voice? And why was it coming from deep in this underground cave? Ragnar realized that the only way to find out would be to go forward. He strapped his pack back on, held the torch high, and went forward, unaware his every move was being watched.

* * *

“This is not good. Already three soldiers have tried to get at the tower and now a fourth one was entered the tunnel. Our cover could be blown at any time.” “I don’t think so. There is no way the soldiers can reach the tower from the lake without our seeing them. “As for the one in the tunnel, the spell seems to be working on him as well. If he follows the spell to the end, he will be trapped. You go there and order the lethal gophers and healers to

attack once he enters the room. When he has no escape, their sheer numbers will overwhelm him.”

Chapter 16: Down A Forgotten Tunnel

A spider skittered out of the torch’s bright light, seeking darker comfort in a tiny crevice in the side of the tunnel’s moldy walls. Ragnar paid it no head as he brushed a long abandoned cobweb in front of him. The webbing stuck to his fingers and the soldier brushed his hands on his red armor as if it was a common habit. Several strands of webbing already were clinging to his armor and he seemed to just get more on his hands than off. Without even thinking, he brushed his hand on the wall in an attempt to get rid of the excess webbing. A few insects and spiders skittered away, some actually jumped on his hand but Ragnar hardly noticed. His thoughts were trained ahead on the sound of his mother’s voice and to continue forward. Often, he would come to a fork in the path but the sound of his mother’s voice always led him one way, continuously deeper into the old cave. Had he been paying attention, Ragnar would have found it suspicious that he had not encountered any slimes or babbles, either. He would have found it curious that his mother’s voice seemed to be always deeper and deeper into the cave. However, Ragnar could only think of the very few memories he had of his mother...

* * *

“Come this way, Ragnar,” the woman said, dragging the young boy by the arm. “Your father wished you to see what he does.” “But I don’t wanna go, mama!” the young boy whined, trying his hardest to resist the woman. “It’s not a question of whether you want to or not,” she said, her eyes becoming very agitated. “You are going to see your father and that’s final!” “But-” “Not another word, or else I’ll have to give you a smacking.” The young boy immediately was quiet, fearing such a smacking. Both his mother and father on occasion would smack his bottom whenever he would refuse to do what they wanted him to do. Slowly, he had come to learn he should do what they asked of him. They walked down the busy streets of the town that surrounded the massive castle where his father worked. The boy was never allowed to venture into the town without an adult with him. He would always play in the yard of his small house just on the outskirts of the city. Now that he was in town, he felt absolutely intimidated by the many people rushing to and fro. He could hear several angry people at many of the stands, many of them saying words he had never heard before.

“Just stay close to me,” the woman said without looking and she held the young boy closer to her leg. The young boy looked up to her and her face seemed very worried now. What was there to be worried about? Sure, the streets were kind of busy but it wasn’t as if someone was going to suddenly grab him and carry him away. What seemed like forever finally passed when the road opened up and the castle gates loomed before him. The young boy had only seen the taller towers from his house, the rest of it hidden by the surrounding city. He tilted his head as far back as he could and still could hardly see the top of the walls. The gates in front of him seemed like giants guarding the massive castle. As they neared them, the young boy began to get nervous, thinking that the entire wall was going to suddenly collapse on him. “No slouching now, Ragnar,” the woman said. She stopped, knelt down, and straightened his clothes. She then ran her fingers through his hair. The young boy started to squirm but she seemed to be able to hold him still long enough to wipe his face clean of the dust he had picked up on their way through the city. She put her hands on the young boy’s shoulders and said, “Now, remember what I told you. Be polite, don’t stare at anything, and don’t touch anything. Understand?” The young boy nodded. It was pretty much the same rules he heard anywhere else. “Alright, then,” she said, satisfied. She stood up, straightened her dress, and grabbed the young boys hand. They then entered the massive castle together...

* * *

Ragnar smiled. That had been his first time ever going to the castle. His father had wanted Ragnar to see him in action as a royal soldier so he would follow his father when he grew too old to be of any service to the castle. His actual visit there hadn’t been all that memorable. In fact, Ragnar couldn’t really remember his first visit there at all, yet he could remember the walk to the castle with his mother as if it was only a day ago. He had been so engrossed in the memory that Ragnar didn’t even notice that he had blindly walked forward again. Was this a part of the entrancing voice? Was it some sort of spell designed to distract while you daydreamed? Or were his memories just cropping up as a result of hearing a voice he had not heard since he was a very young boy? Ragnar’s thoughts were interrupted when he came to a fork in the path he was taking. He shined his torch down both tunnels but neither showed any sign of revealing their secrets. The voice that had been leading him for the most part seemed to have stopped. He was going to have to make a decision on his own. He looked down one way, then the other. Neither seemed inviting but he was going to have to make a decision soon. It would not be a tempting situation for his torch to run out of kerosene while he was trying to make a decision. Heaving a sigh, Ragnar stepped towards the tunnel on his right. “Not that way...” the voice that was his mother’s warned. Ragnar stopped. What was he to do? Should he listen to the voice? It hadn’t led him wrong yet, so why should he ignore it now? He took a step back and started to walk down the other tunnel. Sure enough, he started to hear the familiar, “Come this way...”

* * *

“Ragnar! Come quickly! Come this way!” The young boy fluttered his eyes open. Why did he have to wake up? He had been having the most pleasant dream. He had been dreaming he had been swimming in a warm lake, and that the fish in the lake were swimming with him in little loop-de-loops. It was a very pleasant dream, a dream that he decided he would try to bring up again as he slowly closed his eyes again. The young boy then noticed something strange. He was sweating profusely, as if he had been underneath his covers for the longest time. However, he wasn’t under the covers now and the cold fall night should be cooling him off. It wasn’t. In fact, he was getting hotter by the second. The young boy looked up and saw what looked like black water floating on the ceiling. He found that breathing was near impossible, that his lungs were burning with each breath. He started to cough. What was going on? Was he dreaming? It seemed like a dream but the pain in his lungs was very real and very frightening. “Ragnar!” he heard his mother cry. Where was she? He tried to look around but all he could see was a deep fog. The young boy stood up out of bed and tried to go to the door. The fog burned his lungs and seared his skin. It seemed to have an impossible weight, pushing him down to the floor. The floor itself was burning his naked feet. The weight of the fog was more than he could bear and the young boy collapsed, the floor burning his hands as well. Just as he fell to the floor, something lifted him up. The young boy managed to lift his eyes but couldn’t see who was there. “Mama?” he murmured without thinking. “Yes, dear,” the person said. “I’m here. Don’t worry. We’ll be all right. Just stick close to me.” The young boy didn’t understand what his mother was saying. The weight of the fog seemed to crush the very life out of him. He felt an impossible blackness creep on him, the kind that fills that dark corner of the closet where beetle-men hid at night and waited for you to fall asleep. “I have him!” the mother called out. She then left the young boy’s room, keeping her head low. The young boy wasn’t able to see much. Everything seemed so slow right now. His mother moving, the fog rolling along the ceiling, everything seemed like it was a dream. But it wasn’t. The pain in his chest assured him that this was no dream. He heard shouts from all over. He heard a crackling sound, like a fireplace in the dead of winter. He heard wood creaking and groaning. He felt intolerable heat bearing down on him as his mother carried him down the stairs to the bottom floor. They made it downstairs and the young boy saw something he had never seen before. It was enormous, angry, and bright red. It had so many long tentacles that it was able to cover every corner of their home. The heat from its body was so intense that the young boy’s eyes were squinting with tears and sweat covered his face.

A man was at one side of the huge, angry monster. The young boy couldn’t see him clearly but it looked like his father. He seemed to be throwing wood and furniture out of his way, trying to get to the front entrance. The large, orange monster didn’t seem to like that and it threw a large tentacle in front of the man. He gasped in shock and stepped back, nearly tripping over some broken wood. “Not that way!” the mother cried. “The window in the kitchen!” The young boy did not know how the man could hear over the crackling roar of the monster but somehow he understood and started to head to the kitchen behind the stairs. The mother was closest and started to rush over there. The young boy then heard a loud crack from above. An instant later, his world erupted in white, hot pain as he was thrown from his mother’s arms and landed face down on a sooty floor. The shocking pain soon disappeared and the agonizing heat returned. The young boy coughed and looked up to see where he was. Behind him lay a pile of broken wood, the monster’s tentacles dancing on top. In front of the young boy’s face was a hand, followed by an arm buried underneath the pile of wood. The hand looked gentle, caring, the type of hand that could erase pain with a gentle stroke through the hair. “Mama?” the young boy asked timidly. He no longer felt fear of the monster just a few feet beyond. He no longer felt fear of the dulling pain in his chest as the fog seeped through his lungs. He no longer felt the searing pain of the heat that seemed to bite into his skin like hundreds of needles. Someone then lifted him up and he was rushed away from the dangerous monster. But the young boy never stopped looking back at a single outstretched hand from that pile of broken wood...

* * *

Ragnar’s steps began to falter. It seemed like an impossible weight was pushing him down into the ground. His knees buckled underneath him and Ragnar slowly fell forward, the torch bouncing a few feet ahead. The soldier’s breathing became haggard, his chest having trouble forcing air in and out. He stood on all fours, trying his hardest to regain composure, but the painful memory seemed to have taken complete control over him. Hearing the voice say “not that way” had brought forth a deeply buried memory.

The fire that had destroyed his house had claimed his mother and he could do nothing except stare in confusion as his father carried him out to safety. His mother hadn’t been the only one to be claimed by the fire that had raged through the outskirts of Burland Castle but all of the other deaths just seemed like statistics. The only one he had cared about, the only number on the death count that had mattered was the one that listed his mother.

Ragnar forced a couple of deep breaths down his chest. His head began to clear again and he slowly stood back up. His legs still felt a bit shaky but he could now walk. He picked up the torch and continued on, forcing the painful memory back down into his distant past.

Chapter 17: A Dead End

The tunnel began to get lighter and Ragnar was able to see a small flicker of light at the end. Could this be the source of his mother’s voice? Ragnar began to quicken his pace. The tunnel opened up into a large chamber that was filled with water and torches lined the wall. In the middle of the chamber rested a small altar on a patch of wet rocks. Ragnar couldn’t see if anything rested on top of the altar from his position. The water didn’t seem very deep so Ragnar stuck his torch into the ground, undid his boots, and began to wade through the water. Once he reached the altar, Ragnar looked on its platform. He saw a funny-looking pair of shoes resting on top. They were white and pink, with three pairs of small wings: a large pair at the heel and two smaller pairs at the toe. Ragnar sat down on the altar and thought for a moment, fondling the shoes between his hands. The voice that was his mother’s had led him to this chamber. Inside the chamber was an altar with strange looking shoes on top. They would probably fascinate any young boy or girl who saw the shoes. Alex had said that Pocos had found a strange pair shoes at the secret playground. If this was the secret playground, were these the shoes? And if that was the case, where was Pocos now? Perhaps the only way to find out was to put the shoes on his feet. Ragnar wiped his feet dry and slowly began to slip one shoe on a foot. The wings on the shoe seemed to flutter for an instant, but moving his foot could have rustled it. The soldier was about to slip the other shoe on when he heard a scratching sound. At first he didn’t pay attention to it but he soon heard it again. It seemed to be getting louder and coming from all around him. Ragnar dropped the other shoe into the lake and grabbed his sword. He stood up slowly and carefully went down to the water. He looked around to see what was causing the noise and saw that the walls were starting to crumble around him. Was the entire chamber going to collapse because he took the shoes? Ragnar didn’t want to wait around to find out. He started to run into the water back to the chamber entrance.

He hadn’t even crossed halfway when the walls suddenly erupted in a spray of rock and dirt. Several flying stones bombarded Ragnar and he had to duck down to avoid getting pummeled to death.

When the rocks had passed, Ragnar stood back up and took a quick glance around. Several holes lined the walls and ceilings, as if something had blown them out. He stepped forward, keeping an eye on the holes. The chamber remained quiet aside from the occasional tiny splash caused by a pebble falling into the water. It came without warning. The holes erupted with masses of dark fur and flew at Ragnar. The soldier swung his sword to his left and he felt the blade cut through flesh and bone. He saw several furry animals drop into the water and sink, bright red blood floating on the surface. Ragnar didn’t have any time to ponder it, though, for the attack had come from all sides. Several creatures began to cling to his body and bite into any exposed skin with large incisors.

Sharp pain shot through Ragnar’s body as he felt dozens of large teeth sink in. Enraged, he threw his body out and several of the furry creatures flew off of him, falling into the water. Ragnar had a moment to look at his attackers. They were large gophers with deep gray fur. Their eyes had a strange glare as their noses twitched. Several of them had blood on their large teeth. They were small but there were so many of them that Ragnar didn’t know if he could defeat them all. The gophers charged again, leaping at Ragnar with incisors barred forward. The soldier swung his sword in great swipes, cutting several down as they leapt. But a few got by and hung onto Ragnar’s arms and legs. He tried to shake them off but if he concentrated on them instead of the ones that were charging him, he would be left completely defenseless. Realizing the odds were against him, Ragnar decided to make a run for it. He slashed his sword behind him, shook off three gophers hanging off of his back, and turned to run to the chamber entrance. Had he not been busy, Ragnar would have gasped in shock. A score of healers were lined up at the chamber entrance, blocking his escape. He was trapped! Not wanting to get closer to the healer group, Ragnar backed up, heading back to the altar in the middle of the chamber. The gophers were starting to crowd around him, biting into his legs. Grimacing in pain, Ragnar slashed his sword down on both sides, cutting the gophers in half with most swipes. But as he slashed down, he was open to high attacks and the gophers leapt at him high. Most just bounced off of his armor but some grabbed onto his shoulders and bit down into his unprotected skin. Ragnar yelled in pain as they struck deep, his blood spilling out through open wounds. The soldier became completely deranged and began to pick the gophers off of his shoulders by hand and squeezing the life out of them. So enraged was he that he did not even notice the gophers attack his legs again. The soldier sensed a pattern forming, that they would attack high when he attacked low and vice-versa. He tried to formulate a battle plan in the dizziness that was creeping on him. Nothing came to him. He was never trained to deal with this type of situation. Ragnar realized there could be no escape from this endless onslaught. But he wouldn’t go down without a heroic fight. He backed up to the altar, hacking and slashing deranged gophers left and right, high and low. Blood was streaming out of multiple wounds but Ragnar didn’t care. Too much adrenaline was pumping through his body, forcing him to ignore the pain. The water was soon blood red, filled with dozens of gopher corpses. Dizziness was now upon Ragnar and he fell, his back collapsing on the pile of rocks supporting the altar. His sword was getting much too heavy so he dropped it and began to fight with his bare hands, swatting, squeezing, crushing with just as much force. The gophers were soon covering him and the attacks were coming from all directions. Ragnar was beginning to tire, his arms weighted down by fatigue. For a moment, he thought he was going to die. But only for a moment for he suddenly felt refreshed and new, as if he had just swallowed a dozen medical herbs. He could feel his multiple wounds close. Ragnar roared to life as he burst upward, thrusting the gophers off of his body.

The soldier couldn’t explain the cause of his renewed strength but he took the

opportunity to grab his sword and begin to slash away at the gophers again.

As he fought, he continued to feel his strength return and his wounds heal. What was causing this healing? Ragnar then remembered the healers and took a quick glance in their direction. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Half of the healers were attacking the gophers! They were using their tentacles to strangle the smaller foe as they came out of their tiny tunnels in the wall. The rest of the group was waving their tentacles in curious gestures at Ragnar. Were they the cause of his rapid healing? Ragnar didn’t ponder it for long, as the gophers at hand were a more immediate concern. He grabbed his sword and ran on top of the altar. If they wanted to get him, they were going to have to climb up to him. The soldier was feeling completely refreshed now and struck out with deadly accuracy, sparing none that came within a few feet. The pile of dead gophers at the base of the altar grew higher and higher. From on top, he could see the chamber more clearly. The attacking healers were closing in around the altar, killing the gophers on the outer perimeter. In a few minutes, Ragnar sliced apart the last of the lethal gophers and didn’t have a scratch left on him. The soldier took a few deep breaths, letting his adrenaline subside for the moment but not for too long. The healers were regrouping back at the chamber entrance. Had he defeated one enemy only to have to defeat another? Ragnar counted the number of healers. There were many, far too many for him to defeat on his own. But if he was going to die, he would send as many of the monsters to death’s hands before him. “Well?” he shouted, his voice echoing along the high walls. “What are you waiting for? Come and get me!” He gripped his sword tighter, mentally preparing for the initial assault. Instead, one healer of the entire group floated forward. Ragnar was confused but kept his guard up. The healer stopped mid-way between the chamber entrance and the altar. It floated still for a few seconds, its tentacles waving in melodic rhythm. “Hel-lo,” it said in a strangled, watery voice. “My... name... is... Hea-lie.”

Chapter 18: Healie

Ragnar looked around the chamber, wondering where the voice had come from. It sounded like the healer in front of him had talked but the soldier knew that that was complete nonsense. Healers couldn’t talk in the human language. It must have been a trick of hearing from battling with the gophers. Ragnar had been so busy trying to figure out where the strangled voice had come from that he didn’t notice the healer floated a bit closer. “Hel-lo,” it said again. “My... name... is... Hea-lie.”

“Who’s saying that?” Ragnar shouted at the chamber ceiling. “Show yourself!” “I... front... you,” the healer said, floating closer. Ragnar finally noticed it and pointed his sword at the healer threateningly. “Don’t you come any closer!” he said. “I’ll hack you in two if you do.” “We... help... you,” the healer said, its tentacles waving. “Still... no... trust?” “I won’t trust anything that won’t show itself,” Ragnar said, still not convinced the monster in front of him was talking. “I... here,” the healer said, daring to float closer “We... talk?” “About what?” Ragnar asked, still pointing his sword at the closing healer. “Friend-ship,” the healer said. It stretched out a tentacle, as if implying Ragnar to take it. Ragnar had no idea what to do. Every part of his gut told him not to let his guard down, yet every fact pointed to the healers wanting to help him. Was it them that had saved him? Why would they do that? And how was it that this healer knew how to talk in a human language? Many things didn’t add up and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed that he was going to have to trust the healers, especially if he was to get out of here alive. He slowly got down from the altar, keeping his sword between him and the healer. The healer was motionless, waiting for Ragnar to make his move. The soldier could easily chop down the monster and the healer probably knew it. However, it made no attempt to flee. It remained motionless. Ragnar stretched his hand forward slowly. If there was ever a chance to back out, it was now. If ever there was a chance to kill the healer, it was now. If ever there was a chance to escape the chamber, it was now. The soldier placed his hand on the healer’s tentacle. “Friendship.”

* * *

Ragnar walked in the middle of a small group of healers. Since his torch was beginning to die out, he couldn’t see much around him and often bumped or stumbled along the path. He didn’t feel comfortable in the presence of so many healers and kept his sword out in case they made any sudden moves. After hearing so many tales of healers attacking human travelers, Ragnar didn’t trust the monsters. However, he needed their help to get back out. He had many questions to ask and the healer known as Healie answered them as best as it could with its limited vocabulary as they walked. “How is it that you can talk?” “I... learn... from... child-ren,” Healie said. The words were very strangled and watery. “They... friends.”

“You know of the children?” Ragnar asked. “Yes… when... they... come... here... we... play... to-geth-er. They... friends.” “But why don’t you attack them? I’ve heard that healers will kill humans if given the chance.” Healie seemed to nod and replied, “Not... all... hea-ler... like... hu-man… we... kill... but... so... do… you.” “Well, um, I guess,” Ragnar muttered, rubbing his mustache. The healer spoke true. Humans did kill, just like healers. Maybe it was just the fact that healers looked so much different and frightening that they just seemed evil. “So, your kind isn’t evil at all?” Ragnar asked, brushing a cobweb out of his way. “Some... are... some... not,” Healie said. “We... not... we... friends.” Ragnar rubbed his mustache. This healer seemed so friendly, even friendlier than many people Ragnar knew back home. Still, there was more to its kindness than it was letting on and the soldier figured it was time for Healie to come clean. “Why did you save me?” he asked. “I seriously doubt it was just out of pure benevolence.” Healie paused for a moment and the rest of the healer group stopped as well. Ragnar looked around to see what was going on. In the limited light, he saw the most peculiar thing. The healers were rubbing their tentacles together, and then placing each other’s tentacles on the bulbous head of a different healer, rubbing it up and down. Was this how they communicated? After a few moments, Healie emerged from the group and replied, “It... hard... to... say... man-y... rea-son.” “Just try your best,” Ragnar said. “It is very important that I know.” Healie nodded and said, “E-vil... man... try... con-trol... us… we... not... like... ste-al... child-ren...” “Wait a moment!” Ragnar interrupted. “What do you mean ‘steal children’.?” Could this be a clue to the whereabouts of the missing children? “No... know,” Healie said, its voice starting to strain. It obviously took the healer a great amount of effort to speak in the human language. “Must... help... child-ren... kill... e-vil… man... control... us.” “I don’t understand,” Ragnar said, shrugging his shoulders. “Do you mean the children were trying to kill the evil man, or that-” “No,” Healie squeaked, shaking its tentacles in a mad panic. “E-vil... man... have... have...” Healie started to make a gesture to Ragnar’s pack.

“What?” the soldier said, pointing to his pack. “He had a pack like mine?” “No,” the healer said. “Have... thing... in... pack.” Ragnar looked at Healie for a moment, confused. The other healers started to wave their tentacles at Ragnar’s pack as well. He undid his pack and laid it on the dusty ground of the cave. There wasn’t much left from when he first started on his trip. A few medical herbs he had bought in Izmit, a couple of spare torches and his flint, the empty bottle of Fairy Water from the King, and the strange shoes he had found on the altar. He suddenly realized what the healers were going crazy over. He pulled out the shoes and held them up for the healers to see. “Did he have these with him?” “Yes!” Healie said enthusiastically, its voice becoming hoarse. “Yes... child-ren... take... and... it... come... again... and... child-ren... take... and... you... come... and...” “I get the point,” Ragnar said, holding up his other hand. He looked at the shoes for a moment. They really did seem strange. And they were very light in his hands, almost as if they were floating on air. He looked back at the healers and asked, “So, an evil man who tries to control you left the shoes here, and the children find these shoes and disappear? Is that what you’ve been trying to explain?” “Yes!” Healie exclaimed again. “You... find... e-vil... man... kill... free... we... free... child-ren.” “Me?” Ragnar said, shocked. “Nobody said that I was going to do anything like that! I was going to take these shoes back to the castle and let my King figure them out.” “No... time... no... time,” Healie squeaked, waving its tentacles back and forth. “Must... now!” “And how am I to do that?” Ragnar asked, crossing his arms across his chest. Healie paused for a moment. The healers started to crowd around again, rubbing their tentacles together and on each other. After they were finished, Healie said, “I... join... you.” Ragnar tilted his head in Healie’s direction, unsure of what he just heard. “Did... you just say that you were going to join me?” “Yes,” Healie said, shaking its blue body back and forth. Ragnar began to have mixed feelings about that prospect. Letting a healer join his search for the missing children? It could actually be beneficial, not having to waste his medical herbs if Healie cured any more wounds he might receive. After several minutes of mustache rubbing, Ragnar finally outstretched his hand to Healie and said, “Agreed.” Healie put its tentacle onto Ragnar’s hand and pointed its blue body up at the soldier. “Partner,” Ragnar added, smiling.

* * *

It took awhile but the healers eventually lead Ragnar back to the bottom of the old well he had first entered the cave from. The soldier looked up through the well but wasn’t able to see much. The top seemed to be just a tiny hole, letting in only a portion of light. It was more light than his torch was giving off, though, and Ragnar stamped his torch on the ground, putting the flame out. A few of the healers skittered off into the darkness in fright, shocked at Ragnar’s sudden outburst of violent action. Ragnar noticed this and looked up, seeing a few of the healers timidly looking at him from the darkness. The soldier chuckled to himself. Could it be that these monsters were actually more afraid of him than he was of them? Ragnar tugged on the rope, making sure it was safe to climb up. After he was satisfied, the soldier turned back to Healie, to inform him he was ready.

He saw an even more peculiar thing happening than when the healers were communicating. The healers were formed in a tight circle. From the middle of the circle, Healie (Ragnar wasn’t completely sure since all healers looked remarkably alike) began to float higher than the rest, its tentacles waving in a rhythmic pendulum. The rest of the healers began to raise their tentacles at Healie. It almost looked like they were worshipping him.

It went on for a minute, then Healie descended outside the circle towards Ragnar. The rest of the healers floated in the cave entrance for a few seconds, and then vanished down the tunnel. “What was that all about?” Ragnar asked, still a bit shocked. “We... say... good... bye,” Healie said in a low, strangled voice. The healer kept staring down the tunnel. It seemed as though Healie was upset.

Ragnar tried to be compassionate. “We shouldn’t be gone long,” he said, releasing his grip on the rope. “You’ll be back in no time.”

“No... you... know,” Healie muttered, waving its tentacles side to side. It turned to Ragnar and said, “I... no... re-turn.” “I don’t understand,” Ragnar said. “Of course you will return.” He thought for a moment, and then added, “You don’t expect to die, do you?” Healie looked at Ragnar for a long time, as if contemplating its words. After awhile, it said, “We... go,” and it started to head over to the well’s tunnel. Ragnar blocked Healie’s path. The healer tried to float around the soldier but he was able to stop any advance. “I’m not letting you by until you tell me what’s going on,” Ragnar said, a rare hint of concern in his usually stoic voice. “What is it? Are we walking into a trap?” Healie looked at Ragnar again, not saying anything, hardly moving except for the occasional flutter of its tentacles. The soldier grabbed Healie’s bulbous head roughly and started to shake it violently. “What is it you’re not telling me?” he asked, fury in his voice. “Please... let... go,” Healie managed to squeak. Ragnar let go of the healer but he still kept up a foreboding presence, crossing his arms over his large chest.

The healer kept looking at Ragnar, not saying anything, hardly moving. Ragnar sighed and put a hand on Healie’s head. Healie started to back up timidly but stopped, allowing Ragnar to put his hand on its head. The soldier felt funny, putting a hand on a healer’s head as a sign of comfort. The head felt soft, cold, and clammy, but not sticky or slimy, as he had expected. “Look,” Ragnar said, “I’m sorry. I overreacted, but I must know. Are we walking into a trap or not?” “No...” Healie muttered. “Then what is it?” “I...” Healie began but lost the nerve to talk again. “You can tell me,” Ragnar said, as comforting as he could manage. Being caring like this wasn’t easy for him but he could tell that the healer was very troubled and Ragnar’s curiosity was piqued. “I... I....” Healie paused again and Ragnar began to get impatient. However, Healie finally managed to mutter, “I... want... be... hu-man.” Ragnar was taken aback by the statement and removed his hand from Healie’s blue head. Of all of the answers he was prepared for, this one he had not anticipated. A healer wanting to be human? What was the world coming to? “W... why?” Ragnar asked. It was the only thing he could manage to say. “Child-ren,” Healie said, its voice sounding upset. “I... care... for... them... I... wish... to... be... with... all... time... not... when... they... come... I... wish... to... be... with... in... town... and...” “I understand,” Ragnar interrupted, holding up a hand. He knew how hard it was for Healie to talk for long lengths of time and he didn’t want the healer to go into a painfully long explanation. “How do you think you can accomplish this?” “Have... have...” Healie started to stutter, trying to find the right word to use. It began to wave its tentacles in front of its head. “What?” Ragnar said, shrugging his shoulders. “Have head? Have eyes? Have nose? Have smell? Have vision? Have-” “Yes!” Healie cried out enthusiastically. “Have...vi-sion!” “What kind of vision?” “King... Hea-ler... say... join... hu-man... to... be... hu-man,” Healie replied.

Ragnar didn’t really understand what the healer meant. Was this King Healer some sort of God to the healers? And how could a healer suddenly become a human just by being around one? It didn’t make much sense but, of course, not much else was making sense lately.

Everything just seemed to have been flipped upside down today. Ragnar’s simple life of

routine and order was crumbling around him. Everything had been so simple and uniform before these children started to disappear. What was the world coming to?

“Don’t let it bother you,” Ragnar said, trying his best to comfort the troubled healer. He patted Healie on the head. Healie waved its tentacles enthusiastically. “I... glad,” it said. “Now, come on,” Ragnar said, smiling. “Let’s go and kill that evil man.” The soldier grabbed a hold of the rope and began to climb out. Healie floated beside Ragnar. Whenever he started to tire or his arms would seem to weaken, Healie started to wave its tentacles in a rhythmic fashion and Ragnar felt refreshed and new. It took several minutes but Ragnar managed to climb out. He eased himself over the well’s top and stood up. Such a climb would have left even the most hardened soldier completely drained of energy but Healie’s healing magic had left him refreshed and ready to take on anything. The soldier looked up and noticed through the thick canopy that the storm clouds from the mountains were overhead already. It wasn’t raining yet but it probably would very soon. How long had he been down there for? It hadn’t seemed a very long time but the spell had entranced him for a while. Healie poked its head out from the well timidly. It was very bright for the healer, whom had spent most of its time in the darkness of the old well. Ragnar figured it must be a very frightening sensation to see the light like this. Healie looked around for a bit, then let out a strange squeak of fright before ducking back into the well. “Don’t worry,” Ragnar said, walking over to the well to help Healie out. “I understand that it must be bright for you but you’d better adjust or else you’ll never make it as a human.” “That not why,” Healie said quite quickly, which surprised Ragnar. “Over... there.” Healie pointed a tentacle behind Ragnar and the soldier turned. Behind him stood rows of pikes deeply embedded into the muddy ground. On each pike’s tip, a single healer was plunged through, a clear liquid oozing down the brown shaft. “Thus is the penalty for betrayal,” an emotionless voice came from the bush.

Chapter 19: An “E-vil... Man”

Ragnar looked around the densely packed forest. There wasn’t much room around him and the tiny clearing where the well was. Healie timidly poked its head out of the well, taking a brief look around as well. “Who said that?” Ragnar asked Healie, still searching the forest. “E-vil... e-vil... e-vil...” Healie repeatedly stuttered, visibly shaking in fright.

“Evil?” the emotionless voice said. It seemed to be coming from all around the forest. “Hardly at all. We are liberators in this unjust world.” “Where are you?” Ragnar shouted into the forest, still trying to search the dense foliage. “Show yourself if you aren’t a coward!” “No need to be rude,” the voice said. It was now coming from directly in front of Ragnar. Out stepped a short man in a long, gray robe, clutching a wooden staff. He was wearing a strange, flattop hat with dark hair flowing out from it, covering his ears. His face was long and he had dark, almond shaped eyes. “I’m right here,” the man said, smiling. Ragnar unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the strange man. “Are you the cause of these healers on these pikes?” he asked. He turned to Healie, who was cowering in the well. The healer was positively terrified of the man just a few feet in front of Ragnar. “Why should you care?” the strange man said, still smiling. “Aren’t they just ‘monsters’, as you humans put it?” ‘You humans’? What did the strange man mean by that? Wasn’t he human as well? “Not all monsters are alike, I’ve learned,” Ragnar said, keeping his sword between the strange man and him. “These healers saved me down in the caves when-” “Yes, I know all that,” the strange man interrupted. He looked at the soldier, studying Ragnar’s expressions. Smiling broadly, he said, “You don’t even know what I am, do you.” “Should I?” The strange man began to gingerly finger his staff. He continued to study Ragnar’s face, and then muttered, “No, I guess you wouldn’t. Since you’re going to die, I might as well let you know.” “You seem pretty sure of yourself,” Ragnar snarled, hardly moving his mouth. What was it about this strange man that made him feel so odd? The eyes and face were strange, that much was a certainty, but there was something else, a placid, serene look on the man’s otherwise cocky facial expressions that seemed un-human. “I am,” the strange man said, still gingerly fingering his staff. Slowly, he moved his other hand to the flat top hat and grabbed the rim. “Here’s a hint,” he said, removing it. The hair that had been covering most of his head fell limp without the support of the hat to hold most of it up. It fell down on his shoulders, slightly curling back up at the ends.

However, it was not the hair’s hidden length that had left Ragnar shocked. It was the ears, most of which had been covered by the hair and hat.

They were pointed at the ends! “You’re a.... you’re... a.....!” Ragnar stuttered, not believing what he was seeing. His sword began to waver in his hand.

“An elf?” the strange man suggested, tilting his head so Ragnar could get a better look at the ears. “Yes, I suppose that I am.” The elf suddenly stopped fingering his staff and formed a fist. “And you...” he said, “are dead!” The elf’s fist folded open, and a tiny, white aura had formed in his palm. “Infernos!” he suddenly cried out and threw the white aura at Ragnar. The soldier, despite being shocked by the fact an elf stood before him, managed to get his blade up in time to block the white aura. However, it just passed through the blade, and then split into six individual blades of air. The tiny blades whipped across Ragnar’s body, flaying the flesh from his skin. Ragnar instinctively clutched at a wound that had cut into his left wrist, dropping his sword. Blood leaked out of an artery rapidly and Ragnar tried to apply to pressure to the lesion to stop the bleeding. Too late had he realized that he had let his guard down when he heard the elf again chant, “Infernos!” Several more blades of air cut through Ragnar’s skin. The pain was sharp but not intense, so Ragnar couldn’t even scream out in agony. He had to kill the elf before he bled to death! Slowly, Ragnar reached out for his sword but before he could grab it, the elf chanted the spell again. The soldier’s skin ruptured, allowing more blood to flow freely outside its vessels.

Ragnar was beginning to get dizzy again from the loss of blood and collapsed beside the well. He heard the elf laugh, heard him say that he was going to cast the spell until his skin was gone, then until his meat was gone, then until his intestines and entrails were gone, until even the bones were gone. It didn’t matter to Ragnar. It all seemed a long ways away and the pain becoming duller and duller.

His thoughts began to drift, about all of his other near death experiences. The fire when he was a child, on the trip back to Burland Castle, then down in the cave only to be saved by the healers, and now- Ragnar suddenly remembered how he survived the cave. The healers had healed his wounds and there was a healer just a foot away, cowering inside the well. “Healie,” Ragnar weakly mumbled. “Can... you... hear me?” A timid, “Yes,” came from the well. “I... need your... help,” Ragnar mumbled. A sharp pain erupted on his right arm and the soldier clutched it, a futile gesture with the already numerous wounds. He removed his hand and saw he had been clutching muscle tissue! He grimaced at the sight but quickly put the pain aside. “Healie...”Ragnar mumbled. “Heal...me...” “I... I... I... e-vil... man... e-vil... man... kill... we...” Healie stuttered, absolutely terrified of the elf.

“I... know...” Ragnar managed to say. His lungs were burning with every word now, “but I can... kill... him if you... heal me.” He instinctively grabbed his other arm in pain, wincing as it seemed to shoot fires through his skin as he touched it. He managed to turn to the well and mutter, “Revenge...” before he slipped into a dream-like state.

* * *

The pain, the well, the elf, even the forest around him, all seemed to be a world away. He was floating just a few feet from Burland Castle. He did not know why he was here or how he arrived. All he knew was that he was here. He floated towards a window just on the outskirts of the town surrounding the castle walls. He couldn’t see the house the window belonged to. It just seemed to be attached to a wooden wall in the middle of nowhere. There was someone in the window. He floated down for a closer look. It looked like a woman, a woman with long, auburn hair. Mary? No, it was someone else, but who? Who else did he know that had auburn hair like Mary’s? His mother? No, she was dead! The woman looked up through the window and seemed to notice him. She smiled. A gentle peace filled his being when he looked upon her smile. He longed to be with this woman, to be in the company with the peaceful smile, to escape all of the pain of the world, all of the chaos that seemed to encroach his simple life. He started to float towards her and her arms opened wide to receive his embrace. She vanished.

* * *

A searing pain shot through Ragnar’s body as he regained consciousness. The first thing he saw was his arm. He expected it to be soaked in blood, his muscle tissue pulsing in the air. He saw new skin being formed, covering the open wounds. Without even thinking, he muttered, “Healie?” The soldier looked at the healer. Its tentacles were waving a rhythmic fashion, and then pointing them at Ragnar. His wounds were closing almost as fast as they were being formed. He then remembered the elf. Ragnar turned to face the elf. The elf seemed to have a surprised look on his face. Ragnar realized why. The elf hadn’t expected Healie to heal Ragnar so quickly, if at all. “This isn’t possible!” the elf exclaimed, his mouth open in shock. “A healer can’t cast magic like that!” Ragnar slowly stood up. The wounds were closing fast but he was still a bit dizzy from the loss of blood. He grabbed his sword and it felt heavy in his hands now. The soldier took a step forward but his head began to swim, his world swaying back and forth. Easy, he thought, slowly moving. Don’t move too quickly. Let Healie cure me at his own pace. The elf began to back up, realizing the danger he was in if Ragnar was back to full strength. “Infernos!” he chanted again and threw the white aura of magical energy at the advancing soldier. Tiny blades of air cut through Ragnar’s skin but Healie’s magic cured the wounds as soon as they formed.

The last spell the elf had cast had caused Ragnar to wince in pain and his dizziness overtook him, stumbling a few steps. But when Healie cured the new wounds, the spell refreshed his stamina and the dizziness passed. He could now see clearly and the elf was terrified. Healie cast the spell again and Ragnar’s strength and anger surged. He wanted to stick his sword deep in the elf’s bowels and twist the sword in elongated circles. He wanted to slowly saw his blade through the elf’s neck. For all of the pain the elf had caused on him, the soldier wanted to make the elf hurt even more. Ragnar took two large steps, covering more ground then any man of his size. He was upon the elf in less than five seconds, bringing his sword to his enemy’s chest. All he had to do was plunge his sword through and it would all be over. He hesitated. The elf’s face was of pure terror, cold sweat running down his face and dripping onto Ragnar’s hands. This isn’t right, Ragnar thought. This isn’t me. He started to relax his grip on the elf. “Kill... e-vil... man!” Ragnar heard a bubbly voice from behind.

He then remembered the healers on the pikes, the healers that had saved him, the healers that had pleaded to him to save them from this elf in his grasp. He remembered the amount of pain he received by this elf and the amount that the elf enjoyed giving it. He remembered his promise to Healie to avenge its comrades, impaled upon the pikes just a few feet away.

Ragnar plunged the blade through the elf’s chest, straight to the hilt. The elf screamed in pain, blood welling up his throat. Ragnar twisted his blade a bit, adding extra pain to the elf. The screams of agony were like music to the soldier. His eyes were narrow, filled with hatred. Then, suddenly, Ragnar’s eyes mellowed and his mouth fell slack. He realized what he was doing. He was killing in cold blood, and enjoying it! He quickly pulled his sword out. The elf screamed as he did so.

Ragnar let go of the elf and took a few staggered steps back. The elf’s blood covered his sword, oozing down the hilt and onto his hand. Ragnar quickly tossed the sword to the ground and looked at his hands, the elf’s blood slowly making tiny streaks down his freshly healed skin.

He looked up and saw the elf collapse to the muddy ground. “Oh, god!” Ragnar breathed as he watched the dying elf fall. The soldier rushed over and tried to hold him up.

What had he done? He had expected to maybe wound the elf to get by, maybe even knock him unconscious, but not to kill him like this. Ragnar tried to tell himself that he had no choice, that the elf would have killed him if he hadn’t done this. But seeing the elf convulsing as the last of his life escaped like the blood gushing out of the chest wound, Ragnar couldn’t help but feel guilty, full of pity, full of sorrow.

“I’m... sorry,” he murmured into the elf’s ear, unsure whether he heard him or not. He felt tears welling into his eyes.

The elf turned his eyes to Ragnar for a moment and the soldier had a brief flash of hope that he would survive. “May... Esturk... eat... your soul,” the elf muttered with blood-soaked words. He then spat a mouthful of blood at Ragnar. The soldier jumped back, shocked by the elf’s actions. The elf gave a bloody smile to Ragnar, and then the body went limp, moving no more.

Chapter 20: Flying High

Ragnar stood still for several moments, staring at the dead elf. It took a while but the full impact of what he had done had finally hit him. He had killed an elf. An actual elf! Their very existence was mythical at best. According to Burland legend, the elves vanished a short while after the times of darkness, when recorded history began to take form. With elves, dwarves, and other mythical creatures gone, the human populace had spread across the world. But not even five feet from Ragnar was the body of an elf that he had killed! Ragnar was so tantalized by the elf in front of him that he didn’t even notice Healie floating towards the corpse. The healer rubbed its tentacles over the corpse, apparently studying the body. It then lowered its bulbous, blue head towards the body and began to suck on the blood. Ragnar, who was at first curious by Healie’s actions, suddenly gasped and realized what the healer was doing. It was going to eat the corpse! “No!” Ragnar exclaimed. He picked up his sword and pointed it at Healie. “Get away from him, now!” “Eat... food,” Healie said, floating a bit higher, away from the corpse. “E-vil... man... eat... food.” “I realize this must be a feast for your kind,” Ragnar said, walking closer to Healie, sword extended, “but you will not eat him. Understand? You will not eat him!” “I...” Healie began but Ragnar’s glare cut it short. Healie floated away from the body and Ragnar kneeled over the body. He studied the corpse for a moment. A drop of rain ran down the corpse’s face and Ragnar only now noticed that it had been slightly drizzling the past minute or so. “The swampy land should provide a decent grave,” Ragnar muttered to himself grimly. He stood up and faced Healie. “How would you like to bury your friends?” he asked the healer, waving his hand at the many pikes. “Bur-y?” Healie said, confused. “Yes, bury,” Ragnar said, nodding his head. “Give your friends a proper grave?” The healer looked at Ragnar for a long time, its tentacles waving back and forth. “Never mind,”

Ragnar sighed and he started the grim task of removing the healers off the pikes and burying them in the ground.

* * *

Ragnar slowly walked towards Izmit, Healie floating just behind. The day had been long and weary, and the soaking storm only seemed to weigh him down even more. Twice he had come near death, yet twice he had survived. It was as if someone or something was watching over him, protecting him. He wiped the rainwater off of his already drenched face, soaking his hand. Yes, it had been a weary day and his mood had not improved since they left the secret playground. Healie hadn’t bothered trying to talk to the soldier, the healer not knowing what a casual conversation was. It suited Ragnar fine. He was not in the mood for talking right now. All he wanted to do was get to a dry, warm bed and rest, forgetting about today. Ragnar glanced at Healie and his companion seemed weary as well, its tentacles drooping instead of moving in their usual random order. Ragnar smiled sympathetically at Healie, even if it didn’t know why he did so. The poor monster had lost all of its friends, probably its entire family, in one day, all because it helped a royal soldier. At least Ragnar had a home to return to, friends to be in the company of back at the castle. Healie had nothing left except the company of Ragnar while it helped find the missing children that the healer seemed to care very much about. When Ragnar turned back to the field ahead, he could see the lights of Izmit glowing slightly in the darkened, cloudy skies. Ragnar smiled, forcing the dripping rainwater to run in a different direction down his face. He never realized how inviting the tiny town could look. Ragnar turned to Healie and said, “I’m going to be in the town just on the horizon for a day or so and I don’t think they’ll allow a healer to roam among the streets, friendly or not.” “I... know,” Healie said, its voice sounding a bit cleaner than before. “I... wait... here.” “Will you be all right?” Ragnar asked. “I... fine,” Healie said, waving its tentacles to and fro. “I... wait... you.” “Alright then,” Ragnar said. He extended his hand and Healie put its tentacle in the soldier’s palm, allowing Ragnar to shake it. “I’ll come and get you when I’m ready to find the children.” “Yes,” Healie said and moved its tentacle out of Ragnar’s palm. It then floated through the rain away from Ragnar, disappearing over a small hill in the field. Ragnar smiled. He felt a bit of a kinship with the healer, which was odd since had it not saved him twice in this one day he wouldn’t have had any regrets killing it before. The soldier turned, wiped more rainwater off of his face, and headed back to Izmit.

* * *

Ragnar woke up late the next morning to the light beating of rain on his window. His body was well rested but he still felt weary, the previous day’s trials still vivid in his mind. He sat up, stretched, and went to the window. The storm seemed to be passing as the rain was now softly falling. Ragnar yawned, stretched again, and got dressed, putting on a heavy wool jerkin. He went downstairs to the eatery and ordered his usual bowl of porridge. As he waited by the counter, he asked the innkeeper if any of the other royal soldiers had showed up. The innkeeper shook his head. Ragnar rubbed his mustache, wondering what could have happened to them. If they had left two days ago, they should surely be back by now. Once he got his porridge, Ragnar paid the innkeeper and went to sit down at a table. Off in the corner, he saw a couple eating as well. It was Alex and Flora. He walked over to them and cheerfully said, “Hello, may I join you?” Alex and Flora turned, startled. “Oh! Sir Ragnar!” Alex said, pulling out a chair for the soldier. “Of course you can join us.” Ragnar thanked them and sat down. The soldier looked at Alex for a moment. The young man had cleaned up since Ragnar last saw him. With all of the mud gone and clean clothes on, Alex appeared to be quite a handsome man. Ragnar wasn’t so surprised now why Flora would want to be with him. “Why are you still here?” Ragnar asked as he sat down. “I would have thought the two of you would have left for Burland Castle by now.” “We decided to stay for a while,” Flora explained. “The seaside really is lovely at this time of the year.” She then glanced at a rain soaked window. “Well,” she added absently, “when the weather is better, I guess.” “So,” Alex said, smiling, “did you find the secret playground?” “Yeah,” Ragnar muttered, poking his porridge, “I found it.” “And...?” Alex said, rising an eyebrow. Ragnar looked at Alex, unsure of what to say. He couldn’t say that he befriended a healer and killed an elf. They wouldn’t believe him for a moment. And, if they did, would they start to question his morals? Legends always said that elves were good, not evil. Yet the elf Ragnar killed most certainly was evil.

No, it was best not to tell them of his trials at the secret playground.

“I... found a strange pair of shoes there,” Ragnar replied lightly. “Really?” Alex said. “What kind of shoes?” “I’m not really sure,” Ragnar said before shoving a spoonful of porridge in his mouth. He chewed for a moment then said. “They’re white with tiny wings on them.”

“Tiny wings, huh?” Alex absently said, rubbing his chin. “What is it, dear?” Flora said to Alex. “Wait a moment, honey,” he said, holding up a finger. He seemed to be in deep concentration at the moment. Eventually, he looked up at Ragnar and asked, “Do you have them on you?” “The shoes?” Ragnar said, not really paying attention. “Yeah, they’re in my room.” “Could you go get them?” Alex asked. “Sure,” the soldier replied and he ran up to his room. When he came back down, Ragnar gave the shoes to Alex and the young man looked at them for a while, studying every minor detail of the shoes. “What is it, Alex?” Flora asked, concern in her voice but her husband ignored her. Finally, without looking up, Alex said, “These are them.” “What?” Ragnar asked, confused. “The shoes,” Alex said, looking at the soldier. “The shoes Pocos showed me. It’s them to the finest detail.” “I don’t understand,” Flora said. “What’s going on here?” “One of the children who disappeared was Pocos, the son of the innkeeper here,” Alex explained. “Before he disappeared, he showed me a pair of shoes he had found at the secret playground that looked just like these.” “And a friend of his said that Pocos was playing with some shoes like these before he disappeared,” Ragnar finished, rubbing his mustache. It was all starting to come together now. The strange shoes were the key to finding the children. Ragnar figured if he put them on, they would take him to where ever the missing children were. “Thanks, Alex,” Ragnar said, standing up and patting the young man on the shoulder. “I know what I have to do.” He grabbed the shoes and rushed up to his room to gather his equipment, leaving Alex and Flora in the eatery, confused.

* * *

Ragnar quickly ran outside of Izmit, excitement creeping through every inch of his body. It would soon be all over! All he had to do was slip the shoes on and, hopefully, he’d find the children. Then he could go home and prepare the castle’s defenses against the threat of beetle-men. As he ran, Ragnar double-checked his supplies to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Inside his pack a half-dozen medical herbs, a new torch, and the strange shoes. His

family’s armor was already creaking on his body, the plumed helmet was on his head, and his shield was strapped to his left arm. If there were going to be more of those elves, Ragnar was prepared for them. He had wanted to bring Darnell along but his fellow soldier was still recovering, and the clerics at the temple wouldn’t allow him access, claiming he was resting. Ragnar didn’t believe them but it would be pointless to argue with the clergymen. “Healie!” the soldier called out over the drenched hills. This had been the area he and Healie had parted company before he had gone to Izmit, so the healer should be around somewhere. He scanned the hills, still soaked after the night of hard rain. There were still a few, random drops of water falling but the main downpour had ended more than an hour ago. Ragnar looked over the hills for a long time, waiting. He was starting to wonder whether Healie might have left. However, the soldier eventually saw a tiny, blue dot coming over the hills. “Healie!” Ragnar called out, and the soldier ran towards his companion. Once he caught up to the monster, Ragnar quickly explained the situation. Healie understood it all. “Now remember,” Ragnar said, “if there’s any fighting, leave it to me and heal me from behind.” He thought for a moment, then asked, “Do you know if there are any more elves around?” “Elves?” Healie asked, confused. “Sorry,” Ragnar muttered, shaking his head. He forgot that Healie didn’t have the vocabulary of humans. “I meant evil men,” he corrected. “No... know,” Healie replied, waving its tentacles back and forth. “E-vil... man... at... home... on-ly... show.” “I see,” Ragnar muttered, rubbing his mustache. He seriously doubted that the elf he had killed at the secret playground was the only one, though. If the kidnappings were planned, then any organized force would have more than one person in charge. In any event, there would have to be guards keeping watch over the children. “Alright,” Ragnar finally said. “I’m going to put the shoes on now. I don’t know what will happen, so, in case I suddenly disappear, it would be a good idea for you to hold onto me.” “Yes,” Healie said, waving its tentacles side to side. The healer floated up and wrapped its tentacles around Ragnar’s neck. “Not so tight!” Ragnar gasped and he reached up to his neck to try and undo the pressure Healie was applying. “Sor-ry,” Healie said and loosened its grip.

Once his breathing returned to normal, Ragnar kneeled down and undid his boots. He then took the white shoes out of his pack, replacing them with his boots. Slowly, he slipped the first one on. The wings on the shoe fluttered for a second but didn’t move after that. Ragnar took a few deep breaths, steeling his nerves. This was it. Just slip the other shoe on and it would soon all be over. Slowly, he slipped the second shoe on his other foot and closed his eyes. The wing fluttered for a second, then stopped moving. Ragnar waited for a few seconds, but it seemed like minutes, anticipating whatever the shoes did. Nothing was happening. Curious, the soldier looked down at the shoes. He almost gasped when he saw them. The wings were flapping hard, harder than any bird Ragnar knew of. Then, just as he looked down, he was propelled high into the sky. His sudden and rapid ascent had caught Ragnar by surprise and the soldier screamed in fright. He was flying so fast, his eyes watered and he could hardly open them. He felt the wind rushing past him. Healie’s tentacles wrapped tighter around his throat, the healer no doubt even more frightened than Ragnar. With so much pressure on his neck, he couldn’t breathe! Ragnar wanted to scream out to Healie to relax its grip but the rushing air forced his mouth shut. The soldier started to pass out, the lack of air making him dizzy.

Eventually, the lack of oxygen finally claimed his consciousness and his head swam in dizziness, a black world beckoning him to enter.

Chapter 21: In A Dusty, Old Room

Ragnar slowly opened his eyes, his head spinning uncontrollably. Through a blurred vision, he saw a red, brick-faced ceiling. Where was he? He tried to sit up but his head hurt too much. Instead, he shifted his eyes back and forth, trying to get an idea of his surroundings. He seemed to be in a small room. There were walls only a few feet on either side of him and an old, broken, wooden table crumpled in the corner. Several layers of dust covered the broken table. Wherever he was, it was an ancient place. He started to turn his eyes back up when he saw a mass of tentacles writhing just above him. Ragnar gasped in shock, which sent a wave of dull pain through his head. Instinctively, he grabbed his head and noticed there was a large bump on the back of his skull. “You... a-wake!” he heard a watery voice above him. Ragnar slowly began to sit up, leaning against a dusty wall. “Healie?” he weakly mumbled, rubbing his head. “Is that you?” “Yes!” the healer said and Ragnar looked up, seeing the healer floating just a few feet in front of him. “What happened?” Ragnar asked. “Where are we?”

“We... fly,” Healie explained. “You... sleep... land... here... li-ly-pas... oz-wargs... try... get... us... I... hide... you...” “Lilypas? Ozwargs?” Ragnar scratched his temple, not knowing what Healie meant. The soldier had never heard of lilypas or ozwargs. Were they some kind of monster? Or was Healie just rambling. “Where are we?” “No... know,” Healie replied, waving its tentacles side to side. Ragnar rubbed his mustache. His headache was starting to subside, so it would be a good chance to have a look around. There was a door opposite of Ragnar in the tiny room so he started to head over to it.

Just as he was about to push the door open, Healie cried out, “No! No... go... out! Li-ly-pas! Oz-wargs!”

Ragnar looked at Healie for a moment. The healer had grabbed a hold of Ragnar’s arm, trying to stop him from going outside. The soldier glared at his companion for a moment and Healie relaxed its grip, drawing its tentacles back slowly. “I’m only going to take a peek,” Ragnar explained gently. “Understand?” “Yes,” Healie said softly and retreated to a corner. Ragnar looked at the healer for a moment. Healie seemed really worried over something but the soldier couldn’t begin to guess what. Shrugging, he turned back to the door and gently pushed it opened. As he opened the door, a stream of bright light hit his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Ragnar hadn’t realized just how dark the tiny room was. His eyesight returned momentarily, however, and he gazed out the tiny crack he made in the door. Ragnar didn’t know if what he saw was really there. A large window stood opposite him. Standing around the window were five, small men. No, they weren’t men at all. Their faces were green, almost reptilian but without scales. They were wearing a dark tunic, keeping their heads hooded. Each had a bow in their hands and a quiver of arrows by their feet. Standing just behind the green men was another, small man. However, this one was even stranger looking than the green ones. He was wearing blue robes, a large pointed hat, and had sickly, green skin. It was the face that really shocked Ragnar, however. It had only one eye! “Which is which?” Ragnar whispered to Healie, curious as to what the healer called lilypas and ozwargs. “Oz-warg,” Healie said, pointing to the one-eyed creature. He then pointed to the other five and said. “Li-ly-pa.” Ragnar nodded and slowly began to close the door quietly, already thinking up a battle plan to get out of the room alive.

Just before he finally closed the door, he saw something float by the lilypas. It was a small group of healers!

Ragnar looked at Healie for a moment and saw his companion cowering in the corner. The soldier looked out again. It wasn’t a trick in the bright sunlight. There were definitely healers floating among the lilypas and ozwargs. As Ragnar finally closed the door, he began to think as to why Healie would be so afraid all of a sudden. It didn’t take long for Ragnar to realize what was bothering his companion. Healie realized that, if they were going to get out alive, they would more than likely have to kill the healers outside. For Ragnar to kill Healie’s kin would be like asking Healie to kill Ragnar’s kin. For all he knew, the healers outside were just as kind as Healie, being forced to work for those monsters outside. “Healie,” he finally said, walking over to the healer, “do you think you can join ranks with the healers outside?” “What... mean?” Healie asked, floating a little higher. “If you can spy for me,” Ragnar explained, “find out what’s going on out there, we may stand a better chance of surviving when we escape. Understand?” “Yes,” Healie said. “Good. Think you can report back to me before the sun goes down?” “Yes.” “Alright,” Ragnar said. He unsheathed his sword and went to the door. “Start tapping on the door as if you got trapped in here. I’ll hide just behind the door so don’t worry about me.” “Yes,” Healie said, waving its tentacles back and forth. The healer floated over to the door and started to tap it repeatedly. Ragnar stood against the wall, just beside the hinges of the door. As Healie was tapping, Ragnar prayed to Master Dragon that whatever opened the door wouldn’t slam it open, crushing him between the door and the wall. He heard footsteps nearing the door and, through the crack between the door and hinges, he saw one of the lilypas approaching. It seemed to be talking in a harsh, clicking noise. The door began to creak open and Ragnar’s grip on the hilt of his sword tensed. He saw Healie look at the lilypa that was just a few inches away from Ragnar, separated only by the wooden door. The soldier didn’t even dare to breathe. The slightest sound could very easily give his position away. Harsher, clicking sounds came, apparently from several of the lilypas by the window. Ragnar saw a tiny hand firmly grasp a cluster of Healie’s tentacles and roughly dragged the healer outside, slamming the door behind. Several dust layers moved, even a few splinters shattered off the old door, but Ragnar remained perfectly still. He heard more clicking sounds, then a somewhat human voice. It wasn’t human language, but something remotely similar. Was that the ozwarg, or some other monster he hadn’t seen yet?

Well, there was no time for speculation. Gently, Ragnar eased himself from beside the door and retreated to the far side of the room, opposite the door. He sat down, keeping his sword on his lap. There were remarkably few bloodstains on the blade, despite the amount of usage over the last week. Beetle-men, deranged gophers, elves, and only Esturk knew what else next. He had little doubt he would soon be covering the blade with the blood of lilypas and ozwargs as well, if they even had blood. For perhaps the first time as a royal soldier, Ragnar felt unsure of himself. Here he was, in a tiny, old room, monsters he’d never seen or heard of before just on the other side of the door, somewhere he had no idea was. He could hear the lilypas talking among themselves on the other side of the door, clicking in a manner like the beetle-men.

Ragnar chuckled to himself. Before he left Burland Castle a week ago, beetle-men were pretty much only myths, something that mothers told children that would come out of the dark and eat you alive if you didn’t behave. Now, he’d come face to face, and even killed, another creature that was myth. How many more monsters would start to crop up from fairy tales? Dwarves? Dragons? Demons? Esturk and Master Dragon themselves? Would they descend from their constellations and do battle on the earth as legends claimed they did millennia ago?

Ragnar sighed and rubbed his head, feeling the bump on it. His headache had subsided for now but with each graze of his fingers over the bump, a dull pain seeped through his body. He contemplated taking a medical herb to try to speed up the healing process of the bump but decided against it. If it was going to come to blows -and Ragnar had no doubt that it would eventually- he was going to need them, Healie backing him up or not. Time passed slowly, the light filtering into the tiny room becoming dimmer. The occasional clicking sounds from outside became less and less. Ragnar sometimes peeked outside and saw that the number of lilypas was decreasing, probably for shift changes or meal times. The ozwarg, however, never left, always watching over the lilypas and keeping the healers that would occasionally float by moving. As twilight began to descend, Ragnar began to worry. What was keeping Healie so long? Could his companion be in trouble? What if someone recognized Healie from the secret playground? Ragnar scratched that possibility. To him, and probably everyone else out of the species, healers almost looked identical to one another. It was possible that the other healers in this place didn’t recognize Healie and reported it to an ozwarg or someone or something of higher rank, but Ragnar doubted any other healers bothered to learn any humanoid language, much less the tougher clicking sounds of the lilypas. Whether Healie was in danger or not, Ragnar was becoming concerned. He decided that he should take a quick look around the area, despite the monsters on the other side of the door. There shouldn’t be many and the element of surprise was still his. He could probably take out at least two, maybe three, of the lilypas before they even realized what had hit them. Ragnar grabbed his sword and headed towards the door, adrenaline building up inside of him. As he neared the door, Ragnar heard a scraping sound. It was coming from the door. The soldier steeled his nerves, expecting a wave of lilypas and ozwargs to come storming through. From the sounds of it, whatever that was trying to get in was having a tough time with the door. A dozen options ran through Ragnar’s head. He figured the best course of action would be to suddenly open the door to retain the element of surprise.

Ragnar took a few deep breaths and silently placed his hand on the handle of the door. Quickly, he swung it open and a flurry of thin tentacles fell in. It took Ragnar by surprise and the tentacles grasped onto his armor. Ragnar grabbed a handful of the tentacles and threw the creature off of him. He turned to attack whatever it was that had come into the room. He saw a healer writhing in the corner. “Healie?” Ragnar whispered as loud as he dared, closing the door. He glanced outside and saw three lilypas sleeping by the window. The ozwarg wasn’t anywhere in sight. “Yes,” a muffled sound came from the healer as it started to rise. “Where were you?” Ragnar asked, securing the door. “You’ve been gone for too long.” “Waited...” Healie explained. “Li-ly-pa... oz-warg... there...” “I see,” Ragnar said. He walked over to Healie and asked. “So, what’s out there?” “Many... floor...” Healie explained, waving its tentacles frantically. “We... up... e-vil... man... down...” “Evil man, huh?” Ragnar muttered, rubbing his mustache. So, there were elves here as well, probably controlling the lilypas and ozwargs. “What else?” Ragnar asked, looking up. “No... see...” Healie said, “but... hear... child-ren... cry...” “Children?” Ragnar said. He looked at Healie and asked. “The children from Izmit?” “Yes...” Healie replied. “They... cry... no... see... but... hear.” Excitement ran through Ragnar’s body. The children were here! This mad journey was almost at an end! All he had to do was let Healie lead him, grab the children, and get out of here. He would be able to get back to Burland Castle then and start preparing the castle defenses. And, most of all, he’d be back with Mary and his safe, secure, orderly way of life. “Healie,” Ragnar said, turning his attention back to his companion, “do you think there is any chance to get the healers here to join us?” “I... try...” Healie said, waving its tentacles side to side. “They... too... scared... to... join...” Healie seemed to start to say something but stopped. Ragnar looked at the healer, urging it to continue. A sigh-like sound seemed to come from Healie -strange that a healer would make a human action- and said, “They... kill... we... if... we... kill... li-ly-pa... or... oz-warg...” Ragnar nodded and said, “I understand.” He put a hand on Healie’s head and added. “I promise not to kill any of your kin if I can help it.” The healer’s tentacles waved a bit more rapidly, as if Healie was excited. Ragnar glanced back at the door and asked, “So, how many lilypas and ozwargs are out there?”

“No... know,” Healie replied. “Man-y... search... for... hu-mans...” The soldier glanced back at Healie. “What do you mean, ‘for humans’? Are they looking for me?” “No!” Healie said, waving its tentacles side to side. “Oth-er... hu-mans...” Other humans? What other humans could be here besides him and the children? Could it be possible that some of the royal soldiers made it here as well? There would only be one way to find out. “Come on, Healie,” he said, grabbing his shield and plumed helmet. “We’re going out!”

Chapter 22: The Diversion

The lilypa lightly dozed while gazing out the window. Guarding the highest floor was extremely boring. All it had to do was watch for incoming intruders from the west side of the lake and fire its arrows in a steady barrage, keeping all outsiders away from what the elves were doing in the tower’s basement with the human children. The lilypa sighed, wishing for more excitement. Sure, a couple of humans dared to approach the tower twice but they always came from the east, letting the lilypas on the east side get all the fun in showing off their marksmanship. And now, the ozwargs had demanded small portions of the window guards to go down to the bottom floor; apparently some intruders were down there. Several lilypas had volunteered, eager to get some action away from the guard duty of the top floor. The reptilian monster stretched its neck out in an effort to stay awake. As it did so, it noticed a shadow of movement through a crack in the door just across from it. Normally, the lilypa would have ignored it but, as bored as it was, decided to see what it could be. Leaving its arrows on the floor beside the other sleeping lilypas, the monster walked up to the door. It was about to put his hand on the handle of the door when its world erupted in sudden pain, the door smashing it aside. The lilypa crumpled against a wall but still remained conscious. It looked up and saw its companions wake up in surprise. Out stormed a large human, fully armored in red, and carrying a short sword. The lilypa’s companions didn’t even have a chance to scream as the human mercilessly cut them down. The lilypa looked up in astonishment, still a bit dazed by the human’s sudden attack. It knew one thing: it had to escape before the human saw it. The monster got up and started to run but felt something wrap around its leg, causing it to trip. The lilypa struggled to get up, hoping the human hadn’t seen it yet. Before the monster could do so, though, a fiery pain suddenly shot through its throat. It tried to scream but no sound came from its mouth; only a large bubble of green blood did.

It glanced down at its throat to see what was abstracting its scream of pain and saw a blade covered in its blood protruding from its neck. The monster’s brain still hadn’t figured out what went wrong before an eternal darkness covered its once keen sight.

* * *

“Good work, Healie,” Ragnar said after he retrieved his sword from the lilypa’s neck. The soldier went back over to the other fallen monsters, checking them over to make sure they were dead. He then started to pick up the corpses and put them into the room he had just burst from. He contemplated maybe throwing them out the window so there would be no chance of finding them on this floor but decided against it. There would probably be guards on the bottom floor and seeing three dead lilypas fall from the sky would arouse suspicion. Ragnar picked up the two corpses by the window while Healie dragged the third into the room. After the soldier secured the door, he gazed back over the area. He had tried to be clean about the work but finesse wasn’t his style, so there were streaks of lilypa blood across the floor. Ragnar could only hope that, in the limited light of twilight, no one would notice it until he was long gone. “Where to, Healie?” Ragnar asked the healer. Healie pointed down the right hallway and they headed that way, keeping to the inside of the walls. Ragnar occasionally glanced outside the many windows that marked the circular hallway but didn’t see much, mostly the tops of several pine trees. Wherever they were, it was definitely high. Eventually, Healie pointed to a room. There weren’t any doors on the entrance so light from the room filtered into the hallway. If this was where the staircase leading to the lower level was, there would have to be guards. “Healie,” the soldier whispered as he pressed up against the wall beside the entrance, “float by the door and let me know how many guards there are. Raise your front tentacles for the number of lilypas and your back ones for the number of ozwargs.” Healie shook its tentacles back and forth and floated by the entrance to the room. The healer then stopped by the other side of the entrance, turned to face Ragnar, and raised five front tentacles and one back one -five lilypas and one ozwarg. Tough odds but he still had the advantage of surprise and size, as well as a healer backing him up. Gritting his teeth, Ragnar formulated a battle plan in his head. He was going to have to kill them all; otherwise an alarm might be set off. To stop any retreat downstairs, he was going to have to stop their path down the stairs as well. It was going to be a brutal charge. Ragnar nodded to Healie, his signal to his companion that he was going to attack. Healie knew that its role would be to try to keep to the shadows and heal Ragnar from a distance, help in the attack if necessary. The soldier took a few deep breaths, gripped his sword tighter, and spun around, presenting himself to the enemy. The lilypas were taken completely off-guard as they huddled in the middle of the room and enjoying some sort of game with rocks on the floor. The ozwarg, which was dozing in a

chair off to the right of Ragnar, looked up as well, surprise in its one eye. The stairs were in the far, left corner of the room. Ragnar charged through, swinging his sword viciously at the lilypas. He hacked at the closest one, cutting a deep gash across the monster’s neck. He stepped on the second one, crushing the monster’s spine with his heavy boots. Ragnar managed to pass through the rest of the lilypas, disorientating them for a moment. Once he was through the crowd, the soldier positioned himself between the monsters and the stairs. The lilypas started to scramble, trying to organize themselves. The ozwarg stood up and shouted out a single sound; the lilypas quickly re-grouped in front of the ozwarg. They were forming a type of defensive wall to protect the ozwarg, which slightly confused the soldier. He was going to have to charge the monsters soon, or else they might gain a larger advantage quickly if allowed to form their own tactics. Gritting his teeth, Ragnar charged forward, keeping his shield in front. The lilypas stood their ground, however, and the soldier crashed solidly into the wall of monsters. Ragnar’s sheer strength sent the lilypas reeling back, unable to stand up against the stronger opponent. One fell under Ragnar’s charge and the soldier made good use of the opportunity, crushing the lilypa’s neck with a hard step. Ragnar felt a pop underneath his boot but he had little time to feel satisfied with each enemy killed. The remaining two lilypas flanked Ragnar and charged, carrying small daggers. Ragnar crouched down, keeping his shield on his left. As both lilypas reached him, he swung his sword at the lilypa on the right, cutting a large gash across the monster’s chest. At the same time, he fended the second lilypa off with his shield, sending the monster falling back. However, Ragnar’s weight was highly distributed on his right side and the soldier fell over, landing on the writhing lilypa he had just sliced open. He managed to get up quickly, however, and saw that the ozwarg was making a run for the stairs. “No!” Ragnar cried out and threw his sword at the monster. The ozwarg didn’t even realize what had hit it when it was suddenly propelled forward, Ragnar’s copper sword protruding from its chest. It fell over, inches from the staircase. Ragnar didn’t have any time to congratulate himself on his marksmanship when he felt a sudden, sharp pain on his leg. He yelped in shock and remembered there was still one more lilypa to kill. He looked down and saw the monster, a tiny dagger in its hand, fresh with Ragnar’s blood on it.

The lilypa saw that Ragnar was very angry now and realized that it should have escaped when it had the chance instead of follow the orders of the now dead ozwarg. It began to tremble with fear as Ragnar approached him, dropping the dagger.

The lilypa was about to scream in fright when Ragnar quickly grabbed it and covered its mouth. Looking right into the lilypa’s frightened eyes, he said, “Can you understand me?” The lilypa nodded shakily. “Good.” Ragnar was surprised that a creature he’d never seen before would know his language but he didn’t think much more of it.

Ragnar glanced down at his leg and saw the tiny wound begin to close as Healie’s curing magic took effect; a bit of a waste, perhaps. It wasn’t a serious wound and a slight limp wouldn’t impair him that much. “Listen carefully,” Ragnar growled, shaking the lilypa. “I’ll let you live if you go down to the lower levels of this place and convince your kinsmen to come up here. I’m going to challenge them all!” He put more pressure on the lilypa’s neck and nearly shouted. “You hear me? All!” The lilypa shakily nodded and Ragnar threw the monster, sending it reeling towards the stairs.

Before the lilypa got up, Ragnar added with a threatening face, “And if you tell the ozwargs, you’re dead!” Shaking with fear, the lilypa hastily got up and scrambled to the stairs, already screaming to other lilypas.

As Ragnar retrieved his sword from the dead ozwarg, Healie hurriedly floated over to the soldier and asked, “What... do... that... for?” “Don’t worry,” Ragnar said, smiling. “I know what I’m doing.”

He yanked his sword from the dead ozwarg and studied the blade. The sword was beginning to dull, several marks and nicks lining the once sharp blade. He was surprised that he had been able to impale the ozwarg at all. With the heavy tunics and robes these monsters were wearing, he was going to have to be very accurate with his sword for quick kills.

Ragnar looked up, judging the height of the ceiling. He guessed it was about fifteen feet high. “Healie, do you think you can float up there?” he asked, pointing a finger up. “Yes,” Healie replied. “Do it,” he said, “and don’t come back down until you see me again. Understand?” “Yes... but-” “Just do it!” Ragnar firmly said. He started to leave the room, heading for the hallway. Healie was still floating only a few feet above the floor, however. Ragnar turned to his companion and smiled, “Trust me on this.” Healie’s composure didn’t change but it started to float higher anyway. Ragnar watched Healie reach the top of the ceiling before heading back into the hallway. There was a lookout window just opposite the entrance to the room. The soldier placed his hands on the window’s ledge, testing the strength of the ancient structure. Some dust and loose pebbles stirred under his large hands but the bricks were otherwise solid. The sound of several feet echoing within the room opposite of the window alerted Ragnar that the lilypas were coming. With no time to lose, the soldier hung his shield on his back, hopped onto the ledge, and eased himself over, letting his feet hang in the darkness below. He took a breath and slowly let his body fall, keeping a strong grip on the ledge. Soon, he was hanging by his fingers. Ragnar moved his legs around, trying to find a secure footing on the jagged edge of the tower’s wall.

He heard several feet come running towards the window and Ragnar prayed to whatever deity would be listening that the monsters wouldn’t notice his fingers on the ledge. Loud, clicking sounds could be heard and the monsters started to split up, each running in opposite directions in an attempt to search for Ragnar. The soldier waited for several moments, his grip starting to weaken. Eventually, the sound of running feet began to fade into an echo. Ragnar didn’t hear anything just above him, so the soldier lifted himself back onto the ledge. Once he got his head up, Ragnar surveyed the hallway. Both were completely bare, the sound of running lilypas skipping across the dark walls. Satisfied the searching lilypas would be kept busy for a while, Ragnar headed into the room with the staircase leading to the lower levels. Once he entered the room, Healie floated back down from its hiding place. “You... fine?” the healer asked, running its tentacles across Ragnar’s scratched armor. “Just fine,” Ragnar replied, patting his companion on the head.

Chapter 23: Down The Tower

Ragnar edged his way down the dusty, stone steps. Healie, who had gone down first, kept motioning for the soldier to advance, insuring him that it was safe. Once his head cleared the ceiling of the floor, Ragnar surveyed the room. Sure enough, it was completely bare of lilypas or ozwargs. He stepped down, letting a bit of the tension subside for the moment. They were now on the third floor from the top of the tower. The floor they had just come from had been absolutely wiped out, all of the lilypas from that floor now on the top floor searching for Ragnar. It held several rooms with piles of hay and grasses in the corners, probably the lilypas’ beds. If the lilypas slept on the floor above, then the ozwargs probably slept on this floor. And Ragnar figured that these monsters were not going to be as easy to fool as the lilypas. He and Healie were going to have to be very careful here. The soldier and the healer quietly walked over to the entrance leading out to a hallway. After Healie checked the area out, the healer motioned for Ragnar, letting him know it was safe. Again, keeping to the inside of the hallway, Healie led Ragnar to the room that would lead them to the floor below. The hallways were very quiet, which made Ragnar somewhat edgy. Normally, he should be able to hear guards talking at night, joking or complaining. It was common at Burland Castle so why shouldn’t it be common here as well? Something was up and Ragnar figured either his presence had something to do with it or the presence of whoever was in the lower levels of the tower as well. He was going to have to keep his senses as sharp as a knife. Healie pointed to a door and Ragnar nodded to the healer to continue on. Once Healie passed by the entrance to the room, the healer turned to face Ragnar and raised three of its back tentacles. Three ozwargs. It was not going to be easy to kill them all quickly, especially with his sword beginning to dull.

He took a few breaths, gripped his sword tighter, and nodded to Healie. Ragnar then spun around, charging into the room. The three ozwargs, which seemed to be dozing, bolted up, surprised by Ragnar’s sudden charge.

Ragnar slashed savagely at the closest ozwarg, cutting into the monster’s blue robes but only grazing the skin. However, the soldier’s sheer force of the attack caused the ozwarg to reel back until Ragnar rammed it against the wall. The ozwarg slumped to the floor, apparently unconscious but Ragnar didn’t have any time to check to see if it was dead. There were still two more to deal with.

The soldier turned to face the other two ozwargs. The monsters were already prepared, however. They whipped out a pair of wands and began to chant strange words.

Magic! Ragnar thought, his eyebrows rising in apprehension. He started to charge again but it was too late. The ozwargs finished their spells and three-foot long icicles formed at their hands. They then flung their arms out and the icicles flew forward. Ragnar had little time to dodge, his forward charge already forcing his body weight forward. He quickly brought his shield up, hoping it would block the magical attack.

Ragnar felt his shield vibrate violently as he heard one of the icicles shatter against it. However, at the same time, he felt a sharp pain pierce his right leg. Somehow, Ragnar didn’t scream out from the sharp pain and continued forward. The ozwargs, exhausted from the spell, didn’t stand a chance. Ragnar slashed and stabbed, cutting the ozwargs to shreds of flesh and cloth, his rage taking control of his attacks. In a matter of seconds, little remained of the soldier’s enemies. Breathing heavily, Ragnar slumped to the floor, his sword clattering on the stone floor. He didn’t care if other ozwargs or lilypas heard it. He just wanted to rest for a moment. His right leg started to feel numb and Ragnar looked at it. He saw a large icicle half buried in his thigh. Blood was dripping off of it along with the melting water, causing a tiny red pool beside his leg.

Gritting his teeth, the soldier placed his hands on the slippery, cold surface of the icicle and started to pull the icicle out, a difficult task given the wet icicle wasn’t easy to get a good hold of. After a minute, the icicle slipped out and Ragnar’s blood began to flow freely. The soldier tried to apply pressure but it helped very little.

“Healie!” he called out to the hallway. The healer slowly floated in, apparently surveying the carnage Ragnar had caused. “I need your help over here,” Ragnar said, pointing to his leg. Healie floated over to the soldier and studied the wound for a moment. “Well?” Ragnar said, beginning to get impatient with each flash of numbing pain that went up his spine. “I... no... he-al... all,” Healie said, somewhat apologetically. “Just... some.” “Do as much as you can,” Ragnar said. “I’ll tend to the rest.” Healie lowered its head forward, as if nodding, and began waving its tentacles rhythmically. Soon, the blood stopped flowing and energy surged through Ragnar’s body. New tissue began to form where there was none but the healing was slow. Ragnar glanced at Healie and saw the healer seemed to be

straining. “That’s enough,” Ragnar gently said, holding up a hand. He didn’t want his companion to over-tax itself. The soldier reached into his pack and pulled out a medical herb. He then put it into his mouth and began to chew it into a pulp. Once satisfied it was ground enough, the soldier pasted his fingertips with the herb and rubbed them across the wound. Burning pain shot through his body as he did so and he gritted his teeth. The burning quickly subsided, though, as the healing properties of the herb sunk into the injury. It would be slower for the curative properties of the herb to take effect but it would eventually get the job done faster than the body’s natural healing. Ragnar slowly stood up, his muscles aching as he did. Placing his sword back in its scabbard, the soldier put his pack back on and turned to the stairway leading to the level below. “Ready?” Ragnar asked Healie. Healie looked at Ragnar for a moment, then at the corpses of the ozwargs. “Oz-wargs?” it asked, pointing to the corpses. Ragnar shook his head and wearily said, “Leave them.” He was much too tired to bother dealing with corpses. He just wanted to get this over with so he could get some rest.

* * *

Healie pointed to a small group of lilypas that had formed a circle. Somewhere in that circle was a staircase that led below ground. Healie had said the children were being held in a basement, so Ragnar figured this was the staircase to go down. Only six lilypas guarded the staircase. A quick, fierce charge should disorient the monsters long enough for Ragnar to slip through. If he was fast enough, he might even be able to grab the children before an organized resistance formed. With Healie backing him up, he would then charge back out, the children in tow, and escape the tower. Sure, the plan far-fetched but in his tired state of mind, and his patience waning thin, it was all the soldier could think of at the moment. He turned to Healie, briefly stating his plan, and turned back towards the lilypas. Ragnar took a few breaths, gripped his sword as tight as possible, and sprung out from the shadows, roaring a battle charge. The lilypas scattered, terrified of the large, berserk human charging at them. Ragnar managed to swing his sword at one of the fleeing monsters, slashing a large gash on the lilypa’s back. However, he did not have time to celebrate the small victory. He had to get down the stairs fast. “Ragnar!” he heard Healie call out to him as he started down but he hardly noticed, concentrating entirely on the task at hand. Whatever it was, it could wait. The staircase was quite short and Ragnar found himself at the bottom sooner than he expected. It was very dark in the basement. He seemed to be in a large, low room. There was a dim light coming from the opposite side of the staircase. He advanced slowly, keeping his guard up. The room was eerily quiet. The only sound he heard was the shuffling of his feet and the crackling of fire ahead of him. This worried the soldier. If the children were down here, he

would expect to be able to hear them crying or moaning, just like Healie said they were when the healer searched the tower earlier. Ragnar tilted his head back and whispered, “You said the children were in the basement. Where are they?” There was no reply. Ragnar turned around and saw that the healer wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “Healie?” he called out, trying to keep his voice low enough so he would not attract any attention to any guards that may be down here. His only reply was the soft echo of his own voice. Ragnar started to worry. Had his companion been captured when they charged? He remembered hearing Healie cry out his name but that was it. The lilypas were too far scattered to have caught the kind monster. Suddenly, Ragnar heard a shuffling sound from his left. The soldier spun his head in that direction and caught the fleeting glance of a shadow ducking behind a large pillar. It could have been a trick of the fire but Ragnar kept his guard up all the same. The soldier continued forward, turning his head left and right, expecting lilypas, ozwargs, and elves to leap out from the shadows of the large room. Eventually, he came to the source of the light: two large fires burning in tiers ten feet tall. In between the tiers was an altar with a thin, white cloth covering its top. Ragnar’s first assumption of it was a sacrifice altar and the soldier had fleeting images of the children being sacrificed by the elves to whatever deity they worshipped. However, Ragnar saw no bloodstains covering the altar and quickly abandoned the thought. The altar’s face had a strange carving in it. Several layers of dust had filled in the grooves of the carving but the soldier could still make out its features with relative ease. It had the picture of a large dragon’s head, overlooking the world from high above. Ragnar recognized the image. He’d seen similar paintings in Zenithian Temples. Was this an altar devoted to the Zenithians? A flash of movement in the corner of Ragnar’s eye caused his thoughts to stray. He sensed someone trying to sneak up on him and he got his hand on his sword, keeping his face towards the altar. Then, without warning, Ragnar spun around, his shield in front of him. He felt a blade impact on the shield’s iron surface and a violent vibration shook the soldier. However, Ragnar’s assailant seemed surprised and the soldier made good use of the distraction. He charged forward, his shield still in front of him. He connected solidly on the attacker and they both fell forward, Ragnar pinning the attacker on the dusty floor. He then whipped out his sword and prepared to stab the attacker. However, the light from the fires finally revealed the attacker’s face that had remained mostly shadowed before. Ragnar stopped his assault, slowly relaxing his grip on his sword and relieving some of the pressure off of his shield. It was Sir Sandor!

Chapter 24: Betrayal

“Sandor!” Ragnar exclaimed, helping the soldier up. “What are you doing here?” “Same as you, I guess,” Sandor replied, pulling himself up. The soldier looked tired. His face was drawn tight on his slim face and was dotted with spots of red and green blood. His armor, once silver and shiny when Ragnar last saw Sandor at the meeting room, was marred, scratched, and covered in dirt and blood. Sandor must have been through some ordeal. “Then why’d you attack me?” Ragnar asked, raising an eyebrow. After what Darnell had told him about Sandor’s treatment to him, Ragnar did not completely trust the ambitious soldier. However, Sandor was the only human Ragnar had seen since he left Izmit. Seeing a familiar face was always inviting. “I thought you were one of them,” Sandor simply replied, pointing to the entrance to the floor. “‘One of them’?” “Yeah,” Sandor said. “Those blasted elves.” “You know of the elves?” Ragnar asked, becoming intrigued. “Well, I haven’t seen them,” Sandor replied, somewhat quickly, “but I’ve heard that they’re the ones in charge here. Trust me, I was as surprised as anyone when I found out.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “How did you know about the elves?” “It’s a long story,” Ragnar simply replied, “but one that you can read in my report when we return home. Right now, we have to find a way of defeating them.” “Right,” Sandor slowly replied, absorbed in his own thoughts.

After a moment, he started to point to Ragnar’s shield. “I believe you have something of mine there,” he said.

Ragnar looked at the face of his shield and saw a large sword embedded. He had been so intent on stopping Sandor when he first attacked that Ragnar had not even notice the sword before. “What’s this?” he asked, yanking the sword out and admiring the fine craftsmanship of the hilt and blade. “I don’t think you left Burland Castle with this.” “Um, no,” Sandor muttered, grabbing the sword from Ragnar’s hands. The soldier sheathed it and a third of the blade stuck out of the scabbard that was meant for copper swords. “Where’d you get it?” Ragnar asked, curious as to how Sandor could have gotten a hold of such a fine weapon. If a copper sword had struck the iron of Ragnar’s shield, it would usually bounce off, sometimes even shatter. Sandor’s sword would have to be extremely sharp and strong to get stuck in Ragnar’s shield.

“Does it matter?” Sandor snapped angrily. Ragnar remained unfazed, however. Sandor kept his glare up for a few moments, and then mellowed his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered, “but I’ve been somewhat stressed lately.” “I think we all have been,” Ragnar agreed with a nod.

He then remembered something. The innkeeper at Izmit had said that Garn and Denuve had left with Sandor. However, they were nowhere in sight in the dark basement.

Sandor was starting to head to the entrance to the basement when Ragnar roughly grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “Where’s Garn and Denuve?” he asked firmly. “I heard that they left with you.” Sandor looked at Ragnar for a moment but held no emotion in his eyes. He then turned away and stated matter-of-factly, “They’re dead.” He then started to walk back to the entrance. Ragnar stood still for a moment, shocked by the coldness of Sandor’s reply. “Where are their bodies?” he called after Sandor. The soldier did not reply. “Hey!” Ragnar called and ran to catch up. “Didn’t you here me? I asked-” Sandor suddenly spun around, anger in his eyes. “Don’t start asking me questions!” he said, jabbing a finger into Ragnar’s breastplate. “They’re dead and that’s all there is to it! We’ve got a bigger problem here now and that’s getting out of here!” Sandor relaxed a bit but Ragnar remained tense. “Those monsters up there can’t come down here for some reason,” Sandor continued, “but we can’t stay down here forever. We have to get out of here.” “Agreed,” Ragnar muttered. “The way I see it,” Sandor said, turning his head back to the entrance, “our only option is surrender.” “What!” Ragnar exclaimed, not believing what he just heard. “Are you mad? Surrender is not and option!” “It’s the only one we have!” Sandor argued, turning back to face Ragnar. “We’re hopelessly outnumbered. We’d fall to overwhelming odds alone!” “Then that’s what we’re going to have to do,” Ragnar muttered grimly. “A Royal Soldier would sooner fall on a rusted blade then surrender to the enemy.” “Dammit, you don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sandor argued. “Times are changing! There are events happening in this world that will make your old fashioned ways obsolete. Even your armor is outdated by a good hundred years. Don’t you understand?” The younger soldier’s insult towards his family’s armor slightly stung him but Ragnar crossed his arms over his large chest, showing he was sticking by his decision.

Sandor shook his head, looking away from Ragnar. “So, nothing will change your mind?” he asked. “Nothing,” Ragnar replied gruffly. “We will just have to find other options.” The shadowy light hid Sandor’s smile. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he chuckled.

Without any warning, Sandor whipped out his blade and slashed savagely at Ragnar. Ragnar, taken completely by surprise by Sandor’s attack, had hardly any time to dodge. He stepped back and the blade cut deeply into Ragnar’s breastplate, sparks flying into the dark air as it left a large, horizontal line in its wake.

Ragnar realized he was very lucky to have avoided the attack. He backed up, his copper sword already in his hand. Sandor looked at Ragnar for a moment and laughed. “Do you really think you can defeat me with that puny thing?” he asked between chuckles. “I was your equal in battle practice. With this sword, I’m your superior!” Sandor charged Ragnar, the deadly sword prepared to strike high. As the attack came, Ragnar deflected it with his shield. However, he was so unprepared of the shear force of Sandor’s strength and ferocity that the vibration of the savage attack left Ragnar flailing backwards. Sandor made use of the advantage and swung the large sword at Ragnar’s right. Ragnar managed to get his sword up to block but Sandor’s blade went cleanly through the inferior weapon, shattering it in half. Ragnar did not even have a chance to be amazed for he felt the blade cut deeply into his left forearm. Ragnar screamed in pain as Sandor brought the blade out. He undid the shield on the arm, his forearm no longer strong enough to hold up the heavy iron shield. It clattered noisily on the stony floor, echoing throughout the chamber. Ragnar then grabbed his forearm, hoping to stem the flow of blood. He backed up again and saw that Sandor was standing still for the moment, apparently surprised. “You’ve got tougher skin than I thought, Ragnar,” he said emotionlessly. “Such a blow would have severed a man’s arm.” The fire from the tiers lighting his face revealed an insolent smirk as he started to raise the impressive sword. “How does it feel that you know you’re going to die?” “I’m not finished yet!” Ragnar spat, clenching his teeth. “Oh, but you are!” Sandor smiled, bringing the hilt above his head. “Here, let me show you why the elves call this blade the Sword of Malice!” The hilt began to glow strangely, lighting Sandor’s face with an eerie, red luminescence. Ragnar looked at the hilt for long moments, watching as a fiery red aura started to form. He then had a sudden realization that he should get out of the way. Whatever the sword was doing, it could not be good! Ragnar turned and bolted for the altar. “Yes, run!” he heard Sandor laugh. “The lot of good it’ll do for you!” Ragnar kept running, the altar just a few feet ahead. He heard a sound

like a muffled explosion and then started to feel heat against his back. Gritting his teeth, Ragnar leapt forward and dove behind the altar, flame licking the bottom of his boots.

As he hit the hard ground, Ragnar saw a fireball the size of his head sail above and impact on the wall ahead. Ragnar sat up and ducked behind the altar, hearing several explosions of heat and flame pummel the stony face.

The soldier undid his pack and reached in, hoping to find a medical herb that could possibly cure the deep wound in his forearm. Before he found one, however, the explosions stopped and he heard footsteps approaching the altar. Ragnar stood still, trying to think of some sort of strategy against the superior enemy. However, he could not come up with anything when he felt the sharp point of a sword lightly touch his neck. “Get up!” Sandor commanded. Ragnar hesitated and Sandor dug the sword into his shoulder a bit. Biting his lip, Ragnar slowly stood up. “One last chance,” Sandor said, pointing the sword at Ragnar’s chest. “Join me or die.” Ragnar stuck out his chest in defiance, his silence giving Sandor his response. The treacherous soldier snickered, shrugged and prepared to deliver the deathblow. Ragnar closed his eyes, preparing for an eternal blackness. It did not come. Ragnar then realized that Sandor’s snickering had turned into gurgling. He opened his eyes and saw Sandor reaching for his throat in haggard, jerky motions. Ragnar also saw the silhouette of another person behind Sandor but could not make out any features from the shadows created by the tier flames. Ragnar then noticed blood spilling onto the altar, dripping through Sandor’s hands clasped around his throat. Sandor continued gurgling as the Sword of Malice fell from his weakening grip and clattered on the floor. Sandor’s mouth began to drip blood as well, oozing over his already blood-soaked hand. He put his other hand in the back of his neck, trying to grab something. However, his body could no longer take the loss of blood nor the lack of air and he fell forwards, falling over the altar. Ragnar backed up, not wanting the treacherous soldier to grasp a hold of him as he fell. Sandor finally stopped moving and his hands limply fell, revealing the hilt of a dagger in the back of Sandor’s neck. The dark silhouette then moved into the fire’s light and spat on Sandor. “So much for bad sewage,” Sir Garn muttered through a blood-covered mouth.

Chapter 25: The Vow

“Garn!” Ragnar exclaimed and leapt over the dead body of Sandor to his fellow soldier’s aid. Garn collapsed in Ragnar’s arms. “No! Don’t die!” With Garn in his right arm, Ragnar shoved Sandor’s corpse off the altar and gently eased Garn on, laying him on his back. In the tier’s firelight, Ragnar studied the wounds. Blood seemed to be welling up in every part of the soldier’s body. A large gash could be seen in the

torn cloth of Garn’s abdomen and various burns covered his face. He had not noticed it in the shadows but Ragnar gasped when he saw that Garn’s left forearm was missing! “Who did this to you?” Ragnar asked, although he could guess who did. Garn weakly pointed to Sandor’s corpse, blood dripping from his soaked fingertips. Ragnar looked at Sandor for long moments, still trying to comprehend the fact that a royal soldier of Burland could betray his fellow soldiers without a hesitant thought. Shaking his head, he turned back to Garn and gently asked, “I know that you must be in a lot of pain but I must know what happened here. Where’s Denuve?” Garn slowly turned his head to Ragnar. “I know it must look bad,” he weakly said, smiling, “but I lost all feeling some time ago.” Ragnar smiled sympathetically. Even near death, the soldier could still be in good humor. “What do you need to know?” “I... don’t know,” Ragnar muttered. “There’s so much that I want to know, but...” He hesitated, turning his head away from the fallen soldier. “I suppose you want to know just how I joined up with such a treacherous person?” Garn smiled. Ragnar nodded slowly. “Well, let’s just saw that he had a very convincing case. When he returned to Izmit, Denuve and I saw him carrying the crippled body of Darnell. He claimed he, Darnell, and Mandrake had met opposition at this tower when they went to investigate. Mandrake was killed and Darnell was severally wounded.” “Sandor did that to Darnell,” Ragnar grimly stated. Garn chuckled, managing to pat his head. “By the Master, we were naive,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It seemed so plausible that we agreed to join him to storm the tower.”

The soldier turned back to Ragnar and continued. “When we got to the tower, a volley of arrows bombarded our raft. We dove into the lake and swam the rest of the way. The water was frigid but it was better than the alternative.”

A frown formed on Garn’s face. “When... we landed, we were met with heavy opposition,” Garn continued, his words sounding weaker. “We fought through and eventually came to what Sandor thought was where they were holding the children. Turns out it was this room. The monsters couldn’t follow for some reason. I think it’s because this altar was once dedicated to the Zenithians. Its aura of goodness repelled the monsters away from this room. However, we were trapped. Eventually, Sandor suggested he go and negotiate with the monsters.” “Surrender?” Ragnar asked, a wrenching feeling forming in his stomach at the thought of the action. “No,” Garn replied, shaking his head. “Just negotiate. I admit, I had no idea what he was thinking but he sounded convinced he could do it so I let him go.” He paused for a moment, his eyes flinching. “Sandor went and, when he returned, he gave us a choice. Join the elves in their plans, or die.”

He turned his head, embarrassed to face Ragnar. “Denuve, poor Denuve, wouldn’t join.” Ragnar noticed tears streaming down his blood-caked face. “I’m to blame,” he wept. “I convinced him to come with us. I... I didn’t think Sandor could have been capable of such treachery.”

Ragnar took Garn’s hands and squeezed it, trying to comfort the soldier. “What happened?” he asked gently. Garn’s face started to shudder as the memory painful welled up. “He... he swung that devilish sword and disemboweled poor Denuve!” Ragnar frowned, trying to hold back his shock. Sandor could have been merciless and made it a quick death for Denuve but disemboweling the soldier was vile. Garn shook his head. “When... when I saw Denuve’s body on the ground and Sandor smiling, for a minute, I...” His eyes furrowed, tears dripping onto the altar’s dusty surface. “I considered joining him.” “You didn’t,” Ragnar said, squeezing Garn’s head tighter. “That’s what matters.” Garn looked back at Ragnar and continued. “I tried to fight Sandor but he was too powerful. These... wounds were the result.” “How is it that you’re still alive?” Ragnar asked, feeling a bit funny asking since the soldier was so near death’s grasp. “I ran into the shadows,” Garn explained. “Even those devilish flames that came from Sandor’s sword couldn’t find me.” The soldier smiled, taking a bit of pride in being able to elude Sandor. “Once he gave up, Sandor took Denuve’s body and headed upstairs, I guess to show at least one of us was dead. I ate the last of my medical herbs but it’s just prolonged the inevitable. My wounds were too much for them to cure.” “I have a few,” Ragnar said, hoping their healing strength might be enough to save Garn’s life. He started to reach for his pack when Garn’s hand stopped him. “Don’t bother, Ragnar,” he smiled. “I’m nearing my end as it is.” He paused, looking at the ceiling. “Besides, you’ll need them.” Garn’s body suddenly started to spasm and he let out a tortured gasp. Ragnar took the dying soldier’s hand again, trying to be as comforting as possible. “Ragnar… Captain… Please listen well...” Garn whispered, his voice starting to falter. “Somewhere in this world, the Ruler of Evil is about to resurrect.” “The Ruler of Evil?” Ragnar exclaimed. He could not be serious! The Ruler of Evil, the dark demon God Esturk, was nothing more than a legend told in the Zenithian Texts. Still, Ragnar had thought elves were legends as well and he had already killed one. Could it be possible the Ruler of Evil also existed? “Yes,” Garn said, his voice deadly serious for a change, “but, according to a Zenithian prophecy, the Hero who shall defeat Him is supposed to be growing up at the same time.”

“Hero?” Ragnar had no idea what Garn was talking about. For all he knew, Garn could be having delusions but he decided to trust the dying soldier. Sandor was right about one thing: times were changing. Legendary creatures were starting to appear so maybe legends and prophecies were going to start to come true as well. “That’s right,” Garn nodded. “I learned from Sandor that the evil ones here intend to destroy the Hero while he or she is growing and still weak…” “So that’s why the children have been disappearing,” Ragnar muttered. “They don’t know where this Hero is so they’ll just abduct any children they can find to make sure.” Garn coughed up some blood and gasped, pain suddenly racking through his body. “Garn!” Ragnar cried, grabbing the soldier’s body close. “R.. Ragnar...” he gasped, his eyes wincing in pain. “S... save all the ch... ch... child... ren...” Then Garn’s body went limp in Ragnar’s arms. “I promise,” Ragnar whispered into Garn’s ear as he closed the soldier’s eyes. “By Zenithia, I promise...”

Chapter 26: Forward Charge

Ragnar placed the cloth that was once covering the dusty altar over Garn’s body. The fallen soldier had his right arm covering what remained of his left arm, giving the elusion of both arms crossed over his chest. His serene face looked somewhat happy. Even in death, Garn seemed to be joyful. Ragnar smiled. An altar dedicated to the Zenithians was a suitable resting place for the soldier. He walked away from the altar feeling refreshed. His soul had been cleansed of all doubt and confusion after his final talk with Garn. For perhaps the first time in his life, Ragnar felt he had a grander goal to accomplish, something profoundly meaningful to do; feeling so rejuvenated even made Ragnar forget about the bandaged wound on his forearm. He no longer felt any pain and easily strapped his shield on, his arm supporting the heavy piece of armor as if it was nothing more than made of leather. The soldier picked up the weapon Sandor had called the Sword of Malice. It was indeed a fine blade and he was able to feel the shear power it wielded. Ragnar felt a bit uncomfortable using the sword Sandor had used to kill Denuve. However, if he was going to get out of the tower alive, he was going to have to use it to its full potential. He sheathed it in his small scabbard, a full third of the blade sticking out. He turned back to the altar, giving Garn a final salute of respect, then picked up the body of Sandor. It was Ragnar’s plan to use the body as a shield but maybe it would also be possible to fool the lilypas into thinking it was really Sandor returning. Of course, the bloody throat would be a dead give-away but he still might be able to let the lilypas’ guard down enough for a quick victory over the guards. Walking up the stairs, Ragnar held Sandor’s body up. Once Sandor was in the torchlight above, Ragnar heard several clicking sounds. “It’s me!” Ragnar said, trying to sound as much

like Sandor as possible. “All dead down there! Victory!” The soldier then raised Sandor’s right arm. He heard several excited clicks above. Now was the time to attack! Ragnar threw Sandor’s body up and rushed forward, his new sword already in his hands. The startled lilypas looked at Sandor’s body flying in amazement, then saw Ragnar charging forward with fear. They realized they had been fooled and now would pay for their mistake. The Sword of Malice sliced cleanly through the first few lilypas’ tunics and scaly flesh. Ragnar quickly turned to his unprotected right and slashed twice. Three more lilypas fell instantly, the Sword of Malice amplifying Ragnar’s strength threefold. The remaining two lilypas saw Ragnar as a serious threat and decided it would be safer to escape than to try to fight. They fled down a corridor on Ragnar’s left. The soldier was about to give chase but remembered how Sandor had been able to shoot flames from the sword when he held it up. Could he do the same? Ragnar held the hilt up high and within moments a fiery feeling began to well up inside the soldier. He was momentarily caught off guard but remained still, guessing this was what the sword would do. Seconds later, the same, red aura he had seen form at the hilt before began to take shape again. Ragnar nearly brought his hand down, expecting it to be burning but was amazed in the fact to feel nothing but the light burning inside his body.

The aura grew into a ball of flame and leapt forth, chasing the fleeing lilypas. The first one was instantly engulfed in the flame and it fell to the floor, screeching and writhing in its fiery death. Ragnar was about to chase after the second when another fireball flew forward, engulfing the second lilypa just the same as the first.

A third fireball began to form but Ragnar brought the sword down. The fiery aura instantly vanished. The soldier timidly touched the hilt and blade, expecting it to be hotter than a branding iron. To his surprise, it was cool. It was as if the fireballs had never been there.

Strange, he thought but remembered that Sandor had said it was an elfish blade. Mythical creatures probably had some magical weapons, he guessed.

Still, the burning inside his body when he used the sword like that disturbed the soldier.

It hadn’t hurt him or anything but whatever was causing that feeling couldn’t be healthy. He decided it would be best to only use the magical properties of the sword only if necessary.

“Rag-nar?” a timid, watery voice suddenly came from behind. The soldier quickly spun around, the Sword of Malice extended forward. He saw a healer that had been hiding in the shadows quickly cover its head with its tentacles. “No... hurt!” it squeaked in fear. “I...” “Healie!” Ragnar exclaimed and lowered the blade, patting the healers head enthusiastically. The healer flinched at first but gradually accepted Ragnar’s gesture of friendship. After Ragnar retrieved his hand, he looked at Healie with a stern look and asked, “What happened to you? I thought that you were captured or killed!”

“No... fol-low,” Healie explained, waving its tentacles at the staircase leading to the basement excitedly. “Could... no... fol-low... scared...” “Don’t worry,” Ragnar said, smiling. If the lilypas and ozwargs couldn’t go down there, healers wouldn’t be an exception, kind monster or not. He glanced at the staircase, muttering, “It wasn’t the right one anyway.” “What?” Healie said, not hearing Ragnar. “Nothing,” the soldier replied, shaking his head. He turned back to his companion and asked, “Ready to move on?” “Yes,” the healer replied. “Good,” Ragnar said, nodding once. He turned towards the corridor where the burnt lilypas were still smoldering. If they were fleeing in that direction, then someone with authority to organize a resistance would have to be down there; it would not make sense to flee into a dead end. “We’re heading down that corridor,” he said, pointing his sword at the corridor. “Same battle tactic as before. Understand?” “Yes,” Healie said, waving its tentacles back and forth. Ragnar nodded and began walking down the corridor. Healie, floating just behind him, made a startled, gurgling sound and Ragnar quickly turned to see what was wrong. He saw Healie floating just above Sandor’s corpse, moving its tentacles gingerly across the dead soldier’s chest. Healie looked up at Ragnar and asked, “One... of... your... kin?” Ragnar looked at Sandor for long moments, no trace of emotion in his face. Finally, he muttered, “No.” He then turned back to the corridor, quickening his pace.

* * *

“How many?” Ragnar whispered as Healie floated towards the soldier’s hiding place in the shadows. “Ten... and... three...” the healer replied, its voice sounding cracked as Healie tried to imitate Ragnar’s whispering. The soldier could not help but chuckle. It seemed Healie was becoming more human every minute. “Three ozwargs, huh,” he mumbled, rubbing his mustache. Ragnar was not overly worried about the lilypas. The Sword of Malice could probably take them out easily. The ozwargs were a problem, however. They were at least fifty feet away around the corner that led to the second basement of the tower; plenty of time to cast the icicle spell he had painfully experienced earlier. Even if he used the Sword of Malice’s magical fireballs on them, the soldier was pretty sure the ozwargs would make sure the lilypas shielded them. “Get behind my shield,” he eventually said, holding the large, iron shield in front of him. “I’m going to charge forward and will probably take some bad hits along the way. I want you to try to heal whatever damage I take as quickly as possible. The shield should protect you from any projectiles.”

Healie waved its tentacles back and forth and floated behind the shield. However, it stopped just short and looked up at the soldier. “Rag-nar,” it said, its voice timid. “Oth-er... hea-ler... there... with... li-ly-pa... and... oz-warg...” “Don’t worry,” Ragnar said, smiling. “I remember my promise.” Healie’s tentacles waved excitedly and it faced back to the shield. “Alright then,” he said, gripping the Sword of Malice tighter. “Here we go!” He leapt out from the shadows and charged forward, roaring like a madman. Might as well let the elves know he was coming. He rounded the corner and saw the lilypas already in formation, scrambling to get their arrows knocked to try and stop the charging soldier. Just as he suspected, the ozwargs were behind the lilypas, using the reptilian monsters as shields. They already had their wands out and were preparing their spells. Ragnar had to act fast! The soldier raised the Sword of Malice and, within seconds, a fireball leapt forth, engulfing the closest lilypa. Ragnar managed to let another fireball loose when he felt a sudden, sharp pain in his raised arm. He quickly brought it down and noticed a single arrow embedded in his bicep.

He was about to yank the shaft out of his bicep when he heard several clangs on his shield. Arrows were starting to fly at him repeatedly, most of them either hitting the shield or sailing too high. Ragnar stopped in his tracks and Healie looked up at the soldier, a confused sort of look in a face where expression was impossible. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I know what I’m doing.”

Of course, Ragnar had lied to the healer. He had no idea what he was doing. Crouching behind the shield that easily covered his body, the soldier was getting bombarded with arrows while the ozwargs were getting their spells ready. Ragnar had no idea how he would be able to stand up to the spells. An arrow grazed the plume off the top of his helmet; a few inches lower and it could have pieced the middle of his eyes. He was a sitting duck crouching here! He peeked over his shield and saw that the ozwargs had already formed their icicles and were taking aim. “Brace yourself!” he warned Healie and the soldier ducked behind his shield. An icicle shattered on his shield, the force of the impact knocking him back. Ragnar managed to get up in time to get his shield in front of him and Healie just as the second icicle flew forth. Violent vibrations flew through Ragnar’s body but he managed to stand his ground this time, more prepared for impact than before. The third and final icicle flew wide, Ragnar’s wild movements throwing the ozwarg’s aim off. As he slowly stood back up, Ragnar remembered that the ozwargs he encountered before were tired after they cast the icicle spell. Taking a quick peek over the rim of his shield confirmed his thoughts. The ozwargs in front of him appeared weakened as well, already slowly retreating further back. The lilypas were still firing their arrows but, so long as he kept his vital organs out of harm’s way, they were no more a nuisance than buzzing summer misquotes. Now was as good of any time to swat these insects.

Putting his head behind the shield, Ragnar yelled out again, shocking Healie. “Here I come!” he roared and started his charge again. He felt a few stings in his legs and his sword arm but pumping adrenaline pushed the pain aside. Within moments, Ragnar felt his shield connect solidly with other bodies and began trampling fallen lilypas underneath his booted feet. He was past the front lines! Now he could easily cut down the rest. He popped back up from behind his shield and quickly slashed the Sword of Malice left and right, cutting lilypas as if they were no more than slimes. A few managed to flee down the opposite way. Ragnar let them go, knowing that the main threat was ahead. The ozwargs were now running towards the end of the hall where a staircase was illuminated by a pair of torches. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to reach the monsters in time, Ragnar raised the Sword of Malice, letting the deadly blade do his work for him. Flames leapt from the sword and caught the ozwargs. Being too small, they didn’t engulf the monsters at first but it was enough to have the ozwargs start to panic and roll on the ground, halting their escape. Ragnar quickly looked around, making sure there were no other lilypas or ozwargs. Satisfied the seven lilypa bodies -some dead but most just severally wounded- at his feet and three burning ozwargs were all that remained, the soldier headed over to the burning monsters, intent on finishing his grim task. Just as he started moving, the shadows around the hallway started to move with life. Ragnar stopped and took up a defensive position, ready to attack whatever emerged from the shadows. Several, small blue forms with tentacles waving in rhythmic fashion appeared. Ragnar then remembered that Healie had mentioned there were healers among the guards as well. They hadn’t made any threatening moves yet but Ragnar kept his guard up all the same. “Healie,” Ragnar whispered, hardly moving his mouth so he wouldn’t attract attention, “what are they doing?” “Heal-ing,” Healie replied. Indeed, some of the lilypas that had only been severally wounded had healers floating just above them. The wounds seemed to be slowly closing up. Ragnar could rush over to deliver a mortal blow to the recovering lilypas but such an action could cause the healers to rise up against him as well. There were far too many of the monsters for Ragnar to go against all at once. “Can you get them to stop?” he quietly asked. “How?” “I don’t know. Just get them to stop somehow! And hurry!” Healie looked up at Ragnar for a moment, and then floated out from behind the shield. The healer approached the closest group of healers, tentacles raised. At first, Ragnar suspected Healie was going to try to attack the larger group and thought about risking moving to help his comrade. However, the other healers didn’t make any threatening moves and slowly allowed Healie to approach, raising their tentacles as well. Healie rubbed its tentacles along the body of one of the healers, making long, elegant slides along the bulbous head. The strange action went on for several moments before Healie floated back over to Ragnar. The healer Healie had been communicating with turned to the other healers and they formed a tight circle around the first.

Ragnar looked at Healie as his companion slowly floated back, a bewildered look covering his face. “Is it safe to move?” he quietly asked. “Yes,” Healie replied, waving its tentacles back and forth. Ragnar relaxed his posture but still kept his guard up. Despite what he had learned of healers while in the secret playground, Ragnar still didn’t trust the monsters that were reputed to be casual killers, especially ones in league with other monsters.

He glanced around the wide hallway, noticing several groups of six healers begin to form and were floating to the corpses and severally wounded lilypas. Another group floated towards the smoldering remains of the ozwargs near the staircase leading to the second basement. “What did you tell them?” Ragnar asked.

“Eat... and... be... free...” Healie replied, a strange coldness in its otherwise emotionless voice. “What’s that...?” Ragnar started to ask but suddenly realized what Healie meant when he saw the healers slowly descend on the lilypas and ozwargs, their tentacles gingerly rubbing over the bodies. Ragnar had a brief vision, remembering Healie acting in the same manner when it was about to feast on the corpse of the elf he had killed. “Healie!” he exclaimed. “Some of them are still alive!” Healie stopped just a few feet away from Ragnar. It remained still, its tentacles hardly even twitching. Finally, without even looking up, Healie muttered, “I... know...” It then floated on, moving to the lighted staircase. Ragnar looked at his companion as it floated by, amazement in his eyes. It could have been a trick from the adrenaline pumping in his body but Healie had sounded mournful, almost regretting its course of action. Shrugging off his bewilderment, Ragnar quickened his steps to catch up, grimacing just once as he heard a sickening, sucking sound echo throughout the hallway.

Chapter 27: A Soldier’s Duty

Ragnar yanked out the last arrow from his skin as he made his way silently down the lighted corridor. Healie waved its tentacles in a rhythmic fashion and the wound slowly closed up, a thin scar the only trace of its ever being there. “Thanks,” the soldier muttered, gingerly rubbing the scar. The corridor began to curve and Ragnar could see a bright light illuminate the stone walls. Beyond the bend, he heard noises like children screaming. He stopped just short of the corner and thought of a suitable battle plan. However, despite Healie’s healing, the soldier felt weary.

He had no idea how long he had been charging down this tower. More than half a dozen battles in the last couple of hours had taken its toll emotionally, if not physically. The forward charging and surprise attacks seemed useless now. All he wanted to do was grab the children and get out of here. Ragnar figured it would be the best course of action. If whatever enemies were around the bend caused trouble, he would simply plow through them.

He took a single, deep breath and rounded the corner, a confident strut in his stride. The room he entered was large, far larger than even Burland Castle’s audience hall. Large tiers rested at the opposite end, brilliant fires within lighting the imposing chamber.

The soldier didn’t really have much time to notice anything else for his attention was almost immediately drawn to a pair of figures just a few feet ahead of him. One was very strange; it had an extremely thin, blue body and one, giant eyeball on top, several, tiny feelers wriggling around it. The other was a human boy!

The child was struggling with the giant eyeball, screaming in fear. He managed to turn towards Ragnar and a flash of hope crossed the frightened boy’s eyes. Somehow, he managed to break free of the giant eyeball’s grasp and ran towards Ragnar, crying, “Help! Help me!” The soldier bent down and the boy ran into Ragnar’s arms, surprising him. Ragnar, feeling a bit uncomfortable in this position, looked down at the young boy. He had several, dark bruises outlining his face and his clothes were torn to shreds. “Who did this to you?” he asked, although he already had a pretty good idea who it was. “Oh, sir!” the boy cried, tears streaming his bruised face. “They say I’m the Hero and treat me badly!” He pointed at the giant eyeball that seemed to be running to the opposite end of the large room towards a small pedestal. Someone else was on the pedestal but, at this distance Ragnar couldn’t make out any details. He looked back at the boy and asked, “Are there anymore of you?” “P.. Pocos is in a... a cell,” the boy replied, pointing to a large jail door. He then turned to the pedestal and added, “That bad man has the key...” Ragnar nodded and muttered, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” Without looking, he handed the boy to Healie and said, “See what you can do for him.” He then stood up and headed over to the pedestal, his mind so focused he hardly heard the young boy’s squeal of delight at seeing Healie. Ragnar kept his gaze on the two figures ahead, his eyes like a pair of steel blades. He really didn’t want to have to go through another confrontation. Maybe he would be able to talk his way out of it.

Ragnar chuckled, shaking his head. Who was he kidding? Of course he was going to be fighting again. Almost sighing, he grabbed the Sword of Malice from his scabbard, fingering the hilt gingerly to get a strong grip.

As Ragnar got closer to the pedestal, he was finally able to make out the features of the second figure. It was dressed in a similar fashion as the elf he had killed at the secret playground;

only the robes were green and purple. However, judging from the attire, Ragnar quickly concluded that this was yet another elf. He was going to have to be careful. The giant eyeball, which seemed to be talking (Ragnar wondered how it could do that without a mouth?) to the elf, stepped away from the pedestal, taking a flanking position to the left. The elf remained still, fingering the staff in his right hand. Once Ragnar was within twenty feet of the pedestal, the elf finally said, “I recognize you. You were at the old well. I thought Sequerus killed you.” “Sorry to disappoint,” Ragnar replied, giving a sly smile but keeping his steel gaze, “but it was more like the other way around.” The elf shook his head, muttering, “Never send a conjurer to do a karon’s job.” “I don’t have time for this,” Ragnar suddenly roared, his face becoming red. “Hand over the key now and I’ll let you live.” He then pointed the Sword of Malice at the elf. “If not, I’ll just take it from you.” The elf remained still, a weird smile creeping onto his face. “I see you have the sword I gave the other human,” he said, amusement in his voice. “Tell me. Did he give it to you willingly or did you kill him for it?” “This is you’re last warning,” Ragnar growled, his teeth clenched in anger. “Give me the key or die.” He began to slowly raise the Sword of Malice, intending to knock the snide elf off the pedestal with a fireball. The elf still did not move, continuing his questions about Sandor. “Did you enjoy killing him?” he asked. “Did it feel good to be able to slaughter one of your own kind?” Ragnar tried to ignore the comments, knowing they were only intended to get some sort of reaction out of him. “You had your chance,” he grimly stated and raised the Sword of Malice.

The burning sensation began to grow inside his body as a fiery aura began to form at the hilt and blade. However, just as the fireball formed and flew forth, the elf uttered a strange word and waved his hand. The fiery aura instantly fizzled into nothing, a few trace sparks floating away. Ragnar brought down the sword and looked at it, confused as to why it hadn’t work. The elf began to laugh.

“You idiot,” the elf laughed. “Do you really think my kin would create a magical blade where we couldn’t counter its magical effects?” The elf suddenly stopped his laughing and looked at Ragnar seriously. “I give you this one chance to respond only,” he said, a dangerous tone in his voice. “Join us or die.” The soldier looked at the elf for long moments, unable to decide what to do next. For some reason, he was beginning to doubt what he was doing. It really did seem futile. The elf he had killed had been done in by shear surprise. If Healie hadn’t been there, Ragnar would have died. The soldier figured this elf had to be even more powerful than the other if he was in charge here. There would be no possible way that he could survive if he attacked.

He kneeled and started to lay his sword down to surrender.

“Ragnar!” he heard a watery voice shout out in surprise. The soldier shook his head and looked back, seeing Healie and the young boy looking at him in shock. Once he gazed upon the child, broken and beaten at the hands of the elf just a few feet ahead, all of the doubts were suddenly erased. He remembered his vow to Garn; protect all children! He stood back up, the Sword of Malice in his hand. The elf looked at Ragnar, shock in its usually calm eyes. “No!” it cried. “This is not possible! How can you resist?” The elf’s gaze turned to the giant eyeball, which Ragnar had almost forgotten about. Ragnar looked at the giant eyeball as well and saw the feelers on the giant eye were waving much rapidly than before. Somehow, it clicked in for the soldier. The giant eyeball had somehow been taking over his mind, forcing him to surrender. He could already feel some doubts begin to creep up into the back of his mind again. Well, he wouldn’t let them get the better of him this time. Letting his rage take full control, Ragnar charged towards the giant eyeball. A surprised and feared gaze glossed over the monster as Ragnar solidly chopped into the right of the monster’s eye, sending green fluid squirting into Ragnar’s face. No sound of pain came from the creature as the soldier wedged his sword out of the giant eye. The monster fell to the ground, green fluid spilling from the large wound. Ragnar turned to face the elf on the pedestal. “Your mind tricks won’t work anymore,” he growled, hatred filling his eyes as he wiped the green fluid clean from his face, “but I will let you live if you just give me the key and let the children go.” He took a step forward, the Sword of Malice pointed at the elf. “You fool,” the elf laughed, although the soldier couldn’t detect any humor in the laughter, “I’ve been infused with powers from Saro. I am in essence his very shadow!” “I wouldn’t care if you were the Ruler of Evil Himself!” Ragnar roared, the name ‘Saro’ having no meaning to the soldier. “I gave you the warning. I guess I’ll just have to take the key from you!” He charged up the pedestal, roaring in rage. The elf remained calm. “As you wish,” he smiled, “I’ll smash you to bits!” Without warning, a fireball formed at the elf’s left hand and he threw it at Ragnar. The soldier wasn’t prepared for such an attack and didn’t have enough time to get his shield up. The fireball impacted solidly on his breastplate and the soldier flew back, the force of the fireball sending him several feet. Ragnar groggily got up, shaking his head. He quickly checked his body. His back seemed to have a bruise and his red armor had a few burn marks but he was otherwise fine. Ragnar managed to get up on one knee when the elf leapt off the pedestal, his staff extended forward intent on impaling the soldier. Ragnar managed to roll to the left just as the staff impacted on where his head had been. Ragnar spun around and took up a defensive position. His opponent stood just a few feet in front of the soldier, keeping his staff up defensively. The elf started to chuckle. “You think I will come after you?” he smiled. “Why should I bother when I can pick you off from afar?”

The elf started to make a gurgling noise as if he was building up saliva in his mouth. His

cheeks began to bulge and Ragnar brought his shield a bit closer to his front, unsure as to what the elf was doing. Finally, the elf’s cheeks bulged to their limit and he opened his mouth, a small fireball spewing forth. Ragnar swung his shield up to block but the fireball hit with such force that the soldier had no choice but to step back.

Ragnar looked up and realized the elf was starting to build another fireball in his mouth. If he was going to attack, Ragnar was going to have to do it now. The soldier charged forth, keeping his shield in front. The elf let loose the second fireball and it impacted solidly on Ragnar’s shield. However, the soldier had built up enough momentum to keep his stride and rammed into the surprised elf.

They flew back under Ragnar’s weight and both crashed into one of the tiers, knocking it over. Dozens of hot coals spilled onto the floor and fire leapt across the room. The blaze slowly started to spread but Ragnar hardly noticed. His enemy was directly in front of him.

Ragnar stabbed the Sword of Malice at the heart but the elf managed roll to the right and dodge the deadly blade. However, Ragnar was still able to graze the elf’s left arm as he attacked, creating a deep gash. The elf quickly stood up and brought his staff up, prepared to attack. He noticed the pain in his left arm as he did so and glanced at it. He saw his robe torn and blood oozing out of the deep wound Ragnar had given. The elf looked back at Ragnar and the soldier saw a red fire forming in the elf’s eyes. The elf’s eyes twitched once, then he screamed out in fury and charged at Ragnar, swinging his staff wildly. Ragnar had no choice but to back up, fending off the wild attacks. He was able to block the staff with his shield but he was unable to counterattack, so quick and vicious the elf’s attacks were. As he backed up, Ragnar began to feel heat forming at his back. He took a quick glance behind and realized he was backing straight into a large fire! The elf’s attacks weren’t just created out of random rage. He was forcing Ragnar into the fire. Thinking fast, Ragnar blocked the elf’s next attack with his sword instead of his shield, forcing the lower part of the staff down while leaving his upper body defenseless. The elf saw the opening and followed through with his upper staff, aiming for a vital blow. However, Ragnar had guessed the deranged elf would go for the obvious opening and spun to his left. The elf grazed Ragnar’s shoulder but caught more armor than flesh.

Continuing his spin, Ragnar slammed his shield into his opponent’s back. The blow sent the elf reeling forward completely off balance. He managed to stop just before the growing flames.

By the time the elf faced Ragnar again the soldier was already attacking. Without any time to block, Ragnar swung the Sword of Malice down on the elf’s right shoulder. The blade chopped in, nearly severing the arm. The elf screamed in pain and instinctively grabbed for his shoulder as Ragnar withdrew the blade, blood spurting from the deadly wound. The elf looked up at Ragnar, hatred in his eyes. Ragnar’s blade was already there, waiting.

“You are defeated,” Ragnar said emotionlessly, having to shout a bit to be heard over the growing flames just in front of him. “Now give me the key or else I will run you through.” The elf looked down at his feet and muttered, “I can’t believe I lost....” Gritting his teeth in an effort to stem the pain from his shoulder, he looked up at Ragnar. He then suddenly smiled; a sly, devious smile. Ragnar was confused by the elf’s action but kept his blade up all the same. “I’m sure Saro will continue to seek out the Hero...” he said to Ragnar, chuckling as he took a step back. “Wait a minute,” Ragnar said, keeping his ground. “Don’t do anything rash!” “All mankind will soon learn the meaning of pain and suffering,” the elf laughed, pain racking through his wounded body as he did. “I’ll see you in Vah-Kirgol!” He then stepped back into the fire. “No!” Ragnar cried out and tried to stop the elf but it was too late. Screams of agony came from the flames as it consumed his flesh. All Ragnar could do was stare, dumbfounded. The soldier was so intent on watching the elf die that he didn’t even notice a figure sneak up on him from the side. The attack came quickly and powerfully. A solid blow landed on Ragnar’s shield and the soldier went flying to the right, his head landing inches from the fire.

Shaking his head, Ragnar managed to get back up and saw something charging at him. It was the giant eyeball! It was actually still alive!

Ragnar tried to get his sword up to defend in time but the monster was much too fast and

swung a broken half of the fallen tier at Ragnar’s sword arm. The metal weapon crushed him and Ragnar felt the bone snap painfully.

The soldier fell to the ground in pain, clutching his arm. He looked up at the giant

eyeball, seeing a blood-red glaze over the monster’s wounded eye. Ragnar’s only thought at that moment was how such a skinny monster could wield such force.

Just as the giant eyeball was about to bring the broken tier down upon Ragnar for a deathblow, it hesitated, as if something had stopped it! Ragnar looked up at the metal weapon and saw several, pink tentacles wrapped around it. “Healie!” the soldier exclaimed, amazed at his companion’s bravery to intervene. The giant eyeball, finally noticing Healie, swung the broken tier sideways. The momentum was more than the healer could bear and was sent flying, splattering into the side of a wall.

However, Healie’s distraction had bought Ragnar enough time to get his shield undone and the Sword of Malice into his left hand. Just as the giant eyeball turned back to Ragnar to finish off the soldier, Ragnar swung a backhand slash at the monster’s thin neck. The deadly blade went cleanly through and the large, blood red eye flew off, rolling a few feet away. The body fell to the ground, the broken tier clanging noisily on the stone floor after it.

Satisfied the giant eyeball was now dead, Ragnar rushed over to his companion whom he last saw flying into the wall. “Healie!” he cried out, fearing the worst. He got over to the healer and saw that it was all right!

“How...?” he began, amazed at Healie’s quick recovery.

“For-get?” Healie asked. “I... heal-er... heal... fast...” The healer then noticed Ragnar’s many wounds. “Rag-nar... you... need-” “Forget about it,” the soldier muttered, gingerly rubbing his broken arm. “Right now we have to figure out a way to get Pocos out of his cell before that fire gets too severe. I didn’t manage to get the key so-” “Po-cos... free...” Healie interrupted, sounding somewhat proud. “What?” Ragnar exclaimed, looking at the healer in amazement, “How did he get free? I didn’t get the key!” “No... key... need,” Healie explained. “Fire… open” “You mean I...” Ragnar began, looking at the portion of the fire where the elf had burned to death. He then looked at Healie, bewilderment in his eyes. Healie remained emotionless, though its tentacles were slightly twitching. Finally, Ragnar smiled, then laughed. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here before that fire gets out of control. Where are the kids?” “In... tun-nel,” Healie replied, pointing to the corridor that led out. Ragnar nodded and they hurried to the corridor, the growing fire slowly consuming the chamber behind them.

Chapter 28: Ragnar’s Difficult Choice

Ragnar walked a casual pace down the valley road, Darnell limping on a crutch to his right and Healie floating a bit behind on his left. The Sword of Malice bumped continuously on his hip, probably creating a minor bruise. The soldier hardly noticed, though. His thoughts were filled with joy, a sense of an accomplished mission that had never left ever since he and Healie fled the tower with the two young boys. Yet, there was also something still missing from Ragnar’s conscience. It had been nagging him ever since he gazed back at the burning tower in the middle of the lake as he rowed a raft across to safety. Seeing the tower slowly burn to the ground on the small island made the soldier think of Garn. He imagined his fellow soldier’s body, calm and serene on the altar in the tower basement, completely helpless as the fire would inevitably consume him as well. Thinking of Garn caused Ragnar to remember his vow to the soldier to protect all children. When he made the vow, Ragnar had originally thought Garn was talking about the children the elves had kidnapped. However, after hearing the elf’s threats just before he leapt into the flames, Ragnar wasn’t so sure anymore. After watching the two children, reunited with their mothers and fathers, dance gaily in Izmit’s busy streets, Ragnar wondered just how long this kind of happiness could last if the elf’s words were true.

What if the Ruler of Evil truly was making a resurrection? Would the world fall into a time of darkness not unlike before recorded history, as legend said? It pained the soldier to think of these two children, whom he and Healie had risked their lives to save, separated from their families once again, this time by a wave of darkness and evil.

Ragnar had already seen a portion of what could happen in such an event. Healie’s bond between the children of Izmit was stronger than Ragnar could have imagined. The healer was truly torn when the children had to go into town where Healie could not follow. It may as well have been the last time the healer ever saw the children, for Healie had already mentioned that it would not return to the secret playground. The healer had no home there any longer with its entire kin in that area killed. Perhaps, if the healer ever did become human, Healie would return to Izmit. But such a time would not come that day, as Ragnar and the children had entered Izmit without the caring healer. It would indeed be tragedy if those special ties were broken by a wave of evil enveloping the world. While in Izmit, as he waited for Darnell to recover enough to handle the travel home, Ragnar devoted some time at the Zenithian Temple in an attempt to discover exactly what the prophecy Garn had mentioned was all about. Of course, Ragnar could hardly make any sense of the ancient scriptures but Darnell, who had had a bit of time to learn a little more of Zenithism while at the temple, proved most helpful.

The results of their research confirmed Garn’s words. The Ruler of Evil was indeed prophesied to make a resurrection at some point. However, just as Garn had said, a Chosen One, a Hero, would be born and grow up with the power to defeat the Ruler of Evil.

When read, it sounded just like another fairy tale. However, with the events witnessed in

the last few days, Ragnar had a feeling that yet another myth was about to come true. To Ragnar’s surprise, it wasn’t hard to convince Darnell of his theory. In fact, all Darnell said was, “Yep,” while slowly nodding his head.

Now, a week later, Ragnar, Darnell, and Healie were making their way back to Burland Castle. It wouldn’t matter the time they arrived. Ragnar and Darnell would have to convince King Burnard to hold an important meeting to discuss their strategy, even if they arrived at midnight. The soldier’s gaze continued on the horizon and, eventually, saw the glowing lights of Burland Castle begin to appear. “We’re getting close, Healie,” Ragnar said, turning to the healer. Healie stopped and gazed at the horizon. Ragnar wondered what his companion was thinking at that moment. Probably it longed to continue on, to be a part of Ragnar’s life in a human settlement instead of having to remain outdoors, hiding in the shadowy confines of caves and other dark places. Darnell turned to Healie and hobbled over. “It was nice meeting you, Healie,” he said, outstretching his hand. Healie gently laid a tentacle in Darnell’s hand and the soldier shook it.

Ragnar smiled. When Darnell had first met Healie on the outskirts of Izmit, the soldier had been very hesitant to shake Healie’s tentacle, despite all of the good things Ragnar had told him of the healer. Ragnar couldn’t blame Darnell, though. After all, it was Healie’s kin that had ambushed Darnell in the Burland Tunnel at the beginning of the mission.

After Darnell released Healie’s tentacle, he turned to Ragnar and nodded once. “You go on ahead,” Ragnar said. “I’ll catch up.” Darnell nodded again and limped down the valley road towards Burland Castle. Ragnar watched him walk off for a while, smiling. Once Darnell was out of hearing range, Ragnar turned back to Healie. The healer looked up at Ragnar, a strange look glossing over the shiny, blue head. Healie’s tentacles were swaying side to side slowly. In the short time that he knew Healie, Ragnar had learned that many of the healer’s emotions were expressed with its tentacles. When Ragnar watched the gentle swaying, a sympathetic, compassionate feeling swept over him. He was probably the closest thing to having a family Healie had left. The healer wouldn’t have followed Ragnar all the way to Burland Castle if it didn’t feel otherwise. Now, Ragnar was returning to his home, maybe never venturing out again. He desperately wanted to bring Healie with him but he knew the city wouldn’t accept it. Deep in his heart, Ragnar knew what he had to do. “I’ll be back,” he compassionately smiled, patting Healie’s head. “It may be a while but I promise that I’ll be back out here to see you.” Healie continued to stare at Ragnar but its tentacles waved a bit faster. “I...” Healie began but didn’t finish, unable to find the words it wanted to express in its limited vocabulary. Ragnar continued to pat the little monster’s head, smiling. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I already know how you feel.” He removed his hand and stepped back. “Please, just wait nearby. I promise to see you when everything is sorted out in the castle.” Ragnar stood still for a moment, watching the expressionless healer stare at him, hardly moving. “So long for now,” the soldier added. He took a few steps back, stood still for a bit, then slowly turned to walk to the castle, sighing as he did so. Healie remained in the middle of the valley road for several minutes after Ragnar had already disappeared over the horizon.

* * *

Ragnar quickly made his way towards the meeting room where King Burnard, his advisor, the priest of the Zenithian Temple, and the remaining Royal Soldiers awaited him. He was late as it was for the late-night meeting, his reunion with Mary lasting much longer than he had anticipated. Of course, she was overjoyed to see him walk into her home and they embraced each other for more than an hour, Ragnar briefly explaining what transpired in his absence. He had been so enthralled in seeing Mary and describing his adventures that he had lost all track of time. Now, three hours after finally arriving back in Burland Castle, the soldier was running down the empty hallways towards the meeting room.

The moment he entered, the people sitting around the meeting table stood up and began clapping. The soldier was caught completely off guard!

“Welcome back, Sir Ragnar Calgor,” King Burnard enthusiastically said, clapping. “I’m truly impressed with your accomplishments. I’m proud of having a soldier like you!”

“Well, thank you, your Highness,” Ragnar replied, flushing, “but I don’t deserve all of the credit. Many others helped me along the way.” “Yes, I know,” King Burnard said, “and each and every one of them will be receiving the highest appraisals that I can bestow.” Ragnar smiled, already seeing the irony in his King’s statement. Healie, who had played a major role in Ragnar’s success, would never receive recognition for its efforts. It was the sad truth and Ragnar had to accept it. After the clapping subsided, King Burnard said, “Please, join us.” Ragnar bowed and sat down at the meeting table between Harald and Elric. Sir Elric, as it turned out, had never even left Burland Castle. Once Harald had recovered from the babble poison, the soldier had remained at the castle to help organize new defenses with the increased monster activity. While in the surrounding city, Harald had quite accidentally bumped into Elric, who was with the woman Sandor had been seeing. Elric admitted to never leaving, claiming that he was scared to venture out into the larger world. Sandor’s old girlfriend had convinced Elric to remain behind, obviously grabbing the opportunity to be with Elric while Sandor was away. Now, with Sandor dead, Elric was planning on marrying. It was a twisted love story but it made for great gossip in the city’s shopping square. After everyone sat back down, King Burnard eyed Ragnar and said, “So far, Sir Darnell has been telling us of your encounters with the elves and the tower, and we are all saddened by the losses of Sir Garn, Sir Denuve, and Sir Mandrake.” Ragnar noticed he intentionally left out Sandor, the soldier’s betrayal earning him the disrespect of every participant of the meeting. “Is there anything you wish to add?” “Yes,” Ragnar said. He stood up and took out the Sword of Malice in which he still had fastened on. He then laid it out on the table. “This is the sword Sir Sandor had attacked me with. As you can see, no human could ever have created such a sword.” “It surely is a finely crafted blade,” the advisor said, looking up at Ragnar, “but how can you prove that it’s elfish?” “The sword has certain magical properties in which no human could ever imbue it with,” Ragnar explained. “I am not certain, but I believe it has the ability to spew forth fireballs by drawing upon the user’s life force.” “It’s true,” Darnell added. “I tried it myself and it indeed felt as though by creating flames it was burning my soul. I’ve never seen or heard of such a blade in all of our history documents.” King Burnard tapped his fingers on the large table for a moment, and then turned to the Zenithian priest. “Brother Omnin,” he said, “you have heard Sir Darnell’s account of his and Sir Ragnar’s research on this prophecy. Is there anything in the ancient Zenithian texts that can verify a resurrection of the Ruler of Evil?” “There are references to a resurrection of one of the great demons,” Brother Omnin replied softly, “and there are references of a Chosen One who will be the light against the demon’s dark.” He looked down at the table, a frown forming on his face. “I just had no idea

that these prophecies would be coming true during this time in the world history,” he muttered, more to himself than the rest of the meeting table. “What do you mean?” Harald asked, looking intently at the priest. Brother Omnin looked up at the table again, sighed, and gravely explained, “The prophecies are mentioned at the latter end of the Zenithian Texts. From my understanding of them, either the Hero will succeed and peace will prevail or the forces of evil will engulf the land.” The King slowly leaned back in his small throne at the head of the table, rubbing his double chin. The room was quiet for the moment, each participant in the meeting taking in their own thoughts. Finally, King Burnard broke the silence. “I’m not sure there is really much we can do here,” he solemnly stated. “After all, we are a very small country and usually don’t play a large role in world events.”

He leaned forward again, tapping his fingers on the table. “However,” he continued, “we can do as much as we can to help protect our own country if in the event that...” He paused, carefully choosing his words. “If in the event that this prophesied Hero fails.” He turned to Ragnar and said, “Sir Ragnar, I am placing you in charge of organizing the country’s defenses.”

Ragnar looked up, shocked by the King’s command. The soldier stared blankly, not knowing how to react. “Congratulations!” Harald said, patting his friend on the shoulder. “It was what you always wanted.” Indeed, right from the very beginning of searching for the children, Ragnar had been more concerned about organizing the castle’s defenses in the event that an invading army of monsters should appear. However, the King’s words echoed through his head; ‘If in the event that this prophesied Hero fails...’ What if the Hero did fail? What good would rudimentary castle defenses do against an army of evil? Ragnar had stopped the elves’ search for the Hero but what if he had only delayed the inevitable? Could all that he had done to return the children to their families been for nothing? Thinking of the Izmit children, again, brought a flashing vision of the burning tower, and of Sir Garn’s last words: ‘Save all children...’ Ragnar suddenly stood up and firmly said, “I am honored to receive such a responsibility. However, I am bound by an even greater responsibility and must decline.” King Burnard looked at Ragnar, confused. “What do you mean?” “I wish to go on a journey,” he replied, keeping a stiff posture. “I intend to search out the young Hero who is at this very moment growing up and protect him from the forces of evil.” “I see,” the King quietly said, rubbing his chin. The meeting room remained quiet for long moments, the participants relatively stunned by Ragnar’s request. The soldier kept his posture straight, a few beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he became a touch nervous from the prolonged silence. Finally, King Burnard stood up and slowly walked over to Ragnar. The soldier kept his eyes on the King, nervous as to what he planned. Once he reached him, the King gently put his hands on Ragnar’s shoulders and quietly said, “Sir Ragnar, you will have my fullest support.” He

then smiled and Ragnar could not help but smile as well, an overwhelming sense of joy and accomplishment filling every crevice of his body.

* * *

Ragnar was packed and ready to leave the next day. He had the Sword of Malice strapped to his hip in a larger scabbard and his family’s armor packed along with a few medical herbs. He had already said his good-byes to Harald, Darnell, Elric, and any other member of Burland Castle he knew relatively well. He was ready to leave on his journey except for one thing: Mary. Standing just outside her door, Ragnar tentatively knocked. He hadn’t yet told her that he was leaving, possibly forever. He knew that it would be difficult for her but she deserved to know, no matter how much it might hurt. The door opened and Mary looked up at Ragnar, surprise in her beautiful face. “Ragnar!” she exclaimed and gave him a large hug. As she hugged, she felt the hilt of Ragnar’s sword press into her hip. “Ouch!” she gasped, rubbing her hip. “Why are you wearing that silly thing? Forget to take it off?” She looked into Ragnar’s eyes and easily read the anxiety in them. “What is it?” she asked worriedly. “May I come in?” he asked evenly. She nodded and Ragnar entered, sitting down at Mary’s sparsely furnished home. They both sat down at her table where they had shared many dinners together, just the two of them. He sighed, wanting so much not to have to tell her the news. Yet, when he looked into her sweet, caring eyes, he knew that she must know the truth. Sighing again, he said evenly, “I’m... going on a journey.” Mary looked at him for a moment, hardly even blinking. Eventually, she asked, “What do you mean?” “I’m leaving again,” he gently said. “Probably for a very long time.” “You’re joking!” she said, her eyes widening with realization. “No, I’m not,” Ragnar said. He gazed outside the window beside him, watching several small children run by in a game of tag. “I take it you’ve heard the rumors of the resurrecting Ruler of Evil and a prophesied Hero,” he said, keeping his eyes on the window. “Yeah...” Mary slowly said, unsure what Ragnar was talking about. Ragnar turned his gaze back to Mary, sympathy in his eyes. “These rumors are very true,” he quietly said. “My recent experiences alone confirm my belief in them.” He stood up and walked over to Mary, their eyes continuously locked. He knelt down on one knee and took Mary’s hand. “The Hero is still young and needs protection from the forces of evil,” he said. “I intend to search him out and protect him myself.”

Mary’s hand began to shake, cold sweat seeping onto her palm. Ragnar looked at her, pity in his eyes. He quickly grabbed her and held her tight to his body, feeling a few tears trickle onto his neck. “W...why...?” he heard Mary whimper as she wrapped her arms around him. Ragnar took a deep breath, a few tears forming in his eyes as well. It pained him whenever Mary was in pain as well. Gently, he sat Mary back down, and kneeled in front of her again. “I keep seeing the Izmit children,” he gently explained. “I keep seeing them dancing in the town square, so happy to be with their families again.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

“I then think back to what the elf at the tower said to me, saying that others would follow in his footsteps to kill the Hero while he or she is still young and vulnerable.”

Ragnar then stood up and looked back out the window, watching the children play. “If that happens, the ancient Zenithian Texts claim that darkness will envelop the world like a blanket, the Ruler of Evil’s power unchallenged.”

He clenched his fist. “I cannot allow that to happen. I would not be able to sleep if I knew there is the chance that our world could one day soon no longer be safe for the people out there, for all of the families out there, for all the children out there...”

“But-” Mary began but Ragnar once again kneeled in front of her and took her hand. “For our children...” he gently said. “I...” Mary began but tears filled her face and she couldn’t speak, her feelings mixing like a whirlpool of emotions. She fell into Ragnar’s arms, crying with joy and pain.

Epilogue

Ragnar and Mary slowly walked hand and hand down the valley road. Neither spoke a word nor neither had to. Both knew exactly what the other was thinking, and words were not necessary. Eventually, they came to the area where Ragnar had parted company with Healie. The soldier wanted Mary to meet the kind, little monster who had saved his life on numerous occasions. He called out its name and Mary looked up at Ragnar, somewhat confused. He explained that ‘Healie’ was the name that the children of Izmit had given the healer. Mary couldn’t help but giggle. ‘Healie’ seemed quite a silly name. Eventually, Healie emerged from the forest west of the valley road and quickly floated over to the couple. Even from this distance, Ragnar could see that Healie’s tentacles were waving frantically in excitement. “Ragnar!” Healie squeaked in delight as it got close enough. “So... glad... see you!” “And I’m glad to see you,” Ragnar smiled, patting the healer’s blue head.

Healie then noticed Mary and asked, “Who... that?” “I’m... Mar-y,” she replied, extending her words as if talking to a three year old. “You don’t need to do that,” Ragnar chuckled. “He can understand you fine without talking slowly.” “Oh,” Mary muttered, looking at the healer curiously. She had never seen a healer this close in her entire life and was very intrigued. Healie extended a tentacle forward, and she backed a bit, startled by the little monster’s sudden action. Ragnar laughed and explained to Mary that she was supposed to shake Healie’s tentacle as if it were a human hand. Hesitantly, she extended her open hand forward. Healie gently placed its tentacle in her palm and Mary gently closed her hand around it, fearing that she might harm the delicate tentacle. “Hel-lo...” Healie said, enthusiasm in the healer’s watery voice. “My...name...is...Heal-ie!” “Hello,” Mary said, smiling timidly. “My name is Mary. I’m Ragnar’s fiancée.” “Fe.. an… say?” Healie asked, looking up at Ragnar. “It means we’re going to be husband and wife when we return,” Ragnar explained. “You... both... leave...?” Healie asked, its tentacles beginning to slow down in their excited movement. “No, no!” Ragnar laughed. “I meant us. You and me.” “What... mean?” “We’re going on a journey,” Ragnar explained. “Our success will ensure the safety of the Izmit children.” He looked at Mary and hugged her close. “And ours,” he added softly to her. Healie, upon hearing they would be able to help the children of Izmit that it cared about deeply, starting to wave its tentacles more rapidly than Ragnar had ever seen! “You go on up ahead towards the tunnel,” Ragnar said, smiling. “I’ll be along in a bit.” Healie waved its tentacles back and forth rapidly and started to float down the valley road. Once Healie had floated a bit of distance away, Ragnar turned to Mary, smiling. “Where will you go?” Mary asked. “To the country of Endor,” Ragnar replied. “Word has it that a tournament for warriors is being held there. If the Hero is as great of a fighter as the Texts claim, perhaps he will be there. If not, it’s still a good starting point. Many rumors can come through the City at the Center of the World.”

They embraced each other for a long time, saying good-bye without a single word. The wind whistled by, drying the single few tears that trickled down their cheeks.

“I love you,” Mary whispered to Ragnar, her eyes closed tightly. “I love you too,” the soldier responded, holding her close. They held each other for several moments, both not wanting to let go but both knowing that it had to end. Finally, in what had seemed an eternity for the two, they let go of each other. They held a long kiss and Ragnar turned to follow Healie, waving farewell. Mary waved farewell as well, her tears no longer trickling as she absently touched her belly.

Thus, Ragnar and Healie left on their journey in search of the young Hero, not knowing what to expect to come.

END OF BOOK 1