Unfinished Novel Pt. 2

"Come along," said Mama grabbing Rorren's hand. "Edwen, could you help me by carrying that blanket?" she asked as she helped Rorren out of the carriage. Edwen snatched the blanket off the seat with a smug expression on his face, feeling proud at the chance to help his mother.
         The group took off across the meadow; Mama carried the picnic basket in one hand and helped Rorren along with the other while Edward walked along behind with his nose sticking up in the air. The warm day was suffused with the scent of wild roses and the sun beat down in long golden rays. Arriving at what appeared to be the perfect location for their trip; Mama set the basket down and helped Edwen spread the blanket out upon the soft grassy meadow near the base of Mount Mersyn. The three of them huddled around the food, and Edwen began rummaging through the picnic basket.
         "Mama," he whined, "there is no chicken for Rorren and me! What shall we eat?"
         "Silly child, I thought maybe we could try something new today, like lamb. Be adventurous!" she exclaimed as she wiggled her nose and a twinkle sparked to her penetrating blue eyes.
         Rorren's face contorted with disgust. "Lamb?  How distasteful, Mother!"
         She laughed deeply and scooped Rorren up into her arms. "Not even for Mama?"
         Rorren's face still showed his utter horror at the very idea.
         Laughing again, Mama answered, "Ok. No lamb," and kissing his cheek set him back down on the ground. "Why don't you two go exploring while I set up lunch? Just don't wander too far."
         Immediately, the two boys began a game of hide and seek that carried them to the woods at the edge of the mountain. 
         Smiling and shaking her head, Mama stood up and began to pick some of the meadow's wild flowers as a center piece for their picnic. When a sharp shriek rent the air, Mama's head instantly jerked up; her body tensed. Dropping the flowers, she began to run towards the woods. Just then, the sound of the boys' laughter filled the meadow as she saw Edwen chasing Rorren round and round a large oak tree, and Mama's shoulders relaxed, the relief palpable on her face. "Boys, why don't you come back here where I can see you?"
"Coming, Mama!" Edwen shouted.  The boys complied reappearing in the meadow, but still hugged the edge of the trees.
Satisfied that her children were fine, she turned around, went back to pick up the flowers, and returned to the picnic blanket. She began unpacking the meal, which included lamb, chicken, cheese, bread, a few fruits, and cider. Then, Mama glanced cautiously over her shoulder to make sure that the boys were occupied; she reached into the basket and removed the napkin that covered the bottom, to revealing a small cake covered in fresh strawberries. Although the icing was slightly smudged, the love that had been put into that quarter of a pound of flour was evident to even the least observant eye.
Smoothing her skirt, Mama stood up, the sun glinting off her hair.  Walking quickly and quietly through the grass, Mama snuck up on Edwen and Rorren. "Boo!" she shouted, causing Rorren to jump and shriek. Then, after discerning that it was only his mother, he giggled, clapping his small hands in delight. Swooping down on her son, she scooped him up, burying her face in his hair.  Edwen, not wanting to miss out on anything, ran toward his mother and wrapped his arms around her legs. Kneeling down next to him with Rorren on her lap, she opened her arms to encompass both of her boys. "I love you two more than you will know," she whispered. The trio remained like that for only a couple more moments when Rorren began to squirm. Filling the meadow with her mirth, Mama laughed merrily once again and released the boys. "I'm going to count to one hundred," she stated, covering her eyes with her hands. "One. Two. Three..."
Edwen and Rorren immediately ran into the woods and split up. Edwen went only a little ways in, knowing that his mother wanted him to remain close. Finding an adequate moss covered rock, he ducked behind it and wrapped his hands around his legs, thrusting his face between his knees to muffle the sound of his quiet laughter.
"Twenty-two. Twenty-three..."
Rorren, his mother's concerns not bothering his four year old mind, went farther into the forest; so far that he could no longer hear what was happening in the meadow. Searching for a noticeably perfect hiding place, he passed a couple of rocks, several especially wide bushes, and quite a few animal burrows before he found a partially hollowed tree. Pushing aside cobwebs and ignoring the colony of ants, Rorren nestled himself into the tree's waiting embrace.
"Fifty-seven. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Si-"
Silence ensued. Edwen, confused by the sudden stoppage (AYUDAME!) of counting left his hiding place to see what was going on. Emerging from the woods, Edwen ran to his mother, collapsing a couple of yards away.
Rorren, becoming impatient, left the tree and followed the sound of a brook burbling nearby. When he climbed under the last branch blocking the brook from view, he let a small gasp escape his lips. The untouched ________ was a haven for a plethora (haha what a funny word!) of birds, reptiles, and small fluffy animals (please change that it sounds so awful! "fluffy animals" HA!). Enchanted, Rorren walked forward only to realize with disappointment that the animals were afraid of him. While mayhem ensued in the animal kingdom (getting tired again if you cant tell. I need to talk to you.) as the creatures fought to escape from the loud thing encroaching on their space, Rorren sank to the ground and balled. "Mama!" he whimpered. Tears streaming down his face, he picked himself off the ground and ran from the clearing trying to find the one person who could make it all better. However, being the four year old that he was, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going, because he hadn't been worried about how to get back. Now however, he was wandering in circles, moving farther and farther away from the meadow, his cries growing louder. Tripping over a protruding tree root, he crashed to the forest floor scraping the skin off his hand. Letting out a scream, he let himself lay there for several minutes, before finally picking himself up and moving on.
Rorren continued his ramblings for what seemed like an eternity, but actually consisted of no more than a few hours. By this time however, the sun was beginning to set, casting strange shadows behind the trees causing the woods to change into a sinister place nothing like the earlier forest filled with wonder and excitement. Finally making his way back to the edge of the forest (not sure if this is a realistic feat for a lost four year old, but eventually he'd have to choose the right direction and find his way out right? Maybe?).
"Mama!" he cried, the tears starting again. This time however, they were tears of relief that were designed to elicit sympathy from his mother. "Mama!" he repeated louder moving closer to his mother's shape on the ground. When there was still no response, Rorren stopped crying, instead becoming angry. Why wasn't she answering? He had been gone for such a long time and she didn't even care! "Mama! Wake up!" he shouted, moving through the dark to shake her shoulder. But she didn't wake up. Instead, Rorren let out a heart wrenching scream as the shaking motion caused her head to roll away from her body, new blood spilling onto the already saturated earth. Backing away from the body, he tripped (so cliché) over another body behind him. Peering through the dark, Rorren realized the smashed in head was his brother's.
                                                 **********
         As he rose from another fitful sleep, the King of Mersyn realized that his enemy was less than ten hours away.  He would need to move fast to get everything in order to defend his kingdom.
         He donned a deep purple dress robe, and began calculating strategies and necessities in his mind.
         What he knew so far.  One: he alone knew about the magic he possessed.  This was extremely important because with sole knowledge of this incomprehensible weapon, he could obliterate the entire Valhar army before they realized the truth themselves, and then who would be left to share what they knew?
         Two: the enemy would arrive by sunset today.  A small shudder ran down Rorren's spine.  Even with restrictions on magical use, Valhar was extensively powerful, and they had wielders that could wipe out countless of Mersyn's ranks before Rorren could take them down.
         Three: Valhar had been spying on them.  Had they gleaned any valuable information and reported back multiple times before being caught?  How many times had they snuck in the gates undetected?  Even though there was no way they could know about Rorren's deepest secret, they could have discovered strategies, battle plans, and possibly even sabotaged their heavy artillery.  Their involvement could cost Mersyn greatly. 
         And finally, Rorren knew that he would have to lead the army.  He had never even fought in a single battle, though extensively trained in the sword, bow, and other various weapons.  Also, he knew many strategies, and had even created a few of his own.  But the actual experience of riding into the faces of thousands of men who are determined to take you and your entire kingdom down is something that cannot be imagined, and that edge would be most valuable to him...
         But no matter, no use dwelling on the impossible.  He needed to press forward, and prepare.  He made a mental list of things for Arlot to do.
         When he made it to the kitchens, the same eccentric cook he had encountered the other night was awake, and waiting for his command.  Although a little apprehensive, he seemed fit to make a suitable meal.
         "Fetch me a leg of lamb and cider," Rorren told the cook.  The strange man bowed swiftly and backed his way out of the room, shouting something similar to, "If anyone can make a leg of lamb fit for the King, it is none other than Thedopholus, the Grand Cook of Mersyn!"
         Rorren made his way to the dining room.  He could hear the clamor of war noise, and an uneasy feeling began to creep into his stomach.  He felt queasy, although there should be nothing to worry about.  He held great wealth in what he knew and with what he could do, but he still worried about the skill Valhar's sorcerers possessed.
         With a great flurry and bustle of arm waving, and a superfluous presentation of his meal, the man apparently named Thedopholus bowed himself out of the room, after attempting to tuck a cloth into his cloak front.
         Rorren ate alone, though most definitely not in silence.  The commotion that surrounded him only made it harder to consume his lamb, which on second thought tasted quite odd, and eventually he gave up and placed the meat down on his plate and left the room.
         Navigating the many corridors was difficult, and many people failed to bow to him when he passed, but his mind was occupied and he felt no need to bark at these men who could very well never come home.
         Rorren passed through the vast wooden doors at the front of his castle, and instead of requesting the guards to open the gates, who would no doubt take an eternity to finish their tasks, he told the man at the base of the guard tower to simply let him pass whichever way he pleased.  The man, though looking confused and possibly concerned, simply bowed and replied, "As you wish."
         With the tightening of his temple, Rorren gathered the magic that dwelt within him.  He could feel it, taste it, and he yearned to use it.  With a sudden burst, he shot forward, running at an incredible speed.
         The wind took his hair, ripping it from its tightly fastened loop, and allowed it to flow freely to his shoulders.  The way it tickled his skin made him smile, and he inhaled the wind that was speeding towards him deeply, filling his lungs and cleansing his thoughts.
         At the last second, Rorren leapt into the air, and landed nimbly on the thick rope that tied the draw bridge to the castle's wall.  Without stopping, he took another great leap, and caught the top of the wooden bridge with his gloved hands.
         A sudden thought struck him.  He felt the uncharacteristic smile widen and sheer joy flood him as he manipulated the air around him.  A great burst of wind caught him from behind, and he was flying.
         Flying!  He gained speed as he approached the clouds.  He saw everything around him, leagues and leagues of meadows and forests and far-off kingdoms that were specs in the distance.  He saw birds and creatures and lakes and rivers, everything gleaming in the beautiful sun.  The sight took his breath away, and he lost control of his magic.
         For a moment he seemed to hover, but then he began to plummet, gaining speed.  The sheer terror that seized him was enough to lose consciousness, but somehow he held on to the present.
         With all the concentration he could muster, which was slim compared to what was likely to be needed, Rorren gained the magic of his mind.  The pain that penetrated his temple made him yelp.  But, with the greatest effort he had ever exhumed, he halted his descent to his kingdom below.
         As he circled where he flew and slowed his heart rate and breathing, trying to shake the horror from his thoughts, he realized he was less than a league from the ground.  The possibility of death was vastly closer than he had realized, and this made him shiver despite the intense heat that now plagued the countryside.
         With much more caution, Rorren gained altitude once more.  He took in the view slowly, attempting to concentrate a great deal more on the wind he was riding than the black mass that he saw less than twenty leagues away near the peak of Mount Mersyn.
         Oh, please help me, thought Rorren with all of his might.  They had less than two hours, at the rate these men were running...sprinting?  How could they be moving so swiftly?  They surely couldn't keep up this pace for long...
         Rorren figured that their sorcerers were the source of the unusual speed.  He had seen through the prisoner's mind where the army of Valhar was located, and had simply assumed that it would take them such a time to reach Mersyn...he was greatly-and possibly fatally-mistaken.
         The swarm of men, in greater numbers than anticipated, was now flying down the mountainside.  The slope added to their velocity, and they were practically falling off the peak to the stretch of land before the gates of Mersyn. 
         Rorren, with fury and rage and fear beyond any he had ever felt, swept his arm around, bringing him to face the ground, and with a burst of air he soared towards the ground.  Without stopping to take in the shocked faces of his subjects and the awe that betook the expressions of his guards, he sprinted with unnatural speed, gaining information from those around him to more quickly reach his destination.
         With a great kick, he swung open the enormous double doors of the castle.  In order to find what he was searching for, he clapped his hands in front of him, and out of them shot a stream of air, pushing all of the aides and servants and other members of his royal court to the sides, leaving him a clear path.  The sudden silence was broken by the quick click of Rorren's heels on the marble floor of the front room.
         He stormed through the crowd, vaguely noticing the delayed bows as he passed by the people on either side of him.  The headache that was spreading down his neck and into his spine was debilitating, but Rorren shoved forward.  He eased up on the tunnel of air, yet no one dared to step into the path of the enraged King.
         With one mind read, Rorren had gleaned all he needed.  He knew where Arlot was.
         With agility as graceful and magical as only the powerful King of Mersyn could posses, he ran straight through the crowd, his deep robe billowing around him, his hair hanging in a handsome tangle about him.  He found Arlot where he knew he would, in the stables, readying the horses for battle as he had directed him earlier.
         His gray-haired advisor looked so old and alone as he helped the stable boys saddle the horses and place the chain-mail armor on their heads, torsos, and flanks.  Rorren stared at the line of horses...so short, he thought...
         Arlot looked up as Rorren entered, his presence so powerful he could not miss it.
         "Y-your Highness, what ever is the matter?" Arlot asked, concern knitting his brows together and bringing him a few steps closer to the King.
         "Valhar will be here within two hours," declared Rorren.
         Recognition slowly donned on Arlot's face.  He realized that they were not sufficiently prepared...he knew that they had a great chance of losing the battle.  His eyes widened to perfect spheres of realization and horror.
         "Oh, my..." he said as he stared without seeing.  The aura of orange began to surround Arlot...and then it began to consume the entire room.  Every single man in the stable was terrified.  They knew that if Mersyn should fall...
         "We must get all of the men on the field.  Now."
         "But, Sire-"
         "NOW!" growled Rorren at the top of his lungs.  A great surge of hatred for Arlot began to build within him.  The man was completely helpless.  He smiled slowly.  "And you will ride beside me."
         Arlot's mouth began to fall open, but he snapped it shut.  A cold expression passed over his face.
         "It would be my honor," he replied tonelessly.  He bowed deeply, turned, and slowly mounted the bay that he had just prepared.  The bay he would no doubt take to his death.
                             *                              *                              *
         In all honesty, Rorren's heart never beat at a normal pace after he discovered the horrible truth that Valhar would be arriving within two hours.  The sheer shock hit him square in the chest, and ever since he operated at a pace much faster than was normal.
         The magic he had exerted earlier had weakened him, a thought that troubled him when his mind flashed to the view he would have at leading his Merysnites into the face of death.  A deep urge to turn and flee the kingdom tugged at him at all moments, and a few times his feet turned of their own accord towards the forest to the west of the Kingdom, directly opposite the assault Valhar had chosen.  He had forced them back into position and continued carrying out the unending tasks that needed tending before he sent his troops to the field.
         First on the list was to speed up the arrow carvers.  The needed to whittle much more swiftly, and as he had told them the news, the elderly men, their eyes wide with fear, bent their noses closer to their work and carved away shreds of wood that fluttered ominously to the ground.
         Second, Rorren had ordered all of his heavy artillery out onto the field, including the catapults, trebuchets, and his easily ignited flaming stone slabs he had personally transported by magic from the top of castle walls to the foot of the catapults.  This had taken no longer than ten minutes, but the energy it had drained caused Rorren to sway on his feet and stumble to the ground.  He had ordered all men to stop touching him and get back to work, but he had secretly appreciated the kind soldier who had picked him up off of the ground.  He ordered him to the back of the lines.
         After instructing his best magicians to first, by working together, place the slabs on the catapult and then ignite them as the other soldiers cut the ropes.  He told them they would have to move fast to fire off all of them.
         "B-but, Your Highness, none of us are as skilled as you," one of the armored sorcerers said.  His face was shamed by their combined lack of worth.
         Rorren, in a fit of exhausted emotion, placed both of his hands on the soldier.
         "You can do it.  Together.  I believe in you...and I'm counting on you."
         After that, he had stolen away and flown once again towards the sky and taken in the view that made him smile despite the catastrophe knocking at his door.
         There they were, like locusts, devouring all of the green grass from view as they scampered across the country side.  They were soon to be in view of those on the field.  They were quicker than he thought.  With a great exercise of self control, Rorren pulled the wind around himself and plummeted to the bell tower.
         With all of the force he dare use, the great King of Mersyn slammed himself feet first into the gold, shimmering bell.  With an unbearable jolt of pain that seized his body, Rorren fell at the base of the bell, as the thunderous peal cried an earsplitting alarm throughout his kingdom.  Though his eyes swam, he could faintly see the soldiers sprinting and pouring out of the castle towards the future site of the awful battle that was about to begin.
                             *                              *                              *
         He woke atop the tower under the still undulating clapper, and with a skipped beat of his heart, Rorren realized that the war was only minutes away.
         He slowly picked himself up off of the rough stone, examining the scratches and bruises that ran the length of his body, and tried to gauge the pain he would feel riding his jet-black stallion to the front lines.
         With a sudden will to carry his people, the King flung himself off the top of the tower, somersaulted twice, and landed with a large puff of wind beneath him so that hardly a sound could be heard when his feet hit the worn earthen pathway.
         Though flying would undoubtedly be faster, the need to retain energy was higher on the list of Rorren's priorities.  He noticed with an uneasy tightening in his stomach that no one but a straggling soldier or two dared walk the lower paths of the Outer Mersyn city.
         While expending his magic and adding more pressure to his already throbbing head, he raced through the street ways and hurried to the draw bridge.  Since the castle front was abandoned except for the few castle guards and nobles, Rorren could pass easily over the coursing moat and into his courtyard to the stables beyond.
         Inside he found the stable boys and a handful of soldiers still waiting to be placed on their steeds.  He recognized none but Arlot.
         His aging advisor was mounted upon his steed, holding his reins as well as those leading to the brilliant stallion Rorren would head the defense of his kingdom on.  The whinnying mount shifted from hoof to hoof, rocking his head in a figure eight movement, sensing the tension that floated on the wind.  With a tug on his reins, he loosed Arlot's grip, and stomped in circles through the stables.
         It was then that Arlot spotted Rorren at the entrance.  He gave a cold look, though a strange smile began to tug at his lips.  He spun his bay steed around once, keeping his eyes on Rorren, and bolted from the stables towards the field.
         A sudden urgency hit Rorren square on.  He calmed the anxious beast with his mind, speaking soothing words, and he cleared the length of the stable in three strides, leapt atop his stallion, and with great precision of his magical abilities, led the horse over the draw bridge, racing down the main path of Outer Mersyn, and burst out into the open plains, where the great army of Valhar was closing in and preparing their charge.
         On arrival, he saw dotted throughout the front rank his twenty-some thieves, clearly visible from the standard gray mail.  Though obviously criminals, Rorren was glad to have more men on the field...perhaps some that deserved to be there more than others.
         A few more soldiers filed past him onto the field.  They took their spots at the rear.  Scanning the horizon, he realized with a twinge of fear that Valhar would outnumber them almost two to one.  Where had such a small kingdom recruited such a vast number of men willing to fight for them?
         A great gust of wind blew, bringing with it dust and dirt and leaves from the forest.  Rorren shielded his face in the crook of his arm.  A whirling, screaming sound accompanied the blast.
         At once, the assault stopped.  Rorren urged his stallion forward through his ranks, watching the rows of soldiers readying their swords, bows and arrows fly by, and finally pulled up next to Arlot.  He was thankful for the golden armor that covered him and his mount, protecting them from the dust that could easily disable the vision of many of his men.
         In the face of the onslaught that was beginning to march their way, Rorren's whole body began to tingle with the exhilarating thought of obliterating these men, of tearing down every last attacker, and enslaving the rest in his dungeon...
         "Arlot," Rorren called to his right.
         The man next to him pulled his horse around to face him.
         "Yes, Rorren," he replied.
         With a pause, he continued.  "Your Highness," he said, stressing the two words, "commands you to fall back.  Lead the men behind us.  They need your guidance.  They need a leader, and I appoint you as their commander."
         "As you wish, Sire," he answered with a slight incline of his head.  "But a messenger was sent from Valhar.  Their king requests a parlay."
         This was an odd turn.  Why, when they had caught Mersyn vastly unprepaired and leaving them little time to arrange the defense, did they want to waste what they gained by conversing with Rorren?  Perhaps they also had something they were waiting on...he would make the trip across the meadow-the very one he had created make believe battle scenes as a young boy-and talk with the enemy king.
         "Well we shan't keep them waiting then," the King announced, and took his horse at a gallop to meet halfway, with Arlot in his wake, stopping beside a boulder shaped like a snake where he and Edwen had once played for hours...
         As he waited for the trotting man and his accompanying advisor, Rorren wondered why such vivid memories of his family were tangling with his present thoughts...a day swimming in the brook...traveling to Dallow...hide-and-seek in the forest...his birthday cake, laying smashed and ruined on the grassy field...
         He shook his head to clear his mind as the King of Valhar, King Malvador, slowed his horse and halted with his advisor ten feet away.  Rorren, in an attempt to intimidate the man he would soon destroy, cleared the gap between them and gave them barely enough space between the snouts of the horses for breathing.
         "Greetings, King Malvador," began Rorren in a strong voice.  The excitement was still building inside of him.  He could feel the power surging from his men, could feel their readiness to defend their kingdom.  We shall seize this victory, he told himself over and over.  Doubt still swam in his mind, but he was keeping it at bay as long as possible.
         "Hello, King Rorren," said the enemy, a slight hint of boredom detected in his voice.  This puzzled Rorren.  Was this an act, was he really scared?  Or perhaps Rorren's secret would turn the tables, and Valhar had saw this as a simple annihilation.  Malvador was so overconfident...the King of Mersyn would destroy the entire field he now faced.
         "My advisor has informed me that you wished to speak with me?"
         "Yes, thank you Arlot for pulling him away from the army."
         Rorren felt a flicker of confusion pass across his features.
         "Of course, Your Highness," replied Arlot with a long dip of his gray head.  Rorren looked at Arlot, wondering why Malvador would know Arlot's name...
         The advisor simply smiled at him, a strange grin that stretched the wrinkles on his forehead and caused the inner corners of his eyebrows to press downwards, giving his face a malicious façade.  He pulled his horse to Rorren's side, so that they were face to face.
         "You deserve a great gift for the appreciation I have received.  And you also deserve a gift for all the land you have kept from the people of Valhar, for all that you and that greedy little ignorant father of yours decided to keep for have all for yourselves...and most of all, you need this gift because I despise you and everything that has to do with you.  You shall  never see me bow to your filth-ridden, obtuse boots ever again."
         And with shock still registering on his face, Rorren felt the cool metal blade of the dagger pierce the exposed leather on his right side, and roared in agony as Arlot tore it out of him and a vicious twist of his wrist.
         The blurred vision that accompanied the vast pain that shook his body in waves of unbearable agony allowed Rorren to only glimpse a partial amount of what was occurring at that time.  He swayed on his horse, but felt arms wrap around him and heave him to another horse, making him scream at the torment this caused his side.
         His ears rang with the blood pulsing through his veins to his deep wound, but he could make out the man who was carrying his weight on the horse cry out to someone, "The King has been stabbed!  The King has been stabbed!  Crush Valhar, they have wounded our King!"
         Soon afterwards, Rorren and his partner on the horse pulled up in front of what sounded to be a vast army by the sounds of metal and whinnying and anxious conversation.  He could hear orders of ‘charge' and ‘fire at will' and ‘avenge our king' being shouted on the wind.
         Rorren's vision cleared enough to be able to make out this unknown rider who had hauled him back to the gates of Outer Mersyn.
         "Your Highness," declared Arlot, stressing the two words, "commands you, Rorren, King of Nothing, to die for your kingdom, along with all the men on this field."
         With great force, Arlot brought the hilt of his sword down on Rorren's crown.  As consciousness began to slip like water through his urgent, grasping fingers, the true King of Mersyn heard his once trustworthy advisor's order before falling into blackness:
         "Lock him in the dungeon.  I will be back soon."
                             *                              *                              *
         Roren woke slowly, groping out for his consciousness, only to have it slip away again, just out of reach.
         All at once, a great power surged into Rorren through his wounded side.  He gasped in pain, and sat up quickly, unsheathing the sword from its scabbard, and held it at the ready.  His eyes snapped open, scanning the seemingly empty room, as his heart pounded out a rhythm so swift it sounded like a continual roar.
         "Easy, easy please Your ‘Highness," came a voice from behind Rorren.
         The King spun around, and with great precision coming from hours of practice, had pinned the intruder with his knee on his thigh, a hand on his chest, and finally, Rorren's sword pressed firmly into his neck.
         "What well trained reflexes, Sire!" exclaimed the man with his back on the marble dining room floor, a strange grin spreading across his face.
         "Why are you here?" Rorren said in a growl, though he was utterly confused by the fact that with one small movement, he would be killing his eccentric cook.
         "Later, later, I'll tell you that later!" he cried, and with a blur, he had pushed Rorren off of him, and was now standing, holding his hand out to Rorren offering assistance.
         "Let's go, Your Highness, before more are sent for us," the man said urgently.  "An arse that is late will never escape!" he added in a sing-song voice.
         Yet again baffled by the short-haired, tall, strange brunette, Rorren used a little magic to aide his jump to his feet, in order to decline an offer of help and retain dignity in the eyes of his companion.
         The cook smiled.  "Very sneaky, Sire.  You handle your powers well."
         With a beckoning motion, Rorren's guide took him into the kitchen.
         Through the aisles of coal ovens and iron stoves, Rorren and the cook made their way towards...well, to be truthful, Rorren was not sure of their destination.
         "Excuse me, cook, but where are we headed?"
         The man turned his head as he continued through the darkening kitchen, passing shelves lined with flour, sugar, yeast, fruits, and an unending supply of other foodstuffs.
         A smile lit his features, and he tapped his index finger to the side of his head.  "Oh, Your Highness, if you manage to rattle my name out of that unobservant head of yours, I will gladly answer that question."
         Rorren remembered once when the odd young man had mentioned a strange name that he called himself...he couldn't quite grasp it.
         "I apologize, but I do not recall it," he admitted offhandedly.  It was almost to his tongue, but then it would fall back into the murky memories at the back of his mind.
         "Well then," replied the cook, "we shall continue on in mystery!"  He smiled back at Rorren again.
         Rorren's anger bubble up inside of him.  "I am the King of Mersyn!" he bellowed to the unflinching grin in front of him.  "I demand that you tell me where you are leading me!"
         "What is my name?" he repeated simply.  He had turned the corner into the barns after entering through thick oak doors.
         With a great rage-filled cry, Rorren stamped his foot into the dirt floor of the barn.  With a great shudder, the entire foundation creaked and swayed from the magical force he had accidentally created.
         All at once, the guide had wheeled on Rorren and gripped him by the front of his golden mail tunic.
         "CONTROL YOURSELF!" he shouted, his eyes gleaming with fury.  He pushed Rorren away forcefully, and continued on through the cattle pens, containing goats, sheep, steers, chickens and a slinking tabby cat stalking the field mice that hid in the hay stacks.
         Rorren, deciding against a smart retort, sulked on, following this infuriating man to an unknown location.
         As the long building opened up into the crisp night air of the grazing field, Rorren realized that he must have been unconscious for only a short period of time.  He strained his ears, and with eyes wide with fear, found he could hear the metallic clangs and pained cries of the battle still raging in the nearby meadow.
         "We need to move hastily," Rorren's companion told him, all traces of anger gone from his voice.  "How much energy do you have left?"  He stopped for the first time, turning to look Rorren full in the face.
         Rorren assessed how much longer he could continue.  An honest answer would have been that he was exhausted.  But he wasn't about to admit fatigue to this man who considered himself superior enough not to address Rorren as Sire or Your Highness.
         "I am fine, thank you," he replied coldly.  Even as the words left his mouth, his head began to swim.  His eyes wouldn't focus properly, and he came close to sitting on the grass and falling asleep.
         Apparently his weakness was evident, for the man pointed a finger at him and cried, "You will never lie to me again!  Is that understood?"
         Rorren glared defiantly back, a last reserve of strength being used to argue with his guide.
         "How dare you question my honesty?" he shot back, already waiting at the thin barrier of his mind to unleash magic if needed.
         "Rorren, you shall not use that weapon against me," his companion whispered threateningly. 
         Rorren realized with horror that this man was more powerful than him, had to be if he could sense that someone was pushing at the barrier in their minds.  He focused his eyes upon this magical man, and yes, he could easily see the golden hue that enveloped this man.  And with a jolt, he guessed that this man was leading him straight back to Arlot.
         "You TRAITOR!" he screamed wildly, and unleashed his power, his head pounding.  A sudden burst of speed found Rorren racing towards this man...towards Thedopholus.
         Just as the relapse in concentration allowed Rorren to discover the name long-lost to his thoughts, it also allowed Thedopholus a window to open up to his own abilities.
         With one fluid movement, he lifted his arms upwards and brought them back down, mirroring the swift ascent and plunge Rorren experienced, his mind once again losing the present.  The pain shuddered up and down his spine, concentrated mostly at his temple.  He knew he must be groaning in agony.
         He heard Thedopholus whisper, "I told you not to, Your Highness...arrogant, spoiled child...I will wait then."
                             
                             *                              *                              *

There are some issues and things that need to be filled and things that don't add up or make sense during this whole episode, but we have yet to go back and revise it, so please let us know what you have trouble understanding between part 2 and 3
                             *                              *                              *
         
Only part 2, PLEASE read on, we really appreciate it!! :)