Magnum Opus(Prelude, Chapters 1-3)Draft2

Prologue:
Terremort

    Somewhere far away, deep in a land where Magic runs wild and the creatures of power roam free, the fortress of the Darkind was silent with anticipation. The true fight for Dorok was beginning.
    Deep within the valley were the fortress sat, mountains loomed like the jagged teeth jutting from the jaw of a huge monster. The mountains were steep slopes of stone, shale and volcanic ash, shined by centuries of sorrow, varnished by the fear and polished by pain. They rose high into the sky like great sentinels of terror and evil.
    The plants that once grew on the mountain’s rocky hills lay in tangles of dead vines and wizened and withered weeds, killed by some unseen source of vile power. Their crumbling skeletons were sucked dry of life and beauty by the power of the Sickness. Here, there was nothing but darkness and volcanic rocks scattered on the dusty, dry ground. Between every stone, valley and mountain the shadows seemed depthless and hungry for the light that never came. It was a world of absolute evil that no amount of joy or light could overcome.
    Hidden within the dimness of the great mountains on the northern shores of Dorok, the fortress stood like a mountain of carved stone in the dead valley. Terremort’s black, obsidian battlements glistened against the quiet night around it, like the mountains round about. Towers and thick walls rose tall into the air and cut deep into the mountainside, holding it them in place like the roots of a huge, black tree. Torches burned in brackets on either side of every door and window, lighting the evil palace with the faint, eerie glow like the light of a dying candle. A feeling of both mystery and evil hung about this place, both mystifying and frightening all who passed beneath it.
    A steep, crooked valley ran north of Terrmort. It sat in the midst of a dormant volcanic mountain range, Eltwist, wounded by Terremort’s curse. Few dared to traverse the treacherous paths of Eltwist, but somewhere beneath the dead stillness of the valley’s eternal night a lone figure rode his midnight black steed through the mountain’s pass and down the dusty, forsaken paths.
    An evil being stood before the iron gates of Terremort, anticipating the arrival of this lone rider. Yargoth Hisk stood in the shadow cast by south wall. He waited for the rider to approach the heavy iron gates of the fortress. He drew the cowl of his sorcerer’s robe down low over his face, preferring the feeling of mystery and evil to shroud his identity. Few people had seen his face and fewer had lived to tell, but those few who had survived an encounter with him and had lived never forgot that horrible memory.
    The awaited rider slowed his horse by the gate and swung from his saddle, turning toward the torches’ pale glow. From his hiding place, Hisk’s eyes glittered with malice as he grinned at the man from inside his black hood. Then he pressed deeper into the gloom to prevent being seen. There he hissed an almost inaudible command from inside his concealment…
    …And he vanished into thin air.

*          *          *

    The rider grasped his horse’s lead with a firm hand as he stepped into the torchlight. A giant black forest cloak fell to his muddied riding boots. He wore the cowl drawn over his face, like Hisk, but he did so preferring secrecy for a different reason. He had a perilous past and a ravaged face that left a dark mark on his name. Everyone knew his face and his name, but few knew now where he resided.
    He guided his horse to the gate and banged the heavy knocker several times. Stepping back, he waited for a response from within. For a moment only silence greeted him and the torches continued to sputter and give off their smoky light.
    An unexpected wind washed through the valley, blowing out the torches if a puff of smoke. Darkness ruled over the entrance to Terremort, deeper than ever. Volva and his horse grew uneasy. The horse nickered and scraped its hooves on the ground in annoyance.
    Out of view of the strange traveler and his steed, something moved in the rocks, coming towards them. Volva heard rocks scattering on the ground behind him, disturbed by the flit feet of an unseen foe. He drew a long sword from the inside of his cloak and crouched low, sensing danger. Behind him his horse whinnied and shied, frightened by the presence of the beast. The thing in the shadows stayed out of view, preferring to hide from its prey.
    Then, another movement caught the visitor’s attention as something else moved through the dry pebbles and tablets of shale off to their left. A hiss came from somewhere nearby and there were mores sounds, this time coming from all around, moving forward, stealthily and cautiously toward their prey.
    Then the man in the black cloak calmed down. A look of both relief and annoyance crossed his face at the same time. Standing up straight once more, he sheathed his sword and called out into the night. “I am not fooled by your trickery, Hisk. Show yourself.”
    Another hiss came from through the rocks. The monsters in the shadows quieted and stopped moving, much to Volva’s secret relief.
    Out of thin air, Hisk rematerialized from smoke, right in front of the rider and horse. The horse reared in fright and Volva had to grab the reins and pull it back down. Hisk stood, watching in amusement as Volva shouted at his mount to be still.
    “Stop it, Hisk.” Volva called to the sorcerer. “I know you can.”
    Hisk gave him a barely perceptible shrug and complied. He extended a clawed, scaly hand at the horse and shouted something unintelligible. The horse fell back onto all four hooves and stopped, dazed by whatever spell Hisk had placed it under. Hisk ignored the beast and turned back to Volva. He gave him a deceptive, but charming smile… A smile which one could not see because of the drawn hood of his robe, but that one could feel clearly as the creature’s two green-slitted eyes rested on you.
    “Welcome to Terremort old friend. I hope that my little pets did not scare you.” Hisk said with an apologetic look of mock worry.
    Unfazed by this typical treatment, the rider stared back from under his own drawn hood. “Anyone is a fool who doesn’t fear your ‘pets’, as you call them. But you are an even greater fool for not heeding your master’s orders. You are expressly forbidden to harass anyone with your powers. It is abusive to your Master’s authority to go against his wishes in such a way.”
    Yargoth Hisk replied with a cold expression in response to these last words. “SteelClaw is not my Master. Our Master is the only one that holds true power over me. I was the Dark King’s Second and his greatest. My own power mirrors his as I control his minions and follow his orders, Volva. SteelClaw was a mistake. He could not possibly hope to ever be as powerful as me or my one true Master. SteelClaw is a fool to aspire to be equal to us.”
    “Yes, you were the Second, but SteelClaw was the First. Our Master bound you in service to SteelClaw by the spell of the Ring. I am both SteelClaw’s council and one of his bodyguards. I am also one of the Dark King’s most trusted subjects. You will do well to remember and respect that in the future, Yargoth. The King might not be too happy if one of his best men went missing. You must remember to respect my authority, Hisk.”
    “Why should I? You hold no more power in your body than a cold stone.”
    Angrily, Volva swept his hand out to grab at Hisk, but found himself clutching at thin air as Hisk dematerialized into a cloud of smoke. The sorcerer swept away from him and reformed into solid matter again, well out of reach. With a concealed grin at the rider, he spoke again in his gravely, reptilian voice. “Someday, SteelClaw will be no more and you will serve no one. Then I will be the King’s true equal. Then you also will be at my mercy.”
    Volva backed away as well and took the reins of his frightened horse, pulling it back and away from the creature. “Threatening is all you will ever do. Everyone knows that you hate SteelClaw as he hates you, but you are too scared to oppose him. You know what Reuben would do to you.”
    The cloaked being glared back at Volva with hate that made the man shiver. Hisk’s body began to evaporate into a cloud of smoke, much as a cloth frays at the edges and begins falling apart. His smoky figure began floating away on an invisible breeze but before he was gone he spoke a few last words.
    “You will see. No one can rule forever, not even The Dark King.”
    Volva stiffened. He watched as the misted form of his adversary’s body disintegrated, but all the while he pondered on Hisk’s possible motives for a few seconds longer before he was gone. Who was he in truth? Why did he believe so adamantly that he could be the equal of the most powerful being ever to live?
    Pushing his questions to the back of his mind, he turned back to the gate.
    As if on cue, an invisible hand lifted the latch and the steel gate swung inwards.

Chapter 1:
Juan and Jarth

    The boy dragged himself onto the beach, soaked and tired. His short, blond hair plastered to his forehead, thick with salt and drenched through with sea water. Straining, he heaved himself up onto his knees. His ragged breathing was the result of hours of swimming through rough waters, struggling to keep his head above the surface. Now that he had reached shore, he was no longer certain where he was.
    Looking up, he looked down the shallow, sandy beach and saw the lights of a nearby village. The boy rolled over onto his back and looked up into the night sky, watching the twinkling stars and the last of the storm’s clouds floating away.
    A shadow crossed his vision and he found himself looking up at a tall, young man in his late thirties, bearing a sword in one hand.
    Jarth, the boy, stared in shock. “Juan.” He whispered.
    Juan spoke. “I am surprised to see you… alive.” A twisted smile spread across the man’s face. He glanced at the sword which hung at his side. “I’m afraid that I may have to remedy that. I cannot leave loose ends lying around, you know.”
    Jarth glowered at him with vehement hate. “You will not win, Juan. I will stop you somehow.” His pride and haughty boldness were evident in his voice, part of his natural character.
    Juan laughed humorlessly at this. “I’m afraid that I can’t allow that. Besides, who can fight for you, seeing as you can’t defend yourself through all your pain?” He looked around for an instant, as if searching for any to challenge him, but they were alone. Then he looked down at Jarth again. “You are but a half-dead, powerless child. How could a sixteen-year-old boy hope to change the course that our Race was meant to take?”
    “What do you intend to do to me?” The boy asked bluntly.
    “Destroy you, if necessary.”
    Jarth laughed mirthlessly. “I must be important.”
    “Not really, I just can’t have you telling people who I am. A pathetic, cowering boy like you could never pose any real threat.”
    Jarth’s laughed died away at Juan’s last words. His expression contorted into a look of fury, anger roaring in his mind. Unable to control himself any longer, he sat up and held his palm at Juan. Before the older man got a chance to stop him, Jarthwyn spoke several words in quick succession.
    “Xeih Aruka Shaktell-Juan!”
    Juan brought the sword up and blocked the spiraling flare of energy which burst from Jarth’s open hand. The spell ricocheted off an invisible barrier that formed before the blade. Jarth tried to shout the counter-charm, but it was too late. The reflected spell struck Jarth, knocking him down to the ground again.
    Jarth screamed in pain and curled up on his side, feeling his muscles seize up as the engery traveled up and down his limbs, burning like acid. The ball of fire singed his clothing, but what he had managed speak of the counter-charm reduced the extent of the damage done to him. His flesh had light burns in some places and his body was still burning with pain, but besides that he was unharmed.
    When he was partially recovered, Juan turned him onto his back with his foot. “Stupid child…” He growled. “Don’t try that again.”
    Jarth was shivering in pain and his arms were clutched to his chest, but his eyes looked up at Juan with the same look of hatred. “Burn in Talgaroth, Juan.” He spat rudely through his shaking voice. He was tempted to try again anyways, just in case he was more successful on his second try, but he already felt the power draining from his body and knew that he did not have the energy to throw a full spell.
    Juan knelt down and bent closer to the shivering child. “I think not. I believe that you may die long before I do. Still, you may be of use to me one day soon.” He extended his palm on Jarth’s head, as the boy had done. An eerie white light began to fill his hand, building in intensity. Jarth watched in silent dread, knowing what was about to happen. In the final moments of dismay, the light expanded and filled his vision, blinding him in its brilliance.

Chapter 2:
Duel

    They found the child lying on the shore of the sea. They did not know who he was, nor where he came from. All they knew was that he needed their help. He was half-dead, scarred by fire, weak and hungry. The salty seawater had dried to his skin, causing to crack and pale and the sun burned his flesh and made him sick. His body was wracked by terrible fever and no one knew what to do for him, but to care for him and hope that he got better.
    He was found by two children, Lana and Nivlac Desirious, the two youngest children in the family of merchants by the name of Desirious. Lana and Nivlac were boisterous, happy youth. They were strolling of beach  when they found a wanderer on the beach, struggling to make his way up the sandy shores. They took him home and their mother and father cared for him like their own son.
    The boy had straight, dark gold hair that came halfway to his shoulders, stringy and fine, like silk or thread. A string of four multicolored glass beads hung over his right cheek. He was of average height, with hazel eyes and long legs. They guessed that he was about fifteen or sixteen. When they found him, he was wearing a tunic made from cloth of many different shades of brown, like forest leaves patched together into a soft, light fabric. There seemed to be something very natural and calm about him that they noticed the first moment they brought him into their home.
    They called him Christopher, or Chris, after first foster uncle, Christopher Rolphin. Christopher never found out whether or not this was complimentary because he never got to meet his uncle. Christopher Rolphin died two years before Chris ever arrived in Katan, the small country in which he now lived.
    When his wounds were healed and he grew healthy again, they saw how different he truly was. The longer he stayed, the stronger, more agile he became. He began to exhibit extraordinary feats of strength that should have used muscles twice the size of his own. He was also the fastest and most intelligent boy in the village.
    But then more things began happening. They saw how well he handled animals and how gently he tended plants. He showed others that he was smarter and fitter than the other children his age.
    Everyone began to wonder more and more where this strange child had come from, who was and how he had inherited such abilities. But this question led to the most startling discovery of all:
    Chris didn’t know the answers to these questions either…

*          *          *

        Chris drew his weapon and faced his adversary. The polished surface of his wooden blade flashed as it reflected the early-morning rays of sunshine. Chris’s face looked lively and awake, always ready for anything. He held his weapon loosely in his right hand and gave it an experimental twirl. It was light and moved easily so that he could attack with the same agility as if it merely part of him. In a sense, the weapon was a part of him, always there, ready and waiting. He felt a connection with all weapons and tools as though they were an extension of him, moving to his will, as would a finger or an arm.
    Across the field, another boy walked in his direction. Robert. Chris took time to appraise him from afar. Robby, as he preferred being called, was a soldier in training. His brother was already in the army, serving as a legionary captain. His brother was tall, slight and strong. Robby was less than overweight, but wasn’t underweight, either. He had big muscles though Chris noted to himself. Robert had a few red freckles on his face and dark strawberry-colored hair was cut short to keep it out of his eyes.
    Robby stopped about five feet from Chris and struck his sword point into the ground so he could lean on it like a cane. -Bad for the tip- Chris noted this also. A blunt tip couldn’t piece an enemy’s armor. Robert didn’t seem to know this however, nor care. Instead, he left it were it was an mopped his sweating face with an already sweat-damp rag.
    “Why did we have to meet out here?” He asked, clearly peeved.
    “Because I knew that we wouldn’t be allowed to duel in the middle of the village.” Chris responded.
    “You mean, we aren’t supposed to do it at all and you don’t want to get caught.” Robby accused.
    “I didn’t want a confession from you, Robert.” Chris joked. “I just wanted a duel. Anyhow, Mother told me to be careful, not to quit dueling. Besides, I have to keep conditioned.”
    “There are plenty of ways to work out without hurting people in the process.”
    “Are you worried about me hurting other people or are you more worried about me hurting you?”
    Robert stiffened. Chris had touched his pride. “I’m not afraid of getting hurt. You’ll never get to touch me anyhow. I’m the best trainee in my village. You’ve never been trained at all.”
    Chris shrugged. “Not that I remember. Besides, there’s such a thing as natural talent, you know.”
    Robby was feeling overconfident. “Well, any talent without training can land you on a stretcher.” He plucked his weapon from the ground and pointed the tip at Chris’s face. “I intend to do just that to you.”
    Chris rolled his eyes. He hated people like these. Just because Robert was a year older and had been trained didn’t mean his was better. “I guess that we’ll have to see, won’t we?” Chris responded coolly. He honestly didn’t know if he could beat this guy, but he figured that he could. He had unusual talents at his disposal.
    “Yes, we will see.” Robert responded menacingly. He took a step back and went into a fighter’s stance.
    Chris looked at him in fake surprise. “Already? Don’t you want to take a break first?”
    “I don’t need to rest. I’m fine.”
    “Well, then you won’t mind me doing this.” Chris rushed forward and started swinging his blade. His adversary blocked the first attack easily, but wasn’t prepared when Chris’s blade slashed out again half a second later. He shouted in surprise as Chris’s blade struck his sword shoulder, disabling him.
    “That wasn’t fair.” Robert snapped. “I wasn’t ready.”
    “Then stand back up and let’s try again. You attack first.”
    They began fighting again. They fought several times, but the result was always the same. Robert would land flat on his back, tripped, disarmed or disabled. Every time, Chris used a new trick on his rival and every time, Robert found himself faced with the problem of Chris either using one or another threat and was unable to defend himself against both. Every time his blocked, he left an opening and every time he attacked, he found himself slashing at thin air.
    Again and again, Robert landed flat on his back, more discouraged than the last time. Chris had fought people like Robert before. He thought that he would be different, but he was wrong. He had never lost a fight. Sword trainers had seen him fight and said that he had potential, but never did the right thing in a given situation. He used risky and untried methods that logically shouldn’t work, or used too much energy to deploy. Yet, as much as they criticized him, Christopher never tired or lost, though everyone he dueled did.
    One more gifted sword trainer watched Chris with intrigue. He even fought him once. Afterwards, the trainer told Chris that he had never these techniques used before, but that they were highly efficient, but only high-endurance fighters could use these abilities fast enough to pull them off. He told Chris that he should never give up on his talent. He told him to practice and develop himself. It was obvious that Chris was using a form of swordplay that had never been seen before by the people of Katan. It was plain that he must have learned this art in his homeland, the place he lived before he came to Katan. And yet Chris could not remember his homeland, his name, nor his family, nor his trainer. His memory was a blank slate, wiped clean of everything prior to waking up on Katan’s shore, ragged and beaten.
    Eventually, Robert gave up. He stood up panting and sweating and dropped his weapon in submission. “You win,” Robert admitted hoarsely. “But only this time.”
    Chris sheathed his weapon and straightened up. “Really? I thought I won all the other times too.” He was getting used to making jokes about his rivals’ stereotypical answers. They all always said the same things: ‘It wasn’t fair’, ‘I wasn’t ready’, ‘you’re bigger’, ‘you’re smaller’ and the most ridiculous: ‘you cheated’.  His jokes were just a way for Chris to ignore the statements without getting upset at his opponent. He constantly felt the urge to say something harsh, but always came up with a joke about it instead. It kept him in high spirits anyhow.
    Robert sneered and picked up his weapon again. “I’ll beat you next time.”
    Another joke stopped halfway up Chris’s throat. There was no use goading him, so Chris dropped it. “Maybe so. Keep practicing.” Chris turned to leave, but Robert’s arm grabbed his shoulder.
    There was a moment’s hesitation. “Could you teach me sometime?” Robby asked.
    Chris had never heard this before and was least expecting it from Robert so he was unsure how to respond at first. He thought for a moment before replying. “Maybe, but I don’t know it would do much good. Keep up with your style of play and come and fight me again in a while. The more you duel me, the more you’ll learn about how I fight. Then, you’ll lean to use it against other people too. But for now, keep to your own training.” Chris smiled and started to turn away again.
    “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
    Chris called over his shoulder as he walked. “I honestly wish I knew.”


    Chris, Lana and Nivlac arrived back home later that day. Nivlac and Lana had seen the duel, but it was routine for them, so they didn’t talk about it much. Chris had bee training Nivlac in swordplay, so naturally Nivlac was excited about it, but hadn’t dueled anybody but Chris thus far. Still, he showed talent and potential.
    Five-year-old Little Lana rode on Chris’s shoulders, curly gold hair tossed about by the light breeze. Nivlac walked by his side, swinging his walking stick absently. He was fourteen and dark-haired with blue eyes, approximately two years younger than Chris. The three happy children were singing. Chris didn’t recognize any of the tunes that they tried to teach him, nor did he like the much. Instead, he taught the one that he already knew.

When Island falls
And Darkind fail
The Lotar dies
Water prevail

May fallen star return
To its place in the heaven
And the Eagle will sigh
The Beast will reign

Then after defeat,
New hope will arise
The warrior return
The Warlock, he defies

The Beast will awaken
Eagle from heaven will dive
The Star will be lighted
The Blades will revive

To fight back the darkness
The creatures, the vile
The evil awaiting, trapped
Beyond spell-bound door

    They loved the song, though they didn’t know entirely what the cryptic tune was about. Chris had no idea where he knew it from, but he knew that it had meaning of some kind to it. The stuff about the Beast, the Evil, the door, the Eagle and the Blades meant nothing to him, but he felt that this song was his last key to unlocking his past. It was a lifeline to him, a path that he knew he must take to recover his memory. Still, it had done little good to him so far.
    Nivlac loved the words, though strange they were and Lana was affected by the beautiful tune. Chris was amazed by both, entranced by the music. He didn’t really understand his attraction to this song, but he did know that it was somehow very important. Many times, when he sang it he would feel as though there was something that he had to do. It was something imperative. The only time that he had ever felt this way other than when he sang the song was when he watched Counselor Juan out riding his horse in the city parades. He saw Counselor Juan and felt something tug at him. It drove him nuts not knowing what it was, but he knew there was a tie between Juan and the song.
    Nivlac tugged at Chris’s shirt, bringing him back to reality. “We’re home, Chris. What are you thinking about?”
    Chris realized that he had fazed out. They were indeed home. He shook away his thoughts and pulled Lana down from her perch on his back. “Nothing.” He said with a smile. “Take the supplies in to Mother, she’s waiting for them.” He motioned to the parcel in his brother’s hands.
    Nivlac obediently walked inside. Lana ran inside after him, skipping as she went. Chris took a moment to look around the yard. It was a larger cottage than most Katan citizens could afford. His foster father, Nivlac Desirious Senior, was a very successful merchant currently on a trip to sell goods to a neighboring country. The Desirious family still did some farming to save money and prevent having to go to the city to collect all of their goods.
    The house was large, two stories tall with a root cellar and a guest room. It was built on a hillside with a view of the wide Katan bay. A stone staircase wound from the platform to the seashore, where a seaside shake and dock sat. Flowerbeds lined the wall at the front of the house and a wood platform hung off the left side.
    He loved this house and this county. He never wanted to go anywhere else, as much as he wanted to know who he really was. In part, he was afraid that he might discover the truth, because it might mean leaving this land and family. He loved his foster parents and siblings, as he loved this country and its people.
    Chris stepped inside and walked into the kitchen where Mother was preparing dinner. The Desirious family didn’t use servant labor except in the fields. They believed in hard work done with their own hands.
    Nivlac’s materials lay spread over the table and his mother stood at the far end, rolling dough with her flour-dusted hands. She looked up as Chris entered.
    She looked up when she heard him come inside. “Could you collect some eggs and milk the cow, please? I haven’t had a chance to do it all day.”
    Chris put down his bag of things on a chair and went back out the door. He went about his work as he did every day. He didn’t mind working for his family, seeing that they treated him only as they would if he were theirs. For all they had done for him, he was only repaying them for the good they had done for him. He finished milking and collecting the eggs.
    He stood up with his things and turned to leave the barn.
    Thonk!
    A heavy, metal object struck the back of his skull. Chris felt the milk and eggs fall from his arms and spill on the floor. Dazed, he grabbed onto a post and turned around. He saw a burly, muscular man standing over him.
    A bandit. The man cursed and Chris ducked as he tried to hit him again with his shovel. Chris’s fighting instincts came roaring into action and he picked up an old, broken rake handle and slammed the blunt end into the bandit’s mouth. The man fell back with a scream of pain, mouth bleeding.
    Chris turned and ran for the door as quickly as he could is his daze. He felt two arms lock around his shoulders from behind as another outlaw leapt out from behind a stack of hay. Chris felt his muscles strain and he lurched forward, flipping the man over his shoulders and into a pile of farming tools.
    Chris saw two more men jump out into his way. He ducked under one as he jumped at him and punched the other full in the face and ran past, rushing for the door, to get out of this thief infested barn. What were they doing?
    With the others hot on his heels, Chris put out his shoulder and knocked the barn down open. Then he turned and slammed it shut again once he was outside. He let the wooden plank down to lock them inside. He heard them pounding on the down from within and saw the wood cracking. There were more than four inside, that much was for sure. He jumped back as the blade of a short, rusty sword pierced the wood. He turned and ran for the house.
    Just as He rounded the corner of the barn to run for the front door, he felt the butt of a stave crack him in the back of his head. Christopher tumbled to the ground, half conscious. He saw another, taller man stand over him with a long sword. Chris tried to stand up, but he found himself staring down the blade of his captor’s weapon the instant he sat up.
    “Don’t move one inch from that spot or I’ll kill you before you know what struck you.” The man said.
    The other bandits managed to break through the door and rushed outside. They surrounded Chris before he had a chance to think of a way out of the situation. Weapons tickled his throat, daring him to move.
    Three more bandits came out of the house, each holding one person; Nivlac, Mother and little Lana. Lana was struggling and crying for Mother. Mother was crying, staring first at Chris and then at Nivlac.
    Chris felt a lump catch in his throat. Nivlac was being dragged along the ground, a thin trail of blood streaming from his forehead. Obviously, Nivlac had not given without a fight. Chris couldn’t tell if he were still alive or not.
    He looked up at the lead bandit, feeling his hands tied behind his back. “What do you want with me?”
    The man with the sword lowered his weapon. “My name is Ugaz. I am the leader of this band. If there is anything else I wish to tell you, I will tell you. Otherwise, you will hold you quiet. You are coming with us, boy. Don’t struggle or your family will not be harmed.”
    Chris looked over at Mother. The man holding her had her hands twisted behind her back and her face showed pain, as if he were holding her too tightly. He knew that this evil man would not hesitate to do anything cruel. He knew Ugaz. Ugaz was a pitiless, successful outlaw with any loyal followers. Chris counted twelve around him and guessed that there were more close by.
    “What do you want with me?” Chris asked angrily.
    “I thought that I told you to stay quiet.” Ugaz answered. “But I guess that there is no harm in telling you that you fetch a hefty bounty in the right hands. I have been offered 60 silver rokas for your capture. It was worth the trip and the effort.”
    “Why am I worth so much?” Chris persisted.
    Ugaz signaled the outlaw holding Mother and the outlaw twisted harder. Chris’s foster mother cried out in great pain. Chris glared up at Ugaz.
    The man looked down at his prize thoughtfully for a moment. After a few moments of staring at one another this way, he laughed and Chris flinched at the strange sound.
    “Well boy, it seems that you are quite the lion in barter. I admit that you are persistent and frighteningly stubborn and fearless. I deeply admire that. Very well, I will tell you. I don’t know what makes you so valuable, but I do know about your talents as a fighter. I have of you from the other end of Katan, and that says something.” Here, Ugaz bent down closer and whispered so that no one but them and the other bandits could hear. “The King’s Counselor, Juan, paid us for this job. He seems to think that you are important. We are trading you and the money tonight, so be on your best behavior.” He added jokingly. “We wouldn’t want to create a bad impression.”
    The last thing that he remembered was something hard striking him on the back of his head for the third time that day.

    Chris drifted back into consciousness some time later. He felt the familiar rocking of a fishing boat. He opened his eyes and felt the pain in his skull return. They had taken him to the river, he realized. It seemed that they were doing some sort of trade. They were bartering him.
    He shifted in his position and found himself tangled up beneath a fishing net.
    –It smells horrible!- Chris thought to himself. He pushed down deeper into the hull of the boat to escape the smell, but this didn’t help at all. What made him so valuable? Why would Ugaz come from the other end of the country just to capture him? Ugaz said that it was accompanied with enough pay to last him a while. Ugaz also said that Juan had set this up.
    Chris shook it out of his head. Why would Counselor Juan pay all this money to take him into custody? He hadn’t even done anything wrong.
    He heard voices and listened carefully. For several seconds, he lay completely still, not even breathing. He caught one or two sounds, but couldn’t shape them into words. Frustrated, he let out his breath and listened instead to the rounds of water sloshing against the side of the boat. Outside, there were crickets chirping. An owl hooted and Chris pulled his arms closer around his chest to ward off some of the chill. He guessed it was nighttime.
    The pile of nets lifted up off of him and he looked up in surprise at the burly bandit with the bad teeth. The outlaw grunted in annoyance and brought his fist down hard on Chris’s skull.
    -Not again…- Chris grumbled to himself.
    Then everything went black.

Chapter 3:
Counselor and Ugaz

    Chris awoke again. This time it was different. There was soft cloth beneath him and the air smelled of freshly-cleaned linens. His head no longer hurt and the smell of fishing nets was gone, as was the sound of the sloshing water and creaking planks.
    He sat bolt upright, eyes snapping open and muscles tensing. He was sitting on the edge of a goose-feather mattress covered with a thick, warm blanket. A cherry wood pedestal stood in one corner bearing on its top a solid gold vase of roses. A hand-carved, solid oak desk sat against one wall with scrolls, parchments and letters scattered on its broad surface. A wood clock ticked away gently on the wall behind him and thick, clean carpet spread over the floor beneath his bare feet.
    Chris stood up off the bed and turned around. It was a small, but very expensively decorated room with white wallpaper and a silver-threaded tapestry hanging above the head of the bed.
    Chris jumped as the door opened and someone walked in.
    A tall man, elegantly dressed, stepped in and looked up from the stack of letters he was bearing. He smiled pleasantly when he saw Chris. “Ah, yes. I see that you are awake now. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
    Chris went numb with disbeleif. “Counselor Juan?”
    “Yes.” Juan sat down on the edge of the bed, a cheerful and harmless smile on his face. “This is my chamber. I didn’t want to wake you, so I let you rest. Ugaz said that you were tired, so I took his word for it and let you rest. How are you fairing so far?”
    Counselor Juan had kidnapped him? It didn’t seem right. There was something strange about this whole scenario. Why was the Counselor Juan so interested in him?
    “What’s going on?” Christopher asked.
    Juan sighed. “Well, I didn’t want a political commotion starting over the kidnapping and every other alternative was taken. In the end, I used citizen power to get a hold of you. You slipped through every other trap I laid for you. Why couldn’t you have just gone along with it?”
    “What are you talking about? What do you need me for?” Chris asked, completely mystified.
    “I’ve been looking all over the kingdom for you. You have special abilities that I could use.”
    Chris eyed him curiously. “Special abilities?”
    Juan shook his head hopelessly. “Do you mean to tell me that you haven’t felt any different from other people? Stronger, Faster and smarter?”
    It was true. Chris knew that he was right. “How do you know about that?”
    Juan laughed. “Let’s just say that I’ve been keeping a close eye on you since you came here.”
    “Why?”
    A look of annoyance crossed Juan’s face, but then it was gone again. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” He asked, bemused. “Well, I guess that I will just start from the beginning;
    “I, like you, am a stranger in Katan. Six months ago, I wandered into the country a beggar and a waif. For a time, I was scorned, but then they began to see that I had talent, ability. I was soon recognized as the smartest, quickest thinking man in the village. The people there respected my views on politics. Two months later, I was hired as secretary for one of the King’s Counsels. That Counsel died three months later and I took his place last month. Since that time, I have worked my way up being the King’s most trusted subject, honored and loved.
    “But, only six months before now, I had been a stray soul, a foreigner in a strange land.”
    Chris was impressed. “It seems that you got pretty lucky. Not many people have success like that in such a short period of time.”
    Juan looked at him fiercely. “Don’t attribute it to luck, Christopher Desirious. There’s more to it than that. Beyond that, look at yourself. Boy, you were found the day after I was.”
    This statement stunned Chris. Was Juan implying what he thought he was?
    Juan nodded at Chris’s expression. “Yes, boy. You and I are the same. We both have great talents that others can only dream of. I know who you are.”
    Chris felt hope rising within  his heart. “You do?”
    “We were sailors, child. The two of us where on a ship bound for Katan, but the boat shipwrecked. You and I only remain. I thought at first that I was the only survivor, but I see now that I was not. When I heard that someone else had survived, I didn’t dare hope that it was you. You are one who I did not dare hope could live through the storm.”
    Chris felt the weight of the world crashing in on him. He had found someone like him, but with their memory intact. “Who am I? What makes me so special? What do you want from me?”
    Juan laughed. “Again, so many questions. In time, they all may be answered, but for now only this will I answer: You are special because you are quite simply the best fighter I have ever known. Even as a baby you were a lion. Your talent with weapons far surpasses any ability that I have ever seen in any living creature in my life. Ugaz told me himself that you were formidable even to him bloodthirsty lot.
    “I need your strength and skill with weapons, Christopher.  If you help me, I will reward with all that I know, but first you must show me that you can be trusted. Arrogance can ruin everything. The knowledge of who you are may bring great pride to you, but we are also fugitives in a world where we are hunted. If we are found, we may be killed.”
    Chris nodded. He would do anything to find out who he was. “I am your humble servant, sir. Tell me what you want me to do.”
    Juan grinned and ruffled his hair. “I knew that you were a good lad. Here’s what you need to know: The people of Katan grow restless with this King Jerald Kythe on the throne. The King has held the peaces of our country for many years, but now the people crave conquest. I intend to lead them there. Katan is growing weak while the nations round about grow strong. I fear that our only hope to defend our people is to strike first, but the King does not agree, nor will he ever.
    “I want to start a revolution. And I want you to help me fight this war on the King.”
    Chris thought this trough. This was treason that Juan was talking about, but what if he was right? He knew that the neighboring countries were growing powerful, but Katan was at peace with them. They might attack in time, but they might not.
    Juan continued. “Either way, Kythe is old and growing out of his job anyway. To remove him from the throne will be fore the good of the people.”
    “When He is gone, who will take his place?”
    Juan didn’t answer. Chris folded his arms and faced the Counselor defiantly. “You want the throne, don’t you? That’s the real reason that you want to be rid of the King. You want to take power for yourself. You want me to help you revolt and take the throne for you.”
    Juan stood up and looked down at him, his deceptive smile gone. His eyes were stony and cold, looking down at Chris as though he were an offensive possession. “I am not asking you to help me, child.”
    Chris felt cold steel on the back of his neck. A sharp dagger at the hand of an enemy. Chris swallowed. He should have known that he would be left in the room with Juan alone. It would have been ludicrous. “What do I care if I die? I would be dying for our true King, Jerald Kythe.”
    “And at my hand, your family will die. Otherwise, you will help us.” Ugaz’s familiar voice replied, dagger still pressed against the back of Chris’s neck.