Pawns of Prophecy

SPINE BREAK PASS



         No sooner had the first rays of morning streamed over the lowest peaks of the Serpent Spine Mountains had the echoes of commotion reached the top of the plateau.  From his vantage, Karras Dane, Lord High King of Illaran, could see the chaotic ballet unfolding beneath him.  His men were skilled performers.  They had performed the dance many times before and would surely perform it many times to come.  He peered down at his garrison and watched as his men packed their tents while the squires attended to the horses and armaments.  Listening intently, he tried in vain to hear the orders his generals shouted.

         He was an aging man and his taste for war had long since left him.  When he could, he preferred to handle conflict with diplomacy rather than might.  Delicacy, in this case, was not an option.  The Spine Break Pass served as the only passable route through the Serpent Spine Mountains and the only lifeline to the outlaying villages beyond.  Illaran had long ago placed fortifications along the route ensuring safe passage for travelers and merchants. Because of the fortifications, troops could move through the pass without incident.  Recently, however, those forts had been the subject of swift and brutal attacks by the Northland Barbarians known as the Ogi.

         The Ogi were hideous to behold and as civilized as a rabid dog.  The average Ogi male stood nearly seven feet tall with broad shoulders and powerful arms.  Their legs were thick like tree stumps and disproportionately short for the rest of their body. They walked with a ponderous gait caused mostly by their characteristic crouch.  Their misshapen heads were long with sloping foreheads; bony ridges above their eyes served as their brow and their noses were flat and broad.  Wiry hair covered their massive frames and their ears were jagged, oversized, and pointed.  The females of the species were only slightly uglier.

         They were barbarians with no true form of government.  The Ogi banded together into nomadic tribes each with their own set of customs, laws, and leaders.  From all the tribes, a chosen one would serve as their Over-Chief, the Ogi Set.  He alone held true power over all the Ogi. 

He was the Ogi Set, the warrior chosen by the Ogi gods to rule over them all.  A tribal chieftain who wished to become Ogi Set needed to prove his worth in battle by defeating his enemies with more brutality and ferocity than any other.  Then, if he proved worthy, he would need to defeat the sitting Ogi Set in a contest of strength, which always ended in the death of at least one of the contestants.

         This battle would prove the metal of his troops.  The Ogi were ponderous and lacked the intellect of most sentient races but they were fierce combatants.  They were fierce and thought nothing of death on the battlefield.  To them it was an honor to die in the throes of war.  To the Ogi, death at the hands of an enemy in battle was nearly as honorable as killing them.

         “In a few hours.”  He thought.  “In a few hours those men will face the most brutal of enemies.  In a few hours, this dance will be replaced with another and the cries of war will overcome the din of preparedness.”

         “The battle has not yet begun, my Lord.”  Barlar, Karras’ long time advisor and friend, had climbed the rocky cropping unnoticed by his liege.  “You look as though death himself were staring you down, Karras.”

         “Just thinking, old friend.”  He spoke without ever taking his eyes off the troops below.  “How many of them will not return to their wives, their children, or their families?  Sometimes I wonder what good leading men to their deaths serves.  What good does it accomplish in the end?”

         “My Lord, Karras… we all know the stakes. Think how your wife, Ora, would feel if she even thought there was another expectant mother somewhere living in one of those outlying villages.  Think of the pain she would feel if she knew you, the King, had not used every resource of Illaran at your disposal to protect them.”

         “You’re right as usual wise friend.”

         Barlar was right, as usual.  With the safety of so many at stake, this battle was neither senseless nor needless.  Karras’ wife, Ora, would agree.  Much like him she cared, more for the lives of others than for her own and much like him she would gladly lay down her life for anyone, even a peasant.  His men often joked about how she had come to the aid of a serf when a visiting diplomat from Aurith had tried to take advantage of her.  They laughed every time they mentioned how the Queen of Illaran had ruined a trade agreement over the dignity of a serf and how she had shown the visiting noble his place in her kingdom.

         It was an embarrassing situation but one Karras recalled with a smile.  He had only been married a year prior and crowned only a few months before that.  Illaran had not had a working trade agreement with Aurith for some time and Karras was hell bent on rectifying that situation.  As a gesture of good faith, he invited the Court Liaison from Aurith to be a guest in his home with all rights and privileges of a noble of Illaran.  The Liaison took this to mean he had the right to treat the poor any way he liked.  Having seen a young serf maiden that he fancied, he thus thought he could take her and have his way with her.  He learned the error of his ways when Ora noticed what was going on. 

In all her regality… dressed in her crown, her jewels, and her queenly attire, she walked up to the liaison, gently tapped him on the shoulder so as to get his attention and, when he turned toward her, kneed him in the groin.  The diplomat left with his dignity, among other things, shattered.  Karras had tried to be stern with Ora only to find himself laughing at the situation.

         That was the kind of woman Ora was.  She was a lady in all respects but a lady who could care for herself.  She often dismissed her maids and hand maidens in favor of cooking or cleaning for herself.  She was kind and had a sweetness about her.  She was self-sufficient and could handle herself in any situation.  She had even hired Karras’ High General to teach her how to wield a sword and use a shield. She had all of this, she was Queen, and still she would trade it all for the lives of others.  A trait Karras knew well; one that endeared him to her even more so than her beauty or her grace.  Karras was smitten the moment he saw her. 

         “Grall Thet Ki’n is, in most ways like any other Ogi, Karras.  He is strong and brutal with an insatiable thirst for blood.  He is different in one important aspect, however.  He is intelligent.  He was born with an evil inside him… an evil intelligence the likes of which no Ogi has ever possessed.” Barlar broke Karras from his daydream.

         Grall Thet Ki’n was the sitting Ogi Set.  Legends surrounding him had started at almost the same time as his birth.  Some claimed he was the offspring of an Ogi and a Storm Giant.  Other legends claimed he was the mortal incarnate of Thok Ogi Mal, the Ogi god of war and battle.  Whatever the truth one fact remained:  Grall Thet Ki’n was no ordinary Ogi.  He was larger and stronger than most of his race.  Standing a full nine feet tall and weighing nearly 700 pounds, Grall Thet Ki’n towered over other Ogi.  He walked upright, lacking the characteristic hunch and ponderous gait.  He was smart as well.  Stories said he had learned to read most languages before he was 10 years old and had learned battle strategies far beyond the hunting techniques employed by most Ogi Set.  He was ruthless and had gained his position as any other Ogi, through ferocity and brutality in battle, but his was of a grander scale.

         Travelers told gruesome tales about the brutality displayed by the Ogi since Grall Thet Ki’n took power.  They told tales of Ogi spears buried in the dirt with their tips reaching into the heavens.  Though they refused to go close, they could vividly recall the outlines of the beings impaled on these spears.  They recounted how the spears would enter the body at the base of the spine and leave through the throat of the victim.  The screams, they said, would echo like banshees across the plains.  As the impaled slowly slipped further down the spear, they explained, the screams would become muffled cries for salvation drowned by the gurgling of blood from their throats.  Soldiers would return from the borderlands with tales of Ogi stripping the flesh off captives.  They said the Ogi would strip the flesh while their captive was alive and awake only to throw the strips of skin and fat into the fire to eat it like bacon.  These tales alone convinced Karras Dane that there was no chance at diplomacy.  The brutality of the Ogi left no chance for peace.

         Cheers from his men met Karras’ charge down the plateau.  “This is not a battle for honor.”  He shouted above the cheers.  “We do not march into this battle as soldiers.  We march into battle as saviors and protectors, as men charged with doing what is right and just.  We do not fight for the honor of Illaran but for its people and their right to live under the afforded comfort of our banner!”

         Karras turned to his High General.  “Has Artet returned, Maerith?”

         “He has my liege.”  Maerith answered giving Karras Artet’s report.  “He says the pass is clear from here to the inner fortification.  No chance of ambush from what he can tell.”

         Good wine, good food and the comforts of wealth had taken over Maerith’s once chiseled physique but his mind was still sharp and the respect he commanded was even sharper.  Karras was only a young man when he first met Maerith.  Maerith was merely a soldier then but Karras knew he would rise to greatness in his father’s army.  Maerith did not disappoint.  By the end of Great War, the war that extended Illaran’s boarders past the Serpent Spine Mountains, Maerith had proven his worth in battle.  Very early on, he had shown great skill as a swordsman and a leader.  He simply had a charisma about him that was undeniable even then.  He quickly earned Karras’ respect not only as a soldier and a leader but also as a friend. 

“Good.  We will march to the inner fort and rest for the night there.”  Karras decided.  “Maerith… keep your men alert.  I trust Artet but I will not be accused of underestimating Grall Thet Ki’n.”  Maerith nodded in understanding.

*      *      *      *

         The small boat drifted aimlessly across the calm lake.  The reflections of sun danced like diamonds on the ripples in the water and a cool spring breeze blew gently across the shores.  The quiet chirping of birds serenaded the two lovers as they enjoyed the peaceful calm.

         Ora was the picture of elegance.  Her linen dress caressed her curves and accentuated her breasts perfectly and the gentle breeze gave her raven black hair a life of its own.  Her presence awed and inspired Karras and her beauty made him sigh with ecstasy.  He held her close allowing the currents to take them where they may.

         “This is how it should always be.”  He whispered in her ear.  She giggled only slightly when he kissed the nape of her neck.

         The calm, however, was not to last.  Suddenly, the serenade ceased and the glistening sun became hidden behind pillars of darkening clouds.  A single shrill cry echoed across the lake shattering the silence.  Both Karras and Ora looked to the sky instinctively.

         High above them loomed the black silhouette of a ravenous raptor.  It danced in and out of the darkening sky as if it too were part of the billowing clouds.  The beasts red eyes pierced through its smoky, amorphous form.  Karras felt his stomach tighten as fear overtook him.  Ora said nothing as she ducked down inside the small boat trying in vain to gain some kind of cover.

         The raptor began its decent toward the small craft letting its shrill cry echo as it dove closer. Karras grabbed an oar intending to use it like a club if the creature came too close.

         The creature advanced ever closer with every swoop growing ever faster as it came.  Karras struck out, swinging the makeshift club in wild arcs but the beast did not slow its decent.  He watched helpless as the creature bore its beak deep into Ora’s belly.  She cried out in pain… he screamed in frustration and anger… the creature cried out in victory.

         He watched in utter disgust as the creature bore deeper and deeper into her body.  It made only the slightest hole, barely large enough to fit its beak and head through before Ora's midsection engulfed it completely.

         His stomach turned as he watched the creature move beneath her skin.  It squirmed and wiggled inside her like some kind of demonic unborn child kicking to be free.  His anger and frustration turned to disgust and nausea.

*      *      *      *

         “Ora!” Karras sat straight up in bed reaching out for the remnants of phantoms left over from his nightmare.  His bedclothes and sheets were soaked with sweat and his heart pounded in his chest, threatening to burst through.  He looked around the room, paralyzed by fear.

         “A dream.”  He sighed.  Still, he thought he could smell Ora’s sweet perfume lingering in the air.

         Fear turned to confusion.  As his senses left the dream he realized his bed was shaking and a loud rumbling was emanating from outside.  He dressed quickly.

         “Stampede!”  The shout came from the tower as soon as Karras entered the courtyard.

         Karras climbed the tower and, taking the spyglass from the guard, looked out across the pass.  His stomach turned at the sight.  “Plated Ridge-Back’s!” He yelled, jumping from the tower rather than taking the slower decent by way of the ladder.  He landed on his feet with the agility of a man half his age, rolled onto his shoulder to break the fall and was back onto his feet without missing a step.

         Plated Ridge-Back’s were large animals that resembled enormous bulls with coarse grey hair that grew thick from their sides and bellies. This hair protected them from the harsh winters in the Northlands.  Large plates of hide and bone covered their backs from which protruded a number of bony ridges.  These plates grew out from their necks and heads as well but lacked the spiny protrusions.  From each side of their heads sprouted enormous horns that grew up and curled back like those of a ram.  These horns provided the Ridge-Back with their only means of attack.  By lowering their heads and charging at full speed, the beasts effectively became half ton battering rams.

Normally docile, the beasts were prone to stampede if frightened or startled.  Causing the beasts to stampede was a favorite tactic of the Ogi.  They would frighten the herd into frenzy while directing them toward a glacial cliff.  Below the cliff, other Ogi would wait with clubs and spears.  When the animals fell, becoming injured or disoriented, the crushing blows of Ogi clubs or the slashing points of their spears would meet them.

“Maerith!  If those beasts strike full on, we can’t be sure the walls will hold!” Karras instructed his general.

Constructed from sturdy oak planks reinforced with iron shanks, the Fort walls afforded a good deal of protection.  Meant to hold off attacks from battering rams and small projectiles such not against the full rampage of some fifty or more half ton beasts, it was unclear if the walls would hold.  Karras knew the fort would fall if the walls were breached.

The iron reinforced planks moaned an uneasy resistance against the first wave of Ridge-Backs.  Karras sprinted toward the courtyard, screaming orders as loud as he could as he went.  Maerith did the same.  They both knew if the walls fell the only chance for survival would be along the cliff walls away from the main herd.

The walls shattered into iron and oak shrapnel as the second wave smashed through them.  The beasts rampaged through the fort crushing anything before them.  Man, horse, or building it was all the same to the frenzied creatures.  Karras and Maerith moved with even more urgency trying in vain to yell orders through the thick dust and overwhelming rumble of heavy hooves.  The beasts continued their deadly march destroying everything in sight.  Through it all could be heard the crashing of buildings, the cries of horses being crushed beneath the stampede, and the anguished screams of the men who had not made it to the safety of the cliff walls.

As the Ridge-Backs passed, Karras drew a sigh of relief.  His body ached from being pelted by flying stone and shrapnel but he suffered no real damage.  As his men began to regroup, emerging from the dust, their worst fears were realized.

The stampede had destroyed the outer defenses of the fort providing the distraction the Ogi needed for surprise.  Through the dust filled sky, the hulking figures of some hundred Ogi could be seen closing in on what was the courtyard.  Their clubs and spears were at the ready and their war chants echoed and boomed through the valley.  Karras and his men were trapped.  Grall Thet Ki’n’s plan had been executed flawlessly.

“To arms!”  Maerith cried as he drew his sword from its scabbard.  His men returned the call to battle.  “For Illaran!”  They cheered as they roared into the fray.

*      *      *      *

         “For the last king shall raise the Raven and the Dove.”  The voice surrounded him like a cold, lifeless mist.

         Karras looked around.  The battle raging around him was nearly motionless.  He could see every expression of fear and pain as it formed on the faces of his men.  Every drop of blood that spewed from every wound was as clear as a drop of water off the leaves of a tree.  Every gaping cut opened as if in slow motion.

         “From the last king there shall be the pawns of the gods.”

*      *      *      *

         He landed on the ground with a thud.  The sharp and sudden pain in his side was enough to draw him back from his trancelike state.  In confusion, Karras darted glances around him to ascertain what had hit him.

         “Are you alright, my Lord?”  Maerith extended his hand to help Karras.  “You were staring off.  Must not have seen that Ogi coming at you.”  He smiled.

         “Sorry, no I didn’t.  Thank you, friend.”  Karras dusted off, giving him some time to regain his composure.  “Any sign of Grall Thet Ki’n?”

         “He’s at the back of the fray riding a Ridge-Back.  The men are fighting hard but our numbers were greatly reduced by that stampede.”

         “I’m going after Grall.”  Karras said sternly.

         “Lord!  Karras, you cannot be serious.  There are at least fifty Ogi warriors between him and us.  You are not the young man you once were, friend.”

         “Defeat the Ogi Set and the Ogi will fall back into tribes.  They will have no leader and so no organization.  It’s our only chance now.”

Maerith knew Karras was right.  Retreat would be their only option.  Without the skill and intellect possessed by Grall Thet Ki’n, the Ogi would revert to nomadic tribes and not the organized army they were facing now.

“Be careful.”  Maerith said nothing more before rejoining his men in battle.

         Karras dropped his great sword opting for two lighter but equally deadly weapons.  His Gladis, a broad bladed double edged short sword, had been passed down to him from his father and to his father from his father and so on.  Though it did not provide the reach of the great sword, it was fast and its blade had been forged with near perfection.  The second was a simple flail, a weighted spiked ball attached to an iron rod by a short length of chain.  When spun around, the weight and momentum of the ball caused crushing, devastating blows that could smash through even the toughest of armor.  Leather straps wrapped around the rod provided a cushion against the impact.

         The battlefield was the epitome of chaos.  Through dust and debris, men and Ogi slashed and clubbed at each other with frenzied abandon.  The crash of weapon on weapon was only accentuated by the screams of anguish and cries of pain when bone was crushed or skin was severed.  The air was thick with energy and chaos yet Karras could still smell the distinct odor of blood.

         He waded into the fray.  The close confinement of the pass was not the optimal battlefield but his men were fighting with compassion and courage.  He battled past the Ogi warriors, intent on his goal:  Grall Thet Ki’n.  An Ogi warrior stepped toward him plunging his spear downward.  The razor sharp tip glistened with dripping blood and torn flesh.  With speed uncanny for a man his age, Karras side stepped the massive weapon and swung his flail to meet the barbarian’s jaw.  The sound of crushing bone was nauseating.  The Ogi began to stumble backward but Karras continued his attack.  With the momentum of the flail’s weight, he spun himself full circle.  His Gladis met its mark slashing a deep gash into the warrior’s throat.  Blood spurted from the wound with every beat of the Ogi’s heart.  The barbarian was dead before his body crashed into the ground.

         Karras continued his charge toward Grall Thet Ki’n.  His face was full of determination and every step was calculated.  Nothing short of his death would keep him from his goal.  He marched onward as Ogi and soldier battled around him.  One Ogi, a rather large and powerful looking warrior, swung his club toward a soldier breaking his spine and sending him flying.  Karras took notice as the Ogi warrior turned to meet his stare.

         The warrior let out a booming battle cry and raised his club high.  Using all his strength, he swung the club toward Karras letting the weight take him.  Karras stepped in toward the blow throwing his attacker off balance.  The club smashed into the ground kicking up dust and rocks and leaving a man sized hole in its wake.  Karras took the advantage.

         Using the club like a spring board, Karras launched himself into the air.  He leapt forward and high enough to meet his opponent’s eyes.  With a slight grin on his face, he brought down his Gladis, slicing deep into the ridge brow.  The Ogi screamed in agony dropping his club in preference of covering his now oozing eye.  Karras landed on his feet in a crouched position.  As he stood, he raised his blade high using his own momentum to thrust it deep into the barbarian’s groin.  Another cry of agony bellowed from the warrior that would have frozen most men with fear.

         The Ogi fell to his knees, one hand covering his eviscerated eye while the other covered his bleeding groin.  Karras dropped his Gladis and raised the flail above his head with both hands.  The Ogi turned to look up just as the weighted ball met the side of his head.  With a thud, the Ogi fell prone to the ground blood gushing from his eye, his groin, and his fractured skull.  Karras bent down to retrieve his Gladis.

         From the corner of his eye, he saw the shadow looming above him.  He rolled out of the way just as the large blade of a scimitar arced toward his shoulder.  He counter-cut back slicing slightly into his opponent’s midsection.  His opponent, however, was as agile as Karras and had managed to avoid most of the blade’s length.  Karras regained his footing and turned to face his enemy.

         Grall Thet Ki’n loomed over him his nine feet of height and broad shoulders blocked out the sun.  Grall swung his scimitar toward Karras, and, when Karras parried, the sheer strength and power of the blow caused his arm and shoulder to go numb.

         He staggered back but Grall continued his advance.  Grall grabbed Karras by the throat and, with one hand, picked him off the ground.  Karras dropped both of his weapons, clawing in desperation to free himself from the vice like grip.  Grall Thet Ki’n smiled an evil smile.

         “Illaran has had its time, King Dane.  Now is the time of the Ogi.”  Grall intoned as he smashed his helpless captive hard into the stony ground.

         Karras grasped for air and a sharp pain shot through his chest.  One or more of his ribs were broken, he could tell.  Grall hovered above him, scimitar in hand.  “You fight with valor, Karras Dane.  Perhaps Ogi blood flows through your veins.”  He laughed.

         Karras struggled to regain his strength.  Every breath and every movement brought with it a sharp debilitating pain.  Still, he could not give up.  He crawled across the ground slowly, wincing with every movement trying to reach his flail or his Gladis.  With every inch, Grall moved with him.  Every time he clawed at the ground, Grall took in the satisfaction garnered by his opponent’s agony.

         “End it, Grall!”  Karras yelled.

         “Yours is to be a slow death so your men will know the true power of the Ogi and their Ogi Set.”  He brought his blade down slicing into the back of Karras’ leg.  Karras held back a scream so not to give Grall any more satisfaction.  Another slice cut across his back.  He could no longer hold in his pain.  He screamed and Grall laughed even louder.

         He was nearly out of strength and could feel consciousness slipping from him.  He had to do something or his life would be lost.  He clawed the ground in vain.  Then, his hand touched something familiar… the leather wrapped hilt of his flail.  He grabbed hold tightly and stopped moving.

         “Is that all it takes to defeat a great king?”  Grall bellowed.  “I was rather enjoying your attempts to flee.”

         Karras waited.  He knew Grall would take advantage of a prone and helpless opponent.  It was only a matter of time before the final blow would come and when it did, he would need all his strength to avoid it.

         “Your death will not be heralded by your people, Karras Dane.  You shall be known forever as the king who failed.  I think I may even take your wife as my own.  She would be a wonderful addition to my slave pits.”  He raised his scimitar high above his head, the blade pointing downward aimed at Karras’ spine.  With a cry of victory, he brought the blade lunging down.  Karras gathered all the strength he could. Fighting the pain from his broken ribs and the deep wounds to his back, he rolled away from the blade.

         As he rolled, he swung the flail across the ground wrapping its chain around the scimitar’s blade.  With a forceful tug, he yanked the blade out from under Grall causing the barbarian to fall forward.  Grall dropped his scimitar and Karras took the advantage.  Ignoring his pain and his weakness, he aimed his flail between Grall’s eyes.  The ball crashed down hard sending his face into the ground.  The force of the flail and his own weight crushed Grall’s jaw.

         The barbarian rose, much to Karras’ surprise.  He shook his head trying to clear his vision.  Flailing at the air and the ground, Grall Thet Ki’n searched blindly for his opponent.  For the moment, black nothingness replaced his vision.

         Karras knew he was too weak to deliver a fatal blow but he had to end this soon.  His opportunity was looking at him the entire time.  The Ridge-Back mount stood nearby calmly waiting for his master.  Karras regained his feet as best he could and lumbered slowly toward the beast.

         “The more sound I make, the better.”  Karras thought.

         Grall heard the grunts of pain and followed them dutifully.  “Just a little more.”  Soon, he was in position and Karras let loose his flail one last time.

         The Ridge-Back growled in pain as the flail met its backside.  Though not hard enough to harm the beast, the blow was enough to cause pain and startle it.  It charged in panic away from the attack.  Grall heard the beast’s grunts and the pounding of its hooves but he could no more defend himself against the rampage than his eyes could see.  The beast lowered its head and charged full bore not considering for an instant what was in front of it.  Grall took the blow to his side.

         He screamed out of fright and pain, which only frightened the Ridge-Back more.  The more he screamed, the more frenzied it became.  The more frenzied it became, the more brutal its charge.  Grall tried to fight it off but his ribs were cracked by the first blow and his legs buckled beneath him.  The beast continued its charge, rearing up, smashing its hooves down onto the lump of flesh beneath it.  Grall let out his last breath as the beast trampled over his body. 

         Grall Thet Ki’n’s death spread like wild fire through the ranks of the Ogi.  Even though ferocity, brutality, and honor in battle were strong motivators for the Ogi, without an Ogi Set to lead them their resolve died quickly.  As word spread the reign of power shifted back to the individual chieftains none of which wished to continue loosing men over the cause of a fallen and disgraced Ogi Set.  They retreated back through the pass and into the Northlands. 

Maerith ordered his men to follow but only to insure the retreat was final.  He could not afford another surprise attack made by a regrouped Ogi army but he could not afford to continue the current battle either.  His men were tired and wounded.  Of the two hundred or so men who had marched up the pass only a handful were left alive and only a few of those could continue to fight.

“Lord Dane!”  Maerith called out across the pass.  He had not laid eyes on Karras since the battle began.  It was his duty to ensure his King was safe.

Karras slumped against the rocky cliff face.  His body burned with searing pain.  His mind fought to stay awake but to no avail.  The pain and loss of blood had taken their toll.  “Just for a moment.”  He convinced himself.  “I’ll close my eyes just for a moment.”

*      *      *      *

The morning sun filled the air with a warm orange glow.  Faint sounds of wagons and people walking along the cobblestone streets rose as the town began to come alive.  Ora stood on the balcony taking in the sweet morning air.  Karras stood watching from just inside.

“Her beauty rivals the dawn.”  He whispered so only he could hear.

“She will destroy your kingdom, Lord Karras.”  The voice rasped in his ear.

Darting glances around him, Karras searched the room for the source of the voice.  The room was empty.  “Show yourself!” He screamed.

“Did you say something, Karras?”  Ora asked but never turned to face him.

“For the last king shall raise the pawns of prophecy.”  It came again.  “And she shall be the mother of the end times.”

Karras drew his sword as he searched the room.  Throwing tables aside, uprooting mattresses, and stabbing at curtains, he ravaged the room seeking out any place of hiding.  “Show yourself, coward!”  He screamed to the air.

“Karras?”  Ora questioned as she entered the room.

“I am here, Lord King.”

From the shadows he appeared.  Ashen skin and white hair marked him as Nihal Di’ Jin; a wraith.  He was lithe and thin like most of his kind with high set features and lavender eyes.  His wicked smile betrayed the rows of sharp, snakelike fangs filling his mouth and his long fingers ended in razor honed talons.

“She is a goddess, is she not?  But love and grace hide her true nature.”

Swinging his sword in anger, Karras lunged at the Wraith.  The Wraith laughed like venom.  “King takes Queen.”  It hissed.

Confusion set in for but a moment before he realized what the Wraith meant.  Staring down, nausea and sorrow filled Karras’ mind.  His sword had met its mark… Ora stood at blades length, blood flowed like water from her chest.  She gasped for air as if trying to say something.  Her look told Karras all he needed to know.

“Why?”  Her expression said it all.

















Illaran Castle

1 Year Later



         She was exhausted.  The last few months had taken their toll on her physically and mentally.  Her hair, once flowing with a life of its own, lay listless down her back, grey streaks dulling its shimmer.  Lines and wrinkles dug into her youthful face giving her the facade of a woman twenty years her elder.  The sapphire gems that were her eyes were tired and no longer sparkled with life.

         She had not noticed at first, the change in Karras.  She couldn’t have.  She had other things to worry about.  Her newborn twins took up most of her time and her attention.  Nevertheless, as she sat dutifully by his bedside, wiping the sweat from his sleeping brow, the events of the past few months came flooding back to her.  Barely noticeable at first, she thought, only gradually coming to bear.

         He seemed normal to Ora, at first.  He was sullen and moody but, in her mind, that was to be expected.  He had lost a hundred and fifty men or more at the Spine Break Pass, good soldiers and loyal men every one.  Night terrors replaced his mood swings and waking black outs dogged his days.  From time to time, he would become distant and detached as if his mind was wandering to another place.  Sometimes he would snap back within a few seconds, other times it took minutes or hours.          

         Ora was certain the birth of their sons would bring him back but his condition only worsened.  She remembered how she had come to his study.  She was there to bring him his noon meal.  She listened at the door to ensure she wasn’t interrupting.

         “Damn you! Show yourself!” She heard him yell.  She found herself frightened by the helplessness in his voice but found the strength to open the door nonetheless.

         The room was empty and dark.  Karras stood in front of his desk with his sword drawn, darting glances about the room.  His eyes, she recalled, were frantic with panic.  He looked like madness had come over him.  She could feel the fear build inside her with even more intensity.

         “Karras?”  She questioned.  “Are you alright?”

         The madness faded at the sound of her voice.  She recalled how he stared for a moment as if wondering where he was before answering.

         “Yes.”  He sighed.  For Ora, his answer seemed to come too quickly.  “Just thinking out loud is all.”  Was his explanation.

         Soon, sleep became a rarity for him.  He would spend hours arguing with some imaginary unseen adversary.  Sometimes these fights would last into the early hours of the morning and, with every passing day, grew more intense and violent.  So bad were his bouts, Ora had moved the children and herself into another bedroom just to get some respite.  Still, even through the granite walls and long halls, she could hear him screaming and thrashing about.  She imagined the look in his eyes as his fits of rage grew more maddening.  She could see the intensity with which he fought against this unseen foe and it scared her.

         Eventually sleep would over take him.  Sleep, however, provided no comfort for his madness.  Where the night terrors had brought an uneasy rest, the nightmares to follow only offered more violence.  Where he would kick and moan through a night terror, he screamed and thrashed wildly in the grip of the nightmares.  Where he would wake with startled abandon, wakening him from the nightmares was neigh impossible.

         Now she sat by his bedside, dutifully doing all she could to comfort him.  When he sweated, she wiped his brow.  When he moaned she spoke soft and soothingly to him.  Moreover, when he screamed and thrashed about, she cried out of frustration, panic, and bone gripping fear.

         “Ora, you must rest.”  Maerith entered the chamber.  He cracked open the door just enough to allow his body passage and stepped lightly so as not to make a sound.

         “I can’t, Maerith.” She sighed in exhaustion.

         “I insist.”  He took her by the hand, helping her toward the door.  “You will be no good to him or your children if you don’t take care of yourself first, my Lady.”

         “Of course your right, Maerith.  I just wish…”

         “I know.”  He comforted her with a reassuring arm.







*      *      *      *

         “Do you not see?”  The Wraith hovered over Karras’ bed unseen by the others.  “Is it not as I have told?  Even while you sleep, they plot and scheme.”

         Karras stirred slightly.  Ora, now standing in the half-opened door, looked back.  Her face was a mix of emotions: fear, pity, and sorrow.

         “It will happen tonight, Lord Dane.  Tonight they shall ensure the end of a bloodline.  They will do what you can not.”

*      *      *      *

         Karras woke up alone in his bedchamber.  He dressed quickly and silently, making sure to grab his scabbard and Gladis.  Picking up the lantern from its resting place, he shook it to make sure the oil was full.

         “They think me mad.”  He whispered.  “They would have me unfit as king if they were to have their way.”  He opened the door ever so slightly.  Peering down each length of the corridor, he made sure his path was unobstructed.

         He moved quickly down the hall toward Ora’s bedroom.  Moving like a cat, he made no noise, alerted no guard.  As he made his way down the length of hall, he darted glances behind him.  "Mustn't be followed."  He thought to himself.

         Opening the door to her chamber, Karras slipped in, like an eel, through the inky darkness.  The room was sparse, unfitting a queen.  A single bed adorned the far wall while two cribs rested against the footboard.  A small table served as a nightstand but no other furniture filled the room.  The bare walls danced with dark shadows against cold grey stone.  Karras lit the lantern, adjusting the flame until it was pale and barely alive.  He hovered over her, taking in her form in the feeble, oily light.

         Ora slept for the first time in days.  Her silken nightgown shimmered in stark contrast to the bleak lantern light.  She sighed quietly causing Karras to step back slightly.  The lantern highlighted the deep lines in her face and streaks of white in her hair making her seem even older and more strained.  She sighed again.

         “Shhhh.”  He whispered, placing his hand over her mouth.

         Ora woke with a start.  Her fear subsided only slightly when she stared at her husband’s eyes.

         “Shhhh.” He whispered again before removing his hand.

         “Karras?  What are you doing?” She asked, her voice wavering.

         “Do you think me a fool?”  He snapped.  His whispered tones turned sharp and accusing.

         “Karras…”

         “Silence!”  He screamed as his hand landed across her face.  Ora retreated toward the wall her eyes trying to hold back her tears.

         “I am Karras Dane, Lord High King of Illaran, wench!  I know my duties.”  He hovered over the cribs.  “Do you think I am weak?  Do you think me mad?”

         Ora whimpered and Karras drew himself over her.  She cringed as his hand swept her tussled hair out of her face.  It was a gentle touch.  She relaxed only slightly.

         “The prophecy ends now!”  The madness returned to his face.  Anger and hatred bubbled up from the depths of his soul and overtook him.  He raised his hands high above his head; the lantern gleamed with life filling the room with a sickly pale glow.  Shadows retreated into their nooks and corners like thieves retreating into darkness.  Ora watched in horror as the lantern crashed down between the cribs.

“Karras, no!” She screamed.  Horror and sickness filled her.  She leapt toward him out of instinct.  She had to protect her children.

Karras watched as the fires consumed the cribs.  As the flames grew higher and brighter his stark smile turned to a grotesque grimace.  Ora batted at him but he stood un-phased.  Bloodcurdling cries and the laughter of the insane filled the room.  The fire danced to the music like nymphs dancing in the forest.

“What have you done?”  She cried out of sorrow and disgust.  “What have you done?”  She shrieked.

“I told you once, wench.  I told you to be silent!  I am Lord High King and I shall be obeyed!”  He unsheathed his Gladis as he scowled at her.  “Now, be silent!”  He dug the blade deep into her chest.  Her blood coursed through the wound spilling its crimson life in puddles on the floor.  Karras withdrew the blade without a second thought.

Maerith slammed through the door as Ora’s body fell limp and lifeless on the stone.  He hesitated at the sight before him.  Bright flames engulfed the remains of the children’s cribs.  Blood, given a black oozing appearance by the dancing flames, dripped from Karras’ Gladis and covered his clothes.  In the garish light, Maerith could make out the insanity in Karras’ eyes.  Maerith drew his sword but he had hesitated too long.  Within an instant, Karras was on him and his sword had met its mark.

Karras swung his Gladis at his startled friend.  Insanity drove him now but his skill was near instinctual.  His blade slashed a deep wound across Maerith’s midsection eviscerating him with ease.  Maerith slumped to his knees, his hands holding his belly in an attempt to keep his insides in.  Karras hovered over him like some deranged bird.          

“Friend.”  He spat in contempt before plunging his sword once more.

Maerith was weak and dying but, like his King, his skill in battle was unmatched.  With his dying breath, he moved away from the lunging blade and countered with his own.  As Karras’ body leaned over, Maerith stabbed using every ounce of strength he could muster.  Karras felt the blade dig deep into his chest and felt the force of the thrust knock him off balance.  He desperately tried to keep his footing.  The more he tried the more traction he lost.  His foot slipped in the puddle behind him and he fell forward.  Maerith’s blade showed no mercy, biting deeper until its length skewered the last king of Illaran.

A single form moved through the carnage, its ashen skin keeping it nearly invisible against the grey granite.  It smiled slightly, showing its snake like fangs, as it turned back into the growing shadows.  In its arms two blanket covered bundles wriggled.

“From the last king shall come the pawns of the gods.”  It hissed before disappearing in darkness.