Lands of Darkness

[Easthaven I]

THank you very much for the detailed feedback. It will help indeed. Again, thank you.

[Easthaven I]

Lands of Darkness

double post. My bad.

[Easthaven I]

Lands of Darkness

Together into Darkness
November 15, 1467AD

It was the third day of their departure from the house of Varha. Evening had set in, and they set up camp next to the stream. They set ablaze a small fire, to cook a rabbit Pavil had caught. Their horses stood contentedly eating grass, feeling the relief of having those packs off their backs.

“So where do we head from here, Philip?” asked Pavil while chewing his meat as he sat and leaned against a tree.

Philip lay, his head resting on his pack as he stared into the hypnotizing flames.

“I do not yet rightly know, my friend.” He said, wondering the same question.

Pavil threw the bone into the darkness. He dusted his hands off to swipe the grease away. He then laid himself down and placed his hands under his head as he stared into the night sky.

“Where ever you decide to go, Philip, I shall go with you.” He then closed his eyes, in an effort to sleep.

Philip averted his gaze from the flames and he looked upon his friend. Ever grateful. How lucky he was to have such a loyal and trustworthy companion, so few it seemed were in the world.

Philip, too, closed his eyes. Both too inexperience to know it was safer to sleep in intervals while one keeps watch…for dangerous toils were the normality in the wilderness…


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


Morning came.

Philip awoke, not yet opening his eyes. He yawned and slowly rose…then something sharp poked his cheek. He opened his eyes, vision blurred he could only discern a body standing above him, then two and three. His vision cleared and what he now saw were four men pointing spears at his head.

He quickly looked over to Pavil and saw four men above him as well, in likewise fashion. Panic tried to take him, but he remained calm knowing these were Persians not Russians. And if they were to kill him and Pavil they would have done so while they slept. But still, he was alarmed.

Then a voice spoke out, bringing his attention to a man mounted on a horse above the ashes of their fireplace.

“Two young Persians, no older then nineteen years, sleeping in the depths of the wilder of woods. This brings much curiosity to me and my men.” Said the tall blond man. “But such curiosity is unhealthy. We should just be content in having two extra horses and extra supplies…and two slaves.”



They marched. Philip and Pavil were bound, and forced to march on foot while the, now fifteen, others rode on their steeds. When Pavil spoke, trying to explain their reasoning he was kicked and beaten. Thus, speech was forbidden. They marched all day, no longer along the stream for these men seemed to know their own way.

Philip tried to think of a way out of this mess, but no idea came to mind. No good idea for that matter. These men seemed uncaring at all to whether Philip or Pavil were dead or alive. They would be quick to kill either of them if they became a burden. So Philip and Pavil obediently marched on.

Evening approached, and the men stopped to set camp. They threw the slaves away from the fire and tied them to a tree, back to back. The fifteen men circled the fire. They spoke and cheered, having a merry time. They passed ale around and reflected on past old days. Philip questioned how far off those old days were for these men seemed young. No younger then twenty but no older than twenty-three. The leader seemed the oldest, sporting a bushy blond beard and long brownish hair. He seemed twenty-five to Philip. But these men looked strong and skilled, they looked like soldiers. Maybe they were mercenaries or just bandits. Philip stopped wondering for it made no difference.

Philip leaned his head back against the tree, no longer thinking of a way out, only thinking of his new wife and soon to be born child he left back at home.

Then Pavil coughed.

“Are you well, Pavil?” Philip asked.

“I cough up blood, my friend, and my chest hurts where they gave me that mighty kick.” He replied. “But I’ve freed my hand and am able to untie myself.”

“I pray you speak the truth. Untying yourself! How is it possible?” Philip whispered excitedly.

“Remember when we were children? And I broke my thumb when I fell from the tree behind your home?”

Philip thought for a moment, searching through his library of childhood memories. “Yes.”

“Well you remember how it was never the same after it healed. It bent kind of strangely and could be pulled and pushed. Well somehow I pulled or pushed it, making my hand slip through the loops.” Pavil whispered triumphantly.

“You must escape, Pavil. Get help from somewhere. Go to Fornalin if you can. If you can’t get help within a few days then just leave me be. But for now just get away, quietly and quickly.” Commanded Philip.

“I will untie you.”

“No. It will take too much time and they will notice. Go now while they are deep in conversation, their senses dull, and the fire is weak. This is our only chance, given to us by the gods. Go now Pavil.” Philip whispered with a stern voice, trying to discourage Pavil from convincing him otherwise.

So Pavil quietly ducked down, and slowly slivered away. When he was far enough and under cover of the shadow, he began running.

One of the men on the opposite side of the fire, got up to refuel the flames. He spared a glance at the slaves, and even through his drunkenness he realized the escape.

“One has escaped!” He yelled snapping everybody out of their nostalgia. They all looked where he pointed and saw Philip sitting alone against a tree, and on the opposite side was but slack of rope.

They all dropped their cups and rushed into the shadow of the forest, bows in hand and swords sheathed. Leaving Philip tied to the tree…


====================


“So your father won many wars?” Young Elias asked his father, after Fornalin spoke a long tale to his son.

“Yes.” He answered, staring into the flames of the fireplace as he did so many times during the evenings.

“And he was truly a king? You speak the truth?” The boy asked in awe, not believing he was related to a king.

“Haha. Yes my son. Is it so hard to believe? You also bear his name, my son.”

“Well…my grandfather was a king! And I bear his name!” His son said with pride and awe as he too stared into the fire.

After a few moments of pondering the new facts, young Elias began another barrage of questions.

“So if your father was King, doesn’t that make you a prince?”

“It would seem so…”Fornalin answered, beginning to feel where this was leading.

“Since Grandfather has past, doesn’t that make you King in his place?” Elias asked.

“Well I have older brothers, Elias. The eldest inherits the throne.” Fornalin said.

“What if your brothers die?” Asked the curious boy.

“Then I guess I would inherit it.” Fornalin answered. He began feeling cornered by his boy’s genius tactics in questioning.

“And where are your brothers now, Father?” The inevitable question was asked. A few moments past, and Fornalin said nothing. Then he was saved…by a knock at the door.

Then a clump sound was heard, as though somebody dropped their whole body against the door and slid it down to crumple in the bottom.

Fornalin got up and grabbed a dagger that was attached under the table at the edge of the room. He quietly went to the door, and listened. But heard nothing. He looked back to his son, who sat there by the fire waiting on his father.

Fornalin opened the door.

The body of a wounded and bloodied Pavil fell before his feet…

To be continued…

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Tense really tense Easthaven. Dont make fall off my chair again! keep writing

[unscratchedfoot]

Looking for feedback are you? Okay, here's some feedback from unscratchedfoot.



I wish there was a puking smiley or the one where one is smacking the other with a big fish.
Anyways, waiting for the next installment.

[Easthaven I]

Lol. Thanks for the...uhh...feedback....

[Easthaven I]

Lands of Darkness

…continued

Hope on the Rise
November 20th 1467AD

Pavil woke in pain. His leg hurt, his shoulder also, and his ribs as well. Every time he took a breath it stung.

He groaned. And with that groan came relief, coolness touched his forehead, and his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw the angel once more. Again he became entranced by her beauty.

She smiled.

“You heal quickly, Master Pavil. Most men would be asleep for at the least two days with the wounds you had. You’ve only slept through the night and into the afternoon.” She said.

“My pains keep me from such luxury, Lady Varha.” He then remembered Philip and he became worried, “Where’s your husband? I need his help. Philip is still held captive!” He said as he tried to get up, but the pain slowed his efforts.

“Calm yourself, Pavil. My husband has headed to the Rock Mountains, it is but fourteen furlongs from here. He figured Philip was in trouble when you came back full of arrows, and he knew a fight must ensue to gain Philip back, wherever he may be. He will be back shortly. And he will get your friend back, with your help.” She said as she tried to guide him back into bed.

“Why did he go to the Rock Mountains for? We must leave now!” He said excitedly as he resisted Natalya’s efforts to place him back in bed.

“You will see, Pavil. Be patient and just trust him.”

“It seems I have no other choice.” He calmed, “Please, Mrs. Varha, I wish to stay up.” He said. Natalya finally gave up trying to place him back to rest.

“Very well, come down and eat something. You need to regain your strength, for when Fornalin returns.” She turned and left the room.

Pavil changed from his robes and replaced them with new clothing that Natalya placed on the foot of the bed.

He wondered why Fornalin went to the Rock Mountains…


=============


Fornalin finally climbed over the last ridge he needed to climb. He was not quite at the top of the rocky mountain. He was on a ridge, twenty feet wide and a cave was before him. Well hidden it was, behind thick bushes and indented deeply into the mountain. He turned and searched throughout the land before him, searching for any wandering soul that might find interest in the hidden cave.

He found none. So he headed into the mountain. It was completely dark, but he knew the way perfectly, even though he had not been there for years. He took a certain path through the tunnel, avoiding traps he had set for uninvited guests.

Finally there was light at the end. He approached and entered a large room, light seeped in through dozens of little holes in the upper left wall. Barely enough light for Fornalin to find the candles and light them. The air was thick, and moist. On the walls hung chain mails, swords, daggers, battle axes, bows, bags of arrows and armor for the legs, arms and body. A few helms sat idle on a table, covered in dust at one edge of the room. But Fornalin headed to the far end of the chamber. He placed his hands into a small crevice in the lower wall, it seemed like a normal crack in the stone. He pulled on it with all his might and finally the large stone succumbed to his will and pivoted open. He went to the other side and pushed until the compartment was completely wide.

He then grabbed a candle and entered the open way crouched. He then stood once he was in a room. Much smaller this room was and narrow. To his left and right were shrines to his ancestors of old. All was covered in a layer of dust. He walked slowly down the isle and reached the end, where a statue of his father, King Elias, stood holding the hilt of his sword with both hands as the blade ran straight down to his feet. Fornalin slightly shivered at the overwhelming glory the statue emanated. He knelt in honor. Then he went to the foot of the statue where a large chest sat. He dragged it into the larger room where there was more light.

He broke the lock on it with the hilt of his dagger, for the key was long lost. He wiped the dust off of it. The chest was plated in gold, showing the Persian wealth as it once was.

He opened it slowly as it made the creaking sound of age, as if it took a deep breath from being unable to do so for so long.

There in the chest, waiting patiently and obediently for another day of battle, were his warrior possessions. His black cloak bearing his mark, his silver gold-trimmed armor emblazoned with artistic design, His gold and silver helm,his infamous black bow and its bag of golden feathered arrows, and most importantly…his notorius lustrous silver longsword. Domasken meaning Doomlight was the name it bore, for that’s what the enemy called it. It shone the most brilliance during battle, the steel and silver was different then all the other metal on the field. When they saw the brilliance of the sword, they knew Magnata Krigo was the wielder of the white flame, and all before him fell.

He lifted it and it became shiny under seeping sunlight, as if it was awakening from its long rest.

“Death was brought to many men by your steel. And now, together we shall bring death to our enemies once more, and may it not end until they have all fallen.” He said to it and himself. He placed the sword in the pack he brought, along with all his other equipment from the chest.

He returned to the brown horse that he rode upon, leaving the cave as it was before. He was off, to save a young brave soul from death and fight for what was rightfully his…


==========


Pavil ate and ate. His body hungered and demanded more food, to replenish itself. So he obeyed the demands and ate everything Natalya fed him.

“So I assume Lord Varha will return to idleness, once Philip is saved.” He said in between the spoonfuls of food he dumped into his mouth.

Natalya Varha smiled triumphantly.

“Fornalin is going to fight, Pavil. Not only for Philip, but for Persia!” She said excitedly, she enjoyed delivering such good news.

Pavil smiled, even though his friend was in such a dire position, getting beaten for Pavil's escape and beaten every 3 hours for it as well. But a smile was called for, if an angel smiled at you.

“After you arrived, and was mended, me and Fornalin talked. He realized that not even the forests of our home was safe from the evil of the world any more. And soon the darkness would be on our doorsteps, and such action against it then would be futile. So, for the sake of our son, he vowed to fight, he vowed to defend. He took an oath to take back his father’s kingdom, and he asked forgiveness from King Elias, for sitting idle while dark men took what was rightfully his. So early this morning, before the sun even gave warning to its rising, he rode off for the Rock Mountains.” She was happy. Hope sprouted from where there was none.

Pavil Famidan was equally joyous. He too felt the power of hope, and it felt good…

[Easthaven I]

Lands of Darkness

The Skirmish
November 20th 1467AD

Pavil finished his food and his conversation with the beautiful woman, and decided to go outside to receive healing from the fresh air.

Then he noticed Fornalin Varha had returned. He was preparing his white stallion. He looked different, for a black cape ran over his back down to his legs, and a gallant mark was upon it. The mark was royal. It was a crowned white wolf standing proudly above the golden hilt of a silver sword pointing downward, and on each side of the blade was a black wolf howling in unison, in honor of the white wolf. The tailor of the stitching was a talented Persian, probably the best. Fornalin also had a new sword, sheath and belt around his waist. And a bow was slung over his back with a bag of golden feathered arrows. Pavil became even more optimistic, the rescuing of his best friend seemed more likely every second.

“Good to see you up and well, Pavil. You’re lucky the arrows did not run too deep.” Fornalin said as he strapped the saddle upon his white horse. A black spear stood from the ground next to him.

“Yes sir.” Pavil replied and then began telling the short tale of his escape while looking at the white steed standing with pride. Obediently allowing his master do as he will, knowing the familiar feeling of a battle nearing.

“You ready?” Fornalin asked as he finished strapping on the saddle, and patting the horse on the neck.

“More ready then ever, Lord Fornalin. Let us go kill the savage cowards.” Pavil ranted.

“Haha. You will not fight, my young friend. You will guide me to their camp that you escaped from.”

“What? I can fight. Just give me a weapon and we will crush them together.” Pavil said as small amounts of adrenaline seeped into his system.

Fornalin picked up an old rusty dented breastplate and a hammer, and handed it to Pavil.

Pavil grabbed the objects in disbelief.

“This is not very kind, not very kind at all. And it is hardly a time for a joke.” Pavil bravely scolded the heir to the Persian throne.

“No joke, Pavil. You will not be fighting, but you will be needing those. Do not ask why, just do as I say.” Fornalin commanded. Pavil surrendered the argument. Fornalin then mounted his stallion.

“Well where is my horse?” Pavil asked sincerely.

“Do you forget already? Persian thieves have it, and you will get it back. For now, you shall ride with me.” He said as he extended out his hand. “Hurry, Pavil. They are already far ahead of us. We shall ride day and night to close our distances. Your mind better be clear, for we need to find that campsite before it is too late.”

Pavil ran and jumped behind the Immortal. Fornalin leaned and grabbed the spear from the ground. The white stallion rode as if on air as they galloped into the wilderness…


=========================


November 23rd 1467 AD
They rode for two days, and on the eve of the third day they arrived at the campsite where Pavil made his escape.
Fornalin searched the ground for tracks and after a few moments realized the Persian outlaws marched eastward, deeper into the forests instead of south to leave it. So they followed their trail, not resting but a moment.


=========================


The fifteen men marched in a column, the point man farther down the trail to give warning to any dangers ahead. The leader was the sixth man down the column, Philip Brancus marched on foot right behind him, and the nine others followed with the two extra horses trailing the last horseman. Not much conversation erupted during the day as they marched, but in the night they camped and there they conversed with one another more liberally.

As they rounded a corner the second man called back to their leader.

“Captain Megido.” He called.

“What is it?” Answered the leader.

“Its Clorik. He seems to have halted.”

Megido contemplated this for a moment then understood that Clorik probably ran onto somebody else’s trail. For if it was more serious then Clorik would have signaled.

“Carry on, we will see the cause of his halt.” So they marched on towards their fellow thief.

The rider was but ten yards behind the point man, Clorik. Clorik seemed slumped, his head pointed downwards.

“What is the hold up, Clorik? You know this isn’t the proper way to halt the column.” The rider eased closer with his followers close behind. The rider rode slowly to the point man’s side. His eyes widened as he discovered a golden feathered arrow protruding from Clorik’s lower neck as it slowly came into view.

The whistle of an airborne arrow broke the silence as it pierced into the man’s left ear and into his head. The dead man fell off his horse and slammed into Clorik’s horse as he plummeted to the ground. Clorik’s steed galloped forward causing the corpse of Clorik to fall backward onto his fellow victim.

The men of the column were caught by complete surprise and hesitated. Another arrow whistled from the woods and struck the third rider. Then another whistle ended the life of the fourth man.

The horses stirred and Megido was frightened by this unseen killer.

“There! Release your arrows upon the foe! He is to our left!” A shower of arrows came from the eleven remaining riders. But they couldn’t hit their target. He was but a shadow moving swiftly about the trees.

Wheeeeeeew! came the call of death.

The rear man fell.

The young riders released another volley of arrows, but it was futile. The swift shadow could not be hit.

Wheeeeeeew!

An arrow struck into the left eye of the fifth man of the column, sending him to the earth.

More rustling was heard from the forest, and a dark figure could be seen among the trees before the desperate preys released more arrows. But the blond Persians dwindled and the sole shadow remained.

[I]Wheeeeeeew![I]

A golden streak flew through the air and claimed the life of another.

Eight of the fifteen were left. Philip stood still as a statue, engulfed in disbelief.

“Enough of this! Unsheath your swords, men!” yelled Megido the leader, as he prepared to charge.

Then the flight of the golden feathered arrows stopped. And came sounds of hooves stomping the ground, and of a horse’s heavy breathing came from the shadows.

“CHA….!”

CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!

The unexpected sound came from behind the riders, Megido and the others turned their heads. Expecting an ambush from behind. That was Megido’s folly. As the riders turned their heads for that split second to the other side, the pounding of hooves erupted as the shadow exploded out onto the young Persians. A black spear, like a lightning bolt from the gods, came down from the shadow warrior as it pierced Megido’s armor and entered his chest sending him backward off his steed. The Persian to the right of Philip had his head hewed off by Domasken.

Philip took advantage of the situation and ran off to a safer distance from the battle.

The six remaining could not wreak havoc upon the shadow warrior using their numerical superiority because they were tightly packed together in the column.

The shadow warrior deflected the scimitar strike from the Persian on his right, who was the first now in the column. Magnata Krigo blocked another strike and with a quick swing of Domasken the twenty-one year old Persian was headless.

The ambusher guided his horse to the next victim, blocking the man’s sword and keeping it in the air as he lifted his leg and kicked the rider off his horse. He quickly gave his attention to the next man who was immediately on him. Their horses were side by side as they battled each other. Another rider came to his comrade’s aid, and the shadow warrior began fighting off two men. The man on the ground got up and began making his way through the riderless horses to battle the ambusher as well.

With another block to each man, he quickly rolled backward off his white stallion and ran to Megido. He pried off the black spear and threw it with the strength of a demi-god into one of his mounted foes. Three remained.

The grounded man charged at him carelessly. The sole warrior spun, avoiding the man’s charge, and then thrusted his sword into the young Persians’ lower back, below the armor. The man howled in pain as he fell to his knees.

One of the riders got free of the herd of horses and charged at Magnata Krigo. He ducked at the charging man’s swing, as he did so he removed his dagger and threw it at the rider who didn’t charge, stabbing his shoulder but not killing him. The rider now behind the warrior reversed and charged again. The Immortal waited until the last moment before he dodged to the other side of the horse and struck at the man’s back as he sped past, knocking him off his horse. He rushed to the downed man, and thrusted his bloodstained sword into the back of his neck.

The last rider, wounded, began to run off down the trail. Fornalin Varha, patiently but quickly, dropped his sword and grabbed his bow. One more arrow streaked the air. One more corpse fell off his horse…

[ChrisiusMaximus]

FANTASTIC !!!

[Easthaven I]

Lands of Darkness

Together into the Shadows
November 29th 1467AD

After the skirmish Fornalin gathered his golden feathered arrows. Philip and Pavil recovered their swords. They dragged the dead riders far off the trail and covered them with sticks and stones, not willing to give the time to give them a burial they did not deserve. Pavil tried to throw away the old rusted breastplate and hammer but Fornalin made him keep it. They gathered the horses and tied them together, then began marching back to the house of Varha.

Midday of the 29th they were still marching, at a slow pace considering they were herding fifteen other horses and equipment with them. Neither Philip nor Pavil spoke much, they were still awestruck by the skirmish. One man killed fifteen trained younger soldiers and received not even a scratch. No doubt lingered any longer, if there ever was doubt, that Fornalin Varha could fight.

“Thank you for saving my life, Lord Varha. I am in your service. Pavil told me you decided to stand against the Russians. So you have my word, that I will follow you wherever you may lead.” Philip said as they marched through the woods.

“Me and Philip come as one. So I am under your command as well, my lord. If you shall have me.” Pavil said immediately.

“That is good to hear.” Said Fornalin, not looking back. “I shall have you both.”

Later in the day, another conversation sprang.

“Lord Varha, who were those men that captured us? I thought no one entered these forests.” Asked Pavil.

“They were just bandits, traitors to Persia. But they were highly trained and equipped. The Russians, they equip them and pay them. For the sole purpose of doing as they will to the Persian lands and its people. They hire these mercenaries to crush the spirits of the people. Unleashing well-trained barbarians to pillage, rape, and murder is quite demoralizing.”

Pavil grunted in acknowledgment.

They continued the march…


==============


December 1st 1467AD

They still continued, not resting once. Through the nights, through the days…they marched. Accompanied by fifteen riderless horses. Philip broke the silence.

“What will we do now, Lord Varha?” He asked, wondering their first move towards war.

“Tomorrow we shall arrive back at my home. There we shall rest for one day. Then we will pack up and ride out once more.” He informed them as he ducked a low branch. “Three men can not fight the Russian Empire alone. We need to plan, and we need to gather our friends. Spread the word to the people that Persian liberators are arising from the ashes, and the Persian Kingdom will suffice once again. If they have the hearts you two are so confident in, they shall prepare as well. They will grow more grain and stock more food to sustain armies. They will gather able men, ready to serve under a new Persian army. Blacksmiths will secretly begin making weapons and armor. Tailors will secretly stitch what needs to be stitched. All of this will occur quieter then a whisper, and as hidden as the stars in the fog so that the Russians will neither hear nor see the preparations of the reconquest of Persia. For that was the code my great-grandfather implented during his reign, when the threat of the samurais of Japan was at its highest. But Persia remained safe then, my father repelled the invasion at the age of twenty and no one witnessed if the code would work. We shall see if the people remember…”


=================


December 3rd 1467AD

The horses were packed, Philip and Pavil were already mounted. A cold breeze blew through the strands of the beautiful silky hair of Natalya, giving the warning of the arrival of winter. At her side stood young Elias. Fornalin approached them to say his farewell.

He kneeled to his son and gave him a hug.

“You take care of your mother, Elias. Here,” Fornalin said, as he took a pure silver ring from his forefinger, “take this. This is the heirloom of the House of Varha. Only the ones who wore it knew of its existence, and only Kings possess it. My father gave it to me. And I to you.”

The clever boy took the ring, and clasped it in his hand as he nodded to his father.

Fornalin stood to meet the eyes of his wife.

“I will return, Natalya. Don’t worry.” He said.

“I can’t help but worry. But I’ll get by.” She smiled, tears forming in her eyes. Making them even more angelic.

“If there is danger, you know about the cave.” Fornalin said. Natalya nodded.

“If I do not return…if pressing matters keep me from here or if I feel that danger is near, then I will send for somebody to bring you and Elias to safety, my love.” He said as he touched her face.

He kissed her with passion, fearing not being with her. For she was his light in a world of darkness. So he feared being away from her…not having that light. But as long as she lived that light lived, compassion lived.

“We will meet again.” He said as he turned and ran off. Jumping with skill upon his horse. The three riders galloped away…Together into the shadows.


==============


OOC: Thanks Chrisius.

The title of this section is similar to another. It fits better here. So……

I'm getting the feeling this is going to be a long story...

Feedback please. Any kind will do, even a puking smiley

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Long eh oh good Ill get me slippers and settle down for the next part of this epic in the making.

[TheGuitarist]

Crazily awesome. Loved the wild battle sequence. Can't wait to see where it's going.

[Easthaven I]

Lol...slippers...


"Crazily awesome"... I like that. Thanks.

[Easthaven I]

Lands of Darkness

So Begins the Rally
December 12th 1467AD

The travelers had finally arrived at their destination.

Fornalin did not say much to Philip or Pavil on where they were going, he just said “To enlist a brother”. So they rode through Persia, north bound. Fornalin kept mental notes of the sites he saw. He saw the pain and suffering the people went through. The Russians acted like arrogant gods, doing as they will to whomever and whatever. They were great in strength, showing that the simple troops assigned to garrisoning Persia were professional. Though, Fornalin noticed that the greater the distance from Russia, the less Russian troops…and less power.

Light was fading. The mounted three stood on the crest of a distant hill, beholding a large home. Smoke came from the chimney and the glow of lights flooded from the windows.

“Who is this man, my Lord.” Philip asked.

“An old childhood friend, a loyal warrior from the Immortals, and a true brother.” Fornalin then kicked his horse and galloped down the hill. Philip and Pavil followed.


====================


As they neared the home, a man came out…armed with a bow.

“Trespassers! Speak now! Or face death!” He called as they galloped near.

Fornalin halted as he raised his hand, signaling Philip and Pavil to do likewise.

“Do you not recognize an old friend?” Fornalin said.

“You speak friend, but your face is hidden.” The man said, keeping the string in tension, “The sunlight is all but gone. Identify yourself with words, stranger.”

“I am your Captain.” Fornalin said, “Your friend.” He eased closer, “Your brother.” The light from the open doorway first captured his horse and then himself.

The man lowered his bow slowly, caught with an unexpected surprise. His awestruck expression quickly changed to a smile as he opened his arms in welcome.

“Fornalin Varha! Brother! I am flooded with joy! Such years have passed since our last meeting, it would have been a shame if I would have released my arrow and concluded our first meeting since so long. What brings you so far from your lovely wife.” The man said.

“And lovely son.” Fornalin informed. The man smiled in satisfaction, “Me and my companions have rode without much rest since our departing. Let us rest and reacquaint before we discuss our purpose.”

“As you wish, my brother. Please come in and eat. My wife is readying dinner, we shall set a place for three more.” The man led them in.


The man was Lord Cornelius Valen. His father was one of King Elias’ closest friends and advisors. He grew up with Fornalin and they grew into a mighty friendship. They were tutored together and joined the military together. They both showed tremendous promise and were recruited into the newly experimentally formed unit called the Immortals where both rose to the top quickly. Since childhood, Lord Cornelius served as Fornalin’s second in command and a lot of the times they shared command. Together is what made them invulnerable, not just Fornalin, which so many people seem to believe. Long ago, they both gave an oath to each other to be forever brothers. Lord Cornelius held much of Fornalin’s trust, second only to Natalya. He was a tall man, much like Fornalin. His hair was lighter, and his face shaven. His eyes dark, sharing the same experiences as Fornalin.


=====================


They talked for hours, mostly about the past. They informed each other of the happenings after their parting so long ago. They told each other about their families. Fornalin learned that Cornelius’ two sons had died. One from a strange disease, another from murder…the murderer was unknown for the boy was found hanging from a tree. Cornelius suspected Russians. When Cornelius talked about this his face became somber, and he began taking more frequent drinks from his ale. But he finally changed the subject…

“So, now that we have caught up on old times. Shall you tell me the purpose in which you bring yourself here on my doorstep, Fornalin?” He asked.

Fornalin placed his drink back on the table.

“I’ve come to ask for your service, my brother…once more…” Fornalin told him everything. Of Philip and Pavil’s visit, of the skirmish in the woods, and of the events he saw during his ride through Persia.

After he finished there was a long pause. Lord Cornelius sat, contemplating.

“I must admit, out here we are seldom touched by the Russians or even much news of the world, much like yourself, Lord Fornalin.” He said and paused. Then he continued, “We must gather the Immortals once more. And spread word through the people…the Kingdom of Persia is on the arise.”

“So you will join me?” Fornalin asked.

“We took an oath, Brother. Do you remember? During our time in the enemy prison. To serve each other. To never forsake each other. I will not forsake you now. Our swords will be drawn together, once more.” They clashed their cups of ale together and gulped the remnants of the alcohol. Their spirits were rekindling. These men were warriors. Born for war. Their souls existing for that sole purpose. So when war comes to them, while other men become frightened and heavy-hearted, these men smile in anticipation, their blood boil and their spirits become enlightened. They will not admit it ever, but deep in their souls…war is their nourishment.

After their realization of a difficult war on the horizon, they began talk of planning.

“Do you know where Lord Eleazer is located? He will be of great help. But I do not know of his whereabouts.” Fornalin asked.

Philip and Pavil just sat by listening to the kings of men discuss the plans of liberation. Both very proud to have been the ones to have started it all.

“I am not sure, Fornalin. Brother Eleazer would be of great help, indeed. Such a loyal and brave warrior. I will ask around, I have a few friends gifted in such knowledge of tracking. I will send for him tomorrow.” Cornelius Valens replied.


Lord Eleazer Gordian. He met Fornalin and Cornelius while their first beginnings in the Immortal unit. After several battles and certain events, Lord Eleazer, too, took an oath of Brotherhood with Fornalin and Cornelius. The three became gods of war during their time as Immortals. Unbreakable loyalty pulsed through their veins. He was but an inch shorter than the other two. His hair was long and dark. He was a big man, bulging muscles intimidated all who dared try to duel him. A full-grown beard he grew, never shaven since boyhood. Some say he was the most warmongering of the others. Such hot-tempered, he was.


“You know, we could use the wisdom of our old friend and mentor.” Lord Cornelius said.

“Master Zhuge Liang…” Fornalin whispered, remembering the man who taught him everything. … “The skills of a true warrior come from his mind, not the sword”…he remembered the calm patient voice, so many years ago it seemed.

“Does he still live? For my memory sees him as old when we were but boys. He must be even older, now” Fornalin said.

Cornelius laughed.

“Haha. Yes, I too remember. But he does live, indeed. Deep in the mountains of the north, he lives a life of solitude, now. The word ‘old’ does not do justice to his age. Ancient is more like it.” He laughed.

“He is not Persian. Nor do I believe Russian, Greek or any other race of the known world. Have you heard the stories?” Fornalin said.

“Indeed. They say he came from unknown lands in the far distant west. Many men have tried to explore there, but it must be too far if it does exist. Many explorers have gotten lost at sea trying to venture there.” Cornelius said.

“Mysterious man, our mentor is. But the wisest of all the men I have come to witness.” Said Fornalin. Cornelius nodded in agreement. Fornalin continued, “This is what we shall do. You say that you have trustworthy men living on your lands and working for you. Tomorrow, send those men to ride out in all directions, spreading the word of the Resurrection of Persia. The riders will also contact all the Immortals or at least spread the word to them about the gathering, they will rally here at your home. Philip and Pavil shall stay here to welcome them and take care of your wife. Ourselves shall ride to the north and seek counsel from Master Zhuge Liang. That is our plan for now, my brother.”

“A plan, indeed. Tomorrow we shall ride side by side, Brother. I look forward to seeing your white stallion, Cyrus, back in action.” Lord Cornelius said as he nodded in the direction of the horse’s location.

“Oh you will my friend. You will indeed.” Fornalin took another drink of ale.

[unscratchedfoot]