The clashing swords rang out as Dagon parried a powerful attack against the Black Knight’s greatsword, his arms nearly buckling from the strain. Dragon’s chest pounded as he struggled to find his breath. It felt as though the Black Knight had endless stamina, the next attack was already coming.

Dagon took the blow on his shield, being pushed back and nearly knocked from his feet. The strength the Black Knight wielded was immense. What the knight didn’t know was that Dagon, the king’s champion, was a mighty warrior and the victor of a thousand battles.

He stepped into the knight’s right, feigning a high swing, but the Black Knight realized his mistake too late. As strong as the knight was, a greatsword is an unwieldy weapon. The knight’s feet were swept from underneath, Dagon placing the blade-tip on the fallen Black Knight’s throat.

The crowd around the arena rose to their feet in applause. This was the Tournament of Swords, and the winner would win the princesses hand in marriage. Dagon looked toward the princess and saw the joy alight in her eyes.

“Dagon. Dagon...” Chanted the crowd. He stood tall, victorious, beaming with pride.

A familiar voice rose above the crowd. “Dagon you lazy bum.” He frowned at that. It sounded uncomfortably familiar. He turned to look at the princess, seeing her lips and somehow hearing her voice as she said, “By god, you good for nothing oaf.”

Dagon scrambled from his hastily laid blanket and onto his feet, soaking wet. He slowly looked up from his soaking and barely acceptable excuse for a bed to see his uncle looming over, holding the now empty piss bucket.

“You had better finish that wood pile by the time I'm back boy, or I'll whip you good again.” His uncle rumbled as he turned, dropped the filthy bucket, and headed past the woodshed toward Hollow.

Hollow was a small town, northwest of Gadalfa’Va on the Kadassi River. Most city folk hadn’t heard of Hollow and the surrounding villages, as far from civilization as they were. They were located north of the main road, closer to the Elfang woods.

Not in them, mind you, as terrifying a thought that might be.

The boy stepped out of his hut and the first thing he heard was giggling. Dagon looked over to see Afsara with one of her ninny friends, chuckling into their hands. They were walking back to town on the woodland path with bundles of flowers in their arms.

It was just his luck that the one girl in this stupid village he admired, saw him dripping in muck. The burning shame and anger started to build up as he felt moisture in his eyes. She gave a gentle smile and wave, but Dagon had turned too quickly to see.

He stood dripping with sludge and self-pity, trying not to let the girls see him cry. His face now a bright shade of red upon hearing a second burst of giggles from the distant girls.

Dagon walked to the old chopping stump with his shoddy ax. With a few more cycles, he would be big enough to use his dad’s old ax. He stood for a moment and took in the warmth of the sun, his black hair and tan skin still wet.

Droplets fell from his hair as he swung down hard. Splitting wood, the monotony of it, was calming to him and helped process his twisting emotions.

Just two cycles ago, his father had died. His father had been felling trees that summer, and one jumped the stump and struck his leg. His father recovered from the injury, but a shard from the tree had been lodged under his skin. His veins had turned black, and it never healed properly. After the infection took his father, Dagon’s uncle had moved in to take over the household.

Dagon and his mother would bundle up by the fire, while his uncle slept in his parents' bed. The house had been small and comfy. Now it was stifling. It was all so unfair.

It was difficult not to notice the bruises all over his mother. The heat of his burning anger almost felt real. Watching daily as his uncle took all of their earnings and wasted them on barley wine.

Sweat now dripping in fast rivulets as he reached for another log only to realize the chore was completed. His muddled thoughts disappeared like a will-o-wisp. The anger and sweat were evaporating in the cool morning air.

Dagon turned quickly to grab a ladle of water from the barrel, and on the first step, slammed into a brick wall knocking him straight back onto his arse.

“Whoa buddy.” Mckale’s meaty hand outstretched to help his friend up. Pulling Dagon to his feet, Mckale looked at his hand with a frown. “What the heck is all over you Dag?” Mckale looked down at his own shirt, frowning even deeper somehow. “And you got it on my fine new tunic.”

Dagon looked at Mckale’s patched shirt dubiously, questioning the validity of the statement, and let out his own chuckle at the absurdity. “My friend, you ain’t had a new tunic in your whole life.”

Mckale smiled, knowing all his clothes had been handed down from his three older brothers. “You look like you’re all finished up.” Mckale said with a crooked smile. It looked funny on his giant face.

If Dagon was big for his age, Mckale and his brothers must have been of Ogre descent.

“Let's grab Faux and head to the river.” Mckale nudged Dagon as they looked over at the cut wood.

“Help me stack it and we can go.”

They grabbed some wood and started stacking it neatly under the lean-to.

“I heard Afsara talking about you to Maggie on my walk over.” Chuckled Mckale.

Dagon shrugged sullenly. “She thinks I’m a filthy pauper. My uncle drinks away any coin we get from the wood we sell.”

It might have been a self-pitying exaggeration but Mckale looked over knowingly. “Aye, but you’re growing fast. Next cycle we’ll be thirteen cycles, and old enough to become ‘prentices. You could maybe get accepted doing something else.”

Dagon gave him a long look. They both knew the few skilled journeymen that took apprentices in this small town would choose from those with money or connections. Dagon had a glaring lack of either, even in comparison to other have-nots in their quaint little village.

“Maybe Faux can get you an apprenticeship with his father.” As Mckale spoke Dagon looked at him skeptically. Faux was the third outcast in their merry little band of mischief-makers. Even though Faux’s father was skilled, a cobbler needed only one apprentice in a town like Hollow.

“So you wish, and so I appear!” Shouted Faux, as he barreled into Dagon. Dagon released his grip from the wood, dropped it, and they began wrestling in earnest. Mckale, not to be left out, threw his wood and joined the dogpile.

Mckale had started working the bellows at his father's forge in preparation for his apprenticeship. Over the summer his arms had grown to the size of Dagon’s thighs, but Dagon had strength from swinging an ax all day. Having less mass to move around than Mckale, it made him quick as a viper.

Unfortunately, Faux possessed neither of these and had quickly snuck away to watch from safety. Faux never started a fight he couldn't get out of. As Faux looked on, Dagon managed to get behind Mckale, clinging to the giant tightly with his legs. Dagon got him into a choke hold and felt a light tap on his elbow.

He released Mckale and they dropped back into the dirt only to hear clapping and laughing as they both looked over at Faux. Mckale was breathing just as heavily as Dagon, but Mckale managed to mutter, “Wilier than a dire cat you are.” Dagon wasn’t sure if that was meant for him or Faux.

Faux chuckled, “And you guys fall for it every time.” He strutted over and sat on Mckale's chest, causing a loud “oomph” to explode from his large friend.

“You just had the element of surprise.” Mckale said, shaking his head. “It’s a good thing you’re so quick. It might keep you alive… even if you are weaker than a mook.”

Again, Dagon wasn’t entirely sure who Mckale meant. Faux found himself lying in the dirt as Mckale rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. Faux sprang to his feet with feline grace.

Dagon got up and stood with the two boys. “What brings you to my slice of heaven?” asked Dagon as he gathered his fallen logs.

Mckale chuckled as he grabbed his logs, giving Faux a knowing smile and replying, “The storm.”

Dagon looked at Faux and nodded toward the last of the chopped wood. “Well get to it. Help me finish so we can go on an adventure!”

Dagon and Mckale were already heading to stack up their loads as Faux laughed and grabbed a single piece of wood.

Never let it be said that Faux didn’t look out for his friends.

……………………………..

“We shouldn’t be this far away from the village.” Faux said for the third time in as many minutes. Mckale gave him a stern look as several crows cawed, flying overhead.

“Stop being such a little girl, Faux.” Dagon gave him a knowing wink over his shoulder. Faux sighed again. Dagon was one of the few people in the village who knew Faux wasn’t really a human.

Faux’s mother had moved them to Hollow before he could remember. She had married the local cobbler who then became Faux’s surrogate father. His mom had taught him from an early age to always pretend to be human. But he couldn’t keep any secrets from his oldest friend.

“Bugger off Mckale. I’m not afraid.” Muttered Faux. He had no problem going to the riverbank, but he didn’t like wandering so far from the path.

“Mmhmm. Sure. Just like you weren’t afraid when we found that badger last week.” Chided Mckale.

Faux was nearly a cycle older than Mckale, being almost thirteen. Unlike most of the other village boys, Mckale wasn’t always a prat. “There is a difference between being afraid and being stupid.” Faux grumbled.

They were on the side of the river that had a thick bog along the edge, and it ran down the river's edge for a thousand strides. While it was mostly safe, the further from the village you got, the more dangerous creatures became.

They were leagues down the river from the magic city. Sometimes after a big storm the river would rise, trapping things within the bog. As they trudged further along through the damp riverweeds, they kept their eyes on high alert for treasure.

Almost everything they had found could barely be considered junk, yet they felt like treasure hunters in some great adventure. Faux simply preferred they didn’t stray too far from the beaten path.

“We haven’t found anything today and I don’t want to leave empty handed.” Mckale said once again.

Faux personally didn’t care. He liked the adventure, but he liked a nice safe adventure. “I heard another caw, Dagon.” Faux said, stopping and looking up to see if there were any more crows.

“Do you smell that, guys?” Dagon’s voice sounded a bit distant.

“Huh?” Faux broke his stare and looked ahead. He had let them get too far ahead.

Dagon was starting to think Faux had the right idea to call it quits for the day. Dagon grumbled, “I smell of something rotting.”

“You’re smelling your own breath.” Mckale chuckled to himself.

As Faux drew closer to the boys, he captured the impetuous odor. There was an immediate chill of foreboding that ran through him, urging the other boys, “Mckale, come on. Let's go.”

Faux looked up again at the cawing crows as a shout startled him. “Oh my god… Dag, look at this.”

Faux and Dagon stepped forward and pushed the last few weeds aside, exposing the source of the stench. Mckale was bent over, looking beneath a massive willow tree. It stood towering next to the rushing, rising river. Underneath its bows was a blackened, bloated corpse. Mckale crouched while poking it with a stick.

Faux felt his stomach do a summersault. “We… should go… report this to the elder…” he said in a shaky voice.

“Are you crazy? Finally, a real adventure lay at our feet, and you want to go home?” Mckale said in a serious voice.

“I think we need to… search it for treasure.” Whispered Dagon as he crept closer.

Faux rocked back on his feet at the preposterous statement. He looked upon each of his friends with disbelief. “Are you crazy?” Faux said with an exacerbated tone. He did not like the sight of death.

Faux was no coward mind you but had more sense than the two dunces in front of him. His pride kept him from running and being called a scaredy squirrel by Mckale. Faux’s knees wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Please, Dagon, let’s get the elder.” Again, Faux tried to appeal to his more sensible best friend.

Mckale looked at Faux, turned, and muttered something to Dagon. Dagon knelt down by the bloated corpse’s head, Faux silently damning him for being so brave. Why wasn’t he afraid? Maybe all changelings were cowards? Perhaps that’s why his mother had them living in this small village, pretending to be humans.

Following the bravery in Dagon, Mckale bent down upon seeing a handle at the corpse’s ankle. “Look at this.” Mckale drew a dagger from the corpse’s boot sheath and began to brandish it like a sword.

“Be careful. You’re gonna cut yourself.” Muttered Faux. Mckale gave him a cold look.

“He’s right. Put it back. None of us need to be caught with a dagger.” Dagon interjected.

Faux felt mildly offended by his friend needing to stick up for him. On occasion, the village idiots would make fun of him, due to his small stature. He shouldn't feel intimidated by one of his good friends.

Faux decided he wouldn’t be intimidated, and approached the corpse, nearing the other two.

“Scared of a little death?” As Mckale smirked at him, the bloated body shifted slightly and let out an otherworldly hiss and they all jumped. They looked at each other and gave a nervous chuckle. Faux steeled himself before there would be any cause to be teased further.

Each stride closer, Faux felt the bile rise in his stomach, the stench was rank and heavy. Damned humans he thought to himself as he bent down, crouching between the other two boys. He looked at the body one last time.

After a brief moment he spotted a pouch on the man's belt. That seemed the easiest place to begin. He opened it, reached inside, and felt his fear vanish like a dream. Through his clenched fist shone a glint of gold.

The world went silent. He glanced between the other two, Dagon’s jaw hung open and Mckale nearly dropped his dagger.

“We’re rich!” Faux barely managed to say through an uncontrollable laughter. At that moment, they really were treasure hunters. They stared as his fingers spread, revealing three coins.

Faux kept laughing, still shocked at the fortune they had just found. He tossed each of the others one of the coins. “Gold. Real gold!” He yelled. A single silver piece would have made them feel rich, but one gold was worth ten silver!

Faux reflected on the odd sensation, to be laughing here in the presence of death which had terrified him just moments ago.

Dagon turned his attention back to the corpse giving it a quick scan, noticing a thin burlap cord around the man's neck. It led to a small bump under the corpse’s tunic. With the other two boys still distracted looking at their gold coins, Dagon reached out and snatched the pouch from the corpse’s neck.

As Dagon put on the pouch and tucked it under his shirt, the three boys froze. There were several screams coming from the village. “Did you hear that?” Mckale said, looking at the others worriedly.

As they stood silently, there was an ever-darkening smoke rising above the tree line. Another scream and some shouts could be heard. “We have to go back.” Faux pleaded.

There came more screams and some shouts, none of them able to tell what was said. Faux noticed Dagon had taken something. He was certain, but it appeared to be a small pouch. They pocketed their coins and Mckale was attaching the dagger’s sheath to his belt.

“Come on!” Mckale shouted to his friends as they worked through the thick bog and onto the solid ground.

They ran back toward the village as fast as their legs could carry them. The smoke was thickening above the tree line and filling them with dread. Faux felt as swift as a deer, his adrenalin pumping harder as more screams and shouts came from the village. They were close enough to smell the smoke.

Faux could already feel hot tears running down his face as their adventure quickly became a nightmare.

“Mother!” Dagon screamed. For once, Faux’s two friends looked as terrified as him.

“Quiet.” Mckale whispered. Faux nodded in agreement, unable to speak. They didn’t know what was happening, but this much smoke and screaming were surely bad. Mckale led the pack as they approached the village. Fire now visible through the trees.

Suddenly the world tilted, then twisted, as Faux wound up on the ground. He attempted to cry out, but the wind was knocked out of him.

“Shut it.” Mckale demanded, seeing Faux’s attempt to speak and covering his mouth.

He realized Mckale had pulled him down behind a bush and was being pinned to the dirt. Dagon crouched silently in the tall grass next to them. Mckale pulled his hand away and Faux looked at him angrily.

“Why the hell did-” Faux started, barely able to speak as he caught his breath, only to be interrupted as Mckale put his hand back over Faux’s mouth.

“Look, we need to be quiet until we figure out what’s happening.” Mckale whispered.

Faux’s thoughts were a mess, but he realized Mckale had a point. He nodded silently.

Mckale pulled Dagon over and addressed the other two. “Stay low.” Mckale said. “We need to see what is going on.”

The boys began crawling slowly toward the village. The underbrush had been rather light this cycle, thank Hermaia. It was thin enough that as they neared the forest edge, the appearance of flames upon a rooftop seeped through the trees.

The boys froze. From beyond the road, a screaming woman burst forward from the tree line next to the burning building. Faux recognized her instantly, and only a moment later he felt the other two grab his shoulders as they too recognized Magdela. Faux wanted to jump out and run to her, but he couldn’t even if he wanted to as Mckale gripped him tighter.

He felt like screaming, but an overwhelming fear kept him silent as the monster came out of the trees only paces behind her. It was a man they didn’t recognize, in black leather armor none of them had ever seen.

They watched in horror as the man threw his wicked spear. It flew with a terrifying slowness before it sank into Magdela’s back, ending the screams and knocking her from her feet. Faux’s world blurred as he emptied my stomach on the ground.

Dagon and Mckale watched on as the man forcefully yanked out the spear from her back before casually sauntering back toward the carnage that was their village.

Faux wiped his mouth with his shirt as he noticed Mckale Looming over him.

“Guys, listen.'' Mckale's voice was stern, cold. “We need to go as quietly as we can toward the city.”

Dagon looked at him, his face betrayed what he was thinking. “That's insane! It's at least a five-day walk.”

Mckale looked nonplussed and returned Dagon’s stare. “Listen, we need to go get help, find a town guard, and get them to listen.” The boys were silent, Mckale continued. “Whatever’s going on, we can’t help.”

“No '' Dagon blurted, a dark look in his eyes. Mckale didn’t notice the look, and had Faux not been so catatonic, he could have told him what that look meant. Dagon was angry.

“Look. We need to go and find he-“ Mckale began.

“No.'' Dagon interjected. “You two go. I have to do something to help. I’m not leaving without knowing what’s going on.”

Mckale looked confused. Mckale and Dagon weren’t as close as Faux and Dagon, but even he felt this was out of character for the normally sensible Dagon. Dagon was fairly even keeled, and rarely showed this kind of aggression.

“Dagon, we're not even thirteen. We can't help here. The best thing we can do is find real help.” Weariness and concern in Mckale's voice.

Faux was still distraught over witnessing his mother’s murder, no more than fifty paces in front of him. The cold look of disinterest in the marauders eyes as he had stepped on her back to leverage out his spear.

“Take Faux, get him to the city and find help. I… I have to try.” Dagon stated firmly. His home was on the other side of the village, he would have to make his way through.

Without a hint toward his action, he was already on his feet and moving stealthily toward the burning village.

“Dag!” Mckale yelled as loud as he dared, having missed the opportunity to grab his friend's shirt. He turned to Faux and grabbed the stunned boy’s shoulder. “We have to get help! He’s on his own now, you got that?”

Faux looked back at him numbly. Mckale pulled Faux to his feet, and they began heading south, away from the village.

Mckale was doing everything to not break down upon realizing the life he enjoyed in Hollow, might be over for good.