The land filled with dread at the marching of the army. Finely assembled in wide lines a hundred yards wide and forty yards deep, the army of ancient, cursed men brought darkness with them. Plants of the Carnakane desert decayed as they passed by. The creatures of the night whimpered and cried out in the darkness as the mass of men moved by. Some had mangled body parts, a hook where an arm should have been or a hole where there should have been a nose.

Heading the opposite way marched an escort of about two hundred Deranged Men with lord Dagnar and The Worm held as captives in chains. The smell of the Deranged Men almost dropped Dagnar to his knees, but it took everything within him to stay on his feet as he marched towards the inevitable meadows. He knew if he faltered, he risked another face to face encounter with one of the deranged men, which he could not bear. Maybe it was just the one that he had to face—but if they all appeared as foul as that first one, he was in big trouble.

His understanding of Mestrane had been flipped on its head. He had tried for years to discover the hidden entrance to the gated meadows of Mestrane where it was prophesied that eternal happiness reigned, but only to find out that the greatest horrors of the realm resided within, seemingly. He knew of evil beings that were bound to the land by curse though, but who to have lifted it?

Mestrane was where justice of the first evil ruler was exacted, and that had kept the realm in relative balance ever since. Yes, there were battles and wars, but never to the point where a terrible evil threatened the freedom of men. Yet now, creatures that did not represent a mankind had brought about the terrible reality to Dagnar—it was all real. The tales were not a myth, King Steed and his empire were truly frozen within the curse, and the prophesied man of the North had arrived to unlock the time of the Dark Ages, where the curse was now lifted.

In front of Dagnar was the creature they called Ral'tor—hunched low and creeping along the ground, as the golden meadows loomed up ahead, some couple hundred yards away. He had eight limbs. He only used two for legs and the other six acted as support limbs as he scurried himself along the ground. He was a large one, however. He had stood up straight at one point along their journey to relive himself and only then had Dalian Dagnar realized that he stood twice the height of himself. Patches of rough skin alternated coarsely with patches of wiry hair all over his body, and his face had yellow eyes with a narrow, flayed face.

Dagnar had become sick the couple of times he gazed upon his face. He was careful not to meet his eyes, for he had no idea if that was a good idea or not; and he didn't plan on finding out. The Deranged Men all had their own distorted ways about them. Dagnar was left to wonder what they were like before the curse, and if they could ever revert to a normal man.

They finally arrived at the meadows. A feeling came over Dagnar that he could not explain. The smell of the grasses, the crisp air, and the feeling inside of him. He felt like he weighed nothing as they moved along. Even with shackles on his ankles that had rubbed his skin raw, all was forgotten. He forgot about the peril he was in. The Deranged Men were no longer a problem. His heart would have normally skipped a beat when he saw Ral'tor scurry by him, but he just smiled, and his eyes almost shut he was so relaxed. He felt the iron hand of a Deranged Man behind him prod him onward, but it was no matter.

It was a blur by the time they got beyond the meadows. Dagnar lost his identity, and he could not have said who he was. Everything went black. The shock of bony foot striking him in the stomach awoke him with a start. He was in a large room with dim light. He moaned and then another hard kick struck home. How long ago had he been in paradise in those meadows? He grew irritated and he struggled to his feet. A man with eyes sunk into the back of his head met his eyes with his beady yellow dots.

Dagnar withheld his fist from flying into the man's face when he saw his giant spiked blade resting in his arms.

"Follow me."

Dagnar looked around the empty, bleak room and followed the man out. Two men he didn't even realize were behind him came from the rear. The four of them exited the room and continued down a series of narrow hallways. Dalian Dagnar marveled in awe at the complexity of the labyrinth they travelled through. He wondered if the men who escorted him even knew where they were going. After many seemingly arbitrary twists and turns, the narrow hall widened up to a passage that ended at a large door. The door was bolted shut but two of the men behind him went forward to unbolt the door. One of the men had to use a grappling hook as a hand to leverage the plank blocking the handle and pry it off. At one point the roof above them shook with a bang and sand and rocks from the above trickled down over their heads. The Deranged Men paid it no mind but Dagnar couldn't help but fear that the ceiling was above to cave down on them from whatever was going on above them. Shrill screams echoed dimly above them as Dagnar stole a useless glance up at the dirt packed ceiling just above his head.

The bolted doors were finally opened and the room inside was a magnificent lair. The only light came from the dim torchlight along the walls and the ceilings were magnificently high, and bannisters lined either side of the wide room. The throne was an ugly thing, polished black rock that was a bit large for the man sitting on its seat. Half a dozen guards stood to either side. They were the first human looking men he had seen since he was captured in the Carnakanes.

The man on the throne had a helmet that covered all but his mouth, where a jagged set of long, ugly teeth snarled in a smile. His robes and garments were an assortment of darker hues of gray and black, matching the polished black throne. Dagnar knew who he looked at, or rather glanced at. It made him rather uncomfortable not knowing where to look, considering most of his face was concealed besides that mouth full of razor-sharp blades.

"You should know who I am—I am the hand that has fed you during your time in the Carnakanes. Glad to see you have made it home, lord Dagnar."

Dagnar wasn't sure what kind of welcome he was receiving. The guards on either side were still as statues, their long spears stood motionless in their right hand with their rigid posture upright as could be.

"My great King, it is a great comfort to many of us to know that you live. It is a pleasure to serve you." Dagnar lowered his head, showing the top of his thinning head.

"It is interesting you say that, Dalian. You have not served me well, as happy as you say you are to do so. We do not meet in the happiest of circumstances, you know this, surely?" His grimy teeth spat out brown sputum and dirt as he spoke.

"I am not a patient being, and neither is the one who commands me. We have lost too much time since the curse. Surely, I have no reason to keep you alive if you're no asset to me. Have him flayed and fed to the orcs."

"No, my King! Please hear me out, my king...I can be of great value to you. I swear."

"And how is that, Dalian? I have many capable replacements lined up, replacements who are capable of much more physically than your frail body."

"None of your replacements have my ability of deception. I have the form of mere mortal man. I almost had the Magi Knight in my possession. I had him fooled."

"Did you? Or did he have you fooled? It would seem that he got the best of you and your men, and worse yet, the one I really wanted got away with him. The boy got away Dalian!"

Dalian shrunk under the booming voice of King Steed. Ral'tor had even shied down from his awkward standing position to rest on his many limbs in a crouch. However, none of the dozen guards were phased.

"I waited patiently for you to execute the plan in the Carnakanes. Now we must scour the lands to the north for the Magi and their apprentices, and we will surely give away our presence to the entire realm in doing so."

Dalian nodded his head and pursed his lips, fearful of what would happen if he were to even open his mouth.

"Speak, Dagnar. Justify yourself, and I will give you another task. This time, if you are successful, the Stones of Ertorin are yours. If you fail me again, I will feed you to the orcs at the Decaying Pits of Mestrane and see to it personally that you watch it happen before I give them your head." His voice was raised to a shout by the end, and Dalian Dagnar was shaking, but his face remained solemn.

"My lord I would be immensely grateful for another chance. What do you require of me?"

"Go to the deserts of the Carnakanes, where there you will find a great army of mere men. The leader of these men is one I would enjoy working with. He would make a great king, a great leader for my purposes. Bring him and his army to me, which should not be difficult as they are on their way to Mestrane already. Soon it will be the free ruler of Raideth upon this throne of chains, and it will be I who traverses these lands of free men, unopposed."

Dagnar nodded his head hesitantly, awaiting further instruction. King Steed's mouth of churning razors spun in a busy circle, spewing out more dirt and saliva. The noise forced Dagnar to cringe, but he dared not let it show.

"Well then, Dagnar, our talk is done. Ral'tor, accompany him out of here, and be sure he knows what happens If he screws this up."

"It shall be done," came the reply from Ral'tor.