Ser Fallon Diehurn brushed his fingers against the pointy whiskers of his face repeatedly. The feeling of the pointy bristles on his face tickled his fingers but his thoughts were elsewhere, and tickling sensation was but a small subconscious thought somewhere in the far reaches of his mind. The sound of quick footsteps on the stone steps leading down to the dungeon snapped Fallon out of his deep train of thought. He knew it was Charion, his mercenary. He had heard those footsteps quite often before, but never in this scenario. Rather, it had always been when Fallon was staying the night in his bed chambers over in his tower on the north end of the keep that Charion would scurry to his room when Fallon sent for him, eager to hear what Fallon would have of him next. Charion was a loyal mercenary, but his duties had deviated from that of a typical knight, often receiving high pay from Fallon for odd tasks, but there was great wealth in the Diehurn house. Too much wealth, in fact, so that feasts accompanied most events—thus the feast before the execution of Terran the Slayer.

Fallon stood with his hands clasped around the rusting bars of his cell. Charion sauntered his way past guards who neglected all interest when they saw who it was that walked the prison hall. The guards feared Charion, and the feud between Charion's men and King Erilin's men ran deep, ever since the incident all those years ago resulting in the death of Fallon's lost brother. A tragedy, but Fallon had pushed it from his mind as best he could, and he demanded that Charion do the same.

Charion strolled up to the cell. Fintan did not stir, but Vince tried to crane his neck to the right of his own cell to see who had come. He winced as he recognized those rotted teeth and dogged face of the man who had tossed him into the sewers. The smell still lingered in his nose. He almost gagged now, as the smell suddenly seemed just as pungent as it had been in the sewers. Charion paid him no mind, but instead waited before his master for instruction.

"Not now, but in due time, I will need you to complete a great task for me, Charion."

"I cannot get you the keys, master. Your father has eyes on me. Not only him, but that creepy sorcerer has his men following my men. I need to be inconspicuous for the next couple days, you know?"

"I do not need the keys, not yet at least. For now, I have something else for you." Fallon's voice never went above a whisper for sake of the guards, but Vince could still hear from his position at the gate of his cell.

"What will you need of me, my lord?"

"I need you to free Terran. The Slayer. He must be freed. My parents would have him killed."

"You know I can't do that, my lord. That sorcerer has got odd spells and those mindless dimwits guarding his place at the sewers all the time."

"I'll pay handsomely. And I mean, you'll be wealthy for a lifetime, Charion."

"My lord, it is no good to be paid all the wealth in the world if I get killed."

"You can't be killed, you're one of my men."

"Sure, I can, your parents believe everything that forbidden sorcerer says. You heard them, just two days ago when you stood before them. Besides, you release Terran from the sewers, then what?"

Fallon pursed his lips and stared beyond Charion now, his mind was hard at work. Charion's longsword was slung across his back and its amber-ended hilt glowed dully against the light of the torches lining the hallway.

"Then do whatever is necessary. Take out his men."

"The Ki'vatsu?" Charion snorted a small bout of laughter. "Our men would get slaughtered, lord. Those men swing a blade around like it's an extension of their limbs, lord."

"Well I've also seen you swing a sword, Charion. You may flee as you please once it is done, but Terran must be released."

"I, alone, cannot take out a single Ki'vatsu, I am sure of it, lord. But if you pay me well, perhaps I can talk to some men and see if I can get one of the inside men to help me out." Understanding dawned on Fallon. Charion wanted to convince one of the guards to catch the Ki'vatsu unexpectedly, but he knew it would never work out. Sure, one may be killed. But that would be the extent of it and the next Ki'vatsu over would give a swing of his blade and the guard's head would be rolling on the ground.

"No, that won't do." Fallon pursed his lips. "How loyal are the Ki'vatsu to their master, this Nightclaw man?"

"I don't know for sure, my lord. But if I had to say, I would guess they are under his spell, his ruling. I have seen the way their eyes melt into the back of their heads. They're lifeless, no autonomy."

"I'd agree, Charion. They are like a poisonous serpent, and Nightclaw is the head. Do you know serpents are killed, Charion?" asked Fallon.

"They're slaughtered."

"Sometimes. But in this case, with this serpent, I say we go for the head," came Fallon's reply.

"So, we cut off Nightclaw's head?" enquired Charion.

"Well, yes, but it doesn't have to be just his head, because he is the head. If his men are under his curse like you say, then we must simply kill Nightclaw if we are to eliminate the Ki'vatsu from his binding." Fallon had a wry smile now, but Charion was skeptical.

"I don't know lord; I've heard tales that killing the necromancer doesn't kill his spells."

"Then capture him. I don't care how you do it, capture him. Torture him until he tells you how to end the spell," ordered Fallon.

Charion filled his mouth with a bubble, "That may cost you a lot of coin, lord. That is no easy task, and my men may not be equal to it."

"I will pay well. It will be a proper Diehurn payment, and I will grant you some of my own men as well."

"What if your father hears of it? It must be kept quiet. Very quiet."

"Yes. But do it quickly, the sooner the serpent dies, the easier the task."

Charion straightened up now, preparing to turn away but Fallon stopped him.

"Charion, do you know why we must free Terran?"

"Yes, lord, so that he is not executed." Charion squinted his dark little eyes in hope that he was right. He just wanted to be gone from the dark, musty dungeon. It smelled horrendous and he did not like such places. He had spent enough time in dungeons in his younger, thieving days.

"Not only that. We must rescue Terran, for he is the Maldur King. The Maldur are marching...ah, it matters not. Just get the job done, and you will be rewarded with coin beyond your wildest imagination, Charion. I already have the payment waiting for you from a trusted man. He will see to it that you are paid if the mission is carried out."

"Yes, lord. As you wish." Charion was more than happy to scurry past the guards and ascend the twisting stairs up towards the light of the upper castle floors.

* **

Prince Brahon reined his horse up to get a proper glance across the sweeping hills outside of the castle's confines. Clouds overhead hid the sun and nightfall was only a couple hours away, judging by the position of the sun. Cottages and farms littered the landscape ahead like little colonies and their ants—dispersed conveniently between the settlements. Prince Brahon sat amount his proud stallion of beautiful white fur with his mail and breast plate. His arms were heavily plated, and a half-helm sat fittingly upon his round head. The commanding general pulled rank beside him as Prince Brahon scanned the landsape while he waited for the long stream of men who lined in two's emerged from the castle's drawbridge and across the vast moat. There were about fifty in all. Not meant to draw attention, but certainly enough to defend against any standard threat or militia that was rumored to be headed their way.

The commanding general lifted the helm of silver armor from his face, "It is a beautiful land, Weptswur. Certainly, the finest shades of greens and rolling hills I've seen in my travels across the realm."

"And what travels have you endured in your time, Commander Nerault?"

"Well, sailed to Bryasor to visit my far away sister, who reigns as Queen in those lands. I have travelled north to south and back between the Carnakanes and Adrossi."

"Not Mestrane though...when you went south?"

"No, your majesty. I am not fool enough as some to journey as far, despite the tales of dragon's sitting on mounds of gold and a beautiful paradise waiting within. Those days are long gone, men have already cursed it, I am sure of it."

"Fair enough. I desire to travel there someday. Somehow. I intend to make it happen, Commander Nerault," said Prince Brahon.

"I wouldn't doubt it, your majesty. 'Tis an intriguing place nonetheless, I can understand your desire."

The two then sat in silence, and Commander Nerault's inferior gave him a curt nod that all of the men had been withdrawn from the castle. It was time to go.

Commander Nerault rode in stride with Prince Brahon. He was thankful for the silence, for he despised conversations were conceived due to the awkwardness that accompanied silence. He would have had to internalize his bitterness and portray false interest. Yet, Prince Brahono had been much the same, and only sparing comments regarding the beauty of the trees or cold of the wind were exchanged between the two.

They passed creeks and brooks of flowing water. They trudged through mud and soggy marshes as the creek beds emptied into the lands, and shortly thereafter they found themselves passing through one of the remote and trivial kingdoms of Weptswur, whose lord was now at Weptwur's King's Hall, feasting with King Erilin. Prince Brahon found it an odd thought that he now swapped places with that lord. He found nothing special about the kingdom itself. It was fairly ordinary, and quite boring, frankly.

The stream of knights bore the banner of Sunswood, the pride of Weptswur with its fluorescent red dragon emblazoned upon the blackened sky of thunderous clouds. Men who worked in their fields gave simply a bored glance as the battalion of knights cantered through with their hooves clacking softly on the dirt path.

After Prince Brahon had Commander Nerault question a fair few local folks on whether they had seen any foreign armies marching through Weptswur's borders, no positive response had been received and so on they went to the next kingdom, which was no more than an hour's ride further south.

"I doubt we'll find anything here, but next stop will be Dansington Kingdom. We'll set up camp there for the night wherever we can find if we must continue onwards. I suspect there will be some decent lodgings for half our men, and the rest can set up tents outside in the grassy plains nearby."

"A brilliant plan, your majesty." Commander Nerault was happy to avoid conflict and offered his agreement.

It was the sight of the smoke before they crested the hill that set Prince Brahon's heart racing and his horse speeding. Great wafts of smoke drifted up from over the hill, where he knew Dansington to be. He had travelled there many times with his father when he was younger to learn the duties of a King. The stream of knight's spurred their horses on hurriedly behind him as he went.

Commander Nerault almost flung himself off his horse in an attempt to catch up to Prince Brahon's white stallion. The scene before the Commander left his heart in his throat, and he felt his mouth go dry. There was nothing below them but scorched houses and burned property. A church was burnt down to its foundations and only the pulpit remained standing in inside the burnt frame. Slaughtered corpses littered the blackened grasses below, and the only sound emanating through the air was caw of the crows that feasted upon the bodies. Hyenas and insects feasted on flesh, and some beast that Brahon had never seen in his lifetime prowled about the scene. There was no enemy to be seen, however, and Commander Nerault stood in awe.

The Kingdom's small keep and towers had been reduced to ashes and rubble, barely recognizable. Prince Brahon returned his face to a more neutral appeal as he turned to Commander Nerault.

"They can't be far; the smoke is still rising from the ruins and the birds have no finished cleaning up the dead."

"Indeed, lord Prince. I would suggest heading east to kingdom Fairhorn, as the that would be the next closest place of greatest resistant. Their walls are strong, and their people rival the number of our own inside our walls."

"I do not believe it necessary, Commander Nerault. We were sent out to scout out the endangerment, and to see that It exists. My brother was right, it would seem. This is the work of a powerful foe, and a well-organized one. That is what we were instructed to find out, and indeed we have found it. We ride back immediately, wasting no time in our haste to return of the news to my lord father. Have your fastest rider ride ahead with an escort to get the message to my father."

"Lord, Prince, If I do say so—"

"You will not say so. I am not a weak man and I know what I want. Now do as I say, as last I checked my father placed me in charge. Not. You." Prince Brahon said with gritted teeth.

"Yes, my lord, forgive me for overstepping my authority."

Prince Brahon let his gaze fall upon the burned kingdom again and his attention was stolen by the cries of a young woman who was crouched down below over a burnt corpse. His face softened and Commander Nerault recognized his sympathy and joined his prince in gazing down upon the scene below.

"It is terrible what was happened here. I cannot imagine such demonstrative things upon our own kin. Our own people, Commander."

"Indeed, I could not have said it better myself, your majesty." Commander Nerault's jaw was locked tight and his brows furrowed. He glanced overhead at the gathering rain clouds.

"Salvage what you can from the villages, find whatever plunder has not burned. See to those who weep." Prince Brahon spoke from boldly to his fifty-odd men and they whipped the reins of their horses and trotted down the steep valley and into the mess of ashes and death.

Prince Brahon remained atop the valley alongside Commander Nerault.

"My brother is a good man, Commander. A truly loyal man to our family."

"I wouldn't doubt it, lord Prince."

"I know you wouldn't. Speak freely, Commander. I do not wish to speak to a timid child."

Commander Nerault heaved a deep sigh. "I have been due the pleasure of working alongside him over the years, Prince Brahon. And truly, I say to you, it is rare to find a man who is so committed to justice and righteousness. He will sacrifice his pride to do what he thinks ought to be done."

"As for me. Commander? Do I embody that same trait as my dear brother?" Prince Brahon and Commander Nerault did not meet eyes as they spoke but stood over the place of death still. Prince Brahon's leg was elevated on a piece of black rock sticking out of the ground with his elbow knelt over his knee.

"I would not describe you as the same man as your brother. He does not fear conflict. I sense great fear in you, Prince Brahon. The same as your father."

"Then help me, Nerault. I know you to be a man of steely determination and some say you lack any emotion. Teach me, I want to be strong. I must become stronger than brother, for I am to be his king, Nerault! His King!"

Prince Brahon stood facing Nerault, his eyes were large and sorrowful.

"If you truly mean what you have said, take this army to Dansington, your majesty. Go and see what has come of it, and that would take a great feat of courage, my lord.

An hour passed and the sun was beginning to lose its warming grasp on the lands below it. The wind became strong and soft pelts of rain began to drop from black clouds overhead. Commander Nerault whistled loudly to signal his troops back to their base atop the great hill that overlooked the scorched kingdom. Men dragged barrels of jewels and chests of plunder and coin. All was set for them to head east to Dansington but Prince Brahon could not avert his eyes from a crying woman who still sat weeping over a burnt corpse.

"Listen here, men of Weptswur. Has anyone spoken to the women who weeps down below this valley?"

A few men exchanged glances and the prince repeated his question. One man stepped forward; his face was too young for even peach fuzz, but his hair hung down to his shoulders.

"My lord, I spoke to her and offered her coin, but she said that it is worth nothing to her. She asked me whose men we are, and I told her we are knights of Prince Brahon of Weptswur and she only sobbed her. It seems she might know of you, your majesty.

The Prince stared incredulously at the young man, deep in thought. My brother would ride down to her and see that she is okay. She has lost everything, and yet here I am. It would be the kingly thing to do. Prince Brahon mounted his horse and the young knight was thankful to be off the spotlight. Commander Nerault yelled something as he rode down the steep valley but Prince Brahon only heard the screams of the wind against his ears and the prickly drops of rain.

His house cantered on through the rubble and ruin and the smell almost had him puking. The smell of burnt flesh and death plagued the ashes and destruction. His horse narrowly squeezed between a hole in the kingdom's front gate that he been crumbled. This could not have simply been the work of torches and thatched roof-tops, could it? Prince Brahon stared in disbelief at the damage he saw around him. As he approached the weeping woman she was still hunched over with an oversized cloak and her back to him. As Prince Brahon cantered closer he had expected her to turn around to at least see who it was that rode near, but she remained hunched over the body and sobbing.

Prince Brahon dismounted and moved to her side, easing a hand over her shoulder. He imagined what a good king would do, and whispered words of comfort to her.

"My lady, it is Prince Brahon Diehurn of Weptswur, son of Erilin Diehurn. You may ride back with my men if you wish and I can offer you a warm bed and a hot bath for as long as you like, my lady. I am greatly sorry for your loss; I know what it can feel like to lose someone."

The lady had stopped sobbing to hear what he said. Her hood still concealed her face and the prince moved closer to her side in an attempt to meet her face. She turned her head as he inched closer and he realized she was a woman of great beauty. Blond hair was bound behind her head underneath her hood, but strands of bangs dangled down either side of her thin face. Her nose was long, but elegant in a way that Brahon could not stood staring at. And then she raised her eyes to meet his and they were the purest color of blue he had ever seen, and tears continued streaming out of them like a faucet.

Her body trembled and shook with fear and Brahon tentatively wrapped an arm around her, feeling immense sympathy for the woman. The corpse in front of her was no more recognizable than the ashes of the house's foundation that encircled them now. She leaned into his embrace and they sat for a couple minutes whilst she cried, and he tried his best to be there for her. This is odd, I do not even know this woman. Perhaps she can recover at her leisure inside the safety of our walls, and perhaps she would make a fine princess and one day we'll rule the kingdom as king and queen. This will be some distant memory of how it all started...

"It may not be safe here, my lady. Might I take your hand and lead you back to our camp upon that hill just there?"

She nodded sullenly and took all the courage she could muster to rise to her feet. Brahon motioned for her to move to him and he would help her onto his mount. She suddenly seemed very cautious now, and Brahon furrowed his brow.

"What is it, my lady? I'm not here to hurt you or take you. You have my word, beautiful lady, I can keep you safe; give you a new home."

Her hands were concealed inside her cloak as they inched closer to him with her eyebrows knit into a sorrowful gaze and her nose sniffling persistently.

"Do you speak, my lady? Do you have a name?"

She did not shake her head nor speak a word, but instead took a step closer. Prince Brahon heard shouts from atop the hill but he could not make out what they were yelling. He shut them out inside his head and watched as the lady took each step with great caution over the black ashen remains of her kingdom.

She stepped close to him and leaned her forehead upon his. Her left hand went to his chest so delicately and she pressed her body on his. Prince Brahon was tempted to jerk himself away, but he could not detach himself from her beauty. Her beautiful, long nose pressed against his. He closed his eyes and hoped her lips would meet his as his hand slid up her back and behind her head.

The prince's eyes bulged from his head. Blood overflowed from his mouth slowly at first, his eyes glazing over. The dagger seared into his belly and twisted, slicing open his stomach all the way across. His insides spilled out like sausages upon the black-stained ground. Her face was no longer a she, but it was he. Prince Brahon staggered a bit, trying weakly to hold onto the assailant's arms for support but the skinchanger let him fall to the ground. The last thing the prince saw was the face of the weeping woman looming over him, although it was no longer a weeping woman that stood before him. His eyes glowed a light blue like the sky, but his skin was white with thin, blue markings that ran down his face like scars. Instead of hair, horns protruded from his head like a natural crown and his cloak became a white and gold tunic.

The last thing Brahon heard before he heaved his last breath barely reached his ears, "Beauty has no face, foolish Prince." And the False King spit upon the newly added corpse, and the crows flocked to the body, pecking his eyes out before he had truly died even died. King Steed had arrived.