Chapter One

	It was spring, a time of the year when things should be reborn.  A time when life renews 
itself as the grass grows green and thick and the flowers thrust their heads high up through the 
blades that surround them.  A time when the birds' song fills the air and young animals test their 
legs, arms, paws, wings, and whatever other extremities that nature has provided them with.   A 
time when the winds blow cool and moist, wafting the fragrance of the new flowers into the 
nostrils of the young creatures.  But that was simply not what was happening here in this place, 
at this time.  The air blew hot and dry, catching dust from the barren ground and casting it into 
the eyes of any that walked here.  Bleached white bones lay strewn about, some more recently 
deposited than others.  Between the parched rocky outcroppings of the land, remnants of 
weapons lay, rusting and rotting away like the corpses of the young men who once wielded them.  
Long forgotten by this place was the true meaning of spring: peace, life, and renewal.  For too 
long war, death and decay had ruled this place.  Four hundred fifty-seven years to be more 
precise.  The reasons for this war were unknown to the men who were ordered to fight and die 
for them.  All that mattered was that the Divinates of Grager hated the Tarinians, and the 
Tarinians despised the Divinates with equal fervor.  Any young and inexperienced adventurer 
who happened upon this place would think that they had stumbled upon a madman’s vision of 
Armageddon.  Never before had there been such a wasteland.
	It was at this time that a young woman from the North, Bellandra Marcesi, sought out the 
ancient masters in Syldrenor, on the southern peninsula of Hespyra.  She had already journeyed 
for weeks, and had only come about half of the distance.  She was in the heart of this wasteland.
	“Soldiers!” she thought as her scanning eyes fixed upon a group of men on horseback.  
Their dark armor was immured in bright white cloaks to reflect the harsh sunlight away from 
them.  Bellandra figured that they must surely have the one thing she most desperately required.  
Her supply of water had run low, and the thirst in her throat was becoming unbearable.  She 
stumbled toward them, shouting, her tattered clothing blowing furiously in the parched, dusty 
wind.  "Please!  Help me!"
	She had captured the attention of one of the soldiers, who galloped toward her at a furious 
rate.  He brought his mount to a skidding halt, thrusting more dust and sand into the air and into 
Bellandra's eyes.
	"You there," he said.  "Where is your mark?"
	"My mark?" she asked, quite puzzled.  "Look, I just need some..."
	"Sir!" he shouted as he stared down at her, his gaze becoming threatening.  "Another one!"  
He shoved her to the ground with his foot.  By this time, the other soldiers had ridden up as well, 
halting in a circle around her.
	"Bind her and take her to the castle," said a man who appeared to be the commander.  "A 
fine example this trespassing spy will make."
	"Yes, sir," the man responded, climbing down from his horse.  The young girl could only 
stare at him terrified.  Not only had she found herself lost in an ungodly wasteland, but now she 
was confronted by a hostile group of men bent on making her an 'example' for 'trespassing'.  As 
the man walked toward her, she could read his thoughts through his eyes.  Although her skin was 
dirtied by travel, and her clothing frayed by the whipping wind of the desert, he could tell that 
she was a lovely young woman.  She felt his lustful gaze upon her, frightening her more and 
more by the moment.  As he laid his hand upon her, she panicked.  Reaching quickly into her 
belt, she withdrew a slender dagger and thrust it into his shoulder.  He cried out in agony and 
reeled backward as the other soldiers stood, shocked.  She bolted between the other two and 
made for a large outcropping several yards away.  The sound of beating hooves followed her.  
Closer and closer they came as she desperately stumbled toward the rocks.  Finally, something 
struck her in the back of the head, knocking her to the ground.  The commander watched as the 
other soldier quickly dismounted his horse in mid gallop, ran to Bellandra, and straddled her face 
down in the dirt, a handful of hair in his clenched fist.  She screamed out in pain, which was met 
by a chuckle from the soldier on top of her.
	"Now," he said, releasing her hair and grabbing her wrists.  "Let's see how you like this!"  
He then tied her hands together behind her back and rolled her over to her back.  He placed one 
hand on her thigh and began to move it slowly upward.  Thrusting her head forward, she spat in 
the solder’s face, hitting him squarely on his forehead.  He raised his hand off her and slowly 
wiped the spit as she struggled beneath him.  
	"That's enough, soldier," the commander said.  "Bind her and lay her across my horse, 
behind me."
	Her head began to swim.  The combination of the running, the lack of water, and the jolt to 
her head finally began to take their effect.  Bellandra passed into unconsciousness.

	When she awoke, she found herself being brought into the gates of a tremendous granite 
wall.  Her hands were still tied, and she was lying, stomach down, on the back of the 
commander's horse.  The commander glanced back at her.  Seeing that she was awake, he gave 
her a push on the shoulder, sending her tumbling painfully to the ground.  The horse did not stop, 
and it wasn't long before she realized that she was still tethered to it by the hands.  Her body 
dragged on the ground, stomach down, for several yards before she managed to scramble to her 
feet and walk behind the beast.  The pace was uncomfortable, and she faltered many times, 
nearly passing out again, all amidst the chuckling of the soldiers.
	Within the gates stood a gigantic castle, wrought from ancient stone many hundreds of 
years ago.  The granite walls surrounded it on every side, with turrets at every corner and at each 
of the three gates, which led inside.  The keep itself was tremendously large, spreading out 
several hundred yards on each of its six sides, and six huge towers surrounded it, one for each 
corner.  Upon one of the two towers of which she had a clear view, a balcony protruded toward 
the courtyard.  Standing upon it was a man, his black cloak blowing in the wind, his hair just as 
dark and foreboding.  She knew he was watching her.  She could feel his icy gaze penetrate her.  
His hands, covered by heavy, black gauntlets, rested upon the thick stone railing.  His head was 
bowed slightly downward in her direction.   She was being brought toward this tower, and soon 
the man would be out of sight, obscured by the height of the structure.  Even from the ground she 
could make out his piercing blue eyes accompanied by thin, scowling eyebrows hovering above.  
The wind blew the dark tendrils of hair that framed the porcelain skin of his face.  Before he was 
out of sight he quickly turned away and retreated into the tower, sending his cape through the air 
behind him.

	The procession came to a halt near the base of the structure, where a small gate stood.  At 
the gate were two guards in thin leather jerkins, each with a rapier at his side.  These men were 
probably younger than she was, and she was not so old.  She’d only recently reached 21 years of 
age.
	“Here’s another for you,” the commander said, pulling upon the rope to which Bellandra 
had been tied.  She fell to the ground, and was dragged closer by the rope until she was at the 
commander’s side.  He continued to pull, forcing her back to her feet.  The guard made his way 
around Bellandra, looking her over, eventually standing behind her.
	“Well done, sir,” the man said.  He then turned to Bellandra.  “Welcome to Azalgaard,” he 
said as he placed his foot across her buttocks and gave a hard push.  She fell again to the ground, 
sobbing with frustration and shame.

*    *    *

	They would be bringing his dinner soon, Jael thought as he paced his quarters.  It was the 
only thought at first that interrupted his pondering of the young woman he had seen at the gates.  
She was lovely.  Her innocence was immediately obvious to him.  Why would she not be 
innocent, he thought.  All too often he’d seen it happen.  These ‘trespassers’ would be brought 
in, tortured, then either killed or enslaved, and for no good reason.  But she was different.  
Something about her struck him and seemed to move him to action.  Perhaps it was just the final 
straw in the ire that had been building in him for so long.  He ceased his pacing in the center of 
the room.  There, a small table with thick legs stood, which he promptly overturned.  He grabbed 
hold of one of the legs and tore it from its mounting, creating quite a sturdy club. Positioning 
himself behind the door, he waited.  He did not have to wait long for the guard to rap on his 
chamber door.  Next came the rattling of keys, and the turning of lock.  As the heavy door swung 
open, Jael’s club swung down.  The guard’s skull crumbled beneath the awesome force 
generated by this action, and the tray of food he carried crashed to the ground.  In horror, the 
second guard drew his sword and lunged at Jael, dealing a glancing blow to his side.  Gripping 
the guard’s wrist with his left hand, Jael locked on to the man’s shoulder with the other.  In one 
quick and devastating motion he spun, gathering much momentum, and pressed the guard’s face 
to the stone corner of the door.  He could hear the bones shatter as they hit the granite.  Heaving 
the lifeless guard further into the room, he turned to the first.  He kicked the body over so that his 
door could be closed again.  He scanned the antechamber in which the guards had been stationed.  
The door on the opposite side was closed, so no sound made it passed that point.  No other 
guards were around.  Then his eyes caught upon what he was truly seeking.  Leaning idly against 
the wall stood a huge, two-handed sword.  Jael stepped across the room and grabbed it by the 
hilt.  Swiftly and deftly, he twirled it back and slid it into the fitted scabbard on his back.  
Content to have regained his sword, he now thought of his strength.  He would need it if he were 
to complete the tasks that lay before him.  He stepped back into his room.  Bending down, he 
picked up his tray of food from the small pool of blood on the floor.  Silently, he closed the door, 
sat down at a small table by the fireplace, and ate his dinner.

*    *    *

	A foul stench filled the air as the young woman returned to her senses.  She gazed about the 
room, a dank, moss-covered dungeon cell, and slowly blinked her eyes to clear the blur from 
them.  She was fettered to the wall by heavy iron chains, and could scarcely move without the 
bindings having their effect.  It wasn’t like she’d be able to go far despite the chains.  She had 
over-exerted herself in trying to avoid just this situation.  Hanging her head low in exhaustion 
and desperation, she had lost any hope that she might have held.  Footsteps could be heard down 
the hallway.  She lifted her head to listen.  She was still covered in dirt and sweat, he brown hair 
stringy and sticking to her forehead.  Her sapphire eyes held the taint of bloodshot.  Being slight 
of figure, she was not suited well for the kind of rigors she had endured.  She was no stranger to 
this feeling however.  Many a time, she ventured far from home and ended up in one thing or 
another, but this was by far the worst she faced.  The footsteps drew nearer.  These could not 
have been the footsteps of a guard on routine patrol, she reasoned.  Rather, they seemed like 
those of a man short on his time.  As the sound reached her cell, it stopped.  A pair of narrow 
blue eyes, framed by a pale white face, gazed at her through a barred slat on the door.
	“Do you want to live?” the cold voice intoned.  Of course she wanted to live.  Didn’t 
everyone?  She gathered the strength to nod toward the man, who had already begun to open the 
door.  “Then come with me,” he finished, letting the door fall the rest of the way open.  In two 
long steps he crossed the small room, and set about unlocking her manacles.  “Come,” he said.  
“We haven’t much time.”
	“Who are you...Why are you-,” she started.
	“No time to discuss it.  We must-,”
	More footsteps had been approaching the cell.  This time they DID belong to a guard on 
routine patrol.  Stopping in front of the open door, the guard peered through it.
	“ANSWER ME!” boomed Jael as he threw Bellandra against the hard stone wall.  She hit 
with her back, but the inertia carried her head into the wall as well, rendering her unconscious 
once more.  Jael turned to the guard.  “Don’t you have something you should be doing?” he 
asked, narrowing his eyes.
	“Yes, sir,” replied the guard, bowing as he backed out of the cell.  “Sorry, sir.”
	Jael turned his attention back to Bellandra.  She lay helpless on the floor at his feat.  It 
would be better this way, he thought.  No need for her to see the killing he would have to do.  As 
he knelt to pick her up, he noticed a small heart-shaped locket around her neck.  Across the 
bottom, engraved into the gold, it read “Bellandra”.  Silently he opened it.  The left side was 
empty, but the right side contained a small sketch of the woman herself.  For several seconds, he 
was unable to take his eyes off it.  It was so dazzling.  It was such a small thing, yet the detail 
was truly stupendous.  It perfectly captured all of her features: her thin face, the curve of her 
chin, her full, pillow-like lips, her sparkling eyes, and her loosely spiraling dark hair.  It cut off 
midway down her perfectly round breasts.  He looked up at her and brushed the hair away from 
her face, comparing the two.  Beautiful, even through the dirt that so smudged her cheeks and the 
sweat that gathered on her high forehead.  Jael snapped back to his senses.  Placing his hands, 
one behind her back, one under her knees, he lifted her, then placed her over his wide shoulder.  
Hastily he made his way out of the cell and down the corridor toward a set of staircases.  He 
needed but to pass one guard post and he would be on the courtyard.  He rushed down the stairs 
and toward the open doorway that led outside.
	“Sir,” came a voice at his right.  There was a guard in the station.  Jael turned to look at the 
man, who was standing behind a tall wooden counter.  “Where are you taking that prisoner?”
	“Interrogation.  Did she have anything with her?”  Jael said.
	“Just a sack of clothes,” the guard responded.
	“I’ll need them.”
	“You’ll have to sign for them,” said the guard, as he handed the bag over.
	“Of course,” Jael replied.  He took the pen from its ink well on the countertop.  It was one 
of those fine, quill pens with a metal shaft and a welled point on the end.  Quite a sturdy pen 
indeed.  He quickly scribbled his name on a parchment that the guard laid before him.  As he 
wrote, a look of fear spread across the face of the guard.
	“You’re –“ the man began.  Before he could finish, Jael drove the long metal portion of the 
pen into the guard’s throat.  Only gurgles and groans came from the guard’s mouth as blood 
began to bubble out of the wound.  Clasping his neck, the guard collapsed to the floor.  Jael made 
his exit through the open doorway and on to the courtyard.  He dashed across a short pathway, 
which led to the place from which he was fleeing.  On the other side was a large wooden 
structure that reeked of manure.  Reaching the shadowed side of the building, Jael dropped down 
to one knee.  Gently he lowered Bellandra to the ground amidst the tall grass that grew there.  
The neighing of horses from within the building drowned out most of the sound his heavy iron 
armor made.  He gripped Bellandra by the shoulders and shook her lightly, attempting to rouse 
her.
	“Bellandra,” he said in a sharp whisper.  Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.  She blinked 
twice, then raised one hand to her forehead and rubbed it lightly.
	“What’s going on?” she groaned.
	“We are leaving this place,” Jael replied.
	Her head clearing a bit, she began to question him again.  “Who are you, anyway?  Why are 
you doing this...and how did you know my name?”
	“It was on your locket,” replied Jael.  “There’s no time to explain the rest.  Wait here.”  Not 
waiting for a reply, Jael stood and rushed around the corner of the stables.  Bellandra remained 
where she sat, fearing what the man might do if she did not.  This was better than execution, she 
thought.  From where she was, she could hear the shouting of peasants, the thundering of hooves, 
and the clanging of metal on a large scale.  It sounded as if a riot was going on.  She peered 
around the corner that Jael had ducked around.  Sure enough, the peasants were in the midst of 
an uprising, and were slowly being forced by the knights to withdraw outside the gates.  The 
knight swung swords at the rioting men and women, cutting down more than a few.  Suddenly, 
the thundering of heavy hooves could be heard behind her.  Quickly she turned to look.  A man 
on a huge steed of all black charged toward her, clad in the black armor of a Tarinian knight and 
a horrifying helm with a mirrored visor.  As he drew closer, Bellandra bolted, screaming in 
panic.  It was a moot effort, as the horseman quickly caught up with her, and she could feel her 
feet leaving the ground.  Confusion surrounded her, as she and the man were now in the midst of 
the riot.  She was pulled onto the horse, and laid across it in front of its master.  The horse did 
not slow, but picked up speed, barreling toward the gates and trampling a few peasants on its 
way.  Once clear of the mob and the gates, the horse’s speed reached a full gallop, which it 
maintained for some miles, until the fortress that they left could no longer be seen.  During this 
time, Bellandra had twisted herself upward and now straddled the horse as well, the knight’s 
metal arms at either side of her.  She held tight to the saddle.  Soon, however, the horse slowed 
its pace, and the horseman removed his helm and let his long black hair fall from it.
	“Thank the gods it was you,” Bellandra said, adding, “whoever you are.”
	“Jael Ahariah,” he replied.
	“Well, now I know one thing about you,” sighed Bellandra.  “Why did you rescue me.”
	“I have my reasons,” Jael responded.
	“Those being...?” prompted Bellandra.
	Jael made no response, which frustrated Bellandra completely.  The two rode together in 
silence for hours.  It was becoming late, and the sun had begun to set.  At the crest of a hill, the 
horse stopped.  From here, the road sloped downward, overlooking a wide valley surrounded by 
thickets of large trees.
	“What’s wrong?”  Bellandra said.
	Surveying the valley below, Jael pointed to a group of lights shining between the trees.  
“There,” he said.  Jael squeezed the horse with his legs, causing it to move again, toward the 
lights.
	“What’s down there?”  Bellandra asked.
	“Mulberry,” Jael said.
	“Which has?”
	“Nothing.  That’s why we’re going.”
	On they rode, silently again, and soon they reached the edge of the tiny hamlet.  Jael again 
stopped the horse, but this time dismounted.
	“Take this,” Jael said, handing a small pouch of coins to Bellandra.
	“Where are you going?” she asked.
	“I can’t go into town.  I am far too conspicuous.  Find yourself and some food,” he said, 
“and stable my horse.  I’ll find you in the morning.”
	“But—“ she started.  Jael had already turned to walk away.  He turned his head toward her 
for a brief moment.
	“Your clothes are in the sack tied to my saddle bag.”  With that, he disappeared into the 
darkness, leaving Bellandra alone once again.