Sample Read

Copyright © 2024 Michael Ogden 

All rights reserved 

First Edition 

Fulton Books 

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2024 

ISBN 979-8-89427-019-7 (paperback) 

ISBN 979-8-89427-020-3 (digital) 

Printed in the United States of America

   Just within the mine shaft entrance, Burk paused as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the shroud of darkness before him, a darkness that seemed to ingest the light from around him. Cocking his head to oneside, the haggard thief pursed his lips together and spat tobacco juice through his upper front teeth. The small number he still retained were jagged and heavily stained. Running his dirt-covered palm down his face and over his unkept beard, he wiped away the thick brown spittle that dripped down his chin. Burk then proceeded to run the very same juice-dampened fingers through his short black hair, slicking it back over his head as he looked unsurely into the darkness.

   Burk’s clothing, though of a custom tailor cut, fit ill portioned to his compact stature and broad build. He wore a gray button-up cotton shirt with arm-length sleeves rolledup to his elbows. His trousers, of soft brown denim, hung baggie at his thighs while he kept the legs tucked into his café high black leather work-style boots. A six-inch elk bone handle dagger, sheathed in leather, hung loosely off his belt at his right side.

 Cautiously, Burk held the torch that he had made by wrapping an oil-soaked cloth around the end of a pick handle up higher before him. He cast its ambiguous light into the throat of the mining shaft that bore its way into the mountain’s belly. The torch’s dancing light caused a soft lustering glow to reflect off the chipped pieces of crystal-laden stone that lay scattered among the wreckage of an overturned cart.

 “Well, spit in me boots, Tugg! Has ya ever sees the liken of dat there many crystals?” Burk said, giving a glance back over his shoulder to his partner with a mischievous grin. This caused the deep wrinkles of his weathered face to bunch together around his dark 

brown eyes.

 Crystals, the driving force behind the two men’s latest endeavors. With their ability to store the fundamental essence of magic itself, along with man’s ever-growing dependency on magic as a fuel source, crystals have become a highly valued commodity within the common lands of Ethereal, as throughout the known world. And as of now, Burk believed, they held his future.

 There were those in the world who possessed the natural endowment of magic. The gifted, as they had been called throughout history. Descendants of a time long past. A time when the angelic children of Dos freely surfeit their lust among the humans of Elath. These children of their copulation—Dragans, as they are called—had soon discovered they, too, possessed the same angelic powers as their Dragon parents. Though this gift allowed them the ability to augment their normal strength and the forces of nature, they were hampered by the dramatic strain it placed upon their human bodies and minds. If they were well rested and in good health, the ignition of a bonfire could take no more effort than that of striking steel to flint. Even for the unskilled novice. Extreme tasks, such as calling forth lightning, could only be managed by the adeptly learned and disciplined. Still, pulling too much upon the natural energies of Elath or the heavens at any given time could leave one severely weakened, and in severe instances, it could bring forth coma or death.

 Therefore, to offset the excessive strain upon oneself, the use of an alternative source of energy had become common practice. The crystal, with its ability to receive and maintain large amounts of the natural energies connected with the use of magic, had made them a favorable supplemental source.

 Most crystals, having no natural energy themselves, needed to be pre-charged. This being accomplished by a gifted pulling moderately upon their own energies and directing them into the crystal. Over a short period, one could be capable of stockpiling large amounts for future use. With the aid of these magically enhanced crystals, a gifted is given the ability to wield a more complex form of energy. This storage ability also allowed the non-gifted the opportunity to prosper from the benefits of magic as well.

 The use of magic, though respected by most people throughout the civilized lands, had fallen to those who desired its more sinister characteristics despite the imminent dangers such use might produce. 

Therefore, under the law within the common lands of Ethereal, the use of magic was heavily restricted and monitored by the throne through the church, making the crystal highly sought after among the more discriminatory markets for use outside the laws. Especially the black crystal. It was not only favored for its ability to work well within the dark arts, but they were also the only crystal found to possess their own magic essence. It is believed that the black crystal had absorbed its power from the hand of Dos during creation, giving them the most raw and purest form known to exist.

 Tugg stood wide-eyed like a child standing before the sweets shelf in the local grocer shop. Tugg—a tall lanky man with a thin narrow face, high forehead, and sharp green eyes that pushed close together at the bridge of his beak-like nose—was unsure of his true genealogy. Burk had to explain what the word even meant. Burk believed that with such distinct true blood features of the Ethereal upper crust that Tugg bore, along with the fact that Tugg never knew his father, he had to be one of the unclaimed bastards of some high lord who had found his temporary pleasure in the lower side. Just one more of the many reasons Burk looked upon the nobles with such disdain.

 Tugg anxiously tucked his long thin copper hair crudely up under his wool cap. Like the clothes Burk wore, Tugg’s also were obviously of a custom-tailored cut for someone other than himself. Dirty and sweat-stained, they appeared never to have been washed 

while in his possession. Across his left cheek, he displayed a thin white scar that gave him a much rougher edge that contrasted with his soft childish demeanor.

 “I guess dat old man was true on his word,” muttered Tugg as he surveyed his surroundings.

 Burk and Tugg, two thieves from the great city of Divinity, had sold or bartered off what little possession they owned for various supplies that they felt most likely would be needed to forge the temperamental Black Rock Mountains. What they could not buy, they had stolen. Which was most of what they had acquired. Being men of the city and seeing that neither of the two knew what it took to survive beyond the walls of Divinity, this task had proven a true challenge. Once they had gathered their items, along with a meager supply of food, they said their goodbyes to no one and headed up the mountains’ southeastern slopes. For the last eight days, the two thieves had diligently searched for the crystal mine. Their future and hopes were riding on the wild rantings of an old man they had only met but once. Words so far-fetched that Burk knew they could be nothing but truth.

 “Why for the old man lie?” he had said to Tugg as he worked out his plan. “A lie gets him notten, and da truth, well, what’s does dat cost him?”

 It had been twelve nights prior. While the two thieves had sat drinking in a pub near the west gate of Divinity, the old man had wandered in from the night, half crazed from hunger and thirst. He was rambling on about evil spirits being afoot in the mountains. 

Most of the patrons, figuring him for too much drink or just out of his wits, paid him little mind. Burk, though, smelled something different. He had a nose for opportunities, especially those that offered large profit with the least amount of effort on his part. That night, the rich smell of opportunity was burning his nose. So Burk bid the old man sit with them. He bought him a bowl of yesterday’s lamb stew and a mug of watered-down ale. Then he encouraged the old man to continue his tale.

 The old man told of how he was a stable master for one of the crystal mining camps up in the Black Rock Mountains. He told of how one day, one of the mules he tended had wandered off into the forest and how he had gone in search of the poor beast. He went on to explain how, upon his return some hours later, he was only to discover that the inhabitants of the compound had all seemed to have just up and left. Vanished.

 “Everything liven was gone,” he had said pointedly. Though frightened as he was, he had mustered the courage to give a thorough investigation. Where, as he had said, he found no one. There were no recent tracks leading to nor from the compound except for his own and the mule’s. He said he had found no bodies. Alive or dead.

 “No man, mule, nor dad-blame chicken was I to found,” the old man had proclaimed robustly, which had turned the heads of a few of the patrons. “Ghost, evil spirits,” he had said, his eyes wide in his face.

 Ghosts! Burk had no use for such gibberish. What did interest him, however, were the particulars concerning the mine itself. Not only was it a black crystal mine, but at present, it would appear to be lacking any inhabitants. More pointily, no soldiers. Nor would it be that anyone would be aware of its current condition for quite some 

time. The old man had said that they had just received their winter supplies and had begun to button down for the coming season. That was to say that no one would ever know. That was if, for some reason, the old man failed to inform the proper authorities. And that Burk had personally seen to.

 It had cost a couple more rounds of ale, along with a few left-handed assurances that neither Burk nor Tugg would tell anyone before the old man’s tongue loosened enough to reveal the general location of the mine.

 “Ya seems like good lads,” the old man had said. Burk had just nodded with a pleasant grin as he plotted the old man’s demise.

 Just as the day’s light hung straight above, the two thieves had come upon the mining compound. They had kept hidden within the shadows of the trees for almost an hour before they were satisfied with its true lack of occupants. It did seem that the old man had been right. There were no signs of anyone. It did appear as the old man had said. They all had truly vanished.

 The mining compound consisted of three buildings, each of a wood frame construction built upon a stone foundation and topped with a gray slate roof. Their shutters were drawn tight against the chilled air and coming weather. No smoke wafted from their tall stone chimneys. To the northwest side of the compound, a small area of the forest had been cleared, and what appeared to be the stable was constructed to one side. A split wood picketed fence enclosed a small corral. The fence, with its jagged points leaning slightly outward, had been constructed more for keeping wolves and mountain cats out rather than keeping the mules in. The buildings and stable, along with the yards, all looked to have been well maintained. Recent neglect, however, was beginning to show.  The largest of the three buildings, and the first of which Burk and Tugg had chosen to inspect, was the dining hall and kitchen. As Burk had anticipated, yet was still surprised to find, the building was unlatched. There were no signs of previously forced entry as well.

 Inside, the air was stale with a musty damp smell. Brass lanterns of magic crystallin hung from black iron hooks mounted along the walls. Their pale blue light cast a tranquil warmth throughout the room. Several clocks and jackets hung on iron pegs that protruded from the stone-faced walls to either side of the fireplace located in the center of the eastern wall. Two large tables made from thick red oak slats that had been sanded smoothly and given a clear lacquer finish sat parallel to each other, running the length of the main room. Bench seats, of similar construction as the tables, lined each side of both tables. A large opening in the north wall led to the kitchen.

 Within the kitchen was a large flat granite top stove. A couple of stone-constructed ovens lined the wall to the left side of the stove. Chunks of black coal lay scattered on the floor between stove and ovens, where rodents had been digging their way in through the coal box that fed from the outside. A butcher block table stood in the center of the room. Wooden and clay bowls, along with various cooking implements, lay thoughtlessly strewn across its surface. Mounted in the west corner was a cast-iron hand-operated water pump. Dirty crockery, half submerged in murky stagnant water, filled a large metal washtub that sat below the pump’s spigot. This all confirmed the lack of human occupancy.

 A cold storage pantry had been cut into the ground where the north wall backed into the side of the mountain. Burk had been further surprised to find the pantry completely empty. The old man had said that they had just recently received their winter supply. The shelves should have been fully stocked with food and other staples. This made no sense to Burk. If the miners and soldiers who had been stationed here would have taken it with them, they would have needed a wagon to carry it all. Even if they had packed the mules, surely, he or Tugg would have seen their tracks.

 The old man had spoken of evil spirits just snatching them all away. These words hung suspiciously heavy in the back of Burk’s thoughts, though he shook them off as mere nonsense.

 “Spirits don’t eat food,” Burk told himself.

 Upon close inspection, Burk had discovered a false wall that opened into a small room. Its lock was easily bypassed by the thief. Inside was an ample supply of wine, whiskey, and clear liquor. With the pangs of hunger and thirst pulling at their bellies, the two delved straight into the wine.

 The bounty that the three buildings offered was far above the expectations of any thief. Yet something had pulled at Burk, causing him to seek further.

 “I say to ya, I did,” said Burk with self-satisfaction. “Dat ole fool 

was talkin’ no lies.” His robust voice echoed off the stone calling back 

to him from down the shaft.

 “I not likin’ dis, Burk,” Tugg said in a shallow whisper as not to let his voice carry. “Just feel wrong to me.” His expression, as well as his voice, filled with fear and uncertainty. Continuously, he cast nervous glances back over his shoulder as they made their way farther into the deep shaft of the crystal mine.

 “I say we get what’s we can get and be gone from dis here place,” muttered Tugg, causing Burk to pause and turn to face him.

 Burk narrowed his eyes to thin slits. “I is askin’ ya, Tugg,” said Burk, speaking slowly, his voice cold. “Do ya wants to settle for just a bite when yas can have da whole dang meal?

 “Me!” Burk barked as he pointed proudly at himself, chest swelling. “I’s not going to settle for less no mores.” Burk took a deep breath then continued, “We’s worked too hard bustin’ our arses for dat greedy, good-for-nutten priest.” Burk spat tobacco juice in an execution of his anger and disgust. “By the cursed pale moon, we does all the work, and that bastard takes seventy percent.” He spit once more. “I not care what he say about havin’ to pay off da city guard.” Anger burned deeper on his face. “He liven mighty high on up street for his gutter-born self, if ya ask me.” Burk wiped his hand 

over his moist mouth and chin.

 “I is not even gonna talk ’bouts tryin’ to make an honest show of it. The king’s taxes is no better,” explained Burk, shaking his head. 

“I is tellin’ ya, Tugg. No more!” Burk swung his hand out in an arc in front of him, palm down. Lightning flashed in his eyes.

 “We be rich men now, Tugg.” Burk’s voice calmed. “And we owe no one nothin’.” This was spoken more to himself than Tugg.

 The frown deepened on Tugg’s face. “I reckon, Burk. Ya’s been right so far.” His voice cracked, betraying the fear he was trying to hide.

 Tugg’s nervousness caused him to ramble. “Burk, why ya think they leave these crystals just lying about for?” he said as he picked up another and put it in his pack. His eyes grew large as he stopped next to a cart that separated him from Burk. Its wheel was broken, and it was half full of crystals. Picking up one of the stones from the cart, he held it out toward Burk. The light of their torches reflected off its dark luster. “This one here could keep us livin’ up street for da whole season…Burk? We can’t carry dis much down da mountain,” he pleaded.

 Burk held his torch over the cart to get a better look at its contents. His face was void of expression. Wordless, he ran his free hand over the glittering stones, lovingly caressing them under his touch.

 “Ya think them stories be true, Burk?” Tugg swallowed deeply. He continued, “Them ones dat say these here mountains be kept by spirits.” Tugg pulled his brow together, causing the flesh at the bridge of his nose to wrinkle up. “Dat ole man…he say dem to be 

true. Me, I always think dem just tales.” Tugg paused, drawing in 

a slow and shaky breath. “I say dem jus’ make ’em up to scare folk away.” Nervously, he looked up and down the shaft of the mine. “I is thinken, I is not sure no more. Burk, I be startin’ to think to believe der be a truth to ’em tales. 

 “Dey say dem spirits will snatch a man’s soul.” Tugg’s voice dropped even more into a cracking whisper. “Dem say ’em just snatch it right from ya.” A shiver ran over Tugg as he gave thought to such a thing.

 The flesh over Burk’s left eye twitched as he maintained his empty gaze upon Tugg. Slowly, he turned his attention back on the crystals he had unconsciously been caressing under his hand.

 “Burk!” cried Tugg impatiently. “Is ya even hearen’ what I be sayen’ to ya?” His eyes darted around as he ran his hand over the back of his neck, kneading his fingers into his tense muscles.

 Tugg’s words that echoed off the walls were quickly overcome as the ground began to tremble beneath his feet. The sound of heavy rock moving against rock rumbled up from the depths of the mountain’s belly, along with a fiery breath of air that caused their torches to hiss and dance as it gusted through.

 Both men fell squatting, gripping tight to the side of the cart that rattled between them, trying as they may to maintain their balance. Dust sifted down from the stone ceiling above as the wood support beams and their post moaned under the shifting weight.

 “Dat demon breath!” exclaimed Tugg in frantic despair as the rumbling stopped. “I tell ya, Burk, demon’s breath it surely be. Can’t you smell the sulfur and death?” His eyes were wide as they flittered about. “I is beggin’ ya, Burk. Let’s get from dis cursed place,” he cried as sheer panic and fear felled him. He continued to tremble, though 

the ground beneath him had ceased from its shaking.

 “Burk!”

 Burk, ignoring the pleas of his friend, rose. Turning from the cart, he made his way to a torch bracket that hung on the nearby wall. He removed the spent torch it held and cast it off to his side. Burk then proceeded to place his burning torch into the holder.

 “Burk!” shouted Tugg. “What are ya doin’? We got to get from here.” Tears dampened the edges of his eyes. Desperation overwhelmed him while he watched in confusion as Burk slowly slid his dagger from its sheath and stared back over his shoulder at him. 

 “I knows what ya’s up to, Tugg,” said Burk in a cold tone as he turned toward Tugg. His eyes were empty pools of gray and as hollow as his voice. “Ya wants it alls for ya self, does ya, Tugg?”

 “What ya talkin’ ’bout, Burk!” Tugg tightened his grip on his torch in an effort not to drop it from his shaking hand.

 “The crystals,” Burk snarled, narrowing his brow in a cold glare, his lips tight as he spat through his teeth. “Ya can’t fool me, Tugg. I sees it in ya’s eyes.” Burk scratched at his bearded chin. Deep lines of concentration furrowed across his face. 

“I be thinkin’ dat ya be hopin’ to kill me, aren’t-cha, buddy? Tis dat it?” Burk’s face grew cold and hard.

 “No, Burk!” pleaded Tugg, shaking his head vigorously. Complete shock engulfed him to hear his pal, his only true friend and companion, speaking such horrid accusations. “Ya’s talkin’ mad, Burk!”

 “What ya intend to do, Tugg? Slip one in me back whiles I not lookin’?” continued Burk, ignoring Tugg’s pleas. His words cut like ice through the hot air that seemed to grip at their flesh. “Like dat bum ya did in the market square last spring, I be thinkin’.”

 Tugg’s eye grew even wider as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Despite the warmth of the air, a cold chill ran down the length of his spine, causing him to shudder as Burk began to take slow calculating steps toward him. His knife was held tight in his right hand, which hung stiff to his side threateningly.

 “Does ya hear me, Burk? It’s demons, I tell ya.” The tears pooling in his eyes and running down his face were leaving pale streaks where they washed over his dirty flesh as he pleaded. “’Ems causin’ ya to think crazy. I be beggin’ ya. Let’s just get from dis place. I not want nothin’ with dese crystals.”

 Tugg held his torch out in front of him in an effort to deter Burk from coming any closer. Panic was overtaking him as he began to step back from the still-approaching Burk. Not being able to see where he was stepping, Tugg rolled his foot on a loose stone, causing him to fall backward. His breath was knocked from him as he slammed hard against the stone wall.

 As Tugg tried to stabilize himself, Burk quickly took advantage of the situation. Throwing up his left arm, he was able to knock Tugg’s torch free from his trembling hand. Before the torch reached the ground, Burk grabbed hold of Tugg’s arm. Being off-balance, as Tugg was, made it easy for Burk to overcome him and pull Tugg in toward him. This allowed Burk to easily slip the blade of his dagger up under Tugg’s ribs. The sharp steel sliced through cloth and flesh, puncturing his left lung.

 The two men stood there. Burk supported Tugg’s weight in his arm as he looked deep into his friend’s eyes. His eyes were swollen with tears that grew round with shock, confusions within as to what his friend had just done. Unable to speak, Tugg merely mouthed the word Why.

 As the dying man’s eyes closed, Burk pulled his dagger free from Tugg, letting his limp body fall to the ground at his feet. Kneeling, Burk wiped his blade clean on the dead man’s shirt and returned it to its sheath. He then removed Tugg’s pack and proceeded to rummage through it, dumping that which did not interest him on the ground.

 Producing a bottle of whiskey, Burk stood then tossed the pack to the side. With his teeth, he pulled the cork free from the bottle. With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his head, stretching as he tried to ease the tension.

 Burk spat the cork at the body lying at his feet and took a long draw from the bottle. He grimaced as he swallowed the harsh liquid. Readjusting the tobacco in his cheek with his tongue, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand that held the bottle. Looking down, he stared in an empty glare at Tugg’s lifeless body. For just a moment, departing as quickly as it came, a look of remorse passed over his face.

 Burk stretched out his arm, tilted the bottle over Tugg, and poured a sizeable portion of the liquor over Tugg’s body. He took another long draw. Wordless, he reached down and picked up the torch that lay burning nearby. Licking his lips, Burk dropped the 

torch on top of Tugg. Liquor and dry clothing ignited, the growing flames reflecting in Burk’s eyes.

Turning on his heels, Burk retrieved his torch from where he had hung it on the wall. He then proceeded down the mine shaft as the burning body blazed brightly behindhim.

 From deep within the depths of the mountain, the grinding sound of stone on stone rumbled up the shaft once more. New settling dust erased the signs that told of the two thieves had ever recently made their way within. As the rumbling subsided, all became silent but the crackling of fire as the shadows danced across the walls within 

the emptiness.

The night was slowly swallowing the forest as Tammara, the red moon, began to crest the horizon. Her crimson glow illuminated the falling snow in a cascade of blood that flooded the land. King Bramus, ruler of the common lands of Ethereal, desperate and alone, forged his way through the deepening snow.

 Over the last few miles, the king had shed himself of his plate armor, this all to ease himself of its heavy burden. Two bracers, golden dragons inlaid in the armor that wrapped around his wrists, and a vest of loose-fitting chainmail were all that remained. The king’s burgundy shirt of soft woven cotton, damp from snow and his perspiration, clung aggressively to his arms and chest. Thus far, his kneehigh beaver-skin boots had managed to keep his feet warm and dry. However, the rising snow was beginning to dampen his black denim trousers at his thighs, allowing the wet cold to seep into his legs.

 King Bramus Draxon, of true Ethereal dragon blood, descendent of the first dragon king, Thias Draxon, who, under the name of his father, Herimus, had established his throne nearly 1,200 years prior. King Bramus bore the stern cheekbones, stout square chin, eyes of molten bronze, and prominent ears of his dragon ancestors. His slightly rounded nose was the only soft feature among his tan leather face that marked him human. The king still retained most of his hair, which he kept short. Cut two fingers long and just above the ears suit him just fine.

 Upon his head, he wore the crown of Ethereal. It was a simple thin band of gold, no thicker than a young girl’s little finger. The ridged metal amplified the cold where it lay against the flesh of his forehead and temples. His clean-shaven cheeks glowed red from the freezing wind that burned against them. Small pieces of ice clung to the edges of his mustache. Much larger chunks of ice had formed on the hem of his cloak. Like anchors being dragged through the sea, they added unwanted weight that helped to impede his progress.

 King Bramus paused under a towering pine tree. His hot breath billowed into the chilled night air as he tried to steady his breathing. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he tried to ease the weariness that ached in his muscles. Being the large man that he was, broad-shouldered, thick and stout legs, and standing a full six and a half feet, the king found it quite difficult to stand erect beneath the lower branches that now sagged under the weight of the falling snow.

 As his breathing began to steady, King Bramus pondered the miles he might have traveled. The concept of time had long been lost in the blowing storm. If it were not for the moon’s crimson glow that radiated through the already darkened forest, he might not have even become aware that night had slipped upon him. Distance held no true value to the king. For as he knew, time lost was never to be recovered.

 However, at this moment, there was only one thing that bore true possession of the king’s thoughts. Ebecca, his beloved queen, was missing. Her life had been taken from her. From him. That all seemed so long ago. Yet there was something fighting against his consciousness that defied that of which he knew as true, making it all lies. He could feel her. Ebecca seemed to be pulling at the very fibers of his soul. She was out here, lost. And King Bramus had set firm resolve within his heart that he would find her. He would not fail her again.

 His men, like everyone, it seemed, had failed him. Bramus had left them far behind, bowing to the storm. Driven by his anger and his love, he pushed himself off into the storm once more.

 “Ebecca! Ebecca!” Though his loud cries fell as mere whispers against the howling wind, King Bramus continued to call out for his beloved queen.

 Having fallen so deep into his thoughts, along with his efforts to struggle though the drifting snow, King Bramus took several steps into the vast clearing that now spread out before him before ever realizing that he had emerged from the forest. Flakes of icy snow bit his eyes as he stared in an almost hypnotic trance at the dark black castle towering before him.

 There lay little territory throughout the Common Lands of Ethereal of which King Bramus had not made his way, at one time or another over, his last forty-plus years. Therefore, the sight of an unfamiliar castle, especially one of such grandeur, was rather unnerving for him. As he took in the majestic sight, he tried to account for just how far his journey might have carried him into the northwest.

 The castle’s heavy stone walls rose to the sky before him, where they dwarfed the giant pines of the forest. Though shutters hung open, no light emitted from the windows of the towers. Nor did any seep from the narrow arrow slits that lined the upper walls, walls so dark that they seemed to drink in the crimson light of the moon. All 

this gave the castle a mystical aura that silhouetted it against the dark night sky.

 The castle’s main gate consisted of two large doors constructed out of Baighorn logs. Baighorn wood was some of the strongest and rarest timber to be found in all the known lands. These logs had been milled into two-foot-by-two-foot-thick timbers that stood the full twenty feet of the opining height and were bound together with straps of black forged steel. Each door was one-third its height in its width.

 Though the castle offered up a dominating demeanor, its doors hung open wide and welcoming. There appeared to be no visible sign of any soldier, guard, nor gatekeeper. However, feeling that his presence was known, King Bramus moved with great reserve as he entered.

 Just within the massive doors, rather than a courtyard, King Bramus found a long corridor. Its dimensions were just larger than that of the of the entrance itself. Magically enhanced crystals lined the stone walls. Their light seemed to pool together into a single line that flowed down both walls into a vanishing point that joined in the darkness that swallowed it. What little light they emitted gave no sign of any other doors or passageways than that of which King Bramus had come and the unknown that lie before him. 

 As King Bramus made his way along the corridor, he observed that though the floor continued in a steady decline, the ceiling itself remained at a consistently level plain, causing it to rise immensely in its height above him. What had also appeared at first to be no more than a small flickering light somewhere far down the long corridor was increasing at a rate three to four times its size in correlation to each stride that King Bramus made toward it. This unorthodox deviation of reality brought forth a shallow nauseating sensation, accompanied by a haunting distortion of time. Still, the king continued. He could feel Ebecca.

 Not quite sure as to how, King Bramus knew she was near. Upon reaching the expanding light at the corridor’s end, King Bramus found himself standing in the largest throne room he had ever seen. He was unable to imagine that something of such an open scale could have ever been built. King Bramus could feel the large amount of magic that had been embedded within the foundation and walls to allow the structure to stand wash over him. The hair on his arms felt crisp against his flesh.

 Large silver and black iron chandeliers hung on heavy black chains from the thick timber beams towering in the ceiling above. Each chandelier bore a myriad of white candles, their fervent light bathing the room in a translucent glow against the rich black marble walls. Long black-and-white polished granite slabs lay in a checkered 

pattern forming the floor. Towering columns of black marble stood in rows along the outer walls, giving support to the massive dome ceiling that loomed high above. King Bramus hesitated, almost faltering in his step as he gazed upon the elaborate mural painted across the span of the ceiling.

 The grand painting portrayed a mighty dragon who sat on a huge throne atop what hauntingly resembled the Black Rock Mountains. The mountains’ veins of black crystal were aglow against the starlit night. Gripped tight in the dragon king’s clawed fist was a staff made of the same rich black crystal. Polished smoothly to perfection, the staff seemed to pulsate with the rhythm of the land. From his throne, the dragon king glared out over the scorched and scared land with a deep contempt burning red within his eyes. 

 Hundreds of smaller dragon-like beasts with grotesque humanlike features were torturing men, women, and children of all ages, who, by the thousands, carried offerings of various forms up the mountain, where they submissively lay them before the dragon king.

 Beneath the throne stood a large altar where the priests of darkness, robed in black and masked with the skulls of the beast that dwelled within the third hell, Karr, performed their countless sacrifices upon both animal and human alike. The priest stood bathed in 

the blood that poured over the sides of the altar’s black crystal top.

 Young women, mere girls, lay helpless on their backs upon the ground at the altar’s base. Their clothing of rags was torn and pulled above their swollen bellies. The blood of the altar pooled around them, lapping at their nakedness as they labored to birth more of the hideous creatures. The new mothers weakened from their parturition lay resistless as their new younglings, fresh from the womb, maliciously turned on them with claw and tooth, feasting on their mother’s warm flesh as they thrashed and screamed in terror beneath them. In disgust, King Bramus turned his eyes from the putrid scene. His bowels churned as he tried to shake the images from his mind.

 Toward the opposing wall from which King Bramus had entered the great hall, wide black granite steps fanned out across the room where they rose to an elevated area of the floor that staged a large throne. Though unoccupied at the moment, its position clearly gave it a visual dominance over the whole of the room.

 The throne itself was a spectacular sight. It appeared to have been carved from a single slab of black crystal. Its luster was so deep it reflected the room around it like a calm pool of moonlit water. A text, unfamiliar to King Bramus, had been etched and inlaid with silver along its base. Carved with intricate detail, it looked like a dragon hunched on his hind legs, forearms outstretched with downturned claws form the armrests. The dragon’s chest and neck rose up from the back of the throne’s seat. Its massive head arched over where its two bloodred eyes seemed to gaze down on one with immense fierceness no matter where they stood within the great hall. Plush velvet cushions of deep violet lay upon it.

 To the center of the room, just before the steps, stood an eight sided crystalline pillar that rose over eighteen feet in height. Each of its sides were six feet in width. Radiating from within, a pale silver light glowed through a liquid haze that cast a shadowed outline of what appeared to be a person trapped inside. As the image moved, it gave way to that of being more of what one might conceive as to be that of a person’s soul, a soul confined within the crystal walls of the pillar.

 As King Bramus approached the pillar, recognition began to pound hard in his heart, causing it to quicken and strain with each beat. Pain sliced through him as the distinct features of his beloved Ebecca came into focus before him. In an outrage of shock, Bramus ran the remaining distance to the pillar. He slammed his clenched fists against the solid crystal barrier that separated Ebecca from him. Tears filled his eyes as he gazed through the smoky haze that encompassed his queen. Ebecca’s hands outstretched before her, reaching, though unable to grasp hold of him. As she looked at him, her gaze seemed to flow through Bramus. He could see a cold fear deep within her dark blue eyes that reminded him of a storm at sea. The queen’s mouth hung in a voiceless expression of terror.

 As the haze of liquid smoke slowly churned around Ebecca’s suspended form, King Bramus swore he could feel her life’s essence pulsing faintly through the crystal walls against his fingertips. He could hear her call to him within the depths of his own soul.

 “How can this be so?” he whispered to himself.

 King Bramus shook his head in disbelief. He knew her death. The memories of watching her die those seven and ten years past rushed through his mind. “Am I dreaming? This must be some form of evil trickery.” Questions without answers surged through his head. 

“Have I finally gone completely mad?” he yelled out in anger, his voice amplified through the great hall. In deep painful sorrow, he wept. “My lady, after all these years, why must it be that I find you now suffering still?” Bramus slammed his fist against the pillar. The jolt caused Ebecca’s form to pull back.  

“I will avenge this hideous act that has befallen against you,” swore the king, his voice tainted with venom as he shifted his attention upward toward Avlon.

 “And you!” spat Bramus through clenched teeth. “Her beloved god,” he mocked. “Our holy creator…why in the name of Avlon have you forsaken her here all these years?” His voice deepened into a low growl. “Was not her suffering as she passed into death sufficient that you should let her suffer in death as well?” A hollowness formed in his bowels as he considered what kind of god would allow such a thing.

 “She worshiped you…loved you. Her devotion greater than any I have ever known.” He took a deep breath. “Yet this.” Reflecting inward, King Bramus considered himself. Teetering shame, he proclaimed, “I myself have never been one to put such faith in flesh, let alone spirit.” His right hand eased down over the pommel of his sword, where his fingers slipped loosely over its hilt.

 “Steel,” said Bramus, setting his jaw. “The way of my blade. That I have found to be the truth of it.” His words spoken to himself as much as no one. Hanging his head, with merely a whisper of his breath, he said, “It should have been me who died that night.”

 Raising his head, King Bramus let his eyes fall gently upon Ebecca. “What of his faithful I ask? How can Dos let the innocent suffer while the ungodly prosper and thrive? And now with this, it is as if he mocks us all.” Other than a look of sadness within her eyes, 

Ebecca gave no response.

 “She does not suffer,” spoke a complacent voice from the throne. 

In one fluid motion, King Bramus pulled his sword from its sheath as he stood and spun to face the voice.

 A man dressed in a white silk shirt and black pants sat relaxed on the throne where he had not prior. The man’s features showed him to be of good age, yet he still appeared quite youthful. His long silver hair was pulled to his back and tied by a thin string, where it hung loosely between his shoulders. His skin was weathered leather. It glowed with a deep luster that caused the man to radiate beauty.

 Dark eyes reflected the light of the chandeliers above. With his left hand, he lovingly stroked the neck of a dark gray cat that lay on his lap. Its demeaning deep green eyes stared down at King Bramus. 

His right hand hung haughtily over the arm of the throne. An amulet in the design of a dragon hung from a thin chain around the man’s neck. It was made from a rare silver, only found in the deepest veins of the Black Rock Mountains. It glowed against his exposed chest, where his loose-fitting shirt hung open to his waist.

 “That is to say, not like you might consider suffering to be,” the man on the throne said. With a smile, he continued, “The soul, it grieves, yes. Yet without the flesh, it suffers not the true touch of physical pain. It merely conceives that of which it remembers pain to have been. I must confess, though. The spiritual mind is a powerful 

thing. It does hold the ability to interpret feelings on a more profound level than that of the flesh.

 “She senses the conflict between anger and empathy that you hold within you,” said the man. He lifted his right hand and stretched out a single finger toward the soul trapped within the crystal pillar.

 King Bramus followed the man’s gesture with his eyes. He noted Ebecca’s expression. Though it had softened, it still held a shadow of fear that hung around her like a cloak. King Bramus ached for his queen.

 “As for time.” The voice brought King Bramus out of his thoughts, returning his awareness to the man on the throne. “Time means very little to those of the spirit world.”

 “It is the spirit world that I shall send you,” barked Bramus. Rage tightened the muscles in his neck as he walked toward the stairs that led up to the throne. He lifted his sword, pointing it straight before him in the direction of the man, determination set in his eyes.

 “Now, now, Your Eminence,” said the man, placing a mocking emphasis on eminence as he wagged his long talon finger at the king. This effort caused the cat to protest the man’s discontinuance of caressing its neck. “That kind of behavior will not be tolerated in my home. You are my quest, after all.”

 The man narrowed his eyes sharply then added, “One might hold a little adoration toward the one who holds the power to reunite you with your precious queen.” This statement caused Bramus to pause in his step.

Stiffening his shoulders, King Bramus rose to his full stature. Carefully, he weighed the words that had just been spoken.

 “Sir,” Spoke Bramus with an air of defiance. “I will have you know that I come here not as your guest.” The king’s face grew tight. “However, I am intrigued to know that when the power of a hundred wizards, magi, and priest was not enough to save her from her fate.” As Bramus spat these words, he thrust his hand out behind him, pointing to Ebecca. His right hand held his sword steady before him. He clenched his teeth in anger with the thought of how even Dos had not shown her any mercy.

 “Therefore, who?” Bramus growled, eyes narrowing. Balling his left hand into a fist, he allowed his arm to drop down to his side while keeping his sword steady in the other. He continued, “Who are you to boast such a claim as to hold such power to restore the 

queen’s life?”

 King Bramus placed his left foot on the bottom step. He lifted the point of his sword slightly up toward the man upon the throne, demand of an answer set in his eyes.

 Fool, the man on the throne thought. I never said I would restore her life. Merely reunite you with her. The man chuckled to himself while giving an outward smirk.

 “How rude of me. I.” The man held his hand toward himself, letting the tips of his fingers rest lightly against his chest. “Am Palamor.” His tone was an arrogant display of self-importance.

 Palamor. Exiled dragon god. Keeper of the three hells. Upon the recognition of the name, a visible disconcertment crossed the face of King Bramus. This, of course, pleased Palamor.

 “As for your wizards,” continued Palamor. “They are but babes. For twelve hundred years, the blood of dragons has flown within their veins, yet still they are merely learning to walk. None of you truly realize the true power that lies within your reach.

 “Humans.” He snorted through his nose. “Your very weakness is that you believe you have a weakness at all.” Slowly, Palamor shook his head as he closed his eyes. “I told Hermus it was a waste allowing humans to obtain what knowledge they have.”

 Palamor’s eyes snapped open. “And for Dos.” His voice pulled tight. He swallowed hard as if pushing down bitter bile that had risen in his throat. With a huff of indignation, Palamor waved his hand dismissingly. Then he answered the king’s unspoken question. 

“What has he done really for anyone?” Palamor curled the edge of his lips. “He is as weak as those he created.”

 King Bramus lifted his brow. “Did he not create you?”

 Giving no heed to the king’s jab, Palamor continued, “To think that Dos actually cares as to whether or not you humans love him. I myself cannot imagine such frailty. Is he not a god?” The look upon Palamor’s face turned from disgust to that of simple pity. King Bramus stared in frank disbelief, his anger bringing his blood to his cheeks.

 “So,” continued Palamor. “Back to formalities. Let me welcome you as a guest before my hearth.” Palamor fanned his hand out before him, making a reference to the grand hall around them. “Now if you would please me, there is no need to persist in flailing your sword about in such aggression. My precious here does find it quit disturbing.” Palamor stroked the cat lovingly across her neck. “Don’t you, my dear?” he asked in a purr.

 Narrowing his eyes, Palamor brought the full weight of his glare upon the king. His voice fell to almost a whispered growl. “However, guest or not, trying my patience will most assuredly invoke your precipitated departure.”

 King Bramus looked on with mocking defiance to the last remark. “If you are truly who you claim yourself to be, and a strong boast at that, then there should be little doubt as to why I am compelled to maintain my defense. I should trust you?” King Bramus 

offered with a slight nod, showing skepticism yet respecting the possibility of standing before a formidable opponent. “No one, as I have heard or read, has ever spoke of honor and Palamor in a mutual relation.”

 “Your Grace, your words do wound me,” Palamor said with a weak, innocent voice. “My intentions are most often misunderstood.”

 “You are evil.”

 “Evil.” Palamor laughed, eyes wide. “I find the that the perception of evil is usually amplified by the suffering and misfortunate.”

 “Don’t you mean victims?” King Bramus retorted with venom, causing Palamor to raise a brow in question. “You know,” continued Bramus. “Those harmed, lost, or destroyed by your deception and lies.”

 “Humph,” replied Palamor, waving the king’s implication away. “A crop fails. House burns down. Child dies. Oh! How quick man is to blame me.” With his voice a singsong rhythm, he continued, 

“Have mercy on me. The evil Palamor has inflicted a vile curse against me.” He rolled his eyes. “Please. They won’t accept the truth by looking toward themselves. Should have planted that field a week earlier instead of going to the spring festivities. I’m sure I put out the candle. Besides, I’ll only be gone for a short spell. It’s only a scratch. 

I can’t keep spending all my coin on healing ointments.” Palamor wagged his head and hand mockingly as he spoke.

 “As for what you say, there may be truth in it,” snapped Bramus. “For you are much too cleaver to be the pronounced cause.” He shook his head. “But in the end, it’s your influence that deludes good sense at the start.”

 A look of shock pervaded upon Palamor. His fingers were to his chest as he silently mouthed the word me.

 “You corrupt the minds of m—”

 “What men choose to do is their choice. I control not their strings like some puppet.” A smug look pulled across Palamor’s face. 

 Free will and all that. Is not that the way of Dos?”

 “I believe your priests are quick to speak fervently on that fact.” 

Considering his thoughts a moment, Palamor then added, “This free will, is this not the very thing that man claims to be what makes man…man?” Palamor’s tune matched his smug look. He still offered his case to the king.

 “Kind of a double-edged blade, would you not agree? One cannot fully claim their independence while claiming omnipotent influence now, can they?” Palamor narrowed his eyes at King Bramus. “If that be the case, then are not those strings under the control of Dos, not I?”

 “Once again, you twist things to divert them from you. Your influence clouds man’s judgment with deception, lies, and shallow promises.”

 “I promise nothing,” retorted Palamor. “I merely suggest possibilities. That is all.”