When he opened his eyes, it was still dark. Surrounded by a dull orange glow, he raised his head. His vision focused slowly. He was searching for the charred remains of the town, the cinders that were slowly fading. Instead, Seregor discovered stone walls lined with torches all about him, and a dark ceiling over his head. To either side were beds, their occupants looking sickly. Many had bloodied bandages wrapped around their heads, the one to his right had his entire face as such. Looking down to his feet, he noticed the blanket laid over his body, its weight hitting him along with its image.

A pain shot through his side, spreading across his chest, but the brunt of it in one spot. Biting at his ribs, tearing at his lung, it made breathing a sudden labor. He pushed the blanket off, expecting to be greeted by dripping blood and a fresh stab wound. Instead he saw he was wrapped in bandages, a faint stain of black upon the side. Seregor blinked and sat up, more pain piercing him. A hand rose to rub his head, which was now pounding. The room wobbled slowly. Several ailing groans filled his ears, along with a far off, almost otherworldly scream.

“Tis good to see that ye are awake, m’lord Seregor,” said a soft and gentle voice, causing him to suddenly ignore all other sound. He looked up to its source, now seeing at the foot of his bed a young drow, her face a dull gray. She wore her short, jet black hair up, in a bun behind her head so as not to be in her face. Her almond eyes and angular features quickly captivated him. As for clothing; she wore simple gray robes, rather snug, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Etched across her lips was a friendly smile.

Seregor nodded slowly. He opened his mouth and forced out a few words. “A-a-aye. T-tis good to know I am awake.” He stammered at first but managed to regain his composure. Her smile grew. He managed to allow one creep onto his face as well. “Tis good to know I am alive.”

Her face, all at once, became rather serious. “Aye, m’lord Seregor…to speak the truth, we weren’t sure if ye would survive…tis indeed a miracle that ye did.”

Seregor furrowed his brow, taking a moment to look to each side. He bit his lip, and then looked back up to the woman. “Would m’lady mind telling me where I am and just who you mean by ‘we’?” he asked quite politely.

She looked somewhat surprised after he asked this question, her mouth opening slightly and her hand moving up towards it. But she stopped and curtsied lightly. “Nay, I’d not mind at all m’lord Seregor,” she said, a weak smile forming upon her gorgeous lips. “This is the Castle Raynes, of Lord Rathernal, a fortnight’s ride from Denmas. The injured in the area have been brought here. We have wounded from both sides, m’lord…we treat them all here.”

Seregor nodded, taking a look to his right as he spoke. “And…what allegiances does this Lord Rathernal hold?”

“Well m’lord, he has pledged himself to the drow cause…and this castle has served as a place where you and soldiers from your side can rest and regroup. But…concerning the wounded, Lord Rathernal has vowed to help any in need, no matter what side they may fight upon.”

Seregor turned back to her, studying her for a moment. “A noble man, your Lord Rathernal. I would not suppose you know about how long I have been here, and if any were brought with me?”

“Aye, m’lord, I know. ‘Twas mayhap a week ago. Ye were found out in a forest, horrid wounds if I do say so. They brought ye with another…he was badly burned,” she replied, the smile vanishing once more.

Seregor’s eyes widened. “Where is he?” he asked her almost the moment she had finished speaking. She did not reply with words, instead raising her hand slowly as she bowed her head. One of her thin fingers, still a bit arched, directed him towards the bed to his right. His head turned rather slowly. When he had first seen the occupant of that bed, he’d have never of thought it could have been his friend. A blanket covering his entire body, and beige bandages tightly about his head, this was not a man. Or not a living one at that. He kept his gaze upon his neighbor for a good while in silence. There was a tiny bit of motion – breathing. At length, Seregor turned back to the woman that stood before his bed.

She was frowning, as was he. She bowed her head and turned away slightly. Seregor absently ran a hand through his hair. His gaze was now directed at his lap, though blank. “How…how many survivors from my troops?” he asked in a weak voice. It was followed by an awkward silence.

She took in a breath and swallowed. “Well, m’lord…including the two of ye, there were four originally…though one other has already passed.”

Three alive. Three men of four hundred. And how long Dauth could hold on; none could rightly say. Seregor raised a hand to his mouth, shaking a bit. It set in slowly. His eyes became damp, and he shut them in silent mourning. All sounds were blocked out and everything around him vanished. Only darkness remained, emptiness. Alone in a void, not another soul in existence. He eased back onto his pillow as he opened his eyes once more, staring up at the ceiling, but not looking at it.



It was four days before he was well enough to walk, though with the assistance of an oak staff. It was then that he was informed of an invitation to join Lord Rathernal for dinner by the woman he had met upon awakening. He had later learned that her name was Anylia. A beautiful name to suit a beautiful woman, though he had been so preoccupied with other thoughts that he hadn’t thought to ask her name until a day or two after they had met. There was much on his mind, especially pain. His wound bothered him each time he moved, and walking especially was a struggle against pain. It ached, the very pain itself pressed again his ribs and caused each breath to be heavy and strained.

And there he stood in the lavish dining hall, leaning upon his staff before a huge table set with shining silverware and napkins woven with the utmost skill. Glittering chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was supported by huge arches, braziers lined the walls with flaming coals lying in them, and huge tapestries glowed with vibrant colors upon the walls. On either side of the table was a long row of oak chairs, with satin cushioning upon them and intricate carvings all about. But at the far end of the table, and the far end of the chamber, was the finest seat of them all, that of Lord Rathernal. It was more like a throne, a huge chair crafted of wood and carved with various runes, a dragon’s head rising up from the back and it’s arms serving as those of the seat.. Wings spread out behind it, every scale given attention upon the thing, so that one might think it be a true living creature, most especially when the glow of the flames leapt about in the ruby eyes of the head.

The place was filled with people, all standing in front of their chairs, awaiting the arrival of their host before taking a seat. All dressing in formal attire, black suits trimmed with gold, the unofficial uniform of the dark elven military. Even the few females present wore this sort of dress, all of them with their hair neat and posture straight. This was the pride of the drow military, it’s most talented leaders and most skilled warriors, all assembled in one room. Seregor couldn’t help but scan their faces as he stood there, awestruck by some of the legends that he saw standing so close, looking about as he leaned there upon his staff.

Directly across from him stood Zefrenilx, the famous sorcerer and general. His face was serious, his features sharp. His white hair, streaked with gray, was back in a braid. Almond shaped eyes of violet looked right back at Seregor, and a knowing smile played across the sorcerer’s lips. With his small frame, one wouldn’t believe him to be quite so powerful as the stories said. But his eyes, the sort that leapt out at you even from afar, they gave something away about his true nature, about the magic that coursed through his veins. He held his head up with dignity and pride, he was clearly a respectable man, and from the way he was looking at Seregor clearly knew a good bit about him.

But his eye was soon caught by another, across the table and to his left. A woman, her gray skin having a slight blue tinge to it. Her face was stern. Her eyes, a blend of purple and crimson, seemed to burn with an inner flame. Before each of her pointed ears hung a thin braid of snow white hair, and a thicker one hung behind her neck. Her black uniform fit snugly, clinging to her somewhat thin but shapely body. Her gaze shot at Seregor as he looked her over, her eyes narrowing. She scowled harshly, though her head remained facing forward. He took it as a signal to turn away, which he did. She looked familiar to him, though he couldn’t quite place her, so he let his view wander upon her beauty once more after a few moments. That was when he noticed a small pin upon the collar of her shirt, shining golden in the light, in the shape of an arrow. The sign of a marksman, or in this case markswoman.

He was finally able to pry his eyes from this woman when he noticed another. Her beauty was known to him, her gentleness and kindness beaming at him as their eyes met. She smiled warmly and allowed a slight wave. But Anylia wasn’t dressed like anyone else present. Her full, curvaceous figure that he remembered was hidden by a dress, elegant in its simplicity. It was a deep purple, hanging straight down and concealing her perfect hips. From beneath, two long white sleeves hung down and covered a bit of her hands. Seregor felt a smile creep across his face, a warmth beginning to grow inside him.

“Esteemed guests, your host for this evening; the honorable Lord Rathernal.” The feeling was cut short. He immediately turned towards the head of the table, which loomed but one seat away, where stood the kingly chair. And around from behind it walked a drow, tall and proud. His face was thin, his features angular. His fiery red eyes were accented by his dark gray skin. As he walked, he kept his head up slightly, adding more to the cloud of superiority that was already created by his arrogant half- smile and painfully intelligent eyes. He too wore a black uniform, though his was adorned with gold and fancy stitching, and medals upon his chest that Seregor doubted this lord had done anything to earn. He stepped in front of the throne, tucking a loose strand of his frosted black hair behind a pointed ear. And then he sat down.

The room was filled with a sudden roar as everyone else took their seats as well. Seregor eased into his own against a bit of pain. Silence gripped the place once more in a few moments. All eyes were fixed on Rathernal, a man whom Seregor had never before heard of, but obviously a man of great power and influence. Rathernal in turn studied his guests, his eyes falling upon them one-by-one, piercing them. Seregor watched quietly as Rathernal’s gaze met his own. The latter paused. His smile seemed momentarily to be one of approval, as his eyes tore deep into Seregor’s soul. But in an instant, Rathernal was looking at all the guests in general. Seregor felt his heart beating faster, and his side ached.

“Welcome, my friends, to Castle Raynes. Not all of you may know me,” Rathernal said, pronouncing every syllable crisply, the words flowing off his tongue with ease. “I am Lord Etherus Rathernal. And I indeed know all of you.” Seregor’s eyes met Rathernal’s once again.

I know you. I know what you’ve done and what you have become.

Seregor shuddered as Rathernal looked away once more. He wished he’d been seated at the other end of the lengthy table, where Rathernal would seem far of. The pounding of his heart crept into his ears, and the room began to spin. Closing his eyes, he swallowed. But he felt something peering into him, and opening his eyes once again saw a blurry image of Rathernal staring at him. “Master Seregor, is there something the matter?” asked that cool, calm voice that screamed elegance. Seregor felt a hundred eyes upon him, all peeling away his skin and gazing into his soul. He took a quick look around, his sight going in and out of focus randomly. They were all watching him, some appearing quite confused. But he paused as his eyes fell upon Anylia. She wore a frown, her eyes sad. She was genuinely concerned. Suddenly, the warmth pulsated within once more, and the room was still.

Seregor turned back to his host. “Aye, my lord. I am fine. ‘Twas but my wound burning for a moment.”

Rathernal nodded, a sly grin upon his face. He tilted his head towards Seregor slightly as he did so. Then he addressed the entire gathering. “Master Seregor Itheax,” he said, motioning to Seregor lazily with his left hand. “In bravery, none can match him. He is one who has suffered for our cause, which we shall discuss in due time. But first, shall we enjoy a meal?”

Calls of “aye” rang out in a dull commotion that subsided as servants herded into the room carrying huge platters filled with all sorts of foods. A weight was lifted from Seregor’s shoulders as the other guests turned their attention to dinner, the smell of which began to drift into his nostrils, filling his mind with peaceful thoughts. Maybe all he needed was a hardy meal. It had been so long since he had one. The roasted pig and venison were laid in front of him on a platter along with golden chickens, steam rising into the air with yams and potatoes lining the outsides. Apples and oranges and other assorted fruits were gathered into bowls about the table. All the food seemed to contend for the empty space in his stomach, which began to growl hungrily. Even then, the servants continued to move rapidly, bringing with them more and more food. Soon, the table was stacked with culinary delights the likes of which Seregor had never seen.

“Help yourselves, everyone,” Rathernal said in a booming voice that moved through the room like a wave. All at once, the guests began to fill their plates with food. A dull buzz came over the place as everyone began to chat quietly. Seregor looked over all the tempting foods before him. An apple of the deepest red caught his eye first, the light reflecting off it’s skin like its surface was a mirror. He reached out for it, taking it up in his right hand. Just as he began to raise it to his mouth, he was interrupted. “I am pleased that you are well in time to join us, Seregor.”

Seregor turned towards the head of the table, once again meeting the gaze of Rathernal. He still wore that haughty half-smile upon his lips. Seregor lowered the apple. “I am pleased I recovered in time as well. I’d not wish to miss so incredible a feast with such heroic figures as those you have gathered here this evening, Lord Rathernal.” It was all a lie. Seregor would rather not have attended. He was not of any importance. He was not worthy of being amongst such company; his deeds were naught more than cruelties compared to what many of the others present had done.

Rathernal’s smile became a grin. “Our people owe you a great debt for speeding along this war, Seregor,” he said, his eyes held a twinkle that dug into Seregor like the spear that had stabbed him in the village. That seemed so long ago, though he could still feel it. Rathernal only heightened the pain. Rathernal’s eyes searched him, but far below his skin, deep down into the recesses of his heart. Seregor felt naked, like his very essence was torn out and placed on a pedestal for this man to view. “Personally, I admire the tactics which you utilized in your campaign, Seregor. Your ‘take no prisoners’ approach. You managed to strike fear into the heart of every last enemy in the countryside, you know. And from what I hear, not a soul escaped you and your soldiers. Rather impressive, if I do say so myself.” Rathernal sipped dark wine from his goblet of gold.

Suddenly, Seregor did not feel so hungry. He placed the apple down once more. His stomach had begun to revolt. It’s contents churned and bubbled. It felt almost as though they were ready to spew out. He felt droplets of sweat navigating through his long hair, until they had found their way to his neck and sent a chill down his spine. Once again, he attempted to suppress his lightheadedness by closing his eyes and focusing. It brought him no relief.

The sudden heat of fire and the orange roar of flames hit him. Screams of women and children filled his ears. Smoke rose into his nose, the sweet smell of food being replaced by the scent of burning flesh. His mouth became dry. He breathed heavily. The nausea intensified. The screams grew louder and louder, the fires hotter and hotter. Now he felt the moisture beneath his uniform, in his armpits and beneath the collar. The smell grew more distinct. Desperate, his eyes flew open.

It all vanished. Reality returned, along with the dining hall and all the guests. Seregor blinked several times to clear up his blurry vision, and heard a faint snicker from the head of the table. He turned once again to Lord Rathernal. His eyes were slightly narrowed, almost lazily, and his smirk seemed all the more overbearing. “Are you not going to eat, Seregor?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer.

Seregor shook his head slowly. He was still dazed from the sudden flashback. “Please excuse me,” he squeezed out of his mouth weakly as he rose from his seat, making his way to the door. He could feel eyes upon him again as he left. They probably thought he was just making a scene to grab their attention. Seregor knew that was the last thing he had wanted. What he couldn’t figure out was what Rathernal wanted.