Fantasy Blog Hop Giveaway! (Sample Chapters Chapter Two of Rise of the Red King)

For those visiting for the Fantasy Bloghop Giveaway - December 10th-13th! You can enter the giveaway at this link. There is a Rafflecopter entry and you get to win lots of free great fantasy books from great fantasy authors! I have included my own book Schisms in the giveaway as well!

As for my post, here is the second chapter to the last book in the Red World trilogy. It is a rough draft so remember that. And before I forget, right now, the first book in the Red World trilogy, Schisms, is free an Amazon and also on Kobo! So is the short story prequel, Edge of Darkness! So pick up your free copies today folks!!

Happy Reading!

Chapter Two

He hoped he'd manage to be faster than their flocks of stone-tipped poisoned arrows. He was the fleetest runner in nearly all of Dyrland and this was why he was chosen to scout. He did not think they were close but one never knew. They had become more stealthy over the years. The ice and snow began coming down in earnest now, pelting through the dense foliage of everblacks, lady reds and evergreens like tiny, sharp teeth. In the far distance he finally heard it, the soul-chilling scream of the Ohdrufrid. He'd put a great distance between himself and his pursuers but it still sent fright running through him like an icy river current. He rounded a tree, one with a small hollow hidden behind thick snow-covered kingberry bushes. It was one of the many hiding places he had noted and examined long ago while scouting through the woods. The forest was densest near the town, before the strong wood and iron walls and the gate making it easy for anyone to ambush men going into the town in the evening. And there were creatures that did the bidding of the Ohdrufrid, watching the towns and villages of the vast forests for hapless victims when their masters hunted for human flesh. He dove deftly into the hollow and listened silently now, like a doe, hiding under the protective underbrush of the kingberry bush. He heard nothing now but the persistent pattering of snow and his own heart flailing away. He held his breath, difficult because of the distance he'd run. It called again. This time it was more a short wail. But not the wail of sorrow. It was more a call of note, as if something was found. What, he could not guess. Perhaps they saw him approaching the desecrated village? Perhaps they caught his scent as he fled from the rituals he had spied in their caves? They were calling up the most ancient of dark gods now. He started on his way again, though the pain in his legs made them shriek in protest. He quickened his pace toward the town gate. The Great Thane would not like the news he had to bring. The Thane already had many worries upon his brow. Yet, any news might help in the coming war.

Idwil, heavy with child already, sat to rest her sore feet upon the velvet pillow. The baby, little Millidred, played quietly on a soft pallet of furs near the fire.

"Tella, hand me the quilt please." She said to the serving woman.

"Yes, madam." The hall that the Thane Uwain had built would have to be prepared and decked with the best tribal hangings, candles and winter greenery and wreaths. The other thanes and elder men of counsel, her husband being the Chief Thane of the king, would be meeting again. Uwain, the chieftain and Great Thane of Eostur was preoccupied these last months. The town was on high alert even though they had won an important victory against the Ohdrufrid over a year ago. She was concerned as to why this did not satisfy Uwain. He worried constantly, his face was set into a permanent scowl. The boar was turning and roasting on the spit at the kitchen fire. A large horn of good honey mead sat on the long table by his chair. Even these things did not seem to make him happy anymore. She remembered when the hall of her lord was filled with his deep laughter and the laughter of the other thanes and valiant men of the land; singing, talk, the barking hounds and laughing wives and children and the giving of good gifts. She sighed heavily and went back to weaving her quilt. She was weaving into the quilt the sigil of their house, the kingsberry flower. It was nearly sacred to the people of southern Dyrland and she had many uses for it. And for the kingberries as well. She heard his heavy footsteps coming up the outside stair. A blast of cold air blew in along with a bit of fresh snow. Lord Uwain shook his furs and set his sword and its sheath aside in his favorite chair made of boar tusks, leather and polished everblack wood. He nodded to her.

"My lady."

"My loving lord."

"Da!" Said little Millidred and reached her plump, rosy hands up toward her father. At last, the Great Thane smiled broadly, if briefly. He took her up with one hand and hugged her and she squealed with delight. He rubbed Millicent's golden red hair, taken after her own long, golden red tresses.

"Arnulf, play some soft music for us." Said Idwil. Arnulf, a young musician from northern Dyrland who was orphaned some years ago, played upon his old wooden harp a soft and lilting lullaby. She had lit special candles of myrrh in their wax as her husband liked the scent and they were difficult to come by in the Great Valley Lands. Candles were alight throughout the main hall which gave a gently festive air to the normally gloomy great house.

"The king, I expect, will call for council again soon." Her eyes studied his face carefully, hearing the scorn in his voice.

"Another Great Council? So we are officially at war with the Ohdrufrid, then?"

"With the Ohdrufrid, the Wodrufrid and every evil work and dark creature they have conjured up against the tribes of Men."

"By the gods! We issued them a resounding defeat by the Black River. I thought it would be years before we heard from them again, if ever." She said.

"Normally you would be right. But there is something else at work here. They continue to worship the gods of the underworld, ones our people escaped from long ago and I suspect they are getting unnatural help from them. The very air of these times is evil, Idwil. It reminds me of the last days of the rule of King Khalit and his first queen. He had these evil counselors all around him, one in particular who urged the case for him to acquire another queen. Finally, needing money for a nearly bankrupt treasury and needing an important military alliance against his enemies, he was finally persuaded. The fact that he had no issue from the first queen only helped that fatal decision further along. He brought within his court and to his bosom snakes who worshiped at the altars of demons. Signs and portents, dark and frightening were everywhere when this one, this new queen was got with child. The atmosphere of the entire court changed. It was like always having to have eyes at the back of your head, lest a serpent strike you from behind." Idwil was listening with all earnestness now. Rarely these days did Uwain divulge what was on his mind unless he was greatly disturbed. 

"I was under the impression that most royal courts were like that."

"They are, but this one even more so. I tell you Idwil, the dark gods everywhere are powerful in the world. They are rising and becoming more active. I had to flee and I barely escaped with my life after we learned of Khalit's death. I owe Ruz and his brother Omun a life debt and now that Omun has helped our sword-smiths forge these new swords that can cut through anything our entire town owes him. Yet even so, fighting against gods is a different matter. The giants are up to something. I can feel it."

"Perhaps I can weave some trick-"

"No! Not that I do not trust in your skills but leave this be. It could get you killed." He came to her and tenderly touched her swollen belly. She put her own hand over his.

"You and our children are too precious. Do not attract the attention of the gods of the giants lest you invoke their everlasting wrath. The sun is waning in power as winter comes but the gods of the giants are rising in strength." Idwil felt pained.

"As you say, my lord." Still, she had the blood of her foremothers, the wise women of the woods in her and they never sat by idly when their families were in danger. She would come up with some defense to help her husband and her people.

"Where did he ever learn this secret?" She asked. These new men he had brought with him from the deep South Lands had always intrigued her.

"He said that when he was a youth he spoke with a very old man. This man was from the land called Hidush."

"Where is that? You speak of so many places I have never heard of, Uwain."

"I have been to many places and heard of more. The Hidushian told of a way that their blacksmiths had discovered a new metal called stel, or steel. He explained the process to him and Omun, having a great ability to remember things, kept it in his mind always and through trial and error he applied these principles to his own sword-making. Yet he told no one of his new knowledge and discoveries. In fact, Omun found a way to make the steel of the Hidushians even stronger." There was an urgent knocking at the doors. One of the servants answered it.

"My lord! It is I, Moraven!" The young man was flushed and breathing very hard.

"Come in and sit! Get him something to drink!" Uwain commanded. A cup of mead was set before him as he came and stood by the fire.

"Sit, lad. Tell me, what have you seen and found?" Moraven took a few moments to catch his breath. His face was flushed deep red. The music stopped. he finally sat down on the rugs by the fire. The baby looked up at him curiously. Idwil caught her up into her arms.

"My lord and lady! My lord, you were right to suspect some evil craft among the giants. I spied them in one of their sacred places, Mount Blacry. They are calling up the dark gods! The villages of Stafa and Wyllahen were destroyed! The people I saw in the cave! I think they came from those villages, my lord!"

"What happened to the people in those caves?" Asked Idwil. A look of dread fell upon her face. Moraven shuttered.

"Do you even need to ask, my lady?"

"Mercy!" Cried the serving woman.

"You were right! You were right to warn the king of their activity. I saw things too great and terrible in those caves but we will need more than the men we have to defeat them. The king himself must join in the war."

"We must all join together or face annihilation!" Said Idwil.

"And why does he wait and tarry as we in the south are picked off and killed?" Said Uwain. "His own people!" Said Uwain.

"I have something. I found it in the ruins of Wyllahen." The boy took out a bronze medallion, dirtied and battered and put it on the table before them. Uwain took it up and looked it over. Then he looked at Moraven in consternation.

"This is the sigil piece of chieftain Ogwain. I knew him to be a great ally of this town and of the people here. They have killed a great warrior."

"May his soul find rest." Said Idwil. Her delicate features looked drawn now.

"He will find no rest after their cruel and disgusting rites!" Uwain said in rising anger. He closed his eyes briefly and the color faded from his face.

"You have done well, Moraven. Stay here for the night and the servants will see to your room and bed. Meanwhile, I have information the king needs. If he wants it." He said in disgust and walked out of the hall and toward the main bedchamber. Idwil kept her fingers busy weaving and threading the silken threads for the quilt. not only did the kingsberry bring good fortune to her house nad her family line all thrugh the generations but weaving helped her to think, to pick through confusing thoughts until she came down to the bottom of a matter. She could feel the evil growing all around her out there in the wild woods just as her husband did. And it disturbed her that the king would not come to the aid of the people in the south. Perhaps he was weaker than everyone thought. Perhaps he had not the men to spare. Perhaps the Brytlanders were stirring against him again. Perhaps.

Perhaps she would need to seek out that ancient font of wisdom and Sight, the one many in the towns and villages quietly respected. Old Hildwylla. Her great-grandmother.

Moraven took a generous drink of mead and sighed in relief. Then he looked around the near empty hall, the feverishness of the flight now subsiding, sadness began to overtake him.

After writing a letter to the king Uwain went to his granary and had the letter sent by one of the blue-black night falcons. The king would have to act now. They were moving farther north, attacking the towns and villages in a winding route ever nearer to the royal seat. There was no other choice. They could not afford to sit and do nothing or the giants would retake these territories and subjugate everyone under the old, cruel gods of long ago. A terrible fate no man wanted to see except the most wicked. His long time guests who were now nearly part of the family slept in a one room hut built for them attached to the granary. A small fire was burning in the brazier in this room and a small lantern burned, lit from bear fat. They needed a weapon that could not be beaten. More than one, if possible.

"Omun, hurry and produce those much talked about singing swords of yours. We will need them in the coming days if we are to defeat the enemy. There are times I wish we had the secret fire you used to speak about, the elements of it and how to make it. Perhaps we could burn them out." The man stirred from his covers in the dark.

"Not so, my lord. It is made of bitumen, among other things, but that is all I know. That secret fire has such strange elements that even I do not understand the making of it. You do not want to see it, unless it is to see the forests of your homeland burn forever."

 . . .

The smithy was packed full of blacksmiths and sword-smiths as Omun, his Alharan accent growing softer over time, again was at work instructing them in creating superior swords. He had been working closely with a particularly ambitious and sharp sword-smith named Hlothar Ulfberht. Hlothar was from the north of Dyrland, from the people called the Brytlanders.

Brytlanders were originally from the land of Dach, just northwest of Dyrland and it was said certain families among them had ambitions toward kingship and empire. But for now these ancient enemies of Dyrland had receded as everyone greatly feared the tribes of giants who were rising up in the land.

Hlothar was one of the best sword-smiths in the region and he and Omun often spent much time together talking and learning from one another; from different perspectives and different sides of the world, they had a shared love of metallurgy, and all things Golden Alchemical. Northern Dyrlanders had long found a way to make steel swords. However Omun, through his knowledge of metallurgy as he'd practiced Golden Alchemy secretly for many years, found a way to greatly improve upon this primitive way.

"You see this here? By adding a blast of air to the process at this point. . where it takes your men days through this process, this shortens it and makes better, stronger steel."

"Stronger than iron. I never thought anything could ever be stronger than iron." Murmured a young apprentice. All of the apprentices were forced to climbed the eaves or stand outside the forge to watch through the wide doorway while the masters and journeymen had choice places in the forge.

"Steel, in an indirect way, is a kind of iron. You do not get steel without iron. So iron is still the strong, red foundation. There is also another thing I will show you later." Then he had others try the process. Ruz toiled quietly, helping to keep tings organized int he shops and presently he was cleaning the outside step. Omun had taught a few of the most skilled Dyrlander sword-smiths and they now took over to walk the others through this "sacred way" of sword-making. It was a wonderful experience, a freedom he never had before, to practice his discipline of alchemy in the open. Alchemy was not only welcomed here but admired and respected. In Hybron only iron swords could be made, as to try to create anything different and stronger required the use of metallurgy, a form of alchemy which was banned. A stupid and ignorant law he never understood. It was all alchemy! And giving and sharing knowledge was a joy to him that he could never practice openly back home. His expertise was knowledge of tinkering devices. Infernal devices, according to the Ainash hikras. He was free in one sense but there were other dangerous things in this new land of the Great Ridge, or the Great Valley Lands. When he saw that he was able to take a short rest he went outside to join his brother.

"I hear of things, brother. Dark things in the forests. I do not like these forests. There are trees here as black as bitumen and even some with foliage red as blood." He said.

"I know it. I have heard that some of these trees feed on blood of animals or men. That the giants feed them." Said Ruz. "Besides. I think of returning back home these days. I have no use here. I am an eunuch. And I cannot take a wife here. How would I have issue? And many see us as strange."

"I would imagine that is how Uwain felt among our people. Your idea is a good one. I too have been thinking long and hard on returning but we have no news of what is happening back home. I fear to return after the death of the king. Who knows what Hybron looks like now? Or Egi? It could be complete chaos." Said Omun.

"But I fear that chaos will erupt here. These people are getting ready for another war with those monstrous beings out in the wild."

"And I am helping them prepare for it, Ruz. These new swords I am making are the most powerful yet! They sing through the air!" He swung his sword arm as if carrying one. "And I am making them longer and lighter, yet stronger than any of the strongest iron swords. It is a miracle, Ruz. When I am finished instructing the sword-smiths and blacksmiths here, I will tell Uwain that we are ready to return to our homeland."

"Good, good. Hopefully it will not be too much longer. If only we had some news. I am looking forward to a new king rising to the throne. The Red King. Queen Diti always talked of this future king."

"Eh. I have heard much about it but seen little. A nice fable, I suppose. I just want to go home." Said Omun and he went across the doorstep and up the wide road to the Great House of the Thane to the little hut at the side of the granary, their home, and shut the door.

Ruz finished sweeping and put the broom aside. He peered up at the sullen, thick gray sky. Back home clouds only showed up to foretell omens, usually good. Sometimes not. Rarely were they seen in the open desert. However, here they were always there, obscuring the sky, the sun and the stars, as if suffocating it. And it was colder than anything he had ever experienced in his life. This land was always wet and rainy or snowing. He wondered why Uwain still worshiped the sun god in this land as the rain gods seemed to hold more power. One of Uwain's servants was coming, walking with a quick, rushed gait, looking at him with a worried and purposeful look.

"Is he here? My lord needs to speak with him. It is urgent." Ruz pointed to the hut beside the granary.

"He is there and he is not busy as of right now."

The attendant went to the granary and knocked. Omun came to the door.

"The chieftain would speak with you at once, Omun."

"What is it about?" He asked, searching for his cloak.

"The king has finally sent for him. It is about the Ohdrufrid and Wodrufrid. Evil is afoot and Lord Uwain feels your knowledge of devices is key. War is brewing." Omun cast an alarmed glance down toward Ruz as he pulled his cloak close about him and left behind the attendant, tramping in the snow to the small chieftain lodge near the town gate.

Sample Chapters: Cryptic Tongues - Chapter Three!

Here is the final free chapter sample I am putting up on the blog. If you want the first five chapters, sign up for the mailing list. Remember that these are not finalized versions of the story and that the first book in the trilogy, Schisms is available for purchase. Enjoy!

Chapter Three

Over the years Ilim had endured every conceivable trouble and misfortune there was and yet, here he was again among his people. No matter the hardships and dangers he endured, it was worth the price he paid for not marrying, for not seeking wealth, position or fame or anything a man his age would have achieved ten times over. It was in a tiny crowded two-room house where he spoke. Most of those gathered would eventually make their way to the temple for Night Prayer but for them, going to the local temple had become a mere ritual so as not to draw the attention of the traditionalists. Strange, he thought, how those who seek to go back to the elementary things of the Law are the apostates. Gathering for public prayers and offering animal sacrifices were still the right of all the Aishanna-La but these ones, the shismatics some now called them, gathered in small homes in Gamina and Hevan. They did not go to the temples for the festivals or to hear public oratories on the Holy Writings any longer. They knew that God was no longer with the Ainash. God was with his prophets, one who was now expounding the way of the Book of Laws and warning them of the signs to come and what to look for when the king would rise again. It was dangerous work. The palace sought to stamp out this hope, this new challenge to their divine authority, the Ainash, who were concerned with temporal riches and status saw them as a constant thorn in their sides - a constant reproach and most of the kingdom's subjects saw it as an uncomfortable accusation against culture and long-standing tradition. Thus, it was now dangerous to be a true Aishanna-La of the old ways. Most schismatics stayed away from the public games, sports and other public entertainments so as not to encounter the question of the queen's divinity. Around the land some had paid the price of impalement but Ilim had warned beforehand in letters to the small groups around the land to stay away from things that they had no business attending would protect them from the question and subsequent trials. If only he could convince Rapheth, the very one spoken of in the prophecies, to do the same. Ilim was in constant exasperation and fear for the boy. He glanced at Rapheth and caught the boy intently watching him. He seemed true at heart but he had a wild spirit in him from his father and a deceptive quality in him, from his mother and this worried Ilim. Would he really be the one? Had he failed in training up the boy? He and Zigal had many conversations on the matter. Zigal stuck by her opinion that the boy was strong-willed but had a good heart.

Finishing his teachings he rolled up the scroll and handed it to Rapheth. They were in the home of a man named Dalet, an old man, and his Rurrian wife Rusudan, who had no children. Ilim sat down as the younger families were readying themselves to leave. It was late evening. Rapheth carefully rolled up the scrolls and leaves of papers, carefully placing them into the leather sack.

"Here, my brother Ilim. A cup of quass. I am sorry I have nothing else to offer you."

"You have offered your home as a sacred space. That is enough, Dalet and I am thankful for it." Ilim drank it down, grateful. Compared to the quass of the tribal peoples it was weak but his throat responded to it in the same fashion. Satisfaction of thirst.

"It is a hot one today. It may be even worse tomorrow and it is not even summer yet. This much heat too early in the year signals trouble." Said Ilim.

"When it gets hot like this the vermin come out in droves. They found three dead men a few weeks ago in one of the backstreets not too far from here. Some say they might have been Hatchet Men. Have you heard anything?" Asked Dalet. Ilim glanced sharply at Rapheth who was concentrating on the scrolls. The youth looked up suddenly at hearing about the dead men and then quickly looked away and continued putting the scrolls away.

"I have heard. A little too close to home I would say. Murderously hot weather seems to encourage murder itself." Said Ilim.

"You know, things have gotten so bad these days. I am tired Ilim. Worn out from this life. I know I cannot hurry things but I just wish it would all be over now."

"I know. Sometimes I am tired too. Just remember that things are happening in our lifetime. We are in the midst of it but it must become dark before we see the light again."

"But how dark, I wonder? How many people must be impaled alive over her whims? How many children must be sacrificed on the alters of her gods? Even Hec is not so cruel as this Nimnet. I see no difference between this one and the patron goddess of Yallas-of-the-Valley."

"Only in the darkest day do we see the true light. Until then we must endure it. Most of those of our people who had the good sense to leave Jhis when the king married this monster have saved themselves from the worst of it. Remember that. The warning went out long ago to leave Jhis because of its coming destruction. Those who are truly loyal followed that counsel. We will not be shielded from troubles but it has been born out that when we follow holy counsel we do not suffer as much as those who ignore it."

"You are right. It is just that times are so uncertain and frightening now."

"Rest assured, I know this, most of all. But I also know other things." Ilim's eyes grew bright. "He is coming, my brother." There were a precious few Ainash priests who had left the Golden Temple either literally or in a spiritual sense, and followed Ilim. He kept in contact with the ones who were not in Jhis, ministering to them, traveling undercover to speak with them and encourage them when he could. They were scattered throughout the land. It was this tiny group who knew Rapheth was the chosen one of God and of this they said nothing to anyone outside of their group. Any knowledge hidden from the authorities pertaining to the boy meant death.

"Come Rapheth, it is time, unless you will go to Night Prayers?" Rapheth shook his head.

"Well Dalet, I thank you for opening your home each week for the readings. May God bless you and your dear wife."

"And may you always be blessed, Ilim." Said Dalet. They gathered their bags and filed out behind the others, hugging their brethren and saying greetings of love before going their own way.

On the way back to the house Ilim finally broached the subject.

"So, you and your friends went down to that rathole again, even though I told you not to! Now three men are dead because of your foolishness!" Rapheth was shocked. Ilim snorted derisively.

"Really? You think because I am old that I am senile as well? You thought that I would not know?"

The boy's face fell. He knew better than to ask how Ilim knew. The old man just seemed to know things.

"Your mother told me. She keeps her ear to the street when I am preaching and while you are apparently widdling your life away, Rapheth!" They climbed the steps and went inside.

"Listen to me! I do not tell you not to do this or that for my own good but for yours. Wicked people frequent taverns and alehouses for no-good things. Now, more than ever. I am surprised you have not come down with some strange ailment of sores on your goah yet, boy." Rapheth drew himself up in a huff.

"Do not act proudly now that you have been found out."

"I would never do something to get a shriveled, sore-ridden goah, father!"

"Well what else am I to expect? You hang around prostitutes, drunks and gamblers and thieves, you and your friends! I have a mind to tell their families what Ephron and Shukala have been up to!" He softened his voice. "Look. There is another reason, Rapheth. Come sit down. It is time I explained this in full to you. You are of age now." He motioned towards the table. Rapheth put the bag down on the table and sat down. Ilim removed the many books and scrolls piled there.

"You are nearly a man grown now. In some places in this world you would be married with a child on the way. Or conducting military campaigns." Ilim grew pensive as he gazed at Rapheth.

"When you were younger Zigal and I only told you bits and pieces about your true heritage for your own safety. Your father was once king of this land."

"King! Mother told me that he was a powerful man who ruled many, but she refused to say any more."

"For your safety and hers. Your father was King Khalit, who died in battle fifteen years ago." Rapheth blew in a sharp breath. His eyes, lit with that ever strange fire, grew bright. Ilim had always found them intense, powerful and odd. Nothing like Khalit's eyes. In fact, he did not look very much like Khalit in his looks or coloring except his hair, which was a riot of loose black and brown curls. And he had a wild streak. That was Khalit in him. Ilim went on.

"Your mother. . . " he began, slowly.

". . is the queen," finished Rapheth. Ilim jerked his head in astonishment.

"But how did you know this?" Rapheth looked solemn, far beyond his fifteen years.

"I saw her once when she was here in the city to inaugurate a new college. I felt something stir in me, as if I knew her. It was a strange feeling. I look just like her. As if I sprang from her, solely."

"Did anyone notice you?" Rapheth shook his head.

"No. When I am outside of our neighborhood. . .or underground" he added sheepishly, "I cover my head and my face with a scarf or rag, like the Gilphaens or the Karig. Some people here think I am a Gilphaen." Ilim heaved a great sigh.

"Did she see you?"

"No. She was so. . .serene and beautiful, like the carved statues of Rhuctium by the artists at the art school."

"Yes. I know. She holds many enthrall to her. Be careful for she is wicked beyond reasoning. Zigal can tell you of her own experiences, like when she ordered all of the king's offspring and concubines to be killed. You would have been murdered too. The only reason why you are here today is because of Zigal and Queen Diti's belief in holy prophecy. Those faithful women. Poor Queen Diti. . " Ilim began, his face fell. His eyes filled with tears.

"What happened to Queen Diti?"

"Well, it is said officially that she fell from her balcony window one morning after having had too much drink. But many believe she was murdered. In fact, we know it in our souls. She was a holy woman. Devout. She rarely drank wine or spirits. But she had visions of you, child and she made a way to preserve you alive. If only she had fled Jhis sooner. She loved the city and the palace life too much, I think. Even so, may she come to be in paradise in the end." Ilim wiped his face, got up and went to his writing desk and pulled out a stack of leaf pages in wide cream colored paper.

"I have been working on this for some time now. It may seem strange to you that Zigal and I have you writing and reading the holy book and history and even law but you are meant for great things."

"I do not feel that way. I just feel lost sometimes."

"You are humble enough and that is a good thing. It is fine for one to feel afraid at times. It is normal but always remember even in your darkest hours God will turn to you when you call to Him in prayer. He will be there for you, you especially. One day I will not be here to teach and instruct you in the law. One day neither me or Zigal will be here to guide you. You will have to know it for yourself and you know many things well enough but you must take this most seriously Rapheth. One day it will be up to you to lead many peoples back to the Red Path. In order to do that you must know the path and believe in it." He handed Rapheth the papers. They were his writings of his book, The Book of Ilim the prophet.

"You will have this added to the holy writings?"

"I do not know. All I know is that I must write down these prophecies God has given me. The tide of world history rises and falls, reaches an apex and rolls down again and future peoples may take comfort in these words during their own times of distress and learn from them. One never knows the future in its completeness but this is a great work I have been given. It must be written down and I have written down as much as I can remember. Please read them. You are the first to read them. I shall go, once again, on a mission. Airend-Ur has commanded and this time I may not come back. Someone else, a friend of mine is coming here in my stead to instruct you and help Zigal care for the household."

"Tell me father, what is this commission before you go? And who is this man that is coming?" Rapheth felt a desperate feeling rise in him. Ilim was the only father he knew.

"A broken vessel the land has become and especially Jhis, the seat of power. A vessel, worthless and good for nothing."

"Of course a broken vessel must be ground down and destroyed and put to better use." Said Rapheth. Ilim nodded.

"Shattered to pieces, and this is like the land of Hybron and the city of Jhis, especially. Its end is drawing near. It has been found worthless and there is hardly anyone left doing good. It will be shattered like a worthless vessel. This is my message. That no one wants to hear. But hear it, they must. Remember Raptheth, you are the crest of the prophecy's fulfillment. But watch those you bring close to you. Your father did not watch carefully and he brought serpents into his bosom and he was killed for it. Beware you do not do the same and if you do reject the law of God, He will find another, for His purpose will never be thwarted, only re-routed."

"If my true mother is so evil, why did He allow me to come from her?"

"Why not? God can use anyone at will to bring about His own will. Wicked though she is, she is of the blood of the Rephaim, like your father. The Rephaim served a very unique purpose, Rapheth. God promised that a king would rise from their blood again and He will keep that promise and find a way to work through whatever means exists."

"Why did they exist in the first place? Everything about them is hidden or swaddled in mystery."

"During the Age of Creation there was a great rebellion lead by the unnamed one in heaven. You know the account. The Rephaim was the reason for the rebellion, to bring those among mankind who would choose the Father back to Him. Among other things. But the most important reason for their existence was to provide a solution for the mess created after the rebellion, to bring us back in harmony with the original order of things, back to the First Pillar. Strabs were one of the original Mother Tribes and I perceive that not all of them are evil, though I do not know any that are not, personally. The blood of the Red King must be sacred royal blood, Rephaim blood. That Rephaim line was preserved through the Dark Age, the Age of the Twilight Kingdoms, to our present day. We are still under the Age of the Twilight Kingdoms. That Khalit happened to meet and marry another tribeswoman of the blood seems incidental to the eye of man but served the grand Purpose set long ago. One can be evil and still give birth to something good. Sometimes. Why should you be thrown away because of your mother or your father?" Rapheth looked thoughtful for a while. They were silent for a long time, then the boy turned to the papers and started reading them as Ilim prepared his bag to leave.

"Send letters to the ones holding the small gatherings, Rapheth and let them know about about my current mission. I shall be gone for a long time."

"Yes, father."

"Much depends upon your own will in this, son. I cannot make you do a single thing anymore. When you were younger I would give you a good beating for this sort of disobedience but I am too old to render such punishment and you are old enough to know better now. You laze about too often and you disobey me and you are sneaky and deceptive. I see these qualities in you and it disturbs me. You must decide for yourself if you are guided by law or by principle. Must you have a literal rule hanging about your neck everywhere you go? Or can you live by principle, as I have tried to teach you? Perhaps I have failed."

"Do not say that father!" Rapheth cried.

"Aich! Remember what I have taught you, for one day you too, like Anet the prophetess, will not have the protective arms and bands of a city or a book of laws to tell you what to do. You must know it in your heart and only then will the true man in the heart become apparent." Said Ilim. He then left the room.

Rapheth did not know what to say. He had been found out. Again. Perhaps he was a failure and they put too much trust in him. Too many hopes. He went back to his reading. He heard Zigal in the back courtyard by the new, enlarged brick oven built for her, cooking dinner and talking with someone. A voice he did not recognize. These noises receded into the noise of the background as he read on. He decided to read some of the words in a soft undertone and he felt a stirring within him as if they awakened a power long asleep. His hands trembled slightly and then he quickly put the papers down.

"Oh yes," called Ilim from an interior room, "you will be trained with a proper king's weapon soon. Zigal has informed me."

"When?" Called Rapheth excitedly. Now this was something he could handle. The memory of the stranger in the alley rushed back to him. He heard footsteps walk in from the courtyard in the back of the house. The footsteps were heavier than he knew Zigal's or Ilim's to be. Alert, he turned in his chair towards the sound. The words from the powerfully timbre'd voice immediately caught his attention.

"Now. Get up and face me, boy." It was the stranger, Rhajit. "Catch!" He said casually and Rapheth, too late, saw something go sailing by his head. It was one of his own daggers. Rapheth's face flushed and he grew hot with anger.

"Why did you do that? You could have killed me! That is not a toy!" He said indignantly. He'd missed the dagger and it went clattering to the floor behind him. The man shook his head slowly and regarded him coolly.

"You can't even throw a dagger properly." Said Rapheth. Yet he was excited that the stranger showed up again. Something different for a change.

"I wasn't trying to kill you, boy. I thought you were supposed to be so quick and skilled in a fight? I see you missed that surprise by a league. I gave you warning enough by clomping across the floor like an auroch. Whether it is a street fight with assassins, which you may encounter again, or in the heat of a great battle, you will not have time to react or behave imperiously. Calm your spirit. Your first lesson: "A man who drops his weapon or his attention is a dead man."