bigbauer:
I guess we're to expect the next sets of updates by next year. Nevertheless, Nice plot, great story.

Maybe, maybe not. As the spirit leads. Thanks for reading.

Vantee u go wound o

And I started reading this story expecting to see the end and so on, but am dissapoint at the uncompleted work, Dear VanTee20, please kindly complete this masterpiece, it's an amazing story.

Vantee baba....

Welcome

Dedicated to the ghost readers who will comment after reading this.


CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Prince Galleine's long golden hair bobbed wildly on his crown as he galloped through Rayon valley en route Casville. His mind was in turmoil. He kept muttering the same question to himself, Why did they have to die just like that? With his mind's eye, he could see the last time he had seen his parents together. That had been at the tournament held at Austieres. They had perched on their gilded thrones, both looking great and neither of them showing any sign, however subtle, that they wouldn't live to see the next waxing of the moon. Why is death so callous?

A twig snapped rather loudly in the bush adjoining the spot where Prince Galleine was but he didn't hear it, he was occupied with thinking about the fact that his father never had the satisfaction of seeing him in battle. The last battle in Casville was the one against the allied rebel forces at Voules and his father had barred him from joining the warriors.

"But I have been training with them for years and I can hold my own against many of them. I am good enough to fight," The Prince had said.

"You are too young. No warrior can take the arms until he is eighteeen."

"Father, I will be eighteen next month."

His father had remained unmoved. "Until then, you will stay at home and continue to improve."

There went what would be his only chance to fight alongside his father, to show that he was a true descendant of god of war and empire builder, Guldheries Loghris. To show that his shoulders could bear the legacy of his prestigious ancestors.

Oh Tremor, I will gouge your eyes and make you eat it.

Prince Galleine's grievous musings did more than dull his spirits, it also dulled his perceptive abilities, ensuring that he failed to pick out the susuration around him. On a good day, he certainly would heard the suspicious rustling sounds from the bush to his left side. Five men, all armed with swords and spears, lurked in the bush. They were waiting for the right time to pounce on this lone traveller on the winding road. They had no idea that it was the Prince.

One of the bandits, a sturdy fellow with bulging arm muscles, decided they had waited enough. He lifted his spear and hurled it with the intention of knocking their unwary victim off his horse. He missed, by a few inches. The spear tore the back of the prince's shirt and nicked the skin of his lower back before going on to sink in the ground not far off.

A groan escaped the Prince's lips as he felt the impact of the blade that had cut his skin. He looked in the direction he felt the spear came from and saw his assailants. He recognised them by their chequered overgowns and revers as Vath bandits, mostly likely Von Descher's men.

"The hell, Sanzel. You have ruined our surprise factor," another member of the band complained to the one who had thrown the spear.

"Stow it Rerk," the leader of the gang rebuked. "Let's get him first, you can complain later."

"Aye," said Rerk as he hurled his own spear. His aim was truer than Sanzel's as his spear sank into the horse's neck, sending it to the ground dead in a instant. The Prince tumbled off the horse and crashed to the ground next to his dead ride. The pentad rushed out from behind the bush in time for the Prince to scramble to his feet and reach for his sword.

"Ho! He wants to fight," Sanzel said as they closed in on him.

The Prince lunged at the bandits like a rabid dog. He fended off the thrust of one of them and in a brilliant counter attacking move, slashed his neck with an adroit swing of his sword. Two of the men tried to strike him at the same time, one aiming his head and the other his trunk. The Prince did an acrobatic leap in the air, his slight frame getting airborne before the swords of his adversary could get to him. On landing, Prince Galleine plunged his sword in the collar bone of one and then parried off a blow from the other before deftly burying his sword in the bandit's chest.

The last bandit, having seen the gory fate that befell his companions, decided to take to his heels. He spun and skittered off in the direction of the little bush where he and his colleagues had emerged from. The Prince did not bother with a chase. He pulled out a spear that had sank into the ground and threw it at the fleeing bandit. The spear pierced the bandit's nape all the way to his Adam's apple.

Having dealt with the bandits, the Prince was left to ponder on how to get to Casville since his horse was dead. The city was hours of galloping away, could he walk all the way? The answer was no, of course. He didn't have the strength, even now he was aware that the cut on his back was bleeding copiously. He could feel trickle of warm blood down his lower back.

After a moment's deliberation, Prince Galleine decided to go to Zarst. The town was only an hour's walk away from he was. There he would get a physician to treat his wound and a horse to ride to Casville.

"Zarst it is," Prince Galleine mumbled as he broke into a jog in the direction of the town.

He didn't get too far because the distant whinnying of a horse behind him drew his attention. He turned to see a young man on horseback on the horizon. Even from the considerable distance, the Prince recognised the brown hair and the servile garb.

"What are you doing here, Craig?" The Prince asked when he rode up.

Craig didn't reply. He couldn't, he was out of breath for riding so fast to catch up with the Prince.

"Get off the horse."

"My lord, I. . ."

"Get off. I need the ride."

Craig got off the horse and watched as the Prince swung into saddle. "My lord, I read Malzene's letter. . ."

The Prince was adjusting the reins. "What does it say?"

"Sir Millicent is responsible for your parent's death. He did it to claim the throne. He wants to kill you too."

"I don't understand. You are saying my cousin killed my parents?"

"That's what Malzene said sir."

For a long while the Prince said and did nothing, though his countenance gave away the fact that he was seriously embittered. His grief soon overcame him. He buried his face in his left palm and broke into tears. Craig watched on in pity, he was unsure of how to entreat to one who had lost his parents to the vile wiles of a beloved relative.

"Grieve not, sire. This is the time for you to be strong," Craig said finally.

"I shall know no peace," The Prince declared suddenly, taking his sympathetic manservant by surprise. "Millicent, I shall know no rest until I have made you pay for this perfidy." That said, the Prince began to canter away towards Casville.

"My lord, don't," Craig pleaded. "Malzene D'Aubriere warned of the dangers in your going to the city. Sir Millicent wants you dead. He has lots of immortal soldiers guarding the citadel. There is no way you can get past them to fight him."

"Immortal soldiers or not, I shall have Millicent's head off his neck the moment I set my eyes on him," The Prince roared before increasing his horse's pace to a gallop, leaving Craig to watch him disappear in an envelope of dust for the second time that day.

"Surely, he's going to get himself killed," Craig said morosely to himself as he began his own slow, foot journey back to the Red Knight's camp.

* * *

"Go away! I need nothing!" Helena bellowed as soon as she heard the short rap on the door.

She knew exactly who it was. That witch of a maid had been troubling her all day with her sharp knocks and the successive poking of her ugly head in the room to ask if she needed anything. Helena couldn't lay a finger on why the maid's actions riled so much but truly it did.

It was her first day in Count Ressier's magnificent castle and it had not by any means been enjoyable. The whole house with its whitewashed walls, marbled floor, fine arches, columns and plinth peeved her to hell. The serenity of the whole house seemed to mock her own troubled state of mind.

"The Count is on his way up, my lady," The maid announced and quickly withdrew her head from Helena's sight.

With a slight frown on her face, Helena pulled herself off the bed. For the first time, she appreciated the girl's intrusion. It wouldn't do for that old pervert Count to meet her scantily dressed and seated on the bed. She could imagine the amorous thoughts that would cross the man's mind on sighting her in such a compromising position.

From a bag, Helena selected a full-bodied, purple houppelande with big sleeves and hastily helped herself into it. Next, she pulled her silky black hair into a heart shaped headdress. A glance at the mirror showed her as presentable without being provocative. Her cleavage was nowhere in sight and her curvy figure was concealed by the big houppelande, leaving one with no choice than to focus on her beautiful face.

For a moment, Helena's eyes were magneted from the mirror by a small object beside it. A short metal blade with an handle, yes a knife. The sight of the knife put the idea of killing the Count and running away in her head but did she have enough courage to do that?

"Confound you, Marcus. This is all your fault," She muttered.

Presently, Count Ressier let himself into the spacious room. His grizzled black hair was damp and neatly combed. The stubble on his chin and the down on his face had disappeared and Helena thought he would have looked at least passable if not for the puffy fold of skin beneath his eyes that made him look like a toad.

"I know that you do not love me," Count Ressier said softly. "Oddly, that is the reason I chose you. I could have taken your elder sister since my agreement with your father was that I would marry one of his daughters for a bad debt he incurred years ago, but I know that your skin recoils with every touch, I can see the sparks of anger in your eyes. I know you hate me with every fibre of your being. And that is why I will get married to you on Glens day - that is two days after Sir Millicent is crowned. I am dying to see how you will get through our conjugal consummation."

"Vile being!" Helena shrieked. Didn't this obnoxious man have a daughter older than even Freya? Helena told herself the Count wasn't to blame as much as her father who pawned her to settle an old debt promise.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Will you, my betrothed, join me? You are look perfect for the occasion."

"I'll die sooner than go anywhere with you," Helena spat.

"Ho! You'd better be dead before Glens day or you'll have no choice than to go down the aisle with me. Ha-ha," Count Ressier said with a dark smile. He pulled himself upright and walked out of Helena's bedroom, blowing a kiss as he left.

Helena flopped on the bed in acute dolour. Things looked beyond her control. She couldn't run away because unlike her father's house that was sparsely guarded, Count Ressier's castle was bursting with sentries. Also killing Count Ressier in cold blood would be insane. First she wasn't sure she had the nerve to do it. Even if she succeeded in eliminating the Count, then she would surely also succeed in ruining her prestigious family name. She would almost likely get caught too which meant she would either be executed in the city square or at the very least, face an eternity at the Faws, the central penitentiary in Casville.

Mired in despair, she buried her face in the floral patterned sheets of the bed and cried aloud, "Oh Marcus, where in God's name are you?"

There was a moment of stultifying silence, then someone just outside Helena's room said in a masculine voice that sounded familiar to her. "Come, I'm here."

It is amazing how what seemed like a complex, hopeless situation can in a matter of seconds be transformed into a simple thing. And how the gloomiest heart can turn joyful in a trice. Helena's heart leapt with happiness. Her Marcus had come to rescue her, was she dreaming?

She skipped out of her room into the passageway with hopes of seeing Marcus brandishing a sword, ready to take on the entire squadron of sentries for her sake but she was grossly disappointed. What she saw was her maid in the arms of a guard, kissing away with reckless abandon.

"You two are kissing beside my window. What insolence!"

The couple sprang apart, the heat of passion between them quickly giving way to the fear of the Countess to be telling the Count of their misdemeanour.

"Forgive us, my lady. We are. . ."

Helena wasn't listening. Ideas were bouncing in her head. A plan was forming already. Perhaps she could get herself out of distress instead of waiting for a Knight in shinning armour who was not forthcoming anyway.

"You, what is your name?" Helena asked the guard.

"Keigh, my lady."

"Follow me," Helena said as she swirled and headed back into her room. She had found her way out of Count Ressier's castle. She would use Keigh to get herself out.

* * *

Xesandra heaved a sigh of relief at the words of the sorcerer. She had been greatly concerned about Elliott getting wounded or getting killed while trying to prove her innocence.

"And how did you know we were looking for you?" Alan asked.

With a smile, Haldrinne dipped his hands into his pocket to produce a glittering crystal ball, "I was watching when you read Malzene's letter. I knew about your decision to watch out for game, that was why I used that boar to get you here. I decided to save you the time and strength you would have expended going all the way to Sokken. You'll need them for greater causes."

"Malzene said you know how we can bring down Sir Millicent," Elliott said to Haldrinne.

The wizard gathered his flowing robe around himself with an affected grace and took a step towards the Red Knights. "Ah, yes. The secret lies in knowing how to defeat his Phantoms."

When nobody said anything, Haldrinne continued, "Phantoms are dead war veterans resurrected by magic. Their souls are at the gate of Gogan's palace. The body is what the phantoms are. One phantom may well be equivalent to a hundred well trained human soldiers, because they have no fear and they are immune to any human weapons."

"You are scaring us, old man," Alan admitted.

"Don't be scared, child. The phantoms are not indestructible, at least in theory."

"So how do we kill them?" Elliott asked.

Haldrinne cleared his throat before responding. "According to the book of the chosen, a phantom will fall dead at your feet if you strike it with a weapon that has been buried for three days in a Negirrel's ash."

"Negirrel?" Sir Harding echoed. His mind went back to the monumental struggle he, Sir Claude and the Prince had with the beast. They had barely escaped with their lives. He wasn't even sure how he made it alive because he had been knocked out cold.

"Yes. Have you had an encounter with one before?" Haldrinne asked.

"Certainly and I don't crave another meeting with it."

"You are a lucky man. Surviving a Negirrel attack is as rare as finding magic druses."

"Tell us how to get a Negirrel's ash," Elliott said.

"This is where things get cloudy," Haldrinne said, scratching the length of white hair below his chin. "No one has ever killed a Negirrel. Guldheries Loghris, who ruled before Gavyne was said to have killed one but the story remains apocryphal. There are not a few sorcerers who think that the supposed vulnerability of the Phantoms using a Negirrel's ash is a way of saying Phantoms are indomitable."

"What do you think?" Xesendra asked.

"I'm not completely certain but I believe that if you can strike a Negirrel with the flaming sword that is in the golden chest in the monastery at Carzef, then you'll have all the Negirrel ash you need."

"Gold chest in the monastery at Carzef?" Elliott repeated.

"Yes. One other thing is, only Marcus Elymus can retrieve the flaming sword from the golden chest. You need to get him back on board."

"Why only Marcus?" Royce asked.

"It has to do with his ancestry."

"But Malzene told him to leave Casville and return no more," Elliott revealed.

Haldrinne's eyes crinkled with laughter. "What mendacity!It wasn't Malzene that said that, of course. Lady Suzannah took the form of Malzene and told Marcus those hefty lies so that he could leave the scene."

The company lapsed into silence.

"So we have to go back and convince Marcus to come with us?" Melissa asked.

"Not to worry, I'll do that for you. Just ride to Carzef and bring the golden chest to Casville." The sorcerer said. "Before you go, I have some weapons to give you."

He gave Elliott a halberd, Xesandra he gave a pouch of inexhaustible arrows, Royce he handed a pair of gilded hilt daggers, Alan a trident and Sir Harding a lance convertible to a sword.

"These are weapons that will aid you in battle for your time in Carzef will not be without combat," Haldrinne said. "I have a few prophecies too if I may. Royce, you shall regain possession of your father's estates. Elliott and Xesandra shall have a baby together. . ."

Haldrinne's prophecy was punctuated by wild laughter from the company. Only Xesandra maintained a mirthless disposition.

"Why do you look so cross?" Elliott drawled, moving closer to the bristling lady. "Is the prospect of having a baby for me so repulsive?"

"It's worse than you think," Xesandra said as she launched a kick into Elliott's shin the moment the warrior tried to put his arm around her waist. The vicious kick drew a groan and a swear from Elliott and more laughter from their companions.

"One last thing, a phantom's strongest point is not his skill with the sword or his strength, it is the fact that he has no fear. To defeat one that has no fear, you must shed your fears like a snake does its scale. May the Blessed twins grant you success."

The company rallied and rode out of the clearing after thanking Haldrinne. He watched them with softened eyes. He had seen something else in the crystal ball. Something that he couldn't bring himself to utter. Something that spelt doom for their quest to bring down the treacherous Sir Millicent.

Mighty Gogan, let it not happen.




THE END OF CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Donpeteranking:
Vantee u go wound o

Na you wan wound me? Wetin I do biko?

Godwinfury:
And I started reading this story expecting to see the end and so on, but am dissapoint at the uncompleted work, Dear VanTee20, please kindly complete this masterpiece, it's an amazing story.

I will finish the story. Thanks sir.

stuff46:
Vantee baba....

Welcome

Stuff46 my man! Thanks for sticking around sir.

VanTee20:

I will finish the story. Thanks sir.

My pleasure, humbly awaiting.

Love the update, I await what await the knights(wonder what sort of sentence is that sef)

Godwinfury:
Love the update, I await what await the knights(wonder what sort of sentence is that sef)

Lol. It makes sense.

VanTee20:

Stuff46 my man! Thanks for sticking around sir.

It could be about this big-headed prince.ride on

Wow!:-O:-O I am awed by your persistence OP you are truly one of a kind for you not to have given up on a project over 3yrs old......consider me your new follower:-|:-|

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

The heavy stench of festering cow dung and the sight of a verdurous plain beyond the knoll from which he was descending alerted a rather distracted Marcus to the fact that he was now on the outskirts of his town of birth – Willenew. In this town, there were no prominent boundary markers, like the magnificent city gates in Casville and Austieres or the grand triliths and megaliths in other Nersean cities and towns. The reason for this lacuna being that Willenew was the last of the Thombroki territories annexed by the all-conquering empire builder, Guldheries Loghris and there had not been enough time for the town to be properly integrated into the empire before Guldheries died. His successors had not bothered with the integration because Willenew was a town of little consequence, populated by peasants and situated at the southernmost end of Empire, as remote as possible from the pomp and civilisation of the capital city.

With weary legs and a wandering mind, Marcus ambled through the steppe, following the footpaths that led to the small cottage that he shared with his father and brothers. He had left home with the intention of having a wild adventure and nothing more but after the adulation and attention he got while putting the Casvillean team to the sword during the tournament, his desire for adventure had morphed into a quest for fame and glory as well as hopes of making a career as a warrior and becoming a Knight of the Realm under the King's service. And he had gone close to achieving his lofty aspirations before he was so cruelly thwarted by fate. The King had been murdered and the Prince's place taken by a power hungry aristocrat and worse of all, he, Marcus, was banished. Now, his hopes of becoming a knight were crushed, dashed. He would never return to Casville because the gods have willed it that way. The rest of his days would be expended in this backwater town where nothing seemed to have life or joy.

Days of ploughing his way through forests and terrains of different kinds ensured that Marcus' clothes were soiled and his body full of grime. In this, he looked no different from the few folks he came across in the streets of Willenew, mostly farmers on their way back home after hours of relentless tilling. Trudging on, he found the road that led to his father's house, which was usually deserted, lively. A group of shirtless, little boys were capering around, joyful with their noises. The afternoon sun was glinting with dazzling brilliance off the sweat on their bare backs. Marcus found himself begrudging the little boys of their laughter, lack of worry and . . .

"Marcus!" Someone called behind him with a suddenness that jolted him. The voice which had spoken was such that Marcus knew who it was before turning.

Staring in his eldest brother's bronze coloured face, Marcus faltered – unable to form words of any sort of profundity. Lucas walked up to his dazed brother in a few strides and wrapped his arms around him in a loving brotherly embrace. Together, they strode homewards.

"You look pathetic," Lucas remarked, having stepped back to observe his brother. "Where have you been? You have caused us a lot of worry and a lot more trouble."

"Did you see my note?"

"How explicit it was. 'I'm sorry', wasn't that all you wrote?"

"I couldn't find the right words to paint the adventure I was embarking on in a good light."

Lucas snorted. "There can be no such words. You went gambolling with your Knight's armour and horse. Do you realise just how stupid that is?"

Marcus felt his heart slam to a stop within his chest. "How did you know? Has Sir Maxime recovered from his typhus?"

"Aye. He came hither two weeks ago with two squires to report your misdemeanour."

A question popped in Marcus' mind and he went pale even before knowing what the answer was. "Did he. . . Did he report anything else apart from the missing horse and armour?"

"No. Why, you look faint. Did you do something else?"

"Yes. No, I mean no," Marcus said, relieved that Sir Maxime had not learnt about his impersonation. At least not yet. "How did father take all these?"

"Father is in detention."

"What did he do?"

"I wonder, O my brother, if I should have struck your bridgework instead of hugging you the other time. Do you not realise the gravity of what you have done? Well, Sir Maxime came with royal guards to restrain you for unauthorised possession of his armour and horse. When he didn't find you, he said Father was hiding you and arrested Father."

Marcus closed his eyes and surrendered to the guilt that gnawed at his heart. Albeit unwittingly, he had always been a source of problem to his father, but this – this was too much.

"Where is he held?"

"In Sir Maxime's cellar. They say he's going to be transferred to Faws in Casville if you do not show up."

Presently, they arrived at the modest cottage which was their home. Outside the house was Malcolm, Marcus' other brother, seated on a canvas, re-stringing his bow.

"What is this bastard doing here?" Malcolm said, springing to his feet.

"Take it easy, Malcolm," Lucas offered.

"I'm sorry, Mal."

"You scum!" Malcolm roared, still enraged. "My Father is in detention because of your little bastard self. Is this how you repay him for picking you up in the wild and raising you like one of his own?"

Lucas entered a raging mood of his own. "You will stop this blabbering now, Malcolm or I will shove your tongue in your throat."

Marcus watched on without speaking as his brothers bartered hot words because of him. It all made sense to him now; his pale face as against the brown ones of his brothers or every other person in Willenew; his longish, straight hair against their curly ones. As a kid, he had been endlessly taunted about his appearance by his peers. The teasing and taunting had prompted him to ask his father why he looked so different from everyone around.

"You took after your mum. You know, she is from the Northern province," his father had said. Marcus had been satisfied with that. He couldn't have debunked that claim since his father and mother were separated. Now he knew the truth.

Marcus breezed past his brothers and headed for his room, fumbling his way through the dimly lit cottage. His room smelled of mothballs. Rodents had eaten a few things here and there. He knelt down beside his littered straw bed and began to unpack his bag. He arranged the pile of clothes on the bed. He got to the bottom of the bag where Sir Maxime's armour was – the chain-armour, boots, sallet and metal glove, all his master's. He will never own any of these, he thought in sadness.

For a while, he gave himself to a pleasant reverie. He was back at the Castalia colisseum. He was dressed in Sir Maxime's armour and was engaged in combat against a squadron of knights. Roars of delight from the spectators thrilled him as he dealt the Knights blows that sent them off their horses. In little time, he had knocked all the knights down save one. He charged at the last knight, intent on making him bite the dust like the others but the Knight was faster than Marcus. He struck him a blow to the head and Marcus found himself so dazed that he fell off his horse. The spectators gasped with shock; who was this knight who had struck Marcus down? The knight removed his helmet and it turned out to be Marcus himself.

"Daydreaming, are you?" An unfamiliar voice said behind him.

Marcus turned to see a wizened, old man donning a white robe at the doorway. The man looked at him, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Who are you?"

"Haldrinne, the breath of the dragon. No, you don't know me. But I know you. Suffice it to say, I know more about you than you know yourself."

Marcus was sick of wizards who knew so much and instead of enlightening, they confounded him. "Why are you here?"

"I have come to disprove what you were told the other time that you have been cursed and banished from Casville. There is no such thing. It is a big lie in frock and smock. To be fair to the man, Malzene has no hand in the mendacity."

"I don't understand. He was the one that told . . ."

"I know what he told you, but it wasn't him. It was someone else who took his form and told you those things. By the blessed twins, D'Aubriere is still at the restraint facility in Casville as I speak to you."

Marcus remembered Elliott's claim and realised his friend was right. "Who took his form?"

"Suzannah, a powerful sorceress trained at the feet of Bhrie, the Mother witch. I daresay she is a bigger enemy than Millicent."

"Why are you telling me this? I'm no more involved in these things. You should be talking to the Prince or Elliott."

The sorcerer stepped closer. "Let me tell you a story. Twenty years ago, Klacis, a fine warrior in King Gavyne's retinue, got lost in the Euschires after a campaign. He was unable to find his way out. Hungry and dying, a wood nymph found him and took care of him. He spent some time recuperating with the tree spirit. One day, Klacis. . . I don't know what led him to it. He slept with the dryad."

"If you will excuse me old man, I have better things to do than listen to senile stories that have nothing to do with my life," said Marcus as he resumed packing his clothes.

The old man smiled with strained tolerance. "Oh, it does have something to do with you. The dryad in question got pregnant. And she gave birth to you."

Marcus paused midway of folding an chemise. His mother, a tree spirit?

"Is this a joke? How can spirits give birth?"

Haldrinne shook his head at what he saw as acute ignorance on Marcus' part. "You are but a babe in the way of the supernatural."

"Where is my father?"

"Banished to the Thombroki lands. That is his punishment for going against Gogan's divine order by sleeping with a half-human."

"Pray, who is Gogan?"

"Who is Gogan?" Haldrinne repeated as if he could not fathom how anyone would be unfamiliar with the name. "It's a sad thing. Christianity has robbed our children of our religion. Gogan was the god Casvillean worshipped before the late King allowed Christianity to take hold."

The old man continued. "Look Marcus, you were born of man and dryad which makes you better equipped to fight against the forces of evil dominating our land. You have been divinely endued with the powers to lead the quest to requite Millicent's perfidy. You must head to Casville immediately to meet your friends who have gone to bring the golden cask in which the flaming sword lies. With the flaming sword, you shall slay the Negirrel. After killing it, you and your men should bury your swords in the ash for three days then you can attack the citadel. You will find abundant phantoms, beings of magic, to contend with. May Gogan and the blessed twins be your strength."

"No. I cannot leave immediately. I have to free my – my foster father from detention," Marcus said in protest.

"Leave that to me. Be gone Marcus, the more you tarry the worse for us all."

That said, Haldrinne's figure vanished from Marcus' sight. With the old man gone, Marcus hastily began to return his clothes into the bag while thinking of how to get a pacy horse. Before long, Marcus finished his packing. He slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the door only to remember that he was expected by Lucas and Malcolm to go to Sir Maxime as quickly as possible to facilitate the release of their father. But he couldn't do that, there was a matter of higher urgency on ground.

"I know what to do," Marcus mumbled.

Outside the room, tantrums were no longer flying; tempers were now cool. Lucas and Malcolm were debating on whether Marcus would be able to their father out.

"How can he? He didn't return with Tramps. He's sold the horse."

"Surely, he can't do that. I will ask him where he kept Tramps."

Lucas stood up and went over to the room, Malcolm in his tow. In the room, he saw no sign of Marcus or the baggage he brought with. The window was compromised and there was a note pinned to the door that read;

I'm sorry, again.

Lucas inhaled, at loss of what to say. Malcolm hissed and mumbled, "Filthy bastard."

* * *

Carzef, as Xesandra remembered it, was a bustling town of about thirty thousand souls. She had stayed a few days in the town in company of her sisters, Veramanda and Hazemily, before going on to an archery tournament held at Nogelles. That was three months ago. Now as the Red knights rode through the streets of Carzef en route the temple, they found the whole place desolate. Deserted farmlands and homesteads, dark red patches of blood on the floor and a few lifeless bodies could be seen all around. A good number of houses were burnt too.

"Who could have done this?" Alan asked. The sight was heart rending.

"Tried I have, yet I can't think of a reasonable answer," Elliott said.

"I think it's the Negirrel. That beast breathes fire like a dragon; that should explain the burnt houses. As for the blood and death, we all know that is what it is about," Sir Harding said. Yet even he was skeptical of his own proposition, for he could not understand how the Negirrel which was working for Sir Millicent could attack one of his states. Perhaps he was punishing them, but for what exactly? Carzef was not a rebellious state. Cevout, Willenew and maybe Nogelles were. But definitely not Carzef.

"We should tread with caution. Whatever or whoever did this may still be very much around. Let us get off this road and use the alleys. I can get us to the temple," Xesandra said.

Her suggestion pleased the Red Knights and they, following her lead, made for an alley off the road. Just then, Royce caught sight of a gigantic red flag with black stripes, hung on the architrave of a big building not very far off.

"Look at that," Royce said, pointing out what he had seen to his companions.

"I was wrong. It's the Savages," Sir Harding muttered into his beard.

"What?" Melissa asked.

"Savages," The Knight repeated. "That is the flag of the Savage nation. They must have taken the city again."

Carzef was at the south-western end of the empire and was perilously close to Yatheb, the capital of the Savage nation. Even under the golden years of Guldheries Loghris' rule, Carzef didn't escape days or sometimes weeks of occupation by the Savage militia. But never had they done damage like this before. This wasn't mere occupation. Annihilation came closer to the point.

"O fine warriors, help me! Savages are hunting me," Someone cried behind them.

The Red knights turned to see a man that looked in his late thirties with severe cuts on his body. He was dragging himself towards them and seemed to be in pain, intense pain.

"How many?" Elliott asked.

"Three."

"Cover my run," Elliott said to Xesandra as he rode to where the man was.

Now, three savage warriors, dressed in straw loin clothes and painted red from head to waist, appeared from the same place the poor man had emerged. Xesandra fired three quick shots at the savages. One of them was caught in the neck, another between the eyes and the last one, on his shoulder. Xesandra had aimed his head but the arrow had been deflected by a sudden change in the direction of the wind.

The surviving savage spun and sped down the alley. Xesandra let fly another arrow at the fleeing savage, this time taking cognisance of the windage. With a swish, the arrow rapidly covered the distance between the fleeing savage and Xesandra. This time the man's luck ran out. He got hit in the back of the head and fell onto the sandy floor.

Elliott helped the man onto a horse before mounting. "Tell us what happened er . . . "

"Thand, my name is Thand," The man replied. "And I thank you for saving my life."

It was one of the few times Xesandra could be seen with a smile on her face. "You are welcome, Thand. Now if you please, tell us what's going on."

Thand drew a breath and let it out in a deep sigh. "I woke this morning to the shouts of people. I rushed out of my house to see Savages everywhere, getting everyone to move on a line, killing those who resisted and burning their house. I joined the line."

"Where were they taking everyone?"

"The temple," Thand said. "They wanted to make a grand sacrifice to their gods using our people. They believed their gods were angry and that's why they lost the battle at the city gate. They wanted to use the blood of our people to pacify their idols."

Elliott imagined a grand hecatomb, with people being slaughtered instead of oxen.

"I could hear their tongue because I have lived in their lands before. When I heard what they were saying, I made a run for it. Five of them followed me initially, I think they split up. One of them threw his spear and it got me here," Thand paused to show the red knights the cut at his side. "But I didn't stop running until I saw you."

"We need to stop the massacre," Elliott said. It just did not sit with him knowing people were dying and they could do something.

"Yes, but we can't do anything on our own," Xesandra said. "Tell us Thand, how many are the savages?"

"A thousand at the least."

Xesandra turned to Elliott and said, "With you, me, Alan, Sir Harding and maybe Royce, that is one to two hundred. And that is glorious suicide."

"I can fight too," Moreau said.

"The odd is still too much against us," Xesandra said. "Who knows what garrison is closest to this place?"

"San Riviere," Sir Harding answered. "It's fifteen minutes away."

"Excellent," Elliott said. "If we could send to them for help while we find a way of holding off the savages till the army arrives. . ."

"There are no more military personnel at Riviere or any other garrison in the empire, they were withdrawn by the Sir Millicent to fight the Savage hordes at the city gate," Moreau informed.

Elliott groaned a curse. They really needed to do something, if not for the people of Carzef that were being slaughtered in every of the moments they were taking to think, then for the divine sword that had to be retrieved from the temple.

"We have two things we can do," Xesandra said with a commanding air. "One is we stay here till the Savages leave the temple before going over to get the sword, that way we can keep ourselves fresh and alive for the numerous challenges ahead. Two is that we risk it and go for the sword immediately and tangle with the Savages in the process. Which one do we want to do? I needn't tell us that option two is unreasonable."

"I don't know why it sounds to me like you are scared of fighting the Savages," Elliott said to Xesandra. There was an hint of reproach in his voice.

"Oh, me? I'm not scared of fighting anybody, Savages no less. But the truth is, no matter how good we think we are. We cannot defeat the Savages with this vast numerical disadvantage."

"Look, the lady is right. We should be getting out of Carzef to somewhere safe," Thand said.

"No, I think with a sound plan, we can pull something off. Maybe we strike their leader from distance or something," Elliott said. "Look, let's vote. Who is with me on fighting the Savages and saving innocent people's lives?"

Xesandra sighed. The only hands down were hers and Thand's. Even Melissa hoisted her hand as if she were going to partake in the fighting anyway.

Xesandra brushed an errant lock of hair off her face and sighed, her eyes boring into Elliot's. "Your plan had better be sound."

* * *

Madam Zeloe, owner of the dingy serving house just outside the citadel, banged her fat fist on the kitchen table and screamed at an employee.

"I don't pay you twenty ciblis a month to come here and daydream! Do your bleeding job or get out of my establishment."

The object of that vitriolic verbal attack was Larya, a nineteen year old girl with an oval, freckled face. She did not voice her apology for it was an unwritten, unspoken rule at Zeloe's that you do not say anything when criticised by the owner. Larya simply resumed her job, which was ladling soup into plates and arranging those plates in trays.

Zeloe stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind her. Larya sighed, it was easier than she expected. To be honest, she hadn't been daydreaming, she had been distracted by the thoughts of a bizarre customer she had served that day. He was an apostle of paradoxes. His face seemed to have aristocratic leanings, yet this same face was full of hair which suggested the kind of neglect a noble could not indulge in. His hair worn in a curious fringe when it would have been better packed to the back. His blue eyes, which she saw from close quarters, suggested someone she knew very well, yet he was, for all she knew, a total stranger.

The girl resumed her ladling. It wouldn't do for the lady to catch her idle again. She didn't want to get the sack; jobs were hard for commoners to come by these days. For a while, she heard a little noise just outside the kitchen but she paid no special attention to it. After some more creaking, the window gave way and through it, a figure let it self into the kitchen. It was the stranger.

Up close, Larya found that he looked more familiar than when she saw him earlier. His height, slight frame and gait, all of which she observed as he strode towards her with casualness, were that of someone she saw everyday. Still she couldn't lay a finger on who exactly he was, perhaps she didn't know him and her mind was only playing tricks. Larya backed away from the approaching stranger and having reached the limits of her bravery, she tried to give off a scream. But the stranger won't let her. Quick as the wind, he was already on her before any sound could escape from her mouth, his hand was quickly snaking around her throat.

"Don't shout. I won't hurt you," The stranger breathed. He was close enough for Larya to feel his hot raspy breath on her face.

You are hurting me already!

As if he read her thought, the stranger slowly released his vise grip on her throat until it was possible for her to speak. Her voice, when it came out at last, was a horrible tremor. "What do you want?"

"An answer to a question and maybe something else," The stranger said. "I was watching you for most of the time I spent here today. You kept looking at me and I have come to the conclusion that you know who I am. Do you?"

"I don't know you. I have never seen you before today," Larya spluttered.

But even as she said that, she knew that she was not being truthful. She knew this man, every of his features seemed to evoke familiarity, yet she couldn't place a finger on who he was.

The fellow leaned closer. "You lie. Tell me the truth."

Larya was about to shake her head when she caught a glimpse of the narrow chain hanging loosely around his neck. Her eyes travelled down until they got to the pendant – a small orb with the letter G on top instead of a cross. She instantly knew who he was. She knew because many times before he went missing, he usually came to Zeloe's at late hours to weed out hooligans. An entanglement with a ruffian one day had left him with a badly torn shirt which exposed his heaving chest and the pendant she just recognised.

"Prince Galleine!" Larya squealed. How didn't she see through the false hair on his face and the re-coloured one on his crown?

The Prince slapped his palm against his forehead in a gesture of despair. "Ah, I wasted my time disguising."

"By God, you are well disguised, sire," Larya said. "Your chain gave you away."

"A terrible oversight," The Prince muttered as he yanked the chain off. He tossed it in the breast pocket of his coat.

"Why are you disguised, my lord?" Larya asked. "The entire city will shake to the foundation with joy for your return."

Lady Zeloe entered the kitchen just then and she went into a seizure of some sort at the sight of Larya talking to a strange man instead of filling the plates with soup.

"Larya!" She wailed when she recovered from her shock. "I tolerated your indolence, now you dally with tramps in my . . . ."

The lady had stopped short, entering another bout of shock because in that moment she noticed the broken window.

"A burglar with my employee as an accomplice. What treachery! Boys, come here!"

Boys were the three ruffians who lady Zeloe spent a sixth of her earnings on for times like this. The triad rushed into the kitchen and, at Madam Zeloe's behest, charged at the Prince and Larya who was cowering behind him. Prince Galleine decided against fighting the onrushing men; he would deal with them without getting his hands dirty.

The Prince sped behind the large kitchen table and pushed it at the 'boys'. The rapidity of the table's movement was such that the 'boys' could neither halt their run nor leap over the table in time to avoid collision. The groans of crushed men, the clattering of plates and trays, the splattering of the watery soup on the floor and the screams of madam Zeloe filled the room, triggering a fit of giggles in Larya. She couldn't stop giggling as the Prince helped her out through the window.

Outside the serving house was the Royale street. Prince Galleine and Larya joined the busy street and walked on without speaking to each other. After a while, they took a turn off the road to enter an alley and there, with no prying eyes and ears, they began to converse.

"What does my lord want from me?"

The Prince combed a hand through his altered hair. "I want to get into the citadel unnoticed, unheralded and I'm not wholly confident in this disguise. I want to use you to distract some guards while I handle the others. I'll pay you two thousand daris, that would be for your service and to compensate for your lost job. Are you interested?"

It was a big struggle for Larya to keep her mouth from falling open. Two thousand ciblis was over eight years of her wage at Zeloe's. Why won't she be interested?

"For a quarter of that sum my lord, I'll die for you."

"Very well," Prince Galleine said. "Meet me here by Vespers and I'll tell you the detailed plan. You will also get everything you need to play your part."

"Aye sire," Larya said. "I should warn you about some guards in the citadel. They have unclear faces and they never leave their guard posts. People say they are not human but I hold no such belief. Nonetheless, these special guards are quite adept at sniffing out trespassers."

He knew to what she alluded – Phantoms. Once he got past the guards at the gate of the citadel then he knew the secret chambers and tunnels that would get him in the throne room without tangling with Phantoms.

"Not to worry. I know how to get around them."

"Then I'm fully in sire," Larya said. "I shall be back by Vespers as you said."

The Prince sighed as he watched Larya exit the alley. His body yearned vengeance. The urge to head straight for the citadel and behead Sir Millicent was overwhelming but he managed to keep it in check. He knew such haste will only get him killed. He needed patience and tact.

Be Afraid Millicent, I'm coming for you.

THE END OF CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

If all goes as planned, the last two chapters of Perfidy will be posted tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Evold:
It could be about this big-headed prince.ride on

It could be. Thanks, Evold.

Cadec007:
Wow!:-O:-O I am awed by your persistence OP you are truly one of a kind for you not to have given up on a project over 3yrs old......consider me your new follower:-|:-|

To be honest, I have been severally tempted to dump this story and write something else but I believe this story deserves an ending and I'm determined to give it one. Thanks Cadec.

VanTee pardon me I need to start from the beginning

purples25:
VanTee pardon me I need to start from the beginning

Hey Purples. Are you just joining the thread or is it the long intervals between the updates that made you lose track of the story?

VanTee20:


To be honest, I have been severally tempted to dump this story and write something else but I believe this story deserves an ending and I'm determined to give it one. Thanks Cadec.

pls dont abandon the story......i am still following ;-)..... Thanks

VanTee20:
If all goes as planned, the last two chapters of Perfidy will be posted tomorrow. Stay tuned.

ok no problem

*jumps in delight * Perfect!!

VanTee20:


Hey Purples. Are you just joining the thread or is it the long intervals between the updates that made you lose track of the story?

I'm sorry o, I'm just joining. It's like I didn't know about this earlier. Pardon please.

Cadec007:
pls dont abandon the story......i am still following ;-)..... Thanks

I don't intend to. Thanks for following.

Godwinfury:
*jumps in delight * Perfect!!

Thanks Godwin.

VanTee20:

I don't intend to. Thanks for following.

thank you!!

purples25:


I'm sorry o, I'm just joining. It's like I didn't know about this earlier. Pardon please.

You are welcome and no, you don't need my pardon. Go ahead and read. I'll likel to know what you think of it when you are done. Once again, welcome.