In the midst of trees that separated the prairies of the Yshek tribe and the deserts of the Kriashun tribe, a tall youth stood. His height and lightly tanned skin gave away his heritage of the Yshek people. His smooth features were relaxed, his eyes closed, as he drank in the serenity that permeated the small copse of trees.

    Today, the young man meditated for a different reason. He had always thought there was more that the practice of meditation had to offer than only relief for a warrior's heart. So today, as it wasn't a normal day, the youth meditated in solitude. His thoughts were on a gathering in the nearby small town, Felurime, just out of his line of sight, past the trees.

    A warm, moist puff of air ruffled the hair on the back of the youth's neck. He raised an arm and stroked the jawline of a red-coated horse who moved to rest his head on the youth's shoulder. "Easy." The youth spoke in mellow tones when the horse nearly pushed him over in his delight at the youth's affectionate touch.

    "A meeting at this time of the year is strange, Esprit." he spoke softly to the horse, ordering his thoughts. "It hasn't been half a year since the last meeting of the tribal leaders. Even though, I started attending the meetings last year, father was adamant that I didn't sit in on this one. It's troubling. This will most definitely be a long meeting."

    With that, the youth released Esprit's neck, and walked around to the saddle. He remove a few important items, including a sword with a well-worn hilt, and laid them next to a tree. Next he returned to Esprit's side and began unbuckling the saddle. When it was loose he lifted it up and moved it out of the way. Riffling through the saddle bags, he found a grooming brush and continued his one-sided conversation with Esprit while stroking the fiery red fur with the brush. The youth chafed at being left out of the meeting. His parents have been secretive as of late, seen through the strange messages they had received and meetings he had been denied entrance to. When they were leaving to come to this meeting he had followed out of sheer stubburnness. He felt the weight of having to rule his tribe in the future and of knowing some danger now threatened. But not being allowed to know why, or where, this danger came from made him nervous.

    The youth tensed as something in the distance startled Esprit. It wasn't easy to startle an Yshek warrior horse, but his now danced sideways, ears drawn back on his head, and nostrils quivering in a nervous kind of dance. The youth held still, trying to decipher what was different about his quiet hideaway.

    "Fire." he breathed. Esprit's fear was understood. Fire was destructive when not contained, and the smell and smoke that was now reaching them spoke of a fire which was quickly growing. The mufffled screams he faintly heard next, sent him running. He forgot about Esprit and headed for Felurime, where his parents and all the leaders of Ancora were gathered.

    The youth had run a hundred yards before Esprit's training kicked in. Recognizing the youth's distress, Esprit spurred into a run. Coming alonside the youth he slightly slowed, allowing him to grab the horses neck and swing onto his back in one fluid movement. The youth molded himself over the horses shoulders, wrapped his arms about the powerful neck and held on, riding bareback as Esprit sped up to full speed.

    The closer they got to the village, the louder the screams that greeted them were.

    Had he not been on his horse, the sight of the village hall would have brought the youth to his knees. Both horse and youth trembled with fear and adrenaline. The village hall was on fire. The village itself was deserted.

    Running to the hall, screaming, "Father!" the youth saw that there had been heavy foot traffic around the hall. A few crude weapons lay around which did not match any one tribes style. As well, the youth noted that whoever had done this had been careful to make sure any exits from the hall had been blocked or boarded up. As he got closer to the building the youth felt the heat pressing down on him. He picked up one of the crude weapons and wedged it between two boards nailed to the main door and heaved. The weapon shattered in his hands.

    Almost in a panic, he continued to call for his father. Looking at the flames he realized there was nothing he could do to put them out on his own. Now, half crying, he repeatedly pounded both fists against the doors. "Father! Father! What can I do?"

    Over the roar of the flames much of the screaming stopped, and now only muffled sobs sounded amid the flames. Bodies could be heard shuffling around near the door. A calm, steady voice interrupted the youths relentless pounding.

    "Blaysh, son. It's alright."

    "Father. How can this possibly be alright?" the youth, Blaysh, asked in exasperation. "I have nothing to open these doors with. There isn't even anyone to help me douse the fire." A sob at the end of this last statement tore from Blaysh's lips.

    "Shush, boy. There are things to be said before I pass on. It is good your stubburnness brought you here, and that mine kept you from the meeting." The king of Yshek, King Barack, was well known for always being able to find the good in any situation.

    Slightly encouraged by his father's calm words, Blaysh added, "And that most men of this village sent their families away during the meeting for it's privacy."

    "No, Blaysh. Knowing the danger, we told the men to take their families away. But, most of them sent their families on without them and now they will die with us foolish leaders."

    "How could the leaders of Ancora be foolish!?" Blaysh protested, "Our tribes have thrived. It's peaceful in the land!"

    "Son, you are as blind as we have been. Our people have become stubburn, prideful, and even isolated. You must listen, Blaysh! You have things you must do, and time is short to explain." At the end of this tirade the king began coughing. More sobs broke out within the hall.

    "Father. Where is Mother?"

    "She's already gone son. She rose to fight as soon as the threat was evident. But we didn't have enough warriors. There was little she could do, but she kept fighting as the proud Yshek she was." His father paused, more coughing followed.

    "Who did this Father? Who were they?" Blaysh had to know.

    "We saw little of their faces. But they were of a great variety. Big and small. Men and women." He explained. "Son, you have a task to complete. You must inform the tribes of the loss of their leaders. You must be a rock, solid and strong, in the time of fear and chaos that will follow this massacre."

    "I can't do that, Father! I am not strong or mature enough. I'm too young." The fear in his voice surprised Blaysh. "I don't have the wisdom for this task."

    "Son. You are a king now. You will learn that you possess more character, strength, and wisdom than you think or believe." No small amount of pride evident in his voice, King Barack continued, "And, most importantly, you will learn to surround yourself with those who have what you lack, and who are strong where you are weak."

    "Where will I find such people, Father?" Desperation flowed out with Blaysh's words.

    "I don't know, son. I've already failed in this task. Maybe your young eyes can see what I did not." More coughing and shuffling inside the building. Most of the sobs inside the building had ceased as they talked, and the roar of the flames had nearly drowned out the last of the warrior king of Yshek's voice. His son, face red and burnt from the heat of the building, sat in front of the hall's doors. He had no energy except to sit limply and cry quietly.

    Esprit crept closer to him. Prancing skittishly while trying to inch closer. Stretching his neck, the horse grabbed for the collar and shoulder of Blaysh's outer shirt. Once he had them, Esprit pulled the unresisting youth a safe distance from the fire.

    It wasn't long before a sickening and somewhat sweet smell hung thick in the air. Realization of just what, and who, were burning inside the building brought renewed sobs to the already heavy shoulders of the youth who must now step into the role a young man. After Blaysh had finished crying, he stood up, and began stamping out any flames and sparks that threatened to spread to other buildings.

    Man and horse stayed until there was little but rubble left of the hall.

    When the roaring frames shrunk and the threat of the fire spreading was minimal, Blaysh acquired a shovel from one of the villager's sheds and began digging graves by the remaining fire's light.

    It was dawn before the last of the flames died out.

    Shortly after, families who had been near enough to the village to see the flames and smoke began arriving. At least, that's when Blaysh thought they had begun arriving. Looking around at the good 10 or 12 graves already dug he had the vague recollections of young boys and teens digging beside him.

    A young woman, who had noticed Blaysh stand tall and begin to watch the activity around him, quickly grabbed his elbow and helped him out of the grave he'd just finished digging. "This way, Sire. You must take a rest. You have not ceased moving since the first of us arrived in the wee hours." she pulled him to a low house with the door propped open. "Forgive me, Sire, but you're a right mess. We have water heated. Bathe yourself, eat something, and sleep a bit."

    "I'm a prince. Not a king. Don't call me 'Sire'." Blaysh protested weakly as he stumbled behind her.

    She nodded sympathetically, "Yes, Sire. Yesterday you were a prince. Today, you are a king. Now, you must rest."

    He sighed, "If today I am a king, then because of how I've become King, I have no time to rest." and he turned, trying to return to the charcoal remains of the village halls. "They need to be buried. The flames are gone."

    She waylaid him. "The flames may be gone, but the heat remains." she began pulling him back to the house with it's open door, warm bath, and food. "You must first rejuvenate both body and mind before you can stand before your people and start your reign as a warrior king. Our kings are well known for their dignity in appearance, calm mind and tongue, and strong leadership. As you are, you look like the boy who just lost his parents.

    "We've left you to grieve while you fought the flames and dug graves. But now you've opened your eyes and you see your people. So you must present yourself as the King!"

    He stood silent for a few moments, staring at the ground. Then, lifting his head he spoke. "Very well. I shall bathe. I will eat. And I will lie down to rest and meditate. But, unfortunately, it is not the time to sleep yet." With that said, King Blaysh turned and strode with a straight back into the house.