(start at first one)

The king sat upon his throne with the crown of gold mounted on his head.

“Who must you be boy?” The king asked with a raspy voice.

“I’m Flayr Claimond of the Wild Lands,” he said again. “I have come to see that the Wild Lands has your full allegiance and you will have ours.”

“I see to that you have my kingdoms full allegiance Prince Flayr,” the king said suspiciously formal. Flayr bowed and they started to turn back. “Why don’t you stay here for supper?”

Those few words brought the shock to him, he hadn’t thought of this, he was going immediately home, safe and sound from this horrid place. The last time the king held a feast many died from poisoning, his own blood relatives, and he himself ordered the assassination to transpire.

“I really must go, my lord,” he said as politely as he could afraid of the king's response.

“In the name of the king and his realm eat with us tonight,” the king argued in the most formal way.

“My father must see that I get back as quick as possible,” Flayr said as politely as possible. He turned and lowered his head and bowed. "War is coming."

“Well, as you wish,” he finally gave in. Flayr followed by the knights walked out of the throne room and out into the sandy city. The loud thump of his shoes echoed throughout the giant chamber. Houses made of compacted clay lay wall upon wall across the kingdom.

Flayr strided out of the castle and into a sandy courtyard with pillars reaching high with statues of the south's gods. The gods of day and night, Raeh, death and life, Kama, the only gods of the Southern Kingdoms. The gods were divine, they ruled two dissimilar things, both related but completely different, and they were appeased by the blood of a person’s enemies. If you were to kill your enemy and sacrifice it to the gods, they would be appeased, and given you good fortunes.

Flayr walked past the pillars and looked up into the orange, red sky. The sound of people scurrying along and talking surrounded him with a little peace. There was still happiness and love here besides the evil and death. He smiled to himself, but in his mind’s eye he could see war in the future, death and destruction. It made him shiver and tense up.

Bread and dried fruit were being carried around in carts. Flayr snatched up a shriveled apple, it was small and wrinkled, tasted like a rotten piece of fruit but had a hint of sweetness to it. The merchant didn’t give him a glance he was bothered by the sound of the opening of the gate.

Flayr dropped his apple, it smashed onto the floor, and smooshed on his shoe. He watched with inquisitiveness as three figures half walked, half crawled in. They were burnt and dirty. Flayr observed as the man carried a small girl in and a middle aged man trekked behind them. Then, moments later, he realized who it was, Prince Darion, the bastard son of King Amapheil of the South and Ser Tiagon of the North's Knights Order. He came running up to them.

“Come, help your prince,” he said to the knights. “Don’t just stand there, you fools.”

Darion rested the girl on the ground. “Get her to safety.” Flayr lifted the girl and carried her to a small tent where an old man was standing, waving at them to come. They slipped in, he rested her on a small bed on the left of the room. She was pale and cold. Lifeless and ghostly, almost as if she was physically drained of her soul.

“She’s dead,” the old man said.

“No,” Flayr argued. “Maybe we could find a way to bring her back.”

Darion came stumbling inside and fell next to the bed. “Water.” Flayr took a jug of water and handed it to him. He tipped the spout down into his mouth, not caring if it spilled over his mouth, and let it hit his face like he was trying to drown himself. Flayr took the empty jug from Darion and set it down.

“We can save her she’s not gone yet,” Darion said in a more clear, smooth voice. “Let’s go.” Flayr followed Darion out of the tent. “Help us, can someone help us?”

Flayr grabbed Darion’s shoulder. “What do you want them to do? They can’t help us, she’s dead.” Darion shook his head furiously and frowned.

“I know she’s not,” he said. Flayr felt a bit of sickness and sorrow. He knew Darion cared about the girl but she wasn’t going to live, he could feel his pain as he watched him, just like he’d felt when that girl died in his arms. Maybe that’s why he felt for him and wanted to help. He wasn’t going to let her die if she had a chance like he let that other girl perish.

“I may be of help,” an old woman rose above the rest of the crowd. Flayr took her and led her to the tent. “Let me help you reassure yourself she will not die.”

The old woman, white hair and a dark blue robe on, took the girl’s head in hand and checked her. “Such a shame, what a belle.” She lifted her up and turned to Flayr. “We need to wash her, get this dirt and grime off her skin.” The old woman took her back to her house. Flayr looked inside the house, small glass globes and cards sat around her house on tables and corners, a witch. He suspiciously walked inside with Darion suddenly at his side and closed the door behind them. The woman closed the blinds and then washed the girl in a small bath.

Then put a fresh, small robe on her. The old woman sat her on a chair like a doll and went off into large cabinets searching and scrambling through papers and bottles. He watched as she clasped bottle after bottle filled with strange liquids. She swiftly deposit them in a cauldron and stirred it with a metal stick. “Almost finished, she will wake,” she said. The woman bolted around her desk and scattered papers around. “Done.” She shook the cauldron as she carried to the girl.

“Careful,” Darion exclaimed. Flayr noticed people peeking through the cracks in the curtain. “This will work won’t it?”

“It shall,” the woman took a spoon and dipped the girl’s head back. “It’ll take a while bastard.”

Darion frowned but said nothing against the disrespect and continued to watch the woman pour it in the girl’s mouth.

“Who is this girl?” Flayr turned to Darion. “Why is she so important?”

“I made a promise that she will never get hurt,” he muttered. “But I failed, her.”

Flayr nodded in respect and whirled back to watch the girl and the witch. He watched her, he’d seen her as an aged woman willing to aid them, but now he knew her as a witch, a disgrace back home and murdered for their wicked doings. But this was for Darion and the girl. He pushed that thought aside.

“What kind of respect is that, that you give to your prince?” Flayr blurted out.

The woman turned to him. “What kind of respect is that, that you give to someone who is giving back life to your friend.” She quickly turned back quickly to feed the girl a spoonful more. Flayr felt a little ashamed, he turned away to look at the potions and scraps of papers just to get his mind off it.

“What are those papers?” he said, changing the subject.

“My potions,” she answered sharply. “Don’t touch.”

The woman set the spoon aside and checked the girl. The girl was getting more pigment in her skin, she had color in her lips, and her hair was no longer dull. It was very white now but slowly was turning a tint darker, grey and thicker. “Take her, she needs rest and food.”

Darion grasped her in his arms and took her back to the tent. “I can never repay you,” he whispered. Flayr took the door in his hands and pushed it open. They dashed across the street to the tent, he could feel the city’s eyes on them, and the king’s knights watching them. Flayr ducked into the tent and stood next to Darion.

“Thank you for this tent,” he said to the old man outside. “What shall we do to reimburse you?”

“Nothing young lad,” the old man managed. “You’ll learn later that you’re not always more important than other people. Not to be selfish…” The old man paused and turned away hacking and choking. Flayr turned back inside and looked at the girl.

“What is she called?” Flayr asked.

“Katherine,” Darion replied with his back to him. He stripped his gloves and ripped clothing.

“What happened to you Prince Darion?” Flayr asked. “I wish you well you know.”

“Thank you, I am grateful someone cares,” Darion said. “We were traveling across the frozen river and we were attacked. We’re the only survivors.”

Ser Tiagon came in slowly and soundlessly. He stood next to Flayr with a solemn expression on his face, his eyes weren’t gazing at her, but into a distant land beyond them. Ser Tiagon’s skin was tanned and burnt, peeling and dirty, and he had blisters on his legs and feet. Flayr took a cloth, dipped into a jug of water, and handed it to him. He nodded, and Flayr nodded back and ducked out of the tent.

The sun beat down on his head as he walked down the sandy road. His feet were sore and his shoes were covered in sand. Flayr raked his hand through his hair and felt his tender scalp burn with every touch. His head burnt and peeling. There were many rows of merchants selling hats and fruits; anything you could think of. Flayr went to a merchant selling capes for a couple silver coins. He handed the man two silver pieces and put a brown cloth robe on. The sun was blocked by the hood, it sat on the brim of the hood and blinded his vision.

“What are you doing?” Ser Tiagon questioned. Flayr’s robe just brushed the ground and kicked up sand off the ground with every wave as he walked.

“What are you doing?” He asked back.

“I’m just watching over you Prince Flayr,” he replied.

“I don’t need you to watch me,” Flayr said stubbornly.

“This is a very dangerous place Prince Flayr,” Ser Tiagon put his hand on Flayr’s shoulder and turned him towards him. “Don’t trust anyone.” He said much more quietly.

“Don’t call me that,” Flayr demanded.

“Than what do you want me to call you?”

“Just call me Flayr,” Flayr sighed. “Like most people do.”

“Art you all well?” Ser Tiagon asked concerned. “You seem troubled, you know I was like you at your age, confused… helpless.”

“I’m not helpless, I can very well defend myself. I am fine,” Flayr turned and started walking back to the tent with Ser Tiagon following on his heels. “What happened out there?”

“Too much,” Ser Tiagon said reluctantly. “We were attacked crossing the freezing river in the frost and some giant swimming creature started attacking our horses and carried off some of our men. Most died from the cold and some just… disappeared.”

Ser Tiagon looked at his feet. “I could have saved some but it was such a panic that we couldn’t do anything. There was no way we would have all survived. Thank the gods we were right at the shore, I climbed onto shore with another man but he perished.”

Flayr looked at him. “I’m sincerely sorry.” Ser Tiagon shook his head and put his arm around Flayr’s shoulder. Then signaled to go back to the tent. He led Flayr to the tent and pushed him inside. Katherine laid on the bed and Darion sat next to her. The days were very short and the nights long. Flayr sat on the opposite side Darion was on. The sun was going down fast and the moon peeking up from the horizon. He laid down on the dusty ground and put his head on his robe.

*

The sun came up. Ser Tiagon was sitting across from him on the other side of the tent, holding a wooden object. Flayr sat up and squinted at him.

“Did you know the gods have four followers?” Ser Tiagon asked and looked up at him. “They’re four elements, Gnomes, Undines, Sylphs, and Salamanders. They control different parts of this world. I saw a Undine once, it was beautiful.” He stopped and put the object down. “They carry the burdens of mankind’s emotions, feelings that are not at peace, terrible emotions, jealousness…” He put on a leather vest and straw hat to cover his head with few hairs on it; he was getting old. Almost fifty by now and was going bald.

Flayr looked at him confused and interested. He stood up and put his cape on; following Ser Tiagon out. The sun was beating down on them and people weren’t giving them as much notice as they were yesterday. A cart of dark bread rolled by and another with jugs of ale in it. Ser Tiagon brought them bowls of porridge, cornmeal porridge that was a bit sandy and old. Flayr scooped some up and put it in his mouth. It was tasteless and thick. But it was the only nourishment they had.

The days went by quickly and the nights felt like a whole moon. He lay awake as Ser Tiagon snored in the night and Katherine’s body lay next to him. Finally fatigue overcame him after a few days and he fell asleep.

The sun was going down as he woke and people scurrying around outside as he heard something move behind him. He sat up and looked up. Katherine’s finger was twitching, and her eyes fluttering open, she had pale skin and almost white hair now. He called for Darion to come. Darion and Ser Tiagon came rushing in and gaped over her.

“Yea,” Darion cried. "Tis worked… thank the gods. She’s alive.”