The Shadow Tome (ch. 2 & 3)

Chapter Two:
The Fires of Change

         The crowd roared as the combatant struck his opponent with a blunt broadsword.
         Upon the conclusion of the ritual, the procession had retired from the ceremonial chamber and into the grand banquet hall, where a great multitude had gathered to celebrate the naming of a new warrior of the sword.
         The hall was full of guests of stature, lords, counts, dukes, barons, and their respectable ladies and other family members, and tapestries adorned the walls with the blue and red colors of the Auroran kingdom. There were three long tables that stood in the room, two running parallel to one another, with the tournament arena between them, and the third ran perpendicular to the others, and seated the royal house and guest of honor. Among the other tables were military captains, knights, lesser lords, and invited guests.
         The king sat at the center of the table at the head of the room, dressed in lavish robes of blue and reds and wore a golden jewel encrusted circlet upon his head. To his left sat Romand Sohm, still dressed in his glistening white satin robe, the sign of a holy man, and to the kings right sat Matthew, the guest of honor. The new knight still wore his ceremonial dress, as was custom. The other nobles wore extravagant robes and coats of radiant blues, reds, yellows, purples, and all other colors, which made the stone room seem to come alive. The ladies wore long flowing dresses and gowns of expensive silk, and they wore their long hair down as was the style for all ladies in the kingdom.
         The banquet hall was alive in entertainment and the tables were full of all wonderful food
and drink. Piping hot plates of mutton, pork, venison and lamb emitted luscious, aromatic fumes into the air. Along with meats, the servants brought platters of cheese and bread, and whole plates of steamed vegetables, potatoes, carrots, and many other kinds. Jesters, donned in their red and white costumes, danced about the crowd and street magicians performed card tricks and other illusions, which dazzled the younger guests. There were puppeteers dangling their marionet’s about and musicians circled the hall playing lutes and other instruments for the pleasure of the crowd.
         The biggest sight of attraction however was the wooden barricaded arena that had been set up in the middle of the room between the three, long wooden tables. The crowd cheered as some of the kingdoms finest warriors competed in battle with blunt weapons. The tournaments during the commencement of a new knight of Aurorai were a highly anticipated event, and those who won it, were greatly admired and respect throughout the city.
         Matthew eyed the crowd and found Mortimer, seated with the other garrison captains. The man had one eye fixed upon the king at all times. Matthew wished his friend could let go of his ridiculous conspiracy theory, but he knew how stubborn he could be some times.
         “So my boy. Do you find everything to be satisfactory for you?” Matthew turned his head in a start to see the king looking over at him, ale dripping from his beared.
         “Sire,” he responded. “I would not be so presumptuous as to think that such a feast as this is even appropriate for a humble man such as me.”
         The king gave a huff of disapproval. “Nonsense my boy! I will not be the only one to say you stand with the finest men in the kingdom.”“
         There was a roar frm the crown as a combatant was brought to the ground by a sword..
         “My lord, I would not be so presumptuous ...
         “Rubbish! You have earned that right by your deeds, and the people respect you for it. You have set a model for our people. Do you not see how the young lads look up to you?”
         Matthew responded. “Sire, the opinion of the people carries no weight next to Her divine judgement.”
         Readjusting his position in the chair, the king spoke. “Indeed it is so, but you must remember that being honored and respected by the people, in fact, serves her, for you set forth an image of that which they wish to attain. It is often difficult for the young ones to clearly see the abstract ideals of our mistress. It must take some form so that they might better understand her wishes. That is the second purpose of the Sacred Brotherhood.”
         The crowd burst into laughter as a clumsy, heavily armored combatant stumbled into the wooden barricade and became stuck within the framing. Matthew and Lysander chuckled a moment before returning to conversation.
         “Say, is not that young man . . . friend of yours, that Becken fellow, competing today?” Matthew smiled at the mention of his friend.
         “Aye, he is,” spoke Matthew. “He hopes to swoon the young ladies of the kingdom with grace and elegance on the battlefield. A fool at times, but he can hold his ground with the best of them when the time comes.”
         “So I have been told. My captains tell me that he is among the finest soldiers in the kingdom, and virtually invisible when he wants to be.”
         “Your captains speak the truth, sire. He is one with his surroundings, when he wants to be. Despite all his skill, he still most enjoys frolicking with the young ladies and silly girls.”
         The king retorted. “And why then, should that be frowned upon. Is it not natural, nay, healthy for a young man to compete for the affection of the young lasses. All men wish to be in such company.”
         Matthews face showed his disapproval. “It is a shameful waste, with all due respect, sire. His time should be better spent in meditation and preparation. It will not be long before he too joins the Sacred Brotherhood.”
         Lysander chuckled again. “Oh by the goddess, heaven forbid he will turn out like you!”
         “And what is that?”
         “A slave to your sword. Nay, I won’t have it. Lady Sommerton!”
         A small, middle aged women, dressed in an elaborate black dress rose from her seat and came forward to the king.
         “Yes sire?” She asked.
         “Lady Sommerton, this our honored guest Sir Matthew Xavious, just inducted into the Sacred Brotherhood.” She smiled and curtsied to Matthew.
         “Now, Lady Sommerton, where in heaven’s name is that pretty daughter of yours hiding. I have determined that she is to be this young mans charge for this evening.”
         The ladies lace flushed in embarrassment. “Oh sire, you honor us, but I am afraid that Leneia has gone missing yet again.” She huffed at the thought of her daughter. “No doubt she is gallivanting around with silly boys, as she always does. She is especially fond of that Becken fellow. Terrible fellow if you ask me. Always making jokes and swinging from this and that like a monkey in the wild. He is hardly the prospect of a gentlemen.”
         Matthew smirked to himself as he thought of his friend swing from a doorframe.
         “He is a fool-hearted adventurer and a scoundrel.” Matthew could not help himself and he chuckled a loud. The small woman gave a stern scowl and returned to her seat at the table, sipping her wine. The king joined in Matthew’s laughter for a moment and Lady Sommerton looked thoroughly unamused.
         Matthew returned to his meal, tearing of a chunk of roast mutton from the bone with his teeth and threw the remainder to the dogs, who had been sitting patiently by the kings feet, waiting for their part in the feast. He drank deeply from his tankard, washing down the meat with the fresh ale. As he drank, Matthew saw Mortimer again, one eye still fixed upon the king, observing his every movement.
         Matthew had noticed nothing odd about the king, or his behavior. He appeared in every way to be himself. While he still kept a loose watch on his actions, Matthew had all but dismissed the foolishness about a secret plot, which Mortimer so firmly believed.
         He proceeded to light his pipe and sighed in satisfaction as the fragrant smell of the Dellwood Fern wafted in the air. Matthew finished his ale and called for another one. A servant came quickly to his side and replaced the empty tankard with a new one, filled with fresh ale.
         “Ah ha!” Shouted Lysander. “And there’s the fool hearted lad now!” Matthew looked to the arena to see Becken, donned in light chain mail armor and a blue tunic, carrying two short swords, entering the arena. He was followed by a gang of young maidens who swooned over his quick charm and sharp smile. They waived and giggled at him from the barricade as he moved to the center of the arena. He turned and produced a rose, seemingly from no where, and elegantly tossed it to an especially beautiful girl at their front.
         The young woman was dressed in a simple, green, silk dress that laced in the front, exposing a portion of her breasts. Her flowing black hair hung past her shoulders and her green eyes twinkled as she caught the rose and brought it to her sun colored face and smelled the flower . She was of perfect complexion and her cheeks blushed as Becken smiled at her and blew her a kiss, which she pretended to catch in the air and put to her crimson red lips. She then placed the rose between her firm breasts. All the other maidens huffed in jealousy.
         Out of curiosity, Matthew looked over at Lady Sommerton. As he suspected, the scowl on the little woman’s face had now turned to near hysteria. She ranted and raved at her husband, who wore a fine crimson waistcoat, and beat him on the shoulders and back in a thoroughly fanatical fashion. Lord Sommerton sighed in surrender and continued to eat his meal. Matthew laughed heartily out loud as he witnessed the absurd scene, and the king joined in as well.
         “I’ll tell you this, lad,” spoke Lysander in a joking manner. “It’s times like these when I remember why I never married.” The two men roared in laughter and drank from the tankards.
         After a short time, Matthew watched as a servant, bearing an intricately carved clay pipe, approached the king and presented it to him. Carved into the pipe were fantastic scenes of ancient battles and holy relics.
         The king lit the pipe and exhaled the fragrant leaf into the air. They both sat for awhile, musing over happenings. They watched as Becken danced about the arena floor, jumping from barricade to barricade, infuriating his opponents. He finally stopped upon the ground, and the other combatant, donned in heavy plate armor, swung at him with a heavy broadsword, but only cut the air. Becken spun to his right and knocked the man to the ground with strikes from his short swords. The crows roared in applause, and all the young maidens giggled and waived, but then began to bicker between themselves as to who would have him. They all shot wicked glances at Leneia, who still captured the eye of their young hero.
         A second opponent came unto the field, bearing a sword and shield with a wolfs head emblazoned upon its face. Becken’s swords dazzled the crowd as he bore the man to the ground as quickly as he had come. The young man returned to the side of the arena, where the girl Leneia was waiting for him. She blushed as he looked into her eyes and she looked to the ground, embarrassed by her face, which had now turned bright red. He put his finger to her chin, raising her head to again meet his eyes, and kissed her on the lips. The crowd cheered and the girl smiled as he pulled away from her, returning her smile with the bright smirk she loved so much. As he returned to the arena, She flung him a kerchief which he snatched from the air and tucked into his gauntlet, wearing it as a sign of her favor.
         The king now turned to Matthew, and his tone became more serious. He set the clay pipe down on the wooden table and looked back upon Matthew, who saw something in the kings eyes he had not seen before.
         The king pointed to a carving on the clay pipe that depicted a battle.             
         “Do you know what this scene is here, my friend?” The king asked. Matthew examined the carving, noticing the details of the depiction. There were soldiers in battle, and both sides flew the same colors.
         Matthew responded. “Aye sire, a dark time for our people. A time that most wish to forget and never remember. A time, when brothers drew swords against their brothers, and fathers against their sons. Such worthless folly. Truly, the goddess wept bitterly for her people in those dark times.”
         “Truly, Matthew, it is as you say, but methinks that you look at this only with a narrow point of view. Can you not respect the mighty ideals of some of the men of this time. I prefer to think of it, as a time of revolutionary ideas. Strong men, idealists, willing to do what must be done for change to occur. They recognized that all was not right, and eventually all would crash to the bottom and be destroyed if they did not act.”
         Matthew retorted. “My lord, if I may? There is never cause for a man to turn swords on his brother, even if the cause is good. Aurorai has given us guidance, so that which is broken may be remedied.”
         “Truly, you recite the scrolls with vigor, but come now Matthew, you are a soldier. You are not so naive as to believe that conflict can always be resolved by prayer and divine guidance.”
         Matthew was startled by this, and his face showed his concern. The lines of his face creased and he was deep in thought.
         “Sire, I must speak the honest truth. I fear these words you say. Doubts and presumptions of our holy mother? My lord, as the pillar of our nation I would think you to be at the head of the religious table.”
         The king responded, “My boy, you are not hearing me. Indeed I am at the head, and being so I have scene an endless cycle of hypocrisy by the lords, ladies, and holy men of this court, and not to mention the common folk as well. You are to young to see what I have seen, and so you will find this difficult to understand, but in time it will become more clear.”
         Matthew could feel warnings beginning to emerge in his head. He could here Mortimer’s words, “do not trust the king”, in his head.
         The king continued his speech. “Matthew, things will change soon. We are on the wrong path, and I intend to redirect us to where our kingdom is destined to be.”
         An alarm was ringing in his head now. Was everything upside down? There was a part in him that thought maybe the king was wise to acknowledge change, but it did not feel right. Inside, an urgent warning was resounding. Something was out of place in these events. No, not out of place. It was missing all together. The king did not speak the whole truth, Matthew was sure of it.
         Matthew shot a glance of warning to Mortimer who drank in its meaning with severity.
         “And where are we destined to be, sire,” he asked at last.
         The king readjusted his position in his seat. “To be great, lad. To be the beacon upon this great land, as Aurorai herself would want it to be.
         The crowd roared again as Becken defeated yet another opponent. Young ladies flung handkerchiefs and other tokens at him, but to their dismay, he accepted none, for he fought for the fair Leneia Sommerton, who had his favor.
         “And how is it that we would presume to know how the goddess herself wishes us to be, besides what is clearly stated in Her holy scrolls,” Matthew asked.
         The king prepared to speak, but was interrupted as a soldier, donned in mail and a grey  tunic, entered the room. He approached the king and whispered into the royal ear. Matthew watched suspiciously as the king nodded to the messengers news.
         Mortimer’s eyes were fixed upon the king and his hawk glare was undeniable. Even Becken now, was disturbed by the strange events at the royal table, and in his distraction, began to falter to his opponent. The women began to shriek, and on Leneia’s face was a look of concern as Becken began to back peddle against his attacker. He was soon cornered against the barricade, trying desperately to fight his way from his entrapment.
         The messenger turned and marched out of the banquet hall, boots clicking against the stone as he went.
         The king turned again to Matthew. “Lad, I wish for you to be beside me when the time comes. I know you have doubts, as do all men who have the wisdom to recognize them.”
         Matthew’s skin grew cold. He knew something was terribly wrong. How he knew was beyond him, but inside he could feel that the king’s request would drag him to the very fires of the earth. Their was a fire that danced the king’s eyes, and it was a fire not kindled by a holy flame.
         Matthew built the courage to speak. “What . . . would you have me do . . . my lord,” he stammered.
         The king was surprised for a moment. “What is this I see? You seem to fear what it is I ask of you. Nonsense, you speak as if I had just assigned you to clean out the privies!” Matthew forced a laugh, but inside his whole mind was racing in fright.
         “I will make you my right hand man,” spoke the king. “You would see to it that what is necessary is carried out.”
         Matthew responded. “I see. Might I ask sire, what you foresee as needing to be carried out.”
         “Oh come now, whatever is required to attain that which is our goal.”
         It exploded in his head, bright and clear as ever before. They were in grave danger, for the king was plainly and obviously dancing around Matthew’s question, refusing to answer specifically what he considered necessary, or for that matter, what the real goal truly was. Matthew found the courage to press on.
         “And our goal that you speak of?”
         Lysander rose his head high and proud. “To reform the corrupt ways of our kingdom. To rebuild stronger and more magnificent then we have been in seven thousand years!”
         “But sire,” Matthew exclaimed. “What could be more magnificent then this city, and the being that created it.
         The king only smiled. “You shall see. You shall see.”
*  *  *  *  *
         The soldier’s horse raced through the trees, nearly hitting them all, but the rider remained steady and drove it on further in a fury. His mail shirt glinted in the moonlight that crept in through the trees, and the grey tunic blended into the night. His news must reach his commander soon, for the king would not except any delay, and the master, even less.
         He broke through the trees and into a grassy clearing, lighted by the radiant moon light. He approached the other side of the small clearing, and saw the purpose of his flight.
         The black cloaked men seemed to evanesce in the shadows and even the moonlight could barley reveal their presence. They rode upon great black mares, the largest horses the soldier had ever seen, and by their sides glinted wicked iron blades.
         The first of them approached the soldier and spoke. “What news does our lord send us?”
         The soldier rose his head high to show that he was not afraid of these riders of the night. “The king says that all is ready, and that it must begin. The master awaits with his arms open, and he must not be disappointed.”
         The first nodded and turned his stead towards the forest edge. The others began to follow.
         “And captain,” the soldier said. “Be sure the fires of this night burn bright and tall, for they must be seen by those which fear us most.”
         The captain nodded, and then kicked the giant mare and rode off into the night, followed in suit by the other riders. They tore through the woods, and towards the small village just beyond the clearing.
*  *  *  *  *
         From the towers of the city walls rang the sound of the alarm. Heavy iron bells, pounded by cold metal hammers filled the air with the dreaded siren. Matthews heart stopped as cries from afar broke his silence.
         The banquet guests broke into cacophony as a sentry bounded into the room through the heavy oak doors.
         “Sire. Fire, to the east . . . The vale.”
         Matthew, Becken and Mortimer erupted from their place at the tables and as if carried on demon wings, ran towards the barracks, followed in step by the men of the company.
         Havoc had taken hold of the city. The townspeople, gripped with fear, rushed to find shelter, trying in desperation to keep their families together. Merchants and traders fought back looters and vagabonds trying to take gain from the disharmony. Lines of soldiers rushed to the stables while others tried as they could to keep order.
         The three companions tore threw the crowds with little regard for those in their way. Becken and Mortimer were donned in their military uniforms and armed with their weapons, but Matthew still wore his ceremonial garb. They soon came to the barracks. Matthew entered, and in but a moment he reemerged, donned in chain mail armor and the tunic of the sacred knights. His sword hung at his side. The three friends exchanged glances for a moment before beginning again their flight.
         They soon reached the stables, joined by other men of the company and the brotherhood. Becken and Mortimer mounted their brown war horses, and Matthew sat upon a brilliant white stallion, the horse of the brotherhood.
         Dozens of soldiers had now come and the mounted warriors lined the streets in columns. Matthew joined the ranks of the sacred knights and Mortimer came to the head of his company while Becken fell in with the rest. Kendalar Bane, 1st knight of the brotherhood, led the sacred knights, and the two companies rode forth out of the city and into the east, towards the pyre that filled the sky.
         They tore across the grassland and then through the trees of the Dellwood Forest. Matthew felt sick as he saw the smoke through the trees, raising towards the sky. He knew his home well enough, and he knew the smoke could be coming from only one place. Dellwood Vale.
         From behind where he rode in the column, Becken came to his side, racing upon his steed. His carefree, boyish face had been transfigured into a visage of fear. The two friends said nothing as they approached their childhood home, preparing for the worst. The column tore into the vale and the horses back peddled from the heat.
         The whole town was ablaze. There were buildings that had already fallen on themselves, the wood breaking from the searing flames, and surrounding trees had caught fire and joined in the inferno. Bodies were strewn about, not killed by the flames, but by the sword. Horror had stricken the two companions for they knew there home had been attacked.
         They rode now into the inferno, searching desperately for their families. Becken broke away from the others and towards his home. Matthew approached his own home and tears mingled with sweat from his brow as he watched the small cottage be consumed by the wicked flames. The house was half collapsed in a heap of wood and embers. Smoke billowed from the inner rooms and he could smell the stench of burning flesh from within. He cried out in anguish and vomited upon the scorched earth, the putrid bile splashed upon his leggings and he fell to the ground, a broken man.
         Becken came to him now and stood before the painful macabre. Tears of his own now clouded his eyes, and sweat fell in beads across his brow. Grasping Matthew beneath his arms, he lifted him to his feat. Their faces met and Matthew knew then that his friend had found the same horror for himself.
         The two men tried to find the strength to continue, but it failed them, and the anguish assaulted them anew. They stood before the inferno, surrounded by death and flames, and their feet would not carry them.
         For what seemed to be hours that sat their before the flames, their bodies unable to move, their minds unable to reason, and the flames danced in their eyes.
         At last the other knights of the order came upon them, hunched over by the sweltering heat, their minds half gone. They helped them to their mounts and attempted to comfort their sorrow. Their were other knights as well, deep in pain. Kendalar himself cried then, his strong brown eyes betrayed his fear, for their was no sign of the goddess in that place.
         The companies combed through the rest of the crumbling town, but all hope seemed lost. Matthew and Becken rode forward, little in tune with their surroundings as they could only smell death, and only flames did their eyes perceive.
         Nearly about to return, they heard a voice amidst the flames, crying for help. They rushed towards the voice and found an old man lying on the ground, dying from wounds he had received in the attack.
         His senses returned at the voice, Matthew rushed to him. He recognized the old figure, for he had seen him many times before around the town. His eyes began to water anew at the sight of the broken old man.
         Matthew crouched to his side. Trying to choke back the tears, he spoke. “Kenon,” he said, trying to manage weak smile to comfort him. The old man looked slowly into his eyes, and smiled back weakly.
         “Matthew, you. . . came”. The old man coughed as blood pooled in his mouth. Matthew knew that time was short. The fire returned in his eyes, dancing wildly.
         “Who did this to you, Kenon, who!” Matthew’s whole body shook in rage while tears flowed freely from his eyes.
         “Devils!” He spat. “Ghosts! They came from. . . the shadows. . . we couldn’t see” He coughed more blood onto the charred grass, and the wound in his chest began spit blood anew.
         “Black. . . as the night. We couldn’t see. . . danced with Aragoth. . . couldn’t see. . . devils in. . . the night.”
         Matthew and Becken froze at the memory of that night in Dellwood forest, not far from the very place they now stood. The images now exploded through Matthew head. He could see the wraith things coming for him. He could feel their blades. He knew now they had come back for him. No, not for him, for everyone.
         He cried out, and then collapsed upon the ground.

Chapter Three:
The Black Books

         The red sun dropped below the trees of Dellwood Forest as Matthew began to stir on his small infirmary bed, awaking from his stupor.
         It had been a day since Matthew had collapsed at Becken’s feet, amidst the flames of Dellwood Vale. His dreams had been filled with dark memories long past. But now something knew crept in them. A voice unknown.
         Matthew opened his eyes to see Becken and Mortimer looking down on him with fear in their eyes.
         Becken looked the worse for wear. His face was pale and drawn and his eyes were red and soggy. It was clear that the young man had slept little and wept greatly since the horrors of the previous night.
         It was Mortimer who spoke to Matthew as he awakened. “Gave us quite a scare you, did. Thrashed and screamed all day.”
         “I saw them again,” responded Matthew meekly, as he slowly sat up from the small bed.
         “I know you did. Hell, I think the whole infirmary knows you did.” Matthew managed a weak smile at his friends attempt at humor.
         “It was them who came to Dellwood Vale last night. They killed everyone. Every soul.” Matthews eyes began to well with tears at the memory. Mortimer moved to comfort him, setting one big hand on the man’s shoulder.
         “I know, lad. I know.”
         “Women, children, everyone! Damnit, why!”
         Mortimer looked him sternly in the face and raised his voice. “Pull yourself together man! You are a knight of the Sacred Brotherhood. This weakness is not becoming of you.”
         Matthew responded,” I am no man, but merely a frightened child with monsters in my dreams.”
         “Your monsters are real enough, I think, and fear should be welcome. But let your fear give you strength, and damn the bastards for ever having crossed your path!”
         “Aye,” came Matthew’s response.
         “But enough of this,”continued Mortimer. “There will be a time to mourn and seek retribution, but it is not now. There are things afoot, and the king is behind them. Tell me what he spoke of last night.”
         Matthew related to Mortimer and Becken what the king had said at the banquet, leaving nothing out, for he knew that all was not well, and doubted the kings good intentions. His two friends listened to the story with the utmost sternness, taking in every word and weighing it against that which they already knew. When Matthew had finished, he took a deep breathe and contemplated for a moment.
         “So what do you think of that,”he asked.
         Mortimer huffed. “What do I think? I think we are in trouble. A dark force surrounds the king. Romand sees it too. We must be cautious from here on. The king will be suspicious of your actions. I believe he is behind the attack on Dellwood vale.”
         Matthews rage burned a knew within him, threatening to consume his mind. Drawing from his inner strength, he quelled his thoughts. There was silence then, before Mortimer spoke.
         “Romand wishes to speak with you in private. He is waiting in his chambers.”
         Feeling better, Matthew stood from his bed. “Very well, I shall go soon, but first bring me some food!”
         Mortimer smiled as he went over to the infirmary food stock to fetch a plate of salted pork and ale. After eating his meal, Matthew left the infirmary and made his way into the city streets.
         The city looked the same as it always had. Wooden and stone building lined the cobbled stone roads and paths, and the tall white towers and walls rose to the sky as if to touch the hand of Aurorai herself. The demeanor of the people, however, had been greatly altered in the last few days.
         The streets were not as crowded as usual, and all talked in hushed voices and whispers. Shop owners eyed each commoner with suspicion, and their was little conversation that took place between them. Once a place of joy, the people were now plagued with anxiety, and the city was rank with fear. No one knew what really happened at Dellwood Vale, save the three companions, and the king, whom they suspected.
         Matthew felt this anxiety. He knew that events had been set in motion, and he must discover the truth behind the lies. Inside he knew the fate of the people rested on it. How he knew was beyond his knowledge, but he had to find away to stop it.
         Matthew followed the main road for awhile, observing the people and sharing in their fear. He soon arrived at Lions Plaza, the center of the city.
         The main road entered the circular cobbled plaza through stone archways that ringed the border of the place. The arches were painted blue, as was the walkways, and were carved with lion heads, and at the center of the plaza was a great fountain that spouted water into the air. Around the fountain area was a number of stone benches where some monks and members of the royal court lingered about. Surrounding the great stone edifice was a vast park. The lush grass of the park was dotted with trees and small ponds, and there were common folk about, watching the last of the dying sun wane below the city walls.
         From the plaza, the road forked. The left road led towards the monastery, and the right, to the royal palace. Matthew followed the cobbled road left towards the monastery of the Seventh Order of the Holy Sword.
         The road to the monastery was flanked by tall hedges that blocked the view of the rest of the city. Matthew could see the great stone church ahead of him. The church was painted a brilliant white and blue and was carved in images of the holy mother Aurorai. The mighty cathedral rose high into the sky and white and blue banners flew from the top of the church. Sprouting out from the great stone sanctuary were smaller corridors built of wood that wound around into a complex that housed the private quarters of the monks of the order.
         Matthew scaled the great stone staircase of the cathedral, the main entrance to the monastery, and passed through the large, double oak doors that had been propped open as they always were during the daylight hours. As he walked through the boundary of the holy place, he looked above him to see the great statue of Aurorai, her arm outstretched with a sword in her hand, carved into the stone above the doorway.
         “Watch over our people, holy mother,” he whispered to himself, as he entered the church.
         The inside of the main sanctuary looked even bigger from the inside. The walls were draped in magnificent tapestries that depicted revered and holy scenes in Auroran history. Above the elaborate depictions, statues were carved into the stone that encircled the whole of the room. The greatest of the first clerics were remembered here. They souls, it seemed, were embodied in those stone effigies, and some even believed that the spirit of those long dead men still watched over the place, instilling good will to all who passed through their sacred hall.
         The floor of the sanctuary was stone and the mosaic of the holy mother decorated its hallowed ground. Upon the floor sat rows of oak pews that faced towards the back of the hall, where the monks would lead their services.
         The worship platform was ringed by a gold banister and the floor was painted a perfect white. At the back of the platform was the golden idol of the goddess. Her hands were outstretched towards the pews and a crown sat upon her head.
         Matthew whispered a prayer to the sacred effigy as he looked upon it.
         Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two figured enter the sanctuary from the left wooden corridor. He turned to face the two monks.
         “Greeting’s brother Matthew,” spoke the first monk, the eldest of the two. They were both young men and wore short brown hair and no beared, as was the custom.
         “Greetings,” answered Matthew, offering a short bow to the holy men. They acknowledged his bow with a simple smile and nod.
         The elder monk continued. “My name is Adiar, and this is Bodin. You have come to see the high cleric, have you not?”
         Matthew nodded. “I received his summons a short time ago and came directly here.”
         The two monks began to turn back to where they had come. “High cleric Sohm is expecting you,” spoke Adiar. “We will show you to his quarters.”
         “Thank you, brothers.”
         Adiar and Bodin led him out of the sanctuary and into the monastery halls. Unlike the colossal stone sanctuary, the monastery walkways were lined with simple oak panels. Torches lit the way, held by metal brackets that lined the walls.
         On the right side, Matthew could see the courtyard through the open windows.  In the courtyard was the monastery garden that the monks worked during the warm seasons. Their fresh produce was the main supplement of their diet, and often times fed the royal court as well.
         They continued through the winding corridor for a while, before coming to a wooden staircase. Here, Bodin left them, continuing farther down the corridor and around the courtyard. Adiar led Matthew up the stair case and to the second level. From the stairs, Adiar led him down a long hallway that ended at a pair of oak doors.
         Adiar turned to face Matthew. “Are you ready to see him?” He said.
         Matthew responded. “I am.”
         “Very well.” Adiar slowly pushed the double doors upon and announced Matthew’s arrival. He then turned to leave. He stopped and gave Matthew a bow, which the other returned in earnest, before continuing on his way down the hall and out of site.
         Matthew entered through the oak doors and was greeted by a warm fire, burning in the hearth.
         It was a long, thin room, that ran perpendicular to the door. The walls were lined in oak panels and the floor was carpeted by a simple brown fiber.
         At the left of the room was a simple bed, dressed in plain white sheets and a single pillow, and beside was a wooden night stand.
         At the right of the room there stood four large wooden bookcases that wrapped against the wall, creating a half rectangle shape. The bookcases reached the ceiling and were tightly packed with old books, scrolls, and pieces of parchment. Between the bookshelves sat a small desk , covered in papers, inks, and quills. A candle lit the working space and the flame danced from the wick, casting shadows upon the old tomes.
         Matthew looked to the very center of the room.
         The fire crackled in the mortared stone recess of the wall. Before the hearth was a small square table with three chairs, and Matthew recognized the figures of the high cleric and the first knight, sitting before him.
         Kendalar Bane was sitting rigidly, his back to the door, smoking a pipe as he stared into the flames. He was still dressed in his armor and sword from the previous night, his long blonde hair was tangled and unwashed, which was an uncommon sight. His face was gaunt and white from exhaustion and his eyes had reddened. It was terrifying for Matthew to see the first knight in such a state.
         Romand Sohm, High cleric of the Seventh Order, sat across from the first knight. He was dressed in a simple white robe and brown sandals, and was drinking from a small, wooden cup.
         The high cleric turned his head to the door as Matthew entered . He offered a small smile and greeted him. Kendalar did not turn from the flames.
         “It is good to see a friend, in times such as these,” he said. His voice sounded tired and worn and this alarmed Matthew, but he said nothing of it.
         “You wished to see me?” He asked.
         “Yes, however, more importantly I believe that it is you who wish to see me. Am I not correct?
         Matthew paused a moment before answering. He sighed.
         “This is of course true, as you always are my friend.” The two men laughed softly for a moment before Romand rose from his chair and embraced him. Matthew then took the last open chair and drew out his pipe. The smoke wafted into the air as he lit it, mingling with the wisps from Kendalar’s own pipe. Romand brought him a metal tankard, full of ale
         “I believe you have already met Kendalar,” said the old man, gesturing to the first knight, who did not stir from his rigid pose.
         Matthew nodded in response, exhaling a cloud of smoke through his lips. Romand took a drink from his cup before speaking.
         “So, you have come to ask me about the secret faith, no? Matthew raised an eyebrow at the clerics matter of fact statement.
         “So it is true then,” he said after a moment.
         “Indeed it is.” Romand leaned forward over the table. “Thousands of years ago, I believe it was. A time, lost in history.”
         “And this false god they worship?” Asked Matthew. In Romand’s eyes he could see the truth that they betrayed, and he grew cold. He saw Kendalar shake his head and huff as he blew smoke into the air.
         “False? No my lad, there are no lies in this rigmarole. A dark lord, lost by the course of time, is reemerging in the world of men.”
         Romand’s expression darkened now, and he leaned closer still to Matthew and spoke in a hushed voice.
         “Matthew, what a tell you now has been kept a secret ever since its unearthing nearly forty years ago.” Matthew felt his body grow colder, and the hairs on his arms stand on end.
         Romand continued. “During the reign of king Merriweather, a party of hunters discovered an assortment of ancient artifacts in the Black Oaks. It was ascertained by the clerics of the time, that what was discovered was seven thousand years ago, and in being so, were created in the first years of our worlds birth. They distinctly different from any other culture we know of from that time.”
         Matthew listened intently to the high cleric’s story, and began to feel the anxiety build within him. He took a long drink of ale from the tankard, and then wiped the drops from his chin with his sleeve.
         “Why was this never spoken of to the people,” he asked after a moment. “Surely they would have been fascinated to know about the finding of an ancient culture.”
         “Indeed they would have, however, those men found more then clay pots and cups.” Romand’s voice lowered to a nearly inaudible whisper. “A chest was found, deep underground beneath the forest that had concealed it for so long. Within the chest was the skeletal remains of a man, remarkably preserved.”
         Matthew remained silent as the high cleric continued his story, however his anxiety was mounting.
         “Upon inspection of the corpse, it was ascertained that the ribs of the man had been separated, indicating that the heart had been removed either upon his death. More intriguing however, was the item that the corpse held. Clutched in bony crooked fingers, held tightly to his broken chest, was a black, leather bound book. Upon the cover were inscriptions in an ancient language, lost through the ages. It belonged to a people that history has forgotten.”
         Matthew grew to a panic as his fear and trepidation boiled, threatening to consume him. “Romand. If it was a magic language, then that means...” The high cleric cut him off. His face was now but a shadow of a man, and his voice, a whisper.
         “Yes,” he said quietly. “It does. An ancient god. A dark god. Separate from The Four.”
         Matthews mind was racing. Was it indeed possible for another to exist, separate from the others. How did no one know till now.
         The high cleric continued. “Matthew. Our scholars examined the ancient writing thoroughly and were able to translate a small amount of the writing.”
         “And what did you learn,” he asked.
         It was Kendalar who spoke then. “The Shadow Tome,” he whispered.
         “Yes,” Romand affirmed. “We learned of the existence of the ancient book, Shadow Tome. It holds great importance to the dark lord, though its true purpose we know not.”
         “Romand, where is the black book now?” Matthew feared the answer, for he was certain he knew the answer. The high clerics face paled as he answered.
         “It, disappeared. Years ago.”
         “What do you mean, it disappeared?”
         “During the night. We never did discover what truly happened. It had been locked in the secret vaults below the palace. Either it magically vanished, or someone stole it from the vaults.”
         “It’s impossible to steal from the vaults! You know that.”
         “Well something took it, and no trace was ever found.” Romand turned his head and stared into the flames of the hearth. “I believe that what is happening now is directly related to the events of forty years past. The dark lord is preparing to rise again, I do not know if the Four will be able to stop him. We know all we can know from here.”
         Matthew sighed in submission. “What must I do.”
         “There is one man who knows the knowledge that we seek. You must travel north, to the library of Leodoria. There you will speak with Giahamas Elyvwyn, the ancient historian.”
         “Yes, I have heard of him before. A timeless being created by the four in the beginning to record the history of the world. To remember what must be remembered, and to ensure that mistakes of the past are not relived, but surely he was consulted before now?”
         Romand turned away from the flames and looked again on Matthew. “Indeed he was. Upon the discovery of the book he was sought out, but he could say nothing of it. The secret of the dark lord and the shadow tome is protected by an ancient magic law, and there is only one man who can unlock it. It is said that he will bear the scars of its evil.” Matthews panic threatened to overcome him as the high cleric spoke his next words. “That man is you, Matthew. You bare not only the mental anguish of your families death, but the physical mark of its sword as well. For all physical reasons, you should have died, but you did not. You lived, and I believe you lived so that you might undertake this burden. It is you alone who can unlock its secrets, and ultimately save our people. No one but you can do this.” Matthew felt as if the world would crush him and take his very breathe away. The high clerics words cut deep into his being and filled him with fear, but he knew what he must do.
         “I will go,”he proclaimed.
         “Yes, you will go,” was Romand’s response. “And you must go quickly, for it is not safe any longer. I fear ill fate is what awaits the city of Cyrinth Myriad. Collect any provisions you may need for the journey and leave the city before the sun pierces the night.”
         “I will go as well,”declared Kendalar.
         “No!” Romand commanded. “I have a different task for you, my son.
         Matthew then rose from his chair and headed for the door, pocketing his now empty pipe as he went.
         “And Matthew,”Romand added. Matthew turned to face the high cleric. “It may not be wise for you to return.” Matthew nodded in grave understanding.
         “Do as the Historian instructs you, and may our holy mother be with you always.” Matthew reached the door and began to leave when a dreadful thought entered his mind. He turned back to his friend.
         “I have one more question. The ranger, that found that chest forty years ago. What was his name?”The high cleric gave a long sigh and turned his head towards Matthew.
         “His name, was Matthais Lysander.”
*    *    *    *    *
         The book sat upon an ebony pedestal, its night black cover seemed to envelope the very space around it, and the blood red inscriptions upon it pierced light and shadow, consuming all in its darkness. There were two others, its brothers, to either side of the dark book, and they each sat on their own black pedestal.
         The three books stood at the center of the small, stone room. Metal torch brackets encircled them and lit the chamber with wicked flames that licked the stale air, and the shadows on the wall seemed almost to sing a song, tempting the wary to join their dark embrace. At the end of the room, a staircase led upwards to a platform that held an elaborate pedestal of onyx. It sat empty.
         Matthias Lysander, king of Cyrinth Myriad, brushed his hands on the leather bound books, and fire danced in his eyes. He walked up to the stairs and looked upon the empty fourth pedestal and frowned in displeasure, remembering how it sat empty, bll would be remedied in time.
         He turned away from the platform and he entered the circle of torches where the three books were kept. His eyes pierced the shadows for a moment, as if he searched for something. He fell at ease after a moment.
         “Lucious,” he called into the shadows. The black cloaked man seemed to materialize from the darkness and glided to the side of the king.
         He was a huge man, standing over six feet in height. His long, greasy hair fell down past his chest and his face was gaunt, contrasting strongly with his dark, ebony eyes and thick brows. His wide face and broad chin created a natural frown upon his portrait, but this, in all lieklyhood, made no difference, for the man did not smile.
         He had been at Dellwood vale that night.
         “Yes, sire,” he answered in a low, shady voice.
         “You did well last night, captain. The master was very pleased with you harvest.” Lucious only nodded. The king continued, taking no offense by the man’s silence.
         “ I assume that all is prepared?”
         “Aye, sire. We await only the masters order.”
         “And It is given. He came to me tonight and said it is time for it to begin.” Lucious rested his left hand on the pommel of the sword at his waist. His face betrayed a look of displeasure.
         “Sire, if I may. Without the tome, we can have no assurance of victory. Should we not wait until the master walks with us again?” Fire leaped in the king’s eyes, and he glared at Lucious vehemently.
         “You would dare to question the wisdom of our lord, who rends all things to flame! The one who not even the power of the Four can stand against! Where does such foolish folly find its place on your tongue? The power that he now wields from the three will be enough. They will come to us, and his black sword will be raised once more. He has determined that it is time for us to begin.” Lucious considered these things for a moment before responding.
         “But the people, sire, are anxious. They watch everything. Many are saying that you align your self with dark forces.” King Lysander laughed with a wicked grin.
         “If they only knew the true nature of what lurks among them. We will use their fear, Lucious. They expect ill tidings. We must not disappoint them.”
         The king turned to leave.
         “When sire, shall it begin?” Lucious called. The king only smiled.
         “Soon, captain. Soon.”