Valith sat on the edge of his bed. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He was frustrated over another sleepless night. His arm ached, and the accursed doctor would give him nothing for the pain. The doctor had told him that there was no sign of infection and that it’d be fine in a day or two, but Valith knew what he was feeling.

The medallion hung heavy against his chest. Valith reached up with his burned hand to stroke it. The cold metal felt good, providing some relief from the pain.

It was about the normal size of a coin, but twice as thick. It appeared to be made of gold or some other yellow metal and was stamped with the image of a dragon. The dragon was strangely lifelike, and had two small red eyes that seemed to be gems of some sort. The writing etched around the dragon near the rim of the medallion was like nothing else he had ever seen before. Valith could read well, at least he was as literate as any noble, but these characters were unlike any he’d ever seen before.

The dragon’s scales rippled in the dancing candle light, adding to the illusion that the dragon was moving. Its eyes, the red gems, almost seemed to glow with a light of their own. Valith could feel himself being draw into them. There seemed to be a live ember inside each stone.

‘Mishkala.’

Valith did not notice the whispered word as it drifted through his mind. He had the distinct sensation of falling and the embers seemed to draw closer and grow larger. As they grew closer they appeared to begin to merge with each other. Now the two embers had become one. And that one was no longer an ember, but appeared to be room, or more accurately a cavern. A cavern brightly lit with fires from some unknown source.

Valith stepped into the cave and turned to see the path he had taken to get there, but his gaze was met only by cold stone.

He turned around again. Though it was most definitely a large cave, it had no entrance that Valith could make out, but there must have been one at some point. Around the cavern were articles of furniture that seemed to subdivide the cavern into different rooms. Great carpets were spread across the floor, carpets of high quality and intricate design, and several paintings of great landscapes hung on the walls. At the end of the room, distant enough to seem small from where he stood, a great hearth stood filled by a raging fire.

Though it appeared the cave was sealed, it was obviously occupied and must have had some sort of ventilation systems as it wasn’t filled by smoke from the fire.

Movement by one of the large bookshelves by the walls attracted his attention. A man, shorter than Valith by a fair measure, stood next to the shelves and appeared to be hunched over peering at a book. The man wore brown robes made of something that appeared to be akin to felt, and wore a belt of the same material. His black hair was cropped short in the way of many of the statues at the temple in Gandon, an older fashion to be sure, but not terribly abnormal.

It was a strange setting and the cavern, though large, was hardly of sufficient size for the man to have not noticed him.

The man turned and looked at Valith. He smiled warmly, “Hello there! Welcome! By all means, come in! My name is Shraikar.”

Valith glanced about himself cynically, “Who are you, and why am I here?”

Shraikar chuckled. “Ah, caution and a suspicious nature! Well done! As I said, my name is Shraikar. As to why you are here, that could take a bit longer. Would you care to be seated?”

“Not until you tell me who you are and what I’m doing here.” Valith sneered and rested a hand on the pommel of his sword.

“That is fair, I suppose.” His eyes hardened slightly as he glanced at Valith’s sword hand, “But if I were you, I’d not make any threatening gesture at this juncture. It would go badly for you.”

Valith let out a gasp and jerked his hand away from the sword as the medal grew hot.

“That is much better.” Shraikar smiled. “Neither your sword, nor your person, is truly here anyway. As such, you are unable to harm me.” Valith frowned and Shraikar gave an irritating grin once more. “Now, where were we… ah, yes. My name is Shraikar, and I am a prophet.”

---

The next day, Lorenth sat in his quarters. There was a lunch meal in a bell to welcome his brother home. It was a more personal affair than the later celebration would be. With only a dozen or so in attendance, Lorenth looked forward to seeing his brother again. Though they had never been extremely close, Valith was still his brother and family meant a lot to Lorenth. After all, their mother had died in childbirth and their father was old, Lorenth knew he’d have to rely on his brother even more as the years progressed.

Lorenth reclined on a couch he had strategically positioned to catch the midmorning sun. A book, something that smelled old, rested on his chest. That old book smell generally meant something that Lorenth enjoyed reading, be it fact or fiction. In Lorenth’s mind few of the newer books met the level of talent displayed in the older works. However Lorenth wasn’t really reading at the moment, there was too much on his mind. He was just sitting and listening again. Valith often called him a dreamer because of this very habit.

Lorenth thought back to a time not so long ago. Lorenth and Valith had been playing in the yard where the soldiers were practicing their swordsmanship, and they had managed to harass some of them into playing their game with them. Their father stood with his attendants watching from a balcony that overlooked the practice yard. They had been given wooden practice swords and were swinging them in the air, fighting off the soldiers they had instructed to be their pretend enemies. Lorenth paused for a moment… now what was it they had been fighting? Ah yes, the swamp peoples to the west. Somehow the swamp people had managed to band together under one leader and attacked the city, though swamp people were obviously not as well trained as the proud defenders of Gandon. Reality, and the true capability of the soldiers, had little to do with their pretend world. Though already being instructed in the basics of real sword play, they were no true match for the soldiers.

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Naturally, they had “won”. Their teamwork had overcome the otherwise impossible odds, though he was certain that the professional soldiers had let them win.

Lorenth smiled as the light from the window caught a drop of water on the leaf of a freshly cut rose in a vase on the stand at the end of the couch, making the water sparkle like a diamond. Rays of light danced through dust motes in the air. He took a deep breath and blew at the motes. After a brief moment, they spun and danced as his breath stirred them in passing.

It would be good to see Valith again. Though every time he returned from another of these trips into battle, Lorenth felt that Valith lost some more of the winsome boyish charm he had possessed as a child. Valith had been slightly shy, though vocal enough when he had need to be. Lorenth was generally the more boisterous of the two. As children, that meant that Lorenth frequently got them both into trouble.

Lorenth couldn’t help but chuckle out loud at another memory of that same practice yard.

Lorenth had convinced Valith that they would be doing the soldiers a favor by greasing the leather wrappings of their practices swords. He had told Valith that the grease would make the leather suppler and the soldiers would be able to grip the weighted wooden swords more easily. That wasn’t the truth of course, no sooner had the soldiers started practicing with the swords than several of the best swordsmen managed to throw their weapons across the yard. They had both gotten an earful. Valith had never tried to pass off the responsibility for the action on Lorenth though, even though it was all Lorenth’s fault. Instead he had looked their father in the eyes, with tears pouring down his young face, and apologized for his part. Lorenth hadn’t been able to sit for a good while after that instance.

A faint frown crossed Lorenth’s face. One more memory of that same weapons yard came to mind from more recent years. Upon graduation from their instruction in swordplay, both Valith and Lorenth had been instructed to spar with dulled metal blades in the courtyard as was traditional for students completing their training. It had been a good fight, but Lorenth had managed to catch his brother’s sword on his blade and step into the press, using his superior weight and size to his advantage. He then stepped behind Valith with one leg and tripped him backwards onto the ground. It was obvious to all that the match was over and Lorenth had stepped back to give a final salute for the grand conflict. Instead he had been forced to defend himself in a rush as Valith had pulled himself off the ground and launched a series of violent attacks in a rage. Their father had called the conflict to a halt before someone had been injured. That was the first time that Lorenth had seen a look of undisguised hatred on his brother’s face. Though the years had passed, nothing had been quite the same since then.

Valith had been whisked off into the military to begin his training as an officer, and Lorenth had begun to receive instruction in the diplomatic arts. The distance, so far as Lorenth could tell, had forced things to never truly be resolved. Lorenth had long forgiven his brother though. So far as he was concerned, no one had come to harm and Lorenth had learned a valuable lesson about being on guard even when he felt safe. He only hoped his brother felt the same.

Lorenth stood and removed his shirt. He had slept in the one he had worn on the hunt.

Lorenth had arrived back in the castle the prior afternoon and promptly had been set upon by a veritable horde of servants and chefs. All of whom wanted to hammer out some detail of the celebration or find out what the princes would prefer for this dish or that. Lorenth tried to base as many as possible of the decisions and preferences on his brother’s tastes, though that still left the majority of the meal options to Lorenth. His brother was away for so long and so often, that Lorenth didn’t know for certain what Valith would like anymore. Everyone else didn’t seem to realize this. So far as they were concerned, Lorenth and Valith must nearly share one mind between them.

Lorenth inhaled deeply and dropped into the starting stance for Kahepta, one leg flexed and taking the weight of the stance, the other out straight with the foot flat to the floor facing his imaginary opponent. His hands were open at shoulder level, with his palms face down and the rear hand slightly lower. Kahepta was a martial arts form developed by the Caldorians. Lorenth had read about it a year ago and had been an avid amateur practitioner ever since.

There were still many forms that he was uncertain about at best; some of them didn’t seem to be possible for the human body. For instance, there was one kick whose name translated roughly as “Thief’s Heel”. The goal of the move was to perform a back round kick while close to your opponent and slash your opponent’s throat with the spines on the back of the calf. Humans had no spines, and therefore the move would’ve been a highly ineffective impact to the opponent’s throat with the calf muscle. Most of the forms still worked though, and Lorenth enjoyed how they stretched his muscles and helped him wake up.

From the starting stance, he quickly and smoothly transitioned his weight onto the other leg and thrust with his elbow. He turned his thrust into a slash with his elbow, another move that would be more effective with a sharp protrusion of some kind, and kicked into the air with the leg that originally had maintained his weight. Lorenth fell forward and braced his hands on the floor and kicked his legs into the air over him. He then arched his back and swung his heals as if trying to kick the back of his own head. If his imaginary opponent had attempted to close the distance between them his heals would have impacted with his enemy’s head. Using the spring-like tension to launch himself into the air off his hands, Lorenth righted himself and landed on his feet. He then dropped back into his original stance and transitioned to the reverse of his individual stance with his weight on his off-leg. This time, instead of going into a longer range kick routine, he transitioned into a series of close quarter punches and chops with his hands, arms, elbows, and knees.

Lorenth kept this up, and varied the routine slightly for a half bell before he dropped back into his original stance again and then slowly centered his weight. Sweat glistened on his chest and he was breathing hard, but he felt invigorated. After a few moments, once his breathing had largely returned to normal, Lorenth walked over to the basin and towel by the wall to wash off the perspiration. The water was cool, which suited Lorenth just fine after exercising.

Toweling off, Lorenth walk over to the wardrobe and donned a relatively simple outfit. He went with a simple loose white shirt and tucked that into brown pants. He tied a bright red sash around his waist for a touch of color and slid his favorite sword and sheath through it. He looked at himself in the mirror. It wasn’t a bad look, rather dashing in fact.

Lunch would be a rather informal affair compared to the later festivities. Lorenth scratched the stubble on his face. He’d have to shave for the later celebrations; his facial hair was just getting long enough to begin itching. Unlike the rest of his blond hair, his facial hair was a light brown. It came in full enough that he had to shave every other day or so, and it could be quite the inconvenience.

A knock sounded at the door. “Enter,” Lorenth was certain that it was just his advisor, Marcellus. Marcellus had a rather easy job compared to the advisors to most other nobles, which was good since he was significantly younger as well. He was four years younger than Lorenth. Despite that, Lorenth valued and trusted him enough that he didn’t feel a particular need to involve himself with Marcellus’ responsibilities. Marcellus’ character had always spoken for itself.