• The man cleared another hill now moving as full a stride as he could manage his arm and head dripping blood that dropped to the ground and soaked into the fertile soil. He had a dreadful feeling that his wounds were beginning to fester. But he could not stop rage no longer drove him, he was mind and soul long succumbed to his fate, now only necessity remained to keep him moving. His friends would fall, and the world that men knew would come to ruin and despair, he would not allow Kaern’s sacrifice to be for naught. He would not allow all he and his brother had worked for to amount to nothing. Kaern had been his brother and had added yet another name to the list of martyrs who had died for the light in the Dread Prisons.
    As a strong wind blew against the desolate plain, he stumbled and landed face down in the rough short grass. The world had become barren and dead like the grass and the empty plain before him. So many had sacrificed their lives fighting the darkness, a Darkness that was born and thrived in men’s hearts. So many had fallen in the fight against the Enemy. The Ancient Enemy of man who had sought to reach higher then himself to the very throne of the Creator Himself. Only to be cast down doomed to die an eternal death in the end for the light’s victory was assured in the Words, but how long. Why? Why had he been chosen to live in such evil times?
    Because, Velar, you still have a part to play yet in this darkening world.
    You just love proving me wrong my Lord. Very well, I am your servant till world’s end and after for You have power over Llife and Death, as shown in the Son. Good will triumph and in the end I am proud to play a part. He laughed to himself, maybe his fate was not what he thought.
    He groaned and rolled to his back looking up at a blue crystal sky. In time his eyes began to darken and the rest of the world hid in a shroud of bluish mist. He flinched as a light pierced the veil and a young man stepped into sight making a large clearing in the mist. The man stood tall, with broad shoulders and neck length blond hair pulled back to reveal bright, clear blue eyes. There was something beneath his eyes, a deep sorrow, a sense of loss. One so young should not have to face the trials of war. His darkening eyes brightened as the darkness that coated was severed much like the fog had been before it. He now saw the bright orb of light that floated a full foot above the man’s hand, a clear sphere maybe an inch in diameter of pure white light. How could he have such strength of faith for he had been many years a believer when he first could conjure a Shining Orb?
    “Veir fan cantul caranmazar sein vahon,”
    Be still, I am your friend and ally. At this he nearly attempted to sit up, very few still living knew that tongue enough to speak it, and none of them were few in years. Salhanon Danvin “The Tongue That Cannot Lie”.
    “Verhoen lon Salhanon Danvin”
    “And yes, I speak The Tongue That Cannot Lie” His mind began to race who was this boy who knew the ancient tongue and had powers that manifested only in the strongest of the faith?
    “What is your name and how do you know such?” He asked in the Tongue.
    “I have gone by many names; one is Arvos that is what I am called here. I know the Tongue because I have been sent here as a Prophet to minister to God’s people in their time of need, as it was in the ‘Days of Relics’”
    “I have Information that must reach Marsan, the leader of the Resistance; will you pass it on to him?”
    “I shall”
    “These tidings I bring are dark and late in the coming for I was beguiled; the Enemy is cunning and ancient in the ways of malice and deceit. Tell Marsan that my brother fell, Kaern’s death is worthy of lament but he must wait for the armies of Darkness march on the Ceirhall and he will need his full strength if he is to halt them. Not but half of the might of their armies is arrayed against us and we should be wary of reinforcement’s. They will approach from the north under the command of one of the Lekyll a lesser general. Their numbers are twice our strength and their siege weapons are many. I fear he cannot stop this coming tide. But in defeat final victory is gained ‘For when the last armies of men are destroyed the world will end and this will bring the defeat of the Enemy and he shall be thrown into the Pit to fall in never ending darkness for all time. None can stand against the Father of all, the Father of Lies will fall and victory will be of the light.’” He gasped as his arm and head sent a vein of pain coursing through his body causing his breath to come in ragged gasps.
    “Do not mourn, for I go to meet my brother, and find the answers only the Father above has.” With that he drew his last breath in the arms of Arvos Prophet of the Almighty and Kindler of Hope.
    Arvos straightened and set Velar’s head gently on the ground. “’A man will give his life to a cause of light and with his passing will mark the beginning of the end, and so the world of men will fall and Darkness will overtake the land. Take heart for this is neither the end nor a failure for who can stand against the Lord of Hosts? Who cans stand against their Maker? All who stand such will fall and the Almighty shall renew all things! Take heart, for the Lord above has power over life and death now and forever after!’” He quoted from the Words. Softly he began to sing a song he had not sung for ages a requiem for what is lost and a dirge for friends that have fallen.

    And I will fight with you until the end of all things.
    Before darkness finally falls, the light will not give out
    And you shall be a light to all the world

    Now will you fight with me against the darkness in these worlds?
    Will you fight with me against the darkness in these worlds?

    I will fight with you by my side
    What terrors of this world could ever match the light?
    For who can stand against the Lord above all?
    Who can stand against the Lord above all?







    Marsan stood on the long, broad, outer wall of the Ceirhall the hot dry wind blowing his long black hair out of his eyes. The sand from the barren dessert that extended outward from the great wall crunched under his soft leather boots as he stepped forward to lean on the wall, peering out through one of the many arrow slits.
    It won’t be long now soon they’ll come. He had once hoped that Kaern and Velar would escape the Dread Prisons and bring him news, but that how was forgotten. They probably died a long time ago. He blinked back the tears that unwillingly came to his eyes. They had both been his friends since childhood. Kaern had been his age and Velar a year younger. Kaern had been captured at the start of the war twelve years ago, and that had been the last time he saw him. However after Velar infiltrated the Dread Prisons he had enlisted his brothers help in gathering information on the Armies of Darkness. It had been ten long years and he still missed his friend… he swallowed gaining no moisture from his parched throat. He could not spare tears for the dead, not with so many living entrusted to his care.
    He turned slightly shifting to put his weight on his left shoulder. Blinking he noticed a tall man in a tattered brown cloak with the cowl pulled low over his eyes and a scarf to match rapped around his mouth standing some ways down the wall gazing out over the arid desert. The wind seemed to hardly stir his cloak at all, as he stepped away from the narrow slit and headed to the eastern watch tower.
    Rolgun. The man had appeared some years back dark and quiet. Those who had seen his face claimed he hadn’t aged a day, but that was ludicrous. He was also the only man who disobeyed the rule that you must carry arms at all times in case of battle. He started to call out to the man but stopped himself; the man would have made himself known if he wanted to talk.
    Grunting he turned back to look out over the desolate region again, the wind blowing a cloud of dust onto the wall and causing him to choke as it blew into his mouth. Regaining his senses he spit out he disgusting sand, leaving only a lasting unsavory taste on his tongue and a thin coating of dust on his throat. As another gust of wind sent sand sprawling against the wall he ducked away from the slit and headed down the walkway to the westerly tower.
    As he walked towards it he cast a glance at his feet as he heard them come in contact with metal. He stepped back and settled into a crouch drawing a slender silver chain of the tan sandy rock. The necklace bore an elegantly shaped dragon with Sapphires in place of its eyes.
    He recognized it; smiling to himself he slipped it in his pocket and headed to the large door that led to the tower. With a burst of strength he heaved the heavy door open and let it crash shut as he passed the doorway. He immediately walked to one of the barrels and snatched up a loaf of bread and devouring it hungrily, eager to rid his mouth of the taste of sand. He began scraping the remaining crumbs of the edge of the barrel with the side of his hand. He instantly tore his hand away as he felt a splinter drive into the soft flesh of his palm, sending pain lancing up his arm. Cursing he held his hand up to the light of the window and began inspecting the splinter. Gingerly he ran his fingers over the entry wound checking to see if the sliver had remained in his hand. Upon finding it he groaned, and slowly began the tedious job of removing the splinter.
    “Need help?” A light feminine voice called from the stair well that led down to the Market and the pavilions.
    He quickly glanced up and was relieved to find Craseida and Neilsyn reach the top of the stairs and walk through the stone archway arm in arm. Seeing the blood now dripping from his hand Criseida immediately dropped her brother’s arm and rushed to kneel beside him causing her light brown locks to fall into her eyes. He grinned as he noticed a slight smile reflected in her light blue eyes. He grinned even wider as she realized it was only a splinter and shook she began to shake attempting to hold in a giggle.
    “Gorging yourself on our supplies?” Neilsyn asked laughing with a gesture toward the neat pile of crumbs he had left on the barrel. His light brown hair was an exact match of his sisters only his was cut short, and unlike his sister he had hazel eyes after his mother.
    This time Craseida did laugh and he glared at her, before succumbing to laughter as a look of complete innocence washed over her beautiful features.
    Returning to her brother whose eyebrow was raised in a questioning gesture. “It was only a morsel really.”
    His face broke into a grin, and he offered his hand as Marsan moved to stand. Gratefully Marsan took it, his hand still aching from the annoying cut.
    Their meeting was interrupted as a soldier burst in from the doorway that led to another span of wall. “Sir, scouts report a rider approaching, he’ll be here within the quarter.” He nearly shouted.
    Carefully saluting with fist and palm pressed together over his heart he nodded to the young boy and gestured for him to lead to the gate. Taking Craseida’s arm he followed the soldier out the door with Neilsyn trailing behind.
    “Three years we’ve been leading armies, and we’re only in are mid twenties.” Neilsyn said shaking his head as he came up to the left of Marsan.
    “It will all be over soon.” He answered, then realizing what he had said he immediately sought to mend the situation. “Will you dance with me at the festival tomorrow?” He asked turning his head to Craseida.
    “Of course” She replied beaming up at him.
    “Well I humbly decline” Neilsyn said his smile returning as Marsan cuffed him in the ear.
    Turning a corner on the wall he looked out at the Ceir. The Ceir was an outcropping on the wall in the shape of a diamond. With a strong reinforced gate on either end it provided an adequate amount of defense against any besieging army.
    “The western section of the moat has been excavated and filled.” Neilsyn informed him.
    “Good when-” His enthusiastic sentence was cut short by the appearance of another man wearing a bright red vest with gold embroidery.
    “Good day to you sirs, and my beautiful lady” He accentuated his words with a formal bow sweeping his arm across his chest. As he stood he was grinning like a buffoon. His efforts were satisfied however by the resounding smack of Neilsyn’s hand hitting his forehead with incredible force.
    “If I hear that phony accent one more time I’m going to bloody well throw you in the moat!” He growled casting Heral, the newcomer, an angry glance as he let go of Craseida’s arm.
    “But Marsan, it’s not finished on this side.” Neilsyn said sarcastically.
    Turning to his friend he gave him the evilest smile he could manage. Then regaining his hold on Craseida’s arm he started after the young soldier, now followed by both Heral and Neilsyn.
    As they reached the top vertex of the Ceir he again let Craseida’s arm fall to her side and stepped forward to look over the desert in search of a rider. At last he found it a mere speck on the horizon. He turned and was about to speak when he saw his brother coming towards them his silver rapier glinting at his side.
    “Ah what a splendid gathering!” He called ahead of himself stopping a good distance away and made an imitation of Heral’s sweeping bow.
    Craseida giggled and ran to hug him. “Larann you’re back!” She laughed as she drew herself off him. “You’ve been gone to long; your brother was starting to sulk on the wall again.” She scolded smiling brightly.
    Grinning he stepped forward to embrace his brother ruffling his unruly black hair.
    “You were beginning to get worried big brother?” Larann asked grinning at him as they parted.
    “Be careful how you talk to your elders boy.” Neilsyn said rapping his knuckles on the boy’s forehead. Several greetings followed before they turned back to the rider, who was now a good five hundred yards from the outer gate. His horse slowed down to a canter as he neared the gate.
    “Ho there who comes to the Ceirhall bearing arms?” Heral yelled continuing in his pathetic accent.
    “I am Arvos, Prophet to the Almighty” Came the reply.
    He could now see the man clearly, and was surprised to notice he was very young, not more than nineteen with short bland hair and a long katana slanting across his back. But at the revelation his eyebrows raised a fraction. Raising a hand to stop the murmuring that had started behind him he turned to the guard who had been about to speak.
    “Shall we apprehend him sir?”
    Just as he was about to tell the soldier to proceed Rolgun appeared at his shoulder.
    “No, he speaks the truth.” Rolgun whispered eerily.
    He slowly considered the man after realizing the ambiguity of the statement. Decided he nodded to Rolgun. Turning back to the guard he gestured for him to open the gate, and trotted over to the head of the stairs.
    As the man handed his reins to the soldier he bounded up the steps until he stood a few steps lower than Marsan. “I bring you news of the war, and of Kaern and Velar.”
    At this his heart jumped, “Very well, follow me to the Pavilion.”
    “First I would like to ask you a question.” After a curt nod from Marsan he continued. “What is the point of a moat in the middle of a desert?”
    “Aye my old chap, what is the meaning?” Heral asked stepping forward his buffoonish grin returning.
    Marsan stopped, pretending to consider before grabbing Heral by the collar and hurling him off the wall sending a cascade of water into the air as he landed in the moat.
    “Ahh, now I see the reasoning.” Arvos grinned, nodding as he looked down at Heral who sat spluttering on the edge of the moat.
    “Happy?” He asked turning to Neilsyn who stood with his head thrown back still laughing.
    “Immensely.” Neilsyn responded wiping tears from his eyes.
    “Good now bring him back in.” Marsan said nodding to the guard.
    “Couldn’t we leave him out there for the Armies of Darkness to keep?” Larann asked grinning.
    Marsan turned to Rolgun for support, but the man shook his head. “I agree entirely with Lerann, Heral’s demise is a very suitable form of vengeance. I for one am happy to be rid of the detestable man.”
    “Ah but you forget we’re trying to Keep the Darkness out of the city, not give them added incentive.” He replied grinning evilly.
    “’Incentive’?” Craseida asked.
    “Well wouldn’t you hurry to give him back, after you’ve met him” Neilsyn asked.
    “They could just kill him.” Larann said before Craseida could reply.
    “What, and lose a chance for sabotage?” Marsan asked Larann his grin widening.
    Larann shook his head in defeat. “Well at least you threw him in the right side of the moat; if he had landed on the other side you might have crippled him.”
    “Now we wouldn’t want that would we?” Marsan replied his grin becoming wolfish.

    A few hours later Marsan came out of the Pavilion of War, after learning of a conspiracy among his friends he and Arvos had devised a plan in defense of the city. But now his mind was on a completely different matter.
    Craseida watched Marsan come out of the tent and turn towards her with tears welling up in his eyes.
    “Kaern and Velar are dead.”



    Scaris groaned as he sat up his white shirt, open to the neck, dripped with sweat and clung desperately to his chest. The air in his room was close and cold yet he was still sweating. It had been nightmare. How many times had he dreamt that scene? A man in a long tan trenchcoat with deep green eyes and a black broad brimmed hat throwing himself in front of a defenseless soldier to meet the full impact of twin spearheads. As the man sinks to his knees, a single tear drifts down his cheek and off his chin to the ground, he turns to the soldier he dies defending, “There is no greater love than this, than to lay down ones life for his friends.” He says, he smiles and falls back into the young soldiers arms. His body slowly fades until he realizes it is disintegrating then it bursts into a million tiny specks leaving the soldier on his knees in the middle of a battlefield. Slowly the battlefield fades away leaving just the soldier. “You never knew me!” he cries to the sky before he too recedes into the darkness in the depths of Scaris’ mind.
    He grimaced and ran his hand through his hair, causing his short brown strands to spike up in an array of needles. He laughed as he stared at his reflection in the water basin on his nightstand. He looked like a mad scientist! Shaking his head he dipped his hands in the water and ran them forward through his hair. He chuckled to himself as it flattened against his head and pushed the front up. Much better!
    He turned slowly back to his bed and strode toward the window sill that hung like a painting in the corner. The Ceirhall truly was beautiful at night. The moon cast long shadows across the empty streets of the courtyard below and the pavilions beyond. Even as paintings do not make sounds the air was utterly quiet, yet he did not feel alone. Where had God been when his friends fell? He shook his head again, what a stupid question! Some part of him still wanted the answer. A perfect painting backed by sandstone walls and soft blue curtains. Aimlessly his hand wandered across the side wall until it struck the wall directly adjacent to the one in front of him. Startled he jumped back. Rolgun! Where is it!
    “Here,” A voice called from the shadows by the door. The words sounded eerie as it rebounded off the walls. The very noise made him shudder, even as he spun on his heel and dropped into a crouch his hand slipping behind his shirt to clasp the hilt of a long knife that rested between his shoulder blades.
    “This is axe is Rolgun. You are not. Nor will you ever be” Arvos tsked coming out of the shadows hefting Rolgun, Scaris’war axe in one hand and letting the other rest on the hilt of his dagger.
    “Arvos!” Scaris sighed reluctantly releasing the bone handle of his long knife. “It is only the name I use here.” Even in the shallow moonlight Scaris could see the beuty of the finely made dagger that rested in Arvos’ bright sash. The hilt was gilded and topped with a beautiful sapphire, the center of the sapphire seemed to gather light making it appear to hold a tiny flame.
    “Hmm, I don’t recall you using any aliases…” Arvos replied, thoughtfully stroking his chin as he swung the double bladed axe up to rest in the crook of his arm. He paused and glanced quizacaly from the axe to Scaris and back. The blade glinted in the moonlight revealing a blade just as white as Arvos’ shirt. The thin veins of flame ore that laced the blade reflected the lunar light and brightened the room. “While Corran was still alive.”
    Scaris winced, the name brought back a flood of memories that he would sooner have left forgotten. Such memories had caused him to dream… to dream terrible things.
    “Do you remember who you are Scaris?” Arvos asked coming to rest his hand on Scaris’ shoulder. “Remember! Remember Scaris Arruleon! Zephiel, Corran, Zephlar! Do you remember their names my friend?” Arvos growled shaking Scaris lightly.
    “I remember Zephlar.” Scaris answered, turning away from Arvos and brushing off his hand. He gazed out the window over the domed roof tops, suddenly the picture didn’t look so perfect anymore.
    “Zephlar’s death was noble but he was your enemy for longer than he was your friend. Why do you remember him and forget your eternal friends? He died to save his brother-”
    “Corran died to save someone he didn’t even know!” Scaris roared turning to face Arvos. “Because they were always my friends is why I forget them such painful memories are not worth the suffering.” Scaris continued his voice growing softer, his anger slowly melting.
    “Your eyes blaze with a rage to long held at bay. Corran did what he believed was necessary, and so will you. The true question is what do you believe is necessary? These people need an Immortal my friend! Someone who is experienced at leading armies and fighting battles. Someone whose light is strong enough to hold the darkness at bay!”
    “Marsan has done the job well enough as yet.” Scaris said his head drooping as he turned his back to Arvos to look again over the city. “Besides is your light not stronger than mine old friend?”
    “Marsan does not know of his powers, nor do the others! Is that why you have come to this planet?” Arvos asked turning Scaris back to him. “Are you hoping to rebuild the Companions? To regain what you’ve lost? Even with the dozen Immortals here you will not get what you want. They are with God now my friend.” Arvos sighed deeply. His eyes downcast. “You know I am no longer the warrior prophet my friend.”
    “God was not there for Corran.” Scaris said quietly walking past Arvos. “You have returned from death but Corran is not coming back…not this time friend.” He Paused short of his closet. “You have returned to us a Kindler of Hope. Arvos, Maybe these people need hope more than a warrior right now.”
    Arvos smiled. “They need a warrior to my friend, and not just a warrior, but a defender to.” Arvos’ smile widened. “Do not be the reckless son Scaris this is the time for a blacksmith who builds.”
    Arvos turned and handed Scaris his war axe. Without another word Scaris stepped into his closet and picked up a heavy sack from the back. Arvos nodded to him as he walked out of the room leaving the door ajar behind him.
    “Very good.” Arvos said tracing the hilt of his dagger. Scaris’ armor had been in the bag. “Corran's part in this world is not quite over Scaris. You and I are not the only ones who survived.”

    Marsan sat on a large boulder near the Ceir brooding over the past few days’ events. He silently ran a hand over his elaborate jacket, slowly pausing on the finely embroidered vines and dragons in turn. The dark blue material fit him well but he thought the gold dragons and vines were a bit much. He nearly jumped as his hand ran across the familiar material of his sword belt that hung across his shoulder. The belt was plain black leather with a single silver buckle in the form of a phoenix in flight. The Fire ore that had been woven into the silver made the bird look like it even yet retained its flame. He smiled, this was not exactly the outfit he should wear to a festival, in fact it was also too nice to wear in battle. The belt created an odd combination against his expensive jacket, pants and boots. However the Armies of Darkness were closing in practically on their doorstep, scouts reported that the first wave could be here in two days. After postponing the Festival of Torches for over a week, he had decided to go through with it regardless of the circumstances…or the consequences.
    “Ah, your festival finest! Very good ol-” Heral grunted as Neilsyn slapped him hard on the back the sound echoed along the great breadth of the inner wall.
    “Scout reports?” Neilsyn asked nodding to Marsan.
    “Two days.”
    “How many?” Neilsyn continued with his inquiry, his eyes glowing dim upon the bad news. His eyes grew dimmer as he realized the danger to the festival.
    “Just the first few waves or so.” Marsan replied with a grin at his friends gloomy demeanor. “Where is Larann?” Marsan asked straining his neck to look behind the two men. His brother was nowhere to be seen. His features broke out into a grin, he had a feeling he knew the precise location of his brother.
    “He’s uh…” Neilsyn stuttered his face turning bright red as he proceeded to intently study the sword that hung at his side.
    “He is with the ladies, my fine fellow. Which by the way is where we should be.” Heral scolded puffing out his chest.
    With a heave Marsan pushed himself off the rock and landed lightly on the ground in front of Heral. “That is where we should be, Heral my question is why aren’t you there now? Is it because you are here?” Marsan smirked immediately picking up Heral’s response.
    Heral glowered at him, his chance stripped away from him. Turning towards the end of the Pavilion his face brightened as he saw his chance to get the better of Marsan.
    Marsan twisted his head to see what Heral was smiling at his mouth dropped open in helpless amazement. Neilsyn’s sister Craseida had entered and the sun seemed to silhouette her figure perfectly. She wore a light sky blue dress that accentuated her eyes and her movement as she walked gracefully towards him. Turning he realized both Heral and Neilsyn were grinning mischievously at him, with a grimace he snapped his mouth shut with a click and turned to face Craseida.
    “You look…stunning” He said forcing himself not to gawk.
    “Thank you.” Craseida giggled blushing furiously.
    “Come let us…where is Larann?”
    “Brother!” Larann shouted as if on cue as he sprinted across the Pavilion with Arvos, Rolgun, and the soldier who had opened the gate for Arvos in tow.
    “Larann whet the he-”
    “No time, the first wave of the Armies of Darkness has arrived, two small caravans came ahead of them,” Larann said between gasping breaths and fervent drinks of water.” One caravan made it to the gate with twenty or so warriors.”
    Marsan began to turn and run towards the gate. “Marsan they captured the others. Marsan…Kaern was leading the caravan.”
    Marsan stopped dead. Kaern…no Kaern was dead…no Arvos had not seen him die. With a look back at his friends he smiled and sprinted full speed towards the inner gate of the Ceir.
    As he reached the inner gate he nearly fell over a man that was coming in. The mans face and clothes were slightly disheveled he looked to be about his age with black hair and blue eyes, a long broad bladed dagger hung at his hip.
    “Zac!” Rolgun said in surprise.
    “Scaris…Arvos! You survived!” The man said appearing just as startled as…Scaris had been.
    “Scaris?!” Marsan asked the man he had known as Rolgun his classic tattered cloak and scarf left behind revealing blazing red armor and a long handled war axe.
    “My real name.” Scaris explained quickly. “How many prisoners?” He asked returning his gaze to Zac.
    “Well over thirty.” Zac replied his voice breaking at the end.
    “Sir allow me to go.” The young soldier piped up behind him
    “It’s zealousness we need boy not overzealousness. Come help me with this rope!” Marsan shouted dragging a thick length of rope off one of the caravan wagons. “What is your name boy?”
    “Vince, Vince Melric” Vince replied as he sheathed his sword in order to help Marsan.
    “Planning on emancipating some captives, Marsan?” Heral asked coming to help with the rope.
    Marsan smiled then winced as a rock smashed into the outer wall. “Get the guards in here, archers on the walls! Lerann, Neilsyn Drop the rope and open the gate in the interim-” His words were silenced as another rock crashed into the wall.
    “What!”
    “At the Interim…interval between barrages!”
    “Men we must fight for freedom for justice, if we die let it be in glo-” Herals Harangue was cut short by yet another rock.
    “Oh, Forget it!” Marsan bellowed over the roar of battle. “FIRE!”
    The first volley of arrows flew over the wall cascading onto the ranks of enemy soldiers.
    Marsan Gathered a battalion of men and led them through the opening outer gate. “Craseida! Get out of here!” He roared as he noticed she was attempting to help with the defense. She shot him an angry glare before her rage subsided and she gave in, lifting her skirts to dodge their new reinforcements.
    Arvos winced as he realized the true gravity of their situation. The real battle had not even begun.

    Arvos and Scaris wove through the remnants of siege weapons and the carnage of bodies that was strewn across the sand dunes. Arvos silently wept as he surveyed the destruction that surrounded them. However his eyes caught on a single body. “Scaris!” He roared and let out a strangled cry as he ran to the body and threw the dead soldier that covered his old friend to the side.
    “Zac?” Scaris asked kneeling next to his Companion. A single tear fell from his eyes and landed on Zac’s chest.
    “Hello my friends,” Zac choked out his words as he struggled to sit up bracing himself on Scaris’ leg. His chest and shoulders were soaked with blood.
    “How did this happen?” Scaris asked his voice breaking as he saw his friends broken body.
    “Saved the…kid…Vince…went for help, didn’t want him to have to…watch.” Zac said the ghost of a smile playing across his face.
    “Why Zac?” Arvos asked knelling in front of Zaks feet, to look him in the eye.
    “Its like you said Arvos ‘There is no greater love than this than to lay down ones life for his friends’” Zac gasped out a laugh. “Geuss your wishing you never mentioned that, first Corran now me.”
    “It was not I who first said it.”
    “Hey, Scaris, guess I‘ll never find my father’s sword…” Zac let out a low moan.
    “You did find it Zac your fathers sword was truth and his shield was his faith, you follow in his very footsteps…even in death.” Arvos corrected smiling at Zac.
    Zac smiled slowly his breathing slowed, and in the fading light of sundown it stopped.
    Scaris stood slowly, turning from Arvas he walked away from the Ceirhall. “Let’s see how powerful my faith is.”
    “You have a choice Scaris, I have a song for you.” Arvos paused waiting for Scaris to turn before he began.


    Now would you risk the universe just to see
    The pow’r of God that’s within you its within me
    All minds will know all ears will hear all eyes will see
    The love of God that called this universe to be
    So in the end all human hearts God’s love will rend
    Their mouths will cry their hearts will sing their knees well bend
    And so you’ll see Gods Grace Gods love again my friend

    A Time will come creators might all will see
    The love of God created you created me
    A path is shone unfailing light the three in one
    The trinity the Father Spirit and the Son

    Scaris stopped and turn to Arvos “Just like his father…even in death?”
    Arvos smiled “His father died to save my soul.”