Chapter 1




        The slow and agonizing death of Alefgard began only half a year ago.  
        With the Dragonlord's unexpected assault on Tantangel, none of the soldiers-poorly trained and many equipped with nothing more than cheap leather armor and copper swords-stood a chance against the Dragonlord's legions.  A poet from a foreign land who was one of the few witnesses of the assault that survived, described the fall of the Royal Soldeirs of Tantangel like trees before a tornado.  This poem, which became widely circulated through Alefgard, did not help morale.
        After the attack, monsters began to emerge from the caves and deep forests which they inhabited for so long.  Most moved around alone, but were still more than formidable for travelers and soldeirs.  At first the attacks were rare, but it was only a few months before they became so commonplace the King Lorik had no choice but to forbid any unessential travel between towns.  Merchants either gave up their trading routes or had to risk a horrible death in the plains and forests of Alefgard.  The kingdom's economy, once the envy of the civilized world, collapsed.  Nearly every town and city found itself completely isolated.  Thriving businesses found themselves closing their doors permenantly.  In fact, there only three jobs left in Alefgard that were remotely profitable:  monster hunting, which boomed since the authorities began to pay men ludicrous amounts of gold coins for every monster killed and since people began to realize that the Dragonlord's minions had a strange habit of hoarding gold coins and jewels to themselves; the selling of weapons and armor, which usually went to these monster hunters or to nervous travelers who had never fought a day in their lives; and the fairy water business, which was formerly a rarity, now bustled with the realization that fairy water, among other things, tended to keep the nasties away.  
         Still, despite the abundance of courageous (or greedy) hunters, Alefgard still painfully, quietly endured its cancer, which was certain to kill it.  But the people, raised on faith in their goddess Rubiss and the the old hero Edrick, continued to find ways to be thankful.  
        "At least they are not attacking us in our homes,"  many people said to each other on their way to their jobs, or on their way to desperately seek new ones.  Later in the day these same people would wonder why their brother who lived in the country did not write to them in the past month or why the special herbs they ordered from Haukness never arrived.  No one wanted to guess, even when it became obvious that entire rural neighborhoods and even towns were being swept away in the storm, that the cancer could only get worse.  
        
        "Before the world ends,"  Amia asked, gently touching Rod's cheek, "can we at least have a kiss?"  
        "The world is not going to end,"  Rod said irritably.  He looked around the House of Healing.  Amia had asked him to come with her, to pay the weekly tribute to Rubiss.  He did not suspect a seduction attempt, even a bad one.    
        "That's what you say.  But my brother's fiance, who lives in Haukness,she writes these crappy love letters to him at least twice every week.  It's been six weeks since he's recieved one.  Other people with connections to Haukness say they haven't heard word from them either.  Too much of a coincidence."
        Rod laid down the pew and stared up at the ceiling.  Such conversations depressed him.  He wished Amia would get back to seducing.  "Well," he said, "the monsters are blocking off all communications with other towns..."
        "Yeah,"  Amia said, the cheerful voice of doom, "but the Message Service still sometimes get through, with the king's gaurds protecting them now and all."
        Without warning, Rod grabbed Amia and pulled her down.  "Enough,"  he said, trying to sound stern.
        "Right,"  Amia laughed.  Without another warning, their lips pressed together and their minds oblivious to their little act of blasphemy, the two "made out" before the disapproving eyes of their lord and creator Rubiss.  
        
        After what felt like an hour, the couple untangled each other.  Amia laughed again, but this time it did not have the usual trace of mockery.  "We didn't go all the way.  Shame.  Not a single article of clothing was ripped off either."
        Rodney grinned.  He did not expect his first love to be this girl, who had tormented him since his early childhood.  However, this seemed to be destiny.  
        Amia looked around.  "Oh Rubiss, the priest will be in any minute.  If he saw us..."
        "Let him,"  Rod said, as he prepared for another kiss.
        Suddenly Amia jumped up from the pew.  "What was that?!"  
        Rodney sat up.  "What...?"
        Amia looked around.  "I swore I heard something.  I must be getting..."
        Suddenly there was a loud scream that sounded like it belonged to a man, but it was cut off as quickly as it began.  
        In an instant, Rod ran towards the doors of the House.  Something inside told him that there was danger, but Rod left his sword back in his room.  If there was something wrong, he would be absolutely helpless.
        In the seconds before Rod threw open the doors, he convinced himself he'd see nothing more than another drunken fistfight, or maybe someone playing a wild joke on somebody.  What he didn't expect to see, once he opened the doors, was seeing the village he loved and grew up in devoured by flames.  
        He stood there for a second, convinced that this was not his life or his world.  How could it be?  He regained his senses and rushed out.  There were people on the ground and screams in the distance.  He knew a true soldier would stop and check to see if the bodies were still alive, but he was too afraid of what he'd find, and he was not a true soldier, he was a victim.  
        "Rod...?"  Amia's voice cried from behind.  
        Rod did not answer but stood looking at the bodies of people he'd walked pass on the streets everyday.  
        "Rod, who did this?  Who?!"  Her question was answered.  Suddenly Rod was grabbed from behind and he felt the cold of a blade against his throat.  
        Amia stared at the creature holding Rod, knowing she should scream but not able to.  It was a Wraith Knight, a creature that could appear out of nowhere and looked like a shadow.  That was how the attack was so swift, so destructive, and they had no idea what was going on before it was much too late.  No one stood a chance against shadows.
        Other figures began to appear.  More Wraith Knights, a few figures in blue and black armor, and two or three Werewolves, their red fur shining in the fire.  One of the figures in black armor stepped foward and spoke in a thundorous voice.  "Well, looks too scrawny.  We'll have to throw it back."
         "That's a shame,"  another voice, this one little more than a grunt, said.
        A blue armored figure stepped foward and grabbed Rod.  Effortlessly the monster picked Rod up over its head and was ready to throw him into a nearby fire.
        She heard Amia scream and saw her run towards him and his tormenter.  He wanted to shout out a warning, but his body was frozen in terror.  
        "Look, another runt,"  the black knight said.  One of the Werewolves jumped foward, faster than anything Rod had ever seen.  In an instant Amia was down on the ground with the Werewolf's diseased breath on her face and its claws tearing at her clothing and flesh.
        The monster holding him lowered him, just enough for him to get a good view.  He wanted to cry, scream, anything, but there was nothing but dull horror.  
        "Does this rat mean something to you, boy?"  his tormenter asked.  
        The Werewolf lifted up Amia, broken and bloodied, but not dead, from the ground.  The blue knight stepped foward, holding a bloody sword in its hands.  "I got this from the local weapon shop.  The owner was...reluctant to part with this beauty.  It took me some time to convince him otherwise."  
        <Not Cyrus too,> Rodney thought, knowing whose blood was on that sword.  
        "I think its pretty safe to say that these are the only two survivors in this godforsaken little hellhole.  C'khal should be pleased.  This is the sixth village this week alone."
        The knight turned his attention to Amia, who was still in the grasp of the Werewolf.  "Now, such a lovely thing, she may be good for Werewolf breeding."
        Finally Rod found his voice.  "No!"  
        The figure looked at him and chuckled.  "No?  Well, maybe you're right."  With that, the figure plunged the bloody sword through Amia's stomach. With agonizing slowness, Amia fell to the ground.  
        Rod felt his eyes flood with salt water.  In the back of his mind, the soldier he always wanted to be scolded him.  By now he should have taken down at least half of these fiends and saved Amia without a scratch.  What kind of fighter was he?  What kind of coward was he?
        "Well, what should we do with you now?"  The abomination that killed Amia said.  Rod realized he could not even see eyes peering out from behind its helmeted head.
        "We've worked hard,"  another knight said, "C'Khul won't mind at all if we indulge ourselves."  Suddenly Rod felt the back of his head hit with a massive armored fist.  That was all he remembered.

        Afterwards he remembered peace and darkness.  He wanted so much to stay there, but he could feel something tugging gently at him.  He could not make the tugging give away, so eventually he gave in to it.  
        He could feel a voice, calm but stern, echoing around him.  "You are he, the last child of the Chosen One.  You can't defy fate."  After that the voice spoke again, only now it was gentler and had a tone of remorse to it.  "Forgive me for what I have done, and what I shall do."
        Suddenly there was light.  Rodney remembered the voice for five seconds after awakening, but it wasn't long before it forever faded from his mind.  
        When he sat up in bed, he felt a dull pain all over his body.  At his side sat a brown haired woman reading a book.  He didn't know why, but her eyes reminded him of Amia.  Suddenly, his mind flooded with the horrors he suffered.  He cried out.  The woman looked up at him with calm suprise and smiled.  
        "Oh, you're awake.  The healer thought you wouldn't make it."  Rod looked around at his surroundings.  He was in a room with a massive fireplace.  Above it was a large shield bearing the symbols of Alefgard.  Around the room were tapestries depicting scenes from old religious stories, from the war of the gods to Erdrick's epic battle with Zoma, and portraits showing the grim faces of men and women dressed in the clothing of the aristocracy.  
        Rod tried to get up, but found that the pain only got worse.  The woman patted him on the head.  "You've been asleep for the past two days.  Better not try to get around so soon."
        "Two days?"  Rodney said.  
        "Yes, strangest thing I ever saw.  You kept talking in your sleep. Better just keep still.  You've had a rough time, you know."
        Rod felt a hot flash of anger.  This lady had no idea of a "rough time," but he thought better of it.  No need to bite the hand that was now feeding him.
        "Where the hell am I, may I ask?"  Rodney should have known.  
        "Tentengel Castle, and you better heal up soon."
        "Why?"  
        "Because, as soon as you get better, you're supposed to have an audience with King Lorik."
        Rodney chuckled.  He felt like laughing hysterically, but he knew it would be too painful.  "Now why would a king want to have an audience with a little stockboy from a nowhere village?"
        The woman got a confused look on her face.  "Oh no, I was told that you were the last living descendant of Erdrick."