We all make mistakes, we all fall…we all fail.

We’re supposed to.

It’s called success in motion.

Glass exploded outward. The whole chapel erupted into chaos. Children scurried about, hands over ears, screaming and shrieking in fear.

“What are you doing!??” yelled Evan, dumbfounded.

Wendell ran to the base of the window, searching through the glass shards across the floor. How big would a seal be? It was then he realized that he wouldn’t know what the seal looked like even if he saw it. No, no, no. But there was nothing but glass strewn all across the floor. Using his sneakers, he nudged the shards of glass about. It’s just…glass! But,…where’s the seal? He looked up at the empty frame that used to hold the stained glass. It’s supposed to be right here! The area behind the frame was bricked up.

Uhhhh.

Suddenly, throwing a hammer across a room of little children didn’t seem like such a bright idea. He picked up the hammer and spun around to apologize.

A soldier tackled him.

“WAIT!” Wendell yelled, pushing against the mans helmet. Strong hands shoved his face against the floor, glass piercing his cheek. “No, I’m sorry! OW! Really! OW! I just thought I was going to find…” He clamped his mouth shut. What could he possibly say that didn’t sound completely insane? He bit his tongue.

“Don’t hurt him, Sepp,” said a second soldier, “he’s the King’s guest.”

Sepp looked up pleadingly, “Canna knock ‘em out? ‘ez a danger I say, Roald. We got no time fer this!”

“We’ll take him below. Unless ya want ta find your neck in a noose?”

“Where are you taking him!?” Evan coughed.

Yanked to his feet, Wendell had his arm forcefully pinned against his back. “Easy!” he flinched, “I’m going…I’m going.”

Children scurried out of the way and the soldiers marched out of the room. Lili stood near the doorway, a tray of food in her hands. Wendell was shocked to find that she noticed him. She stared at him as he passed. Her bangs were pulled back from her high forehead, revealing lines between her arched brows.

Is she…worried about me?

His shoulder hit the frame of the door with a loud thump. Wendell grunted upon impact.

“Watch yerself now,” chuckled the guard.

“Leave him be, Sepp.”

With a grumble, Sepp pushed Wendell forward.

They dodged servants running about, weaving in and out of rooms so quickly, Wendell was spun around several time. It made it difficult to maintain his bearings. They reached a set of wide steps, going down into the dark. A resounding crack of thunder shook the stone beneath their feet.

“What’s down there?” Wendell asked nervously.

Sepp shoved him forward and nearly sent him tumbling head first down the stairs. “Your room,” he growled, “until it ‘blows o’er…or the enemy comes ta eatcha!”

“Blast you, Sepp,” warned Roald, “I’ll not warn you again. Leave him be!”

“Oh, alright.”

Wendell’s ears perked back.

Help me.

The sound was everywhere, nearly shouting.

Neither of the soldiers reacted.

They can’t hear a thing, Wendell realized. Why doesn’t anyone ever hear this stuff but me?

Heavy hands pushed him down into the darkness, but Sepp quickly eased up on his grip. The sudden darkness nearly swallowed them. All three were forced to slow down until their eyes adjusted—a small flicker in the distance encouraged them forward. Wendell could smell something rotten—mold mixed with earth. He wanted to gag.

The flickering light came from scattered torches further down the passageway. It was barely enough to tell Wendell what he could already smell—it was damp and dusty and it made the stone floor slippery.

The halls wound around and split. A maze of storage rooms and hallways. The scuff-marks on the floor, disturbing the layer of dust, said that these storage areas hadn’t been used in some time. A servant backed out of a room with a wooden crate in his arms, gave them a fleeting glance and dashed to the stairs.

Roald pulled a torch from a sconce and held it high.

“I hate it down here,” he muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Why are you bringing me down here? Where are you taking me?” Wendell asked again, this time asking Roald directly.

Both soldiers maintained their stride. “To place you somewhere safe.”

“Waste ‘a time,” grumbled Sepp.

Roald ignored him and glanced over at Wendell. “It’s not that we mean you harm, sir, for I’ve seen you with the mägo and the King. Even that short green fellow with the big ears and no clothes. But we’re at war and we ain’t got the time to do this proper.” He shrugged, “So do I do with you?”

“We shoulda just…” Sepp started, but the angry glare from his friend stopped him short and he snapped his mouth shut.

The impacts of boulders smashing into the Keep echo through the corridors. Dust, dirt and pebbles fall from the mortar onto Wendell’s head and shoulders, getting into his eyes and he stumbles. He has to blink through the coughs.

Help me.

Wendell could feel the voice getting closer. Cold chills ran up his spine, walking down the dark corridors, with the sensation that he was being expected.

Sepp pushed him around a corner, past another set of stairs to a single, wide door. A small window in its center had bars in it. Wendell’s heart sank.

They’re putting me in jail? “Wait. Wait!” he complained, but Roald opened the door and Sepp pushed Wendell through. The room had two cells against one wall. The opposite wall had crates stacked, barrels of unknown contents haphazardly organized. Once a prison—the rooms were obviously used for storage space now. One of the cells was filled with neatly stacked tables, chairs, candles and sconces.

The room was freezing. The cells contained open windows with bars across it, not more than ten or so inches high, but several feet wide. The windows gave a moderate amount of light—but they also let in the cold air. Wendell heard shouting. The clash of metal upon metal. Both cell doors were open, only one was empty. Surprisingly, it didn’t stink at all. There was fresh straw all over the floor.

A set of chains hung from the wall, fastened to the stone.

Underneath it, two benches were pushed together which looked like a makeshift bench or bed. There was a wrinkled, soiled blanket draped over it.

“You’re not going to chain me to to wall, are you?” Wendell asked meekly.

“No. This is just a precaution,” Roald said, ushering Wendell into the available cell. “So you won’t be able to cause anymore trouble and we can go defend the outside of this Keep without the inside being terrorized.”

Wendell sighed, “But I wasn’t…”

The soldier raised his hand, “I don’t want to know. You’re safe…at least for now.” He nudged Sepp, “Lock it.” The door clanged shut.

“But…who will know I’m even down here?”

Roald shuffled through the crates, popping off the lids. Lifting a heavy grey blanket, he held it to his nose, sniffed—then handed it to Wendell through the bars. “Here. I’ll leave these doors open and give the kitchen instructions to bring you food and water.”

Their footfalls echoed down the corridors as they left.

“I’ll also inform Lord Joram the moment I see him,” Roald called back.

Wendell gripped the bars and rattled them, clanging against the hinges in the gloom. Come on! Straw exploded across the cell as he spun and kicked.

****

Outside, the battle did not bode well for the humans. With the outer curtain of Til-Thorin breached, the horde pressed their advantage of superior numbers. Arrows flew from the inner walls. Hundreds of the enemy fell. But it was not enough. Like a swarm of rabid hyena’s the Vallen swarmed the courtyard. Ropes and hooks, ladders and battering rams besieged the inner walls.

Rocks and boiling oil were dropped upon the attackers, determined to destroy the front gate. Crossbow bolts answered the attacks—knocking human soldiers from the walls. Those who fell onto the field of battle were rent to pieces…some consumed.

It had its desired effect upon Til-Thorin’s soldiers.

Fear.

“BRING THEM DOWN! BRING THEM DOWN! BRING THEM DOWN!” shouted the King, dropping his bow in exchange for sword and shield. He was determined to lead his men into battle and meet the enemy face-to-face.

Arrows rained upon the enemy from the human archers, while the Rook were more selective. Watching the field, the Evolu located anyone giving commands and targeted them. It made a considerable difference, forcing the mass to move without certain direction or plan.

Thule had yet to show himself—something uncharacteristic of the ruthless General. Instead he had sent his remaining Tauku mägo, to unleash the last of their power upon the Keep. Seeking a clear path to victory, they battered the stone with fire and ice, wind and lightening until their magic was utterly spent.

It had failed. The inner walls of Til-Thorin had held.

King Robert positioned himself in front of his forces and pulled his sword from its scabbard. The pounding against the inner gate was deafening—like a heartbeat seeking freedom from the chest.

Sword in hand, the King rapped his hilt against his shield and shouted:

GIVE NO GROUND, LEAVE NO PREY,

PROTECT THE BACKS OF MEN,

FEAR NOT THE NIGHT, FOR WE ARE BRAVE,

TURN AGAIN AND REND!

The beat of his shield was met by a hundred more, deep voices rising and joining their leader.

TOGETHER MIGHTY SOLDIERS,

CUT THEM, MAKE THEM FLEE!

FOR BARDS SHALL SING OF ALL YOUR DEEDS,

AND HEROES YOU SHALL BE!

The front gates exploded.

The King sprinted forward, a handful of his men at his heels. “AARRRRGHH!” he screamed, letting his sword bury her teeth in green flesh. Shamalell, crafted by the Evolu nation for the High Kings of old, drank deeply—felling her foes at every strike. Plate and chain armor were no hinderance to the magical blade. Rolling from one enemy to the next, King Robert pushed through the sea of death.

“Push forward men! BRING THEM DOWN!!”

Pouring over the discarded battering ram, giants hammered at the front line of defense. Gaping maws howled at the smell of blood. Many of Til-Thorin fell under the ferocity, and some Vallen abandoned their ranks to feast upon the dying.

Arrows from high walls now flashed into the courtyard, burying shafts in the faces and chests of exposed enemies. Bodies continued to flood through the gate. Blow by blow the enemy pushed into the courtyard, pressing with their sheer strength and size.

King Robert danced between foes, spinning around spears and jumping over thrusts and jabs. Lunging, sliding, shifting, parry, block, elbow to the face and a blade across the throat…

“Robert—ROLL!” he heard Tamorah shout.

The King spun, hooking a spear of an attacker and guiding it into the belly of another. A roar caught his attention and without thinking, his shield arm rose to cover his head. The hammer landed, driving King Robert painfully to his knees. In one motion, he dropped his shoulder and rolled to avoid a second blow.

“HEY!” bellowed Dax, sliding across the sleet and up to the feet of the enemy soldier. Swinging his mace as his body spun around, it hit across the protected calf of the Vallen. The giant fell onto its face. Dax jumped and flipped forward, landing on the giants back, swinging both maces in a combined, downward blow. The enemy twitched once as the weapons made contact with its skull.

Dax wiped his face across a forearm, “You alright, Bobby?”

The King gasped for breath, but nodded, “Back to work.”

The sound of a whip cracked the air, then another. It was followed by a high-pitched shriek. King Robert parried and severed an arm before he turned to catch sight of the freemen.

Like the bringers of death, they danced as Vallen raced towards the steps. Giants that met their immediate demise.

Towering over his brothers, Nyoli, drew his bow with blinding speed. Arrows pierced eye cavities, arteries and chinks in armor. Those who avoided the bowman were met by Animal, Polearm and Vasta. Wielding double axes, a stone hammer and trident—arms were severed, stomachs pierced and skulls crushed. Two metal chains flashed overhead as the third level of defense, compliments of the silver-haired maiden Diyana. Leather straps attached to the ends, cracked with each strike. Needle blades fused to the ends of her chains opened face and neck. Kiljua’s sporadic, high-pitched shrieks caused distraction and hesitation. She danced and weaved in and out of views, spinning below the enemy’s waists, cutting arteries.

The speed at which the bodies fell caused many of the enemy to pause. It was Alhannah who then took advantage of the moment.

Zig-zagging through the sea of legs, the gnome swung her swords, cutting tendons. Vallen bellowed and fell to the ground, floundering. Humans soldiers took advantage of the distraction and pushed forward in pairs, cutting the beasts low.

The dance of death spread, engaging all those present.

…and yet, no one seemed to notice a single shadow sneaking out from the stables.

****

This can’t be right, Wendell complained—I followed all the signs, all the pieces of the dreams! It was angering. Infuriating. The sounds of battle raged outside, intensifying and drawing nearer. He caught flashes of movement past the narrow opening. A soldier fell in view, screaming and holding his bloodied arm.

“Help me, Ithari!” Wendell pleaded in a loud whisper, “People are dying! The enemy…they could find the seal!”

He paced the cell, back and forth, thinking to himself as intensely as he knew how.

Please, Ithari—Help Me!

Help Me!

…come on, blast you, Help Me!

Help me.

His eyes popped open. Without thinking, he yanked open the tunic , turned away from the window and blurted out loud, “Silmä inakmään!”

Ithari flashed into view.

One of the crates in the hall outside his cell tipped over and crashed onto the floor. Wendell flinched, turning his chest away from the sound. No one was there. Its contents, long wax candles, rolled across the floor.

He stared down at the gem.

Cupping a hand over it center, he squeezed it. Finger nails pulled at the rim, but nothing happened. He could feel his own heartbeat through the crystal. It was warm to the touch. I’m trying so hard to do this…to BE what… he sighed, frustrated. Why won’t you talk to me?

He turned to the narrow opening and pointed, still staring at the gem. “Do you see that—what’s going on outside?” he asked, frustrated, “I want to help stop all this. I’m willing to help stop it! Isn’t that what you want?”

His pulse quickened and Wendell immediately felt strength surge through his arms and legs. A warm pulse that enlivened his senses.

But Wendell frowned.

He turned away from the narrow window in the cell, so his chest was in shadow.

Wendell squinted.

“You’re glowing!” he gasped.

It was the same purple glow he’d seen around King Roberts head. Now it was softly emanating from his chest!

“What does this mean?” he asked aloud, hopeful. But there was no answer. He threw his back against the cell bars. Oh, come ON! You HAVE to hel—

“Wait a minute…” Wendell stood upright and slowly tilted his head to one side. Is that…? he looked down at his chest and took a step towards the far corner of the cell. He cupped the Ithari, to create a shadow with his hands.

The glow intensified.

He looked up again. A sliver of light had caught his attention, barely visible behind the mound of straw and dirt.

Then he heard it. Giggling.

Wendell dashed to the wall and dropped to his knees—his hands clawing away the grime. A purple light pulsed brightly, as if trying to push out from behind the stone. He slapped his palm against the cold surface of the mortar.

“Hello?” he whispered to the wall.

The giggling filled his mind and heart.

Wendell’s mouth peeled back into an open-tooth grin. YES!

But there was nothing to scrape away at the mortar. Just straw, dirt, the benches used as a bed. Then it dawned on him.

Wait a minute, if the seal’s in there, wouldn’t it be…

Wendell jumped to his, braced himself against the two walls of the corner and kicked at the stone. The impact made an odd sound—like an egg cracking as his foot made contact.

But it he could see lines across the stone.

Wendell kicked again, this time carefully angling his foot. He didn’t want to put his sneaker through the center and risk damaging the contents.

Purple light flooded into the room as the pieces fell away. The light shed forth both from the secret compartment and from Ithari herself. Wendell dropped to his knees and peered inside the hollow section of the wall.

You Found Me!

Wendell laughed. He couldn’t help it. He’d finally done something right. The light was warm and soothing, bouncing off the walls of the container. His heart beat with such love, all he could do at first was concentrate on breathing. His skin tingled with warmth and energy, like he was being hugged.

“Yup, I found you,” was all he could think to say…and he laughed again.

The shard was smaller than Wendell had imagined it would be. It was the length of his longest finger and not more than two inches in diameter. It sat, wrapped in the loving embrace of a statue…a female figurine, standing on a rocky shore. Her arms and long, flowing hair held the shard fast as water splashed against the rocks behind her.

Is that…the seal?

Curious, Wendell reached in to grab the statue.

He hesitated—his fingers curling into a fist. Slowly, he withdrew his hand.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, he realized. What do I do with it once I have it? His mind instantly flooded with questions. How did it work? Could he damage it by touching it? Is there an enchantment protecting it?

He sat upright. “Chuck would know!”

All he had to do was get out of this cell. He could run to the Great Hall, grab the wizard and bring him back. They could get Dax and Alhannah and port somewhere safe. Get the seal away from the army before they discovered it.

He grinned wide. We have SO won this!

Quickly pushing straw and dirt up around the opening, he blotted out the purple light. “I’ll come right back,” he said, though he wasn’t sure to exactly whom. “I’ll take you somewhere safe…somewhere far away, ok?”

Right. He backed up to the opposite wall, facing the bars of the cell door. His only obstacle now was getting free.

You can do this Wendell. People are counting on you—just slam your body into the door and break the darn hinges! YES! He sniffed. Yeah. Break it. That’s all I have to do. He rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath. All I have to do…*sigh*. Right. Here goes nothing.

“AHHHHHHH…!” he screamed, hoping it would make him tougher.

Throwing his shoulder forward, Wendell ducked his head just before impact. A loud CLANG rang through the hallway as the cell door flipped open without resistance and slammed against the adjacent bars. Wendell lost his footing, stumbled forward, tripped on his own feet and slammed into the far wall. His face bounced off the stone and he collapsing onto the ground with a dull thud.

“Uhhhhh,” he moaned.

The cell keys snapped off the small wooden knob above him…and clunked him on the head.

“Ouch.”

But he had no time for pain or complaints. The mystery had been solved of why Wendell was at Til-Thorin! He had to get help…fast. Jumping to his feet, the young hero…now feeling like a hero, sprinted down the hallway, sliding awkwardly across the stone floor, trying to remember the way out.

****

Dax fell back to stand beside Tamorah. His sister stood among the crates and overturned wagons in the courtyard, commanding what remained of the human archers. An arrow flashed from her bow, dropping a giant emerging through the front gate.

“You alright?” he panted. He still grasped the two heavy maces, which were stained black.

Tamorah’s hand flashed to her quiver and in one smooth motion nocked a second arrow into her bow. She let it fly. “Do I look like I’m alright?” she barked, “They’re slaughtering our men and we’re losing ground!” She sent a third shaft through the air, which sunk into the back of another foe—the silver-barbed tip protruding out the front of its naked chest.

King Robert was still in the thick of the fight—refusing to retreat and leave his men. He pushed forward, defending his soldiers with every blow. But his strength was fading. The Vallen possessed daunting, inhuman endurance—driven by an anger other races had never understood. He gasped, sweat trickling down his face and neck. The chain mail tunic was getting heavy—slowing down his movements. He sliced through an exposed thigh, followed by a rake with the bottom point of his shield.

King Robert stumbled over a body and nearly fell.

It was a young boy. Probably a villager, not more than fifteen. The open eyes stared to the heavens, though the black clouds and smoke from the dark magic still dominated the sky.

The King faltered. Most of his men had fallen to the might of the enemy. This boy was someone’s brother…someone’s son. Someone’s child. He’d never go home, never fall in love of have a family of his own.

A barking noise snapped Robert out of his momentary trance…and drove him into a frenzy.

He charged the front gate.

Alhannah flipped and danced around the bodies of the Rook who had fallen, wounded by sword and spear. Her black steel flashed in tiny hands, red ponytails a blur to the enemy. She breathed hard…but pushed past the pain, past the exhaustion—the smile on her face embedded in her countenance. She laughed hysterically.

Chuck clobbered a staggering Vallen over the head with the end of his staff, following after the King. “Where are you going?!” he shouted. With that, he slapped the top of his staff and yelled, “Wake up! I need you!!”

Putrid yellow-skinned giants charged the wizard, faces splotched red with satisfaction.

Chuck held the staff out in front of him and shook it with his eyes clenched tight. “NOW! NOW! NOW!”

The dragon blinked, reared its head…and opened its mouth.

Red flame sprayed outward, enveloping its enemies. Screams and wails were cut short as the bodies withered, armor melting through flesh. Chuck pushed forward, waving his staff in a wide arch. He walked towards the main gate, catching everything on fire like a crazy man. Enemies scrambled to get out of the staff’s way, some distracted enough to be dispatched by the weaker humans.

“Let’s close this up, shall we?” Chuck patted the dragon staff affectionately. The guard gate above the main entrance gave him a wild idea. “Think you can melt the stone?” he asked his staff.

With a screech, the dragons small wings flapped. Wooden scales expanded around its midsection and blue flame leapt from the dragons mouth. It was a tight, straight stream.

The wizard pointed the staff at the stone above the entrance. But nothing happened.

“Come on,” he egged, “put your gut into it!”

Flames surged as the dragon thrust its neck forward. Everyone fled the wizards presence…both friend and foe. Even Chuck was forced to hold the staff with one hand, while shielding his face with the other.

“Thata BOY!” he cried.

Wood shriveled in a puff of smoke as magical flames consumed the front gate. The metal of the portcullis melded with stone, pouring downward, into the opening like slag.

“CHUCK!” Wendell’s voice echoed faintly in the wizards ears.

The young hero zig-zagged across the courtyard, ignoring the conflict altogether. He was smiling. Wendell’s careless display was disturbing enough, but the flaps of his tunic were loose and Ithari could be seen plainly. It was glowing bright purple from the center of his chest.

Dax shouted in alarm, “WENDELL!” He launched himself across the ground, swinging his body forward like an ape. His face instantly contorted into a snarl, his eyes sharp as daggers.

Wendell was focused on the wizard, and had inadvertently slipped past a small cluster of enemy soldiers. Red spattered faces watched the unarmed, half naked human sprint past.

They gnashed their teeth and bolted after him.

Air exploded, knocking Wendell forward, through the air.

BAMPH! BAMP! BAMPH! BAMPH! BAMPH!

Wendell landed roughly on his chest, sliding to a halt at the wizards sandaled feet. He coughed and pushed himself up. “Chuck, I just…”

Dax’s body lay beside him. Covered in black goo, his arms and legs spasmed violently, only the white of his eyes were visible. Blood seeped from his mouth, nose and ears unhindered.

The heads of three Vallen lay around him, eyes and lips still twitching.

“Monkey!” cried Chuck, dropping his staff and falling to his knees.

What…happened? Wendell stared at the small body, flipping about in epileptic spasms. Dax gasped, followed by weak coughs and blood draining from mouth and nose.

“Chuck—what’s wrong with him!?” Wendell asked, panicked.

The wizard didn’t have time to answer.

Wendell slapped his hands over his temples, trying to hold his skull together as a scream ripped at his soul.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Arching his back, a brilliant white light flared from the Ithari. It shot skyward, a beam of light, piercing the clouds like a dagger. Wendell’s arms trembled, his chest heaving. The beam grew—spreading outward, across the sky, softening until it flooded the courtyard in a sea of white.

The ground heaved. Cracks appeared across the courtyard. Chasms, opening wide to snap up trees, wagons and the bodies of the dead. The curtain wall swayed and split. Stones fell from towers. Men dove to safety while others less fortunate fell into the gaping maw of nature. The very steps of the Til-Thorin split asunder.

The Vallen fled, dashing to the main gate—only to find their escape frustrated. Some ran along the walls, dropping their weapons and shields, wailing and scraping at stone like frightened children or trapped beasts. Others dashed up the steps of the catwalk and dove between the merlons. The few left were cut down by human soldiers still alert.

The light faded suddenly. A light switch, turned off and all went dark.

Wendell struggled to breathe. It was as if invisible hands pushed against his chest, weighing him down, refusing to let him inhale.

Again the shriek pierced his mind and heart and he reeled in agony.

“AHHHHHHHHHH!”

Chuck reached out and grabbed his arm, “What is it?” He shook Wendell hard, “What’s wrong?!”

“NO!” Wendell gasped and the light from his chest vanished. Sweat dripped down his brow, burning his eyes. Without pausing, he pushed away from the wizard and bolted across the courtyard, leaping over obstacles.

“Where are you going!?” shouted Alhannah, but she was already sprinting after him.

“The seal!” Wendell yelled back, but didn’t stop running.

Bounding up the stairs, he yanked the doors open and vanished into the Keep.