Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 39 – The Unforgiven (section 3)

Note: This ended up being a little longer than I originally intended. The last part of this story I think will turn into more of a prologue for this entire project. Then it's time to take stock on this whole process. It's certainly drained me.

“His sinking life. Outside it’s hell. Inside, intoxication”

The sweat-drenched air inside the bedchamber clung to the newcomers like spiderwebs in a dark cellar. Even Cortobrane, a man whose girth soaked through a couple shirts a day, felt uncomfortable in that atmosphere. It was not just sweat in the air, but blood and tears and rape mixed with soured-love and the longing splash of bitter death. Cortobrane stepped back with Mr. Vedder and Mr. Itor to watch the proceeding from the safety of the royal apartment.

“What is the charge?” The queen, who looked beaten and broken, spoke with sure words that contradicted her state.

“Adultry, betrayal and treason against the king.” Eden answered, the sword resting at his side.

“Fine.” The queen answered and looked away from Eden.

“Do you not deny it?” Eden did not know whether to laugh or scream.

“There is no need. You have passed judgement and reason long ago. There is nothing I can say that will change that.”

He grabbed her by the throat with his right hand, Fangen burned in his left. The sword had a song that soothed and cleared Eden’s thoughts.

“A sharp tongue will do thee no good.” He released his grip, surprised to see no look of pain or fear in her eyes.

“Let me ask this of you my king. What vow have I broke that does not equal the one you have?”

“What do you mean? I have been faithful.”

“Nay, not that. Once I asked a simple question, one not intended for you, but one you answered and swore to just the same.”

“What nonsense is this?”

“Don’t you remember the night of Reap Ball? Our dance. A marvelous dance. I asked then, if I gave you my heart would you accept it and keep it safe?”

“I remember that well, my wife.”

“You swore before all that you would.”

“So, woman.”

“MY HEART HAS BLED EVERY DAY SINCE!” The queen screamed. Everyone, including Eden, took a step back.

A blinding anger coarsed through Eden. The sword joined in filling in any weak spots. How could this woman accusse him of anything?

“You love him then? All these years, you and he have betrayed me.”

“Aye.”

“Has he touched you?”

“Aye, and one touch from him was better than a million from you.”

“Has he kissed you?”

“Aye, and I dream of his kisses everytime your lips touch mine.”

“Has he laid with you?”

“Aye, and he accomplished more in his bed once than you did a thousand times since.”

The words struck him like a stiff slap. His anger boiled over and he once again went for her throat, but when he did a bolt of pain shot up his left leg. Looking down, he saw the gold hilt of a dagger sticking out from his thigh. His wife’s hand lingered on the dagger a moment before leaving it with an expression that resembled a cross between a growl and a grin.

Eden stumbled backwards, the sharp end of the dagger sticking crudely out of the back of his leg. For an instant, shock set in, washing away his anger and even parts of his dimentia to wonder how all of this had happened. Never once in his worst nightmares did he believe Kendra capable of stabbing him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cortobrane and his men enter the room. He raised a hand, ordering them to halt. As he did a new flash of pain was greeted with a cold rage that resonated from Fangen.

Cortobrane, standing just inside of the door, swore he saw Eden’s pupils turn a blood red. Before he could examine any closer, Eden lifted the sword and eerily a haze, almost like a fog or a thick layer of smoke, settled over the room with sickening warmth.

Eden limped toward the bed.


“He’s run aground. Like his life, water much too shallow.”

Soon the grasping, clawing hands of the dead had pulled Ewam’s lower legs under the surface of the ground. The two Elder Dinar loomed above them, the long black blades drawn and ready to strike.
With each inch of his flesh that disappeared below, Ewam could feeel his life draining from him. Soon the fight, the spark to live started to go with it. Apathy settled over him. He no longer cared about the battle, about the Dinar, about saving Satar from the evil before him. He wanted to sink, to let it all end.

“Not yet,” It was the voice of the sword screaming in his head. “Not yet!”

“It’s over,” he mumbled lowering his eyes to his approaching grave.

“Not yet!” Duna screamed again. “Listen. Listen carefully.”

From far away Kendra’s voice echoed in his ears. ““I’ll be standing on the porch, waiting my dear and that night shall last a thousand years.”

He could hear the finality in her words, the sense that they were a few of her last. Whatever had inflicted her had won its battle. He supposed it was possible that the sword was playing some sort of trick using his own emotions and memories against him, but he did not believe that to true. In his heart, it was the evil before him that had something to do with Kendra’s passing. It had poisoned her heart from far away. It was up to him to make them pay.

A cold heat sprang from Duna sensing the quickening of his blood. A strange orange glow came from it.

Above him, the dead eyes of the Dinar rose in panic. Many years had those two undead brothers walked the world. Long enough to know of Duna and its brethren. Those swords defied reason and iron. A force lived in them maybe not as great as the dark seed that kept the two brothers alive for thousands of years, but still a force not to be taken lightly. When it glowed as such, time for its enemies was running short.

Duna took control from there. Ewam watched as he stabbed down with Duna into the soil. The grasping hands froze, once again lifeless. A great moan came from the earth. Both Dinar froze also, feeling the great power that had coarsed through them to drawing up the dead severed. Without another hesitation, the Dinar attacked.

Bursting from the ground, Ewam fended off the first stirikes from the Dinar. Duna cut through the air with a whistle, meeting the cursed-black blades. One touch from either blade would kill a mortal man. Across the field of battle the three battled in a blur, obliterating any man or beast that got in the way.

In the midst of the fight, Duna stuck in the long robe of one of the Dinar. In an instant, a flame shot up freeing the blade and setting the Dinar’s entire robe ablaze. The undead creature let out a bloodchortling snarl falling momentarily away. From behind, the other approached, but Ewam ducked the advance and countered with a strike that sawed effortlessy through the Dinar’s body. Two nearly equal halves fell to the ground.

The burning Dinar screamed as if the sight of his brother’s death was far worse than the sensation of his boiling flesh.

“Lars!” the Dinar wept. “What have you done? What have you done? My brother?”

Het stumbled toward Ewam in a rage, making one feeble attempt at a strike. Ewam shrugged it off easily, knocking the black blade away. Defenseless, Het opened his mouth in one last agonizing scream. Ewam saw flames in the back of the Dinar’s throat briefly before shoving Duna down it.

The remaining Children clattered away. While still plenty dangerous, they were bound to the Dinar. With them gone, they were called back to their ultimate father.

Ewam fell to his knees.

“I will come to you my love. Not today. Not till all those responsible for your demise are sent into the dark.”


“Slipping fast, down with his ship. Fading in the shadows.”

Blood splattered in sickening waves across every wall of the royal apartment with each heavy blow delivered by Fangen in the hands of Eden. Behind Cortobrane, Mr. Itor fell to his knees and began to wretch. Cortrobrane, no stranger to violence, felt his own stomach turn. By the end, there was nothing really left of the queen only large clumps of flesh floating in pools of thick red soup.

When it was finished, Eden hobbled to Cortobrane, sweating and pale, and through his arm around his cousin to keep his balance. Fangen dragged on the floor in his other arm. The dagger still was stuck through his leg. The man felt thin, weak. If Itor and Vedder were not there, Cortobrane thought he could easily remove the king from his throne. As it was, he thought, both men now had serious doubts on the mental heatlh of the man they called king. It was only a matter of time now.

“What have I done?” Eden mumbled stairing blankly at Cortobrane.

Choking down the bile that had collected in the back his throat, Cortobrane pulled Eden closer.

“She attacked you, my king,” Cortobrane said. “You carried out the correct punishment.”

Even Cortobrane wondered if any person deserved the treatment the woman had received.

“We were wearing masks. She thought it was him the whole time,” Eden words slurred together.

“Pardon me, my king,” Cortobrane asked?

It took all of his strength, but Eden brought Fangen up to his face. The blade was stained from the blood. A far away smile came across Eden’s face.

“Take me to my mother’s apartment, call for my doctor,” Eden stilled leaned heavily on Cortobrane. “My brother is to be arrested and brought to me.”

“Yes, my king,” Eden hid a smile. With one king shamed and another wounded, it would not be long, indeed, before he sat upon the throne of Isa.


“Now a castaway”

Evandra woke with a scream that was cut off by a hand sealing tightly over her lips. Meriam awoke moments earlier to the girls fevered dreaming. She had not reached the girl in time before the nightmare had caused her to shout out. Meriam wished she had. They were hunkered down in the brambles a few hundred yards off the road heading east.

Meriam thought they were far enough away from the city to stop worrying about the royal guard catching them, but she was not sure how long it would take the king to realize his daughter was gone. Then, they’d probably have entire battalion on their heals. Meriam planned to sleep for only a few hours and get back on the road before dawn. They had to keep moving. They had to get away from Satar, from Eden.

“Hush, my girl,” Meriam tried to soothe the girl who was trembling. “It was just a bad dream. Just a dream.”

After a long time, the girl finally stopped and wiped the tears from her eyes. Meriam let her go, and then started to settle back onto the cold, hard ground.

“You’re wrong, Mistress Meriam,” Evandra said, it shallow voice. “It was not a dream. She is gone. I felt it. She is gone and it was so terrible that I felt it all these miles away.”

“Oh, my poor girl,” Meriam reached over and pulled her close.

“She is gone. I am alone against him.”

“Not alone,” Meriam answered looking up into Old Moon’s ugly, scarred face.


“Forgive me. Forgive me not.”

Thinking he was dead, they surrounded Nestor. They were an assorted lot of dwarves, gargolas, men and women. All of them were armed with some sort of pale paint covering their faces. If Oan did not know any better, he would have thought the Shadows of Marek had followed them up the mountain. It was impossible. The last they had heard of them were the wails in the foothills as the rumor of Kekur had drove them insane. Any of those that had survived that fever would not have approached the mountain, even in their insanity.

No, these folks before him were what the Witch had called the Keepers of Marek. Oan had been a fool to forget they were up here. That mistake had almost cost both he and Nestor’s their lives. He doubted they were clear of that danger yet.

Nestor was pinned in the middle of a circle of spears. They were so tight to his throat that he was unable to speak.

“You have entered the cursed realm of Marek,” shockingly a gargola began to speak. The voice was deep and clear, and belied the beast’s girth. It was nothing like the dumb grunts of the gargola they had met in the forest. “No man shall enter here. No man shall leave.”

With the eyes off him, Oan slowly started removing the arrows from his body. A fresh set of pain tore through him as he did. His body had healed around them, only to be piereced anew.

Before him, Nestor gurgled trying to speak.

Finally Oan drew the slowly drew the sword. As he did, he noticed a slight rumble in the stone behind him. Trying not to move to suddenly to draw attenetion, Oan rose to his feet. His blood was still wet on the stone as he slid back up the wall.

Gaining his balance, he lifted Kekur above his head. Behind him the rumble shifted into a quaking. Stumbling forward Oan saw the wall behind him splitting in two. Oan could make out the recesses of a great chamber.

The multitude turned in unison, dropping their weapons in surprise. Nestor fled to Oan’s side.

“What’s happening boy,” Nestor asked?

“I’m not sure.”

Returning their attention back to the Keepers, they found the multitude kneeling before Oan. Finally, the gargola, who still towered over Oan while on one knee, spoke.

“I am Cassar, Steward of the Keepers,” the gargola said. “We welcome the King of Marek back to his throne. May he forgive our shame, though we shall never forget it.”

Just then a blast of cold air swept from the opening accompanied by a blast of white light.

“What?”

“Go now, King,” the gargola interrupted. “He awaits you.”

“Who?”

“Metahischoo is the home of ghosts and one other.”

“And that other?”

“We call him the dreamer.”

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 38 – The Unforgiven (section 2)

Note: Sorry again for taking so long between parts. Just been super busy. I think all three of these sections will come across better when they are all together. At least I hope so.

“He could just be gone”

Nestor rolled, glanced back to see the trail of blood running down the stonewall leading to Oan’s still body. Two shafts dug deep into the boy, one in his shoulder, the other his stomach. Mortal wounds, no doubt, even for a boy with his talents in healing. One last arrow was split through his palm.

Around Nestor heavy steps crunched in the deep snow and long shadows fell about him, as the old man clung to his spear.

He risked one more look at the boy and, for the first time in a very long time, he thought of his own son, who was almost certianly dead. For had Nestor not seen the Dinar run him out into the Sorna? Something in him was not entirely sure. His son was just another sacrifice, for what now appeared to be a fool’s hope. Immortality was not for him.

“Ah, my boy.” Nestor mumbled, hoping he had changed enough to make some of their attackers pay. For long life was not the only perk of his cursed bargain.

He focused inward, feeling something cold, almost slimy, slither through his veins. Every sense heightened, if they had not, he would never have noticed the boy’s eyes flicker. He saw it just in time before changing completely.

Stopping the change, he rose to his knees to meet the attackers.

“Ah, my boy,” he whispered, and now a frozen bit of intuition fell through him. Somewhere, his son barely clung to life, but with a rage that roared like a fire. “Forgive me, my son.”

* * *

“How can I be lost, if I’ve got nowhere to go?”

The voices overwhelmed him, pounding like a hammer against the inside of Eden’s skull. He came to think of them as the voices of the damned. For all of them were in this together.

There was Cortrobrane: “Out into the country, to a farm, I believe your father’s ranch, I followed her…”

Kendra: “If I give you my heart, my lord. Will you accept it and keep it safe.”

A thought crept in – they were both masked and shaved clean. His mother had said to make sure Ewam looked like a prince. The thought was swept away.

Cortobrane again: “They stood on the porch and spoke words of lovers.”

His mother: “It’s true all of it. My own brother told me so. She was with him. He was in her.”

The sword Fangen: “Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow…”

His father: “Find your heart my son, find it while you still can. Use the sword if you must, but only…”

His brother (in their twin language): “Do you really love her?”

His own: “She’s a lovely girl. One suiting a prince…”

The sword: “Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow…”

Cortobrane: “They kissed. Not like a brother kisses his brother’s future wife.”

His mother: “He was in her days before your wedding. He defiled her and then she was pregnant…”

Cortobrane: “They went inside…”

His mother: “He went inside…”

“I HAVE HEARD ENOUGH!” Eden screamed, holding Fangen up high. Silence rang in his head before one voice dominated his head.

“Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow…”

* * *

“How come it’s got so cold?”

Banik disappeared among the Children, and while Ewam did not have time to follow his descent Ewam was sure the man was going to receive enough aid to stay alive. Ewam knew that Duna provided him such confidence. The sword did not believe in or perhaps did not understand the term defeat.

The path between him and the Dinar was cleared as the battled rage on around. The two creatures dismounted from their hellish beasts in perfect synchronicity. Drawing their black swords, their voice from mouths formed in endless grins boomed in his head.

“Die, half-King,” Het said.

“Die, betrayer,” Lars said.

The name betrayer struck a blow at him. Where had he been called that before? He did not have time to contemplate it before the twin Dinar lifted their swords and their dead black eyes burned hot red. All the warmth in the air drained, an unusal chill took its place.

“Die,” The voices said in unison.

A groan came from the ground, and his footing became unsteady. Before he could muster an attack, something grabbed hold his foot. It was a hand, stripped clean of skin and flesh protruding from the earth. Another sprang forth, grabbing his other ankle. The bone fingers shredded his pants and tore into his flesh. More hands began to appear and then mouths from long-buried skulls. All of them clutched and pulled and before Ewam cut through some, but the ones that fell were quickly replaced by two more. His feet were actually sinking into the ground. He looked up to see that the Dinar had moved almost within reach of his swords.

“Meet the dead, betrayer,” Het said.

“Die.” Lars coldly reiterated.

* * *

“And how can I blame you when it’s me I can’t forgive?”

Another few moments surely, Kendra thought biting her lower lip to forget the throbbing pain eating away at her body. At least she did not feel her broken ankles any longer. Delirium and shock had numbed both her ankles and feet. She supposed, in time and treament, both would heal reasonably well, but she would never walk the same. Eden had broke them days before, Kendra was not sure how long, time moved differently for her now. He had tied her mouth shut to muffle her screams, not that any one would have come to her aid.

It was almost over now, she told herself again. With every slight step, she fidgeted thinking that it would be Eden. She knew that his next visit would be his last, and she expected that to happen soon.

She clutched the dagger to her chest, embracing its cold touch.

“You could end you know, before he comes.” It was Ewam’s voice in her head. Looking up, she saw him standing there. He was haggard, tired, just as he had been that night at Thunder Sted, and undeniably alive. His beard was still thin stubble after having shaved for the Reap Ball. His red hair was starting to curl again on the back of his neck.

“You could and not have to face it,” Ewam reached for her hand. “Please, I beg it.”

“I cannot,” Kendra answered, embracing the illusion and hiding the dagger once again under her blanket. “It is my penalty to face.”

“It is my fault,” Ewam said. “I shall take his penalty. Blame me. Say that I forced you, that you had no choice. He may show mercy.”

“No, it was I that sought you out,” Kendra grabbed the apparition’s hand. “In my heart, I knew what I was doing even if my mind did not. I betrayed him, not you. It is I that shall bear the penalty.”

“I cannot bear of you,” Ewam cried. “I cannot.”

“Hush, my love,” she cried along. “Hush, Ewam Perde, son of Rudan, King of Satar, Dawn of Man.”

He smiled and tears changed course in the new lines formed on his face.

“I love you,” he said, kissing her hand then her mouth.

“I love you, and the shame of hiding it has worn on me more than any other hurt delivered or any call from a cursed demon. It is time for my heart to be free of this guilt. I shall ask for forgiveness, first here then when I meet the light.”

“Will you wait for me?”

“I’ll be standing on the porch, waiting my dear and that night shall last a thousand years,” she smiled, closed her eyes and when they opened he was gone.

The door to her chamber opened, Eden, clutching a strange sword, walked in. Following behind him was a fat mat that smelled like swine.

“My husband,” she said in a warm voice. She had called him so their first night of marriage and meant it. Briefly, they had been truly happy. His face softened slightly, but then hardened and angered.

“Kendra Leone Perde, I, King Eden Perde of Isa, am here to pass judgement.”

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 37 – The Unforgiven (section 1)

Note: So I decided to break this song up into three installments. I thought it was appropriate considering the song. Also, it'd keep from this post from getting way too long. I have had a hard time finding time to sit down and write lately. I think breaking this up also will make it feel less daunting and take some pressure off me. Don't miss the Dark Tower installment below. Hey where's the movie list updates? Gone the way of the 1,000 greatest albums, perhaps.


Disc 2
Track 16: The Unforgiven III by Metallica

“How could he know this new dawn’s light would change his life forever”

Sensing a shift in the attack, the Children converged on Ewam and the sword. Even those soulless, bloodthirsty beings could feel the rhythm, hear the hum the blade made as it sliced through the air. Like a magnet it drew them, or perhaps they drew it. The heat coming through the pommel increased with each kill.

At some point, Ewam faintly became aware that he no longer controlled his arms, his legs and his heart. The sword was driving his actions, driving his thoughts from his brain. With each new enemy to arise before him, Duna twitched to life, cutting them down with ease. When a troup of twenty or more came at once, Duna burned in his hand. He gave one great stroke that brought with it a great wave of hot white sand. Each grain burned through the Children, who shrieked with pain, before being buried under a fresh, smoking dune.

Then Ewam was before the circle with Banik cleaving his way through the backtrail. The circle, knowing the real danger was before their two black-robed masters, formed a single line before Ewam. All along the field of battle the moans, the shrieks, the howls and the cheers came to a halt.

For all the rest was ancillary to those two black-robed Dinar, the row of Children before them and that one man with his magic sword.

***

“Set sail to sea, but pulled off course, by the light of golden treasure”

Kendra Leone, for at that point she was still a few days away from becoming Kendra Perde, had left Omet secretly that fateful night all those years ago, and she was provided steed by a man named Hector Cortobrane, brother to the Queen, mother of Ewam and Eden and father to Randall, future mayor of Stra. No one trusted Hector any more than they had to, but he was a sly man, who could provide things such as a horse to a lady looking to run from the city without notice. She knew no one else to whom she could turn.

Kendra navigated her way to Thunder Sted to apologize to the man she loved and say farewell. Be it that she was young and naïve to believe such things are done so easily and finally, but her word was given to another. Ewam had to respect that. Never once did it cross her mind that the chord between them could not so easily be cut. Her heart was in this and so was his.

Under the moon at Thunder Sted, Ewam came stumbling from the field, soiled and dirty. Under his buttoned shirt, his chest heaved from a great heart. A heart, she knew then, she could no longer resist. She floated across the porch in her blue riding dress as a cloud swept across the moonlight. They hesitated before embracing, saying words neither would remember as a drizzle touched the parched earth. If not for that cloud, a careless shadow from an already fattening young man ordered to follow some girl by his father would have crept out from where he hid along the path, probably alerting the two soon-to-be lovers of the intruder in their mist. He was a dumb boy spiraling toward being a dumb, yet sly man like his father. He did not understand who or what he saw other than two nobles preparing to bump middles.

Randall knew his father dealt in such secrets to gain power. He assumed these two were no more than pawns for Hector Cortbrane to play. Years later, the memory hit the fat man as he stood before Eden in Union Hall. He could not stifle a laugh. That how the woman had known so much. She had viewed it through him using some sort of magic. She had pieced together that the two brothers were, at least secretly, at odds. It was their one true weakness and now it was up to him to exploit it to ultimately get rid of both of them. How could he have ever known that night would mean so much?

“My Lord, I can prove their transgression. Only now did I realize it?”

Eden’s ears perked as he fondled the sword. The thing already appeared to have a hold on him.

“I will hear this, then set myself to delivering the penalty.”

* * *

“Been afraid. Always afraid. Of the things he’s feeling.”

The line opened in the middle allowing the two Dinar to come forward. From them came a putrid smell that soaked through the smell of death that covered the field. When they were before him, both pulled back their hoods to reveal identical decaying, green faces with black teeth that grinned out permanently from the loss of their lips. When they spoke, it was with an echo, as if their voices originated from the underworld and then sounded out from hollow mouths.

“I am Lars Met-Lan Ica, Dinar of the orignal blood,” the one to Ewam’s left said.

“I am Het Met-Lan Ica, twin brother of Lars, Dinar of the original blood,” the one to the right said.

For a moment, Ewam was stunned to find his foes to be twins. It was coincidence, but one that unsettled his nerves. He thought of Eden. He wondered if his brother was overcoming the ache that touched his heart and mind. Ewam needed his brother to be strong.

“I am King Ewam of Satar,” He regained his composure. “You have committed crimes against the people of Stra that are not forgiveable. I am here to deliver your penalty.”

A forced laugh came from the two.

“Are there not two Kings of Satar?” Lars said.

“Perhaps being brothers, twins, is not the same for those in the light,” Het said.

“We have been loyal for an age,” Lars said.

“Beyond death and the great change,” Het answered.

“I would not trust a man that touches one of those swords,” Lars answered.

“I believe one may have already lost trust in the other,” Het said.

Banik arrived at Ewam’s elbow, bringing his mouth to Ewam’s ear.

“Close off your mind and heart, it’s a window for them to see you and the one’s you love.”

“A member of the failed, Sorna Watch,” Het said, seeing Banik.

“Not just any member, at that,” Lars said.

“Your father licked the blood of your baby when he spilt it in the sand,” Het’s mouth opened wide.

“Then laughed as he burned the babe’s flesh,” Lars continued.

“NO!!!” Banik raised his sword, and charged at the two. He disappeared as the Children converged on him.

The Dark Tower VI: May 17, 2013

Note: I finished the sixth book the series quite awhile ago, and am very close to finishing the last book. The CD Project has ate up most of my free writing time the last month or two, and to be frank, I haven't been real wild about anything I've been writing. But here we go.

SONG OF SUSANNAH

I'm not going spend much time talking about this book. I kind of feel like this is more of a long prologue for the final book. Song of Susannah is broken up into Stanzas instead of chapters. Each Stanza concludes with a verse from a the song. Like this one below that concludes the book . ...

STAVE: Commala-come-kass!

The child has come at last!

Sing your song, O' sing it well,

The child has come to pass.

RESPONSE: Commala-come-kass!

The worst has come to pass.

The Tower trembles on its ground;

The child has come at last.

Basically, the importance of this book is Susannah/Mia traveling to New York to a place called the Dixie Pig to birth the child that is a mixture of Susannah, Mia (a demon) and Roland (the gunslinger). How this happened is very confusing and I am not going to attempt to describe it. Anyways, you find out quite a bit more about the plans of the Crimson King (the ultimate bad guy) and his many minions. Stephen King (the character) also makes his first appearance.

Most of all, this book is about the birth of Mordred (a name that should be familiar to anyone that knows anything about Arthurian Legend). He's a little bastard that tracks our heroes for the rest of the series.

Anyways, you may wonder why I have titled this section May 17, 2013. Well according to the official website of "The Dark Tower" that is when the first movie of the series is set to be released. Obviously, these things are always tentative.

Here's the jist of the endeavor. Ron Howard is set to direct for Universal Studios. The plan is to make three movies with a full season of television episodes to bridge the gap between each film. I think the shows will air on NBC. No actors have been announced yet, but I am sort of hoping they scale back on simply signing A-list people, at least for the main characters.

I see this as either being very successful or completely dreadful. If the first movie bombs at the box office will NBC really want to be committed two seasons of shows to build up for bad movies. If they do drop it, will the entire series flounder after one bad showing. This is possible, because the action early in the series is a little slow compared to later.

You can find out more about this whole situation by Googling "The Dark Tower." I just think this is the most relevant thing about the series to share right now.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 36 – Confrontations

Note: Well the end is quickly approaching. I'll be glad to be through, and take a break from the stress of writing this. I am actually excited to get to editing and honing this tale. I've found problems and issues, and I think once I get this all through I'll have a better idea how all this needs shaped. Needless to say, the writing also needs a lot of work. Sigh.

Disc 2
Track 15: Neon Tiger – The Killers

“I don’t wanna be broke; I don’t wanna be saved.”

Nothing east of the Belnor compared neither in size nor in architectural prowess to Metahischoo. Standing before the stone slab where the main entrance should have been, one could not see where the red granite, polished smooth, of the outer wall ended and the sky began. On rare clear moments on the Veris, Oan had seen that only the peak of Kekur behind dwarfed the outer wall in height.

The top of the wall was not smooth, but was jagged like a sharp set of teeth. From a distance, the palace blended into the mountain behind it. If a man did not know that it was there, he would miss it completely despite its size.

Oan and Nestor spent the day searching out any sort of entry other than the sealed main way. As the light started to fade, the joy they had felt upon reaching the palace began to fade. All this way they had traveled only to be blocked from the hallowed place. The witch had promised answers when they reached Metahischoo. Perhaps, the only answer was that there was no way across the Belnor. Not here, not anywhere.

Nestor gathered anything that would burn for a fire. The resources near were scarce. Neither man would last if they had to stay here more than a few days.

Something else grew in Oan’s heart. He had ignored the feeling earlier, but now it made his whole face twitch. After all the hunts in the tall grass of the great plain where even a gentle wind passed in a long wave; after every deep wooded excursion with no more than a spear and his skin; after climbing the flat wall of a cliff into a cave armed with only a knife and his courage; his skills were ignorant of one essential trait. Hunting had a definite feelling. A smell. A sound that killed the life that saturated the air.

Being hunted was much the same. Except the hunted did not tend notice nearly in time.

“What eats at you boy?” Nestor said, striking two small gray stones together for a spark. Twice more and he had some kindling smoking. “Is it the door, my boy? I think we’ll find it. There’s some trick to it, I can feel it dangling before our noses.”

“Nay, it’s not that.” Oan circled behind Nestor, his back to the stone slab that would not budge to admit them.

“Then what is it?” Nestor bent over to blow on the fire and that little movement probably saved his life.

“We’re not alone.”

The words had barely left Oan’s lips when an arrow whizzed past where Nestor’s head had been and skimmed past Oan’s right hip. He went for his sword secured on his back, but another arrow appeared from the heavy gray world and struck him square in the shoulder. The force drove him backward into the stone slab, he could hear the arrowhead sticking out of his back clinked against the hard surface. His skin burned and ached where it tried to heal around the arrow.

Stunned, but not stupid, Oan made to pull the arrow out, but before he could another one pierced through the palm of his left hand. Nestor watched in horror, but rolled away toward his spear.

Against the gray backdrop figures started to appear, some short, only to Oan’s waist. Others tall and thick-shouldered lumbered behind. A few more were his height. He stayed completely still, knowing that the archer was shooting at his movement.

Breathing deep to allow the air to fill his lungs, he thought deep about his hunts. How had his most sly prey behaved before being caught? If this was death, he wanted it to be done honorably. Then he thought of the possum, and he made a quick jerk to his right.

Another arrow escaped the gray and white, hitting him square in the stomach. The pain was immense, and a darkness hozered at the edge of his vision. Falling to the ground, he thought of the possum once more befor closing his eyes.

* * *

“Stay here,” Meriam pulled a hood over the girl’s head. The old riding coat that Meriam found in the stables was hopefully enough to disguise the girl to allow them to escape the palace unnoticed. The guards placed outside of the door had left when the army from Stra had arrived in the city. The army had everyone on edge. There were some among the guards that wanted to attack despite being terribly outnumbered and the king’s order for peace. The sight of the dragon flag raised the old blood in folks around here. Memories passed down through generations of the battles between Isa and Besa flooded even Meriam’s senses. Satar had mended that old divide. No one here wanted the rebirth of either of those old kingdoms.

The old kingdoms and the army and all the things she could not control were no more than distractions from the cold key in her hand and the colder door behind her. She dreaded sticking the key in the door and turning the jamb to see what lay behind. It terrified her even more than the journey before them. While lonely, terrifying nights lay ahead, the woman lingering alone inside the room frightened Meriam more.

Confronting royalty, begging one to betray her husband, was treason against the order that Meriam built her life upon. Chilling her blood more than that was the woman. It had been weeks since she had left that room. Meriam was not sure what if anything remained of the woman, the Queen of Satar.

Meriam turned away from the girl, clutching the key tight in her hand. The trusted servants had keys to every room. If a king or queen forbade entry to one room, the servants listened and put the keys away till the order was lifted. Using this key was the point of no return. Entering the queen’s room after Eden had forbid it made her a criminal. She supposed that it was a minor offense compared to the things to come. Taking one last breath, she slipped the key into the hole below the knob, turned it till it clicked.

“Nnnnnnn.” A voice, one that sounded almost like a dying animal, squeeked as the door opened.

Meriam rushed in, closing the door behind her to keep the scene from the girl. Guttural noises came from the body covered by a sheet, once white but now badly stained yellow, brown and red. The room stank of sweat and urine and something else foul that Meriam chose not to investigate.

A thin strip of light sneaking through a crack in the thick drapes split the gray dark settled over the rest of the room. The light hit the swollen, pale face propped against a pillow at the headboard. Meriam had attended plenty of deathbeds, but none quite like this where the eternal everafter ached to claim one more life. Even the long sleep pitites this woman.

“I need no attending,” Kendra’s voice mustered every bit of authority she had left. “Please, leave me be.”

Crossing the room, Meriam saw not anger flash in the sagging skin and weary eyes of the queen’s face, but only another level of grief and humiliation that probably had more effect on Meriam than any amount of scolding. She thought of a starving beat dog looking at the woman. Who would do this? How could they? This woman was the jewel of a kingdom, strong and graceful in each elegant step.

“Please,” Kendra begged again.

Mustering the last of her courage, Meriam spoke.

“Lady, I must disobey, and beg that you not suffer any longer under such conditions,” Meriam grabbed the curled left hand of the woman, feeling at least one broken finger. “King Eden is mad. He has allowed a hostile army into the city flying the banner of Isa led by his cousin Cortobrane.”

Meriam stopped as Kendra sobbed loudly, pulling her hand away.

“Leave me, leave me.”

“Lady, I have arranged safe passage from here. A horse, mayhap even two, down behind the stables. We must steal away, immediately. This is the only chance.”

“No, leave me.”

“Lady, I have your daughter ready to flee. Please, she needs her mother.”

Kendra sat up and, for the first time, composed herself at the mention of her daughter. The weeks of torment washed away in that moment, and she assumed her own throne, even if her throne was a tainted bed for an equally tainted couple. Hope tugged at Meriam’s heart. Maybe the woman was not so lost after all.

“Your charge, mistress, is to carry my daughter away from here and care for until the time that she no longer needs such watching. Go now, and if you follow only one of my order, let that be it.”

“I will, my Queen, but please, I have planned for three. I can care for thee also.”

“No,” Kendra straightened the sheet atop her and gave the two lumps at the foot of the bed a cold stare. “My husband has made sure such excursions will not occur for me.”

Following Kendra’s eyes, Meriam took a deep breath before reaching for the sheet and lifting it up. Below was a horror that Meriam had never imagined. Both of Kendra’s ankles were cruelly bent out and broke, huge purple-black mushrooms grew at the joint. The tips of her toes were a faint green. The woman’s feet were soon going to need to be amputated. Vomit stuck in Meriam’s throat. A new sadness sank into Meriam’s heart. There was no way Meriam could get this woman past all the guards in this state. Even if she did, Kendra needed more care than Meriam could give. Kendra’s sad fate was sealed. Meriam allowed herself the first of many tears to escape her right eye.

“No tears, mistress, “ Kendra consoled. “This will all soon end. I fear that I may be lucky to avoid the doom that may come later.”

“I am sorry,” Meriam shook her head. “I should have acted sooner.”

“Hush, woman.” Kendra shrugged her off. “I ask two more things.”

“Anything, my Queen.”

“Go to my dresser in yonder closet,” Kendra pointed and Meriam followed. “In the top drawer, I have my undergarments. Open that drawer and reach far into the back and bring what you find.”

Meriam did as she was bade, reaching deep till her hand found something hard and smooth. Pulling it out, she found she grasped the golden hilt of a small dagger. Gasping, she nearly dropped it before gaining her composure.

“My Queen, I…”

“Hush, child, bring it to me.”

Meriam did as she was bade. When Kendra had the blade, she quickly tucked it under her sheet.

“Now, bring my daughter, I wish to say goodbye to her.”

Meriam hesitated again, but thought better of objecting. Opening the door, the girl stood beyond it, pale and frightened under the dark hood.

“Come in my daughter,” Kendra said.

Evandra broke into a run, and covering the distance in a flash. Equally as quick, she grasped her mother’s hand. The two smiled at one another, and Meriam wanted nothing more than to capture that moment forever. In it was the closeness between a mother and daughter that was like nothing else

“I am too sick my daughter,” Kendra said, Meriam had not even heard the conversation start. “I cannot go with you and Meriam.”

The girl objected, but Kendra brought a finger up to her mouth to stop it before it gained strength.

“It has too be so,” The tears were running uncontrolled now among all three. “I love you. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you mother.”

“You must mind Meriam from now on. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Now embrace me, I have one more thing to say for you ears only.”

Meriam stepped back, understanding that those little words being whispered from mother to daughter were the last the two would share. The girl tensed hearing whatever was said, but did not reveal what it was that her mother passed on. Those words were for Evandra. A secret, mayhap. One that only Kendra knew and that now had passed on to her daughter. Whatver it was, it aged the girl seemingly five years before Meriam’s eyes. When she turned around, the girl was no longer suited for toy figurines and the other trappings of childhood. In fact, she was no longer a girl at all, but a young woman.

Only moments later, they were gone, shutting the door behind them, and hurrying out the royal apartment, down the hall, following the exact route that Meriam had mapped out in her mind the night before. Kendra Perde, wife of Eden, was left to her own, lightly running the sharp tip of the dagger up and down her pale arms. The long dark neared the room then, lingered, entered and patiently waited.

Red CD Project 2: Part 36 - Swords & Thrones

Note: Be sure to check out the section below this, if you have not already. I am itching to finish this, just to see how it ends up. Three more parts, and this part of the tale (at least its first draft) will conclude.

Disc 2
Track 14: Sidewinder - Avenged Sevenfold

"Can't you feel the poison rising"

"Awake, my son." Rudan Perde stood before Ewam in Union Hall, a great light shining behind him. "Awake and take your place."

Standing, Ewam gathered his wits long enough to see that but one throne sat centered in the great hall. Rubbing the back of his head where he knew that a stone had dented just moments before, he walked up to it and studied the ancient seat.

"Father, I cannot."

Smiling, his father spread his arms and the light intensified forcing Ewam to shield his eyes. Ewam nearly backed up into the throne and fell, but he caught his balance at the last moment.

"Beware the sword, my son," His father continued. "Use it, if you must, but always beware."

Now the light subsided, but Ewam could see that with it went his father.

"I love you, father." Ewam shouted hoping the message reached his father.

"Listen for the song, my son."

* * *

"The song of Kings." Ewam mumbled as his eyes fixed on the darkening sky above. Banik's face hovered at the edge of his vision, concerned and bloodied from a shallow gash above his eye.

"We must retreat, my lord," Banik said, offering his hand. Ewam did not know how long he was knocked out, but as he sat up he could tell it was long enough that the was battle was nearing its end. The beasts rising from below the ground, had dviided his infantry. The calvary had reformed a line, but its numbers were dwindling. The archers were firing into the heart of battle, hitting their own men as much as they were the Children. Ewam squinted as a bolt of pain shot through the back of his head to see that the two Elder Dinar remained in the middle of the battle, safely surrounded by the Children.

"We must retreat," Banik pleaded.

The ground began to rumble before them, signaling the coming of another one of those wretched beasts from below. Still shaking off dizziness, Ewam stumbled to his feet. A ridge formed cleary showing the path of the beast directly to where he and Banik stood.

"Lord, we must retreat!" Banik shouted.

"Hush, hush," Ewam cocked his ear to the sky waiting to be sure he heard the faint notes of a tune hitting his ears. A toothy-grin split open his face, as his heart confirmed what he ears wanted to hear. Facing away from the coming beast, he hand found the grip of the sword. The song, full of trumpets and deep barotone voices chanting in the ancient language, grew to defeaning decibels. Seconds pulsed in his bloodstream and behind him the moaning of earth being churned grew, but he waited with Banik's panicked eyes watching. "Now!" The voice came from the sword and Ewam answered without thought.

Spinning, he drew the sword above his head while dropping to his knees. He had time enough to see the great jaws of the beast rise first from the dark turf with soil, worms and grass spotting the pink gums between its huge teeth before it disappeared over his head. The blade sizzled as it cut through the beasts skull and kept slicing like the beast was warm butter as its body kept surging over his head. A fountain of black ooze that Ewam supposed substitued for blood rained down upon him as the two halves of the corpse fell around him.

A scream on the wind caught Ewam's ear, and it took him a moment to realize that it was his voice he was hearing. He kept it up as he spun back to Banik, still wide-eyed with shock and panic. His eyes were on Duna, thrust up high above Ewam's head.

"We stand!" Ewam shouted. "We stand!"

Ewam brought Duna down and he broke into run in the opposite direction. With the sword in his hand, every sense was sharpened. He heard Banik's steps as he followed behind. If this my end, Ewam thought, then it will be an end worthy of the Great Kings.

* * *

"My brother and my wife have betrayed me, cousin." Eden faced away from Cortobrane, his voice echoing in the high ceilings of Union Hall. The fat mayor of Stra risked a look behind with a smirk to his doubters, Mr. Vedder and Mr. Itor. Cortobrane could not fight smiling, he had never reached such a level of satisfaction.

Cortobrane had not entirely trusted the woman enough to believe that Eden and Ewam would allow him to ride an army bearing the ancient symbols of Isa into Omet, but the woman must have had some sort of spy inside the palace or even some of sort dark powers with her mind. He did not doubt her now, and he'd tell her that the night he made her queen. Before then, he had two kings of Satar to dispose. One was before him. The other, apparently, was riding west to Nocnil, hopefully to meet his doom.

Cortobrane wanted very much to just draw the ancient sword at his hip and do away with Eden right now, but he knew that Vedder and Itor would never allow that sort of succession. His rise to the throne had to come naturally, meaning he had to use all his stealth to assure that Eden's days drew to a quick and neat close.

"Unforgivable," Cortbrane rushed, nearly forgetting that Eden had spoke. "But not entirely a surprise."

"Unforgivable," Eden mumbled, maybe in agreement or just to hear the word again.

"I warned you of this long ago, do you remember," Cortobrane dared another step closer to Eden. He had always loathed both twins, but this was not the same Eden he had known growing up. That Eden had been cocky, self-assured and regal beyond comparison. This man was disheveled and unbalanced. Cortobrane thought even perhaps on the edge of madness. All of which was an advantage for Cortobrane, but one had to be careful around lunatics. "This sharing the throne business was never a good idea. Your own mother, my dear aunt, believed it to be so."

"Do not speak about my mother," Eden growled. "I know her mind well."

"I... I beg your leave. I only wish to serve you. The true King, as your mother and father knew. Your brother has always been false, you were only too close to see it."

"Unforgivable." Cortobrane thought he heard Eden whisper again.

"The woman, ah, the queen, well scandal only comes naturally to her family, but to betray you with your brother. That is an act of treason."

"Hmmm." Eden raised his left hand to his temple and began to rub.

Cortrobrane stepped closer, daring to grasp Eden's elbow firmly. Leaning in close, he drew Eden toward the front of Union Hall where the two thrones sat. Such a silly idea, two men ruling a kingdom, Cortbrane thought then whispered.

"The old blood rises, my lord. The time of Satar ends. The time of two kings ends."

Something flashed acrossed Eden's face, a brief moment where he almost gained hold of his former self, but that disappeared as Cortobrane brought the green blade with the red pommel.

"They have betrayed you, my lord. Treason has but one penalty."

"Hmmm." Eden's eyes glassed over, truly seeing the sword known as Fangen.

"Take the sword, my lord. Take your seat. No longer one of two kings of Satar, but the true king of Isa."

Eden's hand wavered as hw removed it from his temple and held it out for the sword. Cortobrane nearly pulled away, the damn thing had a way about it. He always wanted with him, touching his skin. He reminded himself that Eden would not have long. Not if things went the way he planned.

Eden's fingers curled around the sword, and every muscle in his face tensed as he did. Bringing the blade up to his face, a final wave grief flared out of Eden's mouth in a howl. The malice and rage within the sword burned away the last remaining bits of his sanity. Growling, he rushed forward toward his brothers throne.

"Unforgivable!" He growled as he brought the sword down in one harsh stroke. A flash of brillant red and green flame accompanied it, as it split the seat and caught fire. The immense heat torched the throne in only a matter of moments. When it was nothing more than tinder, Eden looked to his own throne. Standing beside it was his mother fully dressed for coronation.

"Take thy place, my son." She spoke once. He never hesitated, easing, as he had been taught long ago by appirition now standing only his mind to the right, into the seat.

"All hail King Eden of Isa!" Cortobrane shouted and went to his knee. The two men followed behind him as if puppets the man pulled on a string. His mother whispered once more before disappearing again into the recesses of his mind.

"All hail King Eden, the one true king. It is time for those betrayers of his faith to pay for their trangressions."

Red's CD Project 2: Part 35 - Legends born

Note: I kept putting this off for some reason and I am not sure why. I sat down today and pounded it all out in two writing sessions. The editing may be off. I reverted back to using my old lab top with updated software, but a very stripped down version of Word. The new house has afforded a work space that will maybe help me get this writing thing off its feet. We'll see.


Disc 2
Track 13: Waiting Hare - Buckethead

"You call me today, with your enemies; You call me today, with your infinite dreams"


All the old legends spoke of the hero, Tarek Grandar. The man that rose from obscurity and strange birth from the weak and impoverished class of folks in Marek and became king. The man that climbed to the height of Kekur and carved from the face of Old Moon the sword known as Lunar. The same sword that tore through Salama Blackblood and cast him into the his desert tomb. The same man that cut through the heavens and unleashed Belnor, dividing the land and its people.

Those legends passed through the lips and hearts of every man and child on each side of Belnor for an age. The thought of him, the immortal image, brought hope and joy and safety. The folks of the world gave thanks for Tarek Grandar at morning meal and at night when their weary heads hit soft pillows.

But time forgets the details of legends. If not time, then man does by picking and choosing what he cares to remember. Folks ignore that Marek fell under Grandar's rule. Its people were cast into lots, some banished, ruined and cursed to linger in shadows. Oan Stoneheart and his one-eyed companion know those faces well. They met a few en route to the witch's cave, and that confrontation was nearly the pairs undoing. Others, while not banished or ruined, were cursed just the same to stand and wait in the graveyard of what once was great with only a fool's hope that that greatness would come again.

Oan Stoneheart, brave and ture, surely knew little of these other legends, or of the madness that slowly ate away Grandar before one day disappearing through a certain door with three diamond-shaped panes of glass tucked away in some dingy cave in the foothills of Marek, as he stood before the sealed stone slab doors of the great palace of Metahischoo. Oan Stoneheart had not the memories or thoughts to draw on. Neither did his one-eyed friend, also cursed and perhaps ruined in his own way. For the two had traveled long and far, and in their hearts enough gladness had settled over their worry and weariness to take pride in reaching their destination through snow and wind and one dreadful path ironically called Veris.

What need for worry did they have at this deserted palace where the only voices were those of ghosts? While the stone doors were huge, and no doubt heavy, they would find a way in. Every palace had its front doors and its back doors and side entrances. Surely even Tarek Grandar's great hall had a place for the low folk to slip in and out. They would find one and be inside.

For now, they were pleased because neither were thinking about a small group of leftovers that the witch had slyly mentioned in what seemed like a long ago meeting. For now, they did not see the eyes peering from nooks and crannies of the mountain and buried cleverly in hallowed snow drifts. They were eyes trained for watching and able, if not eager, to kill. Nestor would have understood those eyes, very well. For he too once had been charged with watching an ancient legend. He too understood that after awhile, a little excitement, a little swordplay, was welcomed. It broke up the monotony of such a life with such a calling. Those eyes were eager for anything after an age of nothing.

Oan did not see them. Nestor either. Their collective joy ignored the hairs raising on their necks. Those slight hairs that always seem to know when someone is watching, that someone was waiting to strike, that death was very near.

* * *

Ewam watched in horror as the Elder Dinar trotted half the distance between the two armies. His cavalry line already had huge gaps after the archer's volleys had little effect. The large Children, as Banik called them, shrugged off the little pricks of the arrows. The smaller Children dodged falling arrows with uncanny ability. While others only stopped bit off arrows if possible or simply snapped off limbs that were rendered useless by wounds.

Ewam called for the charge, but the cavalry, which was twice the size of the force before them, barely made a dent. The beasts they were fighting were not like men that slowed with wounds and quickly died. These things were tenacious, blood-thristy, soulless, and worst perhaps of all, hungry. Even when mortally wounded, they kept on, biting, clawing, screeching, maiming. Victorious Children stopped and fed on their opponents in the middle of battle, sucking, gouging, tearing and relishing in flesh.

They also worked in tandem. The small ones, some no bigger than street vermin, bit at ankles and climbed up backs distracting Ewam's soldiers long enough for the big ones to strike fatal blows. It had been only minutes into the battle, but the hopelessness grew by the moment in the pit of his stomach.

Ewam, Banik and the rest of the generals had yet to engage in the battle. They watched from a rise, waiting to call in the infantry, his last line, to attack. Once the infantry moved, Ewam and the rest would go too. How, he thought, could so few decimate an army his size so quickly? How did the world stand a chance?

As if reading his thoughts, the Elder Dinar started their march onto the field of battle. Ewam now understood how foolish he had been to think two was surely not enough to stand against him. Banik had corrected him sharpely and justly. At this rate, Ewam wondered if the dark army even needed those two.

"Be ready," Banik fingered the sword that once was Ewam's. "Be ready." This second time was softer, private.

Ewam reached for his sword, but something in his head whispered, "not yet."

A circle formed around the two black-robed figures and the two hellish beasts they rode. The Children, while starving for more blood, served the Dinar before their own hunger. The Dinar lifted their arms, from Ewam's vantage it was hard to make out the fragile, green hands peeking out. Above the sky turned dark without any clouds to block away light and below the ground started to hum, then buzz. Ewam could not hear over the noise of battle, but he thought the Dinar were chanting. The words echoed faintly in the air.

"Heavens and fires," Commander Robare Lews appeared beside Ewam, his arm pointing to the ground before them. "What is happening?" Ewam followed the man's finger down to the ground feet before them. The dark earth below the yellowing grass was splintering like glass dropped on stone.

"BE READY!" Banik shouted drawing his sword.

The warning proved late for Ewam and Commander Lews. Springing from below the surface of the world came a haggared, slitted-eyed creature with a pointed noise and huge round mouth. Trailing behind it was a long, cylindrical body with thousands of dark, bent legs to push it through soil. Ewam's horse reared in time to throw him away from the creature, but not quick enough for him to miss the sight of Lews' head and shoulders disappearing into the hurdling mouth of the creature, which never ceased moving. The creature snapped the upper-half of Lews clean off save for his spine that tore free and dragged along with creature till it sank back into the ground. That was all Ewam witnessed before landing with a hard thud on the back of his head.

Everything went dark, and he remembered thinking in that instant, that he may not see light again.

* * *

"Who is that?" Evandra pointed down to the street from the balconey high above. Her finger led to a fat man riding a poor, tired steed. His armor reflected the sun, but Meriam shielded her eyes enough to see the green dragon etched and painted across the front. King Eden stood below at the entrace of Union Hall, clearly waiting to welcome the man. Squinting, Meriam could make out enough to recognize the fat man.

"Cortobrane," Meriam whispered and Evandra turned her ear up. The girl had always been stout, but she had lost dozens of pounds since first hearing that cursed call.

"Our cousin from Stra?" Evandra wrinkled her eyebrow. "Father and Uncle Ewam never liked him."

"He should not be here." Meriam said. "He should not and he should not be wearing that."

Meriam forced her eyes away and knew this was her only chance. Grabbing the girl by the shoulder, she turned her and knelt to meet her squarely.

"Do you trust me, Evandra?" Meriam asked.

"Aye, madam, I do."

"Then trust me when I say that we have to leave here," Meriam let a tear slip from her eye. "We must leave here, get away from your father and this place."

The girl dropped her chin to her chest and let out a sniffle.

"I know." She croaked out the answered Meriam hoped to hear without much conjoling.

"Good, we must pack," Meriam rushed back into the girl's bedroom. "I have arranged a horse."

"Mistress Meriam," the girl followed behind.

"Yes girl."

"Will we take mother?" She stalked over to the bed and sat.

"Aye, if she'll let us, I will," Meriam answered tossing clothes that looked the least regal from the girl's wardrobe into a burlap sack. She also pocketed some jewelry that did not look important, but that would bring good trade.

"If she does not let us take her?"

"Girl, I'll try, that's all I can promise."

501 Must-See Movies: 'Blazing Saddles' to 'Bridge on the River Kwai, The'

Note: This is a pretty good set. I especially love it when my bookends are two very good movies cause then at least the title reads better. I have also come to question some of the validity of the book. For the third week in a row, I have found index errors which frustrate my attempts to build this post and make me wonder what else they are messing up. I know it happens, but we aren't even through the B's yet.

Blazing Saddles: 1974, USA (Comedy)

I have always thought of this as the greatest comedy ever made. Brook's not only spoofs westerns, but Hollywood and the Blaxploitation movement of the 70's. Endings have always seemed to be a rough spot for comedies and Brooks' especially, but the sprawling brawl out into the other sets of Hollywood just seems to work. I have always thought the open use of the N word in the movie adds a bit of guts and credibility to the film. Plus I love everything Gene Wilder does.

Bluebeard's Eighth Wife: 1938, USA (Comedy)

Ernst Lubitisch apparently made lots of great comedies in the early days of Hollywood. I was more interested to see Gary Cooper in a comedy.

The Blues Brothers: 1980, USA (Musical)

This is still the best thing to ever come out of Saturday Night Live. The film is full of quotable lines and good music. Belushi and Aykroyd some how both come off as straight men in a slap stick comedy. It is a good celebration of Chicago and over the top in its final moments. Interesting trivia from the book: There are 5 directors that appear in the film and it holds the record for most cars crashed.

Born Yesterday: 1950, USA (Comedy)

The book says this is more than a screwball comedy. Judy Holliday plays the dumb blonde that learns pretty quick or something like that.

Braveheart: 1995, USA (Action/Adventure & Epic)

This is probably the first modern day epic film. It is full of large scale battles, blood & guts, and over the top heroism. Plus this was back when Mel Gibson was still sorta sane. An all right movie in my book.

Brazil: 1985, Great Britian (Science Fiction & Fantasy)

Terry Gilliam created a dystopian future that is his therapy session on everything he hates about western culture. It sounds interesting and I like Gilliam's work usually. Need to find a copy.

The Breakfast Club: 1985, USA (Comedy)

The is probably one of the most iconic 80's movies and really invented the teen movie. It still seems relevant today which is something you can't say for most movies made in the same era. Judd Nelson in his finest moment, except for maybe the Transformers movie. His tirade of a day at his house compared to Molly Rigwald's character is classic.

Breakfast at Tiffany's: 1961, USA (Romance)

Everyone talks about this movie and most probably haven't even seen it, myself included. It seems to be more a pop culture reference than anything else. It's name instantly brings to mind that one song, yeah you know the one I'm talking about. Or the episode of Seinfeld where George ends up going to a stranger's apartment because they rented the last copy of Breakfast at Tiffany's and he needs to watch it. Still Audrey Hepburn's role is a Hollywood icon despite her feelings that she was miscast.

Bride of Frankenstein: 1935, USA (Horror)

It is noted that most believe this sequel was better than the original Frankenstein movie. I need to find some of these old Boris Karloff movies and finally experience it for myself.

The Bridge on the River Kwai: 1957, Great Britian (War)

I've seen this war classic. It is a great movie. Alec Guinness is excellent and helps to solidify in my mind why he was so heralded having on seen him in Star Wars prior to this. He leads a group of POWs that are tasked with building a bridge to help move Japanese munitions. American and British forces are plotting to blow the bridge, but Guinness's character has taken so much pride in his men for building the bridge, he works to thwart the plans of demolition.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 34 – Thunder Before the Storm

Note: This was a challenge, especially in trying to find a lyric that did not resemble a video game too much. Really this is the last teaser till battle, and while I think I wander a bit here, its a nice way to get things going. I'll try not to leave you hanging too long for the next part.

Disc 2
Track 12: N.E.S. by YTCracker

“Then pop those rats like a cyst.”

The final lines of the letter drifted through Kendra’s fevered, failing mind. It lingered always on the edge of her dreams and thoughts, till blowing across, wiping all else away. Her music teacher had called such abrupt, starling thoughts resets. When they came, the best thing to do was start again. Reset yourself as she would say, and in the case of music, then start the song over.

That was what the lines were doing to her delirium. Resetting, so the long play of events could run through again.

He wrote:
“Once we rode to Thunder Sted, out where the wildflowers kiss the sky. I’ll keep that with me as I venture into the darkness, and pray someday I shall return there to you waiting at the door of my father’s old cabin.”

The words brought brief sweet memories of his strong, tan arms wet with sweat and with thousands of specks of green plastered up and down them from working out frustration on the fields of beans, barely and alfalfa. Whenever he was on the brink of going wild, he always ran to the fields where he let the rich soil of central Satar clot his wounds. He had escaped there for a month after the Reap Ball, slaving beside common folks, clearings fields and trying to forget her. He almost worked her out of his system, when she showed up at his father’s cabin in her blue-faded riding dress. The sun glowed orange like it only does in autumn as it started to depart the world for another day.

Once the lines passed through her head, the glimpse of happiness crumbled. She heard Eden’s mad laughter rumble from the fields that were barren. The sky opened and a pair of blazing red eyes glared down. Overruling all was the call. “Come.”

That forced her back into reality. To her bed and the numb pain coming from her left leg. More than anything she wanted to run, but knew she could not. Eden had more sure of that.

She thought it was light enough to read the letter one more time before Eden returned. Searching out with her hand, she found where the feather mattress met the bed rail. She had stuffed it there for safekeeping, so she thought.

Frantically scanning the length of the bed, she let out a wail. It was gone and she knew only one person could have taken it.

“I have lost him!” She wailed, not caring who heard. “I have lost him forever!”

* * *

A thousand things should have been going through Ewam’s mind, as he sat upon his steed in the field before Stra with the abonimation scattered in frenzied ranks howling, hissing and clawing at the ground before him. He should have been gauging range for the archer’s vollies and reinforcing flanks. Instead, he thought of Brashaw, the toothless rancher that managed Thunder Sted for his father and now for he and his brother.

Brashaw rose with the crops and lived among them with his flat-brim hat stained a dull brown, his denim trousers cuffed above pointed boots, and his eyes constantly slitted as if staring directly into a bright light at all times. The man’s hand were pocked with bilsters callused thrice times over. He spoke with a lazy, tired tongue from a mouth that did not have time to converse, and interspersed curses between words to make sure you knew it. It did not matter a wit that Ewam was a prince, nor later a king. As Brashaw saw it, kings and queens came and went, work never left and he had plenty of it to keep him occupied.

For months, once nearly a year, at a time, Brashaw became his father when Ewam stayed at Thunder Sted well outside of Omet. His true father, King Rudan of Satar, believed that lessons were taught and learned just as well in the fields as they were in the walls of Union Hall. When Ewam and Eden stayed at Thunder Sted, they stayed as workers, not as princes, and Brashaw never thought any different.

Ewam cherished the excursions to Thunder Sted. Only there was he devoid of lofty expectations and royal behavior. On the Sted, he was a worker expected to carry his share and that’s all that Ewam had ever wanted. Managing a kingdom did not interest him, and while leading an army came quite naturally, he preferred weeding a field. It was quiet, physical labor. Eden’s enthusiam for the Sted never equaled his brothers. Eden’s regal standard did not impress Brashaw. The man demanded Eden to slouch, to bend, to swear, to spit, anything, but Eden’s usual parade of chivalry and manners.

Ewam had not seen Brashaw since assuming the throne after his father’s passing all those years ago. While the man’s grizzled, ghastly face sometimes touched Ewam’s mind, it was the first thing that came to mind when they arrived upon the field and viewed their enemies. It was his face as it had been that first trip to stay at the Sted.

The dry heat all the years ago had both Ewam and Eden’s heads aching. They were young, perhaps eight or nine years of age, and working thier first true day on the cracked, arid field of maize. Brashaw had them carrying buckets of water to the fields from a sad little creek that ran nearby. The twins, near exhausted had stopped and plopped in the soft bed of the creek and there they stayed splashing and giggling while the rest of the hands worked hard. When Brashaw got wind of it, he was down to the creek quicker than one could ever thought a man his age could manage.

“You cullys,” He growled the best he could without teeth and both boys bolted up from the water. “You cullys to me! Days burning up crops, youse buggers arn burnin’ my britches and I’ll burn you’se.”

Half of what Brashaw said was lost to most hearing him, but the point was across. The twins rushed to him, pale and shaking. As they climbed the bank, slipping as the dust turned to mud under their feet, they noticed for the first time movement within the slender weeds.

“The crops need fed, my cullys,” Brashaw spit without meaning to and the saliva hung from his chin. He had a shake that Ewam noticed when they met, but had forgot about till then. The man was solid, but frail and he shook steadily, especially in the hands. “Can’t feed blessed crops posion. Stay out of the water, cullys.”

With unnatural speed, the man bent and snatched his hand into the weeds pulling out a rat that neither boy had even seen. The rat squirmed in his hands whose grasp, Ewam knew, was like a blacksmith’s vise.

“Pop the rats, cullys,” Brashaw sneered. “They poison the waters, my cullys. Pop’em like pussing bumps on your arses.”

Brashaw squeezed tigthier till the rat’s squirming ceased and then tossed it to the ground.

“Gets to work.” Brashaw walked away.

Clouds hung above Stra and a foul stench wafted in his nose when the air shifted from that direction. The force before him was perhaps only five hundred strong although the numbers were hard to gauge. There were no real soldiers. Only the beasts, no two alike, and all like nothing Ewam had ever seen. One that he could make out stood upright like a man, but with the furry legs of a bear and huge paws to match, and his chest was bare and his face was one half man, one half boar including a huge tusk that prutuded out from its jaw. Others had four, six and perhaps even eight legs and ranged in size from no bigger than a field mouse to the girth of an elephant.

“They are called the Children, my lord,” Banik whispered into his ear. “Offspring of Salama, no doubt. Although, the smaller ones may be children of the Elder Dinar, they too span evil critters.”

“We’ll pop them like rats,” Ewam said thinking of his old mentor. As he did, two riders garbed in black robes on beasts that resembled horses save for the legs that were thick like tree trunks and mouths that gleamed with sharp teeth cantered to the front of the beast army.

“Those be Elder Dinar,” Banik said. “My blood runs cold sure of it.”

“Only two,” Ewam replied. “Is that all they think it’ll take.”

Without a moments pause, Banik answered and Ewam’s own blood froze.

“It rarely takes more than one, my lord,” Banik said. “Keep a close watch, they attack from places we can’t even see.”

One of the Dinar brought a horn to where its lips no doubt were under the dark hood and blew. A high-pitch squeel sounded out, the beast army within a moment formed flawless, bloodthirsty ranks. Many of Ewam’s force clasped at their ears, one man only a few feet away fell to his knees with a stream of blood running from his nose. After a moment, he toppled over and started convulsing.

The Dinar, who did not blow the horn, pointed toward Ewam’s force once after the sound came to an end. The Children sprang forward, some of them actually jumped twenty or maybe even thirty feet with one leap. The howling and hissing picked up.

Ewam lifted up his fist, the calvary came to the front his lines. Far behind, he heard the sound of five thousand bows being strung at once. One final time, Brashaw’s face and voice came to his mind. “Pop’em like pussing bumps on your arses.”

Pumping his fist three times into the air, he gave out his battle cry.

“For Satar! For the Light! For all of man!” Dropping his fist, he reached for Kekur, touched it once before thrusting his hand up one more time. “No mercy!”

501 Must-See Movies: 'The Bicycle Thief' to 'The Blair Witch Project'

Not the big blockbuster group this week. But it seems to be full of good movies, several I have seen. We seem to be big on the horror/mystery genres this week.

The Bicycle Thief: 1948, Italy (Drama)

A simple tale of life in poverty stricken post-war Rome. This is often cited as the greatest film ever made.

Big: 1988, USA (Comedy)

I have always liked this movie. It related to kids and adults alike. Hanks is spot on playing a 12 yr old trapped in a 30 something's body. This is one of Hank's best comedy movies before he turned into big budget mega star in the 90's.

The Big Country: 1958, USA (Western)

I am unsure reading about this movie whether I would like it or not. It stars Gregory Peck & Charlton Heston, two of my favorite old time actors, but the story sounds a little jumbled. It was also a Technirama movie which can make it look funny now a days on flat screens.

The Big Heat: 1953, USA (Mystery & Thriller)

This film was ahead of its time its use of violence to add depth to a complex plot. The classic noir follows a maverick cop out for revenge.

The Big Lebowski: 1998, USA/GB (Comedy)

This is an all time classic for my generation. The Cohen brothers weave a crazy plot that is usual fashion provides plenty of strange characters and quotable lines. The Dude (Jeff Bridges) is an easy going bowling bum. John Goodman is a Vietnam vet who is still obsessed with 'over there'. Steve Buscemi's character hardly gets any words out before a "Shut the fuck up!" from Goodman. I find it amazing whenever I talk to people, at least males, in my age bracket that have not seen this movie. "The dude abides."

The Big Red One: 1980, USA (War)

I think this movie's claim to fame is that it stars Mark Hamill and is not called Star Wars. WWII squadron, The Big Red One, only has 5 surviving members after their missions. It is a no holds barred look at war and the grim reality of it. "Survival is the only glory in war"

The Big Sleep: 1946, USA (Mystery & Thriller)

This is one of those classic Humphery Bogart movies. The classic noir features a convoluted plot with many twists and turns. Lauren Bacall is Bogart's love interest in the film and real life at the time. The dialogue is full of double entendres and the subject matter of sex, gambling and blackmail was pushing the envelope for 1946.

The Birds: 1963, USA (Horror)

This is one of only two horror films Hitchcock made despite it being what he is most recognized for. This is a great example of his genius. The movie passes for a romantic comedy before the world turns to crap. The character's relaxed manner is believe while the viewers are continuously fed ominous clues of the doom to come.

Blade Runner: 1982, USA (Science Fiction & Fantasy)

I watched this movie once because there is always alot of talk about this movie. I don't think I paid enough attention, because I didn't get it. The book references Harrison's Deckard being a play off Bogart's Marlowe from the previously mentioned 'The Big Sleep'.

The Blair Witch Project: 1999, USA (Horror)

This movie took horror to a new level. The marketing around this movie was a true 21st Century idea. It created the buzz needed to pull of the movie as real. The camera work was nauseating and lead to several imitators over the past ten years.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 33 – The chase begins

Note: This came out very easily, despite not really following the outline I had came up with to start this last seven parts. I don't think I've updated this for awhile, we are at 132 pages, 57, 485 words.

Disc 2

Track 11: The Chase is Better Than the Catch by Motorhead

“I’ve got a bad reputation, I don’t care, I get my share. Don’t feel no deprivation.”

“Nestor, I see you!”

Nestor surged awake, grasping the edge of the path behind him and cutting his hand on a sharp corner of the stone cliff. The cursed path called Veris that led to the dead palace of Metahischoo was barely wide enough here for him to lie flat on his back. One wrong roll and an endless drop would follow.

The air was frigid, but for once Nestor did not feel it. Instead, a cold sweat broke across his wrinkled and scarred forehead as the woman’s voice echoed inside his head. Between gusts of wind, he could hear the boy snoring lightly. Oan, as always, was comfortably asleep despite the cold and the snow.

If the voice had been but a dream, it would have slipped out of his mind as soon as he was greeted by the freezing air and the long drop so close to each side. But it had not been a dream, for it was not the first time a voice had visited him so. Never had it been a woman before, but the clarity, the force of the words had him sure that he would be wise to avoid closing his eyes.

As if the being calling him could hear his thoughts, he could feel sleep pulling at him. He fought it, but the power denied his escape. His lids grew heavy; the clouded sky above was replaced by dark, infinite dark.

“Why do you run from me, Nestor?” The voice boomed. Nestor clutched at ears that were not really there. Fighting it, he was back on the Veris path listening to the boy snore.

Before he could force himself up, he was jerked back into the darkness.

“I grow weary of this,” the woman’s voice came from all around and echoed as if shouted from the top of Kekur. He was not sure he had a body here, but if he did, he was sure that he had just dropped to his knees.

“What spirit is this that haunts me this night,” Nestor cried out. In comparasion to the woman’s voice, his was a hoarse whisper. “Leave me be.”

“Leave you be,” the woman laughed. “Do you believe that our master has not kept a watch on thee?”

“Shut up!” Nestor wept.

There was silence save for his heavy sobbing, but he knew that he was not alone. He sensed sharp teeth set in heavy jaws all around ready to clamp down. Even here where his body was disconnected, he made to scratch under his arms. The flaming itch was constant now. Being so far away, it was the prickle of memory that kept him tied to his awful past. That and the scars in his face, but he did not see those and they no longer irritated him, except for the missing eye. There was a burning there that flared up sometimes when the sun kissed the horizon, but in the frozen world of the mountains that rarely occurred.

“You’ve begun the change,” the woman returned. He could sense the smirk on her lips.

“Who are you?” Nestor shouted again.

“An ally, man of the sand,” the voice answered. “One who wishes an audience with you and with your charge.”

“Shove your audience. … you witch!” The thought occurred to him. “It’s you, isn’t it? Back to haunt me. The boy said you went the through door, but it was more than I could hope. Well, get out of my head, I do not wish your consul.”

There was a pause, but the darkness did not break.

“What door, Nestor?” The voice was softer now, looking to pry new information out.

“The Do. …” He began then stopped. “Who are you?”

“Enough with the games,” Her voice was filled with impatience. “Our Master requires youre obedience, do you give it?”

“I know not what you speak of.” He was not one for sobbing, but he could not stop himself here.

“Do not be a dolt. Our Master shares much with me, he has shown me you’re dark heart, one-eyed man.”

“You lie!”

“You betrayed your post.”

“Shut it!”

“You betrayed your wife!”

“Never!”

“You robbed your own son of his most cherished!”

“I was tricked.” The sobs gave him away.

“Now you shall do it again.”

“No.”

“Where are you Nestor? Where is he?”

Nestor fought against the darkness, trying to wake this nightmare. He was done betraying others. Being away from the cursed sand had restored his sense of right to see that. The boy was hid redemption. He was sure of it.

“Where is he, Nestor?”

“You can’t have him!” As if shoving off a great boulder, Nestor lifted up and the darkness started to dissipate. Thrusting up again, clouds peeked through the bleakness. One more thrust, and he was out. Sitting up along the path drenched in sweat. Opening his eyes and looking up the boy was staring back at him wide-eyed, the woman’s voice one last time.

“I see him!” She exclaimed. “And the mountain. You shall cross the Belnor soon. We shall meet then.”

Nestor wanted to clasp his hands to his ears, but he could not let the boy see it. His stomach tossed about, and he unleashed it contents down the drop to his right.

“I thought you may take the plunge the way you were thrashing about,” Oan said. “Does Veris bring nightmares to thee old man of the sand?”

“Aye, it must, my boy,” he stammered whipping away at his mouth. “It’s already leaving my head though.”

Surprisingly, the boy smiled then. As they traveled longer together, the grins had become more frequent. Nestor wished it were not so.

“It’s always best when they slip away. No one needs those memories lingering.” The boy stood up turned back toward the palace. They would reach it today for sure.

“Aye, my boy. It is best to forget,” Nestor whispered and scratched under his arm. “It tis. It tis.”

* * *

The four Dinar knelt before Hatala, who sat upon the Cortobrane’s padded mayorial seat. Getting the Dinar to their knees had taken a lot of subtle coaxing, but her claws where too entrenched in their ancient nerves for them to withstand any longer. It was her boots they licked now. She was their Master. One day, Salama would bend to her will. She was sure of it. The boy was the key… and perhaps this door that the fool man spoke of. She was destined to bear a god. Her spot as mother would yield a rank nearly as high.

“My time in Stra ends tonight,” Hatala said.

Neros rose to object, but one wave of her hand sent him back down.

“The boy approaches the palace, from there he’ll cross the Belnor. I shall be there to greet him.”

“And of the battle before us.” Neros forced out an objection before she could wave it away.

“The twins,” Hatala looked down upon Lars and Het, “and the children shall handle this so-called king of Satar. Neros and Mahmet, you two shall accompany me east.”

All four Dinar bowed their heads in acknowledgement of her command. Rising from the seat, she felt the tingle of bliss drip from her fingertips.

“Great days approach, my subjects. Great days, indeed.”

501 Must-See Movies: 'Band Wagon, The' to 'Best Years of Our Lives, The'

The list weakens this week after a pretty good one last time. There are 2 true classics in here and 1 that is more notorious than the other 9 put together.

The Band Wagon: 1953, USA (Musical)

Another Fred Astaire classic that apparently should top most serious musical lover's list. Astaire was 'probably never better.'

Barefoot in the Park: 1967, USA (Romance)

Robert Redford and Jane Fonda star in the Neil Simon adapted screenplay. The young couple live in a 5th floor flat with no elevator. The stairs seemingly steal the show.

Basic Instinct: 1992, USA (Mystery & Thriller)

I shamefully admit that I have never seen this movie. Still the leg crossing scene is beyond infamous. Michael Douglas and Sharon Stone lead this combination of violence, sex and mystery.

Batman: 1989, USA (Science Fiction & Fantasy)

This movie took Batman from the over the top slapstick of the Adam West days and back into the dark tortured character that he really is. Nicholson plays a great Joker and maybe his best role ever with the freedom to be as outrageous as possible. I think I prefer Christian Bale's new Batman to Keaton's though.

Battleground: 1949, USA (War)

The only name I recognize in the cast list is Ricardo Montalban. A grimly honest look at war in contrast to the normal romantic, glorified view that was common of the time. The movie focuses on a suffering of a group of soldiers with no glorification on any individual serviceman.

The Bedford Incident: 1965, USA (War)

This is a classic suspenseful cause of a submarine. The movie is said to reflect on the madness that could spark the Cold War at any moment.

Belle de jour: 1967, France/Italy (Drama)

A woman is torn between two lives, her meek existence in her newlywed home and her under cover sexual desires working in a brothel. Extremely edgy subject matter for its time, but this is France.

Bend of the River: 1952, USA (Western)

This western brought about an edgier, tougher Jimmy Stewart after his earlier, more charming movies. In sort of a classic old west arch, Stewart is trying to escape his criminal past when he meets back up with a former partner.

Ben-Hur: 1959, USA (Action/Adventure & Epic)

Pretty sure this movie is the definition of Epic. The chariot race alone takes up 20 minutes except that the entire film is almost 4 hours. The movie is grand on all accounts and Heston continues to appear larger than life playing another biblical times character. It shares the record for most Oscars with Titanic.

The Best Years of Our Lives: 1946, USA (Drama)

This movie tackles the subject of men returning from war and how they integrate back into society, still a relevant issue today. The 3 men seemingly came back alright until everything begins to unravel for them.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 32 – Transgressions

Note: Well I suppose I have some explaining to do. First, been super busy. Second, lost internet connection twice during writing of this part. Thrice, I just never really got my heart or head fully behind this part. With 7 parts left, I've went a little into panic mode on how to wrap everything up, while working with the lyrics and songs. I did some brainstorming the other night. Hopefully, it will help things run logically.

Disc 2
Track 10: Spaceman by The Killers

“I’m fine but I hear voices at night sometimes.”

Servants scurried around the hallways of the palace in desperate search for King Eden. They rushed about in a fever of urgency, bumping into each other, knocking forgotten silver trays and goblets from each other’s hands, letting them crash to the stone floor where they remained to be kicked off to side by the next passerby. Meriam kept to the sides, in silent horror at the chaos with the mounting disorder turning her stomach. Finding the man was paramount to anything else, any other charge, but she wondered what the man was really going to do.

She had been outside of Union Hall this morning, having just delivered breakfast to Evandra and leaving the tray for her mother Kendra to be ingnored outside her door. The scout that arrived was barely old enough to handle a steed, but his report to the guards was as sound as it was terrfying. The boy reported an army, about 10,000 strong, under a green dragon banner approaching the city from the north. While the histories of the old world were banned in the capital city of Satar, everyone knew the dragon was the sign of Isa. In these dark times, there were murmers already that the ancient army had rose from the dead to reclaim its home.

Sulking along the hallway connecting the royal apartments, Meriam’s mind continued to dwell upon the Queen. The woman had not left her room in two weeks with the only one allowed in being the King, whom Meriam knew did nothing other than ravage her. Both the queen and the princess where prisoners to their rooms, guarded from the call to run west to Nocnil and the evil residing there and isolated from the rest world, as well. The King ignored his daughter, who grew more weary, thin and pale by the day.

The Queen was a ghost, even when Meriam delivered the note from Ewam, she refused to open the door, insisting that Meriam slip it underneath. Meriam did as she was bade, and listened as the once proud woman on the opposite side must have crawled in agony over from the bed to retrieve it. Meriam understood then, Ewam had the Queen’s heart as well. Loving the man, without being able to have him, was something Meriam understood very well.

Meriam had wanted to read the letter herself. See what it was that Ewam had to say to his brother’s wife that he could not say to his brother. Considering Eden’s behavior, she was not surprised that Ewam held secret council with Kendra. Meriam wondered if he knew what his words meant to the tortured Queen. Men, she thought, never considred the feelings of women one bit. Ewam certainly never considered Meriam’s feelings. Of course that would be ridiculus. She was, after all, a servant, and he a king.

Moving down the hallway, she paid very little attention to the open door to the apartment that was once occupied by Ewam and Eden’s mother. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of both kings. It did not register that the door had not been opened since the day the former Queen died. It was only when she heard the voice that she snapped from her internal quandaries.

“It’s all here in his hand.” It was Eden’s voice, but it was bent and twisted till it was nearly unrecognizable.

“I know mother,” Eden responded, his tone much more normal, yet pained.

“She was disloyal before she took her vows.” The bizarre attempt at a femine voice returned.

“It does not say so,” Eden answered.

“In your heart, you know the truth.”

Eden answered this time with a whimper.

“They laid together and begot a child. One they paraded as yours.”

“It does not say so.”

“You know the truth.”

Eden let out a sob and words in the language she had sometimes heard him use with Ewam. The only difference was that the usual affection that dripped from the unique words was replaced with a mad sorrow.

Moving past the door, Meriam was able to get a view inside. Across the room, Eden sat upon his knees before the open doors that led to a balconey. Held out in his hand was a folded piece of parchment. Meriam clasped her hands to her mouth to snuff out a moan. It was the note from Ewam to Kendra that she had slipped under the Queen’s door this morning.

“What should I do about them?”

“Put an end…”

“Shush,” Eden interrupted his own attempt at his mother’s voice. “We are not alone.”

Eden stood up and turned around as Meriam started to back away from the door. The shadows left the right side of his face dark save for the pupil of his eye, which glowed like a star in the night sky. Madness engulfed his face, the twists and scars apparaent in the sneer on his lips. Collecting her skirts, Meriam was prepared to run if need be.

“Eavesdropping on the King and his mother is poor manners, Mistress Meriam,” Eden took a step forward. He stopped, and a look crossed his face that acknowledged the absurdity of his statement. Perking his ear up, the looked passed and it was replaced again with the sneer.

“My King, you are not well,” Meriam choked out.

“I am fine save for my subject’s disobedience.” Eden stepped closer, reaching for the sword at his belt.

“Your mother, she’s de…”

The words did not finish as a pair shoulders armored and stout crossed her field of vision and came to a halt. It was palace guard, one searching out the king. He was a young man, all of them were young these days. His blonde hair was long in the back and curled. A fair man that likely once had dozen of girls swooning over him. Of course, there were not many girls left around, and those that remained spent their days locked away, resisting or being forced to resist the constant urge to run west. Every day more found a way out, answering that obscene call.

“My Lord…” The man hesitated. The sight of the king was enough to halt his urgency. Like that, Eden straightened his shoulders and his face cleared. The man must have thought have he surprised the King, as he started over. “I apologize, my King. A scout arrived this morning. An army comes from the north under a green dragon banner.”

“A green dragon?”

“That is the report.”

Eden clasped the man by the shoulder, smiling. It was a friendly gesture, but it was obvious that neither man was comfortable. Eden stayed that way for a second, keeping one eye on Meriam.

“We shall open the gates for them when they arrive. Send a messenger.
Tell their commander that he and his generals are welcome in with no threat to their safety. They shall have audience with me.”

“My Lord. We have every reason to believe this is a hostile party. Some even believe it is the ancient army of Isa returned to reclaim its lands.”

The man was noticeably shaking, bringing up Isa was an act of treason. Eden’s posture never changed once. He answered, turning his face to clearly address Meriam even though he answered the man’s question.

“My loyal man,” Eden said. “We all must be punished for our transgressions sooner or later. Now, do as I say.”

Before Eden could address her, Meriam bolted down the hallway in a hurry to get as far away from the King as possible. Thankfully, the arrival of this army should keep him distracted for the time being. Long enough, she hoped, to give her time to pack some things. The time of the Mistress Meriam in the palace of Omet was over, but she would not be leaving alone. Already her mind was working on how to acquire at least one horse. Three would be ideal, but not probable. No, they could make do with one, if need be. Meriam could lead the one, the other two could ride. She was leaving the city, but she would never abandon her charge.