"The ships are pulling out early today, Tristan," Dendrik had said. That was what made him hurry. He knew, or at least thought he knew, he could make it. He didn't. The ships had left, and not a one remained.

It is two nights after the Dark Festival, and the flight of Dendrik's daughter, her friend, and a slave had caused quite a stir, and Tristan figures that that had been what convinced the ships to pull out early. Actually, he prays that that is the cause.

Tristan reflects as he makes his way down the Northern Dock - devoid of ships, as are the rest - towards the main intersection where Dendrik is packing up his wares. Two nights ago, the night of the Dark Festival, Tristan had made doubly certain to keep all three of his younger siblings inside the house. If they strayed out to the docks, they would have been turned into murderers or dead.

He had sent them all to bed early, despite Reni's pleas to stay up late. Any other night, he would have allowed her to, but not that night. He had sat in the main room, in the dark, ignoring the intricate beauty of his home. He had locked the windows, doors, and other entryways, and sat in the main room with his father's longsword resting across his knees.

Thankfully, nothing happened for a long time. Evidently, everyone was out trying to chase the escaped ship and her passengers, and so, his family was safe. In this fake sense of calm, he had drifted off to sleep, or at least a dreamy haze began to envelop him. Then, the vision came.

A hazy figure, neither male nor female, had stood before him in his home. Instantly he, or his dream self, whichever, leapt to his feet and raised his father's longsword. "Who are you!" he had demanded. "What do you want here!"

The figure replied in a voice that did not belie its gender. "I am no one, but I am someone. I have a message for the master of this house."

"I am he."

"You? You are but a slip of a man. You are not the master. Where are your parents, boy?"

"My father is dead, for the docks have claimed him, and my mother is a dream-ridden, blathering fool."

"Heed her words, foolish though they may seem."

"Is that your message?"

"No. That was advice. My message is this: Safeguard the ones you love. Keep them safe from menace. Terror shall come from above. Weldox will fall, three days hence."

"Weldox? Fall! Weldox can not fall! We have no enemies!"

"But your wealth stirs greed in the darkest recesses of the world. A flotilla is gathering to destroy your glorious city, and with it, everyone within. I offer you this warning: leave or die. Weldox will fall, and the people will die or become enslaved, depending. Do not allow this fate to fall on good Reni and her brothers. It will be the worst for them, for they are but children."

"How do you know about Reni and Valo and Twol?" Tristan had demanded, but the spectre simply laughed and floated away.

Later that night, the participants of the Dark Festival, the Dark Docks, beat down his home's door. Technically, they only stayed on the docks, but Tristan's home was flush against the docks, one of the doors actually leading directly onto the planks of the docks.

Not at all groggy, Tristan had dispatched the first two to enter his home with swift, clean strokes of his father's blade. He did not kill them, for he did not want to kill his fellow citizens, not with such a crisis eminent. The next through the door, thankfully, was Dendrik. He would listen to reason.

"Good Dendrik! Hail unto thee! I beg you, listen to my plight!" he cried, laying down his father's sword and kneeling to clutch Dendrik's knees.

Dendrik had knelt and took Tristan's head to his chest. "What troubles you, sweet Tristan?"

"We must stop these activities. I have had a vision visit me tonight, and it told me of the death of Weldox, three days hence. We must make haste and evacuate the city to keep our children and families safe."

"He speaks insanity," the slightly more oily voice of Carter had sighed from behind.

"I speak no such thing!" Tristan had protested. "If you will not hear my words, then spare my family. Every year I must dispatch more of my comrades because of the location of my home, but still you and the Council of Nine forbid me to move us to a more ideal locale! Spare my family, and I will spare you my words!"

Carter had nodded. "I see no Heathens here," he said and he and the others left the home, marked it with the green paint that meant the house had been hit, and continued on their ways.

Dendrik had held him a moment longer. "I fear our master is correct. How can you be certain, sweet Tristan, that it had not been a vision of dellerium? However, I will help you attain safe passage if you so desire. See me again two days hence." Those words said, he had left, deserting Tristan to the simple speculation that the night brings.

Now, Tristan approaches Dendrik's stall with renewed vigor. He himself will not desert his homeland, he will die here, but his siblings and mother must be granted safe passage away, far from the evils of the invaders. Soon, Tristan knows, they will be seen on the horizon, and by then, it will be too late. The citizens will flee, but they will be hunted. He, however, will not flee. Once his family is away, there will be no reason any longer to live. He will be able to die in peace, defending his homeland.

"Hail, Tristan," Dendrik remarks, smiling and waving. "What can I do for you."

"Hail, good Dendrik. Two nights prior, if you recall, you promised me safe passage for my people from Weldox. I wish to see that promise fulfilled."

Dendrik shakes his head, letting his black curls settle in the windless air. "We've been through this already. The ships have left, Tristan. There is naught else I can do."

"There must be another way. I will not see my family murdered!"

"They can cross by land. With any luck, this invasion of yours will be by ships alone, few enough footsoldiers to keep them safe."

Tristan nods. "Have you birds enough for four to escape?"

Dendrik shakes his head again. "I have enough for three. I take it you intend to stay?"

"I do. My motherland will fall, and I with her."

"But what of your siblings? And your mother? Surely you will find it necessary to protect them?"

"Reni is as good with her survival skills as I am. She reads and reads and reads like there will be no tomorrow. I pray to the gods above and around that there will be, for her and my brothers."

Dendrik nods. "So Reni shall keep them safe. I can give you supplies and birds, but that is all. The rest of it is up to you."

"I thank you immensely, my good friend. I pray your daughter's safety as well as the safety of my own clan."

"As do I, fair Tristan. As do I."

"But Tristan, I don't want to leave you!" Reni protests as Tristan seats her on the back of the large, brown bird. Birds, naturally, have been the safest, swiftest form of land-travel ever since they were first domesticated, hundreds of years ago. "I mean, I don't mind you cutting off my hair and dressing me up as a boy, I understand that, but I don't want to leave you!"

Tristan tightens the saddle around the bird and makes certain there is sufficient bullion and rations in the saddlebags. "Don't be ridiculous, Reni. You have to keep the others safe. There aren't enough birds for me to come along. Besides, you can take care of them well enough." He toussles her black, straight hair.

"I never noticed before, but you have mom's eyes."

"As do you, and good Dendrik, and everyone else in Weldox." Every citizen of Weldox was well-characterized by their black hair and leafy green eyes. If an outsider wished to marry a Weldoxian, he had to have black hair and green eyes. Any without those characteristics were often viewed as inferior and most probably shunned.

"Yes, but I meant the shape, size, and tracing of blue-gray through them. None of us has that."

"That's because you're all true Weldoxians. I'm not. Now, all of you, be good and don't talk to too many strangers. Be wary of suspicious characters, mind Reni, and most importantly, don't get yourselves killed. I intend for each of you to live full, happy lives."

"Don't be so cold, dear brother," Reni pleads, looking up at him, her green eyes brimming with tears.

"Yes, yes. I know. Follow the roads North and East of here. It is another city state. Find the mayor there, and present him with these letters. Do not lose them. If you do, you may as well be dead. The city is called Nabarna, and if I do ever leave Weldox, I will go there."

"Yes, dear brother," Reni sighs, taking the letters and tucking them inside her vest's inner pocket. "I will make sure to keep them safe, and my brothers, also."

"And the birds?"

"Naturally. It's either keep the birds safe or walk the whole way."

"Keep that wit in check, love. Do be careful, all of you."

"Ships approaching! Under unfriendly sail!" a sentry shouts from the turret nearby.

"You three get going. You'll be far enough away within the hour. Take care, and we will meet again." He hugs and kisses the brow of each in turn: Reni, Valo, and Twol.

"But will it be while we are alive?" Reni asks diffidently.

Ignoring the question, Tristan gives Reni the sword of their uncle, the twin brother of their father. "May Henrok's spirit protect and guide you with this blade. Take care, my loves." Keeping the tears suppressed, he slaps the rump of each of the birds in turn, sending them rocketing away and out the land-locked gate.

That dealt with, Tristan turns to see his mother standing there. "Good-bye, my children. Have a safe journey. Come back soon. I've got a soufleé cooking, and it's your favourite, Valo. Twol, I have, of course, made your favourite dessert. And Reni, sweet Reni, I have baked your favourite bread."

"Mom," Tristan sighs, taking her by the shoulder and leading her trembling body down the cobblestone streets. "Mom, they're not coming back."

"Of course they are, Tristan!" She fixes her son with a caring, gentle gaze. She holds his face in her hands and tilts her head to the side to look at him a little better with her slightly rheumy eyes. "And don't be jealous, dear. I made you your favourite drink."

"Mom, listen to me. They're not coming back. The city is going to fall. We're all going to die or be enslaved. There is no saving us. I did what I could for the rest of your children. We -"

"Of course the city will fall, Tristan. It has been falling since the day it was built, sinking ever so slowly since the bans on marraiges, one emmigration, on immigration came into effect. It was only a matter of time."

"Mom?"

"Sweet, sweet Tristan, you, though, will live. You must live, for Reni, for Twol, and for Valo." She smiles sweetly and kisses his nose, reaching up to do so. "Now, let a little old lady have her happiness before she dies, mm?"

Tristan feels the tears finally give way. He nods and kisses his mother's palm. He pulls her hands away from his face and holds them tightly in his own.

"There's a good boy. You've your father's hands, and my eyes." She leans in closely and whispers to him, "The eyes of an outsider, of a royal sylph." She winks at him, and for a moment, she seems far younger than any time he had ever seen her since his father's death.

"But sylphs are supposed to be tiny. You're not a sylph, Mom."

She simply laughs. "Believe what you want, so long as you believe in yourself, sweet Tristan. Now, what do you say we go take a gander at those ships, mm?"

The ships are iron-clad and approaching at an oddly rapid pace. Their sails are blood red, and the flags above them are black. They are sailing, without a doubt, to war.

"I suppose your ships really were coming, Tristan," Dendrik whispers beside him as they stand on the ancient battlements of the city. "Pity we didn't believe you."

Tristan shakes his head. "It wouldn't've mattered. We haven't had reason to stand an army for centuries. We've no ships to flee from them, and if we did, they wouldn't sail quickly enough to keep them at bay." He sighs. "We should evacuate the city."

"It won't do any good. Where will our people run? They'll be hunted down and killed."

"And the women raped and sold to slavery," Tristan sighs.

"Naturally. The bloodlust of battle does terrible things to a man."

Tristan nods. "As does greed and pride. I will stand to protect our city. You should stand to protect your daughters."

"My daughters ... I have given them each knives. They are to turn them upon themselves if there is an intrusion into the house. I am, however, glad that Sandrylene has escaped. I'm glad Clar got to her soon enough."

Tristan nods. Sandrylene had long been the envy of all the merchant houses for her strong head for business and people. She was the one who had escaped on the ship that had been chased during the Dark Festival. "I'm sure she's safe."

"As am I. Now, come. We should set you with armor so you don't die of some silly shoulder wound or somewhat."

"No need, good Dendrik. I've never fought before with armor, and I shan't start now. I've only a need for my father's blade, and if that fails me, I deserve death."

Dendrik fixes him with a stare as cold as the steel of their swords. "You're being melodramatic and egotistical again. Stop."

"You're absolutely no fun, Dendrik!" Tristan sighs, staring out at the ships. "If I'm going to die, I want it to be on my terms. Armor will only be a hinderance."

"Come. We should start evacuating those who want to leave, and alert the others of the landing. It's our duty, and I'm sure they'd not appreciate death as much as you do."

Tristan grins and follows the older man down the ladder that leads up to the catwalk on the wall. Strangely, he feels more accutely alive than at any other moment before this. Deep down within, he fears he is enjoying the thought of risking his life. He has to wonder, when he gets a moment to do so, is he insane?

The ironclads deposit their footsoldiers and withdraw, for who knows whatever reason. They lay at anchor a bit further out from the harbor, but no one seems to be manning them at all. Questions begin to be raised by the observers, wondering what sort of demonic entities could possibly be controlling them.

A good deal of the citizens decided to evacuate when the ships had been sighted. Another large-enough chunk decided to sit in their homes and accept the invaders as their new rulers. Perhaps fifty men had decided in their hearts to fight the massive armies for their homes and to protect those who decided to remain and those still escaping.

Ironically, it is those who decided to accept the newcomers instead of banning them that are the first to die. The invaders, all of whom are so heavilly armored that it is difficult to discern any sort of personal characteristics about any of them, had almost sought them out specifically to rape, pillage, and murder in their homes. The tiny militia that had been haphazardly and rapidly set up can not even begin to try to keep all the homes safe and guard those choosing to flee at the same time. So, instead, they somehow wind up regrouping at the city's main square.

"We'll never be able to take them all down!" Carter shouts from the northern corner of the square.

"We have to at least try!" Tristan finds himself replying from the North-western street, fighting valiantly against the horde.

"Where's Dendrik? Wasn't he with you?"

"He was worried about his daughters; I sent him home. I think he's dead, honestly. I sent him a good hour and a half ago."

"Dendrik? Dead?"

"It makes sense." Tristan groans as he parries an especially strong thrust. "Besides, what good is he when all he has ever lived for is gone, too? He told his daughters to -" He cuts himself off, swinging his sword with both arms to lend strength to his blow. "To kill themselves if any were to enter the house. To die with -" He parries again and offers a riposte. "Honor."

Carter does not answer for a long time. "Yes, he has lost all, has he not?"

"Even his beloved Sandrylene is lost to him, indeed."

"He should have entrusted her to me!"

Tristan ducks under a blow and makes a swipe at his adversary's legs. Oddly, his sword slides right through the greaves the soldier is wearing on his legs. It also neatly slices the bones in the poor man's legs. His opponent falls, and Tristan, if he could ever get a moment to think, would have thought it very odd indeed.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but aren't you being a bit too, well, conceited? I'm sure -" He blocks a blow from a new opponent, and their swords begin to grapple with each other. "She's doing just fine!" He breaks the grapple and swings a shot at the soldier's side. Again, the metal is broken, as if it were simply aluminum.

"What the blazes is going on here?" he wants to know. However, none can answer him, for now even Carter is engaged in battle.

Tristan manages to discard two other soldiers before he can feel himself tiring significantly. He concentrates all his stray thoughts on the melee and his opponent, but his newest one is good. He isn't anything like the catapult-fodder that had been sent against him before. Tristan's thoughts keep drifting to death, to his unfulfilled promise - as ridiculous as it would have been to hope that he could fulfill it - to Reni and Valo and Twol, to his insane desire to find out if his mother had spoken the truth about her lineage, to everything but the battle.

Even with his mind so distracted, Tristan finds himself easily, mechanically, parrying and retaliating against the newest foe. Soon, Tristan finds himself barely able to hold the sword, let alone block with it. He crumples to his knees and bows his head.

Through the sweat and dust that glues his short, black hair to his face, he stares at his better's feet. "I've failed," he gasps. "Kill me and have it done with."

Surprisingly, the soldier laughs. "We're not going to kill you, boy! You who are offering reistance may not be too smart, but you've got courage and fight." Despite the man's heavy accent and foreign overtones, he speaks Weldoxian very, very well. "We Khloraks honor that above most else."

Tristan blinks, but he continues to stare at the man's shoes. "But if you don't kill us, we could organize and overthrow you."

The man bends down and grabs Tristan's hair, yanking his head up to look at him. The man had removed his helmet, and his face is pock-marked and scarred, as if he had fallen into a vat of acid and did not possess the herbs to cure it quickly enough. His eyes are a sharp, fierce brown, and his hair is brown and graying. "We're not going to kill you," he repeats through gritted teath, the muscles of his jaw rippling curiously enough to catch Tristan's attention, despite his fear. "Killing you would not accomplish anything. You Weldoxians are instrumental to our Overlord's plan. However, we are going to beat you all to a stone's throw from death!"

The man releases Tristan, and he manages to catch himself with his arms so he does not smack his head onto to cobbles. Out of the corner of his eye, Tristan sees Carter and the others being bound and led away, back towards the docks. Half-comprehending this, Tristan only barely sees the man's thick boot swinging up to kick him in the jaw. Tristan manages to move his head ever-so-slightly to prevent a broken neck, but he still flies backwards, skidding over the cobbles, his father's sword flying away from his grip to plant itself before the invader.

"Is this the fabled blade my lord seeks?" the soldier wonders aloud, evidently seeing how it had sliced through the armor of his fellows. This is all Tristan hears before he begins to swim in a sea of infinite darkness and black.

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The image of Tristan at the begining of the page was created, colored, scanned, etc. by me, Lilu. Please do not take him!