The Bog

“The Bog”, as it is known now, is an area North of the region of Five Gods and East of the ever infamous Northtowne Wastes. It is a sparsely populated region with no trade to speak of, except for a curious proficiency in the healing arts. People have been known to travel months in search of a healer in this region. They travel so long, not because the healers are hard to find. On the contrary, if you know where to go, you can find all the healing you could ever want. No, the problem is that the area is plagued with periodic flooding. It is unpredictable and incredibly dangerous, as the waters spring up, seemingly fromnowhere, tearing through the region at an incredible pace. Travellers unlucky enough to be caught in this torrent are inevitably washed away like so much detritus.

In the village, the only village in the region, that is situated near the center of the Bog there lives some hundred people or so. They reside in cleverly built houses that are designed to float during times of flooding . They are anchored in place, thus ensuring the village remains, more or less, in the same place from year to year.

The people of the village are typical of most villages of a similar size. They lead simple lives and have a healthy fear of traveling more than a few hours outside of the village. One not so typical feature of the people is their knowledge of their history and origins. Few villages that have not grown to towns or cities have such a precise recollection of their beginnings. In the main building of the village, which is little more than a glorified hut, rests a short manuscript that is touted as the record of their beginnings. It is very ancient, yet mostly intact. The residents of the village willingly let visitors read this manuscript for themselves so that they too might know the truth.

The subject of the narrative, for that is what it is (a journal of some sort), is someone of great importance in a kingdom never heard of, and has no name. We do not know the name of this subject, and the residents of the Bog refuse to speak it, stating it as holy.

Day 1

Today was like any other day at court. Nobles to be greeted, petitions to be considered. As mundane as it seems most of the time, it’s familiar – comfortable. I don’t know that I could ever imagine life any other way. The King, my King, seemed in good humor, though, perhaps a little distracted.

In the afternoon, my King and I enjoyed a quiet lunch. It’s one of those daily pleasures that I look forward to. We passed the time talking lightly about the happenings in the court and what was to come of the remaining day. More than a few times my King voiced his displeasure towards the nobility.

“Every day it seems they become more and more petty,” the King said once, “It’s like they are oblivious to the fact there is more to this Kingdom than their own dominance.”

I tried consoling him, but there wasn’t much to say on the matter. It was their way, their prerogative even. I quickly changed the to subject to something more mundane. Preparations for the coming season, upkeep of the castle. Little things that any other day would usually have him saying that I have far too much time on my hands if I am worrying about such things. This day, however, there seemed to be a weight on his shoulders that he couldn’t shrug off.

Finally he said “Have you seen or heard of any merchants or news from the North?”

I hadn’t and said as much. The weather has been severe for this time of year and I told him that maybe the settlements to the North are getting the worst of it. He shrugged and dismissed it out of hand. The mood of the meal became melancholy and the conversation came to a halt. I was about to break the pall of silence, that was all too quickly becoming uncomfortable, when a messenger came in, excused himself to me for disturbing the meal and went to the King’s side. There were a few moments of silent whispers that I couldn’t quite catch, then the King rose and said that he had something he needed to look into. He excused himself, offered a small kiss and was off without another word.

I admit to being more than a little annoyed at the interruption, but there was nothing to be done about it. I finished the rest of my lunch and headed back to court to finish what business could be settled by me in the absence of the King.

Day 5

It’s been several days now since my King rushed out. He has not been back, or if he has I have not seen him. Many of his most trusted officers, field soldiers of his elite forward guard, seem to be missing as well. To the North, a red glow envelops the sky. I am afraid. Though all outward appearances would suggest that it is business as usual in the Kingdom, I can see it in some of the merchant’s eyes. They’ve seen something, or at least heard of something and they are too terrified to speak of it. When pressed, they simply find a reason to be somewhere else at the moment.

This is really the first chance I have had to think on the matter. With my King gone I am left to solely run the affairs of court. Most of the time it is tiring tedious work. Other times, like today for example, it is a joy. One of our lesser courtiers brought before me, for blessing, a new babe. As I held this small child I reflected on the regret that my King and I both share; that we have not made more time to start a family of our own. “The Kingdom first,” he always says, “happiness later.” But what joy I felt in holding this babe. I gave it my blessing and sent the courtier off with a handsome gift, if for no other reason than to say thank you for the small joy in my day.

With the day’s work done, I now focus my thoughts to that which has weighed heavily upon me. What of the North? What is happening there? Though I’ve not travelled to the Northern most outposts and villages, I know that it can be a rough place. The people of those Northern settlements are rugged, strong types with the will and fortitude to face the harshest of climates ranging from a hot, unforgiving summer to the torrential rains of the spring. The winters there are as dry as the summer, but the scolding heat is replaced by a bitter cold. What could be happening up there? Is it a plague? Some natural disaster that tears at the land? War? If so, from whom? Whatever this trouble is, I must be brave and face whatever reality arises.

Tomorrow I shall send out riders to bring me what news can be found. I’ll not be left in the dark. Part of this decision is selfish, I know. I need to know that my King is well. I miss him and fear for him as well. It will take a day, at least, for the riders to reach the settlements at a hard ride. Until then I must hold my fears at bay and pray for the best.

Day 7

The riders have returned and the news is grim. Invaders from the North, the stuff of nightmares and legends, have invaded our borders. My King is valiantly holding them off, but he sent word back with the riders to prepare for a siege. According to his message, the enemy has come in force and is making a straight push towards us.

Not much is known of the men of the North. As it is told, the North is an inhospitable place. Explorers from our Kingdom have ridden several days into these territories with never coming into contact with man or beast. There was no evidence of civilization at all. It wasn’t until a few years ago that people, if that’s what we must call them, started showing up on our northern border. Sitting, watching… never crossing. These folk were large, dark of skin, like the color of burnt milk. Long, white hair with enormous feet and hands. They were clothed in hides of a sort no one had ever seen before. Smooth and somewhat reflective, they are covered with muddled colors of various hues over black. Sometimes they are seen fur-lined, some times not.

Day 9

It’s worse than I could’ve imagined. In just these few short days, my King has been pushed back to the outlying country surrounding the capital. I now have a better picture of what he has been up against. War engines, of a construction I have never seen before, relentlessly assault the troops. They never let up, not even at night. My King has adapted swiftly. Forming fighting shifts, but from what I had heard, it was too little too late. The first night took them by surprise and my King lost about a third of his men. They are close enough now that the capital can send out reinforcements and take in the wounded, but the King has ordered that only the enlisted be sent out. Our most elite warriors, the City Legion is to stay behind and guard the city at all costs.

As men and supplies flow in and out of the city I often ask after my King. Does he fight a good fight? To this the men simply smile, a true smile, but offer little in words. Still, those smiles… I suppose it is all I need at the moment. Soon he will be with me again, by my side… with the enemy at our door.

Day 10

It came suddenly, sooner than anyone might have expected. One minute I was fast asleep enjoying dreams of little consequence when a boom shook the castle from its foundation to the towers. Before I could get up and look to see what caused this horrendous noise, another jolt hit the castle. Not as pronounced as the first, but still more than enough to have the fear of falling castle walls spring into being.

I made it to the window, which looks over the the main gate into the country, and what I saw there stopped my heart. Where the army once was, was a charred pit. As I looked, the main gates opened and a few riders, no more than five, rode in. Right behind them a huge ball of light smashed into the city gates and another one of those shocks went through the castle. I called for Xernita, captain of the City Legion, to ask what was going on and what was going to be done with it. He informed me that he was waiting on commands from the King before acting.

More than a little frustrated with the indecisiveness of these so-called elite, I went to the castle’s main hall to see who it was that made it through the main gates. It was with great relief to see my King sitting on his throne surrounded by six of his battle knights. All of whom I know were on the field with him. That at least meant that in terms of elite fighters, the losses were small. While the loss of several companies of foot is no small thing, it is apparent now that this will be no normal fight.

Just as I was approaching my King to confide in him, and admittedly steel myself with his strength, Xernita burst into the chamber and addressed the King directly, foregoing everything that should have been as much as instinct after all these long years in service. He then insisted, actually insisted, the King take the Legion out to face this threat. The King simply replied that we were not even sure what it is what we are fighting, and could be riding to a disaster. This sent Xernita spluttering about having been left in the dark, sitting on their hands while his Majesty was off fighting. The King patiently let the tirade die down, then coolly set about making preparations, ignoring the fuming knight and letting him stew.

I left the hall to wait in my rooms. I could see that the King needed his time with his men. He needed to plan, and maybe even a little solitude to reflect on this threat. Finally, after hours of waiting, I had my King to myself.

Day 13

These few days following the initial attack have been quiet. Had it not been for my contentment in the presence of my King, I would have said that it was too quiet. Like waiting for a storm you know is coming and are powerless against. Content as I am, the sense of dread is heavy upon me. I try not to let it show. I want the King not to worry for me. He has enough worry and dread of his own. I tried to make light conversation as much as possible. I told him of the babe that was brought to court just about a week ago. How much I enjoyed holding that small, helpless and innocent body. He jokingly suggested that I should open a nursery. Maybe right in the middle of the hall. “Then perhaps the court would stop arguing about position and wealth and focus on what is going on in the Kingdom for a change,” he said. Though he was smiling, I knew that I erred in bringing this up. I was saddened by the tone of the joke. Not unexpected, his mood had an edge to it and everyone around him had to walk it not knowing what side they would fall on. Still I press on, doing what I can to ease the burden of my King.

The quiet too has been used to further prepare the castle against siege. Foods are being stockpiled, defenses reinforced. Everyone is doing their best to stay busy and all around I can see the same look of bewildered determination on the faces of the people. Surely I can sympathize. How can this be happening? Its not uncommon to have a bordering region occasionally attempt to encroach a little on our borders, but never before have we been so thoroughly routed. In the end, this will change everything, I know. Should we come out of this, No, when we come out of this, we will won’t be content to have just scattered settlements on our borders. Towns with garrisons will have to be built, which of course means an expansion of the nobility and their powers. Thoughts for another day perhaps. A better day.

Day 18

The fighting has been almost constant for the past 3 or 4 days. Keeping track of time has been difficult since there seems to be little sleep to be had. The fighting has been almost wholly magics between the men of the North and the City Legion. Since the second day of fighting a storm has raged outside the castle. The elders of the City Legion say the storm has been caused by the constant use of these magics. Causing a shift in the balance of nature. They explain that magic is derived from nature, and each act takes something in order to replace it with something else. The result has been rainfall the like that has never been seen before. Tornadoes that descend and disappear in the blink of an eye. Neither side shows any sign of giving way. Despite all the fighting, only a handful of men have died on either side. Most of these deaths were caused by the side effects of the fighting, rather than the spells themselves. It would seem that, in so far as magic goes, we are evenly matched. Something must give, and give soon. I don’t think our lands can handle much more of this.

Day 18:The Evening

No sooner did I write my words, a vanguard of the North broke formation and gave a signal for parlay. The King sent a messenger to meet this vanguard and bring them to the main hall. It has been agreed that there will be a meeting with the leaders from the North.

The meeting will take place in just a short time. I’ve retreated to my quarters at the request of the King. He explained that this was for my safety, since the enemy messengers are within the walls and they might take it upon themselves to gain an advantage and kidnap me or some other member of royalty. Personally I suspect that he needed time alone to shoulder the weight of this short, yet complicated invasion. And ready himself for any decisions that might need to be made.

They will meet in a pavilion that is at this moment being erected somewhere about half way between the castle walls and the enemy front lines. A party of 20 on each side was agreed upon. I voiced my opinion that 20 men, especially elite fighters, was more than enough for either side to take one or the other out. The King suggested that the threat of reprisal should be enough to keep both sides at bay. To put my fears at ease, the King fashioned a listening stone. Or rather a pair of them, so that I might listen in on the talks. Its a clever little piece of magic. It works only one direction, but works by the one stone, the listener, magically manipulating air and earth to send the vibrations in the air through the earth to it’s partner, the speaker. Attempts at making a two-way listening stone have been tried, but it seems that vibrations coming and going more often than not, cancel each other out.

The time draws near. I have taken it upon myself to record the proceedings of this meeting. If for no other reason than to take my mind off this dread I feel in my heart.

Day 18: Parlay

The King and his retinue left the castle in all the splendid regalia they could muster. They rode from the city gates with the King at the head of a formation, his three highest ranking City Legionnaires and soldiers directly behind him, followed by alternating ranks of lesser Legionnaires and solders, four across and four deep. Among them, of course, was Xenerita. Secretly I believed that if there were to be any problems it would be coming from him.

Upon arriving at the pavilion, the party dismounted and entered. This was the last I was to see of my King and his men until they exited. Once they were inside I pulled out the speaker stone and set it upon my writing desk. I could hear the various nondescript sounds of a large party getting settled. The Northerners must have already been inside because suddenly, without preamble, the King spoke.

“Men of the North, why have you come here? Why have you brought your machines of war to our lands, only to destroy everything that lay in your path?”

There was a long, or what seemed to be long, silence. Then who I must assume to have been the leader of the Northerners spoke. And to my surprise, he spoke our tongue with little or no accent. The messengers sent early today struggled through the arrangements with broken speak and almost guttural sounds.

“King of the South. We are here to take back what is ours and bring these lands back into our fold.”

“What is this madness you speak?”, the King replied. “These lands have been ours for an age or more if the histories are to be believed. And what of your claims? You obviously speak our language, why come in fighting? Would not a peaceful introduction have been preferable to the lives lost and the pains suffered?”

“You are few, we are many. What more right did we need to take back what was ours? It is true that your people have made our land yours for a time. But it was us who first settled this land, only to be finally driven out by the floods that destroyed our home. And now it is time to take back our land. The waters are gone, it is a sign to return.”

“Our histories remember the flooding, and it was our people who harnessed the magic of this land to dam up and redirect that lake. So after all our toil, you think you can just come in here and take what you claim to be yours?”

“You are few, we are many. We need no other reason to believe in our right.”

That simple reply froze my heart in place. The statement rang with the sort of truth that could not be avoided. The Northern leader continued.

“As we speak, the rest of our people are making their way to us. In a weeks time, we will be here. In a week’s time, you will not.”

“And where exactly will we be.”, the King said sounding exasperated.

“You will not be here. You may go to our new lands in the North. See if your magic helps you there as it did here. You can have it, if you can tame it. It is our gift to you.”

“I refuse to accept this ‘gift’ or your terms. This is our land, and we’re not simply going to give it up.”

“Then you die.”

At that moment I knew the truth of it. There was no bargain to be reached, no compromise. Then why? Why did these men from the North call this meeting? The King, as if hearing my thoughts, asked.

“If you’ve already decided this course, then why meet? Why are you stalling the fight?”

“We do not stall. Simply put, our magics are tearing apart the land. In this we are equally matched and I for one, do not want a broken home.”

“Did you in all honesty believe that we would accept your terms?”

“I had hoped.”

“Will you give us time to come to a decision?”

“Time is not needed, make your decision. Live or die by your word, now.”

Just then, the sound of steel being drawn, then a shriek came through the listening stone and a flash of light from my window. I ran to the window facing the pavilion and saw, just in time, the last of it burn away in white fire. In the wreckage that was the pavilion I saw two pale blue half spheres. Inside them I could just see the ghosts of figures moving about. The listening stone was reverberating with a dull hum, but I thought I could make out the slightest of sounds that could have been voices. I thought the shield must be dulling the magic of the stones. Of the little I know of the magics used by the Legionnaires, I know that it is geometrical, or that the half sphere that I saw was in fact a full sphere penetrating into the ground. I stood there, nearly paralyzed in my fear. Then the shields started to fade and soon heard laughter, seeming distant, so I assumed it was coming from the group of Northerners.

“So this is how it is to be?” said that same voice, still with some laughter in it. “So be it! The challenge is accepted.”

“We’ve issued no challenge,” the King said, “Other than that of we trying to repel you, the invaders, from our land.”

“You may not have issued a challenge, King, but your captain’s actions speak clearly. A contest then! Sword to sword, me the leader of my people against you, the leader of yours. Whoever triumphs, takes all.”

“The captain does not speak for me, nor this kingdom. I will not place the fate of the kingdom in the hands of two men.”

“You do yourself a disservice King. I have seen you fight and I know you to be a man of skill. It will be a good fight and perhaps a better end for all of us.”

Just then another voice cut in, the voice of Xenerita. “Enough of this!”, Xenerita exclaimed in all his arrogance, “If the King won’t fight you, then I will. Let’s be done with these meaningless talks so that I can send you crawling back to whatever hole you crawled up from.”

“That won’t do,” said the Northern leader, chuckling a little as he said it, “I can’t fight you, someone beneath my rank and maintain my honor.”

“Pick another then!”

Why isn’t my King stopping this. Have things gone so wrong, so badly, that he would suffer this disrespect from one of his subordinates? I needed to see what was going on, I quickly summoned a Legionnaire to my quarters. He arrived quickly, he must have been stationed on this floor, I thought. I ordered him to conger something that would let me see more clearly what was going on. He did so. Through a manipulation of air and water he made a sort of lens that let me see the two groups clearly. All the while the conversation continued. I could see mouths moving, and there was a slight delay as the sound came to the speaking stone.

“You want me to pick another to fight in my place? Ridiculous. I will not have someone else fight a battle I would not fight myself.”

“It’s not a question of whether or not you would fight,” said the pompous voice of Xenerita, “The King has already stated that he will not uphold the challenge, and yourself have said it is beneath you to fight me.”

The King’s face was blocked by some of the other men, but his posture spoke volumes. He was resigned. Resigned to his fate, overrun by the captain of his guard. The Northern leader was speaking. “Your point is made.”, He turned to the group at his back, “Who here in my rank will accept the challenge of the captain?” Every man in the group stepped foreword. Laughing under his breathe, the leader said, “It seems there is no lack of courage. Not that I am surprised. I will choose then if I must.”

All at once the entire group stepped back, the entire group but one man. I shifted the focus of the lens to the one man left forward. A stolid man who held himself with an air of confidence that spoke of skill and experience, not arrogance. He was tall, tall for a Northerner even, and had a lean build. He wore what looked like leather breaches and a vest. Over one arm, what looked like armor. It was segmented every few inches, to give freedom of movement I assumed. At his belt, a great sword. Longer than what our own Legionnaires used, but about as wide. On his back I could see the handle of what might be an axe or some sort of club sticking up over one shoulder. There was no fear in his eyes, no pride either. Only the look of someone that had a job needing to be done. The Northern leader smiled and said.

“Ah, yes. It should be you. Though, I’d have thought this sort of thing beneath you.”

“Victory is not beneath me, my Liege.”, said the soldier in nearly as perfect a form of our tongue as the leader himself, “If this foolish man, who seeks to attack in secret, wishes it to be this way then so be it. We will be done with this and have our lands before the sun rises.”

While he spoke, I lessened the magnification of the lens and could see my King’s soldiers shifting in their places, while the Legionnaires stood implacable too arrogant notice the furtive whispers and glances of the soldiers. Then I saw the King, head lowered, slowly shaking his head. From all of this I gleaned that this warrior was known to the soldiers. They, as well as the King, had met the Northerners on the field while the Legionnaires have but flung magics from behind the city walls. A feeling a deep dread solidified in my stomach as I watched.

“It is settled then.”, said the voice of Xenerita, “Name your time and place, and we’ll have at it.”

“The place is here. The time… is NOW.”

Just then the Northern warrior lunged forward with a speed I did not think possible. While he lunged, he drew sword and initiated an attack in one fluid movement. For a moment I thought that Xenerita was just going to stand there and accept the blow. At what seemed to be the last second, Xenerita drew his sword with an equal grace and blocked the Northerner’s attack. They stood there, immobile, facing one another. Xenerita had a bored, almost patronizing smile on his face. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but be impressed. Xenerita’s movement was at least as fast, if not faster that the Northerner’s.

The swiftness of the attack took the King and everyone with him by surprise and they were quick to move out of the way.

“Good”, said the Northerner, “I was afraid this might get boring. Next time, I won’t hold back.”

Still with a smile on his face, Xenerita said, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They parted and both took a fighting stance, sizing each other up. No one moved. I doubt that anyone breathed! On more than one occasion, as they stared each other down, I had to remember to breathe myself. I had no idea the captain was such a swordsmen. With their magics I always assumed the swords more ceremonial than anything. Hoping against hope I thought to myself that this may work, we may win the day.

Just as suddenly as before, the two sprang towards each other. Steel clashing against steel in a barrage of attacks that I couldn’t begin to follow. They spun, lunged, retreated all in the blink of an eye. The swords played against each other in a chorus that makes legends. Nearly forgetting the dire situation we all faced, I felt myself honored to see these two masters battle.

And once again, as if by mutual ascent, they parted a assumed ready positions. Both men were breathing a little heavier, but no so much as to suggest that this was nothing more than just some warm up routine.

Then once again, they flew towards each other. It was impossible to see who moved first. So attuned to their opponent, their moves looked choreographed. After a number of exchanges, something started to change. Both men were glowing with a faint light that was, slowly, getting brighter. This of course could only mean that magics were being used. For myself, I have never seen magic used in such close quarters, man against man. I did not see either man gain the slightest advantage. Like their sword play, their magics were evenly matched. As the fighting grew more intense, something in the air started to change. There was a roiling in the space above the two fighters. The sky churned and I could feel eddies in air, everything seemed to be pulled towards the two men. The temperature dropped with an uncomfortable chill, then the air grew warm, back to cold again. It felt like like something was going to snap. Not man, or army, but the land itself. It was resisting the pulls of these magics and it was losing it’s grip.

There was a shutter in the castle walls, then another. The air was now filled with electricity. Great sparks arcing from mast to mast of the pennants surrounding the city. I could see smaller arcs being drawn towards the men’s armor on the ground, harmlessly absorbed my the magical shields around them. Then the world fell out from beneath me. I thought for a second that I had fallen out of the window only to find myself laying on the ground. The magical lens that I had been using to view the battle had shattered, and before I could summon a Legionnaire to reform it, one came into my quarters to check on me. The same one, incidentally, that had formed the lens in the first place.

“What happened?”, I asked him.

“I am not sure milady, but the fighting has stopped.” He pointed to the window and at the same time, reformed the lens. Only this time it seemed to be causing him some difficulty.

“Is everything alright, Legionnaire?”, I queried.

“Yes, milady, but the residue of the magics that had been used on the field is making it difficult to form any kind of cohesion.”

I got to my feet and made my way back to the window. Peering through the lens I could again see the two groups standing opposite each other. The two fighters were standing ready, while both groups, muttered and shifted positions pointing at the great bowl shaped depression in the ground. The speaking stone was all but useless at the moment. Once the two men started using their magics, the connection between the stones became ever untenable. All that I could hear at the moment was a rasping sort of sound, like a strong wind blown through a tube.

The Legionnaire stood beside me, also peering through the lens, transfixed by what he saw. I could sense a nervous tension in him and decided to call him on it.

“What is it that has you so uneasy, Legionnaire?”

He paused a moment before answering, “It’s that depression your Highness. At first glance I thought that earth had been carved out from beneath them by the very forces they used against each other.”

There was something behind his voice that suggested that this was not the case, for I had assumed about as much, and I said so.

“Your highness, that depression was caused by a compression of the earth I think, not a cutting away. I think now I understand why the Northerners called this parlay. They feared the continued use of magics would destroy the very land they wish to take.”

I thought about this a moment and for lack of a better explanation I was forced to agree. After all, the leader of the Northerners has said as much. I thought at the time that the leader was simply offering some excuse, any excuse. Maybe he felt he needed to give one. Now the proof was in front of me. The terrible proof of the cost of the magics we used in our everyday life.

As we spoke, I could see the two fighters noticeably relax and make their way to their respective companions. Obviously this fight was not going to be over as quickly as either side thought. I saw Xenerita make his way over to the King. They were speaking, heads close together. The speaking stone had started to clear up some, but still all I heard was mostly noise. I asked the Legionnaire if there was something he could do to fix the stone. Unfortunately, he explained, the objects would have to have the enchantment reworked for any hope of a quick fix. He said we’d just have to wait and see if the magical residue in the area faded enough to to make the stone usable again.

My King and the Northern leader were now speaking across the depression, gesturing expansively. The resignation in the King’s face and posture had left and now he looked determined. The Northern leader looked likewise determined and was just as animated with his gestures. Finally the two leaders turned towards their fighters. The King put his hand on Xenerita’s shoulder and uttered a few more words. On his face was an expression of gratitude and confidence. Then the two fighters resumed their places in the depression and took the now familiar ready stance.

I thought to myself that this must be it. These two men were going to put everything they had into this last match. I did not know what to expect. Not knowing what the two leaders had discussed, I could only guess.

Both men stood facing each other with that same casual expression that spoke volumes of their confidence in their skills. Perhaps feeling the rightness in their mutual, if opposing, cause. As before, the men came together with a suddenness that made me start a little. Blows were exchanged, blocked and parried with a speed that was dizzying to watch. Individual movements could not be seen, only the outcome of a series of hits that brought the men to new stances and then together again. In one of these brief pauses, really no more than the blink of an eye, I noticed the Legionnaire still standing beside me, his attention wrapped. I said nothing of it. He had as much of a right to see this fight as I did, and truthfully his presence was comforting. So we stood there together watching the exchanges for what seemed like a small eternity, though probably less than 2 minutes had passed, when the Legionnaire turned to me and said.

“I don’t think they are using magics, milady. That must have been what the conversation below was about. Both leaders recognized the danger after that final jolt. They ordered them to fight without magic.”

“What about their weapons and armor?”, I asked.

He shook his head saying, “That is inert magic, your Highness. It doesn’t effect the environment once the enchantments have been set.”

All the while, the two warriors fought. There was something was different this time, however. During the first two fights, while no less intense, the two fighters did not seem to fatigue in the slightest. Now it seemed that the men were starting to slow, ever so slightly.

“It’ll be over soon.”, said the Legionnaire, “Unless one of them slips and starts using the magics most of us use to keep up our stamina, strength and speed in battle, a mistake will be made.”

I looked at him quizzically, “Unless one of them slip?”

“Yes, your Highness. One of the things that makes us Legionnaires considered superior to regular soldiers is that, in addition to the normal training, our training in magic is so intense it becomes nearly instinct. It wouldn’t do to have a fighter in the middle of a battle stop and try to concentrate on something as elementary as supplementing our strength. I say slipped because these abilities are, as I said, nearly instinct. It may be costing the Captain some concentration just to make sure he’s not using anything.”

“And the other fighter? Do you think he had similar training?”

“Without a doubt, milady.”

As if the words of the Legionnaire were a narrative, the two men broke apart. Both stood in their ready positions, but Icould see the effects of their exertion. Through the lens I could see both were sweating and breathing much heavier than they were in the other breaks of the fight.

Xenerita stood a little straighter and raised his sword in a formal salute. The warrior from the North, did the same.

“This will be it then.“, said the Legionnaire with a sigh.

The two warriors walked slowly towards each other, swords carried casually at their sides. I was holding my breathe. The Legionnaire, now standing nearer to me, was gripping the sill, his knuckles white.

The Northern warrior struck out. A great downward strike, slightly angled as if to cleave Xenerita from the shoulder down. Xenerita’s sword shot up in a vertical block and the swords locked. Both men strained against the strength of the other. The Northerner’s sword was creeping down towards Xenerita’s neck. It seemed Xenerita was a disadvantage. Then they broke, rolling to either side of each other, staying close. Xenerita’s spin turned into an attack, as did the Northern warrior’s.

Both swords struck. The Northern warrior’s sword was plunged deep into Xenerita’s throat, but not before Xenerita’s sword found it’s mark and dug deep into the side of the warrior’s head. I let out a gasp, and the world went white.

Day 21

It’s taken me this long to come to terms with what has happened. There is a lot that I didn’t remember, and much that I refused to remember. Rothan Lionsbaine, the Legionnaire that stayed with me through the final moments of the fight, has filled in the spots I don’t remember and carefully guided me towards accepting the situation we now find ourselves. I will try to recount the events as they happened after the blow that ended the lives and contest of Xenerita and the Northern warrior, whose name I never knew.

As the two warriors’ strikes hit their mark, immediately they crumpled to the ground. By all accounts, the few that there are, just as the bodies hit the ground there was an explosion of white light. A light so intense that men with their faces covered and eyes closed could still see the outlines of those people and objects around them. This did not merely affect those out of doors either. The light penetrated wood and stone, it filled everything. Then the earth gave another one of those great shutters.

There was a sound in the air as if the sky was ripping apart, then silence. A silence so complete that those experiencing it could not tell if the silence was a result of being deafened by the sky, or maybe something more sinister. Then a rumble, a rumble that started from the ground and made it’s way to every ear in the kingdom I would guess. People were cowering in the halls, crying and praying, trying to grasp on an idea of what this terrible sound and sensation was. For it shook the very bones, though the castle did not seem to be affected. Then the screams came, in the distance. Screams of animals, men, women and children. Curses in a tongue few in the castle recognized, and none understood. Something was happening to the Northern army. Their encampment was outside the range of the normal search lights, the ones used to light the pavilion. But then, at the edge of the light, those still about outside said there was a surge of bodies coming towards the castle. From what I gathered, no one else had thought to use a lens like that Rothan and I used, so there was no account of what the King and his men were doing when this was happening. Though, it turned out not to matter.

At this point the accounts become a little muddled, not surprising, though disappointing. Regardless of what the tales of the survivors say, the result was the same. Something from behind overtook the Northern army, consuming them. Then it struck where the pavilion once stood and that great battle took place. Everything was enveloped. When it finally came to the castle, those who were able to first make out what this was only had a single moment to realize their fate. A wall of water, 60 feet high crashed into the castle wall, over and through. And that more or less leaves me where I am today, some three days later, still in my room with Rothan.

The water’s crest came to about ten feet below my rooms, so those at my level and above were sparred the sudden suffocation of drowning. Though we now face a different problem entirely. For as far as the eye can see, water. Still, blue water. Something else is happening as well. According to Rothan, the magics are loosing potency. And quickly. Some men have already lost the ability to do simple things like lighting fires. Rothan and most of the other Legionnaires still with us have taken this all in stride, saying that they’ve been without the magics before. If they come back, they come back. If not, well then it’s cold soup for everyone until some dry wood can be found. This is usually said with a chuckle, but you can see the seriousness in their eyes.

All told there are about 40 or so survivors in the castle, including eight Legionnaires. We are separated from each other for the time being, since the water level is still above the main castle wall, thus cutting off the connecting hallways. Rothan believes that at the rate of the water’s retreat, which is fast indeed, we should be able to meet up with the others in a day or two. In my wing there were but 3 survivors including myself and Rothan. The other being Rothan’s page, of which Rothan was extremely happy to find out. We were also very fortunate to find that some enterprising mind in the castle had begun to use the topmost level of the wings as a drying and smoking room for meats and fruits, preparing for the coming winter I guessed. So for now we are fed.

It is not known if the waters will ever retreat fully, so for the time being the plan is to simply stay together and hope. When Rothan first said this to me, I scoffed. After a couple days, though, I realize the value of such a plan. He assures me that as long as the castle holds, we can make it through the winter with the stores we have if we’re careful. By winter’s end, if the waters have not retreated, we will seek our escape.

For better or worse, we won our lands back by the terms of the challenge. Let this journal be the testament of this. I will soon start another, but in the meantime I will have Rothan seal this record with some minor magics in hopes that time and the elements will not destroy it so that all the world, the world to come, will see and know the fate of this Kingdom.