Chapter One

Clang! The shimmer of the two blades temporarily blinded the two who were locked in battle. They both stumbled backwards, each placing their blades in a defensive position in front of each other. "You are not bad, my young apprentice," the one in the dark blue uniform smirked, swinging his blade in a high, wide arc towards his apprentice's head. The apprentice, dressed in a maroon uniform, swung his blade upward forcefully, smashing his teacher's blade back.

"I appreciate the praise, but I feel as though you're holding back," the apprentice said, parrying lightly on the balls of his feet to thrust the dull blade at his master's chest. It connected, catching the master off balance. He stumbled backwards; the apprentice wasted no time in taking advantage of this. He smacked the edge of his blade against his master's, sending it spinning out of his hand. At the same time, the apprentice slipped his foot behind his master's, sending the older man plunging backwards to hit the ground.

"I believe the apprentice has surpassed that master," the apprentice said, placing the blunt point of the blade at his master's throat.

"It would seem so, wouldn't it?" his master replied wryly. His eyes turned to a location behind his apprentice.

"What are you looking at?" the apprentice asked, turning. The master took immediate advantage of this. His left foot lashed out in a ferocious thrust kick; the attack met its mark, striking the unaware apprentice in the abdomen. A loud koosh was released out of the apprentice's mouth as he stumbled backwards.

The master lunged forward, snatching up his dropped sword. He spun the blade sideways, catching a glancing blow on his apprentices right temple. Stars exploded into the apprentice's vision as he collapsed, spittle spraying from his mouth. He barely heard the master say, "Never let your guard down. You never know what your enemy may do," as the darkness cloaked him in its warm blankets.

The apprentice, who's real name was Feur, awoke an hour later in his bed. He groaned as he sat up, his jaw aching. "I see you've decided to join the living," said Matthew, his master. He grinned. "I apologize for the hard lesson I had to teach you. However, I feel it was better learned from me than from the enemy in the heat of battle."

"Its not the lesson, so much as the blow that I don't like," Feur grunted as he stood up.

Matt burst out laughing. "Nobody likes feeling a blow to any part of their body, especially the face. That's another lesson. If you hit them first, then they don't hit you," Matt said, winking.

Suddenly, their chat was interrupted by an uproar outside. Matt ran to the window, raising the blinds a slight amount. "It appears there's been an uprising amongst the villagers," Matt said grimly. He walked swiftly out the door, coming back in seconds with two blades; these were not dull.

"I was going to save this until you officially graduated, but now is as good a time as ever," he said, handing a four foot long, expertly crafted blade inside its sheath. Feur glanced at it admiringly. However, before he could say thanks, a flaming rock shattered through the window, thudding loudly into the wall.

"Dammit!" Feur and Matt shouted simultaneously. Matt stuck his head out the window. "You dreadful barbarians!" he shouted. "What is the cause of this madness!" He waited for an answer; however, the only answer he got was an arrow sailing past him, grazing his cheek. He quickly jerked his head back inside, wiping a thin line of blood from his face.

"Well, my friend," he said, "it appears our lovely Chief Minister Muttan is to thank for this."

"How so?" Feur asked, ducking as another stone sailed through the air, missing his head by a mere inch.

"Follow me. No time for questions!" Matt replied, crouching under the window as he walked hastily out of the room, Feur right on his heels. The acrid smell of smoke wafted through the shattered window. Feur cringed but continued following Matt's footsteps.

Matt swung the butt of his blade forward, smashing open the door. He cautiously peeked around the corner. "This way!" he shouted, running in a streak towards an overturned wagon. A young, grimy beggar suddenly burst out from behind Matt's small cabin, clinging to Feur's shirt.

"The end is near!" he shouted repeatedly, a crazed flare in his eyes. He wrapped his legs around Feur's tripping him and causing him to fall flat on his face in the mud.

"Feur!" Matt roared, turning around and dashing towards his fallen apprentice.

"The end is near!" the beggar roared once more. Matt grabbed Feur's arm, jerking him up as a flaming arrow whizzed by their faces. The beggar dashed after them. Diving simultaneously, Matt and Feur took cover behind the upturned wagon. Small baskets and containers were flipped over, oats and grain spilling wildly from them. A young man leaned against the side of the wagon, a deep gash bleeding freely from his side.

Sighting the two, the man spun around, his blade in hand. He thrust feebly at Matt; Matt moved gracefully to the side, smashing the man in the back of the knee with the butt of his sword. The man grunted, his knee buckling. Feur bent down to help him. "Leave him be!" Matt yelled, grasping Feur's arm and dragging him away to the shelter of another flipped wagon.

The beggar appeared again as they hit the ground behind the wagon. "The end is near!" he shouted, spittle flying into Matt's face. Matt shoved him down forcefully.

"Enough of your nonsense!" he snarled. The beggar stared wide-eyed at Matt as he starred around wildly, searching for a way out. The cause of the smoke, Feur saw, was clear. The town hall was ablaze, flames roaring from it, rising high into the air. Matt saw their mayor lying on the ground, blood oozing from his neck. The crack of a musket rang out in his ears.

Turning to look, Feur saw a line of musketeers marching towards the village. Another crack, sending one of the rioters spiraling to the ground, a large, gaping hole blown through his chest.

"Hear me now!" the head of the musketeers shouted. His only reply was a large stone flung at his face. He leveled his musket, shouting to his group, "FIRE!" A thunderous explosion echoed throughout the land as 56 musketeers fired their weapons at once. Each shot did astounding damage to the rioting villagers. Feur watched in horror as at least 30 of them were knocked backwards, spitting blood as they smacked into walls and fell to the ground.

"Matt, do something!" Feur cried, appalled by the death and destruction he was seeing.

"Like what? I am nothing to them but another rioter," Matt said bitterly.

"Damn that tyrant Muttan!" Feur growled, poking his head over the top of the wagon. His sandy blond hair fell over his eyes; he brushed it out, starring, eyes fixed, at the pointless demolition going on in front of him.

He and Matt stalked slowly towards the gate, which was now closed, that led out of Atalia. "Run for it on three," Matt said, turning towards Feur. "Whatever happens, don't look back. Just run." Feur nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. His master began counting.

"One...two...THREE!" he shouted, his feet pounding on the gravel as he sprinted towards the gate, Feur hot on his heels. He barely heard the word "HALT!" shouted at him as he darted to the gate. It was then that he realized : he didn't know how he was getting out.

"The gate's locked!" Feur bellowed at Matt.

"Up and over as fast as you can!" Matt replied, jumping to the gate. He began scrambling wildly up it, Feur following behind him. A crack rang out, a .68 caliber musket ball grazing Feur's left leg. Feur released a primal scream, flipping over the gate and dropping down to the other side. He hit the ground on his back, the force knocking the breath from his lungs. His left leg smarting, he scrabbled up, limping as quickly as he could away, into the cover over brush. It was then that he realized Matt was not with him.

"Matt!" he shouted, sighting the mans body leaning against the other side of the gate. The man grunted, turning around to attempt to climb the gate. However, it was not to be. Two of the musketeers were on him in an instant, one hitting him in the back of the head with the stock of his musket. Feur rushed back to the gate, thrusting his newly acquired blade between the bars of the gate. It found its mark, sinking into the hip of one of Matt's assailants.

The man grunted, collapsing to the ground. His partner wheeled around, bringing his musket level with his shoulder. However, Feur was expecting it. He moved to the left as the musketeer fired, the sound deafening Feur. His shirt burst into flames from the muzzle fire. Giving it no heed, Feur thrust his blade out, sinking it into the musketeers hip, almost exactly in the same place as his partner. The musketeer cried out, dropping his musket. He grunted and fell to the ground, wide-eyed.

"Get up!" Feur said anxiously to Matt. Matt grunted, climbing to his feet. Feur could see a raged hole in Matt's right thigh. The man began climbing up the gate, tears in his eyes. He bit his tongue and threw his torso over the gate, falling awkwardly to the other side.

"AGHHHHH!" he shouted as he hit the ground, hit thigh flaring in pain. Feur grasped his arm, yanking him into the cover on the brush. Feur faintly felt a musket ball come towards him, too high over his head. He grinned halfheartedly at his master. "Well, we're in a lovely predicament aren't we?" he said bitterly.

Matt grunted, struggling to a sitting position. "Indeed we are my friend," he said, a scowl on his face. "Another lovely favor from Chief Minister Mullan," he growled. He studied his wound. "Its not too bad. Merely a flesh wound," he said between clenched teeth. "Are you okay?"

Feur nodded, gazing at his wound. It wasn't deep; the musket ball had simply grazed his calf. "Well," he said, "where to now?"

"I don't know," Matt said faintly. This was when Feur really began to worry. His master had never admitted not knowing something...

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