Sorry for the delay, school's starting and stuff. PLEASE review. (many thanks to Sir dik-dik for his support.)
Chapter III: A twist of fate
When the first hint of consciousness entered Tarus' mind, it took only a moment for him to jolt out of bed with a panicking state of mind. He breathed heavily. He slowly remembered parts of what he last remembered: short glimpses of a tremendous conflict. When he collected himself, Tarus rose slowly out of bed. He bones creaked and cracked as if they hadn't been put into use for a long time. Once righted, Tarus walked out of his chambers and pushed on the door that led into the rest of his manor. He was taken aback at the sudden change of atmosphere. Outside his door, four of his best men were lined two on each side of the hall, while Bob hurriedly paced. All of the men stood at attention while Bob rushed to the side of his king. "My lord!" he exclaimed, as he grasped Tarus' shoulders firmly out of relief, " We did not know what had become of you!" Tarus wearily looked around the room, "What day is it?" he asked.
"Thursday, M'lord"
"How long was I in there?"
"At least three days."
Tarus rubbed his eyes, taking in all of this, "Why the guards?" he asked. Bob looked suddenly solemn, "M'lord…someone wants you dead." Tarus shook his head slightly, "That coward was merely a trifle." Bob shook his head in a different manner, "My lord, a trifle it may be… but we fear that those hooded men may be a suitable foe." Tarus questioned, "You saw another?"
"Three." Said Bob.
Tarus thought a moment more on the events, "It is not a mere mage lost in the woods then?" Bob shook his head in an uneasy manner, "No m'lord. They killed John, Horace, and Meynen." Tarus looked down at the floor at hearing the loss of his other bodyguards.
Bob continued, "The hooded men were elite warriors. Skilled in magic, yet filled with cowardice." Tarus remained deep in thought as Bob's words went on, "They conjured magicks not seen by any of us, and their swordsmanship was nearly equal to ours." Tarus spoke with a slight amount of anger in his, "But who are they?"
"We did find this," Bob held out an insignia. It was a deep, red, circular clasp, probably for a cape, that bore a dark black symbol. The symbol was one well known, and equally feared, the eyes of Skorm.
The ominous shape stared up a Tarus through menacing eyes. When he set eyes on it, Tarus had doubt, if only for a moment, "This means nothing. Those barbarians scurry all throughout the woods. They are cults without a leader. They amount to nothing." Bob did not agree with Tarus. He looked worriedly at his king, "M'lord… the townsfolk are worried. Albion has not been a safe land for many years, they are not confident of their safety as it is." Tarus thought intensely, "What do you suggest? If we build up an army we will terrify the town over a small band of cowards sneaking through the woods! If we are not sure of a threat then we will not act." To Bob, this reasoning made no sense, but he could not argue with his king. Tarus yelled in passionate anger, "Nay! We shall not defend. We will attack! We will hunt down those rats, and rid Albion of its vermin!" Bob looked down in frustration. He new better than to question Tarus
Tarus hurried to his chambers, slamming the large door behind him. When he emerged, he was adorned in dark plate-mail, strong, and thick enough to go into a fierce battle. He was adjusting a spiked vambrace as he walked down the long hall towards the front door. Bob had reluctantly prepared himself, along with ten other guards. The men grabbed their readied packs, which held food, and day's supplies. What caught Bob's eye, as he took up his brown burlap bag, was an odd piece that hung at Tarus' side. Instead of the mediocre blade he always had at his side, the king had an odd, yet equally grand blade. Bob had never before seen this sword, neither had any other guard. He felt somewhat uneasy as he stared at the blade. Suddenly his mind drifted into a dull stupor, and then filled with a flurry of emotion. He was awakened out of his state by the cold wind that rushed through the door and into the entryway.
With a massive leap, Tarus mounted his horse, which had been prepared at moments notice. The guards mounted their steeds as well. The other men violently tried to catch up to their king, who angrily kicked his horse, painfully digging into it's side. "Open the gates!" roared Tarus, who had lost much of his sense of reality. The gatekeeper barely opened the gate enough when Tarus rocketed through, followed soon after by his comrades.
As the men flew through the gate they had no choice but to instantly halt themselves, for the sight before them caught them off guard. Tarus sat still upon his horse, who breathed heavily its breath turning to fog in the chilling air. A cloaked figure stood before them, its dark grey robes were worn with signs of travel. The man carried a staff, its appearance was unusual and its purpose seemed to be more of a weapon than a walking stick. The figure that stood on the path before them said nothing either, the man merely looked on behind the wide brim of his large grey hat. Tarus looked down at the mysterious man, whose long grey hair and brim made him appear an elderly man. No one made a sound, except the wind rustling the blackened foliage. For a long time everyone merely looked at each other; the old man studying each man's face as the guards did the same. Tarus spoke, his voice sounding deafening in comparison to the previous silence, "Who are you?" was his simple inquiry. The old man slowly raised his head so that Tarus could see more of his face, "Who I am is not of importance," his voice had a definite twinge of age, but its very sound resonated with power. "What is significant is that you are in danger." Tarus scoffed at the mysterious old man, "The danger of which you speak will soon be slaughtered with my blade," Tarus held up his sword slightly. At the sight of Tarus' sword the old man grasped his staff tightly, "You oblivious fool!" The old man yelled, his voice's power growing. "That blade has been your undoing, and now you wish wield it like a child's play thing." Tarus did not listen to a word that was said. He kicked his horse once more, urging him deeper into the forest, yet the old man did not move. "I know of that sword," he said to Tarus, "I know of your sister." Tarus could not ignore those words.
He stopped his horse abruptly. "Jack of blades, Scarlet robe, I know of them all." Tarus stepped down from his horse looking at the old man in confusion. The guards remained on their horses in utter bewilderment at this absurd conversation. Tarus desperately wanted to say something, this was obvious by his gaping mouth, but words came to express his mind. Feeling obligated to speak he blurted "You… How…I…" The old man stayed where he had been, not changing his wizened face. "Your search is in vain," said the old man, "The followers of Skorm are spreading through the land. You can not search for them all."
"No!" said Tarus, "I will find them." The old man said nothing. Tarus eventually realized his childish attitude and calmed himself.
Tarus was extremely suspicious of this mysterious cloaked man who seemingly appeared on his doorstep. He was not, simply, a crazed elderly man, who had come ranting at his gate. He could tell the man was wise, far wiser than he, and no doubt this mystifying character was powerful. Tarus could sense it. The aged man had something odd about him; a puzzling aura that compelled Tarus to listen to him.
The cloaked man still stood, seemingly allowing Tarus to think about the encounter. "Why are you here?" Tarus asked, surprised at his clever inquiry. The old man slowly looked up at him, allowing Tarus to see his entire face. The man's face was covered in deep wrinkles, but they did not make him seem a decrepit old man, instead the old man's features made him appear wiser, and more powerful than with the large brim of his dark grey hat covering his face. The old man's eyes were as grey as his robes, yet, in the same way as his face, his eyes merely added to his compelling guise. The old man's eyes were deep, like a dark abyss leading into a cavern, yet somehow they seemed quite the opposite of a gloomy cave. The old man finally spoke, his words a prophesy, "You must live," said the old man, "You must lead this world to a better place than it is to become." Tarus felt proud of this, but he was somewhat confused. The old man began again, "This is not the time to chase the evil in these woods." The old man began to walk slowly, his walking staff pushing into the marshy ground, "You must prepare for war Tarus." Tarus was outraged, "I don't know how you know these things, but I will not allow you to rule my kingdom!" The old man continued to walk slowly, yet with a powerful looking stride towards the gate. "You can not pass!" said Tarus angrily, his words becoming harsher in his throat. The old man said as he continued to the gate, "You must Tarus. Lest we all parish." Tarus suddenly realized that the old man was no fool.
The past few minutes seemed a blur of confusion to the guards, who unwarily followed Tarus and the old man into the gates. Little did they know that the old man who had just entered their kingdom, was a twist of fate meant to change their lives, forever.
Tarus, the old man, and the guards made their way through the gates. Tarus and the mysterious man then headed for Bowerstone manor, where all would be revealed. The two went into the library. The library was a comforting place, lit by lanterns, which flickered in the draft. Heaps of tattered books lay in unorganized piles, books of ancient histories and legends of olden days. The room seemed a magical place. Here Tarus pulled two dusty chairs up to an equally battered table. "Your mind is nearly as clouded as the shores of Oakvale." Said the old man. He drew a vial of seemingly luminous green liquid from within his dark, flowing robes. The old man motioned for Tarus to drink the liquid. Tarus did so. The concoction felt odd in his mouth, yet the taste was not as horrible. Soon Tarus found he could think more clearly. He looked up at the old man, who seemed to fit in perfectly with the cobwebs and decrepit features of the room. The man's face was kind, yet within his eyes lay a grim sincerity. "I… don't…can't understand." The old man nodded in understanding. His comment strayed from the present, "Quite a collection you have." He said, motioning around the room, "I have seen many archives in my travels, but I must say this is quite the conversation piece." Tarus looked confused once again. The old man chuckled, "The Hobbe droppings did nothing for you then?" Tarus gagged for a moment until realizing the jest. "Who are you?" he cried with annoyance. "I am no one of importance. What needs to be discussed is the future." The serious side of the mysterious man came out. "What do you mean future? I have it planned; planned quite well if I must say." The old man sighed, "Tarus… it is difficult to explain all at once." Tarus nearly spoke out against this notion, but realized the conversation would carry on in circles for eternity. "What is it you want me to do then?" said Tarus. The old man took another deep breath, "You must repeat the actions you took… in the days of old." Tarus closed his eyes and went into deep thought. He though hard on his lingering memories. "You know better than any, the power of allies." Said the old man. Tarus did know the truth of this statement. "I am curious to know," Tarus' voice grew angry, "How do you know of my past so well?" The old man merely sighed, "That is not for you to know." "I will know!" Tarus shouted in response. The old man thought a moment. He then drew his staff, a gnarled old piece of dark, strong wood. "Tarus… there are forces at work in this world that are of a higher power." The old man then rose from his seat. "Those fools in the woods that you encountered are what they claim to be, servants of Skorm." Tarus rose out of his chair as well, curious as to where this would lead. The old man held his staff out away from him. He then closed his eyes. Apparently he was in deep thought. He began to mutter under his breath. Tarus looked down at the floor. Suddenly, a small pool of mist began to gather. Slowly the dark smoke expanded, covering almost the entire library floor. The old man then opened his eyes, "Tarus…behold your enemy." The pool of mist suddenly became clear. Tarus was taken back by the sight. The floor now appeared to be a landscape. Trees and paths covered the floor. On the far corner of the room he saw what appeared to be a dark, deep ocean. Then there was the forest and… "Wait! This is Albion." The old man nodded his head. A magical map was drawn out on the floor depicting, in exact detail, the land of Albion. "If this is Albion… what is that?" Tarus pointed to an area that appeared to be Darkwood forest. The old man spoke in a grim tone, "That is the work of Skorm." Tarus looked down at the destruction. Almost the entire forest was covered in flames. Within the dark fog lay a scorched landscape. Tarus leaned in to see closer, he could see hordes of dark figures working amidst the flames. "It's an army." The old man nodded in agreement, "That it is." Tarus looked down at the land. Hundreds of men, clad in dark armor, walked about. They seemed from various lands for the crowd seemed divided into separate groups, each with a large banner either held by a man, or placed on a stake. The sight was devastating Tarus' expression was dismal, "What allies are there?" he said hopelessly. "Nothing can stand against that." The old man waved his hand over the mist. It quickly disappeared leaving behind the dusty library floor. "We must have hope, Tarus. That is all that remains."