So, i guess it's been a while huh. Yeah, i've been busy with college apps, but now I'd like this story done.

By the way, just for the record, this story is a part of a series I am writing. The first part was about Neimi and Colm, and this is the second part. I will release more, and message the titles to the people who want to read them.

Please Read and Review!

23 years later

Duessel stood on the balcony of the Imperial Palace, looking over the city below. Grado Keep was going to bed, and the lights that lingered across the city were slowly dying out. There was something strangely poetic about the idea. The entire city seemed like a living being, gradually drifting away.

He felt a hand resting on his shoulder, gently assuring him he was not alone on the balcony. He turned and pulled Melina, his wife, forward and wrapped an arm around her waist. For a few moments, they stood, staring up into the blank night sky.

After Duessel had reunited Amelia and her mother, Duessel had begun to see her a lot more. At military functions, during old reunions, and just on a regular basis when he visited the young girl. They talked, danced, and laughed. Duessel enjoyed her company. She was a brief respite from years of mind numbing administrative work as Emperor.

Duessel had known her for a long time, having rescued her from the bandits who had kidnapped her long before the War of the Stones had even started. Stricken with amnesia, Duessel had taken her under his wing. Back then though, he'd just been the kind general who had rescued her and sheltered her till her memory began to return. Now though, he was the kind old general who had also protected her daughter during the war, and later reunited them.

Soon after Duessel became Emperor, he had courted her, and asked her to marry him. Melina had been delighted, and there was a massive celebration to celebrate the wedding. Royalty from across Magvel had come to pay tribute to the two; many of them old friends from the war. Amelia was elated to have her old mentor from the war as a father, and kept in touch with him even after she transferred to Renais to live with her own husband, Franz.

She'd been even more elated when, a year later, Melina had given birth to her step brother, Aetius. The young boy, being Duessel's son, grew up within the Imperial Palace, personally groomed by Duessel to be the next in line for the throne. Swordsmanship, leadership…the boy excelled at everything.

Now a young man, he was the pride of Grado. Commanding the finest battalion, an elite unit known as the Guards of the Mark, he had protected Grado's borders from thieves and bandits since his he'd turned eighteen and had received the title Second Marshall of the Mark. He'd grown into a strong young man, and had the proudest father in the world.

"Coming to bed?" Melina whispered, pulling on him slightly. Duessel resisted, but not in a cold manner.

"Just a moment, my dear." He murmured, still staring out at the city. "I just want to enjoy the night air a little longer."

She nodded and left him to his thoughts, gently shutting the door behind her. Duessel sighed and let out a small groan. His aches were back again. Somehow, being a general with a reputation for skill and ferocity unseen in any life time had not exempted him from the ravages of old age. He could feel it in his bones; he was getting old.

"Still," He thought cheering up. "Grado has recovered and the world is at peace. I have a son, a step daughter, and a lovely wife. I am happy."

With that, Duessel turned, and went to bed.

Rotrai lay at ease on his bed, staring at the dull grey stone above him until a knock at the door to his room roused him.

"Another day, another meal." He thought glumly, moving to open the heavy oaken door to his room.

"Not room though." He thought opening the door and accepting a small dinner of roasted fowl and vegetables. "Cell."

No matter what his keepers said, that was what his room atop this high tower was; a prison cell. Not that he lived without comfort. The Empire had ensured that his accommodations were paid for, and he had a fine room…yet could never leave it. There was constant armed guard outside and his only friend was his young friend Ferenhel.

Ferenhel was a scholar who lived in Serafew, where his prison was located. His only contact outside of the guards, Ferenhel was an intelligent man, one who delighted in teaching, even while visiting a friend in a cell. Rotrai was by no means uneducated. He had learned under some of the finest wise men of Grado. After all, he'd been related to the Emperor, even if only through marriage, and it gave one certain privileges. He felt sure it was only by those privileges that he was still alive.

However, Ferenhel was perhaps a genius. Every day the wiry young man entered, after being searched by guards, and began discussing with Rotrai everything from philosophy to geography. He had a deep mind, and Rotrai needed the company. Plus, he felt he learned more talking with Ferenhel then he'd learned in his many days of education. The young man seemed to know about everything.

Without a doubt though, his favorite subject was history. The scholar was an unlimited tome of Magvel's history. The many wars, the alliances against the monsters, against other nations, the many brief nations that rose into being for a brief and shining time, only to be snuffed out soon after. Fernehel discussed and explained these histories to him, many of them unheard by Ferenhel before his imprisonment.

One day in particular, he spoke of the Fallen Chronicles.

"According to the ancient writings," Ferenhel had explained, "Our continent Magvel is not the only populated continent. Long ago, the many continents were connected, united under a great banner."

"What banner?" Rotrai had asked eagerly, leaning forward.

Ferenhel raised his hands, as if warding off the question. "I cannot claim to know all the answers…Though I certainly know most. However, this higher power was not invulnerable, and during a great calamity, a massive group of traitors, who had been falsely accused, fled on boat after destroying records of a certain island called Magvel."

Ferenhel leaned back, waiting for Rotrai's response. And Rotrai…didn't know what to say. The story was startlingly similar to his own. Nobody, not even the guards, were supposed to know about his situation. Could it have simply been a coincidence?

"After fleeing," Ferenhel had continued, "The traitors sailed to Magvel, and began creating the world we have today. The grand empire they'd been a part of was unable to deal with the problem, as they themselves were being undone by disaster. And so, Magvel was born."

Ferenhel had cocked his head at the end of his story, looking at Rotrai with steely grey eyes that seemed to be jewels of winter itself. "Could this story really be true?" Rotrai had thought fleetingly.

"Strange." Ferenhel had murmured as if distracted. "Those traitors were the saviors of that entire culture."

With that, Ferenhel had left, promising to be back the next day. And he had returned. That day and every other day for the past years. It was not long before the two of them were close friends and the only thing that Rotrai looked forward to was his companionship.

Then, one day, Ferenhel entered breathless and sweaty, clutching his side. He looked as though he had run the whole way there. Rotrai leapt to his feet, and helped his exhausted friend to his bed.

"What happened?" He asked, worry laced in his voice.

"An ambush my friend." Ferenhel removed his hand from his side, revealing a long gash that had bit deep into his ribs. Rotrai took a step back, horrified.

"Who-"

"The same people who seek to assassinate you." Ferenhel 's other hand fell beneath his robes, revealing a massive tome. "You must flee with me. Before they arrive."

Rotrai faltered. He did not find it unusual that he would be assassinated. Truth be told, he had been surprised that the Empire had allowed him to survive this long. But flee? Flee where? When he voiced his objections, Ferenhel merely smiled.

"Do you think I have been idle these past months?" Ferenhel asked slyly. "Simply talking with you. No, I have been very, very busy."

"What do you mean?" When his friend fell silent, Rotrai snapped, "Speak man!"

"Many in western Grado would side with you, if you had the power to back up a claim to the throne." He grinned now. "Duessel is a usurper to the throne after all. He is hardly of royal blood, while you have such rare blood running through your veins." Ferenhel opened the tome, preparing a spell. "I am sending you to Serafew. I have hired an army of mercenaries from Jehanna to assist you in gaining power."

Rotrai gave pause now. This was it. His chance for freedom. Reaching out, he took the hand of Ferenhel, and grabbed his chance.

Aetius walked as quietly as he could, leading his powerful war horse through the dense woods. Behind him, a column of soldiers and cavaliers followed, their ranks tightly dressed and compact. The woods, though dense, were devoid of brush, which made it an ideal way to move horse discreetly and quickly.

From off in the distance, Aetius could hear the distant sounds of battle. Men fighting. Men dying. The sounds came closer as the column moved closer to the trade route they were supposed to be protecting.

"The enemy milord?" Thorismund queried, hurrying besides him. Like Aetius, he was dressed in the scarlet armor of cavalier, and carried a long spear and shield. Unlike Aetius, he did not possess the decorations and decoration that came with being the Emperor's son. Instead, he wore the simple uniform of a lieutenant; leather padding and metal chainmail.

"I believe so." Aetius murmured stoically. It wouldn't do to show excitement or relish at the coming slaughter. That would only encourage the men to break rank and fall into disorder. "If Commander Stilicho's knights are ready, perhaps we can end these bandit's raids."

Aetius nodded, and Thorismund made a silent hand gesture to the column. Quietly, the cavaliers mounted their horses while the soldiers formed ranks behind them. Their plan had been that, while Commander Stilicho and his men offered themselves up as bait, Aetius and the Guards of the Mark would circle around and crush them, ensuring that the bandits harassing the northern trade routes would finally be crushed.

"Mount up Thor." Aetius smiled as Thor scowled at the use of his old nickname. Aetius grabbed the helmet hanging from his horse, hefting it in his hand. It was magnificent, a gift from his soldiers after his victory at the Harren plains in the north. It was scarlet red, but tinged with silver around the edges, and shaped so it protected his cheekbones and nose. The top was decorated with a long plume of horse hair that fell back behind him.

"Men are ready milord." Thor informed, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "We await your command."

Aetius said nothing. He merely drew his long sword and raised it above his head. As Aetius's horse began a slow trot, the lines of men and horse followed, increasing speed as he did. Before long, they were in a full gallop towards the sound of battle, trees flying by like blurs. The infantry fell behind them, a mass of running men, carried by their adrenaline and momentum. The horses practically flew, rising over the crest of a hill. Below them, where the trees ended and the paved road began, a small circle of red clad knights and soldiers were holding back a sea of horrid, mangy bandits.

The bandits wielded their weapons as though they were mere clubs. Their strategy consisted of massing together and attacking the tight phalanx of knights in waves. The knights were all tight efficiency. No effort was wasted with wild swings or desperate blocks from their shields. Every thrust of theirs brought a spurt of blood and a howl from a bandit.

In the center of it all was Stilicho. His old battered armor was still impressive, and he wielded his sword and axe together, leaving his spear across his back for better enemies. Every attack of the enemy was countered with bone crushing thrusts and slashes.

But the knights were close to being overwhelmed. The horde before them was relentless and taken with blood fever. Aetius watched as one knight fell with a heavy battle axe splitting his helmet open, mixing brains, blood and cold steel.

"URAAA!" Aetius roared, kicking his horse into a charge. The men echoed his roar, throwing their mounts into the rear of the enemy horde.

"URAAAA!"

The barbarians, surprised, fell into even more disorder. The knights took advantage of this to push forward, while the cavaliers encircled the enemy, their well trained squadrons splitting to make way for the soldiers.

The soldiers fell on them quickly. The first line thrust their shields into the backs of the bandits. Before they could retaliate, they knelt, letting the second line strike with their spears. While on their knees, they draw their short swords, jabbing up towards the now bewildered enemy. A volley of spears and javelins crashed into the rear of the bandit's line, felling even more.

The infantry pushed forward, hacking and thrusting with their short small hilt swords. Aetius wheeled his horse around and through the enemy, slashing with his sword.

Some people would say that fighting from horseback is exceedingly simple. They believe it is simply downward slashes, but that is a common misconception. To fight from horseback, one had to be exceptionally skilled at swordplay and horsemanship. Luckily, Aetius was both.

He steered his horse through the crowd with his legs, slashing on both sides and occasionally lashing out with a boot to an enemy's face. When one barbaric man with wild eyes desperately tried to climb up the side of his horse, Aetius caught his axe and pulled him up and into his waiting sword.

Aetius pushed the man away and turned. Seeing one of his men being overwhelmed, he hurled the axe he had just acquired, catching the offending bandit in the spine. He fell, twitching violently.

A cry from his right caught his attention. Thor, in a moment of lapsed attention, had been struck in the thigh by a hammer. It did not kill him, but Aetius watched as his thigh bone collapses and crumpled. He urged his horse forward, grabbing a lance rising from the ground as he did. The bandit raised his hammer again, but was interrupted as Aetius thrust the lance through his chest, killing him instantly.

He rode forward, catching his old friend before he fell from his horse. "Damn." He cursed, pushing him away and pulling himself back into his saddle with a wince. "I'm fine milord."

"You're bone is shattered." Aetius warned him, slashing backwards as another bandit ran forward. The man fell, his face gashed.

"Oh, I didn't realize." Thor growled sarcastically. He surveyed the battlefield, and nodded towards Aetius. "Looks like the battle is finished."

Aetius looked about. Thor was right. Any remaining bandits had surrendered, and were being rounded up by the cavaliers, herded like cattle by circling horsemen. They threw down their weapons, hands in the air. His foot soldiers and the formerly besieged knights were also patrolling, finding wounded men and hurrying their passage.

Aetius felt his pride swell as he looked over his men.

"Grado Laureola!" He roared, raising his sword. His men followed suit.

"GRADO LAUREOLA!"

He let his sword arm fall, loosely gripping his sword in his hand. The ancient victory cry of Grado had been abandoned by the Imperial armies during the previous war. Written in the ancient tongue, it translated to "Grado victory". The shame of the last war seemed to have stained it, but Aetius liked to think he could erase it with his victories.

"Very theatrical." Thor murmured, gazing across the road to where the men were reforming. "What do we do about the prisoners?"

"Have them fall into line with the column." Aetius ordered, setting his horse into a walk towards his soldiers. "We will take them to the nearest town for trial."

"They'll just be executed." Thor protested.

"Absolutely, and their public hanging will discourage others from going into their profession." Aetius explained. "The Empire cannot tolerate these bandits, but the most effective way to show people that something is wrong is to kill them for it."

"How very philosophical." Thor said dryly. "You'll make a great Emperor some day."

Aetius scowled but said nothing. If there was one person's opinion that he trusted, it was Thorismund's. The two of them had joined the military together, fought side by side during dozens of battles, and had saved each other from death more times than Aetius cared to count. Though Aetius's station in life had allowed him to progress further in the ranks than Thor, it was certainly Thor's training methods that had turned the Guards of the Mark into the elite fighting unit of the Grado Army.

The Guards of the Mark were a relatively small unit. About fifty cavaliers and a hundred foot soldiers. The unit was essentially the only unit in the Empire that was "looking for trouble" as the saying went. The northern border of the Empire was largely wilderness, making it a perfect place for bandits and other raiders to hide from authorities.

Unfortunately, much of the trade between Renais and Grado passed through there, making it essential for the security of both nations. Therefore, the northern border, or the Mark, was heavily patrolled by the Imperial Army. However, only the Guards of the Mark actively scoured the land for bandits, acting more like detectives or a police force in how they pursued and hunted down bandit hideouts.

There were also the occasional lingering monsters. Many had fled or hidden themselves after the War of the Stones, and Aetius doubted whether they'd ever find them all. However, all this real combat and danger had quickly made the Guards into the finest unit in the Grado Military.

They also acted as a liaison unit to Renais, often crossing borders and sharing information. This was fine with Aetius, as his stepsister, Amelia, was a knight of Renais. Their friendship had helped create a certain camaraderie between the Imperial and Renais forces. After all, they both were united in hunting down barbarians and defending their trade routes.

Aetius, now on foot, led his horse towards the small camp his men had quickly set up to help deal with the wounded and the dead. As Thor struggled down from his saddle, Aetius helped him limp towards a small table where the cavaliers were working on their injured. There were no healers, as the Guards were a unit of fast moving infantry and cavalry, and staff wielders would only have slowed them down. Instead, the unit stayed well stocked with vulnerary, and had certain riders whose job it was to act as medics and administer aide.

"You'll be just fine." One of these men said, already wrapping Thor's leg and splinting it straight. "Just be glad the bone didn't break the skin?"

"Yeah, I'm so thankful-"

He stopped as the doctor pushed on his leg, and the bones in his thigh snapped back into place. Then he screamed.

Aetius decided to leave Thor, deciding he needed to get his men mounted and ready to bring in the prisoners. As he approached the stockade, he was met by Commander Stilicho.

"Your reputation precedes you your majesty." The commander said, bowing.

"As does yours commander." Aetius returned the bow with a slight nod of the head, before they continued towards the stockade.

Stilicho was a career soldier, one who had fought in the War of the Stones for Grado. After the war, he had stayed on until he had become commander of the garrison at Naufwalt, a tiny trade village in northern Grado.

"We have thirty nine prisoners here sir. All of them bandits." He tilted his head and hesitated before continuing. "I must say, the strategy was a fine idea, but how did you know they would attack us?"

"I did not commander, but I believed that, with you only possessing about ten knights, it would be too much temptation for any enemy to pass up."

"Naturally." Stilicho tilted his head in a nod, but Aetius could practically feel the annoyance rolling off him in great waves. "Can't say I like it though."

"Next time, I will be the decoy." Aetius promised with a good natured laugh.

Thanks for reading. Please review. it will encourage me to finish the next one even faster.