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continued.

  “We are very selfish if we think Lastenberg will repair the rifts that we create.”

  “We did not make this problem, my lord. A creature that swam through the air caused this,” argued Guthuahn.

  “What? Nonsense. To be in the air is impossible.”

  “The Land of Dark Dirt creates new things to infiltrate the magic shield. It has made things that fly. We can call these new fiends Zafthics,” said Guthuahn.

  “The flying Zafthic,” muttered Nofflore. His eyes clouded with worry. “Let us then summon Lastenberg before ‘tis too late, before The Dark Dirt covers all.

  The fellows strode to the wall top. A blossoming new day glistened in their eyes, but they looked to the west where the dark horizon met a dark blue sky.

  “What if it is already too late, my lord? What if Lastenberg cannot save us?” murmured Kalpon watching black clouds amassing.

  “If The Archer cannot, we shall make a stand so powerful that no wind can ever uproot our kin.” Then turning toward the two others, Nofflore added, “We shall show Lastenberg, when he comes, that he fights not alone. He has friends in this world.”

  High over their heads the sky was being painted a brilliant light blue by gentle strokes of the air. Yet dark clouds blew closer from the horizon, threatening to wash away the picturesque morn.

  The king’s gaze strayed to a nearby guard. “Set ablaze the signal sentry! It is now the time we prepare for death, or a new freedom!” Nofflore took Guthuahn and Kalpon to the stables whilst the guard climbed to the summit of the keep.

  The torch carrier’s hands trembled as he reached out to light the kindling that had never felt the warmth of a flame before.

  Up stretched the fire into the unrestricting sky, and one by one, the fire spread by the eye of guards from castle to castle until all around Ettron Forest was fire, atop every stronghold’s keep.

  Back in Castle Greensky, Nofflore and the two Keepers had piled into a carriage and rode off to pick up the final two Word Keepers, Iwan and Kefra.

  Iwan was the youngest of The Word Keepers. A fine woman of the northern town of Inbild. She wasted no time to join the three in their task of gathering the five who must summon Lastenberg.

  The last member they lacked was Kefra. A worthy old chap of Castle Redmir. Hither did The Dark Dirt drift closest. It was not a scarce wisp upon the horizon’s palette but a dominant landscape view for the people who dared to dwell that close.

  The king of the castle had been forming his troops ever since the signal fires rounded the forest bends. By the time the group of Keepers and Nofflore arrived there, the army was nigh ready for the battlefield and were awaiting the orders of their king. Nofflore stepped up with the king of Redmir to help kindle courage in the hearts of the people.

  “This will be the first place to be assailed!” called Nofflore to the army who had gathered in the courtyard. The red-trimmed silver suits of steel shone of bravery and the red capes that flowed behind the soldiers were their carpets into the field of conflict. “The shadows will come quickly and shall carry no mercy for our kin! If we wish to live, we must fight!”

  “You, my fine warriors,” continued the king of Redmir, Gildwin. “You will be the first steel these fiends shall encounter upon Gonith Plains! Let them feel the wrath your swords were forged to imbue! Let the first blood be that of the monsters! Fear will be riding with you this day, but do not let it ride against you! The Dark Dirt shall fear you for we shall fight today a fight worthy of remembrance!”

  Dusk’s shadows loitered upon the doorstep of the castle and the army marched to the plains to meet their foes. Hordes of creatures, hidden by the dense clouded roof that barred all skylight from feeling the grasses fingers, crept forth from The Dark Dirt which blew ever closer to the walls of Redmir.

  The golden fields turned brown and died a mile ere the coming of The Dark Land’s tendrils. The dieing land turned everyone’s spirits bleak for perhaps soon, they would be lying dead like the plants around them. The soldiers drew their swords and stood shoulder to shoulder in defiance. Their king, Gildwin stood before them all watching the dust clouds advancing towards them. Huge walls of blackness where eyes and forms crawled from.

  “This may be the last eve man stands upon these plains, but it shall not be the last night of man! For upon the morrow, wherever the sun rises again, life will spring anew! Life will live on!” Gildwin’s words, gave hope to his men whose eyes screamed with terror at the horrors that drew closer, ever so slowly. But he had no hope himself, for he knew within, that no mortal-made weapon could withstand the fury of these evils.

  Whilst the valiant stood to fight, Nofflore led The Keepers in his carriage through the woods to Castle Greensky. Their journey was a path away from the battle that commenced there, yet, their hearts felt for those who bravely fought there.

  Castle Greensky still had a sunrise to light its streets and the sky above its high wall, but Redmir in the north was already covered by the black clouds of the enemy’s land. Spirits and steel was broken there in a bloody conflict. Black grains of soil had begun to blow over the city, slowly covering its glory.

  Nofflore knew he had little time to protect his own people, thus he hastened The four Keepers into the heart of the castle. Down they trod, stairways with no light, and seemingly no way out.

  “The Bergwarn,” whispered Guthuahn as the solemn five filed into a chamber.

  “Long have I wondered of this room. Long have I desired to step upon its stones.” Kefra lightly touched the stonework that had been carved ages ago in a time that none knew of. For whilst the mountains, valleys and streams changed, The Bergwarn remained the same.

  “Long have these stones stood hither, in this hidden abode, yet as with the sun, they still gleam like they were carven yesterday!” Iwan stood in awe, her eyes wide with astonishment.

  “Long have I thought this room to be fable!” jeered Kalpon. “And now I stand within its walls, within the very heart of a fantasy!”

  “We have not much time,” muttered Nofflore as he arrived near the center of the room. “If Lastenberg is to save us, we must give him time. Without time, a hero cannot even achieve victory. Now chant with me!”

  Together they all chanted. Their words ringing out like icicles plunging into a bed of steel.

  “Lastenberg, opon-hul! Lastenberg, opon-hul!” they chanted, and the sounds broke upon the stone perimeter, falling into the floor. “Lastenberg, opon-hul!”

  The surface of the rock chamber was smoother than anything that could be made by the meek people. A room so finely crafted that not even Temple Berghope could claim victory over.

  The white marble ceiling and floor were stained by the hue of gold. The absolute black granite walls fashioned in an elliptical length so smooth that no creature no matter the size could climb them and in the center of the floor was a white gold circular step, polished to a mirror glint. It is from this base that Lastenberg rose.

  As the five people chanted the words of old, they joined hands and waited for their hero to rise.

  The eyes of Lastenberg opened over the white gold step, six feet high they looked to his hailers. A light mist floated from the floor and gathered in the center. Lastenberg’s ageless body was forming in front of the spectators.

  Lastenberg stood before the group, a man not to be perceived as older than forty, with a bow in hand and quiver hung behind him. His bright clothing shone neath the links of a clear chain mail vest.

  “W-welcome, L-L-Lastenberg, sir, I mean, sire, my lord,” stuttered Nofflore, who was the only one who barely found the strength to utter a bit of words.

  “My friends, it seems it was just the night ere I went to sleep hither, and now you summon me. It is so as I saw, a king, two male Word Keepers, a female Word Keeper, and a Staff Keeper. Now, courage opon-hul, for there is peril lurking this land. How long has past since last I woke?” Lastenberg stepped from his stand yet sti
ll was an imposing height to the common man.

  “I beg you pardon me, my lord,” began Nofflore, a tad more composed of his kingly self.

  “Lastenberg is my name, king. I am no ones lord.”

  “I ask forgiveness, Lastenberg, we come at a dark hour when The Land of Dark Dirt is nigh upon us! Time for talk is not amongst our pleasures. Please aid us!” King Nofflore bowed to The Archer. “We are at your service.”

  “If time runs to an end, then I must hurry. The Staff of Hope is tainted by the claws of a beast –– I cannot see where it is. All is dark around it,” said Lastenberg with his eyes closed.

  “It flies,” croaked Kalpon.

  Lastenberg peered at The Staff Keeper. “Flies? Then my arrow shall fly after it!” The Archer hastened up the stairway and as if he knew already the lay of the world, he made his way to the walls of Greensky. “There goes the creature.” He pointed to the sky and passing into the shadow of the dark clouds was the Zafthic, grasping The Staff of Hope in its claws.

  “How did you know where it would be?” asked Guthuahn in surprise.

  “I have more powers than to merely live forever, Guthuahn. I know all of what I need to know of. The secrets of the world come to me when I need them.” Lasterberg then turned his attention back to the current danger that flew yon.

  “It takes The Staff to The Land of Dark Dirt! Alas! It is too far already, we can do nothing to it