Prologue

"To use that sword has consequences, sir," Dalen's distant voice rose from extinction. The ranger lifted from his chair before the tavern's hearth and motioned for his hawk companion to remain perched upon the chair's high backing. Slow, measured steps eventually delivered him to the man who wielded a longsword; the offending weapon still raised high overhead and ready to deliver the final death blow. "As I said, sir, to deliver such a blow will not end well. And I'm sure you would be on the lesser end of the deal." Dalen made no motion to rest his hand upon the hilt of his longsword; instead, he peered upward and into the man's eyes.

"You're of no consequence," the man spat and flexed the bulging muscles along his arms and gritted his teeth, readying to deliver the death blow to what appeared to be a helpless man who had been enjoying his ale. "This man stole my purse and refused to admit to the theft. I simply claim what is mine."

"Since when is death an even trade for one's purse?" Dalen's face remained stolid and emotionless. He leaned against the bar and placed his right foot onto the lowest rung of the stool that had been quickly vacated by a worried patron who had scurried for the safety of the hearth. Dalen made no obvious attempt to actually defend the apparent thief and instead asked him a question. "Should you have stolen his purse and were subsequently killed by what he thought was a rightful act, I would feel no ill-will towards the outcome. However, if you are, indeed, innocent then that is another matter entirely." He awaited the reply that never came.

The sheer force the large man generated from the attack astounded Dalen. To both their surprise, the accused deftly dodged the blow, managed to spring from the stool and face the two with a pair of daggers, all done with a stealth and fluid motion neither had ever witnessed nor believed could exist. The attacker was further enraged while Dalen now realized what had transpired.

"A trap you have so deftly fallen into. I suggest you lower your weapon and surrender to this one's clever innuendo." Dalen slipped his foot from the lowest rung of the stool and decided he would sit the rest of this one out. "Let it be known that I, Dalen Visareth of no particular land and of no particular people, have forewarned you and the impending danger that awaits you behind those daggers. Proceed at your own accord, strong-armed one."

"Do you not feel loss of honor on your part by simply walking away?" called out one from the bar as Dalen returned to his chair before the hearth. Dalen's stolid expression lowered if only a bit and showed a wry grin and he extended his forearm for Senrai to gain a new perch. The companion did so and rustled his feathers in anticipation of the open skies once again.

"I am not a savior of mankind, sir," Dalen turned and headed for the door as the two men began their standoff. "If so, then I would die an early death in defense of the guilty." He peered at the accused as he prepared to do battle with the strong-armed one. "I warned and that is all I can hope to accomplish. Should my life be more prominently associated with oncoming death than the accuser or the accused?" He reached for the door's handle and pulled it open, allowing the sunlight from the outside to highlight the duelists. With one last glance backwards Dalen looked upon their faces one last time before the tavern's door slowly closed behind him. From within the tavern he could hear steel clash against steel and the battle was begun.

Chapter One

All but ten steps further down the road and Dalen heard the rumbling sound arise from the earth before even setting eyes upon the landscape. The feeling of an earthquake filtered through his mind and then he considered the likelihood of such a phenomenon. No, according to his proximity and his lengthy history amongst the Rhydin landscape, an earthquake could not be the culprit. Without much success, Senrai attempted to warn his companion of the sight ahead. From the skies, his companion witnessed what could be viewed as an all-out march of thousands upon thousands of men; halberds were raised high as they walked in an orderly fashion towards of all places the tavern from whence he had come. The only thing ultimately standing between them and the establishment was the ranger and his skyward companion who readily wanted no part of this massive land march.

"Oh hell to this day," Dalen uttered in his perturbed, mostly disgruntled voice. He was not in the mood for this sort of action. The sun had yet to even reach its zenith and had already been witness to an eventual duel, summarily passed over by an astoundingly beautiful woman, heralded as the personal tour guide of three rather obnoxious men and now a considerable size army was heading his way. So he did what any great hero would do in such circumstances. Without much thought he reached into his traveling cloak and quickly found another stash of trail rations. There were his pride and joy and loosely bound within a small leather pouch. Gathered from the far corners of Rhydin, these particular fruits always seemed to replace the frown upon his face with a more pleasant, easy-going demeanor. And then he did what any hero would do when faced with thousands upon thousands of men, all heavily armed and armored with the finest equipment money could buy.

"I should have taken the east road," he uttered and did his hero thing by taking a seat just off the road. His legs crossed and his hand picked idly at the dried fruits until he was convinced of the exact one that would relieve his bothersome situation. Several raisins were popped into his waiting mouth and he tried savoring their taste. At first he succeeded and then his day truly went to hell and back again. Now, from the east road, which was set directly behind his seated position, was accompanied by yet another marching army of men armed and armored with the best equipment money could buy. Skyward, his companion was stirring about and screeching as loudly as he could, all in vein as the rumbling armies muffled the cries. Dalen glanced over his shoulder and mustered up the only thing he could at the moment: a sigh. His shoulders sagged and listlessly picked at the dried fruits in the small leather pouch. Despite the good thoughts he could try and muster up, the ranger knew he should have taken the south road.

Dalen changed his position so he could see both armies as they began to slowly halt, the commanders from either army calling upon their appropriate men to prepare to meet at the center point and discuss terms. Casually, the ranger glanced from the army that was along the west road to the army that was along the east road. He watched as several men from either side pressed their horses forward and began the slow, gradual pace towards the center point of the once-barren road to what was now a battlefield. By the looks of the coats of arms and the preferred weapons from either army, Dalen was well aware of who they were. He guessed he just never received the notification they were going to be meeting up on this day and killing each other. On the same day he was almost enjoying his travels, no less.

The retinues sent by either commander eventually met and began to speak their terms. Dalen watched in amusement as they shook their heads in dissatisfaction and became, in his eyes at least, almost childish. One man from the army that waited along east road spat in the other group's direction, coming nowhere close to hitting anyone or anything other than the innocent ground. Dalen glanced upward at them and cursed an unseemly line of colorful terms and slowly began the process of tightening the drawstring of the small leather pouch and then replacing it within his traveling cloak. Finally he stood, brown eyes surveying the men as he stood directly between them. The look upon his face was one of those priceless glances that instantly drew a hush from both sides of the battlefield. Even in the distance the commander's and their respective men were reaching for their spyglasses to get a better look at the scene before them.

"You know, there are times when I forgive interruptions, depending upon the circumstances, of course. By the way, gentlemen, this is not one of those circumstances. He paused as he glanced at the spot beneath him where he had diligently kept silent and allowed the two warring factions to customarily meet at the center point. The expression upon his face was mostly incredulous. "Had you not previously noticed my inconsequential placement upon that very spot," he motioned to the place where the green grasses had been pressed downward a bit beneath his weight, "I claimed this," he motioned to the general expanse of the landscape where he had been peacefully traveling, "portion of the land first. Do you pretend to relieve a man of his temporary claim?"

Apparently so Dalen doted as the two groups quickly dispensed of the dialogue from the ranger's lips and continued their war discussions. More childish behavior ensued and approximately fifteen minutes later they had somewhat agreed upon the terms of war. Meanwhile, Dalen had stood his ground and listened closely to their terms and crossed his arms in defiance. While they were at satisfied enough to begin their war upon each other, Dalen was not satisfied. Slowly he peered at both groups with his deep brown eyes and felt the repulsion growing from deep within his soul.

"I do not agree with those terms," he directed at them pointedly. At that moment he heard a screech from above that lifted the hairs along his skin. Dalen gritted his teeth and stared at the two opposing groups and stayed his ground. "What' Defile this great land with your blood?" Those words drew a rumbling from the two opposing groups and in unison they glared at the ranger. Some slipped hands to their hilts while other glanced over their shoulder and motioned to their commanders the terms were met with satisfaction. "To stain this great land's creatures with your angst' With your histories?" Dalen was not finished of his own accord as the sword from one of the men from the army along the west road was drawn from it's sheathe, making that metal-on-metal hissing sound Dalen knew all too well. The sword pointed at his chest was engraved with many fine etchings and most likely a family heirloom from a distant relative. While he admired the craftsmanship he did not admire the man holding it.

"Do not confuse me with a fool who would battle you," Dalen stated flatly and with the back of his hand slowly pushed the sword away from his chest. "Many great swords fall into the wrong hands," he continued with a little more bite to his tone. "If only the weapon had a choice . . ." The reference was obvious to everyone and quickly stirred an angered from the wielder of the sword in question. He claimed to slay the half-wit with his far-removed relative in no matter of time and then be ready to defeat the opposing army without much effort. From there all manner of words started flying and more spit was directed at each other. Dalen felt it appropriate to waste no further effort on these buffoons and lowered back down to the ground from whence he had come. He reached into his traveling cloak and retrieved the small leather pouch once again. Slowly he reached in and, with deft hands, plucked free the dried slices of apple and began to chew on them. He savored the taste even as the men atop their horses started to separate and return to their respective armies.

"I'll have you after this is over," spat the owner of the sword that had been pointed at Dalen's chest. The ranger watched as the two armies were rejoined by their emissaries and made final preparations for their initial charges. Dalen was quite aware he would soon have to remove himself from his comfortable spot in favor of not being run through. From overhead Senrai let out yet another heart-chilling screech. He amused his companion and peered skyward only to watch as the hawk flew in peculiar pattern he had never seen before. Confused, the ranger stood from his spot on the green grasses and returned the small leather pouch within his traveling cloak. Seeing as the west road, the direction he had been traveling, was lined with a massive army, and the east road, the road he had previously wished he had taken, was also lined with a massive army, Dalen's choices were becoming more limited by the second. As he heard the initial battle cry echo across the battlefield, Dalen headed towards the mountains. The thought of meandering through the terrain was becoming more and more inviting, especially once he was reminded that he had not been through those mountains in quite some time. The massive charge rumbled across the battlefield, metal on metal sounded behind the ranger as he made a direct line for the small establishment nestled at the foot of the mountains.

"Perhaps thinking bad thoughts will produce good occurrences . . .? Dalen was fishing and actually tagged this as a good alternative, especially considering his good thoughts had done nothing but bring all the bad. With a shrug he delved into the unlikely possibility that all the people who wished ill-will upon his soul gathered in one place, drew upon their past experiences with the ranger, laid out a course of action to dispense of the ranger and in their final moments, extinguished Rhydin of having to live with his presence. Dalen considered this possibility, and even as remotely preposterous as it was, with great zeal. At least it kept his mind occupied and no longer aware of the battle cries and metal clanking against metal that continuously sounded behind him.