History is often more wedded to the actual events of the past than we would like it to be. And while the victors will try to rewrite the annals in their favor, the truth will always remain strong and dominant.  Beneath the surface it will stay, preparing to boil over when the accuracy of events must be told.

Carmon Dagarth, Blood Lord of Srabeth

"I've got a nasty feeling." Sheala spent an inordinate amount of time pondering the high faces of the canyon, searching for signs of danger lurking among their rocky crevasses.  Soaring overhead, they curled inward towards the top. "I feel like I'm going to be strangled by these walls," She rubbed the skin of her neck red to emphasize the dire sensation.  "As though the life is being choked out of me by hands around my throat."

"Relax. And stop being so over dramatic."  Reane lounged in her saddle, her horse side by side with Sheala's and a stark contrast to her friend's stiff demeanor.  Together, the two women joined in a leisurely ride through the straight but jagged gash in the world, the rest of their party trailing behind them.

Sheala pointed to the bright stretch of cloudless mid-day blue visible above them. "I keep having visions of a dragon. Coming straight down the chasm and turning us all into crispy sticks of char. Do you realize how exposed we are here?  There is literally no cover."

Also noting their confinement and vulnerability, Reane resolved not to let her own concerns show to Sheala.  "Do you realize how paranoid you sound?"

"Paranoid?" Sheala moaned under her breath.  "Or cautiously realistic?  You know, I survived a long time by not putting myself in any jeopardy I didn't think I could reasonably get out of."

"Look, I'm pretty sure if I was going to die here, and in such a spectacular and imaginative fashion as you've dreamed up, I would have had some vision of that prior to now."  Every word that formed Reane's reaction to the wild fantasy was delivered with a smirk. "I know I've explained to you how seers aren't able to see beyond our own deaths?"

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that."  Sheala turned to her friend and prepared to challenge that assertion made many times before.  "If that's true though, then how is it that the Seers of Denang could predict events hundreds, or even thousands, of years into the future?  Huh?"

"That's an interesting question."

Reane's silence after those words gave Sheala the distinct impression she didn't want to answer as the captain began to just stare off.  "And?" Sheala begged for a response beyond what had already been offered.

"Oh, sorry." Reane shook her head, refocusing.  "I was pondering how to best explain it.  You know, for a layman like you."

"Gee, thanks. Nice way to call me stupid?"

Reane then continued.  "Think of it this way.  You already know a seer can only see into the future until their own death, right?"

"So you keep telling me."

Reane nodded.  "But, what they are able do is piggyback onto the visions of another seer further into the future but still alive within their lifetime.  Nine times each year, on the 12th of each month, the Seers of Denang would hold what I guess you'd call a sort of Divination Party."

"A party?"  Sheala cocked her head.  "You mean like with little hats and spiced cakes?"

"For lack of a better term.  Yes."  Then Reane shook her head.  "But without the festive hats and stuff.  It's like forming a chain with many links.  All Seers would perform their chosen means of divining the future and do so simultaneously on the given days.  So, to see what was going to happen one hundred years beyond their own death they would have to, in essence, peer over the shoulder of another seer at some point in the future, but still within their lifetime, seeing that event for themselves.  And if that seer a hundred years forward was divining a vision four hundred years further in the future by the same method, then the first seer could, essentially, see something five hundred years in the future.  Think of it like forging a chain out of links.  But, since I'm the last of the seers, there is no one for me to look towards in the future.  Thus, I'm limited to the point of my own death."

Sheala continued unrelenting with her dour outlook.  "You just made my brain hurt."  Then her typical snark started to bloom like wildflowers in spring. "Ever think you want to have that vision of your death in this chasm, but can't, because you aren't using your abilities?"

"Will you just relax?  Now you're making even me nervous."

"Good."  Sheala took a bit of pleasure in Reane admitting such.  "Maybe I could relax if my mind wasn't constantly envisioning horrible ways to die in a war I never wanted to be part of.  This ravine is making me have flashbacks of that night in Huro's Alley."

"Well, good thing you learned something from that experience with the Black Palm Guild, right?"

Sheala rolled her eyes.  "You know, I'm trying to be serious here. I feel like this entire cycle I'm stuck in is never ending."

"You're just anxious.  And outside your element."  Reane wasn't joking with her friend before.  Now Reane was having the same horrible thoughts of death in her mind, thanks to Sheala sharing her vivid imagination. "Everything will be exactly as it is supposed to be. Trust me, there's an end to it all."

"When?  How?"

"Oh?" Reane brought her eyes to bear upon Sheala in a friendly but still challenging stare.  "Now you want me to interfere and tell you?"

Sheala sighed. "Is it too much to want to get back to my life?"

"No.  But there is still a way to go.  And, sorry to tell you, but your days of being a thief on the streets of Catersburg are behind you."

"Great."  Eyes rolling once more, Sheala shuffled her reins from one hand to the other.  "Well, if you think for one second I'm going to carry on in my uncle's footsteps and rule a nation, you've got another think coming."

"Now, that," Reane added with a deepening grin, "would be something to behold.  Queen Sheala Stormband? However, for now?" Reane pointed ahead of them. "We're at the next step on this journey."

At the extent of their vision, far down the canyon, a massive fortification came into focus. Half as high as the gorge itself, it ran straight across from wall to wall and the cylindrical towers on each end.  Those towers themselves were three quarters of the ravine's height.  Each was mostly imbedded in the stone, only a portion of their curved surfaces visible.

"Is that them?" Sheala sat up in her saddle.

"Yep.  That's Mours Towers."  Reane stared back at the imposing structure.

"Looks more like a wall than a pair of towers."

"The wall runs between each of the towers on either side of the canyon."  Reane pointed to the north, then the south side.  "Used to be part of the Quelling Wall that separated Acemours from Veramours, back before both kingdoms were conquered by Hitithe.  During that war, the Quelling Wall was raised. They built the Sagon Wall afterwards about a half mile to the east of here to replace it."

"Why was the Sagon Wall built so far east?  Why not just rebuild the Quelling Wall?" Sheala asked, not really even knowing what the Quelling Wall even was, or its significance.

"Do I look like a politician?"

"I'm just asking," Sheala snarled. "You've always got your nose in a book and seem to know a lot about history."

Waving off the question, Reane replied.  "I'm sure there was some nonsensical reason for it. One known only to the bureaucrats.  I, honestly, have no idea.  Maybe we can go to the Official Royal Archives in Roatsburg when this is all over and ask the curators there?  It's one of the few remnants of Hitithe that Lord Hedric didn't raise to the ground during or after his seizing of power."

Sheala scrunched her nose up at the suggestion.  "Sounds boring. I'll pass."

"Anyway, back when the Quelling Wall separated Acemours from Veramours, the only way to get across it was down this ravine and through that fortification there."  Reane emphasized her words with a renewed point back in the direction of the towers.  "And a gate that is about as wide as a single supply wagon."

"One wagon?" Sheala asked. "Why so narrow? What if you had to get troops through it quickly?"

"That's the point."  Reane noted how Sheala was intent on the wall.  "Acemours from Veramours were not on very friendly with each other.  Some ancient dispute between a prince and a princess following the death of their father, the King, over who would rule the kingdom.  So, they split his lands down the middle, building a magnificent wall, the Quelling Wall, between them.  Each kingdom supplied half the soldiers required to man the newly constructed sprawling rampart and kept watch over their rival from atop it. To cross from one kingdom to the other, one either had to go all the way around north or south, and be spotted long before making it to the other side, or through the lone gate here in Mours Canyon."

"Guess that would make it hard for one of them to invade the other?"

"Yep. Sure would," Reane confirmed, reins shifting once more in her saddle.  "And the Quelling Wall kept the peace between them for a long time.  Until Hitithe conquered them both."

"So, that's one thing that I never really understood."  Sheala admitted to more of her own ignorance, but only as a deliberate distraction of her thoughts from certain death by imaginary dragons.  "I know that Hitithe used to be little more than a mid-sized kingdom before it became aggressive and started expanding.  Why did the Kingdom of Hitithe invade its neighbors in the first place?"

While half her attention were on the current conversation, the other part of Reane's conscious mind stared at the looming, hewn stone impediment before them.  Something about how perfectly it filled the chasm entranced her.  Its features became more defined with each stride their horses took towards it in a slow plod of hooves clopping upon trampled dirt.

"That is a story I do know," Reane said, answering her friend's latest question.  "The Seers of Denang, my ancestors, had visions of a calamity to befall all the nations of mankind upon the southern continent of Relmishia. The visions were of a great destruction and darkness stretching across the lands. The source of this devastation, according to the divinations, was the Providence of Srabeth.  They foresaw that the only hope for mankind to stave off this looming evil, a foe yet to surface, was to unite as one against it and be prepared."

"You mean the Blood Lords?  Lord Hedric? And the Crimson Thrones of Srabeth?" Sheala felt a small amount of pride at being able to speak something sensical to the topic being discussed.

"Yes.  But this was before the Blood Lords even ruled Srabeth," Reane said.  "At the time, Srabeth was a peaceful sea-faring and farming society. Very friendly with the dwarves on the other side of the mountains.  No one saw them as any sort of threat, other than the Seers."

"Why?" Sheala stretched her tired and stiff neck with her latest question. "I thought the Seers of Denang were respected? Almost treated like gods in some cultures."

A nod from Reane preceded her reply.  "This is true, at one time.  The problem was, there had been a long growing distrust of the Seers of Denang.  People had grown suspicious they were more intent on manipulating the future for their own power than simply foreseeing it.  The previous corruption of Seer Asaun when he headed the Council of Sight opened a deep divide of distrust, even though he had been deposed and stripped of authority years before.  So, because of this, many nations no longer sought the guidance of the Seers. And those that did, did so only very cautiously.  But, there was one who was still a strong proponent of the seers; the ruler of Hitithe, King Arsun Gurot. My ancestors enlisted King Gurot's help to unite the other sovereignties of the southern continent and in an alliance in preparation for the coming day when war would threaten all people's of the land.  But his pleas fell like upon words upon the deaf.  The other nations accused Hitithe of colluding with the Seers and trying to accrue power for themselves.  In the end, King Gurot decided that if others would not join him willingly, he'd unify the lands by force."

Sheala still listening to the history lesson, even as it swerved into areas she knew even less about. "That was the Grand War of Acquisition, right?"

"Yes. And with the Seer's assistance, King Gurot forged the Hitithe Empire.  And it ranged from the western ocean to the eastern mountains.  But, in the process, he and the seers actually unwittingly created the very threat they sought to protect the world against.  As Hitithe's swelling armies swept across the nations of the southern continent, bringing them under a unified banner, preparing to bring an army to bear upon Srabeth, the people there sought desperately for a means to protect themselves.  They had no true army, and were entirely peaceful republic.  They first sought assistance from the dwarves.  But when the dwarves  refused to help, Srabeth sought another way.  They sent an envoy to the northern continent, into The Wastes, seeking help from a rumored and great warlord of substantial power named Carmon Dagarth.  They found him, and he had only one request in exchange for his help—that they submit to him and make him the unquestioned ruler of their lands, wiping out their republican government.  And the people agreed, not realizing what he was and fearing their own destruction was coming at the hands of King Gurot and his armies."

"That Dagarth fellow was the first Blood Lord, right?"  Sheala had actually grown lost in the tale, but aware enough to ask yet another question.  "The first vampire?"

"Well, no one really knows."  Reane patted her mounts main.  "There are rumors that vary as to how he came to be what he was.  Some say he was the first, created by an errant dark spell gone awry.  But others say he was just one of many, created by another before him.  Regardless, when he assumed rule over the lands of Srabeth, he created nine others, like himself, but lesser and subservient to him."

"Isn't that how Blood Lords gain their strength?" Sheala asked.  "By creating more like themselves?"

"They can, yes.  Or they can just drain the entire essence of a living being and take their victim's life force into themselves by drinking blood."

The reluctant ambassador's nose scrunched up. "Disgusting."

"I'm sure to a vampire, it's just like you or I having a nice cut of beef.  Regardless, these other nine were given dominion over the lands surrounded by his new kingdom—the Tenth Crimson Throne.  Then he and the other nine Blood Lords loyal to him started twisted the people of Srabeth into undead hordes that he used to turn back Hitithe's advance."

"So, in reality, he did save them?" Sheala questioned.

"I suppose."  Reane shrugged.  "In a way."

"And everything Hitithe, their king, and the seers tried to stop, they actually caused?"

There was a nod of agreement from Reane.  "It's a popular theme throughout history, I'm afraid."

The wall, now taking up a sizable portion of Sheala's vision, commanded her attention once the history lesson ended.  Sheala wished the distraction of the story, as boring as history was to her, wouldn't end.  Because, maybe if it continued, she could put off the inevitable a while longer.  "What's atop the wall?" she asked.

Reane squinted, staring at silhouettes dotting the top of the ominous impediment at various intervals. At first she assumed they were battlements, but it was soon obvious they were not stationary features. "Archers," Reane said. There were about three dozen, and each had their arrows trained on their small contingent as it approached.

"Great, an unwelcome party." Sheala's has started to shake with renewed and anxious energy building up inside her.  "I sure hope they don't plan on firing on us. We're sitting ducks down here."

"Look on the bright side." The chipper nature of Reane's comment was not lost.

"Which is?" Sheala asked.

"They haven't yet.  And at least they're not dragons." Reane smiled at her own wit.

"Not funny." Sheala's complaint faded into a groan.

"I think we'll be safe, as long as we don't do anything threatening.  How dangerous can we appear?"  Reane glanced over her shoulder at the only others remaining with them on this journey  "There's just six of us. You, me, Sayra, Anthony, Brentai, and Gregory. Not like we're going to topple the towers or anything.  I'd say doing something to provoke them is probably extremely low on our list of things to be doing."

Gregory took the previous, momentary look from Reane as a signal for him to join the women leading the way.  He rode up alongside them, a pole snugly resting in the crook of his arm with an orange pennant fluttering at the top.  "Think they'll recognize this is supposed to denote us as a Fimmirran delegation?"

"It sure isn't an official Fimmirran banner," Reane admitted.  "Hopefully it's close enough, considering how hard orange cloth is to come by just lying around?  Anyway, looks like we're about to find out." That statement from Reane forced the others to focus on the northern tower.

Within a cloud of kicked up dust from the canyon floor, eight riders clad in full plate stormed out, bearing down on them from the left side of the fortification.  Every stride of the hooves from their equally well armored horses thickened the fog of dirty air about them.

In response, Reane called their meager procession to a stop and awaited their hosts to arrive and greet them.  "You ready to play your part, Ambassador?"

"Do I have a choice?"  Sheala could tell Reane purposefully chose not to answer her own response in the form of a question.

Fixated on the mail worn by the soldiers, Sheala couldn't help but notice how eerily reminiscent the gleaming steel was.  The design worn by the soldiers was akin to those who failed to protect her family's caravan all those years ago in the Borderlands as they rode on a diplomatic mission to the Elven Kingdoms.  The memory of Imperial troops disguised as rebels stoked a smoldering anger inside the ambassador that calmed her shaking hands.

"Halt!" At the fore of the contingent sent out from the tower was a man bearing a yellow plume sprouting from his helm.  His visor up, it was he who gave the order with a voice that more than merely hinted at belonging to a born and bred soldier.

"I think we have," Sheala huffed.  "Kind of silly to ask us to do something we've already done, don't you think?"

The commander eyed her sternly. "State your business. And make it quick. Then we can turn you around and send you trespassers on your way."

Reane pointed to the makeshift banner overhead.  "We are a delegation from the Islands of Fimmirra.  This is Ambassador Stormband.  She has come to negotiate an alliance against Lord Hedric's Empire between your leader, Fimmirra, and the Hitithe Rebellion."

Leaning forward, the soldier addressing them bore his eyes into Sheala.  "Fimmirra, according to our intelligence, has been destroyed. The kingdom has fallen. The king is dead. As are all of his lineage."

"This woman," Reane countered, "is the daughter of Aurthur and Eliza Stormband, the latter of the Lineage of Turon, and therefor niece of his Majesty, the late King Turon."

"Niece of the king, you say?"  Gauntleted hand up to his armored chin, the commander pondered the news.

Reane nodded. "The last survivor of the current royal line.  You do understand what that means?"

The leader of the men sat up straight in his saddle once more.  "If what you say is true?  I do.  But forgive me if I choose not to address you as 'my Queen' until such is confirmed."

"You may do whatever you feel is necessary to confirm her claim." Reane laid the challenge at the soldier's feet, even as those with him buzzed and whispered at the news.

A hand from the leader of the party greeting them halted the discussions from all his subordinates.  "This is above my pay grade.  Lagos Dunn, Steward of the Towers, shall be the one to determine how to handle this."  The commander then whirled his mount back towards the fortifications.  Galloping off, the soldiers he brought out to intercept them also loyally turned and followed suit.

Sheala stared at the suddenly departing knights sent to greet them.  "Guess we're supposed to follow?"

"That'd be my guess." Sending her mount into a gallop with a flick of her reins, Reane was quickly in pursuit.