Malphas held the old man’s leathery hand, his own eyes intent on the view before the great balcony.  As a last request, the wizened and fragile king had asked that his bed be brought out here for the fresh air, the ability to be above his people once more, and for the privacy his curtains behind would offer as they shut him off from the rest of the palace.  It wasn’t that Malphas was truly considering the words the old man was trying to croak out, but Malphas was simply abiding the time and waiting.  Above all, he was patient.  Vigilant was the word he preferred, but Malphas knew how to get what he wanted.

“Malphas,” the voice croaked out, trying with great effort to grab the young man’s attention.  Without tearing his gaze from the kingdom below however, Malphas simply uttered the phrase he had to tongue for years now.

“Yes my lord?”

A breeze swept through and carried the voice of the dying man away, along with his last breath, and Malphas somehow managed to maintain his calm appearance.  In the moment that King Syndire uttered his last breath, Malphas released his first.  Or at least, it felt like the first.  Along with that breath of heirless air came a flood or relief upon Malphas’ shoulders, and he had to close his eyes as he reminded himself of the crowd below.

For years, Malphas had quietly washed the feet of the old man, whispered bits of information in his ear, and brought news of expansions and victories.  For the last decade or so he had always been there to offer an arm when the man fell, or to turn the covers when the king was particularly cold in bed.

It had been a long journey.

Malphas knew what he wanted ever since he was a young lad.  Rough housing with his younger siblings, the feel and weight of a sword in his hands always seemed to be just right, and the makeshift wooden crown on his head could never satisfy.  He found himself easily able to manipulate the desires and motivations of the younger boys around him, and he quickly became a popular and powerful playmate.  If he wanted something his friends would be all too eager to please.  Those who weren’t his friends were also easily manipulated, but through fear. A dead rat here and there was always enough to make the other little boys cry over the loss of their rodent pets, but a wise enough choice to convince parents that he was doing a good deed.
He knew who to work with and more importantly, -how- to work with them.

So as Malphas sat with the dead king’s lifeless hand in his own, his head bowed in feigned and silent reverence, he knew the crowd below would feel pained at the loss the king’s best friend was facing.  Malphas knew that every single man and woman below would wipe a tear for the strength Malphas was exhibiting while faced with such an insurmountable loss.
It was time.

Malphas slowly got to his feet, his limbs heavy as he placed them on the banister.  There was an almost unanimous holding of breath down below, the king’s most loyal subjects hoping that their worst fear had not been manifested into reality.
His blue eyes slowly scanned over the crowed.

“My dearest friends,” he said solemnly, and quietly enough to make the people strain to hear him.  “We are a good soul less.”   It was all he needed to say as a great cry filled the night air.  The subjects would take care of the rest, he knew, so he turned and walked quickly inside, sparing not a glance at the body lying helplessly on the bed.

It had been all too easy for Malphas to gain his power.  A small paper pulled out of the inside of his jacket (signed by the king himself and privy only to the king’s closest friends) made sure of that. It had been written years in advance, and there were none who would deny it.

Quickly swapping out the old powers with new ones, Malphas soon came to be known for the man he truly was.  The people helplessly watched as the years flew by and Malphas only grew stronger and stronger.  His closest friends and his most loyal subjects made the majority of the “Death Force” – a vicious group that did what and how they pleased.  Their main prerogative was to enforce the law of Malphas, and the law of Malphas seemed to be that which would gain him the most power or wealth.

In short, it didn’t take long for the people of Kior to start fearing their ruthless leader.   Unhappiness as it turned out, did not have a cure.  If the people protested Malphas, they were gathered and slaughtered by his men.  If they tried to leave they were inevitably caught and killed by the patrol border, a ridiculously large force which was stationed every mile or so and seemed to never sleep.  It wasn’t long before Malphas even began building impressive walls around the country.  While claiming the walls were to protect citizens from invaders, it was all too clear that they were also designed to keep people in.

Malphas’ iron fisted policies controlled the entire country through fear and management of all wealth.  Whatever fear Malphas was not able to exhume, his Death Force did for him.  It was not uncommon for the Death Force to strike whole towns for their livelihoods, taking what they wished to own and injuring or killing those who denied them.  Death Force WAS the law.  King Malphas was a phrase quietly and carefully uttered for the sake of keeping safe.  People preferred to keep inside away from the prying soldiers that often walked about the streets of towns, waiting to demand their next meal and looking for people to bully.

The control extended beyond their countries’ borders, however. Malphas had powerful friends, some of those from his childhood, and every ship that came in or out of Kior’s harbors either turned a blind eye to the people’s suffering or simply did not care.  Perhaps it was also a fear that caused them to dock, do their business, and leave all in one breath of air.
For fifteen years, there seemed to be no hope. For fifteen years, people struggled to find reasons to move on with their lives, but feared taking a stand.  And for fifteen years, people quietly wept themselves to sleep after turning down their covers.

For fifteen years, the church prayed.

And then, their prayers were answered.   The story spread like wildfire, and it wasn’t long before something different shown in Kior’s eyes. Apparently, a prophet of God had come forward with a vision. In this vision, he had witnessed ten harvests of rice grow and then die within seconds.  Then, a newer and stronger harvest grew.  It kept growing taller and healthier as the sky grew darker and cloudier.  A large gem then shot from the sky and smothered the last field.  The golden wheat burned to a crisp within instants, and then green grass began to grow.

The prophet had interpreted his vision:

Ten years coming, large crops will Malphas accrue.
But God will rage and He will have His due.
On the strongest and brightest year of all,
A gem will end the reign for once and all.
Not through the gem, but through a young lad,
Kior will be free, and vengeance will be had!

Malphas had, of course, seen to the prophet’s death immediately. However, he couldn’t kill the gossip, and the people sat in the alleys whispering about gems and young boys.  Even with a new law put into place that imprisoned or killed anyone mentioning the prophesy, it was –still- discussed quietly and in excited voices.


The mountains hadn’t always been so cold and bleak. Although Lynelle was certain of this, she had also never experienced them any other way.  However, now as her breath fogged into the frigid air, she shrugged her shoulders at the merchant in front of her, feigning interest to try and drive the man to a more reasonable rate. It was difficult enough to keep her own self fed and thanks to the Death Force’s strong hand, it wasn’t as though owning a crop would be of any use to her.  The monopoly on livestock and produce was one that just couldn’t be avoided.

“Aw, come on young miss!” the man said as he rubbed his beard and gave her a toothy grin.  “Surely yeh can spare a few more coins fer the like o’ me!  I ain’t tryin’ ta do yeh no harm!”

Lynelle just nodded her head and allowed her eyes to roam before finding a spot to fix to.  “No, I don’t have that much,” she said calmly and quietly, forcing the man to lean in.  It didn’t really matter where she stared so long as the vendor believed she had found a better stall.  “Besides, I’m not going to give half my coins towards one pale and dainty hog.”

She had learned the murmuring trick quite some time ago when she first began fending for herself.  Her own father a part of the Death Force, her mother dead, and her own brother long gone and missing … Lynelle had learned at a young age what it took to keep her stomach full and her coin pouch heavy.  However, she never stole, lied, or cheated her way through the world.  The last thing she ever wanted to be accused of was being like the Death Force, and it was something she would not tolerate.  Even now as she thought of them, it took all her effort not to seethe or hiss through her teeth.

The old man thought he was still in control and getting a good deal, so he reached out and grabbed her arm as she started to step away.  “Aw, tell yeh what miss.  I feel a bit sorry for yeh an’ I’m feelin’ generous mehself, so how about we knock that price down ta five gold coins? Yeh can spare that much?”  he said in hope.

Once the vendor gave the offer, there was no sense in keeping the game any longer.  With her eyes truly locked on something that DID interest her now, she pulled on her pouch and shoveled out six coins as she grabbed at the ham. “Have a nice day,” she said in genuine disinterest, caring less about the man’s dropped jaw as he saw the wealth she really had.  Indeed, he was so surprised that he didn’t even take time to count the coins, simply dropping them in his pail as she pushed her way past the people crowding various stalls.

It wasn’t often that people gathered out in the open, but Lynelle had been witnessing it more and more often. This was the seventh town she had visited in several months and each always had different customs, varying levels of tolerance for the Death Force, and vast ranges of opinions on travel and commerce.  However, all held one thing in common: a strange hope that Lynelle had not noticed before.

When she had left her home town, there hadn’t been many friends to say goodbye to.  Ever since Lynelle had witnessed her own father joining the Death Force just to make ends meet, she had been sickened by any sign of weakness or defeat.  As she watched her father leave through their yard gates, leaving her to fend for herself at just 15 years old, she had become resolved to seek one thing in her life and one thing only: the death of Malphas.

If it hadn’t been for Malphas, her mother wouldn’t have died in an invasion of their town.  Her brother never would have run away from home, and her father wouldn’t have become someone she could not respect.  He had taken everything from her, and she didn’t even know what he looked like.  So on her fifteenth birthday, she had become a recluse.  Taking care of her father’s farm, studying archery and sword fighting in her back yard, and challenging young men and women in duels had become her life.  When she felt she had learned all she could she packed her bags, thanked a few of her best opponents quietly at their back steps, and headed north.

Due to the fact that Lynelle lived so close to Kior’s border, she didn’t know much about what went on in the country.  Messengers hardly ever dared to travel that far and it wasn’t often that the Death Force was willing to share news and gossip.  Lynelle could only head inwards past the desolate mountains and into the center of the large continent.  She travelled by foot simply because a horse put her at risk of attention and Lynelle wanted to go as quietly as possible.

As Lynelle was reflecting over the unusual excitement of this particular crowd, she couldn’t help but notice that one end of the open air market was particularly boisterous.  She headed in that direction and tried to discover what the source of such noise was.  Being a head taller than most people, it didn’t take long for her to find and she couldn’t help but take a sharp breath.
Lying in the center of the growing mob was a dead soldier, the brazen symbol of a Death Force general on his shoulder.  A bit of bile rose in her throat at the thought of the consequences and clearly the people felt the same way.  They were already pointing fingers and shouting, trying to push the blame on one another despite the futility of any one person taking blame.  Lynelle had seen enough to know that the whole town would be made to ‘compensate’ for the loss.

It was time to make her exit.  There was no way she could stay and reason with the others, but there was also no way she could stay and risk her goal.  Tucking her dark brown curls behind her ear, her blue eyes swept the crowd for the quickest way out, and she began to make her way, not minding whose shoulders she bumped.

"A little bit closer... c'mon... c'mon~"


The eleven year old was whispering to himself as he literally crawled his way on the ground on the street's ground, weaving his way through the crowd, constantly placing his left hand on top of his head to keep the over-sized hat he wore on top of his head in place to make sure it didn't fall off, while his right hand gripped a poorly-crafted makeshift spear. It was hard to be careful not to accidentally poke someone's foot with it. If he did, that would set off too much commotion and he'd be caught.

Not even being able to see a couple feet in front of him, his face made a grimace when he smacked right into the wood that was the wooden  food stand he was trying to steal from. Quickly reaching inside the leather jacket he wore over a plain yellow shirt, he quickly retrieved a gold marked coin and gripped it in his left hand, as he momentarily released his spear, leaving it on the ground, and like a predator snatching prey, reached his hands just enough to touch a piece of food, whatever it was, pull it back, and quickly shove the food under his hat before anyone seemed to notice. He grabbed his spear once again and began to crawl away.

It was only a few seconds later when he realized his legs and hands were no longer on the ground, and he was in fact dangling in the air in front of a small crowd of people as he was grabbed by the back of his jacket by the owner of the stand. A very large man; he looked like a butcher more than he did a simple merchant.


"An' what are ye doing crawling under there, boy?"

"Eheheh..." the child let out while brandishing his most innocent smile. "Um... somebody dropped a coin and I was gonna take it?" he said in a worried tone as he brandished the golden mark in his left hand as proof.

The man eyed the coin suspiciously as he took it from the eleven-year-olds' hand. He seemed convinced enough as he turned the boy around so he was face to face with him.

"I'm not mean enough to feed ya to the Death Force son, but if you don't think I won't be afraid to kick yer butt ya got another thing comin' to ya boy. Off with ya! Git!"


Dropping him onto the stone sidewalk beside the stand. Ryoka winced as he landed on his bottom, quickly scurrying off as he held his hat and kept his spear in hand. Ryoka quickly dove his way into a nearby alleyway, and grinned mischievously. The gold coin was always a distraction. He may lose the coin but he always gained something of far greater value. And that value was food!

Ryoka leaned his makeshift spear against the wall as he lifted the front rim of his hat up, reaching his hand inside and soon pulling out whatever he had stole.

"What the -- BANANAS?! I wanted the ham, not stupid bananas!!" He whined to himself in a frustrated tone. Bananas weren't even worth a mark of gold! If he wanted bananas so badly he could have just gone into the forest. Raw, or even better, cooked meat was like royalty! They were worth a lot more then mere bananas.

Ryoka sighed with a deep frown... There was no helping it now. As much as he wanted to just throw one of the bananas at a random victim out of his frustration and anger, he refrained himself from doing so. It was so hard to steal food in this city... not because there wasn't a lot of food, but because there were far too many people! Too many people crowded around the stalls that he half the time felt like he was going to suffocate within the feet of the people. And there were far more soldiers around then before. It was so much easier a few months ago. Everyone was so depressed and quiet and, in a way, inanimate, that people didn't half pay attention and it made sneaking a food item here and there easy. But now people seemed to be paying more attention. Usually his rules was steal from the greedy; not the needy. But that rule was becoming tougher to follow; the needy didn't seem to pay as much attention; and they had something when he didn't. It was starting to become fair game to him at this point.

Sighing at his misfortune and bad luck, he shoved the group of yellow fruit into his hat again, picking up his spear, he wandered the alleyway for a low roof so that he could get up and out of the city streets. The Death Force would stop you for almost anything if they felt like; even if you was out in the alleyway casually eating bananas... Ryoka didn't want that. He just wanted to eat his lame bananas in peace if that was what he had to eat today for lunch. Wandering his eyes along the alleyway, his eyes were not necessarily meeting any buildings with a low roof. He was beginning to greatly dislike this place more and more. The only thing it had offered him so far to help him is plenty enough alleyways to slip and slide into. The less people saw him the harder it was to pinpoint where he was, after all. If he stole from the wrong person, somebody may not be afraid of calling the Death Force. Although he would be sure the Death Force would not actually hunt him down, he was sure they wouldn't care. But if he was reported, then a soldier saw him via he met pretty specific descriptions, then Ryoka knew for sure that he would be in a grand deal of trouble.

The Death Force didn't really waste there time with children as a whole, but some did. Sometimes like bullies. Ryoka was more than old enough to be more then just 'bullied' by the Death Force though. Besides, he didn't wish to lose his hat and spear; those were precious to him. If he lost either of those, he'd be done for. He needed his spear to hunt, and it was impossible for him to hide edible food without the hat, it served as a extremely important food for his art of thievery!

Yay I get to read something good today that isn't form a book. I was looking for something interesting to read today, and read most of my books. I really like your story, and can't wait for chapter 2.