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Chapter I ~By the Father’s Blade~

The great halls of King Valakir, filled with food and drink, ring with the cheers of soldiers. He celebrates a great victory today: the defeat of the Skhar orcs from the northern wastes. The king sits at his throne, looking out at the many attending his banquet. The great oaken doors open, and the music comes to a dead halt, for this guest was uninvited. The king jumps up from his throne as if he had sat on a thorn. His broad smile disappears, his face now a mixture of fear and anger. It was her. The old hag hobbled in, no one attempting to stop her; the guests were in as much shock as the king. In her left hand she held a cane, in her right, a black wand. “A party”, she said, looking to each side, “And I was not invited? Your hospitality is lacking nowadays, Valakir.”


“You are not welcome here, witch”, the king growled through his clenched teeth.

“Apparently.”

“What do you want?” He placed his hand upon his sword hilt.

“You have seen the signs. Heard the warnings whispered. You know as well as I that he is coming. The Dark Lord prepares for his return as we speak.”

“Ha, the seal states that as long as there is an heir to the throne, he cannot return. The seal which was sealed with the blood cannot be broken while the blood survives.” He gestured to the man standing to his right. He was young and slender, yet muscular through the chest and shoulders, with a mop of dark brown hair.

“Heirs have a problem with dying, my Lord. I can offer you lasting protection.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Valakir noticed a guard sneaking over towards the witch, so he pretended to follow the conversation, questioning her, “And for what price do you offer this so-called protection?”

“For the only price that I would ask for.” She motioned towards the ring on the king’s finger.

He grew very pale, and then drawing his sword, he gave one last threat: “Get out, witch.”

She only smiled. “Then hear this prophesy, my lord. The son shall die by his father’s blade.”

He hurled his sword towards her. It flew straight and true, but just before it hit, she disappeared into a cloud of smoke. A moan then rang throughout the hall. The crowd gasped, for when the smoke cleared, a terrible sight was revealed. The king gave out a terrible cry. While the crowd had its attention turned towards the witch, the prince had grabbed a dinner knife and was coming up from behind her via a back door. Valakir had thrown his sword the moment the prince stepped out. The son had died by his father’s blade.

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