Some in the rear ranks of the small army cheer when they see Amber and I on the bridge crossing from Military Island. I see Tom ahead of them shouting instructions to the people. My brother, annoyed at the interruption, watches as we approach. Amber looks over at me and smiles. Laughing, she dashes ahead of me and mingles with the militia gather on the Center Island

A small child winds her way through the crowd near Amber, she chases a small fox pup. The little girl wears bright clothing that matches the purple ribbon around the fox’s neck, the animal is certainly not one used on Farming Island. The fox stands at one of the soldier’s feet, and the man shifts uncomfortably as the animal starts nuzzling his leg.

The man, Kennith the Alchemist, glances down as the girl arrives. He looks back at me as I push my way through the crowd after Amber. I smile and look down at the girl, Kennith picks her up. “Molly,” I hear him say softly; he watches my brother, hoping he is not seen. “I need you to take Scruffy and go back to mommy, okay?” The little girl nods and wipes her nose furiously with one hand, reaching out to me with the other.

A few of the men slap me on the back as I work my way through the crowd towards my brother. The militia is a pitiful sight, simply the mustering of a country that has no military might, a country more renowned for its craftsmanship than its swordsmanship.

Just over fifty men have rallied behind Amber in an effort to retake her castle from a small army of Ogres from the neighboring island of Wuwon who had declared peace with Yadout. Once they had access to the castle they turned against us killing a dozen people and securing themselves inside the fort, getting supplies via a secret entrance underneath the building that leads out to the sea.

A pittance of timber in Yadout keeps us in a constant struggle to conserve the resource. Though we trade services for materials from our other neighbor, Zibwee, we can’t stockpile enough to create a navy of ships a navy we would have used to cut the Ogres supply line.

With nothing to trade and no one to trade with, the Ogres of Wuwon struggle to attain anything beyond the basic rations of fish from the waters surrounding their island. Over the past few months, the Ogres have been taking great strides militarily (one of the reasons Amber wanted peace with the brutes). They have recently monopolized on a north bound path of water taken by giant turtles. Having recently stopped consuming the turtles, the Ogres have taken to using them as a navy and form of transportation.

Every day the Ogres bring in fresh troops to the castle while those injured by brawls within return to their homeland. The Yadoutian militia will outnumber the Ogres, though I’m not sure how many of us it will take to kill even one of them. Hopefully they will be spread apart, disorganized, because this is our last chance.

“Brother! Up here!” Tom shouts to me. Amber has appointed Tom leader of the militia. Tall by Yadoutian standards, my older brother wears a leather jacket reinforced with iron rivets. The sparkling gold and silver linings on his black boots make him more a picture of royalty than Amber. A red cape adorns has shoulders, gracing him like a personal counselor; but surely I cannot be the only one to remember this cape, a cape that Hudson often wore not one harvest earlier.

“What is it, Tom?” A dark cloud hangs over our relationship. Years after our parents disappeared he would make stories of the horrible things that happened to them. He did this simply to torture me, but he is my brother. For that reason, and that reason alone, I must respect him.

Tom leans down from his platform to whisper to me proudly. “I need you to pay attention and record exactly what I say; these words will go down in history!” My brother turns to the crowd, his voice rising to an echoing boom in front of the castle. “These Ogres” he shouts “stole the castle from our humble leader!” Amber turns to me as a rumble of anger sounds through the army. Humble? She mouths to me. I shrug. “We must retake it! Claim it once more as our own!” He pauses for a small cheer from the crowd. “We must show these beasts that Yadout is not a nation to be reckoned with!” There is another cheer, louder than the first. The people know what’s expected of them. “For Amber and for Yadout!” He shouts drawing his sword and thrusting it high into the air as though he could salute the heavens themselves.

“FOR AMBER AND FOR YADOUT!” The crowd screams back.

That is the signal.

Rebecca, a very resourceful girl near Amber’s age, had snuck inside the castles days ago and was obviously successful. The portcullis of the castle rises faster than I had though Rebecca capable of. The army rushes forward and breaks the exposed wooden doors.

Wave upon wave we move like the ocean breaking against the shore as we rush into the castle. Tom slows down as he moves through the entrance hall leading to the fork, the militia rushing past him blindly.

The mad rush into the castle causes our troops to scatter and become disorganized. Tom furiously shouts orders to the troops, trying to be heard over the fall of heavy boots and the shouts of men. My brother tries to rally the troops to him but all his efforts are in vain.

The only person to heed his call is the Gordo’ the Blacksmith, his beard grey from long days and longer nights in his shop working to the soothing, tireless rhythm of his hammer in an effort to bring greater prosperity to Yadout. He had crafted all the weapons we were using and he alone managed to keep his wits about himself in the midst of the bloodlust.

Our troops hesitate as they surround the Ogres, their excitement stating to wane at the sight of the massive creatures suddenly confronting them. A small group of Yadoutians have already completely surrounded one but no one dares to step forward and engage it.

Ducking into the small ring of troops I draw he short sword the blacksmith had made for me. With a strong handle and (from what I’m told) good balance, the bright blade shimmers with the light streaming through the small glass windows high above making it appear to be embedded with near magical characteristics.

The Ogre turns his attention to me, saliva flows unchecked down its filthy face. The disgusting brownish-green skin covering the half-man is covered by beady sweat and brown slime smeared over parts of his body. I shiver in disgust, the smell of feces reaching my nose.

Its bloodshot eyes dart about in fear but also with the same rage that fills the eyes of our troops. He feels as much hate for us as we do for him. Living inside a castle is a curse for Ogres, not a blessing.

The Ogre’s tattered clothing further displays the poverty that grips his country. In his right hand he wields a giant wooden club, holding it as though it were nothing more than a twig. My palms grow sweaty and I feel my grip loosening. Them or us I tell myself, us or them… I leap forward catching the Ogre off guard. I slash his stomach hard, the blood pours out like water over a grotesque pan but he hardly notices.

He raises the club high in the air and I am filled with a paralyzing fear. The fear tastes metallic. It tastes like blood. No thoughts enter my mind, my muscles do not respond to my commands to move. I can smell death as strongly as I can smell the Ogre.

A sword from behind pierces the Ogre through his neck and hastily slides out of his throat. He tilts to one side and falls over, dead. My brother removes his sword from the Ogre’s neck. Tom’s gaze sweeps across the room, his eyes condemning those who had no courage to help me. “You owe me brother.” He says offhandedly. I can only nod.

I collapse onto the ground, sinking down to my knees. Gasping for air, the sounds of the battle around me are all drowned out by the sound of my own beating heart. My grip on the short sword loosens again, it falls to the stone floor. I can hardly hear its hollow ringing as it clatters before me.

I sit on the ground for a few moments looking at the Ogre that nearly ended my short life. I am no hero and I recognize this even as I stare at the body sprawled out before me with blood pooling around its head. The Ogre lies still, it doesn’t so much as twitch; the life has departed from the foul creature.

The sounds of battle rage all around me and even as I look at the bodies of my friends and foes, mere lifeless corpses that litter that ground, my mind cannot comprehend what is happening.

When a single shrill voice resounds over the battle field I am brought back to reality. “Deany! Where are you?” Amber cries amidst the shouts of Ogres and the screams of men.

I look across the entrance hall, unable to see Amber. Shaking my head to erase my worried thoughts I snatch up the short sword and push myself up to my feet with a grunt. I dash across the field, weaving in and out of our own troops who are still hesitant to engage the Ogres. I slide forward and pick up a dagger with my right hand from a fallen man; the Ogre who killed him lies dead at his side.

I leap off the creature’s body and whip the knife at the Ogre in front of me, the Ogre confronting Amber. The handle hits the Ogre harmlessly and I slide in beside the Alchemist Kennith who is the only person standing between Amber and the Ogre.

“Good to see you Deany.” He says watching the Ogres’ eyes closely, his blue eyes moving left and right to keep the Ogre from knowing his next move. “I think I have this covered though.” Kennith’s thin arms and short stature makes the Ogre seem giant in comparison.

“Kenny, don’t be so full of yourself!” Amber shoots at him.

“Nothing I can do about it.” He says with a sly smile.

“Deany, I need you and Kennith to distract the Ogre while I cast a spell. If you keep it busy long enough I should be able to kill it.” Amber’s worry carries through her voice. She’s hardly used the magic before, Hudson the Great never allowed her to practice once she learned how to use it. He told her it was a privilege and should only be used in dire circumstances. Ever since Hudson died, however, Amber has taken the orb-topped staff with her wherever she goes though she hasn’t used to cast a spell in years.

“Right,” I call back to her. “Well Kennith, what do you think?” The Ogre takes a step forward.

“You on the left.” He orders as he dashes to the right.

Thrown off balance from the suddenness of his start I try to catch up to him, to match his tactics. He swings his dagger at the Ogre’s arm as sweeps for him, he leaps over the limb and reverses the stroke to strike to cut open the beast’s back spilling blood on the floor.

I lunge at the Ogre’s feet and swing my sword as hard as I can at the creature’s heel. It kicks the blade out of my hand and then throws its bleeding arm towards me and tossing me back into a group of men fighting another Ogre.

Turning towards Kennith it catches the alchemist off guard and lifts the small my up by his neck with a strong right arm. “Deany.” I hear him cry with a strangled voice. I take the sword of one of the fallen men and throw it at the Ogre; the sword lodges itself deep in the Ogre’s shoulder.

The Ogre thrusts Kennith hard against the wall, its wound not impeding it. The man lets out one last strangled cry before the Ogre throws his broken body to the floor harshly.

I race towards the Ogre, intent on avenging Kennith. I leap at its back where it holds the weapon in a muscled sheath. The beast hits me with it elbow as I jump at it. I struggle to keep my feet under me and nearly stumble into Amber. Her eyes are glazed over and the staff she normally holds is glowing in an unnatural light; standing freely without support. Her hair is being blown back by a breeze I cannot feel.

Looking up at the Ogre it pulls the sword from its back and flexes as though scoffing the mere flesh wound. The beast laughs at me and walks forward.

I look back at Amber, her hair tossed like a feather in the wind; she rolls her head back.

The light reflecting off my sword falls onto the wall, gracing it with a near holy light. The Ogre raises the sword above its head and I twist my wrist to reflect the light into the monster’s eyes. The beast raises a hand in reflex and roars in anger. I fold my legs and fall to the floor, flattening myself. I hear the sound of a gasp from behind me as Amber’s spell is finally cast. The Ogre howls in agony as he falls over backwards, a hole burnt into his chest.

The battle moves down the hall and towards the throne room, our army battling their fear with courage.

Amber keels on the floor behind me breathing heavily. My gaze flows over the Ogre and sweep towards Amber. I stand and walk over to her. “Amber?” I say slowly. “Are you hurt?” She shakes her head weakly. “What’s wrong?” I ask. Amber turns her head towards me, closes her eyes and falls towards the floor. I catch my friend and rest her gently against me knee. “Amber?” I say softly, tapping her face with my fingertips. “Amber.” I repeat louder. Her eyes open but they can’t focus. “Try not to sleep Amber.” I say looking around. “C’mon, stay awake.”

I survey the area, washing the floor with my sight, searching for something, anything. Attached to Kennith’s belt is a blue bottle I’d her him speaking about the day before. I recall him saying something about healing in regards to the concoction.

“He won’t need that.” I mumble to myself, thinking only of Amber now. Moral obligation to the dead must be cast aside.

Grabbing the bottle I struggle to remove the cork. The cork won’t budge. I gently tap the neck of the bottle against the stone floor and try again. I put the cork in my teeth and pull against the glass container as hard as I can, worrying that the glass container may shatter. I hear the satisfying pop of the cork coming out of the bottle.

I sigh with relief but worry consumes me as I put the bottle to her lips. “I hope this doesn’t kill her.” Tilting her head back I let the liquid slowly pour slowly into her mouth. She chokes on it. Her eyes flare open in anger.

“What are you doing?” She shouts at me pushing the bottle away violently. “Drowning me when I’m hurt? You could have killed me!” I scramble away as she gets up hurriedly. Grabbing her staff, she tries to hit me with the metal end of it. She stops and looks around at the bodies. She remembers where we are. The staff goes limp in her hands and she lowers her head.

We remain in silence a few moments until the sound of footfall comes towards us. Whoever is running, I recognize, is obviously wounded, a healthy man’s steps would be lighter and less scattered. A soldier from the main force comes around the corner, he is bleeding from his side. He stops quickly, tries to catch his breath and then reports.

“Your honor.” He says to Amber, he turns to me. “Deany, I’d feared the worst when I didn’t find you two among the militia. I have word from your brother, sir.” He tries to salute but his hand quickly returns to his side as he gasps in pain. He doubles over and falls to one knee. Amber and I both move forward to help the wounded soldier.

“You’re badly wounded.” Amber says sadly trying to see his wound. It’s worse than I first thought. It’s a sword wound, not from a spiked club. The Ogres must be taking weapons from the fallen men.

The man shakes head and waves off our aid. “The main force has worked its way to the throne room. They are tangled up in combat and are waiting on the two of you before they enter. The Ogres have another group of soldiers coming in from the sea, it won’t be long before they arrive.”

The ‘secret entrance’ leading from the underground cave into the castle leads directly into the banquet hall, the only way out of there is into the hall directly in front of the throne room entrance. Unless the militia pulls back, they will be pinned between two groups of Ogres. If the militia is still in the hall then they must still not be listening to Tom’s orders.

“Go.” I say to Amber. “Get some of the men to guard under the castle.”

“If the militia has to pull back then they’ll be slaughtered!” Amber protests. I shake my head. She’s right.

“How did they get back up this fast?” I wonder out loud. “The sea! Is there any way to cut them off?” I demand of the soldier. He falls onto his side. “Please, is there any way?” Amber turns and runs down the hall to the main force.

“Sir, it’s already done.” He says closing his eyes. He opens them again, but his eyes are glazed over, he appears to be dead, but still he speaks. “He’s back, sir, he’s back.” I grab the bottle that had healed Amber and pour it into his mouth. There is no change. The man is dead. I have no other choice but to leave him here with the other bodies.

Grabbing my short sword and shoving the bottle into my vest I begin to run down the hall to the sound of battle. War is not what I expected. All the shouting and blood is so overwhelming, it is nothing like I’ve ever experienced, hear and hope, love and hate, it’s scary and yet fun.

Fun? This? Death and destruction? That’s absurd, what have I become? A monster? An Ogre.

I turn the corner and see the Yadoutian troops engaging Ogres, Gordo’ waves me into the fight. I run forward but stop when I pass a window that looks out over the ocean. This small window has one of the best views of the Northern Ocean that the Ogres have been using to resupply the Castle.

I see the Ogres that the soldier had mentioned. They are stopped out on the ocean, fighting. Fighting, it seems, with another group of turtle riders. Human riders. “Stuart.” I whisper remembering the Blacksmith’s brother. “He’s back.” I say repeating the words of the dying soldier.

Stuart had went north in search of a mythical land, a place from stories passed down from generation to generation (though more for bed time stories than for strategic importance). We all knew that it was a long shot when the old man and his son set out in a fishing boat to try to find the land from legend but the old man trusted the stories. He called them the history with mystery and claimed to do it out of respect for Hudson who loved the legends more than most.

Amber had promised to wait for the old man to return, but after days of waiting Amber grew impatient and everyone started to fear the worst. Amber ordered the attack and promised to send a small fleet of fishing boats along with a great deal of supplies in order to find them though warning the people that the ocean could have taken them anywhere by now.

Just as fast as the battle turned in our favor, it turns again as bats streak out of the midday sky and begin swarming Stuart and out new allies. Stuart has to get out of there; we can regroup and figure out another plan to defend the sea troops.

I turn and run back outside the castle; fear itself could not have urged me to move faster and though the distance out of the castle is short, it seems insurmountable. “Stuart! Stuart!” I shout over and over again dashing out of the castle and swinging myself around the west wall. “Get to cover! Fight the bats from beneath the castle! Pull back!” The cold wind blows at my back, carrying my voice across the water but I am quickly running out of breath and Stuart isn’t responding.

“He can’t hear you.” A man on the ground speaks up to me, his back to me, the part of his face I can see is shrouded with shadow. He calmly fiddles with the stick he holds in his hands, turning it again and again even as he stares out over the water. He gestures to Stuart. “That’s what makes them so effective in part; the enemy cannot hear the orders of their commanders. Stuart and his troops will slowly give way to chaos, they will be overwhelmed.”

“Ryan?” I ask.

He stands up, his short brown hair has been slicked back and is held in place by the rose cream that is used by most men of Zibwee. He pulls the hood of his cloak and turns back to the ocean which frees the pony tail falling from his scalp, tied with a gold cord and clipped with a green glass leaf; the symbols of the Zibwite religion.

“You remember me after all this time.” My old friend, whom I’d met in Zibwee as a child, wears the bright clothes traditional to the country of Zibwee instead of the white and grey robes of the Zibwite temple. If Ryan is here on business, then it isn’t with the temple.

“It’s only been one or two seasons since you were here last.” I reply turning my attention back to the sea.

“And a productive time it’s been. I’m truly impressed with the progress Yadout has seen. Amber’s done surprisingly well. Have you or the other council members had much to do with these improvements.” I don’t respond, I’m too focused on the battle at the sea. Fishing boats sent up to assist would arrive too late and would only wind up destroyed as well.

Ryan looks south and then at the stick in his hands again. He snorts. “See this.” He says flourishing the stick in his hands with the dexterity of a Zibwite jester. “I embedded it with a sort of magic.”

“We don’t have time to discuss it!” I tell him sharply.

“Humor me.” He says with a shrug.

I roll my eyes. “What does it do?” I ask in annoyance.

“Shoots lightning.” Ryan shakes his head and waves the stick around. “Haven’t got all the problems fixed yet, but I’m working on it.” He points it towards the bats flying around Stuart. Some of the turtles and their riders have been killed in their panic by the turtle riding Ogres.

Ryan raises his free arm, drops it parallel to the horizon and places the wand on his wrist. He finds the angle that he wants and taps the wand on his wrist. Lightning shoots out of its tip and I jump back in shock, in fear. Curling through the air with a crackling sound similar to the herbalist’s fire starter the lightning finds its target and strikes one of the bats, the creature falls to the water and the other bats part temporarily.

“It won’t be fast enough.” He says calmly as the bats begin to swarm the riders again. “But that was only a signal.”

I stand a few steps from where I was. It had worked and it was amazing. For a moment I forgot the dire situation that Stuart and these turtle riders faced. “The signal?” I ask, finally recovering my senses.

“Just give it time.” He stands still, staring up at the clouds. I follow his gaze expectantly. We do not have to wait long for another flash to light up the clouds. I focus my eyes on this slow moving lightning bolt and realize it is not a lightning bolt at all.

“What is that?” I ask, squinting to see over the great distance.

Ryan nods, pleased that it had worked. “That’s Chris.” He tells me. “Stuart found the turtles in a land to the north and when they went to Zibwee to find troops, Chris had an idea.” A land to the north, I repeat in my head. “He enlisted some of the circus performers and their pelican mounts as fighters, their knowledge of the pelicans and how to manipulate them should make the battle flow much more smoothly.” Following Chris was a battalion of these circus men and women flying on pelicans! Chris draws short sword and thrusts it high in the air, light reflects off of it, he lowers his sword and points it at the bat swarm.

I curse as I remember Tom, Amber, and the others in the castle. “Ryan, can you make a hole in the side of the castle? I need to join again with the militia.” Ryan aims the stick at the side of the castle. He raises his hand over his head and brings it down on his wrist. Lighting streaks from the tip and strikes the wall, the stick flies out of Ryan’s hand. The lightning opens a hole just large enough for me to get in. “Thanks.” I say quickly as the man turns to look for the defective magic stick. This forged magic will never replace the real thing.