“Let's go, Owain! Let’s go, Owain! Let’s go, Owain!” a crowd of probably three hundred delinquent children screeched. 

   At least, that’s what Ilben thought of them. Ilben was a thirteen-year-old boy who lived in Torkov village in Heshibald Crune. He was around medium height and had a lean build. His hair was blonde and came down to his shoulders, and he wore a simple white tunic with breeches and boots.

   His best friend, Owain, was fifteen, tall, and muscular. His black hair was curly, his jaw square, and he wore a rich purple vest that only wealthy families could afford.

   At the moment, Ilben and Owain were racing each other side by side for a three-hundred-meter run. Owain was ahead by a shoulder and was generally the most popular kid in town. However, Ilben was well known in his own right and had a few supporters to his name. Generally the sympathetic parents.

   Nevertheless, the two boys rounded the last corner for the final fifty meters. Ilben was huffing and puffing–feeling as if a hog was laying on his chest. The race had started close to sun down; enough that the sun was beginning to fall in the sky, leaving the gorgeous scene of violet clouds and warm yellow light over the Heshibald Crune landscape. 

   The two boys were sweating profusely now, their hair plastered to their scalps and their clothes drenched despite the evening breeze that wafted over the landscape. 

   Ilben gritted his teeth in determination as he tried to gain a leg on his best friend. (They were best friends, of course, making the competition even more about winning.) Unfortunately for him, Owain was two years his senior and a middle finger taller, boasting a height a good deal taller than the average man in Heshibald Crune. Heshibald Crunains were the shortest of the peoples of Ebeldeth, so it wasn’t hard to be considered tall among them. It did help a lot for running though.

   Owain just barely edged out Ilben and passed the finish line before him. It was a humiliating defeat, and Ilben hung his head, exhausted. At that moment, raucous cheers sounded in high-pitched voices. Owain smirked and patted Ilben on the back, “Good try, maybe in a few years,” he said. 

   Ilben straightened and rolled his eyes. “We both know I am the better runner in shorter distances.”

   Owain stroked his chin–probably trying to make a show of the three hairs growing from it– and shrugged, “Perhaps, but the ladies like to see endurance and strength,” he said, winking.

   The next moment, Chief Agnon–chief of their small three thousand in number village–approached with the prize. He announced: “For the thirtieth straight year, we have held a youth and an adult race. For the second straight youth race, we have Owain as the winner!” he paused to wait for the cheers to subside–and Ilben to sneer–before he continued. “I now present the prize!” 

   The chief handed Owain a new axe sharpened to a point. Owain held it up high, reveling in his success. Ilben huffed in annoyance: It was the second straight year he had lost in the finale! Nevertheless, he shook off his frustration and trudged back over to his parents, Mendy and Hashel.

   “That was amazing, Ilben!” his father exclaimed. 

   Always trying to make me feel better, Ilben thought. His mother was next, “I bet Owain was never that good when he was your age.” 

   You're right, he was better, Ilben lamented. Even though he was frustrated, however, Ilben put on a smile, said thanks, and walked with his parents back to their humble home, in a peaceful village, with a normal life.

   Owain smiled to himself as he jaunted back to his… one might say, villa. He lived with his mother Katrina, father Obed, and, unfortunately, his two siblings Ari and Jacob. Ari was ten and Jacob was seven.

   The home was one of the only buildings with two floors in the little town and spanned three normal houses side-to-side, as well as boasted a tower almost Talora Kalian style. Most homes were made of mud or logs, but the rich could afford brick, and so Owain’s home was made of brick.

   Naturally.

   As far as livestock, the Vitchnels were not wanting. They owned a hundred sheep, fifty pigs, thirty cattle, twenty goats, ten horses, five dogs, and two cats. Needless to say, the Vitchnells were the third richest family in Torkov Village, as Obed was an influential man and one of the top councilmen.

   Because of his father’s influence, Owain was expected to be successful in everything he did. This kind of pressure is what made him dejected as he opened the door to his home.

   As he entered, he saw his father reclining in a wooden chair, reading by candlelight. “You won again?” he asked, almost bored. 

   “Yes, it was hard fought. Ilben had me running as if I were being chased by a leopard!” 

   He hoped his emphasis on the fact that it was close would change the way his father treated him–no such luck.

   “Very good, now go wash yourself of that stench and change into some nice clothes.”

   That was it. No, ‘how are you?’, ‘how was the race?’ All he cared about was that Owain hadn’t failed him. So Owain headed up to the tub to wash.

   On the way, though, the twins were waiting for him. Owain groaned. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?

   Ari grinned evilly. “You didn’t think we would just let you get away that easily now did you?”

   Standing at her side, Jacob was like her little sidekick, practically saying everything she said. “Yeah, you didn’t think we would let you get away did you?” 

   Owain frowned, “What do you want?”

   “What was the prize?” Ari demanded.

   “Yeah, what was the–” 

   Jacob was cut off by a slap over the head from Ari. “Shut up you cattle-brained nincompoop! I do the talking,” she turned back to Owain. “What was the prize?”

   “An axe you little devil. Now go away.”

   Ari folded her arms. “Fine, meany,” she turned to Jacob. “Come, Jacob,” so he immediately plodded after her.

   Owain sighed and walked into the bathing room. The bath was already filled with steaming water; yet another thing the average peasant couldn’t afford. 

   He stripped down and dropped the damp clothing onto the ground before stepping into the water. As the warm liquid covered his body like a hot blanket, he breathed a sigh of relief. The stress of the day passed from him as he closed his eyes. I wish there was more to my life, he thought. I wish I could make my father proud of me. 

   King Harnkelt slammed his hand into the war map. “I want one of you to figure out how to safely conquer Heshibald Crune with minimum casualties! How hard can it be!?”

   King Arren Harnkelt had ruled the largest territory in Ebeldeth, Talora Kal, for thirty years. He had successfully secured the largest army, the most prosperous economy (even if it meant working the lower class citizens like dogs for a measly income), and the best law enforcement in all the Realm of Ebeldeth. On top of that, no one completely knew how he had come into power, except that he had dethroned the previous monarchy.

   Years of ruling had left him power hungry and now, he wanted to subject the whole of Ebeldeth to him. The plan was to take Heshibald Crune, as it was the smallest and least powerful of the nations. Even the weak country of Tal Kildera had some kind of leader. 

   Oh, how he hated them.

   But Heshibald Crunains only had a chieftain for each village or town. While they did have a Grand Chief, he was not allowed to interfere with other chieftains. The Grand Chief was allowed the power to call on the whole of Heshibald Crune to war, and represent them at formal negotiations with other kings or rulers. It didn’t change the fact that they were still a petty excuse for a kingdom. King Harnkelt would dominate and add them to his beautiful land.

   So on that stuffy summer day in the capital Githhaven, the king’s ten highest ranking majors convened. 

   Major Wendall Howard–a grizzly old man and most experienced of the officers–spoke in a gravelly voice. “Your Majesty, might I present a solution?”

   The king waved his hand absently. “Yes, Yes, speak your mind.”

   “My Lord, you have around one-hundred thousand men in your army. Consider then that Qaerlin, which borders us to the west, has the second largest militant power with fifty thousand. Now, while they do have half our power, their knights–around three thousand in number–are easily the most adept warriors in the land. Consider as well, that their king–King Gu’der–has vowed that his kingdom shall remain neutral in all conflicts unless attacked directly.

   “On the other hand, Heshibald Crune has at least twenty thousand to their number. Now, while they are not well trained, they are tribesmen and have a fierce natural grit. They also know the terrain much better than we do, and our men have never fought in much more than fields and wooded areas,” he paused, thinking. “So, I say you leave sixty thousand men in Talora Kal and take thirty thousand land soldiers straight on, and then flank them from behind with ten navy regiments, as well as destroy their ships.”

   King Harnkelt grinned. “An outstanding assessment, Major Howard. Anyone else?”

   One of the newest majors, Major Olan Jeran, said tentatively, “If I may?”

   “Speak.”

  “Well sire, it is just that we are forgetting Heshibald Crunes relationship with local pirates. That is to say, they would probably add the hired help of those brutes against our navy–pitting nearly the same number of navy to match ours,” Olan said.

   King Harnkelt cursed. “Continue,” he said.

   Olan nodded. “I suggest we march the originally planned thirty thousand down into Heshibald Crune from the north, then fifteen thousand in navy power, and leave fifty-five thousand in Talora Kal.”

   Another major, Major Zandar, interjected. “You must know that we face threats in Talora Kal other than neighboring armies. We face bandits to the south and pirates to the northern shores.”

   Olan scoffed. “We have the most powerful nobility in the realm. Our dukes and earls have enough soldiers to protect the towns from bandits, and some of the remaining units can provide support at our seaports.” 

   Harnkelt stroked his beard. “Does anyone have a better idea?” no one spoke up. “It is decided then. We march in a month.”

   Ilben got out of bed to his father shaking him awake. 

   “Ilben.” he said, “Chief Agnon has called for an Assembly.”

   Ilben sat up and rubbed his eyes. “This early in the morning? And so sudden?”

   Hashel shrugged. “I don’t know why, but he said it was urgent.”

   So Ilben got out of bed, and pulled his necklace over his head. It was a special necklace, for it had been given to him by his parents when he had turned ten. It was a beautiful azure color, and his parents had told him it was called a Kel’ga’rae, though he should never mention it to anyone. Even though he didn’t understand why it was such a secret stone, he trusted his parents.

   So he finished dressing, and followed his father out the door.

   The morning was crisp and refreshing, waking Ilben up. It was early enough that the sun had just started poking over the trees and the crowd milling around wore fur coats. The assembly meeting place was a clear area in the middle of town with a raised platform for events.

   On the way, Ilben spied Owain talking to another boy, Luk.

   “Owain!” he called. 

   “Ilben, come over here!” Owain said.

   Ilben jogged over to the two of them with a smile on his face. “You guys know what the sudden assembly is for?”

   Owain shook his head. “Nobody knows, so it is probably something exciting.”

   “I hear Chief Agnon is going to announce a new council member!” Luk added.

   “The Assembly usually wouldn’t be so abrupt for something like that,” Ilben said with a frown.

   Luk shrugged. “I’ve got nothing else to go off.”

   At that moment, Agnon approached the stage.“Men and women of Torkov Village,” he began. “It has come to my attention by way of Grand Chief Yerg, that our beautiful land is being marched upon as we speak.”

   Ilben and many others gasped in dismay. Attack!? Heshibald Crune, while not neutral to the effect that Qaerlin was, was still easily the most peaceful land in the realm. Many of the men had faced pirates and meaningless skirmishes near the border of Talora Kal, but none alive had faced actual war. In fact, none of the kingdoms had faced open warfare since Qaerlin had battled Talora Kal one-hundred-fifty years ago!

   “Be still! If we stand up, we can win,” Agnon said. “Which is why the Grand Chief has called for a draft of males ages twelve to fifty.”

    Immediately the people protested. The women and men yelled, ‘you would send us to our deaths!’ and, ‘our little boys can’t fight!’

   “Peace people! Peace!” Agnon pleaded; to which the people eventually quieted. “If we do not fight, who will fight for us? Our lands and wives will be taken, our homes pillaged, and we will be under the control of a power-hungry tyrant!”

   Murmurs of assent began to circulate through the crowd. Ilben was devastated. My father and I will be forced to fight! If my father were to die… I wouldn’t know what to do! 

   Ilben was vaguely aware of Chief Agnon bidding farewell and leaving the stage. He barely noticed as his father and mother gripped him comfortingly by the shoulders. And he didn’t really care for their comforting words, because he felt as if his world had just fallen apart.

   King Harnkelt stood atop a large grassy plateau and stared below at his army. Like a swarm of ants, they dispersed into the once peaceful land of Heshibald Crune.

   They had just crossed the border and were now massacring the pitiful force of a northern village. Fifteen thousand Talora Kalian soldiers swarmed a force of two thousand–it wasn’t even an honorable death. 

   King Harnkelt had ordered Captain Gorden to take five thousand land forces and attack down the eastern shores, raiding seaports and small towns, and essentially flanking the concentrated forces of Heshibald Crune.

   Harnkelts scouts reported around sixteen thousand of the estimated twenty thousand Heshibald Crunain soldiers were stationed within the central part of the country, leaving just four thousand to protect both the east, west, south, and north. 

   At the same time, Captain Norkel led ten thousand down the western edge of Heshibald Crune. At the moment, King Harnkelt led the main force down through the heart and into its concentrated force. They had already made quick work of the northern border protection: essentially slaughtering them in less than two hours.

   Now, Harnkelt stood, smiling as the screams of men and boys rang out of the valley up to him. He stood, watching as their homes burned, and did nothing. His heart was hard, and he had no more soul to lose.

   “Ahhhh,” he whispered to himself. “The invasion has begun.”