A golden-haired, beautiful woman stared out over the landscape which
was once again filled with the dead.  The air hung heavy with the swirling
scents of blood, charred flesh, and scorched earth.  The agent of Fate,
the puller of strings, the player at the chessboard matched up against
History itself closed the eyes of the prince's lover Ilysa for the second
time.

    What a waste, she thought.  Not simply the loss of life; though it was
sad and incredibly tragic, humans could always repopulate.  No, the loss
of both princes Daric and Averny were her main concern.  One had to live,
one had to fall; however, it seemed that the girl who could capture their
hearts, Ilysa, was not the key to making things right.

    Or was she?  Yumina, puppetmaster of the Ages, was perplexed.  She
could have sworn that Ilysa was the answer to all of this.  Yumina knew
now that which side the princes' lover fought on was unimportant.  If the
girl was indeed the key, there had to be another person, another relation-
ship, another interaction that she hadn't considered when she sent Ilysa to
one side or the other.

    Or perhaps the answer lay with someone else entirely.  Yumina brought
her fingers to her temples and concentrated, eyes closed.  In her mind, an
infinitely complex woven wallhanging of colored threads appeared, each
thread linked to dozens of others.  The whole of the cloth, when viewed from
a distance, showed a flaming sword on one side and a blazing sun on the
other, with a golden diagonal line separating the two.  The Fire and the
Light, she mused.  Two essential elements in the universe, used as symbols
and weapons in a pointless war.  Humans were so stupid, taking bases of
their very lives and attempting to control them to take other lives.  Yumina
prayed that she could find hope somewhere in this pattern, if only to end 
the utter waste of this war.

    She mentally prodded an aquamarine string near the center of the cloth,
one that reached to both sides of the golden center line. After a short
examination, she determined that the string was Ilysa, and each stitch in 
the ethereal fabric which adjoined her thread represented a possibility for
the farm-born girl; changes in loves, life, magic skills, connections, and
friends.  Fire or Light, Averny or Daric, farmer or magician, it did not
matter; the pattern for Ilysa was incredibly complex no matter which
direction Yumina turned.

    Yumina opened her deep blue eyes momentarily and sighed.  She had made
up her mind.  Another thread was to be manipulated; it was merely to be
determined which.  As she turned her head left and right to survey the
battlefield, she huffed at her thought of "merely".  Thousands of men and
women were dead on this field.  Though most were common soldiers, some
like Ilysa were major players... or could be.  And besides that, each person
had literally infinite combinations of possible events that could lead to
their ultimate role in the final battle.

    The strategist of the Fates sighed again as she conjured up the tapestry
in her mind.  She focused in on the fiery sun in the lower left,
scrutinizing every millimeter of the threads until she made her decision.

    Yumina reached out to a dark yellow string and pulled.  She prayed she
was right this time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

                        The Gates of Time
                Chapter Two: A Beginning in Disguise
       An Improfanfic associated with http://www.improfanfic.com
		       Started by Lady Brick
		       This chapter by Falcon

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Phair!  Phair!  Come over here!  I found a really big turtle by the
river!"  Phair looked around, checking left and right.  "Over here!  Behind
you!" the voice persisted.  Phair obediently spun around to see a thirteen
year old boy with neck-length scraggly blond hair and piercing green eyes
beckoning to him.  "Don't wait forever!  He'll get away!" the boy called.

    Phair ran over to the riverbank where his friend had been calling.  He
knelt and looked down to the turtle.  Its shell was brightly colored with
yellows and greens. "Where'd you find him, Kindar?"

    Kindar shrugged, an action which dislodged the green tunic he was
wearing.  He readjusted the tunic as he answered, "Same place I found the
one last month. Over there in the rotted log."  He gestured to a hollowed
out rotten oak tree.

    Phair nodded with approval.  "Good size.  This will fetch a nice price
from the innkeeper.  I hear he's been having demands from customers for
turtle soup lately."

    "Yeah, he has.  But remember, I get more of the money since I found
him."  Phair sighed.  He'd been beaten to the punch again, and Kindar would
be rubbing it in by telling everyone at the inn.

    "Phair!  Kindar!  There's someone in the village looking for you!" an
older voice echoed through the woods.

    "That's Dad," Kindar declared.  "Let's go, old buddy."  Phair nodded
and followed after his best friend who cradled the large turtle under his
right arm. The two came bounding out of the forest, one right after the
other.  They almost ran directly into Kindar's father.

    "Welcome back, boys," he said, leaning in to whisper to the pair. "There
are two priests in the town to see you.  They said you'd been selected to be
members of the Order of Fire or Light."

    Phair and Kindar looked at each other, eyes wide.  "Both of us?" Kindar
asked, awed.

    Phair piped up, "Did they say which one of us is going to Fire and which
to Light?"

    Kindar's father shook his head.  "No, I didn't ask, though I imagine the
decision will be up to you."  He patted Kindar on the back. "They're waiting
at our house."

    "Thanks, Dad," Kindar replied.  The boys took off like a shot toward
their adjoining residences.

    Kindar's father chuckled as the boys ran.  "I wish I still had that kind
of energy."

    Phair and Kindar arrived at the latter's home to see two men of the
priestly order. One was clad in purest white, the other in deep red.  The 
one in red addressed the boys first. "Greetings.  I am Mikael, a priest of
the order of Fire, and this is Jacende of the order of..."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Light.

    Light streamed in from the window, bathing the entire room in a serene
glow.  The lone occupant opened his eyes slowly, gazing up toward the
ceiling.  That was the third time this week he'd had that dream.  Why he
kept dreaming of his childhood over and over, he didn't know.

    Phair sat up on his pallet.  Forty years ago, he and Kindar had been
selected to join the orders of the priesthood in the nation of Sankria.
Phair, the more quiet, thoughtful boy, had been sent to the Temple of the
Shining One to follow the way of Light.  Kindar, the more opportunistic and
competitive of the pair had been sent to the Temple of the Burning One to
follow the path of Fire.

    The boyhood friends and rivals may have gone their separate ways
at the time, but they had still kept in touch.  Granted, with the intense
training on the side of Fire and the nonstop studying and mental excercise
forced on Light initiates, they didn't communicate as much as they had as
next door neighbors and best friends.  They had written back and forth to
each other ever since, comparing stories about their respective magics,
sharing information and knowledge in a free exchange with quite a bit of
heated philosophical debate on the side, since neither could admit that he
was wrong.

    That is, until the two princes came along.  Five years ago when the two
the people dubbed the Cursed Two princes had arrived, things had changed...
both Kindar and Phair attained the rank of high priest, and communications
had grown more and more sparse until finally, just a few months ago, all
contact with Kindar had ceased.

    It certainly wasn't from lack of effort on Phair's part.  He had tried
to keep in touch with his longtime friend.  He had sent message after
message only to meet with no response, and finally had given up two months
ago. Maybe his old friend had finally given up the argument, or maybe he was
just too busy.

    Phair sighed and stood up.  Even though he wanted desperately to know
how and what his friend was doing, he could not abandon his post.  He
readied himself for another day of instruction and study of the Light.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Prince Averny purposefully strode toward the office of the high priest
of Fire, his mind racing.  Old man Kindar probably has more stories to feed
me about how awful my brother is, he thought.  Not that it was news.  Ever
since the prince had come to this place, 'Fire's Appointed One' - or so the
priest liked to call himself - had been telling him tales of how cowardly
and weak his brother had become by joining the ranks of Light.  Didn't he
realize that the King himself had ordered the two to the separate temples?
Surely he did.  It was the most highly publicized event since their very
birth sent rumors of darkness sweeping across the nation. Before stepping
through the doors, Averny steeled himself against attacking Kindar verbally
or physically at any hint of the priest foulmouthing his brother again.  He
did not need his temper to get him in trouble.

    The hazel-eyed young prince opened the door and stepped inside with a
smooth motion, his blood-red robes with silver trim fluttering out behind
him.  Though he had only been an initiate at the temple for six months, the
priests had made an exception and promoted him to second level initiate
earlier than the one-year requisite.  His fiery demeanor did have its
advantages after all; the energy his mind could draw upon when he was angry
was incredible, making his advances in Fire magic knowledge, skill and power
unheard of.

    But all that meant nothing as he stood before the high priest.  Kindar
sat at his desk on the far side of the room, facing the entryway.  He was
garbed in the flowing red silk robe of the high priest, a shimmering cloth
with gold lining and a golden flame stitched on the left breast.  "Good
afternoon, my prince," he haughtily greeted, brushing back his long gray
hair.

    "State your business, Kindar, I'm in no mood for games," snapped Averny.

    "Now now now, Your Highness, you know you're not supposed to address me
that way."

    "What would you like... *Father* Kindar?" Averny almost spat the term of
respect.

    "That's better.  Now let's get to the point.  You know what I want.
Will you give it to me?"

    "No.  I refuse to support one side or the other in this battle you claim
is coming.  I wish for the two orders to be reunited, and I know my brother
would like the same."

    "Ah, but how do you know that?  Your brother has apparently cut off
communications, as I recall."  Averny nodded his head.  It had been almost
five months since he'd heard anything from Daric.  The last he'd heard from
Daric, he received a spellbook with a powerful shield spell and news that
his brother had also been promoted.

    Kindar continued, "Do you really know your brother that well?"  He
leveled a piercing gaze at the young prince.

    "Yes," Averny flatly answered.  "Nothing you can say can convince me
otherwise."

    "A pity," remarked the aged priest.  "Be on your way, then."

    Averny blinked.  He wasn't going to put up a fight today?  Now THAT was
something different. Oh well, he thought.  Back to the books.  At least
those made some sense, unlike the senile old man.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    The captain of the guard pulled the chamber door shut behind the prince
as he left.  He addressed the Fire priest, saying, "Sir, your orders?"

    Kindar stroked his purest white beard and mused.  "Hmm.  The prince has
decided, it seems. We'll have to show him that his decision needs to be
reversed.  Come with me.  I will need the assistance of one of your men.
Preferably one that the prince does not know."

    "But that means we'll have to pull a man from scouting and
surveillance!  Can we afford to--"

    "Do as I say," Kindar stated threateningly.  "Scouting rarely learns us
anything new.  The Light Order, by nature, hole themselves up and study.
They will never make a move. Therefore we will make a move for them.  I must
have the prince firmly on my side."

    "And just how do we do that?"

    Kindar grinned.  "You'll see momentarily.  Were there any more questions
before we head to the barracks?"

    "Just one, sir.  What should I do with this?"  The captain held out a
letter embossed with a seal bearing an eagle's head on a sunset, facing
west.  "It's another for his Highness Averny."

    "Burn it."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    The red-clad guard yawned.  The tall, slight man raised his hand to his
eyes, shielding them from the blazing sun as he surveyed the area outside
the Temple of the Burning One's southern entrance. "Nothing ever happens
here," he complained aloud.  What WAS the point of standing here in twelve
hour shifts anyway?  The Light pansies never attacked, they just sat on
their hind ends enhancing their defensive magics in a futile effort to stand
up to the forces of Fire in the battle that would inevitably come.

    Well, that's what he'd been told, anyway.  Simpletons like him - a
farmer who was "converted" to the cause of Fire after a miscast spell had
torched his lands - didn't need to know much, especially about things they
couldn't control, like magic. So long as he kept watch and let his superior
know of any disturbances or suspicious activity, everything was okay... that
is, they allowed him to live. With that somber thought, he continued his
survey of the countryside until his procedure was interrupted by a tap to
his shoulder.

    "Excuse me," a red-cloaked woman muttered.  The guard whipped around to
face her.

    "J-just what are you doing here? What is your business?"

    The woman held out her right hand, enabling the surprised man to catch
sight of a glint of red light coming off the ring.  It was engraved with the
seal of Fire. "I was sent to scout the Temple of the Shining One.  I return
with news of a weak point in their defenses.  Deliver this to Kindar, if you
will."  She handed the guard a scroll with the seal of Light on it, then
turned to leave.  He caught a glimpse of deepest blue from her shadowed eyes
as she spun.

    "Hey, wait!  What is this?  Come back!" the guard yelled to no avail.
He stared at the symbol for a moment, verifying that it was indeed the mark
of the enemy, then looked up. There was no sign of the mysterious woman who
had handed him the paper.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "So, former land-tender, you said a red-garbed woman who claimed she was
a spy for us gave this to you mere hours ago?" Kindar calmly said, his hands
folded in front of him on his desk.  The mahogany desk was littered with
scrolls and wax in disorganized heaps.  As best as the fearful guard could
tell, there was roughly one pile for incoming scrolls, outgoing scrolls,
unused wax for seals and used wax from broken seals.

    "I asked you a question!  Answer me, buffoon!" Kindar roared.  He had no
patience for those of inferior intelligence.

    "Y-yes sir, she walked up to me, gave it to me, told me to deliver it to
you and d-disappeared, sir."

    "And what else did she say, hmm?  What does this scroll contain?"

    "Sh-she said something about a w-weak spot in their defenses, sir," the
guard stammered.

    "Very well.  You are dismissed.  Report to the barracks, soldier."

    "Yes sir!"

    Kindar sliced the wax seal neatly with his thumbnail and opened the
scroll that the mystery woman had dropped off.  "Hmm," he mused as he read
over its contents.  It was a map of the Temple of the Shining One, complete
with guard movements, stations and numbers.  His eyes darted to the markings
on the left side of the scroll.  A large circle had been drawn around the
western wall.  Writing next to the circle read, "Weak patrol at dusk.  Small
party of five to ten could sneak attack.  High priest, other leaders in
area."

    Kindar thought for a moment.  At dusk, his old friend would probably be
in the dining hall.  Sending an attack at that time shouldn't endanger
Phair... just scare him.  Fear in the mind of a Light magician would easily
prove fatal; Phair himself had said that it took intense concentration to
use the magic of Light.  A twinge of fear on their part would give the
warriors of Fire a distinct advantage in the coming battle.

    His mind made up, Kindar ordered the strike.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    At dusk that evening, the Light guard at the western gate heard rustling
noises in the far-off brush.  He dismissed them, passing it off as wildlife.
It was the final mistake he ever made.  An arrow - shot from the composite
longbow carried by one of the five Fire scouts he mistook for harmless
little bunnies - pierced his armor neatly, causing him to collapse to the
ground in a lifeless heap.

    The quintet of attackers charged the gate.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Phair heard a commotion outside his door.  Curious as to what was
happening, he cracked the door open and looked outside.  Four guards had
just run past, one yelling, "Hurry, they're attacking!"

    Phair called out, "Who's attacking?"

    "Small party of warriors wearing the garb of the Order of Fire, Father!"

    "I'm coming with you, then."

    The guard shook his head, "No, Father!  It's too-"

    "Dangerous?  I've seen battle before, my child.  I'm coming with you."
Phair jogged along, following the party of Light devotees to the nearby west
gate.

    When they got near the intruders, Phair stood behind the pillar nearest
the gate and concentrated, bringing to mind a spell to blind the combatants
so his forces might overwhelm the enemy.  The screams from two men who were
obviously in serious pain - perhaps dying - echoed through the air, but
Phair blocked them out momentarily so he could finish his incantation. More
screams and sounds of crackling flame met his ears.  He could not take it
anymore.  He threw the hood of his robe up over his head and ran out to the
gate's opening. As soon as he reached his destination, he yelled, "Heavenly
Light, take 'way their sight!"

    A blinding flash of purest white light overtook the entire area. Phair
was spared from the brunt of the spell by the protection of his hooded robe,
but everyone else who had been fighting dropped their weapons and screamed
in frustration at their temporary blindness.  Phair opened his eyes after a
moment to look on the entryway to the temple.

    He soon wished that he hadn't.  Three of the four Light soldiers who had
been in front of him lay on the ground, two burned so badly he couldn't
recognize them.  The third was horribly disfigured by the burns and stared
at Phair with a blackened face and wide-open eyes, frozen in terror and pain
from his last moments. The fourth had been run through, which seemed
merciful by comparison.  Five Fire warriors, two of which were swordsmen and
three magicians, stood covering their eyes a few steps behind the fallen 
men.

    "Guards!  GUARDS!" Phair called for help.  The sound of his voice gave
the Fire soldiers a clue to his whereabouts, and one of the magicians shot
off a fireball at him.  Phair ducked. The fireball missed, but the heat
singed the edges of his robe.  He picked up a club from a downed warrior and
faced the swordsman who had advanced at the sound of his voice.  Phair moved
to the side to dodge the overhand smash sent by the Fire soldier, then hit
him on the head with all the strength he could muster.  Phair breathed
heavily for a moment, then looked up.

    Another magician was about to cast a spell in his direction.  However,
before he could get the spell off, a blow struck his knees from behind,
crumpling him to the ground.  The squad of Light guards made easy prey of
their blinded opponents, knocking out each in turn.

    "Thank you, my children," Phair softly spoke.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    In a training courtyard near the northern gate of the Temple of the
Burning One, an initiate practiced alone.  After reciting an incantation
and grimacing with the effort of channeling the energy, twin balls of fire
appeared, one in each of his hands.  He continued holding his hands in their
tensed positions as if they somehow gripped the flaming orbs.  Satisfied
with his control, he lobbed one, then the other toward a target thirty yards
away. Both struck what would be fatal wounds if the attackee had not been an
insulated practice dummy.

    Averny raised a hand to shield his eyes from the dwindling sunlight as
he looked at his prey.  Not bad, he thought.

    "Very good.  You might make third-level initiate in spring if you keep
this up," a familiar voice intoned from behind him.

    Averny wheeled around, causing the train of his robe to flare up,
catching the sunlight in a glint of silver.  He glared at his observer.
"With all due respect, Father, just what are you doing here?"

    Kindar looked at the prince, puzzled.  "Am I not allowed to roam the
grounds and observe my trainees?"

    "Cut the friendly banter.  What do you want from me?"

    "I merely wished to inform you that I have arranged for you to have
special protection during the battle with the Light when it arrives."

    Averny blinked.  "That's... almost thoughtful of you, Kindar.  What is
this aid--"

    "My prince, DUCK!"  Averny, startled by Kindar's sudden interruption and
earnestly worried tone, did just that.  An arrow whizzed through the space
he had formerly occupied.  As Averny lay on the ground, face firmly planted
against the dirt, Kindar muttered a quick fireball spell and launched it
back in the direction the arrow had come from.  One scream and thud later,
the battle was over.

    Averny rose from his prone position.  "Where was he?"  Kindar pointed
toward the gate and hurried in that direction, the prince following right
behind.  They were greeted at the entryway by the sight of an unconscious
man with a slightly scorched uniform lying flat on his stomach. A longbow
lay next to his right hand and a quiver was strapped to his back.  "His
uniform is that of Light," the prince remarked.  He extended a boot and
attempted to flip the man over.

    The body dutifully rolled onto its back, revealing the charred emblem
of the Order of Light. Averny glanced down and looked at the sword the man
had carried and paled.  It bore the symbol of his brother.  "But...
Daric..." he gasped out in disbelief.

    Kindar stood beside the prince and muttered emotionlessly, "He has been
corrupted by the Light and wishes only to be the lone successor to the
throne.  You see that now with your own eyes.  Does that convince you of the
truth rather than my words?"

    Averny stood still, completely dazed.  His top lip trembled and tears
began welling up in his eyes.  He softly closed his eyes and whispered, "I
need to be alone."  The priest sagely nodded and left the Prince to his own
thoughts.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    One of the most disturbing events possible in life is to see a person
you know and care about brutally murdered in front of your eyes.  Phair,
high priest of Light, was reliving his latest experience in the matter alone
on his pallet.  Those were fine men he'd lost.  Loyal. Caring.  Devoted to
the cause.  They had families, wives and children that they'd left behind.
It had happened before and it would happen again, but Phair was chilled to
the core of his being by the sheer horror of the men's deaths.

    But what could he have done?  He could have been quicker, tried a
different spell, or... no, he did what he could, he decided.  That still
didn't make up for the loss of those men. Nothing could.  All that could
even come close would be to honor their memory by avenging them when the
time came.  How that could be accomplished, Phair didn't know yet.

    Another hour of no sleep and racing thoughts went by before Phair
decided to meditate, searching within himself for the answer.  He searched
the memories of all the spells he'd ever learned, but none of the
incantations or charms he knew of could protect more than a handful of
people at one time.  This left few options; either more Light initiates
would have to be shuffled through the training, and thus more soldiers
protected when the battle came...

    Phair shuddered at the alternative but was forced to consider it.  The
materials were here.  He had the power, if not the training.  It was proven
to be effective in battle.  It would surprise the enemy and give his side an
edge.

    He would study the magics of Fire.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Yumina saw the decision-making process go on in Phair's head, the wheels
figuratively turning.  And when Phair came to his ultimate decision, Yumina
smiled.  Her plan accomplished, she watched and could only hope she had
succeeded.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "You wished to see me?"

    "Ah, yes.  Ilysa, wasn't it?"  The girl nodded.  "Reports from the
instructors indicate to me that you are not progressing well in the ways of
Fire," Kindar remarked.

    Ilysa lowered her head in shame.  "I'm sorry, Father."

    Kindar shook his head.  "No need to apologize.  In fact, you might still
be able to serve us... serve your prince well."

    Ilysa looked up to meet Kindar's gaze, confused.  She had heard so many
stories about this man's fiery spirit and intolerance of unskilled
initiates.  This wasn't the same quick-tempered priest she'd been told
about.  She tilted her head sideways a bit as if to question both what he
meant and why he was being nice to her.

    The old man picked up on her inquisitiveness and told her all she needed
to know.  "Your prince and mine has received many spellbooks from his
brother, Prince Daric of the Order of Light.  I think that since you have
been strained from trying to use Fire magic that Light may be more open for
you to use."  She nodded as Kindar continued, "As you know, there will
inevitably be a battle between the two orders since the Cursed Princes are
on opposite sides.  Astrologers and prophets have been beating it into our
heads ever since the day they were born.  You surely know that Light spells
are all defensive, since they operate on the flawed philosophy that defense
will protect them from any attack.  If you can learn some of Light's 
powerful
protection spells to guard Prince Averny, it would aid his chance of
surviving the battle greatly.  Will you do this?"

    Ilysa smiled.  "I would do anything for him."

    Kindar nodded back.  "I thought you would.  You will prove a great aid
for us yet."

    The door to Kindar's room opened, revealing a messenger come to see him.
Kindar turned to Ilysa and said, "That's all.  Return to your studies."
Ilysa bowed slightly and exited the room. "Enter," Kindar commanded the
messenger.  "What news?"

    The messenger boy produced a small scroll from the pouch that hung on
the right side of his belt and began reading.  "Party not successful in
mission.  Four Light guards killed, but Light high priest and an extra
party of their guards knocked out and captured our men."

    "Very well.  Leave me to think on things."

    "Yes sir."  The boy left the room in a hurry, probably to collect the
silver piece tip normally given to young message-bearers.

    Kindar shut the door behind the boy and sighed heavily.  At least his
old friend was all right; though he could debate Phair until the end of
time on issues of beliefs and magic, he could never hurt his counterpart.
That is, until the battle came and he would have to order Phair killed.

    How he'd deal with that, he didn't quite know yet.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Prince Daric sat in his room, leafing through a Light spellbook.  He
passed the spells he already knew, simple things like Torch Light, Sunray
Focus and Heavenly Shield.  As he turned the next page to read up on a new
spell, he heard racing footsteps approaching his door.  A desperate knocking
ensued.  "Who is it?" Daric grunted impatiently.

    "Your Highness!  Father Phair has disappeared!" cried a voice from the
hallway.

    Daric darted to the door and opened it.  He found himself staring at an
initiate; Phair's page, he realized.  "When did he disappear?"

    The young boy gasped out in between heaving breaths, "He didn't show up
this morning to his office.  He's never late like that!"

    "Let's check his room.  Follow me!"  Daric sped out the door, the page
lagging tiredly behind.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Phair sat crosslegged on the shore of a large lake.  An oversized tome
rested with one cover on each of his knees.  He folded his hands over the
book and laid his forehead against them.  "Fists
From Heaven", he read.  The most devastating Fire spell imaginable.  He went
over the incantation and procedure tirelessly until he could recite and
perform the entire two-page spell mentally. He rose to his feet and
attempted to dust off his now sand covered white robe in vain.

    The head priest of Light was now going to attempt to cast the most
intense of Fire magic. How ironic, he thought, that the very magic the Fire
devotees relied on could be used against them so easily.  They might insult
the Light's pursuit of protection, but what good does attack do without
defense?  Their philosophy was flawed, he decided.

    Phair relaxed his mind momentarily before remembering that Fire magic
would not work without extreme effort to manipulate the energy from within
himself and from the environment around him. He tensed his mind and reached
into the pouch he carried for the lone item he needed to cast the spell, a
piece of hardened lava.  His left hand clasped over his right, and he held
the rock to the sky as he recited the incantation with eyes closed.

    "Fists from heaven, show thy might, as I the long, hard battle fight..."
A glow arose from hair's hands which would have pained any onlookers had
they seen it.

    "Come down to us with fiery brand and leave your mark across the land."
Purple light shot out from the cracks between the priest's fingers and
thumbs.  The rock he held felt like it was burning, but Phair steeled
himself and continued.

    "Show all who disbelieve thy power the righteous fire of sky this hour."
Energy crackled around and inside Phair's hands as the violet light
intensified.

    "Heaven's hands, touch earth this day! Come from above without delay!"
A small explosion resulted within the priest's hands and he reflexively
threw them forward.  The rock he had been holding shot outward from his
hands, the pieces landing in the lake.  Phair stood panting for a moment,
waiting for the spell to take effect.  He wondered silently if he'd done it
wrong.

    That is, until he looked up.

    Twenty flaming boulders, maybe more, were falling from the sky toward
the lake where the shards of the hardened lava had landed.  Phair retreated
to a cave along the rocks at the shore to watch the results.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Father Phair!  Where have you been?"

    Phair entered the Temple of the Shining One looking absolutely 
exhausted.  His robe and features were soaked, and there was no energy in
his walking step.  "That is none of your concern, my child," he weakly told
the guard of the western gate.  "Now please, let me in so I may rest."  The
priest made his way to his room, where he summarily collapsed in a heap on
his pallet.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    *The next day...*

    "Sir, a message for you from the palace!"

    Kindar raised his head from the book he was studying.  "Enter," he
commanded.  The same messenger boy who had brought him the bad news of his
attack party's failure came in through the door.  The boy will be rich if
he keeps this up, Kindar thought.  "What news do you bring, boy?"

    "The king has been assassinated, sir.  An unknown person poisoned him."

    Kindar motioned for the boy to leave the room, which he did.  The aged
priest rose from his chair and followed the youngster, moving to the
barracks to make battle plans.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Father, I bring word to you from the palace."

    Phair stirred on his pallet.  He idly wondered how long he'd been
sleeping before requesting that the messenger let himself in.  "What news
from the king?"

    "Ominous signs, Father Phair.  The king is dead of poison.  The people
cry out for a new king."

    Phair sighed.  The day he prayed would never come had arrived.  "Marshal
the defenses," he ordered softly.  "Prepare for battle.  The Order of Fire
will not let this go by without attempting to place Averny on the throne."

    "Yes, Father."

    The messenger left the room, leaving Phair alone with his thoughts
momentarily.  "So, old friend, this is how it must end," he muttered.  "Let
us see who comes out the winner after all these years."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    The battle raged onward.  Hundreds had died on both sides already, but
it was clear to all that the forces of Fire were gaining the upper hand.
Now, in the command tent of Light, plans were being made to correct the
situation.  Phair, Daric, and the three highest remaining officers sat
around a map of the valley they currently battled in.

    Phair began, "The situation is grim.  Our forces threaten to be overrun
soon here, here and here." He pointed to the western, eastern and northern
fringes of their camp on the map.  "They have us completely backed up
against the cliff.  If they mount another charge, we are finished."

    The captain of the guard spoke up, "What are your orders, Father?"

    "Every available magician is to help maintain a shield spell over Prince
Daric."

    Jaws dropped throughout the room.  "But Father--"

    "Please allow me to finish, my Prince.  You," he gestured to the
captain, "are to gather all our remaining forces for one final defense,
distracting them from our real last ditch attack."

    "Yes, Father.  But what is this attack you speak of?"

    Phair closed his eyes.  "You will find out soon enough, my child. Please
distract them so I am not interrupted while casting the spell I must
attempt."

    "On my honor, Father Phair!"  The captain walked out of the tent with
the other soldiers and began barking orders.

    Daric turned to Phair.  "Why me?"

    "Is it not obvious, Highness?  You are who they are after.  If you can
be spared from death, you can go on to rule this land and do your best to
keep peace alive.  I believe in you."

    "Thank you, Father.  Where should I go to stay out of the way?"

    Phair gestured behind the tent.  "There is a rather large rock formation
outside.  Take all the third-level initiates and priests you can find and
have them maintain their best protection spells over you for as long as they
can."

    Daric nodded and turned to go, but before he left he faced his leader
one last time.  "But what of you, Father?"

    Phair shook his head.  "Don't worry about me, Highness.  Worry about
yourself.  Now go."

    "Yes, Father."

    Daric ran out the back of the tent.  Phair, alone for just a moment,
went over in his mind what to do.  Before he left he made sure to take out
the piece of hardened lava which he had in a pouch on his belt.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Meanwhile, across the field, Kindar addressed the archers, swordsmen and
Averny, who had Ilysa standing by his side.

    "Archers, your first and foremost target is Prince Daric.  Aside from
that, only fire by my direct order; the last thing we need are stray arrows
hitting our own men.  Swordsmen, when I give the signal, charge; they cannot
hold out much longer."  The soldiers of Fire saluted and went to their
respective posts.  Kindar turned to the lovebirds and said, "Ilysa, take His
Highness behind the command tent and maintain whatever protection you can
around yourself and him."  Averny started to object, but Kindar firmly
stated, "We must keep you alive at all costs.  Do not argue."  The prince
reluctantly nodded.

    Ilysa held her arm out to Averny.  "Come, love.  I'll protect you."  The
two got as far away from the main battlefield as they could, and Ilysa
erected a shimmering white shield around the both of them.

    Kindar nodded with approval and turned to face the battlefield.  It
appeared that the Light was marshaling their forces for one final defense
in the center of the valley.  So much the better, he mused.  Eradicating
every last one of them would prove once and for all that Fire was the true
way.

    The high priest of Fire ordered the archers to stand down and motioned
for the swordsmen to move toward their target.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Father, the enemy moves!"

    "Then we shall meet them when they get here," Phair stated. "Now please
be quiet, my child.  I must concentrate."

    "Yes, Father!"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Kindar dropped his arm and the charge began.  The swordsmen of Fire
moved down toward the center of the valley to meet their opponents in
glorious battle one last time.  Kindar stood on a slightly elevated
miniature plateau, watching.  His soldiers got closer, ever closer to the
Light's position. Then suddenly out of nowhere came an intense glow from the
flank of the Light's forces.

    Kindar started sweating nervously.  He knew that glow.  Someone in
there was about to cast Fists from Heaven.  He grabbed the nearest miniature
telescope and surveyed the field, looking for the source.  The light from
the spell's beginning stages flashed through the lenses as he focused in
on the caster.

    If the high priest of Fire were not a religious man, he would have been
swearing up a storm. It was Phair.  How he could possibly cast this spell,
Kindar would never know, but he was doing it. If he wasn't stopped, the
entire field could be decimated.

    But the only way to stop him would be to kill him.

    The light from within Phair's hands turned purple as Kindar fought with
himself.  He could not order Phair killed.  But if he didn't, thousands
would die.  It was one versus many, he reasoned. But that one had been his
friend since childhood.  Would he rather kill one man whom he'd known for
seemingly all of time, or let the same man kill hundreds of both his own
soldiers and Kindar's?

    Kindar turned to the nearest archer.  "Fire on the Priest of Light at my
signal," he barely managed to croak out.  He raised his arm and waited
momentarily, then hesitated as he spoke.

    "Forgive me, Phair," Kindar whispered as he dropped his arm.  The archer
drew back his nocked arrow and prepared to fire into Phair's chest.  Just
before he let go, a ray of brightest purple light struck him in the eyes.
The arrow flew toward its new target.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Violet light streamed out from Phair's hands as he finished the spell.
"Heaven's hands, touch earth this day!  Come down to us without delay!"
Phair felt a stinging sensation as he finished the spell; it was worse than
the burns he had felt the last time he had cast it.  He looked up to see
that an arrow had grazed the palms of both hands on its way across the 
field.  No matter, he thought. It's only a flesh wound.  Then he realized
there was something more seriously wrong.

    "The lava," he gasped.  Phair looked down and saw the rock, still in
one piece, at his feet.  He looked up.

    Not twenty, but one blazing rock approached this time.  However, it was
at least six times as large as any of those previous had been.  He prayed
that the protection spells placed over the prince would hold for a short
time after the magicians died, for nothing would survive the blow he saw
coming.

    "Light help us all," Phair sadly spoke.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Daric looked up through the shield and could see the meteor headed for
the center of the battlefield.  "My Prince, shield your eyes!" one of the
magicians shouted.  He obediently covered his head with his arms and 
squeezed his eyes shut.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Kindar watched Phair drop his hands after the graze from the arrows.  At
least he was not dead, he thought.  The priest heard a voice from his right
shout, "Father Kindar, look up!"  An initiate pointed to the sky.

    As he noticed the rather large slab of flaming rock headed toward the
valley, Kindar amended his last thought.  At least Phair wasn't dead... yet.
For what good it would do, the priest dropped to his knees and prayed.

    Then the meteor hit.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Daric opened his eyes and gaped at the devastation that lay before him.
Everyone on the field was dead.  Never before and never again would or could
Sankria see such carnage.  He coughed as he stood up.  Smoke from burning
rock and scorched human flesh hung heavily in the air.  The prince from the
Order of Light stepped forward, then quickly withdrew his foot.  A pair of
lifeless eyes stared up at him from where he had tried to walk.  Daric held
his stomach and tensed his throat to keep from vomiting.  This was
absolutely sickening madness.  Why did it have to come to this? Why did
everyone have to die?

    "Hold right there, treacherous dog!"  Daric spun around at the sound of
a somewhat familiar voice.  It had changed since he'd last heard it; it was
deeper, more manly and much more forceful, but he knew that voice.  He
turned to face his brother, who was standing not ten feet away.

    "Averny!  I'm glad to see you're safe.  How did you--"

    "Shut up," Averny spat.  He lowered his sword at Daric and moved closer.
"You need to answer for trying to kill me."

    "What?  I did no such thing!"

    "You LIE!"  Averny swished his blade past his brother's face for
emphasis.  "I will repay you for your betrayal, but I will not let it be
said that I am not fair.  Draw steel, brother.  Let us settle this."

    Self-preservation got in the way of any noble intentions Daric had, and
he drew his longsword to match Averny's.  They touched blades lightly and
inclined their heads to each other, poised for a duel much like those they
had as children with wooden swords and shields.  This time, however, the
stakes were much higher, and one prince would pay with his life.

    Averny opened with a stab for Daric's neck, which the still-dazed young
man barely deflected. He countered with a downward slice at Averny's arm
that barely nicked the skin.  Averny flinched slightly but pressed the
attack, thrusting toward Daric's stomach.  One quick jump backward and
Averny was off-balance from his miss.  Daric used this moment of opportunity
to circle around ninety degrees to Averny's right, placing the cliff nearest
the two directly behind the stumbling prince.  Daric propped himself against
the large rock now behind him to rest for a fleeting second.

    Averny quickly recovered and launched himself at Daric in a rage.
Daric parried and the heated exchange was on.  Every attack from both sides
was countered by a block or a strike from the other side; every thrust
parried, every hacking blow met with steel on steel.  From such a locked
position, Daric went for a surprise and swung low for Averny's legs.  The
Fire supporter nimbly jumped the attack and pressed Daric harder.  But for
every attack Averny made, Daric made two more, and the initial aggressor was
soon backed up near the cliff.  Daric slashed at his brother's stomach,
causing him to hop backward, his back striking the cliff.  Surprised, Averny
momentarily lost his grip on his sword, causing it to clang to the ground.

    Daric placed his sword's point lightly against his brother's throat.  "I
never wanted to do this," he stated.  "You forced me to.  I never sent
anyone to kill you, brother.  You should know that.  We grew up together as
friends and as comrades.  Why would I do that to you?"

    "The Light corrupted you!  You were once an honorable man, Daric, but
now you are nothing but a coward who will not stand up for himself!  The
least you can do is admit to what you've done!"

    "I can admit to nothing that I have not done.  Can we not settle this--"
Daric's mouth snapped shut in surprise and he suddenly made a heaving sound
as if he were about to vomit.  Sensing his chance, Averny grabbed his sword
and thrust at his brother quickly.  He felt the satisfying slide of steel
through flesh and smiled.  He had done it.  He had won.

    Then he heard a scream like no other he'd heard his brother make before.
Not even when they were children and told stories of witches and undead had
he heard such a high-pitched scream from Daric.  He sounded like a woman,
come to think of it.

    It was then that what he'd done hit him.  That wasn't Daric screaming.

    That was Ilysa.

    Prince Daric fell forward, a dagger planted firmly through the back of
his chest and an open sword wound through his stomach.  On top of him fell
Ilysa, her heart's blood pouring out over her robes, staining them an even
deeper red.  Averny stood in shock for a moment as he watched his lover die,
then let out a primal scream of rage that echoed across the silent
battlefield.  Unable to stand the thought of life without his love, Averny
thrust his own sword into his chest and threw himself to the ground next to
Ilysa.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Yumina stood staring over the valley.  Once again, all had died.  Once
again, disaster and war was destined to fall over the land of Sankria.

    Once again, she had failed.

    Sure, she wasn't exactly the most experienced of Fate's agents, but she
thought that this situation could have been easily resolved.  There were
only so many ways a battle could end so disastrously.  Yumina lowered her
head, causing her hair to fall down to hide her face.  She sighed.  She
hated using these people for a testing ground like this.  Sure, they were
"just humans" and "replaceable," but they had feelings.  They had lives.
Each one of the thousands that lay dead before her eyes had hopes and dreams
for their futures which would not come.

    Averny especially had had hopes for his future, and when they were taken
away by Ilysa's death, he had nothing else to live for.  Yumina shook her
head.  If he had just let concern for his country and his world take
precedence over his emotions, this all would have been overwith right now.
Instead, he lay dead, joining his lover in eternal sleep.

    Yumina stamped a foot against the ground.  These simpletons.  If that
boy had just looked at the big picture instead of how he felt in the
moment... but there was no time now to think about what might have been in
this situation.  She had to change something else, do something else to
somehow, some way let a prince survive this battle so the peaceful reign of
the royal family could continue.  But what or whom?  Yumina brought her mind
to bear on the pattern for Sankria again and looked for her answer.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Author's Notes:

    Wow.  I was not expecting to be writing #2 when I signed up after 3i,
nor did I expect that it would be this long.  No matter, I suppose.  It's
done, it's on time, and hopefully it's acceptable.  Thanks to Phoebe for
prereading and thanks to Lady Brick for letting me go over ideas with her.

    Some notes about the story itself: Kindar is intended to be an
opportunistic man who can't stand to lose.  I originally had him be a tad
too evil.  Okay, a lot too evil.  I hope he still doesn't come across that
way.  Anyway, his character can obviously be altered if Yumina decides to
pull his thread at some point, but otherwise, he should stay relatively the
same.

    Regarding Kindar ordering the letter from Averny burned: That's the
reasoning I saw from #1 behind the princes not hearing from each other; it
didn't happen on just one side, but on both.  The priests were so focused
on getting the princes to support them that they wouldn't let their brother
"corrupt" them.  In this chapter, I looked at it from Averny's side.

    Regarding magic: Spell incantation length may vary greatly, but let's
try to keep it between one and four lines, please.  More would be
excessive, and in fact, four's a little much, but that was a pretty powerful
spell Phair pulled out, ne?

    Regarding character usage: Yes, I pretty much left Ilysa alone.  Feel
free to bring her back as a main in future episodes; I just wanted Yumina
to give up on her for a chapter.

    Any further questions, comments or essays on why I ruined this Impro can
be directed to aaron.p.bolner@rose-hulman.edu.  Reviews would be welcome if
anyone bothers to read it :P

    Falcon