Beginning

You could almost hear the music to which they danced. A truly beautiful thing, every movement excellently executed. Smooth, fluid, flowing together like two lazy rivers, without ripple or break. Economy of motion perfected, no movement was made that didn't have a purpose. The purpose, death.

The "killing dance", an advanced Jebrondo kata, was being performed by the CEOs of TPSC Inc., for a select group of elite bodyguards. Assigned to protecting the CEOs and their families, many of the guards wondered what masters of this magnitude would need protection from.

After the kata was finished, each CEO performed a demonstration in weapons proficiency. First was Todd Conditt, at 6'4", 230 lbs., he was an impressive figure. His blonde hair hung to his shoulders. He looked out over the room with cool gray eyes that always seemed to be smiling. His weapon of choice, nun-chaku.

Selecting two pair from a side table, he stuck one into his gei belt. With a short bow Todd began to whirl the weapon around his body at a great speed, with many intricate passes and patterns making it difficult to follow. Stopping the whipping baton under one arm, he executed three spinning kicks, coming around the last time with both nun-chaku whirling around his body.

As Todd brought his demonstration to a close, the audience of guards was certain that he couldn't be matched. Certain, until Rob Turner came forward with his weapons, hooked swords. Next came Edgar Sherrill, with paired daggers. Then, Michael Pearce, with the trident. After Mike was Jeb Sherrill, his weapon, manriki kasuri. Then finally, Ron Turner, weapon of choice, tonfa.

When Ron had finished his demonstration, he bowed to the assembled guards and dismissed them, and then he turned to his fellow CEOs. Looking at each in turn, he smiled.

"So, are you guys still coming up to the cabin this weekend?" he looked expectantly from one to the others.

"Of course, little bro," Rob smiled, "A government contract couldn't keep us away."

The others voiced their agreement as well.

"Great! Angel and I will be going up there tonight," Ron told them, "we'll get everything together."

"We'll be there," Todd smiled enthusiastically, "Don't forget, we've been looking forward to this vacation just as long as you have."

"Good. Let's go get something to eat," Ron turned to the door, "How about Mickey D's?"

"Ron," Todd sighed, "You forget that we are CEOs to a multi- billion dollar corporation. McDonald's? Come on now."

"You're right, you're right," Ron shook his head in chagrin, "What was I thinking? Definitely Taco Bell."

Laughing they followed him out the doors to the elevators, happy in the company of close friends. They were definitely looking forward to some overdue vacation time.

* * *

"This is the file on them, sir," with a salute the soldier put the file in front of his commanding officer.

"Okay, gentleman, these are your targets," putting a few slides into the projector, he continued, "First is Todd Conditt, 6'4", 230 lbs., blonde hair, gray eyes. He is the co-chief of security for TPSC Inc. Don't let the smile fool you, he is a master in hand to hand combat. Also, don't think because of his size that he's going to be slow, he is extremely fast and incredibly strong. I repeat, don't underestimate him, he is as agile as a giant cat and far more dangerous.

"This one is Rob Turner, 6'3", 220 lbs., black hair, brown eyes. He is the other chief of security. Again a master of the martial arts. He has a much longer reach than is immediately apparent, so don't let him get ahold of you.

"Edgar Sherrill," the picture on the screen changed again, "5'10", 195 lbs., black hair, brown eyes, in charge of the corporations legal concerns. Although he is smaller and lighter than the previous two, he makes up for that in speed, and he is still incredibly strong.

"This is Michael Pearce, 6'3", 250 lbs., black hair, hazel eyes, in charge of their entertainment division. He floats like a butterfly, stings like a howitzer. Don't get stung, 'nuff said.

"Jeb Sherrill, 6'1", 185 lbs., blonde hair, brown eyes, in charge of investments. Again, don't be fooled, despite the sleepy eyes and the tired expression, this man co-created Jebrondo. Be very careful with him.

"Last, but certainly not least, Ron Turner, 6'2", 218 lbs., black hair, brown eyes, in charge of general management. He started TPSC Inc. and co-created Jebrondo. Be especially cautious with him and Jeb. Those two can use anything as a weapon. Anything.

"Your mission is to go and bring one of them back alive. Deadly force is not, I repeat, not authorized. If it becomes obvious that you cannot take them alive, abort.

"Our sources say that they are at this location. Any questions?"

"Yes, sir," a soldier in the back raised his hand, "There are only six of them, and 36 of us. Are so many of us really necessary?"

"Before this is over you'll wish you had more, soldier. Now, your weapons have been loaded with rubber pellets and tranquilizers. No personal firearms. Any blunt or stunning weapons are okay. Go get 'em boys."

* * *

Pulling into the park, they piled out of the suburban. Grabbing the bags of food they sat on the ground laughing and talking as they sorted out whose was whose. After getting everything divided, they began eating. However, just as Edgar was biting into his burrito, it sprouted a dart.

"Code yellow!" he shouted as he rolled over backwards, away from where he'd been.

Instantaneously everyone was in motion, rolling out of the circle they'd just been in, as it was peppered with more darts and rubber pellets. As Todd, Mike, and Rob jumped behind trees, Jeb rolled under the suburban. Meanwhile, Edgar and Ron made for the tailgate.

"They're circling around," Todd called out as Ron pulled open the tailgate.

Out of the tailgate Ron pulled six bokken, wooden practice katanas that, if used correctly, were a weapon in and of themselves. Handing two to Edgar, he pointed to Mike. As Jeb stood up, Ron handed him two as well, then pointed to Rob, not wanting to waste words or give away their intentions. Finally, he grabbed two himself and sprinted towards Todd.

With what seemed to be a sixth sense they ran, dodging and deflecting the incoming barrage until they were to their assigned partners. Ron handed Todd one bokken and then they smacked them together. They waited a few seconds until they heard corresponding smacks from the other two pairs.

"Let's take 'em down," Todd grinned.

"What are we waiting for?" Ron smiled back.

Jumping out from behind the trees they attacked. Before the two squads of soldiers knew what was going on, TPSC Inc. was all over them. After accidentally tranking one of they're own, they pulled out their shockers and bludgeons. The soldiers fought with all of their might, but they were just out of their league. In about two minutes the only people still standing were TPSC Inc.

"Maybe we should have them send marines next time," Mike sighed.

"Maybe," Todd said as they climbed back into the suburban, "Maybe."

* * *

Hours had passed since the training exercise in the park. Ron was now hundreds of miles away from that park, in their Colorado cabin looking out the giant picture window with his wife, deep in thought. He thought about how lucky he'd been in life. Ron was something of a martial arts prodigy, by the time he'd graduated high school he was at least a black belt, or the equivalent, in every form of martial arts available in the United States. No one could explain it, all he had to do was see it done twice and he could do it, in whole or in part, mixing and matching to fit any situation. He'd met only one other person like that, Jeb Sherrill. Instead of competing like everyone thought that they would, they sought to further their education in China.

Travelling deep into the mountains they had come across an ancient temple. Inside the temple was an old priest, who told them he'd been waiting for them. They studied under him intensely for five years, learning more about chi and the ways of the "killing art". At the end of those five years, their sensei died. So, taking the scrolls with them they returned to the United States.

Upon returning, Ron ran into his old high school sweetheart, Angela, and they were soon married, as were Jeb and his long time companion, Jamie. Ron was the happiest man on earth, even if he was poor.

While on their honeymoon, Ron bought a lottery ticket, and promptly won the largest jackpot in history. He became a multi- millionaire at 24, so he started a business. Then he diversified.

Turner, Pearce, Sherrill, and Conditt Inc. were involved in everything. Sherrill and Associates Law firm, Pearced Nipple Productions, Turner and Sherrill Investments, Conditt, Turner, and Conditt Security, plus many, many others.

Their most recent acquisition had Ron very happy. Mitsubishi had gone under, so TPSC Inc. had bought the company. Monroe Autos put out its first line next year. Good cars at good prices.

All of this and a wonderful wife, too. Ron could barely contain himself. At 30 years of age he was set for life, only some global disaster could destroy what he'd built with the help of his friends. Lucky didn't describe his life, it seemed almost as if he'd had something watching over him his entire life. Not to say that his life had been a cakewalk, he'd had his share of hard times. But with the support of family and close friends he'd always come out on top. Turning to Angela he kissed her deeply. When he finally let her up for air she gasped and blinked for a few seconds.

"Where did that come from?"

"From the heart, sweetheart, from the heart," he replied as he held her close.

She was two and a half years younger than he was and they were more in love now than when they had first gotten married. Their love grew stronger everyday even though they were very different.

Their differences went far beyond color, though that was the most readily apparent one. Ron was considered to be a man of action, but few people would call him hyper. Angela on the other hand was always on the go. People always noticed when Angela walked into a room, whereas Ron could slip in, be there for a few minutes, and then slip back out without anyone ever realizing he was there unless he said something. Angela was short and bright, Ron was tall and dark. Yet, when they were together, they complimented each other so well, it was obvious they were made for each other.

Indeed, the things that they had in common were far more important. They had the same values, principals, likes, and dislikes. They loved children, active sports, spending time with friends and family, and shared an intense curiosity that seemed almost feline. But mostly, they enjoyed just being together; they didn't even have to be doing anything.

"What's that?" Angela pointed to the trees about 100 yards from the window.

There seemed to be some kind of pulsing blue glow coming from between the trees. It didn't look like fire, but with so many trees around they needed to be sure.

"I don't know," Ron said quietly, "We'd better check it out."

They went quickly to the garage and got into the mustang. Driving over to the trees, Ron slowed way down trying to find the source of the light.

"Over there," Angela pointed off to the right.

Ron pulled up to the source of the light; a large blue and white circle about three feet in front of a large tree. It didn't look dangerous, but looks could be deceiving.

"I'll get a closer look," Ron started to get out of the car, but the door wouldn't open.

Suddenly the car started rolling forward. He pushed on the brakes in vain. Killing the engine he pulled the emergency brake, all to no avail. Just as he was going to punch out a window they entered the light.

"Oh-"

* * *

"Arrrrrrrrgh!" King Theo cried out in pain.

"Father!" Prince Singeon struggled to reach his father, who was lying on the floor with an arrow sticking out of his chest.

"His injuries are beyond my capabilities," General Sheba shook her head sadly.

"Where's Drake?" Singeon called out.

"I am here," Drake, the Royal Wizard, hurried into the room.

"Quickly, you must heal my father," Singeon shook himself free of the attendants holding him back.

Drake bent over the fallen king, examining his wounds. Several guards ran into the throne hall of Castle River. Swinging the heavily reinforced doors closed they barred them.

"They're inside the castle, general," they reported to Sheba.

"I cannot save him," Drake announced sadly.

"Why not?" Singeon demanded, "What's wrong?"

"I do not have enough power left," Drake explained regretfully, "I have, however, taken away his pain, so you may talk with him."

"But-" Singeon began.

"Singeon," King Theo had everyone's attention, "he has done what I requested of him. The Dark Advancement must be stopped. I commanded Drake to summon help..."

The king was overcome by a fit of coughing, as his son knelt beside him he was able to regain his composure and continue.

"When the help arrives, you must take them down the passage way behind the throne. There you will find the Chest of Power..."

Again he was overcome by a fit of coughing. Wiping blood from his mouth, he was soon able to continue again.

"After receiving your powers, you must escape to Theren, King Herc will help you. You... must... succeed."

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. The attacking forces had reached the doors to the hall and were wasting no time; they had immediately brought up a battering ram. Everyone hoped the help King Theo had mentioned arrived before the doors gave out.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

"The king is dead," an attendant announced, "Long live King Singeon V."

"Long live the king," the group of attendants, guards, and other royal functionaries repeated.

"Drake," the king turned a tear stained face on him, "where is this help my father thought was more important than his life?"

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. The battering ram was a constant background reminder of their shortness of time.

"It should be arriving here at any moment now," Drake stated.

BOOM, BOOM, CRACK! The sharp crack of the beam starting to give echoed through the entire room. Then, between the door and the group of people gathered, there appeared a large blue and white swirling circle. BOOM, CREAK, CRACK. The door was starting to give way. Suddenly just as the doors were swinging open, a strange black carriage flew out of the circle and rammed the doors closed again.

* * *

"-crud!" Ron cried out as they came out of the light.

Right in front of them was a large set of double doors, which seemed to be opening. They crashed into them, slamming them back shut again, and deploying the airbags inside the car. When the car stopped moving Ron and Angie climbed out from behind the airbags.

"Aw man," Ron was looking at the damage, "so much for that car."

"Ron where are we?" the nervousness in her voice grabbed his attention.

Turning around his jaw dropped. First of all they were not in the grove of trees they'd been in. Secondly, the cabin was nowhere to be seen. Thirdly, everyone standing before them was dressed something like a medieval king's court. Lastly, several of them were definitely not human.

"Well it's not Colorado, I'll tell you that much," he commented when he had found his voice.

"Greetings kind lady and noble sir," Drake stepped forward, "I, Drake, have summoned you here."

"Wonderful," Angie stepped closer to her husband, "Now why don't you, Drake, send us back?"

"Please, wait," Singeon stood from where he knelt on the floor by his father, "Will you help us?"

"If we can," Ron said carefully.

"I am Drake, Royal Wizard of Jordain," Drake explained, "I cast a spell to summon help for us in our time of need, you are who it brought. Will you help us?"

"Before we answer that," Angie looked at him closely, "how will we get back home if we do?"

"I must be totally honest with you," Drake admitted, "I do not know. You are definitely not from this world, I will have to learn much more about you before I could even hope to send you back."

"So no matter what," Ron crossed his arms, "we're stuck here."

"Until I find out where you came from, yes," Drake nodded, "Your getting back does not depend on whether you help us or not, though. I will try as hard as I can to find a way to send you back in any case. You did not ask to come here."

"We will discuss it," Ron said as he and Angie stepped back from them a ways.

"Well, what do you think?" Angie asked him.

"First, we need to find out what they want us to help them with," Ron pointed out, "If it isn't too bad we could go ahead and help them, at least until we can figure out how to get home."

"Okay," Angie agreed, "let's do it then."

Turning back to the group of people waiting for their reply, Ron noticed that there were quite a few less than there were before. Finding the one called Drake; Ron gave their reply.

"There is too much to explain right here," Drake said, "but the main thing is this, we are at war with a great evil, that must be stopped."

"Okay," Ron glanced at Angie, "we'll help you for now. However, if it becomes apparent that you are not willing to send us back or that you are lying to us, there will be ... consequences. Is this understood?"

Just at that moment the battering ram picked up where it had left off. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

"You have my word that we will deal honestly with you," Drake assured them.

"And mine," Sheba and Singeon agreed in unison.

"Okay then," Ron smiled, "is there another way out of here?"

"Yes, behind the throne," Singeon pointed across the room.

"Good," Ron moved towards the trunk of the mustang, then called some instructions over his shoulder, "Get everyone out, while we get prepared to slow down whoever is outside this door."

Drake and Singeon began ushering everyone out of the hall, as Ron popped open the trunk. Reaching inside he pulled out two ten gauge, pistol-gripped shot guns. Handing those to Angie he picked up several boxes of shells and put them into a duffel. Tossing that over his shoulder he reached back inside and pulled out several sticks of dynamite.

"Dynamite?" Angie was incredulous, "Sweetheart, why did you have dynamite in the trunk of the car?"

"Oh, well, I, uh," Ron stammered, "I thought I might do some fishing while we were at the cabin. Yeah that's it, fishing."

"Fishing, huh?" she shook her head, an amused grin on her face, "I bet. I thought that the only people who could use shot gun slugs were police officers."

Strapping the explosives together, Ron attached an electronic detonator to it, then tossed it back into the trunk. Checking the remote, he closed the trunk down.

"Well, you know honey," Ron chuckled, "after that incident in Chicago I gotta be prepared for anything. Is everyone out, yet?"

"We're the only ones left," Sheba informed him as she strung her bow.

"Not a second too soon," Angie said as the forces on the other side began to force the door open, pushing the car out of the way, "Let's move."

The trio bolted for the cover of the throne dais. Looking back towards the doors Ron and Angie's hearts skipped a beat as they saw what came through them. Trolls, boggles, goblins, hairballs, and other nasty creatures came pouring through the huge doors in droves. Just as the first ones were getting past the car, Ron triggered the detonator.

KABOOOOOM!

The combination of the dynamite and the gasoline still in the car made for an enormous explosion, which sent creatures flying in all directions, not all of them in one piece. Standing up, Ron and Sheba began unloading into anything still moving towards them. Reaching the end of one magazine he handed the gun back to Angie, who started reloading it, and picked up the second one to continue. In this way they were able to keep their antagonists at bay for quite a while.

"Last one," Angie informed him as she handed him the last loaded gun.

"I'm out," Sheba said as she put her last arrow right between the eyes of an approaching goblin.

"Quick, into the passage," Ron fired off his last rounds as they retreated into the passage.

"I don't see the locking bars," Sheba looked around as the heavy door slid into place.

"Here," Ron jammed the two now useless shotguns into the holes.

"This way," Sheba led them down the passage and around a corner.

The passage ended in a mid-sized room. In the room were Drake and Singeon. Also, there was a small table with a chest sitting on it. The chest looked like a small treasure chest, about 2 1\2 x 2 x 2 feet. Other than that the room was empty. Ron noticed that there didn't seem to be an exit.

"This is the Chest of Power," Drake explained to them, "Open the chest and place your hands inside. You will receive a special power to aid us in our cause, but only if you are pure and true. Otherwise to attempt this means instant death. There will be a bit of pain, that is the price of the power."

"I will go first," Singeon stepped up to the chest.

Opening the chest he took a deep breath then placed his hands inside. He gasped, then cried out and jerked in obvious pain as he tried to keep his hands inside for as long as possible. Finally he yanked his hands out of it and collapsed to the floor. Drake and Sheba helped him back to his feet, looking questioningly at him.

"Far sight," Singeon told them when he could speak, "I can see anything anywhere as long as I'm not being blocked by magic. Right now they're calling in their mages, we'd better hurry."

"Angie, you go next," Ron told her, looking back the way they had come.

Angie stepped to the table and opened the chest. Placing her hands inside the chest got the same reaction Singeon had. She jerked and cried out, trying valiantly to keep her hands inside the chest. When she finally collapsed from the strain she had a smile on her face.

"I can fly!" she exclaimed.

And to prove her statement she jumped into the air and flew around the room a couple of times. She landed and enfolded Ron in a hug. He could understand her joy; she'd always loved flying.

"Your turn Sheba," Ron motioned to her.

"Immortals are not allowed," she explained, "Elves are immortal until someone, or something, kills us."

"Oh, I-" Ron was cut off by an explosion that knocked them all to their knees.

"What was that?" Angie asked nervously as they climbed to their feet.

Before anyone could answer her question another explosion sent them all flying through the air. If something didn't stop them they were going to run right into the chest and table.

Upon wanting to stop Angie subconsciously kicked in her power of flight, which stopped her in mid-air. Ron, however, was not so endowed, and hit the table and chest full tilt. Having been touched by an honest and true person the chest opened up. The chest slid into the wall, Ron slid into the chest, and the table slid into Ron.

"Ron are you okay?" Angie called as she floated down to the table.

"What was that?" Sheba asked as she picked herself up.

"They've called in their mages," Singeon repeated.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Angie's scream grabbed all their attention.

"What is wrong?" Drake asked, stepping to her side.

"He's gone," Angie was almost hysterical, too many things were happening too fast.

"What do you mean he's gone?" General Sheba asked, puzzled.

"I mean he's gone, as in, not here," Angie's voice rose, "Ron, the chest, and the table slid into this corner. The chest and table are still here, but he's gone!"

Just then another explosion knocked them to their knees.

* * *

"What happened?" Ron groggily staggered to his feet.

"There was an explosion," a female voice informed him.

"Oh, is everyone okay?"

"They are fine for the moment."

It took him a moment around the throb in his head, but suddenly he realized he wasn't with the others. Whirling into a defensive crouch, Ron's eyes darted left and right, trying to ascertain where he was. A wide-open meadow spread out before him.

"Where am I?" Ron demanded.

"You are inside the chest," the voice calmly stated.

Looking around him Ron tried to find who was talking to him. However, all he could see all around him was tall golden grass, swaying gently in the breeze.

"That's impossible," Ron said matter-of-factly, "Show yourself."

A movement to his right caused Ron to turn that way, just as an enormous cat rose from the grass.

"Oh crud!"

* * *

Picking themselves up after the second explosion, the group heard many feet coming down the passageway.

"We must flee," Drake stated, pressing a brick on the wall.

Noiselessly a panel slid back and to the side, revealing yet another hidden passageway.

"What about Ron? Where is he? We can't leave without him!" Angie's voice was still rising.

"Quickly, grab the chest and let’s go," Sheba started towards the chest.

Just then the first of many goblins came around the corner into the room. Barely slowing they charged at the foursome, giving loud battle cries and waving their various weaponry.

"No time, we must go now," Singeon grabbed Angie's wrist to pull her through the door, and promptly found himself flat on his back.

"I can't leave him!" Angie was hysterical.

Reaching out Drake sent an electrical shock through her system. As she started to fall he pulled her through the open door, engaging the closing mechanism with his elbow. The last thing Angie saw before darkness claimed her was Singeon and Sheba engaging the few goblins that had managed to get through the door before it closed.

* * *

Slowly backing away, Ron took in the sight of the enormous cat. It was about the size of an exceptionally large tiger and was meadow gold, with slightly darker gold stripes. Its golden eyes met his. Ron was painfully aware of the fact that he was unarmed.

"Okay lady, wherever you are," Ron said tightly, "If you don't want to show yourself fine, but call off your pet, alright?"

"PET!!" the voice positively shook with righteous indignation, "I am no one's pet, nor will I ever be."

"Oh great," Ron's mind was reeling, "a talking golden tiger. What next dancing pink elephants?"

"Pink elephants don't dance," the she-cat stated matter-of-factly.

"No, of course not," Ron said dazedly, "I must be hallucinating. Yeah Drake, the goblins, the trolls, those other things-"

"You're not hallucinating."

"-then that weird chest, and Angel flying-"

"You're not hallucinating."

"-and the explosions, and now this-"

"Listen to me, you are not hallucinating."

"-I must have been knocked unconscious when we hit those trees in the car-"

"YOU ARE-"

"-maybe if I pinch myself I'll wake up."

"Allow me," the cat purred.

"OW!!" Ron stared in shock as blood welled up from scratches on his arm. Looking down at the massive paw, he saw long claws extended, "My, what big claws you have."

"The better to get your attention with," her voice was slightly amused.

"This is real?" Ron's eyes were glazed.

"Yes."

"I'm not hallucinating?"

"No, you're not."

"Thank you," Ron smiled and without further ado fainted.

* * *

"What do you mean, 'they got away'?" Adder's rage was tangible.

"They escaped through a tunnel, master," Dufus cowered before the enraged wizard.

"You idiot, imbecile, peabrain-" Adder was at a loss for words.

"Master, I am Dufus. Idiot, Imbecile, and Peabrain died in the attack," Dufus glanced fearfully at his seething master.

"Idiot, Dufus, Imbecile, do I care? You're all morons!" Adder hurled a lightning bolt that Dufus barely managed to dodge.

Dufus thought it best not to mention that Moron had also died in the attack. In fact, many goblins, trolls, and hairballs had gone to their deaths, especially when that strange carriage had blown up. Then there were those two strangely dressed ones, the female human and the male feral with the thunder sticks.

"You said you had good news as well, pray it balances the bad," Adder spoke again after composing himself.

"We have found the Chest of Power, master!"

"If you lie," Adder took a menacing step forward, "you will pray for death."

"It is here, master," Dufus gestured and a troll brought the chest to the foot of the dais.

Rising from his throne Adder began to descend the stairs to where the chest lay.

"Master wait," Dufus stepped between the wizard and the chest, "One of your wizards already tried to open it."

"Did you kill him?" Adder scowled.

"No need," Dufus pointed at the chest, "he dropped dead as a stone as soon as he tried."

"Dead?" Adder considered that for a moment, "Take it to the tower I will decide what to do with it later."

As the troll carried the chest away Adder ascended the dais once again. Upon reaching the top he turned and addressed Dufus once more.

"Have Salter summon the senior wizards and bring them here," when the goblin didn't move he asked, "Well, what are you waiting for? A lightning bolt with your name on it?"

"Well, you see master," Dufus bowed low, "Salter was the wizard who tried to open the chest."

A frown creased Adder's brow. He had never trusted Salter; a wizard who trusted another wizard usually didn't live long enough to regret it. But Salter had been a formidable wizard. If Adder had known about the Chest of Power, he would have led the attack himself. He was lucky he hadn't, if the chest could kill Salter it very well could have killed him as well. Even though Adder knew that he was more powerful, Salter was more powerful than most. Besides, instantaneous death is rather hard to argue with.

Another thing he didn't understand was Drake's non-activity during the fight. No, that wasn't correct, Drake had been very active. Adder had sensed great magics at work, but they had no apparent effect. Of course, often times that was the most dangerous kind.

* * *

Slowly coming awake Angie tried to piece her thoughts together. Opening her eyes she saw trees overhead. Yes, they'd gone in the car to check on that weird light.

"She awakens," Drake leaned over her, "Are you well?"

Drake. Yes, they'd gone through the light-

"She still seems dazed," Sheba observed.

-all those weird creatures and ugly little men-

"Maybe a drink would help," Singeon suggested, as he reached into a saddlebag to retrieve a waterskin.

-the Chest of Power, an explosion, Ron-

"Ron!!!" with that exclamation Angie leapt into the air- and stayed there.

Looking around she noticed that they were in a small clearing in the forest. A few horses were tethered at one end of the clearing. They seemed to be a long way from the castle, which was probably a good idea.

"Where is the chest?" Angie demanded.

"It was taken," Drake sighed regretfully.

"TAKEN?!?" Angie was livid, "My husband disappears, and the only connection I have to where he might be has been taken? What's going on here? Ever since we got here, wherever the hell 'here' is, it's been one thing after another! I want answers NOW!!"

All save Drake were forced a step back by the ferocity of her anger. Angie's eyes flashed as she glared at the trio, her hands curling and uncurling as she forcibly kept herself under control.

"If you will come down I will explain what I can," Drake held his hand out to her, "but please, lower your voice. We are safe for the moment, but it would be unwise to draw undue attention."

Looking down, Angie started when she realized she was floating about three feet off of the ground. As she touched the ground Sheba handed her a bowl of stew.

"Here, let's eat," she smiled, "No use talking on an empty stomach. Drake will explain after we eat."

* * *

Slowly Ron regained consciousness, and just as slowly came memory and senses. He became aware of the fact that while his body lay on the soft meadow grass; his head lay on something softer still. Opening his eyes Ron looked up into the most beautiful golden eyes he'd ever seen. Actually the only pair of golden eyes he'd ever seen, they were still breathtaking, especially with the slitted pupils.

"Slitted pupils?" Ron's eyes widened, and very suddenly he was on his feet poised to run.

"Don't freak out on me again," she said calmly.

"Okay, I'm okay, I can deal with this," Ron spoke more to himself than to her.

Looking down at where she still knelt on the ground, Ron tried to take in his situation. Kneeling on the ground was a beautiful golden haired, slit-pupilled, golden eyed, golden skinned girl, wearing nothing but a patient expression on her face. Looking around Ron saw no sign of the giant cat. (Tiger?) Taking a couple of steps back, Ron decided that some questions were in order.

"Who are you?"

"I am Princess Reena of Rae Se'd."

Looking down at his arm Ron was startled to find the scratches on his arm were apparently old scars now.

"What happened to the scratches on my arm? How long was I out? Where is that cat?"

"They healed, about five minutes, and you can't be serious."

"How? How? And I'm as serious as a heart attack," Ron replied.

"Scratches and cuts usually do heal, time, and you're looking at her," Reena said patiently.

"Nothing heals that fast, and kitten though you are, cat you are not."

"Look at them now, and I beg to differ."

Looking at his arm Ron jumped at seeing that the scars were gone. Then, looking back to where Reena was sitting, his jaw nearly fell off of his face. First there was Reena, then there was the cat.

"This is not good," Ron decided.

Turning he broke into a dead run. Even though his back was turned Ron felt her launch herself after him, and cut hard right. Sure enough, a split second later Reena flashed through the space he had just occupied. Running hard, he felt her approaching again, and cut hard left. She missed by inches. Looking wildly around, Ron made a sickening discovery, for miles around the golden meadow stretched flawlessly. There was nowhere to run to. As the depth of this sunk in his steps slowed, a flash of movement to his left caught his attention.

Reena's paw caught him on the shoulder and took him straight off of his feet. Hitting the ground rolling, Ron came up running. However, he'd taken only two steps when she tackled him again. In the end, Reena came out on top, with Ron pinned beneath her. He struggled vainly for a few moments before lying still in defeat.

"Comfortable?" Reena purred.

"Finish it quickly, please," Ron asked simply.

"Finish what?" Reena was slightly confused.

"Aren't you going to kill me?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Reena was still puzzled.

"Cats usually play with their food before eating it."

"Food?"

"You aren't going to eat me?" Ron was hoping against hope.

"I could have killed you many times before this, if that had been my intention. Besides, although you do look delicious, I never eat intelligent creatures. I admit, some tribes have been known to eat intelligent creatures, however, none, absolutely none would ever resort to cannibalism."

"Though I'm beginning to wonder, I believe I fit into that first category. However, I fail to see where cannibalism has to do with me. You definitely are not human, a feral if I had to take a guess, whereas I am, human that is."

"You're human?" Reena laughed outright.

"Last time I checked," Ron said off-handedly.

"You'd better check again," she continued laughing.

"P-p-pardon me?" Ron could barely spit the words out.

"I said, you'd better check again."

"Let me up, I think I will."

"You're not going to freak out on me again, are you?" Reena asked, concern coloring her voice, "You're starting to worry me."

"No, I believe I'm okay, for the time being."

Rising up off of him Reena returned to her human form. Kneeling over him she started to speak. "Chest-"

"Quite," Ron interjected, as hers swayed before his eyes.

Rising the rest of the way to her feet, she favored him with a smile.

"Chest," she began again, "bedroom."

Their surroundings fuzzed a little and when they cleared again, they were in a rather large bedroom. A large comfortable bed dominated one corner of the room, Ron was currently lying on it. A thick blue carpet covered the floor. A vanity with a large mirror sat against the far wall. Scattered throughout the room were lounge couches and chairs. Low bookshelves ran along the walls. The room had no windows or doors. Light came from a chandelier hanging from the ceiling and from various lamps around the room.

Rising from the bed, Ron walked to the mirror and looked at himself. He looked pretty much the same he thought. Then he looked at his eyes, and jumped. Golden, slit-pupilled eyes stared at him from the mirror.

"Very interesting," Ron said more to himself than Reena.

"What is?" Reena questioned.

"Are all ferals' eyes golden?"

"No, of course not," Reena's puzzlement showed plainly, "Where do you come from that you don't know these things?"

"You probably wouldn't believe me, even I barely believe me, and it’s happening to me," Ron sat heavily on a couch.

"You're talking to someone who's spent the last five years in a jewelry chest," Reena sighed, "I don't think it'll be too hard to believe."

"You've been in here for five years?" Ron was amazed, "Who else is in here?"

"Just us," Reena sighed, "Right now there are only two people who know for certain that living inside the chest is possible, us. There are probably a few who suspect, and at least four who hope desperately that it is, also."

"ANGEL!" Ron was on his feet again, "We've got to get out of here!"

"If it were that easy do you think it I would have spent five years in here?"

"How did you come to be in here anyway?" Ron queried.

"It’s a long story."

"What do we have if not time?"

"Well, okay, then your story. My tribe, the North Claw, had been at war with the Death Paw clan."

"Werewolves?" Ron guessed.

"Not long ago it may have been, but not now. We weres have been banding together since the Dark Advancement began. No, it was a human clan, and their shamans were taking a great toll on our warriors."

"Why didn't your shamans or mages do something?"

"Magically active weres are few and far between. I know of only one feral by name, and I've never met her personally. Her name is Xarin; she is the royal mage to King Herc of Theren. She is said to be very powerful. It would seem that if we have magic at all, it is very strong."

"What exactly is the Dark Advancement?"

"That's easy to explain. A religious cult is bent on enforced worldwide conversion, either convert or die. Two kingdoms have already fallen to it, Herea, to the north, and Jordain whose final fall you saw for yourself."

"Where did they come from?"

"Herea. The Hereans have always been a hostile nation. They raided the neighboring kingdoms and harassed anyone travelling through their domain.

"Their god, Bangkael the Hated revels in human and other sacrifices, and in the slaughter of innocents. He also hates the elder races, so all the elder races are outted twice. We're hunted and we can't protect ourselves by converting. So we band together to resist."

"Would your tribe seriously consider converting simply to save itself?"

"Some would I'm sure, but in general, no they wouldn't. The point, however, is that the option isn't even there."

"Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Convert to save yourself."

"Never. No member of the royal family would ever convert, never under any circumstances, not to that religion."

"You said that this Bangkael character hates the elder races," Ron seemed slightly puzzled, "but we were attacked by goblins, trolls, orks, and some other elder creatures. How are they working together?"

"All of them are fallen creatures. Either they don't have gods and follow whoever takes control, or don't worship their gods and follow whichever path is the easiest. Bullying people has always been easier then doing the right thing. So there you have it."

"So then the elder races have banded together to fight this?"

"Actually, no. There have been alliances made, but nothing on a large scale. As usual the fair folk remain withdrawn. However, the shifters, weres and shapeshifters, have all banded together. The dwarves, giants, gnomes, and deep gnomes have allied. But most surprising is that the drow and dark dwarves have called a truce, they won't kill each other until this threat has passed."

"I must admit that surprises me. Why haven't the elder races joined together? Surely they can see the danger this represents."

"The elders haven't all banded together since the Goblin War 1200 years ago. My mother, Queen Arora, was the commander of all the weres and shifters. She answered to King Clarion of the elves and King Singeon I of the humans.

"The goblin hordes swept out of the mountains like a black ocean, like locusts they unthinkingly destroyed everything in their path. If the other races had not banded together, all would have perished.

"Only the ingenious tactics of King Singeon stopped us from losing everything immediately. As it was we were slowly, but never the less steadily losing ground. There were just too many of them.

"If the dragons hadn't entered the fight when they did we surely would have lost. But the alliance of the races was one of necessity, not friendship."

"You said your mother fought in this war how long ago? How old was she, how old is she now? How old are you?" Ron was full of questions about ferals' longevity.

"The Goblin War was 1200 years ago. My mother was 150 years old, very young to be handling that kind of responsibility. If she hadn't been queen she wouldn't have been able to command at all. That would make her about 1350 years old now. I'm about as old as you are, probably, 500 years old."

"Ah, no," Ron was amazed, "you've definitely got me beat there."

"Oh, really," Reena seemed slightly surprised, "By how much?"

"Oh I'd say 470 years, give or take a few months."

Suddenly Reena started laughing. She laughed so hard she had to sit down.

"Oh," she gasped falling into a chair, "you really had me going there for a bit. 470 years, that's a good one, that would make you 30 years old."

"So what's wrong with that?"

"Oh, come now," she looked at him seriously, "You can't be serious. You're far too big to be only 30, Felinus' claws, you're bigger than I am."

"I've been this big since I was 18," Ron informed her.

"If you're this big now, how big is your cat form?"

"I wouldn't know," Ron said honestly, "I've never been in ‘cat’ form."

"Impossible. All ferals are born in feline form and stay that way for at least three years."

"Well I was born human, and have been human all my life," Ron was getting slightly agitated, "until recently anyway."

"You're serious aren't you?" Reena asked in amazement.

"Serious as a court martial, and having half the fun," Ron scowled.

"Well, I guess that explains a few things."

"I hope it does for you," Ron grumbled, "All it does for me is open up a whole new box of questions."