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Chapter One

Phiro awoke to silence, an ungodly loud silence. His Draconian ears heard nothing, and it perturbed him. He reached for his dagger, hidden in his bed, and found it gone. Phiro cursed, and got out of his bed. He reached for his tunic, put on his jerkin, and then tied his belt around his waist. He was about to put on his boots, when he felt someone else in the room. He whipped around, his fists raised, and saw a shade, possessing his armor. A screech came from its head, and it rushed him. Phiro threw a right hook, connecting with the helmet, and dodged a claw from the shade. He then focused his fire magic onto his left fist, as he jabbed with his right. The shade staggered a little as the flames grew in intensity. Phiro then used his left hand to lunge for the shade's throat. As his flaming hand touched it, it dissipated, seeming to vanish into thin air. Annoyed that his uncle Destro had pulled this on him this morning, Phiro finished putting on his boots. He then strapped on his armor over top of his clothes, starting with the breastplate, it was studded leather. The shoulders of it had been cut away, to give Phiro more freedom of movement. Then came his shin guards, and gauntlets. Both were simple Argonian steel, strong metal, but nothing compared to their advanced metals that Phiro had been learning to forge. He couldn't wait to make his first real sword, as the one they normally carried to school, were also Argonian steel, and most of them regarded the blades as toys. Real blades had alloys of metal, such as Adamantium, Argonian Steel, Mithrilium, and Titanium. He stepped outside, and grabbed his practice sword. His uncle, Destro, was making porridge of sorts. He added cinnamon and apple slices to add some flavor, and then passed Phiro a bowl full of the stuff. He began to eat as they spoke.

"Morning uncle,"

"I see you handled that shade well,"

"More of an annoyance then anything. I thought you said that my 'training' was over?"

"We must always be ready Phiro, and your tutoring is never done, you must continually strive to learn more,"

Phiro sighed, his uncle's "tutoring", involved at least five years of what Phiro remembered as hell. Every day, from dawn to past dusk, he was learning of the ways of war, and combat. It consisted of conditioning, swordplay, strategic situations, studying past wars for tactics, types of warfare, and those kinds of things. Phiro had hated every minute of the training, but now, his body was stronger, faster, more agile, even for an Argonian. He had taken the time to master what little of fire magic that he knew, as he was no magi, he was a warrior. He had yet to take the test to prove himself, but, he was sure he would earn the spot.

His uncle Destro, had been a brigadier in the Great War, where he had earned a reputation of being strong willed, and a great leader. He had lead his battered battalion of Argonian troops against an army of greater numbers, better supplied, and equipped humans. He had managed to break out of the siege that they had him under, and regroup with the remaining forces under War Master Draconis. For this he and his soldiers were, granted several days respite.

It was that kind of actions that made Phiro all the more want to make it as a soldier. That was why he had submitted to the training. Any Argonian could do anything, but if he or she was suited with their skills better to another task, then you would be assigned there. It was something that the last High Khan, Vochalo, had instated while he was alive, and due to respect, is still in effect. The Castes he had invented, organized the people into an orderly manner, but, they were not set. The son of a Laborer, could become a magi, a soldier, or a smith, with apt skill in those fields, and vice versa. You choose your path, and if later on, you discover your talents lead elsewhere, and then follow them. That was the new way, the way to survive.

Phiro had hoped that maybe because of the fact that he was descendant from a military family, he might have inherited some skill, and Destro, honed those skills to already a razor's edge. Phiro grabbed his sword, a blade suited to sword and shield combat, but long enough to be wielded alone. Sheathing it across his right shoulder blade, he opened the door and stepped out into the cavern. Life was normal, and people were busy. Farmers were bringing in crops from the mountain side, selling them in their shops. Smiths were taking orders on different items, a lot from the farmers, and making trades, food, or money, for tools. The miners brought their ores to the smelters, and were paid accordingly. The smoke went through vents that eventually lead to the top of the mountain. Phiro took a left turn, and headed toward what most considered the group of buildings considered to be a school. It was there students were supposed to master talents, and then take the test to become a citizen. The building was a drab red, a testament to the fact that it was indeed, carved out of the mountain rock. Banners hung across the front, one for each cast. A pickaxe and a sickle represented the Laborer, an Anvil, the smith, a ball of fire, the magi, a shield with crossed swords, the soldier. Phiro walked through the front doorway, and found that the class was gathering as usual. His friends were busy doing one of several things. Blaze was fighting apparitions with her twin blades, Damarus, practicing magic, and Blake, was busy hammering away at the forge. Blake had already proved himself a good a bladesmen, so now, he was probably crafting his blade. Phiro walked toward the forge next to him.

"Good day Blake,"

"Hah, nice to see you're here, figured that Destro finally got the drop on you,"

"Him get the drop on me? Please, you give him too much credit,"

Blake began to laugh as the ringing of his hammer came off of the metal he was working. Phiro walked toward the piles of ores, and metals. He went through the selections, Iron and Adamantium, Mithrilium and Phiro noticed some gold ore as well. Phiro decided to take a mixture of the different ores. He took the Iron, Adamantium, Mithrilium, and a small portion of gold ores for the hilt. He first mixed the Iron, Adamantium, and Mithrilium into the smelter. The raging fires burned away the impurities, and the ores began to melt. Phiro noticed the metals beginning to separate, but using a small amount of fire magic he learned, was able to get the metals to mix together into several ingots for the blade. Just as they cooled, Draco used the tongs and set them into the forge. From there, he did as his instructors had taught him, heat, hammer, heat, hammer. After the third cycle he welded the bars together, and blade was beginning to take shape. Phiro continued to heat, and hammer, finally getting a rough edge on the blade. Finally Phiro heated the blade one last time, then when he brought it out, he dropped it into a vat of oil, which immediately began to boil from the change in temperature. He then set to make a cross guard. He smelted the gold, and what left he had of Adamantium together to produce gold with a greenish hue. The result was a cross guard that was not only not bad to look at, but strong enough take any hit, not to mention deliver several. Setting the simple cross guard onto the blade, Phiro tested the balance. It was a little heavy towards the blade, so Phiro made a small counterweight out of gold, and then fused it onto the end. Phiro retested the weight, and the blade balanced perfectly. Phiro tossed it into the air, and caught the hilt of it with the grace of an expert. He then took out his old Argonian Steel blade, and set it next to the others, a sign that they were ready to be examined. Phiro walked toward the nearby sand pit, finding Blake waiting for him. Already they stood lined up to be examined by a Lieutenant of the Soldiery. Phiro heard the clatter of blades, and cry of someone being disarmed, and forced into submission. Watching, the soldier called out "passed" as apparently the former student had survived long enough. This continued until Blake and Phiro were next, and Blake suddenly stepped behind Phiro.

"What the-"

"Hey, I just want to be here when that soldier sends you flying out of here,"

"You're on, three pieces says I beat him,"

"Hoho, now you're talking Phiro. Go get 'em chum,"

Phiro stepped into the sand circle, it gave a little under his boots. To dry his hands, Phiro reached down, and washed his hands with the sand. The soldier was clad in plate armor, from his boots to his gauntlets. His helm had a face shield that obscured the face of the soldier.

"When you are ready,"

Phiro nodded in reply, and raised his newly created sword. It was in front of him in a combat ready stance, just like Destro had taught him. Phiro closed his eyes, and focused. All he could hear, feel, and notice, was the other soldier. Phiro opened his eyes, and put his left foot staggered behind his right. The soldier took that as his cue, and charged. He swung his blade in a simple arc from the right, and Phiro parried with his blade. The soldier then went through a series of thrusts, cuts, and spins, all of which Phiro managed to deflect. Phiro then decided to take the offensive, and started with a feint to the left, then coming back right. The soldier expertly defended, seeming to barely even try. Phiro continued his assault, by following up with multiple slashes, cuts, and a single thrust. The soldier took it all easily, and Phiro continued to try to get an opening, swinging this way and that, his blade, humming, and now a blur. Soon the soldier threw in counter thrusts, and Phiro adjusted instinctively. The soldier's counters, gave Phiro a chance to start going for openings. The soldier still held his own quite easily, and then Phiro made a mistake. As a counter for one of the soldier's own counter thrusts, Phiro stabbed right toward the seemingly open mid-section. The soldier's trap was complete when he caught Phiro's blade with his cross guard, and then disarmed him. The soldier leveled his blade at Phiro's throat, and spoke.

"Dead,"

Phiro swallowed, and then whispered back.

"No,"

Phiro ducked, and then somersaulted backwards. He rose to a crouch, his fists held out in front of him. The soldier charged, blade high, and swung downward. Just what Phiro wanted. Phiro stepped to the side of the blade, caught the soldier's sword arm, and kicked the ribcage. The metal smacked into the soldier, and he heard a gasp. The sword fell from the soldier's grasp as he flew through the air. As soon as he hit the ground, Phiro was over him, ironically holding the soldier's sword. It was pointed in the same gesture the soldier had shown earlier, except that Phiro was kneeling overtop the soldier, and his blade was right above his throat. Phiro let a smile cross his face, and spoke.

"Dead,"

The soldier nodded in approval, and spoke a reply.

"Well done, PASSED,"

Phiro stabbed the blade into the sand, and reached out a hand to pull up the soldier. When finished he grabbed his own blade and exited the pit. He heard the clashing of blades as Blake attacked the soldier. Blake was a lot more aggressive than Phiro, but that was his way. Phiro sat down on a nearby bench, and lay his sword across his lap. The blade shone brightly, reflecting the light of a nearby torch brightly. He looked across the blade, finally realizing that he had in fact created not a sword, but, a representation of himself. He rubbed his hand across the face of the blade, from the hilt to tip.

It was a Draconian rite of passage to create a blade, or a pair of blades that represented yourself. And that's what he was. A Draconian. He was from what most called Argoni, the land of smiths and warriors. Their weapons and warriors had been known for ages to be the very best, and their warriors carried the reputation of never surrendering, always attacking, always ferocious, never backing down. His uncle, his father, and his grandfather before him had proven that tradition true, and Phiro felt himself called to fulfill that destiny. Many had fought for their freedom, and many had lost their lives to keep it. A warrior's life was spent mastering their weapons, becoming the true embodiment of what a warrior should be, a protector of the weak, and destroyer of evil. All Argonian could fight as a rule, but warriors took it to a whole new level, and since the war, few had been left for anything, let alone warriors. He shook his head as his mind came back from the lessons of the past, and he caught a familiar reflection.

He then looked up to find Blake standing over him, arms crossed, and his natural grin across his face.

"Well now, that there is a beauty of a blade, if I ever saw one," He teased.

"Heh, that must be a lot coming from you," Phiro jeered back

"Eh, let's go report to the barracks, I personally want to see our gear,"

"Race you,"

"You're on,"

Phiro grinned, and leapt from the bench, determined to win. Blake ran after him as they raced down the corridors. Phiro pumped his arms as he brought in breaths, deep and even, dodging small piles of tools. Soon he came to the master forge, a huge pit filled with lava, which heated several smaller forges. This was where most of the smiths would work. He stopped just short of the edge, and peered over. The red lava flows glowed menacingly, and fire would leap from them every now and then. Phiro was about to try to find a way around, when Blake went careening past him, and leapt off the edge. His hands went forward, and found one of the chains the smiths use to hang cooling tools. He swung from chain to chain, until he flung himself the last bit, landing clear of the flow. He bowed and stood with his arms crossed. Not wanting to be outdone, Phiro took several steps back, ran and then jumped in the same fashion. He caught the first chain, and the next. He was going fine until he grabbed the last chain, and the chain gave from the rock ceiling. Thinking quickly, Phiro whipped the chain at another group holding a pair nearly ruined tongs. The chain wrapped around the tongs, and held. Phiro could feel the heat from the lava as he was several yards above it, and swung up in his arc. Kicking out his legs to increase momentum, he launched himself from the chain. Phiro flew through the air, just above Blake, and landed on his feet, using his hand to steady himself. He rose with steam rolling off his skin, and Blake clapped in applause of his move. He then broke out into a sprint, Blake cackling behind as he ran to catch up. The forges were a blur, as the smelters poured their molten metal into molds, creating ingots. Heat washed onto Phiro, and as he ducked through the door, he sprinted the last few yards to the barracks. Blake was right behind him, and patted him on the back.

"Crazy fool... you could have been killed,"

Phiro laughed, and bent over so that way he would stay on his feet, resting his hands on his knees.

"Says the madman that jumped first,"

The two stood, and looked on into the barracks. Rows of new recruits stood going through one of three lines, stopping at each station to grab a piece of armor, or equipment. The line on the far left was for Rangers, most of their armor being hardened leather, and a chest plate, with plate wrist guards. At the other end of the barracks hall was the War Magi. Their armor consisted of flowing robes, with a scaled chest plate, and plate guards for their wrists and shins. Their spears were also new, as they were as long as any quarter staff. They helped the magi deal with any lucky fool who got close enough to the magi in battle. And in the center, was the warrior line. It was piled high with shields, plate armor, helms, sheaths, and even a two handed weapons. Phiro got in line, and began to pick through the equipment. He tried to pick out what would fit him closely, as he could use a small amount of magic he knew to adjust the fit. Once through the line, Phiro hauled his equipment past the hall, into one of the smaller gathering areas, to put on his new armor. He first put on the boots, and the gauntlets, cinching the straps down tight for a good fit, and then using a little fire magic to have the leather shrink a little to make it perfect. He then put on his wrist guards, and his plate leggings, repeating the process to ensure a perfect fit. Finally, Phiro put on the chest plate, the fire emblem on the Argonian steel seemed to have an eerie glow in the torchlight. He strapped it on, and then double checked all of his pieces, everything fit, and was tightly strapped. Phiro did a couple windmills with his arms, and then walked around a little. Satisfied that his armor would not hinder him at all, and yet still be this protective, Phiro strapped his shield to his back, and then reached for his sword. Phiro was about to buckle his sheath around his waist when he realized, he had forgotten to grab one. Shaking his head, Phiro tucked his sword under his arm, and began to look for Blake. It didn't take long. Blake was nearby, and already twirling his sword through the air, in a set of exercises meant to warm up a blades man. Phiro noticed the extra sheath next to Blake, and crossed his arms. Blake had his usual smile, and then spoke, almost as if knowing what Phiro was thinking.

"Saw that you missed one of those, figured I be nice this time around," Blake spoke happily

"Really, so what do I owe you?" Phiro teased as he crossed his arms

"Just grab it before I get inspired," Blakes eyes grew devilish, he was certainly not one to toy with

Blake jokingly punched Phiro's arm, and he couldn't help but smile. Picking up the sheath, Phiro sheathed his sword: and then thinking twice about where to put it, strapped it to his back, right under his shield. Phiro grabbed his helm and was about to put it on, when the earth under him began to move, violently. Phiro dropped to a kneeling position to keep from falling. Blake was swinging his arms through the air to try and keep his balance. Then it stopped. There was silence, a deafening silence. Then a shout rang out, followed by a roar. Phiro slammed his helm on, and drew his sword as he and Blake ran across the now deserted Barracks Hall. They were about to the door, when it exploded into a ball of fire. They ducked, but didn't stop running. The scene outside, was pure pandemonium. A mixture of orcs, goblins, humans, and other, things, were fighting in a huge melee, all against the Argonians. A flaming humanoid creature, a fire Sprite, turned towards them, and roared. Phiro eyed its claws, which were bony, and on fire. Phiro looked at Blake, and then charged, shield raised, yelling at the top of his lungs. It launched a ball of fire at him, but it bounced off of Phiro's shield, and exploded when it smacked into the rock wall. It then swung one of its claws at Phiro, in a wide arc. Phiro dropped to his knees and slid underneath, watching as the claws were just inches above him. Blake then leapt through the air, and impaled his sword through the beast's throat. It was trying to grab the blade when Phiro stood, and cut its left leg off. Twirling his blade through the air, Phiro then finished with stabbing it in the heart. It cried out once, and then dissipated, leaving only a skeleton. Phiro and Blake then went back to back, as goblins circled around them.

"Split 'em?"

"Hell yeah,"

They both charged into the pandemonium, war cries piercing through the air. Phiro knocked a spear aside with his shield, impaled its owner with his sword, and ducked as an axe went overhead. He slashed out with his blade, and found another goblin, its cry piercing the air, as he spilled its entrails over the ground. He turned to face the last two, one with a wickedly curved sickle, the other, with a spear. They charged at once, and Phiro raised his shield, already preparing to deal with them. He spun, knocking the spear aside with his sword, and his shield arcing in a wild hook. It connected with the other goblin, crushing its skull. Mid spin his sword raced around to parry the sickle, and Phiro immediately finished the spin to turn and face the last one. Before it could regain its footing, Phiro charged. He bashed the spear away with his shield, and then severed the head from the shoulders with his blade. The smell of gore began to reach Phiro's nostrils, and he breathed through his mouth to keep from throwing up. He turned to find Blake diving to avoid an orc's fist. Blake rolled to his feet, and kept his shield raised.

"Little help" he shouted

Phiro sheathed his sword, and drew his dagra. Sprinting, Phiro closed the distance between the orc and himself. The massive orc turned to see what had the daring to try and face it. Phiro leapt high into the air, dagra raised above him. Time seemed to slow, and Phiro knew that if he missed, he was dead. The face of the orc turned from questioning, to angry. Phiro brought the dagger down, and it stabbed right into the right eye of it. He twisted to add even more pain, and then dropped as it began to clutch at its face. Blake then charged, tackling the orc causing it to stumble. Phiro ran and charged into it as well, finally causing it to fall over. Blake wasted no time in stabbing the beast in its other eye. Phiro finished it by drawing his sword, twirling through the air as he got next to the beasts throat, and then, thrust it through the orc's windpipe. Pulling the blade from the orc's flesh, Phiro turned to find the next threat. Gore was filling the air as Argonians fought a vicious brawl for their lives. Blake and Phiro charged together, double teaming as they fought side by side, blades practically singing through the air as Blake would decapitate a goblin, and then duck as a pole axe flew overhead. And then Phiro would leap overhead Blake and throw his dagra into the offending axe wielder, and then bash him with his shield. Blake then parried a blow intended for Phiro's back, and roar as he slammed his more broadsword like blade through the offender's gut, and then kick him into his friends.

That's when a massive roar filled the cavern, and everyone stopped to look at the entrance. Phiro pulled his sword free from a human as he turned to look and Blake paused to stop before he cleaved another set of goblins in two. What stood before them all, was a massive ogre. A massive ogre, with a huge war axe. It's grotesque and muscled form stepped slowly, loudly, the earth beneath its feet shaking under the assault, and the oncoming horde parted ways to let it pass, and stopped before the two warriors. That's when Phiro realized they were separated from everyone else, and wreaking havoc in the horde's own lines. He heard Destro yell out as he rushed forward, and then the combat resumed at the front, but none around the two moved except to get the hell out of the ogre's way. That's when it raised its war axe into the air, and slammed it into the ground where Blake and Phiro had been a moment before, and the two rolled to their feet to either side as they readied for battle.

The ogre let out an angered snarl, and Blake charged, sword leveled, dead set on hacking the ogre's leg off, when its hand swung out and slammed into him. Blake flew through the air like a sack of fresh picked potatoes, and slammed through several goblins who had been scrambling to get out of the way. But Blake wasn't fazed, if anything, he was pissed at the move, and Phiro wasn't too pleased either. It was time for this thing to die. Phiro leaped into the air as Blake charged again, and slammed his blade into the ogre's arm. It roared in pain as its free hand moved to swat the Draconian warrior off of him, and then Blake struck. He slammed his sword through its foot, and spun and threw his shield at its face. The round shield spun through the air as it shot like a bolt of lightning and slammed into the ogre's face. Blake then drew out his sword as the distraction worked, and the ogre's hand moved to cover the spot that the shield had hit, and he drew his own dagra, leaping and slamming them both into the ogre's leg, drawing blood. He then leaned back as he braced for a leap, and then launched himself high into the air, past the chest of the ogre and right next to its face. Phiro cocked his arm back with his dagra and threw it, spinning through the air as it whistled right at Blake. Catching the blade with deft twist of his arm, and spinning as he brought it around, Blake brought the dagra right into the ogre's massive left eye with a roar.

He dropped as the ogre howled in anger and pain, and Phiro dropped to the _ground_to get away from its flailing arms. He sidestepped a human with a poleaxe, and disarmed him, relieving him of the weapon, before planting a kick into him that sent him reeling right to Blake. Blake then grabbed the human by his face, and slammed his skull into the ground, crushing it. The pole axe was then raised like a javelin as Phiro took careful aim at the ogre. Then with three steps, and a mighty roar, he launched the pole axe like a javelin, right into ogre's chest, causing it to stumble back, and fall down the side of the mountain to its death. Its dying screams could be heard inside the cavern, and the horde of enemy combatants immediately broke as their leader was dead, and Phiro and Blake stood as they watched them run, not really paying them any heed as the cavern finally cleared. He sat down tiredly and Blake was right next to him, grinning from ear to ear like he normally was. Blake spoke humorously as Phiro keeled over, and retched onto the ground next to him.

"So how many did you get?"

"I don't blaarghhhh, I don't know," Phiro said wiping his mouth of vomit as the taste of bile filled his mouth. He'd just taken part in his first battle, and while the gore around him smelled sweet, it left his gut churning.

"Hehehehe, I lost count myself," Blake spoke, lightly punching Phiro's shoulder.

Ugh how Blake could find humor in any situation was good sometimes, but now, not the best time. Destro strode forward in full battle armor as he headed straight for the two newly branded warriors, and his face was a scowl. Phiro and Blake immediately, and shakily stood. Destro was a Brigadier, even if he was retired, he was the ranking officer in the mountain, and that meant his word was law when it came to the military. And right now, military came first. His voice was harsh in its tone, as he berated Phiro and Blake.

"Soldiers, do you mind telling me what in the name of Vochalo were you thinking?! You unnecessarily placed yourselves and others at risk with that back to back behind the lines horse shit! If you hadn't killed that ogre and broken the enemy's back, I'd be skinning you up one side and down the other!" Destro was in full commander mode, and Phiro knew better to try and joke or argue with him. Apparently, so did Blake. The words washed over him until Destro came to the finish, which was what hit him like a sack of ingots.

"We are abandoning the mountain,"

His eyes widened in shock. Abandoning the mountain? Why? Where to? It couldn't be that bad, could it? Destro abruptly patted Phiro's shoulders, and spoke solemnly.

"I don't want to do it either, but first, we need to think of our people. They can fight, but it would be a slaughter without reinforcements. And reinforcements are not here, we need to get help from the other clans. That's why I'm proposing a breakout,"

Blake's voice interrupted the general's as he spoke.

"Sir, permission to join the assault group?"

The general looked over to Blake and smiled.

"That's what I like to hear, now get yourselves ready, we've got people to heal, and dead to bury,"

With that Destro left, and Phiro slouched as he relaxed. But his mind was running scared. Leaving the mountain? Argonian never ran! But it was to protect the non-warriors, so he knew it was a better choice. He couldn't help but wonder. Where to after they got away from here?