The four horsemen are riding.

Thirty years ago, the battle of Rene Ponit ended the thousand-year war between the Kingdom and the Aisorbmii. Thirty years on, the war has resumed, and the battle for Rene Ponit has commenced. The defending Aisorbmii do not have the Sword in the Stone, which saved them last time; every recently chosen Prime Minister – the rightful wielder of the blade – has been killed. Plague has infected their holy food, cold rice pudding. Morale is low, but they fight on.

In the west, delays in Kingdom supply-lines have caused a famine and now a revolt in their lands. Peasant-manned catapults now besiege the Royal Castle. And growing rumours of a darkness spreading from the Forest persist.

Thousands have been killed. But there is hope. The King is assembling a conspiracy of light.

It was almost the end of that Great Age. In a time of great desperation, a time of desperately-needed trust began. A person's word was now of great value.

The following account is taken from historical records.

Episode Twenty-Five – a Reliance on Promises

The passages beneath Rene Ponit were an old secret of the Rangers. Doctor Medofesipanu supposed there were many such secrets, unknown to many Aisorbmii. He was a curious man, given in his retirement years to considering many of the mysteries he had discovered and not solved in his youth, but this was one best left unsolved. So long as the Kingdom did not find them, what did it matter how many there might be?

The tunnel came to an end behind an east-facing secret door between walls three and four of the fortress, out of sight of the incoming army. Medofesipanu took a moment to adjust to the bright daylight, the keener clashes of blades on blades and bones, and the less musky air before following his assigned Ranger up to the Keep beyond wall four.

He took what chances he could get to look west, down at the battles raging at wall two, and beyond at the Sword in the Stone in the Kingdom camp. That wasn't right, Medofesipanu thought. He remembered Galomanisula, the last Prime Minister of Peace, who had comforted his late daughter Lidh. In his possession it had been a symbol, a heritage. Down there it was a desecration.

'Greetings, Doctor,' said the new Prime Minister. Medofesipanu looked upon young Salomeritova and sighed, because he had missed the ceremony. He then reconsidered, for there was no cold rice pudding to be had – all of it being removed, and tested for poisons – and no Sword for him to wield. The position of Prime Minister could only be an honorary one at best.

'Greetings, Prime Minister,' he replied, without congratulation. No point in drawing attention to the hollow title.

'Time is brief, Doctor. Yer all come back in one piece?'

'All alive. All but one returned. Paladin Torosanifeya is visiting settlements near the City of Elders, looking for survivors.'

'And yer tests at Acoipat?'

'Infection. Pestilence. Probable sabotage. I think we'll 'ave to re-plant the fields... it could take years ter find a cause.'

'Years we don't 'ave. We 'ave a killing ground between walls one and two, and a lot of arrows ter fire into it. But they 'ave the Sword, and I've no doubt they 'ave catapults somewhere. Dunno why we 'aven't seen them as yet, though.'

'And food and men, Minister? How fare we there?'

'We have four or five thousand men, I think. It is tricky to keep an exact head count.' Salomeritova paused when he saw the Doctor's expression. 'Terribly sorry, Doctor, but I've found a little humour keeps me spirits up when times are grim.'

'Yer sense of humour's a bit callous, I think, Minister.'

'I know. That's why I don't share it much; I keep it to myself. But if you want good news, here it is: we'll soon have enough supplies to last us a year if necessary.'

'That is good news. Where are we getting these supplies from?'

'A trader who worked at No Man's Land. Her name is Dremgadona.'

'Not Aisorbmii then.'

'No. But she has promised us ten wagons by the end of today.'

'She will have trouble passing the Kingdom army. They 'ave forces scouting the countryside for Ranger passages. My Ranger... damned if I can remember his name... thought they were preparing for something. They've stopped trying to pull the Sword from the Stone. I don't know what they're expecting.'

'I do,' said Salomeritova. 'There's a psychic on each wall of Rene Ponit. The one on this wall is called Warolanimasa. You may have heard of his sons?'

'Minister?'

'The prophecy-giving Paladin Tekowariaura, and the strange Marshal, Rekowarilara. They both acquired their strong psychic talent from their father.'

'Both men have been very influential on recent events,' observed Medofesipanu calmly. 'If we win, their names will probably be etched in story and saga.'

'I hope not, for their father's sake. He was a peaceful man. He would be known as the Great War, or some such.'

COUGH!

Baron Tidor iw Vatenus liked magic tricks. Not magic, itself. Illusion. Sleight of hand. The simple deceptions of getting an audience to look at your left hand while your right hand pulled rabbits through the eyes of needles.

There was much of it going on here. He was sat, as were eleven other nobles, around a large round table in the King's wine cellar, which he had been informed was heavily fortified in case of siege, for the protection of Queens and Princess and other important ladies of state. But there were no women here, that he could tell. Just twelve nobles, the King himself, and three men in the garb of advisors. They could well be peasants, Tidor thought. This place may be less safe than we have been led to believe.

All the nobles had been summoned from their positions within the Royal Castle to attend this meeting. All had been made to say an oath:

Mine oath I swear, mine hand on heart,
'Gainst darkness wilt mine sword defend.
Mine oath I bear, till death I part,
I'll see hope's light rise in the end.

Baron Tidor iw Vatenus knew the game of sleight of hand very well. Someone was trying to pull an elephant through the needle's eye.

They had all read the oath from the parchment, of course; to refuse would have been considered treason. It was unlikely to be a spell, for King Arit fre Togr had never been known to have real magical ability. And now they were to listen as the King made a most unusual conference. He described history from the last thousand years, vague prophecies, ancient preparations and mystic weapons, and all with the conviction that prophecies were being fulfilled: rising darkness, resurrected heroes, psychic rescues, the coming of heroes with great old swords. It was all a nonsense to the Baron.

He had given them tasks to perform, too. Tidor was instructed to arrange a grand military spectacle north-west of the forest, for nobles in the north who had been left at home to maintain estates while others went to war. Under cover of this he was to arrange for cautious scouting parties to map out the north forest. He was irritated that there was no hunting of revolting peasants involved. Had he been truly focussed on the conference, however, he would have been loudly furious at all this. But he was distracted.

Sleight of hand. Everyone in the room seemed focused on the King's planning, and would be trying to work out exactly why he was not concerned with the war effort. But he was focusing on one of the advisors' hands.

They had been introduced as a psychic, named Rekow ar Ilara, a researcher, named Sunder pi Yeonan, and a labourer named Halfglint. Halfglint's eyes were cold, and his arms and upper body were very muscular, but his manner was somewhat effeminate, and his hand kept moving on top of Rekow's. Rekow had seemed surprised the first time. Now he seemed comfortable with it. His gaze would move to Halfglint's on occasion, and his lips would move a little. Perhaps he was exchanging psychic messages with the labourer, Tidor thought. Who could tell? But the hand movement made Tidor uncomfortable.

'I have finished imparting to each of thou mine knowledge and mine requests for you all,' said the King. 'I trust you can all accomplish them without difficulty, but I have anticipated many questions. This is an open discussion. Please, I would hear your thoughts and queries.'

Marquis Dibon de Fifelech asked the first question. He'd been asked to take a Company around the south of the Forest, near the battleground where Lord General Manus iw Elbirt had captured the infamous Sword in the Stone. He was asking a predictable question of what to do with any Aisorbmii stragglers found near the battleground. The King had asked him to stay on his assigned route, and not to attack. The next few questions were administrative and obvious. Tidor's question was naturally more curiosity-driven. 'What task hast been assigned to thine three advisors, Your Majesty?' he asked.

'Their mission is to retrieve a weapon of power from the east, Baron Tidor. Nothing more than that.'

This was the elephant, Tidor decided. He connected the phrases together: a weapon of power, mystic weapons, the coming of heroes with great old swords. Who could imagine three servants, one of them with apparently deviant sexual tendencies, rising into saga with a blade of legend? No. Tidor iw Vatenus wanted the glory. His best chance to achieve this, really, would be to switch places with Dibon de Fifelech, and command a Company in the south.

'Thine place is in the north, Baron Tidor,' said the King. Tidor recalled the psychic's gaze peering into him, and then at the King, just moments before.

'Mine apologies, mine liege,' he said carefully, 'but let me voice mine thought. Some months ago, when the armies were raised, several nobles like ourselves were gathered at this Castle and slain for treason and conspiracy. Now I find mine person gathered without reason, made to swear an oath, and probed by a telepath. Mine loyalty is with you, Your Majesty. Such measures are unwarranted.'

'Thine presence and oath were voluntary, Baron,' corrected the King, 'but mine apologies for Rekow's behaviour. He hast proven himself to cause of thine oath, and knows what thoughts to sense in a man tainted by the dark. His gaze is needed, especially where he goeth today. Just as thine place is in the north, Tidor. Thy relatives include Duke Tenil gu Srander and Duchess Caira iwl Srindra, whose estates were north. Thine bloodline has dictated thine place.'

The conference was dissolved, and the nobles sped to their horses to begin their journeys. Tidor timed his departure to coincide with Dibon's, to discuss once more his place.

He would never recall what choice diplomatic phrase had spilt his anger, and caused him to draw his sword. The trauma of the next few moments would wipe it clear as his mind sought to recover.

For as he stabbed the Marquis, he heard in his voice the words of his own oath: ''Gainst darkness wilt mine sword defend. Mine oath I bear, till death I part.'

Following it, a message in the condemning voice of King Arit fre Togr. 'Oath-breaker.'

The young Baron Tidor iw Vatenus suffered a heart attack in front of his intended victim, there and then. He could not focus, as once he had, on two things at once; the pain around his heart was too much. It increased sharply when the three feet of steel pierced between his ribs.

Medofesipanu rested for a few hours, then offered his healing hands to wounded men behind wall three. Every so often he would glance west, down towards the Kingdom camp.

At the end of the day a trumpet fanfare sounded, and he left the hospital for a time, and walked to wall four where Warolanimasa stood. 'What can yer see?' he asked the psychic.

'Queen Srindra del Bou,' replied the old one. 'Royalty returned to Rene Ponit.' Warolanimasa then smiled warmly, which surprised Medofesipanu.

'Why are you smiling?' he asked.

'I have an empathic link to my surviving son,' said Warolanimasa. 'I've felt his emptiness and despair, his hope for new acceptance. Now, somehow, he's feeling comradeship, and affection. There's something strange, uncomfortable, about it, but I like to feel it. I hope I'll get the chance to meet her.'

The Doctor nodded. 'It must be nice to have something to smile about, and maybe look forward to.' He then marched further back to the Keep.

When he entered the office, the Prime Minister was talking with a woman. They acknowledged him as he entered. 'There are four thousand six hundred and nine men on the walls, and the Queen has arrived in the Kingdom camp,' he said.

'I see,' replied Salomeritova, rising. 'Doctor, this is Dremgadona, our new supplier. By all means, try some of the food, see what you think. I will be back soon.'

Salomeritova left the room hurriedly. Medofesipanu looked among the supplies: there was fruit and vegetables, and salted meat and spices, oat biscuits and tins. 'Have you brought any rice?' he asked Dremgadona, picking up one of the tins.'

'No rice,' she said. She then indicated the tin. 'That's a dessert we were trying recently in No Man's Land. It's called custard. Would you like some?'

Medofesipanu gripped the tin, and extended his own talent inside of it, analysing what he saw within. 'Very... fluid,' he said. 'There's more here than dessert, too... a few unusual flavourings...'

'You can see into the tin?' Dremgadona asked, surprised. 'It's not poison,' she added hurriedly.

'No,' said the Doctor firmly, slamming the tin on the table. 'It's an antidote to the poisons which have infected our rice pudding supplies these past months. What is the meaning of this?'

'Things are changing, Doctor. Have faith that they are for the better,' she said, darkly. He backed away, but she was younger and faster and blocked the doorway, then closed the door shut. 'I think you are a danger to our plans. Fyendodas would not like you at all. Too inquisitive.'

'Who is Fyendodas?'

'You won't need to know,' she replied. She drew a long knife from her hip, and advanced upon him. 'Keep quiet, Doctor. I have promises to keep.'

Medofesipanu grabbed the tin from the table and threw it at the trader, but she sidestepped it and advanced. He concentrated his talent into himself, preparing himself for hurt and swift healing, but she did not use the knife on him. She cut her own palm, and licked the blood from the wound. Before his eyes, her canine teeth and fingernails elongated, her eyebrows thickened and her pupils thinned to vertical black slits.

She pounced on to him, slamming his spine against the desk and then the floor, and slashed into his chest, and bit his shoulder. Suddenly she racked back in pain, and the Doctor moved his hand forward instinctively to push her off him. He shoved at her breast, and her hand swiped across his throat, raking it and-

He could see his daughter, Lidh. 'Come on, daddy, come and play,' she said happily. He ran to her.

Snap.

Was Warolanimasa the Great War? Did his years of experience make a Great Age? Well... yes and yes. But not the Great War or Great Age of this series.

Yet what makes a war or an age great? Not the events themselves, but their impact on society. The Aisorbmii and the Kingdom had fought for many generations, led by leaders of far greater charisma and strength; surely the renewal of war, and a continuation of fighting, could not be so significant? No. It is about what happened later, when the next age began.

How does one define when, specifically an age begins. One can't. It's a fuzzy system... it's like asking at what height does a person become tall?

But the real beginnings of the next Age, the current Age, we will cover next episode. For that is when the darkness arose, and the veil of shadow fell.

Keep reading, dear viewer. For the times are changing fast, and there is so much to cover.

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