The sun was just beginning to rise over the jagged peaks of the mountains on the distant horizon. The sky was a pale morning blue sky, seeping into the deep blue of night. Hundreds of pallid tents were lined up in a half-dozen narrow rows, each stretching a quarter of a mile across. The tents were staked at the edge of a forest and extended forward about 100 meters, leaving only about 15 meters between each long line. There was an expanse of coarse grass after the sixth row. It lengthened, from a ground point of view, to the opposite horizon, still bathed in the darkness of night. Right in the middle was a single large tree. Barely silhouetted on the edge of the world was another file of tents, and beyond that, a dozen more. Although twice as many as the tents that were at the base of the mountain range, they were in the same neat order, a quarter mile across, 15 meters between each row. The miles between the two groups of tents had an ominous and unnecessary look, at least to someone who didn’t know what was going on. It would seem the space shouldn’t be there, that the identical tents should all be together.

To someone who knew what the purpose of these tents were, he or she would confirm that these formations of tents should definitely NOT be together.

Only a couple of figures moved outside the tents. In the smaller group, a particular slim, tall figure was running toward a particular tent- the very first in the back row.

This tent was open on both sides. The light that shone through outlined a still figure sitting on a black tarp. There was one other shadow, waving his arm in a gesturing manner.

The runner reached the tent and burst into its south side.

From the inside, the white tent was very simple. The black tarp was laid out neatly, and there were two wooden chairs placed in random positions, both occupied. Apart from the two figures and a single piece of crumpled paper thrown aside near a corner, the little shelter was clean and empty.

“General,” the runner gasped. “Their message”-

Without looking back, the General nodded.

The runner caught his breath before proclaiming, “The message: Surrender, or you and the city will be destroyed.” He paused after this, as if he was going to add something more, but the tent was full of silence for several more moments.

The General then gruffly growled in a tired, but firm voice. “Tell them the same thing.”

The runner waited a few seconds to make sure that that was all, then turned and sped back through the hanging of the opening. The only evidence he had been there at all was the slight ruffle of the tent opening in his wake. No indents in the tarp where his feet had been were made, although it had been laid over grass.

There was once again a moment of silence. Then-

“Seikai?”

The General turned his head to look at the other person in the room.

“The Malaraj do not show mercy to those who do not give it themselves.”

The other person in the room opened in mouth in seeming surprise, either at Seikai’s words, or his tone. He shut it again, and nodded, gazing at the General’s humanoid face.

Seikai returned his gaze, slightly narrowing his eyes with their vertical, narrow pupils. His nose and whiskers twitched as he smelled the air, and his pointed furry ears were straight up and alert. The second man, who was a human mage, wondered if Seikai, or any Malaraj, considered him as strange looking as he considered them. The only way to describe a Malaraj simply would be to state that their bodies, although covered in fur, was human, and their head was some type or mixture of wildcat. Seikai himself looked very much like the beast humans call a tiger, but there was a hint of humanoid features about his face. Although they did not control magic like the mage, the tradition of a Malaraj is to be learned in swordcraft and falconry. They were like human paladins, but more dangerous.

They also made excellent generals and commanders of armies.

Seikai broke his gaze and turned it once again to the mountains. The sun was climbing higher in the sky, the light eating away at the remaining stars of the heavens.

“We must not show weakness, Hirella,” Seikai muttered. “We must not.”

“But we also must back up out statements of strength,” the mage added. Seikai’s amber eyes flashed as he sighed.

“There must be hope. It will help up win.”

Hirella decided not to answer, leaving Seikai with his thoughts.

“I’ll go check that the other mages are keeping up the defense of the Tree.” He suddenly said, standing up and beginning to depart. After only a step, he turned back and nodded respectively. “General.”

Seikai glanced out of the corner of his eye at him and returned the nod. “Colonel.”

Hirella left, disturbing the tarp with a deep crinkling noise and pushed through the hanging exit.

“The Massewyn War started three months ago,” Seikai explained. “So far there have been two other battles. The forces of good have lost both. The Selthoorians are only getting stronger, and they’re only a fraction of the evil on Massewyn. This battle is crucial- if we lose, the Selthoorians will move toward the capital of Poisvyn. Winning this battle would be a turning point.” He stared in earnest at his colonel, captain, First Lieutenant, and all the other trusted elves, Malaraj, Falhawken, Mages, and Amphiben that had a rank above soldier in the Poisvyn Army. They were all silent and solemn; he couldn’t tell if they understood how crucial this battle was.

“The Yavissia Tree,” he continued, “the Selthoorian General, Denylo, will try to burn it. You know you must stop him.”

“But General,” Hirella called out. “I thought the Yavissia Tree couldn’t be burned.”

Seikai sadly shook his head, almost as if pitying his colonel’s naïveté. “That’s just a myth brought about by its popularity as a place of worship.”

Hirella blinked, shocked. He glanced past all the rows of tents, where the rest of the army were resting, to the middle of the no-man’s land, where the famous Yavissia Tree stood standing, majestic and in full bloom. It was autumn, and most of the trees were losing their leaves unusually fast. But under the boughs of the Yavissia Tree, not a single leaf was blown about from the breeze.

It seemed protecting this tree would be an important objective for the Poisvyn Army.

“The magic shields our Mages put up around the tree may not hold. But we have put a charm on it so it cannot be caught on fire by magic. I’m pretty sure that will hold attacks.” Seikai sighed, pressing his palm to his forehead as if he had a throbbing headache. “But a Selthoorian soldier can light it themselves physically. We’ll have to be aware. As long as the magic defense is up around the Tree, that can’t happen, but”- he closed his feline eyes tight now, still squeezing his palm into his forehead. “I’m a Malaraj. I don’t know much about magic”-

“The Mages from Poisvyn are very talented, Sir,” the First Lieutenant interrupted. He flapped his Falhawken wings protruding from his back once, as if to prove his point.

Seikai’s eyes darted open, staring at the First Lieutenant with a mixture of anger and desperation. “I really hope so, Cymeran,” he cracked out, his voice full of inner torture. Without another word, he left with another nod and jogged off to the armor tent.

The Mages had worked on this tent to make it bigger than it looked. Shining breastplates and polished mail lay on wooden tables. Three other soldiers were in there already, fitting on armor. They saw Seikai and immediately stood at attention, shouldering their rifles or sheathing their swords.

Seikai responded with a tired nod and walked over to the Amphiben sleeping next to the wooded table. The frog humanoid was strange to him. He’d never been in Poisvyn before, (his family had just moved recently) where there were many. His country where he had moved from was mainly Malaraj and Falhawken. But although the Amphiben was so different from him, he admired their intelligence. They made better soldiers than some fierce but dim Malaraj.

The General gently kicked his friend’s green, slimy looking leg. The leg made a spasm, bending at a knee just like his own, and then relaxed again.

“Aenor,” Seikai nudged the Amphiben’s leg again. “Come on, Wake up.” When the sleeping form did not stir, Seikai took a deep breath and bellowed, “Aenor, this is your commander speaking, and he demands you wake up!”

At these words, which he apparently heard, Aenor woke violently, scrambling to his feet and saluting immediately.

“I-I-Sir-I…”

Seikai stopped him with a hand. “Sleeping on the job?”

“No, Sir- of course not”- Aenor’s eyes flitted to the three other soldiers, but they had already left.

Right,” Seikai’s eyes narrowed in amusement, and his long tail twitched. “I’ll need my armor now.” Aenor nodded purposefully and he heaved up a wooden chest that had been under the table, locked. Seikai reached into his brown shirt’s breast pocket to fish out a key. This armor had served him helpfully in other battles many years ago. Hopefully, it would withstand the test now.

The runner never came back. Seikai took this to believe that the Selthoorians weren’t happy with the Poisvyns’ show of defiance. With his show of defiance. Word had spread of his bold reply through most of his 25,000 troops, and they, knowing that the Selthoorian army had already defeated two other armies, were unsettled and questioned Seikai’s motives for sending them all to their apparent doom.

The common answer that eventually placed a stronghold in most of the soldier’s minds by midday was that their General had a secret weapon up his sleeve, something surprising and clever, devised by him and his trusted colonel Hirella, and probably his new friend Aenor too. All the talk around the tents buzzed with excitement, as more and more soldiers believed this theory. Seikai heard of this rumor from Hirella, and was glad. The tale stirred up hope in his troops that he didn’t have to try and back up. Just the mystery and secrecy of it would keep them passionate. It was better than them knowing that there was not secret weapon, no magnificent, brilliant scheme. Seikai was very worried, and he spent a lot of the morning in his armor, sitting in his tent and staring at the mountains and the distant city of Lujahnia.

The sun was high in the sky still, but nothing had happened. Seikai was wondering if he should gather his troops on the first half mile of the no-man’s land to see what the Selthoorians would do, when he heard yelling outside. It was a mixed up rumble of swear words, yelps, and shouts of “General! General!”

He leaped to his feet and dashed outside. A couple meters from his tent, three Malaraj were holding down a twisting form, an Amphiben holding a rifle on it. Seikai recognized it as a Goblin, a Selthoorian soldier.

He looked to the Malaraj.

“He was coming to assassinate you, Sir!” One yelled, his muscles bulging from trying to keep the feisty, hard-skinned brute at bay. Although it was only half a Malaraj’s height, the Goblin could outmaneuver just one of them. Even three needed to keep changing their holds so it wouldn’t slip away. A small dagger lay on the grass by the scene. Seikai picked it up.

“He was carrying that, General,” the Amphiben stated, still focusing on the Goblin, his frog-like finger on the trigger. The Goblin didn’t even notice this in its efforts to escape the grips of its captors. Seikai couldn’t tell if it was scared or not; whether it was acting out of fear or anger.

He strolled over to the struggling enemy and leaned down to grab its head and hold it still. The Goblin gnashed its teeth, but Seikai ignored it and asked, “Who is your commander?”

“Denylo the Great.” The Goblin’s voice sounded like a Malaraj with a sore throat.

“What was your purpose here?”

The Goblin glared at Seikai with his circular pupils, making the Malaraj bare his sharp teeth.

“To kill the General of the Poisvyn army.” The Goblin’s voice was full of venom, leading Seikai to his next question.

“And you agreed upon this of your own free will?”

The Goblin nodded.

“Then you have no mercy here.” Seikai let go of the Goblin’s jaw and nodded to the Malaraj. “You know how to deal with assassins.” He turned quickly and nearly collided with Hirella, who was hurrying to get to him, his eyes wide. He pointed to the horizon, where the Selthoorians lay. “Seikai!”

Narrowing his eyes again, Seikai turned his keen vision to the south. He could barely make the forms out, but he knew they were the Selthoorian Army. They seemed to shimmer, which must mean that they had their armor on. But he couldn’t see from this distance whether they were charging or no. Hirella answered his questions a second later, as if he could tell Seikai was thinking them.

“A Falhawken solder reported that they’re charging our way,” Hirella continued. Seikai’s ears perked up and he slowly turned to look incredulously at his colonel, whose lips were pressed together and whose eyebrows were pointed downward. He knew enough of human expressions to confirm that Hirella was worried. Soon he said the words Seikai were dreading.

“They have fire.”

Seikai’s throat seized up. It felt like someone was clutching it. “They can’t- they can’t get near the Tree when our defense is up”-

“The defense isn’t up”- Hirella winced, and Seikai’s eyes bulged and his fur bristled. The colonel continued before Seikai could start yelling. “The Mages we placed around the Tree are dead”-

“WHAT? HOW? We’d have seen if an enemy soldier came up and”-

“I don’t sir, I really don’t, but they’re dead, Seikai, all of them. Now come on, the Tree’s not protected and they’re already halfway there.”

With the strength of a commander, Seikai clapped Hirella on the shoulder in thanks and started roaring out orders. Some o f the soldiers were already ready; it only took moments for the rest of the troops to gather around outside of the tents. From some of the tents that had charms cast upon them, the horses were lead out, and all the troops ranked above soldier mounted. Seikai saddles his own, a black stallion he had named Bucephalas, who had carried him in many previous battles. Something silver fell off from around his neck and onto the ground. Seikai saw and leaped off to grab the locket, opening it to check that the picture of his son was safely inside. He gazed at it for a moment before clasping it around his neck once again, and fitting it under his armor. With the tumult of hooves, feet, and metal all around him, he mounted Bucephalas and trotted out to where his soldiers were gathering, lining themselves up in rows. There were the Falhawkens in back; they would take flight. The Amphibens and the Elves used ranged weapons, so they would stay behind the Malaraj. “Hurry! Hurry!” he shouted. The Selthoorians were coming closer. It would take a miracle to get to the Tree before it started to burn. Bucephalas snorted, rearing up. The rest of the soldiers, or most of them, were ready.

“Don’t let them burn the Tree!” Seikai cried. “This battle is crucial!” He had little time for inspiring words, so he unsheathed one of his two swords and screamed “CHARGE!”

The Falhawkens leaped into the air and sped through the air like bullets, their eyes locked on the dragons and firefalcons in the sky ahead of them. The cavalry raced ahead of the foot soldiers and surged their horses on to the breaking point. The soldiers did not feel their exhaustion as they sprinted the mile to defend the Yavissia Tree.

Seikai’s eyes searched for the Selthoorian General, the Troll called Denylo. He would personally make sure Denylo never made it to the Tree, especially if he was the once carrying the flame.

The Selthoorian army did not have any cavalry, but the trolls could run almost as fast, as well as the Dragons in the sky. They reached the Tree before the Poisvyn horses, with Seikai leading, were halfway there. From the distance, Seikai saw the flames, saw it nearing the Tree. His throat clenched again. Bucephalas’ nose was bleeding, his mouth foaming. They were moving faster than he had ever galloped before, yet they were too late. Despair threatened to smother his heart. The wind howled in his ears; they were flattened to his skull.

The Yavissia Tree went up in flames.

“NEVER LOSE HOPE!” Seikai screamed, his voice cracking as he heard the disembodied shouts of “NO!” carry through the air, along with the crackling of the Tree’s mighty burning limbs.

A sharp whistle- Seikai lifted his sword arm. A brown blur shot past his face from behind him and collided with a black blur speeding toward him. Focusing his vision in surprise, Seikai saw a small falcon clutching a green-tipped arrow, snatching it in midair away from its target.

“Thank you, Erna,” Seikai muttered as his trustworthy falcon let the arrow fall harmlessly to the ground, and then flew alongside him, matching Bucephalas’ pace with his agile wings. As they ran toward the burning Tree, getting closer and closer, Seikai knew that there was still once mage who was still alive, one mage who could put out the fire. But would it be too late? Thoughts swirled around Seikai’s mind; Arrows flew from behind him and toward him. The sky was full of falcons, Falhawkens, dragons, arrows, and bullets.

Seikai glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Hirella at his side, raising his hand to cast a spell. His hopes rose. Hirella saw him looking and nodded, and suddenly the fire on the Tree was snuffed out, and a bubble of transparent glowing green air once again surrounded the Tree, who was only slightly burned.

Hirella would definitely take my place should something happen, Seikai thought confidently. His spirits renewed, he look with a keen eye for Denylo. Hirella, thinking ahead, must have placed another magical ward on him, for he was never hit with an arrow or shot, and swipes taken at him by trolls, goblins, and werewolves never connected. He weaved through the fighting, getting closer and closer to the Tree, but there was still no sign of Denylo, who if he wanted to, could certainly make himself the center of attention.

There he was. He was protecting a necromancer behind him, as he batted away Poisvyn forces. Seikai knew if the necromancer weren’t taken down, the ward Hirella had put around the Tree wouldn’t last. He charged right toward them, Erna speeding over his head, and Bucephalas felt like he was flying-he leaped over a group of fighting goblins and Malaraj, right on top of the Troll and the Necromancer. Adrenaline raced through Seikai’s body and he felt invincible. He did not expect Bucephalas to stumble when he landed, throwing him form the horse and into Denylo.

They both crashed to the ground. Seikai scrambled up in time, recovering his balance, and turned to see the ward around the Yavissia Tree flicker feebly and disappear just as the necromancer fell to the ground, and arrow claiming his life. Seikai roared in frustration and whirled around with his sword, sensing Denylo behind him. He missed, and Denylo shot out his foot, digging it into the crowds of soldiers behind him instead. Seikai reared to his feet, not understanding, to get Hirella to see him. His colonel turned back around to see Seikai right in front of him, yelling to restore his ward. Denylo did not advance behind him, but instead called out in a clear voice two words that Seikai did not want to comprehend, something he never wanted to hear.

“Now, Hirella!”

A torch flew over his head. Hirella reached up to catch it. Seikai whipped around to see Denylo gesturing toward the Tree. Seikai turned again to see Hirella push past him. He grabbed his colonel’s arm, shouting a question, but Hirella pulled away, taking out a dagger. Seikai heard a faint shout of “Kill him!” behind him from a troll’s voice. He stood in stupefied shock, trying to work out what was happening. What was Hirella doing? Seikai had not commanded this…

Hirella lunged forward and pushed the dagger through Seikai’s chest, enhancing his strength with his own spell so it went through the links of chain mail. Seikai felt it first; he fell to his knees, the pain pressing in on his body as if a horse was crushing him. He saw, with clouded vision, Hirella turn and heave the torch at the Tree. It caught on one of the branches and lit it aflame. The fire spread quickly again. The Poisvyn Army screamed as if the fire was burning them, too. Seikai weakly called out, “Hirella!” in a disbelieving voice. Denylo appeared, holding a sword above his head and grinning maliciously. Seikai reached out a furry hand, trying to roll away, but the sword came down with a fatal thwack. Seikai’s hand slammed back to the Earth, and lay unmoving, the other forever clutching his silver locket.