Prologue

The castle was being over run, the sound of metal and the feeling of battle magic was in the air. Atop the highest battlements stood, a man dressed in mail with a tabard of orange and white, with the crest of an eagle over his heart and a bastard sword at his side. On top of his head sat his helm, bright silver with a gold band around it above his brow, gleaming in the light of the full moon and the various fires that had sprung up through out the assault. Wisps of red hair came sticking out below his helm. His face was not the one of his youth, but one showing all of his 43 years. Raising his hand up to the height of his shoulders, he pushed as if moving a great weight from his body. At the same time, the land in front of the castle walls rose up well past the top battlements and moved as if it were a wave in the Great Ocean to the east. The enemy rode the wave as if it was standing still. They too had magic on their sides. Powerful magic too, more powerful than what the King had, and he was thought to be the most powerful magic user in the world.

"Your majesty, we are being over run," said Janic, the King's most trusted advisor, "We can't keep hold them off. Mortican's magic is just too powerful, and his army is just too great. We must get you and your family out of here."

Fingering the stone on his ring, the King thought. He knew what Janic was saying was right, but he himself had no intention of leaving, he would however get his family out of harm's way. Turning into the castle, he marched to his quarters where his infant son and his wife were.

"We must keep fighting, to allow as many people to evacuate the city. If we do not then a fate worse than death await them. This way they at least have a chance to live," said the King.

Hearing the doors open the Queen looked at her husband and saw that things were not going well for them. Her emotions were going haywire. Not just for the men that were giving their lives for her and her husband for the turmoil that her husband was going through as well. While in her late 30's the Queen was just as beautiful as the day that her husband married her. With long blond hair and a Sky blue dress, she did not look a day over 25.

"We must get you and our son out of here," said the King in a voice of sorrow.

"What about you?"

"The spell that I am going to use requires me to stay here, so that it works correctly. There is no other way."

It was a lie she knew but she had never gone against her husband. She knew that if she were to argue, he would just force her to go with their son. Gathering her infant son into her arms, she nodded to her husband. No words were said, none were needed, the bond that they had, no words were needed.

The King started to chant and wave his hands in front of him in an intricate pattern. A glowing circle surrounded the queen and infant prince and the feeling of electricity was in the air. Faster and faster, he wove his hands, when suddenly he stopped and collapsed. Behind him stood the form of a man in a dark robe, the man that led the army that was attacking the castle, Mortican, once one of the Kings advisors.

"Hello, your highness," said a gravelly voice from beneath the hood.

The spell that the King was chanting was almost done; all that was needed was the last bit of energy from some source and a destination in mind. The Queen, herself a magic user like her husband, knew this and that in order for the spell to be completed, she would need to leave the circle and finish the spell. Placing her son on the floor, she stepped out of the circle.

Magic requires concentration like anything else, so if the person casting the spell lets their mind slip for even a fraction of a second, either with seeing the spell happen in their mind or building the power for the spell, it can backlash or cause the spell to do something else.

As the Queen builds the energy to finish the spell, Mortican unleashes one of his own at the Queen. The spell kills the Queen, but there is enough leftover energy from the spell that it combines with the energy from the transportation spell to give it enough juice for it to work and then some. The last conscious thought from the Queen is that her son gets away to a place that he is safe and is loved.