religious rulers, in their attempt to subjugate total control over them. Fear for the Divine Punishment made them surrender their faith and submit to the worship of a handful of man, as their gods.

Brook had long been a powerful man. He was one from the Great Line of Knowledge, yet he wasn't like most of those other men. In his heart he heard the multitudes of voices that screamed and cried out their pleas to him, to reveal the truth and thus lift the burdens from their backs and let them live in peace.

His soul embraced everything that he knew was right and to himself, he nodded an agreement. The time had come to be strong again and to no longer sit idly by and watch evil, as it has its own way in his land.

He moved back in his chair when he heard the sounds of the Monastic Guard, marching in the city square and the painful screams of men and women, that echoed between the buildings and out towards the hills. Brook knew that these people were being blasted by with the lightning-like bolts from the Guard's electrophoric weapons.

His strong and gentle hands slowly rose to his face as he sank down into his chair. He set his elbows on his knees and he cleaved to the thoughts within his mind, trying to force himself to remain in the deepest meditation. He felt the hours pass, until dreams soon began to visit him, making him lose himself and his worries to the mask of the night. With the coming of his last conscious breath before sleep, he recalled some of the words that his father said to him, upon his deathbed.

"Brook, my son … do not let the land become troubled. Don't be afraid to fight because the horrifying torments of war can become a tool that may prevent future afflictions."

Brook was asleep and everything in the room was left unveiled for any eye to see. Although the pictures on the wall had ceased, everything was left in open view. Each thing presented a danger to Brook's rule and power.

The cool breezed night soared into dawn's amber glory. The sun slowly began to illuminate the room and a robed figure carefully crept in, much in the manner of a thief, yet it didn't take a thing. It had moved softly and with purpose towards the white wall, where it drew the drapes shut. Then it moved towards the cabinet where it closed its doors with a faint click, and again left the room in much the same manner as it had entered.

The sky was cloudless and the sun warmed the land with its radiation. The sparrows outside the window chirped their hellos, while they basked in that life giving light, before they took to flight for the day.

Boy, the servant, carefully walked into the room and looked about in wonder; this was his usual facial expression, before he drew on enough courage to wake his lord Brook. He carefully delivered a pewter basin full of water, for his master's morning washing.

He called to Brook several times in a meek tone but with no response. Moving closer, and touched his master's forearm, again calling Brook's name. This time, however, the boy called in a much louder and demanding tone of voice.

Brook quickly stirred from his deep sleep and for several moments just stared at the boy with an indifference that somehow seemed to be forced from himself.

Brook cleared his throat and sat up in his chair. He prepared himself to play the Lord once again, but on this day he had decided, that the long and horrible game would come to an end and that he would truly be master, as it was his right.

He sat up in his chair and in his usual manner coughed a few times before he spoke. Boy stepped back a bit when Brook coughed but he quickly returned to him, and slightly bowed his head to him.

Brook coughed once again then took a deep breath as he looked about the room then back at the boy.

"What is this call, Boy?" boomed Brook.

"Pardon, Sir, but the lady had asked me to wake you." answered Boy. "I have brought water to wash the sleep from your eyes." He lifted the basin up to Brook where, after a moment he splashed the scented water up into his face then dried himself with the towel that hung over Boy's arm. "Your wish — my Lord!" uttered the boy, obediently leaving Brook's presence as the Lady entered the room. She carried a large cup and as Boy passed her she smiled at him and told him that he could go into the garden until he was needed again. He smiled in reply and thanked her, then hurried away.

Lady Dearborne was in a happy mood. She smiled warmly at her husband as she approached him with the cup full of broth. She extended to him her fair hand and when in reach, he took it gently into his own and guided her to his side. Her smile beamed as she bowed to him then sat down on the floor by his feet. She gently placed her head against his knee after giving him his broth. He drank it and sighed, and stroked her hand as she hummed a lovely tune for him.

He looked at her, taking in all her beauty, regarding her many years of love and loyalty with much pride. He believed that no man on Earth, in the past, present, or likely to in the future, felt as he does.

Dearborne was a vibrant woman, twenty-nine years of age, with beauty unsurpassed by any other in Phoride and the surrounding kingdoms. Her long brown hair ended in curly locks that fell in front of her and that decorated her creamy neck and shoulders, enhancing the fair, light smoothness of her bosom, which emerged from her low cut gown like the pinkish eggs of the great Kenttitian Eagle. Her totality glistened like the polished marble god-statues from Laurentine.

When she spoke, her voice was reminiscent of a loon gliding over still water, during an early morning mist. Her words displayed generations of knowledge which she had taken to her heart and mind, over her seemingly few but happy years of life, with her Lord Brook.

She ceased her humming as she ran her hand across her husband's calf. With affection, he returned the caresses to his love; his hand gently rubbing across her silky hair.

She spoke without looking up at him or breaking the rhythm of her strokes.

"You were not to bed, again, last night. I was worried and came down here to call you. You were asleep. I didn't want to disturb you — but it doesn't matter." she said, then she looked up at him and smiled. "I know that you were not keeping yourself apart from me." Brook moved his hand to her glowing face, stroked it and smiled at her. He gave her a longing kiss.

"I'm sorry, my sweet." he finally said as he helped her up off the floor and onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she put hers about his neck. They kissed one another, and held it for the longest time. "Did you close the drapes over the wall, and shut my cabinet door?" he asked her.

"Yes!" she answered loyally and put her head on his shoulder.

"You've done that so many times, and yet you have never asked me anything about their nature. Somehow you seem to know they should not stay exposed, for the random eye to see!"

"It's not my privilege to question what you do, or why you do it. My place is here, at your feet, my love!" she told him in a voice that assured him of her potent and loyal love.

Brook kissed her hand.

"No, my love! Your place is not at my feet, but at my side. Even so, my place is your place. It has always been and always will be. I love you, Dearborne!"

"And I love you, my dearest Brook!" she responded and his trembling heart was calmed by the tranquillizing inflections in her song-like voice.

An hour passed