It began a long while ago. Kings were frequent, sorcerers were almighty and there were enough damsels in distress for every knight to save at least one a year. The oceans ran clear; America still lay hidden in the depths of ignorance, and the sea s great obstacles were always labeled as giant monsters. But not all was good. There was great unrest among the clans of this far away place, for they were many who were wary of dire whispers that drifted slowly from soul to soul, spreading fear and hatred among the kingdoms people.

The many wary of the dire whispers were labeled as Clansmen, although they chose a name much different from that as their name. The clansmen had always noticed a speck of dark behind what seemed to be light. They had always known that a great evil would come to steal all the land had to offer, leaving behind a trail of false hope just to drive the people further into insanity. But the clansmen were fools, most said. The clansmen had never been there to help poor old king Beech with his constant warring and speeches encouraging recruitment into the army. The clansmen had never contributed to society, said many who had a right to. Although it was in his power to do so, King Beech did not do anything to dispose of the clansmen, for behind the Kings cloak of futility was a wise man that knew that all created in this world would soon play their part.

King Beech had never been of noble blood, but he definitely felt that it was his divine right to be king. With his charismatic ways and talks of unity among all people, he easily tided the scattered villages that made up the kingdom his way. It took him only three months to overthrow the elderly king who had strengthened his reign with stability and justice. During Beechs raid of the castle, he felled all servants to the wizened king and threw the king himself into a dank prison cell in the catacombs of the castle. The cook was the only one who knew his whereabouts. But there was one more survivor. He wasnt nearly as important as the old king. But was a baby without a name, a past, and of unknown parentage. As humble as his roots may be, this baby would grow to be even stronger than the mystery surrounding his past.

Get over here boy! A thin woman with graying wisps of auburn hair stood on top a chair, fishing through a cupboard above her in search of something. She turned around, awaiting an answer.

Get out of the gardensnow! Youd better not be playing with that silly wooden sword again! The woman got down, unsatisfied with her search and began rooting through some crooked drawers for a missing item.

Hello Lady! What are you looking for? A young teenage boy appeared out of nowhere but before his presence could be detected, he quickly hid a silver tray under a near by dishtowel strewn among some dainty china.

There you are boy! Quickly, wash up! The king has requested that you go serve him The boy dropped the wooden sword he was handling and let it bounce a bit on the dirty kitchen floor. Trying not to stammer he asked

Me?? He wants me? Butbutthis is all I ever wanted! The boy scooped up his sword and danced around the kitchen, upending a few chairs that crowded his way.

I shall go to him, straight away! He held up his sword like an exclamation point. The thin woman slammed a final drawer closed and walked over to where the boy was standing, gleaming.

Blaise, if this is all about you knighthood dreams, youd better get back to slaying that old cow out there. The woman turned around again and began mumbling about her missing tray, finding it peeking out of a dishtowel where Blaise had placed it. Blaise smiled weakly and walked to a washbasin in the corner of the room.

For you information cook, it wasnt a cowit was a vicious miniature dragon whose last meal consisted of several well done peasants and a tax collector The cook couldnt help but smile

Blaise, youre some kind of boyIm going to miss you when your dream of serving in the kings army finally comes truebut in the meantime, could you please bring his majesty a few of those lemon biscuits he enjoys so much? Hes meeting with a very important person in his library, so try not to mess things up too much, alright? Blaise sighed deeply and took the lightly tarnished tray that he had previously used as a shield from the cook and walked towards a painted cupboard.

Cook? The woman turned around, expecting Blaise to join her reminiscing; instead, Blaise took to the present Could you tell me where those biscuits are? The cook fished out a pair of mitts from a drawer in front of her and tossed them at Blaise. The biscuits are in the oventhey are still hot. Blaise smiled slightly, walked to the oven, and took a few handfuls out and placed them onto the tray the Cook was holding out towards him. Be careful, BlaiseI know you trust the king with more than your lifebut I think that in the future, you will not find his intentions so honorable Blaise peered up at her, wanting to know more, but the cook just shoved him out of the rickety door with a smack on the shoulder.

With Blaise gone, she quickly untied her apron, tidied up a bit, then snuck out to the back of the garden, apparently up to something

Blaise stood for a long while in the hallway that separated the kitchens from the rest of the castle, just thinking. He liked to think about things, especially if it involved adventure, hidden identities, and the occasional love affair. But after a few minutes, Blaise was brought back to reality by the tickling of a cats tail against his bare legs. Hello Toby! How are you? The patched cat meowed a bit and got up to weave between Blaises boots. Laughing a bit, he reached down to pick Toby up, but apparently, Toby was disinterested. With a strident yowl, he jumped away and continued to walk towards the kitchens where hed probably find a few rodents to snack on. Torn out of his dream world, Blaise took the staircase that leaned precariously above him. Noticing his mistake seconds too late, Blaise was forced to fight through the throng of gossiping servants that clustered together every day at around this hour. Usually Blaise would have loved to stay as he loved to scare the other servants by spreading dastardly tales of undead knights breaking into the castle searching for humble souls to devour, but this time Blaise felt as if nothing should hold him up from making this important delivery to the King. After using the pointed handles of his silver tray as daggers, Blaise silently warned the other servants to stay away from him. He used his rough elbows as a second defense when the usual castle guard bullied his way toward him.

It took Blaise less time than he expected to reach a pair of oak doors flanked by metal shields that glimmered slightly in the eerie candlelight. He made a mental note to himself to use the sharp tray handle-elbow maneuver in case he was in a hurry again. Without much more thought, Blaise wrenched open the doors with his free hand and walked in.

The dining hall was vacant apart from a stooped man who was dolefully laboring over the task of scrubbing the wine stained dining hall table. As he wasnt allowed to eat in the hall at meal times until he reached the age of 17, Blaise took his time in looking closely at the table. Years ago, the cook had told him that table was one of the only things left from the castles former regime. Fascinated by this, Blaise had made up an entire story about the table. Later, when he told the Cook his story, she had told him never to tell anyone who looked important or worked for the King. He had always wondered why. With a little cough, the old man concluded his fruitless job and left the hall, slamming doors the doors opposite from where Blaise had entered shut in his haste to leave. Blaise turned to leave with the man, but on a hunch, changed his mind. Trying as hard as he could, Blaise tried to remember how his story about the table went. Something abstract in his 16-year-old mind told him that there was probably a good reason for the Cook wanting Blaise to keep his story hush-hush. But he wondered if the Cooks good reason was a good reason for Blaise not to investigate. Absent-mindedly placing the tray of cookies for King Beech on a bench beside the table, Blaise bent down and crawled so that he could see underneath the table. In Blaises story, if perhaps correct, there should be a small compartment, barely visible, in the middle of the surface beneath the table. Inside that compartment should be an aged piece of parchment, describing the coordinates to the old Kings tomb where a large sum of money would be buried, free for those who found it. Laughing at the absurdity of his story, Blaise questioned why he was even crawling toward the center of the table. He stopped, knowing that all he would find is solid wood above his head; Blaise put a hand onto the table that was above him. With a start, he took his hand away. The wood had moved, and it seemed that if only Blaise could push the area where the table had moved a little more, something fascinating would happen. And it did. As Blaise pushed with all that he could against the block of wood in the middle of the table, heard a quiet snapping sound as if something wooden was breaking. At first Blaise thought it was the table, perhaps he was breaking it. But after he stopped pushing the square in the table, the sound slowly halted. He thought it would be a good idea to get out from under the table and look to see exactly what he was doing by pushing in the middle of the table. As Blaise got up and brushed some dirt from under the table off of his tunic, his eye fell upon what he had been pushing out of the middle of the table. It turned out to be a small sized box, encased in wood with some odd mystical writings on it. Entranced by its portability and magnificence, Blaise greedily reached for it and grabbed it. In years to come, Blaise would not regret that he had made that story up or that he had gone out on a whim and followed his imagination.