Blackness. Utter, complete, and perfect dark. No blemish marred its pure existence. No hue polluted the beauty of the absolute absence of light. Then, in the flawless expanse, an anomaly was born. A single point of white nearly swallowed in the sea of black. A second appeared, the twin to the first. The points began to move, tracing identical inverted crescents in the inky blackness. The thin white lines expanded and intensified, now blazing like white-hot stars. The white light devoured the darkness, filling the void with a great roaring. The crescents opened into two almond shaped windows in the dark, and cascades of colors began to pour forth.

The colors coalesced and slowly began to take a familiar shape. It was a face. The face of a beautiful woman. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an O of surprise and joy. She turned away and her lush brown hair swung down.

"Varna! Varna, come quick! He awakens!"

The windows expanded and loomed closer until they had eclipsed the darkness entirely. Bronislav blinked once, then twice, and tried to raise his head. It felt as if it was full of lead. His mouth was parched and his breath rasped through his dry throat. He turned his head to see Varna rush into his chamber, dropping the linens she was carrying when she saw his opened eyes.

Warm liquid dripped onto his face. He turned back to see Evika in tears, gently stroking his fiery red hair. Varna kissed his hand over and over. Mili approached and smiled nearly losing her balance in her relief. She was nearly bursting with his child. Bronislav smiled, the boy would be big and strong.

"M'hlav, oh m'hlav. We thought you were lost," Evika cried. Varna gripped his hand tightly and pressed it to her cheek. Mili sat on the edge of the bed and put his other hand on her belly.

"Does my Lord desire anything?" Varna asked.

"W-water," Bronislav managed to rasp out. Evika dashed off to fetch a flagon. Varna held his head while Evika gave him little sips of the cool, clear draught. Bronislav could feel the liquid as it pooled in his stomach, then disperse throughout his body. He felt his strength returning. He drank more.

After a short while he was able to sit up on his own. He drank five flagons of water in succession. Despite his wives' staunch disapproval Bronislav got up on his feet and walked around the room a mere hour after his awakening. His legs were a little unsteady at first but grew strong after but a short while. He passed a small mirror of polished silver, Evika's if he remembered correctly. He examined his reflection. His throat and chest showed no scar or blemish. No evidence of the horrible wounds he had taken.

Bronislav's gaze shifted from the mirror to the hearth. As always a fire was crackling in the chamber's central pit. Bronislav strode to the hearth. He took a deep breath and thrust his hand into the glowing coals. No pain, no burning, only warmth and energy. He exhaled loudly in relief. The Fire Lord still favored him, still protected him.

He sat in his great chair and propped his feet on the hearth. He took a great swallow of water and pondered. Why had Aq'Chamoneth not destroyed him? The Fire Lord rewarded strength and loyalty and despised weakness and cowardice. Bronislav had clearly failed against his enemy. It did not make sense.

Vladimir would know. The High Priest of Aq'Chamoneth would be able to make clear all that was puzzling Bronislav.

"Varna, send for Vladimir. I wish to speak with him. And fetch some clothing. I will meet with him as soon as I am dressed."

"But my Lord, you need to rest," Varna pleaded. "You have just recovered from a terrible ordeal and…"

"Do as I say, woman!" Bronislav shouted, sitting up and glaring at his first wife. She was the strongest of the three, and accordingly their leader. She glowered back but relented, lowering her head. Bronislav was sure he saw her mouth turn up into a satisfied smile. She was proud to have a strong man.

"It is good to see you up and about Aq'Kharneth," Vladimir said as he entered the meeting hall.

"Good day to you Priest of Aq'Chamoneth," Bronislav replied. "I feel well, but I am troubled."

"What troubles my Lord?" Vladimir asked, seating himself opposite Bronislav.

"After the…after the battle, I was sure that I would die. The wounds I had taken would have ended a normal man instantly."

"Surely you are aware that being the Chosen of Aq'Chamoneth entitles you to certain protections. Fire, which destroys others, heals you."

"I know this, but why did he heal me? I failed. I have seen what Aq'Chamoneth does to those who fail him."

"Bronislav, Aq'Chamoneth does not punish failure. He despises weakness and cowardice. You showed neither in your unfortunate encounter with the feral Elves."

"Aq'Chamoneth prizes strength, bravery, and honor above all else," Bronislav recited from memory the passage he had learned. He pondered this for a moment. "My bravery may not be in question but my strength is. And there is only one way to wash this stain from my honor, Vladimir. With blood."

On to the battle

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