|1-Dark Shadow. A Short-Short story by SparHawk. The palace loomed before him. He'd been riding for nearly four weeks. What have I done wrong? is one question he repeatedly asked himself. Why me? another. He hadn't understood why he should have left his home. Old Garolc, the Townmaster, had come into his room late at night explaining that he'd better leave soon. He did as he was told, and was chased out of town by torch waving thugs. When he'd reached the Greenbelt forest he didn't know what he was going to do. The Priests of Jhai who held a monastery there had given him supper and a bed for the night but that was only one night. What about the rest of his life? He'd finally decided on a course of action after reaching a small village on the far edges of the forest. Here he had worked at an inn earning himself food and a bed. One night he'd heard a pair of old mercenaries talking about an impending war in the west and, in an unlikely fit of patriotism, he asked where he could sign up. They had told him to go to the palace barracks. He rode through. Helpfull signs indicated that he should take the right fork of the track before him. Soon he was nearing a large wooden hut which straddled the track. A soldier inside stopped him. "What is your purouse here, sir?" inquired the soldier with an obviously standard question. "I'm here to sign up for the army." The soldier looked at him quizzically. "You? Never mind, wait while I get my papers." He looked bored. He ducked under a desk for a moment and then stood up, brandishing a clip board and a quill. "Right. Name?" "Charl de Havile." "Sign here please." Charl signed. "Ermmm... what exactly have I just signed for?" "Just the usual. You promise to obey the King etc." "Oh, Ok. What do I do know?" "You can pass now, that you're a bona fide member of his Majesties Royal Army. See the drill sergeant ahead." Charl had to leave his horse behind, but he didn't mind. He walked on to meet the sergeant. He looked busy so Charl didn't want to interupt. He sat and watched. Eventually the sergeant noticed him. "You, boy. Have you nothing to do? Are you..." Charl interrupted. "I'm new, sir. I just joined." "Ah! a recruit! Can you use a sword?" "Yes." "Ride a horse?" "Yes." "Good, good. Go to the stables, get a horse, go to the armoury, pick out some weapons and armour and be back here tomorrow morning. We march at dawn." Charl stood for a moment, slightly disorientated. Somehow he hadn't imagined it would be like this, but then it was war. He did as he was told yet again. The stable master was a kind man and had given a fine horse to Charl when he had seen how good Charl was with the animal. The armoury didn't seem to have anyone in charge, so Charl picked out an impressive sword and matching armour. After some trial and error Charl found where he was expected to sleep. He didn't have much else to do so he retired early, dreams of heroism filling his mind. The morning was over quickly. It started with a quick trumpet call and ended the same way. Before he knew it he had dressed in his armour, collected his horse, listened to a speech from the King and rode out in a neat column through the palace gates. The journey to the west seemed just as quick, albeit a longer sort of quickness. The drudgery of army life passed the time. He learned tactics, basic warfare and some other skills such as diplomacy as medicine on the road. He helped to teach swordplay and horse riding with the more experienced tutors. He started to learn some magic, but he soon discovered that it had an aversion to him. Soon, too soon, he was in formation on the battlefield. The general gave the signal to charge. It was a mass of bodies. From above it was probably a beautifully organised procedure, but down here it seemed a mess. He simply rode forward. An enemy soldier periodically appeared in his field of vision. Charl swung his sword and carried on. He continued his bloody journey. On either side of him were other soldiers from his army. In front were more of the enemy. Dimly, in the distance, he could see the enemy tents. This, as the general had drilled into them, was their target. The plan was simple. Fight through the soldiers, get to the tents, find the leader and capture him. Not kill, as they had been repeatedly told, just capture. Some of the army magicians were on hold to question him on 'crimes against the state'. He had now reached the tents. Behind him a row of dead enemy soldiers lay in a gory trail. Either side of him the battle continued, but he was in a strange moment of calm. Time had stopped. He broke through the enemy ranks and reached the tents. Other soldiers had done the same. They were meeting heavy resistance, but there seemed to be none for him. In fact, they seemed to avoid him. Even help him forward. Where to now? It seemed obvious to him to go to the biggest tent. As before he managed to arrive without resistance. He entered. Inside it was gloomy. Satin sheets hung from the canopy creating a ghostly atmosphere. Two incense burners produced green, fragrant smoke. At the back end of the tent someone sat on a throne. Outside the sounds of battle were still prominent, but in here the voice was stronger. "Charl," it said. "At last we meet." What's going on here? "Who are you?" "Charl." The voice seemed to savour the word. It chuckled before continuing. "You may call me Charl." Suddenly it all fit. Why he had been thrown out of his home. Why he had joined the army. Why he had come here. He was face to face with his nemesis. It was his twin; he himself; his own dark side. It was all of those and more. It was pure evil, but had capacity for infinite good. It was his father, yet also his grandfather. Charl - that is the 'Charl' on the throne - was an entity that had dogged his family for generations. Charl had been his father and his fathers father. It was all due to some obscene pact in history. This was Charls only form of life, a shadow of the eldest de Havile son. A reminder of an earlier age. Charl was going to kill it. He lunged forward, sword outstretched. He became enmeshed in the satin and when he looked up, the entity was gone. He heard a chuckle behind him. Charl dived forward again, and the same thing happened. It was frustrating. There was no way... but... Charl lifted his sword and fell upon it. This was the only way he knew. He had to end his familys line. He was the last of the male side of the family. This way at least he would be free. As he lay there, his lifes blood flowing from a wound in his chest, the general entered. The general stared at him on the floor. "Who?" he said. "Who the hell are you?" Charl tried to ask for help, but his vocal chords seemed to have a life of their own. He laughed, then said "General? I'm the new General!". End