TO END ALL WARS

First off, I want to apologize to everyone that has been waiting for months for this chapter but I spent a great deal of time getting everything in order and a decent outline of how to continue. For those of you who I promised that this would be posted last month, sorry but for those of you who know where I live, you know that the last month and more has been a near disaster with all the flooding. I spent three weeks at my sister's place in Houston waiting for the water to go down and after that my days were spent doing nothing but clean up. Believe it or not but this past Thursday was the first day I even sat down in front of a computer since I posted the first chapter of Family Ties.

TO END ALL WARS

By

Padfootjr24 and Trelawney's Love Toy

This first scene between Belgarath and Daren comes directly from Belgarath the Sorcerer.

Chapter Eight: Western Wanderings

Upon receiving word of Beldaran's condition, despite his discomfort with flight, Belgarath changed into the form of a falcon and winged his way across the western continent as fast as he could manage. On a few occasions he had attempted translocation to move himself along at a faster pace but unfortunately he quickly discovered that such an act would immediately return him to his human form. And finding yourself a mile high in the air without the benefit of wings was not a situation a person would find comforting.

It took only two days of nearly constant flight before he reached the port city of Camaar but despite his exhaustion, he pushed himself on over the Sea of the Winds. But as fast as he was, he wasn't fast enough. Beldaran had died the night before. Burying his grief for the time being, he set out to speak with Riva but quickly found that to be an impossible task. The man was completely consumed by the loss of his beloved wife and was completely incapable of thinking in a rational manner much less ruling his island kingdom. Polgara was likewise inconsolable.

It took him a while, but he was eventually able to track down his grandson, finding him atop the highest tower of the Citadel. It appeared that he had cried himself out, and was standing, puffy eyed and somber at the battlements. He was full grown now, fairly tall with a lean frame.

"Alright, Daran," He said to the younger man harshly. "Get away from there."

"Grandfather?"

"I said get away from there." He certainly wasn't going to take any chances with him. A sudden upsurge of despair could very well push him into doing something foolish. Belgarath would have time for his own grief later, for the moment he had to concentrate on the boy's.

"What are we going to do, Grandfather?" He wept.

"We are going to go on, Daran. It's what we always do. Now, tell me what happened."

"Mother's been catching cold every winter for several years now. Aunt Pol told us it weakened her lungs. This past winter it was much worse. She started coughing up blood so father sent for Aunt Pol. There was nothing she could do though, she tried everything, but mother was just too weak. Why weren't you here, Grandfather? You could have done something."

"I'm not a physician, Daran. Your aunt knows far more about that than I do. If she couldn't save your mother, I certainly couldn't. Does your father have a Prime Minister, someone that takes care of things when he is busy?"

"You mean Brand? He's the Rivan Warder. Father depends on him to handle the administration."

"We'd better go talk to him then. You are going to have to take over here until your father recovers from this."

"Me, why me?"

"You're the Crown Prince, Daran, that's why. It's your responsibility. Your father's incapacitated right now, that drops everything in your lap."

"I don't think that's very fair. I feel just as bad about this as father does."

"Not quite. At least you can still think. He can't. We'll help you through it and Brand should know what has to be done."

"Father will get better, won't he?"

"We can hope so. It might take him a while. It took me twelve years after your grandmother died."

"Nobody is going to pay attention to me, Grandfather. I don't even have a full beard yet."

"You're twenty years old Daran, its time you grew up. Now, let's go talk with Brand." He realized that that may have come out a bit more harsh than necessary but someone on the island had to be able to function properly. Riva quite obviously couldn't. The Orb absolutely had to be protected, and if word of Riva's state got back to Ctuchik, well, he didn't really want to think of the possibilities.

Brand was one of those solid, dependable men that the world needs more of. He understood the situation long before Belgarath even brought it up. He was also unusually perceptive for an Alorn, so he was able to see not only what the old sorcerer told him but also what he couldn't tell him in front of Daran. There was a distinct possibility that Riva would never recover and Daran would have to serve as regent until his father died. They were going to bury the younger man in details to the point where his grief wouldn't incapacitate him as well.

During this meeting, Belgarath was surprised to learn that Belhaldar had arrived three days before he did but had only woken up the day before after collapsing on the deck of a Cherek war boat after flying the entire expanse of the Great Western Sea, proving, without a doubt, that the man was completely insane. Incidentally, it was the very same ship that Bralon, Cherek Bear-Shoulders' only son by his second wife, was receiving some of his training. In other words, he was manning an ore while some psychotic sailor beat the crew members into rowing faster.

After leaving the two other men talking, Belgarath stalked down the stairwell that led to the baths within the bowels of the citadel with little more than anguish in his heart. He had no doubt that Belhaldar felt the same pain but for the time being they could not spare the time to wallow in their grief, there would be time enough for that later. The most important matter at hand right now was insuring that the Orb would be protected and that Daran would get all the help he could get.

Stepping out into the cellar that housed the bathes, Belgarath looked around and spotted only one occupant in the enormous bath that he once heard his youngest 'brother' refer to as a swimming pool. Belgarath wasn't exactly inclined to personal hygiene but even he enjoyed a long soak when he was on the island. One side was kept at about room temperature while the other was heated by fires in a chamber below that were tended to at all hours of the day. On an island that had a perpetual chill in the air during the summers and well below freezing during the winters, a soak in hot water felt good every once in a while.

Shaking off these ridiculous thoughts, given the situation, he made his way over to Belhaldar where he lay floating on the water's surface with his arms draped over the side, to give him some support, and his head leaned back with his eyes closed.

Though it had been only five years since he had last seen the man as he stopped by the Vale on his way back to Mallorea after spending some time visiting Beldaran, there were some drastic differences in his appearance. Although he must be around forty years old by now, it would seem he stopped aging, physically at any rate, at around thirty. He was still a bit under six foot tall and still covered in lean muscle, built for speed and leverage rather than pure power, but there was one difference that stood out in sharp contrast to the young man he remembered. And that was the tattoos that now adorned his arms.

Both of his arms, from the wrist to the shoulder were nearly completely covered in dark blue and black ink to the point where it looked almost as if he were wearing sleeves that were stitched into the most complicated pattern he had ever seen. The different designs and runes were weaved together flawlessly and could almost be mistaken for a work of art. He had seen many of these designs before, even faked them numerous times, but he had never seen such a complete work. Under normal circumstances the individuals would have them spaced out over various parts of their bodies, including their faces as part of the religious observation of the Morindim here in the west and the Karands in Mallorea, demon worshipers. Their magicians would draw such runes on the ground and use incantations to summon the demons for just about any purpose they choose and it often results in the magician's death when they lose control of the beast and it turns on them.

Belgarath himself had become an apprentice to an old magician to learn the art many years before and while he is capable of using it, it had never come easy to him. An apprenticeship to a magician was basically entering into slavery. You would become your master's slave until he saw fit to release you or he died. In Belgarath's case, when his 'master' had summoned a demon he caused the creature to break free, turning it against the one that summoned it. A very effective way of ending such an apprenticeship. But judging by his tattoos, it was clear to him that Belhaldar took the art much more seriously than he ever did.

In point of fact, unlike Belgarath, he never felt the need to enter into such an agreement to learn the skill. Harry merely found a magician, knocked him unconscious and ransacked his mind for all pertinent information. Although he felt that he knew enough about the summoning of demons, he would still use this technique on any skilled magicians he came across. He wasn't arrogant enough to believe that he knew everything worth knowing. Besides which, he may have gained the knowledge, but he seriously lacked the experience when handling such creatures.

"I see you have delved rather deep into your studies the last few years!" Belgarath stated for lack of anything else to say. "But I must ask why you have marred your body in such a way when it is just as easy to fake the symbols when you need them rather then carry them around with you always."

"Because, Belgarath, if you had paid closer attention you would know that the magicians use these tattoos for more than just identification and a focus for their concentration." Without any warning every last inch of tattooed skin erupted into blue flame and crackled merrily before being snuffed out just as fast as it began. To any outside observer, Belgarath would seem to have been oblivious to this fact as he was still staring at Harry's arms in shock. "There are several other interesting uses as well but I decided to get them simply because I liked the idea of being able to set my arms on fire." Belgarath just nodded silently, thinking that if he were still a young man, such an ability would likely have tempted him as well.

"You just recently arrived and considering the recent events, I'm fairly certain you did not come down here merely for my company nor to inquire into my study habits, so what is it that you want?" Harry asked, finally looking up into the old man's eyes. Belgarath was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a fashion and was prepared to chastise the younger man but held his tongue when he saw the raw pain in his eyes, pain that he knew reflected in his as well. They were obviously not related by blood but if someone even dared to tell Belhaldar or Beldaran that they were not family, they would certainly be in a great deal of trouble. It was one of the few things that could actually get Beldaran angry. He meant just as much to her as Polgara did.

"With Riva incapacitated as he is, Daran is going to have to rule as regent for the time being. For an Alorn, Brand has got a good head on his shoulders but I need someone I know I can trust to stay here to look after things until Daran is comfortable with his position. The last thing we need is for the Angaraks, or even the Tolnedrans, to take advantage of the situation. With your experience…"

"Forget it!"

"Excuse me!"

"I said, forget it, Belgarath! At the moment I am going through all the memories of Beldaran I have collected over the last twenty four years. Every move, every look and every word spoken, and burning them into my brain so that no matter how long I live, I'll never forget them. Right now, that is my only priority. Nothing short of Torak himself entering this fortress will spur me into any other action. Once that is complete, I have my own instructions from the Master to follow. I can not be tied down on this godforsaken rock for a few years while Daran learns how to be a king. Now I can help him for a few weeks, but in a month's time, I will be gone." Taking a few calming breaths, he laid his head back once more and just stared up at the ceiling and tried to lose himself in the hot water and steam that enveloped his body.

"You know, it's strange, really!" The younger man spoke up in an emotionless voice. "You arrived too late, and more than anything, you wish you could have arrived sooner, while I, on the other hand, arrived just in time and in an odd sort of way, I wish I had arrived a little bit later, or woken up a bit later."

"And why is that?" Belgarath asked a bit harshly causing Harry to look at him with a raised eyebrow. He looked at the older man before coming to a decision.

"Open your mind to me, and I will show you!" After a few moments thought he allowed the other man into his mind and felt the unwelcome sensation of a memory not his own being moved to the forefront of his mind.

Belgarath felt his feet pounding on the flagstone floors, he heard the echoes they caused throughout the corridor, he could smell the sweat pouring off of his exhausted body and his muscles cried out in anguish due to his long flight over the Great Western Sea. And above all, he felt the panicked mind of his younger 'brother'. With the skill that the memory had been implanted it was hard for him to remember that it came from another man's mind. He was certain that this was the memory of Beldaran's last moments and he was grateful to see it, anything to see his little girl alive once more, but he could certainly have done without the physical pain that the memory projected, though it did give him a new respect for the younger man that he was able to push it aside as he made his way to his destination.

It was not long before he came to a door he knew to be the royal bed chambers and it was almost amusing to see the soldiers standing guard scatter in an attempt to get out of his way before he literally crashed through the door and he could hear a resounding pop as a sharp pain spread throughout his shoulder as he staggered inside. He paid no heed to Polgara as she sat in a nearby chair crying or Riva who was doing the same as he held his wife's hand with their son standing behind him with tears streaming down his face. He was surprised to notice that it was his own consciousness, not Belhaldar's body, that winced as his body dropped to its knees and skidded a couple of feet before coming to rest beside the bed. Once again, he seemed to take no notice of the pain shooting through his legs.

Locked in their grief, no one seemed to notice his entrance except Beldaran who, despite her exhaustion and the pain she was in, greeted him with a tired smile. He couldn't suppress the sob that escaped him as he took in her weak appearance. Pale skin was common on the Isle of the Winds due to the almost perpetually overcast skies but her skin had taken on an almost chalk white appearance with dark circles around her eyes and a bluish tint to her lips. Her body was lightly trembling under her thick blankets and despite the pain she was obviously in, her eyes shined with happiness at having her friend by her side once again. That fact alone brought the young man to tears.

"I'm glad to have you both with me again!" She spoke up quietly as she looked him in the eyes and then at her sister. It was not but ten minutes later that she slipped into a coma before passing on a few hours later.

Belgarath blinked back the tears in his eyes before he realized that his mind was back in his own body and at some point he had slipped down to his knees in anguish.

"I think I would have been able to handle it better if I had not been there to see her slip away as she did. How she looked at both me and Polgara with a smile, as if dying was an acceptable price to pay to have the both of us with her at the same time again." Harry spoke up quietly after a few moments of silence. Looking up and seeing the confusion in the older man's eyes, he continued. "Polgara and I have never liked each other, and we had never made any secret of that fact, but when Beldaran was around we were at least civil to each other, for her sake. As it stands, the last time she saw the two of us together was for her wedding and that was well over twenty years ago. She never let on that it bothered her, at least not to me. But looking into her eyes last night I could tell that she was very disappointed that the two of us never worked out our differences."

"So are you planning to do it now, because it is something Beldaran would want?"

"No! Despite my desire to make Beldaran happy, I will not lower myself to the levels that would be necessary to accomplish that. You know very well that Polgara is way too stubborn to simply let it go. She has to be the one to come out on top, the one in the position of power, and that would mean that I would have to go to her to apologize, grovel even, for things that I had nothing to do with."

"You are not as innocent in this feud as you make it sound!" Belgarath stated sharply in an accusatory tone.

"I'm not saying that I am. However, just about everything Polgara has done, or tried to do to me, has been malicious in nature, seeking to cause me harm for no other reason then out of some petty grudge against you. You brought me to the Vale so, to her twisted form of logic, I was just as bad as you. On the other hand, everything I have done to her has either been out of self defense or with specific purposes in mind, such as her training. You know that as well as I do. Now, if you don't mind, I have other business to attend to." Without another word spoken, he closed his eyes again and began sifting through his memories once more.

XXX

"It's me, Pol, open up!" Belgarath spoke up as he knocked on his daughter's door.

"Go away."

"Open the door, Polgara. I need to talk to you."

"Get away from me, father." She snapped, causing the old sorcerer to shrug although there was no one there to see it.

"It's your door, Pol. If you don't open it right now, you'll have to have it replaced." Her face looked pretty ravaged when she finally got around to opening the door.

"What is it?"

"You haven't got time for this, Polgara. You can cry yourself out later, but right now I need you. Riva can't even think so I've made Daran regent. Someone is going to have to look after him and I've got something that absolutely has to be done."

"Why me, why not Belhaldar?"

"To be perfectly honest, he was my first choice. After all, he does have a great deal more experience in such matters but he refuses to do it. You got elected because you are the only one that can handle it. You are going to stay here and help Daran in any way you can. Don't let him sink into melancholia the way his father has. The Angaraks have eyes everywhere and if there is any sign of weakness here you can expect a visit from Ctuchik soon. Now, pull yourself together. Blow your nose and fix your face. Daran is with Brand right now. Once you've freshened up I'll take you to them and then I have to leave."

"You're not staying for the funeral?"

"No amount of ceremony is going to make the pain in my heart disappear, Pol. Now fix your face, you look awful." After showing Polgara to the small meeting room and getting her started, Belgarath quickly made his excuses and left. Instead of leaving the island immediately as he led everyone to believe he intended, he made his way into the mountains on the western side of the island and when he was sure he was alone he collapsed to the ground and cried like a broken hearted child.

XXX

Despite her standing as a queen, Beldaran's funeral was a simple affair, just as she would have wanted, with only family and close friends in attendance. Of course the other Alorn monarchs were included and they had been devastated that they had not arrived in time. Harry stood off to the side and observed as they tried to console their brother or son. From his out of the way location he scrutinized them intensely and for the first time he realized how old they truly were. When he had first met them as a teenager, they had seemed so strong and full of life and even the passing years did nothing to dispel that image when he had seen them during his infrequent trips back to the western continent. However, now he was forced to see things for what they truly were.

Seeing him now, he was greatly surprised that Cherek Bear-Shoulders had managed to live as long as he has. His large powerful body had lost a great deal of weight and on occasions looked rather frail while he needed help when it came to walking any considerable distance. It was quite clear to him that the last ruler of a fully unified Aloria did not have much time left. He had, after all, well surpassed the average life expectancy for this world.

Even Riva, youngest of the four kings was nearly sixty years old now. Even though Dras and Algar were both several years older then him, Harry had no doubt that they would both outlive their younger brother. While everyone hoped that the Rivan King would recover from the loss of his wife, Belhaldar believed that his melancholy would soon rob him of his life.

At the time, Harry believed that it would take an act from the gods to prevent him from attending his best friend's funeral but now, just like witnessing her last moments, he wished he had missed it. Although he had several days to mourn and get used to the idea, he had never taken part in a more emotionally draining experience. Although he considered Riva, his brothers and father, as well as his cousin Anrak, among his closest friends, he firmly decided that he would not attend their eventual funerals.

At first he believed that the possibility of living for hundreds, if not thousands, of years was an exciting prospect, after all, he could see the world reshape itself as it moves throughout the endless progression of centuries. But he was quickly realizing that the down sides seemed to outweigh the good. The idea of watching all those he cared about grow old and die while he remained the same was not a welcome thought. He was only forty years on in a life that could well span several millennia, and he was already beginning to feel considerably weary.

XXX

Just as he had told Belgarath, Harry stayed on the island for roughly one month before leaving once again. Thankfully, Daren had a good head on his shoulders and while he may not have had any experience with matters such as ruling a kingdom, he was intelligent enough to seek help or just general advice when it was needed.

While Harry, Polgara and Brand had intended to stick with a beneficial, if not somewhat complicated, platform for molding Garan's skills, their lessons quickly simplified themselves as each 'instructor' took control of the aspect that they were most comfortable with.

While Brand focused mainly on teaching the boy the ins and outs of governing a small island nation, Polgara took it upon herself to further his education, after all, being ignorant made you that much easier to manipulate for the simple reason that you don't have the knowledge to avoid such situations. While not with Daran, Polgara was ransacking just about every collection of books within a reasonable distance for any medical knowledge. She both prayed for, and dreaded, finding anything that could have saved her sister's life. While she had taken an instant fascination with healing while Beldaran had been pregnant, it had now become an obsession. While she had managed to stave off the madness that many had feared would consume her upon Beldaran's death, both Harry and Belgarath felt that if she actually found some medicine or healing technique that would have worked, she would lose her mind completely.

Harry worked with him on his fighting skills and international politics. Though he didn't have much experience with the other western nations, with Brand's help he was able to give the young man a solid grounding in what to expect in the years to come. This was certainly the most important aspect of his current studies. While he didn't have much of anything to fear from the other Alorn nations and the Arends viewed political intrigue as dishonorable, that still left the Tolnedrans and Nyissans.

The Nyissns had a predominately isolationist view on foreign policy but on the rare occasion that he would have to deal with an ambassador from Salmissera the possibility of poisoning or being drugged into compliance with their wishes was the most pressing danger. The mentality of the followers of Issa closely resembled that of the serpents that they revered. Deception and a sly nature were characteristics that were cultivated and assassination was viewed as an acceptable method of advancing yourself.

The Tolnedran's, however, would be the biggest hurdle to overcome for the new regent of the Rivan thrown. Once news of Riva's condition reached Tol Honeth, the emperor would immediately dispatch a small army of ambassadors to the island nation to negotiate one treaty after another with many hidden clauses that would gain them more power over the region. With a young, inexperienced ruler who was still morning the loss of his mother, they would obviously hope to take advantage of the situation and breeze through any negotiations. This was what they had to prevent. While technically, Tolnedra was an ally, they had a nasty habit of trying to enforce their will upon others, whether it be financially, politically or militarily.

At the moment, only Alorn merchants were permitted to do business within the walls of the citadel, any others were regulated to the wharfs outside the main gates. Despite the harsh conditions that regularly assaulted the island, Arendish and even the odd Nyssian merchant had little complaint with this arrangement due to the high volume of traffic seen in the harbor, bringing the new arrivals straight passed their positions before entering the city. For the Tolnedrans, however, it was unacceptable, though they didn't stress it to much verbally. For a society based on financial gain and political position, being denied a more prominent location within the city was insulting to their sensibilities. The fact that this arrangement was meant to be a form of protection for the Orb didn't matter to them.

When he decided that it was time for him to leave, Harry didn't bother telling anyone. He didn't inform Polgara or Brand, didn't check on Riva or even wish his 'nephew' good luck. He simply transformed and flew off into the night. Daran had been quite skilled with a sword before hand and he had crammed as much politics into his head as the boy could handle. His job was done and there was no reason to stick around any longer and he had no intention of returning until well after both Riva and Anrak were dead. Seeing Beldaran die the way she did created a deep resolve in him to avoid such experiences with those he cared about in the future.

Once he reached the city of Camaar, he bought a good horse and began his journey, first making his way to the northern shore of Arendia before crisscrossing the country east to west, from the shores of the Sea of the Winds to the borders of the Mountains of Ulgo in the west, slowly making his way south. What he found in the early goings of this 'journey for knowledge', as his master had called it, was that his feelings concerning the Arends was woefully inadequate.

Originally, he had disliked the race because of the apparent lack of commonsense, now he had a much better reason. The Arendish nobility had a regular practice of serfdom, something he had not encountered before, even in Mallorea. He had certainly been aware of slavery, yes, but in his mind this was far worse. A slave was well aware of his lot in life with no illusions contradicting his reality. A serf, however, is nothing more than a slave that is left with the illusion of their freedom. They are bound to serve whatever noble owns the lands that they work and it is up to that noble how much, if any, of the food they raise goes to feeding themselves and their children. If they do not work hard enough to turn the desired profit or if their Lord simply grows weary of them, they are banished from their lands and new serfs are brought in to fill the void.

While it is true that some serfs are treated quite well by their lords, such as plenty of food and good working and living conditions, this was by no means the norm. Most, no matter how hard they work or how much loyalty they show, will live their entire lives in complete squalor. He passed through a few serf villages which were nothing more than small shacks or tents arrayed along a crude dirt road. Most went hungry for most of the week while others forced themselves to find ways to eat grass and tree bark. The noblemen and landowners took no notice of their plight, it was simply the way of the world to them. By the time his steady journey south brought him to the northern edge of the Great Arendish Forest, twenty leagues south of Camaar, some three years after he left Riva, there was rarely a day that was not nearly consumed by anger. He wanted nothing more than to blast away most of the country and let the people start from scratch but unfortunately his master would not allow him to interfere. He was there to observe and learn not to start a crusade that would surely fail.

With the exceptions of the two major cities of Vo Wacune and Vo Astur as well as a few small settlements, the forest was primarily a haven for criminals and runaway serfs. People that had no real way to make a living and very little to loose. It took only three attacks by bandits before he abandoned his horse, taking only his most personal possessions, and continued his journey in flight. He spent the past three years filled with utter contempt for the Arends, an emotion he nearly cultivated as a means of staying out of a depression over the loss of Beldaran, and he wanted nothing more than to get this part of his journey over with.

While peasants were looked down upon by those in power in all corners of the world, Arends seemed to take it to extremes, as they apparently do with everything else. It was no wonder the country was in a constant state of civil war when stupidity was clearly at the core of their very being. They were quick to anger, waged blood feuds at the slightest hint of offence, real or imagined, and most annoyingly, in Harry's opinion, loved to romanticize every aspect of war. Any other soldier, the world over, would tell you with certainly that there is nothing romantic about a battlefield but the Arends, primarily knights and career soldiers, didn't see it that way. They looked at war as if it were a contest, a game to be played and ultimately won by the most skilled of the combatants. To them it was all about courage and nobility. The serfs were thrown into battle by their lords first to save the knights for a more glorious charge. If they were all slaughtered, who cares, they served their purpose and they could always find others to work their land for them. The whole society disgusted him.

His first major stop was Vo Wacune and like he had been told, it looked much like a city out of a fairy tale. Surrounded by the Arendish Forest the immaculate lanes of stately buildings of marble and gold gilded gates seemed almost surreal. There were numerous statues and fountains that were obviously painstakingly crafted by masters. In the back of his mind he was reminded of a memory from long ago, a description of a place called Rivendell from some story but he could not recall the details. In fact, the only unsightly blemish he could find was the presence of the Wacite Arends themselves.

He spent four days in an inn on the edge of the city as he took in the sights with as little human interaction as possible and it did absolutely nothing to change his opinion of the race in general. They all had the same lack of common sense as any other he had come across before and the almost heavenly music that was being played or sung almost constantly lost a great deal of its splendor when seeing some idiotic knight in rather primitive plate armor kneeling in the street as he spouted out the most horrendous poetry he had ever heard to giggling ladies that watched from an overhead balcony. It was an answer to his silent prayers when a small contingent of the Grand Duke's soldiers marched into the inn inquiring about his room number. It was mere moments after he heard the question from the back stairwell that he had all his belonging gathered and he flew out the window in a southerly direction.

He had no idea what the Duke wanted of him but he didn't care. It could have been the reputation he had as a 'rogue' for his various relationships or it could have been something as innocent as being expected to pay a courtesy visit to the palace. Someone chosen as a Disciple of Aldur held at least some standing in the eyes of most of the western kingdoms so it was not outside the bounds of reality that this duke would expect him to make a social visit of it. Whatever the reason, he didn't care. He had no intention of being subjected to his 'hospitality' whether it was among his court or in his dungeons. In fact he was more inclined to kill the man rather than speak to him. He had been on the move for two days when he received an unexpected visitor.

Shortly after drifting off to sleep he inexplicably found himself in his master's tower. He had spoken to Aldur many times since first arriving in this world but it had been many years since he had called him to this tower, where he had always felt at peace. That could only mean that whatever he had to speak to him about was weighing heavily on his mind.

"My Lord." Harry greeted respectfully as he took the seat directly across from his master. As the god looked up into his eyes, he had to suppress a groan at the conflicting emotions he saw. This was not good at all. "Alright, since whatever brought you into my head this evening is obviously a pretty weighty matter, lets just go ahead and skip the usual 'catch-up' and get right to it." Despite the nature of his visit, Aldur couldn't help but smile at his youngest disciple. He had never encountered a being who would speak in such a way to a god before and Belhaldar did so on a regular basis. His blunt and informal manner was quite refreshing in a way, it almost allowed him to forget about the heavy burdens he had to carry for a short while.

His encounter with Torak was as amusing as it was worrisome. That a mere mortal would treat him in such a manner certainly enraged his brother. Thinking along this line brought up the thought of Belhaldar's behavior when he inevitably had to meet UL. It took a great deal of inner strength to hide his mirth at that particular thought. While his father surely knew a great deal about the young man, he had never had occasion to interact with him before. It was certain to be an enlightening experience, especially considering there was sure to be a horde of Ulgos present as well and they were nothing if not fanatical about their religious obligations. They may very well take his words and actions as a vicious insult. All in all, Aldur was sure that that would shape up to be a very interesting visit. Unfortunately, now was not the time for such thoughts.

"My Son, I can but hope that thou shall forgive me for guiding thou towards thine intended course. It is known to many that the Universe chooses her instruments from among those capable of carrying out the tasks which she has set for them, most notably are thy new found brothers." Harrys simply nodded in understanding and a little relief. He had wondered for years now exactly what was expected of him considering the tasks that had been set for his brothers. The twins for example, were their primary researchers, studying all available information that was brought to them.

Beldin was their eyes and ears, in Mallorea, even more so than Harry. His deformities had the useful effect of making people believe he was feeble minded as well, a belief he built upon by acting the part. As a result he could move about gathering information and while people would certainly notice him, they wouldn't think him a threat. And Belgarath was obviously the leader of their little group. His primary focus was the western continent, setting events in motion that may not bare fruit for centuries to come as well as keeping the Alorns on a short leash. The last thing they needed was for the Alorns to get excited and launch an all out war at the wrong time. Though he didn't like her one bit, Harry was kind of interested to see what chore got dropped into Polgara's lap. Figuring that he had waited long enough, Aldur began to explain.

Four days later, Harry, as a hawk, sat atop the walls of Vo Astur, seat of power of the Grand Duke of the Asturians. For the last few days he had kept watch on the various guards, memorizing their patterns and habits. During this time, he had found that while Vo Astur was a great deal more rustic than the immaculate Vo Wacune and the citizens did not speak as formally, they still had that annoying stupidity and glorious image of warfare that every other Arend possessed. Also, unlike their Wacite cousins, the Asturians were not particularly fond of the notion of knights in full plate armor, preferring instead to focus on archery. Despite his rapidly growing contempt for anything associated with the country, Harry had to admit that they were probably the finest archers he had ever seen. While he had tried his hand with the weapon, he found that he wasn't particularly comfortable with it.

Sensing a presence approaching behind him, Harry gathered his will and he slowly faded from view before transforming back to human form. Mere moments later, Lorin, Duke of Astur, stepped out onto the battlements with his guards spreading out behind him, casting their eyes in every possible direction. Lightly hopping off of the wall, Harry silently approached, weaving passed the watching soldiers. Not long after he first emerged atop the wall, guards in various other positions turned to salute their duke and that was when Harry made his move.

For a well kept man of about thirty five, the aristocrat wasn't particularly nimble or light on his feet. It just took a moderately firm shove to send him over the edge to fall the sixty feet to the ground where he landed with a muffled thump. Much to Harry's surprise, despite the shock he was probably feeling about his impending death, the man didn't make a sound throughout the whole ordeal, which would certainly go a long way in convincing those soldiers and citizens looking on from various points that the man had simply committed suicide. While he didn't much like Arends and wouldn't feel bad if they were killed, Harry didn't really want the Duke's personal guard to be accused of, and executed for, a crime that he committed. As things stood, there were numerous witnesses that could attest that the guards had nothing to do with the man's fall, so his conscious was clear. However, if the simple minded fools insist on being executed for failing in their duties to protect their charge, even from himself, to compensate for their wounded sense of honor, that was their own damn business and, once again, Harry's conscious was clear.

As he winged his way through the trees, leaving Vo Astur far behind him, Harry was surprised at how detached he felt concerning his actions. Sure, he had killed countless Grolims and various other Malloreans that got in his way, but this was the first time he had deliberately killed someone that was supposed to be an ally in the fight against Torak.

While the various factions within Arendia despised each other greatly and almost constantly worked to destroy each other, Lorin hated the Wacites even more than he hated the Mimbrates and intended to try to forge an alliance with the Duke of Vo Mimbre in an effort to crush the Wacites once and for all. While in the future such an effort would be necessary to bring Arendia under one ruler, now was not that time. The Wacites still had much to offer. What, Harry didn't know or even care. In his opinion, the Arends had nothing to offer the world around them.

Whatever the reason, Chaldan seemed to understand the problems that currently plagued his people and approached Aldur to seek a solution to the current problem. Apparently he didn't want to have to kill one of his leaders nor did he feel comfortable delegating the job to an Arend so low and behold he came up with the brilliant idea to ask his oldest brother to loan him Belhaldar's services to resolve the matter. Apparently, the idea of talking to the fool of a duke himself and setting him straight never occurred to the god.

Sadly, Harry seemed to be this Strength of the Gods that Belgarath was talking about in that stupid prophecy. According to Aldur, he would be cursed to be stuck with just about every dirty job that the gods either didn't feel like doing themselves or didn't trust their own people to handle for them. While the thought was kind of flattering in a strange sense, he was also aware that it was probably going to cause him no end of headaches.

Those headaches began sooner than he imagined. As he road out of the southern reaches of the Arendish forest on a horse he had stolen from a sleeping bandit, he was confronted with a contingent of Mimbrate Knights that had apparently been sent out to offer him the hospitality of the Duke of Mimbre. The twelve men were, like the Wacites, adorned with primitive suits of plate armor, even going to far as to armor their horses. While the breeding of horses in the last few decades has produced better results, they were still rather small and the weight of all that armor plus the Knight mounted on their backs made the exhausted animals look rather pathetic. The riders didn't seem to notice as they sat in their saddles trying to look as impressive as possible, one hand clutching the reins that also held their shield and the other holding long lances. Harry thought that they looked rather ridiculous.

Harry growled silently to himself in annoyance. Personal interaction with the Mimbrates was something he was hoping to avoid but neither did he want to kill these knights or make a run for it. Blowing them off would certainly be seen as a slight against their duke and that could prove to cause a great many problems later on. At some point, he would certainly have to work with Mimbrates and Arends of any kind can hold a grudge for centuries. Dealing with an Arend that felt that you showed them dishonor was more irritating than when they were in a good mood.

"Lord Belhaldar," The lead knight saluted. "I trust thine journey through the treacherous forest has left you unmolested?"

With a heavy mental sigh, and taking great care to hide his true feelings about them, Harry fell in alongside them and began the journey towards Vo Mimbre. The Mimbrates, unlike their northern cousins, cut back the vast expanse of the Arendish Forest in the southern reaches of Arendia simply because mounted knights needed open land to operate more effectively. Surprisingly astute for the near brain dead race.

Shortly before their prized city came into view, their party stopped and Harry was informed that the Duke himself was awaiting them so he might want to change into something more 'appropriate'. In truth, he didn't really care what any Arend thought about him or how he was dressed but neither did he feel like arguing the point any. Grunting in agreement, Harry slid out of his saddle and retrieved a shrunken trunk from his pocket where he kept his more formal clothing. In this case, it was simply his long scarlet red and gold stitched sleeveless tunic that went over his chain mail shirt. The tunic reached down to just passed his knees and both its materials and the elaborate design of some unknown bird surrounded by flame on his chest, spoke of great wealth while the chain mail armor, the well crafted sword belted around his waist and Harry's overall demeanor gave the impression of a capable warrior. This image would certainly be more than enough to force the Duke of Vo Mimbre to take him seriously as both a fellow noble and knight as opposed to Belgarath who seemed to delight in projecting the belief to all those around him that he is nothing more than a shiftless vagabond. Truthfully, it was an image that wasn't far from reality.

Harry had to stifle a snort when they crested the final hill on their journey and the knights gave a collective sigh of pride as they gazed at the city on the banks of the River Arend. He swore he even saw tears in the eyes of some. Shaking his head, Harry looked down at what the Mimbrates hailed as the Golden walls of Mimbre. While from a distance, and in the bright sunlight of mid-afternoon, one could draw such a comparison, but as you got closer, the dull yellow of the stone used became clear and Harry found it sad that they found it so beautiful, even when they were looking at it up close. Gazing at it for too long actually made his stomach turn.

Though he probably would not have used such an unsightly stone to build such a city, he had to admit that it was formidable nonetheless. The Asturians and the Wacites would certainly need a great deal of support from other western kingdoms if they hoped to overrun the city and defeat the Mimbrates entirely unless, of course, the Mimbrates got stupid. Well, stupider, anyway. He didn't think even an Arend could be brain dead enough to lose that fortress to other equally stupid Arends.

After finding an escort of knights waiting for him at the edge of the forest, Harry hadn't bothered holding out hope that he could enter the city quietly but he was still very surprised at the size of the reception waiting for him. It seemed that a large portion of the Mimbrate nobility had journeyed to their capital for the event. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he simply road through the gates and into the courtyard trying to look as imposing as possible.

XXX

With tears streaming down her face, Hermione Granger ran through the trees that lay to the east of the Spanish villa that her parents had rented for their holiday vacation. She did all that she could to ignore the burning pain that shot through the right side of her abdomen with each pounding step, the result of a large shard of glass from a broken window. She had never been particularly good at stealth, and the darkened woods didn't leave her much opportunity to be choosy about where she placed her feet so the resulting noise merely gave her added incentive to keep moving as fast as she could, occasionally flinching and ducking in panic when the light of a spell came too close. For the first time since she met him, she actually began cursing Harry's name. He should be here helping her, protecting her, like he always had.

It had been roughly two and a half weeks now since Harry's disappearance and she had been hoping that this holiday would give her ample opportunity to distract her mind with other pursuits. That had actually worked to some degree for the first two days but everything had come crashing down shortly after her father had left to have a look at some of the local casinos. The Death Eaters arrived around nine o'clock and attacked without warning. Her mother was killed almost instantly, causing Hermione to panic, sending her into fight or flight mode. At first she tried fighting before her more rational mind reasserted itself. She knew she couldn't possibly hope to defeat nine Death Eaters on her own so she quickly jumped through the nearest window and began running as fast as she could.

She didn't know how long she had been moving, seconds, minutes, hours, it all blurred into one big nightmare that she desperately tried to wake from. She had absolutely no time to react as she caught the movement of a dark figure out of the corner of her eye before she felt a firm hand clasp tightly over her mouth just a microsecond before an arm snaked around the torso, pinning her arms to her side. In no time at all, she was dragged down to the ground in a single rough movement. She frantically tried to free herself but she found her legs firmly pressed to the ground by that of her attacker, leaving her with absolutely no room for movement.

"Hold still you stupid girl!" A familiar, and surprisingly welcome, voice commanded quietly into her right ear. "Now, don't move and be silent, do you understand?" Hermione gave a barely noticeable nod before Severus Snape released his hold before slowly standing and repositioning himself against the tree he had been hiding behind as the girl ran past. With the sounds of quick footsteps steadily getting louder, Hermione looked up just it time to see the potions master step into the path of the Death Eaters and lash out with his right hand. Instead of firing off any number of spells that would have been useful in such a situation, she was slightly sicken to see the small curved blade that he held slice into the lead Death Eater's neck. Forgoing conventional weapons after his first kill, Snape simply grabbed the second, and final, wizard in a headlock as he looked down at his fallen comrade in shock as he twitched upon the ground. With a deft jerk, an audible crunching sound seemed to echo off the trees as his head was twisted into a very unnatural angle.

A hour later, the Order of the Phoenix gathered at Number 12 Grimmauld Place to discuss the supreme disaster that had been brought about that night. Dumbeldore sat at the head of the table and looked out over the members of the Order with a sad and weary look in his eye. It seemed that Voldemort got tired of the press finding out on their own so he had some of his supporters within the Ministry contact that The Daily Prophet about Harry's disappearance, and presumed death. The article hit the news that very morning and the result was rather predictable. Nearly complete chaos.

Despite the situation, at times Dumbledore had a hard time hiding his amusement at the irony. Just a couple short weeks ago, the wizards and witches of Great Britain were taking shots at Harry from every conceivable angle. Whether doubting his sanity or even questioning whether or not it was actually Harry himself who had killed Cedric Diggory. Now, well, now that they know that Voldemort had indeed returned Harry is back to being a hero, and the Chosen One, as the press had labeled him after the Department of Mysteries fiasco, the general populace expected him to continue playing that role. It wasn't the Ministry and its Aurors or Dumbledore and the Order that they expected to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters, no, they seemed to expect Harry to do it single handed so that they and their loved ones could all remain safely hidden away and out of the line of fire.

But with news of his disappearance came near panic. There had been a near riot at the Ministry as hundreds of wizards and witches had shown up looking for answers and demanding that Harry Potter be found. Despite what an outside observer with no prior knowledge of wizarding Britain might come to assume from this turnout, Dumbledore knew perfectly well that it wasn't out of any concern for Harry's wellbeing, not entirely anyway. After all, they had shown a clear and complete disregard for that many times in the past, but rather their society's deep seeded need to push someone else to the forefront, often against their wishes, and hang all of their hopes on him or her. Dumbledore had been there himself in the past and it was only through an act of providence that he didn't bungle the whole thing with Grindlewald. Though he did have his pride, he was not above admitting that his old childhood friend had been a more powerful wizard. His ability to keep up with his adversaries was tested to the limits again with Voldemort's first rise.

This time it was certainly different. He wasn't the one the people were looking to for leadership, and, he admitted to himself, he preferred it that way. Now, they wanted to push a sixteen year old wizard to the forefront of their war, only he wasn't there to accept the charge. There solution? Find him and bring him back to do it. While he knew that Harry was destined to either kill Voldemort or be killed by him, he also knew that if the wizards and witches of Great Britain would actually fight the Death Eaters when they appeared instead of running away, Voldemort would be finished in no time. No matter how many rituals he has performed in his life, no living thing could withstand the combined spell power dozens or even hundreds of wizards. He would be dead without Harry present to deliver the killing blow. Unfortunately he was well aware that that would never happen, at least not in his lifetime. In a society that has literally been hiding from the rest of humanity for centuries, it was perfectly easy for them to justify hiding from other wizards as well.

Albus was pulled out of his thoughts as a teary eyed Molly Weasley entered the kitchen and closed the door behind her. She had no doubt just informed Ms. Granger that they had found her father. Unfortunately, the Death Eaters found him first. He and four other muggles were hit with the killing curse as they exited the casino they had been visiting.

"How is she?" He asked quietly.

"HOW DO YOU THINK SHE IS?" Mrs. Weasley snapped angrily before taking a deep breath to calm herself. "I'm sorry, Albus, that was uncalled for." She apologized.

"Quite understandable, Molly, given the circumstances." Dumbledore responded sadly before looking around once again. "I think it would be prudent to begin, I'll update Alastor and Kingsley of anything they miss when they arrive. Severus, will you please begin?" Snape nodded stiffly and glared at the majority of those present. After he effectively revealed himself as a spy trying to save Potter it was amazing how many within the Order believed that his usefulness to the organization was at an end and that he should be expelled. He didn't particularly care one way or the other but he made a vow to both Dumbledore and Lily Potter, his first and perhaps only real friend, that he would do all he could to protect her son and he intended to see that vow completed even if he had to work with people he despised. People who convinced themselves that they were making a difference by doing absolutely nothing but sitting around and talking.

"As you are all no doubt aware, I was dispatched to France to retrieve Granger and her family. When I arrived Mrs. Granger was already dead, her husband was not on scene and two Death Eaters began pursuing their daughter into the forest bordering their villa. I got ahead of them and eliminated the threat before bringing the girl here. The French Aurors found her father dead about half an hour later." The potions master explained simply before going quiet again.

"Eliminated the threat? You mean you killed them?" Dedalus Diggle demanded, outraged.

"If you people want your enemies both alive and free, you should have sent someone else. You may wish to continue making the same mistakes that lead to nothing but disaster but I will not give a Death Eater the opportunity to buy back his freedom from a corrupt Ministry or simply allow the Dark Lord opportunity to break them out of Azkaban once again. Only a dead Death Eater is no longer dangerous."

"That brings us to our next order of business." Dumbledore broke in, not wanting yet another argument about the morality of killing your enemies. Both Severus and Alastor were in the belief that using lethal force was not only understandable, but recommended when dealing with the Death Eaters. Dumbledore, himself, knew that such force was sometimes unavoidable but should only be used as a last resort. The rest of the Order, however, believed that killing would make them no different than the Death Eaters themselves. This issue often led to serious contention among their group.

"Voldemort, of course, used the panic created by the news of Harry's disappearance to take advantage of the Aurors security work at the Ministry to launch another assault on Azkaban. Nymphadora, will you please give us your report?" Even before he finished the question, he had to quickly duck a rather painful looking spell that was cast by the young woman. He looked at the enraged Auror in surprise.

"I have asked you repeatedly not to use that bloody name." She spat out without lowering her wand. "This is your final warning. At least show me enough respect to follow that very simple request." Dumbledore nodded stupidly as everyone else was looking at Tonks in shock. After a few moments to get herself under control, she sat back down.

"The Dark Lord and most of his Death Eaters stormed Azkaban with very little resistance about an hour and a half ago. The few Dementors that were still present on the island simply let them pass unheeded and the twenty seven Aurors and guards were all killed. They fought hard but were eventually over run with superior numbers. After clearing out any resistance, the Death Eaters broke into three main groups. The first, led by the Dark Lord himself, assaulted the wards on the maximum security wing to retrieve his captured Death Eaters. The second, led by Amycus Carrow, would attempt to recruit more from the inmates in medium security. Any who refused to take the Mark was killed immediately.

"The third group, a small four man team, led by Augustus Rookwood, had only one goal. They were to reacquire Bellatrix Lestrange from minimum security."

"I KNEW IT!" Sturgis Podmore shouted. "It was all nothing more than a set up to keep us pointed in the wrong direction. I knew she would never turn on her master."

"WELL YOU'RE WRONG, YOU FOOL!" Hestia Jones took a moment to calm down before continuing. "When we showed up with over a hundred Aurors and Unspeakables, the Dark Lord ordered a withdrawal, thinking that everything went according to plan. With the wards down they managed to portkey away without losing anyone else. A quick sweep of the prison confirmed that everyone in both medium and maximum security were either taken or killed. Most of those in minimum security were also killed along with the two guards that were stationed permanently outside of Lestrange's cell. The four Death Eaters sent to collect her were also dead when we arrived and Bellatrix was sitting calmly in her cell as if nothing had happened. The prisoners further down the block from her also seemed to be alright.

"A review of the surveillance spells in place confirmed that Rookwood led his team into the block and quickly killed the two guards before killing each of the prisoners on his way to Lestrange. Once they reached her, she seemed to cooperate, showing no aggression but once Rookwood sent two of the others to kill the rest, she easily overpowered him and took his wand. After that it was only a matter of five or six seconds before all four Death Eaters were dead. She then dropped the wand on the floor, calmly walked back into her cell and closed the door behind her. As when she turned herself in, she was questioned under Veritaserum and we found no evidence of deception on her part." Just as she finished, Kingsley Shacklebolt stormed into the kitchen, looking a little sick to his stomach.

"Kingsley…"

"Albus, I think we should talk in private." Nodding his agreement, Dumbledore felt dread in the pit of his stomach. Anything that could affect the unflappable Auror in such a way was certainly not good news. Everyone else at the table seemed to have the same thoughts. "It would also probably be best if Snape were to join us." As the three men walked out of the room, whispered conversations started up all along the table as everyone put forth one theory after another over what else had gone wrong.

"Alright, Kingsley, what is the matter?" Dumbledore asked after putting up numerous privacy wards around the sitting room.

"Alastor is dead." He said simply, causing both Dumbledore and Snape to stare at him in shock.

"What?" Albus managed to choke out.

"I sent him a message just after I received word that Madam Bones' residence was under attack. Myself and several others got there in time to repel the attack after her bodyguards were injured. Moody never showed up and wouldn't answer any of my messages. After securing Amelia, I went to Moody's home and found him dead. Whoever did that to him was an animal, Albus. I've never seen anything like it. Here." Thrusting a small packet into Snape's hands, Kingsley began pacing around the room, trying to settle his stomach.

"What is it?" The potions master asked as he pulled out several photos.

"Photographs of the attacker. They were copied out of the muggle security system Alastor had wired into his home. We were hoping you could tell us who it is." Snape began shuffling through the pictures with Dumbledore looking over his shoulder. Most of them didn't give a good view but one had a straight view of the man's face. Dumbledore gasped quietly while Snape paled.

"It's Charles Rosier." Both Snape and Dumbledore announced at once.

"Any relation to Evan Rosier?"

"Yes, he's Evan's father." Dumbledore said quietly as Snape sank into a nearby armchair, lost in his own thoughts. While Kingsley wasn't quite old enough to have been and Auror in the first war, there were many Death Eaters whose crimes were studied at the Auror Academy. To teach the new Aurors how different people with different personalities are motivated to perform various crimes. It was thought that knowing how criminals think gave them an advantage when trying to capture them. A strategy that had been a fixture in muggle law enforcement for a very long time but it was only in the last fifteen years or so that the Ministry decided that the benefits outweighed the distaste of using methods designed by muggles.

One of their case studies was on Evan Rosier. While he wasn't the most powerful or most intelligent wizard around, he more than made up for those shortcomings with sheer brutality and a complete disregard for his own safety. He simply didn't care whether he lived or died and as such he never once hesitated, snatching victory out of the most overwhelming odds. It scared the hell out of many Aurors during the first war to see some lunatic charge their positions by himself, much like a Viking berserker from centuries ago. If this Charles Rosier was anything like his son, he was surely a very dangerous man even if you didn't take what he had done to Moody into account.

"Exactly how dangerous is this man, how would he compare to Evan Rosier?"

"He doesn't compare." Snape scoffed. "He is many times worse than his son ever could have hoped to be."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "Charles and Voldemort were close companions during their time at Hogwarts and remained together afterwards. I suspect they saw a kindred spirit in each other. They were side by side until Voldemort was defeated, then he just disappeared."

"And how is it that he wasn't in the Death Eater files in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I must have gone through those papers numerous times and I don't think I've seen that name once."

"That's because the man is a behind the scenes sort. By the time the Dark Lord brought his campaign out in to the public eye, very few Death Eaters ever even saw him much less knew who he was. While Voldemort is more magically powerful and more charismatic, Charles is smarter. Not to say that the Dark Lord is stupid but he just doesn't have the skill for strategy as evidenced by his rather elaborate and convoluted schemes over the last few years. Schemes that ultimately failed more often than not. Charles is the one that engineered the first campaign. Everything they did had a purpose and as long as they stuck with his plans, they were completely successful probably about ninety percent of the time. With Rosier back, Death Eater attacks will become simpler, more frequent and much more effective.

"I must agree with Severus' assessment." Dumbledore nodded in resignation. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes, there is. Apart from the fact that now this attack seems to be in retribution for his son's death at Alastor's hand, the primary goal was to gather as much information on this man Belar. Or more precisely, is he really in contact with Harry Potter. For the most part, he held out quite well under both torture and Veritaserum but they were wearing him down. Eventually he started giving bits and pieces of information. However from what we know, this information was completely fabricated."

"How do you mean?"

XXX

"Playtime is over, Tom." Charles chuckled as he walked into Voldemort's throne room. "We have business to discuss." Reluctantly, the Dark Lord canceled the Cruciatus curse that had Lucius Malfoy flopping around on the floor. Around the room, several other Death Eaters breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that they may have just dodged a bullet. While over all the day had been an overwhelming success with the release of the prisoners in Azkaban, the smaller attacks on the Bones, Longbottom and Weasley residences didn't go as planned and the party sent after the Lovegood girl in Sweden couldn't even locate her. And those sent after Bellatrix were unable to subdue her, getting themselves killed in the process. No, despite their initial success, this was not to be a night of celebration as Lucius was finding out. The loss of the Malfoy fortune has no doubt left the man expendable and the rest of them would no doubt be punished severely for botching what was supposed to be simple raids on easy targets. Not one of them could complain that the planning was flawed or that they didn't have enough support, because it wasn't and they did. They failed on their own and would certainly suffer for it.

"Very well. Lucius, we will have another little chat soon and, for your sake, I sincerely hope that you have learned the price of failure, you will not get another chance." With that parting comment, Voldemort followed his colleague out of the room and into a well furnished study.

"Judging by the giddy look on your face, am I to assume that you have succeeded?"

"Of course I have." Charles stated harshly with indignation. "Moody is no longer among the living and I even managed to procure that information you wanted."

"Really," Voldemort leaned forward with interest. "So, who is he and what precisely is he doing here?"

"Unfortunately it is nothing too interesting. It seems the goblins learned of Potter's disappearance and intended to use it for their own gain. This Belar person was to be put in charge of Potter's accounts, hopefully legally by claiming his appointment to that position by Potter himself. I suspect that they had clever forgeries of the necessary documents in case someone like Dumbledore refused to recognize him right off but just about everyone present was too shocked to object. If this course proved impossible, they would have moved forward with a goblin account manager overseeing his funds.

"The whole purpose was to get control of the Potter vaults and sometime in the near future, have Potter declared legally dead, transferring ownership of the vaults and their contents over to the goblins since Potter has no living magical relatives and has never written out a will of his own. Black's will literally destroyed their plans. Not only did the fool leave Potter the Black estate but he managed to wrangle away Malfoy's as well. Even this being the case, it would seem that the goblins had no interest in taking away your funding so they intended to leave those two fortunes alone while keeping that of the Potter's for themselves. However, Black's lawyer made that impossible. By requesting to see the Potter family scroll, they were able to confirm that Potter was still alive so legally they can't do anything with his vaults until his status changes.

"Given Mad Eye's penchant for the dramatic, I wasn't going to take everything he said at face value so I confirmed his story from three goblins I captured after killing him. I suppose that Moody could have engineered this hoax with the goblin's aid but I haven't been able to think of a purpose for a deception of that kind."

"Perhaps he really is in contact with Potter?"

"It's possible, but unlikely." Charles shrugged. "If that is indeed the case, the whole point would have been to keep it a secret. If that is so, then why did the man walk into a room with several of your supporters and admit as much. Doing so has made him a priority when we didn't even know he existed until recently and now I have to come up with some contingency plans in case Potter does return. If Belar has access to him then it is not outside the bounds of possibility to suggest that he could bring Potter back here, but he gave up any element of surprise that would have been working for them if he had simply kept his mouth shut. Of all the theories, Potter's money being the motivating factor is the one that makes the most sense."

"What would you suggest we do about it?"

"For the time being, we do nothing. As I said, I'll come up with some backup plans but until anything spectacular happens, such as Potter finding a way to return, we should not deviate from our plans. It will be simple enough to tweak the details a bit for any unforeseen situations that may crop up. Now, what do you intend to do with those failures out there?"

"Once my more capable followers are trained up a little better, they shall all die. In fifty years, this is the first time one of our collaborations has suffered so much failure and the blame rests solely with them. We will make a very public example out of them so that the others will be well motivated to improve."

"Good. I find it ridiculous that those men, supposedly the best the magical world has to offer, were bested by the likes of the Weasleys and their ilk. Death is the only option for them and if they were smart they would realize that and run."

"You always did love the chase." Voldemort smirked.

"It makes it more interesting and so much more satisfying when you finally track them down."

"But it does take time that would be better served doing something more productive."

"The simple pleasures in life always come with a cost. And time is something we have in abundance."

XXX

Three days. It took three bloody days for the assembled nobility to finish all of their ridiculous poetic speeches. It seemed that every waking minute was spent in the Mimbrate Duke's hall attending one feast after another, giving everyone their chance to formally welcome a disciple of Aldur into their city. While these speeches were quite flattering at times, there was no mistaking the hostility every time Harry was speaking with one lady or another. No doubt they believed he was trying to seduce half the court. Not that he wouldn't mind trying, of course, but he didn't much feel like fleeing the city after killing several knights.

"Lord Belhaldar." Harry blinked a couple of times before he realized that someone hadn't just mentioned his name in yet another endless speech but that he was being addressed directly. Looking around, every eye was fixed on him as the Duke motioned for him to say a few words. By few words, he no doubt expected for him to speak at great length. With a sigh, Harry stood and looked out over the crowd with a soft expression, all the while wishing he could just kill everyone present but Aldur would certainly not approve and the look of disappointment in his master's eyes had the ability to make him feel like crap for years on end.

"My Lords and Ladies! As I stand before you this night and take in my surroundings, such as your gallant knights and their lovely ladies, with a keen eye, I am greatly reminded of tales of the courage and sacrifice of warriors long since passed, and long since forgotten. Indeed, many of us within this very hall may one day meet this same fate, to give everything we have to a cause of our choosing only to fall at the end of our enemy's sword and our names quickly pass into obscurity. There are those, however, that distinguish themselves to such a degree that they are not only remembered, but pass into legend." Harry paused for a brief moment to take a sip from his goblet and had to bite back a smirk as he saw everyone giving him their undivided attention. Really, Arends were such children.

"In my old homeland, many centuries ago, a young king by the name of Arthur suddenly had power and authority thrust upon him during a time of almost complete darkness. A time when hordes of bandits roamed the land, preying on the innocent. A time when vast armies, fighting for no noble cause but for the mere desire to impose their brutal will upon their neighbors. Though he had no real desire for power and no true ambition to advance only himself, Arthur recognized that the sacred trust and responsibility placed in his hands was far greater than what any one man should have the right to desire, even a king. He knew, as many of his forefathers had forgotten, that he was not meant simply to rule, but to protect and nurture the lands and the people living in them. Darkness covered the land, and Arthur changed all that by bringing together those that once opposed each other and uniting them under a common goal.

"One of his achievements was the construction of the city of Camelot. I know that many of you within this hall may find this unbelievable, but Camelot was more elegant and beautiful than Vo Wacune, but despite its picturesque beauty, its walls were more formidable than even mighty Vo Mimbre." For the next hour, Harry kept talking, reciting a great deal from the various Arthurian legends he had heard as a boy, of course he left out the more fanciful accounts concerning the Holy Grail but that didn't seem to bother his audience any. In fact many of the 'big fearless knights' were on the brink of shedding the tears that were at that very moment pooling in their eyes. It was actually quite amusing.

The women gasped and the Knights leaped to their feet in outrage when he explained the adultery between Lancelot and Guinevere. While many married Arends may desire another, very few would actually allow that desire to develop into a physical relationship. Instead they write poetry and other such nonsense while pining away the days that they were forced to remain separated from their love. Despite their anger at his previous actions, they all seemed to nod in approval when the disgraced knight returned to his king's side for his final battle against Mordred. A battle where, despite victory, both Arthur and Lancelot lost their lives.

"It has now been well over one thousand long years since the death of Arthur, most of his knights and the destruction of Camelot, but even today the tales of their deeds are passed down from father to son, mother to daughter. And while the names of all but a brave few have been lost within the forever changing course of history, let us not forget, that men like Arthur could not have met victory on the field of battle without the brave men that rallied to his banner. Their names are forgotten, yes," Harry continued with a sad nod. "But the greatness of their achievements shall forever withstand the tests of time. Ladies, Gentlemen, too forgotten heroes!" Without a moment's hesitation, everyone stood up as one and raised their goblets in solute. He was by no means a skilled storyteller such as Belgarath, and he had absolutely no desire to become one, but this was one easy way to deal with Arends so Belgarath had insisted that he come up with several to amuse the lesser minds. With luck, he wouldn't ever have to put himself on display like that again.

The following day, as Harry was preparing to leave, he looked across the courtyard to see Actas, one of his captains, sitting astride his horse, looking around with a wary eye. Resting in the man's left hand was his own banner, the design Harry 'borrowed' from his former home, modeled after the Union Jack but black and red being its primary colors as opposed to red and blue. But it was his right hand that drew everyone's attention since the sword he currently held was placed firmly across the neck of the knight standing alongside him, his arm frozen as his own sword was only half free from its scabbard. He smiled as he saw Hedwig sitting on the man's shoulder. It was kind of amusing seeing the bird glaring at the nearby knights, almost daring them to try something stupid.

"Is this something that's going to cause a problem, Actas?" Harry asked with a hint of steel in voice while looking over the steel clad Mimbrate. The man looked pissed but despite his natural hereditary stupidity, he wasn't about to do anything foolish with a sword in such a good position for a killing strike. At the first sound of his voice, Hedwig launched herself into the air and soared over to him, landing gracefully on his outstretched arm.

"No, My Lord. The good knight simply objected to my carrying my sword unsheathed. I'll follow through with my orders and then depart, there's no reason for anyone to engage in any foolishness over such a trivial matter." He stated firmly as he kept watch on all the watching knights who seemed to take insult to their comrade being held in such a way.

"And it didn't occur to you that riding into a city full of knights with sword in hand would certainly draw unwanted attention?"

"My Lord, my mere presence on this continent draws unwanted attention but at least I am ready for a confrontation should one come. My sword has been in hand since my ship landed in Gar OG Nadrak and it will be in my hand until I set foot on Mallorean soil once again."

"Alright, what was so important that anyone, much less one of my captains, would come all this way looking for me?" Harry asked curiously as he and Actas sat in a small conference room that had been made available to them. Short of Torak himself showing up in Anden to take control of the island, his people were more than capable of dealing with any problems themselves.

"Well, Belhaldar, I'm here simply because the Emperor's currier was a coward."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Mako had a deal working with Mal Zeth and once that was concluded a notice had to be sent to you. Instead of heading west from Mal Zeth to deliver it himself as ordered, the little bastard traveled four leagues east until he happened upon us delivering our shipment of cotton. Passed off all the papers and maps to me before taking off again."

"Okay, now that you've explained that, can you get to the point?"

"Well, there are two matters, my friend. First is this." He pulled out a dispatch under the seal of the Emperor himself. Whatever bit of his mind he had thinking of other matters were quickly redirected. While he was sworn to loyalty to the Emperor when in an official capacity in Mallorea, he had not met the current ruler and couldn't think of anything that would require his attention. Unless Urvon or Torak was forcing his hand. But, much to his surprise, it was about a hundred and eighty degrees away from the notification of property seizure he was half expecting.

"What the hell is this Grand Duke business?" Harry demanded incredulously. "Anden is nowhere near big enough to be considered a duchy."

"I told you Mako was making a deal, didn't I? True, Anden is a bit too small for that, however, thanks to some savvy negotiations conducted shortly after you left, you know control a fair piece of Rengel." Actas explained with a slight grin before pulling a map out of his satchel and spreading it out over the table. "Alright, the royal family of Rengel is severely in debt with Mal Zeth and the Emperor has basically promised to execute the lot of them and put someone else on the thrown. King Kamulus was more than willing to agree to just about anything that would save his neck so Mako paid off his debt in exchange for a bit of land."

"How much land?" Harry asked warily.

"About four thousand square miles. We basically control the entire northeast of the country now, including Pannor." It took an awful lot of will power to keep his jaw from dropping. Pannor was one of the biggest ports on the east coast of Mallorea. Being the nearest port to Anden made it especially important to him as well as the rest of Melcena.

"And what will Kamulus expect of me in the future?" Harry asked carefully. To give up that much land, even to save his own neck, the man had to have something else in mind.

"Absolutely nothing. Mako made a point of making that perfectly clear. You will pay your normal annual duties to the crown just like any other nobleman but anything more than that, such as military involvement should it be needed, you are free to turn down or accept as you see fit just as he is under no obligation to help you should a need arise. And as far as Mal Zeth is concerned, you are now the Grand Duke of Pannor as well as the Baron of Anden. Under normal circumstances this transfer of power wouldn't be unacceptable to the rest of the nobility but they have adopted a wait and see attitude since Rengel has been run into the ground the last few generations. Most feel that a change, however small, may have some positive effect. The large 'honorarium' that was sent along with the dispatches to Mal Zeth probably helped in some small way as well. The entire deal nearly emptied your treasury but that was nearly three years ago, so I'm sure it's on its way to recovering by now."

"Are there any plans to develop the rest of this land?"

"I don't know of that many details but I'm certain Mako has plans in place. About twenty miles in from the coast the soil actually gets pretty good so I'm sure they've already begun putting that to use. Unfortunately the land in the north is only good for livestock but they'll think of something to do with it." Harry sighed as he rubbed his hand down his face. Controlling a small island was one thing but he could already feel the headache that will certainly develop the next time he made it to the east.

"You said there were two matters?" He asked, not sure if he really wanted to hear it. Actas looked confused at the sudden change of subject for a moment before shaking it off.

"Ah, yes. Unfortunately, the mines in Gandahar have run dry, not a single gem left in the ground but with this extra land in Rengel, Pannor especially, it shouldn't hurt you at all."

"No, that's something I'll want to replace." He commented quietly as he tried to think of something. He had an awfully lot of people working within those mines, most of the locals as a matter of fact, and he'd prefer to find some other venture to keep them with paying work. People without jobs tend to try their hand at more illegal was of making a living and he had other interests in the area that he didn't want molested by an army of desperate peasants. "What about the Bashida Iron Range?" He asked suddenly, the beginnings of an idea forming.

"What about it?" Actas asked with growing suspicion. The Bashida Range was one of the largest iron deposits in southeastern Mallorea but the Gandahar government had never exploited it. They simply take what they need and left it at that. Everyone that had tried to buy the land had been refused outright.

"I figure if we can get the royals' cooperation, we can move our miners in and really go to work. I figure, we give them all the iron they need plus thirty five percent of any profits. They would have to be fools to turn that down."

"That's… generous." Actas said slowly, not seeing the big picture. He was a soldier, not a merchant.

"That's merely to reel them in. I'm thinking long term here, very long term. These people are probably the most disorganized bunch I have ever met. They rarely put any business arrangements down in writing unless they're dealing with another royal family and even then it's very sloppy. With each new ruler, I cut the profits a bit, cut back on their shipments of iron until its none at all. I figure I could have complete control of that range within two centuries or so at which point they'll have absolutely no cut of the profits and will actually be paying me handsomely for the iron they had previously been receiving free of charge."

Harry and Actas spoke for a while longer before they both went their separate ways. Actas back to Mallorea, much to his pleasure, and Harry crossed the River Arend and headed south into Tolnedra. Hedwig refused to allow him to go off on his own again and for the first several hours she berated him for his foolish flight over the Great Western Sea. By the end of her rant, Harry was sincerely regretting his decision to spend time in the form of an owl so that he could easily communicate with her. He really did love her but she just wouldn't shut up.

Though he had to admit that even at her worst she was certainly better than most breeds of birds. He found that he actually enjoyed the company of most raptors, except hawks. Though he enjoyed flying in that form, a hawk was actually a rather stupid bird and never really had much to say. Seedeaters, as most carnivorous birds called them, were simply insufferable. They did nothing but blather on about their nests and their eggs and were constantly showing off.

After she had been with him in Mallorea for several years, Harry became slightly concerned by the fact that she didn't seem to be aging. She simply told him that she had no desire to grow old. This got him really concerned as he remembered Beldaran's story about how her parents had first met. That Poledra was originally a wolf that had actually lived for centuries before figuring out how to change her form and that she stuck around because she was determined to make Belgarath her mate. Harry was certainly concerned that the same might be happening to him but thankfully Hedwig informed him that she was an owl and intended to remain one and owls did not mate with humans. It simply wasn't proper. She intended to remain with her Harry because he tended to get into too much trouble if she wasn't around to keep him in line. Despite the fact that she seemed to think he needed twenty four hour a day minding, Harry honestly couldn't remember feeling more relieved at any other point in his life than he did at that very moment. The idea of waking up to being sexually harassed by a woman that was once an owl was not a welcome thought.

XXX

Ok, that's it for chapter eight. A little heads up, myself and Padfootjr feels that it would be best to skip ahead after this chapter to get to the real heart of the story, specifically the events surrounding The Belgariad series. So the next chapter will start off with Harry's brief return to earth before he and a few others join Belgarath and the others in what will be the final confrontation with Torak. The history between now and then will be explained through various conversations and stories, much like in the Belgariad.

A more detail concerning the other western kingdoms will be in those chapter since they will be traveling through them throughout most of the story from that point on and I will go into the workings of Mallorea in more depth if I choose to continue this fic into The Mallorean series of books as well.

Now, a few explanations. First, many have asked both Padfootjr and I why Bellatrix was depicted as she was in the beginning of the story, and they'll certainly wonder why after reading this chapter as well. The answer to that is simple. Padfootjr has a bit of a fascination with her character and likes to use her in many different roles. Whether she was genuinely repentant as she is in this, she was still a complete psycho in Lord of Azkaban she just changed her allegiance to Harry and in The New Order she was actually a spy that worked her way into Voldemort's inner circle to help facilitate his defeat. While I usually like reading her character as crazy, this was originally Padfootjr's fic so I will stick with the various ideas he had in mind for it.

UPDATES: Now that we are getting to the purpose of the story, it should be much easier to write so updates should be more frequent. Like with my other stories, I tend to write ahead, working on various things that won't appear until much further along in the story. So there will be times when an update takes a while as I work on my other fics, school and work but there will also be times when two, three or even four chapters are posted in quick succession.

Since this fic was quite popular when Padfootjr was writing it, I certainly wouldn't want to spoil it for everyone that has been following it since it first came out so if you have any questions, concerns or ideas on how to make it better, leave a review or send me an e-mail and I'll try to get back to you.