What is the best weapon in a war? Ask a soldier and it is a gun. Ask someone of wealth and it is money. To a writer or an ambassador, it is the written word or speech. None of these answers are correct. The best weapon in a war is illusion.

"Macerio!" The woman burst through the door and curtsied, her head bowed. She wished not to lay her eyes upon the man--boy, really--whom she was calling. It didn't matter, anyway. Macerio was just a hidden figure. His long, gold-trimmed black cloak nearly touched the ground and its hood shrouded his face in shadows. He turned towards the woman from the window he had been staring out of. The room was small and the window was the only ornamentation from the black walls surrounding it.

"What is it?" Macerio asked, his voice flat, but charming. No matter how hard Macerio tried, he could never make his voice sound normal. The woman, a maid dressed in a plain, worn yellow dress and an apron, couldn't help but glance up at the sound. She quickly glued her gaze to the floor again and straightened.

"Your presence is requested in the Great Walk, sir. With the King."

Macerio brushed by her and out of the door. He seemed to not make a sound. His footsteps, his clothing, his breathing; all were silent.

The island of Osalan was discovered by the great explorer Osa Lonanhand when she and her fleet crashed there. Osa became queen of her kingdom, which grew rapidly under her steady rule. Osa never married, but had many children. Her favorite child was named Amos. Amos was a large man with muscles bigger than his brain, but he was kind and had no mal intent towards anyone. That is precisely why Osa named him her heir. Four days after Osa had passed, Amos was murdered by his half-brother Nathair, who wanted to take the kingship for himself. The betrayal threw the kingdom into an unsteady time of death and disparity. The royal siblings dove into a frenzy. Each one either wanted the throne or wanted their sibling to have it. They all had their mother's ambition, and few were above murder. Finally, Kaela was accidentally killed by her sister Jafit. Kaela had been everyone's favorite with her sweet, calming ways and the kingdom grieved terribly. She had been shoved by Jafit while trying to convince her not to kill Nathair. Kaela fell from the balcony to her death. It was decided then that Osalan would be divided into three kingdoms and the bloodshed would end.

"You wanted to see me, my King," Macerio said from behind the extravagantly dressed man.

The king jumped, his crown falling crooked on his head. He spun towards Macerio, his purple cape swishing along with the movement. The king was a short man with tufts of orange hair ringing his balding head. He had an up-turned nose, a large mole in the center of his forehead, thin grey lips, and green eyes that almost always seemed dulled by liquor and women. That day, though, they were sharp and clear. "Do not sneak upon me like that!" he hissed. He turned on the woman beside him. "And why did you not tell me of his presence?!"

The woman was but a teenage girl who was forced to grow up too soon. She was in a gorgeous red gown that fit her form and accentuated her assets. She had painted red lips, pale skin, and red hair braided into a complicated knot on the back of her head. Her most striking features, though, were her blood red eyes and the flower imprinted over her heart in the same red color.

She regarded her king calmly. "I was not told that it was one of my duties." There was a pointed lack of title in the statement. Word was that she never used a title for anyone. She was the only person in the kingdom who could get away with it.

King Nabal huffed, sneering up at his Red Lady. "Well, it is now," he spat. The Red Lady did not respond, merely blinked her striking eyes at him. King Nabal thrust his hand towards her and she took it in hers—but not before heaving a rather large sigh.

"The war is coming, Macerio. And you have been neglecting your training." Nabal glared into the shadow of Macerio's hood, but could not make out the face underneath. Macerio worked very hard to make sure that no one could.

"I do not wish to train in a talent that I would rather be without, my King."

"You will do as I say!" King Nabal snapped, his nasal voice slicing through the air. Neither the Red Lady nor Macerio winced, but others might have.

"Have I no rights?" Macerio asked, his voice as dull as he could make it.

Nabal took a menacing step towards him, though he was a good foot shorter than his subject. "There are no rights in wartime." He spun on his heel and strode away, yanking the Red Lady with him. "The next time you miss a lesson, you sleep with the wasps!" he shouted without looking back.

This threat actually did give Macerio a shudder. He slunk away to his rooms. Not a sound could be heard from him, but the bad mood radiated through the air almost like sound.

The three new nations--Little Osalan, Amoslan, and Kaealan--omitted the central rainforest. In the days of Osalan, many explorers were sent in, but few returned. Those who did babbled on about flower people with mystical powers. Queen Osa canceled the expansion projects, not wanting to risk any more explorers than the ones that she had already lost. By the time her children had ended the bloodshed between themselves, the area had been forgotten about and no one stepped foot inside its trees. Of course, human curiosity can only be contained for so long.