Author: Ty Johnston
Date: 2009-08-13 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: The adventure continues. After fleeing the city of Bond, Kron Darkbow and companions travel across countryside, over mountains and into the evils of the Prison Lands. Their mission? To enter the dark land of Kobalos and confront its infamous king, Lord Verkain. But Verkain isn't the only evil in Kron's path. The barbarian underworld chief Belgad the Liar is still hot on Kron's trail, and demons and other monsters lie along the road. Kron Darkbow has fled the city of Bond, along with healer mage Randall Tendbones and professional duelist Adara Corvus. Everywhere they turn are enemies. With a pr

Road to Wrath

Book II of the Kobalos Trilogy

The Ursian Chronicles

by Ty Johnston

Copyright 2009

for the Goble Clan

Acknowledgments

The novel you are reading, its prequel and its sequel, could not have come together without the help I received from family and friends. Here I offer my thanks to Steve and Gere Goble for being my first readers and editors, and to my wife, Kelly, for her patience during the years it took me to put together this trilogy. Also, I want to send a shout out to publisher Jason Waltz of Rogue Blades Entertainment books for all his advice and help. To anyone else I have forgotten, please accept my apologies.

Chapter One

“It’s them. It’s got to be them.”

The words were Skeet’s. He stood atop a grassy hill overlooking the dusty brick road to the west. His eyes were trained on a group of three riders slowly heading in his and Benny’s direction. By Skeet’s guess, the three would follow the road until it curved around the hill and would be below he and Benny within the hour.

“Can’t be them. Too soon,” the ox of a man next to Skeet said.

Skeet glanced up at his tall companion. “Get down, you idiot! You’re so big they’ll see you!”

Benny dropped to one knee next to his friend, but his blonde head still towered over the tall grass around them.

Skeet scowled and dropped to his hands and knees. “You’ll get us killed, you dumb elephant,” he said, crawling backward down the hill toward their two horses.

As if he had forgotten his recent berating, Benny got to his feet again and stared off at the three riders in the distance. “One of them is wearing black, though,” he said. “That’s for sure.”

Skeet yanked out the short sword from its sheath on his left hip and glared up the hill. “Get your ass down here!” he yelled. “They’ll be here soon and we need to be ready.”

Benny took one last glance at the riders, then lumbered his way through the grass to his friend. “I forgot,” he said. “What are the other two supposed to look like.”

Skeet scowled again. “I’ve told you half a dozen times already. There’s a man in black, another man in white robes and a woman dressed like a nobleman.”

“And why do we want to kill them?”

Skeet stamped the ground and spun away from his big comrade. “Ashal’s balls, Benny! If you weren’t so strong with a sword, I swear to the Eastern saints I would gut you myself.”

“But you won’t, will you, Skeet,” Benny said, “ ’cause we’re pals, right?”

Skeet cursed under his breath and kicked the ground again while staring off through a thin layer of trees to the Ursian River rambling not far to the south.

“Right?” Benny said.

Skeet frowned as he glanced over his shoulder at his companion, but the dumb, innocent look in Benny’s eyes had Skeet smiling soon enough. “Yes, you big goon,” he said. “We’re pals.”

Benny grinned, showing his few remaining teeth, and reached for a gigantic axe with two sharp edges strapped on his horse’s back. He hefted the heavy weapon in two hands.

“You ready?” Skeet asked.

Benny held up the axe. “Ready!”

“Good.” Skeet glanced around his big friend to where the road traveled by their side of the hill. “I want you to hide behind some trees on the other side while I conceal our horses.”

Benny’s head nodded up and down.

“Then I’m going to hide in some bushes on this side of the road,” Skeet went on. “When you see me step out to the road, I want you to come out swinging. You understand?”

“Uh huh.” Benny’s head kept bobbing up and down.

“Just take out the one nearest you with your first swing,” Skeet said, “then on your backswing take out another. Hopefully I can finish the third one off, but if I have trouble I want you there to back me up. Understand?”

“Yep.” Benny’s head didn’t look as if it would stop on its own.

“Good. Now git!”

Without questioning, Benny trotted away.

Skeet watched the big man shamble across the road to a spot behind a tree. “This could make us rich men, Benny,” Skeet whispered, snagging their horses by the reins and drawing the animals away.

Within minutes Skeet had the horses tied to a tree and he was in his hiding place behind some bushes on the southern side of the road. He could just see Benny behind the tree on the opposite side, but was sure the riders could not spot either of them.

It seemed to Skeet it took forever for the three riders to appear around a bend in the hill. When the group did show, to Skeet’s surprise there were only two riders, the man in white robes and the woman. Skeet glanced up and down the road, but saw no sign of the third rider other than his horse tied behind the woman’s animal.

“Where is he?” Skeet whispered to himself.

“Where you least expect,” a voice spoke from behind.

Skeet almost turned. Cold steel at his throat kept him from moving.

“Drop the sword,” the voice said.

Skeet did what he was told.

“Now stand up.”

Skeet did that too.

“Turn around.”

Skeet turned. His eyes first spied the point of a sword mere inches from his neck. Then he stared up the long blade to a hand gloved in black. Wearing the glove was a large man cloaked in black, the hood back to reveal a pale face beneath short, dark hair.

“Hello,” the man said.

“Hello.”

“It seems you were looking to set up an ambush,” the man said.

“Actually, I was looking to make some money,” Skeet responded.

The man in black smiled a grin that sent shivers down Skeet’s back and into his legs. For a second the smaller man thought he would lose control of his bladder.

“Call out to your friend,” the man in black said. “Tell him to drop his weapons and to walk into the middle of the road where I can see him plainly.”

Skeet remained silent. The three riders were not likely to turn him and Benny over to local constables, but that was only because they were wanted themselves. Skeet did fear, however, that the three might decide to kill him and Benny. His big partner’s strength and weapons would be all that could save them if that should happen.

Skeet felt the cold of the sword against his throat once more.

“Or I can kill you now,” the man in black said.

Skeet opened his mouth to speak, but Benny interrupted.

The large man had finally seen his friend’s predicament and was none too happy about it. Benny galloped across the brick road with his axe swinging over his head.

“Let him go! Let him go!” the giant of a man yelled as he ran.

The man in black stepped in close behind Skeet and slid the edge of his sword so it was just beneath Skeet’s chin. “Tell him to stop or you’re the first to die.”

“Benny!” Skeet yelled. “Stop it now or they’ll kill me.”

The big blonde man came to a halt in front of his friend, his axe still held high for a killing blow against the man holding the sword.

“You’re smart,” the man in black said behind Skeet. “If you stay that way, you’re likely to see another sunrise.”

“What are you going to do, Kron?” the man in white said from atop his horse. “Kill both of them?”

The man in black looked to his companions. They had stopped their steeds not too distant and appeared to be waiting for their fellow traveler to finish with his current situation. Now that they were nearer, Skeet could tell the man in white and the woman were much younger than he expected, barely in their twenties from the looks of them.

“That would be the safe thing to do,” the man in black, Kron Darkbow, said to the man in white.

“We can’t kill everyone we meet on the road,” the man in white said.

“We can if they’re working for Fortisquo,” Kron said.

Skeet’s eyes flashed to Benny, but his friend was slow to recognize the name that had been mentioned.

“How do we know they work for Fortisquo?” the woman, Adara Corvus, asked.

Kron leaned in so close to Skeet the smaller man could feel the man in black’s breath on his neck. “Do you work for Fortisquo?” Kron asked.

Skeet shook his head. “No,” was all he said.

“Then you’re highway bandits,” Kron said, “and not very good highway bandits. We should kill you just for trying to rob us.”

“We wasn’t tryin’ to rob you,” Benny said.

“Shut up, Benny,” Skeet said.

Kron glared at the big man with the big axe. “No, go ahead, Benny,” he said. “Tell us what you were trying to do.”

“We was tryin’ to kill you to collect the reward,” Benny said.

Kron’s eyes flashed to those of his traveling companions.

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Skeet began. “We were only—”

The pommel of Kron’s sword thunked against Skeet’s skull, sending the smaller man reeling to the ground.

Benny saw his chance and lifted his axe higher, ready to send Kron Darkbow to his death.

“Sleep,” the man in white said from his horse.

Benny blinked. His huge axe slipped from his hands and crashed into the ground behind him. The big man took one step toward Kron, then he too plummeted. Soft snoring noises were all that told Benny was still among the living.

“You were saying,” Kron said as the toe of his left boot turned Skeet over and held him to the ground.

The little man winced and rubbed at the bleeding wound on the back of his head. “You didn’t have to hit me so hard,” he said.

“You were about to lie,” Kron said. “I can’t tolerate lying.”

Adara interrupted. “Your friend said something about a reward.”

“A pair of riders came through Holderby’s Landing yesterday,” Skeet said. He saw no more reason to lie. Telling the truth might be all that would save his life. “They were spreading word that Belgad the Liar would pay big money to the man who could capture the fellow in white robes and kill the other two.”

“Belgad the Liar is dead,” Kron said.

“I don’t know nothing about that,” Skeet said.

“I didn’t think Fotisquo would send out riders looking for us,” the robed youth said.

“Of course he would, Randall,” Kron said. “Every piece of scum within fifty miles of Bond probably knows about us by now.”

“We know we’re wanted, but what can we do about it?” Adara said, then turned her attention to Skeet and Benny. “And what do we do about these two?”

Kron lifted his sword. “We kill them. We have no choice.”

“We’re not going to kill them,” Randall Tendbones said. “I’m a healer. I don’t kill unless necessary.”

“They’ll tell others what direction we’ve gone,” Kron said.

“Belgad will find out soon enough, if he’s truly alive,” Randall said. “If we’re going to kill everyone who crosses our path, then we’re no better than Belgad or Verkain.”

“We are a split party, then,” Kron said. He turned to Adara. “You make the final vote. Decide.”

The woman eyed Skeet and the unconscious Benny with distaste. If Skeet had had a gold coin to wager, he would have bet the woman would decide to have him and Benny slain.

Skeet was wrong.

“Allow them their lives,” Adara said. “They’ve caused no harm this day, and have actually supplied us with the knowledge we are being hunted.”

Kron frowned and sheathed his sword. “Leave your weapons and take your big friend,” he said to Skeet.

“I can’t carry that big lummox,” Skeet said pointing at Benny. “Do you see the size of him?”

“True enough,” Kron said. “Fetch your horses and I’ll help you load him on one of them.”

Skeet turned to do as he was told.

“And one other thing,” Kron said, halting Skeet in his tracks. “Do anything stupid, and I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll not easily forget.”

Skeet gulped. “Yes, sir.” With that he was gone.

Ten minutes later, Benny was strapped onto his saddle. Skeet sat next to the sleeping brute on his own horse.

“If I see you again, I’m just going to draw my sword and attack,” Kron said. “I’ll figure you’ve sold us out at that point.”

“I’m not going anywhere near Bond,” Skeet said.

“If he lives, Belgad will leave the city eventually,” Kron said. “He’ll come out for us himself.”

“You must have done something pretty bad to have Belgad the Liar on your tails,” Skeet said.

“You don’t know anything of it,” Adara said from her saddle. “It’s best you keep it that way.”

“Go. Now,” Kron ordered.

Without further words, Skeet turned his riding beast away from the three others and led his friend away. Only after he had trotted along for a hundred yards or so did he dare to look back. The three were gone. Skeet guessed he would likely never see them again. He was glad of it.

***

Two days after leaving the city of Bond, the three riders found themselves hungry on a road of worn brick that traveled east on the north shore of the Ursian River. They were not starving, having brought along some rolls and meat strips, but they were nearly out of food and little game wandered near the main road.

The three rode abreast, Randall in the center with Adara to his right and Kron to his left. They had seen little traffic in their travels, but that was not unusual during the hottest months; merchants often preferred the cooler springs and autumns.

At night, bedding down with saddles for pillows and horse blankets, they took turns watching their encampment.

Fortunately, Kron was a skilled woodsman and could make a fire without flint and steel and was adept at telling what foliage and berries they could subsist upon. Randall’s magical skills came in handy on occasion, healing the typical bruises and soreness caused by long periods in the saddle. Adara proved handy with the horses, having spent much time as a young girl riding the animals; Kron tried to teach her his forestry skills, but she would remind him she was with him to learn about the sword and not about plants.

“Speaking of which, when is my first lesson?” Adara asked the man in black while they stood near the river, watching their horses sip from the river that rushed by near their feet.

“Those two road bandits weren’t enough for you?” Kron asked.

“There was no combat,” Adara said. “It was simply an ambush which you turned against them.”

“Let that be your first lesson,” Kron said. “Be ever watchful, and use your opponent’s tactics against them when possible.”

“You promised you would teach me,” Adara said.

Kron was quiet in thought for a moment, then said, “Why do you believe I defeated Fortisquo during my three engagements against him?”

Adara looked surprised. She had to think for a moment about the three combats that had included Kron and her former fencing teacher Fortisquo. “The first fight, the one on the roof, was mostly luck on your part,” Adara said. “You were unfamiliar to us, and you used that and the darkness as weapons. Your exceptional athletic ability also helped.”

Adara paused long enough to see if Kron would say anything, but he only nodded for her to continue.

“The second fight I would not say you won,” Adara said. “You appeared clumsy, or wounded, and Fortisquo would have had you if I had not stepped in.”

Again Kron said nothing.

“The third combat wasn’t much of a fight. I believe I was Fortisquo’s main target, but you disarmed him with your throwing darts before he could stab me,” Adara said.

“You are right in all accounts, including that you saved me during the second fight,” Kron said, “but you are missing one important detail, especially about that second fight. Not considering my injury, why was it that Fortisquo almost kill me that night?”

Adara had to think again. She went over that particular combat situation in her mind several times. She was a trained fighter already, and better than many who wore a sword, but she wasn’t sure what answer Kron wanted her to give.

“Fortisquo surprised you in the doorway of the tavern,” she finally said.

“Yes and no,” Kron said. “He did indeed surprise me, but what was different about that confrontation?”

Adara was getting tired of the questions. She realized Kron was trying to make her think for herself, but did any of this help her become a better sword fighter?

“He was in close proximity to me,” Kron finally said answering his own question.

Adara felt like slapping herself. The answer had been so obvious she had looked over it.

“Keep your enemy at a distance as long as possible, especially if he has a long reach and is possibly more powerful than you,” Kron said. “Hit him with everything you have from a distance, because once he is close with you he will hit you with everything he has. Weaken your foe before he gets to you.”

Adara squeezed the pommel of the rapier on her left hip. “How will that help me to stay alive?” she asked. “I already understand about the reach of an opponent, but I only carry a rapier and a main gauche. I don’t carry a bow or a spear or throwing knives and I don’t want to.”

“Then eventually you will be defeated,” Kron said, “which is likely to happen sooner or later anyway as you age and lose your natural ability.”

“That sounds cheery,” Adara said. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”

“I’m telling you to get a ranged weapon!” Kron nearly yelled. “It will keep you alive.”

Adara was stunned by his outburst. She took a step back and glared at the man.

“Be angry with me if you must,” Kron said, “but learn from me. If you were looking for someone to tell you the proper rules of gentlemen’s fencing, you have the wrong teacher. I’m here to tell you how to survive.”

Adara grabbed the reigns of her horse and spun away from Kron, her long dark hair swinging out behind her.

“You could have gone a little easier on her,” Randall said.

Kron looked over his left shoulder to see the healer allowing his steed a drink from the river.

“If I go soft on her, she won’t survive Fortisquo and whatever your father sends against us,” Kron said.

“True enough, but right now I’m more concerned about her surviving you. She’s obviously not used to such treatment,” Randall said. “Look at her. She’s nobility of some sort. You can tell by the way she acts, how she walks. It’s in her straight back and upturned chin.”

“You’re royalty and you don’t act such,” Kron said.

“I’m Kobalan. That’s different.”

“What are we going to do for food?” Adara’s exasperated voice interrupted from the roadway.

Kron reached for his horse’s reigns and marched up the hill toward the woman. “We should reach Holderby’s Landing about nightfall,” he said. “We can purchase food and supplies there, and probably basic weapons.”

“What about medicines?” Randall asked as he and his horse followed Kron.

“Maybe some simple herbs and wrappings,” Kron said.

Adara grasped her saddle and pulled herself onto her horse. As she watched Kron and Randall do the same, she asked, “Are you going to tell us where we’re going after Holderby’s Landing?”

“There’s a lesser road that heads north, eventually to Caballerus, but we’ll bypass it and turn northeast and head toward the Lands,” Kron said.

“You mean the Prisonlands?” Adara asked.

“There might be people there who can help us,”Kron said and spurred his horse into a trot. “If you do not care for our mission, you should not have come along.”

Adara looked to Randall. “He thinks he’s on some kind of mission,” she said. “For whom? Mighty Ashal?”

“I’d say it’s for himself,” Randall said and rode off after Kron.

“Men,” Adara huffed.

***

As the last of the sun’s rays sank beneath the clouds to their west, the three found themselves still on the road. The traffic had picked up some, a merchant’s caravan nearly half a mile long traveling west to Bond passed them at one point, but Kron had been too stubborn to ask anyone how far it was to Holderby’s Landing.

“I thought you said we’d be there by nightfall,” Adara complained from atop her horse as the three continued eastward.

“I said we should be there by nightfall,” Kron said. “The stars are not yet out.”

“That’s only because there are clouds,” Adara said aside to Randall.

Kron paid no attention to her words. He kept his eyes on the road ahead while his ears remained sharp for anything out of the ordinary in the woods to their left. The forest was not thick, so it was unlikely an ambush would come from that direction, and their right was open to the ever-flowing Ursian River. Kron knew Belgad or some of his men would show sooner or later. He wanted to be able to anticipate any attack before they rode into a death trap.

Several times during the two days of travel Kron had pulled the group to the side of the road, into brush or behind trees, to allow travelers to pass. A couple of times he had made them hide when a boat or barge had shown on the river. At night he dug a shallow hole in the ground for their campfires so the glow would not be noticeable from a distance. Kron also hid their tracks around their encampments, using leafy branches to scrap away any signs of their passing. Anyone following them would need a decent tracker to catch their trail, and Kron wanted it to stay that way. He might not be able to place a magical web over them to hide their presence from magical detection, as Randall had done once each day during breakfast, but Kron could make sure any mortal man would have to work at finding them.

Which was why Kron was surprised when an old man with a hood pulled over his head stood some distance ahead of them in the middle of their path.

Kron and Adara immediately pulled their horses to a halt and drew swords.

“Randall!” the hooded figure yelled.

The healer slowed his steed, stared ahead at the person blocking their way, then let out a resounding guffaw.

“Maslin!” the healer yelled kicking his horse’s sides to get it to charge forward.

Adara nearly followed, but Kron put a hand on her arm. “It could be a trap,” he said.

Seconds later, Randall yanked his horse to a stop and jumped off the animal. The young healer and the old wizard embraced as if they had not seen one another in years.

Adara recognized Maslin Markwood from her days living in Belgad’s mansion. “It looks like him,” she said, pointing her sword at the wizard.

“Be cautious,” Kron said, returning his sword to its sheath on his back and riding forward with the woman at his side.

“It’s good to see you,” Randall said as he stepped back from his friend but continued to grip the wizard by the arms.

“And you,” Markwood said, gleaming at the younger man in front of him. “I’ve been waiting, hoping I’d catch you before you made it to the next town.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Randall said, letting the man’s arms go. “It could have been dangerous. There’s no telling what kind of ruffians could come along.”

Kron and Adara stopped their horses next to the pair of mages.

“We should move to the side of the road,” Kron said.

Markwood looked up and down the road with a critical eye. “Of course, you are right.”

Adara looked to the sky and saw the night’s first stars breaking through the gray clouds. “Should we make camp?” she asked.

Kron followed her gaze. “We might as well. We can reach Holderby’s Landing in the morning.”

The group broke apart to settle their horses and to put together a simple camp.

Maslin Markwood proved helpful by using magic to create a fire he promised would not be detectable further than ten feet from their camp; Kron tested the wizard’s claim and found it to be true. He lost sight of the flames and the campers once he went beyond the edge of the fire’s glow. Markwood proved even more helpful when he produced several jars of fruit preserves from within his robes and a bag full of soft, yeasty rolls.

“Picked them up at Madam Fiera’s before I left the city,” the old wizard said as he took a seat near the fire and passed the food to the healer.

“How did you get ahead of us?” Kron asked.

“Let an old wizard have a few secrets,” the Markwood said with a grin.

“He likely turned himself into a flying creature,” Randall suggested.

“In fact, I turned myself into a bird,” Markwood said with a chuckle.

“You turned into a bird?” Adara asked.

“It’s not something I make a habit of,” Markwood said, “but it does come in helpful.”

“Could you turn us all into birds, or turn into a giant avian yourself and carry us to Kobalos?” Kron asked.

“He could,” Randall answered as he popped open the glass lids on the jars of preserves, “but it would use a large amount of magical power. It would weaken him.”

Markwood nodded as he took a roll from Randall. “The magic would eventually wear off, after a day or two, so I would have to cast the spell every few days,” he said. “In layman’s terms, we’re talking a vast amount of my personal power would be sapped. While I could turn into a giant bird, I would be quite useless once I did it. I would be too weak.”

“Then what use is magic if it tires you?” Adara asked as she sat on a stone near the old wizard and accepted a roll from Randall.

Kron interrupted. “We can have the classroom discussion another time. Right now we need to find out what professor Markwood knows,” Kron turned to look at the old wizard. “I don’t suppose you’ve showed up merely for our company.”

Markwood swallowed a piece of roll and nodded. “You are correct,” he said as he gave Kron a dark look. “I’m taking it you are Kron Darkbow, the fellow who has been unnerving Belgad the Liar of late?”

Kron nodded in return with a dark look of his own. “I take it, then, Belgad is still among the living?”

“He is indeed,” the wizard said. “He managed to escape your flames.”

Kron was silent.

“Much has transpired over the last couple of days,” Markwood went on. “First, I wanted to let you know Sergeant Gris is safe. He came to me at the university and I made him stay there until I left earlier today.”

“Why did you do that?” Adara asked.

“The good sergeant wanted to return to his barracks, but I would have none of that,” Markwood said. “Belgad was looking for him and I knew Gris would be safest with me. It was only for two nights and I made sure he was comfortable. Of course I placed a few protective wards around him.”

“Did he leave your office once you came after us?” Randall asked, taking a seat near Kron.

“He told me he was going to return to his barracks,” Markwood said. “I knew Belgad had left Bond by that time, so I figured the sergeant would be relatively safe. He still has my wards protecting him for a few days, but I believe Belgad has lost interest in him.”

“Why do you know so much about Belgad?” Kron asked.

Markwood gave a wry smile from between his gray mustache and long beard. “As I told you, I’m a wizard,” he said. “I’ll keep my own secrets.”

Kron sat in silence.

“Belgad is on his way,” Markwood continued. “He’s brought with him Fortisquo and a handful of soldiers. He also has a new wizard, a woman named Karitha Jarnac.”

“Jarnac?” Adara asked.

“I thought you would recognize the name,” Markwood said. “My understanding is she’s the sister to an old friend of yours.”

“What is she doing with Belgad?” Adara asked.

“The man wanted a wizard for tracking you,” Markwood said to the group. “Fortisquo suggested Karitha, and she accepted once she heard Adara was involved.”

“You know this wizard?” Kron asked Adara.

Adara stared at the camp fire as if seeing something or someone she did not wish to see. “Maybe once or twice years ago,” the woman said. “It was soon after I came to Bond. I was close to her brother.”

“She wants to see you dead,” Markwood said.

Adara turned to the wizard. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“What wasn’t your fault?” Randall asked.

Adara looked around the group as if wondering how much she could trust them.

“Jarnac killed himself a few years ago,” Markwood said.

“Did you have something to do with this man’s death?” Kron asked Adara.

“No!” the woman blurted

“Then why do you act guilty?” Kron said.

Adara visibly shook. She wrapped her arms around herself to gain control, but her shoulders continued to shake.

“It was after Adara had moved on to Fortisquo,” Markwood said.

Adara gasped as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Randall leaned nearer Adara and wrapped an arm around her. “Who was this Jarnac?” he asked.

“I’ve heard of him,” Kron answered. “He was a famous rapier duelist.”

Randall turned to Markwood. “Do you know anything about Karitha? I don’t recognize her from the university.”

“She didn’t study in the West,” Markwood said. “She and her brother were Truscan. She probably studied under a master in Trode or Provenzano.”

“How does Belgad know we are heading east?” Kron interjected.

“You were spotted leaving the city,” the old wizard said. “Belgad had agents in the crowds watching for you.”

“That’s the last time I underestimate that man,” Kron said appearing angry with himself.

Without saying a word, Adara moved away from the others, took a blanket from a pile of gear near and lay down on the ground, covering herself.

“Perhaps tomorrow night we can sleep in beds,” Randall mused.

“Maybe, but we shouldn’t linger in Holderby’s Landing,” Kron said, “and I don’t like the idea of staying at a roadside inn. The less we are seen, the better.”

Randall yawned. “It has been a tiring two days,” he said finding a blanket for himself and curling up near the fire.

Kron grinned. “I suppose I’m taking first watch.”

Markwood returned the grin, but it was not a happy one. “Very well, then,” he said stretching out on the ground with his feet toward the fire and his head leaning against a saddle. “Wake me if you need me to take a watch.”

Kron nodded at the old man, then watched him close his eyes.

An owl hooted in the distance, but Kron did not move, knowing the bird meant no trouble.

***

Markwood ended up not sharing watch duty. Randall had too much respect for the wizard to wake him.

The young healer had the last watch, so he was up before the others and had a breakfast of rolls and jarred fruits laid out.

“We’re going to need more food,” Randall said to Kron as he helped the man tie his saddle on his horse.

“And weapons,” Kron said. “I need a proper sword, and a bow if I can find one.

Kron glanced at the healer. “Can you use a weapon?”

“I’ve some training, but I’m no expert,” Randall said cinching the belt beneath the horse’s stomach.

“We should get you a weapon,” Kron said.

“Why?” Randall asked.

Kron smirked. “For appearances,” he said. “Despite its legality in West Ursia, magic isn’t popular in the countryside. It’s not likely you would be lynched, but it’s better if we draw less attention. A weapon or two will make you look less like a mage.”

Markwood nodded as he stood from his resting space. “Darkbow is right.”

Adara stood off to one side, readying her own animal for that day’s riding. She had said nothing to the others and most of them did not wish to intrude upon her thoughts.

Kron, however, did not mind intruding.

“You need to keep up your lessons” he said. “It will keep your mind from brooding too much.”

Adara appeared uninterested, but she turned away from her horse and entered a defensive stance, her left foot slightly ahead of her right.

“Good posture and positioning,” Kron said. “You’re standing lightly on the balls of your feet. I see you’ve had good training.”

The woman gave a slight nod without saying anything.

“This morning we’re going to work on the knife,” Kron said pulling a dagger from his belt.

“I know how to fight with a dagger,” she said.

“You know how to use a main gauche for defense,” Kron said. “You need to know how to use a smaller blade for offense and defense for when you won’t have your rapier available.”

“First, I don’t plan on ever being without my rapier,” Adara said. “Second, I’ve had training with a knife.”

“You once struck me in the back of the leg with a thrown knife,” Kron said, “so tell me, when is it a good time to throw a knife at your opponent?”

Adara hesitated. It was obviously a question for which she did not have a good answer. “Whenever the opportunity to harm your enemy presents itself,” she said as if not liking the sound of her own words.

“No,” Kron said holding his dagger before him so Adara could see its angles. “You only throw a weapon if you are armed with at least two other weapons and your opponent also has multiples weapons. A thrown dagger is not a very good weapon. It is a weapon that rarely kills. If the only weapon you have is the knife and you throw it, then you are without a weapon. If you have two daggers and throw one of them, then you’ve given your opponent an extra weapon while taking a weapon away from yourself. However, if you have three or more daggers, you could throw one then; after all, you only have two hands.”

“Is this all you’re going to do? Lecture me?” Adara asked with a hint of anger. “When do we cross swords?”

“When I feel you are ready,” Kron said slipping his dagger back into its sheath and turning away.

She stared after him with slits for eyes.

After the horses were readied and breakfast eaten, Randall offered Markwood a ride on his mount.

“No, thank you,” the old wizard said. “I won’t be going with you.”

“Why not?” Randall said. “You’ve come this far, I thought you would be staying.”

“I’ve considered it,” Markwood said, “but then I realized I can do much for you in Bond. I can be your eyes and ears and keep a watch on Belgad’s gang, and upon your father and his minions. It’ll be easier for me to do that at the university, with the proper tools. I’m sure I could be of service to you on the road, but you’ll travel faster without an old man hanging on. And I can get to you quickly if I need to.”

Kron said nothing, seemingly satisfied with the matter, and climbed into his saddle, as did Adara.

“Are you sure you won’t stay, even for a day?” Randall pleaded with the old mage.

Markwood hugged the young man, then stepped back from him. “I’m too old to be going off into the wilds, but I will be there when you need me,” he said smiling. “I will be watching from a distance.”

Randall stared at the ground, looking glum.

“Don’t fret,” Markwood said with a chuckle. “I will be fine, and I have faith the three of you shall overcome any obstacles in your path, though I do believe traveling to Kobalos is quite insane.”

Randall gave the old wizard a lopsided smile.

“But it is time you faced up to your father,” Markwood added, reaching inside his robes and withdrawing a small leather sack which he tossed to Kron.

“That should help you on your way,” the wizard said to the man in black.

Kron untied the lacings at the top of the sack and stared inside to see silver and gold coins. He saluted the wizard with two fingers.

With nothing else to say, Randall climbed onto his horse with sadness written on his face.

“Good traveling to you,” Markwood said to the healer. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to speak with Master Darkbow in private for a few moments.”

Randall glanced at Kron, who only motioned for the young man to ride on.

Once Randall trotted off to join Adara ahead of them, Kron turned to the wizard but remained silent.

“I wanted you alone to give you a warning,” Markwood said with a frown.

“I know the dangers before us,” Kron said.

“No, you misunderstand” the old wizard said, “I’m warning you about me. If that boy comes to a wicked end, I will be down on you for it. While I feel it is time he dealt with his heritage, it was you who put him up to this nonsense of traveling to Kobalos to confront his father.”

“I only showed him the truth,” Kron said. “If he keeps running, sooner or later he will be caught.”

“Regardless, I am holding you responsible for his well being,” Markwood said. “I don’t know you other than the rumors I hear, but I know a man who seeks out trouble when I see him. You, sir, are a seeker of trouble. Do not let it fall upon poor Randall’s head. He has had a hard enough life without the further burden of having to clean up any messes you create.”

Kron chuckled. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to help.”

“I have noticed,” Markwood said, “but that doesn’t mean I trust you. I don’t think you’ll turn the boy over to Verkain, but I’m not convinced you will keep him out of harm’s way. Just know you will have me to answer to if anything should happen to him.”

“I understand,” Kron said.

“Also, while I don’t trust you, I acknowledge your experience and leadership,” Markwood went on. “Randall is a babe in the woods, and Adara has been pampered far too long. They don’t realize the extent of the danger before them. I’m guessing you do.”

Kron nodded silently.

“Belgad has filed charges against you with magistrates in Bond,” the wizard said. “The rightful authorities now have a warrant for your arrest.”

“On what charges?” Kron asked.

“For everything,” Markwood answered. “For the burning of his ships, the destruction of the Asylum, even for murdering Percifidus.”

“Most of those charges wouldn’t stand,” Kron said. “The Asylum was an accident, and Percifidus was engaged in a crime when I killed him. I would think Gris could file some charges of his own.”

“He will once things have settled a bit in Bond,” Markwood said. “I’m helping him as much as I can. But, for the time being, every magistrate and militia group between here and the borders will be keeping an eye our for you. Never forget Belgad is a knight; he has a great bit of pull when he wants it.”

“I must say I’m surprised the man came after us personally.”

“He came after you personally,” Markwood said. “Randall and Adara are secondary prizes at best. You wounded his pride.”

“I challenged him,” Kron said. “My guess would be no one has dared that in years.”

The old wizard stared around the man in black and his horse to spot Randall and Adara waiting. “You should go,” Markwood said. “Just remember to keep a good watch.”

Kron nodded to the wizard again.

“May Ashal be with you,” Markwood said.

“And with you,” Kron said and spun his animal away.

Chapter Two

Holderby’s Landing was little more than three structures of timbered walls and thatched roofs. The largest of the buildings was an inn, tavern and goods store all under one roof. The smallest building was next to the river and a wooden wharf that had a barge large enough to hold several horses. The other structure stood apart, slightly to the east of the village, and smoke brewed from its chimney. There were few villagers visible. A rough-looking older man was busy tying the barge to the dock while a young man in a simple brown tunic wiped down several horses tied to a hitching post in front of the inn; a teen girl swept away dust from in front of the dwelling while a small boy covered in mud ran down to the river.

Adara, Randall and Kron had not been riding a half hour after leaving Markwood before they arrived at the village, tying their steeds alongside others in front of the inn.

“It’s so small,” Adara said as she moved toward the front door of the tavern.

“It will provide what we need,” Kron said pulling a silver tankard from his saddlebags.

Adara noticed the silver mug. “I’ve seen that before,” she said. “What are you going to do with it?”

Kron paused at the inn’s door and turned to face the woman. “I’m going to trade it,” he said. “We have a long journey ahead and need to watch our resources.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to sell that thing this close to the city?” Randall asked, reading the word “Belgad” etched onto the side of the mug.

“The value will likely be higher here than it would farther away where Belgad’s reach is not felt,” Kron said. “Plus, I’ve been through here several times and the owner of this establishment buys and sells unusual goods.”

Kron pushed open the door. Smoke rolled out through the opening to reveal darkness. The man in black stepped through without hesitation and the others followed.

A half hour later, they exited the building, each of them carrying a bundle of goods. On Kron’s back slung a sword longer and heavier than the one he had taken from one of Belgad’s guards in Bond; clutched in his hands was a leather quiver loaded with arrows, a short bow and a burlap sack full of food goods. Adara also carried a rough-looking bag full of food as did Randall, who also sported a dagger and short sword on his belt.

“Old Reevus has never let me down,” Kron said storing his new goods on his horse and strapping the bow in a leather scabbard on the animal’s side.

“Come through here often?” Randall asked as he put away his own goods.

“I did as a child,” Kron said.

Adara was busy storing her new possessions in leather saddlebags on the back of her steed when Kron approached. “I didn’t see you picking up a ranged weapon,” he said to her.

Adara rummaged through her saddlebags. “I chose a new weapon,” she said. “Something different.”

Kron looked skeptical.

The woman flashed a broad grin and removed an item that appeared to be made of leather straps from the saddle bag. Hanging from her fingers was a long strip of leather that tapered to a narrow end.

“A whip?” Randall asked.

Kron said nothing, only stared at the weapon in Adara’s hands.

“It’s not heavy, it fits well coiled on my belt, and most important, it has a reach of more than ten feet,” the woman said with her grin growing wider.

“It is not what I had in mind,” Kron said.

“It’s the best you’re going to get,” Adara said. “I’m not lugging around some awkward bow and I’m not loading myself down with a bunch of throwing weapons. If I’m not fast and agile, I’m useless in a fight.”

Kron stared at the whip in her hands, then shook his head and climbed into his saddle. “It will have to do.”

“Thank you,” Adara said wrapping the whip into a loop and tying it on her right hip in front of her main gauche.

Randall put a hand on his saddle horn when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see four men in chain shirts waving swords over their heads and riding toward them at full speed.

“Oh hell,” the healer said.

“Halt!” one of the men hollered.

“Ride!” Kron yelled.

Adara and Randall wasted no time pulling themselves into their saddles, but it would be too late. They knew the four men would wade into them before they could escape.

Kron stood in his stirrups and lobbed a small gray ball over Randall’s head in the direction of the horsemen, striking one of the men in the chest. Black smoke sprang forth, spraying the area and blinding the four riders. One of the men fell to the ground while the others tried to keep control of their animals.

“Now!” Kron yelled spinning his steed away from the others and spurring it to action.

Seeing they had a momentary respite, Randall and Adara charged after their companion.

The three continued riding fast until their horses were nearly spent. Seeing no pursuit, they steered their steeds to the side of the road.

Adara climbed out of her saddle to allow her ride to rest. “How did they catch up with us so fast?” she asked.

Kron stood in his stirrups again to look behind them. Seeing no sign of the four men, he said, “They rode all night.”

“Or they used magic,” Randall added.

“Where was Belgad?” Adara asked. “Could his new wizard have gotten them here so fast?”

“I’m glad you asked,” a voice said from the woods.

A section of the forest’s trees shimmered like waves of heat, but quickly dissipated to reveal a woman with long, scarlet hair and brightly-painted lips. Wrapped around her was a long, purple gown with stars and moons of silver woven into it. Her fingers, outstretched toward the three, waved with jewel-encrusted rings on the digits.

“Karitha?” Adara asked.

A beam of gold light shot forth from the wizard’s fingers.

Adara dropped to the ground as Randall jumped behind his horse.

The wizard’s ray erupted over their heads in a glittering explosion that seemed harmless while Kron dove toward the red-haired woman.

“Not today,” the wizard woman said and waved a hand in front of Darkbow’s face.

Kron, suddenly blind, came to a halt.

Sounds of quickening hoof beats neared and Randall dared a look toward the noise. “Oh hell.”

The four men on horseback had cleared Kron’s smoke and were barreling down upon the three.

“Randall, get on your horse!” Adara yelled. She was thankful to see the healer did what he was told without asking questions. “Ride as fast as you can!”

Randall’s steed took off if an arrow had struck it’s rump.

Kron stood still. For the first time in his life, he was thankful for the many hours his uncle Kuthius had trained him to fight without his sight. It was true he could not see, but his sense of hearing was attuned to his surroundings, telling him everything that was happening. The sound of heavy hooves striking the brick road said the four horsemen were nearing, but not within attack range. Harsh breathing and creaking leather told Kron that Adara was climbing onto her saddle. A rustling of silky cloth told him the female wizard was still in front of him but just out of range of his grasp.

Kron yanked a dagger from his belt and slung the weapon out, in front of himself. He heard a yelp and the fumblings of the wizard as she tried to back further away into the surrounding foliage.

“Kron! Take my hand!” Adara yelled from behind him.

Kron spun and reached out blindly. He felt Adara’s fingers lock around his wrist and tug. He jumped forward hoping she was pulling him onto a horse and was quickly proven right.

Adara grabbed the reigns of Kron’s animal and screamed at her own riding beast. Both horses sprang forward, carrying Kron and Adara away as fast as their tired legs could move.

Belgad’s men did not give up the chase, their horse’s hooves shaking the ground and stirring up dust.

“What happened to you?” Adara asked Kron.

“She blinded me.”

“Tricky witch,” Adara said.

Kron turned his head so he could better hear how close were the four horsemen. “They’re right behind us,” he said.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Adara asked.

“Keep riding straight,” Kron said groping for his own horse flying along next to them.

“What in the name of Ashal are you doing?” Adara yelled.

Kron acted before she could stop him. He brought up one booted foot onto the rump of Adara’s horse and shoved off, launching himself through air onto the back of his own beast. He landed across the saddle and managed to grab the bags on the animal’s rump to steady himself.

“Have you gone crazy?” Adara yelled at Kron’s rear.

Kron ignored Adara’s yellings as he pulled him self to a sitting position. He reached behind himself to ransack through his saddle bags.

“What are you doing?” Adara yelled, watching Kron while keeping an eye on their nearing enemies.

“Keep straight!” Kron yelled, his gloved hands working in his saddle bags.

Adara focused forward and tried her best to keep the two horses running along the center of the road that continued to unfold before them. Watching the back of Randall’s steed, she suddenly spied a bend in the road ahead.

“We’re running out of space!” Adara yelled over the din of hoof beats right behind them.

“Got them!” Kron pulled a handful of small items from his bags and scattered them.

The objects flying through the air looked like children’s jacks.

Belgad’s four riders tried to pull up their horses, but they were going too fast. Kron’s caltrops tumbled along the ground until the four horses clomped on them. Three of the animals suddenly jerked back, sending their riders smashing to the ground. One horse avoided the spikes altogether, but the rider reigned in the beast.

Kron smiled as he heard the screams of the horsemen drift further away. “Like I said, distance.”

The female sword fighter slowed their horses slightly to allow them to breath, but kept pushing the animals on behind Randall.

“You’re full of surprises,” she said.

“Always keep your foes guessing,” Kron said. “Let the unknown work for you.”

***

It was an hour before Kron allowed them to stop, and then he had Adara lead them a hundred yards off the main road and below trees with heavy shadows.

“You’re very lucky,” Randall said as he knelt over Kron sitting on a tree stump.

“He’s blind. What’s lucky about that?” Adara said as she made sure their horses were tied to a tree.

“It was a spell she cast and not some kind of poison,” Randall said using his fingers to pry back Kron’s eyelids to stare at the cloudy orbs. “I can heal the blindness with a few minutes preparation, or it might wear off on its own.”

“Heal me now,” Kron said.

Randall moved away from the man wearing black. “I thought you’d say that,” he said, opening saddle bags. “I just need some dandelion stems, then I’ll have you as good as before.”

Adara picked up twigs and dry grass from the ground and began building a pyramid of kindling for a fire. “Are we going to be here long?” she asked.

“What say you, healer?” Kron asked.

Randall removed several small glass vials from within his saddle bags and stared into them. “I can have your eyesight back in a quarter of an hour,” he said, “but you’re likely to have some blurriness for a couple of hours. I’d suggest an early lunch to let your eyes recover.”

“Two hours, then,” Kron said.

Adara took two small pieces of flint from inside a belt pocket and began to strike them together against the dry grass in her pyramid of tinder. In less than a minute she had a small fire going.

Kron listened to the crackling grass. “You learn quickly.”

“I’ve been watching you,” she said in return. “I might as well pick up a few other skills while we’re on the road, though I was never much for camping. Bad room service and a stiff mattress are about as close to living outdoors as I usually suffer.”

Kron allowed a sly grin as Randall dumped several bottles of herbs into it a wood bowl.

“It was close back there,” Adara said.

“Yes, it was. They must have ridden through the night to catch up with us that fast,” Kron said, “and Karitha is conniving, though she’s inexperienced at combat.”

“What makes you say that?” Randall asked pouring water from a goatskin into the bowl.

“She allowed herself to be too close to us,” Kron said.

“Distance,” Adara said.

“Yes, distance. You’re learning all the time,” Kron said.

“What was that golden from her fingers?” Adara asked Randall.

The healer used a finger to stir the herbs in the water, then shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Probably some kind of magical lightning.”

“That seems like powerful magic,” Adara said.

“Not the most powerful,” Randall said still stirring.

“What is the most powerful?” Adara asked.

“Low magic,” Randall said sitting next to Kron and holding out the bowl in front of the blind man. “Here, Kron, sip this.”

One of Kron’s hands fumbled in the air for a moment before finding the bowl, then he raised it to his lips.

“What’s low magic?” Adara asked.

“There are basically two types of magic,” Randall explained watching Kron’s eyes. “Almost all wizards use what’s called high magic, which doesn’t mean it’s only for good purposes, as most people believe. High magic can do whatever a wizard wants, within the limits of their imagination and strength of will.”

“Then why do wizards chants words while casting spells, or wiggle their fingers in the air?” Adara asked.

“Those are focusing tools,” Randall said. “It helps a mage to remember how to cast a spell by having words or movements memorized.”

“What’s different about low magic?” Adara asked.

“High magic uses a wizard’s own inner strength, what some call the soul, to cast spells. It’s why I get tired after healing,” Randall said. “Low magic is very rare, and it uses the souls of others, sometimes even killing people if it’s a particularly powerful spell.”

“Like what happened at the Asylum,” Kron interjected.

Randall frowned with a hurt look.

Adara had heard the Asylum and cemetery story from Kron and Randall during their first day of travel, and she could tell it bothered both men. Randall seemed to feel guilty over those who had died through the use of his magic ring at the Asylum. Kron was like a stone emotionally, but he seemed upset about the death of that boy, Wyck, when the war demons had appeared in Bond.

“What I would like to know is where Belgad and Fortisquo were,” Adara said. “The old wizard said they were coming for us.”

“They were probably outside Holderby’s Landing,” Kron said before taking another sip of Randall’s medicine.

“Why didn’t they attack?” Adara said.

Randall took the bowl from Kron’s hands, turned it up to drain the last of its contents and returned it to his saddle bags.

“Testing us,” Kron said. “Maybe to see how we would react. It wasn’t a well thought out attack on their part. It would have made more sense to ambush us on the road.”

“You think Belgad is that subtle?” Randall said taking a seat on the ground next to Kron.

“Fortisquo is,” Adara said.

Kron nodded in agreement.

Randall stared into Kron’s eyes. “You should start seeing some light in the next minute or so,” he said. “After that, you’ll gradually gain back your sight. It’ll be blurry at first, but that will pass.”

“Thank you,” Kron said.

Adara retrieved a sack full of sandwiches from Holderby’s Landing and passed each man something to eat. “Where do we go from here?” she asked.

“We’ll leave the road,” Kron said. “I was going to take the main road to Caballerus, then follow a track northeast to the Lands, but now I’m thinking we’ll stick to the woods for a couple of days. Then it should be safe to use the road again. We’ll head straight east for a while.”

“What’s the next town?” Randall asked.

“Pinsonfork is four or five days away by the road,” Kron said. “We should be there in a week.”

“A week?” from Adara.

“There are a few villages between here and there,” Kron said, “but we should avoid them for a while.”

“How can we be sure we’ve gotten rid of Belgad?” Randall asked.

“We can’t,” Kron said blinking.

Chapter Three

The days in the woods were nearly more than Adara could stand. The meals tended to be dried goods provided by the store from Holderby’s Landing, though Kron did try to expand their diet by adding wild berries and the occasional rabbit or squirrel. The weather was dry, but the nights chilly, and saddle blankets did not cut the cold and smelled of horse. None of this sat well with Adara. She missed silk sheets, feathered pillows and meals that had not been crawling only minutes before being turned over a fire.

“I wish Belgad and Fortisquo had showed themselves at the village,” she said after breakfast the third morning since fleeing Holderby’s Landing.

“Why?” Randall asked as the three of them mounted their horses and began slowly making their way through the woods.

“Then we could have killed them,” Adara said, “and we wouldn’t have to hide among the damn trees.”

“Belgad isn’t the only one after us,” Kron added.

“Yes, all of Kobalos, apparently,” Adara vented. “Verkain and his war demons are just waiting to tear us apart.”

Kron moved his riding animal into the lead position. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Randall, about these war demons.”

“What of them?” the healer said.

“What are they?” Kron asked.

“They’re demons.”

“From hell?” Adara asked.

“Yes, hell, where the Book of Ashal tells us evil souls are sent,” Randall said. “My father summons them when he has need of their services.”

“What kind of services?” from Kron.

“Assassinations and the like,” the healer said. “Whatever he wants them to do. They are massively destructive and nearly impossible to destroy.”

“Nearly?” Kron asked.

“Powerful magics might be able to harm them, or at least slow them down,” Randall explained, leading his horse around a wide tree. “You might be able to beat one down if you had a magical weapon.”

“Are you sure they’re from hell?” Adara asked, as if not believing what she had heard.

“My father performs a ritual, which usually kills three or four slaves, and a war demon appears in smoke and flame,” Randall said. “He told me he summoned them from hell, and I have no reason to disbelieve him. From what I studied at university, it’s entirely possible.”

Adara shivered as she rode along next to Randall. Her East Ursian upbringing had instilled in her a fear of hell and the beings that supposedly dwelled there. Like all young East Ursian girls from noble families, she had spent time in a private school under the control of the church, which controlled nearly everything in the East. The Book of Ashal told that humans who did not live up to the almighty god’s plan for their life were sent to hell where they would be tortured by demons and devils for all eternity. Adara was not an overly religious person, but the Eastern Church’s teachings had made an impression.

“Why do the demons have to do Verkain’s bidding?” Adara asked after a few minutes of quiet.

“They don’t have to,” Randall explained. “He gives them slaves. They kill the slaves, then the slaves’ souls belong to them.”

“Are you serious?” Adara asked. It sounded like madness to her.

“I don’t understand everything about it. I haven’t spent a lot of time studying low magics,” Randall said, “but yes, apparently that is what happens. I’ve seen the ceremonies performed. My father casts his ritual, the demon appears and slaughters a few slaves. What happens beyond that, I don’t know, but my father used to threaten me with the same fate.”

“Oh, Ashal,” Adara said. “What a family to be born into.”

***

As they made their slow way through the woods, Kron allowed Randall and Adara’s conversation to fade into the background. He thought they were probably safe from Belgad while they stayed in the brush, but he wanted to keep his senses alert to a possible ambush. While he tuned his ears to the sounds of the forest, particularly distant bird calls and snappings of undergrowth, his mind turned to their pursuers.

Lord Verkain’s war demons seemed a distant threat. If they knew Randall’s location, they already would have attacked. It also seemed unlikely any agents of Verkain could guess what direction they were traveling. The lord of Kobalos would not expect his only surviving son to be traveling toward him.

On the other hand, Belgad was definitely on their trail. The last couple of days Kron had been going over and over the short fight and flight at Holderby’s Landing. He was curious as to why Belgad and Fortisquo had not shown themselves. The only thing Kron could come up with was that they were present, but were in the background hiding, perhaps with the aid of their wizard. Why would they be present and not take part in the attack? Because they wanted to watch and learn. Belgad and Fortisquo were not fools, but Kron did not think Belgad was overly crafty. Fortisquo, on the other hand, was devilish enough to set up such a scenario. The rapier master was familiar with Adara in combat situations, and he had seen Kron in action, but he had no clue as to how Randall would react in a dire situation. Kron guessed Fortisquo had been disappointed. Not to take all the credit for their escape at Holderby’s Landing, but Kron was aware Adara and Randall had done little more than flee the situation. He did not hold that against them; in fact, he was glad of it because it proved their quick summation of the situation. They had been better off fleeing than trying to help because they likely would have only gotten in his way. It was true Adara had pulled him from the wizard, Karitha, but Kron realized she could have gotten herself injured or killed. He did not know if he had harmed Karitha with his thrown dagger, but she had yelled out as if in pain. Kron was so sure of his survival skills that even without his sight, he was positive he could have gotten away from of Belgad’s men and the wizard. If nothing else, he would have tossed another smoke grenado and darted into the woods.

“Do you think they’ll try another ambush?” Kron heard Randall ask, drawing his attention back to the conversation.

“Probably in Pinsonfork,” Adara said as they rode. “They can guess we’ve gone to the woods, but they won’t know where we are. They’ll wait for us in Pinsonfork.”

Kron’s mind drifted away from the conversation again, but he focused on the idea of an ambush. Kron knew Belgad was a northerner, a Dartague barbarian warlord long ago, which meant the man might have some woods skills. If so, he would still have a hard time finding Kron, Adara and Randall. Kron made sure to wipe away signs of their camping, and Randall continued to place a protective spell on them at least once a day.

Kron began to wonder if it was a good idea to continue to Pinsonfork. He had planned on turning them north soon after Holderby’s Landing, and the main northern road set out from Pinsonfork, but they could always cross open land to reach the road, or they could pass up the road altogether and stick to a forest path. That would slow their movement, making it months instead of weeks before they would near the Prisonlands, but it also meant safety. Kron didn’t believe Belgad or any of his men were good enough trackers to find them in the West Ursian forests, and he had to trust Randall’s spells to be strong enough to block any magical viewers.

On the other hand, if the party went ahead to Pinsonfork, they might have the chance of dealing with Belgad once and for all. Kron liked that idea, but he realized it brought grave danger for Randall and Adara.

Kron pictured in his mind the town of Pinsonfork he had traveled through several months earlier and he imagined various layouts for an ambush against Belgad. Scenarios darted through Kron’s mind, one after another, but all ended with his group’s defeat. For one thing, Belgad and gang would arrive in the town before Kron, so a proper ambush was out of the question.

Kron realized if they went on to Pinsonfork, he would have to face Belgad on his own. The idea made him grin. He would love to take down the man who had ordered his parents killed, but he understood he could not win this fight alone.

To take down Belgad, Kron would have to bide his time. Going to Pinsonfork was not a good idea. Kron could see that. He would have to be patient. He would have to wait. The time would eventually be right, then he would slide a knife through Belgad’s ribs and watch the man die suffocating as blood filled his lungs.

***

The day was drawing close to ending when Adara broached the subject of their travel arrangements again.

“It’s been three days. You said we’d only be in the woods for two,” the woman said to Kron as they prepared camp. “I might not be a woodsman, but I can follow the sun when there’s an opening in the trees. We’ve not been heading due east for several hours.”

“We’re not going to Pinsonfork,” Kron said flatly, then returned to building a fire.

Adara turned to look at Randall as if she had been struck with a weapon. “Can you believe your ears?”

Kron stood and faced the woman. “You can either complain, as you have done most of this trip, or you can help build camp,” he said.

Adara Corvus was taken aback. No one spoke to her that way, especially not a man. Yes, she had complained, but their travels had been dirty and often boring, and Kron spoke so little she was forced to have every conversation with Randall, who was nice and royalty but he was not as worldly as Adara. Kron was her teacher. He was supposed to be the one talking to her. Damn it, he was the one who was supposed to be bedding her! It had always been that way and it had worked for Adara. Moving from man to man, learning from each of them, had taught her skills with the sword. Kron offered tutoring, when it was convenient, but he had made no move toward Adara sexually. It dawned on her that was what infuriated her most.

“You ... you ...” she started, but could not finish the words.

“We’re all frustrated,” Randall said stepping between the two. “We’re having to watch over our shoulders all the time. We’re tired and we’re hungry, and another night sleeping on the ground and eating dry stuff or what we can kill doesn’t appeal to anyone.”

Kron remained as silent as stone.

“I think we just need some food and sleep,” the healer continued. “Adara can have her lesson in the morning.”

That’s when the sky seemed to explode.

The tops of trees shattered with a deafening booming noise, then branches and leaves rained down.

“War demons,” Randall yelled, shielding his eyes with a hand.

Kron rolled across the camp to their horses and snagged his bow from a pile of gear. He came up on one knee with an arrow already to his bowstring.

Adara too was suddenly busy, jumping away from the falling debris while drawing her rapier in her right hand and whipping out her main gauche in her left hand.

Plunging at them from on high was the monstrous, armored figure of a war demon, its wings coiled in tight against its body and its claws outstretched. A maw below its glowing red eyes within its helmet opened wide and screamed a hiss.

“What do we do?” Adara asked.

“We fight,” Kron said.

“We die,” the healer said.

Kron launched his arrow through the falling branches, catching the demon in its left shoulder. The arrow stuck, protruding between armored plates, but did not slow the monster.

As the demon cleared the last of the giant oak’s lower limbs, it spread its bat-like wings wide and hovered above the three, hissing all the while.

Kron put another arrow to string and loosed it at the creature. The bolt thumped against the thing’s armored breastplate and fell useless to the ground.

“Get out of here!” Darkbow yelled at the others.

Despite a stench of long-dead corpses flowing from the beast’s mouth, Adara stood her ground with weapons raised, waiting for the monster to lower into her attack range.

Randall backed away from the horror above him, but did not flee. His mind was filled with fear, but determination ruled his heart. He had fled long enough from his father. He had watched his family butchered in front of him. He would stand it no more.

The young healer raised a hand wearing a thick gold ring and pointed at the demon.

“Be gone!” Randall yelled. “I, a prince of Kobalos, command you in the name of my father, Lord Verkain! You are honor bound to the house of Verkain, and I am Prince Kerwin Verkain! You must do as I command!”

The demon ceased its screechings and paused in the air, its wings flapping in the wind. It glanced from Randall to Kron to Adara as if it did not know what to do.

The healer turned his hand so the mark of Verkain upon the ring was clearly visible to the demon. “I am a member of the royal family to whom you are allegianced! I order you to leave this vicinity and to hinder me no more!”

For a moment the demon’s head continued to look from one of the three to another, then it glared at the sky and raised its mighty wings behind itself. The beast roared, its scream shaking the remaining tree limbs above. Then the creature’s wings wrapped around its body and it fell toward the ground. Mere feet above Randall’s head there was another invisible explosion and the war demon vanished.

Chapter Four

Belgad did not like what he was hearing.

“My officer knew not what to do,” Ybalik, the general of the war demons, explained to the Dartague barbarian. “He was shown the sign of Lord Verkain and retreated for further orders.”

Sitting on a rock in front of his horse, Belgad kicked the ground sending a stone rolling. “Of course the healer had the sign of Kobalos,” the northerner said trying not to verbally explode and insult the demon leader. “He’s Verkain’s son. Wasn’t this made clear to your soldiers?”

The demon general snarled. “I will not explain further.”

Belgad glanced up at the demon standing over him, noting the anger in the general’s voice. The bald northerner knew he was pushing the limits of his relationship with the war demons and Verkain. He couldn’t question the demons too much, and he definitely couldn’t insult Ybalik, or they would turn on him. Belgad knew no fear, but he was no fool. The demons could tear him and his party apart in seconds. The only reason the demons had not done so thus far was because Belgad had bargained with them, agreeing to help them find Randall while also hunting for Adara and Kron Darkbow.

Belgad’s eyes shifted to the small encampment they had thrown together beside the bricked road. Four of Belgad’s armor-clad soldiers were busy brushing down their horses while the sword master Fortisquo sat in a folding chair to the side of the camp. Belgad noticed the sword master had his one good eye focused on a book, the other eye covered by a black patch; apparently the swordsman in fancy clothes was more enthralled with whatever he was reading than the goings-on around him. Next Belgad spotted the wizard woman Karitha, tall in purple gowns below folds of red hair; she was busy, working at building a fire.

Belgad pushed away from the ground and stood next to the general, the tall and bulky human dwarfed by the demon’s mass. “Can you still follow them using the tracing hex?” Belgad asked.

“We can, but we await word from Kobalos,” the war demon said. “As we speak, one of my agents is conferring with Lord Verkain. The Kobalan lord will tell us what must be done. The healer will likely be dead by morning.”

Belgad wasn’t so sure. Kron Darkbow had proven resourceful, and Tendbones was turning out to be the same. Kron, Randall and Adara should have been dead before leaving Bond, but they had been elusive. Some of that was luck, Belgad was sure, but some of it was also because he had allowed them to escape. He could have had them in Holderby’s Landing, but Fortisquo had warned of being too hasty. Karitha had cast a camouflage spell, hiding Fortisquo and Belgad among nearby brush, then she had engaged their three enemies at close range; Belgad had thought it a stupid thing to do, but Karitha had insisted it was necessary to cast her tracing hex on their foes.

The woman wizard, and the war demons, had said Randall, Adara and Kron were hidden well by magic, probably a spell of the youthful healer. However, Karitha had said if she could get close enough to the three, she could put a tracing hex on them that would allow her and the demons to keep track of their movements. That part of the plan had worked, but she had received a dagger in one arm and several of Belgad’s men had been bruised.

The tracing hex was still on Kron Darkbow and his companions, and Karitha swore she could tell where they were located. What confused Belgad was the three seemed to be moving slightly northeast through the woods. They had turned off the most direct route to Pinsonfork. Belgad had expected them to leave the road after Holderby’s Landing, but it confounded him why they had turned northeast. Once he thought about it, Belgad realized he did not know his enemies’ destination, or if they even had one. Perhaps they were only running, meandering around in hopes of escape? Darkbow seemed more systematic than that. Besides, they could have been as safe in the city as they were on the highway if all they had wanted to do was hide. But where could they be going? The mountains lay a good ways to the east, and beyond that was East Ursia; to the north was Caballerus, then the Prisonlands, but those places wouldn’t provide any more protection than what they would have known in Bond.

Belgad did not have any answers, but he knew he and his people would continue to Pinsonfork unless the general demon was proven correct and Randall were dead by sunrise. If that should happen, Darkbow and Adara also would be dead and everyone could return home with some grisly trophies. If Kron and his folks eluded the demons, then Belgad would be waiting for them in Pinsonfork. If Kron and the others did not go through Pinsonfork, Belgad would follow. Sooner or later Darkbow would slip up or slow down and Belgad would have him.

It was a waiting game, and Belgad hated waiting.

***

Adara and Randall’s first instinct was to flee. Their whereabouts were known by the war demons and possibly Belgad.

“If we ride instead of think, we will soon be dead,” Kron said kicking dirt onto their camp fire, putting them in darkness.

“If we sit here waiting we will soon be dead,” Adara spat.

“Think!” Kron said. “They knew where we were. How?”

Neither Adara or Randall could come up with an answer.

“If they knew where we were, then they likely will know wherever we go,” Kron said. “There is no reason to run. They have us, so it’s better to stand and fight or try and find out how they can follow our movements. If we can figure that out, we might be able to do something about it. Then we can ride.”

They were all quiet in the darkness of the forest, each thinking in their own silence.

After a minute, Adara asked, “Randall, did you cast your protective spells today?”

“Yes, I placed a shielding web over us,” the healer said. “It should be strong enough to block all but the most powerful of observation magics.”

“Would the demons be able to bypass your spell?” Kron asked.

“Not likely, though my father might be able to,” Randall said, “but he would have to have known our location at a particular point before he could track us further.”

“The demons or Belgad could have told him we were in Holderby’s Landing,” Adara said.

“There’s more to it than that,” Randall explained. “He would have to have looked in upon us with sorcery, to see us in a particular spot. I don’t think that could have happened.”

“Is there anyone else that powerful?” Kron asked.

“Markwood,” Randall said. “Maybe one or two others at the university. Other than that, I wouldn’t have a clue. I’m sure somewhere there are a handful of other mages with the ability to see through a protective web, but they would be few and far between.”

“Are there any other possibilities?” Kron asked. “Magic weapons? Creatures? Maybe something like your ring?”

“Nothing I’ve heard of,” Randall responded.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Adara said, frustrated in the dark. “They traced us here, and they could be back any minute. We have to leave!”

“What did you say?” Randall asked.

“I said they tracked us here, and —”

“No, you said they traced us here,” Randall said with hope in his voice. “That’s it! It’s a tracing hex!”

“A what?” Kron and Adara said at the same time.

“A tracing hex,” Randall said. “Remember when Karitha cast some kind of spell at us, but it didn’t seem to do anything.”

“I remember,” Adara said.

“That could have been a tracing hex,” Randall said. “You have to be close to whomever you’re casting it upon.”

“That would explain why she was foolish enough to be so near us,” Kron said.

“It would also explain why her attack didn’t harm us,” Randall went on.

“How does this hex work?” Adara said.

“It places an invisible mark upon a person. A mage can track them that way, and a protective web won’t help because the web spell covers an area, not an individual,” Randall said.

“What can we do?” Kron asked.

“It’s simple,” Randall said. “All I have to do is cast some detecting magic on us, find out who or what has the mark, then I erase it.”

“How long will this take?” Kron asked.

“Just a few minutes,” Randall said.

“Get to it.”

***

“We’ve lost them.”

Those were not words Belgad wanted to hear from Karitha Jarnac, and his disappointment was apparent as he twisted his head to glare at the woman.

“They’ve discovered the hex and erased it,” the wizard said. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

The Dartague jumped to his feet and roared to the night’s sky.

Karitha retreated, fearing Belgad’s reaction. The others in the camp looked up from whatever they were doing to stare at Belgad, with the exception of Fortisquo. The sword master simply continued thumbing through his book, the title and author’s name on the leather cover revealing it as a treatise on fencing maneuvers written by Karitha’s late brother.

“We are done for,” Belgad said. “Once the demons discover this, they will butcher us.”

“Posh,” Fortisquo said not looking up.

Belgad spun on the sword fighter, his eyes boring into the man’s head.

Fortisquo snapped his book closed, dropped it in his lap and placed his crossed feet on a tree stump in front of his chair. He looked up at the barbarian lord. “We can still be their agents in hunting Adara, Darkbow and the healer,” he said casually, almost with disinterest. “The demons don’t like doing Verkain’s bidding, so the less they are involved, the better for them. We, however, can continue the search without the demons having to be involved, and we might get to our quarry without their assistance.”

Belgad’s eyes remained enlarged while he sucked in deep breaths and took in the sword fighter’s words. For a second he had been tempted to bounce across the grassy distance between himself and Fortisquo, then crush the man’s head with his bare hands, but Fortisquo’s words made some sense. It was true the demons did not enjoy serving others despite their payment of human souls; Verkain did not appear to be directly involved with the hunt for his son, leaving the work to the demons and to Belgad, so it was possible the demons would allow them to live on the pretext the demons were continuing the hunt while actually Belgad and his people would be doing most of the work.

“You play a game with our lives,” the Dartague said.

“We have no other choice at this point,” Fortisquo said, “unless, of course, Karitha here can lace another hex on our foes.” He turned his head to look at the wizard.

Karitha shook her head.

Fortisquo looked back at Belgad. “There you have it,” he said. “We have little choice. When the chief demon arrives, he will likely be angry because now they can’t track Randall either. Placate him. Tell him we will continue the search and Karitha will place another hex on them. The demons will agree to it. What choice do they have? They’ve a master to serve.”

Belgad spun away from the camp and stared into the dark forest. Perhaps Fortisquo was right. The demons would not be pleased, but they might take the deal. Belgad hoped they would take the deal. He did not find appealing the notion of spending eternity in hell.

***

After several minutes of casting, Randall found he had been correct about a tracing hex. Unfortunately, Karitha’s spell had been more complex than Randall had anticipated; it had been a multiple tracing spell, placing a hex on each of them. Still, after a few minutes of working to magically erase the hexes, they were done away with.

“We are hidden once more,” Randall said.

“Mount up,” Kron said, and soon they were making their way through the woods once more.

The blackness of night slowed their travel further, but that did not matter. Kron wanted distance between them and their last camp site. Belgad or the demons were likely to investigate by morning.

After a silent hour of waltzing their riding beasts through the dark, Adara asked, “Are we going to stop for the night?”

“In a few more hours,” Kron said.

“Where are we going?” Adara asked.

“East,” Kron said.

“I know we’re going east,” the woman said. “I would like to know the location to which we are going.”

“Kobalos,” Kron said.

Adara had to grit her teeth to keep from saying something sharp. She had no fondness for the opposite sex, other than their usefulness in combat training and enjoyment of them in bed, but Kron Darkbow was the most infuriating male she had met. If she did not end up killing him, she might eventually come to like him, or at least appreciate him.

“I believe she meant a nearer destination, Kron,” Randall said.

“As I said, East,” Kron said slowing his steed to traverse a shallow, dry gully.

“You mean East Ursia?” Adara asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh, Ashal,” Randall said.

“Exactly.”

Chapter Five

Most of the next week was spent in the saddle for Adara, Randall and Kron. They made their way east slowly, staying in the relative safety of dense forest when possible and crossing open farmland and fields only when they had no other option.

They strayed far north of the town of Pinsonfork, cutting across a trail of dirt that led north to Caballerus. There were a few villages between Pinsonfork and the mountain range known as the Needles, but Kron made sure they avoided those. He also tried to keep them out of sight of farm houses and one old castle that looked as if it were still inhabited because of firelight in the open windows.

Their food supplies were running low when the far gray peaks of the Needles appeared above the tree line.

“We need something to eat,” Adara said gazing at the distant crags, noting they grew white at the tops, “and we’ll need proper dress if we’re heading into those mountains.”

Kron looked the three of them over and realized Adara was right. His own black garb, Randall’s white robes and Adara’s fencing wardrobe would not block out the chill of the Needles. They would have to venture into civilization for cold-weather gear.

“Randall, can you do anything to keep us warm?” Kron asked.

“I can’t stop the cold,” the healer replied, “but I can take care of frost bite and the like.”

“That won’t do,” Adara said to Kron from her saddle. “He might be able to keep us alive, but we’ll be miserable, too miserable to face Belgad if he should show.”

Again, Kron had to admit Adara was right. The road they had been traveling parallel to for most of their trip ran through the mountains into East Ursia and it took only a couple of days to get through those mountains using the road. Kron would rather avoid the road altogether, but it would take months for them to traverse the Needles if they did not use the road. There was also the possibility they would not survive the climbing. The road would have to be used.

“When I was a boy, there was an old military depot just this side of the Needles that the Western army had converted to a lodge for travelers,” Kron said. “There should be warm clothes.”

“When was the last time you were there?” Adara asked.

“Fifteen years ago,” Kron said, then looked to the healer. “What do you think?”

“Let’s try for this lodge,” Randall said.

“We’ll ride a bit further, then stop for the night,” Kron said. “In the morning I will go to the lodge.”

“Dressed all in black?” Adara said. “The locals will remember you for years. Belgad would have no problem finding out you’d been there. Let me go.”

Kron would have smiled at the woman, but he thought it might make her angry. She had been correct for a third time in one conversation. His training was beginning to pay off. She was using her head and complaining less.

“In the morning, then,” Kron said to her and rode on, “but Randall and I shall be near in case Belgad should rear his ugly, bald head.”

***

The following morning Adara found herself alone marching along the bricked road toward the mountains. There was little traffic, which helped her keep an eye out for Belgad and his crew. She had wrapped Kron’s cloak around her to shield her somewhat from view; she was not dressed to draw attention, but it was not ordinary in rural areas for women to wear men’s clothing, which was basically what Adara wore.

She could see the white waters of the Ursian passing her by on her right as she spotted the road winding its way into the lower levels of the Needles and the upright log walls that surrounded what was the old military depot. The lodge sat in a valley just before a giant crag opened for the road in the mountains. From her slightly elevated position Adara could see a large, two-story log structure inside the surrounding walls. Smoke curled from several brick chimneys in the back of the building and a good number of horses were tied to a post out front. A barn of cut timber sat to one side of the main building and its doors were open as travelers pulled their steeds from inside and prepared for the day’s travel.

As Adara pulled near the open gate of the lodge, an older man in a weathered blue tabard of the West Ursian army excused himself from talking with a group of travelers loading gear on their horses. Adara instantly took in the chain armor the man wore, the sword on his belt and the lengthy axe-like halberd he carried upright. She could see a couple of other men in similar uniforms further inside the grounds.

“Morning to you,” said the man as he walked toward Adara.

“And to you,” Adara said, tying her steed to a hitching post with other horses just inside the gate.

“What can I do for you today?” the man asked.

Adara pointed east along the road that ran into the Needles. “I need clothing for mountain travel,” she said. “Would you have any for sale? Or know of a nearby shop?”

The old man chuckled and jabbed a thumb toward the big log building behind him. “We’ve a goods shop inside,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll have anything you’d be wanting.”

Adara thanked the helpful fellow and made her way to the log building. She was at the bottom of the wooden steps leading up the building’s entrance when she saw four men in chain shirts walking out of the barn and straight for her. They were talking among themselves and did not seem to pay her any attention, but it caused the woman to stop in her tracks.

The four were Belgad’s soldiers, the ones who had chased them at Holderby’s Landing.

Adara’s eyes darted around the grounds of the walled depot, but she saw no other signs of Belgad or his other minions.

The four armored men with swords on their belts continued to walk toward Adara, but they were taking their time and so far had not paid her any attention.

Adara spun and walked away from the steps and toward the open wood gate, hoping all the while the four men would not notice her or at least would not recognize her in Kron’s cloak.

“Decide against buying anything?” the old guard asked as she neared him and her horse.

“You see those four men behind me?” Adara asked without looking back.

The old guard glanced over her shoulder. “You mean those brutes in chain?”

Adara nodded.

“What about them?” the old man asked.

“I saw them on the road a week ago,” Adara said with a whispered voice as she tried to sound like a nosy traveler. “They don’t wear any insignia or colors. I was just curious as to who they are.”

The old man grinned as if he enjoyed sharing gossip. “They rode in her like lightning three days ago,” he said. “They’re with some big muckity muck from the city. Says they’re waiting for someone. You ask me, they’re up to no good.”

“Really?” Adara said, widening her eyes in fake surprise.

“Our captain is allowing them to stay in his quarters,” the guard went on. “He’s got his nose so far up the big, bald muckity muck that I’d be surprised if he can smell his own breakfast at the table.”

Adara chuckled. “I seem to remember seeing some other people with them,” she said, “a woman and two men.”

The old man nodded as he leaned in closer to Adara and his grin grew wider. “There was a woman, and she’s pretty fiery.”

“You mean she has temper?” Adara asked.

“No, I mean she’s fiery,” the old guard said. “She set fire to the rear of one of our men who slapped her on the butt. All she did was point at him and the back of his pants legs burst into flames. I’m thinking she’s one of them wizarding folks from the big city.”

The old fellow obviously enjoyed talking and Adara let him continue.

“There was another fellow with that group,” the guard said. “He was a tall, skinny man dressed like a fop, all silky and like. He looks shifty. I keep my eye on him. I keep my eye on all of them.”

“Any idea who they’re waiting on?” Adara asked.

“Haven’t heard a word on who,” the man said, “but with all those weapons, I wouldn’t want to be whoever it is. This ain’t no social party waiting to serve them up crumpets and tea.”

Adara laughed at the old fellow. Despite the fact her life could be in serious danger at any moment, it felt good to share a chuckle with another human.

“You still want them clothes?” the old man asked.

She glanced toward the big log structure and saw the four men enter through the door at the top of the stairs.

Could she risk it? Belgad and Fortisquo would likely be tucked away in the captain’s room, as would Karitha. The four armored soldiers might not recognize Adara her they saw her.

In the end, Adara decided against taking the chance. “I will come back later for the coats,” Adara said as she untied her horse.

“I don’t like the looks of them either,” the soldier said jabbing his head toward the log building, “but I think they’re here for a bit. You might have to do without them coats.”

“I’ll manage,” Adara said, then thanked the man and trotted away.

***

“I did not think they would wait for us this long,” Kron said from horseback after Adara told him and Randall what she had seen and heard at the depot.

“What do we do?” Randall asked.

“We go north to the next path through the mountains,” Kron said, “but that will take another week, and we still need warm clothes.”

“Let’s just ride back to the nearest village and purchase what we need,” Adara said, sounding frustrated.

“That would take a day or two,” Kron said. “No, we go north.”

***

The image of the old soldier melted away before Belgad’s eyes and left behind the scarlet-headed Karitha standing in its place.

“She had no inkling it was you?” the muscular northman said sitting behind a pine desk in the log-walled room which had until three days ago been the headquarters for the soldiers stationed there.

“She was completely fooled by my illusion,” Karitha said taking a seat on a stool.

“Good,” Belgad said, “then they won’t try the mountain route, at least not here.”

“What will they do?”

“Head north or south, along the mountain range,” Belgad said.

“What will we do?” Karitha asked.

“We will split our forces,” Belgad said. “Fortisquo will go south, while you and I will head north. One of us is bound to catch up to them.”

Chapter Six

There were no roads or decent trails leading north on the western side of the Needles. Kron, Adara and Randall were forced once again to take to the woods. Kron admitted this would slow them near a crawl, but it helped shield them from interested eyes.

A few days after leaving the road near the lodge, the group settled into a routine. They rose with the sun and Kron proceeded with Adara’s combat lessons, sometimes offering Randall a pointer or two if he was interested; the lessons were generally short because they wanted to be on their way, but Kron was already glad to see Adara taking on the skills he offered. His biggest obstacle with Adara was not in teaching her new abilities, but in getting her to unlearn her old training and ways of thinking. The woman thought in too orderly a fashion to be a great sword fighter, Kron told her. She was used to fighting gentlemen who followed rules; Kron was teaching her how to stay alive.

Following Adara’s training, the group enjoyed a brief breakfast during which Randall renewed his protective spells over them, then they saddled their animals and took to the forested way again.

By the third day, Kron was becoming concerned about Randall. The healer had been quiet since he had driven away the war demon more than a week earlier. It had taken much courage, and some foolishness, in what Randall had done. Kron had been impressed by the younger man’s actions.

Kron supposed the encounter with the demon had Randall worried about facing his father. Kron himself was not too worried because he was Kron. Worry did not benefit a man. Besides, Kobalos was weeks if not months away. If they had to stay to the woods the entire trip, it could take them through the summer before they would arrive in one of the outer villages, let alone the capital city Mogus Potere.

Randall would have been surprised that his change in behavior, his silence, had gained the attention of his comrades. He himself had not noticed it, though often he thought of his father and the complexity of their relation. Randall did not know what to say to the man who not only wanted to kill him, but who insisted upon being the one who would draw forth the blade, or the executioner’s ax or whatever other murderous device would be used. When Randall had initially agreed to go to Kobalos, he had been caught up in the moment, in the tragedy of the Asylum and the boy Wyck’s death. Now, after more than a couple of week’s reflection, Randall was again having old doubts. A secret part of Randall wanted to try to talk sense to his father, to tell him he loved him despite everything; the healer feared his father, but the man was still his father, his only surviving family. Another part of Randall wanted to unleash his anger upon the man who had butchered his mother and brothers and sisters. It was that side, the darker side, of the healer that had given him much thought of late. He was scared of it, scared of himself. He did not want to become a monster like his father.

Adara, unlike her two companions, had not had weighty thoughts during their travels. Belgad and Fortisquo were behind her, so she could focus on her daily training. She had to admit she had learned much with Kron, but she was not sure how much of it was practical. The man himself seemed orderly to an extreme, but his teachings on melee were chaotic; Kron always spoke of improvising during combat and of constant movement so your opponent can never tell what will be your next move. Kron also taught other lessons, disappearing into shadows and moving as silently as a feather on paper and the like, but those lessons reminded Adara too much of Fortisquo, her former lover who had turned out to be the retired chief of Bond’s defunct assassin’s guild. Adara was no assassin and wanted no part of that world, so some of Kron’s lessons disturbed her. However, despite the man’s dark side, she had to admit she was beginning to think it impossible for Kron to be an assassin. The man was too righteous to be a proper assassin. Kron saw the world in black and white, which bothered Adara in one sense but it also felt fresh to her in another; for too long she had been with men who were only interested in the pleasures of the world. Kron wanted to be a hero, even though he would never admit it. His vengeance against Belgad, and now Lord Verkain, went beyond a simple reckoning. By his way of thinking, removing the world of Belgad and Verkain made the world a better, safer place.

Kron did possess other, non-martial talents that did not bother Adara emotionally, though she had less interest in learning them than his combat skills. Kron was an able woodsman, with skills in hunting, climbing, tracking and more mundane tasks, such as building a camp fire. Adara at first had shunned Kron’s knowledge in those areas, but the more time she spent with him the more she picked up from him, even if she wasn’t interested. It was no hard task now for her to notice the difference between something as innocuous as rabbit and squirrel tracks. The knowledge had been gained just by watching Kron, by paying attention.

Such as now.

“Three men, with heavily-booted feet,” Kron said as he knelt and stared hard at the ground.

“Which direction are they going?” Randall asked from his saddle.

Kron turned his stare deeper into the woods, away from the heights of the Needles to their right. “Their tracks cross in front of us several times,” he said pointing ahead of them between trees. “They have been back and forth through here at least three times, and we’ve only missed them by an hour or less.”

“What would they be doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” Adara asked.

“This is not the middle of nowhere,” Kron said standing and keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. “There are villages every few miles west of the mountains along an old trading route.

“Two of those men are wearing hobnailed boots. In this part of the the West, they’re likely mercenaries or bandits. Maybe militia.”

“What has that to do with us?” Adara questioned.

The distant snapping of a branch sounded ahead of them.

Kron put a finger to his lips and the group went quiet. He knelt next to his horse again and stared forward, his eyes darting from tree to tree and shadow to shadow. Kron could not detect anything out of place in the woods, so he was as surprised as Adara and Randall when the first arrow came sailing from behind a small hill covered in brush.

“Take cover!” Kron yelled yanking his bow from a leather sheath on his back.

The first arrow missed, falling over their heads, but a second quickly plopped into their midst, thumping into the ground at Randall’s feet as he slid off his horse.

Adara jumped off her animal’s back and pulled the healer with her behind a thick tree. Another arrow, coming from behind, smashed into the tree next to Adara’s face and sent splinters crashing into her cheeks. The woman screamed out but was more shocked than hurt.

Kron could tell they were surrounded, but not by a large force. Two archers were in front while a third was behind. He hoped it was only three men, the same three who had left tracks for him to find, but he couldn’t be sure. He also couldn’t stand his ground at the front the horses and hope to outshoot them. The three archers weren’t the best Kron had seen, but they were near their marks and drawing nearer.

With a glance behind him to make sure Randall and Adara had reached cover, Kron decided he would have to take the fight to the enemy. When another arrow darted in his direction he rolled to his right, avoiding the missile, and came to his knees beneath a low, overhanging branch of dark leaves.

The rain of arrows ceased and all went quiet.

Adara, sword in hand, leaned her back against a tree with Randall at her side, his short sword also drawn. Both of them were taking slow breaths in order to remain silent. They had lost track of Kron in the confusion of seeking cover and had no idea where their enemies might lay. To the animals’ credit, the three horses had stayed their ground and were milling about where Adara, Kron and Randall had left them.

After a couple of minutes of tedious but fearful silence, a gruff voice spoke from the trees. “Toss your weapons near your horses and surrender. We promise not to harm you.”

“What if we do not?” Adara yelled back.

She expected more arrows to fly, but none did.

Instead, the same sturdy voice from the trees said, “Then we will hunt you down like deer.”

Movement behind them made Adara peer around the curve of their hiding tree.

A burly fellow wearing a tattered leather jerkin stepped from a bush. In his right hand was a curved, wooden bow. In his left hand was an arrow, already laid the string.

The man caught Adara’s eyes and raised his weapon.

The shaft of a black arrow suddenly appeared in the side of the man’s neck. He grunted, dropped his bow, then fell to his knees. His eyes stayed locked on Adara’s, asking questions to which he would never receive an answer. Then he fell forward, his face in the dirt.

“Lurge?” another strong, male voice said from the opposite direction of the fellow who had died.

Adara suddenly realized what was happening. They had been surrounded, but Kron was trying to turn the situation on their opponents. Adara could not see Kron, and figured the man in black had disappeared into the woods. From what she remembered from Bond of Kron’s use of the shadows, she thought the other archers stood little chance at survival.

To assure Kron’s victory, Adara pushed herself away from her hiding spot.

“Are you insane?” Randall asked, his face showing he was aghast at her actions.

Adara kept her sword crossways in front of her in hopes of warding off incoming arrows as she stepped into the open near their horses.

“You boys are in a lot of trouble,” she said to the forest.

“Not as much as you,” a voice said from behind.

Adara pivoted on the heel of her left foot as she brought her rapier around and withdrew her main gauche from its sheath on her back.

She faced a large man in a rusted shirt of scale mail. On his back was a rugged-looking short bow. In both his hands was a long hammer with a big, wooden head.

“The Dartague said he wanted you all alive,” the brute said hefting his hammer higher, “but he didn’t say we couldn’t have fun with the pretty lady first.”

Adara spat and aimed the tip of her sword at the man’s throat. “I’ll tear out your eyes with my bare—”

An arrow ripping into the woman’s back cut her off.

“Adara!” Randall screamed, diving for the woman from the cover of the trees.

She felt nothing at first, just a dullness in the back of her right shoulder. Then she stared down and saw an iron arrowhead protruding from the front of her shoulder. Her mind suddenly exploded with pain, then the green of the trees swirled before her eyes and was followed by a sinking feeling. Then darkness.

Randall landed on the ground next to Adara just as the huge man with the hammer stepped forward and raised the weapon over his head.

The healer looked up and saw his death descending upon him.

An arrow appeared in the hammer man’s right eye. He dropped his wooden mallet and grasped the shaft of the arrow with both hands before screaming and sinking to the ground and becoming still.

Scrub brush far to Randall’s left suddenly exploded as a young man in a leather tunic scrambled from it and took off at a run between several trees. Randall had just enough time to see that the fellow was carrying a bow.

Then a bush to Randall’s right exploded as Kron shot out of it and chased after the last of the archers.

Randall looked down at Adara, whose eyes were closed and breathing shallow. Reaching out his hands to the woman, he thought he could save her life. At least if he acted fast enough.

***

The boy proved more elusive than Kron would have thought. The fellow jumped a dry creek then rolled beneath a downed tree, sprang up on the other side and kept on running. He was obviously skilled and knew these particular woods.

Nevertheless, Kron would catch the young man. He would not allow himself to believe any other outcome was possible.

He kept pace with the runner well, staying less than twenty yards behind him. At one point, as his bow snagged on a thorn bush and slowed him a step, Kron realized he was still carrying the weapon in his hands and let it fall to the ground. He doubted he would need it once he closed with his prey and could pick it up later.

For long minutes the youth kept running and jumping, every so often glancing behind himself with frightened eyes to see he was still pursued.

Kron proved relentless. Twice he used long, leafy vines, swinging forward on them to cut the distance between himself and the lad, but it still wasn’t enough to catch him.

Eventually the boy began to tire. He was young, but he had not the athletic training and build of Kron Darkbow. His leaps became shorter and his breathing became harsher.

Finally realizing he would not escape, the youth yanked an arrow from a long, wooden box on his back. Without thinking or looking, he spun and brought up his bow.

The man in black was no longer there.

The boy’s eyebrows scrunched together as surprise dawned on his face. He had escaped. He had outrun the man who seemed never to tire.

Sucking air into his tired lungs, the lad turned to leave.

A black cord slipped over his head, tightening around his throat. He dropped his bow and grasped at the rope with both hands, trying desperately to pull away the cord as it cut off what little air he had.

“Looking for me?” a smooth voice asked from above.

The boy, eyes wide from fear, glared upward to find the man in black hanging upside down from a tree limb, the man’s legs encircling the thick branch and holding him in place.

“You shouldn’t have hurt my friend,” Kron said and tugged on the rope in his hands.

The boy was lifted off his feet. He began to choke loudly and Kron lowered him just enough so the toes of the boy’s leather shoes grazed the ground.

For what felt an eternity to the lad, he clawed at the rope around his neck. When his scrambling hands began to slacken, Kron let the rope slip from his hands, dropping the boy into the grass.

When the boy woke, the man in black was standing over him, his feet planted on either side of him.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about, or am I going to have to carve it out of you?” Kron asked with a look of rage and hate. Kron had seen the arrow strike Adara and had no idea if she was still living. He had not stopped to tend to her because he could do no more for her than could Randall. And because he did not want the last of the outlaws to escape unscathed.

Laying in grass and mud, the boy stared into the eyes of his captor.

“Talk to me or pay the price,” Kron said.

“I ...” the boy sputtered, but no more came out.

Kron realized his anger was keeping the boy from answering, and he needed answers. He softened his voice. “What’s your name?”

“Tamber,” the boy said with shaking lips.

“Who were the other two?” Kron continued his interrogation.

“My brother Lurge and his friend Isul.”

“One of them said something about a Dartague wanting us alive,” Kron said. “What did he mean?”

The young man looked west. “In Birch Tree Station,” he said, his voice full of fear. “A big man with no hair on his head and white hair below his nose. Had a woman with red hair with him.”

“Anyone else?”

“A couple of men in chain.”

“What did the Dartague want?” Kron asked.

“He said he would pay ten gold a head for you and your companions,” Tamber said.

Kron placed a foot on the boy’s chest and pushed slightly, but only to hold the boy still. Then he peered at their surroundings and tried to listen for anything that sounded out of place. When he was satisfied they were alone, he asked, “Who are you and your brother and friend?”

“They’re militia,” Tamber said. “I was just tagging along for the day.”

“In hopes of gaining some gold,” Kron said.

The boy said nothing, his bottom lip quivering. Kron reckoned Tamber was sixteen, possibly seventeen, and had little future if he continued in the steps of his late brother.

Kron removed his boot from the boy’s chest and stepped away. “Is the Dartague still in the village?” he asked.

Tamber did not move for a moment, then realized he might live past the day if he continued to cooperate. He slowly sat up, keeping his hands flat on the ground at his sides where Kron could see he meant to harm. “He was there when we left this morning,” he said.

“How were you able to find us?” Kron asked.

“Luck,” the boy said. “We heard your horses and Isul set us up for an ambush.”

“Your luck didn’t last,” Kron said.

Tamber made no reply.

Kron leaned back and stared off at the tips of the mountains he could spot between the swaying green limbs of numerous trees. He placed a hand on a dagger at his belt and heard the boy gasp.

“I’m going to let you live, Tamber,” Kron said without looking at him, “but for only one reason.”

The boy waited with a sweating brow.

“I want you to let your friends know, and all your brother’s friends, that Kron Darkbow was here, Kron Darkbow did this,” the man in black said. “If they want revenge, tell them I am traveling to Kobalos and will welcome any challenges. Tell them that after Kobalos, I will likely be returning to Bond, where they can find me if they want.”

Kron’s eyes locked on the boy. “Tell them I had better never hear of any more ambushes, or of banditry, in this region, or I will return with vengeance of mine.”

Tamber blinked, sweat dripping down his face and wetting his dry lips.

“Now leave.” Kron nodded off to one side.

Tamber hesitated, then pushed himself to his feet and jogged away, looking back only once to see the man in black still watching him.

***

“I wasn’t sure I’d be seeing you again,” Randall said kneeling over Adara as Kron appeared from between a grouping of small trees.

“I’m not easily killed,” Kron said returning his bow to its place on his back. He stared down at the unmoving woman and saw the arrow had been removed from her shoulder. “How is she?”

Randall returned his attention to the injured woman, having pulled back her shirt to reveal a swelling, blood-filled gash in the shoulder. “She will be fine,” he said, “but she needs rest for a few hours.” He looked again at Darkbow. “We can’t move her until then.”

“You’re positive she is not seriously injured?” Kron questioned.

“Her wound is not serious, though normally it would put a person in bed for a week or two,” Randall said as he swabbed the woman’s shoulder with a rag, “but my healing magics have speeded up the process. She will be her old self by night, though she will have a scar for some time.”

“Good,” Kron said turning to his horse and opening his saddle bags.

“What happened in the woods?” Randall asked while continuing to work at Adara’s recovery.

“I caught the last of the rats,” Kron said.

Randall frowned. He did not like to think of what had happened to the man Kron had caught.

Darkbow noticed the look as he retrieved a small leather bag from his horse and tied it to his belt. “Do not fret, healer,” he said. “I allowed the man to leave with his life.”

Randall looked up, almost unbelieving.

“He will think twice before attempting another bushwhacking,” Kron said, then provided, “and he offered me much information.”

“What did he say?” Randall asked.

“Belgad and the wizard woman are near, in a village called Birch Tree Station,” Kron said. “I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard of it. It’s a small place only a few miles west of here. I should not be gone long.”

Randall’s eyes popped up to glare at Kron. “You can’t be serious?” he said. “Belgad will tear you apart.”

Kron turned as if leaving. “You will be safe here for the time it takes to heal Adara,” he said, “but if I have not returned by then, you should not linger.”

Randall stood and gripped the other man by the arm. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “We need you. I can’t make it to Kobalos without you, and Adara would have no reason to stay and help me with you gone.”

“I promise to return,” Kron said staring firmly into the healer’s eyes.

“What good can come of this?” Randall asked not letting go of Kron’s arm.

“I might get lucky and finish our business with Belgad,” Kron answered. “He has dogged us far enough, and I wish to be done with him. Even if I only get one or two of his men, it will better our odds.”

“Not if you’re dead,” Randall said.

“That is not a possibility,” Kron said, shaking off Randall’s hand and marching into the forest.

Randall could only stare at the black cloak that floated away through the trees. It dawned on him that Kron truly believed he could not fail. Perhaps that was why the man had stayed alive so long.

Chapter Seven

Since leaving Bond, Belgad had expected an ambush from Kron Darkbow. He knew his reputation alone would be enough to halt the healer, and possibly Adara Corvus, from considering such action, but Darkbow had a personal score to settle and did not strike Belgad as sane. He had warned Fortisquo and the others to keep a sharp look out. Belgad felt in his bones that Darkbow would eventually appear, alone or with his companions.

So it was not a complete surprise when Kron came walking into Birch Tree Station, ambling out of the woods and between two wood shanties, his eyes all the while locked with those of the north man.

Belgad sat on a folding stool in the middle of the small town of less than a score log buildings, surrounded by a dozen members of the local militia, two of his own guards and the wizard Karitha. In front of him had been placed several flat sheets of lumber on top of two barrels, an impromptu desk. On the desk were several sheets of parchment, a glass ink well and quill donated by the village’s mayor and a small sack bursting with copper coins.

Belgad was in the middle of paying the captain of the region’s militia to hunt down and kill Kron Darkbow.

And now Kron Darkbow was in front of him.

Kron stopped and stood still a score yards from Belgad and the soldiers. All eyes were upon him.

After a few seconds of unsettling quiet, Belgad recovered from his brief shock and slowly stood, facing his enemy.

Karitha took a step away from the others and Kron’s eyes darted to her while his left hand casually lifted to his weapon belt.

“I was wondering when you would tire of running from me. Why now?” Belgad said.

Kron glanced to the Dartague again. “I am here to serve payment.”

“What type of payment?” Karitha asked with a snarl.

Kron’s eyes stayed on Belgad. “Payment for the death of my parents,” he started, “and payment for the death of a young boy. Also, payment for Adara.”

“What of Adara?” Belgad asked. “We have not seen the woman.”

“She has been wounded,” Kron said. “Men hurt her in hopes of gaining money.”

“Then you need have words with them,” Belgad said. “I have done nothing to this woman, and the only grievance I have with her is that she has been cavorting with you.”

“Those who harmed her will harm no one else,” Kron stated, the crowd in front of him quiet. “And for what you have done, it has been far too much.

“I am here to pay a blood debt.”

For a moment, Belgad wished to continue the conversation. Kron Darkbow had brought back to Belgad a lust for life, a purpose. The days of counting coins and making deals in back alleys or bank offices had been replaced with action and adventure once more. Belgad felt thirty years younger, and he was thankful for that, but he was also a pragmatist.

“Kill the man,” he said loudly.

Most of the militia were too surprised by Kron’s bold entrance to move, but four of the men immediately sprang forward while drawing weapons from their belts.

Kron took a step back.

The first man came at a rush while wildly waving a wooden-handled mace above his head. Kron kicked out with a leg, connecting with the man’s chin and sending him sprawling.

The second man came in just as fast, but low, his sword stabbing upward. Kron took another step back and slung out a hand, three tiny black darts slicing through the air to find a home in his attacker’s right knee. The man dropped to the ground screaming.

The last two men slowed after seeing what had been done to their companions, giving Darkbow a moment to step back again, away from the two with which he had already dealt.

By now the rest of the soldiers had gotten over their initial shock and were rushing forward in a semi-circle to surround Kron.

Belgad and Karitha simply stood in the back and watched, keeping Belgad’s two guards with them. Whatever the outcome, it was not often one was entertained watching such a skilled warrior as Kron in action.

Another man rushed forward, the spear in his hands aimed for Kron’s throat. The man in black reached out, grabbing the end of the spear below its sharp head and jerked on the weapon, sending its holder tumbling past him weaponless.

Watching the militia men slow their pace and continue to stretch out around him, Kron twirled the spear in his hand until its head was facing Belgad’s direction.

A second later the spear flew through the air, its aim precise, but it was a long throw. Belgad had plenty of time to step out of the weapon’s path before the spear’s sharp head slammed into the dirt in front of the barbarian.

“Kill him!” one of the militia men yelled and they all charged.

Kron tossed a clay grenado from a bag at his waist and black smoke filled the air around him, blocking any view of him.

After several minutes of the militia stomping around and slashing their weapons, Belgad called them back to him.

Darkbow had escaped again, but he had made some new enemies in the local militia. The sneers on the men’s faces told Belgad he would have little trouble getting them to search for his foe.

As the soldiers removed their wounded, Belgad scanned the woods surrounding Birch Tree Station. Darkbow was out there, probably on his way back to the healer and the sword fighting woman. Belgad would spend the night in the village, making sure to post plenty of guards, but in the morning he would be heading into the woods himself. The hunt continued.

***

“That was a foolish, stupid thing to do,” Randall told Kron after he heard what happened.

They were on foot, pulling their horses with them through the lush growth of the woods. Adara was still unconscious, but tied over the back of her own steed. Kron had not wanted them to remain in one area after his fight at Birch Tree Station.

“If Belgad had wanted to, he could have sent out the whole militia for you,” the healer griped. “Maybe a hundred men could be combing the countryside looking for us right now.”

Kron shook his head as they continued to move, the silhouette of the mountains ever on their right above the tree line. “Most of those men will be too frightened.”

“Numbers builds courage,” Randall reminded.

Kron slowed further to glare at the Kobalan prince. “If we should hear them draw near, I will lead them away,” he said. “I would catch up with you when I could.”

“If you could.”

Kron turned to face forward again. “You’re as bad as Adara.”

“And you are obviously unbalanced,” Randall said. “A stunt like you just performed puts not only your life at stake, but mine and Adara’s too. How would you feel if I ran off to face Belgad on my own?”

“I would never allow you to go,” Kron said, “but you are not me. I am capable of taking care of myself.”

“And I can’t?” Randall said. “I might not be some big sword fighter, but I know my way around a blade, and I’ve some magical skills that would make me more than formidable in a fight.”

“Against an ordinary soldier, maybe, but not up against the likes of Belgad, or Fortisquo, or even me,” Kron said. “I do not say this to be cruel, Randall, but out of concern. If combat ensues, you would be better off extricating yourself from the situation as quickly as possible.”

“Then don’t go looking for combat and I won’t have to worry about it,” Randall said.

They continued chatting as they put distance between themselves and Birch Tree Station. Kron was glad Randall had found his voice again. The healer had been too quiet, but now he had no problem voicing his opinion of Kron’s actions. In truth, Kron knew he went to Birch Tree Station for two reasons: revenge and boredom. Day after day on the road made a man of action weary, and Kron couldn’t take a chance of his combat senses dulling.

Before night fell, Randall made sure to awaken Adara. She was still sore in her shoulder, and a few new bruises had grown on her arms and chest from riding across a saddle, but she appeared able enough to take on more ruffians if need be.

She was not happy to hear of Kron’s handiwork.

“Men!” she shouted and rode on ahead.

That night at camp, the conversation turned to their present route and the need for warmer clothing.

“We’ll head north a few more days, until we get to the next path through the mountains,” Kron explained. “Then we go east.”

“What about coats?” Randall asked while stoking their camp fire.

“There should be a village near the entrance into the mountains,” Kron said. “We can find something there.”

“What if Belgad is there ahead of us?” Adara said.

“We’ll spy the town out first,” Kron said, “but we have to have jackets and more blankets.”

“You sounded as if you know about this road going east,” Adara said.

“It’s not a proper road,” Kron said to wry faces. “It’s more of a cleared path. The mountain folk use it to travel between the East and West. At least it won’t be guarded by soldiers. We’ll have an easier time getting into East Ursia this way.”

“Are the mountain folk friendly?” Randall said.

“As friendly as people who live in caves among the bitter cold can be, I suppose,” Kron said.

Chapter Eight

Three days later, finding coats turned out to be an easy task. A village of a dozen huts rested not too far from a rocky path that appeared to wander into the grayness of the Needles. Randall purchased several coats of fur and three heavy wool blankets from a farmer’s wife before the party turned their direction into the darkening path.

“Watch for the mountain folk,” the farmer’s wife warned. “They are in an ill mood of late.”

Kron, Adara and Randall had taken that news with a grain of salt. Kron had lived much of his life near the Needles and knew the people who called the mountain range home were tough and surly, but not generally cruel or evil.

“If we keep to ourselves, we should be safe,” the man in black said while wrapping a large, bearskin coat around himself.

The way through the mountains was not a straight one, and it rambled up then down and seemed to turn in on itself several times. Fortunately the path was relatively clear with no boulders blocking its path nor any deep ravines or cliffs along its route. The worst part of the trail was the millions of small gravel that ran underfoot and sometimes made the animals lose their footing. Once Kron had to stop Randall’s steed and allow the beast to rest from a rock that had bruised the meat of its hoof; the healer was able to take care of the animal, but they decided to make a slower pace the rest of the day. At no time did they see other travelers nor the mountain people of which they had heard. They were alone with themselves, and the drabness of their surroundings did not bring forth joyful moods.

“It’ll take a week to get through the mountains,” Kron explained during their first day on the path, “but we’ll have a respite in a few days at Hammer Home.”

By that point, near night on their first day of travel in the Needles, Adara and Randall were too tired and too chilled to ask about Hammer Home. By morning they forgot to ask, and it was with some surprise two days later that they came upon the marble edifice that appeared to be carved from the side of a mountain.

The building was ancient, of a style not common in a thousand years. The marble columns in front still stood, but were cracked, and the stone steps that ran between them were worn down from weather or years of use or both. Above the columns, almost as if hanging in the air, was a giant carving of an eagle cut into the mountainside, its wings spread wide and the tip of its beak missing, broken and fallen away long ago.

“What is this place?” Adara asked as they approached it on their horses.

“Hammer Home,” Kron explained. “It’s a temple of the old gods.”

Adara spun her head to stare at her teacher. “There are no such places, not any longer,” she said.

“You’re from the East,” Kron said, referring to the fact only one god, Ashal, was worshipped in East Ursia, and in most of the West too. Adara was not familiar with other, ancient religions. “There are still places where Ashal is not the only god.”

“In Kobalos, only worship of my father is allowed,” Randall said. “Having a copy of the Book of Ashal would be a death sentence.”

“Barbaric,” Adara said riding closer to the temple. “It’s pagan.”

“They might say the same about the Eastern Church,” Kron said as he dismounted at the bottom of the temple’s steps.

“What they are you talking about?” Randall asked.

“Them,” Kron said, and turned to point at the top of the stairs in the center of the row of columns.

Adara and Randall looked up to see seven bald men, most looking old to the point of being ancient, standing there watching them. Each of the men wore a plain, gray toga around their bodies and had short, wool boots on their feet. Their arms were crossed, and their faces did not show emotion.

“Who are they?” Adara asked.

“Monks,” Kron said as he pulled his horse to a stone outcropping and tied the animal to it.

“Monks?” Adara said quizzically.

“My father used to tell me about them. They are just some old men,” Kron said heading up the steps toward the monks. “We will stay the night and be on our way in the morning.”

“I hope he knows what he’s talking about,” Adara said to Randall as she tied her horse.

“At least we haven’t seen Belgad since we left the forest,” the healer said.

Kron halted his climbing a dozen steps below the monks who had grayish skin, looking as if they too had been carved from stone.

Kron waved a hand at them. “Good day to you,” he said, then motioned toward his companions below. “We have traveled far and wish to partake of your hospitality this night if that would not be an intrusion.”

At first none of the seven men moved, then several looked at one another as if asking a question without words. Finally, all of them looked at Kron again. One of them stepped forward.

“We would be honored by your presence,” the monk in front of the others said with slow words as if it were difficult to speak. He stood to one side and pointed for Kron to go forward to the insides of the temple.

Kron glanced back at Adara and Randall. “We are welcomed.”

“Great,” Adara said as she climbed the stairs next to the healer. “These monks seem like just the group to liven our spirits.”

Once through a pair of tall stone doors, the travelers found a spacious room of stone with several open doorways leading off to either side and a gigantic bronze basin in the back of the room. Inside the bowl flickered a blue flame as tall as a man. Above the basin, suspended from the ceiling by rusted cables, hung another stone carving of a giant eagle, this one with wide cracks running through its wings. Several more of the gray monks, quiet in their simple clothes, stood near the basin. All of them were turned to face their visitors as if they had been waiting for them.

Kron counted a dozen of the monks altogether, including the seven still at the entrance behind them.

“You are welcome to any rooms you wish,” said the monk who had spoken with Kron as he stepped to the front of the three companions and motioned in the direction of the doorways to their left and right.

“I hope we are not interrupting,” Kron said. He did not feel disturbed by the monks’ presence, but something did not feel right. Something felt foreign about the atmosphere in the temple, but not necessarily wrong or evil.

“We were simply finishing our rituals for the evening,” the monk said. “My name is Stonetalker. I will be your translator. The others do not speak your tongue.”

“I am Kron Darkbow,” Kron said, then pointed at his associates. “This is Adara Corvus and Randall Tendbones.”

Stonetalker turned to Adara and, with his arms at his sides, gave a short bow. “You are welcome, lady of the East,” then he turned to Randall, “as are you, son of Kobalos.”

Randall glanced at Kron, then looked back at the talking monk. “How did you know where we are from?” he asked.

“Your voices,” Stonetalker said, then turned to Kron and bowed, “as it is apparent you are from the West, and most welcome.”

“We do not want to interrupt your ceremony,” Kron said. “If you have a stable, we will see to our horses, then seek a bed for the night.”

“To the right of the temple is a small barn,” Stonetalker said, pointing out through the front entrance. “You will find beds in any of the rooms. If you wish, we can bring you food and drink.”

“It would be most appreciated,” Kron said.

As the three travelers unsaddled their steeds in the barn of stone, Randall turned to Kron and said, “Something feels out of place here.”

“I agree,” Adara said while feeding her horse oats from the bottom of her saddle bags. “Something is not right.”

“I sense it, too,” Kron said. “I suggest we take them up on their hospitality, but keep an eye out for trouble. It could be they mean us harm, but I do not sense such.”

“It might just be that they spend all their time alone in the mountains,” Adara said with a grin. “Loneliness and cold could make a man go crazy, especially if he doesn’t have a woman to warm himself.”

“We will try to keep their monkish hands from you,” Kron said, returning her grin.

“What do you know of these monks?” Randall asked.

“Not much,” Kron said.

“Are these the mountain people you spoke of?” Adara said.

“No, the mountain folk are a mix of Ursian and Jorsican stock,” Kron answered. “I do not recognize these pale faces.”

“Their dress is Truscan,” Adara noted.

“Which makes some sense considering they worship the old gods,” Kron said. Trusca was widely known to be the oldest of nations.

“Will we set up watches?” Randall asked.

Kron nodded in the affirmative, then continued to ready his horse for the night.

When they entered the temple, they found most of the monks had withdrawn, only a few of them remaining near the giant basin and stoking its eerie blue flames with dry, gray wood. Kron wondered from where the wood had come because he had seen no more than mere scrub since they had entered the mountains, but the thought went out of his head as they proceeded into the nearest of the rooms Stonetalker had mentioned.

There were four beds in the windowless room, all large stone blocks that reminded Randall of the mausoleum in the Bond cemetery, but each was covered with a thick quilt stuffed with down and heavy, fluffed pillows. To one side of the room was a long, black marble table covered with stone trays. Upon the trays were foods of variety, including fish, duck, steamed vegetables and several different breads. At one end of the table were two bottles of dark glass.

Kron lifted one of the bottles to his nose and sniffed. “Wine,” he said.

“This is grand,” Adara said with a wide smile, “the best meal we’ve had in weeks.”

The three greedily dug into the spread before them. Weeks of dried meats, wild berries and hard rolls had made their stomachs hungry for a richer diet.

As they neared finishing their meal, a soft, sweet melody came to them from the main room.

“Music,” Adara said with an excited look and a stone goblet in her hand. She ran to the door of their room to see the source of the tune.

Three young female figures, all gray and in tunics like the monks, reclined on a stone bench in front of the giant basin. Two of the women were strumming and plucking at golden harps as tall as themselves. The third woman’s mouth was open and moving as if she were singing, but the noise that came from between her lips was more than music, it was as intoxicating as the wine Adara had been drinking.

Adara leaned against the frame of the doorway and watched the three women continue. The sounds seemed to float upon the air like a living thing, building and expanding, then drifting away softly only to rebuild again. The music tugged at the soul, making Adara yearn for the companionship of friends long gone and leaving her with a feeling of harmless regret. Adara had never heard anything like it and wondered if the tune was magical.

“It reminds me of a song I heard when I was a girl,” Adara said from the doorway, her back to her companions. “It makes me think of young love.”

Randall continued to place potatoes on his plate while Kron stepped behind Adara, peering over her shoulder to stare at the three gray women.

“I know nothing of young love,” Kron said.

Adara turned to her side so her back was against the doorway’s frame. She looked into Kron’s eyes. “Don’t you remember the first girl you kissed?” she asked with eyes that seemed to see another place and time. “Or the first night you spent next to someone? Or the first time someone told you they loved you?”

Kron continued to watch the musicians for a few moments, then turned away from Adara. “I know of no such things,” he said.

Adara could tell the man was in pain. Whatever his memories of youth, they were not good ones. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Kron shook off the hand but did not move further away. “The only love I witnessed in the Prisonlands was that of the village whores who came around at pay time,” he said with bitterness in his throat.

“I am sorry for you,” Adara said.

Kron turned his head to see the woman out of the corner of his eye. “Do not pity me.”

“I can not help but feel what I feel,” Adara said, then shifted her eyes to the stone floor. “Have you ever –”

Kron broke off her words. “Yes,” he said.

“How do you know what I was going to ask?” she said looking into his face again.

“You were going to ask if I had ever been with a woman.”

“No, silly man,” Adara said with a slight grin. “I was going to ask if you had ever been in love.”

Adara’s words were not what Kron had expected, and his lack of an immediate response showed it. His silence also gave away his answer.

“I am sorry for you, again,” Adara said, her smile faltering and her eyes going to the floor once more.

“What of you?” Kron asked. “Have you loved any of the men you’ve known?”

Adara looked up again, this time with wetness in the corner of her eyes. “Not in a long while,” she said.

The woman’s tears surprised Kron further and he had to examine his own feelings. Adara was a beautiful woman, of that there was no doubt. Her long, dark hair often flowed behind her, along with her scent, which reminded Kron of spring flowers and the clean smell of a brook. Her body was that of a rapier fighter, thin but muscular, and it did have its appeals. He was glad Randall seemed to pay little attention to Adara’s physical attributes; Kron, as her teacher, often found it difficult to do so.

He was drawn to her sexually, but not in a raw, unpolished fashion. Adara’s physical presence could be intoxicating, but Kron was not a man who allowed his libido to get the best of him. He could look at a beautiful woman and enjoy the image of her without lusting. To be truthful with himself, he had to admit that he often found women a distraction, a hindrance. He hated thinking that of women, but he had not known many since his mother had been murdered before his eyes on the streets of Bond.

Kron’s look hardened and he turned away from Adara.

“Kron, please,” she said returning her light touch to his shoulder. “Talk to me.”

Thunder boomed from outside, making the stone floor quiver.

Across the room, Randall paused with a roll halfway to his mouth.

“What is it?” Kron asked, aware of the healers sudden inaction.

“Did you hear that?” Randall asked.

“It was but thunder,” Adara said. “The sky has been nothing but gloomy since we entered the mountains. I’m surprised a storm has not brewed before now.”

“I don’t think that was thunder,” the healer said lowering his roll to his plate.

“What else could it be?” Kron asked.

Randall shot up from the table and darted between his friends, racing through their room’s entrance and rushing for the closed doors at the front of the temple.

Adara noticed the musicians had stopped performing, their eyes following Randall.

Before the healer could reach the tall doors, Stonetalker and several monks appeared from a side room. They paid no attention to the healer or his companions, but yanked open the heavy doors.

Beyond was the blackness of night. That was all they could make out at first, then Randall spotted four sets of red, glowing eyes where the bottom of the steps would be if he could see them.

“We’re doomed,” the healer said.

Kron came up behind Randall and glanced over his shoulder in time to see the scarlet eyes begin to slowly dance their way up the stairs.

“What is it?” Adara asked, still in the doorway to their room.

Randall and Kron both turned to face the woman, but before they could speak, Stonetalker interrupted.

“They are demons of old,” the ancient, gray man said without taking his eyes off the approaching creatures.

As Kron crossed the distance to Adara, Randall eyed the gray monks and was surprised by their apparent lack of fear. More of them poured into the room, but their faces remained stoic and showed no evidence of emotion. The three musicians moved away from the bronze basin and disappeared into one of the rooms, but even they did not show emotion.

“Weapons,” Kron said as Adara moved out of his way to allow him into their room.

Within seconds the man in black was armed with his sword and bow. As he exited the room, he handed Adara her weapons belt and tossed the healer his.

“What is happening?” Kron asked Randall as he walked up to the man, surprised the demons had not reached the entrance to the temple.

Randall pointed and Kron looked. The red, shining eyes had come to a halt at the top of the steps, just at the edge of the light coming from the temple’s torches and the blue flame. The flittering light showed the outline of four war demons, their spiked armor and giant wings glittering with moonlight. One of the four had a monstrous double-edged sword in his hands, a weapon as tall as Kron. The demons did not come forward, but stood their ground silently, watching with anticipation their prey and the gray monks inside the temple.

“They can come no further,” Stonetalker said. “This is hallowed ground by the old laws.”

“What old laws?” Kron asked without taking his eyes off the demons.

“The laws of the ancient ones, those who were gods before Ashal was born into this world,” Stonetalker said.

“Before the days of men,” the leader of the demons, Ybalik, hissed to his loathsome foes.

“It speaks,” Adara said with her rapier in hand as she came up behind Randall and Kron.

“Of course it does,” Randall said, sliding his weapon belt around his waist but not bothering to draw a weapon.

“What do we do now?” Adara asked looking from Kron to Randall to the gray monks.

“You die!” one of the demons roared.

“Not on this ground,” Stonetalker said, stepping slightly ahead of the others.

“Sooner or later they must come out,” Ybalik said. “Then we will have them.”

Kron stepped beside Stonetalker and drew his sword. “He’s right,” the man in black said. “Whether we leave in the morning or some other day, they’ll be waiting. We might as well fight now.”

“We can’t win,” Randall said, putting a hand on Kron’s shoulder, making the man turn to face him. “I can’t call them off like I did before. It won’t work this time. Verkain will have given them more specific orders, orders that will allow them to dishonor any order or threat I give.”

Stonetalker turned to face Kron and Randall and Adara. “You will not have to fight them,” he said stoically. “My brothers and I shall drive them forth, away from the Home of the Hammer and these mountains.”

“It’s insanity,” Randall said. “No mortal can stand against war demons and expect to triumph, let alone survive.”

“We are no mortal men” Stonetalker said, then slowly spun to face the demons again.

“My brothers, it is time to rid the world of these abominations,” the leader of the monks said as he stretched forth his arms and began a slow march toward the demons. “Join me in battle once again.”

The other monks raised their arms and began a stilted march out the front door, taking each step one by one.

“They’ll be destroyed,” Adara said.

“Watch and see,” Kron said as he drew closer to the exit, but remained just shy of going outside himself.

Stonetalker was the first of the monks to the demons. He lunged forward and grabbed Ybalik by the throat, but the other demons’ grasping claws pulled the gray monk away and shoved him down the stairs where he rolled into the darkness.

The other monks fared better, outnumbering the demons two to one. They too lunged forward, grappling with the war demons and matching the evil creatures’ strength hand to claw.

Nearly surrounded and his comrades busy with the monks, Ybalik screamed and lashed out with his sword, slashing through a monk’s arm.

Adara cried out, but her fears turned to wonder as she saw the wounded monk did not bleed. Where his arm had been cut away was no flesh or muscle, but what appeared to be a drab clay, and the monk did not yell out as if hurt. Instead, he glanced down at his fallen appendage, then smashed his good fist into the nearest demon.

The demons clashed against the monks, their claws raking at arms, chests and faces, but to no avail. The monks were scratched, sometimes clawed badly, but they did not appear to be seriously injured nor to suffer any pain.

Step by step, the monks forced the demons backward. Ybalik seemed to have the most luck of the demons, his long sword keeping the monks at bay, but the other demons were forced to wrestle with the monks and to throw them backward. Still, the monks came on in their slow manner, bounding forward as they neared the demons and punching or grappling with the evil things.

Near the bottom step, Stonetalker suddenly appeared again, rising out of the darkness and wrapping an arm around Ybalik’s neck.

The leader of the demons screamed out, more in shock than injury, then the air around him thundered, sending out an invisible wave that knocked the monks and the other demons to their feet.

When Kron, Randall and Adara looked again, the demons’ general had vanished.

Immediately three similar invisible explosions filled the air and the other demons disappeared.

The monks did not look surprised that their foes had fled, but neither did they look happy or sad. The monk who had lost an arm modestly picked the lost appendage from the ground and held it to his stub where it remained once he let go of it.

“What are you?” Randall asked as Stonetalker and the other monks reached the top of the steps.

“We are guardians of the old laws,” the leader of the monks said. “The demons will not attempt to harm you for some while because their retreat will weaken them.

“Now, if you have no further need of us, we shall retire for the night. The matrons will play until morning.”

Randall appeared as if he had other questions, but Kron suddenly stepped forward. “Thank you for your service, Stonetalker,” he said. “We will retire for the night also.”

“Thank you,” the monk said and followed his companions into the temple.

“Why did you do that?” Randall said to Kron after they were back in their private compartment.

“They did us a service,” Kron said, removing his weapons and placing them on a floor mat next to the head of his bed. “Whatever they may be, they are more powerful than those demons, at least to some extent. They are a mystery to us and they seem somewhat secretive. It is best to allow them to be.”

Adara sat on the end of her bed. “They don’t seem secretive to me,” she said. “They welcomed us and have been more than supportive.”

“They are in the middle of the mountains along a trail that is rarely used,” Kron explained. “They have their privacy, and I’m sure they wish to keep it that way.”

Soon the three were in separate beds, and drifted off to sleep with the accompany of music floating to them from the room of blue fire.

More than once before falling asleep, Adara’s eyes focused on the slumbering form of Kron Darkbow.

Chapter Nine

Ybalik was not happy. Truth to tell, Ybalik was never happy, but this was a special occasion, a hate that had built up within his breast that knew no boundaries and no solutions. Killing would not be enough. Torture would not be enough. Even rape could not stem the rage that welled within the demon general.

He had been defeated, driven off, out of the mountains and away from the three mortals he had been forced to hunt. Now he, and three of his lieutenants, were too weak to travel the long distance back to their hated enemies. Ybalik would love to have them in his claws, the man who wore dark and the woman and the puny boy in his white robes. Ybalik knew what he would do with them, each of them. He would rape them, one by one, starting with the one Verkain wanted most, the boy in white. Ybalik would take his sweet, slow time ripping the boy in half, but leaving him alive, just barely, so the demon general could enjoy the suffering of the young man. Next, Ybalik would turn to the woman, and he would make the one called Darkbow watch all the nasty, crass things he would do with her. Then finally, Ybalik would pummel Darkbow to death; that would be a fitting death for one so proud, one who might not break under imprisonment, but who would hate himself simply by being bested.

The leader of the war demons let out a slow growl as he watched the mortal called Belgad approach through the trees. Earlier that day they had arranged to meet here, outside the tiny village nearest the western side of the mountain trail. The Dartague had gathered his once-separated forces to himself again, and they were encamped the other side of the trees.

The large north man paused between two trees and stared upward, spotting the general suspended above one of the thicker branches.

Ybalik realized he would also enjoy tearing this one limb from limb. Belgad was haughty and deserved a nasty death, but Ybalik was no fool. As long as Belgad was working with Verkain, Ybalik could not touch him. But once the healer had been dealt with, Belgad would no longer be untouchable. Ybalik’s black heart warmed at the thoughts of carnage.

“Where are they?” Belgad asked from the ground.

Ybalik flapped his wings as if annoyed, which he was, and stared off into the night’s sky as if uninterested in answering. After a few seconds, he said, “They are safe within Hammer Home.”

“What are you talking about?” Belgad asked. The demon general had said their three foes were in the middle of the mountain range, easy pickings with no protection.

“Hammer Home is hallowed ground, unavailable to us,” Ybalik continued.

Belgad’s stare was full of anger, but he knew better than to tempt a war demon. He averted his gaze lower on the tree so Ybalik would not see.

Belgad knew little of Hammer Home, though he had heard of it. His people, the Dartague, were worshippers of the old gods. The names of the gods were long forgotten, but their symbols lived on in the bear, the eagle and other animals. Hammer Home had been little more than a myth to a young Belgad, who had first heard of it from tribal shamans, but during his time in Dartague and later in the Prisonlands, he had heard tales of an actual temple called Hammer Home deep within the Needles. The war demons had concurred that such a place existed and that Adara, Kron and Randall were there. Hammer Home was what Ybalik had called a place of power, which was how the demons had found Randall in the first place; such emanate magic that grows stronger when a powerful magic item such as Randall’s ring is introduced into it. But the demons had said nothing about not being able to approach Hammer Home.

“So much for the mighty demons,” Belgad said below his breath.

Ybalik screeched, then opened his wings wide and floated to the ground only a few feet from the Dartague. “You would do well to keep such remarks to yourself,” the war demon general hissed.

Belgad looked surprised, having forgotten the sharpened senses of his dark comrade.

“My apologies,” the northerner said, bowing his head.

Ybalik wanted to bite into that head. He doubted the north man meant his apology, and Ybalik would not have appreciated it any way.

When Belgad’s head came back up, he asked, “What do we do now? Wait?”

“I can not travel to them for some days,” Ybalik answered, “but we know they are heading east. We follow.”

“Into East Ursia?”

“Yes,” the demon replied. “We do not answer to Ashal’s laws as we do to those of the old ones. The Eastern church can not protect them from us.”

***

The next morning was a strange one for Kron, Adara and Randall. They did not know how to act. They did not know if they should thank their saviors or if they should take to the road with few words.

“How do we thank them?” Randall asked as they finished their breakfast, a hardy meal of sausages and biscuits that mysteriously appeared on the table in their room while they slept.

“I don’t know,” Kron said, and that was the only answer any of them could come up with.

Stonetalker made an appearance, bringing them a sack of food, as they prepared their horses for the day’s ride.

“This will do you well on your travels,” the monk said as he handed the sack to Adara.

“Our thanks to you,” Kron said, then added, “and to those who watch over you.”

“The old gods are pleased with your venture,” Stonetalker said. “They will watch your path.”

With that, quick goodbyes were said and the three travelers once more took to the crooked, rocky path that wove through the mountains.

“It was lucky we were with the monks last night,” Adara noted once they were out of site of the temple.

“I don’t know,” Randall said. “It seemed more than luck.”

“Are you suggesting some higher power is watching over us, healer?” Adara asked.

Randall chuckled. “The only higher power watching over us is probably Markwood,” he said pointing a finger to the sky as if the old wizard were floating above. “If the old gods care, I do not know, but I would think Ashal might be interested.”

As they mounted their steeds, Randall realized he had no idea if Ashal, or any other god, would indeed have interest in their quest. Randall barely understood those around him, let alone the will of the gods.

The healer glanced at the man in black riding next to him. Randall could barely understand Kron Darkbow when he thought about the man. Kron was an enigma. He seemed to want law and order, but he was more than willing to take the law into his own hands, especially once he had decided upon revenge.

The healer turned his gaze upon Adara as they rode. She was a little harder for Randall to figure out. Randall sometimes asked himself why Adara had come along with them. She had said it was because she was learning new melee techniques from Kron, and Randall was aware she had probably come along to flee Fortisquo’s wrath, but it felt like there was more to it.

Kron had told Randall how Adara had once saved him from Fortisquo’s sword, and the healer had been with Adara and Kron long enough to realize there was an attraction between the two. Adara seemed the most interested, but Kron did not fully shy from the woman. Randall smiled at thinking of his two comrades together. He hoped it would happen. The world always needed love.

“Randall?” the healer heard a voice say.

Randall turned to Adara, who had been the one speaking.

The woman grinned. “We’ve been calling your name,” she said from her saddle.

“My apologies,” the healer said. “I was caught up in a daydream.”

Adara gave Kron a tilted look that seemed to say “typical wizard.”

“I was saying we need to find you more adequate clothing as soon as we reach East Ursia,” Kron said.

“Why is that?” Randall asked.

“You can’t go around in your robes,” Adara answered. “You’ll stand out.”

“But I’m a healer,” Randall said. “I wear these robes so people will know they can seek my aid.”

“If any Easterners see those robes,” Kron said, pointing to Randall’s chest, “you are right that they will know who you are, but then they’re likely to lynch you.”

“Or burn you at the stake,” Adara added.

“But I’m a healer,” Randall repeated.

“Doesn’t matter,” Adara said. “Magic is outlawed, and wizards are punished by death.”

Randall gulped as if he could not believe what he was hearing. He knew, of course, that magic was illegal in East Ursia, but he figured the country was modern enough not to have every mage who walked the lands put to death.

“Surely there are others who wear robes,” the healer said.

“Robes are not fashionable,” Adara said. “It’s generally accepted in the East that anyone who wears robes must be a wizard. The only exceptions are priests on holy days, and they don’t wear white.”

“Do not worry,” Kron said to Randall as they rode side by side, “we can mix and match enough of the clothes we have so you don’t stand out too much, but we will have to get you some traveling breeches once we reach a village.”

Randall took Kron’s words seriously, but he continued to be concerned about a reception in East Ursia. The healer, a prince of Kobalos, had been tutored in the customs of other nations, but he did not have the traveling experience to witness those customs firsthand. Randall had spent most of his life in Kobalos, had traveled through Jorsica and Caballerus when he fled his father’s nation, and then had lived the past three years in West Ursia. The world was mostly a mystery to him, unlike it was to Kron who had traveled widely with his merchant parents and who had much experience with people from various cultures during his years as a Prisonlands border warden. Even Adara, herself from East Ursia, was more traveled than Randall, having spent several years on the roads with one sword master or other.

A booming crash like thunder jerked the healer out of his ruminations.

The three riders yanked their horses to a stop. The noise had come from in front of them, but their path curved around a bend allowing no sight of what was there.

Kron turned in his saddle to face the others. “Ride back to the temple as fast as you can,” he ordered, pulling his sword free of its scabbard on his back.

“We’re not leaving you,” Adara said, drawing her own weapon.

Randall could understand their sudden aggressive attitudes. The thunder-like sound was similar to the noise made by Verkain’s war demons when they appeared seemingly from nowhere.

“I told you to go back!” Kron yelled.

“There’s no need for that,” a familiar voice said from the turn in the bend.

The three riders faced forward again, this time to see the old wizard Maslin Markwood making his way toward them while brushing gray dust from his shoulders.

The riders trotted ahead, stopping near the wizard, then dismounted. Randall ran into the arms of his old friend as they hugged.

“Good to see you again, my boy,” Markwood said stepping back to look over the young healer. “Appears as if you’ve lost a little weight, but otherwise you’re in fine condition. I’m glad to find it so.”

“We could have killed you,” Kron said, putting away his sword.

“Not likely,” the wizard said. “That’s one reason I apparated around that corner up ahead, and why I didn’t appear at the temple. It would have been rude, and would have disrupted those that worship there.”

“We thought you were a demon,” Adara said, sheathing her sword.

“My apologies,” Markwood said. “It’s a displacement of the air that causes the noise.”

“Well, it’s about time you made an appearance,” Randall said. “It’s been three weeks. I was beginning to worry.”

“Worry? Of what?” the wizard said with a chuckle. “The worst trouble an old professor can get into is boredom.”

Cutting through the courtesies, Kron asked, “What brings you to us?”

Markwood gave the man in black a disapproving stare. “I saw what happened last night at the temple,” he said. “It was hard to miss, one of the most powerful manifestations of magic since ... well, since the Asylum.”

Randall appeared saddened at the wizard’s words, but he wouldn’t allow that to stop him from asking questions. “The monks, or whatever they truly are, saved us from the war demons,” he said. “We are only an hour or so from the temple, but we are out of danger for now.”

“For now,” Markwood repeated the healer’s words. “Soon you will be in danger once more. The demons will regain their strength and will regroup. They will hit you again in a few days, and you no longer have the protection of Hammer Home.”

“Won’t we be safe in the East?” Adara asked. “The demons surely wouldn’t meddle in the church’s domain.”

“Despite the teachings of the Eastern church, one of Ashal’s tenets is free will, for all of creation, including the demons,” Markwood explained.

“We flee or fight, depending on the situation,” Kron suddenly said.

“Without being properly prepared, that is a rather foolish notion,” Markwood said.

“We have no other choice,” Kron said.

“There is always another choice,” Markwood said. “Randall could simply go into hiding. As long as he cast webs of protection over himself and did not use the ring, he would not be found by his father.”

The healer glanced down at the ring on his left hand. He hated the ring, but kept it there as a reminder of their journey’s purpose. “I have thought of that already, Maslin,” Randall said. “As long as I am in hiding, more people will suffer while my father searches for me. I have to face him. I have to end this, one way or another.”

“You didn’t think that way before he came along,” the wizard said with a raised voice as he pointed a finger at Kron.

“Do not blame Kron. He opened my eyes to the world,” Randall said, trying to reason with his friend. “He opened my eyes to my father.”

The wizard growled deep in his throat and turned to face the former border warden. “You have put the boy up to this nonsense,” he said, jabbing a finger into the center of Kron’s black shirt. “If he is harmed, it will be on your head.”

Kron’s only reaction was a yawn. He had heard most of this before from the old wizard.

Adara decided to break the tension. “You mentioned other dangers?” she asked the wizard.

Markwood turned his gaze from Kron to Adara. “I have been watching Belgad and the demons and that’s why I have come, to warn you. They plan to attack you again once you reach Wester’s Edge.”

“Wester’s Edge?” Randall asked.

“A village at the other end of the trail out of the mountains,” Kron explained.

“There are also the mountain people to consider,” Markwood said, “though I have not scryed upon them.”

“We have seen no sign of them so far, and I do not expect that to change,” Kron said. “They normally keep to themselves if not bothered, and they would not confront us so near Hammer Home.”

“Let us hope it remains that way,” the old wizard said. “Also, I wanted to let you know of the happenings in Bond.”

“What news?” Randall asked.

“How is Gris?” Kron said.

“Sergeant Gris is alive and well,” Markwood said.

“Has he had any problems from the house of Belgad?” Kron inquired.

“Little,” Markwood said with a grin. “Belgad’s man Stilp went to question him at the city guard barracks, but was sent away with a beating and a warning. After hearing the good sergeant’s version of the events surrounding the Asylum and the old cemetery, Captain Chambers has threatened to arrest every Belgad employee in the city and to confiscate all of Belgad’s belongings.”

It was Kron’s turn to grin. “I’m sure that has gone over well.”

“Not as badly as you might think. Lalo the Finder has a strong hold over Belgad’s camp while its chieftain is away,” the wizard said. “And Belgad has many important friends. The captain would be facing a good deal of resistance if he moved against Belgad, so I would say the threats were somewhat hollow. Still, if Belgad pushed too far, the magistrates would be forced to deal with him.”

“Speaking of Belgad, we should be on the move again,” Kron said, taking in their surroundings as if the expected the muscle-bound northerner to appear at any moment. “I hate to leave you so soon, Master Markwood, but we need to put distance between us and Belgad. It’s also possible we might be able to make Wester’s Edge before the demons can find us again.”

“I hate to break it to you, young man,” the wizard said to Kron, “but I’m going to be traveling with you for at least a day. Transporting myself here used up a good deal of my magical reserves. I will need a day to restore myself.”

“That’s fantastic!” Randall yelled with a wide smile. “You can ride with me.”

***

What followed for the travelers was a long, tiring day. They were deep in the mountains now and the terrain grew more hostile. The path they had been following grew rougher, sometimes blocked by boulders that had rolled down from above. Each time they managed to scoot their way around the intruding rocks or Markwood would destroy the stones with a swift application of magic.

They continued to move late into the night with Kron guiding them by moonlight. He wanted to get further ahead of Belgad and the demons and hoped they would make it to civilized lands in three days or less.

That night they ate dry foods and camped without a fire. Even a small blaze would be seen for miles in the blackness of the Needles, Kron had warned. Fortunately, they had enough spare blankets for their guest.

Before drifting off to sleep, Kron’s final thoughts were of Wyck, the twelve-year-old boy who had been his friend in Bond. Markwood’s return had brought forth memories of the city of Kron’s birth. He did not like much of what he remembered, nightmares of his parents’ murder and the tragedy that befell Wyck.

Once during the night, Kron woke, crying out. He sat up shaking and was glad to see Adara was on watch.

Kron blinked back tears, but not tears of hurt. They were tears of rage. Long ago he had sworn to himself he would bring the slayer of his parents to justice, but the chance seemed to keep eluding him. Kron could admit he had made numerous mistakes, the worst being to include Wyck in his plans of vengeance against Belgad. Yes, there had been many mistakes. Kron had been too eager. Patience was not a virtue he held to, though he had realized it too late to save Wyck. But Kron had realized his errors, and now he knew to take his time, to be patient and wait. It was the strongest reason he had not already slunk off in the night and made an attempt on Belgad’s life, that and the fact he would have been leaving Randall and Adara without his protection.

Rubbing his eyes, Kron’s thoughts turned to the woman in their group. He did not know what to make of her. At first he had seen her as a spoiled brat, a girl with too much time and money on her hands. Those harsh feelings had intensified soon after their journey began because she had complained constantly during those first days on the road. Eventually, Adara had calmed, coming to accept a lifestyle without feather pillows and room service. Kron was even impressed with how she was coming along in her training. She was an excellent sword fighter, of that he did not doubt. She had been worth five swordsmen when Kron first met her, but her skills had been attuned to the duelist’s way of thinking. Since Kron had taken over Adara’s training, she had learned much, becoming even faster on her feet and, more importantly, faster with her mind. She was learning to think more abstractly when it came to melee, freeing her mind from preconceived perceptions. She could think on her feet, using her environment against an opponent. Of course Adara had not been fully tested as of yet, and Kron hoped it would stay that way, but she had shown a ready willingness when needed.

Kron smiled thinking of the woman. She was so beautiful it hurt him to think of her, but he did not know yet if it was love he felt for her. There were too many outside factors that intruded on their lives for him to think about love. Besides, he was on a vengeance trail, and on that path their was no room for love.

Darkbow rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep.

Noticing Kron’s movement Adara knelt beside their fire and stared at the man who had been thinking of her.

From a higher elevation, on a ledge hidden by mountain shadows cast by the moon, another pair of eyes explored the group. After a half hour of watching Adara roam in a circle around the camp, the hulking figure lumbered away, climbing up the side of the mountain.

Chapter Ten

Markwood was as good as his word the next morning when he announced he would be leaving. Randall knew it had been coming, but he was not happy to hear the wizard say goodbye.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for at least a day?” the healer asked as he grasped the old man around the shoulders.

Markwood hugged Randall in return, then stepped back with a chuckle. “I’m sorry, my boy, but I am too old, and I have responsibilities at the college. Further, I can keep a watch of the goings on in Bond, while also keeping an eye on you. If you should need me, I will be there.”

The old wizard then turned to Adara and lifted her right hand, pressing his lips gently to the back of it. “And to you, my lady, I thank you for watching over my student,” he said. “We shall meet again. I am sure.”

Adara blushed as Markwood rounded on Kron Darkbow.

“May I speak with you in private?” Kron asked, surprising the wizard.

“Of course,” Markwood said as they moved away from Adara and Randall who stared at them with curiosity.

“I am asking you to stay with us,” Kron said.

Markwood appeared surprised again.

“We could use someone of your power,” Kron went on. “Randall is an excellent mage, but he has little in the way of offensive capabilities.

“If you do not wish to come with us, I understand.”

“It is not that I do not wish it, young man,” Markwood said, “but I feel it better for you if I do not. I would be a beacon for Verkain, a magical guiding light that would allow him to pinpoint your location. I could cover my tracks with protective spells, but there are ways around that.”

“Such as looking for areas that are dead of magic,” Kron reasoned.

Markwood looked surprised for a third time that day. “You have studied?”

“I’m no practitioner, if that’s what you mean,” Kron said, “but I knew a few mages who were wardens in the Lands.”

“I understand your concerns. I’ve been wondering what you plan to do about the war demons,” Markwood said, “for they will return.”

“We’ll avoid them as long as possible,” Kron said, then smiled, “but in the long run I figure you will take care of them.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Kron said. “You’re the big, powerful wizard, after all.”

Markwood slapped his side and laughed hard.

“Come,” Kron said, motioning toward Adara and Randall, “let us finish your goodbyes so you can be on your way and we can be on ours.”

What followed were more hugs between Randall and the wizard. Then Markwood walked a good ways away from the group, waved one last time, and vanished with another booming noise.

Randall continued to stare at the spot where the old wizard had vanished for several minutes while Adara and Kron packed camp.

“You will see him again,” Kron said, placing a hand on the healer’s shoulder, “I promise you that much.”

***

Throughout the day, their path continued to grow rougher. At one point Kron considered letting their horses go free so they could continue on foot, but some hefty back work and a rope tied to one of the horses managed to move several large rocks blocking the path.

Near nightfall, their trail reached its zenith then twisted downward through more gray rock and dried weeds.

“It’s a wonder anything can survive up here,” Adara noted as she shivered in the chill winds blowing into the depression through which they rode.

“Not much does,” Kron said. “Even the mountain folk have to trade for food from time to time.”

“Yet we’ve seen nothing of them, nor of any other living creature,” Adara pointed out.

“There have been signs,” Kron said.

“Of what?” Randall asked.

“There were two eagles shadowing us a few days ago,” Kron said. “I also spotted a mountain goat this morning, and ... we are watched from time to time.”

Adara and Randall’s heads instantly snapped up, scanning the tops of the surrounding mountains for any sign of eyes upon them.

“It’s likely the mountain people,” Kron said. “They’ve been on us since we left Hammer Home.”

They traveled on a few hours into the night before making camp. Adara took the first watch, Randall the second and Kron woke early to take the final watch of the night.

The man in black’s words of the day before were proven prophetic the next morning when a tall, hulking figure appeared in their path soon after they had broken camp.

Kron called for the others to curtail their horses as he pulled his own steed to a halt and held up a flat hand as a sign of greeting and to show he was not drawing a weapon.

“Good day to you,” he said to the hulk.

The mountain man was like a human in shape, but taller than any man at eight feet. It’s bulk was almost completely muscle, and its face was brutal and barbaric with long, scraggly hair hanging off its head and from its chin.

“You trespass,” the thing said in a solid, guttural voice.

“My apologies,” Kron said, lowering his hand and placing it on a dagger. “We did not know this trail was guarded. We will pay your toll, if you will allow us to pass.”

Adara jerked her horse’s reins to ride up behind Kron. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “We should ride past this fool and be on about our business.”

Kron turned his eyes to the sky. “He is not alone.”

Adara’s gaze shifted upward and she saw Kron was right. A dozen figures, each as large and ugly as the one blocking their path, were rising from behind boulders and dead bushes at higher points, surrounding the three riders. Each of the barbaric figures hefted a heavy rock in its hands.

“We no need coin,” the big man in front said.

“Ride through him,” Adara whispered to Kron.

Facing the man in front, Kron said, “What can we trade for our safe passage?” Without turning his head, under his breath he said to Adara, “There are too many of them. They would have us before we could flee.”

The hulk in front of them paused, looking over the three before him. His eyes finally came to stop on Randall. “We take one in white.”

Kron spun his head to stare at the healer, who looked as surprised at the big man’s words as Kron and Adara.

“We have to do something,” Adara whispered.

Kron looked her square in the face. “Even with my bow, the best I could get would be two or three before they would drop those rocks upon our heads.”

“We can’t let them take Randall!” Adara nearly yelled.

Kron turned back to face the man in front of them. “He is our friend. We can not let him go without seeing where he is being taken.”

The big man paused again, this time as if in deep thought. Finally, he said, “You have no choice. We take him and you leave. Other ways, we stomp you flat now.”

“I will fight to the death to save you,” Kron said to the healer, “but first I want to know if there is any magic you have that will take us out of this situation.”

“Let me go with them,” Randall said.

Adara’s mouth dropped open.

“It will be all right,” Randall said, placing a hand on the woman’s arm. “It’s not likely they’re going to kill me.”

“Until they make a stew of you,” Adara said.

Randall looked at Kron. “Could that happen?” he asked.

Kron shook his head. “I’ve never heard of the mountain folk turning to cannibalism. Besides, they could eat our horses if they wanted.”

Randall’s eyes fell on Adara again. “Let me go,” he said. “They won’t kill me. I don’t know why they want me, but you and Kron can follow. Maybe steal me away in the night.”

The woman looked at the man in black.

“It’s our best chance,” Kron said.

Adara couldn’t bring herself to look into Randall’s eyes again. “Very well,” she whispered.

Kron twisted in his saddle to face the giant. “We will allow you to take our companion,” he said, “but we expect to keep his horse.”

“Send him and go,” the big man said.

With a last gaze at his friends, Randall slipped from his saddle and began walking toward the brute.

“Follow,” the big man grunted, then turned and lumbered away along the path.

Randall followed the man without a word and without looking back.

Within seconds, the healer and the giant disappeared around a bend in the rocky path.

Kron held Adara back for a few minutes, waiting for those above them to melt back into the mountains, then they trotted forward. When they got to where they had last seen Randall, there was no sign of him or his captor.

***

Belgad was in a better mood than he had been in days, mostly because the war demons had left his party. The demons’ length of temporary servitude to the lord of Kobalos had expired, thus the creatures had returned to their hellish home. However, before blinking out of Belgad’s view, the lead demon Ybalik had told Belgad they would return in four days once their magic abilities had been strengthened. The bald man from Dartague had not argued with the demon general. He was glad they were gone.

The big warrior had other reasons to rejoice. The days and nights on the road, then through the woods and onto the mountain trail, had been like returning to his younger days. He was atop a horse again with weapons at the ready and on the hunt for dangerous prey. Belgad and his companions had trotted past the temple called Hammer Home without stopping, but that place too reminded him of the old days, and of the old ways.

Belgad did not like to think of returning to Bond. He did not miss the city or the daily problems that came with his life as a knight and a businessman. If the local merchants or guilds weren’t wanting his advice or money, then it was the Western Church seeking his aid. Belgad preferred his life simple with the blow of a sword or ax taking away his problems. One thing was for certain, though; he had Kron Darkbow to thank for this time in his life. Despite that, he seethed when thinking about the man, and that man would have to be punished for the offenses and embarrassment he had caused Belgad. But the northerner was glad of a strong, able enemy who approved allusive; Darkbow made the chase and the anticipation worth it.

Belgad chuckled as he rode, the others on horseback surrounding him as they moved along the stoney path Adara, Kron and Randall had taken only a day before.

As they rounded another curve in the rocky trail, the wizard moved her steed nearer to Belgad while placing a small mirror into her saddle bags.

“They have separated,” Karitha said to the north man.

“How do you know this?” Belgad asked.

“I was using my mirror to spy on the road ahead when the man in black and the woman appeared to me,” Karitha said, riding along. “They are no longer protected by the healer’s protective spell. He is not with them.”

Belgad turned his head from side to side to take in the others in the group. Fortisquo seemed fine, but the four guardsman appeared weary, likely from the monotony of travel, but not too tired to put in a little extra work.

“Tell the others we will ride all night,” the bald northerner said. “We may catch them in a day if we are lucky.”

***

“This is a fine mess,” Adara said with bitterness.

Kron was already off his horse and bending at his knees to stare at the rocky ground. “They’ve left a trail,” he said, pointing at the ground to their left, off their path.

Adara saw no difference in the trail they had been following and that to which Kron pointed. She only saw big rocks and little rocks, and it made her want to cry or scream.

“We can catch them,” Kron said, standing and returning to Adara and the horses.

“What are we going to do when we do?” the woman asked. “We could have fought them before, but you wouldn’t draw a weapon. You let him go. You let him go!”

Kron spun on the woman. “They would have flattened us!” he yelled.

“We could have held them off while Randall rode on through,” Adara said. “You said yourself you could have gotten a few of them with your bow.”

Kron pulled himself into his saddle and glared down at the woman. “And again, we would have been killed,” he said, then added, “Are you going to help me save him, or are you going to continue badgering me about what did or did not happen?”

Adara climbed onto the back of her horse. “By Ashal, it’s like being married,” she spat, yanking her steed’s reins.

“You can have a divorce whenever you want,” Kron said, taking the lead.

Adara watched her teacher trot past. “You’re the worst mentor I’ve ever had!” she yelled at his back.

“And you’re not much of a student,” Kron said, riding on.

Adara screamed at the sky.

Chapter Eleven

It was night before they found the camp of the mountain people who had abducted Randall. A half hour from their original trail, their rocky way became too steep and Kron tied their horses to the trunk of a small, but sturdy tree.

It was another hour after leaving the horses, Kron tracking Randall and the behemoth with the healer, that the sun slipped below the mountainous horizon to the west. A half hour after that, the moon lighting their way, they spotted the flow of flickering firelight over a sharp crag.

“It’s them,” Kron whispered as he and Adara settled in behind boulders to watch the encampment below.

There were a score of the giant, lumbering mountain people, most sturdy males but a few of them women. They had built four huts of stone, each building suitable in size for the large inhabitants. In a clearing in the center of the huts was a huge bonfire, the flames taller than the largest of the mountain folk.

Kron pointed to their left and Adara followed his finger to see Randall sitting in front of one of the stone buildings, his hands tied behind his back and his feet tied at the ankles.

“You’re sure they won’t kill him?” Adara whispered.

Kron nodded, then said, “I can’t guess as to why they want him, but they could have killed all of us earlier.”

The mountain folk below appeared to be involved in some sort of ceremony. A dozen of them danced around the growing flames while the rest huddled together near Randall, whispering among themselves.

Kron played over in his mind a hundred different scenarios, but the most obvious way to save Randall was to wait for the mountain people to fall asleep then sneak into the camp and try to set Randall free. If Randall and Adara were not involved, Kron might have attempted an attack on his own, moving around in the dark and taking out the giants one by one, but he did not think his companions would fare well.

Movement below cut off Kron’s thoughts.

The gathering of giants near the healer had broken apart, most of them moving to the other side of the fire to drink from gourds resting on a table made of flat rocks. Two of the huge folk went straight to Randall, bending over him and seeming to have words with the healer. Randall appeared to answer back, but his speech was cut short when one of the giants lifted him as easy as a grown man would a baby, and tossed him onto his shoulder.

“They’re going to throw him in the fire!” from Adara.

The woman nearly jumped forward, ready for the attack, but Kron held up a hand that brought her to a halt.

“Watch,” the man in black said.

Below them, the giant carrying Randall and the other with him headed off into the dark on the far side of the camp.

“They’re leaving with him,” Kron said as he and the woman eased back behind their boulder.

“What do we do?” Adara asked.

Kron glanced from left to right at their surroundings, then said, “We’ll work our way around the camp. Wherever they’re taking Randall, maybe we’ll be able to free him. At least if they move away from the others we will only have two of them to fight.”

Adara stood, crouching on the balls of her feet. “Which way?”

Kron gripped her by her right elbow and pulled her gently along with him, down the side of the hill and around several towering pine trees, the first vegetation of size Adara or Kron had seen in days. They came to a halt behind the trees, away from the camp, and Kron let go of her arm.

“I believe they went that way,” he whispered, pointing a gloved finger away from the camp and into the total darkness of the mountains.

Adara was about to ask Kron how he could be so sure, when a roar from behind caused the pair to spin as one.

Charging at them full speed through the trees was one of the younger mountain people, his head back and his eyes flashing hate as he bellowed. His hands were raised over his head and gripping a wooden club that looked more like a small tree.

Kron and Adara barely had time to react before the giant was among them. Adara spun out of his path to her right while drawing her sword and dagger. Kron waited until the last possible moment, just as the big man was towering over him, to slide to the side of the behemoth and kick out at the giant’s knee and shove him with both hands.

The giant fell forward, dropping his club and sliding several feet in the loose gravel.

Kron and Adara took a moment to see the entire camp of giants was now aware of their presence and running in their direction with unintelligible yells and screams.

“Finish him,” Kron said pointing to the fallen giant behind them as he stepped into a clearing beside the pine trees and drew forth his bow and several arrows.

Adara had learned much from Kron Darkbow in the last several weeks, and the most important was she had learned to trust his combat instincts. Without thinking, she dove on the back of the giant and jammed her dagger into his back, slicing up with the weapon to increase the size of the wound. The creature screamed in pain at the initial stab, but before he could roll over the knife had entered his lungs and he could not breath. He died choking on his own blood as Adara rolled off the man and wiped her dagger clean on the wolf skins he wore.

Kron let loose with his first arrow, catching the closest giant, a hulking brute of a man, directly between the eyes. The fellow dropped to the ground stone dead but was immediately replaced by another. Kron fired another bolt, but this one wasn’t as good a shot, only winging the giant now nearest in the left shoulder.

Kron loosed one more arrow, overshooting and impaling one of the giants in the back of the pack, then dropped his bow and ripped his bastard sword from its sheath.

Adara was suddenly at his side, her rapier and main gauche pointed forward at the remaining dozen or so giants charging at them.

“Good knowing you, Kron,” she said as a wall of mountainous flesh rapidly advanced from only yards away.

“It’s not over yet,” Kron said, and slung out a hand, a tiny gray ball flipping from the edge of his fingers to smash onto the ground at the front line of the charging mountain people.

Flames exploded from where the grenado crashed, catching fire the clothes of three of the giants in front. Screams of anger suddenly became screams of fear as the mountain people came to a halt, crashing into one another, then turning to flee with screams of “Magic!” One of the three giants on fire ran off into the darkness, while the other two fell to the ground and rolled around in hopes of putting out the flames. They were without luck, as the sticking flames burned into their flesh like acid and melted away their skin. Within seconds one of the two was dead, flames eating away at his face, while the other crawled away with the flesh on his legs being eaten away by fire.

“By Ashal, those things are deadly,” Adara said.

“They should be,” Kron remarked. “They cost a fortune.”

They looked up in time to see a boulder fly out of the darkness from the direction of the huts and the bonfire. Kron and Adara dove to the ground, and the rock crashed into a tree behind them.

While getting to their feet again, Kron turned to Adara. “Nearly half of them are dead or gone,” he said.

“What of Randall?” Adara asked.

“If we can capture one alive, he can tell us where they’ve taken Randall,” Kron said.

“Let’s do it,” Adara said, hefting her weapons before her and marching with Kron directly toward the camp.

Along the way, Kron sheathed his sword and snagged his bow from the ground.

Another boulder flew overhead, but it too missed, as Kron launched two arrows.

The first bolt caught a giant man in the throat, not dropping him but sending him fleeing into the night where he would bleed to death alone. The second arrow slammed into the back of a giant who also ran off into the darkness.

By the time Kron and Adara reached the bonfire, Kron had dropped his bow again and brought forth his sword, but they had no opponents to face. The giants had fled or taken refuge in their houses of stone where Kron’s arrows could harm them.

Feeling fortunate to be alive, and playing with the momentum of the moment, Kron lifted a burning ember from the fire in the middle of the four huts and held it high over his head. “One of you come forward!” he bellowed.

Sporadic whimpers or moans could be heard from the huts, but none of the mountain folk came into view.

“If no one comes out, I will let loose my flames within your homes!” Kron threatened.

Some scurrying sounds came from inside one of the huts, quickly followed by one of the hulking females stepping into view in a doorway. The woman was obviously distraught, tears dripping down her face.

“Your people have my friend, the man in white,” Kron said. “Where has he been taken?”

The giant woman sniffed and wiped tears from her cheeks, then said, “To village.”

“In the East?” Kron asked.

The woman nodded her head.

“Why did your people take him?” Adara asked.

“He wizard,” the giant woman said. “The army take our cattle, so we trade wizard for food.”

Kron glanced at Adara. “It sounds as if the Eastern army has confiscated their cattle,” Kron said. “The local constable or bishop must be trading with them for mages.”

Both knew what that meant for Randall. Magic was outlawed in East Ursia, punishable by death.

“Is Wester’s Edge the name of the village?” Kron asked.

The giant woman nodded again.

“Very well,” Kron said. “We will be leaving. If any of you follow, we will slay you, then we will return to your homes and burn out your families.”

Kron grabbed Adara by the elbow again and pulled her away from the fire and out of the village. Once they were past the pine trees, Kron tossed his makeshift torch and let go of Adara’s arm.

As they continued to move, again making their way around the camp back the way they had originally come, Kron glanced at Adara and noticed tears streaming down her cheeks.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

She continued to move, thankful for a cloud that blocked the moon and the image of her crying. “All those people,” she said, waving a hand back at the homes of the mountain folk, “we killed them, destroyed their lives.”

“They were the ones who took Randall. Keep that in mind.”

“You’re saying they deserved all that death?” she asked.

Kron was quiet a long time as they rounded the side of a hill, then softly he said, “We all deserve it.”

Chapter Twelve

Randall had to admit the mountain folk had treated him decently. At least they had not eaten him, but also they had not beaten him or been overtly threatening. He had been uncomfortable riding on the back of one of the big men, especially since his hands were tied by hemp cords and that along with his jarring mode of transport had prevented him from being able to cast any spells that might have helped him escape, but overall he was in good condition and glad to be alive.

As the two giants traveling with Randall neared the bottom of the mountain slopes, green pastures dotted with occasional trees stretching miles before them, the healer’s worries turned to Adara and Kron. He had heard the screaming from the mountain people’s home the night before, though his two big companions either had not heard or did not care.

As the giant carrying him set the healer on the ground, Randall spotted the rocky path coming out of the mountains he and Kron and Adara had been taking, and hoped to see them riding down the trail soon.

The two giants moved away from Randall some little distance and sat on large stones at the foot of the mountain. Though large and hardy, they had traveled through the night, taking turns carrying the healer, and were obviously winded.

Fear suddenly gripped Randall’s heart. Not only was he worried about his friends, but he had his own life to think of. From what he had been able to understand of the mountain people’s guttural speech, they were taking him to a village for some sort of trade. Randall didn’t understand what was happening, but it didn’t look as if he was to be killed. He also didn’t like the idea of becoming someone’s slave. Slavery was legal in one form or another in much of the world outside West Ursia, and Randall had grown up around it in Kobalos though the idea of slavery had always struck him as uncivilized. No one should belong to another. It wasn’t right. People weren’t sheep or cattle.

Another fear was that he was now in East Ursia, a nation notorious for its intolerance of magic and all things having to do with wizards. If he was recognized as a spell caster in the village, it was likely his life would not extend much further. At least he had had time to remove his royal ring from his finger and place it inside his robes; there was no telling what would happen to him if he were found to be a prince of Kobalos.

The two giants said a few words to one another, the language familiar to Randall but nearly unintelligible because of their rough voices, then they stood. One of them lifted Randall onto his shoulders again, and the three made their way east on the trail out of the mountains, which soon turned into a dirt pathway.

Randall’s eyes lingered on the trail coming of the Needles as long as he could, but within minutes his huge captors carried him past a group of tall trees that blocked his view. Twisting his head, the healer could see the tops of houses in the distance in the direction they were traveling. His fate would soon be decided for him.

***

The village of Wester’s Edge was really more of a small town with a score of lumbered houses and an inn and stores and a stone temple to Ashal, all sitting in a circle facing the town’s center, a marble statue of an armored Pope Joyous III that sprouted water from the end of an upraised mace. The water flowed down the sides of the white statue into a pool surrounding the feet of the carving of the pope. Within the pool were scores of coins, mostly copper or bronze but a few silver shining through.

On this fine, warm morning, Bishop Salvus stood staring at the pool, mentally making a balance of the tithes that rested beneath the waters. The bishop did not enjoy this task, as he did not enjoy many of the tasks that came as part of his official duties, but it was necessary; he had to show a monthly accounting to the order’s main temple hundreds of miles away in Mas Ober, even though it cost nearly a fourth of the collected money to send a rider to the capital city and back.

Salvus sighed as he closed his eyes and made some mental calculations. He came up with a sum of twelve gold, and that made him frown. The local tithes were the lowest they had been since he had been appointed to East Ursia’s smallest bishopric three years earlier. It was not his fault. Wester’s Edge had been a dying town for more than fifty years, since the war with the West. The path that ran into the mountains to the west of the town had been a trading route several generations earlier, but after the war a major bricked road had been built far to the south near the coast; since then hardly any traffic came through the mountains except for the occasional mountain folk or someone desperate enough to travel a less populated road.

The bishop’s mental countings were interrupted by a running guard who came from the direction of the mountain trail.

“Your holiness, Jarak and Brok are bringing a man from the mountains,” the guard said, shaking a hand toward the dirt road behind him.

The bishop looked up from the fountain at his feet. “What is this man?” he asked. “A bandit?”

“They say he’s a mage, sir,” the guard said, “and from his white robes I’d guess they’re right.”

Salvus stared down the road and could just make out the tall, lumbering figures of the two mountain men in the distance. Something white did appear to be bobbing up and down on one of the giants’ shoulders.

“You know what to do, sergeant,” Salvus said, then turned away from the man and marched to the temple.

At the temple, he made his way up white marble stairs to push through the main doors, paused long enough in the altar chamber to offer a brief prayer, then moved on to his personal quarters in the back of the building. Along the way he made sure the three acolytes under his authority knew about the approaching mountain men and the bundle they were bringing.

Inside his personal room, Salvus changed into the dark purple robes he wore for trials. He took his time, making sure the clothes were in pristine condition and fitted correctly, then he slipped the golden belt of his office around his waist and hung on it a bronze-headed mace with a wooden handle.

Ten minutes later, after making final arrangements with his acolytes and the sergeant of his personal guard, the bishop found himself standing on the top step at the front of the temple.

Word of the mountain men and the wizard they had captured had apparently spread quickly through the town, as almost every citizen, nearly two hundred men and women and children, were packed into the small, bricked yard in front of the temple.

There was no sign of the two mountain men. The bishop figured they had already been given several parcels of food, as was the tradition of the ongoing deal he had made with them recently: bring him a wizard and they would be given food.

At the bottom of the steps stood a young man, possibly in his late teens or early twenties, who was dressed in a tattered, dusty robe that appeared to have once been white. The young man’s hands were at his side, but were linked through iron shackles that connected in front of him by a length of chain. The young man’s feet had been similarly connected. One either side of him stood two guards, four men altogether, wearing the dark purple tabards of the holy army, ringed mail shirts and heavy swords.

“A healer,” Salvus said as the shuffling of the crowd quieted and he stared down at Randall Tendbones.

“Yes, I’m a healer,” Randall said.

Salvus chuckled and raised his hands to the sky. “As you have freely admitted to being a worker of magics,” the bishop yelled so all could hear his words, “then I pronounce you guilty of crimes against his most holiness, Pope Joyous III, and our lord Ashal.”

The crowd let loose with a roar of approval.

When the noise quieted, Randall said, “Did you not hear me say I am a healer?”

“I most assuredly heard your confession, young man,” Salvus said. “It is a shame one as youthful as you has fallen under the dark influences of magic.”

“I’m a healer!” Randall screamed at the bishop. “I use my powers to help others, to cure the ill and tend the wounded.”

“Powers provided to you by demons of the nether world,” the bishop said. “Powers brought to you by the side of darkness.”

Randall could only stare with disbelief.

“Take him to the temple jail!” Salvus yelled, a pointed finger aimed at Randall. “He shall face final judgment in the morning, when the sun rises! Then he will face Ashal and be punished for his crimes!”

The crowd erupted into another roar.

As the bishop’s guards drug Randall away, several of the town’s citizens spat on him. Tears flowed down the healer’s dust-covered face, but the tears were not for him. They were for those taunting him.

***

It was early afternoon when Kron and Adara rode out of the Needles on horseback, Randall’s animal tethered to Kron’s saddle horn.

“That should be Wester’s Edge ahead,” Kron said, nodding at the rooftops of a small town over the ridge of a grassy hill.

Within minutes of hard riding they pulled into the town, instantly drawing stares from the villagers who were outdoors going about their daily business.

“Let me be our mouthpiece,” Adara said as she and Kron drifted their steeds toward the only obvious inn.

Kron gave her a skeptical look as they dismounted and tied their animals to a hitching post over a watering well.

“I’m from East Ursia, remember?” she said to her companion as they made their way toward the swinging doors of the inn.

Before they could approach the innkeeper or anyone else, a soldier dressed in dark purple stepped in front of them.

“What business have you in town?” he asked brusquely.

Kron looked as if he wanted to skewer the man, but Adara intervened.

“Dog, do you speak such to every noble who enters this backwater speck of a village?” Adara asked with her haughtiest voice.

The soldier looked surprised, as did Kron.

“You should know better than to speak with one of my station,” the woman went on. “Now find your sergeant, or the local bishop, someone worthy of speaking with me.”

The soldier was too shocked to move.

“Now!” Adara yelled.

The man scurried past Kron and Adara and out the inn’s doors.

Adara chuckled, then saw the unnerving look she received from Kron.

“It’s been a while,” she said. “I almost forgot what it was like.”

“You’re nobility here?” Kron asked, the skepticism ringing in his voice.

“Minor nobility, on my father’s side,” Adara explained. “It amounted to no more than a minor barony. It might help us discover what has become of Randall.”

“You’re a baroness?” Kron asked.

“That would have been my mother,” Adara said, turning away from the man and facing the approaching innkeeper. “I gave up the title years ago.”

“Ah, my good sir and madam,” the hefty innkeeper said as he came up to them while wiping his hands on a white apron around his waist. “What can Guinaro do for you today? Brunch? Rooms?”

“We will begin with something to eat, and will decide upon rooms later,” Adara said without catching the man’s eyes, staring off as if she had something more important to be looking at.

“Yes, my lady, right away. Right away!” The innkeeper ran off to clear his best table, a large wooden slab on two barrels.

Before they could sit, Kron and Adara heard the inn’s doors swing open again behind them. The two turned casually and spotted another soldier, an older man, standing just inside the doorway.

“My lady,” the fellow said, nodding to Adara, then “and sir,” he added while nodding to Kron. “Allow me to present myself. I am Sergeant Holden of the Holy Army. His holiness Bishop Salvus requests to speak with you at the soonest opportunity.”

Adara returned the man’s nod. “Tell the good bishop we shall be along shortly, as soon as we have quenched our thirst from our long ride.”

“Yes, my lady, good, thank you,” the sergeant said as he backed out the door.

“This is ridiculous,” Kron said barely loud enough to hear.

“This is life in the East,” Adara said. “It’s one of the many reasons I left my homeland.”

Soon enough they were seated and served a fine meal of duck and carrots with a thin apple juice to drink.

After the meal, they made their way across the town’s square, Kron eyeing the statue of the current pope and the villagers eyeing them. Before long they were in front of the temple to Ashal.

“When we enter the chapel, pause briefly and lower your head,” Adara explained. “Otherwise they’ll think you’re a heathen and we’ll have some explaining to do.”

“What if they don’t like our explanations?” Kron asked, for as well traveled as he was, he had not spent much time in East Ursia.

“Then we’ll have to fight our way out,” Adara answered. “Again, let me do the talking.”

They entered the temple to Ashal through the two oak doors at the top of the outside steps and found themselves facing the main chapel. Adara was used to such sights from her youth, but Kron was in new territory. The flooring was black marble with white veins running through it while the ceiling was plastered with multiple frescos, mostly images of one pope or another, some in heated battle while others praying solemnly with halos hovering over their heads. The room was long with two rows of hard wood pews to either side of a central aisle covered by a scarlet rug that ran from the entrance to a stone altar at the far end. On the altar was a bronze bowl atop a short marble column. It surprised Kron to see the bowl was not that different from the bronze basin he had witnessed at Hammer Home, though much smaller.

Adara bowed her head toward the altar and closed her eyes. Kron followed suit, a nudge from the woman letting him know when it was time to stop praying.

When they looked up they saw a man standing in front of the altar at the other end of the room.

Adara lowered her head again and stared at the floor, Kron once more following her motions.

“Bishop Salvus?” the woman questioned.

“Please, rise,” the bishop said as he approached them along the lengthy rug.

Kron immediately did not like the look of the man. A thin, trimmed black mustache below a thick head of dark hair with gray streaks at the temples made the bishop appear worldly, a man of means; though not generally religious, Kron preferred his holy men more humble. The long, violet robes with gold trim at the hemline also spoke of wealth. Kron frowned but kept his mouth shut.

“We are not so formal here in the hinterlands as they are in the capital,” Salvus said as he stopped several feet from the man and woman and held out a hand.

Adara leaned forward and kissed a heavy gold ring imbedded with an enormous ruby on the bishop’s hand. When she returned to standing straight the bishop did not offer his hand to Kron, so the man in black made no move to repeat Adara’s actions.

“Allow me to introduce myself, your holiness,” Adara said to the bishop. “I am Baroness Adara Corvus of the Barony of Corvus Vale.”

The woman turned her attention to her companion, waving a hand in Kron’s direction. “This gentleman is my guide, Lucius Tallerus,” she explained.

Kron bit his tongue to keep from hissing at hearing his former name.

“A guide?” the bishop asked. “A guide to where?”

“West Ursia, your holiness,” Adara answered, playing a dangerous game of lies mixed with the truth. “My family still has holdings there from before the war, and I have spent some time inspecting our property. This gentleman showed me the ways of the world of the heretics, allowing me to move freely without molestation. We have only recently returned to the East, coming from the city of Bond.”

The bishop smiled. “Will you be staying long in our hospitable little town?”

“A day or two at most,” Adara said.

“Ah, a pity you could not stay longer,” Salvus said. “Baron Tolblok’s fortress is several days’ ride to the south. He would appreciate the company, and any news from the West.”

“Please give the good baron my apologies, your holiness. I have been away from home several years and wish not to delay my return,” Adara said.

Salvus paused for a moment, turning sideways and glancing behind himself as if to make sure they were alone. When he turned back to Adara, he no longer smiled.

“I have found myself in an unfortunate situation today, my lady, and since you have recently arrived from the trail through the Needles, I wish to ask you a few questions,” the bishop said, “but, of course, I do not mean to intrude.”

Adara shook her head. “No apology is necessary, your holiness,” she said. “Feel free to ask any questions you feel warranted.”

“Did you see anyone on your journey through the mountains?” Salvus asked.

Adara paused as if in thought, then said, “We saw several men in robes at a pagan temple, but we steered clear of such unholy ground. And only yesterday we spotted several of the large folk who inhabit the mountains.”

“No one more?” Salvus asked.

“No one else,” Adara said, then narrowed her eyes at the bishop. “Why do you ask this, your holiness?”

“Just this morning two of the mountain folk brought to us a fellow they claimed was a wizard,” Salvus said.

Adara gasped as if shocked. Kron could hardly keep himself from laughing as he appreciated her acting abilities.

“This man wears white robes and professes to be a healer, but that is the way of the underworld,” Salvus said, “trying to tempt us, trick us, into believing he is performing the works of Ashal.”

“What will come of this man?” Adara asked.

“His trial was earlier today,” the bishop said, “but I will place judgment upon him in the morning as the sun rises. Since he has freely admitted to being a mage, the penalty will be swift. Execution by beheading.”

Adara gasped again, but this time it was true surprise.

“I was wondering if you had happened to pass this young man on the road,” Salvus said. “The mountain folk who captured him told one of our guards the wizard had been traveling with some others.”

Adara glanced at Kron, as if she were mentally asking the man if he remembered seeing anyone else on their travels, then turned back to the bishop. “We saw no one else that I can recall, your holiness, though there were several horses stabled near the pagan temple. I did not wish to enter the evil place, so I suppose it is possible there could have been wizards there.”

Salvus shook his head, following every word of the woman, then said, “My deepest apologies for questioning you, baroness.”

“It is my privilege, your holiness,” Adara said with a smile.

“Very well, if you will allow me, I need to return to preparing my sermon for the next holy day,” he said.

“Thank you for your time, you holiness,” Adara said.

“If you should need to speak with me, please feel free to enter the church,” the bishop explained. “I am here at all hours of the day and night. And I look forward to seeing you in the morning at the execution.”

“Thank you, your holiness,” Adara said, backing away slowly with Kron following.

After they were gone from the shrine, Bishop Salvus walked to the other end of the long room and lifted a small, brass bell from a table behind the altar. He then proceeded to jingle the bell in his hand until a robed man entered the room from a doorway hidden behind a tapestry to one side of the room.

“Artur,” Salvus said to the acolyte, “send a note to the town clerk. I wish to speak with him. And make sure he brings his most recent listings of nobility.”

The young man immediately withdrew from the room, leaving the bishop to stare at the front door where Adara and Kron had exited.

***

“Your holiness?” Kron asked with a chuckle as they walked away from the temple.

Adara smiled back at him. “It’s the way one talks to a bishop,” she said. “You’re lucky we’re not meeting the pope. Then it would be ‘most holy’ this and ‘most holy’ that.”

They laughed together as they crossed the town’s square past the towering statue of the pope and approached the inn.

“Do you think he bought your story?” Kron asked as they neared the inn’s entrance.

“I don’t know,” Adara said, glancing down at herself. She was dressed in a white shirt, dark blue doublet above black breeches and high dark boots, a thin rapier hanging from her left side. All were covered with a layer of road dust. “I’m not dressed the part, but I know the right words. I really would have been a baroness, after all.”

“Let’s hope you fooled him enough for us to save Randall,” Kron said, holding open the inn’s swinging doors for the woman.

As Adara passed him, she asked, “Now that we know what has happened to him, what are we going to do about it?”

“We’re going to save the day,” Kron said, his grin growing wider.

***

It was nearly sundown before Bishop Salvus found himself seated behind his desk in an office to the side of the main chapel room with the town clerk sitting across from him.

“I don’t trust the woman, Rory,” the bishop said as the clerk opened a lambskin codex and placed it on the desk between them.

“Why not?” Rory said without noting the bishop’s religious title as he flipped through several pages.

The bishop had to pause to think why he did not trust the woman calling herself Adara Corvus and claiming to be a baroness of Corvus Vale. Part of it was simple. She dressed like a man; it was unladylike, and would have been scandalous a mere generation earlier for a woman to appear in public in such clothing, especially a woman who claimed nobility. Another factor in the bishop’s mistrust was the dust on the edges of the woman’s clothing; true, she had just come from a long journey, but she should have taken the time to clean herself properly before presenting herself to a bishop of Ashal. Also, there were too many coincidences for Salvus to trust this Corvus woman and her male companion; the wizard in white had been captured on the trail through the Needles and the woman and her guide had come from the same direction, apparently having not seen any signs of the wizard. No, it was too much.

“Here it is,” Rory said, ignoring that the bishop had not answered his question.

“What?” Salvus asked.

Rory ran a finger down a page of the codex, stopping his digit near the bottom of the page. “Corvus Vale,” he said. “It’s far to the east, the other side of Mas Ober.”

“Who is baron there now?” Salvus asked, leaning forward to eye the page himself.

“Says there isn’t a baron,” the clerk said, silently reading the small written text on the page. “Says the land has been under control of the local bishopric for the last five years.”

“Does it say why?” Salvus asked.

Rory read on for a few moments, then looked up at his old friend. “It’s not detailed,” he explained. “Simply says the local noble family did not have any descendants.”

“She lied to me,” Salvus said. “I knew she was up to something.”

“Do you want me to investigate further?” Rory asked.

Salvus nodded. “How long will it take you to find out more about the barony?”

“A few weeks.”

Salvus screeched. “But she’s leaving in a day or so,” he said. “Is there anything you can do?”

“I can check with the sheriff’s office to see if there’s a warrant for her arrest,” Rory said, staring unblinking at his friend. “If she’s legitimate, it could make you look bad.”

Salvus paused again, staring off to the side as if in thought. Finally, he said, “Do it. I want to know what you’ve discovered by morning.”

“Yes, your holiness,” the clerk said.

***

Kron and Adara were surprised by the more than agreeable accommodations they received at the inn of Wester’s Edge. Word had spread quickly that Adara was a noble woman, and the innkeeper offered them his best suite, a large room that took up nearly half of the second floor; he also had clean sheets placed on the beds and a fresh bowl of fruit placed on a night table. As would be due his station as attendant, Kron was given an adjoining room to Adara’s suite. Part of what was surprising about the inn was that such nice accommodations were available in the first place. Wester’s Edge was a small town on the edge of East Ursia, a forgotten place with few travelers passing through.

As they settled into their rooms that evening, Kron and Adara felt somewhat ashamed, thinking of Randall nearby, likely in a dank jail cell. Adara could free herself from her guilt after a sip or two of wine, but Kron’s soul was heavy.

Kron lay on the bed in his room and went over in his mind what to do about the healer. A dozen guards and a sizable local population placed a damper on plans of simply busting the healer out of jail and fleeing. Kron had not been able to see Randall personally, he had not dared risk asking to meet the prisoner in case his actions would stir suspicion, but he had seen the small jail to the side of the local guards’ station; he could imagine the dampness of the tiny place, the cold floors and the harsh bars.

Kron had initially thought of trying to help Randall escape during the middle of the night, but half of the town’s soldiers had been placed around the jail for the night. Kron thought it possible he and Adara might be able to take on the six guards and defeat them with a bit of trickery, but it was not likely they could do so with an alarm being raised.

Kron would have to come up with another idea, another plan to save their friend. He did not know what that plan would be, but at least he had until morning to come up with something. He expected a sleepless night.

An hour after the sun went down, Kron was stirred from his thoughts by a knock at his door. After opening the portal, he found Adara outside his room, the woman fresh from a bath and her clothes dusted.

“I thought we should talk,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps downstairs over a glass of wine?”

Kron’s eyebrows furrowed.

“If we stay up here without making an appearance, it will look as if we’re rude,” Adara said. “The people love to see their nobles, and I’m sure our arrival and Randall’s capture are the talk of the town. Besides, we need to talk about helping Randall.”

Knowing they had to do something for their friend, Kron closed the door to his room and they made their way downstairs.

The front room of the inn was busier than Adara expected. Guinaro the innkeeper was busy helping his wife bring platters of food from the kitchen in the back to several tables filled with local faces. Most were commoners, but three guards sat talking at one table and a young man wearing a deep purple tunic, obviously an acolyte to the bishop, sat by himself near the front entrance.

All chatter stopped as Adara and Kron eased down the stairs, him leading the way.

“Good eve to you, baroness,” Guinaro said as he placed a plate of food in front of one of the town’s soldiers. The innkeeper approached the woman with his hands folded in front of him as if ready to pray.

“Do you have a private room?” Adara asked without looking in the man’s eyes.

“Right this way, my lady,” the innkeeper said as he moved past the woman and pointed toward a curtain hanging along a side wall.

Kron and Adara followed and the innkeeper moved the curtain aside to show them a small but pleasant room with one shuttered window and a table built for two with a chair on either side of it. A burning lamp on one wall and a single candle in the center of the table provided ample light.

“Will this do, my lady?” Guinaro asked.

“Very well, indeed,” Adara said, taking a seat.

Kron hesitated, standing to one side of the room as if he were not allowed to sit until told.

“Bring us a bottle of your house wine,” Adara said to the innkeeper.

“Oh, but I have a much finer vintage than our local drink, my lady,” Guinaro said looking pleased. “I have a bottle of Truscan red saved since before the war.”

“That will do,” Adara said, dismissing the man with a wave of her hand.

Once the innkeeper removed himself and allowed the curtain to fall into place again, Kron turned to the woman and said, “May I sit?”

Adara chuckled. “Yes, you may, good servant.”

Kron eased into the chair and stared at the hanging curtain. “Not much privacy.”

“It is enough,” Adara said. “They would not think of listening in on our conversation.”

Less than a couple of minutes passed before Guinaro returned carrying a bronze platter with a dark glass bottle in its center and two wine glasses next to it.

“I hope this will please your ladyship,” the innkeeper said depositing the bottle and glasses on the table. He asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady?”

“No thank you, good sir,” Adara said. “If I should require anything, I will send my man for you.” She nodded to Kron.

“Very good. Thank you, my lady.” Guinaro withdrew from the room.

“Overanxious fellow,” Kron noted.

“We’re probably the best customers he’s had in some time,” Adara said. “It’s doubtful they get much traffic through this part of the country.”

Playing the part of servant, Kron removed a dagger from his belt and pried the cork from the top of the wine bottle then proceeded to pour her a glass.

“Are you not partaking?” the woman asked.

Kron finished filling her glass and returned his dagger to its sheath. “I do not drink,” he said, leaning back and waving a hand at the bottle. “It dulls one’s senses.”

“And of course you could never allow that,” Adara said, lifting the glass of dark red liquid to her lips.

“Alcohol profits a man nothing,” Kron said.

“But it can make a woman feel good,” Adara said, drawing out the last word.

Kron saw the sparkle in her eye as she took another drink. “You seem in a good mood considering Randall’s situation,” he said.

Adara set her glass on the table and gave him a flat stare. “I haven’t forgotten why we’re here,” she said, “but I spent nearly a month on the road. I’ve been looking forward to this wine, and to a night in a bed.”

“Are you so sure we will be sleeping here tonight?” Kron said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “We haven’t spoken of what to do.”

Kron leaned forward. “We can’t simply break him out of the jail,” he said. “That would draw too much attention.”

“You just took on a village of mountain people,” she said almost mocking. “What makes you think you can’t take care of a handful of soldiers?”

“I had your help in the mountains,” Kron reminded, “but there’s more than just guards here. From what I saw of the locals, most of them are farmers, hardy men with strong arms. I’m sure they wouldn’t fear coming to the aid of the local troops.”

“I didn’t help much in the mountains,” Adara said taking up her glass again.

“You finished the first one,” Kron said. “You covered my back while I dealt with the others.”

Adara sipped her wine, her face staring blankly at the table top. “I didn’t want to kill that man,” she said.

“You had no choice,” Kron said. “They would have killed us.”

“We were invading their home,” Adara said, looking up. “If we hadn’t been there, they would have had no reason to attack us.”

“They took Randall,” Kron reminded, “and if we had not been seen, we wouldn’t have had to fight them. It was bad luck, theirs and ours.”

“I still don’t like it,” Adara said. It was not as if she had never killed before, but it had been rare and only during a duel when a competent opponent faced off with her.

“What of these fire weapons you have?” she asked to take her mind from morose thoughts.

“My grenados?” Kron said with an evil grin.

She nodded, telling him to go on.

“They’re expensive, but well worth the price,” Kron said, his grin not dying. “They’ve pulled me out of more than one tight spot.”

“Where do you get them?”

“I learned how to make them from a Hiponese warden in the Lands. They’re a mixture of simple powders, a little sulfur and other items,” Kron said. “I’ve only a couple left, one filled with fire and the other with smoke. I haven’t had the time or money to make new ones since leaving the Lands. I was hoping to make more in Bond, but I had no luck finding all the ingredients.”

“Can we use them to free Randall?” Adara asked.

“They will come in helpful,” Kron said, “but I don’t believe breaking Randall out of the jail is the answer. Even if we fought our way out of the village, we would still have to escape on horseback, and I don’t know this land well enough to find a proper hiding spot.”

“Couldn’t we go back to the mountains?”

“And risk running into the mountain folk again?” Kron said, shaking his head.

It suddenly occurred to Adara that Kron thought too much for a man of action. He planned and pondered and tried to compensate for every situation, which was why he always wore so many different weapons. He had not carried his sword and bow with him tonight, only because he realized the impropriety of it, but Adara would bet gold there were still a multitude of smaller, hidden weapons on the man’s body. His thinking apparently kept him alive, however, but it surprised Adara to know Kron always tried to be prepared for any situation, especially since his particular style of combat was so wild.

A wave of despair rolled over Adara and became obvious as she frowned and stood, moving to the curtain to draw it back. She peered into the room beyond, seeing the inn’s patrons busy with their own conversations, their own worlds.

“Is something bothering you?” Kron asked, watching the woman’s back.

“What are we to do about Randall?” she asked, a note of sadness in her voice. “You don’t think it’s prudent to attempt a rescue tonight, but his execution is in the morning. It would be madness to try and save him then, when the whole town is gathered.”

“I agree,” Kron said.

“And even then,” Adara went on, “what if we do manage to save him? What happens then? We go on to Kobalos? What will he do when he is in front of his father, Kron? I’ve come to know Randall in the weeks we’ve been together, and I’m not sure he has it in him to face Verkain. Randall is a good man, but he’s not assertive enough to follow through with what has to be done. His father has to die. That’s the only way Randall will ever be safe again.”

“You forget two things,” Kron said, a slight grin at the edge of his lips.

“Which are?”

“You forget the war demon we faced in the woods,” Kron said. “Randall came to our rescue by taking a big gamble, by ordering the demon away. It took a lot of courage to do that. I understand how you feel, but I believe he will pass the test against his father.”

“What’s the second thing I forgot?” Adara asked.

“Me,” Kron said with a smug look. “I have no qualms about laying Verkain low. In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

Adara found herself disquieted by the look on Kron’s face. He appeared to enjoy too much the thought of killing a man, even if it was Verkain.

She drank the last swallow of wine in her glass and felt the alcohol’s warmth linger on her tongue before spiraling down her throat.

“You are a hard man, Kron Darkbow,” she said as she poured herself another glass.

“What do you want of me, Adara?” Kron asked. “To tell you I wish to settle down in a little cottage somewhere? That would be a lie.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Adara said, but she was lying to herself as she stared at the small crowd in the front room and noticed several of them looking back, though quickly averting their eyes.

Adara corrected herself. She knew what she wanted. She wanted Randall safe, and she wanted Kron Darkbow. It wasn’t lust she felt for him, but she wasn’t positive it was love.

Despite his dark ways, Kron had many aspects Adara appreciated. He was handsome, with his short black hair, his strong jaw and his muscular body. He also seemed to have an intense capability to know the right thing to do, but that did come with drawbacks.

Adara would not suggest Kron was bloodthirsty, but he did have a darker side that disturbed her. The man seemed to live only for revenge, and Adara was afraid to step into that world.

“There’s someone we haven’t thought of,” Kron said, breaking Adara of her pensiveness.

She took another swig of wine. “Who?”

“Markwood,” Kron replied.

“I don’t know what’s become of him,” she said.

“Perhaps he believes you and I have the situation under control.”

Adara scoffed and looked back at Kron. “If he believes that, he has more faith in us than I do.”

“We’ve done well enough,” Kron said. He did not need to point out they had avoided Belgad, escaped the war demons and dealt with a village of mountain people, all without the aid of the old wizard.

“We’re going to have to do something!” Adara said a little too loudly. “We can’t wait until morning.”

“We’ll wait,” Kron said. “A couple of hours before dawn will be the perfect time. I don’t like the notion of breaking him out of that jail, but you’re right, it’s better to attempt that than try and save him in the middle of a crowd.”

Adara threw back the last of her chalice’s wine and placed the glass on the table.

She was about to say something further to Kron when the swinging doors of the inn snapped inward with a loud crack and Sergeant Holden and seven soldiers stormed into the establishment.

The sergeant scanned the room, then his eyes fell on Adara standing in the opening to the private room.

“You!” Sergeant Holden thundered while jabbing a finger in Adara’s direction. “You, Adara Corvus, are under arrest for the murder of your father and mother!”

Chapter Thirteen

Bishop Salvus was pleased the man and woman had been captured without a struggle. He had expected them to put up a fight, but justice had been served, as had the church, his holiness the pope and almighty Ashal.

The bishop smiled as he leaned over the desk in his private chambers and read the report he had been handed by Rory the town clerk. The note read that Adara Corvus was a murderer. She was wanted by the marshall of Corvus Vale for the deaths of her step-father, Merlo Corvus, and her mother, Jaka Corvus, both slain five years ago. Rory had learned the truth about Adara Corvus after searching through the local sheriff’s files.

The bishop’s smile continued to grow as he folded the paper and thought of what the morning would bring. He would execute a wizard and a murderer of nobility all in one day; the woman’s servant would be executed because of his affiliation. The bishop had feared Wester’s Edge was the end of his career, but now things were looking brighter. He was not a priest with high aspirations, but he did not wish to be stuck in the middle of nowhere the rest of his life. The morning would bring him his opportunity to shine.

Until then he would have to try and get some sleep despite his anxiety. He was sure the town’s people would have a festive picnic in the morning following the triple execution.

Salvus stood and yawned. It had been a long and busy day and there were only about six hours left to the night. He would need his sleep, and he looked forward to the pies and cakes and breads that would be a part of the day’s revelry.

***

Hanging from a cold stone wall, his shackled wrists and ankles holding him up, Kron Darkbow was beginning to hate himself. Not only had he allowed his friends to be captured and to face a death sentence, but he had followed them into trouble willingly. He should have known better. He should have put a stop to this nonsense in the mountains when the giant folk had threatened to kill Adara and Kron and Randall if they could not have the healer. Kron also wished he had put up a fight in the inn; at least he could have given Adara a chance to escape.

Now they were doomed because he had failed to act. It would not happen again, he swore to himself.

He twisted his head to see Adara asleep, hanging on the wall next to him. It was for her safety that he had not fought the soldiers at the inn.

Kron turned his head again, this time staring the opposite direction into a dank corner of the small room where Randall, also unconscious, lay huddled. The healer’s hands and feet had likewise been placed in shackles, but a rusting chain also had been wrapped around his neck. The locals did not want to take a chance the wizard youth could cast any spells. Kron wished he or Adara had had a chance to speak with the healer during their incarceration, but bruises on Randall’s face explained why he had not been conscious when they had arrived; it was enough to make Kron turn his hatred from himself onto his captors.

He was thankful, at the moment, his companions weren’t conscious. There were only a few hours left until the sun rose and he wanted his friends rested for what was to come. He had been searched well, but the jailer had missed a few minor tools Kron always kept stuffed in the back of his left glove. He didn’t know if he would have the chance to pick the locks on his wrists, but he was going to take that chance as soon as the opportunity presented itself; so far he had not been able to twist his gloved hand in its shackle so that he could remove the tools.

He sighed. It would be a sad death, a disastrous death, to go to his own execution while the means to save himself and his friends was nearly in the palm of his hand.

If he could not free himself, the old wizard Markwood was their only savior. Kron kept hoping the wizard would make an appearance, but for whatever reason, he had not showed himself.

Gradually, Kron’s eyes grew heavy. He had not slept the night before, climbing out of the mountains and then riding with Adara straight through to Wester’s Edge. He hated himself further for his weakness, but his body needed rest. Soon he was snoring despite the cold at his back and the metal digging into his wrists and ankles.

***

Maslin Markwood was well aware of the trouble Randall Tendbones and his traveling companions had fallen into. He had spent a goodly portion of the day watching them from above in an invisible, ghostly form. Unfortunately, he could not take action in that astral form.

After nearly three hours of watching Kron, Adara and Randall, he decided it was time to step in and lend a hand. He couldn’t allow the three to be slain only halfway through their journey, even if he was not sure of their purpose in the first place. Did Randall truly need to face his father, Lord Verkain?

Upon his spiritual form returning to his body, the wizard began to gather items he thought he might need to help the three imprisoned in Wester’s Edge. In his office at the College of Magic at the University of West Ursia, he picked up a pair of magical gloves that provided its wearer extra protection against physical harm, a wand that had multiple offensive spells within it and several bottles of potions that allowed the drinkers to temporarily become invisible to.

Markwood had had those things on his person, stuffed into pockets of his robe, when he grabbed his favorite heavy walking staff from a corner of his private office. He looked the gnarly weapon over, glad of its heft, when he began to trace an invisible circle on the floor with the narrow end of the staff. His plan had been to instantly send himself to Wester’s Edge where he would make a frontal assault upon the jail where Kron, Adara and Randall were held. Markwood had not planned on harming anyone, so he made sure to have several spells handy that could constrain or put to sleep any opposition. It had been a simple plan and a good plan. The villagers would not expect a mage to attack and they likely had few defenses against him.

The plan was tossed before Markwood had a chance to finish drawing his circle.

The door to his personal chamber exploded inward, spraying shards of wood throughout the room but not harming the wizard because he had already cast protective spells on himself. The doorjamb crumbled inward next, revealing a humongous figure in dark armor beyond the doorway, its eyes glowing red beneath a spiked helmet the size of most men’s chest.

“Lord Verkain thanks you for caring for his son,” the war demon said with a heavy guttural voice that sounded as if it came from flame.

Without giving the demon a chance to act, Markwood flung out an offensive spell, flashes of blue light shooting from his fingers and crashing into the monster’s chest to send it flying backward. The demon crashed into the wall behind it, destroying a desk and pair of chairs as it slid to the floor.

The monster was up sooner than the wizard expected, jumping to its feet with a roar and spreading its wings behind it.

Markwood cast another spell, sprays of spider-like webbing discharging from his hand and splattering the demon, forcing the beast back against the wall where it hung by the threads of webbing.

Markwood paused to take a breath. The attack had caught him by surprise, but permanent protective wards upon the room had stopped the demon from materializing on top of him.

The demon gave a deep throaty chuckle from its place on the wall. It was not free to move, but its head was clear of the webbing and he could speak. “You will be too late to save your favored student,” the thing said.

“What do you mean?” Markwood said, approaching the demon with his staff raised as if he would prod the creature.

The demon chuckled again. “General Ybalik has been sent to collect your little healer boy.”

It dawned on Markwood why the demon was there in the first place, why he had become a target of Verkain’s wrath and why he had been attacked. It was to prevent him from helping Randall.

“Ybalik is on his way now to deal with Verkain’s brat,” the demon spat.

Markwood had heard enough. He backed to where he had been drawing the invisible circle and went to work on it again. He would go to Randall and transport the boy and his two friends out of harm’s way. He would have to be quick, and he might be placing himself in danger, but there was nothing else to be done.

With a mighty roar the demon ripped its arms from the magical webbing and opened its mouth wide to show flames like that of a burning furnace inside.

Markwood continued to draw his circle with his staff.

With a heave, the demon yanked its legs free of the webs.

Markwood finished his circle and silently began to recite the words that would transfer him to Randall’s location.

The demon roared again, its fanged mouth wide, and streams of flames shot forth from its jaws to cover the wizard in fire.

Markwood yelped in pain, his attention having been focused elsewhere so he was again caught by surprise, then he dropped to the ground and rolled into a ball, his staff bouncing on the floor twice before rolling to a stop against the wall.

A toothy grin spread across the demon’s face as it surveyed the downed wizard and the tiny flames that continued to eat away at the mage’s clothing. But the creature needed a souvenir, an item to prove to Verkain and Ybalik that he had slain the powerful wizard. The demon decided the wizard’s head would do and took a step into Markwood’s private study.

Streams of electricity shot up from the floor, encircling the demon and tearing through its form.

The monster howled from the pain as its back arched and its wings straightened to its sides behind it.

Then the thing exploded, all traces of it disappearing in the air.

Crackles of the electricity ran across the floor, then that too disappeared leaving only a blackened spot where the demon had stood and a hint of sulfur on the air.

“Never attack a wizard in his own home,” Markwood said as he looked up from the floor to see his enemy vanquished.

Then his vision went black and he dropped again, his head smacking hard against the floor.

Chapter Fourteen

The atmosphere the next morning was that of a carnival. A throng of nearly two hundred gathered in the center of Wester’s Edge around the statue of the pope. They were yelling and whispering to one another, some trading rumors and others speaking fact of what they knew about those to be executed. A platform of lumber with stairs leading up to it had been erected overnight next to the statue and upon the scaffold stood a smiling Bishop Salvus, one arm stretched over his head as he waved to individuals he recognized in the loud crowd. Behind the bishop stood four of the local soldiers and a hunchback fellow, the jailer, wearing a black bag with slits for eyes pulled over his head.

As Kron, hands tied behind his back, was drug from the tiny stone building that served as the village’s jail, a rotten tomato smacked him in the face. He paused to spit a seed from his mouth and to shake juice from one eye but was quickly yanked off his feet and pulled forward by a brute of a man who looked as if one of his parents had been one of the giant mountain people from the Needles. Following Kron were Adara and Randall, each with their hands secured behind their backs and soldiers in purple pulling or prodding them along.

The trip through the crowd seemed to take forever to the three prisoners, mainly because the crowd would not willingly part for them and the soldiers had to force their way through. Many a villager spit upon the prisoners and more than a few rotten vegetables were tossed in their path.

As they neared the scaffolding, Kron could see their horses were lined up in front of the inn. Already there were gawkers and hawkers looking over and fingering their gear that had been removed from their rooms the night before and strapped onto the riding beasts.

“Up you go!” yelled a soldier as he plunged the butt of his sword into Kron’s ribs, forcing the man in black up the wooden stairs.

Kron was the first on the platform and was shoved to one side while Adara and Randall were drug up to form a line next to him.

Darkbow’s mind raced, trying to think of what to do. His legs were free, and he knew he could kick a few of the guards, but eventually he would be caught again. There was no chance for escape, no chance to free his friends. He had kept hoping he could reach the tiny tools hidden away in his left glove, but so far he had had no luck in reaching them, and now it was not possible with all the eyes upon him.

Bishop Salvus waved at the crowd, drawing hollers and laughter, then suddenly he spun on Randall.

“Here, now, before all these witnesses,” the bishop said, pointing a hand at the crowd, “do you once more admit to the truth of being a wizard?”

Randall’s eyes showed fear, but not so much that he was not in control of himself. “I do,” the healer said.

The crowd went wild, yelling curses at the healer and sending more bits of rotting vegetables flying through the air to splatter on the young man’s white robes.

The bishop nodded to the crowd as if he were seeking their approval, then turned to face Adara.

The woman did not show fear, but she appeared tired. Her eyes were weary, as if she were resigned to her fate.

“And you, Adara Corvus,” the bishop said loud enough for the whole crowd to hear, “do you admit to the crimes of patricide and matricide, the murders of your mother and father?”

Adara stood straight, as if drawing upon some inner reserves of strength, then yelled to the crowd, “No! I do not!”

Boos and hisses greeted her.

The bishop faked surprise as he backed away from the woman, looking like a sideshow barker with wonders to sell.

“The Church has declared your guilt for you!” Salvus yelled. “What evidence can you present to prove your innocence before all these fine people and the will of almighty Ashal!”

The crowd erupted again, arms tossed into the air and people jumping up and down. It was a show to them, entertainment by execution.

“He was not my father, but my stepfather,” Adara said, her eyes turning to stare blankly at the floor in front of her as a tear worked its way down her cheek. “And I did not kill my mother. That was my step-father’s doing. It’s why I killed him.”

Kron’s eyes moved to watch the woman in her anguish. It was not their predicament that had her upset, but memories she had never mentioned and a history of which she obviously did not want to be reminded. His heart reached out to her then, a thousand wishes floating through his mind, things he wish he could do for her or things he wished he had done. He had not been in love with Adara Corvus before now, but his feelings for her had grown beyond those of a teacher. Kron had always denied the idea of love for himself; love was something he would not allow in his life, at least until he had concluded his business with Belgad. Suddenly he was wishing he had opened himself to Adara, had allowed her more into his private world.

Bishop Salvus appeared before Kron’s face with a grin that showed many teeth. “And you, servant of the whore,” the bishop said, leaning in close to the man in black, “what plead you against the charges you conspired with this strumpet?”

Kron growled and lunged forward, his teeth sinking into the bishop’s face.

Salvus screamed and fell backward, almost into the surrounding crowd, but Kron’s teeth held the man upright.

A guard swung a club, smacking Kron on the back of the head and dropping him to his knees.

The bishop skittered away whining, touching his face and pulling away a hand to show there was blood. He slowly turned to the crowd, his face displaying shock, while two crimson moons nearly formed a circle on his left cheek.

The crowd had not quieted, but was louder than ever, screaming for the death of the criminals.

With the bishop’s back to him, Kron sprang, launching himself into the man. Salvus cried out again and plunged into the crowd below, falling onto hands that saved him from a rougher fall.

Several guards were suddenly on Kron, pounding away with clubs or fists, trying to beat the man into submission.

Randall and Adara watched all this for a moment, but then decided it was time to take action. Adara charged into the back of one of the guards, sending him sprawling into the crowd. Randall kicked out with a leg, connecting with the back of one guard’s knee, dropping that man momentarily.

Immediately the scaffold was covered with soldiers climbing up from below and swinging clubs. Randall, Adara and Kron were subdued quickly, though each got in another kick or two that left a few of the guards with bruises.

“Are you finished with your nonsense?” the bishop asked as he remounted the scaffold.

He received no reply from the three who were once more lined up side by side, but this time with soldiers holding each of them and fresh blue marks covering their faces.

Salvus spun toward the crowd, waving a hand above them. “Do you see what mischief these three attempt?” he yelled.

The crowd roared back that they did see.

“What should be done with them?” he asked. “What sentence should the church place upon their heads?”

The answer was obvious. The chant of “Death, death, death!” began to reverberate throughout the crowd, slowly at first then faster and louder.

After a minute of this, the bishop yelled for quiet and the crowd went silent.

“Death it is,” he spoke.

The crowd went wild again, individuals jumping up and down and screaming, tears of joy flowing from some of their faces.

After a few more moments of celebration, Salvus once more called for silence. “Since the verdict is death, approved by Ashal himself,” the bishop said, “what form should the verdict take?”

“Hang them!” was the first yell.

“Draw and quarter the lot!” another shouted.

Then there was too much cacophony for any distinct replies to make their way to the bishop. He thought he heard yells for burning and more for hanging, but he had known all night how the three were to be executed.

“Beheading!” Salvus yelled.

The roar of applause that greeted the bishop was loud enough to knock him back on his boots. The tumult was deafening, and Salvus could only smile and wave until the laughter and bawling died away to a soft roar. Then the bishop clapped his hands twice and three strong fellows carried forth a large stump that looked as if it had been cut from a tree recently. The three men hefted the stump to their shoulders and plopped it onto the scaffold where Salvus placed one foot upon it an lifted his hands to the sky. The crowd screamed for the deaths of the three bound behind the bishop, while the jailer with a sack over his head brought up a gigantic, two-headed ax someone handed him from the surrounding mob. Upon seeing the massive weapon of execution, another spasm of cheering went up from the crowd.

“With this weapon, Ashal’s will shall be done!” Bishop Salvus yelled.

The bishop wiped blood from his face again and pointed a finger at Kron. “First!” he snapped.

The crowd continued to scream and yell, but Kron could only give the bishop a dark grin that was all teeth and made Salvus glad he wasn’t meeting this face in a dark alley.

Several guards struggled to drag Kron toward the stump that was a chopping block, the bound man kicking and trying to fight them all the way. Eventually, after a well placed clubbing to the back of the man’s head, Kron fell forward over the block, his vision black around the edges and his lungs nearly out of breath.

“Quickly, you fool,” the bishop said, motioning for the jailer-turned-executioner to come forward.

The hunchback did as he was ordered, standing next to Kron and lifting the mighty ax high over his head.

“With the stroke of this ax, so let Ashal’s justice wipe away the blemish of evil,” Salvus said, striking down a hand in the air.

The ax came down. At the last possible second Kron rolled to one side, the ax’s head smacking into the chopping block and sticking there. Kron kicked out with a leg to send the executioner sprawling.

Boos from the crowd rang out as several of the soldiers rushed forward, landing more punches on Darkbow and forcing him back onto the stump of wood.

Bishop Salvus leaned over the restrained man, but not too close as he still stung from the bite to his face. “For the love of Ashal, end this! It will go easier for you and your friends if I do not have to torture you first.”

Kron’s eyes still swam from the many blows he had received, but he could still make out the bishop before him. He spat, the fluid catching Salvus on the end of his nose.

The bishop jumped back enraged. “Bring the tools of torture!” he yelled to the executioner who was just getting back on his feet.

The crowd went wild again as the hunchback jumped into their midst and jogged to his jail house.

Adara and Randall could only stare at one another, their arms gripped tightly by guards at their sides, and each of them saw fear and regret in the face of the other.

The executioner soon returned, climbing onto the scaffold with a large roll of tough leather in his hands. He placed the leather next to the chopping block for all to see, especially Kron, and unrolled it to reveal numerous weapons and instruments of death. The hunchback picked out a curved blade, more of a small scythe than a knife, and held it up for the mob to see.

The screamings and yellings intensified again, waves of the noise drowning out any sounds from the scaffold.

“This is what you deserve,” the bishop said to Kron once the crowd had died down.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Kron spat back with gritted teeth.

“Begin!” the bishop yelled to the executioner.

Three blasts boomed in the air above the scaffold, one right after another and as loud as pealing thunder.

All eyes went up to see perched in the air three massive war demons, their spiked armor sparkling in the early morning light and dark steam rising from their shoulders as their mighty wings spread open behind them. The largest of the demons, the general Ybalik, gripped in his hands his massive black sword.

“They have summoned creatures of evil!” Bishop Salvus screamed, pointing to the demons hovering in the sky.

The demons emitted thunderous roars, shaking the ground so hard a number of villagers fell to the dirt. Then the demons flapped their great wings and began to float toward the scaffold.

Chaos erupted, villagers screaming in terror and running from the scene, soldiers drawing weapons and fighting through those fleeing to get to the scaffold.

The guards around Kron were suddenly more interested in the descending demons, and he saw his chance and put a shoulder into the near jailer’s back, sending the hunchback falling into the remaining crowd.

Salvus turned on Kron, pointing a finger at him. “Kill the demonists!” he shouted, but Adara shoved him from behind and sent him flailing.

“Get to our horses!” Kron yelled.

Without thinking, Adara and Randall charged down the stairs of the scaffold and made their way through the fleeing swarm of villagers.

Guards were packed onto the scaffold now, slicing swords and stabbing with spears at the demons flapping their wings just out of reach. The monsters roared again and one of them grasped one of the soldiers, ripping the man apart to splatter blood on the other guards.

Working around the soldiers, Kron backed up to the giant ax still embedded in the tree stump. He ran his tied hands along the upside of the weapon’s blade, slicing his bindings and freeing his hands.

A guard tried to bring his sword down upon Kron, but black claws from above grabbed the soldier and flung him far over a rooftop.

Without looking back to see if a demon was coming for him, Kron jumped from the scaffold and took off at a sprint for Adara and Randall.

By the time he was at the horses, he found Adara had already pried a dagger from saddlebags and managed to free herself and the healer.

“Ride!” Kron yelled and jumped onto his horse’s back.

With another roar, the demon general spotted his prey getting away and flapped in their direction, but arrows slicing the air brought him up short.

More guards, and a handful of commoners, had appeared with bows around the edges of several buildings and were launching shots at the black creatures that had invaded their town.

Ybalik screamed as in arrow punched into his arm, but it was a scream of anger. The puny arrow had not injured the demon, but had infuriated him.

The demon general, forgetting his original intentions, turned his wrath and sword upon the unfortunate soldiers of Ashal.

Adara looked back once as she and Kron and Randall galloped out of Wester’s Edge. Despite the way she had been treated in the town, her heart went out to those who were taking the brunt of the demons’ rage. Then she was off again, riding as fast as she could spur her horse.

Chapter Fifteen

“They travel north,” the woman wizard said, staring into the small mirror in her hand.

Belgad looked over Karitha’s shoulder into the mirror to see an image of Kron and Adara and Randall riding fast through grassy fields. He and the wizard had watched the demons arriving at the village, the ensuing combat with the town’s soldiers and the escape of their quarry on horseback.

“We could catch them in a few hours,” the sword master Fortisquo said from his folding chair near the center of their encampment on the edge of the mountains called the Needles.

“The healer will put up his protective spells soon,” Karitha said over her shoulder to Belgad. “Once they stop to rest, I will lose track of them.”

The large northerner moved away from the wizard as she returned her scrying mirror to saddlebags at her feet. Belgad had known the demons were going to attack their foes in the village. Ybalik had come to him the night before, thus Belgad had slowed his own company’s pursuit, allowing them a night of needed rest. They had been running without sleep in an attempt to catch the three they followed, and were now only hours behind them after the demons allowed them to escape again.

Belgad was glad he was not Ybalik, the demon general who would have to explain to Lord Verkain why he had allowed Randall to escape yet again. But failure on the demons’ part gave Belgad another opportunity to catch the youthful healer and his companions. Belgad wanted Kron Darkbow for personal reasons, but capturing Randall could be profitable to the lord of Bond’s streets.

“Mount up,” the muscular, bald man said to his crew as he moved toward his horse. “We should catch them before nightfall if we ride hard.”

Smiles spread throughout the rest of the camp. They had been on the road for weeks and some were glad it might soon end while others were anxious for the thrill of the chase.

***

By the time six of the town’s soldiers had been shredded or ripped apart by the war demons, almost all the village had run so far they were out of breath or hiding within one of the town’s buildings. The demon general Ybalik finally calmed enough after drinking blood from the trunk of one soldier to see his targets had escaped while he was venting his rage on the villagers; he raised his head to the clouds and gave a mighty roar. Angry with himself, the general lifted his heavy sword and chopped away the head of the statue of the pope in the center of Wester’s Edge, then proceeded with his bare claws to rip one of the smaller dwellings apart until it was nothing but kindling. By then nearly an hour had passed since Kron, Adara and Randall had fled, and the demons could no longer find their prey using their magic.

The war demons had failed. Again. Verkain would not be happy. But for the time being there was nothing else to do about the three who had escaped except to hope Belgad and his minions would catch up to them. Ybalik roared once more, then he and his two subordinates vanished in another invisible explosion.

It was twenty minutes before the first villagers stuck their heads out windows and doors. It was another ten minutes before the first person was brave enough to walk to the center of the town to survey the damage that had been done. Half a dozen of the town’s soldiers were dead and in pieces, while another half a dozen villagers had been killed, some by the demons and others trampled in the rush to escape. The scaffold for execution leaned heavily to one side and the local smithy’s home had been demolished.

It was the desecration to the marble statue of Pope Joyous III that most raised the ire of Bishop Salvus after he finally slunk from his hiding spot in the church.

“Abomination,” was the first word he said as he stood at the foot of the statue and stared at the white marble head of the pope at his feet.

Within minutes Sergeant Holden had the remaining six guards and five stout commoners on horseback ready to ride after Kron, Adara and Randall.

“Alive or dead,” the bishop said, glancing up at the sergeant on a steed. “Just bring them back.”

The sergeant nodded and was about to strike his horse in its side with his spurs when his eyes fell on a face he did not recognize.

Standing in front of the town’s inn was an old man with a long gray beard and flowing robes that appeared to be singed black at the edges. In the old man’s hands was a lengthy but crude staff.

“Hello, gentle folks,” the old man said stepping toward the bishop and the horsed men.

“Who are you?” Salvus asked. “Be quick with your answer.”

The old man stopped near the priest and stared at the decimation throughout the town. “It would appear Verkain’s demons have been here,” he said.

Salvus raised a fist. “I said to tell me who you are!”

“My name is Maslin Markwood,” the old man said.

The bishop’s eyes went wide. The name of the powerful wizard had traveled to the East on more than one occasion. The bishop drew a dagger.

“There will be no need for that,” Markwood said waving a hand before Salvus’ eyes.

The bishop’s face went blank, his eyes staring straight ahead over the wizard’s shoulders.

Seeing what had happened, Sergeant Holden opened his mouth to order his men to attack, but then the wizard waved a hand in front of them and all action halted.

“You will forget what happened here today for some time,” Markwood said with a soft voice as he glanced around the rest of the village.

Nothing moved in Wester’s Edge. The town’s inhabitants stood still where they were, their faces dull and eyes glassy.

“I will be leaving you soon,” the old wizard went on, “and after I am gone, all of you will wake and remember only that a pack of bandits came through the town and escaped into the mountains.”

The bishop’s head gave a slow nod.

“Very well, back to work,” Markwood said and snapped his fingers.

Bishop Salvus blinked and stared into the space Markwood occupied, but he no longer saw the mage. Shaking his head, the bishop turned to the sergeant and the others who were recovering from the wizard’s spell.

“What are you still doing here?” Salvus said. “After those bandits!”

“Yes, your holiness,” Holden said and spurred his horse west toward the mountains.

Without saying a word, the old wizard turned and began to walk north between the town’s inn and the remains of the smithy’s cottage.

***

An hour after fleeing Wester’s Edge, Kron allowed the group to stop to catch their breath and allow their steed’s a brief respite. The break also gave Randall the few minutes it took to cast another protective spell to block them from being viewed by magical means.

“We’ve got to keep moving,” Kron said five minutes later.

Within seconds they were back on their horses and riding full speed north through grassy fields with the Needles keeping them company several miles to their left. After another hour they spotted a copse of young evergreens to the northwest near the edge of the mountains and Kron took them in that direction.

A distant noise like clashing boulders greeted them to a hiding spot behind the trees. The sound made Kron raise an eyebrow, but he figured if the sound had come from the demons appearing, their foes would have just dropped on top of them as had nearly happened in Wester’s Edge.

As they dismounted and for began to search their saddle bags to check how much of their gear and provisions remained, the wizard Markwood walked into their midst.

“Maslin!” Randall shook the old wizard’s hand. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Thank you, my boy,” Markwood said ruffling the youth’s hair as if Randall were a street ruffian.

“Where were you?” Kron asked, interjecting himself between the healer and the wizard.

“Verkain sent a demon to deal with me,” Markwood said.

“At the school?” Randall asked. “Is everyone all right?”

The old mage chuckled. “Never attack a wizard in his home,” he said, “especially when that home is the College of Magic.”

For the first time, Randall noticed the black soot on his friend’s robes. “Are you injured?”

Markwood shook his head. “A little singed is all, but I made sure the demon was vanquished. Verkain won’t be able to call that one back for some time.”

Adara extended a hand to the wizard. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see a mage in my life,” she said with a smile.

Markwood took the hand and bent over, pressing his lips to its back. “My pleasure, my dear,” he said, straightening himself again.

“What brought you here?” from Kron.

“Belgad,” Markwood said, his face turning serious. “The man is on your trail again. His wizard picked it up as I did, when Randall was captured and could not cast.”

“How close are they?” Kron asked.

“Mere miles,” the old wizard said. “They don’t know your exact location, but they could be here in a couple of hours.”

“We’ve got to keep riding,” Kron said and turned to his horse. “It’s also possible Bishop Salvus will send someone after us.”

“Not likely,” Markwood said.

Kron turned back to look at the man.

“I temporarily erased his memory, for a week or so,” Markwood stated with a grin. “Him and the rest of the village. You three should be long gone by the time they remember you.”

“Thank you, Maslin,” Randall said, hugging the man.

“Yes, many thanks,” Kron said, but continued to climb into his saddle.

“I can deflect Belgad for a while if I remain here,” Markwood said, looking to Randall. “It is the least I can do after not being there for you when you needed me most.”

“Why don’t you come with us?” Randall pleaded. “We could use your help.”

“I’m sorry, but I can do you much good here dealing with Belgad and by watching from afar,” Markwood said, himself looking disappointed.

Randall didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to leave his friend again, especially after almost losing his own life. He feared he might not ever see the wizard again.

“You will be fine,” Markwood said as if he could read the young healer’s thoughts.

“We need to ride,” Kron said. “Even with Markwood’s aid, we still need to put as much distance between us and Belgad and Wester’s Edge.”

“Go,” Markwood said, patting Randall on the shoulder.

Randall turned and he and Adara climbed aboard their riding beasts.

“Which direction shall you be traveling?” the old wizard said to Kron.

“North,” Kron said. “There’s a pass into the Prisonlands.”

The old wizard appeared shocked. “The Prisonlands?”

“With an escort of wardens we can ride straight through to Kobalos,” Kron said. “We’ll be coming from a direction Verkain is not likely to expect.”

Markwood nodded at the thoughtfulness of Kron’s plan, then waved a hand at Randall. “Until we meet again,” he said with a grin.

The three rode away from the den of evergreens and the wizard was left to himself once more. He watched them ride off, then turned to face the south with a serious face. It was time to deal with Belgad.

Chapter Sixteen

Sergeant Holden’s group of a dozen wasted no time about Wester’s Edge. The dirt trail to the mountains was plain before them and they flew along it with heightened speed, spurring their steeds to as fast as the animals could travel.

Within minutes they spotted another group of riders approaching from the mountain path.

“Hold!” the sergeant yelled to his men as he yanked his horse’s reins.

His men came to a stop behind the sergeant as the other riders pulled their animal’s to a stop in front of them.

“Explain yourselves!” Sergeant Holden ordered the group of seven before him, a strong-looking bald barbarian, a tall man in fancy clothes, a ruby-haired woman in robes and four soldiers in chain shirts.

“We do not explain ourselves,” Belgad the Liar said with a sneer.

“We seek bandits who fled our town in the direction from which you are coming,” Holden said. “Explain yourselves or we will count you among the bandits.”

Belgad glanced at Fortisquo and Karitha the wizard, but the sword master and mage only shrugged. None of them had any idea what the man leading the other riders was talking about.

“We’re hunting a wizard,” Belgad said. “Perhaps you seek the same man.”

“We know nothing of a wizard,” the sergeant said, “and for the last time, explain your reasons for being here.”

Belgad turned in his saddle to look at Fortisquo, but the swordsman only nodded. When the large northerner turned around, he flung a dagger.

The weapon’s blade plunged into Sergeant Holden’s throat, sending the man sliding from his saddle.

Before the sergeant’s companions could react, Belgad and Fortisquo were already charging. The Dartague pulled a long sword from a scabbard on his back and swung the blade from side to side, nearly decapitating one of the enemy soldiers and slashing another in the shoulder. Fortisquo had more finesse than Belgad and charged with his rapier pointed straight ahead; a commoner tried to block the swordsman’s blow with a wooden club, but Fortisquo worked his thin blade around the clumsy weapon and stabbed his foe in the throat.

Weapons were drawn on both sides now, the church’s warriors from Wester’s Edge drawing swords while the commoners from the villager pulled out maces or clubs. Belgad’s four guards drew their own heavy swords while Karitha climbed from her horse to the ground and began to chant words of magic.

Belgad would have taken a strong blow to his left arm, but an invisible force stopped his opponent’s blade from reaching him. For a moment the northerner was surprised at still having his limb, but the shock died quickly and he managed to slide his own weapon between his attacker’s ribs, knocking the man from his horse to be trampled by the other nervous animals.

Fortisquo ducked below a swinging mace and brought the pommel of his sword up to smash into a man’s face, breaking the nose and knocking him back in the saddle. Fortisquo stabbed down with his rapier, jabbing it through the man’s side and into his liver.

Belgad suddenly found himself surrounded by the remaining soldiers, but his own four men charged to the rescue, ramming their more powerful steeds into those of the men from Wester’s Edge. One of the villagers went flying from the back of his horse, crashing to the ground beneath another man’s animal.

The rest of those from the village still alive and on horseback turned their animals back the way they had come, fleeing the scene. They had seen enough of their friends fall to know they stood little chance against the ones they thought were bandits.

Belgad chuckled at the backs of their routed enemies.

“I needed that,” Fortisquo said with a wicked grin as he wiped his sword clean on a cloth and returned the weapon to its place at his side.

“We all needed that after the trip through the Needles,” Belgad said, sheathing his sword. Karitha’s presence reminding him he had nearly lost an arm in the struggle. The northerner said “Thank you,” to her.

The red-haired mage nodded in return.

“Are they still riding north?” Belgad asked her.

Karitha took out her mirror, waved a hand over it and looked into the silvery reflection. A vision of their prey appeared to her, the three riding around a stone fence. The image blurred for a moment, then the wizard could see a picture of the sun’s position in the sky.

“They head east now, away from the mountains,” Karitha said as she returned the mirror to her saddlebags.

“Forget this lot,” Belgad said, waving a hand over the dead and wounded villagers. “They won’t have a strong enough force to send after us now. We ride.”

With that the large man retrieved his horse and turned north, the others following without hesitation.

***

It was two hours before Belgad pulled his party to a halt, dismounting to allow their horses a rest and a drink near a brook.

Above them, the air was filled with thunder.

Looking up, the party of seven spotted Ybalik, the general of Verkain’s war demons, flapping his wings as he descended.

“What news?” Belgad asked, cutting to the point.

The demon landed away from the group’s horses so as not to frighten the beasts. “Verkain has called off the hunt for his pup,” Ybalik stated with acid in his voice. The demon did not appear to enjoy being the Kobalan lord’s messenger and had likely not received a warm welcome when he last met with Verkain after failing to capture Randall.

“Why is that?” Karitha asked, as confused as the rest of the party.

The demon’s red eyes turned to the wizard. “They travel north,” Ybalik explained. “Verkain first thought his son was running, but now he has decided the brat is coming home.”

“They travel east,” Karitha said to correct the demon.

“The last we could spy of them, they were riding north,” Ybalik said with fangs hanging over his black bottom lip. “But that was several hours ago.”

Karitha removed her mirror and waved a hand over it again. Inside she saw an image of Kron, Adara and Randall riding east across a field of hay.

“I can still find them,” Karitha said, holding the mirror so the demon could see. “In their haste they forgot to cast a web of protection over themselves.”

The demon snarled. “That is not what I have seen.”

“Then one of us is being fooled,” Belgad said.

“Do as you will,” the demon general said, “but we will no longer hunt the boy. He is coming to us. There is no need to hunt.”

“What if we get to him first?” Fortisquo asked.

Ybalik turned a gnarled face to the sword master. “Then all the better,” the demon said, “but I would suggest you take the healer alive. Verkain wants him for himself. If you should slay the brat, I would most enjoy what Verkain would do to your skins, and afterward he would turn your souls over to me.”

A couple of the guards blanched at the dark words, but Belgad and the others took it in stride; they were dealing with demons after all and would remain unharmed as long as they did not get in Verkain’s way.

“We go after them,” Belgad said.

“Which direction?” Karitha asked.

“Can you pinpoint where they are?” the northerner asked.

The wizard woman nodded. “We are less than two hours from them now.”

“We’ll turn east,” Belgad said, spinning his horse in the right direction and motioning for the others to follow.

As the riders fled the scene of the parlay, the demon watched their backs. Then he grinned to himself and jumped to the air, his wings spreading wide before he disappeared with another invisible explosion.

***

They rode as Belgad commanded, passing the bunch of evergreens their quarry had used earlier in the day, then turned east to the north side of a fence of loose stones. After two more hours of hard riding, Belgad pulled them to a stop near a muddy pond so Karitha could check her mirror again.

“We are very near,” the wizard said as she looked up from the mirror and spotted an abandoned, rickety farmhouse with holes in its walls. She pointed to the farmhouse on a distant hill. “They are on the other side of there.”

“You are sure?” Belgad asked, remembering the demon general’s differing opinion about the travel route of the three they followed.

Karitha looked down again and saw Kron, Adara and Randall sitting around a small fire while their horses grazed behind them with the farmhouse was to one side. “They are resting mere minutes away,” she said. “They must think they have thrown us off their trail.”

“Why wouldn’t they have raised a protection spell by now?” Fortisquo asked.

“We are about to find out,” Belgad said and pulled on his horse’s reins, driving the animal forward.

All of them spurred their horses to a full gallop, crossing an open field quickly, then flying up the hill and passing the farmhouse on their left. At the top of the hill they saw no sign of their prey, but continued down the hill in case their three enemies had taken off again.

At the bottom of the hill, at the very site Karitha had seen Adara and Kron and Randall, Belgad reined in his horse and rolled out of his saddle. He knelt and stared at the ground while the others still on their steeds formed a circle around him.

“They’ve not been here,” Belgad said, moving a small rock and dusting away dirt.

“They have to be,” Karitha said, taking her mirror out of her backpack.

The northerner stood with a sour look, staring off to the north over grassy hills.

Karitha stared into her hand mirror and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Nothing. A blank space. Not even her own reflection.

“They’ve fooled us somehow,” Belgad said, grabbing his saddle horn and pulling himself on top of his horse.

“It would take mighty magic to do this,” Karitha said.

“It had to be Markwood, unless the healer is more powerful than we expected,” Belgad said, “but no worry. We know they were heading north, likely to Kobalos. We will go that way ourselves. Sooner or later we’ll find someone who has seen them.”

Within minutes they were galloping north again, a determined face on Belgad the Liar.

Chapter Seventeen

The moon rose high before Kron allowed his companions and their horses to rest again. They had traveled as far north of Wester’s Edge as they could in a day, the mountains staying to their left. They followed a cold stream for a while, then headed slightly west nearer to the Needles. Kron steered them into a shallow valley in the foothills of the mountains before making.

Kron had wanted to put Wester’s Edge and Belgad the Liar far behind them, but he had been anxious all day. He had questions for Adara. He wanted to know what had happened to her mother and stepfather, and to her father too. The questions had been nagging him while they rode, his mind mad with anticipation of the night when they could talk. Now the night had come, and Kron was no longer so sure he wanted the answers.

The day’s events ran through Kron’s mind again while Randall saw to the horses and Adara prepared their supper of onion soup over a small fire. It occurred to Kron he would never know his true feelings for Adara, and would never have his many questions answered, if he did not talk to her.

“Adara,” he said, sitting on a tree stump near the woman.

She looked up from metal tongs she was using to hold a tin of boiling soup over their fire.

“I wanted to thank you and Randall for your help this morning,” Kron said.

Adara stared at the man quizzically. “We had no other option,” she said.

“You could have stood in line like good prisoners,” Kron said, “but you fought hard. If you two hadn’t been ready, we might be dead at the hands of the bishop or the demons.”

“We had to fight,” Adara said. “It was our only hope for survival.”

Kron nodded. “Yes, but many a warrior would have been too afraid, or too surprised, to take action,” he said. “Your actions, and that of Randall, insured our escape and our lives.”

Adara realized Kron was trying to lead the conversation elsewhere. It was not his habit to go on and on without a subject.

“My parents,” she said, turning back to preparing their meal.

“Yes,” Kron said.

“Some of it is true,” Adara said, setting aside the tin of soup and lifting another to place over the flames. “I have never talked about it.”

“What happened?” Kron asked.

Randall joined them, taking a seat on his saddle near the fire. The healer said nothing, for he too was interested in what Adara had to say.

“I loved my father more than any man I’ve known before or since his death,” the woman said. “He was my world. He taught me to know the sword, and the business of running a barony. I took up fencing in school because of him. I think he was proudest after I became my school’s champion, having won several regional and national titles.”

Randall glanced at Kron, but both men remained silent.

“He died the week before I was to graduate,” Adara continued. “I couldn’t leave or I would have forfeited my graduation documents. By the time I returned home, he was already in the ground and my mother remarried. I was furious with her at first, storming through our keep screaming and smashing pottery, but she explained to me she had to marry again or the church would have reclaimed our barony. What was worse, my mother had found a husband in my father’s brother, Merlo, a man I had always despised because of the vulgar looks he had sent my way during his visits.

“Living under the same roof as Merlo, I soon came to know just how disgusting he truly was. He would beat my mother, not often and not harshly, but harm her he did. The first time it happened, I swore to kill the man, but my mother intervened and made me promise not to harm him. To my regret, I let the matter lie.

“I had been home from school a little more than a year when my step-father came home drunk one night. He stormed into our castle and demanded gold from my mother, but she had none to give him after he had already emptied our meager treasury. Merlo did not believe her, and their argument became heated. Eventually my step-father tried to tear a necklace of gold from around my mother’s neck, but she fought back.

“Without thinking, he slapped my mother. They were at the top of a winding stone stairway and she fell, rolling down the long stairs.

“I saw all of this happen. I believe I went out of my mind at that moment, and I too acted without thinking. I raced past my uncle to my mother, screaming her name all the while, but she was unmoving and dead by the time I reached her. No breath came from between her lips.”

Adara paused to sip at a cup of soup.

Randall glanced at Kron again, but could read no emotions on that stone face.

“I grabbed my rapier, my champion rapier from school,” Adara said. “It hung on our wall near the stairway. I rammed it into his heart.”

Kron raised an eyebrow while Randall’s mouth went wide.

“After that, I fled to the West,” the woman said. “I knew the church would never believe in my innocence, and that was proven to me this morning. To this day I do not know who is in charge of Corvus Vale, whether another baron or the church, but I would like to see home again, to see the grave site of my mother and father.”

The camp went quiet for several long minutes.

“Perhaps you will see your land some day,” Randall said.

Adara shook her head, but said nothing as she wiped away a tear.

***

Breakfast was silent with dry biscuits, most of which had to have spots of green mold picked away. Kron, Adara and Randall had not had an opportunity to resupply their provisions since leaving Hammer Home almost a week earlier.

“We need food,” Kron said as they cleaned up their camp. “I could hunt, but that would slow us down.”

Once on horseback, the three set a course slightly east of their original path but still with the Needles to their left. Kron suspected they would come across a dirt road soon and had hopes they could purchase supplies from a traveling merchant, or if worse came to worse, one of them could venture into a village.

Late in the day they came across the expected road that ran east and west. Kron dropped from his saddle to scan the ground for tracks and stood back up with an expression of surprise.

“What is it?” Adara asked.

“There was a slow wagon heading east within the last couple of hours,” Kron said, then added, “and a dozen men in leather boots trailing close behind.”

“What of it?” Adara said.

“This road goes from northern East Ursia west through the Lands and into Caballerus,” Kron said. “There’s few troops this far north and west in the East. The pope sees no use for it because of the Lands and the wardens.”

“What could the men be?” Randall asked.

“They can’t be border wardens. Too far south,” Kron said. “Most likely they’re bandits.”

“You want to go after them,” Adara said.

Kron climbed back onto his horse and turned to his companions. “If you continue riding due north, I’ll catch up with you in a day or two.”

“No,” Adara said. “We’re not splitting up, especially after what happened at Wester’s Edge.”

“Do we really need to go looking for trouble?” Randall asked. “Isn’t my father’s demons and Belgad more than enough?”

Kron turned his horse to face east, the direction the wagon and the men had traveled. “It was a lone wagon without escort. If they’re lucky, they’ll only be robbed. I can’t stand by and do nothing.”

“Always playing the hero,” Adara said.

“No, but I can’t suffer the evil men do to one another.” With that Kron spurred his horse east along the road.

Randall gave Adara a weak smile, then they followed.

***

Kron had been right. The twelve men following the wagon were bandits.

As the three on horseback topped a ridge, they spotted the single wagon connected to two raggedy mules a good distance below in a shallow valley. The man who looked to have been the wagon driver was laying unmoving upon the ground, his face in the dirt; from their distance the three could not tell if the man was alive or not, but he did not appear in good shape.

Surrounding the wagon were the twelve men Kron had expected, each a rugged thug in leathers and carrying cheap weapons. Two of them had shoddy bows, but none seemed to notice the latest arrivals. They were sloppy, not having set watchmen. Most were busy plunging their arms into burlap sacks on the back of the wagon and pulling out clothes and food and other items.

Kron slowly drew his sword from its sheath, as did Adara her rapier from its place on her hip.

“Do you think its safe to charge right into them?” Randall asked as he took out his short sword with shaking hands that showed he was not relaxed with the situation.

“If we charge, they will splinter,” Kron explained. “I could take out a couple from here with my bow, but the rest would hide behind the wagon. Then we would have to charge with them already prepared for us.”

“Good enough for you?” Adara said with a grin to the healer.

Randall could only nod with uncertain eyes.

Kron said nothing more, but kicked his horse in the side and the animal sprinted down the hill. Adara quickly followed, but Randall was slower, trailing behind.

Before Kron reached the first of the bandits, one of them spotted him and yelled out. The rest of the twelve turned to see danger flying down the hill toward them, but they were slow to act. One of the archers got off an arrow, but the dart went wide.

Kron rammed his horse into the first man, knocking him aside, then continued his charge while waving his sword from side to side, chopping through one man’s neck and slashing another across the eyes.

Then Adara hit the bandits, knocking two men to the ground with her horse while she stabbed out with her long, thin rapier. One of the men jabbed at Adara’s weapon with a short spear, but she parried the blow and continued riding.

When Randall rode into the group of men, he was so full of fear he could barely steer his animal. Still, he managed to slash out with his short blade, knocking aside one bandit’s weapon.

Two more arrows were launched at Kron’s back, but again they went wide of their target. Kron spun his horse so fast the animal was on its hind legs for a moment, then charged back at the ruffians.

This time the bandits were more prepared. The one with the spear charged at Kron, aiming for his horse, but the man in black yanked his reins in time to stall his animal from impaling itself.

Adara returned to the fight suddenly, dropping from the back of her horse and unlooping the whip at her side. Two men rushed her, but snaps of her leather weapon sent them scurrying.

Kron pulled behind the woman and slung a dagger over her head to impale the spearman’s shoulder, sending him fleeing across a field.

By that time Randall had returned, swinging his ride around the side of the wagon to catch the two archers who were preparing their bows again. Quick words of magic from the healer saved his life as two arrows shot at his chest bounced off an invisible shield in front of him.

Adara waded into the rest of the men grouped together, slashing her whip and drawing blood, her rapier flashing out and stabbing one fellow in the leg and another in the throat, dying as he fell to the ground.

The man who had been stabbed in his leg by Adara tried to limp away, but found himself facing Randall’s back. The healer was busy trying to weave his horse around the archers in hopes of driving them away and did not see the man behind him. The bandit to the healer’s back pulled a hand ax from a ring on his belt and grabbed Randall from behind. The ax drove through the air, directed toward the back of the healer’s head, but the shield spell continued to protect, blocking the blow that shook the wounded man and sent him falling to the ground. Before Randall could turn to see his latest enemy, the man pushed himself out of the dust and took off away from the scene as fast as his injured leg could carry him.

The two archers, seeing they could not injure Randall, turned their attentions to Adara, loosing two arrows at the woman. Adara had seen the attack coming, however, and dove to her left into the dust, the shafts flying useless over her head.

By now Kron had strung his bow and had an arrow to the string. From horseback he launched a missile at one of the archers, catching the man in the heart and killing him before he fell.

The other archer saw his doom approaching and yanked an arrow from the leather quiver on his back. Kron was faster, already having another lined up and aimed at the man. At the last moment the archer decided against taking another shot and jumped behind the wagon.

Kron simply shifted his position and plunked an arrow into a man approaching Adara.

The rest of the men gave up the fight and turned to flee. The archer behind the wagon was the last to run and Kron let one last arrow fly, catching the man in the back of the leg.

The three watched until the bandits were gone, over a hill or into high grass, then cleaned their weapons and returned them to their proper places.

Randall was quick out of his saddle to inspect the wounded. The only person he found still living was the man who looked to have been driving the wagon. The bandits who lay in the road were all dead.

“What is his condition?” Kron asked from his saddle as Randall knelt over the wagon driver.

“He’s taken a bruising to the head, but it’s nothing I can’t take care of,” the healer responded.

“Nothing but simple clothes and foodstuffs,” Adara said as she glanced into the back of the wagon.

“Be careful with that man,” Kron said to Randall as he slid from his saddle. “Remember wizards are outlawed here.”

The healer didn’t need any reminding, especially after Wester’s Edge. But Randall knew what he was doing. The man on the ground could be healed easy enough, but he would be groggy when he came around; the poor fellow would have no idea magic had been performed upon him.

Minutes later the wagon driver opened his eyes to see Kron, Adara and the healer kneeling around him.

“Yes, you’re alive,” Kron said with a chuckle.

The man, who was balding and had a thick black mustache, appeared to be in his early fifties. He wore a simple yellow tunic, but that did not give a hint as to his background. He sat up and stared about himself, his eyes finally falling on the dead bandits.

“You did this?” he asked.

“We drove the rest of them away,” Adara said. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing them again.”

The man pushed himself to standing, then held out a hand to Kron. “My thanks for your service,” he said. “My name is Alfar. I am a merchant in these parts.”

Darkbow took the offered hand and shook it. Then the merchant switched to shaking Randall’s hand, then Adara’s.

“Many, many thanks,” Alfar said. “I can not tell you enough how much this has meant to me.”

“Allow us to help you with your belongings,” Kron said as he and the others began to pick up goods the bandits had tossed onto the road, “and perhaps we can provide you with some business.”

“Really?” the merchant said as he helped them.

“We are in need of provisions,” Kron said, lifting a basket of apples into the wagon. “You appear to have food. Is it for sale?”

Alfar nodded. “I am only a poor merchant who had hoped to sell his goods to the army,” he said, “but I can spare some of my items for a price.

“My apologies for not allowing the items to go for no charge, especially after you saved me, but I have a family to feed just like anyone else.”

“You mentioned an army?” Kron said.

“Yes, the magistrate in my village told us his holiness was sending troops to secure the borders with the Prisonlands,” Alfar said.

Kron, Adara and Randall exchanged looks.

“Why would his holiness need to secure the borders?” Kron asked.

“You haven’t heard?” Alfar said, glancing around as if he shouldn’t be spreading rumors and someone was watching. “I have not seen this myself, but word is the exiles are breaking out, and they have weapons.”

The three companions shared looks again, this time with concern on their faces.

Kron dropped the matter. They would be in the Prisonlands soon enough and could find out what was happening then.

Within minutes the road was clear of Alfar’s goods and the bandit’s bodies, tossed to the side of the trail and covered with road dust and rocks, and Kron had paid the merchant a gold coin for several sacks of fruits, bread and sliced meats.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to track along with you for a while?” Kron asked as the merchant climbed aboard the wagon.

“No, thank you, my friend,” Alfar said. “We are traveling different directions, and I would not hold you up. But if you are ever in these parts again, please feel free to ask for me.” With that the man led his mules and wagon east along the road.

Chapter Eighteen

The next four days were some of the easiest for travel the three riders had experienced since leaving the city of Bond a month earlier. Their route was straight, north over verdant fields with the occasional stretch of dusty land. The mountains always remained on their left, though a day after leaving the merchant Alfar they could see in the distance the mountains curved east across their path.

“It’s an arm of the Needles reaching all the way to Dartague. We should be there in three or four days,” Kron responded when Adara asked about the mountain range.

They rode on, plenty of food in their bellies, from time to time working their way around a fence or over a creek, avoiding any villages or houses they spotted in the distance. Adara’s training under Kron continued and he approved of her improving skills.

On the fifth day since meeting the merchant, a thick line of fir trees overshadowed their way, the high peaks of the Needles some distance beyond.

“Is there a pass through the mountains?” Randall asked.

Kron nodded. “Not an easy one,” he said. “Normally it’s blocked by wardens, but after what Alfar said, I don’t know who will be guarding the pass. Unless it turns out to be Eastern troops, I should be able to get us through with no problems.”

“We’re nearly out of East Ursia, then?” Adara asked.

“In less than half a day we’ll be in the Prisonlands,” Kron said.

Neither Adara or Randall looked happy about the news, but they did not argue with Kron about his choice of trail for them.

After entering the dark forest, the heavy branches of the firs blocked almost all of the sun’s rays. The forest was a gloomy place that brought down their spirits and made them tired from their travels. A few hours into the place, Kron was proven right about their path. A simple fence of logs crossed their way and a frame of cut wood appeared high in a tree; the stand was held together by strong ropes and had a small triangular flag on a pole above it sticking out of the tree.

As the three neared the tree stand and fence, Kron held up a hand for them to halt. His head turned slightly from side to side, taking in their surroundings.

Adara had seen enough of this reaction before from Kron to know something was not right.

“What is it?” she asked.

“There should be two wardens here,” Kron said, pointing a gloved hand at the stand above them, “one in the tree and one below.”

“Maybe they are taking a break?” Randall queried.

Kron shook his head. “The borders are never left unwatched,” he explained. “Unless an exile is trying to escape and the guards are needed for recovery, there should always be two here. Otherwise, the guards have to wait for the hourly patrols to come through.”

“Does this mean a prisoner has escaped?” Adara asked.

“I didn’t hear the sound of the signal horn,” Kron said, his eyes still moving from tree to tree, shadow to shadow.

“What do we do?” Randall asked. “Wait around for one of the patrols?”

“Stay here,” Kron whispered as he slipped from his saddle and strung his bow. Within seconds he had attached an arrow to his bow string and disappeared into the woods.

“I hate it when he does that,” Adara said.

Randall and the woman drew weapons, and kept their eyes searching. They heard nor saw anything, and eventually they became concerned for Kron. The man had been gone for nearly ten minutes.

Adara finally had had enough and dismounted. Randall gave her a stern look but she ignored him and moved forward slowly with her rapier out in front.

“No need for that,” Kron said, suddenly walking out of a group of thick bushes to their right.

Adara jumped, spinning in Kron’s direction with her weapon pointed at him.

“Put it away,” Darkbow said, motioning for Adara to sheath her sword. “There’s no one around for miles.”

“What did you find?” Randall asked.

“There was a struggle near the guard stand. The guards lost,” Kron said. “They were killed and drug off toward the mountains.”

“What about the patrols?” Adara asked. “Shouldn’t they have noticed?”

“There’s no horse tracks through here in days,” Kron said, stopping next to his horse. “Something bad has happened.”

“Could it be the exiles Alfar mentioned?” Randall asked.

Kron hesitated, but finally nodded. “It’s a possibility,” he said. “If one of the inmates were powerful and persuasive, someone like Belgad, it could be they’ve gathered their strength and rallied.”

“Has this ever happened?” Adara asked.

“It happens every few years,” Kron said. “The uprisings usually don’t last long, and the wardens have always been able to put them down before they get out of hand. It’s not something the wardens like to talk about.”

“Well, we’ve got to talk about it,” Adara said. “It looks like it has happened.”

“I’m afraid so,” Kron said, then added, “and for it to happen in this section of the Prisonlands concerns me even more.”

“Why?” from Randall.

“I picked this route because it does not have many exiles along it,” Kron revealed. “There’s one exile, however, and his family, who roam just north of here. Usually the others avoid his territory. Either he has been removed ...”

Kron broke off, looking unnerved.

“What?” Adara asked. “You have to tell us.”

“If he’s gotten bold enough and strong enough to try and escape, we could be facing severe danger,” Kron said.

“Who?” from Randall.

“His name is Sawney Gean,” Kron said. “He’s been here as long as I know, him and his wife. They managed to raise children, in their own perverted way, within the Lands. The last I heard, they had nearly twenty in their clan.”

“What did this Gean do to be put in the Prisonlands?” Randall asked.

Kron was quiet again.

“Kron?” Adara said.

“He’s a cannibal,” Kron said. “All his family are cannibals.”

***

It took further persuasion on Kron’s part to talk Adara and Randall into continuing along their original course. The woman and healer were for heading northwest around Sawney Gean’s territory, but Kron pointed out they would be adding weeks to their trip because they would have to wade through more mountains than the path he had laid out for them. They would still have to travel through the Needles, but Kron’s way meant they would only spend a day in the mountains, though on the other side of those mountains was Sawney Gean.

“It’s rare for an exile to try to go through the mountains because they aren’t allowed to have steeds,” Kron explained, “but someone on foot could make it through in a couple of days. We might even catch up with the cannibals before they are home.”

“Home?” Randall asked.

“I never had to deal with him, but from what I remember, Gean had a cave near a river,” Kron said.

They also discussed trying to find the next nearest guard post, but Kron was against it. Since a warden patrol hadn’t been through the region in several days, he was convinced something on a larger scale was afoot. He thought there might be a larger rebellion and Gean had used the opportunity to stock up while doing away with two wardens.

“Why is Gean allowed to live?” Adara asked at one point.

“Killing him would go against the treaty that created the Lands,” Kron said. “Wardens aren’t allowed to interfere with exiles as long as they remain within the Lands. They can kill each other, but we couldn’t touch them unless they tried to escape.”

They rode on.

Eventually Adara and Randall found themselves at their familiar riding places behind Kron, the man leading them through heavy woods. All kept weapons at hand and their eyes on their environs.

By nightfall they reached the arm of Needles that turned across their path. The campers were edgy that night, with little sleep. Despite the other terrors they had faced on the road, the idea of cannibals disturbed the three more than even Verkain’s war demons.

In the morning they shared a quick breakfast. They were back on their original trail in short order and heading into the mountains, where they were soon grateful their warmer clothes had still been in their saddle bags.

All through the chilly morning they rose higher on a rocky trail, reaching the summit of their trek in the late afternoon. Kron had been correct that their way was not easy, but they could manage on horseback with only the occasional detour around a heavy batch of brush or fallen stones.

By the next nightfall they were in the hills on the northern side of the range, woods and grasslands spread out below them.

“By mid morning we will be in Gean’s territory,” Kron said. “I’m not going to go out of my way to find the man, but if we stumble upon him, I won’t hesitate to slay him. I also suggest you two be prepared to kill. Don’t try to disarm them or drive them away. The Geans aren’t like that. If they attack, it will be in numbers, and they don’t mind death. They’ll even feed on their own from what I’ve heard.”

The warning was enough to make Randall and Adara sleep lightly again that night.

Kron took first watch and climbed into a tree to keep an eye over their camp site.

Kron realized he would have to warn someone, and soon, about what he had found upon reaching the Lands. Something was amiss, something big. Originally Kron had hoped for an escort through the lands, but he had seen no tracks of recent patrols since they had left East Ursia, and that bothered him more than the two missing wardens at the tree stand. But to alter their direction to seek out other wardens would mean more mountain travel. It also would mean Kron might be asked to return to the wardens to help deal with whatever was going on, and the man wasn’t sure he could turn down such a request, even with his ties to Randall. Kron liked Randall, though he found the younger man naive, but Kron had been a warden for most of his life. It was not a matter of indebtedness or nostalgia to Kron, but a matter of justice. The exiles couldn’t be allowed to go free; they were people who had been deemed too dangerous to exist within normal society. Kron’s revenge against Belgad for the death of his parents and Verkain for the death of the twelve-year-old Wyck would have to wait, as would Randall’s confrontation with his father.

Late in the night, Adara woke and relieved Kron of watch duty. She did not hear any unnatural noises, but kept herself awake by staying on her feet and roaming circles around their camp. By the time Randall took watch for her, she was too worked up to sleep and prepared an early breakfast of fried apples and rolls.

To the relief of Adara and Randall, Kron rose early. They were soon on horseback, making their way down the trail out of the hills and into another gloomy forest as dense as the one they had left behind a day earlier.

They had not been riding more than an hour when Kron held up a hand for them to stop their horses. As had happened the day before, Kron’s head turned slightly while his eyes worked at surveying their surroundings. Eventually his eyes came to rest on the way in front of them, between a series of tall evergreens.

After Kron did not speak or move for some time, Adara trotted her horse to his left side. “What now?” she asked.

“Someone is in the trees ahead of us, about fifty yards,” Kron whispered without moving. “Several someones.”

Adara looked back at Randall with concern so the healer would know their situation. “Do we turn around?” she asked Kron in a hushed voice.

“You and Randall should go back, as far as the hills,” Kron said as he slid out of his saddle and retrieved his bow. “Take my horse with you.”

“What are you doing?” Adara said.

Kron shot her a glance as he handed her the reins of his steed. “I’m going to investigate,” he said.

Adara refused Kron’s horse and dropped from her own saddle. “You’re not doing this to us again,” she said. “I’m tired of you constantly running off to save the day by yourself. Randall and I aren’t helpless. You saw what we could do when we helped that merchant.”

“If it’s the Gean family ahead, they’ll be much worse than bandits,” Kron said. “We can’t risk Randall and I need you to watch over him.”

“No,” Adara stated. “No, no, no. Not this time.”

Kron gave her an infuriated look, but said nothing as he put an arrow to his bow and turned away as if ignoring her.

Adara hated Kron Darkbow at that moment, as she had detested many men in her life. They always thought they knew what was best. They were always trying to shield Adara from harm, when she was as dangerous if not more deadly than many a man living.

“I work better alone in these situations,” Kron said with his back to her.

“Maybe you would work better alone all the time,” Adara said.

Kron turned so one eye could glare at the woman as she stormed over to Randall, but she said nothing to the healer, only standing next to his horse and staring at the ground.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Adara,” the healer said, placing a hand beneath the woman’s chin and lifting it to stare into her eyes.

Those dark eyes flashed at Kron as if to say the decision had been made.

Kron spun on the two, walking near to them so he would not have to speak loudly. “I’m only scouting the situation to see what we are up against.”

Adara opened her mouth to say something, but before words came out a dark arrow came sailing at them.

Kron heard the missile slicing the air and dropped low, grabbing Adara and pulling her down with him. Randall spoke some magic words to throw a shielding spell in front of himself. The arrow punched into a tree behind the three.

“Get out of here!” Kron yelled, then rolled behind a group of fir trees.

Adara jumped up, grabbed the reins of Kron’s and her horses, and pulled the animals in front of her as a shield.

The next missile was not alone, four arrows altogether hailing in from high in the trees ahead. Two arrows missed their marks, while one slammed into Randall’s shield and bounced harmlessly to the ground. The final arrow smacked into the rump of Adara’s horse, sending the animal into a screaming fit.

The horse fought Adara’s pull as it jumped into the air on its hind legs. The woman fought the animal, nearly being pulled off the ground, then let the beast canter away into the woods.

“Kron!” Adara yelled.

There was no response.

“Adara, we have to get out of here,” Randall said, spinning his horse in the direction they had come.

The woman huffed, obviously frustrated, then pulled herself onto Kron’s horse. “I’m not letting him do this to us again,” she said. “Whenever we split up, there’s trouble.”

“Seems like there’s plenty of trouble with us together,” the healer quipped.

“Oh, there’s definitely trouble,” a rough voice spoke.

Randall and Adara saw a man in a tattered deerskin tunic approaching them on foot. His hair was long and ragged with dirty stubble growing from his chin. In his hands was a long, rough spear made of a stout tree limb with a flint tip strapped to the pointing end by thin rope.

Adara unfurled her whip. “Randall, get back to the hills.”

“I’m not leaving you,” the healer remarked while drawing his sword.

“Then I’ll be having two for lunch,” the rough man said as he continued to march forward.

Adara’s eyes drifted to the tree tops and saw no more arrows coming, at least not immediately. She screamed and spurred Kron’s horse, charging forward with her whip snapping overhead.

The fellow with the spear jumped to the side at the last moment, dodging the horse and Adara’s blow from the whip. Before she could turn around, another arrow shot out, missing her face by inches and forcing her to jerk back in the saddle. The man with the spear saw an opportunity and swung his weapon like a staff, smacking the woman across the chest and sending her rolling from the horse.

Randall was there suddenly, charging in with his horse and diving from the saddle onto the man. They went tumbling together into the dirt, Randall trying to stab with his sword but the other man gripping Randall by his sword wrist and holding the weapon at bay.

“Adara! Randall! Run!” Kron’s voice sounded from nearby.

Adara looked up from the ground to see Darkbow surrounded by four beings dressed much like the one who had hit her with the spear. Kron had his bow in one hand and his sword in the other, whirling the bladed weapon around himself to keep his opponent’s at bay. Adara had no intentions of leaving him or Randall. She tore her dagger from its sheath and launched herself on the back of the man struggling with Randall. She stabbed upward, into the back of his liver. He fought on, however, yelping out as he twisted Randall’s wrist and forced the healer to drop his sword.

Adara stabbed again, and again, but the man in deerskin did not slow. He butted Randall in the face with his forehead, breaking the healer’s nose and splattering blood on Randall’s white robe.

Frustrated, Adara pulled back her dagger and slid its edge across the man’s throat, spraying more red onto the healer. This time the man did not cry out, but rolled away, his arms and legs twitching as his body spasmed.

Randall pushed himself off the ground. Adara saw he was all right and turned her attentions to Kron.

Darkbow had killed one of his assailants as a figure was stretched out unmoving at Kron’s feet, but the other three ruffians still surrounded their foe.

Adara’s eyes searched the ground, finding her whip, and she brought up the leather weapon, snapping its stinging end at one of Kron’s foes.

The man hollered out and jumped away just as Kron stabbed at him with his sword, catching the man in the stomach. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it was painful enough to force the man out of the fight.

The last two of Kron’s opponents still standing rushed forward at that moment, cudgels in their hands swinging for the man in black’s head. Kron dropped to one knee, allowing their swings to go over his head, then kicked off the ground with one boot connecting with a jaw and his sword slicing into the chest of the other man. The one who had been kicked tumbled and fell while the one cut screamed out and grabbed at the wound to his chest.

More arrows rained in, none hitting their target but surrounding Kron and Adara and Randall.

His foes dead or distracted by their wounds, Kron slid his sword onto his back and rushed at Adara, grabbing her by her free hand and pulling her toward his antsy steed.

“Ride!” he yelled as he shoved her toward the horse. “There’s more of them in the woods!”

Randall, his sword retrieved, did not hesitate to climb into his saddle, but he saw Adara did not follow. He held out a hand to Kron. “Hop on,” he said. “We can all get out of here.”

Another arrow flew by overhead, Kron’s eyes darting after it.

“We’re not leaving without you,” Adara said stubbornly, her feet planted between Kron and his horse.

A groan from behind made Kron turn in that direction. The man he had kicked and the one he had slashed were regathering themselves for another attack.

He shoved Adara toward the horse again. “I have to stay behind to slow them down,” he said. “Otherwise they’ll be on you in minutes.”

“They don’t have horses!” Adara screamed.

“But they have bows, gods knows how!” Kron yelled back.

The man who had been kicked was suddenly at Kron’s back. Without looking at him, Kron kicked out and back, shattering the man’s left knee and sending him falling to the ground crying.

Adara whipped out with her leather weapon and sent the other man fleeing for the trees.

Sounds of movement came from where the archers had been.

“The rest will be coming as soon as they climb down. You’ve got to go,” Kron pleaded with Adara.

“We’re not leaving without you,” Adara repeated, folding her arms in front of her chest.

Four stout fellows covered with mud and leaves appeared from the region where the arrows had been shot, each man with a rugged bow on their back and a club or sword in their hands. Opposite them, from among brush on the far side of Adara and Kron, four more individuals emerged from the greenery; some of them were scraggly-looking women with stone knives in their hands. The group of eight seemed in no rush to come forward after they had witnessed what had happened to their fellows, but they also showed no signs of retreating.

“Listen to me, by Ashal,” Kron said to Adara, but the woman appeared unmoving. “Damn it, listen to me!” Kron yelled in her face. “There should be a river a few miles ahead. If you and Randall can get across it, they’ll likely not follow.”

“We’re not leaving without you,” Adara said.

“I grew up in these woods,” Kron said. “I know my way. There’s a thousand places for me to hide. I’ll catch up with you when I can, or Randall can use his magic to find me.”

Even at the mention of magic, the group slowly moving in around them did not appear to shrink. Some of them ground their teeth as if starving, drool picking its way down their chins.

“Adara, let him go,” Randall said. “We haven’t much time.”

The woman glanced at the healer and saw defeat in his eyes.

Adara sighed and grabbed the saddle horn to pull herself onto the back of Kron’s horse. “We’ll be back for you,” she said, turning the animal in the direction they had been going, through the four ruffians ahead.

Kron chuckled. “I’ll probably find you first.”

Then Adara and Randall took off, spurring their horses to as fast a gallop as they could get in the woods. The four armed men in front of them moved out of the way as the two rode through.

Kron found himself alone with the eight who were all looking his way. He took the time to unstring his bow and tie it on his back, then drew out his heavy bastard sword.

“Come on,” he said to the nearest man.

***

Adara and Randall rode hard and fast through the forest, ducking low branches and veering around trees and stumps. Several times they glanced behind themselves, but apparently the Gean family, if that was who their foes had been, were more interested in an easier target, Kron.

Eventually, cantering around a copse of firs, the two spotted the river Kron had mentioned. It was narrow and shallow enough for their horses to wade across without much trouble. On the other side, Adara pulled them to a halt.

“We can’t leave him,” she said.

Randall glanced back the way they had come and saw no sign of their friend nor their recent enemies. “We need to keep moving,” he said. “We won’t go far, another few miles, but we’ve got to get away from those people. I can find Kron if we have to.”

“There’s something more going on than this Sawney Gean,” Adara said. “Kron seemed surprised they had weapons, and I’m guessing Prisonlanders aren’t allowed to have weapons. There’s also the missing guards and the patrols to think about.”

Randall sighed. “Adara, we left him for a reason,” he said. “If we go back or wait too long, we’ve gone against those reasons. We’ll be safer further away. If he hasn’t returned to us by nightfall, I’ll find Kron with magic. Then, if he needs help, we’ll be in a position to do something about it.”

Adara couldn’t argue with Randall about that. As much as she hated to admit it, the healer was right. She spun her horse away from the river, the Geans and Kron Darkbow, but she did it with a frown.

***

The first one to Kron was a burly man, nearly as big as the mountain folk near Wester’s Edge, and he swung a club over his head that was little more than a tree limb with rusty nails driven through one end. Kron knocked the big man’s clumsy weapon aside with ease, then jabbed out with a hand, driving two hard fingers into the man’s throat and choking him so bad he fell to his knees coughing.

The next attacker was a little smarter. He stepped in, but not too close, and jabbed with a spear. Kron circled the foe while remaining wary of the others who surrounded him. He saw several of the men were growing antsy of the cat and mouse game and looked as if they were willing to charge him at any moment. Kron couldn’t allow that, at least not until he dealt with the idiot in front of him.

Kron stepped into the spear man’s attack zone, chopping and cutting away the head of the man’s weapon. The man was surprised by Kron’s attack and tried to step back, but Kron spun swiftly, cracking a fist across the man’s jaw and sending him rolling into the bushes.

Then one of the women rushed in, a small ax in one hand and a simple knife in the other, both weapons whirling in her hands. Kron ignored her sex and stepped forward swinging, catching her across the stomach and slicing almost to her spine. She went down, dropping her weapons to grasp Kron’s shirt before she fell.

Screaming and roaring, the rest charged in unison, weapons over their heads. Kron whirled in a full circle, his long sword flashing out around him to create a wide belt of death. His enemies were driven back for another moment, allowing him to catch his breath, but soon enough they were charging again.

Kron knew he couldn’t keep swinging his sword around himself all day. Sooner or later he would tire or one of them would get in a lucky hit. Despite being surrounded, he would have to take the fight to his enemies.

Kron tossed his sword at two of the men rushing in, scaring them enough so they dove out of the flying weapon’s path. By then four of the scoundrels were on the man in black. Kron dove onto one of the men, grappling him and taking him to the ground. Two punches later the man was unconscious and Kron was looking for another opponent.

A heavy ax dropped from above and would have cut Kron in half if he hadn’t rolled to one side, the large weapon descending upon and chopping into the man Kron had knocked out.

A club swung at Kron’s head but he ducked it and kicked out with a leg, connecting with a knee. With a scream, the man with the wounded knee limped backward while his compatriots dove in for the kill.

Kron was on the ground and had enemies on all sides, some still standing and others rolling around with him. He knew he couldn’t last much longer. His only chance was to fight past another couple of them and make a run for it.

He never got the chance. A club and sword descended at the same time. Kron saw both, figured the sword was the deadlier of the weapons, and rolled out of its path. He rolled into another man’s legs, sending the man tumbling to one side, when the wooden club smacked Kron in the back of his head.

The edges of Kron’s vision went black and blurry as he tried to get back to his feet. Groping hands reached for him, gripped him and shoved him to the away to fall to the ground.

Kron’s hands landed on something hard and metallic. He blinked and his vision cleared enough for him to tell his unwitting opponents had tossed him to his own sword.

A scream from behind told the man in black his insane enemies were almost upon him again. Without thinking, without seeing, Kron grabbed the sword and spun around, lashing out blindly. His heavy blade caught one man in the chest, dropping him immediately. Kron closed his eyes and allowed his training to take over. He could hear, could sense, every movement around him. His head was still swimming as he twirled his sword around himself to keep his foes at bay, but he felt stronger on his feet with his eyes shut. At least the swirling colors were no longer a distraction.

Another man stepped in, and he too was chopped nearly in half.

Kron’s sword kept swinging.

Another man cried out, his arm gashed to the bone.

Then there was silence.

Kron stood still and held his sword before him. He slowly turned his head from side to side, but all he could hear of his enemies were a few of them who were still alive continued to cry or moan.

In the distance, Kron heard the brushings of feet on the ground. They were running.

Kron opened his eyes. For a moment he was blinded as the sun poured in from between branches overhead, but his vision had cleared. There was still a sizable lump on his head, but the the dizzy spell had been temporary.

Kron took off at a run after his fleeing opponents. He jumped bodies, some alive and some not, then dodged around a tree.

It was not long before he spotted the last of the group not far ahead. They too were familiar with these woods, as Kron soon found he could no longer close the distance between them.

Then they were gone, disappearing as if by magic.

Kron grabbed a tree limb to stunt his forward movement. He knelt and waited. After several minutes, none of his foes appeared nor did they make any more sounds.

Kron stood again and eased forward slowly, watching for ambushes from the trees while trying to follow his foes’ tracks left in the soft forest dirt.

The tracks ended at a group of bushes. Kron stuck his sword forward to knock branches aside and found himself staring into a small opening in the ground, barely big enough for a man to slide into.

He hesitated, staring around and listening intently. There were no noises of an ambush. The forest seemed at ease. Only the distant cries of the wounded were carried to him on the wind.

Kron eased away from the hole and squatted. He would wait. He would be patient and wait out his opponents. He didn’t dare enter the small cave not knowing what awaited him, but he didn’t want to give up the chase just yet.

Kron Darkbow’s patience lasted ten minutes. Then, when nothing happened except the wounded went quiet, the man in black moved forward. He sheathed his sword and stared down at the hole. He would fit, but just barely.

He jumped in.

Chapter Nineteen

Randall and Adara found a low den with bedding of smashed branches, likely once the home to some woods animal, to serve as their camp for the night. The place was between two hills with its back to a natural wall of stone, and provided protection from the elements as well as prying eyes. They decided against a fire, and suffered a dinner of smoked meat and crusty bread.

As the sun went low beneath the western hill, Adara produced a small mirror from Kron’s saddlebags and offered it to the healer. Randall wasted no time conjuring an image in the glass, seeking Kron.

“It’s dark wherever he is,” the healer said.

Adara leaned over his shoulder to stare into the mirror. herself. She guessed Kron must be in some kind of cave. She could just make out the rocky surface the man in the mirror walked upon and the walls near to him were of rough stone.

Shadows upon a wall near Kron shifted and Randall and Adara realized there must be a fire somewhere in Kron’s vicinity. Shifting orange light played upon the wall behind the man.

“Is there any way you can pinpoint his location?” Adara said.

“I can try,” Randall said, waving a hand over the mirror as the image turned to gray smoke.

After a few moments, the image cleared again showing a wide entrance to a cave, moss and weeds hanging from above to cover much of the opening. Two of the woods people who had attacked them appeared to be on sentry duty at the cave’s mouth.

“That still doesn’t tell us where he is,” Adara said.

“Let me try something else,” Randall said, waving his hand over the mirror again and watching its image once more turn to smoke. “We should be able to find him in a few seconds.”

“Find who?” a voice said.

Adara and Randall glanced up the side of the hill and saw a large man wearing heavy padded armor staring down at them. On his head was a leather helmet that covered his face like a mask. Hanging from one of his hands was a sword.

Adara spun away from Randall and ripped her rapier from its sheath, pointing the blade at the man.

“You’re obviously not a member of the Gean family,” the man in leather said, “but I suggest you point that pig sticker somewhere else.”

With those words, dozens of burly figures in leather armor materialized among the brush around the camp, each man carrying a weapon.

“I think you should do what he says, Adara,” Randall said.

***

Kron found himself in near darkness, the only light flames dancing on a wall of jumbled granite. He did not move, allowing his senses to soak in his environment while he put together a plan of action. He was surprised no ambush had been laid for him, but figured those he had chased in the woods must believe they had escaped him. His head continued to throb from the clubbing and he smelled the rot of flesh decaying and burning, a sting to the nostrils he associated with graveyards and temples. Kron could hear little, other than a noise in the distance that sounded like rats gnawing meat from a bone, and upon further thought he decided that’s probably what it was, the rats of Sawney Gean’s family chewing away the meat from a human bone.

The orange lights dancing on the walls told him there was a fire near, behind a pile of rocks. He saw no shadows of a person and surmised whomever was chewing must be on the other side of the fire. He glanced up and could see no ceiling, only darkness.

Kron told himself he was in a cave somewhere, probably the Gean’s cave within the Prisonlands. The heavy weight of his sword in his hands was the only comfort he had.

For a brief time Kron’s thoughts turned to Randall and Adara. Had they escaped? Were they safe in hiding? He hoped his friends had moved on without him, trusting that he would find his way to them eventually.

Forgetting his own safety, he decided he would have to return to Adara and Randall. They needed him. Otherwise they would probably not survive the Prisonlands.

Kron decided he had stood still long enough. He turned so he faced the direction from which the flames came. He could see nothing right away as a pile of rocks was in his way, but he lifted his head to see a small fire a dozen yards away. Far to the other side of the flames was a dark tunnel that curved away to the right. Between the fire and the tunnel squatted a man and two women, all of them dressed in rough animal skins with stringy, muddy hair hanging around their deformed faces. The man was missing an eye, an empty socket staring into nothingness, and scaly flesh drooped beneath his chin. The women were as hideous, one with the right side of her face sagging so much it appeared as if it were melting, while the other had no lips, her bared teeth showing through the slit of her mouth.

Hanging upon the wall behind them were human skins, stretched wide like deer pelts. Each of the women clutched a human leg, the feet sticking out, and chomped into the burnt flesh. The man held a cooked hand and sucked the dripping fat from between the knuckles. Their faces were covered in red gore.

Then Kron noticed the iron spit over the fire. Skewered above the flames was a torso, a human trunk. Boiling blood seeped from its cracking skin and dropped sizzling into the coals below.

A roar of anger filled the cave and the three eaters looked up in surprise. As Kron charged, he did not know from whom the scream came, but as he brought his sword down to smash one of the women, he realized the scream was his own.

The man chewing on the hand let it fall as he scrambled for a club between his feet. He never had a chance to lift the weapon as Kron smacked him on the back of the head with his sword.

The last woman saw a chance and dove at Kron, landing on his back. She tried clawing at his face with her dirty fingers, but his head was turned away from her. Realizing the fight could be over before it started if he didn’t do something, Kron knelt and dropped his sword. He reached over his shoulders and grabbed the woman by her hair and yanked her over his head. She landed directly in front of him. Kron pounded her face several times with a fist, knocking her unconscious, as he looked up to spy the other woman trying to crawl to the tunnel.

Kron gripped a rock from the cave’s floor and jumped on the crawling woman’s back, bringing his improvised weapon down on her skull. She moved no more. But that didn’t stop Kron. He swung the rock again and again and again until the woman’s head was little more than a bloody, ragged mess.

What stopped him were sounds of running feet and hollering from the tunnel.

He quickly jumped to the other woman and man, and gave each of their heads several hard cracks with the rock.

Then a hefty man in a tunic of hairy human flash charged screaming into the room. Kron did not hesitate. He slung his rock at the man’s face hard enough to break his nose.

The man came on, however, a rusting sword in his hands swinging for Kron’s head.

Kron sidestepped the blow, then kicked out, smashing the cannibal’s left knee and sending him to the dirty cave floor. Kron stomped out, smashing the monster’s fingers and making him drop the sword. Then Kron lifted the dropped weapon and stabbed, the blade running through one of the man’s eyes and entering his brain.

Two more crazy men charged into the room, one brandishing a large sword and the other a club. The two came up short when they saw the death dealt out to their family.

Kron used their hesitation and charged at them with the sword in his hands slicing air.

The man with the club went down first, his chest laid open from groin to throat. The other man had mind enough to lift his sword to block the rain of blows falling on him. For a moment it looked as if he could continue holding off Kron until help arrived, but then the man in black sunk the sword into his opponents leg, making the man scream and fling himself backwards.

Kron was on him in a second, jamming the sword into the center of the man’s chest, impaling him in the muddy floor.

Kron snagged his own sword and darted forward into the tunnel, sheer rage keeping his momentum going. He was in a living nightmare. He could not imagine hell being worse.

***

“Tie them up, captain?” one of the men in leather asked.

Adara sheathed her rapier. She and Randall were surrounded by at least a dozen of the men, each with a sword in their hand and a bow on their backs.

“Not just yet,” the biggest of the men said. He had long, straggly blonde hair and pale skin. “They don’t look like inmates, and I want to find out why they’re here.”

“We’re not exiles,” Randall said. “We’re looking for a friend.”

The big man stepped closer to Adara and Randall. “Who are you to have a friend in the Prisonlands?”

“My name is Randall Tendbones,” Randall said. “We were traveling when our friend was separated from us.”

“You’re a healer by the looks of your robes,” the man said.

Randall noted the man did not seem to fear him as a user of magic.

“And I’m Adara Corvus,” the woman said with a look in her eyes telling the men around her she was not happy to be in her current situation.

“Who is this friend of yours?” the man asked.

Randall glanced at Adara, who nodded to him.

“He’s known as Kron Darkbow,” the healer said.

The big man with yellow hair looked surprised, then he glanced to one of his companions, an older fellow with a bushy beard. “Name ring a bell with you, Frog?”

The man called Frog nodded. “Warden on the West side last I heard.”

“We’re trying to find him,” Adara said. “He might be in trouble.”

Several of the men laughed.

“He’s definitely in trouble if he’s hanging around these parts, missy,” the biggest man said, then bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Captain Weaver, and these are my men.”

“You’re wardens?” Randall asked.

“That’s right,” Frog said, then motioned to the other men. “No need for swords, boys.”

The leather-clad soldiers sheathed their weapons and a few of them moved away to retrieve their horses tied in the distance.

Weaver looked around the den, then turned back to Adara and Randall. “You picked a good spot,” he said. “We’ll camp here for the night.”

“We must go after Kron,” Adara insisted.

“We will wait until morning,” Weaver said as his men began to scrounge for firewood.

“If we wait until morning, Kron will be dead,” Adara said.

“And if we invade Sawney Gean’s territory in the middle of the night, most of us will be dead,” Weaver said.

The other wardens around the camp voiced agreement.

“In the morning,” the large Weaver said to Adara. “I suggest you get some rest until then. And what the blazes are you doing riding through the Prisonlands? Don’t you know about the rebellion?”

Adara and Randall appeared confused.

“Kron had hoped some wardens would help us through the Lands,” Randall said. “We noticed guards missing at a checkpoint. I guess that’s part of the rebellion?”

“The inmates got weapons somehow,” Frog explained as he laid down logs for a fire. “Some armor, too, but we don’t know who gave it to them.”

“The inmates have broken through in several places here in the south,” Weaver went on. “Plenty have escaped, and there’s talk the Eastern Pope is sending an army to help us.”

“Most likely he’ll just invade and take the whole thing over,” Frog said.

Weaver shot a glance at his man. “That’s against the treaty.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t do it,” Frog said as he sparked a fire with flint and steel.

“Gean stayed put, however,” Weaver said. “We were sent by the Voting Council to root him out, stop him from killing any more wardens.”

Adara shook her head, as if what she was hearing was more than she could comprehend, then she eased away from the others and sat on a fallen tree.

“The truth of the matter is, the Lands are wide open,” Frog said. “Us wardens are doing the best we can, but we’re outnumbered. The inmates aren’t supposed to be armed.”

Randall followed Adara and plopped himself down on a log. “The treaty will be useless after something like this,” he said. “The pope and the Ruling Council will tear it to shreds, and there’s no telling what Kobalos will do.”

“Nothing will happen quick,” Weaver said. “If we can get the borders back under control, then nothing might not happen at all.”

“Or it could mean another war,” Randall said. “Especially if the pope’s army invades.”

Weaver and Frog remained quiet, looking as if they did not like the way the conversation had turned.

Randall looked at Adara and saw she too was silent with a look of sorrow.

“There’s nothing we can do for Kron now,” the healer said, as if reading her thoughts. “We need our rest. And Captain Weaver is right. We will be better off trying to save Kron in the morning.”

Adara remained quiet.

“I give you my word we will find him,” Weaver said, unfolding a sleeping blanket and spreading it on the ground near Frog’s fire.

***

Kron had lost all sense of time. He barely had any cognition of being alive. It occurred to him more than once while charging through the dark tunnel with bones crunching beneath his feet that he had died and gone to hell. Lord Verkain’s war demons couldn’t be worse than the horror that opened before him around every corner. Blood and bodies and bones were everywhere. The bodies were the worst, sliced and chopped and chewed upon.

The tunnel Kron traveled never seemed to end. It twisted and turned and had side branches, but he stuck to the main path, following the trail of bleached jawbones and rib cages until he came out in a cavernous chamber. The ceilings were high and dotted with razor-sharp stalactites like spears falling from above. Several large fires burned in the corners of the room and around each blaze was a group of individuals, the Gean family at dinner, munching upon their own kin and the remains of border wardens.

A trio of wardens still in their leather armor hung upside down along one wall, the men’s throats slit and chunks of skin on their faces missing.

All eyes in the cave were on Kron, most of the men too shocked to move. For a second Kron was surprised they had not been ready for him, but he realized he had run a goodly distance through the cave system.

The shock of seeing Kron suddenly broke and several of the Gean family grabbed weapons.

Kron didn’t move for long moments, watching the monsters gather their instruments of death and begin to make their way between rocks and spear-like mineral deposits. Then he let loose with a roar that jarred the ears of his foes and seemed to shake the very walls of the cave.

Fear registered in the eyes of the approaching cannibals and they halted.

Kron roared again, this time putting the strength of the yell into his legs and arms as he charged forward, into the nearest group of human monsters. He slashed his heavy blade left and right, decapitating one man and gutting another, then jabbed straight ahead to impale. She dropped away with her chest wound sucking on Kron’s sword. For a moment the man in black could not to draw the weapon to him. A blow from a cudgel smacked Kron hard in the shoulder, but he was beyond feeling the pain. He kicked out and connected with his attacker’s groin, then he grabbed the man by the sides of his head and planted his thumbs into the man’s eye sockets. Kron squeezed, forcing his thumbs deeper and deeper into the man’s eyes, burrowing into the skull. The man screamed and spat blood, but to no avail. In seconds he was dead, his skull crushed and his eyes gouged out.

Kron swayed for a moment, catching his breath while staring at the atrocity he had committed. He felt outside of himself, as if he were floating above and looking down upon his own body.

A scream from behind made Kron turn. A trio of the cannibals, two women and a man little older than a boy, charged their way between two boulders.

Kron dropped to a knee and yanked his sword out of the dead body. The first woman was on him then, slashing away with a short curved sword. She sliced along the back of Kron’s left hand, but the wound was shallow, bleeding more than it was dangerous. He slashed out with his own weapon, knocking her sword from her hand.

Kron stopped for a moment, staring the woman in the eyes and giving her a chance to surrender. She did not. She sprang forward, her clawlike fingers reaching out. Kron had no choice. He slid his sword between her ribs.

The other woman and the youth stepped forward, each swinging nail-studded clubs. They were easy work, dead in seconds as Kron cut through their bodies before drawing another breath.

He stared across the cavern then, spotting another dozen or so of the monsters working their way to him. In the tiny part of his mind that was still rational, it dawned on Kron that the arena for his fight was perfect. The ground was too tortuous for his opponents to surround him or for more than a few of them to attack him at once.

He had them all to himself. He could spend all night chopping away at them. And he did.

***

The grizzled old man who was Sawney Gean spat red slobber into the fire in front of him. He glared between the gray hairs that fell before his eyes and watched the flames waltz around a human head, hollow eye sockets staring back at him.

As the night sky turned a dark blue, evidence the sun would be making its appearance soon, the leader of the Gean family shifted his sight to his new favorite weapon. The sword was huge, longer than Gean was tall, and it rested next to him on a layer of fir needles.

Gean smiled. The attacks on the border wardens had gone well, better than Gean could have predicted, but he knew a patrol was near. His scouts, two of his youngest daughters barely in their teens, had told him so. Recent events in the Prisonlands had shifted the weight of power from the wardens to the prisoners, many of whom had already fled. Gean wouldn’t leave. He refused to. And why should he? He had everything he wanted right here. Plenty of food. A decent cave that wasn’t too cold. His family. What more could he find anyplace else? What could upset his little corner of the world? Even if he were recaptured by the wardens, it was unlikely he was to face death; the death sentence was forbidden against exiles as long as they were still within the Lands. It was the law, and the wardens loved their laws.

“Da!” a husky voice yelled from the cave behind Gean.

The cannibal chieftain swiveled on his feet without standing. Despite his pride in his family, he realized many of them were idiots. They often needed him to settle the most simple of disputes, so he was rarely intrigued by whatever dilemma they brought before him.

“Da!” the voice yelled again, and Gean saw Sanual, one of the youngest boys at only thirteen summers, running from the cave.

The boy knocked aside the hanging moss that hid much of the cave’s entrance and skidded to a halt in front of the man who was both his father and his uncle.

“Da!” the boy repeated.

“What is it, youngling?” Gean asked. “Spit it out.”

“It’s that feller we was chasing in the woods, Da,” the boy spoke. “The one who was with them other two that escaped over the river.”

“What of him?” Gean requested. Sanual was a good boy, but he was never too quick in giving out information.

“He’s in the cave!” Sanual nearly yelled. “He’s killin’ everybody. He’s already cut up Roug and Rouphus! And he’s slingin’ some sword left and right and all over the place!”

Sawney Gean’s eyes went hard as he pondered the death being brought upon his family. He realized most of them probably deserved what they were getting, but still, they were his family.

“Round up Torey and Wally,” Sawney ordered. “Have them get the rest of the kin and get back here quick.”

Sanual was also good at taking orders. He scrambled into the woods in search of his family without a question.

“Good boy,” Sawney said as he used his sword to lift himself to standing, his stone-like eyes continuing to stare into the cave’s entrance.

No, no one treated a member of the Gean family like this, he told himself. As Sawney Gean moved toward the cave, he already had plans for torture. He would eat this man slowly, one inch at a time, starting with one of his eyeballs, but leaving the other so the man could witness what was happening to him.

Yes, it was a good life, thought Sawney Gean as he brushed aside the vines over the cave entrance. It was a good life and it would be a good morning. He would have a fine breakfast after fine entertainment.

***

Other than Kron, there was only one other still alive in the cavernous room. The last cannibal was a young man with wild, splayed hair and a makeshift spear gripped in his hands. The young man, if he could still be considered human, had watched most of his family slaughtered. A few tried to run, but Kron countered their escape attempts with throwing darts and knives, finishing off every last human monster with a blow from his sword before they could dart down one tunnel or another.

Now the sword lay at Kron’s feet, and was drenched in nearly as much gore and blood as was Kron himself. Darkbow leaned over with his hands on his knees. His eyes focused on the last surviving member of the Gean family in the cavern.

The boy stood his ground with his spear clutched at his hips. His teeth were grinding so hard blood was dripping from his gums.

“Do it,” Kron said.

The young cannibal took a step, then hesitated, his eyes shifting to the side of the cave as a new presence entered.

Kron followed the youth’s gaze to see an old man walking into the room. The old man was bent from age, but appeared to have power in the muscles that showed beneath his tunic of human skin. Hanging from a leather scabbard on his back was a sword so long it drug the ground behind him.

“My wife,” Sawney Gean said with sorrow in his voice as he looked down at a dead woman near his feet. He appeared calm outwardly as he saw she had been struck from behind, her back split open to reveal ribs covered in gore.

Sawney Gean looked at Kron Darkbow. The old man’s face was emotionless.

“You have taken my family from me,” the old man said.

Kron reached down and lifted his sword. “Now I will take your life.”

“Patr,” Gean said to the boy with the spear, “kill this man for your father.”

The youth charged without hesitation, his spear aimed forward as he rushed.

Kron had little problem with the boy. His sword slapped aside the tip of the spear, then he lashed out with a fist, catching the youth in the throat and crushing his windpipe.

The boy, struggling for breath, dropped to his knees. He reached out, his hands clawing Kron’s pants as he slid to the cavern floor and died.

Sawney Gean had no reaction.

Kron plunged toward the old man, darting around a boulder as he did.

Gean was a good distance away, giving the old man plenty of time to retreat, but he stood his ground while pulling his large sword from its place on his back.

Kron was suddenly in front of the man and swinging his bastard sword with all his might. The connecting blades clashed, sending ringing echoes throughout the cavern. Gean’s blade was heavier, but Kron’s arm was stronger. Gean’s sword went flying to be lost in a dark corner.

The old man did not move as the end of Kron’s sword rested beneath his chin.

“Do what you will,” Gean said.

“I always do,” Kron said. He slammed the man in the head with the pommel of his sword.

***

Randall and the patrol of border wardens couldn’t move fast enough for Adara. Riding through the woods, the woman was always pushing the others in hopes they would speed up their travel and find Kron. She was worried about Kron’s safety, but there was more to it than that.

She had decided earlier that morning, as the sun’s beams glinted over the tops of the trees and the others ate their breakfast of oats and dried fruits, that she was in love with Kron Darkbow. The feelings had been coming for some time, but while she had slept her subconscious mind had forced her into of the man who dressed in black and carried that big sword on his back. What had drawn Adara to the man was his strong moral sense, his unbending independence and his self reliance. For the first time in years, Adara felt comfortable and safe around a man. She felt she could trust Kron.

Kron Darkbow was, in his own quiet and dark way, a gentleman. A true gentleman, not one of those fools who professed it then turned their back on their woman and their morals.

So. Adara was in love.

During breakfast Randall used Kron’s small mirror and his own magic to check on their traveling companion, but Randall was not able to see much. There were images of fire and much movement, whirlings almost like combat or dancing, but wherever Kron was located was too dark to see with the mirror.

Weaver guessed Kron was in the cave Sawney Gean and his clan claimed as home. The captain and the other wardens were familiar with the cave and that was where they were leading Randall and Adara.

But not fast enough to satisfy the woman.

“Faster,” Adara huffed as the line of wardens trotted past her and Randall through the woods.

“We would get there faster if you would stay behind us,” Weaver said as he reined in horse next to Adara and Randall. “We know where we’re going, and if we ride in like all hell is breaking loose, we will alert them.”

Adara could say nothing in response that would sound logical, so she turned her horse and spurred it forward.

Before she got far, she spotted a warden ahead riding against the line of his fellows. Without so much as a glance to her, the rider continued past and on to Captain Weaver.

“We’ve captured a few of them, sir,” the rider said with the two-fingered salute of the wardens.

“How many?” Weaver asked

“We’ve got two of the younger men and a boy,” the other warden said. “All they will say is Gean is in his cave.”

Adara yanked her horse around nearer to the captain. “Did they say anything about my friend?”

The warden shook his head.

Adara spun her horse and spurred it again, flying past the line of wardens in the direction the messenger had come.

***

After knocking Sawney cold, Kron drug him out to the cooking fire at the cave’s entrance. For a moment Kron was stunned at the sight of the skull resting in the campfire, its eye sockets staring at him accusingly.

At that point Kron took some rope he found in the cave and used it to tie Gean’s wrists and ankles together behind the man’s back. Kron considered a gag, but decided against it. He wanted the man to scream.

Then Kron knelt and removed a dagger from his belt. He held the blade to the fire, watching the knife slowly turn black from the flames.

When he rested the heated blade against Gean’s arm, the old man jerked awake with a yell.

“What are you doing?” Gean asked as he stared at the dagger in front of his eyes.

Kron slashed out, slicing open the old man’s right cheek.

Gean flinched, but held his tongue.

Kron slashed again, this time cutting a grove on the man’s forehead.

Gean cried out this time. “What the hell do you want?”

“Justice,” Kron said.

He cut again, deeper.

The old man screamed.

The cutting continued.

***

It was an hour before the man in black finished.

Gean’s blood dripped from Kron’s dark gloves and the dagger.

What was left of Sawney Gean looked like a skeleton painted in blood.

Kron was exhausted. He could only sit on his legs in front of Gean, staring with unblinking eyes at the man that had turned him into a monster. There had been too much. Too much death. Too much gore. Too much everything.

Kron Darkbow did not know if he would ever be the same again. Death had been part of his life since he was a child, but he had never before witnessed the depths of depravity he had seen that day in the Gean cave.

The cloppings of horse hooves did not raise him from his stupor.

Adara nearly galloped past the cave, but she caught the image of the fire in the side of her eyes and yanked on the reins of her riding beast.

As she sat high in her saddle, her mouth dropped wide at the carnage below her. There was not enough of the hog-tied Gean to identify him as human, and Kron was so covered in blood she didn’t recognize him at first.

Then the man in black moved, his eyes staring up at the woman.

Adara spotted the dagger in his hand. The weapon was so congealed with blood there was no glint of its metal shining through.

She knew what Kron had done.

Adara gave a sharp, dry cry, then spun her animal away, speeding back to the wardens.

***

Randall and Weaver were riding ahead of the other wardens when they spotted Adara barreling toward them. Tears streamed down her face.

“Adara!” the healer yelled as the woman accelerated past him and the captain.

She disappeared around a line of trees, then both men glanced at one another and spurred their animals forward.

They found Kron as Adara had, kneeling motionless next to a bloody mess that had once been Sawney Gean. Kron’s eyes stared firmly ahead.

Randall could hardly look at the carnage as he slipped out of his saddle and dropped to his knees to retch. Weaver was made of sterner stuff and held his stomach as he dropped from his horse and slowly approached Kron.

“Darkbow?” the captain asked, stopping to kneel near the man covered in blood.

Kron’s head tilted to stare into the captain’s eyes.

Weaver gave the two-fingered salute.

For a moment, Kron eyes did not seem to focus, then he blinked and returned the captain’s salute.

“Are there others?” Weaver asked.

Kron didn’t answer for a moment as his stare returned to the woods before him, then he coughed. “They’re all dead. All of them.”

Weaver looked behind Kron and noticed the cave nearly hidden beneath hanging greenery. “Are they in there?” he said pointing at the opening.

Kron nodded without blinking.

The captain spun on his heels to find Randall picking himself off the ground. “Can you help him?” Weaver asked.

Randall stared at the blood-shrouded form of Kron Darkbow with a mixed look of repulsion and fear. “I can try,” he said, “but my magic mainly works on the body.”

Weaver stared back at Kron. “His mind might be shattered,” the captain said, “but he’s a former warden and your friend. You’ve got to try.”

Randall nodded and moved toward Kron, leaning over the man. “Kron?” he asked.

There was no response.

Randall stood and faced Weaver. “My job will be easier if we can get him away from here and the blood cleaned off him.”

Weaver gave the order to the first of his men to arrive on the scene.

***

It took time rinsing the blood from Kron’s body and clothes. Several of the wardens worked together lifting Kron onto a horse, then leading him to the river where they washed away the red that had seeped into his hair and the wrinkles and crevices of his body.

Throughout the washing, Kron was limp. He stared straight ahead as if seeing nothing.

Adara could not watch any of it.

Eventually Kron was clean again. The wardens carried him away and placed him inside a tent erected in the middle of their latest campsite.

Adara found Randall speaking with Captain Weaver near the river, both men standing on a large flat stone and facing the waters rushing by. The other wardens were busy setting up other tents or seeing to their horses

“I’ve healed any physical wounds he has,” Randall said to Weaver as Adara walked up to them, “but it’s his mind I’m most worried about.”

The two men turned as Adara stopped near them.

“Has he gone insane?” the woman asked.

The healer glanced at the captain with a frown that gave Adara her answer.

“Is that what made him do those things?” Adara asked. “Is that what made him ... chop up that man?”

“That man was Sawney Gean, one of the worst of the exiles,” Weaver explained to Adara. “He got what he had coming . You can ask any of the other wardens. They’ll agree with me.”

“No one deserves that kind of treatment,” Adara said.

“Gean did far worse to those he captured over the years,” Weaver said.

“Then why didn’t you do something about it?” Adara asked with anger.

The captain hesitated, giving himself and Adara a second of breathing space.

“I don’t make the laws governing the Lands,” Weaver said, “I just enforce them. As long as Gean and his family were only feeding on other inmates, we were not allowed to touch them.”

Adara said not a word. She stomped a foot and twisted away from Randall and the captain.

“I’m doing the best for him I can, Adara,” Randall said to the woman’s back, “but my magics have limits.”

“Can I see him?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Randall.

The healer glanced at the captain as if seeking an answer, but Weaver remained quiet.

Seeing she was not getting an answer from the two men, Adara marched toward the front of Kron’s tent. She paused briefly, standing straight, then pulled back the flap and knelt as she entered.

Chapter Twenty

Adara barely had room to stand in the tent unless she stuck to its center where a pole overhead held the roof just above her dark hair.

Kron sat on the edge of a cot, his eyes focused on a spot on the other side of the tent. He made no appearance of noticing Adara’s entrance, and he continued with his faraway gaze as she sat with legs crossed on the ground in front of him.

“Kron,” Adara said softly.

There was no response.

“Kron,” Adara repeated.

This time the man blinked, and his face twitched as if he wanted to look at her but could not.

“It’s Adara,” she said. “Can you speak?”

Like a bird sailing on a breeze, slowly and with care, Kron’s face turned to her. But he said nothing.

“Randall is trying to help you,” she said, “and so are the wardens.”

Kron’s dark blue eyes blinked, but he gave no sign he heard nor understood the words she was speaking.

Adara pressed on, knowing not what else to do. “We ran into the wardens on the other side of the river where you said it would be safe,” she said. “You were right, as always. There were no exiles over there.

“The wardens have been a help, finding you and setting up this camp. Their captain, Weaver, said he could provide us an escort the rest of the way through the Prisonlands. He doesn’t understand why we’re heading to Kobalos, but he is too busy to ask questions.”

Adara took a breath, giving Kron time to interrupt, but the man remained silent and blank.

“Someone has been giving the inmates weapons,” Adara went on. “Weaver doesn’t know who supplied the weapons, but I don’t think he has time to look into it. He said the wardens are busy tracking down escapees, and his band was patrolling this region in hopes of stopping Gean from escaping. It seems you helped them out there. They captured a few of the boys, and Weaver thinks some of the others might have run off, but you took care of most of them. They’ll never harm anyone again.”

Kron’s eyes seemed to focus more on Adara as if his gaze could burrow into her flesh. He was paying attention to what she said now.

“They found my horse,” Adara said to keep talking. “Two of the wardens caught it getting a drink at the river. Randall managed to remove the arrow from its back, and to — ”

“What of Gean?” Kron interrupted, his lips barely moving.

Adara’s eyes opened wide. “Don’t you know?”

Kron shook his head.

“He’s dead,” Adara said. “You killed him. We found him ... we found what was left of him tied up and ... ”

She couldn’t say the words. Part of her wanted to believe Kron had not committed such atrocities, but she had seen the evidence with her own eyes.

“I ... remember,” Kron said, his eyes drifting away from her. “I remember the screaming.”

Adara winced.

“He didn’t say anything at first,” Kron continued, “but he couldn’t help from screaming when I started slicing flesh from his body.”

Adara’s face fell into her hands.

“I worked on him for ... what seemed hours,” Kron said. “I gutted him and burnt him and cut him and —”

“Stop!” Adara screamed as her face came up to glare at him. “Stop! Stop! Stop! I can’t hear any more. I don’t want to hear any more!”

Kron blinked, his full attention going to the woman. She was before him, her green eyes full of tears that rolled down her face, her body quivering.

“How could you?” she screamed. “How could you do that to that man? Even if he deserved it, what part of you was capable of doing that?”

Kron’s eyes broadened.

“I can’t believe the man I loved could do such a thing,” Adara said, turning her face from him.

Her voice became small. “I knew you had a darker side. I knew it. But after all you had been through, after what had happened to your parents and after what happened to that boy Wyck, I thought you ... I thought you we’re trying to make the world a better place.”

“Do you think nothing else matters but us?” Kron asked.

“I should’ve known better!” Her words splintered the air. “All you dream about is revenge. Revenge against Trelvigor! Revenge against Belgad! Revenge against Verkain or anyone who does you a wrong!

“If you truly wanted justice, you could do so much more! What about pirates who plague the seas? I don’t see you chasing them! What about bandits, or murderers or evil kings? I don’t see you doing anything about them!”

She broke down, bringing her arms across her face as she blubbered into the sleeves of her blouse.

“I’m never free,” Kron said.

With tears blurring her vision, Adara lowered her arms to look at the man. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m never free of the rage,” Kron said. “I’ve had it since I watched my parents murdered.”

“You don’t have to be a monster to fight monsters,” Adara said.

Kron frowned. “I might be the son of a broken man, but that doesn’t make me a broken man.”

Adara blanched and leaned away. “You don’t see it, do you?”

“What?”

“You don’t see that you’re already broken,” she answered with a sob. “They’ve won. The demons outside have created demons inside, making you one of them.

“You’re no better than Gean or Belgad or any of the others.”

The words stung, making Kron flinch.

“Your strengths are your independence and your absolute self reliance,” she said, “but those are also your failings. You carry around this code of independence and dark morality, but you leave the world no better than it would be without you. What good is doing away with someone like Belgad if, in the process, you become him ... or Sawney Gean or someone just as bad?”

“If my soul is damned because I try to save others, then I will gladly pay the price!”

Adara shook her head and looked away again. “You’re such the lone wolf.”

“I’m no lone wolf,” Kron shot back. “I want to be a lone wolf, but I can’t. I have others for whom I am responsible.”

Adara’s eyes locked on him once more. “Do you mean me and Randall?” she said. “You speak as if we’re some burden that’s slowing you down, keeping you from saving the rest of the world. Well, the world doesn’t need saving. What the world needs are examples of hope, not more vileness. There’s enough of that already.

“And I’ve never met a person more of a lone wolf than you. The man who shakes his head at all the plotters and planners and then wanders away to solve a problem by himself, in his own quietly violent way, is a lone wolf. The man who is constantly surrounded by people but is always alone, is a lone wolf. Your idea of what being a lone wolf entails is far more radical than what a normal person would think, possibly more than they could comprehend!”

Kron jumped to his feet and made for the tent’s flap as if leaving, but then he came to a stop, his back to her and his body heaving.

“You can keep on with the way you are, Kron, but you will have to do it without me,” Adara said, her voice soft again and the tears on her face beginning to dry.

He turned to see her out of the corner of his eyes.

“I won’t be going with you and Randall to Kobalos,” she said. “I’ve already spoken with Weaver, and he says I can stay on with the wardens, maybe even become one of them. They need all the help they can get right now.”

His eyes bored into her for a moment, then he spun away, disappearing through the tent’s flap.

Adara could only watch him leave, not knowing if she would ever speak with him again. At least the tears were no longer flowing.

Chapter Twenty One

Adara allowed Kron plenty of lead time before she exited the tent. Then she spied him speaking with Randall and Captain Weaver near the river. The healer and warden appeared glad to see Kron recovering from his wistfulness and able to walk and talk among others again.

Adara didn’t care. She wanted no part of Kron Darkbow. She shied away from the others, walking out of the camp. After several minutes of wandering in dense woods, she came to small hillside overlooking the river west of the camp. She worked her way through a coppice of shrubs and leaned against an ancient evergreen.

It occurred to her she did not know the name of this particular river and would have to ask Weaver or another warden if she wanted such information, but then she realized it didn’t matter. The name of a river was of little import when her heart was breaking in two.

How could she trust and nurture a man who was willing to torture another human being, even if that human had been a cannibal? Her lessons were at an end, and her travels with Kron Darkbow were at an end. Adara would have to find a new teacher, or multiple teachers, within the border wardens of the Prisonlands. Kron had learned much in the Lands, as Adara supposed could she.

Adara knelt and cried. At first there were only trickles of tears running down her face, but within seconds she was in full sobs, her eyes misted and her cheeks drenched. She wiped away the waters as best she could with a silk kerchief pulled from her belt, but her white blouse was stained with the flow of tears.

A rustling from behind drew Adara’s attention and she turned to see Randall approaching through the bushes.

“Sorry to disturb you,” the healer said.

Adara shook her hair as if to tell Randall his presence was not a bother.

“I’ve spoken with Weaver and Kron,” he said, “but I wanted to speak with you. Kron tells me you are going no further with us.”

Adara nodded.

“Why?”

Another sob, a short and harsh one, broke from Adara’s throat as her fingers wiped more tears from her face. “It’s too much to explain, Randall,” she said. “I just can’t go on, not with Kron. And you need him.”

“Very well,” the healer said, “but what will you do? Where will you go?”

“I talked with Weaver last night,” she said. “He told me I would be welcome to join them.”

“It can’t be that simple to become a Prisonlands warden,” Randall said.

“Weaver said there’s a couple of months training usually,” Adara said, “but right now they need every sword they can muster.”

“I don’t feel right leaving you behind,” Randall said.

“You and Kron can travel faster without me,” she said.

“I’ve healed your horse,” Randall said. “It’s coming along fine. There shouldn’t even be a scar from the arrow.”

“It’s not enough,” Adara said, turning face the young man. “And I don’t mean the horse, or you. I mean Kron. He can’t give me what I need, and it’s not even his own fault. It’s just who he is, what he is. I have to leave him. I can’t be dragged into his depths of misery.”

“What of me, then?” Randall said. “Don’t you fear I’ll be dragged down with Kron?”

Adara gave a thin smile. “I regret leaving you with what you have before you, but you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” she said. “You’re stronger than me. Maybe its your Kobalan ancestry, but I think you can face anything Kron or the world can give you. You’re too good a person, Randall. The world has already shown you its worst, and you’ve come through without being shattered.”

“I don’t know,” Randall said. “I’ve my own darkness.”

“But you fight it. You fight and you win,” Adara said. “Kron gives in to his darker side, and I don’t want to be part of that. But I think you’re immune to it, at least from Kron.”

The healer placed a hand on her shoulder and sent out a bit of empathetic magic to her. She had no physical scars he could heal, but he hoped perhaps he could ease her mind.

She reached up and took his hand and leaned her face into it, a wet cheek caressing his fingers. “You’ll do the right thing, Randall,” she said closing her eyes. “You always do.”

***

By the next morning Kron and Randall were prepared to leave with the four wardens Captain Weaver had promised as an escort. They had enough food and other supplies to last them a week, and Kron guessed it would take about that long to make their way to the border with Kobalos.

“I never thought we would make it this far,” Randall said to Kron as they finished checking the tack and harness of their riding beasts.

Kron said nothing in return, but simply mounted his steed.

Weaver came to say his goodbyes, offering Kron an opportunity to return to the wardens.

“We could use your help,” the captain said.

“I have a charge,” Kron said, nodding at Randall as the healer climbed aboard his own horse. “If not for that, I would take you up on your offer. Once we are finished with our business in Kobalos, I may ride this way again. I hope to find the Lands in better hands by then.”

“We will do our best,” Weaver said. “Many exiles have already been caught, but there’s still a good number missing.”

“Fare well, then, Weaver,” Kron said and saluted with two fingers.

Randall waited a few minutes as Kron and their escort rode ahead. The healer was hoping Adara would come out from her tent to offer her goodbyes, but the woman did not show.

Randall saluted Captain Weaver, then kicked his horse in the ribs to follow Kron and the four wardens.

Once the party was out of the camp, Adara did exit her tent. She stared off in the direction Kron and Randall had trotted, but she showed no signs of following.

***

During the next week of following a river in the woods of the Prisonlands, Randall and Kron and the escorts came across no exiles, but they talked with a number of other wardens on patrol; the news of the Lands was that most of the escapees had fled west into Kobalos, the direction Kron and Randall were headed.

Eventually the riders came to a fork of major waterways. One river came from the west, one from the east and the one they had been following from the south; the three rivers flowed into one massive body of moving water that continued north.

Kron and Randall said their goodbyes to their escorts. The man in black and the healer watched the four riders turn south and gallop away, then they made their way across the river from the west and continued north along the main water way.

They were officially in Kobalos now, Randall’s homeland.

Continued in: Dark King of the North: Book III of The Kobalos Trilogy

The Ursian Chronicles

(in order of publication)

City of Rogues: Book I of The Kobalos Trilogy

Road to Wrath: Book II of The Kobalos Trilogy

Dark King of the North: Book III of The Kobalos Trilogy

The Kobalos Trilogy OMNIBUS edition

Blade and Flame: short story sequel to The Kobalos Trilogy

Bayne’s Climb: Part I of The Sword of Bayne

A Thousand Wounds: Part II of The Sword of Bayne

Under the Mountain: Part III of The Sword of Bayne

The Sword of Bayne OMNIBUS edition

Ghosts of the Asylum

Demon Chains

The Castle of Endless Woe (novelette)

Six Swords, One Skeleton and a Sewer (short story)

Road of the Sword (short story)

Five Tales from The Rusty Scabbard

Mage Hunter: Episode I: Blooded Snow

Mage Hunter: Episode II: Sundered Shields

Mage Hunter: Episode III: Bared Blades

Mage Hunter: Episode IV: Hammered Iron

Mage Hunter: Episode V: Changeless Fate

About the author

Ty Johnston is a former newspaper journalist who has been writing fiction for nearly twenty years. When not busy writing or reading, he enjoys spending time with his wife, their beagle and house rabbits. To find out more, check out his blog at tyjohnston.blogspot.com.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Other books by the author

About the author