In the Service of Dragons
Date: 2005-03-21 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; dragons
Description: THE #1 BESTSELLING SERIES FROM THE AWARD-WINNING, BESTSELLING AUTHOR! Already hailed as a classic, Robert Stanek's powerful series has been enjoyed by readers all over the world. The elves returned from exile, bringing grave news. War came to the Kingdoms. Many perished in the turmoil and unrest. An attempt was made to kidnap a princess and assassinate a king. Now, from the ancient past, a dark power returns. "The Fourth Wind blows across the mountain tops," they say. And the Twelve Clans emerge from myth and memory. Bold, inventive, brilliantly imagined, In the Service of Dragons is a novel o
Publisher: Reagent Press

IN THE SERVICE
OF DRAGONS

Keeper Martin’s Tales

COMPLETE SERIES OMNIBUS

ROBERT STANEK

This is a work of fiction. All the characters, names, places and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual locale, person or event is entirely coincidental.

IN THE SERVICE OF DRAGONS

COMPLETE SERIES OMNIBUS

Copyright © 2012 by Robert Stanek.

All rights reserved.

REAGENT PRESS
www.reagentpress.com

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Book 1

Book 2

Book 3

Book 4

IN THE SERVICE
OF DRAGONS

BOOK ONE

ROBERT STANEK

Preface

In 15 BD, the Watcher, Xith, is recorded as saying that “History belongs to the teller and is only as reliable as the teller's recollection of it.” This is the truth of the matter, and why Keeper Martin, head of the lore keepers, chose to pen his own version of the histories of Ruin Mist before and after the return of Dalphan the Wanderer.

Through Keeper Martin's gathering of history from various individuals, the story of Ruin Mist is retold in these pages. Keeper Martin would like you to think that his version of the history is the only truthful and correct account but then again, history belongs to the teller and is only as reliable as the teller's recollection of it.

In his records, Keeper Martin Anglicized many of the place and people names. The original names and spellings are preserved in Encyclopedia of Ruin Mist. His annotations about various peoples and creatures are preserved in Fantastical Beasts and Faerie Peoples of Ruin Mist.

Chapter One

Amir, son of Ky’el, cast the orb at his feet and stepped into a spinning circle of light. “They’ve arrived in the high desert; the field is set. The others will come now. I only pray that all will not be lost.”

“You lose faith,” the other replied without looking up. “You must be patient. In the end, the paths will come together. It is so written.”

“Can nothing change the course we have set upon?”

“You could no sooner catch the moon or the wind. Once set in motion, it will not stop. For now we must wait and watch. Our time will come soon enough.”

“Would you have me follow them?”

“Go to the clansman, Ashwar Tae. Tell him it is time.”

Amir stepped back into the spinning circle of light, disappearing and reappearing on the windswept slopes of the Rift. He appeared alongside a man on horseback and asked, “Big enough for you?” The man had the disciplined look of a soldier. He had a wide mouth, a long, sharp nose and a head of wildly unkempt copper-colored curls. He was dressed in boiled leather padded with a thick fur lining and studded with many rows of sharp steel teeth. A great sword was slung on his back and a quartet of throwing knives hung from his studded leather belt.

The man turned to grin at Amir, his few good teeth showing amongst the bad. “Indeed. It is just as you said,” he declared, reaching out to grip the other’s forearm. “You have kept your word, and I thank you for that.”

“Don’t thank me, Ashwar, thank him.”

Ashwar turned back to the procession of giants, beasts, and men, thinking to himself that he’d sooner thank the Fourth himself than the King of Titans. The one was the devil he knew, the other the devil in his life—or so it seemed to him.

For hours, the two watched the procession without speaking further. The giants of the six clans lumbered by—fire and ice, storm and mountain, stone and hill. The beastmen of the Lost Lands, atop mammoths, rode by six abreast, trumpets roaring. Behind them came the Dragon Men of the Ice. Some of the Dragon Men rode great bears—black, white or brown. Others rode great wolves, either gray or white. His clansmen, the men, women and children of Oshywon, came last. Some were afoot but most were ahorse like him.

In the stories of old, Ashwar had heard of Gatherings, but he never imagined he would see one in his lifetime, let alone help to assemble it. He was excited and frightened at the same time. In the stories, Gatherings marked the end of an age and always finished badly. He wondered how this time could be any different, but he had hope. Hope was all his people clung to at times—hope for a better tomorrow, a better life, hope for a return to the plains and rivers they once knew, hope for justice and retribution, hope for their children or their children’s children if not for themselves.

“Has it happened then?” he finally asked Amir.

Amir turned and knelt beside the man on horseback, staring at him eye to eye. “It has.”

Ashwar cinched his horse’s bridle in his hand and held him still. In the stories of old, Titans had ruled over men and elves, and Amir had the qualities of a ruler. Even with him ahorse and Amir kneeling, the Titan towered over him and it was hard to say how big he really was. Twelve feet tall maybe or fourteen, Ashwar thought, maybe taller. His broad chest and muscular arms made him seem bigger, much bigger, like some sort of towering oak that had been uprooted and transformed. But his face wasn’t brutish and square like a giant’s. It was refined and round, very manlike, just unusually proportioned, with a jutting chin, high cheekbones, and dark eyes so large and deep-set that they seemed high mountain caverns, or perhaps wells, whose depths swept to the Titan’s very soul.

One of the giants guarding the van of the procession came upon them. He was larger than most of the others and the fire showed clearly in his features: the long auburn-colored hair and beard, the eerie red of his eyes. He was wearing the pelt of several great bears roughly sown together and was carrying a thick spear that looked like an uprooted evergreen trimmed and sharpened yet otherwise whole. He spoke to Amir in Giantspeak and the Titan responded in kind.

“It is a good day, he says, as good a day as any,” Amir told Ashwar when the giant departed.

Ashwar looked about uneasily. “A good day for what?”

“Exactly what I asked him before he hurried off to rejoin the van. Giants may be lumbering and big, but they can be hasty as well.”

“Lumbering and big is an understatement.”

Amir laughed as he stood—the laughter like the deep rumbling of distant thunder. “I must return. You know what must be done now?”

“I do, and I thank you for coming.”

“Goodbye then, until we meet again,” and so saying, Amir cast the orb at his feet and stepped into the spinning circle of light.

As he emerged from shadow, Amir found Noman playing at Destiny Sticks. He went to a window without saying a word but it was not the view beyond that he was interested in—it was Noman. Seated with a hunch-backed posture, Noman seemed a small man; yet standing with his shoulders back and straight, he seemed regal. Amir didn’t know whether it was the veins of black that streaked otherwise pure white hair, the eyebrows with matching spikes of black mixed with gray or the beard that flowed to the middle of his chest in a sheet of pure silver that made Noman seem a king, but he seemed a king nonetheless—and a great king at that. But Noman was not a king; he was but a man who lived among Titans in the City of the Sky.

“It seems so futile, this waiting,” Amir complained.

Noman cast the sticks upon the table, looking up momentarily to regard the other. In girth, Amir’s shoulders spread from one side of the grand window to the other, filling its opening when he turned his back to the light. “And when the wait is over, what then?”

Amir didn’t answer. Instead he watched as Noman played at the game of Destiny, carefully picking out the black and white sticks representing the Path, avoiding the gray sticks of the Void. Lost in the rhythm of the game, his thoughts soon carried him into the distant past.

“Are we then outside time?” a much younger Amir asked the figure in his mind’s eye.

“Time affects all things, even those who consider themselves outside its grasp.”

“But why me? Why me when there were so many others more deserving?”

“It is as it must be.”

“But I have done nothing to receive so great an honor.”

“That is untrue. You were the most skilled of your kind ever to walk the earth.”

“You talk in the past; am I not dead then?”

Noman smiled. “Back to the same question. Your thoughts move in circles. You know you are not. The Father has true need of your skills when the time is right.”

While in the waking world Noman’s hands busily worked the sticks, Amir’s thoughts slipped further into the past. To his right, Antwar Alder, the man who would be king, swept Truth Bringer from its sheath, the great blade seeming to outshine the moon with its own inner light and lending a pale shadow over the strong-faced Antwar.

Ky’el touched his arm. “Ready yourself, son.”

An adolescent Amir nodded. “I swore an oath, a holy oath I mean to keep.”

“There are more,” whispered Etry. “Where are Aven and Riven?”

Amir looked down the line. The city’s outer defenses had failed and the last of the defenders made their stand at the Greye, the very keep built by their enemy Dnyarr. Across Gregortonn’s High Square the first charge of the night began with the cracks of whips from the goblin lieutenants sending the dog packs into a frenzied, howling run. The lines of human slaves followed; and behind them came the chariots of the elves pulled by the black, wingless dragons of the Samguinne.

Ky’el thundered toward the line, his silver cloak streaming from his shoulders. Amir tried to follow.

Dust seemed to be blowing everywhere. Keeping up with the shadowy figure charging into the battle required his full attention.

The besiegers began screaming and cheering as the packs set into the lines, their screams and cheers in stark contrast to the cries of pain from the defenders, the sound of it all very nearly blocking out the strange whistling from above. By the time Amir saw the first black-feathered arrow strike one of his fellows, it was too late.

An arrow hit him full in the chest, piercing his breastplate. An instant later, he found himself on the other side. “Am I dead or am I dreaming?” he asked himself as he floated in the void.

“Not dead,” said the voice from out of the void—the voice Amir would in later years come to know as Noman’s. “Your path continues far beyond this place.”

“Where am I? Why am I here?”

“Ky’el’s time comes to an end. Look, the arrow has pierced his heart, not yours.” It was the first use of the compelling voice Amir had encountered and it was in that moment that he realized he was cradling Ky’el—that the arrow had pierced Ky’el’s armor not his own.

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. The battle was all but over.

“What am I to do?”

“You shall find out soon. Now is not the time.”

“What is this place?”

“The world of dreams and reality are closely knit, very closely knit,” Noman said. “Ofttimes the two appear as one and the same, or perhaps another. Some exist in a state of perpetual dream, others in a state of eternal life, and a few in a state of the dream within their eternal life. You, my young friend, find the dream at a time when life’s need is at its greatest.”

Amir was halfway through a response when he realized he was back in the present, sitting in the great window with the fading sun casting his shadow long upon the floor. Hours had passed. Noman had laid out the final path upon the table. “Is it what I—?” he started to ask but was interrupted.

“Must you always dwell in the past?” Noman asked.

“There, you see, even when I think, I cannot be alone.”

“That is as it must be. Come, even you must eat. Ah, and before you complain, this is what you wanted. I know it is.”

Amir looked at the food spread out in front of him like a feast. “Yes, but I changed my mind.”

“No you didn’t. You shouldn’t fool with an old man’s mind.”

“An old man? You are the one who taught me that appearance is meaningless.”

Noman’s eyes flashed. “Appearance is everything; you would do well to remember that.”

Amir made no further comment and instead ate until he was content then walked back to his window to continue his watch. Time passed without change. As Noman stared at the Destiny Sticks and busily consulted his books, Amir waited in silence as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

The next day brought more restlessness. Amir paced back and forth, occasionally glancing out the window. Both he and Noman could sense a change, a presence that could not be explained in words. Noman didn’t show his anxiety as much as Amir did although within he was indeed anxious. He could sense it just as much as Amir could.

Seeking to ease the tension, Noman began to concentrate, focusing his thoughts, cycling the Magicks through his body discreetly. His hope was to catch Amir off guard; but after centuries of being with Noman, Amir responded to the attack with catlike grace, unsheathing his goliath, double-edged bastard sword, turning, lifting, and striking out at his invisible opponent in the time it took most to inhale a single breath.

The resonant clang of metal striking metal soon filled the air. Amir knew his opposition well; after all, it was himself. He fought his own shadow as always and it knew his every move, his every trick. It remembered each time that Amir had overcome it in the past. It fed on those defeats so that each time Amir was forced to think differently or to act differently, thus improving his performance or making him stronger and faster so he could defeat it.

He charged repeatedly, wielding his weapon with the ease and skill of a master, the generous weight of its mass carefully balanced in his hands. He attempted a simple combination, thrust, parry, thrust, followed quickly by a thrust, slice, and a feint. The shadow seemed to mock him as it followed his every move and counter.

“Will I ever be able to fight this beast in reality?” Amir asked, gritting his teeth, circling left.

“Concentrate,” Noman responded, “Concentrate or you will become the shadow.”

Amir dropped, rolled and thrust upward with his blade. The shadow blocked and circled.

“It seems so fruitless, all this training, all this waiting. What will happen then, afterward?”

Noman raised his eyebrows, sensing the intent in the words. “Do not fret so. The day comes, revel in that, but trust me when I say you will wish it hadn’t.”

Through the afternoon the assault continued. Amir’s blade broke the air about him wildly, pushing the shadow into a corner. He was nearly winded but he couldn’t let his fatigue show. The shadow had an advantage over him. It never tired, it was relentless, it learned with every breath. So even as Amir moved in for the kill, the shadow countered and waited for the lunge that was meant to end its existence; then it cackled in delight.

As Amir’s blade met empty air, he shouted, “This is going nowhere!”

“Your mind is overly occupied elsewhere. You should not be thinking of Ashwar and the clansmen! Focus upon what is important!”

“Concentrate, concentrate,” Amir exhorted himself. Nearing exhaustion, his only resource left was a gambit. He jumped into the air. Midway through a forward somersault, he struck down, only to slice empty air.

He landed, recovered from the momentary surprise, dodged a well-timed blow from the shadow, spun, and then hurled his sword outward. This time his blade struck true and the creature roared its defeat. The shadow had done exactly what Amir expected it to do. It had dodged his first attack and tried to attack him from behind as he landed. The next sweep of the creature’s blade should have caught him except that Amir spun to the right instead of to the left where the shadow had been; and as it countered, Amir struck outward with the lethal blow, ending the match in victory as always.

Sweat glistening from his muscular body, Amir sheathed his sword and wiped perspiration from his brow. He was tired, very tired, though he would not show it. He had learned from the shadow as much as it had learned from him and he would not forget the lesson. Steadying himself, he returned to the great window and his vigil.

That evening the two supped in silence, lost in thought. As the last light of the day gave way to the darkness of the night, Noman looked up from his books. “You must be patient. Watch, but take no action.” His guarded expression said everything. The hour had come; the long wait was over. Amir cast the orb at his feet, but before he could step into the spinning circle of light, Noman spoke again. “Heed my warning, take no action. Watch, and when it is over, return to report.”

Amir stepped into the circle of light, disappearing and reappearing on the desolate sands of the Barrens. The air in the high mountain desert was chill and growing colder by the moment as the wind sucked the warmth of the day from the sand. In the distance he could see a bonfire, its dull orange glow a beacon in the darkness. Two figures moved around the fire; but it was the third, lying in sleep, that interested him the most. He called out a challenge to the wind and waited.

Chapter Two

Competing with the northeasterly wind, a hunter’s call of greeting came, and the Eagle Lord cocked his head a full half circle as only a bird or a birdman could do. In other times he would have returned the call but not this night. The yearning faded quickly; and the blue eyes that were those of a man, not those of a bird, returned their focus to the soft, low fire where the two sat.

“They are restless,” whispered Ayrian, his beak-like mouth clicking with each word. “They call to calm the air beneath them as well as their own fear for their hunts.”

Xith turned earnest eyes to the north, wanting to see and hear what the Eagle Lord saw, yet even his eyes—eyes that could see in the dark and were the color of pale moonlight—could see only the darkness. As he stood staring, gusts of wind whipped his cloak to his back, wrapped the black wool around his short stubby legs, then furled it out behind him. He replied, “There is always a trade-off to be made. Why should it be any different at this late hour?”

Ayrian fixed his gaze into the night sky, craning his neck at an angle no man could achieve. “Father Wind can sense it as well.”

Xith stretched the stiffness from his legs and wriggled his toes to get his blood circulating. For a moment, he wondered if his wondrous companion could truly sense the will of the wind and an odd smile came to his lips, exaggerated by the thick wrinkles of his timeworn face. He wondered also if Ayrian could sense the tainted will of the Fourth closing in all around them. He could.

Not much else was said as the night passed slowly. The hours of darkness and solitude gave both the watcher and the great lord time for reflection; for Xith it was a time to contemplate tomorrow, for Ayrian it was a time to reflect on the past.

The wind, which had blown unsteadily throughout the night, changed directions with the coming of the day, blowing from the north as if to remind the two of what was ahead. They turned in unison to look on Vilmos as he stirred in his sleep.

Xith asked, “Will you be able to do what I cannot if it is so?”

“I will do what must needs be done.” Ayrian looked to Vilmos, his face an expressionless mask. “For what other reason would you have wanted me here?”

Xith reached out, gripped Ayrian’s arm above the elbow. “I did not expect otherwise but I needed to hear it, old friend.”

The sun was already full in the sky when Vilmos awoke after what seemed to him an endless sleep. In his mind’s eye, he could still see Adrina’s tears, his last image before sleeping. Yet he was not saddened by her betrayal. Instead, he was numb, as if he could no longer feel; and the fire beside him did not warm him.

He absently brushed his thick black hair away from his brown eyes, thinking of Lillath and what she’d say if she saw him looking such a mess. The thought was fleeting, however, and he began to wonder if he were in another dream, a dream like the others he’d experienced before.

He heard muddled words yet didn’t understand them. It took an effort to drive the final wisps of sleep from his eyes and rise to a seated position, but he persevered. He worked the kinks out of his neck with gentle twists and craning motions then stretched to ease the pain in his back. He tried to stand. Unsteady limbs would not allow him to get much farther than his knees, and it was from this uncanny half crawl, half stand that he turned bleary eyes toward his companions.

The sight of Ayrian startled him at first. The Eagle Lord faced the sun with his hands cupped and outstretched in the air in front of him. Ayrian sang, words whose sounds blurred together and seemed to be but a single extended word. Vilmos listened inattentively at first; then, drawn in by the rhythm, he could think of nothing else. His body swayed to the measure of the fleeting echoes of the song. He forgot the pain, forgot that he was on his knees, and forgot the dreams of the night past. He knew only the rhythm of the song as it swept over him, the sounds floating to his ears as if borne upon the air by wings unseen.

His mind wandered within the melody. A part of him recognized the song though he couldn’t quite grasp its meaning. For a moment it seemed the world was without time, but time did not stop. The sun climbed to its zenith. Clouds came and went; the wind blew; and the song continued.

Vilmos felt he was living a dream. He watched Ayrian’s shadow step away from his body and turn about. He raised his hands in alarm as if that could ward off the shadow, but Ayrian seemed not to notice the shadow at all.

The shadow continued, touching his face to the ground, kissing the earth and weeping openly with joy. And it was only as he righted himself that the shadow Ayrian seemed to notice Vilmos at all.

Vilmos spoke first. “What is happening?” he asked. The shadow Ayrian said not a word. He studied Vilmos as if seeing a thing strange to his eyes. Vilmos whispered, “This place, I know it.”

The shadow Ayrian reached out and as his fingertips pressed against Vilmos’ cheek, reality folded in on shadow and Vilmos was left staring up at the real Ayrian.

Ayrian looked down at Vilmos with his hand extended. Vilmos hesitated then accepted the hand, allowing Ayrian to pull him to his feet. Vilmos heard himself ask, “Do we journey now, Ayrian, Lord of the Gray Clan?” But it was not his voice that filled his ears.

Vilmos continued to stare, confused. Ayrian steadied him so that he did not fall. He tried to speak again but no words came.

“It will pass,” Ayrian said, “give yourself a moment. The strength will return and the voices will fade.”

“Xith, where’s Xith?”

“You are in the company of friends. Do not worry.”

“Am I?” Vilmos asked. Ayrian touched the medallion that was suspended from Vilmos’ neck by a thick gold chain, and Vilmos seemed to feel its weight for the first time.

“The Magicks no longer have dominion over you. You are free.”

Memories of priests, a warrior, and fighting came flooding behind his eyes. Vilmos saw blood everywhere. He heard screams. He staggered and went to his knees but Ayrian kept him from completely collapsing under his own weight. “Am I truly free?”

“You are confused. Trust your instincts. Your mind will clear.”

Vilmos, beyond confusion, found himself at a total loss for words though he tried to respond. He stammered, paused. His eyes went wide. “The door has been opened! Beware that the Darkess return!”

“Old friend, do not fight it. These are but memories. Dnyarr and Alexia are no more. The bastards Riven and Aven are gone with them and the dark past. Accept that the memories are your own. You have only to unite the old with the new.”

A barrier seemed to break in the back of Vilmos’ mind; another’s thoughts came flooding inward, overwhelming him. He once again spoke with the other’s voice. “Shall we then find my beloved? Is it yet time?”

“The day has not come; she rests and longs for the day you will join her.”

A distant flash of lightning followed by a clap of thunder caught Vilmos by surprise. Ayrian turned and smelled the air as if sensing something. Vilmos wondered if perhaps the Eagle Lord could smell the storm and the rain that was surely coming their way, but he wasn’t able to dwell on the thought for long before his mind succumbed to the turmoil of the voice within.

As the voice grew, so did his hunger, a hunger beyond the normal complaints of his empty stomach. It grew from the deepest reaches within, extending through to his very soul. It ate at the edges of the blackness that were the corners of his will; and as he struggled, time passed.

Night seemed to arrive suddenly, dark and overcast. The wind picked up as the storm raged nearby, and then came the rain, seemingly gentle at first, perhaps soothing, but not for long. The earth beneath his feet soon turned to mud as waters swelled all around him, nearly washing away the camp, and it was all he could do to hold his own against the wind and the rain.

The air grew cold as if warmth were being sucked out by an unseen force. Brilliant flashes of white lightning danced all around him. “Ayrian? Xith?” he called out.

No one answered. Vilmos huddled down, hugging his knees to stay warm. Dark thoughts came. The voice of his dreams, his nightmares, found him. Fatigue swept over him and when he could no longer hold his eyes open, he fell into a deep sleep and it was then that the struggle for self began.

Ayrian and Xith stepped from the shadows. It was Xith who knelt beside Vilmos to check his breathing, and Xith who cast an enchantment to ensure the boy’s sleep would not be disturbed.

“Is it come to pass?” Ayrian asked.

“I have seen the point at which the paths split but only the passing of the hour will decide it, as ever.”

Sensing something unseen, Ayrian twisted his head around to look behind them. He sensed the others then and started to cry out, “It begins,” but it was too late. The dark kin were already sweeping in from all sides, bringing with them a true darkness that fell upon them unlike any other. And in this darkness, death walked with the shades of the night, striking blows that could not be dodged or seen.

Xith slumped to the ground as a raking blow struck cleanly and harshly. Pain and surprise made him scream out and curse the darkness, but he cast a pledge along with his curse as he regained his feet. He vowed that he would not submit to their touch this night or any other. Death by touch of the kin was not a clean death, for it meant damnation. His soul would not journey to the Father and would instead serve the powers of darkness until they had drunk of its goodness and turned it into the very thing that had delivered its destruction.

The Eagle Lord looked on, vying for his own freedom, struggling to break past the horde of attackers. He backed away, great wings raised, revealing his razor sharp claws, and for a brief moment the dark kin were hesitant to descend upon him; also in that same brief moment the strengths of the two defenders were revealed.

Ayrian took flight, using his powerful wings to cut into the air. Xith called balls of lightning to his hands as a swarm of shadowy shapes surrounded him. The disorientation from the swift attacks eased from their minds, yet little by little they were corralled into a close-knit circle formed by the black beasts. In the air, Ayrian contended with dark kin that rode on the backs of shadow dragons. On the ground, Xith defended against those who marshaled shadow hounds before them and some who rode upon winged chargers wrapped in shadow.

Xith stepped protectively over Vilmos, yelling, “Beware the touch!” His strong constitution enabled him to recover readily from the life-draining touch but he feared for Ayrian. There was evident weakness in the Eagle Lord’s movements and the creatures knew this. It excited them—a new soul, a powerful soul, would bring great reward.

Ayrian poured his reserve strength into his powerful wings, trying to rise above the attackers, yet he was beaten back again and again. Seeing this, Xith dodged the razor claws about him, gradually drawing energy inside him. He knew these creatures well; dark kin were to be feared greatly by mortal men, yet he was not a mere mortal, and he would not be intimidated by sheer numbers alone. He called to the earth and the earth rumbled and shook at his call. Then, raising his arms, he brought forth the stone of the earth, sending earth and rock flying outward and upward into the dark land and sky.

Ayrian shot up into the heavens, then whirled about to face the enemies about him. Many of the kin were taken by surprise, and he used the temporary advantage to dispatch several before they came at him again with renewed hate. As he was dodging in and out of their reaching blows, he noticed the creature about to lunge upon Xith from behind. With no hesitation and no second thoughts, he tucked his wings to his side and plunged from the skies to Xith’s aid, striking the kin, knocking it to the ground, as well as himself. He lay there motionless as the dark kin faced him, his demeanor silently telling Xith he was playing decoy and that Xith should go about his own retaliations.

Ayrian’s eyes glowed as wild magic surged through him, and it was in the instant when the dark kin set upon him that he unleashed his shadow self. The shadow Ayrian caught the unsuspecting kin off guard, his blows causing a searing white light to issue forth wherever he scored a hit as the creature’s soul sought release from its capture. In the end, the dying kin could only cry out into the storm-swept sky, a plea to its dark master that most certainly went unanswered.

Xith whipped around to face a beast at his left just as it struck him. He was still reeling under the weight of the heavy blow when Ayrian, who had defeated the only creature that lay between him and the shaman, drummed the dark kin with a deadly blow. In a flash of light, the dark kin disappeared.

Wearily, Xith stood, steadying himself as the momentary confusion waned. Ayrian hovered to his immediate left, using steady strokes of his great wings to shoulder his bulk while he waited for the next wave.

Finally the energy within Xith reached its crescendo and shortly after it peaked he released it, unleashing it in a wide arc before him as waves of rose-pink light. The dark kin, struck by the arcing waves, were engulfed and enshrouded in shimmering silver silhouettes from which they could not escape, and one by one they vanished in a bright white blink of light.

Hesitant, the last few dark kin regrouped and came in for another attack. Blood ran from where Xith was gouged and raked; still he would not give in. Again he drank in the energies of the land, devouring its forces and reshaping them to his own desires, trusting Ayrian would be able to delay the onslaught while he was vulnerable to their attack. Ayrian, for his part, slashed and hacked, wildly directing every ounce of his remaining strength, as the dark kin swept in.

Xith waited to the last, feinted to the right, then rolled to the ground. He spun around with awe-inspiring swiftness, his face aglow, his hands, raised high, enveloped in wild, uncontained magic; but the arc of lightning shot wide, missed its mark, and faded away useless. Without pause, he lashed out again—a release less powerful than he had hoped for but effective all the same. A slow tracing of energy encircled two dark kin and the winged shadow-dragons they rode upon. Death reclaimed the beasts. Death to such creatures was defeat, measured in torment, and delivered by their dark masters.

With the odds more in their favor, Ayrian sprang headlong into the remaining group while Xith charged fearlessly. These powerful two against the remaining six was little contest, yet the dark kin did not see things through the eyes of their enemies. Ayrian parried several attempts to force him back, striking one of the dark kin with a clean blow that should have ended its pitiful, tormented existence, yet did not. And it was as he was struggling under the beasts’ counterattacks that Ayrian sensed a force in these remaining creatures that he had not perceived in the others. His next blow, a well-placed strike to the midsection, did end the wounded beast’s life, but only a moment before it would have struck him with a potentially lethal blow.

Xith, preoccupied with maintaining the magic within him and shaping his next attack, did not notice what Ayrian had discovered. He was near exhaustion, and he had no doubt that Ayrian was near exhaustion as well. His aim was to deliver a blow that would end the fray before it was too late for one or all of them, and so he called upon the powers of life and death, forces in opposition with each other and the natural order, allowing magic, chaste and powerful, to come to him, yearning to be released. To create the positive force of life, Xith had to balance the negative force of death—the very power from which the dark kin were created—as well, and it was a very fine balance indeed. One misstep would mean his own life, and possibly that of Vilmos whom he stood over. But he preferred a quick death to what the dark kin would bring to him—and to Vilmos—if he failed.

For a moment, his resolve faded as fatigue swept over him. “Please forgive me, Great Father,” he shouted as sparks of intertwined rose-pink and blue-white light illuminated the dark sky, arcing from his outstretched hands to sweep over the five remaining dark kin. The powers in opposition were so overwhelming as they clashed that the backlash knocked Xith to the ground and swept Ayrian away into the darkness of the night.

Xith struggled to stand, hoping for the end but finding instead that one of the dark kin remained. In that moment, it would have been so easy to give in to fatigue. He had only to pause, to let his knees buckle, to drop where he stood and succumb. It is what a little voice in the back of his mind urged him to do; it is what he wanted to do. But he couldn’t ignore the other little voice in the back of his mind asking him about Vilmos and Ayrian and their fate should he give in. It was that voice that kept him on his feet when he would otherwise have succumbed to his wounds and to exhaustion.

The dark creature did not try to flee; it welcomed its return to the darkness it had sprung from and wanted only to taste sweet revenge. It seized the opportunity as Xith struggled to pounce. But it did not go after the magic-wielder; it went after Ayrian, trying to claim that which it felt was due, Ayrian’s soul. The blow it delivered was skillfully placed, up through the rib cage, direct to the beating heart, and as its icy razor-like claws sliced inward and upward, Ayrian countered, but it was too late. Both fell where they were as death sought to embrace them.

The dark creature gripped Ayrian’s heart. Its success seemed assured and it cried in glee. But glee turned to despair and then to anguish as an unseen force ripped it back and away. As the dark kin faded from sight, Xith collapsed at Vilmos’ side. The raw magic of life itself caressed his outstretched hands momentarily before winking out. The battle was over, but what had it cost? Ayrian was near death. Xith was battered and bruised, his long dark cloak tattered and saturated with his own blood. And Vilmos lay still, trapped in his dreams, unaware that the first battle for his future and that of all the kingdoms of men and elves alike had been fought.

The multiple wounds spoke silently of heroic deeds, for with each touch the raw energies of life had been sucked from Xith’s limbs, and yet he persisted and resisted the call of death. As for the vanquished foes, there were no hints or traces that said they ever existed or that the valiant two had defeated the many; the scene only revealed that a struggle had taken place and that while one was near death, lying in an ever expanding pool whose hue was reflected as ebony by the night sky, one lived.

Xith knelt beside his fallen friend and heedless of his own weakening will, he began the healing and binding magic. His skills as a healer were limited; he could bind the smaller wounds and slow the bleeding of the largest; otherwise, he could not aid in the healing process. He considered the days and nights ahead with dread, through which he would have to maintain a vigilant watch if Ayrian were to survive.

Pushing dark thoughts aside he focused; and as the last of the magic spilled from his hands, the last of his will slipping with it, he passed from consciousness for a time, not noticing the shrouded figure that approached him and touched a hand, palm down, to his brow, bidding him to find calm in his sleep. And sleep he did, seemingly outside of time.

In the shadows of his mind, he thought he saw the arrival of day as a pink haze before his closed lids, but when he awoke it was dark and night reigned. The sky had cleared and bright stars shown down upon the campsite, outlining the silhouette of a shrouded figure that still stood over him, bent downward away from the starlit night so that deep shadows played across the hidden face.

The figure beckoned Xith to sit and as the dark form turned to face the night sky, the shaman glimpsed the contours of the face. He could almost recognize the widely set brow and the distinctive curve of the nose, yet there was something peculiar about the mysterious figure. He leaned in for closer inspection and was taking note of the subtle changes when the figure suddenly vanished.

A voice replaced the dark shape; a voice that startled Xith and seemed so distant. “Hello, Xith,” the voice playfully stated.

“Does this remind you of something?” The voice became but a fading echo in Xith’s mind. He turned a full circle to find only empty air.

He blamed his confusion on the battle, telling himself that the effects of the heavy battle still played on his mind. He was drained and tired. He wasn’t thinking clearly, and his body was too sore and slow to respond.

“Can you stop my wind?” begged the other.

The wind, which had been a gentle breeze a moment before, blew with tempest force. Xith did not falter in the face of it, nor did he try to stop it. He maintained his footing, standing motionless with his eyes closed, focusing his thoughts on his center, cleansing his mind, clearing his will. When he was ready he spoke, simply and eloquently, saying, “So the teacher becomes the pupil and the pupil becomes the teacher. Welcome home Wanderer!”

“I am not he,” Vilmos said as he appeared before Xith.

Xith was not startled by that fact, yet he was troubled by the changes that were occurring in Vilmos. “I must tend to Ayrian. He must be one of our company, for I have seen the path’s end without him.”

“He will sleep,” was all Vilmos said, as he provoked the wind on.

Xith returned to the spot where Ayrian lay. He touched a hand to the eagle lord’s forehead, bringing it down the line of the neck to the chest. “What have you done?” He paused then added, using the commanding nature of the Voice, “Release him at once; it is my wish and my will.”

“He will sleep and when he awakes he will know nothing of the pain. The wounds will be gone; they are gone. Can you not see?”

Xith moved toward Vilmos. It was clear that a struggle was taking place within or had already taken place and was troubling the boy’s thoughts. Xith wondered who had survived within Vilmos and of the boy’s intentions.

“Who am I? Who am I? Do you really want to know?” asked Vilmos, laughing into the night sky. “I am he who survived. I am he who has overcome.” The strength faded from his words as he spoke, his voice cracked “I am he that is left.” The last was spoken in a whisper and the wind ceased, leaving the former teacher and the former pupil facing each other.

Xith’s fears eased as he stared into now familiar eyes. He felt like the father whose son has just returned to him; and when boyish features returned to the stern face, the shaman wholeheartedly embraced Vilmos. “I must tend to Ayrian and then we must cross the desert and climb the mountain, a fitting beginning to a long journey along a dark road through hidden realms.”

“I know,” Vilmos said, and the other voice whispered before it dwindled and died, “To the cloud city at last where we will join the dwellers of the sky.”

Xith put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and nodded solemnly. The Wanderer, who had outlived the whole of his brethren and had witnessed the births and deaths of races and of nations, had come home at last, if only in the form of the boy before him. Vilmos would be bound forever and inexorably to memories of things as ancient as the wind and to the Wanderer, who was now a part of him.

Unseen in the distance, Ky’el nodded satisfaction and returned via the orb to the City of the Sky.

Chapter Three

The nearby garrison at Imtal was the first stop of many and the days of journey afterward came and went uneventfully and unremarkably, giving Seth time to reflect. His thoughts drifted mostly to the past, only moving from his reveries to the present momentarily when Valam pointed out sites of interest; and then he would slip back into a near yet distant place.

Valam for his part hoped they would see some action. Many of the men they traveled with were untested, green if truth be told, and a clean, decisive victory on the open road would go a long way toward easing the men’s worries about what was ahead—worries that Valam shared yet did not voice. But such hopes weren’t meant to be. Even the bandits who pillaged deep into the kingdom weren’t brazen enough to attack a group as large as the entourage he traveled with, and so the days slowly continued one after the other.

Valam’s only pleasures were the lightly salted and heavily smoked venison in his saddlebag and the mead he shared with the men after evenfall. Without the venison to chew on during the day and the drink to ease him to sleep after a long day in the saddle, the journey would have seemed unbearably long.

At times, Valam thought of the elf Galan and how she had sacrificed herself to save Seth. He wondered if he would have done the same for his sister Adrina or another. Somehow he didn’t think he would have—not that he was afraid to die, death he wasn’t afraid of—more that he wasn’t sure the trade off Galan had made was a wise one. Why her and not him? That was the question that gnawed at him during the day and troubled his dreams as he slept. It was an issue that had come between him and Seth to the detriment of their friendship, but it did not dissuade his resolve. He knew what was ahead; with his own eyes he had seen war sweep the land, and just as important, he believed what he had seen. Now was a time for action and on that his resolve did not waver, despite the thinking of some on his father’s council—and perhaps his father himself. As he guided his black charger along the road, he struggled with the thought of what his betrayal would mean to Seth. Would Seth understand? Would he even be able to do what his father asked of him?

At King’s Crossing where the East-West and North-South roads met, the group decided to bypass the lowland marshes of Fraddylwicke, electing to take the longer, more reliable route along the East-West road to the coast. Such a turning brought the group to the Barony of Klaive, where the baron and his sons gave the prince and men a great feast such as many of the men had never known. After Klaive, the group passed through the free cities at the mouth of River Trollbridge. The Trollbridge, unlike its sister in the North, the Krasnyj, which flowed only sporadically throughout the year and stretched nearly from sea to sea, flowed all year with but a single purpose: to inundate the Bottoms. The history of the Trollbridge and the Bottoms was older than that of Great Kingdom, stretching far into the past now unknown, but that history paled when compared to that of Mir and Veter, the free cities themselves. It was true that the Kingdom Alliance kept the cities free, but it was also true that the alliance had been bought with blood. There was a saying of old in the free cities: “of candor and liberty I know much, of justice and sincerity I know little.” For many it was true and the last words they spoke before their lives were bought with blood.

A day after passing through the free cities, the group camped on the northern edge of the Belyj, a forest Valam knew better than the city of Imtal where he had grown up, a forest that was his own. And here he breathed easier than he had in days—in truth, since the journey had begun. Somehow the air in South Province felt better as he breathed it in. He couldn’t explain why, but perhaps it was the heavy scent of ash, elm and birch mixed in with the remnants of the salt spray from the distant West Deep. Earth and summer trees, salt and water, this was the smell of his home, the home he had made for himself over the past five years—years that had been lean and tough but years during which he had grown into the man he was today.

From the Belyj, it was a few days’ journey to Quashan’ the capital of South Province and their destination, but before then, he aimed to test Seth and the bonds of their friendship. It was a thing he had promised himself that he would do, but now that the hour of the deed was nearing, he had doubts. Could he lessen the sting of what he must do? Seth had proven himself true in Quashan’ and in Imtal; his brethren had sacrificed everything to gain an audience with Valam’s father, King Andrew Alder; and the Queen Mother had opened everyone’s eyes to truth. And he himself had knelt before his father, promising his sword to the elves’ cause. He had promised Adrina that he would hold true to his word, and he had ridden from Imtal with a force ten thousand strong—soldiers, hired blades, and tradesmen all. So why did he have lingering doubts? Why had he made himself promise such a thing? And why did such a thing have to be?

He pushed the thoughts from his mind, put his heels into his surefooted charger, and flew. One of the hunting dogs raced along beside him, with its tail held high, its gray fur ruffed up thick against the passing rain. The other dogs followed; and somewhere behind them in the long line of horses and men were Captain Vadan Evgej, the hunt master with his ready bow and horn, and Seth ahorse a dapple gray courser.

Valam entered the sanctuary of the forest without hesitation, the canopy of the trees breaking the rainfall. Soon he could hear only the sound of hooves and paws and faintly, the rain. He remembered how he’d felt the first time he hunted: nervous as a raw recruit to the king’s guard, but eager for the hunt. Well, here’s to the hunt, he told himself as he turned the charger down an overgrown game trail. In the back of his mind, he could hear Father Jacob cursing because he, Prince of Great Kingdom and Lord of the South, was at the front of the hunting party and not safely in its midst; and he laughed aloud to himself, his voice echoing off the trees and mixing with the crunching of leaves.

The air was cool and Valam cursed himself for not wearing a thicker cloak or discarding the wet one now clinging to his back. But he didn’t want to waste a moment; and as he broke into a clearing, he was glad he hadn’t waited for the others. He took up the bow from his shoulder, notched an arrow, and was ready to draw. A twelve-point stag was straight across from him in the clearing, looking on, seemingly unafraid.

He touched the nock of the arrow, drew to his cheek in one swift movement but didn’t release. Instead he held the bowstring as he stared into the black eyes of the stag. It wasn’t often one met a Prince of Stags; and the stag, for his part, lifted his head high and stared back at Valam unafraid.

For a time Valam waited, a prince of the city studying a worthy prince of the forest. He shifted his bow irritably to rub at his arms and told himself to release the bowstring but found that he could not. He glanced over his shoulder, looking back down the overgrown trail but found that the others hadn’t made the turn, or at least it didn’t seem so, for he was alone with the stag. Well, nearly so. The gray bitch was beside his charger; she didn’t make a move either.

It was more habit than anything else that kept the bow in his hands and the string drawn. The thick muscles of his arms tensed and rippled, but such effort was not unknown to him. As a boy his father’s master trainer had made him hold poses for hours with a great sword, a pike, a battle ax, or whatever else was the weapon of choice that day. He had learned to endure the strain and the inevitable cramps. The master’s training had also helped him to learn to see what could otherwise go unseen.

Taking in more of the clearing, he saw that not more than ten paces behind the stag was a large doe and a pair of summer fawns. The doe was afraid, for she seemed to be shivering as Valam set his eyes on her. He shivered too, but only from the cold. His rider’s cloak covered him to his boot tips; the cowl was pulled back, however, and the rain soaked him as it streamed through the opening in the forest canopy.

He managed a weak smile. Of all the things he could have thought about right then, it was Adrina, his sister, who was probably warm and dry in her night chambers, who came to mind. He wondered what she would think of the irony of such a scene: himself with an arrow nocked and drawn, the stag, the doe and the fawns waiting.

His eyes on the stag now seemed to be playing a trick on him, for instead of an animal, he saw a man clad in dapple gray almost the color of Seth’s courser. He blinked. In the stag’s place was Seth and beside him, the hunt master.

“My lord prince,” Evgej called out to him, seeming ill at ease with Valam’s bow drawn and aimed at him. “We had thought you lost.”

Valam lowered the bow and returned the arrow to the quiver. He decided to say nothing of the stag, and instead called back, “It is an honor to hunt with your hunters this evening, captain.”

“The honor is all mine,” Captain Vadan Evgej called back, signaling to the others to cross the clearing to the prince.

Seth touched Valam’s mind with a thought—the method he was using to teach Valam and others who were willing to listen—that their thoughts were open and thus readable. Valam responded instinctively by clouding his thoughts as he had been taught, effectively blocking his thoughts so they couldn’t be read. It was an automatic response as taught by Seth, but he also did not need any more confusion. For the past few days Seth’s presence had put him increasingly on edge whenever they were together. Worse, Seth seemed to be aware of it but hadn’t said anything about it.

He was hoping Seth had not noticed his unease when Seth said, “This is my first hunt. I am not sure what to do.”

Valam smiled but didn’t say anything immediately. He was focused on the men crossing the clearing. “The hunt is easy. You must only ride along. I do not expect you to make a kill. I know it is not your way.”

“As do I,” Evgej said, his shiny wet leather jerkin dripping as he turned in beside Valam.

Valam studied the tall, lanky hunt master. Evgej didn’t wear a hat and the rain matted his fair hair. A bushy yellow beard hid most of his face, and a silver hunting horn was slung over his right shoulder. On his back was a longbow, a quiver with arrows fletched in white goose feathers, and a wine bag. By all appearances Evgej was early into his middle years, but Valam knew that the semblance of age was only an illusion. Evgej was no older than he, just over twenty.

“We hunt for food as much as for sport,” Valam said turning to Seth.

The elf pushed back the hood of his cloak; his blue eyes seemingly drank in Valam’s soul. If Valam hadn’t known Seth was elf kin, he might have thought him kin of Evgej. The hair and the lithe limbs said both were fair folk of the summer forest. Seth, however, seemed untouched by the rain. It was as if the rain danced around him. His deep burgundy cloak appeared to be dry and his medium-length hair was untouched, even that which hadn’t been protected by the cowl. “You need not worry about me. I understand the need for a hunt as much as any other.”

“Shall we continue then, my lord?” Evgej asked. Valam nodded agreement. Evgej turned to his huntsmen, shouting, “Let the hunt continue!” as he directed their attentions back to the hunt. He sent his men out ahead to circle in front and flush the game toward the clearing. As they did so, he strung his finely crafted oaken longbow and waited. He indicated that Seth and Valam should ready themselves, yet only Valam notched an arrow and waited.

As the sound of the chasers drew nearer, the woods around them came to life. Birds burst into the air flapping on frantic wings and rabbits darted to and fro, but it was the stag that caught Evgej’s eye first. As the large animal made its way readily into the clearing, Evgej offered the first flight to Valam. Valam didn’t hesitate; his arrow took the stag between the neck and shoulder, a near perfect shot but not fatal.

The stag stumbled, snorted in pain and twisted its head as if to use its small rack to ward off the distant attackers. Evgej aimed, released. His shot, perfect and deadly, dropped the stag where it stood. It was an impressive shot to be sure, especially considering the angle Evgej had released from.

The sun was beginning to set and the day was getting dark, but the rain had passed for the most part. The hunt master’s steward, a broad-shouldered boy with wavy chestnut hair and a constellation of freckles, dismounted and made ready to retrieve the stag. Evgej waved the boy back. The gray bitch between Valam and Evgej had raised her tail and was pointing with her nose.

A doe raced into the clearing. Valam notched an arrow and waited. The doe was some distance to the left, and he had to turn sharply in the saddle to aim. He pulled the bowstring to his cheek, but a heartbeat before he released, two fawns followed the doe into the clearing.

Valam lowered his bow, as did the hunt master. Evgej’s men were soon to follow. Between them they had several game hens and three rabbits—and something unexpected: a half-man, old and scrawny, dressed in rags. He was bound hand and foot and being dragged bodily by a burly hunter named Taggard. Taggard thrust the man at the feet of Valam’s charger, and the horse whinnied but held steady.

The old man whirled around, turned his head to stare up at Valam. He was missing a hand and an ear. His eyes were wild but there was no fear.

Valam sat solemnly on his horse, his long black hair stirring in the wind. He had a detached cast to his green eyes, and he seemed suddenly more a prince and less a man. Seth, watching, thought Valam had taken off his face and donned the mask of Prince Valam Alder, Lord of South Province, heir to Great Kingdom’s throne.

As Valam dismounted, saying “What have we here?” the old man kicked himself backward and away with his feet. Valam had never taken a squire, so Evgej’s steward brought him his sword—an instrument of the king’s justice. “Truth Bringer” the sword was called. It was wider across than a man’s hand and taller than most men as well. The blade was the finest Reassae steel and sharp enough to part a man’s head from his shoulders with but a single blow.

“Bandit or poacher?” Valam asked curtly.

The old man spat, continuing to kick his way backward. Valam stepped forward but made no move to strike a blow.

“Where did you find him?” Valam asked the hunters.

“Near the mammoth oak, no more than five hundred paces from here,” one of the huntsmen replied.

“The Sentinel,” Taggard added quickly, seeming to know the tree of which the others spoke.

Valam nodded knowingly.

The air was growing chill in the fading twilight and the breath of men and horses was heavy in the air. The hunters, their eyes on the growing shadows in the forest, seemed agitated. Evgej voiced quietly, but firmly, “My prince, I pray your justice will be swift. We should return to camp before night falls.”

“Have the men return with the game; we are going to stay a little more.”

“My prince, these woods are—”

Valam cut Evgej off, “You forget your place. This is South Province. Woods I know better than most men, even perhaps you, hunt master.”

Evgej waved for the hunters to return to camp with their catch. Soon it was only the five of them: the hunt master, the elf, the steward, the prince, and the half-man.

Evgej dismounted, his expression dark. “There’s a stump at the far end of the clearing that would serve, my lord prince.”

Valam rested his boot on the half man’s leg to stop his kicking. He leaned over, almost daring the other to spit again. “Shall it be to the stump then?” he asked.

The half-man stopped struggling, but did not speak.

“Your prince asked you a question,” Evgej said, pulling the man to his feet. “Have you no tongue?”

“Oh, I’ve a tongue,” the half man replied, “and I’m of the mind that what I say won’t matter either way. So put me to the stump then and have done with it.”

“I warned you the last time,” Valam said.

“And so you did. Well then, so be it. I’m not afraid of death, only that the blow may stray or your steel may dull.”

“Watch your words more carefully, I warn you.”

The half-man grunted and huffed indignantly. “Like such alone would work.”

Evgej looked quizzically at Valam. “You know this one, do you not?”

Valam cast a glance behind them, said quietly, “I do. Isn’t that so Eldrick?” At the sound of his name the half-man squealed, though whether it was from displeasure or delight wasn’t clear. “Tell him. Tell them both.” He raised his sword. “Be quick about it. No mischief work; it is your last warning.”

“And it is a fair one.”

Valam slashed down with his sword. The other cringed, closed his eyes, waited, but the blow didn’t strike him, instead it cut the bonds from his hands and feet. The half man opened one eye first and then the other, looking down, as if to make sure he still had all his parts. He raised his arms and danced in a circle, then dashed off into the forest before anyone could stop him.

“You let him go?”

“I did.” Valam smiled, returning his great sword to his saddlebags then mounting. “Don’t worry, he will not go far.”

Evgej mounted and looked at the sky. The twilight was nearly gone. Soon the woods would be shrouded in darkness. His expression said he wanted to return to the camp, but he said nothing of it.

Seth, who had been silent throughout the encounter, mounted the gray courser. Valam led them deep into the forest of ash, elm and birch. Here and there they passed an oak, but they were few and far between. The shadows grew steadily as the canopy thickened and darkness settled in until only a pale light filtered down from the moon and distant stars above. Soon they were unable to go any farther on horseback and were forced to dismount, which was just as well, as limbs and thick boughs of trees were becoming treacherous to pass ahorse. Evgej’s steward reluctantly stayed with the horses.

When they came to a small stream, Valam turned and began to follow it. Although the forest had become increasingly dense, on either side of the small stream a narrow path was clear and traversable.

The stream widened ahead, and beyond the widening lay a clearing. Valam pointed to something within the clearing.

The ground became wet as they progressed and their movements were slowed. The stream circled around a small island with a single ancient oak, which towered over it. Valam led them around to the far side, where there was a sort of bridge, and they crossed onto the tiny scrap of land.

“Can you feel it?” asked Valam.

They didn’t have to ask what—they could feel it. The gentle swirling of the water, the soothing breeze, the serenity, it all fit.

“I discovered this place long ago; such summers I had then. I had been lost and alone and just when I thought I would never find my way out of the forest, I came upon this place and I didn’t feel alone any—”

“—I wonder why,” said a voice from up in the tree. The half-man hung upside down from a branch by his legs. “Could it be because you weren’t alone any more? And you treating your benefactor so! You should be ashamed—”

“Watch your tongue, Eldrick, or I’ll have it out.”

“Yes, my lord,” the half-man said sarcastically, “Should I kiss his royal lordship’s—” Valam grabbed for the half-man’s good arm at the same time Evgej did. Together they pulled him from the tree. He fell to the ground with a thump. “—I see I stand corrected.”

“And so you do,” Valam said. “What were you going to say?”

“Only to beg your forgiveness, my lord. Surely you’ve no gratitude for the help all those years ago.”

“Change,” Valam commanded.

“Must I?”

“You must.”

The half-man glared and waved his arms. Where a moment ago he had worn rags for clothes, now finery few had ever seen graced his small frame; and in the place of wrinkles, shaggy beard, and long, unkempt hair was a fair, clean-shaven face, young by any standard. However, the eyes told of age beyond understanding by most. When the transformation was complete, the left ear and hand were missing no more.

“My forest brother,” Seth whispered, grasping Eldrick’s hand. “I thought your people long lost. We have but songs about your kind now in the Reach.” He kneeled and was near tears.

Eldrick laughed and danced as he broke into soft song.

The brothers of the forest, they were a special breed.

In name, in hand, in deed they took the lead.

Oh Ash of spring forest, they were the first when all was new.

In the dawn of bloom and blossom they led us to the mew.

Yielding wood so strong and long to send the poison yew.

Oh Oak of summer forest, they were a special breed.

In the hot long days of sultry sun, they took the lead,

Giving shelter to our spirits and acorns for our feed.

Oh Pine of winter forest, they were tall and green and right.

In the dark hour of the cold, long night they were a delight.

Lending needle and cone to nestle us through the night.

Oh Elm of autumn forest, they kept on despite the blight.

In the twilight at the end of all, they showed their might

Arching branch and leaf to deliver us from our plight.

The brothers of the forest, they were a special breed.

In name, in hand, in deed they took the lead.

Valam stepped between Eldrick and Seth. “Enough! Trickster, charlatan. Don’t play me or my friends for fools. Show your true self.”

Eldrick frowned, the finery of his clothes fading to leaf green as he did so and branches replaced limbs. A glowing aura outlined his form and before Seth could step up and away, Eldrick stepped to the great oak. He disappeared within the tree, sending a glowing shimmer up the tree trunk to the thick boughs, then to branch and leaf. Soon the whole tree was aglow and the island as well all the way to the far banks of the stream.

Evgej touched the tree, his eyes full of wonder. Seth turned to Valam, exclaiming, “A tree spirit, that is just as well! In all my years, I have never had such privilege.”

“Privilege? I’m not sure I would call it privilege. Eldrick gets what Eldrick wants, isn’t that so?”

The tree quivered and shook from branch and leaf, then a face appeared in the trunk. “It is so.”

“It is truly a place of power,” whispered Seth.

Evgej thought he was out of place here; he didn’t belong. He was sharing an experience that he sensed should have been only between Seth and Valam.

“You would not be here if Eldrick did not want it so,” thought Seth plainly to Evgej.

“You read thoughts too?”

“Don’t worry Evgej. I think I can teach you a way to keep Seth out of your thoughts.” Valam laughed.

“You can?”

“Yes, I think I can.”

“And me?” asked the tree. Valam turned his back on the tree. “Not very nice; still such a reprehensible fellow.”

“Let us go, Eldrick.”

“My name grants you no power over me.”

“What is it you want?”

Eldrick stepped out of the tree, became a half-man again, though without rags or finery, wrinkles, or semblance of youth. “You bring one of the wood folk to my forest and expect that I am not curious? It has been a thousand years since the fair folk walked beneath my boughs, and I would have the feeling of that joy again.”

“And so you’ve had it. Now let us go.”

“You are no prisoner here. You are free to go as you will.”

“No tricks. We could not have turned away from this path had we wanted to. Is your curiosity so strong that you would bring an entire hunting party to your door?”

“It seems at times that I have but curiosity. What else is there for an old tree such as me?” Eldrick snorted. “Ho ho, I rhymed!”

“Let us go then.”

“Not so fast. True, I wanted this meeting, but only as much as you. You wanted to test the fair one, knowing I wouldn’t reveal myself to one who was untrue of heart, mind or spirit. I have, and the test is passed, so now you want to go on your way. I say again, not so fast.” Eldrick whirled around to face Seth. “Ask?”

“It is said that the sentinel trees are in all the great forests. Oak in the summer forest, pine in the winter forest—”

“—ash in the spring forest, elm in the autumn forest. True, true, true, all true. All have sentinels and us, those who watch over the watchers.”

“Yet there are no sentinel trees in the Reach?” It was a statement as much as a question.

“Ah, but there would be if you had taken us along on your journey to the new lands. We would be there all, oak and pine, ash and elm, which is why I aim to go with you.”

Valam threw up his hands. “Not this day or any other, you trickster. What is it you really want?”

“So unkind, so untrue, so irrational, and I’ve to see my brother, and I will.”

“Brother? You said there were no tree spirits in the Reach?”

“And that is where you aim to go ultimately, isn’t it? You won’t betray a friend for a father. You know it in your heart, don’t you?” Eldrick didn’t wait for an answer. He dashed into the tree, sending shimmering sparks up through the trunk, boughs and leaves of the great oak. He returned shortly afterward carrying a dusty gray cloak, a staff crowned with a carved bear’s head, and a worn leather bag with a broken handle. “Ready, shall we be going then?”

Evgej laughed. Valam scowled. Seth offered to help Eldrick carry his gear, but the half-man waved him off. The four didn’t say much else after that. They remained awhile longer, though, and drank in the peace of the Sentinel. As they left, Evgej didn’t feel such an outsider anymore; he had shared something with Seth and Valam that no others had, and he marveled at their wondrous new companion.

Eldrick led the way back to the waiting horses. They proceeded in pairs: Eldrick and Valam, Seth and Evgej. Eldrick and Seth, who could see in the dark, kept the other two from hitting branches and stumbling over obstacles at their feet. Soon the steward was calling out, “Who goes there? Show yourselves?” in a fearful voice.

“Only I, Derworth,” Evgej called back, “and the prince and his fellows.”

Derworth never asked who the prince’s fellows were though he could scarcely see in the dark. When they returned to camp, it was evident they had been missed. Father Jacob was furious, but his anger lessened when those who had been sent out to search for the prince returned without incident.

The group broke camp as the first light of day broke the horizon, hoping to reach Quashan΄ by late afternoon of the second day. No one inquired about the strange new companion who rode behind Seth on a white palfrey. No one offered any information either.

Mysteriously, though, no one saw the stranger again after the group stopped for their midday meal. As they rode, Valam looked to the four corners of the world in search of Eldrick but saw no one and nothing out of the ordinary. He knew with certainty he would meet Eldrick again, and in all probability in the most unlikely of circumstances.

Chapter Four

Amir emerged from shadow and bent down to pick up the orb, shouting, “He lives! He has returned! I have seen it with my own eyes!”

Noman thought to say, “Are you sure? Can you be certain?” but the look in Amir’s eyes answered the questions for him. He asked instead, “Do they know?”

“He drank in the mortal wounds of the Gray Lord as if they were nothing. There can be no doubt. He has returned. It has come to pass.”

“There is no warrant in foretelling only truth,” Noman said as he cast the sticks upon the oaken table, promising himself that it would be his final look at the paths of destiny until what needed to be done was done. Sometimes he thought they were all fools upon the board, he the greatest fool of them all; and like a fool he moved forward only to find that he must move backward.

A vast weight was upon his shoulders as if he were the last pillar upon which all of Over-Earth rested. He was the Keeper of the Sky but what remained of the Sky? The Titans, eagle lords and dragons of the realm were all but gone. He was spent, the husk of what he had once been, and for a moment, all but fleeting, he thought of her. She was reborn as well, as was her fate. Unlike him, she would have no memories of days past until the very last when it ended in pain as it always did.

“Why Adrynne?” he asked in a whisper. In his mind, he followed the War of Tears. He saw Stranth victorious in Pakchek. The forced march along the Path. The conquering of Oshio. The long drive along the Wish to Papiosse. A further victory turned to bitter dust along with the Defeat. “You would have been Queen over all.”

Amir touched Noman’s shoulder. “You speak in whispers.”

Noman tried to look up from the morass of black, gray and white spread out on the table before him; but before he could turn away, it became a spinning vortex that sought to suck him into the nothingness of shadow. He braced himself and fought frantically to push away as past days spun before eyes he could not close.

“You are a Ruler of Right and Knight of the Blood. One of the Nine Sons of the Blood,” cried out the Father of Blood in the spinning vortex. “I am the Tenth Son of the Blood; you will do as commanded.”

“Never!” Noman shouted as he cast the sticks aside, sweeping them from the table. Blood trickled from the corners of his eyes as he turned around, wildly flailing his arms.

Amir steadied Noman. There was no alarm in his eyes, only concern, as he said, “The days of the Bloodrule are long gone. You are safe in the City of the Sky.”

“It was as it had to be; it could not have been otherwise. I could not have done otherwise.”

“There is no blame here, only truth,” Amir said, using Noman’s own words from past lessons.

“You must go,” Noman said suddenly, pulling away from Amir. “Show them the path, but do not make the way an easy one.”

When Amir disappeared from sight, Noman hastily retrieved the Destiny Sticks from the floor and rushed to his chambers. He found the staff where he had left it, nodded satisfaction, then put on his robe of colors. He tapped the staff against the floor, gripped the ancient carving at its crown and spoke the words of power, “Starod sil, otkry ot zemlya i pozhar, veter i vod!”

He disappeared into shadow and reappeared outside a door in a long hallway. One side of the hallway was open, and looked out to an expansive garden. In the center of the garden was a fountain whose hot waters gushed from the earth and bubbled with sulphur. Far across the palace, a bell began to toll or at least it sounded like the tolling of a bell to Noman, as he turned about on his heel and went to the door.



Not a word passed between them. They simply stared in awe at the boy who lay curled up on the now dry ground next to the warmth of a low, softly crackling fire. The time the Watcher had spent the whole of his life in search of was near and it seemed to him he had briefly become the controlled when he had always thought of himself as the controller.

Privately, he berated himself for not attuning to his surroundings better; for now that he searched out the source of the evil, he found it was many days old and surprisingly strong—a doorway between the world of light and the world of darkness was open. Yet there were stronger forces at work than the unseen hands of evil, forces that beckoned and directed, forces that fed thoughts into their minds at levels that even the great shaman or the ancient lord could not fathom.

As he stared into the darkness of the night, Ayrian gave thanks to Father Wind for the life that flowed through him. He embraced remembrance as well, for the touch of the wanderer had brought with it a lucid dream of the past. In the dream, the Eagle Clans reigned freely in the mountain valleys of the northern ranges once again. The Gray Clan held the longest range from two snowcaps east of Solstice Mountain to the shallow foothills midway into the westlands. He recalled the presence of men—in the dream his feathers were not so full of silver as they were now. The men came seeking passage to the North and it was the White Clan that showed them the way. As men moved north, they brought with them their ways and the ways of the eagle clans—and indeed the eagle lords themselves—slowly died.

Memory faded. The night ended and the time of worship came. Ayrian began his morning prayers, his songs of praise to the creator and the preserver. It was this monotonic worship that roused Vilmos and awoke Xith to the sunrise. An energy loomed behind Vilmos’ eyes, but beyond that, he seemed himself again.

Breakfast—oats and hardtack black bread—was prepared over the expiring coals of the fire. The first words to pass Vilmos’ lips were “I hate dried oats” to which Xith replied with a chuckle, “I know, I know.”

Finishing his morning worship, Ayrian joined Vilmos and Xith beside the fire as they finished breakfast. He ate lightly, his strange eyes never straying far from the gray and white facade of the distant mountains. Hills lay at the foot of those mountains, long and rolling, and before them stretched many miles of the rough country of the Borderlands, yet he saw only the mountains, distant and proud. Momentarily he thought of the sacred city of the clouds, a place that even in the zenith of his people had been taboo, banned for all time.

“We have a fair distance to travel, old friend, do we not?” Ayrian asked. Long ago, he had heard rumors from the White Clan, whose domain ran east from the territories of the Gray and included Solstice Mountain, that there were those among the Eagle Lords who had made the lofty ascent to the cold, dark summit that lay hidden from sight. It was said that a force as old as the earth itself walked the forbidden halls of the timeless city, a being that was kin to Great Father and Mother Earth, yet not of their direct lineage; and that this single being was the watch mark of all the maladies of the world who could not only see the paths of past, present and future but could also levy control to them, which was a skill the Father and Mother denied themselves.

“Yes, a long way to go, old friend. Will you lead the way from the skies?”

“Where are we going?” Vilmos asked.

Xith looked to Ayrian and smiled. “You will know it when we come to it, I am sure. Come, the fire has faded and that is as good a sign as any that we should make our departure.”



Noman knocked once, then opened the door. A large oak desk piled high with books and scrolls filled most of the room. Two chairs, arranged in front of the desk, were occupied as was the chair behind the desk. “I would speak with you alone, Keeper Martin,” Noman said, dismissing the other two without a second thought.

Keeper Martin stood. “Sit, if you like,” he said, offering no deference. He stretched out a hand, indicating one of the chairs off to the side of the desk. He nodded to Keeper Q’yer and Keeper Parren as they left the room and closed the door behind them. “Are you hungry? Shall I order food?”

“Gladly, some other time.”

“As you say.”

Noman looked to the door. “Can we—”

Keeper Martin lifted a hand, pointed to something he had written on a piece of parchment. “Will you take some wine then?’

“I would be pleased, thank you.”

Keeper Martin took two glasses and a bottle of wine from the cabinet behind him. He poured one glass, passed the bottle and the other glass to Noman. Noman poured as Martin went to the other side of the room and brought a book from the far shelf.

“Ah, the Book of the Peoples, that is the very one. Thank you.” A touch of his finger painted a reply, then he slipped the piece of parchment to Martin as he took the book.

Martin drank his wine, tucking the parchment into his pocket as he did so. “Would you care to take a walk in the gardens?”

“Perhaps another time.”

“Another time then.”

Noman finished his wine and left. He walked the length of the long hall, waiting until he was fully out of view from prying eyes before tapping his staff to the ground. As he started to say the words of power, a hand gripped his and pulled him through a hidden doorway.

“Master Keeper, you cannot leave, I need to know more,” Keeper Martin whispered.

“It is what I know, all I know for now.”

“It can’t be so, it can’t be.”

“Martin Braddabaggon, you will know when it is time. You walk in Imsa’s footsteps. He knew and you will know as well. His blood is in you. You are a Braddabaggon and Head of the High Council of Keepers. You must go to Quashan’ at once.”

“I cannot hope to achieve what my grand—”

“—Alliances are made and broken; it is the way of things. If need be, seek out the Hand on the Wall, but only at your dire peril.”

“The Hand on the Wall,” Martin replied.

“Do not lose faith, Martin. It is as it is meant to be,” and so saying, Noman struck his staff against the ground and spoke the words “Starod sil, otkry ot zemlya i pozhar, veter i vod!” There was urgency in his actions and tone—he truly needed to gather strength from the ancient elements of earth, fire, water and air as the words of power entreated.

Oh Adrynne, why? he asked himself as he disappeared into shadow.

Chapter Five

The rough lands in the border country drained their strength as they trudged day in and out through jagged, rock-strewn land that grew steadily rougher and wilder the farther the three traveled. It seemed that they had nothing to look forward to save the mountains marking the boundary to the northern lands inching closer and closer, seeming increasingly insurmountable. During the day the land was hot and parched; at night it was windswept and frigid. The few scrub trees that dotted the earth provided only meager fires, which only tempted them with warmth.

The sound of animals scurrying about in the night was the most prevalent thing on Vilmos’ mind. Carrion beasts occupied the skies of the day, ever vigilant in their search for the end of life and the beginning of their next meal. It was these creatures that Vilmos imagined when the night came, edging closer and closer, standing over him when the frequent clouds brought shadows across his eyes.

Thinking of carrion beasts helped him forget the memory of fighting his mirror-self. Each move he made, his other self made the same move, and the struggle was relentless. Where his two selves touched they merged, blending one into the other, sometimes twisting and bending one around the other, or warping and fusing so the lines between them blurred. Eventually, always, the lower torsos became one and it was only the upper bodies that were two.

As they locked arms and pressed against each other, each trying to gain control over the other, the two chests fused, bringing a terrible pain. The white-hot pain moved from his navel to his neck. Afterward it was only the two heads facing each other, looking out from one body, that remained separate one from the other. Relief came for an instant when his two selves faced each other for a final time. As the two heads merged, they echoed one within the other until finally both selves acquiesced and struggled no more. A flood of memories followed, both ancient and new, and then, like now, Vilmos was left with what little he could grasp of it all.

Xith walked beside Vilmos and called out, “You have that look again.”

“I know I must,” Vilmos said truly, “But how can a boy be a man and a man be a boy? And if—”

“It will all balance out. Much of what seems new will also seem familiar.”

“Eh ho to we, to no wa,” Ayrian said on wing from above them, “You are reborn, as are all things.”

“A to no ma, as are you,” Vilmos replied reflexively.

Ayrian called out in what sounded to Vilmos like laughter as he thrust out with his great wings and raced ahead.

The day passed, as did many others. Vilmos started to think that the Borderlands were aptly named. The land itself was unpredictable; at its southerly skirt lay jagged hills that seemed to flow up the western perimeter and meld into the rolling hills that formed its northerly bounds, yet in between were arid lands that went from flat, endless wastes strewn with stunted growths to odd, patchy lands that seemed to be heaved up from the darkest bowels of the earth itself. It was the latter that the trio traversed presently. Vilmos cringed and cursed as they passed yet another abysmal fissure around which were allayed great juttings of rock that looked as if the earth had spat them out.

There was obvious tension in the air; Vilmos sensed it, though no one spoke of it. He recalled now the previous night’s discussion, one that the shaman and the eagle lord had not meant for him to hear. The two spoke briefly and in hushed tones of the Hunter Clan. Apparently, Ayrian had spotted a small group of them the day before; yet as far as he could tell they were not being pursued by the Hunter Clan.

The following day brought Vilmos, Xith and Ayrian to the first of the foothills that gradually spread out toward the mountains, and only then did the perceived tension diminish. At first Vilmos greeted the arrival of the hills as a blessing, but this feeling of good fortune was rapidly replaced by indifference as nightfall came and found them still trekking through the hill country. The whole next day became a slow battle against a rolling land that seemed to have the upper hand. Vilmos’ feet were sore and blistered by the time they finally reached the first path that led up into the mountains.

“Solstice Mountain,” Ayrian called out from above before winging his way up the mountain. The sense of jubilation faded when Xith told Vilmos that the trail before them only led up into the narrow gap that spread between the great range, and that they would travel only partially along its course before veering off into the heart of the mountain; yet as he touched the first of his footfalls to the stone of the mountain and with each step he took, it did seem that a veil was slowly being lifted from before his eyes.

For Xith and Vilmos, the first few hundred yards of the climb were the easiest, yet from there the climb became a steadily increasing challenge. The ancient path up into the gap was worn by rains and washouts, and in several places it was as if a perpendicular rock wall had been thrown up in front of them. Ayrian used his great wings to scout the trail ahead and became instrumental in their successful progress many times.

They climbed sharply up through the mountains long after the earth was swept with darkness; they climbed, finally stopping only when the path’s end lay before them. The moderate starlight that had guided them still gave them light as they set up a meager camp. Their level of anxiety was high as they thought of the events that tomorrow would bring. For that reason, sleep was elusive this night although it should have come easily after an exhausting day.

A new day came with heavy cloud cover, which gradually thinned out as the day passed and hopes and expectations soared; somewhere aloft lay the mystical city of the clouds, and all they needed to do was attain the summit and the city would be theirs. The sun blazed high across the mountaintops and still they climbed though soon they would reach the fog layer shrouding the uppermost reaches of the peak, and from there they did not know how far the climb would be. They turned from the trail near the gap, following another smaller path that led upward into the foggy shroud. This path was like the one that continued through the gap and then split, becoming two other trails that slowly wound their way down through the mountains eventually taking its travelers into the northlands. It was a remnant of what had once been a large, well-worn trail. Now it consisted only of large clear patches followed by sparse stretches of ice that wound their way up the mountain at an angle that curved up and across its face. And slowly they progressed along it. Ayrian, with his great wings, helped the two make it through the many areas that would have been insurmountable otherwise. However, as they entered the foggy shroud that loomed over the whole of the lofty precipice like a great white blanket, the advantage disappeared, and a new arena where no one knew what was ahead lay before them.

The ground beneath their feet began to gather larger amounts of water, feeling cool at first to tired, burning muscles, turning hard as it slowly turned to a frozen sheet. The air thinned in tune with the freezing of the land, and pauses for reprieve became increasingly necessary. When they stopped, which was with growing frequency, Xith and Vilmos brought the cowls of their cloaks close against their faces and gathered numb hands into their lower folds, the cold only then seeming to bite into their skin. Ayrian was the sole member of the group that had little difficulty coping in the extremes; the cold had little effect on him, and to him the air seemed fresher at higher altitudes.

Snow far more abundant than the ice replaced it; and just when the path was completely lost to their eyes, they were surprised to find that they were near the peak. Temporarily, the heavy weariness faded away; and they charged up the sharp rise toward the summit. Hearts and minds raced, for it seemed that the journey was finally at an end. Vilmos slipped and fell twice in the steep, quick ascent, nearly slamming his knee into a sharp rock one time, and the other nearly falling face first onto a similar dark, forbidding stone. The exhausted trio stood still and silent when at last they attained the mighty crown of Solstice Mountain—a jagged pinnacle of ice, snow, and rock gathered in a foggy shroud—unsure where to proceed, for here their combined knowledge ended. Xith had never been here before although he knew that this was where they must go, nor had Ayrian; and Vilmos was confused. Vilmos had said nothing during the latter stage of the climb; his mind had been filled with shadows and lurking specters from the distant past. He knew this place from somewhere yet couldn’t quite grasp how.

The boy looked from the Watcher to Ayrian, back and forth, back and forth. He began to trudge through the snow toward the steeply descending cliff ahead of him, drawn by a seemingly nonchalant hand. The other two eventually followed. A barely visible circular platform void of snow and ice hung at the very fringe of the dark, gray cliff. The platform was plain and unremarkable except for three small sets of stairs in the middle that led upward and outward, ending in open air.

Xith began to climb the stairs but Vilmos stopped him with a wavering hand.

“That is the fools’ gambit,” came the peculiarly familiar voice from within him, “we must wait.”

While the boy crouched to his haunches and settled in to wait, Xith tossed a nervous glare at Ayrian and then they did likewise. The sky about them slowly turned deeper shades of gray and then became utter black. Night settled in about them; and as it brought about a shift in temperatures, the haze began to thin and a clear, moonless night with no clouds to mar it tardily appeared. Below the platform’s perch a thick blanket of white glistened, looking as if one could walk out across it to the neighboring mountain peaks. Above, as moonrise came, the stars twinkled and shone; it was a full autumn moon that sadly looked down on the unlikely trio. From high above, two others carefully watched; unseen, they studied each in turn. The presence did not astound or confound them; there was no quandary in the arrival. The two were known to them, yet it was the third who distressed them.

“The time to act is now!” intoned the older of the two.

“Yes, the waiting is at last over.”

“Go, do what you must.”

“Yes, master,” said Amir as he disappeared, to reappear on the platform below in the midst of those gathered there.

The strange and powerful-looking newcomer slowly withdrew his sword from its embellished scabbard; the double-edged blade was as long as Vilmos was tall and finely honed. It cheerfully reflected the light of the sad autumn moon. Ayrian was about to react when a gentle hand steadied his arm. The birdman cocked his head in his odd fashion, turning to regard the hand on his shoulder; there was a distant, knowing stare in the eyes of its owner. Ayrian and Xith studied the great one before them; the description they vaguely recalled from ancient lore although they had never personally met the son of the titan king.

“We seek entrance into your city. The time is now, Sentinel!” issued the voice from Vilmos.

As before, Amir knew the voice but not the face of the third; the voice he recalled from a distant time, a time of strife and turmoil. Having eyes that could see into this realm and beyond into shadow heightened his other senses. A sense of trust flowed through his mind concerning the first two; still, the other worried him. He perceived only an empty space in his mind where feelings for the third should have been, yet it was the latter that had known the ancient name of invocation. He had somehow expected this strange boy, who was not a boy, to know the commanding word; so his suspicion did not dwindle, it only grew. He sheathed his weapon, and in the next instant all four stood in the audience room of the Cloud City. The audience chamber was a long hall with a high vaulted ceiling shaped in the symmetry of three waning moons and in each of the three circular corners of the chamber stood a mural. Together they told a story of the world’s past, and they seemed to change with the passing of time. Noman let them drink in the ambiance before he blighted the air with spoken words. He saw the tension in Amir, yet said nothing to allow him to relax; the time was here at last, and now the sentinel must forever be at the ready.

“Welcome to the City of the Sky, Shaman of the Great Northern Reaches, Lord of the Gray Eagle Clan, and lastly, the wanderer who has come home. I am Noman, guardian of the lost children of the Father, master of the City of the Sky, and my companion is Amir, a child of the Blood Wars. Your arrival here marks the beginning—”

“—of the end.” interrupted Vilmos. “Very dark times are ahead; the world will fall to utter chaos. There can be no stopping it, for even if you tried you could not, for it must be. Soon the world will be divided as chaos begins. The armies grow, the beasts emerge from their burrows, the dark forces reborn will incite the kingdoms to war and to civil strife, and the kingdoms will fall one by one. All civilization will be laid to ruin.

“Out of the chaos will come an ending of the old and a beginning of the new. For now we must seek out the child of the coming, then the gathering will truly begin. Are you surprised? I too know the words of the prophecy. Prophecies come and go, old man.”

Noman stared down at the boy in wonder.

“True, true, all true, time will be the judge. Where is the other? Did you not find her?” The latter was directed at Xith.

“Yes, I found her, though I fear we must hurry. They have already found us once.”

The guardian’s face turned suddenly grim and he spoke again but his words were lost in the echoes of the tremendous hall, but to Xith it sounded as if he had said, “Yes, yes, and many, many more along the way.”

Chapter Six

Feelings of relief spread rapidly throughout the group when the city came into view. The sun, surprisingly, had only begun its descent towards the horizon. The city honor guard hastened them to the gates, where Chancellor Van’te welcomed them to the city. A cheer arose from the men as Valam announced that they were to be assigned quarters and then released to wander the city as they would. He also promised to ensure that the city’s taverns flowed with ale until the last man passed out.

A small contingent of honor guard, those who had accompanied Valam to Imtal, waited patiently for their instructions. They were still mounted and seated quietly. Valam was just about to mount when a soft voice reached him.

“Lord Valam, may I have a word with you?” quietly, respectfully intoned one of the mounted guard.

“Why, of course,” said Valam. Chancellor Van’te was quick to whisper a name in the prince’s ear. Valam smoothly appended, “Bowman Ylsa.”

“I don’t know if you have noticed, my lord, but I am not a man,” the woman spoke kindly, not harshly as she dismounted. Ylsa unbundled her hair and let it flow long. “I prefer the title of Archer if you do not mind.”

“I— I— I—” stuttered Valam.

The chancellor whispered in his ear again, “Strong spirited, isn’t she?” The chancellor scrutinized Ylsa closely now, smiling.

“Yes, yes indeed,” said Valam louder than he wished in reply to Van’te’s statement.

“Good,” said Ylsa smiling, “have a pleasant evening, my lord, prince.”

Ylsa turned and walked away, leading her mount behind her.

“She is a Bowman First Rank,” intoned the chancellor happily, “Do you wish to know more? I will gladly inquire for you.”

“No, Chancellor Van’te. I do not wish to know more. Thank you.”

The chancellor smiled a devilish smile, knowing the frustrated tone of his lord prince. He would tell Isador of this one; perhaps she could spark an interest as a concubine, forcing him to a wife of standing.

The palace proper was a short distance away; and once within its guarded walls, Valam felt he had truly come home. Quashan’ palace wasn’t as grand as Imtal’s. It didn’t have grand gardens stretching through numerous courtyards or sanctioned council halls. It was a simple four-towered castle with a meager courtyard, a fair-sized armory, and a modest stable.

The gatehouse held, but a single shielding portcullis and inner rampart had only recently been rebuilt. The palace proper was a separate building, two stories in height, that sat squarely in the center of the rear bastion. Still, Valam admired its simple beauty as he waited for a stable boy to retrieve his mount, telling the boy to make certain that he had rubbed the horse down fully before he turned in for the night.

Chancellor Van’te quickly had hot baths drawn for Valam, Seth, and Father Jacob, insisting that they bathe and rest before they held any type of council. Introductions, although extremely cordial, were very brief.

When they were suitably rested, the chancellor returned. He ushered them downstairs, telling them someone was waiting for them, an old acquaintance. At the same time, Seth and Valam thought, Adrina, and asked where she was. Van’te assured them it was not any one Valam knew, rather an old friend of Seth’s, which perplexed both Seth and Valam.

“Why all the mystery?” asked Valam.

“Would you spoil an old man’s fun?” asked Chancellor Van’te.

“And mine!” responded another.

Seth recognized the voice, or at least he thought he recognized the voice, though it could not be.

“Yes, your hearing is fine, Brother Seth, first of the order of the Red, protector of the Queen-Mother.”

“But how?” asked Seth in disbelief.

“I am quite tough myself,” said the man behind the voice, as he stepped out of the shadows to embrace Seth.

Valam was totally lost; he had never seen this stranger before, nor had Van’te mentioned him in any of the messages to his father.

“The Great-Father must still have plans for me.”

Valam fixed Chancellor Van’te with angry eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He only arrived here early last week. Your group had already departed when the message reached Imtal Palace.”

“How is it that we missed your messenger on the road?” asked Valam skeptically.

“Honest, my lord, he went via Veter and then on to Imtal.”

“It is truly great to see you again!” exclaimed Seth.

Valam was still confused. The man appeared to be of the same stature as Seth, the skin color was the same, the hair, the eyes, yet he seemed to lack something. Valam couldn’t quite place what it was. When formal introductions were finally made, Valam and Van’te excused themselves to allow the two friends to catch up on the past.

Seth and Cagan talked long into the night. Seth first explained his experiences in Imtal and then Cagan told how he had come to meet Chancellor Van’te. He spoke of the blind man who had found and befriended him and mended his broken leg and treated his wounds. The saltwater had fouled the wounds and nearly rotted the leg. Poison was festering and spreading through his body. He had almost lost his leg and his life, but the old gentleman had been able to save them both.

Afterwards, there was nothing more the two could say, so they retired to their beds, seeking to catch as much sleep as possible before the sun rose high in the heavens. As Seth lay in bed, he thought back to the last time he had seen Cagan. It had been just before the ship went down. His mind jumped to the letter Cagan had given him in those few frantic moments in which the Queen-Mother spoke of what he must do and why. No matter the cost, the two must survive. Seth had learned of his fate that day and it had carried him through experiences he would not have endured otherwise.

His mind exploded as the rationalization hit him; he now understood the Queen-Mother’s cryptic message. The Father had already seen to their needs. He had been blind in his thinking about Galan; if his mind had been open, he would have known that the Father would not have let them fail. He had denied fate and tempted destiny. Galan should have been allowed to pass; it was her time and now she was gone forever. She did not even rest in the house of the Father.

Images flashed through his mind. Seth could not deny the feelings of guilt. His thoughts were scattered to and fro. He tried to close his tired eyes and find solace in sleep, yet the face came to him and would not allow him to do so. As he lay staring at the ceiling, another face danced within his thoughts and even in sleep the two faces found him.

Valam had not been idle the previous night; he and the good chancellor stayed up well into the early morning hours discussing plans for the camp to be set up near the coast, the progress of arms production, the acquisition of supplies, and many other things. The rumors of continued unrest in the Minors wandered into their conversation from time to time though the chancellor seemed to think the rumors were idle chatter. Valam was inclined to believe him. They had many contacts in each of the kingdoms and if something were really taking place, they would know.

Over the course of the next several days, the base camp was constructed, and training and recruitment began. Once the camp was set up and supplies and arms were distributed, Valam’s fears concerning the other kingdoms disappeared. Runners were sent to all areas of the kingdom, including the major cities of the north and east. Valam intentionally sent two sets of runners to Imtal and within days those that had been gathering around the city and those that were filling its guest houses, inns and streets, quickly raced southward.

Word of mouth spread fastest through the countryside and after a time Valam sent out no more runners. He allowed rumors and excitement to do the work that it would have taken his runners a fortnight to do. The camp, which was already of generous proportions, housing a massive contingent that represented nearly a third of the Imtal garrison, a select stock from the garrison outposts along the route from Imtal to Quashan’, and a healthy number of mercenaries from the Free Cities, nearly doubled in seven days, yet it wasn’t only soldiers and mercenaries that joined the encampment. Peddlers, merchants, and hustlers of all sorts descended upon the camp. Valam found that he had his hands full just controlling the crowds.

Perimeter patrols were set up around the camp along with a continuous watch. Controlled checkpoints were erected at the four ordinal points of the compass. Mounted patrols rode constantly, surveying the area the soldiers now referred to as Peddler Town, a place where nearly everything that could be bought or sold in the Free Cities was readily available. A fence had to be erected around the training grounds to hold back the spectators and this seemed to be the thing that set Valam on fire.

A decree went forth written in Chancellor Van’te’s own hand. Those that defied the patrols would no longer be set free or levied with a simple fine. A mandatory sentence of servitude was called for—service in the army of Great Kingdom until the transgressors had fulfilled their obligation to the state. Suddenly, and without much surprise, Peddler Town quieted, the patrols no longer had difficulties twenty-four hours a day, and the training grounds were vacated during practice hours. A disturbance happened now and then, but only a few times a day, which Valam counted as a divine gift.

Chapter Seven

Beyond the grand audience chamber lay a central athenaeum, gathering halls, dining halls, kitchens, rows of bed chambers, open air courtyards and many, many other chambers of various kinds, yet it was the bathing pool that drew in the tired, grimy travelers. Boyish airs returned to Vilmos as he playfully swam around the large oval pool, and Ayrian and Xith watched with surprised interest.

Hidden things stirred within the boy; and they awaited the time of their further arousal, which could still be years away. This first day in the mystical city passed as a blur before their eyes, and none would be able to recall it in the days or weeks that followed.

Lacking a discernible day or night, the Cloud City truly seemed outside of time; and for the most part throughout the many days that followed their arrival, Vilmos was left to his own whims while the shaman and the lord spent most of their time in heated debates with the master of the Cloud City, Noman. On the other hand, the gentle warrior, Amir, was free-roaming; and, as he wasn’t the sort to enter into the discussions, he spent most of the time with Vilmos.

Vilmos was intrigued by the goliath and his play with the sword, watching with earnest interest during the periods when Amir trained, imagining the shadow dancing around the nimble warrior. Often he would laugh, shriek, and even applaud. Xith, however, did not spend all of his time with Noman; he also made time to continue the boy’s training and education.

Vilmos was more curious than ever about magic and its origins. He came to realize, in his experience in the Cloud City, that it was not evil as he had been led to believe in the past. Xith also did this to see how far the black priests had corrupted the boy’s thinking and if this twisting could be undone.

Outside, beyond the sanctified walls, a fortnight had passed though within the City a mere seven days had taken place. The moon was again full and the night sky was cloudless and full of brightly shining stars although those within did not know this. Amir had paced nervously throughout most of the day; and now as the others ate the evening meal in the grand dining hall beneath the wide sphere of the central dome, he again roamed in front of a nearby window.

A decision had been made the previous day to leave the city of the sky, and this would be the group’s last meal within the great, protective walls. Among the many thoughts that disturbed the agile warrior’s thoughts, this was the one that played most heavily, for he did not wish to venture beyond the sanctuary the great walls afforded.

“What is wrong with him?” asked Vilmos, indicating the solemn figure of Amir.

“He is troubled, that is all; it will pass,” replied Noman.

“Eat, Vilmos, eat. We have much work to do, many studies to review,” urged Xith. “Did you forget your promise?”

Vilmos frowned and returned his attention to his plate.

“What do you think will come of it?” asked Amir, making the long trek back to the table with slow precision as he spoke, “I mean, what will it all bring, for I can sense nothing but futility. It seems that the past will repeat itself and I cannot swallow the weight of it. I will not let it replay master, I can not.”

Noman smiled, a generous smile that the newcomers were beginning to equate with the guardian’s twisted sense of the just and the unjust.

“No single person can hold the weight of such a burden in the palm of his hand and be expected not to buckle beneath it, yet—” the savvy guardian paused purposefully, gripping clenched hands into tight fists, and all eyes turned to meet his unwavering gaze, especially those of the perceptive boy, “— yet, if we all perform a simple feat, such as twisting our hands at the wrist and turning them palms up and fingers spread wide—just like this—”

Noman demonstrated.

“We can reach out—go ahead, reach out—and intertwining our fingers, one within the other, we can lock them together and thus we can all, leaving no single one without his share, bear the weight of the burden. None of the united will buckle under the shared weight.”

As Noman finished, his voice trailing off and fading into echoes that wandered the hall, the air seemed alive with energy; and by way of the link of hands that circled around the table, it surged through the collective group. Upon later reflection, that one fleeting moment would be the shaman’s fondest recollection of the time spent within the mystical city, and the spell of bonding woven in that same instant would cling to the hearts of the other listeners with an equal sense of affection for a long, long time. Yet even the influence of such potency could not protect the ill-fated group from what happened next.

“Master, they come!” yelled Amir as he drew his sword and leaped from the platform where the group was seated to the large open floor and then back again in a single, fluid seesaw motion.

As if in answer, the walls and ceiling of the chamber imploded, sending debris cascading in all directions. Noman quickly managed a defensive barrier, a great magical shield, and most of the debris fell harmlessly away. Open to the night sky, the chamber was a gaping hole of emptiness that gazed up into the dark night sky, and with the darkness came a bitter cold that swept through the chamber. A figure stood apart from the others, away from Noman’s protective shield, gathered in a shimmering shroud of light that shifted and fluttered as if it were a part of the very air that the figure breathed. A few moments passed, no more than a collection of sporadic heartbeats for the onlookers, but it became clear who the figure was; and it wasn’t shock or dismay that traversed the many deep-set lines stemming from forehead to chin but fear, simple fear.

Beneath the protection of Noman’s magical dome, the four watched and waited. Amir had his sword held at the ready, Xith yanked in the energies from around him, shaping the wild magic to his own whims, and Ayrian flexed his wings, preparing to act on his notion to launch into the sky. None of the four could have predicted what was to occur next, not even the wisest among them who had seen the many paths the future held and followed the many turnings. A new branching had broken from the main path moments before. The dark shapes stirred in the night sky, shifting amongst the stars, moving closer until they blocked out the light from above as they clustered around the fallen roof. The whole chamber became enshrouded in shadows with the exception of the glowing figure and the translucent barrier Noman maintained. A new path was being shaped.

“Here me, O Dark Ones! You shall return to your masters either in defeat or victory this day, but let it be known that I, Dalphan, the Wanderer-Reborn, He that in his madness was once Rapir the Black, dissolve the dark pact with his brothers. My spirit will not rest until you return to darkness and then, only then, at the last shall I return the watcher to the gate—for all time.”

The warning not heeded, the servants of the darkness continued to descend from the sky. They were not ready to return to the void, and no single being would make them return without the cost of their dark lives. In their eyes, the four mortals before them and one who had once been a favored son were no match for a dark army that cried out at its own rebirth. Mrak, the wraith king, came to the fore, his shadow-like face seeming oddly saddened—if sadness was an emotion such creatures were capable of feeling. Dalphan motioned for the others not to attack as Mrak approached.

“Why, master?” came the raspy, whispered voice, “The plan was flawless.”

“I am not what I once was. I have changed. I remember the past, and I cannot let it be replayed. Leave now, my friend, and I will spare your life. There are places in this world as yet untouched and they could be yours.”

“I cannot,” said Mrak sadly, “The world of darkness and the world of light feed off of one another. Where there are souls I must go. You know this—and yet you entreat with such folly.”

“You must!” the other disagreed.

“I am sorry,” said Mrak, his features growing cold and rigid as he spoke. Mrak pointed a long sinewy finger down at Xith and Ayrian, saying in the same raspy, half-whispered voice, “I should have claimed your spirits when I had the chance!”

Mrak ascended back into the ranks of the servants; and poised there behind his kind, he looked down with true sadness at his old master. He was sure he would not endure this night, yet he was also sure his master would not either.

In waves, the creatures of darkness and dread descended like a grave blanket to the floor of the dome, with the more powerful wraiths lingering at the rear. Although his thoughts fixed on a distant figure, Amir rushed to cut off the first such group, hags of the night, creatures with corporeal bodies, pawns of darkness. He was lightning with his sword, lashing out repeatedly, ripping clean the rotting flesh from the beasts; and each time he struck, one of the creatures fell. He surged forward through their ranks, cutting a straight path towards the one who waited for him. The trapped soul within the hag was different from those of the wraiths or the other dark beings gathered before them, for it was not entirely twisted and bent towards evil ends. With the corporeal form the soul was offered a place of refuge from torment and within this form there remained bits and pieces of what had once been individual discernment, and this caused them to both fear and greet the return to darkness with an unsettling expectancy that chilled Amir.

Dazzling clashes of cobalt and vermilion light filled the chamber and reflected from the remains of the once proud walls as energies struck opposing magic shields. Only through deep concentration that required all his will did Noman maintain the shield against the combined onslaught. The masses, hags of the night, demons lesser and greater, specters and wraiths, continued to pour in through the broken dome crowding hungrily into the large space overhead and onto the floor of the dome. Behind them all, even behind the wraith king, far, far out, looking on, floated the nameless beast, the marshaler of darkness, mortal adversary of Amir the White, right hand of Sathar the Dark.

As each new wave of assault opened, it created another hole in the shield Noman continually replaced and refortified. Noman cringed and shrank back with each new bombardment. The cloistered demons were the heavy-handed dealers of magic for the dark forces; their shelter was largely the masses of their brethren crowded before them. A few among them did maintain protective barriers, but these were the lesser among them. They struck out with the forces of fire and negation, energies only they could interweave. From under the protective umbrella of Noman’s shield, Xith struck back with his own offensive, causing even greater clashes of magic to rock the chamber. He understood the life force the demons held and the powers they tapped, and he used this to his fullest advantage. The demons of the beast always struck out when their powers reached the maximum; and as they prepared to release this massive amount of force, Xith attacked, dulling the release and usually destroying the recipient in the process. Yet as one disappeared, another would take its place. Closer and closer the hordes of death pushed. Xith’s hands were a frenzy of scattered movements, tossing out a wave pattern of energy around them, hoping to hold the creatures at bay until his friends could all react. Ayrian had paused only a moment to seek the wildness from within. His talons became rapiers that tore through the opponents, his wings beat at the air, dancing him in and out of the ranks of the beast; and he quickly pursued Amir, until the two were poised directly in the midst of the enemy ranks.

“I gave you the chance to leave. You should have taken it!” said the wanderer as he appeared next to the startled wraith king.

“Master NooOOOOoooo,” came the strangled cry from Mrak as he perished, instantaneously. The mighty wraith king had fallen like a child as Dalphan had devoured the negative energies of his life.

If there had been observers looking down from the gray canopy of the night sky, the great, domeless hall would have seemed a bowl filled with black pearls amongst which twinkled cheerless sapphires and hapless rubies, yet there were no such observers looking down. And to those that looked up, the hall seemed a shambles of fallen stone; and obscured by the dark horde in front of them, the gray sky was of little consequence. Each burst of evil, red against the protective shield that shimmered in ever-dwindling shades of yellow, brought evident pain to his face as the gifted guardian strained under the energies; and when he could no longer withstand them, the shield faltered for an instant and Noman fell to the ground in exhaustion.

“I cannot keep it up much longer under this pressure,” he shouted to Xith. “You must eliminate the attacks to our rear!”

Expeditiously, Xith diverted his energies, and the change appeared to work, the shield strengthened and Noman sighed in relief. The beast and Amir locked eyes but could not close in on each other. Amir had waited centuries for the day when he would gain his revenge, as had the other. Amir increased his assault, wielding his blade with greater speed than he had ever attained before, and its edge, lethally-hewn, claimed many of the dark in the heated moments that followed. Having a difficult time keeping up with the pace Amir set, Ayrian was being pushed backward and downward by the horde of wraiths around him. The area he had been maneuvering in closed; and he was forced to the defensive, blocking and parrying, waiting for a moment when he could make a new thrust.

Behind the lines of wraiths a new force loomed closer. The hideously disfigured faces were the cause of Noman’s agony and the reason his shield was growing less stable with each passing second. The magic of darkness was second nature to such creatures; they enjoyed a good fight and watching puny men squirm under their might. Their magic was black and evil, and extremely potent. Energies odd and ancient created explosions that rocked Noman’s shield and sent him to his knees in recovery. This was the magic of the shadow demon, an ancient kin to the greater demons of the nether plane.

The marshaler of darkness and the grim warrior locked eyes again as they moved toward each other. Ayrian saw Amir’s destination and became frantic; he had to stop him before they engaged one another. Amir’s strength was needed elsewhere; the Beast could wait. Ayrian pumped his wings wildly. Raking one of the hags with his claw, he sent it tumbling into Amir, sending them both for a fall to one of the lower platforms. Dazed only for an instant, Amir stood and then he did a thing that momentarily surprised the eagle lord; he used hidden powers to carry him upward into the fray.

Noman’s shield disintegrated as it was struck by blow upon blow, and he fell to the ground in agony. Fatigued and drawn, Noman recovered his feet. This time, it took considerable effort for him to restore his thoughts and reconstruct the protective shield. He wheeled around to face the demons as they stalked closer from the skies above; and raising a hand to them, he cursed their name. It was as the mystic did this that a spontaneous realization came to him—there were reasons for this dark night’s visitation other than ending their four lives—under the strain of the battle, the thought slipped away.

A thunderous explosion broke through the cacophony of battle as the wanderer’s rage struck one of the lesser demons, shattering its paltry shield with one passing thought; with the next he annihilated it. He set upon the greater and lesser demons each in turn; none could stand singly against him, and they were forced to turn their combined attentions toward him, leaving Xith and Noman with a moment’s breathing space. Ayrian could no longer keep Amir and the Beast apart; their courses were set, and without the warrior’s support, the wraiths closed in on his lone form. Fully encircled, Ayrian was too heavily engaged to seek them out. He now had his own concerns; yet in the distance, he heard them, the clang of steel striking steel resounded, adding a fresh, new sound to the din of the battlefield and, although Ayrian could no longer see either of them, he knew they battled because he could hear the tremendous blows.

Repeatedly Amir thrust out with his double-edged blade, the attack and counter-attacks made with the greatest dexterity and skill that he could manage. Whereas at first the creature could only hold his ground as Amir set upon him, the Beast seemed to feed off his attacks and grow stronger as Amir grew weaker. Now Amir was having to defend as often as attack and this confounded him. A presence edged closer and closer. Amir felt it approach in his mind. Yet just as the dark creature prepared to lash out at him from behind, it moved away. The Beast nodded his head in an onerous gesture and Amir understood—this was their fight; alone they would either be victorious or be defeated.

A gaping hole appeared suddenly in Noman’s shield; he could see it in the image he held in the window of his mind except that he did not know how it had come to be. A pristine bolt of electricity that raised the hair on the back of his neck as it struck through the opening, nearly slicing his head off. He sighed heavily in relief; it had missed him. He quickly worked to restore the gap in the shield. The intensity of the concentration blurred his sight, and he did not see the shaman fall to the ground beside him. The bolt had caught his companion full in the chest, and the pain caused him to writhe on the ground and scream out. Arms that sought to lift crumbled beneath onerous weight, legs that should have hastened their support to their faltering companions went limp, and the stench of burning flesh flooded into air that had already been stagnated by a number of pungent odors, yet the resolute man did not succumb; he struggled, he resisted, he cried out.

Reacting to the screams, Ayrian turned about abruptly, folded his wings and dove. Driven on and sustained by the arousal of the magic within him, the shaman, obviously disoriented, found the tenacity to stand. He did so with apparent grogginess and sluggishness, motioning for Ayrian to find the source of the attack. From his vantage point, Ayrian quickly found it; the shimmering outline of the darkest of the forces of evil huddled all by itself in the corner was easily spotted. He had thought the dark ones fought with too much bravery; usually they held a cowardice in their eyes, and now that he knew the source of their bravery, he would end it. The shadow was too deeply involved in the melee to see the precipitous approach and the Gray Eagle Lord gained this advantage as he struck the creature from behind. Yet his talons had little effect on it; and hungrily it turned to look at him, raking him with cold, efficient claws as if to swat away a bothersome bug. The eagle lord’s knee-jerk response was a high-pitched squeal that erupted from deep within him, the last sound to come to the field as the clamor of confusion and discord suddenly ebbed, and the arena grew seemingly still. Disconcerted, Noman looked up in awed surprise from his meditation, yet for the weary shaman the unsettling lull brought an unexpected repercussion—he staggered and fell, stumbling at first to his knees and then slipping to his haunches. He would rest a moment then rejoin the battle.

Perplexed by the stillness, Noman scoured the dark skies above them, searching futilely for a thing he would not find. Momentarily he fixed on the forms of Amir and the nameless beast; he knew the joy Amir must be feeling at the waiting’s long end. Still, their fight was not the reason for the sudden shift in balance of power. His focus moved gradually to Ayrian and when he saw the shadow he understood, or at least he thought he did— the shadow demons had finally been summoned—the guardian was surely absent from the great gate, a thing that needed to be corrected if the forces of good were to survive. Ayrian had felt the icy hand slice downward and reach inside him, pulling with it in its retreat part of the energies of his life. A numbness radiated outward from the wound, tingling his clawed hand as it reached it, and then his whole winged arm fell limp at his side. Furious, knowing his time would be soon with only one arm to hold the shadow at bay, the proud lord, unwilling to accept defeat, lashed out more fervently, hoping he could lead the vile creature to where Xith could attack it, thus making it pay for its dark deed. Yet he did not know that the shaman was too weak to defend himself. All hope seemed lost, the forces of good would surely perish in their weakened state; and for an instant it seemed as if the dark forces were reveling in their sure victory. The ancient diviner was growing weak and his powers were near exhaustion; the powerful shaman was dreadfully wounded and might not be able to return to the battle; and the Gray Eagle Lord had just been dealt a crippling blow. Yet it was just then, when the battle seemed so near an end, that its outcome was forever changed and uncertainty returned to the field.

A cry rose through the air, long and powerful, the cry of blood.

“Brother, this is not your struggle!”

Four saw the figure that approached and knowing his name cursed, a multitude of darkness rejoiced. Noman now knew the one who held the guardian of the gate at bay.

“But it is—it is!” said the other.

Dalphan turned and met the cold stare of Sathar the Dark. Noman saw a test of time in the locked gazes.

“Why?” said the other with a voice deeply hurt and sad. “Why have you turned your back on us, brother? You yourself made the pact and created the cycle.”

Dalphan only answered with his own cold stare.

The voice set the shadow off balance and Ayrian seized the opportunity to lunge at it. He probed deep within the shadow with both his poised talons, severing the threads of the beast’s negative energy from the inside out with a careful twisting of the energies that were within him. In a burst of evil yellow light the shadow winked from existence, hurled back to the plane it had been sent from. Ayrian inhaled a much-deserved breath of satisfaction; and then, as gravity took its course, he plummeted from the dark sky.

Two figures regarded each other for an instant more. Dalphan was the first to strike out. A sphere of brilliant blue-white light enshrouded his body, radiating, pulsating, when the power grew to its strongest in a dazzling array that when sent racing towards his foe turned night to day as opposing forces met in full fury. Seemingly meaningless, the other struggles around the crumbled dome ceased, and all eyes turned to watch the two with anticipation.

Sathar changed form and grew into a colossus, the shape of death incarnate, the shape of the most ancient demon the darkness had ever conjured. The demon seemed to smile as it enveloped Sathar and found life once again. Its misshapen form was a mass of wings and torso covered with a multitude of arms and legs, blocking out the light of the moon and stars from the sky while the tips of its leviathan wings beat against the edges of the dome sending shards of stone showering downward. With each such beat, a blast of gale-force winds kicked up dirt and rocks, even the large boulders that had toppled from the midsection of the great wall, into the air. The demon reached out with its barbed hands and buried Dalphan’s small form within them, wresting the other’s life with the weight of its grasp.

A howling, maddened cackle arose; shape-shifting was a skill given first to Dalphan. He easily transformed, slipping gradually through the demon’s barbed hands. At first only a long, sinewy tail was visible, but then a large caped head eased upward. A giant serpent slithered from the demon’s grasp, wrapping its way around the huge misshapen mass as it did so. With its deft coil, the serpent constricted while it wound its way up toward the great head of the demon. The snake hissed as it stood poised ready to strike, jaws spread wide, exposing its heinous fangs. A mocking laugh issued from the fiend and again it changed forms, shifting into the image of beauty and love in its purest form.

Dalphan looked into the eyes of his beloved and although he knew it was not her, he could not strike. The head of the serpent took on an inhuman face and tears issued from its inhuman eyes. Slowly, the face gathered mass, shifting back and forth between features, until it stopped and focused. The countenance Dalphan chose was not that of a terrestrial being, nor was it a creature of darkness, but that of the All-Father himself. The dark forces cowered in awe; their leader was so unnerved that he regained his true form. Dalphan’s macabre demeanor drifted away and his mood turned to joy as he crushed the life from his brother; yet the dark one would not be defeated so easily. He knew his time here was spent—in another place and time, he could continue the struggle. He licked the saliva dripping from his lips and bit down upon the serpent, releasing the force of his soul upon Dalphan. Raw power exploded in the air, severing what remained of the dome and its supporting walls. In a flash of overbearing light, the two vanished, and in his mind Noman heard the clatter of the gate, a low, grinding rumble, as it snapped shut.

Slowly, very slowly, those assembled dishearteningly rejoined the attack; the forces of darkness were trapped now on this plane. The Beast and Amir found each other once again. They paused momentarily to let each other regather their wits; neither would take advantage of an unfair situation. This was a fight of honor between them. During the long struggle they had come to know each other; they were not much different. The child who had chosen light and the one who had chosen darkness had grown to respect each other.

Alone, Ayrian, Xith, and Noman stood on the platform and waited. Their thoughts wandered momentarily to the fallen form of a small boy, which lay partially buried beneath the rubble around them. The dark forces besieged them again. Although their number had considerably dwindled since their first attack, their glee was now disenchanted, and they could no longer draw upon the powers of that other dark world. Noman stole a moment of hesitation to touch a healing hand to Ayrian, enabling him to return to the sky upon fleet wings. Like Xith, he only had the power of binding, yet this was all that was necessary. Afterwards he looked to the shaman. Only three of the demons remained and with unspoken approval Xith lashed out, immediately taking the first’s shield, which was weak and did not last long. The others quickly retaliated. Their energies buzzed against Noman’s skillfully balanced shield while he waited for the attack to fade so he could join Xith. In a surge of power, together Xith and Noman destroyed the last two demons; then, it seemed, only the wraiths remained in opposition.

Ayrian, in spite of the only partially healed wound, was taking his toll on the wraiths; however, it was clear that without aid he would not last. The numbers would soon overwhelm him. Xith and Noman came quickly to his aid. The diminished numbers of wraiths could not withstand the combined attacks, and in defeat they were forced to retreat. Another force remained hidden and obscure in the shadows. Only one of their kind had fallen, but they were determined not to rejoin the dispute. They had been promised things that could not possibly be delivered now, and they no longer feared their master’s wrath. They had freedom if only they could escape, and escape is what they sought. They slipped into the stillness of the night. They did not howl at their newfound freedom, but they did gloat in it. The nameless beast readily followed; victory or defeat would have to wait.

The dark wraiths turned back on Ayrian for a brief moment to surmise the strength of the weakened soul. A captured soul to feed upon would be a prize to relish, yet without guidance they were hesitant, and it was this hesitation that defeated them. Cries of surprise and agony rang out as the light of early morning dawned. Ayrian pursued the routed creatures until he was sure they would not return, then slowly he drifted back to the platform. His body ached with fatigue and pain as he slumped down beside the battered shaman. The wise diviner touched restraining hands to the weary two as they sought to rise upon unsteady limbs.

“This is their fight,” he whispered, yet even as Noman spoke these words, the strange battle was coming to an end.

The dark figure fled, leaving behind a confused Amir.

“Am I then finished here?” asked Amir, turning to greet the diviner’s eyes with an expectant stare, “Is it time?”

“No, not yet, my old friend. This was only a stage in the momentous struggle in which we play out only a small part, yet that part is not yet complete,” replied Noman.

“What of Dalphan and of the boy?”

Noman held back a show of emotion from his weary face. Sweat mixed with soot trickled down his cheeks in thick lines that outlined the scowling and troubled countenance. “Come, we must go. The city is as weary as I, and as I have said, this is merely the beginning. We have other concerns before us now, chief among which are rest and recuperation.”

Noman looked up to the dark sky. “Hurry now. Sathar may return at any time.”

“Sathar is defeated,” said Amir.

“Trust me when I say the fight has only begun and that Sathar lives—because he does. Dalphan fought a projection of his dark brother’s will nothing more.” Noman urged Xith and Ayrian to their feet, then turned back to Amir as he cast the orb to the ground. “Hurry now,” he told them. “There is little time and much to do.”

The four stepped into the spinning circle of light and disappeared.

Chapter Eight

The training grounds were thoroughly saturated, covered from end to end with what might have looked like thousands of tiny ants from high above. A viewing platform had been erected and raised high. It was from here that Valam surveyed the lines of riders, hunters, pikemen, swordsmen, bowmen, and shield bearers.

“How goes the training, Prince Valam?” asked Chancellor Van’te.

“It goes well. Within the week we shall be ready to depart. The troops will have more than sufficient training by then; besides the winter snows are gone and they grow more restless with each passing day.”

“Yes, I can see,” answered Chancellor Van’te as he looked down at the group occupied in a match of crossed swords.

“It is all in fun. I think I will go join them. It is time I showed Brother Seth how to really handle a weapon.”

“My lord, which is Ylsa’s formation?” asked the chancellor in a fluid, casual manner.

“Third column from the—” Valam stopped, catching himself in a blunder.

Van’te held back a laugh as the prince descended from the platform and crossed the field to join Evgej and Seth’s group.

“There you are, Chancellor Van’te,” said Keeper Martin as he appeared at the top of the balcony. “Father Jacob and I were just discussing a few things. We want your opinion also. I think we should go back to the planning room.”

Chancellor Van’te sent for horses and the two, with a small escort, returned to Quashan’. The keeper enjoyed the short stint in the saddle although he would have preferred to return in the same manner he had arrived. It would have been quicker and much more efficient.

During the brief ride, Van’te talked with the keeper only sporadically; mostly he pondered his own concerns. He was glad that Prince Valam had come home although he didn’t like the idea of his leaving so soon. He had been silently siding with Isador and King Andrew. It was time for the prince to marry and settle down. He had held high hopes that Valam would find a suitable wife when he returned, but now the plans of courtship and wedding would have to be put on hold.

The two walked quietly toward the great hall, which had been converted to a planning room. A man of great wisdom, the chancellor now sought to anticipate what Father Jacob and Keeper Martin wished to discuss. He plotted his options and his responses accordingly. He noted how strangely quiet the palace was for mid-day. It was not the center of the activities in South Province any more. Most of the pages and guards had been dispatched to the camp to keep everything in order there. The chancellor sighed. The majority of those that remained in the palace were servants that tended to cleaning and upkeep. He rather missed the bustling days. The camp was too disorderly for him. In the palace, he could maintain control and do so in an orderly fashion.

The chancellor could see from the dark circles under Keeper Martin’s eyes that he had not slept in a very long time; along with the fatigue, a rigid mask of worry had also set in. When they reached the hall, Van’te saw that Father Jacob did not look much better; if it were possible, he looked worse.

“Why the glum moods? Is it truly that bad here?” joked Van’te.

“No, chancellor, your hospitality has been exquisite. We are having a crisis. Oh, how do I start? Let me just say this bluntly. The situation we are dealing with is very grave. We thought it best we told you here in private,” began Father Jacob, pausing to take a sip from a glass of water.

“Go on,” said Chancellor Van’te, eager to hear what Jacob had to say.

“Last night Keeper Martin received a dream message from the Council of Keepers, the second. It was pretty unclear in parts but quite vivid in others. Many things are changing. They mentioned great shifts in power.”

“Shifts in power?” Chancellor Van’te couldn’t quite follow what Jacob was saying.

“From the Father and the Mother. I have felt it from the Father, and the priestesses of the Mother sent word to the council that the Mother was distressed.”

Jacob took another sip from his glass; the liquid trickling down his throat soothed its soreness.

“What do you mean distressed?” interrupted Van’te again, his face quite livid with anger, “Why wasn’t I told sooner?”

“There is more. Please be patient. I have not told Prince Valam yet either.”

“So why did Keeper Martin only come for me?”

“Chancellor, please, I know you are angry. That is understandable, but we had to be sure that what we told you was correct. As you can see, I haven’t slept for many days.

“Two nights ago I felt the Father cry out. I have never felt such great emotions. They were quite clear, as if something were tearing him apart; then they changed suddenly and calmed. Something terrible has come to pass. The portent has come. I can feel it.

“The darkness has returned to Kir.”

Van’te gasped as Jacob uttered the forbidden word, and at the same time it flooded his thoughts with memories. For a moment the implications of Jacob’s words were lost as he focused solely on the word and not what Jacob had just finished telling him; then it clicked and he understood. “It is no more?”

“So it seems. We may be too late in journeying to the Eastern Reaches, but we must try.”

“How soon must we leave?”

“As soon as possible.”

“That will take a great deal of work, yet I think Prince Valam and I can get everything together,” spoke Van’te, adding, “now if you’ll excuse me I need to start.”

“Wait! Chancellor Van’te, there is something else,” yelled Keeper Martin.

“What is it?” responded Van’te impatiently.

“Well, it is a delicate matter,” spoke Father Jacob, motioning for the chancellor to step back into the room and close the door.

“Yes?” said Van’te, his eyes flashing; the chancellor was naturally an impatient person. Time was very important to him. He couldn’t stand to waste even a moment of its preciousness.

“It is Prince Valam,” replied Martin.

Chancellor Van’te drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, waiting for the keeper to hurry up and tell him what he was going to say.

“We do not feel it is the proper time for him to leave the kingdom. We feel he should stay here.”

“We? I can feel something,” added Jacob.

Van’te understood now why Keeper Martin had been slow to speak his mind and why they had brought him here alone. He felt foolish for his flippant attitude.

“I am sorry; I am often impetuous. It is just that I am overzealous,” said Van’te.

“We know how you are. There is nothing wrong with that.”

“You and your brother are much alike,” added Jacob with a chuckle as he pictured Yi in this situation.

“I will talk to Prince Valam,” said Van’te, “yet you both need to promise me something.”

“Certainly, if there is any way we can help.”

“Yes, actually there is. You two go and get some sleep. I’ll need you at your fullest over these next days.”

Jacob offered no arguments, yet Martin stared, dreary eyes and all, at the chancellor as the two departed. Chancellor Van’te sent for runners and his page. He had many things to prepare before this day was out. He sent the first runner to find Prince Valam; and afterwards, he dispatched several others to spread the news throughout the camp and to bring word to the ship captains.

Van’te didn’t have much time to consider how he wanted to direct the conversation with Prince Valam before the page returned, panting heavily from the run. Van’te dismissed him in quick order with one last errand for the day, just as the prince and several others arrived. Valam could see from the disorder in the room and the wild look in Van’te’s eyes that something drastic was amiss. He signaled for the guards to close the door behind him.

“We came as soon as we could. The page sounded so urgent. What is it?” asked Valam.

Chancellor Van’te quickly explained, touching only lightly on what had been said, and moved on to talk about stepping up the preparations for departure.

“Will you have enough time to get everything in order?”

Captain Vadan Evgej eyed the chancellor. “We will most certainly try!” he said.

Valam added, “We will do more than try; we will do it!” and then they each scrambled off.

“Prince Valam?” called out Van’te after him, “Could you wait a moment please.”

Prince Valam detected the tone of Van’te’s voice and grew concerned.

“What is wrong?”

The chancellor quickly calculated all the ways he could best explain to Valam the gravity of the situation. He thought of just telling him bluntly what Martin had said although he knew Valam well enough to know that he had to put the matter delicately. The words he chose never reached his lips. Within the upturned, waiting eyes, he saw a thing he would relish for years to come, the impatient longing of youth.

“Prince Valam, do not forget to check the ships in port.”

Valam promised he would not and raced after the others.

“Prince Valam?” called out the chancellor again, as he stepped into the hall.

“Yes,” came the distant response.

Van’te hesitated again.

“Did I tell you Isador is returning to Imtal Palace? Which means the—”

“—wedding plans are off,” finished Valam happily, ending his retreat.

“Yes, she has plans for another now.”

“Adrina?” asked Valam turning to face the chancellor, staring down the long hall.

“So it would seem,” cast back the chancellor.

Men were sent to gather equipment and food stores and to load the ships. Confusion, which took a concerted effort to quell, spread throughout the camp. All were eager to leave; however, they had not thought it would be so soon. Once they were on the ships there would be no turning back.

Captain Cagan drank in the night air from the sea. He had departed with the first detachment sent to the coast. It had been so long since he had sailed. He longed to be back on the open water. Thinking of the sea reminded him of home, which seemed suddenly closer. He had come to know these people and respect their ways. He counted them as friends. Still, there was no substitute for his own home.

“Captain Cagan, thinking of home?” came the voice from the shore.

“Yes, Brother Seth, I am.” Cagan shouted back.

“Me too!” intoned Seth quietly, “Me too.”

Seth jumped into one of the long boats that were shuttling back and forth from the shore.

“She is a fine ship, Captain Cagan. Looks almost like—” shouted Seth as he climbed to the low deck.

“My old ship. Yes. A friend at the shipyard wanted to know how we designed our ships. I drew him up some diagrams. Our ships are not much different. The hull shapes are almost identical.”

Seth shot a quick salutation to the oarsman and then yawned a heavy, stretching yawn. The making of ships didn’t interest him as it did Cagan, yet he wouldn’t interrupt; his friend’s love for ships was clear. Cagan babbled on for awhile with Seth adding little to the conversation. He stared out across the black waters, looking to a distant shore. Thoughts of home filled his mind.

“I knew it! I knew I would find you two here,” said Valam as he and Evgej emerged from the opposite side of the deck.

“All clear,” he shouted down to the oarsman.

“All clear, cast off,” was the return response.

“All should be set soon; isn’t this fantastic?”

Seth nodded and Cagan returned to his talk of ships. Valam smiled as he crossed to Seth, joining him in his fixed stare out across the waters. He absorbed the peacefulness of the waves and the setting of the sun, a red-orange ball of fire one-third submerged beneath the dark waters.

Valam didn’t invalidate the grand illusion with clear thoughts. He relaxed for a moment, allowing his mind to wander freely. “Check the ships in port indeed,” he muttered to himself, wondering what the old chancellor was up to.

As he surveyed the ship, he saw a glowing shimmer shoot up the main mast. The soft golden glow lasted only a moment but the way the light moved reminded him of what had happened when Eldrick had entered the Sentinel tree. Couldn’t be, could it? He thought to himself as he stared up at the mast. The thought was lost though as Seth and Cagan urged him up to the high deck. From the high deck near the ship’s wheel, the trio stared out into the night and wondered what the morrow would bring.

Chapter Nine

Adrina walked through the garden lost in thought, as she did often now. Many thoughts crossed her mind, each seeming to blow in and out with a fresh breeze. She walked until she came to the white gazebo in the center of the garden and rested a bit. She had not felt well lately and grew tired easily. Her skin was milky white and her eyes held a pinkish haze. Father Francis blamed it on her not eating though she insisted she had been eating.

Pain hit her suddenly and she doubled over. She began to cry out as she coughed up blood once more. The tiny dragon she had named Tnavres dropped from her shoulder and licked the blood hungrily. “Stop!” she called out to the beast. “Follow, hurry!”

Tnavres hopped back onto her shoulder. She waved a finger to scold him. “Naughty, Tnavres,” she said, “Bad dragon.”

Dizzy and weak, slowly she staggered back to her room. She would not tell Father Francis about this. She hoped she could make it back to her chamber without him or any of the servants spotting her. The walk seemed overly long and arduous. It was all she could do to hold herself upright. She was so very tired; her body desperately needed sleep. Everything spun suddenly and she grabbed out at the wall, using it as a support.

Tnavres flapped his wings rapidly from his perch atop her shoulder. He was as agitated as she was disoriented. Without warning he launched from her shoulder.

She reached out to catch him but as she did this, he turned about and locked his jaws around her hand. His teeth plunged inward; the flesh of her hand turned to stone. As she stumbled and fell against the wall, she gripped her forearm and squeezed with all her might as if this alone could stop the progression.

“No, not again,” she whispered as she clutched her arm.

“Yes, again,” came the voice. “You don’t listen.”

“But I have listened and done all you asked. I gave you it all. What more do you want? What more?”

“You know what more. What must I do to convince you?”

“Never,” she cried out.

In her mind’s eye, Adrina saw the Dragon King, his great wings spread wide and his great clawed hands reaching out, enveloping her. “To live, you must. It will only take a moment and then it will be done. You must not fight; you must accept. Do you understand?”

Adrina started to respond. Pain swept through her body. She coughed up blood. “You are a liar!” she shouted.

“Not me,” said the Dragon King. “This is not my doing. Hurry now or it will be too late.”

Adrina writhed and convulsed on the floor. “Make it stop,” she whimpered.

“Only you, Adrina Alder, can make it stop. Do what I’ve asked and it will be done.”

The pain sought to sweep her away. “Yes,” she shouted out, “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

“So be it,” said the Dragon King and with the saying, the one became the many and the dragon flock took flight.

On the floor beside her, Tnavres released his grip on her hand. He jumped up onto her leg, cocked his head to the side as if listening to something or someone unseen. With his head, he lifted up her shirt then he faded into her, leaving only his mark upon her skin.

Adrina’s eyes went wide as the pain left her. She stood unsteadily then hurried down the hall. When she reached her room, she crawled into bed and soon fell asleep. She was so tired and her bed was so warm and soothing. A convulsion sent a shock wave through her body that forced her to consciousness. Rubbing her head as it throbbed, she made her way to the basin near the bed. Her hand trembled violently as she poured a cup of water and raised it to her lips. She spilled most of it onto the floor. The cool water was momentarily soothing to her throat and stomach. She dipped a cloth into the basin and touched it to her forehead, groping her way back to bed. A cough sent her into another seizure and she vomited up the water. Afterwards she grew sleepy again and fell back to sleep.

A familiar sound drifted into her thoughts, a voice that had soothed her through many childhood illnesses. The voice of the one who had recently left her, Isador, whispering to her that everything would be all right. She wondered if she were dreaming, but then the voice streamed into her consciousness again, soft and pleasant, nurturing.

“I am sorry, Izzy,” she said, momentarily slipping into the familiar little girl’s voice that the presence of her nanny stirred. “I didn’t mean for you to have to return to Imtal. I’m getting better really. I’ll be fit in no—”

“I don’t think so. You just rest for awhile. I will be back momentarily,” Myrial said, cutting Adrina short. She did not have the heart to tell her that she was not Isador.

Adrina rapidly dropped off. She dreamed of Valam and Seth. All the arguments and fun times they had had together. She missed them both. Images played in her unconscious for a time, and then she entered a pleasant deep slumber. She had only been asleep for a couple of hours, or so it seemed, when she was awakened. The voice sounded so urgent, and so very distant.

“Wake up, princess, wake up!” shouted Myrial.

To Adrina, it seemed it was Isador who shook her again and again and wiped her face with a wet, soothing cloth.

“Please, Adrina. Wake up,” begged the girl.

Adrina didn’t want to wake up; she still was so tired. She wanted to sleep.

“Wha-a-at?” she asked groggily.

“Come quick, princess!”

“Whaaat isss itt?” asked Adrina through a yawn.

“It is King Andrew; hurry.”

Thoughts of sleep were suddenly chased away. Adrina jumped out of bed, pulling a robe around her as she raced out the door and down the hall to her father’s chamber.

Father Francis and many others were gathered around his bedside when she arrived. The priests of the Father led by Francis were chanting words in the holy tongue; and from the level of their tone, she knew something was amiss. Her father smiled as he saw her face. He waved at the priests to fend them off and to end their unnerving chanting.

She quickly knelt beside his bed, taking his hand as she did so. She asked Father Francis what was wrong, but he only answered by shaking his head. She tightly clasped her father’s hand and burst into tears.

“Don’t go, father, please!” begged Adrina, “I love you!”

King Andrew brushed the tears from her eyes and held her hand. “Don’t be frightened, my child,” he spoke weakly, “it will be fine, just fine.”

Andrew bit back the pain that was welling up inside him. He coughed and spit blood onto the pillow beside him. Father Francis jumped to his sire’s side, attempting to push Adrina away, so he could continue the healing rights.

“No, please, no!” screamed Adrina.

“She will stay,” said Andrew in a voice that was scarcely audible.

Father Francis released Adrina and she raced back to her father’s side.

“Stay with me!” whispered Adrina, turning Andrew’s words back around.

A sparkle touched his eyes as he took her hand again. “Send word to Valam to return at once,” he said, pulling her close to him as he whispered in her ear, “I love you, my daughter, you are my pride and Valam and Calyin, my joy. I go now to her. She’s waited so long.”

Andrew’s voice faded off as he spoke, the pain becoming too much for him. He squeezed Adrina’s hand tightly and then sighed a gasp of relief, holding his composure even at the end.

The priests started to chant loudly, wild in their requests to the Father to spare their monarch’s life. Father Francis even offered his own life in place of Andrew’s, but the Father would not accept his offer. Sadly the chants shifted from pleas to the cry for the dead, a song of mourning.

King Andrew’s last words to Adrina had been words of love for his kingdom and his family. Adrina was swept with tears. She cried out to the Great Father, but received no answer. Attempting to soothe her, Father Francis embraced her. Adrina ran away screaming as he touched her. She ran until she came to her room, where she slammed and bolted the door.

Chapter Ten

A small group of weary survivors stood in the midst of the gap in the great Northern Range where the trail that cut its way up Solstice Mountain ended, and the great trail that spread through the gap converged on several others smaller than itself. Staring heavenward, they watched the mantel of haze dissipate. And for the first time eyes were allowed to gaze upon the lofty peak from so far below.

Those watching knew with certainty that the City of the Sky was no more. As they had chased the hushed veil of twilight down the mountain, Noman had reconsidered a thought that had briefly passed through his mind in the heat of the battle; a force beyond Sathar the Dark was at work here playing a guarded game with the balance of power. He wondered who or what it was that played such a twisted game and what sort of amusement it brought, realizing with certainty that this first challenge had been just that—a challenge meant to divert attention away from something greater. But what was it? Momentarily satisfied by the sense that something would be revealed soon, Noman shrugged his shoulders and cast the thoughts away. After all, there were more pressing matters to consider and the shaman’s voice could not have caught him at a more opportune moment.

“Come!” said Xith weakly, “My home is not far from here. We can rest there and heal our wounds.” Xith’s voice trailed off as he finished and he slumped to the ground. His face, beaded heavily with perspiration, was deathly pale.

Ayrian was the first to his side, at first attempting to help his weary companion to his feet. Yet as the shaman’s hands fell away, his tunic, lacerated and charred in a wide circle around the chest and shoulder area, revealed a large patch of scorched and blistered flesh beneath.

“What of the boy?” asked Xith, his last words as he slipped into unconsciousness. He had seen the form of the boy fall and the will of the wanderer rise.

“Now is the time to tend to wounds,” said Noman, “there is no hurry now; morning comes.” His voice rose at the last with an air of hope.

“The shadows,” whispered Ayrian, his words at first in response to the diviner and then to the shaman. “He is no more.”

“Shadows fade in the sunlight,” whispered Noman, returning the foreboding tone that Ayrian had used with equal fervor. “Sit,” he ushered, indicating that Ayrian, too, should rest.

“I am fine, old one, tend to Xith,” said Ayrian, despite the deep gouge stemming from elbow to shoulder.

Noman and Amir worked long to clean and bind the wounds. Xith’s injury continued to fester no matter what they did; the flesh all around it was seared, shock had set in, and they feared the worst for the shaman. The Gray Eagle Lord’s shoulder wound was by far less severe; and in time, he would regain the use of his arm and the attached wing though it would be sore for some time and would have to be re-worked into shape. Still, he would most certainly recover.

Noman sent Amir to cut down two saplings and strip the leaves and branches from them. With them, he formed a stretcher of sorts, in which they could carry Xith. Once it was secure, they placed Xith on it. The next step was to find the place Xith spoke of, and to do this Noman would have to connect with the shaman’s weakened mind. He touched a soft hand to Xith’s forehead and probed his mind, searching through thoughts that flowed to him without resistance until he found what he was looking for, the hidden entrance to the fallen city of Ywentir, a place lost to most save the Watcher and now Noman.

Ywentir was a place much like the Cloud City; both were distant images from the past, times when great secrecy prevailed, times when there had been so much need and so little hope, times when sanctuaries had been a desperate necessity yet were now only faint, distant memories. The mystical city had been one of the last strongholds of the peoples of the northern realms, and in fact had been the last stronghold of the Keepers of the Watch eons ago. The travelers would be safe there as long as they could reach it before the arrival of night. He knew, as they all did, the dark forces were by no means defeated. They had just begun the challenge. The minions of darkness were many, unlike those of good, who numbered few, and they would be set back only temporarily by the night’s proceedings.

The three, shouldering the burden of Xith’s still form, made their way along the path that would carry them through the mountains toward the land of the North though not through it, for the northern lands were oddly separated, segregated by the great mountains themselves. Two great spines of the Northern Range divided the land into three disparate tracts. There had once been many who knew the paths and tunnels that connected the lands, but alas no more. Noman would have to rely on the information that he had gleaned from the shaman’s mind, for even he was not privy to the secrets that the northlands held.

Like the three vastly different lands and the three vastly different peoples the land held, there had once been three cities that symbolized the three peoples, sisters in spirit, separated by the land forever.

Ywentir, Tsitadel’, Aurentid, repeated Noman in his mind. During the Blood Wars, the secrecy of the northerners proved to be the bane of the dark forces, yet even such a powerful pact of silence had not saved the northern lands or those that fled to it in fruitless attempts to escape the ravages of a war that spread across the continent like a monstrous plague.

Aurentid had been the first to fall and nothing of it remained except shattered walls and piles of rubble; Ywentir with its protective maze had succumbed by a different means than its ill-fated sister though it too had eventually fallen; yet as Noman well knew, for he had been there, Tsitadel’ had never fallen, though its survival had been by the barest of margins and through means perhaps darker than even the dark forces would have levied against it.

Ayrian stopped cold, his keen senses perceiving something that the others did not. He stared up at the mountain and the sky, cocking his head in his odd way so that it faced the direct opposite of its normal position. His vision, the vision of the great eagle, was far greater than the others, so what he saw eluded them. He pointed to a tiny speck of light far up the mountain, which gained intensity as it drew nearer.

Amir took a step forward while the others held still. They waited and watched. The litter was set gently to the ground and the noble warrior lifted his weapon from its sheath with deft hands. The glowing ball of heavenly light was almost upon them; and, as Noman sensed no malicious intent, he gestured to Amir to return his blade to its sheath. Amir did.

Ayrian could almost make out a shape inside the shimmering yellow light, two shapes actually, and then when the others began to see the shapes, he saw the outlines of a man of early years and of a woman whose hand he held. A few yards from where the company stood, the ball of light stopped and after settling to the mountain’s side, those within stepped out.

The two, the man of early years and the woman whose hand he still held, turned to wave goodbye to the strange glowing ball of light as it lifted into the sky. The woman appeared to be an angel, for no one else could have been so beautiful, so perfect. She had long, golden brown hair and a darkly tanned body. She wore a cloth dress, sheer and white, clearly accentuating her sublime body, which, although it left little to the imagination, did not taint the pureness she emitted—an impure thought would have been impossible.

Amir stared at her in open admiration of her beauty. The young man they all knew. He released the woman’s hand and walked over to them. He knelt beside Xith, his head bent in prayer. The others had known the youngster in a different form. The one that stood before them was no longer riddled with latent power, nor was it that of a boy; it had changed. Vilmos was clear of the wild magic, or so it seemed. He was his own person once again, yet it was as though he had raced through time in years instead of hours since the Wanderer’s fall.

The woman approached Xith. She spoke in hushed tones with a melodic, captivating voice. She touched his wound and began to chant loudly, her words flowing like music. When she stopped, she put a hand to his eyes and said, “He will rest now and will surely recover soon.”

Momentary disbelief passed over Ayrian. He touched a hand to the shaman’s brow; the fever had, indeed, broken and color was returning to his ashen features. He stared up at Noman, who had also gathered near, his great round eyes spread wide. The power of true healing was granted primarily to the priestesses, so Noman was sure that she must be one of the priestesses of the Mother, truly a magnificent gift.

She looked to Ayrian and smiled, a delicate smile that matched her delicate touch. She chanted a different song than she had sung for the shaman, a sweet, short song, which, when she finished, left Ayrian completely healed. Ayrian thanked her for her kindness and then she looked to the others, each in turn. Amir radiated as their eyes caught. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment.

Emotions were kindled in Amir that it seemed he had not felt the whole of his life. She smiled and then simply turned to Noman, who was the last. When she was sure they were all healthy, she took Vilmos by the hand and wordlessly led him away, along the trail.

All eyes were on Vilmos as the two walked away. They wanted to know what had happened and why he was here. They had thought him lost in the battle and now here he stood with them. Noman was quick to perceive the hand of the Father; Amir was not. Amir picked up one end of the litter and Noman the other, and they set off after Vilmos.

Noman wasn’t surprised as the woman led them through places only he and Xith should know. He had seen shadings of this path, though he had not seen where it would lead them. He accepted the circle of life. Simply knowing Vilmos’ time was not yet spent was good enough for him. The other troubled him. In the visions he had never seen the face or form of their new companion, only the outlines of where someone would be in the path.

He cleared his mind, following Amir as he took a step, focusing his thoughts inward, searching for the facts that eluded him. He saw only the others along the path he chose and when he searched further the vision ended. A peculiar image remained, a mark over the young man’s visage that he had never seen before; and although he scoured his thoughts, he could not find its origin. Perplexed, he trudged on.

The city was not far; however, the journey was over rough terrain and along some dark paths. Weary, Noman took a reprieve from carrying Xith and now Amir and Vilmos performed the task. Xith was still soundly sleeping when at last they emerged from the darkness; and steep walls of stone rose on either side of them as they entered a narrow, sequestered canyon.

A whole new world opened up to them as they walked among the new shadows formed by the dull light filtering down from a sun that seemed so tiny and so high above them. The coveted entrance they sought was midway up the cliff wall on the far side of the canyon and with luck they would reach it safely before the arrival of the first whispers of dusk. The path, though it had apparently once been worn smooth, was uneven and largely overgrown. Carrying the litter forced frequent stops, and progress through the deep canyon was slow.

Vilmos was quite intrigued by the gorge. Carved out of solid rock, its origin seemed a mystery to him. As he thought of this and reflected upon the recent happenings, his life seemed quite similar to the heartless rock that surrounded them, going from stable to unstable, swimming in and out of some unseen revelation in directions unknown and seemingly coerced by nature itself.

Early afternoon brought heavier shadows to the canyon and with it came an unsettling chill. The air, which had scarcely stirred before, calmed as they approached the stark face of a blunt stone wall, which, though still several hours away, was clearly visible now. The shadows gradually blackened until true darkness settled upon them; elsewhere night was some hours away, but within the ravine, night had already begun. A sense of urgency quickened their pace, and the stops became less frequent and then ceased completely as the companions dashed for the safety that seemed just within their grasp.

Ayrian took flight despite his need to heal, ridding the skies of imagined specters. The race for safety was on. A dull twinge of pain swept through Vilmos’ mind. Warily, he cast his eyes to the heavens, seeking to look beyond the blank, dark walls. A voice within him shouted out. It whispered, “Only seven remain,” though Vilmos did not listen. That part of him was lost.

The canyon wall was only a few hundred yards away now. Sensing the encroaching darkness, the six ran at a full pace. Amir and Noman temporarily shouldered the burden of the litter, jostling the injured passenger. A dark shape passed overhead and all cringed, although it was only Ayrian settling to the ground.

The entrance to the city lay some three hundred feet off the canyon floor, barricaded by a great stone. Only a carefully trained eye could discern the outline of the door from the dark stone of the wall, yet two did see it. Without rope and grapple, there was no visible way to make the climb—that is, if any sort of grapple would have held in the sheer rock face. The only way up would be to fly, or to levitate. Noman knew this. Yet he didn’t know if the newcomer could perform the feat, for although a strange aura surrounded her, he perceived no flow of magic.

As he contemplated this, she began to rise into the air. Ayrian gently buffeted the same cold air with his wings, slowly, steadily moving up the cliff wall with Amir behind him; together they ferried Xith. Noman directed the magic within with a quietly intoned word of focusing and floated up after the others. The only one that remained on the canyon floor was Vilmos.

“What’s the matter?” yelled Noman down to him.

“I don’t know how to fly!”

Noman chuckled.

“Wait there; we’ll return for you.”

Glumly, Vilmos waited in the darkness. Elsewhere night had finally arrived. He felt things coming to life in the arrival of night and it sent a trickle of unease down his back. He watched as Amir pressed his weight and might against the great stone and then the voices and partially perceived figures disappeared. He was alone again. He began turning around and around in tiny circles brought on by nervousness and agitation and the very real images of his imagined specters sneaking up on him.

Icy cold hands reached out of the darkness and grasped his arm. Vilmos started and screamed out, pulling away from the deft fingers.

Skilled in the use of the voice, Noman reached out with it to the young man’s ears. “Calm yourself!”

The commanding voice held no influence over Vilmos, and he trembled as he was yanked upwards. The gray shadow of the wall passed before his eyes and the dim presence of distant stars seemed to grow suddenly closer. And then all movement stopped. Vilmos felt the coarseness of stone against his skin as he brushed up against it. Noman led the way into the recess, a small, low cave.

Vilmos’ eyes seemed only then to adjust to the darkness. He saw Amir, his large proportions barely accommodated. He was forced to crouch almost to a crawling position; hunched over like that, he looked suddenly larger than life. Xith, still on the litter, lay next to the opposite wall. Ayrian was at his side. And the other stood just in front of him and to the left, the dull outline of a tunnel behind her.

The tunnel ran from the cave deep into the unknown mountain, dead-ending in a circular cavern of immense size and height. Here, Amir breathed in heartily as he stretched to his full height. Only one pathway led into or out of the cave, the one they entered through, and they were stuck or so it appeared. Hesitating only momentarily, Noman gestured that they should proceed to the far side of the large cavern, and they did. It was a short trek compared to the long one through the previous tunnel. Vilmos was just about to grab Noman about the shoulders and warn him that he was about to walk into the shadowed wall, when the other reached his hand out and moved it through the dark stone of the wall. Vilmos flushed and started. A crafty smile lit the old one’s face as he turned back to Vilmos. The illusion of the blank wall, which his special skills allowed him to see through easily, had a portal in it that led into an adjacent shaft. This new shaft, cut almost smooth and round, not jagged and rough, was one that was clearly made by hand, not formed by nature.

The group paused so Amir could return to the entrance to replace its blocking stone, allowing only a tiny slit to be seen from the outside again.

Once the stone was in place and Amir had returned, Noman conjured a mystical flame to guide them. The odd, magical flame was the darkest, deepest blue at its heart, which as it radiated outward lessened until it was a brilliant, fine white light that was solely directed outward and forward, shining like a blossoming beacon.

A series of tunnels that twisted and connected and circled crisscrossed the main corridor at different levels, forming a maze that could have swallowed them forever if they had not known where they were going. The maze had but one simple rule: a number of markers were spread out in the grottoes and galleries they would come across—chambers, caverns, rooms, and tunnels, those naturally formed and those hand-hewn. The advice of the markers was poor, as they all pointed in a particular direction, which would only get one deeper into the catacombs. The markers always occurred at crossings and the correct route was to follow only the corridor whose entrance began farthest from the marker, a distance that often had to be paced off.

From the first passage they turned left, then right, and then followed a series of descending passageways twisting this way and that. Noman did all the necessary pacing for measurements. Vilmos counted the crossways and chambers though no one else apparently did. He wondered what could have been so valuable that it needed to be so fiendishly guarded. They veered left and then straight for awhile, then right, through to a shaft ending at a large set of double doors. Noman uttered the simple command, “Dver Otkrys!” and the doors opened inwards on a puff of air. Once they had all entered, the doors gently closed. They stood within a smoothly carved hall that ran for several hundred yards before ending at another set of doors that opened inward easily without command as Noman gingerly pushed on them.

“Behold, the city of Ywentir,” cried Noman.

And Vilmos’ question was at last answered.

Chapter Eleven

Adrina grew stronger during the next several days although she still felt unwell. She knew what was wrong with her though no one had told her. Isador had been distant from her these past days, not like her usual self. Everyone within the palace was so diffident, and the palace itself was sealed tight. Everywhere she went, two guards followed her. When she tried to eat, they stopped her until the food and drink had been thoroughly tasted. She felt like a prisoner in her own home.

From her bed, she stared towards the open sunlit window, though few rays came into her chamber. She sighed, resigned to wait for the summons to come to her door. The summons came and the door swung open and Isador came in.

As the door came to rest against the wall, Isador brought a breakfast tray, a breakfast that grew cold as it was tasted repeatedly. Adrina cast several dark grimaces at the guards before they retreated, and she was allowed to eat in peace. She had little appetite after they had been digging through her food, tasting this, sipping at that; yet she was hungry, so she ate.

Isador could tell something was troubling Adrina. Still, she waited without uttering a word until she had finished her meal. She picked up the tray of food and walked away silently. Adrina called out to Isador and looked her in the eyes.

“I want to hear it from you. Tell me please—”

“It is nothing,” said Isador in a weak voice.

“Isador?” begged Adrina.

“I am not supposed to tell you, dear.”

“You always tell me everything, Izzy. You are my best friend, right?” said Adrina.

“It is the poison I am concerned about,” whispered Isador, slipping.

“Poison?”

“Poison,” repeated the nanny. She said nothing further, for she knew she had said too much already.

“But—”

Loud hysterical yelling issuing from the hall stopped Adrina. The message the man was screaming was clear, yet somehow strange. Adrina whispered the words in her mind, “The fallen have returned, the fallen have returned.” What did it mean?

Adrina rushed to the door to investigate, but the guards stopped her.

“Isador, please!”

Adrina continued to beg even though Isador was weeping. Finally Isador yielded to the pleas, agreeing only if the guards accompanied them. Adrina’s face lit up with a crafty grin. She wasn’t quite sure which direction the man had come from although she was confident that if there were trouble, she would find it.

She followed a group of guards as they rushed toward the western wing until she came to a place where she was halted. A group of guards blocked the end of the hall and would not let her or anyone else pass. The sergeant was quite polite in his refusal; Adrina was outraged nonetheless.

“I order you to let me pass!” repeated Adrina.

“I cannot,” said the guard again politely.

He dispatched two additional guards to escort the screaming princess back to her room, but they alone couldn’t perform the task. Adrina grabbed a door jamb and began kicking. It took four guards to drag her away. Isador watched in approval. It was for Adrina’s own good, and her escorts were very gentle despite her verbal and physical abuse.

She threatened to have them all hung; they insisted they only acted on orders. Isador attempted to calm Adrina down as she strode behind the guards, assuring her that they were only performing their duty. After Adrina was locked in her room, she apologized for berating them; still they wouldn’t allow her free passage though they were greatly relieved to hear her expression of regret. Even though they had acted on orders, they did fear her wrath. Two of the guards remained outside Adrina’s door and the other two hurried back to get further orders from their sergeant.

Father Francis and Chancellor Yi were rushing down the hall when the two guards found them. “It is urgent, Father, you must come quickly!” shouted one of them.

“What is more important than meeting Sister Midori and her party?” snapped Chancellor Yi. He had been so wrought up lately, he had just responded without thinking. “Where?”

“Second Captain Der is conducting a search of the western wing!” said the guard running back down the hall.

“Yes, yes, I know. But have they found anything?”

The guard didn’t respond, and the chancellor was forced to chase after him with Father Francis following at a more moderate pace. At a crossing of corridors, they chanced upon Captain Brodst, who was just returning from the search. The chancellor and the captain called out to each other almost at the same moment. Yi spoke hurriedly, for time was short. He winced as he pictured Midori chastising the poor watchmen; for he knew that no matter what she said, they would not allow her entrance to the palace, especially after he had made an example out of the unfortunate lad who had let the nanny Isador pass his post.

“We have searched the whole of the western wing. We did not find anything. I am sorry.” The captain told a partial truth.

“No reason to be sorry, good captain,” Yi spoke quickly, “go on to the old section in the lower wing and then on to the eastern wing.”

“Yes, chancellor,” said the captain, also in a hurry to return to his search.

He didn’t believe the report one of the guardsmen had given him, and he was determined not to pass an unfounded rumor on to the chancellor. Yi had too many other concerns to worry about. He would search out the truth in the rumor if there were one to be found.

Chancellor Yi commended Captain Brodst and the guards present. He also apologized again for having to make a hasty departure. He didn’t want the captain or the watchmen to get the impression that he was uncaring. He and Father Francis hastily dashed off. Although he had received word that Midori had entered the city, he hoped by some charitable twist of fortune that her entourage had been delayed in the city streets. As he entered the main courtyard, however, he knew she had not been delayed. Even from a distance, he could hear her belligerent scream. Again he winced and again he pitied the guards who were enduring her fury. He was winded from his long walk through the palace and walked at the fastest pace he could manage, the slow, stately pace of the statesman.

“I order you to allow me passage to my ancestral home! By right of birth, I am The Princess Delinna Alder, second daughter of King Andrew, king of the entire realm. I will not wait!”

“I am sorry, princess; I have my orders,” the guard replied in a terrified whine. Even he knew that she was also a priestess of the Mother and he both feared and revered her.

“From whom, you measly little piss bug?”

“Chancellor Yi himself.” The man’s voice was only a tiny squeak now.

“Chancellor Yi? I shall have your head if I have to wait one more minute. Do you know what it is to have a sharp edge sever your head from your body? They say that oftentimes you do not die instantly. Did you know that? The Punisher will lift up your severed head so that you may look down at the bloodied stump of your corpse. They say the eyes go wide with mortal shock. To steal a look into the eyes of a dead man is to know what death will be like. Did you know that, you miserable little worm of a man?”

The guard was sweating now, but at least he was on the other side of the gate from her. She could do nothing to him until he allowed her entrance, and he didn’t intend to do that.

“I out-rank Chancellor Yi! I order you to let me in now!”

Midori called to the other guard, “You, there! Yes, you! You stupid idiot! Come here!” As he reluctantly approached, Midori yelled, “I order you to arrest this man and let me in! I will even allow you the pleasure of severing his head and grant you life, yet only if you do so at once!”

The guard looked sympathetically to his companion and answered, “I cannot.”

“Then you shall both die!”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” yelled Chancellor Yi as he approached.

He gestured to the guards to lift the gate. Neither moved.

“Do so quickly, you miserable slugs!” hissed Midori.

Still, neither man moved.

“Now, now, calm down. No one is going to be killed here this day, I promise you,” reassured the chancellor.

The guards looked at one another, still unwilling to move. Midori raised her hands and snarled at them again.

“You don’t even have them properly trained!” she scoffed.

Chancellor Yi patted the nearest watchman on the shoulder.

“It is all right. I assure you no harm will befall you.”

Midori snickered. She was enjoying the show, as were the others in her party.

“I have a wife and two of the cutest little boys you ever did see,” quietly spoke the man, nearly in tears.

The other guard nodded.

“You can rest easy. You have my word,” whispered the chancellor in as gentle a tone as he could manage.

The gate was eventually raised, but both men kept a good distance between themselves and Midori. As the chancellor ushered her party in, Midori whirled around and lunged at the first man. She stopped, touching her outstretched index finger to his throat. The man nearly swallowed his tongue as he gulped for air.

“Now, now,” chastised the chancellor, “there is no need for further harassment.”

Midori laughed and walked on. Anger held to her features even as she stepped into the palace entry-room. When Yi ordered her entire party searched before he let them proceed, the face that had only shown anger became enraged. Father Francis assured her that it must be done.

She listened only because she respected this priest of the Father, yet she still thought the chancellor was an old toad. The chancellor handled the entire situation with diplomacy, and by the time the page arrived to show Midori and her two companions to their temporary quarters, she was calmed down.

Yi also sent several guards with them to escort them and remain with them to protect and watch over them. He specifically ordered them to be conscious of the movements of the guests within the palace. He told Midori that he would return later after they had settled in and bathed. After returning to his study he asked Father Francis to find Adrina. Midori didn’t like the idea of her escorts, but she didn’t make any further comments to Chancellor Yi. She knew the palace well enough to give any guard the slip if need be.

She remained quiet the entire way until the door was closed and then she screamed furiously.

“Catrin, this is an insult to me and to the priestesses. I am not to be treated that way. My Father shall hear about this!”

“Sister Midori-shi of the Eternal Flower, it will all be rectified once we talk to King Andrew,” assured Catrin.

Midori fixed her with an angry glare. She hated being addressed with her formal name of office. Sister Catrin reminded her that she was only the fourth to the Mother. She also subtly reminded her that she, Catrin, held higher office and should be the one who was upset.

The priestesses of the Mother were a very secretive group; seldom did they interfere with the ways of the world. They represented the hands of the Great-Mother, silently carrying out her will. The Mother was also the protector of the children of the Father, and so now they must act.

Jasmine looked at the two sisters and smiled knowingly. The two were always bickering, yet only Sister Catrin knew how to end any further conversation instantly. She simply struck Midori where it hurt the most, her pride. When she first came to the priestesses, Princess Delinna Alder had been something. She was a princess of the kingdom; but once she accepted the role of servitude, she became nothing. She had to re-earn a title, a place with the Mother, a difficult thing for a feisty, arrogant girl to do.

Now she was the fourth to the Mother; Catrin was the third. Catrin and Midori had both come to them as girls, not even women yet. Time had been good to them; they both held high offices although Catrin was always one step ahead of Midori. Jasmine knew the reason: Midori’s pride was her downfall. She had great potential, and Jasmine hoped one day Midori would take her place as first priestess. Yet this day was a long way off.

After they had relaxed sufficiently, Midori called for the page and the three went to bathe. When they returned, a stranger waited for them. It took Midori a mere instant to realize who it was. The last time she had seen Adrina she had been a messy-haired little girl. She ran to embrace her sister. They held each other for a time. Midori’s special sense detected a deep disturbance in the trembling figure she held.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It is father.”

Midori put a finger to Adrina’s lips to silence them. She had sensed it ever since she had entered the palace. She knew without being told that her father had passed. The extra guards around the palace and the closed gates now explained to her how he had died. She did not want to know anything further, yet she did have a question on the tip of her tongue that she wanted to ask but couldn’t. Briefly, her eyes went to Jasmine, fixed with vehemence. You knew this, they said. You knew this and you said nothing, they reprimanded. How could you? They appealed.

“I am truly sorry,” whispered Jasmine, in a soft, generous voice.

Midori turned back to face her sister, the expectant stare in those eyes drove her to ask what she had not wished to say.

“Did he say anything—of me?” she asked, her voice quivering with the last words.

Adrina attempted to lie and profess otherwise, except that Midori knew her too well. She begged to know what he had said, and if he had mentioned her before he passed. Adrina stopped; she couldn’t tell Midori what he had said. She had not told any one exactly what he whispered into her ear yet, not even Yi.

“Go on!” demanded Midori.

“His last words were—” Adrina hesitated and then said, “May the Father and Mother watch over my children—Midori, I can’t!”

“I am strong; nothing can hurt me. Go on,” demanded Midori.

“Valam my son and my daughters—and my daughters—Calyin and Adrina. And may this kingdom last throughout time by the will of the Mother and the Father. Midori, I am sorry. He meant to—he meant to—but his passing was so quick. He just wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Midori slumped to the floor. She tried to hold back the deep emotion flowing through her but could not. Catrin and Jasmine made a hasty exit so the two could be alone. Catrin was sorry for what she had told Midori moments before. She could not undo her words; the call of the Father was final. All things must eventually end, be they good or bad, they must end. Midori’s long internal torment was also over.

Midori cradled herself on the floor, refusing the comfort of Adrina. She remembered vividly the day she had left Imtal Palace for good, promising never to return. Her memories flowed back to that day, with the visions flooding through her every thought.

“My daughter, it is your duty to marry King Jarom’s eldest. It is pre-arranged. It will make for a strong alliance with the Minor Kingdoms. It will be for the good of the kingdom.”

“Father I can not. I do not love him.”

“Love will come in time; it is learned. Think of others, not yourself.”

“Father, I have decided to join the priestesses. You can say that the deal is void, that I have been chosen by the Mother.”

“No! The date has already been set.”

“But, I love another.”

“Who? I’ll tear the rogue’s heart out. Who is it that has soiled your honor?”

“Please, for me!”

“It cannot be, my child.”

“Midori! You will answer me now!” It was Isador who had yelled that.

Isador looked with sadness upon Midori now and then to Adrina. Even with Midori dressed in the flowing gown of a priestess and clutching at her prayer beads, it never ceased to amaze her how much the sisters looked like their mother. Alexandria had had the same long dark hair, the same clear green eyes, the same high-raised cheek bones.

Adrina was wishing she had lied and told her he had forgiven her. Midori would have found out eventually, though, and the pain would have been that much worse. In this way, the pain of the past was also at an end, and perhaps now she could move on with her life and allow past regrets to slip away.

Midori was trembling as she reached out to embrace Isador. Adrina also joined in the embrace. The room was silent as the three wept.

Chapter Twelve

A narrow ledge wound its way down into a vast subterranean gorge in the midst of which stood an enormous lake whose emerald waters reflected the off-yellow iridescence cast by the astounding colony of fungi on the ceiling. The dark waters of the mysterious and obviously deep lake lapped at the rocky shore with slow precision, churned methodically by some unseen force. In the center of the lake on an island of unforgiving granite stood the citadel of Ywentir, which resembled a small walled fortress more than a city. A gentle tingling swept over the exposed areas of skin as the group descended into the canyon, and the knowing knew it to be a semblance of the ancient powers, echoing sullenly now, that had constructed and once kept the place.

“How could a place of such power be invaded? An army couldn’t get past here, let alone find its way through that maze!” said Vilmos, louder than he expected. The echo carried across the open span. He had meant to think it, yet the words had slipped out.

“Time,” was what Noman answered, “time.”

They crossed the lake quite easily. A floating platform of stone floating on a pocket of air and magic that ceaselessly and slowly moved back and forth between the shore and the island swiftly accomplished the task. As they approached, the protective gates to the city opened, and they entered without fear. Ywentir was much the same as its former occupants had left it, untouched by dirt or dust. Famished from the day’s long trek and the previous night’s excursions, finding food became the main objective. They had carried few rations with them, and what little they had brought were already fully depleted. Thankfully the kitchens, which had once serviced thousands, were not far off and were surprisingly well-stocked and amply preserved. There was also an entire pantry totally separate from the kitchens that was filled with dried fish and mushrooms. Concerns over their growing hunger rapidly diminished as a fire was built in one of the great kitchen’s smaller hearths.

After they had eaten, Noman pointed out rooms for them. Vilmos retired only after he had checked on Xith several times. His beautiful companion assured him in words that were soft and reassuring that the shaman would be fine come morning. She sat the vigil beside him through the night thinking of another even as she looked down upon him. She had been given a second chance, a chance to correct errors of the past. She would not fail; she would perform in the proper manner and assure her redemption. Briefly, she thought about those she knew to be so far away and how they fared before she came full circle to the present.

The night passed, though slowly. And while there was no indication that daybreak had come at long last, she knew it had.



Vilmos greeted the morning with apprehension until he heard a distant grumbling, the sound of Xith’s voice, complaining that he didn’t need any help and that he was not an invalid. When Vilmos entered the shaman’s quarters, all conversation stopped as Xith gawked at him.

“I thought I was hallucinating! Vilmos, it really is you!” and silently Xith added, “Thank you!”

The two embraced for a long time. Xith’s heart filled with joy; the sadness of yesterday was gone.

It took concerted effort to get Vilmos to talk about what had transpired from the time he had fallen and the time he had returned. He would not say a word until he and Xith were alone and only then did he speak of what had occurred. He could not remember much except that for a long time he had existed only in blackness. And then in an avalanche of jumbled thoughts he had seen the battle and the fall, and afterwards nothing save the solitary darkness. Vilmos paused when he saw the other walk into the room. He saw the look on Xith’s face; her beauty was unmatched by anything he had ever seen.

“I would like to thank you. I owe you—” Xith started to say.

“You owe me nothing,” she said softly, coldly.

She hurriedly exited the room, tears of remembrance flowing down her cheeks.

“What did I say?” asked Xith.

“Give her some time, that is all,” answered Vilmos. He said nothing more of her and re-started the conversation, explaining how the light, a tremendous, white, searing light had come for him and taken him from the darkness, and how it had faded when she had taken his hand, how warm and soothing her touch had been as she carried him back into the light.

“What is her name?” asked Xith, curiously probing to see how much Vilmos knew about their mysterious savior.

“I don’t know. I have asked. She did not say.”

“I think you are right,” said Xith responding to what Vilmos didn’t say. “It is best to leave that question alone. She will tell us if she wants to in time. For now, I will just be grateful.”

Xith and Vilmos sat together, quietly thinking, reflecting upon the past and its lessons. Xith was very glad Vilmos had been given another chance, as had he.

Two days and two nights passed without mishap. Ywentir had a peacefulness about it that made it seem apart from the outside world. The occupants dwelled in its sanctioned walls free of cares for a time, time that allowed for the healing of many wounds both physical and mental. While the others congregated in the common area near the great kitchen, Vilmos and Xith spent most of their time in the shaman’s quarters. Vilmos stared into the shaman’s eyes, preparing to ask the other for the umpteenth time how he felt. He waited until Xith relaxed back against his feather pillow and then launched the query.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked speculatively.

“Oh, you worry too much; I am fine. Now stop asking me that! Your pretty friend is a mighty healer. I still believe she is a priestess of the Mother.”

“No, she is not, I have told you that already.”

“I know, I know,” chuckled Xith.

Xith still felt as if Vilmos were his son although the friendship between them had seemed to dwindle. Vilmos had barely spoken to him the entire day, and all Xith could do was to recall the boy he had watched grow. Vilmos had gone through many changes recently and he could feel a coldness within the boy who was now a young man. He wished he could explain to Vilmos everything he knew about what had happened to him and what would happen to him in the future, but he could not; there was so much that was taboo to speak of and so much that could change at any moment. He started to ramble into an apology that was cut short.

“Vilmos, I am sorry for—”

“Don’t be sorry; it wasn’t your fault,” said Vilmos.

“Then what is the matter?”

Vilmos screwed up his face as he pulled out the words from his thoughts, “It is just magic. I don’t know if I can still use it.”

Xith laughed loudly.

“Is that what has been bothering you?”

Vilmos flashed his eyes with honesty, “Yes.”

“Of course you can!” said Xith, greatly relieved. That sounded like the Vilmos he had once known.

“It’s just that I have tried; the power is there, I can feel it flow through me, yet each time I try to use it, I fail. I can’t even set spark for a simple fire!”

Xith was suddenly very happy; he was a teacher once more. Pride surged through him as he explained magic again to Vilmos, starting with how the flow worked, which Vilmos said he understood. They talked for hours, as Xith explained how Vilmos should tap the raw energy, which was where Vilmos was apparently stuck. Xith was sure he blocked the flow with his mind. He needed to release his thoughts and let the energy flow out of him freely. Xith carried him carefully through each step as he had in the beginning, showing him how to divide his thinking, maintain the flow in and out, and maintain concentration.

“Light this,” said Xith as he held out a stick in each hand.

“Which?” asked Vilmos.

“Both.”

“I can’t.”

“You won’t. Try. You can do it,” urged the teacher. “Know you can, and you will.”

“But—” objected the would-be neophyte.

“Concentrate. Direct the flow. Clear your mind; think only of the circuit flowing within you, around you, and out of you.”

Vilmos tried.

The youngster cried out in glee as he finally set the first spark to the sticks in Xith’s outstretched hands. He had finally done it. The block had only been in his mind; the power was still there. He just needed to practice.

Amir entered the chamber and the two, pupil and teacher, grew silent, awaiting his exit. Amir did not remain long; he had just wanted to check on the shaman and see to his wounds, wounds that were miraculously nearly healed. Amir departed with a cordial nod of the head, walking back to the common area where Noman and Ayrian waited. On the way, he passed their new companion. He studied the way she moved back and forth between the hall and her room, not sure where to go. She moves with such grace, he thought. He felt emotions building within himself, emotions he had not had in a very long time.

“May I join you?” the lumbering giant asked in a meek voice.

“Mmmm—sure,” she said softly, grinning.

“Why do you so rarely speak, Little One? What troubles you?” asked Amir using the name he had adopted for her.

“It is of no importance.”

“I would like to know,” he returned in earnest.

“Amir,” she said coldly, “I am here for only one purpose, nothing else. I must re-affirm my faith and prove my worthiness. I am here to die.” She said it without emotion, as one would say a casual fact.

I am here to die, he repeated in his mind. Amir sensed the pain inside her, and it puzzled and attracted him. He could not comprehend it or her. His beliefs told him one should enjoy what he or she is given, to be happy here on this plane, as well as the next.

“But why? Why must you die?” he bluntly asked.

His kind also had a different understanding of death. One never dies—he or she just passes from one existence to the next. He wondered if she truly meant death. The Little One didn’t answer; still Amir perceived something from her that he counted as a response although again it perplexed him.

“I am falling in love with you, my Little One.”

“What?” she demanded. “Have you heard nothing I have said? Falling in love,” she mocked, “falling in love? What are you saying?”

“I have listened, but I do not care.”

“What you feel for me is not love, but pity. Do not confuse the two and do not confuse your feelings. You can NOT love me. I once did love. I can not love again,” adding to herself in her mind, “only in the end.”

Not knowing what to do or say next, Amir looked hurt. He searched for the right words to express his feelings. He had seen tenderness and feelings in her; he had seen it in the way she cared for Xith’s injuries. The coldness she pretended was not who she was. He had heard her solemn cries in the night, the soft sobs in her bed when she thought no one else was awake and could hear them. He wanted to reach out and embrace her and chase away the pain with warmth.

“At least let me know your name,” he pleaded.

“I am nothing!” she said and ran from him.

Amir yelled after her, “You are something, something very special!”

“Damn it!” he muttered to himself; that had not gone the way he had wanted it to, not at all.

He watched her go. He could see that the feelings inside her were tearing her apart. He would push no further. He sat alone thinking for a long time, deciding finally to join the others for supper. Most had already begun eating by the time he came to the common hall after the slow walk from his chamber; and by the time he arrived, his appetite was lost. Yet he did bite on a small piece of dried fish and a hunk of hard bread, which he managed to finish. He looked up slowly, still abstractedly chewing on the last few bites from his plate as Noman cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention and then started to speak.

“We have always relied on the assumption of unity in purpose and on a willingness to be a participant, but no more. Tomorrow marks a day of change, and we can no longer continue on assumptions of loyalty and willingness to act. I would ask each of you, my five companions, even our newest arrival and even my oldest friend, the same question. Do you have the strength, the perseverance, the tenacity, to say, ‘I will not give up the struggle once borne, no matter the cost’? Ask yourself this question. The trials that lie ahead are many and will spare no demands upon you.”

Purposefully, Noman looked first to the youngest of his companions. Though it was true that he was not rid of the latent powers within him, he was no longer their ward. His rebirth had proved that.

Vilmos considered the question under the weight of the diviner’s scrutiny. He nodded affirmatively as a gesture of goodwill and not because of the strong eyes fixed upon his small form.

Noman looked to each of the others in turn and lastly, again with purpose, to the newcomer in their midst, who not surprisingly took the longest to mull over the charge. She considered herself nothing more than chattel. Her role had already been handed to her. She lifted her eyes and nodded yes, for she knew without a doubt that the surprisingly receptive figure before her understood her plight.

“Good, good,” spoke Noman in his beneficent way, “but even so, I may ask this question of you once more. Yet for now, let us look to tomorrow.”

A playfulness returned to his eyes. “Then we shall prepare to leave tomorrow. Xith is regaining his strength rapidly, so I think it best we leave as soon as possible.”

“Where to?” blurted Vilmos, “Where are we going?”

Xith smiled. This was the Vilmos he knew, always asking questions. “We shall journey towards the sea, I think. Am I correct, Master Noman?” he asked with a wink directed to the guardian.

“Yes, but we will have to cut through the Barrens to do so,” offered Noman to give the youngster something more to mull over.

The Barrens, Vilmos remembered, were a vast dry land southwest of the great northern range. He had never been through the desert; it didn’t sound like a good place to journey through. Sand and heat didn’t excite his sense of adventure, especially if the rugged border country was an indicator of what he could expect from it. He had had enough of dust and wind.

Noman smiled at the eager youth and while the others started to converse freely amongst themselves, he stole the opportunity to confer privately with Xith. He continued to see only partial shadings of the paths ahead and what little he was able to glean troubled him—the shades of darkness spread across the lands and they would have to hurry if they were to gather the last of the lost in time. As he talked with the shaman, Noman continued this inward search, curious now that he saw two faces clearly when before he had only seen the one, that of the girl.

The direct path east to the sea suddenly seemed an improbable route—this was the issue of ever-present change. He told no one of this, not even the shaman, with whom he shared many of his secrets. He and Xith were much alike, he the guardian, and he the watcher. Their conversation soon turned to idle chatter and after a short while they rejoined the others.

When everyone except Vilmos and Xith had retired, the two started into a deep conversation. Vilmos’ thoughts at supper had returned to magic. A part of him felt somehow cheated; he had held the power, so great, in his hands, and now it was lost to him. He wanted to learn stronger incantations than the few simple ones he could invoke and the strongest sort of magic he could think of was teleportation, which he wondered if the shaman would ever teach him.

Xith strained to get the point across. True teleportation was a very difficult feat. But Vilmos still wanted to know how it was done. Xith was able to steer the conversation in different directions for a time, but he was never quite able to totally avoid the subject.

“I will teach you in time—patience, Vilmos,” admonished Xith.

“What is wrong with now?”

“You will need all your strength for tomorrow…”

The eyes eager for information drove words to the shaman’s tongue. “Youth,” mumbled the shaman to himself as he considered the hungry eyes.

“Okay, yet I won’t teach you that. I’ll teach you this!” said Xith, his eyes lighting up as he set his mind to the task of the flow.

The small-statured shaman suddenly loomed larger than life before Vilmos. He lurched forward, his hands stretched far apart. Tiny crackles, sparks of energy, sprang between his fingertips and it was these tiny flicks of energy that lit the shaman’s face, cast odd shadows behind him, and made him seem closer than he actually was.

There was a sparkle captivated in the dark pupils of the forthright eyes that happily mirrored the play of the shaman’s hands. The unobtrusive sparkle grew in intensity until it became a bolt of solid energy that flowed from one hand to the next, almost enveloping the fingers. The air was crisp with the crackling sound of thunder and Vilmos’ hair sparked with static electricity. The bolt grew to a brilliant, deep blue, changing in a surge to a light sky blue.

“This is something you will find extremely useful,” said the shaman with a grin, “this is positive energy.”

The light shimmered and faded to a faint, white-yellow hue, casting an eerie glow about the room, and the eyes no longer reflected the color with glee; rather, they glittered dully and in a way that was somewhat glum. Vilmos watched intensely, fascinated, captivated.

“This is negative energy…

“At the base of all forces, there are two forms of energy, positive and negative, and they exist in all things. You and I are creatures that fall into the shadow of the realms of the positive. There are creatures, as you have witnessed, that fall into the realms in opposition with our own; they hold the negative.”

The shaman inched closer as he spoke, his lips were now only mere inches away from Vilmos’ own. The young man’s eyes were wide.

“It is possible to harm a creature of positive energy with a form of positive energy, but another form of positive energy could cause the creature to grow.” Xith flashed his eyes. “In strength, in size, in abilities. You must choose the form you will use with great care and in time you will learn which type of energy works best for you. Remember that all things stem from these two basic forms. Fire, earth, water and air are reflections of these two forms.”

Xith flashed his eyes again.

“A red hot fire will burn you yes, but a cool yellow flame will sting you just the same.” Xith stopped for a moment, and quite pleased with himself for having conceived the truism, he paused a moment longer.

“Once you choose, you may learn the various forms of that energy and use them to your advantage. I prefer the positive; it is the way my thinking is oriented. It is hard for me to reverse the flow of my energies to form the negative energy. A gifted few are able to use both with equal skill, a very difficult feat. For now you shall practice with them both.”

Vilmos sat lost in deliberate thought; something inside his mind clicked. He understood what positive and negative was.

“They are what you used on the trolls; what I used on them.”

“Yes, in a way that is true. You were a different person then. Can you remember how you did it?”

“It seemed to flow into me. I could not control it.”

“Let us go through the steps of gathering and focusing once more. Listen with your ears, but open your mind and follow with your thoughts.” Xith took a deep breath and began in a singsong tone that drew the young man in and made him want to listen. “Gather the energy into yourself. Store it. Clear your mind, cleanse away all outer thoughts. Close your eyes. Concentrate. Release the energy out one side of yourself through your hands; bring it in through the other side. Feel the flow of renewal.”

Vilmos practiced.

Xith was pleased at the relative ease with which the pupil found the source of his power.

“That is positive energy. Now, simply reverse the flow through yourself. Be very careful never to mix positive and negative energy, for when the two forces meet unabated they cancel each other out, and you, my friend, will be dead in an instant!” Xith snapped his fingers for emphasis. “Using negative energy is more difficult and requires greater concentration. You must completely re-orient your thinking.”

It was morning when the two finished, yet neither showed any signs of tiring from the long night’s activities.

Noman just shook his head when he discovered the two still sitting and talking in the same spot they had been in when he had last seen them.

All had a light breakfast and then as much supplies as they could carry were packed. When all was ready, they departed through the maze of Ywentir, finding themselves outside in a short time in the bright sunshine of a beautiful, fresh day and beneath a sun that at high day filtered down into the very floor of the canyon, chasing even the last of the lingering shadows away.

Chapter Thirteen

Returning as he had promised, Chancellor Yi paused outside the chamber door. Jasmine and Sister Catrin waited in the hall. They indicated that he should not go in, so he told them he would return at a more appropriate time and hastened away. He was already in the outskirts of the lower wing, and he continued on to seek out those who had conducted the search. He was not pleased with the news that they had still found nothing. He ordered the search halted until later that evening. There was much to prepare for Princess Calyin’s arrival.

Seated in his small official chamber, Yi got through the day as best as he could. The surface of his desk was buried under an avalanche of partially written scrolls and discarded proclamations; and he looked down at them, no quill in hand now, with indifference. He couldn’t find the eloquent words that eluded him no matter how hard he sought them. He wasn’t even angered as the door sprang open without a proper knock. He was too tired to find emotion.

“Chancellor Yi, Keeper Q’yer has returned,” announced the page.

“Show him in at once,” said the chancellor.

“Ahh, Keeper Q’yer, do you have word from South Province?”

The old man’s eyes perked up and a touch of color returned to his cheeks as he spoke.

“Yes, chancellor, but I am afraid it is not good news. I received a dream message last night. The council convened this morning, and when it was over I came directly here.”

Chancellor Yi sat, expectantly waiting for Q’yer to explain and when he didn’t he asked, seemingly exasperated, “Well?”

“They may have already departed. Oh, it is so damned unclear.”

“Keeper Q’yer?” asked Yi, in a shocked tone. He had never heard the keeper swear. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, of course I am. It is just so frustrating, that is all.”

The chancellor was relieved to hear that someone other than him was frustrated and confused. A Lore Keeper shouldn’t be so flustered. Yi allowed the notion to pass, thinking that perhaps it was the burden of the other’s newly appointed office.

“Can you contact Keeper Martin?”

“We have tried and are unsure if he received the message. We will keep trying. I bring other news as well. The council is troubled. We have lost contact with the keepers in the minor kingdoms, all contact— and, and—

“The delegates we sent were never heard from again after our earlier council with the nobles. What of Calyin? Has the princess arrived?”

“Midori has already arrived. Once Princess Calyin arrives I plan to make the proclamation of death. If I can ever get the words in order.”

“Has the culprit been found yet?”

“No, and it does not bode well. For now the search has been halted, at least until this evening.”

“The funeral will still be delayed as we discussed, until all that is at hand is apparent. Correct? That way all those who wish to pay their respects may come and we may have time to deliberate.”

“Yes, yes,” muttered the chancellor.

“Do you wish the council to state the declaration tomorrow?”

“No. Please have them do it today.”

“What of Calyin?”

“She should be here prior to nightfall. Proceed today with the setting of the sun. It was always King Andrew’s favorite time. The mourning period is to start immediately afterward.”

“I will stay and give it personally. Then I will return to the council. Perhaps I can help you with that speech.”

“You are a good man and a good friend. This desk is a mess, is it not?”

The keeper grinned and the two set about putting the proper words to paper. Many minutes slowly crept by, turning languidly into many hours. Princess Calyin and Lord Serant arrived late in the afternoon without incidence. Chancellor Yi stood waiting for their entourage at the palace gates. At least, thought Yi, he was well prepared for their arrival, and he was also on time. He hoped everything would keep moving in a positive direction. The princess’ entourage stretched long through the city streets. A crowd was gathering to witness her homecoming. No such crowd had gathered for the other princess’ arrival.

Although extremely travel weary, Princess Calyin’s escorts held their heads high as they paraded through the capital. Chancellor Yi, who delivered an official welcome, greeted them warmly. It was a grand occasion, to be followed by an announcement of great sorrow. Once the greetings were over, Yi quickly and tactfully set about giving the bad news to the princess and her husband, and then the announcement went out to the people.

Calyin was very calm during the proclamation. She held her head regally high until she reached the safety of the closed doors of her quarters, where she wept openly. Lord Serant held her tightly and comforted her. He understood her pain; his parents had both been killed when he was a child. He knew what it was like to feel loss; he sincerely hoped she did not feel alone with him next to her.

A knock on the door caused Calyin to start, even though she had been expecting it. Both Adrina and Midori had come to greet and console her. More or less, they all comforted each other. They each had loved their father very deeply. Since their mother was already gone, they had thought that he was all they had left, but they were wrong; they had each other.

Lord Serant decided it was best to leave them alone for a time. He went in search of Chancellor Yi. He was angry, and his mind screamed out at the outrage he felt. He would have the man’s head if his negligence were to blame for Andrew’s death. Two of his personal guards followed him as he charged down the hall. The lord didn’t need to look to know that they were there, nor did he need to insure that others still watched Calyin’s door. They were his most trusted servants and wordlessly followed his unspoken orders. He paused, listening at the chamber door. A faint woman’s voice came into the hall.

“—Chancellor Yi, so you see why Adrina must accompany us—”

Jasmine’s sentence was cut short as Lord Serant burst into the room unannounced.

“You vile creature, leave my sight!” shouted Lord Serant as he saw the priestess in the room. He tolerated Midori because she was family, but this one was not. Jasmine taunted him with sweeping motions in the air, but when Serant reached for his sword, she immediately and swiftly left the room. She well knew his scorn for her kind—all those of the territories held hatred for her kind.

“You would do well to forget what you have learned,” retorted Jasmine, a last thrust at bravery.

“You would do well to hold your wretched tongue!”

Serant’s bodyguards quickly closed the door as Jasmine exited. Fear was evident in their eyes as they did so; they were very careful not to get too close to her. Lord Serant’s frown turned to a smile as he greeted Chancellor Yi. He was careful not to say too much, for he wanted to judge the man’s undisturbed reaction. He wanted to know if the chancellor were in any way guilty or an accomplice to the dark deed. His sense of perception was very highly tuned and he relied heavily on it. It had to be; otherwise he would not be a former Lord of the Western Territories. High Province was his home now, but his roots were forever in the territories. He still made the pilgrimage to Zashchita and Krepost’ once a year. It was his ritual of remembrance.

“You did not have to chase her out,” said Chancellor Yi, “Jasmine is a very warm person once you get to know her.”

“I am sure you would think so,” replied Lord Serant.

Serant eyed Chancellor Yi, checking his expression to note whether he should cut the man’s heart out for the insult he had just been given or not.

The chancellor was quick to add, “Your lordship, of course. I have forgotten my manners”; but in his mind he thought, what a backwards people.

“Do not tempt me again. I will not hesitate a second time to perform my right.”

Chancellor Yi swallowed hard. He knew what privilege the lord spoke of.

“What is it that your lordship seeks?” he replied cordially.

After his apology, the conversation still continued at a sluggish pace, which extremely agitated Chancellor Yi. He completely understood Serant’s innuendoes; and although he disliked them, he said nothing.

“We were waiting until this evening to finish our searches. Perhaps you would like to lead it?”

“Are you saying you have not even completed the search of the palace grounds yet?”

“You are quick to judge, Lord Serant. Yes, we have searched and searched and searched. We found nothing. I ordered one final search; the western wing is all that remains. Perhaps you would like to come with me. I need to find Father Francis, and then I will get Captain Brodst.”

“I know the palace, chancellor. You find Father Francis. I will find the captain.”



“Father Francis, may we come in?” asked Jasmine.

“Sister Jasmine, I am sorry about before. I should have made formal introductions to Chancellor Yi. Everything is just such a mess right now.”

“That is to be expected.”

“Why has the first of the Mother ventured from her temple? The message we received said only Midori would return with her aides.”

“Sister Midori has returned with her aides,” said Jasmine. “We did not intend to deceive. It was just the delicacy of the situation. Many considerations had to be taken into account. I am here for a very important purpose. We two follow parallel paths do we not?”

“Similar yes, parallel no,” rebuked the priest.

“No need to be harsh. I was merely suggesting. The Mother has spoken to me. I must take Princess Adrina away. It is for her own protection.”

“I see shadings of another reason, a selfish reason.”

“You accuse me of—” Jasmine was growing angry.

“Yes, most certainly! I know your ways. What would you do with the child?”

“Care for it, of course,” spoke the priestess slyly.

“And raise it according to your ways. I speak for the Great-Father and also, I believe, for the Mother-Earth. The child’s destiny lies not with you. Adrina will remain here! Did you think that since King Andrew is dead you could just come here and take Adrina away?”

“I did not know the old buffoon was dead. We just chanced on an opportune time.”

“Buffoon? Get out of my sight! Go, before I have you thrown out!” screamed Francis, “If you were not with Midori, I would have you flogged for heresy!”

“Publicly or privately?” mocked Jasmine.

“Get out!” ordered Francis.

Jasmine nearly knocked Yi down as she vaulted into the corridor.

“My word!” gasped the chancellor.

“My word indeed, you old crow! You’ll all get what you deserve!” shouted the priestess as she and Catrin retreated.

“What was all that for?” asked Yi, as he stepped into the priest’s room.

“A slight disagreement, nothing more,” replied Francis.

A guardsmen approached from the hall. “Chancellor Yi, Chancellor Yi!” shouted the guardsman, “Come quickly! Captain Brodst has been looking for you.”

“Tell the good captain he can wait a moment. I was just on my way to see him… Go along now, boy.”

“But, Chancellor Yi, you do not understand. You have to come and see. They think they have found the assassin.” The young guard was so excited that he spoke frantically and too quickly to be understood.

“Don’t use that word, boy. Now slow down and say that again.”

The words were repeated.

“Where?” was all Yi said.

“The eastern wing. Come, I’ll show you.”

The two old men were not as quick on their feet as the lad, and the other had to pause continually so they could catch up. He led them down several corridors, twisting this way and that, through a small open courtyard into the opposing wing, up two staircases and down a last lengthy hall. A large clump of guards filling the hallway moved so the two could pass. Yi recognized the room they were guarding; it was Father Jacob’s room. The door was ajar and sounds of a commotion could be heard.

One of the guards, a sergeant, darted inside and retrieved Captain Brodst. The captain did not have a pleased expression on his face.

“Chancellor, you had better wait out here.”

“Have you found him?” asked the chancellor.

“We have found something, that is certain. Please stay here until this is settled.”

The captain was suitably gruff and terse. He waited in the hall no longer than he had to. Chancellor Yi didn’t have to be told not to follow; as the door swung open and then shut, he saw several dead bodies littering the floor. He knew the danger. Father Francis followed the captain into the room and closed the door behind himself, intent on saying the last rites. He wasn’t prepared for what he found. Three guards lay dead on the floor, another lay wounded near death, and still two others battled with a creature in the corner of the room.

“It appears trapped!” yelled 2nd Captain Der as he and several others battled the creature.

Father Francis was a man knowledgeable in the lore. He recognized the trapped creature. A quick scan of the chamber revealed to him why the thing had been drawn to the room and trapped within. He thought to himself that Father Jacob was a smart man. A shadow, whispered the priest to himself, suddenly reminded of the child’s tale concerning such a creature. Speak its name and it shall disappear, he said, again in a whisper, adding power to the words of the tale.

“Shadow be gone,” he intoned in a light voice that didn’t even rise above the cacophony of shrieks and shouts.

The child’s tale proved to be only that, a child’s tale.

“You are lucky that it is so weak now!” yelled Francis, raising his voice above the howling cackle the creature was starting to make.

“Lucky?” yelled Captain Brodst looking to the dead.

Captain Der shouted, “Should I finish it?”

The shadow was beginning to fade with each consecutive blow.

“Yes!” screamed Francis, whispering, “If you can.” He added, after a moment of thought, “We will get no information from this being!”

The shadow and Father Francis locked eyes as he spoke. It waited until Francis stopped talking and then as it cackled wildly, it lunged, sweeping past the captain, straight for Francis. It had heard his barely audible whisper and it mocked him with its attack. His soul, the soul of a holy man, would bring greater reward than the souls of the three it had already devoured. Its icy fingers clasped the priest’s throat, ripping at it as the two fell to the floor.

Another guard jumped into the fray, followed by Captain Brodst, who until now had been watching the creature, studying it. The guard hacked at the shadow. Captain Der blocked the blow with his sword and cuffed the guard with his elbow and then in the face with the back of his free hand. All the guards backed away from his wild grin, fearing his blade and thinking him mad. They waited, vying for the opportunity to tackle him.

Captain Brodst stood steady, unmoving. He watched the others and the second captain. He threw his hand up in a signal of halt, just as the others were about to pounce. Hold off, he beckoned. Watch, wait and pray, he indicated.

The shadow howled in glee, squeezing its icy, clawed hands tighter around the priest’s throat. Only the aura of good the All-Father granted the priest saved him and allowed him a few more frantic moments of survival. Father Francis struggled against the weakened will of the creature. Good and evil clashed. He cursed its darkness with the name of the Great-Father, seeking to send it back to where it had come from. The raven-hued shadow shimmered with a silver light, revealing its true form. Father Francis cursed the darkness and again cleansed himself in the name of the Father, bathing in the might of good. A high-pitched squeal emitted from the shadow as the silver light intensified, gathering not only along the outer edge but also bursting up from within the center of the black form, tiny eruptions of good. With a final shriek, the shadow winked out of existence.

Father Francis chased after the shadow with his own mocking form of prose. “There is truth to be found in children’s tales. You have only to believe,” he whispered.

Captain Der helped the priest to his feet. The other guardsmen moved to engage the captain, still fearing him mad. Father Francis was quick to calm them. He turned to the perplexed guard and said, “If your blow was not blocked, I would not be here now. They are unlike us. They are a form of energy. They can shift their substance. Your blow would have gone through it into me. Second Captain Der knew this, and in his own way, he was protecting me.”

“I am sorry Father Francis, I thought—”

“It is a natural mistake, there is no need for an apology. Come; let us be gone from this room! There is a foulness in the air.”

Chancellor Yi heard the fighting stop and entered the chamber with two guards in front of him.

“Father Francis, what has happened? Are you all right?”

“We have found your assassin!”

“You have?” he said as he looked about the room, seeing only the dead guards.

“It was a shadow, a dark assassin; that is why we could not find it. A twist of fate and luck carried it to this room and once here it was trapped.”

“But how?” asked Yi not quite understanding, not really thinking either.

“This is Father Jacob’s room correct?”

“Yes, yes it is—”

“See the signs on the walls. Those are wards to keep away evil. Unfortunately, yet fortunate for us, if evil somehow finds it way inside them it is trapped.”

“Who would have sent it and how would it have come to Imtal Palace?”

“How and who indeed, my friend. We shall have to wait and see. Let us hope we will have no more such visitations. I don’t think I could handle the strain again. Such a test of faith.”

Father Francis crossed himself and said a silent prayer.

“Praise be to the Father,” he whispered.

Chapter Fourteen

The small band walked through the narrow canyon at a moderate pace, the bleak stone walls seeming a hollow prison, and Vilmos felt trapped within them. He couldn’t wait for the burst of greenery that he hoped lay somewhere ahead, the place where the dead-black prison ended and life began. He neglected to recall that beyond the canyon west and east lay mountains and a long series of rolling foothills.

He had been told that one path would bring them to the mountains, another would carry them into the foothills and beyond to the Borderlands, and yet another would carry them to the distant wastelands of the Barrens. The sun was no longer directly above, so now numerous shadows lurked not far off. Vilmos looked out at this world of shadow and light as if he saw through a layer of dense fog. His thoughts were unclear and old memories streamed into his mind as he looked about, memories that were not his own, but the others’. The air was cooler than he remembered it.

Behind him, Amir and Noman were deep in conversation and although he couldn’t fully hear what they discussed, he could guess. The two had been talking about the same topic since they had begun, the subject of which was beyond his comprehension. Looking to the front and again to the rear, Vilmos regarded the little flock. Everyone was present except for Ayrian, whom he had not seen since the outset. He wondered where he was.

Vilmos carried on, his gaze from time to time returning to the diviner and the warrior. He looked back to the others also, Xith and the Little One. Every now and again, little lines of sunshine played upon her face in a myriad of patterns and every now and again she would flick the thick tuft of hair that would fall down over her eyes back into place, always blowing it up with a puff of air at first and then raising frustrated hands to toss it back when that didn’t work.

The shaman walked with the aid of a twisted oaken stave, which he had retrieved along with many other trinkets from amongst his belongings stored at the hidden city. A clear blue ball was fixed into the crown of the twisted dark wood, set within the grasp of an upturned clawed hand. The tapping of the stick against the rocky trail created a resonant sound that echoed boldly from the canyon walls, which didn’t seem to bother the shaman in the least though it irked Vilmos.

Not looking where he was going, Vilmos stumbled and nearly fell. It was only Amir’s fast hand that saved him from a nasty spill. He brought his attention back to his surroundings. The trail had grown suddenly rockstrewn and he needed to pick his way through it with care. For a short while, he kept his attention on the trail, picking up one foot and placing it down and then picking up the other and setting it down without faltering. His mind was at ease as this occupied the moments he had been squandering in distress.

The path eventually cleared and Vilmos raced to catch up with the others, surprised to find that they had reached the end of the canyon. He cast no glances behind as he sprang along down the long decline that he hoped would lead out of the gorge. He looked forward to the sight of rolling hills spreading out before him and perhaps even patches of thick green grasses. He scrambled on, stopping abruptly as the illusion of the facing wall disappeared. The wall was an illusion from afar, for the narrow canyon split into two gorges that were narrower still. Puzzled, for he hadn’t noticed this the first time through; he scratched his head absently.

The pace quickened now as deep shadows began to gather around them. The day was nearly spent. Xith urged them on, saying that he wanted to be in and out of the tunnels before nightfall. Vilmos’ heart nearly skipped a full beat at the mention of tunnels. He didn’t look forward to traipsing through any more dark tunnels under any circumstances, let alone when his nerves were already unsettled by the arrival of darkness.

“The tunnels will take us through the mountains—that is, if I can find them and find the way through them. It has been quite some time,” said the shaman, “and with any luck, we’ll be in and out before you know it.”

They found the entrance to the tunnels some hours later, but it did not seem that luck was on the travelers’ side. The shadows in the gorge were already deep and full, and night was perhaps only a few hours away.

“Stay close,” warned the shaman, as he led the way.

Here the order changed; Noman came up beside Xith and Amir took up the rear. Vilmos and the Little One were ushered into the more protective middle ranks.

Xith didn’t sound very reassuring when he told them that hundreds of tunnels ran through the mountains, yet only one or two came out directly. “The others could lead us around for days. Not to worry, though; I am sure that this is the one we want to follow.”

The hills seemed so desperately far away.

“Stand ready to move fast if need be. Some areas are pretty unstable and the supports may be worn through. You can rest easy, though, because I don’t think any manner of beast would take up residence in this section of the tunnels unless of course—well, never you mind.” The shaman’s voice trailed off as the small band passed into the shadows of the rock.

Noman lit their way with a magical flame. The blue flame was familiar and somehow, in the later hours, became a thing that reflected relative safety to their minds. Perhaps it was the soothing blue-white color or perhaps just the fact that it showed the way through the darkness. Goosebumps faded from unsettled skin and the dankness and the cold became no longer hindrances.

Oddly enough in the new subterranean world that was revealed, even amongst the dampness, the darkness, and the cold, there were things of beauty to behold. A few of the great cavernous rooms they came across held natural wonders, intricate series of stalactites and stalagmites spread out in a myriad of shapes and sizes, all yearning to reach one another. One particularly grand grotto held a large, perfectly circular pool filled with seemingly clear waters with a great stalagmite in its center. Vilmos nearly wandered over to the pool, but Xith quickly snatched him away from it.

The sense of the flow of time, the ticking away of minutes and hours, became difficult to discern. For some it was an endless wait, filled with hours upon hours of yearning to see a burst of color or light that would mark their exit from the darkness, yet for others it seemed that time held no consequence for them.

Xith trudged on with sure feet despite some grumblings.

A light meal was eventually taken in a small cavern that they had stumbled across. The ten-foot square cavelet held but one entrance and seemed safe enough, so packs were dropped and food stores were delved into. It was midway through the meal when Xith noticed the wardings marked on one of the walls. They had been etched by his own hand on a trip a long time ago. He started, dropping his meal to the ground, and stood and walked over to the wall, his face masked in a deep, dark frown.

“Oh my,” he gasped, and by then all eyes were upon him.

“What is it, shaman?” asked Noman.

There was a faraway look in the other’s eyes as he turned back to face them and began. “You—wouldn’t—believe—even—if—told you—”

“I would,” whispered the Little One, to the surprise of the others.

“It was here that it happened—almost a lifetime ago,” whispered the shaman in a voice almost unfamiliar to the others. Perhaps it was the sorrow held in the tone, or other things, but it seemed the voice of a different man than the one who stood before them.

Xith fell to his knees as he ran to a dark splotch on the floor, running his hand over the wide, dark blemish. “Right here is where he fell. He was in so much pain.”

Xith straightened his hunched-over back and rubbed tears from his cheeks. “I didn’t know why we ran towards instead of away, not until that moment, that very sad moment. It is not a pleasant thing to hear the gasps of the dying, so much pain, so great a struggle to tell all that needed to be said—to find that you alone carry on the struggle.”

“You are not alone, Shaman of the Great Northern Reaches, nor were you ever truly alone.” It was Noman’s voice that surprisingly sprang forth, “for if you had been, none of us would be here now with you. Ywentir may have fallen, but there were those of us who held Tsitadel’, and those that survived were given a second chance.”

“Yes, but they came for us and hunted us down like animals.”

“Yet your father and mother survived and were blessed with a son, passing down their life memories to you so that you carried them on.”

The downcast eyes straightened and the strong emotions cleared. “We took a wrong turn back there. We need to retrace our path a short distance and then—”

“No, the sun set long ago. I think it best if we remain here,” spoke Noman with finality. “There is a sense of goodness in this small place. We can rest easy; no harm will befall us, of this I am sure. It is sometimes a healing experience to relive the pain of the past.”



Low hills spread out ahead in a long, seemingly endless series of hunchbacked rises. It almost seemed as if the travelers could simply step across them without having to descend into the veiled falls, but they would soon discover that progress through the hill country was not as easy as it seemed. The companions raced on, eager to make up the few hours of lost time.

As he walked the course, Vilmos vaguely remembered having passed through the low hills before. He watched the shaman continually cast sidelong glances up into the cloudless blue sky and often into the distance far ahead, without knowing what the other watched for. The hills were not entirely bleak and lifeless as he knew the lands that lurked ahead would be. He saw small rodents scurrying about their daily chore of gathering food and even small birds nested in the branches of the scrub trees waiting for the opportune meal to present itself.

Afternoon was settling upon the travelers now; they would have to hurry if they wanted to be out of the hills by nightfall. Vilmos breathed deeply and easily now as he finally realized no more shadows surrounded them. Momentarily, he hesitated and looked back; over his left shoulder lay the mountains, which seemed to lurch suddenly into place only as he looked back.

Over his right shoulder there was an empty patch of brown and tan that faded away to gray; and while he couldn’t see the mountains that he knew should be there, he could guess that they were, in fact, there somewhere. Ahead, he still saw only the hills, even as he topped a new rise. The sun continued along its westerly path and the travelers continued south, trudging along; and when it seemed the sun was about to dip down to the land, the travelers, at long last, found their way beyond the hills. The group paused here, for here they were supposed to turn east; they stopped to rest and to wait for their companion’s return.

The sun had truly dipped beneath the land as Vilmos spotted a single rider ushering a group of horses toward them. An earlier question was answered as the feathered face came into view and Vilmos returned the salutatory wave as did the others.

“I was beginning to think you would not arrive, old friend,” called out Xith.

“I told you I would make it. Two hours of day to spare. Did you not have faith in me?” came the response.

Xith chuckled.

“Yes, I did, yet I was unsure if you would be able to procure the mounts and return in such a short time.”

“Swifter than the wind,” Ayrian shot back with a quick grin as he dismounted, motioning for everyone to pick an animal and start packing the gear onto it. Time was of the essence.

Amir claimed the largest beast for his own, the only beast that could withstand the burden of his great bulk, an all-white steed with a black nose and two black socks. Still, his enormous size seemed to dwarf that of the horse. Vilmos set his packs upon his chosen animal and hesitantly mounted. He didn’t much like the idea of riding, yet it was better than walking. In contrast to the lumbering giant, he had chosen the smallest horse, a brown mare with a long black mane. The others mounted, each in turn, save Ayrian who took no mount. He preferred to return to the air. Vilmos watched the Eagle Lord as they rode away. Golden rays of the sun seemed to dance along the feathered skin, a lush golden bronze and then suddenly Ayrian took flight, launching into the air, his great wings thrashing the earth, sending plumes of dust outward and upward.

The party followed Ayrian as he led them across the long flat basin and, to Vilmos’ dismay he led them south instead of east, into another stretch of rugged, low hills. They rode at a fast pace and, as the horses had formerly been riderless, they moved swiftly, allowing the travelers to cover much ground despite the intractable hills. Night did come, though; they could not hold it back no matter how fast they rode, and just within the ring of safety the hill country provided, they set up camp. The weary travelers were quickly asleep and even those who weren’t utterly fatigued found sleep swiftly. Dawn came, and with it they stirred. Breakfast was frugal and hurriedly eaten; this day promised to bring rain, and they wanted to put distance between themselves and the encroaching storm. They took a southwesterly path, which would almost immediately take them into the border country. Fear of the storm drove them on and they rode with good speed.

Ruggedness seemed to jump out at Vilmos as the last of the hills leveled out. He remembered the wild magic that had been here, which he no longer felt, and although he did perceive a subtle shift of the energies within him, it was nothing compared to the wildness he had once absorbed. A dry gale kicked up coarse dirt, flinging it into unshielded eyes with a vengeful sting. Kerchiefs were brought up around nose and mouth to the low brim of the eyes. Eastward, the dark tumultuous billows of a storm front approached and Vilmos turned to gawk at it. As he did so, he spotted the Eagle Lord circling loftily overhead.

Vilmos squinted, for suddenly it seemed that Ayrian was no longer there. He rubbed his eyes, thinking something had gotten into his eyes, and then stared again. As he looked on, a thing he at first mistook as an odd cloud, soared past him. For an instant, he recalled his fear of the shadows that the storm was spreading across the eastern landscape, but then recognition came. He roused the stirrups and sent his steed racing to catch up to the shaman. “Xith?” said Vilmos as he rode up beside the other, “How did he do that?”

“Who did what?” asked the shaman, apparently lost in his own concerns.

“Ayrian, look!” he exclaimed and then pointed.

“That is a gift that proved to be the bane of his kind,” muttered Xith, “I would suggest you worry about your own concerns. Have you been practicing as I told you to do?”

“Well, no, not really,” admitted the apprentice, “can I do that?”

Xith considered Vilmos’ words for a time before replying.

“No. It is the Father’s gift to his kind. I am afraid he is the last of such shape-shifters in all the land. Through illusion, some may seem to change forms, but they are only real if you believe them. That is a gift you would do best to forget.”

Vilmos tugged at the reins to slow the horse a bit.

“But why?” he asked.

“That is a story only Ayrian would tell best. But I will tell you some. After all, we have a long ride ahead of us. Do we not?”

Vilmos signaled agreement with a hearty nod.

In spite of the wind, the dust, and the clatter of hooves against hard ground, Xith began to tell the tale. Vilmos said nothing for a long time as the elder spoke, intent on listening, which alone proved a difficult task. Xith paused and eyed Vilmos to be sure that he still followed; for as the storm approached he was unsure whether the other was able to hear anything he said and then just when he was about to begin again, Noman signaled a timely halt.

“Did you hear anything I said?” asked Xith.

Vilmos shrugged his shoulders. “Not really,” he finally admitted. “Do we have time now? I mean to tell it again.”

“I’m not so sure that I have the energy to do it,” explained the shaman, sighing and then looking to Noman, who winked.

“It is about time for lunch, is it not?” spoke Noman.

Xith nodded and shot a prudent glance at the thunderclouds still looming not far off.

“Do not worry, shaman, they will turn north with the winds and blow up into the mountains. They always do.”

Amir seemed to agree as he furrowed his eyebrows and looked at first eastward and then heavenward.

“Five clans once peacefully ruled the whole of the Northern Ranges,” Noman began in a winsome tone, beckoning the boy to squat down to his haunches on the hard, windswept ground. “They dwelled happily in the many valleys that dot the range from end to end, for there all their needs were met. The mountains afforded shelter from the elements. The valleys provided food for hunt and meal. They wanted for nothing and infrequently visited their brethren in Over-Earth.”

The words echoed resonantly in Vilmos’ mind as well as in his ears. The voice that he had thought ranged only in baritone swept from tenor to bass with surprising ease that made it sound natural and to be expected.

“The mountains proved an important barrier, a marshalling wall that spread from the Eastern Sea to the Western Sea. There were other tribes in the Northlands then, too. They dwelled safely beyond the mountains, preferring the bitterness of snow and ice to the concerns of the outside world. My own people often visited and for a time we peacefully intermingled. Yet at this time we had no communities within their lands—that is another tale destined for another telling. We provided the few things that the Eagle Clans had found they lacked. And it was through our comings and goings that Man discovered the Eagle Clans.

“The spread of Man came as a slow incursion, like a disease festering in an open wound. They had spread south, west and east, until they bordered all their neighbors save one, the peoples of the North. You see, where the others had been given gifts that could not be maligned, Man had been given the gift of Magic.

“Hold that question—I know what you wish to ask already—but then why do the peoples of the Samguinne have magic? And I will tell you that it is because they were its first users. But along with this gift the Father endowed them with understanding and great wisdom. He gave them the power of control and the knowledge of the end that would come if they misused the gift. So in this sense, it was a different gift than he gave to Man. But then you might also ask where does your own gift of magic come from? And I will again tell you that that is another tale for another telling.

“It is not known why Man was not given this same knowledge, and perhaps the Great-Father erred, for surely even with his infinite wisdom he is allowed an occasional error. Perhaps the Great-Father thought that without this knowledge the gift was diluted, but this did not prove so—I digress do I not? Did you not ask Xith about the Eagle Clans, and Ayrian’s own gift?”

Noman paused to take a hearty swig from his water bottle and crunch on a bit of dried meat.

“You’re not going to stop are you?” asked Vilmos, eager to hear more.

“No, no, but I think it best if you hurried through that bit of meat and bread you hold in your hand, for we cannot sit idle much longer. I must apologize for the brevity I am forced to, but I must try to sum all this up for you in a matter of minutes.

“As I said, there were once five clans, and among them the Gray and the White Clan were the most powerful. It was the White Clan that eventually befriended Man and granted them passage to the North. And ironically it was the White that was the first to fall at the hands of Man. For you see, Man discovered their gift, the same gift you looked at with awe in your eyes. Not only could the Eagle Clan fly, but they could also grow and be made to carry others. Yet, I get ahead of myself again.

“As Man moved North, the peoples of the Northlands cried out in outrage. The Gray Clan and Ayrian, the Gray Eagle Lord, himself, denounced their brothers and returned to Over-Earth. Now listen, and listen close and remember, for you will find none of what I have told you or none that I am about to tell you in your twisted lore. Man began to enslave those of the White Clan and the White without the aid of their brethren fell easily. Man did not stop there. Magic spells were woven on the hapless prisoners, and they were made to do the bidding of Man. It was Man himself that started the Blood Wars through this treachery. And it was all because of a gift that they could not possess without seizing. On the backs of the White they poured into the North. Settlements were created. Cities grew. Hatred grew.”

Noman stopped and drank from his jug again. After chewing on a large piece of jerked meat for a time, he stood. Amir was already mounted though Vilmos did not know this as he had been listening so intently. Noman mounted likewise and Xith followed.

“You’re not going to stop, are you?” demanded Vilmos, “I mean, that is surely not the end. Is it?”

“It is,” said Noman, gesturing to the youngster to mount up.

“Wait, is there a gift I have?”

“The first sons of the Father were given many gifts, but the Father soon learned that if too many were given, it could lead to destruction. The time of the beginning was such a time; all the wild magic was free. Now it is only there if you are able to attain it. The Father divided different gifts amongst the brother-races. This worked for a time, until those of the beginning returned.”

Vilmos mounted as the others prepared to leave.

“Wait,” shouted Vilmos, “you didn’t answer the question.”

“Yes, I did. If you consider the response,” returned Noman.

Chapter Fifteen

Late in the afternoon, the travelers made another stop. Vilmos wanted an opportunity to talk to Noman, but the opportunity failed to come. Afterwards, they continued southward through the Borderlands toward the Krasnyj, stopping only at evenly spaced intervals to rest horse and rider. Ayrian had disappeared across the horizon hours ago; Xith had sent him out to search for a place to camp for the night.

The Borderlands was not a place to be caught unawares. Afternoon had brought a return of the dark patches of shadow that Vilmos dreaded; yet fortunately the storm had veered off northward as Noman had said it would and now only a quiet, dry wind blew across the empty land.

Vilmos also dreaded the thought of a place more desolate than this. How much worse could it be, he wondered. His thoughts slowly returned to concerns over the Eagle Lord’s whereabouts. Since they had not seen him for some hours, all were growing concerned, most noticeably Xith, though he wouldn’t have admitted it.

And then just when they thought night would come and Ayrian would be absent, he burst into the sky above their heads and landed. Vilmos was the only one who was significantly startled by his appearance although the Little One did appear slightly surprised by it. Ayrian settled quickly and ran over to Xith. The two spoke in hushed tones for a long time; and from the pieces of the conversation Vilmos picked up, he sensed something was awry.

He also began to understand the expression on the Little One’s face; she had been less surprised by Ayrian’s sudden appearance than by what she perceived from him. Noman and Amir seemed to be off in their own concerns, quietly conversing together, though Vilmos could see Amir checking over his equipment. Amir had unsheathed his great sword, giving the blade an inspection and touching a whetstone to it. Vilmos turned back to the Little One and saw an expression of disbelief on her face. Xith took to saddle; Ayrian borrowed a mount and the two wordlessly rode away. The remainder of the group was to camp here this night and wait until the two returned.

Vilmos felt compelled to say something, any sort of comment would do, though he couldn’t decide what. “Are we just going to sit here?” he demanded.

“Patience,” advised Amir as he leaned his head back against his pack and closed his eyes.

Sleep came slowly for Vilmos, and just moments after he had closed his weary eyes, he was rudely jerked from his slumber by Xith. The first thing he noted was that the sun wasn’t even over the horizon yet, so he rolled over attempting to return to sleep.

“Vilmos!” shouted Xith in his ear.

Instantaneously the youngster was awake, wide-awake. Seeing Xith’s long silhouette across the ground, he took a good look at the sky about him for the first time and realized that the sun was still in the process of setting, not rising.

“What is it?” he hissed.

“I’ll explain later; for now just get mounted. We can talk later if need be. We must make a detour. Hurry now,” said Xith, as he hastened Vilmos to mount.

“Where to?” asked Vilmos.

Xith did not respond.

Noticing that he was the last to stir, Vilmos hastily mounted and spurred the mare several times to urge it into a gallop. They rode the horses hard through that last hour of twilight and long into the night, led on by a faint shadow in the sky. Intermittently, they would dismount and walk, but always they continued to move. Any thoughts of conversation had ended with the darkness of night; now their only concern was to reach their destination, which Vilmos still did not know.

The only thing he was vaguely aware of was that at some point they had veered from the southwesterly path they had begun to a direct southerly route. Only a pale sliver of the moon and the occasional stars were visible in the overcast sky. The darkness gave Vilmos the shivers, and every sound caused him to start. He clutched the sweat-soaked leathers in his hand and hastened the animal on with stronger than usual proddings. They seemed to be in a continual chase or rather as Vilmos perceived it, a continual effort to outrun the dark things that crept up on them from behind.

The land held real shadows now and they truly frightened Vilmos. Intermittently, Xith cursed vehemently under his breath, a sound that carried very well in the empty night air. Vilmos did not question him; they did not have time to spare. The detour would take them a day’s ride away from their destination, an extra day that they could not afford to lose. Yet he could not simply ignore what he had seen.

“Damn it!” he cursed again louder as he gnashed his teeth and whipped his steed on.

Daylight came and still they pressed on. Leaving the stale, dead brown of the Borderlands, they entered the green lands of the Kingdom. Unfortunately, they had come too far west in the night and now needed to turn back east—more delay that they could not afford. Vilmos had learned that their destination was Solntse; Xith had told him this in a manner that suggested fear that he might be overheard.

In the light of the new day, Vilmos studied the diversified party he rode with, wondering what the people of the city would think upon seeing their arrival. Ayrian would be their main problem; he was clearly different from them all. Even Amir’s immense proportions were nothing compared to the feathers and talons of Ayrian. As he mulled this over, he could feel something, as if eyes were upon him. Another shiver traversed his spine, an ill feeling that even the new day did not diminish.

High noon came and passed, and the riders raced on. They had finally come to the High Road. The legendary East-West Road was still far to the South. That road ran east all the way to Krepost and Zashchita then to the Eastern Seaboard. It was clear and wide and extremely long yet relatively safe. The High Road ran straight east into Solntse and directly west to the Western Sea, cutting a narrow line that formed the unofficial northern boundary of the Great Kingdom.

The High Road was heavily traveled by garrison soldiers, peddlers and rogues alike. Unlike the East-West Road, it was a dangerous though necessary path to follow. The breakneck pace was maintained with all remaining fully alert despite weary bodies and weary steeds. Amir rode to the rear, his eyes continually scanning the countryside and his right hand never leaving the hilt of his great sword. Noman and Xith rode at the fore; Vilmos and the other were in the middle. Ayrian was still somewhere overhead though he attempted to remain unseen for the most part.

The horses were near death and still they raced on; their gallant efforts were not lost to the thankful riders. Beyond a ridge that was only a short distance away lay the Free City, or so Xith promised. Vilmos absently rubbed his weary body and his saddle sores. The journey was nearly complete. The sojourn through the darkness would hopefully prove worthwhile. Even as they climbed the rise that cut off their view of the city, Vilmos braced himself. He knew what lay beyond. But when he at last reached the top of the rise, he still found himself stifling an awed breath. The sight of the city growing in the distance spurred them on, yet as they broke the rise, they were not prepared for what lay in wait for them on its far side.

Noman’s mount was the first to be torn from under him, with Xith’s soon following. Vilmos only managed to rein his animal to a halt thanks to the swift reactions of the one who rode beside him. She grabbed the reins from his hands even as she jerked her own steed to a halt, pulling them both to a dead stop. It was a desperate, wily group of assailants that set up an ambush this close to the Free City, but even their cleverness and the element of surprise did not prepare them for the inhuman speed of the mighty warrior.

Amir bounded from his saddle, tumbling onto the hard ground, coming up with his sword flashing in his hand like a thing possessed. The would-be assailants never knew what hit them as the first of their ranks fell, one with an upward slice to the unprotected jugular, another with a downward hack through the soft leather armor to the gut.

To his shock, Vilmos watched the man’s innards spill into his hands, his face filled with dismay and eyes wide with horror as he staggered and fell flat on his face. Amir didn’t stop there; he continued the assault with a lightning speed and a quick precision that only he could have managed, taking so many of the assailants in the first few moments of the brief battle that the survivors were scrambling just to recover from the deadly blows and were on the run before they even had time to counter.

Even as Xith and Noman righted themselves and prepared to return to saddle, the battle was nearing its end. Without thought, Amir dropped the last man, taking him mid-stride in his exposed side as he whirled to run. In a way that was almost casual and made Vilmos’ skin crawl, Amir wiped the blood from his blade using the dying man’s tunic as the man gasped for his last breath, sheathed the blade, and then without even a backward glance, remounted. There was no exchange of words and the group continued toward the city as if the incident had never occurred.

Several hundred yards from the gates, the group stopped for a quick reprieve and upon Xith’s signal dismounted; then and only then did it seem the impact of the incident hit them though still no comments were made. They waited a moment until Ayrian circled down to join them and then walked the horses the remainder of the way to the city. They were stopped at the gates and inspected; after a moment and a small bribe they were allowed entrance.

A stable just within the gates was their first stop and their horses were traded for fresh ones. The stable master charged exorbitant prices for the exchange, yet Xith didn’t even argue as he counted off payment to the gray-haired gentleman. He told the owner they would return in the morning and then left to find an inn. They did not immediately explore the city’s heart as Vilmos had expected; instead they turned down the first street they came to.

Vilmos walked next to Xith and nudged him. He whispered, “Why isn’t everyone looking at us weirdly?”

He had expected their group to draw considerable attention; however, they seemed to go unnoticed. It may have been the simple wish to dispel the somber mood, but the shaman decided to play with the boy and Noman seemed responsive to the notion. Instead of responding directly to the question, he simply pointed to Noman, who already had a smirk on his expressive lips.

Noman told the perplexed young man with a wink, “A simple trick—”

“An illusion,” added Xith, mixing a tone of mysticism into his voice as if the presence of a true illusion were not already mystical enough in and of itself.

“They see us as a group of barbarian traders from the border country; that is the reason they made us pay a bribe to get past the gates.”

Vilmos looked up, squinting. He didn’t see anything. He saw everyone the same as he had before; there was no difference.

Xith whispered to him, “You still see us as we are because you already know who we are, yet someone who doesn’t sees us differently.”

Vilmos was interested in learning this trick but was disappointed when Noman explained to him that he could not do it. “I’m truly sorry,” he said, “It is somewhat of a specialty of mine and I am afraid, try as you might, you will not be able to reproduce it.”

“One of his many gifts,” added Xith, again relying on the added play of a mystical tone. The wide smile that had loomed momentarily on mischievous lips ebbed as the shaman took in his unhappy surroundings. Propelled back to the very real, there was no longer a sense of play in his words as he began again, “I can see you are still curious. That is good; we can discuss it at length later, yet now is neither the time nor the place to discuss such things. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I guess so,” muttered Vilmos. A chill traveled down his back again, mixed with confusion, for only a moment ago he had realized the two were playing with him.

Wandering the streets for a time and checking the wares at the different marketplaces occupied their time for a while until it seemed a sufficient time had transpired. Eventually the band came to stand before a large inn, one that looked very familiar to Vilmos, yet also unfamiliar; the dirtiness of the place disturbed him, but before he could object or comment, Xith paid the innkeeper. Wordlessly, they ascended the stairs to their rooms hoping to steal a few hours of much-needed sleep; exhaustion had finally eaten away the surge of energy that they had been feeling.

Considerably more sore the following morning or what he perceived as morning, his body aching everywhere, Vilmos stirred as his slumber was disturbed. Fortunately, however, he wasn’t the only sluggish one, and the sun was high in the sky before they departed the inn. High in the sky?

Vilmos double-checked the sun’s position again—low in the sky, he corrected himself; it was late afternoon, yet it never occurred to his weary mind that it was the same day. Quickly they sought out the garrison headquarters, which was located in the northern section of the city—a building that Vilmos immediately recognized. His heart thumped rapidly as they crossed a street, making for the unseen square that Vilmos knew was ahead.

Vilmos recalled the chance meeting with the remarkable bladesman oddly. The face he pictured as if he had seen it only yesterday, the tall form he had taken in that single panning glance, the sound of the gruff voice seemed a distant recollection, yet it was the voice that he recalled with the greatest fondness. He wondered if the competition were still underway; and in the excitement, his weariness ebbed and he asked a question that in retrospect he knew he shouldn’t have. Xith’s rebuttal, although brief, was particularly stinging; he was not to say another word until they were inside the garrison proper.

Noman slipped the sentry the customary bribe for admittance, which to his dismay was promptly refused. After that, it took both Xith and Noman nearly a full hour to convince the man that he should let them enter the outer keep and to send for the day captain. The man seemed particularly miffed at the attempted bribe, and it was only through persistent nagging that they were allowed entrance at all.

“Night cap’n’s watch comin’ on soon, ya’ know,” mumbled the squat man.

“Yo’all need to stay here,” he added, disappearing into a hallway, an ironbound door clanging closed after him.

They had made it as far as the inner gatehouse and no farther. A portcullis lay between them and the outer keep and another to the rear insured that they were retained here until someone returned, which they hoped would be soon. Xith grew visibly angry as the day dwindled away and the captain hadn’t come back. Even the steadfast Amir was getting edgy, his hand subconsciously fondling the hilt of his sword.

Vilmos was the only one who didn’t mind waiting. He thought it was a good opportunity to talk with Noman; unfortunately Noman didn’t think so. Noman was busy trying to confer with the guards, who suspiciously watched them. He repeated the same question concerning the day captain’s whereabouts only to receive no response. The guards would only glare at him with disgust and contempt. He was tempted to use the guiles of the voice, but never quite did. The voice relied on a somewhat receptive audience and the guards neither paid attention to them nor cared if they were made to wait all day.

The captain finally arrived just after sunset.

“So, you’re still here?” the captain said, acting surprised, “I do not have time to waste with the likes of you. I am off shift; you should consult the night captain if you still wish to speak with someone. Guards, dismiss them at once. Good Evening.”

Noman put a quick end to diplomacy; his patience was at an end. “Good evening is all you are going to say after you have made us wait for the better part of the day?”

Better judgment prevailed and Noman withheld his anger. Time was running short; they should have been on their way already. “You are Captain Nijal, first son of Geoffrey. I would advise you to take me to see your father now or I’ll have your head!”

The name brought instant remembrance to Vilmos and now he matched the broad shoulders hidden beneath padded armor with a distant visage he had briefly envied, the distant figure that had been one of the few in the respected group that had ascended from the field of combat to the lofty balcony to stand beside their lord. The words of the bladesman rang in his ears: “The test of steel lasted six days for that one.” Vilmos waited to see how he would react to the challenge.

“You make demands here? I think not!” rebuked the captain.

Vilmos silently cheered, though not because the man was defying Noman, but because the words fit the image he held in his mind’s eye.

“I think so,” calmly stated Noman with a scowl. Noman made a reaching motion with his hands, twisting his fingers around an imagined globe and then clenching the fingers tight, destroying the globe. The captain fell to the ground, his face whitening with horror as he realized he was unable to move. “Have you looked to the heavens lately?”

Vilmos gulped, suddenly sorry for his wishes of defiance.

The sentries lunged forward and then stopped. Noman waved his hands again, a twinge of malice held in his upturned eyes, and the captain fell to his belly—the sentries made no further advances. To Nijal it seemed as if the earth had suddenly opened up to swallow him and he groveled insanely on the floor for a time before he looked upon the vision only he could see. Noman played with the man, seeming to enjoy the torment he caused. His companions saw nothing, yet they knew that somehow the diviner had caused the man to suffer.

“I am Noman, guardian of the lost children of the Father, Master of the City of the Sky. Light fire to your feet as you scamper back to your father with my message!”

To his utter surprise, the man held his ground, and then an odd thing happened. Though the terrified captain was unaware of it, a true smile lit the diviner’s face, yet it was short-lived. “You have two choices, Nijal, son of Geoffrey.” The words were spoken with a wintry tone as if each word cost the speaker pain and toil, “Draw the blade that you are so proud of, or do as I have instructed!”

Suddenly, as if he had just found that he had feet, the captain scrambled away, fleeing into the keep. He returned moments later with an older gentleman, nearly dragging the elder behind him. The old man’s form spoke of one who had once been powerfully built but had softened with age. His voice was softened and gently aged.

“I am Geoffrey; please follow me,” he stated, leading them away.

The words of the bladesman suddenly rang in his ears again. “He’s been the best for a decade now, and the Father willing, I think he will make a comeback this year.” Vilmos studied father and son, searching for the similarities between them, of which there were many, suddenly noting how young the other looked, and truly was, when compared to the older gentleman. Momentarily, he wondered if any man could match the powerful Amir in a test of steel; somehow, he didn’t think so.

Two groups of escorts accompanied them on the brief walk through the keep. Captain Nijal directed wary glances solely at Noman, a worried expression forming on his face with each; it was clear that he was terrified of the mystic.

Vilmos glanced back at the small open yard with its covered overhangs and fountains as they passed into the inner keep. The rear guard lagged behind now as they paused to seal the doors and Vilmos paused likewise, turning to regard them. They were not outfitted like the outer sentries in padded leathers and helmet. They wore a shining chain, which was obviously lightly woven as they moved with ease, and an open-faced helmet with a long plume, a clump of black feathers, on its top. Their weapons were not pike and glaive, but full two-handed swords with fine hilts and ornate scabbards.

The brief walk ended when they entered what appeared to be a large audience chamber with a large, rectangular table with ten chairs on each long side and two chairs on the short sides filling most of it. Two of the sentries remained outdoors, but the other pair followed Geoffrey to the head of the table. They took up positions on either side of him.

Vilmos was curious now, for none of them had been searched for weapons. Was this because Noman played out an illusion before their eyes of a harmless band of peddlers, or was it because the lord knew without a doubt that no matter what occurred the two stalwart figures planted behind him would protect him regardless of the cost to themselves? He would have liked to believe the latter, for he took an odd liking to the young captain and his noble father.

Noman skipped any introductions and cut the conversation short by dropping an illusion, which he had obviously concocted and fine tuned during the short walk, into the center of the table they were now seated around. Little further explanation was necessary; Geoffrey fully understood the banners he saw raised.

Geoffrey and Nijal sat with eyes wide in disbelief at what they were witnessing. Yet true wonderment came when Geoffrey of Solntse recognized his own standard among the many raised on the illusionary field, for this small thing defined the intricacies in the precarious detail. Vilmos again noted that emotion did not stir the sentries’ faces. They stared directly ahead without variance.

Noman did speak now, in kind, cognizant prose, emanating a feeling of peace and truthfulness, which overwhelmed even Vilmos. He continued to speak at length about things Vilmos had never heard him mention to anyone else, things that caused Vilmos to start and tremble. Words like war, death, famine, and suffering, that rang in his ears long after Noman finished.

Lord Geoffrey spoke for a time in a reasonable fashion that surprised some of the listeners. He seemed to have listened well, and it was clear that he intended to heed the warning. And then a strong silence permeated the room, lasting until the guardian cleared his throat and looked to Xith. The shaman smiled, looked to Geoffrey for a moment and then nodded his head; he was sufficiently satisfied with the other’s intent to hold to his promise. Xith winked at the young captain as they broke from the table, causing the man to fidget.

They stopped at the open yard where Geoffrey offered them a place to stay for the night, which they declined, declaring that they must depart immediately. Nijal further offered them swift horses from the garrison’s own stock, supplies for their journey, and his deepest apology, which Noman accepted.

As they reached the outer keep gate, the young captain made one final appeal to them to accept his father’s and his own gracious invitation to stay the night. Guilt rode upon his shoulders for the way he had treated those that had been trying to help him; and this sat very uneasily with him, for he thought of himself as fair and not self-serving. “Is there any way we can further assist you?”

“No, we must be going. I am truly sorry,” said Noman, patting the captain’s shoulder.

Nijal looked to his father. He wanted to say something but couldn’t. With Noman in their midst, the ruggedness of the newcomers was strangely appealing, yet he wondered why such a powerful man kept such poor company, or if perhaps there were more than was apparent. He watched the guardian as the outer portcullis was slowly raised and an unanticipated sadness came to him as he began to walk away.

Noman whispered to Nijal as they exited, “Things are not always as they seem, friend Nijal.”

A small contingent of garrison soldiers waited with the fresh mounts. The group dismounted at their approach and it became quickly apparent to the onlookers that these where the soldiers’ personal mounts. The animals were large, muscular, and obviously well groomed and maintained. Saddlebags were quickly brought out and distributed. And then since there was nothing more to say, Noman and the others quickly accepted the gift and departed. The two, father and son, watched the departure; again a curious sadness passed between them.

“Times are changing, my son,” said Geoffrey.

“Yes, father, to think the guardian has left the fabled city.”

“Life is breathed into the myth,” added the lord.

“Indeed! Could you feel the power that emanated from him? He seemed larger than life itself. By my code, our code, one to be reckoned with.”

“From the group, I would say,” countered the lord.

“Father? May I—” began Nijal, adding remorsefully, “No, it is only a foolish notion.”

“What is only a foolish notion?” inquired Geoffrey as he turned to face the young man.

The others were gone from sight now and the gate was grinding down with an unsettling whine. As the lord sauntered into the courtyard, his bodyguards followed and Nijal walked alongside him.

“I know they go to meet something important and all I can do is look around and see these dead, gray walls. I need purpose in my life, father. I need to find my freedom.”

“Yes,” said Geoffrey sighing. The final word had struck a chord and the words of the freeman’s code flooded into his mind; it was all that he stood for, all that he wanted to maintain for his son. “Perhaps I have kept you here for too long. You were never one to stay in one place too long. Yet I thought I finally had satisfied you.”

The lord sighed again and then continued, “You have a considerable position in the city, yet you are unhappy, you are not free. You are indeed my son.”

Geoffrey’s grim demeanor lessened.

“I am a free man.”

“Yes, you are my son. Who would you have lead the garrison in your stead?”

“You know the one, Father. He is far better than I.”

“You have trained him well. He will make a worthy captain.”

“Shchander is a good man.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Then I have your permission?”

“Yes, go my son. Find what it is you seek so that someday you may return a settled man. May the Father watch over you!”

“And you as well, Father!”

Nijal rushed inside to gather a few of his scattered belongings; when he returned, his stallion was saddled and ready for him. The new captain stood next to Geoffrey and the three saluted each other in mutual respect as Nijal departed.

Hastily, he rode away, heading toward the eastern gates of the city. Still he could not believe his father had allowed him to leave. The life of a captain was definitely not for him. He needed excitement and change, which he hoped to find.

“What of the watch?” shouted Shchander, chasing after Nijal.

Nijal grinned and waved, saying nothing.

Soon the eastern gates lay behind him and the open plains of the border country stretched out before him. He wasn’t sure to where he ran, only that the visitors had said they were headed eastward and so was he. He was a little disconcerted when he found no immediate sign of them or their passage, the dry earth showing no telltale dust plume of the retreating riders. He decided to ride east for a time.

He hoped his brash nature hadn’t left him without a job for he could not return now, even if he wanted. He had already given his position as day captain of the city garrison away, or at least that was the thought that spurred him on. He cradled the stout leather whip in his hand and hastened his steed onward.

Dusk besieged the murky land and Nijal found himself squinting in the falling silvered light to find the thin trail that led to the east. Surrounded by a disturbing lull, mentally he keyed his senses, searching for the night sounds he knew should be there—the distant call of nocturnal hunters waking from a day’s sleep, the scurrying of the border hare, a scrawny, thick-skinned rabbit that he found surprisingly tasty, or even the cry of the speckled black bird which abounded in the flat lands, a bird which the nomads called the gray raven.

Finding a few of those sounds in the distance after a time, Nijal no longer felt lost and alone, yet this was not why he persisted; it was as though an invisible hand were guiding him on, pulling him through the waning day and forcing him to ride on when otherwise he might have turned back.

He glared across the horizon, spotting the only things that marred the otherwise featureless land around him, small stands of stunted trees, trees that looked as if the sun never found them beneath the perpetual blanket of wind-blown debris tossed up from the rough lands by the coarse, damaging winds.

His pace slackened now, as he oddly lost the sense of urgency, yet the unseen hand still guided him on—he would never recall that he hadn’t paused to look back at the grand city in the fading light. The night sounds served better than a pacifier in a child’s mouth to soothe his agitated senses, and for a time he came to rely on them; that is, until they abruptly stopped. His first reaction was to rein in his mount, but then, feeling foolish, he urged the animal on.

Passing a small cluster of the sickly wood now, he stopped abruptly; once more, on the far side of the stand, mixing with the overshadowed land, silhouettes were outlined in the falling light as long mishappen shadows. His first thought was of bandits; they often waited in such places for unwary passersby.

Taking the reins in one hand, he groped for the pommel of his sword and eased it from its scabbard, yet as directly as he drew it, the fears dissolved. The guiding hand led him on, tugging him forward. Warily, he approached and when sufficiently close to make out faces within the gray, he stopped, ignoring the strong beckoning of the hand, lingering shortly, waiting purposefully.

“Welcome Nijal, first son of Geoffrey of Solntse,” called out a strong voice.

Nijal recognized the voice as that of Noman, yet he didn’t recognize the face.

“We have been waiting for you,” commented the voice.

“How did you know I would come?” asked Nijal skeptically.

“You could not have done otherwise.”

Noman introduced each of the group in turn; the titles of all save the young man, Vilmos, were quite impressive to behold, yet he did not mention the name of their most beautiful companion which left Nijal hanging as it became readily apparent that Noman was going to say no more.

“I would say it is a safe assumption that you know this country like the back of your hand. Is that not right, my young friend?”

Nijal gave a subdued nod of the head.

“We travel south my young friend, south toward the open country. Will you not lead the way?”

“But I thought you were headed east?”

“We have, perhaps, changed our minds,” said Noman with a grin.

The group departed, turning a wide circle south and east, with a stunned young captain staring at the Gray Eagle Lord who had just launched effortlessly into the quickly darkening sky on powerful wings. Vilmos stole the opportunity to intercede on the other’s behalf, saying, “Many strange things happen in this group, friend Nijal; in time it will all just seem natural, because to them, it is—”

“Quickly now!” hastened Noman, “We have one more to gather.”

Chapter Sixteen

In the half-light of dawn, a long line of ships gathered. The serene sky returned to blue, the call of the gull filled the air, and moderate waves splashed against a rocky shore spraying a fine salty mist. Sailors, soldiers, free men, and mercenaries alike had begun their toil long before the dawn had come. There were two groups of vessels in the sea this day, the large three-masted sea vessels whose silhouettes hung long in the still shadowed day and a tiny fleet of longboats that forever shifted between ship and shore.

Seth looked on; it was a grand sight to him. It marked the return to his lands and his people and a chance for their survival. A temporary lull while the longboats returned once more to shore to ferry supplies allowed his mind to wander. Yet this didn’t last long until he was interrupted by Cagan calling to him from the lower deck. The last of the stores were finally secured in the hold and it was time for those waiting to board. Lines formed and people filled the tiny boats to capacity the second they touched land. There was energy in the air, eagerness, a culmination, and an end to the waiting.

Satisfied with the proceedings, Cagan and Seth returned to shore, crossing the now barren fields on foot to the place where the last tent stood. Seth paused a moment in reflection. The field was strewn with debris and discarded goods. Although a few stragglers remained, Peddler Town was all but disbanded. Its dividing fence in shambles, the training field was also empty now.

The emptiness saddened Seth for a reason he couldn’t understand. He didn’t linger much longer; turning away, he flung the tent’s door open and walked in. Chancellor Van’te, Keeper Martin, Father Jacob, the newly appointed captain, Evgej, and Prince Valam were already inside waiting.

The meeting was meant for the seven of them alone. They had decided previously that they would split up into two groups; the first would depart as soon as the meeting commenced and the second would follow at mid-day with the change of the tides. Father Jacob, Keeper Martin, and Captain Evgej would be on the lead ship of this second group, the others on the first lead ship.

The individual captains had already been given plans and contingencies in case any of the ships were separated. A primary point of arrival and a secondary point had also been designated on the maps they had distributed. This meeting was to firm up any loose ends they had previously overlooked and to set the plans into action.

Chancellor Van’te was to remain behind and wait for word from King Andrew. Finalizing the plans was a meticulous process accomplished only after long, exasperating minutes. A few minuscule items were found, nothing more. Next they discussed the chain of command from Valam down to the lowest of the ranking soldiers. They had no idea where the enemy would be, and this they discussed also. Goodbyes were said, and since there was nothing more to say, the companions parted ways. After the ship captains had been contacted and everything was in place, Captain Cagan hoisted the signal flag. His ship was the first to raise sail and embark. In pairs, the others followed in two drawn-out columns.

“A beautiful sight, I must say!” exclaimed Cagan, his love for the sea evident. The sight of ships on the horizon as far as he could see gave him a sense of elation.

“Yes, indeed!” answered Seth and Valam.

“I wonder how Evgej will fare with those two?” asked Seth.

“Keeper Martin will probably drive him mad by the time the journey is over, and Father Jacob will probably turn him into a convert. He’ll be quoting whole sections from the Great Book,” replied Valam with a jovial tone.

“Or bore him to death with their intellectual talks. I can see it now,” joked Seth.

“Yes, that is probably what will happen. Poor fellow. I will miss him sorely.”

“And I have lost my fencing partner,” returned Seth.

“I don’t think so,” said a familiar voice from below.

“You are going to get us in real trouble,” said Valam. “What will the men in the ranks think when they see you gone?”

The three turned and stared as Evgej climbed the ladder to the upper deck. Water dripped from his hair down his face and his tunic and leathers were clearly soaked.

“No trouble at all, I assure you. It was a simple solution really. You see—”

“You are all wet,” said Seth as he looked at the water dripping from Evgej.

“A minor issue in truth.”

“How did you manage to sneak away from them?”

“I didn’t sneak. They both decided it would be best for me to accompany you. They said I could keep you three in line.”

“Oh, really?” exclaimed Valam.

“Well, actually, it was because of—how did Father Jacob put it—oh, yes—I looked like a lost toddler when you departed. He said, ‘If you are going to reach the ship before it departs you had better hurry.’ I almost made it, too; however, I had to take a slight detour to get aboard. Lost my balance actually.”

The four burst into raucous laughter.

“Come with me below; I’ll get you some dry clothes,” said Cagan.

With a final wave to the distant figure of Father Jacob, the two went below decks; Seth and Valam remained above. Valam had a broad smile on his lips; with the four of them together the journey would be anything but dull. Father Jacob watched the last of the first group depart, pairs of sails turning away, becoming smaller and smaller. He was rather eager to get underway, yet the changing of the tides was several hours away.

“Do you think it was a good idea to send Captain Evgej with those three?” asked Chancellor Van’te jokingly.

“I’m not so sure,” answered Keeper Martin.

“All these men to fight away from their lands; most will never return. Is it all worth it?” asked Van’te. The question had been at the tip of his thoughts all day; he would not have asked it in the presence of the others. He knew Martin and Jacob would accept the question at face value and not dwell on it, so he had asked.

“If you had seen the images from Seth’s home you would be convinced beyond any doubts. There will always be doubts in any endeavor, but in this the consequences far outweigh any doubts. I just wish we had heard from King Andrew beforehand, yet this was the date he himself set. I am anxious to know if the delegates have arrived from the Minor Kingdoms. Last night I sent a message to the council, but I am not sure if it was heard. My thoughts were in disarray with such a short time to prepare, and the distance is great. I may only hope.”

“As do I. I have received no word from the priesthood. Still, I am confident we made the correct decision.”

“Yes, Father Jacob, we were not given much choice in the matter. The situation has turned suddenly so serious. There is no doubt—we made the right choice.”

They sat quietly contemplating their own thoughts; soon it was time to say their goodbyes also. They must depart now, for the tide had changed. The ships were fully boarded and now only one of the longboats remained. It waited at the shore, its four oarsmen weary from a day that had already been too long for them. Jacob didn’t much care for ships or travel by sea and as he stepped into the small boat, he crossed himself and said a prayer to the benevolent Father to watch over him and keep him safe throughout the journey, which he hastily amended with a prayer for all who departed this day. His thoughts were especially with Prince Valam.

On Keeper Martin’s command, the signal flag was hoisted. Their ship, the lead ship, was the first to raise its sails, tighten its lines, weigh anchor and make the long arcing turn for clear open waters. At mid-day the sea was broken only by a delicate ripple, but as the giant vessels began to glide through its dark waters it swelled and churned, as if offering a slight resistance. As the lead turned its sails fully westward, the others were making their exodus from the shore in a staggered array.

Chancellor Van’te watched the last pair grow to small specks on the horizon before he prepared to return home. The command tent was removed from the field, and now it was truly empty. Only one peddler stand remained.

The benevolent chancellor felt that he was indebted to the old man, though for what he did not know. He dismounted, a slow feat for the aged chancellor, and approached the small bit of canvas that served as a meager shelter from the rains and winds for the peddler and his wares.

“Good day to you, gent,” said Van’te.

The peddler did not move. His head was slumped and his chin rested oddly on the top of his dirty coat. His hands were crossed, left over right and folded over his lap. Van’te noted the thick scent of mead from within the tent. At first, the chancellor thought the other was a drunkard, then he saw the many small oaken casks. His frown departed and the corners of his mouth lifted as he inhaled heavily of the sweet aroma.

“Good day to you, sir!” called out Van’te.

The peddler did not stir.

“Good day to you, sir!” he called out again.

The man was still as death, and for an instant, this notion crossed Van’te’s mind. This idea that the man was indeed dead would seem an appropriate explanation for his lagging behind. Dying in a barren field was a bitter end. Van’te’s sour countenance slowly crept back into place.

“How much for the lot?” The chancellor asked.

He lurched, expecting the old peddler to accept the offer eagerly. The chancellor signaled his attendant and turned back to his mount; gaining the saddle was as tedious a feat as departing it. He chased away offers of assistance; the day he could no longer take to saddle was the day he wished to pass like the old vendor, quietly and sadly where there would be no loved ones to see him go and feel the pain.

The small party headed by the chancellor began the solemn ride back to the city. The guardsmen seemed as touched by the incident as the chancellor had been. He flicked the reins, signaling his mount to go. He looked back, a long hard stare, as the animal beneath him raced forward. He was halfway to the city when his conscience forced him to turn around. He raced back to that empty field, just as his attendant and two others were preparing to lower the peddler’s ragged tent.

“Leave it,” he said, in a low voice.

“Leave it?” questioned the attendant.

“Leave it,” the chancellor replied, “find his book of records, if he has one, and bring it to me.”

“But—”

“That cache of mead smells of the finest sort in all the land and I would imagine that it is. What would you say would be the worth of such a treasure?”

“Nothing to a dead man.”

“Return with a wagon, and bring me the record when you find it. Lay his bones to rest in this field only at peril of your own life.”

The chancellor didn’t know why he said this; but as he did, he whipped his reins and urged his steed to a full gallop. He rode back toward Quashan’, uttering not a single word until he dispatched a messenger for the local keeper. Van’te had talked to him many times in the past few days; he grew to dislike the man more each time. Keeper Parren was a different man than Keeper Martin, extremely different. Still, he was the head keeper for their city, so he must be informed that the departure had taken place as set forth.



Keeper Parren awoke suddenly, snapped from his dream by an urgent-sounding summons at his chamber door. It took him quite a while to gather his thoughts. For a moment, he had thought he was back at home in Imtal. Slowly a picture began to form in his mind, the dream. The message was made faint and unclear by the sound of incessant thrashing at his door.

He was sure of one thing: something was very wrong in Imtal. He sat lost in a trance of remembrance, a trance that should have cleansed his mind and brought the message of the dream forth. The thoughts would not come, only a vague feeling that something was wrong, a picture of the palace at Imtal and a faint image of a man. He continued to follow his thoughts back through his sleep. The answer did not lie in his dreams.

He jumped from his trance as the pounding returned to the door.

“What is it?” he bellowed haughtily.

“A message, Keeper, from Chancellor Van’te,” exclaimed the page, sounding urgent.

“For this you wake me as if the very earth were crumbling beneath my feet! For this you raise a heavy fist again and again to my door!”

The keeper didn’t much care for the chancellor either, as was evident in his tone.

“Bring me the note, you oafish boy! Don’t just stand there peering within! Boy, come here!”

The youngster inched forward warily.

“Don’t just stand there; hand me the note, boy! The note—”

Keeper Parren read the message, muttering to himself about the summons. He chased the boy away with a violent hand gesture, quickly dipping his face in the basin beside his bed and then dressing in the appropriate robes of his office. He didn’t race down the hall; instead, he walked at a moderate pace. Any other day he would have stopped off at the kitchens for a quick bite, but this day the strange dream gnawed at the corners of his thoughts.

He found Chancellor Van’te in the study, not in his office, oddly gazing out an open window. The keeper quietly approached, waiting until Van’te turned from the window before he said a word. The two spoke brokenly for a moment, the chancellor muttering something about sleeping past the midday and the keeper mumbling about dotards. Keeper Parren was quick to discuss the dream that pervaded even his waking mind. The two discussed this for a time and it puzzled them both. There must be a reason the message was sent, but they could not tell what it was.

“The man in the image—you couldn’t see him?” snapped the chancellor.

“Just the outline of him superimposed over the castle. I assume it must be King Andrew.”

“The king—that is odd,” said Chancellor Van’te, his voice suddenly becoming mild as chagrin set in.

“I can think of only two reasons the Council of Keepers would send a message with such feelings: to have us stop the journey or to inform us of a happening of great import.”

Keeper Parren decided to go into the dream-state again. Only this time, Chancellor Van’te would probe his thoughts as he recalled them with verbal cues—a trick he had learned from Martin and Jacob. He told Keeper Parren to delve back through his night’s dream one step at a time, and slowly inch forward. The images rolled into Parren’s mind at a rate that only his subconscious could perceive. Hours passed in minutes, or perhaps minutes passed in hours. Time held no bounds within his thoughts.

Van’te found a detail the keeper had overlooked. The image of the castle was hazy, but certain things could be noted. The gates of the castle were closed, and the kingdom flag was not flying. The chancellor broke the link immediately; now he understood. Keeper Parren continued the trance, slowly recovering from it until his mind was free.

Chancellor Van’te returned his stare to the open window and the small courtyard below it where the sun continued to shine and where it seemed that the entire world had been cleansed. Without a doubt, he understood the message, King Andrew was dead and the only heir to the throne of the Great Kingdom was gone.

Chapter Seventeen

Nijal and Vilmos had talked a lot since the former day captain of the Solntse City Garrison had joined their small band. The two found that they had a lot in common and shared a similar dream. They didn’t strive to be wealthy or important; they just wanted to have purpose in their lives.

Vilmos explained much to Nijal, who always listened intently, about those of the mysterious company. The free man often felt he did not belong in such a group, a feeling that Vilmos shared with him since the departure of the wild magic, yet Vilmos assured him that if he did not belong he would not be here with them. And from those meager ties, their strange friendship grew.

Vilmos continued his tutelage under Xith’s scrutinizing eye. Talk of the opposing forces had led to more in-depth discussions about the properties within those forces of positive and negative, sometimes viewed erroneously as good and evil—the four basic elements of fire, air, water, and earth. Since the boy had begun with fire, the simplest and the most powerful, and then gone on to air, a median power, Xith considered continuing on to the third element, water. However, he decided to hold off for a time and allow the young man more time for adjustment.

Air was a power that the young apprentice was already very familiar with, a power that he had often played with though he had not known it at the time, so this was where the shaman concentrated his efforts. He found that Vilmos easily understood the realm of air once he put it into a readily understandable context. Since levitation was a skill that relied on the realm of air and a skill that Vilmos had often tried though he had not known how to control it, Xith chose this skill to begin with.

As with the previous lessons, Xith only wished to impart to Vilmos one basic skill, a stepping-stone that would prove the basis for all other dealings with this property. Levitation was simply re-applying the powers he had touched on in the lesson with the rocks, a lesson that Vilmos uneasily recalled.

The journey to the city of Solntse had taken them days out of the way, but this was also a mixed blessing. Although the trek was lengthened by several days, they would not have to endure the tireless extremes of the high desert whose temperatures would roast them during the day and freeze them at night.

Amir rode beside his Little One; occasionally he attempted to carry on a conversation with her but mostly he seemed to be talking to himself. He didn’t mind, though. He could bathe in the beauty she radiated forever. He hoped eventually to find out her secrets and be able to alleviate some of her burden. Xith and Noman rode side by side though seldom a word passed between them. They were content to ride quietly, watch the countryside pass, and concentrate on the dangers that lay ahead.

Something troubled Noman deeply, yet each time he tried to grasp the thought it slipped from him. Xith and Ayrian had similar feelings, the sense that something was amiss; yet as surely as they tried to discern what it was, it slipped away from their thoughts.

This night they made camp a short distance from the main road. While they were well into the heart of the Great Kingdom there was little fear of incidents; nonetheless, they took precautions. They would each take turns at guard during the night. Vilmos was the unlucky one who was chosen to perform the first watch.

Vilmos didn’t complain, though, because he knew they would each eventually get their turn. The long, dark night proved thankfully uneventful; Xith, who had taken the last watch, woke them just before dawn. A light breakfast was eaten and preparations to start on their way were made as the sun appeared on the horizon.

Nijal wiped his tired eyes and nudged Vilmos, who was slumped over seated upright.

“Wake up!” he implored.

Vilmos opened bleary eyes, astonished to find his hand half raised to mouth. He mumbled through a quick apology, cut short as a warning flashed out to all. Stand still, warned the voice in their minds. Noman hurriedly crafted an illusion to hide their presence from the unseen danger. No one dared to move, their eyes set on a place behind them on the trail. Shadows shifted across the land as partially seen clouds passed through the half-shrouded sky.

Under this canopy of darkness, an extremely large group of men clad in dark high-hooded cloaks approached on horseback, hoping to use even the last few moments of darkness to conceal their passage. Slowly, following Noman’s signal, Xith and the others moved to their horses, moving away from the trail.

As they watched, the dark group stopped and made camp off the trail only a short distance away. The light of morning grew and the strangers seemed to disappear with its arrival, leaving no signs of themselves or their camp.

Noman signaled the party to move again; and they moved away from the mysterious group, pausing only to look back briefly, riding hard until the sun blazed fully overhead, only then stopping to discuss what they had seen. Nijal was more puzzled than worried and Vilmos’ expression of confusion only added to the free man’s befuddlement. He had seen groups of highwaymen before though never one so large.

“We must stay ahead of them. We have a long, hard journey to undertake. It lies ahead of us; there is nothing behind us now and there can be no turning back,” spoke Noman, looking to their newest companion, “yet at least we now know who the enemy are.”

“Enemy?” gasped Nijal and Vilmos in unison.

“Ayrian!” bellowed Xith.

“Yes, I’ll go,” replied Ayrian, dismounting. He tethered his mount to Xith’s saddle horn in simple, quick fashion and departed with two long pumpings of his great wings.

Nijal stared in awe toward the departing Eagle Lord. Vilmos had explained the transformation to him, but it still captivated him. Ayrian became a symbol of power and beauty in the new form. And then, with a final look behind, they continued on their way, riding until they were sure they were far, far ahead of what lay behind them. No further discussion was made of the dark figures; and this night they would not camp in the open, for they no longer felt safe, and a guard was now a necessity.

Nightfall seemed to come too soon when compared to previous days; and before the travelers knew it, the sun was setting. Nijal drew first odds and his watch began as his companions drifted off to an uneasy sleep. No fire was made; as night fell, it was only the light of the heavens that allowed him sight, and every sound alarmed him. It wasn’t that he was without experience in the woods or the open land that brought on his fright, but rather an unsettling chill that seemed to rest upon his own skin and the air he breathed.

Nijal had camped alone in the dangerous border country before and endured darker nights than this, yet this seemed somehow more frightening and more portentous. He made such a commotion pacing through the undergrowth that he awoke the shaman more than once. After the third time, tired of soothing Nijal’s fears, the shaman took over the watch. Nijal felt so chagrined that he offered to take Xith’s watch, which was to be the last one of the evening. Xith accepted.

When it came his turn to watch, Vilmos was also fairly agitated. The night sky had grown dark and unforgiving. Shadows moved in his thoughts, matching those of the land, causing him to draw his small blade and hold it at the ready. Two hours of darkness gave him plenty of time to think. His mind roved over many subjects, not really resting on anything in particular.

Vilmos was greatly relieved when his time was up and it was Amir’s turn at watch. The warrior sat grimly and statue-like on an old stump for most of his two hours listening to the night sounds, passing off the watch to Nijal without question as he had been told, and only with the coming of dawn did the young captain’s nerves settle. Early the next morning Ayrian found the camp, startling Nijal into a panic in the process.

“It is I,” hissed Ayrian softly.

Nijal sheathed his sword.

“Sorry,” he answered.

“For a moment I thought you were going to run me through,” replied Ayrian in jest.

The sound of voices awoke several others whose stirrings, in turn, woke all save Vilmos, whom Nijal took it upon himself to arouse. Ayrian began his report at first slowly and then hurriedly as he noted the diviner’s anxious stares explaining lastly that the highwaymen had made camp about an hour’s ride away.

“From the looks of them, they are very good. They leave no signs of their travel. They ride in total silence; even the hooves of their horses are padded. However, they are a small group; they could not hope to do much damage.”

“Unless there are more groups, or some are already in waiting,” said Noman. “I have received a vision in my dreams. It was a portent of things to come. I have seen the many paths we follow; soon they will merge, then only one path will remain. We must hurry. As I have said, there is one more we must find and only then will our circle be complete!”

“What do the highwaymen have to do with—” Nijal started to ask. He was silenced by a heavy grip on his shoulder.

“You will see, friend Nijal,” said Noman, “for now it is best to say no more.”

Another day passed and again night returned to the shadowed land. Ayrian did not return to their camp that night or the following morning. As they broke camp once more, the friends expected him to appear at any moment; when he didn’t, the fears only compounded. Something must have happened to him—but what?

Vilmos and Nijal rode on either side of Xith, expecting him to have the answer; yet, lost in contemplation, the shaman said little the entire day except to tell the young apprentice to dwell on his lessons and not on things over which he had no control. He said nothing more until much later, words that caught Nijal oddly and by surprise and part of which still sang in his ears: “Even the greatest of Men can fall and often the lesser among you will prove tenfold your greater. Your place is here with us, Nijal of Solntse. You are part of us now. Cast your petty fears behind you.”

“Vilmos,” moaned Nijal, snapping out of his reverie as he lurched forward, “you’re doing it again.”

Vilmos looked to the former captain and his horse; the two were floating about a foot off the ground. The docile steed still unknowingly galloped ploddingly along.

“Sorry,” said Vilmos, “it is just—well, I guess you could say, it’s just nervous energy.”

“I’d hate to see it when you were really agitated then!”

“Sometimes I forget. I didn’t mean to,” said Vilmos.

“That’s okay. It is kind of interesting to ride a floating horse.”

“Really?”

“Ah, Vilmos?” asked Nijal, looking imploringly to the other, “Could you put my horse back down, and—um—gently this time not like last time.”

Vilmos gently brought the horse down. He tried to clear his mind, yet his thoughts returned continuously to the lessons he had learned from Xith: laying a spark of fire to the air, using the forces of the air to shield himself, turning those same forces into a tool with which he could lift himself or others off the ground to glide and float, the workings of the flow, and how to touch upon the most primitive of forces within nature.

Vilmos’ life had completely turned around, turned upside down, and come back again. He had been propelled through the stages of boyhood into those approaching manhood by the strange powers of the forbidden magic. He didn’t miss home or the past anymore; he lived for the future. He also wondered if Xith would ever teach him how to teleport; somehow he doubted the shaman ever would.

“Vilmos!” exclaimed Nijal louder than he expected. Now the entire party was looking at Vilmos. Xith’s eyes opened wide as he looked at his pupil and a smile broadened across his lips. Vilmos had his hands extended, between the fingers of one hand a red ball of light blazed and in the other was a ball of blue-white energy.

Vilmos stared at his hands in surprise. He had been thinking about Xith’s lesson on energy, positive and negative. His face turned red in embarrassment.

“I guess I was thinking out loud!” he exclaimed, “Sorry.”

Vilmos rode glumly upon his horse the remainder of the afternoon, afraid to let his thoughts wander and Nijal could do nothing to change his demeanor. Eyes intermittently scoured the heavens, searching for signs of the Gray Eagle Lord. They rode for many exasperating hours after sunset this day, pressing the tired animals more than they should have.

There was a perceived sense of urgency now, for the dark travelers were surely on their way to the same destination that they themselves raced to. The mystic had followed this path to its end in his uneasy thoughts. They were being led now by forces stronger than those that had propelled them onward—the unseen hand of fate was leading them all and only it knew where at last it would leave them.

There were no sightings of the mysterious dark travelers during the night, which passed uneventfully, and the monotony of the previous days had at long last ended. High day found them in a small town, in which they unhappily obtained fresh mounts and food. Having to settle on nags, they would sorely miss the swift animals they were forced to leave behind. Several of the animals had thrown shoes and the village smithy had told them he had a backlog of several days. They took the nags without complaint and continued on. The city of Kauj lay just ahead and with the fresh steeds, they would reach it by nightfall. They were hopeful once more; finally, they would be able to stop at an inn and rest, a short reprieve long overdue.

Vilmos and Nijal conversed on and off throughout the day. They had come to an area of hills sparsely populated with small stands of trees, remnants of the immense forests that had once stretched coast to coast and now only ranged sparingly throughout the Great Kingdom. The Belyj Forest, many leagues to the south, was the largest stand that remained of the great forests in the civilized realms—a forest as old as the land itself. In other sections of the land, far to the east and south, forests still dominated the land, populated by growths that were thousands of years old. It was odd yet somehow suiting, reflected Nijal, who was an infant in the eyes of the great oaks he now passed.

Noman eyed the young man with a knowing grin upon his face and then turned to the giant beside him. Amir was clearly agitated. He stretched and flexed his muscles ceaselessly, often uncoupling his great blade from his pack and casting it about the air. Time passed and Noman turned back to Nijal who was also restless.

Noman saw something in the young man’s eyes that told him he would be ready when the test came. He wondered if the former day captain had any idea what sort of a quest he had agreed to with that simple desire to find purpose in life—so much lay ahead, and so very little lay behind. The journey to the path’s end could take him through his lifetime, maybe even beyond. One never knew for sure. The diviner retreated from such thoughts, reflecting upon the converging paths for a time, finding irony that their meeting seemed so near.

“This is a city?” said Nijal questioningly as they approached the outskirts of the tiny city of Kauj, which in his eyes was little different from the village they had left behind the previous day.

“Yes, it is; I like small cities,” said Vilmos. The shaman grinned.

The six companions approached the narrow row of structures that lined the main thoroughfare at a slackened pace an hour past dusk just as the last of twilight faded from the unseen horizon. It was beneath this canopy of darkness that the six passed along the shadowed streets of Kauj.

Lamplight cast its burnt-orange hues into the darkened streets here and there, and along the innermost throughways the odor of the burning oil wafted to their nostrils. The city was mostly quiet, and it almost seemed as if the entire population of Kauj was fast asleep. Yet there were shadows in the doorways every now and again, and sometimes whispers passed out into the street, carrying to their ears even above the soft plodding of the horses’ hooves.

The group soon found the inn the shaman had sought out. It was true that it was not the large, well-lit establishment they had passed on the outskirts of the city along the main street; but cast in the orange of the lamplight, its sight seemed somehow reassuring and pleasant enough. They took the last two rooms the tiny inn had to offer—Xith, Vilmos and Nijal in one, and Noman, Amir and the Little One in the other.

The rooms were surprisingly spacious, so three occupants did not overcrowd them. The inn even had a bathing room, which the group immediately put to use. And it seemed for a short time that all was well.

Vilmos had almost faded off to sleep when Nijal plopped down on top of him. The youth instantly reacted and sent the free man flying to the ceiling, letting him cling to it for a time, playing with him.

“Come on, let me down. I was only kidding,” pleaded Nijal.

“Not just yet,” said Vilmos through a yawn, again playing with the other, “I think I’ll leave you hanging up there while I go back to sleep, so I can listen to you drop onto the floor sometime in the night when I forget you are up there and my subconscious wanders.”

“You wouldn’t? You couldn’t?” tested the former captain.

“I might,” said Vilmos feigning another yawn, “just to see if I can do it.”

“I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” chuckled Vilmos.

After a few more minutes, he finally decided to let Nijal down and was slowly lowering him to the floor when Xith entered the chamber. Xith’s presence caused Vilmos to lose his concentration and Nijal fell to the floor with a thud. The two tried to look innocent, but Xith knew better.

“Great,” he said, “since you have so much energy, then I take it you are ready to practice.”

“Practice?” muttered Vilmos, expressing his displeasure with a sour grimace. “Why must I practice things that my other self already knows?”

Nijal looked sympathetically toward Vilmos; instead of a much-needed rest, Vilmos would practice. He shrugged his shoulders and then ambled over to his bed, looking sympathetically to his comrade just before he plopped onto the soft, quilted covers.

Vilmos didn’t mind the practice; rather, he looked forward to it, and at first Nijal tried to stay awake to watch and listen. But despite his fascination, he slowly fell asleep. Teacher and apprentice settled in for a long conversation, both knowing neither would get much sleep this night. There were things the shaman needed to impart to the youngster before it was too late, lessons that needed to be learned and practiced, and lots more.



Noman had left to take a bath, leaving Amir and the other alone. She looked so incredibly beautiful as she lay on the bed staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, hair brushed back and draped, still damp, over the fluffed pillow beneath her head. Amir could only watch her, wanting to say something to her, yet the words would not come out.

Amir’s attentions were not lost on the Little One, and after a time she turned and stared at him. She wondered why he cared so much for her. She had done nothing but avoid him. Despite herself, a smile touched her lips, which Amir mistook as a sign. He went to her and knelt on the floor beside her bed, reaching out and taking her tiny hands into his.

“Amir, no!” she cried out, tears flowing down her cheeks.

She turned and faced the opposite direction. “Leave me alone!”

Amir walked over to his bed, slumped onto it and soon fell asleep.

The Little One eventually turned over and found herself staring back at the grim-faced warrior. “Why do you think you love me?” she whispered into the empty air, wanting to understand the strange infatuation.

Noman had returned from his bath and was standing in the doorway when her whisper broke the empty air. Instead of entering, he continued past the door, entering the next room along the short hall. Xith and Vilmos were still avidly discussing magic, and so he joined in.

“Noman,” said Xith looking up, “good. I was just about to discuss your art with Vilmos. Now I have an expert to do that for me.”

“I was more interested in hearing you teach Vilmos magic, but I will if you are interested.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Vilmos.

“The art of creating illusions is a shading of the arcane arts. Once there were many principal forms of the mystic arts, so many wonderful shadings.” There was a genuine affection held in the spoken words that brought a smile to both listeners’ lips as the emotion touched off fond remembrances. “Times are changing and most have been lost. Of the multitude that once existed, only three forms remain.

“Will and Magic are the two basic forms from which all the others stem. Will uses the mind as your center to channel the natural energies of the world, the power of the trees, the strength of the wind, the rain, the flow of a river, the call of the land, of all nature. In this form, you focus these energies through yourself.

“As with all things, the amount of energy you may focus at any one time is dependent on the strength of your individual will power.” Noman said this as a sort of note.

Neither listener minded; both had come to understand through their many talks together that the diviner sometimes tended to ramble and follow tangents. Yet they weren’t prepared for the ominous ring of the words that would come next.

“Magic is quite different. Magic uses the energies of creation. Wild energies once proliferated. The Northern Range once held volcanoes that spewed new life continually, wild and fierce, and utterly devastating. The northern mountains now lie dormant, awaiting a return to the beginning. The energies of creation spring from the heavens, the stars, and the nether realm. The user of such powers is a thief.”

Xith couldn’t resist the temptation to interject, “Thief is such a strong word.”

Noman glared and then smiled, continuing on as if the shaman had never said a word, “Stealing, devouring the energies of creation, robbing the future of new life, forever tied to the wild energies of creation and destruction, positive and negative you could say—of fire and earth, and of water and air. It is true that these forces seem similar to those that a user of will shapes; but, you see, the user of will shapes these forces as with a tool that is his center, bending them and molding them only temporarily. Yet the user of magic taps the destructive powers, the wild energies. These energies, once used, are spent.

“Yet the amount of energy you may use is also dependent upon your center. Only few are able to tap into this. You are one and the watcher is another.

“Illusion is similar to both magic and will. A person who creates illusions also has limited use of both will and magic. They combine these two skills, yet they cannot use external energies, only that which is within them, that which is at their center. An illusion is solely in the mind of its creator and by projecting these thoughts into others’ minds they become seemingly real.”

“Ouch!” exclaimed Vilmos.

“See, you felt the heat image I sent you. The visage of fire!”

“Yes, that is interesting,” said Vilmos rubbing his hand.

“So all three are dependent upon your center?” asked Nijal.

The three looked to Nijal with evident surprise to find him awake.

“I thought you were asleep or I would have explained in more detail,” said Noman.

“That is fine. Vilmos had already explained magic to me once. What do priests and priestesses use then? Is that magic?”

“No, that is a gift.”

Nijal didn’t quite understand. “Huh?”

“They are linked to the Father and the Mother. They get their powers in a totally different way, unrelated to the powers of any magic.”

“These powers do not frighten you?” inquired Noman of Nijal, interested in the response.

Nijal mulled over the question for a while before responding.

“I would be a liar if I told you they didn’t, yet while most of my brethren live in fear of things we do not understand, my father taught me to look for understanding first before passing judgment. So I would tell you that I am still passing judgment, and that I have not yet decided.”

“Your father is a wise man,” said Noman.

The four sat up talking for a short while more, each in turn retiring when sleep entered their eyes. They would need to get an early start in the morning, and it was getting late. Xith did, however, get in his objection one last time; and having the final say, he seemed pleased enough to be willing to go to sleep. Nijal was the last to fall asleep. He wondered if he would ever be able to do something special like the others; and he couldn’t help but think about the words that Xith had spoken to him: “Even the greatest of Men can fall and often the lesser among you will prove tenfold your greater. Your place is here with us, Nijal of Solntse. You are part of us now; cast your petty fears behind you.”



Startled, Vilmos awoke, a scream sought to issue from his lips, but a man dressed terrifyingly in all black had a hand tightly clasped over his mouth. He strained to break free, yet could not; the man was too powerful and held him pinned in place. His eyes widened and he rapidly scanned the room for signs of the others. He was alone and one of the highwaymen had found him. His first notion was of defense. Could he break free? Could he organize his scattered thoughts? Could he find the magic in time?

“Calm yourself,” whispered his assailant. “Here, put these on.”

Momentarily, the voice didn’t register with Vilmos; he struggled regardless.

“Calm yourself,” the man repeated. “Put this on.”

Vilmos sighed and shook his head to ward off the sleep-induced stupor, relieved that he recognized the voice.

“It is only an illusion; look again,” hastened the voice.

Vilmos started to say something, but the hand remained over his mouth. He peered around the room again, this time less frantically. He saw Nijal across the room hurriedly getting dressed and did likewise. He quickly joined the others in the hall, noticing everyone was dressed in macabre hues. Noman restored the illusion then; Vilmos only knew this because he noted a subtle thought entering his mind—the watchword of an illusion’s enactment.

As before, though, he saw no change in the appearance of the others—Noman had explained that this was because he knew the truth of what they really were, and illusions held no bounds over such truths. In hushed tones, Noman explained that Ayrian had finally returned with distressing news and they must leave immediately and secretly.

Flight from the inn was made with haste; the final race had begun.

Outfitted in dreary garb, it seemed they chased the dark wind, which howled unsettlingly. A chill came over Vilmos as they exited the city, the surrounding countryside hung with so many shadows that the land itself seemed utterly dreary and grim. And only then did the desperate flight and the desperate race seem real.

“One more to gather before we are through and then we have only begun,” were the ominous last word’s that Noman whispered into the wind—words that Vilmos dwelled on even though he had heard a similar utterance before because again they only sounded real just then.

End Of Book One

Even now the dark forces gather.

IN THE SERVICE
OF DRAGONS II

BOOK TWO

ROBERT STANEK

Chapter One

Imtal palace and city were somber places over the many days that followed the announcement of the king’s death. Three sisters with long black hair mourned and yearned for their father in the grand gardens. Midmorning found them seated around a table in the gazebo with Sister Catrin and Jasmine.

Jasmine, Catrin and Midori sat on one side and Calyin and Adrina were on the other. Two of Lord Serant’s men stood behind Calyin. They would not leave even though they had been ordered to do so by Calyin herself. They had great respect for her wishes, yet followed only Lord Serant’s orders where her safety was concerned. They judged the priestesses of the Mother as a threat and as such they would not even drop back a respectful distance where they could not hear the words being spoken.

“Today is the seventh day; let us not argue this day away,” implored Calyin. “Your fears are unfounded. There is no danger in Imtal. Look around you. What do you see? I see flowers being claimed by the coming of winter, losing their petals and withering to the ground. I see trees filled with autumn colors, bronze and gold and scarlet. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“You are an eternal optimist. You would find good in a time like this,” hissed Jasmine ominously.

“Calyin, we discussed this yesterday. You agreed then. Have you no sense of loyalty?”

“You speak of loyalty?” scoffed Calyin, “Loyalty is not something you suddenly find, but a thing that is built up over time. Do not throw it at me as if you have any sense of loyalty to this family. Your loyalty lies solely with the Mother.”

Midori got a faraway look in her eyes. “You’ll never know the depths of my loyalty,” she whispered.

She said no more as Jasmine cautioned her.

“Honestly, tell me, what harm will come of it, Princess Calyin? For I can see none. Several days away will do the girl some good.”

“What do you think, Adrina?” asked Calyin.

Adrina had her eyes turned out into the garden. She knew they argued over her as if she were some prize catch, yet she did not care.

“I am numb,” she whispered, “I feel nothing.”

She turned back to the fading greens of the garden. Calyin wrapped her arm around her shoulder and hugged her.

“It will pass,” she said, “it will pass. Just let it all out. Go ahead, cry, cry until there are no more tears. Tears are good for the soul, they cleanse it.”

“I can’t cry; I don’t feel,” returned Adrina, wriggling away from her sister’s hold.

“Do you see why a short respite will do her some good?” asked Midori in a stern voice. “She needs to get away from this dank place.”

“Perhaps she will; perhaps she will return to the North with me when this is all cleared up and Prince Valam returns home.”

“You are a fool!” shouted Jasmine. “The prince will not return!”

Calyin threw back her arms to restrain the guards, who had just pressed forward. Jasmine glared at the two men, unafraid.

“I am not afraid of death, you sons of mongrels. I would welcome it as surely as I welcome the night. Only good will come of my passing, only good. If you wish to take me now, do so, or back away, back away now, before I lay a curse upon you with my next breath that will blight your life until its end!”

The two took only one step back at first and then another as Jasmine continued to glare.

“Have you no respect?” asked Calyin. “This night we will lay my father to rest. Let us drop this paltry argument and talk no more of it until tomorrow. Tomorrow you can argue to your hearts’ content.”

Catrin whispered the only words she had said in days, words that only Jasmine and Midori heard. “The ignorant always believe tomorrow will come as did today,” she said.

Midori was quick to find words. “Yes, perhaps you are right, sister. Perhaps we should wait and discuss this later. I think it is a good time to find lunch. Is anyone else as hungry as I?”

Adrina turned back.

“Let’s not take it in the hall,” she said, “there is a balcony in the tower beyond the wall. Father would often sit there at about this time.”

The day passed slowly and it seemed that afternoon would never come. Some hours later, Calyin and Adrina were still on the balcony above the tower; remnants of a heavy, half eaten meal still rested on the table in front of them. Once the meal had been served, Adrina had chased off the attendants, telling them not to return until they were called, and so the uneaten food sat.

“High Province is grand this time of year,” said Calyin. “I know I have told you this before, but I will tell you again. The choice is up to you. You needn’t do anything if you don’t want to. But please look at yourself. Your hair is a mess, you haven’t bathed, and you hardly eat. Father is dead, Adrina. Nothing can bring him back and nothing that you could have done would have prevented his death.”

Adrina averted her eyes as tears started to flow.

“Adrina,” said Calyin, “it is time you mended your own soul. You cannot go on like this. I cannot go on like this. Cry, cry until there are no more tears within you. Let it all out, let it all out.”

“You don’t understand,” said Adrina in a pathetic sounding voice, “you did not see his pain.”

“Did you ever think that he is happier now? Can you truly say that he was happy since mother passed on? There was life and at rare times there was joy, but true happiness that runs deep within the soul was gone, long since gone. She was his life, his source of life, and without her life was void. No, I assure you, he is much happier now. He rests in the hall of the great ones, the kings and queens of all the lands that ever were, and she, his beloved queen and wife, rests beside him. He is happy, Adrina, he has found peace. Cry your tears of lament, but let go your remorse.”

Lord Serant came looking for his wife and joined her in comforting her young sister: “You are young and you have a full life in front of you. Find inspiration in the day, joy in the light of the sun. Such sweetness in your beauty, such tenderness and grace. Find wonder in the simple pleasures of the world, in the wonders of youth.”

“Find a young man’s face and melt your heart within it,” added Calyin, greeting her husband with a warm embrace.

“Oh, Calyin, I am so sorry,” said Adrina, “it’s just, it’s just—”

“Shh, shh, hush now, dear. Say no more,” gently soothed Calyin.

“So much happening at one time; it just overwhelmed me,” Adrina said. “Do you think Valam is coming home?”

“We will have to wait and see; and if he does not, we can cope without him.”

Adrina wiped the tears from her eyes. She thought of the irony of her father’s death as the land was being reborn in spring and the flowers were returning to the gardens. She thought with bitterness of her upcoming nameday—a nameday that meant nothing without her father there to celebrate with her.

“Shall we find the bathhouse and put it to good use? A hot soothing bath would feel good about now, would it not? When father looks down from the heavens this night and sees his funeral bier pass through the city streets to the central square where he will be laid to rest, let him find us with our heads raised proud and our hearts filled with love, but our eyes void of tears. Then he will know that he can rest peacefully and without concern.”

As Calyin finished, Adrina began to run her hands through her hair, fussing over the many tangles in it, a sign that she had at last begun to move on. Lord Serant, Calyin, and Adrina returned to the palace proper. The lord and lady’s bodyguards, two to front and rear, moved with such skill that they seemed invisible; and to the three, it seemed that they were alone.

The bathing time was a private time for the two sisters. They relaxed in the warm waters, stretching sore muscles and washing their hair with herbal-scented soaps that Calyin had brought from the Northlands. Dusk was approaching as they stepped from the hot pool into the cool air. Calyin rejected the gown that had been pressed and readied for her, selecting new riding leathers instead. Adrina did likewise. Neither intended to ride in a coach this eve.

An anxious hour passed as they waited for a few last-minute items to be readied. The castle was suddenly alive with activity. Chancellor Yi rushed to and fro. Servants groomed horses. Guards polished armor and fanciful weaponry. The bier coach and its team were the last things readied. The guests and family crowded into the forward courtyard, assembling before the great gates of the outer wall. At the sounding of the first toll they mounted and waited.

Precisely at the time of the setting sun, the funeral procession was in place. At the sounding of the first knell, those present mounted and waited; at the sounding of the second, the gates slowly began to open, and at the sounding of the third, the procession began to move. Father Francis had embalmed King Andrew’s body so that he looked as he had in life except that he now appeared at peace with himself.

The declaration was made in the manner decreed: the people must see their king once more in death as he was in life. In this way all bore witness that the king had indeed passed. With the sounding of the fourth knell, the gates were fully opened. First to exit were the honor guard, twelve men arrayed in black armor upon mounts of gray. They rode out in single file, followed by the open funeral bier.

The bier itself was quite simple, an ordinary oaken box painted black, fixed with long brass handles along head and foot and two thick silver poles running down the long sides. It was pulled by seven black horses. The royal family followed, each mounted on a pure white stallion. A cry of despair rose from the growing crowd, which had been summoned by the first toll; their king was truly dead.

The final group to depart the courtyard and slowly enter the city streets was the rear honor guard of a full complement of soldiers, fifty in all. They followed, outfitted in armor that shimmered in the falling light. The procession advanced one trumpet blast at a time toward the central square. With each sounding of the horn, more people crowded into the streets.

The path they took from palace to the square was not a direct route into the city’s heart, rather an indirect route that wound its way along many of the long cobblestone paths of Imtal and then slowly, after a wide outward circle, began to creep inward.

The streets in all directions were filled now as people streamed out of their houses to pay their last respects. Many felt obliged to follow the bier and the thick line that stretched behind the procession grew and grew until its end could no longer be seen by those who would often look back in wonder. King Andrew had been a fair monarch and the Great Kingdom had prospered under his caring hand.

The eve of his passing had been a grievous event. Uncertainty now lay ahead for all the citizens of the realm. Where was the crowned prince? Had he not heard the cry for his return? Would the prosperous days of the past now end? What was ahead? These were the many questions that ran hushed through the crowd.

The procession turned inward now, beginning the slow creep toward the central square. Each sounding of the toll brought them one step closer. Adrina looked into the faces of the crowd. She could see that they also felt the sadness of this great loss. Princess Midori and her companions also rode with the royal family. They rode to Adrina’s left.

Lord Serant had flatly refused to allow Princess Calyin to leave the castle without his personal guards. He rode with her at the rear of the procession, surrounded by the faithful ones who had accompanied them on the journey from High Province. Father Francis had tried to convince Lord Serant that the kingdom was not like his former home, the Western Territories; but Serant would not listen and eventually Father Francis had acquiesced.

The procession reached the grand central square. Even at peak market season when hundreds of stalls lined its depths and many thousands more came for the festivities and goods, the area was only half filled. But today, it was filled to capacity. The inner circle, however, had been kept empty by decree. Twelve blocks from the central square was a large encircled garden, a memorial to the previous kings of the Great Kingdom. It was here where new kings were crowned and old ones were honored and entombed.

The crowd parted to let the procession enter. As was the custom, the funeral procession circled the garden three times and then stopped. Each horseman dismounted one at a time, from the first to the last. The final decree of death was given and a long silence followed. The final toll sounded just as the last light of day shone on the square; and as its echoes fell away from the land, the sun sank below the horizon.

Tiny red sparks burst from sparse areas of the gathered throng. As the torchlight began to spread and its light slowly became agreeable, the members of the procession started to remount, as was customary. The twelve in black mounted, bowed their heads respectfully and waited. As the fiftieth man of the rear guard mounted, the dozen forward guards looked up, dismounted and went to the bier, forming two lines, four abreast, on either side of it while the four others waited.

Those who looked on bowed their heads now. The twelve took a momentary breath and then the chosen eight heaved the casket from the bier. As the casket was slowly carried toward Andrew’s crypt, the remaining four men labored to push away the guarding stone. There was such a silence over the next few moments that the footsteps of the men descending into the vault carried across the square nearly to its ends. As the last of the onlookers bowed their heads, waiting for the last prayer to begin, a group of men broke from the crowd. They lunged into the midst of the royal family. Jasmine was knocked from her horse. Adrina had seen the attack and tried to scream. A hand covered her mouth and she was dragged from her horse. The attack had come and gone in an instant that left the viewers dazed.

Chapter Two

The sound of clashing steel broke the silence. A cry of panic erupted from the bewildered crowd. All around the square soldiers clad in black emerged, tossing their deceitful robes of white onto the ground and raising their weapons high. They attacked everyone in sight, hacking and slashing even the innocent. Guards rushed to stop the onslaught. Many of them died before they could even draw their blades.

Lord Serant’s bodyguards sprang into action. The small contingent flashed as a burst of white lightning into the surge of the dark, and it was temporarily thrust back. Wielding huge two-handed battle swords as a child would a toy dagger, these men were obvious masters, their skill and expertise unmatched on the field.

The dark warriors paid a grave price for their fall; however, Serant’s guards were simply overwhelmed by the number of the enemy. For each they cut down, two warriors lunged forward in the fallen’s stead. They did not shame their lord as the last man crumpled to the ground, a mortal wound in his side; they had given the others much needed time, a chance to prepare.

The dark warriors were non-selective in their blows. Their blades struck out in every direction. The dead and dying littered the square. Cries of pain and anguish filled the night, even above the din of clashing steel. Darkness began to fill the square as the torchlight was slowly smothered and with it came chaos, which the dark ones used to their advantage.

The innocent tried to flee the square, dragging those who could not make it on their own, but the dark warriors hacked them down as they fled. No one was allowed to leave the square. More of the dark-clothed warriors began filing in from the adjacent byways, as the two forces, one considerably smaller and determined, the other larger and stronger, faced each other.

The rear guard was fully mounted and sought to protect those they honored. Fifty brave souls crashed into the encroaching wave of dark. Their ornamental armor gleamed defiantly and proudly in the pale red light of the square. Their weaponry was varied and though it had all been meant for ceremonial purposes, it was highly functional and well crafted. They bore pikes and spears with great forked blades; some had full-handed swords, others lances, but all poured forth, driven on by anger and anguish to a ferocity that bit into the enemy and would eventually cause their downfall.

Father Francis was mounted next to Keeper Q’yer and the chancellor. They had a momentary reprieve while the dark warriors dropped back to regroup. The three weighed the odds; heavily outnumbered though they were, their protective guards were also on horseback. The enemy was on foot. Hopefully, the defense would last long enough for reinforcements to arrive from Imtal garrison.

The former lord of the Western Territories and empowered lord of High Province stared coldly at his assailants. He looked to Calyin, with one single thought on his mind. He must protect her. He had sworn an oath that he would forever watch over her; he would not fail. Anger also flowed through him. In his territories, though they were not as civilized as here, nothing like this could ever happen. He spat on the ground. If he survived, his honor would demand retribution. He vowed he would kill Chancellor Yi for his incompetence. One stroke of his blade would end the old man’s life and provide partial compensation.

Sister Catrin knelt over her fallen sister. Jasmine had taken a nasty blow to the head and was unconscious. Midori and Catrin placed her upon her mount, then they also remounted. Midori cried out in anguish; Adrina had been taken from her so easily. One moment Adrina had been beside her; the next she was gone and Jasmine lay on the ground. The will of the Mother flowed inside Midori, its power strong and cleansing. A similar flow came to Sister Catrin, yet her anger was not washed away.

The short reprieve was over; the dark warriors had regrouped and now attacked from all sides. The mounted guard plunged again into their midst; their weapons danced in the dull light of the square. Horses trampled over the fallen as they moved outward. Although the attackers were greater in number, they were no match for the superior guard.

The small force seemed to be turning the battle around. Now the enemy was feeling the cold of the rapier. While horses trampled the fallen and claimed what remained of their threads of life, the riders lashed out, finding new victims. But even in the face of the vicious assault by the mounted guard, the enemy did not retreat again. They continued to pour forth almost as if they welcomed death.

Keeper Q’yer concentrated all the energy of his will into a single thought. He cried out to those at the palace and the city garrison for help. He beseeched them to find the urgency in his desperate words and hurry to the square. He did not know if they heard his call, only that his cry went forth. He would have to wait, as would the others, to know if the garrison soldiers would come.

Father Francis could feel the power of the Father within him; to disturb a ceremony of passing of a great one was an outrage. The call of the Mother also came to his mind. He looked to the sisters; he saw that Jasmine was unconscious. He stared beyond her to Midori, who nodded her head and thanked the Father. He reached out and embraced her center. The two were linked together. A warm feeling came over them both. Wild emotions of the joining of both the Mother-Earth and the Great-Father pulsed throughout their entire being. Great power was coming to the fore.

A whirlwind of thought flowed from one mind to the other. Father Francis saw an image of Midori in his mind. They embraced each other, releasing the power as their bodies locked as one in spirit and in mind. A wall of flames shot from the earth, running in a wide arc until it formed a great circle, leaving only the rear guard and the dark warriors in the open. Oddly, the great wall of flames circled the road before the garden of entombment and coronation.

Keeper Q’yer slumped over in his saddle, all his energy spent, in the thrusting out of that one hopeful summons. The twang of release as scores of bowstrings settled back into place, combined with the whine of arrows flying through the air followed by cries of agony, rose above the cacophony of battle. The wall of flame had come just in time to save the inner group. The last of the mounted guard regrouped around the flames, although of fifty, only six remained. They raised their swords high one last time and charged, unafraid and willing to offer their lives for the ones they were devoted to. Arrows pelted them from all sides, and before the first man swung he died.

The five continued on undaunted. Among them were a bladesman, two pikemen, a former huntsman who wielded a double-bladed spear, and a swordmaster first-class. None of them knew this as they shot forth to certain death, each focused on a single line of sight.

For one man, it was the tower of a city church that he wished to reach before he died. For another it was a tavern that lay six blocks north along the eastern side of the square; he could not see it though he knew it was there. For still another it was his home and his wife and child that lay beyond the eastern side of the square.

Not one of the small company reached his goal, yet as each died in his turn, the simple goals seemed to lose their purpose, and as the last man fell, he looked back at the wall of fire, wishing those within luck and survival.

Chapter Three

Adrina felt powerful hands cover her mouth. She tried to scream, but only a voiceless gasp passed her lips. Awestruck, she was swept into the crowd, buried beneath a long flowing black cloak. She looked out with eyes that saw only a dream, not that which was real; and she could do nothing as she was carried away. She could hear the din of a battle as if very far away, veiled from her eyes and masked from her ears by the silencing cloak.

Sounds of agony, her own agony, filled her ears. Once out of the crowd her captors met another group. At first she saw only many black leather boots as she peered downward through the folds of the cloak. The hand was still pressed against her mouth as she was lifted from the veil. Now she saw the masked faces of the small band that had taken her. They paused only to bind and gag her. Once the blindfold was in place, her world returned to blackness. Terror filled her mind and she began to shake uncontrollably.

The blackness began to envelop her, and for a time the princess passed into unconsciousness. This was a quiet time for her as her agony and terror subsided. Unaware that she was being hurried through the back paths and alleyways of Imtal to a waiting group of horsemen, Adrina slept. At some point she was placed onto the back of a horse and led wildly along cobblestone paths although the princess was unaware of this.

The jostling of the horse aroused her and she opened her eyes to find that she was still shrouded in the black cloak. As she regained consciousness, she realized what had happened to her. She waited now, not terrified any longer, but not at ease either. At any moment she expected the palace guard to come to her rescue. She struggled against her bonds to no avail, listening for the thunder of many hooves and the boom of angry voices, signs that her rescuers were near.

She heard hooves pounding across the hard stone streets and she knew they were still inside the city although she did not know where. But she did not hear the thunder of a hundred pairs of hooves striking the ground as she had expected; she heard only those of the small band that led her away into the darkness. Suddenly, her horse was reined to a halt, and she was lifted from it.

A quiet time passed as leather soles marched along another set of back alleyways. Heavy hands were around her thighs and she kicked, punched, and clawed trying to break free. Shouts filled the air. She heard voices screaming. The hands held her strongly now as the man bolted away. Her head bobbed up and down until it ached as her captor ran madly.

Voices followed, and Adrina realized that her rescuers were close. She felt hopeful, but then without warning she was cast to the ground; her head struck a solid stone wall and then her face hit the cold, cold rock. She lay motionless. Her world seemed still to be moving, swirling around her. Perhaps close by, or perhaps far away, Adrina heard the voices again. They screamed more wildly as panic engulfed them. Her head started to throb and a moist flow began to trickle across her forehead, running warmly until it touched the cold stone, forming a tiny pool beneath her head, which she was unable to move.

Colors of red and gray swam before her eyes. She heard the distant sound of clashing steel, which might have been right beside her; she could not tell. She started to wriggle and writhe as the throbbing in her head was joined by a dull, numbing pain that inched its way up her legs. Pain hit her quickly, sharp and excruciating, as a heavy boot found her gut. Adrina rasped and coughed.

Something fell beside her, prostrate on the cold ground beside her. She groped outward with her hands, finding a cold limp thing that she did not at first recognize as an arm. The numbing pain swept up her legs into her arms and once more she found she could not move. Her hands fell still. The tiny pool beneath her had grown until it was a small puddle that circled her head. With her head pressed against the unforgiving stone, the liquid streamed around her face; she felt it on her chin and then suddenly it touched her lips. It tasted bitter and salty against her tongue.

Hands found her again, heaving her limp form up and pressing her against the stone wall, forcing her to sit upright, her head hanging limply. A dull yellow came before her closed lids as the blindfold was lifted momentarily. The gash at the back of her head was checked and bandaged; with its binding, the moist, warm trickle ended. A dull white light flooded into her eyes as her pupils were checked. A distant voice sounding in her ears whispered, “She lives.”

Hands found her again, groping along the back of her head. The tingling that accompanied the numbing returned and then suddenly the pain was gone, the throbbing subsided, and Adrina found semi-coherence. No longer was her head against the cold unforgiving stone. Something warm was touched to it. For a long while, she didn’t note that she was again draped over a broad shoulder, firm hands clasped to her thighs.

Minutes passed silently and then a grinding noise filled her ears, followed by a pungent aroma that assaulted her nostrils. The smell made her sick and she vomited, the gag in her mouth causing her to choke on her vomit. The sour taste made her rasp and choke more violently. Spittle oozed from her mouth. The movement stopped. Her head whirled as she was brought upright; a damp cold came to her buttocks. The blindfold was removed. A soft hand touched her face and she heard a whisper: “Do not scream and I’ll remove your gag. We are friends, not enemies.”

Adrina spat the chunks of the vomit from her mouth. She struggled to clasp a hand to her nose to shield her nostrils from the foul stench that surrounded her. She couldn’t move; her hands were still tied tightly. She started to scream and the gag quickly filled her mouth. The soft voice returned and whispered kind words that she half listened to.

The gag was removed again. Adrina did not attempt to scream. She considered the words of her captor, which sounded sincere. She doubted she could believe those around her were anything but enemies, but at least the gag was gone from her mouth. She spat more of the vomit from her mouth. She could inhale through her mouth now, and the gag was gone. The smell around her was horrible, like sewage.

She was lifted and placed back onto the firm shoulder. They had not gone far when they stopped once more. Adrina could hear many voices whispering in hushed tones. One voice stood out from all the others, stronger, firmer, commanding. It was this voice that Adrina sought to key in on, to hear the words the man spoke. She heard bits and pieces of his words and from those pieces she gathered that the group was splitting up and was to regroup outside the city. She thought of escape.

They began to walk again. The splashing of water led Adrina to conclude that they must be in the sewers. It was the only place where she had ever smelled this repugnant odor. The slow, trudging march through the thick waters lasted for what seemed hours. The stench in this sector was magnified by the dank waters around them. Even the strong-hearted among the mysterious figures that held her hacked and coughed, breathing harshly in the putrid aroma of the deteriorating sludge, the waste that had been spewed from the immense city far above.

Long tunnels stretched from the ceiling above. Some spewed more putrid bilge, which landed in sputters and splashes. Others lay dormant, constructed long ago to filter natural lighting and fresh air into the dank tunnels; however, only meager puffs of fresh air found their way into these depths today. Torchlight guided their way, sometimes reflecting its amber hue in the dark stone walls about them. At certain places along this route, dark shapes slithered in and out of the muck, becoming increasingly frequent as the mysterious figures led her deeper into the heart of the sewers.

The sludge, which had become knee deep, began to recede slowly. Adrina only knew its depth because as she clung fearfully to the figure that carried her, her long flowing hair was no longer dragging through the slime. She relaxed her neck, clinging less to the broad-backed figure. The splashing subsided as they reached a dry section of the tunnel. Adrina sighed as they stopped and she was again brought upright. Thinking this was her chance to flee, she tried to run, but only made it a few steps before heavy hands found her.

Tears were in her eyes, her hair still dripped. She felt it though she did not see it. Shivers traveled down her back as she felt things moving through her hair. She let loose a wailing scream that seemed to vibrate in the tunnels until a heavy, cuffed hand gripped her mouth and cut the scream short.

A strong, deep voice told her, “I shall release your bonds. Do not scream, and do not try to escape. We do not wish to harm you.”

Adrina started to scream in response but bit her tongue instead. She desperately wanted the bonds to be removed from her wrists. Her arms were numb and her hands sore. The bonds were released from her hands and feet, but the blindfold was returned to her eyes. She was told not to remove it or the restraints would be returned.

She wondered what was happening. She relaxed her sore muscles and rubbed her bruised wrists, snapping her hands immediately afterwards to her hair. Hands grabbed her by the forearms as she did this, pulling her somewhat harshly. Her immediate reaction was to pull away as her arms were being bent back, but the hand was soft although strong, and Adrina wasn’t afraid.

“Oh, does this hurt?” said another, touching Adrina’s rope-burned wrists. Adrina had barely perceived the pain in her wrists while she was struggling, but now she felt it severely.

A tingling sensation ran through her hands and fingers; suddenly the pain dissipated and then was gone.

“There, now,” whispered the soft voice. “See, we are friends.”

Adrina thought she recognized the voice. It was a voice from the past, but it could not be the voice of the one she was thinking of.

“I will remove your blindfold only if you promise that you will not try to run. There is nowhere to flee down here and you will only hurt yourself if you flee. And we do not mean to harm you,” spoke the strong voice.

Fingers returned to her messy, wet hair. “Here let me smooth this out for you,” said the soft voice.

The blindfold was again removed. The torches had been extinguished and only the dull filtered light, eerie and off-yellow, came into the odd circular chamber. The light hurt her eyes and it took quite some time for them to adjust to it. When they did, she was startled beyond compare.

Chapter Four

Chancellor Yi looked with agony into the flames, absently stroking the long line of his mount’s mane from the head down to the withers to settle it as much as himself. His eyes shifted slightly to the right to Lord Serant and he hung his head in shame. He had been so stupid. He should have been more vigilant and seen what was coming; then he could have prevented the barbaric scene he had witnessed only moments ago, a scene he knew took place beyond his obscured view.

The sound of a multitude of horses thundering into the square drowned out all other sounds. Screams erupted from the black-hearted warriors. The clash of steel and the crunch of bone and armor beneath hooves were heard once more. The city garrison, in full force, had finally arrived. Chancellor Yi raised his head slightly higher. He had hope again.

Though engulfed horrifically in the orange-red flames, a dark warrior came bursting into their circle. Despite the fire surrounding him, he continued his forward lunge; his sword lashed out over and over, wildly, without direction. Lord Serant swiftly threw a dagger into him, which landed in the man’s chest with a hefty thud. Disappearing within the flames, the man collapsed to the ground and died, shuddering from one last spasm before he went. The putrid scent of burning flesh spread quickly and soon permeated the air about those waiting for a chance at freedom or maybe even death.

In desperation the dark warriors were attempting anything to attain their goal. Their escape route was cut off, so now only death remained. They were not afraid to die. They were dying for a cause, their cause. They were the chosen; they must breach the flames. Using the dead and the dying as shields, they attempted to break through the flames with the capacity to fight. Several made it through, only to be hacked down immediately by Lord Serant’s determined blade. Not discouraged by failure, in surges they poured into the flames, still bearing the dead and the wounded before them.

Chancellor Yi spurred his horse forward into one such group as they broke through. He knocked two of them back into the flames, and the remainder fell to the ground. Lord Serant cut down upon those remaining as they stood. His sword was lightning, deadly quick and accurate.

Outside the wall, the dark warriors were making another offensive. They clustered around their leader as the dark lord issued his commands, ordering them to continue their assault through the flames; and in the name of their lord, the dark warriors strove to do so. They would breach the flames and kill those inside at all cost, even their lives. They surged towards the wall.

Palace and city garrison soldiers alike poured into the square in unbroken lines of bowmen, pikemen, swordsmen and horsemen. The bowmen quickly pinpointed the locations of the enemy bowmen and returned their volleys with equal fervor, soon outnumbering them. Mounted soldiers followed by pikemen swept through the enemy ranks, forcing their retreat. The swordsmen had the role of clean-up, easily dispatching the wounded and the fallen.

The spirit of the Great-Father and Mother-Earth weakened as their hosts’ willpower and stamina drained. Father Francis and Sister Midori-shi could maintain the wall no longer; their will was spent. The flames sputtered then slowly dissipated. Soldiers of the kingdom now outnumbered the ranks of the attackers. The tide was being turned and soon the last of the dark warriors would be eradicated.

With the fall of the wall, a flicker of hope swept over the dark masses. The dark lord entreated them, and in a last desperate attempt, they plunged toward the central group. The kingdom soldiers watched in horror; they had not expected the mystical wall of flames to fall away. They could not reach the others soon enough. The dark warriors were only a few feet from their goal.

Lord Serant spurred his mount forward and struck down with full force into the first group. His blow cleanly took off the head of his victim. As he followed through with his swing, he hit a second man in the ribs and penetrated his chest. Both men fell, one dead immediately, the other waiting to die. Lord Serant and the dark lord locked eyes for an instant. Each saw the power in the other’s eyes. He led his charge directly toward the opposing lord, nullifying the presence of the enemy around him with his blade as he reached toward his goal. Four more fell in his wake.

Sister Catrin unsheathed her ceremonial dagger. She looked to Midori and Jasmine, who clearly could not defend themselves. She quickly scanned the field. Only a few of the dark warriors remained as a threat, but aid would not come soon enough. The garrison soldiers needed to push through the few remaining ranks in order to reach them. She waited calmly for their approach, controlling her breathing, and then lunged at her would-be assailants.

Lord Serant swung and met cold, hard steel. Still mounted, he kicked out first left and then right to knock back the dark warriors that attempted to strike from the side. His antagonist quickly thrust again with an extremely adept maneuver that took Lord Serant’s mount full in the side. His horse crumpled to the ground. Lord Serant half jumped and half fell from the horse. He rolled and instantly poised his sword for a block.

Sister Catrin’s dagger found its mark deep in the heart of the first warrior. In answer, the second rammed his blade deep into her chest. A pained expression of combined horror and disbelief overtook her normally calm features. She turned and looked into the attacker’s eyes. A teardrop trailed down her cheek as the strength of her life waned with every droplet of her blood that spilled upon the dirt. With her dagger yet poised, she fell upon him; in a moment neither moved.

The dark lord lunged full upon Lord Serant. Their two weapons locked together, each testing the strength of the other. Lord Serant pushed upward with all his might. The dark lord fell back, giving Serant time to recover his stance. He parried right and then blocked left, hacking forward. The two locked blades again.

The mounted guard pressed forward and quickly put an end to the lives of the last few resisters who had clung around their lord and had sought to deliver a deathblow to Lord Serant. The clean-up task was left to the swordsmen again. It was their duty to insure that all enemy were dead. As they picked their way through the bodies, they were sure no one was left alive.

“Who are you?” yelled Lord Serant through gritted teeth.

“I am Lord Konstantin of the Bandit Kingdoms. I spit on your dead!”

“You do not deserve to die with honor!”

Silence began to fill the square. Now only one dark warrior, the dark lord, himself, persisted. The soldiers watched this final duel, unsure if they should aid Lord Serant. Switching his weapon briefly into one hand, Lord Serant waved them back with his free fist as they approached. Instead of interfering, a group of kingdom soldiers circled the two, so the dark lord had nowhere to flee. They patiently awaited Lord Serant’s signal that they should aid him, resolved to wait and watch until that time.

Lord Serant skillfully waved his blade. He struck repeatedly, but always he met the other’s defense. A heavy mask of perspiration covered his face and dripped from forehead to chin. Fatigue set in, but determination drove him on. He would force the other to yield first. The dark lord sought to draw a second blade, a dagger, from his calf-high riding boot and throw it at Lord Serant, but Serant was quick to move and it missed him. The dagger struck one of the soldiers who watched. His eyes were wide and staring as he fell, his hands clutching the blade embedded in his chest.

Now Serant was enraged; he went wild with his sword, smashing down upon his enemy, driving him to his knees. Lord Serant cleft the blade from the dark lord’s hand in one clean blow. His face flushed with anger, he held his blade at the other’s throat.

Lord Serant held the blade pressed to the man’s throat for several seconds contemplating killing him outright. He concluded that perhaps they could bleed the dark lord of information before they sentenced him to death, and upon Lord Serant’s signal the kingdom soldiers swarmed.

Retrieving a tiny, finger-sized blade from a hidden spot in the small of his back, Lord Konstantin sought to kill himself but was denied the privilege. It took six men to hold him still while they bound his wrists and ankles, and he cursed vehemently until he was gagged.

“I am only the first! I am only the first!” he cried. “There are others! There are others! You will die! You will all die!”

Lord Serant looked to his beloved Calyin. She was safe, and he was content. His other companions were also safe; the danger was past. The priests of the city temple arrived, and he could see them tending to the wounded around the square. He walked over to his Calyin and knelt beside her in prayer. Calyin reached out her hand to him and he rose to his feet; together they went to check on the others.

All the Great Kingdom would doubly feel this time of mourning. Not only had the citizens lost their king, but also many a brave soldier and many innocent men, women and children. The heart of the kingdom had been invaded; honor and faith must be restored. As the setting of the sun was to begin a time of mourning, so would the rising of tomorrow’s sun begin a time of retribution. The cry for retaliation would be heard and answered by all. The kingdom would stand without heir, but it would not fall.

The thunder of many hooves despoiled the silence. Lord Konstantin lit a smile to his lips. His eyes filled with glee; he knew who came. The palace guards were quick to their mounts and stood ready. Bowmen took up positions aiming for the many entrances to the square, waiting. Swordsmen mustered behind the shieldbearers and pikemen regained their line-defensive formations, standing at the ready, marching forward under their captain’s orders. Lord Serant drew his sword from its scabbard sadly and waited for the next offensive.

Chapter Five

Once Princess Adrina’s eyes adjusted to the dull light, she was able to see the faces of her mysterious captors who claimed they were friends and not enemies, yet she had heard with her own ears their struggle with the guardsmen who sought to rescue her. A giant of a man stared into her eyes and gentle fingers still worked through the snarls in her hair. The voice she heard from behind her was soft and kind and the one before, though deep and strong, was warm and charming.

“Do not let my size frighten you,” he said.

“Only the two of you?” asked Adrina, thinking of escape.

The giant’s eyes went wild with sudden fury. He raised a silencing hand to his lips, then it seemed as if he were listening to sounds that only he could hear. Adrina held silent as indicated. In the moments that followed, she considered running, thinking naively that she could easily outpace the two tired travelers. She didn’t act on that notion, though; she waited, somehow interested, drawn in by the behemoth before her. The large man indicated that it was all right to speak freely and Adrina sighed. She didn’t know what had brought on his sudden concern, but whatever it had been, she had seen that he seemed more concerned with her safety than anything else.

“Why?” she bluntly asked.

She looked around the room, which was small and rounded. The two were alone now; the other had seemingly slipped silently away into the shadows.

“Where did she go?”

“She will return momentarily,” replied the large man.

“Why me? Why did you kidnap me?” repeated Adrina.

“We did what we had to do.”

“Why? How many had to die because of that?” accused Adrina.

When he did not answer, she became angry and said again harshly, “How many?”

She angrily approached him and began to hit him, releasing all her pent up frustration upon him. Her hands slapped him again and again. He did not flinch, nor did he stop her. Tears were flowing down her cheeks when her fists came to rest against his abdomen.

He looked down upon her, not knowing what to do or say.

“It— was— not—” he stopped, unable to finish.

He took her in his arms and held her. Another’s soft hand unexpectedly wiped away her tears as the large man embraced her. The fear faded away. She heard a voice say, “There was nothing we could do to help them. It was their fate. Your fate is with us. We were only trying to save you.”

“Why me? There were so many others,” sobbed Adrina.

“We did what we could. If we had delayed to save others, we too would have—” the other paused, and did not finish the sentence.

There was evident pain in that other voice, the soft feminine voice. It echoed in her mind. She was sure she knew the voice from somewhere. Her thoughts skipped, but it could not be. Her mind wandered back to another time. A face of a distant memory became alive inside her thoughts. She turned and faced the other. As she looked into the other’s eyes, memories flooded into her mind.

“It cannot be,” she said as she fainted.

She awoke a short time later with the same face staring into her eyes. She started to say the name that flowed through her mind, but a gentle finger touched her lips and stopped her. The other shook her head, indicating yes.

Adrina did not understand.

“How?” she started to say; again the other stopped her.

“This is Amir,” quickly said the other, pointing to the giant. “I am the one without name. I am without past.” And to herself she added, “Everything comes full circle at the end.”

Adrina registered the coldness with which the words were said. She wondered what had happened to make the other so bitter. She didn’t understand how the other was here, but she accepted it. The other was here and alive; the Great-Father and Mother worked in mysterious ways.

“We must go now and meet the others. We have little time left,” Amir said, looking about anxiously.

“I just want to know why?” cried out Adrina. “Why me and not anyone else? Are they all dead?”

“You are the last,” said Amir, avoiding the rest of Adrina’s questions.

“The last?”

“The last of the children. We have come to take you home.”

Adrina started to say something else and was silenced again.

“Quickly now,” urged Amir, “we have no more time. Say no more but know that our intentions are earnest and that we did not initiate the attack in the square. We rescued you from those that would do you harm, so follow quickly now; time is short, and say nothing until I say it is safe. Do you understand?”

Adrina nodded her head.

“How many were back there?” Amir directed this at the Little One.

“Only two persist. They guess nothing more; they do not know we are here for sure.”

Amir glared angrily down one of the dark tunnels, wishing that he had ended the lives he had earlier spared. He looked to Adrina and then to the other, shrugging his shoulders; lifting a short blade from his belt, he darted into the dark tunnel, his form quickly swallowed by the gray of the tunnel, only his shadow remained visible for a time before all trace of him was completely absorbed. Five minutes passed with no audible sounds reaching the two waiting, not even the muffled echoes of the giant’s footsteps; then in an instant they heard a stifled shriek followed by the faint echo of sloshing water. Several minutes later, a shape came from out of the darkness.

The Little One jumped in front of Adrina, arms spread wide. Catching each breath, they waited. Amir would not move so heavily in the water. The shape loomed closer, its shadowed form not appearing to be that of a humanoid but that of a beast. Blades were not tools the Little One thought fondly of, but she had been stripped of what she once was. Only her healing powers were intact; she had no other resource at her disposal, and it was with deep remorse that she lifted from her boot the tiny blade that Amir had given her, her last line of defense.

The silhouette of the approaching creature showed that it had many legs and arms, its twisted form was enormous, seeming to fill the whole of the tunnel. Adrina was pushed farther away and the Little One crept forward, waiting to lunge on the approaching beast. Still, the two stared into the shadowy darkness, the sound of splashing water increasing. The Little One signaled for Adrina to crouch low and wait; her small blade shone dully in the pale yellow light of the sewer chamber. She lifted the blade. Just as she was about to spring, she paused. Squinting, she focused her eyes, searching out the strange form.

“Amir?” she hissed.

There was a splash and then a thud. A large figure lunged out of the darkness. The Little One lashed out. The figure dodged the well-timed blow and grabbed the small arm and held it firm.

“What are you doing?” whispered Amir.

“I thought you were—I am sorry—I misjudged.”

Amir grinned.

“You are surprisingly strong,” he stated, seeming pleased by the assessment.

Amir returned for the two bodies he had carried through the tunnels, one slung over each shoulder, dropping them again onto the floor of the small chamber. Adrina cringed and looked away, but even as she flinched and closed her eyes, the dead eyes imprinted themselves upon her subconscious. Grated drainage shafts lay chest high on each of the four walls; Amir selected one and removed its grating. He grabbed one of the corpses, latching onto a thick tuft of hair and a large leather belt, and stuffed the darkly clad man into the shaft. Similarly, he rammed the second man into the shaft, fixing the grating into place afterwards.

Adrina had seen that the two were obviously not kingdom soldiers, for which she was relieved; still she was horrified for a moment, her mouth wide in a long incredulous gasp. Amir said nothing, nor did he show any indication of remorse. He had simply done what had to be done, nothing more. No words were spoken, only simple hand gestures that indicated that she should follow and the other should trail.

Silently, Adrina followed the giant Amir from the sewers under Imtal, still not understanding the trust she was developing for the mysterious giant. The sewer muck was quickly around her ankles as they entered the first tunnel, traversing its length before coming to another larger tunnel, one that was filled with even more sewage. The stench became overwhelming once more, yet just as she thought she could go on no more, they came to another open dry area. Here the trio stopped.

“These tunnels before us will lead us out of the sewers,” stated Amir in a light tone, “there is fresh air ahead and plenty of it, so you must only hold out for a short while yet. The tunnels will grow drier as we work our way slowly towards the catacombs. Once there, stay close. Do not lag behind and stand ready. Again, we move in silence; there is danger ahead. Watch for my hand signals and all will be fine.”

“How do I know that you speak the truth and you are not leading me to my enemies?” objected Adrina, throwing out words to register the large man’s reaction.

“I speak only in full truths,” replied Amir, “It is obvious to me that you have found trust in me and my companion. Be safe in the knowledge that we lead you away from danger and not towards it. One called Noman will explain all. We must hurry now. There is little time left.”

They forged ahead through the maze of underground tunnels. Adrina had no idea where she was, but apparently Amir did. He led them, turning at junctures in the path without a moment’s hesitation. The tunnels grew steadily drier as Amir said they would. The stench also receded with the dank waters. The trio kept silent, solely relying on Amir’s hand signals to speak where words would otherwise have been needed.

Fixing her eyes on his great back, Adrina was very attentive to his movements. She followed where he led, stopped when he stopped, veered left or right as he signaled. For a time, once they reached dry tunnels, it seemed as if they were descending into the earth and then the downward slopes gradually leveled out.

Though it was not on the tunnel floors, a dampness returned. It was held in the air around the three, which suddenly grew cool. The lines of perspiration streaming down her back and face collected the cool air and Adrina began to shiver. She clutched her arms to her chest to stave off the cold, blowing warm air into her hands. The floor that had been hard, firm rock became earthen and the tunnel floor began to pitch upward. Soon the damp chill was left behind, replaced by dry stale air.

After many hours of traversing the dark tunnels, Amir called a full halt. They had come to a large chamber that was semi-lit from above. Water could be heard dripping from the ceiling into a basin on the tunnel floor.

“What is that? That stuff is worse than the stench of the sewers,” groaned Adrina.

Amir lifted Adrina to her feet.

“Come quickly; the others wait ahead.”

Adrina stood unsteadily for a moment and then as the dizziness passed, she nodded her head, gesturing that she was ready to proceed.

Chapter Six

Hundreds of darkly clad warriors pushed their way into the square. They bore the brunt of the waves of arrows pouring down upon them from the garrison bowmen. Behind them came horsemen clad in heavy mail; even the beasts of this evil guard were armored. The mounted horsemen pushed the footmen forward, and slowly they made progress.

The garrison bowmen were forced to be more selective in their volleys as the palace mounted guard charged the enemy ranks and intermixed with them. In gallant groups of ten they charged the approaching footmen. On horseback they had considerably more maneuverability than their foes, yet the enemy quickly learned how to sever rider from horse. Instead of striking at the man on the horse as they charged, they attacked the horse. As the horse fell, the rider was easily dealt a deadly blow. Few riders were able to recover as their mounts crumpled beneath them. Many were pinned beneath their horses and could only lie struggling to get free as their foes claimed their lives.

The enemy horsemen seemed to be lagging purposefully behind, waiting until the footmen had taken the brunt of the defensive. Lord Serant ushered Calyin and the others into a protective circle within the folds of the shieldbearers. He would not leave Calyin’s side any more.

He waited and watched. The numbers on each side were quickly balancing out. Enemy bowmen were taking up positions and returning the volleys of the garrison bowmen. Serant ordered the garrison bowmen to make a strategic retreat; he needed to save their ability to strike into the enemy’s heart for later.

Pikemen with their long shafted blades followed in the wake of their mounted comrades. Easily they drove the enemy back for a time. The dark warriors’ swords were no match against the great length of the pike. The long blades pierced the enemies’ hearts before they could get close enough to strike. The advantage was clearly on the side of good, at least momentarily.

A thick rain of arrows fell in surges against the pikemen, falling on both friend and foe; those who attacked did not care as long as their enemies died. Lord Serant could see the enemy commanders ordering the bowmen to shoot; and in spiteful retaliation, he ground the heel of his boot into the enemy lord’s back near the base of the skull. He understood why they attacked thus. It was a desperate foe who didn’t care if he killed his own as long as he was the victor in the end.

“How many more come?” demanded Lord Serant of Lord Konstantin, grabbing the man by the scruff of the hair, his boot still in place.

The vile lord’s only response was to work a ball of spittle up in his mouth and launch it at Lord Serant. The westerner did not flinch as the spittle struck his right cheek and dripped downward. Calmly, he cuffed Lord Konstantin with a heavy hand.

“Chancellor, here is your chance to redeem yourself,” said Lord Serant, with evident animosity. He knew the chancellor was wounded, but he needed someone who could follow detailed orders well. He saw a blind spot in the enemy ranks and he intended to take advantage of it.

“They need someone to follow; can you lead them?”

“Yes.”

“Good!” said Lord Serant, smiling.

He hurriedly explained his elaborate plan to infiltrate the enemies’ rear flank and then issued a group of swordsmen to accompany the chancellor. Lord Serant ordered the bowmen to lay a screen of arrows into the heart of the enemy. Afterward, he mustered all but a handful of his remaining soldiers. They awaited his signal to charge into the enemy ranks. His words were inspiring; they were welcome to the soldiers’ ears. This was a man of power for whom they would willingly die. The end was close at hand.

On his command, those not already engaged in combat streamed forth. Their goal was the enemies’ mounted guard, and they cut a direct line for it through what remained of the enemy footmen’s ranks. The charge was timed with the chancellor’s sneak attack to the rear, the line where the enemy officers gathered. The twang of bowstrings and the crashing of steel rose from a clamor to pandemonium once more.

The kingdom soldiers’ charge was short lived as the enemies’ mounted horde swept forth. The black beasts whinnied and reared up as they raced forth, trampling the first brave few who reached their ranks. The shield ring was brought closer as the enemy leaders directed fire against Lord Serant’s position. Even behind the wall of tower shields, arrows found their marks, picking off those that shielded their lord and the other dignitaries with their own bodies.

Lord Serant ordered his holdouts to charge, followed by his bowmen who were to shoot on the run. For a brief time, it seemed as if they had the enemy surrounded and were closing in, but the superior horsemen had been holding back again and they crashed forth with a vengeance. The last of the pikemen fell; the swordsmen continued their charge, followed by a mixed contingent of bowmen and bladesmen.

The hope that had lasted briefly ended with the fall of the chancellor’s group. Their strike had apparently been ineffective. A new battle cry rang out across the square; a new banner was raised in the field. More mounted warriors streamed into the square from the western sector.

Their presence sent terror into the hearts of those that saw them; the kingdom soldiers, though discouraged, continued their assault. The end was near, very near. Lord Serant vowed he would fight until his last breath. He ordered the shield bearers to move out and all who could still wield a weapon, even his precious Calyin, followed.

Lord Serant spat on the dark warrior lord who was bound helpless beneath his scornful heel. His eyes filled with glee as he saw horror and disappointment on Lord Serant’s face. He held no regrets for this day. He had served his master well. Lifting his great sword from its sheath, Lord Serant left Lord Konstantin where he lay face down in a puddle of blood. He would not offer the dark lord the dignity of a swift death, hoping instead that his fellows thought him lost in the chaos of the field, knowing that in time the man would bleed to death, but that death would come slowly and with much pain.

Horsemen filed into the square from the west and the north now, wreaking havoc as they came. The sheer numbers were unfathomable to his mind; how could the enemy have such a vast reserve? How had so many been able to infiltrate this far into the Great Kingdom unseen? He was appalled. As he ran, he handed Calyin a dagger from his belt, his last; the look in his eyes spoke volumes, a lifetime’s worth of dreams that would never come true, also of love, deep, lasting love. Calyin smiled and took the dagger. She was also ready to die.

“Look!” yelled Calyin, her voice wild and captivating, “Look!”

Lord Serant raised his eyes and cocked his head; surprise swept over him. He saw, yet he did not believe. A change had taken place; the banner once raised was gone. Another one stood proudly in its place, one that he clearly recognized. The dark warriors also realized the trick, but it was too late. Their horsemen were cut down as they watched.

The only defense left to them was to flee, but opposing horsemen were already upon them, coming in from all sides now. All possibility of escape was cut off. Mounted soldiers continued to pour into the square. The will of the enemy to fight was sucked from them in one swift move. They huddled around their leaders, who issued orders the soldiers no longer followed.

Thousands clustered around the hundreds that frantically sought to escape. Sorrowful whinnies of dying beasts rose above the cries of the desperate men. More banners were raised on the field as the fleet horsemen surged into the square. Moonrise had come long ago, full and ominous, though the combatants had not noticed its arrival and beneath this full yellow globe and an unmarred starlit sky, the battle came to an end.

A small group of riders circled back to those who had stopped their charge dead still and looked on in awe. Two flag bearers rode to left and right of this small group, carrying the spectacular gold and silver banner of freedom whose symbols were oddly enough the scimitar, the eclipsed moon and the free man’s crest.

“Greetings, on this deceitful night,” yelled a rider who approached, “I am Lord Geoffrey of—”

“—Solntse. But how did you know?” interrupted Lord Serant.

“I had a strange visitor a number of day’s ago. He told me the waxing gibbous moon brought ill tidings and to rouse our garrison and set wings to our feet. ‘Reach Imtal before the full moon wanes,’ he beckoned, and thankfully I heeded his words.”

“You don’t know how indebted to you I am, good sir. I thank you and all the free men who have come to our aid!” yelled Lord Serant.

For a moment the two men looked silently about the square. Many expressions crossed their faces as the soldiers of Solntse and those few of the Imtal palace and garrison that lived scoured the square in search of survivors, both friend and foe alike. The scene was one of death and destruction. The dark warriors had left their mark deep on the kingdom. The blood of many had flowed through the central square. Many brave soldiers had lost their lives. Those who had insisted that the strife would never reach them were quite mistaken.

In the days to come they would scour the countryside in search of those responsible for collaborating with the enemy. The guilty would be found and dutifully punished, and then they would turn their anger outward upon the leaders of the insurgency. Lord Serant had little doubt that this search would lead them south, but first reparations must be made. Imtal garrison must be rebuilt, a new palace guard would have to be selected, and the heir to the throne must return.



Watching the proceedings from the glowing orb in his hand, Xith was pleased. The company he had sought to build was together and Great Kingdom had once again survived the test of the darkness. Yet Xith knew all too well that notions of good and evil were too simple an interpretation for what was taking place. The cosmos didn’t understand the concepts of good and evil—to the cosmos there was only the cycle of renewal. When one age ended, another began. That is the way of it and it did not matter whether that age was good or evil in someone’s eyes for there was always another interpretation, always another point of view.

Satisfied, Xith focused his thoughts on the warrior elf and the kingdom prince and their faces appeared in the glowing orb. He blew onto the orb, casting wind to the sails of their ships and taking them easily past the dark storm that approached. He wondered then what would happen to them when they discovered that everything they thought they knew was a lie and that only in the lies would they find the truth. This saddened him and this sadness turned his thoughts to Vilmos, the boy the company was built to protect. The boy who would become the one against which the forces of darkness and light would align and then single-mindedly seek to destroy.

Chapter Seven

“Jasmine, please don’t leave us,” cried Sister Midori-shi. She looked to Sister Catrin-ni, who knelt on the other side of Jasmine. The two stared deep into Jasmine’s eyes. They could see that her spirit yearned to be gathered by the Great-Father.

For a moment they both looked around the square. The scene was one of death and destruction. The assassins had left their mark deep on the kingdom. The blood of many had flowed through the central square. Many brave soldiers had lost their lives this eve.

All would remember this day. Those who had insisted that the war would never reach them were quite mistaken. The distant war in the Eastern Reaches had been brought to them. The kingdom had been plunged into the midst of a war they were unprepared to fight.

The peace that had existed for centuries was completely gone. Their king had been assassinated. A princess of the kingdom had been kidnapped. But worst of all, an army of assassins had invaded their homeland. They had infiltrated all the way into the vary heart of the kingdom, the capital city of Imtal.

Father Francis returned after checking on the others of the royal party. The guards were clearing the wounded and the dead from the field. A strange thought was clawing at the back of his mind. An emotion before unknown to him permeated his other thoughts. He tried to meditate them from his mind, but they remained.

He looked to the dark-haired woman across the square and for the first time the impact of her beauty fell upon him. He that was of the Great-Father and her that had given herself to the Mother-Earth. The thoughts in his mind would not be denied acknowledgment. They demanded to be allowed existence. He could suppress them no more. He had shared the union of the Mother and Father with this one. The natural love of the two for each other and for all things was inside him.

He wondered if she, too, felt the pull of emotions upon her. He wished to go to her, but he could not. He had acknowledged his feelings for her, yet they could not be allowed. He decided he would return to the palace with Lord Serant and Princess Calyin, and leave the past behind him.

Lord Serant defiantly looked around the square. He still clutched the hilt of his sword tightly. His beloved Calyin stood at his side. She reached out and took his free hand in hers. She tightly clasped it. Finally, he sheathed his weapon and the two embraced.

Tears flowed down Calyin’s cheeks. Lord Serant gazed into her eyes and wiped her tears away. “I will forever protect you, my love,” he whispered into her ear.

His eyes saw the body of Chancellor Yi, which lay behind Calyin. Lord Serant had found the chancellor to be most foolish. Nothing like this carnage could have happened in the Western Territories. The lands might be barbaric, but he was safe there. No one could have so easily entered his capital and attempted to slay him.

Slowly the square emptied of all save three who refused to leave. Captain Brodst continued to attempt to persuade them to leave though they would not listen. He understood why they would not leave. He knew the beliefs of the priestesses of the Mother.

If it were Jasmine’s time to pass, she would. Nothing they could do would save her. Now, he stood patiently watching them. He ordered more patrols to search the city street by street. The gates of the city were sealed, so Princess Adrina must still be inside the city, and if they searched long enough, they would have to find her.

Midori and Catrin joined hands with Jasmine; one last time the three would become one. The two could feel the yearning of Jasmine’s spirit. They knew the Mother called her to join with her. At the last all were gathered home by the Father save the priestesses of the Mother. They alone were given the privilege; their devotion had allowed them to join with the Mother.

The connection was complete. They could feel the Father watch them from above. They sensed a smile on his lips. A blazing light filled the center of their thoughts. They knew this was the presence of the Mother, strong within them.

Captain Brodst watched the scene. He was greatly intrigued by it. He did not know whether he should continue to watch or not. He knew very well the secrecy of the priestesses. He knew no male had ever witnessed what was now taking place before him.

This was more than the passing of the first of the Mother; it was also a ritual of choosing. One of the other two would become the first, and the other would become the second. As he watched, joy filled his mind such as he had never known but the joy soon became so overpowering that it overwhelmed him. He could watch no more; he could not walk away either. He was held transfixed and looked out at the world around him as if from afar.

In silence the three priestesses were connected. The image of the Mother grew clearer in their minds. Slowly a face defined itself. This was the face of the Mother; it spoke of power and beauty, but more than that a feeling of all encompassing love flowed from that image.

Energy surged rapidly through them. A white light emanated from them and swirled rapidly around them. Jasmine’s body began to shimmer and then faded out of existence. All of her thoughts became joined with Catrin’s and Midori’s. Her thoughts became their memories, and thus Jasmine’s spirit passed to rest with the Mother.

They could see Jasmine make the journey to the Mother’s garden. A feeling of immense happiness flowed to them. They could also sense the other priestesses who rested there welcoming Jasmine home.

As the Mother bade them farewell, they begged her to stay and cried out into the night. “Wait,” they implored, “Wait!” “Which of us is to be the first?” they asked. But the Mother did not heed their words and soon it was just the two of them, facing each other, hands joined. Not far off stood the transfixed captain. He could no more look away than a fly could escape a spider’s web.

An old memory came to Catrin and Midori, and with it realization of what they must do and how the ceremony of choosing must begin. They set their minds to the struggle of will quickly losing track of time and space. Now, they existed solely in a whirlwind of thought and will. Both stretched out from their center with every ounce of their being to gather the flow to them, but both encountered vast difficulties.

Indefinite thoughts spun into their consciousness. Some were pieces of past experiences, some of the present, and all were intertwined with the future. The normal order of passage said Sister Catrin should become the first, as she was now the second, but the final test of servitude was still to be passed. The victor would become as one with the Mother.

Slowly the thoughts began to define. They became single thoughts, forming a multitude of future paths, turning points in the future. The two were forced to make decisions. They must choose the correct path to follow from the many. The choosing went on and on until it seemed it would never end.

Midori screamed in agony, collapsed. Captain Brodst was startled and looked to where Midori was sprawled, motionless on the ground. He tried to run to her aid, but could not. He could only watch in horror.

He could see the pain clearly etched on her face. His heart pounded rapidly as he was drawn to watch. He could not take his eyes off her face. He felt complete sympathy for her, utter empathy if that were possible. In that moment he longed for the Delinna Alder he had once known and in that moment he envied no man more than Father Francis. For Father Francis had shared with her a closeness which was denied to him, a oneness which he would never know again. His heart felt the wound of old as raw as it ever was.

As he watched, the image of Catrin appeared near Midori. Catrin quickly knelt beside her friend. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “I have failed you,” she whispered. The low sound seemed to cut into the silence and echoed throughout the square.

The image faded again. Now, the two sat across from each other, hands joined once more. Without a sound, they rose and walked towards the captain. The three then departed the square, each thinking different thoughts as they did so. Captain Brodst was eager to return to the palace to interrogate the enemy leader, Lord Konstantin. Other thoughts tempted his mind. They flowed through and permeated his conscious. He would willingly greet this war as a chance to prove his military prowess and the strength of the kingdom, yet at the same time he regretted its coming to the fore, the countless unnecessary deaths of the innocent caught in the struggle for power.

Sister Catrin thought about the trial. It had torn her mind asunder and shattered her ego. She had taken the wrong path. She had chosen herself over the welfare of her companion. She had failed the test.

Midori looked back with retrospect on her life. She understood how she had become first priestess although her conscience could not accept it. She still saw the impetuous child within her. “Why me? I am not worthy—what of the second, or of the third?” she whispered quietly to herself. “Accept the gift my child. The choice was correctly made,” said a voice echoing in her mind. Midori clearly recognized the voice; it was a voice from her childhood. “Mother!” cried Midori. “Good-bye, my child—” said the voice as it faded.

A city patrol intercepted the trio on the way to the palace and escorted them the remainder of the trek. Captain Brodst gave the guardsmen a black stare, but accepted their escort. The palace was bustling with activity when they returned. Captain Brodst was wondering if the entire city garrison were inside the palace when Lord Serant approached him.

“Captain Brodst, it is good you are all safe. Come, Princess Calyin and Father Francis await your arrival in the council room.”

The two began to speed toward the council chambers with Midori and Catrin closely following. They found Princess Calyin, Father Francis, Chancellor Volnej and Keeper Q’yer seated and waiting for them. Princess Calyin sat at the head of the table, with a vacant place to her right, and Chancellor Volnej seated himself to her immediate left, in the seat of honor reserved for the first adviser. Father Francis was seated to Volnej’s left with Keeper Q’yer directly across from him. Lord Serant took his place to the right of Calyin and the two priestesses took their appropriate places as guests near the opposite end of the table.

Calyin signaled for the guards to seal the door; then the meeting started. Calyin greeted each of those present in an abrupt manner, cutting quickly to the point of their presence here, which was obvious to those present but must be stated for the record. The hall seemed strangely empty compared to the great meetings she remembered from her youth.

Captain Brodst nervously searched the hilt of his sword beneath the table, his eyes never leaving the two seats at the head of the table, those reserved for the king and queen. The second head chair had always been placed away from the table as a remembrance of honor. King Andrew had ruled alone since his queen had died. The captain was not pleased to see it placed back at the table. Princess Calyin with Lord Serant in the king’s place now occupied the chair.

“This is an outrage! How dare you?” shouted Captain Brodst as he jumped up and drew his blade. Lord Serant’s response was immediate; he likewise drew his sword and launched himself at the captain. Calyin was also quick to her feet and placed herself between them. “Stop!” she yelled with all the strength of her voice. “You both will seat yourselves now!” she commanded, her anger lividly displayed on her fiery red face and glaring ice-cold eyes. The two stood defiantly in the face of her fury, which was quite difficult considering Calyin’s persuasive glare, a trait that ran in the family. “Please,” she pleaded. “We will get nowhere like this. The safety and unity of the kingdom are at stake here. We cannot fight among ourselves.”

“Please!” she begged again.

Lord Serant held his blade firm. He would not be the first to back down. Hesitantly, Captain Brodst seated himself back at the table, and then Lord Serant did the same. Princess Calyin calmly began, “Captain Brodst, please hear me out. Yes, my lord and husband is seated in the king’s position and I am properly seated to his left. It is for the good of the kingdom that we assume these positions. The one thing we do not need now is division. We need clear unity. I am the next in the royal line and as my husband, Lord Serant will rule by my side. When King Andrew died, the Council of Keepers along with the High Council decided this. It is as it must be until Prince Valam’s return. The Kingdom will stand united!” Calyin spoke those words not only for Captain Brodst’s benefit, but also for all those in the room. Lord Serant had been the only one to come to her aid; the others had remained seated, indifferent or unsure, themselves, what was happening.

“We do not need civil war within the kingdom itself! We need to wait and watch until we are sure where the conspiracy leads us. We must try to stop it before it gets out of hand. To do that we must show that order, not chaos rules! Together we have a chance!”

Chapter Eight

“Ne mozhet byt’! Ehto Brat-Seth i Kapitan-Cagan! Kak ehto?”

The words flowed into Seth’s mind in the way of the brotherhood. They sounded strangely foreign to him. He had been in the world of men for too long. It took him a moment to re-orient his thoughts; then he understood the meaning of the words.

Subconsciously he thought back to another time and a far distant place. Pictures of the council of the Great Kingdom filled his mind. It was in this room that he had lost his Galan forever. Now, she was just an image in his mind. He had loved her even though it was against the general rules of the brotherhood. But they could never be together; fate had divided them.

The elder one ran to Seth and embraced him. It took a moment for Seth to gather his thoughts. He stared deeply into the eyes of his old friend. “Ehto ty?” said Brother Liyan with his mind.

“Dejstvitel’no v camom dele. Ehto menya, Brat-Liyan,” Seth answered aloud in the words of his kind. He then added in the words of men, “Yes, it is truly I, Brother Liyan!”

Brother Liyan didn’t understand; why had Seth spoken aloud? Most of the brotherhood spoke with their minds. Only a select few spoke aloud. They were the ones who refused the gifts of the Great-Father. In this way, they sought to increase their suffering in this world. When you spoke aloud it set you apart from everyone; your mind was open and free, revealing the cause of your shame. Liyan dwelled so much on the fact that Seth had spoken aloud he had not even heard Seth’s words, words in the tongue of man.

“Pochemy?” he started to ask, but Seth stopped him. He searched Seth’s mind for the words, suddenly realizing the thing that had eluded his thoughts. In a moment, he rephrased his question, “What has happened?” yet as he spoke the words, he came to know the answer, and sadness flowed through him. He understood Brother Seth’s wrongdoing. He did not feel pity for him or see his shame.

“Pupil, you have much to learn of life and living. Come, I know one who will greatly rejoice at your return. You shall bring light at a time of darkness. And hope will be felt by all!” Brother Liyan directed the words only into Seth’s mind.

Brother Liyan paused a moment to regard the remainder of the group. He extended a hand to his old friend Cagan. “It is good to be home at last!” exclaimed Cagan. Brother Liyan was not surprised by the fact that Cagan spoke aloud. The captain had freely chosen to speak thus long ago; now it was a sign of the strength of his will.

Will is in all things. It flows through the land, the plants, and animals. In the very center of your being is your will. The strength of your will defines your place in creation. The stronger your will, the higher place you will occupy when you complete the final journey to the Father.

The others in the group Liyan did not recognize. They were of the world of men. He studied each in turn. They did not appear much different from his kind. They had a sincerity to them that spoke of inner strength.

Valam waited a moment for Seth to introduce them. He could clearly see that Seth was lost in other thoughts and understood the reasons. His natural openness compelled him to introduce himself, though he didn’t know if it were proper.

Seth had explained to him the formalities of introduction of his kind. Although he still didn’t understand which type he should use for which occasion. “I am Prince Valam of the royal order, first heir to the throne of the Great Kingdom, largest of the kingdoms, holder of the alliance,” he said brashly in the tongue of Seth’s people.

Brother Liyan held back a smile. Valam had spoken the introduction well. He wondered if men could access the power of their will. It was such a natural thing for him; the thought that they couldn’t had never occurred to him before. He shook the idea from his mind and introduced himself. “I am Brother Liyan, wisest of the High Council of the Eastern Reaches, first adviser to the Queen-Mother.”

As he spoke, Liyan studied the tall brooding prince with his clear, bright eyes. The prince carried with him an artifact of old though Liyan doubted the other knew the true origins of the blade. But the blade was not the source of the prince’s power rather it was an inner strength of character that Liyan could readily sense. The prince was clearly a fair and just man.

Evgej looked worriedly to Valam. He had only recently begun to learn the other tongue. Valam quickly introduced his friend. “This is Captain Evgej, swordmaster first class, city garrison of Quashan’, capital city of South Province.”

“Welcome to East Reach,” Liyan said as he acknowledged the fair-haired captain. Noticing the bow and horn Evgej carried in addition to the great sword slung across his back, Liyan marked the man as a hunter and the steady, unflinching eyes said the captain was a man of strength as well.

Liyan smiled broadly as he turned to study the rest of the prince’s men. “A most intriguing company,” Liyan whispered into Seth’s mind, adding as he turned back to the prince, “Does he know?”

“I have been teaching him the art of will should—”

“—Preparing him, yes,” directed Liyan. “You have done well. He has the inner strength required.” Liyan looked the prince up and down, repeated, “Does he know?”

“He does not,” Seth said aloud.

Desiring to be polite, Valam and Evgej said nothing of what seemed a rather one-sided conversation. Noticing the prince’s increasing unease, Cagan was quick to direct him to other issues. “River sails,” he said indicating the arrival of the river sloops.

To Cagan there was nothing more beautiful or graceful in the water than a sloop with her mainsail, single mast and jib sail and he couldn’t take his eyes off the line of ships gliding easily across the waters of the Gildway. A tear came to his eyes. “Home,” he whispered to the wind.

“How far by ship?” asked Valam. He was eager to depart for Leklorall. The group had spent several days of much needed rest recuperating after the long sea journey. The patrol that had discovered them had left them in the capable hands of the village elders of Marudal—the city of Cagan’s birth. The patrol had departed that same day to bring word to the High Council of the arrival, and when they returned Brother Liyan was with them.

“This day, a night and a day, no more,” said Cagan as he watched the sloops dock to the river piers. “We’ve to sail north through the Ester and then on to the Clarwater. Leklorall is an island city in the center of the great lake.”

“Where are her sailors?” asked Valam looking to the closest sloop.

Cagan grinned knowingly. “A captain and his mate are all that are needed. The ship does most of the sailing on her own. She is grand is she not.”

“The symbols on the line of the stern?” asked Valam.

Cagan pointed to each ship in turn and spoke their names. Indicating the ship docked before them, he said, “Maru. She is my favorite. She asks of you.”

“The ship speaks?” asked Valam incredulously.

“To me, yes,” said Cagan running his hand along the side of the ship. “The Maru is named after Marudall. It was my father who built her and the blood of my line is within her.”

Valam started to respond but Evgej clasped a hand to his shoulder and spoke first, “The men await your command. It is time to board the ships and depart, my prince.”

Valam turned expectantly to Seth. “My men—”

“—will receive the finest all of East Reach has to offer this night,” Seth said. “On the morrow, the march to Riven End begins where the High Elves and your people will join the Gray—all as we’ve discussed.”

“And when the second group arrives?”

“All will be well, my prince,” said Captain Mikhal approaching from the line of men standing at the ready behind the prince. “Tsandra of the Brown has been accommodating at every turn. Our needs are met. The men are in goods spirits and well. The journey has only strengthened their resolve and mine. I will see you in Riven End when it is time.”

“Riven End then, be well,” said Valam.

“And you, my prince.”

Captain Mikhal walked back to the line of men and began issuing orders. Cagan departed to make final preparations. Valam and Evgej turned their attention back to Brother Liyan and Seth. Seth for his part did not hide his excitement. He longed to once more see his home and the Queen-Mother. Brother Liyan had not given him any message from her. He wondered if something were wrong, or if Liyan had come to personally insure he was alive and had really returned.

His thoughts skipped back again to the council chamber of the kingdom. He had poured his entire being into maintaining the mind link. He had seen the Father coming to bring him to rest beside him. Galan’s pleading cry still echoed through his mind. In the instant the contact was broken he should have passed. Galan though had given herself in his stead and he felt the weight of guilt heavy upon him. Guilt because he lived and breathed and she did not.

As he boarded the Maru, Cagan swept his gaze up and down the river and beyond to Maru Bay. His great love for the water had been tainted by the storm that had brought them here. All his life he had been a sailor. He had never encountered a storm so severe; he could not outrun her. He had fought desperately to keep control over his ship and had lost.

The immense power of the storm was self-evident. He had also felt the will of the Father within it. The Father had guided them to this shore. Both he and Seth had felt it, though he did not comprehend why; he knew Seth had.

Fate rested well with Seth. Twice now, he had survived when he should not have. Slowly he was lost to his thoughts, as they began to sail away. As he often did when troubled, he returned to his early teachings. It was in them he could piece together the things that occurred around him.

“Always remember, pupil, when your mind is troubled and you cannot find your center, return to that which separates you, distinguishes you from everyone else, your thoughts. For they are truly your own—they are you.”

Brother Liyan stood on the deck of the Maru alongside Seth. He could see Seth’s distant stare and knew Seth’s mind was troubled. Physically, Seth had changed only slightly in the time he had been gone, but within, Liyan could sense a vast growth. Liyan gently probed Seth’s thoughts. Seth sensed this and invited Liyan into his mind. Seth took Liyan on a tour of the past, and together they relived its many paths.

Time progressed rapidly in swirling images. Liyan saw vividly the Battle of Quashan’. He saw Seth hold the last threads of Galan’s life against the will of the Father, a feat that defied their laws. He saw the great council of the kingdom and then felt sadness fall like an anvil upon him. He saw Galan give all that she was for Seth. With a single selfless act, Galan willingly destroyed everything she was. She utterly ceased to exist.

Seth’s mind leapt and raced through the times at the palace. His love for Galan was clearly revealed. Liyan understood it. He wanted to tell Seth it was not wrong but could not interrupt the vision.

He then witnessed how Seth met the brash Evgej during the journey to South Province. Seth stopped the vision with the reunion with Cagan and his sorrowful cry to the Father for his forgiveness; it was then that he discovered the fatal error he made. From that night on, Seth vowed never to speak with his mind again.

The group stood in silence, the gentle rocking of the ship soothing their senses. Valam studied the countryside in the fading light of the late afternoon. An area of low grassy hills filled the view from the coast. In the distance to the North he could see only the expanse of the river. All in all, he saw no apparent difference between here and his home.

His mood grew from light to dark when he began to think of the purpose of their journey. They came in answer to a plea by the Queen-Mother of East Reach. The peaceful times of the past would soon be replaced with the ravages of war.

He had never doubted the urgency of the situation; through Seth, he had come to understand what was taking place. Sathar had returned from the dark journey, beginning the ancient prophecy that marked the ending of everything they knew. There were many, though, who did doubt. They opposed the sending of soldiers to these distant shores. The Battle of Quashan’ they said was proof that there was greater need in the kingdoms than in the reaches.

“Men often wait until it is too late—you must not wait.” Valam remembered those words distinctly. After many long months of planning, they had finally departed. Even many of the soldiers who had volunteered doubted the reality of the distant war. The many weeks aboard the ships, however, had somehow changed their views. They began to realize with certainty the truth of their situation. They could not back out now, and this knowledge cleared their minds. The war existed, if only in their thoughts.

Valam whispered a prayer to the Father. The storm that had swept them into the rocks hopefully had spared the others. Valam was confident that the second group had entirely missed the storm, but the first group that followed their guidance could easily have been lost. Nonetheless, he continued saying his silent prayer for a moment longer.

Seth moved alongside Valam and Evgej. “What do you think about my homeland?” he asked pointedly, striving to break the glum moods of his companions.

“It appears much the same as the lands of the kingdom.”

“More like the grassy foothills of South Province I’d say.”

“On the morrow, we should reach the Clarwater; there I am sure you will see vast differences.”

Chapter Nine

Adrina followed the giant, Amir, and the one she had once known, whom Amir had dubbed as “Little One,” as she had told none her name, from the sewers under Imtal. She still could not hold back the tears. She no longer cried for the ones she thought lost in the battle in the central square; now her sorrow was for the one who had told her with such bitterness that she had no name, no past and was nothing. She cried for a friend lost. She cried for Galan.

The two of them had rescued her from the massacre on the square. Only recently Adrina had learned that she was the object of the assassins’ quest. They had been sent to kill her, but she did not understand why. Most of the upper officials of the Great Kingdom had been on the square, why her? Amir had assured her that one called Noman would explain everything to her when they joined his group, but for the time being she muddled over that single question and thoughts of a time not long ago, times of happiness inside the palace proper. She longed for Seth and Valam to return to her, and most of all she wanted to see Galan whole once more. She wished she could share Galan’s burden.

Still, they wandered through the maze of underground tunnels. Adrina had no idea where she was, but apparently Amir did. He continued to lead them, turning in many directions without a moment’s hesitation. After many hours of traversing the damp, poorly lit tunnels, they stopped. Adrina was near exhaustion, perspiration dripped heavily from her forehead. “Good, we have stopped,” said Adrina. No one responded.

They had come to a large chamber that was semi-lit from above. Water could be heard dripping from the ceiling into the pool of water on the tunnel floor. Adrina was about to say something else, when a gentle hand touched her lips and she stopped.

Amir stood poised in front of Adrina and the Little One, his right hand lightly fingering the two-handed sword in his sheath. In less than one beat of Adrina’s heart, Amir drew his sword. Instantly a bright blue-white light filled the room. Amir’s sword rested on the neck of a darkly tanned man clad in black.

The man slowly withdrew the hood from over his head. Amir said smartly as he re-sheathed his sword, “I knew it was you Ayrian. I could smell your presence two tunnels away. But I had to be sure.”

Ayrian tried to hold back a laugh, but could not, “It is a wonder you didn’t lob my head off.”

“Yes, I could have blamed it on the light.”

“Or lack thereof, my friend.”

Adrina didn’t understand the pun. The others, however, had understood it; even Galan almost broke a smile. Amir turned around to introduce Ayrian to Adrina.

“Princess Adrina Alder, I would like to introduce Ayrian, Eagle Lord of the Gray Clan.”

“Eagle Lord?”

“Princess,” said Ayrian as he reached out and kissed Adrina’s hand. Adrina was shocked by Ayrian’s appearance. At first she thought he wore a costume of feathers since the light in the chamber was shadowy, but Ayrian assured her the talons and feathers were indeed real.

“Come, the others await your arrival,” said Ayrian as he retreated down a tunnel. The tunnel came to a dead end at a blank wall of stone. Ayrian took the hilt of his sword and rapped heavily on the wall. A moment later the sound seemed to echo and Ayrian disappeared through the wall. The others soon followed with a bewildered Adrina being led by Amir.

A short, withered-looking man who Adrina recognized immediately as Xith stood on the other side of the wall. His face was clenched in strain. His outstretched hands were engaged in a frenzy of movement. He moaned a sigh of relief when the last of the group stood in the chamber. Standing beside the anguished man stood a younger man, as amazed at the feat as Adrina had been.

Adrina realized that Xith was performing magic, which was expressly forbidden. All magic was evil. Another stepped from the shadows and approached Adrina. “No! You are quite wrong there, princess. It is neither wrong, nor evil, for without its existence all would be lost.”

“How did you—but the teachings—! That is why darkness has entered the kingdom!”

“I am Noman,” said the gray-looking gentleman. “We have waited a long time for you and the others.” His voice was weak on the last words. In his mind he thought, “Now there are three, and seven.”

“Do not fear us,” said Xith. Adrina looked to the squat man outfitted in brown robes. “We could not allow the others to take you. We need you. Together with the others, you are the key, the next generation of hope and light in a world succumbing to darkness.”

Adrina was again shocked; she had not heard the last part of Xith’s statement, only the talk of hope and light.

“There is no light in darkness,” disagreed Adrina.

The one whom Adrina had known by another name took her hand and nodded her head indicating yes.

“There is always light,” she whispered.

“Do not worry about that,” Noman said, subjecting Adrina to the soothing guiles of the voice. “Come here, my child, you are safe now. No harm will befall you in our care.”

Noman reached out and took her other hand.

“Once it is safe, we will take you home; until that time you will remain in our care. Come, there are others you should meet. Xith, Amir, Ayrian—” called out Noman.

“But the darkness,” protested Adrina.

“The darkness came of its own accord. It was time—the time for an ending of the old and a beginning for the new.”

“End? Beginning?”

“In time you will understand the nature of what takes place.”

“You are the one that—”

“Yes,” answered Noman; for an instant, he thought Adrina recalled their previous meeting. He had told her too much. As he watched her eyes, her features, and her thoughts, he knew she didn’t remember and was relieved. A flicker of thought passed before his eyes, images he had taken from Adrina.

Noman began to introduce his other companions. The short elder, Xith, last of the Watchers; Vilmos, the sandy-haired youth who appeared somehow older than the boy she had first met on the way to Alderan; and Nijal, of Solntse. Noman stopped Adrina’s questions about Vilmos and further attempts at conversation by insisting they must leave. “I will not go!” yelled Adrina, “I demand to know what is happening. My place is in the palace!”

“Not if you are killed it isn’t! We have no time. Come!”

Adrina held her ground. She with all her kindness and tenderness had one fault: she liked to get her own way. At times her youthfulness showed clearly, especially in her temper.

“Where are we?”

“We are in the caves of the Braddabaggon, just outside the city.”

“But how? We were just in the sewers beneath the city.”

“Those were the ancient catacombs beneath the sewers that we were in,” corrected Amir.

“What catacombs?”

“Come, princess, we can talk about this at a later time.”

Adrina still held her ground, a belligerent look steeling her features. Amir picked Adrina up, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her away. The air in the chamber, though deadly still, suddenly became cool. Amir placed Adrina back on her feet and an instant later darkness seemed to sweep into the room from an adjacent tunnel.

A brilliant blue light burst aglow in the room. The ball of light danced between Xith’s fingers, fury clearly showing on his face. Vilmos stood next to Xith, with the same blue light dancing in his hand. Sounds of movement filled the air.

Darkly clad figures poured into the chamber from all sides. Amir charged into their midst. His deadly sword wildly wrought havoc among them. With one sweep of his blade, two lay beneath his feet, the last sound of their lives one syllable of a cry to battle.

Nijal followed Amir’s gesture and charged. His skill with his weapon could not match the lighting speed and legendary skill of Amir, but he also dealt punishment to the enemy. In endless numbers the attackers poured into the room.

Ayrian crouched low to the ground. Rapidly, his form was transfixed. With one powerful beat of his mighty wings he shot into the tunnel. His form was slightly different from usual. Here in the tunnels he could not use his immense form. This slightly touched his pride, as one of the truly beautiful things about his kind was their overwhelming power in giant form. For now, he settled on a much smaller size. He stalked the enemy from above. His agility more than compensated for the restriction of the small space. With his razor-sharp talons he tore the foe apart.

Together, Xith and Vilmos unleashed their combined energy. Smoke and flames filled the second tunnel. Pitiful cries of agony rolled into the chamber. The smell of burning flesh became pungent, permeating the air all around them. Vilmos and Xith set their minds to the task again, clearing their centers and focusing the energies they felt there. They stole power from the very air and rock around them, devouring it and then re-shaping it to their whims.

Noman had sensed the imminent attack, but he thought they would have more time to escape. He cursed his shortsightedness. An image filled his mind. “No!” he cried. He could not counter it completely. He turned around, but it was too late. Galan, who had been standing towards the front of the room read his thoughts and leapt on top of Adrina, shielding the girl with her own body.

A tongue of crimson flames streamed into the room. Vilmos and Xith were in the direct path of the fire. Xith tried to shout a warning to Vilmos, but the red and blue flames met and in a swirl of raging energy they burst outward. The resulting explosion rocked the room, and the impact collapsed the ceiling of the second tunnel, which in turn caused the ceiling of the chamber they were in to give.

The assailants sought to seal them all in the chamber and surged forward over the bodies of their fallen comrades. The blast had knocked Nijal flat on his face. Even Amir had been shaken by the blast. Amir helped his companion right himself, narrowly blocking a crippling blow. Amir thrust his sword full into the attacker. His blade sank deep and the rogue crumpled lifeless to the ground, the rogue’s sword lightly glancing Amir’s arm as he went down. Desperately Amir and Nijal plunged full force into the tunnel.

Ayrian was midway down the tunnel when the explosion hit. His animal instincts were alert. He sensed the grave danger. At once he took the giant form. He had no room to fly and fell heavily to the tunnel floor, crushing several foes beneath him with his talons. The wide-eyed assailants stopped the attack on him as they stared at him in awe. They were unsure whether to attack or retreat. Ayrian took the chance and with beak and talon ripped into the two who stood before him. The pieces of their bodies dropped about him.

Wearily, Noman regained his feet. He shook his aching head. Xith and Vilmos lay unconscious near him. In the instant that Noman realized he could not stop the explosion, he built up all the energy he could gather before it was too late. He cast it outward as a single wall of force into the explosion, but the shock wave was not overcome.

Quickly, he leaned down, grabbed Xith and Vilmos by their tunics, and began to pull them from the room. The room slowly crumbled behind them. He reached safety just as the room totally caved in. “Oh, Father!” he sighed painfully, looking back into the room. It was buried in rubble.

Sweat streamed down Nijal’s face. He was near exhaustion, but he still fought on. His reactions became slower with each blow and block. His only inspiration was the seemingly endless strength of the giant beside him. As the two hacked their way down the corridor, several times Amir blocked blows Nijal could no longer defend against.

The number of assassins replacing their fallen comrades was decreasing. Their morale was being dealt a staggering blow. For each that charged into the tunnel two of his companions fell; that is, if they could make it past Ayrian. So far, none of the replacements had; Ayrian was extremely enraged.

Slowly the assailants began to retreat; those trapped between Amir, Nijal and Ayrian were easily dispatched. Soon the last one fell and Nijal, with Amir’s aid, staggered back down the tunnel, crawling through the debris in the chamber toward the others. Ayrian changed back to his humanoid form and joined them. They found Noman looking sadly into a pile of debris. Xith and Vilmos were unconscious on the floor beside him.

Amir knelt next to his master and stared into Noman’s eyes. Ever since he had joined Noman in the City of the Sky, Amir had striven to emulate Noman. Noman rarely showed emotions and was never at a loss for words. The one thing Amir could always count on was Noman’s stability; his natural charisma always issued forth, strength, wisdom, and inner peace being his main qualities. Amir had lived with Noman over 600 years. He had never known Noman to know doubt or fear, but he did now.

Amir leaned close to Noman and whispered into his ear. “Look inside of you. What do you see? Can you find your center? Look outward; do you not see the world? Caress it in your hands Shape it. Become one with it. Now can you not see your true enemy?” Amir repeated one of the basic lessons Noman taught him long, long ago. “One’s true enemy is himself. First, you must conquer your own spirit.”

The words infuriated Noman. A multitude of thoughts spun through his mind. He sorted them out and understood. “Quickly!” he yelled, “We must try to clear the debris. There may yet be time.”

Amir and Ayrian carried Xith and Vilmos down to the middle of the hall so they would be out of the way. “Go, Nijal. Someone must watch the tunnel entrance,” said Amir kindly. Nijal did not argue. He was too tired to argue. He didn’t know if he could defend them from further attacks though he would try if need be. Sword in hand, he retreated down the corridor.

Noman stood and looked deep into the rubble. His eyes were closed, and he was deep in a trance. He searched with his mind. His eyes jumped wide open, his heart pumped rapidly with elation. He had found them. The words exploded from his lips: “One lives!”

Noman slowly felt the energy returning to him. He let it build. “Begin!” Amir and Ayrian began pulling the stone from the pile of debris. Noman released his energy in a wave. While the two tunneled, he held the stones around them from further collapse. Never again would Noman forget his sacred vow; he was guardian of the children. He existed for this single purpose.

It was Amir who uncovered the last rocks covering the Little One’s body. He could not look at her. He wanted to remember her radiant beauty as it had been. Her body had been crushed brutally beneath the weight of the rocks. Solemnly he handed her to Ayrian behind him.

Amir gathered Adrina into his arms and crawled from the tunnel. Adrina appeared unscathed by the rocks; her body had been mostly shielded beneath the other. Noman’s first thoughts were of Adrina. He had sensed her life force strongly beneath the rubble. Amir still held her gently in his arms, unsure if he should place her on the ground. Noman assured him it was all right.

“Adrina,” called Noman loudly, “can you hear me?” He did not expect a response but he wanted to be sure before he reset her broken bones. Noman re-checked her injuries; her left hand was severely damaged and her right leg was broken, but she would survive. A part of him rejoiced.

Now he could turn his attentions to the other. He could still feel the will within her. It grew weaker and weaker. He could not do anything to save her, but he could ease her suffering. Her spirit fought to survive, to linger a second more. She was not yet ready to pass, but she was losing the fight.

Noman surged his will into the center of her dwindling will. He knew what her spirit fought for. He would take the risk and tell her. “She is Alive!” he yelled into her mind. He retreated his will from her. A solitary emotion reached him as her spirit passed to rest with the Great-Father— happiness, extreme happiness.

Chapter Ten

With the arrival of evening the air above decks grew cool, causing Seth, Valam, Evgej, and Liyan to retreat below decks. Liyan and Seth began a discussion about the progression of the enemy campaign, breaking any chance of a change of moods.

“King Mark has not yet crossed the Crags?”

“The people of the wood, his people, and the River Elves have joined as one. The Silver folk have all but succumbed. He has taken Winthall and Sumer. Those that remain have fled Tamer. Some gather near the Sea of Edengar. Others take refuge in the Shadow Mountains.

“The Valley folk joined him unwillingly after the fall of Hakdell. The port city of Elorendale is home to his reserve fleet. Our contacts say the masters of wood and stone and sail from all the West are building weapons of war there the likes of which have never before been seen in the land.”

“And we have done nothing?”

“We have offered all the aid we could, but it was not enough. The mountains are a boundary to both our forces. We cannot risk sending any more of our forces through the passes to those few of our allies that remain. We will need all our strength here. A few of those remaining in the west are in the process of retreating to us in the east. Most will stay; it is a matter of honor to remain and die in their homeland.”

“Remain and die?” asked Evgej. “What honor is there in that?”

“It is the same as I would do for my queen and our land. It is the sacrifice of oneself for the greater good,” said Seth.

“As it would be for me also. For now we are locked in a stalemate. We wait for King Mark’s forces to cross the mountains. We expect he will strike Avenwood and Rivenwood first. It is there we plan to engage him. He will wait until all those behind him lie dead, then he will come.”

“His forces will continue to grow in strength, while you wait—”

“So do ours. The time will come soon enough.”

“Yes, soon,” answered Seth distantly.

“But have you not considered bringing the battle to him? It could turn the tide against him.”

“Ahh, Evgej, you must consider the forces in opposition. It could not be that easy. We would not invade another’s lands. It is not our way.”

“But you are at war!”

“Yes, there is honor even in times of war.”

“Your enemy does not seem to be following any code of honor.”

“For our people it is personal. It is our way. It is the way the Great-Father and Mother-Earth gave us.”

“But they would not wish you to be destroyed for your honor’s sake.”

“We are peaceful by nature. We still could not. If we are to be destroyed, then it is by their will alone that we shall go.”

“In the Blood Wars—”

“It was not our doing,” said Seth, interrupting.

“Are these mountains neutral territory?” asked Valam, who had been listening intently to the flow of the conversation.

“Yes.”

“How many passes are there through the mountains?”

“There are but two that are wide enough for an army.”

“Hmm—” Valam raised his eyebrows as he said it.

The discussion continued, at times growing heated and at times progressing slowly, but always flowing with the emotion of the four men who spoke and listened with greater wisdom than most.

Late in the afternoon the next day, the island city of Leklorall lay on the horizon, growing larger with each passing moment. The size of the city baffled Valam’s mind. No city of the kingdom compared to it, not even the free city of Solntse. Even at this great distance he could see spiraling towers that shot up into the sky, which amazed him.

Earlier in the day, they had finally come to Lake Clarwater. They were completing the remainder of the journey with an escort of many more ships than they had begun with. Valam and Evgej stood motionless watching the sailmaster, who sat cross-legged at the rear of the sloop, eyes closed and hands resting calmly on his lap. The sloop was moving by itself or so it seemed. Seth had explained, “It is really quite simple—” Evgej had cut him off saying, “But the current flows in the opposite direction!”

“The direction is of no importance. The sailmaster instructs the ship and the ship listens. Quite simple.”

The answer to this question still wandered through the back of Valam’s mind as they floated up to the docks near the palace. The palace was a glowing array of twisting structures and turrets that formed an outward and upward spiral. “She is indeed magnificent!” exclaimed Valam and Evgej almost simultaneously.

A cry of welcome sounded from their greeters. A multitude clad in many colors lined the pathway through the central courtyard, yelling and cheering. As Seth passed those who wore the red of his order, they began chanting rapidly in their tongue, a song of the returning champion.

As they mounted the long sweeping staircase into the palace, strange, mystical instruments greeted their every step with a simple series of musical sounds that together created a peaceful, flowing melody. Upon reaching the last stair, the double doors to the court slowly opened inward. The raised dais to the throne was suspended in mid-air by a series of pillars that followed the contour of the sloping floor. In a semi-circle behind the dais were tiers of seats; many elves filled the chairs, each dressed in a different color representing their order. The only exception was a single line of gray representing those of Liyan’s order seated to the rear and those clad in the red of Seth’s order that were posted throughout the room.

In the center of the dais, seated upon a transparent, delicately carved throne was the Queen-Mother. Valam recognized her from the images of the mind-link. She was even more beautiful in person. She radiated pure perfection. A feeling of kindness and love flowed into his mind. For the first time in his life Valam was in total awe. When Seth introduced him, Valam could do nothing but gracefully kneel and lightly kiss her hand. He was at a complete loss for words. The Queen-Mother had the same tantalizing effect on Evgej. He, too, was at a loss for words, as he stared deeply into her eyes.

A cry of rejoicing and release from remorse burst into their minds. “My Son!” cried the Queen-Mother, reaching out to all with her mind. A smile touched the queen’s lips as she regarded Seth. The two exchanged a wordless conversation, only obvious to the observers by the change of expressions that filled their two faces—sadness, hope, joy, thanks, and love.

Chapter Eleven

The meeting progressed very well after Captain Brodst apologized for his rashness. After all resolutions were made, they parted for the evening, having come to decisions on many topics. The decree went forth that same night. An assemblage of the High Council, the Council of Keepers, and the leaders from all members of the alliance was being called. All nobles would be welcome. They would also seek the advice of the Priests of the Father, the Priestesses of the Mother, and the Priests of the Dark Flame. The decree also said that anyone not in attendance by the declared time would be held in contempt of the alliance and face persecution accordingly, an insurance policy against the Minor Kingdom’s probable ban.

Lord Edwar Serant and Captain Ansh Brodst departed for the detainment area where the assassin lord was being held. Lord Serant admired the captain’s strength of mind, but he scoffed at his foolish arrogance. It was one thing to be arrogant if you could justify that arrogance, clearly another to claim it when the right to proclaim it had not been earned. He could see a promise of great things to come in Brodst; with a nurturing of his talents, then perhaps he could proclaim arrogance.

They entered the detention chamber and directed the guards to wait outside. Lord Konstantin was shackled by his hands and feet to the wall, still blindfolded and gagged. Once the blindfold and gag were removed, Lord Konstantin went wild with rage. He thrashed violently, causing the chains to gouge into his wrists and ankles. He did not care. His curses and thrashing only increased with the pain. He enjoyed it.

Lord Serant was the first to begin the interrogation. “Who sent you?” he demanded of the prisoner. He quickly received the answer: spittle in his face. Captain Brodst removed a whip from the wall and lashed it harshly against the assassin lord’s face. Lord Konstantin’s response was a deep howling cackle. Blood trickled down his face profusely, which he licked with his tongue. He smiled hideously.

Lord Serant repeated his question, “Who sent you?” When they received no answer, Captain Brodst struck the assassin with the whip repeatedly. Lord Konstantin didn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing his pain-filled screams; with each blow his laughter increased, until it reached the threshold of insanity.

Captain Brodst looked quizzically to Lord Serant, wondering if he should continue. Serant shrugged his shoulders and said quietly, “No.” He then motioned to the captain to grasp the assassin’s hands. The chains were just long enough; Lord Konstantin might be able to try something. Serant did not want to risk the chance. Captain Brodst firmly held the prisoner’s hands, while Serant grasped the prisoner by the throat.

“We will get the information we seek out of you one way or another. Death will come. But one way is quicker than the other. I do not mind waiting, and since you seem to be enjoying it, we will continue this just as long as need be. So, I will ask you one more time. Who sent you?”

“He that did.”

Lord Serant drew his sword and held it before the assassin’s eyes, so he could look at its coldness. “I’m sure that you would enjoy it if I were to kill you now, but I will not. I am a very patient man. Why did you come?”

“I think that is quite obvious.” His tone was one of steel. His eyes seemed to stare through Lord Serant as if he did not exist.

Serant decided to let the captain try to persuade the man to talk. Captain Brodst ordered the guards to retrieve some hot logs from the kitchen’s fire. When they returned, he heated a dagger until it was crimson. “Strip him!” Brodst ran the blade lightly along the assassin’s bare legs, just enough so Lord Konstantin could feel the intensity of the heat.

“Who sent you? I will ask only one more time in case you were distracted by my blade. Who sent you?”

The prisoner offered no retort. Captain Brodst pressed the flat side of the dagger full against the other’s leg. He held it there while he repeated his question. Repeatedly he recapitulated his words and his actions with no reply.

“Guards, get in here!” yelled Serant, as his patience thinned. He saw that the prisoner was tended to and then he and Captain Brodst departed the room, neither very pleased. Lord Serant did have an idea that he hoped might work. After a brief discussion while they walked towards the conference room, the two decided it would be a good idea to consult Father Francis and Keeper Q’yer.

They found the two in Father Jacob’s old study, engaged in a heated conversation. “Ah, Father Francis and Keeper Q’yer, just the two we were looking for. Sorry to interrupt you,” spoke Lord Serant as he entered the room.

“How may we help you, my lord?”

“It is about the assassin, Lord Konstantin. He will not talk. He does not fear death or pain. In fact, I think he rather enjoys it. Can you use the power of the Father to enter his mind and learn his secrets?”

“I am afraid I know not of such things.  Keeper?”

“I have seen nothing of it in our histories, but in the ancient books I have read of such a thing. It is something Brother Seth could have done.”

“Seth?” Lord Serant asked, before he could recall the name. He had never met Seth, but he had heard the stories about him. “Is there then no other way?”

“I think I have an idea. I’ll give him a taste of the death that he so dearly seeks. The Father does not welcome those who do not earn their place with him. They are sent to the darkness of the pit, a cold, unforgiving place.”

The four then returned to the dungeon, which was an area of the castle that had been mostly unused for a very long time. The musty smell of mildew and dank waters assaulted their nostrils as they descended the stairs. All in all, the section was very small, including only six adjacent cells, but it had always been plenty spacious for Imtal. It was rare that any of the cells had an occupant.

Father Francis began his deep concentration. His head began to sway back and forth as a trance overtook him. He faced the assassin lord and asked, “Do you wish death? It is what I offer.  Take it.” His voice was compelling. “Take it,” he enticed. “Take it—take it.”

“Yes!” screamed the prisoner, “Yes!”

Father Francis had been waiting for his total acceptance. “Then take it!” he bellowed.

Lord Konstantin yelled for joy. His eyes and mouth were wide as he embraced death. The after life was everything he ever dreamed it would be and the dark lord’s promises seemed to ring true. The land abounded with riches and treasures—all there for his taking. An army of faithful servants waited for his beckon call. But as he sought to claim the riches the area around him suddenly became dark and cold. He began to shiver uncontrollably. The army of the faithful became a great host of white specters that danced all around him. Their agony greeted him. They eagerly waited to drink the warmth of his newly passed spirit.

Horror began to fill the assassin’s mind. “This is not death!”

“Oh, but it is!” assured Father Francis.

“This is not what my master promised!”

“Oh, but it is. Join us,” said a multitude of withered voices. “Join us.”

“No! I’ve changed my mind. I do not want to die. Please, please, please, oh please,” begged Lord Konstantin.

Father Francis let the rogue’s mind linger for a time in the land of the damned. “Tell us what we want to know. Who sent you? Why have you come?”

“No. Please, I do not—”

“Who sent you?  Why have you come?”

“I do not know who hired me.”

“Liar!” yelled Father Francis as he plunged the assassin back into the pit.

“No, really. I was hired—paid in advance.”

Father Francis left Lord Konstantin dangling above the pit. Slowly he lowered him in, while he repeated the questions.

“They called themselves the coalition. The leader’s name was Antare. He told me that for each I killed he would give me a count of gold, save for the girl. He would triple the sum for her, but only if she were alive. If she were dead we would only get the original payment and nothing extra.”

“If you lie!” tempted Father Francis, clearly angry.

“It is the truth!”

Father Francis released Lord Konstantin’s spirit. He could hold it no more. “Thank you for your help, Father,” he whispered as he came out of the trance. Captain Brodst steadied the priest as he gathered his wits. “I am fine. I am fine.”

“You are a miracle worker; whatever you did worked magnificently! I am ever grateful,” said Lord Serant.

“Do not thank me. Thank the Great-Father.”

Lord Konstantin was still trying to sort out what had happened when his tormentors left the room. He had been tricked by the foul priest’s treachery. “I will kill you—I will kill you all,” he yelled as the gag was returned to his mouth.

“I have never heard of one called Antare,” said Lord Serant as they walked down the hall.

“It is not a person, but a place,” said Keeper Q’yer, “It is an ancient word. I have seen it mentioned in the great book. If you permit me, I will return to the council and seek their help.”

“Of course, Keeper, go.”

“I will return when I discover something.” Keeper Q’yer struck his staff against the hard stones of the floor and spoke the words of power, “Starod sil, otkry ot zemlya i pozhar, veter i vod!” As the new head of the keepers, he enjoyed the privilege of using the old devices though the process of teleportation eluded him. Keeper Martin was the one who had taught him how to use it. Most of the other keepers feared using the device and wished it destroyed, but Keeper Martin protested, as had others before him. Keeper Martin had actually been the first one to use it in generations.

Keeper Q’yer thought back to the time when Martin had first discovered the device. Keeper Martin had stayed up for days searching the old tomes for clues on its use. He had found them. His pleas to the council Keeper Q’yer vividly recalled. “It has survived even the purging—it was kept here for a purpose! And this is that purpose!” By using it, Keeper Martin’s wisdom was clearly shown. It was thus that he gained the respect of the council and eventually became its head.

Keeper Q’yer remembered those days with fondness. From those times he and Martin had also come to know each other, and their friendship had grown. All these thoughts flashed through his mind as he returned to the council.

“But why would they want Adrina?” asked Lord Serant.

“That is a good question—it troubles me.”

“Could you try that again?”

“I do not think I could trick his mind again. Only willingly could I take him there.”

“Then we shall have to try another way, but for now let him sulk. Maybe just the fear of going there will loosen his tongue again.”

“Good. I am famished.”

“Me, too. It is long past dinner. Will you join us, Father?”

“I’m sorry, but no. I will join you two later. I cannot eat when my mind is troubled.”

The two watched Father Francis leave then left for the kitchen. Lord Serant was also caught up with his thoughts; maybe he had judged Captain Brodst too harshly. He was beginning to enjoy his company. The two feasted well on the food they found in the kitchen. Lord Serant grabbed a large hunk of meat and Captain Brodst a cask of ale. They were engaged in light conversation and drinking when Isador found them.

The old nanny, who had brought up all three of King Andrew’s daughters, was fuming. Lord Serant had heard many things about her temperament. He suspected it was where Calyin got her temper.

“Lord Serant, Princess Calyin has sent me to retrieve you. She wishes to speak with you.”

Lord Serant looked to Captain Brodst for help. Captain Brodst smiled broadly and said, “I must be going also. I have many things to do yet today. Sorry, Lord Serant.”

“Tomorrow morning, then.”

Isador led Lord Serant to Calyin’s quarters and then dismissed herself. “Oh Edwar, I was so worried,” said Calyin as she ran into his arms. His presence calmed her shivers. “Calyin, there is nothing to fear. I—we are safe here. Nothing will harm you or me—nothing.” She answered by holding him tighter; feeling his warmth reassured her that he was all right.

Gently he carried her to the bed and tucked her in. He lay there beside her, soothing her until she fell asleep. However, he was still wide-awake. He had doubts that he could not tell her about. He admired her strength too much. They each got their strength from the other. Even at times like this, he could feel it in her.

For hours he lay there unable to sleep until finally he got up to go for a walk. He slipped out quietly, pulling the covers tight around his beloved Calyin before he went. He strolled the halls of the palace, eventually finding himself at the terrace overlooking the garden. Captain Brodst was also there, staring into the night sky.

“Hello, Lord Serant,” spoke the startled captain.

“May I join you?”

“Of course; you needn’t ask for permission.”

Lord Serant sat down in a chair opposite the captain. They silently enjoyed the night, neither wishing to disturb the other’s thoughts. The hours passed and soon they were welcoming the dawn of early morning.

Captain Brodst stood and stretched. Lord Serant followed and stretched his stiff muscles. Brodst looked mischievously to Serant and raised his eyebrows. They both knew what the other was thinking, had been thinking about all during the night. “Come, let’s go see if we can stir that wretch’s tongue!” said Lord Serant.

They hurried back down the winding stairs toward the cells and had the guard unlock and open the door for them. “Wake up!” they yelled in unison. The assassin did not move. “Wake up!” The assassin did not move. Captain Brodst picked up a bucket of water and threw it into the prisoner’s face.

Lord Konstantin hung there limply like one dead. Serant removed the gag from the man’s mouth. The prisoner did not respond. He still hung there limply in the chains. Lord Serant then removed the blindfold; still, there was no response. He then slapped Lord Konstantin’s face, again and again.

The two watched the prisoner. He offered no signs that he was alive. He seemed not to be breathing. Lord Serant jabbed him with the hilt of his sword several times. The man did not move.

Lord Serant walked towards the door and beckoned for the captain to join him. He whispered quietly to Captain Brodst, while he kept a watch on their prisoner with his peripheral vision, “This could be a trick of some sort. Be careful. Don’t get too close to him. I’ll send a guard to get Father Francis.”

Serant called to one of the guards and sent him after the father. Cautiously Lord Serant approached Konstantin. He looked at the chains; they were secure. He pressed his ear against the man’s chest; he could hear no heart beat. The man was indeed dead.

“Guard, get in here!”

“Yes, my lord,” said the guard entering the room.

“Have you been watching this man?”

“Yes, as you ordered.”

“He is dead!”

“That cannot be. He was alive—believe me. He was cursing and yelling.”

“Release him now!”

The guard began to release the prisoner’s bonds, hands first. Lord Serant and the captain unsheathed their swords, ready for action. The assassin slumped limply to the floor. The guard unlocked the feet shackles and turned around. He looked at their poised weapons and started to babble out an apology, “I am sorry! It was not my fault. Please, don’t kill me!”

“Kill who?” asked Father Francis entering the cell.

“No, there will be no killing,” said Lord Serant turning to face the father.

The assassin lunged from the floor, grabbing Lord Serant’s sword arm and thrusting it up and backward. Lord Serant had been taken completely by surprise. His arm offered no resistance as the blade cut deep. He slumped to the floor.

The assassin wasted not a moment. He continued his upward motion. In one quick move, he jumped high, kicking out with full force, his foot striking Captain Brodst cleanly. The captain followed Lord Serant to the floor.

The assassin turned mid-air simultaneously timed with the kick and lashed out with his hand. His blow met the other’s neck, crushing his wind pipe. Father Francis stumbled, shocked, and fell to the floor.

The entire sequence of events happened in an instant. The assassin had fully made use of the element of surprise. He had encountered absolutely no resistance. A smile touched his lips as he awkwardly landed on the floor, twisting his ankle slightly as he did so. It took him a moment to recover his balance; the last lunge had been a desperate gambit but had been successful. He was, indeed, pleased with himself.

He felt a coldness sweep through him. The air seemed to turn suddenly icy cold. He looked down as a guard, the only other person in the room, pulled a blood-covered sword from within his belly. Lord Konstantin died before the smile left his face.

Several guards burst into the room, weapons drawn and ready. They were shocked when they only saw a lone survivor, kneeling over Captain Brodst’s body. “Get help! Now!” bellowed the guard with a lump of sadness in his throat. The guards ran from the room to find help. The other, Pyetr, second son of Captain Brodst, crumpled to the floor again clutching his father’s hand. His thoughts began to fill with rage. He had not wanted to become a guard. He hated fighting. Fighting was senseless; killing was senseless. He stood and removed his helmet, breastplate and sword. He let them drop noisily to the floor.

He looked to the men lying on the floor. He could do nothing to save them. He felt so helpless. All his life he had been nothing except a fighter. He had never learned about saving a person’s life, only taking it.

He bent down and checked each. He found no signs they were alive and had no idea what to do, so in frustration he turned and fled the room. He ran smack into Chancellor Volnej, who was just turning into the room. “Please save them,” Pyetr said staring straight into the chancellor’s eyes. He then turned around and ran, as fast as he could, down the corridor.

The chancellor, followed by Princess Calyin, Midori, and Sister Catrin rushed into the room. A single expression of horror on each of their faces. Calyin raced to where Lord Serant lay on the floor. Suddenly, she felt so alone and insecure. Her eyes fell to the sword her lord still clutched, buried deep within his chest. She tried to retain a strong front but could not.

Calyin pleaded desperately for Midori to save him. Midori looked sympathetically to her and said, “If there is one who could save him now it is I, sister. You must let him go.”

“But—?” cried Calyin, disbelieving the words she heard.

“It is in the Mother’s hands; her will providing, he will survive. Could you please wait outside? I will do everything in my power to save him. I promise.”

Reluctantly, Calyin left the room. Chancellor Volnej also followed Calyin out of the room, closing the door after himself.

Catrin gently closed Father Francis’ eyes. “He has passed,” she said in a reverent tone to Midori. Though she had only known the father a short while, she had come to respect him. She knew that Midori also had a great fondness of him though she hid it well. The union of the Mother and Father had also joined Midori and Father Francis. The emotions could not be denied. Midori would miss him as one would miss one very dear to them, as one would miss their love, though the only true love Midori could feel now was the all encompassing love for the Mother.

With a heavy heart, Catrin checked Captain Brodst. She was very thankful to find that he was alive. “He lives. The blow only knocked him out.”

“Lord Serant also lives though his heartbeat grows faint. We must hurry!”

Midori examined how the sword had entered Lord Serant’s chest. She had to remove it carefully, or he could die. She unclasped his hands from the hilt and gently removed it, being extremely careful to insure that it followed the same path out that it had taken in.

Blood began to flow rapidly from the gaping wound. Quickly Catrin removed Lord Serant’s robe and Midori placed the palm of her hands onto his chest. Catrin then touched her index fingers to Lord Serant’s temples, gently stimulating them.

Together the two began the solemn prayer of healing. Midori reached out to the Mother for her help in saving Lord Serant’s life. The flow of blood began to slow as Midori’s mental chanting grew in intensity. Time moved rapidly between the apexes of her fingers. The wound began to close, a light scab formed, the scab disappeared, and the wound was totally closed. Midori’s chanting ceased and she removed her hands from Lord Serant’s chest. Catrin continued massaging his temples with her fingers until Midori was completely finished. “Rest well,” Catrin spoke as she removed her fingers. Midori added in a whisper, “The Mother has plans for you yet.”

Midori then went to Captain Brodst and examined his head injury. If the blow had been placed any closer to the pressure point behind his ear, it would have killed him instantly; however, it had only knocked him unconscious. It would take her only a moment to reduce the swelling from the blow. She found the proper pressure points, then applied her right hand to the wound. When she finished, Catrin opened the door and let the others back into the room.

Calyin was the first to enter. She ran to her lord’s side and caressed his face, grateful he was alive. “Thank you!” she said to Midori, “Thank you!”

“Have them taken to their rooms. Let them have plenty of rest and they will be fine. If you’ll excuse me,” said Midori as she hurried from the room. Catrin luckily had followed Midori out, for as she walked into the corridor Midori stumbled and fell. Catrin caught her and walked her back to her quarters.

Midori refused to rest, but Catrin insisted. Midori still had not fully recovered from the ordeal at the square and had spent her reserve strength for the healing. Catrin could see the fatigue written in Midori’s eyes. She knew the look well because she was fighting hard to hide it also. After she made sure Midori did indeed rest, which took some very fast-talking and much persuasion, she also took a much-needed rest.

Calyin had the captain and her lord placed in the same room so she could check on them both at the same time. But for now, she would be forced to return to the affairs of state. Chancellor Volnej was very prudent in helping her so she didn’t overwork herself. A great many things needed to be prepared and quickly.



The homecoming ceremony was a joyous occasion. The festival lasted long into the evening. Though Valam enjoyed every moment of it, he was glad when he could rest. Each of his companions had been given separate rooms, so he was alone to contemplate his thoughts.

Seth had introduced them to so many of the Brotherhood he could not hope to recall their names. Valam was simply fascinated by the complexity of the workings of Seth’s society. Each order was given a specific duty and a set of rules they were to follow. The entire system was based upon honor and personal integrity.

Many times, Valam and Seth had discussed the system back in the kingdom and on the journey, but it became real only when he could see it working. Seth had told him the Brotherhood consisted of seven main orders, the Gray, the Red, the White, the Yellow, the Black, the Blue and the Brown. The hardest thing for him to do was to stop comparing the orders to things in the kingdom.

His thoughts shifted as he began to fade off to sleep. He struggled to stay awake but could not. The day had been tiring, and he was soon fast asleep.

Evgej had sneaked off with Cagan during the banquet. They had both needed to get away from the merriment. They did not feel like having fun; more than anything, they needed to be alone. Evgej found himself aboard a ship, the last place he had thought he would ever willingly return to. It was Cagan’s old ship, a small, sleek, beauty.

“I used to come out here late at night, like now, and sail up the river to nowhere in particular, with nothing but a slight breeze and the water for company. It was so tranquil.”

“Well, what do we wait for?” said Evgej with a sparkle in his eye. The sea had a captivating effect on him. Instead of getting seasick, now he felt good, revived. The river trip here had only rekindled his desire for the water. He had never thought he would miss it, but he had. Cagan said it was because he had the heart of a sailor, and perhaps he did.

Without a further thought, Cagan untied the boat and raised the sail. The small craft drank in the shallow breeze well. Cagan and Evgej began to glide peacefully across Lake Clarwater and soon the waters of the Gildway were before them.

Evgej watched Cagan handle the tiller and the sail of the boat. He began to understand how Cagan controlled it. “May I try?”

“Sure, go right ahead.”

“How is this?”

“Good, just keep the rudder steady. It is used to control the course we take. Turn it slowly, not sharply. Turn it left and the boat will veer to the right and vice versa.”

“I understand. The force of the rudder against the water moves the boat in the opposite direction.”

“Don’t lose the wind. See how the sail sags? Keep it tight, and the boat will move faster. Watch out for the—”

Cagan had given the warning too late. The wind caught the sail from the opposite side, sweeping the sail sharply to the right. It hit the unsuspecting Evgej squarely in the shoulder and propelled him into the water.

It took Evgej a moment to recollect his orientation; by that time, Cagan had already released the sail and fastened a line around himself and had jumped into the water after him. Cagan was just in time. Evgej was going under for the third time when the crafty sailmaster grabbed him and held him above water.

Cagan was about to push Evgej back into the boat when he heard something. He put a hand over Evgej’s mouth and pointed to the riverbank. The two remained still, holding tightly to the boat. Neither dared to look towards the shore, afraid of what they might see.

They heard movement from the bank again. A voice yelled, “It is a boat. I don’t see anyone aboard.”

“Are you sure?” asked another in a deep masculine voice.

“Yes. It is drifting.”

“Well, swim out and retrieve it so we can examine it.”

“The water is freezing. You swim out to it.”

“I am your senior. Go and get it.”

Cagan and Evgej could hear the splash of someone entering the water. Evgej groped for his sword, but it was gone. “What a time to lose my sword!” he thought to himself; then he remembered that he had left it in his room when he had bathed for the banquet. He felt stupid. He always wore the sword, no matter where he went.

The water was indeed very cold. Evgej was beginning to feel its chilling effect sweeping through him. “Hold on to the boat and swim,” whispered Cagan in Evgej’s ear. They heard shouting from the shore. The two guards were arguing back and forth between themselves over whose fault it was that the boat slipped by. As the current carried the boat further downstream, Evgej heard them come to a decision to blame it on the current and not to tell anyone what had happened.

After they were a long distance away, the two climbed back into the boat, waited for a time, and then began the return trip. They were relieved when they docked safely along the pier. Water still dripped from their clothes as they walked back toward the palace. They found a very angry Brother Liyan awaiting their return. “Are you mad? Did you not hear my call?” The two stared questioningly at each other then turned to look innocently at Liyan. “Did you forget we are at war?”

“We stayed near the capital,” offered Evgej. Liyan finally noticed their wet clothes and departed without saying anything further. Cagan playfully said to Evgej, “Well, we made it back safely did we not?”

“A little wet, yes, but safely.”

Liyan looked back toward them with a disgusted expression on his face. Evgej could not help but laugh, despite his heavy mood. Liyan whispered into Cagan’s thoughts, “You are lucky that the guards were ours and not the enemies.”

“You knew?” mouthed Cagan back to Liyan.

“Yes,” responded Liyan flatly.

Morning found Seth, Valam, Evgej, Cagan, and Liyan seated around an enormous conference table, awaiting the arrival of the council and the Queen-Mother. The council soon arrived, led by Brother Liyan. They were followed by the remainder of the leaders of each of the main orders. Once they were all seated in their proper positions, the Queen-Mother entered. All bowed their heads until she was seated, as was customary in council.

“Brother Liyan of the order of the Gray and the distinguished members of the high council. Welcome! Brother Seth of the order of the Red. Welcome! Your return has brought a smile to my lips. Thank you. Brother Ylad’ of the order of the White, Brother Nikol of the order of the Yellow, Brother Tsandra of the order of the Brown, Brother Ontyv of the order of the Black, Brother Samyuehl of the order of the Blue, Sailmaster Cagan. We welcome your wisdom to the council. And lastly, our special visitors, Prince Valam of the Great Kingdom. Captain Evgej of Quashan’ in the South Province, it is a great honor to have you join us!

“Only the Great-Father and Mother-Earth can answer the many riddles of the prophecy. The prophecy is the greatest gift they ever gave their children. It was a gift for all the children of the Mother and Father. They risked the very balance of the universe to give us the gift. A gift of future hope. They gave us the clues to interpret and understand the warning of the future. We have spent centuries pondering its many pieces. In the past, we have all misread portions of it. The betrayal of the Blood Wars depicts this quite vividly. The dark forces used the prophecy against us. Brother slew brother. The mistakes of the past will be no more. We will make no such mistakes this time!”

The Queen-Mother spoke with a power and elegance that enticed the listeners. When she spoke, all eyes were fixed on her, catching every gesture and every rise and fall in her voice. The sound of her words still resonated throughout the room, perhaps the reason she chose to speak her words aloud.

Valam’s attention, however, had been lost to another. Seth had to elbow Valam sharply before he snapped out of it. Valam followed Evgej’s lead and stood and bowed, making his introduction. Only his many years in his father’s court had allowed him to recover his grace in full measure.

His eyes were still transfixed to the same point they had occupied as he bowed and then seated himself. Though no one else seemed to notice his awkwardness, Tsandra of the Brown had, for she was the object of Valam’s powerful gaze. She could see the emotion in his eyes as he looked upon her and didn’t understand why.

The reason for Valam’s fixed stare was two-fold. He had expected to see a large, powerfully built male as the leader of the warrior order, not an extremely enchanting, petite female. The other reason was her striking resemblance to the Queen-Mother. When Valam finally regained his wits, he managed to force himself to look away from her; however, occasionally during the remainder of the meeting, he found his gaze wandering back to rest upon her face.

The meeting was meant to initiate Valam and Evgej to the ways and histories of the Brotherhood and to unite all the leaders with the ways of men so they could work together as a whole. For Valam, it was nothing new. He had already given his full trust to Seth, as had Evgej. The real problem was getting the others to accept the presence of Men. Even though the kingdomers came in response to the Queen-Mother’s call for help, long ago Men and Elves had been enemies. Time had proven the bitter deception that both societies had succumbed to. Each had repented for its blindness, but until now neither side had ever again communicated with the other.

“Seth?” asked Valam as they walked through the great halls leaving the conference room. “Could you tell me more about the Brown Order? How does it survive if it only exists in time of war?”

“It has.”

“But how?”

“Remember when I told you how one was chosen at birth to enter the Brotherhood?”

“I don’t,” said Evgej, who had been listening quietly. “Sorry, but I would like to better understand,” he quickly explained, noting Valam’s glare.

“It is okay. It is easier if I digress and describe the entire method. Besides, I think you are both better prepared to understand it. Before, I only outlined it.  Let us sit here for a moment.”

Seth brought them to a small balcony overlooking the courtyard of the palace. “The choosing takes place at birth. It was Ontyv, himself, who chose me. Very few are chosen, and even fewer pass the final tests of servitude. The tests determine which order you will belong to. If you fail one portion of the test, you fail the entire test.”

“What happens if you fail?”

“You journey to the Great-Father. Not only how well you perform the tests comprises the final outcome, but how you reach those decisions as well as how quickly you act on those decisions. To understand the choosing you must also fully understand the purpose of each order. The orders of the Gray and White are forbidden to apprentices. They are comprised only of elders, for only through time can you gain sufficient wisdom to justify the honor. And only one who was once a member of the White may become a member of the Gray. I know of only two exceptions to that rule in the entirety of the Brotherhood’s existence, one very long ago and one recently. The order of Gray consists of only ten members. A new one is chosen only when an existing one has passed. The White consists of a number equal to ten times the number of the Gray, which is not always 100.”

“But how can it be otherwise?”

“That is how it is written.”

“Why?”

“I think I can answer that question,” Brother Liyan said walking onto the balcony.

“Good,” said Seth, welcoming Liyan, “I could use your knowledge of the histories.”

“Each member of the Gray is delegated eight consorts to study and work with him. The others stay here in the capital for training new initiates and keeping records and many other tasks. The true number is always more than 100. But there have been times when the council consisted of less than ten members and there have been times when more than ten were needed. They use their wisdom to enlighten and teach our people. They keep records of our histories, and they give council. The order of the Red also is very small; new members are added infrequently. To fully understand the honor of being chosen to this order you must understand that its place is equal to that of the order of the Gray, for there is no greater office than to serve in the protection of the Queen-Mother.

“In matters pertaining to the Queen, the order of the Red has supreme authority even over that of the Gray. The Red is comprised of those who were destined to wear the white and eventually the gray. The orders of the Yellow and Black were the largest orders until the Brown was restored. The Yellow preserve the peace and harmony among our people by showing us our past and present errors and teaching us to love the Great-Father and Mother-Earth. The Black bring us into the world and carry us from it. They keep us pure and whole.

“The Brown order differs from all the others in that it did not always exist. It was born from war, and as it was born another order died, something our kind had never experienced. We had always stayed out of the affairs of others. Leaders of this order are chosen from birth and preserve the ways of war by passing it down through the generations. A true warrior and leader is also a rarity. They are born for no other purpose than to practice the art of death. In times of peace the Brown order is a private sect. In our eyes they cease to exist. In war, they return and cry out for our people to join them. It is also an honor to be allowed to serve thus. The Brown differs from the others again, in that those not of the Brotherhood are allowed to join. They serve until they are no longer needed.”

“Was Tsandra then born into it?”

“The truth in your heart shows through, Valam,” said Seth. “Yes, she was.”

“How can you tell the difference?”

It was then that Seth realized something he and Liyan had taken for granted. “By the robes—”

“The belts!” exclaimed Evgej.

“Yes, in all orders the first wears a belt of silver and the others don those of the color of their order except in the brown order. The white belt signifies those of the original order.”

“What of the Blue order? I have only seen one of that order—Samyuehl.”

“There are currently only two of this order, as it has always been. It is near Samyuehl’s time; then Ry’al will take his place, and there will be only one until it is again time for another.”

“But how do you know when it is time?”

“It is not our choice. It is the choice of the Mother-Earth.”

“But what—”

“Come, it is time to join the others for supper.”

The four were just in time to join the other leaders for the evening meal. For Valam and Evgej it was similar to eating in the great hall of the Kingdom, except for the immense proportions of this hall. It was composed of three tiers with an open center. In the center stood an oval-shaped stone table where those of high office dined.

The Queen-Mother was seated at the head of the table. Before they began to eat, her words of praise to the Father and Mother drifted pleasantly through the minds of all present. Evgej mused that the hall held the population of the entire city. “Almost—” whispered Brother Liyan to Evgej’s mind.

“Sorry, I’ll try not to think aloud any more,” spoke Evgej cheerfully. Liyan smiled and answered, “No it was my fault. I have to learn how to deal with an open mind.”

“But I thought there were some who talked aloud and purposely opened their thoughts.”

“That is different. They contain their thoughts within the arena of their own center, but the center is always open if one wishes to access it. Seth taught you how to block your thoughts also, yes?”

“Well, as a child does, yes, but not a complete mind block.”

“Children eventually become adults. You will learn how on your own in time. Practice.”

“What do you think, Valam?” asked Evgej. Liyan and Seth simultaneously pointed to where Valam’s gaze was fixed. Evgej looked and understood Valam’s silence. He half held back a smile and continued eating his food.

“It is impolite to stare,” Tsandra directed into Valam’s mind teasingly. She felt the presence of his watching each time they were near. Valam only shrugged his shoulders and smiled. It was then that Tsandra remembered that Valam could not project his thoughts.

She directed back into his mind, “Sorry.” After a pause for a moment of careful thinking, Tsandra thought of something. It was a game she had learned long ago. She and her mother used to play it. Thoughts of her mother brought sadness.

She pushed the thoughts away and thought to Valam, “This is a game I used to play very long ago. If I say something, to answer just think the thought to yourself.” After she said it, she realized that was the only way Valam could think, to himself.

“How is that a game?” Valam thought to himself, “This is dumb. I’m talking to myself in my own mind!”

“I heard that,” came the answering reply into his mind.

“Well, how is it a game?”

Tsandra considered it for a time. “It is sort of—abstractly, that is—except my mother would block the thoughts and I would have to try to find out what she was thinking. At first she would only concentrate lightly on closing the thoughts and then more and so on.”

“Try this.” Valam used the trick Seth had taught him. He gathered his thoughts in his mind and encircled them with an empty thought, thus closing his mind.

Tsandra’s reply came an instant later. It was a feeling of embarrassment. Valam could almost picture her blush in his mind. “You should try harder and never think thoughts you do not want others to know.”

“Sorry.”

“Has he told you yet of the sword?” she asked indicating Liyan.

Valam didn’t understand. “The sword?”

Tsandra felt Liyan’s watchful gaze upon her and said no more. “Next time,” she whispered to his mind. “I must be going—and you really should eat now.” There was laughter in the fading echoes of her voice.



“Amir, she has passed. You must let her go,” urged Noman. Amir reluctantly released his Little One’s hand. “She rests with the Father,” Noman assured him. The giant carefully picked up Adrina and followed Noman out of the tunnel.

“Have you seen anything?” Noman asked Nijal.

“Nothing,” he answered weakly.

“Good!”

Noman watched Ayrian take flight to go retrieve the horses. “Hurry!” Noman whispered after him. Noman then proceeded to tear off his outer robe and rip it into strips, so he could make wraps for the splints for Adrina’s hand and leg. When he finished, he lightly touched her to check on the life within her. He felt it warm within her and was glad.

Amir and Nijal stood watch over her while Noman went back to check on Xith and Vilmos. He praised their good fortune. Once they regained consciousness, they would recover rapidly. For now it was better to conserve his strength. He could not afford to spend his supply striving to reach their minds. He was forced to wait until they reached a safer place.

The night faded; Ayrian had not returned. Noman began to worry. He could sense the foulness in the late night air. Amir took Nijal’s place in guarding the mouth of the tunnel. The others sat silently watching their companions, wishing they would speedily recover.

Darkness began to give way to the early morning twilight. Ayrian still had not returned. Noman was forced to make a very hard decision. They could leave in the light of the day. In the open, either the garrison would find them or the assassins would and on foot they could not flee. The garrison finding them would seem a blessing, but it would not be. Noman had seen the crossing of these two paths. Both would lead to their downfall, one quick and the other slow with even darker consequences. The other choice was to wait out the day, and if Ayrian still had not returned, then leave. They would be sitting in a ready-made trap. The enemy already knew they were here. Nevertheless, Noman decided after careful deliberation that they must wait. At least here they had some cover.

With the daylight came the heat of a summer day although spring was at hand. The stench of bodies became unbearable. Amir could not sit idly any longer. He had to do something. He looked to Nijal for help, but he was sleeping deeply from fatigue. Amir decided to do the dirty work by himself. First he moved Galan’s body out of the way, and then he began piling bodies to the rear of the shaft.

It was a task he did not enjoy doing. It did, however, relieve the tediousness of waiting. He hated waiting. The scent reminded him of the smell of the battlefields of his past. He softly cursed that time. “Is this what I have waited for?” he asked himself.

He reached down to pick up the next body in a long line of them. He noticed something different about it. It was clad in only a robe, different from the others who wore light leathers. He called Noman over to him.

Noman studied the body closely. He could not believe what he saw. Near the body lay a wooden walking stick. Noman picked it up in disgust and examined it. “It is what I feared.” He closed his eyes and wandered back through his mind. He replayed the images of the explosion in his thoughts. He then re-examined the staff.

He had not seen where the negative energy had come from. He had sensed the coming explosion and had responded. Until now, he thought it had been an accident on Vilmos’ part by mixing negative and positive energy. The expression on his face was not a pleasant one. The situation suddenly appeared worse. A magic-user, even one who used devices, was to be feared.

The staff was a device from the past. Noman had thought all those devices destroyed. He leaned down and loosened the man’s robe. His worst nightmare was confirmed by the small symbol inked above the man’s heart. In disgust, Noman spat into the dead man’s face and walked away without saying a word to Amir.

Amir had also seen the mark, a tiny black-inked torch. He roared his anger, picked up the deceased by the hair and with one clean sweep of his sword beheaded him. The anger released, he sheathed his blade and went back to his tedious task.

Xith opened his eyes and attempted to focus them. “Ooh! My head aches!” he said rubbing his forehead. “Xith!” yelled Noman, elated. “What hit me?” Xith asked, queasily.

“Negative energy.”

“Ouch!” expressed Xith as he tried to sit up. Painstakingly, he completed the chore. His body ached all over. “What of the others?”

“Adrina is injured and unconscious, but is well. Vilmos is also unconscious.”

Xith looked around the cave. “Ayrian?”

“He is missing for the moment.”

“And—”

Noman shook his head no before Xith could finish asking. “She died saving Adrina.”

“I feel so tired.” Xith closed his eyes and fell into a deep slumber.

The remainder of the afternoon passed slowly. Amir, Noman and Nijal eagerly awaited nightfall. They had all given up hope of Ayrian’s returning. They knew if he could have returned he would have long ago. They did not wish ill upon him, but hoped his end had come quickly and without the pain of torture.

Xith awoke again as the darkness of night crept in. He startled Nijal, when he walked up behind him and touched his shoulder. “Xi—” Nijal started to say. “Shh!” said Xith staring out into the night from the tunnel entrance. “Has he returned?”

“No. How did you—?”

Xith walked back into the cave. “It is good you have recovered,” said Noman.

“When do we leave?”

“As soon as the night gathers full.”

“Have you tried to awaken them?”

“No. I have been saving my strength and waiting for you.”

“Yes, we cannot bear the burden of two.”

Noman knelt next to Vilmos and touched his left hand to Vilmos’ forehead and his right to Xith’s. Xith focused inward to his center. He reached outward through Noman to Vilmos’ mind. “Vilmos, look to your center—find it—focus on it—concentrate—feel it flow through you—drink it in—bathe in it.”

“It is so dark. I can’t find my way out.”

“Vilmos?” said Xith looking outward through Vilmos’ center, “It is only a dream. Create a light within your mind and awaken.”

“No, you do not understand. He is with me. He won’t let me escape.”

“He is dead, Vilmos—it is not real.”

“Oh Xith, leave quickly. He comes—I cannot hold him off any longer.”

“Vilmos, no! Fight it! It is only a dream!” Xith surged his will outward into Vilmos. Energy surged back into Xith’s body through Noman. The shock was enormous. Noman was forced to break the link.

Vilmos opened his eyes and stared wildly at Noman. “Noman, restore the link now!” The voice was Xith’s, but the sound issued from Vilmos. Suddenly, for the first time, Noman saw Xith’s limp, pale body slumped beside Vilmos. Without hesitation, Noman restored the link.

The link was restored, but Xith was still entranced. He was connected to Vilmos. He saw what Vilmos saw. The vision was captivating. He had to turn away from it. The longer he watched, the stronger the vision became.

It beckoned for him to stay. Xith could feel the pull on him. The strength to resist it was rapidly disappearing. “No,” cried out a faint voice from somewhere in the distance. “No!” came Xith’s answering call.

Noman faltered as the connection broke suddenly. Xith stumbled backward as he pulled away, wildly staring at Vilmos. Vilmos shook his head slowly from side to side, trying to shake the images of the dream out of his mind. The images, nonetheless, remained distinctly etched into his memory.

“Vilmos you must never allow yourself to have those dreams again. Push the thoughts from your mind!”

“But how?” appealed Vilmos, as he sat up. He had completely forgotten the events of the previous day. Scenes from the nightmare were perpetually repeating in his thoughts. Dreams were frightening for Vilmos, especially because when he dreamed them, they had a bad habit of becoming reality.

“We will discuss it later; for now we must concentrate on getting as far away from here as we can. How do you feel?”

“A little weak and I have a terrible headache, but I’ll make it.”

Vilmos stood and stretched his aching muscles. He felt very unwell; still, he would not say anything about it. His head throbbed as if he had smacked into a wall. He tried to concentrate his thoughts. It was a difficult feat at best, yet with perseverance he shook the disorientation from his mind.

He concentrated his thoughts on one thing: the energy flow that Xith had so painstakingly taught him. He lightly reached out for the energy; what he found was different from usual but returned a sensation that he had forgotten.

It also brought memories from the past. Though he saw them through another’s eyes, they were his own. The wild energy of creation flowed fully through him. He had once felt a shadowing of this power back in the Barrens where Xith said the wild magic danced more freely although he had never felt it pulse so strongly within him, or had he?

His strength quickly returned. He tried to stop the energy flow. He could not. He was caught by it. He wondered if Xith or Noman could sense the power within him. He looked questioningly to them; they offered no response. What could it hurt, Vilmos asked himself.

Xith turned to Vilmos. “Vilmos, are you truly all right?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Good, go join Amir and Nijal at the front of the tunnel.”

When Vilmos reached the far end, Noman showed Xith the staff Amir found on the assassin. They both understood the reality of the situation that they had uncovered. They hoped they were not too late to stop it.

“We have no choice but to go to Tsitadel’.”

“Is there no other way?”

“I am afraid there is no other way, old friend.”

“What of the child?”

“It is a risk, granted, but one we must take.”

“Have you seen the Paths?”

“Yes, but they are faint in the distance now. I have seen a vision, but you must say nothing about it. It has been set in motion as we have feared.”

“Then are we too late?”

“Let us hope we are not. It is time. We must leave.”

“What of Adrina?”

“The time is not right. She must sleep peacefully for now.”

The two joined the others and prepared to begin the journey. “Do we journey north?” asked Amir.

“You know where we shall go; do not despair,” said Noman, softly speaking the last part so only Amir could hear it. Noman then knelt beside Adrina and readied her for the trek. “Sleep, my child,” he said quietly as he kissed her forehead.

Noman motioned for Amir to carry Adrina. “Let us walk calmly through this night,” Xith said into the light evening breeze. Amir gently picked up Adrina and the group departed into the blackness of the night.

Chapter Twelve

With each passing day, Lord Serant’s strength increased. He felt that he was well, but Calyin had left orders with Isador that he was to remain in bed. Captain Brodst had recovered almost completely, yet Calyin also forbade him to return to his duties until the seventh day. Her argument was that he needed more rest and would get it.

Captain Brodst had tried in vain to resist, but as Lord Serant had told him, “No one ever really wins an argument with Calyin. Even if you win, you lose, so it is best just to go along with what she says.”  Lord Serant was very thankful for his company; at least he was not cooped up in bed with no one to talk to. The topics of their conversations varied though eventually they would end up discussing the words of the assassin lord.

When Isador would leave after breakfast, Captain Brodst would quickly close the door and help Serant out of bed. The two would escape to a little balcony just off the room. They would bask in the sunlight of the day, enjoying the cool breezes that often blew in from the north.

Just before lunch, they would move back into their “little cell” as they called it. Isador would bring lunch, and when she couldn’t endure their protests any longer would leave. They would then sneak back out to the balcony.

Calyin often found them out there when she checked in on them. She’d look at Lord Serant’s broad smile and her cross mood would ease. The questions they asked her were always the same, “Has Keeper Q’yer returned yet?” “Any word from the alliance?” “What of the council?” Calyin’s response was also always the same, “If they had I would have told you first thing.” Both Lord Serant and the captain doubted that she would have, which is why they continually asked the questions.

Six days had passed. On the eve of the seventh, Calyin had sent Midori to check on their progress. Serant pleaded with her to tell Calyin he was fully recovered. Midori knew better; her healing powers were strong, but the internal damage needed time to mend on its own.

The next morning, Captain Brodst tried everything he could think of to convince Isador that Lord Serant was well, but his words were wasted. He had even talked to Calyin who told him her decision was final. The captain dreaded seeing the look on Serant’s face when he told him what Calyin had said. He tried to rationalize it by telling himself several times that it was, after all, for the best. Lord Serant must be totally recovered by the next seventh day as they could not afford the risk if he had not fully regained his strength. The kingdom depended on it.

Just as he expected, Lord Serant had an anxious expression on his face, which was readily followed by a frown. “Sorry, I tried, but you know Calyin. Don’t worry. I’ll come back this evening. I’ll sneak a jug in. Okay?” Captain Brodst said with a smile as he gathered the remainder of his things and prepared to leave. He was surprised when he opened the door to find Calyin just about to come in. His face turned red with embarrassment as he walked past. There was nothing he could keep secret from her. He was hoping to be far down the corridor before she could say something to stop him, but he was not so fortunate.

“A jug! Is that all you ever think of? He does not need any of that.”

“It is for medicinal purposes.”

“I am sure it is. Has a week in bed tried your patience so much?”

Calyin whirled around to face Serant and unleash her disappointment at him. Lord Serant looked to Brodst for some assistance from Calyin’s wrath. Captain Brodst was still hoping to sneak out past Calyin, so he offered no help. “Captain Brodst, I wish to talk with you also!” Reluctantly the captain walked back into the room.

“I would like you both to meet Father Joshua. He has just arrived this morning from the priesthood.”

For the first time, Lord Serant and Captain Brodst noticed the middle-aged, dark skinned man who stood quietly behind Calyin. Captain Brodst tried to compare him to other priests he had known, but could not. Father Jacob and Father Francis had been much, much older. This man was younger. He didn’t have a gray hair in his curly black locks.

“Welcome, Father Joshua; I am Lord Serant,” said Serant as he attempted to stand and shake the father’s hand. Father Joshua was quick to move and shook Serant’s hand before he could stand. “Yes, I know much about you, my lord. I was born and raised in the Western Territories until the priesthood found me. It is an honor to meet you.”

“Good to have you with us, Father Joshua. I am Captain Brodst.”

“A pleasure to meet you also, Captain.”

The four talked for a time, and then Captain Brodst excused himself. He said he had to catch up on the week’s duties; the real reason was that seeing Father Joshua had reminded him of something he had forgotten. He mouthed the words to Serant, “I’ll come back later,” and winked. Calyin saw the gesture and glared at him as he departed.

Captain Brodst returned to his old quarters and placed his clothes inside. A short time later he found what he was looking for in the eastern tower. “Guard!” he bellowed as he approached, “You will come to attention when I approach!”

The guard, who had been standing watch, instantly snapped to attention. The captain paced back and forth behind him, loudly cracking his heels in the stone. “You are at the wrong post. Do you know what the punishment is?”

A long silence followed. The guard knew better than to speak while at attention without being granted permission. He could not understand why he was being treated thus. He had done nothing wrong. He had only heard the jingle of officer’s bells a little too late. He wished he could see the man’s face, for he could not recognize the voice.

“About face, Sergeant Brodst!”

“Sergeant—” Pyetr exclaimed as he completed the order, turning to face the captain. His expression changed to one of shock when he saw the broad smile on Captain Brodst’s face. Pyetr lowered his head in shame under the captain’s gaze.

“I owe you my life and so does Lord Serant. Your deed did not go unnoticed. I know we have had our differences in the past, but I think it is time for a change. Remove that plate and helmet. No sergeant of mine wears that. Go get suitable chain and send someone else to the eastern tower; then return to my office.”

“Thank you!” Pyetr said as he bolted away. “No, thank you!” shouted Captain Brodst after him. He watched Pyetr retreat along the wall. Seeing Pyetr excited and happy for once made him feel good. It had been so long since he had seen a smile cross his face.

They had not spoken except for official matters for years. He had thought Pyetr had closed him out of his life forever. He was glad to find that he hadn’t. His thoughts returned to the time they had last really talked to one another. It had been an argument.

Pyetr had not wanted to serve in the garrison. Captain Brodst had told him he would join just as his own father before him had told him he must do. He had been so determined to force Pyetr into the military that he had ignored the reasons that Pyetr loathed weapons and armor.

The captain’s wife, Pyetr’s mother, had died by the sword. Captain Brodst recalled the day clearly in his memory. He had heard Pyetr’s cries and screams and had come running. He found her with a dagger clutched in her hands. “I am sorry, my husband,” she cried as she plunged the dagger up and into her, piercing her heart before the captain could stop her. She had crumpled into his arms, dead before he even caught her. He had never known why she had done it. He could only think of one reason, but he could not believe it. He would not believe it.

From that day on, Pyetr had never spoken again to him. Pyetr, who had been only a child then, and he blamed his mother’s death on his father. The two had never spoken again.

Captain Brodst walked back to his office and waited for Pyetr’s return. He set aside his other pressing duties and passed the time in reminiscence. The joyous times of the past returned to his mind.

A knock sounded on the door and Pyetr entered. He was outfitted in shining mail and a sparkling red tunic. The captain smiled his approval at Pyetr’s choice. Pyetr stood rigidly at attention, awaiting the captain’s further orders. Captain Brodst offered him a chair, but Pyetr refused. “I would prefer to stand if the captain does not mind.”

Captain Brodst frowned, but agreed. All his hopes that the two would ever communicate like father and son were shattered; still, he held a straight face as he studied Pyetr. Somewhere he would find a spark within Pyetr and he would light it.

“Well, Sergeant, I would like you to begin some extensive training with Swordmaster Timmer. I would also like for you to select a few of the best from the guard and have them also start training with the swordmaster.”

“How many is a few, sir?”

“I will leave the decision to your discretion. We lost many of the royal guard when the city was besieged. The gaps need to be refilled. But I want the best. I don’t care where you get them as long as they are expert soldiers and trustworthy.”

“Yes sir, will we be joining the royal guard then?”

“You’re dismissed. I will see you tomorrow morning.”

Pyetr turned on his heel and departed. The captain looked around his office. It was the same old place it had always been. The small vacation had been good for him. He left to make his daily rounds and to check on the affairs of the palace. He found to his surprise that everything was in order, which appeared too good to be true.

He returned to his office after an exhausting day of searching for something, anything that was out of place. He found nothing. He was disappointed. He sat at his desk for the remainder of the day, feeling perplexed and dejected.

“Sorry—” said the chancellor, who entered without knocking.

“Chancellor Volnej, it is okay. Come in, come in, you are most welcome.”

“Did you find everything satisfactory?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Good! I was hoping you would. Your assistant is a very thorough man.”

“Assistant? I don’t have an assistant.”

“A tall young fellow with brownish hair and green eyes, like yours. He always wears a light helmet and heavy armor like a—”

“Guard?”

“Yes. Like a guard.”

“Oh, yes, yes, how silly of me. I remember. It’s just that I had just appointed him and after the attack, I forgot. What did you come by for anyway?”

“Actually, I was just looking for my walking stick. I haven’t been able to find it all day. I stopped by here yesterday evening, so—oh, there it is—well, I’ll leave you to return to your thoughts.”

“Good-bye, Chancellor Volnej,” said Captain Brodst, already lost in thought. He knew whom the chancellor was referring to; it could have been only one person. He was unsure whether to be angry or happy. He resolved to be confused.

Late in the evening, he went to the kitchen and acquired a jug of ale and headed for Lord Serant’s room. He winked to the post guards and rapped lightly on the door. To his surprise, Calyin opened the door. “Why, do come in, Captain Brodst. I was rather expecting you.”

The captain quickly sneaked the bottle to one of the guards. Calyin looked puzzled when he walked into the room empty-handed. She could have sworn he had something in his hand.

Captain Brodst stifled a sigh when he saw Calyin’s confounded look. He was pleased with himself for getting out of trouble so easily. He was extremely surprised to see that he and Calyin weren’t Lord Serant’s only late night visitors. Father Joshua, Sister Midori, Sister Catrin, Chancellor Volnej, and Keeper Q’yer were all seated around Lord Serant.

“Don’t worry, captain, you didn’t miss a thing. Keeper Q’yer arrived only minutes ago. I was going to send for you, but Calyin wouldn’t let me,” said Lord Serant, smiling slyly.

“Oh, really, I wonder why?”

“She said that you’d be along any moment because Isador saw you pilfering something from the kitchen.”

“Me? Certainly not.”

“Oh, I agree entirely. I told her drinking was against your ethics.”

“Oh yes, I never drink on an empty stomach, never.”

“See. I told you Calyin.”

The sound of laughter filled the room, chasing away the gloom that had hung over the room a moment before, but it died quickly and was replaced by the same feelings of foreboding. Keeper Q’yer began to tell a story of the past, a story of a great kingdom that had once flourished and spread across the land but was now forever gone, forgotten.

“I have found the object of our search. It was in the first book of Dalphan the Wanderer. Antare was a place, as I had thought. It was only mentioned once in all the tomes of our library. On a single page of Dalphan’s book, which read, ‘...and so we watched our capital burn, Antare it was called. With it died the dreams and hopes of our nation. The fire spread throughout the lands and swallowed them, forever destroying them, returning them to the place from which they were born. It was here at the end, at the gathering, that I betrayed my brothers.’ Do you see what is occurring?”

The room was solemnly calm. “The decision of the Council of Keepers was unanimous. We cannot afford the risk. At the end, all things come full circle. We bring our own destruction.”

“It is too late, Keeper. It has already been set in motion.”

“Do you speak the words of the Mother or do you really wish it so?”

“Midori speaks those words truthfully. She is quite correct. I can feel it as does she. It will be here that the paths converge. We cannot stop it.”

“Are you both mad? There is time, I tell you!”

“Let’s discuss this rationally, Keeper Q’yer, Father Joshua, Sister Midori. We know what will take place. We can direct our efforts toward a logical solution.”

“There is no logic in nature, Lord Serant.”

“If I may interrupt, I agree with Lord Serant. If we plan this correctly, there must be a way out; as you said there is no logic in nature, and I well know there cannot be good without evil, so there must be a way out. We will have to find it.”

“Definitely, Captain, well spoken! We know all the facts from the past. We can learn from our ancestors’ mistakes. Let’s just follow the facts step by step and guide ourselves through them. We will prove we have learned something in two thousand years.”

Chapter Thirteen

“You really should start eating your food. It is quite delicious.”

Valam looked down at his plate for the first time since he and Tsandra had begun their conversation. Valam thought, “How can I talk and eat at the same time?”

He had not expected a response, but Tsandra gave him one anyway. “Quite simply, just like this. You can think with your mouth full, can’t you?” Tsandra stated the question sincerely, but Valam thought it was a joke. He almost choked on his food before he gulped down a glass of wine. “I guess you can’t,” commented Tsandra as she watched him.

The remainder of the meal proceeded without conversation. Valam was embarrassed to find Seth and Evgej staring at him as he finally took in their presence and that of everyone else around him again. When the dinner assemblage broke up, Valam almost expected Tsandra to come over and talk to him, but she didn’t. In silence, he walked beside Evgej from the hall, with Cagan, Seth, and Liyan not far behind.

“The war still seems so very distant,” said Valam as he stopped mid-stride, “so different.”

“Yes, at times I even wonder if it exists, yet I know it does,” answered Seth.

They slowly, subconsciously, walked towards the balcony they had occupied earlier in the evening, while they talked.

“Tomorrow also seems so distant. Do you think we will be able to reach Keeper Martin and Father Jacob?”

“Yes. We will reach them. Our outposts tell us that King Mark’s forces have not yet passed the Western Ranges. They and the plains are still the boundaries that separate us. If your men have indeed landed on the position Brother Seth chose, they should be well away from the mountains. We have sent our scouts out all along the coast. We will receive word soon.”

“This King Mark you speak of. He is the one that completed the journey?”

“No it was Sathar.”

“Then why does the enemy align under King Mark if Sathar is the true leader?”

Liyan looked to Seth questioningly and directed to only him and Cagan, “You did not tell them?” Seth shook his head solemnly. Liyan then looked to Cagan, who repeated Seth’s gesture of no. Liyan’s heart sank as he fought an inner battle. He had to tell them, but something stopped him, held him back from saying anything further.

“It is all right, Brother Liyan.” The voice came from behind them. It fell crisply, beautifully into the air of the night. Valam heard the voice and turned, his heart racing. It was not the one he thought of. All eyes moved to stare upon the radiance of the Queen-Mother.

“My Queen-Mother,” said Seth quickly. He looked around for her normal entourage of escorts, but she was alone. He gasped aloud, “My Queen you should not be alone.”

“Shh,” she said, taking a seat next to him. “I will tell you of Sathar and the dark journey. I know much of your kind, Prince Valam.” The Queen-Mother paused to choose her words carefully, yet simply. “In your Great Kingdom, who do men follow? They follow other men, do they not? What do they fight for?” She paused again to let Valam consider her words. “They fight for their beliefs, do they not? Their beliefs come from their God, do they not? King Mark is just a tool. He is the one that our enemy gathers under, but Sathar is the one they fight for. Do you understand?” Valam felt the words fall upon him. He fully understood them, though he wished he did not. “What, then, is the dark journey?” he began to think. Before the words escaped his lips, the Queen-Mother answered his question. “It is a passage to a plane in opposition to our own. As ours exists in life, it exists in death. One who completes the journey now lives in both worlds, neither dead nor alive.”

She continued, “How can we defeat him, you want to ask. The final words of the prophecy answer that question. When he that is cursed finds his way back from the dark journey, the end of all we have known is finally upon us. Only from our vigilance in the watch shall we learn of his return. Only with our knowledge shall we have the means to defeat him. But only through our faith shall we truly overcome him at the last.”

The word faith rang through their minds endlessly. The Queen-Mother paused for a moment and then began again, “We must also understand the entire message of the prophecy. As I have previously stated, the mistakes of the past will not be repeated. During the Blood Wars the original writings of the prophet were thought lost. They were not.”

“You have them?” screamed Valam, anger etched deeply into the pulsing veins of his face. Evgej also felt the rush of anger within him. “That reaction is the exact reason we have kept it secret for so long. When you hear the rest of my words you will understand. It was for the good of all that we have kept their existence a secret even amongst our own people. Only the great council and I, and now you, know the truth.”

The same thoughts filled Evgej and Valam’s minds. They began to look around the balcony and the surrounding area. “Do not worry. My thoughts only go as far as your minds. No one else can hear my words. Brother Seth and Brother Liyan maintain a thought barrier encircling us all. There is nothing to fear. Portions of the prophecy that were restored are incomplete. Several key paragraphs were deleted when it was rescribed. How? Ask the questions of your mind, but the answer is unimportant. The gift had to be so delicately balanced that it could not give one side of the struggle an advantage. It contained clues of equal value for both sides if they would heed the warning. The two paths have run parallel throughout time, both in equal balance with each other. They will converge at the time marked. The end will become the beginning and the beginning will become the end. All of this you know, but the secret we have preserved is who they are. The majority of the prophecy speaks of how he will return amongst us. He that has surpassed the dark journey. He that is evil will bring the past with the future. But the last lines of the paragraph read: he that was formed from the vortex of three shall also return. One shall raise the banner of the east. One shall raise the banner of the west. Together they shall rule over all. The next paragraph you should also know well. It is the curse of the prophecy. Evil works in many types of shading.  Their union cannot be stopped. They will return through their dark magic. They are the harbingers of death and destruction. This is their curse. The last lines should have been this. The child that is yet to be, child of east and west, is the bearer of light and remembrance, and in him, child of past and present, the bearer of darkness will come full circle in the end. He, the bringer of death, child of darkness, also hides the angel of life and the key. He is the third.”

Valam had spent months studying the prophecy and the related writings in his youth. Anger surged through him as he silently shouted these words within his mind, “Why have you brought us here? You did not need us!!”

“But Prince Valam, we do need you!” said the Queen-Mother sorrowfully. For Valam it was the second time he had shared her deep feelings of remorse and sorrow. This time, however, the tears flowed from his eyes, not hers.

“We need time. We must find the other; we will bring the child of the future to him.”

“I still don’t understand why you needed us to come here.”

“Let me re-read this line to you so that you may understand. The child that is yet to be, heir of east and west, is the bearer of light and remembrance. We need you, Valam.”

“Are you serious? Then why did all the others have to come? They shall die for nothing. They have traveled all this way for nothing.”

“It is not for nothing. You have arrived here safely—that is what matters.”

“Me?”

“We could not take the risk that a lone ship would be caught. Do you recall the storm that brought your ship to us?”

“No!” cried Valam, “Oh, Father, No! What of those that died on the journey and those that will die in the fields?”

“They have passed for a greater cause. It was the only way. If I could have made the journey I would have, but I could not leave. Sathar would have sensed it. He would have sent everything against us. We at least have hope now.”

Valam sat quietly thinking and staring into the darkness of the night. Seth felt sorry for his friend; it had to be. He could sense the mixed feelings of those present. He nodded to Cagan and Evgej and they followed his lead from the balcony. Valam and the Queen-Mother were alone.

The Queen-Mother stood and stared at Valam. She studied him from his jet-black hair down past his broad shoulders to his muscular arms. She could sense the feelings within him and understood them. “Valam,” she said as she seated herself next to him, “they are not here for nothing. We also need them. The capital cannot fall until after the child is born. We will do everything we can to see that it doesn’t. Our child is the child yet to be. Do you not understand?”

For the first time Valam fully comprehended the actions that would follow. He, too, could sense emotions within her. “But I do not love you. How could I? How could I?”

“How could you father a child? Easier than you would think. I know the feelings you seek to hide. Do not hide them. Allow them to come.”

“You are the Queen-Mother. How can you?”

“I do what I must. You judge too harshly. I have love within me for all things, for everyone. I can see feelings of love within you. Yes, Tsandra is beautiful and perfect and you feel sorrow for her for reasons you cannot understand, but where lie your real thoughts, whom do you compare her to, for whom do you secretly yearn? The thoughts in your own mind do not lie.”

She grasped Valam firmly by the hand and led him from the balcony. “I still do not understand.  Why me?”

“You are the first heir to the throne of the Great Kingdom, and I am Queen of the East. I have seen you in my many dreams, Valam. I have seen you and me together. I have seen our child, the child that is yet to be.”

The Queen-Mother led him along many long corridors. Finally, they came to a long, narrow staircase along one of the tiny back hallways. The stairs were steep and seemed to wind their way forever upward.

Together they climbed. The Queen-Mother climbed backwards, staring deeply into Valam’s eyes. She held both of his hands warmly within her own, weaving an intricate, sensuous pattern with her forefingers in his palms.

Valam was still having difficulty dealing with the reality of the situation. It seemed like a dream to him, a very wonderful dream. He began to wonder if he were, in fact, dreaming. “You are not dreaming, my prince,” came the melodic whisper into his mind.

As they climbed, Valam felt the sensation of movement beneath his feet, as if the tower were swaying back and forth, ushering them upward. He could feel a breeze gently blowing; the air, though cool, was warm and soothing to his skin.

The staircase ended in a small alcove with no apparent door. Valam started to yell a warning as the queen backed into the wall, but the wall faded as she stepped into it. The room on the other side was plush and richly decorated. The queen softly pulled Valam over to the large westerly window. The view from the pinnacle was breathtaking. He could look out across the whole of the city all the way to the eastern gates.

The sun hanging on the far horizon added to the impact of the view. The two stood tightly pressed against each other and watched with wonder the beautiful, simple spectacle of the setting sun.

A blanket of darkness swept over the room as the last shadows of daylight dimmed from the sky. Gradually, caressingly, the Queen-Mother moved her lips to Valam’s. Their lips remained locked as they slowly sank to the floor.

The wildness and warmth of passion began to carry them away. All worries about today or tomorrow were gone. They were in a world of their own creation. They alone dwelt on its shores. They alone drank in its captivating spell.

The two became one in thought and body. Their dreams and wishes flowed freely between them, surrounding and protecting them. They shed their inner light and became themselves. The Queen-Mother became nothing but a woman and the prince became nothing but a man. They were a man and a woman entangled and united in each other’s caresses and affections.

They awoke in each other’s arms to the sounds of a clear, beautiful day. Valam stared into the queen’s liquid blue eyes. She stared back into his. They shared one last moment in each other’s warmth. Valam kissed her deeply and passionately, then stood and put on his clothes. The Queen-Mother got out of bed and dressed also.

Valam watched her silken beauty with admiration, as she admired him. Sunlight poured through an eastern window. Valam took her hand and they went to the window to welcome the coming day. The scene was as beautiful as the previous day’s sunset.

“How long will it be before you find out if you are with child? Maybe it was not the correct time?” said Valam, hoping, searching for anything to prevent the inevitable. “I am the Queen-Mother. If I wish for a child, it will be. It is. The time is when I wish it. I can feel the life begin.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, quite.”

“Then it is over.”

“Yes, it is.”

In that twinkling, the inevitable had arrived. She became the queen, and he became the prince. He was Prince Valam of the Great Kingdom, and she was the Queen-Mother of the Eastern Reaches. Valam turned from the window and walked to the stairs. He did not look back as he descended.

The Queen-Mother watched him leave within her mind. She did not have to look to see him go; she knew he had. She continued to stare out the window at the dawning day, hiding her sorrow in the alleys of her mind.

Her thoughts began to waver and fade. Emotions within her churned with a torrent of rage and wildness unknown to her. An image slowly formed in her mind’s eye. She was with Valam as he wound his way downwards from the tower and into the adjacent hall.

Valam aimlessly strolled down many halls, finally finding Evgej’s room. He knocked and then entered. Evgej was startled as Valam walked in; he awoke and dressed just moments before Valam arrived.

Evgej misread the expression on Valam’s face and asked him how the night had gone. Valam’s answer was a scowl. Evgej was lost in confusion. He had understood what the queen had asked Valam, or at least he thought he did. “How could anyone be in such a mood after that? It was a dream come true,” he said to himself.

He replayed the events in his mind. He was sure that he had understood completely. “Hey, Valam, I’m famished.  Let’s go get something to eat.”

“I’m not really hungry. I’ll go with you anyway. We have a lot to prepare with Seth so we can leave today.”

“Leave today? Why? We can wait for a couple more days.”

“No. We have an obligation to fulfill, and I am hungry after all. Let’s go and eat, then we can find Seth,” added Valam quickly, to change the subject.

After they had both eaten, they went in search of Seth. They could not understand where everyone had gone. The great hall was empty. In the kitchens there were only the cooks and no help.

They went first to Seth and Cagan’s quarters to find no one there. They looked everywhere, and came up empty. As they returned to the first floor, they heard sounds from outside. Valam rushed to the nearest window and peered out.

What he saw astounded him—a virtual sea of brown. The brown robes filled the courtyards as far as he could see. He strained his neck out the window to the left and the right. The view was the same.

Valam grabbed Evgej and pulled him to the window. Evgej gaped in awe. “Let’s get down there quick,” said Valam. With Evgej immediately behind him, he raced through the corridors toward the outer doors.

The two stopped dead as they rounded a corner into the audience hall. It was filled with those of Seth’s order, standing rigidly facing the outer doors. Evgej spotted Seth at the fore of the group and pointed to him.

“Seth, what is it? What is happening?”

Seth pretended not to notice their presence. Valam and Evgej approached him, yelling his name and still he did not move from his position or acknowledge them. “In the name of the Father, Seth, what is it?”

“See for yourself,” said Seth, opening one of the great doors slightly.

“Yes, I have seen them. Why are they here?”

“They are here because of the Queen-Mother.”

“Why, though? What is happening?”

“You cannot see. It is brother against brother. Tsandra has called them here.”

“Tsandra?”

“Yes, Tsandra.”

“Where is she? I will talk to her. She will listen to me.”

“She is out there,” answered Seth pointing into the crowd, “She will not listen to you.”

“Why does she do this?”

“The Queen-Mother is in Shalan’s tower. She will not come out. Tsandra says she has seen a vision, that the Queen-Mother was hurt and crying. Crying out for help.”

“Just tell her the Queen-Mother isn’t hurt, that she is perfectly fine.”

“If it were that simple, believe me, I would have already done that. It is not that simple. She thinks someone has injured the queen.”

“Where is the Queen-Mother?”

“She is in the tower.”

“Why haven’t you sent for her?”

“Valam, as I stated before, the solution is not simple. No one is allowed in the tower but the Queen-Mother.”

“I was in the tower! I will go to her.”

“Valam, no! Don’t ever say that again. You couldn’t have been in that tower. Only the Queen-Mother can enter or leave it.”

“It is just a tower, a pile of stone, Seth, think—”

“Valam, no! It is not just a pile of stone. It is the symbol of our people. It is the heart and soul of our kind. Only the Queen-Mother can enter the heart and soul of her people. Even my thoughts cannot reach her inside the tower. There she is closer to the Father and Mother. Our combined wills could not reach her.”

“Nonsense! I will go and talk to Tsandra.”

“No, Valam,” yelled Seth as Valam plunged through the door. “It is you that Tsandra seeks to punish. It was you she saw injure the queen. It is you I protect.”

Evgej followed close behind Valam out the door. Valam ran down the stairs and straight into the crowd. Evgej attempted to stop him, but it was too late; he could only follow Valam into the midst of the brown clad warriors.

“Tsandra, no. You are wrong. It is a mistake!” shouted Valam. Tsandra screamed out with her mind and pointed to Valam. The crowd descended upon him. Evgej and Valam stood back to back, fending off the crowd, and for a moment they stood gallant; then they were swallowed by a wave of bodies.

Seth was halfway out the door to aid Valam and Evgej when he heard Tsandra’s invocation. He challenged with one of his own, but it was too late. He saw the mob engulf the two. Seth screamed out to his order and they followed him without hesitation into the brown.

The two forces clashed. A small red tide swept into an ocean of brown. It was brother against brother. Seth continued to cry out to Tsandra; she would not answer his pleas.

An explosion rocked the courtyard. All quarreling stopped. All eyes turned to look upon Shalan’s tower as it disintegrated before their eyes. The heart and soul of the people was forever gone. They began to look around to one another, realizing what they had done. They were horrified.

A star of energy descended upon the crowd. It soared to the spot where Valam lay. The mass made room for it, creating a wide circle around the fallen two. The light cleared and took on form; it became the queen.

“Oh Father, Mother! What have I done?” cried the Queen-Mother into the gathered minds. “Samyuehl!” she pleaded. “Samyuehl, come quickly.” She knelt beside Valam and took his hand to her wet cheeks.

“What have I done?” echoed Tsandra. She removed her dagger from its sheath and held it to her breast. “Gather me home, Father,” she said, plunging the blade inward.

“Tsandra, no, don’t!” shouted Seth as he leapt upon her. He thrust his will into her mind and she released her grasp on the dagger. It fell harmlessly to the ground. Seth firmly held Tsandra’s arms as she struggled to attain freedom. He held her until she stopped trying to resist, whispering thoughts silently into her mind to calm her.

An opening cleared as a man in blue rushed into the courtyard. He moved tall and proud for a man of his years. His features spoke of one cold as steel, but his heart spoke of one tender and kind.

“Is it too late?”

“No, my queen,” simply answered Samyuehl. He closed his mind and concentrated his thoughts. He gathered them into a whirlwind and hurled them out into the land, performing a feat that only he could do. He was Samyuehl, first of the order of the Blue. His powers of healing were equaled by none save the Mother-Earth.

Throughout time, the gift had been passed from heir to heir and so the gift was preserved. He was the conduit of life for his land and his people. His powers were created and joined from that life. He drank it in and formed it within him. He guided it through his center outward.

A ray of light radiated from him onto Valam and Evgej. It encompassed them and soothed them. The color returned to their limp bodies. Their many lacerations and bruises began to mend as their spilled blood returned to its proper place within them.

The light intensified and the wounds were gone. Their lives were restored. All was as it should be. Tsandra stopped resisting Seth and faced her mistake. Her great devotion to the queen had led her from the true path. She would never allow herself to make such a mistake again. She would re-earn the respect of her followers, and she would regain the wisdom of her position. She would carry this incident within her as a banner against those who were the true enemies of her kind.

Valam was the first to open his eyes. He rested his eyes on the Queen-Mother and smiled. Slowly his lips moved, though no sound escaped them. Several times, they formed these words, “I am sorry, my love.” His eyes closed as his lips ceased to move.

Evgej eased to a sitting position and shook his head warily from side to side. When his vision cleared, he stood and turned to Valam to help him up. In one beat of his heart, his mouth fell open in shock and he picked Valam up in his arms and cradled him closely.

“Oh, no, no!” he yelled, “Oh please, someone help him.” He looked first to Seth and upon seeing the sorrow in his eyes then turned pleading to the Queen-Mother. Reflected in her eyes was the solemn harsh truth. Evgej crumpled sadly to the ground. After a long period of lament, he released Valam’s body. He stood and with his eyes downcast marched angrily from the square.

Seth wanted to stop Evgej and console him, telling him Valam would be happier now, more than he could ever have been here in this existence, yet he could not and did not try to comfort him. Seth hoped that through time Evgej would grow to understand that when it is truly your time you have no choice but to transpire, for it is the Father’s wish.

As Seth thought about the new life Valam would find with the Father, old thoughts returned to his mind, thoughts he had thought were long gone; the guilt still remained within him. He thought of a face, bringing a tear to his eye. In the twisting of a fleeting moment he was both elated and sad, angry and glad. He hoped the Father had found special places for the two who were so dear in his heart, and somewhere in the reaches of his mind he knew that they had.

Seth suddenly realized Tsandra had left his side. He scanned the courtyard and spotted her retreating form. He turned to the Queen-Mother and before he could think of what to say, she whispered into his mind, “Yes, go and talk with her. She will need your strength.”

Seth hastily departed. He found Tsandra a short while later in her quarters. She did not look surprised when he entered. She had known he would try to stop her from doing what she had already set in motion.

Seth searched his heart for the correct words to say to Tsandra. It was from the depths of his soul that he began. His words echoed the teachings they both knew so well. The entire time he retold Tsandra the teachings of one’s passage through existence, in his mind he returned to the pretenses of his youth.

“Brother, what are the basic premises of life we must follow?”

“Not to interfere with its progression. We can guide, but we cannot hinder its natural path.”

“Yes, brother, as in all things we must return to the basic laws of life. What is the first law of life?”

“To preserve what Mother-Earth has created.”

“Yes, but you have grown beyond the simple teachings. Define preservation.”

“It is to allow life to continue along the path that it must follow from one existence to the next.”

“Which leads us to the second law of life.”

“Yes, teacher. The second law does allow us to give guidance.”

“Think not with your mind, brother, think with your soul, wherein lies the will of the Father. Where must one create the border between guidance and interference?”

“When you know it in your heart to be wrong, it is wrong.”

“Yes, you are learning well.”

Seth returned from his reverie within himself. The words he found were somehow disturbing to him, for they were not what he really wanted to tell Tsandra. Learning from his very words, Seth knew that what he said was wrong. Tsandra was not the one who needed to gain insight on the lessons of life; he was the one.

“Tsandra, I am—” Seth stopped mid-sentence and the remainder of what he was going to say was lost to him. Unconsciously, he took her hand and held it tightly between both of his. As he did, he remembered a solemn pledge he had given that he had long since discarded. A pledge he had given to himself and for Galan.

He recalled the advice an old and trusted friend and mentor had given him. Liyan had shown him the foolishness and futility of his action. Seth set about to show Tsandra the same. After he was finished, there was a long pause. They both sat in silence, contemplating thoughts entirely their own, and then without a word they returned to the courtyard.

When they returned, they found even more people had filed into the yard. Brother Ylad’, Brother Nikol, Brother Ontyv, Brother Samyuehl, and the Queen-Mother were all gathered on the platform. The first impression Seth gleaned from their collective minds was one of puzzlement.

For a time before they reached the platform, neither Seth nor Tsandra understood the calamity. When they joined the group that surrounded Valam’s body, they understood. Tsandra’s heart fell when she looked upon Valam. She did not understand why the Mother had not reclaimed his body; somehow she felt responsible for what was occurring.

“Brother Seth, you amongst us know more about man. Do you know why Valam’s body still remains?”

“I am unsure, my queen. Shall I find Evgej? He will know.”

“No. He needn’t be disturbed. Brother Liyan is just returning from the docks with Cagan. Go and talk with them.”

Seth marched briskly to the docks. As he approached, Cagan’s boat was just returning. Cagan tossed Seth a line with a broad grin on his face. Seth secured the line tightly. Liyan and Cagan jumped onto the dock, the expression on their faces that of a child being caught doing something he knows he is not supposed to do. Their smiles were rapidly erased by the overpowering sense of confused emotions rising within Seth.

Before the question reached Seth’s mind, he responded, “It is Valam. He has passed. It is like a living dream.” Further words escaped Seth. He paused and grasped their hands to form a link between their minds and his; then he replayed the scene for them.

The expression that crossed their faces told of the grief and shock they were feeling. Seth broke the link, and the vision faded from their thoughts. “What has transpired in our absence, Brother Seth? How can this be? We do not quarrel amongst ourselves. We do not kill our ow—” Brother Liyan stopped suddenly. His eyes grew wide and then he suddenly yelled, “Come quickly, we must find the Queen-Mother. We must find her now, before it is too late.”

Liyan then shielded his thoughts and whispered into Cagan’s and Seth’s minds what he had felt. Before Seth could shield his mind, he too felt the dark presence sweep by. Instantly he reacted and unleashed all the energy he could gather into a burst of speed as he ran back towards the square.

Chapter Fourteen

After they walked for some time without incident, Nijal finally dared to break the silence. He whispered to Vilmos, “Why don’t we just do that illusion thing again and walk back through the city and get some horses?”

It took Vilmos a moment to snap out of his reverie and realize the voice had not emanated from his mind. “I don’t know, but that is a good question.” The two broke from their position in the middle of the group and dropped back to talk to Xith, who was taking up the rear position.

“Yes?” asked Xith quizzically when he saw them slow down so he would catch up to them. “We were wondering, why don’t we just disguise ourselves and go back to the city or somewhere and get horses?”

“The main reason is that Noman and I fear that it will give away our position and lead the dark forces to us.”

“But how?”

“Yes, how?”

“Shh.  Remember back in the caves when I made the passage through the wall?”

“Yes, but what significance is that?”

“Noman and I long discussed how they had found us, and the only logical conclusion was the magic he and I used. There was no other way. Vilmos, you should understand. How does one use magic?”

“You reach back into the power of creation and guide it through your center.”

“Exactly, but if someone else also understood the workings of magic, they could detect where the energy was being focused, especially since an illusion requires constant guidance and continues for very long periods of time.”

“But I thought no one else could use magic?”

“Remember the dark forces that attacked the City of the Sky? Evil like that was created from the wild energies. They are closer to it. That is how they could detect it.” Xith had told a partial lie to Vilmos and Nijal, for which he was sorry. He convinced himself it was for the best, and by saying it aloud, it was also based partially on truth.

“How did you create the passage through the rocks? Is this not a good time to talk about it?”

“Oh, it is, all right. I was only lost a second in reflection. What are the two opposing forces in nature?”

“Positive and negative,” Vilmos answered.

“Yes, they are the very root of the two forces; the basis for all forms of opposition springs from these two forces. All things in nature contain and are joined by these forces. Some things are truly positive and others are truly negative like raw energy in its pure form. The rock of the wall is no exception to this rule. It, too, contains the energy. To fully understand how the principle works, you must also know that all things are created from the four basic elements: earth, water, fire and air. In all of these four groups, positive and negative exist in equal proportions. In the element earth, the other three elements must also exist to some extent, for it could not exist without its brothers in opposition; thus from the two very basic forms, positive and negative, stem the elements of earth, water, fire, and air. To walk through the stone of the wall, which belongs to the element earth, I relied on those other elements that exist within the stone, the air primarily. I opened the way and guided our friends through it to us.”

Many expressions passed across Vilmos’ face as comprehension came to him. Nijal’s expression remained one of perplexity. Xith smiled as he watched the two. He hadn’t expected Nijal to grasp the fullness of what he had said, but he had hoped that Vilmos would. He was most pleased with the results; Vilmos understood.

Vilmos and Nijal returned to their positions in the march, leaving Xith alone at the rear. Noman led them all through the long night. He was very thankful for the overcast skies that enshrouded their movements.

It was almost dawn when they reached a small town far along the northern road. He knew the farming town well. He had passed through here on many a dark night, ages before.

He stopped just short of the village and allowed the others to catch up to him. “We shall rest here for a time. Hopefully, we will be able to get horses and leave just short of nightfall. When we reach the inn, allow Xith and me to do all the talking and follow our lead. We are mercenaries heading to the Barrens. Vilmos, it was you who lost our mounts through carelessness. Do not worry. They will see Adrina as our baggage, nothing more. Remember, mercenaries are a loud lot. We must act the part. We will go to our rooms; I will go last. Amir, you will bring Adrina up to the rooms immediately and remain there.”

They all nodded agreement. Noman closed his eyes and formed a picture in his mind. He wasn’t surprised that the local inn still stood in the same place along the tiny dirt road. They entered, following Noman’s lead of grumbling and complaining about sore feet and the like.

Noman dumped some coins on the innkeeper’s counter and demanded some rooms for him and his companions. Amir followed Noman’s instructions and went upstairs to the rooms the innkeeper had given them. “And give me four tankards of ale and something to eat—quickly!” said Noman, taking a seat at the nearest table.

Vilmos had never had ale before. He wondered if he would like it; nonetheless, he was looking forward to trying it. The innkeeper soon brought over four steaming pints. “Nothing like warm ale to put me to sleep!” bellowed Xith. He and Noman toasted and brought the tankards to their lips. “Ahh!” they both said at once, setting down the empty containers.

“Stew and bread is all I have at this hour,” said the innkeeper as he placed four large bowls of stew and some chunks of bread on the table. No one offered any complaints as they eagerly ate the food. It didn’t matter if it was tasty or not, just as long as it was warm and filling.

Vilmos was the first to finish eating. He sponged up the remainder in his bowl with some bread and reached for his tankard, only to find it missing. Xith winked at him and slurped the drink down loudly. “You will learn soon, lad,” said Xith, burping and leaving the table.

Vilmos dejectedly stared into the mug. He was surprised to find it still contained some ale. He smiled broadly and drank it quickly. It had indeed tasted good. A warming sensation swept over him, and he felt sleepy. He decided that he did like ale, very much so. He retired a few minutes after Xith had.

Nijal and Noman finished their stew and ordered another round of drink. The second glass went down as smoothly as the first had. The two stomped heavily up the stairs slightly before the first lights of morning appeared.

A chill swept over Vilmos. He awoke cold and frightened. All thoughts of sleep were scattered into the coolness of the air. The dreams had returned again with increased intensity. They ran through all the corridors of his mind. He could not escape their wrath.

He cradled himself tightly, easing away his inner shivers. He looked around the room. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness before he could see. No one else was in the room with him. He was alone.

Alone, he confronted the wildness in his mind retrospectively. He closed his eyes and focused on his inner self. He found his center; it could not be denied him. He remembered the lessons Xith had taught him. They seemed like distant memories as he replayed them in his mind.

He saw the conquest of his self from the two. He saw them through the eyes of another, though they were his own. He saw what he had become, what he was.

The battle of the City of the Sky exploded through his soul. The vision ended with the fall of the two, first sons of the Father. They had left his dreams. They were only memories. They existed no longer. Once the summation overtook him, his mind became his own. He had succeeded in controlling the power within. It retreated into the recesses of his intellect.

Vilmos forced his eyes open. As he focused the blurriness away, he thought he saw someone standing before him, a large, hulking figure with a golden locket in his outstretched hand, but when his eyes cleared, there was no one there. He was still alone.

He wondered what time it was. Was it day or night? He felt as if he had slept forever, so it must be night. “But where is everyone?” he asked himself, standing and looking for a window. He found it and pulled back the curtain. It was pitch-black dark out.

“Damn, I wish I could see something,” whispered Vilmos. The lamp near his bed blazed alight. He whirled around and stared at it. It had lit by itself. “Strange,” thought Vilmos.

He stood there staring at it, wondering how it had happened. “Off,” he whispered and the lamplight dimmed and was gone. He laughed loudly, darkly, to himself. “On!” The lamp blazed again. He played with it for a time, lighting it, extinguishing it, back and forth.

Something inside him enjoyed the tiny display of power. Vilmos knew what the something was and forced his mind to quit. It was only then that he came to fully understand how he had subconsciously lit the lamp. He remembered well the skill that Xith had taught him.

He had unknowingly divided his thoughts. All his concentration had been trained on his dilemma. Lighting the lamp required no concentration, so it required little thought. Now that he understood how he could do it, it didn’t frighten him so much.

“Wait a minute!” he yelled within. His cogitations were playing tricks on him. As he screamed, all thought came to an abrupt halt. It was then that Vilmos noticed that he had been levitating off the floor because he fell heavily along with all the furniture in the room.

The crash resounded throughout the room. The door opened quickly and Xith, followed by Amir and Nijal, ran into the room. Amir had his blade drawn and cast his eyes frantically back and forth. “Everything is all right. I just fell out of bed,” said Vilmos rubbing his head. Seeing Xith’s steely stare, Vilmos quickly added, “Yeah, and I hit my head on the corner table and it fell over too. What time is it anyway?”

“Late afternoon.”

“Afternoon? Why is it so dark out?”

“The windows are coaled over.”

“Oh, why did you let me sleep, if you are all awake?”

“You ask too many questions. Come on, there is food in the other room.”

“Great! I am famished.”

Vilmos wolfed down two bowls of stew and a loaf of bread before he stopped and caught his breath. He washed it down with a large mug of watered ale. “Yuck!” said Vilmos as he emptied the tankard, “More water than ale.” Xith smiled and said, “It is the drink afternoons are made of so one can continue to drink in the evening.” “Oh,” responded Vilmos, pretending to understand, though he really hadn’t.

Nijal and Amir returned to their swordplay. Amir was teaching Nijal how to defend himself better. “You see, your attack is good, very good, but you constantly leave yourself open,” said Amir parrying and thrusting. His blade stopped just short of Nijal’s belly. “No man can keep up with your speed, Amir,” pleaded Nijal.

“No man, indeed!” exclaimed Amir, looking to his ancient compatriot. “Speed isn’t everything; skill is.”

Vilmos watched the two with amusement for a time and then became bored. He let his attention wander to Xith and Noman. They were in the opposite corner of the quarters, talking quietly. Adrina lay in the bed nearest to them. She appeared so pale and lifeless, thought Vilmos. He felt sorrow for her.

Vilmos joined Xith and Noman. They were so heavily engaged in conversation that they barely registered his presence. He sat with them for a spell and listened. The topic of their words was lost on him; all his attention was somewhere else.

He turned and peered at Adrina’s form. Unconsciously, he stood and walked over to her. He sat beside her on the bed. Her warmth reassured him; she was indeed alive.

Vilmos took one of her hands in his two and held it. A tear rolled down his cheek. He pictured the other who had died to save her. To Vilmos, they were both so beautiful and pure. He hated those who had attacked them. He loathed them with all that he was. He wished Adrina were conscious and well again.

He brought her hand to his cheek. The water of his tears touched her hand. Vilmos took her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, then stood and walked away from her.

He went back to watch Amir and Nijal. They were still hacking at each other. Nijal was clearly exhausted; Amir had barely broken a sweat. As Vilmos watched, he could see the frustrations build up in Nijal. He could also see that Nijal’s swordplay was improving.

Amir also saw the improvements in Nijal and continued to pummel Nijal’s senses. Although Nijal’s energy was spent, still he would not quit. He had never been one to give up. Only determination maintained the movement of his arm, his blade blocking and striking.

“Your power is your persistence, my friend. It is good,” stated Amir. He held his blade outward and still. “We shall rest now.”

“Good. I’m tired,” said Nijal sheathing his sword. He wearily sat next to Vilmos, toweling the sweat from his body with his tunic. Amir seated himself across from Nijal and Vilmos with a pleased expression on his face.

“I am starving!” said a sweet voice behind them. All eyes in the room turned to look astounded to the source of the voice, with one exception. Vilmos didn’t look, because he wasn’t surprised. He knew this would happen. He had wanted it to happen.

Adrina brushed the sleep from her eyes, sat up, and yawned. “Where are we? Am I home?” Her eyes cleared; and as she searched around the room, she knew she wasn’t home. “What happened?” she asked, her voice shaking with fear.

“Everything is just fine. Here, eat this, Adrina,” offered Noman. He watched her devour the food before he told her anything further. “You do not recollect what occurred? The tunnel, the attack.”

“No. I remember Galan; where is she? Is she all right?”

“The ‘Little One’ has passed.”

“No! It cannot be!” yelled Adrina throwing the bowl to the floor and jumping out of bed. Noman was quick to catch her as her leg collapsed under her weight. Noman placed her gently back onto the bed.

Her screams renewed as she looked down at her broken leg. “Where is she? Oh, my leg, it hurts,” she cried pitifully. It was then that she noticed the pain in her crumpled hand also. Her tears increased in velocity as they streamed down her face.

“She has passed, Adrina. She has fulfilled her service. She rests with the Great-Father now, in peace.”

Adrina didn’t offer a reply. She wept in silence, her tears for a lost friend. With her good hand, she absent-mindedly rubbed the dragon mark on her stomach, the food had settled warmly. “Will it be all right?” she said suddenly, wildly.

“Yes, rest easy.”

“The pain. It will not go. Please help me,” Adrina cried out.

Vilmos could not take her cries any longer. He ran over to the bed where she lay. Without hesitation or thought, he touched her leg with his hands. He ran them along her leg from toe to hip back and forth. Adrina’s screams of agony intensified. “Stop, Stop!” she yelled.

“Vilmos, stop! You’re hurting her. Stop,” Noman, Xith, Nijal and Amir urged. Vilmos did not heed their pleas. He continued his actions. Noman attempted to pull Vilmos away, but he could not. Vilmos knocked him to the ground.

Noman stood, and together he and Xith grabbed Vilmos and tried to force him away from Adrina, but could not. Vilmos latched on to Adrina even tighter as they sought to pry him away. Amir and Nijal ran across the room. Nijal leapt upon Vilmos and knocked him sprawling to the floor.

Vilmos rolled and knocked Nijal from on top of him. He stood and reached for Adrina. He grabbed her broken hand in his and caressed it. Amir gripped Vilmos by the waist with both hands and swung him high in the air with his mighty arms until Vilmos was forced to release Adrina’s hand.

Amir carried Vilmos to the opposite side of the room and set him down on the floor. “Are you mad?” he asked. For an instant Vilmos cowered from Amir’s towering form, then he stood. His eyes were wild and staring. His body shook convulsively. “You dare to interfere with me? You shall pay for this quite dearly.”

Amir watched Vilmos, quite confounded. He was unsure what to do. The others rushed over to his assistance. They all stood and watched. “You dare to interfere?” Vilmos repeated. “Watch!” he exclaimed. He created a bolt of white energy between his hands. It flashed so brightly that they shielded their eyes from it. The light even hurt Amir’s senses in a way he could not understand. Xith took a step towards Vilmos. “Don’t move again, old man!”

“Vilmos, it is I, Xith. Don’t do this. Find the control and use it; don’t let it control you.”

“Me?” interrupted Vilmos. “Don’t let it control me? It does not. I control it, you foolish old man. Watch, as your paltry comprehension of the forces of nature are torn asunder.”

In his left hand a blazing blue light glowed. It danced around his fingers. His right hand was consumed by swirls of red energy. “You see, teacher. On this hand we have positive; on this we have negative,” said Vilmos madly.

“Vilmos, don’t!”

“Don’t what? Do this?” cackled Vilmos bringing his hands together. The others gripped themselves for the end they knew would come when Vilmos joined the two forces. The end did not come.

They watched in amazed horror as the two forces dazzled in unison all around Vilmos’ hands. The energy spread to his arms and body. It seemed to grow with each passing second until it consumed all of Vilmos, save for his face.

“Vilmos, it is me, Nijal, your friend. Don’t do this, please. I beg you.”

“Vilmos, you know not what you do! You must stop!”

“It is too late to stop; even you know this, teacher. I now know why you came. Do you think I am a fool? I know why you came. I know all the lies you have told me. I know all the answers to the questions that you would not tell me. What you have feared has already happened. I have learned from the past. I am more than you could ever understand. I am neither man nor god. I am not dead, nor am I alive. I shall outlast time, for I am not in time. I am not held by its boundaries as you are. Even Dalphan or Rapir would fear me though both would have welcomed their creation. Nor do the Father or Mother hold domain over me. I am outside their reach. The Father will kneel and worship me. The Mother will be my—”

“Never!” swore Xith as he jumped upon Vilmos. A tremendous explosion rocked the room. The sounds of hideous laughter resounded from the walls, then all was quiet. Darkness fell over the room for an instant, then the windows shattered outwards. The light of the waning day poured in. When the haze cleared, only Xith lay dazed on the floor; there were no signs of Vilmos.

“Where did he go?” yelled Adrina. She lay in bed, afraid to move. “Is everyone all right?”

“Yes, Xith will be fine in a moment.”

Xith stood and shook his queasiness away. Amir and Noman helped him walk to the nearby bed opposite Adrina’s. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, “I’m just a little dizzy that’s all.”

A loud knock sounded at the door. “Open up this instant. Are you tearing apart my inn?”

Noman answered through the door, “Just a little disagreement between my associates. You needn’t worry about them any longer.”

“I heard something break.”

“Yes, yes. We will pay for all the damages. Don’t worry. Now leave us in peace!”

They heard the innkeeper walk slowly away, stopping every couple of steps to turn and listen for more noise. Noman sighed in relief. “Come, we must leave now! The stables are just down the road. I have already purchased the horses. Let’s go. Adrina, are you okay to travel?”

“Yes, the pain is gone. It’s funny. My leg tingles.”

“Tingles? Can you move it? Try slowly.”

Adrina gritted her teeth in preparation for the pain and flexed her leg muscles. The pain did not come. She reached down and rubbed it methodically. The others stared at her, wide-eyed, as she did it. She was using both hands to rub her leg. She felt no pain in the hand that had a short while before been forever rendered useless.

She stood and tested the leg. It was perfect, as if it had never been broken. In glee, she performed a little dance, around and around in a circle she danced, laughing and smiling the entire time.

Xith turned and whispered to Noman, “Well, at least we can go straight to our destination. No place will be safe now, and in the end, none will prove safer.”

“Yes, I am so foolish. I should have seen this coming. You know he will return.”

“Of that I am certain.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Pyetr, Swordmaster Timmer, may I speak with you in private?” beckoned Captain Brodst. The three retired to the swordmaster’s quarters away from the practice room. The captain locked and bolted the door behind himself. He began to speak in hushed tones, “Swordmaster Timmer, can they be ready by tomorrow, the seventh day?”

“Yes, Pyetr made some excellent choices. These are all fine men.”

“Good. All the delegates will be arriving later today and into tomorrow. I want your men to take the place of all the inner palace guards and provide personal protection to all palace officials tomorrow morning. Do you know each man by face?”

“Certainly.”

“And you, Timmer?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I want each man serving under you and only receiving orders from us three, no one else. They will wear no helmets and don our best light mail and bear the blue sashes of honor. I want you always to know of each man’s whereabouts, always.”

“Why all the secrecy? Is there something going on? If there is, we can be ready today.”

“No, I want it to come as a surprise, a last minute thing.”

“Is this serious?”

“Very, just keep your eyes on your men. I want you both to keep full inspection on them. Make sure that the man you appointed to a position stays at that position. Understand?”

“Are you saying what I think you are saying? You have seen the changes, too. I am not going mad.”

“No, Master Timmer, you are not.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“This is not to leave this room. No one must hear of this. The first day I returned, I noticed that everything seemed in perfect order, and it was, almost. No offense, Pyetr, you did a flawless job of covering for me, and I thank you. It is just that I know every member of the royal guard by face or can at least recognize their voice. I inspect their posts personally each day. Even with the replacements for those lost I should have been able to recognize them, but I couldn’t. Swordmaster Timmer, as the senior trainer, you too should have been able to recognize them, but some you couldn’t, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I also noticed something odd on that first day. Pyetr, did Volnej check on you each day?”

“Yes, each evening just after I completed final rounds in your office.”

“Are you insinuating?”

“Think about it.”

“How can you say that? He has served the kingdom his entire life.”

“Yes, but until recently, he has served outside the palace. As a member of the council he traveled to many shores. Do you know where he was raised?”

“No, of course not.”

“And you, swordmaster?”

“No.”

“I didn’t either, until I researched his lineage. Keeper Q’yer was most helpful. Volnej’s parents were ambassadors from the Kingdom of Vostok. They enjoyed the capital so much they stayed. Volnej was born before they came here. He did not join them until the age of ten.”

“Do you really think he would betray us?”

“Would you, if your allegiance were to another country, another cause? Of course you would, because for all of us our homeland is the most important thing in our lives. It is our life.”

“Yes, it is, and if Volnej is a traitor, I shall be very glad to end his life with my blade.”

“As would I, but we must wait for him to give himself away. Once he is out in the open, he is ours. Tell no one. I have not even told Lord Serant or Princess Calyin; there is too much at risk. Silently, we can control the situation, but if he knows we have discovered him, he might do something rash and this could end in disaster. We will take them all out at once quietly and safely. I will return tomorrow morning; be ready. We will do this quietly and easily.”

Captain Brodst walked back to his quarters, carefully making sure that no one had seen where he had come from. His thoughts wandered to many things. He saw Sister Catrin in the hall approaching in his direction, but he skillfully avoided talking with her. He quickly moved toward the sanctuary of his office, which lay in the opposite direction.

He had just settled into his chair when a page entered with a message for him. He dismissed the page and hurriedly read the letter, already knowing what it would say. The only detail he didn’t know was the time the first delegation would arrive. King Jarom’s party was going to be the first to reach the capital, early, as he expected.

He was, however, slightly surprised to find King Peter of Zapad and King Alexas of Yug were also with him. As he had suspected, King William of Sever would still arrive separately from the others. The three had journeyed from the South together with a full complement of soldiers each. He had expected roughly 500; he had not counted on there being 5,000.

His plans were being crushed. He would be forced to tell Lord Serant before it was too late. He was hoping to dispatch the few rogues easily and thus quietly retain the union of the kingdom. The plot reached farther than he had ever expected it would. The dispute would not end quietly.

Sister Catrin entered his office just as he finished rolling the scroll and placed it in the fire. She cleared her throat to get his attention, startling him. “Why so nervous?” she asked curiously, wondering if he was hiding something.

“Most sorry, Sister Catrin. It is just that since the attack, I have been on edge. What can I do for you? Is there something you need?” he asked quickly and smoothly, moving her back out into the hall while he talked to her.

“Midori wishes to speak with you.”

“Midori, why?”

“I am just the messenger. Please come at your earliest convenience,” said Sister Catrin as she departed.

Captain Brodst was curious why Midori would be looking for him yet didn’t let it concern him. He had other pressing things on his mind. He rushed from his room to Lord Serant’s quarters, only to find that he was gone. Captain Brodst panicked for an instant; where would he have gone? Calyin would not have allowed him to leave. Then he realized where Lord Serant was. He was preparing for the seventh day ceremonies in the audience chamber.

Captain Brodst hurried into the room and whispered into Lord Serant’s ear that he must talk to him in private. He looked around the hall. He wasn’t surprised at all to find Chancellor Volnej seated across from Lord Serant; and of the many guards throughout the hall, he saw only one that he recognized.

“Would the Princess Calyin like to escort us?” said the captain, offering her his arm. She almost protested until she saw the fierce look in the captain’s eyes. The three walked from the hall to Lord Serant’s room, which conveniently was close at hand.

Once inside, the captain locked the door and then searched the room. He found no signs of spy holes, so he returned to a seat near the extremely puzzled duo.

“Sorry for all the intrigue; it was a necessary precaution.” Captain Brodst was quick to fill them in on what he had discovered, going over each detail completely. When he finished, the shock was evident on both Calyin’s and Serant’s faces. It was also evident that they believed what he had said.

They would be prepared if the time came for battle. They sent several runners to all the city garrisons and riders to others close at hand. The message called for the garrisons to rotate in and out of the city for battle dress inspections during the coming ceremonies, keeping the real reasons hidden.

Captain Brodst bade them wait here until his return and he sought out Midori. The more he thought about why she would want to see him, the more interested he became. The question was gnawing at the back of his consciousness for the better part of an hour; now he would have it answered.

Midori greeted him warmly, and readily invited him into her chambers. She wore a light robe, which, if the captain had noticed, was quite revealing. She closed the door and the two were alone. She sauntered back to the rear chamber of the suite, and sat upon the bed. Nonchalantly, Captain Brodst followed her and sat down next to her. “Well?” he asked as she placed her lips against his. “You aim to seduce me. Is that it?”

“Seduce you, yes,” she whispered as she kissed him.

“No games?” he asked.

“No games. Is this not your heart’s desire?”

“It has been a long time.”

“Yes, it has, and I’ve missed you.”

The time raced rapidly by and soon it was well into the afternoon. A heavy rap sounded on the door several times before Captain Brodst opened it.

“Captain, come quickly,” the page said. He scrutinized the page thoroughly wondering how he had been found, but quickly followed where the boy led. He arrived in Lord Serant’s chamber just in time to see a runner arrive.

“The honorable and mighty Kings of the South, Peter of Zapad, Alexas of Yug, and Jarom of Vostok request admittance into your great city.” The small runner announced the message quite brilliantly, then bowed and departed.

“Well?” asked Captain Brodst quizzically. “Shall we? We will be back soon, Calyin, please stay here as we planned.”

Lord Serant and the captain hastily ran from the room. They made a short stop to see Swordmaster Timmer and Pyetr to put the captain’s plan into effect immediately. Serant ordered the group to go to the palace courtyard, mount, and wait for them.

In the space of a few minutes, the entire company was outfitted, mounted and departing the gates of the palace. They raced towards the westerly gates of the city. Upon reaching them, the column of four parted, splitting into two. Skillfully, they faced each other, then walked the horses backwards forming two neat rows on either side off the road, a very graceful display of horsemanship.

The four lead horses moved from the pack and strode to the gates. Lord Serant signaled for the gates to be opened. Readily the two hulking forms wound outward. “Greetings to the monarchs of the South. Thank you for answering our call. The Great Kingdom welcomes you,” announced Lord Serant crisply; then he asked the troops to follow his detachment to the southern garrison.

King Jarom’s aide instantly sparked an objection, stating that their guards should be housed in the palace garrison. Lord Serant’s subtle diplomacy quickly and decisively won the argument. He still didn’t like the high number of extras he was forced to accept as retainers for the kings. He was assured that the men only acted as personal bodyguards and servants and the like. He was quite convinced otherwise but didn’t offer further objection. He had them almost precisely where he wanted them.

Once Lord Serant saw that the kings were properly lodged, he and the captain returned to check on Calyin. She flew into Serant’s arms and hugged him fiercely. He kissed her gently and carried her over to a chair and sat upon it with her in his arms. Captain Brodst smiled and turned his back for a moment, while Lord Serant kissed Calyin deeply and reassuringly. He chased away her fears, reassuring her that no further harm would befall him.

Calyin moved to a chair beside Lord Serant. “Captain Brodst, it is quite all right to sit down,” she said sardonically. The three then discussed their plans in more detail. Pyetr’s men had taken the key positions throughout the palace as planned. They had replaced the chancellor’s manservant with a planted servant of their own. It had been a delicate maneuver, which Pyetr had quite skillfully managed. The three kings and their servants were placed in the second wing of the palace, which just happened to be nearest the central guard quarters; and the soldiers of the South were tucked away nicely in an easily-accessed position.

Everything was working to their advantage; now they needed only to wait for the opposition to make its move. They would then be able to spring their exquisitely designed trap. With luck, the coming conflict would die just as rapidly as it began.

It was well past the dinner hour when the three entered the great hall. The three kings had eaten long ago and were visibly frustrated by the long wait for an audience. Lord Serant took his place at the head of the table with Calyin to his left. Captain Brodst was the last to enter and he took a place next to his lord.

Servants quickly brought out the main courses and poured drink. Each time one of the guests began to speak, Serant would raise his hand to stop him, offering a toast instead. He was somewhat surprised at how well the royalty retained their etiquette as they watched Calyin, Lord Serant, and the captain drift through an eleven-course meal, which they had already finished earlier.

When the last remnants of food were removed and drink flowed, Lord Serant raised his hand again, signaling it was permitted to talk. King Jarom’s aide was the first to stand and beg a more private audience. Serant snapped his fingers and Chancellor Volnej entered the room. He whispered quietly into Lord Serant’s ear. “Ah, yes, Chancellor de Vit, I will permit you this. We shall retire to my personal audience chamber.”

The group moved to a smaller chamber just off the hall. Captain Brodst winked at Pyetr, who had just changed the guards around the inner audience hall; as he entered, the doors closed behind him. King Jarom’s wolfish grimace grew into a cheerful smile as he studied Lord Serant and his captain.

“You may speak freely in here, gentlemen,” said Lord Serant loftily.

“Good,” said Chancellor de Vit. He started to speak further when King Jarom silenced him. “Yes, good indeed, we—” said King Jarom, indicating King Peter and King Alexas, “are most concerned about the affairs of the kingdom.”

“You needn’t be concerned; there is nothing to be concerned over. I assure you.”

“We are not so sure. It has come to our attention that since King Andrew’s death there have been circumstances regarding the rightful rule of the kingdom that concern us. The kingdom has no true heir. Prince Valam was the only heir, and he is gone.”

“You were not called here to debate my position. Princess Calyin is also an heir, and as her husband, I am assuming my rightful place.”

“I bet you do!” sparked King Peter.

“I object to what you are insinuating. Calyin is the next in the royal line. It is her rightful place.”

“She is a woman. Her rightful place is with her husband, nothing more.”

“She is the rightful heir. I will hear nothing more on this subject. We have more pressing matters to deal with tomorrow.”

“Just the same, Lord Serant. We wish to make a formal claim to the council to contest your claim. We feel it is a king’s place to rule in the absence of the prince.”

“Do not forget your place. You come to Great Kingdom as honored guests, nothing more. Great Kingdom has not forgotten the treachery at Alderan and Quashan’. We are not the ones who need to explain ourselves.”

“As members of the alliance—”

“—An alliance you honor of your own convenience—”

“What occurred in the south is a separate matter, a matter of lands in dispute,” cut in King Jarom. “As members of the alliance, it is our right; it was written into the treaty. We wish an audience with the council in two days’ time. I assure you that when Prince Valam returns we will relinquish our rule. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Guards! Remove these men from my sight! Now!”

“We are not men, we are royalty, and you will treat us as such in the future. You need to learn to control yourself better. This little outburst will be made known to the council. Good day, Lord Serant—Princess.”

King Jarom shook away the arm of the guard that attempted to assist his exit. The three kings walked gracefully out of the room, followed by their aides. Once the door was closed tightly, Lord Serant lost his haughty exterior. “Captain Brodst, would you leave us for a moment, and please send for Keeper Q’yer and Father Joshua. I could use their wisdom.”

Lord Serant watched the captain walk stiffly from the room. He turned to look at Calyin and sank down to his knees beside her. “Can they do it? Can they take control?” Calyin understood the pain her lord was feeling. Uncertainty was an emotion he had only recently discovered. He didn’t know how to deal with it. Even though sadness filled Calyin, she was happy; her pillar of flawless granite did in fact need her, and that filled her mind with joy.

Chapter Sixteen

“Keeper, Captain Mikhal’s group has arrived.”

“Send Captain Mikhal in at once!”

Father Jacob quickly joined Keeper Martin in the command tent. He was eager to get the report from the captain. It had been many days since the scout group had departed. He had feared the worst, his ill omens fading only as he saw the group return safely, and Captain Mikhal stood before him.

“Captain Mikhal! It is good to see that you are returned safe. Here, drink this; it will refresh you,” said the newly appointed lieutenant Danyel’. Danyel’ was a towering man; his height eclipsed that of most, and his girth was unmatched. His immense size and fierce skill had earned him his title and much respect. Many referred to the former mercenary turned guardsmen affectionately as “Seventh” after his position. He was the seventh to attain the status of lieutenant since they had arrived in East Reach.

Lieutenant was an office that, through Captain Mikhal’s advice, had been restored. The title meant much more than Swordmaster First Class or Sergeant at Arms, as it positioned the holder in the ranks of leadership. The captain was still the undisputed leader of the army, but the lieutenants were free to act on their own volition to lead their respective detachments.

During the long journey to the Reaches, Mikhal had been scheming over his plans for the times ahead: the best defenses and the best offenses. The whole picture had been missing one element: a sectional lead, a lieutenant. He divided the entire company into six sections, each section containing ten squads. The sections were led by the lieutenants, and the sergeants or swordmasters led the squads, following the decisions of their leader.

Keeper Martin and Father Jacob were most impressed by the battle wisdom Captain Mikhal showed. His planning was clear and precise. They were quite confident Captain Mikhal would be a potent force when the time came to join the fight.

“Captain Mikhal, are you ready to report?”

“Yes, let’s go do it, ‘Seventh’.”

The two walked toward the tent, the fatigue of the long trek barely showing in their features. Captain Mikhal unfolded their large, roughly formed map onto the table, crimping the edges so it would remain open. Many marks and symbols were newly sketched onto it.

“The report is the same as our last though we journeyed farther out this time; still no signs of anyone. The plains are barren, all homes and farms are abandoned. The mountains appear to stretch across the entire north and west here as we thought. We have spotted two passes, here—and here. They are wide enough for an army to travel through with little difficulty. These marks here and here are two narrow canyons where they could also come through, but we could easily dispatch them from above. In the second one, this river joins the main one here. We could easily block the river. Danyel’s group followed the river as far as they dared go and noted the fords. They also spotted a large village here. We did manage to find some salvageable food. This is also where we captured some errant horses, a group of about ten, which brings our total up to thirty four. Here, just the other side of the river, is a small stand of trees, the only trees we have seen on the entire plain. Several times during the night, we could feel someone shadowing us. We would search and find nothing. On the return trip, we did spot a single rider, but he was gone as soon as we discovered him. My group stayed an additional day to try to follow him, but his tracks ended and we could not find the trail again.”

“We did not expect you to find anyone. This place is strange, a country at war, and no signs of fighting in any direction. Our first summations must have been correct. The mountains still form an effective boundary, and for King Mark to invade would require a vast amount of troops. We are sitting right in the middle of where he will want to go. I am afraid we return to the same questions. Why hasn’t the queen sent her scouts to greet us? Where have all the people fled? Why hasn’t King Mark invaded? Our choices are limited with this odd season upon us. I see two options open to us. We can wait here through the coming cold and hope the queen brings us supplies, or we can return home while we still have enough supplies to make the return journey.”

“Well spoken, Father Jacob. You know that I fully agree with you as we have discussed this topic all week. What of my other suggestion? Do you think it is worth the risk?”

“I will not hear of it—using the device is too dangerous. You said so yourself. Even if you could trigger it, you don’t know if you would survive the teleportation.”

“Teleportation?”

“Sorry, Captain Mikhal, Lieutenant Danyel’, it’s just that Jacob and I have discussed this so often that I had forgotten. Yes, teleportation, the device that is at the command of keepers. Keeper Martin thinks he may be able to trigger it even at this distance through a dream message.”

“Is it possible?”

“Anything is possible. It is just that even if I can activate it, I might not be able to complete the journey.”

“I don’t understand how it works. How could it be possible to carry you that great a distance?”

“Distance isn’t the problem if I can trigger it. The device creates a window from one place to another. It is triggered by thoughts reaching it. You picture an image of a place in your mind and it will take you there. It goes through a sphere outside of time and distance. In that space, the kingdom is as close to us as you are to me.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“The journey.”

“But you said the distance does not matter.”

“To teleport from the palace to the hall of the keepers takes place in the span of one or two heartbeats. The problem is the length of time between here and the hall, relative to us. It could be too long.”

“If it is outside space and time why does it matter?”

“It is outside our space and our time, yes, but what is the time in that sphere relative to our time; is a minute a minute, an hour an hour?”

“You, my friend, think too much,” said Captain Mikhal.

“I understand,” added Danyel’, “but why would you wish to attempt it in the first place?”

“If I can make the journey there, the journey back here can be traversed with ease. I know this area as well as I know the palace. We will be able to receive word from the kingdom and then form our decision.”

The sound of alarm resounded through the camp. A runner ran screaming wildly toward the command tent. He entered nearly exhausted. “A rider approaches about a half hour’s run away.”

“A single rider clad in a brown robe on a black mount?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“He is a friend. You’re dismissed. Take an evening’s reprieve and an extra serving. Good job!”

“Thank you, sir!”

“That is the rider that has been following us. I know it! Shall we go greet him?”

“Yes, I think we should.”

They watched the stranger and his mount grow closer as time ebbed away. They could clearly see his simple brown robe and jet black mount. Captain Mikhal assured them that it was the same rider that had been following them.

A group of nervous guards stopped the rider just inside the camp. Swords raised, they asked him to step down from his mount. A flicker of thought shot searching through the keeper’s mind. It was an angry thought. The stranger repeated his demand through the mind of Father Jacob, the captain and Danyel’. None of them could understand his words, only his emotions, so they offered no response in return.

The rider hesitantly dismounted, casting forceful glances at the guards. The guards rapidly lowered their weapons under the weight of his gaze and the keeper’s admonishment. The rider stood still beside his horse and solemnly said, “Ne bojtes’. Tol’ko dlya mira ya prikhodil. Slishkom dol’go ya nablyudal za vam. Vremya sejchas! Tsaritsa-Mat’ ustraivaet provody privetstvie—i ya tozhe samoe.”

His thoughts echoed within their minds. They could not translate them into meaningful words, though they were certain of the dialect. It could only be the tongue of Seth’s people. Keeper Martin fumbled the words within his mind searching for any he could comprehend. The only words he knew in the dialect were a greeting Seth had taught him. “Zdravstvujte. Ya Keeper Martin, ehto Father Jacob, Captain Mikhal, i Lieutenant Danyel’.”

Teren was abashed at his foolishness. He had forgotten to phrase his words in the tongue of Man. He searched his mind for the terms he had quested from the scouts’ minds over the last week. He began to speak weakly; soon his abilities improved, and the warm gentleness of his voice flowed. “Do not be afraid. I have come in peace. Long have I watched over you. The time is now! The Queen-Mother sends out her greetings, and I also welcome you.”

Keeper Martin bid them to retire to the command tent. They had many topics to discuss, the most important of which were the whereabouts of the enemy and the progression of the war. They conversed long into the night and the next morning Teren departed the camp.

He had told them many things about the surrounding countryside and of the battle. He assured them that supplies and any horses that could be spared would be arriving soon. Teren also told them an official welcoming party and advisory council would arrive from the capital within the week.

The affairs of the camp in the passing week went well. The spirits of the soldiers remained high, though most wished to be far away in the comfort of their own homes. They had all willingly volunteered their services for a cause they thought just and would wait for the time to defend that cause.

Scouts would occasionally encounter Teren as he roamed across the plains. He would greet them heartily but never stay with them long. Captain Mikhal was still extremely puzzled why Teren was the only one they ever saw. Each time he saw Teren he would mean to ask but never had.

Cold rains slowly crept in. The skies were habitually overcast, and drizzle sprinkled over the camp. They began to make preparations for the oddly cold season. Teren had said the spring in the Eastern Reaches were mild here on the plains, so they were not excessively fearful but it did seem more like early winter than early spring.

A second week passed, and still they had received no signs of supplies or the coming reinforcements. This morning was an especially cold one; Keeper Martin paced back and forth in the command tent nervously. Father Jacob was also slightly vexed, but he hid it better. He sat quietly staring into a map spread fully across the table next to him. They both awaited word from Lieutenant Danyel’s scouting party, which should have arrived back at the camp at sunrise.

This day the rains did not relent. They carried over into the afternoon, bringing a chilling northerly wind with them. The rain turned to an icy sheet descending upon them. The camp began to appear dead, as all huddled in the safety of their tents. The only source of warmth was the mass of tightly packed bodies jammed into the relatively small number of dwellings.

Keeper Martin stared out into the sleet. Again he thought that spring in the Reaches was more like winter in the kingdoms. He hoped their idea of cold weather and Seth’s were similar, or they would not survive. He also wondered whether their mental stamina somehow shielded them from the chill, and they didn’t realize the harshness of it. He evaded any further thoughts on that subject by closing the outer flap and sitting back down upon his chair.

Father Jacob smiled at his old friend. The two had known each other for so long that at time conversation was unnecessary. Each knew what the other was thinking by the way he acted. He knew what the keeper was pondering, and the prospect of the cold settling in did not excite him either.

With the coming of darkness, the last vestiges of warmth disappeared. The sleet turned to hail and slowly to a light snow. The clouds above shrouded the entire sky to form a blanket of early dusk. The only light on this night would be the light from their dwindling fires, which were very few in number, as wood was scarce. Now both Keeper Martin and Father Jacob were extremely worried. The scouts still had not returned, and they could only assume the worst.

Captain Mikhal joined Martin and Jacob after he finished the last of his duties. The three sat wordlessly asking themselves questions with their expressions that none knew the answers to. Mikhal broke out his flask and poured them all a strong-scented ale to keep the chill away; even Jacob partook of it.

“We brought the last of the supplies from the ships today. Good thing. We need to decide what to do with the ships. These storms will soon destroy those in the open. There are some small coves to the west where we could moor the ones that aren’t in full cover here,” expressed Captain Mikhal, shattering the silence.

“Yes, yes, see that it is done in the morning,” answered Keeper Martin distantly. After that, Captain Mikhal kept his thoughts to himself for the remainder of the evening. He knew the keeper well enough to know that he hadn’t meant to offend him, though he had.



The group was mounted, traveling down the road just after sunset. Adrina rode comfortably in a richly decorated carriage. Nijal drove the four-horse team splendidly along the sometimes-rough path. Xith and Noman had purchased it from the town’s livery owner. He had been building it for his bride, but the sparkle of gold was the miser’s real love.

The carriage nicely enhanced their change of guise. They were a group of mercenaries escorting an upper-class lady. With Adrina riding inside the carriage, the illusions really weren’t necessary. It had only been necessary to adjust their clothing and armor to fit the image better. From a distance, they were indeed mercenaries.

Noman left the final decision of the direction of their journey up to Xith. The two concluded it was best this way. It kept Noman’s mind free for the task that lay ahead. Xith, on the other hand, was left to brood over the choice for hours though he eventually narrowed it down to two routes. They could continue east to Jrenn, on to Eragol Bay and take passage on a ship destined for High Province or they could make their way to the territories, on to Krepost’ and then travel to the far north by horse.

Late into the night Nijal was feeling the effects of the day. His eyes began to close and his head to bob, waking him up with a start. Several times, the carriage would veer to the side causing the horses to prance wildly.

When Xith finally saw what was occurring, he called a halt for a few moments’ rest. He tied his horse to the rear of the carriage and took Nijal’s place at the reins of the coach. “You go crawl back inside and get some sleep. I am sure Adrina could use some company about now,” said Xith, in a fatherly tone, his mind still preoccupied.

Nijal didn’t argue with Xith. He was tired. He knocked lightly on the carriage door then opened it. Adrina was huddled, frightened, on one side as he climbed in. “It is okay. It is just me, Nijal.” Adrina sighed and relaxed slightly.

Nijal had just seated himself across from Adrina when the carriage began to move speedily down the road again. He was surprised at how smooth it seemed to ride from inside. It gave him an interesting sensation. He had only traveled by ship once long ago, so he really didn’t remember it, but he likened the movement of the buggy to floating across the water.

He relaxed against the softness of the interior and closed his eyes. It was so warm and soothing. Quickly he began to drift off to sleep.

Xith shifted his thoughts rapidly back to the questions in his mind. He was sure of one thing. Time was the major factor he was concerned about. He mused over which route would be the shortest overall, yet both would take quite some time, more time than he wished to allow.

The storm season was rapidly approaching; by ship they would have to survive the straits, and by horse they would have to traverse the mountains. Both paths were equally treacherous and both had their pleasant sides and downfalls. His ultimate decision was the long trek through the territories; perhaps they would meet the old master, if indeed he yet dwelled in Krepost’.

A large bump caused the buggy to jar suddenly. Adrina awoke again and peered about the cabin. Nijal was still across from her; she wondered if he were asleep. She really needed someone to talk to; her thoughts were in disarray. She just wanted to go home or wake up and find that it was all a bad dream.

“Nijal?” came the whisper from a distance, “Nijal, are you awake?”

“Huh? What? Yeah—I guess so.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“You were so quiet I thought you might be sleeping.”

“Oh, no, not me. I don’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to—” said Adrina as she burst into tears. “Adrina? I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not tired anyway—really.”

The sounds of Adrina’s sobs did not fade. She tried to hold them back, but each time she did, they only increased. Nijal moved to the other side of the coach beside her. Adrina perceived his warmth and moved up against him, ending up with her face buried in his shoulder, her tears falling onto his shirt.

Nijal was unsure how to deal with such emotion. He just let her lie against him until her tears slowed, instinctively caressing her face with his hand. “Sshh, everything will turn out for the best.”

Adrina stopped crying and Nijal wiped the tears from her eyes. The inside of the carriage was pitch black, but both pictured an image of the other in their minds. Nijal pressed his hands warmly against Adrina’s wet cheeks, soaking up the pain from within her.

She reached up and touched her hands to his. An emotion began to flow through Nijal that he had never felt before; something strange was happening inside him. His heart began to beat faster and his palms began to sweat. He began to breathe deeper and harder. He felt a shiver come over him, and a knot welled up in his stomach to match the lump in his throat.

They moved closer to each other until they could feel the heat of each other’s breath fall upon their faces. As their lips came together, Nijal moved away and just held Adrina tightly in his arms. A tiny voice within his mind told him that was all Adrina really desired from him, someone to comfort her pain.

Besides, he would not have known what else to do. He had never felt emotions like the ones he was feeling. He enjoyed them immensely, but he knew Adrina felt different. They had shared something special, together, as friends.

Nijal’s arm was around Adrina and she rested her head on his shoulder. His other arm near her stomach felt the nervous rumbling of her belly and instinctively he moved his hand away.

Adrina released a short girlish laugh, and said, “Oh, Nijal.” Teasingly, she grasped his hands and pulled them to her belly. “Not what you think,” she said in a hushed tone. “A secret.” She lifted up her shirt and moved his hand to the mark and though he could not see it, he could feel the outline of it on her skin.

To Nijal, the mark felt like a terrible scar. “How did it happen?” he asked.

“Not what you think,” Adrina repeated. “Tnavres,” she said in a clear powerful voice, “Show yourself.”

Life grew beneath Nijal’s hands and he watched in stunned horror and silence as a dark form emerged from Adrina’s belly. In the deep shadows of the coach it was difficult to see but the creature clearly had wings and fangs and then to Nijal’s horror the creature turned. His hands wanted to find his sword but Adrina locked her hands around his wrists.

“It is the secret I carry,” she told him plainly. “You must not tell the others.” She locked her fingers tighter around his wrists. “Promise?” Nijal stared at her blankly. She dug her fingers into his wrists. “Promise?”

As the tiny dragon turned about to face him in the darkness, Nijal said softly, “I will not tell a soul. You have my word.”

“Tnavres,” Adrina commanded, “return,” and so saying the dragon faded into her, leaving only his mark upon her skin.

Unnerved, unsure what to do Nijal tucked his arm around Adrina. Adrina cuddled close to him. The gentle swaying of the carriage acted like a cradle, holding them both safe and secure. They slowly drifted away to the realm of dreams.

The sun was high on the horizon when the group made their final stop. They would stay the rest of the day in a small grove of pines just far enough from the trail to be relatively safe. The coach rocked roughly through the grasses off the road. The first several jolts went unnoticed, but when they continued, Nijal sprang awake. His thoughts were wild with could have only been a dark dream.

He drew his long dagger and popped the door open. The light of the dawning day blinded him for several heartbeats before he could focus. When he did, he found Xith staring back at him. Nijal sheathed his blade and climbed out the door back up to the top of the carriage. He hopped across the short distance to the front and plopped down next to Noman, who was controlling the reins. Noman smiled and passed them to Nijal.

The group set up camp inside the concealment of the trees. Xith told Nijal he had first watch, because he had already had a good night’s sleep. Nijal didn’t mind keeping guard. He had slept well and wasn’t tired in the least, so he offered no objection.

After he made sure the horses were well provided for and everyone was asleep, he went to search their tiny domain. The grove of trees was small and sparsely packed. He skirted the perimeter of their camp, circling outward. He wasn’t surprised when he found nothing unusual.

He reached the open ground near the road after completing a couple of spirals. He sat there for a time staring into the dust blowing off the road to the west. He started the walk back to the camp and climbed on top of the carriage. He looked back to the dust pouring off the road, and it dawned on him. “Dust—horses—a lot of horses,” spun the thoughts in his consciousness.

He almost fell over backward as he stumbled off the carriage. He turned around and ran back to the road to take another closer look. Astounded, he ran back to the camp. He woke Xith first by shaking him violently. Xith was not pleased to be wakened after such a long night and with so little sleep. He groggily yelled, “What?”

“Horses—lots of horses.”

Xith perked up and asked, “Where?”

“Coming toward us down the road from the west.”

“Quick, help me cover the carriage!”

“I did that earlier.”

“Good thinking. Let’s go have a look,” Xith said.

The two didn’t have to wake up the rest of the camp. Noman and Amir were already fully awake and tending to the horses to keep them quiet. Xith and Nijal crouched in the last tree line, staring down the road at the oncoming riders.

The thunder of hooves echoed closer and closer. “How many do you think there are?” asked Nijal.

“Enough. From the amount of dust they raise and the noise at this distance, there may be several hundred.”

“Hundreds?” said Nijal amazed.

“More like thousands,” whispered Noman, walking up from behind them.

They watched as the horde grew into a mob of trotting horses. In silence, they watched them pass by. Nijal opened his mouth to say something, but both Noman and Xith quickly clamped their hands over it. Nijal closed his mouth and stared rapidly back and forth along the length of the line of troops.

A full hour passed before the last horses galloped by. Only then did the trio dare to move from their concealment. Nijal didn’t understand why Xith and Noman were so calm. He had seen three banners move past and none of them belonged to the kingdom. He decided that if they would not worry, he would worry enough for both of them.

Adrina was also awakened by the noise. She stood next to Amir, looking extremely frightened. “Everything is fine; there is nothing to worry about. Let’s get back to sleep. We need to be rested for tonight.”

“What?” yelled Nijal.

“Shh!” said Xith, pointing to Adrina. Adrina hadn’t heard Nijal’s outburst and was heading back into the comfort of the carriage. Amir made sure she was properly tucked in and asleep before he allowed anyone to begin talking.

“Sorry,” said Nijal, “I didn’t realize—”

“It’s okay. She just doesn’t need anything further to disturb her right now.”

“The banners, whose were they?”

“The banners of the south. King Jarom, King Peter, and King Alexas.”

“All three together?” asked Amir.

“Yes, all three, together. I estimated around 5,000 riders.”

“As did I. We must reach the territories soon, before it is too late.”

“Too late?”

“Do not fret so much, friend Nijal. Had you seen the City of the Sky crumble around you, you would know what is ahead, but the end is also the beginning.”

“What are you saying? I don’t understand your riddles.”

“You understand, but your mind rejects the thought. If you wish, you may return to the Free City. You have no obligation to us.”

“No, you are correct. I understand. I have chosen my path, and it is with you, not without you.”

Nijal offered to remain on watch throughout the day. No one refused his offer. He watched as they all returned to their sleep. Quietly, he opened the door to the carriage to check on Adrina. He was happy to find her sleeping soundly.

The day turned into night without incident, and the group returned to the road again. Adrina begged Nijal to ride with her inside the carriage so she would have some company. Nijal was hesitant though—afraid in a way. He looked to Xith for advice. Xith didn’t offer an argument so he went.

He was tired after the long day though he hid it well from Adrina. When she asked him if he was sleepy, this time he lied and said simply, “No.” He enjoyed being with her immensely and didn’t want to ruin it. He was also very worried about her. “Sleep is a state of mind,” he whispered to himself to stay awake.

Adrina released a tiny cry of pain and then laughed aloud. “What is it?” asked Nijal concerned. “Nothing. Here, feel,” she said reaching for his hand.

“He’s moving.”

“Yes, sometimes he does. Did you feel that?” she giggled. Repulsed, Nijal pulled his hand away. The look in his eye nearly brought tears to her eyes. “You fear me, hate me.”

“I fear for you,” Nijal said taking her hand in his. “I—I—”

He cut off the rest of his sentence.

“Whaat?” asked Adrina as the coach veered sharply and stopped.

“Shh—listen.”

“What is it?”

Nijal didn’t have to answer her. The sound became stronger, even as she talked. Nijal peered out through the carriage door. In the darkness it was hard for him to see, but he knew they were moving off the road because of the tall grass striking the sides of the carriage.

All movement ceased again, and Xith jumped down from the coach in front of Nijal. “Stay in there with her. Remain quiet,” Xith whispered. Nijal closed the door and latched it. He moved beside Adrina and drew his dagger.

The long wait began. They could hear the sound of voices yelling an alarm. Flickers of light swallowed the darkness as many torches were lit. The trot of horses began anew as riders plunged into the field.

The door to the carriage ripped open; Nijal lunged with his dagger. The man on the other side was much quicker. He snatched the blade from Nijal’s hand and pulled him out. It was then that Nijal realized it was Amir. “Come on!” he yelled to Adrina.

Amir grabbed her and readily mounted, fleeing through the fields. Nijal looked around, momentarily disoriented. He saw his escape, and jumped on the horse that was tied to the rear of the coach, but it was too late. He would not reach the other side of the clearing. He made the only choice he could. He decided to hold his ground and give his companions more time. He turned to look at the retreating shadows of his friends one last time, and then released a blood-curdling cry. With his long sword in one hand and his dagger in the other, carefully he maneuvered his mount toward the attack, and charged at the lead rider.

Chapter Seventeen

“Keeper Q’yer and Father Joshua, thank you for coming so quickly. We have much to discuss,” said Lord Serant, as he began to fill them in on the words of the three kings of the South.

After a long period of silence and very careful thought, Keeper Q’yer replied, “I really don’t see the harm in it.” Lord Serant and Calyin fixed him with a puzzled stare, but let him continue without interruption. “Really. They want a separate meeting with the council to discuss your right to maintain control. We’ll give it to them, but on our terms. We will work it into the speeches we had planned for tomorrow. In fact, we will begin on that very topic. We will turn the tide in our favor.”

“And with a ruling in front of all members and the council to support us, they can do nothing. Yes, I like your thinking, keeper.”

A devilish smile also passed Father Joshua’s lips, “Yes, we shall confront them with it before they expect. Our words will be heard first. I, too, approve of it.”

The door to the audience hall burst open. Lord Serant was the first to move from the table. In a skillful lunge from his seat as he drew his weapon, he was now only a few feet from the intruder. It took him a moment to relax his sword arm, after he realized it was only Captain Brodst. “Lord Serant, King William is minutes from arriving at the postern gates. Chancellor Van’te of South Province and his aides are just a half hour’s ride behind King William’s delegation.”

“Good. Any word or signs of those from the free cities?”

“No, but if I know Geoffrey of Solntse, he will be late in coming; the governors of Mir and Veter will wait to meet him near the crossroads to the south.”

“Yes, that would be like him, wouldn’t it?”

After Lord Serant personally greeted King William and Chancellor Van’te, he returned to the audience chamber. Once all plans were set, they retired for the evening. Captain Brodst wasn’t tired in the least; he went to check on Pyetr’s progress. Only then was he satisfied enough to be able to sleep, but something still burned in the back of his mind. He knew something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t touch upon it.

Early the following morning, a courier brought word to Lord Serant that Lord Fantyu of High Province had arrived in the coastal city of Taber on the eastern sea and would regretfully be a day late in arriving to Imtal. “Did Lord Fantyu explain why he was to be late?” demanded Lord Serant.

“Yes, my lord. He told me to tell you, begging your pardon of course, and I quote, ‘Tell his lordship if he questions my allegiance by the paltry offense of arriving slightly late that first of all we were delayed by rough seas and bad weather; we rowed our war galleys to a double beat. Secondly, the distance from High Province to Imtal normally takes well over two weeks in fair conditions, and he should be thankful we are here already. Thirdly, I must take into consideration my warships, which are of the kingdom’s own fleet. Under no circumstances will I risk my fleet entering the forsakenly shallow waters of his blessed river!’ Begging your pardon, of course, your lordship,” spoke the courier swiftly.

Lord Serant had to force back a smile; the youngster had imitated Lord Fantyu to perfection. He had even imitated the uncanny nature with which the lord accented his every word with bodily gestures. Lord Serant dismissed the youth, and returned to his morning duties.

Throughout the day, delegates arrived; by noon the High Council was in full count, as was the Council of Keepers and ten representatives from each of the priesthoods. Only the governors of the free cities were unaccounted for. Lord Serant and Princess Calyin were growing nervous. They had fully counted on the heavy support of the governors and Lord Fantyu to seal their approval.

Finally, they tactfully decided to begin the initial ceremonies as planned but to hold off an open meeting until the following afternoon. King Jarom of Vostok was clearly puzzled over Lord Serant’s game of intrigue. He and his aides left the ceremony as soon as it was timely. The other kings and their aides were soon to follow his departure.

Lord Serant still didn’t approve of the number of bodyguards they retained. In another situation, he would have spoken his opinion; for now, the balance was too delicate to attempt to upset it. All proceeded well for the moment; he hoped it would remain smooth.

He spent the remainder of the day in his study with Calyin, trying to pass the day calmly. He left orders that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Chancellor Volnej assured Lord Serant that he would take care of their guests’ every wish. Lord Serant was sure the chancellor would. With Pyetr’s men stationed in the key positions throughout the palace, Lord Serant was confident the chancellor would be well watched.

At the moment, however, Lord Serant was not pleased. Sister Midori and Sister Catrin interrupted his and Calyin’s solitude. He was busy staring out a window lost to dreams of past and future, while Calyin and the two priestesses were engaged in heavy conversation; the topic of their words was beyond him. His tensions cleared when Captain Brodst informed him that Geoffrey and the other governors of the free cities had finally arrived and eagerly awaited an audience with him.

He seized the opportunity to leave the woman’s talk and go greet the governors. He quickly traversed the distance to his private audience chamber. “Geoffrey of Solntse! Well, it is about time, you old wood troll!” shouted Lord Serant embracing his old friend.

Seeing Geoffrey again brought back memories from his youth when the two had first met. Lord Serant had been a cocky young lord and Geoffrey a young but experienced swordsman first class. Lord Serant had challenged Geoffrey to a contest of steel over a simple remark. In minutes Geoffrey had won the duel, leaving a fuming lord. The two had later become good friends.

“I had to make a slight delay, but I overcame the problem.”

“What, a stray wildcat? Or a female?”

“Well actually a little of both.”

“I knew it!”

“Can we talk freely?” asked Geoffrey looking to Captain Brodst.

“Yes, I would trust Captain Brodst with my life.”

“We met a friend of yours on the way here. You know my son Nijal, yes?”

“Of course I do.”

“He has left the free city to, ahh, um, travel. I ran into him and his companions near the southern crossroads. He told me to tell you, ‘The child is safe’. He said you would know what he meant.”

“Adrina? Did you see her?”

“Princess Adrina? I should have known! Why, that little rogue!”

“Captain Brodst, send a message to the garrison nearest to the crossroads. I want Adrina found, and I want her back at the palace! Does he know what has happened? Who was he traveling with?”

“Calm yourself. I know she is safe. Nijal is with her. He would not allow anyone to harm her.”

“I know he wouldn’t, but in the name of the Father, why haven’t they brought her back to the palace?”

“I should not tell you this as I have sworn not to, but if you need assurance this will give it to you. The band that he travels with is quite unique. They arrived in Solntse over two passings of the moon ago. The leader is one of the great ones called ‘Noman’.”

“Are you mad, Geoffrey?”

“My friend, know that I simply speak the truth and accept it. I would never lie to you. I did not know it was Adrina he spoke of, but again I say she is in capable hands that do no mean her harm.”

“I am sorry, Geoffrey. I hope in time I will understand; Adrina’s rightful place is here. We will find her!”

Afternoon disappeared into evening and evening ended in morning, which once again became afternoon, although it was very early afternoon, being just past noon. Lord Serant’s thoughts drifted from past to present. He remembered how he had stood on the balcony watching the morning sun grow with the birth of dawn. He watched as the old hall began to fill; tension was visible in the air, as was an intermixing of foreboding and relief.

He recalled with fondness the first time he had come to court Calyin. He had fallen in love with her simple beauty and warmth, which time could never taint, only perfect. His eyes fell to where she was seated beside him. She saw his smile and grasped his hand, holding it reassuringly tight.

He watched as the final guests were seated and waited for Chancellor Volnej’s queue to enter. Together they stood; and regally, Calyin placed her arm in Lord Serant’s. Lord Serant took a last minute look at the guests and then closed the antechamber’s viewing port.

They entered the great hall through the antechamber’s small, seemingly minuscule door when compared to the immensity of the old hall, which had stood idle during Andrew’s time. It had only been used by the Alder, on occasion for which the chamber had been constructed. A similar hall stood in the newer section of the palace, newer being a misnomer since both sections were quite aged, but one indeed had been constructed more recently than the other. This chamber, although it had not the rich design of the other, had, nonetheless, been chosen. A servant behind them drew a tapestry that depicted the sun rising over the far mountains, an omen of good fortune, across the small door as they walked forth.

Calyin’s eyes wandered the hall’s vast span, which comprised almost entirely the eastern wing of the old palace. They walked past the long, oaken tables behind each of which sat one of the kings of the South amidst their aides, chancellors, and even their bodyguards, with which, even under these most serene and secure conditions, they would not part. Her eyes rose to the high-mounted pews where the High Council sat, only consuming a minute portion of them. In times of old before even the High Council, the seats had been filled with representatives from each city, village, and burrow across the kingdom and all its holdings, but this again had only occurred once, for afterwards there was no need as before.

The great double doors opened wide as the heralds slowly approached. Those gathered rose and remained standing until Princess Calyin and Lord Serant were seated at the foremost position, which took quite some time, as the walk was a long one, especially at a stately pace. The doors were closed as the heralds departed and sealed in accordance with the ancient ordinance. The doors would not reopen until all differences were justly settled and the alliance was secure.

“Herald and Welcome! The few gathered into this great hall represent the trinity that maintains the alliance of peace and prosperity,” began Calyin, raising her voice strongly at first to insure that all could hear her voice, but the hall had a wonderful resonance which took her quite by surprise, as her voice carried to even the farthest reaches of the hall at a level that caused some to wince. She continued in a softer, somewhat subdued tone, “In these days of troubled times, it has become commonplace to see a keeper walk the halls of the palace often, forcing us to look back to other days and other times. Now is the time to solve all our disputes. The past is behind us; we have only our future to preserve. There are those that question my right to rule beside my beloved husband in Prince Valam’s absence. I hold no reservations; I only wish the kingdom to prosper, so let us begin this session by taking an earnest toll. The majority of you know me personally and know my soul. For those few of you who do not, I understand and welcome your caution in accepting me. Andrew was my father. Knowing him the way I did, I know he would have agreed that I am overly qualified for this honored position. I always remain true to my word, so if you see fit in your hearts to deny me the opportunity to serve my kingdom, then so be it. I will return to High Province without protest. Are there any here who would like to speak before we begin the count?”

King Jarom was quick to his feet; his face showed anger as he spoke. “You are a fool, Lord Serant, if you think you can get by with your trickery! We can see clearly through your paltry words and mocking ways! Let it be known that it was I who questioned Lord Serant’s position, and also that I requested a private board before the High Council to discuss this subject!”

Lord Serant shot back, “I think all gathered know of your treachery in the south.”

“As I’ve explained to you previously, Lord Serant, the matter in the south was over long disputed lands.”

“The disputed lands are further south.”

“The disputed lands include all of South Province.”

Lord Serant swept his gaze around the hall. “They most certainly do not and the members of the alliance know this. And now you use the pretense of the alliance to bring an army into the heart of Great Kingdom.”

King Jarom looked about the hall, indignant. “You wound me with your words. I demand satisfaction—my champion against yours or you against me. Your choice.”

The High Council was charged with managing the proceedings and the chancellors Volnej, Van’te and de Vit stood. Chancellor Van’te spoke, “King Jarom, the High Council is here, and we are listening. Choose your words with wisdom. Do not let them be fueled by arrogance!”

“I am sorry for my outburst, chancellor. If Lord Serant wishes the contest to open, then so be it. I just wish to say to you, those who are gathered here today, that it is our belief that the alliance would be better served if one of higher office held the esteemed position in question. Of those here the only kings are myself, King Peter of Zapad, King Alexas of Yug, and King William of Sever. Of these four, I am the senior and undisputed leader. In the past, my wisdom has been recorded numerous times and is widely respected. I wish it to be known that I would like to honor this position with my wisdom until the day of Prince Valam’s return and he is crowned king!”

Lord Serant searched the eyes of the crowd, almost pleading for someone to say something on his behalf. He zeroed keenly in on King William and stared sharply at him. He was sure William did not support Jarom. He wondered what Jarom had on William to still his tongue.

It was Lord Fantyu who spoke out next. He stood and raised his hands high into the air. “Father, grant us mortal spirits the wisdom of truth,” Fantyu intoned in his way of exaggerated gesture. “Why cannot the fool see his prosperity? Is a fool who thinks he is wise, a wise man? Or is the fool who knows he is a fool, the wise man? I have known and respected Lord Serant for a long time. He is an honest man. He speaks no lies, only truth. When a serpent has entered your house and he speaks falsity and lies, do you heed his words?”

“My dear Lord Fantyu. I speak no falsities. My words ring of truth! I ask all of you earnestly, have I ever not held to my word? Have I ever been false?”

Midori spoke, “An aura of darkness enshrouds you, Jarom! You cannot hide the truth from the Mother!”

“Priestess,” said Talem, first of the Dark Flame. “I see no such aura around King Jarom. He is a just man who speaks truth.”

“Do you speak these words because of his support to your order? Have the priests of the Dark Flame wandered so far from home that they have forgotten truth?”

Father Joshua said, “Quarrelling amongst ourselves will bring us nowhere. As the Great-Father walks within me this day, through the intensity of his presence, I can know the import of this day! Just as the first marked a new period, so will this day. Do we want this day to be remembered as was the first? Or do we want to prove we have learned and grown beyond our past? Lord Serant has my bidding!”

Lord Serant waited through the long silence that followed, hoping both that someone would say something to break the sudden lull, and that it would remain. No one offered any further comment. Princess Calyin edged her hand into his and held it reassuringly tight.

“Well spoken, Father Joshua. Shall the count begin? Are there any who would wish to speak further?” strongly asked Lord Serant. When the silence held, Chancellor Volnej stood and unraveled a long parchment and began to read from it.

“Hence came the alliance of our kingdoms, whence disappeared the strife of the times long since passed. Troubled times have returned. To maintain the stability necessary for our peace and prosperity, a wise and just leader is needed. His Lordship Serant of the West has pledged to us that he will honor this position to the utmost of his ability until our crowned prince has returned to us from afar. Let us begin!”

All attention turned to the rear of the hall, where the toll would start. Two of the primary groups were the priests of the Dark Flame and the keepers. As chief representative of the priesthood, Talem calmly rose from his seat and shook his head a resonate no, then returned to his seat, without the utterance of any spoken word. Keeper Q’yer, who assumed the position as head of the keepers, stood and regarded Lord Serant and Calyin with an apologetic glance. He then turned and fixed several of his fellow keepers with gleaming frigid intent. Slowly he lowered his eyes in shame and voiced, “No.” Keeper Q’yer slumped back into his chair. He understood why the keepers must stand united on their votes; still he yearned to speak his mind and say “yes,” but it was already beyond that.

Lord Serant’s face went livid as he clinched his fists tightly. He turned a scowl towards King Jarom, who returned a leering smile. Calyin interlaced her hand in Serant’s and held it tighter than before.

Father Joshua and Sister Midori each in turn affirmed a jubilant yes, and thus all eyes turned to the tiers on the eastern and western sides of the hall. In a wave, the members of the councils, representatives of all the peoples of the alliance, voiced their individual decisions. In all, only one registered a vote of no.

For the free cities, Geoffrey spoke a definite yes, as did Lord Fantyu. Chancellor Van’te also voted positively. King Jarom, King Peter and King Alexas each followed with a definite no, and lastly King William exuded a yes. As he retook his seat, he smiled broadly at Lord Serant. The smile was short lived and quickly followed by an expression of gloom.

With the final count, the room grew deadly calm. As Chancellor Volnej lowered his quill, he passed the scroll to Chancellor de Vit for his mark. The chancellor read the inscriptions with extreme care, insuring the validity of each word penned. When he was finally satisfied, he scribed his sign and passed the document on to Chancellor Van’te, who represented both South Province and his role as a chancellor at this session.

The chancellor’s face was inscrutable as he inspected the scroll. He turned and faced Chancellor de Vit and Chancellor Volnej. The three retreated to the far reaches of the great hall, seeming to disappear from the sight of those gathered. They sat for over an hour of heated discussion in a second set of high pews on three sides that almost formed a separate chamber, except that they had the same common roof and no walls to divide them. The center tier was only three levels high, but the eastern and western tiers rose to the windows.

Their debate concluded, they sent for both Lord Serant and King Jarom and the two quickly and graciously withdrew to hear the count as it was written, and within the span of a few minutes retook their positions back in the main section of the chamber. The chancellors followed the two and moved to the center of the great hall.

Regally, Chancellor Van’te stood and raised his eyes to gaze unto the throng. Harshly, he cleared his voice and then began to speak these words, “Let it be known that on this day and henceforth all contentions surrounding our most regal office have justly and fairly been settled. All in attendance have been afforded the opportunity to voice their minds and have done so. I hold in my hands the official count, signed by representatives of opposing parties. These words inscribed herein are law, and henceforth will they ring throughout our lands. Lord Serant of the Western Territories rise. King Jarom of Vostok rise.”

Chancellor Van’te paused and took a deep breath. “Do you, Lord Serant, understand the law of just dispute?”

“Yes, of course. You know I do.”

“Do you King Jarom understand the law of just dispute?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Then do you both agree to the trial?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“To ensure the absoluteness of the ruling set forth this day, Lord Serant and King Jarom have agreed to settle their dispute according to the rules of the commoner.”



Hurriedly, the three raced back to the square. All appeared to be normal as the crowd dispersed, but Seth could still feel an overwhelming sense of evil emanating from somewhere within the throng of people. His mind reeled and went back through the past piece by piece, searching. “Had I been so preoccupied with the dilemma that I had failed to notice its source? How could I be so foolish?” he thought to himself as he traversed the maze in his mind.

As they approached closer to the platform, the presence grew stronger. He looked with horror to the platform. The Queen-Mother, Tsandra, Ylad’, Nikol, Ontyv, and Samyuehl were all there, circled around Valam’s fallen form. He tried to reach out to them with his mind and warn them; he could not. They were all trapped in the enticement as he had been; nothing could reach them.

Seth carefully signaled Cagan and Liyan to sweep around to the backside of the platform. He made the signals with his hands, for now he dared not risk even using the simplest of his powers any more. As one the three jumped onto the dais, they knew the creature perceived their approach and they also knew they were too late.

Valam rose as the vile being spawned within his body. In the single sweeping of its clawed hands it raked through the onlookers. Tsandra, Ylad’, and Nikol fell to the ground. Their bodies offered but a single shudder as their threads were released to the winds and as readily as a babe hungrily laps its mother’s milk, the creature devoured their waning souls.

Together, Seth, Cagan, and Liyan descended upon the creature, knocking it back to the ground. They held it there only for an instant while the creature mocked their feeble attempt to stop it. It bathed in their anger and then laughed a deep hideous laugh.

“King Mark sends his warmest greetings!” it boomed as it gripped Cagan and Liyan around the throat. Seth battered the being’s head heavily onto the platform to no avail. Cagan and Liyan were drawn with it downward, struggling to free the death grip from around their throats as they fell.

Brother Ontyv slowly reclaimed his senses. He saw the struggle and knew the danger, yet his first priority lay with the safety of the Queen-Mother. It was not until after Ontyv had pulled her from the platform that she regained her senses. As she did, the shock of the events hit her and she knew why the creature had won its way into their inner selves. She knew why it had been able to mask its presence from them, and why it had so enticed them. She also knew how it must be destroyed.

Finally, Cagan and Liyan managed to free themselves and now held down the creature’s arms. Seth held the dark one’s head down with one hand and unsheathed his dagger with the other. He plunged it fully into the being’s heart.

The creature only laughed louder and smiled as its strength grew with each passing second. Seth sank the dagger into its chest repeatedly, until he began to feel his energy ebb. He could do nothing except wait as his end came. The creature drank in his soul.

The Queen-Mother rang these words out across the reaches of time and across the lengths of the land, “There is nothing but love in my heart. Only joy and love abide herein, for I am the Queen-Mother. Only love and harmony exist in my mind. Love for all dwells within my heart. My body is one with all in peace and harmony. I hold love in my heart for Valam.”

Tears flowed freely down the Queen-Mother’s cheeks, as never before, as the vision began to fade and dim. Her whole inner spirit writhed and shouted out to her senses to stop what she had set in motion before it was too late. She wondered at the price the Father had paid to bestow upon her the gift. She understood the wrong that must be corrected and the repercussions if she didn’t, but she couldn’t force herself to move.

She closed her eyes and replayed the images in her mind; vividly they lingered. They raced faster and faster and in the span of a single heartbeat, she was back on the platform, watching as the creature killed her brethren. She saw Valam run into the crown and watched again as they trampled him. She watched as the life drained forever from his lips.

The Queen-Mother strove to deny the truth of the warning, but it would not be disclaimed. She knew what she must do, and so she did it, as she had done before. In a burst of emotion, she opened her eyes and retreated from the tower window. She ran, faster than she had ever run before, down the stairs.

“Valam! Wait! Oh, please wait! I can find love for you!” screamed the Queen-Mother, as she ran. “I mean. I will honor our union and I will try to find the truth of my heart.” She almost bit her lip on the last few words. They had issued from her so effortlessly, without meaning, until she said them. After she said them, she could not deny their truth.

Valam stopped cold as he entered the hall adjacent to the tower. He turned and strained his ears to ensure that what he heard was real. When the words repeated in his mind, he knew they indeed were real and not his imagination. He replied loudly in kind, repeating her words to him.

He raced back up the winding stairs, his hearted pounding rapidly as he did so, and his body began to tremble as he crossed the few last steps that remained between them. He grasped the queen’s outstretched hands in his own and pulled her close to him.

They pressed closer and closer together, staring deeply into each other’s eyes; the sound of their deep breathing resounded through the tower. They stood thus, afraid to move for what seemed an eternity but was actually only a moment in time.

Finally the queen inched her lips forward until they touched Valam’s, then she pressed them full against his. He returned her caress with equal fervor. Suddenly the queen pulled away as a thought returned to her mind.

She held tightly to one of Valam’s hands as she raced down the stairs, almost pulling him behind her. “What is it?” he protested. “We must hurry! Come!” responded the queen.

They reached the bottom of the stairs but did not stop running. The queen raced through several narrow corridors with Valam a pace behind her. As they turned a corner into the central hall, they had to halt to avoid smacking into Evgej. With only a slight hesitation, the queen continued down the corridor. Valam returned Evgej’s puzzled look and waved for him to follow.

The queen went straight through the audience hall that Seth and his red-clad followers filled, out the great doors, down the stairs, and into the courtyard. The crowd of brown-clad warriors parted the way as she mounted the central platform in a slow, stately manner, fully regaining her composure.

“What is it? What is happening?” yelled Evgej as he followed Valam and the queen. “I don’t know!” replied Valam.

“No! Really, what is it?”

“I really don’t know!” yelled Valam as he struggled to keep up.

“Tsandra!”

“Yes, my queen,” came the response.

“Come here.”

Tsandra mounted the platform and whispered into the queen’s mind, “You needn’t tell me, I already know what you will say. I, we all, heard your pledge.”

The Queen-Mother gazed out into the crowd and knew Tsandra’s words to be true. “My daughter, let me look into your eyes and see your heart.” Hesitantly, Tsandra obeyed. The queen smiled. “It is I who am sorry.”

“This day has been doubly blessed! Our hopes have been fulfilled. Last night the future of two peoples has been insured. The child of East and West will be! Also, I have been allowed the gift of sight and in so doing, the Father has also given his blessing to my greatest wish. I have been allowed to love someone as I have never known before if it is in my heart to do so and I think it may be. Valam and I may one day be as one, but the time still lies in the distant future. We must first win a war! To do that, we must prepare a defense like none has ever seen before. We must continue on schedule with our plans. Today’s departure must remain on time!”

The Queen-Mother paused during the loud cheering of the crowd. A chant began to grow; it was the chant of greatest rejoicing for the return of the king, a song that had not been heard in generations.

Tsandra searched for the proper words to begin what she needed to say; unable to find anything she thought suitable, she just stumbled into it, “Queen-Mother, may I offer the services of the Order of the Brown. It will prove my faith to you.”

“Brother Seth, it is up to you?”

“Valam?”

“It would be an honor.”

“Thank you,” spoke Tsandra enthusiastically. She began barking commands to her order to form up and stand ready then excused herself to begin the preparations. “Shall we prepare to depart?” Seth asked Valam. Valam was slow to respond. Hesitantly he turned his gaze from the queen and turned to Seth.

“Ahh, yes.  Is there anything that needs to be readied?”

“All preparations are basically set. We need only to find Cagan and Liyan, my queen.”

“Yes, Brother Seth, follow everything as planned. You have my permission.”

“Thank you.”

Valam leaned close to the queen and quietly intoned, “I—I.”

“I, too. You must go!” said the queen, harsher than she wished, as she strained to hold at bay the emotions within her. She quickly added, “I think I know where you can find Cagan and Liyan. Try the docks.”

“That is what I thought,” said Seth as he departed, followed by Evgej and Valam. Valam looked back just before he exited the square, but the platform was already empty. The three walked toward the docks and, as expected, Cagan’s boat was just returning. Evgej caught the line Cagan offered and tied the ship to the dock. He held back a laugh when Liyan stepped off the boat after Cagan.

The Queen-Mother watched from a window high above. She nodded her head in approval as they hurriedly moved back into the palace. A man clad in dark-colored robes walked out onto the balcony beside her. He whispered into her mind, “My queen, is it time?”

“No,” came the response into his thoughts, “just follow; I will tell you when it is time.”

By early afternoon, a large contingent was mounted and waiting before the far gates of the palace with Tsandra, Seth, Liyan, Cagan, Valam, and Evgej at the fore of the group; a mass of brown clad riders filed in long columns behind the lead six. A second formation of riders stretched horizontally across the courtyard.

The queen crossed to her platform, her emotions controlled behind the mask of her face as she looked over the group from rear to front, wishing each rider a safer return. She paused at the last rider and wished him her love. She ordered the central gates opened and bid the group a final farewell.

The brigade slowly strode through the city. A gate in a hillside near the outer walls lead to a wide tunnel that carried them beneath the waters of the great lake. At the exit of the tunnel on the opposite shore they were forced to wait until the supply caravans joined them; then they continued on their way. As they rode away, Valam occasionally looked back toward Leklorall’s spiraling towers and mighty walls. His heart was not in riding this day; he longed to be somewhere else but knew he could not.



The vision flowed strongly; it would not fade. Vilmos felt the surge of strength within him peak beyond the limits of his mind. The power became him and he became the power. He could not control it, nor could it control him. They were two entities wrapped in turmoil in each other’s arms.

“Where will you go now, my friend? Where is it you think you can hide? There is no place to flee to; you only run from yourself.”

“But I know where I must go and what I must do.”

“Do not lie to me, for you cannot lie to yourself.”

“Still your tongue or I will invoke pain within you that will be so great your soul will cry out for death, but I will not let you pass. I will hold your spirit at bay until the pain grows within you to such an intensity that your spirit will wish itself from existence.”

“You most of all should know true death, but lest you not forget its curse, I will welcome the day I return to walk through the halls of your memories, as I already have and will throughout eternity.”

“Then it is you, old friend.”

“Of course it is I, who else could it be?”

“But you are dead.”

“So are you; we are both long since passed.”

“Yes! Last time we met, I defeated you.”

“No, we destroyed each other.”

“Correction! I destroyed you both!”

“I do not understand; why, then, am I here?”

“Yes, why?”

“I have brought you back to learn from. I need your knowledge, and I will have it.”

“Do you think you can order us, as if we were children? Each of us has the power to utterly destroy you at will and yet you talk to us as if we were token pawns.”

“You are quite right. You are token pawns, the fools on the board, and I am your master.”

Vilmos received a crushing blow to the head; excruciating pain filled every fiber of his being. He cried out into the darkness of the night. He searched within his mind striving to force the vision away. The two would not go; they could not go. The third spoke in a voice that caused Vilmos’ mind to recoil. The image of the last began to clear, and though it was a shadow of himself, Vilmos failed to recognize it. He could not, for he did not want to.

Vilmos watched as the three began to circle each other methodically, each assessing the other. The two old friends smiled cynically at the third. They knew what they must do, and so they did it. Wildly, they attacked each other, creating a vortex of swirling energies.

“Go away!” cried out a small voice, “Go away now!”

The thoughts would not go. They demanded to be heard and recognized. They demanded to be alive. Vilmos clasped his ears and pounded his head into the ground, until the wetness of blood dripping down his face soaked the ground about him. The pain within him was replaced by the pain from without; only then at the moment of unconsciousness did the voices fade from his thoughts.



Nijal raced his mount toward the leader, his sword and dagger raised ready to plunge. He screamed his battle cry of defiance strong and true; then the two horses collided. The leader had not expected Nijal to reach him; the shock was evident on his face as he was knocked sprawling.

In an instant, the other riders stopped; they thirstily began to circle Nijal. He did not flinch under their scrutiny. His weapons remained erect and challenging.

“Your death will come easy, put down your weapons and we will not harm you!”

“I spit on your offering of surrender; no free man ever surrenders willingly. I am a free man.”

“And will die as such!” the words rang out before Nijal could finish them. “The free man’s code, where did you learn it?”

“Why, from my father of course,” said Nijal spurring his mount into a charge at the speaker. He leapt from his mount, throwing the rider back to the ground. Nijal dropped his sword to free his hand to hold the man, while his other held a dagger firm against the man’s throat.

“Tell them to stop the attack. Tell them now or you will die!”

“I cannot. We will both die then.”

“Tell them, or I’ll slit your throat!” yelled Nijal while he pulled the man’s head back by his hair with his free hand. The other stared into Nijal’s eyes unafraid.

The light of torches increased about them while the two struggled. Nijal knew his fate was soon coming. He had accomplished what he had hoped for. He had given his friends a chance to escape, and that was all he had wanted. He would die, but he would take this man with him.

“I, Nijal, son of Geoffrey, take your life with that of mine!” said Nijal as he raised his dagger to plunge deeply, insuring the other’s demise. The man released a blood curdling cry, “Nijal? No! Nijal, don’t.” It was too late; Nijal thrust downwards with his blade.

Strong hands grabbed Nijal’s arm and held his dagger at bay. Nijal gritted his teeth and cursed, thrusting downward with all his weight, never faltering in his determination. “Nijal, son of Geoffrey—don’t! It is I,” screamed the other.

Thoughts and sounds exploded in Nijal’s mind; with a puzzled frown, he allowed his weapon to be pulled from his hand. “Release him at once! Stop! Stop! Go now and tell them to stop the chase. Go! These are friends!”

Shchander continued to yell and wave his hands wildly in the air until everyone began to listen to him. He helped Nijal to his feet, grabbed the nearest torch and pushed it close to Nijal’s face. “Look!” he yelled, “It is Nijal. Nijal, I tell you. Get Geoffrey quickly!”

Several riders raced back towards the main group by the roadside. Nijal instantly recognized the distinguished-looking statesman that raced towards him and embraced him. “It is good to see you!”

“Yes, father it is good to see you also.”

“Sorry about the misunderstanding, but when we spotted you and you broke for the trees, we assumed you were bandits.”

“Well, maybe I am.”

“Yes, you are quite the rogue, aren’t you? Have you found what you sought?”

“Yes, father. I am finally content; I have purpose.”

“This is good. Tell your friends to return. We shall camp here for the evening and catch up on times past.”

“I am sorry. We cannot afford to tarry any longer. We must find our path.”

“Are you sure? Do you need anything? Want for anything?”

“No, father. We need only to return to the road. My companions will wish to remain anonymous. We have cargo that cannot be seen.”

The two talked, as a father and son do, and quickly caught up on times past. Nijal was very interested in hearing news of the gathering. Readily, he soaked up the information Geoffrey offered so he could re-tell it to Noman. When Geoffrey had finished, Nijal quickly and carefully skirted the details of what he had been up to.

“Ahh, yes, I understand. May I ask where you are headed?”

“North. Tell Calyin and Lord Serant our cargo is safe. The child will be all right. I do not want her to worry.”

Geoffrey knew better than to push for further information, so he asked, “Will you be all right, Nijal, my son?”

“Yes, if we leave here soon.”

“I will give you an escort to insure your safety.”

“We need none.”

“Don’t argue with me. Shchander is a good man. I will send his detachment with you. They are all loyal men, as you well know. They will receive your orders as they would mine.”

“Your offer is kind, but I must flatly refuse it. We need no assistance.”

“A few more men can only aid you. It would be for the best.”

“We have no need for brute force. Only stealth will save us.”

“Then I must accept your words. May the Father watch over you.”

“May the Father also watch over you,” said Nijal as he remounted. He gripped the reins tightly and spurred back toward his companions.

“Tell your friend, I send salutations. Tell him thanks again for the assistance. I am twofold in his debt.”

“I will, father.”

Nijal had a wide smile on his face as he raced away, a smile of contentment. His purpose in life had seemed to grow suddenly manyfold. He called out, “It is I, Nijal!” to the bear of a figure that guarded his entrance as he rode closer. “Everything is all right. It was only Geoffrey of Solntse and a group of men from the free city.”

“Yes, we know. We heard. We were with you in thought,” said Amir. Nijal didn’t understand what Amir had meant by the statement, but not understanding didn’t bother him in the least. He simply overlooked the incomprehension and understood. “Is Adrina okay?” asked Nijal, jumping to another subject.

“Yes, she is well.”

They waited until Geoffrey’s group rejoined the road and the sound of their horses thinned into the night air before they too returned to their path. Hastily, they proceeded along the trail, quietly thanking the Mother for the darkness of the night she afforded them.

Amidst the gloom, they passed the place where it is said that north meets south and east becomes west. Nijal thought it strange that the only settlement was an old rundown outpost. If he were a merchant, this would be the perfect place for a business venture, but then Nijal was no merchant, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

Though the winds were quite calm, the night air held a bitter lash. Xith remarked that the storm season would be early this year, bringing with it an end to the previous year. Noman nodded slightly in agreement with Xith’s words. They had been casual in the saying, but each held within them hidden meanings. The future held surprises for them that would not be solved so easily.

As the first light of morning broke, the group stopped for a short reprieve, then took up the trek again: there would be no rest this day. The great road was too well-traveled by patrols and merchants alike. Nijal’s mind started to roam as they slowly journeyed down the road. His attention fell briefly to Xith and he smiled, remembering his companion’s earlier comments.

“Huh?” Nijal uttered as he recalled their previous conversation.

“Only rogues sleep during the day.”

“Well, I guess we are rogues then, are we not?”

“Of course we aren’t rogues. Now go help Amir with the horses. We can’t afford to have any lame animals on our hands.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to rest here than to continue?”

“No, it would not be better. Sometimes it is better to be blatantly obvious than to be covert; this is one of those times, and we also need to make up some distance.”

“Nijal, watch out! Here give me those.”

“Sorry,” apologized Nijal as he snapped out of his reverie and pulled the reins to bring the horses to a halt. “What is it?”

Xith pointed to the rider in the distance behind them. “So, what about him?” offered Nijal. “You said this road was well-traveled and so far this is the only person we have encountered.”

“Amir marked him last night. He has been following us ever since.”

“Where is Amir? I haven’t seen him for some time.”

“He is there,” said Xith pointing again back down the trail.

“Where? I don’t see him.”

“That is because you see only with your eyes. Look with your mind and you will see him.”

“Hocus pocus, mumbo jumbo,” thought Nijal to himself. He partially understood the concepts of energies and magic although it was hard for him to accept. Inside, Nijal did not want to admit their truth although he had to confess to seeing some fairly odd things happen since he had joined Xith and the others.

“Okay, I’ll look,” said Nijal. Once again he was forced to rework his consciousness up to a level of acceptance without comprehension. “Wow!” he exclaimed when a second rider entered the images of his mind.

As the first rider approached it became clear that he was puzzled as to whether he should continue up the path or stop. His horse would speed up and then slow down. Once he even stopped under the pretense of watering and feeding his mount; and when it became clear that he was being scrutinized, he mounted and continued up the path towards them. His face was completely covered by a dark hood, making it impossible to see anything distinguishing about the figure. As the distance between them diminished to a few paces, Nijal couldn’t contain the smirk on his face. It seemed so ironic that Amir rode right alongside the other and yet was invisible to him.

“You can dismount now!” said Amir to the startled rider as he appeared beside him and reined in his mount. Obviously shaken, the rider dismounted as he had been told. “Aw, I should have known I never would have been able to pull it off,” muttered the rider as he removed his hood.

Nijal burst out laughing as he recognized the disgruntled man. “You never should have come. This is no place for you, but since you are here—” Nijal paused to judge Xith’s opinion on the subject then continued, “—since you are here—you are most welcome!” Nijal jumped down from his perch and embraced the other.

“Shchander, you are most welcome in our party,” said Noman, “although you have picked a rather precarious time to join us. It would be best for you to rejoin your companions on the road to Imtal.”

“My place is here. I have given my pledge.”

Nijal added quietly, “Now there are two,” saying the last word only in his mind, “misfits.”

“Neither of you are misfits,” added Noman.

Chapter Eighteen

Princess Calyin’s face blanched as the words fell heavily upon her. “What is this outrage?” she cried out. “I will not have it! There will be no test!”

Father Joshua put his hands gently on Calyin’s shoulders and attempted to calm her down. Calyin would not calm her tongue for anyone. She pushed Father Joshua aside and rose from her seat. Her face was now dark with anger. Calyin, with eyes cold and fixed, glared around the room, daring anyone to say anything further on the subject. No one with was willing to challenge her, so all remained quiet for a time.

King Jarom, heavily endowed with shrewdness but lacking the better graces of wisdom and good judgment, broke the silence, “Princess Calyin, know your place and calm your tongue!”

“Calm my tongue? I will hold my tongue when I am good and ready to do so; however, until then I will continue to speak my mind! It is you who needs to gain your bearing and remember your place. You are not in your tiny little kingdom any more! You are in my kingdom! In my palace! And furthermore, you are a guest! A guest should know his place!” screamed Calyin as she stalked across the room to confront Jarom face to face.

As she approached, King Jarom’s air of superiority modified to become a small, trembling ember, which Calyin devoured. “I demand a recount now! And by the same treatise that brought us here, I am allowed to call for a new count! If there is anyone who disagrees, let him speak!”

Calyin stormed back across the hall and sat down. King Jarom, with a shocked expression on his face, quietly retook his position. Lord Serant, controlling his desire to smile, quickly seated himself beside Calyin.

Chancellor Volnej quelled the growing disorder in the hall. Harshly, he cleared his throat and thumped his scepter several more times to silence the last few murmurs. “It is thus written. A recount is in order. We will pause for a turning of the glass, then begin.”

Lord Serant turned to Calyin and smiled with amazement. As their time together grew, he felt his love for her grow with each passing year. He needed her more than she would ever know.

All attention turned back to the rear of the hall where the counting would start. Talem stood and made a symbolic gesture with his hands. The other dark priests rose as one and together they intoned a definitive no. Keeper Q’yer smiled and intoned a triumphant yes. Father Joshua and Sister Midori each again affirmed a yes.

Calyin stood and turned to look into the tiers. Keeper Q’yer followed her move, also rising; the other keepers were quick to follow suit. Each individual counselor offered an unequivocal yes and with pride remained standing in salutation. Geoffrey, Lord Fantyu, Chancellor Van’te, and King William completed the movement. The other votes were of no consequence. The vote was clearly changed. Lord Serant would be magistrate for as long as he deemed necessary. Angrily, Chancellor de Vit penned his signature onto the new document Volnej gave him. The vote became fact as the scroll was passed to Chancellor Van’te for his confirmation; there would be no debate this time. The decision was no longer a draw.

“My dear, dear, Princess Calyin. These little games of state do bore me so,” haughtily stated King Jarom, “but I wish to thank you very much. You don’t know how much I am in your debt.”

Awed silence befell upon the hall. King Jarom’s crafty smirk widened as tension filled the air. Keeper Q’yer raised his hands to his temples. The intensity of his headache was unbearable. It was as he did this mechanically without thought that he realized something peculiar. The pain of the headache had been as a cloud over his thoughts, but until just now he hadn’t noticed it. However, in the back of his thoughts he knew he had been feeling ill since early morning.

His eyes nervously wandered about the chamber. He noted that Father Joshua also looked rather pale. His thoughts began to run wild; he could not concentrate. The pain within his mind was growing, becoming unbearable. He just wanted to rip it out and throw it away.

The keeper strained to clear his mind. Time seemed to be flowing so quickly. He shouted out, “Oh the pain, the pain, it will not go!” but the words never left his mind.

With a snap of his fingers, King Jarom ended the calm. The holy seal on the great doors splintered and fell to the floor. A faint battering noise resounded from somewhere beyond the chamber, followed momentarily by the stifling sound of the crash. The double doors of the room burst open and fell heavily.

A torrent of heavily armored soldiers shouted a gallant cheer and poured into the chamber. In that instant, Keeper Q’yer crumpled unconscious over the table in front of him. Thought returned to him momentarily as he fell; he knew without a doubt that the beginning of the end had begun.

Shock and disbelief paralyzed the gathered throng. The hall was in turmoil even before the enemy warriors stormed into the room. Father Joshua felt with bitterness the anguish in Keeper Q’yer’s spirit as it passed. The pain outside his consciousness allowed him to wrench his mind away from the enchantment of the agony within, and thought returned to him.

The dark priests released a mocking laugh as their energies revived. Their mental strength spent beyond their capacities, they could not withstand the impact. The priests had completed their task to perfection, so they gladly did the only thing they could do—they expired. Save one, who sought to flee the turmoil in the chamber.

Lord Serant sprang from his chair and readied for the coming battle. He cleared his mind and prepared for the fight. He would make the traitors pay dearly for this treachery. Once his thoughts were organized, his first duty was to try to get Calyin to safety. Rapidly he assessed the situation.

Jarom had been thorough in his planning; the hall was as an erupting volcano of melee. Lord Serant was grateful that he had foreseen something coming although the treachery had not come directly from Chancellor Volnej as he had expected. He scanned the hall rapidly, searching for Pyetr to signal him to send for reinforcements.

The sentries posted throughout the chamber were quick to react to the danger, and were making a valiant effort to contain the invading horde. Their high-quality light mail gave them a clear advantage over the intruders, who were outfitted in heavy mail beneath large cloaks. Many of the enemies were wasting valuable time removing their guise; although it only took moments to remove the heavy cloaks, it was sufficient to end many of their lives. Their numbers were in no way hindered by the losses.

Captain Brodst grabbed Lord Serant by the tunic and ushered him and Princess Calyin into a far corner of the hall. Lord Serant was offended by the action, but his pride was not damaged. He knew the captain was just looking out for his safety.

Lord Serant cast an angry glare at Chancellor Volnej, who stood nervously beside Chancellor Van’te. The keepers without the leadership of Keeper Q’yer were beset by confusion. The keeper’s demise had been sudden and unnerving. They still remained in the tiers along the side of the chamber.

Father Joshua quickly followed Talem, pursuing him into the mass of bodies set before the entryway without thought. He latched onto the dark priest’s robe, pulling him backwards, and when the opportunity arose, he pummeled him to the ground. Without hesitation, Father Joshua struck Talem in the face, once for Keeper Q’yer and once for himself.

Their bodyguards, who would at all cost protect the lives of the ones they served, quickly surrounded Geoffrey and the governors of Mir and Veter. As free men, they did not fear melee; it was part of their daily lives. They lived and would die by the sword.

The end came.

End Of Book Two

The forces of good will continue the fight.

IN THE SERVICE
OF DRAGONS III

BOOK THREE

ROBERT STANEK

Chapter One

With the death of Keeper Q’yer, the battle in the great hall began. Midori and Catrin were slow in recovering from the pain inside. Lord Fantyu, although close-by, was not quick enough to stop their assailants from reaching them. A mailed hand cuffed Catrin and knocked her backward. The large figure laughed as he watched her fall, tumbling down the tiered rows. He grabbed Midori by her long hair and pulled her close to him, close enough so she could feel his breath against her face, and the foulness of it revolted her.

The council members were in panic. They ran blindly toward the great doors, following each other to their deaths. Lord Serant could only watch as they were easily cut down, their blood running bright across the floor. His goal, as well as Captain Brodst’s, was to get to safety with Calyin and anyone else who could follow. Although he did feel sorrow in his heart for the deaths of the others, he did not have time to wait for old men, and their end only made it easier for him to leave the chamber without regrets.

Lord Fantyu drew his sword and swiftly ran Midori’s assailant through. The expression on the warrior’s face went from shocked dismay to horror as he watched the tip of the blade thrust out of his abdomen. Lord Fantyu quickly withdrew his blade and delivered a slapping blow to an attacker that moved toward him from the side. His elbow was quick to follow, as was his sword. He grabbed Midori by the hand and pulled her away. “But Catrin?” she yelled.

Lord Fantyu ignored her words and retreated to the rear of the chamber, where Lord Serant and Captain Brodst had set up a defensive position. They had turned the long, oaken conference table onto its side and strewn the way with chairs piled high, standing at the ready, waiting for any aggressors to come their way.

Geoffrey watched and waited, conferring calmly with the two at his side. He pictured in his mind how the battle would unfold. He was unconcerned for his safety due to the presence of the four men who stood before him; he was absolutely confident of their ability to defend him.

Father Joshua withdrew his hand from Talem’s face a third time and looked dead into the dark priest’s eyes. “You will pay for your treachery!” he bellowed. Talem was by no account able to argue with him; his world spun before him, in dazzling shadings of black and white.

Lord Serant angrily glared around the hall. “Where was Pyetr? Damn it!” he cursed under his breath. His search stopped when he came upon the four kings, sitting relaxed in the same place they had occupied earlier. A very large contingent of guards was gathered around them, which did not move to join the fray. They stood at the ready with weapons waiting.

Lord Serant’s eyes fell to the door that lay behind them; the ante-chamber was beyond. He wondered if they realized the door was there. He nudged Captain Brodst and carefully brought his attention to the door. Both realized what it meant, but they had no way to reach it.

The primary problem with that exit was the considerable number of foes they would have to engage to get to it; nevertheless, there were fewer men in the way of their escape in that direction, no matter how the two thought about it. The more Lord Serant pondered the possibility, the less he favored it. It was not worth the risk; there had to be another way.

The sentries, though outnumbered and overwhelmed, were holding their own. Of twenty, only ten remained. They watched with horror as the enemy continued to come at them in waves. Weapons danced in their hands with the sweat of their lives pouring into their every move. If they failed a block or parry, they were dead, and this they knew and understood very well.

“Damn it, Pyetr!” cursed Lord Serant aloud again. His heart raced with anxiety; his mind spun with possibilities, working through various plans of escape while his sword arm agitatedly held his weapon at his side. Anger and frustration suffused his face. He was forced to stand and watch and wait.

Similar thoughts were crossing Captain Brodst’s mind. He too looked for any possible way to escape, and if luck befell him he would find a way past the kings’ soldiers. For the first time, his attention moved to the keepers who still stood confused. The priests of the Father, who were not as quick to react as Father Joshua had been, stood directly adjacent to them.

Although he realized that they would be the next logical target for the foe, he held no hopes of assisting them. He must keep his thoughts clear. He did not need the extra baggage. The priests could hold their own for a time; the Father would not easily relinquish their positions on this plane. The keepers, however, were as useless as the High Council had been. He saw a similar fate for them.

Strength of will returned to Midori as she shook off the last of the effects of the dark priests’ powers over her. She could not believe she had fallen for their mind tricks. She could not believe what she saw. She clutched her ceremonial dagger firmly in her hand. Her eyes fixed clearly, precisely on the front of the chamber.

Thoughts now raged within her. She sought out Father Joshua, but he was nowhere to be found. She knew none of the other priests of the Father by name. She did not, however, let that distract her from her search among them for one that would suit her needs.

Her eyes went wide with excitement and anticipation. “Catrin,” she reached out in thought. The Mother had truly smiled upon them. She saw life within Catrin; Catrin was alive.

A gasp of dismay came from Lord Serant’s lips as he watched the last of the sentries fall. It became obvious to him who the leader of the attackers was as he watched the last few rounds of melee. He fixed a cold, icy stare upon the leader and waited for the moment when the attack would come. “Pyetr!” he screamed out in his mind, “Damn it, man, hurry!”

He sighed in relief as his eyes fell upon a small contingent that took a position between him and the intruders. Lord Fantyu had taken up a position there with his men. Nine stood defiantly waiting. Lord Fantyu offered him a reassuring nod; the attackers would have to come through him first.

An idea came to Lord Serant; he turned and glared at Chancellor Volnej. His hand swiftly, subconsciously brought his blade to the chancellor’s throat. “This is all your doing! Is it not? You traitorous dog!” he yelled as he spit in the chancellor’s face. “You are not worth killing! I should feed you to a pack of wolves and let the vultures pick at your carcass after they are finished!”

Chancellor Volnej swallowed harshly, his face registering confusion. He didn’t understand what Lord Serant was saying—a traitor. He was no traitor. “What are you saying? Are you mad?”

Chancellor Van’te was also confused. “Lord Serant, you must be mistaken. I have known the chancellor for a number of years; there is no way he is a traitor. Our enemy lies out there, not here!”

Lord Serant was abashed and confused. “Chancellor Volnej is a traitor; I can prove it!” he stated, his voice quavering uncertainly.

“Lord Serant, please! I beg you, do not act foolishly. Think about what you are saying,” begged Chancellor Van’te.

Chancellor Volnej said nothing further in his defense. The tip of Serant’s blade at his throat that did not move was more than enough to hold his tongue. He did not want to infuriate the obviously stressed lord with even the slightest provocation.

Chapter Two

Prince Valam Alder departed Leklorall, capital city of East Reach, with few regrets. In his mind, he tried to understand all that happened since he went with Queen Mother to Shalan’s tower. The tower that symbolized the heart and soul of the people of East Reach. The tower that only Queen Mother could enter—except that he had entered the tower and now the tower was no more.

He thought about the child of east and west, the bearer of light and remembrance. The one who was also the child of past and present, the bearer of darkness. The one who also hid the angel of life and the key. Was this his child or another?

The thought of having a child suddenly hit him. It was strange to think about. He, the lord and prince of the south, was to be a father. Would he be ready when the time came? Would he know what to do? Would the queen even let him see the child? Was she even with child? Was this so certain?

Soshi had told him once that she was with child but later said she had been mistaken. Thoughts of Soshi, his first true love, brought thoughts of the old blind woman who said she’d lost her sight for the greater good. “The old ways are all but forgotten now,” the old woman had told him. “The old gods were not gods at all, merely creatures of power, great power.” When she blinded him with the white powder, she said that she gave him a gift. It was Soshi though who took the blindness from him so that he might see truth.

He wished he could see truth now and he longed for Soshi’s soothing ways though he knew he should not. Still, first love was an enduring love and his desire did not fade as the morning did. Later he could only picture Queen Mother’s face in his mind’s eye.

Seth strode up alongside Valam. “There, Valam, that is where the Eastern Plains begin,” he said pointing to the line where the trees and the gentle sloping hills were replaced by the tall grasses and flatness of the plains. The plains stretched beyond the horizon into the distance. Its stark beauty was in its vastness and simplicity.

Valam’s response was slow as he returned from his reverie. “It seems so endless.”

“At times, I think it is.”

“Yes, it has a beauty unique to itself,” whispered Tsandra to Seth and Valam; she had walked up quietly behind them to look out over the vantage point. “Seth,” she began, directing the thought only into his mind, “Please leave us for a moment.” Seth didn’t refuse her request; he smiled and returned to their small encampment.

“Valam, I haven’t until now had an opportunity to properly beg your forgiveness. I do so now. Please forgive my shortsightedness. I acted without thought. I know it is something that is not easily forgotten, and even less easy to forgive, but I say this from within my very center. I am truly sorry.”

Valam started to turn around to face her, but she stopped him. “No, please don’t. I could not finish if you did.”

“But I do not understand. You have done nothing to offend me.”

“Shh, listen. I, most of all, should have known that you would do nothing to harm our queen intentionally. I betrayed your friendship, but what I can never forgive myself for was that I also acted out of jealousy. I—”

“What are you—jealous?”

“I know it is wrong, but I am in love with you.”

“Love? What? Wait—stop a minute—say that again.”

“I am sorry. I have said too much already. Come, we should go.”

Brushing the tears from her eyes, Tsandra retreated from the hilltop, leaving Valam completely baffled. He watched her go; he wanted to scream at her but did not. He remained alone on top of the hill and tried to rethink his actions.

He watched as the others saddled their horses in preparation to rejoin the trail, then walked down the hill to join them. In minutes they were back in the saddle trotting toward the plains, leaving behind no signs that they had ever stopped here. They traversed the short distance to the grasslands quickly. It was almost instantaneous, as Valam crossed into the tall grasses, that he began to feel a peculiar sense grow within him.

His eyes began to search the plains rapidly back and forth. He had sensed this feeling once before though he could not place it. His eyes followed down the line to Seth, Cagan, Evgej, Liyan, and finally Tsandra. Their eyes answered his unspoken question; they could also feel it.

With the passing of two days on the plain, the sensations only increased. The air began to grow colder and stronger, reaching sharply through their heavy riding clothes. Seth called a halt late in the afternoon. He held his hand up high, until the last of the group had formed and stopped.

“What’s wrong?” asked Valam, wondering why they had stopped so soon. Seth pointed to a spot on the plains where the wind blew up dust in patches. A whisper of thought entered their minds. Valam had heard the sounds shallow within his mind before. He strained to concentrate only on listening. He could tell the sounds were words, but they were too weak to understand.

“I am Brother Seth, first of the order of the Red!” said Seth, reaching out with his mind. Valam perceived the thrust of Seth’s energies like an explosion within his mind. He clenched his teeth tightly and immediately covered his ears. Evgej’s reactions also brought his hands speedily to his ears. Although the action did nothing to curb the intensity of the burst of sound in their minds, it did appease their senses.

“Come! It is Brother Teren!” exclaimed Seth as he firmly swatted his steed with his tethers. The two groups of riders raced towards one another. It was not until the other group was in clear view that Valam realized that it was composed mainly of men. By the size and outfitting of the group, he estimated that it must be a scouting party, which Valam hoped to mean that the camp was close at hand.

“Supplies at last!” shouted Mikhal as he approached. He dropped to his feet quickly and knelt, with his head bowed in reverence. He did not allow the icy snow slapping his face to deter his moment of silence. “My prince, you live!” he shouted with a joyful voice, as he stood with his head still bowed.

Words fluttered to Valam’s tongue; he knew the man, but couldn’t remember his name or title. He tried to think carefully, although quickly, searching for a name to match the face, but he was puzzled and Chancellor Van’te wasn’t there to whisper in his ear. What was the man referring to? Of course, he was alive. Valam tried to picture a name for the face he saw, “Mikhal,” flashed into his thoughts.

“Prince Valam, we thought you dead. We thought the storm took you. Oh, thanks be to the Father!” shouted Captain Mikhal. Images spun through the captain’s mind. His thoughts carried him back and swept him away.

“A storm is going to take us if we don’t hurry!” whispered Liyan into Seth’s mind.

Seth turned to face Liyan. “Yes, you are right. I sense heavy snows. An odd season, is it not?”

“More than that, I suspect,” directed Liyan into Seth’s mind alone.

“I am Captain Mikhal; this is Lieutenant Danyel’,” said the captain as he watched Valam search for words.

“Captain Mikhal, yes, ‘Lieutenant Danyel,’ curious,” said Prince Valam. “It is good to find you.”

They rapidly went through the remainder of the introductions. As Brother Teren took the lead, the winds suddenly changed directions, bringing in a gale from the northeast. The new wind had an instant chilling effect as it touched bare skin. Evgej and Valam wrapped their cloaks tightly around them.

Evgej didn’t much care for the cold; as it touched his face and hands, he cursed it. He would much rather be in the warmth of his southerly homeland. Quashan’ was rarely visited by harsh cold, and even more rarely with snow. As the group turned in a northerly direction, his teeth began to chatter.

Snow descended from the sky in large flurries. Evgej was growing agitated in the saddle. He had to keep moving around to gain warmth. Evgej could see from Valam’s staunch features that he wasn’t reacting to the cold as much.

“Do you think he will come before the snows fade?” whispered Seth into Liyan’s thoughts.

“I believe we must wait to see, but if he is a wise man, he will wait.”

“Yes, as would I.”

“These snows are out of place and time. They will soon trap us indoors; let us hope these men have built adequate shelters.”

“We have nothing to fear; Keeper Martin and Father Jacob are smart men.”

“The weather along the coast should be considerably milder than here,” commented Liyan, as he squinted in the face of the heavy snowfall; a mild, tingling sensation against his face spoke of the cold without; otherwise, he did not feel it though he did think it a dark tiding.

Valam drifted back in thought. Images wandered through his mind as life-size pictures against the white backdrop of the snow. He saw the Queen-Mother in those images, and he whispered out the name she had told him only he could call her. He was careful to use the mind controls Seth had taught him to mask his open thoughts, so his words did not drift into the others’ consciousness by mistake.

Brother Teren raised a gloved hand high. Although the gesture was scarcely visible, it was seen by the rider behind him and was passed on to those behind him. Thus, the signal to halt was passed to the rear. With a dour countenance, Teren dismounted and led his mount back to Seth and Liyan. The walk was more a formality than a necessity, for he could have directed his thoughts to Seth or Liyan instead, which would have been more forceful than his spoken words.

Seth’s response was just as exaggerated; he wished to continue, no matter the odds. A delay in the open plains could prove fatal; they could be snowed in indefinitely. They would continue on, even if they must travel into the night.

“Not much like home anymore, is it, Seventh?” called out Captain Mikhal to the man who rode close at his side. Danyel’ waved his head negatively in response although snow wasn’t that unusual a sight for him. He had spent many long winters in the northern sectors of the kingdom. It wasn’t that he liked it or disliked it—mostly, he was indifferent to it.

Although Teren could no longer see his way, he could feel it. He had visited this prairie many times, as had the snows. His native sense of direction was extraordinarily strong, an important attribute of any good scout, He knew where the camp of men lay along the coast, and the Father willing, he would lead everyone to it.

A startled emotion flowed to Tsandra, who had been riding solemnly with those of her order. She steered her horse mid-group and charged without thought, issuing rapid summons for those of the Brown to follow her and prepare.

Her thoughts reached Seth and Liyan in disarray, and caused the remainder of the group to come to a sudden halt. Seth was confused, as was Liyan; they didn’t understand what Tsandra had perceived. Seth sent questions to her mind, but her thoughts were scattered and unreachable.

Valam raced his mount toward Seth; his voice wavered as he shouted his questions. Tsandra’s words had been sent frantically. They had been in the words of Seth’s people, but he had only caught a few words. As Valam approached, it became obvious to him that Seth was also confused, yet he asked again anyway, “What is it? What did she see?”

Seth’s response was that he did not know either, but she had told them to wait until she returned. So they would wait until she returned.

“Can you ask her again?” queried Valam.

“I have tried but her thoughts are unreachable.”

“Unreachable?”

“She is confused.”

“Confused?” asked Valam, adding when Seth didn’t respond to the thought that lay heavily on his mind, “Is this what you call mild snows?”

“This is an odd storm. I assure you the coast is clear and tranquil compared to this. The sea breezes are much more forgiving than those of the plains.”

Brother Teren, also of the Brown, charged after Tsandra, screaming out, “No! Don’t!” to her mind, but her thoughts were closed. He spurred his mount several times, chiding it to go faster. “What are you doing? No, don’t! Leave him alone!”

Tsandra released her right leg from the stirrups, carefully securing her left. She leaned outward and downward with her arms, ready to snatch up the tiny scurrying form as it raced away. She grabbed the figure, with its legs still flailing the air as she picked it up, and tucked it close beside her, sending her followers out in all directions in search of any others.

The child muttered something Tsandra didn’t understand, biting her hand immediately afterwards, causing her to release her grip. Tsandra jumped from her mount and chased the child. Her feet slipped as they hit the icy ground. As she grabbed the tiny figure again, she fell face first.

“Brother Tsandra, I implore you. He means no harm. He is my shadow,” forced Teren into Tsandra’s mind.

“What do you mean shadow? Why is he following us?”

“He is not following you. He is following me.”

“Why?” demanded Tsandra.

“He always does. Let him go, and I’ll explain.”

As Tsandra released the boy, he scurried away, his short legs weaving a blur, very quickly carrying him to a distance where he felt safe. Teren pushed thoughts and images into Tsandra’s mind as they hurried back to the group. Tsandra recalled her warriors and movement slowly restarted; the dark storm attained full fury during the delay and was not dealing with them kindly.

“Explain?” demanded Tsandra into Teren’s mind, letting him know that it was a subtle order, which she as the first could make, and that it demanded a quick, precise response.

“He is an orphan. He has been following me for a very long time. Do not let his size fool you; he is quite capable of surviving on his own. He has endured worse storms than this, and the fact that you sensed his presence was not an accident, as you would think. He wanted you to notice him although I don’t know why.”

“Why haven’t you found him a suitable family to dwell with?”

“He would not go. Again, you only sensed him because he wanted you to. Most often, I only know he is there by a presence at the edges of my awareness.”

“Nevertheless, I caught him, didn’t I, where you couldn’t. I could have helped him.”

“He was only playing with you.”

“Playing with me?”

As Tsandra rode angrily away, Teren didn’t regret her later scorn. There was no worse place she could send him to and no better. Contrary to what Tsandra thought, Teren really loved roaming the plains, even in the face of storms such as the one they now endured.

Cagan, who wouldn’t have missed this trip for anything, was having second thoughts. Clumps of thick, wet snow fell upon them, sticking and forming tiny mounds and layers on clothing, equipment, and everything else it touched. He was mutely thinking that if he had remained at the capital, he could at the very least have watched the wind fill the sails of his craft while it was moored at the docks. He would have run the sails up for the occasion. But now instead of rolling waves beneath his feet, he had saddle sores.

The snowfall grew so thick that Teren thought it better to dismount and lead his horse rather than ride. There was nothing he could mistakenly lead them into along this open span. He felt closer to Mother-Earth as he walked across the thick grasses of the plains and it allowed him to maintain his sense of bearing. The animal also needed a reprieve. It was instinctively cautious about traveling under such foul conditions. Being led reassured it.

The pack animals were becoming heavily bogged down under their burdens. The group was forced to stop frequently and remove the mounds of snow from them, most especially from the protectors over the animals’ eyes. The snow still had a wetness to it that made it cling to everything it touched. An animal that could not see would not move, no matter how much it was coaxed.

The thick grass they traversed still afforded them fair traction even with inches of snow piled deep onto it, but ever so rapidly the last signs of the grasses were disappearing. Teren stopped the group again and went back to counsel Liyan and Seth. Although his eyes chanced upon Tsandra, who was close-by, he did not acknowledge her presence in his conversation with the two. His suggestion was to construct a shelter here where they stood, while they still had the means and the illumination of day. Although the odd storm obscured the light, it was still better than it would be after dark.

Chapter Three

With the arrival of Nijal and Shchander, the curious company was complete. Xith, Amir, Noman, and the others would now go to the last place the dark lord would expect. They would journey straight into the heart of darkness itself to confront the darkness sweeping the land before the darkness confronted them.

Crossing the Wall of the World at night was a dangerous gamble but a gamble that was accomplished without accident or incident. The company entered the thick woodlands of the Western Territories, traveling day and night for two full days before slowing the pace. The distance did little to quell Xith’s nerves. His mind was continually on edge since Vilmos left them. He had failed. He had tempted fate and lost; its sting upon him was as a thousand lashes against his innermost self. He had altered the paths, and they were now lost to him. He felt the convergence sweep in, but nothing beyond.

Yet most puzzling among his many disconcerted, disconnected thoughts was the whereabouts of Ayrian. Although intuition told him Ayrian was not dead, he could not conceive another fate for him. In his mind, Ayrian slowly ceased to exist as hope of his sudden re-appearance waned. He was greatly saddened by this because Ayrian was the last of the mighty eagle lords.

The thoroughfares they traveled, although they were the primary connection between the kingdom and the outlying cities of the territories, were wildly overgrown in many areas. Progress along them with a carriage was slow and tedious. Xith sat absent-mindedly holding the reins in much the same manner that he had chastised Nijal for previously, watching the team of horses plod along the path.

Amir rode beside Noman, honing his muscles with a series of tiny contractions and relaxations, being careful to stretch them after they became fatigued; thus, he maintained his awareness and he was not the only one in the company to feel increasing unease. He took every opportunity, although they were few, to wrest his sword from its sheath. Nijal was often his companion, willing or not, but most times willing. Shchander sometimes joined in with Nijal, making it two against one, to give Amir a challenge, but he was most comfortable watching.

Noman was also content to observe. He spent most of this waking hours reflecting on the turnings of the Path. He enjoyed the intellectual conversations he and Xith would have late in the evenings, which as of late had been of varied lengths, usually lasting well after the two should have retired to get adequate sleep for the next day’s travels. Sometimes he would secretly cast the sticks, playing at the game of Destiny though he knew he should not.

Since their passage into the forest, the company had switched their practice of traveling in darkness, for the path was extremely treacherous at night even with the talented Amir leading the way. Noman put to full use the hours that would have been wasted. He sent Amir to search for any signs that they were being followed or tracked. He sent Nijal and Shchander in search of game for their food stocks, as the supplies were running short. Both searches were fruitful.

Adrina whiled away days in relative solitude within the confines of the carriage. Nijal seemed to ignore her presence since Shchander’s arrival, not that she blamed him. She could see that the two were old acquaintances, and they had much catching up to do; nonetheless, she felt left out.

She picked up scattered bits of Shchander’s stories of Imtal through Nijal, only enough to arouse her curiosity but not enough to quench it. She was very glad to hear that Calyin and Lord Serant were in the Great Kingdom. From time to time she would unconsciously massage the fingers of her hand, soothing away a pain that was no longer there. Nijal remained the only one who knew of the mark upon her. She told no one else and made sure Nijal didn’t speak of it.

Within the cover of the forest, Xith allowed Adrina to open the central window’s curtains. The view of the forest as it passed by was often beautiful, pristine, and peaceful. The smell of the evergreens with a touch of moisture from the morning’s dew powerfully massaged her senses. A feeling of happiness flowed within her.

Under the thick shield of the forest, nightfall became apparent only as the last of the shadows merged and became a mass of blackness, which also signaled a halt to the day’s trek. Amir, Shchander, and Nijal worked out a suitable place for them to stop, one that offered sufficient concealment. Camp was set up in a matter of minutes; no time was wasted in obtaining food or rest. The watch shifts had long since been worked into a routine and all knew when their turn would be.

Morning arrived crisp and clear although no one within the forest’s domain knew it. Amir greeted the bird’s joyful salutes to the new day with one of his own, which brought immediate silence to the area around him. He had breakfast sizzling over a makeshift spit before anyone else awoke—two fat rabbits, whose juices oozed down into the hot coals, producing an aroma that permeated the camp.

Feeling a presence behind him, Amir whipped around quickly. “Morning,” quietly intoned Nijal, with a smile on his lips. Amir knowingly shook his head and returned Nijal’s greeting. “Good, very good. Keep up the practice, but next time don’t disturb the ground you walk over.”

“What? You didn’t even know I was there until a moment ago.”

“You broke a twig three steps back, but you are getting better,” said Amir, handing Nijal a piece of meat. Amir watched Nijal eat, studying his movements before he ate. Noman and Xith soon joined them around the small fire; without a word they sat down and divided the remainder of the first rabbit between them.

“Where is Shchander?” asked Xith of Nijal.

Nijal shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know. The last time he had seen Shchander was when he had relieved him from first watch. Nijal didn’t let the thought slow down his appetite. He hurriedly finished the large section of leg and grabbed another one.

As usual Adrina was the last to arrive; her face was pale and her eyes still had sleep in them. Nevertheless, she had a cheerful smile on her face as she sat down next to Nijal. She wasn’t particularly hungry this morning, even though the aroma of food brought a desire to try some. She picked at a piece of meat while the others ate, and then handed the remainder to Nijal, who didn’t refuse it, and just as quickly finished it.

“How many days do you estimate until Zashchita?” asked Amir, making conversation with Xith more for Nijal’s benefit than his own.

“At the very least a passing.”

“Two weeks is a long time.”

“And Krepost’?”

“I would count on an almost equal amount of time.”

Nijal asked “We are going all the way to Krepost’?”

“Yes, we are.”

“But, I thought—”

“Nijal, don’t worry. I can see it on your face.”

Nijal frowned and drank from his water skin. The water tasted good although he would have preferred something else. Afterwards, he passed it to Amir, which was the polite thing to do. “But two turnings?” said Nijal, dishearteningly. “It’s—”

“Such a long time,” completed Noman.

“It will be gone before you realize it has passed,” added Xith.

“Shchander,” said Adrina, “come and eat.”

“What’s wrong?” she said again, waving to him to join them.

Amir readily detected something out of place. He dropped the skin of water to the ground without thought and stood drawing his blade as he did so. Nijal was next to follow him toward Shchander. Xith and Noman responded by whisking Adrina away in the opposite direction.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” spoke Shchander.

As his words fell upon the air, men stepped out of the forest’s cover. They were clad in distinctive heavy leathers and the poise of their weapons in their hands spoke of their skill. Amir slowly moved backward towards the center of the camp, not taking his eyes off Shchander, unsure whether or not Shchander supported the attackers.

Nijal moved in behind Amir and covered his back. He watched as Xith, Noman, and Adrina also moved back into the middle of the camp as their avenue of escape also closed. The four stood, watching and waiting, as the men approached, with Adrina carefully maneuvered into relative cover between them.

Chapter Four

Geoffrey’s elite group paused a moment before charging into battle. Each whispered the free man’s creed in their thoughts, “I am a free man, and I will die as such.” The first four men moved as one, dividing the onslaught precariously between them. Quickly they defeated the attackers, splitting them into pairs that they picked apart with their four blades.

“I beg you again, Lord Serant,” said Lord Fantyu. “No offense is worth a man’s life, and right now we need every person here to join the fight to win our freedom. Chancellor Volnej could not be your traitor. Did you not know that King Jarom had his parents executed when they returned to Vostok?”

“I thought they lived here in Imtal until they passed.”

“No, that is false,” simply answered Chancellor Volnej. “King Jarom had them put to death for treason. They loved your kingdom and for it they died. Do not dishonor their memory with your words. I beg you. I am no traitor. I love this land also. I would die for it, but please do not let my end come thus. It would bring shame upon my family, and there would be none to clear my name.”

Geoffrey scowled at King Jarom, who was no more than fifty yards away, seated smugly behind the wall of his men. Words flowed from the king’s mouth and a large contingent of his bodyguards moved to join the battle at the front entrance. Geoffrey and the governors reacted immediately and met them mid-way.

Sheer numbers soon overpowered them as the small force was faced with two enemy detachments coming from different directions. Geoffrey cursed and spat into the man’s face in front of him, but the warrior didn’t hesitate in his attack. Geoffrey offered a wry smile, and responded with a block.

Lord Serant, although puzzled, didn’t have time for further consideration of the chancellor’s words; his thoughts immediately returned to the fight. His thoughts had never left the front entrance to the hall; subconsciously, he had been weighing his options. He watched as the assailants poured into the chamber uninhibited; the last of Geoffrey’s men had fallen. Geoffrey was alone; now was the time to act before it was too late. He had entirely given up hope of reinforcements arriving in time, if at all.

Lord Fantyu was through waiting. Before Serant could stop him, he vaulted over their blockade and charged for the door. Captain Brodst was quick to follow him, with sword in hand. He had already carefully considered the odds and had decided his own fate.

Sister Catrin shook the wavering images from her thoughts and stood. The blow to the head had done her more good than harm. She was absolved, cleansed of the dark priests’ treachery. A thought stuck out in her mind, crossing from her subconscious to her conscious. She surveyed the room and gathered her bearings.

Midori’s whereabouts were first priority on Sister Catrin’s list as she was the first to the Mother and must be safeguarded at all cost. If Midori was safe, her next priority was Calyin. The keepers and priests offered her no concern, although she did reprimand them. “Buffoons!” she yelled.

Her thoughts paused a second more on the priests. Father Joshua—where was Father Joshua? She searched around the chamber but found no sign of him. Movement caught her eye, a struggle. She now knew where he was; unfortunately, the enemy had already taken him.

Although extremely fatigued, Geoffrey raised his blade again to defend. The shine in his eyes faded to the darkness of his weary soul. His companions fought valiantly, but they, like him, were only mortal. He did not grieve their loss. They died as they had lived, and for that he was thankful.

Lord Serant was faced with an ominous decision. He no longer expected support to come, so now he must act, but with wisdom. Princess Calyin calmly stood at his side, also carefully watching and waiting. She knew how to defend herself; and if the time came, she was sure that she would make King Jarom feel her wrath.

Lord Fantyu sidestepped the first attacker to charge; as he did so, he pushed the man directly into Captain Brodst’s waiting blade. The warrior fell to his knees clutching the blade as he went down. Captain Brodst retracted his blade and stepped over the body to Lord Fantyu’s side.

Catrin’s mind worked quickly and similarly to Midori’s. She held no hope of reaching Father Joshua. Although he would have been the most suitable, she turned to the other priests. She did not take back her words of moments ago in any way; she only did what had to be done.

Midori had identical intentions running through her mind as she rapidly assessed each in turn. The priest with the strongest will was her choice. She thought he would be a good choice, even more than Father Joshua. Now she had only to reach him. Sister-Catrin had chosen the same priest to link with, but Midori was the first to reach him, and he willingly conceded to the link of the Mother and the Father; together they would unite the two wills and unleash their powers upon King Jarom’s forces. They would make him pay.

Chancellor Van’te and Chancellor Volnej, although up in years, held fast to their positions beside Lord Serant and Princess Calyin as they all sought to escape. They held their blades, a short sword the captain had discarded, and a long dagger from Lord Fantyu as they followed Lord Fantyu and the captain, lagging only a short space behind them. They stood proudly, defiantly, in the separation between Lord Serant and Lord Fantyu, waiting and ready.

A defensive position only served a purpose as long as it held the hope of adding to one’s resistance. Lord Serant no longer saw such a purpose for the spot they were in. He saw only an end if they remained—a sure, absolute one. His mind was clear although it was alive with scattered observations. Movement was the only alternative he saw that remained for them.

Midori felt a whirlwind of power collide in her center as her will joined with that of the priest beside her. She prepared mentally for the ripping force of the Mother and Father to flow through them as they became one. Although she had never felt it before, she knew it must come. She waited, holding her breath in anticipation; it did not come. Shocked, she backed away from the priest, her eyes wide with disillusionment.

Midori, in disbelief, formed the union again. She quickly completed the link, only momentarily pausing before she joined. She felt the force of wills connect within her, as she had before, but the warmth did not flow to her. She saw no images in her mind; the link quickly fell away, and she knew unequivocally at that moment that the Father and Mother had abandoned them.

“Now!” screamed Father Joshua, with all his strength, to his compatriots as he was being subdued. He reached out for the will of the Father, which he could not find. He attempted to scream a warning to his brethren, but a gloved hand sealed his mouth. The priests of the Father descended into the swarm of invaders, pushing them back momentarily.

Lord Serant seized the opportunity. He grabbed Calyin by the hand and clutched it tightly, indicating that she should follow him closely, and that he loved her. Carefully, he scrutinized the field before him. He made a direct line to the right of the hall, straight for King Jarom, and, he hoped, freedom.

Lord Fantyu was quick to note the direction Serant was taking. He and the captain held a line safeguarding Lord Serant and Calyin’s passage, slowly moving alongside them, while the two chancellors prepared to block to the right although the only thing ahead in the direction they moved was a large group of King Jarom’s body guards, who stood steadfast at their positions.

As they made a headlong charge towards the group, it became obvious that King Jarom had not anticipated such a maneuver, as his attentions were directed to the priests’ demise. He was taking great pleasure, as one by one they fell before his men. His voice boomed throughout the hall with his hideous, raucous laughter. The others seated beside him did not share in his joyous mood. King Peter and King Alexas sat with faces rigid, afraid to look about the hall but not ashamed of their deeds either. They were quite grateful that Andrew rested with the Father, for now they had no one’s revenge to fear. King William held his head low in shame; he had had no choice but to concede to King Jarom’s wishes.

King Jarom’s guards were slow to move and react, as their king had ordered them not to move and they greatly feared his scorn. They did not move to engage until Lord Serant and the others were fully upon them.

Father Joshua managed to raise his voice about the hall one more time before he was belted across the head, and his world faded to black before his eyes. “Ywentir, never forget!” His words were enough to incite fury into the keepers’ hearts, and enough to motivate their disheartened spirits, and the final spell dissolved.

Lord Serant said a hurried prayer to the Father as he saw the keepers stir to action. Lord Serant told Calyin to follow the two chancellors wherever they took her and to stay with them at all cost. His voice fell on the last word as he dove, arms and sword stretched wide, onto a group of guardsmen, knocking three of them down with him.

Lord Fantyu masterfully pummeled with the hilt of his sword while blocking another blow with his blade, the hilt catching his would-be assailant directly in the face.

As he blocked the second, he brought his knee up into the man’s groin, followed by an elbow to the back of the head. Captain Brodst cleaned up to the right, while Lord Fantyu attacked again to the left, his overbearing power with a sword readily apparent as he sent blows of metal against metal, bringing the edge of his sword always to flesh.

King Jarom’s verbal abuse against his men was enough to stir them into frenzied, thoughtless attacks. Serant was quick to his feet. He didn’t waste any time, as he covered the two chancellors and Calyin’s retreat. He could see the door was within their reach as he turned back toward King Jarom. Only four men separated him from revenge, which his honor demanded that he have.

Lord Fantyu felt a sudden cold feeling that sent chills running up his back. Numbness swept over him. He bit his cheek; his sword did not falter as he followed through, bringing another of the enemies down before him. He felt the blade withdraw from his back, and winced, but he continued to fight.

“Don’t be a fool!” yelled Captain Brodst to Lord Serant, “Get out of here now!” He pushed Lord Serant out of the way and engaged the two who stood before him. As he turned to sweep through with his sword, he saw the blade withdraw from Lord Fantyu, but he could not move to help him. Anger flowed through him and into his hands, as he hammered down with all his might on the foe before him.

Lord Fantyu moved in close beside Captain Brodst. His energy visibly slowed as blood dripped from his mouth. “Go! I’ll cover you!”

“I will go nowhere! I’m here to cover you, remember,” spoke Captain Brodst as he blocked.

“Like you covered my backside!” said Lord Fantyu, sounding harsh, but not meaning it. “Go before it’s too late!”

“If I go, you’re coming with me,” said Captain Brodst, as he blocked again.

“We’ll stand and fight together, my friend.”

“Yes,” said the captain as he watched Lord Serant hack down the last man who stood between him and the door, safely making his exit.

“Are you ready?” asked Lord Fantyu, as he watched a group of warriors break through the disarray in the center of the chamber. He elbowed the captain to gain his attention in that direction momentarily. Geoffrey of Solntse yet lived. He was buried amidst a mass of bodies. Only the glimmer of his full-handed sword raised high caught Lord Fantyu’s eye.

Lord Fantyu was slow parrying, and a blow glanced across his shoulder, slicing through his mail, but not wounding him. Captain Brodst paused, and instead of attacking, he opted to defend quickly both right and left, taking the brunt of two attacks momentarily to give his partner a reprieve. “Have you said your prayers?” asked Captain Brodst, indicating they should push forward to where Geoffrey stood.

“Yes, I am ready to go, but not until I take a few more of them with me,” grunted Lord Fantyu, as he struggled to maintain his balance.

“If we go, it will be together!” added Midori, as she and Catrin finally managed a short retreat to the spot where the two stood. “Through there—” she further added, indicating the door to the antechamber. “Yes, but first we will help out our friend,” said Lord Fantyu. “We cannot abandon one with such skill and bravado.”

Chapter Five

“Brother Teren, I believe we must continue on. We cannot afford to stop now. We will push through the night if necessary.”

“Yes, I back Liyan also. As you have told us, you promised Keeper Martin and Father Jacob we would arrive within the week. They need these supplies we bring.”

“Brother Seth, Brother Liyan, I hear your wisdom, but you do not know the nights on the plains. It will be unbearable.”

“We will endure; we must endure. I believe you can get us safely to the coast. I trust in you.”

“As do I,” added Seth.

Brother Teren, devout in his commitment, pulled the hood of his cloak up tight around his face and walked back into the face of the storm. The wind blasting south only added to the tumultuous flurries surging from the skies overhead. He noticed a conscious twinge of power against his will and cast a feeling of impatience back at Tsandra.

At a lethargic pace, the party began moving again. Teren was very careful to insure that the entire group was behind them as they did so. As he reached his thoughts back to the last section, he was sure all was in order, and he increased the pace ever so slightly.

Seth urged his mount to move onward though the beast would have preferred to remain still. He whispered to Liyan and then moved back to where Valam and Evgej rode. Seth voiced concerns to Valam over their previous debate. Evgej was quick to add that he was also concerned.

“This storm, what will it be like when it is at its full fury?” asked Evgej.

“Its power comes and goes. It is a natural cycle.”

“This is not natural,” directed Liyan to the three.

“What do you mean?” asked Valam.

“Brother Seth and I have been discussing this storm and its origins. I believe it is not natural, that it is an omen. A dark omen.”

“Have you spoken with Brother Teren about this?”

“We have considered it, but will wait till a better time.”

Evgej offered a scowl, to which Valam quickly appended, “I think we should have that discussion now. Brother Teren knows these plains.”

Liyan nodded to Seth. Seth rode off in search of Teren. Shortly afterward, Liyan joined the brothers of the Brown. Valam could see the elder riding alongside Tsandra. Tsandra cast glum stares in Valam’s direction as the night moved quickly in about them, carrying with it more cursed cold.

The snowflakes became crystalline as all the moisture in them solidified. Contrary to what Seth had hoped, the snow did not stop, nor did it slow; it maintained its barrage on them ever so efficiently.

The bite of the cold, especially in places that they could not adequately cover, grew beyond numbness to pain. Valam removed the gloves from his hands and touched the warmth to his face. A burning sensation swelled through his cheeks and nose. No matter how tightly he wrapped his hooded cloak about him, it did not shield his face.

Valam and Evgej were at a disadvantage as the darkness fell about them. They did not have the gift of Seth’s kind to communicate amongst themselves with thought. He doubted his tongue would move if it were necessary; or perhaps, he thought, it would freeze solid mid-sentence if he attempted to speak.

Captain Mikhal and Lieutenant Danyel’ followed closely behind Valam and Evgej. Cagan made up the fifth of their tiny group. In front of and behind the five stretched a long caravan of horses and riders although they were the only such grouping amongst the entire party. They rode with a length of rope between them to mark their distances as visibility faded to obscurity. The others had no need for any such bonding. They had their link.

Liyan searched the sky with his eyes, looking for patches of scattered heavenly light, but he saw only blackness. He cast a sour feeling to Seth’s mind, to which Seth responded with an equally glum expression. After hours of riding through the darkness, Liyan felt as if they had only moved inches; to him it was if the winds held them at bay and for each step they moved forward it pushed them back an equal measure.

A feeling of despair surged amongst them and even though they would not admit its presence, it was there. They were as weary as the animals they rode upon, especially those heavy with packs. Liyan’s propensity for thought was muddled by his exhaustion, another feeling which was pervasive; luckily, his other faculties were still mostly intact. Common sense told him they must stop now, and Liyan answered its call.

“Brother Teren!” he called out with his mind. “We must rest, the animals as well as ourselves.”

“If we pause, we will not be able to begin again,” answered Teren.

“As you said earlier, this I know.”

“If it is your will, then it is so.”

“It is.”

“Then so be it,” responded Teren in thought, while he reached out and touched the minds of those who followed him as one. “My brothers, we will wait out the storm here.”

“Can we survive the night here?” asked Liyan, of only Teren’s mind.

“If it is the Mother’s will.”

Tsandra approached the foremost group. “Why do we stop now?” she demanded of Liyan; the words were a spontaneous reaction to Teren’s thought. She did not even consider the possibility that it was Liyan’s idea that they stop until she reached out with her words to his center. As she did so, she bit back further comment.

“How can we endure this cold?” asked Seth, as he dismounted. Scattered sparks of light lit the sky as torches were raised on the extreme ends of the party. The lights were drawn together as the group formed a closely packed circle.

“The answer, Brother Seth, is beneath your feet.”

“The snow. How brilliant!” answered Seth as he touched Teren’s mind and Teren’s thoughts. “What of the animals?”

“With luck, they will survive also.”

Seth returned confused thoughts; Teren had obviously been in this situation before. Teren led the way and the others followed his example. He raised two mounds of snow around him and formed them into walls. Teren explained as he moved through the steps. He positioned the junction of the two walls into the wind, raising it upward to shield him from the chilling effects of the wind.

Cold, tired bodies moved cold, tired hands in a fevered attempt to raise a shelter from the storm. The first thing they did was to release the burdens from their animals and then they followed Teren’s example. Teren showed them how to form the walls together, connecting in a series of staggered angles.

The work stirred warmth into their muscles. Seth paused a moment and slumped down beside Teren and Liyan. Valam and Evgej also took a moment’s reprieve and joined them. Evgej closed his eyes as he sat down; the warmth returning to his body felt so good. “Do not let the lull of warmth blind your thoughts, Brother Evgej,” whispered Teren, “the warmth will carry you off into the winds of the night.”

“Say that again,” said Evgej, drowsily.

Teren touched the palm of his hand to Evgej’s brow. He held it there only a second before he removed it.

“Valam, Seth, remove the gloves from his hands. Liyan, pull off his other boot,” thought Teren into their minds quickly, as he removed Evgej’s right boot. “Quickly remove his cloak. Seth, remove your gloves as well. Follow my example.” Teren washed Evgej’s foot in the snow, massaging the foot with his hands. “Seth, can you feel the will within him?”

“Are you mad?” screamed Valam, “The snow will kill him!”

“Valam, please just listen to me, or else Evgej will die.”

“Yes, but it is shallow.”

The urgency of Teren’s message within Valam’s thoughts was all the proof he needed of Teren’s sincerity. From then on, he did exactly what Teren told him to do. “Evgej, can you feel this?” asked Teren as he pinched Evgej’s foot.

“Yes,” responded Evgej.

“Can you feel this?” asked Teren again.

“Yes.”

Teren looked to the others; he had not touched Evgej’s foot a second time. “Keep massaging his hands in the snow,” Teren told the others while he talked to Evgej. “Can you feel the movement of your fingers?”

“Yes.”

Teren told them to stop, and asked the question again.

“No.”

“Good, good!” responded Teren. Teren continued to work frantically over Evgej, directing the other three as he went. “This is exactly what I feared. We must be astute during this night, or none of us will reach the morning.” Teren carefully chose words to remind all present of the effects of the cold against their limbs and their lives. Forcefully, he reminded them to remember above all else to keep moving. “Do not let your bodies slow. Guard your will. Maintain close watch over your mount. Do not let it wander away, but make sure it also stays mobile. Be wary. If one bolts, all the animals will bolt.”

“Will Evgej be all right?” asked Valam. His mind bristled with thoughts, none of which were pleasant. He wondered how Captain Mikhal and Lieutenant Danyel’ fared, as they also were not used to severe cold weather. He blamed himself for Evgej’s condition; common sense should have told him to ensure Evgej was wary.

“Yes, I believe he will be fine, but we must keep him warm,” responded Teren while he directed into Evgej’s mind another question.

“Ouch!” yelled Evgej, “That hurt!”

“Good! Keep moving your toes.”

The amount of wood they had for burning only amounted to a scattered stockpile of torches, which would provide little heat even if they threw every last one into a pile and burned them. Besides, they needed to save the torches and a dwindling stack of wood used for cooking. It wasn’t much, since most of their food stocks were dried, but at best they could warm their ale over it, which is what they decided to do. They were given the opportunity to get warm liquid into their bellies before they settled in to endure the remainder of the long night.

Fortunately, the cold had not deeply touched many others. Valam surmised from what he saw that Seth’s people had a much greater tolerance for the cold. Valam dreaded the many sleepless hours that lay ahead. As he saw Captain Mikhal and Lieutenant Danyel’ move from the long line huddled around the dwindling fire, he motioned for them to join him.

He was sitting alone. Seth and Liyan had helped Evgej to the fire. The three were still there, sitting around it. He could see from the expression on Evgej’s face that life was returning to his veins. Captain Mikhal and the lieutenant followed Valam’s lead and sat upon their packs, to avoid sitting on the cold earth.

The walls of snow shielded them well from the chilling effects of the wind, but the storm’s rage still found its way to them. “How do you think Keeper Martin and Father Jacob fare?” asked Valam of the captain as more of a conversation opener than anything else although he was interested in hearing more about the two.

“They are tough men. I am sure they are fine,” replied Mikhal.

“Do you know much of these plains?”

“Yes, we have been very thorough in our scouting.”

“Then you were on a scouting expedition from the camp when we met you?”

“Well—”

“Yes,” responded Danyel’.

“How many days had you been away from the encampment?”

The captain paused, and then Danyel’ answered the question, “I had been gone from the camp three days when I met Brother Teren. He had seen something that piqued his interest and asked our group to ride along. Unfortunately, Keeper Martin sent Captain Mikhal in search of my group when we did not return to camp on time. They met up with us just hours before we met your group.”

“Then, Captain Mikhal, you probably know best how affairs are at the camp. Are spirits good? How goes the training?”

“Training goes well.”

“Have you been able to carry on Seth’s training?”

“Yes, you would be surprised at the enthusiasm. After the initial confusion, or should I say rather bluntly, disdain, a certain fascination caught most everyone.”

Valam nodded his head in approval. Silence fell between them, and Captain Mikhal muddled over thoughts in his mind. He considered telling Valam of Keeper Martin’s plan to return to the Great Kingdom if supplies did not come. He didn’t know how Valam would take news like that. He just hoped the keeper and Father Jacob would hold out an extra week as they had planned although tomorrow would mark the seventh day of his absence.

“Tell me more of the lands in the vicinity,” requested Valam, ever shifting his thoughts to concerns for the future. “Seth has told me a little, but I want to hear it from a viewpoint I can relate to. Have you seen signs of the enemy?”

The captain and the lieutenant took turns depicting all the details they could recall about the countryside they had explored. Valam was very careful to note each detail they gave him; his mind fed on them. The picture he created in his mind helped him feel more at home here, even under these inhospitable conditions.

As the last embers of the fire fell, Seth, Liyan, and Evgej, with help from the other two, moved back to join Valam. Full feeling had returned to Evgej’s joints and limbs. He felt much better although he did still feel rather foolish. He had felt fine until Teren had started prodding him.

Evgej smiled a half-smile, and offered Valam the remainder of the warm ale in his skin, which Valam only accepted after Evgej assured him that it was the third skin that had been forced upon him, and he could not drink any more for some time. As Valam sipped the warm drink and its warmth spread through him, he was reminded all the more of the cold that was present all about him. Only a few more hours to go, he told himself.

The beat of Valam’s heart increased as the first, tiny vestiges of light appeared on the horizon. In that instant, Valam thought to himself that he had never seen a more beautiful sight. But as he watched, the tip of the sun broke the horizon, and he realized an even greater sense of elation. For the first time in what seemed an eternity, he saw the blue of the sky.

“Evgej, isn’t that magnificent!” exclaimed Valam. “Evgej?” shouted Valam when no response returned. “Evgej? Seth?”

Valam jumped to his feet, “Evgej? Seth?” he yelled wildly. He strained his eyes to focus in the coming light. He squinted. Captain Mikhal and Danyel’ stood a short distance away. Liyan sat next to him, his concentration lost while he wrung his hands, trying to keep them warm, but Evgej and Seth were gone.

Valam moved down the line of forms in the immediate vicinity, first to the right, and then to the left. He shouted their names again, stirring Liyan from his thoughts. “Liyan, where are Seth and Evgej?” Liyan shrugged his shoulders; it was evident he was also puzzled. He had not noticed their absence either.

With the coming of morning and the life-giving essence of light, the camp quickly sprang into a bustling hub of activity. The snow stopped. It was a miracle. There was much to be done, but the first order of business was to rescue the supplies from beneath the white blanket where they were buried. Teren was quick to order an accounting of all, including animals and equipment.

Tsandra watched him with contempt in her eyes, but in her heart different feelings were stirring. She almost felt sorry for him. Such a desolate place to endure one’s life. What a waste, she thought to herself. The brightness of the sun seemed to return feeling to her cold, tired body immediately. She checked over her own mount and her personal effects. The animal had survived the cold better than she had.

As the minutes swept by, the darkness was swallowed by the brightness of the new day. Valam’s eyes continually adjusted to the changing light. His search for Evgej and Seth had taken him along their makeshift shelter, peering into every corner he chanced upon. He finally found them at the far end of the wall. Seth stood upon a large mound of snow, with Evgej beside him.

“Evgej, Seth!” shouted Valam.

Evgej was quick to note Valam’s mood and he replied, “We’re fine. Idle minds and hands are a waste, that’s all.” He stooped down and patted the mound of snow beneath their feet, which must have been a full ten feet high. Valam felt foolish for not noticing them, for as he walked towards them they were totally in the open. If he had been looking up or even straight ahead instead of down, he would have spotted them easily.

Valam clambered up to the top of the mound. As he reached the summit, he shielded his eyes from the glare of the white cover all around them. Valam released a gasp of amazement as he looked about, “Wow!”

Teren’s voice called out to Liyan, Seth, and Tsandra’s minds. “Five dead, and eight beasts gone.” He spoke simply; nothing more needed to be said. Teren, as did the other three, held their heads for a moment of silent prayer, and then moved on to other matters. They counted their good fortune; the dark storm could have claimed them all.

Teren counted his good fortune twice. The snows had ceased, the morning sky was clear and bright, and with luck they would reach the coast by late afternoon if his estimate were correct. But first they must excavate the camp. The wind had piled the snow several feet deep in many areas, even with their protective walls. It would be some time before they would be ready to travel again.

Chapter Six

“Shchander, how could you?” shouted Nijal, “I counted you a friend.”

“As do I,” said Shchander.

“But why this treachery?”

“It was not I,” said Shchander.

“Who then?”

“Think about it,” said Shchander, subtly indicating those around him.

The distance separating the two forces diminished as the others closed in. Amir swept forward in a crazed fervor. As he sought to gain a clear opening, he met and matched the blades of the attackers many times. Angrily, hand over hand, he swung his blade back and forth circling his body from left to right, back to front, with finesse and ease.

Although his blade covered a full 360 degrees around his body in the blinking of an eye, his assailants did not hesitate to engage him. As a group, four men circled him warily while the remainder of their compatriots moved inward. Their attacks were swift, accurately timed, and precise. Simultaneously, four blades reached for him, only to be just as swiftly denied their target.

Xith drank in the energies around him; he cursed himself for not fully gathering a reserve. He had let his guard down; he would not let it happen again. Energy seeking to come to life touched his fingertips but was not yet alive with power.

Surprise was tough for Noman to handle. His response, however, was in no way slowed. He quickly tossed up a shield about the inner circle, which was effectively sealing them from attack by any projectile.

Nijal had been decisively cut off from guarding Amir’s rear by a clever ruse. An additional group composed of a complement of four, guarded his every movement. His prowess with a sword did not match Amir’s, but he held his own and kept them at bay.

Amir raised his blade high and thrust, quickly followed by a block left and right. He ducked to avoid the attack from his rear, whipping around to knock the blow upward. Followed immediately a second time into the opening in the attacker’s defense, he recoiled as metal striking metal resounded.

The blow should not have been blocked; how could it have been? He gathered his senses close in his mind, and then cleared his thought to a new way of thinking, adapting always as he had learned from the plentiful lessons Noman had given him. He was impressed by his new opponent’s prowess.

Xith poised with energy raging within him. The magic was clear and clean at his center. He needed only to give it form. For an instant before he did so, his thoughts slipped to Vilmos. “Oh, the waste,” he whispered, “such waste.”

Nijal sucked air heavily as perspiration dripped down his face. It was all he could do to defend. He didn’t have time to attempt even a simple jab; his mind was fully focused on survival. His sword arm swung through block after block, switching from a clockwise rotation to a counterclockwise rotation as the attacking force necessitated.

Nijal’s blade clashed heavily against one of his opponent’s glaives and the sting knocked him back. A series of attacks left and right knocked his blade from his hand. Suddenly, Nijal felt as if his heart had stopped beating.

Noman raised his hand to stop Xith from releasing his magic. “Wait,” he told Xith. Noman raised his voice loftily to Shchander, “Point well taken. I accept.”

“How did you know?”

“You are clever but not overly so. Your desire gave you away.”

Dismayed, Nijal accepted his sword as it was returned graciously to his hand. He was beset with confusion. He couldn’t comprehend what Shchander had done. Warily, he maintained his distance from the warriors who stood immediately around him, staring at him with coy expressions on their faces.

Amir sheathed his weapon without another thought and without hesitation. “You fight well,” he complimented the swordsmen around him, “as one.” Amir moved to a position beside Noman, patiently waiting, but yet wary. Wary not because he doubted Noman’s abilities, but because it was in his nature, and intuition told him to act thus. He made sure Adrina was close at hand.

“These men are well-trained, as I have told you,” explained Shchander.

“I know, my friend, but the point is that we need to move quickly and maintain a low profile.”

“If you will not take us with you, then we will be forced to take you with us,” said Shchander, raising his sword to join his compatriots, as such was his conviction and his promise. They raised their weapons as well, moving quickly to re-engage.

Noman noted the determination set into Shchander’s features and responded in kind, “My mind is set. I can see now that we must travel together.” He paused, and then as Shchander smiled and lowered his weapon, Noman exclaimed, “Take them!”

Adrenaline pumped through Amir’s veins as he withdrew his sword from its sheath. He looked forward to another test against such worthy fighters. Having learned from the previous encounter, he noted in his mind their movements. He would not make a similar error again, but he also noted in his mind that these were not true enemies, and he would not be severe with his weapon’s edge.

Nijal was hesitant to react; these were men of the same blood as him. They were no enemy. He could not raise a weapon against an ally; it was against his code. The dilemma beset his mind, but it did not delay him from defending as he felt the swish of a blade nearly rake the side of his head.

“Shchander, give faith, my friend. Noman knows what is best; this I believe with all my heart.”

“The test of swords never hurt a man, especially not a free man. Provide me this jest.”

“You always were a man of words,” grunted Nijal as he strained under the weight of a blow. He was wild and arcing in his defense, wielding his blade like an apprentice.

Amir studied the four within his mind, contemplating the tensions in their muscles, trying to reach into their minds and feel when they would attack. Shifts in the air about him, smells potently clinging close about him, sounds of agitated hands tightly clenching, or the expirations of breaths heavy into the air, all spoke of their movements in Amir’s mind. He circled and moved, blocked or guarded, independent of their individual movements. Now he was fixed on the four as if they were one because now within his mind they were.

Noman reassuringly put a hand on Xith’s shoulder; he was more intrigued now that he knew it was only a test between them. A test that he was sure would be anything but easy. He was captivated by the complexity of the fighters’ movements. It had been a very long time since he had seen men with such promise, and although he was confident that Amir would win the challenge, he looked forward to watching.

Instinctively Amir edged closer towards Nijal, seeking to use Nijal as a cover for his backside. A similar notion passed through Nijal’s thoughts, and he slowly led his assailants in Amir’s direction. Amir followed through with a clean series of blows, while Nijal absorbed the necessary blocks.

As Shchander joined the strife, it was nine against two. Under the circumstance, even Amir’s skills were being worn away although he was enjoying every moment of the challenge. He had not been so thoroughly tested since they had left Solstice Mountain. He recalled the last hours there with disgust.

“Give up, my friend,” said Shchander, “do you not recognize the training?” Shchander maneuvered to split the two up again and divide their defenses once more. For now, the two could hold them at bay while they came in at them, taking each attack as a wave. It was clear: the swordsmen were also taking care not to cause serious injury.

Nijal knew what Shchander was referring to, but he answered slyly anyway, “No, I never had the time to learn from him.” Nijal sighed in relief after the words left his mouth, as the edge of a sword sliced the air just short of his neck. One of the swordsmen winked at him, which angered him. Amir quickly returned the favor, and the swordsman lost his air of haughtiness.

“That is a shame; you have his prowess, you could have had his knowledge also,” chastened Shchander as his block clubbed Nijal’s blade heavily. Two other swordsmen followed suit immediately with a thrust, while a third attempted to knock the blade from Nijal’s hands.

“I chose a different path; this you know,” said Nijal as he winced from the pain of the stinging in his hands. Amir poured his strength into his blade and drove back his attackers again.

“Yes, but you know oft times he is right.”

“In no case does that give you absolution. We will fight.”

“Then so be it,” said Shchander as he drove in with his blade, blocking up, while two other swordsmen attacked Nijal. Amir whirled around to face Shchander. At the same time, Nijal displaced the sword from Shchander’s hand. The sting of it was evident on Shchander’s face as it grew red with surprise and rage. “Don’t be so gregarious when you fight, my friend. You lose your concentration.”

Shchander very graciously bowed to the victor, picked up his sword by the hilt, and said, “We are finished here.” Shchander motioned to his compatriots to lower their weapons and follow his retreat, which they did without contest. Shchander sheathed his sword and walked away without further delay.

“For that, there will be no need. You have doubly proven your worth,” said Noman, raising his voice loftily. “Come. We must make haste. It is time we departed this place.”

A broad smile lit Shchander’s face, and the faces of his fellows. Nijal moved to embrace Shchander, “You are correct, though. You have learned well in my short absence.”

Shchander nodded his head in response. He was too tired to speak any more now. He understood that Nijal implied his skill of leadership as opposed to his skill of arms. One of the swordsmen motioned to catch Shchander’s attention, and he waved back, signaling it was permissible to retrieve their mounts and supplies.

“Come,” said Nijal, indicating Shchander should follow him. Nijal went to see to their own animals. The two then assisted Amir as he reconnected the team to the carriage; Adrina was already seated inside, ready to go. She smiled at Shchander, as he passed by, and for the first time, she accepted his presence and approved of it.

As they departed, Xith wasn’t the only one scouring the heavens for a presence just on the edge of his consciousness. He was certain that his use of magic had given their position away to someone or something unseen. He could see that Noman felt it as well, as did the mighty titan, Amir.

Chapter Seven

Dark shadows suddenly fell over the hall; scattered thoughts brought hesitant glances to vaulted windows set high along the east and western walls. The windows were designed to fill the chamber with light from dawn to dusk. It could not already be nightfall, thought Captain Brodst. “Had the battle lasted that long?” he wondered.

“Geoffrey. We must reach Geoffrey first!” yelled the captain.

The four surged forward, straight into the onslaught of their assailants. Captain Brodst wasn’t surprised at all as he watched Midori hold her own in battle. She had, after all, learned from the same master he had although matched daggers offered no reach compared to a full-handed sword.

Lord Fantyu bit back the pain in his side, and vaulted into the enemy. At least now the invaders were dividing. King Jarom had ordered all available men to chase down and capture Lord Serant and Princess Calyin. The scorn rang evident in his words as his voice boomed over the top of the cacophony of battle.

Geoffrey was also grateful for the slight reprieve, but the advantage was still on the side of the enemy. Words muddled in his mind as his frenzied thoughts slowed. He still did not think he would survive, nor did he hope to, but now he would surely take more of the vile wretches with him.

As the mass of bodies thinned out, Geoffrey saw Lord Fantyu and the good captain for the first time. “Flee!” he shouted to them, “Flee!” although now with both exits fairly secured, he knew the opportunity was gone. Captain Brodst lowered his head for a moment; they were going nowhere.

Midori reached out with her mind, straining to find the will of the Mother. Her consciousness still spun with disbelief at the absence; how could the Mother abandon them in their time of need? As dark shadows lighted over the hall a second time, she hesitated, but slowly her attention was drawn westward, up the raised rows and beyond to the vaulted windows. The sun was indeed setting.

Wearily, Lord Fantyu raised his sword; the clash sent his body reeling. His knees wanted to collapse under his weight, but he strained to hold on. A second blade reached for him; Fantyu moved to block, but he was too slow to recover. He moved to dodge, but he was struck full in the mid-section. Although the gleam of victory was in his opponents’ eyes, Lord Fantyu did not lower his gaze.

Captain Brodst’s eyes were wide with rage as his blade crushed downward; the two forces collided. Brodst’s blow was clearly stronger; he drove through, severing the opposing weapon unmercifully from the other man’s hands. The contempt was evident upon his face as he plunged the tip of his sword deep. He watched as the man fell, careful to move around him as he toppled, making his way to his next foe.

Catrin grimaced as she dodged an attack. She was quick to send her daggers home into the man’s gut, thrusting upward to reach his heart. Her first blade found its mark as did the second. She laughed as his blood ran bright down her hands to the floor. She held no pity for his soul; she would make them pay for their evil deeds.

Geoffrey sidestepped a blow while he parried a second. He fought to gain back the offensive, but he couldn’t get any blows past the two who blocked his every move. A third moved to his side. Geoffrey stopped just short of tossing an elbow into the man’s chest. “Captain Brodst, you old son of a wood troll!” he yelled.

Lord Fantyu wavered as his thrust was knocked harmlessly back at him. He perceived a presence to his left and right, Midori and Catrin, but he knew they were too late. He was beyond their help. His countenance held firm, almost regal, as he raised his sword to counter one last time. A surge of adrenaline swept over him as he launched himself full onto the enemy before him.

Two blades sank deep, piercing cleanly through, reaching outward, as Lord Fantyu fell upon the other. A trickle of blood pouring from his mouth spoke of his demise, but the smile held to his lips as he looked into the eyes of the one who lay beneath him. His aim had been true. He breathed in his last breath.

A tear fell from Midori, rolling crystalline down her cheek. She knew without a doubt that Lord Fantyu had passed. The remorse on her face was quickly banished, as she immediately moved to re-engage. She had paused only an instant to say a prayer to the Mother and to the Father. She hoped they would still hear her words even if their will did not walk through her.

Both Geoffrey’s and the captain’s minds were jolted with a burst of speed and anxiety. They had seen Lord Fantyu fall; similar thoughts moved through their minds. The military mind within them carefully tallied the odds: now they only numbered four.

Midori raised her voice to a pitched, venomous screech, the effects of which were not lost on those around her. Even the most stalwart of figures cringed as the sound pierced their ears. Steadfast, Midori turned the instant’s hesitation into an advantage as she lunged. Daggers level, she descended upon her prey, evil justice in her eyes.

King Jarom stood and turned to face Midori. “Kill her!” he shouted to his henchmen, “Kill her now!” Jarom feared those of the Mother as much as he feared the dark priests, both of which had their uses at the proper time. But now was not the proper time, and he had no use for their sort. He would have his fun with the priests they had captured.

He chuckled as he watched his men turn with new vigor. The attack was taking longer than he had planned, but he liked its progression thus far. In a short while, the kingdom, all its subjects and domains, would be his. He would make sure there were no heirs, apparent or otherwise; even now his servants sought out all those of royal lineage.

“Finish this. I grow weary!” he barked at his remaining bodyguards save two, which he motioned should stay. Afterwards he also sent his captain to urge those following Lord Serant and Princess Calyin. King Jarom smiled and turned to the other kings. All save one were calm. “Do not fear, King William, I hold no grudges.”

King Jarom smiled as he walked over and patted King William on the back. “All is forgotten,” said Jarom as he lifted his jeweled stiletto from its sheath. King Jarom fiddled with the blade in his hand while he stood behind King William. He watched as William thumped his fingers against the tabletop. William lurched in his seat as Jarom placed his hands back onto William’s shoulder. William sighed in relief and his heartbeat returned to normal.

Catrin spun around and clipped the arm of her opponent, her blade visibly raking into his leathered armor. The man’s blade fell to the ground as the tendons in his hand were severed. A gasp of pain came from his mouth. Catrin was quick to follow through with a second slice to the jugular, ending the dispute.

Geoffrey signaled a series of short, defensive retreats so the four could better handle the additional onslaught, which, when coupled with those streaming in from the hall, was utterly overwhelming. It took concerted effort just to make the retreat effective. His eyes sought out a place in the room, which offered little maneuvering; his only hopes were to draw out their demise.

Captain Brodst began kicking chairs at those who covered their retreat, carefully making sure to maintain his balance as he dropped back over the body-strewn floor. As he had a few seconds to think, he reflected that he did not regret his life; he had lived fully. He hoped with all his heart that the lord and the princess had found escape.

Catrin staggered backwards as she slipped across the floor. One of her daggers fell from her grasp and bumped across the floor. She was quick to recover and turned in wild retreat, striving to catch up to the others. As she turned, she caught a blade mid-shoulder, which stunned her to her knees. Her hand stretched out, but no one could help her now; she was beyond them.

Midori stopped cold, and whipped the blade in her hand around to feel the tip between her fingers. She scoffed as she withdrew her hand, and flung it at the warrior who stood so gallant retracting his blade from his victim. The blade caught him clean, low on his neck, just above his armored collar.

The three withdrew all the way to the farthest reaches of the room, fighting their way up the raised platforms, up the rows of benches, to where they did not know. All options suddenly came to a halt as they reached the far wall; there was no place left to go. Geoffrey grimaced as he realized that he had backed into the wall.

“Till the end!” he shouted, as he threw his blade aside. He reached his hands out wide, ready to embrace all those that came near. He hurled himself downward, putting all his strength into the vault, and adding all his weight to the force. As he slammed head first into the closest two, they sent a shock wave rippling down to the last bench, knocking them down along with all in their path.

The waning light suddenly gave way as the last rays of light disappeared with the sun beyond the horizon. The room fell to darkness and shadows, as the glare from the windows above faded with the light. A loud ruckus broke to a roar, immediately following.

“Till the end!” shouted Geoffrey, as he lifted himself up off the floor, bringing his fists into contact with anything available. He flailed wildly about himself, hitting anything and everything around him. A brawl broke out around him, and as none could see in the darkness, no one knew who was hitting whom.

“Get them! Kill them!” shouted Jarom, infuriated. He moved close to the two guards beside him, quickly groping his way back to a chair, and a feeling of relative safety. His curses grew above the noise of the fighting, inciting anger into the minds of those who listened. His voice raised, ranting and raving louder, demanding torches be brought in at once, threatening all who failed him with immediate punishment.

Minutes later, the first torches were carried in from the adjacent halls. King William smirked at the collapse of Jarom’s bravado, which even in the shadows was garish. King Jarom was quick to plant the apex of his stiletto dead center between William’s eyes, sending him reeling backwards, flailing his arms, dead as he dropped.

Geoffrey had edged his way out of the fight, under the cover of darkness, moving skillfully on his hands and knees. As the torchlight brought sight to those around him, he was caught. He poised his eyes pleading up to the heavens, raising his hands, and shrugging his shoulders.

“Not this day!” he yelled to Jarom as he leaped to his feet and up to the captain and Midori, who had been standing at the ready, waiting in the darkness for whatever came their way. Geoffrey clasped his hands together, “Up you go!” he indicated to Midori.

“Where?”

“Hurry, put your foot into my hands. Don’t ask questions. Just do it.”

The puzzled look on Captain Brodst’s face vanished as realization hit him. His countenance changed to an expression that said, “Are you kidding?” But he was quick to assist Midori up to the sill. Afterwards, he stood motionless for a heartbeat. His eyes moved to those that were only seconds away from them. Captain Brodst interlaced his fingers and said, “Go!”

Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders, “No. Set your blade there, and be quick about it!” Geoffrey had snapped it at the captain like an order, to which Captain Brodst was quick to respond, not because he wanted to, but on impulse.

“But where do we go from there?” asked Captain Brodst, as Geoffrey boosted him up. As Captain Brodst moved upward, clenching his fingers against the wall, pulling himself also upward, his face reflected his confusion. His face also reflected his gratitude.

“The choice is yours!” shouted Geoffrey in response, as he grasped the captain’s sword.

Chapter Eight

The city of Zashchita lay only days ahead of them at the far edge of the forest; in retrospect, it seemed to be cut out of the forest. A few leagues away from its lookouts, the forest began anew. Noman knew this, as he knew the sun would rise in the morning. Vast ranges of forests cut across the face of the territories—too much—thought Noman. He looked forward to the time when they would reach the sea and cool, coastal breezes.

The humidity in the forest seeped into his skin and his soul. He breathed in the moisture from the air around him. Three days of rain filtering through the trees had set all in gloomy moods except Adrina. It wasn’t because she rode inside the carriage, which was dry, but because the rain brought fond memories. She liked the slight feeling of sadness the raindrops gave her; in an odd sort of way, the sadness actually lifted her spirits.

Adrina thought about the words Noman spoke to her when they stopped. She dwelled upon them. A pain in her stomach caused her to wince, and she leaned her head out the carriage. The fresh air against her face made her feel better, but the queasiness still did not go away. After she got rid of her lunch, her stomach settled down, at least temporarily. Her hands swept down to the mark upon her belly. “Tnavres,” she said quietly to herself, “Tell your master, I will never do what he asks.”

The carriage jolted to a sudden halt, and Noman jumped down from its seat, as did Xith. In front of them, Amir and Nijal also dismounted. Storms had knocked down a group of trees that blocked the road before them. Noman quickly calculated the options; the forest was too thickly overgrown with underbrush to move around the trees, especially for the coach. The choice remaining was the obvious one, move the trees, which would not be an easy task.

Amir yelled to Shchander and his men to move up from the rear and assist, but by the time he yelled, they were already coming. Hours of toil and sweat later, their combined might moved the first tree a few feet. Amir looked to Noman in frustration but would not give up.

He scratched his head and told the others to put their backs into it this time. On his mark they began again, grunting and groaning as the eleven of them strained beneath the tree’s weight, which was going nowhere. Nijal stopped and stripped down his gear, as if it would help, as did the others. “Again,” signaled Amir.

Sweat pouring down his face, but with no lessening of determination, Amir called them to a halt minutes later. As he slumped down, spent, the others also rested. After a brief respite, he stood and slapped his hands together, spit into them, and rubbed them together again.

Anger was evident on his face as he motioned for them to give it another try. The others followed without hesitation or complaint, putting every last ounce of their strength into one last attempt. Success lighted Amir’s face as they moved the tree from the ground, albeit only inches; slowly they walked it back. They had moved it about a foot when it became clear it was stuck and wasn’t going to budge anymore.

Xith and Noman called them to a stop. They decided that they would try magic to levitate the carriage across, as opposed to wasting the entire day trying to move the trees. “Unhook the team,” called out Noman. Adrina stepped out of the wagon to watch the spectacle.

Xith looked to Noman. Both had hoped to avoid the use of magic or its forms for as long as possible as much as possible. It might give away their position, a thing they did not want to happen, especially if the enemy did not know where they were.  He slowly began building energy within himself, taking it in from the energies around him. Odd, he thought to himself, the energy wasn’t as strong here as he would have expected.

Amir looked amused as he watched Xith struggle to gather the power within him. He watched and thought about the problem and came up with a new solution. He signaled to Nijal and pointed to the carriage. Shchander hesitated, but his men joined in without him. Amir and Nijal picked up the rear of the wagon while the other eight lifted the midsection and the front. They squatted and lifted in unison, surprised at how light it seemed compared to the tree.

With a few groans and grunts, they made it over the barrier of trees and placed the coach on the opposite side. Noman was quick to laugh at the simple resolution of the dilemma, but also quick to stop Xith from drawing in any more energy. Xith stopped, looked, and took a second look before he realized what had occurred, but he was also quick to grin in relief that the obstacle had been overcome.

In a short while, and after a short rest, they were moving along the trail again; thoughts of the rain, the humidity, and Zashchita, were for the moment forgotten. Shchander and Nijal broke into light conversation about their home city of Solntse, and the grudge between them also lifted. Nijal insisted that Shchander retain the title of captain. Nijal was fairly settled on the fact that he was not ready to return to Solntse any time soon to regain his office; and if Nijal had his way, Shchander would return to Solntse once they safely reached Krepost’ on the edge of Statter’s Bay.

Noman was perplexed. Concern played heavily on his face as they rode on, bringing a furrow to his brow. It was something Xith had said to him just as they had departed that had sparked the consternation. His fears caused him to lose track of everything around him as he turned inward. There was a presence in the farthest reaches of his thoughts that he could not grasp.

A shadow passed over the sky above unnoticed. Xith rode in the coachman’s seat beside Noman, still a little miffed at the proceedings. Xith fiddled nervously with his fingers, the touch of them against each other was wrong.

A breeze, albeit slight, began to stir, moving through the trees with a whisper. Subtly, the temperature began to change, and the air around them became cooler as the humidity dissipated. Noman and Xith were not the only ones fidgety; the oddities around them played on Amir’s senses, made more perceptive by his blindness.

Adrina drew in a quiet breath; the sudden coolness brought on drowsiness. She watched the trees pass with their leaves of green, brown, and gold. Her eyes grew heavier and her breathing slowed, and then she drifted off to a light slumber. Her thoughts were mostly pleasant as she shifted to a deeper, peaceful sleep.

The trail became dense and twisted; large overgrown patches were in rich abundance. Thick shadows formed beneath the trees and as they moved deeper into the shadows the light of day slowly faded. The trees around them spoke of ancient times; their forms grew as thick and tangled as the path.

The harbinger of night fell quickly upon them although it was far from dusk. They found themselves huddling closer together. Even Adrina, who was sleeping soundly now, suddenly felt solitude, a great separation between her and the world around her. Spontaneous reactions brought many hands to the hilts of weapons held yet in their scabbards.

They waited with bated breath, fingers playing restlessly against hardened metal, minds filled with images of looming horrors. Gloom sank into their souls, creating specters in the trees. Without realizing it, they slowed to a lethargic, careful pace.

Minutes became hours as the seconds ticked past, a heart beat at a time, a breath at a time. Every sound caught the ears of the listeners—a trodden stick, a moving branch, the breeze rustling through the trees. Nervous eyes darted from side to side in anticipation.

Shchander motioned for his companions to split up and ride alongside the carriage, four to a side, while he went to the front. He cast his eyes towards Noman and Xith, shrugging his shoulders. He wanted to ask, “What is it? What is wrong?” for surely they must know the answer, he thought, yet his mind told him not to break the silence.

Xith returned Shchander’s gesture—he did not know. Something weighed heavily upon him although he could not touch it. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed his palms with his thumbs. The minute spark of energy created as he did so trickled across his thumbnails.

Ahead, the growth around them grew sparse, but the darkness did not dissipate. It loomed around them, clinging to their souls. A clear disjoining lay ahead and as they passed it, the shadows seemed to lift. Then as suddenly as they had come, the dark clouds overhead scattered.

“Help me! Somebody, please help me!” screamed Adrina. Her body was fixed with convulsions, “Help me!” she whimpered.

The coach came to a sudden halt, and Adrina was jolted backwards into the padded seats. She lay there trembling, afraid to move. “Make them go away!” she yelled. “Make them go away!”

Two large figures unfurled the doors to the carriage and leaped inside. They stared blankly at one another. The coach contained no one save them and Adrina. “Princess, there is nothing here. You are alone.”

“No, they are here!” she cried, her eyes pleading with them to listen to her.

“Adrina, are you unwell?” yelled a familiar voice.

“Xith, please send them away! Make them leave!”

“Please,” said Xith, “leave her alone.” Xith indicated that the others should leave and he took Adrina’s hand and led her outside. “What is it, dear?” he asked sympathetically.

“Please send them away. Make them go!”

“Them?” asked Xith, pointing to the two who had just returned to their mounts.

“No, not them. They are there,” said Adrina, pointing to the inside of the carriage.

Xith peered into the interior of the coach, “There is no one there. It is empty.”

“No,” cried Adrina bursting into tears. “They came for me. They want me to go with them.”

Xith was confused and worried. He glanced at Noman, subtly asking, “Is there something there?” Noman stepped down from the buckboard, and inspected the carriage. Afterwards, he shook his head negatively. He saw nothing. “You must have been dreaming, my dear. Everything is fine now, I assure you.”

“No, it is not,” replied Adrina. “They have come for me because I won’t do what he asks.”

The way she said it sent chills down Xith’s spine. He looked to Noman again for assistance, then to Amir and finally Nijal. Nijal took Adrina’s hand and returned with her to the coach. As Nijal stepped into its confines, Adrina froze cold, her face fixed in a mask. “No,” she repeated. She would not step within.

“Adrina, I assure you there is nothing here,” said Nijal, sitting. Adrina held firm. Nijal stood and took her hand, pulling her inside. Adrina became hysterical. She started screaming and shouting frantically, tears welling up in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. “Please, no,” she said pitifully.

Nijal held her hand warmly, caressing it, soothing her, slowly coaxing her to step in. “There, there,” he whispered to her as she leaned her head against him. One small step at a time, he drew her into the carriage, and they started anew although all were a little shaken. They would be very glad to have this section of the forest far behind them.

The remainder of the day proceeded smoothly. They set up camp just as dusk came on. Xith was still puzzling over what Adrina had said. He tried to help her by talking about what she had dreamt, but Adrina would not talk about it. Fear was still evident in her eyes, and she did not want to be left alone this evening. That was clear.

Nijal took the cushioned bench across from Adrina as they lay down to retire for the evening. He watched her as she lay there for hours with her eyes wide open. “What is it?” he asked softly.

“Nijal, can we sleep outside tonight?”

Nijal thought about it for a time, and as he did so, Adrina said, “I will not get dirty. I will be fine on the ground. I do not need special comforts.” Nijal agreed, but he would not allow her to simply lie on the ground. He woke Shchander and his men, and the ten of them gathered a nest of pine needles for Adrina to rest upon. The light seemed to return to Adrina’s eyes as she lay down to sleep.



Father Jacob paced nervously in his command tent. He was alone. Captain Mikhal had left in search of the seventh, and Keeper Martin was gone, to where he wasn’t sure. If he were not a holy man, his curses would have been foul. He did not like the dilemma he was faced with. How could they leave, but how could he justify not leaving? He had given his promise to King Andrew and to Prince Valam, but he had also given new promises to Keeper Martin.

“Why did I let him leave?” rang his voice loudly about the empty command tent. The page outside the tent quickly entered and stared at him. Father Jacob waved him away. “Be gone!” he yelled. As the page retreated from the tent, Father Jacob caught a glimpse of the sky outside; it was as foul as his mood, which sent him deeper into his rage.

He walked over to the table and stared blankly at the half-filled charts strewn across its surface. He cast them aside and unrolled several more from a trunk near the table. His heart fell heavily as he examined the coast of the kingdom. The next chart contained hastily written remarks that Jacob couldn’t decipher—winds, currents, times, and cycles with blank spaces and question marks, which Jacob assumed were estimates, or better yet, guesses.

Fatigue suddenly overwhelmed him, as it had often of late. He slumped into a chair, sitting motionless until his breath returned. He again threw the charts aside, cursing Keeper Martin as he did so; immediately, he unrolled a piece of parchment and began hurriedly scribbling.

Hours later, as he finished the scroll, he placed it with the other scrolls of his account, careful to secure them with lock and key in a small chest, which he placed back into the larger trunk. The page hesitated before entering, clearing his throat to ensure that it was okay to come in.

The page set Jacob’s lunch on the table, meager as it was. Rations were extremely low even for one of Jacob’s stature. Jacob had insisted on equal rations for everyone including himself. With his face set in a mask, Jacob ate and for a time cleared his thoughts of all matters, even those of a pressing nature. As he finished, the page came back and took the plate, exiting without uttering a word.

The food sat thick and warm in his belly. Jacob sat still for quite some time, staring emptily at the wall of the tent. Anxiety and exhaustion coupled with internal turmoil brought him to the verge of collapse yet again. He had not slept in days, as was evident by the hollow shells of his eyes.

“Was it all for nothing?” he asked himself as his world faded to blackness. The camp was at the brink of depleting its last food stores; the little they had would only last a few more days at the most, and that only if they continued the strict rationing. They had only enough wood to maintain meager fires for cooking and little else. Water was the only thing they had in abundance.

Images played through his mind. He recalled distinctly the day they departed Imtal, the sojourn to Quashan’, the trek across the dark waters, reaching the Eastern Reaches, but most clear in his mind were the emotions in Keeper Martin’s face as he triggered the ancient device and disappeared. Jacob could not tell if it was surprise or shock or horror; nonetheless, Martin was gone now, and he, Jacob, was alone.

Chapter Nine

As Lord Serant broke into the courtyard, clutching Calyin’s hand followed by the venerable chancellors, his mouth fell agape. In astonishment he watched as the sun was swallowed by darkness, piece by piece. Frenzied thoughts ran through his mind. Thoughts of escape suddenly became secondary.

Calyin jolted to a halt as she stumbled into her lord. “What is it?” she asked, before she registered what was evident. She raised a hand to her mouth. A flicker of movement caught her eye on the far side of the courtyard as she peered heavenward.

Chancellor Van’te sank to his knees because of the agonizing pain in his side but also from awe. Chancellor Volnej quickly followed. “Father?” he cried, the word springing from his lips before he could cut it short.

The air turned cooler and a light breeze moved in as the shadows swept toward them. On the far side of the courtyard, a figure ran toward them, exhaustion clearly showing on his face. Lord Serant paused, also regarding the figure moving toward them. From a distance, Lord Serant couldn’t tell positively who the figure was. He did not know whether to flee or stand and fight.

As the figure approached, Lord Serant became certain that it was Swordmaster Timmer, as he had thought. The swordmaster dragged his right leg and draped his sword over his shoulder as he moved toward them, surprise and relief on his face.

“My lord, you are safe!” he hailed. “Thanks be to the Father.”

“Swordmaster Timmer, what has happened? Where did they all come from?”

“I do not know, my lord, but we shall make them pay for the treachery; this I promise.”

“Where are the garrison troops? The palace guards? Pyetr?”

“A few of the guards were with me, as you know. We have fought our way from the armory. I am afraid it was the first to be taken; only a few of my good men survive. We escaped the ambush. They are pushing into the inner castle as we speak. We did not know where you were, my lord.”

“The garrison troops, are they not in the city?”

The swordmaster shrugged his shoulders; he had dispatched men to inform them, but they had not returned although he thought that the garrison troops had surely seen the siege. “Where were they?” he thought to himself. “Come, we mustn’t delay here. It is not safe,” spoke Timmer, eager to move from the vulnerable position of the garden area.

“Where is Pyetr?” demanded Lord Serant.

“I do not know; come my lord, princess,” said Timmer with concern in his voice. He cast his eyes often to the sky as they retreated.

“Where is there safety?” asked Lord Serant. “Is the whole of the palace under attack?”

“I am afraid it is. There are so many. Damn it, where are the reinforcements!” Timmer cursed. “Are there others yet in the great hall?”

“I pray so,” said Serant in hushed, reverent tones.

“We will reach them, don’t worry. It will be just a matter of time as reinforcements arrive.”

“How many men do we have now?” asked Lord Serant.

“Scattered pockets, I am afraid. We were taken by surprise. Vile treachery, I tell you. We had no warning.”

“In all?”

“Several detachments, four squads in all, managed to escape with me; they are within the palace now.”

“Is that all?”

“I am afraid it is. They descended upon us in a swarm from all directions. It is a miracle that any of us escaped at all.”

Lord Serant hung his head; his thoughts were grim. He stopped just before they reentered the palace, looking at the shadows play upon the sun. It is an unnatural thing, he thought. It can only be an omen, an omen of ill tidings. He raised a defiant fist at the sun, and shook it angrily. He swore under his breath; he would make all who were responsible pay.

Movement through the halls proceeded slowly and cautiously; constantly they changed directions, moving away from the sounds of fighting. Slowly, they were being led around in a circle, being pushed back out into the courtyards. They were too small a group to venture an encounter. They could escape only if they avoided engagement.

As they entered a section of the old palace, ascending many floors and backtracking through the old private hallways and corridors, Calyin took the lead since she knew this area the best. Although she had not wandered these paths for many years, she still knew every detail from the time she had spent in them during her childhood. She brought them to a place where they could look out at the front courtyards, which lay behind the palace gates, and see the square just opposite the wall.

The sights from both views were ominous. A large contingent of black-clad warriors poured from the square through the gates. Within the courtyard was turmoil, a sea of bodies moving and clashing, mostly waves of black with tiny sections bearing the green and gold of the Great Kingdom. Lord Serant staggered back from the window, confused and dismayed. Fatigue swept through him, a sudden weariness that came from his soul.

Carefully circumnavigating the open passageways, Calyin brought them back to the old sections of the palace and to windows that looked down into the courtyards of the armory and a section of the garden. Although they noted no movement and no signs of the enemy intruders, the scene was nevertheless startling. Fields of bodies lay scattered across the grounds as if they had fallen from the sky.

Lord Serant closed his eyes. He considered plans for escape, which seemed the only alternative left to them. The odds were definitely not in their favor. He wondered about the fate of those they had left behind in the hall. He thought them perhaps lucky. They did not have to look at what he saw now.

Suddenly, Chancellor Van’te clutched Serant’s hand. “How did my brother die?” he asked. The weariness of his voice spoke volumes.

Lord Serant said with great sincerity, “He died with honor, honorable sir.”

“Good,” weakly responded the chancellor a glint of pride in his eyes. “Good-bye, my friends.”

Van’te collapsed, still holding Lord Serant’s hand as he fell. Lord Serant remorsefully closed the old man’s eyes. The last expression fixed on the chancellor’s face was happiness, and Serant felt that the chancellor had indeed found peace.

“Look!” cried Calyin, as she stared out the window, not in disrespect for the chancellor, but because her eyes had welled up with emotion. “There!” she said pointing. Although the sky was shrouded in darkness, a beam of light bathed a section of the courtyard. In the midst of the light sat the white gazebo of the garden. They took this as a message and hurried to that spot.

Oddly, when they came upon the open walkways, none thought to look for danger before entering, for in such beauty they knew there could be only safety. Shadows lingered in the air above them. As they drew nearer, the ray of light diffused and became many patches of light, one of which was on a window high above, though none of them was aware of this.

As the day turned into night, all the warmth was drawn from the air by restless breezes. The small company stood upon the dais of the gazebo and gazed upon a raven-hued sun. Its light was no more. They did not look at it, knowing that they might be blinded.

“Please forgive my transgressions this day, Father,” crossed each of their lips more than once in the moments that followed; but still they waited, standing still upon the platform, for the thing that had brought them here had not yet arrived.

Shards of glass struck the stone of the palace and plunged downward. Raised eyes could make out the figures stepping onto the ledge even in the darkness. Those that remained constant saw the others emerge from secret places within the courtyard as the force that drew them gathered all.

Timmer raised his sword in his trembling hands, facing those that approached. Lord Serant was quick to catch movement out of his periphery vision. He stepped in front of Calyin, raising his sword, placing himself between those that approached and his beloved.

“Your weapons will do you no good. We have long since passed and they will do you no harm,” spoke a voice, crisp and clear, with melodic hints of song in the words. Hesitant, Serant, Timmer, and the chancellor lowered their blades. Calyin’s stance had not changed at all. She had noted the arrival but was not afraid.

“Who are you?” demanded Lord Serant.

“Listen close, and listen well,” bade the voice again, wavering in rises and falls as it spoke. “We have only a short time before we must leave. Do not fear us, but do heed us.”

“But—” interrupted Serant.

“Foolish one, be still. Wait and I will tell. With three you are free and you are seven. Find it destroyed by the first, and you will endure the second.”

“Yes,” said another, as Lord Serant made it clear that he wished to speak.

“What is it we seek?”

“He that is learned, and he that is wise, and he that you despise.”

“Find the place of old. There then will your answers lie,” chimed another.

Lord Serant attempted to speak again, and another began to speak. Her words flowed cool and soothing, gentle to their ears, “When you find him, he will know.”

“How do we escape?”

“You have only to try.”

“Where is it we must go?”

“Through the rain and towards the sleet, beneath the toil and the heat, downward, inward, outward, upward, under your feet.”

A minute tracing of light fell from the sky. The figures raised their hands to the questioning eyes and crept back to the places they had emerged from. As the figures receded, so did the other creatures that had been drawn. Vile were their faces as the glee and hopes of tasty morsels faded.

“Wait, do not go!” yelled Lord Serant. “But what of Imtal? I must stay.”

A faint voice echoed back to him. It was hard to hear the words, and he strained to decipher them. It almost sounded as if the words had been, “Go you shall,” yet it also could have been, “It will fall.” As he thought about it, he decided perhaps it was both.

Under the light of a dawning day, two figures moved across the rooftop, followed by a third. It was the reflection of light from steel that brought their attention to the small group in the gazebo. Calyin started as she studied the pair closer. A sputtering of the wind caught strands of long, dark hair, and blew them as they did her own. “Midori!” she exclaimed.

Timmer squinted and stared. His eyes were old and untrue, but judging from proportions in the changing light, one was a woman or a very thin man. Chancellor Volnej was sure as he looked closer, as was Lord Serant—the long, flowing black hair was a distinctive trait of all three sisters.

The fastest way to reach them was to move straight through the central towers, which is what they sought to do. Lord Serant took the lead and Timmer took the rear, hobbling along but still able to move surprisingly quickly. The stairs were more difficult for him, but with Volnej’s assistance he was able to make the climb at a fair pace.

“The roof, how do we get to it?” he demanded of Calyin, without thinking of the effects of the bluntness of his words. His anxiety was at its peak, and the aggressiveness of his soul had taken over his actions. Calyin glared at him and walked around him, taking him to a window that offered a ledge.

“Take care,” she whispered to him while kissing his cheek as he moved out of the window onto the ledge.

“Stay with her!” he barked back at the other two, who had been unsure of what to do.

Without giving it another thought, he turned to look for the others to mark their progress, nearly falling from the ledge as he did so. Calyin shuddered as she watched him inch along the edge, slowly disappearing. Lord Serant cursed the slickness of his boots and his own shortsightedness as he stumbled a second time, clinging to the masonry above only by his fingertips.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the progress of the third as well as the first two. It was difficult at best to make out the forms without stopping to turn to look at them, but he did not have time for that. He was sure that one was Midori and the other the captain. The closest window they could escape into lay midway between him and them, but the other was now only a few feet away from them. He thought about shouting a warning to them but decided not to do so lest they be discovered.

He waited until they had passed the corner. Perhaps then the time would be right. He checked the sword sheathed at his side, both out of habit and to insure that it was near. If only they could reach the window, he thought, then he would surely have a chance at stopping their pursuer.

Midori was the first to see the approaching form in front of her along the wall. Her hand faltered along the wall, causing her to lose her balance and slip. Only the captain’s agile hands were able to catch her, nearly pulling himself from the wall as he did so, but his grip held firm.

Lord Serant gasped, and called out, “Watch out! Behind you!” The sound of his voice brought alarm to Captain Brodst’s ears at first because he had not realized anyone else was on the ledge with them, but as he registered the sounds, he placed the voice. The timing of Lord Serant’s alarm couldn’t have been more wrong, for as the captain’s attention was distracted, his fingers slipped.

He pushed Midori against the wall as he fell. His eyes went wide with fear and desperation. Captain Brodst scrambled, clawing at the very air about him, attempting to grasp anything that lay near. Pain numbed his bloodied fingers as they tore into the lower ledge where his feet had been.

“Be gone!” cursed Lord Serant. “Death will be too good for you if you harm him!” Lord Serant shimmied as fast as he could, mustering all the strength and dexterity he could manage. “I warn you do not move!”

Lord Serant’s heart dropped to the bottom of his feet as the figure approached Captain Brodst, leaning down to pry his fingers from the ledge. “Midori, get in the window! Hurry!” called out Lord Serant. He paused long enough to draw a thin blade. He reached back, taking careful aim, preparing to release only when he was confident he was direct on target.

For the first time as the figure leaned over to offer the captain aid, Lord Serant saw the man’s face. “Geoffrey? Can it be?” he asked himself. Abashed, he dropped the blade. It fell tumbling, clinking against the stone as it plummeted downward.

“Oh, thanks be to the Father,” he cried out, as he thought, with three you are free, and you are seven. Utterly amazed at the revelation, he did not move for a long time. He stood frozen in deep thought, contemplating the many things that had seemed foolish to him moments before. The words, he thought, the words were not gibberish; they held meaning.

The captain and his rescuer had already gone through the window and were calling back to him before Lord Serant regained his senses. Filled with emotion, he grabbed them both in a mighty bear hug and immediately afterward swept Midori off her feet. A heavy burden had been lifted from his heart.

He told them where the others waited, and they made a quick exit. A silence fell. Speech was not necessary as long as they had survived.

Calyin was filled with emotion as she and Midori met. The two sisters felt closer to each other now than they had since childhood. The exchange of emotions between them in these moments would bind them for life.

Fearing discovery, especially if anyone else had glimpsed their movements, they departed. Captain Brodst knew the obscure corridors of the palace as well as the two sisters, so he took charge. He conducted them to the far end of the upper level, coming upon a set of stairs that led to the rear armory.

As they descended the stairs reaching the final landing, Captain Brodst met a pair of cold, bitter eyes. The sword guarded in the hands spoke volumes to him as his life passed before his eyes. A single, monosyllabic word escaped his lips before he drew his sword. “Why?” he asked.

“I wanted to see the light leave your eyes as your world collapsed beneath you as it did from my mother’s.”

“But I loved your mother with all my heart. It was not my fault.”

“Oh, yes it was.”

“You are no son of mine.”

“Then am I the bastard you fostered with the regal whore?”

“Step aside, for I could not kill you. To wallow in your charity would suffice my honor.”

“You will not find escape!” cried Pyetr as his sword fell from his grasp.

The captain looked clear into Pyetr’s eyes as he slumped, pained, against the wall. He lowered his eyes with shame and stepped passed him. The others behind him said nothing as they, too, passed by. Lord Serant stayed the call for blood that desired to move his trembling hand. He also understood that sometimes to live was a greater transgression than offering oneself to die. Pyetr would take his own life and pay his atonement in full.

Their retreat was short, for none knew where to go or what to do next; and as they reached a place they thought secure, at least for the moment, they began to argue and tempers flared. Calyin and Midori soon separated themselves from the other three, who ceaselessly debated without gaining ground.

“I will go nowhere; Imtal is where I belong,” said Captain Brodst obstinately.

“You must! Can you not see that the city has fallen?”

“Lord Serant, something has clouded your wisdom. You cannot believe the words you are saying. The capital is far from doomed; if we fight, we will most assuredly win it back.”

“Think, man! You know what has occurred. Do not let your pity blind your vision. We cannot wait here much longer.”

“Lord Serant is correct,” interrupted Geoffrey. “If we hope to escape, it must be soon. We do not have time to waste. I say we go to Solntse and return to Imtal with the garrison troops. My men cannot have deserted, nor can the garrison troops here from Imtal be very far off. They must have been sent somewhere. By my hand I will have the traitors swinging if I discover any—begging your pardon, of course, Captain Brodst. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It was due me and I take no offense, but I could no more kill my own flesh and blood than I could kill a loyal servant. I believe time repays all those who are untrue. All the same, I still think we should stay here.”

Calyin and Midori were conversing separately from the others. Calyin was telling Midori in great detail the words of their mystic visitors and Midori was listening with very earnest ears; something in the message caught her interest. Midori held her thoughts until Calyin had told her everything she could recall.

“I know the place,” announced Midori as Calyin finished. She stopped and then mumbled something Calyin thought was, “Towards the rain. Interesting.” Midori stepped between Lord Serant and Geoffrey to move towards the window. She had been listening also to the words of the three men behind her as she had been following Calyin’s story. “Solntse, it is,” she said, agreeing with Geoffrey.

Captain Brodst was quick to cut Midori off from further speech as he turned back to Geoffrey asking, “What are you saying?”

“Yes, what are you saying?” asked Lord Serant.

Geoffrey didn’t respond; he liked the additional vote for Solntse and wasn’t going to say anything either to add to or detract from Midori’s statement. “Toward the rain,” repeated Midori, and she pointed to the eastern sky, which was dark with heavy rains in the distance. “East is where we need to go. Solntse is east, so we will hopefully appease two of you. But what do you say, Captain Brodst?”

“Do you honestly wish to leave? I cannot believe what I am hearing from you, Midori.”

“My good captain,” returned Midori, “I believe what I have heard, and I think if we put our heads together we will find that the riddles are quite easily solved.”

“She is right,” said Calyin.

“We do waste time here, do we not?”

“Yes, but we must first find a way out of the city.”

“We have only to try.”

Chapter Ten

Valam, Seth, and Teren moved through the deserted camp wondering where everyone had gone. They searched through tent after tent only to find them empty, abandoned. Glumly they proceeded towards the center of the camp, reaching the command tent last.

Valam dismounted, he hoped, for the last time. As he cast the flap widely aside, it caught the wind and pushed back at him. He clipped it with his arm and entered. The tent was empty like all the others, save for a chest in the center.

He dropped to his knees and opened the chest. Its only content was a plainly bound book, a ledger of sorts, guessed Valam. Rapidly, he scanned the first two pages, gathering from this that it was a journal, Father Jacob’s journal. He quickly turned through the pages of the chronicle, skipping to the last page.

Confused, he turned back several pages and started reading again. “What did he mean, ‘Martin is gone and I am alone’,” thought Valam. He read forward again, closing the book as his eyes fell upon the last word. Valam dropped the book on the ground, running from the tent, “Captain Mikhal, where are the ships? Are they near?”

“Just south,” he replied distantly, “about a half hour’s ride along the coa—” The captain stopped mid-sentence. “They didn’t?”

“I am not sure. Come!” Valam shouted as he mounted, spurring his horse frantically, “Let’s find out!”

Valam instructed most to wait in the camp until he and the captain returned, but a handful followed the two as they raced southward. Valam shouted to the wind, “No, Jacob, don’t leave!” to which Seth returned, “I don’t believe even my thoughts could reach him, my friend.”

“Is he already gone then?”

“I don’t know. We are too distant. As we draw closer, I will try.”

Tsandra followed close behind Teren and the others; she was not going to be left behind. Captain Mikhal spurred his horse to the lead, as he knew the way best. Ahead of them lay low-lying hills, mostly a series of short inclines and declines that occurred only along the coast.

The shore they rode along reached out into the sea via an outcropping of rocky crags. As they rode, the shoreline changed, weaving back and forth from rocky outcroppings to straight-line earthen bluffs, which the water was slowly eroding away. In the distance, as the captain promised, lay a sandy-beached inlet, where the ships should be waiting.

Seth reached out with his thoughts, trying to reach a consciousness that could understand his words. At first he just called out with a name, and then a simple message, “Wait!” hoping the strength of his will could breach the distance. He retreated his will when he perceived that nothing lay ahead of them. He hoped it was just that he could not reach whoever was out there yet.

Teren veered right suddenly as if struck, coming to an abrupt halt. He thought he felt a tug of a consciousness upon his mind, but the voice he heard could not be here; it did not belong to the plains. Teren turned back to the path and began again, casting off the thoughts.

Seth and Tsandra also felt the voice touch their farseeing minds, but only Seth returned the call. Nothing returned to him as he reached out, and he rode on in silence. Tsandra whispered to his mind that perhaps they had all been mistaken, which Seth accepted.

The snows had barely touched the coastal areas, but a thin layer of it still clung to the frosted ground, and not far away it lay in deep mounds. They rode as those possessed, knowing their travel-weary animals wished to rest. Other thoughts pervaded the riders’ minds; they were also weary and did not have time to waste.

As they approached the inlet, which was still a good clip away, the tip of a mast seemed to protrude above the line where the shore appeared to join the sea. Seth reached out again with his mind and perceived a presence. “Wait! Do not go!” he yelled outward.

Valam released a sigh of hope. He hoped what he had read in the last pages of the book were not true. He did not understand everything he had read, but he hoped the closing was false. In his mind he pictured the last page, and slowly his eyes led him to the last paragraph, which he re-read again in his mind. “By the time you read this, we will have returned to the kingdom, our home; do not hold ill feelings toward us for we waited as long as we could endure, and this the last I write in honor of Prince Valam, who, among others, gave his life for your lands. Say a prayer for him so that he may rest in peace.”

Father Jacob had always been long-winded, thought Valam as he returned from his reverie. As was Keeper Martin, he added a moment later. His thoughts soared as the white of a sail grew before his eyes. Indeed, it was only a small tip, but it was a sail, he was sure.

As they drew nearer to the curve of the coast which led into the inlet, it became readily apparent that many ships floated in the small harbor, not just one. In their thoughts, they sang for joy; it was a beautiful sight. Seth called out again, in thought, and told them who they were, and why they had come. He registered great surprise in many of the minds he touched, and one almost collapsed with shock upon hearing the sound of his voice.

Those on the flagship sent out a message to the other ships, which had also heard Seth’s message, and were already commencing the orders to lower their sails and weigh anchors. A longboat launched from the lead and made for shore and was soon followed by a second one from a different ship.

“Brother Liyan, no, you must leave,” directed a voice into Liyan’s mind alone.

“We cannot.”

“They must not see him.”

“It is too late.”

As the group was ferried out to the flagship, a single rider faded into the distance. Valam sighed as the waves sent a calm sweeping through him. He thought perhaps Cagan should have come with them; he would have enjoyed the ride immensely. Later, as an afterthought, a shudder ran down his spine as he watched in thought as a boat sank into dark churning waters.

The trek from shore to the ship was short, and soon the oarsmen were maneuvering the longboat gracefully along the port side of the waiting vessel. Valam accepted the outstretched hand as he stepped up to the deck, taking in with a single glance the whole of the ship from aft to stern as he did so. He was greeted with surprise and disbelief, and certain awe intermingled with relief and thanks.

“By the Father!” exclaimed Father Jacob. “We had given up hope of supplies ever reaching us and behold what they return with!”

Father Jacob hesitated as he reached out for Valam, a hint of doubt touching his lips. “I am real!” replied Valam. “Believe it!”

“I do, but for so long I have thought you had passed.”

“No such luck, I am afraid.”

Valam’s reply brought a smile to the father’s deeply worried face. “You must tell me everything! Don’t forget anything! But wait—wait until later,” said Jacob as Valam began to speak. “First things first. The supplies?”

“Yes, Father Jacob, the supplies are here although for a time we thought you weren’t.”

“I am sorry. I lost my faith, but it was only momentary,” said Father Jacob. As he talked with Valam, the embedded lines in his face seemed to lighten and the weariness of his soul began to disappear. So much had been heavy on his mind lately. It was a great relief, a breath of fresh air, to see Valam’s face flourishing with color, with life.

“How long will it take to unload these boats and return to camp?”

“Not very long at all,” said Father Jacob, winking, “we have only men and horses aboard and few supplies. You will be surprised how fast they unload when the word is spread that Prince Valam, or should I say King Valam, has returned.”

Father Jacob bit back any further words. His tongue had slipped; he had said too much. The fatigue had not so easily left him as he had thought; his mind was still not as sharp as it ought to be. Father Jacob hoped that perhaps Valam had not understood his words, but his looks gave everything away to Valam. Any sense of happiness left Valam’s face as he realized the import of Father Jacob’s words.

“When? How? How long have you known?” pleaded Valam, retaining his composure, but stuttering over his words.

“I do not know for sure,” began Father Jacob, choosing his words very tactfully, “perhaps—no, not perhaps. Prince Valam, I am very sure. Come, we should withdraw to my cabin for a time.”

Father Jacob was quick to note who was close at hand and could also have overheard their conversation. He was glad to note only Captain Mikhal, to whom he offered a glum smile as a greeting, and Brother Seth, whom he indicated should follow. They were the only ones close enough to have overheard this conversation. The others behind them, none of whom Father Jacob knew, were told politely to wait. Tsandra was the only one who was offended.

“Why did you not return to the kingdom at once!” demanded Valam.

Father Jacob looked hurt and did not reply. He was attempting to gather his wits before he opened his mouth and said anything further. Valam mistook the silence as another opening to lash out, which he did harshly.

Father Jacob quietly spoke the words that he would have preferred never to repeat. Quickly and precisely he brought Valam up-to-date. Father Jacob’s account was very well spoken, which was a big surprise, mostly to himself, because of the confusion in his thoughts.

Valam was slow to respond as Jacob finished, and Jacob had not expected, nor wanted Valam to reply to his words. Nevertheless, Valam spoke. Sorrow overshadowed his words, which would hang heavy on all who were present for a long time to come. After he finished, Valam returned above decks; there was too much to be done to allow a delay to mull over past events.

Shortly after Valam left, Captain Mikhal knocked on the cabin door and entered. The captain remained very official as he walked in and announced that the flagman was already sending orders to the other ships. By his estimate, if they hurried, the camp, which included the new arrivals and many supplies, could be fully organized by nightfall.

Seth stopped Father Jacob, who was about to leave the room, after Captain Mikhal departed. Seth understood much more than Jacob did about Valam’s current situation; a number of pressing matters were on Valam’s shoulders already and Seth also knew enough about Jacob to say the right words to calm him. “It was not your fault, Father Jacob. You said the right things. He will accept it. Give him some time. I felt the things he did not say.”

“You, Brother Seth, are a very wise man,” said Father Jacob, as the despair began to leave his eyes.

“Yes, but I know another wiser,” replied Seth. “Come, I have someone I would really like to introduce you to. I think you and he will have a lot in common.”

Seth introduced Father Jacob to Teren, Tsandra, and lastly Liyan. He was right—Liyan and Father Jacob were very much alike. He could feel questions bubbling through the father’s mind as the three talked. Momentarily, Seth’s thoughts roamed to Valam, who had gone to the bow of the ship where only the wind in his face was a companion.

Valam stayed there for a long time watching the waves roll into the ship and feeling the swaying of the boat beneath his feet. He contemplated numerous things before he finally rejoined his friends, but most importantly he said a few long overdue words to someone who was gone. Afterwards he felt much the better for saying those words.

Chapter Eleven

High, fortified walls of stone rose before them, looming greater with each step. Even on their horses, the travelers looked minuscule compared to the heights of the peaks; the mighty oaks even paled in comparison. Their minds were filled with wonder, even though some had seen the guarded fortress before.

Noman reminded them that it was more an outcropping of rock, a mountain, than a man-made structure, but awe still marked their expressions as they passed within the city gates. The only requirement for passage was a token, an offering that spoke more even than gold to those who dwelled within the city’s walls. All had readily given up their armaments without a word of protest. Most had heard rumors of the penalty for not doing so, and Noman ensured that they heard them again as fact, so when they were requested to relinquish their arms, they did so quickly out of fear more than anything else.

The horses and carriages were deposited at a livery that was tucked just inside the walls. No animals were allowed into the city streets, another rule that none challenged. The only good law they fell under was the hood drawn close to Adrina’s face, and the cloak attached, which dropped to her ankles. A woman’s flesh could beguile the eyes of the beholder, and that was an intolerable insult. Concealment at this point was what they had planned for Adrina all along, and the cloak made it all the easier.

Noman carefully reminded them of the rules, begging them to insure that no one broke any of them. They quickly made for the closest inn. Noman also made sure that everyone knew why they were here, telling them that although the disadvantages seemed to outweigh the advantages, a great deal could be gained, chief among which was information.

The first inn they came upon was unremarkable in all respects from the outside, a fact that Xith highly approved. The inside was plain and clear, with a short staircase at either end of a long, almost oval-shaped hall. The atmosphere was dim but well aired, the kind of place they could feel right at home in, Xith especially.

As it was still very early in the day, the inn was mostly empty save for the inn-keeper and a single man servant, who was quick to show them to their respective rooms following the payment of a small retainer. The rooms were small and quite cramped with furniture, each having two beds, a washstand, standing closets, which were unusual. Most surprising was the table with four chairs, rarely seen in an inn in the kingdom.

The rooms had a stagnant odor of heavy smoke or possibly perfume that had been around for a long time. Since the innkeeper had only afforded them four rooms, several cots were brought in and crowded the tiny spaces, eliminating any hope of movement. This might have been deliberate. If they had no area to relax in they would probably use the inn’s bar all the more. Strangers did not fare well in the eyes of the populace, but their money was never refused.

Xith wondered if they would have received better accommodations if he told the innkeeper that they planned to spend a goodly amount of time partaking of his ale. This was part of their plan, for there was no better place to gather information. Xith, Noman, and Nijal requested that Amir and Adrina wait upstairs and that Shchander and his men proceed to the tavern below while they went to have a look about the city.

Noman would have preferred Amir at his side, but he understood Xith’s choice and accepted it as a fair one. The best place for Amir was beside Adrina. They need not fear for her safety while they were gone. Nijal was very quick to his feet and out the door, for he expected Amir to object.

The structures they passed along the city streets were in heavy contrast to the high stone walls surrounding them. Largely constructed of wood with little stone, they seemed an oddity. The levels spiraling up around them were also unusual and a masterful feat of architecture.

As the three strode deep into the city’s center, the area over their heads began to look cramped. The upper levels of the buildings were connected by a series of interconnecting suspended bridges with some structures having as many as ten or more such bridges leading from their upper floors. Xith explained to Nijal that this was because the walls of the city had been constructed very long ago, and any room for expansion along the city’s avenues had been used up centuries ago. The only direction that remained to build was up, an art the residents had perfected through the ages.

Noman looked for a shop that had long been on the second floor of the district they now wandered through. To get to the second level, they had to take a short cut through several stores connected at street level. This brought them to a staircase that opened to another shop on the second level, which finally carried them out to a bridge crossing.

Nijal took Noman’s sudden halt midway across the bridge as a sign that it was okay to look about. He watched the people wander the streets below; most were tall and stout, even the women, or at least those he thought were women because of the cloaks wrapped tightly around them. He noticed that most of the people greeted each other with a bleak grimace on their faces, which changed to an expressionless mask afterwards.

Xith quickly pulled Nijal across the bridge and into an adjacent shop, which turned out to be a residence. They left hurriedly. “I thought you knew where you were going!” hissed Xith.

“It has been some time; give me a moment,” said Noman.

They crisscrossed back and forth along the avenue, moving in and out of many different places, ending up several blocks from where they started, but Noman assured Xith that this was the corner he had been seeking. The new levels of the ever changing city had just thrown him off, that’s all. Their confused actions brought much attention to their movements, and many shopkeepers and residents stared at them from their doorways.

The place they stood in front of looked more like someone’s home than a shop of any sort. It was completely dark from the outside, and no sign hung above its door. It appeared rather deserted. Noman tried the door, which gingerly opened at his touch, and he urged Xith and Nijal to step inside speedily.

There was no light in the room save that which poured in from around the frame of the door. It took some time for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. As their eyes adjusted, they noticed that the room was completely empty, void of all furniture or sign of inhabitation.

“Nothing!” said Nijal, “Let’s leave.”

“Not just yet,” said Noman, “this is the place we were looking for.”

“But it’s empty.”

“Only by appearances.”

Noman entered a corridor that Nijal had not seen until the other stepped into it. He then opened a door and deep amber light issued forth, for which Nijal was very thankful. Nijal turned to talk to Xith, but Xith was not there. “Come on, hurry!” whispered Noman to Nijal. Hesitantly, Nijal followed.

The room they walked into was extremely large but was as cluttered as their rooms at the inn. Nijal thought to himself that the owner would do well to move some of these things into the empty space he had been standing in moments before. At the end of a long, narrow table sat an old man bent with the weight of many years. The light came from a single lantern on a table beside him.

Noman pulled a long-handled dagger from his cloak, the likes of which Nijal had never seen. The blade was twisted from the tip to the hilt and inlaid with fine workmanship; an animal of sorts appeared on one side and a man on the other. Nijal saw this only because he now held the dagger in his own hand, as Noman handed it to him.

“Be true on your mark,” whispered Noman, “you only have one chance.”

“You mean, throw it?”

“Yes, but do not miss.”

“Kill him?”

“Yes, of course.”

Nijal was confused at best, but proceeded as Noman instructed. The tip of the blade felt cold in his hands as he touched it. He drew his arm back straight and precise, taking in a deep breath, and holding it as he released. The blade fell end over end, directly on target, just as Nijal intended.

Nijal saw the dagger touch the man’s head just between the eyes where he aimed it, but it went no further. The man raised his eyes from the tome he read as if impatient for having been disturbed. “Very peculiar way of greeting,” rolled the words from the old man’s tongue in a slow, drawn-out drawl.

“Yes, very peculiar indeed,” replied Noman, adding after a short silence, “just returning the favor.”

“Still holding on to that after such a long time, eh?”

“The past is often all we have.”

“Yes, yes it is,” said the man, indicating they should sit.

“Where is Xith?” asked Nijal quietly.

“He will return shortly.”

“Has it come so quickly?”

“Nay, it has not been quick,” said Noman, “I believe you still owe me one favor.”

“Yes, the last,” spoke the old man lightly.

“You know I would not ask if the need were not great.”

“Old friend, you least of all need explain yourself. Talk, and I will listen.”

Many words long and wise passed across Noman’s lips in the hours that followed. Nijal mostly sat and listened, eyes wide with wonder at the re-telling. He also learned many things, and a great many things suddenly became clear to him.

Xith came back shortly after Noman came to the end and returned to the present. The old one’s face lit up as Xith entered the room and crossed it to sit beside Noman. During his absence, Xith had acquired and filled a satchel. Something within had a heavy sweet aroma, which now rose and lingered just above the table, seemingly within reach of their watering tongues.

“Is it clear now?” asked the old one of Xith.

“I did not see it until it was beneath my nose, but as we came inside, I knew it could only be your house. You said one day I would meet him, and until a short while ago I did not believe you. And here you sit as if waiting.”

“I was. Now, for me it is complete,” said the man, adding after a lengthy break, “with the last, of course.” He spread his lips to form a toothless smile. “You were always the obstinate one, weren’t you?”

“That I was, but I remembered my promise,” said Xith, drawing a small package from his satchel. Nijal passed it on, and the old man snatched it up, setting it on the corner of the table beside him as if it were gold, where it lay unopened.

He cleared his voice, deep and harsh, vibrating the air in the room. And then there was silence while he stopped, apparently engrossed in thought. “The time approaches although you see it not. Its shadows are far reaching and some already think it has arrived, but alas it has not. You will mark the time beyond it, when your eyes are once again filled with sight.” The last sentence had been directed entirely at Noman, which was very clear to those who watched. His eyes grew distant and unfocused, and his face grew pale.

Nijal could no longer comprehend the words. As he strained to hear them, only bits and pieces carried through to his consciousness. Puzzled and frustrated, he mulled over each sound he perceived, but soon all understanding was beyond him. Only a single fragment of all that followed remained in his mind as the sound of words came to a halt. “The dragons are with her.”

“Until the next, Y’sat,” called out Xith as he, Nijal, and Noman departed.

“Are we returning to the inn?” asked Nijal.

“No, we have one more stop. Stay close,” chided Xith.

After returning through the maze of shops, bridges, and buildings, they found themselves back on the ground level and a short time later they left the center of the city behind. The wall now loomed overhead, and it blocked out the last of the late-day sun, so now they wandered through the shadows, which for Nijal was not a comforting fact.

The dwellings they passed along and sometimes through, up and around, were newer; and construction, almost entirely upward, was ongoing. It was apparent to Nijal that both Xith and Noman were looking for a place he suspected they had never been to before. As far as he could tell, they probably only knew it by name, or even face, if it were a person they sought.

They walked until only a single street stood between them and the northernmost part of the wall. The narrow byroad ran east to west and was obviously losing the fight to maintain a distance between the buildings and the wall, both of which appeared to be closing in on it. At the far easterly corner, a thin tapering stair circled its way up the wall, the only stair they had seen in the whole of the wall.

Xith smiled as he saw the stair and turned almost mid-step, taking a bearing on it and the wall. Directly in front of him was a small alleyway. Two shops down, out of the darkness, shone a lantern. Below it, hung a little wooden sign with a picture of a clenched fist.

Unlike the cramped alleyways that led to the alehouse, the Clenched-Fist was quite spacious and resounded with laughter and song, which took Nijal completely by surprise. Xith pushed Nijal to the fore, and so he entered first, followed by Xith and then Noman.

The bar was crowded with people drinking and singing, but Xith steered Nijal to a dark, dingy back room, where amidst the gloom sat a group of men who did not appear to notice them. Their eyes were fixed on the wall at the far end of the room and a man who stood with a set of knives in his hand. On the wall was a target of sorts, where after much deliberation and calculation, the man directed his blades.

Nijal snickered and whispered to Xith, “I could do better than that,” words that he would soon regret as Xith replied, “That is what we hoped.”

“Why me?” asked Nijal.

“We, my friend, are in need of a little pocket money, and you need the practice.”

“This is for money?”

“What else would it be for?”

Nijal knew right then that he was in for a long evening. “But I don’t even know the rules.”

“All the better,” retorted Xith, “all the better.”

“But, but—”

“Listen closely. Here are the rules; they are quite simple. There are three marks, the hands, left and right, and the head. If you lead, you pick the mark; if you follow, you must make the same marks as your opponent. You have three blades. Aim for the center of each mark; beware the outstretched fingers; how hard can that be?”

Xith left out most of the details in the rules, but Nijal soon caught on as he watched. “Are you ready?” asked Xith and before Nijal could answer, Xith raised his wager to the board. A murmur rose as he placed the gold piece down beside the one who stood thus far undefeated.

“You little man?” boomed a loud voice.

Xith wavered his head, and pointed to Nijal. Nijal sank in his chair under the stern gaze he quickly received. The man smiled and said, “Watch, and Pilio will show you how it’s done.”

Pilio stood stiffly, meticulously aligning himself with the target. After much deliberation, he delivered his first knife nicely, center right hand. He followed through with a second to the head, and the last to the left hand. His blades were all directly centered in their respective places.

Nijal still had to hold back a laugh as he watched Pilio. He looked as if he were under severe strain as he took aim, and his relief came only when all three knives had left his hand. He weighed each dagger in his hand before he started. He found it odd that all three were of different weights, another fact that Xith had obviously neglected to tell him. The differences in weight made it more difficult to follow through with aim and delivery.

To some degree, Nijal now understood Pilio’s hesitation. He also considered that now it would be more difficult for him to be centered on target, as the blades were still in the target. He calculated his first choice. He considered a long time before he released the first, but it held true to its destination. After a quick adjustment for weight and positioning, he threw the last two. His shots, although nice and clean within the target, were not as centered as his competitor, and Pilio quickly claimed his prize.

“Again,” said Xith, this time putting two gold coins on the table. Pilio accepted the offer without thought; he would take a fool’s money any time. His next three shots, to the surprise of the onlookers, were all to the right hand, and were nicely packed around the center point of the palm. Nijal tossed a stern look to Xith; there was no way he could match or even win. He was left with little space in which to place his blades, but he tried. Two to the center, and one to the outside, which cost Xith his gold.

Pilio’s grin broadened as he plucked up the gold and tucked it away into his purse, a small leather satchel tucked into his belt at his side. Noman said nothing so far, but he watched intensely. Xith again placed two gold coins for a bet.

Nijal watched Pilio with grave concern as he, with great care, placed his marks on the target, center, left, and right. “Relax,” soothed Noman as Nijal paced the floor. Nijal’s first knife, although slightly off center was placed well. He hesitated on the second, considering the blade in his hand. The second glided from his hand, landing fair, but the third fell dead center, and to his surprise he won, which he only knew because of the dejected look on Pilio’s face.

With a slightly red face, Pilio gave up the gold coins, and Xith readily accepted. Nijal paused, as he had never been first and had to think about where to begin. Pilio stopped Nijal a moment and traded sets of knives with him. Although confused, Nijal accepted, giving his blades back to Pilio.

The balance of the new daggers was completely different from those that Nijal previously used, causing him to delay as he considered each separately. Satisfied, Nijal began again. The wins and losses shifted back and forth for a long while with neither side clearly claiming victory, although Pilio’s purse was visibly shrunken. Xith tossed in a “Good, good!” now and again, but he, like Noman, was mostly quiet.

Nijal was growing quite pleased with his performance as the night drew on. His lack of common sense and his vanity cost him the next two matches, but he won the third quite skillfully with three neatly thrown scores. He winked at Pilio as he exchanged blades with him, taking careful place from the target. He also cast a wink towards Xith and Noman as he cast his first knife.

The wink cost him dearly, for he twitched just as the blade released from his fingers. Pilio’s eyes went wide as the tip struck one of the outstretched fingers of the left hand. Suddenly the room filled with the noise of people shifting heavily in their chairs or coughing. Nijal smiled at Xith and turned to Pilio and shrugged his shoulders. Xith was clearly worried and angry, but he walked over to where Nijal stood and calmly said to him in a low tone, “You must get two more fingers of the left hand. Do not miss.”

“Or what?” whispered Nijal in jest.

“Just do it!” snapped Xith, greatly displeased.

Nijal stared at Xith as he walked away and retook his place beside Noman. The many eyes fixed upon him, quietly watching, bore heavily upon him. He didn’t understand what he had done, but he knew when to listen to Xith. For a very long time, he stood contemplating the dagger in his hand and the target before him. Xith took in a deep breath as the second dagger struck the middle finger.

As Nijal stood poised with the third dagger, he could feel the room stop with him as if everyone waited to draw in a breath. He closed his eyes; the air was charged about him as he heavily breathed it in. He opened his eyes and fixed on the target, drawing his hand back slowly, releasing only after he calculated the balance of the blade in his hand. “Yes!” he cried as it hit. Xith shook his head at Nijal, who still did not understand the gravity of his situation.

Pilio was more tedious and cautious than ever as he stood at the ready. He insured the placement of his feet just behind the line, but then he had to insure the validity of the line again, so he paced it off and then repositioned himself. The whole process was long and very meticulous. The joyful expression had long since left Pilio’s face. He closed his eyes in relief as the first took the index finger of the right hand cleanly on mark.

Pilio paced back and forth as he concentrated on his next mark. He even went so far as to measure the balance of the dagger on the tip of his finger and to check the movement of the air within the room. All of a sudden, he stopped and placed the two remaining daggers he held onto the table, rubbing his sweaty palms until they were dry. Then, after flexing his fingers and cracking each knuckle, he picked up only one of the daggers, moving slowly and methodically back into his stance.

His face showed displeasure as the knife tumbled from his fingertips, but it hit its mark, and he sighed deeply in relief. He was growing visibly nervous as he placed the last blade carefully in his hand, also insuring its balance before he drew his arm back and released it. The entire process took the better part of a quarter of an hour.

Astonished as it struck, Pilio rushed to the board to check, as did several onlookers. The tip of the knife had struck directly on the line of the third finger. Being an honest man, the only virtue he held to, Pilio accepted his loss.

Pilio pulled the blade from the target and handed it to Nijal, saying, “I didn’t mean to offend. Take whichever one you like.” Pilio placed his hands outstretched onto the table. Xith jumped up from his chair and ran towards the two, afraid of what Nijal would do. “We will be quite satisfied with quadruple our original wager.”

“Quadruple?” asked Pilio, raising his quivering voice high.

“Quadruple,” replied Xith.

Pilio sighed, hurriedly pulled from his purse a handful of gold, and passed it to Nijal. He thought the sum was a very fair amount, given the circumstances. “Good match, master,” said Pilio. Xith immediately took Nijal away. The three of them hurriedly left the Clenched-Fist.

A little confused and slightly hurt, Nijal turned to Xith and said, “I didn’t know.”

“Never mind,” returned Xith.

Noman’s response was somewhat gentler than Xith’s and he made a valid point. Xith had not told Nijal all the rules of the game. “I think he did well, quite well, all things considered.”

Chapter Twelve

Chancellor Volnej detached himself from the other six. He was alone, pacing heavily across the floor. Many thoughts weighed on his mind: the kingdom was without council, without an heir, and soon to be without a capital. He had watched the keepers fall, the council fall, the priests of the Father fall, noble hearted men fall. His heart could not endure all the pain, nor could his mind.

He was too weary and old to have the will to go on a prolonged journey of any sort, let alone try to escape. He would only slow the others down and surely cause their capture. His mind was resolved; he would stay in Imtal. In his own way he could not stand to leave it nor could he abide to see it fall, but he was sure that he must stay.

The venerable chancellor thought of a way to insure that the others would leave him. He thought about it as he listened to them. He had served king and prince and long-ago queen while on the high council. He considered his life to have been very fulfilled and fruitful, but now he saw only an ending before him. As he approached the others, it was Calyin who understood the message upon his face first and she begged him to come with them, but his mind was sternly set.

“With three, we are seven,” whispered Calyin as she held his hand firmly.

“No, that is not true. I do not believe I was included in those words. In fact, I am almost positive.”

“I think the chancellor is correct,” said Swordmaster Timmer. “I also believe my place is here.”

“As do I. We stay!” said Captain Brodst.

“No, Captain Brodst, your fate is with them; of this I am also sure. Listen to an old man, who is many years your elder speak to you with wisdom.”

“Do not worry,” said Timmer, moving towards the chancellor. Timmer also understood the reasons Volnej thought it best to stay. His sword arm was not what it used to be, and if a real fight came, they would not survive it. They needed speed, and on foot they did not need old men to slow them down. “I will take care of Chancellor Volnej. We will find a way through this, but you, my friends, must go. I think together we can get you past the city gates, but beyond it there will just be the five of you, as it was meant to be.”

Lord Serant’s voice turned icy cold as he stared at Captain Brodst; he could tell that the captain still was not convinced that he should go. “I have never fully accounted what occurred in the square after the struggle and the mysterious two who appeared before us wearing faces very dear to our hearts. I have not even spoken fully of this to Calyin, my beloved wife, for he bade me speak to none until the time had come when the truth could be prolonged no more. But in fact, few ever saw the face of the stranger. Of those they were mostly Geoffrey and his men, who are now twice indebted to the one, if I am correct.”

Geoffrey lowered his head and then raised it.

“The remainder who saw him are gone save a few of us here at this very moment. I know questions lie in your minds as they do in mine, and I am also afraid that in truth I know little more than Lord Geoffrey, but I believed then and I wholly and firmly believe now the words that the one called Noman spoke to me. He said, ‘Our paths are coming to an end and a meeting, and our time is at an end and a beginning.’ He spoke of many things quickly and carefully, for he wanted me to remember in full detail when the time came, if it came; but he had little time to tarry. He told me that none would question what they had seen on the square that day beyond what I offered, and no one has. He told me the names of the three I would journey away from the darkness with, and of that I had my doubts, for how could anyone hold the future so well in their hands and still not know it in its entirety? But now the faces stand before me in an hour of grave peril. Geoffrey, Midori, and Captain Brodst.”

Calyin raised her eyes as if wondering if she had been mentioned.

“Yes, my dear, he also said he saw a hand clasped in mine, but not a face and that is you. So you see, Captain Brodst, you must come. Your fate lies with us.”

“What of the seven the others spoke of?”

“Of this, I am sure. It will be revealed to us all in good time. Come, we have delayed far too long.”

Turmoil, the thing they counted on to make their escape possible, was decreasing. The ebbing of the sounds of battle and the emptiness of the halls and courtyards told them this. Although they were still using obscure corridors and rooms, they still expected to meet some resistance as they made their way; however, up to now they found none. They hid themselves some 200 feet from the rear wall of the palace, staring in disbelief at the open, unoccupied gate.

“There is some trick about. There must be,” whispered Lord Serant.

“I do not believe so,” replied Volnej.

“I side with Lord Serant. I do not trust it, but we have no choice but to move forward and soon,” added Geoffrey.

“Let’s go!” said Midori moving from their guarded spot. Lord Serant put out his arm to halt her. “Wait,” bade Serant. He squinted to the far corner tower. “There, do you see it,” he said pointing.

“I’ll be,” said Geoffrey as he also caught a glimpse of the forms hiding in the shadows.

“How do we get past?” asked Captain Brodst, considering the options himself as he asked the question.

“I see two options: run or take them out.”

“I’ll vote on running,” quickly stated Timmer, even though he had the least chance of success for such a measure.

“Surely there are more in waiting. I say we find another way.”

“I do not believe we have the time. Timmer, Volnej, and Geoffrey, you take the right, and we three will take the left. Captain Brodst, your job is to get their attention.”

“And then what?” whispered Captain Brodst.

“Don’t worry; I trust your judgment. We’ll follow.”

“Thanks, thanks a lot!” muttered Brodst as he crept carefully away from the wall. The others behind him split into two groups as Lord Serant had requested, one moving left and the other right. The captain counted his blessings; at least he knew the back wall better than the others. Stairs stood in each of the towers at either end of the wall with two more narrow staircases on either side of the gates within the guardhouses.

Captain Brodst was very careful of the sound of his footfalls on the hard-surfaced stairs, but even so the rock carried an echo upward. He was fortunate to know exactly what lay around each turn, and as he passed the last stair, he stopped. He shrank down to all fours and peered around the corner, looking in both directions. He noted two sentries to the left and several more far to the right.

He watched them for a time, hoping the others were doing likewise before they swept forward. One of the guards, a tall, lanky-looking fellow clad in a loosely fitting robe with a heavy mailed suit beneath, was signaling to someone in the square opposite the palace walls. “Damn it,” cursed Brodst. The man fell as he was clubbed from behind. His companion was quick to follow him.

Captain Brodst ran forward, still bent over, coming up behind one of those to the right. Before he reached him, Geoffrey had already waylaid his companion and the man was about to scream, but Brodst clipped his tongue just in time. Captain Brodst pulled Geoffrey down behind the wall, signaling for the other two to do likewise.

“What is it?” asked Geoffrey.

“In the square there are more. Pray that they did not see your foolishness.”

“We had to act,” said Geoffrey, but as he turned back, the captain was gone. He had already crept back towards Lord Serant. Fortunately, Lord Serant had the good sense to crouch down after the successful attack. Captain Brodst whispered the news to him, “There are others in the square.”

“Yes, I know,” replied Lord Serant.

“Fool, then why did you stand and take him.”

“The sentry below had turned his back to us.”

Captain Brodst swallowed any further words. He knew Serant wasn’t a fool, so he should have known better than to think he would be careless in so grave a matter. He thought to offer an apology, but Lord Serant had already turned to other matters.

“We were not seen, I am sure,” spoke Geoffrey as he reached the place where Captain Brodst perched, peering over the wall ever so slightly.

“Good, good. Timmer, Volnej?”

“They watch the stairs at the tower and the guardhouse.”

“Come, we must be swift. Two more approach,” said Lord Serant, springing to action. He carried everyone with him as he made for the place Timmer watched. Serant issued hurried orders; he supposed that two men were positioned on either side of the gate. Geoffrey and Timmer would take them out. He would go straight for the one who stood in the center of the square. He assumed that that one was the leader, and was the one he had seen signaling the others. Volnej was to make certain that Calyin and Midori reached the far side of the square and the alleyway beyond. And Captain Brodst had the two who approached from the palace proper; he was to take them out as he saw fit, only doing so if it became necessary.

As Serant reached the bottom landing, he stopped firm, waiting for Geoffrey and Timmer to pass him before he began to move again, meanwhile drawing his sword and a small blade. He touched the two on the shoulder as they passed, so instructing them to halt. He waited for the one to turn his back to him and as he did, Lord Serant whispered, “Go!”

Lord Serant sprinted across the square, his feet softly striking the stones. His boots lay discarded some distance away. His blade was swift and true as he released it from his hand, dropping the man where he stood. His sword soon followed up to insure that the man was dead. He whispered in his mind as he did so, “Fool, soft leather does little to protect you in battle. Death has found you.”

Lord Serant carefully scanned the area around the square in a wide circle. He saw Calyin and the other two reach the safety of the dark alley. Timmer and Geoffrey had felled their opponents and were also on their way to hiding. Only Captain Brodst was absent. “Come on,” whispered Serant under his breath. He turned nervously, pausing only to take in the surrounding shadows again. “Come on,” he thought again.

“Yes,” struck his mind as he saw the captain’s form racing towards him. He retrieved his dagger and relieved the dead one of his blade while he waited for Captain Brodst to catch up to him; then the two crept off across the square.

From the shadows of many alleys, byways, and small paths the seven stole from the city center toward the postern gates on the lower east side, a direction that Lord Serant hoped would not be as closely watched as the others, since it was not an obvious exit. It had been sealed for decades; furthermore, it lay just off the lower market square in plain view.

Lord Serant was pleased to see that Calyin and Midori had wisely collected several blades for their own use, so he stashed at his own side the short sword he had obtained; an extra blade would always come in handy. The streets were mostly empty, which did not surprise Lord Serant. His heart sorrowed for the citizens of Imtal, whom he could not protect from King Jarom’s greedy hands, but he vowed to return and amend the situation at the first opportunity. Under other circumstances, he would have thought his deeds cowardly, and cowardice did not sit well with him. But for now, in view of what he had seen, he considered his actions a tactical, necessary retreat.

Sore bodies carried them and weary legs moved tired feet, but their minds pushed them on beyond their limits. Soon they found themselves on the edge of a small deserted marketplace. Lord Serant marked the progress of the sun as he planned their movements. They would move just after dusk; the wait would not be long. All things considered, he thought this day was the longest of his life. It seemed to him that the sun fought to linger in the skies overhead to prevent darkness from arriving.

The minutes, or hours, of waiting seemed to go on forever, but darkness eventually began to fall. The air around them had a peaceful silence as it had since their arrival. The beating of their hearts seemed to echo around them. Their breaths became great bellows and the shifting of their feet a blade on a grindstone. Eyes flickered nervously back and forth, up and down, ever watching.

“Are you sure you know how to open this?” whispered Brodst to Serant.

“I am sure,” replied Calyin, speaking before Lord Serant could reply. “A certain boy I knew long ago had taken a fancy to this very exit, or entrance rather—” Her voice died on the last words, and no one heard them save for Serant who was directly beside her.

“Yes, he did show me,” he softly whispered into Calyin’s ear; his voice was also saddened. “With luck he will return, though I hope not soon. The goings-on would shrivel his heart and pluck out his eyes.”

The sound of horses’ hooves froze his heart and his lips. Everyone drew tight against the wall, withdrawing into the gray shadows as best they could. Two horsemen broke into the square directly across from their position, coming straight for them. Serant edged back along the shadows, but he held firm for a time, hoping the riders would not come near.

The clatter of several pairs of hooves against hard rock carried loudly to their listening ears. The two riders seemed to circle the square two or three times as if searching. Once or twice Brodst and Serant perceived eyes on them, but then as swiftly as the two appeared, they were gone. The sound of their retreat echoed for a long time before it faded away. Lord Serant slumped against the wall and sank to his knees in relief; they would wait for a short time before they would go for the wall and escape beyond it. He hoped the night would be very dark.

In a tiny cleft hidden three bricks high and two bricks in along the high stone wall, lay the gate key, where it had lain now for many years. Lord Serant breathed deeply and flashed its form back to the others who yet waited in the shadows. The night was as dark as he would have hoped; stars peeked in and out of light cloud cover and a twinkle of brass caught Captain Brodst’s eye. He bade the others to follow his lead into the square.

One by one they crossed the square to the dark recesses by the wall. Geoffrey was the last to leave the alley, his methodical gait, though scarcely audible, grew closer. Five waited patiently for his arrival. Timmer remained where he was; this was the end of his journey this day. The chancellor had only left his side to insure that the gate was secured before the two made their retreat, which would be separate from the others. The chancellor and Timmer had business elsewhere within the city, and not beyond it. Lord Serant fiddled with the key in his hand, waiting to release the latch when all was clear.

A shrill noise brought cold shivers. Geoffrey slumped flat against cool stone, lying motionless, waiting to insure that movement was safe. The noise passed, as sounds in the dark often do, and Geoffrey rose to his knees and crept away. He did not relax until Serant touched his shoulder reassuringly. “All is well,” he whispered.

Lord Serant touched key to keyhole and turned it; after a slight hesitation and a little resistance, the old lock released and with a creak the gate opened. He did not dare to push it open more than a foot, fearing that the noise of the old hinges would surely rouse someone’s attention. Serant was the first to slip beyond the city’s walls and into the breezes of the night. Here Volnej parted with the others. Good-byes were hurried and speechless, as there was nothing more to be said, and their voices need not be heard.

Chapter Thirteen

Hours before the sun rose, the camp was a jumble of activity. Renewed hope and faith filled the thoughts of many. Prince Valam had returned at long last. They had enough supplies to carry them through the cold that lay ahead, and now they were ready to train for the coming challenge with all their hearts, more than ever before.

Seth regarded Liyan with inquiring eyes. There was something bothering Liyan, but he could not tell what. As he watched Liyan, he paced back and forth, and every now and again, he would glance out the small opening at the front of the tent to note the weather.

Several hours past first light, a messenger arrived with a summons for them. They were to meet the others in the command tent. The messenger said that Prince Valam was already anxiously awaiting their arrival. The two followed the messenger back towards the center of the camp and then circled off towards the command tent.

By the time Seth and Liyan arrived, almost everyone was already present and seated around the conference table, which was strewn with scrolls and maps, and even the remnants of several breakfasts, which were being cleared away as they entered. Seth wasn’t surprised to find that Teren had already returned to the plains and his watch. He could tell that Teren had longed to be alone and away from past memories.

Tsandra sat smugly beside Cagan, and the two were engrossed in conversation. Evgej, Valam, and Father Jacob had withdrawn to a quiet corner away from the confusion at the center table. Captain Mikhal and several other men that Seth did not know were seated around the center table although Seth did not see the one called Danyel’.

Valam quickly returned when he noticed that Seth was present. He had been awaiting Seth and Liyan’s arrival. Just as they were about to begin and the room grew quiet, several men hurried in and took their seats, apologizing for their tardiness. Valam did an account of who was present and who was still unaccounted for. Only Danyel’ was still missing. He dispatched another runner to find him.

The room began to grow restless after a ten minute wait with no sign of Danyel’. Captain Mikhal grew visibly flushed as the lieutenant was his responsibility, so it became his fault that Danyel’ was absent. After waiting several more minutes, Valam decided to begin without him even though he had counted on the other’s presence.

Introductions were first, which Valam carried out at length, hoping Danyel’ would arrive before he finished, but Danyel’ did not. Valam went through a long list of names, titles and positions, adhering to the elaborate way Seth’s people formally announced themselves. He started off with Liyan, and ended with Cagan. Tsandra was annoyed, for he had saved her for second to last, and she thought he was going to rank her last. Afterwards, he similarly announced those from the kingdom, saving the six lieutenants for last, and with side consultation from Captain Mikhal he made it through their names without error.

He finished and took his place at the table, marking each of the names in his mind, associating each with something that would stick in his memory and help him recall the name. Lieutenant Willam had piercing eyes of coal that held a hint of sparkle, perhaps a touch of blue or maybe it was just the reflection of the light. Pavil had a long wispy mustache and a stunted goatee. He stopped at Eran for a time, listening to what Father Jacob was saying and accidentally skipped to Tae, whose auburn locks were immediately distinctive, and then he backed up to Eran. He didn’t really note anything that he could mark in his thoughts, so he went on. His eyes fell on Tae again. He stumbled once more over the face, which he had seen often at Quashan’, but the name did not jump out at him, and he wondered why. S’tryil was another easy one, for he was the bladesmen to whom the prince and the entire kingdom was deeply indebted. Plus if he recalled correctly he had known a Lord S’tryil in his youth, perhaps the lieutenant’s father. He would have to talk with S’tryil about that later.

Valam smiled as Father Jacob’s words sparked his memory. Redcliff, that’s the name, he thought, and he cast a sidelong glance at Tae although he couldn’t quite recall how the nickname had come about. The last one Valam knew well; he did not need anything to recall the name. Ylsa had served directly under Captain Evgej when he had been a mere swordmaster third-class, and she had helped him, in fact, to attain the rank of swordmaster first-class. The rank of captain had come much later, of course, and only recently, but she was also a mystery to him, as Evgej had been until a short time ago. “Was it a short time?” thought Valam to himself. In all actuality it seemed so very long ago that the two of them and Seth had been together in the Belyj forest.

The weather outside turned severe as if on cue as Father Jacob raised the topic, discussing Liyan’s concerns at length. Jacob cast a dreary sidelong stare at the flakes of snow falling just beyond his touch. Brother Liyan was correct—this odd season was full upon them, as was readily apparent.

Father Jacob paused only shortly, and then returned to full eloquent speech, laden with elaborate words, trying firmly to make his point, which he had considered thoroughly during many long and empty nights. He had been all set for a return trip to the kingdom and was rather disappointed at the turn of events. At long last, Jacob concluded and offered the floor to Valam, who was slow to draw on the cue offered him.

Valam had only briefly returned from his reverie and stood, as a commotion outside caused him to stop cold on his first word. He was the first to go to the door and first to hear the excited runner’s message. “Riders from the north.” Valam came to attention quickly. “How many?”

“Lieutenant Danyel’ did not say, sire.”

“Danyel’—where are Lieutenant Danyel’ and his men?”

The runner pointed to the North, “Just beyond the first hill; they wait.”

“Is he mad?” asked Valam aloud, although he had meant only to think it.

The runner nodded courteously and begged graciously to be dismissed, which Valam did without second thought. Valam’s face grew pale as he retreated back into the tent and spread the news. He did not delay to run toward the far northerly side of the camp, clutching his sword. As he approached, he saw nothing but a rather large commotion spreading like wildfire around Danyel’, who was mounted.

His eyes scanned the distance, but he saw nothing. He called out to the lieutenant, but his words were drowned amidst many voices. He waited until he was at the lieutenant’s side to gain his attention. He did not have to speak, for the men quickly made a path for him to Danyel’; it was done without words and without hesitation. The men held him in extreme reverence since his return, even beyond that which his office normally rendered him.

“My prince, you have come. I give thanks,” spoke Danyel’, echoing his men’s respect for Valam.

“What is it?”

“Listen.”

Danyel’ did not have to ask for silence. It followed as if Valam had ordered it. Valam listened, but he could hear nothing. “Wait,” offered Danyel’, “put your ear to the ground; it will tell.”

Valam put his ear against the hard ground and listened. At first he heard nothing, but soon afterwards a faint rumbling sound rose to his ears. “How far away are they?”

“A good ten miles, but they come, sire.”

“Can you tell how many?”

“My prince, it is a large group or the thunder would not carry such a distance. I would guess hundreds or more.”

“Please part with the niceties,” spoke Valam, “I am no king,” and responding with the humbleness of Seth’s people, a way which he had grown accustomed to and now preferred, he said, “I am the governor of South Province, son of Andrew, King of the Great Kingdom, this is true, which does make me a prince, but no more. I am very honored by your words and your reverence, but if such a tribute is to be paid to me, let it be earned in the field of battle and nowhere else.”

In so saying, he endeared himself even more to those who listened. His voice became silent as he put all his attention on a distant point. Seth, Cagan and Evgej soon arrived, and after a short explanation, they waited, poised. Behind them the camp roused, as if to battle.

Seth considered the possibility that those approaching did not yet know of their presence, and his thoughts could possibly give that away to them if he reached out, so he would be silent until the force was close at hand.

Liyan was troubled; he watched quietly, whispering his thoughts only to Seth’s mind. Behind him, Tsandra stood poised defiantly beside her mount, and forming behind her were those of her order, who gathered at her summons. Cagan and Evgej, who now stood to Valam’s left and Seth’s right, waited also.

Evgej, who had been afraid of the seas and very often seasick on their journey to the Eastern Reaches, missed the water and the craft of his forefathers whom he had long ago forsaken. He had never told Cagan that his father was a shipbuilder and that his father had been the one to build the ship for him, the one the rocks and sea had lain to rest. Evgej cut off the memories, thinking them odd for a time when his hand played along the hilt of his sword in waiting.

The uncomfortable waiting ended as a herald rose to their thoughts and to their hearts like the sound of a bugle in triumph. The will of Teren entered the minds of all who stood waiting. He told them he carried with him a band of mountaineers or so he named them, those he considered to be of his order, which was not that of the brown.

Teren’s companions, all strongly built for elves, looked to be worthy adversaries in the trials that lay ahead. They, like Teren, lived on the Great Plains and roamed its vast span, changing their place of dwelling like the wind and with the seasons. Most often, or so Teren explained to Valam, they were to be found in the mountains that were the border between east and west, and it was their true home. They had come at Teren’s bidding and because they believed it was time to let their presence be known.

Chapter Fourteen

Noman, Xith, and the others departed Zashchita just as the darkness of night waned. Shchander discussed the news he and his men had learned while at the inn. Noman was very pleased to note that word of the princess’ disappearance was heard on no one’s lips. Xith was also pleased; however, Y’sat’s words still weighed heavily on his conscious, as he assumed they did on Noman, but Noman carried them better. Xith considered it good fortune, though, that most of the news was pleasant.

The next two days passed relatively slowly as they forgot the enchantment of the city. The dark specters that seemed to be with them before they had reached Zashchita returned and it was with heavy hearts that Noman and Xith kept on. Their thoughts often went to Ayrian and to Vilmos—the two that seemed to be lost to them—and to Adrina—the one who they seemed to be losing.

They held to the main roads through brief stretches of open prairie, yet mostly they moved through thick, lush forest greens. Growth in this area was very different from the heavy pine, tall oak, ash, elm and even a few cedars and walnut. An abundant mixture grew in the old forest, but the great forest now lay far to their west. Here the trees tended to be thick groves. Those they rode through now were beautiful, deep, and green, and the pungent smell of pine assaulted their nostrils. Ahead lay a large stand of thick, dark-wood trees that stretched out far beyond their view, which was apparent only because of the high, fir-covered hills they rode along now. Each time they mounted a new hill, a different piece of the land ahead was revealed to them as they peered out through the branches.

Adrina was bored as she sat in the carriage with the sun lightly playing across her face. She rubbed the mark glumly; she could feel life within very often now. She stared openly at the one who sat directly across from her, hoping her eyes would stir his tongue although it had not yet in many hours of riding.

When they entered the thick, dark wood, it became quickly apparent to Adrina, for the sun vanished. She did not have the advantage of looking out over the horizon to see what lay ahead. She moved close to the wall of the carriage, hugging it close, feeling comfort in its presence beside her.

“Do you ever speak?” questioned Adrina, driving away the darkness she perceived with her words. “Do you have a name?” she further asked before a response could be rendered. “Are you always this tight-lipped?” queried Adrina.

“Seldom, and yes on both accounts, Princess Adrina.”

“What is it?”

“What is what?”

“Your name?”

“Shalimar,” quietly whispered the man, as if his name were an evil thing.

“That is a nice name,” returned Adrina, attempting to stir his tongue.

Shalimar’s only response was a slight smile, which was quick to fade as his eyes resumed their far-away stare. He longed to be elsewhere although he was also happy to be right here. His feelings were very mixed.

Afternoon shadows soon came; and shortly afterward, night fell around them. They made camp not far from the road, far enough so they were out of sight but close enough so it would be easy to leave if the need arose. The coach was their primary concern; it could not travel over rough terrain and needed a clear path. It also cast a large shadow, one passers-by might see if they looked closely.

Another day arrived and went, then two more passed. The country they were in was very different from that which they were accustomed to, but the changes were very subtle. The land had a feel of wildness to it, and a sense that most of it laid untouched by the hands of man. The road narrowed to a wide path, but tracks were deep along it although they had met no one since they had departed Zashchita, a fact that did not seem significant to them.

Xith was quietly brooding; he and Noman had just had a very lengthy argument, which Xith felt that he had lost. After thinking about it, he decided he would not let the questions sit. He clipped his mount and raced up alongside Noman. “I still do not like it. I tell you, I feel an absence. At least let me try, just a little test, a mere spark.”

“Xith, I do not think it is wise; perhaps we are free of any who would follow, but afterwards, who would know?”

“Do you not believe the words of Y’sat?”

“Yes, I do, but we must wait.”

Xith couldn’t help the smile that lit his lips and cheeks. He liked to see the fire revive in Noman’s eyes. He turned to respond, but as he did the happiness left his face and the group came to a sudden halt. Amir’s sword danced in his hands as he reined in his mount alongside Noman.

“The forest has eyes,” called out Amir.

“Yes, I know,” said Noman, turning to smile at Xith. “Put away your weapon. They will do us no harm this day.”

Without question, Amir lowered his sword and sheathed it. He then spurred his mount towards Nijal, to the forward watch. Shchander and a few of his men still claimed the rear watch, and they trotted along at a good pace behind the coach. Adrina still sat discontented in the carriage with the tightlipped Shalimar to watch over her. Although she was thankful that the face remained the same before her, she wished Shalimar would say something more than a morning and nightly greeting, which was nothing more than courteous speech.

Night found them as their path came to a small tributary of the great river, the Krasnyj, which was flowing very well in these eastern lands that they rode through. Morning came, bright and cheerful, with late afternoon catching them looping down a gently sloping hill into a vast, high-rimmed vale with a lake sweeping across most of its midsection. The last sounds of birds and day creatures left them as night arrived, and the sounds of night appeared in their place with the gentle croaking of frogs, the song of crickets, and a soft northerly wind.

Xith cast off the dark shadows that had hung over him for days, and all found time to bathe in the lake before retiring under the starlit sky. Noman knew the lake and the surrounding valley; it was a near halfway point on their journey and a pleasant place to relax and forget the worries of travel and all else that lay behind for a time. He also recalled a name for it, though he would not say if someone had asked him. He preferred the ways of old, when naught had name except that given to it by the Mother. A tree was a tree and a valley was a valley. He remembered a people of long ago, which he knew were now scattered far across the seas; and staring out over the gray waters before him, he wondered how they fared. He did not know what suddenly brought on the peculiar thoughts, but they came; perhaps it was the stranger that he had touched in Adrina’s mind some time ago, or perhaps a distant thought had triggered his recollection.

It was late morning before they could draw themselves away from the pleasant shore, find the strength to move around it to the far side, and take the road up and out of the valley. Laughter had found and lightened many a heavy heart. Adrina had finally been able to carry on a conversation with someone other than herself. She had felt that everyone had been shunning her as if they feared her or she had a disease. Now she was happy, and a smile touched her lips and brightened her cheeks.

As they mounted the steep hills, they looked back over their shoulders down into the pleasant lake; only Noman searched beyond to the edges of the forest, seeking something that was not there. The eagerness of morning was quick to fade as a light drizzle found them late in the day, continuing until the night. A deep chill loomed in the air of the camp that night, and very skilled hands worked long and hard to build a fire to warm cold bodies.

The wet weather stayed with them for three more days, rutting the roads and slowing their movement to a crawl. They again found themselves amidst the green and brown of forests; in fact, this had been true since they completed their uphill ascent of several days ago. Here the land was mostly flat although it held a slight downhill slope much of the time. The air seemed to be growing colder each day as the weather grew more and more foul. The sight of snow would not have surprised them.

Now they lunched in a small clearing just off the road, stopping to wait out a hard downpour and using the time to rest weary animals and to bring nourishment to their own tired souls. Long into the afternoon they waited for the storm to pass or let up from its long torment, but it did not. So here they were forced to make their camp for the night. Neither spark from skilled hands nor flint rock brought fire to the wet wood they gathered, and still fearing their use of magic, this night passed by cold and wet, without the benefits of a fire.

Scattered shouts in the night roused the sentry, and soon everyone was awake or mostly awake, returning to sleep only when weapons were close at hand and the shadows in the woods had long since passed. Amir was last on watch and first to greet the early rays of a dawning day, a day that he sensed would be clear and cloudless. He was also the first to discover that Adrina was missing.

Chapter Fifteen

Clouds moving across the night sky brought shadows, dark and odd to the land. Calyin and Midori followed Lord Serant and Geoffrey. Captain Brodst kept to the rear. They used the darkness as their blanket, pulling it with them, carrying it along beside and around them, pausing momentarily when it slipped back from on top of them, and moving again when it returned. Lord Serant moved his feet with great determination and much perseverance. He wondered at the strength of those with him; he had heard no complaints since they had made their escape from Imtal even when his own body felt like a weight pulling him into the ground.

On the backside of a low, sloping hill, amidst a small stand of tightly packed oak, they stopped for what remained of the night. They could go no farther. It was here that Calyin finally broke into tears, great heavy sobs that were muffled within her lord husband’s strong embrace. “Oh Edwar,” she whispered to him. “So many lost and for what?”

Lord Edwar Serant stood firm. He moved Midori and the others back with his eyes as he put Calyin at arm’s length. “If there are any who must hold strong, it is us,” he told her. “We must hold strong and remain true to each other and Great Kingdom. There will be a time for retribution.”

Calyin sucked at the air and forced her mind to calm. She was an Alder and the strength of her family ran in her veins. For a fleeting moment her eyes turned accusingly to her sister. The unspoken words that passed between the two were clear to each. Calyin at first blamed the other and then forgave. Midori, who had once considered herself an Alder but was no more, accepted her share of blame but patently refused forgiveness. If there was to be forgiveness, it would come from the Mother.

In two-hour shifts, they switched the watch; though tired and weary of body and mind, none slept soundly, and morning found them in much the same state they had been the night before—drained. Travel by day was a poor choice but a necessity. They were still in the kingdom and to their knowledge only Imtal had fallen, so they pressed on cautiously.

The bright warmth of the sun brought no cheer. In the distance in the east, storm clouds loomed, as if they were a sign, and towards the east they continued. For a time that morning, they followed a shallow stream that afforded them water cool and soothing until mid-day, for which they were very thankful for they had no water skins with them. The water sustained their empty bellies, yet it did not satisfy the rumblings of hunger within.

Lord Serant promised that Kauj lay just ahead, and if they maintained a good pace, taking adequate breaks; they would reach it late in the evening. The others well knew where the city of Kauj lay, but with Serant’s words the promise became real to them, and they strove for it. They stayed well away from the road, following the gullies and ditches in and around the hill country they walked through.

Midori perceived a hint of the Mother with her this day, for which she was very thankful. She had been so empty without another presence in her consciousness. Late in the afternoon, she dared to touch the will of the land with hers, and was pleased when it flowed back to her. The domain of the Mother was hers again, and she was ecstatic. Guidance flowed to her mind as if she had regained her sight although she still perceived an absence around her.

As they stopped just before dusk to insure that they were not off course, a call came to her crisply from the wood a short distance away. It bade her to hurry to its confines until the darkness approached. Midori quickly led her companions to the shadows of the wood and they followed her unquestioningly.

They had no more than reached the trees and found cover when they heard the clatter of hooves. They did not move again until long after the silence returned. From then on, they moved even farther away from the road. Movement this night became difficult as the stars of the previous night were completely blocked by clouded skies. Later, the road was very difficult to find in the darkness.

A distant sound of music coming from the north reached their ears. Puzzled, they continued swiftly, pausing only briefly. Those that wore hooded cloaks, pulled them close around themselves, and those that didn’t raised their collars high. The sight of buildings in the distance brought relief to their heavy hearts.

Unfortunately, Kauj only had a single inn. Tiny as it was, they still hoped to take a brief respite before they continued on their way. With luck, they would not have to remain the entire night, and they would hopefully be able to purchase horses. Their minds were consumed with thoughts of food and warmth.

Geoffrey went alone into Kauj while the others waited at a safe distance. He visited the inn first; then he sought out the stables. The inn was very quiet. He saw only two customers, solemnly sipping their draught, and the innkeeper. He stepped just into the doorway but did not inquire about rooms. He went back to the street.

He knew of two stables in Kauj, or at least there used to be two stables. He walked to the nearest one, which appeared to be in business although it was secured for the night, as he had thought it would be at this hour. Upon cursory inspection, he counted several horses in the corral to the rear, but they appeared to be mostly nags. He could not see within the stable stalls, but any horse was better than walking, so he was not completely discouraged.

Afterward he rejoined the others and led the way to the inn. Once inside, they were quick to inquire about rooms. The innkeeper had three empty but one was already promised. They would have to share the two, which suited them; they would have taken only one. They also ordered food to be brought to their rooms, but the innkeeper could only promise them gruel and hard bread at this hour. They did not refuse this either.

They were quick to retire to their rooms but not before Lord Serant and Captain Brodst eyed the two who sat in the far corner drinking. Something about them caught their interest. Cautiously, the captain queried about the two, pretending to have an interest in peddling his wares to them. The innkeeper told him that he hadn’t seen the two before and that they were not very friendly, so he recommended staying clear of them. Captain Brodst smiled and said thanks and then went upstairs.

The gruel, which they would normally have considered tasteless, was very welcome and satisfying. After eating their fill and washing up, they slept, and it was morning before any of them awoke. Calyin was the first to awaken, and startled by how high the sun was, woke the others.

All took turns cursing themselves for their error, but it could not be denied that the sleep had done them good. As long as they were already here past morning, they would eat and gather provisions for the journey ahead. Brodst was the one chosen to venture downstairs, which he did.

The inn was fairly busy this morning, mostly with travelers stopping only for a quick meal as they passed through, or so it appeared. The captain did not delay in making arrangements for supplies and horses and soon returned to where the others waited, gathered all in one room. Captain Brodst admitted that he did not like the feel of the inn this morning; he perceived something amiss though he knew not what.

The rattle of trays startled them as several were placed on the hall floor. Directly afterwards came a knock on the door, a soft rapping.

Captain Brodst answered the door, pulling it open only partially. He recognized the servant as the one from last night, and sighed, accepting the food graciously. Sometime later, the servant returned to retrieve the trays and dishes. He also informed the captain that the foodstuffs he had wanted were ready, and that he had sent a message to the stable master. Captain Brodst thanked the boy and gave him a small coin as a token of thanks.

“What do we do now?” asked Calyin of Serant. “Do you still think it is safe to journey to Solntse this day?”

“If that is still our course, I say yes.”

“If?” asked Geoffrey. “I thought we were set.”

“I am not so sure now. I think—I’m not sure what I think, but I sense something.”

“Yes, the Mother speaks to me this morning from afar; this does not bode well. I also think a change of course would be better.”

“I would still rather be in Imtal; at least there I would know the specters.”

“A change of words, I believe, is in order. It is not good to mention things of darkness, lest they come.”

“I am sorry, Sister. I regress,” the captain spoke the words with a grin on his face, as he stared at Midori, who stared back at him with an equally knowing smile.

“If we change our course, what of the warning? Have you pondered the meaning of the things they said to us?” spoke Calyin, her eyes mostly falling on Midori, who understood best of all, she thought.

“The words were not meant to confuse us, as was already said, but merely to make us think, to make us give deep consideration to our path, and yes to give us a direction to begin and end in. The in-between, I think, is mostly up to us.”

“Let’s delay no further. I want to put a great distance between us and Kauj.”

“Lord Serant is right; we should be off.”

Geoffrey went to collect and pay for the horses, which he purchased without trouble, while Captain Brodst saw to their provisions and Serant retrieved some water skins and other miscellaneous items from a nearby merchant. Midori and Calyin remained at the inn, passing the time by talking as only two sisters do. Thoughts of Adrina and Andrew carried over into their conversation; they missed them both.

Fortunately, the nags they rode upon proved to have good stamina; and by late afternoon, the shadows they perceived in Kauj seemed to be far behind them. The sense of nature surrounding them put Midori at ease. As they rode, she turned her thoughts inward for a time of reflection. She was the first of the Mother, yet she observed certain reservations she knew others before her had not. Her thoughts flowed to a figure. The face of an old man came before her and she wondered how he fared. He had not returned as he said he would, and she needed his support, his guidance.

She thought about time and wondered where she would be during the vernal equinox, when the time of her calling came. She did not know whom she would choose, but surely, as the first, she must choose. She thought about the other priestesses at sanctuary, and how they fared without her guidance. They knew that the first, second and third were gone, and perhaps, she thought, they may be lost. As she dwelled on this, she knew this to be false. Her mouth fell agape and now she understood the emptiness. They had crossed the rights and transcended without her. “Why, Mother?” cried Midori in her thoughts. “Why did you sanction this?”

“Midori?” called Brodst. “Are you all right? You look so pale.”

“Yes—yes, I am fine,” softly responded Midori, sadness evident in her voice. “Fine, fine, fine,” laughed Midori, sarcastically. She bit her lip and thus stopped further words from issuing from her mouth. She pulled her hood tight about her face and withdrew into its recesses and cried heavy mournful sobs.

Chapter Sixteen

The words of the mountaineers were odd to Valam’s ears; somehow, they were in the same tongue as Seth yet different. He was glad they were quick to adapt to his own language, which greatly enhanced their ability to communicate. He decided that they were a strong bunch, and the power was not only in their hands and minds, but also in their hearts. They were free spirits. He also found that they were quick to sudden anger, and quick to turn from it and laugh. They played with emotions sending it as the most prevalent item in all their thoughts, using it to their own advantage.

Their skin and eyes were a deep, burnt tan in contrast to Seth’s paler skin. The plains had been harsh on them, and these were the first of Seth’s kind. Valam wondered whether the signs of wear and tear on their features were the result of great age or simply evidence of the harshness of their lives on the plains. Ekharn was their leader although they claimed to have no leader. They counted all of their kind as equals.

A small group gathered in the center of the camp, preparing to depart. This day they would journey back to the mountains with Teren as their guide. With hesitation, Father Jacob gave his blessing for Prince Valam to accompany the party as Ekharn wished and with a very heavy heart he watched the band leave the confines of the camp. He hoped Valam would never leave his sight again, and he was torn with lament as if he was losing what he had only recently found.

Valam smiled courteously in response to Yulorien’s words floating through his mind, but momentarily he cast his attentions back to Jacob, whose countenance spoke many things. It wasn’t until much, much later, as they plodded through the rocky coastline north, that he realized what was said to him. He repeated the words in his thoughts, “No, my friend, the Queen-Mother holds no dominion over the mountain folk, although we do count her blessings.”

The journey along the coast to Ekharn’s camp took only one full day. This time of year often found them encamped on steep bluffs jutting out into the sea, the mountains rising high behind them, and in front of them the plains. As they mounted the bluff, Valam caught sight of a white snowcap on the mountains as far as he could see. The places he was led into seemed at first gloomy and foreboding, but soon they were streaming with light and cheer.

Passageways that began with great canyons became narrower and shallower, tunnels that were made by skilled hands with chisel and hammer. They wove together a series of interconnecting rooms, halls, dwellings and much more that were all natural and would have been otherwise inaccessible. Valam felt empty without Evgej, Seth, and the others who had been his constant companions for a very long time. They had been forbidden to accompany the mountaineers although exception had been made in the case of Mikhal and Danyel’ and the two were in the party today.

The three and Teren now sat in an enormous hollow awaiting Ekharn’s return. Yulorien sat with them although he did not speak. Valam regarded the rock-hewn benches they were seated upon, set in a semi-circle around the chamber. In the center of the room an earthen hearth spewed warmth, its smoke drifting into an unseen chimney.

A lengthy hour later, Ekharn returned, and as he did Yulorien stood and bowed his head. As a polite gesture, Valam did the same and the others except Teren, who did not move, followed his lead. Behind Ekharn walked a woman in a white flowing gown. Once she was seated, Yulorien raised his head, and after momentarily regarding her, he took his place.

“You need not pay homage to me,” whispered a voice, powerful, yet feminine, casting with it an expression of warmth and also a feeling of welcome. “I have no persuasion over you or any of your kind, though I am the Mother of my people.”

“The Queen-Mother,” flashed through Valam’s thoughts before he considered that his mind was open.

“I am no queen, I have no kingdom nor any domain, unless you count the lands you place your feet upon now, but they are not mine to offer, even to myself.”

“I am sorry,” said Valam. “I did not mean to—”

“There is no need for apology; no offense was taken or given. I brought you here so I could speak openly with you without fear of reprisal. There are those who would not look favorably upon my presence, and there are those who do not know that I exist. I wish it to be kept so at least for now. Do you know that the Mother of the Eastern Reaches attempted to send your people away before your arrival?”

Valam’s eyes and thoughts gave evidence of the direction he thought the conversation flowed. Teren jumped to his feet almost immediately. “I am no traitor to my people, Prince Valam, of this I assure you.”

“Please, Brother Teren, seat yourself. He will see the truth of it; give him time. You are no traitor.” Her words flowed, mixed with truth and understanding to all present. A suppressed message of “wait, and you will see,” was also sent with it simultaneously. “I want you to know the facts; this is why I have brought you here. You are being played like an errant pawn. The fool is one step away from obtaining the swordmasterless king.”

“King?”

“Do you not think that I know? I see all, but little do I question until it is time. Once there were two queens and two kings in the lands beyond the seas, the lands that now lie in desolation, so the balance was held in check, but no more. We are here, and yours are there. Valam, a prince, an heir, a king, a pauper.”

“Do you mock me?”

“No, I praise you. Do you not understand? Regard what I have said, and in time you will come to know.”

“I am at a loss,” said Valam.

“You are at no loss and understand me well. The words I have spoken are not beyond your minds, but beyond your ears. You hear but do not listen.”

Valam returned to the first words spoken to him and asked, “Why would the Queen-Mother send away those she needs.”

“You know the answer. She told you herself. Think!”

A flood of remembrance came upon Valam and carried him away. The world about him became gray and shadowy, and if Teren had not protected his head from the stone, he would have slammed against it when he collapsed forward. He saw the paths in his thoughts, a vision that played out two-fold for him, overwhelming him and sending his body into shock as the vision came to the end, as he saw his life come to an end. Now he understood Tsandra’s words, but it was too late; the moment had passed.

As light returned to his eyes, Valam was unsure how long he had been lost or if he had been lost at all. He opened his eyes, and he was still seated where he had been; Teren, Mikhal, Danyel’, and the others were all still there. “How long have I been gone?”

“The length is not the key, it is the knowledge. Now, do you understand?”

“Yes, I remember, but why did I forget, and how did I—I was dead.”

“You were and you weren’t. As is this, that was but a crossing, a possibility that is now passed, but now you have the answers, and what will you do with them?”

“I, I—do not know.”

“I will give you time. In your heart, you will know what to do, and you will do it, but heed this. That which you think is occurring usually is not, and that which you do not expect probably is. Do not regard her falsely, for she does not hold you thus. She did only what she considered just, and perhaps it was. Now that you have seen the many lines, you know what your fate would have been at each turning. But now you are beyond the turnings, and I can show you no more.”

“I saw myself die more than once. How can this be?”

“As I have stated, this was your past. Yes, you would have perished if you had stayed in the kingdom, and—”

“Then what I saw is real.”

“Perhaps, but possibly it is only what could have been if you had been there. I cannot say, but you must consider it in your heart of hearts and act accordingly.”

“And the second time?”

“Yes, another possibility, but do not dwell thus on the past. Move forward and decide; this is why we have returned. Why I have given you counsel. You must know all paths and decide for yourself which to take.”

“Why do you help me? And why, Teren, did you allow me to come here? I still do not understand.”

Teren paused and let the other speak first. “I help you because I must; there is no other reason.”

“You must?”

“Prince Valam, I also do what I feel is right and just for my people.”

“It is all right, Brother Teren, you do not need to justify yourself in his eyes; he does understand if he will only consider. I wish not to say more, but I will add this: a gift is not always free; it often has its costs, and now the balance is brought back in check.”

Valam began to speak, but he was cut short and bade to be silent. “‘Why are Danyel’ and Mikhal here, you think. Consider your own thoughts. Your path is with them, not the others. Alas, I have said too much; you must go.”

“Go?”

“Yes, but only from this chamber. Return with all haste to Leklorall and ask of the queen your questions. Ask her of the sword as well. Awaken now and remember.” Her last words carried much more than simple litany. As with everything she had said to him, mingled with it were a mixture a feelings and deep emotion that would take Valam some time to sort out if he could do it at all.

Valam watched her as she walked away, and just before she entered an adjacent corridor to disappear from sight, she glanced back at him and said again stronger and with more urgency, “Awaken now and remember.”

Chapter Seventeen

Adrina was missing. The camp spun with excited activity. Shchander and his men were sent to search the woods in the immediate vicinity while Nijal and Amir set to finding Adrina’s tracks. Noman and Xith were quick to collapse into sudden but friendly argument. They didn’t discover until much later that one of Shchander’s men was also missing.

By afternoon, troubled eyes stared desperately to Xith and Noman who were still arguing. Xith soon turned to Shchander with many questions, to which Shchander could respond honestly. Shalimar was a man to be trusted, and he held no ill in his heart. Xith turned to Nijal, regarding his nervousness and asked, “Did she say anything to you, anything at all that you counted odd?”

Nijal was slow to speak, but he did. “That night, I had an odd—no, it was nothing.”

“Speak, man,” said Noman commanding Nijal to bring words to his lips. “All things have significance.”

“The night Adrina woke screaming, when I coaxed her to return to the carriage. I watched her. I saw her eyes as she lay there. She was afraid, very afraid. For hours I kept watch, hoping she would drift off to sleep, but she never did. I am not sure, but sometime during the time I was there I had a dream. I may have closed my eyes for five minutes or for several hours, I am not sure. When I awoke, her eyes were upon me as if she knew the dream I dreamt. She asked me again if we could go outside, and this time I did so without hesitation.”

“The dream, what was it?” asked Xith intrigued.

“A voice,” replied Nijal.

“A voice?”

As Nijal began, his voice quivered and his hands twitched nervously. “After that, I did not want to be near her. It was a very strange thing. It is my fault. I should have been with her, not Shalimar.”

“Nijal, stop babbling. Go back to the dream. Tell me about the voice.”

“The voice?”

“Yes, the voice, tell me about it. Nothing can hurt you. Close your eyes and tell us about the dream and the voice.”

Nijal closed his eyes, and all became silent around him as the others waited for him to speak. Nijal still was hesitant; he thought it best to let his dream be lost. “I was surrounded by darkness, so much darkness, and he was there. He came out of the darkness, which seemed to follow him, and after a time, I could see, as if my eyes focused. Black flames licked the air, streaming from dark coffers. He was seated on an ebony throne. He bade Adrina to give him the child, but she would not—” Nijal’s voice faded off, and he broke down into sudden sobs.

Xith looked to Noman, who returned his concern. “Nijal, listen closely, who are they that Adrina spoke of?”

“The shadows, they spoke to her—and the dragons, they spoke to her.”

“When?” demanded Noman, looming over Nijal.

Nijal cowered down to his knees, “Once out of the blackness, they asked her to follow them.”

“And you did not tell us? What were you thinking, Nijal, son of Geoffrey?” yelled Shchander angrily, cursing Nijal the only way he knew how.

“Wait, do not be harsh with him. I can see it on his face; he only now remembers. He did not know himself until he spoke the words. Is that not so?” stated Noman, his tone now very kind and understanding.

“Yes,” replied Nijal honestly. He said nothing of Tnavres, the tiny dragon Adrina harbored, though later he would be unable to explain what held his tongue.

Noman began to speak again, but he stopped, and then turned, his eyes wild with surprise and relief. “Amir, Shalimar—Adrina?”

“I found them,” said Amir, “and you won’t believe this, only about a half hour walk from here. Gathering flowers, the truth be known.”

“White flowers growing along a peaceful stream; it was so serene there,” said Adrina.

“Flowers?” demanded Xith, losing his temper briefly.

“Yes, beautiful white flowers. I picked some for you,” said Adrina, offering Xith a bouquet, and as he accepted them, staring into her eyes of pure innocence, he forgave her and said nothing further on the subject. Noman started to object, but as she handed him a grouping of flowers, he held back, only chastising softly, telling her never to go off alone again, to which she responded that she hadn’t gone off alone.

All thoughts of dark shadows were cast aside, and soon they were moving rapidly along the trail, trying to make up some of the lost time. Only one significant change had occurred, and it was that now only Amir and Nijal would ride with Adrina and keep watch over her. No one chastised Shalimar, as he had already punished himself and repented wholly for his mistake, which had been an honest one.

Noman saw Adrina in a new light from then on. She had the gift of persuasion, there could be no doubt. She knew how to get what she wanted. Shalimar was no fool. He had been led astray and by what Noman suspected could only be the guiles of the Voice—a thing that would be most troubling if it were true.

Chapter Eighteen

Gray skies hovered overhead as night came, and the group stopped. Midori counted her blessings, for they had made good progress this day, and it had passed without incident. She cheered up but not until long after she lay down to sleep and well after her shift at watch. Sleep finally came to her just as she considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she was at a crossing, a time when there could be two who were first to the Mother. She recalled despondently the fact that not long ago she had been only the fourth to the Mother; and even with Jasmine and Catrin’s demise there was another who by all accounts should have progressed to the highest position before her.

It was Calyin who awoke Midori some hours later by shaking her softly. Calyin had held the final watch and she awoke her sister before waking the others. “We must talk,” Calyin said quietly, pointing to a place away from the others.

Midori nodded and followed Calyin into the darkness.

“The men are divided,” Calyin whispered when they were a safe distance away from the camp. “My lord husband wishes to escape to the north. Geoffrey and the captain wish to rouse the garrisons of High Road and Solntse, then return to Imtal. They say Great Kingdom has not fallen, that only Imtal has fallen. What does the Mother tell you?”

Midori wanted to tell Calyin that the Mother told her she was not the true first and that the Mother was so distant from her that it seemed she was alone. Those things were not exactly the truth, however, and she held her tongue saying instead what was safest. “Imtal has fallen, the Kingdom lives on.”

“What of the Great Houses? What of the garrisons? Can you sense anything?”

“She senses,” said Lord Serant approaching out of the darkness, “the great change is upon us.”

“My lord husband,” Calyin said formerly turning to face Edwar Serant.

“You speak now behind my back?” he asked her.

Calyin lowered her eyes momentarily, then looked directly at him. “She is my sister. We are Alders, despite what she thinks. We do not run and hide.”

Lord Serant spat openly. “You think I run willingly? You are my wife. You who should know me better than any.”

“My lord husband, I never met to imply cowardice. I seek only answers. The Delinna I once knew was strong and resolute. Even in the face of our father, she stood to her convictions.”

Lord Serant beaded his eyes and said louder than the previous whispers, “Are you saying I lack conviction?”

Midori thrust herself between the two. “I am right here,” she said. “Don’t speak of me as if I am lost. I made my choices and I have no regrets.”

Calyin whirled around to face Midori. “Shall we then get it all out in the open?” Her voice was full of venom as she spoke. “I hated you for what you did. I hated you for your choices. But I respected you for your choices as well. You had only to speak his name and father would have had him swinging from the rope. It would have satisfied all, would it not have?”

“No,” said Midori emphatically, tears in her eyes. “It would not have satisfied anything. Don’t you see that it was about power? He couldn’t have cared less about honor and the word bond of our father.”

“He?” cut in Lord Serant.

The strong words had by now roused Geoffrey Solntse and Captain Ansh Brodst. Both were standing not far off. “They speak of King Jarom,” said Captain Brodst knowingly.

“Stay out of this,” said Midori and Calyin at the same time. Calyin added, “You’ve done quite enough already.”

“Just what’s that supposed to mean?” asked Midori. “Ansh could no more have held back than I could have.”

Afraid the two sisters were about to come to blows, Lord Serant gripped Calyin’s wrists. “We must return to the road.”

Calyin held firm. “No, not until we’ve said what must be said.”

“Agreed,” Midori said, returning her sister’s glare.

“Say it,” demanded Calyin. “Say that father was wrong. Say that you were wrong. Say that you are an Alder by blood and by blood you hold.”

“I will say no such thing, Calyin. You will never know how hard it was for me to walk away. To leave Imtal. To leave all that I knew. To leave him. You may think the Priestesses of the Mother are beyond the affairs of the Kingdoms and hold true to none, but this is not so. Our duty, our first duty, is to the peoples of Ruin Mist. I did what I must because the Mother showed me the paths. Marrying Jarom Tyr’anth would have only hastened the path of destruction. Surely you know this—you must know this.”

Calyin was trembling. Serant released his grip on her wrists and embraced her. “Enough,” he said. “You are sisters by blood, and by blood you hold. I can see it if you do not. We must return to the road now or all will be lost.”

Like thieves in the night, they began anew. Lord Serant assumed the lead and Geoffrey took the rear. Captain Brodst rode beside Midori and Calyin. Several hours of veiled sky remained before dawn and they were going to put this time to good use. Until just before first light, they maintained the road, and shortly afterwards they moved far to its outskirts.

The land had gentle, gradual slopes going downhill. In the distance they could now see the ridges that marked the Borderlands, and beyond them the snow-capped mountains of the north. Geoffrey knew this region the best as it was within the area patrolled by his fellows. In his youth, he had been on many patrols in this area himself. The closest garrison of the kingdom lay where the borders of the Barrens, the Borderlands, and the Great Kingdom met; and now they had just moved beyond its grasp.

They still thought it queer that they should attempt to avoid the very ones who should by all means be their confederates, but they would still follow caution and hope it was folly when they reached Solntse. As afternoon came upon them, they saw several patrols pass along the road at a distance, and an ever-increasing amount of traffic. This was not odd at all. They saw groups of wagons, riders, and even people on foot. Sometimes the passersby traveled in mixed groups but always they had some sort of armed company with them, usually an escort of two to three men heavily equipped, who probably required higher fees than would the rogues who could have found them.

An attack by outlaws was now Lord Serant’s primary concern also, for they had not much to offer in the way of monetary gain. They stayed close together with eyes constantly on guard and hands always at the ready. Serant gave heavy consideration to moving beyond the kingdom borders and into the borderlands. He didn’t believe all the tales he had heard about the place; but if so many believed them, it would surely be a good place to be. The rain that had held off in previous days found them at first morning light as a drizzle but it quickly turned into a downpour. They sought cover or, possibly, to outrun it. Unbeknownst to them as they raced to escape the storm, their course turned northerly; and before they knew it, the land had turned to rock and crag. However, they did not stop, nor did they heed their own instincts.

Lightning crackled in the air around them, sending sparks of energy through the air, and growing ever nearer. Their steeds turned of their own accord as the brilliant bolts struck within a few feet of horse and rider, and all the riders could do was to hold on and pray they could maintain their mounts. The sound of thunder suddenly swallowed all sound, and a split second later a flash lit the sky to their immediate left. Midori fell on the hard rock as her horse reared.

As she fell to the ground, she rolled away from the horse’s feet, which were seeking unintentionally to stomp her life away. Both Lord Serant and Captain Brodst saw her fall, but only the captain could turn his mount around to offer her a quick hand. The reins stung as they bit into his hand, but he did not release his right grip. He grasped her arm at the elbow and was able to pull her to safety.

Midori rubbed the sore spot on her head only for a moment before she locked both arms around Brodst’s waist. She wasn’t going to fall again if she could help it. She searched for her horse, but it was now long gone, lost among the ridges and the many turns in the path. A spot of white caught her eye; it almost looked as if a clear area lay in front of them, but she wasn’t quite sure.

Suddenly, they broke past the clouds, the rain stopped, the lightning receded, and the setting sun filled their field of vision. Captain Brodst reined his horse to a sudden halt. Directly in front of him, the path fell away into a very steep downward slope. As he gazed, he saw that they were on the very edge of an enormous valley—more a ravine than a valley. As he looked, he changed his mind. It was definitely a canyon, narrow and deep, winding like a great serpent through the rock.

“Downward—” whispered Midori.

Geoffrey didn’t like the looks of the place; his choice was to wait until the storms passed and turn back toward Solntse. “We must go to the garrison; only then will we know.”

Captain Brodst had heard Midori’s faint murmur. She had whispered almost directly into his ear. He gave weight to both Geoffrey’s and Midori’s words. “I say we follow Geoffrey to Solntse,” stated Brodst.

“I say,” started Serant, “that we continue along our current path and see where it takes us.”

Calyin was the only one who had not spoken her mind, and the other four turned toward her to hear her opinion. She wasn’t as quick to make a judgment as the others and she returned Midori’s wry look to her. Midori thanked Captain Brodst and dismounted.

“I believe we should continue; there is much at hand that we do not understand, and it is best to follow when led, to see where the path takes us.”

“Three to two,” spoke Geoffrey sadly. He shrugged his shoulders, shedding the sense of foreboding he perceived, and urged his mount onward at a cautious pace. After Midori mounted behind Calyin, the rest followed his lead; and as they journeyed down into the depths of the canyon, the darkness of night seemed to come immediately over them or at least its shadows did. The sky overhead was still a washed-out blue.

The descent was extremely drawn-out since they had to follow a staggered path crisscrossing the wall of the canyon many times. By the time they found the canyon floor, it was too dark to continue. The rush of water led them on for a time until they came to the edge of a river, where they made camp. They did manage to find enough scrub brush in the immediate area to get a blazing fire burning, giving no heed to precaution.

Lord Serant clapped a hand to Geoffrey’s back in response to his far-off stare during their evening meal. “It isn’t that bad, my friend. Soon you will be home with nothing but time on your hands, and all this will be far behind you, behind all of us.”

“I hope so,” responded Geoffrey weakly, “I hope so.”

The captain, who had wandered off in search of more wood, returned. His eyes were almost as distant as Geoffrey’s as he sat next to Serant. He looked to Midori and Calyin who quietly watched the flames, and then to Geoffrey and Serant. “Do you really think so?” asked Brodst.

“It is the desire of my heart, yes.”

“Lord Serant, I mean no disrespect when I say, this—I have been thinking very carefully—”

“Don’t—” whispered Midori.

“I must go to Solntse. We are only a full day’s ride away—we cannot turn away. What of the garrison troops there in full company? Tomorrow, I will go alone if need be, but to Solntse, I will go.”

Captain Brodst spoke the words that had been on the tip of Geoffrey’s tongue, and Geoffrey was quick to add his opinion, which was to go to Solntse. “We’ll take the capital back by force. We’ll round the garrisons from the whole of the kingdom! And we’ll march on Imtal and drive Jarom back to his lands as we would a mad dog!” Two pairs of eyes fell to Lord Serant, and wondered why he held his thoughts in check, and why he would continue along this path, which was completely against his nature.

“Do not say your thoughts!” announced Serant. “Or I’ll cut out your tongues myself. I thought we gave this great consideration before we began this journey. Our path is fated—” As Lord Serant continued to speak at length, Geoffrey understood Lord Serant’s reasoning even though the captain did not, for he understood the superstitious nature of those of the Territories and the captain did not. Honor took second place to beliefs, which were very strongly based. Geoffrey also saw the hatred Lord Serant held for Midori, not because he disliked her personally but because she had the power to hold his fears over him and show them to him.

The night was calm with the gentle sound of the river lulling their thoughts for a time. Lord Serant opted for the first watch, and he remained on guard all through the night, waking no one to replace him. The stars appeared so very far off as he stared at them; they did not bring answers to his questions, for he did not seek the answers. The blackness of night slowly dissipated replaced by morning light, but no sun.

Geoffrey and Captain Brodst parted from the others as morning came; the three who sat around the fire watched them retreat without saying a word. Lord Serant, Calyin and Midori would continue on their own. The canyon floor proved to be very rough and strewn with boulders, making it extremely difficult to traverse. With only two horses to bear the burden of three, they would walk this day.

Their thoughts were with the two who went to Solntse. They did not fear for their own safety. Three could survive as easily as could five and three could possibly remain more invisible than five. Before, they would have retreated from any force and that had not changed. A fight was not what they sought, so they would not confront a hostile force. They continued on through the rains and sleet, downward, inward, outward, upward, wherever their feet led them.

Chapter Nineteen

“Valam? Valam?” asked Jacob. “I am finished.” Jacob nudged Valam a second time with no response. He quickly began to speak again, “I am sorry, gentlemen, for taking up so much of your time, but now I conclude and give you to Prince Valam.”

“Valam? Valam?” said Jacob, louder than he wished. He smiled graciously and then apologized. He shook Valam, who was slow to open his eyes. “My prince, I am most sorry. Perhaps we should delay this meeting until tomorrow.”

Valam opened his eyes, blinked once, then blinked again. “Captain Mikhal?” asked Valam.

“He has not yet arrived, I am sorry.”

Valam sat up straight and looked around the tent. His eyes opened wide. “Ekharn? Where did Ekharn go?”

Sensing something was wrong, Father Jacob dismissed all present saying, “Let us adjourn until this evening, or better still, tomorrow morning. I apologize again most graciously.”

Valam stood, excused himself, and walked out, but just before the entry, he turned back to look at those seated around the table, and he smiled and said, “Eran, brother of Ylsa. I should have caught the resemblance.” Valam fled to the middle of the encampment, waiting for a thing that did not come. Puzzled, he waited, quickly walking away as Father Jacob approached.

He sought refuge not in his own tent, but in another on the far side of camp. He did not seek out Evgej, or Seth, or even Liyan. His search led him directly to another. He did not pause at her door or announce his arrival. Actually, he did not even think anyone would be there. He was shocked to find someone was indeed in the tent.

“You need not lower your eyes,” spoke Tsandra, whispering to his thoughts. “I have no secrets.”

“I am sorry. I did not think—”

“Yes, I know. Just wait one moment. No need to leave. I shall only be a moment,” said Tsandra without even a trace of embarrassment in her words. She stepped into her woolen robe, and then slipped on her boots. She smiled at Valam’s wide eyes and bade him to sit. “Your thoughts read like an open book. I thought the time before last when we spoke that we discussed that problem of yours.”

“I—I—guess we did,” answered Valam. “Wait, wait a minute. This is not what I came here to talk about, so don’t lead me astray.”

“Well—”

“I understand now what you said to me as our journey began; though, to be honest with you, at the time I did not.”

“I thought you would come to understand it, but isn’t your timing a little off? Is this why you walked out of council?”

Valam glared back at her and asked, “You can’t read what I am thinking right now. Can you?”

“Yes, you are still embarrassed, but I think it will pass.”

“That’s precisely it,” replied Valam, confused.

Tsandra sensed the falseness of his words but did not know what made them false. She wondered what he was hiding from her. Carefully, she prodded his mind while she smiled at him, and she grinned even wider as he smiled back. She found no hidden walls in his center, yet there was something she could not see.

“Why did you do it?” asked Valam.

“Do what?”

“Why did you gather your forces? Was it really for the queen? Or was it over me?”

Now Tsandra comprehended where he was going with his interrogation. “It was for the Queen-Mother; I feared for her safety. I am a warrior; mine is to protect.”

“No. The order of the Red are the protectors. Is this not so?”

“It is the right of the Brown to protect also.”

“But you protect your people, do you not? You hold the Queen-Mother in check. Is this not so?”

“Where do you get the audacity to speak of such things to me?”

“Is this not so?”

“I think you should leave.”

“I will go nowhere!”

“Leave, or I will kill you, myself.”

Valam removed his sword from its sheath, and stood eyeing her intent. He considered her words, her tone of voice, and her stance. She did not stand at the ready like one who was willing or wanting to fight. He turned his blade around and handed her the hilt end. “Do me in if you will,” said Valam kneeling down on one knee and bowing his head, an act he knew would infuriate the heart of any warrior, no matter their origin.

“I would not strike you down in such a way. Do you think me so treacherous?”

“No, I do not think there is treachery in you, but perhaps you could find the truth and share it with me.”

Tsandra was stumped. Where had the questions come from so suddenly, and why now? She had not meant it to come to this. She had merely done what needed to be done, nothing more, so why did it now smite her in the face. She did not make it secret this time that she wished to enter his thoughts. She burst into his mind, seeking to tear it apart and search his every thought but was repelled from the emptiness she found. Again, angrily, she forced her will into his mind. Her eyes went wide with fury.

“It wasn’t any of those things, was it?” asked Valam, oblivious to her will upon him.

“Get out!” she yelled, reaching out with all her wrath, again forgetting to enclose its reaches.

“I will not, not until I hear the truth. Tell me, Tsandra of the Brown. Find the words in your heart of hearts and speak them to me.”

“I don’t know what you are saying.”

“The time for playing games with me is over. I remember. I remember it all.”

“Oh, really. You remember what?”

“Do not be coy with me! I am asking you in all honesty. I believe you want to tell me the truth, but what keeps your tongue in check?”

“That would be me,” spoke Liyan stepping into the tent.

“How long have you been standing out there?” asked Tsandra.

“Only a few moments, but I know of what you speak. I heard the name you spoke, though I think others did not catch it. I don’t even think Tsandra heard it.”

“What name are you referring to?”

“Why the name of Ekharn the old, of course?”

“Where did you learn it?” asked Tsandra, confusion showing on her face.

“In a dream of sorts.”

“A dream, or was it Seth?” asked Liyan, searching Valam’s thoughts as he asked it.

Valam stood there staring at Liyan for a time before he responded, but his words were cut short by another. “No, it was not I, brother. You should know I would not speak of such.”

“Tell us of this dream, if you may,” asked Liyan, yet speaking aloud.

“I don’t think I may, Brother Liyan.”

Liyan furrowed his brow, but did not reply to Valam; in thought, he told the others what he knew about Valam’s words and about Brother Ontyv’s visit. Tsandra’s response was only a passing complaint, but Seth’s was anger, anger so strong it turned his face livid. “Please sit, sit all,” begged Tsandra. “Let us talk as friends, as we are all friends in this room.”

Tsandra continued to speak, but not aloud; now she carefully thought to enclose her words only to those around her. “Ours is a tale best left untold, but I will say you are correct in your words, Prince Valam Alder.”

“Yes,” added Liyan, “the Brown began from tragedy and necessity, and so you see, not all our past is bright and glorious either. We, like your kind, also came upon many turnings during the dark times, times that are possibly upon us once more, but now I think we have a correct balance.”

“She said there were two queens and two kings,” said Valam, slipping, moving his thoughts into words.

“She?” asked Seth, and lagging only moments behind him, Liyan stated the same thing.

“The past is best left to remain in the past. Let us progress not regress. I will be honest with you and say Brother Ontyv did come to send your people home, for this is what the Queen-Mother wished. She did not want you to go home to your lands, and to your fate, for she had altered your fate already in bringing you here at the first. She did not want it to return at the last. I am afraid in so doing, she has upset the balance, and many dark things have come to pass in your lands. For this we are forever sorrowful, Prince Valam.”

“No,” said Valam, his voice full of wisdom as he spoke, “the balance is brought back in check. Our past is also catching up to us.”

“You, my friend, have learned much.”

“Yes, and no.”

“What will you do now? Will you return to your home? Or will you stay?”

“I do not know, to tell you the truth. I must think, and there are several I must confer with before I decide.”

“Father Jacob is a wise man. He will know what is right for you where we may not. Go and talk to him.”

“I was not referring to Jacob. Do you know where I can find Teren?”

“Teren?” asked Tsandra, “Why, whatever for?”

“I know where Teren is,” said Seth. “He arrived in camp only a short time ago and he asked for you, but at that time I did not know where you were, and I only now recalled his inquiry to mind.”

“Yes, I would. Seth, thank you,” said Valam rushing out without even saying good-bye. His exodus led him back to his own tent, where he hoped to find Teren waiting. He wasn’t surprised to find another there. Valam closely inspected Jacob’s demeanor before he said a word. What followed was largely an apology and a subtle explanation, neither of which actually said anything.

Luckily, Father Jacob was clever enough to see through it all to find understanding, the only thing he had hoped to attain. The two sat regarding each other for a time and then Jacob left, departing just as Teren found his way to Valam’s quarters. Teren entered without announcement and without offering greetings to Jacob. Neither was surprised to hear an alarm sound throughout the camp moments later. Riders had been spotted approaching from the north, a large group by all accounts.

Chapter Twenty

One day passed without concern, and a second; now thoughts switched to their arrival at Krepost’, which would be soon. Xith considered the time lost as a whole, and he figured that they were now several days behind schedule, perhaps more. He took into consideration the rains of the previous days and their directions. They would have to push hard, very hard, for he knew that soon the storms would arrive, and with them passage to the north would come to an end until the seasons changed.

Strangely, they met their first travelers along the road this day, which was not entirely coincidence. Casually, nonchalantly, they greeted each other as they passed. The caravan consisted of many wagons. Xith counted twelve in all as the last one creaked on by. Adrina was unusually excited as she watched them cross alongside the carriage through her small peephole. Nijal was still halfway between sleep and consciousness despite Adrina’s nudging and did not wake fully until much later.

Adrina rested her hands on her stomach. She thought back, trying to remember how much time had passed, how long it had been since she’d met the Dragon King. There were many things she did not know, but the one thing she did know was that Tnavres’s presence was both a curse and a blessing. When she took the tiny dragon, she thought her move bold until the Dragon King mocked her saying, “As if you had a choice.”

The Dragon King also told her that one of them would be his regardless of what they did. Matched doors of black and white were the final test. White was supposed to bring the hope of life; black death. She chose black; Vilmos chose white. The dragon’s milk later saved Valam from the deadly poison and perhaps cursed him. The dragon’s milk later saved her and perhaps cursed her as well.

Feeling overwhelmed by all these thoughts, she snuggled tightly into the corner, drinking in the warmth against her hands, sending back feelings of joy and happiness. She dozed off to a light sleep, which did not come without dreams. When she awoke, Nijal’s eyes upon her seemed to delve into her very soul and as she looked up with sleep still in her eyes, she was startled. She shrank back as he reached out his hand to her until her wits were fully gathered. “Nijal, I am sorry. I thought it was—oh, never mind. I’m starving. When will we stop for lunch?”

“We already did. I am sorry I did not wake you. You looked so peaceful sleeping, I did not want to disturb you.”

Adrina frowned and rubbed her belly. Nijal was hesitant, but eventually produced a small basket, which had been tucked beneath his discarded cloak. Adrina was quick to snatch it up and devour most of its contents, saving only two apples. She gave one to Nijal as her way of saying thanks, and because he was looking hungrily at them in her hands. “Apples, I love apples!” exclaimed Adrina. “Where did you get them?”

“On a little sojourn through the wilderness three days ago.”

“Late apples are the best, sweet and tangy, with a coat thick and crunchy!”

The great road took a turn to the north as evening fell upon them at a crossroads of sorts. Many paths seemed to sprout not far from the point where they had chosen to camp for the night. Some were old and largely overgrown. Others were apparently very well traveled; neither weed nor bush could be seen, at least as far as they could see or as far as they dared to venture. They were sure, though, that they were on the right path, for the great road had many characteristics that marked it, and they had been waiting now for several days for it to take its gradual turn to the north.

Neither Xith nor Noman liked the feel of the place they were in, and so they set a double watch this night. With so many to choose from, it had been two nights since Nijal last sat the watch. He took first watch, weary as he was, without complaint. He had only wanted to rest and to close his eyes, but he would have to hold off for two more hours.

Time dragged on slowly for him, but at least he was able to carry on a fragmented conversation with Shchander. Before he knew it, he was lying down to rest. Shalimar and another relieved the two, and after them Amir and Trailer took over. Trailer was a nickname for one of Shchander’s men, who was most often found as the last man in the group; thus he had gained the name Trailer.

For the most part Shchander’s men were very tight lipped. They held to the code of the warrior and the free man, and they took their responsibilities very seriously. Shchander, as their leader, was their voice and acted as such. The only person who appeared to be put off by their silence, and quite visibly so, was Adrina. She had taken a liking to Shalimar in an odd sort of way, and he had taken much abuse for his previous thoughtlessness. Amir smiled as he thought of Adrina, and soon he pictured another in his thoughts. The last two on watch were Xith and Noman, against the wishes of all present, who contended there was no need.

Xith was cheerful as morning came but withdrawn to his thoughts. After a meager breakfast, Amir and several others went for a short hunt, which they should have done the previous night but had delayed. Soon, after cleaning their catch this day, they were putting distance between themselves and the place where they had camped.

The air was cool and as they now moved through an area populated largely of oak, the rustle of crunching leaves beneath them was the predominant sound. For the most part, the trees were bare now, with few leaves that sought to hang on against the wishes of Mother-Earth. Some grew thankful for the sight of pine, which never lost its color. Its green appeared brighter amidst the brown.

Noman watched Amir very carefully this day. He saw the tension in his muscles, which Amir sought to ease by flexing and massaging. Noman watched Amir play as if he held a blade in his hand, sweeping slowly about his body. Noman knew this was more than just practice or unease. Amir’s senses were very keen, and when he was agitated, the waiting preyed heavily upon him. Noman kept fully alert this day.

Just before mid-day, they happened upon a traveler who journeyed alone. The man turned out to be a minstrel of sorts, and he passed a short while with them playing songs: songs of the sea beyond the forest and the city in the mountain, of green sky and blue lands. He was a pleasant fellow, and they paid him no heed, which was odd in itself. The singer never offered his name, nor did they ask. Neither did he ask for theirs, although in passing he did mention the name of Krepost’, the aerie on high.

Xith turned cheerful thoughts now to the path that lay ahead of them. He had not been in the fair city in such a long time that he had forgotten the laughter and mirth it held, which was in strong contrast to its sister city deep within the forest. Even Noman recalled the place with fondness. Although he had not been there in a long time, he did not think it had changed much.

Their camp this evening stood light, with only a single watchman. A low fire burned in a small hearth throughout the night. High overhead even the stars came out in force with a near-perfect moon in their midst. Amir passed the guard off to Shalimar who in turn gave it to Trailer, and then to Nijal; and if Nijal had known better, he would have counted the hours of his watch.

The day arrived with a bit of rain. Although it was mostly a fine mist, it held a hint of ice. After a sluggish start and a short hunt, they returned to their path. They soon found themselves near the edges of the Krasnyj in a place where it raged in full fury, a sign that they were close to the fabled city. They took a much-needed reprieve alongside the cool, actually icy, waters, but they bathed and filled containers just the same.

Adrina also seized the opportunity to rid herself of the filth of travel, and bathed in a secluded pool with only Amir to watch over her. He promised he wouldn’t look. Adrina bade him to turn his back nonetheless. The cold water took mental coaxing to enter, but she did, and once she was within it, it did not seem so uncomfortable.

She leaned back, rinsing her hair. Pleasant, peaceful thoughts flowed through her mind. When she opened her eyes moments later she was shocked to see Tnavres withdrawn from her and in the water beside her. She wasn’t sure if the tiny dragon was swimming or floundering, but she stood and plucked him from the water all the same, chastising him with her finger.

“Return,” she commanded in a harsh whisper. Tnavres glared at her, then locked his jaws around her hand. As his teeth plunged inward, the flesh of her hand turned to stone. She gripped her forearm and squeezed with all her might, trying to stop the progression.

“No, no, no,” she whispered as tears streaked down her cheeks.

“You don’t listen,” came the voice.

“But I have listened. I gave you all I could. What more can I give?”

“Tnavres will tell you when it is time. Do as you’ve been told.”

“No,” she whispered.

Tnavres entered her angrily, letting her know the force of his will. He sank into the flesh of her upturned palm, swept up within her arm and crossed her innards to his resting place in her belly. His mark was upon her right palm now where she could look upon it and remember.

Adrina found that getting out of the water was even more difficult than entering. The air was colder against her skin than the water, and she did not wish to leave it, as much as she tried. “Amir,” she called out softly, but when he did not turn, she said it again louder, “Amir!”

“Yes,” he said turning around.

“Turn back around!”

“My dear, what is it you wish of me?” asked Amir, knowing exactly what Adrina wanted.

“Please hand me my wraps and without looking.”

“I told you I won’t look.”

“Just give them to me,” said Adrina standing up, reaching out to get the cloak Amir had in his hands. Amir made her walk a few steps to get them before he finally gave them to her. A smile lit his face as he turned away. Adrina’s face was flushed with both embarrassment and anger. He thought it suited her nicely.

Adrina glared at him, and stomped back to where the others waited for her and Amir. “A little bit of privacy!” shouted Adrina as she retreated into the coach, throwing down its shades and locking the doors. Amir approached Xith. With a grin still on his lips, he went up to the carriage door and knocked on it two times.

“What! What?” shouted Adrina, not opening the door.

“You’ll want these,” said Amir.

Adrina peeked out the window to see what he held, and then threw the door open. She was quick to grab the remainder of her belongings and then in anger, she touched her right hand to his shoulder. Amir chuckled, a deep, rolling laugh. The sound began as a trickle, and just as it rose, it stopped. Amir flexed his shoulders, and rolled his head to ease the stiffness.

He dropped to one knee as he fought to draw his sword. “Noman!” he strained to scream, but nothing issued forth. An icy hand dealt him another blow, this time to the left shoulder. He turned his head to look at the creature he perceived behind him just as it stepped forward.

Pain shot through his legs, then his back, and finally his arms. Wildly, he flailed the air using the last of his strength to lash out. He fell backwards to the ground with a thud, striking his head against the coach as he went down. As his world faded to darkness, Adrina closed the door to the coach.

Chapter Twenty One

Stone walls rose high and sheer about them. Calyin, Midori, and Edwar Serant wound their way among the many turns, delving deep into the shadows. A soft tapping sound followed their path, high above, though none below knew it. They walked in a single column with Midori to the fore and Serant to the rear, each leading one of the horses. They held to a slow, steady pace, carefully picking their way among the rocks and crevices. Frequently, they thought of Geoffrey and Captain Brodst.

Ahead the canyon appeared to end in a solid rock wall, but still they made their way toward it, seemingly inch by inch. Lord Serant followed the lee of the river, not paying heed to the wall’s proximity to them. The churning of the water spoke volumes to him. Somewhere in front of them, the river’s path turned downward.

The river gradually cut a deep course into the rock and a distance of only a few feet separated them from the waters. As the depth gradually increased, Lord Serant began to move away from the river’s edge, and it was here that he first noticed the etchings into the rock. A shallow path of sorts had been carved out of the rocks through years of wear. The path ran smooth and straight. He regarded it as a roadway of sorts and supposed that long ago this path had been heavily traveled.

Some hours later they stopped to gather their bearings and to provide tired bodies with a bit of nourishment. The sheer wall looming immediately before them, jagged, tall and insurmountable, was perhaps an additional reason they had decided to stop. Here the trail ended, but they did not acknowledge its presence.

A high, shrill sound from high above startled them, and all conversation stopped. The three drew their blades and watched, waiting as many figures slithered down ropes in front of them and to either side. Those across the river they did not fear, for they saw no way for them to traverse it, so they turned toward the others. Slowly, they sought to retreat.

Serant flailed out with his foot, only to come upon empty air. He cocked his head back, and half turned to look. He saw the river swirling with white waters well below him. He turned quickly back to face those approaching with his eyes continually darting to the two at his side. A gleam, a glitter, he caught in Midori’s eyes, and anger was upon her face. She held her long dagger before her without wavering. Calyin gripped her blade with nervous hands, but she did not lower it as those that came closer demanded.

Lord Serant looked again to Calyin and then to Midori. He quietly told them that should all else fail, the river was their safest route, no matter their thoughts on the subject. He touched Calyin’s hand one last time, and then moved forward two steps. Calyin moved towards him, but he pushed her back. “And just where will you be?” said Calyin into Serant’s ear.

“Lower your blades; we mean you no harm. We only wish to separate you from your purse, and then we will leave you.”

“Do as I say!” said Serant, hurriedly.

“I will not go,” returned Calyin.

“Tsk tsk!” shouted the man who now stood directly in front of Lord Serant; only their blades separated them.

“Just what is it you want?” asked Serant, in a haughty deep bass.

“Only your gold, nothing more, nothing less!”

“You may have all the gold we carry if you leave us now.”

“Give it to me, and we shall leave. You have my word.”

“A word is a bond, is it not?” asked Serant, moving back a short pace.

“Why, of course, of course. If a man cannot keep a promise, he is not a man.”

Lord Serant fumbled through his cloak and retrieved a small leather pouch, which he tossed to the man. The man sheathed his sword, untied the small purse, and emptied the coins into his hand, counting each in turn, and shaking his head at each. “Surely you have more than this?”

“That is all the gold I have.”

“What of the ring on your finger and the gem on the crown of the hilt of your sword?”

“They are not gold.”

“Ah yes, but are they not worth their weight in gold?” questioned the man, raising his blade again.

“Midori, I trust Calyin’s life in your hands. Do what you must!” called Serant pushing Calyin into Midori. He lowered his eyes to the waters of the river only for an instant, and then whispered, “I am sorry,” as he pushed them both over the edge, and into the waiting waters.

“Bad, very bad. I do not like that, and when I do not like something, I usually kill the offender.”

“Just as well. Today is a good day to die!” shouted Serant charging the man.

“Not likely—” spoke the man as he called to his confederates.

Lord Serant struggled under the weight of a heavy blow, and for an instant he stared through crossed blades into his opponent’s eyes. Only then did it become obvious to him that the man he faced was oblivious to his lineage, and perhaps he truly only wished his valuables, but Serant would not part with them. There were only a few tangible things he valued above all, and one was the ring that had been passed down through generations from father to son, and the other the sword of his forefathers.

“One against dozens!” shouted a voice, yet a good distance away, “Not very fair at all!” Captain Brodst and Geoffrey wasted no time in their charge, sending men scrambling to avoid being trampled by horses’ hooves. Geoffrey raised his mount on its hind-legs just to the right of the one Serant fought, while Brodst offered a hand to Lord Serant. “We could not leave you, my friend. The farther we drew away from you, the heavier our hearts grew. Come, let us be off!”

The two horsemen made a quick, decisive retreat. Lord Serant looked back, fixing upon the upturned face. “Another day!” called out Serant, “Another day!” The man sheathed his weapon and then turned his back to them. He did not order his men to pursue because he knew the time of their next meeting would be sooner than the other thought. Serant watched as the attackers withdrew, climbing back up their ropes.

“Your timing couldn’t have been better!” exclaimed Serant patting Brodst on the back.

“Where are Calyin and Midori?”

Lord Serant brought a hand to his chin, “Oh my—” he thought. “The water—they are in the river.”

“The river?”

“Yes, the river. I didn’t see any other way.”

Geoffrey and Brodst began to laugh because for a moment it seemed funny; but the feeling passed, and it suddenly was not humorous any more. Lord Serant scoured his thoughts, searching for a quick solution, which did not come. At the time, it had seemed his only choice, but now he knew it was a brash act. He did not like to think that he was a fool.

“What in the name of the Father is that?” exclaimed Captain Brodst reining in his mount suddenly, so suddenly that Lord Serant almost lost his grip.

“That is not of the Father, of this I can assure you,” replied Geoffrey. Even though he could not clearly see those that readily approached, he recognized them. He knew nothing good would come of their meeting. The hunter beasts had only one thought on their minds, and that was their prey. Geoffrey and Brodst began to turn their mounts around, back in the direction they had come; midway, they realized their dilemma.

Neither Captain Brodst nor Lord Serant had seen anything like these before, but immediately they sensed danger and instinctively they reacted. Geoffrey bade them to return their weapons to their sheaths; as much as he hated to admit it, he knew this was an encounter they would lose, and he knew this as surely as he lived and breathed. A tiny voice in his mind hoped that perhaps they were not the objects of the beasts’ hunt, in which case they had nothing to fear.

As the creatures drew closer, their distinctive features became quite noticeable. They had the appearance of men, but a thick, fur-covered hide enshrouded their forms. Their faces were long with an elongated snout, and white upturned fangs sprouted from their mouths. Even at a distance, Geoffrey could see crystalline droplets ooze from the nearest creature’s mouth, a sign that he was looking for.

Geoffrey yelled for the captain to follow him and then retreated back down the canyon, the way they had come. Very soon they found themselves approaching the high canyon walls. Those waiting above rejoiced at the sighting, and one in particular had a broad grimace on his face. “Welcome back!” called out a now familiar voice.

“What do we do?” asked Brodst.

“This is not good, definitely not good.”

“No, it is not.”

As they turned their mounts around to face those that came up from behind them, the ravine, wherein lay the river, caught their eye, and more importantly the sound of rushing water caught their ear. Geoffrey did a mental calculation. He approximated the bandits’ numbers to be around twenty or perhaps a little more. He also knew their kind well enough to know a small reserve was probably waiting. It was at least a two-to-one ratio.

He turned back toward the leader of the bandits. He wanted to get close enough to recognize the clan, but this was also his gravest mistake. As he staggered forward, the distances closed between the two forces. They found themselves in the middle of a stand-off, and he knew they were the prize.

The pack leader of the hunters, who identified himself to the bandit chief as Ermog, dismounted at a careful distance and approached singly. He called the bandit chief to a council of words, and though he spoke in the tongue of man, his speech was slurred and did not carry well. Only the other’s words carried fully to their ears, and it was these words that sparked Geoffrey’s interest.

In the interim, he conversed with Serant and Brodst, speaking quietly, stopping as the two spoke, and starting again in low whispers, passing his concerns on to them. The bandit leader had recognized Geoffrey and thus discovered the identities of those that accompanied him. He was playing with Ermog for the price of the bounty. Geoffrey knew the teachings of the histories and the passing down of the sons of the fathers and the realms, but the Borderlands were a realm outside all else. Nowhere did the histories speak of the Bandit Kingdoms or the Hunter Clan, societies that were older than that of the Great Kingdom but had never gained recognition in civilized circles.

Geoffrey understood the references to blood and sword, coin and fist, and as the two leaders returned to their ranks, he knew what he must do. He dismounted slowly, signaling for Serant and Brodst to do the same. He made sure they made no sudden movements, and he maintained his speech in low whispers. After a close but limited survey of the ledge and the waters below, they jumped, hoping and believing the river would carry them away to safety.

Chapter Twenty Two

Valam waited patiently for Mikhal and Danyel’ to return with the scouting party. The group of riders, anticipated to be large, turned out to be only the small band that had been dispatched earlier and a large group of strayed horses. His eyes lit as he saw Mikhal and Danyel’ race their mounts toward the place where he waited. He did not waste any time with pleasantries and quickly invited the two to accompany him.

The three went to Valam’s quarters, where Teren yet waited without saying a word to anyone else. Teren listened intently as Valam spoke to the others, waiting for the correct time to speak his mind also.

“Prince Valam, if I may interrupt for a moment. You are missing the most important point. The four of us were given the gift of sight for a reason, a very specific reason. We merely saw you move through the steps. You must decide for yourself, but remember this in your decision. Choose your path with great care and follow it through to its completion.”

“I wish I knew for sure,” quietly whispered Valam. “I always pictured Captain Evgej and Seth at my side, no offense—”

“The future has many turnings. Perhaps it will be so. Perhaps we play a part in the paths of your future, or maybe we are your turning points in the path.”

“That is a curious statement, Brother Teren,” said Danyel’.

Two days passed and still Valam struggled with the choices in his mind. He knew not which direction to take. Thoughts of home appealed to him even though he knew the dangers that awaited him if he returned. This day weighed heavily on him. Teren returned to the plains, which were now completely buried beneath a very thick blanket of snow. Even the coastal areas received a fair amount.

The sky overhead promised that today would be clear and cloudless, and it was with a heavy heart that Valam returned to the affairs of the camp. The cold spell had left its mark on the camp, and supplies of wood for their fires were now depleted once again. They also had to face the fact that many months of cold might lay ahead, and the tents would not make this hardship any easier. They needed to find adequate shelter.

The small villages of the plains now lay deep in snow also, but the heart of the plain was not where they wished to go. The cold was just tolerable here; there it would be more than unbearable. They needed to find a better solution and soon. The cove where their ships were moored was suggested by Father Jacob, and Liyan also seemed to think this would be a good choice as it was partially sheltered from the winds and close enough that the move would not be excessively taxing.

The move began slowly and for a brief period it kept everyone occupied. Teren returned during the interim and took Danyel’ and Mikhal away with him. When the change of camps was completed, Valam came to the hard decision to use their remaining wagons as the source for their fires. He vowed even if they had to start burning the longboats they would always have a fire in each hearth through the cold nights.

Valam stood still, oblivious to the light drizzle falling around him. His thoughts were heavy and his mood decidedly stern. He muddled over words he must speak when he returned to where the others waited. Jacob called a second meeting to solve their current problems and to find insight on the direction they were moving. Inside, all sat waiting; even the seven lieutenants were present. Seth ventured out into the elements, finding Valam gazing fixedly at some distant point that was probably only known to Valam. Seth knew and understood Valam’s situation. He had discussed this at length with Liyan over the past several days, and he knew Valam actually didn’t have a choice to make but rather to accept.

Valam hadn’t even turned to acknowledge the presence beside him although he had noticed. His voice began softly, gaining volume only as it reached the final syllable. “—I must return to Leklorall and from there, perhaps home—”

“Yes, I know.”

“I wanted to tell you before I told the others.”

“You need not explain. I understand. I will miss you heartily.”

The two stood silent for a long time before they joined the others in the meeting. Father Jacob was pleased to see the two enter together. As Jacob took his place at the table, Valam looked to each face around the room, recalling the names of each as he did so. Brother Liyan had donned the gray of his office; Tsandra was arrayed in brown; even Seth, Valam noted for the first time, wore the red of his order; and Teren wore black.

Cagan was not in attendance, but Valam had not expected to see him here, with ships so close by. Stretched out in a line to the right of Captain Mikhal sat the seven lieutenants. Valam looked puzzled for a moment upon seeing two empty chairs in the far corner before he recalled who was not present.

He crossed to the head position without further delay. His mind stumbled and stuttered, as did his tongue, as he began to speak. “Father Jacob, Brother Liyan, Brother Seth—as all of you know, I have been quite pensive as of late. It is very difficult to hide the discontent of your heart. Oftentimes the facts speak for themselves, and as I have considered the many things that are ahead for all of us here, I have stumbled over a host of obstacles, which were mostly phantoms of my own creation. I soon realized I really only had one choice to make, and this did not come without the help of a very close friend—and just a few, short moments ago—”

“Storm approaching!” interrupted the page as he burst into the tent.

“Will we never get this meeting completed?” asked Jacob, raising his eyes, and speaking upward.

“Storm?”

“Yes, sir, a storm—”

“Shoo, shoo, go back to where you came from. Go on, Prince Valam, please finish. Wait, wait, wait, one minute there—pass the word to raise stocks high in case the snows are severe and to prepare for the cold—”

“Yes, sir—but begging your pardon, of course, you don’t understand.”

“And just what don’t I understand?” asked Jacob with more vehemence than he intended.

“Nothing, Father. May I return to my duties?”

“Yes, go!”

The page departed with an appearance of defeat on his face. Father Jacob shook his head and then reclaimed his seat. Valam hesitantly began again although he paused long to recall where he had left off. Now the import of what he had been carefully building up to seemed trivial, so he just came out and said what he intended to do.

“I must return to Leklorall, for only there, I believe, will I find the answers I seek. From there, I may perhaps find that I need to return to Great Kingdom.”

Surprised gasps issued from many, quickly followed by a loud murmuring. A few, like Father Jacob, had been expecting it, and the anxiety of waiting to actually hear it was finally released. Valam was most surprised by Teren’s response, which was disbelief. He had received a similar response from Mikhal, which he counted as disappointment.

“I will select a small group to accompany me, but I will only take those who willingly choose to return with me.”

“I do not think that will be a problem, your highness,” said Redcliff. Danyel’ immediately responded with a wide grimace and a sharp glare, forcing silence upon those around him. Valam started to speak again but stopped abruptly as Evgej entered.

“Didn’t the page reach you?”

“Yes, he did, and as a matter of fact, he just left. Don’t worry, captain, we are well prepared for the snow. We have already made provisions.”

“Snow? No, Prince Valam, the storm comes from the sea. Cagan is extremely worried.”

“This cove should harbor us from the worst. We will be safe.”

“I am not so sure. Perhaps you had better accompany me.”

Father Jacob stood with a pained look stretched across his features and approached. He spoke in low whispers to the two, carrying them off a short distance to the corner. When he finished, he excused himself from the meeting and accompanied Evgej outside, leaving Valam behind, very confused.

As Valam walked to the front of the table and stared into the eyes of those about him, worry and fear touched him. Jacob’s words played in his mind, “You must decide now,” he had said, “you must decide now or it will be too late.” Jacob already knew what the winds carried toward them.

“I think the time has come, the time when I must leave. I must return to Leklorall before the sun sets this day. There are powerful forces at work here both for and against us. Brother Teren, Brother Tsandra, I would have you accompany me if you would.”

Valam ignored the pointed remarks that jumped into his thoughts mid-stream and continued. “Brother Seth and Brother Liyan, I regret that I think your place is here for now. Lieutenant Eran, you think I don’t remember your name, but I do. Willam the Black, Pavil the Bearded, S’tryil, Son of Lord S’tryil of High Province, Ylsa, sister to Eran, and Tae, Master of Redcliff, your places are here, save you, S’tryil.”

Valam regarded S’tryil for a moment. “I shall need a new captain, and you shall be the one. Captain Mikhal and Lieutenant Danyel’ shall accompany me. Father Jacob and Evgej shall remain.”

S’tryil waited until it appeared that Valam was finished speaking before he responded. “I cannot accept the honor bestowed upon me. I request that you pass the rank of captain to Ylsa. She has already earned it.”

“Lieutenant Ylsa’s time will be soon; your time is now, Captain S’tryil. Take command of your men and follow Father Jacob’s instructions.”

Valam continued to ignore Teren and Tsandra’s remarks, which hit him full, even as he walked away. The wind outside, a strong breeze, immediately assaulted his senses, carrying with it sand and debris from around the camp. Valam had to shield his eyes with his arm to see clearly. He was amazed at the speed with which the storm raged towards them.

“Prince Valam, wait!” came the plea into his thoughts, even as he fought to seal them.

“I do not have time to waste! Tell the others to meet the long boat crew and go out to the flagship. She is Cagan’s favorite, or so I have heard.”

“They spoke nothing of Tsandra. Why is she—”

“Perhaps I have my own reasons. Now please hurry!” shouted Valam.

“Valam wait!”

The voice aloud caught Valam by surprise for an instant until he recognized it. “Yes, Captain Mikhal, take the lieutenant’s detachment to the flag ship. Cagan is already there.”

“But they are not—”

“Yes, I know,” replied Valam as he walked away.

“Yes,” returned Valam in thought as yet another voice disturbed him. Tsandra was quick to pick the thought from his center. “How many?” she asked. “The choice is yours,” he replied.

Valam was interrupted one more time on the way to his tent, but this intrusion did not bother him. He and Seth had been through a lot together and to part now when they had come so far seemed ironic. But sometimes, thought Valam, “Irony was truth.” And so when all preparations were made, he watched Cagan’s steady hand lead the ship into the tack, turning back only after great hesitation.

“Goodbye,” he whispered in his thoughts to Seth, Liyan and the others. “I have faith we will see each other again soon.”

Chapter Twenty Three

“Amir, Amir? Can you hear me? Answer me.”

“Noman?”

“No, I am Xith. Welcome back; you just sit there. You have been under too much strain lately. You will ride in the coach today and rest.”

“Xith?”

“Yes, you just rest now, everything will be fine.”

“Where is Noman?”

“Never mind, you just rest there a moment more.”

Xith indicated that Shchander and Nijal should help Amir into the carriage now. The two did as they were bid, but it took a third to bear such an enormous burden. Nijal grabbed Amir on the left, Shchander on the right, and Trailer took the feet, stepping into the coach first and then carefully turning with the others to carry Amir inside.

The pace was lethargic this day as anticipation grew to a new high. The road joined with the great river and now ran along its course. Krepost’ lay a day away at best and soon the sea would separate them from the lands of East and West. Noman turned to thoughts of supplies they would need for the north, and while the others turned to thoughts of Krepost’, a song sprang to their lips.

Adrina stared fixedly at Amir with open concern upon her face. She watched him for a time, growing restless, and finally turning her attentions to the scenery around her. She could hear the churning of water even over the rolling of the wagon’s wheels and the clippety-clop of the horses’ hooves. A voice startled her, and though she knew better, she stuck her head out the window, looking for the speaker.

“You would do best to turn around, friends,” rang the lofty voice.

“Turn around?” asked Xith. “Why whatever for?”

“And what makes us your friends?” asked Nijal.

“Whoa, hold on there. You be talking to old Kelar. I can see clearly you are from the west and have traveled far, so I will tell you this: ‘tis not a good time to be happening upon our fair city.”

Noman smiled and considered the words before responding. “We will watch our path, friend Kelar, thanks.” Kelar just waved and continued on his way. The others in his party passed without saying a word. Xith turned to Noman and raised an eyebrow. He was glad to know some things didn’t change. The people of Krepost’ were still as odd and unpredictable as he recalled them.

Hours later, after several stops, the descending sun on the horizon lighted a most magnificent sight. High upon a steep bluff with cliff walls cascading down to meet the bay sat the city of Krepost’, coming into view at long last. The only road that cut its way to the top of the aerie lay just across the river. The distance they needed to traverse and the climb would unfortunately cost them several hours of toil before this day was over, but they would gladly pay the price.

A cool breeze came in across the bay on a direct westerly course, bringing with it an odor of salt that assaulted the senses. Travel-weary bodies gained a new surge of energy that swept them onward; even the horses seemed to sense a long-deserved rest ahead. Shchander raced Nijal to the river, charging his mount to the very edge of the water.

The two stood there, waiting for the others to catch up. Nijal considered the promise he had made to himself some weeks ago when the nine men had joined their company. Once they reached the coast, their journey together would end. As he watched Shchander’s lighthearted mood, he let the thoughts slip away. He would consider them at another time, perhaps after several days of rest.

Xith reined the horses to a halt, stepped down from the coach, and then walked over to a lantern hanging from a small post. For a moment, he thought about lighting it with a spark of magic, but the idea was short-lived. He retrieved flint and steel and set a spark to the lamp, raising it high above his head, and rotating it from right to left.

In the falling light, he waited for the signal to return, thinking that perhaps the brightness of the setting sun obscured the response. He waited until the sun sank from sight, and then repeated his signal. He paused, waiting patiently, and then handed the lantern to Nijal. Hearts sank after minutes passed with still no response; nonetheless, they waited.

Discouraged, they set up camp without much discussion. The lights of the city pointing the distance canceled any feelings of merriment. This stage of their journey would last one more day, and there was nothing they could do about it although Xith did work up a long list of harsh words to launch at the barge-master.

Amir awoke from a long day’s sleep just as the sky was shrouded in darkness. He was still quite groggy as he approached the fire where most were seated. The smell of fish surprised his nostrils. Nijal and Shchander muttered something about idle hands when he inquired where the meal had come from. Stiffly, Amir sat down on the ground. The raging hunger in his belly was quenched, but only after his third helping.

As the time for the first watch arrived and the men began to retire for the evening, Amir offered to take the first watch, claiming he wasn’t tired in the least. Shchander, who was supposed to have the first watch anyway, said he would hold the watch with Amir. The sounds around them began to die out, the crackle of the fire was replaced by the swirl of the water, and later the sound of laughter drifted into their ears and into their thoughts.

Shchander turned cold eyes to the glow in the distance. Before the last embers from the fire were extinguished, he stocked and restored it. Soon it was a cheerful blaze once more. A sudden crackling sound from behind him startled Shchander. He stood and walked toward it.

“Don’t worry, Shchander. It was nothing.”

“But, I thought—”

“Only an animal passing by, come back to the fire.”

Shchander sat back down, casting away the dark thoughts in his mind. As the last hour of their watch wore on, the day’s travel caught up to Shchander and his eyes grew heavy. He could scarcely hold them open. “Go get some rest. Shalimar will take over in a few minutes—I can sit out the rest by myself,” offered Amir, and Shchander accepted. Sleep found him as soon as he put his head down to rest.

Amir never roused Shalimar or anyone else. He sat the guard throughout the hours of darkness. The first shards of morning light found him sitting beside a low fire. His attention was turned toward the black waters where the river joined the bay. He was careful to wake Noman and Xith last.

Breakfast was quick, and most did not eat at all. The ferry came into view just as they broke camp. Xith waited, lantern in hand, closely eyeing the old one who guided those who pushed the barge along its course. As it landed on the shore, Xith blew out the lamp and set it back on its post. He organized the words that gnawed at his thoughts all night. “Hello—” he greeted the barge-master coldly, stopping only to work out his remaining words.

“Well, a good day to you, and such a beautiful day it is. Well, well, what are you waiting for? Come aboard, and I will take you across the river for a pittance.”

The warm salutation caused Xith to stumble in venting his wrath and what came out was not what he intended. “And just how much is that going to cost us?”

“Less than you would think, my friend. Come, step aboard, and we’ll carry you off to the northern shore. The fair city of Krepost’ waits. The market is just awakening. You can catch a fair amount of goods for a goodly sum if you are quick. So you must hurry!”

“Do you wish payment now or later?”

“We’ll have time on the river for petty things. Come and listen to the words of an old river man. I’ll tell you things you’ve never heard, and I’ll charge you a meager fare, but only for the river’s crossing. You need not pay for the words unless you’ve a mind.”

Xith cursed low under his breath and boarded with the others. The barge-master caught the malice in his eyes and was quick to burst into a story and to set the barge on its return course. Thankfully, everyone was able to get onto the ferry without trouble. The river here was quite swift although in this section it was also shallow and was normally turbulent. The raft was of generous proportions.

Four men guided the barge toward the other shore, one in each of its corners, as the master explained its workings, among the many tales he spun in the short time. He explained how the ferry had two landings on the opposite shore and that the easterly one was the one they should wait at on their return route, for the other was just the landing for the return from the southerly shore. He told them how two asses bore the barge back to the departure landing against the river’s current and he even worked the sum of their payment into a song.

Feeling sorry for his wry demeanor, Xith dropped twice the necessary coinage into the old man’s hands as they disembarked. As he rode away, he glanced back with a hint of laughter yet in his eyes. He watched the two mules pull the ferry along the river’s edge. The road to Krepost’ was the only path they could follow, and as it was where they were bound for, they took it with great eagerness, following as it slowly wound its way to the top of the bluff.

The answers Xith and Noman sought were beyond Krepost’, but for now the small company was safe. The city would house and keep them until they were ready for the next, more dangerous, part of the journey.

End Of Book Three

The dragons will be revealed.

IN THE SERVICE
OF DRAGONS IV

BOOK FOUR

ROBERT STANEK

Chapter One

Lord Geoffrey of Solntse awoke in darkness. “Calyin? Midori? Brodst?”

“No, they are not among us.”

“Lord Serant?”

“No, it is only us.”

Geoffrey’s thoughts spun. The last thing he remembered was the encounter with the bandits and the hunter clan. “Dead? Are they all dead?” he asked, fearful of the answer.

“Perhaps. I do not know.”

“Where—where am I? Why is it dark?”

“They like to keep us in the dark.”

“Who are they? Wait a minute—who are you?”

“Don’t fret so much. You should relax; you have been unconscious for days.”

“Days?”

“Yes, I am afraid so.”

“Do you know where the others are? The ones who were with me.”

“I am afraid that I only saw you—well, actually I didn’t really see you. I heard them carry you in.”

“It is cold in here. Where is that wind coming from?”

“There is a blanket there, beside you.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I have done nothing.”

“What is that sound? Who is that?”

“Oh, him. Don’t pay any attention to him; he goes on like that all the time. Here, try to drink some of this.”

Geoffrey was thirsty; he drank deep. An instant later, he was spitting out what he hadn’t already swallowed. “Oh, that’s awful; what is this?”

“Would you believe water, or so I am told. It is horrible, but wait till you try the food.”

“—Oh—I don’t feel so good.”

“You should rest. Find sleep, and find solace in it.”

“What an odd word! Makes me almost want to laugh.”

“Odd times—odd times.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shh—they come. Just sit quietly.”

“Who?”

“Shh—” The other shuffled in the darkness. “It is okay; they only brought food. Here, eat some of this.”

“Your hands—what is wrong? Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No offense taken, and I am sure if there were a spark of light in this hole, you would understand.”

“What do you mean? Oh, I am sorry. I shouldn’t pry. You are right; this is awful.”

“It is all right.”

“How long have you been here?”

“A long time—too long.”

Geoffrey eased back, pulled the blanket around him, slipping quickly into a deep sleep. When he awoke what could have been hours or days later, he ate the leftovers in the bowl beside him, choking down whatever his stomach sought to spit back up. The other did not stir. In the darkness, Geoffrey could not tell if the other were sleeping or dead. He hoped the former and not only because the latter would mean that he was alone in this forsaken place.

Some time later, the guards brought food and water. Geoffrey ate and drank, perhaps more than his fair share. What followed was a seemingly ceaseless cycle of sleeping, waking, and eating. His strength returned. The other in his cell remained strangely quiet, withdrawn perhaps by something Geoffrey had said.

Feeling stronger made him bolder. When the guards returned, he shouted at them, “I demand that you release me at once!”

“You make no demands here!”

“Release me and my companion at once!”

“Hardy, har, har—you make me laugh. Hey, he wants to go home!”

“Set me free, or I’ll cut your heart out myself.”

“Cut my heart out, free?”

“I am a free man. You have no right to hold me.”

“So you are. Sprout wings and fly away, but even those will not help you here.”

“Take me to see your leader at once!”

“Our king is a very busy man, but I will tell him you wish an audience. You are such an important person that I am sure he will jump to his feet and come running at once.”

“Do you mock me?”

“Why, yes, of course!”

“I will hold you in contempt for this!”

“Contempt of what? What are you going to do to me? If you do not shut your mouth, I will not even bring you your food.”

“I would much rather starve!”

“Then so be it. The other one with a big mouth will not eat today!”

“Do you think I care?”

“We shall see—we shall see.”

Geoffrey said no more, his thoughts going first to those he thought lost: Prince Calyin Alder, Captain Ansh Brodst, Lord Edwar Serant, Sister Midori—she who had once been a favored daughter and princess of the realm. Were they all dead now like the Alder king? Had the enemies of old broken the heart of the kingdom? Did Solntse yet stand and were her people yet free?

He whispered the free man’s creed, “I am a free man, and I will die as such.” He begged the Lord of the Heavens to spare his son, Nijal, if no other. “Please, oh lord,” he whispered. “Has madness beset the lands?”

As he despaired, his hand longed to find the hilt of his sword and do what any righteous man would do in an hour of need. “A free man,” he said, mocking himself as he paced in the darkness. He shouted to the heavens, “Oh lord, help me find my way, bring light to end the darkness.”

“You want light?” said a voice from the hall. “What else is it you long for, old man? Perhaps you seek a blade? Perhaps you seek a way out?”

“I want only light so that I may see. Please, I beg of you.”

“Light, eh? You’ll regret it. Soon you’ll long to return to darkness, trust me.”

Geoffrey heard a bolt being moved aside. A moment later a thin line of blinding white light poured into the room from a small window cut into the heavy wooden door. Geoffrey shielded his eyes; the pain caused by the light was so intense that he fell to the floor writhing.

“Still want light?” the guard asked, laughing as he fully opened the shielding window.

Geoffrey put his hands over his eyes to stop the pain. “How many days and weeks in darkness?” he asked, his voice trembling.

The guard offered no response save for the retreating echo of his footsteps as he moved down the hall.

Time passed. The long minutes blended together one after the other. The light became almost bearable. The guard returned. “I’ve been told to give you this.” Geoffrey heard the clank of metal as something was thrown into his cell.

Geoffrey tried to open his eyes. His vision was blurred; all he could see were white points of light and a narrow path of what was around him. He groped with his hands in the darkness, found what the guard had thrown into the room. “A blade—you give me a blade?”

“When your vision returns, you’ll know what to do with it.”

“Do you think I will take my own life?”

The guard laughed, a deep mocking cackle, as he walked off.

“The blade is for me,” said the other.

Geoffrey could see only a blurred outline of someone sitting up in the bed across the room. “For you?”

“For you to use to kill me. They like to pair us with our enemies. What satisfaction it gives them, I do not know.”

“Our enemies? Wait—you know who they are? Where we are?”

“I do,” said the other. “Before I tell you what you want to know, you must agree to put down the blade.”

“You think I would kill you?”

“You are bred to this purpose, as I am.”

“So it is true that we are enemies?”

“It is. But cannot enemies of enemies also be friends if there is need?”

“Perhaps it can be so if the need is great.”

“And the blade?”

Geoffrey dropped the blade, saying to the other, “I am listening.”

“Good,” said the other, “then I will tell you what it is you want to know.”

Geoffrey thought to himself that what he wanted to know was much more than any one man could tell him. He wanted to know the fate of the kingdom, whether the garrisons had liberated Imtal, whether the treachery had spread to Solntse, where he had gone wrong. He also wanted to know the fate of the crown prince, for surely if there was one who could bring unity to the lands and restore order it was Prince Valam Alder.

Chapter Two

As Prince Valam Alder surveyed the ship from the high deck, the sky growing darker by the moment, he saw a glowing shimmer shoot up the main mast. The soft golden glow lasted only a moment; but the way the light moved reminded him of Eldrick, the tree spirit, and a time beneath the Sentinel tree that seemed so long ago. Tree spirits, he had been told, were as ancient as the winds and the lands. The teller had also told him of the Fourth, an ancient power that could move through the world unseen by all save the Watchers and those few who could see into the land of shadow. It was said that the Fourth clashed against the very winds of Ruin Mist and could blow across the mountaintops.

What was meant by the saying Valam could only guess at; but Ekharn of the mountaineers, the elves who in ancient times dwelled in the Silver Mountains of East Reach, had told him so many things in the moments between dream and waking that his mind was still reeling these many days past. Ekharn’s queen was the one who had told him to return with all haste to Leklorall and to look to the Queen-Mother for answers. She had told him to ask of the sword as well just before she told him to awaken and remember.

The time between the end of the dream and waking seemed an eternity. He was only now piecing together everything Ekharn had told him, and he only now understood that Ekharn had told him many things that he perhaps should not have. “Our times are but echoes. Find the dream when life’s need is at its greatest,” Ekharn had told him at the last. And now at the behest of a long-dead queen, he was returning to Leklorall to seek answers to questions he wasn’t sure he understood.

Cagan, the elven sailmaster, stood at the wheel of the fleet’s flagship, directing the ship through the tack. Beside Cagan stood Tsandra and Teren of the Brown, two elves Valam had grown to trust, as well as Seth. Captain Mikhal was on the main deck, making his way to the high deck, as Valam watched. The captain’s return meant that the men were prepared for the heavy seas and that all was secure below decks—or as secure as was possible.

Sullen gray skies spread out across the distance. Cagan fought to meet the waves, but with each change of direction the boat faltered heavily in the turbulent waters. Prince Valam keenly focused his attention on the deepening black of the sky overhead. He sensed something that spoke ill to him; in these thoughts, he was not alone.

Tsandra and Teren were also concentrating on the energies of the storm. As before, they sensed more at work here than the hand of the Mother. A presence or a great force of will touched their thoughts lightly, though they did not sense it. It followed the thoughts in their minds and then fell away from them.

Cagan stood stoutly with his legs firmly planted on the deck. He strained under the weight of the helm as it tried to thrash about. Defiantly, he again turned the ship into the wind, directing the sails into the tack. His voice rose above the rasping of the waves and the moaning of the vessel. The bosun repeated his orders in seemingly ceaseless chords of shrill notes; all about the ship men moved to the sounds, tightening or loosening a sail or line here or there, as Cagan commanded.

Safety lines sprouted and stretched to the far corners of the deck. A rope found its way to the captain and lashed him about the helm. All the while, those that were now forced to move below deck were unaware of the proceedings above though in their minds they held images that were close to the truth. Danyel’, who had retired below after they set sail, lounged back as if nothing were going on. He chewed absently on a bit of bark he had saved in a small pouch. The bitter, sweet taste in his mouth carried his thoughts away.

Captain Mikhal fidgeted with a small worn coin in his hand. He rolled it in and out of his fingers, playing it from one side of his hand to the other. Out of the corners of his eyes, he maintained a watch on the others. He did not adapt to the idleness as well as everyone else seemed to although he did note concern upon Valam’s face.

The sound of water pouring down to the lower deck sent an alarm running through the thoughts of all. Startled minds brought feet scrambling to the mid-section hatch only to find more water, which drenched those close to the opening. Valam was the first to the ladder, and he was quick to secure the latch. He counted his blessings as the lock clicked, and he immediately heard the rushing of water above.

Valam waved the others back to where they had come from. He grinned broadly but not harshly at the concerned faces. This was not his first storm at sea; he had endured worse, or so he thought. He found his way back to the place he had occupied earlier and sat down. His thoughts began to reflect inward, and he turned to images of home, most especially what lay ahead for him.

A great creaking moan sent a shudder throughout the ship as if it bore an enormous weight. The bow and then the stern tumbled with a crash and then quickly rose on high. With the third crash came a cry and fear spread instantly. A rushing sound followed, like wind rustling through trees. Bodies swept with the water floundered helplessly, scrambling to catch anything available. Those that were able made for the hatches and safety.

The center hatch was the most congested as many began to flee the rising waters. For a moment the panic stopped and a cheer rang out. The shouts died out as the water continued once more on its course.



City walls that had seemed so large in the distance appeared to shrink as the small band approached. Slowly the walls blended in with the raised cliffs and rocky crags. Krepost’ had no immense protective wall as did its sister city though in its own way it was protected. As they rode, Xith cast long glances to the heavens, wondering if it was a fool’s folly to try to breach the heart of darkness. Had they outwitted Sathar the Dark and the Fourth himself? Or did the darkness want them to believe they had? Was the trap set and were they already in its throes?

No guard marked the entrance to the city, nor was there a watch raised in the forward or postern towers. Here they tethered their mounts and parked the coach. Several reluctantly elected to remain behind until the others returned. Inside the carriage, both Adrina and Amir had gone back to sleep, which none remarked about, which was just as well. Adrina had been wide-eyed since the river crossing thinking about the gatekeeper of Krepost’, who legend said might or might not chase them over the cliffs into Statter’s Bay and to their deaths. However, as the hours passed and the company slowly made their way to the city high in the mountains, her enthusiasm and fear had waned.

The streets were deserted, and silence prevailed. Nijal squinted at the orange ball looming in the distance. The clouds above were just beginning to break up. The one thing about the city that was not disappointing was its size. Nijal compared it to that of Solntse, which was the greatest city of the West.

As they trod through street and alleyway on a course that only Xith knew, they came upon the market that the ferryman had mentioned. The sight and sound of so much activity suddenly springing to life took them by surprise. They had just circled around a squat, long, one-story building, and the market had suddenly appeared before them. They stood at its edge, staring in wonder.

Xith did a cursory inspection of his belongings and then led them into the square. He was quick to recommend that they keep a hand on anything valuable, adding that things had a way of disappearing though no one would admit to their theft. He also mentioned that accusing someone of thievery was not the brightest thing to do. Noman laughed as he added his agreement with that statement.

All manner of beast, fowl, food, and aromas assaulted the senses as they wandered among the stalls. Xith greedily snapped up bits of herbs and spices, mumbling to Noman as he made each purchase. The market at Krepost’ was unrivaled for the variety of its goods and services. It was the last stop, or the first, on the East-West road, and almost anything could be bought here if the price were right.

Xith had forgotten how excited bartering made him. A youthful spirit overcame him as he frantically dashed about, searching for all the things that were on an imaginary list that he appeared to be recording his purchases on. The satchels, which had been his first purchase, were now filled to capacity, forcing him to slow his pace.

“I don’t understand—” whispered Nijal, “Where did all these merchants come from? Where do they get all the goods?”

“That is the wonder of Krepost’!” replied Noman.

“No, really?” pleaded Nijal.

“Another time, another time, my friend.”

Noman moved back to assist Xith without further regard to Nijal’s insistence. Nijal sought out someone else to turn his questions on and found Shchander; but he did not know, either. He, like Nijal, had rarely been beyond Solntse; and while the markets in Solntse were grand, they were small compared to this.

Xith continued through the myriad of small tents and open stalls. He still had not found the one place he actually had sought, although he imagined it still lay somewhere near the center if he could reach the center. Hesitantly, he began to pass by things that he would otherwise have jumped at the opportunity to buy; yet as always the list of things he would later discover he had neglected would be enormous. He winked to Noman as he snaked through a twisted course that brought him at long last to his destination: a place where shipwrights and ship’s mates gathered in the market.

“Where can I find the day’s Master of Records?” he asked the sailors seated within the high-ceilinged tent. Soon after finding the master and making an inquiry about passage to the northlands, his voice was booming over the noise of the market. “What do you mean, there are no ships bound for the North?”

“Just that, I am afraid,” said the acting Master of Records. “There are no ships bound for the North.”

“The season is yet weeks from its end. Lead me to a captain that has an eye for gold.”

“I am afraid I cannot. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the day is long and I must retire.”

“It is only mid-day!”

“Mid-day is closing time in the market.”

“I know, I know,” muttered Xith.

Noman held back an urge to do something vile to the Master of Records. “Where can I find one of the shipwrights?”

“At this hour?”

“Yes, at this hour?”

“Most likely at an inn, taking a bit of lunch.”

“And which inn would that be?”

“Take your pick. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I must be off, or I’ll miss my own lunch.”

“Would this change your mind or delay your retreat?” asked Nijal, waving a small bag weighted with coin.

“No,” replied the man flatly.

“Come,” spoke Noman, “the others will have missed us by now.”

“Wait,” offered Xith, “I have something that will slow your retreat.” Xith shuffled through one of the satchels and procured a small, blue bottle. “Last one in the market, my friend, and it’s yours if you just help us on our way.”

The man stopped and looked, eyeing Xith carefully. “I take it you have been here before?”

“Many, many times,” returned Xith.

“You must forgive me; I thought otherwise.”

“No offense given, none taken.”

The man smiled and nodded. “Two Hands is the place you seek.”

“Still the same,” replied Xith.

“Yes. But if you knew that already, then why did you trouble me?”

“I see now that you do not understand. This is good.”

“Wait—do I know you?”

“Probably so, for I know you. The most curt officer of them all.”

“Obviously you have not met my company’s captain.”

“I am not sure.”

“Come and I’ll take you to the Two Hands, but once there you are on your own. And I still cannot guarantee you will find what you seek.”

“I seek no guarantees, my friend.”

“Good, good. As I said, I offered none, even with your gift.”

“No problem. We will wait and see.”

“Come quickly and follow at a goodly step or you’ll most likely find you’ve lost your way and your guide.”

Xith cast a glum stare at Noman, his dark thoughts from earlier in the day returning. Surely the trap was set and they were within its throes. But who were the conspirators in the dark plot against them? Did they dare trust anyone at all?



Father Jacob paced nervously back and forth, cautiously eyeing the threatening sky. He was not pleased with the turn of events. The timing just was not right; too much seemed beyond his control. The will of the Father had been barely perceivable for some time now. It was as if he were alone. He marked this as the third time this had occurred, and the growing number of occurrences frightened him.

Both Liyan and Seth sat quietly watching Jacob, reading his every thought unbeknownst to the good father. Their intent was not to intrude on Jacob’s privacy, but to clarify their own muddled thoughts with another viewpoint. They could sense a portent drawing near though they didn’t know what it was. Perhaps, they thought, it was the storm that carried the ill tidings to them.

Liyan slowly turned his consciousness inward for a time of reflection, wavering from the link he held with Seth and unintentionally severing that link. In his mind, he pictured the paths, and he began to piece them together, beginning at the time when Seth had left for the kingdoms of men and methodically moving forward towards the present.

Beyond the relative safety of the confines of the small tent the three occupied, the camp was teeming with frenzied activity. S’tryil, the newly appointed captain, moved about the camp, striving to maintain order. He still disliked the new authority given to him. It felt like a great weight. He was neither great nor proud like his father although he did inherit his father’s values, which were simple and true.

Extra stakes were being driven into the ground around each tent with ropes being attached and anchored. The hope was to give better support against the coming high winds. Stores of food and supplies were being moved under cover. Small bands of sailors were returning to their ships to ready them for rough seas. The harbor would give some protection from the winds and high seas, but it would not shield everything. The elements of wind and rain would still find them. The sea would most likely claim a boat with a heavy anchor.

S’tryil eventually found his way back to Jacob as did the five lieutenants. Their work was now complete; very soon they would know whether they had erred or had been successful. For a time, they moved to a warm spot near the small hearth that was erected at one end of the tent, but they soon found themselves surrounding Jacob as he stared beyond the table, beyond the doorway, into the festering sky.

Chapter Three

Cagan fought a losing battle to gain control of the sinking ship in the vile storm. He had turned her about and aimed her at the shore. Though the course never held true as they were tossed about, they still would hopefully reach safety before the ship was claimed by the seas, which would devastate him.

Teren played with the voices in his head that called to him. “Why do you leave us?” they asked. He shied away from all save one—the one that was just at the furthest reaches of his will. A large wave swept over the deck and nearly toppled him and several others. Thankfully, his grip was strong, and the rope between his fingers burned into his hands only slightly.

All had moved topside to escape the rushing waters below deck. With each new crest and trough, the wind changed direction in the sails. Some were only slight course deviations but others nearly overcame the masts, causing them to bend and bow beneath the heavy strain. Rains came first as a light mist but immediately turned thick and heavy as the storm descended upon them.

The deck of the ship became slick as did the safety ropes. A second set of hands toiled at the helm. Valam had made his way slowly and carefully to the forward deck. He took a stout rope and lashed himself to the wheel as Cagan had. A voice from within the ship called out the depth of the rising waters.

Already, Cagan noticed the sluggishness of the response from the wheel. The ship would soon flounder beyond his control if the masts did not yield first. He cursed loudly in a steady stream of words, which were his commands to his bosun. The calls still sent able-bodied men to action though the response time was slow.

The first spark of lightning to strike close at hand sent a shiver through Cagan. As if rain, wind, and wave were not bad enough, now the storm lashed out at them with yet another of its treacheries. Each new bolt echoed both in his eyes and in his ears. He laughed at his folly, mocking his own thoughts. The lightning gave him a new source of light in the darkness of the storm, and whether it was good fortune or misfortune to see the line of the coast highlighted in the distance he did not know.

Cagan saw only the shadows of rock and crag ahead. He noted a shift in the balance of the ship as it sought to settle to one side. Quickly he called out to correct the sails. The bosun’s alarm rang, and the men responded when the top deck first encountered the crest of the gigantic wave. Screams of despair rose. Several were swept into the seas and readily claimed. Their screams of panic did not last long.

The ship surprisingly did not give in. As it was whirled about at the bottom of the wave, it righted itself though it was still heavy in the water. Cagan gazed through the flashes, searching the shadows. Cautious thoughts carried his mind to the two longboats they carried. He marked them as their last resort and had them readied, even though he knew they would be of little use in this storm.

A sound almost like a clap of thunder stifled his senses. Cagan held his breath deadly still. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. As the center mast crashed to the deck, the rigging and sails went with it, draping the onlookers. Mercilessly the waves turned the ship and overcame her, even as she flopped from side to side.

Many hands went to the longboats and launched them into churning waters. Those that were close enough scrambled inside, and the sea claimed even a few of those. Neither Cagan nor Valam had left the wheel; there they remained. They watched the small boats being brutally battered by the rough waters. They chose not to die in that manner. They would rather come to an honorable end, dying the way they had lived.

The dull glow of a light suddenly came into sight. The storm played among the shadows around them, offering them no clues to its origin. As if in anger, the rain increased in velocity, pelting them with an ever-thickening volley. A shimmer in the distance caught their eye. A murmur resounded in their ears as yet another clap of thunder fell upon them. The bolt struck dead in front of them, lighting the area in a great circle, and for the first time, a glimmer of hope was revealed.



Midori woke from a dream. Frightened, she shivered alone in the dank corner in which she slept. A tear marked the outline of her face, and just as it dripped to the floor, a smile, a mocking smile touched her lips. Her enemy knew her soul well, she thought for a moment. She found little comfort in the knowing, and quickly turned away from it.

A voice pierced the silence and the darkness about her. Though she heard it, she did not listen. She still grasped the images from the dream in her mind and would not turn away from them. The Mother had called out to her, or perhaps it was only a wish in her dream; she did not know, but the voice could not be mistaken. She did not know if the message was one of her own creation or of reality, but she held to it.

“Today,” she thought, “today is the day when I will know the truth of it.” She groped for her blanket in the darkness and pulled it snug around her. The cold stone beneath her negated the little warmth it offered. She closed her eyes in an attempt to find peace in sleep and her dreams again.

“Outside the sun is already high in the sky,” spoke a voice in close proximity to her.

“I do not care. I only know that it is dark in here and cold, and I am tired. My soul is weary and wants to rest. So please leave me in peace this day, or night.”

“My dear Midori, princess so fair, first daughter of the Mother, heir to all.”

“Don’t start with that today. Please let me rest. I—I—” began Midori, “I am so tired.”

“Your mind is awake, and your body grows weary but not from lack of sleep. You have slept too long; it is time you woke up. Move about. Move your feet. Do not sit and stagnate this day.”

“You were the one who told me to sleep. What do you wish me to do?”

“Yet that was some time ago. That is long since past. We have much to discuss and times grows short. So listen to my words, and regard them for a time. Then when you are ready, respond to them in any manner you see fit.”

“I think we will have plenty of time for as many discussions as you please. I don’t think we are going anywhere soon.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Have you not returned to your senses yet? Are you a princess, or are you the first to the Mother? Well, a response would expedite matters.”

“I’m thinking; give me a moment.”

“There should be nothing to consider. Has your mind grown that clouded? Is your judgment impaired beyond even my grasp? First consider this: is the darkness all that bad? Is this the only thought in your mind? If it is, you need to seriously reconsider your woes.”

“I do not think I can. I fear the dark, to be truthful with you. You cannot see in the dark, and without sight, you are lost.”

“On the contrary, there is much one can see in the dark if you only have the will to look. Did not your teacher pass on to you the lessons of your senses? Your eyes are but one of many.”

“This is the second time you have spoken of my teacher. Which do you speak of, as I have had many?”

“Your first of course, for in truth there were no others before or since.”

“You knew the shaman?”

“Yes, for as long as the wind has blown across the northern mountains.”

“Then you are—”

“But of course I am.”

“Am I dreaming, or am I awake?”

“You are very much awake. Now, will you listen?”

“Yes. Please forgive me.”



Xith and Noman pressed on, following their guide. The others returned with the heavy bags of goods Xith had procured to the place where the remainder of the party waited. Nijal was hesitant to part from the two but did as he was told. Xith grinned ear to ear, and Noman knew at once why. Xith had not known the name of the man who was now their guide; in fact he had probably never seen him before this day, but that did not matter. The man wholly believed that Xith had. Just as importantly, this belief would be relayed, discussed by those who watched.

The pace did prove to proceed at a very fast pace. Their guide turned corners, crossed street and alley, detoured around obstacles, both animate and inanimate, without a moment’s warning. His demeanor did improve greatly though as they walked a ceaseless string of words issued from his lips, which most often was heard as an unintelligible mumble.

He did offer his name, which was Vajlar Kapriz. Xith had managed to salvage that much from the man’s unbroken soliloquy. Xith took it in the old tongue, and it did indeed fit one of Vajlar’s demeanor. Xith wondered at the confidence the man had in them, or perhaps he thought Xith already knew his name in full, which was not often given to friend or stranger.

At length, they finally arrived at a place where a somewhat odd sign hung, on which was scrawled, not printed, the words “Two Hands.” Vajlar paused for a time outside the door and caught his breath, pulling himself up to his full height as he did so. His stride was no longer quick and sloppy but crisp as he entered and crossed to a table.

He bade the others to join him and ordered three draughts, for which Xith paid at Noman’s insistence as Vajlar never reached for coin or purse. Their guide drank two full tankards before anything passed his lips other than ale. As he began to speak, it was clear that his mood had changed; and, although he was not rude, he made it clear that they were outsiders here and should watch their step at all times.

Vajlar drank two more draughts, still at Xith’s expense. His cheeks grew bright red and his eyes began to gloss over. It seemed that he was in a talking mood once more as words spewed from him endlessly again; and though they were now slow, they were slurred with the liquor. Xith smiled politely, knowingly. The guild was the true gatekeeper of Krepost’ and indeed, as myth and legend implied, there was great danger for unwelcome travelers.

The story that Vajlar embarked on was in no way related to what they wanted to hear. As it drew to a close, the hour was growing late. The sun outside, if they had been able to see it, would have been past afternoon and leaning toward dusk; but this afternoon the two were saints of patience, or at least Noman was. They offered no complaints, bent only on listening intently. After a few too many tankards of ale had passed their lips even though there were lengthy pauses in between, they began again only at Vajlar’s insistence. They began to lose sight of their objective, and they even started to understand the story they listened to. Xith acted extremely nervous, as was expected, and especially since the table was littered with a line of tankards, all of which he had paid for.

After the table had been cleared and then filled, Xith, who seemed to be the only one with his wits attached, lost his will to wait. “Vajlar, my friend—” Xith paused for a lengthy burp, playing the part a bit too over-the-top as far as Noman was concerned, “Are you ever going to tell us—point out to us—the one we seek?”

Vajlar pretended not to notice that Xith had spoken and continued on with his conversation, which was now completely one-sided. He had, after all, still one willing listener. Noman, who had one hand pressed against his face with his elbow resting on the table, was indeed listening. Noman turned his attention to Xith, only after it became clear that Xith was not going to let his words pass.

“He doesn’t know,” responded Noman, nodding his head slightly to let Xith know everything was proceeding as expected. There was also a much more subtle message in the gesture: don’t worry so.

“What do you mean, he doesn’t know? Then what are we doing here wasting time?”

“Listening to the story of course.”

“You are following that?”

“Yes. Now if you’ll be silent, I can return to it. Please continue, Master Vajlar. Pay him no heed.”



A sharp shift in the wind raised the flap of the tent and threw it back. Mist from the rain reached the table in short spurts. Jacob moved to close the flap, but Ylsa had already done so. She pulled the flap taut, and secured it tightly this time. Father Jacob offered her a wink as a gesture of thanks.

The atmosphere in the room had been gloomy for hours. Some wandered next to the hearth, warming their feet and hands, while some just sat at the table looking forlorn. Jacob absently scratched words onto bits of parchment. His thoughts were elsewhere, floating beyond the waters of the sea.

A sudden shaft of light shining into the chamber startled him. He lifted his eyes to see a hand groping at the knots tied about the doorway, and a figure entered. It was drenched from head to toe, and perhaps the only dry thing it possessed was the lamp it held, which was shining fiercely.

Jacob noted the rain striking the ground in thick pellets. It was turning to sleet. None moved as the hooded man walked to the table, set the lantern down, and began to remove his saturated cloak. Jacob nodded as the man shook the water from his hair and walked to the fire without uttering a sound save for the chattering of his teeth.

“Cursed storm,” Captain S’tryil muttered under his breath, removing his boots and setting them upon the warm stones. “Water is rising in the camp; the rain is no longer sinking into the earth. It is just settling on the surface. If I did not know better, I would say that a great flood is at hand. The cliffs along the far walls are running with heavy cascades of water. Even the sea is in extreme turmoil. We have had to draw the farthest line of tents back, or they would have been lost. The waves are coming in greater than I have ever seen. Our scouts to the north and south report that the trails are being washed away. In short, the only way out of this hole will be by rope.”

“The ships, captain, are they all right in the bay?”

“As far as I can tell. Captain Evgej has not returned yet, so I am not positive. The darkness has completely enshrouded us; the storm is full upon us. I think it best if we all just stay indoors until it passes. I have passed the word to report all matters here as expediently as possible.”

Jacob mulled over the words for some time. The absence of Evgej suddenly touched a chord in his mind. There were two others who were also absent. He continued with the parchment, writing until he considered it complete, and then he pressed it flat and placed it in a large book amongst many others. The rain flailing the roof of the tent had stifled most of the thoughts he would have logged this day. For the most part, words had crossed from hand to pen only after long, pensive pauses. He sensed something ill afoot though he could not place it.



Lord Edwar Serant waited for the guard to return. “Very well, I will just sit here and do nothing, as you wish, but I will say this, I do not like it. You could at the very least offer me something to eat. A little food, maybe. I am growing very hungry. Do you have any food? Yes, I am talking to you, who do you think I was talking to? I wasn’t talking to myself now, was I? Well? Are you just going to sit there or are you going to get up off your lazy ass and get over here and open this door? Wait, wait! I was just kidding. Come back—yeah, that’s it. Just sit back down. Don’t trouble yourself with paltry thoughts or simple facts, like I have not eaten in days and have no water, nor any place to go to the bathroom.”

“Use the corner; that is what they were made for.”

“The corner? Please, spare me. Are you ever going to move from that spot, you lazy oaf?”

“That’s it! This one gets a muzzle. Fetch me the straps!”

“Wait, wait, I just want something to eat. I promise I’ll shut up then.”

“Really?”

“I swear.”

“Listen here, any more trouble out of you and I’ll chain you upside down for the rest of your miserable life. I chained the bird man upside down and he nearly died. You, I’d leave you there until death. Is that what you want?”

“You know, friend, you really should tone it down a little.”

Edwar Serant turned about. Before he could answer, the other in his cell said, “Oh, you’re awake, finally.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“You were not sleeping, my friend, you took a nasty blow to the head. You are lucky to be alive.”

“Well, with all the noise the loudmouth was making, he could have waked the dead.”

“Poor choice of words, I assure you. Let me take a look at you. Sit up—Oh—Oh, my—”

“Is it bad?”

“No. It is healing nicely.”

“Where am I?”

“I wish I knew myself—wish I knew myself.”

“Do I know you?”

“Perhaps. Don’t worry about that right now. You just lean back and take it easy.”

The guard returned, “Hey, you there, here’s your grub. Eat it all, or you’ll not see another bite.”

Edwar Serant glared at the guard through the small window in the cell’s door. “Do you think I really care? I’ll—mmm, not bad. My compliments to the cook; this stuff is almost good enough for sows.”

“I’m warning you—”

“I would be quiet if I were you,” said the other.

“It’s a game. He really loves it. I don’t think he’d ever really put me in a muzzle.” Serant gave the bowl of food to the one who had just awoken. “Here, eat this.”

“This is really bad. How can you eat this?”

“It is all we will get, so eat up. What about you? Here, take some of this.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Me, too.”

“No, you both need your strength. Eat or I will spoon-feed you.”

“Your voice—it sounds so familiar to me.”

“Most probably, my friend.”

“No, really.”

“That’s probably because it is. Now you just eat and then close your eyes and return to sleep. The strength will return to you in a few days.”

Lord Serant waited for the guard to approach and then began, “All dressed up and no place to go, no feed in hand, nor tree nor bush, nor blade of grass in sight. I long for the sun to shine upon my face, and a cool northerly breeze to blow upon my brow.”

“Give it a rest! Do you want me to deny you food and water? How long do you think you can last without food and water? A week at most, I’ll wager.”

“Once I see your captain and he sees how you have treated me, then you’ll be the one whistling a tale.”

“If you were a king of some great land, I might be afraid, but for all I know you are a tired, worn mercenary that lost his way while guiding a couple of ladies. At least they are worth their weight measure.”

“What if I am a king? What will you do then? Will you run and hide like the mongrel that you are?”

“That is it. I will waste no more breath on you this day. Go sulk in the darkness.”

Lord Serant heard a grate slide into place, and all light left his cell. He did not care if they denied him food and water for a time, for he knew that they would be forced to feed him again in due time. Damaged merchandise would not fetch a fair price.

He had gleaned much more from the guard than the other knew. His conversations, though seemingly muddled, were pointed and led to the solutions to the riddles that roamed his mind through the many hours of silence that followed each such conversation. He knew where he was being held, and by whom. He knew where the others were being held, and he now knew that Calyin and Midori were amongst the prisoners their captors had taken. More importantly, he knew the sisters were alive.

One question that had weighed heavily upon him, though, still lay unanswered. He still did not know how or by what route he had come here. A fog lay over patches of his mind. He recalled everything up to the encounter with the bandits, yet he was not among their kind. It was also obvious that his captors did not know who he was, which was most definitely to his advantage.

In the dark, Serant surveyed his domain. The cell in which he was kept was small. He measured it at three paces by four. The walls were worn smooth. The ceiling was beyond his reach. Though he never caught a fair glimpse of it, he knew no shafts led into it. The sole source of air was from the door, where a faint breeze always blew.

In one corner, many marks were scratched, single lines drawn carefully. Though he had never seen these in the light, he knew their count: three hundred and ninety-seven. Counting them was a ritual that occupied part of his daily routine. They served as a reminder to him to remember, or approximate, his own days of captivity. Thus far he had made seven marks in his own corner. He guessed that he had been held longer, but these were the seven that he could note for sure.

This day he etched his eighth mark into the wall with a small piece of steel. The origin of the bit of metal he could not guess though he did think that it had been lying on the floor precisely where the former occupant had left it. Time had rusted its edges and dulled its point, but he had sharpened it and worked it in his hands until the last vestiges of the rust were gone.



Nijal’s path led him, Shchander, and the others on an indirect roundabout course through the city but not immediately back to its entrance. Xith had, after all, told him to find the first inn at the edge of the city and take rooms there. Xith had not said which edge of the city, so he needed to explore all avenues.

In all, Nijal summed up the city as less than he had imagined it to be. It did not have the grandeur of Solntse or the complexity of Zashchita. The streets were arranged in a simple series of avenues and byways that spread out from a central point, which was the market. The market was the one redeeming quality he found here. The city was otherwise unremarkable.

Disappointment settled immediately in his thoughts. The song the minstrel had spun for him had led him to believe that the city was enormous and spread out across the horizon; in reality, it was compacted onto a simple highland plateau. His search ended at the foremost gates, his former energy depleted.

Trailer sat upon the carriage in the coachman’s seat with two others at his side. Shalimar stood near the rear of the coach, head tucked down inside his hood and eyes closed. The first order of business was to rouse Adrina and Amir who were apparently still sleeping inside the coach and ready them for quick travel.

Nijal made the mistake of choosing the door where Shalimar stood, and he quickly found a sharp blade at his throat as he attempted to open the door. Even with the edge of a knife pressed to his neck, Nijal managed a laugh. He clasped Shalimar on the shoulder, praising him for his speed.

“I still wouldn’t do that, friend,” whispered the man.

It was then that Nijal realized that there was an extra person in his count. He drew back warily, eyeing the hooded man. “Who are you?” demanded Nijal, reaching for his sword.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down there. I mean you no harm. If I meant to harm you, I could have done that long ago. These fools would never have noticed.”

“Just who are you calling fools!” shouted Trailer, jumping down from the seat.

“Why you, of course, but I did not mean to spark anger. I meant it only as a statement of truth. It was obvious to me that this coach was missing a master, and I just waited until he returned. You are he, are you not?” said the man pointing to Nijal.

Nijal nodded his head in agreement. “Good, good, then all is in order,” began the man, throwing back his hood as he spoke and stepped forward. “And if I guess the situation correctly, you seek passage somewhere. Am I right? Why of course I am. Why else would you have journeyed here? Let me get an eyeful of you. I would say you’re not from anywhere near. I would guess, the Kingdom. Am I right? Why of course I am. I am never wrong. I see your situation this way. You need passage on a ship, and I can get it for you. If the price is right, of course. You have money, don’t you, my friend? Nice coach, I might add.”

“You are rather quick to speak about things you know nothing about. If I had a mind to be angry, I would be enraged at your pompousness.”

“Whoa, whoa, I am not pompous, please. I did not mean to offend. Here, take this. I am Awn of the Guild. That coin will lead you to me if you ever have a mind. I know where you can get a fine ship—for the right sum of gold, of course. Bring it with you, and we will talk. I will leave now. Good day!”

Confused, Nijal turned wide eyes to Shchander, who returned the gaze. Nijal considered the words, but then, giving up hope at understanding, he shrugged his shoulders and returned to more immediate matters. The horses were left at a stable that was close at hand. The stable master was quick to barter for their keep and their shoeing. He was also quick to chastise them for the condition of the mounts. “A good shoe and a good horse will take you a good distance, but a bad one with poor shoeing will only get you a lame horse.”

Nijal understood the practice but endured the lesson. As the man continued on with his story, a journeyman began work on the first horse’s shoes, shaking his head with the same flicker of anger in his eyes towards Nijal as the stable master had. He muttered something low under his breath about those who should be saddled and ridden for a time to see how they liked to proceed in ill-fitting shoes. Nijal persevered, hoping still to get a fair price for the carriage as Xith had instructed him to do.

He left the stable pleased with the sum he had obtained even after the charges had been deducted for shoe and keep. An inn lay just down the adjacent street and as Nijal was sure it was the one Xith had spoken of, he appropriated several rooms in it. He played with the small coin, obviously not made of gold or anything else of worth, which the stranger called Awn had given him, contented to wait until Xith and Noman returned.

Chapter Four

A solitary hand clawed its way up onto the beach and soon a figure followed, struggling to stand upright, moving awkwardly through the swirling water about its knees and bearing a heavy load upon its shoulders. Pulling, holding on, the figure struggled against the forces of nature, dragging behind it a small craft and though wind, rain, and surf claimed the last of its strength, it stood gallant.

Behind, yet a good distance off, a second craft made its way toward shore. The oarsmen grunted and groaned defiantly. It was not by chance or fate that they came upon the shore but by sheer determination and perseverance. In time, twelve stood where a full thirty should have, but thankfully not all were lost. Some had elected to remain at sea, and a few others would come after the return trip.

Of the twelve, one stood out almost regally in her defiance of the storm. A curse sprang from her lips, and she meant it to be heard aloud. The group did not delay long upon the shore, quickly turning away from the sea, heading immediately into the midst of the camp, scarcely separated from the raging water.

Jacob’s face went deadly pale as the faces appeared out of the shadows of the night. He could not find words to speak, and his eyes expressed the fear he was feeling. The twelve went first to the fire, removing water-soaked garments, warming frigid, swollen toes and hands. The fire was stoked and the chill swept from the air before any one of them turned to speak.

“Cursed be this day! This storm is wholly unnatural. The water is rising upon the shore, almost reaching the first line of our camp. The ground is saturated, water flows across it as if we were sitting upon a great river. A curse on its creator.”

“The Great-Father would not appreciate your curses upon the Mother, though I still welcome your return, my prince, and I think your curses are pardonable. Why have you returned? Where is Cagan?”

“I am here, good father,” quietly murmured the elf, “but there are many others, many who are not—”

“What happened? The ship?”

“Yes, lost. You would not believe the strength of the storm. If it had not been for Captain Mikhal and Tsandra, we would have gone down with the ship.”

“How many were lost?”

“The count is not sure, but I believe we must turn to other matters before we grieve properly. However, a moment of silence is in order,” Valam reverently whispered the words into the thoughts of those present. It was with a heavy heart that he spoke the words of passing. He did not rejoice this day for those who had journeyed to the Father, only sorrow.

Liyan was the first to break the quiet and return to the present. “Prince Valam is correct in his summation of this day’s occurrences. Brother Seth and I have debated long over this subject. We have felt this power before. The first time it came to us, we counted it as a work in the natural order of things, but facts have changed. This storm was created, not born of the Mother. A strong will is in opposition here. We are sure of it. You can be sure this storm was long in the creation. It did not happen by chance or suddenly. We are witnessing perhaps the toil of one’s life or many lives.

“The forces could have been guided for many weeks or even months until they came to this point, gradually working up to the raging torrent we now endure. One thing you can be sure of is that the enemy is aware of your presence, has known, or has most probably seen us. Perhaps this is his way of acknowledging it. Our enemy knows many things, including the paths in the future. He has survived the dark path, and nothing holds secrets against him though we strive to.”

“Brother Liyan, can we not fight the storm and send it back upon its master? Send those that created it scampering for cover, running back into the holes they emerged from!”

“That is my wish, but first we must consider this. Prince Valam, you spoke well about the rising waters in the camp. We may find our own deaths here in this sinkhole. Water circles all around us, the earth shifts beneath it, perhaps the trap is already set. I can only hope that it is not.”

Captain S’tryil stepped forward. “We have already tightened the circle of tents, moving them away from the water’s edge and the walls of the cliffs. The scouts to the north and south last reported that they can no longer make the journey along the paths leading from these shallows, even with rope and toil.”

“This is not good. We must think clearly and act quickly.”



Princess Calyin Alder glared at the barred door before her. She paced slowly in close circles around the tiny cell. She waited for a sound that she knew would begin far off and then grow closer. Time for her had stood still these last days. She knew not whether it was night or day, only that after a long wait a tray of food and water would be brought to her.

Today, however, was different. She woke to find more than the necessities of food and water, and she had found a beautiful silk dress. A basin of water, clear and uncontaminated, had also been placed in the room. The food held a wonderful aroma and taste.

She bathed in the basin, which, although small, had met her needs. The water was cool and caused her to shiver, but as she placed the dress across her shoulders, she warmed up. She wondered at the sudden change in her captors—or tormentors rather, as she thought of them.

The hours passed slowly after she had bathed and eaten, and now she waited, growing increasingly agitated. “Were they playing another game with her for some pleasure unbeknownst to her?” she wondered. If so, it was a cruel game with evil intentions. Nevertheless, she waited, still pacing back and forth, waiting to hear a sound, the click of a key in a door that she knew was just at the end of a long hall though she could not see it, or the shuffle of feet against the hard stone floor.

The sounds were all she had left, tiny shuffles and tiny clicks, for she never heard voices, not even when she was served. Not a word broke the guard’s lips, and after some time she had given up hope of it ever happening and had stopped speaking as well. Momentarily her eyes fell to the sole source of light, a lamp that burned ceaselessly just out of her reach. She had never seen anyone filling it though it was always full.

Her thoughts wandered for a time to Midori, who had been with her when she was taken. She recalled her capture through shadows and unclear images, but she could not recall why. A tender spot high on her forehead still attested to her struggle though soon it would be gone, healed with time, much time.

A faint echo far down the hall caused her to freeze. She strained her ears against the silence, but only silence returned. She passed the sound off as yet another phantom of her imagination. She hesitantly returned to her methodical pacing, content for the moment with only the thoughts flowing through her mind for a companion.

Heavy on her mind was the whereabouts of her lord husband, Edwar Serant. She didn’t know how but she sensed that he was not dead, that he was near. She longed to feel his touch, to touch him in return—the warmth of his hand in hers, the feel of his lips on hers. She longed to see that rare smile, to know again a few private moments when the steel in his veins slipped away. It was in those moments that she knew the truth of life, love, and laughter.

“Oh Edwar,” she whispered just to hear a voice spoken aloud and to know something other than silence. “What game do they play with us? Will we be together when it is done?”



It was nighttime before Xith and Noman found their way beyond the Two Hands. Nijal offered his story of Awn and the ship he promised to acquire for their use, but at the time neither Xith nor Noman was in a mood to listen to it. Xith was clearly the more irritable of the two. As he not only told Nijal to shut up, but he snatched the coin from Nijal and retired without a word, muttering something to the effect of, “No-good thieves and heartless beggars.”

Nijal considered Xith’s rash act long before he took the coin back from the shaman’s hands as he slept. He had plans of his own for this evening; it was too early to retire. With Shchander as his accomplice, he ventured out into the city, finding little comfort in the gray shadows the night brought.

Torches around the perimeter of the cliffs cast an eerie glow and cast odd shadows about, but they did not let it dampen their determination. Nijal stopped beneath a lamp in a doorway and took a close inspection of the coin on both sides. The front bore the outline of some figure; the face was worn, its outlines indecipherable. The back was a weapon perhaps, maybe a sickle, or so Nijal thought.

The streets were not lively at night, which was not odd. They had been mostly deserted in the day although there were lit lanterns in many of the doors. The sound of laughter ahead drove them on, around a corner, across a street, and into an alleyway. They stopped, however, for no lamp or sign graced the door the sound carried them to. They waited in the dark of the alley, listening to singing and cheerful shouts.

A pleasant memory held Nijal there lingering for a time, but Shchander was agitated and tapped his foot nervously. Dim areas brought him little joy and much discomfort. “Let us be off,” he whispered to Nijal, who did not listen to him, “let us be off quickly.”

“Okay, okay,” replied Nijal moving back into the street. For a long time afterward, the only noise they heard was the soft pounding of their own feet, broken only by the sight and sound of a night guard passing by. The guards had only slowed to scrutinize them but did not slacken their pace for long as they did so.

Abruptly, they heard singing again. A group of three approached cheering loudly, obviously prompted by an evening of drinking. Nijal joined in the merriment of the mood, shifting into their chorus, a common song in many places. He took a chance, using the spontaneity of the moment, and took the small coin from his pocket, asking the three to look at it.

One man stopped cold in his song, the one who had been in the middle, and walked up to Nijal, blowing his foul breath in his face. “You, friend, would do best to put that back into your pocket and be on your way.”

Shchander quickly pulled Nijal away from the man, fearing that a brawl might take place at any moment. He continued to drag Nijal by the arm until the two were well away from the others. He didn’t know what the sudden shift in moods was over, but he wasn’t about to delay and find out. It was only as he stopped that he noticed Nijal tucking the coin back into his pants.

“Did you have to go and do that?” Shchander yelled, “We’re not looking for a fight.”

“I wasn’t looking for a fight, only information.”

“Well, it seems you picked the wrong group to ask. We have to be more careful; remember we are the strangers.”

“You are right about that, but we are not the strange ones.”



Teren discarded the calls at the periphery of his consciousness, turning his attentions back to the words of Prince Valam and Brother Liyan. “Nothing but darkness,” he told himself, “nothing but darkness.” Valam clenched his fist until nails bit into his palms. He was openly angry, which didn’t happen often. “We must fight!” whispered in the hollows of his thoughts. His words wore the shape of his mood; if there were those who should pay for their deeds this day, he would make them pay.

“Some very dear fellows passed this day to rest in the house of the Father, as it is said in your words. I grieve in my heart though I know I should not. They died as they lived, struggling to the last.” Valam could speak no more. He paused long before his rage led him on. “The storm, is there a way to fight it? Can we send it back upon its masters?”

Liyan, Seth, and Tsandra considered Valam’s words in earnest. They did not know for sure whether they could or not. After a time of reflection, they vowed to try. Liyan was the first to journey to the center if his soul and reach out with his will. For now the others waited.

The sky was dark and sad about Liyan as he touched his will to the air about him, bringing it in gentle circles up to a lofty height. Darkness was the immediate response to his center, but he moved through it as his spirit shifted through the very billows of the clouds overhead. A sudden sense overcame him, perhaps a taste, a taste sour and vile, causing him to withdraw.

Awaiting Liyan’s return and his approval, Seth began his own journey of will. He proceeded with caution as Liyan instructed. Weather, clouds, and rain were mostly outside the things Seth had learned, though he alone perhaps knew more about its control than did anyone else present, having undergone each of the seven teachings.

Seth did not take the same route that Liyan had, which had been a direct route to the center of the storm. No, the eye was a dangerous place to linger. Seth chose the most indirect path to the storm, sweeping his will lazily inward from a great distance upon a slow easterly breeze. An image flowed to him of clouds, huge puffs of black and deep shades of gray. The sky above was mostly clear, save for a light haze much higher up.

Seth adopted the haze as his vantage point; it was a form of nature that he understood, and it was completely separate from the fury spinning below it. Yet even at a distance, the pervading omens of evil were gnawing upon him. He delayed no longer than he thought he should before he quickly drew his will inward.

Tsandra followed Seth’s cue and reclaimed the search for her own. As an initiate of the Brown, she held a slight advantage over her counterparts; she knew well how to find the heart of the enemy. She was quick to pursue it across the distance, finding it almost at once. A quiver befell her chin, a tremor flowed from her head to her feet, and a black cloud caved in her will and sent her in anguish to the floor.

She was still and cold and her breath was scarcely perceptible as the cloud took on the form of an eye, a great, grave, ebony eye in the window of her mind. It held her paralyzed in its grasp, mocking her as it drew life from her veins. Tsandra’s face paled and her eyes closed.

“Sever the link!” thrashed Seth into her mind with a tidal wave of force, “Break it now!”

Tsandra did not respond. Liyan joined in, tugging the darkness away from her thoughts. Seth screamed again, this time both aloud and in thought, “For the love of the Mother! Be gone! Crawl back to your dank recesses!”

The darkness gradually faded, and a tiny flutter of a breeze began to blow in the room, rustling the scrolls spread across the table. Jacob clamped his hands over them, spilling pen and ink as he did so. A lull came over the chamber but not before another victim was claimed. Seth joined Tsandra on the damp floor, wheeling about and smashing the back of his head against the table as he went down.

A voice again reached out for Teren’s mind. Tiny and weak though it was, he heard it but did not recognize it until long after it and the disquiet faded from his thoughts. Seth stirred, and all seemed right. He knew life yet flowed through Tsandra. She would not be so easily felled. He knew this well.

The three suddenly realized a thing that had been a haze in their minds, and though they revealed it to a fourth, they told no one else. Teren left immediately after the telling, parting with few words. He alone knew more than the others, not because of any special powers he was endowed with, but rather because he was privy to a small piece of knowledge the others knew nothing about. He would reveal nothing until his return; though he dreaded enduring the elements, he did so without hesitation.



“My compliments to the chef, once again. Was the buzzard finished or was he still licking the bones of this carcass when he found it. A man cannot live on dried bones and water. And another thing, the feces in the corner is growing a little stale. Would you mind disposing of it?”

“The bones are from a friend of yours; I thought you would like the claws.”

“Really, these are a bit small. Perhaps you could bring me a bit of water. My friend in here does not look well. You really should show some compassion. I promise—if you bring me a bucket of water so I can wash my face and hands, I will seal my lips for an entire day. I will speak no curses. I will bite my tongue. I swear.”

The guard scoffed but seemed to approve of the idea. His gait was still slow as he moved to retrieve a bucket of water. He thought it ironic that something he was going to do anyway could get him some hours of abatement. Bucket in hand, he returned, removing the grin upon his face as he approached the cell door.

“Now, you promise to speak not a word for the remainder of this day. Right? Swear it on the great book.”

“I swear I will not speak a word that will fall upon your ears this day, and I swear it upon the great book. Would that I had it with me now for knowledge and comfort.”

“I take that as a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Move back, back away from the door, or you will get this water across your face!” shouted the guard, as he unlocked the cell door.

Geoffrey had been listening to the chatter shifting through his thoughts, but the queasiness had not fully left him. A recent beating had done him no good, and while he sought to blame it on his companion’s rashness, he could not. He had also been enjoying the heckling—well at the time, anyway.

Using his elbow as a brace and a lever, he pushed himself up against the wall, taking extra care not to let his head touch the wall although the cold of the stone did feel soothing. He marveled as a second bucket of water was placed in the room. He took it as a sign that the bulwarks were repenting for their cruelty.

He wondered just how many days it had been since he had seen the sun upon his face or tasted the sweet smell of fresh air upon his nostrils. He did not envision food, for none was in his belly nor had any been in his belly in the immediate past. A hollow gurgling reminded him of that without his having to think about it.

“You have a gift with words, my good friend,” spoke Geoffrey as the other placed a bucket of water before him. He splashed the cool water, not noticing its lack of foulness, across the back of his neck and up onto his brow. Afterwards, he drank it in hearty gulps, filling the cavity in his gut.

“I am truly sorrowful for what they did to you. I did not know they would do that.”

“I know, I know. I am all right; the worst has passed. Is it day or night?”

“I would say it is day. I can see the sun high over a calm and pleasant scene. Not a whisper of cloud to mar its beauty.”

“Yes, but that is only in your mind.”

“It is all I have left. Remember, they can never take that from you.”

“No, they can’t,” said Geoffrey, laughing, retreating into his own thoughts. It was a pleasant place he found. For a time his vision faded in and out, and he just relaxed, leaning firmly against the wall, feeling its coolness run through him.



Noman was the first to awaken to the fullness of a new day. His mood was cheerful, and he woke Xith without a second thought. Xith, continuing to play the game for the watchers, awoke in a frightful mood, but it was quick to pass.

“Well what is it? What is the terribly important reason you detained us all through the day and almost into the night?”

“None whatsoever. Just a whim, I guess.”

“A whim?” demanded Xith.

Noman worked his cheeks into a grand grimace, “The story was good, don’t you think?”

Xith returned the smile and gave in, adding a hurried apology for his earlier shortsightedness. “I deserved it, wholly and completely. Yes, I did.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You don’t have to agree with me.”

“A quick breakfast, and off we go.”

Noman gestured ever so slightly; Xith took in the opening of the peephole in the wall with a panning glance. His chuckle was low and hearty, building up all the way from his diaphragm to the tip of his tongue. “What was I thinking?” thought Xith, as he scratched his forehead absently. Puzzled, he looked about the room. Amir lay in a cot near the sole window in the room; across the room two cots were empty, but that was not what he had been thinking about. He walked into the hall and knocked on the door of an adjacent room and entered.

Xith surveyed the room all in one glance. Content, he walked back out and closed the door, nodding to Shalimar, who had opened the door for him. Adrina was still asleep, so he had not wished to disturb her though she seemed to be having a fitful dream, turning over twice in the short time he had been in the room. Nijal and Shchander weren’t present, as expected.

As he stood back in the hall, he had to think hard before he recalled which room he had come from; but before he opened the door, Noman came out and led him downstairs, where they ate a light but wonderful breakfast of fresh baked bread and thick, meaty soup.

Leaving the inn, Xith and Noman by-passed the market, circumventing it by a wide berth. The walk seemed to ease the haze from Xith’s thoughts. He noted for the second time a faint thought wandering by, but he was not able to grasp it. Soon they stood beneath a now-familiar sign that swayed slightly in a light breeze, pausing, hesitant for an instant, before they entered the small wooden door.

The tavern was mostly deserted at this time of day; only the stalwart of stomach could partake of ale or mead first thing in the morning. Neither was surprised to find Vajlar. It was, after all, the seventh day, a day of rest, the fourth since they had crossed into the territories. This day was the only day the market opened late.

Vajlar sat, mug in hand, cheerfully preoccupied with matters of his own. Noman nodded pleasantly but did not join him. His gaze moved to two who sat in the shadows in a far corner, almost out of sight. Only as he approached did he see the third. The last man was larger than most, built broad at the shoulders, yet squat. A black hat, round and flat, sat just above his brow.

“I seek Two Hands!” called out Noman. “I heard a tale that he has the best ships in the east and is fairer than most with his fees.”

“You heard right,” retorted a thin, pale man.

Noman eyed the man up and down, crossing the last bit of distance to the group’s table. “You do not look like the one I envisioned.”

“That is because he is not he. What is your business? And I do not mean to be rude when I say be quick about it, for we have some rather pressing matters to discuss.”

Xith watched the man who sat in the middle, the large one. He had seen many of the shipwrights though he did not know most of their names or their affairs. He had never seen this one before. He thought about the market yesterday and for the first time, he was aware of an absence, but he did not know what.

“I seek passage north for myself and a fair number of companions.”

“You look like a man who knows a great many things; surely you know the storms are upon us. I will venture none of my ships, no matter the sum.”

“Our journey will not go as far as Taliltan.”

“But where else would you go, my friend? Stay here in Krepost’ until the spring and then I will give you passage. I could even arrange a bargain fare. Now if you please, we must be alone.”

“Would a price in gold equal to twenty times our number be worth your trouble?”

“That, sir, would depend entirely on the number of your company.”

Following the shipwright’s gesture, Xith and Noman pulled chairs beside the table and sat down. Noman tossed Xith a wink; they now had the others’ ears. Greed was always a quick sell.

“What if I said the number of our company was also twenty?”

“It would tweak my interest, and the hunger in my heart, and the glitter in my eye, but to lose a ship on the return trek would cost me twice that sum in the long run.”

“How long does the journey to Taliltan take?”

“A fortnight at best just in the going. The storms are too close.”

“We seek passage only beyond the Stone Peaks, nothing more.”

“There is nothing there; you will find only snow and desolation. Your company would be lost in such a foolish endeavor.”

Noman seemed to grow anxious, perhaps faltering in his resolve to exercise patience. “Would you make the trip?”

The three shook their head no. The mountains would perhaps cut off three days of the trip, but they knew the seas better than most. The length of the trip made no difference. In younger days, they might have risked it. Gold in hand was better than idle ships. But the years had taught them when it was time to stay in port, and now was that time.

“Name your price. I will buy ship, crew and captain.”

“You are too quick to buy. What is your urgency?”

“We all have secrets, do we not, Master Two Hands?”

“Double your original amount, giving me one quarter the balance now whether we go or not, and I will consider your words.”

Noman weighed the options in his mind, of which there were few. He would have agreed to any sum whether or not he actually had the full amount. With Xith’s agreement, he plucked several sizable stacks of gold from his purse and spread them onto the table. Nimble hands snapped the coins up after only a moment’s scrutiny. They were told to return on the morrow.

Chapter Five

A tiny figure, a horse and rider, passed along a shrouded background, unseen by most, laboring long. After coming to a sharp incline, and finally overcoming it, it pressed on. After the relative shelter the coastline offered and the ocean waters afforded, the rain felt icy and permeated the rider’s clothing. He dared not draw the strength of the land into himself, nor had he for a significant amount of time now.

He knew things the others did not know, and now it all became clearer—the voice, the storm, the vision, and many other things. They all fit together now, and he understood, or at least he dared to hope that he did. As his eyes sought to pierce the gloom, he held no fear in his heart, for he knew well the place he traveled through. He knew its ins and outs, its hiding places, its glens and dales although to most it appeared a featureless, flat, obscure place.

As he rode deeper into the lands, the thick mud turned hard, slush at first, and then it became unforgiving miles of snow and ice. He moved beneath the encompassing veil, then suddenly vaulted into a pale, lucid pool. He stopped, staring in wonder, remaining fixed for some time, before he continued on.

His thoughts scattered almost as surely as the wind drew him on. He did not think of much but the voice and finding its source. It clawed at the edges of his consciousness. As it gnawed, growing ever more persistent, he turned away from it. Another stood at the corners of his thoughts now, searching for him as readily as he sought to retreat.

Angrily, he spurred his mount on, at a pace faster than he knew he should. The echoes along the paths of his mind rasped and whined, demanding acknowledgment. He returned nothing to their master. His mind was closed, protected by his will. The other bent to subtle tricks and played for senses that were not so easily dulled; all it wanted was a sound, a direction. Even a single sigh would suffice.

Hands fell to ears, though it was to no avail. The noise was only meant as an irritation, but it also nullified secondary thought and saddened. To see the forces of nature wrested so fully could sicken even the stalwart of heart. No reply was offered, for to do so would reveal much more than the sender wished. A shudder of relief passed as the shadow regained its search, confident that nothing remained unseen.

The figure of horse and rider paused a second time. A flicker of elation came as a soft word carried forth, and now the rider dismounted, turning a discerning eye outward. A dim outline, a trace of a shadow within a shadow, scarcely perceptible, revealed itself, and only an astute observer could have known what it was. It was toward this form that the rider proceeded.

Teren did not know how many long hours had preceded his discovery, or how many followed, only that all lay in obscurity behind him. For now, he stood at the foot of a great and vast embankment. He turned back to face the trail, footfalls in deep mounds of snow that ran in a fairly straight line to this point, following it, until it faded into obscurity. In so doing, he seemed to come full circle as the path behind him had. He waited patiently now, no longer in a rush for that which must come.



Captain Brodst shivered unconsciously as he huddled in a shallow recess. He had not eaten for days and the hunger in his belly was growing ravenous. Water, fresh or stale, was one thing he did not lack. It ran in plentiful trickles all around him, coming from the great stream that lay ahead beyond an outcropping of rock, just out of his sight. He waited for death that would not come and in the disarray of his mind, he thought he would welcome it more than the task that was ahead for him.

He was caught in a perpetual cycle of concealment and pursuit. The shadows of night were his favorite companion. In it, he had no difficulty distinguishing his surroundings. He knew them well. A door, solid, belted, and barred, was just beyond the great pool, which was filled by a constant flow from the stream above. Rope ladders reached up to the sky from either side of the falls. A small door of stone lay perpendicular to his hole, near the second ladder. Nothing had passed through or along since his arrival.

Captain Brodst noted the rapid approach of night, and he welcomed it. His back and legs were stiff and cramped. He needed to stretch the agony from them. From his tiny hollow, he watched the second sign of night pass. A contingent of guards changed places, making their way up and down the rope ladder in pairs. He watched those passing until he counted a full twenty-four, twelve shifting in either direction. His eyes fell upon the door, watching as it swung open, knowing it would only do so when the entire company stood at the ready.

He began to stir and uncoil, blending the sound of his movements in with the sound of heavy boots upon rigid stone. Afterwards, he waited, marking the time with the footfalls. Three more came and went singly; this he knew even though he couldn’t see them because of a jutting of stone that blocked his sight. Evening was now here.

The captain slipped into the pool, closely timing it with the slam of the door as it shut the final time until morning, and though water had been his nemesis throughout the day, that was no longer true. The water in the pool was deep and vast, and most importantly, warm. He wondered why the water was warm, since the stream it fell from was so cold, but he welcomed it without complaint.

Although the warmth felt good to him, he did not delay long. He rinsed the grime and the smell from his clothes and his body, taking great care not to delay. He had seen moving shapes down below, and he did not want to find out what they were. He quickly rinsed the water from his clothes, twisting and turning them until they were as dry as he could make them.

He waited for a shift of feet at the door, and then emerged from the pool, quickly dressing. The air was cool but his skin still held the warmth. He would not shiver until much later, at least not uncontrollably. A scratching noise mixed with a heavy rasping caught his ear, and he stood still, stiff and wary. He leaned into a crevice in the rock and waited. Time passed, and the night drew on. He knew a moon was out although he could not see it. Later, his internal alarm quieted, and he became calm, waiting once more for the day.



A day spent in waiting did not sit well with any members of the group. Xith had bags of trinkets to sort through and organize, but he was the exception. Many discouraged eyes and hearts sat idle, whiling away the time with meaningless chatter. Adrina had waked at long last, but with an irritable temperament that made most around her wish she would return to slumber. Amir was the only one who listened to her though he knew not why. Even the city as a whole was quiet this day, which was not unusual. It was a day of leisure but not for merriment.

Noman grinned as he watched Xith lose his count for the second time and begin again. He busied himself watching those passing by on the street below the window even though they were few. His mind had not stopped, but it had slowed. There was something gnawing at his consciousness, but he didn’t know what it was.

Outside, the sun reached the high point in the sky; inside, a silence fell. Dinner was being served. Xith moved to the hall to relieve himself and to take a short walk, but something called for him to linger, and not to go, and so he was quick to return. He ate the food absently and then he joined Noman by the window.

Adrina did not let eating interrupt her storytelling, and as Amir still listened intently, she continued. Her dream had been frightful and all too real. She spoke of faces and voices, but most vivid was the image of a boy who spoke to her and bade her to follow him through his dreams. She had not wanted to follow, but at his insistence she had.

Hours passed, and towards evening most joined the innkeeper in his hall for the seventh-day feast, which was a very gracious one. Roasted fowl, goose, hen, and wild meat, were served, along with an abundance of fruits and vegetables that were taken from the inn’s storm stock. The inn was full, so the innkeeper did not mind, for there was still time to replenish them before the snows set in.

After the meal, singing followed, and spirits were raised. The innkeeper was delighted as the newcomers joined in the festivities, singing a simple chorus that they knew the words to well. As it turned out, it was a very popular song in these parts. It wasn’t until much later that they discovered that they had only recently met the songwriter: the wandering minstrel named Kelar.

Upstairs, Xith gave Noman a puzzled look, still not comprehending why Noman had allowed Adrina to go downstairs with the others. Noman let Xith wonder. He would, perhaps, offer him an explanation later; for now he would let him sulk. The meal they consumed was not as grand as the one the others had, but it sufficed.

A door closing behind them startled them, but they relaxed when they saw it was only Amir. He had returned early. His heart was not in singing this night, but he could still hear the voices from below. Amir joined Xith and Noman by the window, which Noman had returned to despite the darkness. Noman nodded to Amir; he had expected him to return before the others.

“Dark, isn’t it?” whispered Noman.

Xith didn’t reply. He didn’t think the question had been directed at him. Amir was slow to respond but a “yes” did pass his lips.

“It is as veiled as the window to your soul, perhaps,” added Noman. Noman closed his mind for a moment and with a flicker of thought, made easy by many long years of practice, he created a shadow, loosing it upon Amir. Amir did not react at all and the first blow caught him numbly, sending rage through his mind.

His sword was not close at hand and he had to struggle and tumble his way across the room, dodging blow after blow that only narrowly missed him. He took refuge beside a bed in the far corner of the room, searching frantically for the sheath that held his blade. He could not find it.

Amir was forced to face the creature that was formed in his own image, a shadow of himself. Many long days had passed since he had last practiced, and he had not been stretching his muscles properly. He fixed his blank eyes upon Noman, knowing a grin lay upon his face. With clenched fists he faced his opponent, who was not restricted in the way that he was.

The air shifted and Amir lunged low to the floor, just as the swish of a long blade sought to reach him. Caught in an unfair situation, Amir freed his only weapon, his mind. He still had speed and skill unmatched by most though his shadow also had these. His one true advantage was that it did not know what he thought now, and if he turned to the irrational solution, he might find victory.

Rage had been his first thought, and so he let it lead him on. It built and burned within him. He brought foot and fist to play, dodging, jabbing, and punching. The shadow’s blade was almost always only a heartbeat away. He followed the patterns of its movement, shifting in and out of its path. He heard each exhaling and inhaling of breath, his and those around him. The image in the center of his mind was himself, and this was what he must defeat.

He was shocked as the vision took on another form. He saw two. He had never fought two before. How could he win? He did not even have a sword to defend himself with. Amir stumbled over a chair, immediately kicking it out of his way. Pain stung him as he ducked and smashed into a table. His rage carried him on, and he picked it up and cast it across the room, where it fell to the floor in tattered shards.

“Out!” he bellowed at Xith and Noman, who stood silently watching, “Out!” Amir warily circled the room. He picked up a leg from the table only after a long pause. He sized up the foes on either side of him now. The shape of one was obscured and hazy in the window of his mind. While one had sword and shield, the other wielded razor sharp talons.

Noman waited at the door, watching intently, and he only offered Amir his sword after much consideration. “Go!” yelled Amir as the blade touched his palm. In that instant, he became a new man. His oafish blundering subsided, and his thoughts cleared. The wavering at the edges of his mind was now gone also. He stalked with skill, and guarded with expertise.

He turned to face the two, who were himself, and just before he launched himself at them, he smiled. The smile would have been short-lived if he had understood the true gravity of the situation. Because he did not, it lingered long upon his countenance. He successfully repelled a combined assault—a claw barely fingering the outline of his brow, and a trickle of blood beginning to flow.

Amir cast it off as sweat, which also poured down his face. He moved the hilt of his sword into his other palm, wiping the sweat from the former before switching it back. He defended with both hands upon the handle, cutting left before sweeping upward right. He watched the images shift in his mind, feeling the movements of feet and hands.

He played upon the weaker, the first, sending wave after wave of assault against it, only blocking against the second. He had decided that he must defeat one before the other, or else he would fail. He had never before failed a lesson. He did not think Noman would have unleashed two against him if he did not have a chance, and so he struggled on.

Frenzied attacks followed as he was pressed into the corner. A second blow caught him and its sting was icy cold upon him. He felt a shiver run up and down his spine, and the pain was real. A clawed hand lifted from his back as he sank to the floor, but it would take more than that to wrest the sword from his hand.

He lashed out wildly, laboring to move, and as he did so his edge connected. His heart jumped with glee. One was down, and now only one remained. He spun from the corner, bringing his blade full around. He was again too late in his reaction. A sting touched his shoulder, and his left arm fell limp at his side.

Pain woke his numbed senses, and it was then he realized that there were yet two shapes moving against him. A cry sought to come from his lips, but he stifled it. Again and again he tried to scream, but in vain. He turned his concentration on the image that was blurred in his thoughts. He launched full against it, neglecting the other, and oddly the other attacked no more.

Amir clenched his teeth against the turmoil building within. With only one arm, his weapon was still poised, and yet moved swiftly. His determination was such that it overpowered the numbness of his senses, and finally the creature’s true form was revealed to him. Its grip on him was gone. The spell was lifted.

He bargained for a close attack and pushed it this time to the corner, just as the door flew open. Xith and Noman entered, their faces ashen. “Out!” growled Amir, “This fight is mine!” He sliced out with his blade, catching its tip in the wall. It marked a deep two-foot long gouge. The creature turned and sought to flee from the corner, racing quickly towards Xith and Noman.

Amir chased it with his blade, sinking it in repeatedly. The anger within him was hungry and it drove him on. He noticed for the first time a shimmer of light fall with each blow that he dealt the creature, and now it turned to greet him, licking its fangs and hissing evilly as it groped out with its talons.

Reluctantly, Noman and Xith did as they were bidden and backed out the door, leaving Amir alone to the fight. In the hall behind them, others now joined. Adrina was the most visibly shaken. She tried to make her way into the room to stop the fight. “You don’t know what you do!” she cried.

Amir marked her words with a series of desperate attacks. He had been the one to entice her to its darkness, and though he had only seen the world these last few days through dreams, he still blamed himself. He had let his guard down and had failed in the watch, but he was not the only one upon whom the spell played.

He feinted back from a blow that would have struck him clean in the face. His blade met the outstretched arm well, and he severed it. Although it was a creature of magic, he still saw the image in his mind as he felled it. Holding his blade deftly, he swung, striking cleanly. He cleft the creature in half as it floundered in anguish. In a flash of searing white light, it blinked from existence, back to its master.

Amir was tired and nearly spent, but he did not stop. He stood his ground firmly as he pointed the tip of his sword towards those in the hall. “There is one more among us. Step forth, and I will send you quickly back to your hole. But if you delay, I will make your pain great and make you linger while I destroy you piece by piece, this I promise you!”

Only after Trailer lay dead on the floor by his own hand did Amir set aside his sword and succumb to fatigue. All his energy was spent. He was so tired that he wanted to close his eyes and drift off to a pleasant slumber. He wouldn’t let himself drift off though. Something told him not to, for he would not return from the place he went to. Noman turned to Amir with a heavy heart, tending his wounds with deep care.

Xith procured an ointment from his bags and applied it to the wounds. He hoped it would slow the festering of the creature’s touch and perhaps even prevent it. The commotion had stirred all the residents of the inn and even the innkeeper himself. A body upon the floor was a very disquieting sight and was a sign of ill fortune on this special day.

Newcomers to the scene assumed the fight had been between the two. The one lay still upon the floor, the color drained from his face, and the other cringed against the wall as his wounds were being mended. No one offered an explanation. They were all left to guess. A small sum of gold exchanged hands before the inn returned to normal.

“Our plans are known,” Xith whispered to Noman.

Noman nodded grimly.



“We can wait no more for Brother Teren’s return. We gave him until morning, no more. The storm still has not faded in its ferocity. We must try to fight it ourselves.” Father Jacob said those words in his mind yet not aloud. Others around him were thinking similar thoughts, but some understood better than most the need for speedy action.

They had sought out the center of the storm once and had been cast back. They all understood that the eye was upon them now. The nighttime hours had not been wasted in idleness; many plans had been drawn, discussed, worked, and re-worked. Morning had found them without the warmth of a fire. No new logs were sent for. They had decided, and though the decision had come after a long strenuous debate, they were going to stick to it.

Liyan explained in loose terms some of what he knew, but he did not reveal all. The key factor was that the enemy knew of their presence and that now they were prepared to resist, and nothing more. The members of the Brown were assembled beside Tsandra, and they were no longer afraid to free their will upon the land at its full.

During the hours of twilight and first light, the struggle was born. The will of the masses was gathering, sending back a force of its own. It was vigorous in the manner in which it gained speed and strength, but it was steadfast in one point: it must remain unseen, growing from a distance, just as the rage they were enduring had. Their opponents had had time, where they had little; however, nothing would hold them back now.

They still had one of two paths to follow. They could attack either the creators or the storm itself. They had not decided, and for now the simple fact that the choice lay ahead was enough. Seth acted best as the watcher. He moved and shifted his will across the sky in spurts, never delaying long in one place, but always watching and in this he proved to have abundant talent.

Liyan was the mediator, the voice between Seth and Tsandra. His was a consciously chosen tedious task, for in this capacity he could also keep Valam, Jacob and the others informed. The waiting was the most difficult thing he had to endure. He abided well for a time, but he eventually grew impatient and shuttled between conscious thought and the link. He was mostly concerned about the possibility of failure, and if they failed, what their next choice was.

Neither Captain Mikhal nor Danyel’ had delayed in their return to duties. Captain Mikhal returned to the affairs of the camp. As he was the leader, he had many things to attend to, chief among which was flood control and keeping the paths on the ridges open. The Seventh returned to his own, commanding a small detachment of scouts as they ventured north.

Most were unaware that morning arrived because the light in the sky remained the same. The strain of exhaustion from the many hours of work began to show. In the interim, between the still of night and the fullness of day, a counterforce was constructed, and now they moved it across the sky. It gained force as it ran, flowing fluidly upon the winds.

Seth guarded it as it moved, seeking out its course. His head swayed and bobbed. His eyes were tightly closed, but they saw many things. He floated beyond the clouds at the very edges of the air. Soaring upon the rivers and streams of the currents, Seth ran before their storm. He was its watchdog. And he waited.

Tsandra guided the forces around her as they flowed from her followers. She channeled it upward, and the power nearly carried away her soul. Her center was at its very peak, but still they needed to give more, much, much more. She linked outward, moving her thoughts to those around her, allowing them to channel the power with her. She formed a link that became an interconnecting network spreading out from her in a great spiral, and the strength of will began to flow greater than ever before.



With wonder in her eyes, Calyin followed her escorts, two large figures outfitted in thick mail and heavy weaponry, down the long corridor. She had often considered what it looked like, what avenues or halls lay past the small stretch she knew. As she walked, she counted the footfalls, knowing each turn in advance without looking.

As they drew away from the area she had been detained in, she began to note the crossings of the halls, always keeping a careful count in her mind. They walked at length without pausing until they came to a set of double doors where they halted. Only one of the guards proceeded through the door while the other remained with Calyin. There was a long wait before the other returned. When he did, it was clear that he was not pleased.

The march continued on, and just when it seemed they would never stop again, they did. Since their last pause, they had climbed four flights of steep, narrow stairs and walked down many halls that seemed almost to be without end, weaving in an ever upward, and perhaps inward, direction. Calyin wasn’t exactly sure of her whereabouts although the air did seem fresher, not acrid, as it had been before.

She was taken by surprise when the doors were opened before her to reveal a great chamber. Heels striking the polished floor sent vibrations resounding throughout the room. Calyin counted a full forty steps from door to center. During the time they crossed the room, her eyes had been busy. The sun shone in through high windows along the center of the ceiling. She thought it was beauty incarnate, an exhilarating sight after so long in a dimly lit place.

The hall was plain and simple in comparison to the iridescence of the sun falling through thick prismatic panels. The only thing of note was the granite throne, chiseled from the rock of the room and placed midway just off their present path. The throne was empty. They stood before it, waiting.

A door opened on the far side of the hall opposite the one they had entered. A woman with long, flowing ebony hair was ushered in without escort. A spark of hope caught Calyin for a moment, but it was soon to fade as the woman approached closer. Her hair was pulled up tight on one side, and her dress was of cloth conservatively designed. She crossed to the great chair but did not sit upon it.

Almost immediately after the woman touched her hand upon the stone, a trumpet sounded and a large group began filing in. They were arraigned in shining mail with bronze over-plates formed at the joints. While they were equipped with no manner of weapon, they appeared a very effective defensive force. They held feathered helmets in gloved hands, slightly shifting them from side to side as they walked.

A figure followed. He was without adornment, but Calyin knew in a glance that he was royalty. His gait was bold and led him straightforwardly to the chair although he did not sit. He waited.

A second figure emerged from the door at the rear of the hall. He wore a gray robe. His entourage was large and did not seem altogether friendly. This group stopped at a mark a few paces to the right of Calyin. She counted eleven of them.

Calyin watched as the minutes passed and new groups appeared and formed around her as if she watched some dance where she alone did not know the steps. Four lines now stood to her left, and the group to her right changed to five as she looked on. After a time she lost count of the footsteps and the number of persons present. And after a time, the room was full, save for a single seat, which was not yet unoccupied.

The dance had ended; however, Calyin still waited. The air that had until a short time ago been fresh and pleasant now reeked from the mass of bodies; there were too many for the room despite its size. Calyin soon grew weary of delays and her attention drifted back to the sunlight filtering from above.

Her gaze and her attention were fixed elsewhere when the final figure entered and took his seat. She had not seen or noticed the soldiers come to attention upon his arrival. She did not notice the cushion placed upon his seat or the drink poured from a golden vessel into a jeweled goblet. A man approached her with the drink and kneeled before her, but she had not seen that either.

“It is customary for the guest to drink. You must drink,” said the man in low tones. Calyin was slow to respond to the words, and she did not take the glass that was offered. She waved it away. “I wish nothing from a servant.”

“I am no servant, my lady. I am Prince Sy’dan Entreatte, second son of the lost kingdom. Please do not affront me in front of my people.”

“You call me a lady, yet you treated me no better than a common slave. What kind of a people are you? A simple gesture and all is forgotten? I do not think so.”

“Please keep your voice down. Do not despoil my honor. Drink, it is customary. Please, I beg of you, and I must make pardons for your ill treatment. I did not know. I will see that the rogue that treated harshly one so fair will pay.”

Calyin accepted the drink even though she knew the tongue that spoke softly to her was forked. She found no pleasure in its refreshment. Calyin looked contemptuously at the seated one. A chair was procured for her to sit upon though she refused. She bided her time. “What have you given me?” she asked, her voice weak.

Prince Sy’dan took the goblet from her hand before it could fall to the stones of the floor. When the drink began to take hold, she staggered backwards, uneasy on her feet, but still refusing to sit.

“I see you do not agree that we are gracious hosts. Have you ever been in the cells of your garrisons? They are not pleasant places, I can assure you. You were treated far better than I, far better than the High Lord of Shost. Yet now I welcome you to my hall and promise you that your lesson is learned. All things have a price and a penance.”

Calyin started to speak her mind but held her tongue. Prince Sy’dan indicated his gratitude with a small bow and a smile. Ashwar did not let the silence hold in the room long before he broke it. “I welcome you, Princess Adrina Alder, into my home. I am Belajl Entreatte, High Lord of Shost, returned from the Dark Fire. In a moment the potion you drank will let you see true.”

The name startled Calyin, causing her to look befuddled. She almost stated that she was Calyin Alder but again said nothing, turning her confused look to a smile. “What of my companion, where is she?”

“The others are quite safe for now, I promise you. No harm will come to them if you cooperate.”

“Others?” thought Calyin. She immediately wanted to ask to whom he referred. “What is it you wish of me?”

“Your secret of course.”

“Secret? I have no secrets.”

“Do you know the bounty that rests on your head? Which is wholly redeemable whether you are alive or dead, I might add.”

Calyin understood the “play your cards well” that was inferred. “Perhaps you should explain to me who it is that wants me and then I can tell you.”

The High Lord considered her sincerity for a time before responding. “I honestly do not know it in full, save that it is a king from a far off place and he wants you. For the sum, I do not care what he does to you.”

“If it is gold you want, I can offer you plenty.”

“My dear, it is more than mere coins, I assure you. Do you not know the full of it yet?”

Calyin puzzled on the word full; he had spoken it twice. Her head started to spin and suddenly she was dizzy. She was pushed into the chair beside her. She tried to focus but couldn’t. Everything was muddled. “I don’t feel well. May I rest?”

“Soon, very soon. You will rest. Yes, I can promise you lots of rest. I did not cooperate for nothing. Tell me, princess, what do you know of this stranger and why did he journey to Imtal?”

“I—I—don’t feel well. I must sleep—”

“Walk her around, you fool! You have given her too much! Hurry, or it will be you that takes her place!”

A soft voice whispered into Calyin’s ear. It sang pretty songs in a melodic tone, and its questions she answered. The sun was so beautiful coming through the window, so beautiful, thought Calyin. The voice promised to take her away if she would just pay attention and answer. She tried her best. She wanted to rest so very much. Darkness did eventually find and carry her off.

Chapter Six

Nijal’s search had carried the two through the night and now in the hour between day and night, his gait at last slowed. As luck or other fates would have it, he had found Awn and now they followed him. Awn and his companions led Nijal and Shchander to a place they did not know and unfortunately could not see, for they were blindfolded.

They had gone a great distance before they stopped and in the silence the two heard the echo of water falling, but it sounded odd and unlike the fall of raindrops against a rooftop. They were told to remove the blindfolds and for the first time they looked upon their surroundings. The questions that had been roaming through their thoughts were almost immediately answered.

They knew that at some point others had joined them. The faces were only now revealed. For several minutes they strained to hear a whispered conversation, and then they continued on. Shchander marked the corridors they crossed and moved along in his mind. The walls were odd-shaped, rough-hewn, perhaps carved from solid rock, or so he thought.

Nijal was troubling over completely different matters. He stayed close to Awn, trying to follow the flow of the conversation Awn was having with one of the newcomers. He couldn’t discern much from the muddled tones except that the other was unhappy with the current situation. Nijal thought he heard a name mentioned, or perhaps it was the name of the man Awn was speaking to, he wasn’t quite sure. It soon became very clear to him that Awn was very angry over something this man had done.

“We will be there soon, my friend. Do not worry,” said Awn becoming aware of Nijal’s closeness.

“Where are we? Are we still in the city?” asked Nijal.

“Of course we are in the city—quite so—indeed,” replied Awn, but Awn didn’t listen long enough for Nijal to ask him another question. Awn turned back to the man beside him, quickly returning to their discussion. Shchander pulled Nijal’s shirtsleeve to gain his attention and waved for Nijal to come closer to him.

Shchander whispered quietly into Nijal’s ear, “Well, what do you think?”

“What do I think about what?” replied Nijal.

“Shh! Not so loud. What do you think about these tunnels?”

“Tunnels? I hadn’t noticed really,” Nijal said, and he hadn’t until just now. Torches lit the path before and behind them, bracketed into the walls by thick iron spikes that were rusted with age. Dust swirled about their feet as they stepped, and the ceiling was hung with cobwebs. Nijal ran his right hand along the wall. Although its appearance was rough, it was smooth but riddled with pockmarks.

“What time do you think it is?” asked Nijal, whispering again.

“Growing well into a new day, I would imagine,” said Awn, “you needn’t whisper.”

Both Nijal and Shchander grew silent, feeling like children who had just been scolded for doing something they were not supposed to. “Relax,” added Awn, “you are with us now. No harm will befall you.” Shchander was still silent, but Nijal admitted he was more worried about his whereabouts than anything else at present.

“You are with us now—and as I said before, there is nothing for you to worry about.”

“How far have we walked? Where are we? The air is rather cool and damp.”

“The air from the sea is always a mixed blessing. It is cool and soothing most of the time, but often it is very damp.”

They came to a long gallery and here the group was forced to walk single-file. A long, hard look in the direction they had come revealed nothing. Their only source of illumination was the torches they now carried. The walls in this section were unadorned. The smell of sulfur permeated the air. Lofty glances to the ceiling only revealed darkness, as it was beyond the reach of the torchlight.

Oddly, Nijal had kept track of his steps here, losing the count at around five hundred strides, but the hall still stretched out before them and then was lost in the shadows. Just when Nijal thought their path would never end, light flowed through the tunnel from its terminus. It was like bursting into the bright sunshine of a new day, which it was, in fact.

Delicate rays poured into a room or chamber, as Nijal considered it for a moment. Then he decided that it was a grotto, a grand, tremendous grotto, for no other word seemed to capture what he saw. He couldn’t contain himself and he let out a cry. Its echo alarmed Shchander and the other, which they did not easily recover from.

The whole of the hollow was suddenly alive with people running about. Men charged the entrance with spears and swords, children scurried into hiding places, and careful, discerning eyes could notice sentries along the high places in the walls readying bows and arrows. And then all went blank, as if a hand had suddenly passed over the sun. Total darkness enshrouded all.

For an instant, Awn cast Nijal an angry glare. Then he announced his arrival and that of his companions. The gloom quickly lifted and most returned to what they were doing before the scare. Others turned to welcome the visitors without rebuke. The party was led swiftly through the maze of structures set about the place toward the farthest reaches of the far wall. The tempo was such that the two observers were not able to see much of what they passed, nor did they dare try for fear they would lose the way or their step. The site they came to was cramped and profusely crowded. Many long bench-style tables were crammed into the small space, filling it to capacity. It appeared to be a meeting area of sorts, also serving perhaps as the dining hall as food smells hung in the air.

The hosts wasted little time explaining their plans to their guests, speaking of nothing else, even when pushed in other directions. They did not care to speak of themselves or their people. This was not the business of outsiders. Both Nijal and Shchander were quick to understand that it was not luck that had brought the two groups together but a result of deliberate planning.

The two were introduced to many new faces, most of whose names they quickly forgot as face after face began to run together. They were alone now, save for Awn, after a very trying debate and discussion. They had found that the glint of gold was the primary objective of their new friends, which was not surprising considering the impoverished state in which the people lived. Nijal soon understood why his fellows reverently referred to Awn as the Prince of Tongues and the Grandmaster of Thieves.

“You are in grave danger,” Awn told them. “Any ship you manage to hire will be full of cutthroats, brigands, and—”

“Thieves?” interrupted Nijal.

“You speak of things you do not understand, friend Nijal. The guild serves the people. Were there no need, there would be no guild.” Nijal tried to speak. Awn cut him off. “Listen and listen well, my friend. There are no honorable sea captains left in Krepost’. The honorable few and their crews set sail from here many long months past.”

“Why should I trust you?” Nijal asked. It was a thing that had been on the tip of his tongue for some time.

Awn stood, removed his leather jerkin and then his long-sleeved shirt. Nijal’s eyes lit up. A single massive tattoo flowed across Awn’s biceps, shoulders, and back. It was the kind of tattoo he had seen on many of the older men in his father’s service. The kind of tattoo that marked Awn as a blademaster for hire and told the story of his battles. “I am a free man and will die as such,” Awn said, his voice strong and his eyes directed at Nijal. Nijal and Shchander both returned the words, speaking the free man’s code proudly.

“The Bandit War, you were there?” asked Nijal.

Awn nodded. “At the start of it, I was but a boy in my father’s service. By the end of it, I was sure I wanted no part of it. You are the spitting image of your father, you know.”

“My father? Then this isn’t—”

“No, it isn’t.” Awn gestured to four men who stood suddenly closer than Nijal and Shchander were comfortable with. The four grabbed and held the two. “Don’t struggle. They mean you no harm. I do only what I must to protect you.”

Nijal was pushed from behind and held down. He screamed as something white hot was pressed into the small space behind his left ear. When the strong hands relaxed, he came out swinging wildly only to find empty air as the men who had held him stepped away into the shadows. Awn’s hand on his shoulder calmed him somewhat. “What have you done to me?”

“When next you see your father, tell his lordship that Feghan of the Wall has repaid the debt owed,” so saying, Awn snapped his fingers and blindfolds were returned to Nijal and Shchander’s eyes. “We will return you now to yours. When the time comes, show the coin and the mark, and you will be spared.”



At once, Teren perceived the somber mood; it mirrored his own. His own heart was heavy, though not with failure. He knew why the plan had fizzled and the reason was moving ever closer. An enormous host, a vast and powerful horde, swept towards them. Teren alone knew their hopes and desires, which he did not have to look into their hearts to find. Despite the rain’s torment, the slickness of the ground, and the improbability of the move, the forum came to the hard decision to evacuate the camp before they were swept into the sea and before the enemy came to their door.

If a battle were to find them, they wanted to have the upper hand and not the reverse. They had endured too much and trained too long to fail so miserably. The snow on the plains, though thick, would not be altogether inhospitable. Tents were left where they stood. Only stores that could be readily carried out by hand or packed onto horses were taken. Even the ships were left in the harbor and those on board were to remain there until the waters calmed.

Stakes and poles were driven deeply and firmly into the ground along the paths leading out of the low areas. Ropes were strung along them to ease the way and provide extra support. Men waited with teams of horses to pull burdened animals along the inclines. Those leaving the camp may have appeared disgruntled, wet and muddied, but they were not disheartened. They would endure. It took a considerable feat of stamina and endurance to command the movement of thousands, but Valam shouldered the burden. Thick columns spread out in row after row, forming many different groups. Some walked, others rode, but all moved onward.



Ansh Brodst trembled with joy as he undressed. He did not waste any time in putting on the new pants, overshirt and fine leather boots. The boots were several sizes too big for him, but after he had removed and stuffed them, they felt very good. Footsteps startled him and he stopped, pulling the body that lay on the ground near him further into the recesses.

He snatched up the helmet and placed it on his head, running awkwardly in the mailed shirt, but he made it to his destination before the other approached. He bade the other to proceed before him, and he followed at a close distance. The harsh clank of a door behind him calmed his nerves, but then a sudden voice behind him sent shivers through him again. He stopped as ordered and waited.

“You two off to the armory. That uniform will not do, and you, captain, are late!” The last part had not been directed at Brodst, but for an instant he almost responded. Without calling undue attention to himself, Brodst carefully scanned each crossing they came to, listening intently if the moment allowed. Thankfully, the one before him was in a hurry and wasn’t paying close attention.

Captain Brodst considered ducking into one of the crossing passageways and disappearing along it, but he discarded the thought. Something told him to continue. He was sure the armory lay somewhere just ahead.

A commotion down one of the hallways caused him to slow down. He turned and peered down the hall but found nothing. The voices came from a room or path he could not see, and he did not waste any time checking it further before he continued on. The armory had been just ahead behind the sleeping quarters, but Brodst did not make it that far before he was called out.

“You, there, halt at once!” bellowed a high-pitched voice.

Captain Brodst froze solid. He turned around wearing the expression of one caught, and it was very fortunate that his face was hidden beneath the helmet. His expression would have given him away. Instinct told him to stand at attention, and he did this quickly without a second thought. He did not speak, but rather he waited.

“Just where do you think you are going? I bet I know, you sniveling worm,” barked the other as Captain Brodst’s heart pumped wildly, and the veins along his neck and temples pulsed. “You are a lazy good-for-nothing oaf! A laggard. Several hours of standing at attention will cure you of the wish to sleep when duties are at hand.”

Captain Brodst thought about pleading otherwise, but he dared not speak a word. Standing at attention would not be as severe a punishment as getting caught. He flexed his arms, bringing his hand tighter against his legs. Over and over in his mind he repeated a little prayer, a simple plea.

“That is right; do not move until I tell you to move,” roared the voice. Brodst eyed the man, but not too closely. He was scrawny from head to toe, thin and pale, and very young. “Get this man a cloak. You are lucky you—I do not have time to chastise you properly, but I will mark you in my mind. Do not think I have forgotten you and do not leave my sight until I dismiss you, because I will find you again. Quickly, now, tie this cloak about your neck! I need a tenth man! Move, move, move!”

Brodst heard the man laughing at him as he took his place in the file. His body shook convulsively, but not from fear of reprisal. “Thank you,” he whispered in his thoughts, as relief spread over him. As the squad began to move, he unfortunately closed his eyes to take a deep breath. He ground his teeth together as he was kicked into movement, vowing he would repay this little wretch if he ever got the chance.

Soon he found himself one of many in an enormous hall filled from end to end. He was all the way in the rear against the wall, but he still had a clear view. He could almost see the entire gathering; only the center was blocked from his view. The air was hot and stuffy around him. He was sweating profusely, but he still did not remove his helmet. He looked about, calmed by the fact that others also wore theirs.

The shuffling of feet died out, and a firm voice took its place. He listened to the message, not understanding at first, but a name sparked his interest and nearly caused him to fall. He had locked his knees and as he shifted backwards, he lost his balance. He attempted to relax. He knew better than to lock his knees when at attention. A different voice, soft and fair, took him by complete surprise, and he did fall.

“Remove your helmet, you fool!” whispered several voices to him. Many others just called him a fool, and pushed him back up to his feet. He shed the helmet as he was advised. Streams of sweat ran down his face, which was beet red. He searched to the left and right of him to see if anyone took particular interest in him. It did not seem that anyone did, but a voice saying, “Eyes front” told him that someone was, indeed, watching him.

“This is it,” he told himself, as he waited and listened. He began to look for a way out, any way out. He cursed himself for being foolish. He could have ducked down any of a handful of corridors, but he had not. He was stuck in a no-win situation. He heard the yelling and screams. He wanted to run forward with all his heart and be with her to comfort her. “Damn it!” he cursed as he sprang forward.

His eyes were wide with terror as he came to stand in the midst of the host. He had Calyin by the hand and didn’t know what to do. Many frenzied thoughts swam through his mind, any one of which he could have taken and would have if the voice had not commanded him to do otherwise. “Walk her around you fool!” it had said, and he did.

He walked her around in small, close circles, whispering into her ear. Her words made him sink his head low, as she was coerced to tell all the other wanted to hear. Tears mixed in with the sweat pouring from his face, and fortunately mingled with them unseen. His heart was pounding so loud that he thought everyone around him could hear it, and then suddenly it was over. She was being taken from him, and he followed.



A small group of three talked long into the night and when morning arrived, they were fully awake. Their minds had been asleep for so long that it was wondrous suddenly to find full cognizant thought. Amir’s face still flowed with anger. Xith and Noman were calmer but were also unsettled. They had been caught unaware and did not know how long the shadows had walked among them. They wondered what secrets the shadows had told their masters and what damage had been done to them that could not be repaired.

As daylight came, they turned to other thoughts. Breakfast came first, and then the three walked to the small inn where Two Hands should be waiting for them. The city was peculiar to Amir’s perceptions; he knew he had walked its streets in the recent past from the hazy images in his mind. Although he recalled some of its avenues and turnings from the past, he still found himself noting with remark some of its structures.

The market was open and in full operation already, and as it was an alternate, though rather circuitous, route to their destination, they opted to pass through it. Xith purchased a few baubles at Noman’s recommendation and a rough hide pouch, which he filled with his purchases. Amir drew the attention of many passers-by due to his size. Noman had brought him along specifically for this purpose. This day he wanted to be marked.

The three reached the inn shortly before lunch as Noman had deliberately slackened their pace. They ordered a full lunch from the innkeeper and ale for all. They ate, savoring each bite and sip, waiting for a robust figure to approach them. After a time it did, accompanied by two others. Without a word or nod of acknowledgment, Xith untied a small purse from his belt and tossed it. It fell with a hefty clank onto the table beside them.

As Two Hands reached for the bag, Noman raised his hand, warning him away from it, saying, “We would have your decision first, Master Two Hands. What is it?” Noman smiled when he saw the other nervously rubbing his fingers together as he began to talk.

“We have, or rather I, have decided that it is not in our best interest to undertake this endeavor—”

“Then why did you wish this?” asked Amir snatching the bag from the table.

Two Hands seemed to shrivel as he hunched over, smiling. Amir undid the drawstrings of the pouch and spilled its contents. Ten many-faceted jewels rolled across the table. Even the dim light in the hall marvelously reflected their fiery red. Noman picked one of the gems up, holding it up to the light between his thumb and forefinger. He shook his head back and forth as he returned them to the bag.

Noman held onto the last one, still waving his head. “Such a pity,” he said offering it into a waiting sweaty palm, “Do not hold it long lest its weight corrupt your desires.”

“This alone is worth the sum I asked for. Would you give them all to me?”

“You would require a king’s ransom for a few days’ work. Don’t be hasty. For the sum, I would require your personal services, but there is, of course, a catch, and it is not that I do not trust you, but I will give you the remainder only at our destination, nowhere else.”

“How can I be sure you won’t play any tricks on me?”

“The same could be asked of you, my friend. Do we have a deal?”

The shipwright rose up to his full height, perhaps considering the words or perhaps considering the weight of the gem still tucked in his palm. For a lengthy span his eyes were withdrawn and unfocused, and in his hand he played with the new trinket. “I have been out of the winds for some time; you could do better with a different lot, but I think you have made a fair choice in choosing me. My ships are strong and true as are my captains. I warn you now, the seas will be rough and there can be no turning back or all is lost. We must make haste; we shall leave with the first allowable tides. Do not delay in gathering your company and return at once! I shall take you all the way to Taliltan. Passing the storm season there will be refreshing! Krepost’ must await me until the seasons change!”

Noman carried the biggest smile of the three as they departed the inn and as an afterthought he returned the pouch to Xith. He almost felt bad for what he had done, but he was also thankful. Two Hands had not snatched up a different gem from the table before he had offered him the one. He even whistled a short, sweet tune as they walked back, moving through its notes several times.



Thick tufts of snow were thrown high into the air as two files of horsemen trotted across the plains. Dampness made the snow cling to all it touched. Danyel’, who normally rode at the fore, was now at the rear of the group. His eyes were cast upward and searching.

Radiant shafts of light pierced the outer boundaries of the dark cloud cover overhead. The group stopped for a time to brush bunches of ice from their clothing and from the horses’ hides. Danyel’ split the group into two, sending one section to the immediate north and directing the other to the west. It was during this time that a figure making directly for the gray of the storm slipped past them unseen.

Danyel’ knew this section of the plains very well, as he had scoured it for its every hidden recess down to the last. He mentally marked the stretch of land; the boundaries of it formed a line along the route the others had taken west, where their excursion carried them. They now held to a gently sloping northwesterly route, going toward the foot of the mountains.

A river flowed here, cutting a wide vein into the heart of the mighty range of stone. Danyel’ paused again, waiting for the first party to catch up. As he disliked idleness, he set to work rubbing his horse’s legs down. He did not want the mixture of cold and wet to bite into the beast’s muscles. It also kept him busy and gave him time to think, as mundane chores often do.

When the force became whole again, they began to follow the river’s path inward. As commander, Danyel’ was at the front. His eyes were downcast now, searching for different clues this time; however, the gust of winds against the snow revealed little.

Once inside the canopy of the rock, the air became warmer and the snow’s depth lessened. All along their path, narrow canyons reached back into hidden recesses, but they held to the river. There was a clear path cut along it beneath the snow, which was obvious to their experienced eyes.

The file had become single now and stretched out a fair distance. A sense of foreboding told Danyel’ to proceed warily, and he did. Every now and then, he sent one or two of the men to search any small tracks he found, but so far no fresh trails had been spotted. His eyes began to probe among the rocks almost as often as they turned toward the ground or the path ahead.

His exploration carried him deeper than he had dared to venture before. He brought everyone to a halt for a time, but after a short wait they continued on. The day was young, he told himself, or wanted to believe. The file was narrowed again as they began. Danyel’ found himself in the middle as the path narrowed, running tight between a steep cliff wall and the river’s edge.

The water ran swiftly here and was capped with white swirls in many places. As an afterthought, after seeing a shallow recess in the rock, he instructed two riders to remain there until his return. Although his mind was troubled, he proceeded. The sun was out and its warmth touched his face, driving away his earlier dark thoughts. It was deep among the shadows of a grotto, and also deep along their path, that a discerning eye noted the remnants of what perhaps was once a footpath that was now overgrown due to disuse.

The captain set additional sentries at the fore of the overhanging rock wall and proceeded on foot with several of his fellows into the recesses of the hollow. They walked through the shadows of the rock and a short space later emerged into the fullness of day. The river ran quietly just out of sight, funneling down a cavity in the stones. The waters had split, turning both northeast and northwest.

Captain Mikhal’s curiosity was not satisfied as he continued on, this time along the river’s edge. But for now he turned his thoughts away from it to more pressing concerns. The day was half gone; a time for decision was upon him and afterwards Mikhal commanded his men to return east. The ride out was not as slow as the careful, watchful pace they had taken inward, and quickly they found themselves looking upon the plains from the foot of the mountains.

A short respite and light meal did little to erase the captain’s concerns. He had been quite sure this would be the pass the others used. The river forged a profound trail and it was mostly level, providing a firm surface for sure footing. He knew of two other passes along the range, but they were narrow, steep, and treacherous. He knew of another far to the north, where the mountains shifted east. Teren had taken him there once, and if he recalled correctly it was many days’ travel away. They had no time for such a journey, so he decided to continue towards the coast.

He was sure that evening would find them back in camp with nothing special to report. His fears were finally put to rest. He had promised Valam his riders would return this day, and he meant to keep the oath. The afternoon air held a chill as it swept across the frozen lands, and cloaks that had been worn loosely with hoods tossed back were now drawn tight.

Reins were pulled tight, hearts were pounding, and thoughts were suddenly churning as riders appeared from the north. They were pushing their mounts hard, racing them with all the speed the animals could manage. Their numbers were such that even across the snow-covered ground, the muffled sound of hooves rolled across the plains.

Captain Mikhal turned a complete circle as he watched, unsure which way to go or whether to flee. Should they wait in the safety of the pass until the others passed hoping they had not already been discovered, or did they run east, or did they face-off and charge? He made a rough estimate of the numbers against his own and without delay he dispatched two of the fastest riders east.

His face turned stoic and poised as he circled a second time. He was very sure they had been spotted and were the object of the charge. He would give them something to concern themselves over other than the two that fled. He did not have to speak a word or break the patient silence for his fellows also to react. Many of them had served under the captain long enough to read the signs upon his face. They charged, spreading out in a single wide column, and while Captain Mikhal led them, they followed not because they had to, but because they wanted to.

Chapter Seven

The gentle baying of the ship soothed Adrina in her dreams and carried her through them. She awoke clutching her feather pillow with both hands. It was her constant companion in her sleep, accompanying her to the world of her dreams. The place where he lived and breathed and talked to her. In her eyes he was yet a hatchling, though she knew he was not. A loud noise caused her to stir, though only momentarily. She was quick to roll over, touching a hand to her belly. She whispered quietly to herself, telling Tnavres, the dragon that slept within her, to calm himself.

Nijal watched her sleeping form as he had been instructed, with contempt for her in his thoughts. He was losing sight of the urgency and the purpose of the endeavor towards which they charged. He was also still sulking and had been sulking for a considerable amount of time. He had been thoroughly berated by both Xith and Noman, and not only once. Xith still brooded over the matter himself.

Nijal turned a glum stare at Shchander, who had also been sentenced to maintain the watch over Adrina. Shchander returned a wry look, saying he was enjoying the idleness just as much as Nijal was. Although being confined below deck to remain with Adrina during the day had not been meant as a punishment, the two saw it as such. Shchander was also upset because he had parted with the last of his gold on Nijal’s advice, as had Nijal. The two were quite penniless now, having even advanced the few bits of wealth they normally maintained on their persons at all times, a golden belt buckle which had been a gift, a silver blade which, although it had no edge, was somewhat of a family heirloom, a polished stone that Nijal had kept for luck, and a small gem fixed within a locket.

Shchander was also troubled and saddened over Trailer’s death. He had been a good man and a valuable companion. The dark tidings could not be ignored. Noman had explained many things about the happenings, which Noman himself said he had also only begun to comprehend. How much did those that sought them out know now, he wondered, and how much would it cost them in the end?

Nijal couldn’t take the silence anymore and the bottled-up energy within him was about to burst. He had to do something. For a time, pacing back and forth in long strides appeased him, but the pleasure was short-lived. “All right! All right!” he exclaimed “I am sorry about the damned pendant! I promise I will buy it back for you, no matter the cost!”

His bellowing was so vocal that it woke Adrina, and she opened sleep-filled eyes to the dim light of the cabin. She listened to the two argue for a time, thinking it was quite comical. Thoughts of her dreams were far behind her. She was hungry. The galley was fairly well stocked and so her meal was hearty.

Nijal was delighted when Adrina wanted to take a stroll above decks. Pleasant seas would not last long; very soon they would be beyond the safety of Statter’s Bay, and rough waters lay ahead. The night drew in as they watched with the wind in their hair. The sun cast golden hues along the waters and in the sky. Xith had also been above decks. He marked the skies in his mind, for he feared he would not see them again for some time.

The early hours of the second day did, indeed, find them in open waters. They appeared unruly at first after the calm of the Statter, but the captain promised that they were nothing compared to what was ahead. By the third day, seasickness abounded even in the strong of stomach. The winds they met were powerful and direct from the north.

Amidst the torment of the seas, Xith felt safer than he should. He even touched a wisp of energy to the tips of his fingers. It seemed so long since he had been in the dark city, Tsitadel na Magiyu, the fortress of magic, home of the Priests of the Dark Flame. He procured a wooden walking stick that had been carefully wrapped in thick cloths. He remembered the fellow he had taken it from, the small flame emblazoned just above the heart. He loosened his tunic and scratched his right shoulder, fingering the outline of an old scar.

The eve of the fifth day found them in gale-force winds. The ship was almost floundering, but it held above the water line. Two Hands had been below decks with them for two days. Only the captain and his sailors dared to venture above decks now. Xith had been coaxed into a game of King’s Mate, which had been the main object of intrigue for the better part of the day.

Adrina stayed tucked away in her small cabin, though now Amir sat with her. She yearned to run the halls of the palace in her bare feet as she had done not long ago. A feeling of joy flowed to her, and she returned it. Reluctantly she stretched out onto the bed and fell asleep as she tried to fight her weariness.

A squall blew in and the wildness of the sea became unsettling even to Two Hands. His face was ashen, and perspiration streamed from his forehead. The ship bobbed to and fro in sweeping arcs, sending everything not nailed down crashing about. By morning, water had found its way into the bowels of the ship, standing several inches deep in most places, and whether it was from leaks in the hull or from the overhead seals no one knew, but either way it was a matter for grave concern. Taliltan seemed farther and farther away, even as it theoretically drew nearer.

Eight days out, lookouts spotted the Stone Mountains. This was grim news, as it meant they were days behind schedule. The seas ahead appeared even worse than those behind. Two Hands knew these waters well. He had been a captain for years before he had purchased his own ships. And he was the most frightened of all. The storms were undeniably upon them, and they were too far out to turn back for Krepost’. High cliffs and scarce inlets prohibited them from finding a landing place within many days of their position. Continuing north was their only choice, and they opted for it.

All free hands turned to bailing water, basically a futile effort since the water quickly returned, but it occupied time and prevented a complete flooding. Their supplies were the first tragedy of the flooding. Food was despoiled and water became contaminated by the salt. The end of the second week found them without rations of any kind. Rainwater was gathered to sustain them, although it provided no real nourishment.

Noxious odors of mold, mildew, and decay began to overcome them. Sleep was difficult and managed only when one reached the very edge of exhaustion. There was no way to get rid of the dampness. Clothes constantly wet against the skin began chafing and causing sores. Beds were wet and soggy, as were blankets. The only source of warmth was the press of bodies into a small space.

Above decks things were worse. High seas and strong winds prevailed. Waves continually washed over the decks. If the rain was not a heavy, unrelenting downpour, then it was a light, irritating drizzle. The mainsail had torn twice now and been repaired at a high cost. One man had lost his life saving the sail, and another had been injured. The rear mast was cracked and most of the forward jib sails were damaged beyond repair.

As seas permitted, the captain fought to keep the sails raised, but the weather was not as gracious as he would have hoped for. Squalls blew in suddenly and were slow to dissipate. The demise of two more sailors prompted him to ask for volunteers to replace those lost. The crew had been light to begin with. Now with three gone and several injured, there was little hope without additional manpower.

Two Hands had not ventured above deck since the storms had hit, as Noman had surmised. He had grown too fond of wealth and too fat. Although Noman believed that Two Hands had at one time been strong and fearless, this was not the case now. Noman was glad the others were not cowards. Shchander had proven the bravest of them all. He had elected to act as the lookout when seas permitted. Four times he had climbed to the precipice on top of the center mast with little to show for his bravado save that he was still alive.

Mutiny was avoided only by the graces of the Great Father and perhaps due in large part to a certain mark upon two fellows of the strange company. The hope of reaching Taliltan safely faded, so the ship turned toward the coast. The intention was to find an inlet where the ship could be moored safely. A high rock wall along a serpentine coast was all they found. Unsure how far they had come or an approximate distance back to a safe point, they pressed on, still keeping a close but lengthy distance from the rock line, as was necessary to maneuver in the changing gales.

A miracle happened the eve of the next day when the rear mast snapped in heavy seas. In a desperate attempt to turn the ship about before it capsized, the captain mistakenly turned inland instead of towards open waters. A rock prominence leaped out at them like a great tongue. Settled atop its summit was a white tower, and while its light was extinguished, it was distinct enough against the black backdrop to be discerned. An elongated channel led to the mouth of a canal leading into a small harbor, which was nestled amidst a set of rolling, lowland hills. In a westerly course cutting through the tallest of them was a road. The city of Taliltan was tucked just out of reach beyond the crest and trough of those two hills.

Their stay lasted only long enough for recuperation. The road north was an arduous one, so they didn’t delay. All felt the sense of urgency now—the destination seemed so close but just out of their grasp. They also had to make a quick escape before Two Hands discovered their ploy. Noman took hefty pains to stall payment until they were almost ready to leave the city, making sure he had a full complement of horses ready to go at any hour.

The time came quickly enough on its own. Noman only hoped he could maintain the illusion long enough to slip out of town. Now that he had had plenty of time to consider his deed, he honestly felt bad for swindling the old shipwright. The bargain had been kept, after all. They made a hasty departure after payment, nonetheless, without giving it much further thought. It had been a necessity.

Chapter Eight

Two frantic riders raced southward, paying little heed to the sky overhead as they approached the coast; and when they came upon the army amassed there, they did not stop. They drove on until they came to Prince Valam, who rode proud and tall even though his clothes were soaked and his snarled hair still dripping. The two conveyed their message just short of the onslaught, but fortunately the chase had staggered the wave of attackers with the fastest riders reeling in, hovering just short of advancing, waiting for their comrades to catch up. The men and those of Seth’s kind had waited too long for a contest and even the weariness of their spirits did not slow their retaliation as King Mark’s army swept in from the distance.

The chill was cast off as the kingdomers and East Reach elves advanced in column formation. Their only advantage was the fact that they had formed up just a short time ago and were preparing to move out again when the two scouts had returned. Those with swords were quick to ready them. They made the first push, and they cut a deep gouge into the midst of the oncomers. Spears were raised in the wave following the swordsmen. Bows were rapidly notched with arrows as the archers spread out in a wide circle and fell to the rear.

Chaos spread as spirits soared. The columns were all mixed; soldiers charged en masse. Many were toppled by their eagerness and then trampled by their own mounts. The first voice raised above the confusion of the field was Ylsa’s. Her words were commanding and dominated. Her section rallied around her. Pavil was next to gain control of his men as the two sides faced off, seeming to pause for a moment while both adjusted.

Willam would gain the name Willam the Black this day, both for the color of his eyes and for the scowl upon his lips as he charged his lancers and pikemen into the heart of King Mark’s riders. His charge ended the lull and it would not return for a long time to come. The first thoughtless advance had cost them dearly. As a whole they had far fewer on horseback than the others. Willam sent his lancers forth wisely, advising them not to get mixed too deeply in the midst of the enemy, but pikemen on foot were also of great use against riders and he sent them to form a shield wall against an enemy push.

Valam surveyed the field of battle from a distance, careful not to be in range of enemy arrows, which dropped in great barrages. Seth rode beside him. Together they studied the turmoil, searching for the weak points in defenses and bolstering them as the need arose. They looked for the enemy commanders, who, unlike their counterparts, were maintaining a great distance from the melee. For the most part, Valam’s lieutenants were acting on their own.

Tsandra waited beside Liyan. Her riders offered their mounts to others who needed them more desperately than they did. Their fight would be much different from the others. It would not be fought with blades or arrows or hands. It would be carried upon the wind, pulled from the forces of nature around them, and unleashed upon their opponents, who, like them, gathered, waiting.

The bows of Ylsa’s forces were raised, waiting. She followed with precise timing, slowing the advance down, then ordering the archers to drop back and cover the flanks. She was also waiting on arrows, which were spread out amongst the supplies. She ensured that the volleys were directed only at thick clumps along the front and rear lines, trapping the forces in the middle.

The only one who watched without action or contemplation was Teren. Anger marked his face; this was the exact scenario he had wanted to avoid, and they had almost made a clean escape. Evgej was beside him, his sword drawn and his horse prancing eagerly to join the fray; and so he did, joining a charge of Eran’s long swordsmen.

Dark shadows spread across the land. Many thought the rains were returning, but it was the night arriving. The day was coming to an end. A shield barrier was finally raised in front of the pikemen. The siege was full at hand from both sides. The enemy seemed to stream toward the battle in ceaseless droves drifting down from the North.

S’tryil guided the only force that was entirely on horseback and his men were seemingly tireless in their assaults. He managed to keep a large portion of his men out of the direct melee, dancing in and out of a tower shield wall erected especially for them by Eran. The barrier proved an extremely efficient defense against the enemy’s retaliatory attacks.

Only one group had not engaged in the combat yet, and they were beginning to thirst for a taste of the struggle. Redcliff had to remind them quite often that they were affording a defense for now and must wait. In truth, they were doing much more than just waiting, they were also creating order among the soaring numbers of injured, the jumble of bodies, and the supplies.

The full depths of night found them under a starless, moonless, overcast sky. The fighting broke off and a shield wall encircled the forces as best as could be managed. The lash of arrows shooting into the darkness, however, did not stop. Small raids were led against the other camp regularly, which proved to be a good countermeasure to the enemy’s sporadic attacks.

A death toll was taken, and it along with the injured and the missing was high. Valam thought it eerie to see the Brown slink off into the shadows of the night one by one, never to return. Distant cries from the enemy camp told of their effectiveness. Tsandra felt his watchful eyes peering towards her and whispered carefully only to his mind her thoughts. “It is neither odd nor unusual. If your Lieutenant Danyel’ were here, his men would have done the same, except our measures are much more effective.”

She moved closer to him, touching his hand to reassure herself it was him she perceived in the darkness. Valam whispered back to her quietly, but she told him not to use words, only thoughts. “Will they not do the same?”

“Yes, they will. All the more need for ours to move faster. These clouds are not here by chance but rather by mutual agreement.”

“Mutual agreement, what do you mean?”

“This is not your concern. Set your thoughts on different goals.”

“Can you tell how many of them there are?”

“Yes, I can, as can they.”

“Why have they come so soon?” he thought to himself, whispering after a moment, “too soon.” His thoughts drifted back to the first time he had listened to Tsandra tell him to think thoughts to himself. For an instant, his mood became light as the thought of her asking if he could eat and think at the same time crossed his mind. The moment was, however, fleeting, and for another hurried moment another’s face came to the window of his thoughts. The face was fair and beautiful, the image crystalline.

“She would want to see you too,” confided Tsandra. She sadly turned away from him back to her own concerns, disappearing from his side. Valam felt a sudden coldness next to him as her warmth left his side. The night proceeded, with no one actually sleeping or resting.

A large push caused a sudden panic and anyone who had been sleeping or near to it was fully awake now. Liyan, Seth and Valam had come together to muddle over plans. The lieutenants also joined them, telling of their losses, supplies needed, questions about the care of the wounded, and also offering good insight toward plans of attack and defense. The night would not find day without several silent assaults.

In the confusion of battle no one had noted Captain Mikhal’s absence, but now the search was on about the camp for his whereabouts. A few shielded lanterns were also raised to aid the search. The first and most obvious place to begin was among the jumble of dead, but his body was not there, nor was it among the injured. Quiet probes went out to the field but had no luck.

With the dead of night came the chilling cold of the winds across the plains. Spirits fell to a new low for a time after a large raiding party went out and none returned; gentle cries in the night were all that were heard of the last moments of their fellows’ lives. Later rumors from scouts that the enemy was withdrawing proved to be false, but hopes were renewed.

Seth carried his thoughts across the winds into King Mark’s camp. He had been carefully guiding it and allowing it to build up momentum for hours now. As it returned, he could hear their whispers and see their movements. Scattered as if ants across the plains he saw shadows moving and he knew their sources. He knew Tsandra was now out there someplace among those shadows.



Captain Brodst saw Lord Serant being brought before the king just as he exited the chamber, but he could do nothing to help the other. He was caught in his own dilemma, from which he saw no apparent escape. He walked beside Calyin, calming her with murmured whispers. On the other side of her stood another and the two walked to a place the captain had not seen before.

Brodst was thinking quickly and wildly. He had only made it past the king by sheer luck and nothing else. The way he figured it, he had already strained the limits of his luck for a good, long time. Soon, though, they were alone; but before Brodst could think of a plan of action, they came to a sealed door. Two guards stood on either side of it, and one held the key.

A hand sign of sorts was passed back and forth before the door was unlocked. The barred door clanged closed behind them as they walked down a darkened corridor with a series of open doors. As they stopped in front of a second closed door with no others in sight, Captain Brodst began to make his move. He let Calyin fall to the ground and swung around behind the other, reaching up for the throat.

He stopped only an instant before he connected. The other had pushed open the door, and it revealed an empty cell. The other captives were nowhere to be found. “Damn!” cursed Brodst. Moments later, he was lying face first against the cold floor. He remained there still and quiet.

After depositing Calyin into the cell, the other turned around, chuckling at Brodst. “You fool, get up,” he laughed. “That’ll cost you. Ale on you this evening. Wait a second. What sector are you from? I’ve never seen you before.”

Captain Brodst stammered a reply, settling for a shrug of the shoulders as he stood. His mind grew crazed now as the man stared at him trying to attach a name to the face. Brodst clenched his fist tightly, an instant away from lunging, watching the other’s eyes closely.

The man started to shout, “You are—” but Brodst snuffed the words from his lips with a hefty blow to the face, “Kyail—.”

Desperately, Brodst dragged the man into the cell with Calyin. He sat down between the two still forms, glaring at the door at the far end of the hall. It was just out of his line of sight, but he knew it was there, and he waited for it to open, praying hard that it wouldn’t. Hand to face, gnawing on the inside of his palm, he sat engrossed in thought. Agitation was etched into his countenance as minute after minute slipped by.

He searched the man, stripping him of his blade and his belt. As he waited, to his dismay, he found a full bucket of water and a plate of bread. He bit his lip twice devouring the food, gulping down the water as quietly as he could. When he had finished, by his judgment at least, it was time to act before suspicions arose.

Calyin began to giggle. At first it was low, scarcely audible, but then it began to rise to a howling scream. Brodst quickly covered her mouth. “Shh! Quiet down!” he cried. A call from the opposite end of the hall frightened him.

“I—we’re alright, just delayed.”

“We have orders that she is not to be molested. Come out at once!”

“Molested?” Captain Brodst was repulsed by the idea, “Um, she fell down. I thought she was unconscious.”

“Okay, just hurry up, you two.”

“Shh!” intoned Brodst again. “You are going to get us in trouble.” He slapped her face harshly several times. “Snap out of it, Calyin. I need you. Come on now. Stand up! Damn it.”

Brodst was back to his wild, rambling thoughts. He began walking Calyin around, forcing her to move. “Calyin, listen close. Have you seen the others? Have you seen Midori? Where are they keeping them?”

“Calyin, Calyin, listen to me,” he pleaded again and again. She wanted to, but she couldn’t shake the dizziness from her mind. The world was still spinning round and round. She heard his words as if through a tunnel. He stood at the opposite end of it, far, far away, yet she could see his face beside her. He was pushing her down to the cold floor now, and calling something, “Was he telling her to go to sleep and sit quietly,” she wondered.

The cell door opened abruptly and she saw a shadow pass before her eyes, moving behind the door. She saw the glint of steel and a figure fell. There was a cry of pain, or at least she thought she heard someone cry out. “Maybe it was a plea,” she thought. “Someone was begging for mercy.” She saw a second figure fall and then the room became quiet and still.

“No! Don’t get up!” yelled an angry voice as she tried to stand, “You just sit there.”

She thought she heard fighting again; perhaps one of the forms had risen from the floor. She was sure of it now. She heard the clanging of blades and a fight. “Are you there?” she cried. A whimper, perhaps a moan, drifted to her ears and then she heard a thud. The room became quiet. “Hello?” she said, or thought she said, “Hello?” No response came. “Oh—” she cried out; the room was spinning again. Her head felt queasy and heavy.

She heard the click of a key in a lock and then footsteps that seemed to be fading away. Everything started spinning again. The world turned gray as the footsteps became inaudible. She closed her eyes and fell into a wakeful sleep in which odd images moved in and out and then stopped. The world was still, and she fell into a deep catatonic state.

Chapter Nine

The route out of Taliltan had taken them along the northern road, which ran next to the coast, but at the first crossing they turned westward. To an observer, the thirteen black horses could have been an omen of ill fate, though none in the group paid attention to the count. The roads in the Lost Lands were much like the land itself— rough and haphazardly hewn.

Xith and Noman spoke quietly but tersely, their voices barely carrying above the plodding of hooves. “You know what will happen when we reach Tsitadel?” Xith asked.

“I have no doubt. He’s known all along.”

“And the wards revealed the mark?”

“Yes, yes,” hissed Noman. “We were but fools to hope otherwise.”

“May the Father keep us,” Xith said quietly, reverently, as he urged his mount on, ending the conversation.

Mountains carved the land into awkward sections, running straight from the beginnings of the Stone Mountains in the South. Spiraling arms led inland at first and then jutted north. Further north they split in two, dissecting the country into thirds. The seat of the broken land lay far to the north, and the hand of the regent rarely reached the sleepy villages that dotted the eastern coast.

Trading was the most important thing in these parts, where in the storm season your wealth mattered not so much as the usefulness of your possessions. Only a few towns lay inland away from the sea, and the small borough they would pass through come nightfall was one of them. A piece of gold there was as useless as the edge of a blade would be against the frozen rock they traveled across.

Thoughts of Tsitadel were prevalent on most everyone’s minds. It had once been a catalyst of might, and its home tucked away in the snowy north had proven to be its bane and its greatest blessing. Xith knew the battlements it sported better than most although Amir was the only one of the company who could attest to their strength. Beyond its portcullises and gatehouses, and within its barbicans, bastions, parapets and long, sleek, lofty walls, was the very thing they sought.

A fine mist of tightly compact snow flurries fell upon them as the sun mounted in the sky, only partially blocked by a modest cloud cover. Noman shifted his attentions to Xith and Amir and brooded. Seeing clouds looming about the mountains in the distance sparked sad memories. He wondered about the children and what would become of them in the end. His turn as the guardian was coming to a close and he wondered if Amir could tell that his days were also numbered.

He hadn’t told Xith that on the last day in Krepost’ his vision of the paths had returned; he had kept that to himself. He watched Amir for a time and saw his agitation, understanding it. He meandered with his mount among all his companions as the hours of afternoon swept by, looking to each of their faces and speaking quietly to them. He came lastly to Adrina, not knowing if she would have the strength it would take. He told himself she would, or rather hoped she would. Then he told her a thing that perhaps he should not have. He told her of the hidden dreamers and the mystics who walked the paths. “Remember,” he told her, “The thrall can only hold the willing.”

As they had all hoped, a small village nestled on the lee side of a rounded hollow came into view as the day waned. Xith bartered with the innkeeper over the worth of the baubles he had collected in the market of Krepost’, and they were given rooms for the evening. The small inn only had two sleeping rooms barely large enough for four apiece and two chambers that held nothing but a single cot. The party required them all, and still three would go without a place to lie down this night.

Xith, Noman, and Amir took up residence downstairs while the others retired upstairs. Later, the three found comfort in a private room which was normally reserved for special occasions. It was divided from the main hall with doors that could be secured from the inside. They also found sleep, but not too quickly for they had much to discuss before the start of the day.

For the most part, the conversation had not led anywhere until Xith properly cleared the air. He understood all too well the coming events. He was frank when he asked, “Will you tell them before we reach Tsitadel or will you just let them discover it on their own?” Amir started to respond, not because he thought the question had been directed at him, but rather because he had just realized the issue himself.

“Is it true?” he asked, savoring the words.

“Yes, perhaps,” replied Noman, “but not the way you would hope. It is too long a road to know for sure.”

“How else could it be?” questioned Amir.

“It would be best if I said nothing, but I think that you are wise enough to make your own decision when the time comes,” began Noman, as if only he and Amir were in the room. He continued, still ignoring Xith’s presence, but not meaning to offend the shaman either. “Old friend, the time of choice is ahead. You must choose one of two ways.” His voice trailed off to a whisper as he said the next few words, “It is as before.” And then he became very articulate and earnestly forthright as he finished, “He will offer you peace eternal. Will you take it?”

Noman did not wait for Amir to respond; he promptly turned to Xith and said, “No, I will not tell them. It is not for me to tell. Yet be that as it may, you are free to do as you will. But in so saying, I have one thing to ask of you also. It is simple. Just remember your time of servitude, what brought you to the path you have embarked upon.”

Xith considered Noman’s words at length before he offered his response, a gentle smile, as he touched his head against his rolled up cloak and closed his eyes. A heavy rap on the closed doors startled everyone, and caused Xith, who was nearly asleep, to jump up. They relaxed when a recognizable voice asked them if they required anything before the other retired and as they didn’t, the innkeeper walked away.

Before the group left the inn the following day, they gathered some food stuffs they had not had time to purchase in Taliltan and with fresh breads and dried meats tucked into their satchels alongside newly acquired water bottles they departed. Adrina was feeling rather groggy this morning. Her stomach was upset and it was all she could do to keep her breakfast down. She told no one that the dragon mark upon her was growing—had been growing the further north they went. A stint on horseback did not improve her feelings either, and she was growing irritable; however, as afternoon came on, her sickness passed.

The small town would be the last remnant of civilization they would see for days and the farther inland they went, the deeper the snows became and the narrower the trail they followed. They continued west despite the obvious lack of a path, bending to a slightly northerly course from time to time. As if two nights of sleeping on cold ground with little fuel for fires had not been bad enough, the third day, a storm front nestled itself along the foot of the mountains in front of them.

The night ahead promised to be snow-filled and cold. Against the general consensus, Xith drove them to continue on well after darkness fell. The winds had picked up and thick snow flurries cascaded downward, whipped about by the gales. Xith had no intention of freezing to death on an open trail and continued to lead them, despite numerous requests to stop. At first, Nijal had spoken mostly on Adrina’s behalf and upon her request, but now he also wanted to stop and try to set up camp somewhere. They had passed through many good hollows, as he saw it.

Amir chuckled as he listened to Xith swear under his breath. “Ahead to the right,” he whispered. Not paying attention to the voice, Xith started to answer, “But how can you see?” But he cut himself short and instead returned to his mutterings. Needless to say, he turned to a strong northerly course. The shadows in the stand of trees he searched for loomed a short distance away.

The trees afforded shelter from the storm and its snow and also provided them with an abundant supply of wood for their campfire. All grumbling, including Xith’s, ceased as sparks were touched to the first timbers. A few hours were passed with warm and cheerful talk. Shchander even found a song within him, borrowing a few words from the first song that sprang into his mind. Its nonsensical words seemed to make sense under the canopy of trees with the fire reflecting upon the boughs, and he came to understand the song’s meaning.

After an early morning start under dreary skies, the sun appeared and at first the mountains seemed so close that they might be able to reach out and touch them; nevertheless, they were still hours away. A squat series of swells leading to the base of the rocky peaks needed to be traversed first, but once the companions reached the hills, Xith promised that they would be able to see the outer walls of Tsitadel.



Only a few hours of the darkness remained. In all, the night would not be counted as a complete loss. They had accomplished much this night, and the enemy had been forced to withdraw to a different position. Horror came with the first shafts of light; the invaders had withdrawn, but their numbers had doubled. Machines of war and of siege loomed across the horizon, waiting to move and to strike.

At the vanguard of the first assault came the machines of war; they did not roll or creak with the turnings of wheels, but instead they moved across the plain with ease and in silence. Valam wondered at their size and configuration; only a devious mind could have constructed such tools. Spiked walls with slits for arrows attached to rams preceded mobile catapults and ballistae at staggered intervals, allowing clear shots for the engines of devastation.

The speed with which the machines swept across the land was incredible and unfathomable as they were upon the defenders before they could properly react. Walls of spikes met the shield wall in a fit of tumultuous rage. Screams of panic and despair arose as man-size projectiles careened through the air, meeting many a target and more often than not piercing two or three through before their velocity slowed. The struggle began again.

Valam no longer had time to ponder the origins of the enemy’s devices of terror and destruction—he was face to face with them. He looked first to Seth for advice, but just as he did so a shaft of bright sunlight fell upon him. He shielded his eyes from its sting with his hand before he adjusted to the new light. He blinked wildly several times as the white haze cleared.

The enemy stood facing them; they had not advanced. Neither side had attacked yet. The survey did not last long before the first cries to arms rang loudly. Valam rubbed his tired eyes and then, still puzzled, he poured water from his water bag into a cupped palm and splashed it onto his face. Many others were mounted and scrambling, or just scrambling, as Valam finally got onto the back of his horse.

The battle strategy they had conceived during the night began to unfold, but it was clear that the invaders had been making plans of their own. A large toll of dead at the place where the enemy camp had been set up the previous night told of the deeds of the Brown. A trail of bodies led all the way back to the enemy’s current location. There was no sign of those who had delivered the deed, and it was assumed that they lay somewhere among the casualties in the field.

Valam wished he could be elsewhere right now. His heart was not in fighting this day. Doubt filled his thoughts. He no longer knew if he had the prowess necessary to prevail. He desperately needed to find strength and resolve.

A voice called to Valam, “Your dreams can carry you far in an instant. You can walk the paths of an entire lifetime in a single beat of your heart. Open your mind to me for an instant. My will is straining—act quickly.” The voice was warm and compelling. It held compassion and perhaps love. Valam could not resist it, so he did as it bade and opened his mind.

Images of the thousands around him faded as he followed the voice. “I have seen you in my dreams many times. Here take my hand. It was not time before. We must try again.” Valam went where the beautiful voice bade him to go. A vision, only an outline at first formed. Her hands felt warm in his as they began to go up a long winding staircase.

His heart was pounding so wildly he could hear its clamor. He had wanted this very thing to happen to him so desperately that he completely freed his mind. The two climbed for what seemed hours until they finally reached the summit. “Am I dreaming?” asked Valam of himself with a last moment of resolve. “You are dreaming the living dream,” came the response into his mind as the other pressed tightly against him.

Valam moved forward to kiss her. As he did so, a sudden bright light filled the chamber and everything became clear. The sunlight bathed the thin dress she wore and highlighted the outline of her body beneath. She undressed and then began to undress him, and he let her. Her eyes were serene as she watched him and a gentle smile touched her lips. The smile grew to laughter as she pulled him to a nearby bed. Valam began to ask a question, but she forced him into silence with her lips. He held her tightly now, recalling fond memories from an earlier time.

She moved back suddenly and her smile turned to a laugh as she drew him in. Her face blurred and then returned. Valam scrambled back to the wall. A gasp fell from his lips as he did so. The laughter turned to a shrill cackle. A voice lifted mockingly to his ears, “The mightiest of the western lands falls to the simple guiles of a female. I have searched throughout the night for you and now at last I have found you. And I can also see that I have your attention. Do I not? Valam, Prince of Fools.”

Anger raged through Valam as he glared at the creature that sat before him. The thing reached out its hands and touched his legs. His body began to tremble as a chill overcame him. Distraught, Valam clenched his hands around the creature’s neck and began strangling it. The roar of the voice rose as it sneered at him with new fervor. “Squeeze harder, go ahead. Kill the messenger. Its will was already spent in the delivery. I command you—kill, feel the blood upon your hands as you extinguish life.

“Do not fear for your life, my sweet prince, I have not come for you this day. Oh no, your suffering will not be so quickly over. Your death will be long and drawn out. You will die only when I am finished with you. Go ahead, kill her. Try harder. I know you are stronger than that. I have come only to give you a warning and a possible way out. If you turn back now, you may return to your own lands and in time you may save them. If you stay, you will find death, but not your own, until I have had my fill. Which will it be?”

Valam’s reasoning became warped and twisted as his grip clasped increasingly tighter. He was beginning to enjoy killing and his face lit up. “I will not go. You will have to kill me first!” shouted Valam. As he spoke, his hands crushed the hideous creature’s windpipe, and then he heard the neck snap. He was happy, and he cast it away without remorse.

“I leave you with only one image to contemplate—reality,” laughed the voice wickedly as it faded away. The glowing of yellow eyes loomed in front of him as he returned. He found himself kneeling in the snow. His hands were still clenched. He gasped as he saw a pair of eyes looking up at him. In them he saw pity and no fear. He began to cry as he recognized the face. “What have I done?” he wailed, “What have I done?”

“You will pay for this!” said Valam through tears, “We will destroy your army in the field of battle, where there is honor. And I will do it again and again relentlessly until I have avenged your trickery! I will chase you to the ends of time!” He stopped, for he could no longer continue. He picked Tsandra up tenderly from the snow, brushing it off her face. Endless tears rolled down his cheeks. “I will get you!” he vowed.



Brodst stood perplexed at the crossing of two corridors. He could only guess which he should take. The weight on his shoulder was heavy, and he desperately needed a reprieve from its burden. He did not delay at the corner much longer; instead, he turned right, marking the characteristics of the adjacent hall into his memory. He finally came to a halt in a secluded alcove.

Although he tried to put Calyin down onto the floor as gently as possible, she still fell rather unceremoniously and immediately afterwards he slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor. He was exhausted and his body ached. The sudden intake of nourishment had done him more harm than good. He had eaten more than he should have after going without food for so long.

He grabbed Calyin’s chin and swung her eyes up to look into his. He could see that they were beginning to focus again, and the color was returning to her face; but he still was determined not to remove the restraint from her mouth. She had already aroused enough attention for one day. He sat idle for as long as he dared before he continued on.

For the most part, the halls were empty and he assumed that a meeting still ensued in the central chamber though he did not know how much longer he could count on the quiet continuing. Most of the corridors off the hall where Calyin had been held led to private chambers, which confused him more than helped him in his search. He couldn’t understand the reason a single cell would stand by itself with such an elaborate control system leading to it. Locked doors, guard houses, and check points that led to only one place, and after a time his puzzlement brought him back to the hallways he had come down.

He jingled the ring of keys around in his hand, contemplating each, a ring of nine keys in all, and he tried to recall the number of doors he had passed. One key stood out as odd, perhaps older than the others, and more finely crafted. He remembered that that was the key that belonged to the innermost door. He walked back along the chamber, depositing Calyin behind the second door, which he locked.

He fit all the keys to doors along the chamber save two. He held the two up and inspected them closely beneath the light of a torch. A stirring sound startled him and he broke away from what he was doing, quickly running back to the innermost door. One of the guards within was beginning to arouse. He cursed himself for not killing them all and went back in and finished the job he should have done earlier. He also took the time to properly and thoroughly search each of them; he had been in too much of a rush before to do so. He didn’t find much of use.

A rasping sound from far off forced him to stop and at first he thought it was Calyin groaning. He claimed one helmet for his own and another blade and ran back up the corridor. He bent down and checked Calyin, but she was still incoherent. He heard the sound again. After he began to look around, he looked up to the barred window. A face pressed close to it startled him. His heart jumped, and his breath was heavy and shallow.

“Um, yes?” he said dumbly as he stood. A small hand raised a bucket up to the window, and Brodst almost broke into laughter. His mind began working quickly; the smile left his face and his eyes turned angry. “You, errand—” began the captain. All the while he spoke he squeezed his palms together, “You are in the wrong area! This one has already been fed.”

The figure staggered back under his apparent wrath, “But, but—”

“Don’t interrupt me. Do I need to accompany you personally? Is that what you need? Do you need someone to hold your hand to ensure you do the job right the first time?”

“No sir, no sir. I’ll be off straightaway.”

“Wait, wait, hold on there,” stated Brodst, again thinking quickly. “I still think I had better accompany you.”

“No need, I promise you.”

“No need indeed. Halt where you are!”

Not knowing what to do as the boy disappeared, Captain Brodst unlocked the door and went to chase him. Unfortunately, the boy was still standing in the hall; he had only been out of eyesight. He saw the body of Calyin on the ground and began to scream. It was all Brodst could do to catch the boy before he scrambled away. He had one hand tight around the boy’s mouth and the other attached to the scruff of the boy’s shirt as he dragged him back down the hall kicking. The boy’s hollow screams were only loud enough to reach the captain’s ears.

Brodst saw the fear in the boy’s eyes and used it to his advantage. He brought the tip of his knife up close to the boy’s neck and pressed it tight until it pierced the skin. After a long one-sided conversation the two came to terms. The boy was scared to death; that was very clear. “What is your name?” asked the captain, seeking to calm the boy’s nerves.

“J-J-J-Ja-cob,” whispered the boy, barely audibly.

“Jacob is it? I knew a Jacob once and he was a fine man. Now you listen close and listen well.” Brodst paused and continued slowly, “I will not hurt you unless you try to run. I do not wish to kill you, but I will in the blink of an eye if you try to run. Do you understand?”

Jacob nodded that he did and his shivers calmed a little. Brodst picked up Calyin and then ushered the boy on, taking great care to return the blade to his free hand and then put his arm around the boy’s neck. “Take me down no central corridors, you hear. I do not want to see another living thing. Now, move slowly, and remember—if you act wisely, I will not harm you. I promise.”

Brodst moved through the long corridors, maintaining a prudent step. He tried not to delay much, but in his weakened state the burden upon his shoulder seemed to grow, until he was finally forced to stop. He had rested three times now, and the restlessness of his companion was increasing with each such stop. He stood eyeing the boy; he could read the other’s thoughts well. Any moment now, Jacob would try to make his escape.

The time arrived sooner than Brodst expected, and almost immediately after he had bent down to raise Calyin to his shoulder. “Smart, very smart,” thought Brodst as he snagged the boy by the scruff of his collar. Captain Brodst reiterated his earlier promise, ensuring that Jacob understood the benefits of obeying him. “How far from here?”

“Not very far, I promise,” whispered Jacob in a soft voice.

“How many guards will there be?” asked the captain. Jacob shrugged his shoulders feigning that he did not know. “How many guards will there be?” spoke Brodst repeating the question.

“Yo-o-u-u’re, no-o-t go-go-ing to-to k-k-k-ill him are yo-o-u?”

“Not if you help me. If you help me, I will kill no one unless it becomes necessary. I promise. Do you know the guard on duty?”

“Y-y-ye-e-s, I th-th-th-ink so-o—”

“Jacob, listen to me closely, I am a man of honor. We hold to our word. I hold to the warrior’s oath. And if I make a promise by my own code I must keep it. Do your people have an oath of truth?”

“Y-y-e-s.”

“Would you like to be a warrior someday? Yes, I think you would make a fine one. If you help me, I and my friends will leave, and we will not come back. This I promise.”

“But you are spies, and spies should die,” said Jacob, suddenly filled with bravado.

“Spies? Spies,” said Brodst. “We are nothing of the sort.”

“Your friends are devils and demons with the wings of bats and they eat people.”

“Eat people? Do I look like I could eat another man?” chuckled Brodst, “Who has been filling your mind with this nonsense?”

“No one. I have eyes. I can see.”

The captain put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, and while looking him straight in the eye, said, “That is nonsense. Do you see this woman here? Is she not fair and beautiful? How could you say such a thing about one so pure? Does she look evil to you?”

“N-n-no—” replied Jacob returning to his stammering.

“What if I told you that she is a princess of a fair and wonderful land and all we are trying to do is find peace, to bring our land to peace. If you help us, we can continue on our quest; and if we are lucky we will find a way to return peace to our land. Will you help us, Jacob?”

Jacob had listened intently to each word; his eyes seemed to perk up at the mention of a quest, and he envisioned it a grand a wondrous thing. This man called Brodst did seem to speak the truth. “I will try, but you must cast away your blade.” Captain Brodst threw it away without a second thought; he did, after all, have several backups.

The walk to the place that Jacob promised that Brodst’s other companions were held was short and went without mishap. A barred, closed door stood at the end of the hall before them. The plan was unfolding well. Brodst smiled as he slid Calyin, still unconscious, to the floor. As he did so, he looked to the movement of the shadows cast upon the floor by a light in the interior of the other hall. Mixed with the lines of the bars mounted in the door, they had an odd shape, but he thought he could discern only one distinct figure. The other shadows were perhaps reflections off an adjacent light.

The captain motioned for Jacob to proceed down the hall as planned. “Go on,” he whispered, while waving a second time. He turned to look behind him hesitantly, knowing what he would find; and as he turned, he also muttered a curse under his breath. Jacob was gone. He looked around the corner, both left and right, but the boy was nowhere in sight. Despite his situation, he saw the humor in the moment. He had been outwitted hands down.

He sat there, engrossed in thought, contemplating how long it would be before the boy sounded an alarm that would cause his end. The longer he remained idle, the more foolish his resolve seemed; but in the end, he found no recourse but to continue. He sorted through the new possibilities, and thought it best to continue with his original idea. He slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his cloak to retrieve the keys and for an instant his eyes grew wide with dismay and horror until he remembered which pocket he had placed the keys in. The bulge was quite obvious, so he did not search for long.

He quietly walked toward the door, guarding each footfall, waiting until the shadow grew short before he tried to put a key to the lock. He cringed with each clank or jingle the keys made on the ring as he turned through them, holding his breath and closing his eyes in a hurried petition. As his palms began to grow moist, his hands began to shake and his fingers started fumbling against the lock.

The quivering spread to his body; trembling, he collapsed against the wall. He paused, fearing to move, and he heard footsteps growing closer. He waited, afraid to even breathe, until the footfalls faded away again. To his amazement, the next key he raised to the hole caused a resonant click, more similar to a dull thud. As he had his ear pressed against the door, it sounded loud as he turned it.

He did not open the door or attempt to open it. He waited, unsure of the sound of the footsteps from within. He sat motionless until they began to fade away, but he did not make his move quite yet. He pulled himself together first, mentally coaxing the fatigue away. He paused until he heard the sounds again, but still he waited until they turned away. As they did so, he slid the door open, ever so cautiously.

He regarded the back of the figure moving down the hall through a narrow slit until he was confident he could make his move. After he had removed his boots, he slithered through the opening noiselessly, returning the door to its original position. As it clicked close again, he crawled on his haunches down the hall, moving slowly at first and then gaining momentum, until he half stood and half crawled. He was standing hunched over as the figure turned back towards him, drawing his weapon as he did so; but by that time Brodst was upon him at full force. His initial blow knocked the guard sprawling to the floor; his sword slipped down the hall one way and his body slammed half into the wall and half against the ground the other way.

Brodst hadn’t intended to kill the man, but the other did not move again. He wondered if Jacob had been here now what the boy would have thought. Would the boy have accepted it as an accident? Brodst didn’t have time for regrets and he pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He retrieved Calyin, placing the door’s lock back in place. After he put back on his boots, he carried her down to the far end of the corridor.

He fumbled through all the keys in his ring until he discovered the one that fit the lock. The detention area was set up in a series of circling cells that split off to the left, right, and straight ahead. Not knowing which way to go, he turned right first. It seemed a logical place to begin. His face lit with joy; after several disappointments, he came to an occupied cell. Strangely, the cell was unlocked, and its occupant sat in a dazed stupor.

Brodst immediately smelled the stench of liquor and vomit in the room. He stared for a long time at the face, but since he didn’t recognize the other, he began to turn away. Confused and angry, he stomped off, swearing loudly. He hoped he would never find Jacob again, or he just might strangle the boy.

Chapter Ten

“Father, is she dead?” begged Valam of Jacob, “Is she dead?”

“Hold on, hold on, give me a minute. I think you have only choked the air from her lungs. Back off, please, give me some room, I beg of you.” Father Jacob bent his head low to listen to Tsandra’s heart. He loosened up her tunic and pressed his ear against her flesh; the faint sound of a beat joyously found him. At the present, he could do nothing for her except ensure that she was comfortable and kept warm. He mixed some medicinal herbs into a hot, thin broth and forced her to drink of it, but time would have to heal her. He had so many others who needed him just as desperately, and they did not have the possibility of life without his aid. While Jacob turned back to his mending, Valam, with the help of Seth, turned back to face the field of battle.

The remnants of the first wave were returning, and a second sweep was close at hand. For those caught in the heart of the melee there was no reprieve, but a few fortunate ones managed to return and muster with their compatriots for the next charge. The shield still held firm, and behind it streams of arrows arced up into the sky, screaming angrily as they were released from long bows largely constructed of yew.

Tae’s forces no longer held back but pushed forth as Prince Valam wished, striking out together with riders of S’tryil in a large flanking maneuver that led them in from both the left and the right. While the pikemen had carried the first charge, so now the task was passed on to Lieutenant Pavil’s men. Their long swords were brandished high as they issued forth.

Valam and Seth came, responding to Ylsa’s call, and together the three orchestrated missile attacks into the enemy weak points, which did not occur without counter strikes. Ylsa was urgently concerned about the new breaches in the shield wall, which even one of Eran’s skills could not repair. At first the avalanche of single riders crashing against the high shields was slow, but the tempo was picking up considerably. Short blades did little against horse and rider.

Seth’s mind was wandering elsewhere; his concerns were lost on the two around him, but Valam’s thoughts were quick and his actions were decisive. The circle of the camp was at first tightened and then immediately reinforced. Evgej drew up close to them on horseback, and his impatience to join the heat of the fight was clear. Without saying a word, his expression asked them to join him. Valam’s mount was brought to him, and he drew up regally onto it, outfitted in heavy mail, bright and thick, garnished with double bucklers, and his own double-handed blade.

Seth nodded, responding to Valam’s inquiry of him, “Yes, it is time,” he thought, but he quickly returned to the depths of his own deliberations. He counted it odd that he looked up to catch Valam’s eyes just as the other rode off. He watched the two figures merge with the few remaining riders centered on S’tryil, turning away as they plunged into the fray. He looked to Ylsa momentarily before he walked away to find Father Jacob.

An enormous herald rang as Prince Valam launched his mount into the fight, wielding Truth Bringer before him. Evgej rode to his left, wielding a finely crafted long sword, of the bastard type. His shield was long and obtuse, having a blunt top and a rounded bottom with a central spike, also bearing numerous dents from the previous day’s activities. S’tryil’s outfitting was more conventional, more akin to that of his company. His sword was of the two-edged variety, but it was notched and marred with much use. His shield was simple and round.

The variety of their outfitting had little impact on the morale of their fellows, and their standing added only slightly to the sudden edge they held over the others in the field at their arrival. It was their straightforward charge into the very heart of the fracas and the fierceness of their blows that brought the cries of their names. Where true leaders led, others willingly followed.

Seth found Jacob and Tsandra after a slow search through the camp, during which he surveyed the number of wounded and the totals of the dead. He did not speak long with Jacob before he turned to Tsandra, and soon afterward Jacob left to tend to other matters. “Did you find him?” he called into Tsandra’s mind again, pushing his will upon her to stir her to a conscious stream of thought. “Will he listen?”

Tsandra’s response was weak and shallow, but her will still had a flickering of strength. The search through the night had carried her far, and she had found him, and he had repaid her as he said he would; however, she had also repaid him in turn. “They are all gone—” she whispered, “—save him. He will move for the prince.” She had meant Valam, but for some reason she could not bring herself to utter his name.

“Come quick!” yelled a page, running towards Seth, “Brother Teren found the captain.” Seth was slow to believe the page’s words, but the thoughts could not be denied. He ran across the field to the place the boy indicated. Teren had only just dismounted and the captain lay on the ground, his head cradled in Jacob’s lap. Captain Mikhal’s eyes were almost shut and his face was pale, almost unaware of the life that he sought to cling to. Death was sure and slow upon him.

Seth and Jacob together did what they could to aid the captain and ease the pain, yet his wounds were deep and many. A fire lingered within Mikhal that yearned to burn bright though it was only a spark. The two watching saw the same tiny spark, and it gave them hope. With a wave of his hand, Brother Seth carried Mikhal off to a world of dreams, where the pain would momentarily not find him while they tended to his injuries.

On the field, the story was different—the hurt and agonies were now being inflicted upon the opposition, who massed around their encampment. The bodies of thousands littered a path that led west and south, the line of the enemies’ retreat, but the fall had not been without its recourse. Prince Valam halted his advance at the crest of a small mound on the plain, created primarily by the shifting of the snow amidst the smothered, dying grasses. The enemy warriors also waited in a defensive line, their will to fight and to win hardly tainted by their losses, and now they had no remorse for the fallen.

Behind, the archers drew up closer and spread out to a broader semi-circle. Each was assigned a bearer of the shield to protect his point, and the fanning-out ever increased in a wide arc that aimed to smother the thick, central cluster before them. A few, the most skilled of their group, were assigned to eliminate the remnants of the bowmen across the field.

The fighting continued, though with a brief lull; for a time, it had seemed to halt. Seth returned to his thoughts after he had tended to Mikhal. His work as a guide this day was not over; two were yet to be found. He returned his will to the air, beginning it once again on the simple hint of a soft breeze, spiraling it upward and floating it lazily along the currents.

The other lieutenants of the field momentarily joined Valam as he surveyed the host, together with the counsel of Evgej and S’tryil. Despite the growing turmoil around them, they formulated a new plan. The more mobile riders drew back, and the ranks of the pikemen were redefined and ordered. The bladesmen were switched into as many positions as could be afforded. The ranks that could be spared, along with all of Redcliff’s forces that remained, were moved back to secondary ranks.

Valam followed through with the ideals his honor dictated to him. He did not entirely know the customs of the peoples of these eastern lands, but he knew those of his own. He wished Seth, or perhaps Liyan were with him now, but his own camp looked so far away from where he sat. Nonetheless, he ordered the flag of truth and parley raised, not fully knowing if the others would accept it and momentarily forgo their call to arms. In his mind, he saw the outcome of the battle only one way; and while his honor might have been his undoing, he adhered to it, for it was at the basis of who he was.

“Valam, no!” shouted a voice into the prince’s thoughts, but it was too late. The call to parley was accepted, and six riders from either side rode across a short span into a hostile ring with weapons sheathed though guarded. Valam stopped short of the one who greeted him, not dismounting, waiting for the other to speak first. He was not surprised when the words of the enemy leader sought to enter his mind. Valam pushed them away, saying boldly, “We speak with words, aloud, and ask that you would do the same.”

“Do you surrender then?”

“No,” replied Valam, beginning the proper introductions as Seth had taught him.

“I am Arakthel second family, first heir of the western faction of Ayuil. I mix no words easily with my enemy. Speak quickly or die.”

Valam breathed heavily, studying the other’s countenance before he spoke further. In truth, more than anything, he had wanted a face to go with his hatred, but he gained nothing. The voice did not match that which he sought, or the other disguised it well. The face was not an unkind one. Valam’s testament was simple; he asked the other to withdraw and in so doing spare the lives that were being wasted.

“It is you who does not understand,” returned Arakthel. “We are but the greeters; behind us comes a host ten fold as great. You will be the one to perish.”

Arakthel began to laugh, a sound Valam quickly recalled. Valam’s face became stoic and his eyes flamed as he rose up true in his saddle. His cry, as an arrow struck him while he was drawing his blade, brought thousands upon thousands to his beck and call, in line upon line of rich unyielding formations. There would be no holding back anymore, no more fear of the unknown. The six riders spurred their mounts, attempting to flee the compressed ring of the enemy, but escape would not come so readily.

Long, pointed blades held in stalwart hands severed rider from horse, followed by ones that now bore short blades in either hand. Behind them flowed a steady stream of assorted blades, long and short, single-handed and double-handed. Those on horseback circled around to north and south, coming in from the back side with a tremendous, energetic force. Ylsa and her archers were not left out; they, too, advanced, shooting on the run, in a wild frenzy.

Willam was the first of the kingdom lieutenants to fall, though his demise did not come with his slip from the saddle, but while he was attempting to wrest his blade from its sheath only moments after his long pole had skewered two of the enemy. The others maintained their mounts and for a time their lives in the swirling chaos around them. They swept the great circle from the inside while others worked at it gallantly from the outside.

Valam, unfortunately, lost Arakthel in the frenzy. The blow to his shoulder was numbing as his lifeblood poured away. He held the great sword in one hand, still shifting it agilely, stroking it with skills quite akin to that of a sculptor’s. Two forelegs mauled one who was bold enough to stand before him as he looked for his enemy. Arakthel was nowhere to be found.

In the name of glory and for the sake of their prince, hundreds were brought begging to their knees only to lose their lives. Valam’s own anguish and hatred ran among his own kind and drove them as nothing else before had. They did not only kill, but they maimed, crushed and desolated. For a time they surged on images which were around them yet weren’t, images of fields on fire and homes being ravaged; and always in the background amidst the soft purr of the wind was the crying of many, and mostly of children.

The enemy was routed and on the run, scampering away in desperate retreat. Those that could began a hearty pursuit while those that couldn’t watched. Some could only observe with amazement; the end had been swift and vile. Pristine edges of crisp lines and columns moving to bannered engagements were distant, blurred thoughts, meaningless in the face of truth.

When only the dead, the dying, and the victors remained, the sudden fever ended. Calm came and even the air became still and silent. Valam sat tall in his saddle, but not as regally as he had earlier, amidst a littered field. A black riderless horse stood nearby, and though five others were closer, Valam only saw the one, and he mourned the loss. Death had a face, and it was the last vestiges of Willam, Willam the Black, that Valam envisioned.

Momentarily Seth transfixed his eyes to Valam’s, looking where the other looked, and then he turned away. His deeds this day were done. A few paces behind him, Liyan regarded Seth, nodding with approval. The day was spent, save for one last thing, which Seth had already set in motion. Far away to the north a figure staggered, sword languishing in weary hands. He fell to his knees and slipped from consciousness though not towards darkness.

Driven by forces beyond his grasp, the figure rose again only minutes after it had fallen and though still staggering deliriously, persisted until it came to kneel before its prince. The mounted one did not look down for the longest time, for his gaze was held elsewhere, but in time Valam did come to look upon the face of Danyel’ with dismay and admiration.

Chapter Eleven

“Oh my,” gasped Brodst as he sank to one knee, “what have they done to you?” The boy, Jacob, had not misled him after all; his face was full of emotion as he looked upon the figure he knew to be Lord Serant. Serant seemed to be suffering from the same potion that Calyin was. Brodst knew he would have to find the others first, and since he had gone to the left and the right already, he went to the farthest reaches of the detention area, which turned both right and left. He opted for the left, and moved forward in that direction.

The path ended in darkness and Captain Brodst stopped cold. He hesitantly retraced his steps the other way. He almost thought he could hear voices and perhaps he did. He kept walking, crossing the place where one hall merged with another, veered left, and then stopped. “It is about time, you old fool!” yelled a vaguely familiar voice as Brodst approached a closed door. He craned his neck, facing his ear towards the barred viewing area in the door while he was also attempting to peer into the partially shadowed cell.

“I could smell you coming down the hall. Pig snouts again?”

“Move from the shadows so that I may see your face,” retorted Brodst. A long pause followed, and then almost at once two faces turned towards the light of the entrance. “In the name of the Father,” sighed one of the occupants. The two would have moved closer to the door except that they were shackled about the hands and feet.

Brodst sorted through keys, searching until he found one that worked. His jaw dropped as he entered the room and took a closer look at the two faces. “Lord Geoffrey, who is this man?” From down the hall another voice cried out. “Keeper, is that you?” Brodst asked almost in a whisper.

“Questions, questions, get us out of these cuffs first. My hands ache, my feet hurt—”

“It is you, isn’t it, but how? How and why?” questioned Brodst, his voice rising and then faltering. He tried all the keys on his ring, gasping as each did not fit, coming at last to the final one, which also failed. “The guard, the guard—” spoke a little voice in his mind. He had never searched the guard. He ran out of the cell without explaining anything, running until he came to the fallen figure. He quickly stripped the boots and pants off the guard, finding in the process a short dagger and a leather pouch. A search of the shirt and outer robe revealed a tiny black bottle and, thankfully, a set of keys.

On his way back, just before he turned left, a voice came to him, full and beautiful, causing him to lurch to a halt in mid-gait, and it drew him towards it. The darkness would not stop him this time. He turned back to retrieve a lamp only to find that it was fixed to the wall. A quick investigation of it showed that it burned oil, quite cleanly overall. He ripped the pants he had just acquired into two large pieces, wrapping one piece around the top of a short knife and then dousing it in the oil as best he could, using the flame to light it.

“Hello?” he called out as he wandered through the empty corridor, “Hello?” He came to a door similar to the one he had stood by earlier. As he stared beyond the path of his makeshift light, he caught the reflection of two eyes looking at him. He moved closer and saw the outline of a face in the pale, orange-red light. He saw traces of dark, flowing hair and high, pale cheekbones.

Again he couldn’t open the cell quickly enough to satisfy himself, and he cursed under his breath until he found the right key. He was half way to the one with eyes with a soft glitter in them, arms spread wide for an embrace, when he realized there was another present.

“You may proceed. We are old friends, she and I,” spoke a soft, raspy voice. In the odd light of the torch, the speaker appeared to be bathed in luminescent gold. Brodst looked on in bewilderment. “I will not harm you. You needn’t think that—”

And then Brodst recalled the others who were still awaiting his return. He bade the two to follow him quickly. The keys to the manacles were among the set he had found on the guard. They did not waste words or time now, moving first to retrieve Lord Serant and Calyin. The captain wasn’t the only one taking notice of their two new companions. Geoffrey’s face turned ashen and Midori’s went wide with wonder.

Serant was still groggy, shifting in and out of consciousness, yet he was still faring better than Calyin. Before they could discuss a plan of action, everyone began talking at once. It was obvious they would not be able to proceed without clearing the air. The loud noise was having a deep effect on the two unconscious ones as well. In their heads, the clamor sounded like the roar of immense beasts. It was all they could do to keep the noises out.

“I think we should first discuss our escape,” spoke the Keeper, being of more precise mind than his fellows. “We will have plenty of time later, I hope. My good captain, can you lead us out of this wretched place?”

“I believe I can, Keeper, but I, too, am curious now. The more I dwell on your face and that of, of—”

“I am, Ayrian, Lord of the Gray Clan.”

“You need say no more, my friend,” interrupted Midori, “he is a friend and that is all you need to know. He is an old and very dear friend.”

“Thank you, but as long as we shall proceed with a telling, then it is time that I spoke the thoughts and deeds of my heart. Once there was a powerful clan. We dwelled among the hills and dales, gliding over pleasant valleys, drinking of golden waters in the high places among the mountains. I could soar and circle the skies in that place lazily for the remainder of my years. But alas, it is gone, and I, I alone am the last of my race, once proud and true of heart.” Ayrian spoke so eloquently that they were able to envision the place and the people that he spoke of. In a softer light, his feathers, talons and beak, though still odd, did not appear so out of place. And the more he spoke, the further the listeners were drawn into his plight, a plight that had carried through times ancient and distant, but they now understood. He continued to speak richly in a flowing, exuberant manner. Much later, those present would reflect that perhaps it was a song that Ayrian sang to them, rather than speaking. Time seemed to flow on the edge of his words. In reality, when he finished only a few precious minutes had slipped by. “Alas, I am the last. I am Ayrian, Eagle Lord of the Gray Clan, when once there were tens of such clans. But our reign was supreme and revered. It is all gone now, faded from the most distant memories.”

“Not entirely so,” replied the Keeper with tears in his eyes. “I am Keeper Martin, head of the council of the Keepers of the Lore. Your tales, though remote, still lie among the histories in the Great Book though in truth they occupy but a few paragraphs of a single page. Perhaps with your help we can build upon it and make the lesson whole.”

“Alas, dear Keeper, the tale is old and spent. The timing is not right.”

“I would still like very much to hear your tales at length at a further date,” Keeper Martin said.

“Yours is the tale we would wish to hear, Keeper Martin. How in the name of the Great-Father did you come to be here? Here, of all the forsaken corners—”

Geoffrey interrupted before Keeper Martin spoke, and the keeper nodded his approval at Geoffrey’s intent. “He and Father Jacob sensed the changes occurring in the kingdom. Our messages had been conveyed to them, but it had been too late to return. The journey had already begun—”

“Yes,” began Martin stepping into the conversation, “we were desperate. We saw the images in the dream messages. We knew King Andrew had passed though we did not want to accept it. Strange storms were upon us, the lands were growing cold and icy, our stocks were almost depleted—I had no choice but to attempt what had seemed a fool’s gambit. Father Jacob did not want to let me go, but as days passed, we had little else we could do. And now I have been here so long that I cannot even recount the days—weeks, days, or months, I am not entirely sure, but I am sure that if those that I left behind did not get food and supplies, they have all perished.”

“Perished? Surely they cannot all have died?” begged Brodst, “What of Prince Valam? You have said nothing of him. With all those ships, could you not return?”

“I do not know. During the journey some ships were lost. I am afraid that Prince Valam’s was one of them.”

A shocked silence came over them, but it was Midori who spoke first. “Are you certain?” she asked quizzically “I feel no sense of loss.” If it had been another that spoke those words, those present would have thought them shallow or ill witted, but Midori was different. She was of the Mother, and the Mother knew all.

Everyone let the conjecture fall away, switching at once to other thoughts. “Keeper, how did you come to be here? You still have not told us,” asked Captain Brodst.

“I attempted to use the device that rests in the council chambers of the keepers. My resolve was fixed, and in my desperation I saw no other solution. If I could have just managed to teleport back, all would have proven to my benefit, but something went wrong. I do not know what; I can only surmise. But to be truthful, I will need to ponder this more fully. The last thing I know completely is that I prepared my thoughts, cleansing my mind for a dream message. Instead of directing them as I normally would, I focused on the council—more specifically, the device.”

Keeper Martin paused hesitantly, surveying the faces around him, “Imagine my elation when it worked. Even in my dreams I could feel the sense of intense cold and sudden darkness around me. I awoke hours later only to find myself here, already in chains, and with the End Man’s whip upon me. I can only offer a calculation as to where here is. Perhaps Geoffrey knows better than I?”

Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders, but he was not alone in not knowing exactly where they had been taken. The memory of their arrival to this place was fogged over. As they all considered it, this seemed strange. Midori turned to check on Calyin and Serant. They still needed more time for their bodies and minds to cleanse themselves.

“You, friend, still have not told us how you came to be here,” asked Captain Brodst pointedly of Ayrian.

“Not unlike Keeper Martin or any of you, I do not fully know how I came upon this place. It seems to draw you, though, doesn’t it? Its power is almost beautiful it is so pure.”

“What do you know? You speak as though this were a great spectacle, while I see nothing of the kind. What do you know? Tell me!”

“Captain, you needn’t speak harshly. We are all friends here; the enemy is out there,” said Midori, pointing her finger. She glared at him until he lowered his eyes and his temperament calmed.

“More often than not, those seeking find and those that don’t learn. Perhaps if you had the mind, you would guess, but then again, maybe not.”

“Why are you being cryptic?” bluntly asked Brodst again.

“Captain—”

“No, it is all right, but if I must do the telling, then it will be away from here and under circumstances fairer than these.” Ayrian spoke slowly and plucked a ring of keys from Captain Brodst’s pocket. He held each up for examination and while he did so, he began mumbling. “Seven could not bind him, though they tried, behind door and key. The last had been consorted and fashioned with powers as old as the winds; still they could not stay time. Its slow gentle creep was upon them. Extra restraints kept his confederates. Even near the end, they leashed his most beloved for at least a short span. The course has run full again, yet it is a different tale, is it not? That he would be she, and she with he, would still be free.”

“Ayrian? Ayrian?” called out Midori at first gently and then harshly, “Ayrian?”

Ayrian continued on for a short time, “—that that of the end should now try to be that of the beginning. The wonder of it, even if it had been wrong.”

Brodst was as slow to turn away from Ayrian’s words as Ayrian had been. Lord Serant was somewhat coherent and could walk with some assistance under his own power although Calyin would still have to be carried. Geoffrey shouldered the burden of Calyin, while Martin and Brodst helped Lord Serant, but it was Ayrian who led the way from the detention area with much confidence.

Chapter Twelve

The morning air was still and fresh. With it, there was a certain liveliness in the camp, an eagerness to be off, to find what was ahead. Adrina, though she had been the last to awake, was the first to rise to the saddle. She shook off the shadowy images that had been invading her sleep and pondered pleasant thoughts. Among the trees she could hear the scampering of small animals and the gallant trumpet call of a few tiny birds whose name she did not know.

A light cloud cover at first obscured an otherwise pristine morning, but in the first hours of the new day it burned away, revealing a clear cloudless sky. The hills they galloped through shifted from a gradual rolling grade to a steep vaulted pitch as they neared the mountains, and they leveled off to what was perhaps a plateau or mountain plains. Tall peaks loomed up, screaming their presence into the very air. From the slopes at the bottom, the view was dazzling.

They rode smoothly, coming to an abrupt halt almost too soon. The winds had just picked up, bringing in the scents of the highlands, a mixture of aromas. Simple stands of trees dotted the mountainsides, mostly of pine or evergreen. Waters of a stream that flowed from an unseen lake down across the plateau now ran swiftly, thanks to the previous night’s precipitation. There was also a hint of grasses that had once been tall and proud hidden now beneath this season’s early snows. Guarded walls stood before them; the journey was at an end.

Underneath the parapets the gatehouse stood, its outer portcullis raised and unhindering. A line of thirteen horses forming two columns rode into its confines, reaching the inner gate, which sat low. The gatehouse stretched a full sixty feet between the thick avenues of the wall. A set of malignant chains hung lifeless, attached to a wheel on the far side of the house.

They looked up to the small cavities set into the floor of the roof, which in truth formed the floor of the second level. Then they looked beyond the gate into the heart of a city that most would never see or know. The spires of a great palace, perhaps a castle, dominated the village. Around it in many clusters were domiciles small and large—inns; bars and keeps; shops of various assortments, some with small signs suspended over their doors; and many others, too numerous to be named.

Access was made possible by a winding of the heavy chains round the wheel. There were no heralds to greet them this day, and for the most part the city appeared to be silent. Still, the day was young, but not altogether so. Amir was the most agitated by the lull. He flexed and huffed, mostly to himself, yet also with Noman’s watchful eye upon him. Nijal and Shchander talked in sullen tones between themselves.

Xith searched through his bags for something he couldn’t quite find, touching his hands at long last to a silver flask and retrieving it happily. Before they continued, he gave it to Adrina.

Most noticeably befuddled over the absence of life in the city was Noman. He did not know how he could have been wrong. He had seen the path’s end so vividly. It was time, and this was definitely the place. A gnawing emptiness drew him. Step by step and almost in a daze, he went across the city that was spread out before him like a hearty feast, moving toward a central place where he knew a square lay.

The market was empty and mostly cleared. A few vacant stalls pockmarked its otherwise clean face. The group stopped here and dismounted. Dust swirled around their feet as they did so. Noman conferred with Xith and Amir before continuing on, leading their horses across the square to a long, winding stair. This new section of the city was perhaps more ancient than that surrounding it, more elegant than the latter.

As they crossed, a parapet with merlons kept them from the innermost area. They passed easily through gate-like breaches at the ground level. Beyond stood a palisade. Its walks showed its age, but all in all it was preserved well.

The inner keep, a fortress with numerous lofty spires, had no outer moat, which Amir counted odd since he vividly recalled one. All things change with time, he thought. Its stones were weathered and scarred, but this marring in no way detracted from the sudden impact of its grandeur. Remnants of a path followed towards the immense prominence, which was the outer door, two great timbers of dark wood with iron bands.

Their horses were left on their own; within the set of walls, they could not wander far. The company proceeded up the path by foot. The walk across broken bridges made them uneasy, and hands edged toward sword hilts, but none took note of it. They tugged on the rope on the entry to the right, but nothing happened. A second attempt on the left, followed by sending a strong rapping with the metal knocker set into the doors also brought no results. It was a small push that caused the doors to open, and they swung easily inward on vast, silent hinges.

Adrina controlled the smile upon her lips and stepped aside so Noman could go in first, followed by Amir. Noman quickly opened the doors wide to let in some fresh air, for the air inside was thick and stale. A long hall was revealed and though lines of torches adorned its walls, none were lit.

With several torches in hand, they entered. The corridors they came upon, turning neither left nor right, were quiet and clean but unoccupied. A faint clicking noise began, rumbling low from beneath their feet, growing in volume the deeper they delved. As the noise became more audible, it sounded like the tapping of a long wooden shaft against the hard stone, and it was almost precisely timed with their footsteps.

As they chanced upon and crossed an open courtyard, they looked upward toward the walks set into the outer walls. The tapping sound was louder here and seemed to emanate from above or around them rather than beneath them. A large fountain sat silently brooding in the middle of the courtyard. A greenish quagmire now rested where crystalline waters had once run and every now and again something within the slime gurgled and churned. The group steered wide of the fountain.

Amir turned mid-stride on his heels, whirling his eyes upward, glaring. He had almost expected to hear trumpets blaring forth in herald from atop the cornermost tower. As he turned and stopped, he smacked into Adrina, who was suddenly shaken from her thoughts. He rested his hand upon her shoulder as he whispered his apology. Still, though, he had felt a presence from the tower.

He stood poised for a time regarding the edifice, a leering tower of dark stone. Puzzled, he gawked at it for an extra few seconds before he turned away. Noman followed Amir’s line of sight, moving from blackened window to blackened window until he reached the summit, and then suddenly his eyes came to rest on a window three rows down and one to the right. He wasn’t sure if it were the sunlight playing tricks through the open tower or if he actually saw the shadow of a figure standing there watching them. A sudden shiver came over Noman, bringing a line of goose bumps up his back, rising from the tip of his spine to the back of his neck. He forced himself to look away. Xith smiled.

The shadow was gone when Noman turned to look back; only the light of the sun’s rays remained to play along the face of the tower. They continued on, stopping and starting, not realizing that a veil of silence had come over them. After a deliberate pause at the top of a stair opposite their entrance, they returned indoors.

Adrina watched the others pass through the doorway, but she lingered a moment in the sunlight, bathing in its warmth. She sighed deeply and then followed the others. A hand reaching out grabbing hers, startling her. Her heart raced and then slowed, a sudden glow touched her face, falling as her chin dropped down. She met a pair of eyes, liquid blue, and shining like newborn stars. The face that swathed the eyes was equally as warm and inviting.

Xith watched Adrina go, fading into the realm of dreams and shadows, saddened like a father losing his little girl, though no one else knew. He was now the last one, walking along a hall that stretched out in front of him, seemingly without conclusion. He perceived movement behind him and spun about.

At first he greeted those behind him with warmth even though he knew of their treachery. The one he fixed on stood with head poised proudly, leaning his weight upon a thick staff. His face was badly beaten on the right side, causing that entire side to hang listlessly. He stared at Xith through eyes that were scarcely open.

“He will no longer let you in, and you cannot hope to find the door. That is a pity,” spoke Xith coldly.

“I no longer require permission to enter. I come and go as I please.”

“Then why do you walk these halls without purpose?”

“I was waiting for you, dear friend, and now I shall have everything I ever wanted.”

“You are keeping the secret from even him, aren’t you? That is heroic, but you are still a subversive fool. He will find a way into your mind. You cannot hope to trick him.”

“It is not heroism, I assure you. It is the one thing he wants, even more than your knowledge of the arcane arts. And do you know what is so exquisitely simple about all this? He doesn’t even know that I could give him the key if he would only ask.”

“And just what do you seek in return? Will you stand at his side and act as his right hand?”

“I want nothing so basic. I want to be both his hands.”

“You, Talem, are the naive one. He will use you until you are spent and then he will cast you away. You are nothing—do not forget that.”

“No, I will give him the two things he wants most, and I will give him you also.”

Xith stepped away angrily, casting aside the bag he carried. A quick glance to the rear showed him that the others still walked the path without end. He wondered how far they would go before they realized the truth of the illusion. Surely, he thought, Noman would guess it.

“We shall end this here and now—you and me. I shall let you corrupt all that you touch no more.”

“They will not allow it,” said Talem, indicating the robed figures around him.

“You were once the most promising. I should have known the truth of your ways, but I would not believe them. They told me the same about him, but I still have hope.”

Talem roared with laughter, “You are spent. Give up now, and I promise that when the time comes, your pain will be swift.”

Xith raised a warning hand, “Do not make promises you cannot keep.” Xith spun his hand before his face, preparing to release the energies he had been drawing within him over the past few minutes.

“Don’t!”

“Don’t what? This?” replied Xith spinning a ball of fire from his hands, “I know you, Talem; your magic is not real. Mine, on the other hand, is. We will end this now! You shall not leave this sanctuary with life yet coursing through your veins. I promise you.”

Talem cringed as flames sparked around his shield wall. The heat of the fire brought tiny bursts of perspiration to his brow. Talem’s followers rebuked with fires of their own, bombarding Xith time after time. Even under the strain, Xith didn’t wipe the smile from his lips. He wore it broadly, proving his strength.

“I have been savoring this spell for some time. I think you will like it,” Xith said menacingly. He crossed his hand before him in a line and then formed a fist. Talem mocked him as nothing happened; the magic just seemed to fade away. Xith returned his scorn with equal generosity.

The stones beneath Talem’s feet began to bow and warp. A din filled the air, a rasping, popping, cracking sound. A crack appeared, minute at first, and then the floor rent and broke. Talem fell clawing and grasping at the wall behind him, clutching to the edge just before he was swallowed by the hole. His eyes went wide as he watched his staff drop into the abyss.

Xith didn’t have time for a second attack; he had to make an immediate counter. He gulped air as he restored the shield wall around him, wincing from the slight searing he had received. He looked away from Talem as he was scrambling to return to his feet, toward the source of his lament. He stared at each, trying to delve beyond their eyes and into their thoughts.

He knew Talem well enough to know his magicians were all frauds, having acquired their skills just as their master did. Which has the shield, he thought to himself, and would it be a ring, book, staff or maybe even a medallion? He knew the magicks of old better than most. He dreaded the thought of times he had assisted in their delivery to this place.

Seven, he considered to himself. Talem always had been superstitious. Xith eyed the second figure on the right evilly, glaring as he released a surge of energy. A blue-white ball streaked across the hall from his fingertip, enshrouding the other. He heard a barely audible whimper as the other was incinerated.

His assumption had been right. The barrier shield fell, and he began to take the others out one by one. They began running wildly about, trying to escape. Two fell into the hole that was still spreading about their feet, and the remainder Xith delivered quickly. Without a defense, they were felled easily. At the last, he felt compassion for them.

Xith’s eyes crossed, and he groped for his back. A sharp pain had suddenly overcome him. He whirled around to see Talem standing behind him with a bloody dagger in his hand. Everything began spinning; and as he looked up, the ceiling was circling about him.

“The edge was poisoned—so sad, I had really wanted to have you as a prize. But before you go, I shall have your secrets. Tell me the place, Xith, and maybe I can save you. You can live. Isn’t that what you want? Where is it?”

Xith bade Talem to draw closer as he began to whisper shallowly. Fixated on Xith and the desire for knowledge, Talem came closer and closer. “I will tell you,” whispered Xith. “Come here.” Xith edged backwards as he bade Talem to move forward, and as Talem hunched down to listen, Xith grabbed him about the collar and the throat, jerking him forward as hard as he could. Xith sidestepped and as Talem flailed at the air, trying to grab onto him, he kicked him in the face, and then both men fell. Talem’s eyes were wild and staring. Xith saw huge balls of white with black pupils disappear into the emptiness below him. Talem’s screams were also wild and horrible. He could not believe that he was about to die.

Xith, on the other hand, accepted it. He did not turn about or flail but instead counted the last moments of his life, knowing how precious each and every last breath was. He knew how important every last conscious thought was, and he was glad. He knew Adrina would be safe.

He waited, but he suddenly realized that he had not died. He was not even moving. He turned to look about, and his body was sprawled out on the floor at the very edge of the culvert. He began to wonder what the poison was doing to him. He was numb, but he did not appear to be dying, and he wondered if it were some trick of Talem’s, perhaps his last. Xith closed his eyes momentarily, clasping his hands together, and then, although he couldn’t seem to bring his hands or feet to movement, he could still turn his head, and he did, turning his eyes outward, into the courtyard where he saw Adrina entering the path without end.

“Say nothing. Let them go,” the voice told her. “They will not miss you, I am sure.”

Adrina watched lips move, but she was drawn to the eyes, and the beckoning hand that told her to follow was just an image tucked far into the most obscure corner of her vision. She did so only because a hand returned to her own and coerced her decision.

“Do not fight it, let me in. I will do you no harm. I see he is in your dreams now. Do you have the strength to cast him away or will he sweep you away as he did the other? I wonder—would you allow me to follow?”

“Will he win?” asked Adrina.

“Only if you let him.”

Adrina screwed her face up tight, as if she were just suddenly realizing a thing she had been trying hard to remember. “Where have they all gone?”

“Do not worry about them. They are gone so that you may be safe. You will rest here now till it is time. You are safe, my fair princess. Leave the world of cares behind and stay here as long as you like. You have made a wise and good choice.”

As the other recommended, Adrina twirled around; and as the fading images of the outside world slowed, everything turned bright and luxurious. She shivered as a light spray of water touched her face. The fountain enclosure was in full bloom, as was the garden around her. A soft rapping noise filtered into her ears, coming from the four corners of the walls behind her, circling from west to east.

Adrina grew sad and listless. Her chin drooped again and emotions swelled up in her eyes. A gripping emptiness gnawed at her heart. She felt suddenly alone as if she had lost all that she cared for. Her lower lip began to tremble and she bit at it to get it to stop, but it wouldn’t. At first only a solitary tear found its way down her cheek, rolling across her chin to her neck, but soon the anguish flourished. She wrapped her arms around herself to quell it, but that only caused the trembling to spread. She kneeled to the ground, lowering her head in heavy, almost mournful sobs.

“You have taken the first step and won; there is nothing to be sad about.”

“But,” began Adrina, “I think I will miss them.” Her face was flushed deep red and her eyes were swollen and misty. She sniffled and pulled at her lip.

“Remember, I am here with you; I will not go, so you are not alone. We will walk together for a time, you and me. The next step will not be so easy, and progressively so, but we have time now, so rest, rest well.”

Adrina’s tears subsided, and although she still sat idle, she no longer felt alone. “Here, I think this is for you,” she said, handing the other a small round object. Her thoughts began to wander back to happier, distant times and her mood lightened. After coming to her feet, she cupped her hands together and partook of the cool waters of the fountain. The water was sweet and satisfying as it passed her lips.

Overhead the sun was shifting from its apex, meandering west, and in time it came to touch the horizon, bringing with it an end to the day. Adrina watched it from time to time, sifting back and forth through her thoughts. Many faces crossed before the windows of her mind, some weathered and faded, some new and fresh. As the first shades of night arrived, Adrina found her happiness and a sense of peace. The future was no longer dark and uncertain. She was safe in this place. Wasn’t she?

Chapter Thirteen

With the help of the Ayrian’s keen sense of direction, Captain Brodst, Calyin, and the others made their way out of the detention area. Ayrian and Captain Brodst quickly dispatched the few guards they encountered along the way. Soon they were all in the wide open chamber with the falls and warm pool where Captain Brodst had spent many long days and nights. They paused to plan their next steps and to examine the gear collected from the guards. Captain Brodst distributed helmets and armor. Geoffrey made sure each had a blade.

Keeper Martin took inventory of another type. He studied their wounds and maladies. Edwar Serant and Calyin Alder were recovering from the drink they’d been given but were still groggy. Ayrian had deep gouges on his wrists and ankles where he had been shackled. He maintained a length of the shackle chains even now. Martin had seen its deadly effectiveness against the guards so he did not question the need for it; however, he did question the way Ayrian clung to it. He knew you chained a man to break his spirit and his will, but Ayrian did not seem broken, only angry.

Captain Brodst had scarcely taken his eyes off Midori since entering the pool room. For her part, she fussed over the wounds he had taken and the condition he was in. “What is it?” she whispered to him as he watched her work.

“Thinking of another life, another time,” he replied. “If only—”

“If only what? I know what you are thinking. You had better think of the here and the now and not the could-have-beens.”

Captain Brodst got a far-off look in his eyes. “I am a great fool,” he whispered as he pulled away from her. He walked to where Geoffrey and Martin stood. Martin tended to Ayrian. Across the chamber, Calyin and Edwar Serant were enjoying a private moment. As he watched Calyin tend to her lord husband, he envied them.

It was a short while later as the group gathered at the basin of the pool that the one who had been in Geoffrey’s cell approached them from out of the shadows. “Do you want to know the truth of your capture?” the other asked as he approached.

Recognizing the voice, Geoffrey stayed the captain’s sword arm. “It is you,” he said, “I had all but forgotten.”

The other proffered the blade the guard had given the two so they could kill each other. Geoffrey did not take it.

“I do not hold you as an enemy,” Geoffrey said.

“You should,” the other said, “I am Ærühn, Dragon Man of the Stone Shields.”

Geoffrey took in the full sight of Ærühn for the first time. Long black hair hung from the Dragon Man’s head in dozens of thin braids. His forehead sloped back at a sharp angle and his flat nose made his thin-set eyes seem enormous round globes. The way the eyes bulged from their sockets reminded Geoffrey of the dragon lizards of the north whose eyes could follow you wherever you went without requiring the lizard to turn its head. “Ærühn, if you are the enemy of my enemy, can we not be friends?”

“It is no time to speak of such before you know the truth of where you are and why you are here.”

Ayrian cocked his head a full half circle as only a bird or bird man could do. He probed the distance with his eyes, looking to the rope ladders that reached up to the sky from either side of the falls. He tightened his grip on the chain in his hands. “Find cover; they come. The door will open soon,” he whispered, his beak clicking as he spoke.

“How many?” asked Brodst.

“Three, I hear three. There is another, but he does not come with the others.”

“It’s not the changing of the guards,” Brodst said, “They send a full compliment of twelve at the change.”

Lord Serant’s eyes went to the rope ladders on either side of the falls. “Surely, there is another way out of this hole. I don’t remember climbing when I was taken to the audience with the High Lord.”

“Belajl Entreatte spoke to you?” Ærühn asked, looking as if he suddenly had a different opinion of Edwar Serant.

“Quickly, quickly,” Ayrian said, interrupting.

Without a further word passing between them, Captain Brodst, Lord Serant and Geoffrey took up positions beside the ladders. Martin, Midori, and Calyin slipped away into a dark corner of the room. Ayrian took flight, delight reflected in his eyes as he stretched his wings and felt freedom for the first time in what seemed ages. He flew to a small recess in the wall beside a small door of stone, crawling into the hole and disappearing from sight. Using his bare hands and feet, Ærühn climbed the wall.

The way he moved reminded Captain Brodst of the way spiders crawled along a wall. His eyes fell upon the doors on high. He watched as both swung open, gesturing to Geoffrey and Lord Serant as he looked on. Be ready, he indicated wordlessly.

Two guards, one on each rope ladder, worked their way down to the pool room. As the guards reached the bottom of the rope, Captain Brodst, Lord Serant and Geoffrey set upon them. High above, Ayrian made his way through one of the open doors and Ærühn made his way through the other.

The melee was over quickly. Captain Brodst and Lord Serant gave no mercy. Above it was much the same: Ayrian and Ærühn found only fury in their hearts. Soon they were all up the rope ladders and running down the long hall to what they hoped was freedom. Freedom that seemed an eternity in the coming.



Safe. Was she safe? The words echoed in her ears. As she questioned the world around her, the path split and reality sped inward.

As the images of the fountain enclosure and the garden faded, the voice called out to her. “You should have waited, Adrina Alder. We could have walked together until it was time.”

“Time for what?”

No answer came as Adrina faced stark reality. She could see someone or something lying on the ground across the open courtyard. As she got closer, she saw it was Xith. He was on his back, his eyes open wide, staring up at the heavens. She shook him until he roused to conscious thought.

“Talem,” Xith said, “The dark priest. Is he?”

“There is no one else,” Adrina said.

Xith sat up. “Adrina? We must hurry; we must find the others.”

Adrina helped the shaman to his feet. “This place—what is it?” she asked.

“It is the path without end.” Xith turned his eyes away from her, surveying the courtyard. “A magical enchantment to protect the way. It keeps out intruders, trapping them in a world between reality and dream. Only the chosen or the knowing can get past the path. Talem and his followers never got past the path though they learned to escape its grip and to navigate the between.”

“Talem?”

Xith turned back to her. “What did you find in the path, Adrina?”

“The blue eyes, the voice. He told me I could walk with him. That I was safe. Would I have been safe?”

Xith gripped her forearms and looked directly at her. “No, Adrina. You were not safe in that place. Come, quickly now,” he said leading her across the open courtyard into the tower of dark stone.

Xith and Adrina came upon Nijal and Shchander first. The two stood stock-still like statues. Both men’s mouths were open as if they’d been talking between themselves when the path had taken them.

Xith called out to them, using the commanding power of voice, “Find the question in your mind. Ask it and you shall be free.”

“But how can I?” Nijal was asking Shchander as he returned to the present.

Shchander started to reply but found himself at a loss for words as he stared past Xith to his men, still frozen.

“Quickly now,” Xith said, “I’ll explain everything as soon as I am able.”

Xith helped Shalimar and the six remaining members of Shchander’s men find their way beyond the path. Farther along the long central hall of the tower, Adrina found Amir and Noman. “Amir, Noman,” she shouted, pointing to the two.

Within moments, Amir and Noman were free of the path as well. Noman’s eyes were wide with alarm as he turned to Xith. “Shadows,” he gasped. “We’ve been battling shadows for what seems like days.”

Noman took a step and nearly fell to his knees as fatigue overcame him. “Amir,” he whispered. “Save him.”

It was then that Adrina noted that Amir actually wasn’t free. He will still frozen in place. Xith turned to Adrina and the others. “Take Noman from this place. Go to the courtyard. Wait there for my return. Do not return to the tower lest the path take you again.”

Xith raised his hands over his head, spoke a word of power and entered the path. The realm he found was nothing like he expected. He knew instantly he was within the gates of the dark realm where the Fourth and his minions had been bound.

“I am here,” Xith called out to the watchers in waiting. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Movement ahead in the distance caught his eye. He ran. As he mounted a towering rock, he saw Amir. He closed his eyes, sucked at the air. “Great Father, give me strength,” he implored.

Amir wielded two blades with deadly accuracy. He attacked and spun, around and around, countering and blocking the horde of shadow wraiths that surrounded and sought to overcome him. If Amir could see what Xith saw from atop the rocky precipice he would have closed his eyes, sucked at the air and begged the Great Father for strength as well. The mass of wraiths spread out in all directions as far as Xith could see, seemingly without end. Overhead floated ranks of wraiths whose arms did not end in hands but enormous rounded blades—scimitars—and who floated in the air as if with unseen wings.

Across the valley on a towering rock stood a figure who wore the bones of a ram as a headdress upon his cloaked head and whose armor was studded with the white and black ivory tusks of some great and mighty beasts. The figure turned now and Xith was sure the other saw him, also sure that the other was the Shadow Warrior King of old, a minion of the Dark Lord. He no longer had doubt in his heart that this was the place, that he was within the gates, that the Fourth himself was near.

He set into the battle, calling lightning to his hands as he did so. He used the lightning to clear a wide swath through the wraiths and reach Amir’s side. “It is good to see you,” grunted Amir as he fought. Xith answered by casting a blue white ball of fire from either hand as he sought to create a protective shield around them.

The shield failed almost as soon as he enacted it. There were simply too many enemies to hold at bay with the shield; so instead of trying to hold off all enemies, he directed the shield overhead and selectively behind them. His hope was to keep those overhead from descending and engaging, and to keep both of them from getting stabbed in the back.

As soon as he enacted the shield, he turned his attention to the wraiths, unleashing wave after wave of lightning and fire upon them, clearing paths long into the distance each time he did this. Amir fought gallantly beside him, his sword equally as deadly as Xith’s magic. For every one of the wraiths they struck down, another took its place and there was no end in sight. The horde spread across the dark land as far as they could see.

“There is no hope in this,” Xith cried out as he called forth the rock and stone of the land and rained it down upon the wraiths.

“There is hope,” Amir shot back.

“There is indeed hope,” Noman said, appearing suddenly next to Amir. “Our presence is what caused this. The Dark Lord has many at his call. Quickly now, we must leave this place.”

“No,” Amir protested. “The gates are open and the keeper is gone.”

“Not true,” Noman said, lowering his cloak to reveal the form of the princess whose face was frozen in a wide-eyed expression, “I bring the key.”

Xith angrily cast a wall of fire from his hands, sending back a sudden frenzied push from the wraiths. “We discussed this; there is another way. The boy. We agreed. The boy.”

“The other is a boy no longer. You yourself said this.” Noman turned around, swept his hands in a great circle, sending an arc of searing white light into the mass behind them. A swath of wraiths dozens wide and several dozen deep winked out of existence. He turned to Adrina. “Without fear,” he told her as he touched her forehead. “Call him forth.”



Outside the command tent, Prince Valam walked the long line of captains and lieutenants. He stopped at the line of crossed swords symbolizing the leaders lost in the battle. The first marker was for Captain Eran of the long swordsmen. He cast a sidelong look at the mustered ranks, knowing in his heart the pomp and ceremony was necessary to restore faith and order.

Captain Vadan Evgej, who had walked silently at the prince’s side, spoke quietly to the prince. The two then walked to where the long swordsmen were mustered. At the fore of the ranks were the masters of the sword, behind them the swordsmen, and further back those few of the sword apprentices that remained. He granted field promotions to three of the swordmasters, but it was Ylsa Heman, on behalf of her fallen brother Eran, who gave each their insignia of rank and office. Eddrick Reassae, Nobel Jrenn, and Seran Hindell stood proud and accepted the promotions graciously. As they were all from some of the kingdom’s oldest Great Houses, Valam did not doubt that they would serve well in their new offices as lieutenants.

Before he turned away, Valam regarded Ylsa. He put his hand on her shoulder. Her archers had performed many a miracle on the field. “Captain of the Fourth Order Ylsa Heman,” he told her as he directed her to the ranks of her bowmen. Several of the squires of the bow, ahorse at the back of her lines, let out a whoop. Valam grinned, saying nothing of the breaking of the attention order.

The mood was not as good among the decimated ranks of lancers and pikemen that had been led by Willam the Black. Willam was the first of the kingdom lieutenants to fall. While he had taken many of the enemy with him, his men had not fared well after the loss and had succumbed to a blood fury, charging relentlessly into the heart of the enemy until there were but few left of their original company.

Valam eyed the lone squire of the lance at the back of the ranks and called the young lad forth. The squire, no older than Valam himself, had a bold, wild look in his eye—a look that said he feared nothing and no one. “What is your name?” Valam asked the squire.

“I am Michal Klaive,” the squire said.

Surprised to find a nobleman’s son in the rank of squire, Valam asked, “Rudden Klaive?”

“I am my father’s namesake,” Michal returned boldly. “Rudden is my brother.”

“And why are you a squire in my company when your house title gives you the rank of lancer by right?”

“My father says a man must work his way from nothing to something.”

Captain Vadan Evgej’s eyes showed his surprise at the bold tongue of the squire, but Prince Valam’s face gave no hint of what he was thinking.

“Kneel,” Valam commanded as he withdrew his sword from its sheath.

Michal looked to Vadan Evgej as if beseeching the other to intercede on his behalf. “Kneel,” growled Vadan.

Michal knelt quickly. His eyes said he was wary of what Valam intended to do with the sword. As Valam raised his sword, Michal closed his eyes. Valam touched his sword to Michal’s right and left shoulder.

“What is your preferred weapon?” Valam asked as he brought his sword to the top of Michal’s head.

“The great lance,” Michal called out, his eyes still closed.

“Then rise true, sir knight, and from this day henceforth be known as Knight of the Lance. You are a First Lance now and a knight, no more an apprentice. Do you understand?”

Michal nodded solemn understanding of everything that went with the title.

Valam turned his eyes to the short line of lancers who stood their mounts, asking “Who among you shall I name lancemaster?” Without waiting for a response he turned to the line of pikemen, asking “Who among you shall I name pikemaster?”

Not one of the lancers or pikemen said a word. Valam turned to Michal and asked the questions of the newly named knight. Michal offered no response. “Very well, then,” Valam said turning on his heel to face the lines. “One and all, it shall be,” and upon the saying a cheer went up from the ranks all around the lancers and pikemen. No few of the kingdomers knew of the deeds of Willam’s men on the field, and no few held back their cheers.

“Captain Danyel’,” Valam called out. The former lieutenant rushed to the prince’s side from the fore of his lines, a new light in his eyes at the sudden appointment. “These men become part of your ranks now. Treat them as befits their great skill and courage; treat them as masters of the lance and pike. All save this one,” he said turning to Michal.

“Captain S’tryil,” Valam called out. The captain stepped out of the lines and joined the prince. “I trust you’ve a position of honor for a First Lance.”

“I do indeed, my lord prince,” Captain S’tryil said, bowing his head in formal fashion as the hour of ceremony required.

Valam addressed Danyel’ and S’tryil’s lines next, each in turn, before he announced the field promotions of Pavil and Redcliff to the rank of Captain of the Fourth Order. The new captains were then in turn given permission to promote within their lines.

New sergeants and lieutenants were appointed throughout the kingdom lines. Bow apprentices became bowmen. Horse apprentices became knights. Lance apprentices became lancers. Pike apprentices became pikemen. Shield apprentices became shieldbearers. Sword apprentices became swordsmen. Masters of the bow, horse, lance, pike, shield, and sword were appointed as well.

Before the ceremony concluded, Captain Evgej and Captain Mikhal were named to the rank of Field Commander, a rank that put them at the same level as commanders in garrison and the king’s own Knight Captains.

Chapter Fourteen

Inside the command tent, Father Jacob kept the official record of the day’s events. Runners moving between the ranks and the tent kept him informed. When the ceremony was over, Prince Valam dismissed the men and entered the tent. Upon seeing the prince enter, Father Jacob looked up from his work, said graciously, “The first battle ends in victory, my prince. You’ve done well these past days and this day as well.”

“It is but the first of many,” Valam said, just before gulping down the glass of wine offered to him.

“It is,” Jacob agreed. “You’ve your father’s touch with the men. You are a just leader and have their respect.”

“Do I truly, Father Jacob?”

Father Jacob didn’t say anything for a moment as he finalized the scroll before him. He stood and opened the flap of the tent wide so Valam could look out to the field where the lines were yet maintained. As the two stepped out of the tent, a cheer went up from the ranks. “To the High Prince!” came the cry and the words were repeated over and over across the field.

The commanders in company joined in the cheers for a moment before calling the ranks to attention. Valam watched, a broad smile that was almost a grin fell away as he saw riders racing toward the company at full speed.

One of the riders reined in alongside Prince Valam. “It is as foretold. They come.”

“How many?” Valam asked.

The rider’s dapple gray courser started prancing and the rider fought to get the restless animal under control. “A host of thousands, many thousands. They come from the mountains along both passes.”

“How long before they are upon us?”

“It seems they march for the forests and not the plains. On Rivenwood. The city will surely fall before nightfall.”

Seth rushed out of one of the nearby tents. Brother Liyan and Tsandra of the Brown were close behind him as were several of the outriders who had just arrived from the field. “From Rivenwood to Avenwood,” he said.

“This can’t be,” Valam cried out. “We’ve been so careful in our watch. We took the field. The next fight should be at their door.”

Seth felt something, a presence overhead trying to reach out to him. He was about to cast his will to the wind and soar up into the heavens when he found the link. For the briefest moment, he felt Queen Mother’s every emotion. He knew her anguish, her pain. He was her protector and she was his queen as it once had been.

Cagan knew Seth’s thoughts the instant the red brother emerged from the link. He spoke his fears before Seth could say anything, “King Mark’s battle fleet took Maru. The city burns. The fleet sails up the Gildway to lay siege to Leklorall.”

“That is nearly the truth of it,” Seth confirmed.

“But how?” Valam asked.

“Queen Mother begs of us to break camp. Sail with as many men and elves as we can to the east and Maru, and then up the Gildway to Leklorall. The rest to march on Rivenwood through the gorge to Avenwood and on to Leklorall.”

“Is there any hope in such?” asked Vadan Evgej.

Valam withdrew Truth Bringer from its sheath and raised the sword high into the air. “We’ll be at the heels of King Mark’s army the entire way. We can harry their every step. They will come to fear us. That is the full truth of it.”

They filled what few ships remained with supplies, men, and elves. The ships set sail for the east as they broke camp. The command tent became the last vestige of the enormous camp. Not long after, it too was taken down and carefully packed away.

As they rode away from the camp, an idea came to Valam. He remembered the narrow rocky valley between Avenwood and Rivenwood. He urged his surefooted charger along, racing to catch up with Seth at the front of the lines. Captain Evgej and Captain Mikhal sped along at his side, their mounts as eager as his to find the wind.

“Tsandra, Teren,” he called out as he passed the brother elves on his way to Seth. The two unquestioningly turned their mounts in line behind Valam and followed where the prince led.

When he reached the lead riders, Valam ordered the lines on foot and ahorse to turn due east, calling for the brothers of the Brown to break ranks and join his conference with Seth, Tsandra and Teren. He also called out for Captain Danyel’, Captain Redcliff, and others. Soon there was a company of fifty or more around him.

A wind swirled, tugging at Valam’s cloak as he sat the saddle. He spoke to the Tae brothers first, addressing Redcliff before addressing Danyel’. “I once asked you to defend the House of Alder against our enemies, to die in service if need be. You have proven yourself many times over beyond the training field, and you have no more debt to me than to the wind. Do we understand each other?”

The mountain of a man who once had been one of his father’s best training masters straightened in the saddle but said nothing.

“Danyel’, you have proven yourself on the field as well. It saddens me that I must ask of you.”

Danyel’, like his brother, sat stoically in the saddle. He too was a tower of a man with a height and girth eclipsing that of most.

“I know you both to be mountain men, and I trust to you a task that I would trust to no others. Danyel’, you once spoke of a sudden slide of rock that closed the entrance to your valley home. You told me of how your people dug through the rock the whole of spring to free themselves by summer.

“I would ask you to use your skill with great axe and hammer to create slides of rock in the gorge connecting Avenwood and Rivenwood. Tsandra, Teren, and much of the Brown will go with you to guide you on your way. Let them help you. Do this thing in such a way that it is for all time.”

“It will be as you ask, my prince,” Redcliff replied. Without a further word, he, his brother, and the others rode off to the north, to Rivenwood.

Tsandra was the last to turn into the file. “My oath to you: as I live and breathe so shall they.”

“Be well,” Valam told her, and then he watched her ride away.



Ærühn stood over the fallen, dismay and perhaps confusion reflected in his eyes as he looked upon them. His long hair hung down, covering his face in a blanket of braids and beads. He had taken their weapons, a flask of ale, several bags of water, what armor he could salvage. It was the spell woven upon them that he could sense but not see that troubled him. He could feel the same spell in the air all around him now that he searched for it.

Geoffrey grabbed the dragon man’s arm. This was the fourth in a long series of rooms that they had come to. All the rooms had been occupied and they had had to fight their way through each. “We must move on,” he told the dragon man.

Ærühn looked up at him as if through a haze. Strange as it seemed to him, he could see Geoffrey but not see him—if such a thing were possible. “Yes, of course,” he answered reflexively, only now realizing that he spoke in dragon speech and the other spoke in the language of men and yet they both understood each other.

Geoffrey hurried to catch up with Captain Brodst and the others. Captain Brodst stood next to Midori, Calyin next to Lord Serant. Ayrian waited impatiently near the door, acting as look out. Keeper Martin spoke quietly. “Nothing is what you think it is,” he was telling the others as Ærühn and Geoffrey joined the group. “Isn’t that so?” he asked the dragon man.

Ærühn nodded but didn’t understand.

“We were all brought to this place for a reason. There is an ancient power here. It drew us in as surely as the scent of a flower draws a bee. What we must try to understand is why?”

“No,” interrupted Lord Serant. “What we must know is where we are. Somewhere in the Rift Range I suspect, perhaps the Endless Ice.”

“I was getting to that,” Martin said. “But first you must understand the why of it. I think I have the answer.” He looked to the dragon man. “Has the truth of it come to you yet?”

“This place makes us see what we want to see,” Ærühn said. He pulled a blade from his belt, turned to Geoffrey. “This is the blade you were given. It was expected that you should kill me with it. I will ask you again, why didn’t you?”

Geoffrey took the blade so as not to have to talk about it again. “With you I have no quarrel.”

“Yet you left the blade for me to take. How did you know I wouldn’t turn it against you?”

“If you were going to kill me, you could have done this while I was unconscious. Instead you put a blanket over me to keep away the chill. You gave me food and drink when you could have kept it for yourself. If I was truly your enemy, why would you have done such a thing?”

Ærühn snatched the blade from Geoffrey’s hand and threw it across the room. “Do you know so little of my kind? I am a Dragon Man of the Stone Shields. There is no honor in killing the sick or the weak. My punishment was to nurse my enemy back to health so that I might see through his eyes before I battled him to victory or defeat. My punishment was to bring me low—to see as you because I did not see. Don’t you understand this?”

Ayrian stepped between Geoffrey and Ærühn. “He does not know your law. How could he?”

“The Law is,” said Ærühn. “It is known to all.”

Keeper Martin touched a hand to Ærühn’s shoulder. “It is what I was trying to explain. We do not see as you see. This place has a hold over us, as it has over you. It makes us see differently and only when we question do we start to see true. I suspect we are in a wayside of old. A place where all things seem familiar but unfamiliar.”

“A wayside?” asked Captain Brodst.

“I’ve only heard tell of it in the most ancient of the texts. But I believe this is a place between the realm gates.”

Calyin swept back her long black hair, looked at the keeper quizzically. “Keeper, the day is long. We must be moving along.”

“We are caught in a wayside,” Martin explained. “We are caught in the place between.”

“The between? With the souls of the dead?” scoffed Geoffrey. “Surely you jest, Keeper. The between is for those passing beyond this life. It is where the Choice is made and the Wish.”

“True, yes, but it is also used by realm travelers. Before any of you interrupt me, I would like Ærühn to tell you of the dark land of the hunt. I would like Ayrian to tell you of the Kingdoms of the Skies. I would like to tell you of Uver and a time when his gates connected all the lands. So Ærühn, will you tell us how your people move from the frozen land to the dark land of fire?”

“The Great Door. It is known.”

“I’m afraid that it is not known. We know little of the Land of the Dark Fire or the Frozen Land of Ice and Snow.” Martin swept his hand around the circle. “They know nothing. I know only what I’ve been able to piece together. The one thing I do not know is if it has begun. Has it, Ærühn? Is that why you are here? Are you the Hand on the Wall, Ærühn?”

Ærühn glared at Keeper Martin. His large round eyes suddenly wider than seemed possible. “He will know. He will be angry.”

“Tell me of Prince Sy’dan Entreatte. Tell me of the High Lord. Tell me of the lost kingdom. What do the dark elves plan?”

“What would you have me say?”

“Will my telling do as well?” asked Belajl Entreatte, High Lord of Shost, as he and his people entered the room from hidden recesses.

“It would,” Martin said, his expression betraying no hint of surprise, though he hurriedly hastened everyone to the doorway Ayrian was supposed to have been watching.

“It will not work for you,” Belajl said.

“But of course it will.” Martin unrolled the small piece of parchment he held in his hand. As he faced the high lord and his men, he spread his arms wide to keep the others back.

“You underestimate my resolve. You were brought here to change the path and so it has come to pass.”

“Ah, but you forget that in the time before time, the lands were ruled by titans, dragons, and the great eagles. The Master Keeper knew, and so I know. I did not have to seek out the Hand on the Wall, the Hand sought me out. Is that not so, Ærühn?”

Ærühn nodded solemnly.

Keeper Martin spun around and pushed the others through the door. He ran down the long hall behind them, speaking the words of power from the parchment. The gate formed in front of them. Martin was the last to step through to the other side. As he did so, he could hear Belajl Entreatte scream, “May the two sisters carry you away! May you know the eternal sadness of Adrynne!”

In that moment, as he was swept from the world, Keeper Martin couldn’t help thinking that he did know, and that there was one who knew the sadness and the longing better than any other.



Thought and movement returned to Adrina. “Tnavres, come forth,” she commanded. The tiny dragon exited her flesh snout first, dropping to the ground beside her. It extended its wings, looking up at her.

Adrina took in the sight around her: the dark creatures everywhere as far as the eye could see. Noman’s steady hand on her shoulder. Amir and Xith battling the creatures with blade and magic.

“You are the key, Adrina,” Noman told her. “You have the power to end this.”

“What power? I have no power.”

“Do not play with me, girl,” Noman commanded. “Time is short. Do what you must.”

“The mark,” Xith called out from behind her as he unleashed a wave of flame into the ranks of the wraith. “You have the mark, Adrina. You are the servant. Did he not tell you the price?”

Across the field, the shadow warrior king looked on with sudden interest. The appearance of the girl was as foretold. The master would come now.

Adrina turned around to Xith, her mouth agape, tears in her eyes. She felt overwhelmed. It was all too much for her. As she turned, she extended her arms. Tnavres took this as a sign to sink his teeth into the flesh of her hand. His touch brought the mortification of her flesh.

“What is it you seek?” said a deep, powerful voice and as it boomed across the field, everything and everyone stopped as if frozen in time.

Noman knew at once the words were addressed to him and not to any of the others. “Show yourself.”

“As you wish,” said the other. The air over the field filled with a great clutter of tiny flying creatures. The creatures became one and that one creature was the Dragon King.

“You must restore order. That which has been released must be returned.”

“I am but the keeper. This is but the game of the ages.”

“Untrue, untrue, you are what you choose to be. The game is as you choose it to be.”

The Dragon King roared his disapproval of Noman’s words. “One truth. Choose well.”

“No more games, Bæhmangarin.”

The Dragon King called forth his queens as he spread out his enormous wings and together they blew fire down from the sky. The flames flew to the corners of the field, cleansing the earth in all directions. The flames enveloped the shadow warrior king and all his minions turning them to ash. The beat of the mighty wings blew the dark ash from the field; the flames continued to lick the earth.

“No more games,” Noman repeated.

The Dragon King cast his head down, his flames bathing the earth. Try as he might, his flames did not reach Noman or the others. “This is my domain!” he called out. “Be gone!” He called to his queens and they joined him in raining fire down upon the outsiders.

“Bæhmangarin,” Noman said. “Surely you’ve not forgotten the pledge. The faithful, those that serve are protected. Is it not so?”

“My princess,” the Dragon King called out. “Step away from the others.”

“No,” Adrina said defiantly, “I will not.”

“Do this or the prince dies.”

Her eyes wide, Adrina looked to Noman and then to Xith. “You lie!”

“Show her!” the Dragon King commanded of the tiny dragon at Adrina’s feet. Suddenly Adrina saw her brother. Valam was dressed in battle armor with his great sword strapped on his back. He stood on the balcony of a great tower, in a city that was foreign to her. Father Jacob was to his left. The queen of the elves was to his right. Lines of soldiers stood at the base of the tower. She heard shouts and cheers. “To the High Prince!” went the call. In the distance, beyond the walls of the city, she saw a large fleet of ships. Across the dark waters behind the ships, she saw the great black wave of an army tens of thousands strong sweeping in from the plains.

“Forgive me,” Adrina said, her voice trembling as she stepped away from the others. The Dragon King roared his approval. In his upturned claw, he held a great sphere and he cast the sphere into the fading image of the prince and his men; then he and his queens set upon Xith, Noman, and Amir.

It was as before; the dragons could not reach the three with their flames so the dragons set upon them with fang and claw. Amir blocked the powerful jaws and terrible clawed hands of the Dragon King with his twin blades. Xith and Noman defended against the queen dragons as best as they could. Although their magic had little affect on dragon kind, it still stung as they unleashed it.

“It is time for truths,” Noman told Amir.

“It is,” the titan replied.

Noman turned to Xith. He looked directly at the shaman as he transformed into his true self.

“It cannot be,” Xith muttered to himself as he watched Noman change form before his eyes. The figure before him was familiar but older, much older than he remembered.

“Aven, is that you?”

“It is I, old friend.”

It was unlike Xith, the great shaman, the watcher of old, to be at a loss for words but he was, at least momentarily.

Bæhmangarin and his queens showed their great disapproval by blasting the group with fire. Aven stood defiantly within the flames, his outstretched hands keeping the flames away from the others. “My father, Dnyarr, Elf King of Greye, would disapprove.”

“You betrayed him,” roared the Dragon King. “You betrayed us all. You are the great betrayer.”

Aven shook his head. “He betrayed his people. No single being was meant to rule over all the lands. There must always be balance. Surely you understand this. The balance must be restored.”

Bæhmangarin and his queens bowed their heads. The Dragon King looked to Adrina. “You are the key, princess. The Fourth will listen and return. The balance will be restored.”

Chapter Fifteen

The majestic spires of a palace grew before them. From a distance it appeared that a great serpent enveloped each, baring its head at each tower’s summit. The company followed an ancient byway that unfolded toward the palace gates, which stood agape as they approached. Amir and Aven led the way, with Shchander and Shalimar close behind them. Adrina walked beside Xith with Tnavres perched on her shoulder.

The palace was oddly still as they entered. The eyes of most were fixed on the structure directly before them. Its six towers and one center spire with broad stairs circling their way to lofty pinnacles inspired their hearts. Here they paused, for the long race through the frozen wastes of the Lost Lands was now at an end. For a time they relished the moment. Eventually they did continue on, but the urgency was gone. The pace was slow and deliberate.

They marched up many stairs and came to stand before the doors of a grand hall. They did not hesitate or ask permission to enter; instead, they held their heads high, almost with regal airs, and passed within. The first signs that the palace was occupied arose before their eyes. Flames burned from huge urns placed along the corridor. A faint glow from a distant point told them where the end of the long hall lay, and as they walked its length their footsteps echoed, replacing the silence.

A set of double doors sat before them, but they did not have to touch a finger to them. The doors crept inward, as if on command, just after the travelers had paused. Adrina was visibly the most animated of all. She felt that here she would have her answers, and the past would be well behind her. She followed Amir and was the second one into the chamber beyond the great double doors.

The room was unexpectedly dark and shadowy, but its echoes gave its depth away as they slowly faded. Upon a raised dais low flames burned, casting eerie shadows about the chamber. Amir put a hand on Adrina’s shoulder as she sought to move past him. He walked alongside her into the gloom. As their eyes adjusted, it became readily apparent that the shades of gray held shapes, and the images about the room called out to them.

Most visible of all the images was a figure standing on top of the dais, and as it lifted its arms up toward the ceiling the shadows were lifted. The hungry tongues of many flames sprang bright and crisp from their cisterns set along the walls. A handful surrounded the dais and swept out along a path toward the guests. The fires along the path seemed to writhe and move, dancing with the shadows cast upon the floor.

A herald of welcome issued forth and an enormous host swept from the recesses of the chamber. “We have waited long!” said a voice, pleasant and familiar. Amir and Adrina continued toward it. The others were more reluctant to follow. They held their places despite the warm invitation. Adrina turned to look back at Xith and Aven, waving for them to follow. “Do as you must,” Aven whispered to her, but he made no move to catch up with her.

With her right hand, she scratched Tnavres under the chin absently as she walked, thinking how marvelous a place they had come to. Xith had promised her that here she would have all her answers. It was all she could do to keep words from springing from her lips. She wanted the questions answered and she no longer had the patience to wait.

At first she thought that the one on the raised dais was a woman, but as they drew closer she began to think otherwise. It was definitely the face of a man that she gazed upon, and she also remarked in her mind his fairness. She returned the gentle laughter in his voice as he spoke again.

Amir grabbed Adrina’s hand and pulled her back, but she wanted to go forward. Her laughter fell hollow about the room as it died and she wondered what she had done in life to deserve such abasement. Further tepid words brought Adrina to her knees in deep, fitful sobs.

The eyes, Adrina remembered the eyes and the voice; it was so familiar, yet it, too, was changed. “Stand up, child,” whispered Xith, coming up behind her and helping her to stand. His matter-of-factness sparked her anger. “Why have you done this to me?” she cried out.

“I have done nothing your destiny would not have brought to you.”

“But, you were—” The remainder of Adrina’s words were drowned out by her tears.

“I had no choice,” returned Xith.

“You could have—”

“Silence!” screamed a loud and powerful voice. “I demand silence, and I will have it! I have not waited and watched for so long to hear your pitiful cries. Put them on their knees! I like them that way. And if they should stand, kill them all save the one. I want her to suffer until the last when I take that which is due me. Then when her suffering is at its worst and only then may you kill her.”

The darkly robed figures swept off their cloaks to reveal raven-hued armor as they withdrew their blades. Adrina closed her eyes, expecting dispute, but none came. Her mind exploded. A white searing light swam through her mind, but she clung to the darkness. She rebuked with words of her own. “Would you kill your own flesh and blood?” she begged.

The other stammered through the next words. Adrina continued her verbal assault, sensing the dilemma. “That’s right. I knew it when I first gazed upon your face against the light. You hold a likeness that I know well, though I can see you try to hide it, even now.”

“I am He, and I shall have Silence! Speak not a word, or I’ll separate you from your tongue!”

Even as Adrina attempted to stand, hands strong and true held her to her knees. “You cannot hide your past. You cannot deny your heritage. I heard the words Keeper Martin spoke the night you were birthed, and he cursed your name!”

“You lie! Foul treachery spews from your lips. Cut out this creature’s tongue and bring it to me upon a plate so that I may relish it.”

Many hands held Adrina’s head firm. She bit at the hand that probed her mouth. Tnavres clawed and raked all who came near. “Did not your mother have my eyes? Do you not have your father’s hair? Your eyes and your hair? What of the softness of your voice?”

“Lies, lies! Silence her! Kill them all and rid them from my sight! You have no right to speak to me in such a way. I order you to silence and if you do not listen, I will deliver your life by my own hand.” He grabbed a dagger from another’s belt and lunged at Adrina as she cried out and begged him to remember.

The point of the blade never found its mark although it did meet flesh. Amir’s face was not lit by sorrow or fear as he fell, but disbelief. The wielder of the blade backed away; a tiny voice cried out in his thoughts. It knew the truth. He had not always been.

Shchander and Shalimar jumped over Amir as he went down. They struggled to reach Adrina but Xith moved between them and the girl. “This is not your fight,” Xith told them.

“Come back to us,” Adrina repeated as she fought off her attackers. “What of the boy I once knew?”

“A man, no longer a boy,” the other said as he set upon her brutally, swatting away her tiny dragon as it sought to defend her. A savage kick to her stomach brought her to her knees. She would have collapsed to the floor if his followers had not held her. Instead, she doubled over, coughing up blood.

Tnavres returned, clawing at the man’s face. He angrily snatched the dragon from the air, squeezing with all his might and then thrusting out, sending the tiny flailing beast flying into the stone chair upon the raised dais. Grinning savagely, he returned his attention to Adrina who was now on her hands and knees, kicking her again and again.

Tears such as she had never known welled up in Adrina’s eyes. She cried out, “Please no more, please no more.” Her eyes wide and pleading turned to Xith who was no more than a handful of steps away.

The other brought the heel of his boot to her left forearm, crushing bone as he twisted and smashed down with all his might. The vision flowed strongly. He felt the surge of strength within him peak and the power came unbidden to his hands. As he spread his hands, brilliant bolts of blue and white spread between them, arcing wildly.

“Why, oh why?” Adrina cried out. “What have I ever done? Please no more. Please, please no more.”

For an instant her pleas touched him, he reached down to her, but as he did so pain swept over him. “No, no, not again,” he cried out. He watched as the three circled the other in his mind. “Go away!” he told them but the thoughts would not go.

Seeing the inner turmoil reflected in his eyes, Adrina reached out to him with her good arm, her hand finding his leg. He clasped his ears, pounded the sides of his head until the pain within was replaced by the pain from without, but the voices would not fade.

He pulled her to her feet, grabbed her broken arm, twisted. Adrina’s screams of agony intensified. “Stop, Stop!” she yelled.

His eyes wild, he laughed madly. “You are a great fool. The boy is gone.”

“Fool?” Adrina screamed back at him, finding sudden anger. “Never underestimate the fool. The fool on the board can capture the king just as easily as any.”

She stood firmly, defiantly, despite pain, staring into his wild eyes. She did a thing no one looking on expected of her, he least of all. She raised her broken arm into the air and called Tnavres to her. “Tnavres return,” she said as she lunged, wrapping her good arm and both legs around the other, causing both to fall to the stark, gray granite of the dais.

The granite that should have met them cold and full, pulled them in, allowing them to pass by as if they instead met the waters of some gray dark lake. Soon after, they were falling through the air, landing on firm ground in a shadowed land. It was a place Adrina knew though she wished she did not; it was a place the other apparently knew as well for he howled his displeasure in a long stream of angry words. “Not this place, not this place. It is not fair to return. The master promised more. The master promised all. This must be a lie! This is a lie!”

Adrina crab-crawled backward away from him. It never occurred to her as she looked up to him that in this place she had full use of both her arms. As she looked on, one became three and then suddenly there was a fourth in the space between them.

The Dragon King and his queens came winging in. Their great speed surprised Adrina for it seemed that one minute she saw them distant in the gray sky overhead and the next they were landing beside her.

“Dalphan, it is time,” the Dragon King said in his firm deep voice.

One of the figures broke from the circle and climbed onto the Dragon King’s back. “Has my beloved been found?” he asked.

“She has,” replied the Dragon King. “She waits for you.”

“On the other side?”

“As ever.”

Before the Dragon King took wing, Dalphan called back to those in the circle. “Brother,” he spoke firmly.

A dark figure, his face hidden in the cowl of his cloak, turned from the circle. As he climbed onto the back of one of the queens, the skulls and bones in his armor showed clearly. He did not speak as the other had, though he did clench a hand into a fist and wave it defiantly in the air as the queen dragon took to the air.

Tnavres jumped onto Adrina’s lap and licked her cheek. To her it felt more like soft lips than the tongue of a dragon. Indeed as she looked on she saw a beautiful lady elf and not a tiny dragon.

The lady elf said in as beautiful a voice as Adrina had ever heard, “I am Adrynne, Servant of the Dragon, as you will one day be again.”

“What is happening?” Adrina asked.

Adrynne said, “Take the boy’s hand and let us go from this place.”

“But what of the other?”

“The Fourth will remain as must be so. Quickly now, we must be away from this place.”

As Adrina took the boy’s hand, Vilmos’ hand, Adrynne took hers. The shadowland faded.

Adrina found herself lying supine on cold, gray granite, her arms and legs wrapped around Vilmos, who looked ever the boy and nothing like the man she had leapt upon.

She squealed with delight when she found herself looking into his eyes. “Vilmos, by the Mother, I have never been so happy to see anyone in all my life.”

Vilmos, somewhat dazed and confused, sought to untangle himself from Adrina. Adrina didn’t want to let go for fear that if she released him she might find that by some dark twist of fate the other was there and not the boy from Tabborrath Village.

Taking a leap of faith, Adrina released Vilmos and rushed him to his feet. She turned him around and inspected him. “By the Mother, it is you!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him.

“Is Xith here?” Vilmos asked.

“I am,” Xith said, stepping to the dais.

“I didn’t know what I was doing. I—I—”

“You need say no more. You could not have known what was to happen. You could have no more turned back the wind. It is done. It has run its course.”

“Has it?”

Having dispatched the last of the foes, Shchander, Shalimar and what remained of their band of free men from Solntse pressed suddenly close around Adrina, Vilmos, and Xith.

Aven stepped between the men, moving onto the dais. “It has. It is the start of a new age, an age of hope.”

Xith cleared his throat. Aven looked over to Xith and to Amir struggling to his feet. Amir bit back his grimace of pain, his eyes going to Adrina and Vilmos.

“But there is work to be done before it is over,” Amir said knowingly.

“True,” Aven said, reclaiming the guise of Noman, Keeper of the City of the Sky. Xith added a moment later, “Indeed.”

Chapter Sixteen

Upon exiting the Great Door, as the Gates of Uver were known to Ærühn’s people, Geoffrey, Lord Serant, Captain Brodst and the others found themselves in the frozen wastes of the far north. With the snows all around him, Ærühn, Dragon Man of the Stone Shields, became a different man. He stood tall, eyeing the kingdomers as if he were just now seeing them for what they were. He hissed and spat at them and then raced off. Ayrian took to the air to follow him, but driving snows and loud angry winds made the task all but impossible.

Before long Ayrian was settling to the ground in front of them, emerging from the blowing snows so quickly that he startled Calyin. Calyin slipped on the snow and ice, falling backwards into her lord husband and soon both were lying in the snow. Lord Serant tried to maintain his composure and find his feet, but Calyin would have nothing of it. She rolled on top of him and kissed him full in the lips, laughing like the girl she had once been.

Captain Brodst took the impropriety in stride and a smile almost touched his lips. The hint of a smile, however fleeting, was replaced by his shielding scowl, but his displeasure wasn’t due to their actions. He envied them and their love, and this he would never deny. With the mother of his children, he had known a kind of love though the marriage was one of obligation to maintain Elzeth’s honor. His second love was a true love but a love that broke the heart of his first love. Elzeth had taken her own life in a moment of weakness, and it was clear to him now how much her death impacted his life and his family.

At the thought of his family, the captain chuckled sardonically. He had no one, no family. His sons were gone. Pyetr betrayed the Kingdom. Emel quit the guard and was off in search of a thing he might never find. He knew Emel was running from a thing he could never outrun, even if Emel himself did not know this. To the captain, it seemed that for the whole of his life he himself had been running from the very same thing—a ghost of the past that he could never truly excise.

He gritted his teeth, maintained his ground, still thinking of the past. Happy times, not sad times. He thought of Emel and the day Emel joined the guard. He thought of the day he first met Elzeth. It was in this way that he came to terms with his captivity and his freedom. A cage could hold a man’s body, but it could not keep his mind from soaring or his soul from crying out.

Not two paces away, Midori watched Ansh Brodst. He seemed to be looking through her to Edwar and Calyin who were lying in the snow behind her. She didn’t know why there were tears in her eyes and blamed it on the icy winds and snows. Some day, she vowed. Someday, she would tell him. Not this day, likely not any day soon, but one day.

She brushed the frozen tears from her cheeks, and turned away to find Keeper Martin regarding her in almost the same way as she had regarded the captain.

“You must tell him, you know,” Keeper Martin said knowingly.

Finding the priestess in her, Midori brushed back her long black hair and pulled her robes around her. She eyed the keeper for a moment, then in a tone harsher than intended, she said, “Do you read minds now, keeper?”

“You wear the truth of it. I do not need to read your mind.”

Midori’s reply was drowned out by Ayrian’s shrill call to alarm. The bird man heard and saw things the others couldn’t. Those around him heeded his call, drawing their blades, forming a defensive line. Midori and Calyin stood defiantly in the middle of the line, wielding short blades even as the others sought to push them to the rear.

Ærühn emerged from the snowy veil, riding on the back of an enormous black bear. Others of his kind followed, each riding one of the great bears—black, white or brown. Behind them came still more, riding great wolves, either gray or white. Captain Brodst was quick to discern that those riding wolves were an offensive force of outriders, for those on the wolves carried long spears, pikes and bows, and were lightly armored. Those on the bears were heavily armored and wielded clubs and swords.

Ærühn dismounted, hissing and spitting. Keeper Martin stepped forward, explaining that this was a greeting—a greeting of friendship. Smiling, Ærühn nodded and said, “The Great Door is watched. You must come.”

Ærühn mounted his bear. Turning back to Martin, he said, “Mount, we shall ride.” Martin climbed on the back of Ærühn’s black bear. Serant, Brodst, Calyin, Midori, and Geoffrey climbed onto the backs of other bears, each taking up a position behind one of Ærühn’s men.

Ayrian looked on. He wanted desperately to take to the skies, to feel the air beneath his wings despite the snow and wind. One of Ærühn’s men dismounted and approached the Eagle Lord, hissing and spitting in a gesture of friendship. Ayrian cast a glum stare to the skies, and then mounted the dragon man’s white bear. The dragon man said something then that Ayrian didn’t understand. The others’ words must have been in a different dialect than Ærühn’s.

“He says,” said Ærühn moving his bear alongside, “that it is the greatest honor. That he will tell his sons about the day he gave ride to the one of the Lords of the Heavens.”

Ayrian was about to explain that he wasn’t a lord of anything, but Ærühn called the group to movement and the great white bear loped forward. Ayrian was surprised by the relaxed long strides and swift speed of the bear.

Ærühn led his men north and east. Within an hour, they were passing a most amazing sight and Keeper Martin found that he had to swallow more than a few gasps. From the texts of old, he recognized the giants of the six clans—fire and ice, storm and mountain, stone and hill—but he did not recognize the long-haired peoples that rode atop mammoths whose long curved tusks were covered in polished steel. The steel, inlaid with many intricate designs, glistened as it reflected the bright white of the ice and snow. The giants and the men on mammoths went by six abreast. The thrump, thrump of their boots and hooves and the roar of their trumpets, echoed long in the ear and across the land.

Keeper Martin did not doubt that the giants and men were going to the Great Door. For just as Ærühn’s bear troop carried them north and east, the giants and the men upon mammoths went south and west. What they would do when they reached the door, Martin could only guess, but Ærühn had named them watchers. He did not dwell on this thought much longer for the spires of a city grew in the distance. Try as he might, Martin could not recall a telling of such a city this far north.

Soon he could see the majestic, serpentine spires of some enormous building or palace that was within the city. Before he knew it, they were racing down the city’s ancient streets. The great bears continued to move in long, easy strides.

At the foot of the palace was a large open square that might have served once as a market for those that dwelt in the city. For now, though, the square was being used as a meeting place and was filled from end to end with the peoples of the north: the many tribes of the dragon men, the wild men who stood their mammoths, some few representatives of the giant clans, and the clansmen of Oshywon.

Much to Martin’s surprise, in the center of the assembled mass stood one he thought he might never see again. “Master Keeper,” he called out in greeting, surprise evident in his voice. He dismounted somewhat roughly but Ærühn’s firm hand kept him steady on his feet.

The crowd around Noman parted. Martin caught sight of the young woman standing behind him, her long black hair flowing freely and her clear, green eyes shining like jewels in the bright sun of the full day. He gripped Noman’s forearm as he passed, moving to greet the princess. Another behind him was faster though and he could only look on and smile as Calyin embraced her sister. In a moment, Midori joined in and the three sisters hugged each other while they cried.

He did not know whether they cried tears of joy or sadness, only that he himself was near tears. He had to look away to maintain his composure. Nearby he saw Lord Geoffrey Solntse greet his son Nijal Solntse, at first formally, and then with unabashed enthusiasm. It was then that he saw the boy, Vilmos, standing alone in the crowd, looking lost and unsure of himself. Martin did then what he knew he must. He took Vilmos’ hand, led him toward the great brown bear the captain was still mounted upon.

“Captain,” he said firmly. “I’ve someone I’d like to introduce you to.” The captain eyed Vilmos, dismounted expertly, almost as if he had ridden the immense bear all his life. Vilmos looked on. “Captain, this is Vilmos. Vilmos, I would like you to meet King’s Knight Captain Ansh Brodst.”

“A knight?” Vilmos asked, his voice breaking.

“Indeed and more,” Xith said, stepping to Martin’s side. Xith looked to Martin before speaking. A silent approval passed between the two. “Do you recall the day we met?” Xith asked.

“I do,” Vilmos said, “but it seems many lifetimes ago.”

“Do you recall the story I told you of the girl, the one I spirited away to the southlands?”

“My mother,” Vilmos said quietly, “You said she was my mother.”

Before Xith replied and confirmed this, Captain Brodst realized for the first time who Vilmos was. Vilmos was the son he thought he would never know, the son whose identity was kept from him these many long years. He turned to look for Midori in the crowd only to find she was beside him.

“Vilmos,” she said, taking the captain’s hand in hers. “Do you remember me?”

“Of course,” Vilmos replied without a moment’s hesitation. “You are Midori. You were my tutor. You are the one who took me away from my village.”

“That is not the full of it, Vilmos—” And this is the part that sent Vilmos’ knees to buckling and his heart to soaring. “—The truth of it is that I am your mother and Ansh is your father. Shh… Before you say anything, you must know that I did what I had to do.”

“I know this,” Vilmos said, speaking truthfully and standing bravely still when all he wanted to do was run, perhaps to her, perhaps away and to the winds.

Seeing and understanding the conflicting emotions playing out on his face, Midori embraced him before he could make up his mind whether to run to her or away from her. Her aim was to calm and sooth him, but she was the one who was calmed and soothed. She was the one who was healed and made whole.

She reached out to Ansh and he to her. Tears rained down her cheeks. One minute she was angry to her core, gnashing her teeth, reeling on the inside from the pain of the past. The next, she was calm, at peace with herself and the past, smiling as she lived life in the moment.

Xith looked on, pleased. He was about to speak to Ayrian when he saw Adrina and Calyin. He moved to her before she could cross to Midori. “You know you want to ask, so ask,” Xith told her.

“My brother,” Adrina said, “if I am the one with the mark, is he safe?”

Xith removed a glowing sphere from a rough, leather pouch at his side. Adrina recognized it immediately as an orb of power, much like the one Emel had taken from her and gone over mountain with in search of answers.

“Hold the orb and think of him,” Xith told her.

Adrina did as told and within the glow of the orb she saw Valam. He was dressed in battle armor with his great sword strapped on his back. He stood on the balcony of a great tower in a city that was foreign to her. Father Jacob was to his left. The queen of the elves was to his right. Lines of soldiers stood at the base of the tower. She heard shouts and cheers. “To the High Prince!” went the call. In the distance, beyond the walls of the city, she saw a large fleet of ships. Across the dark waters behind the ships, she saw the great black wave of an army tens of thousands strong sweeping in from the plains.

“No, no,” Adrina found herself saying, then suddenly she was standing within the glow of the orb itself and Valam seemed so close to her, almost as if she could reach out and touch him.

She wanted to take a step back, away from the flashing world, but Xith’s voice beside her kept her still. “Don’t move,” he said. “Dangerous, often lethal, to do so.”

“Where am I?”

“Shh… Look,” Xith said, directing her gaze back to the island city of Leklorall.

From high above, she heard a tremendous roar and as she looked up she saw a glowing ball of fire, falling from the sky. She did not doubt, and Xith would later confirm, that this was the object the Dragon King had thrown into the fading image of the prince and his men just before he and his queens set upon Xith, Noman, and Amir.

The enormous ball of fire rushed, hissing, into the dark waters of the lake. Towering waves of water spread out from the impact point, washing over the ships, moving over the land, and nearly emptying the lake. Adrina could see ships lying broken upon the rocks at the bottom of the lake. The grave, gray wall of water rushed across the land. The army turned about in the field. Some found safety; many others did not.

“You are doubly indebted now,” Xith told Adrina.

Adrina said only, “I am a Servant of the Dragon, am I not?”

“You are indeed,” Xith said, as he took the orb from her and led her to Calyin and Midori whereupon Adrina told her sisters of Valam and the three rejoiced as one.

End Of Our Tale

He waits in the shadows for another day.

His story begins with…

Rise of the Fallen (Ruin Mist” Dawn of the Ages)

Table of Contents

- Title page
- 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 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 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
- Chapter Twenty Two
- Chapter Twenty Three
- 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