The Ways of Mages #1

Andrew Beery and Catherine Beery

Copyright 2011-12 by Andrew Beery

Kindle Edition

Contents

Chapter One - A Beginning...  (AF1519)

Chapter Two- Harvest Fair

Chapter Three - The Way of the World

Chapter Four- A Silent Wood

Chapter Five - On the Road...

Chapter Six- A Wizard’s Destiny

Chapter Seven- Step not quietly into the night

Chapter Eight- Denizens of Nightmare

Chapter Nine-  The Heritage of Balance

Chapter Ten - All that glitters…

Chapter Eleven- If Truth Be Known…

Chapter Twelve - A Man In His Position…

Chapter Thirteen - Choosing Sides

Chapter  Fourteen-  Of Wizard Phobias

Chapter Fifteen - What This Country Needs now…

Chapter Sixteen- Traveler Advisory

Chapter Seventeen – A Blue Pigeon

Chapter Eighteen- Old Libraries

Chapter Nineteen- Rebirth of a Dragon

Chapter Twenty- The Hall of Mirrors

Chapter Twenty One - A King’s Mistake

Chapter Twenty Two – Trial

Chapter Twenty Three- A Dark Pit

Chapter Twenty Four- Of What Could Be

The Ways of Mages #2

The Catherine Kimbridge Chronicles #1, Inception

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank my wife Lori and my two daughters CJ and Jackie for putting up with me while I wrote The Ways of Mages.  I’d also like to thank my twin brother Peter for putting in months proofreading and concept tweaks. Of course I wouldn’t be much of a pastor if I didn’t acknowledge God – to Him be all the glory!

2nd Edition: I especially want to thank my daughter Catherine “CJ” Beery for her invaluable help with the second edition of this book and the fantastic work she has done on volumes 2,3 and 4.

The Ways of Mages, #1

Andrew Beery

Love…

Such a simple word. It could almost be missed in a crowd of other words. But a simple word is often the best creation can offer. There is only so much that our imagination can hold even though it is so vast. We, the creation, need to define everything around us in order to have a chance of understanding our surroundings and each other. But love is so much more than the powerful feeling that most of us assume it is.

Love lives. Love has feelings and plans. Love creates.

Love created everything around us. He created so He would no longer be alone. And what He made was good. Love was a silversmith creating the world as a mirror.  The detail, the complexity; all of it proclaimed the glory of the one who made it for all to see. The silver mirror was thin to the point of fragility, but it was strong when it leaned upon its creator’s strength.

Love granted His created companions a choice. He created everything, but there was one thing he could not create and have it be genuine: love. He did not make His creation to be empty constructions spilling empty praise and words of adoration. He wanted them to love Him. Genuinely and truly love and care for Him. So He gave them a choice: they could love and follow Him or they could choose not to.

There were those who chose to know Love and the mirror was strong. But there were also those who turned away. They wanted to do things how they saw fit, no matter what the creator said, no matter who it might hurt. Each time they chose to go their own way something ugly was born. Something made of Hatred and Greed and Jealousy. These evil things tarnished the mirror.

They became known as The Dark Lords and they hated Love. For they compared themselves to Love and found themselves lacking. They were not as strong nor as powerful as Love. And they could never be.

They hated that knowledge.

So they turned to His mirror. The thing that birthed them. The thing they could master. But they could not master it if it were whole. And so they whispered in creation’s many hearts. They planted doubts. And with each doubt, corruption began to spread. Tiny cracks appeared in the parts that had turned from Love. Eventually there were so many who had fallen away that it took but the lightest, gleeful, touch of the Dark Ones to shatter the mirror.

And thus the world was sundered.

But Love, the Author of Creation, had a plan.

Prologue – The Dark Path   (After Fall, AF1504)
Some doors are best left locked… - A Seventh Kingdoms Proverb

“Do it. Do it now!”

T’nere drove the blade home. Blood surged from the wound. The bound man struggled for an instant.  Blood stained the once pristine King’s Guard commander uniform.  T’nere watched the man’s eyes bulge, whether from the pain or disbelief, he couldn’t say. Perhaps, it was safe to say both.  Betrayal was definitely one of the last and T’nere felt a brief, no he wouldn’t allow it. He had to focus on the prize. The smell would help him with that. The humid, salty tang of a human blood letting filled the small chapel. For T’nere, the feeling of destiny was exhilarating.

A shrouded woman stepped forward, out of the shadows. “Well done, child. You have taken your first step.  You are ready to be marked for the beast.” Her cold voice was approving.

“Thank you, mistress.”  T’nere murmured glancing down before meeting her gaze again.

Her eyes were hard and penetrating–like knives that cut through to the heart.  “Now that we have begun, I will not brook disappointment.”

“I won’t disappoint you.” He gulped.

“I know you won’t,” she answered in a cold voice with an air of absolute confidence.

T’nere shuddered. Her voice held all the warning it needed to. The price of failure was too horrible to contemplate. He could not, he would not, fail her.

“Take his heart and let us leave this foul place.”

T’nere complied, working quickly and efficiently. Never once did he allow his eyes to wander to the now dead face of his older brother. Regret was an emotion for lesser men. He would not allow himself to become a pawn to it—not now that his reward for years of patience and toil was at hand. Hadn’t he already been given the satisfying knowledge that his brother would no longer scorn him?

He watched as the woman moved her hand to the shawl veiling her face and he realized what she was about to do. In all the many months they had been meeting, she had never once allowed him to see her face. Theirs was a covert relationship necessitated by the nature of the dark calling to which she invited him. Now that he had committed his soul to her lord there was no longer any need for secrecy.

She removed the cloth from about her face. Luscious volumes of dark hair framed a startling visage. She was beautiful— except for a scar that marred her left cheek. He found the imperfection strangely alluring. She smiled coyly and he realized this was the second of many rewards to follow. Her face was strangely familiar but he could not place why. He put the thought aside for another time. He was surprised by her age. He had assumed she was much older. He could see now that he had been wrong. T’nere guessed but doubted that she was even eight years his elder.

She saw his surprise and smiled deeper. Guessing his thoughts, she said, “I’m much older than I look.”

“Is that one of the gifts the Dark Lord grants us?”

“It can be.” She handed him the shawl. “Wrap it in this.”

“What?  It? Oh, yes,” he stammered. His brother’s heart was still warm in his hands. He felt awkward as he wrapped it in the black silk. The blood on his hands was sticky. He looked around and saw the baptismal font. Perfect, he thought as he washed his hands in the basin. The water ran pink with his brother’s blood.

The two made their way out of the now desecrated chapel. It was late enough in the night that they ran little risk of seeing anyone in the corridors of the castle. Still, the woman set a grueling pace that was little short of a run.

“Where are we going?” T’nere asked breathlessly as he struggled to keep up.

“To meet friends” she answered. “Tonight is a night of grand destinies. For you, the road is but barely begun; for others, tonight is the culmination of many years of work.”

They were rushing down a stairwell he would have sworn wasn’t there a day ago. She had waved a hand and he felt the tell-tale pressure of magic at the base of his skull.  A section of wall turned in on itself… revealing the staircase down.

T’nere didn’t recognize the corridors they traveled. The shortcut had taken them past the familiar walls of the castle proper. These walls were dank and moldy. The oil lanterns used by the castle housekeeping staff had been replaced by sputtering rag torches. Even these were few and far between. Soon enough they turned a corner and faced a dead end in the tunnel.

T’nere smirked sarcastically and shook his head.  “We must have taken a wrong turn.”

“So little faith for one so young,” the woman chuckled. She waved a hand and T’nere again felt the familiar press at the base of his skull that indicated magic was being used nearby. The wall shimmered and was replaced by an open door—open to a brightly lit room scarcely larger than the small chapel they had fled moments before. T’nere wondered how many fake walls there were in the castle.

The room held a black granite table but it was not this that drew T’nere’s attention. Seated in the room were four hooded and robed figures. The largest, seated at the head of the table, spoke.

“Az j’ta bloom.”

T’nere shuddered. The phrase was in a tongue called Old World Arathin. His brother had insisted he learn it a few years back. It seemed most of the old books of learning were written in that ancient tongue. As he sifted the words through his memory the meaning became clear. “Pawn takes knight.”

The woman smiled warmly. The effect was startling. T’nere saw every back in the room stiffen involuntarily. It seemed these men were no more accustomed to seeing her smile then he was—only unlike him, they had learned to fear it.

“I think you should know that our young friend speaks Arathin. Further,” she turned to face the bigger man who had spoken first. “He is no pawn... he is a partner.”

“Is he now?” the hooded man proclaimed with a bluster that said he wouldn’t be publicly intimidated. “Then let us be properly met.” The man pulled back his hood.

Now it was T’nere turn to be startled. The man had the chiseled chin and regal brow that had become the hallmark of the Holden line. This was none other than Raymond Holden, the king’s uncle and—in the event of Randolph’s death, heir to the throne. That, of course, would soon change, as the queen was late in her eight month and the infant would secure the succession.

The others removed their hoods and T’nere saw the faces of several of the lesser nobles in Randolph’s court. One of them spoke now, his voice eager. “Did you bring it?”

“The boy has it.”

“Good,” Raymond spat. “Kindra’s gone into labor – a full month early. We must act tonight.”

“Then tonight we shall” the dark-haired woman responded. “Thanks to our new associate,” she absently waved to T’nere, “the captain of the king’s personal guard is no longer a hindrance.”

“Does the boy know what is required of him?”

T’nere broke into the discussion. “I am ready to do anything that is required to serve the Dark Lord.” He cursed his voice for betraying him and choosing that moment to crack but he would be damned if he would let himself be talked over as if he weren’t even in the room.

“Then let us begin,” the woman whispered. She waved an arm in an encompassing sweep about the room and the torches dimmed to the barest flicker. The room was plunged into faint candlelight. Shadows danced between the faint flickering lights and around the men.

The woman reached under the black granite table and produced a sturdy cast iron bowl along with a bone pestle. She nodded to T’nere and he handed her the cloth-wrapped bundle. The woman placed it, shroud and all, in the waiting bowl. She paused for a moment, head bowed, giving T’nere the impression that she was in silent prayer. When her head came up her eyes glowed with a fire of their own. She pushed the bowl towards T’nere and spoke in a voice many octaves too low to be her own, “Spit into the bowl!”

“What?”

“Hush, boy, and do as you are told!” Her voice was her own again but clearly strained. “This magic requires something of the executioner. I could use blood if you prefer, but you must choose quickly. I am controlling forces beyond your understanding and I cannot hold them long.”

T’nere spat. As the spittle hit the cloth, the bowl ignited in a white hot blaze that blinded all. It lasted barely a second, but, when T’nere’s eyes cleared, the bundle of cloth, heart and all, had been reduced to a small pile of smoldering ashes. He felt his bile rising at the smell. As he looked about desperately for a place to be sick, he heard Raymond laugh mercilessly at his distress. Shame flushed T’nere cheeks and he forced down the nausea. No one would laugh at him.

The dark-haired woman produced a bottle from under the table and added a few drops of its contents to the ashes. She briefly ground the mixture with the pestle and then waved a hand in a stirring motion over the swirling contents of the bowl. It now steamed and churned of its own accord; producing a thick grey smoke with wrapped itself around T’nere like a clinging lover.

When the smoke cleared, the woman took the now empty bowl and poured a measure of foul smelling wine into it. “Drink,” she said calmly.

T’nere looked doubtful.

“Drink!” she repeated more forcefully.

Her hand flashed out, blindingly fast, to grip his wrist. Her nails dug into his flesh. The pain flared and surged throughout his entire body as she fed it with her magic. “Make me force the issue and you will regret it.” The pain intensified. His hands found the bowl and he brought it up to trembling lips.

The taste was everything he expected and feared; but he made himself drink the foul liquid. He had no doubt that she could and would force the issue if she needed to.

When finally he had choked the mixture down, he lowered the bowl. The young woman reached under the table and produced a cloth, which she handed him to wipe his mouth. She seemed shorter—in fact they all did. Raymond’s bemused expression warned him that something was amiss.

“What’s wrong?” T’nere started to say when he noticed that the timbre of his voice was off. It was deeper, more like his brother’s than his own. With a haunting sense of dread he raised a hand feel the features of a face he was sure was no longer his own. His arm froze midway when he caught a glimpse of his hand. It was larger and more callused than he remembered. More like that of a soldier than a boy. His suspicions were confirmed.

“He’s perfect, except for the undersized clothes,” the man next to T’nere said approvingly.

“How long will it last?” Raymond asked, more pragmatic.

“Long enough…” the woman answered. “Perhaps four hours – maybe a little more.”

“What’s happened?” T’nere finally asked. Some small part of him still refused to accept what he knew to be true.

“It’s quite simple, my young friend,” Raymond answered. “You’re now the Commander of the King’s personal guard.”

“…And you’re going to kill the queen before she gives birth to that half-breed abomination,” the dark-haired woman finished.

Chapter One - A Beginning...  (AF1519)

“Cat’s instinctively know who love them. On the same token, they also know who have not yet converted.”  - Facts Well Known

Eight razor sharp claws and a score of sharp teeth dug into his exposed and defenseless foot. By instinct, as much as thought, he flung his leg hard, tossing his assailant across his small sleeping chamber.

Considering the abrupt nature of her flight, the kitten landed with considerable grace. Casually, and with a complete lack of interest in anything else, Catechizes sat down to lick a forepaw. Satisfied her mission complete, the purring grey and white cat continued grooming; seemingly engrossed with some unseen speck of dust. The large male that her mistress, the girl child, adored was up and would soon see to her feeding.

Still grumbling to himself, Thomas GrimHolden swung his legs over the side of the bed. There would be no going back to sleep this day. Too many things were going on to be lazy even for a few minutes. In an odd sort of way, he was grateful that Jewel’s cat had awakened him, not that he intended to admit it to Jewel...or to Keysis as she often called her kitten.

He had been having the dream again. He smiled, a wane, self-depreciating smile. He dreamt as much as any man, but for him there were dreams and then there was THE dream—a fire enveloping everything and everyone that had ever been dear to him. Sadly, the dream was true—the last remaining specter of a horror that had occurred nearly sixteen years earlier. He had been a much different man then when his beloved brother had been king.

To be sure, he was still powerfully built, standing over six feet tall and almost half that in width. Despite his size and middle years, his body was well toned and his muscles rock solid. He was a monastic soldier, a knight, in the Grimedian Order of Knights. Even more importantly, he was Grim. Not in demeanor, but in title. He was the head of the Order of Grim. Many of the knights added Grim to their surname when they took their ecclesiastical vows, but tradition dictated that only the head of the order was addressed by that honorific alone.

Looking about the spartanly furnished, but thoroughly cluttered room, GrimHolden’s eyes fixed on the kitten daintily licking her paws. Only an occasional flutter of her tail, illuminated by lamplight from the adjoining antechamber, gave any indication that she was aware of his scrutiny. GrimHolden walked to the chest, deliberately choosing a path through the pile of his cluttered belongings that would take him by the cat. A quick twitch of his foot sent it scampering out of his way and through the door to the antechamber. He sifted through his clothes, which were piled haphazardly on the chest. He was looking for a pair of trousers both clean and not in need of mending. Keysis peeked through the door, drawing her back along it as if to scratch something unreachable by paw.

“Why do you look to me, cat? I’m not your owner. I don’t even like cats...” He paused, considering, and then sighed, “But then you know that, don’t you?”

He sighed again, as much to himself, as to the cat. He had never been particularly fond of cats. God, however, in his infinite wisdom, had seen fit to burden him with an orphaned niece who adored (and was adored by) cats—cats of all ilk and ownership. How many times had he sat in the Petitioner’s Hall listening to some great noble woman or merchant’s wife complain bitterly over the loss of a cat, only to have the feline in question make an inopportune entrance from the adjoining library, usually in the company of his ward, Jewel. Again he sighed; he was not being fair. In truth, Jewel did very little to encourage the cats and she was far from a burden. If he had a daughter of his own, he would have been no closer to her than he was to Jewel. She was his daughter, in all but name.

Satisfied that he was not going to find a better pair, GrimHolden selected one of the less crumpled tan breeches and a shirt that had seen better days almost a decade ago. Perela would not be happy with his selection. She never was.

Perela was the Mistress of the Kitchens and unofficial Mistress of the Monastery. She considered all knights and their families to be her children. And she was not above scolding those children when she felt the situation warranted.

She found GrimHolden a special challenge. He had defied all her attempts to secure for him a suitable mate. Rumor had it she had promised his mother on her deathbed that she would see him “wifed” and by God that was one promise she seemed intent on keeping. When GrimHolden left the palace in Pershara and took up residency in the monastery, she even went so far as to leave her royal post and assume a similar role with the Order.

The knight wrinkled his brow. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to marry. It wasn’t even a lack of willing partners. He was a handsome man—despite his affinity for old and misused clothes—furthermore, he held a powerful position and came from the noblest of families. For GrimHolden, however, there was one aspect of a marriage that he would not – could not – do without – love.

Many years ago he had given up the crown in favor of a younger brother whom he loved and, who quite frankly, had been better suited to wear it. His brother had shown GrimHolden the importance and value of waiting for the right love. Despite the pressures from court, Randolph his brother, the King, had refused to marry until he had found a woman he could love with all his heart and who would love him back in kind. His patience had been rewarded.

GrimHolden’s bother had been blessed with a wonderful wife and a loving marriage. The woman had been a treasure beyond all-price and had stolen Grim’s heart too.  That simple fact and the love he bore the memory of a brother that had been King haunted GrimHolden and would not allow him to compromise on the issue of marriage.

When the palace burned those many years ago, Grim’s brother had died trying to protect his bride and newborn daughter. He had made the ultimate sacrifice. GrimHolden knew from his brother’s example that there were some things worth dying for.

Giving his boot one final tug and slipping his ever-present sword into its scabbard, he proceeded through the door into the antechamber. Sitting in an overstuffed reader by the fireplace was a younger man of perhaps thirty. He was trim and, if anything, more muscular than GrimHolden. He was holding a small grey and white kitten—stroking its forehead with a finger that seemed disproportionately large for such a task. Keysis was purring loudly enough for GrimHolden to hear a full twelve feet away.

“Good morning Duncan. I see that damn cat is no better a judge of character than the barmaids at O’Kieffy’s tavern.”

Duncan GrimBennett grinned. “Of course she is. She’s sitting on my lap and I didn’t even have to buy her an ale.”

The older man chuckled.  They had been close friends for longer than either cared to admit. Duncan was the Master of Arms, a post he filled two years ago when GrimHolden vacated it to become the Grim. It was unlikely that anyone in the monastery could best Duncan with the sword, bow or lance – No one except perhaps the Grim.

“Speaking of ale, I could use a little something before we head out this morning.” Duncan continued.

“Well, perhaps you’re right at that,” GrimHolden grinned. “Shall we see what Perela has cooking for breakfast?”

“And what we can steal for this little one.” The younger knight was still holding the cat as he joined Grim in the hallway.

The hallway was dark with patches of flickering torchlight illuminating the chiseled stone walls. Skylights spaced every dozen yards or so were dark.

“Good Lord, man.  It’s still night. What time is it anyway?”

“It’s half an hour before first bells. I thought you would want to get started before Father Thomas 'asked' you to do the morning Mass.”

“Good thinking,” GrimHolden agreed. Many of the knights were ordained and could conduct a Mass or give absolution. In truth, they seldom did. That was what the monastery’s Father Superior was for. At least that was how GrimHolden saw it. Father Thomas took a different point of view, especially where the ecclesiastical duties of the Grim were concerned.

Rounding the corner, Duncan and Grim entered the kitchen. A score of cooks and their apprentices scurried about. The smell of cheese breads in the ovens mixed with the heady aroma of the ox that was slowly rotating on the spit over glowing coals. The coals sputtered as hot juices dripped on them. The smell made GrimHolden’s stomach rumble in anticipation. The Grim was noted for his hearty appetite.

Across the room, Perela saw the two men enter. Her look was anything but pleasant when she saw what Duncan was carrying. Hoisting her skirts with a stately gait that belied her generous size, she stalked over to the two knights. Her gaze was stern, but as she approached, it was obvious that her stare was not meant for the knights but for their small furry charge.

“What are you doing here?” the woman challenged.

Duncan gave Grim a quick “we’ve been caught” look before turning back to the Mistress of the Kitchens. “Ah, Mistress Per...,” the younger man began before a sharp look from the woman cut him off.

“I told you to be at the back door when the milk wagon came in the morning,” the stout woman said in a stern voice while shaking a finger at the kitten.  The kitten responded by attempting to bat the finger. “It’s a good thing for you, I was there, or you’d be not getting any cream!”

Ignoring the reaching paw, Perela took the kitten. “Good morning, Gentlemen.” she said with a nod as she turned her back on them to head back into the kitchen proper.

“Good morning to you, Mistress Perela...” Grim began.

“We were hoping to make an early start for the town” Duncan finished.

Perela paused and peered at the two men over her shoulder. Both men nodded in unison. Perela looked from one to the other, sizing up their obvious attempt to secure her permission. As if she had any say in what men did, she thought.

“Heading out early to the Harvest Fair are we? Aye and I suppose you’ll both be wanting your breakfast in a basket now too, won’t you?”

“Aye, that we would,” Duncan answered with just a touch of the same eastern accent the old cook was affecting for their amusement. It was hard for Duncan to resist teasing the woman, especially when she seemed to be in a good mood.

“Aye, well, you’ll not be the first,” Perela chided back smugly. “Your girls beat you here by a good half hour.”

‘Your girls’ almost certainly meant Jewel and Elainia, Grim thought. Half an hour meant they’d be well along the Dunshire road by now. “Well I guess we had better follow her if we don’t want Jewel stealing every cat in town!”

“You’d think that girl was a dragon, the way she draws cats” Duncan agreed.

“You shouldn't joke of such things!” Perela admonished. “And she such a pretty thing. Reminds me of myself at her age, she does.”

Somehow Duncan had trouble picturing that, but for once his better judgment had the upper hand, and he said nothing.

“The baskets?” GrimHolden prompted.

“Hold your horses,” Perela said as she bustled over to a big table by the bread ovens. “I’m just an old woman. There’s a limit to how fast I can move at my age.”

Duncan grinned broadly. He had seen this woman box the ears of a knight twice her size and knew that she would never be ‘just an old woman.’ To him or anyone else in the monastery.

But before Perela had lifted the lid to the first basket, there was a firm and somewhat disappointed cough from the corridor behind Grim and Duncan.

As one, the two knights turned. Standing behind them, with his arms crossed, was Father Thomas. Grim gave up any thought of making an early start for the festival.

Chapter Two- Harvest Fair

Jewel stood with her back to a tree, one foot propped back against it. Dawn had broken to a chorus of songbirds a few minutes earlier. She and Elainia had decided to pause by the river and enjoy the splendid breakfast that Perela has packed for them.  In her hand she held a small stone. It was shiny, with a smooth glass-like finish polished by years of tumbling in a stream. She turned it over in her fingers.

She liked shiny things like river rocks. She had always had a special fascination with them. This one was cracked and not perfect but she put it in her pouch anyway. She would add it to her already considerable collection when she got back to her rooms at the monastery.

Having made that decision, she looked over to the other girl wading in the shallow creek. Elainia was a pretty girl, with volumes of gently curling honey yellow hair and the beginnings of what promised to be a very curvaceous figure. Not at all like my dull red hair and thin hips Jewel thought.

Seeing her friend's look Elainia sighed. The boys never seemed to notice her, but Jewel–Jewel was another matter. She always knew what to say and how to act. Elainia wished she could be as good with the lads as Jewel was.

“How are your feet?” Jewel asked.

“Better. Do you want to move on?” The blond girl was wiggling her toes in the fine sandy silt of the creek. Her new boots were being worn today for the first time in honor of the Harvest Festival. Not being broken in, they were not as comfortable as she would have liked.

Jewel looked at her friend standing in the creek with her skirts hiked up and began to giggle as a sudden thought struck her. What would Jason McGill say if he saw Elainia in her present condition, skirt hiked immodestly up to wade in an icy creek? Jason was almost two years older than the girls and was a knight in training. The looks that he and Elainia gave each other when they thought the other was not watching almost surely meant they were sweet on one another. Jewel stifled her giggle.  Knowing Jason as she did, she knew he would almost certainly join Elainia in the creek. Further, being of the male persuasion, he certainly wouldn’t object to seeing a little extra skin…men were funny that way.

“What are you laughing at?” Elainia asked as she stepped out of the creek and dried her feet on a towel from their breakfast basket.

“Oh, nothing… I was just thinking of how red your face would be if a certain somebody were to walk around the bend on his way to Riverdale.”

Elainia’s face flushed and she looked around. “You don’t think he will...” she began, but stopped short. “A certain somebody WHO?” she finished hotly.

Jewel’s wan smile was her only answer. Elainia was so much better with boys. “Never mind,” she added, “Are you ready?”

“Just about. Wait a moment while I get my boots laced.”

Jewel spent the time enjoying the scenery. This was one of her favorite places. A bend in the road hid the monastery that was their home. The creek rippled close and a small meadow opened in an otherwise dense wood. She could sit by the bank or wade in the creek and lose herself in daydreams of faraway places and romantic battles fought in her honor.

Of late, there was little time for such daydreams. A real war was being waged throughout the kingdom. Even though the monastic knights had refused to become involved, everyone was bustling about getting ready: stocking food stores, moving and counting barrels of oil, collecting candles and, perhaps most concerning, making bandage rolls and drying medicinal herbs. The Harvest Festival provided a rare opportunity for everyone to push thoughts of war into the back corners of their minds and enjoy, for at least a few days, some measure of peace.

Jewel had tried to ask Uncle Grim why everybody was rushing about. After all, why prepare for a war that you have no intention of joining? He had answered simply: “Some wars you go looking for. Others come looking for you.”

“Well, are you just going to stand there,” Elainia asked, “or are we going to get gooseberry pie stains on our clothes so mother Perela knows we had a good time?”

Jewel laughed, coming out of her reverie. Elainia was alluding to a none-too-pleasant experience the two girls had shared a number of years earlier at the Harvest Festival. It was an incident involving two very unladylike little girls and a fight over a gooseberry pie.

“As I recall,” Jewel commented dryly, “Mother Perela did not believe that story and you and I spent a fortnight scrubbing pots.”

“And as I recall,” Elainia mimicked, “We didn’t even get the pie. Jason ate it!”

Both girls laughed as they continued their walk to the town. The breakfast basket that Perela had given them was carefully hidden behind a tree where it would wait for their return trip.

The road between the monastery and the town of Riverdale was not long, perhaps three miles. It meandered through Dunshire Woods. The dense trees crowded the road and at times almost seemed about to overrun it. Still, it was a peaceful place and the woods never seemed threatening.

Soon enough, the girls rounded a bend and Riverdale stood before them. Banners of all shapes and colors fluttered in the gentle breeze. It was no more than hour past dawn but already the streets were filling with families. Today was the first day of the Harvest Fair. There would be dancing, games of chance and skill, drinking, pastries, cheeses and meat breads, as well as all sorts of rides, animals and fun.

Jewel was especially fond of the flying boats. Two small rowboats were lashed to support beams, which were hinged to a center pole. As a team of burly men pushing against lever arms, spun the center pole, the boats would gather speed and start to rise. Uncle Grim had called it centrifugal force. Jewel called it fun.

As the girls entered the town proper, they passed a number of white brick houses with reddish brown tile roofs. The bricks and roof tiles were made up river in Shenandoah. The local clay didn’t fire well, Master Jacob had said during a weekly class at the monastery.

Master Jacob was the town engineer and kept a small bevy of young lads and apprentices occupied during the long summer months building cisterns, walls, bridges and an occasional new house. In truth, there was always some sort of construction going on and Master Jacob would have used the boys all year long if he could have gotten away with it. As it was, spring planting and the fall harvest kept most of his potential work force in the fields except during the summer months. Most but not all.

Two young men were apprenticed to Master Jacob each year. The apprenticeship would last three years and the successful candidate would be granted journeyman status. Journeymen having reached that rank under Master Jacob could expect to be paid as much or more than most Masters made once they made their way to some of the larger cities.

Nobles from as far away as Tharahsa would send their sons to Riverdale to apprentice under the master engineer. He usually refused. Riverdale had enough lads both willing and qualified for training. Taking on the high born (and often snotty) sons of nobility would have denied a seat to a local boy of poorer means who was truly willing to learn the math and physics principles required to be a master engineer.

There were exceptions. It was just one of those exceptions that Jewel was hoping to find. Gawin Al’Dap had been orphaned while still a very young boy. He had become a clever thief and stole his way from city to city across Pershara. That is until he had the misfortune to come to Riverdale and pick the pocket of Master Jacob.

Master Jacob had caught the boy easily enough and found the boy to have a sharp mind. He convinced him to stay and learn a trade. Once shown by the Master Engineer the power of geometry for solving engineering problems the boy was hooked. Gawin was a natural and it seemed he would never be able to quench his thirst for mathematics. The fascinating tricks possible with knowledge of geometry, algebra and later calculus had proven too strong a temptation for the young would-be thief to ignore. Master Jacob had no doubt that the day would come when their roles would reverse and master would become student – so confident was he in Gawin’s potential.

That had been almost six years ago and the young boy, now a young man, was well along the path to being a master in his own right. He was also the heartthrob of every young girl in a twenty-mile radius.

He was a tall man with wide shoulders and copper red hair that resisted all reasonable (and many unreasonable) attempts at containment. As a result, Gawin typically kept it cropped short and had literally spawned a fashion in Riverdale as other young men tried to emulate a look that girls found irresistible.

As expected, Master Jacob was already at the flying boats, but to Jewel’s disappointment, Gawin was nowhere to be seen. Master Jacob saw her and immediately erupted in a broad grin, flourishing his hand in a wide arc while at the same time bowing.

“A chariot m’ lady?” he said in a false high-brow Persharan drawl.

“Why of course, my good sir.” she answered in a similarly false highborn clip.

The two girls rode several times before Elainia put a stop to it; complaining that if they had any more fun she would lose her breakfast.

In the park just off the center square, Gawin watched the flying boats circle. He had intended to join the crew of men swinging the boats about. The boats were the best place to meet pretty young girls, especially early in the day before the dancing started. He had been especially eager to see the only other “red head” in town.

He had noticed Jewel GrimHolden eyeing him out of the corner of her eye whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. He meant to do something about that today. In his pocket he had a “Promise” locket made from his own coppery red hair. Getting enough hair to weave the intricate Escher knot had been especially difficult given his preference for close-cropped hair. He had solved the problem by keeping a small tail uncut at the base of his neck and tucking it under the collar of his shirt. This occasioned a few pensive looks from Master Jacob when Gawin had tended the ovens, shirtless, in the brickery sometime later. Mistress Jacob only smiled that woman’s-knowing-smile when she saw him later that day. He had blushed (a deep beet red) and studied the slide rule he held as if it were the most interesting tool he had ever seen, hoping against hope that nothing would be said.

He fingered the knot of braided hair in his pocket and sighed. Whatever his earlier intentions, the short gray-haired man at the edge of the park had changed his mind. Unless Gawin missed his guess, the old man was Bendon D’Armis. Gawin was rarely wrong about a face, even one as bearded as this one. What was Bendon doing in Riverdale? The last time Gawin had seen the mysterious beggar he had told Gawin to seek his fortunes in the west, specifically Riverdale. Riches beyond imagining would await him here. He had been right in a peculiar way, but how could the old man have known about Master Jacob and the life he would find here?

Making his way carefully toward the one time beggar, Gawin was surprised to see the station of the old man’s dress had improved markedly. No longer was he clothed in a tattered homespun common in the east lands. Now he was garbed in a sturdy wool weave with reinforcing leather patches on elbows and knees. The leather boots, while not those of a nobleman, were certainly of quality construction. In one arm he carried a red cape such as a bard might wear. His face was still almost completely obscured by a close trimmed white beard that seemed to start barely an inch under his eyes

As he approached the old man, Bendon’s eyes caught Gawin’s. Gawin was sure he had seen both recognition and surprise registered in them. But before he could raise his hand and yell a greeting across the courtyard, his attention was diverted by a sudden commotion - followed by a tense hush as five armored men entered the square astride horses. They were King’s Guard – once admired by all – they were now little liked by the townspeople. This was the Harvest Fair however and by customs older than memory, all were welcome. Even King’s Guard.

Slowly festive noises resumed and Gawin’s attention returned to the old man. He grunted with a curse. The old man was gone!

Jumping up and peering around, Gawin caught a glimpse of a red cloth as it was pulled inside O’Kieffy’s tavern. Working his way through the crowd, Gawin made his way to the tavern. He pushed open the heavy oak door and entered.

Fresh saw dust covered the floor and the smell of Jenny O’Kieffy’s cooking had the place smelling like a bakery. On one wall, kettles on an iron hook warmed hot spice wine in a fireplace nearly as long as the wall. This early in the day, the tables were for the most part empty. In the rear, where light from the stained glass windows barely reached, a thin hand furtively signaled him to come over.

This was strange. If he didn’t know better, Gawin would have thought the old man was hiding, but that was silly. Who was anybody in Riverdale to threaten this old man? Deciding he was imagining things that weren’t there, he strode over to the gray-haired man and started to open his mouth to utter some inane greeting when the older man interrupted him.

“Yes yes, it’s good to see you too lad. Mustn’t talk too long, no no. Too much to do and too little time to do it.” This all flooded out as a single quick statement. Gesturing with a hand to a seat, the wizened old man continued... “Sit sit. “

“I...” Gawin began as he sat.

“Yes yes you’ve grown too, you have. This will help. Yes it will. This will help.” The old man had an annoying way of repeating everything he said. Still Gawin found the old man strangely charming with a broad smile and twinkling eyes that bespoke of both mirth and hidden knowledge. Not exactly wise but certainly ‘experienced’.

“You...” Gawin tried again.

“...have come from Armor Garcia, across the Sigon Pass to see you and your friends, lad. You and your friends.”

Suddenly the bearded man cocked his head to the side as if listening to someone speaking in a soft voice. “Yes yes, you are right my old friend, I waste too much time. Time we do not have ...time I do not have” He patted the red cloak at his side affectionately.

Seeing Gawin sitting, Bendon became alarmed. “Why are you seated? Your friends need you. They need you now. I’ll go with you. Yes yes, I’ll go with you.”

Half pushing, half pulling, the strange old man herded a seriously confused Gawin back toward the door he had entered moments before.

Chapter Three - The Way of the World

The man gasped.  His leg was throbbing. His head pounded and he was having trouble seeing through his swollen and blood-encrusted eyes.

He had been stumbling through dimly lit back alleys for hours.  How he got to be “where he was” or even “who he was” were items lost in a haze of pain and desperation.

He clutched a small bundle wrapped in fine linen close to his chest. This was his little girl. He would protect her at all costs. An evil was after him. He desperately wanted to rest but he could not. The evil was here. He could feel it.

He stumbled and half dragged himself around a corner into a main thoroughfare.

The finely dressed ladies and gentlemen walking the street startled at the sight of this strangely clad and disheveled man clutching a baby.

His eyes darted about as if half crazed. He spotted a church perhaps a hundred yards away.  The street ran up to the impressive marble steps and ended. He would be safe there.  The evil would not reach him. He raced as fast as he could to reach the steps.  It was little more than a shuffle but it was all he could manage. He crawled up the steps leaving a bloody smear on the white marble in the process.  The door to the church was closed.  It was inlaid with golden runes, which he could not read. Something was not right. It wasn’t wrong. It just wasn’t right. He was confused. There was safety of a sort here. He beat a feeble fist on the door. Then with the clarity of thought that sometimes precedes unconsciousness, his mind cleared enough to realize that this was not a church after all; but rather a great library. He knew a brief flitting moment of peace just as darkness took him.

***

The sun was well above the horizon when Grim, Duncan and a handful of monastic knights trotted into Riverdale on horseback. Things had not gone according to plan all morning. Grim had been initially elated to learn Father Thomas intended Duncan to conduct the morning mass. The elation had been short lived. Father Thomas tapped him for confessional duty after the mass.  Fortunately the service had not been well attended. Most knights utilized the many smaller private chapels in order to fulfill ecclesiastical obligations and still make an early start for the Harvest Fair.

The poor turnout did not stop Duncan from taking advantage of a captive audience and talking for almost three hours on God’s use of humor in the Bible.  Father Thomas appreciated the zeal with which the younger knight attacked the sermon, even if he was less than thrilled with the topic. Grim fully expected the matter of suitable sermon topics to be raised at the next meeting of the Monastic Session.

To make matters worse, Duncan was the last knight to come to Grim’s confessional. Grim’s friend began a convoluted litany of conquest involving numerous maids at various inns and taverns in town. Grim had begun to wonder how any one man could involve himself with so many different women in a single week when Duncan continued his recitation with the phrase “and then the next night...”

Duncan was a pious man in his own way but Grim serious hoped God had as good a sense of humor when his friend finally presented himself at the pearly gates. He assigned the younger man ten Rosemary’s and an hour of prayerful contemplation for each transgression that had allegedly occurred. If Grim’s suspicions were correct, Duncan would be confessing a failure to remember the penitence at next week’s confession.

The festival looked as if it had gotten off to a good start. The streets were already crowded. Many of the faces were quite familiar. Riverdale was not so large a town that people didn’t know everything about everybody. Surprisingly, a large percentage of the faces were not known. As people fled troubles in the east, western towns like Riverdale saw more and more strangers passing through on their way to new lives in the west. Unfortunately the troubles in the east were themselves moving west. Grim wondered how much longer he could keep the Order out of the conflict. Once they were forced to enter he would have to make choices that he would just as soon not have to make. Honor was a strange thing.

***

Jewel looked over to her friend. Elainia was eating an overstuffed strawberry tart while dabbing stray bits of filling with a lace fringed handkerchief. Somehow she managed to look dainty even while eating a tart that seemed to be designed to make a mess. Jewel was having considerably more trouble. She was eating a blueberry tart manufactured to the same over stuffed standards. In addition, Jewel was carrying a very pregnant gold and brown cat that had decided it was Jewel’s turn to hold her.

It hardly seemed fair that Elainia’s face remained clean while Jewel’s was rapidly becoming a purple mess. It did not help that the cat kept batting at the hand with the tart as if to say, “Hey, let me have some...”  Concerns of decorum were quickly forgotten however, when Jewel, while fighting both cat and pastry, suddenly felt a bump and a pull at her belt.

Turning to face the person who had bumped her Jewel was startled to see a small boy of perhaps ten pushing his way into the crowd clutching a green purse the same shade as the one she wore. Suddenly she realized it was her purse. The boy had obviously mistaken the bulging purse for coin; never dreaming it contained only a few pennies and quite a few river-polished stones.

Dropping the cat and tart, she gripped a confused Elainia and yelled, “STOP HIM! He has my purse! Stop! Thief!”

Hearing the yells behind him the young boy redoubled his efforts to become lost in the crowd.  Jewel saw him heading up the street and ran as fast as the crowd and Elainia would allow, screaming “Thief!” the whole time. The young pickpocket was in front of a tavern when the door opened.

Gawin, pushed by Bendon, entered the street at about the same time a young boy was running by. The boy plowed right into Gawin, knocking the air out of him. In an effort to avoid falling, Gawin gripped the boy.  One hand folded around the hand with Jewel’s purse and the other attempted to reach the boy’s collar. The pick pocket made a sound Gawin would have sworn was a squeak and kicked Gawin’s shin with surprising strength. The yowl that erupted could be heard clearly for miles in every direction.

When Gawin’s eyes cleared, the boy was gone and a King’s Guard was holding a very sharp, very long sword at his throat. It was only then he realized, he held a forest green purse with a braided yellow drawstring. He could hear Jewel, in the crowd, coming closer yelling “He stole my purse!”

Great Gawin thought… The perfect beginning to a perfect day. First I meet an old friend who seems to be several cards short of a full deck. Then I get arrested for stealing a purse from a girl who’s stolen my heart. With any luck I can get drafted too.

He began to say “This isn’t really what it seems...” but the guard’s wolfish grin seemed to say facts were not going to be relevant in this case

“You hold fast, thief.” The last was said with a sneer. “And button yer lip or I’ll button it for ya.” As if to emphasis his point, the guard inched the sword under Gawin’s nose.

“What do we have here, Sergeant?” A tall officer with a red plume in his helmet asked. With him were three burly soldiers clad in the same burnished chrome and crimson of the King’s Guard, minus the plume of course.

“I caught me a bony fried purse snatcher, I did.” The first guard said. “And it took quite a bit of tussle ta do it” He added as an afterthought.

“Now see here!” Gawin began.

“NO! You see here thief.” The officer cut in, “You will face the King’s justice for the crimes you have committed here today and any ranting on your part will make that justice the stiffer still! Do I make myself clear?”

“But I...”

“Enough! Sergeant Tolivier, as you say, he resisted arrest once, you are to bind the criminal and escort him to camp. We will offer him a choice between enlistment or the work camps once I have concluded my business with the monks.”

“But I...” Gawin began again.

“I said enough!” the officer yelled. He made as if to slap the young man’s face but instead he tripped and banged his head, helmet and all into the side of the tavern. Bendon, the old man, had quite neatly placed his staff where the pompous officer could not help falling over it.

Fuming, the officer stood and turned, “Take this petrified old fool of a ma...”

“Sir!, Sir! Oh please Sir!”

Confused, the officer looked over his shoulder. Jewel had finally made her way through the crowd and was trying to get the soldier’s attention.

“You caught the wrong one!” She said still panting for breath.

“And who might you be?” the tall officer asked with a knowing smile.

“Jewel GrimHolden, my lord.” She answered breathlessly.

“No ‘My Lord’ here girl, I work for a living. So this is your purse is it?”

“Yes my... Sir” Jewel stuttered

“Well well, Sergeant Tolivier, do you know what we have here?” the officer said with a self-satisfied smile.

Tolivier grinned and struggled to fold his tongue around a large word, “Opper-turn-ity!”

The officer’s grin neatly split a face which had obviously seen the wrong end of too many fist fights.

“Opportunity indeed! What I think we have here is a thief and his barmaid accomplice. Sergeant, take the wench into custody as well. If they continue to argue, gag them!”

“Aye sir, that I will...” then as a sudden though occurred, “Sir does that order include search’n im?” This last was uttered with speculative glance at Jewel’s budding figure.

“Do whatever safety demands...” then with his own glance at Jewel he added “with him. I’ll handle the girl later.”

With a genuine lack of enthusiasm, Tolivier answered “Aye sir.”

***

Lieutenant T’nere had no trouble finding GrimHolden. The monastic knight was easily twice the size of the townsfolk with whom he so casually cavorted. The lieutenant sneered. He looked forward to the coming conversation. The king would surely place the monastic knights under his captain’s command. T’nere would make these obstinate monks his special project. He took a perverse pleasure in humiliating inferiors. These cowering monks (he could not think of them as knights) would provide months of entertainment.

Grim saw the rakish young lieutenant approach. He was King’s Guard but that was not why Grim disliked him. Grim was unusually adept at judging the character of a man. This particular man was especially distasteful. The lieutenant had the look of a jackal coming in for a kill; wary, cocky and over confident.

Speaking to Duncan quietly and out of the corner of his mouth, Grim said, “Let’s have some fun here... back me up with this young fool!”

“Always a pleasure” Duncan agreed with a wry grin.

The lieutenant approached the knights. He stopped within a pace and pointedly looked the two over. A barely controlled smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. T’nere turned to the bigger of the men, knowing full well to whom he spoke.

“You there monk...” T’nere began “I would speak to your master. Go fetch him.”

Grim smiled and replied calmly, with an air of serene benevolence. “This warms my heart. My master has long yearned to hear from you... alas, without much hope.” Looking at the position of the sun Grim continued, “However, it has been some time in the coming, my son. The period required for a proper confession would exhaust what little is left of the morning and afternoon...”

T’nere ’s face flushed with anger.

Grim when on, ignoring the twitching lips and half choked sputtering. “Father Duncan, do you think we could arrange a more suitable time for so lengthy a confession, say with old father Denesen? He could sleep through most of it during his afternoon nap.”

“I’m sure something can be arranged.” Duncan replied. He had also noticed the soldier’s growing anger and was not about to miss out on the fun. “If I may suggest…?  A blessing now might serve to temporarily sustain the sergeant’s soul...” turning to face the lieutenant “Perhaps if you were to get on your knees and bow you head...”

“ENOUGH!” the lieutenant bellowed. “I am no sergeant!”

“I’m sorry corporal...” Duncan continued. “We simple monks have such a hard time understanding rank...”

“Maybe you’ll understand this!” T’nere yelled drawing his sword.

“HOLD!” Grim uttered the command with icy steel in his voice. He clamped a massive hand on the soldier’s sword arm and stared directly into his eyes. “You came here with a thought to be insulting. We turned it back on you. So far we have battled with mere words. Do not bring your sword into it. God did not intend for you to die so young a fool today... do not make me disappoint him.”

“The King,” T’nere said through gritted teeth “who’s a lot closer than your god, did not intend for you to stay holed up in your pathetic monastery whilst he fights a war!”

“The Grimedian Order of Knights are -- by charter --monastic knights. We go to battle at the behest of the Church, not the King” Grim said calmly.

“King Raymond is the church!” T’nere screeched.

“Not since the Censure of Ramadon. Ecclesiastical authority was stripped from the... ‘King’ and resides with the Bishop of Vandenburg. No secular decrees made by a rebuffed ‘would be’ king will change that.” Now it was Duncan who was getting angry.

“Would be king!” T’nere snorted. “I will enjoy seeing you grovel for mercy when that same king has your neck stretched out over a chopper’s block! Until that happy day you and your men will consider yourself to be under the command of the King’s Guard!”

“I expect we’ll decline your kind offer of ‘leadership’” Grim replied calmly.

Shrugging off the Grim’s iron grasp on his shoulder, T’nere replied “Don’t think of it as an offer. Think of it as your Order’s only option if you wish to survive this war.”

“We’ll risk it. But thanks.”

“You’ll change your mind soon enough!” the lieutenant sneered.

“I doubt it” Grim answered. The men held eyes for a brief moment, then with an obvious sense of theatrics, the lieutenant swirled, sending his cloak in a wide arc. He stalked off; head high, red plume jousting some unseen opponent.

Grim turned to face his friend. “I wonder what that last was about.”

“Pleasant enough fellow” Duncan remarked dryly.

“You have an odd sense of a man’s character” GrimHolden commented.

“True enough.” Duncan readily agreed smiling at Grim. “Look at my friends!”

Chapter Four- A Silent Wood

“Listen! The vocal ones won’t kill you. It’s the silent ones that need watching. As to the silent ones in your midst… best say your prayers now.” –Excerpt from What Will and What Won’t by Tellus Noan

Gawin shifted his position against the pole. He and Jewel had been bound hand to foot and half dragged, half marched to the encampment where the King’s Guard was bivouacked. There, they were searched and staked to opposing posts in a large, centrally located, tent.

The position they were forced to sit in was the least of Gawin’s discomforts. He shifted slightly. When they were searched, the promise locket Gawin had made for Jewel was found. Fearing a relationship between the two of them might serve to implicate Jewel; Gawin described a totally fictional serving girl to the sergeant when pressed for the name of the women for whom the locket was intended. Completely unaware of the duplicity, Jewel was crushed. Gawin in turn, unsure of Jewel’s feelings for him, interpreted her cold glares as proof that she saw their current situation as entirely his fault and that she was not now, nor ever would be interested in him romantically. No punishment meted out by the King’s Guard could match the pain now coursing through his heart.

The shifting caught Jewel’s attention. She looked up at Gawin. For a moment, he thought he saw a tear in her eye but then her face hardened and she turned away.

“Stop staring at me!” she muttered. “I’m not your serving girl.”

“Jewel...” Gawin began awkwardly “You’re...”

“Shhh..” she said in a whisper.

“But...”

“Shhh!” she said louder. “Listen”

There was a rustling sound against the far corner of the tent. Squinting against the glare of the sputtering torch, Gawin tried to see into the darkness. He caught a glimpse of metal and then daylight as a hole opened in the rear of the tent. Shortly the sound of carefully ripping canvas reached Gawin’s ears.

“Well now, isn’t this an attractive couple? “ The voice was Duncan’s.

“What are you doing here?” Jewel asked in a hushed whisper.

“I’m sorry” Duncan replied. “I can cut those ropes and come back later if you two would like to be alone.”

Gawin’s face turned a very deep shade of red. “That ah, won’t be necessary Father Duncan.”

“No it won’t” Jewel added firmly.

“Ah to be young and in love again...” Duncan mused as he cut the ropes binding Gawin’s hands – he had already freed Jewel. She was in the process of trying to find something. Possibly to throw in response to Duncan’s musing. Her gaze was straying to the lamp a few times too many for Duncan’s peace of mind.

“Careful girl! If you throw that lamp, it would almost certainly draw the attention of the nice guards napping right over there.” He pointed to the front of the tent. “I’ve been most careful to avoid disturbing them” He whispered.

“Uncle Duncan. Sometimes I don’t know whether to beat you or kiss you!”

A wolfish grin that threatened to split his face from ear to ear and a wink was all the response the monastic knight needed to make.

“Why you...” Jewel raised a threatening hand with her own impish grin.

“Ahem” Gawin mumbled while inclining his head toward the tear in the tent that Duncan had made.

As they made their way through the tear Gawin queried the knight, “Did you come alone?”

“Actually, I just came to scout the camp,” Duncan admitted, “but the opportunity was there and I thought to myself – why not?”

The party of three worked their way across the encampment. It was still nearly an hour before full darkness, but the smoky haze of many wet campfires mingled with clumps of scruffy bushes - shrouding the area and helped hide their escape. Once in the cover of the thicker bushes and stunted fruit trees that bordered the north side of the camp, Duncan produced horses. They guided their mounts silently across the orchard toward Dunshire Woods.

When they were well clear of the King’s Guard Gawin reined close to Duncan’s horse.

“How did you know where we were?”

Duncan paused to scratch the rough beard of his chin before answering.

“Grim and I were accosted by a foolish young lieutenant. He left with an invitation to join the King’s forces and a rather oddly phrased threat. We didn’t understand it until an acquaintance of yours paid us a visit in O’Kieffy’s tavern. A strange old codger named Bendon - all fur, no face.”

“That’s Bendon” Gawin acknowledged.

“Do you know he talks to his cloak?”

“A bright red one.” Gawin laughed.

“Strangest thing...” Duncan went on pensively.  “I’d have sworn anything he didn’t have the thing when he sat down at our table. A cloak of that color should be hard to miss. He told us about the incident with the purse snatcher and the lieutenant’s order to incarcerate you two love birds...”

“Uncle...” Jewel warned in a low voice.

“Anyway,” Duncan continued, “Grim asked him if he knew where their camp was and could he draw a map. Fur-face says there’s no time - twice. The next thing I know, he’s rummaging through the pockets of the red cloak. He pulled out exactly the map Grim wanted - as if he knew in advance that Grim would be asking for it.”

Jewel shrugged her shoulders. “He could just have anticipated the need and drawn it up before coming to you and father”

“Then Fur-face says thank you - to the cloak; folds it up and puts it back on the chair.”

“Bendon has always been a bit different.” Gawin agreed. “I don’t know him all that well but I trust him. His advice has always been good.”

“All the same, if that cloak’s any indication, I don’t think I’ll be playing poker with him anytime soon. His hands are a little too fast”

They entered the Dunshire Woods on the southeast side just north of the town of Riverdale.

This end of the woods was a mixture of mostly evergreens, pines and birch. The long needles of the pines had made a rich brown mat that covered the forest floor. This early in the fall the trees were just beginning to dress in the vivid yellows and reds of the season and were still full and lush with leaves. Normally the woods were full of a myriad of tiny sounds from the various denizens going about their daily business. Such was not the case today.

“Something’s wrong” Jewel whispered to Duncan.

“Why?”

“I don’t hear a thing” Gawin added.

“Exactly!” she insisted. “When has Dunshire Woods ever been this quite? Where are all the animals?”

“Point taken” Duncan agreed.

He shifted in his saddle, turning to see from side to side. “Your uncle should be meeting us just ahead. Let’s play it safe. Single file, slow trot. I’ll take the point. Gawin, you take the rear. “

“I’m afraid I’m not armed” the journeyman engineer said as he reined in his horse to fall back.

“I know” Duncan answered. “Just be careful and use your wits. If we’re lucky whatever is scaring the animals won’t know there’s only one sword between us.”

***

GrimHolden and a squad of knights waited for Duncan at a fork in the wooded Dunshire road perhaps a mile south of the monastery. Grim intended to hear his friend’s scouting report and then make arrangements for a rescue of his niece and the young journeyman engineer.

The silence in the woods was deafening. Whatever was scaring the animals was catching the attention, at least indirectly, of Grim and his party too. Bendon had been the first to comment on it. The old man leaned in his saddle to whisper in Grim’s ear.

“Strange be the way of the world tonight. Strange indeed.”

“If by that you mean; you think we’re being watched - I agree.” The Grimedian knight paused to shift his gaze about. “I just can’t figure out from where.”

Bendon gestured ahead and to the left, “There. About a King’s measure ahead of us.”

Grim gestured to two of his men, Daniels and Henderson. Using quick hand signals, he sent them to advance forward and left. They moved off silently, making good time despite the need for stealth.

In total, Grim led a group of twenty knights, monastic and lay. While Duncan was scouting the camp, Grim had headed back to the monastery to set into motion plans that had been developed months earlier. Plans that anticipated just such a turn of events. War had finally come looking for the Order. Grim was determined - if they were going fight in this war, it would be on the side of righteousness and justice. It would be to restore a proper crown to the land.

Henderson trotted his horse back to Grim and Bendon. The animal’s eyes darted about frantically and its mouth frothed as it fought the bit. It was obvious that the knight was having some trouble controlling the beast. Quickly, Henderson made his report. The horse calmed down the moment he was handed to an attendant.

“Two groups. One headed into the woods a couple of bends ahead. Maybe five men and animals an hour ago. Probably hunters.”

“Probably” Grim agreed. “The second group?”

“Sounds like three riders moving slowly this way. Maybe twenty minutes away”

Bendon turned his wizened face to Grim. “Your friend hears well to perceive so distant a sound.”

“He’s a minor A’sulem – ‘touched’ by the One God. He communes with animals and uses their ears as his own. I’ve learned to trust what they tell him.”

“Yesss... He is touched,” Bendon said distractedly. To Bendon’s way of thinking, the lack of animal sign should have negated Henderson’s gift. “Have you not noticed the animals? Are not their voices absent even as we speak?” He looked again at Henderson, “Strange indeed is the way of the world tonight.”

“Perhaps so...” It was Grim’s turn to be distracted. He was searching the woods with his eyes. “Let’s move the horses into the trees”.

Bendon and the others followed the Grimedian knight’s instructions. When he thought Henderson wasn’t looking, Bendon watched the younger knight. Henderson, for his part was careful to avoid looking directly at the old man. When Bendon was finally able to see into his eyes, the look he saw was pure hate.

“Oh my, my” Bendon said.

“Shhh” Grim whispered to the old man, holding a single finger to his lips to illustrate the order.

A couple of short whistles brought Daniels back. Grim waved him over to the stand of trees under which they were hiding. As the younger Grimedian knight joined them, Grim urged the horses farther into the dense hard woods. A few minutes sweeping a leafy branch on the ground covered any traces of their presence. There was plenty of loose groundcover, for which Grim was thankful. It made hiding their tracks that much easier.

Bendon watched GrimHolden direct the work. Although he desperately wanted to confer with big man, the grizzled traveler kept his silence. To anyone watching, he was a slightly senile old man bored with events beyond his understanding. In reality his razor sharp mind was analyzing a situation far more dangerous than any of the others realized. The key was going to be Henderson and what he decided to do.

Any further speculations on Bendon’s part were cut short as events unfolded faster than even he expected. Up ahead the regular and carefully controlled patter of tightly reined horses on the road could be heard as three riders rounded the bend. They were considerably closer than Henderson had indicated. Grim was about to wave the other knight forward for an explanation when an eerie coldness swept over the group. It came from the trees surrounding them rather than from the three riding in from the south. Whatever was the source of the uneasiness, the three riders ahead felt it too. Grim saw the familiar face of his Master-Of-Arms scan the woods - looking for an unseen but surely real threat.

Duncan’s searching eyes passed the hidden Grim. He nodded slightly and continued to scan the woods. Grim for his part smiled slightly as he realized who was traveling with his old friend. Kicking his horse into a brief canter, Duncan whispered to his companions “Grim’s just ahead. I don’t know about the rest of you but I’d feel a bit better with the company of additional swords I trusted.”

“I’ll second that!” Gawin agreed nervously. Seeing Jewel’s distracted look, he reined back slightly to gaze in her eyes.

“Can’t you hear it?” she whispered. “The howling” Her voice had an edge of panic in it.

“Don’t hear a thing” Gawin whispered back. “The wind is playing tricks on your ears.”

No Jewel thought. No it’s not.

As the riders trotted up to the trees in which party from the monastery hid, one of the knights, Henderson, peeked from beneath the bow of a large pine to stare at the three new arrivals. His eyes flickered quickly over Duncan and Gawin, to land finally on the prize they sought.  Jewel.  He issued a low guttural growl from deep within his throat. At the same time, his face transformed.

No longer was it the trusted visage of the kind and honorable knight. Now it was a face warped by thoughts of unimaginable cruelty. That a face could be so transformed bespoke darkly of the evil that had seized the knight.

The thing that had been Henderson pushed past Daniels and Grim. The former was pushed so hard that he was lifted off the ground and thrown several feet. Grim was stunned by the unexpected strength of the shove. The man was possessed. He had the strength of several men. As Henderson lunged into the opening, he threw back his head and screamed a single ear-piercing cry in the ancient tongue of Arathin.

“Ka Tasha!”

It was both a challenge and a warning. Its meaning, a dark call to arms, was lost on most of the party but its effect was immediate. Dark shapes began to separate themselves from the shadows. The coldness intensified.

Bendon began to search frantically through the seemingly endless pockets of his bright red cloak.

Henderson drove straight for Jewel and the horse she was riding. Duncan swung his sword in a menacing arc but the crazed Henderson ignored it completely. Henderson drew his own sword and continued toward Jewel. The look on his face brooked no doubt. He intended to kill the girl and he meant to do it in the next few seconds.

Duncan had no choice. Whoever this was, it was no longer his lifelong friend. He swung his sword in a great chopping blow that neatly separated Henderson from his sword by removing his arm. To any normal man such a blow would have been debilitating. To Duncan’s utter horror, Henderson merely reached down and retrieved the sword with the other hand. Even more startling, the severed arm continued its inexorable advance toward Jewel; using its fingers to pull itself along. Duncan barely had time to duck as Henderson attempted to deal with the source of his current distraction. The stump that had lost the arm was already growing a ghoulish replacement, complete with a miniature, gnarled claw where a hand should have been.

Grim and Daniels had regained their feet and were using their own swords to deal with the dark shapes that had emerged from the shadows. The vaguely man shaped things were making their way slowly toward Jewel. Gawin, without any real weapon, was attempting to use his horse’s hoofs to best advantage.

Grim quickly discovered that jabs and thrusts had no effect on the dark shapes. Whatever killed them, it was not the same things that killed men.

“Use broad sweeps! Sever their arms and necks!” The Grimedian Knight bellowed.

Bendon was continuing to pull a seemingly endless collection of junk from the pockets of his cloak. At his feet was an amazing array of spoons, pots, scrolls and things that defied description. Finally, with a great flourish, he pulled a six-foot quarterstaff from a pocket that could not have begun to hold so large an object.

“Gawin my boy... Try this” The old man threw Gawin the quarterstaff with an ease that was at odds with the old man’s frail appearance.

Gawin caught the polished wooden staff. It was a stout rod of a light colored wood that the journeyman engineer had trouble identifying. Gawin hefted the solid staff, testing its balance. Here was a weapon he could use! Three of the dark things had surrounded Jewel’s panicked gelding. Without immediate help it was only a question of what would do her in first; the three dark terrors, or being thrown and trampled by her horse. Gawin was determined that neither fate would take her.

He reined his frothing mare next to her gelding. Using a deft swoop of the staff, he smashed one of the dark creatures aside. The creature glowed briefly, crumpled and was gone. Gawin was too busy reaching Jewel to notice the effect he and his staff were having on the dark shapes. When he reached Jewel’s side he quickly pulled her off her mount and onto his.

The gelding she had been on collapsed under the weight of four man-like beasts that seemed to come out of nowhere. The gelding’s screams were cut short in a breathy gurgle as one of the things literally ripped its throat out.

Everywhere Gawin looked, more of the dark creatures were emerging from the shadows. His quarterstaff flew with a life of its own. Where swords had been, at best, marginally effective, Gawin’s staff was death itself. Every time it hit one of the dark horde a brief blue glow would engulf the monster and it would collapse - literally oozing into the ground.

Duncan and Grim worked side by side, sweeping clear a wide path between their small party and the road. Grim was about to signal a strategic retreat when Gawin’s staff sharply turned the tide of the battle. As quickly as it had begun it was over.

Jewel clung to Gawin’s back. Her face was ashen as the horror of the past few minutes sank in. Gawin didn’t know how; but the staff had been a key factor in their victory. He resolved then and there never to let it out of his sight.

Bendon calmly placed the numerous items at his feet into pockets of his cloak, muttering to himself the whole time; “Oh yes... Oh my... My my... So that’s where you’ve been hiding...” He seemed completely nonplused by recent events.

Grim turned to Duncan and Daniels. His face, dripping with sweat, was nevertheless cold as granite. He waved an arm to encompass the recent battlefield, his deep voice was rock-hard and steady, “Analysis? Opinions? Hell, I’ll even take general observations?”

“What in God’s earth were those things?” Duncan asked while cleaning the blade of his sword with a handful of tall grasses.

“The good lord has very little to do with this. Those were dark-kin,” Bendon answered casually. “You might have heard them called ‘dark sons’ - Men who sold their souls centuries ago to one of the dark lords. In this case, Maltacken – Lord of Shadows, unless I miss my guess.”

“I’ve known Henderson since we were little boys. Fifteen years or more. He is no dark son!”

“I agree with Daniels,” Duncan added, “Henderson was as pious a knight as I’ve ever known. I cannot believe, even for a moment that he would have been allied with the dark one.”

“Be not concerned for your friend’s soul. The young Sir Henderson lives yet. I expect we’ll find him just ahead in the woods. Deception requires his victims living.” Bendon paused as he folded the cloak into a small bundle which he draped over his shoulder. Looking up he seemed surprised he still had their attention.

“That was not your friend you fought. No no, not your friend at all.”

Chapter Five - On the Road...

The man sat on the steps to the Great Library of Thioden.  He bounced a little girl of four on his right knee. When he paused, she giggled and screamed “More daddy! More!” He complied while tousling her jet black hair.

The girl’s name was Perela. In the old tongue, Arathin, the name meant “She who is found.” His name was Bendon. It meant “He who is lost.” He smiled at the irony. Bendon was not his original name. That had been lost in another place, another time.

In that other place ‘Arathin’ had been an old tongue. A student learned it not because it was spoken; but because it was the language of scholars. Here, in this place, in this time Arathin was as fresh as the Common tongue he had grown up with.

He had been four years in this city and already he was losing his kinship with his past.  He was at home here.  Here he was one with the magic – a mage apprentice of some notice. He was happy in this new life. Happy save for the wife he left behind.  Her loss was an agony made bearable only by the precious daughter she had left him. If it took a thousand years he would find her.

***

The sun was just peaking over the rim of the Northern Rhiitan Mountains. The morning dew on the fall-browned grasses of Tartan Plains shimmered like fields of diamonds. The rustling of auburn leaves in the gentle morning breeze muted the soft, crunching sound of horse hoofs on the spongy green moss.

Bendon had been right. They found an unconscious Henderson crumpled in a heap by the side of the road about a king’s measure beyond the first turn on the old Dunshire trail.

Once the knight was roused, and put on a spare horse, Grim started the group moving in a northeasterly direction for the remainder of the night. Their pace was not a gallop; that would have killed the horses, but neither was it a slow trot. They were headed for the city of Vandenburg; the seat of the church; but aside from GrimHolden and his second, Duncan, few knew their destination. For the most part, these men were soldiers. They followed where their leaders led and were content to do so.

By the time morning came, they were a full measure further north than Jewel had ever been before. She had thought they would head to the monastery when her uncle turned them north. She had been surprised when he had the group skirt the right side of the fortification without ever coming in sight of it. The original plan had been to return Jewel and Gawin to the safety of the monastery. The attack on Jewel had changed all of that. It seemed apparent there were at least three forces now at work… the rebel forces he was hoping to link up with, the Kings Army and now some dark agency.  Until he had a chance to sort out why Jewel had been the focus of the attack Grim intended to keep her where he could protect her. That meant with him, at least for the time being.

For her part, Jewel had thought to ask her uncle where they were going but there seemed to be an unvoiced understanding in the group that unnecessary talk was to be avoided.

Every now and then, as they rode, Jewel would think about the attack. Several times, she shuddered as a memory of gnarled claws grasping at her throat brought back the terror. Once, Gawin trotted his horse up beside her. He seemed about to say something but she gave a wan smile and shook her head. This seemed to satisfy him and he moved back with the others. She wished he was not so quick to move off. Still it was nice to know he cared. The pained and concerned look in his face told her all she needed to know.

It was during one of these times that she resolved to marry him. First, however, there was the small matter of making him pay for that fictional serving girl story told to the King’s Guard. Men should have better sense then to talk of such things when a future wife is in the room.

About an hour after dawn, Duncan inched his mount forward toward Grim who was currently at point. The older knight spoke first.

“Have you been watching our back trail?”

Duncan nodded “Yes, a small disorganized group about three miles behind us.”

“I suspect we are going to find it’s a small group… possibly a single person… ” Grim rubbed his grizzled jaw and continued “...probably a woman.”

Duncan grinned at the obvious deductive challenge “OK, I bite... why a woman?”

“Most men in these parts are seasonal hunters.  Any son of mine that had that much trouble following our trail would find himself back in Master L’teran’s remedial land navigation course. It must be a person with no woods training.” GrimHolden turned to face Duncan. “Unless we’re suddenly on the Island of Grinley, that means a woman...”

“Or girl” Duncan agreed.

“She got as close as ten measures and then started falling back. I saw a silhouette cross that ridge behind us so that would put her good two bells out.”

“Whoever it is they’re getting tired,” Duncan agreed. He scratched at the stubble of his beard. “They aren’t even attempting to catch up.”

The Grimedian leader sighed, “We don’t want the King’s Guard catching up to her. I suppose you better go back and get her.” As Grim spoke, he pulled a field map from a leather tube on his pack. “Find some place to hold up for the night and meet us here tomorrow evening.”  He indicated a spot on the map.

The younger knight nodded and asked “Any idea who it is?”

Grim looked back at Jewel. “I have a suspicion.”

* * *

Duncan made good time backtracking.  He had little difficulty finding Elainia. He was somewhat surprised to discover she was not alone.  Perela dressed in forest garb, sat astride a grayish roan. Behind her was a pack mule, heavily laden, with enough supplies to last a squad a month in the field. On the ground were the remains of an expertly banked fire.

“Well now, look who we have here” Duncan said.

“It took yea long enuff ta make yer way back ere laddi,” Perela said with a self-satisfied smile.

Duncan looked from Perela to Elainia, a hint of irritation slowly working its way across his face as he realized they had deliberately stopped to wait for him.

Elainia looked at the muscular master of arms with a sheepish grin that threatened to erupt into a full-blown smile. “I was about to give up when Mother Perela rode out of nowhere...”

“Gave the girl quite a shock - I did!” Perela chortled, all three chins moving up and down in time to the chuckle.

“I was all for trying to catch up but Perela said there would be no need.” She looked up at the big knight, “She said that Grim would send one of his boys along to fetch us shortly.”

“One of his boys...” Duncan sputtered.

“Now, now lassie. Aven’t I told ya... Never let on to the lads that they’re not the ones in charge? It makes ‘em pouty, it does”

“Pouty...!” Duncan choked.

Perela looked to Elainia and sighed in confirmation “Didn’t I tell ya?”

Elainia’s sage nod and accompanying giggle did nothing to ease the red flush slowly invading Duncan’s face. Finally he started to laugh himself.  This ‘pouty’ boy was going to have a serious talk with the Mistress of the Kitchens.

It took a few moments to balance the loads on each of the horses. Duncan’s own roan was a solid animal named Katie. She was superbly trained and had instincts to match. However, no amount of training could make a horse perform beyond its limits.

Duncan was well aware that Katie was marching on her last legs. He had perhaps an hour before he had to stop. He and the horse had been up for well over a day. Elainia looked exhausted and her mount was in little better shape. At least she and her horse had the benefit of nearly an hours rest.

Not surprisingly, Perela looked sharp and fresh; but then, Duncan could never remember seeing her otherwise, even after hours in a grueling kitchen.

Duncan knew Grim would have rested the troops for a few minutes after his departure. He also knew Grim would not have been able to wait for Duncan’s return. It had been decided that Duncan and his catch would take a slightly different route through Eldarin Plain before rejoining the original party on their way to the seat of the church in the city of Vandenburg.

He had thought to leave the road and travel through the woods until a protected camp could be set up. Of course what had not been anticipated was the size of his group. Hiding the trail made by two horses would have been difficult enough. Hiding three horses and a pack mule was going to be orders of magnitude more difficult.

Duncan moved the girls through the woods with a practiced ease borne of years of experience guiding raw novitiates during field training. It helped that Elainia, despite some initial mistakes was a quick learner.  With a little training, she would be holding her own against any of the knighthood when it came to moving stealthy through the woods.

Perela was a similar story. As far as Duncan could determine she could have, by all rights, been the one leading the group. Somehow she managed to guide both her own roan and the mule in such a way as to leave little or no trail. She found rocks for the horses to step on where Duncan would have sworn there were none. It seemed there was more to Mother Perela than her cooking; but then, that had been an opinion he’d held for years.

A light breeze rustled autumn brown leaves just enough to cover the sounds of their movement. The same gentle gusts showered the forest floor with a fresh carpet of gold and rust leaves. What few tracks had been left, were soon covered. Still, when the group came upon a small creek, Duncan walked the group downstream for the better part of two bells.

It became obvious that Elainia was reaching her limit. Duncan began to look for a sheltered spot to set camp. A group of Fir trees formed a nice wall perhaps a twenty feet from the foot of a small hill. They could have a small fire behind that wall with little fear of being seen. Duncan decided to set up camp for the night even though it was barely midday. The group could simply go no further without sleep.

Duncan’s pack produced a standard issue bed pack consisting of a lean-to as well as a bedroll. He had assumed that he would be sharing them with the ladies. He was pleased to discover Perela had the forethought to bring not just one but two bed packs. The woman was a marvel. He arranged the lean-tos in a circle about a center fire pit. In this way the tents would further help to shield the light of a small fire at night.

Perela offered to take the first watch. Duncan had thought to object, but before he could get more than the first words out, she placed a gentle hand on his cheek and said “Aye, what a bonny dear lad.”  He felt a gentle pressure at the base of his skull… magic? With a broad motherly smile she helped the big knight sit at his bed role and then lay down. He moved as a wooden puppet and was asleep before she had his first boot off.

***

The smell of cinnamon and baked apples brought the big knight slowly awake. Elainia lay on a bed roll a few meters away.  The sun was low in the sky.  It was no more than a single bell before dusk.

A young, dark-haired woman was tending a small, smokeless cooking fire. She was softly singing, almost humming –a lively tune that Duncan recognized from O’Kieffy’s tavern. It recounted the bawdy tale of a young bar maid and a vicar general of dubious piety. It was a catchy tune and Duncan had the words committed to memory but the woman was singing the song in a language that Duncan had difficulty placing. It sounded like Old World Arathin but with too many vowels. Besides, Duncan was fluent in six languages including Arathin. The most surprising part of the song was the voice of the young woman singing it. Duncan would have sworn that voice belonged to their portly Mistress of the Kitchens.

When the woman saw him watching she abruptly stopped and smiled.

“Back from the dead are we laddie”?

Duncan moved quietly toward the fire—hand moving to where his sword belt should have been. He was careful to avoid waking Elainia who was soundly asleep. This strangely beautiful woman looked and sounded vaguely reminiscent of Perela. She far too young and Duncan had to admit far too attractive.

“What...” Duncan began as he fumbled for a sword that was not there.

She saw the confusion in his eyes. Smiling, she winked coyly. “Ya never saw me in this dress now ‘ave ya. Well truth be known,” she confessed in a conspiratorial tone, “I ‘ad me a devil of a time fitting in it for years.”

“What...”

“Ya repeating yerself laddie.” She stood tall and smiled.  “Ya sword is with ya spurs next to ya bed… Ya liked the other dress better did ya?” With this, she executed a theatrical pirouette, spinning about in a full circle. Somewhere during the course of the spin, Perela, the plump gray-haired, Mistress of the Kitchens, replaced the young woman. The knight felt the slight press at the base of his skull associated with the nearby use of magic. His reaction was to drop his jaw. Duncan sat quickly on a tree stump by the fire so as to avoid the embarrassment of falling.

Passing a hand sensuously along the entire length of her body, the young woman was back. Kneeling by his side with a comforting hand on his leg, she whispered, “Dear sweet boy, I am who I have always been. You need not fear me. You know in your heart I would never hurt you.  It was important that your Knighthood not know who or more importantly – what I was… but that time has now passed. We’ll need each other in the days that are to come.”  All traces of the baroque accent were gone from the young woman’s voice.

“Are you going to tell me who you are?” It was a dumb question, but it was the one that fell out of his mouth first.  He knew who she was, had just seen her in the form he knew. But the question fell out anyway.

Perela knelt beside him and smiled… “Why I’m Perela, the Mistress of the Kitchens.”

Duncan searched her face. His heart pounded in his chest. This was the woman, whom, Duncan had known (and yes even loved as a son loves a mother) for the better part of twenty years. The woman who knelt beside him was a young girl of perhaps twenty-five. She had the same spirit and fire in her eyes, the same commanding presence. There was little doubt to the Grimedian knight that this young lady and the Mistress of the Kitchens were one in the same. There was also little doubt that he had been right all those years when he had suspected she was more than she seemed. He felt strangely vindicated.  Having seen her mastery of the gifts of magic he had a sneaking suspicion he knew whose daughter this was... If he was right she was far older than she looked.

Using his chin to point to Elainia, Duncan changed the subject. “How long”?

Perela’s expression was that of a mother concerned for her child. “Ah the poor dear was so tired. I took her watch...” pausing, she looked sideways at the Grimedian knight, “and yours”.

Surprised Duncan gave a quick start. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“All night and most of the next day”

“ALL NIGHT”! More hushed, Duncan continued in a whisper “It was the middle of the afternoon”.

“Yes and now its two bells past noon the next day… You were both tired and I used a wee bit a me talents to make sure ya had the rest ya’d be needing”

Perela lifted the lid to a cast iron pot and stirred hot cheese porridge. She tasted the steaming mixture carefully, adding a pinch of a reddish herb that Duncan didn’t recognize. “I helped you rest. You’re going to need it to face the things we’ll be facing in the next few weeks.” Her tone was serious.

“Still… a full day?” Duncan protested.

Perela smiled conspiratorially. “You’ll need to trust me - I had my reasons.”

Elainia stretched and turned slightly in her bedroll.

Duncan looked from the young girl to Perela. He knew he should be angry but although his emotions where running a gamut between shock and admiration, anger was not in the mix.  He was still too startled by Perela’s appearance to realize that his was the look of a smitten schoolboy. She was beautiful and he was having trouble keeping his mind on more serious matters. She saw his look and seemed strangely pleased by it.

“We had an appointment to keep with GrimHolden at Widows’ Crest. He’s expecting us this evening. How are we going to get to the east side of the Eldarin Plain in minutes?

Perela smiled and used the spoon to stir the pot. “First we’ll have a wee bit of food and then we’ll discuss travel options that ya may not have considered.” The baroque was back - almost as a tease.

He was going to argue further but she held up her spoon and pointed it at him. “Trust me lad, in all me life have I ever led ya astray? Ya’ll be doing the work of the church and ye be saving the lives of ones ya love... My father is with them. I can pass a message through him. Now sit an eat or I’ll beat ya about the head like ya deserve for letting ma bread get cold!”

The grumble from Duncan’s stomach settled the issue. He knew it was pointless to resist. Perela had made up her mind. No power on heaven or earth was likely to change it.  He sat on a log by the fire, leaving room for Elainia who was even now rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes.

Little whiffs of steam rose in lazy swirls from the bowl Perela handed the knight. She followed it with a warm cinnamon apple and a six-inch cut of the fresh baked bread. How she managed to bake bread over a campfire was beyond him but he accepted it without question. She would and could do whatever she set her mind to; be it baking bread in the field or usurping command of their little party. He accepted it as inevitable.

Later, as they finished their meal, the sorceress Perela D’Armis explained to them just how different their road to Vandenburg would be.

Chapter Six- A Wizard’s Destiny

Grim scanned the low cut fields. He found what he was looking for, a farmhouse near the horizon. He would barter for the use of a barn. He removed his helm and allowed his hair to escape its confines. A gentle breeze brushed at a wayward lock. The sun was setting in the west. They were headed eastward toward the ocean and the coastal road that would lead them north to city of Vandenburg. It had been a tiring day filled with more than a few surprises. Perhaps the biggest was riding alongside him now, chewing on a saddle cake.

Grim’s party had waited well past the designated rendezvous hour on the western most border of the Eldarin Plain for Duncan and Elainia. The big knight had been about to send a pair of knights to try and figure out what happened to his friend when Bendon rode to the front of the column to talk with the Grimedian leader.

Grim had noticed that the grizzled old man sat straight in his saddle with an air of authority that Grim had not seen when first they met. The old man looked strangely pensive.

“Well met, Bendon.”

Wincing, as if hurt by some unseen weapon, Bendon responded cryptically.  “Tis not so well met as you might think, sir knight. You cannot send your men to look for them.” He waved his arm in the general direction of Riverdale and Duncan.

“That’s my man out there,” Grim said in a fatherly but firm voice, “I’ll not abandon him or anyone else without good cause.”

“You have good cause. Good cause indeed. The best cause.”

“He’s well overdue. There may have been trouble.”

“There be no trouble. That young lad is in better hands than you might imagine.”

Seeing the doubt remaining in Grim’s eyes, the older man studied the big knight for a moment longer, weighing options. Finally, convinced he had no choice, he did something that was both strange and completely normal for Bendon. He padded the folded red cloak which lay on the saddle before him and said, as if speaking to it, “well my friend, me thinkst its time for an ounce of truth.”Sitting back up the old man faced Grim. He spoke in a voice that, while certainly Bendon’s, was somehow different. Its tone that was both noble and commanding, “I think it is time we properly met.”

All traces of pigeon accent were gone. As he spoke his form changed subtly. Arms and legs gained muscle mass. Hair, while still gray, seemed darker, more like steel than snow. Features, while still shrouded in a thick white beard, seemed fuller, younger. On a whole he seemed to shed forty years.

“I am the Wizard Bendon D’Armis... of the First Circle.” The very air seemed to still at this pronouncement.

For Grim, the world could have stopped turning about the sun and he could not have more startled. His gaze locked on the other man. A wizard of the First Circle had not been seen in the lands for over three hundred years. Not since ‘Zebendon the First’ had passed on at the ripe old age of seventeen hundred plus years. Tales of his exploits were the stuff of legend. Grim made to dismount his saddle.

“Nay, stay your horse.” Bendon held up a warning hand and looked carefully around “It would be better if others did not know... for the moment at least.”

“I thought there were none in the circle since the ‘Age of Zebendon?’” Grim could hear the edge in his voice.

“And indeed there have been no new members,” the older man paused with an amused twinkle in his eyes, “but neither is it true that the Circle is empty... for I am he – I am Zebendon.” He looked directly at the big knight, matching the knight’s glare with one of his own. “We cannot go back,” the wizard said shaking his head. “We have an appointment with destiny.”

Grim shuddered, “Zebendon’s destiny!”

“That’s my boy!” Bendon chuckled; the twinkle was still in his eye. With a subtle shimmering the stooped old man was back. “Fear not for your friends. My daughter, yes yes, my daughter will take care of them.”

“Your granddaughter?”

“Nay, daughter. Perela. Perela D’Armis...your cook. Aye and a good cook she is too.” The old man added as an afterthought, looking at Grim from the corner of his eye “I believe she’s sweet on your young master Duncan.”

The image of that was too much. The big knight broke out laughing.  So much made sense now. Perela, the quintessential mother-in-residence, always in the right place at the right time. Perela the prepared, always ready with right dish or the right advice. Perela the fearless, willing to take on knights twice her size. Perela the Sorceress, almost two thousand years old and second only to Zebendon in the Great Circle. Grim knew Duncan was safe from any external threat. The question was ‘who was going to protect him from Zebendon’s daughter?’

That had been several hours ago. There had been some grumbling when the order had been given to push on, but a steely look from the Grimedian leader quelled the troops. Grim couldn’t blame the men. He didn’t relish the idea of leaving Duncan behind either.

As they approached the farmstead, Grim had the bulk of his men wait on the dirt road. He had intended to approach the main house by himself but Bendon and Gawin separated from the group and approached with him. The younger man carried the staff that Bendon had given him. It seemed to be an inseparable part of the younger man now. As to why they joined him; Gawin was undoubtedly curious about local construction techniques. Bendon’s reasons were, as always, his own.

The farm was a small tender’s lot with a half-acre of corn and a few potato lines. It was hard to imagine how a family could live on such a small stake.  Several chickens and a puppy took turns chasing each other between the various sheds. As they approached the three small buildings near the main farm house Grim’s questions were answered.

The buildings were well maintained. The first sported a baked clay chimney and a man sized bellows assembly. The second was open faced like the first and seemed to contain gear driven grinding equipment that had Gawin whistling in appreciation. The farmer was more likely a blacksmith and machinist. He guessed the corn field was a source of feed for the innumerable chickens he had seen earlier. The third structure was a combination horse barn and a tool shed.

The house itself was a single story stucco ranch with a well maintained tile roof. Flower boxes nestled under the windows. The latter bore the remnants of herbs and spices; withered and dried with the impending approach of winter.

A creek meandered around the far side and rear of the house. A paddle wheel slowly turned in its gentle current. Grim briefly considered the wheel. Usually such structures were associated with grain mills but this single story house was clearly not doubling as a mill.

He didn’t have too long to ponder the anomalous wheel as the front door of the house opened to emit an older women. She was wearing eyeglasses which were in themselves unusual. Women were not generally literate, could not own property and rarely wore glasses. The fact that Jewel was well read was more an indication of the Order’s more progressive philosophies than any social tendencies toward suffrage.

The woman removed, folded and placed the glasses in her pocket.

“Can I help ya gentlemen?” She spoke in a cackled voice that betrayed chronic lung congestion. This was confirmed when she coughed into a cloth hanky that she kept in one hand for just such a purpose.

Grim bowed respectfully “I was hoping to rent an evening’s lodging in your horse barn for my men.”

“The barn’s for horses. If ya can board in a single room the three of you can use my spare room.”

“Ah, well...“ Grim paused to gesture toward the dirt path “My men are up the road. There are twenty monastic knights and my niece. If your offer is still good I would have my niece use your spare room.”

“And if my offer’s not good?”

“Then I’d thank you for your time; wish you a happy day and we’d be moving on.”

“In that case, laddi, yer be welcome to spend the night ‘ere.” She smiled. “A niece ya say. Now won’t that be nice to have another lassie in the house.”

“Is there a man of the house?”

“Aye there is… I’m rather surprised we’ve not heard him. He’s usually a bit noisier, he is” Turning slightly she attempted to peer past the knight. “Now I wonder where my Robert is...”

As if on cue the ground shook with a “Haa ruump!”  A billowing cloud erupted from the nearby machine shed.

“What the hell!” Grim swore as the cloud of sooty dust and dirt enveloped the group. Through the soot Grim could hear the old woman remarking calmly “Aye, that would be my Robert now”

***

Potatoes! Mounds and mounds of potatoes! Sergeant Tolivier had never seen so many potatoes. In hindsight (and Tolivier often thought that was his best view) it had been a mistake to question Lieutenant T’nere ’s sexual prowess with young female captives; what with that young redhead getting away and all. Historically, such comments have been known to adversely affect a soldier’s career. Tolivier knew about such things, as his career was no stranger to adversity.

Tolivier picked up a particularly large spud and examined it closely. Sighing he began the process of peeling it with his knife. His companion for the day was a young kitchen boy named Tep. Tep had the annoying habit of questioning the wisdom that Tolivier, as a responsible adult and seasoned soldier felt obligated to pass onto the younger generation. No, to be sure, he didn’t say much but his habit of cocking his head and raising his left eyebrow whenever Tolivier passed on one of his little gems was downright ungracious.

“I tell ya boy tis a matter historical rec-herd it is! Durin the dragon wars spuds was used as maps they was. Yes sir ol King Cole used ‘em ta pass directions to his men durin the battle of Sigon.”

“He lost the battle of Sigon.”

“Well of course he did!” Tolivier said with the air of a man vindicated. “How can ya win a battle when yer men eat the maps?” The eyebrow continued its upward journey.

***

Lieutenant T’nere’s face was red with fury. He stood at attention while Captain Hemsen graphically speculated as to the probable nature and origin of his immediate ancestors. The captain punctuated every speculation with an oath, usually uttered mere inches from T’nere’s face and accompanied by a modicum of spittle. After several minutes of this the captain crossed the tent to his field desk and paused to sip from a glass of wine. When he placed the glass down his face had changed, relaxed. He had been dressing down the lieutenant for a grievous breach of security; allowing two civilians to escape from a holding tent near the town of Riverdale. Perhaps the wine had cooled the heat of his anger. Perhaps he had just yelled himself horse. Whatever the cause, when he turned toward the lieutenant again he was calmer.

“Were I not on an important mission for the King I would see to these knights myself. But I am on such a mission and I haven’t the time. That means you, Lieutenant T’nere, will have to take care of them on your own”

“I...”

“I did not give you leave to speak!” the captain bellowed. Taking another gulp of wine, he continued more calmly “I will tell you exactly what to do and you will do it. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir” T’nere answered between clenched teeth.

“Very good. Now come over here and look at this map with me.” For the next twenty minutes Captain Hemsen detailed exactly how he wanted T’nere and his company of mounted guards to approach and detain the monastic order. It was apparent from the direction of their march that the Grimedian knights were heading toward the holy city of Vandenburg.

When Hemsen pause to sip his wine T’nere interjected a question. “What should be done with the two we arrested earlier? They travel with the knights.”

“Idiot!” Hemsen let the word linger a moment before continuing, “Do you think I care about children? I need those knights. I need them with us or I need them dead. I’ll be marching with General T’Garon on Vandenburg and I don’t need a hostile force beating me to the city. Am I clear?”

T’nere acted appropriately humbled but in reality he was ecstatic. It seemed his current orders would not be in conflict with the other recent obligations he had incurred. The children, and more importantly the girl were his. The King’s Guard had no interest in them. Further, the troop was going where he needed to be. That was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. But first, he needed to change his current command structure.

If Captain Hemsen had looked up from his map; if he had glanced at his lieutenant, he might have seen the beginnings of a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. Had he looked, he might have seen T’nere’s hand inch toward his blade. Had he looked, he might have saved himself. As it was, he never saw the gleam from the steel blade that ended his life.

After calling the guard outside into the tent and killing him too, Lieutenant T’nere reported catching the assassin in the act. The new captain T’nere, apparently having been promoted earlier in the day by the late Hemsen, assumed command of the troop.

Chapter Seven- Step not quietly into the night

The mage watched as another fit shook his teenage daughter. She had had these seizures all her life but they had become steadily worse as she reached puberty. It was doubtful she would survive much longer if something were not done.

The doctors said her difficulties stemmed from her magical transition in the first moments of life from her birth century into another some two thousand years in her past. Her magical essence was not truly in sync with either age and the temporal inconsistency was tearing her apart at a psychic level.

The solution was simple they said. All she had to do was undergo the “Ritual of Cleansing;” simple and yet increasingly impossible. No one had ever undergone the ritual so young.  He had only recently undergone the ritual himself and he was the youngest in a thousand years.  He was nearly twenty years her elder. Still, if she were to survive, they must try.

The ritual was the final step to be taken by an apprentice prior to becoming a mage.  It insured that no one who wielded the power of a mage could truly be evil. The ritual acted as a filter. Removing all that was bad and leaving that which was good in a person. The result was a mage who was pure of heart and purpose.

In most cases, the evil that was removed simply dissipated.  In some cases, when the mage is especially gifted, the evil was delivered incarnate. Such abominations rarely survive and those that do were put down immediately. Such had been the case with Bendon. Such would likely be the case with his daughter… if she survived.

Slowly the seizure subsided. The mage caressed her long black hair. She smiled wanly from the bed she had been strapped to. He released the mystical tethers and she rose to one elbow.

“Are you ready father?” She asked.

“ME?” Bendon answered somewhat confused. “It is you who need to be ready.”

She laughed. “I am seeking my freedom. For this I have been ready a very long time. It is you I am concerned about. Who will look after you when I am gone?”

“You will not fail little one” Bendon scolded gently.  “I won’t allow that to happen. You must have faith in yourself - as well as in me.”

“Then I am ready” Perela whispered.

***

Elainia shivered. She kept her teeth clamped tight so as not to clatter. The horse she rode kept a gentle gate for which she was grateful but even the gentlest gate did little to mask the cold biting wind coming down off the northern Rhiitan Mountains. They had been on the road for almost two weeks now. As their supplies dwindled, Perela had Duncan trade her roan and pack mule for the white mare she now rode.

Elainia huddled deeper in her riding cloak. The road they were following was little more than a cart trail. Ruts had been cut in the dirt and stone by the endless passing of wheeled carts. When the rain fell, which it seemed to do daily now, the ruts filled and splashed freezing water on legs and skirts.

Duncan and Lady Perela rode by her side. It seemed strange to think of the Mistress of the Kitchens as a lady but in truth it was easier to think of the beautiful lithe young woman on the white gelding as a lady then as the heavyset elderly matron she had grown up knowing. Elainia shook her head slightly. Who’d have believed the woman who guided her and Jewel in the fine art of needlework, cooking and yes even pan washing - Who had a kind word when knees were skinned - Who baked the most heavenly strudel in the three kingdoms -- was also one the most powerful mages in recorded history! She said the form she now wore was her natural one. Elainia still found Perela’s voice coming from this beautiful dark-haired woman most strange.

Sensing her scrutiny Perela reined back. “Cold?”

Elainia grinned and huddled deeper still within her cloak. “How could you tell?”

“I have my ways” Perela looked into the young girl’s face. She saw the questions haunting those eyes; questions that remained unasked.  “Elainia…” she rested a hand on the other girl’s. “I’ve known you all your life. I have been… and always will be your friend.”

“Thanks” Elainia murmured.

“I know you’re scared. I know you’re confused. Trust me. You’re not alone.” Perela looked at the broad shouldered knight riding just ahead of them. Duncan seemed especially befuddled by Perela’s transformation. At times, he acted like a school boy smitten with his teacher

Elainia forced a small smile. “It’s just…” She looked to the trail they were following.

“You want to know why we are traveling across the mountains and into Thioden. Especially, when Jewel and the others are headed toward Vandenburg?” Perela sighed. “I wish I knew myself.”

“I’ve never even heard of a city called Thioden.” Elainia complained.

Perela laughed lightly, “I’d have been surprised if you had. Thioden is a hidden city. It used to be home to the First Circle of Wizards. They protected themselves by hiding their city.”

“So why are we going there?”

“Many years ago, hundreds of years before even the dragon wars, a very wise and dear friend had a vision. That vision has become a prophecy of sorts. I don’t know why or how but we seemed destined to fulfill a part of that prophecy now.”

“How do you know WE have a part to play” Elainia asked, emphasizing the ‘we’.

Now it was Perela’s turn to smile. “How does the salmon know to which stream to return for spawning? How do the geese know which way is south in the winter?”

Confusion wrinkled Elainia’s brow.

Perela’s smile only deepened. “It is the nature of some creatures to know what is required of them… even if they don’t know why.”

***

Jewel was enjoying the evening immensely. A warm fire crackled in the stone hearth. The smell of what had been a delectable beef stew and fresh baked bread permeated the small farmhouse.  Hot cider still steamed from a kettle placed near the fire. Her overstuffed chair was comfortable and didn’t smell even remotely of horses. In short, Jewel was in heaven.

Robert and Joan Kimbridge sat on a small stuffed couch on the other side of the fire. Her ancient head lay on his lap as he absently combed her thinning gray hair with his fingers. Robert was an older gentleman but still seemed to be a good many years younger than his wife. He made his living as a blacksmith and mechanic but his real passion (and according to Gawin, genius) was invention. He made things no one else had thought of yet. In his house he had a machine that made cold. Gawin had been fascinated by it and tried to explain it to her. It had something to do with pumping ammonia water through some copper piping. She didn’t see how that could work. Gawin babbled something about a mathematician named Stirling and said it explained the odd waterwheel on the back of the house.

Their ‘freezer’, as Robert called it, held several sides of beef and had room to spare. Uncle Grim had been able to purchase the beef for his men. This eliminated the need to send a party to town for provisions.

Grim and Uncle Bendon, as she had taken to thinking of the grizzled older man, walked outside for some fresh air after their late supper. Gawin was reading a technical manual on a stool by the fireplace. His ever-present staff was in a corner. The bulk of Grim’s men had bedded down in the barn. That left Jewel alone, to talk with the Kimbridges. She loved hearing their stories of the great adventures they had shared years earlier. Never had Jewel seen two people more in love.

It pained her heart to know that one day soon Robert would be without Joan. It was obvious to all that Joan’s health was failing fast on numerous fronts. Her lungs rasped with the constant rowels of a deep-seated chronic pneumonia. Her eyes had lost some of their focus. That and her shaking thin hands made Jewel think of the lady McDugal. She had died last winter of the sweet-water sickness. Several times during the dinner she would pause in the middle of a sentence… forgetting what she was saying. Her husband would reach over and squeeze her hand. She would smile and he would tell her ‘it was alright.’ The pained look in his eyes was haunting.

Joan seemed aware of what was happening to her and during her many periods of lucidity she was always sure to tell Jewel and the others how happy she had been with her life.  Indeed, she had been quite an imaginative and creative woman in her younger years. The house was filled with small clay figurines and paintings. Most of these took the form of her favorite subject; cats. One cat in particular, seemed to be the subject in most of her more recent works. The cat, a Mister Underfoot was even now nestled on Jewel’s lap, purring as he cleaned an already immaculate forepaw. He was a rare predominately black and white male calico who was into his middle years.

Jewel enjoyed the Kimbridge’s company. They were bright and cheerful people. To be sure they were facing adversity, but rather than becoming bitter; they strove that much harder to find the good in a situation - the joy of the moment Robert had called it. Joan’s reflections on the situation had been even more direct. ‘We have so little time left together, we’re determined to enjoy every second we have.’ Jewel felt guilty having spent the last day feeling sorry for herself.  Sure, her life was being turned inside out by the war and the baffling attack in the forest near home; but Joan and Robert were showing her that many a situation could be made better by thinking positively.

Jewel felt a familiar momentary pressure at the base of her neck. Magic was being used nearby. Instinctively she knew that Uncle Grim was somewhere setting up protective ‘wards’.  She looked at the older couple. She could see in their eyes that they felt it too. Robert gently squeezed his wife’s hand and told her it would be all right. She smiled and patted his hand.

***

Grim walked quietly from the farmhouse. Bendon was at his side. The older man had a deeply pensive look on his whiskered face. Grim could hear the low murmurs of his men in the barn so he walked slowly in the other direction, toward the fields. What he and this old man would talk about would best be kept private for the time being.

“You know this couple -- don’t you?” Grim asked softly.

“That I do. That I do” Bendon looked into the night sky as if searching for memories amongst the stars. Robert and Bendon went way back – a thousand years or more –but he chose to keep that from the big knight. Looking back to GrimHolden’s face, Bendon continued. “I first met her, oh long about fifty years ago, it must have been. A long time… A long time indeed.”

Suspicious – the big man pressed “Are we facing a part of Zebendon’s destiny tonight?”

“I’d be lying to ya laddie if I said I knew for sure; but I think it might just be so.”

Grim sniffed the air. He looked into the night sky. He tested the wind with the tip of his tongue. The very air seemed thick with prophecy. The air had felt the same that night so many years ago when his uncle had killed Grim’s brother the king. The knight grimaced at the bitter memory. He had not wanted to believe the whispered stories of his Uncle’s treachery but the intervening years had brought an end to his doubts. Unfortunately… certain knowledge and the ability to act on it were not the same.

Silently, Grim reached into his tunic and removed an unremarkable wooden cross. He reverently kissed it and brought it up so that the horizontal on the cross itself rested on his forehead. He closed his eyes and muttered the appropriate prayers… invoking the Spirit of God. He was facing east. Bendon stood and watched with clasped hands. A serene look on his face as he watched the young man set the ward.

When GrimHolden had finished the prayer, he turned south and repeated the ritual; then again to the west, then again to the north. As he proceeded, from compass point to compass point, the nature of the cross changed. First it was a slight aura but by the time the fourth and final compass point had been warded the cross now gleamed with a light all its own. It was now silver rather than wood.

Grim placed the cross back in his tunic where its glow would not be noticed.

“Well done my son. Your family has a strong measure of the gift.” Bendon said, nodding approvingly.

Grim glanced at the old man for a moment before sighing. “I only hope it will be enough.”

The old man had a quizzical look that scrunched his eyes and caused his bushy eyebrows to conspire with his beard to almost entirely obscure his face. “What did you ward against?”

“What can I ward against?” Grim waved an angry arm toward Riverdale. “Can I fight whatever evil that was?” Grim turned to fully face the old man. “I can’t... but YOU could.”

Bendon’s eyes resumed their twinkle. “You’d be surprised by what I am and am not able to do”

Grim eyed him in silence for a moment before he answered the original question. “A warning,” Grim turned to face the east again, “I warded so we would have a warning.”

Bendon’s assessment of the big Grimedian knight had been correct. He would maximize his advantages in a battle without engaging in the types of struggles he was ill equipped to win. He grinned. Jewel’s uncle seemed to know instinctively that their danger lay in the east and not from the west.

Chapter Eight- Denizens of Nightmare

“It breaks by your own hand/even as your heart takes a stand./It matters not. The world burns./No longer does it seem to turn./Neither does mine.” –  Author unknown.

Flames licked at sooty stone walls. Shadows danced and parried with their partners in the light. Arid smoke filled the room. The carpet itself was on fire. The heat was stifling. The fire surged...

GrimHolden awoke with a start. He realized immediately there was no fire. There never was - at least not since that first time so many years ago when his brother died. He rolled over. This particular nightmare was an old friend and he needed the sleep.

His old friend shifted. The fire surged, but it was different. It wasn’t yellow. It was whitish gray. The world around him was all the shades between black and white. He could hear laughter and something else as well. It was faint but haunting. It was like someone mixed the sounds of an eagle’s screech with wind whistling under a lonely eave. Someone ran toward him out of the firelight and smoky darkness. He was different from everything else. He had color. His strange robes were yellow with a black cord about his waist. Dark red splotches stained his robe. The man’s eyes were glazed. He tripped and spilled onto the floor. He raised his head to look Grim in the eye.

“Zan atar iell nou ma morea… si ri osti… ri zail…”

Grim woke in a cold sweat. Looking around, he guessed not too much time had passed while he dreamed. He still needed sleep, but. The dream gave him the chills. Like someone had opened Robert’s “freezer”. There was an off note, a warning within the dream. And the words… they were in Arathin… or something similar.  He could only guess, but it sounded like: “The voice told me to kill… So I did. I will.”

***

Gawin came slowly awake. His neck ached from the position on the couch where he had fallen asleep. A technical treatise Robert had written… The Kimbridge Manual of Adiabatic Refrigeration Techniques still rested on his lap. Robert had taken Joan to bed several hours earlier. Gawin had intended to finish the chapter and then bed down in the barn. Obviously that had not happened. He was not sure exactly when he had fallen asleep.

A whimpering sound from the stuffed chair where Jewel had been petting Mister Underfoot interrupted his musing. She was asleep. Her hands were moving. The cat had fled earlier. She struggled with a pillow and a blanket that appeared during the night. Gawin had a similar blanket and suspected Robert had provided both.

“Nooo... NO!” Jewel was frantic now.

Gawin decided it was time to wake her up. As he gently shook her shoulder she became confused and lashed out with a clenched fist. Gawin managed to duck the first fist; but missed seeing the second. She connected with his left eye. The force of the blow knocked Gawin back and over the foot table near the fire. With a respectable crash he fell between the table and the couch he had been sleeping on moments before.

Whether intended or not, his fall had the desired effect. Jewel was now awake. She blinked and listened. The howling had returned. Terror chilled her spine and for a moment she shook with the depth of her fear.

Still holding his eye, Gawin was getting to his feet when he saw the look on Jewel’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you hear them?” Jewel screamed.

“Hear what?” Gawin was confused and looked around to locate a sound he couldn’t hear.

“She hears the tortured souls of Dark-kin, the Dark Sons” It was Robert who spoke. “They’re coming.” He carried a black sword, which glowed ever so slightly. The older man nodded toward the corner and Gawin’s staff. “You’ll be needing that.”

“How do you know what she’s hearing?” The young man asked bewildered.

“Like her… I have a connection to them.” The older man looked mournful. “Much to my shame… I’m largely responsible for their very existence… although I was hoping I had destroyed the last of them years ago.”

“Apparently not!” Jewel protested.

“Indeed.” Robert murmured, his gaze flicking downward. A wealth of sadness and regret roiled in his soul torn eyes. Jewel found herself wanting to comfort the older man. And find out why and how he had made such horrible creatures. But she didn’t get the chance.

The sounds of steel on steel could be heard now. Grim and his men were fighting outside. Whatever the nature of that battle, it likely meant Robert and Gawin would be on their own in defending the ladies. Robert turned over the kitchen table and had Jewel and his wife lay behind it. The older woman seemed confused but Robert couldn’t spare the time to comfort her. That task fell to Jewel.

A burnt sulfur smell filled the air. Its strength was enough to rip the breath from Gawin’s throat.  Suddenly the hackles raised on the back of his neck. The front door, which had been bolted, exploded into a thousand fragments. The force of the blast was such as to leave countless shards of wood embedded in walls and furniture.

Gawin’s arm stung where bits of wood drew blood. He had shielded his face at the last moment. Robert seemed untouched. Gawin cursed his bad luck and pulled out one of the larger splinters. The first of the Dark-kin poured through the hole in the wall where a door had been moments before. These were different than the ones Gawin had faced before. Where the others had been dark flowing forms; these were decidedly green and oozed a yellow slime.

The Dark-kin carried no weapons. Instead they reached forth with talon-like fingers on arms that were unnaturally long. Gawin had a feeling he should avoid their grasp at all costs.

The Dark-kin ignored the two men and moved toward the kitchen. The men were forced to move sideways to cut them off. Robert’s sword became a blur as he welded it with a speed and precision that left Gawin in awe… and the Dark-kins obliterated.

“Don’t let the slime touch you!” the older man yelled.

Gawin heeded the warning.  He moved his own weapon in an ever-quickening hand over hand whirl.  Periodically the staff would leap out to strike a green opponent. As before, each time a blow was landed, the creature would flash and disappear. Gawin noticed that Robert’s sword seemed to have a similar effect.

Despite their best efforts, it was clear; they were losing ground. Ever so slowly, Gawin and Robert were forced to retreat toward the overturned table. It was becoming a challenge to avoid each other as they fought.

Jewel struggled to keep Joan down. She seemed determined to join the fray. When Robert’s foot slipped and he jarred the table, Joan wiggled free of Jewel’s grasp. The older woman stood with a regal grace. She held her chin high. Her gray hair, now undone, flowed behind her. She raised both arms in a wide arc and muttered strange words in a tongue Gawin didn’t recognize. The pressure on the back of his neck where he could feel magic was intense – almost painful.

The air in front of the two men shimmered and the inexorable advance stopped. The Dark-kin nearest the barrier seemed confused. They could see their prey but they couldn’t reach them. Their grotesque hands explored the barrier’s invisible surface; looking for some unseen hole through which to reach. Surprisingly, Gawin discovered his staff and Robert’s sword were unimpeded by the shimmering barrier. It looked as if the battle had been turned. They were driving the Dark-kin back. Already they had recovered several feet of floor space.

Suddenly the wall behind Jewel and Joan crumbled under the force of a massive explosion. The blast shook the floor and threatened to bring down the ceiling. Joan, her magic spent, collapsed on top of a shocked Jewel. That single action, whether intentional or not, probably saved Jewel’s life.

Almost immediately, gnarled green hands reached through the breach in the wall. They tore at the clothes and exposed flesh of the woman on top of Jewel. Joan screamed as razor sharp talons ripped at her back.

“NO!” Bellowed Robert as he dove over the table like an avenging angel. His sword cut a clearing around the two women. He was a madman possessed, as he swung his weapon in one vicious arc after another. Tears streamed down his face.

Gawin had little time to notice. With Robert’s departure to the other side of the table, he was forced to contend with the first assault, unaided. In a sense, it was easier. He no longer had to avoid Robert. The Enemy’s ranks seemed endless. All too soon, it became apparent; the number of Dark sons coming through the walls was going to far exceed the two men’s ability to beat them back.

Gawin’s breath came in ragged gasps. His heart felt as if it was going to tear itself out of his chest. And still they came. Finally he could fight no more and fell back against the over turned table. Staff held out as a shield. He didn’t fall completely because his back was braced by Robert’s. The old man had fallen to a similar position on the other side of the table. Both men heaved their chests; sucking in air as fast as tortured lungs could draw it.

“Why aren’t they advancing?” Gawin gasped.

The ghouls formed a circle barely three feet from where Gawin and Robert stood. Then, ever so slowly the circle widened. It became apparent that the air itself was pushing them back. When the circle was half the size of the house, there was a shuddering sound so deep it was felt rather than heard. In a blink of an eye, the Dark-kin were gone. It was only then that Gawin noticed Bendon in the shattered doorway. His arms were raised much the same as Joan’s had been.

Gawin sank to the floor. Grim, Bendon and half a dozen knights entered the ruined house. As Grim pulled the table up and over Gawin, he heard Robert’s sobs.

“No! No, noooo.” Robert howled as he let his sword fall with a clank and gathered his wife in his arms. The old man cradled Joan’s bloody body as if she were a precious baby. Rocking back and forth he moaned ‘No’.

Joan reached a tentative, trembling hand towards her husband’s face. He pulled it to his cheek. Held it to him as if that would hold her spirit to this earth.

“Hush now, my bonnie lad.” she whispered. “We knew this day was coming...” She struggled to draw a shallow rasping breath. “This is a far better… end than I… was expecting… Please… Be happy for me.”

“I love you.” he whispered back.

She smiled feebly “And I… love you, Rob…ert.” The last a sigh. Her eyes closed, her breath stilled and her hand grew limp. Her long struggle was over.

Despite a roomful of men, Robert Kimbridge was alone. Alone for the first time in nearly fifty years. He wept openly.

***

The room was dark. ‘Dark’ was the only way to describe the room. It wasn’t just dark because the stone was black and there were no lights. On the contrary, there were lights. Sickly green flames to be exact; though they did nothing to alleviate the… darkness. If anything, they enhanced it. This was a place without hope.

It was a place for the baser elements to thrive. And thrive they did.

There was a dark circular table with thirteen chairs around it. The table was inscribed with runes that were just… evil. Which, in her eyes, made them beautiful. They pulsed a clotted blood red.  The chairs were fashioned from the bones of humans and beasts in a semi-chaotic jumble. The thirteenth chair (or was it the first chair?) was raised higher than the others upon a small dais. It was fashioned of blacken bones. Two baby dragon skulls served as arm rests. Their toothy grins somehow conveying unimaginable pain. She remembered them in their last moments. Their soul’s had been… ssso ssweet.   The Head of the Council of the Dark Kin sat on the thirteenth chair.

The various members of the Council were sitting in their places. All but the Lord of Shadows had a body of some sort. She sneered. That was what he got for letting the powerful healer go. He claimed that he had been forced out… which only showed how weak he was. As if sensing her dark amusement, Maltacken’s shadowy mass shifted to focus on her.

Kaltana smiled secretively before settling in her chair like a queen surrounded by peasants. “So, my lord of shadows.” She said in a voice that hinted that the title was all lower case. “How is your little pet?” Maltacken pulsed with annoyance, but deemed not to answer her. Kaltana smiled. It was always fun to mock Maltacken. Normally so powerful, but now? Ha.  “Maybe she should be mine. After all,” Kaltana swept some of her luxurious black-blue hair over her shoulder. “She named herself after me…”

“She is mine. “ Maltacken hissed.

“Ssso possessive.” She hissed with a smile. She leaned back in her chair in a languid, snakelike movement. Irathaz glared at her.  Which was predictable since he was the Lord of Wrath. It made him very dull company.  The Master of the Conceited, Talriken raised an imperious eyebrow. Ust’uck licked his lips as he smiled at her. Kaltana raised her eyebrows at the self-appointed Master of Hedonism before she scanned the rest of the table. Across from her was her brother (if one could call him that), Savranious; the Master of Nightmare.  He was leaning back in his chair looking beyond bored. He slow blinked at her, catlike. She knew him though. His solid black eyes glittered with the same amusement she felt.

The head of the Council’s voice slithered from beneath the shadowy cowl he wore. “Welcome, Lady Soul Eater.”

“My Lord.” She bowed her head in his direction, her voice a thousand promises. All the male Dark Kin, sans Savranious and the Dark Lord, shifted in their seats.   “What fun are we planning tonight?” She asked.

“You will see, once Sali’dar deems to join us.”  As one, the eleven seated Dark Kin council members glanced at the one empty seat among them.

A foul reek permeated the room before the Master of Corruption entered. Sulfur was a lovely cologne, but Sali’dar used far too much. And no matter how much he swam in, it couldn’t cover the cloying scent of bloated carcass on a sunny August afternoon.  “Forgive me, my Lord.” Sali’dar croaked bowing before seating his oozing carcass on his chair.

“Where is the girl, the half breed, Sail’dar?” The Dark Lord asked.

Sali’dar bowed his head again and replied. “Forgive me, my Lord, my Dark sons failed to apprehend her. They almost had her, but her guardians had the First Wizard with them.”

Acedia, the Lady of Apathy, laughed breathlessly. “That isn’t possible.  He is a man. And mankind die. No way he still lives.”  She finished dismissively.

“If he were human you would be correct, Lady Acedia.”  The Head of the Council replied.  “But the blood of Man isn’t the only thing that flows through his veins. He is a magic user of some note after all. He has true dragon blood. Some ancestor before the Persharan Fall…  In essence, he could live for a very long time. Immortal, almost. Unless…” A hush had fallen while he spoke. Now the Dark Kin murmured amongst themselves, wondering what their Head was formulating.  “My Lords and Ladies,” he continued softly. “If you think that he is powerful, imagine the power of the girl. Daughter of a dragon and a royal mage family.”

Several licked their lips in anticipation. The world… all creation… would be theirs if they had that girl. If they used her in their favor.

“My Lord,” Maltacken bowed his shadowy blob of a head. “As you know, my pet is planning an assault upon Vandenburg. She has been seeking revenge from the First of the Circle for some time. Perhaps we should encourage her to kill him then?”

“They are nowhere near Vandenburg, my Lord of Shadows.”  Sali’dar interjected.

“They are on their way there. Let them come. My pet may even be able to steal the girl for us.”

“We will give your pet this chance.” The Dark Lord decreed. “But, if she fails…”

Maltacken bowed his blob head in acquiescence. Kaltana smirked.

Chapter Nine-  The Heritage of Balance

The barnyard showed few signs of the fighting from the previous night. The Grimedian knights had been warned by GrimHolden’s wards to an attack by the King’s Guard. It was a small force rather than a company. For that, Grim was thankful. The warning had allowed Grim’s men to make quick work of the dozen or so guards that had come to arrest them. They had hoped to avoid bloodshed but the King’s Guard had other ideas.

Unfortunately, another battle was taking place in the farmhouse.  Grim had a nasty suspicion that the King’s Guard had been a diversion for the real assault. It made Grim uncomfortable to think about such an unholy alliance.

Joan was buried in her flower garden. Grim delivered the last rites offered the Blessing of Christ for the fallen woman.  At dawn, he conducted a solemn internment ceremony. As the Grimedian knight finished, Bendon stood. Grim remembered the pained look the old wizard gave Robert as he directed the group to hold hands. He spoke briefly in a foreign tongue. Several of the group felt the gentle surge of magic as the bearded mage spoke. His ever-present red cloak was folded and draped about his neck like a stole. When he was done, there was at last, a sense of completion. Robert made a point of thanking all in attendance. His face was a mask that held back his tormented feelings. When he had clasped every last hand and thanked every last knight, he and Gawin headed back toward the house.

Gawin had become the older man’s constant companion. Adversity and common interests formed a tight bond between the men - at a time when Robert desperately needed a friend.

Grim, Bendon, Jewel, Sargent Henderson and a few others sat on the porch of the wrecked farmhouse.  Robert was packing and would be joining the group on their journey to Vandenburg. When the packing was nearly complete, Gawin joined the others on the porch.

“What ho Engineer?” Grim ventured as the tall redhead sat next to Jewel who was holding Mister Underfoot.

“He’s depressed.” Gawin said nodding towards the house.

“Aye lad. That he is, that he is” Bendon stroked his beard and sighed.

Grim pointed to Gawin’s black and blue left eye. “You get that during the fight last night?”

Gawin placed a hand near the eye. “No, before. I got it when I tried to wake Jewel up”

“Huumf!” Henderson snorted. “Trust me lad. It runs in the family”

Grim gave the younger knight a scathing look. “I think it’s time we talked about what’s been happening here.”

Henderson shifted his position “You mean why we were attacked… twice now?”

“We weren’t” Gawin said looking to Grim for confirmation. “We weren’t attacked. We were just in the way.” Grim nodded in agreement. “In both cases the focus of the attack was Jewel.”

“Why me?” Jewel asked, hugging Mister. Underfoot for comfort. The middle aged cat “murf”ed his dislike of such strangling. Jewel muttered an apology, loosening her hold slightly.

“Your heritage?” Henderson ventured.

“Perhaps” Grim agreed. “But I think it’s something more than that. Heritage might explain an attack by the King’s Guard but not by... by whatever it is we fought.”

Bendon stood and faced the eastern sky. He had his hands clasped behind his back. “The girl is a sink and a fulcrum”

“I don’t follow.” It was Henderson who spoke.

Bendon turned back to the group. “When I shielded the group in the house last night; how many of you felt it?”

Everyone but Gawin raised a hand.

“So, why wouldn’t young master Gawin have felt it? He’s a bright lad. Why, say, would Henderson feel it but not our young engineer?”

The Grimedian leader was the first to answer. “We all have some measure of the gift. We all can use some form of magic”

“So I have none of the gift? That doesn’t make sense… I’ve felt others use it.”

“Oh, fear not young master… you have a far greater measure of the gift than most, but ours are so similar you cannot feel my use… just as I will have a hard time feeling your use when that day comes.” Bendon assured him.

“So I can’t feel your magic because our gifts are similar?”

“Exactly my boy. Exactly” Bendon was an excited professor lecturing his favorite pupils.  “Now let me ask you this. When we were in the Dunshire woods and the Dark-kin attacked the first time how many of you heard the howling of the wolves before the attack occurred?”

“There was no howling.” Grim said before he noticed Jewel’s hand raising.

Bendon looked smug “And how many heard them last night?”

Again Jewel raised her hand.

“It might amuse you to know that I didn’t hear them either… but Robert did.”

“There is an essence of evil in all men… this is our fallen nature from the time of Genesis and Adam… most don’t hear the Dark-kin because their nature is a distillation of our baser aspects.”

Jewel handed Mister Underfoot to Gawin and stood so she could approach and rest an arm on the bearded old man’s shoulder. Her voice pleaded “Why can Robert and I hear them and no one else?”

“Well as I’m sure you know, your mother was a very special lady…”

Jewel turned to look at Grim. “My mother? My mother was a serving maid...”

Bendon laughed. “A serving maid!” He looked at GrimHolden. “Is that what you told her? Very well,” turning once again to face the young girl, “your mother - the serving maid - was a very special lady.” Grim saw the bemused twinkle in the mage’s eye. He intended to have words with the man later. Bendon, for his part, ignored the scathing look big knight directed toward him. “You will have to tell her eventually.”

“I agree” Grim said. “But not here; and not now.”

“Why is my mother important?”

Bendon looked over the group and decided how he would proceed given GrimHolden’s obvious censure regarding Jewel’s true history. “The essence of magic flows free in the universe. Its natural tendency is to disperse or spread out...”

“Like entropy.” Gawin offered.

“Entro-what?” Henderson asked.

“Exactly” Bendon said to Gawin. “In order to do useful work a concentration of magic must be formed and the process of releasing that concentration is what does the work.” He looked around the group. “When I formed the shield I was releasing energies that had been collecting in me for many days.”

“So each of us that has the gift has the ability to concentrate magic energies from the cosmic ether” It was Henderson who spoke.

Bendon looked pleased. “Yes, yes,” He blurted. “But it goes rather further than that, it does. Every living thing, from the smallest grasshopper to the largest... dragon, concentrates magic as a natural consequence of being alive.”

“So the greater the sink the greater their ability to use magic?”

“Yes and no.” Bendon answered. “Gawin, for example, is potentially stronger than many of you... and yet he can barely use magic. The difference is a matter of training. Most animals like the grasshopper will never yield magic. Man can be trained to yield it. Certain other animals use magic as naturally as a duck knows which way is south.”

“So how does this explain the attacks?”

“Jewel is one of the strongest magical sinks alive today. Indeed she is one of the strongest ever to live.”

The group was silent. It was Jewel herself the spoke first. Her voice trembled. “But I don’t know how to use magic.”

“Don’t you? How did you know the Dark-kin were coming? Not only do you use magic but because of your heritage, you are amongst the very few that can use it without training.”

“This is why my mother was special?” Jewel asked.

Bendon looked to Grim for permission to continue. The big knight nodded slightly.

“Your mother was the last pure blood...” Bendon paused searching words…

“…of her Line” Grim supplied. The big knight gently took Jewel’s shoulders in his massive hands. “Bendon was right. I do owe you a fuller accounting of your past... and your parents. It’s been important for your safety that I protect you from the truth. I’m going to ask you to do something that you’re going to have a difficult time doing. I’m going to ask you to trust me for a little while longer.  I will tell you soon.”

Jewel looked into the big man’s eyes and wrapped her arms around him. She buried her face in his chest. “I’ve always trusted you, father...” she whispered, “and I always will!” He hugged her in return.

“This still doesn’t explain the attacks.” Henderson muttered.

“I think I can do that.” It was Robert who spoke as he joined the group. He used his sheathed sword as a cane to fold his hands over.

“We’re fighting a battle fought since creation itself. When the One God created the world he sent his only Son, Christ to us as the Lord of the Light. With the Son, were twelve Disciples. As monastic knights, this is an integral part of the teachings you defend.”

Henderson nodded.

“The part that most people are less familiar with is simply that the Lord of the Dark followed the Lord of the Light and he has his own disciples. The battle between the disciples of the Light and the disciples of the Dark has been at a stalemate for eons. The Light has always been content to leave it so. ”

“Naturally,” Grim agreed, “How else to see the light except in contrast to the dark?”

“I don’t follow.” Gawin interrupted. “Why would Christ be content to allow a stalemate with evil?”

Grim leaned forward… “Don’t think of it as a stalemate… think of it as a choice. God is everything. He has everything. He can do anything… the only exception is true love. If God were to compel us to love Him such a love would be meaningless. Love has to be given freely in order for it to have any meaning. This is why we have free will.”

“So evil has to exist in order that we can choose to turn away from it?” Gawin offered.

“Just so” Robert nodded. “Unfortunately, the Lord of the Dark has been less content. Just as the Lord of the Light has his holy trinity, the Lord of the Dark reveres that number and sends his minions out in groups of three. From what Bendon has told me earlier in Dunshire you faced Maltacken - the Master of Shadows. Last night we faced Sali’dar - the Master of Corruption.”

“So why attack Jewel?” Gawin repeated.

“Because an ancient prophecy known as the Harakin Admission states that universe strives to maintain a balance.” Bendon replied.

Understanding lit up Gawin’s expression. “That’s why you said Jewel was a fulcrum. Magic is like a lever balancing energies between Light and Darkness. Somehow she serves as a pivot point about which those energies act.”

“And Darkness, of course, seeks to destroy that balance in its favor” finished Grim.

***

Captain T’nere sat alone in his tent. The night had not gone well. He had sent a dozen of his men to confront the monks. He had sensed a ward and knew the men were going to almost certain defeat. His obligations to the Dark Lord had made it necessary.  His men were to provide the distraction so the Dark-kin could be used to get the girl.

Not only had most of the small squad died but the Dark-kin had failed to capture the little half breed. Failure was not a thing his master’s mistress accepted well. T’nere knew the price of incurring her wrath.  He would have to make sure blame was placed safely on the Dark-kin. After all, there was little more she could do to the failed-ones.

Chapter Ten - All that glitters…

“A new friend behind every circumstance.” A third kingdom proverb.

The town was experiencing a growth spurt. The war in the east resulted in an increase in traffic through the Sigon Pass. War materials flowed east and wealth fled west. The town of Mountview was nestled at the bottom of the western side of the pass next to Lake Egon, which fed the Sigon River. As such, it was well positioned to divest travelers of their gold - no matter which direction they traveled.

The local government, recognizing the growth, decided to invest some of their new found tax revenue in fortifications for the town. These were taking the form of a series of walls that would eventually surround the town. Once done the town would officially become a city. Since cities are safer than towns, they encourage more merchants. More merchants… meant the cities are generally more profitable, yielding more taxes. The local government’s investment seemed a sound one.

Of course, with Mountview’s current prosperity, there were other organizations making investments in the town. A representative of one such group was even now making his way toward the harbor district.

He was an extremely tall, extremely thin man, towering over six and a half feet. His height was obscured by a decided slouch. In his profession, remarkable physical attributes could be detrimental. He sported a close-cropped dirty blond beard that matched the color of his hair. That beard could be quickly trimmed off and leave no tan line.

His goal was the ‘Swan with Two Nicks’ tavern on Frontage Street. It was a better pub in a poorer district. It would be an ideal location to find the missing pieces to his plan. He liked his plan. It was a good plan. His father had always taught him that a problem anticipated was a problem avoided. He had taken that advice to heart. With any luck, he would have no need of the pawns he sought tonight. But, as his father had taught him, it never hurt to plan for contingencies.

The man felt the faux gold coins in his pocket. They were almost perfect. Truth-be-known they would have cost no less to manufacture had they really been gold. The thieves guild, of which his was a member, had learned years ago that the proper mixture of lead and copper yielded an alloy that while not quite yellow, weighted the same as real gold on a per volume basis. Stamp an imperial crown of such a metal and coat it with a thin layer of 24 karat gold and you had yourself a very reasonable counterfeit.

These particular coins had been carefully manufactured with an alloy that was slightly off. Not enough to be detectable when hefted in the hand but certainly detectable by any currency scale. They were intended to be discovered.

As per his plan, he had divested himself of quite a few of these coins in a comical game of dice with several of the King’s Guard. The soldiers had been brought in by the town council to guard the construction of the town’s new walls. Understandably, the town did not want members of his profession influencing design details. Specifically, they did not want bolt holes in their wall.

The thief understood their concern. After all, what good was a wall if there were holes in it? What the town failed to understand was that the Thieves Guild took its responsibilities toward the town very seriously and would never make a bolt hole that could be casually discovered. The Thieves Guild always engaged in a nurturing role within the cities from which it operated. It was in the guild’s best interest to keep the city safe for thieves and merchants alike.

Once the guards discovered the gold was fake they would come looking for him. They were fundamentally honest people… which was fine as far as the thief was concerned – somebody had to be. They would never have taken a direct bribe. Likewise he doubted they would take too kindly to being cheated. He would buy them off with considerably more gold - real this time. Once that was done, they were his. He would have the wedge he needed in security to get his own team of masons in place. Everybody knows it makes better sense to build a thing right the first time rather than have to make changes to the design after it’s built.

***

Perela scanned the gray brick buildings before them. It was late afternoon on a cold and cloudy fall day. She side-stepped her horse around a small clump of debris littering the muddy street. Sarah, as she had taken to calling her white mare, was a joy to ride. Unfortunately, her white legs showed the mud in a quite unlady-like manner. As a result, Perela was forever correcting her course to avoid the more offending puddles. Sarah, for her part, seemed to enjoy the mud and Perela was sure that at heart, the horse was the equestrian version of a tom boy.  Given a choice between a dry path and a murky puddle the head strong horse would invariably choose the mud; often covering portions of Perela in the process.

The inns in the better parts of the town were filled with travelers and construction workers. That meant that Perela and the others were forced to seek lodging in the seedier part of town. Duncan knew of a pub called the ‘Swan with Two Nicks’ that rented rooms. It was located near the harbor which is where they were headed.

Perela spotted the blue and white sign first. Two swans intertwining their necks. The sign was weathered and the paint chipped but the building and the area in the immediate vicinity was clean and cleared of refuge.  The street, itself, was pockmarked with mud and puddles. As they trotted down the street toward the tavern, Sarah immediately veered towards the largest of these.

“Don’t you dare!” was all Perela said.

The horse veered back toward dry road. Duncan chuckled. She had the horse well trained.

Perela looked at the smirk on the big man’s face. It was time to rein him in too. “Honey, be a dear and get us a room.” The smile on her face was sweetness itself.

“Yes dear.” He answered dully.

Earlier she had had the knight remove and pack his monastic gear before coming into the town. A few moments with a pair a scissors had cropped his hair to a respectable if somewhat short length. Duncan had grumbled the whole time. Knights typically wore their hair long so it could be rolled and used as a cushion for their heavy metal and leather helms. With his hair short, his muscles and callused hands would help him pass as blacksmith.

Perela and the big knight were going to play husband and wife, with Elainia as their niece. It was a role Duncan found strangely both exciting and terrifying. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Duncan had been sure Perela had no intention of making the arrangement more permanent. For her part, Perela found the look of a cornered animal in Duncan’s eyes most endearing.

It took only a moment for Duncan to return. He was followed out of the tavern by a small boy who guided them toward the rear of the establishment where the horse stalls were located. Near the opening to the stalls Sarah finally found a puddle to which she gleefully availed herself by stamping a hoof. The result was a glorious splash that covered both horse and rider.

Perela quickly dismounted and faced the horse. “You did that deliberately!”

The horse nickered in confirmation and reached her neck forward to make it easier for Perela to pet her nose.

The dark-haired woman sighed. “You do like your mud don’t you?”

Duncan would have sworn the horse nodded.

Perela was covered head to toe with fragrant barnyard mud. While Duncan and Elainia ordered dinner in the tavern below their rooms she would be forced to bathe and change dresses.

None of them saw the tall blond man hiding in the shadows across the street.

***

Duncan sat across from Elainia. The small round table was made of a dark polished wood with many layers of a deep clear varnish. It, like all the furniture in the Swan, was of good construction but quite old. A fresh layer of sawdust covered the floor. Classier establishments near the center of the city would never have put down sawdust but the owner of the Swan had made this minor concession to the sloppy nature of his current clientele. In years pass, the Swan had been one of those classier establishments. The inn was originally founded by a retired captain of humble birth honored with a gift of a swan from the king’s own flock. As with all birds in that flock, the swan had two small nicks placed on its beak. This swan was adopted both as the family crest and as the namesake for the inn. That had been before the surrounding buildings and streets had gone to seed.

The Swan still had a fine kitchen and the owner’s wife was a top-notch cook. The smell of roast pork and venison mingled with the heady odors of baking bread and brewer’s yeast.

Duncan and Elainia had found a table near the center of the room with a clear view of both the entrance and the stairs. The long fire place was behind Duncan and even at this distance he could occasionally feel its heat. The owner had just finished feeding it logs so he would have a good coal bed for the evening’s business.

When they left the stables, Duncan had carried their possessions up the back stairs. They had taken two rooms. The owner would be expecting Elainia to take one room while Duncan and his ‘wife’ would be staying in the other. Duncan doubted the arrangements would exactly match the tavern owner’s expectations.

The bathes were located further down the hall. Duncan had had the owner heat some water for Perela’s bath.

Perela, herself, lost no time in gathering her bathing supplies and selecting a dark ruby dress to wear after her bath. Never willing to miss an opportunity to tease the big knight, she asked Duncan to accompany her to the bath.

Whatever thoughts Duncan might have had regarding nature of the invitation, she dashed them when it became apparent she only wanted him to help her undo a clasp at the back of her neck.

She stood with her back to him as he undid the clasp. He jokingly offered to provide other such assistance as she might require. Perela responded by coyly batting an eye over her shoulder. She let the dress slip ever so slightly to reveal a soft, milky expanse of deliciously bare back.

“You’re always welcome...” She said in a soft purr. “I think you know my terms.”

Duncan gulped hard as he heard imaginary wedding bells and backed out of the bath with an awkward haste. As he had headed back down the short hall he heard Perela’s amused chuckle tinged with just a touch of disappointment.

“Are you alright?” Elainia’s voice broke into Duncan’s musings.

“Hmm what?”

Elainia looked at her companion across the table. “You looked as if you were a thousand leagues away.”

Duncan smiled and looked toward the stairway and the baths. “No, not quite so far”

Now it was Elainia’s turn to smile. “You like her don’t you?”

“I’ve always liked our Mistress of the Kitchens.” Duncan answered blithely.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” she said with mock ire.

“I know.” He returned with a smile as he took a drink of the local ale.

He was saved from further torment by the approach of the barmaid. She was a handsome woman, just past prime, whose voluptuous wares were proudly hinted at by an excessively tight corset. Those same wares threatened to escape their somewhat limited confines when she leaned over the table to take their order. When he had ordered for the two ladies and himself the barmaid jiggled slightly and asked if there would be anything else... perhaps for desert. Duncan declined the offer.

“Did you see how low her blouse was cut?” Elainia asked in distressed modesty.

“I hadn’t noticed.” Duncan lied.

The tavern was starting to fill. Many of the tables near Duncan and Elainia already had occupants. Most of the patrons seemed to be dock workers, merchants and even a few soldiers. An unusually tall man stood by the bar. He seemed to be looking for someone because he repeatedly scanned the room and door with his eyes. To be sure, he was subtle about it. Almost covert, Duncan thought.

As he and Elainia waited for supper and Perela to appear, he found his mind speculating as to the profession of the tall blond stranger. He was a professional used to action. That was apparent from lean but well-muscled frame and from the way he carefully scanned the room without really seeming to do so. It was only the superb nature of Duncan’s own training that tipped him off. The man was too tall to be a spy or even a thief. He might have been an assassin but Duncan didn’t think so. That left an intriguing mystery.

With a start, Duncan realized the man was heading toward them. Had he spotted him? Duncan thought he had been more subtle with his own surveillance.

The tall man was at their table now. He indicated one of the two empty chairs and said “Do you mind?”

“Please, feel free...” Duncan waved casually toward the chair in question. He had assumed the man meant to borrow it for use at an adjoining table. When the man sat down Duncan started to protest “Actually I...”

“Hi, my name’s Thomas Toweltaker, my friends call me Tommy T.” He reached forward with a hand to shake.

“Are we your friends?”

“I’d hope we might be for a few minutes.” He said in a conspiratorial tone. He was watching a group of four King’s Guard who had just entered the Swan. His open hand held a gold crown.

Duncan ignored the coin and said “Sit”. Like the tall stranger, he had no desire to draw the undue attention of the Guard. “I assume you’d just as soon avoid any ‘royal’ engagements at the moment.”

Tommy smirked momentarily. “Let us just say, such an encounter might adversely affect my health.”

Duncan marveled at the way the other man slouched in his chair. He completely disguised his height without appearing to do so. “I’m Duncan Bennett and this is my niece, Elainia.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The stranger caught and briefly brought Elainia’s fingers to his lips.

The barmaid leaned over the table and dropped off a mug of ale for the thief. Tommy winked at Duncan. “How’d ya like her assets?”

“He didn’t notice.” said Elainia with a mischievous grin.

Duncan snorted.

The noise level which had been steadily growing with the crowd, abruptly diminished.  The guards who had entered just moments before had their eyes focused as a unit on the back stairs. Duncan and Tommy turned as one to the stairs. Duncan took a deep appreciative breath. Tommy groaned.

Perela, in a stunning ruby red dress, was descending the stairs. There wasn’t a male in the room who didn’t appreciate the way she accomplished this simple task. Certainly not the single male for whom the gown was intended.  Duncan was visibly gaping. Perela smiled and the spell was complete.

As she crossed the room toward their table, all eyes swiveled to follow her. Duncan stood to pull out a chair.

Tommy was trapped. He had to stand to be polite or risk drawing attention to himself for his rudeness. Standing of course had its own risks. He waited until the last possible moment and tried to execute a half stand and sit as might be done among old acquaintances.

“THERE ‘E IS!”

It was too late. He’d been spotted. He could only hope present company would prevent any undue harshness by the soldiers. The crashing of tables, as the King’s Guard forced their way through, ended that brief hope.

Tommy stood and faced the soldiers. So far everything was happening as per plan, or at least as per the contingency addendum. When the first of the King’s Guard arrived he grasped the thief’s shoulder in one hand and proceeded to ram the other, balled into a fist, into his stomach. The force of the blow bent Tommy in half. It was not the nicest greeting Tommy had ever received... but it beat a knife blade, which had been a real concern when he saw how they were knocking over tables to get to him. What happened next threatened to ruin the plan. Unfortunately bent over as he was, with no air in his lungs, he was in no position to protect his investment.

Duncan stepped aside with Perela and Elainia when the King’s Guard approached. Often, the best outcome for a confrontation was to avoid it to begin with. Once the first blow landed, however, the time for restraint had passed. The big knight moved forward. His muscled frame and broad shoulders made him a match for anyone in the room. The soldiers, who had been concentrating on the lanky thief, now turned to face this new threat.

“’E must be with ‘im!”

The Guard nearest Duncan attempted to ram the pummel of his short blade into Duncan’s face. Duncan’s reaction was immediate and, much to the thief’s disappointment, savagely effective. He grasped the wrist holding the sword in one hand and applied pressure. With his other hand he rammed the attacker’s shoulder into the table. There was a brittle popping sound as the bones in the lower arm broke.

“’E BROKE ME ARM! ‘E BROKE ME ARM!”

“Quit whining” Duncan muttered as he threw the man back. The entire Swan had erupted into a brawl as sailors, reluctant to miss out on a favorite pastime, joined in the fray.

Duncan’s eyes looked for and found Perela’s. “Get her out of here!” indicating Elainia.

“What an excellent idea.”

Duncan could hear the acid dripping off her voice. What did she want him to do? This wasn’t his fault.

As the women worked their way toward the door - the stairs were blocked - Duncan continued to fight the three remaining Kings Guard. Normally he would have had no trouble dealing with the three. Unfortunately, the proximately of so many other people prevented the freedom of movement that would have allowed Duncan to use more of his training. In addition, rather then beating a tactical retreat, after all this wasn’t his fight, he was forced to remain in the fight to give Perela and Elainia time to get their horses. He could not risk King’s Guard engaging in a pursuit. As Master of Arms of the Grimedian Order, his likeness had undoubtedly been circulated to all major outposts of the Guard.

Duncan saw that the man who had introduced himself as Tommy T. was handling himself as well as any knight. To be sure, the longer reach of his arms gave him an advantage, but he utilized that advantage with deft facility. Unfortunately, he did not have eyes in the back of his head.  While dealing with a dock hand who decided he wanted a piece of the action, Tommy had turned his back on one of the fallen King’s Guard. The Guard seized the opportunity to draw his sword and swing it full force toward the point in the lanky thief’s body where neck joined shoulder.

“Duck!” he yelled to Tommy as he backhanded the Guard’s sword with his own.

Duncan saw Tommy’s eyes widen as he ducked below the deflected blade. The tall man pointed behind the knight and started to say something.  Duncan never heard the warning. A chair crashed into his head. He saw an electric flash as the bones in the back of his skull shattered. His arm broke as he crumpled to the floor but he felt no pain. The man who had been Duncan GrimBennett was beyond caring.

Chapter Eleven- If Truth Be Known…

Pots! Piles and piles of pots! Sergeant Tolivier had never seen so many pots. He and Tep were on kitchen duty. His tongue, ever given to flapping, had gotten him in trouble again.

In truth, he didn’t mind the kitchen duty. It was a better duty then his other recent assignments. He had been sent with a squad to arrest some monks a few days before. He had seen and heard some evil things that night. Not from the monks. From his own forces! Although he couldn’t be sure, they seemed to be fighting on the side of some unholy allies. That made Tolivier decidedly uncomfortable. Regardless of his feelings, in the end he was a soldier and soldiers do not question their orders.

Tep stood beside him drying pots as he washed them. Tep had taken to spending more and more time with the sergeant. The portly soldier had originally thought it was to benefit from his wisdom. A wisdom born of his rather unique and, where need be, imaginative perspective of history. After all, Tolivier thought, what was the harm in inventing little details to fill in the gaps of a historical record? Especially if it kept the listener interested?

Of late, however, Sergeant Tolivier suspected there might be other reasons for Tep’s companionship. There were fewer and fewer boys Tep’s age in camp. At first he hadn’t noticed the disappearances. But, as the dark rumors of their captain began to spread, it became more and more difficult to ignore what was being said. Tolivier, of course, didn’t believe the things that were being said but the fact remained; Tep no longer had peers to play with.

Tolivier entertained the boy by recounting a somewhat bawdy, if fictional, tale of a dishwasher and his queen. The tale, allegedly a historical account of a heretofore unknown twin sister of the late Queen Sesla, was replete with the amorous conquests of numerous ladies in waiting. To be sure, the part involving both Queen and sister might have been pushing the bounds of credibility, but if one ignored the arching eyebrow, the lad seemed to be enjoying the tale all the same.

***

Captain T’nere stood on the crest of a ridge. His view was fixed on the city below. Although it had been unseasonably warm last night, the morning breeze carried a promise of the cold winter to come. His cape flapped gently in the cold air. High trees and tall browning grasses on the ridge effectively broke his outline. None, in the coastal city - or the camp behind him, would see the sadistic smile on his face. He was the wolf and these were his sheep.

He fingered a carved wood flute in his belt. It belonged to a small boy who had visited him in his tent several hours before. They seldom visited twice so the flute was his to keep. His fingers caressed the rough length of its surface. Slowly, he turned his attentions down the hill.

The city of Vandenburg was one of the oldest in modern Pershara. Some said it had existed as a coastal fishing village for nearly a millennia before the cataclysm.  Others said it was a smugglers nest setup shortly after the great dragon wars that ended the cataclysm. Whatever its origins, for the last four hundred years it was home for the Council of Bishops. The council was headed by an Archbishop. As a whole, they were responsible for the day to day administration of the church as well as occasionally the election of a new Archbishop. No Archbishop, however, had been seen in the land for over a hundred ad fifty years.

The last Archbishop, John the Forgiver, had died in office amidst some very questionable circumstances.  Normally the Council of Bishops would have elected a new Archbishop but in this case they failed to do so. Instead an appointed vice-prelate continued the day to day care of the church and the king of Pershara, then a priest, became the Papal seat of the church.

From that point forward, every king of Pershara had been ordained and every king had assumed the Papal role. This arrangement had worked successfully for over a century. Unfortunately, it died with the murder of King Randolph Holden. His uncle, Raymond Holden had seized the throne with that assassination.

The current Vice-Prelate was the king’s pawn. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the authority to install Randolph’s uncle as the Papal head. Only the council could do that and they questioned the method of Raymond’s ascension to the throne.  After a hundred and twenty years, it seemed they were now more inclined to elect an Archbishop with no secular ties.

For seventeen years, the council and Bishop had remained deadlocked. T’nere was here to remedy that. King Raymond would be ruler of all things secular and ecclesiastical.

“How long are you going to stand there gawking like a peasant?”

T’nere ’s whirled to face the voice behind him. He forced his smile to deepen as he saw the dark-haired woman. She looked young, but T’nere knew her older than the city below. Her well-muscled form was exquisite. She wore a tight, black leather body suit with a neckline that did more to tease than to expose. Her face was extremely attractive, save for a scar that marred the length of the left cheek. The air was filled with a touch of lilac perfume. T’nere wondered briefly how long she had been there but he had long ago accepted that she could and would appear at any time and at any place.  As a dark disciple, her mastery of magic was unequaled in the three lands - a woman to be feared.

“Well met, Mistress Altana.” the captain said with the barest modicum of respect, addressing her as he might an equal.

The lithe woman stepped closer, invading his private space. Altana saw the falseness in the captain’s smile. She ignored it. She required his absolute and unconditional obedience - not his affections. Apparently she had let his leash grow too long. It was time to rein him in.

She saw the crudely carved wood whistle in his belt. Indicating it with her eyes she said “I see we’re still playing with little boys.”

“One seeks what diversions one can.” he answered glibly. “Our master requires them sacrificed alive… I only scare them first.”

“So I understand. After all,” she added mockingly “what woman would have you?”

Anger flared in T’nere. “I never touch them that way!” His face flushed red and he started to raise a hand to slap her.

Altana saw the hand twitch and smiled. On another, such a smile would have warmed souls but on Altana it was a thing of pure evil.

“You forget yourself, my Lord Captain.” She raised a single finger and crooked it. It glowed briefly. T’nere gasped as agonizing pain tore through his bowels. Fire enveloped his intestines and bile rose in his throat. Altana continued to twist her finger. With each movement, the young captain’s agony increased. He was forced to his knees, bent over. He retched as wave after wave of spasms racked his body.  After several minutes she let the finger extend and crossed her arms.

“That was delicious.” She said in a cooing voice. “Would you like some more?” She added hopefully.

“NO.” T’nere grunted. He was drenched in his own sweat and vomit.

“No-- what?” she prompted sweetly. She crooked the finger ever so slightly.

“No... Mistress Altana.” He whispered.

“Much better.” She stepped past his mess and walked a few feet to get a better view of the city below. “Come over here and let us talk of other things.”

Captain T’nere started to rise.

“No, no. I think I like you better down there.” She said, tucking a raven lock behind her ear.

T’nere was forced to crawl over to the raven-haired beauty on hands and knees. When he arrived, she casually raised his chin with her hand, much as a dog owner might raise the mussel of favored hound.

“Good boy,” she cooed, “sooo obedient.” She waved a hand toward the populace below. “Tell me, my young and ever so obedient Lord Captain T’nere, what do you see?”

He pulled his head back and tried to free his chin but she refused to yield it. “I see shee...” he had been about to say sheep but decided against it when her hand tightened. “I see the city of Vandenburg.”

“Really?” Altana continued to squeeze her fingers, using her long elegant nails to penetrate the skin of his cheek. “I see your future.” A small amount of blood oozed from where her nails dug into his flesh.

Not knowing what she expected he said. “I will do all that you ask.”

“I know you will dearest.” She said in a whisper. “But know this,” her voice took on a sultry tone that T’nere had long ago learned to fear, “I don’t care what childish games your King Raymond has planned for the city. I want the girl. Further, I want her alive and unsoiled. Are we absolutely clear on this?”

“Crystal.” He grunted through clenched teeth.

“Good boy. I do so hate being disappointed.”

***

Gawin rode his mount with the practiced ease of a young man born to the saddle. This was a point not lost on GrimHolden, as the red-headed lad edged his gray mare up to the Grimedian knight.

“What ho, Engineer?”

Gawin grin was immediate and infectious. Grim made a point of treating him with the respect that was generally accorded a master engineer; even though he was just three years into his journeyman-ship.  He liked the boy. His use of the title “Engineer” was more a reflection of the respect Grim had for the young man’s skill than any attempt at false praise. More to the point, Grim’s men knew there was no false praise in their leader. The honor he accorded Gawin was duplicated by his men. Of course the fact that Master Jacob had proudly asked Grim to sit at the journeyman’s Master review board just days before had no little influence on Grim’s respect for the soon-to-be engineer. Master Jacob had referred to the tall red-headed young man as simply the best student he had ever instructed. No small compliment from a man who for twenty years had been teaching the best from across Pershara.

Robert, who never seemed to be far from the lad, grinned in appreciation. The older man seemed moody but Grim suspected the death of a wife would do that. He dealt with the loss by throwing himself into his work. His pack bulged with ‘white bounds’. These were books whose pages were blank. In the week or so they had been traveling toward the coast he had spent every night working with Gawin; filling almost half of one of those books with sketches and diagrams for some new machine the two of them had dreamed up. It seemed Gawin’s use of mathematics to calculate the solution to design problems was a novel approach to the older man. Ideas that had been put aside for years, now found themselves tumbling out as the two worked as a team. It was obvious to all that a synergy had developed. The fact that it helped Robert deal with his loss was an added bonus.

Gawin scanned the forest around them. The soil had turned sandy. For days, they had been nearing the coastline and now the various conifers were being replaced by the gnarled roots of black and white Cyprus trees. Closer still, to the shore, these were replaced by the even more gnarled red Cyprus. The root system of these trees made horseback riding difficult except for a narrow trail perhaps a hundred yards off the shore line. Being confined to such a narrow path made Gawin nervous.

They had been attacked twice already. There would be little room to maneuver if there was trouble here. He placed a hand on the quarter staff he kept lashed to his horse. Gawin looked to the Grimedian leader and indicated the trail.

“Looks a little tight.” He observed.

Grim nodded and indicated Gawin’s quarter staff. “Can you swing that in here?”

Gawin looked at Jewel, holding Mister Underfoot, two horse lengths behind. “If I have to… I keep thinking we’re being watched.”

“I’ve seen some recent sign of travel.” Grim commented dryly. He didn’t tell the young man that he had also caught glimpses of lookouts set deep in the Cyprus woods. He suspected these woods were used by eastern rebels. There was no point in unduly alarming the engineer. It was unlikely they would be attacked by the likes of these. If truth be known, they were taking this route because he had suspected the rebels would be here. It was doubtful the King’s Guard would feel as safe.

***

Trevor McGill watched the knights pass. They were monastic knights which meant they might not side with the current pretender to the throne. Their leader looked much like an old friend. Trevor bitterly hoped Thomas Holden could still be his friend. Much would depend on the next few days.

Chapter Twelve - A Man In His Position…

The world was strange. All the edges were softened. The colors were muted. Not exactly pastels, but close. And… it felt as if he was wrapped in cotton. There was no temperature. He was confused. “Where am I?” He whispered. His voice sounded hollow. It concerned him but distantly. Nobody answered his question. He tried to remember who he was. But all he could remember was skull shattering pain. Skull shattering…. “That’s right, someone smashed a chair on my head.” His leaden arm rose so his hand could touch his head. It was then that several thoughts came to mind. First, he remembered that he was Duncan GrimBennett. Second, the tavern brawl. Third, and the worst, his skull had shattered. “Am I dead?” He asked in a horrified voice. He had faith that he had a place in Heaven with his Lord and Savior, but the thought of being dead, of being finished in the physical world, was terrifying.

“Not yet,” A voice answered. “The good Lord still has plans for you, Duncan Bennett. Forgive me. It is GrimBennett, is it not?” Duncan turned to look behind him.  Several paces from him stood a man with long auburn hair tied back in a queue. He wore simple yet elegant clothing fashioned of black cloth embroidered and lined in a blue-silver. The way he held himself reminded Duncan strongly of Grim… though, perhaps, a little younger. The man’s eyes were like none Duncan had ever seen. They were dark blue threaded with black. Silver veins glittered when the man moved. “Your lady friend definitely does.” He added thoughtfully.

“Who are you? And where are we?” Duncan asked.

“Forgive me.” The man said smiling. “I am Kaizir Varsrea. As to where we are…?” Kaizir shrugged. “Not a clue. But if you keep going down that path you will find the pearly gates before your time.” Duncan blinked and noticed that he was indeed traveling on a road. He stopped and turned to face his companion.

“Have we met before?” Duncan found himself asking.

Kaizir laughed. “You and I? Personally? No. Our peoples? Once. A long time ago…” Kaizir’s smile faded away as he stared down the meandering road behind Duncan. His startling gaze met Duncan’s again after a moment. “I don’t have much time, now that your lady friend is ready to save your sorry ass and there is much I need to tell you.” Very faintly, Duncan could hear a familiar voice calling from somewhere. One much like Perela’s. Kaizir nodded at him, as if to confirm what he heard. “As I said, not much time.

“There will come a time, soon, when you and your friends will come across an old prophecy. So old is it that I was still alive when it was first given breath.” He raised a hand to stall Duncan’s question. “But what Pershara has is only half.”

Duncan, normally quick witted, was having trouble understanding the man. Perela’s voice was much closer. Kaizir seemed to hear her nearness as well for he picked up his pace. “Remember, everything is done in threes. Only an alliance with the Three will give your friends a chance against the Darkness. But to find them all you will need to find…”

Kaizir and the fuzzy world vanished. Time was up.

***

Perela cradled Duncan’s head in her lap. A small fire illuminated the cave in which they hid. Her hand lay under the wet, matted hair at the base of his skull. Her fingers felt the unnatural shape of the bone and she knew that shards must be pressing into his gray matter.

Perela drew a deep breath. It was time. With her free hand she removed the stasis field she had placed on Duncan hours earlier... allowing the magic to flow back into her where she would save it for use later.

She had enveloped the young knight in the magical shroud  moments after Tommy had dragged the unconscious and dying knight from the tavern. She had known instantly that she would have to hurry if she were going to save him. Unfortunately there was no time as soldiers were already attempting to arrest them. The stasis field had cost her dearly in terms of strength.  She wondered if she had enough left to complete the task.

Tommy had ridden Katie with the big knight lashed to his back. Perela had tied Duncan’s good arm in such a way as to encircle the skinny man’s neck and right shoulder.

That had been several hours ago. The thief had taken them to a well provisioned and well hidden cave several miles outside of town. They carefully laid Duncan’s limp form on a pile of blankets and drew another over him. With Tommy’s help, she set the broken bone in his arm. Once done, the thief was gone. Perela supposed it was just as well. She only wished he had not taken Duncan’s horse in the process. She and Elainia had forced themselves to sleep for several hours. They would need sharp minds and refreshed bodies if they were going to help Duncan.

Her mind shifted back to the present. The stasis field slowed the chemical activity in the big knight’s body. As a result he was quite cold to the touch. In such a state, he could linger on the edge of death for days. Linger, but not stay. Eventually he would die.

Perela looked up from the knight into the moist eyes of Elainia who was seated on the other side of Duncan. “Dry your tears girl. We haven’t lost him yet.”

Elainia did as she was told and ignored the redness of Perela’s own tear stained face. “What do I need to do?”

“Just hold your hand on his shoulder. I will draw strength from both of us into him. Whatever happens, do not lose contact with his skin.”

“I won’t.” Elainia promised.

“Then let us begin.” Perela closed her eyes and felt for the threads that tied her soul to her body. Slowly, carefully she severed all save one. Thus, tethered ever so tenuously, she allowed her soul to enter Duncan’s body. Once there, she sought and found Elainia’s bond. Together they proceeded.

In her mind’s eye she could see the damage. A subdural hematoma had formed where the capillaries had torn. In laymen’s terms, blood was pooling at the site of the injury.  The bone at the base of the cranium had shattered. Two small pieces had penetrated the Dura mater and pushed into the occipital lobe of his brain. She could repair this damage but first she needed to make sure there would be someone to save.

She cast her mind out, exploring the inner-most recesses of his mind. Everywhere she looked she saw emptiness and darkness. Was she too late? Frantic, she continued her search; diving ever deeper. Nothing... She was growing weaker now. Her single tether to her own soul was drawn as tight as she dared pull it. Just as it seemed she could go no further, she saw the barest flicker of what was Duncan.

Drawing on her bond with Elainia, she blew gently on that single ember. It glowed brightly briefly and threatened to go out; but she refused to let it die. Ever so slowly, she fed it. Ever so carefully, she nurtured it back to life. She had drawn on herself and Elainia as heavily as she dared.  She was about to release her hold on Elainia and bear the remaining risk herself; but the young girl, sensing what she was about to do, held fast and refused to relinquish the link. Perela smiled… Brave girl, this one.

With Perela guiding and both women pulling, they eventually brought that which was Duncan back into the shell of his body. As the last of her strength was failing, Perela used her mind to nudge bone back into position and repair torn tissues. The rest was up to Duncan.

When she opened her eyes at last she was surprised to see she had been crying. She watched as Duncan’s eyes twitched and then cracked open, ever so slightly.

“You’ve been crying.” He said in a horse whisper.

“Idiot!” She sobbed as she planted her lips fully on his. She gave him as sweet a kiss as any he could remember. Duncan, for his part, did the only thing a man in his position could. With his good arm, he held her close and kissed her back.

***

Grim poked at the small fire with a stick. They were still a few hours from Northridge and the city of Vandenburg. The trek through the Cyprus woods had taken the better part of three days. He had decided to rest the men tonight and face the city and its special challenges a few hours after dawn tomorrow.

He drew a deep breath of the warm sea breeze. There was a slightly salty tang to it. He could hear the breakers rolling into shore over the light conversations of his men. There was something intrinsically relaxing about the sea.

Bendon speculated it resulted from man’s origins; that man evolved from creatures of the sea. Grim wasn’t sure what the church’s stance would be on such a speculation but he suspected it would not be a whole-hearted endorsement. Still, God worked in mysterious ways. Who was to say that when God created man, he did it one way as opposed to another? Perhaps evolution was the means God used to create man. After all, even evolutionary time scales were infinitesimal compared to the age of the universe.

A spark flew up from the fire and Grim watched it travel skyward. Bendon and Henderson followed the flight with their eyes as well. Robert Kimbridge continued to stare at the fire, deep in his own thoughts. Jewel and Gawin were sitting on a piece of driftwood a few feet further back from the fire. They were holding hands and lost in their own conversation.

When Grim’s eyes returned to the fire, Robert was looking at him. “Tell me something, son.”

“Anything.” Grim answered.

The older man looked deep into GrimHolden’s soul and asked in the softest of voices “Why aren’t you king?”

Bendon snorted loudly. “Now there’s a story that needs tell’n!”

Grim looked from Robert to Bendon. His jaw quivered as he carefully placed the stick down on the fire. When the others were sure he would not answer, he stood and walked toward Gawin and Jewel. He bent and whispered briefly with the young man. As he straightened from his crouch, he gestured towards the ocean and whispered some more. Jewel was all smiles as she and Gawin stood. Hand in hand, they walked towards the breakers - apparently on a moonlight stroll.

Grim returned to the group by the fire and resumed his seat.

“You really don’t want her to know do you?” It was Bendon who spoke.

“No. If she knew, others might learn. I can’t put her in that kind of risk. Not yet anyway.”

“What are we talking about?” Henderson asked.

Grim assumed a faraway look and muttered “A promise and an oath. Both made long ago.”

“And an admirable but misplaced sense of honor” Bendon added wryly.

Robert nodded in agreement.

“I don’t follow.” Henderson had a puzzled look on his face.

Grim sighed. “Many years ago, when my father was dying, he called Randolph and I to his bed chamber. I was the elder but as you know, in Pershara the king decides which of his male heirs will ascend the throne. Neither of us knew his choice. As brothers go, we were the best of friends. I would have done anything for him and he I.”

The big knight pushed an errant coal back toward the fire with a handy stick. “Father asked us each a question. What was the state of the kingdom? I answered first. I gave a precise military assessment of our borders. I concluded by saying the people were safe and the kingdom secure.”

“And how did your brother handle the question?” Bendon asked, although he already knew the answer.

“He gave a political and economic assessment of Pershara. Darvia had imposed a trade tariff on Persharan silk. Since silk had no real military significance I had ignored the reports. My brother read them all religiously. The tax had provoked a similar tariff on Southland oranges. It was set to become an all-out trade war with the economics of every city in Pershara at stake.” Grim shook his head from side to side. “Even though no army threatened, the kingdom was not secure. The people were not safe.”

“And so your father chose the younger son.” Robert added.

“And I supported his decision. I understood then that Pershara needed a ruler for her people. Not a general for her armies.” Grim used his foot to mound a small pile of beach sand. Looking up, he continued. “I loved my brother and I was determined to do everything I could to protect him. The first thing to do was to remove myself from the line of succession. I did that.”

“By joining the Grimedian Knights?” Henderson asked.

“It wasn’t enough to join the knights. I had to become ordained. In that way I could add Grim to my surname. But more importantly, by becoming GrimHolden I swore an oath before God and the church that I would forsake my bloodline in preference to the Order and the duties such an allegiance entailed.”

Grim swiveled his head to look directly at Bendon. The steel in his eyes challenged the old wizard to contradict what he would say next.  His voice was firm and absolutely resolute. “The only person on earth who can forgive such an oath is the Archbishop.”

“And… ” Robert muttered in understanding, “since there is no Archbishop, you cannot assume the throne that your uncle stole.”

“At first, I didn’t - I couldn’t - believe Raymond could have been involved in Randolph’s death. Rumors had begun to circulate almost immediately after the suspicious fire that killed the king, but I paid no heed. More rumors circulated when Randolph’s chancellor, Trevor McGill was killed by highway men. But again I paid no heed. I had just lost my two best friends. So I threw myself at my duty as an escape. I knew before the coronation that Raymond would not be the kind and just king Randolph had been. But, he was king and I tried to support him as I had my brother.”

Grim bent to pick a shell from his sand pile. When he leaned back again his eyes had the faraway look of a man remembering something long past. He spoke slowly. “As the months went by, I found myself disagreeing with many of his decisions. He always seemed more concerned for himself and how he might appear then for the people or the kingdom. He was and has always been vain. When it became apparent that he and I weren’t working well together, I started staying closer to the monastery near Riverdale. After a few years I stopped going to court altogether. It wasn’t until rebels sent me incontrovertible proof about a year ago that I finally accepted the truth of his betrayal.” The big knight turned his gaze towards the ocean. “It was a letter in Raymond’s hand that spelled out a plot to replace the captain of the King’s personal guard with a doppelganger.”

Grim looked from Robert to Bendon and finally to Henderson. “None of this forgives me my oath. I must convince the council of bishops to elect an Archbishop.”

“With an Archbishop you can petition for relief.” one of the three added.

Grim’s foot crushed the sand hill and he looked up into each of their eyes. “And then my friends, I’ll send Raymond back to the hell that spawned him!”

“So tell me lad.” Robert pointed down the beach with his chin “How is Jewel involved?”

The Grimedian leader paused several moments before deciding to answer. “I’ve always told people that Jewel was the daughter of a dear friend killed in the fire that destroyed Randolph and his family. What few people know is that the ‘friend’ was my brother the king. He made his way to the monastery with his infant daughter before he died. Jewel really is my niece and should I not ascend the throne, her line would be the legitimate rulers of Pershara.”

“Good lord, man!” Robert glanced in the direction Gawin and the young princess had walked. “No wonder you’ve kept her hidden. Raymond would have killed her in an instance if he knew.”

Chapter Thirteen - Choosing Sides

“We demand the world to be fair and just. Everyone gets what they deserve. But do we really want the world to be fair? No, we want the advantage. We want things to work our way.  The question is, what will the end result be? Who will be helped? Who will we hurt? And in the way end, when we meet our Maker… do we really want to receive what we justly deserve?...”- Excerpt from Unfair Grace by Chance ScCon

Dawn on the eastern shores of Pershara brought a bitter cold reminder of the season. Clouds churned and boiled under a gray and threatening sky. The winds gusted. A steady, bone chilling, drizzle soaked men and animals alike.

Grim loosened his riding cloak as he led his men through the weathered southern gates of Vandenburg. Shoppers, shrouded in rain dampened hoods, milled about the courtyard. Most carried bundled goods or led leashed animals. There was a quiet intensity to the crowd. Voices were muted. Vendors huddled in their stalls. No one hawked their wares. It was almost as if everyone was waiting for something to happen. Grim shook his head. Not waiting, expecting.

As his men passed under the portcullis, Grim leaned back and waved Henderson forward. With Duncan on his own mission, the recently promoted Henderson and Daniels were his chief lieutenants. Daniels, as second, would automatically bring up the rear. In this way, one officer was always protected and able to lead in the event of a disaster. This was effective because one of the primary responsibilities of any soldier was to know his chain of command. Should something happen to the officers in lead, the one in back would automatically assume command and respond to the threat. By knowing the chain of command, a soldier never had to worry if a person giving him an order was in a position to do so.

When the younger knight trotted his horse forward, GrimHolden leaned toward him and pointed in the general direction of the gate with his chin. “Did you notice anything?”

“Yeah, no guards.”  Henderson observed.

Grim nodded. “Strange, is it not? This is one of the richest cities in the three lands. I’ve been here dozens of times and I’ve never seen any of the gates without guards.

“Times change. Maybe the council wants to save some coin.” The younger knight suggested.

“Perhaps, but with a civil war at hand I’d be more inclined to dip deeper into the coffers – not shallower.”

Henderson and Grim looked back as the rhythmic click clack of hoofs announced Gawin’s approach.

“Awful quiet.” The engineer observed.

“We were just noticing that ourselves.” Grim looked past Gawin to see that the last of their group had entered the city. “I don’t like the feel of this. Henderson”

“Sir?”

“Form the men into two squads. You take the first and approach the palace from the East Side. Daniels will take the second in from the south.”

“And you?”

“I think the engineer and I will try a covert approach.”

Gawin looked to the big knight. “You expect trouble?” It was more a statement than a question.

“I don’t know what to expect and that has got me concerned. This may be nothing,” Grim waved toward the unmanned gatehouse, “but let’s play it safe anyway. The guards may have been overwhelmed by a superior force...”

“...or called away to face one.” Henderson added.

“Either way,” Grim continued, “, we’re walking into an uncertain situation. Your orders are to be seen but not to fight. If it should come to that anyway, try to avoid bloodshed. Many of these men were once our friends.”

“You’re thinking it’s the King’s Guard?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me at all see General T’Garon in a camp on the other side of Eastridge. Try to draw his attention. If you’re forced to, ditch your armor and horses. Have the men split up and hide within the city. If I don’t see you at the palace I’ll meet you at our safehouse tonight.”

“Understood.” the younger knight acknowledged. He grasped Grim’s outstretched hand. “Good luck. Sir.”

Henderson quickly assembled ten of the knights and headed them down a side street.

Grim passed a similar set of orders to Daniels and then pulled Robert and Jewel aside. A few brief words with the older man and Jewel stamped a foot and placed her balled fists into her hips with indignation. Grim looked at her briefly before turning to fully face Robert. A few more words and the older man was grinning wolfishly from ear to ear. Jewel’s hands hung limply at her sides. Her face held a look of utter shock. Robert laughed in a fatherly way and led the young girl off with a hand around her shoulder and a reassuring word for her ear. Grim wanted Jewel out of harm’s way. That meant someone had to get her to the Order’s safehouse. Robert had been a logical choice.

Bendon was fiddling with his red cloak as Grim approached Gawin and the wizard.

“I’m looking for volunteers.”

“I volunteer.” Gawin said eagerly.

“So spoke the lemming as he walked into the sea.” Bendon remarked dryly.

GrimHolden grinned at the young man’s enthusiasm and the wizard’s witticism. Grim nodded to Bendon as he spoke to Gawin. “He’s right you know. This won’t be without risk. I suspect Raymond’s men have beaten us to Vandenburg. If they have, it’s unlikely we have the strength to do much about it.”

“At least not directly.” Gawin added.

“At least not directly” Grim agreed. He placed a hand on Gawin’s shoulder, and another on Bendon’s, making it clear that what was to be said next was said between friends.

“Neither of you is under my command. I can’t and won’t order you to go with me.”

“And where, my boy, where would you be going?” As the old wizard spoke, he continued to unfold his cloak. It was apparent that he was turning it inside out, revealing an unremarkable homespun gray inter-lining.

“I’m going to the cathedral. I need to know the lay of the land before we can do anything.”

“I though as much. Yes yes, I thought as much” One of the pockets turned inside out to reveal an over length gray sleeve.

“Why did you have Daniels and Henderson split off?” Gawin asked.

“Diversion my boy, diversion” Another pocket, another sleeve. “The King’s Guard is expecting monastic knights...”

“So we’re giving them what they expect.” Gawin finished as understanding took hold.

“Are the two of you with me?” Grim asked again.

Gawin looked briefly at Bendon before turning back to the big knight. “You know we are.” Bendon nodded in agreement. Another fold and a hood appeared.

***

DeAnder Papus III sat in the great hall of the cathedral. He was a man of medium build and just on the far side of middle age. Many years of scholarly studies had left him with a slight, but not unseemly, pouch. Many, including reluctantly himself, thought Father DeAnder was the logical choice to assume the Vice-Prelate’s seat should the current Bishop ever be convinced to vacate it.

Ironic, Father DeAnder thought, that at least, would no longer be an issue.

Seated around him were the remaining nineteen council bishops. They were, by no means, the only occupants of that great chamber. Flanking them on three sides were several dozen armed soldiers of the King’s Guard. On the fourth side, near the dais, stood a captain named T’nere . He was King’s Guard. A strikingly beautiful black-haired woman of perhaps twenty-five stood near him. Beautiful, but deadly. A jeweled viper. At her feet lay the remains of Artemus Segmoir, until quite recently, the Vice-Prelate of Vandenburg.

Father Artemus had been a despicable man of questionable piety who had arrived at his exalted title through intrigue and corruption. He had always had just enough of the council willing to support him to avoid ouster. Most of that support came in the form of coerced compliance. The Bishop was a man that sought out and used the skeletons buried in a man’s past. No one would mourn his passing. Still the manner of his death was needlessly gruesome and it left the most unpleasant odor of burnt Bishop in the great hall.

Father DeAnder shook his head. He couldn’t believe how ungracious his thoughts had become. True, he despised Father Artemus, not because he had ever been the victim of coercion, but because of the good work that had gone undone under the Bishop’s leadership. Further, this was sanctified ground. To kill a man here, any man, was the most heinous of blasphemes. This rakish Captain T’nere and his black-haired witch would have much to answer for. His thoughts were interrupted by the captain’s voice.

Captain T’nere gestured to one of his men. “Take this dead meat and go feed the vultures.”

Before the soldier could move, the woman, DeAnder thought T’nere had called her Altana, raised a hand. “Leave it lay. I think the carcass enhances the ambiance. Besides,” she smiled sweetly at the assembled bishops, “it might help motivate our friends.”

“Leave him or remove him, it makes no difference. We will not vote against our conscious. Your King will never head this council nor will he head the church.” Father DeAnder spoke with a voice of absolute finality. “The censure of Ramadan holds.”

“Really?” It was the witch who spoke. She raised a hand and Father DeAnder expected to see more of the white hot flames that had incinerated the Bishop. No flames issued forth but, as she slowly swung the hand to point at each member of the council, DeAnder heard his friends groan in distress and look down. When her hand finally came to point at him he understood. A sense of shame and terrible despair swept over him. Every misdeed, spoken rudeness, and ill thought from his past leapt up to assail him. With a sharp suddenness, his bladder cramped and he voided himself. The stench was over powering. Several of the bishops retched. The sound pushed many of the remaining bishops over the edge and they joined the unholy cacophony.

Father DeAnder was not among them. He held himself erect by the power of his will and his faith in God. He noticed, however, with some satisfaction, that Captain T’nere was visibly green.

“Perhaps now the council is more disposed to consider our request.” Altana scanned the room.  “Would anyone like to motion we reopen the censure topic?”

A man several feet from Father DeAnder shuffled his feet and started to raise a hesitant hand. Father DeAnder saw it was Father Demitri. Demitri had a haunted look in his eyes. He rather reminded DeAnder of a cornered rabbit.

“Put your hand down, Demitri. We’ll have no dealing with the likes of these.” Father DeAnder found that he had a strength in his voice that he didn’t feel in his heart.

“But I...” Demitri’s voice trailed off. His hand lowered.

“Everything they do reaffirms the correctness of our vote at Ramadan.” Father DeAnder continued in an effort to rally the other bishops.

“Brave words from a dead man.” Captain T’nere sneered.

“Brave indeed,” Altana agreed, “but ultimately foolish. I see we need another lesson. You there,” she pointed to the man who looked like a rabbit, “come here. It’s Father Demitri isn’t it?”

As she spoke she gestured with a flat, upturned hand in the direction of the petrified bishop. Moving the hand up and over had the effect of lifting Demitri bodily and transporting him through the air to stand a dozen feet in front of the dark-haired woman.

“A brave man I can respect, even admire, but a coward... now that is something that I have little stomach for. Do you know that old saying Father Demitri?  ‘Cowards die a thousand deaths; the brave die but once.’”

“Yes, yes. But the brave die so young while cowards live on...” he said in feeble response.

“The question was rhetorical.” She pointed a finger at his soiled feet. “I give you your final death now.”

“NO!” Father DeAnder cried.

“Oh yes!” Altana answered just as forcefully. She held her left hand up with the palm extended and her fingers raised. Her other hand pointed at the floor just before Demitri’s feet. The ground smoked as she inched the finger higher and scraps of lint and dust ignited.

“I can’t move my feet!” Demitri whimpered. Panic set in. As soon as her finger reached his feet his shoes erupted in a sputtering blaze. His agonized screams filled the cathedral. As she slowly moved her finger up, the man writhed in anguish. His thrashing became extremely violent and then stopped as he passed out.

“Oh what a shame,” the dark-haired woman complained. She looked up to face the remaining bishops. “Oh well I suppose there will be others”

“You hell spawn!” Father DeAnder spat.

“Why Father! Such language in this so holy of places. I’m shocked” Altana batted her eyes at him.

“God knows the love I bear him and will forgive me my sins. You, however, are likely beyond all such redemption!”

“Those are truer words than you might imagine. Ah well, no matter. I have no intention of dying,” She smiled at him, “Ever. So you see, your God’s love or wrath is of little interest to me.”

Captain T’nere stepped forward. “This isn’t working” he grunted. “Let’s kill the lot of them and hold our own elections.”

“Be silent you idiot!” Altana’s voice dripped venom. She waved an arm to indicate the people of the city, “Do you think the masses will accept an Archbishop so elected? If simply declaring yourself Archbishop was all that was required, your dim witted king would have been Archbishop long ago.”

“You’re undoubtedly right,” T’nere conceded reluctantly, “But,” he spun to face the assembled bishops, “you would agree, we don’t need them whole and undamaged?” T’nere had the look of a starved man standing before a feast.

Altana laughed. There was no mirth in that laugh; only the promise of terrors to follow. “One last chance Father... DeAnder isn’t it?”

The older bishop shook his head. “We will not help you raise your usurper to even greater power.”

Captain T’nere started to walk forward, to slap the priest’s face, but wrinkled his nose and thought better of it. “If by that you mean that King Raymond does not belong on the throne, I would remind you that he is the rightful heir... after his nephew’s untimely death.”

“I suspect we all know the true nature of that ‘untimely’ death.” Father DeAnder threw back.

“Perhaps,” T’nere conceded with a brief smile, “But, the victors write the histories and so it hardly matters what you think. Does it? What does matter is your vote on reopening the Ramadon censure.”

“We will not.” DeAnder answered. His voice firm.

“Good.” T’nere waved three of the guards forward. “Two of you seize his arms. You there, with the case, bring it here.”

The third guard brought a dark leather case forward and held it open for the captain. Inside were various surgical tools. Most of the tools had ornate pearl handles. T’nere inspected the case before choosing three of his favorites; a bone clamp, a small surgical saw and a file. He motioned the two burly guards holding DeAnder Papus forward.

One of the two guards whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Forgive me, father. This is wrong but I got me orders.”

“Fear not my son, God recognizes the sins of a soldier are often those of his commander.”

“Still,” the other guard now whispered, “You give the word and a good five or six of us will get you and as many of others out of here as best we can.”

They stood before Altana and her captain so DeAnder was unable to respond to his unexpected allies. The problem was not the captain but the woman. DeAnder had no doubt that, the second a break was made, she would deal with it with her dragon spawned magic.

T’nere held up the first tool for DeAnder to see. He then held it higher so the other council members could see it. “This is a bone clamp. I’m going to use it to hold Father DeAnder’s left pinky finger. I’m then going to take this,” he held up the saw, “and carefully separate the first and second joints”

“OOOH, I bet that will hurt.” Altana cooed.

“I imagine it will,” T’nere agreed with a wicked smile. “But not nearly as much as when I start to work with this, he said, picking up the file.”

Altana laughed a lusty, deep throated laugh that left little doubt as to the depths of her perversion.

Father DeAnder turned white during the description but controlled his fear… praying silently to God for deliverance. The two guards holding the priest were white too. The bigger of the two whispered a little too loudly “Say the word, Father.”

T’nere’s sadistic smile vanished, “What foolishness is this!”

Chapter  Fourteen-  Of Wizard Phobias

“It doesn’t matter now, and now is all that matters.” Russy

Grim’s soft boots made no sound on the worn marble floor. He had exchanged his hard soled riding boots for these softer ones at the same time he had discarded his armor for a clerical monk’s robes. Gawin and Bendon were similarly attired. The latter’s remarkable cape, now a robe, had provided the disguises as well as innumerable scrolls, pots, pillows and even a horse’s bridle. These last were returned to a pocket in the robe. All save the scrolls which they carried as part of their disguise.

The cathedral was easily the largest building in Vandenburg. In point of fact, it was several buildings, joined by covered walkways or tunnels, surrounding a common central courtyard called the ‘Quad’. Grim noticed several groups of soldiers near the cathedral’s chapel. Their chrome plate and red trimming confirmed his fears that the King’s Guard had beaten them to the city. The Guard would prevent the council from electing an independent Archbishop or, even worse, force them to install his uncle, King Raymond.

Bendon, carrying three of the bulky scrolls, headed toward the great library. None of the King’s Guard seemed interested in three clerical monks heading for the library. This suited GrimHolden fine because the library provided covert access to most of the buildings in the Cathedral complex.

The library itself was one of the tallest buildings in Vandenburg, second only to the great cathedral. The marble pillars on its façade had once been carved with quotes from all of the great works of man. It was said that the pillars were worth a king’s ransom, to a scholar, and that they had no equal outside of heaven. Time and many hands had worn smooth the surface of many of the columns they passed as they made their way up the steps of the ancient structure. GrimHolden wondered, not for the first time, how much knowledge had been so casually lost to posterity… Lost literally by the touching of hands.

As they entered the big building Bendon led their small group between the various stacks to one of the private reading rooms lining the exterior walls. Grim smiled to himself. So far the old wizard was making a beeline toward the one room he would have led them to had he been leading.

When they entered the small room Grim closed the door. Bendon nodded to the knight and proceeded to a torch stanchion near the far wall. When he turned the torch holder while pressing on a spot on the wall Grim’s suspicions where confirmed, Bendon knew the secrets to these rooms.

“So you know about the tunnels.”

“Certainly my boy, certainly. Didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Grim answered. “My father showed me when I was a boy.”

“And who do you think showed him?” Bendon chuckled.

A low, muffled grating, accompanied the opening of a hole in the floor which exposed a stone stairwell leading into a black abyss.

“How many of the priests know about these?” Gawin asked.

Grim pondered the question “Some of the senior clergy almost certainly.”

“Very few others I would suspect,” Bendon added and then continued, “Gawin, my boy, pass me one of those torches.”

“Is there a religious restriction on the use of mage lights?” Grim asked as Gawin freed the torch from its bracket.

“No no, not at all, not at all. I just don’t want anyone to know we are coming.”

Grim nodded in understanding. It was the curse of magic that many could detect its use. Magic, like any tool of warfare, was most effective when allied with surprise.

Gawin handed the torch to Bendon. The old man held it over the ominous black hole. The flames sputtered and flickered wildly in the slight breeze that emanated from the opening. Bendon and Grim both peered as deeply into the darkness as the torch’s light would permit.

“Do you suppose there are spiders down there?” Bendon asked in a timid whisper.

Grim looked at the old wizard. It was hard to imagine that this frail old man, who had faced dark-kin without batting an eye, would be afraid of spiders. Finally he answered “If there are, I’m sure they’ll all be very well behaved.”

The wizard turned his head to look at GrimHolden’s bemused smile. “Don’t patronize me, boy. I’ll singe your toes, I will.”

“How could you be willing to take on a guy Grim’s size and yet be afraid of a little spider?” Gawin asked. GrimHolden, for his part,  was struggling, without much success, to suppress an amused smirk.

“It’s not the same,” the old man pouted, “spiders are... nasty little creatures. Wrong number of legs and what not.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Grim offered, “Gawin, if you hand me a second torch I’ll take the lead and you can take the rear. We’ll put the arachnophobe between us.”

“I’m not an arachnophobe” the old man mumbled as he followed Grim down the stairwell. “I just hate things with eight legs.”

The tunnels were wide enough for two men to walk abreast but they walked single file following the order that GrimHolden had proscribed in the library above. Several times they passed closed doors. Most had been storage rooms Grim had said. The walls and floor were moist but not quite wet. In a few places molds or lichens had taken hold. The air was dank and held a hint of mildew. It was not a place that any of them would choose to spend extra time.

As Grim remembered it, the distance between the cathedral’s chapel and the library complex was no more than a few hundred meters. In these tunnels however, distances could be deceptive and the big knight was careful to check the marking on every corner stone as they passed an intersecting corridor. On one such occasion, Gawin saw the stone Grim had briefly inspected and whispered to Bendon, “What do they mean?”

“They’re a map my boy. Every corner has a corner stone with two exposed sides. A number etched on each side lets you know where you’re going.”

Grim stopped and leaned over Bendon’s shoulder to join the whispered conference, “Remember to follow the markers on the right and ignore the ones on the left.”

“Right for where you’re going and left for where you’re coming from... then ‘one’ leads to the cathedral’s chapel.” the tall red head guessed.

“...and ‘four’ leads to the library.” Bendon confirmed.

“Simple yet effective” the young engineer concluded with admiration.

As they traveled toward the cathedral’s chapel the tunnel assumed a slight upward angle. The slope was so gradual that at first Gawin had assumed it was his imagination. Finally, as they approached the end of the corridor which ended in a door, the group could hear muffled voices.

Grim waved the others quiet and listened by the door. Several men and a woman could be heard arguing. Suddenly he felt a massive pressure at the base of his skull. Grim knew from the sudden width of Bendon’s eyes that he felt it too. He repeated aloud, for Gawin’s benefit, what he and Bendon now knew for certain. “One of them is a magic user. A very strong one.”

“How close to the door?” Gawin whispered.

“The door leads to the Bishop's office and sitting room. The chapel is through the sitting room on the other side of a large hanging tapestry. My guess is that the people we’re hearing are on the other side of that tapestry in the chapel.”

Grim used a torch to inspect the rusted hinges of the door. “The real question is… can we open this door without making so much noise that the cooks in General T’Garon’s camp on the other side of Eastridge hear it?”

“No problem.” Gawin said. He held his torch near the upper hinge to heat it. “Hold yours near the bottom hinge. The heat will expand the metal and the oily soot will lubricate the joint. Once they’re good and warm we should have no trouble opening the door quietly.”

“Smart lad, this engineer friend of yours.” Bendon whispered with a chuckle to the big knight.

As Gawin had predicted, the door swung easily and with very little noise. Grim opened the door a crack; a slight breeze entered the tunnels.

“What the...” the big knight exclaimed in a muted choke. He wrinkled his nose at the stench. Gawin fought, with less success, a similar retching impulse. The air was filled with the overpowering smell of burnt flesh accompanied by something else that none of them wanted to spend too much time contemplating.

When it became obvious Gawin was going to lose control of his stomach, Bendon placed a hand on the young lad’s shoulder. Grim felt the barest flicker of a surge and the tension on Gawin’s face eased.

“Thanks.” Gawin whispered.

“Happens to the best of us lad, happens to the best of us.”

They made their way stealthily through the Bishop’s office and his outer sitting room. Grim had Gawin and Bendon stand against the wall while he lay on this stomach to peer under a raised edge of the tapestry.

When he stood again he called a huddled conference. “It looks like the entire council is under guard”

“Soldiers?” Gawin asked.

“I couldn’t get a view of the entire group but my guess would be about two dozen Guardsmen”

Bendon leaned forward to whisper, “Did you see the magic user?”

“I think so” the big man answered. “A group of five were standing apart. Two were guards, holding Father DeAnder between them. Another was that lieutenant that arrested our young friend here,” Grim arched a thumb in Gawin’s direction, “in Riverdale. He’s been promoted. It looked like they were discussing how to torture the priest.”

“And the fifth man?” Bendon prompted again.

“Not a man, a young woman. Dark hair, lithe with a...”

“Scar on her left cheek.” Bendon finished.

“You know her?” GrimHolden asked.

“In a manner of speaking.” The old man sat back on his haunches and seemed to age several decades. There were tears in his eyes which he quickly wiped before continuing. “She was my daughter once. Now, now she is a thing of evil. She calls herself Altana and make no mistake – there is no deadlier force in all of Pershara. Let me handle her when the time comes.”

“The question is,” Gawin pondered, “what are we going to do? What CAN we do?”

“For the moment we watch and wait for opportunity to present itself.” Grim advised.

Before they could return to the curtain, Altana’s laugh filled cathedral. Bendon was right. Whatever produced that laugh was a thing of evil. Every hair on the back of his neck raised in response to that compassionless mirth.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Grim admitted, “but I can’t let them torture a priest. We’re going to have to look for a way to break up this little party."

“Agreed” Bendon and Gawin echoed.

Suddenly there were the distinct sounds of scuffling and T’nere ’s voice could be heard to yell “What foolishness is this?”

“That’s our cue! Gawin get the priests into the tunnels. Bendon, deal with your daughter”

Bendon winced but nodded.

“I’ll try to draw the soldiers off the both of you.”

The Grimedian leader tore at the tapestry with one hand while drawing his sword free of its hidden scabbard with the other. Sword drawn, Grim charged into the fray. To his surprise, fully a third of the soldiers were fighting to defend the priests. The two burly guards who had been holding Father DeAnder now seemed intent on protecting him.

The rakish Captain T’nere had drawn his own sword and was attacking the two guards. He was good, Grim had to admit. Neither guard was inexperienced at swordplay and yet it was all they could do to hold off their former captain.

Grim felt the pressure on the back of his neck and knew that either Altana or Bendon had weighed in. He was going to have to trust that Bendon could handle his end of things. He had his own hands full. The first thing he had to do was to get the council out of the melee. Grim parried a sword thrust and countered with a foot sweep that felled his opponent. A quick thump with the hilt of his sword rendered the guardsmen unconscious.

Gawin had worked his way to Father DeAnder and was leading him through the various fighters. He was waving a torch from the tunnels to clear a path. Grim signaled the other council members to follow the tall red headed engineer. As he dealt with those members of the King’s Guard still loyal to T’nere, Grim tried to get a look at Bendon and Altana.

The two were surrounded by a sparkling blue and lavender nimbus that roiled with energies barely contained. Occasionally, bolts of lightning erupted from the nimbus and scored walls, floors and ceilings. One such bolt shot pass GrimHolden and incinerated a soldier scarcely two feet from him.

The man who had been fighting Grim dropped his sword and stared blankly at the place where his compatriot had stood moments before. Grim did not press his advantage. He had no special desire to kill these men. A second bolt, farther away this time, sent the man running. Many of his fellow guardsmen followed in a hasty, disorderly retreat.

Grim now counted seven soldiers actively helping Gawin get the council to safety. Despite the defections, they were still facing two to one odds. The Grimedian knight worked his way toward Captain T’nere and the two burly guards he was fighting.

As he approached, T’nere lunged and speared the leg of the bigger of the two guards. The man fell clutching the wound. T’nere attempted to press his advantage but the other guard redoubled his attack and drew the captain off his friend. Grim chose that moment to join in.

“See to your friend,” Grim yelled, “I’ll take over here.”

“Thanks.” the winded soldier gasped.

“No problem,” Grim mumbled as he ducked under T’nere’s swing, “Get him into the tunnels with the others.”

“So,” Captain T’nere spat as he lunged, “Even the field mice have come out to play”

Grim parried. “If by that you mean to imply that you’re the hawk I’m afraid your understanding of zoology needs work.” Grim punctuated his statement with a lunge of his own followed by a tuck and roll that brought him up on T’nere’s other side.

The Captain was forced to spin. He neatly sliced a series of candles in two in the process. “The only lesson you’re going to provide is one on bleeding!” He quickly reversed the direction of his swing and made as if to stab GrimHolden but the big knight would have none of it. He lashed out with a foot that sent the captain’s sword flying.

T’nere responded by drawing a dagger from a sheath at his belt. The metal was a cold black and Grim didn’t need to be told that it was poisoned. T’nere’s attack changed. There was no need for a killing blow now. He needed only to scratch the knight. The poison would do all the killing necessary.

Grim was more cautious now. He knew what that blade could do. The use of poison on blades was unethical but he doubted the rakish young captain let such concerns bother him. If the wolfish grin on the younger man’s face was any indication, he was enjoying this.

Grim’s longer reach and marginally greater skill was balanced against T’nere’s wider selection of fatal targets and obvious bloodlust. They seemed evenly matched. Recognizing this, Captain T’nere sought an opportunity to skew the balance to his benefit. He seized the opportunity by literally seizing one of his own men.

The man had been wounded. Blood leaked from between fingers held tightly over a hole in his side. T’nere dropped to a knee beside the man and wrapped an arm around the man’s neck. He pulled back on the man’s chin while forcing his knee into the small of the soldier’s back. The net effect was to expose a wide expanse of the man’s throat to which T’nere put his blade. The wounded man’s eyes bulged and his hand temporarily left the wound at his side before hastily returning.

“Drop your sword or I kill him here and now.” T’nere sneered.

“You must be joking.” the knight said. “That’s your own man!”

“True enough, but I’m betting your compassion won’t let you let me kill him.”

Grim hesitated. He couldn’t let a noncombatant come to harm if he could prevent it. His oath as a knight, to say nothing of his own sense of morality, was quite specific on that point. He reluctantly started to lower his sword.

“THOMAS DON’T!”

GrimHolden held his position. From the corner of his vision he could see that a large contingent of men, dressed in forest garb, were entering the chapel through the Bishop’s office. They must have traveled the same tunnels that Grim himself had used.

“Thomas don’t.” It was a middle aged newcomer with a deep black beard that spoke. “That man is already dead.”

The speaker’s voice was hauntingly familiar but Grim didn’t pause to try to place it. Instead Grim kept his attention glued to T’nere and the man he was holding. The big knight could see a trickle of blood dribble from the man’s neck where T’nere’s blade had been held too tight. The man’s death was a foregone conclusion.

Captain T’nere must have reached the same conclusion. The young captain stood, dragging his captive with him. He saw that, where his forces had enjoyed a two to one advantage in numbers just a few minutes before, the roles were now reversed.

He shoved the soon-to-be corpse at GrimHolden and yelled “RETREAT!”

The order seemed inane to Grim since it was obvious that most of the guard was already withdrawing. The big knight allowed the captain his retreat. Grim lowered the dying soldier to the floor. He supported the man’s head and back with a propped leg. There was little more he could do besides make the man comfortable.

As if on cue, the blue nimbus around Bendon and Altana collapsed. The ground around the two was charred and pitted but the combatants themselves seem unscathed.

The men in forest garb, who had up to this point maintained a respectable and somewhat cautious distance from the battling wizards, now began to encroach on their position. Altana seemed to sense this and laughed. The encroachment ceased. The dark-haired woman turned her attention back to the grizzled old man.

“Another time, father.”

“Another time, Altana.” the bearded wizard replied dryly.

Again Altana laughed and with a thunderous explosive report, that left most scampering for cover, she was gone.

Grim removed the cross from around his neck and held it before the young soldier braced by his knee. He mumbled a brief prayer and allowed his essence to flow briefly into the cross. It assumed a slight glow. Grim used the magic to deaden the pain centers in the man’s brain. He was not a healer but he doubted that even the best of healers would have been able to deal with the poison.

Grim tasted the bitter sweet taste of bile in this throat. He swallowed it back. His anger was getting the best of him. Had T’nere not grabbed this man there was a good chance he would have lived.

The wounded soldier’s eyes fluttered and for a moment he seemed lucid. He mumbled something Grim couldn't hear. The Grimedian knight leaned closer. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear.” He said gently.

The man struggled to raise his voice. “We would have followed you,” he said with a gasp.

“I know.” Grim answered with a tinge of guilt.

“We would...” The man’s voice trailed off. His heart gave up its struggle against the poison. He shuddered one last time and was still.

“I know.” Grim repeated. He followed this confession with a brief prayer for the man’s soul and then pulled a small pouch from his robe. A small cloth previous soaked in sacramental wine was wrapped around a small unleavened wafer. Placing a bit of the wafer on the soldiers tongue and touching the cloth to the man’s lips GrimHolden offered the soldier a final viaticum.

“Thomas, there was nothing you could have done.” Grim looked up at the dark bearded stranger. Very few people now living called him by his Christian name. This man was certainly none of them, and yet he was strangely familiar. “Surely you’ve not forgotten your boyhood friend?”

“Trevor? Trevor McGill?”

Chapter Fifteen - What This Country Needs now…

Thomas GrimHolden, leader of the Grimedian Order of Knights and former heir to the throne of Pershara, sat at the large marble table in the council hall of the Council of Bishops. Gold inlay in the shape of dragons chasing their neighbor’s tails worked its way around the great stone table. Grim ignored the artwork. His attention was elsewhere. Around the table sat Bendon the wizard, Gawin the engineer, most of the remaining council bishops and lastly, a bearded, dark-haired man dressed in the forest garb that had become the rebel army’s uniform.

It was this man, Trevor McGill, which dominated Grim’s attention. Trevor had been a boyhood friend to both the young Randolph and Thomas Holden. Later, when Randolph had ascended the throne, Trevor had become an indispensable ally as the new king’s chancellor.  Trevor had died within days of Randolph's death. He had been traveling in the east when word of the king’s death reached him. He immediately attempted to return to attend the funeral but never made it. While traveling westward through the Sigon Pass, bandits attacked the chancellor’s party and it was reported that he died when his horse slipped and plunged over the side of a cliff.

Trevor’s eyes caught GrimHolden’s scrutiny and he smiled warmly. Reaching an arm across the table he squeezed Grim’s arm. “It's good to see you too, old friend.”

“Trev, the reports... they all said you were dead. If I had known… if Randolph hadn’t just died I...”

“...Would never have assumed my death without verification. I know that Thomas. Your mind was on your brother and the kingdom – where it should have been. I place no blame at your feet. You’ve always been a fair and well trusted friend. I see no reason to change that assessment on account of a few years passing.”

Grim reached over to Trevor’s hand still on his own forearm and squeezed it back in a silent acknowledgment and confirmation of a friendship that would not easily be quelled.

“Truth be known,” Trevor continued, “you might have had a hard time finding me. I wandered in a stupor for days and was eventually taken in by an elderly mountain couple. It was years before I even remembered who I was. When I came back to the capital, Raymond was in power and you were in the monastery. I knew you would never have left the palace without good cause so I started making inquiries. It wasn’t too long before I had a pretty good idea of what had happened.”

“And so you formed a rebel army.” Grim finished.

“Not at first. I reactivated my intelligence network. As chancellor I had eyes and ears in every major city and town. I dare say even the thieves guild doesn’t have a better network.”

“Really. I’d have thought you would have solicited their help in establishing your network.”

Trevor’s grin spread to go from ear to ear. “I did, how do you think I knew their network was no better than mine?”

“In many cases it was one in the same...” Grim muttered with a glint of understanding in his eye.

Trevor nodded in agreement. “As soon I had a proper understanding of the political situation, I started to form resistance cells. When the time was right, when our cells were large enough, we formed an army.”

GrimHolden’s released Trevor’s hand and steeled his face. A lot depended on Trevor’s next answers. His voice held a quiet timber that emphasized the seriousness of the question. “And what becomes of that army now?”

Trevor read the concern in his friend’s face. He answered carefully, and with a conviction of soul that bespoke of a life dedicated to a task. His voice was low, matching the timber of Grim’s voice. He looked deep into his friend’s eyes for some telltale sign of support for what he was saying. “If pressed, I am content to lead a rebel force against a cruel pretender to the throne. Raymond’s removal is and has always been my highest priority.” If Trevor expected his words to crack the mask that Grim wore he was disappointed. Grim only acknowledged the words with the barest of nods, as if saying ‘continue’. Trevor held both hands up to shoulder level with palms extended in a mock surrender, “Now, having said that, I want it made clear, here and now, that my preference would be to follow the lead of a ‘king’ - one that was seeking to oust that very same pretender.” Trevor put both hands on the polished stone table. His voice was soft, yet pleading. “Thomas, the land needs a proper and just king... you must know that.”

Grim shook his head slightly. “I know friend. I know. It’s beyond my control.”

“But not beyond mine!”

Both men turned to face Father DeAnder Papus who had just entered the room. Thankfully, the bishop, like his compatriots, had taken the last hour to bathe and change clothes. Doubtless the cleaning staff was even now drafting a horde of novitiates to deal with the mess.

Father DeAnder walked to the head of the table and wrapped his fingers over the ornately carved backrest of the Bishop’s seat. His eyes swept the assembled bishops. “Are there any here who would have another sit in this seat?”

“You know there are none.” Father Tymron bellowed in a deep voice that was completely at odds with his frail frame.

“Still,” Father Murphy interjected, “there are ceremonies and procedures. We can’t just ignore tradition...”

DeAnder raised a hand to wave off the bishop as he spoke. “I mean no disrespect, but it seems to me that there is a time for tradition and a time for decisiveness. We find ourselves embroiled in a war.” Again his eyes swept the room. “I would submit that now is the time for decisiveness.”

Several of the assembled bishops clapped and all nodded in agreement. The issue was closed. “Very well,” Father DeAnder said, “I will assume the role of ‘acting Archbishop’ until such a time as we can carry out a proper election.”

DeAnder sat in the Bishop’s chair. “I’m sorry I was late. I took a moment to stop by the infirmary and thanked the men who broke ranks to help us. I told them that they and their families will be taken care of. I would expect that there are some in this room that could find a use for soldiers of proven worth and temperament.” This time his gaze focused on the two soldiers. Grim and Trevor nodded in unison. In point of fact, Grim had already visited the men and made sure each was aware of his place in the Order should they care for it.

DeAnder addressed Trevor and Grim. “You were talking about the need for a ‘king’.”

“Indeed!” Trevor echoed, “What say you Thomas?”

“It’s not for me to say.”

“What Prince Holden is saying is that his vows prevent him from assuming the throne. Am I right?”  DeAnder clarified.

Grim nodded, “Although I might wish otherwise, my vows are quite binding.”

DeAnder caressed the ornately carved arm of his chair. His finger traced the length of its deeply chiseled spirals. The patterns intertwined - one forcing the path of the other. His life felt much like these spirals. The war was forcing things to be that might not have otherwise come to pass. He sighed. Now was not the time to indulge oneself in thoughts of what might have been. He was a competent leader at a time when the church needed one. That he really would have preferred to remain an obscure scholar was, unfortunately, irrelevant.

“Very well, I absolve you of your vows - as they pertain to secular office.”

Grim looked decidedly uncomfortable, “No disrespect, your eminence, but I think we both know that won’t do.”

Father DeAnder smiled wistfully, “No I don’t suppose it will.” He stippled his hands on the table. “Very well,” he said reluctantly, “I now call upon the assembled bishops to be sequestered for the purpose of casting a vote for papal succession and may God have mercy on us all.”

***

Sarah stamped a hoof and nuzzled Kade’s neck as the horses and riders walked side by side on the weather-worn trail. They were traveling along the northern foothills of the Sigon Pass. Sarah continued to nuzzle the gelding’s neck. Kade for his part, seemed completely disinterested. Perela smiled, unlike his horse, Duncan still had all of his equipment. He had proven that last night. She and the knight had grown closer in the days following the near tragedy in Mountview. Their minds had been so intertwined as she fought to save him that there remained a residual contact even now. She always seemed to know his mood and often what he was about to say. She knew he felt the same tendrils of thought from her but she didn’t mind. The sensation was that of a special intimacy, shared and enjoyed by both.

Duncan brushed Perela’s thoughts with a delicate mental caress. She responded by reaching to squeeze the arm that was holding Kade’s rein. His other arm was healing nicely. In a few more days, with the proper ministrations, it would be as good as new.

Tom and Elainia were riding in the rear. They were engaged in a spirited debate over the ethics of stealing from a priest if the ultimate objective of said theft was to feed the needy. Perela found that she was coming to treasure the lanky thief’s presence. He had a peculiar sense of morality to which he adhered religiously. More to the point, he challenged Elainia’s belief systems. He did it not so much to change them, as to force her to inspect them. Introspection seemed to be a fundamental part of his nature.

There had been a time, abet briefly, when she had thought he had left their group. Just after Duncan had been hurt, he had helped them find a safe place to hide and recuperate. When he left on Duncan’s horse she had assumed he would not be back. That assumption had proven to be in error. The lanky thief had covertly ridden back to town and secured their abandoned belongings as well as his own horse.

The fact that he had returned their belongings seemed to be at odds with his stated profession. He had explained it as a matter of debt and the ethics of debt. Bluntly put, ‘You did not steal from someone who just saved your life.’ It seemed that Duncan’s injuries were a direct result of saving the man’s neck. The thief’s peculiar sense of right and wrong now forced him to help their party until Duncan was fit enough to resume his role as their protector. Tom, of course, had no idea how formidable Perela was in her own right but she let the lanky thief continue his quest for redemption. It was undoubtedly good for his soul. More importantly, once it had become known that they were heading to the north, to the ancient city of Thioden, he had become a veritable wealth of information.

Some sixteen years ago a much younger Tommy ‘T’ had stumbled on the mysterious empty city. How he got there was not entirely clear, he had been lost when he found it. But, his knowledge of the city itself was impressive. Before he left, he had spent the better part of a year exploring the ancient buildings and memorizing the deserted streets. He had thought to propose making the city an enclave for the Thieves Guild but every time he attempted to bring the subject up at a council meeting his mind went blank. After several attempts, he was forced to conclude that the city was charmed and that its magic would not allow him to talk of his travels through her streets.

When Perela had mentioned Thioden, it was like a sluice-gate had opened. Tom’s block was released and for the first time in sixteen years he could talk about his time in the city.

Perela’s father had a saying, “You should never count on her, but by the same token, never deny Lady Luck the opportunity to help you.” She didn’t know if “Tommy-T” represented an opportunity or not; but she was going to afford Lady Luck every chance she needed to help.

The trail was growing thinner as the day wore on. Frost browned grasses did little to repair themselves after being trod upon so the fact that the vegetation was growing ever thicker along this part of the trail forced Perela to conclude that they were traveling a road now seldom used.

As the sun started to hide behind the Northern Rhiitan mountains, Duncan suggested they find a camp site for the night. Elainia and Tom readily agreed. The trees in this mountainous part of Pershara were of the sturdier evergreen type. They had to be to survive the colder nights, limited sunlight and bud-nipping foragers. Most of the trees were stripped of foliage along their base. Had they not been in the foothills, with its intervening mounds, Perela was sure they would have been able to see for the better part of a king’s measure, even in the woods.

They set up camp near a small mountain stream. The men put up the three tents - Perela had made Duncan replace of the lean-tos earlier. The women, for their part, set about making a rabbit stew complete with dried carrots, potatoes, and salted rabbit jerky. When Duncan and Tom finished with the tents they joined the women by the campfire. Perela was slicing her now signature bread on a small field table.

Tommy eyed the bread suspiciously. Soft tendrils of steam rose from the freshly cut slices and yet there had been neither time nor facility in which to bake the loaves. Duncan grabbed a slice and dappled some honey on it from a jar Perela had set out. He saw the suspicion in Tommy’s eyes and grinned conspiratorially.

“A word to the wise my friend,” Duncan whispered, “Don’t ask the question if you don’t want to hear the answer.”

The thief nodded his head with a pensive furl on his brow. Curiosity was one thing but hunger was another. He had two slices of the bread on his plate by the time Elainia could reach it with a ladle full of the stew.

Duncan poured then handed a cup of herb tea to Perela before offering one to Elainia and pouring another for himself. He knew better than to offer tea to the thief. Tommy had once lectured Duncan for what seemed like hours about the deleterious effects of brewed teas on the human nervous system. When all was said and done, all Duncan understood for sure was that a pick-pocket who drank tea didn’t pick pockets for long.

When the meal was done the four of them sat about the campfire talking lightly of the day’s ride and what tomorrow’s ride in turn might hold. Perela was sure they were near Thioden; but Duncan and Tommy were less certain.

“If we were that close we would have seen a more substantial trail.” The thief argued.

“Not if the city were deserted” Perela corrected.

“Perhaps,” Duncan agreed, “but what of the farmers? There must be two in this valley alone. When was the last time you saw a farmer not take advantage of an abandoned house to gather stones to build a fence?”

“A whole city; It must be an irresistible rock quarry.” the thief added.

Perela laughed. “Did it ever occur to either of you that the city might not want to be found?”

“Not want to be found?” Duncan and Tommy echoed.

“Exactly” Perela continued. “Thioden was the home of the First Circle of Wizards. Did it not occur to you that they might want to protect their libraries and workshops?”

“Then how are we going to find it?” Elainia asked in a timid voice.

Perela answered in a gentler tone, “Because it is time for the city to be found and the city knows it.”

“Alright,” Tommy interjected, “If what you say is correct… then how do you explain my finding the city so many years ago?”

“Stumbling on it while in a drunken stupor is hardly my idea of finding it but you’re right; I’m at a lost to explain why you were allowed in. –Unless of course, you were meant to find it.”

They sat watching the fire for a few minutes, no one willing to break the silence that had fallen over the small group. In the distance, the howl of a lone wolf echoed dimly through the foothills. Finally Elainia could stand it no longer.

“Isn’t it remarkable how tall the deer are in this area.”

“What do you mean by tall?” Duncan asked, suddenly fully alert.

“Oh at least seven or eight feet.” Elainia estimated.

Tommy leaned forward and looked Elainia directly in the eyes. “Elainia, this is important. Why do you think the deer are seven or eight feet tall?”

The wolf howled again, this time closer, although the echoes from the foothills still made the direction uncertain.

Elainia looked alarmed. She didn’t know what she had said to upset the men so. “When I got the water for supper I noticed the deer had nibbled the foliage on the trees. Why are you all looking at me so funny?”

Perela answered. “The deer aren’t anywhere near that large here.”

For a third time the wolf howled, much closer this time. The howl ended abruptly in a yip.

Tommy looked to Duncan, “What do you think?”

“Trolls or possibly a Tree Gir.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” Tommy muttered.

Elainia looked confused “Do they eat leaves?”

“Tree Girs and trolls eat meat. They use the low hanging branches to clean their teeth.” the knight answered.

The young girl shuddered, “Which is worse –Trolls or Tree Girs?”

Duncan shrugged, “Hard to say, dead is dead.”

“Break camp,” Perela instructed, “Let’s try to get to higher ground.”

Elainia looked hopeful. “You mean they don’t like mountains?”

“Not at all,” Perela answered, “It’s just that if we can get our backs against a big rock we can limit the number of directions they can come at us from.”

Chapter Sixteen- Traveler Advisory

“Mountain lions are usually the least of your worries.“ –excerpt from Unfortunate, but Often True By Laws Murphy.

They led the horses through the lightly wooded forest towards the mountains just to the north. The climb was made easier by a full moon illuminating the ground easily through the sparsely spaced evergreens.

Initially, Duncan took the lead, but as they proceeded up the hillside, following animal trails where possible, Tommy became more and more excited and finally took the point from Duncan. “I know where I am!” the thief insisted. “If I’m right, there will be some caves ahead.”

A howling sound emanated from a position perhaps a half measure to their right.

“It sounds like those dogs are getting closer.” Elainia panted between tired breaths.

“Trust me,” Duncan said, “those aren’t dogs. Tom… How long before those caves?”

“Soon”

“It had better be. I wouldn’t want to deal with a pack of Tree Girs in the open like this.” Duncan shot a quick thought to Perela. It was funny but in times of stress like this their ability to sense each other’s thoughts was greatly enhanced. If we get attacked, will you be able to use your skills to deal with the threat?

Dearest, I do what is necessary but I would prefer to avoid magic. I’ll need all of my strength to pass Thioden’s test. She replied.

“Test?” Duncan blurted out loud.

“I’ll explain later dearest.”

“What are you two babbling about?” The lanky thief asked as they finally came into sight of a gaping hole in the side of the hill.

“Never mind.” Duncan said, irritated at himself for speaking aloud. “How much further?”

“I think we’re there.” Tommy said as he pulled fallen branches from the mouth of the cave.

Arrruuu RUP!

The sound was like the noise a hanging wet carpet makes when struck by a broom. It was accompanied three dog-like creatures that padded into the opening on all fours then stood sniffing the air while on two legs. They were huge. The smallest stood well over seven feet.

“Into the cave!” Duncan shouted. He released the cinch holding Elainia’s pack and threw the roll to Tommy. At the same time he slapped the horse’s rump with his sword. The ploy worked. The horse bolted and for a brief moment the Tree Girs were more interested in it then in their small group.

One of the Girs loped off after the horse. The remaining two dropped back down to all fours and stared at Duncan as he backed himself into the cave with the others and the remaining horses. Duncan’s drawn sword seemed to have their attention. He wasn’t sure they knew what it was but at least they hadn’t advanced.

“Now, now, let’s be reasonable.” Duncan said in a low, controlled voice. The closest Gir licked its chops.

“Duncan, get ready to move back. I’m going to light a fire.” It was Tommy who spoke.

As if on cue the Tree Gir lunged. Duncan was faster and his sword sliced into its right shoulder. It howled in pain and backed off, more wary now.

“Come on, come on.” Tommy muttered to himself as he tried to get a spark from his flint and steel to catch in the tinder pile he had made. Finally he had a smoldering glow.

“A little fire would go a long way right now.” Duncan said with his back to the thief.

“Coming” Tommy said as he quickly transferred the smoldering tinder to some kindling. He blew the fire awake and suddenly it roared into life as the dry cave wood finally caught. The thief grabbed a larger piece and yelled “DUCK!”

Duncan obliged and a flaming piece of wood flew over his head to land in front of the startled Tree Girs. Duncan quickly took advantage of the situation and backed into the cave on the protected side of the fire. Elainia and Perela were busy tossing wood from the cave on the fire to ensure the Girs would be unwilling to pass. Fortunately nature had seen fit to stock the cave with an abundance of dry wood well suited to the task.

“Whew” Duncan said breathing heavily, “That was close.” He leaned against the cave wall.

“Too close for me.” Tommy agreed.

“How far back does this cave go?” Elainia asked.

The thief looked puzzled.

“Tommy?” Duncan had seen the confusion on the thief’s face.

“I should know... I’ve been here. I should know.” The thief muttered to himself over and over again.

“Don’t fight it.” Perela advised. “Your memories have probably been blocked.” She turned to face the mouth of the cave. “We’ll have to take turns feeding this fire. We wouldn’t want our friends out there to feel too welcome.”

“Good idea.” The men echoed in unison.

“Elainia and I will take the first watch. You men can decide amongst yourselves who will take second and third.” Perela pronounced.

***

The night proceeded quietly. Duncan woke several hours before dawn and relieved Tommy at the fire. There was plenty of wood to carry them into the morning but not much beyond. Duncan tried to see beyond the fire. It was difficult to get an exact reckoning but he estimated that the original three Girs were now six or seven.

Slowly the first rays of morning light began to fill the hillside. Several of the Tree Girs were napping at the edge of the tree line. Others were pacing a guard in front of them. Watching and waiting, Duncan thought. They seemed remarkably intelligent.

And growing in number I see. Perela added her thoughts to his. Duncan smiled and rose to greet the woman he had come to love. “Good morning!”

“Good morning, dearest.” She gave him a brief kiss. He responded by wrapping his massive arms about her and hugging. She hugged back and they stood that way for several moments.

“What a great day to be alive!” Tommy bellowed as he approached the fire from the back of the cave where he had been sleeping.

“Yes and I’d like to keep it that way if I could” Duncan added as he released Perela’s slender form.

“We’re going to have to do something about our friends out there. Firewood’s running out.” The thief said stating the obvious.

Duncan agreed as he threw the last of the larger logs on the blaze. Sparks rose lazily and then shot out of the cave as they were caught by an unseen draft.

“Did you see that?” the thief exclaimed.

Perela raised a hand toward the ceiling. “There’s a definite draft up here. The cave must open up back there.”

“That means there must be a second way out of here!” Elainia chirped excitedly.

“Perhaps,” Duncan agreed, “the real question is, is the way big enough for us - for our horses?”

“We’re not going to find out standing here waiting for our wood to run out” Tommy said as he retrieved a couple of torches from his pack. He lit them by the fire.

Duncan threw their remaining wood on the fire which was now a roaring blaze and accepted a torch from the lanky thief.

The walls of the cave narrowed about a hundred feet from the mouth. One stretch was barely wide enough for the horses. The caves roof lowered enough to force men and beast to lower their heads but never really threatened to go further. In several places Duncan and Tommy were forced to clear stones and boulders before the horses could pass.

After about half an hour it was clear the draft was getting stronger. By this time the cavern had widened enough for the horses to walk comfortably two abreast. Duncan and Perela walked in the lead, carrying the reins to their respective horses. Elainia and Tommy followed.

Duncan paused and the whole group stopped. “Listen.”

“What are we listening for?” Tommy asked.

“LISTEN.” Duncan insisted.

The sounds of yowling could be heard behind them. It was faint to be sure but there was no question the fire had ceased its role as deterrent. The Tree Girs were in the caves.

“We’ll have to hurry” Perela said matter-of-factly.

She put action to words by moving quickly ahead of Duncan and the others. He let her. His place was now in the rear with Tommy “T”, defending their rear approach. He handed his reins to Elainia as she passed him. He noted she was already leading the thief’s horse. He grabbed a third torch from his pack before Kade pulled ahead with the women.

Duncan and Tommy stood shoulder to shoulder behind the horses, pushing the beasts forward while listening and watching for signs their pursuers where closing. Duncan shuddered. Confined spaces… and most especially caves were not among his favorite places.

At one point, just as a yelp was heard in the distance, Kade, who was directly in front of Tommy, lifted tail and flatulated. “Foul beast” the thief muttered. Duncan didn’t know if he was referring to his horse or the Gir.

“Oh my.” Elainia said from up front.

“Duncan dearest, could you spare a moment to come up here?” Perela called.

“Go ahead,” Tommy grinned, “You’re a married man now. I understand.” Duncan shot his friend a scathing look and worked his way past Kade.

“What’s up?” the big knight asked as he approached Perela. By way of an answer she raised her torch. Duncan could see the problem. They were blocked.

Interestingly, the blockage appeared to be man-made. A massive stone disc had been rolled from a crevice in the cavern wall which had obviously been cut to accommodate it. The disk was made of some type of marble and moved along a geared metal track.

“What’s the problem?” Tommy shouted over the horses.

“There’s some type of stone portal up here. It’s a fairly hefty stone disc and a metal gearing mechanism... ring any bells?”

“I’m afraid not. Can you move it?”

This time Perela answered as Duncan put his shoulder to the stone and pushed. “It seems pretty intent on not moving. I think the mechanism is frozen by decades of rust.”

“Not good.” Tommy commented dryly. “I don’t suppose you could wave your hands and blast it out of there?”

“NO!” Duncan shouted. Then in a calmer voice, “We’ll find another way.”

“A bit touchy, aren’t we” Tommy said in an offended haughty tone.

“He has his reasons” Elainia explained knowing his distaste for tightly enclosed spaces.

Perela ran her hands over the surface of the stone. “Perhaps blasting is too extreme a measure.”

Duncan leaned close to the stone to feel where her hands had been. “You have an idea?”

“Mayhaps” She said with a teasing twinkle in her eye. “Hand me your sword, dearest.”

Duncan grunted but handed her the sword anyway. “Not even a blacksmith is going to hack through that. Please don’t break my sword.” He pleaded, glancing back down the tunnel.

Perela chuckled. “Not a blacksmith, a jeweler.” She sent the barest tendrils of her essence into the stone. She was looking for the natural faults present in any such rock. Slowly she moved across its surface looking for exactly the right spot.

“Tell her to hurry.” Tommy said anxiously. “We’re not going to have more than a few more minutes before company arrives.”

If Perela heard the thief she didn’t show it. Her hand continued to move over the stones surface. Finally it stopped and retraced it path a few inches. Perela hefted the sword and slammed the hilt into the stone near where her hand had been moments before. There was a crisp metallic thud. She raised the hilt and struck again. This time the sound was different and a fissure snaked its way up the surface of the stone.

“Good job!” Duncan bellowed as he pulled a smiling Perela out of the way. He slammed the stone hard with his shoulder. Reluctantly, the pieces gave way and a thin crack of sunlight streamed in.

The yowls of the Tree Girs could be clearly heard now. Duncan had hoped the lack of light would slow them down but this seemed not to be the case. Their sense of smell was just too good. Duncan slammed his shoulder into the stone again. The crack widened.

“Here, let me see if we can’t get this done together.” Tommy said as he squirmed his way past the horses to join the knight.

Together Duncan and Tommy heaved at the big stones. Perela and Elainia joined the men and suddenly the smaller of the two stones gave way. Sunlight flooded in. Shielding his eyes against the glare Duncan pushed the girls out and signaled for the thief to help him with the horses. The animals were only too willing to work their way through the narrow opening in what had been a stone portal. The Girs were very close.

When the last animal was out, Duncan and Tommy leapt through the breach into the bright morning light. Almost immediately Perela and Elainia started filling the opening with dried branches and twigs.

“Those will never hold them” Tommy said even as he helped by moving over some of the larger logs in the immediate area.

“They’re not meant to” Perela answered. She fished around in her pack and came out with a clay jar and several of the dish towels. The jar was filled with cooking lard which she quickly scooped out and distributed liberally over the wood in the portal’s breach. The rags were worked with grease and spread over the branches.

Using one of the torches, Perela lit the barrier. The result was an oily, sputtering fire that would burn for hours on the grease alone.

Duncan and Tommy were not content. Together they dragged enough wood in front of the portal to ensure the group would have the better part of a day before the Tree Girs would be able to break free.

Only when the breach in the portal was sufficiently blocked did the group pause and consider their surroundings. They had entered the cave on the south side. It was plain from the angle of the sun that the cavern tunnel had literally led them through the mountain. They now stood on the northern face of a mountain range that defined the southern boundary of a great valley.   Massive redwoods blocked most of their view, but Duncan was sure that this valley did not appear on any maps of Northern Riitan that he had seen. This would be the perfect place, he thought, to hide a city of wizards.

From their vantage point, where the view was not blocked, they could see for several King’s Measures. Out about half one such measure, to the left of a large stand of trees, he could see the tell-tale blue of a stream or lake. His view was too restricted to tell which.

He raised an arm to point towards the water. Perela and Tommy followed his arm out with their eyes.

The thief wrinkled his brow. “Could be a river... or a small lake.”

“The wizard’s valley has both” Perela mused. She had put words to what the others instinctively knew to be true - Thioden lay in this valley.

Duncan walked to where Kade stood munching winter-worn grasses by some younger redwoods. He stroked the gelding’s rough mane and turned to face the others. “I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m beginning to get tired of being chased by Tree Girs. That being said, we have two choices: Fight them or throw them off our trail.”

“As one of the potential fighters, I vote for option two.” the lanky thief offered glibly.

Perela smiled, “I think our tall friend here speaks for everybody.”

“How are we going to throw them off our trail?” Elainia asked.

Duncan mounted Kade and offered a hand up to Elainia. “I think our best bet would be to check out that water.”

“Might I point out,” Tommy interjected, “that Tree Girs are excellent swimmers.”

“True enough,” Duncan agreed, “but I’ve yet to see one that could follow a scent trail through water.”

Chapter Seventeen – A Blue Pigeon

The ride down the slope was an uneventful one. Perela, on Sarah, took the lead. Duncan and Elainia followed with Tommy and his horse bringing up the rear.

Duncan could feel Perela’s troubled thoughts. No wizard could enter Thioden without passing a magical challenge. According to Perela, many a mage had died in the attempt. I have every confidence in you, my love. He thought.

Thank you dear, I’ll be sure to pass that on to city when it turns me into a wart hog.

Surely not a wart hog! He thought aghast.

Perhaps not. Why? Did you have a preference for some other mammal?

Oh, does it have to be a mammal? He asked with idle curiosity.

Their thoughts were interrupted when a deer trail they had been following rounded a thick group of evergreens at the base of some giant redwoods. The bend exposed a sight that stole the breath from every member of their small group.

“Will you look at that!” Tommy exclaimed.

Before them flowed a pristine stream which by some standards would have been large enough to be called a river, abet a small one. It flowed from a source buried deep in the woods to the east and ran westward to a small lake perhaps a king’s measure distant. While breath-taking in itself, none of this was the cause of the group’s current wonderment. On the lake, or more to the point, on an island in the lake, was an ivory citadel.

“Thioden.” Elainia whispered.

“The same” Perela confirmed.

***

Trevor McGill pounded the table with his fist. “I tell you it will work!”

Grim looked to his friend and conceded with a smile, “I know it will Trev. It’s the ethics that bother me. I dislike basing our attack on deception.”

“Bah!” Trevor spat.

GrimHolden’s smiled deepened and he shrugged his shoulders, “Consider it a failing.”

“Explain that to the young lad dying on a battle field far from his father’s corn field. These men are our friends... on both sides. General T’Garon spoke at my father’s funeral and bounced young Jason on his knee at the boy’s christening.”

“Point taken,” Grim agreed. “T’Garon is a good man whose oath of fealty has bound him every bit as tightly to his king as mine did to the Order.”

“Yes, well at least we have that nonsense taken care of... Your Highness.” Trevor replied. Grim threw the pillow from the arm rest of his chair. It was deflected at the last minute by the bearded woodsmen. Trevor knew his new king was still uncomfortable with the title and used his friendship to thicken his friend’s skin.

They had been discussing a ploy to divert some portion of General T’Garon’s forces. As it was, Trevor’s army of irregulars was half the size of the general’s forces, not nearly as well armed and, not nearly as well trained. At the moment, they were also at a tactical disadvantage. They were in the valley while their opponents held the high ground on Eastridge.

Grim reviewed the map on the table. His mind was back on the task at hand. Although he had been relieved of his vows to the Order by the newly elected Archbishop, Father DeAnder Papus III – the newly minted King remained the leader of the Grimedian Knights.  In addition, Trevor McGill had handed him control of an army of better than a thousand men. Still, their situation was not good.

Grim had the bulk of his monastic forces, some three hundred mounted knights and horsemen, in route from the barracks in Riverdale. They were his most highly trained and armed forces.

Grim knew the general make-up of T’Garon’s army from his former close association with the court in Pershara and Trevor’s scouting reports. T’Garon would have about twenty-five hundred under his command. Fortunately for Grim, only about a hundred of these were mounted. That still left T’Garon with a two to one advantage. Grim was going to do something about that.

“You’re sure the birds will work?” He asked his friend and advisor.

“Absolutely” Trevor answered. The birds to which Grim referred were blue pigeons. Not the mottled blue, gray and browns of common city pigeons but completely blue. It was a special trait that bred true only when both mother and father were blues. Blue Pigeons were exceedingly rare. The only females known to exist were a guarded treasure of the southern island of Grinley. The male birds were used as carrier pigeons for Grinley’s prince and were as good as any signature. “The dyes we’re using have been perfected over the course of decades. The thief’s guild knows what it is doing.”

“Very well, send the message.”

***

“Damn! It’s a ruse. It must be a ruse” General T’Garon crumpled the message in his hand.

“And if it’s not?” The speaker was a thin man who looked more like a stick than a major in the King’s Guard. His name was Timothy Stanton but he often went by his nickname, “The Reed”.

“It is... I know it is and I’m still going to have to pretend it’s real.” The big man turned to face his second, the frustration plain on his face.

The Reed stroked his short cropped silver-gray beard. “Why are you so sure it’s a fake?”

General T’Garon paused to sip from a heated mug of watered wine. He placed the mug on a corner of the map they had been studying and answered his companion. “Because Trevor is my friend and I know how his mind works. Further it’s what I would do if I were in his shoes.”

“Our contacts report Thomas Holden is now in charge.”

“True, but GrimHolden is too good a commander to ignore the counsel of a proven general. Besides, he and Trevor were the best of friends.”  T’Garon pointed out.

“What are your orders, then?”

T’Garon stared at the map for a moment before answering. His troops, including a hundred mounted knights, held the high ground around the city. His best estimate of his friend’s rebel forces placed their numbers at just under a thousand and only a couple dozen mounted knights including GrimHolden himself. He had twice as many foot soldiers and four times the Calvary. There was no question that he could crush the rebel forces. The problem was… this was a civil war. Many of those he would crush were his friends. Further, he was not completely unsympathetic with their cause. Raymond Holden was not the benevolent ruler his nephew had been. Many things had occurred in the sixteen years of Raymond’s reign that challenged the strength of T’Garon oath of fealty.

He made up his mind. Now would not be the time he killed friends. He would have to be careful though. He turned to his fellow officer. “We split. We’ll send a thousand men to Grinley via the Mooreshire road. That should make sure anyone watching sees them leave.” General T’Garon dropped the crumpled parchment containing the prince of Grinley’s plea for immediate military assistance in the fire.

Major Stanton watched the note burn as he answered his general. “A thousand men will seriously impact the strength of our strategic advantage here.”

T’Garon grinned. “Yes it would.”

“May I be so bold as to suggest the Grinley contingent could use some mounted knights?” Stanton suggested helpfully.

General T’Garon’s smile widened. Timothy Stanton was many things, but first and foremost, he was loyal to his commander. “An excellent suggestion my friend. What would you say, half?”

The Reed smiled back. “I would say fifty sounds just about right.” He knew the nature of the demons that drove his commander – that haunted his sleep. He shared them. He and his commander were good soldiers trapped by ill-considered oaths on the wrong side of a civil war. His general, concerned for the survival of friends and kingdom, was seizing an excuse to forfeit this battle. He would do what he could to help.

“Timothy,” the general paused to consider his words carefully. “,you know the men better than anyone. You know their loyalties and their allegiance.”

“I’ll see to it that those that go will be the king’s men.” Timothy assured his commander.

T’Garon nodded. “Good man.”

***

Clip clop, clip clop - Kade’s head bobbed in rhythmic time to the staccato sounds of hoof on stone. Duncan’s eyes scanned the white marble buildings. He couldn’t help being immensely impressed by the grandeur of the architecture. Never had he seen so much marble used in general construction. The buildings were relatively plain but each sported an elaborate carved, and in some cases gilded, entrance. The portals served not so much as doors as statements of prestige. The city, itself, was warm and inviting; a welcome change after their escape from the Tree Girs.

Barely an hour earlier, they had stood on the bank of a lake that surrounded the island city on three sides. On the forth side, a relatively narrow causeway with a draw bridge provided easily secured access to the city.  Since the draw bridge was raised that particular route into the city was not available to the party. There had been a heated debate regarding the construction of a raft when Elainia spotted an approaching barge. Duncan was quick to note the barge carried no crew. Perela confirmed the city’s magic guided the mystical craft. It seemed the city had its own automated transportation system… and a somewhat concerned Duncan noted it was expecting them.

Tommy questioned the wisdom of riding a boat with no crew – after all, what if the city didn’t want visitors? Elainia sagely pointed out that if the city didn’t want visitors, it would never have sent the barge. Duncan laughed when the lanky thief’s month opened to utter retort and closed silently when he failed to think of one. He noted the thief maintained his silence as he stoically walked his horse onto the barge when it was his turn.

The barge brought them to a weathered wharf made of stone. It was designed in such a way that one end of the barge butted up flush to the wharf. Duncan was amazed at how evenly the edges lined up. After all, the barge would be carrying a variable load and thus its waterline would rise and fall accordingly. He ran a foot between the two edges trying to feel a difference in height—there was none. He turned a questioning eye toward the thief who responded by mouthing the word “Magic.” Duncan nodded.

From the wharf, the group proceeded into the city proper. Perela led her mount by the reins. For some reason, riding inside the silent city seemed improper, almost disrespectful.

Where are we headed?  Duncan asked Perela with the barest brush of his mind on hers.

The sorceress smiled and squeezed his arm which she had been holding. Their special gift had been growing stronger with every passing day and she relished the warm and comforting press of his mind in hers. Her father had been apprised of the situation and he seemed to approve. Duncan was as good as married although she doubted the broad shouldered knight was aware of his predicament yet. She bided her time. Experience had taught her that one could not rush a man into seeing that which women immediately saw as obvious.  Sometimes the dears needed time to become comfortable with these issues.

She answered his question out loud so the others could hear. “I’m not sure where we are headed – only that if we keep moving we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

“And what exactly did you say we’re looking for?” Tommy asked.

“Again, I’m not sure… only that it was lost and needs to be found.”

“I knew you were going to say that.” Tommy said dryly. He turned to Elainia and winked; “I knew she was going to say that.” Elainia smirked and raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘What did you expect?’

They rounded a corner and entered what must have once been a main thoroughfare. The gilded portals were replaced by massive marble facades; intricately carved with runes. Golden keystones figured prominently atop every arched doorway. The sight took their collective breath away. Even Perela, who had lived in the city so many years ago, was forced to stifle a sudden intake of breath. “One forgets just how beautiful Thioden can be.” the sorceress mused to her companions.

Their reverent view was interrupted by a low rumble that seemed to emanate from the ground itself. As the group scanned the buildings, several things were obvious. The sound was getting louder and the sound was coming from almost every direction.

“I don’t like this.” Duncan muttered. “Grab your packs off the horses. We may have to run for it and the horses will only limit our options.”

“Look!” Elainia screamed pointing.

Chapter Eighteen- Old Libraries

“Knowledge is Power; Knowledge is strength.” – Arathin proverb

As one, the group turned to where she was pointing. The steps leading down from a temple at the far end of the boulevard were rapidly changing from white to an undulating black and gray as thousands of rats poured over the steps. Even as they watched, rats began to stream out of other buildings. Many of these were much closer to the group. The horses panicked and Duncan had the thief let them go. The only escape route seemed to be due north along the thoroughfare away from the temple.

Perela and Duncan led Elainia and Tommy as the group raced down the street. It seemed that no sooner would they pass a building then rats would start pouring out of it. As they reached a corner, rats from the right forced them left.

“I have a… funny feeling… about this.” Tommy panted.

“I agree.” Duncan grunted. “It’s almost as… if we’re being herded”

“No… that’s not what I… meant.” the thief gasped as they rounded a corner “I think I’ve been… here before.”

”This is the Great Library.” Perela announced indicating a massive structure across the square they had just entered.

If they had any doubts about being herded they were erased when each and every potential exit was blocked by undulating hordes of rodents. All save the entrance to the Great Library.

“Not exactly the most gracious invitation I’ve ever received.” Perela commented curtly.

“Still, it seems to be the only show in town.” Duncan led the group toward the marble building.

As they neared the white alabaster steps that led up to the massive hinged doors of the library’s main entrance Duncan felt a pressure build at the base of his neck.  A quick glance at Elainia and the thief confirmed his suspicions. They felt it too.  “Someone’s working magic.” the big knight barked as he took the steps two at a time.

“Or something.” Tommy added dryly.

“Impressive.” Perela swooned in awe. “Look!” The streets and doorways which had been overflowing with millions upon millions of rats just moments before were now nearly devoid of rodents. Turning to face the others, “Do you have any idea of the power it would take to do that?” She asked in the giddy way of a person seeing something new in their field of expertise.

“What? Control some rats?” The thief asked nonchalantly. A tone that made Perela’s eyes narrow. Duncan smirked at the sudden return of bravado in the other man.

“You don’t just control rats.” Perela continued with an emphasis on ‘just’.  “Rats are fairly stupid.  They respond to just three things – food, fear and lust.  To control that many over such a distance must take enormous strength and concentration.” She continued to explain what was so exceptional about what they had just witnessed.

“So, what do you think drew them to us?” Elainia asked. “Fear, food or lust?”

Perela looked at the girl for a moment, trying to decide if the question was a serious one.  “I’m not sure any of the three is an option I’d prefer to contemplate.” Elainia shuddered.

Duncan couldn’t help but chuckle briefly as the companions made their way into the library. The doors were massive, easily twice Duncan’s height and a full hand-span thick.  The rich, dark colored wood was inlaid with gilded gold runes and although there was an air of magic about them, he doubted they were the source of the pressure at the back of his neck.

***

She did not like it here. She really didn’t. But if she wanted to become a Librarian, she had to know what was down here.  Kairevasigh shivered. The bowels of the Ulaisékan were not for the faint of heart.

The Ulaisékan was the oldest library in Sheyestiva. Some whispered that it was even older than the Empire. Kairevasigh could believe it with the weight of the stone over her head. It wasn’t just the stone’s weight; it was also the weight of age. More than two thousand years seemed to rest upon her shoulders down here.  The air was musty and thick. The corridors very narrow. They were only five feet wide at their widest. Often they were not that wide.

The oldest knowledge was down here.

Kairevasigh’s assignment was to find, on her own, the Room of Mysteries. So named because of its plethora of vague writings and other odd objects. She came to an intersection of hallways. Her torchlight illuminated the markings on the corner stones. She read the one on the right face of the corner blocks, ignoring the one on the left. The left always told the way you came from. The right led to where you were going.

After a long time of traversing the maze of halls and praying to what spirits that were listening that her torch wouldn’t sputter out, she finally found the right room. The room was twenty five feet across by forty, she guessed. It was hard to tell because of all the shelves. The shelves were full of odds and ends. And in the very center of the room were four pillars that she could just barely see.

The other part of Kairevasigh’s assignment was to pick an artifact to study. Kair looked around at the plethora of shelves at a lost. There was so much. She didn’t know where to start. Might as well start here. She thought to herself as she picked a shelf at random.

Kair was looking through the shelves for something to catch her eye when the torch WHOOSHED out. Kair cried out softly. Her blue, black veined eyes grew wide as she attempted to see. That was incredibly hard considering she was in pitch blackness, buried under tons of earth. Kair gulped. Why do you hate me? She asked the spirits who, apparently, were not listening. Or worse, they wanted to play a trick on her. Maybe this was punishment for pretending to be a boy to get away from the farm?  Whatever the reason, she was trapped in a place of no light.

Hold on… there was light. Brow furrowed, Kair made her way toward where it seemed to be coming from. She used the small amount of telecy at her disposal to know if she was about to run into something. She found herself in the middle of the room staring at the four pillars she had noticed earlier. Where before she had assumed that they had been carved from the same gray-black rock that the library had been carved from she now saw her mistake. They were four pillars of faintly glowing glass. “Kales Amei…” She breathed approaching the pillars.  Timeless Glass. A rare substance from before the Empire. It was a lost art. No one knew how to make it. No one could even guess. And here there were four pillars that stood roughly twelve feet high with about a foot and a half diameter. Each etched with hundreds of symbols.

She could almost read them.  Kair gulped again. They spoke about some cataclysmic war that would touch every corner of the world at some point. As she read, she could almost swear that she heard whispering. Uneasy, Kairevasigh glanced about the darkened room. Except for the long shadows cast by the Kales Amei, she could see nothing. Trembling slightly, Kair turned back to the pillar closest to her. As she stared into the glass… she could almost believe that someone was looking back at her. It was creepy.  No, not at her, she realized.  They didn’t see her. They were just moving. How odd to see images moving within the glass.  Wanting to see clearer, Kair reached out to whip the glass clean.

As soon as she touched the glass, all four pillars blazed with light. So much that Kairevasigh couldn’t see a thing. The world pitched and a huge pressure hung about the nape of her neck. So forceful that she found herself on the verge of passing out. A loud ringing filled her ears. The pressure intensified. Just as she was falling over the brink between reality and la la land she heard a voice murmur. “I’m so sorry, child.”

Chapter Nineteen- Rebirth of a Dragon

Dragon Dropp – (Before Fall, BF4000)
Renowned wizard best known for codifying a radically different set of rules for interacting with magic which greatly simplified its use- His efforts, while widely criticized for the loss of low-level control, never-the-less led to a paradigm shift in the way practical magic was taught. Elements of the one-handed single click Dragon Dropp system are still in use today – Author unknown

Once inside Duncan was surprised at how well lit the library was.  He hadn’t remembered any windows on the outside.  It was obvious that he had missed seeing them.  Through some trick of lighting,virtually every nook and cranny had some measure of illumination from a window.  He supposed it made sense for a library to be well lit. Nevertheless, he had to marvel at the architecture.

Duncan’s thoughts were interrupted by Perela whose own lack of fascination in their surrounding was a result of long familiarity.  She had spent many years in this library when Thioden was still home to the First Circle of Wizards.

“Ahem” She cleared her throat to get the group’s attention.  “The question remains. Why were we herded here?”

“Ah, I might be the reason for that.” Tommy answered sheepishly.

They all turned to stare at the lanky thief.  His face was red with profound embarrassment.  Without prompting he continued.

“I lost something here once – a long time ago.”

“And you just now are remembering?” Duncan and Elainia echo in unison.The thief nodded.

“I’m afraid that’s not his fault.” Perela said with a sense of amusement, “at least not entirely.  Just as the city protects itself so too does the library.”

“What does that mean?” Duncan asked suspiciously. “Are we about to be turned into toads?”

“Why darling!” Perela beamed. “You know I’d never enjoy kissing a toad. Relax, you’re safe.” For now anyway…  she added mentally with a wink and a smile. He winced but smiled back. Tommy scuffed his shoe on the floor and looked back at the sorceress speculatively.

“You’re all safe!” she added “So long as you entered the library with a magic user of note, say a wizard of the first circle, you are allowed to keep your memories of the visit.”

Understanding lit Duncan’s eyes.  “And because our young thief here was without said escort on his first visit…”

“I was made to forget that I was ever here!  Was the library responsible for teleporting me out of the city?”

“Yes and no.  I’m sure the Library talked with the city and they came to an agreement as to what was best for you.” Perela replied.

Her way of making buildings sound like people was slightly unsettling to Elainia. “You make it sound as if the city and the library are alive and intelligent.”

“In many ways they are.”

“And so again I say… why are we here?” Duncan reiterated.

“I’m not sure I have all the answers yet.” The thief said rubbing his chin in thought. “But I can tell you this, I was not alone that first visit:  I had a friend with me and you were there.” He pointed to Perela.  “Only it wasn’t you.  The woman I saw was the embodiment of evil.  I shivered just looking at her.”  The thief’s body trembled slightly at the memory.

I get tingles just looking at you too! Duncan thought with a sly grin.

Careful dear. It would never do to make a sorceress angry, she offered with a mental caress.

“You must have seen Altana.” Perela answered aloud.

“And she would be?” The thief asked.

“I guess you could say she is my half-sister.”

“I didn’t know you had and brothers and sisters” Elainia piped in cheerfully.

“I don’t” Perela said sternly.

Confused Duncan asked, “Then how is Altana your half-sister?”

Perela gave a defeated sigh and then continued for their benefit, “She is… she was… a part of me.  When a wizard joins the First Circle they undergo a rite of passage that strips away all that is evil and corrupt from their souls.” She looked to each of the others in the group to see if they were following what she was saying. “The power that the First Circle welds is too important, too powerful for such taints.  In most cases the evil dies.  It cannot stand on its own.  In some rare cases the evil is powerful enough to assume a life of its own.  These are destroyed immediately by the council.”

Perela looked up and focused her eyes on the ceiling… lost in contemplation. “In still rarer cases the evil escapes.  Altana is one such.  She is evil incarnate.”

“You must have had a tortured soul.” Duncan said with concern.

She gave a wan smile. “Not really. Let me try to explain it this way. Any person who stands in the light casts a shadow - the brighter the light, the deeper the shadow. In many ways, the same is true with magic. My family tends to cast long shadows and the nature of my birth only added to it. But that’s a story for another day. Right now we have to find what our young friend here lost.”

“Not ‘what’ but ‘who’ I lost… A friend.  I’m sure of that much.” The thief cast his eyes about the room.  He was desperately looking for visual cues to unlock his fragmented memory. He turned his eyes back to Perela. “It was a person I lost… only they didn’t have a body.” He paused. “It was like I was befriended by a soul living in a…”

“Jewel.” Perela offered.

“Yes! A jewel. How did you kno…” Tommy started then finished “Never mind.”

“So we’re looking for a jewel with a lost soul in it. In a city filled with jewels. In a city filled with magic.” Duncan winked at Perela. “Piece of cake.”

“Actually dearest, I think it’s a fair bet the jewel is in this library.” Perela murmured looking around.

“Why? Because we were led here?” He asked at her elbow.

“It’s a reasonable assumption.”

“I agree.” Tommy added. “I have pretty strong memories of this place so it’s likely I was here.”

Duncan turned to the younger man. “Do you remember anything else? Anything that might give us a clue?”

The thief closed his eyes and concentrated. “It was clear with flakes of gold inside and an emerald green tint.”

“Green? Are you sure it was green?” Perela said with a start.

“Dark green, yes. I’m pretty sure.” Tommy said opening his eyes and nodding.

“Is it important?” Duncan asked.

“It could be.” Perela answered.

A scratching of tiny feet could be heard at the massive doors of the great library.  Elainia, who had been quite since they entered the library, cast a nervous eye towards the sound and moved closer to the thief.  He responded by pulling her close into a protective embrace. She let him. Perela looked speculatively at the same door.

“So the question remains,” Duncan added “How do we find this jewel?”

“Perhaps we let the jewel find us.” Perela mused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they directed us to the library. Perhaps they can direct us to the gem.”

“They?” Tommy asked.

“The rats.” Perela answered as she started moving towards the massive doors.

“Why did I know you were going to say that?” the thief groaned as he shifted position so he and Elainia stood behind the big knight. Duncan drew his sword in preparation.

“I don’t think you’ll need that, dearest.”

Never hurts to be prepared… Duncan thought back.

Perela lifted her right hand and motioned for the door to open.  It obeyed her command and parted a scant six inches.  A single cat entered and proceeded with amazing dignity to sit a Perela’s feet.

She crouched down to address the grey feline close to eye level. “Yes dearest, we see you. Any time you’re ready.” The cat for its part sat on its back haunches with both its front paws held up and close to its chest and proceeded to lick a paw and wipe its face.

“I think that cat is confused.” Tommy said idly… “It’s acting more like a rat than a cat.”

The cat moved closer to Perela, inviting her to stoke it. She did so and immediately began to chuckle. “Oh you are a confused little dear aren’t you?” she cooed into the animal’s ear.

“What do you mean?” Tommy asked.

“I am a azulum, I can talk to animals and feel their thoughts. Our young friend here lost her mother while quite young. She was raised by the rats and thinks of herself as one.” Perela explained.

“I see what you mean about confused.” Elainia said softly.

As the cat began to move. “I think it best we follow our little friend here.” Perela said straightening.

“That’s our plan?” Tommy complained. “Follow a cat with a serious identity crisis?”

Duncan clasped a beefy hand on the young thief’s shoulder and said with a resigned smile. “You can discuss it with the cat later. Right now, let’s just follow Perela’s lead.” The cat, for its part, left little doubt she wanted to be followed.  She would scamper to a door and turn to wait for the slower moving humans to catch up. Once they were within a few feet she would begin to lead them again. At one point, when she bolted though a gnawed out knot hole in a panel on a wall, the group was forced to pause to consider how to follow her. The cat, sensing she was no longer being followed, poked her head out from within the wall and began to scold them with a chitter vaguely reminiscent of a squirrel. Duncan was amazed that a cat could make such a noise. When the group still did not follow, the cat reluctantly crawled out of the wall. After several seconds of pacing while it clearly was thinking about an alternative route, the cat headed them in another direction.  This time every time it stopped, it would turn to scold them as if saying “Hurry up and don’t blame me for the longer walk!”Elainia found the little gray feline quite endearing.

After about ten minutes of scurrying through various corridors, rooms and down marbled staircases, all of which were as pristine and clean as the day they were last used, some seven hundred years ago, they arrived at a laundry room with a dumbwaiter’s shaft.

“There’s no way in hell I’m going down that. I don’t even think I’d fit.” Duncan mused as he peered over the edge of the shaft. The cat could be heard ‘chittering’ below.

Perela pushed the big man away from the opening and called down with wink at the big knight. “I’m sorry dearest. You’re going to have to bring it to us.” This elicited an explosive chittering tirade from their guide.

“I know little one, it’s a shame we’re not as clever at climbing as you are.” This had the effect of quieting their furry friend as it could be heard to scamper about the base of the shaft.

Tommy caught Perela’s eye and said with a mischievous grin, “You seem to have a way with animals.”

Not wasting the lead in, Perela echoed the thief’s grin and glancing at Duncan said “Absolutely.”

Duncan winced. He was spared further harassment by a plaintive chittering from the dumbwaiter shaft. “I think our friend wants a ride up.”

Perela gently began to pull at the dumbwaiter’s rope. When the small chamber finally reached their level Perela reached in and pulled out an intricately carved dining tray.  Perched on a delicate bone china plate was a partially eaten wedge of magically preserved Gouda cheese, a very happy gray cat, and a most remarkable gemstone the size and shape of a plumb.

“Oh what a good girl you are.” Perela purred to the small cat. The cat responded by securing the cheese in its teeth and scrambling up Perela’s sleeve to perch on her shoulder. “Comfy?” she asked, glacing at the strange, yet cute, kitty.

“Yes.” the cat chitted in her ear.

“We’ll need to work on that identity thing, dearest.” she said while stroking the animal’s head.

Satisfied her passenger was secure; Perela reached for and cupped the dark green gem. She smiled as she picked it up.  “It’s warm.” She commented for the others present.

“Careful!” Tommy admonished. “She, I mean it… its delicate.”

“Concerned for a gem?” Duncan teased. “You met your true calling when you became a thief, thief.”

“No, no.” the younger man continued. “It’s not like that at all. I’m remembering a lot more. We were good friends – that jewel and I.  She was kind to me.”

“Kind?” Elainia asked.

“It’s… no she, definitely a she, is intelligent. She was kind in the only ways that matter to a ten year old boy. She listened when I was scared or hurt and was there when I needed a friend.  She was my only friend in those days.” Tommy’s grew shadowed, remembering.

Perela held the gem up to the light. It glimmered with flecks of gold embedded in a matrix of translucent green emerald.  “If I’m not mistaken, this gem holds the soul of Kindra, last of the dragons.”

Elainia looked awestruck. “A dragon’s soul? Were they… I mean were Dragons… ever real?”

“Oh they’re real enough.” Perela answered. The cat, now with a belly fat with cheese, curled into a ball in the hood of Perela’s cape. She paused to move the cat to the crook of the arm holding the gem where the grey cat resumed its nap unperturbed by the relocation. “I’ve heard of strong wizards being able to store their soul in a jewel but never a dragon,” the sorceress continued.

“Dragons were reputedly the most powerful magic users.” Duncan added. “I suppose it makes sense they could encase their souls in a gem.”

“Why would they want to?” Elainia asked.

“No one wants to die.” Perela explained. “Dragons are no different in that respect from the rest of us.”

“Then why aren’t there more dragon soul gems around?” Elainia continued.

“Several reasons.” Perela speculated. “The gems would no longer be needed if a willing host were found. Unfortunately this only accounts for a small number of dragons.  I’m afraid most were destroyed by ignorance, greed, or fear. Mankind has always been a far greater threat to dragons then dragons have been to man.”

“Why only willing hosts? Aren’t they powerful enough to take over a person’s body?  That’s what the bed-time stories say?”

“No self-respecting dragon would ever steal a life. Win it in battle or take it in defense of another -yes, but steal it? Never.”

“That’s right.” Tommy piped in. “When we were together she ‘Asked’ to borrow my arms and legs.  Even then we were always really just sharing.”

“Dragons are highly ethical beings.” Perela agreed.

“THANK YOU DAUGHTER.”

Perela nearly dropped the warm stone.  She quickly scanned the others. Tommy’s face shone like a beacon. Duncan and Elainia looked confused and startled.

“I’M SORRY CHILDREN.  I DID NOT INTEND TO STARTLE YOU. IT IS GOOD TO HEAR THE SOUND OF A REASONED THOUGHT AFTER SO MANY YEARS OF CHAOS.”

“Can everyone hear her?” Elainia asked in a bewildered voice.

“CERTAINLY LITTLE SISTER. TO DO OTHERWISE WOULD BE RUDE.”

Perela held the gem higher and in an open manner so as to afford the others a less hindered view. “Are you Kindra?”

“YOU HAVE MUCH OF YOUR MOTHER’S FACE AND EYES – CERTAINLY ALL OF HER WIT.  YES I AM THE ONE CALLED KINDRA, DAUGHTER.”

“You knew my mother?” Perela asked in shock.

The stone rumbled in laughter. “OF COURSE DEAR. I KNOW HER BETTER THAN ANYONE… ALTHOUGH IN THE END, NOT HALF AS WELL AS I WOULD HAVE LIKED.”

“I” Perela began but paused. The hairs on the back of her neck were raising and she felt a growing pressure at the base of her skull. She could see the others felt it too.

“I THINK YOUR SISTER IS HERE.” Kindra offered by way of explanation.

“Great.” Duncan and the thief echoed in sarcastic unison.

Perela waved a hand in a wide arch encompassing the entire group. Where her hand was in the air a glowing shimmer could be seen briefly.

“What did you do?” Duncan asked in a whisper.

“I shielded our location.  Altana will have a harder time finding us now.”

“Good thinking.” Duncan whispered back.

“It may not matter in the end. Altana is more powerful than I.  If she finds us, we will be hard pressed to escape unscathed.”

“I THINK YOU DO NOT GIVE YOURSELF ENOUGH CREDIT, DAUGHTER. THE LAST TIME YOU MET SHE WAS THE ONE TO COME AWAY SCATHED.”

“But not defeated.”

“NO, NOT DEFEATED.  THAT IS FOR ANOTHER.”

Chapter Twenty- The Hall of Mirrors

Baroom!

A thunderous booming sound echoed through the great library.

“No!” Perela screamed at the walls. “Even she wouldn’t destroy the Great Library!”

Baroom!

“Not the library.” Perela weeped.

Duncan scanned the small room. Dust, unmoved in scores of decades, was shifting down from the ceiling rafters. “We’ve got to get out of here before she razes the entire library.”

“Yes, you’re right of course” Perela said in a stunned and diminutive voice. She clutched both the gem and now fully awake cat. “We must get out of here while the library still has some power to resist.”

“This way.” Duncan motioned.

The gem in Perela’s hand grew warmer. “THE LIBRARY IS IN PAIN.”

“I know Mother Dragon. Can you help her?”

“I’M DOING WHAT I CAN BUT I’M AFRAID IT’S VERY LIMITED. I’VE ASKED THE CITY TO HELP.”

Perela pushed Tommy and Elainia ahead of her.  Duncan was leading them down a dark hall. The only light came from sunbeams filtering through the open doorways lining the corridor. Dust choked their throats and blinded their vision. The gray cat burrowed in Perela’s arms. It sensed it was in danger and that these arms represented safety. “Mother Dragon, can we reach the Hall of Mirrors while keeping below ground-level?”

“YES DAUGHTER.  I’LL SHOW THE WAY” Immediately the corridor’s marbled floor began to glow softly in light lavender.

How pretty, Perela thought moments before another muffled shock wave shook the dust up from the floor.

“Why are we keeping below ground?” Tommy asked from just ahead.

“Conservation of resources.” Duncan answered from the lead.  “So long as we stay underground Perela only has to shield us from above.”

“And the Hall of Mirrors.” Elainia asked?

“Our way out.” Perela answered cryptically.

The glowing trail turned to the right.  Duncan changed their direction to follow it.

“I don’t get it.” Tommy whispered to Elainia.  “How are a bunch of glass mirrors going to help us get out of the city?”

“NOT GLASS, DEAREST.” Kindra corrected.

“Wizard’s work.” Duncan muttered as he led the group around yet another bend.

“HE’S A CHARMING SORT.” Kindra thought to Perela. “I ASSUME YOU INTEND TO MARRY HIM?” she added casually. Duncan banged his head on a wall-mounted torch bracket as he turned his attention away from the lead and on to Perela to see her response.

She bit her lip to keep from laughing as he winced and rubbed his head.  “Of course, mother dragon…” she smiled, “but we mustn’t startle our prey needlessly.”

“AS YOU SAY, DEAREST.”

Elainia and Perela winked at each other. Duncan made a point of watching the floors, walls and ceilings with even greater scrutiny.

They turned a few more corners in a silence broken only by the shuffle of their feet.  Even Altana’s bombardment of the library had ceased.

“Do you think she has given up?” Elainia whispered to Tommy.

“I don’t think we’re going to be that lucky.” he whispered back.

“I can feel her pressing at my shields” Perela added. “I’m trying to feed her a false trail but… oh” The sorceress stumbled. “She almost got through that time. We have to pick up our pace. She… ahhh” Perela collapsed gasping.

“ALTANA HAS PENETRATED THE YOUNG ONE’S SHIELDS.” Kindra added for the group’s benefit as Duncan rushed to her side.

“That’s it.  The gig is up. Now it’s a foot race.  Kindra, the hell with staying underground.  Show me the fastest way to the Hall of Mirrors!” Duncan ordered. As if to punctuate his request, the hallway shook with a deafening roar as Altana resumed her attack with a newly acquired focus.

“It… it doesn’t matter.” Perela stammered as she got to her feet with Duncan’s gentle assistance. “We’re here.” She indicated an ornate double door, virtually identical to scores of other ornate doors they had already passed on their wild trip through the bowels of the library.

“It’s locked…” Tommy said as he tried to pull open the doubled doors.

“Oh, what a fine thief you are!” Elainia responded.

Perela, smiling wanly, waved an open palm in a shimmering arc in front of the doors. They opened silently.

“Boy I wish I could do that…” the young thief muttered with longing under his breath.

“I’m sure you do.” Duncan said with a friendly pat on the shoulder as he pushed past and into the room. He held his sword at the ready and scanned the room for danger.  It seemed empty except for a door at the opposite end of the room. The door was open and a figure holding a sword was entering the room. Duncan tensed and then relaxed as more figures crowded about the first.  He was looking at a reflection of himself.  The entire wall was one great mirror.

It wasn’t until they were all in the room, that Duncan realized there was a problem with the reflection. There were two Perelas. Quickly turning about the room he confirmed the physical presence of only one. He was about to say something when the second Perela, the one in the mirror spoke.

“Well sister dearest, we meet again.”  Altana said with false sweetness. A murderous smile playing over her lips. It was similar to the one found on a spider when a fly gets entangled in its web.

“You are no sister of mine.” Perela said calmly.

“Oh no.” Altana said with an icy drawl. “I am so much more than that.  Cast off to be sure, but so much more than just a sister. Have you told your lover who and what I am?  Shall I do it for you now?”

“Do as you please.” Perela slowly separated herself from the rest of the group, putting some small measure of distance between herself and them. “We have no secrets between us.” she continued. “But be quick about it, we don’t have time for idle conversation.”

Altana’s face lit up. A scar on the left cheek was now much more pronounced. “Time, dearest sister, is the one thing you have plenty of.”

“What does she mean?” Elainia whispered.

As if to answer, Altana raised her left hand and a glowing nimbus formed in the cup of her palm.

Quickly Perela shifted her shields. They had been completely surrounding the group. Now she moved them forward to form a nearly impenetrable barrier between her friends and the front of the mirror.

Altana smiled. On Perela such a smile would be a thing of beauty. On Altana it was foul and sickening. The nimbus disappeared. What followed was a deafening roar that staggered the small group. A cloud dust and rubble spewed through the door behind them.

“She’s collapsed the corridor.” Duncan confirmed.

“We’re trapped!” Tommy added while helping Elainia stand.

Perela felt foolish. She had been manipulated into permitting this to happen. She needed to think and to have both her hands free. She gently placed the cat on the ground. It circled behind her and darted under the hem of her dress, only just poking its small head out from under the cloth to watch.

“Elainia, child, come here.”  Perela took the gem out of a blouse pocket and handed it to the young girl. “It would probably be better if you were to keep this one safe.”

Elainia’s eyes went wide as she cupped the warm gem in her hands. “I will.” she managed to whisper.

Perela now turned her attention back to Altana and the mirror. Her self-proclaimed sister was weaving an intricate pattern in the air with her hands. Slowly, a glowing miniature replica of the hall of mirrors was forming.

“If that’s what I think it is, this isn’t good.” Duncan commented dryly while holding his sword as shield against the increasing brightness.

“It’s not good.” Perela agreed.  “I’ll do what I can but in the end I’m not sure it will be enough.”

“What does that mean?” Tommy asked nervously.

“It means we’re in trouble.” Duncan answered. “We should bunch together.  Perela’s our only defense here.  We should give her as small an area to protect as possible.”

Thank you dearest.

“Is there anything we can do to help you?” Duncan asked out loud.

“I wish you could” Perela said.  Then as an after thought, “I could use some advice from the mother dragon if she’s willing.”

“YOU’VE ALWAYS HAD THE STRENGTH TO BE VICTORIOUS, DAUGHTER, BUT PERHAPS NOT THE BELIEF IN YOURSELF.  I WILL TRY TO FIND A WAY TO HELP YOU BUT I NEED TO TALK WITH A FRIEND FIRST.”

Be quick Perela prayed silently. Altana’s replica was fast nearing completion.

No sooner had the thought completed in Perela’s mind then with a great flourish, Altana swept her arm down in one final grand gesture. A ball of pure fire erupted from her hand and crashed into the replica. As the fire engulfed the model a massive wave of heat emanated from the mirror.

Perela quickly throw up her shields to protect the entire group. “She’s found a way to attack us from all sides at once!” Perela screamed over the escalating din.

“Can we attack her?” Duncan yelled.

“We could if I knew where she was and was given the time to create an replicate like she has.”

“I have the feeling she’s not going to let us do that!” Tommy shouted.

Altana pointed a finger at them through the mirror. A blue beam shot from its tip straight at Perela’s group. When the beam struck Perela’s shields it was like the mirror didn’t even stand between them. She staggered under the force of the blow.  Her shields started to falter but she reinforced them from hidden reserves -- reserves she was never truly sure she possessed until she actually needed them.

Altana raised an eyebrow. “Very good sister.  Shall we make this more interesting?”

Altana swept her right hand in an underhanded pitching motion with her palm up.

The ground shook violently under Perela’s feet. She started to lose her grip on her shields and knew she was just moments from losing this battle. With a great rumble she was knocked off her feet. In the corner of her mind she was fascinated that the mirror could withstand such abuse and still survive.  She wished she could be as strong.  Her hold on her shields finally failed and she shot Duncan a final “I love you” thought.

Altana screamed in rage and indignation. At first, Perela thought this was strange, considering Altana had all but won. It was then that she noticed that Elainia, alone of their group, had maintained her footing.  More than that, she was actually attacking Altana!

She had the gem clasped between the palms of both hands and raised high above her head.  A beam of stunning white light shot from the gem, through the mirror and straight into Altana.

Reeling under the unexpected assault, Altana responded by sending a quick pulse of energy directly into a wall support next to Elainia before vanishing.  The wall collapsed. Perela quickly gathered her fragmented shields and protected the other members of her group but she was unable to reach Elainia in time with her shields.

A small cobble stone struck Elainia’s arm and the gem went flying.  It crashed into the back wall and shattered into three pieces – one large and two small.

Perela’s heart slammed to a stop as she realized in that moment that a friend had died.

Elainia, or Kindra, as Perela now suspected screamed in rage and blasted Altana with a bolt of energy that seemed to emanate from every fiber of her body. It was a massive bolt but as quickly as it had been spawned, it dissipated. The mirror was dark.  Altana was nowhere to be seen and the room they were in was cooling and silent…  Silent… save for the gentle sobs of a now quite human Kindra.

Chapter Twenty One - A King’s Mistake

“Life is full of mistakes. The trick is to live through them. The talent is to learn from them.” – Veirsha Merrendi

Grim sipped slowly from the mug of hot spiced wine. It was customary to offer such to itinerant priests and even though his host was well aware of his and Gawin’s true identities, it was still important to maintain the ruse.

The big knight, now king, turned to look briefly at young Gawin.  Both he and the engineer were garbed in the same flowing brown robes of traveling men of God.  Gawin’s hood covered hair recently dyed brown by one of Trevor McGill’s cooks.

The other man in the room coughed politely to get their attention as the last tent flap closed behind the servants that had brought the wine.

“Well met, General T’Garon.” Grim said formally.

“Well met indeed.” The other man answered.  He paused to sip his wine, obviously gathering his thoughts. “My second will join us shortly.” As if on cue, Timothy Stanton poked his head through the flap of the tent. “Come on in Reed.” T’Garon beckoned. The thin man entered and seated himself next to his commanding officer. “Allow me to introduce our brothers of the cloth.” The general began.

“Thomas GrimHolden and his charge, reputedly one of the finest young engineers in all of Pershara, Gawin Al’Dap, I believe.” Timothy finished smoothly.

“Right on all counts.” Grim acknowledged with a grin and a fatherly pat on the back for his embarrassed companion. “Good to see you again Reed.”

“And good to see you again, my friend.” The thin man answered. “I hope at the end of the day I can still call you that.”

Grim nodded gravely.

“So that neatly brings us to the crux of the matter.” General T’Garon leaned forward on his desk. “We have a problem between us, you and I.” T’Garon motioned with one casual finger between Grim and himself.

“We have a kingdom with too many kings.” GrimHolden concurred.

“You cannot truly claim the title without the support of the ruling council.” T’Garon observed.

“True, but then neither can Raymond without the support of the Archbishop.” the big knight responded.

“Raymond has been acting as the de facto King for sixteen years.”

“Only by virtue of an act of murder...” Grim shifted his seat to look the general directly in the eye. “Can you honestly say he has been a good king?”

“No.  I wish with all my heart and soul that I could… but I cannot.” T’Garon conceded. “Still, I have my oath and I will not be an oath breaker.”

“I can absolve you of that.” GrimHolden offered.

“I wish it were that simple my friend.  We must find a way around our impasse.”

“We have our respective armies.  The only problem is our forces are roughly equal.”

T’Garon smiled wanly. “Even with your ruse -- and might I add the dye on that pigeon was a work of art – no even with your ruse, I was only able to divert about a thousand men to Grinley. I out number you three to two… and I have more mounts”

Now it was Grim’s turn to smile. “I added three hundred highly trained mounted knights two days ago.”

T’Garon turned to look at his second. Timothy thought for a moment and said “I suppose they could have walked them in on the beach during low tide and under the cover of dark.”

“Just so.” T’Garon agreed when he saw GrimHolden’s smile. “And with the high tide the beach is washed clean of tracks.  Well enough then, I concede our forces are matched.”

“So that leaves us with two kings, neither of which has a full and proper claim to the throne and two armies, too evenly matched to call.”

“It comes down to your heart.” Gawin piped in. “What does your heart tell you would be better for Pershara?”

“I agree with the engineer.” Timothy added. “In the absence of any clear direction, it comes down to a matter of the heart.”

General T’Garon smiled deeply and stood. “Then it’s settled…” He took a step forward and knelt on one knee at GrimHolden’s feet. “My Liege, you truly deserve my loyalty but I am honor-bound.  I cannot swear my fealty to you while your uncle still lives, but let it be known that I do not intend to be an encumbrance to you and your just cause.”

“You have always been a man of absolute honor.” GrimHolden said kindly while helping the man to his feet again.

“A fact that evil men have used as a weapon against me.” He paused to look GrimHolden straight in the eye. “But no longer!”  He shifted his stance and looked away as if embarrassed.  “I have heard reports… reports from men I trust... regarding atrocities committed against men of the cloth in Vandenburg.  These were never my orders.”

“I know you far too well to ever have thought they were.” GrimHolden said with conviction.

The general nodded and turned to Stanton. “Timothy.”

“Sir?”

“I, in the presence of these witnesses, do hereby promote you to the rank of General with all the responsibilities and privileges of that rank.  Further, I now step-down as general of the King’s Army and resign my commission.” He grinned at the younger officer. “You are now in command.”

“Sir, General T’Garon, I…” the thin man stammered.

“Just salute and say ‘Yes Sir.’” T’Garon said with a smile.

“Sir, Yes Sir.” General Stanton stood to shake his former commander’s hand. “Sir, I’m not typically at a loss for words but you’ve managed to catch me off guard.”

“It’s a fair trade Tim. Really it is.” T’Garon said warmly. “I’ve just preserved my honor and saved several hundred lives that would be best spent, if need be, in the service of Pershara and not a self-serving despot like Raymond. Isn’t all that worth one career?”

“I could wish to bear this sacrifice for you.” the Reed said sternly.

“But you cannot my friend, so my solution stands.”

“Sir, I would be honored if you would consent to act as a special advisor on my staff.”

T’Garon grinned. “I think I can fight my way through my ethical morass and do that.”

The former general shifted his gaze to GrimHolden and his young companion. The two had been silent during the exchange between the two officers… content to see how things played out.

“My first advice to the general would be to decide whose side his army fights on.”

Now it was Stanton’s turn to grin. “I think it’s fair to say we stand with King Thomas GrimHolden.”

The newly minted king placed a massive hand on the thin man’s shoulder. “I’d say at the end of the day we still call each other friend after all.”

Gawin stepped forward. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news but we really need to be heading back to Vandenberg. I’d hate to see our new alliance shattered by an ill-timed rescue attempt because we were late.”

***

T’nere spat.  He was livid. He pranced his horse in a tight circle that neatly mirrored the state of his mind.  He replayed the same set of memories again and again.  With each replay his fury grew.

He and his command were ordered to accompany a dribbling fool of a major named Manning on a mission to the southern island of Grinley.  Any idiot could see that the priority threat to the kingdom was festering in Vandenburg and yet his orders were to march south.  Vandenburg held the promise of glories in battle that he craved and needed for promotion. The south held few battles and little glory; but more importantly, the girl his mistress desired was in Vandenburg.

T’nere fingered a gold coin in his left pocket. He traced the runes etched on its face.  Should he use it to call Altana?  What would he say to her? Help me mistress?  I’m being sent on a fool’s errand.

How fitting, she would reply.

No, he grimaced… the Dark Lord helps those who help themselves.  He pulled the coin from its hiding place absently turning it over between his thumb and forefinger. He needed to take action.  What action, he was not sure ‑ but action none the less.

His horse kicked a stone and broke its gate. He dropped the coin while catching himself.

“Damn horse.” He swore under his breath as he dismounted to retrieve the talisman. While on the ground, he heard voices approaching. He grabbed the coin and backed his horse into the thick underbrush.  One rarely knew what opportunities lay in the careless mutterings of the common soldier.  T’nere was not one to turn down a chance to lend an ear to such opportunity.

When Thomas GrimHolden and a lanky servant rounded the bend, T’nere had to bite his lip to avoid giving a start.  He could not believe his luck.  His mistress would be pleased.  She had an extensive list of enemies but T’nere knew, no matter how long the list grew, this man would always be near the top of it.

He tightened his grip on the rune-laden coin and muttered a prayer of summoning.  He felt the coin grow warm in his hand and a subtle pressure build at the base of his neck. Too late he remembered Monastic knights were often trained in the ways of magic and would almost certainly sense the call to his mistress. He looked up from the coin and saw the big man raise a hand to halt the servant, all the while staring directly at the bushes where T’nere hid.

T’nere smiled, So much the better. He stepped forward drawing his sword as left the concealment of the bushes.

“Greetings traitor.” The rakish captain spat.

Brief confusion then recognition flitted across GrimHolden’s face. “Well met captain.” The knight said with a wary nod of his head.  “I trust your time at church has been more productive of late.”

“Hardly.” T’nere whispered through clenched teeth.  “Your interference saw to that.”

“Pity, I suspect your lady friend is not the forgiving sort.” Grim drew his own sword.

“You can ask her yourself,” The captain said as he advanced with a flourish of his sword “,as she pulls your intestines from your gut, inch by miserable inch.”

“If that’s an invitation to visit with your mistress, you’ll forgive me if I decline.” The knight answered as he pulled back on the reins of his horse to both avoid the captain’s blade and to give himself room to dismount.

“Oh but I insist.” T’nere answered with a smile, moving himself between the knight and his servant.

Too late GrimHolden realized what the captain was up to. He was about to tell Gawin to move back when T’nere neatly eviscerated the lanky man’s mount with a cruel slash to the horse’s midriff. The animal screamed in anguish and tossed its rider. Gawin landed with a deafening crunch. His right leg bend in a way God never intended.

“Bastard.” GrimHolden spat as he slid off his horse.

“Oh do leave dear old mother out of this.” T’nere sang back. He was clearly warming up to the confrontation. “By the way, did I mention the poison on my blade?” He inched closer to the moaning Gawin.

GrimHolden circled in to protect his friend. Their blades clashed. Grim parried a quick thrust to his right and countered with a leg sweep followed with a full arm swing-about of his own sword. The rakish captain was caught off-guard for the second maneuver and fell back a step. The knight pressed his advantage with a reverse half sweep that was designed to disarm his opponent. T’nere stared in disbelief as his sword went flying.

It was then that GrimHolden felt the mounting pressure at the base of his neck. He turned his head in time to see a familiar woman, in tight fitting black leather, raise a hand to point at him. He remembered a flash of brilliant pain coursing his body then his world went black. The last sound he heard was Gawin’s scream as T’nere’s poisoned blade finally found its mark.

Chapter Twenty Two – Trial

The journey east to the shores of the Calipsian Sea was uneventful and mercifully quick - given the melancholy that had gripped the group since the Hall of Mirrors. Although Kindra now wore the shell that had been Elainia’s body and had incorporated the remaining portions of Elainia’s mind and spirit into her own, much that had been unique to Elainia was gone. Only time would tell how much… or how little of Jewel’s childhood friend remained.  Kindra had the presence of mind to adopt an appearance she had worn many years ago.  Perela was amazed how much mother and daughter resembled each other. She wondered if anyone else would see the connection to Jewel.

The question was answered as the group pulled within half an hours ride to Vandenburg.  Perela and Kindra had spent much of the trip in quiet conversation. This had the effect of isolating the two women. The thief and knight were clearly uncomfortable with their new companion.  Perela suspected the reason for their discomfort was somewhat different.

Tommy had grown intensely fond of the younger Elainia. Romance had been a forgone conclusion. Kindra’s presence was an uncomfortable reminder of what was lost. The source of Duncan’s discomfort was another matter. His thoughts were of a night, not quite twenty years ago; a night of fire, smoke and misery; a night when a kingdom had been lost; a night when two true and noble friends had been lost. One was Grim’s brother, the king.  The other was a young woman of uncommon beauty, the queen.  The woman who now rode with them could have been twin sister to that queen… if his suspicions were correct… she was the queen… or at least her essence.

Kindra dropped back to ride next to Tommy at Perela’s urging. She held the cat that had accompanied them in the great library. By general agreement, they had started to call it “Rat” as that was what the animal truly thought itself to be.

Duncan rode forward to talk with the woman he was coming to realize was the center of his life.  Elainia’s death only served to remind the big knight of what he had to lose. As he reined up beside Perela, he turned in his saddle to glance back at the young thief and the mother dragon.  They were engaged in what must have been polite but uncomfortable small talk.

“What’s the matter, dearest?” Perela said out loud, not wanting to invade his thoughts.

He turned and faced forward so he could look at his bride to be – the thought surprised him but then he recognized its inevitability and accepted it with a sense of satisfaction.

“Dearest?” Perela repeated.

He smiled and answered mentally, wanting to share their special intimacy. Who said anything was wrong?

Now it was her turn to smile as she entered the warmth of his mind. I know you far too well not to recognize suspicion, concern and even fear.

There’s no fear in my mind! –Unless it’s of this woman who intends to marry me.

If that’s a proposal I accept. Perela answered quickly.

“Oh no! You’re not going to get off that easily.  When I ask, it’s going to be on bent knee with a rose in one hand and a ring in the other!”

“You’re speaking out loud dearest.” Perela said hiding a smile behind a hand.

“Wha…” A quick glance back confirmed his worst fears.  Kindra was blushing and Tommy had a grin that threatened to split his face.

“I believe there are flower merchants in Vandenburg.” Perela teased letting her hand fall to the reigns.

“Yes dear.” Duncan swallowed once but managed a smile.

Somehow I suspect a marriage proposal is not what you were intending to talk about. Perela continued mentally.

Duncan’s demeanor changed as he straightened in his saddle. Kindra’s going to raise some eyebrows when we get to Vandenburg.

Because we return with her and not Elainia?  Or because she looks like the queen?

It’s more than that.  I knew the queen… I’ve come to know Kindra.  They are one in the same.

Does this anger you?

Duncan looked startled. Of course not! She was… is a fine woman.

Yes.  Perela agreed.

What does this mean for Jewel?  The resemblance is striking.  Duncan thought to her with concern.

It means she comes by her red hair honestly.

“Dragon born” Duncan whispered.

“It means,” Perela continued aloud, but softly. “that Jewel could be, and very likely is, the most powerful magic user on the planet.”

“Aside from Kindra.” Duncan added.

Perela glanced back at the mother dragon who was actively engaged in animated discussion with the young thief. She turned her gaze forward and smiled briefly. “You really don’t understand the sacrifice she made do you?”

“What do you mean?”

Perela looked at the man who would be her husband. “When she was fighting Altana she expended most of her dragon essence. She was quite literally sacrificing everything she was, in an attempt to save us.”

“When the gem was damaged…” Duncan started as understanding finally came to him.

“When the gem was damaged,” Perela continued “Kindra had no place to return to and no one to replace her in the body she inhabited. Elainia ended up making the sacrifice she had expected to make. It’s a miracle that even a portion of Elainia survived.”

“And at this point, she has no more ability than Elainia had to use magic?” the knight prompted.

“Let us say she has little more potential than Elainia. She has all the knowledge of a mother dragon and that alone makes her a force to be reckoned with – even if she has little power of her own. For now, the complete Kindra persona holds dominance. Over time, as the Elainia persona heals, we should see more of her personality emerge. The combined person may well have abilities that neither had on their own.”

Duncan gnawed on that as he scanned the road ahead. The pavement showed signs of considerable wear.  They were nearing the city. “So how did the king end up marrying a dragon?”

“I’m not sure he knew. Not that it mattered. She loved him and he loved her.”

“True enough” Duncan agreed. “We’re still faced with the problem of Kindra’s appearance.”

“Perhaps not dearest. Most of those who knew her are dead, killed in the coup. In any case, I’ll ask her to shift back toward her Elainia form in a few days.”

Duncan fell silent for a few moments. He let his mind chew on what had just been said. A warm easterly gust carried with it the salty tang of the ocean. A pair of sea gulls paced the small group briefly before banking off in search of better thermals. The road widened and the others in the group inched their mounts forward so they were riding four abreast with the knight in the middle.

Duncan turned slightly so he could look at Kindra. “Mother dragon…” he began.

Kindra interrupted him. “Now that we are approaching the city, perhaps it would be better if the nature of my ancestors were to remain our secret.”

Duncan smiled in understanding. “Very well, Kindra then.” He cleared his throat and continued. “How is it that you came to be in that gem and in our young friend’s possession?”

Kindra stiffened and bit her lip as if the memory was painful. When she looked up at the knight there was a tear in her eye. When he started to apologize for bringing up the question she raised a hand to stop him.

“You have a need to know and the question is a fair one.” She looked down at her hands holding the reins of her mount for a moment before continuing. “When a dragon gives birth she is in her most vulnerable state. Our enemies knew this and planned their attack accordingly. I was able to protect our daughter until Grim could rescue her; but I couldn’t do anything for my husband or myself. The king died by the  hand of a man we believed was his most trusted personal guard. I was mortally wounded by the same blade that killed him.  Before the end, I was able to transfer my soul to a gem called the ‘Dragon’s Eye’.  I had hoped to rejoin my daughter; but I needed help getting out of Pershara.” She turned to face Tommy.

The younger man smiled wanly and continued for her. “Who better to find and carry away a gem then a thief?  Besides, nobody knows the inside of walls in that castle better than I do.”

“I needed to consult the prophesies at the great library of Thioden.  But I became trapped in the library when Altana surprised us. Tommy hid me in a dumb-waiter shaft to protect me.”

“And there you stayed, slowly training the rats into your eyes, ears and hands until we came along” Duncan finished.

“I had hoped Grim would come looking for me sooner.  I tried to tell him what I was intending to do but I don’t think I make myself clear.”

Perela giggled.

“Why are you laughing daughter?”

“Your little girl was named ‘Jewel’ – I believe our unflappable knight misunderstood what you were trying to tell him.  He thought you were naming the child!”

Now it was Duncan and Tommy’s turn to join the laughter. Kindra for her part looked befuddled. “That oaf named my child Jewel?”

“It’s a lovely name and she is a lovely young lady. You’ll meet her soon.” Perela added.

“She’s here?” Kindra asked excitedly.

“In the city.” Duncan confirmed.

Kindra reined in her mount.  The horse began to shuffle its hoofs in place as the mother dragon refused to move forward.Perela and the others pulled up to wait for her.  When it became clear she was not coming, Perela backed her mount gracefully until she was seated beside Kindra.  There was a tear in the mother dragon’s eye and her lips trembled. “What do I say to her?  How can I explain all these years?”

Perela placed a reassuring hand on her friend’s knee.

Kindra glanced at her before looking down at her mount’s mane. “Will she even want to see or talk to me?” Kindra sobbed lightly.

“Meet her… See her…  Let these things work themselves out.” Perela said firmly. “Her uncle raised her as his own daughter.  Trust me when I say a more loving father no daughter ever had.”

Perela gently grasped Kindra’s hands in her own. “Did she miss having a mother to grow up with?” Perela caught the other woman’s gaze and looked her straight in the eye. “Probably… But she absolutely did not lack for a caring and nurturing family. You need to give the man who raised her credit for doing a good job and raising a daughter of exceptional character and strength. Give your daughter a chance to show you what she’s made of.  I think you’ll be surprised and pleased.”

Kindra looked into the other woman’s eyes, looking for and finding conviction behind what she said. “I believe you” the mother dragon said finely in a soft whisper. “But it will be hard.”

“Nothing worth having in this world comes without effort.  You should understand that Elainia is her best friend. If you can coax that part of your new persona forward and help her see that her friend isn’t truly lost, then that will help both of them.”

Kindra nodded and Perela led both mounts forward to join the men. No one talked during the remaining ride into the holy city of Vandenburg.

Chapter Twenty Three- A Dark Pit

Slowly consciousness returned to GrimHolden. He became aware of drums beating in the distance. They grew steadily louder until the noise actually became painful. After a few moments he realized he was listening to his own heartbeat.

He dared to open his eyes and immediately regretted the decision as sharp needles of pain coursed through his ill-treated head.

He noted absently that his hands and feet were bound individually in wide leather cuffs that would not have been uncomfortable had they not been used to suspend him off the ground.

His clothes had been removed for the most part, save a loincloth. He grew cold as a slight breeze entered the room from an archery slit in the stone wall.

He realized he must be in an upper level of a fort or castle.  Which one and why? Those were the questions he had to answer. Unfortunately, those answers were not readily forthcoming.

He could see an elaborate gearing mechanism about five feet above his head.  It seemed to be linked to a similar mechanism an equal distance below his feet. Directly in front of him was a platform that rose so that a person standing on it would be at eye level with anyone suspended in between the two sets of gears.  On the platform, there were a series of levers and actuator wheels. These appeared similar to those used to control the operation of drawbridges.

On the far side of the platform was a solid-looking wood door. He was just starting to think about how he might get himself over to that door when it opened soundlessly on well-oiled hinges.

“I see you are admiring the furnishings in my favorite room.” A dark haired woman purred as she entered the chamber. Grim noted that she was curvaceous and extremely attractive. She wore a skin-tight black leather outfit that did little to hide her physical attributes. He found his mind going places he wished it didn’t. The woman seemed to note the effect she had on him with a coy smile of appreciation as she climbed the last few steps of the platform. “Well, my pet, you and I are going to have so much fun together.”

“And you would be?” GrimHolden prompted.

“Oh how very rude of me!” the woman answered as she adjusted a lever and turned a wheel. Her actions had the effect of moving Grim closer to the platform.

“I’m Perela’s sister. Her better half you might say.” The woman ran a gloved leather hand over the knight’s thigh. “My name is Altana, but you may call me mistress.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that Altana.” GrimHolden said as she moved her caressing higher.

The woman laughed. It was a horrific sound that sent a chill through GrimHolden’s spine. The big knight noticed the scar on the woman’s cheek. It marred her exterior beauty almost as surely as her laugh marred her soul.

“You’ll find that ‘What you wish’ means very little to me.” To punctuate her point, she drove a knee sharply into his groin.

The bindings on his arms and legs prevented him from doubling over.

“What is it you want?” He moaned.

“Want? Oh, very little actually.” The woman purred. “I want to laugh and play and love. Just like any other little girl.” She giggled as she ran a hand along his thigh again. This time she sent a surge of magic through her fingertips that replaced the pain with pleasure. The knight gasped at this unexpected reversal.

Altana stepped far enough away from the knight so that he was afforded a full view. She reached across herself and slowly, provocatively, began to remove her leather vestments - one piece at a time. When she was done she was left wearing little more than the knight.

The knight tried to look elsewhere. Anywhere else. “What is it you want?” He asked a second time.

“MISTRESS! ‘What is it you want MISTRESS?’” Altana corrected sharply while stamping a long and deeply tanned leg. She whirled and offered him a view of her equally enticing backside.  “You’ll find I have very little patience for bad manners.” She opened the top drawer in the standing chest Grim had noticed earlier.  In it Grim could see a collection of finely crafted surgical tools including drills, clamps, blades and things for which he could imagine no sane purpose. “I want only three things from you.” Altana said in a dry and bitter tone. “I want to be your Queen… I want you to father my son… a child of prophesy.” While she was speaking she casually selected an ordinary looking scalpel from the velvet-lined tray. “…And I want you to suffer unimaginable pain for a very, very long time.” She turned and faced him, blade in hand. Her scowl shifted to a smile.

“But for now lover… now it is time to play.”

***

Gawin heard a pounding in the distance. It was dark and he was confused.  Mentally, he knew he was confused but that knowledge did little to alleviate the condition.

The noise was regular and after a few minutes he realized it was vaguely painful.  He had a feeling he was listening to his own heart.  As he was pondering this latest revelation, a sudden agony flamed through his leg and evaporated the darkness like water sizzling off a hot grill. Somewhere along the line he realized he was screaming.

“Stop!  You’re hurting him!” Gawin recognized Jewel’s voice, shrill with sympathy pain for what he was enduring.

“It can’t be helped, daughter.  The bone must be set to heal properly.” A calm voice replied.

***

Gawin woke again… he hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep but the lighting seemed different and the sounds in the room were more hushed.  His throat was dry. His mouth had obviously been open while he slept. He heard a woman whispering in the background.  This was a voice he did not recognize.  He closed his mouth. The pain he had felt before seemed to have stopped for the moment. He took a chance and cracked his eyes. The light was bright and he had to squint.

He had a brief glimpse of Jewel crying before she saw him looking and rushed to bury her face in his. The kiss was as passionate a kiss as could be mustered by a girl racked by sobs of joy.  He was in danger of passing out again when she finally allowed him to draw another breath.

“Don’t cry.” Was all he could say.

She sniffed back a tear and punched him gently on the shoulder. The action startled Gawin. “Don’t you dare tell me not to cry – you big lummox!” She sobbed. She wiped a wet eye with a well-used handkerchief.

“You gave us quite a scare, young man.”  The speaker was a young woman who looked vaguely familiar. With a start he realized she looked like Jewel but different – a sister maybe.  “You’ve been out of sorts for almost a week. You must be hungry”

Gawin’s mind fought to wrap itself around what he was hearing and seeing…

Sensing his confusion, Jewel came to his rescue with an introduction. “Gawin, this is Kindra – my mother. Mother, this is Gawin my fiancé.”

“Fiancé?” Gawin mumbled cautiously.

“That promise locket in Riverdale was meant for me – was it not?” She challenged.

“Yes.” He admitted meekly.

“Then I accept. We’re engaged and that’s the end of it.” Her tone challenged him to say anything to contradict the statement. Only a stupid fool would do that. Gawin was not a stupid fool. Only a fool in love.

“We’re engaged.” He conceded smartly with a smile.  His gaze shifted to Kindra. “Your mother?”

Jewel smiled and looked at the woman warmly.  “It’s a long story, but yes she is my mother and…” She paused.

“…and what remains of a dear friend.” Kindra offered.

“…a friend” Jewel agreed. There was sadness to her voice that bespoke of things unsaid. A knock on the door to the bed chamber interrupted the awkward moment.

“Come.” Kindra said with an air of authority.

The door opened and a woman Gawin knew immediately was Perela entered. Bendon had warned the group that they might not recognize her when they saw her next but Gawin had no trouble identifying the now much younger and thinner looking woman.  Perela, like Bendon, had always seemed strangely familiar to the young engineer – like family.  He suspected it was because they wanted it that way.  They were magic users after all.

“Done dealing at death’s door are we now?” Perela smiled.

“He’ll live this time.” Kindra confirmed. “The poison in his system was far worse than the broken bones.”

“Poison?” Gawin asked before remembering. “Grim!  What happened to Grim?” He asked suddenly. Perela moved into the small room and was replaced at the door by DeAnder Papus and Trevor McGill.

“We were hoping you could shed some light on that my friend” Trevor said not unkindly.

***

The blinding pain faded. The pressure at the back of her neck let up. Trembling, Kairevasigh realized three things. One, she was no longer in the library. Two, where ever she was, it was bright. Finally, she was not alone. Kair hesitantly opened her eyes. She was outside laying face down on a patch of rusty red dirt. The wind rustled through green grass. Which was weird… grass in Sheyestiva did not grow green like this. It grew a light grayish blue-purple color. And very high, usually over a man’s head. The grass she was staring at was only a foot high. And green.

The soldiers said Marlhema was green like this. Kairevasigh thought to herself. The pain that had been in her limbs was fading away. She moved, pulling her arms under herself.

“Sétsh’ta!” Voices kept saying. A closer voice spoke above her with a command. “Tellir’yenal.” She couldn’t make out what was said, but the tone was enough. Very slowly, Kair lifted her head and found herself nose to point with a sword.

It was black, which she was used to seeing,  but unlike those, this one had a pulsating blue-silver core. As close as she was, she could see pulses of the light swirl amidst the black.  It was pretty, but it was still a sword and its lethal blade was pointing at her. Kair looked past the blade all the way up to the face of the man. An auburn mane framed his face. Blue, silver and black veined eyes met hers. A russet eyebrow arched quizzically.

He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. So she opened her mouth and said the first thing that came up: “Where am I?”

Chapter Twenty Four- Of What Could Be

The next morning Gawin was feeling much better.  Jewel’s mother was an accomplished healer and the bones in his leg were already well knitted.  In a day or so with her magical administrations he would be as good as new.  For the moment he used his staff as a cane.  Bendon had shown him how to cast a spell to shorten it.  He had been shocked how easy it was to master.  He had always assumed he had no talent for magic.  Bendon seemed to think this was funny.

For the moment the cane tapped a regular beat as Gawin shuffled down the corridor towards the meeting chamber where, barely a week ago, DeAnder Papus had been elected Archbishop by the Counsel of Bishops and where scant moments later Thomas Holden had been forgiven his monastic vows and made King of Pershara. It was for the sake of that very same king that DeAnder had called the current gathering together.

Gawin’s cane slipped on the slightly uneven cobble stones in the hall. He winced as he put more weight on his bad leg then was wise. Jewel, whose arm encircled his waist, tightened her grip. He smiled. “Remind me to slip more often.”

“Beast!” She teased as she squeezed him again.

He kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” she echoed back. “Promise me you’ll ask His Holiness today.”

“I will.  Are you sure you don’t want to wait?” He said as they continued their slow walk.

“If you’re asking me if I would prefer that Uncle Grim be here to give me away; you’re absolutely right. I would. But I will not risk losing both.  He’ll understand.”

“He’s not lost.”   Bendon said… “History has a way of repeating itself – especially when it hasn’t happened yet.” he added with a wink and a grin.

Jewel paused and Gawin looked down at her. Her fire red hair hung low over gently tanned shoulders. She had taken to wearing gowns suited for ladies of the court.  He had to admit, she looked every bit the part in the emerald green dress she wore now. Sometimes green doesn’t normally work for redheads; but on her, the combination looks great he thought. She sensed his attention and smiled gently. Gawin suspected the smile was more an attempt to hide the moistness beginning to swell in her eyes.  She was putting on a brave front, but Gawin knew she feared greatly for the man who had been her father.

“He’s not lost and we will find him.” Gawin continued in a firm and resolute voice.

“I know.” she whispered back.

They had finally arrived at the doors that opened onto the Great Hall and the meeting chamber just beyond.  Gawin could see many of the others were already seated.  DeAnder Papus was at the head of the large marble table. Trevor McGill, General Stanton and Duncan were on his right. Perela, Kindra and Bendon were on his left. Tommy ‘T’ was just pulling out a chair for Kindra.

Gawin tried to do the same for Jewel. She smiled and shook her head. “Sit before you fall.”

Gawin winced. “Yes dear”

Kindra nodded approvingly at Jewel and Gawin.

Jewel responded to her with a simple “It’s all a matter of getting them properly trained.”

Kindra echoed Gawin’s “Yes dear” with a smile.

DeAnder Papus rang a small bell three times, and a pair of novitiates closed the massive doors to the hall.  The meeting had begun. He began with a short prayer asking God to guide those in this room that they might be motivated by justice, mercy and the hand of God in all things. When at last he concluded with an “amen”, the meeting was turned over to the others.  Talk immediately turned to GrimHolden.

“It’s clear.” Duncan said “based on what young Gawin was able to tell us yesterday, that Altana captured him.”

General Stanton leaned forward on the table. “The question is why and is he still alive?” Jewel stiffened.

Bendon spoke up. “Oh he’s alive; At least for the next nine to ten months. As to why, I suspect it was for the same reason Jewel was attacked twice by the dark lords.”

“You think it’s the Prophesy?  Perela asked.

“Almost certainly.” The bearded wizard confirmed. Most of the faces around the table frowned in confusion.

“Explain.” Duncan prompted.

The old man rubbed the gray stubble on his chin. “Ah, to explain - How does one explain one’s life?” He paused. “Very well.” He waved his hand in a large circle over the dragon inlaid table. The inlay shimmered and disappeared only to coalesce as a series of semi-transparent columns in the center of the table. “These are the pillars outside the library here in Vandenburg.” He looked about the table. “You’ve all seen them. Yes?” They nodded and he continued. “On these pillars are etched the Prophesies of Jaitu Du Munde – The Way of the World – as it were.”

“Time and many a careless hand have worn those columns smooth.” Trevor observed.

“True enough.” Bendon agreed. “Kindra?”

The woman seated next to Tommy waved a hand in a casual arc in front of the columns on the table. “These have twins in the Wizard’s city of Thioden.” The columns glowed blue and runes appeared on each.

“What do they say?” Tommy asked.

“When the blood of Kings, Mages and Dragons mix in love and again in lust will the beginning meet the end. The Alpha and Omega will face the test of light verses dark and the stronger will prevail” Gawin translated the first column from old world Arathin.

Duncan shivered as a memory shifted. One of a fuzzy road and a man with strange eyes.

Something wrong? Perela’s mind caressed his. He met her gaze from across the table.

I…I don’t know.

“What does it mean?” DeAnder prompted, unaware of the discourse between Perela and Duncan.

“The rest of the columns describe an apocalyptic battle that is to occur between the armies of good and evil. Each is to be headed by a child born of a coupling of a King, a mage and a dragon. One will be the product of a loving relationship, the other a bastard son begotten by rape.” Bendon finished.

“How does this involve Jewel?” Gawin asked in a concerned voice.

“My daughter is the child of her father, a king and her mother… a dragon… the last dragon.” Kindra smiled at the startled look DeAnder, Trevor and General Stanton gave her.

“And should she marry and bear the child of a mage…” Gawin began.

“…Such a child would fulfill its portion of prophesy.” Perela finished looking at her father.

“And, by the same token, should she be captured and raped by a powerful mage – say a dark lord…” Duncan turned to look at the young woman, “she could just as easily bare a child that fulfilled the other half of the prophesy.”

“I think it important that our Lady Jewel seek a husband in all do haste.” DeAnder Papus spoke in a tone that bordered on a decree.

“With a potential mage of the highest standing.” Bendon agreed.

Gawin was crestfallen. He looked at the woman he had hoped to marry and saw an anguish to match his own. “I am no mage…” Gawin whispered in deep sorrow.

Bendon chose this moment to chuckle. “Believe me son; I know something of your future… or past… well never mind it gets confusing – trust me you’ll do just fine.”

Perela shot the old man a sharp look of warning.

“What?” Bendon protested. “I’m not telling him anything he won’t figure out for himself.” He looked back at the young engineer. “You have the makings of a fine mage.”

“I do?” Gawin asked dumbfounded.

“More to the point, you will.” Perela answered while giving her father a scathing look.  The old man responded by tracing a finger along the table’s outer edge and attempting to look the picture of absolute innocence.

“I assume such an arrangement is agreeable to the two young people involved?” DeAnder prompted.

“Oh yes!” Jewel and Gawin blurted in unison. Gawin followed up with a hug which Jewel returned.

“Not to spoil the moment, but how do Altana and Grim figure into this?” Duncan asked.

Perela looked troubled. “Altana means to fulfill the other half of the Prophesy.”

“How?”

“She is the daughter of my father, a mage…”

“Of some consequence.” Bendon added.

“To be seen.” Perela muttered before continuing in a louder voice, “And carries the blood of dragons from my mother’s side.”

“So if Thomas were to sire a son…” Trevor said.

“Such a son would fulfill the dark half.” Perela agreed.

“Well then we have no problem.” Duncan declared. “There’s no way Grim will willingly bed such a wench.”

Perela smiled kindly and patted Duncan’s hand. She spoke in a soft voice but the others had no difficulty hearing her words. “Grim need not be a willing partner. Women are not the only victims of rape. She is, after all, a magic user of the highest order.”

“How do we stop her?” Duncan said in a stone cold voice.

“I don’t believe we can.” Bendon interjected. “The best we can hope for is a rescue after the fact.”

“After the fact,” Duncan said dryly, “Grim will likely be dead.”

“I don’t think so.” Perela added thoughtfully. “I doubt she’ll risk killing him until after the pregnancy goes to term.”

“So we’ve got some time.” General Stanton said flatly.  “The fact remains that our King has been kidnapped and we have no idea where he is or how to find him.”

“He must be close.” Gawin answered. “He’s only been gone two days.”

Bendon shook his head. “Altana has runes of teleportation located throughout Pershara. She could be anywhere.”

“But if we were to locate him by a far seeing spell or something, you could teleport him out could you not?” Jewel pleaded.

“I’m sorry daughter.” Kindra said softly. “Even the great Zebendon cannot use a portal for which he has no key.”

“Then how do we get him back?” Jewel cried.

“Your thought about using a ‘Far Seeing’ spell was a good one.” Perela said kindly.

“We’re just going to have to use more conventionally means to get to him.” Gawin added with an air of determination.

“Well said lad. Well said.” It was Bendon who spoke.

“We’ll need something of the King’s in order to cast the spell.”

“Will this do?” Duncan asked. He was holding the small wooden cross Grim used for casting wards.

“Outstanding choice my boy. Outstanding.”

Duncan passed the small cross to DeAnder Papus, who kissed it and passed it on to Perela. Perela took the cross and immediately passed a hand over its surface.  This had the effect of causing a light blue shimmer. The cross turned silver.

“Ready.” she said.

Bendon took the cross back. “Jewel, as you are closest to our missing friend and Gawin because you saw him last, the two of you will help me focus the incantation.”  The three joined hands across the table. The cross, still glowing, lay in the circle formed by their arms. “Close your eyes. Think about your uncle. Try to picture his face. Try to hear his voice in your mind.” The glow of the cross increased as Bendon flowed mystical energies into it.

Jewel could hear a conversation in the distance - A muttering of words; not quite intelligible. The voices grew louder; the words clearer. Suddenly, in her mind’s eye, she was in a room with stone walls and light entered through narrow arrow slits in the walls. A gaunt man hung in chains. He was naked. The flesh of his back, arms, legs and chest flapped in bloody strips.  The wretched form sobbed weakly. It was plain to all he was dying.

A woman, who was Perela’s twin - Altana, dressed in form-fitting black leather, spoke to the man. She spoke of an unimaginable pain that she had borne because of him. She punctuated each sentence with a lash of a steel barbed whip. The man was beyond screaming. Amazingly, the woman clutched a suckling baby in her other arm.

Jewel’s back began to burn and she realized she was feeling some of the man’s pain.  He turned his head to look at his tormentor. The man was her uncle.

“No!” she cried.

The woman looked up and smiled. Hers was a look of evil incarnate. She spoke to the air as if speaking to spirits. “Well father, have you been peeking long enough?”

She turned and seemed to face Jewel directly. Her eyes burned into the young woman’s soul. Altana spat and waved her hand in a great arc. The spell broke with a force that threw the three in the meeting room back into their chairs. The cross was wooden once again.

Jewel began sobbing while a grim faced Gawin held her tight.

“Jewel.” Bendon said in a fatherly tone. “You saw the future… a future that may never come to pass.”

Episode One Ends Here… Please continue to enjoy a preview of Episode Two

The Ways of Mages #2

Chapter One – The Road West

The road west from Vandenburg was a welcome improvement over the Cyprus trails they had traveled from the south Jewel thought.  Her horse plodded gently alongside that of her new husband, Gawin Al’Dap. She smiled at the thought. The smile turned into a yawn. It had been a late night.

The late winter sun was low in the sky at their backs. They had made an early start.  The pair had been married in a simple ceremony led by the Archbishop, DeAnder Papus. That had been late yesterday afternoon; after the plan to rescue her uncle, King Thomas Grimholden had been finalized.  Her brief vision had been enough to identify Grim’s whereabouts.

He was, or would be, held in Castle Mortia. Mortia was just north of the Persharian capital. That meant they had to travel westward the entire length of the island continent of Pershara yet again.

The decision had been made to split into two groups; one small and fast. This one would head directly to Mortia.  The second, consisting of the Grim’s mounted knights, Trevor McGill’s irregulars and General Stanton’s regular army, would march on the capital itself.  There was surprisingly little choice in the matter.  There was no way an army was going to be moved in a hurry.  Further, there was no way such an army could march west and not face the King’s Guard and remaining forces outside the capital.

This meant Jewel’s party was the best chance Uncle Grim had for rescue; a party for which she almost not invited! She glanced covertly at Gawin at her side. He saw and smiled warmly back. She blushed but smiled in return.

Theirs had been much like any newlywed’s wedding night; filled with mysteries and pleasures. In the morning, while it was still quite dark out, Gawin had risen to join Tommy, Kindra, Robert and the wizard Bendon in the kitchens. The five had agreed the night before to leave at the crack of dawn. Jewel was to be left in Vandenburg for her own protection. She was, after all, to be the mother of the child of light.

What group of five had not counted on was Jewel’s determination. She met them at the stables, fully packed and ready to go. When Gawin started to protest, she set her feet, planted her fists in her hips and calmly informed him that one night of pleasure, however nice, did not always a pregnancy make. Further, if he truly wanted to protect her, he would ensure she was with child as soon as possible. That meant she was with him. So, unless he was prepared to wait in Vandenburg; she was going with them.  That effectively settled the matter.

When Gawin started to grumble about Jewel’s look of triumph, Bendon took the engineer aside and said “Get used to it lad. You’re married now.”

They rode at a steady pace that spared the horses and yet covered ground quickly. After consulting with Kindra, Bendon folded time around the small party in such a way that their effective speed was more than doubled. The last several weeks had brought light snows to mountains of eastern Pershara. Still the sun was warm and the temperature not yet bitterly cold.

The snows had left a virgin path, broken only by the occasional game trail that crossed the road. The trees, lightly dusted with snow, shimmered in the early morning sun.

Jewel removed her deerskin riding gloves and placed them in a pocket of her fur lined riding cloak.

Gawin choose that moment to extend a hand. She accepted it eagerly as they rode. He squeezed her fingers gently. They shared a smile.

“A penny for your thoughts” Jewel said as the rode along.

“I was thinking of you; of us; of the days ahead.”

“And the nights” she teased.

“And the nights” he agreed with a blush.

The road turned south slightly and Gawin was forced to use an arm to push a stray branch out of the way. This meant he had to release Jewel’s hand for a moment. He lamented the loss of this simple pleasure but she offered her hand again as soon as they cleared the obstacle.

They heard Bendon swear as the very same branch caught at his cloak. He called to the two in front “You could have said something about the tree lying across the road!”

“Hush old man” Kindra said. “It was more a twig than a tree. Besides, they have their minds on other things.”

Tommy and Bendon shared a wolfish grin.

Kindra shook her head and looked at Robert. “Men” she said with mock disgust.

“We are what we are” Robert said with a matching grin.

***

Duncan side stepped his horse around a stump. He was riding at the head of a formation with the other senior staff of the combined armies. He had desperately wanted to travel with Gawin and Jewel to find Grim, but with Grim missing, his place was leading the monastic knights.

The armies traveled overland, taking advantage of fields empty by virtue of the Fall harvest.

At the moment, Trevor McGill was having a heated debate with General Stanton, or Reed as his friends called him. It seemed the General favored sending a handful of scouts ahead to reconnoiter while Trevor was in favor of sending his rangers ahead. Frankly, Reed did not trust the training Trevor’s irregulars had received. His men were professionals, Trevor’s were anything but.  Where the General’s troops were spit and polish, Trevor’s men were gruff and unshaven. Trevor sagely pointed out that his men could travel freely without drawing undue attention. Reed pointed out that the inside of a tavern was no place to look for an opposing army. Trevor countered that it was exactly the right place.  It was obvious the two were not going to come to an agreement.

Perela, who was riding next to Duncan, looked at the big knight and said in a calm but threatening voice “I’m going to throttle those two if they don’t learn to play together nicely.”

“It’s a matter of trust.  Until each can trust the abilities of the other, they are going to have a hard time working together.”

Perela huffed.

“Remember,” Duncan continued, “until just recently they were not even on the same side.”

“I’m still not sure they are” Perela admonished. “I’m going to put an end to this.”

“Be gentle” Duncan pleaded softly.

Duncan saw Perela approach the two men and whisper something into the ear of each.  Their reactions were immediate.  Each flushed beet red and shook the others hand. Perela rode back up to Duncan with a self-satisfied smile.

With a sense of dread Duncan asked “What did you say?”

“Me? Oh nothing really. I just pointed out that they could send both groups out and then compare notes.”

“That’s it? That’s all you said?”

Perela smirked slightly. “That and a promise to put them both in diapers if they didn’t stop acting like children.”

Duncan noted that each of the two men was issuing orders to their respective lieutenants.

By midday each was receiving a steady flow of intelligence back that for the most part agreed with what the other was receiving.

By evening the scouts and rangers were reporting as teams to both officers at once. Trevor and Reed could not have been more pleased with the synergies. That did not stop them from casting a nervous eye toward Perela each time she smiled at them.

They set up camp that first night in a field surrounded by open country as far as the eye could see. A smaller group might have tried to find cover but there was no way to hide several thousand soldiers. A smaller group might have also covered more territory.  As it was the ten leagues the army had managed was impressive; especially given that most were un-mounted foot soldiers.

One advantage to traveling with an army was the accommodations available once camp was set up.  Perela appreciated both the spacious officer’s tent, with its water proof lining and floor and the fact that she did not need to cook.

Duncan had started move his gear towards Trevor McGill’s tent, but one well-placed kiss and a scolding look from Perela put an early end to that foolishness.

Dinner was a hearty beef stew, a small wedge of dry cheese and camp bread.

Duncan and Perela shared their meal in the general’s command tent. It was a large affair with three rooms, divided by oil cloth partitions. Duncan knew from earlier visits that the two smaller rooms were reserved for a bed chamber and personal field office. The larger room, where they were seated on cushions now, held a large rolled map on one wall and a small cooking stove used to keep coffee or mulled wine warm.

Duncan chatted idly with retired general T’Garon. The former general was ill at ease. This was the first time in his experience where there was not a clear chain-of-command for all the armies involved in a campaign. He said as much to Reed and Duncan.

Trevor, for his part, having learned a lesson from the day’s earlier events, proposed a partial solution.

“There’s no denying my men are trained to fight war differently than yours.”

The general nodded and added, “Clearly, they do their work very well. I just don’t see them integrating well with my forces.”

The bearded woodsman smiled at the compliment. “Still, I think both groups can be used in a coordinated way that plays to the strengths of each unit.”

“I fully agree” Reed nodded.

“Then let me propose the following… I will place myself under your direct command, as the commander of his majesty’s royal rangers.”

“I will not abuse the trust you are showing me my friend” General Stanton said with a smile as he clamped a hand on the other man’s shoulder in friendship. “I hereby appoint you, in the presence of these witnesses, General and commander of the Royal Persharian Rangers.”

Reed finished his declaration by offering a toast to his majesty’s newest general.

Duncan found an opportunity to pull Reed aside.  “You know my knights stand with you but…”

The lanky man grinned and slapped the big knight on the back.  “Fear not my noble friend. I’ll not be asking for your knights as well.  You have a vow to the church.”

“Then, As long as you understand it is a temporary arrangement, I will place myself under your provisional command.”

“Fair enough.  All I ask is that you notify me when this ‘arrangement’ needs to terminate.”

“Done” Duncan agreed.

***

Captain T’nere swore loudly. He swore loudly all the time now.  Far from aiding him, Altana had laughed at him when he had asked for help getting his orders amended.

“Fool!” she had spat. “Do you think I care where your general sends you? Be thankful I may yet have need of you or I’d bind you over to the dark master himself just for wasting my time.”

Some thanks he got for capturing the leader of the Grimedian Knights he thought.

He and his men had marched south for the better part of two weeks.  They had made miserable time.  The weather had been foul. Half the men were sick with dysentery, the other half were in as foul a mood as he because of the unending rain, mud, and hail.

They were still a week out from the Isle of Grinley when T’nere received his first bit of good news in weeks. He was in his leaky field tent trying to ignore the irritating “pit-pat” of water dripping from his ceiling to his floor when a messenger arrived at the door flap.

“WHAT!” he barked at the rain drenched foot soldier.  The man handed him an oiled message pouch. Saluted and backed out as quickly as he had come in.

T’nere opened the pouch and removed a folded parchment.  His spy, whom he had been able to leave with T’Garon’s camp, had reported in.

“The bastard” T’nere spat as he read the hand written note. T’Garon had surrendered his troops and switched sides without even the pretense of a battle. The king needed to be informed of this duplicity.

The lanky captain opened his desk and removed an intricately carved wooden tube. From the tube, he extracted a sheet of alabaster white writing skin.  The skin had been pealed from the living back of a lamb. Once so procured, the lamb was sacrificed. The skin was tanned in the still warm urine from the lambs own bladder. Dark magic finished the process. The resulting skin had been carefully pealed into two sheets. T’nere had the one. Proconsul Salvo, King Raymond’s closest advisor, held the second.

T’nere wrote a brief message describing what he had learned but leaving out that he had been duped into leaving the main force. Instead he insinuated that he had separated the king’s loyal troops from the main army to protect them for king.

He knew the message he wrote was appearing on its mate in the capital even as he was finishing the last letter.

To his astonishment, writing began to appear on his piece of the skin. The proconsul must have had the skin out, waiting for a message or just about to send one of his own.

T’nere spat and swore again. The miserable spy had sent his message of the deception to both T’nere and King. T’nere was passing on old news, and making himself look like a fool in the process.  He gritted his teeth. He would make sure his spy died with a better appreciation of where his loyalties should have been.

He continued to read the message as it appeared.

We were advised of the full situation yesterday. We understand you allowed yourself to be forced into leaving main group on a fool’s errand. Unsure why it took you two weeks to contact us regarding situation or why you didn’t abandon your orders when the nature of those orders became clear – assume you will be prepared to justify your delay when reporting to the King in person next week.

T’nere swore again. There was virtually no way he could get his men to Pershara in a week’s time.  Salvo was making it plain that unless T’nere was already well on his way to the capital city, or was willing to run his men into the ground to get there; he would finish he career at the end of a rope or in a dungeon.

He opened the flap to his tent and barked orders to break a camp that had been setup less than a hour ago. He gritted his teeth again. It would be a long run.

Chapter Two – Kaber’s Inn and Eatery

Mud, Mud and more mud! It seemed all Sergeant Tolivier saw any more was mud. Well, his poor deceased mother had told him hadn’t she. “Ya walks with pigs and ya gits to walk in shite and mud” she had said she did.

Mud was certainly where he and Tep were walk’n. But they weren’t walk’n with them pigs anymore! Tolivier had seen to that.

The grizzled sergeant had spent most of the last month hiding the young boy Tep from his perverted commanding officer.  When the camp was split, some staying near Vandenburg and some going with Captain T’nere to the south, Tolivier had been elated because he and Tep were to be in the group that stayed. Unfortunately, T’nere needed a cook and mess tent crew.  Somehow Tolivier and Tep were chosen.

Tolivier solved the problem by showing the lad how to hide in an empty cooking oil barrel.  The barrel was kept with the full barrels in the mess wagon, near the mess tent.  Whenever Tolivier saw or heard an officer approaching, off Tep went for his bolt hole in the barrel.

This had worked fine while they were marching south but as soon as they started their mad rush west, things fell apart. First all, excess supplies, containers and barrels had been discarded. Second, the food stores were spread out evenly amongst the men. Finally, the wagons were burned. The captain was going to march in a straight line for the capital and roads suitable for wagons would be a rare luxury.

Tep was out of hiding spaces and it wasn’t three days before T’nere had spotted the boy.  Tolivier saw the lecherous grin on the captain’s face and knew something needed to be done.

That night, while pulling guard watch, Sergeant Tolivier fled north with Tep at his side.

***

Gawin felt the bitter cold rush of a winter wind against his cheek – reminding him that the snows would return in earnest soon enough.  It had been unseasonably warm the last several days. The snows had melted and the roads were often muddy.  Jewel seemed to like the mud, a fact Gawin found most unlady-like. Still, it was hard not to grin when she would see a large stretch of it in the road. She would deliberately pranced her horses’ feet to splatter everyone - giggling the whole time.

The weather had changed overnight. They were back in the icy grip of winter. The going was more treacherous. A light snow had covered deep frozen tracks in the mud making footing awkward.

Gawin turned in his saddle to face his riding companions.

“We should be about half an hour out of South Point” he said over the rising wind. “You can see how the road’s chewed up.  More people are using it.”

The lanky engineer looked at Tommy and Kindra.  Both were bundled up tightly in sweaters and heavy cloaks; much the same as he and Jewel.  Only Robert seemed at ease in the biting cold. The old man wore a heavy cloak and a type of woolen riding cap that had been in fashion more than fifty years ago. Still, he worn no sweater that Gawin could see and he kept his hood back. As always, he had that odd black sword of his strapped on his horse’s right side. On his left he had a long wooden tube used to carry his engineering drawings and designs.

Gawin and Robert had spent much of their free time in the evenings working on those designs – a fact which had started to irritate the younger man’s new wife. Still, Gawin was looking forward to an evening by a warm fire in some South Point inn with Jewel on one side and Robert, the plans, a slide rule and a protractor on the other. Gawin didn’t really know what they were designing.  Robert would only say that it could be used to take trips.  Gawin didn’t really mind the mystery. Robert would hand him small pieces, the designs of which had stumped the older man.  Gawin would work the problem over in his mind for a few days. Once he had figured out how to solve the problem he and the older man would do the calculations and set Gawin’s solution to paper. Gawin suspected the only thing preventing Robert from completing whatever this was on his own was a lack of training in the art of calculus.

Jewel’s horse stumbled on a hidden rut and he was jolted out of his day dream. “You OK?” He asked while reaching out a hand to steady her.

“I think I’ll never be warm again” she answered through gritted teeth. “Other than that, I’m fine.”

Gawin grinned. “I bet I can warm you up” He teased.

“Is that all you think about?” she said in mock anger.

“Hey, you said it yourself; we’ve got prophesy to fulfill.”

“Is that the only reason?” She said in a suddenly sullen voice.

He raised her gloved hand which he was holding while they rode and kissed it. “No” He answered. “I love you. Always have, always will. Until the end of time if need be.”

“Better answer - Pencil Boy!” She said with a smile. She had taken to calling him that as a way of teasing him for spending so much time with pencil-in-hand, working with Robert.

“Hey you two, knock it off.  There are children present.” It was Tommy who spoke.

Jewel placed a hand on her stomach and answered “We don’t know that yet. I only said we should do a testing spell when we got to South Port.”

“Oh, we know” said the thief. “Anybody who’s ever seen a woman wake up sick to her stomach every day for a week knows exactly what going on.”

“I could have caught a cold” Jewel protested.

“You caught something” Robert added with a grin from the front where he was riding point.

“…and it wasn’t from hold’n hands!” Tommy continued with a smirk while dodging a playful kick from Kindra who was riding at his side. “Besides,” he added, “I’ve a gold piece riding on the outcome of the spell and, as a professional; I’d never take a bet on anything other than a sure thing.”

“What dog would place a bet like that with you?” Kindra said indignantly.

“He’d rather not say” Robert answered rather hastily from the front.

“I see” Jewel’s mother commented dryly.

The conversations ended as they rounded a bend and saw the trees give way to the sprawling town of South Point.

***

The town of South Point was located on the southernmost tip of the salt water lake Egon. There were no rivers nearby and so the town did most of its commerce by lake barges north to and from Shinedoa. Rich farm lands and the best clam beds in all of Pershara provided for a steady source of income to the town.

The travelers chose an Inn near the lakeshore. Tommy, who seemed to know everything about every little town, berg and hamlet they visited had recommended a place called “Kaber’s Inn and Eatery”. As promised, it was modest enough not to draw undo attention and yet was clean and comfortable.

“Besides,” as the young thief had said as they entered the establishment, “They have the best clam chowder in the city.”

True to his word, as they sat at a table in the barroom half an hour later, the warm creamy white chowder was everything the thief had promised.

Jewel wrapped her fingers around the bowl, allowing its heat to soak into her freezing hands. She sat with her back to a warm fireplace at a table the men had chosen both for its proximity to the fire and its view of the rest of the room.

Several of the Inn’s cats had made their way over to Jewel’s feet and on to her lap. One was even now reaching a paw to tap her chin as if to say “Hey I’m here now… go ahead and scratch behind my ear.” Jewel, of course, complied with a weary smile.

Gawin and Tommy sat on either side of her while Kindra and Robert chatted idly on the other side of the table.  It seemed that the mother dragon and the old man had known each other for quite a while. The conversation had inevitably turned to Joan. Kindra had a kind word and shed a very real tear when she learned of her recent passing.

A well-endowed serving girl with a tight blouse that afforded the men a generous view came by to clear the table of empty chowder bowls. Tommy took the opportunity to ask about a local specialty.

“Are you running a fish boil tonight?”

“Oh you know about our fish boils do ya?” the young woman asked with a proud smile.

“Absolutely” Tommy answered before anyone else could say no. “We’ll have six if you’re running one tonight.”

“Well you’re in luck then.  The cooks just put one on out front.  The best show will be in about twenty minutes.”

“Thanks”

“My pleasure” the girl answered with a wink, a bow and a jiggle that afforded the men one last peek at her wares.

“Her blouse was unusually tight” Kindra commented dryly while giving the thief a scolding look.

“I hadn’t noticed” the men lied in unison.

“I see” said the mother dragon in a tone that said she wasn’t buying what they were selling.

Gawin, massaging his side where Jewel’s elbow had just jabbed him, attempted to redirect the conversation.

“So what’s the deal with this ‘fish boil’?”

“It’s a great local tradition” Tommy said. “They take white fish from the lake, chop them into two to three inch sections and boil them with chunks onions, potatoes, corn, and clams – lots and lots of clams. The whole mess is layered in a caldron between layers of salted seaweed.”

“What’s so special about that?” Jewel asked.

“Ah”, he said rolling his eyes with a smile, “the combination of flavors is simply marvelous and as in everything,” the thief continued with a broad grin, “a lot of the effect is in the presentation itself. The pot is placed on a large public fire outside. Just before it is ready to serve a cook will throw a pan of melted lard on the fire. The flames will shoot up and the pot will boil over violently. All the fat and scum that normally collects on the top of the water is lost in the boil over. Makes for quite a show” the thief finished.

“And great advertising” Robert said.

“That too” Tommy agreed.

Jewel noticed that Gawin had a slightly distracted look in his eyes.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Me, oh fine” he answered. “I was just watching a man and a boy over at the bar.”

“Could be father and son,” she said turning her head to see.

“No don’t look” Gawin said in a sharp but soft voice. “I could swear the man is the sergeant that arrested us in Riverdale last Fall.”

“He’s not in uniform now” Tommy said while sipping his beer.

“True enough, but I doubt those are his clothes.”

“Too tight. I agree” the thief added.

“And the boy seems to be picking the pockets of everybody who brushes by them.”

“Interesting technique” Tommy observed.

“By letting the mark make the physical contact for him, he removes the risk of initiating the pick. I assume he’s hitting them for only a coin or two a piece…” Gawin said.

“Probably true.  Few will miss a single coin.”

“Still, a high risk approach; based on the number of marks being hit. He must be awfully sure of himself.”

“The boy is very good,” Tommy nodded, “obviously a trained professional. I’m surprised you spotted him. Do you dabble in the art yourself?”

“I used to” Gawin admitted with a wink.

“Trained professional? Art? What are you two babbling about?” Jewel asked bewildered.

“How a thief makes an honest living” Tommy said innocently.

“Honest living?” Kindra questioned.

“Well…” Tommy admitted hesitantly, “I suppose it’s a matter of perspective.”

It wasn’t long before a grizzled cook entered the room from the kitchens holding a sauce pan filled with grease. He made his way to the front door and exited. People started grabbing their drinks and followed him.

“Come on” Tommy urged the others. “You’ll enjoy this.”

They joined the mass of people milling about the large cooking fire burning gently on the beach across the road from the Inn. A large caldron sat bubbling away on top of the coals.  It was being tended by two large men. One was carrying a stout rod used to lift and move the caldron.

Gawin noticed they were standing close to the boy they had spotted earlier. He caught the Tommy’s eye and pointed with his chin.

Tommy smiled and mouthed the words “Be ready.”

When the two burly cooks had backed the crowd away to a safe distance, the third began circling the fire; looking for the right place and moment to toss the grease.

It was about this time that Gawin noticed a panicked look on Jewel’s face. He was about to say something when the cook threw the grease on the coals. There was a roar of fire that rocketed skyward and enveloped the caldron. A blast of heat was sent into the crowd. Everyone took a step back and three things happened at once.

First, Tommy felt a hand expertly enter his pocket. He caught it just as expertly.

Second, the coals in the fire seemed to come alive and take form. It was as if flaming arms started reaching out of the embers.

Third, and most alarming to Gawin, Jewel screamed. The glowing embers seemed to be reaching directly for her.

Instinctively, Gawin tried to protect his wife; but his staff was back at their table. His eyes scanned the ground in vain looking for a stick, a club, a piece of drift wood – anything that could be used as a weapon. There was nothing. The crowd was scattering and it was difficult to see.

A child, mesmerized by the fire, stood between Jewel and the flaming arms. Gawin reached forward to grab the girl before the flames could touch her. He didn’t think he could make it. Suddenly, both he and the little girl were shoved out of the way by the burly man who had been with the young pickpocket in the tavern. All three rolled on the ground as the other man’s flying leap carried them away from the fire.

The menacing arms of flames brushed the burly man’s back as he flew by them.  Immediately the back of his tunic burst into fire and the man screamed. He had the sense to roll on to his back and smother the flames. In the process, Gawin and the little girl, who was now crying quite loudly, were able to free themselves from the jumble of arms and legs.

Gawin could now see that Jewel stood alone before the hellish wraths. He struggled to get to her but there was not enough time. Jewel raised her arms just before the first of the flames licked her. The young engineer felt a powerful pressure at the base of his neck. A shimmering violet and blue nimbus erupted from his wife’s hands and instantly surrounded her like the protective shell of an egg. The flaming arms probed the shimmering field but they could not pass. Jewel smiled with an air of confidence Gawin had never seen.

“Exti Mundi Ahor!” She commanded as she brought her raised hands together. The Nimbus flew apart in every direction in a great expanding wave. It passed over people and objects with little effect; but where it touched flames, the fires were extinguished immediately. It was over as quickly as it had begun.

The boy Tommy had caught picking his pocket, broke free of the larger thief’s grasp and rushed to the moaning man on the ground.

“Sarge? Ya OK Sarge? Oh geez Sarge, ya got’a be OK” the boy sobbed while on his knees in the sand next to the man.

Kindra knelt beside the boy and took both of his hands in hers and forced him to look directly into her reassuring eyes.

“He’s hurt very badly and it will take him a while to get better.”

“But…” he began with tears in his eyes.

Before he could say more Kindra continued kindly, “He will get better – you can be sure of that.”

“But…” the boy repeated in a softer voice while turning his head to look at his friend, “we ain’t got nobody.”

Kindra released his hands and used hers to raise his chin. “You do now child. You do now.”

“That was a very brave and selfless thing your father did” Gawin added.

“He ain’t my father. He’s my Sarge.  We’re on a ‘portant mission. We gota warn the new king he’s ride’n in ta a trap”

This is the end of
The Ways of Mages #1

Watch for Episode 2 and 3 coming in the August 2012, Episode 4 in 2013

Other Books
by Andrew Beery
(Click on titles to jump to order page)

The Catherine Kimbridge Chronicles

Inception, #1 - July 2012
*Redemption, #2 - Fall 2012
*Exploration, #3 - 2013

The Ways of Mages (with Catherine Beery)

The Ways of Mages, #1  -Revised July 2012
The Ways of Mages: Two Worlds, #2 - Aug 2012
The Ways of Mages: Starfire, #3  - Aug 2012
*The Ways of Mages: Three Swords, #4  - 2013

* Coming Soon

__________

JOIN THE ORDER OF GRIM!  Post your review on your favorite eBook web sites (Amazon.com) as well as social media sites like Facebook and Twitter etc. Please recommend this series to your friends… and as always please feel free to provide constructive comments for improving the story!  God Bless you.

Sample

The Catherine Kimbridge Chronicles #1, Inception

Andrew Beery

Copyright 2012 by Andrew Beery

Kindle Edition

Chapter One - A Beginning...

Personal Log

2067 was the year I died for the first time… It was painful. Had I known how often I’d be expected to die over the next several millennia, I might have made a stronger effort to stay dead.

The year actually started off rather nice. I finished my PhD in high energy physics and was promoted to Lieutenant Commander in the United States Air Force. My first posting after the promotion was to the Lunar One Air Base where I worked with my father, Dr. Robert Kimbridge on “The Project.”

“The Project” was our name for a VASIMR Ion Drive interplanetary space craft that used Thorium LFTR reactors for both shielding and power. Capable of a sustained point one G of acceleration, our prototype was expected to make the Mars run in less than a week. By the end of November the ESX Arizona was ready for her first trial runs and I was her pilot. History has an odd way of repeating itself.

* * *

Lt Commander Catherine Kimbridge sat at the controls of her highly modified light cruiser. The craft had originally been designed to transport a crew of fifteen between Lagrange Point Two (L-Point2) behind the Earth and the various lunar bases dotting the moon’s surface. Before the ESX Arizona had been thoroughly modified by herself and her father, the craft had been expected to make such a trip in roughly a week. Now the much larger VASIMR engines could heat the Arizona’s fuel to a plasma state in microseconds and provide enough thrust to make the trip to the inner planets in a comparable timeframe.

The addition of several Liquid Fluorine Thorium Reactors (LFTR) as well as the fuel pods for the VASIMR drive limited the available space to three people. This was of little concern to the petite redhead because for this first trip she would be the only occupant. Her goal was to achieve insertion in a Mars orbit in 6.4 days. Considering the best time to date for a manned spacecraft was on the order of 90 days this would be quite an achievement.

“Lunar One… this is the Arizona. My board is green and I show go for Mars burn.”

“Arizona, we confirm your board is green. You are go for umbilical disconnect and Mars burn. See you in two weeks and God speed!”

“Roger that Lunar One. Arizona out.”

Cat, as her friends called her leaned forward in her auto-molded acceleration couch and flicked on her AI unit. At the same time she peered out the nanite infused Gorilla glass window of the cockpit. Lunar One was about a kilometer below her present position. At the moment the Arizona was tethered to the terminus station anchoring the upper side of a lunar space elevator platform. 1000 meters of ultra-strong, incredibly flexible diamond fiber weave connected the base station that was Lunar One with the terminus station that was Lunar One Beta. Technically the base station was Lunar One Alpha but Cat had never heard anyone actually add the Alpha. Most people called the facility L1 and let it go at that.

“Ben, disconnect umbilical and execute sequence Mars-1A when we are clear.” Ben was Cat’s name for her AI. Computers had finally surpassed humans raw intellect but they stilled lacked that spark of imagination that defined humanity. Never the less since most experts now acknowledged that for all practical purposes computers were self-aware, it had become common practice to allow them to choose their own names. When the AI that was Ben came online some four years ago it elected to pull a name from Cat’s personnel file… the name of her first dog.

“Umbilical disconnect confirmed. Drifting two meters per second. The Arizona will clear all moorings in 12 seconds.”

Cat waited while the seconds counted off. The last of Lunar One and its tethered twin slipped away.

“LFTRs one two and three scaling up to 68 percent capacity. VASIMR thrusters powering up. Plasma drive is online. Commencing point one G burn in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… we are go for VASIMR drive at point one G. Estimated arrival at Mars insertion point in six point two days.”

“Thank you Ben. I’m heading down to the engineering deck. Let me know if anything unusual happens.”

“You are welcome… please define unusual within the current context.”

“Ben, you’re a smart machine. Use your imagination.”

***

Yarin watched the small craft with eyes four and six. History was in the making. In point of fact that was why the Heshe was there.

This young bipedal race was in many ways a younger version of its own. They had an amazing capacity for logic coupled with compassion. Yet, neither logic nor their vibrant emotions were their masters. They existed and built their society by establishing a middle ground between the two.

The ancient Heshian cast out with its sensor enhanced consciousness for others of its race.  They were few in number now... And growing fewer with each passing millennia. These humans as they called themselves would likely never meet the Heshian Expanse. The Heshe were leaving this section of the galaxy. Regrettably, the very thing that made humans so fascinating doomed the Heshe... And very likely humanity as well.

For all their knowledge and love of learning, the Heshe had never lost their ability to believe in the unprovable.  They, like their kindred spirits in these humans, had an innate ability to transcend their logic in regard to a faith in an uncreated creator. In many ways humanity mirrored the Heshe's own understanding of the divine.

Their love of the creator prevented them from taking life for any reason other than nourishment. When faced with the advances of an aggressive species they were defenseless. It was ironic that despite their vastly inferior technology, these humans were perhaps far better able to defend themselves. Yarin hoped this was the case. It would be sad to see such potential lost when the D'lralu came to claim their fertile solar system.

The small craft was slowly making its way to the fourth planet. It was using a crude ion plasma drive that would literally take days to accomplish what Yarin's quantum fold drive could accomplish in milliseconds. Still, this was a first for this young race. The technology being demonstrated would make practical the exploitation and exploration of the human solar system. This in turn would produce a paradigm shift in how humans viewed themselves and their universe. Their rate of technological growth would soon outpace anything the human species had to date accomplished. But would it be enough?

***

Cat Kimbridge put down her fork. Dinner was a flash frozen smoked salmon steak with a light horseradish sauce and German potato salad from a famous national chain restaurant called "Teddy Peters." she sipped her glass of lightly sweet white wine. This was day six and she was right on target for Mars orbital insertion - hence the celebration.

Soon they would be in orbit and the sensation of acceleration induced gravity would cease. One of the interesting innovations in the Arizona was a fully gimbaled living space that automatically rotated with acceleration to provide a consistent up and down experience for the crew. It wasn't artificial gravity but it was the next best thing.

"Ben, Status report"

"All systems nominal. Orbital insertion in approximately 18.4 minutes"

"Report fuel status"

"Primaries are at 71%. Emergency reserves are at 98.3%"

Cat sat up straighter in her seat. 98.3 was not the number she had been expecting. "Explain the delta between the emergency reserves now and mission start"

"Certainly. At 18:42 on December 4, 2067 the port reserve tank was hit with a micro-meteor that breached the tank for 68 seconds until the nanite fiber mesh could seal the hole."

"And why didn't you report this?"

"I just did commander"

"Correction. Why didn't you report it at the time of the incident?"

"I was following you previous orders. Report only what is unusual. A loss of fuel due to micro-meteor impact occurs in 3.2% of voyages between Earth and Mars and is..."

"...therefore not unusual" Cat continued. "Ben, new orders. Please report anything that impacts the operational readiness of this ship by more than a percent in a timeframe that atypical." Cat was so used to thinking of Ben as an intelligence in his own right that she occasionally forgot how incredibly literal AIs tended to be.

"Command accepted. Shall I also report anomalous reading occurring outside the ship?"

"Absolutely"

"Very good. I wish to report an anomalous reading outside the ship"

"Specify"

"Two spacecraft are approaching at point two C."

"What... Nothing we have can go that fast!" Cat screamed as she dashed for the bridge of her small ship.

"Thus the anomalous nature of this event" Ben continued in his monotone voice.

Cat sat in her command chair and brought up her holographic interface with a wave of her hand. "Ben, isolate the sector the two anomalous craft are vectoring in from and display on my board."

"Not possible. Targets are vectoring in from multiple directions"

"Fine!" Cat yelled. "Use the Arizona as the center point and show both approach vectors. Label the targets one and two based on the first to reach us"

"Understood, parameters accepted. Plotting multiple vectors now."

"Give me a time frame. How long before they get here?"

"Assuming neither craft changes velocity or vector craft one will be in our vicinity in 3 minutes and 26 seconds. The second craft is adjusting its speed to arrive at exactly the same time."

It was the longest three and a half minutes in Cat's 30 year life. She had Ben try to hail the two craft but there was no way to know if their communication technologies were in any way compatible. Neither craft responded to her attempts.

"Ben, prepare a message buoy. Attach a complete log and sensor track from our friends out there. On my mark, send it off best possible speed for Lunar One."

"Buoy ready. Launching for Lunar One on your mark."

When the approaching craft were 5 seconds out Cat gave the order to launch.

"Craft One is altering course and speed..."

A sudden brilliant flash lit up the holographic matrix in front of Cat. "Ben report... What was that?"

"The message buoy was destroyed by a tightly focused 10 mega joule coherent energy beam emitted from a dorsal array on the first craft"

***

Yarin watched the D'lralu scout ship destroy the small probe the Earth craft had ejected moments before. He wasn't sure what he was going to do. The D'lralu had not been expected to encounter Humanity for another hundred years or so. A scout ship showing up now meant humanity had far less time than the Heshe had anticipated. If the D'lralu scout kept to standard procedures it would disable the human craft and then dissect both it and its crew to learn as much as it could prior to reporting the find to its home command. Once that report was made... Humanity was doomed.

***

"Ben, abort orbital insertion. Emergency acceleration... Get Phobos between us and that ship!"

"Emergency acceleration engaged"

Cat felt herself pushed back in her chair as the Arizona reached for her peak acceleration of 1.2 gravities. Older chemical rockets could achieve much greater accelerations but the Arizona has been designed for efficiency and not acceleration.

"How long before we are shielded by Phobos?"

"Current projections indicate we will not be able to accelerate fast enough to successfully hide before the approaching spacecraft intercep..."

Cat was thrown out of her seat as a blinding flash enveloped the bridge. The flash was accompanied by a thunderclap and the sound of twisting metal. A shower of sparked filled the space between Cat and the main console.

"Ben, report! What just happened?"

There was no response. Her AI was offline. Scrambling to reach the backup overrides she threw the breaker and brought emergency power systems up. Twenty seconds later Ben reported he was back online.

"There has been a hull breach near the aft thrusters. The VASIMR drive is inop. Chemical thrusters are online but will be insufficient to return to Earth orbit."

"Can we repair the drive?" Cat asked although she suspected she knew the answer.

"Negative. The primary drive was fused by a 250 mega joule coherent energy beam."

"250 mega joule? How is it we are still alive?"

"I would speculate that the operator of craft one simply wished to disable us."

"Well they've succeeded" Cat mused quietly. "I wonder what they want?"

"Unknown Commander"

"Ben, can you bring up any sort of display... I'm blind here"

"Holographic systems are offline but I can bring up a flat panel display."

"Good boy... Give me a split view... I want both crafts displayed."

The main view screen flickered to life. The ruddy red of Mars appeared as a small colored marble in a field of jet black.

"Isolate the alien craft and highlight"

A yellow icon with a little "1" appeared in the upper right corner of the screen. A second icon with a "2" appended to it appeared in the lower middle section of the screen.

"Commander, craft one is emitting an energy signature similar to what it emitted just prior to firing on us and the buoy earlier. I suspect it is about to fire again."

"Quick, fire the maneuvering thrusters... Put us into as fast a spin as you can... We can't out run them but perhaps we can spread enough of their blast around that our meteor shielding can protect us."

At about the same time the AI engaged the thrusters the first alien craft fired. Fortunately it was nowhere near the 250 mega joule blast that had disabled her engines... But it was enough. Had she not been spinning the shot would had breached her hull somewhere near environmental.

Cat struggled to hold her seat as the Arizona spun wildly in her attempt dissipate the energies being fired at her by the other craft. Suddenly the emergency klaxons that had started the moment the ship had begun taking fire ceased.

Ben automatically fired reverse thrusters to stop the rotation.

"What happened? Why did they stop firing at us?"

The AI responded "The second ship intervened... Analysis would seem to indicate it instantaneously trans-located to a position just in front of the attacking ship and physically collided with it. The first ship has been destroyed. The second ship is in a rapidly decaying orbit... It does not seem to be under power."

They sacrificed themselves to save us Cat mused. "Ben, do we have enough chemical thruster left to maneuver under them and push them into a stable orbit?"

"Unknown. That calculation would require a knowledge of their mass."

"Get us in position... Speculate if their craft masses similar to ours for a given size... Will we have enough fuel?"

"Within the parameters specified there is a 19% chance we will have enough fuel."

"19% it is... As fast as you can maneuver us into position... Attempt to improve their orbit"

The deck shook wildly as the two craft touched. Acceleration became negligible and so Cat began to float away from the flooring deck.

"Ben, report! Are making a difference?"

"Affirmative commander. The alien craft seems to be 43% the anticipated mass. There is now a 72% chance we will have sufficient fuel for their vessel to achieve a stable orbit."

"Wonderful... What about us?"

"The Arizona is considerably heaver that the alien vessel. We will not achieve a stable orbit. Calculations indicate we will impact near Olympus Mons in 36 minutes."

Cat listened to Ben's cold and analytical assessment of their pending demise. In some ways she envied his detachment. But Death was not an option she was willing to entertain.

"If we ejected the LFTR power cores and VASIMR drive unit would our mass be sufficiently reduced to achieve orbit?"

"Yes, however the nanite mesh that repaired the port reserve tank failed during the engagement with the aggressive alien. Fuel reserves are now at 43%. There is no longer sufficient fuel to both save the remaining alien and this vessel."

"Nuts..." Cat said under her breath. "Ben, new orders. Continuously calculate the orbital status of the vessel we are assisting. The moment it is in a likely stable orbit disengage thrust and attempt a controlled reentry into Mars. Eject the cores and main drive now."

"Orders accepted. Please note the Arizona in its current configuration is not aerodynamic."

"That's OK... We are not going to glide. I want you to time our reentry so we gently kiss the trailing slope of Olympus Mons... With any luck we can dissipate our excess reentry energy in a controlled slide down the slope of Mons."

"Shall I calculate the odds of success?"

"Absolutely Not!"

***

Yarin's consciousness came back online at 4352. It noted eye stalk seven was missing and instructed construction nanites to replace it at the earliest opportunity. To be honest, Yarin was amazed it was still alive. The collision with the D'lralu had resulted in massive system failures. It was unlikely the repair systems within its craft would have sufficient time to effect repairs prior to impact with the planet they were orbiting.

Once the Heshe's external sensors and their associated system log came online Yarin had its answer. The human had sacrificed herself to save the Heshe!

Remarkable. Yarin could not remember a time in recent memory when a non-Heshe had saved a Heshe's life... Certainly not while forfeiting the creator’s gift of one's own life. For all practical purposes this forced Yarin's hand. For the first time in dozens of millennia a Heshe would repay a life debt!

***

"Ben... Give me all you have on reverse thrusters... We're about to hit and we are coming in way too hot."

"I'm sorry commander. Fuel reserves are depleted. Impact in 2.4 seconds"

"It's been an honor Ben..." Cat began. Before she could finish the ESX Arizona impacted with the north wall of Olympus Mons at six hundred and forty three miles per hour. It was December 7th, 2067. It would be the first time Lt. Commander Catherine Kimbridge would die... But certainly not the last.

Chapter Two - The Awaking...

Hesitant eyes opened.  Light filtered in...  'In where' was the question. The room was stark white and sterile. It could be a hospital but for the fact nothing was right. The walls were too short and the light seemed to emanate from everywhere. The air, while fresh was... 'Wrong'.

Sitting up on an oddly warm metal table she looked down at her hands... She was a 'she'. She knew that... but precious little else. Who was she? Why was she here? Why didn't she remember anything? She had a feeling she should but her existence prior to this room seemed just out of reach.

She was alone and yet she was not... There seemed to be another within her. It was confusing.

***

The Yarin Prime construct watched the human construct awaken. The human this construct had been based on had been irreparably damaged fifty three of her years ago.  Yarin Prime's progenitor had created a Yarin Prime construct in order to fulfill a life debt. It had taken Yarin Prime two Earth years to create a new shell for this human and the balance of the time to learn how to exactly transfer her progenitor's intellect. An exact synapse by synapse parallel was created and the electrochemical potentials between those synapses duplicated exactly between the broken body in stasis and this new and improved doppelgänger.

Her new body was infused with both repair and construction nanites that would continuously analysis her environment and adjust her physiology accordingly. All that remained was to transfer her previous memories into her new synaptic matrix.

***

With a sudden realization Catherine Kimbridge felt her memories rushing back like a floodgate opened. The feeling was overpowering and she shuttered. She had been in a crash. She remembered most of her lower torso being crushed and the brief but intense fire that had rushed through the ravaged bridge of the Arizona. Why was she alive? Looking down at her legs she saw no sign of any injury... Nor did she see any sign of clothing.   With a sudden start she realized she was naked.

A slight movement of air that raised the soft hairs on her arms was the first indication that she was not alone. Turning quickly while using her arms to cover her exposed privates she was startled to see what looked to be some type of land-based cephalopod with eight ridged legs and matching eyestalks. The legs appeared capable of working both for locomotion and manipulation. One of them held what appeared to be a soft white ball.

"Greetings beloved of the creator"

"Where am I?"

The ball undulated colors wildly. Just as quickly the alien's entire body began to shift colors in an equally wild pattern. The ball in turn... spoke.

"You are here."

"Not especially helpful... Wait! You speak English?" Cat gasped in an utterly astonished voice.

"Technically this is not correct. My race, the Heshe, do not have a spoken language. We can perceive sounds but we have no apparatus to produce complex sounds."

"So you can understand me but you need to use that glowing ball in order to answer."

"Again, technically not correct. My brain is, in your parlance, wired to perceive complex color patterns and process them for communication. While I perceive sounds my ability to interpret them in any meaningful sense is quite limited. That said, my technology is able to bridge the communication gap my biology cannot."

Cat watched the incredible light display played out between the Heshe as it called itself and the glowing ball that it carried. Suddenly she remembered that she was naked.

"I seem to be missing my cloths"

"Yes, regrettably your synthetic covering were destroyed with your previous body."

Cat blinked as she digested that comment. "I promise you... I'm going to want to come back to that one... In the meantime... Is there anything we can do about getting me some cloths?"

The alien moved forward with amazing speed and touched the glowing ball to Cat's skin. As Cat backed away in alarm, the ball quickly dissolved into her arm where it had touched. "What the hell!"

"My apologies.  It was necessary for me to manually program your encounter unit. It has been incorporated into your nanite systems... You will now be able to understand me directly"

"How is this possible?" Cat asked. "I see your color flashes but I'm hearing you as if you are speaking."

"If you will follow me, I will show you to your quarters where artificial coverings are available. On the way I will attempt to explain the events that have occurred since your death."

"Now see... There you go again" Cat said with just a hint of sarcasm in her voice, "I most certainly don't feel dead."

"I should hope not" the Heshe named Yarin Prime responded.

***

Lt. Commander Catherine Kimbridge straightened her dress uniform. Technically it was a replica of her uniform created by her alien benefactor, a member of an octopedal race called the Heshe. Sometime over the last nine months she had taken to calling the alien "Cal" (short for Calamari) because it resembled a large 'land-walking' octopus.

When Cat had first woke up in the alien's medical bay she had no idea who she was. Over the intervening months she had fully recovered her memories and so much more.

Cal was a nanite enhanced clone of a Heshe that the original Catherine Kimbridge had saved from certain death. That Heshe, along with the rest of its entire race, had fled this galaxy for reasons not fully shared with Cat.

In her effort to save the alien Cat had lost her own life. Fortunately, for the highly advanced technology of the Heshe the definition of death had become a somewhat nebulous term. In saving the life of a Heshe at the cost of her own the Heshe in question had become honor bound to repay the "Life debt" whatever the cost.

Cat's body had been recreated and her memories fully transferred to her new shell. Every appreciable nuance of her intellect including how her mind would evolve over time had been painstakingly duplicated by her benefactor. In order to accommodate unknown variables and because the Heshe had never fully examined a fully functional human being, the decision was made to augment Cat's organic systems with a fully functional set of Heshe repair and construction nanites. These would allow her body to adapt to virtually whatever environment she found herself in.

Because the Heshe had never attempted a human project of this magnitude the process took well in excess of fifty years. For the essentially immortal Heshe this timescale was a trivial matter. For Catherine Kimbridge it was a real concern and a major factor in her current unease.

She had spent the last three quarters of a year in a hidden Heshe facility on Mars learning from her Heshe instructor how to fully control her nanite systems. In addition, she had spent as much of her time as possible reviewing the major events of the last fifty four years of human history. Today was the day she would reemerge into human society and she had no idea how that society would welcome her.

She had been startled when Cal had said that the Heshe would be leaving soon and that it was time for her to return her people. She had assumed that the alien would be with her when she returned to humanity. Absent Cal and the instant creditably the Heshe's presence would represent she was not altogether sure how believable her incredible tale would be.

***

Ricky Valen rubbed the stubble of his three day beard. He looked at the calm and seemingly sincere woman sitting in the rear compartment of his quarry shuttle. The last thing he had expected when he started drilling for rare earth metals today was to hit a buried chamber with a human occupant.

"Mars II, this is Prospector 49. Request permission to dock at first available gate. Over"

"49, you are cleared for gate 3. Do you have any cargo to declare?"

"You might say that. We have one passenger"

"Roger that 49, one passenger. What nationality?"

"Deimos base, your guess is as good as mine. She claims she's Catherine Kimbridge, THE Catherine Kimbridge... As in the 'Lt. Commander' variety"

"49, you know the penalty for drinking when flying"

"Trust me Deimos base... You're going to want to share that drink when you see who this is."

***

Rigel Kentaurus, a ternary star system roughly four light-years from Sol was the host to over a dozen large planetary masses. Only three of these masses contained the right conditions for life. The D'lralu named Third of Nine scanned each of the three for signs of intelligent competing life forms.

Two had proto-viruses and primitive single-celled microbes. One was totally barren. None were the source of the radio transmissions detected by the D'lralu home defense network. The warrior scout would continue his search and destroy mission in the next star system... A yellow midlife star some 4.2 light years away. He began the calculations. It would take his massive onboard computers less than two weeks to make the necessary computations.

***

"Enough... You have poked me and prodded me for two weeks. I have answered every question you have asked. I've taken more written tests in the last two weeks than during my entire doctorate program at Notre Dame!" Catherine Kimbridge was not a happy camper. She was dressed in the plain coveralls United Space Command had insisted she wear when they confiscated her United States Air Force uniform.

Admiral Faragon steeped his hands. "Lady, I don't know who or even what you are but you most certainly are who you say you are... Lt. Commander Catherine Kimbridge has been dead since I was a ten year old boy. I went to a high school named after her. She published exactly two papers in her brief career and they are still considered seminal works in hyper-field dynamics. You are most certainly not her... So just answer my questions honestly and we can all go home!"

"Admiral, what can I say to convince you I am who I say?"

"Frankly dear, not a damn thing"

"Then Admiral why am I even here?" Cat stood up and leaned over the table to face down a man for whom she was rapidly losing respect and patience. Her face was red with barely controlled rage.

Admiral Faragon simply said dryly, "Sit down Lt. Commander."

"Lt. Commander? In two weeks that's the first time you have acknowledged my previous rank."

The Admiral looked at one of the recording cameras positioned in the corners of the interview room. She swore she saw him briefly smile as he said "Bring it in."

Before Cat could ask what 'it' was the solitary door to their room opened and a familiar looking man who seemed to be a forty year old version of Dr. Robert Kimbridge -her father- entered the room. Only after taking a close look at him did Cat realize this was a robotic android and not an actual human being. The level of detail and the sophistication on the animatronics was outstanding... if somewhat disturbing.

"Lt. Catherine Kimbridge, allow me to introduce your father... Or rather what is left of him."

"Hello Cat" the mechanism said. "I am Bob." Seeing her eyebrows rise and her lips twitch the robot anticipated her question and added "The essence of your fathers memories have been placed in this shell."

"I don't understand. You're my father? You are able to transfer your consciousness into an AI now?"

"Regrettably no" Bob responded. "I am at best a crude simulation of your father. I have a significant portion of his memories and handcrafted logic algorithms that act on that data to provide a rough approximation of the response the real Robert Kimbridge would have made. Like any AI we can currently construct I lack the ability to fully intuit creative solutions. This is where I think you and I differ."

Cat looked confused? "Why go to all the effort? If a total transfer was not possible then what was the reason for making what is at best a personality emulator?"

Bob answered quite simply... "You."

The Admiral leaned forward and put his elbows on the small round table that separated the three of them. "Your father, Robert Kimbridge and his team were working on a very important project when he suffer a massive heart attack..."

"About ten years ago... I read the reports on the Times Daily News archives a few months back. How does any of this having anything to do with you suddenly believing I'm Catherine Kimbridge?"

The Admiral stood and walked over to her side of the table. "You have to admit your story is a fantastic one. You encounter a pair of alien spacecraft on the maiden voyage of the famous ESX Arizona. They destroy each other after disabling your ship. You save one at the cost of your own life and in turn they give you a new, seemingly enhanced body. You have to admit... If I were writing fiction I'd be hard pressed to come up with a wilder story."

"...and yet you believe me now... But an hour ago you weren't sure. Why?"

Bob answered her first. "There are two reasons. First, you did something I can't do. You got angry. Oh, I can feint anger but for the same reason an actor who cannot internalize a role is rarely believable, strong emotions elude me. Second..."

"We have one of the vessels that attacked you... Or significant pieces of it anyway" Faragon added with a wink and a smile.

"So let me get this straight," Catherine continued, "You believe my story now because I got angry?"

"We always believed you" the Admiral said. "The real question was really one of 'What' you were... Not 'who' you were. To be honest, I'm still not sure how to answer that question but my medics tell me you are biologically human. Your cognitive function tests correlate very closely with what we know of the original Catherine Kimbridge. Your aptitude tests are off the scales... but then so were hers... And you respond outside the bounds of simulated personalities like our friend Bob here." He paused to look more closely at her. "I can't fully answer what you are, especially in light of the alien nanotechnology in your system, but I am satisfied that you are close enough in every measurable way to the Lt. Commander that you are in all practicality her."

"Does that mean I get my uniform back?" Catherine asked with a grin.

- End of Sample –

Other Books

by Andrew Beery
(Click on titles to jump to order page)

The Catherine Kimbridge Chronicles

Inception, #1 - July 2012
*Redemption, #2 - Fall 2012
*Exploration, #3 - 2013

The Ways of Mages (with Catherine Beery)

The Ways of Mages, #1  -Revised July 2012
The Ways of Mages: Two Worlds, #2 - Aug 2012
The Ways of Mages: Starfire, #3  - Aug 2012
*The Ways of Mages: Three Swords, #4  - 2013

* Coming Soon