The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches

Keeper Martin’s Tales

COMPLETE SERIES OMNIBUS

ROBERT STANEK

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

KINGDOMS AND THE ELVES OF THE REACHES

COMPLETE SERIES OMNIBUS

Copyright © 2012 by Robert Stanek.

All rights reserved.

REAGENT PRESS

www.reagentpress.com

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The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches

Keeper Martin’s Tales

BOOK ONE

ROBERT STANEK

Table Of Contents

Book 1

PREFACE

CHAPTER ONE: THREE LIVES TRANSFORMED

CHAPTER TWO: THE WINDS OF CHANGE

CHAPTER THREE: IT BEGINS

CHAPTER FOUR: DISCOVERY

CHAPTER FIVE: REALIZATION

CHAPTER SIX: PERMISSION

CHAPTER SEVEN: MEETING

CHAPTER EIGHT: GUIDANCE

CHAPTER NINE: AMBUSH

CHAPTER TEN: FIRST LESSONS

CHAPTER ELEVEN: DECISION

CHAPTER TWELVE: VANGAR FOREST

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE BOTTOMS

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: REST’S END

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: DISASTER

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: RETURN

Preface

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

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

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

Chapter One:

Three Lives Transformed

Sunrise loomed across the horizon, pale as jasmine and mostly obscured by dark, feral clouds. The early morning air held an unusual chill and Adrina gathered her light shawl more closely as she stepped out onto the catwalk atop the wall. A stout breeze blew long strands of hair across her face. The hair, black as the receding night, flowed to her waist and while it was normally braided and folded over her left shoulder, it wasn’t now.

Summer must surely be at an end, Adrina surmised, for the breeze came from the north and not from the West Deep.

Adrina walked to a place where the wall jutted out and cut its way into High King’s Square. Behind her the palace parade grounds were empty and silent, as was the square before her. The silence seemed a shroud over the whole of Imtal clear to the Braddabaggon foothills. Many stories below, the city’s residents would soon awake. The square would fill with sounds as merchants began to unpack their wares. Palace guardsmen would muster for breakfast. City and palace would stir to life.

Yet Adrina preferred the empty moments just before all this happened, for the silence echoed the aching of her heart. She pressed her chin into the palm of her hand, her elbow glued to the stone framework of the wall. She sighed mournfully. The palace was truly dead, all real life having long since been gnawed away.

She could have passed the day dreaming about things beyond the gray stone edifice, the cold palace wall, with its portcullis tucked cleanly out of view. She had sauntered through many a day thus, envisioning magnificent journeys to the four corners of the land.

Great Kingdom had many holdings. High Province in the north—the far, far north—where amidst mountains of ice and stone the rivers boiled and filled the air with blankets of fog. South, beyond a forest of great white trees called giant birch, lay South Province with its capital city enveloped by the majestic Quashan’ valley. East through the Kingdom along the East–West road were the Territories, divided east and west. The untamed Eastern Territories were awaiting discovery. The Western Territories held but two Kingdom outposts: Zashchita and Krepost’. Traders claimed the walled city of Zashchita was carved from the very trees of the forest and its building lifted so far into the heavens that they were lost in the clouds. Beyond Zashchita lay Krepost’ and her ferryman who took travelers across River Krepost’ so they could begin the climb into the mountain city, and where afterward the gatekeeper may or may not chase them over the cliffs into Statter’s Bay and to their deaths.

But today Adrina was frustrated to the point of tears. She wouldn’t pass the day dreaming of things she may never see. She didn’t understand what difference the passing of a year made. Why did it matter so that she was a year older? This year seemed the same as the last.

She would have done anything, given anything, to be a little girl again, free to wander the city in her brother’s shadow. Together they would wander Imtal’s cobbled streets. She would pretend not to notice the press of guardsmen around them and see only those who had come out to greet them.

A fleeting smile lit her face. She knew this could be no more. Valam was gone now, gone to South Province, gone for good, and she, Adrina, was leaving adolescence.

The echo of footsteps against hard stones startled her. Her eyes went wide and she wondered if Lady Isador would venture to the walls. Her governess had threatened to before.

Adrina didn’t want to be reminded of all the things she should or should not do, so she slipped away to the northern watchtower. At dawn the tower would be vacant and she could be alone without fear of interruption.

Adrina wound her way up a long spiral staircase. She stopped only at the very top to catch her breath. Here at the landing was a large, open chamber whose broad windows were normally used to keep watch on the city’s north wall and the fields beyond. Adrina crossed the empty chamber to a window. The cool breeze on her face tingled her nose and brushed the sweat away.

“No lessons today,” she whispered to the wind. Lessons Chancellor Yi and Lady Isador would surely chastise her for missing them—if they found her.

Not today, Adrina vowed, not today.

Always more reminders of the things she should or should not do—her proper place, always her proper place. She knew all about the proper things, the proper mannerisms, the proper greetings, her proper duties, her proper place. She had even been taught, though only recently, the proper things to do to invite a man’s attention. She was to begin courting. But why?

What did she need a man for? Moreover, what would she do with one once she caught him? Was there anything she couldn’t do on her own?

Leave Imtal, the wind seemed to say. That was right; on her own, she would never leave Imtal. The palace would be all she would see for the rest of her days, but did it have to be this way?

The wind howling in answer spurred Adrina on. “Courtship, marriage,” she shouted back, “maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, for surely all suitors don’t live in Imtal.”

As quickly as she said it, Adrina cast the notion away. Marriage had taken Calyin away. Adrina told the wind, “No, that’s not for me.”

She reveled in memories now, slipping back into the past and a time when everything seemed simpler. The minutes slipped away, and then Adrina pictured a beautiful sad face. Tears came to her eyes. Simpler times were not easier times.

“Why mother, why did you have to go? I have never forgiven you, never, and I never will. I am all alone now. Calyin is wed. Valam is in the south. Midori went away, never to return. And you, you are… gone. What am I to do? Can you know how much I loved you? And you always in that stupid garden.”

Adrina waited. The wind howled, but no answer came.

“Queen Alexandria was beautiful. Land and people loved her very dear,” said a figure from the shadows.

Adrina screamed; her heart stopped. Then in a sudden flood of thoughts, her young mind began to race—surely this must be a rogue come to steal her away.

Adrina said coyly, and hoped the other knew she wasn’t telling the truth, “What manner of rogue are you? My father would hardly pay ransom for his third daughter. I am of little worth.”

The robed figure still enveloped in shadows spoke again. “By the Mother, I never heard such a thing.”

The figure moved toward Adrina who edged closer and closer to the open window behind her.

“Child, I will not harm you.”

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Adrina asked, brushing back hair from her eyes. “Your face is covered in soot. Stop where you are or I will scream again.”

“Go ahead, none will hear. I come to speak to you, Highness. I have seen you standing in this tower often.”

“Who are you?”

“I live here. I clean. You will journey beyond Imtal. I have seen you in a far off place.”

“Seen me?”

“In a dream… Smell the wind.”

“Smell, the wind?”

“Child, smell it. It comes, can you not tell?”

“It?”

The strange woman took Adrina’s hand and turned her to the window. The chill breeze was still howling out of the north. “Change, child. Sadness cannot hold forever the land.”

Adrina turned to look at the woman’s face. The woman directed Adrina’s gaze away and pointed to the distant horizon. Adrina stared long. She imagined she could see Solstice Mountain and the whole of the Rift Range. In her dreams, she had journeyed there. The border country all around Great Kingdom was wild, to the north especially so. The sole purpose of the elite High Road Garrison Guardsmen was to provide travelers with safe passage along the Kingdom’s High Road and to shield the Kingdom from bandit incursions out of the north. Beyond High Road was a vast desert called the Barrens, a no man’s land. Beyond the Barrens was the untiring Rift Range—ice-capped mountains of jagged black rock that climbed perilously into the heavens. Or so she had been told.

“Is that where I’ll journey to?” Adrina asked, turning around. The woman was gone. “Hello?… Are you still here?”

The chill north wind howled. Adrina turned eyes filled with expectations back to the fields beyond Imtal. Calyin had told her once that in the north there were mountains that breathed rivers of fire.

Hearing what sounded like a foot slipping across the stones of the floor, Adrina spun around. “Hello? Hello?” she called out.

From the shadows the woman whispered, “Be careful what you wish for.”

Adrina stepped toward the woman. “What do you mean?”

The woman, her face suddenly appearing aged beyond her years, took Adrina’s hand. She kneeled then and as she kissed Adrina’s hand, Adrina felt the moisture of tears on her arm. The woman whispered, “I cry for the children who at the end of the journey will never be the same. Child, I cry for you. I cry because I see you standing in the midst of a killing field. I cry for the thousands dead at your feet…”

Crying out into the darkness, alone, afraid and drenched in sweat, Vilmos awoke. His thoughts raced. The whole of his small body shivered uncontrollably. Opening eyes and uncurling his huddled form from a corner, moist with his own perspiration yet still cold from the night’s chill, was a slow, time-consuming process.

“It was only a nightmare,” Vilmos whispered to reassure himself—a nightmare like no other. In the dream he had used the forbidden magic once too often and the Priests of the Dark Flame—opposers of all that is magic and magical—came from their temples to slay him.

Vilmos stood uneasily and dipped trembling hands into the washbasin beside the bed. The cool water sucked the hurt from his eyes and mind and gently began to soothe and awaken his senses as nothing else could.

Carefully he dabbed a wet cloth to the corners of his eyes and only then did he become something other than the frightened boy who in his dreams huddled into the forlorn corner because of the sense of security it gave him to know his back was against the wall and that nothing could sneak up on him from behind.

Only then that he became the boy of twelve whose name was Vilmos. Vilmos because it was a trustworthy name. Vilmos because it was his father’s name, who was named Vilmos because it had been his father’s name. Vilmos, the Counselor’s son.

Readying for the day’s chores, he tried to push the last of the dream from his thoughts, but as he leaned down to rinse his face once more in the cool water of the basin it was as though he was sucked into the water and when he opened his eyes, he was in a different place. In this place, there was no moon or stars, only boundless lines of fire cutting into the ebony of the heavens.

At his feet lay a dirt road and ahead beyond a crossroads was a forest of dark trees. The dark trees, glowing with an eerie radiance, called to him. Puzzled, Vilmos clutched his arms about his chest and followed the dirt road toward the strange light in the distance.

Beyond the crossroads was a long stretch of empty road. Vilmos hurried. As he approached the forest, the shadows grew long despite the glow in the treetops. It was within these shadows that Vilmos saw a mass of black darker than all the rest. Slowly the mass took form and it was only as he stumbled through the great ruins that he saw someone sitting within the folds of the great shadow. When the figure looked in Vilmos’ direction, two thin beams of light radiated from eyes the color of a silver moon.

Stare as he might, Vilmos could only see the strange eyes within the folds of the figure’s hood. He asked, “Is this a dream?”

“If a dream, it is a waking dream.” The voice seemed to be that of a man.

“Who are you?” Vilmos asked.

“You can call me ‘Shaman’.” The shaman stood. Vilmos was surprised to find he could look directly into the shiny eyes without looking up. The strange eyes, hypnotizing and dazzling, danced as the shaman regarded Vilmos, and then the shaman took Vilmos’ hand. The hand in Vilmos’ seemed a piece of hardened leather and not the hand of a man at all.

Vilmos repeated, “Who are you?”

“Who I am is not important at the moment.” The robed figure lowered his hood to reveal childlike features riddled with lines that spoke of ages past and of hardship. Although few of the ancient ones ever ventured into the kingdoms, Vilmos had read about them in the Great Book. He knew in an instant the figure was a gnome and kin to the mighty dwarves who lived in the bowels of the earth.

The shaman raised his eyes to the fires etched in the skies and then waved his hands one over the other until a glowing orb of brilliant white appeared. Within the orb was a face, the face of a woman young in her years, though still older than Vilmos. Her cheekbones were high and rosy. Her eyes were green and her hair, long and black. In a way she was strikingly beautiful, yet there was such sadness in her eyes and this sadness cut into his heart.

“Who is she?” Vilmos asked.

“A princess and the one you seek,” whispered the shaman. For an instant, tension and pain was evident on the shaman’s face, and then a new figure appeared within the orb. “Take a long look, Vilmos. He is of a race swept from the world of the seeing long ago. Their legend is recorded in the Great Book of your realm, yet few ever knew the truth of their disappearance. Change is sweeping the land, all the lands, and the kingdoms of elf and human are no exception.”

Vilmos beaded his eyes, his heart filled with hatred. “Elves are our sworn enemies.”

The shaman grabbed Vilmos’ shoulders and shook him violently. “Remember the faces. The two and the one will be drawn together as are the winds clashing against the fourth unseen. Your dreams will bring them.”

As he spoke, the shaman turned to the forest. “The land called Ril Akh Arr and within dwell the shape-changing beasts of the night. Be forewarned, they come for you, for the princess, for all who would stand in the way.”

The shaman paused to suck in the heavy air, and then wheeled his hands in a great circle. Just then, shadows swept through the skies blocking the fires of the heavens and the ground beneath Vilmos’ feet shook violently. “This place is called Under-Earth and you, Vilmos, are the second. The first was taken from me before I could reach her.”

Vilmos was puzzled. Were the stories true? Dare he ask the question that was on his tongue?

The shaman sighed. “My kingdom and people were taken away so many years past I cannot recall the day.”

“Your kingdom?”

The shaman grabbed Vilmos’ hand, the grip numbing as he drew a jagged blade from a scabbard at his belt. As he spoke, he dug the blade into Vilmos’ palm. “Elves, gnomes and humans are all very real. I will come for you, Vilmos. When I do, the dreams end and the journey begins. Remember the faces and forget not that the fourth can blow across the mountaintops. Remember there was another before you and that they reached her before I did. Now return to your affairs. Listen to the one who will lead you to me.”

The shaman paused. The shadows directly overhead now blocked out all light from the fire-streaked skies. As a great hand reached down from the heavens to grab them, the shaman hurled a brilliant green orb at Vilmos and spoke a single word, “Awaken.”

Vilmos blinked and found he was leaning over the water basin beside his bed, water and blood dripping from his upturned hands. He shook his head, blinked again. In the other room, he heard his mother calling him.

The aroma of fresh-baked black bread and honey cakes pungent in the air about the kitchen, mixing with the growling of his stomach, made him aware of an enormous hunger. The night had been unbearably long and he had not eaten since supper of the previous day.

“Late again. You’ll sleep your life away. Already an hour past first light,” said his mother. She stood in front of the hearth. The words were not meant to be harsh, nor were they taken thus. They were a standard greeting.

“I know mother, I am sorry,” replied Vilmos, tossing gnarled hair to one side surreptitiously, hair that should have been combed. He started to hurry away.

“Vilmos, where are you going?” Lillath asked. “Must I always remind you of your lessons? Someday you will fill your father’s position. Someday you will be Counselor of Tabborrath Village. Now, recite the lore of the peoples.”

“Mother, do I have to?”

Lillath didn’t say anything, she just stared.

“Can I use the book?”

“From memory.”

“The tale of the Four Peoples is the lore of four kingdoms,” Vilmos began, beaming with Lillath’s smile upon him. “Small in number, strong of will, united they stood against powerful kingdoms of the North. Four vast kingdoms would conquer the Four Peoples, but the will of the Four Peoples was too strong. Lycya, mightiest of the kingdoms, was swallowed by barren desert. North Reach and the clans over-mountain were consumed by the twenty-year snow. Queen of Elves and all her people were washed into West Deep by the three-year rain. Only the Alder’s kingdom, once the smallest kingdom of the North, survives.

“To survive, the Alder’s kingdom formed an alliance with the Four Peoples. Their Graces, King Alexas of Yug, King Jarom of Vostok, King Peter of Zapad and his Royal Majesty, King Charles of Sever, are the wardens of the Four Peoples. The four wardens maintain the alliance and protect the Four Peoples.”

Lillath maintained her smile. “Well, yes,” she said, “that is the lore of the four kingdoms and thus the tale of Four Peoples. But it is not the lore of the Four Peoples. You need to take great care in your listening. Listening is the counselor’s greatest skill. Each tale, each bit of lore, tells a lesson. Relate the lesson through the lore; it is the way of the counselor. Choose the wrong tale, give the wrong advice. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Now tell me the correct tale and guess the lesson.”

Nervously, Vilmos played his tongue against his cheek. “From memory?”

“You may use the book if need be, at times even your father reads from the book.”

“Mother,” began Vilmos, looking into her eyes with much sincerity, “is it not time to—”

“Run along,” she said. “Wood for the day’s fire.” There was a hint of mirth in her voice as she watched him wet his hands and settle his unruly hair.

Vilmos briefly, but closely, studied his mother’s features as he did each morning. Offset by a touch of gray, dark black hair the color of a starless night sky fell to her waist. Her face, ripened with age in a pleasant way, was deep-set with eyes of hazel that seemed always to be calling out. This morning they said, Hurry along or you’ll be late.

He looked like her, not like father, thought Vilmos each morning as he did this—a father who barely tolerated him. Harsh words chased through the boy’s mind. “Vilmos, why did you do that? I told you not to!” or “Vilmos, go to your room.” With an occasional, “I should send him away,” thrown in when his father thought Vilmos couldn’t hear.

“He is only a boy,” Vilmos often heard in rebuke. “He will change in time. Give him more time.” There was a deep love between the two, mother and son.

Wood for the hearth could be gathered easily from the brambles on the edge of the thick woods near the outskirts of the village and it was to this place that Vilmos started to go, but the outside air this morning was chillier than usual and it sent a shiver racing down Vilmos’ back. It carried with it sadness and a sudden flood of remembrance. In the back of his mind, Vilmos knew the real reason he watched his mother so closely. One day he would indeed be sent away, far away, because one day the dark priests would come for him.

Vilmos returned to the house to collect his short cloak. As he ran through the kitchen he stopped beside his mother. Rising up on the tips of his toes, he gave her a single peck on her cheek. For an instant, a smile broke her tired face and fondly she touched hand to cheek.

“That’s better,” Vilmos shouted to no one in particular as he ran outside, slipping the sleeves of his shielding cloak into place. He could endure the cold now, and in a way, the memory as well.

“Hurry, breakfast!” shouted Lillath after him, while unconsciously raising a hand to her cheek once more where soft, young lips had touched. Vilmos looked back only for a moment to see this and to catch her eye. She added as he dashed away, “Remember to be careful… Remember what happened to the girl from Olex Village.”

Guardedly, Seth walked beside Queen Mother. His mind carefully searched while his eyes scanned every shadow the two passed. As First of the Red, her safety was his responsibility. He was against remaining in Sanctuary, but Queen Mother wouldn’t speak of leaving.

For reasons that escaped Seth, she wanted to use Sanctuary’s High Hall. Its crystalline walls were specially attuned to reflect the feelings of a particular host despite even the best efforts of a mental block or mind shield, and although that was a feat Queen Mother could have easily performed herself, she had said that she wished to conserve her will power. For what, she hadn’t said.

Queen Mother, is it true, has he truly returned? Has Sathar survived the Dark Journey? Seth sent into her mind as he walked.

Even now he joins forces with King Mark of West Reach and still others flock to his banner. It is as we most feared. The time has come… May Father and Mother watch over us…

Will there be war?

Queen Mother regarded Seth. I will miss you in my thoughts.

The words caught Seth by surprise. He didn’t understand. The link between protector and queen was unbreakable. He was the watch warden of her body and of her mind. He felt her pain. He knew her anguish, her every anxiety. This was the link. My Queen, I don’t understand. If you break the link, how will I know if you come to harm? I must be able to find you at all times, no matter the circumstance.

In time, you will Brother Seth. Even traditions that stem from ages past cannot remain forever. Soon it will be time to guard my own thoughts and my own being, just as the first queen had to do. Centuries ago we abandoned our ancestral homes. We fled to this barren land out of fear. We have lived in fear of repeating the past and only succeeded in repeating it.

Seth was confused and the emotions he cast along with his words showed it. But my queen, you mustn’t. You must direct your will to protect land and people.

Shh, say no more. We are at High Hall.

The two passed through the outer antechamber and entered High Hall. Seth remained at Queen Mother’s side. He was pleased to see Brother Ry’al seated behind Brother Samyuehl, First of the Blue Order.

Greetings, sent Seth to Ry’al, guiding the thought solely to Ry’al’s mind. Seth had not seen Ry’al since the two had been together under Samyuehl’s tutelage, a time during which Seth had learned a great deal—being of the Red Order meant that he had endured the seven teachings as a member of each order and the training with the Blue had been especially interesting.

Just as Queen Mother took her place and sent her own greetings to the foremost six, each dressed in the appropriately colored robes of their order—Yellow, Brown, Blue, Black, White and Gray—Seth contemplated his long period of tutelage. He then turned to the long rows of cushioned pews to the left and right of the colorful six where the members of High Council sat. As all seemed to be in order, he took his place two paces behind Queen Mother.

High Hall’s crystalline walls attuned to Queen Mother’s mood. Color spraying forth from the spot where the queen stood, covering the floor, walls and ceiling in a thousand shades of black and gray. When she was certain she had everyone’s attention, Queen Mother reached out her hand to the white satin-pillowed couch that dominated the center of the hall.

The touch of her hand seemed to melt away the color and then as she levitated in the air above the couch, the white of the satin faded to gray.

For a few moments before he settled behind the shields in his mind, Seth knew and felt Queen Mother’s every thought and emotion. She was reminding herself that she had been annoyed this morning and had been annoyed many times over many previous days, but not now. Now she needed to keep her mind clear and her thoughts focused. She needed to keep her emotions centered and directed.

She chose her words carefully now and directed her thoughts outward. Greetings to wise council. Thank you for a speedy assembly…

Those words were the last Seth heard before he entered the quiet solitude of his mind. His duty was to be present and not to listen in unless directed to. He had many other things to concern himself with besides squabbles amongst High Council or the First Brothers. Again, he feared for Queen Mother’s safety and wondered what would come of his fears.

Within the folds of his mind, Seth was barely aware of the outside world. Time passed slowly. Then for a single instant, it was as if a breeze had entered his mind—a presence in his thoughts.

Seth opened his eyes and turned to Queen Mother. She regarded him for a moment then dismissed him by saying, Go now, return to your studies.

Seth stood his ground, the indignity he felt at the dismissal showing briefly on his face. Then he exited High Hall, speaking not a word.

A time will come when you will know there are things greater than the self, Queen Mother whispered after him, things greater than our people, and then you will come to terms with the sacrifice I make, but for now return to your studies. You study the ways of Man for a reason. A time of great change comes, a time of change for all. The battle for East Reach is far off, but the battle to save all is already beginning… She paused momentarily then added, Call Brother Galan to my chambers.

Chapter Two:

The Winds of Change

Evening found Adrina in the East wing of the palace. She had been wandering its quiet halls for the last few hours. Hunger had roused her to conscious concerns. She still hadn’t changed into a dinner gown and the evening meal was less than an hour away. She would have to hurry to meet it, and this she did with urgency. She didn’t want to be late, especially after avoiding her duties all day.

Her chambers were on the upper level of the West wing and while Adrina could have gone down two flights of stairs to the ground level and crossed the gardens to the West wing, she decided to use the private royal access ways. Although this route was longer because she had to go through the North wing, she wouldn’t have to go up or down any stairs. And she didn’t want to stumble into Lady Isador before she changed into her gown—she didn’t want to stumble into Lady Isador at all, especially after avoiding her duties all day.

Adrina ran full stride down dark corridors that she knew so well she could have closed her eyes and ran along. There was no fear of bumping into anyone, no one but her used them now, and she knew well ahead of time their every turn by the count of her strides. She turned a sharp corner and knew she was entering the North wing. A mostly straight stretch of hallway was ahead and then another sharp turn—the West wing.

She slowed her gait to catch her breath; the line of light ahead was from the door to her chambers. She stopped outside the door and peeked in. Inside, attendants were waiting to help her with her gown but she didn’t see or hear Lady Isador. She paused a moment more to ensure the governess wasn’t waiting somewhere out of eyesight, then entered.

The attendants fussed over her hair for a time and helped her put on the gown, but Adrina knew she couldn’t wait for them to finish properly. She rushed out of her room even just as they fully secured the ties of the gown around her waist and neck.

She raced so fast down the broad central staircase that she nearly ran down the captain of the guard. She stumbled through a curtsy, and then rushed away.

In the great hall, Andrew, her father, was seated on his kingly chair with its high raised back and stout, straight arms in the true fashion of his office. Catching the gleam in his eye as he looked upon her, Adrina sighed then sat. An attendant pushed her seat forward, and she nodded in response. She was not late, though only barely so.

“Good evening, father,” Adrina said, while trying to hide the sudden smile that came to her lips. “I trust I am not late?”

King Andrew swept his gaze around the enormous oblong table to the faces of the honored guests. “Only so, dear Adrina. Only so.”

Adrina looked to the stone figurehead that was Chancellor Yi. He stood rigidly behind her father in his rightful place as the king’s principal adviser. The old chancellor did not move as he stood there, nor did he ever unless summoned. This was a strange thing since otherwise he was plagued with a habitual cold. A cold complete with runny nose, continuous sniffles and sneezing. A cold that he could turn off and on at will. To Adrina it was a warning sign of the deadening effect of the dreary, gray castle upon the senses, numbing everything away, leaving only the dead and the dying.

She would watch him while she ate, as she often did, searching for that small, scarcely perceivable shift of muscle or limb that told her he was still alive and not quite dead like some of the courtiers who dined with them and might just as well have been made of the cold stones of the gray wall behind her—they cared just about as much.

Her stomach rumbled. Adrina looked to the attendants waiting to ferry food to the tables, knowing that the prayer would come first and waiting for Father Tenuus to rise to his feet and clear his throat.

Father Tenuus was the  only member of the priesthood that lived in the palace. Others of the priesthood, like Father Jacob, first priest of Great-Father, had chambers tucked away in the East wing of the palace this was true, but mild times mandated a breaking with old traditions. Now only Father Tenuus remained. The others had long ago abandoned Imtal Palace.

When the aged priest, given to habitual forgetfulness nearly to the point of annoyance, finally began the invocation, Adrina said her own silent prayer. She hoped he’d finish in record time. Her stomach rumbled again. She was hungry, very hungry.

Adrina’s eyes wandered to the aged priest as he spoke. Long ago, she had stopped listening to the words he spoke, and so she figured it wasn’t necessary to bow her head or close her eyes either. She told herself she would relish the day when he passed on, and then she cursed herself for thinking it. It had been Father Tenuus who had placed the crown on her father’s head on coronation day. Father Tenuus who had joined her mother and father, Alexandria and Andrew, queen and king, in matrimony. And Father Tenuus who had brought her into the world.

Adrina sighed. The prayer seemed finally over. She watched attendants descend upon the tables carrying plates overloaded with fresh baked breads, platters with golden brown game hens, decanters of wine and an array of steaming dishes carrying wonderful aromas. Her mouth watered. Yet, just when everyone thought Father Tenuus would say “amen,” he began to speak again.

Adrina tucked a wayward strand of dark hair behind her ear and scowled. She looked around the table. Her father, apparently midway through a smile, frowned, yet made no comment. He never did.

When Father Tenuus finally did finish, it was a mad dash to get food to the tables while it was still somewhat warm. Adrina watched in earnest as she was served. The rather pale looking man to her right, clothed in a purple velvet overcoat and blue silken shirt, turned a whiter shade of white as he raised a handkerchief to his puffy red nose. He was pretending to be aloof but Adrina knew inside he was probably seething because she was ignoring him.

King Andrew smiled as Adrina began eating without waiting for his approval. Adrina knew he liked her independent nature, for he had fostered this especially in her. Yet she also knew a great deal could be hidden in a simple smile. Its uneasy weight made her cringe and turn away from her father’s gaze. Her independence was exactly what she and Lady Isador, her maternal nanny—governess—had discussed in length just the previous Seventhday.

“His Majesty is getting along in years, as am I, young Adrina,” Lady Isador had told her in her frank, motherly way. “Some day you will be alone. His Majesty favors finding you a suitable mate in the near future. Already several prospective suitors have been made aware that you will soon be of courting age. His Majesty has charged me with preparing you to begin courtship. Yet, it is well known—” And this is the part that made Adrina cringe then and now, for Lady Isador had come to tears. “—that you are not a courtly lady. I am afraid I have failed miserably in my duties as your governess. I asked to be dismissed, but His Majesty wouldn’t hear of it. ‘She is strong willed, strong minded, not easily pleased, and quick to anger, which is perhaps my own fault,’ His Majesty told me. Young Adrina, I gasped at the hearing, His Majesty is never wrong nor at fault. ‘Lady Isador,’ His Majesty went on to tell me, ‘you have a lot of work to do if you are to retire at summer’s end.’ I agreed with him on that point.

“South Province is calling me home young Adrina. Only Great-Father and Mother-Earth could keep me from it. I long to see my father’s house, walk amongst the great white birch trees that line the yard, and smell strong southerly breezes. Breezes that make you want to curl your toes up and walk through tall midsummer grass…”

A smile did come to Adrina’s lips then, and she turned to look back at her father-king. There was a faraway look in the monarch’s eyes and Adrina could only wonder as to his thoughts. Surely, he was considering the progress of the search. She had heard that not a single one of the upper lords had responded. She wagered that presently he was considering which nobles of the middle and lower houses had suitable sons.

Momentary delight came to her eyes as Chancellor Yi seemed to twitch—King Andrew had nodded ever so slightly to get his attention. No doubt having mentally completed the list, he was whispering a notation in the chancellor’s time-bent ear.

Adrina played with the bit of honey-glazed hen that remained on her plate. No longer hungry, she probably could have pushed the mostly empty plate away, but soon afterwards one of the dreadful courtiers would have undoubtedly moved in and she would have been locked into a meaningless conversation. No, she thought, let them think she was interested only in eating.

When Captain Brodst, the man Adrina had nearly collided with earlier, entered and approached the king’s table, Adrina’s heart raced—even the captain of the guard did not interrupt the evening meal without justification. Adrina tried to listen in but could only hear some of what was being said.

“—it is urgent, Your Majesty,” Captain Brodst said, “a messenger has arrived this hour from the South.”

King Andrew furrowed his brow. “I gather the news is more than urgent?” Captain Brodst nodded. “I see, have council chambers prepared. I will be along presently.”

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” said Captain Brodst, kneeling appropriately, preparing to make his exit.

“And captain?”

Captain Brodst nodded again.

“Rouse two guards to council doors.”

A pained expression crossed the captain’s face. Captain Brodst took great pride in his position as captain of the king’s guard and being told to do the obvious was an insult. Adrina sympathized with the burly captain. She liked him, though he seemed to have little love for her.

“At once, sire,” said Captain Brodst. Then he quickly departed.

Adrina was left to amble through the scattered remains on her plate. Her hope was to escape the dining hall and find a strategic position near the council chambers.

She waited, and waited, patiently thinking to herself that the matter wasn’t too urgent or else her father would have departed immediately. Then again, her father had never been one quick to stir to action. Sometimes it seemed that he mulled over the simplest of decisions for hours—like the color of a new flower to put into the gardens—and then those decisions that she assumed he would deliberate over for days were made in the blink of an eye. Still, she had seen him take seven days to contemplate a heated land dispute when a decision had been desperately needed that same day to keep two of the lower lords from mauling each other.

As King Andrew laid his dinner knife aside and rinsed his fingers in the dipping bowl for what appeared to be the last time, all eyes around the great oblong table rose to greet his. The time for Adrina to make her move was now or never. She shot a withering grimace to the pale little man to her right—stay where you are, she warned with her eyes—and attempted to follow in Andrew’s wake.

She glanced back as she gracefully but hurriedly exited the hall to see if anyone followed. Most of the courtiers were caught in the tangle of attendants swarming over the tables to remove the remnants of the meal. Some of the courtiers had guardedly returned to their fare as they always did. Some were already deep in meaningless conversations with whomever was to their right or left. These were the ones who had either decided they’d never gain the king’s favor and it was nearly time to depart Imtal Palace, or those who were just present because it was the thing to do. There were those who had chosen the evening meal as their final battling ground—their last chance to confer with His Majesty—and these were the ones that sought to follow but were caught in the tangle of attendants.

There were also those whose task it was to watch. They were the eyes and ears of many a lord and even the paid spies of other kings. Adrina was suddenly sure the rather pale looking man beside her was not only pretending to be aloof but was also listening to the King’s every word. He did not get caught up in the tangle of attendants. In fact, he moved rather adroitly through the crowded room and into the adjacent hall.

As she reached the wide open-aired corridor connecting the central wing of the castle with the West wing, Adrina’s heart and mind began to race with the possibility of excitement ahead.

“A messenger with grave news,” she whispered to herself. Change.

Crystalline walls mirrored Queen Mother’s innermost feelings. The day held promise. Her mood was bright. The room, bright.

Walls, ceiling and floor of the modest meditation cubicle were clean-swept, and broken only by the frame of the door before her. The chamber, designed for ascetic purposes, was meant to hold no distractions.

Queen Mother herself was outfitted in a flowing white robe. It too was without adornment, designed to hold no distractions. It dangled several feet beneath her crossed legs and levitated form. Her arms were also crossed. Her eyes, appropriately closed. Her head, level and directed toward the closed door. Her thoughts dwelled solely on cleansing meditation.

She did not respond to the soft summons the first time it entered her mind. Instead, she held persistently to her meditation. She was trying to forget.

My queen… came whispered words into her mind a second time.

A second time Queen Mother cast them away. She didn’t want anything to spoil her pleasant mood, especially as troubled as her mind had been upon waking and considering how long it had taken her to soothe those troubles away. The day held promise, she reminded herself.

My queen… the voice came more urgently.

Annoyed now, Queen Mother opened her eyes. A light wave of her hand stirred the cubicle’s door and swept it quickly open. Do come in Brother Liyan… What brings First Counsel to my door?

Following the unspoken whisper, the timeworn elder outfitted all in gray entered the room—the gray of the robe was a symbol of office, unlike the white of Queen Mother’s robe, which was a symbol of her whims. Brother Liyan nodded to the Red Brother who stood watch just inside the chamber. Dark brown eyes regarded him for a moment and a chill ran the length of his spine.

The crystalline walls slowly adjusted to reflect agitation. At first they dulled and darkened to a metallic bronze and then settled on a murky brown. Taking note of the falling and deepening of the cubicle’s glow, Brother Liyan turned pale.

My queen, Brother Liyan said as he stepped across the threshold. He kneeled appropriately, and awaited her response to make further comment. Under other circumstances, he would not have been so formal and formality would have been the last thing expected of him, but here in the halls of Sanctuary when Queen Mother herself had called a retreat it was expected of him and so he did his part.

Queen Mother responded again, only with feelings as she often did when annoyed.

Brother Liyan looked up into Queen Mother’s eyes and uneasily rose from his knees. My queen, a thousand pardons for the interruption, but this matter is urgent. You did not address it directly during the assembly, but I gather that Brother Seth prepares for the journey?

Yes, that is so.

I do not understand. Why Brother Seth, First of the Red? His strength is needed here in Leklorall, especially now.

Queen Mother held her position, her long white dress cascading to the clean, cold floor. It must be.

You yourself said the chosen wouldn’t survive the ordeal. The chosen will never return to East Reach… Brother Seth must not go. Who would protect in his stead? Surely then… Brother Liyan paused and looked to the brooding figure standing beside the door. As the second, Brother Galan must stay…

That is a truth you would do well never to impart again… Only those of the assembly know the fate of the chosen… Brother Seth is free to choose as many Brothers of the Red as he feels necessary to accompany him. If it is in his will to choose Brother Galan, then she too must go.

Brother Liyan paled visibly again, yet would make the protest he had repeated over and over in his thoughts in preparation for this very moment. My queen, have you considered what it is you do? The Red are your chosen protectors. It will soon be too late to—

Shielding their thoughts and slamming the cubicle’s door abruptly, Queen Mother didn’t allow Brother Liyan to finish. Black walls mirrored her increasingly somber mood, for these were the very thoughts she had sought to cleanse away through her meditation. Precisely, was her response and the Brother Liyan’s eyes went wide.

My queen… Brother Liyan didn’t understand.

Good Brother, savor this feeling on a future day, but for now know that I am fully cognizant of my actions. I am the living prophet of my people, am I not? I know very well what it is I do… If I as Queen Mother, the heart and soul of my people, cannot pay the dearest of prices for the ridding of the greatest of ailments, then I, and all, fail the greatest of tests… Brother Seth is our only hope. He will fight to survive where others would surely succumb. Never have I seen such faith. Never have I seen such determination. He must believe he can succeed. And he must truly strive for this.

My queen, Brother Liyan gasped. I truly did not know or understand, forgive me.

There is no need for forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive. We each have our parts in this and we must play them out. We have waited too long to act. Sathar has the ear of King Mark. Our people return to the lands of Man… There was evident sadness in her voice.

Brother Galan, called out Queen Mother.

Galan opened her brown eyes and cleared her thoughts. Queen Mother?

Leave us now. Tell Brother Seth I await his presence…

Galan fixed her eyes upon Brother Liyan. Remember your place, her deep-probing stare said. Then she quickly departed the chamber.

Out of breath from the long run, Vilmos doubled over. The sharp pain in his sides told him the run had been especially good. The way he figured it, if the walk from his father’s house to the edge of the woods took thirty minutes one way and he ran it in five, he had nearly an hour to do whatever he pleased.

After the pain and the spots before his eyes passed, Vilmos quickly stretched. He knew from experience if his leg muscles were too tense or if he strained a muscle, he’d have to walk—or limp—home. Upon finishing, he put on his boots. He preferred to run barefoot; otherwise, the boots gave him blisters.

The air grew suddenly cold as an icy wind howled up the little country path that parted the dark wood. It was then that Vilmos noticed how quiet the woods were that morning.

He stared long into the dark wood—keeper of his secrets—as he often did. Here his childhood dreams had been realized. In the shadow of the great trees, he could run screaming as loud as he pleased, slay fire-breathing dragons by the score, discover incredible lost treasures, play with imaginary friends, and still return home on time—well, usually.

Vilmos easily collected a large bundle of light wood from the nearby thicket, and then laid it aside. The wind howled. He stared up the overgrown path. He never ventured very far into the woods—only far enough to be within their shadows, yet close enough to still see the sunlight of the clearing beyond.

He heard what sounded like footsteps. He turned and stared, but saw only shadows. An alarm went off in his mind. He picked up a large branch and wielded it before him.

“Hello?” he called out, “Is someone there?”

Movement in the shadows caught his eye. For an instant, he could have sworn he saw an old man carrying a gnarled cane.

“Hel-lo?”

Holding the stick before him, in what to him seemed a menacing pose, Vilmos crept into the shadows of the dark woods. Leaves crunched beneath his boots. He grimaced. Movement caught his careful eye again. He turned, raising the stick, ready to strike, then stopped cold. He saw a mound of black fur and dark eyes, a great black bear, kin of the much smaller browns the village huntsmen often sought.

The giant bear was no more than five feet away.

Two days ago in Olex Village, one of the three villages in their cluster, a young girl had been mauled to death by a bear. Vilmos didn’t want to share her fate. He stood perfectly still, his heart racing so fast it seemed to want to jump out of his chest. Then the great beast reared up on its hind legs. Terror gripped Vilmos’ mind. Warm urine raced down his legs. His every thought told him to run, but he couldn’t. It was as if he was frozen to the spot where he stood.

His eyes bulging, he stared at the bear, sure any moment it would swing one of its mighty paws and that would be the end of it. He didn’t want to die; he had so many dreams left unfulfilled.

Again, a voice in his mind screamed, Run! But he could not.

Images from his nightmare became real. In the nightmare, the dark priests had come for him and, like now, he had been unable to run. In the dream, blue flames conjured from his fright and desperation had lashed out at the priests. The priests had merely laughed and still they had taken him.

As if conjured again from his fear and desperation, the forbidden magic came. Vilmos felt a prickling sensation—raw energy—in his fingertips. In his mind, he screamed No! at himself and the bear. What if this was the one time too many? What if this was the time that made the dark priests come for him? Then he asked himself the final what if. What if the bear charged now?

One swipe of its powerful paw was all it would take to end his young life. The girl from Olex Village had been taken nearly so.

What had the village huntsmen said about bears? Had the girl not run when she should have? Or ran when she shouldn’t have? Vilmos couldn’t remember. He stared directly at the bear. It was sniffing the air as if insulted that it was crosswinds from him. Then suddenly it dropped to all fours—Vilmos was sure this was it, this was the end. The bear would charge, swipe and he would die.

The bear roared. Vilmos squeezed his eyes tight. A scream built in his throat, but died as it escaped his lips. Silence followed.

Vilmos waited—surely the great bear must be charging—and waited. The forest was deadly still. Vilmos inched one eye open, then the other. The bear was gone. Astonished, both his eyes grew wide. He stared into the shadows. Listened.

Nothing.

He sniffed the air; there was a strange scent in it. Scorched wood. Burnt flesh. Singed hair. All three?

Slowly, Vilmos edged forward until he was directly in front of one of the forest’s giant oaks. He ran his hands along two still warm scorch marks in the tree’s trunk. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He had done what he shouldn’t have.  He had conjured the blue flames.

Suddenly remembering breakfast and the woodpile, he turned his gaze to the forest’s edge. He saw the sun in the clearing and ran for its safety.

Seth glanced at the piles of scrolls and tomes spread across his desk. No matter what Queen Mother had told him, there was no way he could remain unaffected by such writings. The fact that she wouldn’t listen to his protests only served to agitate him.

Focus, Seth told himself. He set one of the leather-bound tomes before him, tried to convince himself he wanted to read it, then after a long pause opened it. The book was titled, “Courtship rituals of the noble class.” He read the first page without any difficulty; it was an introduction. In fact, he waded his way through three entire chapters without any difficulty.

Yet, he wasn’t expecting to find a drawing as he turned the page to chapter four. Disgusted, he pushed the book away. There was no way he would continue to study such perversity. His thoughts were cluttered, so much had happened yesterday.

He focused his thoughts on the breeze blowing outside the protected fields of Sanctuary. He raced with the swells, danced in the swirls and accompanied the currents into the heavens. There was moisture in the clouds. This was good. The rain was needed to quench the dryness of the earth.

Peace of mind swept over Seth. The will of the land found him. He pushed away the troubled thoughts of today and yesterday, and returned to the book. Hastily, he turned to the next page and began to read.

Without announcement, a figure clad in red burst into the room. Seth looked up from his studies only long enough to see it was Brother Galan. He glanced up once more to see her prepare for a bath, then his thoughts returned to the book.

You study too much. You need to relax… whispered a soft voice in his mind, You should join me.

Seth looked up again to see Galan standing before him. I wish I could.

Is it true then what I’ve heard? Galan sent strong emotions with the words, longing and curiosity.

For the first time as he looked at her, Seth saw Galan as different, beautiful. Suddenly uneasy and not understanding why, Seth stared down at his books. Their strange ideas pollute my mind even now.

Then it is true.

Seth wavered his head left and then right in acknowledgment.

Galan asked, What do you find most odd about them?

Seth smiled. Galan had the insatiable curiosity of a preborn child. She held the same view of looking at the world. She saw things as flashes of colors and feelings. Only Galan would ask what he found most odd about them. I find them most odd. Everything about them. This notion of marriage. Their idea of distinct gender. Their class structure. They would find me calling you, Brother, very odd.

Why is that? Galan scratched at her side. Why has Queen Mother told you to study their ways?

Will you stand my watch again this day?

Galan answered not with words, but with feelings, playfulness.

There were times Seth could easily forget Galan had only recently ascended. At times like now, however, he was painfully aware of it. Galan had many seasons of maturing ahead. Yet, Seth also knew that beneath the facade of youth lurked a mind that was quick and strong, already nearly a match for his own—which when he had ascended had also been advanced. In twelve short seasons, Galan had become the second highest of the Red Order.

Galan sent him impatience.

Seth shook his head again. All right, all right, I’ll join you… One hour away from my studies will do more good than harm.

Chapter Three:

It Begins

Days passed. News of the messenger from the Far South spread throughout Imtal Palace. Word in the halls was that it had been a personal message from King Charles of Sever. Something was terribly wrong in the small Kingdom of Sever, though none knew what it was. To Adrina it seemed servants knew more about the visit than she did. She had always been adept at gathering bits of information and tying them together, finding connections between the smallest of occurrences when there seemed none, which gave her enormous pleasure—a small triumph in an otherwise gray, boring world. She had truly done her best to listen outside the chamber doors, but had not succeeded.

Now it seemed she had a second chance. She was sure another messenger had just arrived. The palace heralds had just sounded in greeting, and minutes earlier she had heard the outer city heralds’ trumpeting calls. Adrina glanced at the flowing blue gown Lady Isador was still in the process of hemming—Lady Isador wouldn’t hear of allowing a servant to do the work. “Proper hands do proper work,” she had said and chased the servants away. That had been hours ago. It was now well past midday.

The clatter of hooves against the stones of the outer courtyard caused Adrina to jump and turn.

“Stand still, Young Highness,” said Lady Isador. “Look, look what I’ve done. I have to begin again.”

Still on her tiptoes, Adrina stared long. The sight of a sweated mount passing to the stables brought despair to her face. If she didn’t hurry she might never find out if she was right about the messenger. Think quickly, she told herself, think quickly.

“Down, down, down my dear,” said Lady Isador, “no wonder that hem looked all wrong. Mustn’t stand on tiptoes.”

Isador stopped her work and looked up at Adrina. “Oh, child, you look definitely peaked. Are you hungry? The day is long. Shall I order the midday meal?”

“Could we finish this tomorrow, Lady Isador?”

“Sixthday is only a few days away. We wouldn’t want to disappoint his lordship, the son of Klaive, would we?”

Adrina rose to her tiptoes again and turned a longing stare toward the stables.

“There goes that hem again,” muttered Lady Isador. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be, perhaps they do need a rest.”

Adrina asked, “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Young Highness, it is.”

Seth returned from the bath to find Brother Everrelle waiting for him. Queen Mother wishes you to High Hall and would have you wait in the antechamber until her summons to enter, Everrelle said, and Seth rushed off.

Seth found the antechamber empty. He waited, his thoughts filling with dread. Hours passed.

The walls of the antechamber oscillated through casts of gray, hovering just slight of brilliant silver, then fading to a quasi-black. Oblivious to this light show playing out before his  eyes, Seth sulked. He had seen it a thousand times before and would probably see it many thousands more. The subtle but swift changes were supposed to be soothing, but he wasn’t soothed.

Seth felt utterly helpless as he waited. He considered eavesdropping on those behind the closed doors. It would have been easy enough to do, a simple projecting of thoughts, nothing more. Those within would not have gone to the trouble of masking open thoughts, for the chambers did that for them. That was what the adjoining chambers had been designed for. Thoughts were enclosed within the sanctioned walls and went no further. The antechamber was considered part of the hall. There was another such chamber at the northern end. Guests could be seated in either of these chambers, and often were, and thoughts needed to pass back and forth freely. So no, the thoughts would not have been blocked to Seth. He would have only to reach out to them. Yet he did not do this for it would have breached the bounds of ethics ingrained into him since birth. He would wait and bide his time.

Seth turned his thoughts to Galan now. As they had walked to the bathing pool, distress had replaced her playfulness. Later, she had told him of Brother Liyan’s visit yesterday. Afterward she told him she had not masked her thoughts during their conversation. She had heard, seen and felt everything.

I am afraid for you my brother, but I must not say why… Galan had said. Will you promise to return to the chamber afterward?

Seth had said he would.

Seth’s thoughts became unfocused for a time. Then just when Seth thought he could wait no more, the doors swung open and the summons came.

He was shocked to see that all the members of the three councils attended and that many others streamed in through the far door. Many eyes were directed at him now and he did not know why.

There was an unusual amount of energy in the air accompanied by a strange silence, which to his prescient mind was like an unwholesome numbing. People fidgeted around in their cushioned seats or floated just above them nervously but voiced no thoughts.

Seth was beckoned to the fore, not by the flow of words or feelings to his wildly spinning mind but by the briefest stroking of his intuitive senses, a presage bundled in the form of a picture and thrust upon his mind, which was done for effect. It was such an overpowering tool that only Queen Mother would have ever resorted to its use, for any other would have provoked open wrath in the recipient and retribution would have been called for. Sure, Queen Mother could have sent simple thoughts of hot–cold and thus directed him, but any child could have done that. She wanted to stun him, and she had.

Head slightly lowered, eyes wide and upturned, Seth lurched to a perplexed halt. Words whisked through his mind as through a dream and he heard only a part of the message.

… I send my chosen protectors to return to the lands of Man as a symbol of my resolve…

Then suddenly an avalanche of voices cascaded into his head as Queen Mother’s words spawned a heated debate. Seth could only stare blankly ahead, still half in stupor as he sought to digest the multiple conversations.

Queen Mother lowered her gaze and when their eyes met a smile passed her lips—only in that instant, did Seth realize that none of the others knew what she had done to him. She had in a way stolen the words from his thoughts before he could offer protest. When he finally did come to protest it was already too late, only Seth had the misfortune of not realizing it then. He began his protest.

How can this be so? he demanded, Surely this is some sort of…

“Brother Seth, the decision of the High Council is final as is the word of Queen Mother,” the voice that permeated the air of the great hall was Brother Liyan’s. It was not often that one of the Brotherhood spoke aloud, but this too was done for effect. Immediate silence followed.

“But I must stay here. Here is where I belong. I have sworn to the Father to protect. Send another. The Red’s first duty is to protect.”

“No, Brother Seth,” the voice again spoken aloud this time was Queen Mother’s and now audible gasps crisscrossed the chamber.

Queen Mother never spoke aloud. “It was I who offered your services. The Brotherhood shall serve in this undertaking. It was I who said the Red would be the chosen ones.”

What of the Brown? Is this not a duty of the warrior order? Seth was just as purposeful when he responded in thought as when Queen Mother had spoken aloud. It was a small defiance, yes, but it was a defiance far greater than offering his opinion when she had obviously warned him that she wanted to hear little more than silence from him.

The presage had been her warning to him and now Seth had defied her, yet those of the council were not privy to her earlier act. So while gasps audible and inaudible—those of the mind—passed around the chamber again, Queen Mother fixed her open gaze upon him again. Under the weight of her stare he must hold his tongue, or suffer the accompanying wrath.

“Brother Seth, their part will come. It is not now.” Queen Mother again spoke aloud. “Why do you think you have been studying their ways these many past weeks?”

It is our duty, my duty, to stay. I will not go… Seth closed his mind to further thought. He did not wish to listen to any more nonsense. He had sworn with his life’s last thread that he would protect Queen Mother for all times. He would not leave her now or ever.

There was a trace of anger in Queen Mother’s countenance and the naked rendering of such a strong emotion in the company of the Council and so many others was in itself significant enough to send Seth’s knees to trembling. It wasn’t that he feared her wrath. Queen Mother held no malice within her—her eyes held only caring and her heart only love. There was greater pain than physical pain and the greatest mental anguish to his kind was shame and dishonor.

Seth? Brother Ry’al of the Blue thrust the word into his mind.

Seth refused to open his thoughts.Still the stubborn one aren’t you? Seth the protector. Can you not see? Surely, you must see it. The time is upon us. All is up to you, chastised Ry’al.

All this from Seth’s final refusal to Ry’al’s final entreaty occurred between one heartbeat and the next—the speed of pure thought.

If I must use my rank of office on you, I will. It is as it must be; no others could make the journey. What lies ahead is preordained for you, said Brother Liyan, whether you want to believe it or not, you know in your heart it is the truth.

The force of Liyan’s thoughts thrust into his mind confounded Seth and nearly sent a wave of anger rushing over him—yet he was able to turn that anger to his advantage. “I see the truth of your words, Brother Liyan of the Grey, Queen’s Counsel, greatest of the wise.” Seth spoke aloud, the precise phrasing of his words brought a partial smile to Liyan’s face.

“I make formal apology to High Council and to Queen Mother, who is the heart and soul of her people and who has wisdom second to no living mortal.”

Now Brother Liyan’s smile blossomed and broadened—this naked emotion was allowed. Wise words, he sent to Seth alone.

Seth turned to face the Council, waiting for acceptance of the apology.

Council accepts your apology, Brother Seth of the Red…

Relief passed over Seth, though the most important expression of forgiveness had not been passed yet—Queen Mother had not spoken. This never came, though Seth waited for what seemed an eternity in his turbulent thoughts.

Who will accompany me? Seth asked, breaking the silence.

I shall leave the choices up to you, Brother Seth. The voice in his mind was that of Queen Mother. I know it will be a difficult one but I have confidence in you, Brother Seth of the Red, first of that order, Queen’s Protector. You are the chosen one.

After piling the light wood cleanly on the floor next to the wood stack, Vilmos crossed to his room and changed clothes, heedless of the fixed scowl aimed directly at him. He was tardy, but only barely so. During the tangle with the bear he had lost the rope to tie around the bundle of wood. Instead of running home with a neatly tied bundle over his shoulder, he had had to walk. The walk hadn’t bothered him though; his legs had been shaky and unsteady after the encounter.

His eyes wide, Vilmos told his mother of the encounter with the bear and later about his inadvertent use of the forbidden magic. Lillath’s face turned white with horror. She swept Vilmos up in her arms.

“You poor, poor dear, frightened to death like that.”

Vilmos’ father put aside the Great Book and directed angry eyes at him. “Bear or no bear, there is no excuse for magic.”

“Yes, father, I know, but the power just comes to me. I can do nothing to stop it.”

Despite a mother’s pleading eyes, the angry words continued. “No excuses. If you had returned after gathering the wood, you never would’ve encountered the bear. You must resist the temptation to use the forbidden. It is the work of evil. You will spread it to the land and you will be damned!”

“Now don’t be harsh on the child, Vil.” Lillath called her husband Vil to keep words directed at father and son separate. “Go ahead, Vilmos, eat, you look beyond starved.” The objection finally said, the woman returned to her meal.

Vilmos started to smile, a flicker of hope that was cut short.

“I’m not being harsh. Do you want them to come? Do you want them to take him away?”

Vilmos gritted his teeth; here came the lesson.

“Salamander dweller amidst flames; Sylph light and dainty as air; Elf of forest and water; Gnome under mountain and stone; inhabitants of the four elements no more. All because Queen of Elves took pity on Gnome and so wed King of Gnomes under Solstice Mountain. Unknowingly she brought with her the gift of Elf magic. Elf magic in the hands of Gnome—pure evil.

“Sylph, Salamander, Elf and Gnome, no more. Only the four offspring of King Gnome and Queen Elf survived. Naiad dweller of river and spring. Nereid dweller of sea. Oread dweller under mountain. Elf dweller of forest. In the end, even though they fought the evil of this new magic and directed it toward good ends, all perished save willful Elf who was in the end washed into the sea with her people. This is the lore of the Four Peoples. Go now. Contemplate this lesson and the error of your ways.”

Cheerless eyes of a worried mother silently followed Vilmos. He could feel her eyes upon his back. He retreated to the sanctuary of his room  where he began a vigilant watch of the ceiling. He supposed that made it look like he was contemplating the error of his ways, but in truth he hated his studies.

A long time passed before his mother entered the room, carrying with her a large tome, the Great Book, and a plate full with breakfast foods: still-warm black bread, honey cakes, country jams, dark yellow cheeses and three varieties of smoked sausages. She sat the plate down and began to read from the Great Book.

Vilmos only half listened.

“After He was cast from our world, those among us, the wise, foretold that someday He would return. If we allow Him to escape the darkness through our use of magic, He will survive the endless journey of darkness… Magic draws upon the threads of the whole of the world. Eventually the threads will unravel. A rift will be created. When He has finally regained his powers, He will use this rift…”

Such teachings had been lectured many times before and though they were not lost on him, Vilmos didn’t give them much thought. The Dark Lord had perished a millennia ago. How could he return by the simple use of magic?

Besides, there seemed a never-ending list of lessons pertaining to the use of magic. It was true that tales of the Dark Lord and Queen Elf were the two that he heard constantly, but he was tired of them all.

“I try hard not to use it, mother, but I slip on occasion.”

“The use of the magic is expressly forbidden. Never use it. Do you understand me? Never.”

Vilmos appealed to her with his innocent eyes.

“I know but the power just comes to me. It is growing stronger, mother.”

A look of shock spread across Lillath’s features. She gasped. “You must not use it. Vilmos, promise me.”

“I can do nothing to stop it.”

Lillath, now appearing older than her years, swept Vilmos up in her arms. She held him for a time in a motherly embrace, and then let him go. She knelt beside him and placed both hands on his cheeks.

“After He was cast from our world those among us, the wise, foretold that someday He would return, but only if we continued to use magic. Magic is evil, Vilmos. This is why you must never use it. Promise me.” Her voice had never sounded grimmer.

“I will try, mother.”

Overtures of desperation, also a hint of vast knowledge, touched her words now. “Even I could not stop what must be done if you don’t do as I ask. Soon, mind you. Do you understand?”

“You wouldn’t let them take me away, would you, mother?”

“No, I would never allow the priests to take you away, Vilmos. I promise.” Lillath was crying now and on those words she returned to her kitchen.

In his heart Vilmos believed her. She wouldn’t let them take him away, yet if they came he knew she would have no choice. They would take him away. He would never see the Kingdom of Sever again.

Vivid images from the nightmare returned to his mind and with them came clouded, troubled thoughts. He did not want to be taken away from his home. He did not want to go away. He did not want to leave his mother. He loved Lillath desperately. She was all he had.

Vilmos closed his eyes then escaped to the place he went when troubled. A deep, majestic valley spread before him. Its view was breathtaking as he stared down into its depths, imagining himself a great, giant eagle lazily circling high above the valley floor. This was his special place, only his, he thought. He was the great winged beast, master of all it surveyed, who could swoop, soar and dive to the valley floor or glide up on a light puff of air.

Alone and free, the great golden eagle flew.

Vilmos had always been different from other children. His powers separated him and he knew and understood this as bitter reality. Other children wouldn’t play with him. He was an outcast, and he had been ever since the fateful day he had mistakenly loosed his magic during Three Village Day two summers ago.

A tear rolled down his cheek. The blue flames were the cause of all his anguish. Two summers ago he had nearly killed Willig of Olex Village. Over a game of catch-and-seek, the big boy had pinned him down and had beaten him mercilessly—Willig was a poor loser. Vilmos had used his only means of protection and now he was cast out, alone, forsaken by all—except by Lillath who loved him with a mother’s devotion.

He didn’t care, thought Vilmos, as he soared above the valley. He knew who he was. He was himself and that was all that mattered. Besides, now he didn’t have to go to those silly celebrations and he no longer had to take lessons with Willig or Erik, the other counselors’ sons, either. His father had hired private tutors to continue his education—a difficult undertaking since there were few in the land that could read or write with much skill.

A mocking grin broke the internal corners of his mind. Temporarily the image of the great eagle and the valley faded. Many tutors had come and gone since that terrible day. Yet his current teacher, Midori, was warm and generous. She did not overtax him with studies like the others. And although Vilmos did like her, he still had tried to frighten her away with his use of magic, as he had those before her. He had even resorted to his most resourceful trick—levitation: the floating of objects. The prank had only brought laughter and was ignored, to his utter dismay and befuddlement.

Devious thoughts clustered in his mind—scaring off another teacher would surely even out the score with his father. The frustration on Vil’s face would suffice as repayment for many chastisements—besides, it had taken a long time to find this newest teacher. He would use the blue flames, the blue flames that he had unleashed upon the unsuspecting boy, the blue flames that scorched and decimated, the blue flames that stemmed from his anger. He allowed the thought to settle upon his mind in a fanciful way.

However, the tutor had been so kind to him. It suddenly seemed an injustice to think such thoughts about her. Could he really hurt her? he wondered.

She was unlike any other teacher he had ever had. In fact, he usually enjoyed her visits very much. With effort, the thoughts slipped away before the anger that would sweep him away found him.

The transition back to the valley was made with a single folding of thoughts one on top of the other. The eagle with its stout, generous wings soared above the pristine valley. Floating on a pleasant pocket of air, sinking to the valley floor, scouring for prey, it filled Vilmos with life.

Vilmos did not know that in this form he also breathed life into a creature nearly as old as the valley itself.

Brother Liyan closed his eyes and listened to Seth’s tale. After the council meeting Brother Seth had wandered the halls aimlessly and caught himself from time to time staring down from above his own thoughts as if he were aloof from them, and during one such time he remembered Brother Galan. She had been waiting for him since early afternoon.

Seth returned to the room they shared then and did a thing he claimed not to understand. Galan was sitting on the edge of her bed, running a comb through her long hair. He sat beside her and the next thing he knew his lips were pressed against hers.

Immediately afterward, Seth fled the room and in his confused state of mind, said he knew of only one person he could turn to. Brother Liyan had been meditating in his private chambers and, without announcement, Seth burst into the room and in one great rush of thoughts explained all that had happened since he left the hall.

Liyan opened his eyes. Brother Seth, you have hardly committed an unforgivable transgression.

Seth sent Liyan tortured thoughts. These ideals of Man corrupt my thinking.

Brother Liyan had been Seth’s mentor for only one season now, his appointment at Queen Mother’s request. Just now he understood what it must have been like enduring the teachings of the seven orders and after every phase of the training beginning anew like a child and always in training with children. He was suddenly less afraid of the mysterious and powerful Red. It is Mother-Earth herself that corrupts your thinking… Have you never been beyond Kapital or Sanctuary?

I have traveled the canals of the city from end to end with Sailmaster Cagan, and I have traveled the road to Sanctuary. Is there anything beyond that I would care to see?

It seemed that Brother Liyan also understood why Seth had fought so hard in High Hall. Seth was genuinely afraid of venturing into the world and Liyan had perhaps discovered the one thing that could bring true fear to one of the Red. The whole of the world, Brother Seth, the whole of the world. Sights so marvelous you could hardly begin to imagine them all. And never forget that what you call Kapital, the people call Leklorall.

Liyan sent Seth a mental image, the green of a forest against the backdrop of a white-capped mountain, the sky so blue it was almost purple. That is our ancient home. Is it not truly beautiful?

What of my act? Is my mind perverted?

I should think so, said Liyan, quickly adding before Seth could fly into a panic, but I do think it is treatable.

I am being serious and you mock me?

Brother Seth, I will tell you a secret I have never told another. Liyan paused and collected his thoughts. Tears came to his eyes, for now he also understood why Queen Mother had appointed him as Seth’s mentor. Just as you fear what you do not know, the unknown in the world, I have always feared the Brothers of the Red. In fact, terror is a better word to describe the emotion—

That is an emotion we are trained to evoke.

That explains much, but it is not the point I am trying to make. We all have our fears, and what we fear most is a thing unknown to us. From birth, your kind is secreted away from all of society. By the time you complete your training you are passed youthful adolescence and then we dub you protectors of Queen Mother, never thinking that up until now all your dealings have been with teachers and children.

You were wrong about the Brown Order. They were the chosen warriors only out of necessity. Before the Brown there was always the Red and, since the establishment of the Brown during those dark centuries when brother turned against brother, the Red are still, first and foremost, the warrior-protectors of Queen and people.

Perhaps it is a good thing that Queen Mother wishes you out into the world, and a good thing you studied the ways of Man. Their culture is not so different from our own that you could not learn from it. Liyan paused, though just for a moment. With Elfkind mating instinct often skips generations for reasons only Great-Father and Mother-Earth truly understand. Your feelings are not wrong Seth; they are as natural as wind.

With Brother Galan, I would suggest you follow your instincts, perhaps it will bring good. There is however, one thing you should know, these feelings may never find her… It is one of the tragedies of our kind. For now, you should turn your thoughts on the journey ahead— Brother Liyan put a hand on Seth’s shoulder. —Are you prepared to greet the world? Is the world ready for you?

Adrina still harbored hopes that a messenger had arrived from the Far South. Her father hadn’t been in the study, nor had she seen Chancellor Yi—both sure signs something was afoot. She raced down the hall, down a stairway, along a set of corridors, and then stopped. As she ducked into the shadows of the hall, she covered her mouth to muffle a squeal of glee. Guards were outside her father’s private council chambers.

The door opened. A lithe figure entered the hall and darted away—a messenger. He bore Kingdom insignia; no doubt, he carried a response to the message King Andrew must have just received. Minutes later, a second figure entered the hall—small-statured and obviously fatigued. Adrina watched him pass. He bore no insignia save one on the upturned collar of the cloak draped over his arm. It had white and gold bands—a king’s messenger.

Adrina came out of seclusion in the shadows, wandered past the closed chamber doors and tossed a wink to one of the guards standing without. She knew they listened—even when they knew they shouldn’t. She also knew how to make most of them talk, especially the younger man on the right. A number of ways to touch his heart and stir his tongue crossed her mind. Perhaps she would use some of the ploys and deceptive promises she had so recently been taught.

“No man can resist your eyes,” she whispered to herself as the words echoed in her mind.

Another wink delivered, Adrina meandered up the nearby spiral stairs. She knew where she would find that particular young guardsman later. It was to this place that she went, intent on waiting.

She stared down into the deadly stillness of the garden from the balcony where she waited. She had once imagined it contained all the colors of the world, though not now—now it seemed just as dead as everything else around her. Queen Alexandria, her mother, had put the array of gardens together, flower by flower, into one great garden. Now she too was dead: a victim of the cold, uncaring death that shrouded Imtal Proper.

Adrina paced as she waited and chuckled to herself about the pompous little courtier in his purple velvet overcoat and blue silken shirt. He was still attending dinners in the great hall, and still lent an ear to the king’s every word. She laughed at him because she hurt and because there were small tears welling up in her eyes. She laughed until the pain went away and then she laughed a little bit more because the laughter sounded good in her ears.

The sun had already set by the time the young guardsman approached and the tears were long gone. Adrina waited until he passed her and then tossed a well-timed girlish giggle into the air, only then stepping from the shadows.

“Your turn at watch at an end so soon?” she asked.

“Your Highness, you know it is,” said a mild voice, “sunrise and sunset are the times of the changing of the guard.”

“Guardsman Emel,” Adrina said several times. She said this to slight him, and Emel knew this very well, just as he knew they had been friends practically since birth. This was her way of reminding him of his place and also reminding him that he had something she wanted.

“Acting Sergeant,” he said, “now if you’ll excuse me—”

Obviously, he was still angry with her for what she had done to him and in a way, Adrina didn’t blame him.

“—Acting Sergeant Emel, who’d’ve guessed?”

Emel’s pace quickened. “Just until Sergeant Stytt’s group returns from the Free City.”

“From Solntse?” inquired Adrina, “Really from Solntse?”

She collected herself, recovering skillfully her slip in composure. “I could see to it that he is repositioned there permanently.”

She threw the offering at him, hoping he would pounce on it.

Emel deliberately chased away a spark of awe from his face. He could still and quite vividly recall what had happened the last time he had told her things he shouldn’t have. Yet, he couldn’t help wondering if she really could do what she proposed.

“What do you want in return?” he asked.

“Information, that’s all.”

Emel had his own skill of tongue and he knew the exact words to pull Adrina in and seal the offering. She would not get the best of him this time. “Something about trouble, though I’m not exactly sure what. You know how hard it is to hear anything through those damnable stones…”

Adrina thoughts swirled. She quickly equated trouble with excitement. She linked her arm in Emel’s and pulled him to the edge of the balcony, saying nothing until she hid her glee.

“Geoffrey of Solntse owes me a debt, did I ever tell you that?”

“What kind of debt?” Emel called her bluff. He wouldn’t fall for her lies anymore, as he had so many times in the past. He was now an acting sergeant. He must behave accordingly.

“Well, ah… ah,” began Adrina, stumbling, stuttering, at a temporary loss for words, “a passed down one, actually. One really owed to the crown prince, one he must repay out of duty… and gratitude.”

At his hesitation, she directed probing eyes—it could have been the truth.

Emel didn’t believe her, but he did find it hard to be cross with her, especially when she was so close to him. He could feel her warmth. He missed the friendship they’d had, but he’d never admit it.

“There is a squabble in the Minors again.” Emel used a double-edged slang for the four lesser kingdoms.

Adrina’s eyes went wide. She tightened the link of their arms, pulling him a little closer.

“Between Sever and Vostok,” added Emel, setting his own hook.

“Again?” asked Adrina, “Really?”

“King Peter stepped in… but… that’s all I know. I could hear no more.” Emel broke off intentionally.

“Emel, I’m sorry, really and truly sorry. I shouldn’t have let you take all the blame before. I shouldn’t have let your father send you away to High Road. I missed you the whole of last winter and into spring. I’ve wanted to talk to you since your return, but, but—Oh, if you know anything more, anything at all, you have to tell me. I’m going to die, just shrivel up and die, if I have to remain here in this boredom.”

Adrina paused as her face flooded with emotion.

“Please.”

Emel pulled away from her.

“Fair-weather friend,” he shouted back as he stormed away.

“Emel, please don’t leave. By the Mother, I missed you.”

Hearing this, Emel hesitantly turned to look back at her, a thing he shouldn’t have done. He couldn’t wander long in her eyes without giving in to her desires.

Adrina repeated her plea and Emel swallowed a bit of his pride. “If I tell you the rest of what I know, do you promise to tell no one and can I rely on your word and swear you to secrecy?”

Adrina nodded.

“No, I want to hear you say it.”

“I promise, Emel, I will tell no one.”

“Not even the Lady Isador?”

“Not even Lady Isador.”

“Remember your promise, and that you are only as good as your word.” Emel was hesitant to say more, but he began again just the same. “The rumors of unrest are true. I mean really true.”

He was excited now and did nothing to hide it.

“King Jarom is supposedly behind it all, that is according to that page of King Charles, if you can believe him. He seemed the trustworthy type though. Yet, his kingdom is at stake. Quashan’ garrison is to be roused to full alert status. Can you believe it? I’d give anything be in South Province now. Wow!

“That’s it though, I don’t know any more. I could get into real trouble for telling you this.”

“I will tell no one,” Adrina said, hiding hints of elation in a steady tone.

Emel eyed her.

“Really, I will tell no one, you have my word.”

Adrina touched a spontaneous kiss to Emel’s cheek and walked away, extremely pleased with herself. She tidied this away with rumors of the Bandit Kingdom’s insurgencies around the northern borderlands—proof again that life beyond Imtal was exciting and vibrant. She knew enough about the Alliance of Kingdoms to know that the chances of war were slim, but some good strife always mixed things up a bit. Attendance of court would be more exciting if she knew angry words were going to flare.

The bitter place in King Jarom’s mouth for the Great Kingdom was well known and goading this along would bring her distinct pleasure, if given the chance. She wouldn’t let it get too far though, just enough to stir things up. It was about time that Andrew showed the Minors to their proper place.

Adrina descended a long flowing stairway that lead down into the central gardens and moved along its paths without seeing much of what she passed. When she reached the far end, Adrina stopped for a moment and looked back toward the upper balcony. Barely visible amidst the deepening shadows was a single figure bent over the railing with arms crossed. Adrina knew it was Emel and she paused for a moment more. The conversation they had just had hadn’t been a conversation between good friends. She had always intended to make up for what she had done to him, but the time had never seemed right.

Feeling tired, the day at an end, Adrina returned to her chambers where she was sure Lady Isador waited. Having avoided the old woman all day, she could endure just about anything right now.

Chapter Four:

Discovery

Imtal palace held an unusual silence even for the late hour of the night. Adrina tossed and turned, enduring a fitful dream from which she had awoken more than once. Dreams had descended upon her normally soft world of slumber of late—one in particular had plagued her sleep for many weeks, though she told no one. On this particular night voices in the hall passing her door wrested her from sleep. The old chancellor with his coughs and sneezes—which at one time she had thought of as endearing, though not now—was the next to pass, followed by the low, baritone moaning of Father Tenuus.

“Sire, please wake,” called out Chancellor Yi with much reverence, “Keeper Martin wishes to speak with you.”

“A keeper,” said King Andrew, rising up in his bed with a slow persistence determined by old age. “At this hour? What is a keeper doing here at this hour?”

“Please sire, Keeper Martin says it is a matter of utmost import.”

The monarch stretched arms to full length and began his long, slow turn to put feet to floor, causing the chancellor to scramble for the royal slippers.

“Keeper Martin did you say?”

“Yes sire, Keeper Martin, head of all the Keepers of the Lore,” said Yi, sighing with relief, as he just barely placed the slippers beneath his sire’s feet as the king touched them to the hard floor.

“What is Keeper Martin doing here at this hour?” King Andrew cleared sleep from his eyes. “A king needs his sleep you know, especially at my age.”

“I assure you sire, I wouldn’t wake you unless it was a matter of import—which I am assured it is—though the keeper would not address the matter directly, sire. There is a look about him, as if he has just returned from a very long journey—a look of fatigue in the eyes, an unkempt beard. It is unlike Keeper Martin to have an unkempt beard.

“He wishes to speak to you alone. Rather mysterious, I must say. I will go talk to him if it is your wish, sire, and tell him to come back at a more appropriate time.”

The king raised a hand to the chancellor’s shoulder, using it to lift heavy bones from his plush bed. “There will be no need, Chancellor Yi. I am already roused. Tell him I will be along presently.”

Father Tenuus shot a worried scowl to the chancellor as the two returned to the hall.

“I told you we should have waited a few more hours,” he said in his lowest baritone voice. “Who is it that is here again, Keeper Q’yer or Keeper Martin, I always get the two mixed—”

“Come along, and lower your voice!” said the chancellor.

“Oh, that’s right, the Keeper Q’yer is that nice, younger man. Keeper Martin is distinguished and graying… His hair, that is… It must be Keeper Martin that has arrived.”

“You’re the one that’s graying, and it’s not your hair,” said Chancellor Yi in a barely audible voice as he strode away down the hall. Father Tenuus had managed to annoy him as usual and he drowned the other’s further comments by blowing his reddened nose a few dozen times into a long white handkerchief.

Further disturbed by the boisterous voices in the hall, the young princess had listened with great enthusiasm. Images of the troubled dream quickly fell away as she waited until the two old men passed by her door. A keeper here in the palace—and especially at this hour—was a sure sign of trouble. For an instant, she was almost sorry her wish had come true, but she quickly waved that off. Anything that brought a breath of life into Imtal Palace was more than welcome.

The balcony overlooking the entrance hall was not far from her chambers. After she pulled a robe loosely over her shoulders, she ran to it. A flood of thoughts exploded through her young mind and several expressions of glee escaped her anxious lips during the brief walk.

While she looked on, a still drowsy king greeted the great Lore Keeper. She chuckled a bit at her father’s dowdy appearance in his night robe and slippers, and at the gauche waddle due to the slickness of the smooth floor. The special significance of the meeting struck—especially when private chambers were entered without Chancellor Yi. This was further compounded by the arrival of a second visitor shortly after the two had entered the chamber and closed the door.

To get a better view of the newcomer, Adrina had to slip from the shadows of the balcony, for his back already had been turned to her when she spotted him. The distinct robes of his office were an easy clue as to who the man was as he removed his riding cloak and wrapped it over his arm. Father Jacob was first minister to King Andrew, head of the priesthood, and there was no mistaking the great swirling circles of white that decorated the sleeves of his otherwise black robe.

A visit by both men, especially at this late hour, was unprecedented and in her mind Adrina found only one answer.

“War,” she whispered in reverent tones. The Minors were at war.

As she waited, Adrina slipped into an uneasy slumber and it was some hours later that a distant voice called out in her ear “Your Highness, Princess Adrina?”

Grudgingly, Adrina stirred. Her room was so dark, the world so blurry. It couldn’t have been day. She closed her eyes and attempted to return to sleep.

“Are you all right, princess?”

Adrina recognized the voice of the burly captain of the guard now. She felt his hands on her legs and screamed. The scream, a long and high-pitched wail, brought guards from down the hall and Lady Isador, and roused King Andrew from his bed a second time.

“Get your hands off me! Go away!”

“I think you should come with me, princess,” said Captain Brodst.

Again he attempted to help her up. Again she screamed.

Motherly Lady Isador came barreling toward the captain screaming, “Hurry, hurry!” to the guards that were right behind her.

“Get your hands off her. Guards, guards!” she continued.

Eyes wide, Adrina watched Lady Isador tangle with Captain Brodst.

From down the hall, she heard her father’s moaning and the clamor of heavy feet running toward her. Suddenly she realized she was lying in the hallway beside the balcony. She slapped a hand to her mouth as the events of last night came flooding back to her—the voices in the hall, Keeper Martin and Father Jacob’s unprecedented visit.

“By the Mother,” Adrina whispered as she broke out in laughter. The scene was comical. Her lying in the hall. Small-statured Lady Isador barreling down on the burly captain. Her father waddling down the hall in his night slippers. Guards running to her rescue.

Lady Isador stopped wrestling with the captain and stared at Adrina.

“She’s lost her mind.” The governess gasped.

Lady Isador swept Adrina up in a motherly, smothering embrace.

“You oaf,” she screamed at Captain Brodst, “what did you think you were doing?”

King Andrew stopped directly in front of Adrina and Isador, and then turned to stare at the captain. Uneasily four guardsmen were pointing their long spears at Captain Brodst. One of the guardsmen’s hands was shaking so violently that the spear was swaying back and forth mightily.

Embarrassment replaced Adrina’s cheer. She had no idea how she would diffuse the situation. She looked from the captain to the guards to King Andrew to Lady Isador. Apparently, no one else knew what to do either. The guards maintained their stance, spears pointing at their beloved captain. King Andrew scratched his head and attempted to wipe sleep from his tired eyes. Lady Isador was trying to hug the life out of her. Captain Brodst was staring down the four guardsmen, almost tempting them to charge.

Adrina let Lady Isador help her to her feet and then she walked toward Captain Brodst and took his hand.

“Thank you,” she said, “will you escort me to my chambers now?”

The captain walked her to her chambers, where Adrina thanked him again, then closed the door. For five days afterward no mention of the incident was made to her, though she did notice that any time Captain Brodst came near Lady Isador he became very defensive. When this happened, Adrina would hide a smile with her hand and usually Captain Brodst would turn away, an irritated look in his eye.

Adrina spent those days trying to piece together what had transpired behind closed chamber doors the night of the unexpected visit. That is, when Lady Isador or Chancellor Yi weren’t giving her lessons on courtship and etiquette, and discounting the horrible day she spent with Rudden Klaiveson. The more she probed for answers, the more intrigued she became. No one in the whole of Imtal Palace would talk about the visit—Emel included.

She was working on a plan to change that. Emel would talk. She had only to find the right time and the right words.

Across a vast open courtyard, on the far side of the summer parade grounds, lay the palace stables. Performing his perfunctory duties as acting sergeant delayed Emel and by the time he arrived at the palace stables the others of his company had been and gone.

His steed, fittingly dubbed Ebony Lightning because it was jet black and could outpace even stallions bred for the king’s swiftest messengers, still waited in its stall. He had known the appointed time of first formation and so he had not hurried—then he had still had a full half hour.

There was a reason Ebony Lightning was the swiftest steed in Imtal Proper and maybe even in all the land, and that was because of the special bond between horse and rider. Before and after every ride, Emel rubbed the horse down from the poll of its head to the dock of its tail, up and down each powerful leg. In his proud eyes Ebony was the tallest stallion in all the lands high, and when Emel rode him it was from this height that he looked down upon the world.

Emel would have given anything to be like the Kingdom huntsmen, free like the four winds. His skills as a tracker stemmed from these desires. He had even pulled several short assignments at High Road Garrison—the last being during the past winter and spring—which allowed him to exercise these desires. He had not been able to take Ebony Lightning with him then, but now things were different—since the animal was from the king’s stocks and, while he had cared for the great steed for many years and been its only rider, it was only recently that he had been given the horse, a reward for services rendered.

He was putting the finishing touches on the rubdown when Adrina found him. Now he could only watch from afar as the other riders began to file through the outer palace gates and listen to the ridemaster’s call, knowing the evident anger in the tone.

From the expression in her eyes and the saddlebags beside her, Emel knew without doubt what she wanted, yet he maintained his plea one last time.

“Adrina, I will say this one more time, please give me back the harness and let me go. They’re passing through the palace gates. Damn you and your foolishness.”

Adrina batted thick eyelashes. “Emel, please, I want to go riding with you. I’ll have my father talk to the ridemaster if need be.”

“Adrina, it’s not the ridemaster I’m worried about. Now let me go.”

Adrina dangled the harness in front of him, the only harness that remained in the stables—as far as Emel knew. Adrina had carefully hidden the others.

“No, not until you say yes.”

“I’m late and I am going to be in trouble.” Emel was clearly flustered.

“Just ask, my horse is already saddled, I won’t complain or anything, I promise. I’ll even be quiet. I won’t say a word the entire way. You know how much I want to leave the palace… It’s so dead, Emel, it’s all dead… I see nothing but these damned gray walls and all I want to do is scream, shout at the top of my lungs and curse the whole of the world.”

There was evident sadness in her words and Emel understood it. He understood what it was to be swallowed by the sense of loss, to mourn for so long that all you remembered was the sadness—forever retreating to that hollow place in the pit of your gut where sadness swells from—yet his oath was to the Kingdom and not to her.

Also, he had sudden visions of spending another winter and spring at High Road Garrison.

“I never hit a girl before, but if I have to, I will,” said Emel.

“I am not a girl, I am a woman, and I… if you hit me—” The princess paused. Still determined, she continued with a cool tone that was almost callous, “If you hit me, I’ll hit you back.”

Emel believed her. She had been trained in hand-to-hand combat the same as he had—an actuality that Adrina was proud of—and the fact that she had bested him once or twice on the competition field led him to believe that she could be capable of it again.

“Okay, you win, I’ll ask. Now let’s hurry,” said Emel, hoping to snatch the harness from relaxed hands, and that is just what he did. He put the harness in place and was in the saddle nearly as fast as the wind—by his standards—but, by the time that he had finished, the persistent princess had her mount.

“Adrina, please, just forget it.”

“I’ve never been on an adventure. I’m all set for excitement,” answered Adrina, pleading her case with the tone of her voice, still holding to the melodramatic.

“We aren’t actually leaving until tomorrow. Today was to be practice. There are a dozen other guardsmen who will willingly take my position. Please just leave me alone. I have to show the ridemaster I know what I am doing. Besides, the ride to Alderan City on the edge of West Deep is hardly an adventure. I’ll be back in a few weeks. I’ll take you riding then.”

“I don’t care, I just want to be away, as far away from Imtal as possible. Besides, I know something of the reason we are going to Alderan by the sea.”

Adrina directed her eyes at him—it was mostly true.

“We aren’t going. I am going. If I don’t hurry, I’ll miss my chance too. Ridemaster Gabrylle is sure to be angry.”

Adrina knew the departure was shrouded in secrecy. Ridemaster Gabrylle had been told to make the journey look like training for the young palace ridesmen. Adrina had heard this from a kitchen cook that bedded the ridemaster. She owed the rather large woman a string of favors for the telling.

“Seven days ago, my father had two important visitors in the night. One was Keeper Martin, head of all Lore Keepers. The other, Father Jacob, first minister, head of the priesthood. Keeper Martin brought grave news from the Far South.”

“Really?” asked Emel, “You’re not jesting are you?”

“Do I look like I am? By the Mother, I tell you it is the truth. You didn’t know this, did you?”

The thought of lying outright crossed Emel’s mind, but the truth was that he didn’t know. As far as he knew no one had been told of this, though he was admittedly extremely curious.

“No,” he said truthfully, definitively.

“I heard the whole plan,” said Adrina. She was lying and vowed to repent later, if it worked.

“How do you know? I wasn’t even told, and I am a Sergeant at Arms.” He made the title sound lofty.

“And I am the king’s daughter, aren’t I? I am privileged to certain information that you aren’t.”

Emel was taken aback by her words, but believed her. Possibly she really did know, he thought. “All right, but you have to tell me everything.”

“Of course, first you must tell me the reason we travel to Alderan. Then if you tell me the truth, I will tell you what I know.”

“We travel to Alderan to meet a ship that sailed from Wellison in the South three days ago.”

“Thank you.” Adrina spurred her mount on.

The two moved across the pristine green of the open parade grounds at a slow trot. Emel purposefully reined his mount in despite its urge to race away and chase the wind. He wanted to find out what Adrina knew, for then he could ride off, leaving her behind without a care—or so he hoped.

“Well. Aren’t you going to tell me something?” asked Emel.

Adrina wasn’t about to fall for this ploy. “Yes, I’m going to tell you, just not right now. Only if you talk to the ridemaster. Is it a deal?”

Flustered and confident he’d never find out what Adrina knew, also sure she would chase him down even if he charged his mount out the gates, Emel waived his better judgment. He agreed to her wishes. Anyway, he knew the final words of approval were not his. Maybe if King Andrew said a final no, Adrina would tell him what she knew anyway—if he stayed on her good side. Emel said, “I’ll talk to the ridemaster.”

Chapter Five:

Realization

The hours passed slowly in the peaceful hollow Vilmos had retreated to, its gentle serenity carefully lulling him into mindless complacency. Thoughts of returning home seemed so distant, so very distant. After all, he could dwell in the valley forever, couldn’t he?

There was a finality in the thoughts that frightened him, and it was only this that ended his feelings of complacency and propelled the urge to return home to the foremost thought in his mind. With one last look down over his valley, Vilmos turned and walked away, leaving the peaceful vale far behind in a few powerful strides.

Strange though it seemed, the return trek was never as easy as the initial folding of thoughts one on top of the other that it took to get to the peaceful vale. No, the trek home was a long and arduous journey through a darkened land. Vilmos had to pass along the little country path that parted the dark wood and run for some distance veiled from the sun, with a perpetually icy wind at his back. He had to cross the distance from the woods to the village.

The next step of the journey was to enter the quaint country home that was his father’s. His face set in a heavy mask of personal anguish, he did so on his tiptoes, moving slowly and quietly. He crossed to his room and closed the door without a sound. Approaching the bed, his bed, he sat down unaware of the gaunt, still figure already present. A moment for adjustment taken, Vilmos opened his eyes and retreated from his special place—the place he could have retreated back to with a simple folding of thoughts but which never relinquished him without first warning him that the world was a cruel and callous place.

That he would remain in his room throughout the rest of the morning was already a given. He found contentment by idly sitting on the edge of his bed where he could gaze out the clear open window and think of nothing in particular. And when he finally did venture out of his room, it was not until the midday had come and passed.

Upon cursory inspection, Vilmos discovered his father had already departed. On Seventhday, which was today, his father met with the Three Village Assembly. He was sure they would discuss the recent bear attack. Goose bumps ran up and down his back. He could have ended up just like the girl from Olex Village—and only Lillath would’ve cared.

A cherished notion to run away vaulted from his mind. There was work that needed to be done. Helping his mother, Lillath, brought Vilmos happiness, even though he considered “housework” a woman’s chore.

Whistling a little tune, quaint and cheerful, he diligently started. Sweeping the floors was an easy task, so he tackled that first. He swept out the kitchen and the long, oblong floor of the visiting room in a matter of minutes. Bedrooms and halls were next and after them, as always, the porch. He was sweating now and the cool perspiration felt good. It was “honest work” he did, or so his mother said.

He paused for a time, though not long. Wood blocks still needed to be split and piled by the wood shed. His room needed to be cleaned. The bed made. His few belongings gathered and placed back into the wooden chest that lay at the foot of his bed.

After several hours of continuous labor and an examination by his mother, Vilmos was finished. Joyfully, he scrambled into the kitchen to sneak something to eat, yet as always it was his ill-fated luck to be caught.

“Vil-MOS! What are you doing?” Lillath asked. She tried to hide laughter with her hand. “Never cease eating do you?”

“But I am hungry.”

“Go ahead. Don’t eat too much. We’ll have an early dinner. Don’t forget today is Seventhday and we’ll all go to the service, won’t we?”

Vilmos frowned, then replied, “Yes, mother,” but in his mind, he wished they would not go. He hated the long sermons, during which he often fell asleep, which got him into even more trouble.

In a moment Vilmos knew that without fail he would be told to review the history and as he didn’t want to do that, he gathered up his bread and cheese and tried to leave.

“Not so fast. Hold on a minute Vilmos,” Lillath said, “forgetting something?”

“No mother. I put the bread back into the box, honest.”

In a blur he was out the door and headed toward his room, sanctuary one solitary step away when the voice reached him.

“Mustn’t forget to study your history. Someday you’ll fill your father’s position. Even with your faults.” She added the last part in jest, but Vilmos didn’t catch the false sarcasm in her voice immediately.

“And what faults are those?”

Lillath tried to hide her smile with a shielding hand. “I’m only joking. Go study the Book.”

Vilmos lifted the heavy book from its resting place. Usually the Great Book would lie before him the remainder of the day, but mostly his mind would wander. Vilmos turned back to his mother and asked, “Mother, are there other books? I mean, surely all knowledge cannot be contained in one book.”

“Don’t ever let your father hear you talk like that.” Lillath paused and stared at the boy. Her tone became milder. “Books are a rare, rare thing in the land. It takes years, lifetimes, to pen a single tome. And only a true book smith can press scrolls into such a leather binding as befits the Great Book.”

Vilmos smiled. He opened the book about midway, and then set it down. Normally he would have turned away immediately and stared out the window. But today the book seemed to want to open to a particular pair of pages, a group of pages shuffled and he was staring at a new section of the book. Thinking fondly of what his mother had said, he mumbled his way through the inscribed words.

With the simple lives of children, the story began…

Thousands of years ago wars ravaged the lands, spread by the slow incursion of the race called Man to the brother races until it seemed that humankind would not endure.

Great-Father had not intervened until this time, he had spread his gifts thinly out to each of the brother races, imparting each with but one simple gift, but even the wise and the great could not have foretold the coming of the scourge of evil spread by a maligning of those same simple gifts…

Time eternal evolves in great circles and the All-Father knew and understood this only too well. So as the evil scourge was finally defeated and the First Age came to an end, he planned carefully for the future by selecting and gathering a few of those last children and imparting upon them greater knowledge and wisdom than most. Some he taught how to outwit time itself. Some he conditioned as watch-wardens to look for the signs of the next Coming, the next Age of humankind. Others he cast into the never-ending circle of time itself so that their spiritual forms could wind their way through its realm. These were the lost children and he appointed a single guardian over them all…

To balance it all, there was one who was both good and evil, fated by destiny to become part of time itself…

Vilmos frowned and stopped reading. He’d thought he had read, or had had read to him, every page of the Great Book at one time or another, but he had never read this page. It puzzled him, and he reread it. What did it all mean? What was the lesson?

Confused, he closed the book and stared at its cover. Later he opened it to a different section.

Vilmos’ father did not come home until late that evening. Vil had been delayed in a special advisory session. Apparently a series of bear attacks had taken place in Two Falls Village a day’s ride to the north, and huntsmen and trackers from the surrounding villages were preparing to track down the great black bear. There would be no one allowed to travel outside the village until the bear was caught.

Vilmos, who had been listening intently at the door to his room, suddenly found he had an entire evening to do as he pleased—that is as long as he didn’t venture into his father’s eyesight. He thought Great-Father was truly smiling down upon him.

“What luck!” exclaimed Vilmos as he jumped onto his bed. “What to do? What to do?”

With final commitment, he closed his eyes and retreated to his special place. The vale was a beautiful place toward evening with a red-pink haze held in the darkening sky spreading outward into the heavens in striking hues of orange and red. The hunter eagle was gone from the sky now so Vilmos contented himself by sitting on the very brink of the high cliff he had chosen. Occasionally he would throw a rock up in the air, catch it midair and then let it lazily float down to the ground like a feather.

Suddenly tired, he yawned. His vision began to fade out as slumber entered his thoughts and within minutes he fell asleep. Lulled by his fatigue, he was caught in the quasi-world he had created. Sleep for him was always accompanied by dreams, although unlike others who often forgot their dreams upon waking, Vilmos remembered his.

The dream began. It was a strange and frightening dream, the only dream that had played out before him the whole of his life as far back as he could remember.

The words of the Great Book that had lain before him most of the day came to mind, corrupted by the evil of the dream…

The creature of darkness descended to the earth from the heavens, wreaking havoc across the land’s face, once more reclaiming that which was his, that which he was denied.

Look weak creatures! Look what you have let loose! Look what you have freed to provide for your demise! I am what you most fear! I am He. A name cursed for all eternity. I possess the forbidden name, never spoken lest it invoke the greatest of all evil. I am that evil. I can speak its name. Do you know what that evil is? What does humankind fear so very much?

You fear yourself. You fear that which humankind was, and still is. You fear the darkness of your soul…

The boy, who was Vilmos as he looked in upon his dream as if from a distance, saw the evil one and looked into his eyes. The darkness within was well known to him. Its origin of rebirth was known. Held entranced by its call, he moved his hand forward to help it but was stopped by a sharp, stifling pain that shot through him. The shock and ache made his small body writhe as it carried him away.

Unconsciousness befell him, yet the images and the agony were still clear in his thoughts when he awoke some hours later crying out into the darkness, huddled in a cold, sweated corner, his body clenched and trembling.

“No!! No!! It will not be!” screamed Vilmos, perspiration dripped off his forehead.

“No, no, no,” he continued through the sobs, unable to block out the lingering picture of the shadows in his mind, especially the evil, mocking grimace that laughed a deep, hideous laugh and the cold jet-black eyes that seemed to haunt every corner of his mind.

This was the worst dream he could recall. For a time the dreams had stopped completely, then they had returned with renewed fervor. Each night the vision came. Repeatedly it played, relentless. Each time growing worse, because each time it became more realistic. Now it was as if the Dark One was in the very room Vilmos occupied.

Normally he would have simply escaped to his private point to stare out across the vast expanse below, feeling more at home and at peace there than he had ever felt in his own home. However, this night Vilmos did not want to return there. Something was wrong, though what, he didn’t know. Content to remain in his room in the dark, staring into nothingness, desperately trying to remember something that he knew was important, his mind raced in a million different directions.

Throughout the night he lay gazing into the darkness, searching for something that appeared to be just beyond his grasp. His concentration was so great that he had not moved in the entire time and when the sun rose bright and beautiful into a clear sky, he did not enjoy its beauty. His mood only turned from pensive to dreary. The new day brought him only misery, as he knew it would. His body, stiff and sluggish, moving with the aches and pains of one well beyond his years, did not respond well to his desires and again it was a long, slow process to coax stiff muscles into movement.

After eating breakfast and methodically performing his perfunctory chores, his thoughts filled with dread. The tutor would come this day. Weary and fatigued, Vilmos trudged back to his room, slumped onto the bed, all his energy spent. Utter exhaustion played out on his face, though he didn’t understand why.

The instant eyes closed, consciously or unconsciously, he drifted away to his special place. It had been calling to him in the back of his mind all that morning.

A chilling breeze blew through the vale. A wind that had never before been cold. Today something felt different, as if he were not alone. Worriedly, he scanned the little vale, its steep slopes and its large open floor. He was indeed alone or so he hoped.

He became a great silver eagle, fearless and swift. The dive from his favored cliff was accomplished in one powerful leap. Wings sliced the air and made it sing. Down into the vale’s depths the eagle swept, with great speed and agility. The silver eagle’s keen eyes had instantly spotted its prey and now it raced toward the unsuspecting valley hare.

This was the intruder in his domain, thought Vilmos. He would crush the life from his prey and then would indeed be alone.

He swept up the valley hare in razor sharp talons. The warm and fleshy hare writhed pitifully and cried out for escape. The eagle did not heed its cry, but a part of Vilmos did and he forced the great eagle to release the hare.

“Do you know what it is that you are doing?” beckoned a voice into his mind.

Vilmos was startled.

“N-no,” he replied warily. The voice was somehow familiar.

Momentarily the vision of the eagle faltered. For an instant Vilmos stood on the high, raised cliff staring into the cold northerly wind. Then he was propelled back into the razor-taloned, silver eagle.

“It is called non-corporeal stasis, an out of body experience,” said the other with evident wisdom.

“What are you saying? What does that mean? Are you here to take me away?”

Vilmos ceased being the eagle altogether, yet the cliff was not the place he returned to. Instead, he stood in the middle of the valley and searched in all directions for the source of the mysterious voice.

“Look. Look about you. What do you see?” commanded the voice.

Vilmos did as bid.

“I see the valley and nothing else.”

“Yes that is correct, now look beyond the valley. Extend your thoughts and open your mind. Now what do you see?” The voice flowed with warmth and again Vilmos sensed a familiarity in it.

“I see only the valley,” Vilmos replied.

“No,” said the other with vehemence, “Look, look again. Search beyond the valley. What do you see?”

Vilmos didn’t like this game and clenched his fists in anger. “I see nothing.”

“Open the window to your soul. You will see. Look,” said the presence.

Compelled to do as told Vilmos looked inside himself. He saw the door to his soul and he opened it. Beyond, in the shadows, he saw himself, lying in his bed, in his father’s house.

“What do you see?” the other asked.

“N-nothing!”

“What do you see?” commanded the voice.

“I see myself, I see myself!” Vilmos paused. His voice filled with surprise as he continued, “but how, I don’t understand?”

“That is what the experience is. Your body remains on the physical plane and your spirit searches beyond. You were truly flying. You really were the lone eagle flying over a valley of your own creation.” The ominous voice seemed to close in on Vilmos. “You are a master of non-corporeal stasis, yet do not forget that all things have mirrors on the physical plane.”

“How is this possible?” the skeptic in Vilmos inquired.

“Think, before you speak. Look within, you know it is possible.” The tone of the voice became sinister. “As is everything.”

“I am afraid. I want to go home—I want to go home now.”

“But Vilmos you are home. This is your home. This is the sanctuary you alone created,” the voice rang with heavy truths.

“No, I want to go home,” insisted Vilmos, “I am afraid.”

“Well you should be Vilmos, you should be very afraid.” Vilmos pictured black eyes drawing up before him. “This experience leaves your physical self completely without defense. It is open to attack from any force or forces that wish to enter it. Any spirit can enter your body while your own spirit travels. And there it can grow and thrive!”

Vilmos jumped back, his face drawn and pale with shock. Bewildered eyes looked out. His body shivered beyond control. Everything within him told him to run away, to hide, though he could not. It was then that he recognized the voice, though vaguely. It was then his panic grew to despair and he feared for his very soul.

“It is you! This is what I was trying to remember.”

“Yes it is,” said the voice with mocking overtones.

Gripped with fear, Vilmos stood unable to move. He looked out over the valley that had once seemed peaceful, only now regaining the point as he fought to focus his mind. He felt alone, very alone, though he knew he wasn’t. He cocked his head, left and right, forward and back, searching. But his search was in vain because he truly was alone. There was no one else with him.

Waiting to hear the voice again and ensure he wasn’t just daydreaming, Vilmos remained absolutely still. Only his own gasping breaths broke the silence, nothing more.

“Where are you? Show yourself,” Vilmos called out. The only answer Vilmos received was the sound of wind rushing over the point and the returning echoes of his voice as it faded away and blended into the wind.

The vale was empty; the ridge, empty.

“Looking for me?” came a voice from behind him.

Startled, Vilmos jumped. His heart pumped faster and faster. Breathing became taxing. It seemed he could not grasp any air. He spun around, faltering and falling to the hard, rocky surface of the vantage point. He pulled himself to his feet, and shook defiant fists in the air.

“I will not hurt you,” said the now charismatic voice from behind him.

Vilmos spun around again. “Where are you? Show yourself.”

“I am here.”

“But how? A moment ago, I was alone,” said Vilmos as he turned to look in the direction of the voice.

“A moment ago, I was not here,” said the venerable man who now stood in plain view in front of Vilmos. He was by far the oldest man Vilmos had ever seen. His appearance was one of such frailty and weakness that Vilmos imagined a heavy wind lifting him from his feet and casting him about in the air like a feather.

The aged man leaned his weight against his long, misshaped, walking stick, edging poised lips closer to Vilmos’ ear. “Do not let the body fool you boy,” he whispered, “I will not blow away in the wind.”

Just then a cold, harsh wind started to rip across the point. With each passing second, it increased in force until it was a gale of great strength. Very soon, Vilmos found he could no longer stand in its face. He crouched to his knees and then to his belly. The old man did not so much as twitch.“Please stop it!” screamed Vilmos.

“I cannot. Only you may stop it.”

Not wanting to fall from the ledge to his death, Vilmos huddled close to the ground trying to maintain his grip with desperate fingers. “I don’t know how to stop it. Let me go. I want to go.”

“Then surely you shall perish.” The man spoke sternly, his voice lacking any hint of remorse.

Vilmos trembled. “Do you mean die?”

“As surely as you were born.”

Truth in the other’s words stung Vilmos, similar to the dirt in his eyes. He knew without a doubt that he would indeed perish if he failed to stop the wind.

Wind whipped at him. Dust stung his face and blew into his eyes. And while Vilmos could barely see through this dust and dirt, he felt he had to see the old one again. Gazing through stinging dirt proved a difficult task accomplished only with shielding hands. To Vilmos’ dismay, the man stood straight and tall, tall as the twisted staff he carried. He faced the wind and his stance still did not vary.

Suddenly the man did not appear so aged to Vilmos. In fact, somehow he seemed different, as if Vilmos saw another standing there in the old man’s place. “I do not deny that you have powers beyond my grasp,” began Vilmos, “but I don’t understand the point of the test. I don’t know what to do.”

“Vilmos, use that which you already know. Use the skills you possess. Use them now!” The man spoke powerfully.

Compelled by the enchantment of the voice, Vilmos made a vigorous attempt. He concentrated, trying to make the wind stop. He clasped his eyes tightly together, held his breath, clenched his fists so firmly that his fingernails dug into his palms. The wind did not desist; it continued to lash at him with increased vigor.Fearing for his very life, Vilmos tried again. He thought about the wind and wanting to stop it. In rebuke, the blast of the wind started to push him toward the edge of the cliff. Vilmos dug his fingers into the dirt trying desperately to hold on, grasping and clawing until his hands were bloody, but to no avail.

His fingers pulsated with pain. Vilmos screamed and pleaded desperately for assistance. He turned his head wildly back and forth, wary of the approaching drop. “I don’t want to die… please help me… how can you just stand there, help me! Please, I beg you.”

“Reach inside yourself for the power. It is there. The power lives within you. You have used it many times before, though you didn’t know why or exactly how. You are the power Vilmos. It yearns to be released from within you. Release it.”

“Please help me.” Vilmos sounded pathetic. “P-please.”

“Release the power Vilmos,” repeated the other, “let it go. I am giving you a reason to use your power. I give you your life! Do it now, quickly, or you will DIE!”

The voice was commanding again, Vilmos felt compelled to do as invoked. He had to prove he could stop the wind. Somewhere within was the key, a key that must be found. It had been so much easier before. He had never really tried to use the power. Previously it had just come to him when he needed it. He needed it now, and it wouldn’t come.

“Hurry, Vilmos. You must hurry!” spoke the man with a hint of anxiety in his voice.

In time, Vilmos found the object of his inward search. The strength was there.

Still unsure exactly how he was supposed to make the wind stop, Vilmos decided to let his mind drift. His thoughts wandered until he found a helpful clue. As he anticipated, the solution to his dilemma seemed to seep into his mind.

It had always been there.

“Quickly, Vilmos!” The man spoke frantically. “You must release the power now.”

A test of the power within forced the wind to flicker. Strength flowed to Vilmos unbidden. He bathed in its caress; it felt so wonderful.

Magic isn’t evil; it is beautiful.

Vilmos knew what he had to do to make the wind cease. Now he would do it.

The man screamed, “Vil-mos, release the power, release it now before it is too late.” His anxiety increased with each passing second. “Hurry Vilmos. You must release the power now. Let it go, feel it flow.”

Vilmos perceived a peculiar scratching at the back of his mind, something loomed closer. Magic isn’t evil, he reminded himself, the words flowing to him again.

“Go on try it,” whispered the voice, “set it free.”

Vilmos shook his head to rid himself of the irritating scratching.

“I will, I will,” Vilmos said.

For an instant, Vilmos toyed with the wind. The gale stopped full, then started again with sudden vigor. Vilmos shook his head again to rid himself of the irritating scratching at the back of his mind.

Was it a whisper?

Seemingly as if simply acknowledging the whisper existed was enough, the voice came again. “No Vilmos,” it whispered.

Vilmos shook his head again, his concentration faltering. Irritated, the old man grabbed Vilmos about the shoulders and lifted him from the ground, shaking him violently.

“Do as you were told boy!” he screamed, his razor sharp finger nails pushing into Vilmos’ arms.

With untold power captivated in a crisp, clear voice, the newcomer spoke again. “It is a trick Vilmos. Look closely, see his true form. Evil comes in many shadings, but you can always see through it if your vision is clear and your mind is centered. Search its form. LOOK!”

The wind stopped dead; the old man released his grip. Vilmos fell to his knees.

“No Vilmos, it is not true. Release the power. Do not listen to foul lies. Release it now.”

Heeding the will of the voice, the power of magic within Vilmos soared. Torn between the two choices, unsure which to follow, who spoke the truth, or what to do, Vilmos clasped his hands to his head. His mind reeled with pain. He wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear.

Unchecked, the power within grew to a crescendo, reaching beyond Vilmos’ control. His wild eyes stared in disbelief as crazed thoughts continued to spin through his mind. He was the power, the master of all he surveyed; he would release the force within.

“Vilmos, in the name of Great-Father, I command you AWAKEN!” spoke a third voice with overwhelming sincerity and vast fear. In the haze of Vilmos’ consciousness, the voice was a distant untouchable shadow. The power within was so inviting and warm, he did not want to let it go.

The old one grew greedy and smiled an evil grimace. “YES, Vilmos, can you feel it? Yes. That’s a good boy. Now, USE it.”

Vilmos discerned and separated the perceived voices. The newest, the faint, distant one overridden with fear and heart wrenching pain, was feminine. The crisp, clear voice of the newcomer was calm and compelling. The voice of the old one demanded action.

“Are you the evil one?” Vilmos asked.

The instant disbelief entered his mind, the enchantment was lost. The energy within him dissipated. Vilmos looked dead into the old man’s eyes and understood the guise.

“You truly are the evil one,” said an amazed Vilmos. As he spoke, both strangers disappeared. The words reverberated in his thoughts.

With the releasing of the deadlocked gaze on the wall opposite his bed, the vision ended. Complete and utter confusion played across Vilmos’ face. The sepulchral dream had ended, though its images were still held in his mind’s eye. It had seemed so real, but how could it have been? He had never left his room; he would not have perished. It was only another daydream, a dreadful one.

He reflected upon what he had seen there and was deathly afraid, for normally when the dream ended the evil of the Dark One disappeared. This time the dream was different, Vilmos could recall shapes and images, even the form the evil one had taken.

It no longer seemed that the evil one was just part of a dream. He remembered the raging winds and the fear. It was then that an alarm of distress sounded within. Again there was a small part that he just couldn’t remember—he had seen something, but what was it?

The images became steadily less clear as he strained to focus on them. Pain in his hands caused all thoughts to drift away and when he looked down at them, opening and closing them with evident agony, he knew the pain had been real.

Physically and mentally drained of all its energy, his body was an empty shell with all its stamina gone. Vilmos wanted to sleep, yet he dared not close his eyes. The dream had been real, not imagined, he reminded himself.

Aghast, he curled up in the corner, fitting his small form into a tightly curled ball. The pain had been real, the dream been real, his mind repeated relentlessly.

Chapter Six:

Permission

A strong wind out of the northwest blew long strands of dark hair into Adrina’s eyes. Every now and again as she looked down into High King’s Square, she tucked the errant strands behind her ear. Sunset was near, and the square was bustling with activity. Merchants packing their wares onto pack animals, townsfolk haggling for last minute deals and the inevitable array of jugglers, musicians, fire-eaters and the like trying to earn a pittance for their supper.

Adrina disliked the busyness in the square; nevertheless, she stared down into it. She was waiting for Emel to return with news from Ridemaster Gabrylle and the square afforded the best vantage point to witness the return of the horsemen. She was worried. Emel should have returned to the palace an hour ago—at least that is when he had told her he would return when she had parted with him at the palace gates.

Briefly, Adrina cast uneasy eyes westward. The sun was already beginning to dip below the horizon, soon it would be dark. Just then she noticed the northerly wind and a smile crossed her lips.

“Change comes,” Adrina whispered.

As she turned back to stare down into the square, a distant sound came to her ears. It could be the clatter of hooves on cobbled stones.

She heard the sound again, though this time it seemed even more distant. Then trumpeters in the palace gate towers and at the city walls sounded off in response to the distant call and Adrina knew the far off call had to be that of a trumpet. Her eyes set with worry, she stared westward. Someone in the foothills, beyond the green fields that stretched out of view, was in trouble.

Trumpeters at the city walls sounded again—a cavalry call. Adrina knew the calls well—Emel had taught them to her—there was no mistaking the distinct call to arms. Imtal garrison riders would soon respond to the trumpeters’ summons. Adrina’s face flushed white. Emel was out there somewhere with Ridemaster Gabrylle and a group of unproven young guardsmen.

Her heart pounded in her ears, another call came from the city walls. A mounted guard was passing through the gates. Somewhere in the foothills a battle was surely taking place. Adrina had sudden grand visions of a full-scale invasion by the Bandit King of the North. Emel gallantly defending land and king. And the king’s cavalry charging into the fray.

She held her breath until the call ended, realizing only as the call to arms faded into the wind the true consequences of such a thing. “Please Great-Father not Emel. He may be brash at times, but he is brave and true as any. The truth is, I would miss him dearly.”

The silence that followed became unbearable and Adrina retreated to her room. For a long time, she stared out her window. The dusk sky slowly darkened and night arrived. The trumpeters made no further calls and Adrina eventually let sleep take her.

Adrina’s rest didn’t last long though and she stirred, unsure what had awoken her. She dipped her hands into the basin beside her bed and eased sleep from her eyes with the cool water. High overhead the light of a full moon was filtering in through her window, casting long shadows about the room.

An attendant was replacing the coals in her fireplace. “Sorry Your Highness,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have let the fire go out, but I wished not to disturb you. It looks to be a cold night and I was concerned.”

“Yes,” said Adrina, “summer is surely at an end.”

The attendant finished her work and as she departed she said, “Good night, Your Highness.”

Adrina nodded. She was watching the flames in the hearth slowly build.

Soon a low but cheerful fire began to fill her chamber with warmth. As Adrina bent down to put on her slippers, she noticed she was still dressed in her riding clothes. She changed into her nightclothes. Thankfully, Lady Isador hadn’t found her sleeping thus. She would never have heard the end of it. She could hear the old governess now, “Proper ladies do not sleep in their day clothes.”

A soft knock on the door followed by whispers caused her momentary alarm. “Lady Isador?”

“Do I sound like Lady Isador?” replied a voice in a hushed tone.

“Emel?” asked Adrina.

“Of course Emel. Are you going to let me in?”

“Just a minute.” Adrina slipped a robe around her then opened the door. “Hurry up, hurry up. No one saw you come up here did they?”

“Do I look stupid? Close the door, close the door.”

Adrina closed the door. She almost ran into his arms, but caught herself on the first step. “Must remember your station, dear,” she whispered to herself—Lady Isador’s words.

“You’re muttering, I can’t understand you. I nearly ran into that attendant of yours. I told her I was making my rounds. She seemed to believe me. I think she rather likes me. She is pretty don’t you think?”

Noticing how handsome Emel looked in the pale light, Adrina stared—here before her was twice the man the son of Klaive was.

Their eyes met, she averted her eyes from his. “I was worried. I heard the trumpet calls and when you didn’t return I thought something dreadful had happened to you.”

Emel chuckled. “Something did happen and you’re not going to believe me.”

Adrina directed her eyes at Emel. Okay tell me, they said.

Emel started laughing again. “You wouldn’t believe what happened to Ridemaster Gabrylle.”

Go on, Adrina’s eyes said.

“We were skirting the Braddabaggon foothills on the return. Twelve new recruits, never been on a mount before in their lives. Twelve more that’d done border patrol once or twice, but still rather new to riding. Three others, acting sergeants like me. Ridemaster Gabrylle had been cursing all day long. And out pops this lowland cat. The thing was seven feet long head to tail, all claws and teeth.

“It let out a cry and up went Ridemaster Gabrylle’s bay. Ridemaster Gabrylle fell clear from his saddle and there he sat. One more hiss out of that cat sent the new recruits running scared. And they didn’t just go in one direction. They all went in different directions. Half were clinging to their frightened mounts’ necks and the other half were just trying to stay in the saddle.

“Ridemaster Gabrylle started screaming and cursing—it was then we noticed he’d broken his leg in the fall. He was spitting fire and those new recruits heard it and they panicked even more. They thought the cat was devouring poor Ridemaster Gabrylle. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or help the ridemaster. It was comical as you please.”

Adrina was laughing heartily now. She motioned to Emel to sit and hesitantly he joined her on the bed. He sat on one side, she on the other.

“Tell me the truth of it,” Adrina said, “you ran too didn’t you?”

“I did think about it. I didn’t want to be there when Ridemaster Gabrylle got back into the saddle.”

“What of the trumpets?” asked Adrina, tucking her long black hair back to one side.

“Oh that is even better.” Emel paused and took a deep breath, his eyes following Adrina’s hands. “Ridemaster Gabrylle’s leg is broken and he demands that one of us snap the bone back into place. I’d never done it before and neither had anyone else. Gabrylle pointed at me and screamed, ‘Brace the damn leg boy, I’ll do it myself!’ I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes and did it. Then I hear this snap, snap, SNAP!

“Gabrylle lets out this scream that chilled my bones and then we hear this trumpet call from Braddabaggon way. Gabrylle points at me and three others, ‘Get that idiot boy back here,’ he screams. We mounted. Then the call comes again. By that time, the city trumpeters are already responding and it’s too late to do anything about stopping the garrison riders—you can’t countermand a call to arms.

“We ride into the Braddabaggon a ways and at the bottom of this long round, we find this boy, sword in one hand, trumpeter’s horn in the other. His mount gone and half crazed hearing Gabrylle’s screams, he wouldn’t let anyone near him. Finally the four of us get the sword away from him—by force—and we were returning when we see two entire columns of riders approaching with lances, battle armor, and shields. They were ready for a fight. Gabrylle buried his face in his hands and wept.

“Well actually, I thought he was weeping. Turns out he was trying so hard to hold in the laughter he was crying, broke leg and all.”

“What happened next?” asked Adrina. She moved a little closer to Emel. “What happened to Ridemaster Gabrylle?”

“Oh he’s all right, no riding for a couple months.”

“No riding for a couple months,” Adrina sounded disappointed as she suddenly realized that no ridemaster probably meant the end of their hopes for the trek to Alderan. “What of the journey to Alderan? Did they select the twelve guardsmen?”

“It would seem that the matter is more pressing than the ridemaster’s injury.” Emel paused, Adrina again moved closer to him. “I think we’ll still mount and ride tomorrow.”

“Think or know?” demanded Adrina, moving back.

“Well, I was told to rise before dawn and have my bags shouldered when I go to morning meal.”

“So you made it, you’re one of the twelve. Congratulations!”

“Wasn’t much of a choice after the cat. But I won’t be riding as a guardsman, Ridemaster Gabrylle says I’m to continue my apprenticeship into the rank of sergeant.”

Adrina was glad of her friend’s good fortune, still, disappointment played on her face. “I guess you never got the chance to ask the ridemaster about me, did you?”

“In all the excitement? No, I never got the chance. Still it seems the company will be much larger than expected. During the day something happened that I wasn’t privy to. I don’t know what it was but it’s sure to be the reason why two full columns answered that alarm call.

“Seems Ridemaster Gabrylle wouldn’t have lead the party anyway. Captain Brodst, my father, will. He’s been elevated to King’s Captain for the task. There’ll be at least three garrison captains to boot. Seems half the city garrison is being roused and sent to the South. I don’t know what’s happened, but remember those two distinguished visitors in the night?”

Adrina nodded her head.

“The word is they’ll be accompanying us.”

Adrina returned to her bed and some hours later greeted the new day with bleary eyes. After Emel had left she hadn’t slept at all. She had been busy plotting; somehow, she would find a way to join the company. With half the city garrison on the march, surely there was no need to fear for her safety.

“If only to see the sea,” Adrina called out to the wind, “to smell salt air and wiggle my toes in the sand.”

“Wiggle toes in the sand?” asked a voice from behind her.

Adrina quickly brushed her hair back and sat up. “Sorry Lady Isador, I thought I was alone.”

“Talking to yourself are you now. You need more fresh air dear. You look peaked. Did you sleep well last night?”

Adrina considered lying. “Not really. It seems the world is passing me by and all I can do is watch. Do you know what I mean?”

Isador sat down on the bed beside Adrina. “You’re talking about the departure today aren’t you. When I was a girl of sixteen, I wanted to see the whole of the land. Odd though it is, all I want to do now is go home. You see, home is the place you try so very hard to get away from only to miss dearly when you are gone.”

“Oh Isador, are you making fun of me?”

“No dear,” said Isador taking Adrina’s hand, “I’m not. Have you considered simply asking His Majesty?” No, Adrina hadn’t. “King Andrew can be very open-minded at times. Look to the Princess Calyin. Your sister traveled more times to the East than I care to count.”

“That was because of her betrothal to Lord Serant of the Territories.”

“Yes, yes it was, but the Barony of Klaive is not far removed from Alderan City.”

Adrina winced. “I do not want my life decided for me like father tried to decide Midori’s.”

“Your sister’s betrothal to King Jarom was purely a matter of state and for the good of Great Kingdom,” Isador said with a stern tone. “You may never know His Majesty’s anguish over that decision, but I knew, and your mother, bless her soul, knew as well. His Majesty was simply attempting to make amends for a transgression of youth.”

“Did my father really win mother’s hand over Jarom?”

Isador smiled and brushed back a wayward strand of Adrina’s hair. “His Majesty won more than her hand, he won her heart, and when Alexandria came to Imtal, she brought with her Jarom’s own heart.”

Adrina’s eyes wandered to the sunshine playing in the window. “Do you really think he would listen, Isador?” Isador replied, “You know I do, Young Highness.”

Before she knew it she was standing before her father awaiting his response. Despite frowns and stares she maintained a smile.

Father Tenuus, silent and brooding, stood off to King Andrew’s right, a sour frown set to his lips. The king frowned likewise, probably agreeing with the captain’s statement—the open road and a long, hard journey were no place for a young princess. Still, Father Jacob had added a rare touch. His blessing for her to accompany the group came as a surprise to say the least, and thus was surely the reason for the sour grimace Father Tenuus bore before him.

Andrew rose from his high-backed chair and spread his broad shoulders wide. He looked first to Captain Brodst and then to the two distinguished visitors, Father Jacob and Keeper Martin. “Three years have come and gone since your mother’s passing. Each day I grieve. Each day the pain does not diminish, it grows. I am beyond healing Adrina. Queen Alexandria was my life. You look so very much like her my dear, sweet Adrina.

“Each day I also see this pain mirrored in your eyes. I ask myself what I can do to end it. Yet, if I cannot ease my own , how can I ease it for another? I think the time away could be the time to finally heal. You may go with my blessing, my dear.”

King Andrew looked to Lady Isador, “And, I understand you will visit the Barony of Klaive on the return. You don’t know how much that pleases me, my dear. ‘Tis a beautiful place come spring. Often I’ve envied Klaive his place by the great sea. Rudden Klaiveson is an apt and likeable fellow. When you announce your betrothal to him you will have made a wise choice, my daughter.”

Adrina began to hurry away. She turned to look back at Lady Isador. “What of you, Lady Isador? I mean, you will come with. You do want to go home, don’t you?”

“South Province will have to wait.” Lady Isador sighed, looked away. “Hurry along now, before I come to tears. I’ll be along in a moment to help you pack.”

Adrina hurried to her room. She and Isador made short work of the packing. Soon after she was guiding her mount through palace gates, her head held high, her face glowing with delight at her father’s approval. It all seemed so surreal, like she was living a dream. She thought momentarily of Rudden Klaiveson, then cast the thoughts away—nothing was going to spoil her day. The Barony of Klaive was at the very least a six-day ride away, and first they would journey to Alderan by the sea.

She rode along the cobbled streets of Imtal toward its southernmost portcullis. She knew she would miss the city. So often had she looked out her window, stared at its tall gray walls, and dreamed of things beyond that the lands beyond seemed just that, a dream. She would miss Lady Isador, her maternal nanny, and her father, Andrew, this was true. But oddly, most of all she would miss those tall gray walls. They had housed and symbolized her fears, her loss, her anger, even her hopes and dreams for so long they truly seemed a part of her. The future without them to look out at, even if only for a few weeks, seemed frightening.

Her dreams had held her and carried her through those three long years. But now she finally had what she wanted and suddenly she felt an overwhelming urge to turn around and race back to Imtal Palace—for there, she could dwell in her dreams and hide from the truth, the cold bitter truth.

“Pleasant thoughts,” she whispered, “only pleasant thoughts today.”

She let her mind wander along the cobbled city streets and small shadowed alleyways they passed, pieces of her thoughts falling into every nook and cranny.

As the iron grate clambered closed behind her the excitement of the open road before them, the open green of a large inland plain and the gentle rolling of soft hills in the distance swept her away. She held no remorse for leaving now, only hopes for the thrills that lay ahead.

With but a gentle touch of moisture in it, the air that morning was fresh and cool. Overhead the sky was cloudy and dark and, even though it held the promise of rain, it held an appearance of serenity. Adrina inhaled a deep breath and drank in the early morning aromas—the smell of grass and of early morning dew—then tightened her grip on the reins  and bid her horse to speed  onward.

Three squadrons of garrison troops filing through the city gates in ponderously long lines, four abreast, had been an awesome spectacle, yet the sound of hundreds of hooves and thousands of feet plodding along muddy ground, filling the air, was equally as spectacular.

“Half the city garrison,” Adrina whispered to herself and to the wind, “all headed south, south to Alderan by the sea.”

Chapter Seven:

Meeting

Sight had been the first sense to return to Vilmos’ tortured world. The other senses followed at a pace of their own accord—except pain. Pain it seemed had always been there, overshadowing the sense of touch. Taste came in the form of a pasty film that covered his tongue, which as he rubbed it away made his stomach sour. A vague odor came to his nostrils, the smell of his own sweat. The last sense to return was hearing. Rapid breathing burst upon him and Vilmos started.

“You are truly the evil one,” Vilmos repeated in hushed tones.

The sound of stifled, irregular breaths fell upon his ears again. Realizing the sound was not his own, Vilmos shrank back into the corner. He would not have been amazed to see the dark-faced one sitting beside him—this he expected—yet as he turned, meeting a warm smile, he nearly wet his pants.

“Mi-do-ri, is that you?”

The tutor, seated at a chair next to the bed, stared intently at him. The expression on her face was one that Vilmos did not recognize, one completely out of place, a look not of dismay or terror but of understanding and approval.

Vilmos pinched himself to ensure he wasn’t somehow still dreaming, and then asked excitedly, “What are you doing here?”

The teacher answered with words he had not expected. “Watching you, Vilmos,” she whispered softly.

In reaction to his anxiety, she shuffled the chair away from him.

“Why didn’t you wake me? I was having a terrible, terrible dream. I was probably even talking in my sleep.” Vilmos halted only for an instant to intake a breath. “I do that sometimes, just go on and on and on about nothing. The dream was scary, I think.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Midori, “we both know you were not sleeping. I am a friend, Vilmos; there is no need to fear me. I am here to help you.”

“Then was it real? Did it really happen?” asked Vilmos with renewed vigor in his words.

Midori glanced at Vilmos’ hands and the blood dripping from his shoulders. “If you believe it occurred, then it did. If you believe…”

“I’m afraid,” admitted Vilmos, “are you here to take me away?”

“No, Vilmos, I will not take you away, nor will I let the black priests take you away.” She moved the chair closer to the bed once more. “I am here to help you.”

“I don’t need any help. Please just go away,” said Vilmos feeling suddenly brave.

“I can’t go away Vilmos. You need my help more than you know.” Midori glanced nervously out the window. “Vilmos, you are very special. All you have to do is trust me and let me help you. Can you do that?”

Vilmos nodded. Midori touched a dark yellow stone to the palms of his hands. “It is a healing stone,” she said, “it will ease the pain.”

“Is it magic?” asked Vilmos warily.

“In a way, perhaps,” said Midori, upturning warm green eyes to ease Vilmos’ fright, “but this stone comes from the temple of Mother-Earth.” The stone began to glow bright yellow, then slowly dulled to charcoal gray. The pain gone from his hands, Vilmos suddenly noticed the sharp throbbing of his shoulders. “I am sorry. The stone’s power is gone, but I could not have undone that anyway. I must go now. Will you come with me?”

“Wh-wh-where,” stammered Vilmos, “are you going?”

“I am going to meet someone. A very good friend, who is special like you. He has waited a long time for you to be ready.”

An internal voice told Vilmos if he were to leave now he would never be coming home again. “Midori, I am afraid.”

The gentle woman offered Vilmos her hand and hesitantly he accepted. Her touch, sympathetic and soothing, put Vilmos more at ease. He looked up into her soft green eyes and suddenly worries and reservations about her intentions faded away. He would go wherever she would take him.

“We have to move swiftly,” Midori said as she led him from the house. “The woods are a strange enough place with the light of day, let alone without it.”

They had just reached the edge of the village when the sound of drums burst into the air. Midori began to run all out, dragging Vilmos behind her. “Hurry, hurry,” she said. “They come.”

They made the trek from the village to the dark wood at a record pace, Midori dragging Vilmos behind her. Coming to a path, they took it. It was a seldom-used path, so it was largely overgrown with weeds and underbrush, but still visible to an observant eye.

High overhead the sky was turning dark and yet they followed the little trail. Many questions flooded into Vilmos’ young mind. Where were they going? What of his mother and father? What of the bear? What of the drums?

Several times he tried to speak, though no words ever escaped his lips. He simply followed as Midori led him along the tangled trail, holding tightly to her hand. A sickness was welling up from his stomach. He felt the whole of the world was suddenly somehow different and the feeling didn’t end as the trail did, coming to an abrupt end near the forest’s edge.

The two emerged from the forest’s shadowed darkness. The sun had already sunk low on the horizon in front of them. Soon it would be night. A large meadow spread beyond the forest’s veil and soon they found themselves trudging across it. Vilmos could not see beyond the meadow’s brink due to the rolling hills beyond it. He wondered what they would find on the other side, or perhaps if their destination lay beyond the hills, somewhere off in the unseen distance.

Determined now to quietly follow his silent companion, trudging on tired and sore feet, Vilmos began to wonder if they would ever stop to rest or sleep. His answer came as they marched up into the soft, rolling foothills beyond the meadow. They quickly found themselves on a rocky precipice overlooking the most beautiful sight Vilmos had ever seen—the deep valley of his imagining.

“Hello Vilmos,” simply stated a strangely familiar voice.

Vilmos was startled by the sudden appearance of the other. He stared at the peculiar, tiny man for a time. His skin was the color of rough leather; the face deep set with wrinkles that covered its entirety was the best indicator of his great age; hair long and black with whispers of gray neither accented nor subtracted from his appearance of age and wisdom. Vilmos stared into eyes as silver as the moonlight, and found the man had a special energy about him. It seemed like an inner flow of light and it intrigued Vilmos, and perhaps beguiled him.

Vilmos finally responded with a timid, “Hul-lo.”

“I am Xith,” spoke the man in a clear unwavering tone, “shaman of the great North Reach, perhaps the last of my kind, the last of the Watchers.”

“How do you… Watchers? There is no such thing as a Watcher. That is only legend.”

“Ahh, yet here I stand before you and you better than anyone else should know it to be true.”

Vilmos searched his mind. The words appeared to be true, but how could it be so. The tiny man who stood before him could not possibly be a Watcher—Vilmos quickly discarded the thought. He would not judge others so hastily anymore. He had already learned his lesson once before about incorrectly judging people.

In the history written down in the Great Book, he recalled mention of the Watchers. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to find the words that momentarily eluded him. “... and the Watchers shall return from their long vigil. They shall bring word of the Coming…”

Vilmos opened his eyes. “You do not look like one of the great Watchers. You look more like a gnome than anything else. Are you the one from my dream?”

Xith paused and took a deep breath. “Not a dream, Vilmos, and Gnomes have not been seen in the land since Father Gnome sealed Solstice Mountain five hundred years ago.”

“Father Gnome and Queen Elf are dead,” said Vilmos, “and Oread was cast to the four winds with her siblings.”

Xith sat and motioned for Vilmos to do likewise. He said nothing for a time afterward and simply stared at the boy, then spoke. “History belongs to the teller and is only as reliable as the teller’s recollection of it.”

Far off Vilmos heard the sounding of drums again. He saw Midori nervously glance to the woods. “Why are you here?” Vilmos asked.

“You already know the answer.”

“Huh? I do?” said Vilmos without thinking. He slapped a hand to his mouth and raised his eyebrows. A realization entered his mind. He remembered something that had been gnawing at him ever since he had heard the shaman’s voice. He had almost recalled it before, but he had lost the thought. Now, he did remember. He knew what had been lost in his subconscious. “You were there last night, in my dream and again before. I saw you.”

“Yes,” Xith said.

“Then was it all real?”

“It was very real, more real than you will ever know.” Xith leaned forward and touched a hand to Vilmos’ shoulder; the raked flesh was already beginning to fester. The shaman shook his head in disgust.

“But, but how… How did you… and now you are here… Thank you!” exclaimed Vilmos, clutching Xith’s hand. “I remember now. I remember it all. I have seen you often in my dreams.”

“I did only that which I must,” Xith’s voice was calm, unchanged.

“What do you want of me? Why have you returned?” Vilmos searched for a clue that would somehow indicate the shaman’s intent. He continued to gaze into the shaman’s eyes, and a feeling of exhilaration swept over him.

“We will camp here tonight. Get some rest, Vilmos,” said Xith, “tomorrow I will answer your questions. Do not worry, for there is nothing to worry about. All fears are behind you for a time. You will sleep peacefully this night. Sleep, young Vilmos.”

Overcome with sudden fatigue, Vilmos found a dire need for sleep. Xith motioned with his hands and a fire appeared. Its warmth carried with it a healing touch and as soon as Vilmos lay down on the hard ground next to the fire, he fell asleep.

“Midori, come here. Let me look at you,” said Xith, after a brief lull, “it has been a long time since I last saw you.”

Xith stretched out his hands to greet Midori’s. The two took a seat beside the fire opposite Vilmos. Xith’s silver eyes glowed with joy in the firelight. He was obviously pleased at how Midori had grown. The years had surely developed her.

“Yes it has. I have not seen you since that day long ago when you left my dreams. I was only a child then,” somberly stated Midori.

“Yes, you were. You have grown into a fine woman and have learned very well. I am proud of you,” said Xith matter-of-factly. His words of praise the absolute truth. He was indeed proud of her achievements, although he was not completely surprised by them. He had seen great promise in her when he had chosen her.

Midori’s lips rose into a knowing smile. Xith had been her greatest mentor. She respected him deeply for it and held his approval in the highest regard. “Thank you, Master Xith. I am honored by your kind words. Do we go together to Tsitadel’?”

“No, I am afraid the circumstances have changed. I must take Vilmos with me. There is another that I must take to the secret city, one with greater need. But that is not for some time now. There is much to be done before then, so much to be done before then…” his voice trailed off. He heard drums sounding in the distance again.

Midori honed in solely on the one part of the statement that struck her as inconceivable. “With you? Not with the others?” she asked, a spark of fear entering her mind.

“Yes, I am afraid so. You should return now, there is much to do. We will meet again soon. Do not fret. There is nothing to worry about. Just explain to the council that I was wrong.”

“But, you’ve never been wrong.” Midori didn’t know how she could tell the council Xith had been in error. No one would believe her. She knew something was drastically wrong, and an alarm sounded in the corners of her mind, though she tried to remain calm.

“I am an old man and old men should be allowed an occasional misjudgment. Besides times are changing. Tell them, I know they will believe you. Mention nothing of what you have seen. Clear the thoughts from your mind. Believe in me, Midori. What I do is for the best,” said Xith, his words flowing freely.

“I do believe in you, my friend. I will do what you say.” Midori took his hand and added with an emotion-filled voice, “I will not fail you.”

“Please go. And take my blessing with you.”

“I will worry about you my friend,” Midori said. “Will you be safe?”

“My child,” began Xith, using a soft-handed tone, “of course I will come to no harm. There is no need to worry. Time is short, dear Midori. I have a great deal to say. Listen well.”

A short pause followed while the words echoed in Midori’s mind, there is no need to worry.

“Promise me you will forget what you know and what you have seen. Think of the boy no more. He is under my care. This alone should ease your woes. A great change is sweeping across the land. Great events are beginning to unfold. Things even I can only wonder at. The Kingdom of Sever is no longer safe. Do not return here.

“Take my mount. In the saddlebags, you will find several weeks of dried rations and three scrolls. The first must go to Master T’aver, you should know where to find him and yes, dear, I recall your dread of the swamp. I have inscribed that scroll with a special seal. The seal can only be broken by his hand.

“Still, choose your messenger with utmost care. This message must reach his hands. He must know what to do when the time comes. The second scroll you are to read only after you have departed the council. Do not read it before then. Among its instructions it lists the time when you should open and read the final scroll. Under no circumstances are you to read it before the appropriate time.

“Go now and take my blessing with you, it is for you that I fear the most.” Xith’s face grew dark and shadowed. “Watch your way with care, and I will see you many more times.”

“Many more times,” Xith repeated, waving to Midori as she departed. Then he looked to the heavens and sighed.

Nestled among a few shining stars under an otherwise cloudy sky, a pale and somber gibbous moon shone down. He bedded down beneath his thick blanket, his worries turning from the girl who ran away into the stark, hostile unknown to the boy, Vilmos, who was cradled in the known.

Taking the boy to Tsitadel’ would have proven the easiest route, though he had already followed this path to its end in his mind. No, this path was reserved for another.

Xith had other plans for the boy, and in this he must not fail. He did not know if he could cheat fate, or even if it was wise to try, but try he must.

Chapter Eight:

Guidance

The storm clouds of early morning were blown south by strong winds out of the north and a clear bright sky quickly replaced dark clouds. Adrina rode quietly, content for a time simply to watch the scenery they passed, scattered trees, farmers and work animals in fields, and the occasional traveler. The swelling rounds of the Braddabaggon quickly replaced the green of flat open plains. Though the gentle foothills weren’t wild country, Adrina kept her eyes wide open. She didn’t want to end up like Ridemaster Gabrylle. No lowland cat was going to ruin her day.

She thought about the long southwesterly trek to Alderan. The coastal port city, a mere day’s ride south of the Free Cities of Mir and Veter, was rumored to be beautiful beyond compare. In days of old Alderan City had been the capital of the Kingdom. Named after the first king of the land, the Alder, it was once considered the meeting place of the North, South and East.

Adrina maneuvered her mount between Keeper Martin and Emel, and attempted to spark a conversation with Emel, though without success. She didn’t know why he was angry with her but she aimed to apologize quickly. She needed someone to talk to.

“Emel, I am sorry. I won’t do it ever again, whatever it was. I promise,” said Adrina softly.

“Are you at least going to tell me what you know?” Emel asked. “Or do I get nothing in repayment?”

Before she might have decided to come clean and admit she didn’t know anything, but as she considered his question, she decided instead to feed him along. “Well, you actually didn’t help me. It was Father Jacob who did, and he already knows the plan.”

In response, Emel spurred his mount and rode to the front of the party. Her intent hadn’t been to anger Emel, only to carry on a conversation with him. Now she felt doubly poor for what she had done. An earlier promise would be kept, she would say an extra prayer this evening to repent for the subterfuge.

“Dear, he will forgive you in time. For now, just let him be. Enjoy the morning and the fresh air. Drink in its beauty,” said Keeper Martin.

Adrina was aghast; the Lore Keeper had spoken to her. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she had already enjoyed the morning and was now becoming extremely bored. Her reply instead was an easy response of agreement, a few more hours of silence would be tolerable, but just barely so. She hoped Emel would speak to her soon.

At midday Captain Brodst called the column to a halt. The abeyance would only be long enough to give horses and tired foot soldiers a much needed rest and to grab a light repast. Adrina was very pleased to rid her bottom of the saddle for a short time.

After dismounting and leading her horse to where Keeper Martin, Father Jacob and a few others were gathered next to a small stream beside the road, she readily dove into her saddle bags. To her delight, she found dried beef, still-warm rolls and a skin of kindra-ale. In all the excitement she had not even remembered to eat this morning.

While she ate, Adrina looked to the Lore Keeper and the king’s first minister. She wondered at Father Jacob’s approval of her presence. His words had surprised her then and puzzled her now as she contemplated them. Why did a man who spoke directly to Great-Father care about a mere girl? Why did a man like that do anything?

And then there was Keeper Martin. Rumor had it the great keepers communicated in dreams and that is how they recorded the histories of all that went on in the land. Rumor also had it that Martin was unlike his predecessors. Martin was forever traversing the land. Heading over-mountain, braving the wilds of the Territories or journeying to unknown places in the Far South. Before Martin the head keeper never left the Halls of Knowledge.

“It is impolite to stare, dear,” whispered a voice in her ear.

Hastily, Adrina swallowed a lump of half-chewed meat. “I didn’t mean to stare. Do you know everything, Keeper?”

Grey-haired Martin chuckled. “No, Your Highness, I don’t, though there are those who say I would like to.”

Adrina took a sip of kindra-ale, a bitter tasting drink with an unpleasant aftertaste that was strangely satisfying. “Will you be going all the way to Alderan with us, Keeper Martin?”

“I was planning to turn south at the crossroads and press on to South Province with the detachment heading to Quashan’ garrison, but I think I will continue to Alderan. My business in the South can wait a few days.”

Not knowing what else to say, Adrina smiled and returned to her meal. After eating she wandered to the edge of the stream. There was a small pool here, formed where white waters rushing from upstream found themselves blocked by two large boulders. Bending down, she dipped her hands into the water of the pool. Finding it clear, she rinsed the dirt of the road from her face and neck. Then she slipped off her riding boots and dangled her toes in the cool water.

She looked back to the soldiers milling about on the road and finding not a few stares directed her way she blushed. “Not a proper thing to do,” she imagined Lady Isador telling her. She quickly slipped her boots back on and pulled the collar of her riding blouse into place.

“Adrina?” called out Emel timidly, approaching slowly. “I’m really sorry about earlier. I was just frustrated that’s all. I heard the news about your upcoming betrothal to Rudden Klaiveson. I guess I was just being petty. After all, you are a grown woman, but I thought you would’ve told me first. We are friends, aren’t we?”

“Heard it from your father no doubt.” Adrina frowned. “I’m not betrothed to Rudden Klaiveson. I’m to visit Klaive—there’s a difference.”

“Is there?”

Adrina glared. “Rudden Klaiveson is days away and at the end of our journey. We’ll have no talk of him or anyone else that’ll ruin our fun. Deal?”

Emel nodded in fast agreement.

Hearing the heated discussion of a large group of men, Adrina turned. “What are they discussing over there?”

“Scouts. They left the group a few hours ago. Must’ve just returned,” replied Emel. He cocked his head in their direction. “Sounds like they’re worried about something ahead. The rains returning perhaps. You see the three approaching just now, with the gold lapels?”

“Captains?”

“The one on the right with the grizzled beard is Captain Trendmore. The tall southerner is Captain Adylton. The other is Captain Ghenson. He’s quick-witted. I like him.”

Adrina grabbed Emel’s arm. “Were they just talking about the ship from Wellison?”

“I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be a prudent thing to do—” A horn sounding the end of the rest cut Emel short. “—Time to mount. Do you wish to ride with me? I can show you a few things, about riding and scouting.”

Adrina puckered her lower lip and bit the corner of it. “Really?” she said wide-eyed.

With the afternoon came autumn rains. At first it was only a gentle mist coming down upon them, later heavy sheets of icy rain. The travelers quickly became bogged down in gooey, sticky muck. With no place to hide and wait out the storm in the open fields, stopping served no purpose. For safety’s sake the great column slowed to a crawl, yet Captain Brodst kept the group traveling onward.

Despite hood and cloak pulled tightly around her, Adrina was drenched through. Rain streamed down her face and though she was drenched, she was happy—the dreariness was comforting and reassuring.

“Isn’t this great?” shouted Emel, raising his voice above the ruckus of hundreds of hooves plodding through thick trail mud and the heavy downpour. “Castle watch is monotonous when compared to this, nothing compares to this!”

Adrina edged her mount closer to his, then reached over and slugged him on the arm. Emel didn’t respond. He just smirked rather broadly.

Wet clothes and wet saddle began to chaff as time slipped away. Adrina could feel the cold in her bones now and desperately wanted to stop for another rest. She turned to look back at the others through the shroud of rain. Father Jacob wore a solemn, thoughtful expression on an otherwise expressionless face. Knowing that the good priest was always like this—true feeling hidden on the interior of a hardened exterior—she wondered what feelings were hidden behind the clear, impressionless mask. For therein lies the heart of the man—her mother had told her that once long ago.

The rain notwithstanding, Keeper Martin had his eyes wide open. He scanned the horizon ahead. His face, with upturned eyebrows and slightly furled lips, showed little complacency. Clearly he didn’t like the rain or the trail conditions, yet as always he sought to maintain a clear awareness of their surroundings and find the good in ill. Something troubled him, noted Adrina. She guessed that it probably had something to do with their journey—the keeper had too much wisdom sometimes.

Besides the ever-present scowl, Captain Brodst had an otherwise expressionless countenance. For Adrina, the scowl signified order. The captain kept his companions and his subordinates in check with it—the guards, the soldiers, not even the distinguished guests, Adrina included, dared to speak their thoughts. They would endure the rain for as long as the captain ordered.

The others in the long line of garrison soldiers fore and aft, still four abreast on the muddied kingdom road, and the palace guardsmen that encircled her, Adrina noted, were disheartened. The rain was bogging down their thoughts. Some of those whose faces she could see despite the murky rain were thinking of other places—perhaps home and loved ones, perhaps just the local ale house—but still it was clear they were thinking of someplace else.

Her special talent, a learned talent for knowing what others were thinking from their expressions, a gift perfected during numerous court sessions, ended as she turned to regard Emel. She had a hard time discerning his feelings from his expressions. This especially troubled her and attracted her to him. As she considered this, her eyes wandered toward him once more—quickly turning away down the muddied path as her gaze met his. The message in his eyes, mixed feelings—feelings she didn’t like—was confusing.

As the rain persisted and the day grew long, Captain Brodst signaled another slackening of the pace. Afterwards, he signaled the young sergeant to fall in place beside him. Adrina followed, then after slowing her mount, she did her best to listen in.

“… Remember it will be a light camp, no tents,” reminded the captain, “so find us a good thick spot in a forested canopy.”

To Adrina’s surprise, he addressed her next.

“Sorry, Your Highness,” Captain Brodst said, “we will be unable to reach an inn. I had hoped we would be able to make up some time, but the rain is slowing us to a crawl. Our file is too long to risk much faster travel.”

“You considered stopping at an inn,” said Adrina, more to herself than to the captain. “Even after what you said before we departed Imtal?”

“Come on, Adrina!” yelled Emel, as he urged Ebony to race the wind. “Catch up!”

Captain Brodst was part way into a response that was quickly drowned out as Adrina raced to intercept the retreating figure. She did toss him a final probing stare, though, as she swatted her horse to speed the weary animal’s lackluster pace. She was also quick to turn back to the trail ahead as the captain sought to raise an objection. She was certain she was right about his constant scowl. It was his shield.

“You see, my father…” shouted Emel, looking back over his shoulder as his horse galloped through the thick mud and rain, “… the captain has a heart after all.”

For a long time the two sped along the trail despite the greatly reduced visibility from the rain, diminishing daylight and their speed. Adrina had a difficult time maintaining her focus on the figure ahead. Soon she became completely unaware of her surroundings, and watched only for the spray of mud from hastening hooves ahead.

“Emel, wait up! We aren’t in that much of a hurry are we? The others are well behind us by now. Besides, how can we find a suitable place to stop if we can’t even see what we are passing by?”

Emel reined Ebony in. “I don’t need to see where I am going. Even in the rain I know this section of the road like the back of my hand.” He stroked Ebony Lightning. “My first apprenticeship was as a king’s messenger. I know exactly where we’ll find shelter from the rain.”

“Then why are we racing?”

“Imtal Palace Guardsmen and guests shall have the base fire. The garrison troops will have to fend for themselves. They have their own detachment and squadron commanders. It is my father’s way of telling the palace guard he cares. Garrison soldiers will also see him as one who cares well for his own and perhaps there will be more than a few who at the end of this trip will wish to enlist in his service. At the end of a long journey soldiers remember the little things. Food, water and shelter are held in the highest regard.

“And we race for sport,” said Emel urging Ebony faster and faster.

Mud and dirty water was propelled high into the air and fell just short of Adrina as she fought to catch up with a flagging mount.

After they had rounded several bends in the road and breached several low hills, Adrina momentarily lost sight of Emel. Her heart still pounding from the race, she held her breath as she tried to discern shapes in the dim light. Then she spotted horse and rider racing off the trail and hastened after them.

Just before he reached the edge of the woods, Emel turned Ebony about and raced back toward her. In one swift move he wheeled his mount along side Adrina’s and, reaching down, seized her horse’s reins just above the bit, bringing the mare to a rigid stop. Not expecting this, Adrina tumbled from the horse into the mud.

Emel dismounted. “Can I help you up, Your Highness?” he asked smugly.

Adrina could see he was trying to contain the humor within from bursting into raucous laughter. Her face was red and tears came to her eyes. Mud clung to her hair, her clothes, her cloak, and frustrated hands did little to remove it. “No, I think you’ve done enough already. I am quite fine.”

Emel tossed her an impish look and if she hadn’t burst into laughter, Adrina would have cried deeply. The laughter, a much need burst of cheer, was oddly cleansing, but short-lived.

“Damn you, Emel!” she screamed, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

She was crying now and suddenly screaming at him again. “Damn you, damn you—” She realized she was whining and then how pathetic she sounded, and she laughed again—and the laughter felt good.

When Emel offered her his hand in assistance, she pulled him forward, and didn’t let go until he landed face first into the mud. Then she tried to run out of his reach, but was too slow.

“Why you,” yelled Emel, as he grabbed the retreating foot.

A backwards slip landed her, with a muddled thud, on her backside. She squirmed to get away from him as he dragged her toward him.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

Emel continued to drag her by one leg backwards through the mud as she fought to break free while the rain beat down on them in a sudden strong drove. With both hands, she scooped up a large clump of mud and threw it at Emel. It landed with a splat, squarely on target and she finally broke free of his grip.

“So that’s how you want to play it,” Emel said, grabbing a large handful of wet muck.

Adrina returned the volley. “Serves you right!”

The mud flinging continued back and forth until they were both drenched and covered in mud from head to toe. Adrina was laughing so hard she fell backwards into the mud, adeptly tripping Emel as she went down. As she pushed a sodden handful into his face, both burst into hearty laughter. Then content to sit idle, allowing the rain to splash down upon them, the two passed a quiet moment.

“Stand up,” Adrina said to Emel, offering her hand to him as he stood. “We have to get all this mud off of us before the others catch up. I don’t want to get you into any more trouble.”

Emel looked at her, eyes agape, as if he had just remembered something that his life depended on. Warily, he accepted her offer, quickly returning to reality from the momentary reprieve. They waited in the rain just long enough for it to wash the majority of the mud from their clothing and then prepared to move under the forest canopy.

“Grab your horse, follow me,” said Emel.

Hurriedly, he led her into the large stand of nearby fir.

Quickly the rain became scarcely noticeable as they entered the thick folds of the shielded canopy and as they moved deeper and deeper into the heart of the great fir stand the rain was soon only a pleasant sound in the distance. The world became suddenly quiet and calm.

“Gather some sticks and small branches for kindling. I’ll get the larger branches,” said Emel. He loosely tied Ebony’s reins to a low branch and retrieved an axe from his saddlebags.

Adrina collected dry twigs and small branches into a pile as Emel had asked. When she had finished, Emel had already returned with a plentiful harvest of large branches. A tree had fallen nearby and its great boughs would be put to good use.

After a circle was cleared around where he would start the campfire, Emel quickly assembled the wood into a neat pile with the kindling at the base and the larger branches at the top forming a huddled triangle. Flint and steel were retrieved from saddlebags and an instant later its spark lit the kindling. A few tender puffs spread the tiny flames and soon a gentle fire was crackling, replacing the soft sound of distant rain.

Adrina was almost impressed by his expertise. “Pretty nimble,” she said, “how much longer before the others catch up?”

“Soon,” Emel said, “so hurry up and take off your clothes. We don’t have much time.”

Both flattered and outraged, Adrina’s face flushed and then became bright red. “What do you mean?” she shouted. She slapped his face. “Why I never! What do you mean get undressed?”

Emel swallowed harshly, then his face turned bright with embarrassment, a close match to the princess’. “What I meant to say was, hurry up and get out of those wet things so we can dry them over the fire.”

“Why?” demanded Adrina, still upset.

“I didn’t mean it the way it… I mean, what I’m trying to say is…” said a flustered Emel, “You need to dry your things before the others arrive. Otherwise, you know, it might be difficult for you to get them dry. I’ll tie a line up between those two trees for you, and then you can hang your clothes to dry. I’ll go watch for the others by the trail, just yell when you are finished.”

After a moment of silence, Adrina laughed. Now, she understood what he was trying to say. “I’m sorry, Emel,” Adrina said, quickly adding, “I mean for hitting you, I’m sorry.”

The fire was blazing brightly by the time Emel had tied up a secure line. He would have preferred to gather more wood as he should have done, but he didn’t. The great fallen tree was close by though, and it could serve as a source for many, many fires to take away the chill of the rainy night.

“Good-bye,” he said, “just call out when you’re done. If the others get here first I’ll call out in greeting to them and you’ll know they are close. I’ll need to build a watch fire near the forest’s edge but that will only take a moment.”

The watch fire built, Emel was hesitant to leave its warmth. Returning with Ebony Lightning to unsheltered skies seemed an unpleasant proposition and he did so with quick regret. Almost immediately, cold rain drenched any part of him that had been partially dry.

An easterly wind blown from the direction of the distant sea made the rain feel that much colder. He knew, even on an evening such as this, the red glow of the watch fire from the darkened wood cutting into the darkened land could be seen from a long distance. He needn’t wait here on the trail for the others, for they could have easily followed the building light to its source. Here he felt safer, safer because he was away from the young princess and the desires of his own young heart.

Safer? he asked himself, immediate alarms sounding in his mind. He had just left Princess Adrina alone in the woods. He had not checked for signs of other passersby. Nor had he checked for signs of other creatures seeking shelter from the rain.

He mounted Ebony and charged into the thick woods, passed the watch fire, ducking low hanging branches as he went. Dark silhouettes of trees passed by in blurs as he raced for the red of the base fire. Reaching the base fire, he found the hollow under the canopy empty.

“A-dri-na, Adrina?” he screamed, his mind filling with dread.

Hastily, Emel dismounted. Panic mandating his every move, he began a frantic search.

“Adrina, where are you?”

For an instant, he felt a breath of air on his neck—perhaps the wind from beyond the forest. Then a hand clasped firmly to his mouth.

“Do not scream. I will not harm you,” whispered a dark figure, whirling him around so he was left staring into heavy gray eyes. “We bring word from the land.”

The figure then led Emel deeper into the forest. Emel counted the figures in the shadows as he was led past them, twelve in all. He soon found himself in a large circle of dark-robed figures. All save one had the hoods secured, masking their faces. Princess Adrina sat in the middle of the circle beside a tall light-haired woman. Dark skin said the woman was surely a southerner, but the light blonde hair seemed out of place.

“Who is your friend?” asked the woman of Adrina, not turning to look at Emel.

“He is the son of the captain of the Imtal guard.”

“Sit, Emel Brodstson,” said the woman, beckoning with her hand. Then to Adrina she said, “We do not have long, I can hear the column approaching. I must speak fast.”

Emel heard nothing save soft rain and perhaps wind.

“Travel not to Alderan by the sea. The ship you seek from Wellison will not arrive. You are in grave danger, princess. A great evil has put its mark upon you. It is good you have a friend who cares for your welfare. You would be wise to care as much for yourself.”

Adrina glanced at Emel, then asked, “Why me?”

“The struggle is long and many are its participants. The journey you have embarked upon is but the first step along the path. The evil has chosen you because of your position of influence and because of the emptiness within you.”

“Can I not rid myself of this mark?”

The woman began speaking more swiftly now. “Look to two strangers for aid, for fate brings them to you. Beware those that are not what they seem and the traitor. A traitor among you will insist you continue to Alderan when it seems you should not. Remember, only death awaits in Alderan.”Adrina regarded the woman and started to say something but Emel cut her off. “What is so important about this ship from Wellison? Why should we even listen to you? You should flee before the garrison soldiers find you and run you through.”

“Speak not words in haste, oft you may regret the reply. Yet if this is what you truly wish to know, I will tell you. Know there is a heavy price. Once a thing is known, you may not so easily turn away.” The woman paused and stared into Emel’s eyes, seemingly pleased with what she saw, she continued. “The ship from Wellison has a most precious cargo, the heir to the throne of Sever. At this very moment, King Charles lies dying in his bed. An assassin’s poison is slowly eating away at him. Alas there is no cure, a terrible poison.

“The evil uses King Jarom’s lust for power just as it uses you and many others. He sees himself seated in the throne room of Imtal Palace. He means to plunge the kingdoms into war. To be sure, he will use the death of Charles and the fears of the heir to his own ends.”

“Can I not rid myself of this evil?” repeated Adrina.

“Please leave us now,” said the woman to Emel, “go to your watch fire. The soldiers are near. I would speak to Adrina alone.”

Emel hesitantly turned away, his pace just slow enough to hear their continued whispers.

“The evil brings the change you so wished for. It has found a home in the emptiness of your heart. You care too little for those around you. You see not the servants who toil for you, workers in the fields on their hands and knees with the whip at their backs, drudges scouring the kitchen floors—”

“I am not heartless,” protested Adrina.

“Did I say heartless?” asked the woman. “Tell me, what is the name of the servant girl who cares so much for you that she remains awake through the night to re-stoke your hearth only to feel the lashings of a whip at her back the next day for laziness?”

Adrina fumbled for a name. “She is a servant girl, nothing more.”

“Myrial,” whispered Emel.

“Queen Alexandria, your mother, would have shed tears at the hearing. Your position has made you forget there are others in the land that suffer. Your father is not the strong and caring king he once was. Fault him not; there are those who use his grief to their own ends. You must open your eyes.”

Adrina tried to raise an objection. The lady continued. “Go now. Look for the two strangers, find the son of Charles, beware the traitor and those that are not what they seem. Say nothing of our conversation to anyone.”

“But what can I do? I cannot rouse the southern garrisons to arms.”

“I did not say to rouse the garrisons. Would you so foolishly provoke war?” The woman paused and stared into the shadows. “And Emel Brodstson, if you have heard enough, continue on your way. Remember, there is always a heavy price.”

Chapter Nine:

Ambush

What do we do now Brother?

We die, Brother Galan, Seth said coldly, simply, but not until we fight honorably and die honorably.

All eyes keyed to the hulking masses of multi-sailed vessels that hungrily approached.

Cagan? Seth directed the thought to the mind of the ship’s captain. We must get through. We cannot fight them all at once. Can we make it to open water?

“Perhaps, if we use the escort ships as decoys while we break through—a hard strike to the right side of the blockade should do it. We can try to circle them and make for open seas. Once there, with the wind in our sails, this ship can outrun anything they can throw at us.” Cagan spoke aloud as was his chosen fashion.

Running is pointless, Br’yan said. It would only show that we are cowards. We should strike the enemy head on, with our eyes wide open.

I agree, Galan said.

After a tug at his grizzled beard and a scratch at his large rounded head, Sailmaster Cagan said, “We are not running, but surviving.”

You are wrong, Br’yan said.

Cagan’s open thoughts streamed to Seth who stood beside him. Seth had passed more than a few nights sailing the canals of Kapital with the kind sailmaster. They knew each other well, he knew no one whose love and respect for the sea was greater. It was Cagan’s life. He also knew the venerable captain would not let them down, would not let him down, would not let Queen Mother down. No, Seth said, Sailmaster Cagan is not wrong. Go ahead with your plan. I trust your judgment.

Sailmaster Cagan passed instructions to the ship’s broadcaster who in turn relayed them to the escort ships. A maneuver was dealt out to their small, honest fleet—one that would cost them greatly. The escort ships turned sail from their current position, and headed directly into the enemy blockade. They struck hard and to the right side as instructed and in a few terrible, fate-filled minutes, they were overswept. A heavy toll would be brought for their fall, Seth knew this.

Sailors from both sides were washed over the decks. Tiny specks leaping from tiny ships, images that floated farther and farther away. Seth looked down to the deck of the Lady L. Those of the Red were lost in silent meditation, a thing Seth did not presently allow for himself. He knew well why they closed their minds to the screams they perceived—screams of pain, anguish and demise. He knew they were preparing for battle, a battle they must win.

Dark pillars of smoke and flames rose into the air far behind them. Seth saw tiny white sails engulfed in those deadly, dark flames and dark shapes, the broken hulls of fallen ships, sinking into the waiting, black waters. They found open seas, but at what cost?

Of the many enemy ships that had formed the blockade, only two were able to raise full sails and remain in proximity to them. The chase was on.

A master at the helm, Cagan turned sails to catch maximum benefit from the winds. He guided the ship into the head of the gull, a maneuver that would eventually steal the draft from the sails of the pursuers as they closed in, and force them to scramble to catch a fresh breeze.

Clever, Sailmaster Cagan, very clever, said Seth.

Cagan’s retort was swift and his eyes never broke away from the sails or the wheel. “I had some help did I not?”

The forces of the Mother are at the call of all who know how— A peculiar sight caught Seth’s eye and for an instant his thoughts broke off. —who know how to use them.

The wind ebbed on the fore-and-aft rigged vessel, which forced them to lose some much-needed speed. Meanwhile, the enemy cutters had finally found their sails and were gaining.

“They will not catch us, they cannot catch us,” said Cagan as much to himself as to Seth, “not a chance, not a chance.”

“Bo’s’n!” he yelled, “Tighten that riggin’, attend to that rope, check the trim.”

The boatswain’s response was loud and shrill. In brief, precise thoughts, he spit out the orders and, in short order, the swift craft lurched forward under proper sails.

Cagan, to the east, look!

A single ship grew from a speck along the horizon in front of them to a dot on the water. They could not afford an engagement now. The pursuers were too close behind.

“It is over, my friend,” Cagan said, “one way or another, we must move to engage, either to the rear or front…” The wily sea captain paused. “Yet, perhaps—Yes, if we tack directly toward them we will surely catch them off guard.”

Yes, maybe we can gain the upper hand before the others join the match, said Seth with twisted hope.

Cagan ordered the vessel turned against the wind, their nimble sloop could cut well in the tack. The cutters behind them, on the other hand, were much slower in the turns.

Cross-winded the Lady L rapidly approached the ship that a short time ago had been but a mere, distant speck. All on board readied for the inevitable. Silent prayers were sent to Father and Mother to protect and watch over them and to keep them.

Seth looked down at his small group of dedicated followers. He knew that each prepared their mind and spirit for the end. Death was not a fear, but failure was. To pass in such a way would mean dishonor and disgrace. Therefore, they must succeed.

Readily their nimble sloop approached the oncoming vessel with expectant hopes that its captain would not expect a direct assault.

“Captain, she has square foremasts and two lateen rears,” yelled the lookout from his perch.

An expression of dismay and fear passed over Cagan’s face. He had not expected so great an adversary. The speed with which the vessel had moved through the water had led him to believe it was another cutter. He had not expected a full-sized galleon. His fears permeated the air, and flowed to Seth.

Seth was also worried. King Mark was better prepared than they had thought. He only wished he could contact Brother Liyan and warn him—galleons were not quickly or easily built. Many skilled craftsmen had labored long on such a vessel as they now faced, which, as they drew closer, loomed larger and larger against the pale blue backdrop of the waning day. There could be no turning back now. Fate was locked in.

The two ships, galleon and sloop, were nearly within striking distance of each other. They were dead on course for the galleon, with the other enemy ships reduced to unseen dots along the horizon to the distant rear. For now, it would be just a one-on-one engagement.

Seth was proud of Cagan’s sailors. They held no fear in their thoughts, only determination which was strong and growing with each passing moment. They followed Cagan’s orders and kept the sails perfectly trim and rallied for the coming fight.

A questioning voice came into Seth’s mind, Brother Seth?

Yes, Everrelle, responded Seth curtly. He was angry at the untimely interruption.

Do you mark any of our kind on board their ship?

… I do… not. Seth paused then gasped.

Nor do I, said Galan.

Yes, that is it, my Brothers! There may yet be hope. The enemy may be well prepared but they may also have underestimated the lengths Queen Mother would go through to ensure success. Mere numbers are no match for the power of the Brotherhood.

What if they are merely shielding their thoughts? Br’yan said. We should probe to make sure.

Seth agreed. Br’yan cast his will into the wind. Cagan continued on a direct course for the galleon.

There is no trickery, Br’yan said.

Seth smiled, thinking that perhaps the day was not lost.

The galleon captain began to scramble to turn the large ship. He barked out orders, which carried across the darkening waters even above the sound of rising frenzy from both sides. He tried gallantly to fill sails for maneuvering speed though it was a useless effort.

Cleverly, Cagan turned toward the galleon’s broadside, the bow of his ship locked straight on the exposed side. With a resonant rending, sloop and galleon collided. The air filled with the cacophony of crunching timbers and shrill screams as the battle was joined.

The galleon had received a potentially lethal blow and was gaining water fast. Still, her sailors would not go down alone. Grapples were swiftly set and tied off tight. The two ships would go down together if the sea had its way.

Cut lines were cast back relentlessly, yet this alone was not enough. Over the bow the enemy forces swept with blades readied in angry hands.

“They do not stand a chance against us!” cried Cagan to his sailors as he swung across to the galleon’s low side on a rope tied to the upper rigging.

With a cheer, his men returned his chant and charged, their blades clashed with the enemy, and drew crimson blood.

Still one small group had not moved nor did it seem they had registered the attack. They were the members of the Red and they waited until the mournful screams in their minds reached a crescendo. Then Seth took charge of his fellows and as one they screamed in fury their chant of war, the chant of their ancient brethren.

Blood bathed in rage, they raced forward to the bow, pouring forth like a deadly red rain. A blur of brutal force, they dropped the enemy, each where they stood, with but a single precise touch. Such was their evident anger and the might of their invoked will.

Yet with a cry of ironic agony, their charge ended. Feet no longer tread solely upon enemy dead. Seth felt vivid torment in his soul. The first of the Brotherhood fell, a blow from behind piercing the brother’s heart.

Seth vowed to spare no suffering on the one who had delivered the deadly blow. With a jump and a kick, the guilty was knocked stunned to the deck, his demise not instantaneous like the others before him. He would be forced to lie and watch with eyes that were purposefully allowed to move as life slowly dripped away. Seth’s blow struck the spinal cord just below the neck on the right side.

Nine and one trudged onward toward the high deck where Cagan now battled the enemy captain. Three sailors were all that remained of his once proud group and they protected his rear as he struggled against the galleon’s surly captain. Although thick lines of evident fatigue held to his countenance, Cagan persisted. For now his determination could not be extinguished. Yet the numbers were not on his side and soon the enemy would overwhelm Cagan and the last of his sailors.

Desperately, Seth continued the assault. The enemy was strong and skillfully wielded their weapons. Two more brothers fell.

Seth pushed onward with regained ferocity, as did his companions. He and seven others reached the stairs to the high deck and surpassed them. Only Cagan remained standing, all around him were the dead and the dying, and his sword lay deep in the enemy captain’s chest. With the heel of his boot, Cagan smashed downward, and retrieved his cold steel blade. In disgust, he spit into the dead man’s face.

Drained, Cagan stumbled. Seth rushed to his aid, and cradled him in still strong arms. “It is only us at the last.” Cagan choked on his own blood and weakly added, “… my friend.” His clothes blood splattered and shredded revealed multiple lacerations beneath.

There was no time to attend to Cagan’s wounds, Seth knew this. The two remaining ships were near, and within minutes their ranks would sweep over the decks toward the place where the last few survivors stood. The middle decks of the sinking galleon were already being claimed by the yearning sea and their own small ship was beginning to founder under the yearning weight. The end was surely near.

Seth spoke to the seven yet fated to remain, words that exited his mind with powerful intent, words that he truly meant. They are what stand in the way of our victory. We cannot fail! We will not fail! Do not still your fervor, nor your fury. We shall make them pay well beyond their expectations. Eight against the many shall be triumphant!

“There are… nine!” shouted Cagan.

Chapter Ten:

First Lessons

Vilmos bolted upright, unsure what had awoken him. Thoughts from the previous day came flooding into his mind. The shaman. Midori. The drums, he heard the drums again. And voices.

Then for an instant all thought stopped. No dreams, he realized, no dreams. He had slept peacefully during the night and nothing had awoken him, until just now. The drums, he heard them again.

He was about to speak when Xith clamped a hand to his mouth. The shaman stared meaningfully into his eyes. “Not a sound. Take my hand.”

Vilmos nodded. His knees were trembling. He sat as Xith indicated he should. Quietly the two waited. The sound of voices and drums grew steadily clearer and closer. Soon it became readily apparent that whoever was out there was in the hills just beyond their clearing.

Vilmos was ready to run but Xith sat very still, his eyes closed, his face pale and drawn, and his hand clasped tightly to Vilmos’. From high overhead came the distant call of a hunter. Staring long, Vilmos caught sight of the grandest eagle he had ever seen. It was circling lazily over the hills and as Vilmos peered up at it, it turned a glistening black eye in his direction.

Suspicious, Vilmos stared at Xith.

The eagle called out again, a long piercing call, and then it folded its powerful wings and dove from the heavens. Vilmos held his breath as he watched it fall. It soared over the cliff’s edge and down into the depths of the deep valley.

Color slowly returned to Xith’s face and he released Vilmos’ hand. “Huntsmen and trackers,” he whispered, patting Vilmos on the back reassuringly. “They are from your village and the neighboring two.”

Vilmos turned a watchful eye to the hills. “Are they looking for me?”

The shaman shook his head. “As far as I can tell, they hunt an animal of some sort.”

“The bear, the black bear,” said Vilmos, wide-eyed. “Is it near?”

Xith asked Vilmos to explain. Vilmos told the shaman of the bear attacks, the death of the girl from Olex Village, and his own encounter with one.

“Bears you say,” Xith said, “that is interesting. Bears are not easily stirred, nor easily angered. Animals of the forest have a keen sense about them. We will have to keep our eyes open as we move north. To be sure, it would not be wise to travel north through Vangar Forest, and a descent into the valley from here shouldn’t be too bad.”

Vilmos saw a puzzled expression cross the shaman’s face and his eyes darted toward the hills. “You weren’t expecting hunters and trackers were you,” said Vilmos, sounding suddenly older than his years. “Who were you expecting, shaman?”

“There is no need to trouble over the could-have-beens,” replied Xith. “Are you hungry?”

Vilmos agreed he was. The shaman removed a thick slab of finely smoked beef and a loaf of hard black bread from his saddlebags.

“Better eat all you care to,” Xith said, “it will be a long day.”

“I am going home then?” asked Vilmos. “My parents will miss me if I am not home soon.”

Xith had been busily cutting thin strips of beef. He paused, and then laid the knife aside. As he began to speak, his bright and shiny eyes lost their gleam and there was evident sadness in his voice. “Many, many years ago, I made a promise to a young couple who were very much in love. Five years they had been wed and still they had no children. They so wanted a child. I told them of a girl heavy with child in need of caring hands.

“The girl, your mother, needed a secluded place to stay, a place where none knew her or that her child was without a father. Death by stoning is the punishment for such a child and mother.

“I told the couple they must harbor the child’s mother and see that the child entered the world without harm. Afterward the child would be theirs to keep and raise as their own. I also told them there was a price. One day I would return for the child. Until that day the child was in their care—”

“—I want to at least talk to my mother,” cut in Vilmos. “I’ll tell her I am fine and that I am with you. She will understand, though I am sure she will tell you to make sure I am back before the next Seventhday.”

“You will not be home before the next Seventhday, Vilmos, or any other day.” Xith paused to ensure Vilmos understood. “Your father was among those from the three villages. I could sense his anguish. He knew the day I spoke of those many odd years ago had come. Your feelings for him are wrong you know. He loves you more than the air he breathes.

“I stayed with them for three days when I escaped from the North with your mother. I told them the signs to watch for, the signs that would tell them I would return.” Xith stood and walked to the rim of the valley and gazed across the great span. He said nothing for a time, and then turned to look back at Vilmos. “Your magic is what brought me to you, Vilmos, and the reason your father was so exacting. He knew your use of magic would only hasten me to your door.”

Tears in his eyes, Vilmos looked away from the shaman.

“Do not be sad, young Vilmos. To be sure, Great-Father and Mother-Earth will not let their sacrifice go unrewarded. Look now to the future and the days ahead.”—There was a distinctive quality to the spoken speech that was consciously inaudible to all save cautioned ears, this was the power of Voice, and Xith played upon its dominion with the touch of a maestro’s hand.— “In your heart, you have always known one day you would leave your home. You know this is true.”

Vilmos nodded in agreement. Closing his eyes, he pictured long black hair touched with gray and tired eyes of hazel.

Xith turned to fully face Vilmos and stared directly into his eyes. “It is time we started our journey. There is much to do, so very much to do. I would ask you now to come into my service—a sort of apprenticeship. There is much I can teach you of the powers within you. I would have you enter my service of your own free will but there are things I must first tell you.

“Know that you can stay if that is your intent. Know also, the dark priests will surely find you. They will not be as kind as I. They will bring a sentence of death upon those you love, as that is the law.”

Vilmos shuddered at the mention of the dark priests. Their task was to purge the land of magic, a task they and those that served them had carried out across the centuries.

“Or you can come with me now. I will do my best to teach you control over your powers. And though I am not human, I can teach you the way of the Magus.” Xith’s expression became stern. “A very difficult trial awaits in the coming days. In this I need your help, Vilmos. Will you help me?”

“Lillath will be lonely,” Vilmos said, wiping tears away from

wet cheeks. “Will they ever have another child?”

“In time, Lillath will have a child.”

“What of the dreams, are they gone?”

Xith stared directly into Vilmos’ eyes. “Have you made your choice, Vilmos?”

“I wish to go with you.”

Xith’s face betrayed no emotion, pleased or otherwise. He waved his hand, beckoning Vilmos to follow him.

The descent into the deep valley took many hours. Picking their way along the broken trail to the valley’s floor was akin to torture. Four times the trail cut into the face of perilously high walls ended, and four times they used ropes to continue the descent. Each time Vilmos muttered under his breath that there had to be other trails and each time Xith responded with, “Perhaps, perhaps not. At any rate this is the path we have chanced upon.” Xith spoke the words with such vigor that Vilmos was sure there was a lesson in the words, but what it was he didn’t know.

Vilmos craned his neck to see the lip of the wall they had just descended. He was panting, and sweat dripped from his chin.

Vilmos sighed and fought to take in one lengthy breath to get his breathing under control. The hard work had been oddly cleansing.

A soft breeze cutting through the valley brought cool air swirling beside the wall. Vilmos smiled, cool perspiration against his skin felt good. “Where do we go from here shaman?”

“The northwesterly curve of the valley will carry us to the upper bounds of the Vangar,” Xith said, indicating it was time to begin again. The brief rest was over.

The shaman spoke as he walked, “From there, it is at most a day’s trek to the plains beyond. We do not want to delay long in the forest. Hearing the news of bear attacks puts me at great unease. For something that surely isn’t human or oreadan has taken up residence there.”

“Oreadan,” mused Vilmos, turning to regard the shaman more closely. With the high sun at his back, the shaman seemed even more intriguing and mystical. Perhaps it was the wrinkled, timeworn face or the troubled, weary eyes that although the sun dulled them were still of a silvery gray. Perhaps his height, which measured Vilmos’ equal—but Vilmos was a boy with much growth ahead. As Vilmos considered this, Xith’s words struck a chord—nothing was north. “Do you mean to leave Sever? There is nothing but desolation beyond.”

“That is what you have been told, this is true. But the whole of the greatest kingdom in all the lands is north,” answered Xith, as he slung his leather satchel over the opposite shoulder and changed his walking stick into his left hand.

“The Alder’s Kingdom.”

“Yes, the Alder’s Kingdom, known as Great Kingdom to those who dwell there.”

Methodically, Xith picked up his staff and placed it in front of him with each step. Although well in his years, he didn’t show the signs of it. He didn’t need the walking stick though it looked very appropriate in his hand.

When it seemed Xith would say no more, he added, “And, the Borderlands are north of course.”

“Is that where we will go?” asked Vilmos, “I do not want to go there. I have heard strange tales about the Borderlands—evil dwells there,” a direct quotation from his mother. Vilmos was well practiced at recalling such things. His eyes grew wide. “What of the Hunter Clan? What of the Bandit King?”

“We must first enter Great Kingdom at a place called South Province.”

Vilmos tried to speak but Xith stopped him. “Sleep now,” he said. Xith waived a hand indicating Vilmos should help him set up camp. They would sleep beneath the stars this night.

Vilmos learned quickly the deep valley was a harsh place without a warming sun. Soon after dusk, the land lost all its warmth and the cold only worsened during the night.

Two hours before sunrise, they started their solitary march. By the time the evening sun arrived, they hoped to reach the river at the valley’s center. If they could cross the river an hour or so before nightfall they could, with luck, dry their clothes by the last of the sun’s rays. If they didn’t reach the river in time they would camp on the close shore and cross the river the next morning, but this would mean many wasted hours.

Xith set a furiously fast pace. Any rest periods this day would be few and short. Vilmos couldn’t be sure, but it seemed the farther north they went the more eager the shaman was to quicken the pace. The sores about his shoulders had grown scabs but still they ached with a dull pain. To him, the pain was a constant reminder of what waited ahead.

Soon after they came to a river and crossed it, Vilmos got up the courage to again ask questions about where they were going. Xith keyed in on the one that was the most important. “We walk to teach a lesson—your first lesson,” he replied. “The most important lesson of all. There is no simple path to follow. Once you begin a course of action, you must follow it through. Beside, it would be unwise to try to teleport to our destination. You would learn nothing and would most likely—”

“Teleport?”

“Yes teleport.” Xith held back a chuckle, knowing a secret yearn the boy was not aware of. “True teleportation, or moving from one place to another through magic, is very powerful magic. You must understand that. It is a feat few magicians may attempt. To fail is to bring your own demise. It is a special kind of incantation that draws heavily upon the threads of the universe. One must also know exactly where they are going in order to teleport.”

“You don’t know where we are going?”

“Yes I do, but you do not. For the spell to be successful, to teleport the two of us to where we travel, you must also know precisely the point to which we go.”

“Then tell me—”

“—I am afraid it is not that simple. For now, we will walk,” Xith said, using the Voice to end the conversation.

Xith stopped for a moment to open the leather bag that he had slung over his left shoulder. “Here, eat this.”

“What is it?”

“Dried fish.”

Vilmos invoked a sour face in disgust, but he was hungry. He disliked fish and decided after he swallowed the last bite that he especially disliked dried fish. Xith raised a warning hand as Vilmos started to speak again, waving his hands wildly and pointing to the ground, meaning for Vilmos to stoop low.

“What’s wrong?” whispered Vilmos, not moving.

“Shh!” responded Xith, “Get down.”

The response automatic, Vilmos sank low and moved to the tall grasses that grew along the river’s course. For a time silence followed, then abruptly his ears filled with the cacophony of  hooves. Vilmos hugged the grasses closely and clung to the ground for safety.

The sound of hundreds of  horses, the clash of whips and voices soon became overbearing. Vilmos had to block them out. He clasped his hands tightly to his ears and pushed vigorously until the sounds were muffled.

The ground trembled in the wake of the riders’ procession and in his fright, Vilmos pushed with such force his head began to throb with pain.

“Make it stop,” Vilmos whispered. The unmistakable rasping and creaking of a wagon passing in proximity to his position swelled to his ears despite the intended barrier. Wanting to run became the most prevalent thought in his mind, but would he be caught? What would they do to him if they caught him? And where was Xith?

Hesitantly, Vilmos opened his eyes and craned his head up slightly. Wagons were still passing and behind them came many more riders. Carefully Vilmos checked the area to his left and right, his hands never shifting from on top of his ears. Xith was nowhere in his eyesight and now Vilmos was really feeling frightened and alone.

The voices he heard seemed harsh and cruel, and the cracks of their whips sent shivers down his back. Please, oh please, don’t let them hurt me.

Seconds ticked by to the pace of his heartbeats. Vilmos prayed to Great-Father to keep him safe. Eventually though the sounds grew distant and as quickly as they had appeared, the men and horses disappeared.

Before daring to crawl from the high grass cover, Vilmos waited until he could no longer hear the sounds of movement. Hesitantly he rose from his crawl to a half stoop, and stared along the trail in the direction that the sounds had retreated.

“Xith? Xith? Where are you?”

Xith’s answer was calm. “Yes, Vilmos, I am with you.”

“Who were those men?”

“They are the reason we must travel swiftly.”

With his eyes filled with fright, Vilmos asked, “Would they have killed me?”

“There are worse fates than death, Vilmos.”

Vilmos brushed the grass and dirt from his clothing. “Where are they going? And why are they in the valley?”

“Most likely they use the valley for the same reason we do. It is safer than the forest.”

“Why would such a large group fear the forest?”

Xith turned to stare at the trail of dust rising from the valley floor. “Why indeed.”

Two long and uneventful days followed the encounter near the river, and on the eve of their fourth day in the valley Vilmos and Xith completed the crossing to the northern rim. Low bluffs on one side and gentle hills on the other replaced the high cliff walls of the southern rim. The two weary travelers found a small cave nestled in a low wall and they stopped to pass the night.

The cave was just as dreary as Vilmos had always imagined a cave would be—damp and dark, offering nothing that appealed to his senses. He almost would have rather slept outside on the hard ground.

“Can we camp outside in the clearing?” Vilmos asked.

Grinning solemnly, Xith nodded in agreement. The two made quick work of setting up camp outdoors. Tired and hungry, Vilmos sat expectantly. Xith turned to him, saying “Well, what are you waiting for? I am sure you will find some brush just beyond the clearing that will make us a good warm fire.”

Vilmos considered another time when Xith spoke those words. It seemed now a distant memory—not altogether forgotten, but rather something that had occurred long ago. Yet now he recalled the thought fondly and smiled as he retreated from the camp.

After a small bundle of assorted twigs and small sticks was neatly stockpiled Vilmos went in search of larger firewood and found some not far off. When he returned a second time, Xith indicated that he need gather no more wood. They would have plenty to carry them through the hours of darkness and to cook their breakfast if they so chose.

“Good,” Xith said. “Set the wood and start the fire.”

Vilmos did as Xith stated and built the fire base. When finished, he looked to Xith, waiting for the shaman to give him something to start the fire with.

Xith rummaged through his bags for a few moments, then set them aside. “Sorry, I must have lost the flint and steel.”

“Lost? How can I start a fire without it?”

“Are you always so stubborn? Use that which you have. You must always use the tools that you have been provided. Do not be afraid to use your natural talents.”

Vilmos searched in the dim light until he found something he could use: two stones, which he picked up and began to strike together trying to make a spark. Xith watched enthusiastically. Vilmos had such determination that Xith almost believed Vilmos would light the fire by striking the stones together.

Several frustrating minutes later, after Vilmos had smashed his fingers a few times, he gave up. He looked to Xith for a hint of approval or some sign to stop but Xith offered no response.

Vilmos didn’t want to disappoint the shaman. He snarled back a frown and returned to pounding the rocks together. Yet after smashing two more fingers, Vilmos cast the stones away. “I give up, I simply can’t do it.”

“You just aren’t trying hard enough.”

“What do you mean, I’m not trying hard enough?”

Xith stood and moved toward Vilmos. “I mean you’re not trying hard enough.”

“That’s it,” Vilmos said, “I’ve had it.”

“Calm down,” said Xith, “listen to me closely. All right?”

Vilmos nodded.

“You are going about this in the wrong manner. I said, ‘use your natural talents’. Magic is one of your greatest talents, Vilmos.”

“But, I don’t know how to use it that way.”

“Try,” invoked Xith. “All you have to do is try. You have the ability, it is easy.”

Vilmos mulled over Xith’s words for a moment. Still, he was afraid of his magic. Nothing good had ever come from using it. “No, I will not do it.”

“There is nothing to fear, just listen to me. Draw the energy into you, but slowly. Only build the power that you need,” instructed Xith, watching the boy’s face carefully. “Can you feel it?”

Vilmos did as told. He drew the power in slowly. “I can feel it!” he exclaimed, “I can feel it!”

“Good, now focus on the fire and turn the energy inside you onto it.”

“H-how do I do that?” Vilmos was confused.

“Do not think about the how,” said Xith, “just do. Focus the energy on the fire, think about lighting it.”

Vilmos thought, enough already, I’ll do it. A minute spark lit the air for an instant.

Vilmos started, and then became frustrated. “I can’t!”

“You mean you won’t do it. You block the energy flow. You must think positive. You must know you can do something simply because you can. Do not worry that you won’t be able to do it. Follow my instructions closely. Are you ready, Vilmos?”

Vilmos shrugged.

“Take a deep breath. Breathe it in slowly.”

Vilmos inhaled a deep breath as Xith had instructed, his lungs filled with air.

“Feel the air inside your lungs,” Xith said. “Feel it fill them full.”

Vilmos did.

“Now exhale, continue to breathe deeply, feel the air flow in and out. Feel the life within you.”

Vilmos did as he was instructed.

“Continue to breathe, clear your mind.” Xith’s eyes glowed. More stirred within the boy than magic alone.

“I’m trying—”

“—Shh… Listen,” commanded Xith. He smiled. “Clear your mind. Concentrate only on breathing.”

Vilmos cleared his mind until his only thoughts were of his breathing.

“Focus the energy. Concentrate. Gather it in slowly.”

Xith waited. Vilmos brought the power in slowly as instructed.

“Find your center. Draw upon the power around you, drink it in—but only a small amount. Focus the energy. Use it now.”

Vilmos did as Xith stated. The energy was there and, thankfully, he was able to focus it. Suddenly a brilliant, blue–white flame burst amidst the wood.

“Wow, I did it!” Vilmos exclaimed, eyes wide with amazement.

“Yes, but next time try not to waste so much energy.”

Missing the false sarcasm in Xith’s voice, Vilmos elected to ignore Xith’s comment and enjoy the fire. It was, after all, warm, and did offer some cheer to the otherwise dark air. He removed his boots and placed them next to the fire, stretching out his short, stubby toes to the warm blaze to soothe his blistered feet.

Xith opened his pack and pulled out some foodstuffs, splitting the last of the supply of bread and cheese between the two of them, offering the largest share to Vilmos.

“Eat hearty, Vilmos, and then get some sleep. You will need a good rest, for tomorrow will be a long day.”

The day’s trek had left Vilmos ravenous and he attacked the food vigorously. He was always hungry. Eating was almost his favorite pastime. Within minutes, he had gobbled down his share and was staring intently toward Xith’s, which the shaman had barely nibbled at.

“Go ahead, Vilmos, take it. You are a growing boy. Eat.”

Vilmos raised his eyebrows. Are you sure? His expression read. Xith nodded.

Vilmos’ mind was full of questions, so many that he didn’t know which to ask first. He considered them one at a time, and then selected the one he deemed to be the most important. “Xith, will you tell me NOW where we travel to?”

“Get some rest,” replied Xith, “tomorrow is another day.”

Vilmos leaned back and patted an excessively full belly. “Then tell me about your people. What are they like?”

“Sleep, Vilmos.”

“But Xith, I’m not really tired.”

Xith eyed Vilmos. “Yes, you are, now sleep.”

Xith waited, interested in the response and the apparent rejection of the guile’s of Voice.

“But—”

“—No more questions, go to sleep!” yelled Xith.

Vilmos stretched out next to the fire and with eyes almost closed, he feigned sleep. Bodily tired but with a mind too full of unanswered questions to sleep, he eventually turned frank eyes cautiously to the place where Xith sat, eyes wide, feet stretched out, hands happily stroking a long wooden stick, whittling it away with a short tooling knife.

“Xith?” Vilmos called out with a hint of boldness.

“Save your strength, you will need it,” Xith said, not looking up. “Tomorrow will be a long day in Vangar Forest.”

Vilmos sat up, his eyes filled with sincerity. “But why was it safe to use the magic now and not before? Are the dreams gone? And why did Midori have to go? And why—”

“—Shh,” Xith said. Xith set aside his knife and stick, and then waved a hand over the fire. The flames sprang back, seemingly into the wood, until only a few tiny flames remained.

“A great many things will be explained at a time when I know you are ready to hear them. Too much awaits in the days ahead for me to properly begin your education. You have chosen to accept the way of the Magus as your way of life, and, as such, you must know that nothing is ever simply revealed all at once, rather in bits and pieces.

“Your use of magic alone didn’t bring me to you, it was also your dreams. Once I sensed them, I sent Midori to watch over you until it was time. When the time was near, I came.”

Xith waved his hand over the fire again. The flames turned white. Vilmos saw images playing amidst them. He leaned forward, his eyebrows knotted together as at first he became confused then alarmed.

“Pieces of your dreams,” Xith said. “All those who have special gifts are troubled by such dreams. They are the playing out of good and evil. They are the reason magic is forbidden, for during the dismal centuries before and after the Race Wars, the unwary so easily succumbed to the destructive nature of dark magic that in the end it became more prudent to destroy would-be mages than to try to save them from themselves.

“The Watchers were born of this period, and we took it upon ourselves to save those we could, for we knew what peril lay in a world without magic.” Xith’s tone became melancholy. “That I am the last of the Watchers there is little doubt, and when I breathe my last breath, there will be no more watch wardens and magic will surely fade from the land.”

Xith picked up the staff he had been working on, and then he reached back into his pack and pulled out another. Even in the pale light Vilmos could see that the second staff was the one Xith normally used.

“But in the interim, I do what I can, and what I must.” Xith moved the staff he had been whittling toward Vilmos but didn’t let him touch it. “When I finish this, I will give it to you. And on that day you will know that your education is truly beginning.”

Vilmos grinned, then frowned. “But what of the dreams, are they gone?”

Xith put the staffs away. He regarded Vilmos for a time, then said, “To any other, I would say yes. To you, I say we will have to wait and see.”

Chapter Eleven:

Decision

The plains beyond Imtal Palace, the rolling foothills of the Braddabaggon and the green of the forest were all far behind Adrina now. The day before they had passed through the quiet village Captain Brodst had been trying to reach the night of the heavy rains—the night Adrina had met the mysterious lady in the forest. Early this morning the column had crossed into Mellack Proper.

The new day surprisingly brought a beautiful, clear sky. Adrina’s mood became quite cheerful despite her saddle sore backside and her heavy thoughts. The southern road, though still muddied, was readily traversable and the column was able to travel at a remarkably good pace considering their rate the previous days. Adrina had seen very few passersby this day—only a few merchants which Captain Brodst had sent immediately away to peddle their wares elsewhere, and the infrequent travelers who hurried along on independent missions.

Over the past day and a half, Adrina had thought of little else other than the words of the mysterious lady and the heir to the throne of Sever—Prince William. She had only met the young prince once, but that had been three long years ago at her mother’s funeral. She remembered little of her distant cousin, only that he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

Adrina watched everything and everyone she passed—thinking every pair of peddlers would be the two strangers or that every guardsman that came near her was the traitor. “You must open your eyes,” the lady had told her, and Adrina had.

Emel had stayed as close to Adrina as his duties allowed. The two had discussed several plans of action but nothing they came up with seemed appropriate. The lady had told them to tell no one of their conversation, but how could they do otherwise? They had to tell someone—for how could they stop the column from proceeding onward to Alderan. But who?

A sounding of the horns signaled a slackening of the pace, and as Adrina looked up she saw Emel racing back to the middle of the column. Two hours ago he had been sent out to lead a scouting party.

Adrina nodded her head as he passed her. She noticed he looked nervous and knew he would return as soon as he reported the group’s findings. Captain Brodst had been sending out scouting parties at regular intervals ever since they had crossed into Mellack Proper. Adrina guessed that this was because Mellack Proper was a king’s holding without a garrison. The citizens of Mellack looked to the Duchy of Ispeth that bordered it to the southeast and to Imtal to the north for its defense.

She didn’t have to wait long though. Emel was reining Ebony Lightning in beside her a few minutes later.

“Did you see something?” she excitedly asked him.

“I wish,” Emel replied. “Nothing but fields as far as the eye can see.”

“Why are you sweating so? You look peaked. What is wrong?”

Emel smiled devilishly. “Ebony wanted to race, so I pressed the group hard. I saw no harm in it. We are nearly upon the borders of Ispeth now.”

“Isn’t much to Mellack Proper, is there?”

The expression on Emel’s face grew grim. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he began to speak. “Did you know that tomorrow a detachment will break from the main company?”

Adrina turned frank eyes upon Emel. “Have you thought of what I said earlier?”

“I’ve thought of little else.” There was evident tension in Emel’s voice. “Do you really think it is wise?”

“Do we have any other choice? The way I see it we have to talk to someone about this and who better than Father Jacob, Keeper Martin or Captain Brodst.”

“Why do I have to be the one who makes the choice of which to talk to?”

Adrina said nothing in reply.

“I never should have turned back,” muttered Emel, thinking Adrina couldn’t hear him, but she did. She winked at him.

“I’m glad you did,” admitted Adrina. “I couldn’t have shouldered this alone. You are a true friend.”

“This is not a choice I want to make hastily.” Ebony nickered. Emel stroked the stallion’s mane. “I need more time. Besides, my father wants me at the fore of the column. We can talk again later. Agreed?”

Concern in her eyes, Adrina watched Emel ride off. Afterward her thoughts turned back to the road. An afternoon sun was just starting its descent and passing clouds brought dark shadows to the land. She hoped it wouldn’t rain again and as time passed and rain did not come, she counted herself fortunate.

She listened to the clatter-clatter of hooves and heels along the hardening ground. The company had returned to a four-abreast formation with one squadron of garrison soldiers to the fore of her position and two to the rear. The palace guardsmen and the distinguished guests made up the middle of the formation with protective files set up along both sides of them.

Great Kingdom had few bandits in its heartland but Adrina knew Captain Brodst thought one could never be overcautious. As she looked on, the captain surveyed his group from end to end. He was conferring with the three commanders. From his especially grave scowl Adrina guessed it wasn’t pleasant words he spoke to them. Of the three, Captain Adylton, Captain Ghenson and Captain Trendmore, it was only Captain Trendmore that she thought warranted closer attention. Trendmore was an ambitious and manipulative man, or so Adrina had once heard during a session of her father’s court.

Adrina chased after Emel in her thoughts now and, preoccupied with this, she had not taken notice of the keeper’s presence beside her nor had she heard his words of inquiry until he spoke louder. She started at the voice, jumped in the saddle and then had to rein in her mount to curb its excitement which matched her own.

“What troubles the mind of one so young and beautiful?” asked Keeper Martin.

Recovering her senses, Adrina said, “Beautiful day, keeper.”

Martin mumbled something inaudible.

“Have you decided if you will continue to Alderan with us or not keeper?”

“The East–West crossroads are but a day away. I may yet change my mind and go south with the party to Quashan’, dear.” Gray-haired Martin paused. “In truth, I am awaiting response to the message I sent to Keeper Q’yer. If all goes well I should receive it this night.”

“Tonight?”

“Keeper Q’yer has had his week to recuperate from the last sending.”

Adrina turned frank eyes on the keeper. “A dream message?”

The keeper smiled knowingly, but didn’t say anything immediately. Adrina knew little about the mysterious Lore Keepers, who in recent years had detached themselves from palace proceedings yet still seemed to know everything that went on in Imtal. She knew the keeper to be a man who preferred his records and his tomes to human companionship—at least that is what she had heard.

“You have careful ears dear. Where did you hear such a thing?” asked Keeper Martin—a check for honesty, among his other duties as Head Keeper was to track the history of the royal family. At the age of consent, it would be time to draft a new tome, one with the young princess’ name inscribed upon its leather binding.

“Why, from your own lips keeper.”

“A dream message is a form of communication,” said Martin, his words sounding like an oration, “a keeper can deliver a message to another keeper in the form of a message that enters their awareness and takes the form of a dream.”

“But how is such a thing possible?”

“Actually, very simply. The real difficulty lies in the proper use of your will. To begin you must clear all thoughts from your mind and reach into the center of your being. A spark of power lies there that is your soul. You reach out with that power until you touch the consciousness of the one you wish to communicate with. You speak through images and feelings that you create in your consciousness and pass… Boring you dear? I am sorry, I tend to babble.”

Adrina tried to remain focused on her goal, which was to find out what the keeper knew of their destination, but she was caught in the interest of the ideas he presented to her and this perplexed her. “No, Keeper Martin, you’re not boring me. Can anyone do this? How come you can’t use words?”

“Slow down dear,” said the keeper with equal enthusiasm. “Only a few know how to properly utilize their conscious to create the message. It is part of the knowledge passed down from Great-Father to us alone, the Keepers of the Lore. Throughout time there have been others who learned to use this power. Unfortunately, though, only the keepers retain this skill now.”

“But I don’t understand. How can you comprehend the dream if you do not use words?”

“I did not say that words could not be used.” Martin paused, adding extra meaning to the statement. “It takes an extremely powerful center to create a vision in the form of thoughts that enter another’s awareness as audible words. The simpler form is to use images and feelings.”

“Keeper can you teach me, I mean… can you teach me how to use the dream message?” Adrina was excited now and did little to hide it.

“I can teach you the theory.” The keeper sighed with lament. “But I am afraid it is a moot undertaking.”

Adrina thought about his words for a moment. She still wanted to know what he knew about their destination but she was genuinely intrigued. She also hoped this would give her a chance to talk to the keeper alone. She had made her choice, she would tell the keeper of her troubles. She had only to tell Emel this now. “I do not mind. There is nothing better to do with my time at present—if you do not mind imparting your wisdom to me, of course?”

The keeper’s eyes gleamed as he said, “Of course I don’t mind. In fact, I’ll take great pleasure in it. We’ll start this evening.”

Captain Brodst called the column to a halt near the borders of Ispeth. “Eat well and rest your feet and your mounts,” he advised. “If the good weather holds we will try to make up the distance we lost to rains the days before. The earlier we reach the crossroads tomorrow, the better.”

Adrina eagerly dismounted and followed Father Jacob and Keeper Martin to the top of a small rise where the commanders and the guests would have their midday meal. Mostly she wanted to listen in on their conversations, but she was also very hungry.

From atop the hill she could look down on the whole of the extensive company. Ridesmen were tending to their mounts. Foot soldiers were resting tired feet. Obviously unhappy guards were posted fore and aft.

Not far off Adrina saw Emel and the small band of young ridesmen—twelve in all—that had survived the encounter with the lowland cat of the Braddabaggon. Little of their conversation rose to her ears, but she could tell the foul weather hadn’t dampened their high spirits. To them, the journey to Alderan was still high adventure. Adrina wasn’t so sure anymore, though she still longed to feel hot sands between her toes and taste the salty spray of wind-blown seas.

True to his word, Emel found Adrina shortly after Captain Brodst called the column to movement. But before she could say anything of her conversation with Keeper Martin, Emel spoke his mind. “I have given it much thought,” he said furrowing his eyebrows and borrowing his father’s scowl, “I truly do not know Father Jacob or Keeper Martin. I am sure they are both men of honor but I cannot vouch for their word. My father, the captain, on the other hand is a man who lives by his sense of honor and I can vouch for his word. He has never knowingly broken a trust.”

Adrina didn’t know what to say. She had tried to interrupt Emel but he hadn’t let her. Just as she was about to say something, her mare whinnied. For some reason the horse liked her to run her hands along its withers and the base of the mane and scratch. She also thought the mare was fond of Emel’s Ebony.

“There, there girl,” she whispered to calm the animal. Then turning to Emel she said, “What of Keeper Martin? He is by far the wisest man in the kingdom.”

“See, there you go. I make a choice and you don’t like it.”

Adrina was quick to explain about her earlier conversation with the keeper. “So you see,” she concluded, “isn’t Keeper Martin the best choice?”

“But when will we ever get him alone? He’s never alone.”

“This evening. He promised to talk to me. We’ll find a quiet place to converse and you’ll join us.”

Emel signaled agreement and for a time afterward no words passed between them.

It was not long before the company crossed into the Duchy of Ispeth. The quiet fields of Mellack Proper were left behind and now groves of fruit trees lined the road. The apples of Duke Ispeth were the best in the land and often graced the king’s table.

It was nearly autumn. Many of the trees were laden with fruit. The sweet scent of apples, heavy in the air, was mouth watering. Adrina saw more than a few soldiers climbing trees and filling bags—no doubt they were claiming the apples in the name of King Andrew.

Barely an hour after crossing into the Duchy of Ispeth, a vanguard of the Duke’s small army was already on its way toward them. Adrina watched Emel and the riders around her grow agitated at the show of force. She didn’t know why, because the soldiers of the column outnumbered the small group of Ispeth knights a hundred to one.

Captain Brodst commanded the column to a halt and saying, “Stand at ease. Two runners. Banners high. Forward,” dispatched messengers carrying the king’s banner to greet the approaching riders.

“There’s Duke Ispeth himself,” said Emel unhappily.

Adrina maneuvered her mare closer to Emel. “You’ve met him?”

“I was a king’s messenger. Crossing into Ispeth uninvited isn’t wise.”

Emel made no further comment on the matter even when Adrina pressed him. She imagined that he’d met the duke before. She’d heard about the eccentric duke and seen him on several occasions, though he rarely attended the king’s court.

“What are they doing now?” Adrina asked. “Are they setting up a tent?”

Emel didn’t need to respond. The duke had apparently ordered that two tents be built and workers were busily staking out the lines for the canvas. After the tents were erected, Duke Ispeth and Captain Brodst met in conference. Keeper Martin, Father Jacob and the three commanders were summarily summoned.

“What’s going on?” asked Adrina.

“Duke Ispeth is not the most trusting of men. I’ve had the pleasure of his company on several occasions, I know. If he sees plots and spies in the passage of a mere messenger across Ispeth who knows what he thinks seeing this mob… We’ll not be traveling any more this day.”

“At least we may get the chance to talk to Keeper Martin earlier than we planned…” she said.

But the opportunity never came. Captain Brodst and the others were in Duke Ispeth’s tent long after Adrina bedded down for the night. What they talked about during those many hours Adrina didn’t know, she only knew her hopes of talking to Keeper Martin had faded hour by hour.

With a new day came new hope. “Emel,” Adrina called out, flagging him down with her hands as he rode past. She attempted to make conversation with him but he cut her off and rode on ahead. It didn’t seem intentional, though, because he seemed worried about something. She thought it possibly related to the conversation the captain had had with the acting sergeant before they broke camp. She hadn’t been able to discern their whispers but the conversation had seemed rather one-sided, with Emel doing most of the listening.

Aggravated she wrapped the reins tight in her hands and spurred her mare on. “Oh no you don’t, Emel Brodstson!” she screamed after him.

Emel reined Ebony in and wheeled about to face Adrina. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His stare was angry and cold.

“Did I do something?” asked Adrina near tears.

Emel cast a glum stare toward the rear of the column. Adrina could only guess that it was directed at the captain. “I am sorry, Adrina,” he said, turning away and chiding Ebony into movement, “I tried, I really did.”

Adrina brought her mare along side Emel’s Ebony. “Slow down, talk to me.”

“My group has forward position throughout the morning.”

“Is that all that’s wrong? You don’t have to protect me at all times. I saw you relieve the central guard again last night. You can’t keep standing watch all night and riding all day. You’ll drop out of the saddle.”

“The Duchy of Ispeth is not all sweet-smelling orchards you know. At one time, this was swamp as far as the eye could see. That is, before Ispeth River and its tributaries dried up, or so it is said. The farther south you go, the wetter the climate becomes. In a few days, you’ll reach the swamps and if you’re lucky the company will skirt them, if you’re not you’ll take the Kingdom road through them.

“Since you have to keep pace with the column, it’ll take you a week to skirt the swamp. Or at the very least three days by the King’s road. Ebony and I cut through the Bottoms once. There are things in there without names, but they’ll try to take you just the same. They don’t call it the bottom of the world for nothing.

“Fog rolls in so thick by mid-afternoon that you can’t see your hand in front of your face. I dropped my torch, my torch, and nearly lost it. It was the longest twelve hours alone of my life. I nearly lost my wits. It’s a good thing Ebony was with me. Just before sunrise we went in, and an hour past sunset we came out.”

“There’s nothing that will get me,” said Adrina. A proud smile came to her lips. “I have Emel Brodstson to guard me.”

Emel’s next words were drowned out by the sounds of the column.

Adrina shrugged. “I can’t hear you.”

“I am to go south with the detachment to Quashan’,” said Emel, in a soft, sorrowful voice. Afterward he spurred Ebony on and didn’t look back.

Adrina returned to her place in the column. A dull pain in the pit of her stomach told her of emotions she sought to hold in. No tears ran down her cheeks, though several times she fought them back as they welled up in her eyes. Emel was the only one who shared her secret.

Anger and disillusionment found her. Hadn’t the lady in the forest said Emel was now a part of that secret? Didn’t that mean he should remain with her at least until they decided what to do? They hadn’t decided anything, except to talk to Keeper Martin, which they hadn’t been able to do.

She listened to the sound of hooves and heels for a long time afterward. Only the far off angry calls of birds from amidst the apple orchards aroused her to the world—apple pickers were chasing the birds from the trees.

As she turned to watch a flock of black birds rise from the trees, Adrina caught sight of Keeper Martin and Father Jacob returning from the rear of the column. Suddenly resolved to talk to the keeper, she slowed her mare and allowed them to overtake her. Determination in her eye, she said, “Beautiful day, Keeper Martin, Father Jacob. Keeper, what news of the dream message? We will reach the crossroads in a few hours.”

Gray-haired Martin grinned sheepishly. “I did not hold to my word did I, Young Highness. I am truly sorry. Duke Ispeth is both persistent and long-winded. He would have rambled on and on through the night if Captain Brodst hadn’t put an end to it when he did. And yes, Keeper Q’yer’s message arrived.”

Adrina flashed her eyes at the keeper. Well? They asked.

“Indeed,” said Martin, tugging on his unkempt beard and turning to Father Jacob.

Jacob who had been nibbling on an apple cast the core away. Adrina caught sight of the great swirling white circles that decorated the sleeves of his otherwise black robe. The circles that had once been bright white were now dull and dirty, coated with the dust of the road.

“I have given it much thought,” said the priest, pausing to sigh. “You are right. I can sense it too. It is all around us.”

“Then you have considered what we discussed?” asked Keeper Martin.

“I have, but I do not think this is the right time to discuss this.”

“Indeed,” said Martin, scratching at his beard again.

Adrina didn’t say a word. She hoped the two would forget she was even there.

“Please forgive us, dear,” said Martin turning to her. “Our thoughts are on other things at the moment. Perhaps it would be best if we talked later.”

“Then you will be continuing with us?”

The Lore Keeper turned to Father Jacob then said, “Yes, I believe I will.”

The column reached the East–West Road late in the day and here they stopped. The great road stood barren before them, its wide span thick with mud and seemingly sullen. There had been a settlement here once but all that remained were dilapidated and decaying buildings.

West along the sea lay the Barony of Klaive, across the swamps to the great sea lay the Twin Sonnets, the Free Cities of Mir and Veter. East, a long, long way along the great road lay the end of Great Kingdom and the beginning of the Western Territories. Here the land was shrouded in ancient woodlands, a forest as deep and rich as the whole of the Territories, Eastern and Western. Directly to their south lay South Province and its capital Quashan’. To the north, Imtal awaited their return.

From here, a small complement of ridesmen, two detachments and the acting sergeant at arms, Emel Brodstson, would continue south. The remainder of the great company would follow the gradual westward slope of the road for a few more hours.

Adrina watched as the detachment rode away to the south and she rode westward. Decidedly, she would miss Emel. She wanted to chase him down and wish him a safe journey or maybe mumble through an apology, but held back.

She would have continued riding west and never spoken the good-bye she was harboring if a few moments of hesitation hadn’t changed her mind—she did want to chase after him. She wrapped the leather straps tightly in her hands and pulled them sharply to one side to turn the mare quickly. A swift kick to the hindquarters sent the mount charging.

Not quite sure what she wanted to tell him, she was slow to call out to him.

“Emel, Emel!” she yelled.

She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. She wanted to tell him what she felt for him in her heart. She wanted to tell him that she would miss him. Yet as he turned to look at her, she found her tongue growing limp.

“Please give my regards to Prince Valam. Tell my brother I can’t wait until his visit next summer,” she said, saying what was safe and not what was in her heart.

Emel returned a pithy, acknowledging smile.

Chapter Twelve:

Vangar Forest

Three hours after dawn they entered the forest. Almost immediately, Vilmos felt the crawl of unseen eyes upon him, but he did not really start to worry until the sun disappeared, blocked out by the forest canopy.

Despite ever thickening undergrowth, Xith maintained a steady pace, trying to stay directed north. At times it seemed as if the forest had a will of its own. Sprawling rows of brambles seemed to close any gaps as they approached and the two would have to travel either west or east until they finally chanced upon a break. Sometimes this distance was only a hundred yards. But more than once, it seemed as if the brambles had stretched on for miles.

“Stay close,” Xith advised for the second time.

“I still don’t understand why we didn’t use the road the soldiers cut through the forest,” complained Vilmos. “Surely it went directly north.”

“Silence,” commanded Xith.

Vilmos turned as the shaman had and saw movement out of the corner of his eye. His heart started pounding in his ears and a lump swelled up in his throat.

“Run,” shouted Xith, pushing Vilmos. “No matter what happens do not look back. Do you understand?”

Vilmos said nothing. Xith twisted him around and stared into his eyes. “Do you understand?”

Vilmos nodded.

The two ran in a flat out race. Trees became black blurs. They no longer turned at brambles; instead they plowed through them with Xith pushing Vilmos ever forward.

Cuts and scrapes on his hands, face and arms, bruises on his knees, Vilmos ran on. He ran as fast as he could. Every now and again he saw black shapes out of the corner of his eye that he was certain were not trees. But it was only when he heard the first tormented howl that he became certain he was running for his very life.

Soon the tormented cries of the unknown beasts came from many directions then gradually the howls grew closer and closer. Xith pushed Vilmos faster and faster, surprising the boy with his seemingly endless endurance.

Nervously, Vilmos glanced to his left and to the rear. His feet lead him to the right—there were no cries coming from the right. Then suddenly the shaman stopped and Vilmos only heard the sound of his own running. He stopped then, turned around, ran back to where the shaman stood.

His eyes grew wide with terror and his heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t hear what the shaman was saying. He only knew the shaman was staring into the shadows of the forest.

“They are leading us,” Xith said, “do not let your feet stray.”

The two started running again. Terror helped Vilmos find his second wind and soon he was outpacing Xith.

Coming down a ravine, Vilmos stumbled and fell. Xith picked him up by the scruff of his collar and lead him on. They breached a hill, crossed a stream, ran on in soggy shoes, on and on they raced.

Vilmos was running to the pace of his heart, which was still pounding in his ears. He stretched his small body to its limits, again surprised at the shaman’s seemingly boundless stamina. More than once he doubled over in pain and fought to catch his breath, and more than once the shaman forced him into movement. Sometimes dragging him by the arm or the collar. Sometimes pushing him. Sometimes just his wild stare was enough to force Vilmos to find his next wind.

Then suddenly they burst into a clearing. A midday sun shining overhead told Vilmos they were safe, they were out of the dark forest. A sigh of relief escaped his lips.

Then just as Vilmos paused to catch his breath, Xith directed his gaze to the other side of the clearing. The forest stretched on endlessly, the trunks of trees fading into the gloomy shadows.

Vilmos tried desperately to catch his breath. “Can we rest, please?”

“Not long,” cautioned Xith, “those beasts aren’t far behind us.”

“What are they?”

“Some things are best left unnamed. To be sure, their masters are the reason the animals of the forest are angry.” Xith’s eyes darted to the shadows. “Run now, run as if your life depends on it, because it does.”

“I need… more rest,” said Vilmos, panting, “can you not use your magic on them?”

“For every one I sent back to the pits where they spawned, two more would come. No, we run,” said Xith, launching Vilmos into a run by pushing him forcefully with both hands.

He ran then. He ran for all he was worth. Fear mandated his every movement.

On and on he ran. Soon he lost sight of Xith, then he stumbled, fell, came up on his feet again. For a frightening moment in his confusion, he thought Xith wasn’t with him anymore, but then he caught a glimpse of the shaman’s brown robe. Exhausted, he no longer ran. He simply plodded along, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other, required great effort.

Time progressed slowly. Most of the tormented howls faded to distant echoes and now it seemed only one of the strange beasts followed them. Vilmos heard its high-pitched howl sound off to his left.

By now they had gone so far and so deep into the forest and strayed off course so many times that Vilmos thought surely even the shaman had lost his way long ago. The beasts were leading them, forcing them to take an increasingly easterly course.

Vilmos could no longer determine shapes in the shadows. Everything was shadows and dull grays slowly turned black. Night was surely near.

The touch of a hand to his shoulder caused Vilmos to start. He jumped and nearly screamed. Xith whispered in a low voice, “Tie this rope around your waist. It will keep us from being separated.”

Vilmos took the offered rope and began tying it about his waist.

“Follow where I lead you,” said Xith. “Keep your hands out in front of your face protectively.”

Vilmos finished securing the rope. He caught sight of a soft glow from the shaman’s eyes. They were glistening silver once more. “Do your eyes allow you to see in the dark?”

Xith grinned. “It is the gift of Oread to her people.”

Vilmos stretched his sore muscles, and eased the fire away from aching legs, then finally asked the question that had been bothering him for what seemed hours. “Are we lost?”

“The sense of direction of the peoples of Under-Earth is keen. Do not worry, my young friend. Soon we will leave the Forest of Vangar and all of this will be behind us for a time.”

Xith said nothing more, except that they should begin moving again.

Vilmos followed where the pull of the rope lead him, the world around him was now so black that he couldn’t discern anything from the darkness that surrounded him. Not knowing when they would come to a rut, a hill, a ravine, he placed each foot down softly and uncertainly. He tried to keep his thoughts from wandering and think only of placing one foot in front of the other. This was a difficult chore as he fought exhaustion.

The single hunter continued to follow them, howling out at seemingly regular intervals—perhaps telling companions that followed silently that the hunt was still on.

Staring into the darkness and not being able to see anything was at times overwhelming and during those times, Vilmos felt utterly helpless. He could only follow the tugs at the rope and hope that the person tied to the other end was still Xith—for exhaustion made him doubt even that.

His thoughts did wander though, even as he fought to keep them focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He thought of home, the villagers, and Lillath and Vil. Surely if the powerful shaman feared the creatures that chased them, the three villages were in danger. Yes, days of forests separated them, but how far did these creatures roam?

Vilmos answered the question for himself. Far enough to chase a great black bear south. Far enough to make it attack and kill the girl from Olex Village.

He groped his way around a tree that seemed to suddenly sprout in front of him. The ground beneath his feet was now damp. Vilmos knew this because of the thick mud clinging to his boots, making heavy feet that much heavier. Far off he heard the sound of running water as if a stream lay somewhere ahead. For a time his thoughts filled with a longing to drink of its cool waters.

They were coming down a long, long hill when suddenly the rope went slack. Vilmos’ mind filled with alarm. Xith normally signaled with a double pull on the rope when he was going to stop.

Vilmos groped with his hands about his waist until he found where the knot in the rope began. Then he began to take up the slack in the line. When he had pulled in about five feet without the line going taut, he stopped. He was almost afraid to keep pulling. His hands way ahead of his thoughts kept working though and he soon found the end of the line in his hands.

He tried to rationalize. He told himself Xith must have untied the rope from around his waist. Perhaps the stream was just ahead and Xith wanted to tell him this. The running water did sound awfully close.

Bravely, he took a step forward into the darkness, then another, and a few more. The stream was there all right. He found it by stepping into it with a slosh—the water was cold.

“X-Xith,” Vilmos whispered, “where are you?”

No answer.

He whispered in a slightly louder voice, “X-Xith?”

He heard movement behind him and spun about, nearly losing his balance. He saw the dull glow of a pair of eyes about halfway up the steep, forest-covered hill—but the glow wasn’t soft silver.

He stood deadly still. He heard growling now and then a howl, joined by many more. Confusion, exhaustion and panic mandated his actions. Instinct and human nature took over his thoughts. The will to survive became his only objective. Blue sparks danced across his fingers tips without him even realizing it.

The light only served to fill in the images missing from his mind’s eye. Halfway up the hill he saw them, a pack of the creatures that though they looked like wolves he knew they weren’t. No wolf he’d even seen had two heads. No wolf he’d ever seen was as large as a bear.

He slowly backed into the stream. The creatures inched forward. He inched backward. When the waters swirling around him were knee deep, he stopped. The lead creature, the largest one of the whole pack, stood no further than ten feet away from him now. He was suddenly sure this was the beast that had hunted and howled after them while the others in the pack had hunted silently at its side. It seemed to signal to the others to wait as it approached.

Instinct and the will to survive still at the forefront of his thoughts, blue sparks continued to dance across his fingers. He waited, staring down the strange two-headed creature, wondering why it did not attack him, wondering if it could lunge ten feet in a single, swift move using the powerful legs he saw.

He began to back up again, and the creature continued to approach. Each took one small step at a time, and stared the other down. His two eyes matched against the creature’s four, each daring the other to make a move.

The water about his legs was now only ankle deep but he gave it little thought. He dared not waver his eyes from the position they held locked to the creature’s. Soon he found that he was no longer sloshing backward through water. He had come to the far bank. The strange beast waited on the opposite bank, only a few precious feet away.

In the soft blue light, the creature’s double set of fangs glistened white-blue. Two heads meant two mouths filled with up-turned and down-turned canine fangs. Vilmos and the creature stared each other down, seemingly to find out whose will power was stronger.

Something brushed against his shoulder. He let out a scream that echoed long into the night. He whirled about, fists poised ready to fend off the unseen attacker, only to find soft gray eyes fixed on his.

“Xith!” Vilmos shrieked, “Thank the Father!”

“Do not thank him yet,” Xith said, “back up slowly now. The Wolmerrelle will not normally leave such a place, but let’s not give them any reason to think they should.”

“W-Wolmerrelle?”

“Suffice it to say that species from different realms were not meant to mate, for when they do, the result is not for the greater good.”

“Where did you go?” Vilmos asked as he inched backward.

Xith held out something in his hand that the boy didn’t dare to look at. “They were leading us all right. Another pack was shadowing us, waiting until they had us cornered.”

Xith put a heavy hand on Vilmos’ shoulder, indicating they should stop. Vilmos noticed there were no trees around them. He stood in tall grass that stretched to his chest. The lead Wolmerrelle was still staring them down, but now it was a good twenty to thirty feet away. Vilmos groaned and put his hands to his face to rub bleary eyes. As Vilmos did this, Xith lost the support he had been using to keep upright. He staggered and fell.

Vilmos grabbed Xith’s waist to help the shaman to his feet. He felt moisture against his hand. Xith’s robe was saturated from his neck down.

“Don’t worry.” Xith’s voice was weak. He coughed. “Most isn’t mine.”

Vilmos knew then that it was blood he touched. For a moment, a small sliver of the moon shined down upon them as it broke through heavy clouds. He saw the shaman’s prize. It was a head of one of the beasts; up close it was far larger and even more frightening than he had imagined.

Vilmos tended to Xith’s wounds. He did as the shaman instructed and cleaned the wounds against infection then touched the stones of the river to them. “The stream is a tributary to the distant river Trollbridge that divides the Free Cities of Mir and Veter. It runs a long way from Rain Mountain in the center of the forest to where it joins the Trollbridge and helps feed the swamps. Its stones are healing in their own way,” Xith had said, and Vilmos did not question that they were.

For the next several hours, Vilmos lay at Xith’s side, afraid to let sleep take him. Several times as he stared through gaps in the tall grasses to the far side of the stream, he saw the strange creatures Xith had called Wolmerrelle. Xith had been right about one thing; they were best left unnamed. Putting a name to the horror he saw only aided their terrifying grip on his mind. Somehow he was sure that one day he would return to Vangar Forest and when he did, the Wolmerrelle would be waiting for him.

Next time Vilmos knew he would not be so lucky. He would not escape as easily.

Chapter Thirteen:

The Bottoms

Captain Brodst called the company to a halt. The low road that lead down into the murky lowlands, aptly dubbed the Bottoms by both those few who dwelled there and by those who frequented these southerly lands, lay before them.

He cast a glance heavenward, the sun was well past its zenith and the storm clouds of morning were gone. His customary frown lengthened. He reconsidered his alternatives, to take the king’s road or to skirt the mire. He had discussed these choices with Keeper Martin, Father Jacob and the other captains the day prior. The obvious choice was to take the short cut through the swamp. They were already behind schedule, yet something Duke Ispeth had told him the night before last was bothering him now.

“Not a single messenger—and few travelers—have come north for more than a week,” the duke had said, “‘tis a strange occurrence indeed.”

At the time Captain Brodst hadn’t given it much thought, he had been tired and angry. Duke Ispeth could be a stubborn man when he wanted to be. Captain Brodst remembered that just after the duke had said that he’d scratched his head and said, “It’s

probably nothing. In another week or so, I’ll probably find that the roads were washed out again… Damned rainy season approaching, you know.”

But there was something in the way the old duke had said it that told Captain Brodst he didn’t really believe what he’d just said. It was true Duke Ispeth was eccentric and suspicious of everyone; even so, Captain Brodst had never seen anyone as agitated as he’d seen the duke that night. He had ranted and raved for hours. He had told them about reports of strange travelers passing through his lands at night, peasants complaining that whole crops were disappearing and many other things.

Captain Brodst took in a deep breath. If the weather had been better, surely they would have been ahead of schedule and he could have opted to skirt the swamps. He had discussed this route with King Andrew because they both feared the closeness of the rainy season. Captain Brodst found it ironic that since the rainy season had arrived early, that he now seemed forced to make a completely wrong choice in an attempt to save time.

None of this worrying will save time, he told himself. They were at least one day behind schedule and needed to make up for lost time. The only way to do it would be to turn south. He gave the signal, pointed to the southernmost road, then spurred his mount on. In a few hours Captain Brodst called a halt for the evening and, by mid-morning of the second day along this route, they entered the outer mires.

The passage along the rolling hills that gradually sloped down into the dreaded Bottoms was moderately paced. Unfortunately, the seasonal rains returned with vigorous fury, forcing a deficient, sluggish rate upon the travelers. But fortunately, after several hours of intense storms, high winds carried the storm front away to leave the skies clear and the grounds muddied though passable.

The group escaped from the confines of heavy cloaks, dropping hoods and loosening the ties about the neck as the air grew warm. Adrina had been in a pensive mood all through the morning. Her thoughts were with Emel. She felt so alone without him and what made this even worse was that everyone around her seemed to notice it, especially Keeper Martin and Father Jacob.

Adrina’s unease began to grow as they moved ever closer to the Bottoms, and not only because the thought of traveling through such a place filled her mind with dread. She had been counting on the extra days the longer route around the mires would have provided. The road through the Bottoms would only hasten them to Alderan and this more than anything else filled her mind with alarm.

Keeper Martin, who had been keeping a watchful eye on her and not letting her out of his sight, spoke, “There is nothing to fear, dear, the passage through the mires will be swift and we’ll be smelling sea breezes before you know it.”

Adrina expressed a sour grimace in response. Keeper Martin may have had an intuitive wisdom, but she knew better than to think there was nothing out there. The putrid smell of rotting vegetation that the wind carried had to be hiding something.

Father Jacob added to the keeper’s words, his voice trembling with emotion, “He is right, Princess Adrina. Tonight we will stay at a palace of such great beauty that it rivals that of Imtal’s. And Baron Fraddylwicke is a most excellent host.”

“Imtal is hardly beautiful,” said Adrina.

Father Jacob burst into laughter and said cheerfully, “The palace once belonged to King Jarom the First of Vostok before he lost the lands to the Kingdom long, long ago. At one time, it was the gateway into the whole of the South. The Lord and Lady Fraddylwicke await us…”

His voice trailed off, but Adrina thought she had heard him finish with, “or so I do fear.”

“And it has only fallen into the mire three times since then,” said Captain Brodst, adding melancholy to the cheer.

Surprised at the Captain’s joining in, Adrina said nothing.

“A trivial fact, I assure you,” said Keeper Martin, “it was rebuilt each time with increasing care and magnificence.”

Adrina smiled and responded, “I can’t wait to see it. It sounds wonderful.” She added for the keeper’s benefit, “Full of history.”

Her thoughts took a turn toward expectations and away from disappointment and unease. She was again surprised that Captain Brodst had spoken to her.

“His scowl is his shield,” Adrina whispered to herself.

Adrina relaxed in her saddle and soaked up some of the warm air. She undid the ties on her cloak and removed it. However, the warmth that had fed their momentary good spirits came to a quick and not-at-all-subtle end. The ground seemed to readily suck up the warmth and a chill rapidly returned.

As the long file entered the outer mire, the coolness of the air entwined with the warmth of the ground caused wisps of mist to swirl underfoot even in the early hours of afternoon, giving the area an eerie haze. Adrina felt her body begin to shiver uncontrollably at the cool touch, a touch similar to the play of cold fingers along the exposed areas of her skin.

She pulled her cloak tightly about her and brought its hood up stout, retreating far into the recesses of the cowl as she had this morning. Although the cloak was still moist from the rain, it did manage to provide a little bit of extra warmth. She was thankful for its touch of comfort and hopeful that they would reach the castle soon for she was growing very weary. She sank languidly into the leathers of a saturated, irritating saddle, almost wishing that she had heeded Emel’s words and her common sense and remained in Imtal.

Torches were mustered from the supplies and spread through the long line as insurance that, should the mists turn to fog, the group would not get lost. Captain Brodst, using his flint and steel and a few pieces of his precious stock of dry kindling—some of the torches had gotten damp—lit the initial torch, which he passed to the sentinel to bear at the front of the column. For the present, this was the only one to be lit. The others were not yet needed.

The sun’s rays were soon lost in a shroud of haze and the hours appeared to drag by. Dampness was so thick in the air that moisture sank into the very souls of those present. Adrina was caught up in deep feelings of portentous dread and she petted her mare’s mane to soothe it—or so she told herself. But it was really herself that she sought to calm, to rid her mind of the eerie thoughts it held.

She tried to think pleasant thoughts. She didn’t like the swamp they traversed and she liked the dense fog even less. The combination of the two elements overwhelmed her mind and only the thought of the castle that lay somewhere ahead in the distance turned her woes toward eventual ease.

She could imagine the Lord and Lady of the castle, him dressed in a purple overcoat and a blue silk shirt, his court best, and her in the long flowing gown of the day, properly coordinated with the purple and blues of the Lord Fraddylwicke, her attendants forever at her side. She imagined their greeting a grand affair at the great palace gates. The castle walls were not a dead and dreary gray but cheerful silver.

They marched further and further into the mire. It seemed as if they had suddenly delved under a great thick blanket of endless gray. Captain Brodst was forced to call another halt. The double file that they had begun the gradual descent into the mire with was dispensed and a long, drawn-out single file unfolded into the shadows.

Torches were ignited from the sentinel’s and though this would have been reassuring under most circumstances, it only assisted the uncanny veil’s pervasion of their thoughts.

Progress through the ever-thickening sheets of fog materialized as a feeble inching forward. The cries of the cricket and the frog, the buzzing of insects and the stirrings of other smaller beasts stopped. Only the sloshing of the horses’ hooves and boots on the soggy trail remained and it was as if nature itself had paused, waiting for the next puff of freshness and life.

Adrina witnessed the line of lights assemble in front of and behind her. Then, as she watched, the former disappeared one by one into the veil ahead. Those behind she didn’t turn to look at.

Carefully following the movements of those ahead when it was her turn, she coaxed her mount by gently slapping it with the reins to start it moving at a relaxed gait. Still she stroked the animal’s mane with her free hand. Briefly she looked back now to ensure that the rider behind her noted her passage and followed her lead.

She gazed intently ahead and tried to maintain a bearing on the dim glow of the torch Keeper Martin carried in front of her. The fog seemed to swallow any hint of the flame, leaving only a slight trace of its glow to guide her movements. The pace appeared to quicken instantly to a gallop and then decrease suddenly to a slow trot, making it extremely difficult for her to preserve the integrity of the file. She wondered how the rider behind her faired in her wake. She hoped that the other could sustain a bearing on her torch but for now she dared not look back for fear of losing sight of the elusive glow in front of her.

The cold mire air grew steadily damp and stagnant as the last remaining hints of the earlier wind disappeared for good. Adrina began to shiver uncontrollably once more. It was as if unseen hands groped their way across her skin and the touch was cold and sinewy.

She tried to find warmth and security in her heavy hooded cloak but she found none. Then just when she thought she could tolerate no more, it was as if those same unseen hands had reached out and grasped her throat, squeezing down with slow, firm pressure.

Suddenly she was afraid to move. What if she raised her hands to her neck and really did find an unseen hand gripped about her throat? But what if it was only her imagination? What then? She wanted to scream out for help, to lash out at the unseen specter, to cry out to the dead land that she did not want it to claim her.

She began to whimper and plea with the unseen hands to release her but this only caused a flood of suppressed emotions—three years of pain and anguish, sorrow and denial—to descend upon her. The dead, gray walls of Imtal were around her, looming up dark and deadly before her—like in her dreams—and all the land was dead and she, Adrina, was dead.

The specter was there with her—like in her dreams—to take her away. But now she didn’t want the specter to take her away. The prune-faced man with his twisted wooden staff had saved her before, but he wasn’t here now and this wasn’t a dream. She began to scream. Frantically she kicked her mount and pulled on the reins sharply. Her shrill scream cut short by a rationalization that came too late.

The horse beneath her, confused by the mixture of opposing signs given it, reared upward. To regain a tight grip on the reins, Adrina twisted the leathers in her hands. This again sent misleading signals to the confounded and uneasy animal beneath her. It reared again.

A second pull on the reins caused the mare to shift sideways as it landed. The steed stumbled, and then faltered as it lost its balance on the uneven roadside. Adrina’s tumultuous, wanton eyes spun around as horse and rider tumbled.

No longer a participant, Adrina became an observer. The torchlight seemed to dance around in circles before her as she felt herself falling to the ground. Her head was still spinning and her thoughts yet dazed as she landed with a splash into the murky waters and mud of the mire.

In a blur of frenzied thought, she felt herself sinking downward. A split second passed and she relived the fall into the water, eyes wide, cheeks puffed gasping at air, hands flailing, the light of the torch spinning wildly before her and then dying the instant it hit the dark waters with a sizzle.

A scramble to free feet from stirrups ended as she felt the movement of her body come to a sudden stop. Had she hit bottom? Was this it?

She held all the time in the world in the palm of her hands and she released a sigh of thankfulness, cut short by the horse landing on top of her with a horrific crunch. Adrina’s pain was sudden, excruciating and vividly real as her world careened to darkness.

Chapter Fourteen:

Rest’s End

Lying to the council was hard, though not because lying went against her principles. No, the ability to pass off a falsity was a virtue. Still, when one stretched what was already a lie, there was little room for the new lie, and she had to be careful not to be caught in the folds of that second or third lie. She had told so many lies of late that she was unsure which was the truth and which was the lie. She could tell that the First Priest, Talem, had not believed her.

Her loyalty had been questioned. She was a priestess of Mother-Earth. So why did she aid the Priests of the Dark Flame? What was her connection to the frantic rounds of cleansing sweeping the kingdom? These were the questions that had been put to her repeatedly, and each time she had stated that there was a fine line between loyalties and that she, Midori, held loyalty to the greater of the causes.

She was tangled in the web deeper than anyone knew or could guess. Now she had only to maintain the facade one more day and then she would be safe, safe from all probing eyes and prying hands. She wouldn’t care what Talem did or said then. The council would be unable to touch her and she would be safe in High Temple.

Midori would have left that very night if she had been able to, but Talem was always pushing, always questioning. He would not discover her secrets no matter how hard he probed and no matter what tools he used to wrest those secrets from her. She knew this.

The private chamber she paced and schemed in seemed a tiny prison. She knew Talem had his spies that watched her through hidden peepholes. She did not care. Let them watch her, let them watch her all they wanted, she taunted in her mind. They would discover nothing. She was too clever, too quick, and had but a single night until freedom.

She inspected her bags to ensure they had not been tampered with and smiled as she ran her hands over a subtle seal. Talem would never have guessed that she would have the audacity to bring her secrets with her to council, but she had. Her heavy bags concealed two scrolls; there had been three but the first had already been given to a trusted messenger and delivered long ago. The last two were for her to handle alone. One she was to read after she spoke to council, which was now. The last, she was to deliver. To where, she did not yet know.

The impulse to pull the hidden scrolls from her bag ebbed as she forced herself to find control. She would wait. She had nearly succeeded and there was no need to be hasty when her goal was so close.

“Be gone!” she whispered to those unseen.

Casually, she untied the belt about her waist and let the loose-fitting, black robe slip from about her shoulders and cascade to the floor. A water basin stood in a corner. She dipped her long, black hair into the gently warmed waters.

Herbal scented soaps lined the wall to her left, but she took the plain, unscented bar to her right and used this to wash her hair. She moistened a cloth and dabbed it across her body to remove the day’s sweat and grime. It had been a long day. Rinsing in the warm waters was soothing and allowed some of the tenseness of the day to slip away.

A few more hours, she reminded herself as she lay down upon the bed, just a few more hours.

Only minutes later, a heavy knock at the door awoke her. She brushed her hair back casually and crossed to the door, opening it without hesitation. She looked on unwavering at the one who stood in the doorway. “Why Talem, do come in,” she said calmly.

Talem stepped into her room. “I will forgive you this day’s transgressions,” he began, “for I know how the times of equinox affect your kind. But do not try my patience thus in the future.”

“What kind would that be?” Midori shot back without thinking. She was so wrapped up in her current situation that she had forgotten to stay the flow of emotions within her, and this realization came to her just when she thought she was being so careful. Equinox was a time when the flow from the Mother was so strong that it could overcome her priestesses and drive them to do the irrational and spontaneous. There were many benefits to this, but they were not without certain disadvantages.

She didn’t let the priest speak before adding, “Do not worry, Talem. I am done here. Did you come to wish me a safe journey?”

“I know you hide something,” he said, stepping toward her. “I will find out what it is and then I will personally see that you are brought before the council.”

Midori was confident. “If I were hiding something, the council would have discovered it. I hide nothing, Talem. I spoke the truth and am exhausted of telling the truth. Now if you will please excuse me, I have a journey ahead of me tomorrow that demands an early start.”

“There is plenty of time to sleep. What I have to say will be quick, do not worry.” Talem took another step toward her and grinned. “Do you know that you are quite striking in your way?”

Midori backed away from him, shaking her head. Talem took another step toward her and flung her onto the bed. Midori shouted at him, “Do you seek to defile this vessel of the Mother?”

Talem drew up to his full height, an act that made him somehow appear less vicious. “You just remain still, I do not intend to touch you or to harm you. I merely wish to gain your full attention and I can see that I have it now.”

Midori didn’t say a word. She would let him think he had won this show of dominance.

“We are much alike you and I,” Talem began, “We are both users. We use those around us as tools to gain what we want.”

She wanted to scream at him that they were nothing alike, had never been anything alike and would never be anything alike, but she did not. She needed to be more aware of everything she did and said now more than ever if she was going to erase his suspicions.

“We have our moments,” she replied.

“Good, that is what I wanted to hear. Our relationship could go far. Do you know how much untapped potential is out there?” Talem chuckled. “Oh, if you only knew.”

She did. She said nothing.

“I need you on my side in this. I will forgive your earlier transgressions, just make no more.” His last few words lashed out at her with a harsh edge. He started to chuckle to himself again.

Midori looked up at him, her eyes seemingly receptive. She didn’t know what sort of game he was playing, but intended to go along with it for now. “I could become persuaded to your cause,” she told him.

“Very well then, there are two scrolls in your bag with the shaman’s own seal upon them,” this was not a subtle Would you fetch them? but a direct command to go get them now.

Midori didn’t hesitate or change her expression; yet within her world filled with sudden turmoil. She had been so careful, oh so very careful. She had to think fast and hide the excitement from her voice. “I wish I could, but you must know as well as I that they will not open for any other than the intended recipient, or otherwise you would have broken the seal days ago.”

Talem said nothing.

Midori’s racing heart slowed, though only slightly. The priest had given her a way out with his silence, or at least she hoped so. “I wish that I could tear them open with my bare hands, but I can not,” she said sounding exasperated, hoping she wasn’t being overly melodramatic.

“Yes, yes, I know the feeling. The shaman is a snake.”

“A vile, treacherous snake,” Midori added.

Talem grinned and then said, “It is good that we agree on this.” He paused and Midori continued her receptive stare. “Who are the scrolls intended for, perhaps this can shed some light?”

Names, demanded Midori of herself. She had to think quickly. She couldn’t let Talem believe she was stalling. She had been close, so close. She had to choose names that would cause no harm to her cause. Deciding, she stated, “One I am to deliver to an innkeeper, I would be certain that it pertains to a long overdue debt and contains empty promises to the individual that he will be paid in due time. The second is bound for High Priestess Jasmine; I do not understand it myself,” her aim was to gloss over the first with the more enticing second.

“Jasmine,” said Talem as if musing over the name, “that is interesting.”

“Yes, quite. Therefore, you see why I hasten to High Temple. If there is any chance that I can be present during the reading, I will surely take advantage of it and I will of course relay the information to you.”

Talem seemed pleased at the response. “Good, good,” he hissed, “but what of this innkeeper, what is his name?”

Midori had purposefully neglected to tell him this, hoping he would be more interested in the scroll directed to the High Priestess. “I’m not sure. Let me think. Oh, yes. Misha, his name is Misha, but he is harmless. As I have said, I would imagine it concerns a long overdue payment and I might even expect that it tells this innkeeper that he can get his payment from me.”

Midori saw Talem’s contemplative smile and continued, “I would wager that this is the reason the scroll is sealed. Can you imagine being told that you are to give payment for a debt you do not owe? I wonder what else the scroll promises.”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” said Talem. “These are trying times… trying times indeed. Our relationship will go far if you continue this honesty with me. I will have the coach drawn up at once; mustn’t delay your departure to High Temple any longer. You have done well by me my dear, and I do not easily forget.” Again, his last phrasing held an edge and a subtle hint of retribution that would be taken if she crossed him.

Midori was about to respond, when Talem turned about and departed. She sighed.

“One more thing, Midori,” said the priest, turning back to her as he passed through the doorway.

Her heart leapt into her throat again, but she hid it well. “Yes?” she replied.

“I would expect to hear from you as soon as possible. Do not make me wait too long. I get impatient.” Those were Talem’s last words as he closed the chamber door behind himself.

Once the coach was drawn up and she was safely inside it, Midori wouldn’t care what he had said to her or what she had said to him; she would be safe and, very soon, far beyond his or anyone’s grasp.

A full day had passed before Xith felt strong enough to continue the journey northward, but in the three days since he and Vilmos had made excellent progress. They were now in the land known as South Province, a holding of Great Kingdom. The wounds Xith had suffered at the hands of the Wolmerrelle were healing nicely and now he looked to the days ahead.

The evil presence that had been with them those many days seemed to be gone—gone with Vangar Forest. Xith knew that all too soon the gentle wind-blown plains of this section of South Province would be gone as well. Their journey was taking them north to Great Kingdom and west to the great sea.

Soon it would be time to again work on awakening the power within the boy. Xith knew he must do this slowly and cautiously. To prepare Vilmos for the task ahead, one that only he could do, Xith must make the boy face his fears. In the end, there would be nowhere left to run from, only places to run to.

Vilmos had never been beyond the limits of the secret place he traveled to in his dreams, the confines of which he had been content to live in and would have been content to live in for the rest of his life. Suddenly a new world was opening to him. In it, he discovered new definitions of the boundaries around him and a thirst for knowledge of the outside world. The great windswept plains of South Province were truly beautiful—and a far stretch from the lands of desolation described in the Great Book.

Vilmos listened intently to the shaman’s words. Concentrating on this gave him something to focus on, which made it easier to forget all that was behind him.

“The element of fire is the easiest of the arcane elements to grasp initially. It is also the trickiest to control because of the tremendous raw power it taps,” Xith had warned him and Vilmos had taken this to heart. After only his third attempt at producing a spark to ignite wood he had performed, “well” as the shaman had put it, “magnificently” as he put it.

He had mastered his first incantation—the first incantation of the element fire. He could now touch delicate power to wood with apparent ease and produce a soft red-orange blaze. Vilmos looked forward to the next lesson, which Xith promised he would teach him soon.

Now it was time for a reprieve from the heavy cares of the world. Before they moved on to the next lesson, Xith had told Vilmos he intended to take them to a place where they could rest for a time.

Ahead in the distance lay a rustic trade center. It was built along the eastern bank of a river, near a ford. Its three small buildings in various stages of decay stood at the fore of the road, huddled around a two-story clapboarded building on which hung a tiny sign that read simply ‘Inn, All Welcome.’ Other than this sign the settlement was void of all appearances of habitation.

Closer inspection of the small inn showed that, although it was in an equal state of disrepair as the buildings surrounding it, it was a relatively new structure. Xith paused momentarily in the middle of the path and turned to look at Vilmos, then raised the hood of his cloak up over his head and pulled it forward to hide his face in the shadows it created. He motioned for Vilmos to do likewise. The sense of caution in Xith’s features told Vilmos to act without hesitation.

The interior of the inn was as untidy and unsightly as the exterior. The ground floor was largely dominated by an open, dimly lit chamber that contained several tables and many chairs, which were twisted and broken. Near an elongated staircase that led to the second floor sat a portly man upon a lonely unbroken chair. In front of him was the sole upright table.

The obese man, who Vilmos surmised to be the inn keep, had a rather unpleasant odor about him. He didn’t budge until he heard the sound of coinage dropping onto his tabletop and even then his only action was to point to the stairs, then raise three of his chubby fingers to indicate the respective room number.

Without a word, the weary travelers climbed the stairs and went to room number three. They closed and bolted the door behind them. Though it was only midday they found sleep came very easily, and it was not until many hours later that either stirred.

Vilmos awoke to find Xith staring at him.

“No dreams,” Vilmos whispered reverently, as he had each day upon awaking since joining Xith. Then he turned frank eyes to Xith. “Where are we?”

“We have reached the edge of the disputed lands.”

“The Borderlands,” exclaimed Vilmos. “Bandit Kings and Hunter Clan!”

“No, not the Borderlands of the North, but—”

Vilmos cut Xith short, “—Then the stories are true?”

“Vastly overstated.”

“Well, are the stories I heard true or not?… Tales of great heroes of the Borderlands wielding giant battle swords and fighting evil two-headed…” Vilmos didn’t finish the sentence.

“Those times are no more,” said Xith, a twinge of sadness or perhaps longing in his voice—Vilmos could not tell which. “We are nearing the disputed lands of the South. Here only brigands and a few traders remain. But we are only going to skirt the edge of this area. It is the fastest way to the sea.”

Vilmos had never seen the sea, and in his wildest aspirations he had never thought he would. “The sea, really, the sea?”

“We are at a last stopping place before we enter what was once the Alder’s Kingdom, but is now mostly ruins, except for Alderan.”

“Tell me more, please.” Vilmos was babbling excitedly.

“There isn’t all that much to tell. Besides, your version of the truth would vary greatly from mine. You will see soon enough. We must turn our attention to other things first though,” Xith said, a far off look in his eyes. “Are you there?” he called out in a scarcely audible voice.

“What do you mean?” asked Vilmos, responding not to the question but to the previous statement.

“Nothing. Rest,” said Xith, relief in his voice, “we have a long trip ahead of us in the morning.”

Vilmos sensed something was wrong, but whatever it was it seemed out of his grasp. He leaned back, touched head to pillow and closed his tired eyes once again. Images of the day’s adventure danced before his sealed lids—the most profound of which was the image of the burly looking innkeeper whose figure played ominously in his thoughts, with his fat hands raised, pointing at him, provoking him, warning him.

After what seemed hours of restless tossing and turning, Vilmos opened his eyes in frustration and sat up in bed. The last light of day still had not given way to the darkness of night and as Vilmos peered about the room, he was shocked to find himself alone. Xith was gone.

Vilmos was puzzled. Would Xith leave him? Maybe he went to relieve himself or something, Vilmos thought. He ran into the hall, but found only greetings of darkness.

“Xith,” called out Vilmos in a weak, half-whispered hiss, “Xi-ii-tttthhh.”

Frustrated he sat back on the bed, curled his feet up tight and wrapped his hands around his legs. He sat this way for hours, watching the sun slowly disappear behind the neighboring building. Periodically he looked toward the closed door.

The shadows in the room began to take on an eerie perspective, casting odd thoughts into his impressionable young mind. A half-burnt stub of a candle lay atop the stand beside the bed.

Vilmos reached out and grabbed it. He thrust it back into the pricket it had been removed from, with the apparent intent of replacing it though the new one had never been brought and the old one had never been discarded.

With a flick of absent thought, Vilmos sparked it to life.

The brilliant orange of the flame danced in front of his eyes as if it played out a song to him. Vilmos was captivated and motivated by it. Yet a heavy breath unknowingly extinguished its fragile flame, forcing him to re-ignite it. It had been quite accidental, but Vilmos was amused by it.

He took to blowing the candle out and then lighting it again and again with his mind. He laughed a soft, silent chuckle to himself as he did this.

He played with the candle for a time, flicking it off and on, the light of the fire reflecting off his face in the otherwise dark chamber.

Mesmerized by the candlelight, following its on and off blink, eventually, quite accidentally and without even realizing it, Vilmos learned to gingerly manipulate the flame with his mind. He could put it out and then touch it again with his power to relight it, which was quite an accomplishment if only he would have realized it.

With a sudden twist the doorknob turned and the door opened. Vilmos heard voices from the hall.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of much help, old friend. I’m sure you are right. Alderan is the key. They’ll surely travel along the coastal highway.”

“Goodnight, Misha. I am glad your other guests decided to depart ahead of schedule,” Xith said. He laughed as he slipped into the room, and then took a sip of the drink in his cupped hand. “We will have to do this again sometime.

“And goodnight to you to. Thank you. You have again done well. I truly did not expect to see you so soon. Guard well the final two scrolls. I will not see you again until after the Autumnal Equinox—after all this is behind us.” Xith whispered the last in a voice barely audible, and then took another swig from the half-empty mug he cradled almost tenderly. He waved and then closed the door, trying only now to be quiet.

The scene was quite comical when Xith turned around and prepared to creep to his bed. Vilmos was waiting, and Xith could only smile as a child caught in the act of doing something he knows he’s not supposed to be doing. Without a word Xith crossed to the bed opposite Vilmos, sat upon it, blew out the candle Vilmos held and then lay back and closed his eyes.

Morning came quickly. Just as Vilmos was stepping into his boots, Xith opened the door and pointed down the hall. A heavy sweet aroma filled the air in the hallway and Vilmos’ stomach began to growl as he inhaled the first mouth-watering breath. However, before Vilmos could think of food, he had to attend to more immediate matters.

He returned a short while later with a smile on his face and a hand on his belly, a sign that he was hungry. Xith lead him down the stairs to the kitchen from which the aroma rose. The behemoth of a man Vilmos had seen upon their arrival and knew only as the innkeeper was busily working over a brightly burning hearth. Only today, he did not seem so unfriendly and detached as he had the previous evening.

Vilmos scrutinized the small kitchen. He could have sworn he had heard more than two voices last night.

“Beautiful morning, Mish’!” Xith exclaimed. He walked over to the large man and patted him on the back.

The innkeeper, Misha, smiled and tossed Vilmos a wink, then he showed the two to a table that was tucked cleanly away in one of the kitchen’s many nooks. While they ate, Misha stuffed several satchels with fresh baked breads, smoked meats and an assortment of various other foodstuffs. The aromas wafted through the air to the place where Vilmos and Xith sat and mingled with the pleasant smells already present, creating a feast for the senses of a king. And they both ate like one.

Not long after breakfast, Xith and Vilmos departed the inn. Misha had graciously offered them his wagon, and although old, worn and led by a pair of jades, the wagon was comfortable, and riding proved a very great respite from walking.

Vilmos thought Xith had been rather rude for not introducing him to his apparently good friend. He tossed Xith a snarled grimace but then turned to other subjects, visions of what lay ahead. Although he had never been to the Alder’s Kingdom, he knew much about its lore from the Great Book. The Alder had been a very wise king. In signing the treaty with the southern kingdoms, he had ended the longest and bloodiest war in the history of all the lands.

The Race Wars, as they were later called by those few who had survived, had lasted generations. During that time, whole peoples and nations had perished.

A nearly forgotten lesson echoed in Vilmos’ mind. He thought of the once great kingdoms of the North. Lycya mightiest of the kingdoms swallowed by barren desert. Queen of Elves and all her people washed into West Deep. North Reach and the clans over-mountain consumed by the twenty-year snow. And, he thought about the Alder.

Xith drove the pair of jades faster than they seemed to want to go. Vilmos knew without doubt the rest was over. Some dread lay ahead, but what it was he did not know.

The celebrations of the Autumnal Equinox were nearly complete and for Sister Midori-shi the time in High Temple had not been a time of release and cleansing as it had been in previous years. She had far too many concerns on her mind to allow herself to relax and enjoy the celebrations. First Priestess Jasmine had been scrutinizing her every action as she prepared her to take over the position of the ill-fated Sister Shella who until a short time ago had been Second Priestess.

If Midori wasn’t acting appropriately at any time, Jasmine told her and as if that alone weren’t enough, one final anxiety brought her pacing about in her chamber as she had for the past seven nights, and that was the thought of Talem. He waited for her somewhere beyond the safe haven of High Temple and he expected her to have information for him.

When Midori had first arrived at High Temple, she had had every intention of telling Jasmine of the scrolls she carried with her and thus passing off the burden that she shouldered. Now there was too much at risk. She had been vying with Sister Catrin every step of the way for Sister Shella’s position. Every moment brought her closer to the appointed time—a time when she must search her soul and make a decision that would affect her for all time.

If Midori told Jasmine what she was involved in, especially after she had been forbidden to meddle in the affairs of the dark priests, there was no way she would ever rise to the rank of Second Priestess ahead of Catrin. She coveted this standing the way she coveted no other thing. Her appointment would mean that she was only one step away from First Priestess. Soon afterward, no one would stand in the way of her goals ever again.

In trembling hands, she reread the scroll. The final time, she told herself, before she would destroy it as the shaman had told her to do. A low fire was crackling softly before her. By all accounts, she should have cast the scroll without delay into the flames, but after weeks of contemplation she still did not know if she could do what the shaman asked of her. Now was the time when she really could have used the guiding hand of Mother-Earth, yet she could not ask for it.

Outside in the courtyard the priestesses were gathering for the final celebration and she heard singing and the sounds of laughter now. She didn’t have much time to make a decision. She glanced to the window, noting the lights and sounds coming from the courtyard below, and then her attention went back to the scroll. She carefully read the lines that told her of a thing she could not fathom. In her mind as she did this, the words rang in her ears and she heard the shaman’s voice whispering in a hushed, solemn tone.

The sounds of instruments and the gathering musicians came in through the window now, and mixing with the crackling of the low fire, it began to lull her. The laughter and singing grew and any moment now Midori was certain a summons would come for her. It would be either Sister Jasmine or Sister Catrin and either way it would not bode well for her.

Midori paused in her reading to uncoil the last portion of the scroll and, in doing so, skipped ahead to the end. The shaman had set his mark just beneath the last line, and upon glimpsing it that final time, Midori found the courage to cast the scroll into the orange flames of the fire beside her. She watched the parchment as it burned, the edges of the thick yellow paper consumed in the flames and a slow trickle of brown and black creeping inwards toward the center of the scroll, thinking that just then she had found what she had been seeking. She no longer cared if Talem waited for her, nor did she care if Sister Jasmine thought her unworthy. She would do what she must and hope that in the end this brought her that which she coveted.

As the last remnants of the scroll became ashes in the hearth, Midori scattered them with a poker. She straightened her robes and her hair while gazing into the long, slender mirror beside her dressing table, and then hastened out the door. She hurried along the length of the hall to the long winding stairs that lead to the courtyard below.

The musicians and songstresses gathered in full chorus just as she reached the landing. If she hurried, she could slip unseen into the waiting throng.

Chapter Fifteen:

Disaster

Water, dark and icy cold, surrounded Seth. He groped for the surface, his lungs hot and ready to explode. His head stung, his vision clouded. Pain and darkness sought to overcome him. Then just when he thought his lungs would explode, he broke the surface and gasped for air.

Despair filled his mind as turbulent waters pulled him under again. Wildly, he grabbed at the surface, both arms flailing frantically. His hand found something wet and rough. He latched onto it. Coughing and choking, he held on.

The night above the water, nearly as dark as the world beneath the water, offered him little relief. Seth cursed his foolhardiness. He hadn’t expected an ambush so soon after departing Kapital and somehow Seth knew he should have. He remembered little of how he had come to be in the water. One minute he had been standing on the deck of the Lady L, Sailmaster Cagan at his side, preparing to make one last desperate stand. The next, a sharp sudden pain in his legs and then the long plunge into cold deep water.

Seth suddenly realized had no idea if anyone else had survived. He lashed out with his mind, Sailmaster Cagan? Galan?

Seth felt something pass underneath him, and then touch his legs. Fatigue, disorientation and panic overwhelmed him. Sailmaster Cagan had told him about dark beasts beneath the waters. Creatures called krens that fed on all manner of beast alike. His left arm had caught a blade and his leg—his right leg—was gouged from thigh to calf.

Unwisely, Seth kicked out with his feet and slapped the water with his free hand. He lost his grip and again slipped beneath the dark waters. He reached for the surface and the handhold. The piece of wreckage had to be there; it just had to be.

Seth broke the surface, only for an instant, only long enough to fill his lungs with air and calm the red-hot fire in his chest. Then storm-tossed seas pulled him under again.

Great-Father, I cannot fail. My need is great! he called out in despair.

Seth? called out a voice weak in his mind. Seth?

His thoughts spun. He reached out; a hand found his.

Br’yan?

Yes. Kick harder, I’ll need your help. I can’t do this alone. Grab on, hold on, don’t let go… Just a little more… Just a little more… Seth, you must help me.

With Br’yan’s help, Seth crawled onto the small section of wreckage. He lay on his back, panting, for many long minutes. Exhaustion nearly carried him away to sleep, but he fought to maintain consciousness. Did anyone else survive?

I’m not sure, I saw you get knocked into the sea as the mast crumbled, and I panicked. Everything after that is a blur. The ships are all gone. Fire and water took them.

What about Sailmaster Cagan?

Seth, I don’t know… It seems he went down with the Lady L, said Br’yan. He paused, his mind filled with obvious anguish. How did they know we had begun the journey? There were so many, so many…

Seth found sudden resolve. We survived Br’yan. We have not failed yet… Wait. Did you feel that? The anguish, the sadness.

That’s me, Seth. I’m sorry, I’ll shield my thoughts if…

No, someone is out there… Seth turned his thoughts inward and sought to concentrate his will. Then he groped outward with his mind, straining to maintain his strength while he searched. Galan? Yes—yes, it is… By the Father, she lives!

Seth pressed his weight against tired arms and sat. He stared into the inky darkness of a largely overcast night sky. He saw little, his mind filled in the pieces. Wait, someone else is with her… She’s holding Everrelle afloat… Galan won’t last much longer. She’s exhausted.

Frantically, Br’yan and Seth paddled with their hands through choppy waters. It seemed with waves slapping against the makeshift raft, they barely moved at all. Then suddenly two dark shapes appeared out of the gloom. Everrelle, barely conscious, was near death and brave Galan was utterly exhausted from the struggle to keep two afloat in turbulent waters.

The night passed with eerie swiftness. Seth awoke to find a midday sun. Images from the previous day seemed a crazed blur, but the ache of his body told him it had all been real. For an instant, Seth felt sure he was alone, and then he saw the others. They were the last survivors. Frazzled and haggard from battle and exposure to the sea only four lingered in life, only these four that had escaped. Now, faith in their service would take them to safety or deliver them from life.

Still exhausted, Br’yan and Galan slept. Everrelle, weak from blood loss, slipped in and out of delirium. Seth turned bleary eyes to the sun, its warmth on his face felt good. He remembered now that during the night he had prayed for the day to end the bitter cold. He removed his cloak, which was still mostly wet, and allowed the sun to chase away any remnants of the night’s chill. Then he worked to bind wounds that were already festering.

Each of his companions had many injuries—bruises, scrapes, lacerations—which proved to him how desperate the battle had really been and how miraculous it was that anyone still lived. Everrelle was by far in the worst condition. Her right hand was missing four fingers. Seth was sure she must have reached out to block a blow and instead met the steel of a blade. Using strips of cloth from his robe, he did the best he could to wrap her hand. He hoped it would help stay the infection. He turned to Galan next, Br’yan afterward. His own wounds he bound last.

Scattered debris from the great ships that the dark deep waters had claimed during the night was all around them. Seth worked against fate to gather what he could. As he worked, he thought of Cagan standing defiantly at the helm of the Lady L. He told himself that was how he wanted to remember the kind sailmaster and all the others that had perished with him. In the end, his search turned up an invaluable prize, a water bag. Half full, but still a water bag. He put it beside the one Br’yan had managed to escape the Lady L with, and thanked Great-Father for his good fortune.

The day grew long. The utter exhaustion that held the others found Seth. Unwillingly, he slipped into delirium.

Days passed. Everrelle’s condition worsened. Seth, Galan and Br’yan took turns at the healing art, but, weak from battle and hunger, they could offer little. Unbelievably, the raft held together with little more than prayers had kept them afloat through those endless days.

Seth had held the hope that land was just over the next crest of the rolling waves or just beyond the next horizon. Br’yan and Galan had also been hopeful. But days of nothing save dark waters had tainted that hope and the possibility of safe landfall waned. Now Seth could only lie idle with all his energy drained. Only his training kept his mind semi-clear and his thoughts open. I am Brother Seth of the Red, First of that order, Queen’s Protector, he repeated many times in his mind.

He sought to cleanse his mind of questions he didn’t want to answer. Nonetheless, the questions came. The ambush set by King Mark at the hand of Sathar the Dark had been too well planned. How could the enemy have known their plans so precisely? Was there a traitor among them? Had there been a traitor on the Lady L leading the enemy to them?

No, it can’t be, it just can’t be. The thought of a traitor having been among them was too painful for Seth to consider. Brother did not betray brother. No, I must focus. Seth returned to the cleansing meditation.

Seth, came the whisper into his mind.

I am Brother Seth of the Red, First of that order, Queen’s Protector. I must maintain clear thoughts…

SETH?

Yes, my brother, I am still here.

Seth, what will it be like in this land of Men? asked Galan.

Still lost in his meditation, it took Seth a moment to slip back into reality, a task accomplished only after Galan repeated her question. Seth said, It will be different, far different from anything we have ever seen that is for sure. Long ago our people often journeyed to their villages and cities. Our lands and cultures were close together then. It had been a peaceful time, but then came the Great Wars. The last and most devastating treacheries were the Race Wars during which Man drove all their distant cousins away. Into the far corners of the world we fled and never in over five hundred years have we ventured back into their lands.

Seth felt Galan fight to remain coherent. Galan asked, What did you learn during those many weeks you studied them? Do you really think they will help us? Or will it all be for nothing…

Her faith was waning and Seth knew this. Once we explain what is taking place, it will be their cause as it is ours. They must aid us. But it could take a long time to explain. These Men,—Seth said the word with distaste—prefer to stay out of the affairs of others until they are sure they have a marked interest in what is taking place. They often wait until it is too late.

Seth, began Galan, there was a serious note in the unspoken voice, there is something I should tell you that I haven’t, something I overheard—

—I do not wish to know thoughts that I was not meant to. Some things are best left unknown.

`Like why you prepared for a journey to the lands of Man even before Queen Mother consulted High Council. And why your lessons began even before we learned of Sathar’s return.

A chill swept up and down Seth’s back as he pictured Sathar the Dark in his mind’s eye. He was unsure whether he should voice the truth or not—but what did it really matter anyway?

There is much more in peril than our homes and lands. Queen Mother knew this.

Seth, I grow tired. I must rest. Will you play the image Brother Liyan gave to you, the image of the green forest? I wish to dream…

Some hours later, Seth looked to Galan, who was still sleeping, and wondered if dreams of the forest still swept through her mind. In his mind’s eye, he saw her as she had been in Kapital. Poised with her hand on her hip, she seemed to be waiting for him. The image faded though like so many others before it and soon he was back staring out into the expanse of the open sea.

He knew little of the sea and winds, but, unlike Br’yan and Galan, he had been on the canals of Kapital with Sailmaster Cagan. He used a makeshift hook and tied bits of colored cloth to it, then cast out his line, a length of string from his robe. Over these past days, he had enjoyed no luck and while it truly seemed there was no life in the deep sea, he was not about to give up.

A hazy dawn eventually gave way to day as the sun made its inevitable climb. With irony, Seth remembered now that he had once prayed for the day’s arrival to end the bitter cold of night. But the night didn’t steal precious moisture from his weary body, the sun did.

The day gradually grew hot and dry. Seth found that his thoughts were beginning to wander. He maintained consciousness, but only barely so while he cast the line out and pulled it in slowly, as he had once been shown. He tried to hold on to the image of Galan as she had been. Strong and true.

At one point, out of the corner of his eye, Seth saw Br’yan moving about the raft, but inevitably as the sun beat down upon him, thirst and hunger took over. His thoughts began to wander and shift despite his best efforts. Seth attempted to clear his thoughts, but this required a complete conscious effort, which, under the torment of the blistering sun, with strength draining from his body little by little, Seth could not give it. He could only mourn the loss he could do nothing to regain. He perceived himself as a hapless child. He, First of the Red, with all his knowledge and skills could not resolve their dilemma.

Seth soon found himself drifting back to sleep.

We’re in danger, warned Br’yan. Krens!

Seth came alert in an instant. It seemed he had just closed his eyes, but then he took note of the light of a virgining day on the horizon. Then suddenly Br’yan’s warning registered in his mind. By the Father! Galan, Everrelle!… Everrelle?

Galan awoke. Everrelle didn’t. For some reason one of the great gray beasts began attacking the bottom of the raft. Br’yan pulled in the fishing line. Seth noticed there was something on it. Seth asked, You caught something?

Br’yan started to reply, In a way—

Br’yan’s voice was drowned out by Galan’s scream. Dear Father. Everrelle, Everrelle?

Galan directed thoughts to Seth. The infection, it’s worse… Then she turned back to Everrelle. Stay with me, stay with us, don’t go. ‘We’ll survive the journey together,’ you said. Hold on, promise me you’ll hold on…

Another of the gray beasts that lurked just beneath the surface of the water nudged the raft.

Get Everrelle away from the edge! exclaimed Br’yan.

Days without food meant exhaustion. Galan too was exhausted, and the exhaustion only magnified her alarm and her panic. Seth could see it in her eyes. He directed Br’yan to crawl to the other side of the raft and help Galan with Everrelle. Then he concentrated on angry thoughts and sent them into the minds of the dark shapes beneath the water.

The raft shook as it was buffeted by tail and fin. Angrily and relentlessly, Seth, Galan and Br’yan beat at the dark shapes until the raft shook no more. The three stood quietly, huddled together, and stared into the dark waters.

One by one, fatigue overwhelmed them. Br’yan was the first to collapse, Seth the last. Silence followed.

Galan broke the long silence, with a very soft whisper, Everrelle is gone… She promised she’d hold on, she promised.

Seth didn’t answer immediately. Sleep was trying to lull him. He felt Everrelle’s passing, but could do nothing more than wish her a safe journey. After a few minutes, he directed a response to Galan, Sleep, my brother, save your strength.

Chapter Sixteen:

Return

“Father Jacob, will she be all right?” demanded Captain Brodst. His heart pounded rapidly in his ears, a lump swelled in his throat. He paced back and forth, and waved a torch haphazardly about in the air, paying little attention to the water and muck that dripped from his uniform. The young Princess Adrina, her face deathlike, was his only concern.

He feared the worst for Adrina as her face grew ashen. He was positive King Andrew would have his head for this. His despair grew, so did his anger and frustration. Again, he yelled at Father Jacob who apparently was not listening to him. “Father, will she be all right?”

Father Jacob had worked frantically ever since Captain Brodst had rescued Adrina from the murky waters of the mire. Although a male, he knew the art of healing well and had attempted to work its miracles on her almost immediately. Yet he was growing annoyed by the captain’s repeated inquiries and this distracted him.

“Perhaps, perhaps,” he hissed back at the captain, “if you give me some silence!”

Keeper Martin touched a hand to the captain’s shoulder and said, “Do not worry so. Father Jacob knows what he is doing. Give him some room and the silence he asks for, then trust in him and Great-Father.” Then he returned the captain’s cloak and sword belt.

Captain Brodst took the belt and cloak and donned them. He chased off the reassuring hand. He didn’t want to be soothed. He wanted Adrina to regain consciousness and to ensure this, he whispered numerous pleas to Great-Father.

There was doubt in Father Jacob’s mind as he continued to labor over Adrina, his healing abilities were not as great as those who were of the Mother. Jacob would have offered his soul to have a priestess of the Mother stumble across their path if he hadn’t believed that somehow he could save Adrina—after all, she had been in the presage. All he had to do was to overcome his doubt.

Instinctively, Father Jacob had laid Adrina on her side and managed to clear some of the water from her lungs, still she had not regained consciousness, nor did she breathe. Father Jacob could not touch enough of the Mother’s will to draw upon her powers to cure. Only after special prayers were sent to Great-Father to give him the extra strength necessary did Jacob begin to chant the incantation—the ancient litany of life and healing. He wouldn’t think it odd that fate had brought him to this path until sometime later as he reflected upon this happening.

Erase doubt, he reminded himself, think only of healing and life. He continued the rhythmic chanting.

A noticeable shift swept across Adrina’s features, her chest rose once and then fell as her body convulsed. Soon Father Jacob heard the strangled sounds of the girl choking on water still in her lungs. He slapped her back repeatedly and forced her to cough.

Adrina choked on the water she spit up, and gasped frantically for air. She inhaled deeply and rapidly. Violently she vomited the mixture of water and mud she had swallowed—Jacob never broke the rhythmic tone of the litany of life and healing. After a moment, Adrina stopped her convulsing and regained her senses. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she reached up to embrace Father Jacob.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes briefly against the tears and let the elder hold her.

“Blankets! Get me some blankets, now!” said Father Jacob. He was clearly drained of all his strength. His face was pale and wet with perspiration. He sighed, he had done it, he had succeeded. “We must keep her warm. She will need to get some deep rest soon, and in a warm, comfortable bed.”

Silence prevailed for a time afterward as Jacob’s words settled on those listening—they must get through this damnable mire and reach the elusive castle somewhere in the distance. Night had settled upon them somewhere during the journey through the mire or perhaps in the frantic moments following Adrina’s near fatal accident. Only Father Jacob truly knew how close Adrina had come to death’s door, for he was of Great-Father and Great-Father knew all, especially in matters of death.

With unsettling certainty, Father Jacob knew that an unseen evil had been at hand. Great-Father had sensed it and so had he. He raised his crossed stave, the holy symbol of his office, in one hand and thrummed it defiantly at the empty air. Not far away to the south, gazing into the magical orb in his outstretched hand, continuing his eternal watch over the destined few, Xith whispered words of protection for the priest and for the girl. It was the same warding spell he had cast as the sea sought to claim Seth; the same warding spell he cast about himself and the boy now as he raced urgently toward destiny.

The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches II

Keeper Martin’s Tales

BOOK TWO

ROBERT STANEK

Table Of Contents

Book 2

CHAPTER ONE: PASSAGE

CHAPTER TWO: PAST THOUGHTS

CHAPTER THREE: AWAKENING

CHAPTER FOUR: MAGIC SHIELD

CHAPTER FIVE: REFUSAL

CHAPTER SIX: CROSSING

CHAPTER SEVEN: ALDERAN

CHAPTER EIGHT: PRISONERS

CHAPTER NINE: BUSHWHACKED

CHAPTER TEN: CONQUEST

CHAPTER ELEVEN: FULL CIRCLE

CHAPTER TWELVE: BATTLE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: LAST PLAY

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: PARTING WAYS

Chapter One:

Passage

“We cannot just bed down here surely,” came a grumble from a mixture of voices.

Captain Brodst’s cold, dark eyes glared back. No further grumblings were made, yet there was truth to be found in those words. All their gear was soaked. Three men had worked furiously for many long minutes to ignite damp kindling and get a small fire started. The meager fire that warmed young Princess Adrina would not last long, and what would they do afterward?

They could not bed down here. The road was narrow and the mire was on both sides of them. Besides, a night in the dampness of the mire and they would all catch their death of cold.

Captain Brodst had planned to continue the march for a few hours past sunset and reach Fraddylwicke Castle, but it was already night and the castle was still a half day’s march away. Ahead there was a place where hillocks rose out of the mire. Surely there they should have better luck starting a base fire from which they could light the many fires needed for the camp. But that still wouldn’t solve their problems, for he knew those shallow hills, there it would be nearly as cold and as damp as if they had bedded down right where they were. No, Adrina needed to sleep in a bed beside a roaring fire, his men needed a place to dry wet clothes and wet gear. Fraddylwicke Castle and its commons was the only place where they’d find both.

He looked to Adrina then turned to one of his sub-commanders.

“Captain Adylton, command of the foot is yours. I want you to keep the men in good spirits and reach the castle as soon as possible. There’ll be hot food and fires waiting if I have to rouse every innkeeper’s cook within a mile of the castle.”

He turned to his second in command. “Captain Trendmore, muster the horse, we ride for Fraddylwicke Castle.”

As the long file quickly regained formation, torches fanned out and faded into the dismal fog. Adrina seemed to be still dazed. She kept repeating, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” as Captain Brodst picked her up in his arms and carried her to his horse.

A guardsman momentarily held Adrina while the captain mounted, then Captain Brodst took her gently into his arms. While holding reins in one hand, he held her tightly with the opposite arm. He joined the middle of the horse column, Captain Trendmore fell in beside him.

Despite dense fog, he urged the group to maintain a fast pace. They were in a race against time and bone-chilling dampness. The ridesmen feared the captain’s wrath, and none offered further complaints. Their thoughts and concerns were also with the young Princess Adrina. She was royalty and thus revered. There were none among the simple men who would not have given his life for hers.

The night air grew steadily colder as the mire seemed to drink in the last remnants of reassuring heat. When mixed with the damp, the chill reached through thick clothing. An uncanny sense of dread hung in the air and Father Jacob wasn’t the only one who could feel it now. Soon all longed to reach a place where a hearty fire could be raised and the unchanging darkness of the mire left far behind.

With the changing of temperature toward freezing came a slow, subtle end to the fog. Gradually it faded into small patches of outlying mists and as the night drew on the captain increased the pace accordingly. Oddly, though, a relieved sigh did not pass throughout until much later.

A short distance ahead lurked a series of interconnecting low hills and upon reaching them the captain stopped the group to release the stress from the intense pace. This gave the horses a short break for feed and water, and riders time to stretch sore muscles. Also, Captain Brodst wanted Father Jacob to check Adrina’s condition to ensure it had not worsened.

While the good father checked on Adrina, Captain Brodst momentarily stretched tired muscles. He gazed back across the mire they had traversed and into the darkness that surrounded them. He tried to convince himself that Adrina’s accident had not changed his plans. His hope was to reach the castle commons in an hour, two at the most. Once inside the castle, Princess Adrina would be safe, and there she would stay. In a few days, when she was well enough to travel, she would continue on to Klaive. He, however, could not afford to waste precious days waiting for a recovery only Father Jacob could ensure. Five days, he told himself. Five days to reach Alderan.

Captain Trendmore, who had been checking on the men, returned. “It would seem our plans have changed,” he said.

Captain Brodst shook his head, at times it seemed as if Captain Trendmore could read minds. “No, nothing has changed.” He wasn’t in the mood for a conversation, so he spoke tersely.

“With Princess Adrina in such a state—”

“—You are forgetting one thing, we haven’t even reached Fraddylwicke Castle yet. For now, I will change no plans.”

“The Prince’s party will not leave Quashan’ until the Seventhday, that gives us a week to reach our destination. A day’s rest will be good for everyone.”

“Less than a week. At the rate we are traveling, we are already a day or more behind schedule. We will obtain as many fresh mounts as we can and continue south in the morning as planned, unless I decide otherwise.”

“Surely you do not intend to leave the Princess and continue on.”

Captain Brodst turned away, ending the conversation.

Father Jacob finished his examination of Adrina. He told Captain Brodst her condition had not worsened. After more blankets were wrapped around her, Captain Brodst gave the order to prepare for movement.

Before Father Jacob went to his mount, he told Captain Brodst, “Try not to jostle her so. I know you wish to move swiftly, but you must exercise caution. I do not know what bones she may have broken.”

“Thank you, Father Jacob, I will try to remember that.”

Captain Brodst waited until Jacob was in the saddle then called out, “The princess’ condition has not worsened. There is still hope, but we must move swiftly. Pray to Great-Father, all!”

With renewed vigor after the short reprieve and the captain’s enthusiastic words, the riders began anew. The ground did not level off immediately after the last of the hills were left behind. Instead it seemed to slope gradually downward, its base enveloped in a bank of swirling mists.

Captain Brodst passed a warning along to the riders at the fore. “Watch the trail before you carefully!”

With great reservation and careful hesitation, they entered the gray veil of dense fog a second time. He hoped it would last only until they crossed the shallow point at the bottom of the long downgrade. For an instant he turned his eyes to look down upon Adrina to make sure his heavy woolen cloak was still pulled tightly around her.

“Soon,” he said, “soon, we will stop. Rest, princess, rest.”

Suddenly, the crying whinnies of a frightened mare broke the air followed by the frantic yelling of the lead rider as he jerked harshly on his mount’s reins. “Captain Brodst, captain! Quickly!” the rider shouted.

The others behind him came to a similarly abrupt halt. Captain Brodst urged his mount faster and raced to the front of the group. He was amazed at what he saw as he approached the first rider. Ahead in the distance he could see nothing but water and loose patches of dense fog. The road was gone, apparently washed away. His fears rang true.

A voice reached out into the darkness seeming to stir even the hidden creatures of the mire. “Bring up torches!” Captain Brodst cried out. “Hurry, you louts!”

A large gaggle of men stormed toward the captain. They raised their fiery brands high into the air. The only response to this was a scattered reflection off the water, a dingy yellow mirror of dull orange torch flames.

“It is only an illusion of the fog. The road is washed out at the bottom of the trail nothing more. You there, and you, move out!” He ordered.

Those he pointed to shrank back and his scowl deepened.

“Mount and ride out into the water,” he ordered again, this time he pointed to two palace guardsmen and made sure he had eye contact with them. “The trail must be there. Find it and be quick about it!”

The chosen two entered the dreadful darkness of the lurking waters with reverent care. Movements of their horses were slow and sluggish as the animals fought for every step through the sticky goo of the mire.

They passed through layer upon layer of swirling gray. It seemed dark waters stretched on endlessly before them with no hope of an end. Their mounts began to sink deeper into the muck with each step. Soon the animals, having better sense than the riders, refused to move further without constant coaxing and even then, they became disquieted and whinnied their disapproval.

The chosen two respected the keen sense of their mounts. When the yearning for a retreat out of the gloom became stronger than the urge to continue, they came to a frustrated halt.

They puzzled for a moment over possible solutions, then attempted to maneuver in different directions but to no avail. Their mounts only got more bogged down. Soon they would not be able to escape the mire’s yearning grasp. And if strong beasts could not break free neither could simple men. The road simply was not there.

“Cap-tain… Cap-tain Brodst,” screamed one of the men. “Sir, there is only water ahead. We are sinking into the mire… We cannot continue.”

“You must continue. We must reach the castle… There is a path, find it!”

“But Captain,” said the other rider, “we cannot go any farther. We will be lost.”

“You must try, there is hope. Do not give up so soon. Push forward!”

The two bravely forced their mounts into movement. With each step the animals sank deeper and deeper into the mud. Soon cold waters lapped at the riders’ boots and then there was no retreat backwards or forwards. They were completely stuck.

Kicked, swatted and cursed at, the horses felt the frustration of their riders and it caused them to panic. The scene quickly turned to turmoil, with neither rider retaining a clear mind capable of rational thought. Desperation fed their frenzied movements and their crazed thoughts.

Panic-stricken screams reached those waiting behind and created an alarm. No one knew what caused such desperation. Had something as black and as grim as the mire found the unsuspecting two? Was it waiting for them all out there in the swirling gray mists?

Captain Brodst called out, “What has happened? Do you need our assistance?”

He paused for a moment waiting for a response. The shouts continued unabated. He quickly dispatched two additional riders to tread into the murky waters and assist the others. They did as ordered, but with great reservation.

“Try to remain calm,” shouted Keeper Martin—he sensed the cause of the panic. “Aid is coming to you.”

Captain Brodst nodded in agreement as he also realized what had occurred. He began passing out orders. He told the riders to wait, ordered several squads to come forward and passed the princess into safe hands.

“Ropes,” Captain Brodst shouted, “Ropes!”

He untied a rope from around his saddlebag and, after he secured it, threw the coil to the closest rider. “Tie it to your length.”

Then he turned to one of his sub-commanders. “Captain Ghenson, throw your rope to the other rider!”

Captain Brodst continued to pass out orders, his mind quick and calculating under pressure.

“I need two more lengths of rope,” he said.

Another man handed two ropes to Father Jacob, which he in turn gave to Captain Ghenson and Captain Brodst to add to their lines for additional distance.

When all was ready, he turned back to the two riders who were awaiting his orders. “Take up the slack, move with caution. When you reach them, toss each a line and tell them to tie it off securely. I pray we can provide them the extra strength necessary to return safely. When you are ready, yell loudly. We will begin to pull on a three count…”

One of the trapped guardsmen had lost his torch in the frenzy. The other’s had expired and now only darkness remained to add to the worries of their already troubled minds. Slight shifts in the air around them caused their minds to flee in all directions. What could be out there lurking around them unseen and unknown?

Alone and isolated, they searched for any sign or source of light to pierce the blackness. A barely audible splashing, slurping noise crept into range of their listening ears. One of the guards drew his blade and, after a brief moment, the other did the same. In the stillness of their surroundings, the sound seemed to grow in intensity until it became an unnerving clamor.

Two tiny points of light pierced the darkness as a glowing pair of spheres—eyes to the beholders—that grew in intensity with each passing moment. A shrill voice cried out and without heed to the message the trapped two prepared for the end, for they knew it came.

The voice cried out again. “Where are you? Say something, are you there?”

A moment of realization passed between both men. “Over here, over here! Here we are!” they cried.

The rescuers homed in on the direction of the voices. They saw only darkness and proceeded cautiously. The endless spans of the darkened mire pulled and played upon them, and took them deep into its folds. Soon they too could barely coax their mounts through the muck.

“We cannot reach you!” shouted one of the approaching riders.

His frantic partner screamed, “Where are you? We are sinking!”

Panic spread also to their thoughts. They didn’t want to be stuck like the others. They had to escape before the mire swallowed them like it surely would the other two. After they had ensured their own ropes were properly secured they began to shout wildly. Several sharp tugs at the lines caused those waiting to quickly pull them back in.

Not entirely pleased with the performance of the two before him who he now considered cowards, and nearing the end of his patience, Captain Brodst began a thorough chastising. His anger forced him to become irrational. Sword withdrawn, mount turned, eyes glaring, he stared down the first, while he waited for the second to emerge fully from the darkness.

With his free hand, he motioned for them to dismount and step forward. They did so reluctantly.

In a series of lightening swift slashes, he lashed out with his blade, and cropped the lapels from their shoulders. The guardsmen had not flinched at the sight of the captain’s blade, yet they had felt its wrath as if it had pierced their hearts.

Pity entered the thoughts of the onlookers, for they all understood the sign and knew it could have just as easily been their own fate. Even Keeper Martin, who was not an initiate, understood the unspoken meaning of the captain’s gesture. The two were no longer members of the elite palace guard.

Stripped of the privileges of their rank and all its entitlements, the two nearly wept as they withdrew. Failure was not an easy notion for Captain Brodst to swallow. He had no regrets for his actions.

“Give me a torch!” He yelled, his voice boomed. “Tie these ropes off and prepare for my signal… Father Jacob, keep Princess Adrina warm. We are going to get her to the castle if it requires my last breath to do it… Keeper Martin, can I have your long walking stick?”

He took the keeper’s walking stick, then mounted. “Hold on, keep talking so I can maintain a bearing on you,” he yelled out.

He drove his stallion onward in the direction of the screaming voices.

“Where are your torches?”

“One is lost and the other is burnt out.”

“If you have some flint lay a spark to it. It may yet burn.”

Even in the fog, he saw the light the tiny sparks afforded as they were struck and knew he was close. Progress was becoming arduous now and he had a difficult time persuading his mount to move ahead, but he did not retreat like the others. Inch by inch, his mount crept closer to the trapped riders.

“Find a dried cloth in your bags. Anything dry. Tie it to the top of the torch. Then lay a spark to it!”

He waited for a response. A shout of hooray erupted from the two as they managed to light the torch at long last and confidence began to replace their unease.

He now had a beacon to follow toward the two. He changed his harshness to gentleness, and soothed his horse while he urged it to trudge through murky waters. The stallion, responding to his master’s faith, pushed onward using its powerful legs to advance slowly and methodically.

He readied the rope as he approached. An ecstatic cheer erupted from the hapless two as the first line was caught in yearning hands.

He untied the rope from his saddle horn and tugged the line sharply three times to signal those waiting to start pulling. The slack was quickly taken up as the rope went taunt, the initial strain audible in the air as a loud twang that continued as a stretching noise caused from the heavy tension in the line.

Horse and rider strained as one, yearning to be free from the unwanted grasp. Instinctively, the horse fought to be free as much as the rider wanted to be free, its heavy breathing and the painstaking plodding of each step it took clearly audible.

Sufficiently free, the first man untied the line and pulled it in several yards to throw it back to Captain Brodst who was now fixed approximately midway between the two. It took several attempts before the rope reached the captain and when it finally did, he relayed it to the second man.

Knowingly, Captain Brodst kept his mount moving so that it would not sink too far into the muck of the mire. Once the second rider was at a safe point, Captain Brodst instructed him to make a loop and throw the line back. He secured it tightly to his saddle horn and then to the astonishment of the receding two, who were moving back to the safety of firm ground, he turned and plunged deeper into the quagmire.

Defeat was another word he frowned upon.

His scowl was now plastered to his face in thick folds. “Think lightly,” he whispered to his mount, “we will find a way.”

Initially, he tried to circle around the area where the others had been stuck. Unfortunately, he was caught up in the same sinkhole they had been stuck in. He probed with the keeper’s long stick. The search for a spot that was not excessively soft told him he had to retreat in the direction he had come from.

Undaunted by the small setback, he made the detour and then pushed on. He attempted to go around in the opposite direction, and moved outward laterally to the right until he found a spot where he could press forward.

Much to his relief he came upon a tiny spot of land, an island in the middle of the muck, a minute area a mere five feet across and three feet wide, but it was a hard surface from which he could maneuver. Hiding his elation as reservation returned, he stifled a shout for joy. His exhausted steed was rewarded with generous strokes and a brief reprieve.

One last time, he plunged into the muck of the mire, and after only a short struggle again to the right across a small patch of dank swamp, he found the road. In a soft, steady voice he whispered, “Hold on, young princess. I promise you’ll soon rest in a warm, warm bed.”

The captain started to call out to those behind. “A warm bed awaits!” he intended to say, but a faint sloshing, slurping noise caught his trained ear, and no words escaped his lips.

He turned in time to see a dim figure emerge from the gray of the fog. Instinctively he dropped the walking stick, his hand going to the hilt of his long sword, and his heart skipping a beat before he recognized the once grim shadow. He raised a hand in confused salutation.

“Captain, why did you leave ranks?” he asked.

Chapter Two:

Past Thoughts

Hot, it’s so hot…

Endless waiting played heavily on Seth’s faith. Yet he knew it was faith that he must maintain, for there was nothing else. Only Mother-Earth would carry them to safety or deliver them from life.

Ah, please… please… make the sun go away… make it end…

A full day sun blossomed overhead. The struggle to keep squinted eyes open was borne. Once closed under the beating sun, blisters would return and with them infection, and then eyes might open no more. The ruinous combination of sun and salt water had already desiccated and blistered his body, yet it was his eyes that seemed his most sacred pride.

Seth struggled to his knees. He tested the strength of the pieces of ropes and tattered clothing that held the raft together. Salt water despoiled them. Still, they held well. Thank you…

A sudden tremor in his mind sent Seth’s thoughts careening outward. Br’yan! Seth called out.

He perceived no return response, though he could feel the other’s anguish.

Oh please… please, hold on…

He carefully removed the cap from the last water bag they possessed and put a single droplet to his own parched lips.

Give me strength… He wanted more, he wanted every drop the bottle contained. Give me strength…

The water’s caress as it moistened his lips caused a shiver throughout his body. The yearning for more increased, yet he could not, would not, allow himself to partake of it.

His hands were shaking. Give me strength… He implored.

He lowered the water bag. He reached over to where Br’yan lay, and cradled his companion’s head upward. Slowly and painstakingly, he dropped the precious liquid to Br’yan’s lips, and savored every drop as if it touched his own lips. He continued to drop the water to Br’yan’s lips, drop by precious drop, until the brother could swallow. Afterward, he did the same for Galan.

Br’yan’s and Galan’s faces were covered with sun blisters, as was his own, but his thoughts were only for his fellows. Two must survive no matter the cost, he whispered to himself, two must survive—Queen Mother’s last words of warning to him. Delirium enveloped his thoughts and the words echoed through his mind. Somehow he must shield them, somehow they must all survive…

More long hours under the burning sun did little for Seth’s clarity of mind. He was nearing total delirium. The only thought that kept him near sanity was the one single thought that had kept him through the last three hours. Two must survive, two must survive no matter the cost, went the echo in his mind. Surely some time ago he had ceased thinking it, yet the echo still clung to his mind.

With great persistence, he moved from a sitting position to a kneeling position—waves shifting the raft and his fatigue made the small accomplishment a difficult chore. He held there motionless for a moment and tried to recall why he had risen to his knees. Then, after a lengthy pause, he sank back down to his haunches. There must have been something he had wanted to do, but what, he couldn’t recall.

Two must survive, he whispered.

Weary, he slumped down onto his side. He closed and shielded tired eyes, using the tattered shards of a once magnificent cloak to mask his face. For what seemed hours, the ceaseless up and down swaying of the raft lulled him. By luck or fate, or perhaps a little help from Great-Father, he managed to focus his will, though only for an instant. He reached outward with his mind trying desperately to reach a knowing consciousness. He found none.

Yet, the momentary clarity of mind also allowed him to concentrate. Surely there was an answer to their dilemma. He pondered this. Something had gone wrong from the start, but what had it been. Had there been a traitor among them? Was there a traitor among them now? Was it Br’yan or Galan?

No, paranoia. Seth dismissed the idea of a traitor. No one of the Brotherhood would ever betray Queen Mother—Sathar, whispered his conscience. No, Sathar betrayed all. Survival is keyed to the past, the answer is there, if only I can find it.

Exhausted, Seth started to drift off to sleep and was quickly lost to his dreams. Dreams in which he could replay events that had unfolded against them.

No longer was he in his beloved homeland, surrounded by the peace and serenity of Queen Mother. Now he was thrust out into the strange and cruel world, into an unknown fate. Only Great-Father knew how the long struggle would end.

His mind wandered further and floated through delirium to mixed conscious thought. He began to think back, back to the time before they had left their homeland. At first, in this mixed-up delusion that to him seemed real, Seth heard only the voices, his and hers. Yet, as his thoughts cleared and he entered a deeper dream-state, he pieced together disconnected thought without much detail.

It was to this at first colorless world of dream, with only the voices, that he fled.

Some time later, a voice entered Seth’s dream. Quickly, Brother Seth. You must wake now or it will be too late!

All thoughts of sleep were instantly gone. The voice sent a shiver careening down Seth’s spine.

Quickly, quickly now, the voice hastened.

Suddenly he was unsure whether the voice was within or without. Was it his own mind that called out the warning, or another?

A shifting of the raft caused Seth to open his eyes. Was the voice of alarm within or without?

He stepped back into the dream-thought, which was difficult but successfully managed. He ran from his room, down of series of twisting halls and into the great monolithic entry hall. He slowed his pace here to a stately walk. After he had crossed the hall, he descended wide translucent steps of alabaster into the great open courtyard that spread out in gothic proportions in front of him.

This is why I have chosen you, Brothers of the Red, he called out, greeting those already assembled. He spoke powerfully now into the minds of the chosen few. You were each hand-picked for the task that lies ahead. Queen Mother has spoken and her protectors have listened. Go now to the harbor, Sailmaster Cagan awaits you.

He inspected each as they departed the courtyard. He stopped the last brother, and chased a whisper of thought after her. Brother Galan, I had wished you to remain here leading the Red in my stead but it could not be so.

Galan turned and the two locked eyes in a deep drinking gaze that spoke volumes. Her open thoughts streamed to his mind. She was remembering the kiss of many days ago. The meaning of it still confused her.

Shifting on one of his heels, Seth turned about and marched back up the long alabaster stair into the monolithic entry hall and swiftly along it. Queen Mother had retired to a meditation room and to this is where Seth hastened. But Seth did not find Queen Mother there, and it wasn’t until many precious minutes later that he considered checking High Hall.

Queen Mother was seated at her place in the middle of the hall, eyes directed straight at him. Seth said, We leave now, Queen Mother.

Yes, I know, she imparted softly, yet forcefully. May Mother-Earth protect all her children who must now leave their home to journey to the world of Man. May the Father guide you on your journey to safety.

Beckoned by feelings mixed in with the words, Seth looked into Queen Mother’s eyes. He had been trembling though he hadn’t known it until her soft eyes forced calm into him. Good-bye, my Queen. We will succeed in this endeavor. We will bring word to the Alder King and persuade him to join our cause. As I have sworn my duty, nothing shall stop me from completing this.

It was difficult to stare into eyes with such emotion for any length of time, yet when Seth attempted to look away, he was drawn back again by her words and her thoughts. I have great faith in you, Brother Seth, though I regret your having to make this journey. Alas, all is set in motion. There can be no turning back now. It is up to fate and faith to bring you back safely to our shores.

I have no regrets, Queen Mother. We will succeed.

Then by my leave, go swiftly, said the Queen as she touched her hand to Seth’s brow. She left her index finger lighted there while she said these words, and this, I whisper only to your mind, my son. I as Queen Mother can see shadings of what is yet to come. While I am powerless to stop what has been set in motion, I can say this. You must always be prepared for the unexpected. Never let down your guard. You must accept what you alone are fated to do. Always retain your faith, never let it dwindle…

Never let it dwindle, repeated Seth.

...Always make it burn brightly as a red-hot ember of your being. Your faith will shelter you. Fare-thee-well, my son, and remember that above all else, two must survive the journey, for only one will be able to return to our shores…

Never let it dwindle, repeated Seth as he turned away.

Waves beneath the raft shifted and just as his thoughts were coming to a clear, full focus, he was jolted from his slumber. He opened bleary eyes to a night sky. He did not marvel at the arrival of darkness. The night sky only meant cruel heat was gone and bitter cold had replaced it.

He was thankful that Br’yan and Galan were soundly sleeping. They had survived yet another day beneath the untiring fury of the day sky.

He opened the water skin and put several droplets to his lips. He could have easily finished that last bit of water in the container. It would have only taken a second more. Momentarily, he reveled in the fantasy of it slipping coolly down his throat. The fact that his throat was swollen and every such swallow would have brought sure pain did not taint the longing.

Give me strength, he implored.

Only as he raised the container back to his lips did he find restraint. Thank you…

Two must survive, went the ceaseless echo in his mind. He turned his eyes back to the dark waters and a thought from the dream found him. The mind shield. The mind shield could resist his probing thoughts. Anyone could be lurking out there in the darkness, waiting just beyond the next crest or trough.

High Hall, why High Hall? Seth thought suddenly, though he didn’t dwell on this long. He was elated. Keys beyond the confusion in his mind could be found. Br’yan, Galan!

He had considered the others a moment ago, though the thought had slipped away before he had a chance to focus on it. Galan, Br’yan? he called out again.

Neither stirred.

A panicked probing assured him they were alive, although he didn’t like the weakness that had come from Br’yan and it worried him. Convinced that in order to survive the journey he must lose no more of his companions, Seth was prepared to go to any length to ensure their survival. He would have slashed his own wrists and fed them from the blood that oozed from the open gash if he could have. In the very real delirium of his mind, this notion was suddenly appealing, until he realized it would quicken his own passage from life. And life, especially one’s own, was sacred.

Suddenly, he wished he had learned more about the sea. He knew little of the creatures that lurked beneath the dark waters, only that at night he saw them, the ones called krens with the high dorsal fins, circling round and round their tiny raft. When he had been stronger he had chased them away by sending harsh emotions into their underdeveloped brains. Now he was too weak to attempt this—and nearly too weak to care at all.

Somewhere in the convoluted corners of his mind, he made a connection between the circling predator and Br’yan. Suddenly, he remembered the water bag still clutched in his upturned hand. He awoke Br’yan and forced the brother to drink a few precious drops, but no more.

Do not waste, brother, you need this more than I. You must live… came the shallow whisper into his mind, the voice was Br’yan’s.

Drink, I will not tolerate nonsense.

Afterward Seth gave Galan an equal portion of the water. Drink, drink, he said to Galan. The supply of water is almost spent, soon we will all be without its life giving essence…

Although his teachings and his faith told him otherwise, he felt completely responsible for the fate of his two companions. If he had but one wish, he would do something, anything that would ease their suffering.

It is time you saved your strength, imparted Galan.

Surprised by the voice, for he had been sure his thoughts were sealed, Seth apologized. I am sorry, Brother Galan. I did not mean to trouble you with open thought.

Seth, you know better than that. Our fate is predestined, you cannot alter it. You cannot stop the inevitable, you cannot hold back the winds, or the looming hands of fate…

Seth listened to her words yet he did not accept them. The weight of guilt had already scarred him.

Sleep well, my Galan, he said, although he doubted Galan had heard him for she was already gathered in a heavy sleep. The presence of the Father faintly came to Seth, as he, too, slipped quickly back to sleep and delirium. His dreams of remembrance grew surprisingly richer.

Two must survive, echoed once more in his thoughts, just before the dreams gathered full force.

As the first shafts of light from an early morning sun shot over the horizon in the east, Seth stirred. The light touched the haze of his mind and caused him to rub his burning eyes. A dry yawn issued from his mouth, and then with one partially unclenched eye, he squinted toward the brightness.

It will be a clear day.

He both welcomed the sun’s warmth to end the night’s cold and feared its erosion of their bodies. For him, the days were longer than the nights and, upon reflection, he did indeed prefer the night despite the often bitter cold.

Time passed. The sun seemed to wither and weaken him even more this day. The dryness and excruciating pain of his throat aroused him to its swelling—it was nearly swollen shut. He attempted to squeeze down a lump of dry, pasty spittle, and cried out in a muffled whimper as he did this.

So much water around me and none to drink.

Their small supply of fresh water was nearly exhausted and this was now the only concern in his frazzled mind. Seawater. It was all around him and he could drink none of it.

Why can it not rain, Father?

Still unconcerned for himself, he first touched a few precious drops of moisture to Galan’s lips then covered her face and arms again with the tatters of his robe. He drank then, a little more than he should have, barely getting the drops to slide down his aching throat. Then he gave Br’yan the last few drops the water bag contained.

Is it all for nothing, Father?

The day turned to night and back again to day. Seth felt the vitality within him ebb. His consciousness fell to total decay. He could no longer focus his will to maintain him which frustrated him utterly. The forces of nature were all around him, yet he, Seth, First of the Red, could not touch them. He was losing himself and his center. Soon he would slip away to a peaceful bliss that he would have welcomed only a few short days ago. But now he had struggled too long to give in, fought too hard to give up.

Great-Father, is that you? Have you come to gather me home? What did I do wrong?… I do not wish to go… I could not have stopped the ambush… I… I… did not know. No… I cannot fail. I… I must think. I must focus…

The sun was mid way in the sky before he finally came back from the endless world of gray delirium and dream. Visions of ships sinking into the dark, waiting waters that surrounded him even now, slowly fell from his eyes—so much needless loss.

A light breeze played soothingly across his tormented skin. Hidden behind a murky cloudbank, a pale sun looked so distant and harmless, yet its ill effects had whittled away his body and his strength slowly and effectively.

Rain may come, he mused. If rain came, it may just save them. Then again, the storm unleashed with the rains could drown them just as easily.

Hours diminished to the pace of agonizing seconds and heartbeats. Ignoring the hunger pains in his clenched and swollen stomach, the brittle dryness of his lips and the tremendous aching of his brutalized body, he attempted to center his thoughts.

He knew somewhere in his teachings there must be an answer to their dilemma. He searched the indexes of his mind. A wish sprang to mind, a wish that he had learned more about seamanship from Cagan, the crafty sea captain who he had known since childhood and who, since his childhood, had commanded the Queen’s own fleet. Such learning would have proven a worthwhile investment, yet then he had not had time for such foolish endeavors.

He felt a faint prick of pain in his mind. He strained to focus his thoughts. As he did this, sadness swept over him and in an unexplainable way he knew something was wrong. Is someone in my thoughts?

A gentle whisper entered his mind.

Yes? he answered.

If I told you I was afraid, what would you say? asked Galan.

Seth reached out for Galan’s hand and took it in his. We all have our fears, Brother Galan. It is not wrong to fear what we do not know.

I fear death, said Galan sending feelings of hopelessness along with the words. I fear in death I will find only longing and emptiness.

Great-Father will not forsake— He felt another prick of pain in his mind. —Is that you, Brother Galan?

You are wrong. For those who have failed, there can be no joy in the next life. The voice nearly inaudible in their minds and edged with bitterness was Br’yan’s.

Seth disagreed. While blood courses through your veins it tells you that you live.

I died long ago, said Br’yan.

Br’yan’s sadness flowed strongly to Seth. It encompassed him and the whole of their bantam raft. Then Seth felt pain again. What are you doing in my thoughts?

I’m dying, Seth.

Dying? Seth wheeled about the raft wildly. Frantically he searched for the precious water bag. His aim was to pour its every drop down Br’yan’s throat in the desperate hope that it alone would keep him. It was then Seth remembered they had no more water. He had used the last of it.

No Brother, said Seth. It is not time, it is not your time! You must hold strong, you cannot desert us. We need you, I need you. There is so much, so very much…

Br’yan didn’t or couldn’t answer.

Br’yan, please answer me… There is a way, there must be a way… The dream, the dream, the answers are there, please hold on. I will find them… I will.

Seth’s eyes flashed to his wrists. The blood coursing through his veins gave him life, it would give Br’yan life.

Go ahead, Seth, whispered the voice, Br’yan’s voice in his mind. Two must live.

No Seth, it is already too late for him. It is not yet our time. Mother-Earth still has plans for us.

Galan cried out in sudden pain.

Go ahead Seth, it is your fault I die. You owe me your life. You bring shame and dishonor to our kind.

Paralyzing anguish shot through Seth’s mind. No, Seth, it is his time. Our time is yet to be destined.

Again, Galan cried out in pain. Hands suddenly gripped Seth’s throat.

Br’yan, what are you doing? Remember, you pulled me from the water, you saved my life—Ga-lan, he’s choking… me—Br’yan are you mad?

You still don’t understand, do you, Seth? Br’yan squeezed harder.

The hands still at his throat, Seth struggled wildly to his knees. Galan made her move and hit Br’yan from the side.

Seth found Br’yan unexpectedly strong and only with Galan’s help was he able to break the hands from his throat. Together, wobbly and barely able to keep their feet, Seth and Galan fended off Br’yan’s blows. Seth ducked to dodge a blow. Galan lunged at Br’yan, and knocked him off his feet. Together they fell into the sea.

Seth let out a high-pitched cry of anguish. He scrambled to the edge of the raft.

Galan and Br’yan broke the surface. They were still struggling. On his belly now, Seth reached out to Galan. He felt the tip of her fingers touch his. Then Br’yan pulled Galan under with him for what seemed the final time.

Seth lay still. He stared into the dark waters through red and burning eyes. Despair ravaged his heart.

Chapter Three:

Awakening

“Isador?... Isador, I saw him. I saw him!” screamed Adrina, as she roused from a feverish state. “He is hurting. He needs our help!”

“Princess, it was only a dream,” said an alarmed Father Jacob. The sound of Adrina’s voice had startled him. He took the moist towel from her brow, dipped it into the cold water of the basin beside him, then reapplied it to her forehead. The fever must have finally broken, he thought.

“We must hurry,” continued Adrina heatedly.

“It was only a dream,” repeated Father Jacob. He patiently dabbed the girl’s forehead with the cold towel.

“His eyes were the bluest blue. He spoke to me in the dream.” Adrina lurched up in bed, then after putting feet to floor, she stood. She looked around the unfamiliar room and stopped. A puzzled frown crossed her face. “Fa-ther Ja-cob?… Where am I and how did I get here?”

The room started to swirl around her, twisting and turning round and round. She began to lose her balance. She fought to steady herself. Father Jacob caught her and ferried her back into bed. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and imploring, and said, “We must leave now. I know where he is. Just as the lady said, the ship did not reach Alderan.”

Father Jacob was sure Adrina was talking gibberish again. She had said many things in her fevered state. “Child, you must rest. Tomorrow will bring a new day. The others will return soon enough.”

“No, you don’t understand. Get Keeper Martin. He understands, he will listen to me.”

“I am afraid they have already departed. You have been asleep for quite some time. Now please get some rest, my child,” said Jacob. He pulled heavy blankets up around Adrina to keep the girl warm.

Adrina wanted to say something else but Jacob silenced her and again bade her to sleep. As Jacob turned away, she grabbed his arm and squeezed as hard as she could to gain his attention. She didn’t want to sleep—at least, not yet. Once she had his attention, she stared straight into his eyes and stated in a calm, portentous manner, “When did they leave?… We must go now before it is too late.”

Father Jacob was taken aback by her words, something told him to listen to her. “Slow down, Adrina. I am afraid I don’t understand. Tell me of the dream?”

After a brief moment of silence, Adrina said, “It was in my dreams, father. I saw Prince William and he spoke to me. I know where he is and he urgently needs our help… There is something wrong.”

“You are full of fever. Prince William is in Alderan. No harm could have befallen him there.”

Adrina closed her eyes for a moment though she did not let go of Jacob’s arm. “No, the ship from Wellison did not complete the journey. The voices, the message, Father Jacob, it was all real… You must believe me. If only Keeper Martin were here. He would understand.”

“I believe you, young princess,” said Father Jacob, “but you are in no condition to travel.”

Adrina regarded Father Jacob with serious eyes. “Are you patronizing me?”

“You close your eyes and rest now. I’ll see if I can arrange travel accommodations.” Jacob nodded his head wearily. He wasn’t convinced it was a good idea to leave Fraddylwicke Castle. He departed Adrina’s chamber with troubled thoughts filling his mind. His hope was that the girl would be fast asleep when he returned.

But as soon as Father Jacob left, Adrina gathered her strength and sat up. She stretched her arms and her sore back with a hefty, stretching-yawn. A few minutes passed without movement as she attempted to shake dizziness away. Eventually the room did stop moving. She slipped over to the side of the bed and placed her feet on the floor.

Carefully she reached out, grasped her boots, then slipped her feet into them. A bit wobbly, she stood up and looked about the chamber. Bright daylight pouring in through a terraced doorway instantly caught her attention. She walked out onto the balcony and squinted at the bright orange of the sun, which to her astonishment was midway in the sky.

She rushed back into the chamber, which seemed suddenly dark. She stumbled. She had moved too fast. She pressed up against the frame of the door and held herself there for several long breaths while her eyes slowly readjusted to the dimness of the interior.

After a quick scan for belongings in the unfamiliar room, she prepared to leave. Instinctively, she checked her hair in the large mirror that stood beside the door on her way out. Her hair was a mess. She ran her fingers through it to straighten it. Abruptly she stopped what she was doing and stared at her reflection. Something wasn’t right. It took her a moment to realize she was wearing a nightgown. To have put her boots on while she still wore bed clothes. Whatever was she thinking?

She wasn’t thinking.

Her head ached on one side—a dull throbbing that numbed her awareness—as if she had been kicked, and a large swollen area on the right side of her skull attested to this fact. She touched it gingerly and winced.

Think clearly, think clearly. She tensed up and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to concentrate. All right, now what was I doing?

It took her a moment to remember and only after staring into the mirror again did she finally realize what she needed to do next.

“Riding clothes, riding clothes,” she muttered to herself.

At the opposite end of the large chamber was a partial wall-divider, which she finally realized was where the dressing area must be. I knew that. Where was my brain?

Adrina touched the lump on the side of her head. She screamed out, “Ouch!” Her brain was there—in pain.

It was a slow methodical shuffle to the divider and even slower changing into her riding clothes that were clean and thankfully dry—she recalled now that they had been wet, that she had been wet.

A dull thump sounded at the door as she was dressing and Adrina shouted, “Just a moment—”

“Oo, ouch!” she moaned. Her head throbbed with pain. No more shouting.

It took a few more careful minutes before Adrina finished dressing and walked over to open the door. She opened it to find Father Jacob standing solemnly, a deep-set frown on his face.

“I was hoping you would be fast asleep when I returned,” he said, as he stepped into the chamber.

“No such luck,” said Adrina with heedful volume so as not to cause her head to pound any more than it already did.

“You are still flushed with fever. A day’s delay will cause little harm. I am concerned about your health, child, more than anything else. That was a nasty fall. You need to rest.”

“There will be plenty of time to rest later, Father Jacob.”

Father Jacob started to reply. Adrina reached out and took his hand in hers. “I must do this, Father Jacob.” She spoke with sincerity.

She started to lead Jacob into the hall and as he stepped back into the corridor, he stopped. “Wait a minute, am I crazy? I didn’t want to do this, but if I have to… Get back into that bed this instant, you will sleep!”

Adrina stepped deftly passed Father Jacob. “This will not wait, father. He is dying, I know it. Did you know—” Hesitant, she stopped herself from saying anything more.

Jacob took a step toward her. “Go on,” he said.

“It was only the voice at first, calling out, but then I started to see things. It was as if I were traveling a great distance. There was so much I know I saw that I cannot recollect, so much, Father Jacob… The vision first led me out to sea, then to the southern coast—”

“Did you?” asked Jacob, “No, of course you didn’t, did you?”

“Did I what, Father Jacob?”

“At any rate, we cannot leave until Captain Brodst recovers. I would not hear the last of it if I left him in Fraddylwicke Castle with the Baron and Baroness.”

Adrina nearly fell as the words hit her. Father Jacob fought to ferry her back to bed but she wouldn’t let him. “Who leads the column to Alderan?”

“The second in command was Captain Trendmore. He assumed command after Captain Brodst’s unfortunate accident. He waited until late this morning, but couldn’t wait any longer. With Prince Valam’s arrival in Alderan in three days, he had to leave. It will take a miracle—” Jacob glanced heavenward. “—for them to make that march in three days. I am sure Captain Brodst said it would take at least five.”

Adrina’s face turned deathly pale. Now she understood why the detachment had turned south for Quashan’. Now she understood why so much was at stake in Alderan. “Prince Valam is to meet the ship from Wellison, the ship carrying Prince William?”

The lady’s words flooded into her mind and piece by piece she started to put the puzzle together. The ship from Wellison has a most precious cargo, the heir to the throne of Sever. At this very moment King Charles lies dying in his bed… King Jarom sees himself seated in the throne room of Imtal Palace. He means to plunge the kingdoms into war. To be sure, he will use the death of Charles and the fears of the heir to his own ends…

She decided right then to confide in Father Jacob. She recounted the meetings with the strange lady. She told him of the first meeting in the palace tower at Imtal and the second meeting in the forest on the night of the heavy rains.

As she watched, it was clear a flood of awareness swept over Father Jacob. He was silent for a time then he mumbled words she barely understood. “This is the very message Great-Father sent—the message I have puzzled over these long past days.”

“Father Jacob, are you all right? Is there something I can do for you?”

“Just let me stand here a moment, child.” Father Jacob paused, took a deep breath then added, “On second thought, let’s sit. Perhaps over on the bed…”

Father Jacob regarded Adrina with marvel. “I told no one about the voices and the portentous messages that brought me to Imtal Palace on a dark night, what seemed so long ago. I did not even tell the cunning Keeper Martin… Great-Father does sometimes work in mysterious ways. Messages in dreams are not uncommon and the Lore Keepers often use them for long communication.”

Father Jacob again became quiet and the wrinkles around his eyes grew thick. “You are right, child,” he said at long last, “we cannot wait. May Great-Father speed us on to Alderan…”

Soon after the baron convinced Father Jacob that they should not leave Fraddylwicke castle until the following morning. It was true that by the time preparations were made and they were ready to leave it was late afternoon, but there still were a few hours of daylight left. What harm would a night in the swamp have brought? Adrina thought, but the baron assured her the swamp was no place to be after dark.

When morning came the baroness was dead set on having tea after breakfast. Adrina declined. Who drinks tea at daybreak? she thought to herself. She approached the low portcullis that separated thick walls midway along the castle’s southerly bastion. She continued past it to the stables where a stately wagon was being prepared. The Lord and Lady Fraddylwicke chased after her every step of the way from the inner courtyard to the wall, but neither the baroness’ “Your Highness, please, the tea is ready,” or the baron’s “The wagon would have been ready in another hour,” would slow her down.

She cast a glum stare behind her. Father Jacob hurried along beside the baron, and she heard him again speaking an apology. “It seems we must leave at once on an urgent matter,” he was saying. “Please give the message I left for Captain Brodst to him as soon as he wakes. You have been most gracious hosts. His Majesty will surely hear of this.”

“Raise the portcullis,” Adrina screamed to the guards inside the gatehouse.

“The wagon is most splendid,” Jacob said, seemingly to drown out Adrina’s words.

No doubt, Lord Fraddylwicke had chosen the stately wagon with its four-horse team with clear purpose. Adrina knew this was meant as a symbol both of his wealth and of his generosity, which he hoped would be relayed to King Andrew. She didn’t find it odd that she could so intensely dislike a man who she had only met yesterday evening.

Behind her, she heard men shouting, she looked back to the outer courtyard to see a small contingent of foot soldiers mustering. She stopped and whirled about to face the baron. “A gaggle of foot soldiers will only slow us down. We need the wagon and the provisions you promised, nothing more. Tell them to return to their duties.”

“Your Highness, I must object,” Baron Fraddylwicke said. “I must see to your protection. The swamp is no place for a lady such as yourself to be alone.”

Adrina started to respond, but Father Jacob spoke first. “He is right, Princess Adrina. It would be best to have an escort.”

“Fine, if they are to come along, have them mount up. They can ride, yes?”

“I am afraid—” Adrina held her breath. The baron was fond of those three words. “—that the scant few animals that remain are ill-fit for riding. Your Captain Trendmore took every horse in Fraddylwicke. Strangest thing, I told him I needed mounts for the King’s messengers—you see, usually we trade out on a one-for-one basis—but he said he wanted them all and would keep his. Even sent men about the countryside. He left nary one behind. It is only by the grace of Great-Father that my personal team remains.”

Adrina started to say, “Great-Father had nothing to do with it,” but then realized that it was fortunate the baron had hidden the animals away. Her irritation with the pompous baron decreased. She bit her cheek and smiled.

“That was a wise decision,” she said, “my father, the King, will surely hear how you have helped me, for I will tell him personally. The foot soldiers stay here, however.”

Baron Fraddylwicke’s face suddenly seemed to glow and the baroness touched her kerchief to her eye. “As you wish,” the baron said.

Father Jacob nodded approval and helped Adrina climb into the wagon.

The four-horse team eagerly responded to Jacob’s guiding hands. At first the gentle countryside that encompassed Fraddylwicke Castle greeted them, but this was a short-enjoyed oasis in the midst of surrounding mires, and after only an hour of riding the roads began to slope gradually downward to be reclaimed by the wetlands.

Instantly, Adrina and Jacob felt moisture in the air and smelled pungent odors of stagnant waters. Fortunately, the roads leading away from the castle in this section of the lowlands were well reinforced. The main road was built up a full three feet above the waiting waters. Adrina marveled at the feat of ingenuity and determination it had taken to build such an access way.

A dreary haze hung over the mire, giving it unparalleled uncanniness. This, when added to the sense of foreboding she felt, put her at considerable

unease. She puzzled over a great many things, especially how Prince Valam fit into all this. To be sure, they must reach Alderan before her brother’s arrival. They also needed to catch up to the column and warn them, but what would they tell them to watch out for? And what of Prince William? If his ship had not arrived in Alderan, why had no messages been sent? Why in the dream was he in such pain? And why had he stared at her so?

As she tried to think about all this, her head began to throb, the pain becoming so intense that all her thoughts eventually fell away. Ahead in the distance lay disparate crossroads that led to tiny villages whose buildings dotted the landscape. Mounted on top of tiny cross-sections of land that were barely habitable, the villages seemed much like the swamp’s scattered weeping willow trees, waiting to be reclaimed someday by the dank surrounding waters.

Hoping to rid herself of throbbing headache and troubled thoughts, she turned to Father Jacob. And though he seemed deep in his own concerns, she endeavored to spark a conversation with him.

“It all looks so lonely, does it not, Father Jacob?” she said, her voice mixing in with the thump-roll, thump-roll of the wagon’s wheels. “I’m curious about Lord Fraddylwicke, such a grand castle in the middle of all this waste. Everything so well maintained, these roads as well. The villages we pass are impoverished. With tithing to the temples there can be little wealth left to tax. Does the Baron tax in blood?”

Jacob was slow to reply, but it seemed clear as he began that he grasped her intent, which was to rid their minds of troubled thoughts for a time. “I find these lands curious as well. Only the southern portion of the mire remains populated, you know. During the Great Wars, the castle was a major strategic point for King Jarom the First, but now it serves no useful purpose. There are other safeguarded passages to the southlands.

“The wars lasted generations and it does seem odd that anyone would chose to stay in so desolate a place afterward. Perhaps they stay simply because it is their ancestral home.”

“Perhaps,” said Adrina.

“In a way I pity them, and not only because the desolation and isolation they endure seem overbearing. Also because generations of war and life in such a place left behind a bitter and superstitious people. Their ancestors are King Jarom’s Blood Soldiers. Too brutal and uncivilized for the civilized world that emerged after the Great Wars and too many to exterminate, they are all but forgotten about by both the kingdom that gave them birth and the kingdom that conquered them.”

“Blood Soldiers, why have I never heard about them?”

“You won’t find anything I’ve just told you in any book in Imtal, this I assure, though Keeper Martin would verify the history. Yet, it is perhaps best they remain forgotten.”

Father Jacob whipped the reins held tightly in his hands. Adrina took this as a sign to change the topic of their conversation. “Father Jacob, how long will it take to reach the coast?”

Jacob thought about it for a short time and then responded, “Great-Father willing and if we pray very hard and drive the horses as much as we dare, we might be able to reach it by midmorning tomorrow.”

“And Alderan?”

“Early the day after, if we pray.”

“Then we will pray,” said Adrina matter-of-factly.

Weariness swept over Adrina like a storm. Her face turned pale and though she fought to stay awake, sleep came.

The wagon continued to speed along the trail. Jacob’s thoughts were on the wagon and the trail ahead. It took great care to hold the trail steadily at the increased speed. He was so engrossed in his concentration that he did not notice Adrina’s state. He only heard the horses’ hooves thundering along the trail.

The sky above grew overcast, the winds began to pick up, and an ill feeling intensified in Father Jacob’s gut. His intuition told him a heavy storm was approaching. He cast silent prayers to Great-Father to protect them from the rains and to allow them to complete their journey unscathed.

But it was a losing affray that was being conducted against the squall in the good priest’s mind. The clouds overhead turned dark and callous quickly. He felt their presence as an evil spirit invading his privacy.

The air turned cold. The first droplets of rain fell. He beat at the reins with increasing ferocity matched by the increasing fury of the wind. Sprinkles of rain thrashed against them, then the downpour began.

He secured the top button of his cloak and turned up the high collar. “There are extra blankets in the rear—” He stopped cold, the words frozen on his lips. Suddenly, he saw Adrina, her face colorless, deathly pale, and fear entered his thoughts and took control. He commanded the horses to halt.

With trembling hands, he reached out and touched Adrina’s face. It was cold, sticky wet with perspiration and rain. He removed the extra blankets from the rear of the wagon and bundled Adrina in them. Then he drove the horses onward, faster and faster. Somewhere ahead he hoped to find a crossroads that would lead to a village.

Anxiety swept over him as they sped along the road. He chastised himself repeatedly in his mind. Rain began to fall in mighty torrents as the storm engulfed them. Wind, rain and diminished visibility made the road treacherous but Jacob did not slow the horses. He continued to push the wagon to its limits.

Lost to the frenzy of the moment, his mind stressed and incapable of clear thought, Jacob panicked. Frantically he scanned ahead, his thoughts running in a hundred different directions and many times he glanced worriedly at Adrina.

He drove the team on, urging the animals still faster. The dirt trail quickly turned to mud and it was only the high sides of the road thankfully packed in a precisely built wall of rock on either side that held the mud in place. The horses raced through this muck, kicking up a splatter of mud and small stones. The droning thunder of hooves and the racing of wheels rose above the clamor of falling rain and mounting winds.

Soon he gave up hope of finding a village ahead. Recalling the villages behind them, he now sought a place to turn the wagon around. Again and again, his eyes darted to Adrina’s still form. A relieved sigh came as he finally reached a spot with an adjacent path where he could turn the four-horse team and wagon around in a tight circle.

He reined the team in and with a pair of leathers in each hand, guided the horses quickly through the twist. A sudden creaking of the wagon’s wheels whining above the sound of rain and wind caused him to start. He pulled the reins in the opposite direction. The team turned back, but his reaction came too late. The axle was surely cracked. The left front wheel was out of kilter and it would only be a short time before the wheel broke free.

He shook with dread. Still, he forced himself to think through the situation. Alone he couldn’t fix the wheel should it snap. He would have to seek shelter from the storm and attempt to repair the damage later. He didn’t move for what seemed a long time. He just sat there, eyes wide, searching. He wanted to see a village along the horizon. The last village they had passed was quite a distance behind them. Perhaps he could reach it if the axle held long enough.

The air around him, which was already cold, grew icy as the storm raged on. Father Jacob wanted to curse, wished his vocation would allow him to curse. To scream aloud just once would have satisfied all his pent up frustration. Instead he found the wisdom of his faith and prayed to Great-Father for guidance. Briefly afterward, the will of the Father flowed strongly through him, but then it was as if the storm sucked away the renewed vitality as readily as rain and wind beat down upon him.

A portent of evil filled his mind like a sickness, yet even in this he attempted to find good. The will of the Father had found him even in this hellish squall. Faith maintained, he continued his scan of the vicinity, his eyes wandering along the adjacent trail while the heavy downpour obscured his vision.

Abruptly he stopped. He squinted, and strained to fix his gaze ahead in the distance where he thought he saw the outline of some low structures. Were they dwellings? Could it truly be? Or was he imagining them?

At a careful gallop, ensuring his pace did not upset the wagon too much, he ushered the four-horse team on. The tiny road was no more than a raised path but it did appear to lead toward a village of sorts. He held his breath with each bump, and prayed the axle would hold, and each time it did, he released it in a heavy sigh.

The mighty structures he envisioned were no more than a collection of thatched huts clumped atop a mound of dirt. But in his mind, Jacob was sure he and Adrina would find warmth inside.

The ailing axle finally gave way with a resonant crack and the wagon slid to an awkward halt. He held Adrina tightly as the wagon toppled to one side. Clinging to his faith, he wiped hopelessness from his face, then picked up Adrina in his arms—Great-Father would not let him fail. He would carry her the remaining distance. Relief was only a few steps away.

The next hundred yards seemed liked miles to Jacob. Step by step, he sloshed through the mud. His back ached and his arms were tired, but he did not stop. A wooden door loomed in the distance and eventually he came to stand before it. He cried out into the stormy sky a solemn thanks to Great-Father, and with a heavy fist he rapped on the door of the hut.

The dull echo of his blows was the only response. In desperation Jacob tried to force the door open but apparently it was barred.

“Go away!” said a meek voice from behind him.

Jacob turned around wearily, his face expressionless as he looked upon the small boy in front of him. He said, “We need your help.”

A middle-aged man appeared from out of the gloom. He approached the boy and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You must leave, we cannot help you.”

Jacob didn’t move.

“Please go, you must go.”

“I am Father Jacob, First Minister to the King. I need your help.”

“So,” said the boy.

The man hushed the boy, and said, “You must go and if you truly be the First Minister to the King, you will know what peril it is to accept strangers during such an evil storm.”

And with that, the man took the boy’s hand and hurried away.

Chapter Four:

Magic Shield

A trek that would have taken many days by foot would be substantially shortened by wagon. Xith was deeply concerned about getting as far north as quickly as they possibly could. Time was running out. He could sense that now.

Xith looked at the innocence spread out simply on Vilmos’ long face and was saddened by it. He wished he could explain to Vilmos the gravity of the situation they were in, how precarious the path ahead was, and how much of it relied on him, a mere boy. Xith only hoped when the time came for Vilmos to act that he would be prepared, that they both would be.

“Beautiful morning!” exclaimed Xith, breaking the silence in the air and casting the shadows from his thoughts.

“What?” asked Vilmos, broken from his own reverie.

“Can’t you feel the energy in the air? Don’t you just want to draw it in?”

Vilmos sniffed the air. It didn’t feel any different from normal. “Not really,” was his quick response.

In and out of his mouth with hearty puffs, Xith began to breathe the moist morning air. Vilmos imagined that Xith was beginning to glow and became entranced by this fanciful notion. Then, subtle changes in skin tone became increasingly apparent until Xith actually did glow. His voice peaking in the middle, Vilmos asked, “Xith, what are you doing?”

Playfulness cascaded away from Xith’s eyes. “Sorry,” he said after a long pause, “I was going to show you something, but now is not the time. We must wait a while longer.”

The road Xith and Vilmos traveled along was arid. The horses’ hooves and the wagon’s wheels kicked up a large dusty plume, which marked their passage. Ahead in the distance lay a series of rocky hills covered mostly with tall grasses and patched with granite. Beyond, the trail disappeared as it wound through small canyons created by the hills, and beyond the hills was another open flat prairie, with dry tall grasses dancing in the gentle winds traveling lightly across its face. With the slow creaking of the wagon echoing in their ears, they made their way through the hills to the far side of the prairie and beyond.

Vilmos’ eyes grew heavy and his yawns became more frequent. His thoughts drifted for a time, unfixed, and eventually settled on images of his mother, whom he missed. A happiness that had been absent for days entered his heart as he pictured her face. His next conscious thought was not until some time later. A sudden shift of the wagon as it hit a large hole in the path thrust him from his sleep.

Caught in the dilemma of how much he could teach Vilmos, not knowing if the boy was fully ready to begin the lessons, and, if he were, how fast was too fast to progress, Xith tried to reach a decision. It seemed there was time for one last lesson. He must teach it, but was Vilmos ready?

Unable to solve this dilemma, Xith concentrated on the road, which was pockmarked and pitted. He slowed the team down to steady the wagon, and the sluggish pace made the day’s progress seem nonexistent. Xith retreated to thoughts of times past and old acquaintances, while Vilmos moved on to let his mind wander, and again enjoyed the passing serenity of the land.

After they had eaten and had rested the horses and were back on the trail moving through a series of wooded knolls and open grasslands, Xith came to a decision. There was time for one last lesson. He would teach it as he had planned to.

As the day ended and early night settled in, Vilmos and Xith set up camp in the safety of a clearing within a small woodland oasis. The rather large stand, an oddity this far south, was a hearty growth of fine northern fir, the clipped boughs of which served as an excellent mattress upon which to rest. Lying upon these soft, scented pine boughs, arms crossed and head propped up, tired eyes were allowed a tranquil view, a sedate, star-filled night sky with a gently shining liquid moon.

It was an autumn moon, a moon that was not quite full and loomed low in the sky with the distant, unseen sun casting a cool orange luminescence upon its face. In other times Xith would have called it a blooded moon and the portent would have been one of ominous foreboding, but under the current circumstances it merely moved him into a somber introspective mood.

While he didn’t give the omen much thought, he did not cast it away either. Rather, it hung there in the back of his mind while he floated off to sleep and later invaded his few moments of private dreams.

Vilmos was the first to wake. Wet droplets of morning dew were the first things to greet him. He didn’t want to leave the warmth of his blankets or the soft gentle fir bed to enter the cold uncaring air. A foot, an arm, a leg, slowly probed, and eventually Vilmos slipped from comforts into the cold. As he stood there not moving, adjusting, the only thought in his mind was to find some dry wood. With it, he’d make a fire to take the chill away. After a long gradual coaxing, he set himself to the task.

Xith awoke a short while later to the pleasant crackling sounds of a blazing fire, the warmth of which felt good against his face and hands. He sat up and edged his body closer to the fire, surprised that he hadn’t even felt the energy expenditure Vilmos had used to start the healthy blaze with. Perhaps, Xith thought to himself, the boy was ready for the lesson after all.

“Well good morning,” Xith said.

Vilmos returned the shaman’s warm greeting with one of his own and went in search of the food supplies that had been left in the wagon. He grabbed a little of this and of that, items that appeared most desirable to his sense of smell.

The horses were still loosely tied to a low hanging branch next to the wagon. Thankfully, they had not gotten free. Vilmos stroked one of the mares, which was agitated for some reason, until she calmed, then walked back to the fire and sat across from Xith. He offered the shaman a small portion of the carefully selected prizes he had brought back with him. Then he gingerly picked at the food before him, those selections he had not given away to Xith, hard pressed to decide which to eat first because too many arousing scents arose from the stores Misha had prepared.

Vilmos ate a honey cake first, then nibbled on a bit of spiced beef, salted pork and finally a tiny mincemeat pie. He washed it all down with several long swigs from a water bag filled with a sweet drink that tasted of grapes.

When Xith finished, he stood. “Are you ready?” he asked, patting Vilmos on the shoulder, a subdued deviousness was mixed over with half-warm tones.

“Sure,” said Vilmos. He stood and crossed to the wagon. He started to climb onto the wagon’s running board and stopped abruptly as something hard hit him in the back with a resonant thud.

Vilmos whirled around. “Ouch!”

“You said you were ready.” Xith laughed and threw another rock at Vilmos, forcing him to dodge it.

“But you didn’t say you were going to throw a rock at me!”

“You should always be prepared for the unexpected. This is the next lesson, our second lesson. You have learned well the forces of fire. Now you shall learn those of air…” So saying, Xith hurled two rocks at Vilmos.

The first Vilmos had expected and dodged successfully, but the second hit him in the back of the hand. Angry, frustrated and not understanding the point Xith was trying to make, Vilmos climbed into the wagon.

“Vilmos, will you ever learn,” Xith said. “Here, pick up this rock with your mind.” Xith pointed to the small stone in his hand.

“I can’t, I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do. Midori told me all about your magical pranks. Why do you think I came when I did? I came because I thought you were ready. You have done this before. Think!”

Xith threw the stone at Vilmos. After waiting a moment, he then picked up another and did the same. Vilmos stood, unmoving and unyielding, not knowing what to do.

“Stop the rocks from hitting you! Do it now!” said Xith in a voice that shook Vilmos’ mind and stirred his thoughts, but his response was still, “I can’t. I don’t know how.”

“Think! It is a very simple process if you have already mastered the forces of levitation. Remember, when you were at home and often you circled things around you? How did you do it? Do you remember?”

“Maybe.” Vilmos knew the pranks he had used to drive tutors away, but he didn’t understand how it related to a rock being thrown at him.

“Levitation is the process in which you use the element of air to force an object to float. Remember flying, floating above your valley?”

Vilmos’ thoughts returned for the first time in a long time to his special place, which he had thought lost, and understood. “That is easy, but I don’t—”

“Hush. Listen!” Xith said, slipping again into the compelling voice to grab Vilmos’ attention. “Instead of using a positive force to lift the object, exert the force out as a wall and repel the object away from you. This is the first lesson, it is the easiest way to repel an object from you. The second lesson is a little trickier and requires a great deal more energy. Watch!”

Purposefully sluggish as he overemphasized the strain and the concentration, Xith called the rocks from the ground. One at a time, he slowly lifted the stones and pebbles around them until the air was filled with rocks of all sizes floating through the air. With a summons and a wave of the hand, Xith stirred them to movement as one would a swarm of angry bees. He hurled them through the air, then directed them at himself, where they were reflected harmlessly off an invisible barrier. “Now, do you see?”

“If someone is throwing rocks at you, I guess so.”

An immediate pained expression crossed Xith’s face, it was clear he was upset. One by one the rocks took flight again, yet this time they were volleyed at Vilmos. Several hit him before he collected his thoughts, his hand hurt, his legs hurt, and he was really getting angry.

It took a stone hitting him square in the face, knocking him to the ground, before he decided this was no longer a game. Vilmos had sudden flashbacks to a barren ridge and raging winds. Vilmos stood and brushed the dust and dirt from his clothes. For a moment, he paid no attention to the debris flying around him.

He collected energy into himself, slowly as Xith had taught him, pulling the energies of creation inside. His only problem was that he didn’t know how to properly release it. The energy welled within him until he let it ebb and subside. He cast infuriated eyes upon Xith.

“Continue,” Vilmos said simply, haughtily.

Xith smiled an eager smile and slowed the rate of the barrage to a steady, constant attack with fair interval between each wave. “Push them away, Vilmos.” Again Xith paused and waited for Vilmos to gather his thoughts. A single pebble at a time, started moving again in slow motion.

One stone was propelling its way toward him. Vilmos pushed out with his energy. It wavered and fell to the ground.

“Yes,” Vilmos cried out. He had successfully repelled it. The wall wasn’t in place around him, but it was building. His concentration was building as well and so was his confidence.

“Very good,” said Xith, “try two.”

Two rocks launched at Vilmos at a steady pace. He managed to stop one, but the second one hit him and broke his concentration. He threw his hands up in the air as a sign he wanted to quit. His head ached. He had enough for one day. “Can’t we wait till tomorrow?”

“Try again. You can do it.” The use of Voice made it mandatory.

As always, Xith’s words of praise inspired Vilmos. He knew this time he would not fail. Two stones fell away harmlessly, successfully repelled, but he wasn’t prepared for the third that hit him from behind, again on the buttocks.

“Build the wall,” Xith said. “Try again.”

Especially goaded on by Xith’s perky smirk as the last rock had hit him, Vilmos grew angry. He was not going to let Xith or anyone else get the best of him. He stopped one, two, three, four, five and even a sixth stone.

Xith picked up the tempo and changed the directions from which the stones came. Two and three pebbles in groups homed in like beacons on Vilmos from different directions, but again he successfully warded them off.

Sweat dripped off Vilmos’ brow. He was tired but Xith would not stop. The air was filled, a clutter of tiny objects, launched at Vilmos. Vilmos cast Xith a lopsided smile, equal to Xith’s own menacing grimace. He had built his invisible wall and nothing would get through.

“Nothing will get through,” Vilmos whispered to himself. He was nearly exhausted.

Xith did not let up and neither would Vilmos yield though he was past exhaustion and moving toward delirium.

“You waste too much energy, learn to conserve it. Shape your power, use it to your advantage.”

“I can’t do all that at once!” shouted Vilmos, breaking his concentration for an instant.

Xith answered with an increased volley. “Concentrate! Do as you did before. Use part of your consciousness toward the task of building the wall and another to shape it. Try to release the spent energy. From this lesson stems the basis for your magical shield, the shield that will protect and keep you in dangerous times. Now, concentrate!”

A part of Vilmos digested the words Xith had just spoken while the rest of him set to the task of building the repelling wall. It was so much easier to do before when he had not fully realized what the shaman was trying to teach him through the seemingly simplistic lesson of repelling rocks—A magical shield, wow!

Again Vilmos let the wall slip, only for an instant, and was smartly answered with a rock hitting him. The shock cleared his thoughts and jolted his mind into action; again he strove to perform the feat and this time succeeded. He could feel the energy flow within him.

“Control, always stay in control. You must control the energy, don’t let it control you.”

Vilmos had forgotten to exercise control in his momentary lapse. The energy was flowing through him like a tidal wave, flooding his mind. Concentrate, Vilmos thought to himself, I must hold it steady. Gradually, he gripped the energy and regulated it. The power flowed, but did not flood over him.

“Better. Keep it up. Don’t lose sight of your center,” said Xith.

The assault continued minute after exhausting minute for almost an hour. Xith pushed and pushed until he felt Vilmos had reached his limit, then he purposefully pushed him beyond it.

Vilmos learned fast to control the energy flow and maintain the wall. Soon it became facile, requiring less energy, less thought to maintain. He found his center. He knew exactly how much energy he could build and how to shape it. He was in control. He even thought Xith looked pleased.

An idea came to Vilmos, a plan that seemed easy. Devious thoughts spilled over into this plan. He gathered a small reserve in his energy flow, a slight store inside him. The energy caressed him and Vilmos bathed in it. He split his thinking into three parts, one for the wall, one to keep the flow, and one to begin to conserve the energy for his little scheme.

Vilmos’ shield totally fell as he first attempted this feat. Vilmos thought Xith was clearly displeased, but Xith took it as a sign to end the lesson, Vilmos was progressing well.

“No, I want more,” Vilmos demanded.

“I think you’ve had enough for today. You should rest. You have already discovered that from the simple stems the difficult, this is true with all things.”

“Just a little more.”

Xith waved his hand and began the assault.

A reorganization of his thoughts enabled Vilmos to build a reserve slowly. The wall didn’t flicker and he attempted his ploy. Instead of just letting the rocks bounce off his shield, he hurled them away. It took great concentration to keep up all three, the flow, the wall, the casting away, but he managed and now maintained the energy flow, the shield and was successfully repelling the stones.

Xith didn’t appear to notice the subtle change and Vilmos was pleased. At first, he could repel only one rock at a time in a given direction, but later with practice he achieved two and then three. He settled there, while he adapted to the strain and soon this too became easy.

Vilmos stared at Xith with a wide grin that Xith didn’t even pay attention to. He was certain Xith didn’t know what he was up to. He continued until he could deflect an entire barrage at one time and then he went back to throwing them in a few select directions. Although difficult at first, Vilmos succeeded and abruptly he was passing the rocks Xith’s way.

Xith was taken completely by surprise. He hadn’t even expected such a twist. He was pleased as he allowed the first rock to hit him, very pleased.

“There is hope for you yet. That is a very difficult feat to attempt when just starting,” Xith said. He lashed out with his magic and lay to rest all movement around him. “Enough for today. You need to rest. The lesson is ended.”

Vilmos was beaming—he had done it. He had surprised the shaman, if only once. Xith fixed Vilmos with a long hard stare, and, without a word, began to harness the horses.

Vilmos climbed onto the wagon’s running board, then moved to the seat. He watched as Xith finished harnessing the horses.

“Can I take the reins?” Vilmos asked as Xith climbed into the seat beside him. Xith handed him the leathers. The animals lurched forward under unskilled hands.

“I’m sorry, shaman!” said Vilmos turning to Xith.

“No apology is necessary. You performed excellently.”

“Not well, not good, but excellently?” Vilmos’ voice crackled in the middle of the last word.

“Yes, you really have! You have learned a great deal more today than I had expected. I had hoped… but then you did. You have learned one of the hardest lessons there is to teach—”

“I did?”

Wordlessly, Xith took the reins from Vilmos’ hands. “Yes, you have. You have learned to control your energy while your mind is occupied with other tasks, but most importantly you have learned to assimilate your thinking. By grouping the way you think into sections. That is a very great deed in itself.

“It may sound easy, but under duress it is often the hardest thing ever imagined to try. The more you can do at one time the better you will be. If eventually you can do many things without even thinking about them, you will truly be one to be respected.

“You will find the talent very useful. Now maybe you are ready to learn how to control and channel your energy while you sleep. But we will save that lesson for another time.”

Xith drove the horses on. For a time the grasslands seemed to spread endlessly before them, then rolling hills returned. As they reached the summit of the last in a long string of green-covered hills, Xith reined in the horses.

“There,” Xith said. He reached out with his hand and pointed. “The great sea, West Deep…”

For a few long minutes they sat quietly and stared down at deep blue waters, then Xith coaxed the horses into slow gait. He steered them to a course parallel to the great sea, before whipping at the reins with heavy hands. As he did this, he nervously glanced skyward. The sun was hours past midday.

Chapter Five:

Refusal

Her arms were shaking, weak. Still, she reached out for him and touched him.

A second time you pulled me from the sea, Galan said. She strained to move again, to give Seth back his robe that now covered her. “What have you done? You must also survive, Seth.

Seth stretched the tattered robe back over Galan, and covered her face and hands. I’m no longer sure I want to survive, Galan. Why was I so blind?

You did not betray your brethren. You could not have known.

But I should have—

—Faith, said Galan. She gripped Seth’s hand. I want to dream, may I see the forest again?

Never let it dwindle, a voice in Seth’s mind repeated, never let it dwindle, faith will shelter you. Had Queen Mother known? Seth wondered. And if she had known, why hadn’t she tried to stop it?

Seth, said Galan. Do not dwell on things that cannot be changed. Maybe Queen Mother did know and her words were her only way of warning you. It is not wise to try to change fate but there are perhaps ways to alter it slightly.

I did not mean to trouble you with open thought. Seth projected the image—the green of a forest against the backdrop of a white-capped mountain, the sky so blue it was almost purple—into her mind’s eye. The idea of such a place’s existence truly did seem a wondrous dream to him now.

Confused emotions swept over Seth. Even now he felt the urge to hold Galan as he’d done when he pulled her from the sea.

You may hold me, said Galan, I feel suddenly cold and empty.

Waves that had been rolling moderately grew gradually choppier and the open sea became a disquieting place to be. Wind whistled in Seth’s ears and the tiny raft began to creak and moan. In the shallow of a trough, where the water on all sides of him filled his field of vision, it seemed as if the sea was opening up to swallow him.

Galan, said Seth. We must lash ourselves to the raft.

High seas washed over the raft. Seth strained his mind, and tried to discern a response amongst the tumult. He probed Galan’s mind. Galan? Galan?

He found only emptiness. Galan was dying.

Their raft was chasing the edge of black clouds now. The scent of rain permeated the air. Soon they would be within the folds of a raging downpour and violent seas. On his hands and knees Seth scrambled toward Galan. He slipped and fell with each movement, and though it was only a short distance, his weakened and weary body was put to the test. Only his near-broken will kept him when endurance and stamina had failed.

Finally at Galan’s side, Seth cradled her in his arms. He held her tenderly and firmly, as one might hold a newborn babe if they were afraid it would slip between their fingers. Tears came to his eyes. The moisture burned like fire across his dry eyes. And then, as if in response, bitterly cold rains hit him. Rain, the essence of life—life that abounded with irony while Galan lay dying in his arms.

No my Galan… Do not leave me. I need you— Seth could not finish the sentence. He could not accept the thought of more loss.

No more loss, he promised himself, no more loss.

Seth worked to secure Galan to the raft while the storm bludgeoned him with wave after wave that washed the raft’s face. Seth vowed that if he and the raft survived the storm so would Galan and only through the sheer force of his will did he maintain his grip.

When he finally got a knot in place, he gasped, and collapsed onto his back. Hungrily, he drank the rain that splashed his face. It seemed a lifetime since he had tasted anything so sweet. Afterward, he worked to lash himself to the raft. This was much easier, though still the work was strenuous. He had to fight the storm and guard against waves that sought to pull him into the sea.

Again, he was left panting. Again he drank as much of the rain as he could force down his burning and swollen throat.

It was then he felt Galan’s spirit yearning to be gathered by Great-Father, to be taken home, but he would not let it go, could not let it go. He projected his will into the place her spirit sought to flee, and barred her passage from life. The place between life and death was a cold and empty place just as Galan had warned him it would be.

Right then he vowed he would give his own life before he would allow the last unraveling thread of her life to slip away. In the chaos of his mind, Seth truly believed he could deny death. Any other would not have been able to do what Seth was doing now. Such was the strength of his will and his conviction in his desperation.

He became oblivious to the bludgeoning of the storm. He knew only that he had to hold onto the raft, his precious cargo, and maintain the projection of his will. His thoughts became lost to the internal struggle of his consciousness, his sense of justice over his sense of better judgment. He would not lose the focusing of his will. Barring all else, blocking out sound and sight, Seth escaped reality and slipped further and further into his thoughts, further from what was real and just, while voices filled his mind and his dreams, taking on the role of the just and the unjust.

What is the first law of life, Brother Seth?

Of course the answer is to preserve what Mother-Earth has created so all may enjoy it.

Ahh, yes, but what is the second law of life?

Not to interfere with the natural order of nature and most of all to heed the will of the Father.

Great-Father’s word in such matters is final, is it not?

Yes Brother Samyuehl, it is, but the law also says that one is permitted to guide that order or to correct injustices.

To guide or correct yes, but not to interfere with the natural order and that means not to hinder the will of the Father.

When Seth opened his eyes, the world he found was surprisingly different from the one he had left. The sea was miraculously calm. Night had miraculously arrived and a soft soothing breeze blew upon his skin.

There was picturesque beauty in the face that he looked down upon, even though the eyes were closed and it was gathered in a deathly pale. Vast sadness grew within him, encircling him, and Seth averted his eyes. He peered out into the night sky and time became nonexistent. His only thought amidst mounds of confusion was to maintain his will and keep his vigil. He would not let lose the thread, that last simple thread of life and will.

In and out of consciousness his mind moved, always reaching, always searching, searching for a way to cheat the inevitable, to cheat life and death itself.

Remember, when all seems lost and you cannot find the center of your being, return to that which separates you, distinguishes you, from all else. Return to your thoughts, for they are truly your own. They are you…

Chapter Six:

Crossing

“A curse upon them, Father,” Jacob said. He began the long march back to the broken wagon, mud and rain only increased his disillusion, disgust and utter disappointment. His arms and legs were on fire with fatigue, Adrina was a lead weight in his arms that he would not drop.

Jacob staggered and stumbled. He sank to his knees several times, only to return to an uneasy stagger moments afterward. Mud covered his cloak, his arms and even his face.

He began to chuckle to himself as an increased downpour ironically washed the muck away. A few more steps, he promised himself, not realizing he didn’t know what he would do when he did reach the wagon. Faith, whispered a tiny voice in his mind, faith everlasting…

“F-a-ther!” crackled a distant voice, softly intermixed with the sound of the storm.

At first Jacob thought it was the voice of his conscience speaking to him again, but then the call repeated. He stumbled and turned back toward the huts. As he did this he fell to his knees and, still clutching the princess tightly, he looked up to see an ancient man with a long, white beard standing in an open doorway.

“Quickly, now!” the man hissed.

Finding renewed vigor, Jacob did as the old man bade. Rain beating down upon him washed away the mud from his most recent fall by the time he reached the doorway.

“I won’t forget this, Father! I will never forget this,” Jacob called out to the sullen sky. He revoked his ill-spoken curse.

Quickly, Father Jacob slipped off the princess’ soaked jacket and the wet clothes beneath which were drenched both from rain and perspiration from a renewed fever. After throwing the wet things unceremoniously into a pile on the floor, he laid Adrina onto the bed that the kindly man indicated. Immediately, he pulled its thick blankets tightly around her pale, limp body.

“Get me some moist towels,” Jacob demanded of the old man.

Directly the man returned with clean cloths and a bowl of cool water. He joined Father Jacob at the bedside. “Here, let me do that for you. You are tired, you must rest. I am Master T’aver and I gather that you are Father Jacob. I am sorry about before, but you must know of the superstitions of my people. I take great risk allowing you into my home on a night such as this. Can you not feel the malice of the storm?”

Jacob heard little of what the other told him. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, but his attentions were on Adrina and he cared for nothing else. He wet a cloth in the bowl, rung it out and placed it on Adrina’s forehead. The increasing fever magnified his worries and he bent his head in solemn prayer. He needed guidance. He prayed for strength and continued faith.

To Jacob it seemed hours later that he raised his head and whispered, “I am ready,” to the fading echoes of voices in his mind.

He cleared his mind and set to the task ahead. Somehow, wisdom came easily to his thoughts. Power flowed through his mind and center. His will became centralized, focused, and this time there was no block between the power of his mind and his heart. He began the litany of healing and life, yet this time the song-prayer was different from the one that he had tapped into before. It was animate and latent with power.

His words departed from those of the Kingdom spilling slowly over into those of another time, becoming for a time a blend of present and past, and then finally focusing on the old tongue.

It was an odd sensation to feel within himself the will of Mother-Earth so potent—few males had ever been granted such a gift from the Mother. Perspiration flowed down his brow and dripped from the tip of his nose to touch the floor below with a splash in the small pool forming beneath the spot where he stood, engrossed in a litany of words so ancient they glistened with subtle hints of power. But it was not so much the words Jacob spoke that created the power, rather the delicate focusing they created in his mind to gather his will and direct it precisely.

Over the course of the hours that ensued, Father Jacob maintained the chanting rhythm and the healing began. Minutes became hours and hours unfolded one by one. The power of life flowed from Jacob’s words and took new form inside the young princess, whose face was still wrapped in a pale, deathlike mask, and as that strength flowed between them, Jacob could feel hours of his life slip accordingly away.

Utter exhaustion played out on his features and when he was finally forced to quit due to his fatigue, Jacob slumped over at the side of the bed. He rested his head on soft covers, arms raised and crossed over his knees. He was trembling and there were tears in his eyes. He knew he had succeeded. Already he could sense the fever lifting from Adrina.

But what had it cost him, he asked himself. They were miles away from Castle Fraddylwicke, miles away from the sea, and so very far away from Alderan. Soon exhaustion forced sleep upon him and Jacob fell fast asleep.

The hours passed swiftly. “Good Father Jacob, can you hear me?” a soft voice called out. “The dawn has come and gone, and still you sleep…”

Jacob stirred. He heard the unpleasant sounds of hammering now, which suddenly sounded to him as if someone was driving a spike into his head. Still half in a daze, he opened his eyes. He looked about the room. He was lying supine on a cot opposite the hut’s only bed. His eyes flashed with surprise as he realized the bed was empty. “Where is Princess Adrina? Have you done something to her?”

The old man batted his eyes at Father Jacob as if the priest had just stung him. “That one is full of wind and fire. She’s been directing my sons’ efforts all this morning, fixing the wheel on that wagon of yours.”

Jacob moved sluggishly to a sitting position. “And you are?”

“I am Master T’aver,” said the old man. He scratched his long white beard. “You came upon my home during the devil’s own squall yester eve. You truly are First Minister to the King. You performed a miracle last night that never in all my years have I seen.”

Jacob cocked his head and looked out the window. “The banging has stopped.”

“Yes, it is near midmorning. Some hours now my sons have labored at that wheel. It must be fixed. You should eat now and with godspeed you’ll be on your way.”

Jacob started to stand, T’aver put a halting hand to his shoulder. “Wait. The food will come. We should first talk. There are things you must know if you are to continue your journey.”

“What can you possible know of my journey?” Jacob asked. Again he moved to stand. The fog in his mind was clearing now. He was worried about the young princess. He hadn’t expected a full recovery and Adrina was just strong-minded enough to be out and about while still very ill.

T’aver moved a chair to Jacob’s cot. “Five days after the last full moon, I received a portentous message from an old friend. The message was in the form of a scroll, sealed magically—”

Jacob’s eyes went wide at the mention of the forbidden craft—it was one thing to use prayers and gifts from Father and Mother, quite another to tap into the fabric of the world.

Master T’aver continued, “And meant only for my eyes. It told me things I didn’t want to believe—not that I doubted the word of the Watcher.”

Again Jacob’s eyes grew wide with astonishment.

“But I truly did not believe until your arrival yester eve… Trust the girl’s instincts, Father Jacob. She walks under a charm…” T’aver seemed about to say something more, but just then the door opened and an old woman carrying a tray of food entered the hut. Master T’aver bade Jacob eat and said no more.

The wagon and the horses were readied while they ate. Afterward, they said their goodbye’s and thank you’s quickly. As Father Jacob directed the wagon back to the main thruway, the four-horse team seemed strangely unresponsive. Above, the sky was clear and deep blue. While Adrina was hopeful it would remain that way, she couldn’t deny the ill feeling building up from within. She cast Father Jacob a concerned glance and wondered at his silence. He had said little to her since awaking and nothing of his conversation with T’aver.

At a quiet, unbroken pace the journey continued, with the musty and pungent odor of the swamp eventually replaced by a fresh, cool breeze that promised of the coast and the sea ahead. Adrina watched Jacob guide the wagon repeatedly, chiding the horses to swifter and swifter speeds. She was sure they would arrive in Alderan too late to stop whatever was taking place. She was also sure Father Jacob felt the same thing.

That night they camped only when it became too hazardous to continue along the shrouded road. Adrina slept bundled in many blankets in the back of the wagon. Jacob slept on the ground beside a meager fire.

Adrina came awake before dawn and, as the false dawn gathered, Father Jacob and Adrina began their race again. Soon the sea came into view and a wonderful sensory explosion of salt air and sea life followed. In the distance, seagulls speckled the air and dotted the landscape of a rocky coastline, their calls reaching the approaching two on gentle breezes.

Adrina’s face flushed with sudden color, turning from the ashen pale it had held to a rosy alabaster as sea breezes blew against her cheeks. A smile touched her lips and she touched her hand to Jacob’s and momentarily held it tight. The sun and the breeze felt good. For a brief moment, she thought of Lady Isador. Lady Isador who longed for southern breezes and tall grasses.

“I made it to the sea,” said Adrina glumly, her voice so soft and shallow that it blended into and was lost in the sounds of wind rushing past her ears and birds in the sky overhead. Her eyes fixed on a point out along the horizon and out across the waters of the sea ahead. Somewhere out there was Prince William. Adrina was sure of that now. She saw his blue, blue eyes staring up at her again.

Adrina prepared herself to ask Father Jacob a question that had been in the back of her mind for some time. She was already sure what Jacob’s answer would be, but felt she had to ask anyway. Either Jacob would confirm her fears or—and this is the reason Adrina felt compelled to speak—he would tell her that things were not as bad as they seemed. She took in a deep breath, laced her fingers together and then spoke. “Father Jacob…”

Jacob cast her a sidelong glance.

“Do you believe King Jarom would try to kill my brother?” There, she said it, but she didn’t feel any better for the saying. She took another deep breath and braced herself for Jacob’s response.

Jacob seemed to sense her anguish. He put the reins for the team in one hand and with his free hand touched hers. “That is a question I have asked myself again and again, but I told myself I did not want to answer. The fact is that King Jarom murdered King Charles and that obviously he wants to stop Prince William from reaching the north to bring word of this terrible deed to King Andrew.”

“What could King Jarom possibly have gained from killing Charles?”

“It could be that he wishes to restore Vostok to its former glory.”

Adrina’s eyes widened. She recalled something Keeper Martin had told her before they had entered the swamps. “If King Jarom took Sever, what would be next? Would he go beyond the disputed lands?”

Jacob’s mouth dropped open. Adrina had never seen him at a loss. It was clear he hadn’t considered this.

“King Jarom may lust for power,” Jacob said, “but invasion is another thing altogether. It would mean plunging the kingdoms into an all-out war. As it is now, what he has done may already mean war, but that would depend on the evidence Prince William brings to King Andrew and the decision of the Alliance.”

“The lady in the forest told me that King Jarom sees himself seated on Imtal’s throne. Was Vostok once that vast?”

“Never that vast, but at the end of the Race Wars, when only the five sons of the Alder remained in power, King Jarom the First controlled nearly all the lands from Neadde to Ispeth. It was his Blood Soldiers that pushed the enemy back to the sea near the mouth of the Opyl River, and it was he with his own bare hands that committed patricide and started the last Great War.”

Adrina felt suddenly sick and sorry she had spoken at all. She said nothing more, and neither did Father Jacob.

Upon reaching the coast, Father Jacob turned the wagon in a wide semi-circle and took the southerly route. Alderan was now only a half-day’s ride away. With luck, they would reach the city before dusk. Another question neither Adrina nor Jacob wanted to answer was whether this would be too late to stop what was already set in motion.

The section of the coastline they traveled along became a series of rocky crags with sharp, jutting spurts that jumped out into the yearning sea. Rough-hewn, carved by the forces of nature that acted upon the waters and enveloped them at times, they seemed somehow alive.

The wind, a steady gale with mixed patches of warm and cool, often carried with it a soft salty spray as waves crashed into the shore, and as the afternoon sun gathered itself full in the sky the day still held the promise of clear, cloudless skies.

Adrina sat silently, her hands clasped tightly together. She reflected on earlier thoughts, letting her gaze wander as the wagon twisted and turned.

The breezes became cooler as the sun began to settle toward the glossy blue waters of the sea, and the cool air felt good against Adrina’s skin. Still, Father Jacob stopped the wagon for a moment to retrieve two blankets from the rear. He searched through the satchels of foodstuffs and came up with a rounded loaf of black bread and a dark yellow cheese.

The meal was a hurried affair. Soon after finishing, Father Jacob drove the horses onward. It was a quick start, followed by an unwholesome lull that hung in the air. Even the sea breezes seemed to be aware of it as they softened. Then the pleasant sounds of the great West Deep disappeared altogether. The calls of the gulls died out. The splashing of the waves became subdued. Even the rolling of the wagon’s wheels became secondary to the great quiet that was all around them.

Father Jacob slowed the horses to a sedate pace. His eyes searched. Adrina remained silent, her thoughts mostly idle and insubstantial now, though she could not shake the voice of the lady from her mind. It unnerved her. It called out to her and the fact that it grew stronger the farther along the coast they rode did not make her feel any easier.

A sudden change in the air around them came as a single, dark cloud passed in front of the sun, momentarily creating an eerie shadow across the land. With the momentary darkness came a spontaneous downward shift in temperature. Jacob and Adrina clutched the woolen blankets more tightly and subconsciously shivered to ease the sudden chill.

The horses cast frightened whinnies into the air, their sixth sense warning that danger lurked near. Adrina’s heart seemed to stop beating in a temporary lapse until the sun’s brightness and warmth once more covered her. Yet even with the warmth’s return, the chill was not so readily cast away. Rather it lingered much, much longer. It was as if an evil hand reached out and stroked her, telling her, bragging to her, that it was near.

Adrina cast a glance heavenward. The sky was as clear as it had been a short while ago. The dark cloud was gone, vanished, as if it had simply evaporated after it had passed. As her eyes returned to the horizon, she grasped Jacob’s hand and pointed to an object far in the distance. Jacob followed the direction her outstretched hand led, out along the coast and into the dark waters. However, what Adrina directed him to was not out amidst the darkening waters, but across them, back along the serpentine coastline. A cloud of dust arose and, it seemed a large group of riders rapidly approached.

“Father Jacob,” said Adrina, “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Father Jacob seemed to still be shaking off the previous chill. He made a quick scan of the area, apparently looking for a place to hide, before he replied, “Rocks and squat grasses don’t offer much cover, child. This wagon is too slow and awkward to maneuver in this rough terrain…”

Jacob paused in thought, Adrina cut in, “Perhaps, we could unhook the team and proceed on horseback.”

“By the time we did that it would already be too late…” As he spoke, it seemed an idea came to Jacob. He had Adrina pull her long black hair back and tie it up in her scarf. Afterward he pulled the blanket around her so that it partially concealed her face and then he did likewise. The air was chilly and it wouldn’t have been all that unusual for them to be bundled against the cold and the spray from the sea.

Jacob didn’t stop the horses as he had thought to do, but instead proceeded at a slow pace. The riders steadily approached. Adrina’s gaze grew gradually downcast until she was practically staring only at the dirt in front of her. The riders slowed as they passed for a cursory inspection, but quickly increased their pace and sped away.

Not raising her downward gaze, Adrina saw only the riders’ mounts, a blur of hindquarters and forelegs, as they passed. She closed her eyes and nearly fell asleep until Jacob nudged her to tell her everything was all right.

Adrina lowered the blanket, but still kept it about her shoulders. The danger was gone, or so it seemed. She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder at the group of riders and then watched as Father Jacob flicked the reins to hasten the team.

They continued to wind their way along the serpentine coast, and Adrina cast her fears away. The trail became steadily rock-strewn, making passage over it rough and often very difficult. Large boulders that had to be circumnavigated sprang up in the middle of the trail and the width of the coastal road became steadily narrower.

Adrina followed and wandered among the empty waters breaking the coastline with her eyes, searching for that which was not there. The voice in her mind had grown sullen and quiet, and now her thoughts wandered free with the waves, rolling and sinking with each as they turned under, rising as each new wave was born, racing as they crashed into the rocky shore.

The emptiness was still present, however, and the sounds of life still void. This lifelessness played heavily on Adrina’s thoughts. With each new curve, she wondered what lay on the other side. The coastal highway they rode along wasn’t usually a bustling thoroughfare so she didn’t think it was odd not to see any other passersby. It wasn’t that she really wanted to see any, actually, but she wouldn’t have minded seeing a friendly face—she didn’t consider Jacob’s pensive stare friendly or comforting.

Her thoughts slowly turned to the encroaching night. The sky was still clear but Father Jacob had told her storms here usually came suddenly and frequently.

Adrina cocked her head and listened to a sound carried by the wind. “Father Jacob?” asked Adrina with a timid voice. “What is that?”

“What is what?”

“Can’t you hear it?” Adrina asked.

Jacob pulled the reins taut and the horses slowed to a steady halt. “Can I hear what?”

“The singing.”

“Singing?” Jacob tossed her an odd glance then put his hand to her forehead. “Stick out your tongue child?”

“Father Jacob, listen…”

A puzzled frown crossed Jacob’s lips. “Maybe I do hear something, then again it doesn’t sound like sing—” A distant low rumbling came from behind them now. “It is only thunder, child.”

It took both a moment to realize that the thunder they heard was hooves against the rocky ground. Frantically, they spun around and stared back down the trail behind them. A clump of dots trailing dust slowly became visible—the band of riders was returning.

“Still, that’s not what I hear, Father Jacob,” Adrina said.

“Wait a min—” Jacob gasped. “By the Father, I do hear something.”

Adrina grabbed the reins from Jacob’s lap and whipped them. The horses took off at a gallop, causing the wagon to jolt wildly. Adrina glanced behind them. She could make out single objects now, horses and riders. The group was gaining on them. “They’ll catch us before we can get away,” she said.

Apparently, feeling suddenly inspired, Jacob shouted, “Give me the reins, child! We’ll give them a run for it!”

Adrina didn’t give Jacob the reins, the strong presence of evil had returned. She didn’t know whether it was from behind her or ahead, but she knew it was there. She strained her tired eyes, trying to see what was ahead in the distance. A small sandy inlet settled where the ridgeline sloped down to the sea, forming a cove of sorts. This was the first place she’d seen where the road ran directly along the waters. The section appeared to have been washed away by the recent heavy rains and the inlet thus formed.

“There!” she shouted. Adrina didn’t have to point to the object in the sand now, she knew Jacob saw it too.

“Halt!” sounded a loud, masculine voice that appeared drastically close.

Both Adrina and Jacob skewed their eyes left to see a rider that seemed to suddenly appear beside them. As a reflex Adrina halted the wagon. Her mind was filled with sudden panic. Why now when they were so close? She wanted to cry. Her eyes swelled with tears that slowly began to roll down her cheeks.

“Father, why?” she sobbed raising her voice aloft, not really asking Jacob and not really asking Great-Father, rather addressing them both.

The face that loomed over her, angry and fierce, seemed to lunge at her as it stepped from the horse to the wagon’s deck. Just as the man reached his hands out to grab Adrina, Jacob snatched the reins from Adrina’s hands and whipped them as hard as he could.

“Go away, leave us alone!” shouted Adrina.

The four horses dashed responsively forward and the rider, who had been struggling to maintain his balance as the wagon sprang forward, tumbled to the ground. A crunching sound an instant later said he struck the hard ground fatally. Adrina regained the reins from Father Jacob and a chase commenced with Adrina’s only goal being the sandy inlet not far ahead. She was certain something was there, but exactly what she didn’t know.

“I don’t believe it!” shouted Jacob, “Look, there is another group of them ahead of us… Give me the reins back… We can’t outdistance them, we have to think through this logically.”

“No,” shrieked Adrina. She slapped Jacob’s hands away.

The wagon shook and rattled as it raced along the rough trail. Heedless, Adrina urged the horses on until the back end of the wagon was bouncing into the air. Jacob tossed nervous glances behind. It was clear he was more concerned about those that loomed up from behind than those that were ahead of them. The riders behind them were chasing them while, from what Adrina could see of the group ahead, they weren’t moving at all.

“What are they waiting for?”

“I wish I knew,” Jacob said. “Wait a minute, are those Kingdom standards?”

“So what if they are.”

Jacob stared long. “Great-Father, they are! It must be the column. We’re safe, Adrina, we’re safe.”

Those were Jacob’s last words as a mailed hand cuffed him. His head struck the wagon’s deck below Adrina’s feet with a crunch that sent chills up Adrina’s back. Her terror-filled shriek was cut short as she fought off hands that sought to grab the reins from her. Panic gripped her mind. Her screams became wild and shrill. Suddenly, strong hands snatched the reins away from her and the wagon was brought to an abrupt halt.

The same strong hands twisted Adrina and wrenched her from the wagon’s seat, throwing her roughly to the ground. Momentarily, everything went black as the wind was knocked out of her. Adrina scrambled backwards on the ground as the angry man swept down upon her. He picked her up again a moment later and began to shake her violently. Adrina’s head bobbed and her teeth rattled. Her thoughts stifled by fright. Even when the man stopped shaking her, still she trembled uncontrollably.

“Treacherous murderer!” shouted the angry voice of the man whose strong hands squeezed into Adrina’s shoulders with increasing vigor.

Frustration and despair lead Adrina to tears, but anger and pain soon took over. She clawed and kicked her captor, raking him across the face.

With one hand the large man roughly pulled back her long hair as she struggled to break free, while his other hand groped for something, Adrina didn’t know what. Then out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glint of something shiny. She swallowed a heart-sized lump in her throat as a short, fine blade was applied to her upturned neck.

“A-dri-na?” came a distant voice.

Upon hearing her name, the terror-filled fog in Adrina’s mind cleared. “Let me go, let me go,” she screamed.

“Adrina?”

Adrina stopped kicking and clawing her captor. She turned. The first face she saw was familiar to her. “Emel!” she cried. She wiped the tears from her face, and reached her hands out to embrace him. Still, she shook uncontrollably. “But you were… that was… you then… Where is my brother? Has he already reached Alderan? Is it too late to stop him?”

The large dark-skinned southerner holding Adrina did not let her go. Instead he returned the blade to her throat. “By the Father, her blood will stain this blade.”

“Hush. Let her go, what are you doing you fool?”

“But they killed Wrennyl!” The Southerner spun Adrina around and stared at her.

Adrina saw fury in his eyes. “It was a mistake, a mistake. We didn’t know who you were and it was an accident that… that… he… fell, an accident.”

Emel snatched Adrina away from the angry man. His free hand went to his sword in its sheath. “I said, back off, back off…”

Menacingly, the large Southerner took a step toward Adrina. His blade poised ready to strike, he spoke, “Lord Valam will surely hear of this… Wrennyl was a good man!”

“I trust he will,” said Emel, “especially since this is the Princess Adrina.”

The man turned pale. “The Princess Adrina?”

“Yes, the Princess Adrina.”

The Southerner began babbling an apology. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. You must forgive me. I didn’t know… I didn’t know, I swear it.”

The man was sniveling and in tears, but Adrina said nothing. Her shoulders ached where he had gripped them and she just now got her shivers under control. She wiped tears from her cheeks, and turned away as the man sank to his knees.

“By Great-Father,” moaned Emel in a low tone, “say something to him please. If they think you took offense, he’ll get lashes. He is a family man. Do you know what that’ll mean to him?”

Adrina just then noticed the press of riders around her. “Lashes?” she asked.

“Say it now, please!”

Adrina turned back to the man. “Rise please, stand true. I accept your apology. Though in the future, I would ask that you treat a lady as a lady should be treated.”

The Southerner stood and straightened his hunched posture. Evident relief passed over his face moments later.

Sadness and relief triggered something in Adrina. She looked around wildly, then started running. “Emel, come quickly!” she called back over her shoulder, “Come quickly, it is Prince William!”

There was a low moaning from behind them now as the two raced away. Uneasily, Father Jacob settled back onto the seat of the wagon, a hand raised to his cheek. Several riders quickly came to his aid and helped him down from the wagon.

Adrina ran across the sand. A single figure lay washed onto the beach, folded into the area where the recent storms had formed a sandy hollow. Wreckage lay scattered on the shore around him.

Adrina ran to him. She knelt in the wet sand beside him, and touched a hand to his cheek. She expected him to greet her with his warm blue eyes, but, to her horror and shock, his skin was cold, cold and stiff with death.

“He is dead,” Adrina said, “we are too late… Alderan? How far are we from Alderan?” She grabbed Emel about the shoulders. “Where is Valam?”

“Our party from Quashan’ circled north around Alderan only a few hours ago. We expected to meet the column on the north side of the city, but we found nothing. His Highness sent our detachment north and another east to find the encampment. His aim was to proceed to the city outpost. Why aren’t you with the column? Did something happen?”

Adrina explained as best she could what happened after Emel had left the column.

Emel swept Adrina up in his arms. Caught up in the reassurance of his touch and the warmth of his embrace, she pressed her lips against his. For a moment, he returned the passion of her kiss, then he stood stiffly and turned away from her.

“No doubt Captain Trendmore is our traitor,” Emel said, “and more likely than not, he ordered the column to turn north at the sea instead of south. I never should have left you… This is all my fault. I didn’t listen to what the lady said and look what has happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Em—”

“What about my father’s accident?”

“Emel, I don’t think you could’ve stopped it even if you had been there. Now is not the time to dwell on the could have beens.”

“Indeed,” said a voice from behind Adrina. Startled, she turned to see a strange small man and a boy. They were seated in the shaded part of the rocks behind her, and she had not seen either before.

Emel immediately drew his blade and stepped between Adrina and the stranger. “Proceed with caution, friend, I’d just as soon run you through as not. What are you doing here?”

“Same as you,” said the strange short man as he stood. “We were drawn here.”

“Stay where you are,” warned Emel.

The stranger took a step toward Emel. His hands were raised, and it seemed to Adrina he was unarmed. “Here is where the paths cross. The many become one for a short time,” so saying, the man reached out his hand to Emel.

Emel lunged forward, his blade arched high, then it plunged deep into the man’s side. Adrina’s scream came too late.

Chapter Seven:

Alderan

Vilmos stepped protectively across Xith’s prone form and waited for the assailant to make his next move. He was angry and magic raged unchecked through him.

“We are friends, not enemies,” Vilmos said. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”

The man raised his sword defensively. Vilmos felt himself losing control of the magic.

“Put away your weapon,” Vilmos said. “Please.”

“Emel!” yelled the man’s companion.

“Stay out of this, Adrina. I will let no one harm you.” Emel turned back to Vilmos. “Tell your companion to get up none too quickly. Or I’ll run him through again.”

“Trust is a two-way path. Put away your weapon,” said Xith, using the Voice to calm. Then he grabbed Vilmos’ hand and said, “Control! Remember that anger and that hatred for another time…”

Xith gasped for breath. “The stones… in my bag, you’ll find… a sack with five stones, bring… it to me…”

Vilmos brought the small bag of stones, but never looked away from the one who had attacked Xith.

“You are… swift… with a blade,” Xith said through gasps, “we may soon… have need… of your skills.”

Voices called out from the road now, “Emel, are you all right? We heard shouting?… Emel, do you need help?”

“Answer them. Tell them you are fine. Tell them you will be along presently…

“We are fine,” Emel shouted. “We will be along presently.”

“There isn’t much time. Gather round, gather round. You too, young princess—” Xith winced from pain. “—Vilmos, the stones.”

“Are you dying?” Vilmos asked with the utmost seriousness.

“Your apprenticeship is hardly at an end. He barely grazed my side.” Vilmos looked down at the shaman’s saturated robe. “Even small wounds bleed and the pain is not in my side, it is in my head. Our friend there has had quite a trial. I shouldn’t have attempted to connect to his mind without blocking the flow of feelings. Never have I been so overwhelmed by anything…”

Xith winced again. “But I needed to find out what he knew. Just as I needed to know about you, Princess Adrina.”

“Then you heard everything we said before?” Adrina asked.

Vilmos turned to regard the young woman. Before his thoughts had been on other things, he hadn’t really noticed her until now. Momentarily, he was caught up in her great brown eyes.

“Seated there in the shadows, it was hard not to. Do not worry, your secrets are safe with me. As I said, and as my companion, Vilmos, said, we are friends. We were drawn to this place for a reason. Each of us has a part in changing the many paths, for here the paths converge.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Emel asked.

Adrina asked, “And what of Prince William? Is that him?”

“Emel Brodstson, even the lady of the night knew the way of your heart.”

Emel’s face flushed red.

“And no,” Xith said turning to Adrina, “that is not Prince William… If I probed correctly, our friend’s name is Seth. He traveled here across the West Deep from a place called East Reach… They were ambushed and only a few survived. In the end, only two.

“The rest of his memory was rather disjointed, but as the other there is human and he isn’t, I can only assume that some sort of struggle took place on this very beach, and here he lost his only other companion. We will know more when he regains consciousness, but for now we have more important things to concern ourselves with.”

“What do you mean, not human?” Emel exclaimed.

Adrina put her hand on Emel’s shoulder, but he brushed it away. Xith said nothing. He only stared.

“By the Father, it is you!” called out a voice from behind them. Vilmos turned to see an aged man dressed in a dirty black robe. One side of the man’s face was swollen and bruised. “How long has it been, ten… no twelve years.” The man’s expression became sullen. “Returned from under-mountain just as you said. I didn’t want to believe it when I heard it yesterday morning.”

Xith regarded the elder for a moment, then said, “You, Jacob, do not look well, and I’d heard you were now King’s First Minister… And it is nearly thirteen.”

Jacob said, “I should have known I’d find you at the heart of all this.”

Xith smiled now, apparently at the other’s expense. “I am merely one of the fools on the board. I hope I know my part and move accordingly.”

“Father Jacob, you know him?” asked Adrina.

“Of course I know the…” Xith put a silencing hand to his lips and Jacob spoke no more.

“Do you wish to inquire about my lineage now?” asked Xith of Emel who still had his sword drawn, “Or do you wish to know of the fall of Alderan?”

Princess Adrina’s eyes went wide. She turned to Emel and glared at him. “Fall?” she asked.

Father Jacob waved Emel’s weapon away. Emel sheathed the sword then said, “All is well in Alderan.”

“All appears well in Alderan, because that is what was meant. Do we argue now, or do we ride for Alderan?”

“We ride.”

“Yes, we ride!”

“To Alderan,” whispered Adrina.

Emel gathered his men. They made haste to Alderan and didn’t stop until they were in the forested hills to the east of city. Father Jacob sat beside Xith, “Yes, we will listen,” he said.

Vilmos, Emel and Adrina sat likewise. They formed a loose circle around the shaman.

Xith cleared his throat, turned his eyes around the circle, then said, “The Alliance of Kingdoms is all but broken. King Jarom has been flooding the upper southlands with men loyal to his cause for many months. And where he doesn’t have soldiers, he has spies. His spies are everywhere and his reach is long…”

Father Jacob and Adrina nodded fast agreement.

Xith continued. “In all but name, Jarom is the absolute ruler of the four kingdoms of the south. Only King Charles was brave enough to oppose him, and while this was true up until a few short weeks ago, it is no longer true. The Kingdom of Sever is now without king and its heir, its heir—”

Adrina interrupted, “What of my brother?”

“King Jarom expected King Andrew to answer King Charles’ call for aid and for the safekeeping of Charles’ son, Prince William. He may be quite surprised to find only a prince, but then again, Prince Valam’s death—” Adrina’s face flushed white. She began to tremble and Xith expected her to say something or to burst into tears, but she didn’t. “—will allow him to usurp all lands south of the Trollbridge, all the lands of the South. Already troops march on Quashan’. With the city’s commander gone and the garrison sent north, the city will easily fall.”

“I was just in Quashan’,” Emel said. “The whole of the garrison was in company.”

Xith turned frank eyes on the untrusting young guardsman. “If King Jarom can pay off a Chief-Captain of Imtal Garrison right under the king’s nose, surely he can likewise persuade a Quashan’ garrison commander, or one of his captain’s, or even one of his under-captains to relay an incorrect order.”

“But what can we do?” asked Father Jacob. “A great force must have laid siege to Alderan. We have no more than forty riders.”

“Fifty six,” Emel said.

Princess Adrina’s downtrodden expression turned upward briefly.

“I suspect Alderan was taken without a fight from the inside,” Xith said. “For all we know, they marched straight into the city under Kingdom standards and the citizens greeted them openly.”

Xith took a long swig from a water bag. His throat was dry and overworked. The ride to Alderan had gone smoothly, but not quietly. “Once Prince Valam is dealt with, the forces in the city will turn their sights on joining the march on Quashan’. This is what we must count on…”

Xith joined Father Jacob deeper in the midst of the trees and there the two spoke in hushed tones. When Xith returned, he asked Emel, “Are your men ready?”

Emel nodded. They had been waiting in the trees for hours, of course they were ready—more than ready.

Adrina scratched absently at the mosquito bites on her arms, hands and face. The City of Alderan seemed deceptively quiet. Emel’s closeness to her was reassuring, but she was still ill at ease. She glanced to the strange wise man that had told her to stop calling him Watcher. “My name is Xith,” he had told her.

The conversations with Xith had left Adrina filled with dread. Especially his seemingly casualness about that fact that Prince Valam would most probably be dead when and if they found him. Adrina hadn’t burst into tears then, though it had taken considerable effort not to. Now she could only remember fond thoughts of her only brother—big as a bear and with a heart twice any normal man’s. It was in Valam’s shadow that she used to walk the streets of Imtal and his dreams of seeing all of the world that filled her young mind with thoughts of fantastic adventures.

“Are you all right?” whispered Emel in Adrina’s ear.

Adrina nodded.

“Good. You and Father Jacob will wait here until we return. If we’re not back by sunup, leave. Make progress north as fast as you—-”

Adrina cut Emel off with a hiss. “I’ll not stay here and worry through the night. Where you go, I go. Remember the words of the lady?”

“Only death awaits in Alderan,” returned Emel.

Adrina glared at him. “You expect me to turn away when every hand counts? I am as good with a blade as you are, perhaps better.”

“Besting me on the practice field is not the same thing, Adrina,” Emel said coldly.

Xith returned. “Keep your voices to a whisper,” he said.

Adrina started to speak. Xith raised a silencing hand. He wavered his gaze, his eyes shining as he stared out into the darkening land. “Everyone back and stay down,” he said, “not a sound anyone…”

Soon figures carrying shielded lanterns appeared from the dark shroud. Behind them came horses and riders. Behind the riders, heavily laden wagons. Behind the wagons, more horses, more men. From her vantage point, Adrina began counting them as they passed. She stopped as the numbers swelled to over two hundred.

Adrina found it unsettling that she heard only the occasional squeaking of wagon wheels to mark the group’s passage. Riders were leading their mounts whose hooves were apparently padded. The weapons and armor of the soldiers she saw were also apparently padded, for as they passed, the normal clink-clink of metal scraping metal was absent. The group was traveling southeast, southeast to Quashan’ just as Xith had said they would.

The southeastward passage continued for more than an hour, and then for an hour afterward, nothing. No shielded lights pierced the darkness and no sounds pierced the uncanny silence.

Out of the corner of her eye, Adrina saw Xith raise his hand and suddenly the press of bodies around her was absent. The small band of Kingdom ridesmen were suddenly sweeping toward Alderan City. Split into three tiny groups, they would strike the city from the north, east and south. The intent was to make the enemy remaining in the city think they were under attack by a large force. Adrina didn’t know exactly what Xith hoped to accomplish by this, for surely the defenders would discover very quickly that only a few dozen men were carrying out the attack.

Adrina felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around, surprised to find it was Emel. She stared at him in momentary disbelief. “You didn’t go with the others?”

“Xith asked that I remain, and I have.” Emel didn’t seem happy about the prospect, but Adrina was—Emel wouldn’t die with the others.

Adrina’s smile died when she saw Xith’s glowing eyes upon her.

“Vilmos, Adrina and Emel you’ll ride into the city with me,” Xith said, in a quiet voice. “Only Father Jacob is to remain behind. He’ll watch our new companion, and he knows what to do should we not return. To your mounts! Our route into the city should be wide open soon. Hurry now, there is no time to waste…”

The Kingdom ridesmen attacked the city from three directions. Xith, Adrina, Emel and Vilmos made their way to the city from the south. Adrina was surprised to hear the sounds of a raging battle coming from the northern sectors of the city now. One thing she had neglected to consider, as Emel had pointed out, was that Alderan was a Kingdom city and had been a united city even before there had been a Kingdom. Apparently those in the city thought the King’s army had come to liberate them. No true Kingdomer would sit idly if they thought the King’s army was storming the city.

Under this shroud of confusion, the four crept into Alderan. After they had safely passed the city gates, Xith signaled for them to stop and gather round.

“We make for the city center.” Xith spoke very softly. “Even now all routes to the keep will be guarded. If for some reason anyone is separated, watch your way with care, but head for the keep at once. Remember, all through streets are set up like the spoke of a wheel. They all lead to the center hub, and the keep.”

Xith paused, then looked to Adrina. “To get into and around the inner keep unseen, we’ll need your help.”

Adrina stared blankly at Xith.

Speaking for Adrina, Emel said, “She’s never been to Alderan.”

“Down to the last detail, Imtal Palace was fashioned after Alderan’s keep,” Xith explained. “Only the old sections of the palace though. The maze of passageways used by the King’s family should all be unguarded. Surely you’ve walked them a thousand times…” Xith’s voice trailed off.

Adrina smiled, she could walk those passageways in her sleep. Then she frowned. “But—” she began.

Xith cut her off saying, “Once safely inside and set upon the path, you and Vilmos will remain behind. Emel and I will proceed from there. Do not worry, if the prince lives, we will find him. Getting out of the city will be the problem…”

As anticipated, the southern sectors of the city were nearly deserted. The four, now on foot, blended into the shadows of cobbled streets as best they could. Emel clearly had not wanted to leave Ebony behind, but eventually he had. Twice they had made their way past patrols without mishap. Fortunately both patrols had been racing north where the battle for the city raged.

Intermittently, Adrina’s eyes flashed on the small form of the boy, Vilmos, who walked beside her. He seemed a likeable lad, but a bit young and surely inexperienced. She could see open terror mirrored in his eyes, and more than once he had reached out his hand to hers to find comfort. But Adrina too found comfort in his touch and in the rapier still in its sheath that she clutched with her right hand.

Emel had the lead, and at about ten paces ahead, Adrina could only glimpse his form as he passed the infrequent lights of the darkened city. Somewhere behind them Adrina knew Xith lurked. Many times Xith had disappeared down a side street to reappear beside them at the next intersection.

Adrina gulped for air and her heart skipped as Emel suddenly appeared out of the darkness.

“Patrol,” he hissed, “they head south, not north.”

Emel flashed his eyes at Xith. Xith waved them into a nearby alleyway.

Huddled in the shadows of the alleyway they waited. Soon, Adrina heard heavy footfalls, then she saw torchlight and shadowed faces. The patrol stopped at the intersection of the street and the alley, directly in front of the horrified onlookers. Adrina heard harsh whispers and angry voices. The members of the patrol were obviously displeased about being sent to watch the city’s southern gate while the battle raged elsewhere.

From her vantage point in the shadows, Adrina could see much more than the outlines of faces. Light from their torches reflected dully off their armor and the swords withdrawn from their sheaths. The angry man who seemed the leader of the patrol was bearded and though rather gaunt, just from the tone of his voice and the way he stood, Adrina was sure he was capable with a blade and hardhearted. He was arguing with another man who wanted to return to the north. Both men’s words were becoming increasingly belligerent.

Then, to Adrina’s horror, the leader of the patrol set upon the other man. In one swift move, he brought the point of his blade to the other’s throat and plunged it inward. Adrina screamed, which would have brought sure discovery, if Emel hadn’t clasped a hand to her mouth just prior. As it was, her muffled scream mixed with the horrible gurgling sounds of the dying man as he sought to speak a few last words.

The leader removed his sword from the other’s throat as he fell, and without another word, the members of his patrol continued south.

Emel removed his hand from Adrina’s mouth and put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you all right, Adrina?” he whispered.

Adrina couldn’t answer. She felt numb and sick.

“It will pass, Adrina,” Emel said. “As I said, ‘This is not the practice field.’ This is real. Are you all right with that?”

Adrina still couldn’t answer. Emel shook her.

“Adrina will be all right in a moment,” Xith said. “Give her some breathing room.”

Xith took Adrina’s hand.

“We near the city center,” whispered Xith. “Once past the last line of buildings there will be no cover. On my signal move quickly and without stopping across the square to the walls of the keep. Emel, you’ll go first. Then, Vilmos. Then, Adrina. Once at the wall, speak not a word. Await my signal to continue…”

When Xith signaled, Emel ran off, quickly crossing the open hundred yards to the shadowed wall. Then Xith signaled for Vilmos to follow.

Adrina watched and waited. When her turn came, she ran across the square at a flat-out run. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Vilmos and Emel were excitedly watching her run. She glanced from Emel to the archers on the walls. Only one of them needed to spot her and it would all be for nothing.

Halfway across, she no longer held back her smile. The run was strangely exhilarating after the tension of creeping through the besieged city. She glanced back once to look for Xith. She knew he waited somewhere out of sight behind her to make the last mad dash across the square. When she glanced back, her foot caught one of the square’s cobblestones. She tumbled and fell. Her face struck cold stones.

Disoriented, she looked up. Emel was edging away from the safety of the wall. She waved him away. Then her eyes rose to the top of the wall, a single figure stood looking down over the square now, seemingly his eyes looked straight at her. Breathless, she waited for him to raise an alarm or notch an arrow to the string of his bow.

Unmoving, she waited, and waited. The archer stood still. He stared down into the darkness of the square. For an instant, it seemed their eyes locked. The archer raised one of his arms—surely he was about to reach into the quiver at his side for an arrow. Her heart stopped and the whole of the world seemingly collapsed in around her. She stifled a moan, held her breath and waited.

As the archer turned away and continued his march along the battlements of the wall, she thanked Great-Father for smiling down upon her and launched herself into a run.

Hastened by her fright, she crossed the remaining distance to the wall in a surprising burst of speed. Emel caught her in his arms and held her for a moment before both turned to look back across the square. Immediate shock registered on their faces, Xith stood in plain sight in the middle of the square.

She heard Vilmos whisper, “Run, run.” Then he began waving his arms wildly to the shaman. Heedless, Xith waved them on. “Go now,” he said in a voice that was strangely compelling and seemed to carry across the square on the wind, Do what you must…

A cry went up from the walls and suddenly a number of voices were echoing an alarm. Almost immediately afterward she heard the twang of bows and the hiss of arrows. She squeezed her eyes tight. Fool, she thought to herself, sacrificing himself for no gain.

“Quickly now,” said the boy, Vilmos, seeming suddenly resolved to action. “Pray my master’s diversion buys our way into the inner keep…” His words fell away, and, as if in response to his voice, a blue-white streak raced through the air to the wall. Disquieting screams followed.

One of the archers fell from atop the wall and smacked the cobblestones not more than five feet from where Adrina stood. The man’s face was twisted oddly toward her. The emptiness in his eyes and the unnatural twist of his body told her the fall had been fatal.

More blue-white streaks raced to the wall. Another soldier fell to his death—Adrina saw no trace of the blue-flighted arrows that had claimed either man. Emel grabbed her hand and pulled her after him.

The minutes that followed were crazed and everything for a time afterward passed in a blur. Adrina found herself racing alongside Emel and Vilmos. She remembered remarking that the buildings of the inner keep truly did resemble the old wings of Imtal Palace and that true to Xith’s word, the King’s entryway into the main building was unguarded. She lead them along unlit passageways that were familiar to her feet even in darkness, yet she knew they only seemed that way.

It wasn’t until many uncertain minutes later that she abruptly halted. She realized she no longer heard voices and that the footsteps she was running away from were her own and that of her companions. When she stopped, first Vilmos and then Emel slammed into her.

“What’s wrong?” asked Emel.

“Nothing,” Adrina said in a hiss. She turned to Vilmos. “Did Xith tell either of you where they would hold my brother?”

Even in muted darkness, she could see the boy shrug.

“I thought he told you,” Emel said.

After a long silence, Vilmos spoke. “Xith said it would be easy and that getting out of the city would be the hard part. Your instinct is what led you here in the first place. Where were you going?”

Another period of silence followed, then Adrina said, “I really have roamed these passageways a thousand times. They are a solitary place. My father never liked them and doesn’t use them. It is true that very few even know they exist.”

“Where were you going?” repeated Vilmos.

Adrina continued as if she hadn’t heard the question. “I wonder if… No, that would be too much to hope for.” Vilmos glared at her. “I guess, I was going to my quarters.”

Vilmos suggested that she should continue.

Adrina closed her eyes in thought for a moment, then lead them on their way. After ascending a flight of stairs and after a few twists and turns in the passageway, the three found themselves standing before a door. Only Adrina knew for certain what was beyond the door, the others could only guess. She slid the door open, expecting to find her room.

She was about to step into the room, when Emel swept past her, a short blade cupped in his right hand. There was a rather large man standing hunched over with his back to the door only a few feet away. Emel stealthily crept up on him and plied the blade to his throat. Then he spun the man around.

Adrina bit her tongue to stop her scream. Then as she sought to speak no words came forth. Her eyes were wild and Emel stared at her for a moment in apparent confusion.

“Adrina?”

“Valam,” Adrina said. “By the Mother, you live.” She was crying now and she ran to embrace her brother.

Shocked, Emel lowered the blade from the prince’s throat. “Dear Father—Your Highness, forgive me. I had no idea.”

Valam embraced Adrina in a great bear hug and swept her from her feet. His joy was short-lived, his expression grew suddenly grim and he let her go. “It is not safe here, you must go.”

“But, we are here to rescue you.”

The prince put a finger to his sister’s lips. “There are things occurring here that you cannot hope to understand. You must leave at once.”

“What is wrong with you, Valam? Come quickly.” No sooner had Adrina said this than someone off to the side of the room cleared their throat. She turned and from an adjacent doorway, great blue eyes greeted her. Adrina asked, “Prince William?”

The other nodded and grinned evilly.

“Run, Adrina, run,” Valam said. He flung Adrina toward the passageway and barreled at the prince.

Complete pandemonium followed. Confused, Emel and Vilmos stood their ground. Adrina recovered her feet and stared in wonder at the struggle between her brother and Prince William. Valam had a firm grip on the other’s throat. William was straining to reach a short blade in his belt.

Adrina watched in mute horror as Prince William broke free of her brother’s grasp and whirled about to face him. Prince Valam was nearly the largest man in the Kingdom. With bare fists he could take any man, but where Prince Valam had only his fists, the other had a long, curved blade made for close-quarters fighting.

Two guards rushed into the room. Again Adrina tried to scream and no words came out. Seeing the guards, Emel sprang forward and engaged both.

Undaunted by the menacing blade, Valam circled defensively, waiting to attack. William it seemed was also waiting for the right moment to strike. The end came quick and clean, Prince William sliced in with his blade, Valam countered and then planted a solid blow to the side of the other’s unprotected skull. Prince William went down, his knees crumbling, his body collapsing beneath him.

More guards swept upon them from the open doorway. Emel screamed wildly and pointed to the passageway. Vilmos remained deathly still, apparently gripped by fear. Adrina turned. Soldiers were streaming out of the tunnel behind her. Before she could get free, one had her arm and twisted it back forcefully, a burning pain shot up to her elbow.

Prince Valam descended upon the attackers like a hungry demon, his eyes unfocused and angry. He grabbed the man that held Adrina by the throat, lifted him off the floor and flung him to the wall. Without stopping, Valam slapped Emel’s blade away and backed Adrina, Vilmos and Emel into the corner. He stood guardedly in front of them.

With the aid of two guards, Prince William regained his feet. He rubbed the side of his head and directed a vengeful stare at Valam.

Valam maintained the face-off against the many guards in the room and directed his eyes at William. “Tell them to back off,” Valam shouted, “we’ll submit!”

“Enough, enough,” William said. He clapped his hands together and the soldiers backed away. “Stay your ground. Let’s shed no more blood than we need to for now.… We have what we wanted, and a prize or two to boot.”

Chapter Eight:

Prisoners

Through the night Father Jacob watched the strange one, the one called Seth. As the shaman had asked, Jacob placed the healing stones one by one to Seth’s forehead. He had seen such stones before in the Temple of the Mother, but never had he witnessed their ability to heal. When first held the strange stones hummed and glowed bright yellow, touched to Seth’s forehead, the color slowly drained from them until they were left dull, black and empty.

Suddenly, two hours before dawn, Seth had opened his eyes and spoken. “Where is my companion?” he had asked, his words in the old language.

The old language, being the language of priests and priestesses, hadn’t surprised Jacob. He had answered without thought in the same tongue. “I do not know, I am sorry.”

It was only now that Father Jacob was deep in conversation with Seth that he realized Seth spoke in the old tongue, the language that had once been universal to all peoples and was now preserved only by those of the Mother and Father. Jacob considered Seth’s statement for a moment more, then replied. “Then it is true, you are an elf.”

There is disbelief in your voice, Fa-a-ther—Seth stumbled over the word—he had told Jacob earlier that he didn’t feel comfortable naming a Man father. —Jacob, yet your thoughts say you want to understand.

“Myth and lore would have most Kingdomers believe that your kind are akin to fairies, pixies and sprites.”

Seth smiled and regarded Jacob with his blue eyes. He seemed to know Jacob was joking.

Jacob continued. “You must meet a friend of mine. Keeper Martin would write entire tomes filled with your words. There would be a definite gleam in his eyes as he wrote: elf of the gold and green forest, most fair and generous…”

Yes Jacob, I am very much mortal, just as you, Seth said, answering the question that had been on Jacob’s mind for some time. Many of my companions journeyed to Great-Father so that I could be here, and it fills my heart with sorrow to know it was all for nothing…

“You will have counsel before King Andrew, friend Seth, this I promise you.”

“You do not understand, without my companion, Brother Galan, I have failed. My fate is here… She was needed to return to my homeland, the land of East Reach.

“There is something you must know, Brother Seth,” Jacob said, borrowing the title as it seemed appropriate. “The one who found you said something that was strange. On the beach where you were found, it appeared there had been a struggle of some sort. One dead man attested to this. Unless there was a man in your party?”

There were no Men— Seth’s voice sounded suddenly distant. His eyes flashed, his expression became one of puzzled remembrance. Yes, yes there it is. Seth sent surprise and hope into Jacob’s mind along with the words.

For the first time Father Jacob realized Seth spoke in thoughts and not aloud. Do you walk in my thoughts? He asked himself.

It is the way of my people. I took open thought as a sign that you wanted me to enter your mind. I am sorry if I have offended you.

“Nothing of the sort, Brother Seth,” Jacob said, “you continue to surprise me is all. There really are poor records of the Four Peoples after the Race Wars.”

Tell me of this other, the one who found me and the one you are thinking of now. He is of the Four Peoples, is he not?

“Xith, last of the Watchers. I first met him thirteen years ago. He came to me in a time of great need. He promised he would return one day when the need was again great, and he has. Great Kingdom is being consumed by the heart of darkness itself.”

Would he know where Galan is?

Jacob nodded in understanding. “He might, he just might, but I suspect the disappearance of your friend is tied to the struggle we face. Xith said that we were drawn to you because of a joining of the paths. Our fates are together, my friend.”

And more I am afraid. I remember some of it now. At the last, I called out with my mind in desperation. The call, I fear, lead more than just those who wished to aid me. I fear I summoned your enemy as well, and now they’ve taken Galan.

Seth attempted to stand and did so only with Jacob’s help. I would help you. What must I do?

“For now, there is little we can do. If Xith has not returned to camp shortly after sunrise, we journey north and return with the King’s army marshaled before us.”

Jacob looked to the east where dawn was forming on the horizon. “To war,” he whispered. “But for now we can only wait and hope against hope… I truly fear the worst.”

For two days Captain Trendmore drove the column north along the coast of the great sea. On smooth terrain the foot soldiers maintained a steady pace and made good progress. Keeper Martin was hopeful that by afternoon the walls and spires of the Free Cities would be in sight.

Doubt had grown in the Lore Keeper from the moment the column had turned north instead of south, but Martin had no definite proof to act on his feelings. He couldn’t act on hunches and doubts. For all he knew Captain Trendmore was indeed following Captain Brodst’s orders. But then again, if he didn’t take action, who would?

Keeper Martin cast a sidelong glance at the close-mouthed rider to his left, then lowered the hood of his cloak and looked to the sea. A strong breeze out of the north carried with it a salty spray. “On such a hot day,” Martin said, “the moisture and the breeze are refreshing. Don’t you think so, captain?”

Captain Adylton replied, “The sun near midday is hot here, Lore Keeper, you would do well to keep that hood about your head.”

Martin eyed the tall, dark-skinned Southerner who had removed his cloak about an hour into the ride and rode with short leggings that exposed calves and knees.

Captain Adylton quickly added, “Playing in the surf and lying by the sea is about all I did in my youth. My father was a fisher…”

Keeper Martin smiled—a mischievous smile. In a voice that barely carried above the plodding of his mount’s hooves, he asked, “Did you sail these waters often with your father then?”

“More often than I cared to.”

Martin noted Captain Adylton’s annoyance and his apparent wish to end the conversation. “Would an autumn storm have driven your sails north or south?”

“I see,” Adylton said, “that troubles you too.”

Martin nodded. “I have sailed to High Province close to winter season many times. Always I felt the breezes upon my face when I stood at the bow.”

“Aye, the winds change with the ending of summer. Autumn and winter bring cold breezes out the north.”

“Captain Trendmore wasn’t a fisher’s son was he?” Martin asked.

“Hardly, his father was a tanner or was it a smithy—at any rate, no, I’m sure he’s never sailed.”

“I have known Captain Brodst for many years, yet I cannot recall his father’s trade?”

Captain Adylton gave Keeper Martin a stern look. “You know as well as I that…” The captain’s voice trailed off. He looked again at Martin, suddenly seeming to realize where Martin was going with his questions. “You are right. The storms would have blown the ship south if it strayed off course at all. Any experienced captain would have had little trouble in those storms. They were early autumn storms, full of malice yes, but not violent like the storms of winter.”

Keeper Martin looked Captain Adylton straight in the eye. “Do you have loyal men in your squadron?”

Captain Adylton stared back at Martin. “They are loyal men all, and they follow all lawful orders of their commanding officers. None would turn against the other, if that is your hope.”

“What of unlawful orders given by a man who is no longer loyal to his country or his countrymen?”

Captain Adylton reined in his steed, nearly coming to a halt. “Proving such a thing, Keeper—” His changing the pace brought mayhem to those in the column behind him. A wagon driver’s team nearly drove over him. Captain Adylton shrugged off the man’s curses and spurred his mount. “—How do you propose to do that?”

Keeper Martin judged the captain’s receptiveness to the truth by the unease in his eyes. “There is news I have not shared with you, captain. The situation is much graver than you are aware of. It was not just the upcoming departure of a ship from the port city of Wellison that brought me to Imtal Palace to disturb King Andrew’s rest in the middle of the night. Prior to this, I had been in the far south for many months. Secretly.

“At first it was personal matters that brought me to Sever more than anything else. After, much more. It was fortunate that only Keeper Q’yer of Quashan’ knew my whereabouts. Also fortunate that my last visit to Sever had been some years before.

“When I arrived in Gregortonn, all seemed well. The affairs in the capital were running smoothly. Overnight, all this changed. King Charles ordered the city sealed. The city garrison turned to the streets. Hundreds were arrested. Dozens killed in clashes. For a full day afterward the city was quiet. Only the flags removed from their poles upon the walls attested to turmoil. Then just before dawn of the second day, the searches began. More arrests, more fighting. Luckily I was able to find reliable accommodations, which did not come without a price.

“Two weeks I was in hiding, plotting my escape. Then one afternoon, while moving to a new safe house, I made a most unexpected discovery. Soldiers loyal to King Charles were no longer in control of the city. An agent of King Jarom had usurped power… Everything I’d seen suddenly made sense.

“Soon after I arrived in the new safe house one of my benefactors discovered my true identity. I don’t know how, but it was a fortunate turn of events, for it was then that men loyal to Charles approached me. They spoke of a bold plan to retake the city and of a plan to smuggle the heir to the throne from the city to safety. It was with their help that I eventually made my way back to Great Kingdom.”

Keeper Martin took a long swig from a wineskin, then cleared his throat. “You know as well as I that King Charles’ voice was the only vote of dissension in the Minors when King Jarom last sued for war and the dissolution of the Kingdom Alliance. His aim is war with Great Kingdom, there can be no doubt.”

Again Captain Adylton disrupted the pace of the group, he reined in his mount and stared at Keeper Martin. The wagon driver behind the captain screamed angrily this time.

“Is there something wrong?” came an excited voice from behind them. A rider raced toward them. Both Martin and Adylton recognized the voice and the rider, Captain Trendmore.

“We must act, are we agreed on that, Captain Adylton?” Martin asked as he raised the hood of his cloak.

Captain Adylton signaled agreement and urged his mount onward.

“Is there something wrong here?” Captain Trendmore repeated when he came abreast of the two.

“I was just explaining to the good keeper that if he kept his face to the sun for another hour on a day like today, he would be as bright as a one of Duke Ispeth’s apples before nightfall. I think it took him by surprise.”

“Yes, yes indeed,” Captain Trendmore said, a crooked smile coming to his lips.

It was the morning of the second day since their capture and still Vilmos cursed himself. Xith had told him to do what he must and he had done nothing. To him this was unacceptable and as he marched with his hands tied painfully tight behind his back, he hung his head in shame. It seemed of small consequence to know that Prince William and his henchmen had fled Alderan out of fear they might not be able to control the city any longer.

Vilmos knew little of the Prince of the North, Valam, but he was sure there had been tears in his eyes when William of Sever had ordered the city set ablaze and that no building should be left standing. That night, even from miles and miles away, they had seen the unearthly glow of the burning city. Vilmos had seen rage and hatred in Prince Valam’s eyes then.

They had been moving since daybreak without respite. The first day they had stayed near the coast, traveling south, but this day they traveled more east than south. Vilmos knew this because the sun shined almost directly in his eyes, making the world around him bleached and hazy. He knew only that Princess Adrina was to his right and that if he didn’t maintain a correct pace, he stepped on the heels of the guardsman, Emel.

Sweat dripping down from his forehead ran irritatingly into his eyes,  and, with his hands tied behind his back, Vilmos couldn’t wipe it away. Exhaustion sought to overcome him and he fought to stay alert. He still held hope that Xith would somehow rescue them.

An abrupt kick from behind sent Vilmos sprawling. Screaming, he hit the hard ground face first. He spun around angrily and spat out dirt.

“Rest,” said the voice of the figure towering above him.

With his back now to the sun, Vilmos found the haze in front of his eyes slowly clearing. He stared up at the shadowed figure, which hovered over him for a moment more before turning away.

“Are you all right?” Adrina asked.

Vilmos said, “I think so.” His backside was a little sore but he’d recover. His pride was hurt more than anything. He had done nothing to provoke William’s men yet it seemed they had singled him out. More than anyone else, Vilmos bore the brunt of their resentment and anger. He was the one who was forced to watch while the others ate, albeit meagerly. He was the one who was denied water or forced to drink from a bowl like an animal. He was the one who was pushed and kicked.

The brooding prince also regarded him. “You are tougher than you look, my young friend, I am glad.” Prince Valam was silent for a moment, then continued. “It seems you have been singled out because you are the smallest and the youngest. Their aim is to break you and thus break us all. Know that I will give repayment for every such mistreatment. And know also, that many a man would have already yielded.”

Emel seemed to agree. He winked at Vilmos. “Hang in there, we will surely make them pay.”

“May Queen Elthia turn over in her grave so that she does not have to see the harvest her son seeks,” Vilmos whispered. Prince Valam turned a puzzled frown to Vilmos. “My father’s words,” Vilmos explained.

“It seems we were never properly introduced, my young friend. You look of royal blood and you speak like one well educated and Kingdom

borne. Yet, I have never seen you in any of the southern courts beside your father.”

Vilmos’ faced flushed red. “I am hardly of royal blood, my father is a village counselor.” Vilmos paused, his tongue growing flustered. “In truth, I am ill at ease in your company…” His voice trailed off momentarily.

“Yours too, Princess,” Vilmos said, turning to Adrina briefly before turning back to Prince Valam. “And in truth, I am not as tough as you might think. I was more afraid of crying in your presence than of my lost pride. Even William of Sever’s men respect you.”

“Respect and fear are two different things, Vilmos. They fear me only as long as we remain on Kingdom soil. Matters will change when we reach Sever.” Prince Valam turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Water,” he shouted at the guard. “Water for everyone!”

The passing of the day brought Vilmos only more misery. Prince Valam told him that perhaps tomorrow they would enter the northernmost forests of the Kingdom of Sever. Vilmos cringed at the mention of the Vangar, yet it seemed he had always known he would one day return there. Now, even as he closed his eyes and tried to find sleep, he saw the great white fangs and glowing eyes of the beasts called Wolmerrelle.

As the night looked to be a cold one, Vilmos, Adrina, Valam and Emel huddled close for warmth. They bedded down upon the hard ground and could only look with yearning at the fires a short distance away. They had been offered neither blankets nor fire, which was in stark contrast to the previous days.

Behind him, Vilmos could hear whispers passing back and forth between Emel and Adrina. Afraid to close his eyes, Vilmos stared into the darkness and listened in. He wasn’t surprised to find they were talking about William of Sever once again.

“I don’t understand,” Adrina was saying, “the lady told us to find him. As if all would be well once we did. She said he would not arrive in Alderan…”

Emel corrected the princess, “She said the ship would not arrive in Alderan and that only death awaited there. We did not listen and look what has happened. Have you told anyone else of that conversation?

“Only Father Jacob… And, Xith…”

Emel was silent for a time, and Vilmos almost fell asleep against his will. “Should we tell His Highness, perhaps together… No, it is a foolish hope.”

“Go on,” said another voice. Prince Valam edged closer, pressing Vilmos, who was between the giant and Emel, closer to Emel. “I have long wondered why Prince William would turn against us. Our kingdoms have always been the strongest of allies…”

Vilmos wanted to say something but held back.

“Perhaps we should post a watch. This is something no one else was meant to hear,” whispered Adrina.

“Emel,” Valam whispered, and the guardsman inched away into the night, leaving only the three.

As Adrina began her tale of the meetings with the lady of the night, Vilmos’ thoughts started to wander. He had heard this story once already.

The next thing Vilmos knew Emel was returning. He didn’t know how much time had elapsed or what had transpired in the interim, though he suspected somewhere along the line he had fallen asleep.

“They sleep,” Emel said. “Now there are only guards around the periphery.”

Valam continued to speak without pausing, “Perhaps it wasn’t Prince William you dreamed of. What of these others? This Xith you spoke of, perhaps it was him.”

“Perhaps,” Adrina said. She didn’t sound convinced.

“Perhaps not,” Vilmos whispered to himself just before sleep found him.

With morning came rain, a ceaseless downpouring that made the day all the drearier. To make matters worse, the soft breeze out of the north that had been with them for days was by midday a steady gale. It brought with it a hint of winter’s chill. To Vilmos it didn’t matter that winter was still months away, he was chilled to the bone all the same. He longed for his hooded cloak, a place next to a warm and cheerful fire, and a bowl of winter stew.

The only good thing about this day was that his hands were free, and although Prince Valam said it was yet another sign that William and his men were becoming increasingly bold and less and less afraid, Vilmos didn’t care. He only knew how good it felt to have the restraints off his wrists.

Apparently seeing Vilmos’ peaked appearance, Prince Valam handed Vilmos his overtunic. Vilmos was hesitant to take it.

Vilmos said, “You’ll catch your death of cold, Your Highness.”

“Snows in High Province are already knee-deep, and in winter they are so deep a man cannot walk across them. Take it, Vilmos, to me it will make little difference. The hide is specially treated, rain will not soak it. It will keep you from catching a cold. When the time for action comes we’ll need everyone at their best.”

Vilmos accepted the tunic and wrapped it about him. The Prince’s overtunic was so big in fact that Vilmos was able to wear it like he would have his hooded cloak. He didn’t put his hands into the sleeves. Instead, he pulled the collar up over his head and peered out through a space between the two middle ties.

Vilmos trudged on. Hours passed. Afternoon came. Still, rain poured down upon them. Then just when Vilmos thought the day would end much as it had begun, his deepest fears were realized. The green of forest came into sight.

It was then, in a softly whispered voice that Vilmos told the prince, the princess and the guardsman of his previous travels in the Vangar. He also told them of the soldiers in the valley, and of the Wolmerrelle. All the while he spoke, an uncontrollable trembling and dread flooded over him.

“Thank you, Vilmos,” Prince Valam said. For a time he was obviously deep in thought, then Valam said, “Be that as it may, we must address other matters. Once we cross the boundaries of the Kingdom into the Minors, our captor will have little use for you and Emel.

“I know not why he has allowed Emel to live, but I am sure now why you live. He is using you to keep me in check. He knew I would brood over the injustices he has given you and think not of other things—escape. That is exactly what I did. His advisors whisper well in his ear.

“But my mind is clouded no more. Tomorrow in the forest,” Valam said, “we will make our move then. To die fighting is honorable. To die with a blade in your back is quite another thing…”

Emel seemed to agree. “Tomorrow,” he whispered.

Vilmos wanted to say that Vangar Forest was no place for travelers, especially a small group of unarmed travelers on the run. Instead, he found himself saying, “William of Sever is at home in the forest more than any man. It wouldn’t be a wise—”

Emel cut in. “Would you rather die then?”

Adrina, who had been regarding Vilmos thoughtfully, spoke before he could respond to Emel, “You call the Prince ‘William of Sever’ and there is a ring in your voice as if you know him.”

As if suddenly realizing a thing that had passed by him, Prince Valam’s eyebrows rose and he nodded his head contemplatively. “You are right.” He turned to Vilmos. “Have you met William before?”

“My father is the Counselor of Tabborrath Village.”

“You are Minor-born,” Adrina said. “And you have met him before?”

“Not directly, though I once saw him at the Three Village Assembly. Everyone from our village circle and many from the forests came to Olex Village that day. It was the first time William of Sever had returned to his birthplace.”

“Birthplace?” Valam said, disbelief in his voice. “Queen Elthia was my mother’s sister. She was not Minor-born.”

Vilmos started to say something but Emel cut him off with a wave of his hand. Almost immediately afterward, Vilmos went sprawling face first into the muddy ground as he was booted from behind.

“Rest,” said the now familiar voice. The guard, who apparently took great pleasure in his misdeed, turned away laughing as Vilmos spat and tried to wipe mud from his eyes.

This time as Valam screamed at the guards, “Bring water,” none of them moved.

“Already they find bravery,” Prince Valam whispered, “perhaps tonight in the forest would be even better.”

“You give the word, Your Highness, and only death will keep me from your side,” Emel said.

“I do not think they will kill the two of you just yet. If you truly are Minor-born, Vilmos,” Valam said, turning as he spoke, “William may just give you your life. Use that chance, Vilmos, use it for all it’s worth. Go back to Tabborrath Village and leave the affairs of men to men.”

Vilmos felt suddenly stung. He turned away, hiding the tears in his eyes.

Adrina sat beside Vilmos. She spoke softly to him. “You were about to answer my brother’s question. What were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” Vilmos said through his tears.

Apparently Prince Valam noted Vilmos’ tears too, for as he spoke his voice, which had never been truly gentle before, was also soft. “Go on, please…”

Vilmos shifted to a more comfortable sitting position. “William of Sever was not born in Gregortonn. Gregortonn is the capital, it is not a place of birth.”

Seemingly remembering something from the past, Adrina laughed, “Chancellor Yi’s lessons…” Her voice trailed off and for a moment it seemed she wasn’t going to explain. “All births are registered according to the ancestral home of the father. For census, tithe and tax.”

“Of course,” Vilmos said. He found he was smiling. “My father muttered many silent curses in its name. It was the only of his responsibilities that he disliked.”

Emel waved a hand under his chin. The conversation stopped. Vilmos turned and saw a guard approaching.

“To your feet!” shouted a gruff voice, signifying an end to the brief rest. Apparently their captors were eager for the feeling of safety being within the borders of Sever would provide.

Vilmos struggled to his feet, and stared glumly at Prince Valam momentarily. Then his thoughts turned quickly to what lay ahead. Whatever their struggle, it would take place in the Vangar. Vilmos was sure of this now as he had been sure of no other thing.

Chapter Nine:

Bushwhacked

Like thieves in the night the enemy army had stolen upon Quashan’. From atop the city’s fortified walls, Chancellor Van’te stared out at the enemy host. In the two days since their arrival, they had staged no attacks against the city and though they barred all travel into or out of the city, they harassed its residents in no other way.

Chancellor Van’te turned to the young sergeant at arms beside him. “How many do you estimate today?”

Sergeant Danyel’ grimaced. “A few hundred more arrived in the night. Still, nearly the same as yesterday, around ten thousand.”

“That is my estimate also.” Van’te looked glumly to the young recruits on the wall. “How many were you able to rouse to the city defenses?”

“Two hundred more,” Danyel’ said proudly. “I told them nothing of the garrison’s absence. None would have believed me anyway, who would believe the entire garrison, save for the handful which includes me, is gone.”

The chancellor scrutinized the sergeant, then said in a soft voice, “You think me the true fool to allow such an order to pass, don’t you?”

“The seal was genuine, and what man can refuse a summons by his King. Perhaps Imtal is likewise besieged.”

Chancellor Van’te wasn’t able to respond. “Runner!” came the cry from the west wall.

Chancellor Van’te grinned, he knew if he were persistent enough one of his messengers would get through. “Give the man some help!” Van’te shouted to the archers on the walls. As archers began firing wildly at the

enemy line out of their range, the chancellor moved to leave the wall. “Sergeant Danyel’,” he said, “lead me from the wall.”

The two hurriedly made their way to the courtyard where they hoped to find good news. It was a short walk. Still Chancellor Van’te, well advanced in his years, found he was wheezing and puffing by the walk’s end.

When Van’te and Danyel’ reached the courtyard, they found the runner winded and hunched over after his sprint across the field. Still, without delay the runner handed Chancellor Van’te the scroll, and in earnest the chancellor began to read its contents. “By the Father, “ Van’te muttered to himself, “it is from Prince Valam…” His voice trailed off and shock registered on his face.

Chancellor Van’te turned to say something to the runner and found the man gone, as if he had vanished. “Sergeant Danyel’,” Van’te screamed in a high-pitched nasal tone as only he could, “I want that runner found!”

Danyel’ signaled to the two soldiers beside him. They hurried off. Danyel’ asked, “What does it say? Is the message truly from His Highness?”

Chancellor Van’te showed the scroll to Danyel’. A mute minute passed, then the sergeant said, “Are you sure this is truly Prince Valam’s writing? Couldn’t this be an elaborate hoax to make us quit the city?”

A pained expression crossed Van’te’s face. He blamed himself for what had transpired. He felt suddenly tired and old. “I have schooled His Highness all the years of his life. Surely by now, I should be able to recognize his scrawl… See the loops above the I’s, the double slashes on the T’s and the way he stops to make an L?”

Danyel’ nodded.

“Done that since he was a boy first learning to write, just to annoy me—Yes, I am sure it is his handwriting.”

“Do you really believe that if we opened the gates of the city, the army surrounding Quashan’ would guarantee safe passage for all who wished to leave?”

“Prince Valam didn’t.”

Danyel’ seemed confused. “What do you mean?”

Chancellor Van’te flattened out the scroll and pointed to the last few lines.

Danyel said, “I still don’t understand.”

“The handwriting switched here… Can you see the darkening of the strokes?” Danyel’ shook his head. “Never mind, never mind. Only a foolish old man or a young boy such as you would think five hundred could defend a city from ten thousand.”

“You, Chancellor Van’te, are no fool,” Danyel’ said. He patted the chancellor on the back. “If any can save Quashan’, it is you. Tell us what you would have us do, and we will do it.”

“At any rate, there is little we can do now. Soon enough they’ll know we do not intend to quit the city, the attack will begin then…”

Prince Valam turned to Emel. “How many men are stationed around the periphery of the camp?”

“You mean, is there hope for escape this night?” Emel leaned close to Valam and whispered something that Adrina couldn’t hear, but, from the expression on her brother’s face, it wasn’t good news. Adrina returned to her muddled thoughts. Since their capture, her thoughts had been ever jumbled and never clear.

A day of trudging along overgrown paths had left her exhausted and in tears. Mostly she was distraught because she had always considered herself capable of doing anything a man could do, yet every day now she saw how much she depended on Emel and Valam to make it through the day—especially this last day. Here she had found a bitter truth, until now her life had been the pampered and sheltered life of a spoiled little girl.

Adrina was also agitated because it seemed Valam and Emel left her out of their plans for escape. Disappointed, she remembered a conversation she had with Emel days ago, just before Alderan. She had told him, “I am as good with a blade as you are, perhaps better…”

Emel had replied, “Besting me on the practice field is not the same thing, Adrina.” She remembered how coldly Emel had said it, and how bitter the truth of it was now that she understood what he had meant.

Again she heard the words of the mysterious lady in her ears. The evil brings the change you so wished for. It has found a home in the emptiness of your heart. You care too little for those around you. You see not the servants who toil for you, workers in the fields on their hands and knees with the whip at their backs, drudges scouring the kitchen floors… You must open your eyes!

Adrina thought back to another time, and when she closed her eyes she saw the quiet fields of Mellack Proper—it was then only two days after she met the mysterious lady and her journey was only beginning. Lying there on the cold ground, her body sore, her stomach rumbling, the fields of Mellack Proper, the orchards of Duke Ispeth, the hills of the Braddabaggon and even the mires of Lord Fraddylwicke all seemed desperately far away.

Adrina rubbed painfully blistered feet. “My eyes are open, truly open,” she whispered to the wind. Opening her eyes meant much more than simply seeing the things around her. It meant looking for and finding understanding in the world around her, looking not only with her eyes but also with her heart, mind and soul, and then finding resolve to action. It meant being a participant instead of an onlooker.

“Adrina!” hissed Emel in her ear, breaking Adrina from her thoughts.

Adrina started, Emel clasped a hand over her mouth. Adrina noticed then that the camp seemed suddenly shrouded in darkness. Beneath the forest canopy no stars were visible. Even the central fire seemed muted by the stark darkness. Then she noted that the logs on the fire were all but fiery ashes. Apparently, many hours had passed in what to her had seemed minutes. “Yes?” Adrina finally answered.

Emel squeezed her hand. Just then Adrina noticed the ropes that had been tied around her feet and hands were gone. Before she could speak her thoughts Emel nodded his head as if he were reading them. Her eyes went wide. Adrina tried to speak again. Emel put a silencing finger to her lips.

Valam gripped her shoulder and turned Adrina to face him. He showed her four fingers and then pointing to Emel, he lowered three. With two fingers raised, he pointed to her. Three to Vilmos whose eyes were as wide as saucers. Four, Valam pointed to himself.

He then turned her head to look around the camp. In the distance Adrina saw the immense trunks of the great southern trees whose intertwined boughs formed the clearing they were in. At the far edge of the camp a number of watch fires were set, but they also burned low. Only a handful of guards still stood their watch. Valam pointed out two of them. In the dim light Adrina watched them. One kept slapping both hands to his face, apparently trying to erase sleep from his tired eyes. The other was leaning up against a tree and, to some degree, faced their direction.

A long period of complete silence passed as they waited, for what Adrina wasn’t entirely sure. Then, without preface, Valam raised a single finger and Emel slipped away. For an instant afterward, she saw Emel’s silhouette against light cast by the fading fires and then he disappeared into the unshadowed gloom.

Adrina held her breath as Valam gripped her shoulder. Unexpectedly, he embraced her, and for a moment she was smothered in his great embrace, then, just as suddenly, he ushered her into the gloom after Emel. Her thoughts swam; she didn’t move. Valam gave her a push and suddenly she was racing along the ground on her hands and knees.

Many times she cast nervous sidelong glances to the center of the camp and to the nearest two guards at the perimeter. Any minute she expected someone to shout an alarm and the camp to burst into frenzied activity. As fear and anxiety sought to overwhelm her, she fought to hold them in check.

She knew she had finally reached the edge of the camp when the trunk of one of the great trees appeared in front of her. The next thing Adrina knew, friendly hands were gripping her waist and pulling her to her feet. She didn’t pull away from Emel’s embrace. Instead she hugged him fiercely. His warmth was the only reassuring thing she had known for days and now it was even more reassuring.

Silently, she waited with Emel. The next face she hoped to see was that of the boy, Vilmos. Slowly over the five days of their captivity, Adrina had come to know Vilmos. To her it seemed a strange darkness lurked behind his eyes and also that his thoughts were ever distant, and he was distant. She found this oddly alluring, for in him she saw a bit of herself.

Thinking she saw movement in the gloom, Adrina leaned forward. She knew at once the burly figure she saw wasn’t Vilmos. Panic entered her mind and, momentarily, the urge to flee. She pushed back against Emel’s warmth, her body growing tense.

Abruptly, Emel grabbed her and roughly pulled her back and down. Huddled against the ground they lay together. She saw a figure outlined against the murky pale of the dying lights in the camp. Soon afterward, a second shadowed form joined the first.

“Erravane?” hissed the first. Adrina held deathly still.

The other responded with, “Yes.” From the voice alone, Adrina couldn’t tell if the second figure was a man or a woman, though the first she thought a man. Among Prince William’s soldiers, only a dozen of the several hundred were women. Although they were few, it seemed that they held high positions. Valam had suggested that perhaps they served as William’s personal bodyguards, though he had been honestly unsure of this estimation since several of them came and went seemingly at their own leisure.

A long period of silence followed. Adrina couldn’t see what transpired, though she knew both figures still stood only a few feet away. Then with a sudden heave, both were on the ground and for a time they rolled around in the leaves. Afterward, again silence. She knew only that Emel’s presence beside her was a powerful comfort.

Suddenly, she heard muffled laughter and again the whispered voices.

“Quit, you’ll alert the camp,” hissed the first.

“Not likely.”

“What do you mean?” the first sounded at the end of his patience. “Why are you here, Erravane?”

Behind her Adrina heard Emel’s barely audible gasp. He had recognized the first voice at nearly the same time as she.

“One question at a time my sweet.” Adrina was sure now, the second was a woman. Her name was Erravane, and the first was Prince William. “I have found what you sought.”

“And the traitor?”

“Oh yes, a present for you.” Erravane rose to her knees, then dumped something onto the ground. She cackled madly, then said, “His head.”

William jumped to his feet. “I trust the other is alive?”

“The southern encampments have proceeded north as planned. The bulk of your army is spread out through the forest. Your commanders will join you here, tomorrow.”

“What of King Jarom’s army? Wait a minute, what of the—”

Erravane cut William off, “You are ever impatient. She is well. I believe the deceased—” Erravane kicked the head and it rolled past Adrina. Only Emel’s firm and comforting grip around her waist kept Adrina from screaming. “—Was tricked. Though I am not sure how. These creatures have strange powers.”

“Then you were right?”

Erravane cooed. “Yes, my sweet.”

“Where is she?”

“I was afraid you’d prefer her to me. And what of this princess? I’ve heard tell she is quite striking.”

William said, “She is a child.”

“She is the enemy. Have you so soon forgotten the empty stare in your father’s eyes?”

“I never will.” William began to move back to the camp. “No games this time, Erravane, no games… Dawn is only a few hours away. I trust your pets will harry my men no longer?”

“My dear William, they take only what they need. The disappearance of one or two in the night is of little consequence. Would you rather have them turn on me?”

For the first time as he turned back to Erravane, Adrina saw Prince William’s face clearly outlined in the pale light. “Perhaps it would not be such a—”

Erravane put a finger to William’s lips. “You still need me, William of Sever. Do not say a thing you will later regret.” With that, Prince William strode away, and soon afterward, Erravane. Both went in separate directions.

Emel helped Adrina to her feet. Finally she took a deep releasing breath. Before she had been nearly afraid to breathe and had done so only sporadically. Erravane and William had been so close.

Adrina heard movement in the leaves behind her. She turned, sighed, knowing at once it was Valam.

“I circled around,” Valam explained. “The boy?”

Adrina shrugged.

Emel who had been staring intently toward the camp said, “There, on the far side, do you see?”

Adrina and Valam turned and stared. On the opposite side of the camp, reflected in the light of the dying embers of a perimeter fire, was a mostly shadowed face. Undoubtedly, it belonged to Vilmos.

“Were you listening?” Emel asked. Valam nodded and Emel continued. “The time to make our escape is now or never.”

“No,” Adrina hissed angrily. “Vilmos is one of us.”

Valam took Adrina’s hand. “Alas, there is little we can do now. We would waste precious time if we tried to circle the camp. We cannot. There is too much at stake. You heard as well as I, the forest is full of William’s men… Perhaps it is for the best. He should fare well and, should his instincts continue to lead him south, he will find safety quickly.

“On the other hand, we will not be so fortunate. Our duty takes us north. We will have the whole of an army at our heels until we either reach Quashan’ or die trying.” Valam paused, took a deep breath, then added, “Quickly now…”

Vilmos watched his companions turn away and disappear into the gloom. Disbelief and dread flooded his thoughts. He had no idea how he had ended up on the opposite side of the camp, but the one thing he was sure of now was that he was on his own.

Anger quickly replaced disbelief and dread. Valam, Emel and Adrina had deserted him. Vilmos knew dawn was near and that he must act or surely he would be recaptured, but where would he run to? If he made a wide circle around the camp and tried to follow the others, could he find their trail? Did he want to find their trail? After all, they had forsaken him.

Vilmos caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t wait to find out what it was he saw, he ran away fast as he could. Unsure which direction to flee, he ran aimlessly. His fear drove him on and only his instinct and the flora of the forest controlled his direction.

Then as dawn lifted darkness from the forest leaving only shadows, Vilmos stopped running. Tired, hungry and feeling desperately alone, he slumped on a moss-covered stump. He stared up through a break in the canopy where a ray of soft white light radiated down to the forest floor.

Vilmos moved to the spot bathed by the warm ray and found a sense of security in it. He thought about Prince Valam, Princess Adrina and Emel then. During his run he had come to terms with what had happened. He was no longer angry or mad at them for leaving him. He understood now that they had done what they had to do. He heard the prince’s words in his ears, “… Use that chance, Vilmos, use it for all it’s worth. Go back to Tabborrath Village and leave the affairs of men to men.”

Suddenly, Vilmos was homesick. It seemed forever since he had joined Xith and left Tabborrath Village. He lay back, crossed his arms behind his head and closed tired eyes. For a time he forgot about the dangers. He forgot that he was lost and alone in Vangar Forest. He knew only that images of home played before his closed lids.

With Emel leading the way and Valam pulling her, Adrina raced faster and faster. At first she gave her sore and blistered feet little thought. She flitted along and kept pace just behind Emel.

Soon Valam was pulling her more than she moved under her own power. Soon afterward, Adrina was limping. Seemingly without thought or hesitation, Valam picked Adrina up and, with her cast her over his shoulder, continued.

For a time, all was well. Then, between her brother’s gasps as he heavily sucked at the air, Adrina heard shouts from far off. Valam and Emel apparently heard them too and panic urged them to new speeds.

They raced on and on, the voices grew near intermittently and then again distant. Dawn was at hand, and gloom began to lift from the forest.

“Their trackers are worse… than those of… South Province,” Emel said between breaths, “but still, what I wouldn’t give for Ebony about now… He’d get the three of us… out of this accursed forest… in no time.”

Valam started to laugh or so it appeared, then suddenly he doubled over, and dropped Adrina.

“It is a good time to rest,” Emel said, as he slumped to the ground.

Adrina forced herself to stand on tender feet. “Are they far behind?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” Emel said. “Do you think you can continue on your own?”

“If you two can, I must…” Adrina was about to let her words trail off, then she decided to voice her thoughts. “Do you really think Vilmos escaped too?”

Valam stood, then turned and stared in the direction they had just come from. “Let us hope so.”

Adrina’s face lit with worry and showed her fears to the contrary. Emel took her hand and said, “I think he did, but now is not the time to dwell on things we cannot change.”

Shortly afterward the three began running again. Adrina moved as swiftly as she could. Valam and Emel did their best to help her keep up with them. Shouts came from off to their left now and their feet lead them right. Abruptly they stumbled into a clearing. Adrina tripped over a bound and gagged figure that was lying in the grass on the edge of the clearing.

Run, said a faint voice in their minds. Forget me. I am lost. It is a trap.

Emel grabbed one of Adrina’s hands, Valam the other. They started to race away. A circle of dark shapes with glowing eyes emerged from hiding. A voice asked, “Where are our guests going?”

Adrina recognized the voice of the speaker. “Erravane?”

Deftly the speaker stepped forward, grabbed Adrina’s chin in her hand and turned her face to the pale light. “You are a pretty one.”

Valam grabbed Erravane’s arm and twisted it back as hard as he could, which brought the woman to her knees. Pain was met with sick laughter.

“Do you mock me?” Valam screamed as he twisted the arm back still further, fully expecting to hear the snap of breaking bones.

The arm began to bend and change in Valam’s hand, growing thicker and shorter. Valam let go and pulled Adrina back, confusion and perhaps bewilderment showed on his face.

“If you move again,” Erravane said, her voice changed as her body changed, “they will kill you.”

“Close your eyes, Adrina. This is no thing for you to see,” Valam shouted. “Of all the beasts of hell…”

But Adrina couldn’t close her eyes, she felt compelled to watch the metamorphosis. Erravane’s eyes were glowing now and fangs filled her mouth, a mouth that was twisting and contorting, growing wider and longer as Adrina look on in fascinated horror.

Valam stepped in front of Adrina protectively. “If I had my sword,” Valam said, “I would run you through and send you back to the icy pits you ascended from.”

Erravane snapped her head and locked powerful, wolflike jaws around Valam’s hand. Screaming in agony, Valam dropped to his knees. Adrina closed her eyes and squeezed them together as tight as she could. She waited for the screaming to stop and when it did, she felt compelled to open her eyes. She was just as surprised as Valam obviously was to find he still had a hand.

Erravane, clearly no longer human, spoke with an otherworldly voice. “I said, ‘no movement.’ Do listen more carefully.” Erravane licked her front paw.

Valam spoke again, but took care not to move. “What do you hope to gain from this? Prince William will kill the lot of you as soon as he has no need for you?”

“Ah, but I ensure that he continues to need me until I have all that I want for. And, now I have you. His precious little bargaining pieces. He will grovel on his knees to get you back.”

Chapter Ten:

Conquest

The first shafts of golden light from the new day were just breaking the horizon far to the east. A wet spray blew in off the sea, and Keeper Martin shivered. He had awoken early and only he and the mid-watchmen greeted the new day.

A troubled dream had disturbed his few hours of precious sleep. Keeper Q’yer’s response to his earlier dream message had been grimmer than he ever imagined it could be. Quashan’ was under siege. How five hundred defenders held the city was beyond his imagining. But there had been more distressful tidings in the dream, and this, Martin didn’t even want to think about.

The sound of footsteps caused Martin to turn. He eyed Captain Adylton who looked as frazzled as he felt. “You did not sleep well this night?”

“I did not sleep,” answered the captain as he stared out across the dark waters.

Martin asked pointedly, “How many days to Quashan’ without the Foot?”

Captain Adylton raised an eyebrow. “Two days of hard riding, and only if we can get enough fresh horses in Alderan City. Otherwise, three at best.”

“How long would it take for the Foot to catch up?”

“Foot soldiers move like sand caught in those waves,” Adylton said, eyeing the frothy surf breaking against the rocks. “Depending on the weather, I’d say seven days.”

“At best?”

“Six, maybe five. They’d arrive spent and—” Captain Adylton broke off, apparently he heard the footsteps as Martin did. Both men turned to see who was approaching.

“Mid-watchman,” Keeper Martin said. “He’s been hawking me since I stepped out here.”

Captain Adylton regarded the watchman, then tossed Martin a wink. “My man… My men,” he said, waving his hand in a sweeping gesture around the camp.

“And Trendmore’s?”

“I gave his watchmen liberty. Told them to enjoy the Free Cities.”

Keeper Martin tightened his cloak about him. “Then you’ve gone ahead. Are you ready?”

“Nearly so. It should all go smoothly. Better than half of his men are on liberty and he isn’t the wiser… Have you received word from Alderan or has something happened in Quashan’?”

“You, Captain Adylton, are very perceptive.” Martin explained about the dream message and the situation in Quashan’. Adylton grimaced. “So you see,” Keeper Martin concluded, “there is precious little time to waste.”

“What of Alderan? You didn’t say. Did the ship arrive safely?”

Keeper Martin fixed eyes filled with distress on the captain. “Alderan is no more.”

“Surely you don’t mean—” Adylton began. Martin nodded solemnly. “—And, Prince Valam?”

Martin said nothing.

Martin was sure Captain Adylton was going to collapse. The captain’s knees bowed and his face became ashen. Martin grabbed the captain’s shoulders to steady him.

Captain Adylton turned to face the salty spray of the breaking waves. He was silent for a long time. Yet it was clear he was slowly recovering his wits as anger and finally resolve seemed to replace disbelief. “What of the sea?” Captain Adytlon asked. “We could send the foot soldiers by ship down the coast… Better still, up River Trollbridge. In autumn the rivers run high. No deep-hulled ships, but still, with the right winds and heavy oars, they could land within a day’s march of Quashan’.”

An incomplete smile eased Martin’s downtrodden expression. “You, my friend, have never bargained with free traders. It’ll take a king’s ransom to pay for passage… Still, the plan is not without merit.”

“Let me untie her. You must untie her,” pleaded Adrina, “she is in obvious pain.”

Do not worry unnecessarily, whispered the pleasant feminine voice in Adrina’s mind. I will journey to Great-Father, but it will not be at the hand of the likes of this.

“Enough,” snapped Erravane. “My patience is at an end. You will now tell me where the boy is.”

The first rays of a new day pierced the thick canopy overhead, casting odd shadows about the forest floor. Erravane turned toward the light. Suddenly and swiftly, Valam lunged at Erravane, but, just as swiftly, one of Erravane’s beasts leapt upon him and knocked him to the ground. Afterward, it stood defiantly upon Valam’s chest, staring down at him, a deep rumbling growl escaping its throat. Adrina shuddered and edged closer to Emel.

“My pets are hungry—” Erravane reverted to human form as she spoke, her voice losing its otherworldly hue. “Do they feast on a boy or one of you? The decision is yours, but do not take too long to decide.” There was anger on her face, mirrored in her eyes. She walked in a wide circle around Valam, staring down at him.

“Which will talk?” Erravane said, pointing her finger at each of the three in turn.

No one responded.

“Which will die?”

When no answer was forthcoming, Erravane said, “If you do not choose, then I will choose.” With a lightning fast snap of her wrists, Erravane wrapped her hands around Adrina’s throat. “I choose the princess.”

Adrina recoiled; the hands tensed around her throat until it seemed she could not breathe. Terrified, Adrina stared wildly at Erravane. Beside her Valam and Emel attempted to gain to their feet, but one of the Wolmerrelle had likewise leapt upon Emel.

“Why do you care so about a boy?” Adrina asked, her words coming out through a strained gasp. “Vilmos is long gone.”

“His name,” Erravane said sinisterly. “Thank you. Now, where did he go?”

“Home, for all we know.”

Erravane tightened her grip on Adrina’s throat. Her long, sharp fingernails pierced the skin and drew blood. “That is not the answer I want. I tire of this, and I too hunger for a feast.”

Straining ineffectively to raise his chest under the weight of the Wolmerrelle, Emel craned his head upward. “Let Adrina go! I will die willingly in her stead.”

Erravane started to laugh, a deep demented cackle. “So noble, so very noble. What about you, Prince of the North? Would you die for her too?”

Valam said, “Let them both go and I will do whatever it is you ask.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Stop!” shouted a voice vaguely familiar to Adrina. “You do not know what it is you do. Make no promises to her kind.” Xith emerged from the shadows and stood with his hands extended before Erravane.

“Watcher,” Erravane said, no surprise in her voice. “Age takes your stealth. You clomp around like a Man. I wondered what it would take to make you reveal yourself, and now I know.”

“This is no game. What is occurring is of no concern to you.” Xith’s eyes glowed as he regarded Adrina momentarily. Adrina saw strange emotions on his face and there was a quality in his voice that escaped her ears. “Return to Ril Akh Arr and Under-Earth, Erravane.”

Erravane hissed, then attacked Xith. She knocked him down and stood over him. Xith made no move to defend himself.

“Attempt your guile of Voice on me again,” Erravane said, “and I will kill you.”

“Then kill me, Erravane, I grow weary.”

Erravane hissed again and released Xith’s throat. “You sicken me. All of you sicken me. So willing to die. So willing to sacrifice. Is the will to survive in any of you?”

Erravane cocked her head as if listening to the wind. “You are too late Watcher. The hunt is joined. Oh, they are joyous!”

“Vilmos did not kill Rake. It was I who took his head.”

Erravane laughed again, the same sickly cackle. “I know, which is why I will enjoy their feast all the more.”

“Return to your forests. Nothing that happens here concerns your kind. You tamper with forces you do not understand.”

“I will leave in good time, once I have what I came for.”

“And what is that?” Xith asked.

Adrina shouted, “Prince William!”

Xith jumped to his feet. “Is that it, Erravane?... Your appetite has changed.”

“I already have his child in my womb.”

Xith laughed. “If you had so precious a cargo you would have returned to Ril Akh Arr… A half-breed child of royal blood no less…” Xith added the Voice at the last, “Let Vilmos go. You do not need him.”

Erravane pounced on Xith and slashed his face with her fingernails. “I warned you, Watcher. I will kill the boy now.”

As if stung, Xith reeled away from Erravane. “And if he kills your pets, what then? What will you do then?”

“He will not.”

“What if? What then? Would you no longer meddle in affairs that do not concern you?”

Erravane was obviously irritated at the course of the conversation. “Yes,” she shot back at Xith.

“Is that a promise?”

“And if the boy dies, what then?”

Xith said simply, “I will surrender to your will.”

“I would have you surrender regardless.”

“You are far from our realm, further still from the forest temple of Arr. Attempt a test of wills here and you will lose.” Erravane slashed Xith across the face again. Xith held his ground. “If Vilmos survives, you will return to Under-Earth. If he dies, I will do as you bid. I would even help you birth the child if that is your wish.”

Erravane’s eyes widened greedily. “You would birth an abomination?”

Xith slowly nodded.

Erravane grinned. “Your faith in a human child will be your undoing.”

Quite sure what had awoken him, Vilmos stirred. He had been dreaming of Tabborrath Village but thoughts and dreams all spun away. His eyes were wide, his mind in shock. From not far off came another long wailing cry, joined by more, which were still distant. He had sudden flashbacks to another time in Vangar Forest. He knew with certainty the Wolmerrelle hunted him.

He cast aside the prince’s overtunic. The oversized garment had kept him warm during these past dreary days and chilly nights. Now he needed speed and not warmth.

Then as he started to flee, he caught a bit of an old memory. Perhaps he could trick the Wolmerrelle just as he knew he could the hounds of Tabborrath’s huntmaster. Without delay, he retrieved the tunic. He dragged it along the ground, then scrambled up into a nearby tree and left the tunic there.

Then he ran. He had no idea where he ran to, only that he ran away from the howls. The boughs of trees passed as dark blurs around him and as he ran, Vilmos imagined that Xith was beside him and that the shaman urged him to race faster and faster.

They lead us, whispered an old voice in his mind. He nodded in understanding. He veered right instead of left where the unnerving calls sought to lead him.

His race became a race of desperation. He ran to escape, only to escape. On and on he raced. He used his hands to ward off branches that seemed to reach out to grab him as he passed. He mounted a rise and started down its backside. There, he found his second wind. The path muddied at the bottom of the rise. He came to a stream, kneeled briefly to drink of its cool waters, then hurried on. The calls were never far off.

Completely winded, he stopped. Clutching his chest, panting for air, he hunched over. His face, cold despite the perspiration that dripped from his brow, stung where branches had caught his cheeks. He fought to get his breathing under control and bit back the pain of sore muscles.

Gradually the splotches before his eyes cleared and he brought his breathing under control. He straightened up and looked around, noticing then that the forest seemed suddenly too quiet. His face blank and expressionless, he panned his eyes slowly from left to right.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement and perhaps, a flash of white. Suddenly, the voice of the past was in his mind again, From this lesson stems the basis of your magical shield, the shield that will protect and keep you in dangerous times…

Vilmos conjured the magical shield now, just as he had then. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a great black blur sweep toward him. A yelp followed as the creature struck the invisible barrier. Still, its momentum carried him to the ground with it.

Disoriented, he shook his head and inhaled. The force of the blow had knocked the wind out of him. For an instant, it was as if he didn’t think at all. All his bewildered thoughts stopped, the magical shield fell away, and then the beast howled and struck again.

He struck back with his fists. He clubbed the side of one of the Wolmerrelle’s two heads. The creature wheeled back. He crab-crawled backwards as fast as he could. Only his back slamming against the trunk of a tree stopped his crazed retreat. Then without even realizing what he was doing, a trace of blue-white light danced across his fingertips. The bolt raced outward and caught the Wolmerrelle full in the torso. Howling madly, it staggered backward.

Vilmos pressed his back against the tree trunk, and, using his knees, inched up to a standing position. Still, he was terrified and his every thought screamed out to him, Escape! Again magic raced from his hands and struck the howling Wolmerrelle. The smell of singed fur and flesh choked the air. The creature charged, but managed only a single stride before collapsing.

For the longest time he didn’t move. He sat wide-eyed, his thoughts still racing, still screaming, Run! Escape! Get away! But the Wolmerrelle was no longer moving.

Cautiously, he crept forward. He reached out with his foot and nudged the beast. He jumped back as it convulsed. Then, it moved no more.

He was elated, tired from his flight and drained from the brief fight. He collapsed to his haunches, but was given little time to recover. A glimmer of movement out of the corner of his vision caught his eye. Suddenly, he knew more of the creatures lurked just beyond his view in the shadows. He raised the magical shield. Again it saved him. Only this time the great beast did not carry him to the ground with it, and this time he maintained the shield.

They came at him then, one by one in a great wave. He struggled to maintain the shield and keep his feet. Magic surged wildly through him as he drew in more and more energy. Consumed by it, he turned wild eyes on the five Wolmerrelle that circled him, waiting to pounce.

Again his thoughts were propelled to the past. In his mind as he poised for the attack and turned in a tight circle, it was the great black bear that he saw. Reared up on its hind legs, it towered over him, a mountain of black fur and dark eyes.

He was no longer gripped by terror as he stared up at it. The voice in his mind no longer screamed, RUN! It was chastising him. Control! Always stay in control, it said.

He fought to gain control of the rampant energies within him. Perhaps sensing a moment of weakness, the Wolmerrelle charged.

His shield held them at bay and the charge served to focus his thoughts. Suddenly, he realized something. Xith had traveled through Vangar Forest to reach the clearing beyond his village. He had all but admitted it. He had arrived on horseback and no horse could have descended into the valley from anywhere within many miles of that clearing. And that night when Midori had left the camp, she had taken the horse with her, for the animal hadn’t been there the next morning.

Vilmos’ own voice rang in his ears, You weren’t expecting hunters and trackers were you. Who were you expecting, shaman?

There is no need to trouble over the could have beens, returned Xith’s voice, and Vilmos was now sure that the great black bear hadn’t mauled and killed the girl from Olex Village. The bear hadn’t attacked him during that fateful encounter and it probably wouldn’t have. Evident anger in his eyes and on his face, he turned to face the first of the great two-headed beasts.

Do what you must… rang Xith’s voice in his ears.

The urge to let the magic flow unchecked through him was suddenly strong. He fought to control it and instead channeled that strength carefully to his hands. Bolts of blue-white lightening sprang forth.

The bolts struck one of the beasts. The creature died.

His magical shield fell as the remaining four attacked and overwhelmed him. White-hot fire shot through his right leg as a pair of powerful jaws clamped down on it. He let out a scream that shook the trees and rang through the forest.

Pain flooded his thoughts, panic took over. Wildly, he lashed out again and again, wielding his magic, punching, even kicking when necessary to fend off the relentless beasts.

Again, he found himself with his back to the trunk of one of the great trees of the forest. The last of the great beasts stared him down. He could barely stand now, and only the tree at his back kept him on his feet. Too weary to focus, too weary to find his center, he knew only that the magic was gone now, gone with his rage.

He didn’t think it odd that this beast had only one head, though he did take note of it. This Wolmerrelle was smaller than the others, still somehow more powerful. Its eyes, glowing even in the light of the new day, regarded him in an almost human way. Though badly wounded, it dragged its hind legs while howling a tormented wail up at the heavens and came at him.

In an attempt to flee, he stumbled and fell. The injured leg that had held him while his fervor raged, collapsed under his weight. His face slapped the hard earth first, his hands were too slow to brace against the fall. With his face pressed against wet earth, muddied with blood surely his own as well as the fallen beasts, Vilmos lay where he fell, too drained to move.

A shadow blocked out the daylight filtering in through the forest canopy. He rolled his eyes up to see the Wolmerrelle standing over him. He shielded his face with his arms as it set upon him. The creature latched onto the arm and shook its head wildly.

He groped frantically with his free hand and kicked at the beast’s head with his one good leg. His hand found only leaves and dirt, but there was something on the ground just outside his reach. He could feel the edge of it.

Shape your power, use it to your advantage! Concentrate, control, focus! screamed the voice in his mind. Vilmos squeezed his eyes tight, fighting the pain, fighting to concentrate.

He focused on the object just out of his reach. It was the clubbed end of broken branch, he could feel it now vibrating on the ground. It wanted to inch forward into his grasp. Then suddenly it was in his hand and he began bludgeoning the beast.

The weakened Wolmerrelle howled and hissed. Repeatedly, it raked his chest with its forepaws. For an instant as he beat with all his might on the creature’s head, he swore he saw a human face—his weary mind and body were surely playing tricks on him. He mustered the strength to deliver a last desperate blow and then dealt it, putting every bit of himself into the blow. The crunching sound of bone and wood followed. The branch broke. The beast collapsed and just as suddenly as the attack had come it was over.

Blood covered his face. His hands. His arms. He knew not whether it was his own. He didn’t care. He had won.

“I did it,” Vilmos whispered to the voice in his mind. You performed excellently, the voice whispered back. Vilmos managed a smile. Then, weak from blood loss and battle, he collapsed.

“If you strike,” Xith said, regarding the clawed hand raised to his throat, “know that our arrangement is void. In addition, if you do not kill me with that single blow, know that I will kill you. Know also that the boy’s powers pale in comparison to my own and that my memory is as long as time itself. One day I will return to Under-Earth. It is in your hands whether I make my life’s last work the siege of Ril Akh Arr or other matters…”

Deftly Erravane swept back her hand. “This is far from over.” She said it evilly. She was hiding something and apparently Xith knew it.

“If you have designs on Prince William, think again. I need him alive.”

“So do I,” hissed Erravane.

“It is over, Erravane!” Xith grabbed Erravane’s throat with a mystical force that Adrina couldn’t see but knew was there. Erravane’s beasts raced to her aid but crashed against an invisible barrier. Viciously they attacked the unseen wall but couldn’t break through.

“Do not dismiss me,” hissed Erravane despite the pressure of the phantom’s grasp on her throat. A dozen more Wolmerrelle emerged from the shadows and, suddenly, the woods were full of long wailing cries. “You kill me and you will never leave the forest alive.”

Xith pointed his finger at one of Erravane’s beasts. A line of fire raced from his hand and engulfed it.

Adrina gasped. She realized the source of Xith’s mysterious powers. “Forbidden magic,” she whispered.

Erravane screamed a tortured wail that matched the dying Wolmerrelle’s. Her face twisted and contorted as she sought to change shapes, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t break free of the phantom’s grasp.

A figure emerged from the shadows. Deep blue eyes looked in Adrina’s direction momentarily, then suddenly the figure was moving with inhuman speed among the pack of Wolmerrelle. “Seth,” whispered Adrina. The still figure whose head Adrina held answered, Yes, and there was evident relief in the tone.

Xith matched Seth’s blows one for one with a stinging magical flame. One by one the Wolmerrelle fell. Eyes bulging, Erravane clawed at the air and before Emel and Prince Valam could gain their feet and join the fray, she cried out, “Enough, enough. Stop!”

Mid-blow Seth stopped, drew up to his full height and cast a sidelong glance at Erravane. The remaining Wolmerrelle made no move to attack him. Dumbfounded, Emel and Valam looked to Xith.

“It is over,” Xith said. “If you leave here alive, Erravane, it will be up to you… Cease struggling, the grip will be relaxed accordingly.” Erravane hissed but ceased to struggle against the unseen phantom. Xith turned to Adrina then, “Ease your fears, Princess, those creatures cannot break through.”

Xith then turned to Seth. “You are bleeding.”

It is only a scratch.

“As superficial as that single scratch may seem, it could kill you if not cleaned properly. Untreated, it will fester like nothing you have ever seen.” He paused, then turned back to Adrina, “I must apologize for waiting so long, but I had to be sure—”

“What of our deal?” interrupted Erravane, “You promised I’d go free.”

“I made no such promise, though you did promise to return to Ril Akh Arr and meddle no longer in affairs that do not concern you or your kind.”

Adrina broke her trancelike gaze on Xith. She looked once more to pitiful Erravane, then beckoned to Seth. “Sit beside me,” she said, “let me clean your wound.”

Xith smiled fondly at Adrina, as if remembering a thing from the past. Then he turned back to Erravane, who had begun to howl.

“Let me go,” Erravane hissed, “you have what you wanted.”

Xith forced the phantom’s grip. “Answer this question with care, your life depends on it. When will William meet King Jarom?”

“I do not know… You must let me go.”

“She lies,” Emel said. “Adrina and I overheard her speaking to Prince William. His commanders will join him at his camp tomorrow.”

Erravane cringed and cowered away from Xith’s stare. She began babbling. “His army is ready to march. The encampments are spread out all along the northern edge of the forest. William awaits the arrival of King Jarom’s army before he strikes. King Jarom’s advanced guard has already struck against Quashan’, they lay siege to the city days ago.”

“Where is Jarom’s army now?” questioned Xith. “Where is King Jarom?”

“Quashan’, but the bulk of his army has just entered the southern edge of the Vangar. Even with the paths cut by William’s path forgers, days will pass before they arrive.”

The unseen hand lifted Erravane off her feet. Xith asked, “William doesn’t know this?”

“He knows only what I see fit to tell him.”

Momentarily, Adrina saw surprise or perhaps glee cross Xith’s face. Xith said, “The games end, Erravane. I would sooner cut out your tongue than listen to you speak. If you lie about King Jarom, I will kill you now and be done with it.”

“He is an overzealous man who thinks he cannot lose. My beasts took great pleasure in harrying his soldiers… They are truly afraid of these forests now.”

Xith seemed pleased with the answer. “You are free to go, Erravane. Know that I make no empty promises. If ever I see you again, I will kill you, and more… Return to Under-Earth for it is there that you belong, and not here.”

The expression in Erravane’s eyes as the unseen hand released her, matched that which had been in Xith’s eyes moments earlier. Adrina and the others watched as Erravane and her beasts slipped away into the shadows. As Adrina had finished cleaning his wound, Seth now saw to Galan’s needs. He held a water bag to Galan’s lips and she drank heavily.

Emel spoke first, voicing the thoughts also on Adrina’s mind. “Do you really believe Erravane will do as you asked? I don’t trust her.”

Neither do I, sent Seth.

“Though, eventually, she will keep her promise, Erravane is hardly one to be taken at her word. She is strong willed and wants what it is she came for, this I am counting on.” Xith turned to Galan and Seth, “Can she walk unaided?”

Alas no, Brother Galan is weak from thirst and hunger…

Valam, who had been quietly regarding Galan’s lithe figure, said, “I will carry her.” Adrina had never seen such a look in her brother’s eyes. Valam was smitten by Galan’s angelic beauty, or so it appeared.

“Good, good,” Xith said. “We have little more than this day and the next to set matters straight… But first we must find Vilmos.”

Adrina turned to Xith. “I must ask,” she said. “Where have you been these many past days? Where is Father Jacob?”

“Know that this way matters have turned out better than they otherwise would have. I had very important matters to attend to, and I am truly sorry if you feel that I abandoned you when you needed me the most.”

“What of Father Jacob?”

“Jacob is well, but surely irritated,” was all Xith said.

Chapter Eleven:

Full Circle

“Well met, Keeper Q’yer. What brings you to the walls?” asked Sergeant Danyel’.

“A dream,” responded the keeper, his voice distant, his eyes searching the horizon.

Sergeant Danyel’ turned about on his heel and looked out at the campfires that dotted the landscape like a swarm of lightning bugs. “At dawn they will come again. They attack alternately from the south, east and west, leaving only the north wall alone. They toy with us and keep us occupied though I know not why. Perhaps Great-Father truly smiles upon us, for if they ever once attacked in full force, we would be swept away.”

Danyel’s voice became soft. “What I would not give for a spy among them.”

Keeper Q’yer seemed to only half listen to Danyel’ as he stared, then as he turned away he asked, “What of Chancellor Van’te?”

“He sleeps awaiting the attack. I beg you not to disturb him if it is your plan. It is the first he’s slept in days. We need his direction tomorrow.”

“I bring good news, I think he would approve.”

Danyel’ regarded the keeper’s troubled eyes. “You don’t look like a man bearing good news.”

“With the good there is always the bad. Will I find the chancellor in his quarters?”

“No, he has taken up residence elsewhere. I will take you to him if I must.”

“You must, this is important, a dream message from Keeper Martin.”

Adrina drove her mount still faster. She tried to shake images of the boy from her mind. They had found Vilmos lying on ground saturated with blood some hours after Erravane had disappeared into the forest shadows. Adrina was certain that death had found him by now and tried to convince herself that perhaps Vilmos had found peace.

She cast the thoughts away and whipped the reins of her mount. She glanced to Emel and Valam who rode in tight formation on either side of her. She couldn’t help noting the defiant pride in Emel’s eyes as he stroked his Ebony. How Xith had safeguarded and kept their horses after Alderan was beyond her.

To Adrina it was clear that Emel was both excited and troubled. The reunion between master and mount had been a sweet one and left Adrina a bit envious. Emel had not hid his joy at the sight of his beloved steed.

It was now well into the afternoon. The three had left the southern forests in early morning. Slipping through William’s lines had been easier than Adrina imagined it would be. One thing was clear, the soldiers weren’t expecting anyone to pass through their ranks. Their camps had no guards posted forward or rear.

An enemy army, worse, an enemy army without cares, so close to Kingdom soil, had outraged them all. Valam, seemingly the most. More than once Adrina had watched him fight back the urge to charge into one of the sleepy camps and slaughter the unwary louts—”louts” being Valam’s word for them.

As they neared the top of a small rise, Valam signaled a halt. Adrina reined in her mount and dismounted. “Dusk is still a few hours away,” she said. “Why do we stop?”

Valam, clearly deep in thought and already preparing to rub down his mount’s tired legs, didn’t seem to hear Adrina’s question.

Emel said, “We can’t afford a lame mount now, Adrina, despite our urge to race on. I’ll rub down Ebony and if you’ll walk him after, I’ll do your mount.”

“I’ll rub down my own horse. Show me what I must do.”

“You should rest. His Highness may wish to press on through the night and we will surely end up walking at some point.”

“Do you speak for my brother now?”

Emel cast her a glum stare then turned back to Ebony. He removed Ebony’s saddle and walked him for a time, then began using a comb from his saddlebags. Imitating his actions, Adrina did her best to rub down her steed. Never had she imagined that rubbing down an animal could be so tiring.

Afterward she found she had to rinse the stink of animal sweat from her hands. Exhausted, Adrina sat cross-legged and unladylike upon the ground. Days of captivity and hardship had nearly numbed her awareness to proper mannerisms, and it was only absently that she felt the moisture of the tall grasses.

As a voice from the past flashed through her mind, Adrina looked to Valam who was stretched out on the ground and staring up at the darkening sky. She knew that though he looked relaxed, he was brooding. “I miss you, Lady Isador,” Adrina whispered to the fleeting voice in her mind, “perhaps you were right, wintering with Rudden Klaiveson wouldn’t have been so bad a thing.”

Adrina found Emel’s eyes upon her. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“I know.”

“Is there really hope in this race? I mean, Quashan’ is east, we ride north and we haven’t even crossed the river—”

“His Highness knows what he is doing. There is a ford nearby, we will cross it and then follow the far branch of the river back to the south and east.”

“What did he and Xith talk about? They spoke at length. Valam said nothing and we’ve been riding all day. Neither of you have said anything, what am I supposed to think?”

Suddenly Adrina noticed Valam was on his feet. Valam said, “You yourself saw William’s army in the forest. You know that the entirety of the second most powerful army in all the lands marches north and that Quashan’ is under siege. What is there to say?”

Valam turned to Emel and then back to Adrina. “You really want to know what the shaman told me?”

Adrina cast imploring eyes in Valam’s direction.

“We talked about this,” said Valam withdrawing his father’s sword from its sheath. “Truth Bringer” the sword was called. It was wider across than a man’s hand and taller than most men as well. The blade was the finest Reassae steel and sharp enough to part a man’s head from his shoulders with but a single blow. “Prince William’s men took it from me, and now I have it again. Satisfied?”

Adrina wasn’t. She wanted knew Xith and Valam had talked about more than the sword. The discussion was heated and rather one sided with Valam doing most of the listening.

“This is no place for you, Adrina. Why father ever let you leave Imtal when he was aware of the troubles here, I’ll never understand. And why Keeper Martin and Father Jacob let you continue the journey when they knew there was danger is a matter I intend to take up—”

Emel put his hand on Valam’s shoulder. Valam regarded it but still continued, “These are things that must be said, things I could not find heart to say before. But now that we are clear of danger for a time, I must speak my mind.”

“No one is to blame but me, Valam. You know I get what I want—it has always been that way. If you’re going to point the finger at anyone, point it at me.”

“There will be time for blame and arguments later,” Emel said, “with luck we will be upon the road to Quashan’ in the morning.”

A deep worry was written on Valam’s face as he turned away from Adrina and said to Emel, “It is a hope, yes.”

“You want me to what?” screamed the galley’s captain above the sound of pace keeper’s drums.

“I want you to continue up river,” said Keeper Martin.

“Captain Adylton, you claim to be a fisher’s son, bring some sense to your companion.”

Captain Adylton had been watching the rise and fall of the sweeps as they stroked the water and it took him a moment to respond. “If any of your ships are damaged, we’ll pay you double its worth in gold from the King’s treasury.”

“Night is nigh at hand.”

“Triple,” said Adylton.

The ship captain still seemed hesitant.

Captain Adylton said, “Plus a year’s wages for lost revenues during rebuilding.”

“Lanterns!” shouted the galley captain, “Bow, starboard, port. Close watch! Drummer, mid beat! Relay the orders to the rest of the fleet!”

Keeper Martin nodded approval. He and Captain Adylton moved away from the helm so their voices wouldn’t be within earshot of the galley’s captain. With the noise of the drums, the grunts of the rowers and the splash of the sweeps, they didn’t have to go far.

Keeper Martin said, “You learn the ways of free traders quickly.”

“I didn’t say I’d never bargained with free traders before, my friend, what I said was ‘I disliked free traders.’ Yet I suppose there are worse ills in the world than a hunger for gold.”

“Well said, but how much is it going to cost to convince him to continue when one of his precious ships really hits bottom?”

Captain Adylton frowned. “Do you believe the river still so shallow, even with the recent rains?”

“If the Trollbridge was safely traversable at any time during the year, an enterprising captain, perhaps even our ship’s captain, would’ve been sailing it long ago, and there would be ports up and down—”

“—I get the point,” Captain Adylton said, shifting his stance as the boat swayed. “We will pray then that none of his ships run aground.” Captain Adylton tried to change the topic of the conversation. “Did this Keeper Q’yer of yours receive your message yet?”

“The message entered Keeper Q’yer’s dreams as I sent it, that is the way of the message. What I don’t know is if he understood it, though we will surely find out soon enough.”

Father Jacob eyed the grizzled commander who stood beside him. Reflecting the light of the new day, his brown eyes shone with an uncanny luster. There was naked rage on his face; he was gritting his teeth and his hand on Jacob’s shoulder was trying to crush bone. Then, his tone grim, Captain Mikhal said, “A costly attack at dawn it will be, but we must strike now. I cannot bare the sight of this.”

Jacob peered out from his hiding place amidst the trees. From his vantage point, he saw most of Quashan’ and the amassed army. The emblems on the enemy banners at this distance were hardly identifiable, though the colors were. They were not green and gold, but blue and black. The colors of King Jarom and the Kingdom of Vostok. Jacob bowed his head wearily, but didn’t respond.

The two stood there for a time, staring down at the army poised to strike the city as they obviously had in previous days. Quashan’s walls were battered. The east wall, which they had the best view of, had large sections missing from its upper bulwarks. Thin trails of black smoke were streaming from the southern part of the city and a section of the nearby wall was charred.

Captain Mikhal turned and started to walk away. Father Jacob stopped him. “I too am nearly at the end of my patience. For days I have done nothing but wait, and while I grow tired of waiting, I made a promise to an old friend that I would wait when it seemed we must attack and he in turn made a promise to me.”

“There are exceptions to any promise, and this is surely one, unless this friend of yours is His Royal Majesty or My Lord Prince or—”

“Who he is not important, that I trust him and would give my life for his is important. No, we must wait.”

Captain Mikhal hissed and cursed in a low voice. He pointed, then spoke, “Look, ridesman, lancers. Hundreds.”

“White and red,” Jacob said quietly.

Captain Mikhal regarded Jacob. “It cannot be, it doesn’t make sense.”

Jacob sighed and bowed his head wearily. “Prince William’s advance guard, his army comes.”

“But, the Alliance?”

“The Alliance died with King Charles.”

Captain Mikhal’s nostrils flared. “That is as impossible as—”

“—an order sealed with King Andrew’s seal rousing the whole of Quashan’ garrison to Imtal being false?”

Before Captain Mikhal could respond, Father Jacob explained the last thing he had been holding back from the garrison commander. He spoke quickly and directly, telling Captain Mikhal a thing that he himself had not wanted to believe until he saw it with his own eyes. “The Kingdom of Vostok and the Kingdom of Sever are united in their cause against Great Kingdom.”

“If the Alliance is broken, what of Zapad and Yug? King Peter and King Alexas are marionettes, and King Jarom is the puppeteer.”

“We must give thanks to Mother-Earth and her divine providence.”

“Even the Stygian Palisades have passes, and there are certainly enough ships in the Far…” Seeming to realize what he was saying, Captain Mikhal’s voice trailed off.

Suddenly, the call of dozens of trumpets broke the air.

Captain Mikhal’s face was livid as he said, “They’re preparing an assault. The time to strike is now while they muster. Nothing you say will make me change my mind. Nothing.”

“Who will you serve by charging to your deaths? You must trust in—”

“—I’ve little faith, Father Jacob, I must confess this, for if you are going to tell me that I must trust in Great-Father, you’ll find me lacking.”

Father Jacob put his hand on Captain Mikhal’s shoulder. “I have faith for the both of us. I was about to say that you must trust in me.”

Jacob paused and took a deep breath. He was about to speak when more trumpet calls broke the silence.

“The attack begins,” said Captain Mikhal, his hand returned to Jacob’s shoulder was again trying to crush bone. “My hand yearns for the hilt of my blade; can you know what it does to me to see this?”

Jacob winced. “Yes, I do know.”

“We strike,” Captain Mikhal said, “we strike.”

In the middle of a circle of trees they sat. Seth beside Galan. Vilmos opposite Xith and the mysterious lady.

Vilmos listened carefully to the tall light-haired woman who he was sure had saved his life when no other could have. Mid-sentence she had turned to him and Vilmos knew she was now speaking to him. He wondered if she had read his thoughts.

“—like a tree with many limbs that branch out forever. With each new branch comes a choice and for right or wrong you follow one or the other.”

The lady paused, then stood. “Sometimes, two great boughs touch and, for a time, their branches intertwine. Sometimes, the great trees form a circle such as this.”

She gestured to the circle of trees. “And, for good or evil, they form an ever continuing chain. The evil that plays upon the hearts and minds of the disenchanted has its part in the chain. You cannot cleanse yourself of it forever, though you can hold it in check. You, Vilmos, have found yourself. Do not lose or waste what you have gained.”

The lady turned to Xith. “Go with my blessing. Remember, you will find help in a most unlikely source. And, to Quashan’ you must hasten—” She looked at the others each in turn. “—Galan, Seth, Vilmos, remember what I have told you. Sometimes it is best to remember our roots, for a tree without roots cannot grow.”

She stood and Xith bowed his head. Seth and Galan did likewise and then Vilmos. Vilmos had only just looked down—for an instant, no more—but when he glanced up, the lady was gone. He flashed excited eyes to Xith, suddenly realizing something else. The trees were gone?

Vilmos felt emotions flood over him—first surprise, then alarm—a chill ran up his back. He looked to Galan and Seth. To him, their abilities were both strange and wonderful. He turned then to see what they saw. He was on a hillside; there was a walled city in the distance. However, the sun virgining in the east shrouded all detail in a golden haze. Faintly, he heard what could have been trumpet calls.

“There is much to be done before this day is finished,” Xith said, waving for Vilmos, Seth and Galan to follow him. “I pray that we are not too late and that Father Jacob still waits.”

Sergeant Danyel’ burst into Chancellor Van’te’s chamber. “The attack comes, we must hasten to the walls!”

Chancellor Van’te looked to Keeper Q’yer and when neither spoke, Danyel’ repeated, “We must hasten to the walls.”

Chancellor Van’te stood then and as he did, he again looked to Keeper Q’yer. Keeper Q’yer raised a hand to his lips. Instead of responding, Chancellor Van’te indicated Danyel’ should lead the way.

As Danyel’ turned to enter the hall, a runner, panting and out of breath, appeared in the doorway. “Hurry, the enemy…”

The runner paused to inhale and to wipe sweat from his forehead.

“We know,” Danyel’ said, wiping sweat and grime from his own brow.

Danyel’ stumbled as he took a step toward the runner. Van’te grabbed his arm to steady him.

The runner continued, “No, you don’t understand…”

Danyel’ said, “Go on.”

Chancellor Van’te looked to Keeper Q’yer again. He already knew what the runner would say, still, he listened.

“They come from the south… the east, and the… west in a great swarm.”

Sergeant Danyel’s face turned ashen. Chancellor Van’te steadied him as he nearly fell, then handed him off to Keeper Q’yer. “He is the one who has not slept since the siege began. Take care of him. I’ll go do what I can.

“And keeper—” Chancellor Van’te stared directly into Keeper Q’yer’s eyes. “—I pray that no more of what you’ve told me comes true.”

Chapter Twelve:

Battle

Vilmos saw Captain Mikhal glance toward the city then heavenward. From the direction of the city came the sounds of a raging battle. It was midmorning, only two hours after they had found Father Jacob, and things looked surely grim for the defenders. Smoke was rising from the eastern part of the city as well as the southern part now.

“They’ll come. Patience, Captain Mikhal,” Xith said.

Captain Mikhal fixed eyes filled with rage on Xith. “No more, your promises are empty. For the life of me, I don’t understand why I listened to—”

“Please,” Father Jacob said, “don’t you see the folly in such a pointless attack? Only united with the soldiers of Imtal do we have a chance.”

“I see only that the defenders will soon be overwhelmed. The Quashan’ garrison isn’t the largest in the Kingdom, isn’t the strongest, isn’t the best equipped, but we’ll be damned if we stand by and watch our homes destroyed. Never underestimate the determination of men defending their homes. We’ll fight. We’ll fight like demons possessed.”

“You should relax,” Xith said.

Father Jacob said, “I pray that you will listen to reason.”

“Save your prayers for the enemy when we drive them from our lands. The burning in my heart is matched two-thousandfold by the burning in the hearts of my soldiers. We fight.”

Before Jacob or Xith could respond, Captain Mikhal turned about on his heel in military fashion, and strode away.

Xith stopped Jacob from going after him. “You cannot change the minds of those who are already convinced to the contrary.”

Captain Mikhal didn’t waste any time, already he was barking orders to his men. Vilmos didn’t know military tactics, still, it was clear Captain Mikhal did. Vilmos was about to speak when a masculine voice sounded in his mind.

He deems himself a failure. He will charge to his death if you let him.

“I know,” Xith said. “Can you ride?”

Seth sent an odd sensation of warmth that Vilmos had slowly come to realize meant a curt yes.

Xith motioned to an attendant and indicated the man should bring three horses. Xith said, “Brother Galan, watch well young Vilmos. He is an apt apprentice, and I shouldn’t like to see him do anything that will sever our relationship prematurely.”

At the hearing, Vilmos smiled. Xith had expressed genuine feelings for him. Then when he realized Xith aimed to race off without him, Vilmos frowned.

Before Vilmos could voice an objection, Xith said, “A very important task falls to you, Vilmos and Galan. You must go up into the highlands, then circle west until you can see Quashan’s west gatehouse. There you must await the arrival of His Highness, Prince of Great Kingdom. Explain the situation to him as you know it.” Xith looked directly at Vilmos. “Remember what I said about Erravane.”

Xith paused and cast a sidelong glance to Captain Mikhal. A runner had just returned. “Captain,” the runner said, “the sub-commander of the Foot awaits your orders.”

Captain Mikhal nodded to the sub-commander of the Horse who was beside him. The sub-commander came to attention then departed. Captain Mikhal went off in the opposite direction.

Just then, attendants returned with the horses. Xith, Seth and Father Jacob mounted. It seemed Xith was going to say something more, but then Captain Mikhal ordered his foot soldiers to begin their advance. The three squadrons of foot soldiers, some fifteen hundred men, began their charge. They burst from the forest and raced down the slopes that they knew so well, into the Quashan’ valley basin, using the contours of the land to hide their movement as best as they could.

Meanwhile, the horse soldiers waited. Captain Mikhal had divided the Horse into two files. One would later sweep in along the northern flank of the Foot, the other the southern, but only when the time was right, for Captain Mikhal hoped the Foot would cover considerably more than half the distance to the city before the enemy would spot them and turn about to set up a rear defense. Only then would the Horse begin their charge.

Captain Mikhal’s stallion pranced anxiously as the captain held the animal’s reins taut. Xith, Seth and Father Jacob, on horseback, were beside him now. Captain Mikhal reached into his saddlebag and handed each a strip of green and gold cloth. “Field insignia,” Vilmos heard the captain say, “tie it around your right arm. Do not lose it, it is the only thing that will identify you with the Kingdom forces in the mayhem to come. Father Jacob, stay close, I will do my best to protect you, for we will surely have need of your healing abilities.”

“Would that I were a priestess,” muttered Jacob.

From high overhead, Vilmos heard the call of an eagle. He looked up, and saw it circling above the city. He looked to Xith. The shaman’s eyes were glossed over.

The Foot was nearly halfway across the valley floor. Vilmos expected at any time to see the enemy host turn to form a defense. But they didn’t. And the Foot continued their silent race.

Vilmos glanced to Xith again, then back down the hillside. He looked beyond the Kingdom foot soldiers to the great walled city of Quashan’. He couldn’t see the men upon the walls, though he knew they were there. They were the ones pushing back the breaching ladders and responding to the enemy’s relentless charges with catapult volleys.

Suddenly the eagle dove from the heavens and just when it seemed it would crash into the walls of the city, it disappeared. Xith came out of his trance and said something to Captain Mikhal that Vilmos couldn’t hear. Captain Mikhal raised his sword arm high overhead, momentarily his broad-bladed sword glistened in the late morning sun, then he thrust the blade forward. The charge began. More than five hundred riders spurred their mounts into a race.

Vilmos stood enthralled, unable to break away. The thunder of hooves blocked out the sounds of the distant battle. Galan at his side was silent. She too watched and listened. Eventually though, the thunder grew distant. The first excited shouts erupted from the enemy host and men scrambled to set up a frenzied rear defense.

Midway down the valley’s slopes now, the Kingdom horse soldiers spurred their mounts, driving the animals as fast as they dared. Arrows from the Kingdom bowmen began to penetrate the enemy lines and soon afterward the first wave of foot soldiers struck the enemy’s rear flank. Privately, Vilmos cheered for the Kingdomers, but he was also torn between loyalties. Some of those on the field were from his homeland.

As Vilmos watched, Sever’s Knights of the Lance, their red and white banners waving in the wind, rallied for a clash with the Kingdom riders. Instead of turning to engage them, Captain Mikhal’s horse soldiers continued directly into the enemy ranks. Even from this distance, Vilmos heard the screams of despair, agony and panic that followed.

It is time, imparted Galan into Vilmos’ mind. We have a long walk ahead.

Captain Mikhal’s mount reared up on its hind legs. All around the captain was the press of enemy soldiers. He removed his foot from the stirrup, kicked out an approaching soldier. The heel of his boot struck the side of the man’s skull. Abruptly the soldier stopped, his knees crumbled under his weight. Captain Mikhal didn’t pause. He turned his mount, struck down with his long blade, and like a cleaver, it hew a defender before him. Captain Mikhal continued his charge.

Xith tried to stay close to Captain Mikhal. He defended himself as best as he could, relying largely on his magic shield while he concentrated on other matters. There was a breach midway along Quashan’s east wall and in just a few seconds as he watched, dozens of attackers had pushed their way up onto the wall. There they were carving out an ever-growing section. At the base of the wall, many more were preparing to raise breaching ladders and behind them, hundreds waited to climb to the top of the wall.

Xith regarded Seth, the elf’s prowess in battle was awe-inspiring. In the midst of the enemy ranks, Seth had leapt from his horse, seemingly undaunted by the fact that he had been surrounded. Now, all around him lay the dead and the dying.

“I wish I had a hundred like him,” shouted Captain Mikhal to Xith above the din of the battle.

“I wish there were a hundred like him.” Xith pointed to the breached section of the wall. “Do you think we can reach it?”

Captain Mikhal’s eyes went wide, apparently he hadn’t seen the breach until now. He raised his sword high, and behind him a trumpeter’s call rang out. He pointed his sword in the direction of the wall.

“To the wall,” he shouted and charged.

The trumpeter’s call rang out again, and while the bulk of the Kingdom forces were caught in attacks, hundreds rallied and raced after their commander.

Xith turned his mount about and charged in Seth’s direction. Two bolts of lightning, cast first from his left hand then his right, cleared the way through the enemy ranks.

Xith wheeled his mount in front of Seth. “Now is not your time to journey to Great-Father, Brother Seth, they have need of your skills upon the walls. Climb on!”

Xith helped Seth onto his mount.

“Hold on tight,” Xith said. He kicked his mount sharply.

They raced off.

Galan followed Seth in his thoughts, looking out through his eyes to the battlefield. She watched the green and gold of the Kingdom banners clash with the blue and black. For a time, it seemed those of the green and gold held a strategic advantage on the field, where the others held an advantage solely in numbers.

Then she lost contact with Seth’s mind. She knew only that he was caught up in the frenzy of battle and she had been content to look down from her vantage point to the city below. The boy, Vilmos, walked silently at her side. She could sense conflicting emotions in him and a great urge to race to the field to join his master.

When they were directly north of the city, Galan and Vilmos began the long westward circle. Here they followed the rim of the valley. The sounds of the battle were reduced to a faint din in the distance and both the attackers and defenders were reduced to tiny figures moving about on the fields around the city’s walls.

Galan lashed out with her thoughts, Where are you, Seth?

Galan felt Vilmos’ subconscious shiver at the sound of the voice in his mind. I am sorry, I should have directed the thoughts. I am ill accustomed to your ways, please forgive me.

Vilmos asked, “Can you really talk across such a distance?”

Only if Brother Seth maintains the link and as long as we do not journey too much farther away from the—

Galan broke off as Seth’s vision filled her mind’s eye with second sight. Seth was atop the east wall. The wind was blowing in his hair, and he was looking across the basin to the battlefield. Still, the green and gold were holding their own. With the Kingdom defenders back in control of the east and south walls, they could now lend considerable aid to the Kingdom soldiers in the field. Catapults hurled rocks. Arrows from Kingdom archers rained down upon the enemy. But the enemy still held a tremendous advantage in sheer numbers. They outnumbered the Kingdom soldiers at least five to one.

Several large columns of the enemy army had fallen back to regroup. Three lines of shield bearers, hundreds long, amassed. Behind them, bowmen, prepared to fire on the move, would provide cover, while swordsmen and pikemen waited to strike. The enemy commanders rallied them, then ordered the attack. The shield bearers, pikemen and swordsmen surged forward, a great moving wall that clashed with the first line of the Kingdom defense.

Enemy bowmen focused on the heart of Kingdom defenses. Pikemen used the shield bearers for cover, their long-pole arms felling nearly all who came against them. Swordsmen filled in the gaps of those who fell, and again and again the enemy wall surged forward. In short order, they cut off several groups of Kingdom soldiers from the main forces and gained control of the field.

Vilmos grabbed Galan’s hand. “Look. They march from the east!”

Seth, to the west, the forces west of the city are on the march. They aim to come up from the south. You must find a way to bolster—

—the forces upon the southern wall. I will pray for you and for reinforcements, sent Galan.

Seth severed the link and turned his attention to the defenders on the wall. One of them must be in command. He watched for a moment to see who was giving the orders, but there was so much chaos it was difficult to tell. He stopped a man rushing past.

Who leads?

A puzzled frown crossed the man’s face. He turned and pointed, then hurried off. Seth raced off in the opposite direction.

Do you lead? Seth asked.

“I am Sergeant Danyel’.”

This man was also puzzled but was too exhausted to understand why. Seth switched to spoken words. “From the west, the enemy comes. You must send reinforcements to the southern wall.”

“There are no reinforcements. This is it. The Father must truly hate us.”

“The enemy does not attack from the north. How many men do you have positioned there?”

Sergeant Danyel’ wiped blood and grime from his brow. “Twenty. No, fifteen.”

“And you will have to bring more from the west and the east.”

“I cannot bring any from the east, and in the west I have more wounded than able.” Sergeant Danyel’ stopped abruptly, cocked his head, then reached for his sword. “Who are you? You wear Kingdom insignia, yet—”

There is not time to explain who I am, you must trust me, you simply must. I rode in from the east with Captain Mikhal, it was he who gave me this. Seth indicated the green and gold cloth tied around his right arm.

Sergeant Danyel’ furrowed his brows momentarily, then grabbed one of the soldiers rushing by. “Send runners. Strip the north wall, any able-bodied men from the west wall and twenty from the east to the south wall.”

“Sir, I go to the north wall. You know the enemy hasn’t attacked at all from the north, Chancellor Van’te expects a strike there next.”

“That was an order! I will deal with Chancellor Van’te if need be.” Sergeant Danyel’ stumbled, and Seth had to support him or else he would have collapsed.

The soldier held his ground, eyeing his sergeant and Seth.

Lead me to this Chancellor Van’te and I will talk to him, Seth told the soldier, then turning back to Danyel’, he said, You must rest, you are of little use in this condition.

“No, I will go with you. Soldier, lead the way!”

Arrows poured down upon them like a ceaseless rain. Xith extended the radius of his magic shield to protect those around him, but could only extend its protective envelope so far. He was tired and his mind was on other things, mainly trying to pinpoint a weakness in the enemy lines through which they could escape back to the Kingdom lines.

While they had managed to push the attackers back from the walls, the enemy had only to regroup and come again. In the end, it had cost the Kingdom forces dearly. Of the hundreds of men that had rallied and raced after their commander to the base of the wall, fewer than one hundred remained. Most were foot soldiers, a scattered few were horse soldiers. Yet, while they were cut off from their lines and trapped in a sea of the enemy, they did not relent. They were determined to keep the enemy at bay.

Xith sat his mount beside Father Jacob and Captain Mikhal. The Kingdom commander was nearly exhausted, but remained tall in his saddle. There was defiant pride in his eyes. His soldiers guarded him with a fierceness rarely seen, and with their lives.

Xith wheeled his mount in a tight circle, continuing his search for a weakness in the enemy lines. He knew Captain Mikhal must survive, for in him lay the power to deliver the city from the hands of the enemy. The Kingdom forces were rapidly losing momentum. Without the leadership of their commander, and more importantly the strength he lent to his men, all would soon be forever lost. The time to act was now.

Xith’s mount whinnied and reared. Xith fought to control it, and as he struggled with the animal, a flash of color waving not far off caught his eye. He steadied the horse. He stared, squinted, his eyes went wide as he realized

what he saw was a royal banner. For an instant, as the press of bodies around the King parted, Xith looked straight at King Jarom.

Xith wasn’t the only one to see the banner. When Xith looked back to Captain Mikhal, he found that the captain had already raised his sword. Xith knew at once the captain was preparing for a direct charge against the monarch’s defenses, a charge Xith had to stop before it was too late.

But when their commander raised his blade high, the ten remaining horse soldiers around him did likewise. Before Xith could act, Captain Mikhal dropped his sword and spurred his mount. His men followed. The foot soldiers parted to let the riders through, then took up position along the riders’ flanks.

Xith held his ground for a moment, considering what to do. Again, he saw Vostok’s royal banner fluttering in the wind, so close, yet so far. It was a hopeless charge, Xith knew it, but he also knew he could not stop it. He followed.

Abruptly the call of countless trumpets broke the air. Fighting on both sides broke off. Captain Mikhal and his men cut short their charge. All eyes turned southward. Poised along a ridge of the foothills was a line of horse soldiers a thousand across. The Kingdom forces began to whoop and cheer. Prince Valam and reinforcements had surely arrived.

A second time, trumpet calls broke the air. The riders began their charge, a great black wave racing downward. The Kingdomers continued to whoop and cheer, then gradually their cries turned to murmurs of dismay, for behind this massive wave came a line of flag bearers. The banners they bore were bold red and stark white, and not Kingdom green and gold. Behind the flag bearers came long lines of foot soldiers. It was not Prince Valam at all, but the army of the Kingdom of Sever.

Vilmos’ mouth fell open. He gawked at the red and white banners, and the force of thousands on the move to the battle around Quashan’. The Kingdom soldiers would soon be completely overwhelmed, and if there had been even the smallest of hopes for winning the battle before, it died with the arrival of the main host from Sever’s forces.

Before he knew what he was doing, Vilmos found he was racing down the hillside.

Vilmos, stop, called out Galan, you will only get yourself killed. We are to wait here and give instructions when reinforcements arrive.

Vilmos paused only to turn back and regard Galan. Magic flowed through him like a tidal wave. His eyes focused with rage told her what he couldn’t say. Then he cast off the voice in his mind that told him what he didn’t want to hear and raced off.

Worriedly, he studied the distant battlefield. King Jarom’s forces had fallen back to re-form and wait for the fresh troops. The Kingdom soldiers also regrouped, but they did not wait to attack afterward.

Vilmos, panting and straining for breath, forced himself to maintain a breakneck pace. Behind him, Galan with her longer strides was catching up to him. Vilmos fought to stay ahead of her but couldn’t, and soon they were running side by side.

Vilmos, what good will dying do? This is pointless.

“I am a magic-user, just as Xith. I do what I must.”

You are an apprentice.

Vilmos didn’t answer, he pushed himself to race still faster. Sever’s horsemen had already clashed with what remained of Quashan’s garrison. The Kingdom soldiers fell back, tried frantically to re-form, but each time they formed a hasty shield wall it crumbled, forcing another retreat. Soon it became painfully clear that the Kingdom army was on the run.

Only a hundred yards to go now and Vilmos would be on the flat fields surrounding Quashan’. There he could stretch out his legs, and there he was sure he would leave Galan behind. He ran to the pace of the thump-thump in his ears, which drowned out the cries of despair and anguish that the wind carried. Once on the flat fields, Vilmos stretched out his legs, lengthening his strides. As he did this, his foot caught Galan’s. Both stumbled and fell.

Vilmos was quick to regain his feet. He screamed at Galan, “You did that on purpose!”

Galan turned Vilmos about, so he was staring up at the valley’s rim from the direction they had just come from. He had just started to protest when he saw them, a line of horse soldiers. The banners at the fore were green and gold. Prince Valam had come. He had found Keeper Martin and those of Imtal garrison.

Behind the horse soldiers came the foot soldiers, thousands of them, and far more than Vilmos or Galan had anticipated. Amidst the green and gold banners were banners bearing a blue circle on a field of white. Galan asked Vilmos without words and strangely with only emotions who the others were. Vilmos could only shrug. He didn’t know.

Prince Valam, there! shouted Galan.

“Where?”

There! repeated Galan. She grabbed Vilmos’ hand and pulled him to a start, and he chased after her.

Chapter Thirteen:

Last Play

It was now late afternoon. During the day the battle had taken many turns. The arrival of nearly ten thousand troops, Imtal soldiers and free men, had changed the tide of the battle for a time. Still, this had only made the field more even and not equal.

Adrina was in the middle of relating the story of their journey and of how Keeper Martin and Captain Adylton had managed to persuade the free men of Mir and Veter to join the Kingdom’s cause. “Most are oarsmen from the free city fleet, not soldiers, though still good with a blade,” Adrina said. “Gold surely persuaded their loyalty, also a fear of losing their freedom, for after he had captured the whole of the South, King Jarom surely wouldn’t have let the Free Cities remain outside his rule.”

“Surely we cannot just sit here,” Vilmos said. “We must do something.”

“I aim to do something, all right.” Adrina grinned. “Tell me exactly what the lady told each of you. She did speak to each of you, right?”

Galan and Vilmos quickly told Adrina what they remembered of the conversation, though much of it seemed a blur.

“She spoke of choices being like the branches of trees and for right or wrong you follow one or the other, and of good and evil,” concluded Vilmos.

Adrina asked, “Did she tell you to remember something?”

Vilmos was pacing. Adrina knew he was growing restless. She turned to Galan, and found an unexpected expression in the elf’s eyes. “What is it Galan, what do you see?”

Galan was staring off into the distance, her eyes were unfocussed. Seth upon the walls.

“Really, you can see him from here?” asked Adrina.

Galan didn’t answer. She was apparently lost in what she was seeing and Vilmos explained what little he knew of her gift, which he deemed akin to corporeal stasis.

It is not, Galan said, it is a projecting of thoughts. I can project feelings and images too.

“Like an image in a dream,” Adrina said.

Galan didn’t reply—she was again distracted by what she saw.

“Is there a way we can see as well?” Adrina asked.

Perhaps.

Suddenly, Adrina saw Seth standing atop the upper battlements along Quashan’s southern wall. She could feel the wind blowing through his hair and the despair ravaging his heart. Seth’s emotions flowed to Adrina, mixing with her own, and soon despair ravaged her heart as well. The enemy had breached the southern gates of the city and a wave of humanity was pouring in. Torches were being distributed and many buildings were already burning. Cries of panic rose; she heard women and children crying as they ran from the homes they fled.

When Galan broke the link, Adrina found she was trembling beyond her control and her cheeks were wet with tears. From their vantage point, they saw the billows of smoke, and eventually the flames as well.

Adrina asked, “Is there no hope?”

Neither Vilmos nor Galan spoke.

Adrina turned to the group of guardsmen who Valam had insisted remain to see to her protection in case the worst happened. Their faces were racked with anguish and lament. She knew they wanted to join the fight, though it would surely cost them their lives.

She stood and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“I order you into battle!” Adrina shouted.

The ranking soldier said, “His Highness ordered us to remain.”

Adrina glared. “And I am ordering you into battle! Now, mount your horses and go.”

“We cannot.”

“If Quashan’ falls, I will have no need for fifty guards. I will have no need for guards at all.” Adrina turned away from the speaker. “I will count to five, when I turn around you will be gone, and I will speak never a word about this. One, two—”

Adrina waited until the sound of hooves mixed in with the din of the battle before she turned back around. She was surprised to find that six guardsmen remained.

She glared at them, but they held their ground.

“We must stay,” one of the men said. “If it comes to it, we will ensure you reach Imtal.”

Adrina didn’t offer a response.

Vilmos seemed suddenly inspired by the sight of the retreating guardsmen and there was the same twinkle in his eye that Adrina had seen in her brother’s eyes earlier. “Take my hand,” Vilmos told Galan.

Vilmos’ eyes glossed over, and it seemed he was in a trance. Adrina and Galan waited. Adrina was unsure what to expect.

After a time, Vilmos released Galan’s hand. “In the foothills, the Wolmerrelle. Erravane.” His voice betrayed dismay. “William of Sever, she certainly is seeking him out.”

Galan’s voice whispered in Adrina’s mind, You will find help in a most unlikely source.

“To think, I once called him cousin,” Adrina said, “If only we understood why he turned against Great Kingdom.”

“Perhaps we do,” said a voice from behind them.

The Kingdom soldiers rushed to protect Adrina. Adrina, Vilmos and Galan turned around and stared into the afternoon shadows. A man with gray hair and a distinctive salt-and-pepper colored beard slowly made his way from the shadows. Adrina said, “Keeper Martin.”

Recognizing the lore keeper, the soldiers backed down.

“You must excuse me,” Keeper Martin said, “I have been listening to your conversation for some time. I circled back about an hour ago.”

Keeper Martin walked toward them. Adrina saw that his face was drawn and pale, and then she saw the deep stain of blood on the right side of his cloak.

“An arrow.” Keeper Martin said simply as he eased to a sitting position.

Adrina’s eyes went wide.

“Yes, I will live.” Martin motioned for them to sit. Adrina, Galan and Vilmos sat.

“I was in Gregortonn when King Charles was poisoned and, finally, I understand why King William has joined with King Jarom.”

“King? What—” Adrina began.

Jacob raised a silencing hand. “King Charles has passed on. The grippe took Phillip. William is heir. As you can see by the display in the field, there was no contest to his ascension. Yet, I am sure that it is with little pride and no love that the army of Sever sides with Vostok.

“The truth is that I myself did not understand what I had seen in Gregortonn until some hours ago, but by then I thought it too late to act on what I knew. Yet, I can see the error of that now and you are responsible for opening my eyes.”

Adrina furrowed her eyebrows.

“Babbling, aren’t I? Perhaps—” Keeper Martin coughed and gripped his side. “—it is the wound. Yet, I tend to do that normally. It is the green and the gold.”

“Green and gold?” Adrina asked.

“All along I was sure agents of King Jarom had somehow seized power in Sever’s capital, for you see, I saw through the disguises and when I saw banners of green and gold—Kingdom colors—to me such colors were not out of place, but those of Sever knew at once the colors were foreign.”

Keeper Martin’s face became extremely pale. He bit back pain, then took a long drink from a wine-bag. “Do you understand?”

“I am beginning to,” Adrina said.

“Brother Galan, as Lore Keeper of Great Kingdom, I know much more about your kind than the average Kingdomer, still your gifts are truly amazing. Can you truly project images into the minds of others?”

May I? asked Galan, suggesting she wanted to take a closer look at Martin’s side. Keeper Martin nodded approval and then seemed not to notice Galan’s hands probing the outside of the wound. You did not remove the shaft of the arrow.

“The shaft snapped.”

Shock crossed Adrina’s face as Galan’s hand melted into Martin’s side. Keeper Martin gave no indication of sudden pain, in fact, he seemed at ease. Adrina, torn between repulsion and attraction, watched. The skin around Galan’s wrist rippled as if fluid, and as if nothing was happening, Keeper Martin turned to Vilmos and said, “What little I know of the Watcher, through Father Jacob, leads me to believe that you are gifted with the forbidden as is he, and while I do not condone its use, I believe, as does Father Jacob, exceptions must be allowed if they are for a greater good. Yet, you are also from Sever. Yes?”

“My home is Tabborrath Village,” Vilmos said.

Martin said, “Your Highness, come here, let me look at you.”

Adrina didn’t move. Galan was withdrawing her hand and in it, she held the broken arrow.

“Your Highness,” Martin repeated.

Adrina looked up. Martin looked into her eyes. “You are the image of your mother, and Queen Elthia as well. Can you braid your hair in a triple

braid and let it flow over your right shoulder?”

Adrina caught a glimpse of a pink-yellow glow out of the corner of her eye. She looked back to Martin’s wound to find it was gone, as if it had vanished. Adrina turned back to Martin and said, “I think you should rest, you are not thinking clearly.”

“On the contrary, I have never thought more clearly.” Keeper Martin waved one of the guardsmen over. He was a short, thin fellow. “Soldier, change clothes with the lad here. He will have need of your uniform.”

Xith kneeled beside Captain Mikhal and cradled the man’s head in his hands. Most of the southern quarter of Quashan’ was ablaze, and a full evacuation had begun. The Kingdom army was divided and they were now defending against two fronts. King Jarom’s foot soldiers came from the west. The army of Sever pressed from the east. The horse soldiers of both kingdoms controlled the middle of the field.

It all seemed so utterly hopeless.

“Can you save him?” Xith asked Father Jacob who also kneeled beside the fallen commander.

“The wound is grievous, I can only ease his suffering.”

“Do so, he has earned a peaceful passing from this life.”

Xith had been sore pressed to convince Captain Mikhal that his men needed his continued strength and guidance and that a single last rallying of his horse soldiers for a final charge would have been sheer folly. Xith found it a bittersweet irony that the commander had met the lethal blow while trying to return to the ranks of his soldiers a second time.

“He is gone,” whispered Jacob.

“He was a brave man.”

Father Jacob bent his head for a moment of prayer and Xith did likewise.

Shouts erupted from not far off. “Fall back, fall back,” the voices screamed.

The former sub-commander beside them stood and urged them to retreat. Xith and Jacob stood and followed the new commander as his forces fell back to regroup.

Beside Adrina, Galan and Vilmos marched silently. Adrina could only vaguely see the silhouettes of the five soldiers who preceded them amidst the glare of the setting sun. Slowly though, more and more shadows shrouded the foothills and nightfall steadily approached.

Vilmos, dressed in the guardsman’s uniform, held tightly the prize Keeper Martin had given him. He was their eyes. He kept watch from overhead and Galan at his side directed him. She read his thoughts, and thus they were able to steer clear of any patrols set up in anticipation of an ambush as the field became blurred.

Keeper Martin’s plan had seemed bold as he had revealed it to them, but now as they moved ever closer to the ranks of Sever’s army, it also seemed suddenly desperate and simple. They were to sneak into William’s camp, find his tent and convince him that Great Kingdom had no part in his father’s death.

The guardsmen disguised as Sever soldiers and the banner Vilmos held but did not display would help them on their way. Still, the most difficult part—moving through the camp, finding William and convincing him—would fall to Adrina, Vilmos and Galan alone, but mostly to Adrina. She wasn’t entirely sure she could convince William of anything, though she knew she must try.

Darkness fell, and still the battle for Quashan’ raged.

Prince Valam conferred with his field commanders, the captains of the Imtal and Quashan’ garrisons. Only a short time ago his forces had finally managed to break through the enemy lines to join with the soldiers of Quashan’, and he had just now learned of the death of Quashan’s commander.

Kingdom forces held the base of the southern and eastern walls of the city, yet the fire within the city still burned out of control. The enemy came at them along two fronts, but fortunately could no longer attack from the rear or squeeze them into a killing zone. At last, they had driven back the enemy horse soldiers and erected an inner and outer defensive line. In an ironic twist, they had taken control of the trenches dug by those that had besieged the city initially, and it was this that was helping them fend off the superior force.

“The attack slows, Your Highness,” Captain Adylton said. He wiped fresh blood from his face and sheathed his blade. “I answered the call as soon as I could.”

A soldier offered the captain water and he drank heavily. Captain Adylton continued, “It looks as if they’ll soon fall back to their lines. The night comes.”

Prince Valam said, “That is indeed news worth waiting for.” Valam surveyed his commanders. “Has anyone seen Captain Berre?”

A sergeant with a soot-covered face answered. “He commands on the left flank, Your Highness. He sent me in his stead. He has the devil’s own fury in his eyes. His home, a wife and three children, were along Cooper’s Walk.”

“Stand at ease, sergeant.” Valam looked to the burning city, then to Captain Adylton. “What of the other Imtal commanders?”

“Captain Ghenson’s position was overrun. He was dragged from his mount, I believe he is dead.”

Valam turned to the sergeant. “What news from the left flank?”

“Your Highness—”

“Save the pleasantries for another place and time. Be frank and quick.”

“The line holds, the men are tired, hungry and thirsty. The wounded and the dying lie about the field. Their sappers are digging another trench line, and Captain Berre fears it is a sign they await reinforcements.”Valam gripped the sergeant’s shoulder, then turned to Father Jacob. “Father Jacob?” he said.

Father Jacob stood a little taller and nodded.

“At last, we have a stable position. Care of the wounded is in your hands. I want all wounded who can still walk, but cannot wield a sword, on relief brigade. Without food and water, soldiers cannot fight.”

The soot-faced sergeant’s downtrodden expression brightened.

Xith stepped forward. “May I speak?”

“Speak freely.”

“Light skirmishes and raids will continue through the night, the enemy hopes to keep us expecting an attack that will not come and to wear us out. An all out attack will not come until just before dawn, but if we switch to a defensive and do not continue to press the attack, all will surely be lost come morning.”

Valam was puzzled. “How can you possibly know this?”

Father Jacob said, “There are those who have divine gifts of sight, and Master Xith is one of them. You trusted him before, you must trust him again. Without him Quashan’ would have already fallen, and none of us would be standing here now.”

Valam extended his hand to Xith’s shoulder. “I am sorry, it has been a trying day. You must know that you have my eternal gratitude and when this is all over, one way or another, I will repay you.”

“If you want to repay me, do what I say.” Xith paused, and for a moment, it seemed as if he heard something far off. Valam heard it too, perhaps it was the call of an eagle from high overhead, but he couldn’t be sure. “Before moonrise, every available man must be mustered and assembled for an all out assault against Sever’s army. At precisely moonrise, the attack must begin.”

“We cannot desert the left flank,” interrupted the sergeant. “There are two enemy armies—”

Valam raised a silencing hand and Xith continued. “Yes, it is very important that the enemy not know we have stripped our left flank. Moonrise is not for some hours and the night sky looks to be dark and clouded. We can use this to our advantage…”

Vilmos unfurled Sever’s banner. Adrina tried to imagine that she heard it flapping in the wind instead of pitiful moans and screams of agony. She forced herself to maintain a steady pace. Her heart pounded in her ears and she bit her cheek to remind herself to stay calm. Frantic thoughts flashed through her mind and more than once she almost cried out at the ghastly sight of the dead and the dying that littered William’s camp from end to end.

For a moment, Adrina thought of Emel and wondered where he was amidst the fighting, then the thought was gone. Ahead lay a tent with many guards posted around it. Adrina was sure it was William’s. Expectantly, she inhaled a breath and held it, but when Galan continued past the tent without even turning an eye toward it, Adrina let the breath slip out.

“You passed his tent, is something wrong?” Adrina whispered.

There is nothing wrong, said Galan, carefully directing the thoughts.

After passing the last tent on the end, Galan paused. This is William’s tent. The other was meant to catch the eye of anyone bold enough to sneak into the camp.

Galan did not hesitate long, instead she continued until she found a place with few campfires and no torches. There were two guards just inside the entrance, but cleanly out of view. William sits at a table with his back to the guards. There was another in the tent, but he was preparing to leave.

Vilmos tossed aside the banner. “You read their thoughts?”

In a way, yes.

Adrina asked, “Is there a chance we can replace the guards with our own?”

One of the guardsmen stepped forward. “We will try. They are surely hungry or tired, or both. I can tell you there have been many times I wished for relief and would never have questioned it if it came.”

Galan smiled, seemingly approving the show of bravery. She closed her eyes for a moment. They are both hungry and tired. You are quite wise.

“I am but a simple soldier who knows what it is to stand watch.” The soldier broke off, his face showing concern.

“Go quickly,” Adrina said, “may Great-Father watch over you.”

Two soldiers slipped away.

While they waited, Adrina took in the activity around them. Everywhere soldiers hurried about the camp, singly, in pairs, and in large groups. The camp was in a state of confused frenzy, but this was changing, order was being restored from chaos. The sound of the battle was fading. More and more fires were raised both along the camp’s perimeter and its interior, and lines of torches were being put in place to mark hastily cleared paths.

Princess Adrina?

“What is it, Galan?” Adrina whispered.

They are inside.

Adrina saw two figures leave the tent. “Is it safe to proceed?”

Galan said, It would seem so.

Quietly, the small group moved toward the tent.

“What would you have us do, Your Highness?” asked one of the three remaining guardsmen.

“When we reach the tent, we will go in, you three will continue past. Do not stray far though, we may have need of your sword arms. Keep a close eye on the tent, and do not start a fight unless it is absolutely necessary. If an alarm is sounded, we will surely never leave this camp.”

At the front of the tent, they stopped. Adrina signaled to the guardsmen to continue on their way. They did so reluctantly.

Adrina started toward the tent’s entrance. Suddenly, everything Keeper Martin had told Adrina flooded through her mind. She knew that in order to convince William of the truth, she must first find confidence in herself. Still, she didn’t see how her resemblance to Queen Elthia would help anything. Or why it was important that Vilmos was a native Severian. Nor did she really understand how Galan was supposed to project Keeper Martin’s memories of Gregortonn into William’s mind when Keeper Martin wasn’t even with them.

Galan grabbed Adrina’s arm and pulled her back. Wait, there is something wrong. I am not sure—No, I am sure. Erravane.

“The Wolmerrelle,” Vilmos said. He gasped. “We must act now or all this will be for nothing.”

Galan stopped Vilmos from hastily running into the tent and indicated that they should move back in the direction they had just come from. As unlikely as it seems Erravane’s presence may actually help us. We should wait to see what occurs.

“I agree,” Adrina said, “we should—” From far off the sound of angry voices exploded into the air, followed by panic-filled screams. More shouting followed. Soon an alarm was sweeping through the camp.

Frenzy followed. The camp was in an uproar. Men were running about the camp screaming, “To battle! To battle! The enemy comes!” Then, Adrina heard shouting and screams from William’s tent. She turned bewildered eyes to Vilmos and Galan. Together they rushed into William’s tent.

The two guards lay face down in the dirt. Adrina did not doubt that they were dead. Apparently, Erravane had cut her way in through the back of the tent and aimed to go out the same way. In a half-human half-animal state, Erravane was dragging William out of the tent.

Abruptly Erravane changed directions and pushed her way back into the tent. Behind her came the three Kingdom guardsmen, their swords drawn.

Erravane spun around. Her eyes were wild. “Princess Adrina, you of all people should not stand in my way. William’s disappearance will most certainly serve you.”

William shouted, “She aims to kill me.”

“Hush, or I’ll rip out your tongue. I will only kill you at the end and though you deserve much anguish for abandoning me, I will do it swiftly.”

“Even William doesn’t deserve to die,” Adrina said, her voice strong and with no hint of the alarm that raged through her mind. “Release him, or you will never escape from this camp.”

“If I do not escape, neither will you.”

Vilmos pushed past Adrina. Blue-white fire danced around his hands. “Xith warned you not to meddle in affairs that do not concern you.”

“It is you, the boy who killed—” Erravane was shocked. “No, it cannot be. You and the Watcher should be—”

“Not in the Vangar, we are here—” As Vilmos spoke, he walked slowly toward Erravane, his hands poised menacingly. “—And, should he find you, he will most assuredly keep his promise.”

Erravane howled and with inhuman strength hurled William at Vilmos. She turned to make an escape; the guards barred her way. Adrina knew for certain they’d be killed if they tried to stop her.

“No!” Adrina screamed. “Let her pass.”

The guards stepped aside and Erravane fled into the night.

Vilmos and William were in a jumble on the ground. Galan and Adrina helped them to their feet. William’s eyes were agape and shock was evident on his face. He started to say something, but before he could say anything, a soldier rushed into tent. Adrina turned about. The Kingdom guardsmen began shouting and rushed forward to intercept the soldier who had drawn his sword and also had begun shouting.

The Kingdom guardsmen engaged the lone soldier of Sever. Adrina began shouting, “No, no, stop,” but the combatants didn’t.

The soldier lay dead on the dirt floor before other soldiers answering his call rushed into the tent. Soon the three Kingdom guardsmen were being pushed back by the sheer number of newcomers arrived to save their king.

Adrina turned to William. “Do something, make them stop!”William seemed disoriented.

“Do something,” Adrina repeated. She grabbed William about the shoulders and shook him.

“I am in no danger, I think, I mean—I need to sort this out.” William paused, flustered. “Sergeant, soldiers, I order you to halt!”

The soldiers grudgingly broke off the attack. William pointed to two of them. “Find Commander Stenocco, tell him to come at once. Five more stand guard, the rest of you outside.”

The soldiers didn’t move.

“Throw down your weapons,” Adrina told the Kingdom guardsmen. They hesitated. “Do it!”

Their swords clanked as they hit the ground.

A puzzled frown returned to William’s face as he turned to Adrina. “Why did you save me? I mean, Erravane was right, you should have rejoiced. Why are you in my camp in the first place, if it is not to kill me?”

“We came to talk.” Adrina wanted to say more but she was trembling and there were tears in her eyes. Suddenly, it seemed lead weights were around her shoulders and her legs wanted to collapse under the weight. “May I sit?”

“A chair,” William said.

A soldier quickly brought a chair.

Adrina cleared her throat, then looked to Vilmos and Galan in turn. She started speaking, determined to convince William using Keeper Martin’s plan. Yet somehow, things didn’t come out the way she planned, and instead she told him everything the plan entailed. She explained how they had come to the camp and sneaked through it intent on finding him, how they had planned to trick him and finally how they had planned to convince him of the truth. During the telling Sever’s commander hurried into the tent but William ordered silence.

Adrina concluded by saying, “I tell you the truth when I say I harbor no hate in my heart for all you have done. I know what it is to grieve for one so dear it seems they are all you had in the world. I know what it is like to feel you are all alone. I know how such loss can cloud your mind and make you want to lash out at all the world, but if you loved your father, and I know you truly did, you will listen to reason. Great Kingdom had no part in your father’s death. This you must believe.”

Indignation crossed William’s face. “How can you possibly know what I feel? How can you possibly know what it is like to lose a mother, father, and brother all in the space of a few years?” William’s eyes turn wild. His tone became icy cold. “Kill them, kill them all!”

The Kingdom guardsmen raced for their swords. Adrina leapt from her chair and started screaming at William. Galan grabbed Adrina and pushed her back. Vilmos stepped in front of them both.

There was joy in Commander Stenocco’s eyes as he withdrew his great sword from its sheath. He ordered his men to stand at ease. “Leave them to me,” he said arrogantly, “I want them all.”

The Kingdom guardsmen held their ground as the enemy commander advanced on them. When he was within striking distance, Commander Stenocco stopped and laughed, mocking the tension on the guardsmen’s faces. He spat, then with surprising speed, heaved his massive blade toward them. Adrina squeezed her eyes together and winced in anticipation of the sound of clashing blades. When she heard a dull thud instead, she opened her eyes, expecting the worst. The worst hadn’t happened, however. Nothing had happened.

Commander Stenocco’s eyes were wide and filled with rage. He lashed out with his sword. Yet the sword couldn’t reach its mark. Again and again Adrina heard a dull thud. For a moment, the commander stood unmoving, a muscle in his cheek twitched nervously, then he cast aside his sword and began ramming the unseen barrier.

Adrina was as confused as the enemy commander was, she turned to Galan. Galan pointed to Vilmos.

“Princess,” Vilmos said, “I cannot hold him back long. Do what you must!”

Adrina’s thoughts spun inward. She turned back to William and felt suddenly sick to her stomach. She knew what she had to do—something she wished someone had done to her long ago. She struck William across the face with the back of her hand. “How dare you speak to me like that!” she screamed at him, then with her eyes she backed him into his chair.

“King Charles is gone, your self-pity will not bring him back! Great Kingdom and Sever have always been the strongest of allies. My father, King Andrew, has no desire to sit upon Sever’s throne. That seat belongs to the line of Charles, to you… Think. Who stands to gain the most from such treachery? Think, and no longer let blind rage control your actions.”

For a long time, William said nothing, then he turned to the soldiers inside the tent and dismissed them all save for his commander. “It is no easy thing to stop what has already begun,” William finally told Adrina, “I know you are sincere and though I want to believe you, I cannot. You spoke of proof. If you have proof that King Jarom was behind the poisoning of my father, I would hear it.”

Commander Stenocco screamed, “This is a trick, their forces attack as we speak!”

William raised his hand, commanding silence. “You spoke of proof, I would hear it,” he repeated.

Adrina turned to Galan. “Are you ready?”

False dawn was on the horizon and still the battle raged. Seth looked down from atop the wall to the fields south of the city. The Kingdom forces were falling back to re-form for another charge, to the west Sever’s army was also regrouping and to the east King Jarom’s army was mustering for their first attack of the new day. Vostok’s soldiers were fresh, few soldiers stood between them and the middle of Prince Valam’s camp as the bulk of the Kingdom army was engaged in the fighting to the west. Seth knew that once the attack came the camp would be overrun.

Seth watched the men upon the walls prepare for the attack. Bowmen notched arrows. Soldiers loaded catapults. Others hunkered down behind the battlements and waited to counter the press of enemy siege ladders.

Trumpets chanted to the east. Vostok’s army began to form in long lines. Shield bearers at the fore followed by pikemen, swordsmen and lastly archers. Horse soldiers in column formation waited with swords raised high.

The trumpets sounded again. Thousands of foot soldiers screamed and charged. Seth turned his eyes westward, expecting Sever’s army to begin their charge. They had re-formed, but held their ground. Poised to strike to the west, the Kingdom army also waited. Their rear ranks began to turn about and prepare a defensive, but did not move fearing a deception.

Perplexed, Seth watched the two unmoving armies. He wavered his gaze, trying to see why neither attacked. Was there something on the field between them?

Galan? Seth called out.

Seth, came Galan’s voice into his mind.

What is happening?

Sever’s army is quitting the field, Galan replied, and it was then that Seth saw the white flag and six figures moving toward the Kingdom lines.

Seth was puzzled. But to the east, the attack comes.

By the Mother, I did not realize—you must find Prince Valam. William has decided to quit the field. Seth, he knows the truth. But he also says he cannot fight against King Jarom.

Vostok’s army came. The clash began. The Kingdom army seemed unsure of which direction to defend against. Seth started running along the top of the wall. He was sure disaster waited in this indecision. He tried reaching the prince’s mind, but he had no idea where Prince Valam was among the mass of men in the frenzied camp below.

Sergeant Danyel’? Chancellor Van’te? Seth screamed.

Fatigue clouded Seth’s mind, allowing panic and dread to flood over him. He raced faster and faster. Then Sever’s army began to quit the field, and when it was clear they were not just falling back and were actually retiring, a wave of cheers erupted from the mouths of the Kingdom soldiers. The men atop the walls also began to cheer.

Seth stopped running. The whole of the Kingdom army turned about, and weary or not, they began a driving charge. King Jarom’s army hadn’t anticipated such a massive counterstrike. Their shield wall was weak and it fell quickly.

In retaliation, Vostok’s horse soldiers began their assault, but this came too late. The two armies were too intertwined and the enemy riders trampled their own soldiers as well as Kingdom soldiers. And when the riders met the first solid Kingdom line, horses and men collided, lances met readied swords and pikes, and large numbers of riders were pulled from their mounts or had mounts cut out from beneath them.

The Kingdom army had its own horse soldiers and they were driving into the heart of the enemy army. Vostok’s army, stunned and surprised, could only fall back again and again, but without support from the other flank they no longer had superior numbers in the field. It was now they who were outnumbered.

One last time the army of Vostok tried to raise a defense so they could re-form, but this was shattered quickly and the Kingdom army made good their rout. The men upon the walls began cheering louder and louder. For days their city had been besieged and now the enemy was on the run. They were elated and suddenly no longer weary.

Seth watched the Kingdom horse soldiers pursue the enemy army to the valley’s rim and beyond. It was there that Seth lost sight of them. He too was joyous, and he joined in their cheers.

A full celebration was underway.

The fires in the city were at last extinguished and rebuilding would begin as soon as possible. Already priests and priestesses had arrived, answering Prince Valam’s call for aid. The Priestesses of the Mother were caring for the hundreds wounded. The Priests of the Father were interring the dead upon the fields south of Quashan’, and the former battlefields would forever more stand as grim reminders of the devastation wrought by even the briefest of wars. Great Kingdom’s losses had been heavy .

Adrina’s joy was tainted with sorrow. She felt so alone, even though Galan was beside her. Vilmos had gone off in search of Xith, and while Adrina was sure Galan would have rather sought out Seth, Galan had stayed with Adrina to comfort her. Emel had not been among the fit or the wounded, and she had searched through every one of the dozens of relief houses set up to care for the wounded. The only thing she could do now was to search among the dead for his body, a task that seemed too grim for her to bear alone, yet she was determined to find Emel and to say her goodbyes.

“Father Jacob,” Adrina called out.

A very weary Father Jacob turned to greet her. He took her hand. “Your Highness, I have heard of your deed, you have done well, very well indeed.” Jacob grinned, and a bit of fatigue lifted from his eyes. “I knew you would.”

“Emel,” Adrina said, “you haven’t…”

“No, I have not seen Emel, yet I do not think you will find him here.”

“I have looked everywhere but here, Father Jacob.” Adrina was in tears. “He is nowhere to be found.”

“I have lain to rest too many familiar faces, I remember each, and none was Emel’s. Perhaps you searched the wrong places.”

Adrina was convinced otherwise. “No, if Emel were alive, I would have found him.”

Galan took Adrina’s hand. Riders are still in the field.

Father Jacob sighed. “A few, yes. They help clear the fields. Most have returned to the city to join in the celebrations. Emel is not among them.”

A few, Galan said, sending disbelief along with the words, I see hundreds.

Father Jacob and Adrina followed Galan’s gaze, a confused call going forth from the walls matched their surprise. That the large band of riders was Kingdom horse soldiers there was no doubt, but the rout of the enemy army had been completed before the day had even begun, and now the day was nearly over.

The jubilant soldiers’ swords and lances glistened in the late afternoon sun. They did not race their mounts, instead they held them to a steady trot. The animals must have indeed been weary.

“Could it be?” Adrina asked.

Neither Galan nor Father Jacob had to respond to the question. At the fore of the group was a great black stallion. In Adrina’s mind, there was no mistaking Ebony Lightning, Emel’s beloved mount.

As the riders approached, their faces slowly became clear. Adrina knew that it was Emel who rode Ebony. What’s more, Emel wasn’t just at the fore of the pack, he was leading it and behind him were over three hundred Kingdom riders. Their shouts and cheers rose to the walls of Quashan’ and trumpets returned their jubilant cries with increasing vigor. Those celebrating in the streets of Quashan’, curious as to what the commotion was, came to the field, and soon thousands covered the near end of the field by the city’s southern gate.

Father Jacob said, “His father would have indeed been proud this day.”

“Indeed,” said a voice from behind them. At once Adrina recognized the voice of her brother. Prince Valam put his hand on Adrina’s shoulder. “Captain Brodst will surely hear of it, for I will tell him myself on the day I see his son is promoted to Second Captain, Imtal Garrison.”

“Second Captain?” Adrina asked surprised.

“Imtal Garrison is without two of her captains, and who better to fill the place than one who has proven himself worthy.”

Adrina pointed a finger at Valam. “You knew where he’d been all along, didn’t you?” Adrina wiped tears from her cheeks. “And you let me worry and fret—”

“I had a hunch, but I wasn’t certain.”

Before Adrina could reply, Emel reined in Ebony beside them. He was grinning ear to ear. He leapt from the saddle.

Adrina ran to him and hugged him fiercely. “I thought you dead. Where have you been?”

Emel laughed then said. “Making sure Jarom’s army never returns to South Province without giving precious thought to the consequences. We chased them so far, and they ran so fast, I’d be surprised if they weren’t still running.”

“You will make a good captain, Emel,” Valam said.

Adrina was still hugging Emel fiercely, and now Emel’s face was a bit red. “Captain?” Emel asked.

“Captain,” Adrina said, and she kissed him on the cheek.

Valam cleared his throat. Adrina stepped back, and Valam gripped Emel’s shoulder. “Second Captain, Imtal Garrison. Captain Ghenson was a good man, and I know you will lead well in his stead.”

A surge of celebrants and music came toward them as dancers and musicians made their way to the field from Quashan’s many squares, stirring more excitement into the already boisterous crowd. Valam, Emel, Adrina, Galan and Father Jacob found they could do nothing other than join in.

Chapter Fourteen:

Parting Ways

The celebrations continued for three days and nights. Every day since the destruction, artisans had been hard at work rebuilding the city. The Master Stonecutter had seen to the walls and his laborers and masons had them nearly as strong as they once had been. Already the city’s smiths had the ironwork of the southern gate and portcullis restored. The city’s woodworkers had started construction on dozens of new homes. And the fact that there was already a shortage of nails, timber and bricks, proved how hard everyone was working toward the city’s restoration.

Vilmos was growing restless. It wasn’t so much that he was tired of life in Quashan’s keep, but he was unaccustomed to people paying so much attention to him. Serving girls made him uneasy by catering to his needs and treating him as he imagined visiting royalty must be treated. The room he and Xith shared held riches beyond anything he had ever dreamed of. The mattresses on the beds were made of hundreds, maybe thousands, of goose down feathers, as were the magnificently plush pillows. He had never imagined a bed could be made out of anything other than straw covered over or that a night’s sleep could be so restful and refreshing.

The sheets were soft and silky smooth. Servants would draw him a bath each evening and he used scented soaps to wash with. He had been given fine clothes, a jeweled dagger to put in the scabbard at his belt, and handsomely crafted leather boots. No more ill-fitting boots.

Oddly, it was the absence of his old and worn boots that made him yearn for home. He wondered how Lillath and Vil fared, and hoped that no harm had come to them. He had told Xith of his vow that one day he would return home, and Xith had said that perhaps one day he could go home, but that day would be a long way off.

Vilmos looked at himself in the mirror again, made a face, and started to undress. Xith came into the room.

The shaman smiled, then said, “You look like a fine young man, come quickly. We cannot keep His Highness waiting.”

Vilmos frowned, looked back into the mirror, then wordlessly followed Xith. He knew something special was planned for this evening, but what Xith hadn’t told him.

They were descending the central stairs to the keep’s great hall, when Vilmos asked, “Why all the secrecy? What is afoot?”

Xith stopped and faced Vilmos. “Enjoy yourself this evening. We will be leaving Quashan’ in the morning. It is time to begin your education.”

“Education?” Vilmos asked.

Xith didn’t answer, instead he continued down the stairs. Vilmos heard playful laughter in his mind and before he followed Xith, he glanced to the top of the stairs. Galan and Seth stood at the top of the landing. Galan wore a deep blue dress befitting a princess and Seth wore princely clothes matched to Galan’s dress.

We will leave in the morning also, Galan said. Galan took Seth’s hand as he offered it to her, and he led her down the stairs toward Vilmos. Perhaps you will come with us to Imtal to speak to King Andrew.

“I would like that,” Vilmos said, “but I think Master Xith has other plans.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Seth said. He spoke aloud. “But I fear we are nearly late and should hurry.”

Vilmos smiled at Seth’s spoken speech. Seth was working hard on his Kingdom accent.

Galan laughed again, and Vilmos heard its echo in his mind as she prodded him to chase after Xith.

Vilmos raced off to the keep’s great hall. Seth and Galan followed.

Inside the hall, hundreds of guests were seated at the many tables encircling the main table. At the head of the main table sat Prince Valam. Seated to his left were Chancellor Van’te, Keeper Martin, Father Jacob, Sergeant Danyel’, Captain Adylton of Imtal and Captain Berre of Quashan’. Princess Adrina, the soon-to-be captain Emel, Vilmos, Xith, Seth and Galan were seated to his right. Vilmos was glad to be surrounded by a few friendly faces, for most of the others in the enormous hall were strangers to him.

Wonderful aromas rose from the kitchen at the northern end of the hall and, nearly out of sight, attendants waited to bring food to the tables. Vilmos glanced to the four empty seats around the table and wondered who they were reserved for, then bowed his head as Father Jacob began the before meal prayer.

Father Jacob concluded the prayer as he had the past seven evenings, by giving thanks to Great-Father for divine providence. Afterward, for a brief time, a discord of voices returned.

Vilmos looked about the hall.

Emel, to his left, said, “Still not used to it, are you?”

“To tell the truth, I would much rather eat somewhere more private.”

“And miss all this?” asked Adrina. “Just wait till you see Imtal’s hall.”

Vilmos shrugged.

Emel whispered, “Me too.”

Adrina asked Vilmos, “You will be coming with us to Imtal, won’t you?” When Vilmos didn’t answer immediately, Adrina glared, then added, “You must.”

Vilmos turned expectant eyes to Xith.

“Alas,” Xith said, “it is time we were on our way. Vilmos and I have much to do. He has an education to begin.”

Adrina made a face.

Xith said, “Do not fret, Princess. Seth and Galan will accompany you to Imtal, yet, I suspect that you have not seen Vilmos and I for the last time.”

Vilmos was about to say something when Lord Valam cleared his throat, then stood. A sudden hush spread throughout as Valam’s gaze swept around the hall.

“On the eve of the seventh day of the cleansing of our home, we celebrate.” Valam raised a golden goblet. “We commemorate those who have fallen in the defense of their kingdom and honor those who helped achieve victory.

“It is unfortunate that this hall cannot hold each and every soldier presently residing in Quashan’, for, down to the last man—” Adrina cleared her throat. “—and woman, they contributed to victory, and none more so than those of you seated here today. I, the citizens of Great Kingdom, and your king, thank you.”

Valam raised the goblet above his head in salute, then drank from it until it was empty. A cheer went up, then everyone likewise honored the toast, Vilmos included, though he did not drink wine. Xith had warned him that he shouldn’t and for good reason, because it was customary for each of the honored guests to likewise make a toast. Cheers followed every toast, empty wine bottles were hurled against the walls and attendants hurried about the room with new bottles.

When it came time for Vilmos to make a toast, he was so nervous that all he could manage to say was, “To Great Kingdom,” and still the crowd cheered.

The last toast made, the cheers faded. Prince Valam stood. He raised his hand, commanding silence. “Several matters have come to my attention that demand addressing,” he began. “First of all, the heroic deeds of those seated here—” Valam swept his hand around the central table. “—are largely unknown to all save a few. I wish to make public the knowledge of these deeds so that all may know and none will forget.”

Keeper Q’yer was admitted to the hall. He carried a large tome and placed it before his prince.

“Inscribed on these pages are the deeds of the twelve seated here before you as best as can be ascribed,” read Valam aloud.

Valam looked to those around the table. “Please stand and be recognized as I read your name. Chancellor Van’te, once King Andrew’s advisor who now serves Lord Valam. Keeper Martin, Head of Lore Keepers. Father Jacob, First Priest of Great-Father. Sergeant Danyel’, Quashan’ garrison. Captain Adylton, First Captain of Imtal garrison. Captain Berre, First Captain of Quashan’ garrison. Princess Adrina, daughter of King Andrew. Sergeant Emel Brodstson, son of King’s Captain Brodst. Brother Seth of the Red Order who are the Queen’s Protectors. Brother Galan of the Red Order who are the Queen’s Protectors. Master Xith, of Oread and wise shaman. And lastly, Vilmos, son of Vil, Counselor of Tabborrath Village.”

Briefly Keeper Q’yer began recounting the deeds inscribed in the tome. Lastly, he spoke of Princess Adrina, Galan and Vilmos’ venture into Sever’s camp and an audible murmur passed through the crowd. It was clear few knew of this event.

Valam said, “From this day hence, this tome shall be put in a glass case which will stand at the entrance of this keep so that all may look upon it and read the inscribed names, and those who stand before you shall be known as Quashan’s protectors, heroes of the realm. Let the word go forth from this hall so that all may know.”

Unrestrained cheers followed and it took Valam a few minutes to calm the enthusiasm.

“The next matter concerns my sister, Princess Adrina, who has decided to return to Imtal instead of staying the winter in our fair south.” Keeper Q’yer handed Valam a scroll. “This scroll contains a message to my father, King Andrew, that Adrina will conduct to Imtal. With my regrets that I must stay in the south, I send a request that the King grant Brother Seth and Brother Galan an audience that they are surely due.”

Valam put his seal upon the scroll. Keeper Q’yer raised it for all to see. Then Valam said, “Now, I think it is about time we eat!”

A cheer went up and attendants hurried heavily laden plates to the tables. Keeper Q’yer sat at an empty place, and they were about to start eating when a page entered the hall. Valam took the roll of parchment the boy held. After reading the message, Valam whispered something to the page then the boy hurried off.

With his eyes, Vilmos followed the departing page until the boy disappeared into an adjacent corridor. A few seconds later, the page returned. Behind him were three men. One was a burly man dressed in a captain’s uniform. The other two by their attire and poise seemed to be nobility, but their hair was fair and not dark as Adrina’s or Valam’s.

Vilmos turned back to regard Valam. Valam was grinning.

“One last thing,” Valam said. “Please welcome, King’s Captain Brodst and the guests he brings from Klaive. The Baron of Klaive, and his son, Rudden, conveyed a supply caravan of lumber from their hardwood forests and metal for nails from their mines to Quashan’.”

Adrina, who was apparently shocked, seemed about to try to slip under the table.

“Greetings, My Lord Valam,” said the Baron of Klaive and his son.

“Please join us,” Valam said. He clapped his hands and attendants rushed forward to seat the newcomers.

Rudden was seated directly across from Adrina, and Vilmos was now positive that she would at any moment slip under the table. Then she seemed to notice Emel, as Vilmos did just then. Emel was clearly jealous of the tall, good-looking southerner. Emel also seemed about ready to pull the arms off the high-backed chair he sat in.

Adrina’s pout relaxed, faded, then she burst into laughter. Valam was quick to join in, as did most everyone else around the table, even Rudden who seemed a good sport.

“Let us eat!” Valam said.

And the meal began.

Vilmos ate and joined in the laughter filling the hall. In the years afterward, he wouldn’t remember much of what was said or done that eve, but he would remember the laughter and the joy forever.

After Vilmos left the hall, he returned to his room. He stood in front of the chamber mirror and regarded his stomach. He smiled a boyish smile and whispered to himself, “Imagine me, a hero of the realm.”

His mind still spun with the wonder of the hall. So much had happened. He had never seen so much splendor, never eaten so much food and never drank so much. His belly felt as if it were about to burst. This evening’s events had certainly lived up to his expectations.

Still, he felt uncomfortable in the finery he wore. In the reflection of the mirror, Vilmos saw Xith changing into his customary robe. His eyes darted to a neatly folded pile of clothes. He picked them up and laid them out on the bed. He found that the chambermaid had darned his socks, patched the knees on his pants, and mended his shirt just as she had promised.

Without a second thought, Vilmos changed into his old clothes, and, while they weren’t silk, they felt just as good. He turned back to face the mirror and found Xith standing in front of it. Xith was grinning.

“You look a fine young man,” Xith said. “Those are clothes befitting one who is about to begin an education.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready,” Vilmos said.

Xith looked Vilmos up and down. “You are right, you aren’t ready.”

Vilmos frowned and a flood of disappointment swept over him.

Xith maintained his grin. “First I must—” Someone knocked on the door. Xith went over and opened it. Vilmos heard him say, “Your Highness, please come in.”

Prince Valam stepped into the room. “I trust I am not disturbing you?”

Xith glanced to Vilmos then said, “Certainly not. Please come in.”

“Adrina told me you planned to leave early tomorrow, so I slipped out of the hall for a moment to give you this.” Valam handed Xith a rolled parchment. “It is something Father Jacob, Keeper Martin and I discussed at length—a writ, signed and closed with my seal. It is not as good as changing the King’s law regarding magic, but I think it a close substitute. It guarantees safe passage for you and Vilmos through Great Kingdom and proclaims you lawful magicians.”

The prince looked directly at Vilmos for a moment, then back to Xith. “I truly wish you would reconsider undertaking the journey to Imtal. I would rest easier knowing you were with Princess Adrina and the others as they return north. You would then be able to talk to my father, for only the King can change a law. But you would have my backing and that of Father Jacob and Keeper Martin.”

Xith took the writ. “You are most gracious. This is much more than I had expected, and it is a first step. Yet centuries of superstition and fear cannot be erased with the wave of a hand. Let us not forget the reason magic is forbidden in the first place. Perhaps the day will come when the Magus may again walk free and without fear. That day is not today nor tomorrow, but tomorrow’s tomorrow.”

Prince Valam’s face lit up with mirth. “Father Jacob said you would say something like that, but I had to try… I will let you two get back to whatever it was you were doing before I arrived.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Xith said and he closed the door behind the prince.

When Xith turned back to Vilmos, some of the concern that had been in his eyes earlier had lifted. Vilmos started to say something, Xith hushed him and just then Xith revealed what he had been hiding behind the mirror. It was the staff Xith had been whittling, what seemed to Vilmos forever ago.

Xith asked, “Do you remember when I first showed you this?”

Vilmos knew all right, it had been the night before he and Xith entered Vangar Forest for the first time.

“Well, I have finally finished it and you have proven yourself worthy. What I was going to say earlier was that, first I must give you this before you are ready to begin. The staff is an extension of you.”

Vilmos reached out for the staff, Xith pulled it back.

“Take it,” Xith said, “and you will set your feet irreversibly upon the path to becoming the first Human Magus in five hundred years. What you have learned so far are simple cantrips to a true Mage. But be warned, you, Vilmos, are different. Just as I did not know if your dreams were truly gone, I do not know where the end of this path will take us.”

Vilmos’ heart was racing. His eyes were wide. He reached out and took the staff from Xith. Never had he been so sure of anything as he was right then when he touched the strange soft wood. His place was with Xith and wherever the path took him, he would follow.

Xith crossed to his bed and laid down on it. “Tomorrow will be a long day, there is so much we have to do.”

Vilmos faced the mirror, grinned, then turned back to Xith. He asked, “Is Imtal truly as grand as Princess Adrina claims?”

Xith smiled, but didn’t reply.

The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches III

Keeper Martin’s Tales

BOOK THREE

ROBERT STANEK

Table Of Contents

Book 3

CHAPTER ONE: UNTO THE WINDS

CHAPTER TWO: THE LONG ROAD

CHAPTER THREE: AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY

CHAPTER FOUR: RETURN TO IMTAL

CHAPTER FIVE: UNEXPECTED COMPETITIONS

CHAPTER SIX: A FITFUL TRANSITION

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE AWAKENING

CHAPTER EIGHT: PHANTOMS OF THE PAST

CHAPTER NINE: AGAINST THE ODDS

CHAPTER TEN: A STRANGENESS IN THE AIR

CHAPTER ELEVEN: GALAN’S WORLD

CHAPTER TWELVE: KING’S MATE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE HIGH COUNCIL

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A LONELY PATH

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE FINAL GAME

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: ACROSS THE DISTANCE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE FINAL TRUTH

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: DREAMS OF TOMORROW

Chapter One:

Unto the Winds

Adrina shivered uncontrollably, and the more she shivered, the more she cried. She cried because she felt so desperately alone and because she felt utterly responsible for all that had happened. She, after all, had been the one who longed for change, and change had come in the form of a dark storm that threatened to sweep away everything she cared for and everything her family had worked so hard to maintain over these many past years.

As she looked on, the carriage master turned onto the main thoroughfare of the East–West Road and for a fleeting moment as the carriage mounted a small hill, she caught a last glimpse of the West Deep off in the distance. The waters, deep blue and ever tranquil, seemed to be calling out to her, “Don’t leave. Stay.”

She did long to stay but she couldn’t have made and kept her promise to Rudden Klaiveson even if she had wanted. Her heart and thoughts were miles away, lost in secret thoughts of the elves Seth and Galan. And though Rudden and his family had opened their hearts to her, she could not open her heart to them. Klaive was not Imtal, and it was not, nor would it ever be, her home. She was confident of this as she was of no other thing.

Still, the past two weeks in Klaive hadn’t been all bad, and she had Valam to thank for urging her to change her mind and temporarily postpone her return to Imtal. Just as the baron, baroness and their son had been, the people of Klaive had been kind to her. They came to the streets to greet her and Rudden whenever they left Klaive Keep. Gentlemen would remove their hats and bow. Ladies in the flowing dress of the day would offer flowers and children would chase after them laughing through the streets.

Adrina smiled, and wiped tears from her eyes. She leaned her head out the window, turning to look back at Klaive, half expecting to see Rudden chasing the carriage and her entourage. But Rudden was nowhere to be seen along the long dusty road, and it was just as well for Adrina had broken his heart, though it had not been her intent.

She switched to the carriage seat opposite her and removed the cover from the painting the Baron had commissioned of her and Rudden. In the picture, Rudden had a broad smile and he held her hand. She remembered the warmth of his hands in hers and smiled. It had taken several days for the painter to complete his work and many long, quiet hours of standing and holding hands.

Her leaving Klaive without allowing the Baron to publicly announce the betrothal had been a betrayal of the unspoken promise her presence spoke of. She disgraced Rudden’s family to be sure, but the thing she couldn’t forget or forgive herself for was the hurt she caused Rudden. She could see the anguish and pain in his eyes clearly, even now, and unexpectedly, her heart and eyes mirrored that anguish and that pain, and it was the source of the emptiness she felt.

In her mind’s eye, she saw her mother, Queen Alexandria, nodding, giving silent approval to the idea that swept in from the corners of her mind. She laughed, and the laughter was almost healing. She moved the curtains aside from the coachman’s window, speaking quietly to the waiting attendant.

The coached turned. The riders in her entourage followed. She smiled.

“Ahoy, the Mouth of the World!” screamed the lookout.

The call was quickly relayed throughout the whole of the Scarlet Hawk, followed by a call of “Down the main sails! Oarsmen to the ready!” from the ship’s captain.

Vilmos avoided the tangle of sailors amidships and raced to the bow. He and Xith had left the seaside town of Eragol the previous day and the Mouth of the World, a natural river cave that cut under the Rift Range near Jrenn, was their destination.

He swallowed a heart-sized lump in his throat when ahead in the distance he saw only ice-capped mountains on both sides of the river. As he looked on, a small dark space within the gray stone of the mountain seemed to grow and grow until the darkness was a thing that seemed would swallow the whole of the ship, and indeed it did, just as the captain called out, “Lanterns, fore and aft!”

Lanterns soon cast a dull glow into the darkness. No light reflected back to say that the rocks were close around them—or to say that anything was close around them for that matter. Everything seemed dead calm and just as the ship seemed to stand still in space and time, Vilmos heard the low thumping of the pacekeeper’s drum. The oarsmen struck their oars. The Scarlet Hawk lurched forward. Soon the rowing became a smooth seesaw that hinted of movement and progress through the darkness.

“Vilmos, come away from the bow!” yelled Xith. “You don’t want to be standing there.”

Vilmos gripped the staff Xith had given him in Quashan’. “Is it always this dark here?”

“Sometimes darker,” replied Xith. “Sometimes it is a place that resembles its namesake more so than any would like.” Xith didn’t give Vilmos a chance to reply as he led the boy below deck. “Gather your belongings quickly. We won’t have much time once the ship is docked to get passage across the river to Jrenn.”

Vilmos took to the task of packing without complaint. He wouldn’t miss the Scarlet Hawk or the bucket that had been a constant companion during the journey. He knew he didn’t have sea legs. Still, the voyage was his first and the open river was truly a remarkable place.

He and Xith had made many stops on their journey north to Eragol. He had seen Mir, Veter, Klaive, Heman and many sights in between. The shaman had been secretive of most of his activities and he was learning not to ask too many questions. Still his mind filled with questions—oh so many questions—and it seemed he would never get answers.

As he packed he thought about Efryadde, whose path Xith said he followed as a human mage in training. He knew of Efryadde from the Great Book, and what little he knew troubled him. The darkness had overtaken Efryadde, and in the end those he trusted most had betrayed him.

Calls went up from the crew as the Scarlet Hawk came to a full stop. He looked up from his task to find Xith regarding him. “To Jrenn and then to Solntse?” he asked.

Xith nodded and led the way to the top deck. “Stand close now, we have to move fast if we are to get across the river today.”

As the two emerged from below, Vilmos’ eyes lit with wonder at the sight of lanterns spreading out in every direction, revealing the outline of enormous docks and many ships in the port. He shouldered his bags and gripped his staff tightly. Lanterns overhead, suspended in the darkness by unseen ropes, lit their way along the docks.

All around them sailors, merchants and travelers hurried about their business. Everyone, Xith included, moved with a sense of purpose, seemingly oblivious to the fact that just beyond the shrouded yellow of the lanterns lay absolute darkness. Vilmos practically had to run to keep up with the shaman, and he did so with a sense of urgency because he didn’t want to lose Xith in this crowd, in this place.

As they reached the long straight run that led to the innermost section of the docks, Vilmos stopped. Ahead of him, no more than a hundred paces away, was open water, and across the open water was a city in the center of the docks. This journey with Xith had opened his eyes to the wonders of the world, but none was as grand as the sight of the floating city ahead.

From this distance he could see the gentle swaying of the water as it rippled beneath the city, and in the dark waters ahead, rowboats, whose paths were lit by a single lantern suspended from a tall pole aft, moved back and forth like carriages following unseen roads.

Xith hurried toward a line of rowboats at the end of one of the docks and Vilmos truly did have to run to catch up. For the sum of two coppers an oarsman took Xith and Vilmos to the inner docks of Jrenn.

The inner docks were very different from those used by the large sailing boats. They were low to the water and lined with tiny piers that made it easy to dock small boats, such as the rowboat they were in, anywhere along the floating circle of the city. The trick, however, was to find a section of pier that was unoccupied, and this turned out to be more of a problem than Vilmos imagined.

Xith solved the problem by giving the oarsman two more pieces of copper, immediately after which the oarsman docked and bid the two farewell.

“Until spring then,” said Adrina turning back to the carriage.

Rudden smiled and kissed her hand before he let go. “Until spring.”

She regarded Rudden, saying nothing more. Behind him, on the balcony overlooking the keep’s courtyard, she saw the baron and baroness.

The baron stood still and there was a slight smile playing on the corners of his lips. The baroness’s right hand was touched to her cheek and there was delight in her eyes. But it was Rudden that she was focusing on.

It was as if she was seeing him for the first time as the man he was and not as the man everyone else wanted her to see. He was tall with fair hair that showed his heritage and bright eyes that seemed to ask questions of her even now. He was the same man that had traveled all the way to Imtal just to meet her and then rushed to Quashan’ to bring supplies to the beleaguered city after the battle Great Kingdom had nearly lost, but yet he wasn’t. Things had changed and her heart had changed—and it had all happened in space of a few heartbeats.

She turned away. The attendant helped her into the coach, closing the door behind her. The coachman took his position. The Knight Brigade, Klaive Keep’s most elite mounted horsemen, took to the saddle.

As the coach started out of the courtyard, she turned to look back. Rudden waved and she smiled more deeply. In her heart, she knew she had made the right decision. The journey from childhood to womanhood wasn’t an easy one, but she would undertake it—it may lead her to a place quite unexpected.

Chapter Two:

The Long Road

Emel spurred Ebony Lightning on and the great black stallion charged across the open field with a speed that few other horses could match. As a ranking member of his father’s company, he had more responsibilities than ever before in his life and none so important as the safekeeping of the elves who accompanied the battle-weary group of Kingdomers as they returned to Imtal.

He cursed low under his breath as he urged Ebony to even greater speeds, vowing to Great Father that he would find the truth of the matter before him no matter the cost. On the return trek, his father, Ansh Brodst, King’s Knight Captain, had opted to take the faster, more dangerous route north. They took the Old Kingdom road through Moeck, skirting the Belyj Forest, Fraddylwicke Swamp and the Dead Sea, braving the Cliffs of D’Arndynne in rains that had swept far braver men into the sea and from this world.

But they braved and surpassed the deadly cliffs without mishap, and it was within the lands of Fraddylwicke that the trouble had occurred. At first, the onlookers had been curious, to be truthful, and so no one could have foreseen what was to come. Still, there was little excuse for failure and absolutely no excuse for forgetting one’s ancestry.

Ancestry in a place such as Fraddylwicke was everything. For it was here, in lands as harsh and desolate as any found in the whole of the kingdoms, that the Blood Soldiers had been born and here that thousands upon thousands had died defending a stretch of land whose only value was in the boundaries that its borders represented.

Dnyarr the Greye, the last great Elven King, had laid siege to Fraddylwicke Castle two times during the Race Wars in his attempt to gain the southlands. The first siege lasted over one hundred years, which wasn’t enough time for young elves to grow to maturity but lasted generations for the men who defended the fields with their blood and their lives. Yet, if such a thing was unimaginably horrible to endure for those who served, could one possibly imagine a thousand years of such existence, as was the case of the last great siege?

Or could one doubt without any certainty that after the final victory in the fields around Fraddylwicke that those who survived were no longer what they once were? So when the victorious sought to rule the lands of Man, it should have been no surprise that divided kingdoms united against them and their allies, pushing them back to the dark corners of the world and, ultimately, leaving them forgotten like the past from which they came.

Emel Brodstson never should have forgotten this and his father, Ansh Brodst, shouldn’t have either. For the blood in their veins was that of those who Emel now eyed with a murderous rage as he chased them across the sodden field. Yet a distant kinship didn’t stop his sword arm or cause him to slow Ebony’s thunder as he ran down the last of the attackers.

By the time he returned to the company, the berserker rage in his blood had passed, but its short presence within had changed him in ways that he later would not be able to explain. In a way, it made him less human, less a man—but someone who could separate himself from his feelings and find only the burning rage within could never see this. It would only be apparent later, much later, to those who knew him before this pilot light of rage was ignited.

Vilmos awoke suddenly in the darkness, staring about the strangely shaped room as it shifted with the movement of the water beneath the floating city. He and Xith had not made it out of Jrenn the previous day and had rented a room at an inn instead. Now he was alone in the darkness and Xith was nowhere to be seen—or was he?

Vilmos stood and walked to the far corner of the room where there was an alcove. He moved quietly and carefully. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the glowing orb the shaman held in his outstretched hands. He saw images flash by in the orb as if the shaman was looking for a thing he could not find.

The shaman’s face, lit dully by the glow of the orb, reflected frustration, and he was muttering to himself. “Step aside; move about so that I may see.”

Vilmos leaned on his haunches, taking the weight off his feet. The flash of images was hypnotic and as he looked on, it was as if he was being drawn into the orb. Soon it seemed he was standing within the glow of the orb itself and the images of the world—vivid and real—were before him.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and waited. When he opened his eyes again, hoping that he would be standing in the room of the inn, he instead found that nothing had changed. Large as life images still played before his eyes—and even more strange, the images called to him.

Stunned panic set in. He forced himself to rip his eyes away from the hypnotic flash. It was then that he knew for sure he was indeed standing

within the orb. His heart started racing. He twisted his head back and forth like a trapped animal. He was about to take a step backward, away from the flashing world, when a strong hand firmly clasped his right elbow.

He turned and saw Xith standing beside him.

“Don’t move,” said the shaman. “Dangerous, often lethal, to do so.”

“Where are we?”

“You mean, where are you? I just followed as you were drawn into the orb. Doesn’t happen often mind you, but it does happen. You were drawn into the orb for a reason.”

“Is this a part of the training? You said the training was to begin.”

“Vilmos, my boy, your education is never-ending and always ongoing.” Xith laughed, a fleeting laugh. His expression became dark and serious. “Dnyarr’s orb is one of the greatest powers in all the realms. I don’t pretend to understand, understanding is beyond the likes of those of this world. I only know what I can do with it and what others before me have done with it.”

Vilmos took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “Why does it want me?”

“Why indeed,” said Xith. “Why indeed. I should like to think it has something to do with our present course—”

Xith stopped abruptly as the glow of the orb around them disappeared and the scene before them exploded to life as never before. The two raced through a great forest, and as they raced onward the mountains in the distance grew ever closer.

Soon the air around them grew cold as snow-capped peaks raced beneath their feet. In the distance now, they could see a swarm of flying beasts in the sky.

“Dragons?” cried out Vilmos as they raced into the midst of a raging battle.

Xith didn’t answer.

As they raced on, Vilmos saw two winged serpents locked in combat in the center of it all. They were larger and fiercer than any of the others around them. Their great wings beat at the air as their massive jaws locked one upon the other.

Just when Vilmos and Xith were about to crash into the fighting beasts, the two dragons turned as one and stared directly at the men before them. They spoke then in a language that was long gone from the world as everything around them began to fade away.

Reality came crashing in. The two were left standing in their rented room, staring at the glowing orb in Xith’s outstretched hand. They didn’t speak for the span of many heartbeats, the silence burning the images deeper into their minds.

The coach and the horsemen made fair progress along the East–West Road. By the end of the fourth day, the group reached the crossroads that would take them north to Ispeth, Mellack and then on to Imtal. Adrina was tired of the soft cushions of the coach. She longed for the leather of the saddle and wanted nothing more than to feel the open road all around her.

She passed the time thinking of Imtal and all that had happened since leaving home. In her mind, it seemed only yesterday that she was leaving Imtal with garrison soldiers all around her as they journeyed south to Alderan. But arrival in Alderan hadn’t brought anything that they thought it would. Instead they discovered Alderan had been captured by King Jarom’s soldiers and Quashan’ was next as Jarom sought to capture the key cities that would give him control of the southlands.

In her mind it was clear that the elves, Seth and Galan, single-handedly changed the course of the Battle of Quashan’. Galan had helped guide her through the treachery of William’s camp, and it was there that she had convinced William to quit the field, turning the tide in the Kingdom’s favor. Seth had helped guide the scattered Kingdom forces defending the walls of Quashan’, and it had been his superhuman speed and skill alone that had pushed back attackers more than once. Together the elves had communicated over the distance, using only the power of their minds, and giving the Kingdomers another advantage on the field.

No, Adrina had no doubt of their deeds. She only hoped her father, the king, had the good sense to listen to their words when they sought his support.

Outside the windows of the carriage she heard Landon, Chief Knight of Klaive Keep, call the group to a halt. The carriage kept moving, albeit at a slower pace, until she could see the doors of a clapboarded inn. The waiting attendant opened the carriage door.

The carriagemaster swept her from the carriage and hurried her to a room inside the inn that had already been prepared. She thanked the carriagemaster as he let himself out and bid her a good evening. All the pampering was going to her head. She had never been treated so well—in Imtal, attendants knew she loathed such foot to hand pampering—and she was never so miserable.

She longed for conversation. Open, honest conversation, angry, heated conversation, any conversation. She would have talked to anyone, if there were anyone to talk to. “Is this what true royalty is like?” she wondered aloud. “I’d rather be tarred and feathered.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” said a voice from the shadows.

Adrina turned, startled. She raised the flame on the oil lamp beside the bed to cast a brighter glow about the room. She was frightened, but only barely so. In truth, returning to Imtal was more frightening.

Returning to Imtal meant opening many old wounds and remembering things that she didn’t want to remember. For years Imtal’s walls had symbolized and housed her fears. The walls were the keepers of secrets she had worked hard to forget. But when she returned—and proved to herself that one could get beyond Imtal’s walls—she would have to look beyond and within those walls.

So as she stared into the eyes of the one who sat waiting, she had the dark desire that she should never return to Imtal. And as the other smiled, deeply, darkly, she thought her wish would indeed come true.

Xith closed his palm about the orb and then released his grip on Vilmos’ arm. He staggered backward, his strength clearly gone. It was only Vilmos’ quick response that kept Xith from falling.

Vilmos helped Xith to a chair, took a seat opposite the shaman. “I’m frightened, Xith,” he said quietly. “I just don’t understand.”

“As am I,” said Xith. “More is at hand than I thought. To be sure, we must begin earlier than I planned and for that I am truly sorry.”

Vilmos turned his great brown eyes in a wide circle about the room. “No, you aren’t listening. I think I’ve made the wrong decision. I want to go home. I want to go home to Lillath now!”

“What?”

“Magic is evil! Why should I learn such a thing?”

“No Vilmos, you are very wrong. Magic is not evil.”

“Magic destroys!”

“Magic can be evil if used in the wrong hands, so can all things. Money is the worst evil of all, but if used properly it can be used for good. You learn magic for the purpose of good and not evil. I would think you would have accepted this now, particularly after Quashan’.”

“Magic tears things apart, it destroys! It destroys everything!”

“Don’t be so hasty in your judgment!” Xith was almost angry; he had to calm himself before he continued. “Magic is only evil if the person using it is evil. Those of weak mind are easily overcome by the greed for power and too much power can be an evil thing. This is why you will learn to control the gifts you have been granted. This is why you must learn patience. Great power in unskilled hands is useless; great power in skilled hands can shape mountains.”

Vilmos shook his head. He watched Xith but in the back of his mind he saw dragons battling in the sky. Somewhere in the dark corners of his mind he knew what it was that they fought over and it was this thing that terrified him. He shouted in a booming voice, “But he will return!”

“The dark one is a myth, a legend.” Xith carefully shaped the truth. “He is not real. He is real only in our imaginations. The legend was created long before the Blood Wars… Maybe he existed at one time, long, long ago. I don’t know for sure. No one does, but I do know he does not now exist. Now his existence is only through lore and myth, perpetuated by those who wish to control. They are the true evil; they are what we should fear. For it is they who manipulate such things to their own ends, using it to justify all that they do.”

Xith continued, although Vilmos had stopped listening to the words. “During the time of the gathering they will try to destroy us to prevent the coming… Yet a few, a very select few, have used the myth for the good of all. They have turned it around. They use it to prepare us for what the future will bring and this is why we study the histories. We must learn from the past and when the time comes we must be ready so that we do not repeat it.”

Xith rambled on, speaking words he should have never said to Vilmos, but for a reason unknown to him he spoke anyway. Vilmos half listened but couldn’t shake the images from his mind. “But if magic is not evil, why is it forbidden? Why do the Priests of the Dark Flame destroy magic?”

Xith collected his thoughts. “It is to prevent the corruption the future will bring. You must learn to use your magic to its fullest. You must learn to master it before it masters you.”

“What?” asked Vilmos not understanding as the images in his mind’s eye faded, leaving him confused.

“Remember,” said Xith using the dominating nature of the voice, “the fate of all the lands will one day rest in your hands. You must believe, Vilmos. Believe because you have to believe and because you want to believe. He does not exist. You must believe and remember only this. You must be ready for our journey to Under-Earth. Forget all else…”

Chapter Three:

An Unexpected Discovery

Vilmos and Xith departed Jrenn with a protected caravan bound for the Free City of Solntse. For days afterward, the unchanging sun beat down upon them. Xith’s skin, unnaturally weathered and dark, proved to have better tolerance for this than Vilmos’ fair skin, which was now burned by the sun and wind.

The sound of dozens of feet and hooves crunching the stones of Great Kingdom’s High Road echoed in his ears. A steady gale coming out of the mountains to the north carried the dust of the Barrens across River Krasnyj. The handkerchief tied around his nose and mouth did little to keep out the dirt, and as he ran his hand across his cheek the gritty film made him long for a hot bath and clean clothes.

Sunset was near and more than anything he wanted to hear the caravan master call out the final stop of the day. The ten garrison soldiers that protected the caravan were the only ones on horseback. While two stayed at the fore of the caravan and two to the rear, the others clustered near the carriage ferrying a lady of some standing in the Kingdom. He caught glimpses of her pale face from time to time through the carriage’s white lace curtains.

He was surprised when the city of Solntse came into view and even more surprised when the caravan reached the city before nightfall. As they passed under the walled city’s outer gatehouse he watched the gatekeepers who stood watch, certain that at any moment they would unloose volleys from their readied crossbows. But once they were safely within the city’s protective walls, his thoughts and attention turned to the grandeur of the streets and buildings spread out before him.

Xith held Vilmos by the scruff of the collar to ensure he watched where he was going while he was gawking, and gripped the collar tighter suddenly to pull him away from a brightly clad female who was beckoning for him to follow her. Xith sighed; Vilmos didn’t know that this was where his journey to the destiny that awaited him would truly begin.

Several times he stepped around men who simply stopped dead in their tracks in front of him. Once he bumped into one, almost causing a ruckus, and Xith dragged him quickly away. Finally, Xith gave him an ultimatum, “Follow me and do only what I do. Or I’ll leave you in the street to fend for yourself!”

Vilmos took the threat seriously and did exactly as Xith said. This allowed Xith to relinquish his firm grip on his collar.

They passed through the central portion of the city with its high, three-story structures reaching into the sky and then made their way to the city’s southernmost sector. Most of the buildings in this area were saloons or “rest houses” as Xith called them. The heavy smell of whiskey and perfume wafted out onto the street to assault their nostrils. Along with these odors came the sound of music and laughter, singing and even brawling, coming on a puff of air as patrons would enter or exit.

Vilmos would sneak a quick glance inside as doors swung inward or outward; the sites within often amazed him: men drinking tall tankards of ale or slugging down small glasses of this or that, Vilmos really couldn’t tell what. Women sitting on men’s laps or dancing happily.

A large crowd was gathered off one of the side streets they passed now. Shouts and the clashing of blades filtered to his attentive ears. His mind filled with glee and he tried to dart toward the fracas. He would have made it cleanly away too, if Xith didn’t snatch at his collar, latching onto a clump of hair instead. With a shriek, Vilmos stopped.

“Don’t stray,” said Xith. “Perhaps tomorrow we can return.”

“Tomorrow they will be gone. The square will be empty. I’ve never seen a real brawl.” Vilmos looked dejected. His eyes grew sullen.

“I assure you that tomorrow they will be in that same courtyard from sunup until sunset. And that is not a brawl.”

“But I would rather watch today—”

“Quiet!” said Xith.

The avenues they walked along gradually grew narrower and the saloons and shops became dingier and dirtier. Xith took on a slower, more aware gait as a feeling of unease filled his mind.

Vilmos noticed this, and instead of peering into the places he passed he clung close to Xith and watched his surroundings with wide, wary eyes. Unconsciously, he clinched his fists to the ready, not that he really knew how to use them, just that he felt more secure.

Xith stopped in front of a large, squat inn and motioned Vilmos to follow him inside. Vilmos cast his eyes up and down the building’s rough outer face, looking hard at the shattered windows and the dilapidated shutters; the run-down place had definitely seen better days. “It isn’t that bad on the inside,” said Xith patting Vilmos on the back.

When Vilmos stepped inside, he knew he had been right. The interior was in as poor a shape as the exterior. At least the last place they had stayed in had been somewhat pleasant inside. Vilmos looked about unhappily.

“Don’t worry,” said Xith, “we’ll stay here just long enough to get the additional supplies we need and that’s all.”

“Here?” stammered Vilmos in disbelief.

“Believe me there are worse places to stay and you’ll find that the rooms are actually quite nice. Trust me.”

Xith got them a room, which wasn’t actually quite nice, but at least it was clean.

“See I told you to trust me,” said Xith swatting Vilmos on the head. “Besides we can stay here cheaply and without drawing attention to ourselves.”

“Why? Is there someone watching us?”

In the midst of formulating a list of all the things they would need for the journey ahead Xith didn’t offer Vilmos an immediate response. After a time he said, “Stay here, I have to attend to a few things. I’ll be back.”

Several hours passed. Vilmos waited patiently. His thoughts wandered and a cataclysm of images swam before his eyes. He saw the days with Xith and how dramatically his life changed. He couldn’t truly understand why this was all happening to him but he tried. Everything was moving so fast and the little boy inside him was crying out to go back home to see his mother and father, but another voice within told him he could never go home, would never go home again.

With eyes unfocused and thoughts jumping to and fro, he stared blankly at a wall. Eventually this inward reflection slowed and fell silent as he slipped into a light sleep. He awoke a short time later when Xith returned muttering loudly to himself. He caught pieces of what the shaman was saying and to him it sounded as if Xith was having an argument with himself about money and thieves.

“What’s wrong?” he asked excitedly, cueing in on “thieves.”

“Bloody street thievery I tell you. The prices here are worse than I’ve ever seen and it cannot bode well.”

“Prices for what?”

“Horses among many other things.” The bags Xith was carrying fell to the floor with a loud clank as he dropped them. He sat down, pulled off his boots, emptied their contents unceremoniously onto the floor, then lay back and closed his eyes, yawning mightily. “I tell you. In all my years I’ve never had to pay these prices. It’s like the merchants can smell winter on the air and they know that soon afterward the supplies will dry up. In winter, I would expect to pay such prices, but not now—it is too early.”

Later that evening Xith and Vilmos ventured out to the streets. The streets after dark looked more ominous to Vilmos. The people he passed, both male and female, appeared to be in somber moods, and were darkly clad with long flowing capes or large collared cloaks. Flickers of light and the outlines of people speaking in muffled voices loomed in the alleyways, but thankfully the dreadful portent was absent as they entered a nearby pub.

The atmosphere of the small pub was light and happy. Xith ordered gruel for two and they sat waiting. Vilmos watched the patrons come and go. He studied the clothes they wore and the weapons they carried, yet his main interest was in catching pieces of what they were talking about as they passed.

As he ate gruel and black bread, his attention remained on a man who sat in the corner, his back to the wall, opposite the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The man, obviously a fighter of some sort, wore a roughly hewn chainmail shirt with heavy leather underings and an odd branks.

From time to time, he could see the man’s hands, which were covered in a mailed half-glove that left the thumbs and forefingers exposed. Taking inventory of the man’s weaponry as he had the others, he had seen the great sword slung crossways over the man’s back—even now he could glimpse the jeweled hilt—and an auxiliary blade of considerably smaller size sheathed in his belt.

Of the woman, he could only see the long black hair and sometimes he’d catch a glimpse her face. She had come in separately from the man and all eyes in the place had been cast upon her as she crossed the room, but when she sat down with the broad-backed warrior everyone returned to their own business—everyone except him. He couldn’t look away.

A hue of somber amber, the dress the woman wore was elegant. The dress had lace at the top that swelled around ample breasts and flowed down her arms in an open and obviously revealing fashion that caused him to blush and avert his eyes until she passed in front of him. She possessed no weapons, save for her intoxicating, cold gray eyes, which were down turned.

He watched the two as they sat still, neither uttering a word. The man from time to time would grind his teeth against the iron bit in his mouth or twist his mailed fist into the table. The woman sat still, her head turned away, as if she was suspended in time. He pitied them, though he did not know why.

As the pub’s owner delivered a second round of gruel and black bread, he turned his eyes away from the couple but, as the fish to the lure, his gaze returned shortly afterward and he stared openly as he ate. He wondered what the couple’s story could be and when finally he could no longer hold his tongue in check, he asked, “Those two. Is it odd or is it just me?”

Xith didn’t have to look to see whom Vilmos was talking about; he knew. “The warrior is an indentured man and the woman is of the street. You should concern yourself with other things.”

Vilmos didn’t think that, though. He saw another story, especially in the man’s eyes.

The meal finished, the drink consumed, Xith and Vilmos returned to their rented room. Vilmos was quiet for a long time, content to sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the wall. This puzzled Xith, as he hadn’t seen Vilmos like this before and he didn’t know what could be wrong. He asked several times what was wrong, but Vilmos didn’t respond.

“Are you sick?” asked Xith. “You haven’t said a word since we ate. Usually you are teaming with a hundred different questions.” Xith paused to collect his thoughts. “Forget about the two. We can’t do anything for them.”

The subtle directing of the voice stimulated Vilmos’ subconscious. Again, Xith knew of a secret yearning.

“But why?” said Vilmos. “What could make someone so miserable? I could see pain on both their faces.”

“He is a debtor. Once caught in the cycle, it can never be broken.” Knowing something else was wrong, Xith fixed Vilmos with a discerning eye. Vilmos was referring to more than what he was talking about. He was also talking about himself, though he was not fully aware of this. “Tell me what is really bothering you, Vilmos?”

Vilmos shook his head. He heard Xith, but in the back of his mind he saw the warrior poised with the great blade at the ready. Vilmos called to the warrior but the warrior ignored him and walked away.

Chapter Four:

Return to Imtal

The walls of Imtal were ahead in the distance but this didn’t improve Emel’s demeanor. He was frustrated, angry and tired. When the garrison troops left Imtal they had numbered in the thousands. Now, those that returned—the survivors—numbered in the hundreds. How did one explain such a thing to the King? How did one explain such utter failure, followed by more failure? How did one explain losing the only good things to come of the Battle of Quashan’?

Emel did not envy his father this day. Ansh Brodst was sure to be stripped of his title as King’s Knight Captain and the land grant that had gone with it. Emel himself, promoted in the field to Fourth Captain, Imtal Garrison, doubted the promotion would stand.

No, those returning would surely be cast out of the city and sent to the wild outposts: High Road, Serant, Reassae or worse: the territory outposts from which few ever returned.

Emel hung his head in shame as they passed within the protective gates of the city. He wished this day would end and didn’t see how things could get any worse.

Fortunately, it was well into the evening and no one turned out to greet the returning soldiers. Even the heralds upon the walls had the good sense not to call out to mark the return.

The clatter of hooves and boots echoed along Imtal’s cobbled streets for some time as the group slowly made their way toward the central district. Soon Emel could see torches lighting the way to the parade plaza within High King’s Square. Even in the darkness, he could see the faces of the soldiers around him. Their expressions, once sad and grim, turned upward. Smiles replaced tears and, sometimes, tears of joy replaced frowns. It was good to be home regardless of the circumstance, and he knew this as well.

Just as the relief at being home faded, the group reached High King’s Square. There, a miraculous sight awaited them. The square, save the central parade route, was filled to overflowing with Imtal’s citizens, and the streets beyond the square were filled as well. The lines of people went on as far as he could see.

A sense of purpose returned to the group’s actions. Soldiers walked with their heads up, digging their boots into the stones as they marched. Riders sat true in the saddle, reigns in one hand, the other hand up in greeting.

Emel maneuvered Ebony within the ranks until he rode beside his father. He reached out and clasped his father’s arm, grinning broadly. “It’s a homecoming I never thought I’d see!”

“And I as well,” said Ansh Brodst. “But this night isn’t over.”

Impulsively Emel looked over his shoulder at the carriage behind his father. “Two dead elves won’t please his majesty, that is for sure.”

“Dying, not dead. Keeper Martin and Father Jacob are doing their best to see that the elves at least survive the journey to its end. After that, who can say.”

“Dying, not dead,” corrected Emel.

“I will release the company until the first day of the new moon so that they may be with their families. What is unspoken is that officers are not granted this leave.”

“Yes of course, father, I understand this.”

“Your duty will be to work with the other captains to restructure the garrison and put these battle experienced soldiers into positions that best serve the Kingdom. Such experience is valuable, and it will be expected of you to make tough decisions in the name of the crown.

“Each of the fallen will need to be put to rest in the eyes of their families. You will take your share of the black sheets. You will get no special favors, you understand?”

Emel slowed Ebony’s pace as the group prepared to stop. “I understand completely.”

“No Emel, you don’t understand,” said Ansh Brodst as he raised a hand to command the group to a halt. “You earned the rank of captain in the field. Now you must earn the respect of those who know nothing and care not of your deeds. Don’t take this lightly, or you will meet your end with your belly gutted in an empty field.”

Except for the unexpected encounter in her room at the inn, Adrina’s return to Imtal was uneventful. The Klaive Keep Knight’s escorted her to Imtal, through the city streets, and conveyed her and her belongings directly to the palace proper. Most of the city was still deep in mourning the lost and the fallen, so her return was completely overlooked. Even her father, the king, did not turn out to welcome her home, and now she paced nervously in her room as she waited for the evening meal and a chance to speak with her father.

She was agitated because two of the knights refused to leave her side. “Rudden Klaiveson bade us to protect you with our lives until your return to Klaive in the spring,” they said when she urged them to go with

the others, “and we gave a blood oath as such that cannot be broken by any command. Only death will cause us to leave your side.”

She was also agitated because she couldn’t find anyone with information on the elves. Emel was gone. Father Jacob wasn’t in his quarters. Keeper Martin wasn’t available: he was in council with her father. No one else she asked knew anything about the elves—not even the cooks, who always knew the scuttlebutt of the day.

The only good thing to come of her return home was a bath. A long hot bath that Myrial drew for her and she soaked in for what seemed hours.

Myrial was in Adrina’s chambers now readying the wood for the evening fire. From time to time, Adrina could see the servant girl watching as she paced. Most of the time, Myrial’s attention was on the wood that she stacked carefully.

“I think it’s going to be cold tonight,” said Adrina. “What do you think?”

Surprised at the direct question, Myrial dropped the wood she was carrying and then hurried about the floor picking it up. Adrina touched the girl’s arm to stop her flitting about. At first, Myrial squirmed away as if Adrina’s fingers burned into her skin, but soon she calmed.

“I think it is going to be cold tonight,” repeated Adrina. “Don’t you?”

“We played together as girls,” whispered Myrial. “I remember Queen Alexandria holding my hand and yours. We’d walk through the gardens until we got to a new section and then she’d set to planting and we’d pretend to do the same. I was a fool in childhood to think we could be friends—I was a fool as a girl to think that by serving you well you would return my family honor. But you don’t even remember who I am, let alone my name. So yes, yes I think it will be cold tonight, but you will not feel the chill of it—only I.”

The words stung Adrina. She had blocked out just about everything from her childhood—everything around and before that day, the day she couldn’t before bring herself to remember. She had walled off that day and with it, most everyone around her. “Your name is Myrial,” said Adrina, “and I remember. I remember now, but I don’t want to. How I wish I could forget again, to be numb is better than to remember.”

“No,” said Myrial. “Not if you remember the way I do.”

“What do you mean? I remember and I cry.”

“I remember and I laugh,” said Myrial. “How could you do otherwise? She loved you so. You were her world, her everything. So how could you remember and not laugh? We had grand times in the gardens, in the halls, in the bathing pool, right here in this very room. The room that was hers before she left us.”

Adrina was about to scream “US! WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” But she bit her tongue and said nothing. She would not take away Myrial’s one joy: there was no joy in drudgery so there must be some joy somewhere.

“Do you remember,” said Myrial with a laugh, “the day you got bit on the nose by a bee? Oh, it was a grand and silly day. You and I were screaming, running around the garden, screaming and running, shouting, ‘The bees, the bees!’

“Alexandria laughed and laughed as Izzy chased us: round and round in circles. Izzy was trying to put a salve on your nose and to calm us. But only Alexandria was able to catch and calm us. She caught us both in a great big embrace and we rolled with her on the ground to Izzy’s dismay.”

Adrina laughed a soft girlish laugh then as she remembered and saw with Myrial’s eyes. She threw her arms around Myrial and cried, saying, “Where were you when my insides were being torn apart?”

“I was here,” said Myrial, “right here. I was always right here, but you, you never left that day, and you only remembered what happened later… It is good to have you back Adrina, very good.”

Adrina wiped tears from her eyes and regained her composure. “I should think that you will address me properly from now on. Do you understand?”

As if suddenly remembering her place, Myrial’s smile faded. She curtsied and started to pick up the firewood that lay on the floor at her feet.

Adrina put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “No, I mean, you should call me, Dri.”

“Dri,” said Myrial smiling as if remembering fondly. “I didn’t think you remembered?”

“I did and I am sorry,” said Adrina. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“If it is your wish, then it is so.”

“No, I mean really and truly in your heart and not because it is your place but because it is what you want to do.”

Myrial was silent for moment. “Dri, I don’t think I can just yet. You hurt me, you really hurt me, and I came to know much more about my place than you can ever know. I sleep in the dirt many nights because there is no straw. I eat if there is food, when there is food. I do the tasks as the housemaster asks of me, even if those tasks take what little dignity I have left.”

“What do you mean? What are you saying?”

“My family served yours for generations and in times past we earned some status. When that status was lost, we paid ten fold for every favor we ever got. So now I do whatever I have to and I survive because I am a survivor. I won’t give in or give up as easily as you.”

Adrina was speechless for a moment. “My mother was my world. I could never understand why it happened and so I could never forget. I am passed the why now, and in time I think I will be able to accept it and perhaps to remember those days as you do. I will try, if you will try to forgive me. I should think there will be many changes around here from now on and starting with the dismissal of the housemaster!”

“Don’t,” said Myrial. “You’ll only stir up a hornet’s nest and then, and then…”

“And then what?” demanded Adrina.

“And then you’ll go off and forget and I’ll be left in a worse place, a place I won’t be able to let myself go back to.”

Adrina’s expression became determined. She took Myrial’s hand and led her from the room. Myrial tried to speak but Adrina wouldn’t let her. Once they were in the lower level of the palace, she said, “Show me to the housemaster’s room.”

“Don’t,” said Myrial.

“Or what? Last time I checked, I was Princess Adrina and my father was King.”

Myrial pointed out the housemaster’s room. Adrina knocked on the door but didn’t wait for an answer before trying to enter. When she found the door locked and no answer forthcoming, she began shouting, “Guards! Guards!”

The two knights of Klaive Keep, only steps behind Adrina, were the first to respond. Their presence surprised Adrina for she had forgotten they were even there. “Bust down the door!” she told them. “Bust it down now!”

The two knights pressed their weight against the door two times before the door crashed inward. Adrina stepped around the fallen door, dragging Myrial behind her.

The housemaster’s chamber was huge—and rivaled her own lavish living quarters. Adrina found the housemaster in one of the rear rooms, sitting on a fluffy couch with several attendants catering to his whims. The knights of Klaive Keep were right behind her and behind them were many palace guards.

Adrina glared at the startled housemaster. “Housemistress!” she called out shrilly.

“Housemaster, Your Highness. Assure you, I didn’t know you’d returned. If I had, everything would’ve been in order. Promise you, if you tell what’s wrong, I can fix it.”

Adrina turned to Myrial. “Housemistress, what is this man doing in your quarters? I gave you express orders before I left that you are to run the household. If you cannot see fit to replace this man, I will send him to the gallows so that you have no excuse!”

The housemaster jumped to his feet, screaming, “The gallows? Why whatever for? Assure you I can train, I can train—”

“Myrial,” said Adrina.

“Yes, Myrial,” said the housemaster, “I’ll be out of these quarters immediately and I’ll train her. I want nothing of these quarters or this office, I assure you.”

“Then you shall not mind being Myrial’s man servant?”

The housemaster swallowed a gigantic lump in his throat. “It shall be an honor to serve,” he said bowing deeply, his eyes betraying his anger.

Adrina turned to one of the guardsmen. “You, what is your name?”

“G-G-Garette. Garette Timmer.”

“Swordmaster Timmer’s son?”

The guardsman nodded.

“You are dismissed of all duties, save one. Your duty is to Housemistress Myrial. You are to see that no harm befalls her—ever. No order save mine or Myrial’s shall you heed. It is my wish and my will. Send your captain to me if there is any disagreement.”

Chapter Five:

Unexpected Competitions

Vilmos awoke. He looked around the room, not surprised to find he was alone. A cold breakfast was on the table next to the window.

He brushed sleep from his eyes, finding no cheer in the new day or the bright sunshine. As he scooped tasteless spoonfuls of thick, pasty gruel into his mouth, allowing it to slide across his tongue and down his throat without chewing, he stared out the window. A blank expression was on his face, and for a long while, as he thought about the shaman, the city below cried out to him. It was his to explore if he dared—the whole of the largest city in all the lands, the whole of the Free City of Solntse, was his.

The early-day sun shining through the window brought out sudden bravery. It seemed as if the sun was inviting him to come outdoors. Suddenly he was no longer content to sit indoors and wait idly, and so he hurriedly gulped down the last of the cold gruel.

After stepping out onto the dusty street, Vilmos veered left, ambling around several long blocks before deciding which direction to proceed in. Passing some of the dingier establishments he recalled from the previous day, he quickened his pace, content to continue straight for a time. At the next intersection he paused, unsure whether to turn left, right or proceed.

“Lost, boy?” called out a gruff voice.

Vilmos rolled his eyes upward, taking in the tall figure in a single, gradual panning glance. “N-no, not really.”

“That’s not much of a response,” said the man, laughing.

Vilmos backed away warily. His eyes never straying from the long blade sheathed at the other’s side. “I have to go now.”

“Wait! Perhaps, I can help you find the place you’re looking for.”

“There is a square near here. I must have passed it. Good day to you, sir.”

“Perhaps we’re going to the same place. Describe the market you’re looking for and maybe I can help.”

Vilmos wanted to run but didn’t. “It’s not a market. I’ll find it. No need to worry.” Vilmos ran from the outstretched hand.

“You wouldn’t be looking for the competitions, would you?”

Vilmos’ eyes lit up as if the man had just offered him a piece of candy. “Maybe. Maybe I am; maybe I’m not.”

“Not too sure of anything are you? Do you have a name, boy?”

Vilmos thought about the question; he didn’t see any harm in answering it—or did he? “V-Vil… Vil… Vil-am. My name is Vilam, and yours?”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” said the man, grinning as he tugged at the stubble on his chin. “I’m not supposed to be here either. Maybe we can both do the thing we’re not supposed to be doing together. This is no place for a boy such as yourself to be about—and if you plan to go to the competitions, you had best take my hand.”

Vilmos stepped into the street.

“If you’re going to the competitions that is the wrong way. I’ll guide you—for a price.”

“For a price?” asked Vilmos, confident he had finally discovered the man’s ploy.

“For you, my friend, a one-time fee: good for all time. All I would ask is—” Vilmos took another step away. He had no money and didn’t know what the man would do if he refused the offer. “All I ask is a simple thing. You needn’t be afraid of me. For, you see, when I said I’m not supposed to be here either, I was referring to…” The man switched to a low, whispering tone. “…viewing the competitions.”

The man switched back to a fuller speech. “Allow me to introduce myself. Bladesman S’tryil, a ridesman by trade, a bladesman by necessity. But please don’t call me by my name, as I said, I am not supposed to be here either. So, I will call you… Vilam… Is that correct?” Vilmos nodded. “You can call me, Greer. Do we have a deal?”

Vilmos nodded agreement again.

“You drive a hard bargain, Vilam. Come this way and you’d better walk beside me. As I said before, this is no place for a boy to be alone—” Vilmos glared at the man. “—If I were going to rob you. I’d’ve done that a long time ago. I wouldn’t’ve even bothered talking to a boy. I’d’ve just grabbed you by the ankles. Just like this…”

The bladesman made a lunging motion with his right hand, reaching low and then flipping his gripped hand up. Vilmos flinched, imagining himself dangling upside down, both ankles gripped firmly by one burly hand.

“I’d’ve held you upside down until all the coinage dropped from your pockets. But you don’t have anything in your pockets do you, Vilam?”

“Vilmos. My name is Vilmos.”

“Vilmos is it?” S’tryil offered Vilmos his hand to seal their pact. “Well I shall stick with Vilam. Is that all right?”

Vilmos nodded. The two continued down the block, across the next, then turned right.

“Is this your first time at the competition?” asked S’tryil, not waiting for a response before continuing. “You see that long, high building there with the balcony? That’s City Garrison Central Post. That’s where the competitions take place every year. Now, if you can find that one building, for no other looks like it, you’re there. And look, here we are.”

Surprised, Vilmos looked away from his companion’s face. The first bouts of the morning were already under way and a fair-sized crowd was gathered. Vilmos pushed his way into the circle beside the man he would call Greer. He reminded himself of this fact.

“Here stand in front of me, but don’t take a step forward. You see that circle there? Good, don’t break it, and if someone comes lunging at you out of the circle, in the name of the Great Father, jump out of the way!”

“Who’s going to attack me?”

“No one, as long as you stick close. I was talking about the combatants. If they start to get too close, back away or you’re liable to get a sharp blade stuck right where you don’t want it.” S’tryil motioned graphically with his hands. “They’ve taken people away every day so far. They just don’t want to move out of the way. So mind my warning… Move, and be quick about it!”

“How many days does this go on?” asked Vilmos excitedly, swaying his small body to the reactions of the warrior to his right, the one he favored. The two men struggled with great battle swords, the kind Vilmos had seen yesterday.

“Weeks, until the final competitors are chosen,” said S’tryil. Vilmos jumped back as the competitors battling in the circle came close. “And then those chosen will go on to train for many more weeks. There is a special grudge this year… Do you see the man seated up on the high balcony? He is Lord Geoffrey.”

“Is he dead?” One of the fighters had just fallen.

The first match ended. The victor returned his great sword to the long scabbard strapped crossways upon his back, dipping the blade skillfully and quickly over his right shoulder with a casual, fluid motion that made the blade seem unencumbering. Then the victor raised both arms high over his head, waiting for the next challenger to enter the circle. The man on the balcony, the one Greer had called a lord, stood. A voice boomed out across the courtyard.

“Shalimar takes the first match. Who would challenge?”

A hush came over the crowd as the waiting began.

Vilmos pressed close to Greer and whispered, “Why is no one moving?”

“Stand still and silent!” hissed the bladesman.

Lord Geoffrey spoke again, “There is no challenger? Are there none worthy?”

“What’s wrong?” asked Vilmos. “Why has the fight stopped? Is it over already? Did we miss it all?”

S’tryil snapped a hand to Vilmos’ mouth. “Be still!”

“You there!” A hand pointed and all eyes followed its path. “Do you take the challenge?”

S’tryil swallowed hard. “No, my lord,” he said in the gruff voice again, “I was just quieting my… ‘m son. Please forgive me, my lord.”

All eyes turned back to the balcony as Geoffrey continued, “Then I declare, Shalimar the—”

“Hold on,” cried out a man from the crowd, hastily appending “My Lord.”

The man, clad in light mail, entered the ring, removing the chain shirt as he did so. The next bout began, and with its commencement S’tryil removed the restraining hand.

“During relief you must say nothing,” said the bladesman. “That man there is one of the best in the whole of the Free City. I may bout him one day, though not today.”

“I am sorry,” said Vilmos. “I didn’t know. Why do you know so much about the competition? I thought you said you have never been here.”

“Well that’s not quite accurate; I said I’m not supposed to be here. I didn’t say I’ve never been here.”

The two combatants faced off. The winner of the first bout was clearly tired but this did not slow his attacks. A relentless, heavy arm drove the challenger to the far side of the circle, nearly chasing him beyond the line: a disqualifying step for the challenger.

“Do you see now why no one wanted to compete with this one?” asked S’tryil.

Vilmos nodded. He understood.

“He will be chosen if no others challenge him after this bout. He will join the others on the balcony…” Vilmos’ eyes followed the gesturing hand up to the balcony. “I’ve seen him win five battles in one day. He is good, really good. Today should be his last day. Do you see the weariness in his eyes? He is fatigued. He will not last much longer, especially if there is another challenge, but I don’t expect there to be.”

Vilmos asked, “How do you know?”

“We’ll have to wait.” The bladesman smiled. “But only a true fool would enter the ring with so weary and fierce a competitor. Instead of quick victory, such a challenger more often than not ends up being carted away to the death house. They say, if you corner a snake and don’t expect it to strike—to kill—you are to blame and not the snake.”

“Those three?” Vilmos pointed to the men who stood behind the seated lord. “Did they go through the same… the same…?” Vilmos was unsure what word to use.

“Yes, they did. Do you see the man standing in the middle? The broadest one?”

“Yes.”

“He’s the lord’s son—”

“Then he was assured a spot.”

“I wish that were the case,” said S’tryil. “I wish that were the case.” After pausing momentarily to regard the sure victor in the contest, he continued. “The test of steel lasted six days for that one, a record I do believe. Many believe the same as you, and every year he teaches them the meaning of the word defeat. No, he is by far my biggest concern.”

Vilmos was silent for a time. The match ended. The one called Shalimar won again; the challenger was carried out. Vilmos pursued no questions about the defeated man. He waited quietly, eyeing the dark, red stain that marred the hard dirt only a few steps away.

A new challenge never came. Vilmos saw glee in the jaded face that marched from the courtyard.

A ruckus erupted from the crowd amidst shouts of applause. Two men were shaking a stout, fat man and behind them another pair faced off about to brawl.

“Stand close!” shouted the bladesman.

Unsure whether to remain silent or speak again, Vilmos clung close to S’tryil. “What is wrong?” he whispered.

“This always happens. Someone doesn’t want to pay their marker—and this happens. He’ll pay or he’ll suffer the consequences… Don’t worry, the contest will continue. It always does.” S’tryil turned his eyes back on the vacated circle. Vilmos did likewise. “One more,” whispered the bladesman, not meaning for Vilmos to hear him.

“What do you mean? What one more?”

“Well, let’s just say that the matches after next are the ones I came to see.”

Vilmos, not knowing when to stop, asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t worry, the next combatant is very skilled. So skilled in fact I’m confident he’ll go on with the others, but that’ll be days from now,” said S’tryil. “There, you see the one stepping back into the circle? He is Shchander: quick and sharp. His attack is his best skill, not very good on the defense.”

“Do you know all the fighters?”

“Quick, aren’t you?” said the bladesman. “In a way, yes, I do.” He was starting to like to the inquisitive youngster.

“If he’s not very good defending, how come you think he will be the victor?”

S’tryil grinned. “You’re smart, aren’t you? Watch the way he jabs. He’ll get two to three thrusts for every one of his competitor’s. I guarantee you. That’s why he’ll win. He never tires; it’s amazing. The sad thing is that most of the would-be challengers know it. No, they’re waiting for the next. The strongest have been holding back. They want a taste of the best, especially after his lordship’s defeat in Imtal last winter. They figure he’s getting old. Gray, if you know what I mean. Me, I don’t think so. He’s been the best for a decade now and, the Father willing, I think he’ll make a comeback this year.”

Vilmos nodded, which was a sign for the bladesman to keep mumbling on and on. It was strange that he told a boy things that he would not tell any other.

“Beat by a captain of the palace guard. Can you imagine the thoughts that flooded his mind in that moment of defeat? … Now if you want to see a real test, a combat to the death, there is such a test of steel.”

“I think the boy has heard enough!” boomed a voice that Vilmos instantly recognized. He knew he was in trouble, though he didn’t know how much.

“I beg your pardon,” said S’tryil. “Do you know this man, Vilam?”

Vilmos replied, “Yes,” at the same time Xith asked, “Vil-am?” Then Vilmos quickly said, “Thank you, Greer, for allowing me to stand under your protection. I must go now.”

Xith and Vilmos hurriedly returned to their rented room to gather their supplies and pack what few belongings they had. Vilmos’ only real possession, the staff Xith had given him, was his most prized, and he carried it downstairs with the last of the supplies. Then he packed the goods into the saddlebags and stood by the horses.

Xith came out of the inn a few minutes later, but instead of mounting a horse as Vilmos expected, the shaman touched a leathery hand to Vilmos’ bare arm and said, “Stay here. I have one last task to perform. If I don’t return by twilight, leave the city. Go south; take the horses and supplies with you. Follow the Kingdom road. I will find you when I can.”

Word of the recent battles spread throughout Great Kingdom’s farthest holdings and Kingdom supporters came from the far corners of the realm to enter the service of the garrisons. That Quashan’ and Alderan had withstood the desperate attempts made by his enemies did not surprise King Andrew. He expected nothing less from his men and never doubted that Great Kingdom was too strong, too proud to fall into enemy hands.

“The treatise with Zashchita and Krepost’ progresses well sire.” The man speaking was Chancellor Volnej, a member of Great Kingdom’s High Council. He looked nearly as haggard as his companion to his right, both having just returned from long journeys. “The timberlands are even greater than I ever imagined. They will yield finer masts than the Belyj, finer masts indeed!”

“Good, good,” replied King Andrew obviously pleased. He shifted in his chair, and then turned fully to face the chancellor. “Another report in two weeks and no sudden changes like last time. We cannot protect the eastern tract of High Province as it stands now, and one more attack and they threaten to break away.”

“High Province is Lord Serant’s domain. Let him fret over it,” rebuked Keeper Q’yer, a tall, thin man, young in years by most standards, whose face held a wasted appearance. He had just returned from High Province by sea, a two-week journey on the southerly run, and he was a man prone to seasickness.

“We will forgive you, keeper,” countered King Andrew, who was full of terse words this day, as he had been ever since the arrival of the most unwelcomed guests. His thoughts were taxed heavily by concerns over his youngest daughter, Princess Adrina, and the presence of more than one of the Lore Keepers at the council table put him slightly on edge. Imagine, juggling the seats of the council to their satisfaction, he thought to himself. He was more than a little displeased. He said nothing of this, finishing instead with, “Especially since we can see that you have not yet recovered your senses.”

Father Francis voiced his opinions to the king and to the gathered council, “The Western Territories are our proclaimed lands. I do not see why we need cater to the whims of a group of ruffians.”

King Andrew wasn’t adapting well to the sudden interest in Kingdom affairs by the priesthood and the keepers. He spoke his mind plainly, “The problem with you, Father Francis, is that you do not see at all, perhaps if you took a lengthy sabbatical you would recover your senses.”

Father Francis’s face turned pale and he shrank into his chair as he gulped for air that he couldn’t seem to find. Coming to the aid of his fellow priest was mandatory, and Father Jacob did so only because of the obligation, “Father Francis has had a trying week, sire—”

“Haven’t we all,” snapped King Andrew unhappily. The High Council should have been concentrating on other concerns—like the recent arrivals—and for the past several hours they had been discussing matters that the lower council should have been addressing.

“I motion to dismiss council until tomorrow,” stated Keeper Martin, a hint of urgency in his voice. It had been a long morning.

“Accepted,” muttered King Andrew, evident relief in his voice.

The soft falling of footsteps aroused Princess Adrina to conscious thoughts and she opened eyes she had only momentarily closed to see Myrial showing in one of her expected guests. She recognized the weathered, generous looking man approaching, knowing she owed him a debt she could never fully repay. She stood to greet the elder as was proper for an official audience.

“Princess Adrina, hello, my child,” he said. Adrina no longer cringed at the mention of the hated word. Child was simply a word that expressed the way the gray-haired gentleman felt about her. “What troubles one so beautiful as you?”

“Oh, Father Jacob, thank you for coming. I don’t know what to do,” Adrina said, pretending to sound exhausted, “I just don’t know what to do…”

“Well my child, perhaps you should tell me. Mayhaps I could solve this quandary before you get wrinkles on your forehead and gray hairs to boot,” Jacob said with a wink.

Adrina laughed, a soft girlish laugh from the past. A moment later, she regained her composure, her newly found womanhood returned and the laughter fell away. She told herself to focus. She had convinced herself that she could persuade her father to support the elves—if she had the help of those her father trusted. “Father Jacob, I wish to ask you of the elves.”

At this, Father Jacob smiled knowingly. The two spent the better part of an hour discussing their thoughts and experiences with the elves. Myrial served tea and short bread while the two talked and though she left without saying a word, she did pause long enough to press her hand into Adrina’s.

Adrina wasn’t surprised when the conversation turned from the elves to other matters and in particular to Klaive. In response to her indifference over the beauty of that southern land, Jacob replied, “Really, I don’t think so. I can see another expression hidden on your face under the dark and grim one.”

“What would that be?”

“I believe you know what it is already, my child,” Father Jacob said, then he dismissed himself, leaving Adrina alone in her audience chamber.

Chancellor Yi had taken her aside just this morning and told her of King Andrew’s happiness with regard to her agreement to enter into marriage with Rudden Klaiveson. She didn’t realize until her thoughts subsided that marriage was the very thing Father Jacob had come to talk to her about. How could he have known, she wondered, unless her father had put him up to it? A somber smile passed her lips as she thought of another who would also be forced to wed soon if her father had his way.

“King Jarom has a daughter of marrying age.” Adrina had heard the chancellor whisper to her father during the previous evening’s council. She hadn’t heard everything said, just enough. “This would surely settle him into complacency… You must make a decision, sire… Look to the bonding of Princess Calyin and Lord Serant.”

Once more, Adrina heard echoes of the only words of her father that had been audible. “There is no love between them. She is not yet with child…” Then she had heard only the chancellor’s multiple replies. “Sire, this will come in time. Surely, there must be a spark kindling… Sire, if it pleases you, I will send Volnej… Yes sire, he is reliable… At once, sire.” She wondered if the chancellor ever tired of catering to her father’s whims.

The sound of an oaken cane striking the floor was all the announcement she needed to tell her who approached. It was the second of her expected guests.

“Hello, Keeper,” she said without turning to face Keeper Martin. A flicker of memory reminded her of the first time she had met Keeper Martin. It had been the day her mother passed away—it was odd how memories of that day returned to her now—a sorrowful day for all the Kingdom, especially for the royal family. A declaration of mourning had ensued and the entire populace had worn black the week that followed. Her mother had been well loved by all the citizens of the Kingdom; their love earned through her own love and kindness to everyone around her.

Her mother had been so beautiful, Adrina suddenly recalled. Increasingly of late, she was reminded by others of how much she resembled her mother, though she didn’t think so. Sometimes she could see pain in her father’s eyes when he looked at her. Adrina had grown to understand this pain very well, quickly discovering how to soothe it away, how to soothe all the troubles and cares around her away.

“Princess Adrina,” repeated Keeper Martin for the third time.

“Yes?” said Adrina snapping from her reverie.

“Ahh, Your Highness, nice to have you with me,” joked the keeper. He moved to take a seat opposite her. “I have been looking all over for you.”

Adrina replied, “I’m sorry, Keeper Martin. You were saying that you have been looking for me. Correct?”

Keeper Martin leaned forward in the chair, watching her, ensuring he had her full attention. “Why yes, yes, I have. I understand that you have taken it upon yourself to take the outsiders before council.”

Adrina told him frankly, “I have, Keeper Martin, and I will. There is a debt that I must repay.”

“I know,” said Keeper Martin, “but do you think this is wise? Few know the truth of the past and fewer still would be willing to help outsiders. The elves are thought to be our enemies and if you go in open council and declare Seth and Galan to be friends and elves, you will put their lives, and perhaps even your own, in great danger.”

Adrina protested, “They were there to help save Quashan’. We couldn’t have turned the tide of battle without them.”

Keeper Martin eyed her closely then said, “A single deed does not undo a lifetime of teaching that points to the contrary. You must not do this thing until the time is right. Do you wish more harm to come to them?” And so saying, Keeper Martin excused himself to go find Father Jacob.

Adrina called out after him, “I hope you will return with word of the elves,” then watched as he departed. He took a few steps, then rapped the ground mightily with his oaken cane. A flash followed and then he was gone. Father Jacob had explained the process to her once when Keeper Martin had performed the same feat before both of them, but she still didn’t understand it.

“You see it is a skill acquired with greater knowledge of the world in which we live, “ Father Jacob had told her, “You exert your will and you wish yourself from one place to the next.”

“But isn’t that magic? And magic is…”

“Forbidden. Yes, it is, but it is not magic my child. Each person, each creature, that is born into this world has a force of will. Your will is the center of your being. Each is born with different amounts of will; some are strong, some weak. Will is what makes you want to survive, what makes you strong and many other things. Do you understand?”

“Kind of, maybe,” she had said, “but how does it differ from magic? Do the Priests of the Flame tolerate such a thing?”

“Magic,” Jacob had spit out the word with such distaste that Adrina even now recalled the expression glued momentarily to his features, “is said to be an evil thing. A truly evil thing. When one uses will they gather from the forces of nature and guide the energies through a focused center, your center being your level of will, of course. In this way, you simply channel the energies that already exist. You destroy nothing. The energy passes through you, you shape it to your needs, and when you are finished the energies are still there.

“Magic is a devouring force, it destroys. Instead of guiding the forces of will, it devours them. It draws upon the very threads of the universe. It steals the energies of creation and uses them. When a person uses magic, the energy they use is gone from our world, forever spent. It exists no longer and thus it leaves a void, an empty space, which only evil can fill. Now do you understand?”

Adrina hadn’t understood, but she had claimed to.

“Princess Adrina,” Father Jacob said for the second time as he stood directly in front of her.

“What, what?” said Adrina dazedly, surprised to find Father Jacob standing in front of her and not the fading image of him from her daydream.

“Child, are you there?” asked Jacob sincerely. “How long have you been having these blank spells?”

“What are you doing here? I thought you left. Keeper Martin was looking for you.”

Jacob offered the princess his arm. “Martin can wait. Let me escort you to your sleeping chamber.”

Willingly, Princess Adrina walked with Father Jacob. She was confused. She wasn’t experiencing blank spells. “I know you already explained this to me once, but could you tell me one more time.”

“Tell you what, child?”

“How does Keeper Martin jump from one place to the next. How does he use that cane to do it? I thought you told me that he used the power of will.”

Father Jacob slowed his gait. “I think I know what you are asking, but please only one question at a time next time.”

Adrina laughed and replied, “Well, how does he do it? And tell me the truth this time.”

Jacob considered for a moment when the two had had such a conversation, and then it took him a while longer to recall what he had told her. He chuckled when he remembered. “Before, to be honest, I was trying to teach you a lesson. What I said about magic and will is true, very true, but I can see that you have given thought to what I said. So now perhaps you are ready to know the greater truth…”

“Well?”

“The cane is an arcane device that is attuned to an instrument held at the High Council of Keepers. At times, Martin uses it to travel between the council and Imtal palace. The range of the device is unknown, but he has never used it to travel much farther for fear of becoming lost in the transition between.”

Adrina exhaled. Her eyes flashed. “Then it is magic?”

“Well it is… and it isn’t… to tell the truth, yet that is a story for another time.”

“That’s not fair,” disputed Adrina.

Jacob turned the handle to Adrina’s door, “Here we are. Get some rest. Perhaps, we can talk later.”

Adrina put her head against her pillow, closed her eyes, and reflected on her conversations that day with Father Jacob and Keeper Martin. She hoped her practiced words hadn’t sounded false, but was afraid they had seen through her words to her deeper desires.

Chapter Six:

A Fitful Transition

The sun shining on the tall, wide window across from Adrina created an orange glow on the glass panes and lit up the room with a spray of golden rays. She drew out a lengthy yawn; the day was growing heavy on her and for a few fleeting moments she thought of Isador, the nanny who had raised her and brought her to womanhood.

A light rapping came to the door, and as it opened a moment later she recognized the familiar form of Keeper Martin. Her face lit up when she saw the old keeper and the sad thoughts vanished. She turned away from the window. “The elves?” she asked.

Martin averted his eyes from hers. “Beautiful sunset, ‘tis a shame if we don’t take a moment now and again to wonder of it.”

“The elves?” repeated Adrina. Martin moved to the window beside Adrina. Across the room, Myrial placed wood in the fire and Adrina turned to regard the girl. “Myrial?” she called out. “Don’t you have better things to do than to see to the wood in my fire? And where is Garette?”

Myrial tidied the hearth stack and then started to rebuild the fire. “His captain wishes words with you, my princess. Do not be harsh with Guardsman Garette. He knows not which path to follow.”

“I’ll see to it,” said Adrina. She turned back to Keeper Martin, “Keeper, if not of the elves, certainly you’ve returned to talk with me about something?”

The keeper scratched at the gray in his beard as if he could scratch out the salt in the salt-and-pepper color. “I’ve been doing a great deal of research on the elves since my return. Our lore library in Keep Council has the best records, but many of the records are incomplete and the oldest records burned in the great fire. A lecture in the Great Book speaks of the healing powers of the elves and I wonder at the truth of it. You were there when elf Galan took the arrow out of my side.”

“I believe, Keeper,” said Adrina, “the correct designation is Brother: Brother Galan.”

“Most unnatural to name a woman brother,” said Martin. “I suppose I shall get used to it, but in the meantime I have other issues to deal with.” He paused as if thinking deeply. “What can you tell me of that incident, the arrow, for I remember little. It was as if I was in another place and I felt no pain.”

“I was repulsed and attracted by the goings on,” said Adrina, shivering as she remembered. “It was as if the skin around the wound and Galan’s hand suddenly became fluid as she reached into your side. When her hand came out, she held the shaft of the arrow, and there was no blood as I expected. But what does this have to do with what has happened?”

“Everything and nothing,” said Keeper Martin, again looking away. “I wonder if they’ve perhaps separated themselves from what has happened and they need now to find their way back. Elf Seth is the one who seems to be the strongest. Galan’s light is fading and we think she won’t last to this day’s end. We’ve tried everything—I’ve tried everything I know to do.”

“I’m sorry, Keeper Martin, I don’t think I saw or know anything that would help. At the end, there was a pink-yellow light and I had to turn away from it. When I turned back, the wound was—” Adrina stopped speaking abruptly, then continued. “With Father Jacob, I heard it. That could be it.”

“Go on,” urged Keeper Martin.

“In my mind I heard it and I saw his face. At first I thought it was Prince William that I saw, but it wasn’t. It was Seth. He called out to me and that is what brought Father Jacob and I to the coast.” She put a hand to her mouth suddenly remembering something else. “That is what the Lady spoke of.”

“The Lady? I’m not following you, child.”

“The Lady of the Forest, the Lady of the Night. I have met her twice now: once on the way to Alderan, once on the return from Klaive. It makes sense now, it all makes sense.”

“Slow down Adrina so that I may follow. What of this Lady? Can you tell me more?”

“No,” said Adrina as she hurried away, pulling Keeper Martin behind her. “Seth is the link and the key. Don’t you see?”

Xith paused briefly, seemingly to check the air. He eyed the sky, staring out across the horizon from north to south. Apparently satisfied, he urged his mare onward and Vilmos did likewise.

As the light of a new day gathered behind them, the horses were allowed a brief reprieve. The area of rocky crags and jagged, peaked hills they were in seemed familiar to Vilmos. Xith pointed out that they were still in the hill country separating Great Kingdom from the Borderlands, and from the vantage point atop one of the jagged hills they had come to they could see most of the unofficial boundary that the hills formed.

It was there atop the jagged hill that Vilmos heard Xith speak the words “Eh tera mir dolzh formus tan!” in rapid sequence and there that Vilmos felt the tremendous raw power of the untamed lands unleashed. A moment later, he and Xith were in the icy bounds of the between—that place between worlds where the souls of the dead lingered before they passed beyond this life. That place without dimension that a mage could use to transition between realms.

The icy cold and darkness of the between melted away to become something else, and in this place there was no moon or stars, only boundless lines of fire cutting into the ebony of the heavens. At Vilmos’ feet lay a dirt road and ahead beyond a crossroads was a forest of dark trees. The dark trees, glowing with an eerie radiance, called to Vilmos, and in that instant he knew he was in Under-Earth.

Adrina was fast asleep soon after her head touched her pillow. When she heard Isador enter and push back the curtains, it seemed she had just gone to sleep. She wondered if the old nanny was daft and she opened her eyes only after long hesitation, astonished to find it was already morning—late into the morning by the show of the sun.

“Good morning, princess,” said Isador cheerfully, though she didn’t feel cheerful today. “Remember, today I leave for South Province and I’ll be departing shortly.” Isador didn’t really want to leave so soon, but winter promised to come early and she had so much to do before then. Her house had not been occupied for some time, and it stood much as she had left it decades ago. Oh, the house had its caretaker, appointed by the king. In fact, many caretakers had come and gone over the years, but the house had not weathered well under the well-meaning hands. She had much to do before winter snows covered the roads. “But not a moment before I’m sure you’ve eaten a good breakfast. You haven’t been eating well these last several days.”

“Days?”

“Yes, days.”

“I just went to bed. The last thing I remember is Father Jacob walking me back and I just went to bed when you came in.” Troubled and trying hard to think, to remember, Adrina recalled only blackness. “What do you mean? You are leaving me, Izzy? You can’t leave. I won’t let you go.”

The nickname flooded the nanny with happy memories but the memories also brought tears. “You rest and eat, dear. We’ll worry about all that later. I had a long talk with Father Jacob this morning. He is concerned about you, do you know that?”

Adrina shrugged.

“Now stay in bed, I’ll return shortly with your breakfast,” said Isador in her motherly tone. “I’m truly sorry, Adrina, but South Province can wait no longer for my return.” It wasn’t the truth. The truth was that Adrina had grown up, Andrew would have no more children, and she was no longer needed.

Hearing the ring of wonder and promise in Isador’s voice as she said the name of her home region of South Province reminded Adrina of her older brother, Valam. Knowing that her place was in Imtal and Isador’s was now elsewhere, Adrina said nothing.

Isador returned, carting a tray piled high with food, smelling of delicious and mouth-watering aromas. Servants followed in the nanny’s wake, fluttering about the chamber, dusting and cleaning. Myrial watched from the far corner of the room until they finished and then, like the other servants, she wordlessly departed. She did smile though, and at the door she spun around to show off a new dress.

Isador settled the tray in the middle of the bed, tucked a cloth napkin into Adrina’s blouse. “You eat now. If there’s one thing I’ll do before leaving today, it’s ensure you’ve eaten. I’ve left orders with Myrial as to your care—should you need it.”

“What do you think of Myrial?” asked Adrina before she realized that Isador was talking about leaving this very day. “And you are leaving today? Can it not wait?”

“So many questions mean that you are recovering. It was a dangerous thing you did and you should be ashamed of yourself, causing so much worry over silly elves.”

“Silly?”

“Silly,” said Isador. “Elves and humans do not mix and should not mix. It is a simple law of the land. They should keep their affairs to themselves and keep out of ours, I say.”

“You don’t mean that really, do you, Izzy?”

“I mean it. I mean every word of it. Mark my words, nothing good will come of this. Queen Alexandria would have chased them out of Imtal and back to the West Deep where they belong.”

“I am not my mother. Nor are you my keeper!” Adrina was angry and hurt by Izzy’s words.

“Just as I thought,” said the nanny taking a step back. “How long now? How long has it been?”

“How long has what been?”

“You know what I’m talking about, and you just forget those silly notions. Elves and humans do not mix. You are sworn to Rudden Klaiveson and I’m going to ensure you have the grandest wedding ever seen in a thousand years!”

Breakfast finished, Adrina took Isador’s hand. Isador had practically been her mother these past several years and it saddened her deeply to think of the nanny’s departure, perhaps the reason she had pushed the thought from her mind.

Adrina helped Isador pack the remainder of her belongings and the two walked quietly to the waiting coach. Dourly, she gave the old nanny one last hug, tears in her eyes, as the bags were being loaded. She would miss Isador very much.

“Good-bye, Izzy,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry, princess, I will keep in touch. I promise. You are old enough to take care of yourself now. You don’t need me holding you back any longer. I must return to my home and settle a score with the years and you must go on to lead your own life.” Isador stepped into the carriage. “I must go, princess,” said Isador with a heavy heart, “It has been so long since I last visited my home. You are welcome to visit any time you like. A visit in the spring would be grand!”

“Grand indeed,” whispered Adrina, hiding her tears.

Neither said any more after that. There wasn’t much else to say. They embraced—the great wrapping, smothering embrace of close kin. Adrina held the embrace for several long heartbeats for fear of letting go. Then Isador signaled the driver to proceed.

Adrina watched the black back of the coach pull away, wheels spinning, spinning. She was sad, but happy in a way. It was time for Isador to return home.

Adrina waved until the coach disappeared from the courtyard, still seeing those four high wheels spinning.

As she turned from the courtyard, she found her father standing not far removed from where she had said her good-bye. His shoulders drawn back taunt, his eyes wide and sullen. Adrina knew in that instant that her father, the king, would miss Isador as well. Adrina smiled, embraced her father warmly, then took his hand and mounted the long alabaster stair that flowed upward to the entrance of the central audience hall.

Father Tenuus, the palace’s only in resident priest, stood rigid at the top of the stair, doing his best imitation of the stone warriors that embellished the upper deck. His gaze fixed on Adrina as she and her father passed. She had been skipping evening meals and missing his invocatory prayers, and while he wanted to talk to her about this, he remained silent and statue-like as the two passed.

Father and daughter parted in the hall. Adrina walked more quickly now while Andrew continued at a sedate pace toward his chambers. Adrina pictured her father the way she had seen him once not long ago, in his bed robe and slippers shuffling to his private audience chambers—that was the night Keeper Martin arrived unexpectedly, followed by Father Jacob. Her thoughts quickly became lost and tangled again as she reminisced about the days that followed.

Upon reaching her room, Adrina changed out of the colorful housedress Isador preferred and into drab riding clothes. Though she never made it to the stables, she wandered the halls content. Eventually, she found herself standing before a familiar door, which she quietly opened. Inside, the warrior elf, Seth, lay near death, but she was confident death would not claim him now.

Storm clouds that the early morning had hinted of still loomed in the east, slowly progressing westward with the passing of the day, but it was not clouds that marred the sky and made the day seem drab. It was the dust; and the folded cloth wrapped around his face did little to help matters either.

The dust blew into Vilmos’ eyes and made it painfully difficult to stay alert as Xith had asked, and it obscured what could have been a clear day—if you could call a blood-red sky with eerie yellow clouds in the distance a clear day. Everything that grew along their path was stunted from the lack of light the eternal dust storms created. Strange blue grasses, bunched up in large, thick clumps, made the horses falter. The wind carried with it the occasional tumbleweed, which, in addition to the unbearable dust, harassed them. Ahead in the distance grew scattered groves of trees, which also appeared to be of the same unhealthy variety of plants as the grasses.

Progress across the windswept land was slow and it was nearly an hour before they wound their way to the first stand of trees, which, as they passed between, struck Vilmos as oddities. The stunted trees had knotted trunks, thick at the base with sudden spurts of thin and thick in between their wide outreaching arches, and at the very tips of these wide outreaching boughs were sickly yellow-green leaves.

For a time, it seemed they jumped between the stunted clusters of trees, playing leapfrog with the dead land, then for a long time afterward it seemed the dead land swallowed them.

A large grove, formed from several smaller groves that many long years of persistent growth had matured, was ahead. In the center of this large grove was a small clearing formed from the odd felling of the largest tree that had for a millennium served as the centerpiece of the grove, but now lay wasted, oddly smitten by the same elements that spawned its growth.

“Can we stop here for a minute and catch our breath?” asked Vilmos wearily, pulling the mask down as he did so.

“Only for a moment,” replied Xith. “Even though we’re out of the open, it is best to be a mobile target.”

“Target for what?” began Vilmos, just as several somethings dropped out of the trees around them.

Humanoid, or at least human-like, the creatures had tough, scaly, green skin, clawed hands and feet. Vilmos covered his nose with his hand as he breathed in their putrid stench. His stomach churned and it was all he could do to keep for throwing up. Vilmos held his breath, begged at the air for mercy, did the only thing he knew he could, hoping it would be enough.

Chapter Seven:

The Awakening

“Promise you’ll stay?” Adrina asked Keeper Martin. “If he wakes, I want to be the first to know of it. I am sure he will know how to help Galan.”

Keeper Martin walked Adrina to the door. “Go now. I’ll take care of him.”

Adrina watched Martin close the door and then took a walk to clear her mind. After a time she found herself in the kitchen, where despite the cooks and the scullions who were in the middle of preparing the evening meal, she made herself a snack and then wandered out to the far terrace to watch the sunset.

As she walked, she looked about dourly for Father Tenuus. She whispered to herself, “Yes Father Tenuus, I am going to miss the evening meal, but I will say my prayers just the same. You can count on it.”

She expected to find the balcony vacant when she reached it and was surprised to find her father. He was sitting alone: no aides or pages, not even Chancellor Yi who was always at his side, were present. She knew her father well enough to know that he was best left alone, for he was surely remembering her mother and the great waves of sadness within him could swallow her just as they had many times before. Quietly she turned and walked away, so as not disturb him. She understood the need for recalling the past from time to time, and held the hope that one day her father would come to an understanding with the pain of loss just as she was starting to.

Shortly after she backtracked across the garden and circled her way up the western tower, she found herself watching the sunset from one of its uppermost stonework windows. From where she was perched, she could turn and look below to see the balcony and her father.

The changing colors of the setting sun sinking below the horizon dazzled her eye and captivated her heart for a time, and it wasn’t until the sun faded completely from sight and darkness enshrouded her that she turned to look down at the balcony again. It was also then that she felt the presence of someone standing behind her, lurking unseen in the growing shadows.

She smiled as she turned to see the outline of a man in armor standing stout against the stonework of the tower wall, knowing instantly it was Emel. He motioned her to follow as he moved to the door across from her and out onto the upper bulwarks. She heard the clanging of his heavy armor and the banging of his heavy stave as it struck the broad stones of the floor. And, slowly, she followed.

The stave, the symbol of the watchman, was a thickly carved piece of hard wood about five feet in length, finely sharpened at one end and blunt on the other. The watchman tapped the stave onto the resonant stone floor as he walked to let those on the opposing walls know he was there, and when he heard the returning taps, he knew his fellows were also still present. They walked at a stately pace and when in step built up a rhythm that circled around the four walls, always starting from the east in the morning and during the day where the sun arose, and from the west in the evening and at night where the sun set. The ritual was an old one from times past.

Adrina grabbed Emel’s hand, held it for a moment. “Wait,” she said.

“You know I can’t.”

“But you don’t have to do this anymore, you are a garrison captain.”

“I can’t,” said Emel, pulling away. His staff rapped the ground as he marched, partially drowning out her words. “I must earn my men’s respect through diligence and attention to detail. I am not my father.”

“Nor should any expect you to be,” said Adrina quickly. She reached out to touch his hand. “Only for a moment,” she begged, throwing her words softly to him in an attempt to lull him into listening to her.

Emel smiled and walked away. He called back to her, “Follow me and we can talk.”

Adrina ran to catch up. Emel’s staff rapping the floor annoyed her and caused her sentences to come out broken as she attempted to talk between each tap. “Can you… stop… that infernal… noise… for a second.”

“You know I can’t!” said Emel.

Adrina stormed away, running back to the stairs and out of sight before Emel could respond. He had been avoiding her since the return to Imtal and that cut into her heart more than anything.

Adrina returned to Seth’s chamber. She sat beside him for several hours, dabbing a wet cloth to his forehead. She heard his question, but didn’t know how to answer him. She didn’t know if he could understand her thoughts as she could his. She felt responsible for the attack upon Seth and Galan. She, like the others, had underestimated the fear with which Kingdomers and Southerners alike regarded the two.

The company had barely left Quashan’ when it happened. The attack came in the middle of the night as they made their way north. The poison in the darts was the same poison that took King Charles. That they could fight its deadly affects this long was surprising. That Seth was winning against the poison and gaining strength every day was clear.

Seth probed Adrina’s mind for the words that eluded his memory, using her tongue, the Kingdom tongue. Do you know where Galan is? Does she yet live? But even as he asked, the answer came.

“Your companion lives, but we know not for how long. It is a miracle she has lasted this long. She is very weak but she has great will to live. She must be holding onto the last ounce of her life. Father Jacob is doing all he can to save her. I am truly sorry. I pray for her and you each night.”

Seth knew Adrina’s words to be true. He would not release the last thread of Galan’s life. Defying the laws of natural order and the laws of the Brotherhood, he held it firmly in his grip and vowed he would never let it go. He reached out with his mind to Adrina now, again in the language of her people. You must take me to her! This time the words came easier and he did not stumble over each. His memory grew clearer.

“No, you must rest for a while yet, then I will take you to her. You must understand…” Adrina paused and her words turned to sobs of regret, “I am sorry. We have tried everything. We didn’t think you’d live. But I hoped and prayed you would, and you have…”

I have rested too long. You must take me to her! I haven’t the time to explain to you why, you just must!

The words thrust upon her mind like a hammer, Adrina winced from the sudden pain. She closed her eyes for a moment in a failed attempt to fight back the sting. Weariness swam through her body, fatigue sought to carry her into sleep, sleep she wouldn’t allow. “Not just yet,” said Adrina. She heard the urgency of his plea, but held firm. “Father Jacob is with her and so are many other priests. You can see her tomorrow.”

Seth’s short attempt at resistance ended as he collapsed back into the bed; he had made it to a seated position and no farther. Adrina leveled a spoonful of warm soup upon him, which he promptly refused. The soup didn’t look appealing and it smelled rather odd.

Adrina raised a finger and waved it. “If you don’t eat, you will not regain your strength!” She thought she sounded rather like Isador, and perhaps she did.

Seth was about to argue that he wasn’t hungry, but he decided to the contrary. He would eat first to appease her, and then he would argue his point. The broth did taste good despite its odor, different from what he was used to, yet very good.

Adrina emptied spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, satisfied to see him eat and happy he appeared to be recovering. Her thoughts wandered after she watched sleep overcome him again. The power of his voice, the voice that could reach inside her mind and seemingly touch her very soul, brought to her wonderment.

After Seth slipped back into a deep sleep, Adrina left his room, closing the door carefully behind her. Outside the door, the two Klaive Knights waited. She had forbidden them to enter.

“Don’t you ever tire?” she snapped as the knights took up positions at her side. “Why don’t you return to Klaive and do so quickly!”

She stormed away down the hall, going at a pace that she knew caused her protectors to labor under their armor.

As she turned a corner, heading into the old section of the palace, she entered a dark corridor. Ahead in the hallway stood a figure shrouded by the shadowy gloom.

The knights swept past Adrina protectively as a safeguard—a safeguard that saved Adrina’s life. An instant later, she heard the swish of arrows and one of the knights fell momentarily, but he was quickly on his feet.

“Long live Oshywon!” shouted the attackers as they swept in from all sides.

The Klaive Knights boxed Adrina in and circled her protectively.

One of the attackers approached out of the darkness, saying, “We will not harm her. This is a kidnapping and not a killing. Had we wanted her Highness dead, it would already be so. Lay down your weapons and you will return to your families.”

The Klaive Knights’ response was the clash of steel on steel. The two moved with speeds that surprised Adrina—the only others she had seen who were so quick were Seth and Galan. But where the elves had skill of feet and limb, the Klaive Knights had skill with a blade, and when a single blade wasn’t enough to hold off the press of attackers, the knights switched to two-weapon combat, taking their great swords in their right hand while using a long dagger in their left.

Adrina began shouting frantically as the attack went on. “Guards! Guards!” But there was no response and no one came to her aid. She could see the leader of the attackers smiling as he clutched something in his hand—something magical or mystical Adrina presumed.

Adrina decided then to be daring. The two knights circling her had auxiliary blades at their backs—blades that were made for throwing. She watched, timing her move carefully, grabbing a blade in each hand and then throwing the blades quickly.

One of the blades raced by the leader’s head as he bobbed out of the way but the second blade—the one the leader hadn’t seen or expected—hit its mark. The leader’s eyes went wide and wild as he staggered and then collapsed.

The attackers fell back, dragging their fallen comrades with them. As Adrina looked on speechless, the attackers slipped into the shadows of the night. She sank to her knees, trembling.

She wondered at herself, wondering what it was that she had become. In her mind there was no doubt she had killed the leader, if only by luck. Was she a killer now? Was she now no better than those that attacked her? Could she look at herself in the mirror and not see that face—the face that saw death and the eyes that mirrored it?

Suddenly, there were hands around her arms and she struggled: biting, scratching, screaming—wild.

“It’s me, Adrina,” said a voice.

“Emel?”

“Yes, I’m here now.”

“The Knights of Klaive, where are they? Did they chase after the attackers?”

Emel didn’t say anything for a moment, then he said, “No, they are here.” He helped her to her feet she was still trembling. “Don’t look back. They rest well. To die in service and to know that you’ve saved the one you’ve sworn to protect is the ultimate honor and sacrifice.”

“They’re dead?” whispered Adrina, sinking to her knees as she suddenly went numb. “What have I done? I gave no kindness and was rude at every turn. How I wish I could turn back time and make it all right.”

Emel kept Adrina walking: moving away. The palace was alive with the sounds of guardsmen and garrison soldiers scouring the grounds. “No kindness was asked or expected; it is the way of it. You cannot make things right—no more than you can turn back time.”

“Did they have families?” Adrina asked through great sobs.

“You know, it’s a good thing I was walking Garette’s watch. My relief had just come, I was just finishing when I saw you racing down the corridor. I followed only moments later, and it was a good thing—a good thing indeed. I don’t understand why you didn’t scream out. There were guards all around.”

“But I did scream, I screamed and no one heard.” Adrina scowled. “Did they have families?”

“That’s impossible. I didn’t hear anything—but I saw it.”

“The bauble—the leader had some trinket in his hand. He was holding it and smiling when I screamed. He may have dropped it when he fell.”

“What are you saying?”

“We must go back! Grab that torch! We must search—it was round and—” Adrina stopped abruptly, turned around, and then ran back in the direction they had come from. “—it glowed. Yes, it glowed. I remember now! The Lady told me of a link and a key—and a box without sound. I didn’t understand before but I do now. I was the link for Seth that brought him back and the box without sound must be—”

Emel caught up to Adrina and grabbed her about the arms. “Adrina, you’re babbling. Something must have happened to you. We should go see Father Jacob, perhaps there’s a tonic he can give you.”

“No, you don’t understand! I see it all now—I understand it all now, or at least I think I do.”

Emel slapped Adrina across the face, his hand hitting harder than he wished. “Tyr had two daughters, Aryanna and Aprylle, and a wife, Kautlin. Etry’s wife, Ontyv, was with child, their first. If you want to do something, see to them. They were brave men.” Adrina pulled away from Emel and at the last, he added, “Come back to me, my princess. I think madness has beset you.” —and madness and rage were things Emel was coming to understand all too well.

Chapter Eight:

Phantoms of the Past

Vilmos ran for what seemed hours—if not days. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a glimmer of white fangs. The next instant he smacked into the ground in pain. Xith glared at the creature perched on Vilmos’ chest, about to rake his head from his shoulders. A blue-white flame shot out from the shaman’s hand, striking the creature full force, engulfing it in flames.

Vilmos tossed the screeching beast off him. It slumped to the ground and did not move again. Feeling helpless, Vilmos looked worriedly to Xith, his body frozen to the ground, his mind not allowing him to move. He could only see the faces and watch. A tingling sensation surged through his arm, perhaps the letting of warm blood across cool skin.

“Come on Vilmos, snap to it!” yelled Xith as he dispatched another of the creatures. He called out with more words, but frantic howls snatched them from the air.

A creature dropped down beside Vilmos. Its eyes moved to the ground where its companion lay and it lunged. Instinctively, Vilmos threw up his shield, barely in time as the creature’s claw struck the barrier and glanced off.

The raising of the shield was as the turning of a switch that brought awareness to Vilmos. He searched for Xith, only to find the shaman was gone. Three creatures circled him, watching his every move, waiting for the right instant to pounce.

In alarm Vilmos cried out, but no answer came. He was afraid. Something might have happened to Xith, though he didn’t know what or how. He watched the beasts carefully as they came for him one by one, shivering increasingly with each successful reflection.

“Xith!” he shouted with all the strength of his voice.

No answer came.

“Xith, are you hurt?”

Again, nothing.

Fear built within Vilmos, if Xith was dead so was he. He couldn’t possibly survive where the shaman had failed.

More of the creatures came. They surrounded him. Gradually they crept forward. Their stench overwhelmed his senses—it was the putrid odor of rotting flesh. “Xith? You can’t be dead!” shouted Vilmos, “You’re the only real friend I’ve ever had! Come back! Please!”

As if in response, a knifelike claw broke through his magic shield, ripping into his shoulder and then his side. The pain was excruciating, filling him with anger and fear. His thoughts turned to Xith. Suddenly he could feel the anguish Xith must have felt at the end.

“For this you shall die!” he shouted.

A flame sparked from outstretched hands, striking one of the beasts dead in the chest, and in a burst of flame the creature died. Surprised at the power that surged in him, he shouted, a wicked smile touching his lips. He released the power within again. Two attackers fell.

He whirled around to face the last of the attackers. He didn’t know how but he detected terror in their expressions as they started to flee. “You shall not run away from me, foul creatures!” he said with a loud booming voice as flames bright and deadly sprang forth from outstretched hands. “I have arrived!”

The creatures’ last sounds were agonized cries of pure pain. He almost pitied them but that thought didn’t last long.

“Adrina, stop!” yelled Emel, “This is madness! Talk to me!”

“It’s here! I know it’s here—it has to be!” Adrina grabbed Emel before he grabbed her. “Trust me like you did once before—trust me!”

Emel stopped protesting and helped Adrina search. The ground was bloody, but the bodies of the fallen knights had already been taken away. The pursuit through the palace continued—near and far shouts could be heard but there were no sounds of skirmish. “What does it look like?”

“Round, I think—silvery. It glowed.”

“Glowed?”

“Yes, glowed! He held it in his hand. I think he was rubbing it or squeezing it. He might have been whispering something too—I’m not too sure. Everything happened so fast…”

Emel extinguished the torch he held and started extinguishing the other torches that now lit the area clearly. Adrina helped, shouting, “Yes, that’s it!”

Soon the hallway was shrouded in darkness. Emel and Adrina waited as their eyes adjusted, then began to search again.

Emel talked as he searched. “You never told me about a second visit from the Lady.”

“You never asked. You were too busy playing captain of the guard.”

“Too busy? Too busy? What’s that supposed to mean? Do you know we had to restructure the whole of Imtal Garrison? Three squadrons of trained soldiers are not easily replaced—and throughout it all, I and the other officers had to contend with the families of the fallen.

“After the first hundred or so the faces of the mourners become the same, but you can’t let them be the same or you lose what little compassion you can continue to muster. It’s not easy and it’s not that anyone ever told you it would be easy. It’s so effortless to lose yourself and there’s no one there for you as you are there for others. So yes, I was busy playing—”

Adrina stopped searching and put a hand on Emel’s arm. “I didn’t know. I assumed—I assumed… I missed you on the return to Imtal. It wasn’t the same. I wish I had been there for you. The attack on the elves wasn’t your fault. You don’t need to try to make everything right.”

“Look who’s talking. Do you know what you’ve done, stirring up the household and appointing Garette Timmer as Myrial’s protector? Swordmaster Timmer is furious and says his family is humiliated.” Emel pulled away from Adrina’s touch, his hand coming to rest on a thing most unnatural. He picked it up and wondered at the radiance of it.

“I don’t always think before I act. You should know that by now, Emel. Myrial does deserve to be housemistress though. She’s always been there for me as you were—even when I was lost to the world around me. I will speak with Swordmaster Timmer. You’ll see—”

“Is this what you saw?” cut in Emel. “Because I think it must be.”

Adrina took the strange glowing orb in her hand. “It is,” she said. “It is.”

As the frenzy in his mind passed, Vilmos stood silent and still. He was shocked, simply amazed at what he had wrought for many long minutes. Tears rolled down his face and his words were drowned in sobs.

He sank to the ground; he was alone. Xith was gone without a trace—and he had become a monster, no better than those he had slain. The force of the raw energy flowing through him seemed a drug in his mind.

It took quite a while, but finally he rose to his feet and wiped away his tears. The wounds in his side and shoulder ached but luckily were not too deep.

His thoughts returned to concerns about Xith. He thought perhaps the creatures dragged Xith’s body off to feast on. He began a search that took him well into the evening.

As night arrived deep and dark in the land, he set up camp in the grove. Although he wasn’t really hungry, he ate all of what little rations he had. He made a bed among the boughs of the great fallen tree.

He was unaware of the tiny seedling nestled within the tangles of the shattered trunk and once proud roots, nor was he aware that it was the spirit of the great tree itself that told him to start the warding fire. He only knew that the horses were gone, Xith was gone, and he was desperately alone in a place that was completely foreign to him.

He knew little of Under-Earth, and what little he did know alarmed him. This was the place where the land called Rill Akh Arr existed, and within its shrouded forests lived the shape-changing beasts of the night—the Wolmerrelle. He had faced the Wolmerrelle before in Vangar forest—before he had barely escaped with his life.

But thoughts of the Wolmerrelle weren’t as frightening as thoughts of Erravane, the leader of the Wolmerrelle. Erravane would want revenge and her revenge may not be that of death. As Xith had told him before, there were worse things than death. He believed this wholly and without question now.

Troubled sleep found him a short while later. The dreams playing out behind his eyes were of the past—a past that he had hoped was behind him but wasn’t.

“No word from South Province, sire,” repeated the page, fraught with fear of possible retribution.

“What do you mean there is no word? Did you not deliver the message to Prince Valam?” returned Andrew, his voice weak and the vigor lost from his tone. It had been a long, trying day and he still had court audiences to look forward to.

“I delivered the message into the hands of his highness myself, he read it, said nothing, then told me take my leave, sire, nothing else.” The messenger, who had already been visibly nervous, trembled vigorously now.

“He told you to leave?”

“Yes, sire, he did, sire,” insisted the page.

Andrew waved his hand to dismiss the page, but still struck with fear, the youngster didn’t move. “You’re dismissed,” hissed Chancellor Yi, “leave before His Majesty directs his displeasure.”

Chancellor Volnej gulped for air as King Andrew directed his gaze at him. He attempted to look away, setting his eyes on the retreating form of the frightened page, but this did no good.

“The report,” stated Yi, putting the king’s apparent will into words.

“Yes, the report,” responded Chancellor Volnej, settling uneasily into his high-backed chair.

Just then, Keeper Q’yer was admitted to the council hall, and momentarily Volnej was forgotten. “Keeper Q’yer, what brings you to lower council?” asked Andrew, in his inquisitive tone, a bit of vigor returning to his tone at the expectation of good tidings.

“It will be ready for tomorrow’s noon council, sire,” said Keeper Q’yer.

Andrew’s downtrodden eyes lifted slightly. “Good, very good.” The king graciously motioned for the keeper to take a seat at the table—the invitation was more a following of etiquette than anything else; Keeper Q’yer now held a seat on the upper council and whatever was said of import in the lower council was always relayed to the upper. “Will you not stay with us, Lore Keeper?”

“I am afraid I cannot, Your Majesty, the Council of Keepers await my arrival,” and with that, Keeper Q’yer departed the council chamber.

Soon afterward, Andrew turned his gaze back to Chancellor Volnej.

“Sire,” began Volnej, “I am afraid the news is not entirely what we had hoped for. They are savages sire, savages all.” One of the council members cleared her throat. “Sorry, I know of your place of birth, but you know the point I was attempting to make.”

“I know what you were implying,” she replied.

“Proceed, chancellor.” The voice was that of Yi. He knew how to keep the council session flowing, one of the reasons he was Andrew’s primary adviser.

“Grant me two more weeks, sire. I can work miracles in two weeks,” the words said, Chancellor Volnej gulped air again.

“So be it,” said King Andrew, “Two weeks, no more. We have faith in you, chancellor, do not make us lose it.”

With those words, a motion was made to dismiss the council and all agreed. As Chancellor Yi watched the council members file out of the chamber, he noticed that King Andrew had not stirred out of his great chair at the far end of the room. The king’s eyes heavy with fatigue and his face pushed into his upturned hand showed he was nearly asleep. “A word with you, sire,” called out the chancellor, “you still haven’t been sleeping have you? What of the tonic Father Jacob worked up, did it not work?”

Heavily, Andrew wavered his head. “It is on days like this that we need your help, old friend.” Yi’s long face lit up at the compliment. “You provide us with strength we would not otherwise have.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you returned to your chambers and rested. The audiences can wait.”

“No, chancellor, they can not,” disputed Andrew. “If we are not in touch with our people, then we do not deserve to be their king. How else would we touch our people and know their cares and worries?”

“That is what the councils are for,” protested Yi.

“Councils know nothing of people, chancellor. Never forget that—councils know nothing of people. The people are the land and the land, the people.” The sudden glow in Andrew’s eyes was matched by the deeply respectful look on the chancellor’s face.

“Perhaps you could only see those of the greatest import—”

“—and which would those be, chancellor, can you honestly make the distinction?”

“There is one in particular, sire,” began Yi, “but I believe most of the others could wait.”

“You lead intentionally, don’t you?” Andrew lifted his chin from his hand as more of the weariness eased away.

“Well, I had hoped to, sire.” Yi slowly approached the far end of the table where Andrew sat as he spoke. “A huntsman from High Road Garrison rode through the night to get to Imtal to have audience with you. His mount collapsed from exhaustion at the palace gates, and from what I hear he tumbled from the animal and never looked back.”

“Go on,” urged Andrew.

“It seems two of his sons were taken prisoner when a group of Border Bandits ambushed a caravan.”

“Taken prisoner by whom?” cut in Andrew, a note of concern in his voice.

The chancellor smiled to himself now. He had peaked Andrew’s interest, hopefully he could keep it and direct it away from the audience hall, but he had to proceed carefully. By hook or by crook, he would see that the king got the rest he deserved. “By Solntse Garrison guardsmen, it seems the two sons were part of the raiding party—or so it is said. The case is exceptionally strange. The father claims they were forced into it, and he claims to be an old acquaintance of yours, though I have never before heard the name.”

“The father’s name?”

“Ashwar, but—”

“And the names of the sons?”

“Let me see, he surely sobbed through them enough…” Yi stopped, reflecting. “Keille and Danyel’, yes that’s it, Keille and Danyel’. They have already been sentenced by the Free City Council; the punishment will be dealt day after tomorrow and the punishment for thievery in the Free City is—”

“Death,” spoke Andrew grimly, “Describe this man called Ashwar.”

“Tall, broad shoulders, high cheek bones, black hair, and he wears a gray—”

“—Cape.” interrupted Andrew, “Correct?”

“Yes, you are—did I miss a detail, sire, is there something—”

“No, chancellor, you were thorough as always.” Andrew shifted in his chair, his eyes becoming unfocused, as if he was far away. “He was once Chief Huntsman at High Road but he is no longer there… Do we have enough time to stay the execution?”

“It could be managed, if it is your will. Surely, thieves can not be let off easily?” The chancellor sought to keep the king’s attention focused.

“Tell the Huntsman Ashwar we remember the day many handfuls of summers ago when he gave aid to a foolish boy, and we remember the debt owed.” Chancellor Yi furrowed his brow. He had not expected this. “Scribe a message to Geoffrey of Solntse, the first son is to serve seven years in the royal guard. See that he does not serve near the border areas. Quashan’ perhaps. The second son is to be fully pardoned after sixty days at hard labor, and see to it that no harm comes to the second son during this labor.”

“Yes sire, I will see to it at once. Will you rest now?”

“Yes chancellor, rest,” said Andrew, his eyes clearly showing the weight of his office.

Chancellor Yi hid his elation and departed with clear urgency in his step.

Chapter Nine:

Against the Odds

Brother Seth of the Red, corrected Seth to Adrina.

“Are you always there in my mind?” whispered Adrina in her thoughts.

Not always, but I am… I am sorry if it offends you…

“It does not offend,” whispered Adrina in her thoughts.

You must take me to Galan!

The sense of urgency touched Adrina. She sensed the pain and she tried to explain that the council needed him first, but he refused. The vigor with which his emotions and thoughts hit her today surprised her. And upon reflection, she didn’t think just taking him to see his companion could hurt anything. The council could wait a little longer.

“I know of councils,” said Seth. “You are right, they can wait. I must attend to more urgent matters first, then I will surely sit before your illustrious council.” You could not keep me away…

Adrina called out to the guards posted outside the door. They came bursting into the chamber, half prepared to do battle with the mysterious stranger and half prepared to vault away if there was indeed trouble.

You see, whispered Seth to Adrina alone, where I come from all are friends and if someone were indeed your enemy, only then would you need such men… He had searched Adrina’s mind for the correct word for the two guardsmen, but the word guard didn’t really seem fitting.

“Lower your weapons!” said Adrina. “Brother Seth and his companion are guests. They are not under house arrest.”

The guards looked first to Adrina, then to the stranger. They would run from the room if she dismissed them. “We are truly sorry, Your Highness. We meant no affront.”

“Give me assistance. We will take Brother Seth to his companion in the far wing.”

“But… We are under orders to see that—”

Adrina cut the guardsman off, “Under whose orders?”

“Captain Brodst himself,” replied both men at the same time.

“You heed a captain’s order over mine? You are indeed fools!” shouted Adrina.

I’m all right, Seth sent to her mind alone, I need no assistance.

“Quiet!” said Adrina. She directed it to the guards, but it was perfectly timed with Seth’s statement. “Guards,” she said, “To his side! Take his arms and follow…”

Really… I can walk on my own…

“Really, indeed.”

The guards cast her odd glances. They were more concerned for her than for the stranger, but they did as she requested.

The foursome traversed a long hall, descended a twisted stair, then proceeded along another lengthy hall. They came next to the open courtyard, and here Seth asked to pause, momentarily captured by the beauty of the open air, the sunshine, the brightly colored flowers of the garden. It seemed so long since he was this close to the earth and the forces of the Mother, and the touching hand of the Father flowed more readily to his prescient mind.

Release me, he thrust into the minds of the guardsmen, strength returning to his limbs.

The guards backed away warily. Again, they would have run if not for the cross look in Adrina’s eye. They continued on.

Galan’s bedchamber was filled with a collection of clergy led by Father Jacob. They were whispering an ancient prayer, a healing prayer, one of the most powerful they could tap. The priests were using Jacob as a focus through which their energies flowed.

So far they had made little progress. Galan’s face was deathly pale and her heartbeat was barely perceptible. As Seth entered the chamber, the focusing stopped, the prayer stopped, and as one the priests looked up—Seth’s powerful will acted like a magnet upon their minds. A voice entered their thoughts, shocking them into bewildered frenzy. I am very grateful for your effort, but I am afraid only I can save her.

“No,” shouted Adrina in response, “You need to save your strength!”

The chamber was absent of sound for a time. Father Jacob understood Adrina’s concerns and honored her opinion. He furrowed his brow, cleared his throat several times, then repeated Adrina’s words but more tactfully. “Friend, save your strength. We will save your companion. The poison will work itself out, I promise.”

Seth studied Jacob for a time before he offered a response. Jacob interested Seth. Jacob had called him “friend.” Seth could feel a sense of power in this one, power of a different sort, not of will per say, more of intellect or wisdom. And Seth smiled in polite form.

She is beyond your help, said Seth in response to the anxiousness that flowed from the gathered priests. Father Jacob, would you ask your fellows to leave?

“Perhaps we can do this together,” said Jacob, thinking, but not saying, that since they were all males it would be best to pool their healing powers. Jacob muttered curse under his breath and it brought a smile to Seth’s lips. He wondered if Seth would understand the absence of the priestesses and know they held no malevolence.

I understand, said Seth into Jacob’s mind, my people too have their holy customs and if you would honor them, I must do this alone…

Again Jacob’s expression grew wide with amazement, perhaps there was indeed more here than he understood. “Please leave us…” began Father Jacob. “Brother Seth wishes time alone with his companion.” He stood a moment, staring at Seth. He would have to find Keeper Martin immediately; they must find all they could in the histories. The Great Book told little about Seth’s kind, but perhaps if they delved deep enough into the ancient texts they could glean more. He also had to inform the council. They could call a General Assembly soon. “Let’s go now… Father Tenuus, are you coming?”

Father Tenuus nodded and followed Jacob from the room.

The room was empty now save for Adrina, Seth and Galan. Adrina stepped quietly away from Seth’s side, glancing at the last moment into his eyes. She stopped, reached out and touched his cheek. She was the only one who saw the tears well up in his eyes and stream down his face, whether they were tears of joy at seeing his companion or tears of sadness she did not know. Sorrow filled her heart and as she departed the room, tears glistened down her cheeks.

Father Jacob waited for her in the hallway and she saw him hazily through her tears. “Father Jacob?” she sobbed.

“Yes, princess.”

“Do you think he can save her?”

Jacob took her hand and walked with her down the corridor. “If there is one in this world who can, I believe it is him, child. Never have I felt the will of any as strong as the one I felt when he entered the room.”

The tears dried up and Adrina paused to stare out over the garden as Seth had. Somehow to see bright sunshine and vibrant life made her feel better too. She kissed Jacob’s hand in appreciation of his kindness, and as she did so Jacob blushed faint red. She knew he understood how she felt.

“He regained his strength quickly.”

“This morning he awoke and ate well. By afternoon, it seemed most of his strength had returned, and now he seems to have almost fully recovered.”

“Strong that one, I’ll say. Come child, I will see that you sleep!” said Jacob, dragging Adrina along behind him. “You look so very tired, you must rest… Besides there is nothing we can do now save pray. We must pray long and hard.”

Adrina didn’t refuse. She knew Jacob wouldn’t have believed

her, and she wouldn’t have been telling the truth, if she denied her exhaustion. Yet, as fate would have it, the two passed Chancellor Yi who was busily rushing past on his way to King Andrew’s chambers. The council was awaiting the king’s presence at the day’s session, which he was late to again, but he was the king after all and therefore pardonable. Luckily for Adrina, Yi snatched Jacob away to the meeting and she was left on her own.

For a moment, Adrina considered Yi’s face. His nose wasn’t red any more and the dark circles were gone from under his eyes. Adrina broke her stride. She had heard no sniffles as he approached or after he had passed. A touch of mirth lit her face. Imtal Palace had been dead before, gnawing away at them a piece at a time, the chancellor especially, but no more.

She considered following the two to the council chambers and sitting in on the session, but quickly let the idea pass. She would rather be alone for a while, and she almost walked to her room to lie down as she knew Jacob would have wanted her to do and as her body desired—but instead she crossed back to stare silently at the closed chamber door, listening intently for any sound that might escape from within.

After hours of waiting and pacing back and forth alone, stirring her mind with frenzied thoughts, Father Jacob returned from the council meeting. He was surprised and not surprised to find Adrina waiting there slumped against the wall, half asleep. He muttered under his breath that he should have taken her back to her room first and then gone to the meeting, but now it was too late.

He shrugged his shoulders in a gesture to show the futility of arguing with her, and then joined her. A strong force of will emanating from within the chamber told Jacob that Brother Seth was occupied in activities beyond anything he could comprehend. For many days, the priests had been changing off in the healing chant without success. It seemed they could do nothing to aid the dying one.

Only today they decided to try the impossible, to breach the realm of their powers and combine their wills. At the time Jacob thought it was the only solution—he was not so sure anymore.

All his thoughts of failure did not disappear so readily. He cursed the priestesses and their damnable rituals. An image of Jasmine, the High Priestess, flashed through his mind. During the days before winter, a priestess was not to be found in the whole of the Kingdom. Sealed away in sanctuary, carrying out private worship, which although Jacob knew and understood he did not fully condone. His thoughts lingered on the face a moment longer, then he turned to careful, reverent prayer—the prayer he promised before but had not had time yet to give.

Neither he nor Adrina said a word as they waited, slumped against the wall. Interrupting the silence seemed wrong. Despite the skirt she wore, Adrina sat on her haunches. The good father simply abided by leaning a heavy shoulder against the stonework of one of the hall’s grand arches. Unconsciously, between breaths one or the other would pause to listen, hoping for a sound or a sign, anything at all to cast away the fears.

Beyond the door, inside the room, Seth sat engrossed in meticulous calculation, ensuring every detail down to the last minuscule item. Once the others left, he raced to Galan’s side and kissed her lightly on the cheek. His thoughts ran wild—the task that lay ahead, that which he must attempt, the sacrifice he must make, the denial he must send to the Father, all things he must consider.

Oh Galan, my Galan… What have I done?

He breathed in a deep breath to relax his mind and body, quickly pursuing it with another, waiting until his thoughts were absolutely clear before he delved into the long, tedious task ahead. The room, having served as a meditation chamber of sorts, would suit his purposes well.

Slowly, methodically, he spread unlit candles around the bed in a full circle, chanting a prayer long forgotten, lost to all save his people, the prayer’s pious message designed to begin focusing his will as well as to gather his thoughts. Curiously, the candles served only as symbols of faith to the Father, each representing a material thing, thus to remind the Father of times past, times of great need.

Seth’s labor began with channeling a single thought, allowing it to occupy his consciousness. He maintained the chant, fixing his will, refining it, until all else faded—the last candle gently put in its place completed the circle. Seth crossed to the head of the bed and kneeled, cross-legged. He increased the level of his mental chant, reaching out until it encompassed the entire chamber, yet not beyond. The sound of his silent words of thought was so intense that others of lesser will would have been driven out of the room.

He cast a wayward thought away from his mind and touched outward to the air, slowly lifting himself above the bed with a levitating force. He raised his hands, turning them palms up, fingers at first interlaced to channel the energy better.

Moving each finger now, separately in an independent flicker, he touched the candles, each with a different spark of energy, forcing them to light in the same instant as one. A cleansing of his inner self allowed him to reflect his will inward while he waited for strength to build—the bright red-orange of the sun, the green, green pastures of open plains, the placid blue waters of a gentle lake and the serenity of life were his only thoughts.

The power of the world encircled him and he had only to reach out to grasp. He could shape this power, bend it to his desires, caress it with his touch. The will of nature, the will of the very air in which he floated, came to him and he focused, channeling ever so carefully while a pleasant calm passed over him. Suspended in time, touching its boundaries, he held the power of the world.

He called the wind.

A breeze, a warm soothing flutter, blew in a fine whisper, increasing until it was a gust, then a gale. He touched the forces of will he held in his beckoning hands; the wind became a raging torrent of swirling force. The candles blazed, burning with such intensity as the wind gathered strength that their heat brought beads of sweat to Seth’s brow.

The peace of the earth surrounded and took him. It was time.

Seth cast his spirit to the place of Galan’s moribund soul, the moaning wind becoming a deafening roar. The brightly burning flames became ten tiny suns. Seth leapt beyond.

Everything stopped, deadly silent. The air, no longer warm to the touch, but cool, cool enough to drive a shiver into one’s heart.

Seth reached for the last unraveling strand, not knowing if his strength was enough to sustain it. He felt the will of the Father all around him.

The Father wanted to bring his daughter home, to end her suffering, to carry her away to a better place, but Seth was selfish and did not want to let her go.He had held the last strand of her life too long to let it slip away. He held her spirit, success was so near. Two must survive, went the whisper in his mind.

Father, I implore you! Seth cried out. My need is great! Please hear my call and listen to my words!

His message fell as a wave smashing against the shore in the dead of night. Matching that of the land as it was rent and hopelessly twisted, his will became the soft grains of sand sucked out by the churning black waters.

Wallowing in darkness and turmoil, Seth collapsed to the floor at the head of the bed. His journey ended. Galan’s journey ended.

Chapter Ten:

A Strangeness in the Air

Vilmos awoke. He was terrified—and for good reason. He was not alone. The grove was occupied by those that were not of this realm.

“Dark master, we heard your call upon the wind. The sign is in the east and the peoples of North and South gather. Is it time?”

Vilmos tried to back away but quickly found he was surrounded. “You are men? There are men in Under-Earth?”

“Less a man, less men, than once before. Come with us. We will accompany you on your journey and ensure your safety.”

“I don’t know where I am going. I’m lost. I lost my master.”

“Lost your master?” The speaker started laughing—almost a cackle. “Lost your way?” He turned to his fellows, still laughing, and then he turned back to Vilmos. “Stranth was lost because of Kastelle and Adrynne, but you are never lost. This cannot be so. The tower awaits. Let us guide you.”

Vilmos stared at the streaks of fire racing across the skies of Under-Earth. His longing was almost a plea for help but he didn’t cry out aloud—only in his thoughts. He stood uneasily. The robed figures took a few steps away as if in reverence. “Will you hurt me?” he asked.

“Pain. There is always pain. Pain is all around us; it is within us and in the air we breathe. Pain is to pleasure as joy to sorrow. So what is hurt?”

“But you will help me find my way? And you will take me to wherever it is that I want to go?”

The hooded ones moved around Vilmos, circling and chanting. The one speaking never moved. He stood still.

Vilmos gathered his belongings—what little he had—still eyeing those around him. “Do you have a name?”

“Servants do not have names. They are best nameless.”

“Do you have names?” said Vilmos indicating the group with his hands.

“Think of us as your shadows. Your will is ours. We will walk with you to the end of your path.”

“I don’t think the boy needs shadows!” said a voice in the distance.

Vilmos turned, as did the hooded ones. He saw a mass of silvery armor, a great clubbed weapon held in an outstretched, mailed fist. The armored warrior seemed to be as tall and large as the trunk of a tree.

Vilmos gulped as he looked down the length of the spiked club—a club that was nearly as long as he was tall. Vilmos backed away. The robed figures filled the space between him and the armored warrior.

“You are making a mistake,” said the warrior. “Human meat just doesn’t taste as good as it used to. I’m not going to eat you. That is a promise, but what of your fellows? What are their plans for you? Do you know?”

“They are friends. They have come to help me along my path. I will go with them if it is all the same to you.”

“It is not all the same to me—I assure you! I have a great deal to do this day, so make your decision and be quick about it! You have a lot to learn if you are to get along here. Do you know what they will do to you when they find out you are not the one?”

“He is the one,” hissed one of the hooded men. “The sign is in the east and he has come. We have come for him; he is ours. Leave us now or we will do what we must to protect that which is ours!”

“You will now?” The warrior swung the great club around his head. The hooded ones cowered away. “Are you so sure of yourselves?”

“Good morning, Myrial,” said Adrina quietly as she stretched through a waking yawn. “What hour is it?”

“Late in the day, my princess. You’ve had several would-be visitors already.”

“News of the elves?”

“Not that anyone has said but I do believe you have a visitor waiting. He may have some news.”

“He?” asked Adrina, sitting up, turning to the bedside.

“Quite handsome I must say. I do find him striking, but I think he has eyes for you.”

“Myrial, you play with me,” said Adrina putting on her slippers and going to the mirror. “You know I’m betrothed to Rudden Klaiveson and it is as it should be. My father is pleased and will dower all the lands between Heman in the north and River Opyl in the south. There’s a promise of a grand palace as well—but as to that I’ll have to wait and see.”

Myrial started combing Adrina’s hair. “You care nothing of palaces and land holdings—I know this, so don’t try to make me a fool. What does your heart tell you? That is the question you must answer.”

Adrina stood and went behind the changing partition. Her clothes had already been carefully laid out. “What of the household? How are you managing? I’ve heard good things from the cooks.” There was a moment of silence and Adrina repeated, “I’ve heard good things from the cooks.”

“I think the cooks are right,” said a strong masculine voice.

“Emel, is that you?” shouted Adrina. “Myrial? …Myrial, I’m not finished!”

“Yes, Emel. Don’t worry I’ll keep the appropriate distance. I don’t want any rumors—but I couldn’t wait any longer. I’ve been pacing the hall for more than an hour.”

“Do you have news of the elves?” asked Adrina as she straightened the dress about her shoulders, emerged from behind the partition.

“No news of the elves.” Emel glanced to the window, to Adrina. “I’m being sent to the Territories: Krepost’. It is my father’s wish.”

Adrina’s face turned pale. “Is this a punishment of some sort—like High Road last summer? I’ll speak to your father and to mine. This isn’t right!”

“No Adrina don’t,” said Emel. “This is something I must do.”

“Why?” cried Adrina, throwing her slippers at him. “Did you tell someone of the orb? Does this have to do with the attack? It wasn’t your fault. Don’t they know that?”

Emel turned away. “I was the ranking officer on watch. It was my fault regardless and I have accepted responsibility. Exile in the Territories is far less a punishment than the alternative. My shortsightedness nearly cost your life and the king—”

“My father? What does my father have to do with this? If he has any part in this, banishment has less to do with the attack and more to do with—”

“Your father has nothing to do with the orders. It is my father, but it is my obligation as well. I have brought shame and dishonor.”

“Shame and dishonor?” shouted Adrina. “How could anyone have known of a secret attack? Did you show them the orb? It has powers that will prove your innocence—magical powers that create a ring of silence. I know this to be true, I was there.”

Emel walked to the window. “Listen to yourself. Do you know how that sounds? No, I’d rather the alternative. It is my duty to go and I will go. I’ve just come to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye with your back to me? Look me in the eye Emel and tell me you don’t believe!”

Emel turned to face Adrina. “I don’t believe. Nothing good will come of talk of the orb. I am sure of this as I am sure of no other thing. The Territories aren’t so bad—I’ll be Captain of Krepost’ Guard! It’ll be a grand adventure…”

“Adventure? No one comes back from the Territories—no one!”

Emel forced himself to smile. “Well maybe no one wants to come back. Maybe once they get there they find it’s such a grand place that they just don’t want to leave—maybe that’s the real secret.”

Adrina was quiet and just when she was about to speak Myrial entered. “Adrina?” Myrial called out. “Sorry to interrupt but the lady elf is asking for you. I told Keeper Martin I would come straight away.”

“Galan? She’s awake?”

“Yes—and eating!”

Adrina’s face showed relief and surprise. She turned back to Emel. “Go!” Emel told her. “I leave tomorrow morning at first light. There’s a supply caravan heading east and I’ll travel with it beyond the Wall of the World.”

Emel handed Adrina a small leather pouch. “Take this! I won’t need it.”

“The orb?” whispered Adrina.

“Maybe you’ll have better luck with it than I,” said Emel as he turned away and left Adrina’s room.

Adrina wrapped her hand about the leather pouch and then grabbed Myrial by the arm, saying, “Let’s go! I’ve waited days and weeks for this!”

Emel watched Adrina go; his heart went with her. “It is done,” he whispered as he walked away in the opposite direction.

A figure in the shadows whispered, “You have done right; this is as it must be. You know what you must do next—don’t delay any more than necessary. I’ll wait outside the city, on the morrow.”

“On the morrow,” whispered Emel without looking at the speaker. He walked through the palace halls, leaving through the side entrance and making his way to the officer’s quarters within the central keep. Although the old keep was a part of the palace structure, it was separated by courtyards and gardens.

Once inside the keep Emel passed his quarters without stopping. He went instead to his father’s official station within the keep. “Captain Brodst,” he said as he made his way through the outer door unannounced. “I’ve come to speak with you.”

“So official,” said his father, looking up from his papers. “Please come in and sit down.”

“I’ll stand if it’s all the same,” said Emel looking about the room. He leaned to the right and closed the inner office door. “I’ve come to speak with you on an urgent matter.”

Ansh Brodst looked up from his papers again. “Requisitions, hate them,” he said. “But what would we do without provisions and proper weaponry?”

“I’ve come to speak with you on an urgent matter,” repeated Emel. Ansh Brodst put down the papers and the pen he had been using. “I’ve come to resign.”

“Steadfast in this decision, are you? If that’s your mind, I’m not the one to change it. You are making a mistake, of course. There’s soldier’s honor and duty, and then there’s pride. If it’s pride that’s bringing this on then it is best that you resign. No room for arrogance, self-importance and conceit in our business.”

Emel bit his tongue to keep from saying something he knew he’d regret. When pain cleared his thoughts, he replied, “No father, not pride. For me, you’ve made the favor of exception. Any other would have been banished—sent to the Territories or worse.”

“Sit and lets discuss this—” It was an order not a request. Emel sat as his father spoke. “—Seventeen generations have served and to have the line broken now for such a thing? I think there’s an easier way to accept responsibility—if there’s a need for accountability and that should’ve been for me to decide. If this is about last spring, I think I—”

“This isn’t about last spring. I didn’t know what I was doing or thinking then, and the summer did clear my thoughts. I need distance or I may…” Emel’s voice trailed off.

Ansh Brodst nodded solemnly in understanding. “Distance is sometimes a good thing. Take a leave of absence, surely one is deserved after all that has happened—” Again it was an order and not a request. “—it’s settled then, is it not?”

Emel persisted though he knew better. “Leave of absence? I may not return—I’ve a mind not to return.”

“You’d have to ask yourself then if it was worth it—if she was worth it. I can tell you from experience that it is—and isn’t. But you shouldn’t forswear your future for a notion that can never be real. Where will you go on your leave?”

“The Territories,” whispered Emel, his thoughts elsewhere. “I have some business in the Territories. I leave tomorrow at first light.”

“With the supply caravan? That’s a dangerous business. You’d be better off going alone or with a small company of guardsmen.”

Emel stood. “Dangerous if one is a fool.”

“Many men have been a fool then,” said Ansh Brodst, standing as well. He clasped his son about the elbow. “Safe journey, may you find what it is you seek.”

Vilmos awoke in a warm, soft bed. He peered around the room warily as a knock came to the door, soft and then hard, but he didn’t move to answer it. After a couple more raps, he heard the rattling of something being set onto the floor, then the sound of footsteps as someone walked away. He waited cautiously for the footsteps to fall away and then he opened the door slightly. On the floor he found a tray containing a bowl of murky soup and a large chunk of black bread covered with some sort of jam or honey. Also on the tray was a pair of candles, with one lighted and placed into a wooden candleholder of sorts.

He eagerly picked up the tray and carried it back into the room. He placed the candlestick on the small table next to the bed and sat down, preparing to eat. To his delight, the soup was a wonderful combination of beef and vegetable, and the jam on the black bread was mouth-watering.

As he slurped the last bit of soup from the bowl and placed the bowl back onto the tray, he noticed something odd: a small object, a tiny wooden figure painted white with a crown adorning its head. Vilmos thought it odd, but without really thinking about it, he placed it on the table next to the candle.

A warm, full gut brought the yearning to sleep but the aching of his shoulder and side did not go away. It was then that he saw the bandages over his wounds and recalled the happenings of the previous day.

Some hours later the last rays of the setting sun filtering in through the window awoke him. He crossed to the window, pressing his face against the cool, cheerless glass, and stared out into the growing darkness. The sun slowly disappeared below the horizon.

Hours later, the glimmer of a dull, yellow light brought him to the window again. A large figure carrying a lantern completed crossing the narrow street below and disappeared into an adjacent building. A shadow of light could be seen through the opposite windows, meandering back and forth as the figure crossed to a staircase and faded from sight again, ascending into what must have been an attic, since the structure had only one apparent floor.

He mused momentarily about sneaking out of his room to check the surroundings. Deciding to do just that, he opened the door slowly, quickly realizing he was in an inn. The upstairs had an odd number of rooms: three rooms on either side of the hall marked 1 through 6, and another marked 7 at the far end.He listened at each door along the sides of the hallway. Hearing no sounds of occupancy, he checked the door handles. The rooms were locked. The room at the end of the hall appeared similarly empty, though a faint light shone under the door. Interested, he stooped down to peek through the keyhole; unable to see anyone in the room, he put an ear to the door.

“May I help you?” said a burly voice from behind him. “You must want of something to be sneaking around in the dark. Is this the way you behave when you think you are alone?”

Vilmos jumped up, smacked his head on the door handle. He winced while rubbing the top of his head. “Sorry, I dropped something,” he said, quickly adding as he turned around, “How did I get—”

His words cut short as he stared in horror at the abhorrence before him. The creature was well over six feet tall and so large-boned that it

scarcely fit into the hall. Its skin was scaly with a yellow-green tinge.

He tried to run back down the hall, but he couldn’t quite squeeze past the hulking figure fast enough. Caught by the scruff of his shirt, he struggled to break free.

“What’s the matter, never seen a troant before? I’m not going to hurt you—I don’t eat people. Human meat just doesn’t taste as good as it used to.”

The creature grinned, its teeth glistening yellow-brown in the torchlight, then shouted, “Boo!” and Vilmos nearly wet himself.

Vilmos fixed his face in a half smile, half scowl, but didn’t manage a response.

“So my father was a troll and my mother a giant, big deal. It’s not that unusual—and I’m only distantly related to wood trolls, so don’t get any ideas about that either! I’m a swamp troll. Well, half a swamp troll, the other half of me is—well, giant. I don’t know what clan—there are six clans of giants you know: hill, stone, mountain, ice, fire and storm. Never got a chance to ask mom which clan it was—”

“How did I get here? Last I remember I was in the grove and there were these strange men and someone—you? That was you in the armor?”

The troant scratched at his chin. “My name is Edward. I am the innkeeper. You can call me Eddie—or Ed, which is even shorter—if you like. How come you didn’t return my invitation?”

“What invitation?” Vilmos asked.

“I gave you white,” said Edward. Vilmos still didn’t know what Edward was talking about. “Haven’t you ever played King’s Mate before?”

Vilmos thought about it for a moment. “No. Is it fun?”

Edward put a hefty arm around Vilmos’ shoulder. “Get the king piece I gave you and I’ll teach you… It is more than fun!”

Chapter Eleven:

Galan’s World

“How long have I slept?”

Adrina replied, “Since the day before yesterday.”

“And Galan?”

“She started to recover almost immediately. She is growing stronger with each new day. She hasn’t said very much and she would rarely leave your side. “

“I would speak with her.”

“Rest and you will be up on the morrow. The council wishes to speak with you then.”

“What is wrong with now?” Seth didn’t see why he couldn’t sit before the council now. The power of speech didn’t tax his weakened condition; he could still think and thus talk.

Adrina thrust out a restraining hand. “They will wait! Tomorrow is a better day, you’ll see.”

Adrina soothed Seth until he drifted back to sleep, making him drink some broth along the course. She waited until he had passed into deep slumber before she left his side. As Galan now rested across from Seth, Adrina checked her next, surprised Seth’s outburst hadn’t awoken the lady elf.

Adrina’s chambers were not far off and her aim was to steal several hours of much needed sleep, but she only made it as far as the hall before running into Keeper Q’yer. “How could you, keeper?” asked Adrina, knowing Keeper Q’yer’s presence could mean only one thing: the council had come to the end of their patience.

“How could I what?”

“You know what I am talking about. We must wait.”

“Princess, I must be frank with you, the council can wait no more. I see no reason to delay.”

“Would you disturb a man on his deathbed?”

“He isn’t dying.”

“Does Father Jacob know you are here?” Adrina tempted the wrath of the man’s office. A short time ago she wouldn’t have had the nerve to put demands on a keeper, but things were different now.

“Under the circumstances I elected to come. Father Jacob knows I am here.” The keeper attempted to move past Adrina. “I must see for myself. Now if you will allow me to pass.”

“Another day couldn’t hurt, could it? I’m sure Seth will be fully recovered. His companion should also be able to attend. You can have them both then.”

Adrina followed Keeper Q’yer into Seth’s room, and after a few minutes, back into the hall. She saw Father Jacob standing at the far end of the hall—a torch in its iron bracket cast an orange glow behind him. He raised a finger to her lips. She was not to say anything about his presence. “I will go to my father if need be. He will of course listen to reason.”

The keeper eyed Adrina. “I am afraid that will do no good. See that the strangers are ready for council by midday tomorrow.”

“Their names are Seth and Galan. Brother Seth and Brother Galan… They are not strangers. They are friends.”

“Don’t be cross with me, I am only performing as told,” said Keeper Q’yer as he walked away and was quickly lost in the shadows of the hall.

Adrina almost screamed another response, but a restraining hand stopped her short. “You’ve won, dear,” said Father Jacob. “He said tomorrow. Take such victory and be at ease. You’ve done well.”

Voices in the hall roused Galan to conscious thought. She opened her eyes and looked about the room, slowly taking in Seth’s form in the bed across from her. Images of the world before her, however, paled in comparison to those captured in her mind’s eye.

In her mind’s eye she saw images from the dream—images of home. Leklorall, Kapital to those that dwelled there, was a city of grand canals and countless spiral towers—towers whose heights were matched only by those of the Silver Mountains looming at the southern edge of Lake Clarwater. Across the lake to the east she could see the outline of Near Glendall, and beyond was Ester Vale, the place of her birth.

She remembered sailing upon the Gildway as a child, sailing all the way to Riven End and back—it was the trade route of her father—but no journey held to her mind’s eye like the journey to Near Glendall. That fall she had journeyed to Near Glendall and beyond: across the Clarwater and into the folds of the Elven Brotherhood. To be taken into the Brotherhood at such a late age was unusual and everyone she encountered reminded her of this—and they reminded her that to be taken into the Order of the Red was just as significant.

“Father,” she whispered now as she had then, “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to disappear from life—it is not the journey I want. I would prefer to sail the Gildway to the ends of time. I’ll take ship with Cagan. He is distant kin and will treat me fairly.”

“The honor of it, my child. You must see, such sacrifice and service will bring status and title to our family—and to you. There is no greater achievement—it is the yearning of every father, every mother, for their children to earn such success.”

“But I am unlike the others, father—the others were chosen at birth and I was chosen by chance.”

“Queen Mother doesn’t make mistakes and there was no chance in the matter, only fate. It is your fate and fortune.”

“She entered my thoughts, father. I felt her in my mind, traveling my soul. I don’t wish this.”

“Soon their ways will be your ways and you will forget our ways—you will forget everything that you are now. That is the way of it.”

Tears rolled down Galan’s cheek. “No, father, I will not forget where I came from. My past is who I am.”

Aelondor took Galan’s hand. “No, my child, your future is who you are. Should we meet again you will not know me. It is the way of the Brotherhood. You must shed your past life and accept the new to become—and to become is everything.”

“But I am not a child like the others, father. I won’t forget—I won’t let myself forget and I won’t allow them to make me forget.”

“Hush, my daughter,” said Aelondor, taking Galan’s hand and walking with her to the stairs leading from the docks. Upon reaching the stairs, he told her, “I can go no further. But I will return on the day you have achieved and with title, I and ours will walk the streets of Leklorall and take passage across her canals. It will be a grand day, and it is my fondest hope that I may see your face on that day.”

Galan tried to speak but Aelondor touched a finger to her lips. “They wait at the top,” he told her. “You will do well.”

“Elf Galan?” called out Myrial, “I heard your voice from the hall. Who were you talking to? Can I help you?”

It took Galan a moment to return to the waking world. Daydreams, she whispered into Myrial’s mind. If the dream and desire are patent, you can journey to the past—and the past can often be a wondrous place when you don’t wish to be in the here and the now.

“My Lady Elf?” asked Myrial.

Call me, Galan. Brother Galan if it must be so.

“Princess Adrina is waiting to speak with you. She was here earlier but you had gone back to sleep. Perhaps you would like to walk with me? We could cross through the courtyards. A few moments of sun and fresh air may do you good. It is on the way to Adrina’s quarters.”

Adrina sat quietly, watching the changing colors of the day and absently moving the yellow orb back and forth in her hand. The balcony off her room was a quiet place where she could easily get away from the world.

Her thoughts were heavy. Emel left in the morning. She had hoped he would come speak to her one more time, but he hadn’t. She would miss him but didn’t envy him.

A journey to the wilds of the Territories didn’t have the appeal that it once did, and the path was a long one. A path that would take Emel south to Ispeth, east to Hindell and Reassae before leading through the mountains and into the Territories.

Her thoughts floated, as if she rode with Emel. She was nearly asleep when the sound of someone clearing their throat roused her. “Yes?” she said absently, without turning.

“Sorry, Your Highness, I do not mean to disturb you but Galan—”

“Galan?”

“Yes, she’s here. She wishes to speak with you.”

“Here?” Adrina placed her feet on the stones of the balcony, about to stand. “Please show her in.”

I’m here, directed Galan, I hope I’m not interrupting.

“Not at all.” Adrina turned to Myrial and grabbed the girl’s hand. “Thank you, this is a wonderful surprise!”

Myrial smiled as she excused herself saying, “So much to take care of, I must be off. Your leave, Highness?”

Adrina nodded and turned back to Galan. “Please join me, sit. The air is surprisingly warm—it won’t stay this way long mind you, so we had best enjoy it.”

Winter is close indeed. I can feel it… You have been asking for me? Adrina regarded the silver-bronze of Galan’s skin and the purple radiance of the eyes. If you would prefer, I can… Galan swept a hand along the contours of her body, leaving a trail of lightly tanned skin that matched Adrina’s own.

“I don’t prefer,” said Adrina, “Your difference is your beauty.” Are you there in my mind, like Seth? she whispered to herself.

“Your customs, I am sorry,” said Galan aloud. “I will try to remember to keep to my own thoughts—and from yours.”

“I don’t find it offensive—”

“I didn’t think you did but it does trouble you. Can I share a secret with you?” Adrina’s expression brightened as if Galan was about to give her a gift. “I too once had the same thoughts as you. Voices in my head were most unnatural to me then.”

“I thought all elves spoke thus. Is it not your way—” Adrina paused. “—the way of the Brotherhood?

“The way of the Brotherhood, yes. The way of my people, no. Only someone who had never—”

“Seth,” cut in Adrina, “Father Jacob told me of a conversation with Seth. Seth said—”

“Seth would not have remembered. He has never been among our people. Kapital is all he knows, yet its boundaries don’t represent the boundaries of our lands—and it shouldn’t be the only thing we know.”

“Leklorall?” asked Adrina squeezing her hands together.

Galan’s eyes showed surprise. “Who told you of Leklorall?”

“The capital of East Reach is Leklorall, just as the capital of West Reach is Elorendale,” said Adrina matter-of-factly, fidgeting with her hands.

Galan stood—and for an instant Adrina could see fear and anger in Galan’s eyes. You can’t know this! None of your kind has ever been to our lands and you have no records of our kind!

“But of course we have records of the elves. Keeper Martin has many scrolls and tomes filled with your lore. He says that there were once more but they were lost in a great fire.”

“You don’t understand, Princess Adrina,” said Galan. “We know your history and your records—we wrote it, after all.”

“Sit,” said Adrina. “What do you mean?”

Galan, shocked at her own words—at their truth which she knew never to speak and wasn’t even supposed to know—tried to stop herself from speaking but couldn’t. “The Second Age—the histories recording the end of the Second Age were penned by Aven and Riven, half-elven. They were the original Lore Keepers as you call them. When the Elves of the Greye laid siege to the Kingdoms—the lands of Man—it was the Elves of the Reaches who came across the water to your aid.”

“You speak lies!” shouted Adrina. “I have been made to study the histories all my life—and I know what occurred! The elves invaded our lands and though it took nearly two thousand years to drive them away, we succeeded!”

“Half truths, I assure you! Half truths!” Galan was shouting now and she was angry, and anger was not an emotion that came to her mind willingly—the Brotherhood had seen to that. Galan glared at Adrina—her thoughts racing. Adrina was still fidgeting with her hands and it was as Adrina’s eyes became angry and wild that Galan saw the glowing orb Adrina held.

Galan snatched the orb away. Adrina tried to fight the elf off but was no match—and this was a good thing. The wildness in Adrina’s eyes fell away the instant she released the orb.

Galan breathed deeply; calm, even breaths to steady her emotions. “Where did you get this? Do you know what this is? What this can do?”

Adrina was beyond speech as she collected her thoughts. Galan continued as she studied the orb, “This… This is Dnyarr’s Orb—like the Gates of Uver the Orbs are forbidden. Where did you get this?”

“Dnyarr? Uver? I don’t understand Galan. There was an attack and the one who led the attackers held this in his hand. It is magical, I believe. Somehow he used it to make a box of silence. I know this sounds of madness but—”

“Not madness, truth. Each of the orbs has different properties, different powers—and different effects on those who hold them. They say the orbs, like the gates, are made of a magical substance once mined from the deepest, darkest reaches of the Samguinne—in Under-Earth.”

Adrina touched her hands to Galan’s shoulders. “I’m not of your world Galan. I don’t understand. Where does it come from? Why is it here? What is it doing to us?”

“Dnyarr, Elf King of Greye, fashioned the orbs and the gates. The orbs are keys of sorts and the gates, doorways between realms. There are believed to be four orbs and seven gates—and Dnyarr hoped to use them to control the known realms. He gave three of the orbs to his sons: Daren, Damen and Shost, keeping one of the orbs for himself. The gates

are scattered throughout the three realms.

“After the Great War, Dnyarr passed from the world of the knowing—not into death, as there is no true death from natural causes among the elves, but as it is said he lost the will to go on and so departed Under-Earth for the next life. His sons divided the Lands of Greye into three kingdoms, but as your people succumbed to a war of blood, so did Greye—a war where the three sons of Dnyarr fought to control Greye.

“As with the Kingdoms, the enemies of Greye saw the strife as an opportunity and so began the Rhylle/Armore wars. In the end Greye was left without its kings—and no king has ruled since. The people of Greye have been enemies of Rhylle and Armore since that time and it has kept their focus away from our realm, but the time of change is upon us again. And the Dark One, the one our people called Sathar, returns.”

“Sathar…? Who is Sathar and what does all this have to do with—”

“Not so much a who as a what. Sathar represents darkness. But to say that Sathar is darkness doesn’t show an understanding of what Sathar is.”

Adrina scrunched up her eyes and rubbed her temples. She wished Keeper Martin were here. He would understand what Galan was speaking of better than she. “Back to the orb. Can it really project a box of silence?”

Galan judged Adrina’s expression without probing thoughts. “This is important to you?”

“More than you would ever know.”

“Yes I believe so, particularly as Myrial has been standing in the far hall trying to hear our words—and though they’ve often been heated, she hasn’t been able to hear anything. So yes, I think this orb has that power, among others. It is dangerous, though, to the untrained. You have seen how it can pervert thought and action.”

“How do we turn it off?”

“Like this, I imagine,” said Galan, putting the orb in the leather pouch Adrina had been holding after Galan snatched the orb away. She fought the urge to read Adrina’s thoughts and emotions, hoping Adrina wouldn’t be too hard on the good-intentioned Myrial. Her own good intentions had caused her to listen to many things that she shouldn’t have been privy to.

“Myrial, come!” called out Adrina. Wide-eyed, Myrial entered Adrina’s room and came out onto the balcony. “You’ve been standing in the hall, listening all this time?”

As a child caught stealing cookies, Myrial’s eyes appealed to Adrina silently and her face turned red with embarrassment. “My thoughts are only of you. I … I—”

“I know, I know,” said Adrina. “Did you hear what we were speaking of?”

“I tried,” said Myrial. “But I could hear nothing.”

“Just as well, I don’t fault you.” Adrina raised an eyebrow and nodded to Galan. “Will you have dinner ordered and brought to us here?”

“Of course, dinner for two,” said Myrial turning, about to hurry away.

“Dinner for three,” said Adrina. “You will be joining us, yes?”

A smile lit Myrial’s face. “If it is your wish, I would enjoy it immensely.”

“No, it is your wish, Myrial. Is it not, Galan?”

Galan laughed.

“It is,” whispered Myrial, turning to Galan. “Do you walk in my thoughts?”

Galan laughed. Adrina found she was unable to keep from laughing as well. Soon Myrial was laughing too. The laughter was cleansing.

Chapter Twelve:

King’s Mate

Vilmos hurriedly retrieved the tiny king piece from the table where he had placed it. Then he and Edward made their way to the stairs. Edward’s large arm returned to Vilmos’ shoulder as they did so and, for an instant, Vilmos thought he would collapse under the tremendous weight.

The stairs creaked and moaned under Edward’s weight as the two slowly descended to the first floor. The large open room below was pleasantly lit with candles hung from the ceiling in raised candelabra. On the center table, in a room filled with tables and chairs, was a large wooden board with small, hand-hewn squares etched into its surface and a number of tiny wooden playing pieces strewn haplessly about.

Edward ushered Vilmos into one of the chairs and turned the board to face them properly. “So you’ve never played before?” asked Edward checking Vilmos’ eyes for honesty. Vilmos shook his head. “Well, I’m going to teach you, so listen closely.”

Vilmos leaned forward.

“Look carefully at the board. You will see it is seven columns wide and nine rows deep. There are… Hold on just a moment, I forgot something.” Edward rose from the table, a slow and careful feat. He poured a draught from a large wooden keg, setting a frothy mug onto the counter momentarily as he tapped a second keg. He then filled a second mug and handed this to Vilmos. A healthy swig left thick foam around the innkeeper’s lips, which when clean-licked roused a smile. “Go ahead try it! I just can’t play without drink—and neither should you!”

Vilmos sniffed at the liquid in the mug. It had an unpleasantly strong odor. He raised the cup to his lips and stuck his tongue in for a taste. To his surprise, the drink held a sweet, tantalizing taste, somewhat like honey. “It’s good!” he exclaimed.

“Why, of course it is,” said Edward. “Now listen closely to what I have to say… Where was I now?” Edward scratched at the thick scales on his forehead. “… Oh, yes. The board has seven raised areas. Five are in its center. These form an ‘X’. The remaining two are in the center of the last row on each end.”

Edward began to organize the pieces. He told Vilmos to put his king—the white king—on the board. The white king had an oversized, jeweled crown on its head and a sheathed sword in its right hand. As Vilmos did this, Edward placed his king—the black king—on the board. The black king wore a dark cape with a circlet of gold for a crown, and held a scepter in its left hand.

The next piece was a knight with a sword raised high into the air. This piece was the swordmaster and one occupied a square on either side of the king. Placed beside the swordmaster on the left was a priest and on the right a priestess. The priests held a long bone in their left hand and their right hand turned palm up contained three round pebbles. The priestesses held a ring of flowers.

As if bookends, two pieces representing Lore Keepers went into the end spaces of the last row. The Lore Keepers bore a great book before them as if it was a weapon—and there was no question in Vilmos’ mind that the book was indeed a weapon in the right hands. He had seen his father, the village counselor, use the book to solve many issues—even heated disputes.

On the next row Edward put five figures. “Fools,” he whispered to Vilmos, as he placed the figures on the board in the first, second, forth, sixth and seventh columns, leaving an empty space in front of the swordmasters and explaining this by saying, “Swordmasters need extra space to maneuver, and fools understand this.”

Intrigued by the game he had seen old men labor over for long hours, though they had never offered to show him how to play, Vilmos listened to Edward’s every word intently. He paused only to drink as Edward did.

Finishing off his mug, Edward went to pour himself another, deciding after he had already filled it to pull the entire keg over next to him so that it would be within arm’s reach. He also filled Vilmos’ half-empty mug before he sat back down.

“Drink up Vilmos! It’s good for you,” said Edward laughing. “Are you ready to begin?”

Vilmos raised the mug to his lips and smiled, indicating a yes.

Edward continued, “All the pieces move differently. It is easiest to remember the moves this way… The king can only move one space at a time but in any direction. The swordmasters may move any number of spaces but must always be adjacent to the king. They revolve around him and rotate around his moves, moving always in direct lines. One must always be in a square touching the king, and the other may be adjacent to the king or the other swordmaster. So you see it is fairly tricky to move these three pieces around the board, particularly as you can only move one piece per turn. So you have to really plan your moves. Are you following me or did I lose you?”

Vilmos shrugged. He understood, somewhat. He would wait to play the game and hope he moved correctly.

As Edward wanted to clarify this point anyway, he went through a few practice moves with the black king and his swordmasters. He moved the left swordmaster forward one square, indicating that it was still adjacent to the black king, and then he moved the right swordmaster diagonally two squares until it rested before the other swordmaster. Edward indicated why this was a valid move. He then moved the king forward one square. He followed through a number of these simple maneuvers until it seemed Vilmos caught on.

“The priest and priestess move diagonally,” Edward said, “in one direction only, any number of spaces on a given turn. Similarly, the keepers may move vertically or horizontally any number of spaces. The fools can only move one space at a time, either forward or backward. That’s how they move…

“Now you must just remember this one last, very important rule. Only the king or the swordmasters may pass through the raised squares or stop on them…”

Vilmos watched as Edward pointed out the locations of the seven raised squares again.

“With one exception— if the king occupies the center raised square, any of the pieces of his color may cross the raised squares, but only for as long as he remains on that space.” Edward stopped to take a heavy swig.

“You capture the pieces according to the direction that the piece you are using moves. Except for the fool, the fool only takes pieces that are diagonal to it. That is why he is called the fool, for he is the only piece that captures other pieces opposite from the way that he moves. The king cannot be captured until both his swordmasters are taken from him… So you must take the swordmasters first in order to capture the king and win… Do you understand?”

Vilmos thought about what Edward said, confused. In his mind, he moved the pieces around the board. He understood that part of the game, but not how to capture another person’s piece. “But how can you capture the king and win if you have to take the swordmasters first?”

“Through sacrifice, Vilmos… Nothing good is gained without sacrifice.”

All the pieces in place now, the game progressed, with Edward observing the defense while Vilmos gradually learned the intricacies. Vilmos was enjoying spending the evening in Edward’s company. Edward’s honest, open, goodhearted spirit was exactly what Vilmos needed to fill the empty spaces of his mind and heart.

After a short period of moving the pieces back and forth, neither gaining nor losing ground, Edward switched to an offensive posture, and with great precision, not losing a piece, he stripped Vilmos of his five fools.

Amazed at how suddenly his pieces had been captured and taken away, for he thought he had been careful, Vilmos became inspired by the strategy involved in maneuvering the pieces. Before, he had been reluctant to attack, yet after Edward’s wave, Vilmos was left with no other choice.

Seeking to recoup some of the losses, he ended up sacrificing his pieces instead. In an amazingly short time he was down to only three pieces: a single swordmaster, a priestess and his white king. A few moves later and the game was over. Edward’s boisterous laughter filled the small inn, echoing long along its halls and through its many empty chambers.

“Again?” asked Vilmos.

Edward took a long swig from his mug. “Again indeed!”

As Edward began to reset the board, Vilmos followed. “They are symbols, aren’t they?” Vilmos asked. “I mean each piece represents something. Right?”

“More than that, I’m afraid.” Edward winked at Vilmos. “The history of King’s Mate is as long as time itself, or at least that is what I was told as a boy. I think that you’ll understand it all one day—no, I’m sure you will.”

Vilmos was quiet for a time as he placed the remaining pieces on the board. The white king he positioned last—and it was the one piece that intrigued him the most. The crown was too big for the king’s head, and while the other king held a weapon—the scepter had a blade at either tip—the white king’s weapon was sheathed and his hands were empty.

“First move is yours,” said Edward. “When you are ready, of course.”

Play began when Vilmos moved one of his fools, but Vilmos’ thoughts were less on the game and more on other matters. “You brought me here. Didn’t you, Edward?”

“I did. Would you rather I left you to the Followers? They’d not be showing you kindness right about now, I assure you. This realm is not yours—and you should be wary of everything you encounter in it.”

“Even you, Edward?” Vilmos looked up from the board.

“Especially me,” said Edward as he captured one of Vilmos’ fools.

“I thought you were my friend. Do you know the shaman, Xith?”

“I do.”

“And?” Edward took a deep swig from his mug and then made his next move but didn’t answer. “And?” repeated Vilmos.

“I’ll tell you one thing Vilmos, and you remember this clearly—and you remember that I’m the one who told you.” Edward sucked at the air nervously, emptied his mug in one great gulp. “You have no friends in this realm or any other—nor will you ever have any true friends. Those you count as friends will all betray you.”

Vilmos blinked several times to be sure he was sitting with the same gentle giant that he had come to know in these past few hours. He found darkness and bitterness in Edward’s words but strangely he wasn’t upset or frightened by them. “Your truth?” asked Vilmos.

“It is my truth.” Edward filled his mug and said nothing further.

Vilmos turned his attention to the game as well.

The two played late into the evening, with Vilmos losing many games and winning none. Eventually his skills and strategies improved though. By the evening’s end he was providing ample challenge for the astute master of King’s Mate.

Chapter Thirteen:

The High Council

“She is really quite remarkable,” said Jacob. “This is the first time I really got to talk with her.”

“Yes she is,” said Adrina. “Who is that with her?”

“Father Francis. He is here for the council session. He wanted to help out.”

Knowing the other’s nature Adrina said, “More like he couldn’t wait to see our guests.”

Jacob smiled and nodded. The two talked for a time, turning from conversation about Seth and Galan to various other subjects, chief of which was the council meeting tomorrow. Adrina was attempting to wedge herself into a seat, and as she talked to Jacob she thought of ways to convince her father. She didn’t want to miss anything that went on within those walls, and if she had it her way, she wouldn’t.

Eventually Father Francis joined them in the hall. Adrina didn’t know much about Francis, only what she had heard from others. She hated to pre-judge someone, but his reputation preceded him. He did appear to be as inquisitive as she had heard, but other than that, she couldn’t confirm the other things. He seemed conservative and knowledgeable. Perhaps that was the reason Jacob had chosen Francis to accompany him today.

The three talked at length. Father Francis was curious about every detail Adrina could give him about Seth and Galan. He pondered her every word and she marveled at his great consideration. By the time the two priests departed, she had a totally different opinion of the pious Father Francis.

Adrina? came the whisper into her mind, the voice was pleasant and feminine. Before she realized whose voice it was, Adrina looked about the vacant hall. Princess Adrina, are you listening?

“Yes,” said Adrina in kind with a whisper, although it was aloud and not a thought. “Can you hear me? I thought you were sleeping.”

Not really. Come into the room. The door swung eerily open at Adrina’s touch. Galan had been trying to sleep but many thoughts clouded her mind. Images of all sorts, pleasant and unpleasant. I heard your voice from the hall. Have you been here long?

“What is your home like?” asked Adrina, a thought she had considered but until now had been afraid to ask.

Galan answered with, It is hard to explain. I do not know what to compare it with. I have not seen your world, your… Galan borrowed the word from Adrina’s mind. Great Kingdom is unknown to me for the most part. I know only what I’ve seen in the south and now here in Imtal.

Adrina frowned. She had hoped to learn more about the elves, anything at all would have helped—this frustration readily filtered to Galan. Adrina had given her and Seth so much. Galan wanted to repay that debt in part, a token of some sort.

“Tomorrow at noon, the council will meet,” said Adrina. “They wish you and Seth to attend. Do you think you will be able?”

Don’t worry so, Princess Adrina. This is the reason we came across the great sea. We must speak before your council. It is what we were destined to do. You can prolong fate only so long, replied Galan, reading Adrina’s innermost concerns. She almost asked Adrina about Seth, but she could feel his presence nearby now. Thoughts of Seth made her happy and she thought of home. In her mind she saw Queen Mother, the palace, and the beauty of her homeland. An idea came to her, she knew how to let Adrina see her world. Adrina, she began. I have an idea… I want you to relax and open your mind to me. I want to show you something…

Adrina didn’t quite understand what Galan meant, but she did relax, and eventually Galan coaxed her into opening her mind. With warm, gentle feelings, Galan stroked Adrina’s mind.

A warm breeze tantalized her skin and a picture began to form before her closed lids, fuzzy at first, then clearing. An enormous palace loomed in the window of her mind. She stood at its foot.

Beautiful, spiraling towers reached up into the heavens. She could reach out and touch them. Peace and happiness flowed and overwhelmed her. She was free, happy.

Abruptly the image blanked, the flow of emotions ebbed. “What’s wrong?” Adrina asked, bewildered, blinking her eyes at the seeming sudden brightness. “What’s wrong? Are you all right, you don’t look so good.”

Nothing, nothing, whispered Galan through tired eyes. She was glad her simple picture had brought Adrina joy. I must rest a bit more, that’s all.

Adrina watched Galan drift back to sleep, soon her own eyes became heavy. As eyelids melted into place Adrina followed Galan into the land of dreams. The face before her eyes was Seth’s, and it lay frozen in the window of her mind against a backdrop of spiraling towers.

When the new day arrived, Adrina greeted it from Galan’s bedside. Galan awoke soon after. The two ate a light breakfast and afterward went to the bathing pool. “Galan, are you listening?” asked Adrina.

They find it very strange when we speak with our minds. Their customs are very different from our own.

I know, yet perhaps it is best if they think us different.

Perhaps not…

Adrina tilted her head back and dipped her long hair into the waters of the bathing pool. “Galan, what’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Galan broke the link with Seth and focused on Adrina. While churning up the waters of the bathing pool, she said, It is nothing. I’m a little confused that’s all… Tell me more about this council of yours. What is it like?

“The Great Council, the High Council, is made up of the ten wisest of the Kingdom. They are chosen for their skill at making decisions and positions—”

Sounds very much like our own council in the Eastern Reaches, said Galan, reading the thoughts before Adrina could put them fully into words and not meaning to cut the princess off. The hot water seeped into her body, soothing and invigorating.

All conversation ended as the two enjoyed the bath. Galan didn’t restore the link with Seth, though he thrust thoughts into her mind two more times. Remembrance of the homeland that seemed so far away came to her, allowing her to think of little else.

When they finished, they found a pair of silken dresses where their discarded gowns had been, put there by the invisible hands of attendants. The same invisible hands that busily dried the princess then fitted one of the dresses.

I cannot wear such as this.

“I have given it to you, it is yours,” said Adrina.

“I am sorry,” began Galan, not realizing she spoke aloud. Her speech flowed with a broken pace, but other than that, it was Kingdom tongue with Kingdom accent—borrowed from Adrina’s mind. “In my homeland… one of my office cannot wear such as this. My robe of office is a subdued shade of red. I am only the second, Brother Seth is the first.”

Seth cut in, You are not in your homeland, Brother Galan.

“You must take it, the tailors made it especially for you. It is for the council meeting. I won’t let you sit before our upper council in a house robe.”

Seth, we are in a private conversation… Galan clipped the link forcefully, even though she had been the one to re-establish it.

You’re still angry about our earlier conversation. Forget it, you owe me nothing. Nothing, remember that… We shall sit before the council and you are to do as told, threw in Seth, just before the link broke.

Adrina slipped the dress around Galan’s shoulders before any further objections could be offered. The fit was perfect. Cool silk against her skin sent tingles through her body. She had never before worn silk.

“It is truly beautiful,” she whispered, “Thank you!”

The time for relaxation and reflection over, the two hurriedly found Seth. Within minutes, Seth, Galan and Adrina waited in the antechamber of the council hall. Adrina assured them the wait would only be a few minutes. Seth’s mind flowed fluidly in and out of conscious thought while Adrina and Galan talked. He remembered sitting in the antechamber of another hall, far away.

Seth, called out Galan, What do you think? She hadn’t considered that she would be interrupting his thoughts.

I’m going to probe their thoughts, Galan. I need to know their intentions before we go in. And I need to know if their— Seth touched Adrina’s mind slightly, —King Andrew is akin to our Queen Mother.

You shouldn’t, said Galan, Adrina’s thoughts are open and she won’t mind the intrusion.

Don’t worry, they can’t detect it, and besides, her thoughts are prejudiced. King Andrew is her father.

Despite Galan’s cautioning eye, Seth reached out to those within the hall, wandering in through the eyes of a broad-shouldered, broad-backed man seated upon a high-mounted chair. He gazed out through those eyes, regarding those that were gathered before him, seeing only the faces, nothing more. He heard their voices and followed their conversation, silently joining them.

“Out with it, captain, have the rumors been confirmed or not?”

“No, Keeper Martin, they have not.” The captain grimaced.

“Get on with it man,” demanded the black-robed priest.

“Father Tenuus, please contain yourself,” said King Andrew.

“You must excuse me, sire. I am not well. I think I have the chancellor’s cold,” replied the priest.

A raucous laughter erupted from the chamber, audible even behind the closed doors.

“Then we should proceed as planned, sire,” said another priest, the white ribbons of his office decorating the dark sleeves of his robe.

“Yes, Father Jacob,” said King Andrew, “I should think so.” He turned to regard the captain then, “Send word to the garrison. Keep the patrols light but keep them steady. We do not want any more problems.”

The captain’s frown broadened as he waited for the king to finish.

“This should be a matter you handle yourself.” King Andrew paused, regarding Captain Brodst. “Is there something wrong? Or should we find another who is more willing?”

“Sire, there is none more willing to serve than I… You have my word and my oath of honor,” quickly returned the captain as his eyes darted about the room. There was a look of pain as if he had been stung. “Sire, I mean no disrespect but—”

“But what?” demanded Andrew.

“It is nothing, sire. By your leave, sire,” said the captain excusing himself.

Silence followed. A set of doors opened. Seth saw a long, unhappy face stare back at the king from the doorway. The eyes were not quite angry, rather, openly displeased and the frown quickly shifted to a scowl.

The captain looked away. His footsteps echoed across the chamber once more and the doors were closed behind him.

“Father Tenuus?” said King Andrew. “You know what to do. Correct?”

“Yes, sire,” said the priest.

“Good, very good,” said Andrew. “And father, ensure that the poor captain doesn’t discover our little ploy. The celebrations will commence on the Seventh day and carry forward to the next. Imtal has not forgotten the deed!”

“Yes, sire,” said Father Tenuus smiling. He regarded the king, and in his eyes Seth saw a mix of admiration and adulation.

“Ensure the captain has an enjoyable time but have Swordmaster Timmer keep a close eye on him. We want him fit. Remember, no swordplay other than the trials. And Chancellor Yi?” The chancellor turned to regard the king. “What of your sources in the Free City, what do they tell you?”

Chancellor Yi looked about the chamber, seeming hesitant to speak.

“Out with it! What is the lay of it? Is it the same as we thought or not?”

“Yes, sire, I believe it is,” said Yi, a hint of submission in his voice.

“Good, send something special to our mutual benefactor in Solntse.”

“I will at once, sire,” replied the venerable chancellor. “Is this the end of the previous business? Are we then on to those waiting?”

King Andrew nodded, sitting straighter in his chair as he looked about the room.

Suddenly the antechamber doors opened. Seth’s mind jumped for an instant back to the High Council of East Reach. I know what I must do, Queen Mother, he whispered.

“His Royal Majesty, King Andrew, King of Great Kingdom, requests the presence Elf Seth and Elf Galan, friends of the realm.”

Seth stood and took Galan by the hand. As he walked into the audience hall, he said in the polite form of his people, “I am Brother Seth of the humble Order of the Red.”

“I am Brother Galan, also of the Order of the Red,” added Galan.

Both spoke aloud.

“Welcome unto High Council of Great Kingdom! Please be seated,” said Chancellor Yi. Father Jacob graciously indicated the two seats the elves were to occupy on one side of a large, triangular-shaped table.

Seth drank in the influence the hall held over the mind in one glance as he sat. The king and his advisors were seated on the longest side of the triangle. Others, like Seth and Galan, were seated on the short sides of the triangle, turned at an angle to each other and the king. The high vaulted ceiling, accented by each cutting rib with their intricate tierceron design. The table massed in the center of the hall, following each diagonal cross-section of the vaulting above, with three carefully placed groups of five chairs per side. The enormous oaken pews leading out in three concentric rows. All hinted at an unusual balance of power that Seth wished he understood.

The chamber emanated a subtle power all its own, perhaps it was the gathered knowledge of the men who sat within it or perhaps it was due to the design, Seth couldn’t tell which, although both seemed very real possibilities to him, and here he felt at home. The hall reminded him of another place far away, that place, too, held a far-reaching power.

Keeper Martin spoke first. As head of the Lore Keepers, he spoke the words best that King Andrew wished expressed. “Brother Seth, we of the council of ten have many questions about you and your people, as we are sure you have of ours. The first question we must direct to you pertains to the purpose of your journey. What has brought you to our lands? Why have you come now?”

“I would gladly answer all your questions,” said Seth closing his eyes, breathing in the profound air around him before he began again. “Once, long ago, our people, the Elves of the Reaches, came to your aid in your hour of need.

“The ancient evil has come to our lands now. We are under siege. If you do not help us this evil will spread to your lands—and it will spread until it dominates the world. For this is its goal. Even as I speak armies gather, the war begins, and such a war there hasn’t been in generations of your kind.”

Keeper Martin stood and turned to the king, speaking the king’s will. “You speak of things of which we have no recollection. The Elves of Old are our enemy. We count you, Seth, and you, Galan, friends, only because of your actions in the south and because of the word of a friend who is unknown to this council.”

“I have been granted the right to speak truth by my queen and to show truth. If you would allow me to do so, it will only take a moment of your time.”

Chancellor Yi tapped his staff to indicate approval.

“Keeper Martin, do you recall the Battle of Quashan’ and the injury you received during the battle?”

“But of course,” said Martin. “The battle was turning against us and in the rush to get to Princess Adrina’s company I took a wound—an arrow in the side. Elf Galan removed the arrow, and may have saved my life as well that day.”

“On that day Galan did more than remove an arrow. She gave you a gift for safekeeping, for we were unsure that we would survive the day but Galan foresaw that you would—and that you would one day share the gift with this council. I would ask your permission to remove that gift from your person and share it.”

“But I have no recollection of a gift and I carry nothing on my person.”

“Exactly,” said Seth, “The gift is within you, in the place made by the arrow.”

Chancellor Yi tapped the floor to quell the growing murmurs but that didn’t work to bring silence. Only King Andrew’s raised hand brought silence.

If you will allow me, whispered Galan to Keeper Martin as she moved toward him. I will reach my hand within you and remove the item. It will be painless—I assure you.

As Galan began to reach within Martin’s robes, the keeper put out his hand to the guards who were coming to his aid. “It is all right. There is nothing to fear. Galan means me no harm.”

Please stand still, Keeper Martin, it will only be a moment. You shouldn’t feel any pain. Galan’s hand melted into Martin’s side, and when she removed it she held a slender rod. She handed the rod to Seth.

Seth removed a thin casing from the rod. He began to unwrap the scroll within. “May I read this?” he asked. “You will find it—”

Chancellor Yi cut in, “Why have you waited until now to return to our lands, only in time of need? Why did you not tell this to those who found you? Wouldn’t that have made more sense?”

Seth turned to the chancellor, reaching out with his hand and pointing a sinewy finger. “Chancellor, as a member of the High Council, you know why we left your lands and why we haven’t returned. Your kind drove us away… in the Race Wars all was destroyed.”

Wide-eyed the old chancellor sat back, leaning away from Seth’s outstretched hand. He did not make further comment. Keeper Martin quickly stepped in, saying, “Brother Seth, please continue.”

As with the chancellor, however, King Andrew didn’t want Seth to speak. He stood purposefully, and when he did so all eyes in the room went to his. “We are in a time when the careful peace we have had these many past years has been broken, and we are working to repair the damage to prevent the collapse of the Kingdom Alliance.” The silver of Seth’s skin and the odd color of his eyes called to Andrew as he spoke. “Our new alliances with the South will ensure peace, and we have no desire to bring war to our door or to carry out war on a distant shore.”

Seth switched from talking aloud to speaking with his mind. A whisper of his thoughts met each person sitting around the table, touching King Andrew last. Then Seth spoke aloud with purpose, “I waited for this moment when I could sit before your council and address it as an equal. I wanted to know the thoughts in your minds, your concerns and most importantly your reactions. This is why I waited. These words were meant for me to speak, and not from a sick bed.”

To hold the others in check, Seth switched to thought, sending words and emotions, But standing before you! War will come to your door and when it does it will be too late. You must act now! The Elves of the Reaches need your support, do not wait until it is too late.

Directing his words to Andrew and others who he could see were confused, Father Jacob jumped into the conversation. “Do not be alarmed! As I have told you, Seth and Galan can speak with their minds.”

Brother Seth speaks the truth. Please, you must help us! The voice that touched their thoughts was Galan’s. Let him speak from the scroll and all will be clear.

Chancellor Yi thumped his staff. “Brother Seth, when you speak of support, what type of support do you mean?”

“Ships, men, supplies! We need all you can spare and we need quick action beyond all other things!”

“We need to know more of your lands and your enemy. Speak to convince his majesty. In this instance, we, the council, are echoes of his will and serve only to raise questions and get answers.”

The tide of the conversation flowed heavily back and forth, growing heated at times, stopping at other times. Seth carried on the debate with Galan acting as his support. The discussion went long into the afternoon with the council considering each point and counterpoint carefully.

Seth was never allowed to read from the scroll.

Chapter Fourteen:

A Lonely Path

Two days came and went, with Vilmos spending most of his time on the opposite side of a playing board from Edward. Although the break was enjoyable, Vilmos was growing increasingly anxious for Xith’s return.

The inn was an unusually empty place, with Edward and Vilmos being the sole occupants. In the three days not a single visitor or traveler arrived. Vilmos would often glance out the window when he heard a noise hoping it was Xith, usually it was the wind rattling the shutters. Edward noticed this and often told Vilmos not to worry, his friend would find him soon enough. Vilmos fretted nonetheless.

Vilmos and Edward were in the middle of yet another game of King’s Mate. So far Vilmos had lost three of his fools and his keeper. Edward had not lost a single piece. Vilmos did, however, have his king in the center raised square, which meant for a time he controlled the board.

Cleverly, Vilmos swung his second swordmaster onto an adjacent raised square, now it could not be taken. Edward thought long and hard and only after careful calculation did he move his priestess diagonally forward to endanger Vilmos’ first swordmaster.

Vilmos rotated the swordmaster around the King, taking one of Edward’s fools. This left Vilmos in a position to take a keeper or swordmaster the next turn.

Edward could not counter the move. He sought to gain by a loss. He moved his swordmaster, hoping Vilmos would claim the keeper.

Vilmos studied the board. The keeper was an easy piece to take, but the bold move was to take nothing and move his priest adjacent to Edward’s king and swordmaster. Vilmos could not take the king while the swordmasters remained. He would wait until Edward tried to claim the priest. The priest was backed up by his own keeper, which in turn was further supported by a swordmaster, which could swing one space further to the left if necessary. The play was tight and tricky, but Vilmos attempted it.

Edward smiled at the move—it was amateurish. He quickly devoured Vilmos’ swordmaster with his priestess. A broad smirk was evident on his face, until in a series of quick and calculated maneuvers Vilmos stripped four of Edward’s pieces: the priestess with which Edward had taken his swordmaster, the swordmaster which had been backed by the priestess, the keeper Edward could do nothing to protect, and, lastly, Edward’s only remaining swordmaster. Now Edward’s king was without protection.

Edward could do nothing to prevent Vilmos from taking the pieces, only sit back and watch with amazement. Wide eyes replaced the smile. Edward couldn’t maneuver his king out of the trap. In another move it was check. In one more, the game was over.

“Where were you hiding those moves? That was brilliant—your best playing!”

Vilmos held the black king in his hand. The ebony from which it was carved was cold and, though the piece itself was smooth, Vilmos felt as if the carved edges could slice into his fingers. “I just did as you said. I sacrificed the priest to gain the king.”

Edward chuckled. “Do you know in all the years I’ve been playing that I’ve never been defeated? I’ve never lost until just now—and it was a grand loss at that! Brilliant play—you finally started to think like a King’s Mate player and not like a boy playing Cross Rocks!”

“You are the one who told me to think five moves ahead. I tried that, honestly—but it took more than five moves to win. It was like I could see the board in my mind, how it would change with each option, and each option’s option. Paths crisscrossed, the checked spaces of the board blurred and then everything become … became—”

“Real,” said Edward. “Real, as if you were living the game rather than playing. Yes?” Vilmos held out the black king to Edward. Edward took the king and started setting his pieces on the board. “One more game and then we’ll call it a night. Okay?”

Adrina had recounted every moment of the attack to Emel and the mere mention of Oshywon was enough to convince him that the attack was much more than it seemed. If there was anything a summer at High Road taught him, it was this: the lost kingdom did not exist and any dim-witted soul who said otherwise ended up at the wrong end of a blade. Gutted, usually neatly—split down the middle like a ripe melon. He had no aspirations to end that way, but he would make inquiries all the same. It was an important tidbit, more so than anything else Adrina had said, too important to let go.

He paced back and forth, his movements erratic. The supply caravan was already a day’s ride away. Ebony could catch them and they could easily make their way to the east—if he was smart, if he would let what was lost stay lost. A few seasons in the Territories, that’s all it would take. He would return, the dark days, the dark desires, would be behind him.

Foolish. Foolish to be sure. Why couldn’t he listen to reason?

He threw up his hands, batted his head against the wall. Crazy. Crazy thoughts—not foolish.

For good measure he batted his head against the wall again but this didn’t bring reason. He picked up his rucksack and went down to the stables, making his way to Ebony. The stalls for the horses of lesser knights and other riders were at the far end.

Ebony was already saddled and bridled. His bedroll, sword and other belongings were in a pack on the ground nearby. The sack he carried now contained mostly food, the necessities of the road: hard bread, jerky, nuts and seed meal.

He checked Ebony’s saddle and rubbed the stallion’s mane. “Soon,” he whispered, “I promise.”

He put the packs in place. The sword went on top of everything, at the ready and, as when riding the High Road, he tucked a half dozen throwing daggers into each side of the saddle. The dagger he tucked into his belt at the back made thirteen. Another thing a summer on the High Road had taught him was how to survive the wilds.

As he rode Ebony out of the stable he shook a fist at the early afternoon sun. He would ride hard, fast. With luck he would catch the caravan near Mellack or Ispeth.

“Chase the wind,” Emel whispered to Ebony as they exited Imtal’s gates, “Chase the wind.” He looked back as he reached the low hills of the Braddabaggon, but by then his resolve was firm.

Ebony reared, turning as if in salute, then carried Emel down the long lonely road ahead.

“Is it or isn’t it?” asked King Andrew. He and Chancellor Yi were the only ones in the council chambers. The others had been dismissed.

“Sire, a moment I beg of you.”

“No more patience this day, Chancellor Yi. Guess if you must—a sensible guess—but a guess all the same! Is it or isn’t it?”

Not one easily bothered, Chancellor Yi maintained his position, the eyepiece fixed in his hand as he studied the parchment paper. “In my opinion—”

“Opinions be damned!” shouted King Andrew, “Tell me!”

“It is. Yes, it is.” Chancellor Yi sat bolt upright and looked directly at the king. He handed Andrew both scrolls, saying, “They are identical. Both penned by the same hand, with the same ink, signed in blood.”

King Andrew handed the chancellor the lamp. “Burn them, burn them!”

“But, sire, the history, these have been—”

Andrew grabbed the scrolls, tossed them into the fire, threw the oil lamp in after to make sure the fire burned hot. “Let fire cleanse this away! We will have not another word of this! Keeper Martin must not know. The elves must not know. Understood?”

Chancellor Yi withstood the king’s glare. “Surely the past cannot be lost forever. The truth of it will be heard. The Alder would not have—”

“The Alder doesn’t have to live in the present. We cannot undo what has been done. Elves and men must remain as they have remained. It is my will—it is also the will of the people. I can feel it, I know this.”

“Their road is a lonely one is it not then? To have come all this way—to have failed.”

King Andrew sighed. The weight of the world was on his shoulders. “It is what it is. No more, no less… Come now, tell me of the spring plans—that’s a subject of less weight.”

Chancellor Yi went back to the table. “The trust deeds for the lands from Heman to Klaive along River Opyl. Your quill, sire.”

King Andrew nodded as he signed the trust deed. Chancellor Yi pressed the royal seal into the paper. “Any troubles with Family Heman?”

“Odwynne Heman took the offer well and gave her word to bide by the agreements. She’s the family matriarch, I don’t expect any dissent. She seemed pleased with the landholdings offered and of the fact that you may possibly hold her favor at court.”

“Has the work begun? Adrina is…” King Andrew’s voice trailed off.

“It will be a grand house—a grand house indeed by spring. Klaive masons are building a protective wall around a large courtyard and construction will start soon. The river trade is good, tree and fir. The coast trade abundant with fish and crab. A place to prosper.”

“A place to prosper,” said Andrew. “Imtal will truly be an empty place then, won’t it?”

“It may be wise to call Valam home, sire. South Province has prospered. The people think him wise, generous—and the Battle of Quashan’ has only further endeared him. His presence in Imtal would be a good thing. If he took charge of the councils and day ceremony, it would further prepare him for the crown. King Jarom will surely see this as a sign of strength—and certainty that the crown will go to Valam is a good thing. His daughter will be of age soon and their binding will be as a consummation of his desires.”

“Indeed,” said King Andrew.

Edward pored over every option. There was visible strain in the air. Vilmos stretched out his arms and shifted frequently in his chair. His backside was sore and numb. They had been sitting for hours. His weariness distracted his attention, but he would not yield.

In the first hours of the game not a piece had been taken or exchanged; the field was held in a careful ballet. Outside the inn the gentle light of morning was forming on the horizon. Neither noticed. Nor did they take note when dawn gave way to the bright sunshine of a new day.

Edward wiped a dew-like perspiration from his brow without taking his eyes from the board or moving his other hand—the hand that rested on his king. He cursed under his breath, moved the king from the center square.

Waiting for Vilmos to make his next move, Edward watched the board, estimating which pieces Vilmos could move where and how he could counter. When Vilmos made the move Edward surmised he would, another offensive push toward center, Edward was ready for the counter. Before moving, Edward checked the alternatives.

A smile formed when Vilmos saw Edward’s move. Suddenly, weariness and fatigue were replaced by elation. He set in with a precise attack—a series of moves he had been saving for the right moment.

The intensity of the game built as Vilmos claimed his stake of Edward’s pieces. On the run, Edward pulled his pieces back to defensive positions to prevent the capture of his king.

The wind outside picked up, though neither noticed; their attention was lost to the board, each carefully deducing the next move, the next counter. Vilmos was ready to make a claim for victory, soon he would push Edward into a corner from which he could not escape. He grinned, purposefully stalled as he sipped from a near-empty glass, brought his hand to the board, perhaps toying with the expectant expression on Edward’s face. He would move the white priestess diagonally up the board to put the black king in check once more.

Vilmos eyed the dark king as he slowly brought the priestess across the board. He was lifting his fingers from the board and Edward was contemplating his next move when the wind outside surged, and in a sudden sweeping crash, the windows of the inn shattered.

Tattered shards still clattered to the floor as a voice rang out, a savage, eerie voice that slurred the words together into a fervent snarl. “Remain seated or you both die!”

Edward looked up from the board. “Can you not see we are in the middle of a game? And you’ll pay for the windows, there was no need for any of that!”

Three hair-covered beasts stood inside the inn, one at the door, the speaker, with a henchman to either side of him. Edward glared at the intruders. Each was heavily armored in the typical banded mail of their kind, with weapons at the ready.

Edward knew these beasts well. He had seen them many times before, though he had never been a victim of their assault. They were the paid hunters of Under-Earth; the half-animal, half-human race disgusted him. He watched the leader, who was watching him back. Saliva dripping from the beast’s upturned canine fangs as it licked its hair-covered face was a sign. The beast was on a hunt.

“What is it you seek?” asked Edward as he stood, trying both to gain time to think and to place the oddly familiar voice.

“We wish no harm. We seek out the boy. Give him to us,” hissed the beast through its wolf-like mouth, saliva dripping with each word slapping the floor.

Edward turned to Vilmos. “Sorry about this, lad. It is as it must be.”

The beast nodded to his fellows. “Leave the other. Take the boy.”

Edward cleared his throat. “What good is this boy anyway? Not much of a meal. Not much of anything, really. You must be mistaken, maybe the one you seek is upstairs in the far room on the right?”

The beast sniffed at the air. “Upstairs on the right?”

“Came in yesterday from the road. Strange looking, an outrealmer for sure. Not like my servant boy here.” Edward grabbed Vilmos by the scruff of the shirt. “Stole those clothes there, didn’t you?”

Vilmos didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. Words wouldn’t come to his lips.

“Didn’t you?” shouted Edward.

Chapter Fifteen:

The Final Game

Edward hesitated, carefully edging toward the hunter beasts, placing himself between them and Vilmos. “You are disturbing our game! I have nothing against the Hunter Clan, nor does my boy servant. Now if you will take your business upstairs and away, we will continue.”

“Just do as ordered!” shouted the beast leader as he pointed his double-edged blade at Edward.

“You are making a mistake,” said Edward. He gripped the chair beside him, eyeing closely the two crossbows of the henchmen. “Surely, you can lower your weapons. A mere boy and a fat troant can’t hurt you. Go upstairs and find your bounty.”

“Lies,” screamed the beast. “Lies!”

Edward belted the closest beast with the chair, knocking it to the ground; its crossbow bolt triggered, flew harmlessly into the ceiling. The other beast shot Edward cleanly in the leg.

“Run, Vilmos, run!” Edward shouted as he toppled the table.

Vilmos ran to the stairs. He shifted his gait to the right just in time—a bolt whizzed by his head. At the top of the stairs he stopped and peered over the rail. Only then did he consider his actions. How could he just leave Edward? He had to do something to help but what? Why did he run upstairs?

“Freeze!” shouted the beast leader, “Don’t move!”

“Run, Vilmos! Don’t look back, go find the shaman!” shouted Edward.

Vilmos heard the desperation in Edward’s voice. He didn’t want to, but he was scared, so he ran.

Edward launched at the attackers. He took one step, a bolt pierced his chest. The pain was immediate and excruciating. Edward winced, determined. He had been in worse places before and survived. He had given the shaman his sacred word he would watch over and protect Vilmos.

“Up!” shouted the beast leader as he displayed his sword at the henchman sprawled on the floor. The beast scrambled to its feet and picked up its weapon. The second beast licked its furry mouth and reloaded its crossbow. “Quit while ahead and life in your veins,” said the leader.

The pain was great but did not stop Edward. He shook a defiant fist and took another step. His wounded leg, slow to respond to his wishes, caused him to limp.

He snapped a leg off one of the chairs and bore it before him.

Two more bolts pierced Edward’s body. He slumped harshly and suddenly to the floor. His eyes wandered to the stairs just as Vilmos disappeared down the hall. Life drained from his limbs.

Just like these men, Seth directed to Galan—it was almost a curse. They lied! The Kingdom is hardly returning to a state of peace… They fear their neighbor’s every action. They greeted us with the same fear.

Galan touched her hand to Seth’s shoulder, whispering into his mind alone, We have done our best; they will listen. It is fated…

Adrina, unable to hear their private thoughts, said, “Today is not yesterday. You’ll see. The waiting will be over soon. Do you want me to send for refreshments?” She was trying—in the only way she knew how—to be helpful.

Princess Adrina, we do not want any refreshments, shot back Seth, his thoughts angry.

He didn’t mean that, Adrina. Did you, Seth? Galan directed the thoughts now, Seth, how could you? She didn’t deserve that. She is not the one you are angry with. Are we so far away from our homeland that Queen Mother’s love cannot find and fill our hearts?

Seth was worried. He had perceived the many turnings in the conversation. The decision could go either way and waiting helped nothing, it only furthered his doubts.

Pretending she had not heard Seth’s remark, Adrina tried again to spark a conversation. Galan tried to join in at first, but after a time she too became quiet.

The hours drifted by. Each falling into the next with slow persistence.

As her unease grew, Adrina had to restrain herself. She wanted to burst through the double doors. The antechamber doors had been open before. She had heard most of the discussion. She didn’t understand the need to delay or why they were deliberating. And she understood Seth’s bitterness. She had been so driven once.

Determined to break the silence, she did so. “Are you hungry? We can lunch here if so.” Galan admitted she was hungry, as did Seth after Galan prodded him. Adrina found a servant and sent him to the kitchen to bring a light meal.

The servant had just returned when the great doors opened and Seth and Galan were beckoned to come back to the triangular council table. Even before he sat Seth read the thoughts of the council members. He knew the choice of everyone in the room. He could only sit and listen to the resolution as Chancellor Yi spoke it.

“Unanimous decision,” said Chancellor Yi. “We understand the hardship of your journey and regret the decision, but we cannot support you in your endeavor. The meeting is concluded.”

Seth hurled a wave of his will through the minds of the council, forcing tears. His anger was non-selective, so even Adrina, seated in the antechamber, felt it.

Seth, win through diplomacy, directed Galan to Seth’s mind alone, Use your knowledge; hope is not lost!

Seth searched their minds, seeking the ones who understood what was at hand. “Keeper Martin, you know the ways of Aven and Riven—you must. Surely you of all people know the truth of what I speak. You know what must be done. How can you sit idle? I have given the scroll to Chancellor Yi surely you have read it?”

Keeper Martin raised an eyebrow as he turned to the chancellor and back to Seth.

You haven’t, directed Seth to Keeper Martin. They didn’t tell you, did they?

Seth turned to Father Jacob—the priest was another who should see truth. “Mother Earth cries out! The Father begs you listen! Can you not see this? Can you not feel the waters crest?”

Seth turned to Chancellor Yi. The decision was not a unanimous one! You have tangled the truth with lies! You haven’t told anyone of the scroll?

Chancellor Yi stood, indignation on his face. “Brother Seth, we understand the way you feel—the decision was unanimous and final. We will hold no further discussion, please, no more outbursts!”

Galan held a restraining hand on Seth’s leg. Seth glared and screamed into her mind, Fear and anger are emotions these men heed most often! Let them see anger and let them know fear!

Seth wait, faith! returned Galan, Look to Adrina…

The council grew quiet. Galan squeezed her nails into Seth’s leg as his emotions flared.

Chancellor Yi turned to King Andrew, “The resolution stands. I move to dismiss the council.” King Andrew nodded. The chancellor said, “The meeting is at an end.”

No, Seth, no! directed Galan to Seth, but her words of restraint could not stop him. Just as Adrina passed into the chamber from the anteroom, Seth jumped from his chair and began to lash out. The council cowered back from him, truly afraid, while those around King Andrew moved between their king and Seth.

Adrina stared openly at Seth and he stopped. Her eyes next fell on Father Jacob. She did not say a word, but her gaze forced words to Jacob’s mouth. “Perhaps a review is in order, Your Majesty. There are some things that I have not stated, things that—”

King Andrew glared at the priest.

Keeper Martin said, “I believe Father Jacob has a point, perhaps we have been overly cautious. Our own concerns are centered on the affairs of the South. Perhaps our view is narrow. I would second the motion for a review. This decision is best not made hastily.”

Chancellor Yi scoffed and held his ground.

King Andrew said, “A second has been put forth. Are there any who would object to a review tomorrow?”

Tomorrow? screamed Seth.

Seth! Galan directed the thoughts. Faith!

Adrina cast an angry glare around the chamber, then escorted Galan and Seth outside. Feelings of disappointment flowed through her mind as she walked alongside the two. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I should have requested an audience with my father to discuss this yesterday. If he saw what I saw in Quashan’, through my eyes, the decision might have been different.”

No, said Seth, It is the will of the Father. We will try again tomorrow and this time we will not fail. I am truly sorry about my behavior. There is no excuse for it. I hope you will be gracious enough to forgive me.

“I know what it is to be so driven,” whispered Adrina to herself, forgetting that the two could read minds.

Tomorrow then, said Seth.

“Then you have a plan?”

I will find one.

“Can you not show them your world? Perhaps then they will understand,” said Adrina forgetting that Galan had been exhausted after the momentary image gifted to a single mind.

Show them my world, repeated Seth as he reached into Adrina’s mind.

Galan’s face showed fear. No, you mustn’t! We will find another way! Promise you won’t?

Seth tightened the seal on his mind and walked away.

Emel cursed. He should have been halfway to Mellack but he wasn’t.

He waited, a bit claustrophobic in the small space behind the door. As the door swung open he stifled a breath. As the door swung closed he swept passed, clasping a hand firmly to the girl’s mouth.

“Not a word,” he whispered. “Be still and this will be over quickly.”

She bit him. He removed his hand, started to say something. She spoke first. “Take what you want and be quick. You’ll do nothing that hasn’t been done before.”

Emel swung Myrial around. “Well then. This will be quick, won’t it?”

“I thought you had gone?” Myrial’s heart raced. “You should have gone.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone to council with the elves some hours ago. Why are you sneaking around?”

“Indeed why?” said another voice. Emel and Myrial turned as Adrina slipped into the room from the private entry door. “What are you doing here, Emel? You should have been at Ispeth by now.”

Emel was still holding Myrial’s wrists. He let go as his eyes went from Myrial to Adrina. “Orders have changed, I’m to go to High Road instead.”

“High Road?” Adrina said it like it was a dirty word. “That can’t be.”

“I’ve come back for the orb. I think I’ll need it. Have you learned anything about it that will be useful?”

“Nothing.” Adrina looked to Myrial then back to Emel. “You don’t want it. It’s nothing but a bauble, you said so yourself.”

Emel went to Adrina’s writing table. “Is it here?”

Adrina moved between Emel and the desk. “I think it’s best left here. If you must go to High Road your thoughts should be on other things.”

Myrial moved beside Adrina, reaching for the small leather pouch hidden away within the desk. Emel stopped her, grabbing her hand and the pouch. “Don’t worry so. I’m thinking clearly, Adrina. I know what I must do.”

“Don’t do this for me. I don’t want you to—I’d rather you went to the Territories.”

Realizing he was still holding Myrial’s hand which cupped the pouch, Emel snatched the pouch away and took a step back. “Tell me what you know about the orb. I will do my part in this. Not for you, but because I want to.”

Myrial turned up Emel’s hand, opened the drawstrings on the pouch, removed the orb. “Rub it in your hands,” she said. “Squeeze and focus. The power flows.”

Adrina was surprised and it showed.

“I have eyes,” said Myrial. “I’ve seen you with it—I’ve tried it.”

“Then you must know?”

“I know—I know very well the pull of it.”

“Galan said I must find control or it would control me. She’s teaching me how to breathe and focus. If you don’t do this, the emotions—the anger—”

“I don’t plan to use it, Adrina. I’m not a believer. I think though that if I have it my task will be easier. When I’ve finished I’ll return it to you if it’s possible.”

Adrina took the orb from Myrial. Emel tried to grab it away and for a few seconds both their hands touched the orb. Adrina’s eyes grew wide. “Oshywon,” she said, “What’s lost should stay lost.”

“How could you possibly know?”

Adrina put her hand over the top of Emel’s. “Think any thought and—” Her face went red. “Well except that! Think something else—yes, you should’ve removed Ebony’s bridle and saddle. It’s going to be a long night.”

Emel snatched back his hand as if the orb and Adrina’s touch had burned him. “You couldn’t possibly know—”

“You’re not going anywhere this evening so forget that notion of sneaking away as well,” said Adrina, “We have things to do—all of us!”

“I’d rather—”

“No,” said Adrina smiling. “You’re not going anywhere…” She turned to Myrial. “What him, watch him close. I’ve to see the elves, I’ll be back shortly.”

Chapter Sixteen:

Across the Distance

Seth leaned back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was lost in thought.

Galan attempted sleep but found none. Slowly her eyes found Seth. She stayed an urge to go to him but that didn’t stop her from thinking about him. She owed him so much and it hurt to feel the pain that flowed from his thoughts. She wished she could do something—anything that could take away the pain.

The floor was cold against Galan’s bare feet. Lost in his plight, Seth didn’t notice her approach. A small voice told her not to go to him, yet a larger voice urged her on. She took the next step carefully and deliberately, knowing what it meant. Her conscious held her no more. There could be no turning back now.

She was about to lie beside Seth when a light knocked summoned at the door. Seth looked up, Galan started. She retied the strands she held, fixing her dress into place, moving directly to the door.

She touched a hand to the door, reaching out to the one who stood there. Yes? What is it?

She opened the door, pointed to Seth.

Father Jacob seemed disappointed to find Adrina absent, having wanted to speak to her as well as to the elves. “I wanted to speak to you about earlier. There are things that you don’t—”

—Save your words, good Father Jacob. The fault rests on no one other than me. I should have seen this. I should have known…

“Brother Seth, I must insist. Keeper Martin and I have been talking. We—”

Latching onto Jacob’s hand, Galan led him from the chamber. Go, we will manage. She watched his retreating form until it mingled with the night shadows of the corridor. Thank you, she sent after him.

Seth returned to his thoughts, reviewing every word of the council, searching for where he had erred, already knowing what he must do.

Galan closed the door. For a time she stood quietly watching Seth. She would have turned away had the impulse not returned.

She crossed to Seth’s bedside and touched delicate fingers to his hand, crouching down beside him and pressing her lips against his.

A circle of heat bathed the two forms pressed tightly one against the other. Galan redirected her will now, probing with emotion absent of thought. A single finger traced her curves and briefly Seth returned the passion that flowed to him.

Reality soon crept in. Seth reached deep within to find restraint. He touched a finger to Galan’s lips. No more, I cannot. We must not.

Is this not what you have longed for? Galan asked, tears in her eyes. Brother Liyan told me of your heart before we left Kapital. He told me to understand the desire even if those feelings did not find me. Such feelings are not lost on me. I need you beside me this night.

Seth put his arm around her, closed his eyes. Before he drifted away to sleep he created a wall of thought around them to ensure the night would not be disturbed again.

Vilmos ran across a dusty plain without knowing how he had gotten there. The last thing he remembered was running up the stairs of the inn. Nervously, he glanced over his shoulder, catching glimpses of the inn and its surrounding structures. It seemed no one followed.

He didn’t know where he could go. He didn’t know anything about this area or Under-Earth. He could run, but to where he did not know. He did know that he must find Xith.

Find the shaman, run, that’s what Edward told him—and he was running. He was running as fast as his legs could carry him, faster than he had ever run before.

There was a small rise behind the inn. He was running up it when he slipped, falling backward, twisting. He stood to find he was staring at the inn instead of up the hill. The world was still spinning so he couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t spinning with it.

He was about to turn back up the hill when his thoughts registered what he saw—horses, strange, abnormally large, but horses just the same. He had never seen such a wondrous sight, then he wondered if he could get to the horses before the hunter beasts found him.

Before he made a decision his feet were running toward the three black horses tethered at the back of the inn. The first horse screamed and reared up to the limit of its tether when he approached.

He backed away, keeping a wary distance, approaching a different horse, one that did not shy away.

Perhaps it was fear or the rush of adrenaline, but he had ridden for nearly an hour before he realized that he had escaped—or so it seemed. He also realized that he had never been on a horse before without someone alongside him to help him along. He felt suddenly alone and confused. Where was he riding to? Was there anywhere he could go that would be safe? Where was Xith?

He reigned in the horse. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. It was in that moment, when all the world seemed to echo the thump-thump-thump in his ears, that he could feel the wildness of the land. It was speaking to him, calling out, telling him to go.

Driven by the voice, Vilmos rode. It wasn’t until much later after he calmed and his heart stopped pounding in his ears that he started to wonder why the hunter beasts never followed him. Images of the gnarl-faced beasts still chilled his thoughts. He wondered what had become of Edward, momentarily refusing to accept that Edward might be dead.

He thought maybe Edward killed the strange beasts and that was why they did not chase him. Yet the look on Edward’s face as he fell was unmistakable—it was death that Vilmos had seen in those eyes. He also wondered if maybe the bastards followed him and were waiting for him to rest, and then they would pounce.

The horse of the beastmen was strangely resolute and powerful, galloping at speeds that amazed him. The animal seemed to be driven by the desires of its rider and was able to sustain high speeds for long periods without fatigue. If his sixth sense was urging the animal on, it was also guiding the animal along the trail back to a place he knew well. Soon he found himself at the magical gate he and Xith had used what seemed so long ago, his mind spinning so rapidly that he opened and triggered the gate without a second thought.

It could have been minutes, hours or days later that he found himself near the Trollbridge, the steady steed beneath him. The world faded to black until he found himself near a cave on an open valley floor. It was the cave where he and Xith had spent the night what seemed ages ago. Here he stopped. Both to rest the horse and to search the cave for signs—any sign that Xith had been there recently. He found nothing, only emptiness. The next day he continued on, driven on.

He soon perceived other agonies: hunger, thirst and weariness. He chanced on a small brook, the same brook where he and Xith had stopped many weeks previous, drinking from its cool clear waters until his thirst was quenched and his belly full. Seeing no signs of anyone near, he sat along the edge of the water and removed his shoes, bathing his sore feet in the cool, soothing waters.

Hours later as the sun sank low on the horizon, he was on the opposite side of a valley. A sudden peace swept over him as he made the long climb from the valley floor out onto a rocky precipice. He felt as if he had come home, and indeed he had.

Breathing deeply, he looked back across the valley, amazed at how much ground he had covered. It would have taken several days to cross the valley on foot.

The strange, powerful horse of the beastmen showed its first signs of fatigue now, and he was utterly exhausted as well. He let the horse cool down for a time, stroking its long, firm neck and mane.

Neither was able to stop for too long though, the compulsion that led him on seemed to flow to the horse and both were enthralled by it. He looked to the forest then, and to the trail that led into it and through it. He knew that on the other side of the forest lay the thing that pulled him on. He had to know, needed to know, what had happened there.

He rode into the forest, low branches and thick growth along the sides of the trail eventually causing him to reconsider. He cursed low under his breath as he dismounted, holding a grudge against the forest for forcing him to walk when he was so weary.

He led the horse then, walking along the tangled trail that was becoming increasingly treacherous in the ever-diminishing light. The only thing that kept him moving was the thought of his home just ahead somewhere. His face and hands were scratched from the branches that caught his skin, yet this was no more a distraction than the mosquitoes that bit at his hands and face.

The march along the now indiscernible trail seemed without end. But he was determined.

“Adrina?”

“Yes, it’s me. Open the door.”

“Well?”

“Well, what? Why is the door locked?”

Emel looked to Myrial. Myrial looked to Emel.

Adrina sat next to them. “I didn’t, I mean I couldn’t. First it was Father Jacob and then—”

“What do you mean you didn’t—couldn’t? We’ve been waiting for hours.” Emel balled his hands into fists. “Damn your foolishness, I have so much to do. Let me go do it!”

Adrina calmed Emel by putting her hand on his. “After Father Jacob visited the elves, there was no answer at the door. I knocked and knocked. Seth may be angry with me.”

Emel stood. “It’s time to sleep then. Tomorrow’s another day.”

“I don’t know,” said Adrina. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I must speak with Seth now. Before he does something.”

“What do you mean?” asked Myrial.

“It was something he said, something about showing the council his world. He said it; Galan got really upset. I’ve been trying to understand and I think I do now.” Myrial and Emel sat across from Adrina, their eyes telling her to go on. She told them of the image Galan had shown her—the palace with the beautiful, spiral towers reaching up into the heavens. “She was so tired afterward as if it drained all her strength. She went to sleep immediately, exhausted.”

“And you think Seth will—”

Adrina didn’t wait for Emel to finish. “Yes, I think Seth is planning something similar. Imagine how drained he’ll be after sharing an image with the entire council, but I think there’s more. I’ve never seen Galan so afraid. I think that that something more may kill him.”

“And the orb? The orb is connected somehow to all this?”

“I think the orb is some kind of key that unlocks hidden truths. Seth should be able to use it.”

“To unlock the truth about what is being hidden. He won’t need to—”

“Exactly, Myrial,” said Adrina, “Exactly.”

Emel held out the leather pouch containing the orb. “Then we’ll go together—now!”

“Together,” said Myrial standing.

Adrina took the pouch and led the way. They reached Seth and Galan’s door quickly and knocked several times, but there was no answer. Emel looked to Adrina and smiled. “Private entrance,” he said, “Is there a private entrance?”

Adrina’s eyes widened. She led them around through the back halls until they were in the private corridors designed for the royal family.

“This one,” said Adrina pointing to a barely visible outline in the wall. “You’ll have to nudge it. It hasn’t been used in some time.”

Emel pressed his weight against the door and it popped open. Adrina, Myrial and Emel hurried into the room. As Adrina came around the door, she called out, “Seth? Galan?” Her heart stopped when she saw them lying in bed together, arm in arm.

Adrina put a hand to her mouth. Somehow she had never pictured Seth and Galan as a couple. Were they truly? Had she misunderstood their relationship?

Not understanding, Emel didn’t know what to do. Should he do or say something? He didn’t know.

Myrial did. She took Adrina’s hand, pulling Emel behind her. Emel closed the door and the three walked off. “Tomorrow,” Myrial said, “in the morning. It’s late already.”

With one hand held out in front of him for safety, Vilmos charged through the thick undergrowth, pulling the hesitant horse behind him. He knew that ahead lay his home, and with its finding, warmth and safety. It wasn’t until a low branch appearing from out of the darkness nearly poked out his eye that he stopped; jaded, he slumped back against a nearby tree.

The world around him seemed a foreign place, not the place he had grown up in. He felt lost, completely lost, not knowing that where he stopped was just a few yards from the forest’s edge. Still, even if he had known, sleep would have come. He was utterly exhausted.

Morning came as a rush of frenzied thoughts. He awoke waving a stick wildly, thwarting the attack of unseen hands. Perspiration dripped from his brow and into his eyes, blurring his already sleep-filled vision. He saw shapes looming before him and continued to wield the stick bravely.

“Who is it?” He shouted as he tried to wipe sleep and sweat from his eyes. “Go away, leave me alone!” He didn’t know that he yelled into empty air and that his assailants were but images left over from a dream—a dream filled with dark images.

He shook his head from side to side, attempting to chase away the last of the night’s chill as well as the dark spirits.

His senses returning, he looked around for the horse. The horse was nowhere to be found. He was saddened by its disappearance, later thinking that it was just as well, for he couldn’t care for it or feed it. He couldn’t even feed himself. He was starving, or at least he thought he was.

Bright sunlight from a clearing ahead caught his attention. He went to the light, slowly at first, then running, amazed when he came abruptly to the forest’s edge. Across a grassy field stood the white brick house he remembered so fondly. Smoke rose from the chimney and everything seemed well.

Vilmos took off racing, wild thoughts spinning through his mind. He mounted the stairs, put his hand to the door, stopped. He didn’t know what to expect. What if his parents were lying on the floor, or what if they were there and nothing was wrong? What would he tell them? What questions would they ask? What questions would he answer?

Still considering these thoughts, he opened the door and went inside. He ran through the kitchen, into the pantry. The pantry was full of fresh fruits, vegetables and bread. He ate.

Moments later he found his room much as he left it. “Was it a dream?” he asked himself, saying the words aloud to break the silence.

He ran into his parent’s room. The bed was made, the room tidy, clean as his mother always left it.

A brief search revealed nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing wrong was that no one was home, but he was prepared to wait. Maybe they had gone into town? Maybe his father had a meeting in Olex or Two Falls, and Lillath went with him? If so, they would return soon and everything would be as it was.

Hours passed. He waited. Hungry again, he went to the pantry a second time. Afterward he went to his room, plopped onto the bed, patting his full stomach. The house was warm. His bed, comfortable.

Content, he lay still, staring up at the ceiling. A short while later he propped a pillow against the wall, removed his shoes and leaned against the pillow. His thoughts swept him away to the past. Everything had seemed so real. He could see Xith’s face. He could see Edward and the hunter beasts. He could see Valam, Adrina, Seth and Galan.

A familiar place called him and so he went. He had not been there in what seemed ages. He stared down into the valley’s depths, out into the world—the valley that had its mirror in the realm of the real as well as the imagined. He felt so soothed by the vision that he followed the mighty eagle into the sky. Lazily he swooped and turned, unaware of the danger, unaware of the other lurking nearby.

“Galan?” called out Myrial, “The sun rises and still you sleep. You must be ready for council within the hour.”

Seth?

“He’s not here. You were alone when I arrived.”

Galan lurched up, moving so quickly out of bed that Myrial shivered—it wasn’t natural for anyone to move like that. “Don’t be frightened, it’s just me, Myrial. We must find Seth. I’m afraid for him. He’s preparing to do something—something…”

“I know,” said Myrial, “We’re worried for you.”

“You know? You can’t know.”

“Adrina was up all night pacing. She fell asleep a few hours ago. I’ll take you to her. I think she can help.”

No! Galan thrust out harder with her mind than she intended and she hadn’t meant to slap away Myrial’s hand either—it just happened.

Myrial was shivering uncontrollably. Her bones felt cold, her soul. “All this talk is frightening. I shouldn’t be in the middle of this, I’m nobody. I’m better with the floors and a broom than this. My mother always told me never to try to rise above your station. Look what I’ve done now. It’s—”

“You’ve done nothing.” Galan touched her hand to Myrial’s. The hand was cold. Galan could feel Myrial’s chill reaching to her almost immediately. “What does anyone know of class and rank? I would be the first to tell you that anything is possible—your dream, the thing that frightens you is possible. You can rise above—you don’t have to be frightened by what you have achieved. There is no devilry in it, you are not being punished, you did not bring bad luck.”

“I brought this on as surely as I broke a mirror—I should’ve broken a mirror. Why can’t I just keep to my own?”

“You are very brave, Myrial. Your heart is true and you deserve whatever it is you desire. You can’t wish something into existence any more than you can bring bad luck.”

You’re in my thoughts, aren’t you? whispered Myrial to herself.

Yes, I am. I know it doesn’t offend you as it does others. You have a gift, Myrial, you have a pure heart. Now, do we sit and cry or do you help me find Seth?

Myrial led Galan to the dressing partition. “First you have to look presentable for council. Then we’ll find Seth.”

“Everything has its order, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” admitted Myrial as she handed Galan the clothes she had prepared.

Chapter Seventeen:

The Final Truth

The council was gathered and in full readiness as Seth, Galan and Adrina arrived. This day there was no way Adrina would not be present, she felt she had earned the right to sit beside the two and so she did.

When Father Jacob arrived, the proceedings began. Seth was not in a civil mood. From the moment he entered the council until the very instant he left he planned to seize the council’s attention. A heavy burden of duty pulled down upon him—failure meant disgrace, a yoke around his neck that he shouldered silently.

He waited for the correct moment to seize the floor and when the time was right, he circled his voice around the room. What I am about to do may take you by surprise, but when I am finished I am confident you will have no more doubts concerning your obligations.

Chancellor Yi stood. “Elf Seth, you are breaking protocol. We are to begin with a review of yesterday.”

Seth glared at the chancellor. “Your eyes betray you, chancellor. You have not slept well this past night and you are haunted by conscience. Tell King Andrew of your secret desire.”

Murmurs swept through the council. Several council members jumped to their feet. Chancellor Yi thumped his long staff against the floor. “Order!” he called out, “Order!” He turned to Seth. “No more outbursts or this proceeding will end, Elf Seth. I assure you.”

Seth ignored the chancellor. He used the momentary disquiet to focus and gather his will. He closed his eyes and began a silent prayer. A glowing light, soft and pure began to enshroud his body. The rhythm of his chant reached out to all, though few understood the words.

With each word Galan felt stabbing pain in her heart. She burst into tears. You promised you wouldn’t! she screamed into Seth’s mind.

Seth ignored Galan, the chancellor’s continued demands for order and the King’s own command for silence. He launched his spirit upward, spiraling, soaring. His features changed and for an instant, it was as if another stood in his place.

His voice followed the changing flow of his body, shifting from unnatural to captivating and finally to a strange echoing rasp. Slowly his facial features changed, blended and melted away. Then a form, beautiful and feminine, filled the place where he had been. The distortion ended. A woman’s face replaced Seth’s. The voice enthralling, almost delicate.

I am Queen Mother of the Eastern Reaches, first to convey the will of the Mother and the Father. I have been long waiting for this day…

Shocked silence followed. Disbelief showed. Some of the council members started praying. “Witchcraft! Devilry! Wizardry!” they shouted. “Devil be gone!”

Chancellor Yi thumped his staff, attempting to restore order. Keeper Martin rose to his feet, waving his hands for calm. Father Jacob followed saying, “Please, good councilors, there is no devilry afoot! Listen, and we may all find the answers we seek!”

The murmurs and disquiet continued.

“Do not disbelieve,” said Queen Mother through Seth. “The crossing of the minds is an ancient gift. Our council had discussed at length how we could prove our need to any doubters. We had faith in Brother Seth’s resourcefulness and knew he would choose this method if the need was great. Please, I beg of you, listen. The link is taxing and cannot be maintained long.”

Adrina gasped. She was so close to Seth that she could see his face beneath the mask of Queen Mother’s—as she imagined Galan could as well. Huge tears welled up in her eyes. She could see the link feed off Seth’s living soul. It was as if his life energy poured out of his body and into the image.

“Father, bring order,” Adrina called out, “Do this for me, I beg of you!”

Mesmerized by the images, King Andrew was slow to respond, but when he did instant silence followed.

Queen Mother said, “Join hands all to complete the link… Quickly now!”

Councilors returned to their seats, joined hands. Adrina grasped Seth’s right hand, Galan his left, completing the circle and the link.

The completing of the link was as the turning of a switch. Suddenly, they were in a different place, seeing through another’s eyes. It was a strange and beautiful place wrapped in white. It was the royal palace seen through the eyes of a roaming hawk, soaring on puffs of air, zooming in through an open window, coming to rest just inside.

The hawk cried out, a high piercing cry that echoed in the ears long after it passed. It launched from its perch, bringing with it a light breeze that trickled around the room, blowing in a downward spiral—the same downward spiral that the hawk descended.

The hawk landed on a high-backed chair, calling out one final time before the vantage point changed. They saw through another’s eyes now—a view from the throne, through the eyes of the Queen Mother herself.

Her eyes drew up, up to the window on high, waiting until the free-spirited hawk passed without, then returning to the calm crystalline walls about her.

“High Council Hall of East Reach.” Queen Mother paused, continuing in a soothing whisper, “Chambers are chosen for specific reasons… as I am sure you know.”

As the queen’s voice massaged their minds, the scene focused once more. High Council Hall at first seemed cluttered, designed without purpose. Then its purpose became clear, patterns in the walls told stories, depicted adventures, told the history of the elves, ever growing, ever changing.

Keeper Martin held his breath as the focus turned to the oaken table that seemed a living thing, growing in the center of the hall.

“Great structures house tremendous power and it is this power that you must understand.” Everyone in Kingdom Hall could feel Queen Mother’s mood grow dark. “The business at hand is unpleasant, but it must be. Sathar has returned from the Dark Journey and the end of our age is at hand. Whether we succumb or survive is in your hands.”

The hall shook as the image began to fade, not a flutter or a falter but an emotion-filled tremble.

Adrina screamed out even before the vision focused. A murmur rose, growing steadily loud and disquieted. Ripping winds swam across the chamber. Hands gripped a porous crag as eyes looked down from a mountaintop. The wind was cool, the touch of the rock cold. The mountain trembled and shook. A great mass of soldiers could be seen in the fields below, spread out like ants, tiny specks of black moving by the thousands. The earth shook to the beat of their march.

“Behold the great western plain! This mountain range marks the boundary between East and West Reach. The army on the western plain is the army of Sathar. Soon our mountain outposts will be overrun. They will pour through the mountain passes and not stop until our lands are his and then—”

“Queen Mother,” said King Andrew, “Please, I beg of you, order. We have much else to discuss. We can see your need is great, but to send our people—”

Silence! Listen Man-Child, Queen Mother commanded. “Listen to what will happen, this will be your future! When the Cursed returns from the Dark Journey, all will flock to his banner or fall. Any who oppose his total domination, any who resist, will be enslaved or killed. During the time of the Gathering the earth shall be torn asunder and thus will the Coming begin. The tormented will cry out in anguish for their blindness. For at the very end of their existence they will discover their grave error, but it will be too late, their kind will be lost.”

Queen Mother paused. “Behold Sathar the Dark,” she said casting the image of the dark lord into their minds.

As the image of Sathar faded, thousands of marching soldiers and riders swarmed over the land, coming to rest before a great castle. The viewpoint was the same, a far-off rocky precipice, but the location was different. The rock was cold, as was the wind.

Behind the army came other armies, spreading across the horizon as a black wave. A city at the edge of the castle burned. Amid endless pillars of black smoke and red flames, fields burned. The dead lay scattered about the land and the living cried out.

Hands clutched bitterly the cold, cold rock, while eyes swept toward the castle that stood defiantly, resisting thunderous blows upon its walls. The hollow knocking on the walls resounded in their ears and chased their thoughts.

A valiant few protected the walls while the swarm gathered. The thrashing grew. Walls that had held secure fell away.

The great castle and the city were not unknown to the Kingdomers. The castle and the city were Imtal, and the vision allowed much more than simple sight. The air about them filled with flames from the burning houses and land, dark smoke brought tears to their eyes and made breathing difficult. The anger and fear of the fleeing, the agony and pain of the dying, the putrid stench of scorched flesh, all flowed to them.

Queen Mother didn’t hold back a single overwhelming emotion or sensation. Terror filled their hearts and minds, growing to the point where they just wanted it to stop so the pain would end. Almost believing that when it did end it would take them with it, and even this they would have welcomed.

Brought to the threshold of life and survival, then to the brink of what lay beyond, Queen Mother carried them swiftly back. Latched onto only the pain, making it linger as the scene dissolved. A face, a face of untainted beauty, filled their minds. One could not stare into a countenance of such magnitude, so powerful and yet so very exquisite, for very long.

Galan whispered, Oh my, Queen Mother, may they see your wisdom clearly.

The Queen of the Elves shouted into their minds then, I am sorry to be harsh, but it is the only way to bring resolve! You must understand, you must see. The path can only be changed now. If you delay there can be no hope. Time is everything—and we have little to spare.

In an avalanche of silence the pain ended, leaving most beyond the capacity for words, even the most loquacious of the group. King Andrew regretted his earlier words, and now words were beyond him.

Father Jacob took the initiative, “I think I speak for the council Your Grace.” He looked at each of the council members, and they each in turn nodded approval. And lastly he looked to the king, who also nodded approval.

“Your Grace,” began Father Jacob as King Andrew touched his hand and with his eyes urged the priest to sit.

King Andrew found the courage of words in his heart. “We have heard your plea and we shall heed your warning. However you must also know that action will take time. We wish politics were a simple thing but they are not. Others will also be skeptical. The king’s word is law but we must have the backing of the alliance and our people. Without this backing our kingdom would fall before our army returns. We are convinced of the sincerity of your words. We will do what we can.”

I trust in your word and your honor, King Andrew. Thanks to all of you gathered in council. I am afraid I must leave you now. The link has lasted overly long. My son’s spirit yearns to journey to the Father.

Hours passed. Vilmos floated on the breezes churning up from the valley floor. The eagle’s keen eyes scoured, expecting to find nothing, and found nothing. He was alone with his thoughts as he liked to be, alone and free.

He was about to land and change into human form when a voice rang out in his mind and he awoke. Propelled back to reality, he sprang to his feet. A muffled noise in the distance brought him through the kitchen to the porch. As he listened close, the noise sounded like hooves upon dry leaves.

He longed to see a single, horse-drawn coach approach with two occupants. The driver a stern-faced man with a whip in one hand and the reigns tucked in the other hand—that was how his father liked to ride. The other occupant would sit quietly beside him, her face would be gentle and kind, aged pleasantly with the years. A familiar figure did eventually approach, not from the road, but from the path that led to the forest, and not until hours later.

All delusion faded as the beckoning voice called out. “Vilmos come!” it commanded.

Vilmos walked to the path, saying, “I thought it was all a dream.” Something along the path caught Vilmos’ attention, but only for an instant. “How did you find me?”

The reply came in a voice that could only be Xith’s but the figure was strange, as if Vilmos was trapped in a dream that warped the world around him, “You found me, but that is beside the point.”

“Edward, is he…?”

“Edward is in a good place and would be happy to know you are safe.”

After a lengthy walk the two came to an opening that led to a point overlooking the valley. The suspicion that his life was moving in circles and that no matter how far away he went he would always come back to the same place occurred to Vilmos, just as Xith said “We’ll stop here to rest for a few moments.”

Vilmos sat down on the ground with a thump. He was about to ask if there was anything to eat when Xith stopped him.

“Silence!” Vilmos had only seen Xith like this once before and he didn’t like the expression he saw. He started to say something again, and again Xith cut him off.

Xith didn’t make a sound after that or move. Vilmos knew better than to move or speak.

A moment later Xith yelled, “Duck!”

Vilmos fell to the ground on his belly. As he lay motionless, he had a strong feeling that he had been in this situation before. He looked to the shaman who nodded in agreement. Vilmos asked, “But why?”

The shaman turned his eyes heavenward, seeing things that Vilmos couldn’t. He waited for a moment before responding, indicating as he did so that it was all right for Vilmos to sit back up.

“Vilmos, life can be complicated or simple, often times you take a step forward only to find that you have taken two steps backward. Do you understand?”

Vilmos wavered his head. He had no idea what Xith was talking about.

“That is good,” said Xith, “don’t try to understand. It is best just to accept it. Life is a series of circles that sometimes lead you back to the beginning, so instead of giving up you must keep your head high and start again. There will be times when you are not sure whether you are in the past or the present or whether perhaps you are without time and that you are never really far away from the place you are trying to reach. Do you understand?”

“I don’t,” admitted Vilmos honestly.

Sullenness fell over Xith’s face and Vilmos could see dark circles under his companion’s eyes. “You will, I promise. Edward would not have sacrificed himself for you otherwise. You see, he was the first; one that was taken from me long before you. You are truly he, Vilmos, and the time will soon be upon us.”

“You’re real,” said Vilmos. “That’s all that matters!” Vilmos grabbed Xith in a great bear hug. He couldn’t help himself. “It is good to see you, it is good to be with you again. Don’t leave me alone anymore. Promise?”

The shaman raised his eyes to meet Vilmos’ then and as he did so a glowing orb of brilliant white appeared in his outstretched hand. In the orb, Vilmos saw the visage of the Princess Adrina and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. As the image grew clearer he could see that she sat at a great table around which many were gathered. To her left was the elf Seth, and to Seth’s left was Galan. Seth’s skin was pale and his great round eyes stared up at the heavens.

Queen Mother’s words hung in the air about the chamber. A tear, single and crystalline, shimmered down Seth’s cheek. Tiny though it was, it conveyed a feeling of deepest sadness.

Galan clasped Seth’s hand tightly; his will had nearly drained away. Her heart raced and her tears flowed without end.

Adrina gripped Seth’s other hand, feeling it grow from warm, full of life, to cool and balmy. Her anguish matched the deep unbroken lines of tears cascading down her cheeks.

My son, you have done all that you could. You have done what you must, what you were meant to do. You shall be remembered, you shall not be forgotten, the sacrifice shall not go unaccounted for… and in a barely audible voice Queen Mother added, … may Great Father grant you passage into his very house, so that you may sit by his side, my son.

Queen Mother’s voice faded away and the link was broken. All eyes remained in place, focusing now on Seth. A smile touched his lips at the gift of his mother, words of praise reserved only for the very great, said only at the passing of an elf king or queen.

As he breathed his last breath the smile broadened to the corners of his lips. He fancied he could smell the kingdom garden he had been in earlier and reveled in the flow of nature he had felt.

With that one last thought of peace, of life, and of nature, Seth collapsed to the table. No one doubted that he was indeed dead.

Galan whispered into their minds, This is the holy light of the Great Father reclaiming his son, as are all at the last. She let the faithful see the wondrous—but otherwise invisible—shimmering light surrounding Seth’s fallen form. Few are able to see the spirit pass thus, so if you can see it, you are truly blessed. You have found faith and sincerity in your heart.

But faith and sincerity didn’t fill Galan’s heart—anger and rage did. She was angry with Seth for doing what he said he wouldn’t. She was angry because in her mind this didn’t have to be—and if it had to be, Seth shouldn’t have been the one.

A pitiful wail, almost a plea, filled their minds as Galan unleashed her sorrows. No! she cried out, Please, no!

Further words were broken by long sobs, followed by an unsettling calm. Galan held back the tears and the pain. She called out again, screaming to the heavens, speaking aloud. “As such is the way of my will, I cannot allow this to happen!”

A blast of icy air defiled the chamber. Galan reached her hands upward chasing after Seth in thought, forcing her will to take her to where the Father gathered up his son, knowing she had to hurry because the journey was almost complete.

She pursued the last shard of Seth’s life, the tiny light hurtling upward into the heavens. Her own brilliant light, full of life, quickly caught and surpassed it.

Father, I must, she begged. Father, hear me!

Responding to a voice only she heard, she replied, “Yes, I understand.” These words were spoken aloud and in thought.

The thread that guided Seth’s way severed and his soul plummeted back earthward. His spirit collided with his body, taking with it the light of Galan’s life and the place Galan occupied was suddenly empty.

The council hall was absolutely quiet. No one moved. No one said a word.

Many long minutes passed.

Adrina called to guards outside the door. With their help she led Seth from the room.

She turned back at the doorway, shouting, “You’re all fools—you can’t see! You can’t act until it is too late! Open your eyes and see the world around you! This didn’t have to be if only you had listened before!”

Chapter Eighteen:

Dreams of Tomorrow

Adrina rocked back and forth. She was quiet, angry—resolved to be angry forever. The darkness was a chasm that sought to swallow her, and if it did, nothing of the woman she was becoming would remain.

Everything she touched seemed to wither. Everything she cared about seemed to fade from the world. Why couldn’t she wither and fade away as well? It would be so easy to slip into the night and be gone from the world.

A quiet voice behind her called out, “Adrina, come down, let’s talk about this. You can’t control what other people do or think. You aren’t responsible—we tried and that’s all we could have done.”

Adrina spun around, the narrow brickwork of the castle wall making it difficult to keep her footing. Her long black hair fluttered in the wind. Her slender body wobbled.

Emel turned to Myrial. “Talk some sense into her please.”

“At times like this I would send Lady Isador to the wall. She would handle this, she’d know what to do.”

“Lady Isador isn’t here. It’s just you and I.”

Adrina stretched out her arms. She imagined she could float on the wind. “Come fly with me,” she whispered. “We can steal away into the night and no one will know.”

“Adrina, you can’t fly!” shouted Emel. “You’re scaring me, please come down!”

Adrina turned away from Emel and stared out into the darkness. “Why can’t I fly? If I can wish it, I can do it—and I wish to fly.”

“You have no magical powers; you’re no witch or devil,” said Myrial. “You can’t fly. Only birds can fly and you’re no bird. Take my hand, Adrina. Take my hand and come down from the wall.”

Adrina started to wave her arms. In her mind she was a bird, a bird that could fly and soar away into the darkness. “I could have done much more. I could have. Seth would have seen the truth. He would have known. Galan would be here now.”

Myrial took a few steps toward Adrina. “Galan is gone. Nothing you do will bring her back. Everything you do up there risks your life! You’re no fool. Why would you want to end as a fool? Is that how you want to be remembered, as a fool? A girl who couldn’t take the weight of the world.

“Let me tell you about the weight of the world, waking in dirt because there is no straw, eating food deemed unfit for the King’s pigs, being ordered about as a house slave, and I may have been the housemaster’s house slave, but he couldn’t have my heart, stop my mind from thinking or my soul from crying out. Never in all that time did I really wish to go—I wanted to live. Oh, how I wanted to live, to have the world see me as I saw the world. You gave me that chance, Adrina, a chance to become much more than I was. You never asked anything in return. You gave freely.

“I would do the same for you if I could. I would take the weight of the world from your shoulders—I see you as you are, Adrina. I love you for what you are. I would serve you to the ends of my days. I would give my life for yours. Take my hand. Will you take my hand?”

“Birds are free,” said Adrina. “I want to be free.”

“Take her hand, Adrina—take my hand. We’ll walk back to your room and talk. Tomorrow we’ll visit Seth.”

“It is already tomorrow.” Adrina sank to her haunches. Below, High King’s Square was coming to life. The early merchants were carrying lanterns, beginning to set up for the day ahead.

In her mind’s eye she was in another time—that day she had dreamed of places far away: High Province, South Province and the Territories. Believing that she would never journey to any of them. But she had, and, just as the lady in the tower said, change came.

She wondered what else would come true and if she could bear the weight of it. She wondered what tomorrow would bring, knowing tomorrow was already at hand.

She stood, looked to Emel and Myrial. For a few heartbeats everything stopped. She lifted a foot from the brickwork of the wall, steadied herself as she stared down into the square. Birds could fly, so why couldn’t she?

Xith closed his hand around the orb, ending the vision. Vilmos turned away, looking out over the valley.

“Do you see now why your training is so important?” Xith asked. “You’ve many more lessons to learn, but I think this latest lesson has been the most important.”

“Is has?”

“Yes, it has. You’ve learned much more than I had hoped and you earned the trust of one who could have easily turned his back on you. He had the opportunity, the chance to do what he was recruited to do, yet he didn’t. He saw in you what I see in you—he must have.”

“Edward?”

Xith stretched out his hands, arcs of blue and white lightning moving between the outstretched fingers. “Forces in opposition. If the forces touched the explosion would tear down this hill, taking us with it, and sweep through the valley below.

“Those who don’t understand see good and evil, light and dark, positive and negative. There is always a careful balance, always a cautious dance. Which dance would you dance if you could?”

“I don’t know,” said Vilmos. “I’m confused.”

“Exactly, no one really knows what they’ll do when the time comes, so how can anyone try to predict tomorrow’s tomorrow with any accuracy. Sure there are those who can see the paths but the paths themselves are less important than the places they converge. In the places where the paths join, new paths can split off, creating new futures where once there were none. You and I, Vilmos, our job is to walk the paths, follow them to where they converge and make new possibilities possible. But you must believe. Do you believe?”

“I want to learn. I want to be a mage. I don’t want you to go away again—”

“Oh but can you say that without knowing the fate of the last human magus? Did you read of Efryadde in the Great Book? Do you remember what happened?”

“The darkness took him and he was betrayed.”

“Correct, both correct. I was there I should know. But the book doesn’t tell you who betrayed Efryadde.”

Vilmos closed his eyes, trying to remember the passage from the book. In the back of his mind her heard his mother telling him “Each tale, each bit of lore, tells a lesson. Relate the lesson through the lore; it is the way of the counselor. Choose the wrong tale, give the wrong advice.”

“You’re trying to teach—”

“No, you’ve already learned the lesson. I’m only trying to point out something you should remember when you wake from this dream—something important.”

“Dream?”

“Dream. You were never really at your house, Vilmos, and you never rode through this valley. You wandered away from the inn and sprung the hunter beast’s trap. You are caught in it now, but you and I are really here together—out of body.”

“Corpeal stasis?”

Xith laughed. “Non-corporeal stasis, my boy, non-corporeal stasis.”

“How do I return and wake from this dream?”

“Find the truth of Efryadde, it is within you.”

“Will you be there then for real?”

“I will and then we will continue our travels, building the company that will change the converging paths.”

“I want to—”

“I must be going now but I’ll see you soon. It won’t be long, I have every confidence in you. Be strong, believe, remember our talk.”

Seth walked in dreams and in those dreams Galan walked with him. Together they had gone far and done things that would make such song—epic songs that he could hear elven children singing even now.

East Reach seemed so far away, so far that memories of Kapital could have been from another lifetime. Before setting sail for the lands of Man he had never been beyond the island city of Leklorall—at least not that he could recall—and now he was a world away.

Men weren’t like elves. They didn’t resolve to action unless action was the only recourse. They weren’t inspired. They weren’t driven to truth. They couldn’t see—and at times refused to see. He had changed that. He had, but at what cost?

The waking dream continued and Seth saw himself standing on a high balcony looking out over a secluded part of Leklorall—the city that had once seemed the whole of his world. Galan was there with him, and she too looked out over the city. It seemed they were both waiting for something or someone, and there behind them were other elves and the Queen Mother, and they also seemed to be waiting for something or someone.

He seemed juxtaposed between the past, the present and the future—so much so that he doubted whether this was a past event he was recalling and not some future event that should have been but now would never be. His doubt brought grief and sorrow, which fell upon his mind, body and soul like waves battering the shore of an unseen sea.

He stumbled to his knees, raised his hands to the heavens and begged the All Father to answer his simple question of why her and not him. He should have been the one; death in service should have been his destiny. Queen Mother had charged him with this undertaking and he alone should have taken the burden.

Through his connection to the past and to Galan, he heard words Queen Mother had directed at Brother Liyan in Galan’s presence: Good Brother, savor this feeling on a future day, but for now know that I am fully cognizant of my actions. I am the living prophet of my people, am I not? I know very well what it is I do… If I as Queen Mother, the heart and soul of my people, cannot pay the dearest of prices for the ridding of the greatest of ailments, then I, and all, fail the greatest of tests… Brother Seth is our only

hope. He will fight to survive where others would surely succumb. Never have I seen such faith. Never have I seen such determination. He must believe he can succeed. And he must truly strive for this.

Galan’s fading voice, followed the queen’s, and she whispered. Nothing has been decided… Believe, you must believe—there is hope. You are hope. I believe and so must you.

He saw Galan laughing, laughing as she had before they left Kapital. She was saying You need to relax…You should join me. He would, but he wouldn’t see the world as she saw the world, each day new, each day fresh—alive.

Alive? he asked himself, his thoughts spinning away. Galan wasn’t alive. She gave her soul for his life and her spirit would not rest in the next life now. Her spirit would never know an eternity of bliss and this was truly bitter.

Galan continued laughing. Her eyes danced and she reached out to him but as he reached out to her the waking dream ended and she faded away, leaving him with stark reality, leaving him with the knowledge that he was the one who didn’t see, the one who moved through life with blinders.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Thank you, I can see it now. We’ll make this right, I know it, and then I’ll sail the waters of the Gildway to the ends of my days in your stead.”

“Take a chance, take my hand. You don’t have to do this,” Emel said, “Things can change, you’ll see. How could you not believe that after Alderan and Quashan’?”

Adrina stared wild-eyed at Emel. “Change? What do you know about change?”

He started to reply, stopped, took in a deep breath. Profound awakening found him. The pilot light of the rage returned.

Suddenly, he was back in the fields of Fraddylwicke, chasing down the elves’ attackers. He ran down three men, never stopping or looking back. They died screaming beneath Ebony’s hooves. Four others he cut down as they fled.

Those that remained stopped running. They put up their hands, begged for mercy. There was no mercy in his heart, only rage. He was of their blood. He could sense it. He knew they could sense it too, but now it was too late.

Fire burned in his heart. It focused his fury, his need for vengeance. “Blood for blood,” he whispered as he cut them down where they stood. He sheathed his sword, raised a bloody fist in the air.

Ebony reared, then wheeled in a tight circle.

He raced away. One of the men he’d left for dead called out after him. The words were a blessing, not a curse. Emel didn’t understand then and he didn’t understand now as distant voices far below the wall brought him back to reality.

Adrina was staring down at him from atop the wall. Her eyes were wild. “I want to fly,” she said, “I want to be free.”

“You want to fly?” Emel shouted, “Fly then! Jump into the winds!”

Myrial’s shouts of “No, no, no,” weren’t heeded. Adrina stood tall, stretched out her arms, closed her eyes. “I believe. Do you?” she said as she leapt from atop the wall.

“Believe,” Adrina whispered as she fell. If she believed hard enough Emel would catch her. If she believe hard enough she could make everything right again.

She lived between heartbeats, life racing before her eyes. She moved as through a tunnel and at the end was her mother, Queen Alexandria. “Mother, I am here. Take my hand,” she called out as she fell and as her

mother reached out to her, she reached out to her mother.

Strange though it was, no matter how far she raced through the tunnel she couldn’t quite reach her mother—it was if unseen hands kept her away and these very same hands spun her around, shifting her until the tunnel faded from memory. But the memories and images of her mother did not fade. They remained before her eyes, as vivid and real as in life. Her mother’s scent—a hint of lilac and roses—was in the very air she breathed.

Suddenly, she stopped and felt she could not move—nor even reach out with her hand. The world itself seemed to stop with her. “Mother,” she called out again and again as the memories and images began to fade but then as if reaching across time she heard her mother’s voice.Her mother said, “Take heart, daughter. You are an Alder. You know what you must do, what must be done.”

Adrina tried to say something to her mother but instead of her own voice she heard Seth’s unvoiced whisper. She took my place. She thought she owed me her life for saving hers and for that she gave her soul for my life… Her spirit will never rest in the Father’s house now. It will never rest… She gave up eternity for me.

“I understand,” Adrina started to say, but she was ripped from this dark world of half seen images and fading memories by another voice—a voice full of urgency and wrought up with pain and concern.

“Adrina? Adrina?” called out Myrial. “Adrina, say something please.”

Adrina opened her eyes, realizing then that her lungs burned. She sucked at the air, the first breath heavy as it traveled through her throat and into her lungs. She exhaled, breathed in again, waited.

“Talk to me,” said Myrial. “Can you hear me?”

Adrina’s eyes were wide, wild. She tried to sit up., tried to speak. Emel held her in place. Finally she found her voice and asked, “What happened?”

“You jumped, you fool,” said Myrial. “Thank Great Father you had the good sense to jump to Emel and not to the square.”

Adrina winced from Emel’s firm grip. He seemed to suddenly realize he was squeezing her arms so hard there’d be bruises. He let go, squeezed his eyes together and shook his head as if warding off something, then said, “We tried to catch you. But all we could do was break your fall. You got the wind knocked out of you.”

“I wanted to fly… I believed… My mother, I saw my mother. And I’m not?”

“No you’re not, most certainly not. Do you think we’d let you do something so stupid?” Myrial sat down as reality suddenly sank in. “You had us worried to death. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“I’d’ve missed you terribly,” said Emel. “You great fool—idiot.”

“Fool? Idiot? Hmm…” Adrina pouted.

“Now that’s the temperamental Adrina I know!” said Emel.

Adrina bit back a laugh. “I did look a fool, didn’t I?”

“A grand fool,” said Myrial. “You won’t do that again?”

Adrina tried to stand. Emel and Myrial helped her. As she gave both a hug, wiping her sudden tears away, she smelled lilacs and roses all around her. “I won’t,” she whispered but as she said those words there was deep doubt in her and it took great effort to cast that doubt away.

“Promise?”

Adrina frowned, it was an honest response so she repeated it and so saying, she took Emel’s hand, Myrial’s, then walked away. She led them to the watchtower which wasn’t far away. The scent of lilacs and roses followed her—almost as if her mother walked with her.

The sun would be up soon. She wanted to see the brilliant blues, greens and reds that only an autumn sunrise could bring—and she wanted to share this splendor with Emel and Myrial.

The new day brought remembrance and hope. Remembrance of those lost and hope for tomorrow’s tomorrow. Adrina knew unequivocally as she watched the rising splendor that Galan’s sacrifice held a significance she didn’t completely understand but would come to know better than her own foolish attempt to make things right in the world.

The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches IV

Keeper Martin’s Tales

BOOK FOUR

ROBERT STANEK

Table Of Contents

Book 4

CHAPTER ONE: THINGS REVEALED

CHAPTER TWO: MESSAGES & SHADOWS

CHAPTER THREE: SLIPPING AWAY

CHAPTER FOUR: BOUNDARIES

CHAPTER FIVE: STARK REALITY

CHAPTER SIX: GUIDING FOOLS

CHAPTER SEVEN: BLESSED SIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT: A GENTLE MADNESS

CHAPTER NINE: KING’S DECREE

CHAPTER TEN: HIDDEN DOORWAYS

CHAPTER ELEVEN: DESTINATIONS REACHED

CHAPTER TWELVE: FINDING TRUTH

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: LOSING TOUCH

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: DRAGON KING

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: ENDGAME

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: RETURN TO IMTAL

Chapter One:

Things Revealed

It was an odd-looking tree perched atop a rocky crag. The roots, stretching over rocks and gravel to the rich black earth a hundred yards away, seemed to have a stranglehold over the land, and the trunk, all twisted and gnarled, spoke of the silent battle the tree was winning. Thick boughs stretched at odd angles to the heavens, seeming to taunt those that traveled below as their shadows lengthened with the waning of the day.

It was here at the base of the tree that the trail ended. Vilmos sank to his knees, studying the last of the tracks and catching his breath for the first time in what felt like days. The tracks didn’t seem to lead anywhere else. He turned around carefully, his eyes scanning. He saw no sign of backtracking.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, his thoughts coming into focus once more on the tree. The cold nights of late had robbed the mighty oaks of most of their leaves. With the cold winds blowing steadily from the north, it wouldn’t be long before the forest was blanketed in the thick snowy coat of winter.

Despite the panicked race through the forest, he knew exactly where he was. He had spent most of his days in this forest. He wasn’t about to get lost now, or ever. Besides, the tree was a landmark of sorts. The rangers called it the Warden. It marked the easternmost edge of the forest and, some would say, the boundary between Sever and Vostok.

He stood momentarily as he looked up at the tree. The great oak had been through hard times and definitely showed its age. Seeing what appeared to be a fresh marking on the thick roots that ran down the rocky crag, he bent over to take a closer look. That was when he saw the prints clearly. The heel print of a woodsman’s boot. The paw print of something he knew must be akin to a bear but just wasn’t right.

Sudden silence hit him like a wall. In the forest, silence often revealed more than sound. With sunset an hour away night sounds should have filled the air. The stillness told him something was wrong but he didn’t know what.

A tiny whisper in his mind asked if the quiet was the last thing he would hear. He put his back to the tree, feeling that somehow it was. The whisper called out to him, tormenting with realizations just out of his reach. If only he could grasp them, he would know what to do.

For a moment he heard the chatter of a squirrel marking her territory. An instant later he saw a shadow move behind a tree not far off. He unsheathed his sword, stood his ground. Minutes passed. He chastised himself for letting his mind play tricks on him. He had followed the trail to its end, found nothing. He must accept it and return home.

Home? The word echoed in his mind. What did the word really mean? What was it like to have a home, to have a place where one felt safe and secure? Where was his home?

As he questioned his reality, the woods around him began to bend and warp as if he were in a pool of liquid steel and the steel was being poured and shaped by unseen hands. Ripples formed on the surface of the air. As if a curtain, Vilmos reached out and parted the veil of the world. He awoke. Discovering he was lying face down in a pile of wet leaves, he whirled around to sit upright and spit out the clumps of dirt and leaves in his mouth. His eyes were wild, arms raised, fists poised ready to fight.

He looked around. He was in the forest but everything was different. But how?

The horse—where was it?—his world spun. Images that were too real to be a dream raced through his mind and all the while Xith’s voice foreshadowed his thoughts and filled his consciousness. The house, his house, his parent’s house—Vilmos couldn’t deny that the experience seemed real.

“How can I find you? Damn it!” he shouted in anger and frustration, though no one could hear.

He found the horse, galloped madly toward his home. He had to find out if someone, anyone, was there. He broke from the woods, pulling the reins sharply at the front porch. He didn’t see danger, yet in the back of his mind he heard Xith’s warning, “Don’t return to the house.” He didn’t heed the warning. He couldn’t stop his feet, which were in motion to the door.

He ran through the house, searching everywhere, but he found nothing and no one. He burst into his own room, collapsed onto his old bed. As he closed his eyes he thought he heard someone crying out “No! No, you mustn’t—the fourth wind comes!”

He strained to listen to the voice. It faded in and out. “I warned you,” the voice admonished, “I warned you.”

His eyes flew open. He jumped out of bed, ran as fast as he could from the house. There was danger now. He sensed it; didn’t know how. He only knew it was with him. He tripped, stumbled down the porch stairs. He ran into the forest alone along the tangled path. Never looked back.

In stop-start fashion, Princess Adrina recounted the story, meshing together Seth’s words as best as she could recall. When she finished, Father Jacob didn’t say anything; it was clear that he was beyond words. It seemed he could hear the warrior elf’s unvoiced whisper repeating what Adrina had said. She took my place. She thought she owed me her life for saving hers and for that she gave her soul for my life… Her spirit will never rest in the Father’s house now. It will never rest… She gave up eternity for me.

Heavy footfalls against the hard stone floor caused Father Jacob and Princess Adrina to turn. At first Adrina thought she heard the tapping of a staff muddled amidst the echoes of the footsteps. Martin or Emel, she thought, only Emel signified trouble. She had been avoiding him since the incident on the wall. Jumping had been foolish—yes—yet taking Emel and Myrial to the tower to watch the sunrise had been even more foolish. Some things just couldn’t be undone and what happened that morning was one of them.

Snapping from her reverie she turned, saw the tall, broad-shouldered figure racing toward her. She stretched her arms out happily in greeting. “My Lord, Prince Valam!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him, pushing her lips firmly against his cheek.

“Adrina!” shouted Prince Valam as he playfully kissed her and swept her off the ground, carrying her up in his arms to his towering height. He stared into the green of her eyes for a time, admiring the way the light reflected back. His mother Queen Alexandria had had the same eyes—eyes that seamed to beguile, eyes that others had told him were haunting.

Adrina pointed to the ground. She wanted to be put down. Valam’s chainmail shirt was rough and cold and the hilt of his sword pressed into her side. “I didn’t expect you home until the spring. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing like you may be thinking. It is just…” Valam paused. He turned to the open stone windows, stared down into the gardens in the inner courtyard. Creating the palace gardens had been a life’s work—his mother’s life’s work. He was pleased to see that flowers still bloomed in great shades of blue, red, and yellow this late into the year. “I was lonesome. After Isador arrived I could do nothing but think of home and you. Later I received a message from father. I was worried. I needed time away as well. The city is restored, the garrison is at full company, all looks to be in order. Chancellor Van’te is perfectly capable of handling affairs for a time.”

“How is the old scoundrel?” asked Father Jacob.

“As feisty as ever I’m afraid.” Valam’s response sparked a round of laughter. Before Yi, there had been Van’te. He had served their family for forty years. Valam and Adrina regarded the old chancellor as one of the family. When Valam had reached the proper age, Van’te had offered to help with South Province until the prince was ready to handle affairs on his own—grooming an heir to the throne was no easy task.

Adrina could still picture Valam setting off, his pride and hope showing in his expression and a far-off look in his deep brown eyes. He had been so worried. Adrina had been a girl then. She was a young woman now.

“Adrina,” said Valam impatiently. He had so much to do. He had not even visited his father yet.

“Sorry, daydreaming. It seems a lifetime since I last saw you, yet it is mere weeks since the attacks on Quashan’.” She eyed Valam, and asked while brushing long strands of black hair behind her ear, “Did you really return because you were lonesome?”

“Yes and no. I came to learn more about Seth and Galan. The pursuits of the elves seem to be moving nowhere and I owe a debt—”

Adrina pressed a finger to his lips. She considered telling him of Galan but didn’t. Fortunately, Father Jacob was wise enough to know when to change the subject. “So tell us the other reason you returned,” Jacob pried as he straightened the belt of his white-trimmed robe, the robe that was a symbol of his office as the king’s First Minister, “obviously your thoughts are elsewhere.”

Valam’s eyes darted to the open window and the gardens. “Nothing gets passed you, does it?”

“Not much, young sire.” Father Jacob thought to himself that the young prince looked more like his father each time he saw him, especially in the set of his face. He knew then as he had believed for some time that Valam would make a fine king when the time came.

Adrina followed Valam’s eyes to the gardens below, though her attention was drawn away for a different reason. She was sure she had seen a handful of field commanders crossing the inner courtyard with King’s Knight Captain Brodst. Unofficial word in the palace was that the armies of the bandit kings were on the move. The recent garrison activity certainly supported this notion.

“To tell the truth—” Valam stopped, looked at Adrina. “To tell the truth… It’s about Chancellor Yi.”

“Oh,” stated Father Jacob knowingly, the wrinkles on his forehead suddenly becoming great deep lines of worry.

“Go on,” prodded Adrina, displeasure in her tone.

“He sent me a personal communiqué… Nothing more…”

“And you came running all the way from the south?” snapped Adrina.

“Well,” pleaded Valam.

“This is no laughing matter!” Adrina shouted as she stormed off down the hall.

“That’s the Adrina I remember,” Prince Valam said to Father Jacob, “What is she so upset about anyway?”

Father Jacob told Valam what Adrina had omitted. He told the prince of the prophecy and of Galan’s death. As he spoke, he knew Valam experienced Great Kingdom’s darkest hour just as he had. Valam saw the soldiers marching, the riders swarming over the land, the city burning. He heard the hollow knocking on the walls, saw the great black wave of the other armies that followed the first. He heard the despair, felt the flames, saw the smoke that clouded the air.

Valam took a deep breath. His first thought was to chase after Adrina and apologize but Father Jacob’s hand on his shoulder told him to wait a moment. “What is it, Father Jacob? What is it that you aren’t telling me?”

Father Jacob fixed the collar of his robe. He stared intently at the prince for a moment before speaking. “Things don’t go well in council for the elves despite what was said to Queen Mother of East Reach. There is no popular support for this thing. It is only King Andrew’s promise that keeps the matter moving forward. The divide in the council is growing.”

“Divide? What do you mean?”

“Many go through the motions, acting is if in support, but they aren’t. Your father, my king, once held popular support and there would be none to oppose him within Great Kingdom. But times have changed. The memories of Queen Alexandria’s kindness are fading. Your father is not the man he once was.”

Valam’s eyes betrayed anger. “You speak treasonous words, dangerous words.”

Father Jacob took a step back from the towering prince. “I speak the truth—and the growing will of the people. Quashan’ and Alderan weren’t the only cities attacked. The attack in the south was coordinated with an attack in the north. There is evidence of growing unrest, new alliances, dark alliances. King Jarom will not rest until he sits on Imtal’s throne. He’ll do whatever it takes. That makes the Bandit Kings bold.”

“The Bandit Kings have ever been a thorn in our side. But I would not name them bold on the best of occasions.”

“Bold enough to steal into Imtal Palace and try to kidnap Adrina.”

“Kidnap? When did this … What would you have me do?”

“For now you must act is if you know nothing. The time will come for action. You will know it.” Father Jacob’s face suddenly showed his age. “Promise me? Nothing.”

Valam pressed his hands into Father Jacob’s then hurried down the hall in the direction Adrina had gone.

Vilmos ran as fast and as long as he could until finally breathless he staggered, fell to the ground exhausted. The portent clung to his mind. He had to get away, as far away as he possibly could. Panting and weary he stood. His legs shook. His every thought told him to run.

Desperate to move on he crawled until he mustered the strength to run. His chest hurt. His legs ached. His head throbbed with pain.

“Xith!” he screamed desperately. His words echoed out over the valley. “Where are you? What is this journey of awakening?”

He shrieked until his voice was hoarse. He had long since lost the ability to reason. His words were gibberish. His cries grew, his voice barely audible as his strength and determination waned.

When he could no longer run, he collapsed, pounded his fists into the ground. “Think clearly,” he begged of himself. “Think clearly.”

The throbbing pain of his bloodied knuckles brought clarity. He tried to calm himself, to push the nightmares of the world out of his mind. He tried to sort the real from the unreal.

Focus caused the world around him to coalesce and shimmer as if he stared out into a wading pool. Once more he could see the veil of the world. He reached out, parted the curtain between realities and found he was standing in a forest of ancient trees.

The odd-looking tree before him, perched atop a rocky crag, had roots that stretched over rocks and gravel to the rich black earth. The odd angles of the tree’s branches taunted him. He stared up into the sky, catching a glimpse of scarlet fires in the heavens. He knew instantly where he was—and, just as important, where he wasn’t.

The eerie glow from the tree spoke of its timeless power. A voice from far away in the past whispered to him, “The land called Ril Akh Arr,” and in that instant he knew that he had never left Under-Earth after Edward had died. Instead he had escaped from the hunter beast’s trap into the forest, succumbed to the enchantment of the trees—the tree. The tree that was nearly as old as Under-Earth itself. The tree that had survived the millennia as men and beasts came and went around it.

The Ever Tree sang to Vilmos. The rhapsody of the song was one of movement not of words. The tree’s branches twittered, leaves fluttered, as if blown by a breeze although the air was still. Vilmos listened, enchanted.

A face appeared within the bark of the ancient tree. As the face became clear the words of the song became clear. The song told of the masters of the three realms—titans, dragons, elves, dwarves, and men—and a time when they had lived as one. Lyrics of happy times were short lived. Soon the tree sang of a terrible, dark war and epic battles under blood red skies.

The song went on. The images in the song took shape. Vilmos no longer heard but saw. He stood tall, staring out at the burning fields in the song. A strong southerly wind blew smoke from the fires into his eyes. He looked down the trench littered with the dead and dying. In either hand he held a great sword, downturned during a pause between attacks but ready for battle just the same.

In his line he was the only one that stood at the ready. The others around him were slumped and weary. It had been a long day; the night would be even longer. Odd though it was he knew a night in the trench wouldn’t bother him. He was lineborn and linesworn. The darkness didn’t frighten him as it did many of the others.

The dogs came. He swung up the great swords in unison, standing true.

Behind the dogs he saw the goblin servants of the elves. Their thick green skin, large muscular bodies, and upturned canines clear even at a distance. Mixed in with the goblin horde were human slaves wielding rusted swords and other hand-me-downs from the goblins and the elven lords.

The elven lords rode in great chariots, chariots pulled by wingless dragons and hastened by thick leather whips. The weapons of the elven lords glowed in the darkened sky. Some of the lords wielded maces with spikes as long as daggers. Others hefted swords as large and sometimes larger than those that Vilmos held.

The attack dogs set into the trenches. Vilmos closed his eyes just for an instant before he charged. The closing of his eyes was as the turning of a switch. It did not make the images stop. It made them swim faster in his mind. The tree called. Vilmos listened. He raced into the stream of images that danced before his mind’s eye. It was the image of this past self wielding two great battle swords that Vilmos clung to and it was this image that would later walk in the shadow of his thoughts.

Valam paused, looking about the hall. He leaned close to the closed door and repeated, “If there was one who would understand, I thought it was you. Rudden Klaiveson attends to court every Seventh day. Did you know that? I’ve found it hard not to like him. He is quick-witted, and at times funny.”

Adrina slowly opened the door. Valam saw tears on her cheeks yet said nothing of them. Instead he asked, “Would you like to return to South Province with me? The winters are mild. It will do you good.”

“And?” inquired Adrina, probing further with her unspoken expression and the great round circles of her eyes.

“All right, all right. It’s Isador. She figures she’s finished with you and now it’s my turn. Are you conspiring against me too? My own sister…”

“Oh, Valam!” Adrina cried out as she ran to embrace him. “Do you truly like Rudden?”

Valam didn’t say a word. He held and comforted her. This reminded him of all those times she had come to him with her problems as a child. She was his favorite sister, though he would never tell her.

“It will be okay, just you wait and see,” he whispered into her ear. He put her down, his hands still on her waist as he regarded her for a moment. She had turned into a very beautiful woman. Nothing like the messy-haired tomboy he had once known. “Come now. It’s time I saw father. I can’t have my escort looking such a mess.”

Adrina smiled faintly, went to the mirror. She rang the bell beside the mirror. One of her attendants entered. After bowing to the prince, the attendant approached. “I must attend council. You must help me fix this mess,” she said, fretting with her hair.

Myrial smiled but said nothing. She knew Adrina didn’t know that she had answered the bell. “Yes, my lady,” she whispered quietly, firmly. The formal tone was due to the prince’s presence. He made her nervous.

Adrina turned. She smiled, reached out her hand as Myrial came to stand behind her. “What of house duties?” she whispered.

“House duties can wait. I was on my way to talk to you so this is just as well.”

“Emel?”

Myrial’s eyes went to Valam, then back.

“Later then?”

Myrial nodded agreement.

Adrina and Myrial worked busily in front of the mirror. Valam waited impatiently until they were finished.

With her long black hair braided tightly and folded over her left shoulder, Adrina took Valam by the arm and led him down the hall to their father’s council room. As they approached the closed council doors they could see by the presence of the guards and pages awaiting their tasks that the council was in session. Soon they could hear sounds of a heated conversation in the hall.

“Perhaps we should return later,” Valam said quietly. He had a particular loathing of council sessions.

“Come, this should be interesting.” Adrina had only to glare at the guards to get them to move out of the way. They did so expeditiously, mostly because they recognized the crowned prince, partly because of her glare.

Valam started to say that he hated council sessions but Adrina wasn’t listening. She linked her arm in his and led him into the council chamber.

Chancellor Yi was speaking when they entered. “This could lead to civil war,” he said. “Is this what we want?” As the chancellor paused to take a sip of water, he saw Valam and Adrina enter unannounced.

“My Lord, Prince Valam,” the chancellor announced, tossing in a wink as he spoke.

“Chancellor,” returned Valam as he turned to his father, the king, and knelt appropriately. “Your Royal Majesty, father, you look well.”

“Dispense pleasantries,” King Andrew said, the thick lines of his jaw easing a bit. “It is good you are here, Valam, my son. We could use a fresh mind on this delicate subject.”

The king nodded to Keeper Martin who started to recount the events of the past few days in detail. Prince Valam stopped him, saying, “Father Jacob and Adrina have already caught me up on all that.”

“I can believe that… Is Father Jacob still attending to Seth?” Keeper Martin asked, the salt-and-pepper gray of his beard and hair marking him clearly as one of the elders in the room, yet there was no insignia on his lapel this day to speak of his office as Head of Lore Keepers. Instead, his rank of office was indicated by the arcane staff that he held in his right hand as he stood beside the long, triangular shaped table that filled the center of the great hall.

“Yes,” Valam and Adrina answered at the same time.

“Good,” returned the king. His heavy oaken chair was to the right of where Keeper Martin stood. Directly in front of him and across the table were the concentric rings of pews where the lower council members sat. “We could also use his help here at council. We were just discussing how best to bring aid to Queen Mother of East Reach. Go on, Chancellor Yi, finish what you were going to say.”

The chancellor, seated to the king’s right, turned to the king and asked, “Your Majesty, may I digress for a moment and ask the prince—”

King Andrew motioned with his hand before the chancellor could complete his request. The great green jewel on his ring finger glittered in the soft white light of the candelabras spread throughout the council hall. Its soft green matched the glow from the jewels in the crown he wore. There was great purpose in wearing the crown jewels this day. Both had been gifts from the elven people to the Alder, the first ruler of Great Kingdom. That time had been simpler, before the bloody wars in which the brother races turned against each other.

“Who is running South Province in your absence? Did my brother condone your departure?”

“Chancellor Yi, you worry unnecessarily. Chancellor Van’te is handling matters in my absence,” replied Valam, understanding the direction the question was supposed to lead him in.

A silent message passed between the two that said, “Yes, I received your message.” The reply was, “Good, good, very good.”

Chancellor Yi smiled as he broke into a soliloquy. His thoughts were so evoking and precise in explaining his ideas on the probabilities of succeeding in a sustained campaign against King Mark of West Reach and his allies that there was no possibility of contention. Then surprisingly the chancellor reversed his premise and had all equally persuaded that dismal failure lay ahead. His intent was to open all sides of the discussion and lead the council in a positive direction, and on that he succeeded overwhelmingly.

“Very good points, Chancellor Yi,” Keeper Martin said. “Still, I think convincing the populace is the key. We cannot do this thing alone”—Keeper Martin’s eyes probed those of the council members as he talked, speaking as much to them as about the peoples and places they represented—“We need the support and resources of our allies. Without this support Great Kingdom will founder like a ship that takes on too much water in heavy seas.”

King Andrew sat truer in his chair. He turned away from Adrina and Valam. His eyes betrayed his concern for his children and much more. “Yes, Keeper Martin, let us hope for popular support and plan a way to achieve it. A good reminding of the prophecies should aid the task.”

“Agreed, sire,” added Yi.

Prince Valam asked, “Chancellor Yi, have you received word from the Free Cities yet? Are they sending an emissary?”

“Good question, that reminds me…” answered the chancellor moving around one side of the enormous table so that he was standing in front of the lower council. “Yes, the governor of Solntse himself is coming as a representative for all the free cities. He should arrive within the week. Representatives from High Province and the Western Territories will arrive soon afterward, but no definite dates can be prescribed. No word from the Minor Kingdoms yet as there are no longer keepers there to contact.”

Keeper Martin cleared his throat, quickly added, “Several are journeying there now. It shouldn’t take long. Once they arrive I shall know of it. I will tell the council at once.” What he did not say—what no one said—was what had happened to the other keepers.

“Chancellor Volnej, we have not heard from you. Usually you are brimming with clever solutions,” said King Andrew sardonically. He was still incensed about the proceedings in the Territories and in the south.

“Forgive me, sire, this combined upper and lower council will take some getting used to. I just wish that Brother Seth were here today. We shall need maps and many tactical diagrams drawn up. Also, we must increase the production of ships, armor, and weapons. It is a logistical nightmare. I will attend to those details,” Volnej said, grinning happily as he spoke the last few words. “I will keep you up to date. And, I believe it is a viable excuse…”

“Yes, it is double-edged is it not, good chancellor. See that it is carried out.”

King Andrew dismissed the council with a wave of his hands but asked Chancellor Yi, Keeper Martin, and Prince Valam to remain. Adrina understood that she was being dismissed as well and went without protest. Andrew Alder stood then at the head of the great triangular meeting table. The three, Yi, Martin and Valam, sat on one side of the table close to the king.

“The Duardins and Braddabaggons are noble old kingdom families,” Andrew said, speaking directly to Valam, of Yi Duardin and Martin Braddabaggon. “Their families have served the greater good for generations. In the dark times ahead you will need their counsel. I bind them to you, my son, and you to them. Trust their words, for there are none who have served so well.”

Prince Valam tried to speak but King Andrew’s glare silenced him. King Andrew turned to Keeper Martin and Chancellor Yi then, saying, “You know what it is that you must do. Do not hesitate or stray from course.”

“And my special delivery?”

“In due course, my son, in due course.”

Valam grinned, nodded agreement before turning away. Keeper Martin called after him as he exited the council chamber. Valam slowed down, waited for the elder to catch up.

“You do realize,” Martin Braddabaggon said quietly, “Geoffrey of Solntse will never show. None of them will.”

“Yi’s response was for the benefit of the listeners, was it not?”

“It was. His brother has taught you well.”

“He has.” Valam clasped Martin’s hand. “Geoffrey is the key. What will get his attention?”

“Yes, win him. The others will follow. …Clever thinking,” he mused.

“I am my father’s son, we had the same mentor. What of these rumors? Who is spreading the lies?”

Martin started to respond, paused. “You and I and Chancellor Yi must find a way to deal with the whisperers. It is your father’s unspoken wish. He has bound us to you because he fears his time is past.”

“Tell me what to do, Keeper Martin, and I will.

Keeper Martin looked directly into Valam’s eyes. “Back to Geoffrey, you bring interesting insight. Free peoples understand strength and deeds. Find a way to earn his respect through action.”

“With steel?”

“Perhaps.”

Chapter Two:

Messages & Shadows

Word of the elves returning spread throughout the kingdoms. Emissaries began to arrive regularly from the far lands. A messenger arrived this day from High Province dashing Adrina and Valam’s hopes that they would see their sister, Calyin. Heavy rains were eroding the mountain paths and the only remaining route from the north would take many weeks.

When Adrina and Valam weren’t busy with other affairs, they struggled to learn Seth’s language and culture. It seemed important to learn as much about the elves as they could. Although the language of the elves was strange to them the words began to flow from their tongues with slow persistence.

The unofficial council sessions grew with the same slow persistence until they were a long and tedious daily occurrence. It appeared that no one wanted to be left out of the council proceedings.

The curious arrived in droves. King Andrew was on the verge of sealing the city gates and only allowing those with official business into the city. Several days previous he had ordered the palace gates closed to all save official visitors. To make matters worse a murderous riot between mercenaries from Veter and Territory free men caused the city and palace guards to be put on full alert.

King Andrew wasn’t pleased with the dilemma at hand. The Kingdom seemed on the verge of eruption. The one thing he wanted most was out of his reach. In truth, he didn’t know if the other kingdoms were refusing to acknowledge his requests or if the messengers weren’t getting through.

As a second week passed without word, King Andrew watched delegates grow irritated at postponements and the council grow restless. Private sessions between his most trusted advisers were going nowhere. No one would speculate as to the cause of the delays. The last of the emissaries from the Western Territories had arrived yesterday and the distance they traveled was the greatest.

Keeper Martin could only lower his eyes in the presence of his failure, contributing no words of wisdom or excuses. Father Jacob’s brief discourse turned the group’s mood dismal when he offered the feelings he sensed from Great Father. To top it all it seemed as if Father Tenuus had fled the palace. He was nowhere to be found.

“King Andrew, father,” Valam said, interrupting the sudden quiet of the council chamber, “I see no recourse other than sending a private party from Imtal to each of the Minors in turn. I believe the royal personage is what is necessary to solve the crisis at hand. No one, not even King Peter, will purposefully refuse a direct request sent from you that I personally deliver.”

King Andrew didn’t respond with words. He lowered his head and raised his hand as a sign of agreement, submission. Sadness was written in his tired features.

“Prince Valam speaks true, Your Majesty,” said Chancellor Yi, “I believe that is the only option we have left.”

“Then so be it,” King Andrew said with regret.

The meeting continued at a somber pace with not much else being resolved. They did however, decide to keep things progressing. They could not turn back from the course they had set out on. All must be ready before the coming of winter or they would not be able to send aid to East Reach until long after the winter snows thawed.

Vilmos couldn’t remember when the world that he knew returned and the world revealed by the tree went away. He only knew that he walked and walked, confused and dazed. His mind filled with colors, flashes of light, and images of things that he could hardly imagine. Yet the one who stood in the shadow of his mind understood and this shadow walker helped watch and guide him along River Efrusse and out of the forests of Ril Akh Arr.

The journey north lasted many days and took Vilmos through the swamp of Adrynne where the army of Stranth was defeated by the will of the Lady who guards Beyet Daren and her people. Nightfall found Vilmos curled beside a boulder hidden deep in a thicket. Huge tears rolled down his cheeks. He stared up at the insolent sky and cursed softly under his breath. Night in Under-Earth was unlike night anywhere else. The thorns on the bushes in the thicket would help protect him from the strange, dark creatures that roamed the night.

Night, Vilmos mused. He almost laughed then as he wiped the tears from his cheeks. Night in Under-Earth seemed indistinguishable from day. He only knew it arrived because the sound of life slowly disappeared until it was absolutely quiet—a quiet that was interrupted much later when the night creatures arrived and joined in their hunts.

To guard against the night Vilmos learned to sleep with his eyes open. If danger approached he knew the images would filter into his dreams and he would awake. What he didn’t realize was that it was the other who watched while he slept and it was a voice from the shadows of his own mind that called out warnings to him.

This night was different from the others before it. Images filtered into his dreams and urged him to wake, to race through the darkened land. Vilmos followed the call, only the knowledge that something was close carried him on.

Many hours later Vilmos offered quiet thanks to the heavens. The outskirts of Beyet Daren, dark and shadowy, illuminated only by silvery red light filtering through a darkened sky, came into view. At first it seemed the city was a single mass of black stone, but as he approached the city walls he grew increasingly amazed at what he saw.

Every building in Beyet Daren was a veritable palace of stones. Stones that must have been carved from the mountains in the distance. The dark stone had a dull shine as if every surface was polished smooth. Indeed, as Vilmos passed quickly through a cavernous opening in the city walls that served as the entryway, he found the walls were polished smooth—smooth and cold to the touch.

Inside the strange city he found empty streets, and as he walked along them he imagined the city was deserted. Images flashed through his mind’s eye as if in a dream. He delved deep into the heart of the city. He started to see signs of life. A light on. A voice in a back alleyway.

He found it strange that the streets remained empty. The voice in his mind told him to pull the hood of his cloak closer about his head as a precaution.

He walked on, unafraid of the growing whispers in darkened alleyways. He muttered a curse to the very air around him. His thoughts went to the shaman for a time. Xith had taken him away from everything: his home where he was cared for. His parents who loved him. His life in Tabborrath village.

He started to cry. As he cried he cursed the shaman for everything that had happened to him and all that would happen to him if he didn’t find his way.

He maintained his curses as he walked, yet the more he cursed, the more harsh and wrong his words sounded. He didn’t hate Xith. He was scared. Scared he would not find Xith. Scared of being alone. Scared about what the future would bring.

The streets grew from vaguely familiar to completely unfamiliar. He knew he was lost and this was made worse by the fact that he didn’t even know where he was trying to go.

As he turned a corner and entered a shadowed street he heard footsteps behind him. Before he could react he felt the heavy tip of a cold blade against his back. The finely crafted steel sliced through his clothing and touched his skin. Steel met his spine. He screamed, tried to run, but it was too late.

By the time Seth and Adrina made their way downstairs the council had adjourned. Over the course of the next several days the council required Seth’s presence only sporadically, mostly to push the skeptics back into their place. More often, the council was in heated debate without him—debates that didn’t always pertain to the elves.

During the long days of waiting and listening Seth and Adrina continued to tell each other about their homelands. As it happened, if Seth wasn’t with Adrina she could be sure that he was with Valam. A slow friendship was building between Seth and Valam. Adrina could see this and this pleased her as something more, something dangerous, was building between her and Seth.

Most mornings she paced the walkways of the garden. She was often alone, left only with her thoughts, although eventually one of the two would find her. This morning it was Seth who found her first. She wasn’t disappointed to see him but her thoughts went out to another for a few brief moments.

Beautiful day, imparted Seth wordlessly.

“Yes it is, isn’t it,” responded Adrina, adding, “No word from the Minor Kingdoms yet?”

No, Keeper Martin seems worried. He thinks something’s wrong. The Seventh day session may not take place.

Adrina turned up her lip. Her expression became a frown. She knew Valam was planning something and that Seth was a part of those discussions. She wasn’t allowed to know what was happening. It bothered her that they were keeping secrets, compounded by the fact that she had tried her best to learn about what they were planning but hadn’t been able to. Valam knew her too well. He knew her tricks and blocked her every effort.

For a short time the two stood quietly, searching for anything to spark conversation. Adrina’s thoughts continued to drift. She wished that she was still a girl and not the woman she was becoming. She didn’t want to understand why it mattered so that she was coming of age. When Valam had come of age there had been a great celebration. Heralds throughout the lands proclaimed him as Lord of the South, Governor of South Province and King’s Heir.

There would be none of this for her. She would not be granted titles or land. Those things would be granted to Rudden Klaiveson on their wedding day—a man she had promised herself to, yes, but not the man of her dreams. What did she know of dreams anyway? It seemed she had only recently started to live.

Turning to Seth, she asked, “You’ve said before that The Reaches are divided in two: East and West. A king in the West, a queen in the East. Why is that? Why are the peoples divided?”

Kapital was my home, yes, I know little of it in truth. Galan should have been the one to tell you about this, not me.

Remembering Galan’s face as if in a dream, Adrina smiled. “She did. She told me some, and I am grateful but there is so much I don’t understand.”

I was chosen at birth, Adrina. I have no past memories to cling to. I know only that which the Brotherhood teaches and what I have seen with my own eyes.

“Surely you know why there is a king in the West and a queen in the East?” She said it like it was such a simple thing, knowing it wasn’t.

Seth walked to the edge of the balcony. He gripped the stone railing, stared out over the gardens but did not reply.

“It is because of Queen Oread, is it not?” Prince Valam said as he joined them on the balcony.

Seth shot a quick response of, Come to join the battle of wits and words? and at the same time replied aloud to Adrina, “I know what I have been told and read.”

Valam’s timely laugh in response to Seth’s words caused Adrina to bead her eyes and flip her long dark hair over her shoulder. At times it seemed she and Valam competed for Seth’s attention. “Well then?”

Oread was but one of the fools in the game. To truly understand you must go back to the First Age. The time of Ky’el, the titan who led men, elves, and dwarves from the bonds of slavery. These histories I know as I studied many of the ancient texts regarding your kind.

“Did titans and dragons truly rule the skies?” Adrina asked excitedly.

It is said titans and dragons shared the skies of Over-Earth with the Eagle Clans of old, and together they ruled the sky kingdoms.

Valam said, “Back to Ky’el.”

“Yes,” agreed Adrina. “Our history of the great titans is very different.”

Ky’el was a titan, but a very different sort. Dangerous to some, a genius to others…

Adrina saw movement out of the corner of her eye, turned, saw Myrial waving to her from the stairs. Valam saw Myrial as well and whispered, “Go,” to Adrina.

She excused herself and turned away. “News from Emel?” she asked excitedly as she walked down the steps with Myrial. Myrial nodded and the two hurried off.

The nameless rogue prodded Vilmos along, turning him this way and that with careful pressure of the cold blade applied to the small of his back. Whenever Vilmos tried to resist, the rogue muttered under his breath, “Only Nyom strays,” as if Vilmos understood what that meant.

Eventually the rogue led Vilmos to an alley where another waited, clad in dark leathers and a hooded mask with two slits in it for the eyes. The two rogues then guided Vilmos into the darkness, maneuvering him around unseen obstacles, finally coming to a place where a door of sorts stood. Vilmos couldn’t see the door. He only heard the noise of its movement as it creaked open.

After entering a dimly lit room the rogue with the blade prodded Vilmos from behind to raise his arms while the second searched him. The hooded one stripped Vilmos of his cloak and, after a brief struggle, his boots.

“Human?” muttered a raspy voice, the voice of the figure with the blade.

Soon afterward strong hands pulled Vilmos’ arms painfully behind his back. They bound his hands harshly with a thin rope that cut into his skin as he attempted to resist.

As shock settled in Vilmos froze. Void of thoughts, too awestruck to react, his only recourse was to wait. He didn’t think they were going to kill him, or he thought—hoped—they would have already done the deed.

The one with the blade spoke again, “Human slave, from where did you come?”

He didn’t say a word. He sensed a third figure watching—judging—from the shadows. An unconscious shiver built within him. His legs shook with nervous tremors. He bit his cheek against his jaw until he felt warm blood flow across his tongue and trickle down his throat.

“Slave, speak when spoken to!” The sharp blade sliced into his back.

Vilmos fell to his knees, stood, and remained silent. He understood the words though they were in a language different from his own. It was then that he realized the language spoken was that of the dark elves. He knew the rogues were not of that race for he could smell the stench of their fleshy hides, a stench that even their cloaks and masks could not hide. The rogues were goblins, servants of the dark elves.

“Check his tongue,” said the second goblin. “His master may have removed it…”

Strong hands pried open Vilmos’ mouth. He saw shiny eyes from within the slits of the goblin’s mask. He thought about biting down but didn’t.

“Tongue and no branding. He must be a rebel spy.”

“Slave or spy?” the goblin behind Vilmos said, clear impatience in his voice.

The figure in the shadows of Vilmos’ mind spoke. “Neither,” he said in the language of those who held him.

“Neither,” laughed the goblin standing in front of Vilmos. “Human, you are one or the other. There is nothing else here. So which one are you? Off with it, don’t try my patience. I haven’t much to strain.”

Vilmos winced as the blade sliced along the small of his back. He was afraid but the figure in his mind kept him standing tall—tall and nearly naked in the frigid night air.

“I’ll bet he’s a slave,” the goblin standing behind him said, “or else we wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on him.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I am a slave.”

“I hate slaves… kill him,” said the cloaked goblin behind him, turning to leave.

“Wait!” shouted Vilmos desperately, “Wait, I’m no slave. I’m a spy, honest.”

The goblin, seemingly interested, asked, “Really?”

“Yes, yes, I am,” Vilmos said with a laugh, half bemused, half about to cry. The shadow walker in his mind screamed out in alarm to silence him.

“I don’t know,” said the second goblin as he stood in front of Vilmos and pranced nervously back and forth. He lunged out. The blade ripped into Vilmos’ side. “He doesn’t look like a spy, doesn’t bleed like one.”

The shadow walker forced Vilmos to his feet but couldn’t stop terror from gripping his thoughts. Hands tied behind his back, nearly naked with two dark figures poking and prodding him, he felt utterly helpless. A discharge of warm urine flowed down his leg yet he said firmly, “I am neither slave nor spy.”

“Overstep your bounds and you shall finish as Stranth,” the first goblin said. “I shall have the truth of it.”

Vilmos swallowed his heart back down his throat as the second goblin pulled the long, slender dagger from its sheath again. He did not cringe away from the blade or the cold death he saw in the other’s eyes.

The goblin held the dagger close against his throat, staring into his eyes, hesitating, seemingly, only for the sheer joy of the agony it caused. With one hand the goblin pulled his hair back and pressed the blade tighter with the other.

Vilmos never wavered the direction of his gaze. He held it fixed, wild, wide, glaring at the one who would kill him. An image, a flicker of something, in his eyes forced the would-be killer to back away. The goblin dropped the dagger as if it had stung him and backed away from Vilmos trembling, bumping into the wall behind him as he went, groping wildly until he found the adjacent corridor before running from the room shouting.

The hooded goblin behind Vilmos whispered to the other who stood in the shadows before he hurried after his companion. Only the final words carried to Vilmos’ ears, “He’s the one.”

“It is you,” the figure said stepping from the shadows, the voice not harsh but soft. He caught Vilmos, twisted him around, unsheathed his sword. Then he sliced through the air in a series of fluid motions that were almost too quick for the eye to follow.

Vilmos, his hands freed from the restraints, gulped and gasped at the air. He tried to speak, found no words.

“It is you but not you,” the warrior said, “I knew you would come back.”

Puzzled Vilmos stood quietly for a time. He stared incredulously at his mysterious benefactor. The large armored tower seemed hardly a man at all, more a hardened mountain of stone and metal than a man. He was hard pressed to gaze past the chained plate to see the face, yet as he did recognition came in an instant. The brankened collar, the iron bit, the face chiseled as if of solid rock—it was the warrior from Solntse. But how and why?

His thoughts raced. “Where’s Xith? Can you take me to him?”

“I serve Shost and my masters,” the other answered.

“Take me to him.”

The warrior’s puzzled look matched Vilmos’ now. “I have been waiting for you. You are home. Shost awaits.”

“Home?” He was even more confused. The one who walked in the shadows of his mind watched but didn’t speak.

“Is it time?” the warrior asked.

“No,” Vilmos said flippantly.

The warrior frowned, sheathed his weapon, then walked away. Vilmos followed the warrior into the dark hallway.

Chapter Three:

Slipping Away

Seth stared at the prince. “I still don’t understand why I should learn. I mean if I had ever needed to use such weapons, I am sure I would have been taught. Members of the Brotherhood rarely learn to use weapons, even then only for personal edification.”

“Then you shall learn for personal edification and because I think it is a good idea. I need the practice as well,” Valam said. “Besides we have an entire day to pass. We cannot leave for the south until the weather breaks.”

Seth glanced out into the courtyard and at the heavy downpour. The timing of the storm couldn’t have been worse. Long hours of heavy rains were flooding the trails, making them nearly impassable. He hoped tomorrow would be a clear day, a day to begin a journey. He even cast a prayer to the Mother to ensure it.

“Meet me on the western balcony overlooking the garden. The hall just beyond it is perfect, secluded and quiet. I’ll see an old friend to procure weapons. It won’t take long.”

“You harbor hopes in these competitions?” Seth paused, continued in a voiceless whisper, Tell me, will the winner of this competition gain your trust or true friendship?

Valam bowed through an apology. “The competitions are hard to forget, even with all that is ahead. We won last year. After a decade of defeat, we won. Geoffrey of Solntse lost to Captain Brodst of the Kingdom in the final match. If only you could see the games, the competition fields, you would understand how much this means. Do you know how many disputes have been settled on a field with just two combatants instead of hundreds or thousands?”

Seth probed Valam’s mind seeking understanding but didn’t find anything that made sense of the matter. East Reach had no blood sport. He saw only futility in men facing each other and dying on bloody fields.

Seth stared out into the rain-filled courtyard. He was becoming disillusioned. The delays were aggravating and the ceaseless bantering of the kingdom council was frustrating. He longed for East Reach, to feel his will mixing in with Queen Mother’s thoughts, all the things he might never see again.

“Emel?” asked Adrina excitedly as she followed Myrial down the stairs. “You must tell me everything.”

Myrial didn’t say a word; she only gripped Adrina’s hand more tightly as she led the princess along the dark hallway.

“The orb?” Adrina asked when she could no longer endure the quiet.

Myrial faced Adrina. “Emel, the caravan. We must hurry or we’ll be too late.”

Myrial hurried along the hall, pulling Adrina behind her. Adrina followed close, partly because the twisting corridor was unknown to her and partly because the darkness frightened her.

Everything frightened her now, yet it seemed she had never been so alive or so free. The past was a terrible thing to drag with you wherever you went, she knew that now and it felt okay to let go. Jumping from the wall was her way of letting go, letting the past slip away from the present.

She didn’t forget. She would never forget. But now she could accept that she was alive and her mother was gone. She no longer felt the guilt of every waking breath, the heavy sense that everything in the world around her was dead and dying, the desire to slip away from life.

“Adrina,” repeated Myrial, holding out a hooded cloak. “Put this on.”

Adrina saw that they were near a guarded doorway. Heavy bars and thick iron doors on either side of a small space created a secured antechamber. It was a guard post and on the other side of the guard post she saw the strong light of the day. This surprised her because she thought she knew every pathway in Imtal Palace.

She put on the cloak, fixed the hood about her shoulders. Its thick cowl partially hid her face.

Myrial moved out of the shadows, nodded to the guard inside the post. He unlocked and opened the heavy iron door. The grinding of rusty hinges as the door opened sent a chill down Adrina’s back.

When they were inside the chamber the guard closed and locked the rear door. Moments later a different guard unlocked and opened the door to the square. As they passed through the outer door Adrina looked up. The bowmen at their posts high above looked down at her as she followed Myrial into the street.

The market was bustling with activity. As it was getting late in the day, bargain hunters were out and merchants were competing with song to attract them. A young girl stopped in front of her, looked up at her with wide eyes. She held out her hand, touched the top of the girl’s head as she passed by. Myrial turned to look back; eyes filled with worry told Adrina to hasten her step.

Her heart beat faster now. She had thought that she was the impulsive one and not Emel. Why was he doing this? she asked herself, and to take the orb without asking… It didn’t make sense. Why now? Why would he do this when she needed him the most?

One corner of High King’s Square was reserved for caravans. It was to this place that Myrial hastened. As they approached Adrina could see the carts and the liners going about their work.

A large caravan train was assembling. The job of the carts, apprentice coachmen, was to prepare the coaches for passengers and care for the horses. The liners took care of the supply wagons, packing the goods that would be carted off to faraway markets, checking tents and other supplies needed on the open road, caring for the work horses, mules, and other pack animals. Every action of the carts and liners was watched by those who had endured their apprenticeship and become journeymen in their own right.

Adrina knew enough about caravan trains to understand what she saw. But such a large caravan train wasn’t without its masters, so where were they? With a file forming and the train nearly ready to leave the city the caravanmaster and his coachmasters should have been mounted and watching. Their brightly-colored robes and matching turbans would be hard to miss, so it seemed that the masters weren’t about.

She grabbed Myrial by the wrist. The girl stopped, turned. “Where is it bound for?”

“The Territories,” Myrial said, her voice a half whisper. “We must hurry.”

Myrial started walking. Adrina followed. They passed beyond the lines of wagons. Adrina saw an eye-catching tent near the far wall of the square. The tent, like the robes of the masters, was brightly colored and stood out from the others around it. “The carvanmaster’s?” Adrina asked.

Myrial indicated agreement, and continued. The only problem was that the area between them and the tent was filled with hired blades and guardsmen who busily practiced their trade despite the lateness of the day. Adrina heard clashes of steel on steel as blades and guardsmen paired off in mock combat. But that didn’t bother her; it was the scraping of blades on whet stones that gave her goose bumps.

Clearly the caravan’s protectors knew something that the rest of the caravan’s crew didn’t. Otherwise they’d be packing gear, preparing for the journey.

Myrial didn’t slow her stride or veer off course. She made a straight line for the entrance to the master’s tent—like she’d done this before, and somehow Adrina didn’t doubt that the girl had. She knew Myrial wasn’t as quiet and meek as she pretended. She was a real fighter. Her life had toughened her and little frightened her, truly.

Cold, tired, and barefoot, Vilmos collapsed into a stall of the tiny stable. For a time it would be a refuge from the harsh streets of Beyet Daren. He had only been a step behind the warrior but had found only an empty corridor when he had raced into the hall. A fading voice in his mind had told him to find Xith and he had tried, but he didn’t know where to go or how to begin.

Exhausted, sleep quickly found him. Surreal images played in his dreams. He heard voices, saw masked faces. But the masks could not disguise what was underneath. He knew them.

The shirt and pants he had stolen did little to keep him warm during the cool night. At first he wriggled deep into the hay-like bedding on the floor of the stall to keep warm. As morning approached an acidic rain came, the rainwater pouring into the stable, bringing with it the stank smell of the city.

He awoke shivering, his eyes wild and unfocused. It took several long breaths before the vivid night dreams faded beyond the edges of his conscious thoughts. A noise followed by harsh voices startled him. He ran as fast as he could from the stable, slipping in the thick brown-red mud of the yard, nearly landing on his backside.

He escaped through an alleyway, and wandered aimlessly through empty streets with a vision in the corner of his eye that he could not shake. It was the image of a warrior. The image brought memories yet the memories were not his own. They were another’s.

Thoughts of the warrior and the lady swept him from conscious concerns. The lady’s beauty created a spot of light in his mind that overcame the darkness and chased his inner demons away.

His bare feet covered in dried mud, his hair matted and wild, Vilmos aroused to the world around him. He stood in the middle of a thruway. Under-Earth denizens were all around him, single-mindedly going about their business.

As if through another’s eyes he saw the dark elves. Their gray skin, dark hair, and pointed ears were unmistakable to the one that walked in the shadow of his mind. He saw the goblin servants of the elves. With thick green skin, large muscular bodies, and upturned canines, he suddenly understood why they were such fierce fighters.

Mixed in with the crowd were human slaves. Vilmos was surprised to see how many slaves the dark elves kept. The slaves, covered in dirt and reeking of disease, walked more like animals than men. Most were shackled and chained as they walked through the streets. A few like Vilmos, however, walked freely. These free humans were the ones Vilmos watched and followed.

The city seemed so large that he felt hopelessly lost. He shook the rain from his hair, wrung the moisture out of his pants and shirt, and emptied his pockets onto the ground as he walked. The last pocket had a stone in it, a small round pebble no bigger than his thumb.

Remembering the rock fight he and Xith had had during the magic shield lesson, he smiled. He tucked the stone into his palm, held it there as a good luck charm. He took to tossing it up into the air and catching it again every few steps as he went. Soon after he became lost in his thoughts.

A darkly robed figure passed in front of him. He let the stone drop to the ground. A sensation touched his mind, gnawed at him. He couldn’t quite place what it was. Perhaps it was telling him to run but his mind was too disoriented to realize it.

He ran to catch up with the robed figure. The other looked like a priest. The shadow walker in his mind had seen their kind before. Vilmos had feared them once; he did not fear them now.

Vilmos followed the priest until it became obvious that he was doing so. The priest turned to face him. He shuddered as he glimpsed a hornmarked face seemingly etched from rough hewn alabaster within the dark recesses of the cowl.

“Boy, go away. I have no time for you…”

Vilmos withstood the glare, stared straight back at the priest with unmoving, unyielding eyes. “I wish to serve.”

“The priesthood has no need of such. Return to your master.” The dark figure spoke tersely but without anger.

“I am not a slave, I serve Shost,” Vilmos said, the words coming to his tongue as if from another.

The priest grabbed Vilmos, hiding the boy’s face in the recesses of his cloak as he slipped into an alleyway. The priest didn’t say much more after that and neither did he release his iron grip. When they were several streets away the priest stopped, put Vilmos down. He pulled Vilmos by the scruff of the collar after him then, and through street after street they marched.

Valam walked rapidly, excitedly through the halls. The disappointment of the morning’s downpour faded. His first stop would be the audience chambers to talk with his father and advise him that the plans for departure were completed, and then he would look up an old friend. He had been so wrapped up in affairs that he had not seen Timmer since his return. He wondered how the old swordmaster was getting along, and more importantly, how the years were affecting his sword arm.

As Valam was being admitted to his father’s audience chamber he took note of outsiders in the room. Apparently Chancellor Yi saw and understood his confused expression. The chancellor hurriedly excused himself and escorted Valam into the hallway. “They are the delegation from the Minor Kingdoms.”

“What? When did they arrive?”

“There is no time for that, young sire. You must find Brother Seth and send a runner for Captain Brodst.”

“Captain Brodst?”

Chancellor Yi gripped Valam’s sword arm with his outstretched hand. “Trust me on this, young sire. Do so quickly, tell him to come equipped.” Chancellor Yi turned to return to the audience chambers.

The urgency sensed, Valam did not delay. He raced through the halls, found Seth, and sent a summons to Captain Brodst. Seth was not far from the place they were supposed to meet for practice. Valam did not have to tell Seth something was wrong. Seth could sense it. The two quickly made their way back to the audience chambers.

Captain Brodst arrived shortly after Valam and Seth. He replaced the guards who normally stood just outside the door with two of his personal sentinels, while he took a position just within the door. The captain’s timing was smooth and the outsiders only noted the entrance of Valam and Seth. Seth wordlessly told Valam of the naked rage in the minds of the outsiders. He read their hatred and their hatred was not only for him as an elf, it was for King Andrew, Valam, and everything Great Kingdom represented.

Chancellor Yi made the customary introductions. Valam and Seth were seated near King Andrew. The tension in the air was clear. Something was about to happen.

The small-statured Chancellor de Vit stood in front of the emissaries from Vostok. He set his sullen eyes on Seth, then with unbroken stride returned to the point of the conversation he had been in before the interruption. “King Jarom will settle for nothing less than a full forum to discuss the issue at hand.” So saying, he turned and spat at Seth. “Remove the elf from my sight at once. I will not be in the same room as one of these.”

Outraged, Valam would have jumped from his seat and tackled the chancellor if it had not been for King Andrew’s stern hand admonishing him. He clenched his fists and tightened his jaw, vowing that if the chancellor insulted his father, the king, he would kill the other where he sat.

King Andrew spoke openly, “By a full forum you mean a gathering as outlined in the Alliance Treaty?”

“King Jarom, East Warden of the Word, ruler of Vostok, will not concede otherwise.”

King Andrew gripped Valam’s left wrist as his face showed his anger. The king’s grip, surprisingly firm for a man of his years, might have crushed the bones in a lesser man’s arm, but Valam barely noticed. “How long will it take Jarom and the others to make the journey to Imtal?”

“It is King Jarom, and it will take at least another full month,” snapped the chancellor.

Valam broke free of his father’s grip, jumped from his seat and lunged across the table. Even Seth seemed surprised at the speed with which Valam crossed the eight foot stretch of oak. Valam’s fist knocked the chancellor to the floor, and as the man fell Valam followed him to the ground. Unlike the chancellor, who didn’t move after hitting the floor, Valam landed on his feet.

His fist poised to strike, Valam whirled around to face the remainder of the delegation from the Minor Kingdoms. “The next insult brings death, make no mistake, you will die by my hand.”

Captain Brodst dragged the chancellor by the scruff of the collar out the door, telling the guards to shackle him and throw him into the courtyard. King Andrew almost reflexively said something, yet did not. A faint smile did touch the corners of his lips.

The other delegates babbled apologies. The head delegate from Yug was the first to speak above the others, “I am sorry, that is the word also from King Alexas.” Valam cast angry eyes at the speaker. The man quickly modified his statement saying, “I mean, Your Majesty, King Alexas wishes a gathering to discuss the matter at hand.”

“How long?”

Another delegate from Vostok moved into Chancellor de Vit’s vacated place near King Andrew’s high-backed audience chair and spoke, “I am afraid, Your Majesty, that we will require at least a month to make preparations. King Jarom wishes all the kings to make the journey together.”

“A month?” said Valam angrily, “And you bow to Jarom like dogs?”

The man sank down in his chair, swallowed a lump that had just welled up in his throat. “That is what I was informed, Prince Valam, Your Royal Highness. I only relay the word. Do not judge the messenger by the words.”

This is a counter, they know of your plan to journey to the south, imparted Seth to Valam.

How? thought Valam to himself, using the learned technique which allowed Seth to reach into his mind. We only recently made those plans.

Valam eyed the delegate from Vostok. It was clear now that Chancellor de Vit had been but the messenger and this man speaking now held the strings. The purple silk of the robe and the gold embroidery from his triangular hat to the tips of his curly toed boots spoke of the delegate’s wealth and standing in the southern kingdom. The delegate was obviously of noble blood and perhaps even a royal cousin of Jarom.

They’re planning something…

What? thought Valam.

Valam pointed a steady finger at the delegate, said coolly, “Action is required and requested, a month to prepare is not acceptable.”

The audience chamber was still and silent. All eyes were fixed on Valam.

I see a city… A large city… A square with armed men…

An attack? thought Valam.

I’m not sure but I do know they don’t want Kingdomers in the… Seth’s thoughts trailed off. This one, this man. He’s the one, the one who saw to the murders of your envoys. I see it in his thoughts…

Valam turned to face his father. “With your permission, sire?”

King Andrew nodded his head.

“Captain,” charged Valam as he exited. “Kill the next man who dares insult any Kingdomer or elf.”

He patted the captain knowingly on the shoulder. In a way it was an apology that he granted. In all the excitement and preparations, no one had enlightened the poor captain and now it really did seem that the whole of the kingdom had forgotten his deed. The celebrations had been cancelled and Imtal Proper was in turmoil. Valam lingered a moment, delving beneath the sullen eyes that stared back at him.

“Gladly, Prince Valam, gladly,” said the captain as if to end the thing that passed between them unspoken.

Chapter Four:

Boundaries

Seth studied the training sword, holding it outstretched. The metal felt cold and awkward in his hand. He watched how Valam held the weapon, imitated the hold but the grip didn’t feel right.

“On guard!” yelled Valam as he lunged with his blade. The blow knocked the weapon from Seth’s hand.

Seth picked up the sword. Valam showed him the correct stance and grip, then took the offensive. He parried inward, striking full against Seth’s blade, which held firm now.

Valam shuffled back along the floor, parrying in and out, giving Seth a feel for the balance and movement involved in swordplay. Seth was quick to adapt, to change with Valam’s movements, but was still susceptible to harsh thrusts which stung and often ripped the hilt from his hands.

“Judge how tight you need to grasp. Remember, firm, don’t strangle. Work with it, anticipate your opponent.” Valam moved through the various steps, thrusting high and low. Valam’s thoughts were only on the attack, thrust, parry and block.

Seth followed each movement. He watched the strategy, learned the timing involved. Tension eased from his thoughts as his mind opened. He waited only for Valam’s next move, countered as necessary.

For the next phase of training, Valam took Seth to a two-handed stance. He showed Seth how much power could be gained in the attack as well as the defense, although at a cost to maneuverability.

My grip, can you show me again? asked Seth as he defended.

Valam paused to show Seth the proper two-handed grip, then executed a series of simple thrusts, demonstrating how one could use the tip of the blade to impale and rend. Afterward he switched to the defensive, allowing Seth to practice his thrusts.

“Watch your stance. The way you stand is as important as your attack. Place your feet wider apart so you have a good center of balance. It will allow you to move more easily and to react better in any direction necessary.” Valam went through a series of fancy movements to the right, left, forward, and then back. “You see, balance is the key. If your balance is bad, your attack will be poor.”

The two practiced for hours. The clash of metal on metal rang throughout the courtyard. Seth enjoyed the activity as did Valam.

Their thoughts became detached from everything around them. They had only the weapons in their hands.

“You see,” Valam said, lunging forward, “I knew you would like it.”

Yes, it is interesting. There is an art to it, replied Seth as he easily blocked, then swept in for an attack. Would a lighter blade allow for more mobility?

“Definitely, we train with these heavy blades for a reason.” Valam countered with a low thrust, then a parry. “Seth, can I ask you something?”

You don’t need to ask, groaned Seth, straining as the weight of Valam’s blade descended upon him. Seth pushed Valam away, forced the prince to parry against his thrust.

“When I first handed you the sword you acted as if you had never seen one before yet in the images from your homeland I saw numerous weapons.”

Seth switched from thoughts to words. “It is the workmanship of the blade. It is so different from our own. The metal is different, dull and black. I remember ours as bright silver, and it is also the first time I had ever held a weapon.”

“That is strange for me to conceive,” Valam said through clenched teeth, “I have had a weapon of one sort or another in my hand ever since I was old enough to carry the weight.”

Seth started to pass a thought on to Valam, paused to concentrate on his movements and steady his balance. “The Brotherhood doesn’t use weapons. We rely on our skill of movement in weaponless combat. The techniques can be quite effective, as you’ve seen.”

Valam’s assaults grew quicker, harsher. “But how can one fight an enemy who uses a skill which we do not possess?”

“What do you mean?” asked Seth confused, reading mixed emotion in Valam’s words.

“None of my people have your skill of hand. We cannot hope to match you on the field.” Valam lunged at Seth with great vigor.

Seth’s expression grew rigid. He stopped abruptly; luckily Valam pulled his thrust back at the last moment. Seth contemplated the question for a space, he understood Valam was agitated and he wanted to respond correctly. Valam, it is not so. I have explained to you about the Brotherhood, only a select few are chosen, as it is with our enemy, and though the will of the land is in every living thing, few can harness those powers as we do. We would not have come if the need was not great. Queen Mother has seen the paths and she knows what will come without your aid.

Seth chose swordplay as an alternative to further explanation, then changed the subject. Are you going to tell me where you disappeared to?

“Just probe my thoughts, you will anyway.”

“That’s not fair, what has happened? This is not like you, Valam. Has something happened in council that you’re not telling me about?”

Valam slowed the attack to respond, shifting quietly while he spoke. He countered Seth’s jab. “The delegates left Imtal immediately after speaking to my father.”

“They withdrew the offer of support they had hinted of, did they not?”

Valam lowered his sword, took a step toward Seth, speaking in a hushed tone, “This must stay between you and I, not even Adrina must know of this.”

“Agreed.”

“King Jarom requested a gathering. It means he seeks the seat of power which Great Kingdom has always held.”

“Or he has some other plan.” Valam pushed for Seth to explain. Seth turned away. “Tell me, Prince Valam, what does the winner of this competition get?”

“Beyond respect?”

“Beyond respect.”

“Is there anything beyond respect? Don’t you see? Your cause needs popular support and there is no better way to gain such support. People from all corners of the land and beyond attend.”

Then we practice for the competitions.

“No, we practice for ourselves,” Valam said striking out with his sword. “I await my father’s decision.”

Vilmos’ feet hurt from the rocks underfoot and because of the breakneck pace of his abductor. Several times he told the priest he wouldn’t run but the priest, not listening, only told him to keep quiet or he would stuff a gag in his mouth—a thing Vilmos was starting to believe would happen.

Eventually they stopped while the priest gathered his bearings. Afterward, though, it was back to the double-time march through the streets, passing almost to the outskirts of the city. Vilmos wasn’t sure which side of the city they were on. It was difficult for him to get his bearings in Under-Earth as there was no sun to mark direction. It did seem, though, that he was on the opposite side of the city from where he had entered.

The priest stopped, crossed the street, pulled Vilmos behind him. The building they stood in front of was different from those around it. It was built with white stones instead of black and had a single spire that rose into the sky hundreds of feet, making it the tallest building Vilmos had seen in the city.

The priest pushed Vilmos through the front door, sending him sprawling into a darkened antechamber. Vilmos lay still, unmoving. The antechamber’s windows were coaled over and allowed no natural light to filter in. He prayed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, wondering what the hand attached to his collar would do next.

The room swayed as he was raised from his haunches and thrust into another room, one lit by a conglomerate of lanterns whose dull, yellow spray scarcely touched the darkness. The room held a sense of foreboding. A group of darkly clad men sat at a table talking in hushed tones.

Afraid to move, Vilmos lay motionless as the group of men gathered around him, staring down at him. He knew that beneath the shadows of black the hooded robes afforded were eyes that held loathing. He could sense it.

“Can you believe it, Talem?” hissed his abductor. “All this way to find a mere boy.”

“Are you sure?” answered Talem, lowering his hood to reveal his face as he did so.

Vilmos gasped. If there was one thing he knew for certain about the priests, it was that the hood was not to be removed. He had never seen so many of the priests in one place. At most he had seen two of the dark priests together and even that had been only on one occasion, an occasion that had sent his father into a hysterical frenzy.

“Yes, I’m sure. He was where you said he would be and he followed the lure.”

“I don’t know,” said another, prodding Vilmos with sharp, stubby fingers. “I see nothing of the mystics, only a boy. Lord Boets will be displeased.”

The priests started to debate over him as if he was some kind of prize. They decided to take a knife to him to see if that sparked a response.

He watched a priest withdraw a shiny blade from a black sheath. The priest’s steady hand brought the blade closer and closer.

Terror gripped his mind, holding him while the blade’s fine edge sliced into his arm. The icy sting of pain and the touch of his own warm blood came to him as through a vision. He did not flinch, whimper, or offer anything for them to gawk at. It was as if he looked in on another’s dream.

“Go ahead, kill him,” said one of the priests, disappointment in his voice.

Another objected, “Why? He’s not the one.”

“We can’t just turn him to the streets. We have to kill him.”

Vilmos was trembling. Only now that the threat of death loomed near did the happenings seem real. He tried to beg for his life, but his pleas only brought laughter.

The priests enjoyed desperation; they fed on it.

“Stand as Gandrius and Gnoble,” the shadow walker whispered in his mind. Suddenly he understood. Memories of old washed before his eyes. He could see the stone giants, Gandrius and Gnoble, standing tall as they defended Qerek from the Rhylle hordes—and it was then that his fear became anger.

He began to focus. A trickle of magic built within him. It circled outward.

The power overtook him; he could deny it no more. Like floodwaters racing along a stream bed, magic in its purest form raced to his fingertips, engulfing the outstretched fingers of his hands and arcing wildly. The deadly flames lashed out, engulfing the priests as though they stood within flaming waterfalls.

The dark priests began to writhe and scream. To Vilmos it seemed a horrendous sight, but he could do nothing to stop the flow of raw magic from within. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see their agony, didn’t want to hear their screams.

Adrina followed Myrial to the caravanmaster’s tent. Anyone that stood in their way moved aside when Myrial raised her palace pass. “Being housemistress has its rewards,” Myrial whispered as she hurried along.

Once inside the tent they made their way to the caravanmaster’s table. The table strewn with charts and inventory scrolls looked in complete disarray but the caravanmaster seemed to know where everything he needed was as he passed out orders to those seated around him, often pointing to one of the items on the table.

Emel stood behind the caravanmaster, slightly to the right. It was a position of honor. The position reserved for the caravan’s master at arms. A fresh cut along his left cheek told of a test of steel that Emel had won, if only barely.

Myrial and Adrina stopped in front of the table. The master looked up, spoke. “If you seek passage or wish us to convey goods, you are but late. Yemi will see to you at any rate, turn you away or not as he will.” He nodded and pointed to a tall thin man seated at the far end of the table.

Adrina stood her ground, lowered the cowl of her cloak. She cleared her throat several times in an attempt to get the caravanmaster to look at her, thumped the table when he didn’t. “Imagine I have your attention now, do I not good caravanmaster?”

The caravanmaster’s aid bent over and whispered in the man’s ear. “Yes, princess,” the caravanmaster said, his far south accent only now clear to Adrina, “I did not know it was you. Is there something I can do for the Royal House of Alder?”

“You make for the Territories, do you not?” The caravanmaster nodded agreement. “Good,” she said, smiling. “I would speak to this one.” She pointed to Emel. “Dismiss him.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Emel glared at Adrina as he walked toward her. “My princess,” he said, stopping in front of her. “What is your will?”

Adrina beaded her eyes and turned. The three exited the tent without a further word passing between them. Myrial took the lead as soon as they were outside. She walked to a secluded area where they could talk.

Adrina was near tears when they stopped. She turned to face Emel. “You were going to leave just like that? Without so much as a goodbye and taking what’s mine with you?”

“It was for the best, Myrial knew.”

Adrina turned to Myrial. Myrial said, “Yes, that’s why I brought Adrina here.”

“Why?” Adrina asked Emel. “Why are you doing this? You don’t need to, it serves no purpose.”

“There was an opening, I’ve pledged my service.”

Adrina grabbed Emel’s chin, turned his face so she could see the long wound clearly. “I see, and you got this how?”

“I am told it will heal without scarring. The blades see and understand.”

“They understand that if you slip up they can cut your throat and take your place. That’s what they understand.”

“That’s not fair, Adrina. I’m needed here.”

Adrina slammed her fists against his chest. “I need you. I can’t do this without you.”

Emel grabbed her wrists. “You’re doing this without me.” He stopped, looked at Myrial, seeming to judge her thoughts by her eyes. “Don’t you understand? I can make a difference here. I’ve decided, I’m going.”

“Going where?” Adrina glared.

“The Territories, surely you know that.”

“What use to you is the orb then? Why did you take it?”

“It is for the best. I have seen what it can do to you. I will be its keeper and where better a place than the wilds of the Territories. It will be safe there and you will be safe from it.”

Adrina played a hunch. “The southlands are a long way from the Territories.”

“The caravan’s to Krepost’.”

“And you shall be there before the winter snows set in the forests?”

“Yes, before the snows set.”

“Return in the spring?”

“Yes, in the spring.”

“Yet I see no winter gear being packed, and your caravanmaster—”

“—Your point being?” Emel snapped. Myrial took a step closer, another step and she’d be standing in between them.

“I’m getting to that. I’ve eyes you know, and ears. I see, I hear.”

Emel swept around Myrial, grabbed Adrina about the shoulders. His firm grip caused Adrina to wince in pain as he pushed her up against the wall behind her. He had been holding the orb in his hand and had dropped it just before taking action. Myrial picked up the orb. She attempted to wedge herself between them. She looked back for a moment to ensure that no one was watching or near.

“Forget what you think you know,” Emel said, despite Myrial’s attempt to put herself between them.

Myrial held the orb up for both of them to see.

“That’s not fair,” Adrina said. “You were using the orb. You know?”

“Yes, I do,” Emel said.

“And I,” said Myrial gripping the orb, smiling as she tried to remember to breathe and focus as she had learned from Galan.

“What then do we do with what we know?” Emel said, releasing Adrina.

“Nothing,” Myrial said, pushing the two apart. “Nothing at all.”

Adrina straightened her dress, and glared. “You will remember to treat me like a lady, like the princess that I am. Do not touch my person again, I warn you.”

Emel scrunched up his eyes, wondering at her sudden formalness. Then he followed her eyes, turning, understanding as he saw several palace guards approaching. Their look said they were on official business. Before the guards got too close, Emel snatched the orb from Myrial’s hands and slipped it into the leather pouch around his neck.

None of them were really sure what the guardsmen had seen, if anything, so they waited.

“Your Royal Highness,” the two men said as they came to stand before the trio. “We’re minutes from sealing the city. You must come with us at once, by order of the king.”

“My father?”

“Yes, you’re to return to the palace.”

“What’s going on? I demand that you tell me.”

The guardsmen looked at each other, unsure what to say for a moment. “Please, I beg of you. I’ve a family to think about, and I cannot—”

Adrina raised a hand as a sign for the guard to stop speaking and he did, midsentence. She turned back to Emel, touched his hand. “It won’t be the same without you. Be well.”

Emel put his free hand on top of hers. “And you,” he said as he turned and walked away.

Swordmaster Timmer’s presence near Valam and Seth was potent. Casually, the swordmaster walked over to Seth and corrected his stance and grip, tossing a sharp glare at Valam, then sat back down without saying a word. Thereafter Timmer conducted their movements with a point of his hand or a gesture, grunt or groan, never breaking their concentration.

Seth was gaining speed and agility dramatically—it was through Timmer that Seth had related his years of weaponless combat training with sword fighting. Indeed the movements were in many ways similar, and as soon as Seth realized this he was able to tap into his previous training and deliver attacks that increasingly put the young prince on the defensive.

As he planned movements in his mind’s eye Seth focused on Valam. His thoughts fixed only on Valam’s intentions. The thoughts that flowed into his mind helped him easily counter the prince’s attacks and the expression on Valam’s face became one of utter surprise.

Each time Valam attacked, Seth blocked. Valam found no openings and it seemed he was being pushed into a corner, making defense his only option. Only one other person could best him with such skill and that was the one who had trained him, Timmer. Out of breath from guarding, Valam yielded. He called a halt to the match.

“Are you two conspiring against me?”

“No,” Seth said honestly.

“You weren’t giving him private pointers, Timmer?”

Seth put the tip of the heavy training blade to the ground and leaned his weight against it. “Your mind is so open.”

Valam thought about Seth’s words before he replied, “By open, what do you mean?”

“Your thoughts flowed to me without effort. I used them to decide how to block and attack you.”

Valam looked to Timmer who in turn stared back blankly. “How do I protect against that?”

In jest Valam plopped down beside Timmer, put a hand on Timmer’s shoulder, and said through exhausted breaths, “Your turn, old friend.”

I’ll teach you. It is easy.

Teach me? I don’t know how to use will, thought Valam, allowing Seth to read his mind.

“I only instruct now,” replied Timmer softly, belatedly, “My sword arm isn’t what it used to be.”

You don’t have to. Will is in everything—and besides, I’m not talking about reading minds. I’m talking about defending from a mind probe—a simple clouding of thoughts.

“You are still the best swordsman I have ever seen,” Valam said replying to Timmer as he sheathed his weapon and waved for Seth to follow him.

“An unused dagger rusts,” Timmer mumbled as the three walked through the entryway into the palace proper.

“Nonsense,” added Valam as he turned toward the armory.

Chapter Five:

Stark Reality

Vilmos braced himself, clasped his hands to his ears. The screams, the screams. He couldn’t take them anymore. Why didn’t it end? Why did they still scream? Why couldn’t it be quick—and over? Why? Why? Why?

He begged, pleaded with himself to let it end, to ebb the flow of magic. Then he realized that he wasn’t hearing desperate cries of dying men. What should have been screams of pain had turned to raucous laughter and as he opened his eyes, he saw the dark priests standing within the flames, untouched by the fire.

The one who laughed the hardest was the one who had abducted Vilmos, but he was not a man like the others. His eyes were milk-white with blindness and yet he saw. He saw with the second sight of his kind. The sight that was inborn to those of his demon race.

The demon’s scaly hands agilely stroked a medallion that was suspended on a thick, gold chain around his neck. His voice boomed with laughter as he spoke. “He is the one,” the demon said. “He has the mystic power of the keeper to be certain, and perhaps more.”

Vilmos turned in a tight circle. His eyes wild, wide.

“Did you honestly think that we were unprepared to fulfill our duties?” scoffed Talem. “I assure you, you are not the first. You will not be the last.”

The priests pounced on Vilmos. Two held him while others bound his hands and feet, put a gag in his mouth. Then they slipped a large sack over him, propelling him into a sightless world of darkness.

For a time he relied on his sense of hearing. He listened to the fall of footsteps that were circling him and the muffled voices debating angrily. Then a smell, potent and sour, found its way to him. Afterward only darkness and unconsciousness.

Adrina paced in her room. It had been a long day. So much had happened. She was upset, but happy for Emel, because he had appeared to be happy. Everything seemed so wrong though. Why was the caravan train leaving Imtal now? Why was her father sealing the city? Why did Emel have to go?

The trail was muddy and wet from rain. The mud would make progress along the road slow. Wagons could get stuck. Pack mules could become reluctant or agitated. The rain could return. Passengers and crew wouldn’t be happy.

The rain was only the beginning. It was late in the day. Caravans normally left early in the morning or at least by midday so they could make progress along the road before nightfall. So why was this caravan leaving the city when only a few hours of daylight remained? Did the caravanmaster know something she didn’t? Was he planning on driving the caravan through the long night?

Myrial touched Adrina’s arm, partly to remind the princess that she was there and partly to get her attention. Adrina turned to Myrial and frowned. “You know what I’m thinking. Don’t you?”

“Sealing the city against the night isn’t that unusual, especially with all that has happened recently. Besides, I’m sure there is good reason.”

“Then why does it all seem so wrong?”

“Go see your father. Talk to him.”

“He told me nothing last time, only that he was pleased to see me. Like I was some prize toy that he had requested the guards to fetch.”

Myrial touched a hand to Adrina’s, then filled two cups with tea. “Sit, drink. It’s one of your favorites. Strong spice and tropical fruit from the southlands. The aroma is wonderful, soothing.”

“And the biscuits?” Adrina asked with a soft laugh.

“Fresh-baked, with a hint of lemon. I spoke with the baker, just as you asked.”

Adrina took a sip of tea, then bit into a biscuit that seemed to melt in her mouth. “You did, didn’t you?”

Myrial didn’t reply. She sipped her tea quietly, concentrated on the biscuits. She hadn’t eaten much all day and was hungry.

Adrina watched Myrial eat as she nibbled on a biscuit and sipped her tea. “He shouldn’t have dismissed me like that,” she said, breaking the silence. “I’m not a child.”

“It was for the benefit of the council I’m sure.”

“For a bunch of old men that care nothing about anyone but themselves. They could care less if I were alive or dead.”

“Exactly,” Myrial said looking directly at Adrina. “I’m sure that’s the truth of it. Your father couldn’t act pleased or surprised to see you. He only wanted to see that you were well. Oh, don’t you see? That’s what it was about.”

“You know something, don’t you?” Adrina put down the tea cup, stared intently. “Tell me what you know, Myrial. Please, I beg of you.”

Myrial said quietly, the tone of her voice so low Adrina had to lean forward to hear, “You don’t want to know what they say in whispers Adrina, you don’t want to know. The whispers are hurtful, they always are. You are better—”

“Whispers?” Adrina pushed, though she could see Myrial was frightened.

“The word in the hall, in the city, in the land. Things you shouldn’t know or hear, Adrina.”

“What do the whisperers say?”

Myrial turned away. She couldn’t look at Adrina as she spoke, “If the whispers were even half true, I would tell you. The whispers don’t have a spark of truth. Your father is a good and just king. Your family is strong and will rule for many generations to come. I know this as I know no other thing.”

“Does my father know the things the whisperers say?”

“I’m sure he does,” Myrial said quietly, turning back to her tea and acting as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Adrina knew then that Myrial was hiding from the truth of the whispers. Myrial didn’t want to face painful truths anymore than she did and the truth was in Myrial’s words. The whisperers must be saying that the House of Alder was weak and that it’s time had come and gone.

Adrina didn’t like the stark reality that she was faced with. She was frightened and hurt. If such whispers had spread throughout the land, very dangerous days were ahead. She knew her history, how monarchies were toppled, how kings were born, bled, and died.

The people rewarded good kings in word and deed. Good kings could rule with open hands, but that hand must be ready to clench into a fist, to strike, to defend, to keep land and people. A weak king was no king at all. He was a puppet on the throne who would bow to the will of the strong. Was her father weak?

Light filtering into the thick burlap bag caused Vilmos to wake. He could tell that he was outside. He couldn’t tell where he was. Every now and then those carrying him would switch shoulders, jerking him around violently as they did so. He tried to struggle, to fight, to free his hands or at the very least find a comfortable position. His legs were cramped and he ached. His wrists stung where the ropes bit into them. His back hurt where bruised shoulders swelled.

Through it all, the shadow walker was there with him, whispering that he should calm himself and not worry, for they followed Stranth’s trail back to Pakchek Daren where they would find safety. But Vilmos didn’t want to listen to the voice in his mind. He wanted freedom and so he struggled.

Suddenly movement stopped. Vilmos was dumped onto the ground. He heard a creaking sound, perhaps that of a warped door being laboriously opened.

He was picked up again. Still in the burlap bag he was deposited in a box of sorts. He couldn’t tell what kind of box, only that he heard the cover close over him and a lock being set in place, felt the walls about his shoulders.

Shrouded in total darkness now, Vilmos guessed the box was completely sealed. The air became stuffy and warm, hard to breathe. His listened, but the movement of those around him became the least of his worries. He fought to keep his eyes open. He was suddenly so tired. Sleep called out to him.

He beat against the box with his elbows, struggled to maintain consciousness. He knocked his head against the top of the box until it hurt. The last time he did so he saw a crack of light enter the box. A puff of air followed. It brought life to his burning lungs.

He pushed up with his head, fought to keep the top of the box open. The air. He needed it desperately.

Time slipped away. His neck became stiff and sore. He twisted his head from side to side but this didn’t help. He began to wonder if air was more important than the need to relieve the pain? Or if the pain was the only thing keeping him here in this reality? Why were the priests being so cruel? Why didn’t they just kill him and get it over with?

Then he thought that maybe it wasn’t their intention to kill him. Maybe they wanted him to suffer.

The box jerked from side to side as it was picked up. Vilmos listened intently. He couldn’t tell where he was going. The movement, lasting only a few minutes, came to an abrupt end when the box was thrown onto a wooden floor or platform of sorts.

The sensation of movement returned though no one had picked up the box, or at least he hadn’t felt them do so. He listened against the side of the box. He could hear a faint creaking. A rolling sound. He was in a wagon, he suddenly realized.

The road became rough and rocky. The box was thrown up with each bump, landing with a thud. He felt each and every movement. His body felt battered and bruised. He was so weary, felt he couldn’t keep the top of the box open any more, but knew he had to. The constant swaying back and forth, up and down, gave him motion sickness. He started to gag, stomach acids burned the back of his throat but there nothing in his stomach to throw up. The dry heaves continued until he passed out.

A hooded bastion marked the entrance to the courtyard in which the central armory was housed. Seth had never been in this section of the castle-palace structure and it struck him as different from what he had seen. Out of place, old. The walls and gates. The columns of men practicing with swords, bows, and spears. All out of place with everything else he had seen in Imtal Palace.

“Seth?” asked Valam. “Do you really think you could teach me how to… block… my thoughts?”

“It would be a grand hope,” Seth admitted. The grinding of the portcullis wheel drowned out further words. His thoughts grew distant. He looked to Swordmaster Timmer as he awaited his turn to pass through the protected entry.

Two gated stairwells led from the small, square chamber. Valam told him the stairwells worked their way gradually upward to the roof and were the only access to the upper battlements for this section of the palace—the innermost keep of the ancient castle from which the palace and the city had grown over hundreds of years.

Valam’s face grew long and earnest. “Seriously, do you think you could teach them?” he asked, waving his hand, pointing to the columns of men training in the armory yards.

I never thought about it. Where I come from it is such a natural thing.

“In a land where the elite warriors speak with their mind, I guess it would be useful.”

Very useful among the Brotherhood indeed. It helps to keep thoughts you want locked away private, and if you want someone to know your thoughts you allow them access to those thoughts… Children chosen to the Brotherhood are fast learners of this trick, or else they are always getting into trouble. The inner gate withdrew and the three entered the main armory yard. Soon after they came to the training grounds. Seth continued. It is simple. In your mind you form a wall, a barrier, and inside that barrier you keep your thoughts.

Valam stopped mid-stride and turned to Seth. “I don’t understand.”

Valam’s sudden stop was what saved him from an arrow that ripped across the training yard. A second arrow followed but this time Seth was ready. He snatched the arrow from the air, turned quickly, catlike, in the direction that the arrow had come from.

Timmer’s high-pitched whistle called out to his training masters. All eyes in the training yard were suddenly on him. “Halt!” shouted Timmer. “Cease training!” His training masters quickly relayed the order to the hundreds of men in the training yard. Weapons turned from the ready as many eyes turned to regard the prince and the elf.

Valam looked to Timmer then to Seth. Timmer was racing toward a huge mountain of a man who could only be the lead training master. Seth stood still, staring out into the training yard. Was it an accident? he wondered in his thoughts to Valam.

Moments later two burly training masters came from the corner of the yard. They dragged a smaller man between them. As they approached the prince one of the training master’s grabbed the small man’s hair, pulling the head back so that Prince Valam could see the face clearly. They forced the man to his knees. The man spat at Valam.

The training master drew a wide blade from his belt. He handed it to Valam with the hilt forward. Valam took the blade. He stared intently at the assailant.

Duty and honor required that he kill the man on the spot, letting his blood spill on the training field as a sign to all who watched. To serve and protect was a soldier’s duty. To do otherwise, to bring harm to those you served, was to betray all that a soldier stood for.

The assailant’s eyes became a window to his soul. It was in that moment—the moment when Valam was gripped by honor and duty—that Seth learned the deep love Valam had for his subjects. The love Valam had for life, all life. More importantly Seth learned something about himself, and was finally able to understand Valam the man. The fears and apathy that were carefully tucked away in the far reaches of his mind slipped away. Men in many ways were very much like elves.

“My life before your hands,” whispered the attacker, accepting his fate and falling on Valam’s outstretched blade.

The man did not move afterward. Valam withdrew the blade and handed it to the training master. His expression never betrayed his true feelings—the feelings that only Seth could read.

The training master wiped the bloody blade in the dirt. “My life before your hands,” the training master whispered as he handed the blade back to Valam. “I have failed you. Let a rebel into our innermost sanction.”

Valam took the blade that was thrust hilt first into his hand but he did not move for a few long heart beats. He made sure the blade was not accessible to the training master. He understood all too well the need for duty and honor among soldiers, especially when those soldiers were the King’s Knights. The elite soldiers newly recruited to serve under King’s Knight First Captain Brodst.

Valam knelt beside the training master. His eyes showed tears. His face betrayed a deep sadness. This emotion was reflected on the faces of those in the fields as surprise and veneration. “Training master, what is your name?” Valam asked.

The training master answered without looking up, “Dead men do not have names.”

Valam put the long blade into the training master’s hand, saying, “Then you shall be the walking dead but I will know your name and that blade shall not be stained with your blood. It is my wish.”

“Redwalker Tae,” whispered the training master, “Redcliff to those who knew me.”

“If a dead man, my personal ghost on the training field, the executor of my will. Train these men. Train them to be loyal and true. Train them to be soldier’s soldiers, to defend the House of Alder against our enemies, to die in service if need be.”

Redcliff raised his blade high and said, “To the High Prince!” Others on the field repeated his action, raising their weapons in salute. Redcliff and the men repeated the salute over and over as Valam, Timmer, and Seth walked away.

Valam grabbed Seth’s shoulder as he walked and while the fingers of his right hand squeezed their way toward bone, he pointed to those about him with his left hand, those whose eyes regarded their prince and honored his deed. “Have you thought about what I said earlier?”

Seth nodded, admitted that he had.

The two left the training field, followed closely by Swordmaster Timmer who seemed to still be coming to terms with what he had just seen. The men on the field quietly chanted Valam’s name as if his name alone now gave them strength and focus.

Seth knew in that moment when he turned to look back at the chanting soldiers that something miraculous had happened, and not because he had snatched an arrow from the air that might have ended the prince’s life. But because the prince had shown compassion, mercy, and proven himself a man of honor. The so-called King’s Knights, and not just Redwalker Tae, had just become the prince’s men. They would do whatever the prince asked of them to the end of their days.

Chapter Six:

Guiding Fools

“Out with it!” hissed a feminine voice in a low, unsettling tone.

“Tomorrow, they leave tomorrow.”

Adrina stifled a gasp and pressed up against the wall.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? Never mind… Where are you going? Stand fast you fool!”

Adrina held her breath. Her heart raced. She watched the reflection offered by the torches that sparsely lined the near wall. The outline of the figure approached. A long glittering blade was drawn. Just when she was about to run, the figure turned and retreated.

“Are you sure?” hissed the feminine voice.

“Yes, I am sure. The plans are being finalized as we speak.”

“Good, good. Will the prince be with them?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Don’t think, you fool!”

“Did you hear that?” asked the other in a whisper, “Footsteps, someone approaches.”

“Go, go!” the woman shouted.

Adrina ran from the rapidly approaching shadow. She was so shaken by the voices that she didn’t stop running until she came to the council chambers where she knew her father and the others would be gathered. She nearly knocked down the outer guards as she bounded through the door.

King Andrew continued mid-sentence without even a pause to show his surprise at Adrina’s hurried entrance, the skill of a practiced orator. “Brother Seth, about these mental powers that Prince Valam spoke of. All of the Brotherhood can read each others thoughts, intentions?”

“It is much as you have said, King Andrew. Only a few cannot.”

“Can this really be learned as you suggest?” Father Jacob asked, earnestly intrigued.

Adrina sank into an empty chair beneath the towering glare of her father’s stern eye.

“I think it can be learned, Father Jacob. More importantly, I think, we will need to mask open thoughts. What I discovered with Valam was quite by accident because his mind was so open. His thoughts radiated to my mind, more specifically his intentions. At first I think we should concentrate on masking open thought. It is like cluttering one’s thoughts. You put your thoughts in disarray. Timmer’s men seem to be adapting quickly. They are an intelligent group.”

I can’t continue, directed Seth to Valam.

“Won’t the enemy discover this ploy, then force us to open our minds?” Valam asked despite Seth’s statement.

“I don’t think it will ever occur to them. It is so natural a talent. To force one’s mind open takes very great concentration, so I don’t believe they would bother trying. It is also a skill used mostly by the Brotherhood. I am afraid even my peoples’ mind blocks would fall to the members of the Brotherhood.”

Valam, you must speed this up, directed Seth.

“I believe you are right, Brother Seth.” Valam feigned a smile while thinking, It is the belief and not the deed that will give confidence on the field.

A long pause followed. The council session had been underway since early morning and it was now late afternoon. Valam cast his eyes out to the mostly empty pews, then to the few clustered around the central table. Let the whisperers feed on that, he thought to himself.

“Father—” began Adrina, stopping under stern scrutiny.

“All our plans are set in motion. I move to adjourn,” said Chancellor Yi after a doleful nod from the king.

Valam stood. “King Andrew, father, I have decided. I want to lead the first group. My skills will be greatly needed. It will improve the morale of the men to see their prince fighting beside them. I will also need to return immediately to South Province with Seth. I think together we can put speed to the—”

“Save your words, I know you too well, my son. I was afraid you would ask yet I knew eventually you would. Great Kingdom shall be empty without you, but you do have my blessing.”

The king stopped and turned to the chancellor. “Is the team ready?” he asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty, it is set for tomorrow as you requested.”

“Already?” Valam asked with what could have been surprise in his voice.

“You are my son. I knew you would ask. The time for action is at hand. Chancellor Van’te has sent me word that Isador eagerly awaits your return.”

Valam swallowed a lump in his throat. The king smiled and turned his gaze to the others in the room.

Gripping his ancient staff Keeper Martin stood. “King Andrew, as head of the Council of Keepers I would also like to make this journey. I have selected a few others of the council who will go with me and will appoint Keeper Q’yer as Chief Lore Keeper in my absence. He is a good and able-bodied soul who will serve well.”

King Andrew spoke for the benefit of those watching. “Agreed, Keeper Martin. It is a worthy notion. There will be much information to gather. So much lore that has not been passed down.”

The king maintained his ardent gaze about the chamber. Soon afterward, Father Jacob took the floor, saying, “King Andrew, Chancellor Yi and I would also undertake the journey.”

King Andrew’s scowl grew long. “Father Jacob, will I lose all my trusted council this day?”

“I am sorry, Your Majesty,” Father Jacob said. “It is a thing we must do.”

“Yes of course, Father Jacob. Two of our most cunning minds are needed. I have great faith in all of you who are gathered in this room today, for if I did not you would not be here while we make this most conscious decision. Tomorrow will be a sad day, a sad day indeed, though perhaps a well intentioned start. I only wish that I were fit enough to make the sojourn southward. I long to have the wind in my hair and a saddle beneath me. Alas, it can not be so—”

“King Andrew, father,” interrupted Adrina.

“You have my blessing as you go forth. The palace will hang in silence without you.”

A wave of the king’s hand brought the chancellor to a hurried dismissal.

“I move to close the meeting,” the chancellor said.

“Father?” pleaded Adrina.

The timing of the chamber door bursting open couldn’t have been better. A royal page entered and while mumbling apologies, raced to the monarch.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” demanded Yi, “Interruptions, interruptions, be damned! I would hope you have an excellent reason!”

Captain Brodst stepped into the room and made a gesture to King Andrew. The king motioned the page to proceed. The page eyed the chancellor closely and started toward the king once more. The page leaned close to Andrew’s ear and whispered words which were meant for him alone to hear.

“What? When?” Andrew said, shock in his voice. The page continued in a low tone so that only the king heard his words. King Andrew looked to Captain Brodst. “Is this true, captain?”

“I am afraid so, sire.”

“Poor Father Tenuus. He was a good and faithful servant.”

“Yes, he was, sire.”

“The council is adjourned,” King Andrew commanded as he hastily departed.

“Father Jacob? Chancellor Yi?” King Andrew called back as he entered the outer hall.

Father Jacob and Chancellor Yi rushed out of the room ahead of the others. Captain Brodst hesitantly approached the prince.

“I think you should go with him, Prince Valam,” said Captain Brodst.

Valam seemed lost in his thoughts. “What has happened?”

“Father Tenuus has passed. He was found just a short time ago. It appears he has been dead for some time.”

“Natural causes?”

“Nothing sinister, it would appear. Old age I would assume.”

Seth probed the minds of the council. An ashen-faced Adrina rushed from the chamber. Seth knew she hadn’t particularly cared for Father Tenuus and it was why she felt extraordinarily poor concerning his demise. She had wished a similar fate on him many times and most often during evening repast. A guilty conscious urged her to chase after her father.

“Captain, may I have a word as we walk?”

“Certainly, Prince Valam, anything you request.”

“Dispense with the pleasantries…”

Captain Brodst started, looked around. He saw those milling about in the hall and understood.

“Settle down. What I meant to say was,” began Valam, as he gestured for Seth to follow. “What I meant to say was that you needn’t be so proper. I don’t care for it. There is a time and a place for such formalities. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your… Ah, yes, I do.”

“No, do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I do.”

“Good.” Prince Valam slapped Captain Brodst on the back to relax him. “Settle down, this is not an inquisition by any means—at least not yet.”

Valam whispered to Seth, “Well?”

All seems to have gone well. I didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary and Father Tenuus’s passing was truly a surprise to everyone.

Occasionally, as the wagon hit potholes along the path Vilmos would be thrown up into the top of the box, allowing air in, which often gave temporary consciousness. He was too weak to struggle with the box cover anymore though. It seemed that he spun in and out of consciousness and unconsciousness so rapidly that time was racing by. He just wanted to close his eyes—they felt so heavy—and sleep without disturbance.

Lost to a world of dreams filled with images mixed with the real and the unreal, Vilmos became utterly confused and out of sync with reality. A voice in his mind told him to be strong. Another told him to let go, drift away.

He saw faces in his dreams. Some were pale with cheek bones and brows lined with tiny horns like the demon that had taken him to the dark priests. Others were kind, inviting, and very human.

Then from somewhere within the darkness of his mind he heard screams of pain. Voices begged him to run and all the while blood ran bright and red around him.

“Find the strength of Uver,” said a voice filtering into his dream. “In Zadridos you will find the key to the City of the Sky and there you can right the wrongs of the past.”

Points of light entered into his eyes, spinning around in his consciousness, playing subtly in his subconscious. He saw bodies all around him, heard screams, then he saw black robes swaying back and forth, people running and the glimmer of a blade striking again and again.

Clearly now Vilmos saw swamp trolls and hill giants in the midst of it all. They were the ones attacking the human priests and their demon masters. For a moment he thought of Edward, Edward the troant who had died so that he could escape the hunter beasts, then something cold and heavy was thrust into his hands.

“Take this,” said the warrior with the brankened collar and iron bit in his mouth. “You must go now. You are home, free.”

Vilmos stared wild-eyed at the bloody scene. Was it real? Was this really happening? Or was he trapped in a horrible dream?

He closed his eyes, opened them. Nothing changed.

He bit down hard on his tongue. Blood and pain told him he was beyond dreams.

He started to run. The voice within told him strange things, gave him outlandish ideas. He could feel the wildness of the land play upon his mind.

Off in the distance he thought he saw movement. It was merely the wind rustling the leaves of a small stand of trees. Vilmos scrambled toward the trees. He felt safe as he lay down in their midst, as if he had reached an impenetrable sanctuary. The trees smelled fresh, not distinctive as pine or subdued as oak, thought Vilmos, perhaps hickory.

He propped his back up against a stout, stunted tree and gazed out into the darkness. His body was weary, so very tired. His struggle was almost at an end, or perhaps only at the beginning with the victor yet to be decided. As he closed his eyes a flood of visions came to him in the form of a dream. A dream that held a catching twist of realism.

Vilmos had not dreamed so fervently since Xith had been with him, but now there was no one to protect him or his soul. He was alone. The same dream had plagued his many sleepless nights in Tabborrath Village. Only now the dream seemed less strange, less frightening.

The dream carried him well into the night in what seemed an instant or an eternity depending on the moment. A shadow in his mind called out, Wake… Move… move… hurry! The bands of reality separated. The dream raced on. The wildness overtook him.

The voice cried out again. Move, wake, hurry! He lurched up. Just as he moved an arrow struck the tree where moments before his head had been.

He wasn’t nervous or frightened. He had known that was going to happen. He had witnessed the attack in his dream as clearly as if he had lived through it once already. He knew what he must do and so he acted. With a casual thought he enacted his magical shield.

With another flicker of thought he lit the area around the knoll until everything around him glowed with a dim, yellow hue. He saw the creatures in the trees preparing to pounce. He knew what they were. They were called wood trolls, nothing but nuisances. He loathed such lowly creatures.

These were the same beasts that had attacked him and Xith what seemed ages ago. Only this time the trolls were in greater numbers and armored, perhaps they had remembered him or perhaps they were coming to kill the boy while he slept. They were going to get a lot more than they had bargained for.

He tossed a simple thought into their minds, saying, “Come unto me, O’ my children!”

The voice was not his own, but that of one with great power. It was this same strange power that gnawed away at Vilmos’ consciousness. The same power the shaman wished to awaken. The same power that the shaman feared.

The wood trolls watched and waited. He struggled against the power growing within him. They made their attack, descending out of the trees in a pack.

In that instant Vilmos pitied them. In the next they were dead. Wiped out as one would swat bothersome bugs.

The power ate at his mind. It drove him to new heights of consciousness.

“I HAVE ARRIVED!” he cried out into the night, “GATHER UNTO ME, O’ MY CHILDREN. I AM THE FUTURE. I AM THE PAST. I AM THE PRESENT. I AM CREATED OUT OF THAT WHICH YOU FEAR MOST. I AM CREATED FROM YOURSELVES AND NOTHING SHALL STAND IN MY WAY!”

“No!” a voice cried out in his thoughts. “N-o-o!” the voice continued, filled with dread. “Control, you must find control!”

Control was a meaningless word. He did not care. The voice like the word was a meaningless echo in the corner of his mind. The strength of life eternal was within him. He bathed in it. It was magnificent.

“Stop!” the voice said.

A surge of pain ran through his head. His world went dark. The voices remained. They hovered all around him. They spoke words Vilmos couldn’t understand in a sing-song ancient tongue.

All fell silent. Vilmos felt isolated, alone, or so he thought until a voice intruded upon his solitude again, the voice.

Vilmos, remember control! it said.

Something inside snapped. Recognition came and with it a moment of remembrance. The voice was Xith’s. Yet there was something else that raked at the edges of his consciousness, gnawing, crying out to be released from the blackness that surrounded it. It demanded that Vilmos forget all else.

He could not stand it anymore. His head felt like it was about to explode. He had to get away, to escape, to get beyond anyone’s grasp. He ran. He ran as far and as fast as he could. His path took him north to the hill country and it was the shadow walker who commented on the irony of his escape into the hills named after the once great bandit lord and oppressor of Oshio, especially since Vilmos’ past self had been the one to plunge the blade into Lyudr’s heart.

The caravan train was a moving city with a life of its own; wagons, horses, people, and pack animals made their way along the rough trail. Their movements were overseen by the masters, who in turn were watched by the caravanmaster himself.

As the master at arms Emel had his place in the moving city. Not only was he responsible for protecting the caravan from bandits, thieves, and things that went bump in the night, he was also the keeper of the peace. The kingdom guardsmen in his company spent as much of their time keeping order as they did seeing to the caravan’s defense.

Quarrels and infighting were part of the daily routine. Men who didn’t have anything to do as they rode along the trail would sometimes argue to pass the time. They’d argue over the ridiculous and everyone had something different to argue over. Hired blades would argue over who was the strongest, who could draw their blade the fastest, who could take the hardest punch and so on. Liners and carts would argue over who had set up or taken down the master’s tent the fastest, who could pack the most on a single mule, who could ride the best.

As liners and carts were the last line of defense in the caravan, they’d also argue over issues of strength and combat with the hired blades and guardsmen. Those types of arguments didn’t end well. One of the liners or carts usually ended up with a serious wound that made performing duties impossible, and that upset the caravanmaster. It was a tribute to Emel’s diligence that no one had been killed yet—at least as a result of infighting.

They had lost a young cart on their second day. After failing to lead a pack mule out of mud hole by pulling, the youngster decided to go behind the animal and push. Stepping behind any beast of burden is a mistake, and trying to push the mule from behind cost the young cart his life. When the mule kicked it landed a blow on the side of the cart’s head. The lethal blow knocked the young man back over ten feet. The spot where he fell, just off to the side of the main road, became his final resting place.

The coachman responsible for the young cart’s apprenticeship received five lashes with the whip. At the time Emel had thought caravan justice harsh and indiscriminate. Coachmen couldn’t watch their charges at all times—there were too many of them.

He came to realize that caravan justice sometimes wasn’t harsh enough. The coachman had received five lashes. The youngster in his charge had received a death sentence. When a second young cart in the same coachman’s care died beneath an overturned wagon, carts, liners, and blades joined together as a mob.

Emel faced this mob now. His hired blades were hesitant to come to his aid. Only the small band of guardsmen he hand picked in Imtal stood between him, the negligent coachman, and the angry mob.

Traveling with the caravan was a troupe of ridesmen. They were expert riders and tricksters all. As he watched the troupe turned in formation, coming straight toward the line of guardsman. As the closed the distance between them the ridesmen stood in their saddles, held their reins high as if giving a performance.

He breathed deeply, drew his long sword. The negligent coachman took a step back, ensuring that Emel was in front of him.

In his mind’s eye Emel saw the gamble he must take. He must end this before things escalated—before the mob was allowed to draw blood. He didn’t like the coachman he protected. He had learned the man was a drunkard and a fool.

But he wasn’t going to let angry men have their way. The caravanmaster would mete out justice as needs be. Where was the caravanmaster? he wondered. The master wasn’t within eyesight.

Emel waited for the riders to come at the line. Each time they closed ranks, the riders circled out and away as if they were taunting the guards.

He waited. As one, the riders put their hands to the saddles and did handstands. Some of the angry shouts for blood turned to cheers. It was then that Emel realized what the ridemaster was doing. He was putting on a show, the show of his life—or at least the show of the coachman’s life.

He sheathed his sword, breathed a little easier. He turned back to take the coachman into custody but found the man was gone. He had slipped away and no one had seen him go—or so Emel thought.

As he looked around, he saw two men struggling near the tree line. One was trying to flee into the trees; the other was trying to keep him from doing so. Emel walked over to them as the ridesmen continued their show. By now the angry shouts for blood had all but faded away.

“I’ll take it from here,” Emel called out to the huntsman.

Huntsman Faylin Gerowin grinned sheepishly as he replied, “I thought as much.” He didn’t release his grip on the coachman though. He waited for Emel to secure the man’s hands, which Emel did with a thick rope. “Never trust one such as this, and never put your life in danger to save such. He’ll not thank you. Isn’t that so, Jossel?”

The coachman spit at Faylin.

Emel tripped the coachman, made sure the man fell on his backside. “Enough, or I’ll turn you back to the mob.”

Faylin said, “The masters aren’t partisan.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Ridemaster Hindell didn’t have to rouse his men to a diversion and I—”

Emel put a hand on Faylin’s shoulder. “Forgive me, I know. You didn’t have to help me save face and neither did the ridemaster. I am a great fool for thinking I could—”

“A man who guides fools is not himself a fool unless he lets himself become one. Do you think I achieved by luck and chance alone? Your father helped me no few times and I promised to look out for you as he looked out for me.”

Emel with Faylin’s help pulled Jossel to his feet. They started walking back to the road. “You know my father?”

“Most of the masters here are beholden to your father in one way or another. None more so than the caravanmaster.”

Emel opened the hold wagon, pushed Jossel up and in. After he locked the thick door, he turned back to Faylin. He studied the huntsman as if seeing past the man’s hawk-like eyes for the first time. “My father has his ghosts, does he not?”

“No more so than any man. You are very much like him, you know.”

Emel’s expression showed disagreement. The two were quiet for a time as they walked. The early afternoon sun came out from behind the clouds, bringing sudden, welcome warmth. “Does this business worry you?”

Faylin gestured at the air and the men returning to their duties as if to say don’t let any of it bother you. Before the two said anything further the caravanmaster called an official halt. It was close enough to the midday meal to warrant the stop. With any luck the sun would dry the road and harden the last of the mud holes before they started up again.

“Not this,” Emel said as he whistled to Ebony; the black stallion racing to him at his call.

“It is not my place to worry. Good advice to you, I think.”

“But we waited two days at the crossing of the East-West road for nothing and there’s been no explanation to any—”

“Nor will there be. Some things are best left unsaid. Our duty remains the same.”

“Beyond the Stygian Palisade, to Zapad and beyond.”

“Nothing’s changed, Emel, of this I’m sure. We will go to the ends of the earth, see what few Kingdomers have ever seen, and with luck we will live to tell our children about the greatest adventure of our lives.”

As they couldn’t wait until the Seventh day as was customary, a service was scheduled for the morning following the grim discovery of Father Tenuus’ death. Father Jacob conducted the service with a short remembrance spoken by Chancellor Yi at King Andrew’s request. Then Father Tenuus was laid to rest. Tears streamed down Adrina’s cheeks the entire time. She had never been kind to Father Tenuus. He annoyed her. She had always hated his invocations, regretted now that she had.

Accordingly, the departure was pushed back two days. Two of the longest days of Valam’s life. Waiting seemed to play out hard on him. He was one to move, to act, not to wait. During those ensuing days Seth and Adrina spent much of their time together, much more time than they ever had previously.

When the long-awaited moment finally came it was wrapped in a grey dawn, and overcast skies mixed with a light monotonous drizzle. Only King Andrew and a few others watched as the group departed, saying nothing more than a few goodbyes.

Adrina watched from the balcony above the garden, her heart filled with despair. She sulked all that day, skipping the evening meal, which somehow wasn’t the same without Father Tenuus to give the mealtime prayer. She spent that day wandering the garden or staring at it from the balcony, always alone, always wading through memories that ceaselessly flooded her thoughts.

Something had transpired between her and Seth those last few days. It seemed they were drawn together by an unseen force, and perhaps they were. The last remnants of the struggling girl in the young princess had ebbed. Odd feelings and unknown emotions had touched her mind. Thoughts she never would have had before.

Father Tenuus’s untimely death played heavily on her mind. Suddenly, the world had become a dark place with only one source of light.

She had been sitting on the edge of her bed, feeling desperately alone and crying when he had come to her. He had approached her without saying a word and embraced her. He had just held her and comforted her for a long, long time. She longed for him to be with her now even though she knew that it could not be. She wondered how he fared, knowing soon he would be leaving for East Reach. That he might never return.

The sounds of morning filtered in through a nearby window. The rains continued.

She went to the bath house, disrobed quickly. Myrial had just finished preparing her bath. The warm water felt so good as she descended into the bathing pool. Her thoughts slowed. For a brief time she slipped away from the cares of the world.

Some time later the call of a songbird roused her, but only for a moment. She took morning tea in the pool. Nibbled on toast as she soaked. Servants came and went. Myrial watched her from across the room.

She stood from the waters and wrapped a soft robe around her as Myrial handed it to her. The call of the songbird came again as she stepped out of the pool. Her eyes wandered up to the window. Her thoughts drifted. She thought of Emel, Valam, and Seth. Wondered why the men in her life always went away.

As she wrapped her hair in a towel she turned about, looking for Myrial. Myrial was gone. In the place she had occupied moments before stood another. Her eyes went wide. She took in the tall, broad shouldered figure. “How?” she asked.

Valam put a finger to his lips, hurriedly escorted her from the bathing pool. “Not a word,” he whispered in her ear. Her heart skipped. He led her through her room, out through the secret door in the wall. Once in the back hallway, he stopped, threw his arms around her. “Speak in quiet tones,” he said in her ear. “These halls should be clear. Better to be safe.”

“Clear of what?” Adrina heard herself say. She was still trying to accept the fact that Valam was in Imtal, not on the road—and if he was in Imtal… “Seth? Is he—”

“Safe,” Valam said, “Don’t worry. Everything we’ve done these last few days has been for the benefit of the whisperers.”

“Whisperers?”

Valam put a hand to her mouth, said softly in her ear. “Everything will be clear soon. They are close to revealing themselves. You must play along. Remember, you know nothing.”

“Valam, you must tell me something more. I don’t understand what’s happening?”

“Revolution,” Valam muttered under his breath. “Revolution. If you don’t want our family to end as King Frederick II’s, you’ll do everything I say and ask no more questions.”

“Impossible,” Adrina replied, her voice becoming shrill.

“Possible, believe me.”

“And the plight of the elves?”

Valam held her at arm’s length. “How can you ask such a thing at a time like this? Seth has become like a brother to me. We will find a way to turn this around, to rally support, but first we must expose the chief whisperer. If we don’t there will be no kingdom.”

Chapter Seven:

Blessed Sight

“Am I a toy, my prince?” she asked looking up at him, her eyes wide and clear like great blue jewels.

Valam turned back to her. He leaned over and kissed her. “You are not. I came back just as I said. Did I not?”

“And I am to forget the passing of the years without question? Am I to wait more years for your return, my prince?”

Valam kissed her as her nimble fingers fastened the buttons of his undertunic. “I did not ask that you wait.”

“A prince does not have to ask, a lady does for him as must be done.”

“And a fine lady you’ve become, my Soshi,” he said, smiling, stepping into his trousers.

“You surprise me,” said a voice from the shadows.

Soshi gasped, pulled the sheets up around her in bed.

Valam didn’t turn, didn’t act surprised. He wasn’t. “You breathe loudly, I wonder if you—” he began as he turned and saw the milky white eyes.

“Pity is such an empty, wasteful emotion,” the woman said as she stepped from the shadows. “I saw and heard nothing I haven’t a thousand times in this life.”

“You knew,” Valam said, turning back to Soshi. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“I knew only that she would come, not that she would be here now,” Soshi said rising from the bed. “I serve her as much as I do you, my lord prince.”

“What does that mean?” Valam shouted, clear anger in his voice.

“Anger follows pity now,” the woman said. “Understanding will come, this I promise you.”

Soshi grabbed her belongings, raced from the room mumbling an apology. The blind woman touched a hand to Valam’s face. Her fingers worked their way from his wide brow to his well-defined chin.

“Not always blind,” the woman said. “A sacrifice for the greater good.”

“Sacrifice?” Valam said. “You talk in riddles old woman. You are at once a stranger and yet I feel as if I’ve known you always.”

“Familiar, yes,” the woman said. Apparently satisfied with her survey of Valam’s face, she led him to the window. “I once asked your sister to smell the wind. She didn’t understand, but do you?”

“The winds of change,” he said without hesitation. “Winter comes. The land grows weary. The old will pass; the new will come.”

“You’ve had excellent tutors these many past years, haven’t you, my strong one?”

“It is you, isn’t it?”

The old woman smiled. Valam could tell that it had been a long time since she had done so. “You have an excellent memory as well. Your sister, she didn’t remember. To her, I was just an old woman who had something to tell her. Change comes, my boy, will you let it?”

“One cannot hold back the winds of change. Changes comes, you either accept it or you, you—”

“Fight it, yes, you fight it. But are you ready for such a fight, such a fight as you’ve never seen?”

“I will do what must be done, if action is needed.”

“Will you? I wonder.” The woman grabbed his chin, forced his gaze to the window just as she had done with Adrina those many months ago. “I was your nanny before Isador. I never forgot you. I know the ways of your heart. The hard decision isn’t in you. You will be weak when the hour comes. You won’t be able to do what must be done. I forgive you.”

“Father doesn’t believe in the old ways, the old gods. To him, there is but the Mother and the Father. He didn’t want us to learn the old ways.”

“As it should be. The old ways are all but forgotten now,” the old woman said, redirecting his gaze. “The old gods were not gods at all, merely creatures of power, great power. I know that now. I see and understand.”

“But your eyes?”

“Eyes can get in the way of true sight.”

Valam turned back and stared at the milky white of her eyes. “True sight, you say that as if blindness were a gift?”

“It is a gift. My gift to you.”

Valam started to say, “What do you mean?” but the old woman didn’t let him speak. She hushed him, raised her hands and threw a white powder into his eyes. Valam’s screams would have brought the guards if the old woman hadn’t clamped her hand over his mouth with a viselike grip—a grip surprisingly strong.

“Hush, hush,” she whispered as she stifled his screams. “The pain will pass. It will pass.”

Vilmos leaned down to drink water from a crystal blue pool. The voices inside his mind had faded as he ran. Now they were completely gone.

The cool, clear water tasted pleasant against his palette, yet as he reached down to scoop up a second handful, he noticed something. It was the first time he had seen his reflection in what seemed ages. He saw a small boy, a boy not even ready to become a man, in that image. He didn’t like what he saw.

He was not a boy—a mere boy—a scrawny little boy. His vanity wouldn’t allow him to continue in the body of a mere boy. He decided he wanted to be older, bigger, stronger. It took only a moment to gather the required energy. He released the full force of those energies unto himself. Raw energy ripped through his body. Its wonder held and captivated him.

His legs collapsed under the strain. He fell to his knees. Voices in his head cried out in joy all around him and where a boy had fallen to the ground, a man rose in his place. He steadied himself, feeling awkward under the new weight, but good.

Gazing into the pool, he liked what he saw. He had accelerated his growth until he was at the edge of adolescence, on the verge of becoming a man, on the verge of coming into his own. The age when his mind was to awaken.

He eyed the reflection, liking the broad shouldered, muscular, young man that looked back at him. He stared fixedly at the image for a long time, then turned and walked northward once again. He walked all that morning. Something clung to the edge of his mind. The voices spurred him on, carrying him to a place only they knew.

He felt eyes upon him, all around him, though he saw no man or beast. He slowed to a wary, cautious pace.

Hours later, he spotted a pure white horse running at the head of a large herd. It was so beautiful, so perfect. He had to have it.

As if sensing him, the herd turned. He could see the white stallion’s eyes as it came at him.

Unmoving, he waited. The ground shook. The thunder of hooves filled the air. He put his hands to his ears as the horses raced by.

The thunder faded. He turned, expecting to see a trail of dust. Instead, he found the white stallion waiting for him.

Vilmos approached the horse, staring with powerful, probing eyes. Temporarily, the horse’s rampant spirit calmed. It could not run from him, though it wanted to.

Each time the horse attempted to flee Vilmos tightened the grip of his mind. He climbed onto the animal’s back. It defiantly threw him. Its spirit was not entirely captivated.

He stood, wiped dust from his backside, made a second attempt. Again the horse threw him.

He persisted. His anger grew with each failed attempt. As it peaked he turned the anger on the poor creature whose only wish was to remain free. He raised a hand to focus, preparing to do his worst.

Pain, clear and precise, whipped through his mind, scattering his thoughts. It struck him down as he sought to strike down the horse. Try as he might, he couldn’t kill the horse. Something wouldn’t let him. In utter frustration he watched the animal run off.

He watched it go and it was then that he saw the tower far in the distance. The tower called to him. He went.

“I forgive you,” the old woman said again and again as Valam screamed in pain. “I forgive what you will do, what you must do.”

He was on his knees, pain sweeping through his body. He fought to maintain it but consciousness was slipping away.

The old woman circled him, nodding in approval. “Pain is only the beginning. I promise you.”

Through clenched teeth Valam shouted, “Why are you doing this to me?”

The old woman grabbed a handful of white powder from her pocket. As Valam sought to speak she threw the powder in his face. “You have great tolerance,” she said, nodding to herself, “This is good. They will break you. I promise you. You will beg to die. I promise you this as well. I can’t let that happen. You must do what must be done. I can’t let you do otherwise.”

Fighting for each breath, Valam collapsed to the floor. His lungs were on fire. “Why me?” he asked, his voice scarcely a whisper.

“With your sister I had luxury, time, with you I have no such luxury. You must see the world as it is, not as you believe it to be. You must do this now. You must know what is ahead.”

She clapped her hands and shouted, “Soshi, enter!”

The olive-skinned girl entered, fought back a scream when she saw Valam on the floor writhing in pain. She turned away from the prince, shock clearly on her face, as she bowed before her mistress.

“Help me carry him to the bed,” the old woman crooned. The two labored many long minutes. When the prince was finally in the bed the old woman said, “Bind feet and hands to the bedposts. Quickly now…”

Soshi did as asked without question. Binding the prince’s feet and hands as he screamed and writhed in pain wasn’t easy. Tomorrow she’d have deep purple bruises where his fists and feet smashed into her face and chest. Despite this and despite herself, she leaned over and kissed his cheek when she was done.

The old woman pushed her away, saying, “Leave us, go now.”

Soshi paused at the doorway, turning back for a moment. Then she left, waiting outside as before. The door was slightly ajar, so she could see clearly into the room.

The old woman placed a blood mark on the prince’s wrists and ankles. It could have been Soshi’s imagination or the fact that the prince struggled violently against the bonds, but to Soshi it seemed tiny creatures moved within the red streams of blood. She could see their silver, black forms swirl within the red. Then they were burrowing into the prince’s skin, spreading arcs of black silver along the blue of his veins.

She knew enough about the Cleansing to know that this was but the beginning. What came next, she didn’t dare witness. She quietly closed the door, sank to her haunches.

She rocked back and forth, slowly at first but faster and faster as time passed. The fingers of her hands were clasped together in prayer, deep, reverent prayer. “Great Father,” she begged, “hear me. Do not let him fail this test. Do no let him pass from this life. I do love him, I do, and if love is blind, let me take his blindness. Restore his sight so that he may see, so that he may see true.”

“But fools in the game,” she whispered, turning to the girl. She reached out. Her hands mapped the girl’s face and checked the unfocussed gaze of the eyes.

A tear streamed down the girl’s cheek, single and crystalline. The old woman wiped it away, saying, “No greater gift has there ever been.” Her own cheeks were moist with tears, but they weren’t tears of loss and sorrow as with Soshi. They were tears of joy. “My work here is done. I can do no more. You take my place now as I pass from this life.”

“But I’m not ready,” Soshi protested. “I’m but a girl. I don’t know what I must do.”

“You’ve given the greatest of gifts. Pure love in your heart will keep and guide you.”

“But what of my prince?”

“What you choose to do is up to you, and while you could have the hearts and minds of a thousand such in your time, sight will come and you will see the truth of it all. You won’t have questions then, only answers.”

“I need you.”

The old woman stumbled at the side of the bed, fell, fought to stand. A breeze which had been flowing gently through the open window behind her a moment before stopped, and as the sheer silk curtains in the window ceased to flutter, the old woman’s heart gave way. She fell to the floor. Her last expression, a smile on her lips.

Her body turned to bone, then to ash before Soshi’s eyes. Then just as suddenly as the breeze had stopped, it picked up, sweeping the old woman’s ashes from the room and up into the heavens. Soshi raced to the window. In her mind’s eye she could see the old woman flying in the clouds, soaring to heaven above.

She wasn’t given time to enjoy the miracle or to grieve. The Sight hit her. She fell to the floor. She could see them coming. The palace was in a panic. Something dread was happening.

Soshi rose to her feet. She went to her dressing table, found the long knife in the bottom drawer. She hastened to the side of the bed, raised the blade high, slashed the bindings one by one until they all fell away.

She lay down beside the prince for what she knew in her heart would be the last time and waited. They were coming. Only a few fleeting moments remained. She sighed, kissed him one last time, put her arms around him.

The summons came. “Open the door in the name of the king!” they shouted.

Soshi didn’t move. She feigned sleep. They tried to open the door. It was locked. They began to beat the door down, battering it over and over.

The lock gave way. The door crashed inward.

Soshi sat up. She pretended to be surprised and half asleep. The milk white of her eyes frightened the men who had crashed through the door. They raced to the prince, dragged him from the bed.

Chapter Eight:

A Gentle Madness

Adrina screamed, knelt beside him. “Your eyes,” she said at long last, “Your eyes.”

Valam reached out a hand to her, groped until he found her face and cheeks. He wiped away the tears he found there. “It is my own fault for not seeing,” he whispered.

Adrina dipped a thick cloth in the cold water of the basin, used the cloth to wipe away the strange white powder from his face and eyes. “What do you mean?”

Valam sighed, steadied her hand. The cool water took the sting from his eyes and at long last he was able to open them. “You’ve seen her too, haven’t you?”

Adrina stared into the milky white of his eyes and started to shiver. “You’re not making any sense? I don’t understand.”

Valam grabbed the cloth from her hand, stood, went to the wash basin. He stuck his face in the icy cold water and swished his head back and forth. The water in the basin turned to a milky white. He raised his head, water dripped from his face and hair.

Adrina put a clean cloth in his hand. He used it to dry himself. “You can see,” she whispered as she watched him.

“I see,” Valam said as he dabbed his face.

“But how is that possible? Your eyes are the eyes of the blind and yet you see. What happened? You must tell me what happened?”

Valam touched a hand to her shoulder. He towered over her as she looked up at him. She shivered as the milky white that had covered his eyes a moment ago faded. She could tell Valam could feel it go. A transformation of sorts was taking place before her eyes. Soon all that remained of the blind eyes was a faint trace of white dulling the brown of his eyes.

“The old woman,” Valam said after a long silence. “The old woman. You’ve seen her too, I know.”

Adrina didn’t understand at first. Valam explained. She told him about the encounters with the Lady of the Forest and the strange woman in the watch tower.

“The woman in the tower, that’s her,” Valam said. “Tell me more. Tell me everything.”

“There isn’t much to tell,” Adrina said as she tried to remember the details of the encounter that seemed to have happened a lifetime ago. She told him more of what she remembered.

He stared blankly at the wall for a long time after she finished. For a time Adrina was afraid the blindness had returned. Then he turned to her, smiled. She didn’t understand why he was grinning. “A gift, don’t you see,” he said. “We’ve been given a gift. A glimpse at what could be. We’ve been given a choice. Change comes.”

“That’s what she said,” Adrina said excitedly. “That’s what she said. ‘Child, smell it. It comes, can you not tell?... Change, child. Sadness cannot hold forever the land.’ Change comes.”

Valam kissed her cheek and hugged her. “It is good not to be alone in this,” he whispered in her ear.

“You are not alone,” she whispered back.

“If I were I’d go mad.”

Myrial touched a hand to the closed door, continued on her way. As she walked to the lower level of the palace her heart went out to them as never before. Valam had been her first love, a girlish crush really. He’d never had eyes for her, only her for him, and she’d been too young to even know what love really was. She still didn’t know true love but she understood it better now.

What she felt for Valam now was more what a sister felt for a brother. It was the same way she felt about Adrina. Adrina was the sister she never had and Valam was the brother she never knew.

She hummed happily as she walked. She had a pretty voice when it was raised to song and cheer.

The day’s tasks would seem mundane compared with the excitement of the last few days, but a household did not run itself. She would see to the stewards and the cooks first, even though it meant she would have to deal with the former housemaster directly to do so. Most of the stewards and cooks only listened to the old dog despite her best efforts. She didn’t mind though, Sedrick Bever knew his place well enough, and through him she was learning to run the enormous household.

She was no fool. She knew better than to approach Sedrick alone. First she would stop by her chambers to freshen up and find an escort.

Garette Timmer waited outside her chamber door. He nodded to her as she passed by. She smiled. If there was anyone she was getting a crush on it was Garette Timmer. He was strong and true. He’d stand outside her door day and night without reprieve if she asked him too, which she never would. His day duty was enough of a reminder to those who needed such a reminder. She was housemistress now. There was no disputing it.

As she bathed she thought of Garette. He was cute with a wisp of his father the swordmaster in him. This gave him a sharp edge, a look of danger. Fresh clothes were laid out and waiting for her when she looked up from bubbles and steam.

It had been a long day already. She was tired, but reminded herself that for many the day was just beginning. There was so much to do, so very much to do. Keeping everything perfect, or as close to perfect as possible, meant that even in the wee hours of the night someone somewhere was working in support of the household.

When she began she vowed that she wouldn’t forget the night workers as Sedrick Bever had done. Sure, the day cooks, stewards and workers were the ones whose labor most directly impacted the king, his family, honored guests, and the like, but the night staff had their place too.

One of her first official actions as housemistress had been to double their daily copper. She had gained important allies in doing so, but that had not been her intent. She saw no reason the night staff made half as much as their daytime counterparts. They were no less important. Their work no less meaningful.

She was dressing when the knock came on the door. She looked up, called out, “Enter, please.” She blushed when she saw it was Princess Adrina, blurted out a quick apology. “What brings you to my door, Dri?”

Adrina smiled at the familiar childhood name. It always brought memories, even for Myrial. “Everything,” she said. “Everything. I’ve never seen him so shaken. It was as if all the world fell away and he was left standing alone on a mountain top.”

Myrial helped Adrina to a chair, pretended for Adrina’s benefit that she knew nothing. She called out to Garette. He came running into the room. “Where’s Anri?” she asked. Anri was the only member of the lavish personal staff of the former housemaster she had retained. “Send for him. Tell him we need food and drink.”

Garette hurried away. She called after him, “Drink, first. Something warm, but not hot.”

“We’re alone now,” Myrial whispered. “I’m here for you.”

“I’ve never seen him like this. It’s like… like…” her voice trailed off. She sat quietly until the refreshments arrived. Myrial didn’t push for more information.

Myrial thanked Anri, nodded to the drink. She poured the deep black kindra-ale into two cups. One she handed to Adrina. As Adrina sipped the drink, the color returned to her face. “You’ve been walking the gardens,” Myrial said, “You’re likely to catch a chill that way. Winter’s here. I can feel it. The snows will come early.”

“I’ve lost him.”

“Valam will recover. I know he will.”

“Not Valam, Emel. He’s really gone this time, isn’t he? This isn’t like High Road. There was no promise of return.”

“I think he is,” Myrial said solemnly, “I think he is.”

“One man comes back into my life, another goes. Does it always have to be that way?”

Myrial didn’t get a chance to respond. A loud alarm sounded throughout the palace. The two could hear the tinny gongs from the main level, followed by those spreading the alarm below. The clank clack of armored feet running down the halls followed.

Garette Timmer raced into the room. The open door provided a view into the hall. Adrina could see lines of guardsmen hurrying down the hall, weapons in hand.

Garette’s face showed unease. To Adrina and Myrial the alarm meant little more than the rousing of the guards, but Timmer understood the signal within the alarm. The beats had a meaning. Each series carried a message.

Adrina and Myrial looked at each other anxiously. They followed Garette down the crowded hall. He had enlisted four other guardsmen as their escort. Two of the guards cleared a path in front of them, two brought up the rear.

To onlookers it might have seemed that the palace was an ant hill suddenly come alive. In many ways this was true. The entire palace guard was on alert. The palace was sealed. No one allowed in. Only guards were allowed out. They poured out of the palace and into the streets of Imtal.

“The king has been attacked,” went the whisper in the hall. This set Adrina’s heart and mind on fire. Myrial tried to calm her, tried to remind her that she must find control, keep her composure, act like the princess she was.

Adrina couldn’t. Her world was collapsing around her. Suddenly it seemed she was the one standing alone on a mountain top, the world in chaos all around her. It had taken years to come to terms with her mother’s death. What would she do if something happened to her father? She couldn’t cope with that pain. She didn’t want to have to.

She stopped abruptly. Garette nearly collided with her. She started screaming hysterically. Everything and everyone around her stopped as if frozen in their places. Heads turned, eyes met hers.

Myrial grabbed Adrina’s arms, smothered her in an embrace, all the while shouting, “Go on, go on! Get out of here!”

“Look at me, Adrina,” Myrial said, “We can get through this. We can get through this.”

“You don’t understand,” Adrina said through sobs. “Not again, I can’t. I can’t go through this again.”

“You’re strong, Adrina. Be strong now.”

Alarms began to sound again. Myrial looked to Garette. “Assembly,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“Captain’s muster, the Hall. We must hurry.”

Myrial turned back to Adrina. “We can do this together, you and I.”

Adrina nodded absently. They started walking. Within minutes they were standing outside the great hall.

“Are you ready to do this?” Myrial asked, knowing what Adrina knew. If the king sat on the throne, he lived; if Valam sat on the throne, the king was dead.

Adrina’s heart pounded in her ears. The doors opened. Her worst fears were realized. She had a direct view of Valam. Their eyes met. It was all she could do to stand.

The weight of the world crushed her.

She couldn’t breathe. Her face flushed. Her knees buckled. Only Myrial’s arm locked in hers kept her from falling. Everything seemed surreal as if she looked in on another’s nightmare.

For an instant the iris of Valam’s eyes flashed white. It was as if Adrina had a window into his very soul. He stood beside their father’s throne. His arm rested on top the thick dark wood on the mighty chair’s back. He wore the crown jewels, and the great green jewel atop the crown glistened in the waning light of the day.

Beside Valam stood a woman Adrina had never seen before. She wore a circlet of gold. The color of the woman’s thin silk dress was matched perfectly to the olive color of her skin. She looked like a queen, though Adrina knew she wasn’t. It wasn’t until the woman turned to look at her that Adrina saw, really saw.

She understood then, but she didn’t want to. She started to scream. She wanted to scream.

A voice called out to her. The sound of it as if the person speaking were far away, far away in another time and place. She gasped.

Feeling light-headed she put her hand to her face, closed her eyes. When she opened her eyes moments later she found she was still standing before the closed doors of the great hall. “Would you like to sit a moment?” a voice asked her. She nodded. She did need to sit.

Garette and Myrial helped Adrina to a chair near the hall’s entrance. Adrina closed her eyes and breathed. All around her the palace was in an uproar. Alarms continued. Guards ran along the halls. Doors opened and closed. People shouted.

Someone handed her a cup, bade her drink. She put the cup to her lips and drank deeply. The bitter liquid went down poorly. She spit what she couldn’t swallow back into the cup. “That’s awful!”

“Stout,” said a strong, clear voice. “The bitters clear the mind.”

Adrina made face, looked up at Garette Timmer. “That’s awful,” she repeated.

Garette grinned. “Good to see you’ve regained your senses, princess. Trying times test a person’s mettle. What kind of person are you?”

At first Adrina was taken aback by his directness, outrage followed. How dare he speak to her as if she were a commoner. How dare he speak to her in that tone. Her friends could speak candidly but Garette Timmer was a stranger to her. “Guard your tongue,” she shot back, her face flushed with emotion.

“She’s regained her senses, all right,” Myrial said, winking at Garette. “We can sit here, or we can go in.”

Adrina understood. She took Myrial’s hand.

The three walked back to the doors of the great hall, their four-guard escort only a few steps behind. Adrina looked directly at the door guards, each in turn. They opened the doors in unison. Adrina led the way into the hall.

Her feet held steady when she saw Valam standing on the raised dais directly in front of the throne. He turned to look back at her, disquiet showing clearly in his eyes. She caught a breath in her throat. He took a step toward her, opening the view to the throne. It was empty.

Chapter Nine:

King’s Decree

Valam saw Adrina enter with Myrial and the young guardsman, Garette Timmer. His heart beat faster and faster as he took a few quick steps toward her. His hands were raised as they met. “This isn’t what you’re thinking,” he said matter of factly, “The city has been ordered sealed. The garrison and palace are on full alert. The king’s decree.”

“Father?” Adrina asked, “He’s…”

“Of a mind to tell Lady Isador Froen d’Ga to return to Imtal.”

Adrina turned, looked at the speaker. She smiled, found herself at a loss for words. Her father, King Andrew Alder, sat at a long table with Father Jacob and Keeper Martin. Across from him sat high-ranking palace and garrison commanders.

“Now then,” King Andrew said turning back to the commanders, “the heir to the throne and my daughter stand before you. There is no foul play.”

“The messenger,” protested Chancellor Volnej. “He is without question a man of honor.”

King Andrew stood. His eyes seemed to catch the last of the sunlight streaming through the window as he spoke. “And yet my children stand before you. There’s been no kidnapping, no murder, no attempt.” His eyes had been fixed on the commanders, but now he turned and looked directly at the chancellor who stood at the far end of the table. “You are dismissed. Return to Council Hall, bring this message—those responsible for this folly will be dealt with. Judgment will be swift; retribution, final.”

To Valam and other onlookers it was hard to tell whether the old chancellor collapsed or bowed so deeply that he got himself into a position that age simply wouldn’t allow him to recover from. Either way, he had to be physically escorted out of the hall.

King Andrew turned to Adrina then. “My daughter, light of my life, listen carefully and speak truly. Has anyone made an attempt on your life or the life of your brother this day?”

Adrina didn’t turn away from his piercing gaze. She answered directly and without hesitation. “No father. Who would say such a thing? I’ve been with Housemistress Myrial discussing matters of household, and to the market.”

“Who indeed?” said the King, turning back to the commanders. “We must end this. The rabble rousers must be shown their place. We will have no more discord, no more dissent in council.” A jeweled sword lay on the table in its sheath. He picked it up, drew the sword and raised it high, purposefully, so that the fine steel blade could catch the last of the sun’s rays.

Valam knew what the sword signified. Commanders were warriors at heart, and warriors understood strength. The king wasn’t as old and weak as the whispers. He could still wield the sovereign blade, play it in the air as if it were a toy.

But then the king did something that surprised everyone. In one swift motion, he lunged across the table and drove the blade into the chest of the man across from him. The blade easily sliced through the man’s breastplate, finding his heart. Before he could draw a breath or scream, the man lay dead atop the king’s blade.

Captain Imson Adylton who had been sitting to the left of the dead man, gulped at the air as if he were a fish out of water. Only the fact that he was the king’s staunchest supporter brought quick words to his lips. He said, his voice a whisper at first, “For king and country… For king and country!”

Others joined the chant. Some hastily, others reluctantly.

As Valam watched there was a clear shift in the room. Some of the commanders who moments before had been haughty and arrogant now found themselves at a loss. Others who were loyal supporters of the king clearly felt vindicated. King Andrew wasn’t weak. The reign of his line wasn’t at an end.

The whispers were baseless. The king, who stood before them wielding a sword, slaying the chief whisperer, wasn’t weak. He was strong and true, unafraid to confront those who were afraid to confront him. His justice was as true as his sword arm.

Valam and Imson pulled Captain Atford from the table, dumped him on the floor near the exit doors. As Valam passed Adrina on the return, he squeezed her arm, whispered, “Be strong, if ever, now.”

Adrina took a deep breath, checked her demeanor, whispered to herself, “Be strong, if ever, now.”

King Andrew pounded his fists on the table. “Let the word go forth from this hall with your own lips. The House of Alder stands. All who oppose it will find death at the hands of a just king.”

It was a dismissal. The commanders knew it. They fled the room as though their feet had wings. Only Imson Adylton lingered. He had been there in Quashan’. He understood the treachery that had been at hand then and he understood what was happening now. He put a hand on Valam’s shoulder, spoke clearly, “There is nothing you can’t ask of me. Ask and it shall be done so long as I live and breathe.”

Adrina followed her father as he called out to her and Valam. They went out the rear doors of the great hall and made a direct path for the council. Keeper Martin and Father Jacob flanked her father and behind them were a dozen of the King’s Knights. Myrial and Garette followed the others out the front doors of the hall.

The Battle of Quashan’ had hardened Adrina and, to be sure, the death and madness all around her had changed her forever. Wars changed people. There was no going back. No finding the person that had been there before. She had a new and profound understanding of life and death. The value of life, the finality of death. But a battle and a war hadn’t taken away her pain—she had. She had found a way to look inside herself and find a way past the pain.

None of that had prepared her for what she had just seen. Her father had killed a man before her eyes, in a room full of people who had simply accepted his meting out justice.

She loved her father beyond doubt. She could sense the danger. She understood Valam’s warning. Still, that didn’t mean she had to accept everything that was happening. If she couldn’t understand what was happening, how could she accept it?

The palace was in chaos. It seemed the madness of the last few days was spreading to everyone and everything. She was scared, trembling.

She fought to find control. She couldn’t show fear in front of the council. She was an Alder.

Her private thoughts ended when they reached Council Hall. The doors opened. The king and the entourage that she was a part of swept into the crowded room. She could see that both houses of the council were assembled as well as representatives from the noble houses.

The king took his place at the far side of the triangular table that dominated the room. Father Jacob and Keeper Martin followed, each taking their place at the table. Chancellor Yi indicated that she should stand behind her father, next to Valam. She did.

Voices that had been raised in anger and outrage as the doors opened fell away to quiet whispers. Eventually the whispers fell away as well.

It was when the hall was absolutely quiet that King Andrew stood, surveyed the hall. “So you’ve come,” he said after many long minutes of uncomfortable silence. “Word goes out. Whispers spread through the realm. You come as buzzards to the kill.”

One of the council members jumped from his chair. “You misunderstand, majesty. You don’t—”

“I don’t what?” interrupted King Andrew. “Speak quickly now.”

The councilor sat back down without another word.

One of the noblemen seated in the high seats to the right of the table stood. “I am Peter Eragol, the seventeenth Peter of my line, Baron of Eragol, of Family Eragol.”

“I know who you are,” said the king.

Peter Eragol turned his eyes about the room, then stared directly at the king, his gaze unwavering as he spoke. “There are some who say the House of Alder has lost touch with the people, forfeited its power and the right to rule.” Gasps crisscrossed the hall—Peter Eragol spoke treasonous words.

Adrina did more than gasp. She nearly lost control. The Eragols were one of the most powerful families. They were the Wardens of the Mouth of the World. Their fleet in Eragol Bay was the largest in the Kingdom. They controlled shipping along the Krasnyj River, shipping lines that brought the majority of supplies to Solntse and Imtal.

Valam reached his arm around Adrina to steady her. His movements were subtle, making it look to any who had their eyes on them that he was simply reaching out to his sister. Adrina recovered nicely, the evident dismay in her expression fading as she regained her composure.

Chancellor Yi was the first to speak when the murmurs quieted. “I wonder, Peter,” he said walking toward the baron. “May I call you, Peter?” The baron was obviously taken aback by the familiar greeting and mocking tone, but said nothing, so the chancellor continued. “I wonder if you’d be so bold if you knew what I know.”

“And just what is that?” snapped the baron, his tone showing irritation. He didn’t like being addressed by the king’s underling. Clearly he wanted the king to respond—no doubt he had planned the clever rebuffs that would help drive home his point.

On the chancellor’s signal two guards dragged in the body of the dead commander. The baron’s hauteur quickly fell away. He stumbled back into the chair behind him—there was no one to catch him. Any supporters he may have had were probably busy thinking up clever denials.

That her father was wise and had excellent advisors, Adrina had no doubts. He had defied tradition, held a meeting with his commanders before speaking to the council. Any plans for seizing power should have been crushed right there, she knew, but didn’t dare to hope.

There was clear tension in the air. She wondered if her father or one of his men would kill the baron right then in front of everyone.

She closed her eyes for a few heartbeats. It didn’t help. When she opened her eyes, everything was the same.

She waited, remembered her poise. She must stand tall and true. She was a princess, an Alder.

“I am Peter Eragol,” the baron said, “the seventeenth Peter of my line, Baron of Eragol, of Family Eragol. I have a voice. I will be heard.”

Someone started to snicker. The situation wasn’t funny, but the snickering spread. The Baron of Eragol was quickly reduced to a babbling fool. He continued to babble though no one listened.

The king turned to the council and spoke. Adrina heard the words, but didn’t really listen. To her, it seemed they were just starting to unravel the treachery that had led to the attacks on Great Kingdom. She was certain they hadn’t heard the last of the East Warden of the Word. That King Jarom could reach into the highest circles of power in the Kingdom, there wasn’t any question. That he could do it and get away with it, terrified her.

When the meeting ended Valam took Adrina by the arm and led her from the hall. They didn’t speak until they reached her quarters. “Was this your doing?” she asked, “Some message from the old woman that you didn’t tell me of?”

Valam secured the door, walked across the room before responding. “Not mine,” he said quietly. “When I first arrived from Quashan’ Father Jacob told me of a divide growing in the council. But it was later when I spoke to father with Chancellor Yi and Keeper Martin that I...” His voice trailed off.

Adrina grabbed his hand. “And?”

The look in Valam’s eyes silenced her. He turned about on his heel quickly, catlike. He was much faster than his size suggested he could be, as if he could defy the laws of nature—perhaps he was learning as much from Seth as Seth was learning from him.

He raced across the room to the window beside Adrina’s bed, threw back the drapes. Adrina started to scream, “Stop, stop!” but it was too late. Valam grabbed the girl hiding behind the curtain and the next moment she was flying through the air, landing with a dull thud on Adrina’s bed.

“It’s Myrial, Valam,” Adrina screamed. “Myrial.”

“I know who it is,” Valam said through clenched teeth. “King Jarom’s spies are everywhere, don’t you know that? And it’s just a little too much, okay?”

Valam’s arm was raised, his fist poised ready to strike as if his fingers were a cobra’s fangs. Adrina grabbed his arm with both hands, begged him not to hit Myrial. She grabbed his waist and hugged him then. “Don’t, don’t,” she whispered. “Myrial would never betray our family.”

“Everyone is suspect,” Valam said.

Myrial crawled backward across the bed, straightened her dress. She didn’t look at Valam. Her eyes were on Adrina. “I don’t know what happened after I left,” she said, “but I assure you that I’ve never done anything to harm you, Adrina. And I would never do anything to harm anyone in your family. You’ve got to believe me.”

Adrina helped Myrial stand, saying, “I believe you, I do.” She paused for a moment, hugged Myrial. “It has been a very trying day. We’re all a little frayed on the edges. Isn’t that right, Valam?”

Valam glared, started to leave.

Adrina ran after him. “If there was ever a time, ever a time for friends, it is now. You can’t turn away. Not now, not ever. Don’t you see?”

The weight of the day was on Valam’s shoulders as he turned back to Adrina. “You don’t understand. I trusted her. She betrayed me.”

Adrina furrowed her brow, crinkled her nose as she did sometimes when confused or upset. “We aren’t talking about Myrial, are we?”

Valam shook his head. “We’re not.”

“Who then?”

Valam didn’t say anything, Myrial did. “Soshi,” she said.

“Soshi?” Adrina asked.

Valam turned to Myrial. “Do you know everything that goes on?”

“No,” Myrial admitted. “But I do make it a point to know certain things.” She added after a moment of silence, “Your secrets are safe with me. I would never reveal them to anyone.”

“Words,” Valam said, the anger growing in his voice. “Easy enough to say. Actions reveal truths.”

“Enough,” snapped Adrina. “You have my word, Valam. Myrial can be trusted. What more do you want?”

“Proof,” Valam whispered.

“What would it take?” Myrial shot back.

“You take such familiar tone with my family. Have you no respect?”

Myrial’s eyes told Adrina not to come to her defense. “What would you have me do?”

“Actions speak louder than words. Prove to me that I shouldn’t run you through.” Valam pulled a long dagger from a sheath at his side. Adrina saw this, tried to grab his arm. “Stay out of this, Adrina. King Jarom’s spies are everywhere, and this one is a little too clever for her own good.”

Myrial went to the window, jumped up to the wide ledge at its base. “If it is your wish, I will jump. Do you wish it? Would that be proof enough?”

Adrina felt like she was experiencing déjà vu. In her mind she saw herself standing on the ledge. She started screaming but Valam and Myrial weren’t listening to her.

Valam provoked Myrial. “It would—it would prove beyond doubt that you were King’s Jarom’s agent. Bought and paid for with the blood of many. Anyone with a bit of mettle would put an end to it after they’ve been exposed. That haughty Baron of Eragol will surely be found that way by morning, one way or the other, so go on, join him.”

Myrial surprised Adrina. She jumped at Valam, grabbing the blade he held out in both hands. The sharp blade sliced into her palms. Her blood ran pure and crimson down the blade, bathing Valam’s hands.

Myrial looked into Valam’s eyes, unwavering, unflinching while she held the blade. “The blood of one,” she said. “The only way it will ever be.”

“Are you satisfied now?” Adrina shouted. She tried to pull Myrial away from Valam but Myrial wouldn’t relinquish her grip on the blade.

Valam dropped the dagger, stared in dismay at the blood on his hands. “It is in dark times such as these that one must know who they can truly trust. The only way to know for sure is to test. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Myrial admitted, her eyes fixed on the prince.

“You’ve earned my trust, Myrial. I can only hope that I still have your respect as well.”

Myrial nodded, broke into tears as pain overcame her nerve. Her knees buckled. Valam was there to catch her as he had been there for Adrina. Forgetting that he had secured the door he called to the guards. They came at the call, broke down the door before Adrina had a chance to unlock it.

“A priest, find a priest,” Valam told one of the guards.

“Seth,” Adrina said, “Seth is closest. He can heal Myrial. His kind have the gift.”

Adrina ran back to her dressing mirror, pulled a cloth from the table top, used it to wrap Myrial’s hands. She led Valam through the palace as he carried Myrial. Soon they found themselves at the door to Seth’s chambers.

Adrina knocked, prayed there would be an answer, and there was. Seth answered the door. Candles spread on the floor said he had been meditating.

Seeing the girl and the blood-soaked cloth, Seth acted without hesitation. He reached back and, with a touch of his will, extinguished the candles spread out on the floor, then prepared to do what must be done.

“Place her on the floor, there.” He pointed. He spoke aloud so as not to upset anyone. Myrial’s face was pale from blood loss and he was suddenly worried for her.

“How did this happen?” he asked as he studied the wounds. Adrina looked to Valam, Valam to Adrina. “No need to explain then,” Seth continued, “I’ve heard the alarms. I know something is afoot though no one has told me what.”

What he didn’t say is that he had ventured to the winds. He had seen the chaos from on high: the guards sealing the palace, the city watch closing the gates, the soldiers searching house to house.

Reading their emotions he could sense that something terrible had happened these past few hours. He wondered if they knew what had gone on beyond the palace walls: the fires, the looting, the arrests. He doubted that they knew of these things. These weren’t things kings and princes spoke of proudly, and probably not even in quiet whispers.

Myrial’s moans of pain told him to hurry. He closed his eyes, drew the will of the land within. As he cleared his thoughts, he reached out, took Myrial’s hands in his.

A soft white glow, a simple, pure radiance, spread from his palms to Myrial hands. He whispered words, ancient words, concentrated as he took Myrial’s pain away. Myrial slipped from consciousness. He began the healing chant. The strength of his will was at once reflected in the light that bathed the room and swept it of shadows.

He smiled when he finished and sighed. My task is done, he whispered to their minds. She will sleep.

Chapter Ten:

Hidden Doorways

Something fought to free itself from within his mind, but as it was not able to or not allowed to, it levied pain. Pain that wrenched its way through his body, twisting away at his innards and his soul. His vision grew dim. He fell to the ground at the foot of the tower.

Thoughts filled his mind like a dream, reality bound by dreams. It was a strange and frightening dream. He dreamed of the boy he had once been. He dreamed of home, of his father and mother. He tried to force the thoughts away.

“Vilmos, control!” a friendly voice said to him.

He fought the pain, tried to listen to the voice. “I am me!” He cried out between clenched teeth, “I am in control!”

The pain grew. It was in brief moments of consciousness that the voice spoke to him, telling him to find control, to find a way beyond the pain. “The pain is their leash. Break the leash, become free.”

Other voices cried out. He gulped for air as if he had just returned from the dead. White-hot pain followed. It felt as if he were being burned alive. He wanted to tear off his skin to be rid of the pain. But he wouldn’t allow the pain to sweep him away again. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to live.

His struggle was brief. Darkness enveloped his thoughts. The voices cried out telling him to come back to endure the test, yet he would not.

“Xith!” he cried out.

“I am here,” came the answer from beyond the darkness.

“Is it night already?” Vilmos asked as he sat up and looked at the night sky.

“If you say it is, it is.”

Vilmos started to reply. Xith cut him off. “We haven’t much time, Vilmos. We must hurry. Your struggle is not over. The real fight has only begun.”

“Struggle? Fight?”

“You have learned to get around their controls. They must never learn this. If they do, they will ensure you fail this test.”

“What if I fail?”

“If you fail, we won’t be able to let you live in this place. We will be forced to kill you here, once and for all eternity.”

“We?” Vilmos asked, “Kill me?”

“It would be necessary to try.”

“Try?”

“Silence, listen. Our time is growing short. I have things of great import to explain, things you must accept.” Xith moved out of the darkness. He sat on the ground beside Vilmos and stared into his eyes. Another approached out of the darkness but did not move fully from the shadows.

“Who is that?”

“All in good time,” Xith said, quickly re-directing Vilmos’ attention. “This is a dangerous business, this thing between you and I. Do you understand?”

Vilmos nodded.

“I knew what you were and yet I helped you into the world. Kept you safe. Have I made the right decision?”

Vilmos didn’t respond.

“Don’t struggle with the truth. You know. A part of you has known ever since I first came to you.”

“What have you let me become? What gave you the right to let this thing come to pass?”

“Even if I had wanted to I couldn’t have done what needed to be done until I was sure, so I waited and watched. When the time came near I felt the presence. It was then that I left. I watched you in the shadows of your thoughts, offering guidance as I could.

“If you refused my guidance I knew I would then have to do what must be done. The magic in you is great but your past does not have to be your future. Control it, without letting it control you. At times it will be difficult. You will feel it. This is when you must seize the moment. Focus. You are the key to the wild magic.

“The wild magic of the beginning when all was chaos. In life or death all things have a beginning and an ending. When one era comes to an end, a new one starts. It is an endless cycle. In the end all things revert back to the beginning. Out of the chaos comes order, but only at the very end, and at a cost that cannot be known.

“Long have I troubled over my decision. The great burden I have placed on everything and everyone you will ever touch. It may have been pity for a child that spared you. That pity may also be what changes the course of the path.”

Vilmos waved his arms, a caged bird trying to fly. “You talk as if you are leaving.”

“Of course I am, don’t be foolish. Our time is spent. Fight, Vilmos. Don’t give in. I will find you again.”

Darkness swept in from the corners of his mind. Vision returned. Reality spilled upon dream, dream upon reality. The robed figures around him started running as they realized what had returned from the darkness. Their rhythmic chants faded to a cacophony of muddled screams.

“Fools, don’t stop! You must maintain the rhythm!” cried out a strangely compelling voice, “Now we must begin again…”

“Begin again… begin again,” the words echoed in Vilmos’ mind.

A voice cried out to him in one last attempt to put reason into his mind, “Find, control… Remember, you are the sleeping dragon.”

Adrina collapsed onto her bed. She was exhausted, but pleased that Seth had been able to help Myrial. Friends, true friends like Myrial, were hard to find.

She tried to sleep. Her body was weary, but her mind wasn’t. She had so many questions, needed so many answers. She was struggling with her thoughts and deep in concentration when a hand clasped suddenly, unexpectedly to her mouth. Eyes round and wild, she resisted, fighting with all the strength she had.

She broke the grip, slipped to the side of the bed.

Strong hands grabbed and groped. She bit down in the fingers of the hand at her mouth, tasted the leather of the gloves on the attackers hands.

Her muffled screams were barely audible. The attacker was strong, wouldn’t let go. She stomped down, winced in pain as her bare foot met rock-hard boots.

“Dear Father, help me,” she prayed as she struggled. All she could think about were the events of the last few days. The turmoil in the palace. The whisperers who wanted to kill her father and everyone else who stood in the way of claiming the throne.

“Revolution,” Valam had told her. “You don’t want our family to end as King Frederick II’s.” She didn’t. King Frederick, his wife, and most of his family were murdered in their sleep. Two sons and a daughter escaped the slaughter, but they were hunted down by the new, self-proclaimed ruler.

A flicker in the mirror caught her attention. She could see the dark robes of the figure that was holding her.

She looked back to the mirror. It took a long, extended second to understand what she saw.

The attacker was a woman, just like the whisperer in the hall. Could it be the same person? Had she returned to finish what she started? Where was her accomplice? Adrina had heard two speakers—both feminine.

“Do not scream,” an ominous voice whispered, “I will lower the hand, but do not scream.”

The voice was feminine. Adrina recognized it as if from a dream.

Strong, steady hands twisted her around. She looked up into the dark eyes, saw the long flowing black hair. Momentarily her despair edged toward panic.

Then the hand was removed from her mouth. Adrina considered screaming. She could have, easily, and aid probably would have arrived within moments, but she did not scream. Instead she regarded the figure that stood over her.

“Must we always meet like this, sister?” she asked. “Can you not knock and announce yourself like a normal person?”

“Silence,” Midori said, touching a finger to Adrina’s lips.

Adrina would not be silenced so easily. “Not again, and not like this. Father has forgiven you in his heart. I know he has.”

“Dear sister, I am as an enemy to the crown and people, only the robes of my office will protect me if I am discovered.” Midori passed warding hands about the air. “It is time I told you the truth of it.”

“Truth of what?”

Another figure stepped out of the shadows. Adrina recognized the face of the burly captain immediately. “Captain Brodst?”

Midori understood the expression in Adrina’s eyes. She took Adrina’s hand and coaxed her into a chair. “Ansh and I are more than we seem.”

Adrina didn’t understand. She felt uncomfortable and suddenly underdressed in front of Captain Ansh Brodst.

“I know the ways of your heart and mind, sister. You think that King Jarom’s bitter harvest would not be so wrought if I had wed him as father commanded. Father thinks it and so do the members of the council.”

Midori paused, looked at the captain. He nodded. She continued. “I told you once that I remembered it all. That I lived with the pain and paid and paid and am still paying a debt that I never owed. You told me that you could not forgive me and that I was dead to father—that he had buried me and there was a grave marker to prove it. It is true, Adrina. No matter what I do, I am dead to father, but I am not dead to you.”

Adrina stared coolly at her sister. She started to speak. The captain cut her off. “Let her finish,” he said.

“I am not responsible for Quashan’ or the attacks on Imtal. Even if I had wed Jarom, it wouldn’t have changed the path. To the contrary, it would have hastened the path—Jarom’s path to power. He wants to sit upon Imtal’s throne and from there rule all the known lands of our realm.”

Adrina turned to Captain Brodst. “How can you know this with such certainty?”

“The shaman, Xith,” whispered the captain reverently.

Midori continued, “Xith showed me the path. With my own eyes I saw what the future would bring if I wed Jarom and birthed the child from my womb. The child that was…” She took Captain Brodst’s hand. “Not Jarom’s, but ours.”

Adrina looked from her sister to the captain, for the truth of it only their eyes could tell her. “Is the captain? Is the—”

“I am,” said Captain Brodst.

“Is that child Emel?”

Midori turned away to look out the window. A sound in the night caught her cautioned ear. “We have told you this, our deepest secret, so that you may know that you can trust us above all others. Knowing who you can trust will save your life in the days and weeks ahead.”

“Save my life?”

Midori’s eyes were drawn to movement few others could have seen. “I must go. The captain will tell you soon what we require of you in return. For now, I ask only silence and I give you this.”

Midori thrust a scroll into Adrina’s hands. Adrina unrolled the scroll.

“Read it now,” Midori commanded. “Hurry, we haven’t much time.”

Adrina regarded Midori quizzically. She started to read, felt the urge to turn back to her sister, but found that she couldn’t.

The words printed on the scroll began to move about the parchment as if they were marionettes controlled by unseen hands. The words stopped moving when they formed a dark ring. In the center of the ring these words appeared:

Dragon’s Keep

Kingdom of the Sky

Through danger deep

Death’s door does lie

As Adrina read the words the world around her began to bend and shift. She could see ripples in the air. The center ring of the scroll no longer contained words but a picture—a picture painted in vivid colors, portraying a scene that seemed utterly real. She could see a stairs, twisting and winding into the heavens. At the very top of the stairs was a door.

Midori’s eyes darted to the window. She pushed Captain Brodst to the door as it started to open. “Forgive me, sister,” she said, plunging Adrina’s hand into the image.

Adrina’s hand disappeared into the other realm the scroll revealed. A glowing white aura raced up her arm, across her chest, then down to her feet until only her head remained outside the searing white glow.

Midori stared directly into Adrina’s eyes—the last bit of Adrina that remained in the Kingdom realm. “Don’t give in to the fear,” she said. “Remember, two as one.”

Vilmos remembered and something inside of him cracked. He recognized the voice. It was Xith’s voice but something else raked at the edges of his consciousness. It cried out to be released from the blackness that surrounded it. It demanded to be freed from its prison.

The pleas were heart-wrenching. Each ripped further and further into his heart. He had to get away. He had to escape. He began to run, running until he was breathless.

He ran north out of instinct, finally stood heaving by the side of a small wading pool. The voices in his mind seemed to fade as he ran and now they were gone. He was alone.

He leaned toward the quiet waters of the pool, following the beckoning call of the cool, refreshing water. As he leaned down, the strange fiery radiance of the heavens cast his image onto the pool and this was the first time he had seen his reflection, in what seemed ages to him.He saw a small boy, a boy not even close to being a man in that image. He didn’t like what he saw. He knew he was not a boy. His vanity would not allow him to continue in this form. He decided he wanted to be older, to be more mature looking. It took the flickering of an eye to gather the energy required and then release the full force onto himself. The power exploded throughout his body, knocking him to the ground and where a small boy fell to the ground, a man rose in his place.

Vilmos steadied himself. He looked into the pool and smiled. He liked the broad-shouldered, muscular young man staring back at him. He stared at the image for a very long time, then turned around and walked away.

He walked all morning. Something clung to the edge of his thoughts and drove him on. There were eyes on his back. He felt them.

Off in the distance he spotted a pure black horse. It looked so pristine and powerful. It called out to him to take it. He walked toward it, climbed onto its back, and with the heels of his boots, he spurred it on.

The wind flowing through his hair and blowing on his face felt so wonderful. It was then that a troubling notion came, sending his thoughts spinning into turmoil. Pain ripped through his body. Darkness enveloped him. An instant of coherent thought came and in that brief twinkling he saw the forces in his mind fighting to gain control.

A familiar voice called out to him. Against the wishes of the other, Vilmos went to it.

“Welcome, Vilmos, keeper of the new age. Stay with us. Do not flee.”

“Who are you?”

“I am he who is you. Stay with us. Let us preserve this time forever.”

Vilmos backed away warily. “No. You are not me. I am me.”

The voices grew distant. A light sparked in the darkness. Vilmos followed it. He saw Xith. Behind him was another, a stranger who seemed to loom up suddenly from the darkness.

This stranger wore a costume of feathers. Xith held out his hand and the orb of light which had drawn Vilmos blossomed. It beguiled him as it wandered through the colors of the spectrum—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. It revealed the newcomer as he truly was. Vilmos stared at the clawed hands and feet, the beaked mouth, the great wings.

“I am Ayrian of the Eagle Lords,” said the stranger. The words seemed to drift through the air into Vilmos’ ears, for surely the sound didn’t come from the throat as it did from other beasts. “Sole survivor of my kind.”

“We are the same,” came a voice out of Vilmos that was not his own.

As Vilmos stared at Ayrian, thoughts flooded his mind. Memories from the past. He remembered seeing the Eagle Clan flying over their domain. They had been a beautiful, proud race. He remembered the leader of the Gray Clan. He had also been powerful and proud. Ayrian didn’t look so powerful or proud anymore. With sudden acuity, he knew the sadness of Ayrian’s soul.

“Do not mourn for times past. We live in the present,” said Ayrian almost coldly.

Vilmos suddenly felt the bitterness that had replaced Ayrian’s pride. “Where do we go now? Is the test at an end?”

“You shall continue north, that is the direction you have chosen. Find the tower and the key. We need the key to reach Over-Earth.”

Vilmos didn’t recall choosing any particular direction.

“Well, at least we won’t have to walk anymore. A quick jump and we’ll…”

“Still so impatient. You forget where we are. Soon your memory will clear. They can’t control forever, although they try. You will know how to do many things. You will know the names of places, peoples, things from ages past. It will take time.”

Vilmos sulked. Without being asked he went to get wood for the fire. It would be a long night. The air was growing cool. He walked away into the darkness. When he returned Xith and Ayrian were gone.

“Xith?” he called out, “Where are you?” His voice echoed in empty air for an instant, then the world around him became clear once more.

“We are here,” said Xith. “You must not walk away again. Promise me?”

“Yes,” returned Vilmos.

“Listen very carefully for we haven’t much time. They come. There are those who wish this time to end. We must not let that happen. Do you understand? We must kill them or chase them from our lands. We must burn their houses and their fields so that they have nothing to return to. We must do this to ensure our survival.”

“Hurry, he comes,” said a voice.

“Vilmos, you are evil. You were spawned from evil and you will always be evil. You must help me end all that is good. The people of this land have no right to dwell here. You should rule over them. Let the power take control. Let it devour you. Can you feel it? Can you truly feel it?”

“Yes,” whispered Vilmos, enticed by the luring voice.

“Drink it in. Bath in it… You are he. Let go, follow the power! Release those that have served you faithfully through these many dread years.”

“Yes!” Vilmos shouted. A surge of power jolted through him. A part of him cried out in release. Another part of him knew something was terribly wrong. Suddenly he felt cheated and empty.

“You are not Xith! You are not Xith!”

The chanting became louder and more frantic. Vilmos fought the control. Agony found its way back into his mind, yet he was beyond pain. He had found truth.

The priests struggled to regain control. Their rhythmic cries echoed into the night sky, but it was too late. The warrior was upon them.

The warrior’s eyes blazed with hate. The muscles of his arms bulged as he gripped his long blade. He let out a guttural rasp, a blood cry, as he set upon the priests, “In the name of the Great Father, I banish you to the pits of hell!”

Pure shock and reflex made Vilmos turn away, cover his ears.

Turning away only made things worse. He could see the warrior’s movements reflected in the shadows of the campfires. He saw the warrior’s great blade lash out over and over.

Screams echoed in the night.

He fell forward. Someone wretched his arm out of the socket. He screamed, a long wailing sound. He didn’t fight back. He couldn’t move and whether frozen from fear or something supernatural he didn’t know.

Shooting pains went through his arm and shoulder. The wind went out as he took a powerful blow to the stomach. He feared this might be the end.

He was aware of everything. He wouldn’t let himself black out. If this was the end, he wanted to face it.

Strong hands levered him up. This is it, he thought, oh please, oh please, not like this.

Suddenly his hands were free, then his legs. He got to his knees, only to be knocked down. He hit the ground hard. Lancing pain radiated from a blow to the side of his head.

“Help! Somebody please help,” he heard himself saying.

“I know the truth about you,” the one holding him said. “I know your secrets.”

He saw a long double-edged knife coming toward him. He braced for the pain that he knew would shoot up his side. There was no escape.

He heard a loud crack, a sound like thunder. Blood sheeted from the man’s neck. The man’s face was frozen in disbelief. Then the man fell over like a stone on top of Vilmos.

Everything was quiet.

Vilmos twisted and turned, trying to get out from under the heavy man. The weight was lifted off. He spun around, fearing another attack.

He waited.

“Run, you are free,” whispered a voice into his mind.

Other voices followed in a flood like voracious fiends. He huddled in the darkness, clutched the golden medallion of the man who had fallen on top of him. He wondered if this was a trick, some kind of new torture.

“You are home, you are free,” the voice said.

Vilmos stood on weak legs, saw an ancient tower with its twin spires in the distance. With a jolt of unwelcome recognition he knew the tower represented two serpents. The twin spires were tails. The base of the tower, the heads. Where the serpents faced each other was a great doorway.

He listened to the sound of a bell tolling.

But something about the toll was wrong.

The toll came again. A piercing ring that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It increased in intensity until he couldn’t bear it, then it was gone.

He stared in awe. The tower beckoned. He went.

Chapter Eleven:

Destinations Reached

Four men entered a dark room. One tossed a leather pouch onto a small wooden table. The pouch landed with a heavy thunk.

The man seated at the table emptied the pouch absently, obviously displeased at the interruption. His eyes were fixed on an open window. The sounds of clanging steel could be heard clearly from outside. “There are entry fees for four, but no burial fees.”

“We do not intend to be buried,” grunted the man who had thrown the pouch.

“Burial fees are standard. The carts were full of the dead every day last year.”

A second coin purse was thrown onto the table.

“Late arrivals are not normally accepted, but this year we do lack for the sparring rounds. Names?” The attendant readied quill and ink.

“The sparring rounds,” objected one of the men. The original speaker put a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Sparring rounds all I got open. Should’ve come earlier. You still have a chance.”

“A slim one… I had hoped for the secondary rounds.”

“Secondary rounds,” scoffed the attendant, “for newcomers without announcement? Who do you think you are? I ought to…”

The man raised his hand with an open palm. “We accept.”

“Names?”

“My associates and I prefer to—”

“Names?” repeated the attendant.

“Name’s Greer. My companions here are… Tenman, Viller, and—”

“Seth,” completed the last man.

“Not from these parts are you?”

“He’s from the far north,” said the original speaker. The man who had identified himself as Greer.

“Origin?” asked the attendant.

“Origin?”

“For the marker. Do you know nothing?”

“We won’t need markers.”

“Look, friends, I’ve got things to attend to. If you don’t mind, let’s speed this along.” The attendant gave a longing glance to the window.

“Great Kingdom.”

“Kingdom’s got no participants this year.”

“Well, it does now. And enter us in the trios as well.”

“You won’t make it that far,” the attendant replied offhandedly.

“Just do it,” grunted Greer angrily.

“All right, all right, if you’ll let me return to my business, I’ll do it, but you aren’t going to make it that far.”

The caravan train lumbered toward the city with slow persistence. Emel rode with the advance party. It seemed Ebony Lightning was excited as he was. Soon they would be within the shadow cast by the city walls—walls that towered over everything, seeming to dwarf even the mountains in the distance.

Emel wondered at the expert workmanship of the wall. It had three levels, each with its own parapets. Men and beasts moving along the upper ramparts looked like ants. And, like ants, they marched in fixed lines, moving back and forth along the top of the wall.

Emel knew this show of force was meant to send a not-so-subtle message to the thousands of men in the caravan train that approached: Gregortonn is the mightiest city in the land, remember your place.

Emel rode quietly, sure that even without the show of force the men of the caravan understood that they were no longer in Great Kingdom. For some this was good as it meant they were getting close to home after many months or years away. For others, most of the Kingdomers included, it meant they had arrived in a foreign land where everything they knew and everything they represented would be questioned and put to the test.

The true Kingdomers in the caravan had planned for this day, wished for it. They were in the Southlands. Now they could begin to do what they had set out to do. Emel had his part as well, though his task would have been far easier if the prince and the elf had joined the caravan. He didn’t know what had kept them away, but knew that whatever it was, it was equally as important as what he had to do.

He rode under the great wall of Gregortonn. He clutched the orb in its leather pouch, thinking it odd that he sought answers to things he didn’t understand in a place he knew little about. He did know one thing: Dnyarr, Elf King of Greye was a genius. No other could build such a city as Gregortonn was.

Designed to withstand full assaults by giants, titans, and dragon’s kin, the city’s fortified towers were dense along the walls. The towers could house armies and store everything needed to sustain those armies during campaigns and sieges—something Dnyarr had proved over and over. Right then, Emel knew he had been right to confide in Keeper Martin, and that the keeper spoke the truth. If Dnyarr’s secrets were to be found it would be here in these lands.

Ebony snorted excitedly as they entered the city. Emel leaned forward, stroked the stallion’s mane.

Smelling something strange, he turned. He caught sight of a king cat and its rider. Ebony reared as the king cat approached, nearly throwing Emel.

“Rein in that beast!” the kingcat rider shouted out.

Emel was thinking the same thing, but held his tongue. The rider appeared to be wearing an official uniform and she carried a long-bladed javelin openly. As a king’s messenger, he had been to the far corners of the kingdom, seen strange and wondrous things, but he had never been beyond Great Kingdom’s borders. He had never seen a city such as Gregortonn, and he had never seen a king cat. He had heard stories about them yes, how they could take down a horse and rider with their powerful jaws and claws, how the cat would continue a fight even if its rider died, how the cat would sometimes turn on its rider.

“The caravan?” the rider asked when she saw the strange look in his eyes. She didn’t give him time to respond before adding, “Untrained beasts are not allowed in the city.”

Faylin Gerowin reined in his mount next to Emel. “The cat,” he said, steadying his horse as he talked. “Most of our animals have never seen a king cat before.”

“Kingdomers?” the rider asked, spitting out the word as if it were a curse.

Faylin nodded.

The rider turned to Emel. “You’ll do well then to remember that the king cat patrol has the wall. Stick to the central market area.” The rider turned, moved off without waiting for a response.

“Nothing like a warm welcome,” Faylin said sarcastically.

Emel stroked Ebony’s mane, soothing away the last of the unease from himself and the horse. He couldn’t, however, sweep away the fact that he felt humiliated. Ebony Lightning was a champion. His pride and joy. How could anyone call such a magnificent horse a beast and treat it like it was nothing?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Faylin said. “Don’t do that to yourself. We’re in the Old World, different rules apply.”

Emel beaded his eyes. “What, they don’t teach manners?”

“Cat Patrollers are elitists. You would have got the same treatment if your skin was a golden bronze. Trust me on that.”

“I didn’t think there were any king cats this far north.”

“Gregortonn is an exception. The cats are born and bred here, domesticated. Well, as domesticated as they’ll ever be.”

Emel decided to broach a more dangerous subject than the king cats. “Do you think King William will listen?”

Faylin was silent for a time, then said quietly, “William Riven, King of Sever, is no fool. He has come a long way since his father’s death, since the coronation.”

“You say that as if you know King William personally. Do you?”

Faylin turned to Emel, his eyes unwavering, focused. “Emel, my friend, I am King William.” So saying, he spurred his mount and raced off, leaving Emel to wonder whether he was joking or telling the truth.

Bladesman S’tryil had a shallow wound stemming from navel to shoulder. In a day or two he would be able to compete again. Valam had a gash above his right eye and several other superficial wounds. Seth and Ansh Brodst were weary, but otherwise fine. Two sparring rounds remained and thus far the four had managed to keep their identities secret. A remarkable feat that wouldn’t have been successful without Seth’s help.

“Two rounds,” whispered Valam, “we’ve gone far enough to skip the individuals. We don’t have to compete tomorrow.”

Ansh, who had matched last, was still breathing hard as he spoke, “If we skip the individuals, take these last two rounds, we advance to the trios. If we lose a round, we have nothing to fall back on, no way to get to the championship round.” He emptied a pitcher of cool water over his head.

“S’tryil is wounded,” Valam said. “There is no way we can hope to win if another of us gets wounded. Two against three isn’t much of a match. I say we wait. In two days we will be strong, ready.”

“I side with Captain Brodst,” Seth said.

“And if you hold back tomorrow and one of us gets hurt, what then?” Valam asked. Seth didn’t have the heart for the barbarism of the rounds. He matched not for the kill, as did others, but to subdue. Valam knew this. He had said nothing of the matter until now.

“That’s unfair, Seth is better than both of us,” remarked Ansh. He was gaining respect for the elf with each day. “Do you really think the whisperers haven’t already relayed that we never arrived in South Province?”

“One thing is sure: They don’t know we are here. So let them guess,” replied S’tryil, wincing as he spoke. The wound looked worse than it actually was and it was only the salve Seth applied that stung.

Valam, imparted Seth, I once remarked that man’s fear was his greatest enemy. I think I was wrong about that. I also asked myself once whether the winner of these competitions would win your trust.

“You have already earned my trust, Seth.”

Have I truly? If I do not hold back out there tomorrow or the next day and I kill a man, what will it mean? Will it be for something?

“My remark was uncalled for… I do not take oaths lightly. My father made an oath to your queen and I have signed on too…”

Seth spoke aloud. “But do you believe, Valam? This is what matters. Nothing else matters. Do you believe?”

“Footsteps!” Brodst called out. The room quieted, then darkened as candles were snuffed out.

A knock came on the door. The four held still. “I was told I could find a man called Greer here,” said an unfamiliar voice.

S’tryil opened the door a crack, looked into the dim hall. “Yes?”

“Do you always greet friends so?” asked the other moving into the doorway.

“By the Father!” exclaimed S’tryil, “Come in quickly, quickly. Were you followed?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m afraid your charade hasn’t fooled everyone.”

S’tryil closed the door quickly, and ushered the speaker into a chair. “Go on,” he urged.

“I have grave news.” The man stopped, looked about the room as candles were re-lit. He went on to speak of a plot to kill the heir to the throne, Prince Valam.

“This is old news,” S’tryil said.

“They’ve tried, and failed,” Valam added.

“This news is fresh,” the man said, looking directly at Valam. “You must not continue. They plan to poison the blades. Dragon’s milk. One scratch is all it takes. You are all doomed. The prince especially so.”

We must go on, Valam, directed Seth.

Valam said, “Thank you, friend. We will be on our guard, but we have come too far to turn back. Death awaits us all, does it not?”

The man stood, looking indignant.

“Go,” whispered S’tryil. “I am grateful for the warning, old friend. Do not fear. We will be ready.” S’tryil ushered the man into the hall, staying with him a moment. When he returned, his face was visibly pale.

“What do you make of it?” asked Valam. “Does he speak the truth?”

S’tryil fidgeted with something in his hands. “He is an old friend. He handed me this to give to you, says it is proof.”

Chapter Twelve:

Finding Truth

Emel walked stiffly beside the king, his eyes taking in the grandeur of the ancient palace. The aide that walked with them talked about the history of the rooms and halls they passed. Emel listened absently, nodded cordially from time to time. His thoughts were uneasy; a chill ran the length of his spine. It was as if he could hear the wailing of the slaves who had died building the palace stone by stone.

He had never been to a place where every room, every hall, had a history all its own. That’s the difference between the Old World and the New, he told himself. Great Kingdom’s history went back to the time of the Alder King. The history of Vostok and the southern kingdoms seemingly went back to the beginning of time itself.

In a way, that rich history was the reason he had set out from Imtal. If there was ever a place he would learn about Dnyarr the Greye, the orbs, and everything that finding the orbs meant, it would be here in the Southlands. There was no better place to start than in Gregortonn—the city built by Dnyarr the Greye himself.

“You feel it don’t you?” King William asked, turning to Emel. “The ghosts of the past haunt the Old World.” The king laughed softly, added, “You’re going to have to get used to that or it will drive you to madness. Choose now, you either listen to the voices or you ignore them.”

Emel frowned, started to reply when the heralds standing outside the throne room sounded off in greeting. Emel watched awestruck as the golden doors to the throne room were opened. He had heard stories of the great doors banded in gold, but never thought he’d see them with his own eyes.

To say that the throne room was opulent was to understate the marvelous architectural achievement it represented. Its every feature was an extravagance, a flaunting of luxury, from the lavish chairs that formed an aisle, to the throne, to the three-domed cathedral ceiling, to the great bejeweled throne itself.

The aide told Emel about the history of the throne room, how it was created, what the chairs symbolized, why there were three domes instead of one, and how it was said that the jewels of the throne were used by the Elf King Dnyarr to focus his elvish powers in a most unnatural way. What the aide never said, what no one said, was the one thing Emel wanted to know the most: was King William related to Dnyarr the Greye, as some said in quiet whispers.

Kingdom lore said that Alexia D’Ardynne, a human slave, seduced Dnyarr the Greye and later gave birth to bastard twins, Aven and Riven. The two brothers would later be credited with liberating the kingdoms from Dnyarr’s tyranny. While the current Riven line surely had little connection to the elvish blood that coursed through the veins of King Etry Riven I, Emel couldn’t help but wonder if King William somehow felt connected to Seth and Galan, and to the plight of East Reach.

King William turned about at the throne, dismissed the aide with a nod, but didn’t sit in the grand chair as Emel thought he would. He smiled regally. The last trace of the cordial mannerisms of Faylin Gerowin, the man the king had pretended to be, faded away. “You want to know why?” the king asked, his voice steady.

“I do,” Emel admitted.

King William snapped his fingers, gestured. Two men from his entourage ran forward, kneeled before him. William whispered something Emel couldn’t hear. The two hurriedly departed. “You are the only one who knows, except for the caravanmaster, my men, and perhaps Etri Hindell if he’s as clever as I surmise. My disguise was quite complete, wouldn’t you say?”

Emel nodded agreement; indeed he had found the king’s sudden transformation unnerving. It was as if one moment he had been talking to Faylin Gerowin and the next he had turned and saw another. It was hard to miss the trademark blue eyes of the king, a blue so deep it seemed unnatural. So how did brown eyes suddenly become blue?

“I traveled to the north with Prince Valam of Great Kingdom. My journey was a secret one. I needed to speak directly to King Andrew, and I did. Few, except my most trusted, knew of it. Everyone else believed I was closed away in the palace, still mourning my father’s passing and catching up with affairs of state.”

“Why did you reveal yourself to me?” Emel asked, suddenly nervous, his voice unsteady.

“Keeper Martin approached me before I left Imtal. He asked me something, and Prince Valam said you could be trusted. I thought it most unusual at the…” The king’s voice trailed off as trumpets sounded in greeting from the hall. He waited, watched as the doors opened and the expected guest was admitted.

“Keeper Martin?” Emel asked.

King William smiled regally, his gaze fixed on the distant figure. “Captain Galia,” he spoke tersely, “so nice of you to join us.”

“Cousin,” Galia said, her voice held a fine edge that was almost contempt.

Emel turned, surprised to see the haughty kingcat rider that had snubbed him in the streets of Gregortonn. “You?” Emel and Galia said at the same time.

King William maintained his regal smile. “So pleased to see you remember Captain Emel Brodstson of Great Kingdom.” He turned back to Emel. “Emel Brodstson, Galia Tyr’anth.”

Emel’s expression broadened, and suddenly he was glad he had kept up with the reading Keeper Martin suggested would prepare him for the journey. If he remembered correctly, Gregor Tyr’anth was the namesake of Gregortonn and the brother of King Etry Riven II.

“Yes, that Tyr’anth,” Galia said before Emel could respond. “But if you must know, the Tyr’anths have no claim to the throne and you need not address me as a royal.”

Emel found himself at a loss for words. King William spoke first, saying, “She has a mind as sharp as her tongue, I assure you, which is why I wish her to accompany you…” Galia was about to say something. William silenced her with his eyes, continued, “No one knows the kingdoms of the south better. She will be your guide. Go well.”

It was a dismissal. Emel stood his ground. “The alliance,” he said. “Is it broken?”

King William glared, his eyes seemingly probing Emel’s heart and mind. “I will not let the past repeat itself, know that.”

“And the elves?”

“The book?” Galia interrupted.

“Yes, the book,” the king said, moving to the throne. William’s gaze grew distant.

To Emel it seemed he was seeing a thing no one else had ever seen. He could tell Galia saw it as well. It was as if William was coming to terms with something that haunted from within.

“You can listen or not,” William said at long last. “I choose to listen, will you?”

They skipped the individual rounds. Their final two sparring rounds were victories, and now they waited for the trios to begin. Their identities were still a secret, at least to those who observed, and to those who weren’t out to assassinate the prince. The hope was that they would get through, and that Prince Valam, Captain Brodst, and Bladesman S’tryil would match up against the trio from the Free City of Solntse for the championship match. On that day, the Kingdomers would use no guises. Seth’s identity was to remain secret, however, as long as was possible.

They were quartered in old barracks opposite the competition square. This made their daily walk back and forth to the matches a short one. This day especially so.

The morning bouts were already underway. The day’s highlights were the trio matches. Those would come later, after the final individual rounds.

A large crowd gathered, filling the square save for the large outlined circle where a pair of singles matched up. Even the many levels of balconies of the four great structures surrounding the square were full this day. The one exception was the top level of the five-storied building that was City Garrison Central Post.

As he watched the two combatants struggle, S’tryil remembered a conversation he had had with a young boy near the edge of the same circle he bordered now. “You see that circle there,” he had said, “good, don’t break it… And if someone comes lunging at you, in the name of the Great-Father, jump out of the way…” He chuckled to himself.

The four had come down to size up potential opponents, since winners of the individual finals could join the trio teams of their countrymen if they so chose.

Ansh and Valam had taken positions on one side of the circle. S’tryil and Seth, the other. A match was underway. The chosen weapon was the great axe.

“I’m concerned about the trios, my friend,” whispered S’tryil, wincing at the sound of the great axes clashing together. He had a particular dislike of axes, having nearly lost a hand to one.

“Me too,” Seth said honestly.

The combatants matched up again. One brought a knee up to the other’s groin. “Is that legal?” whispered Seth. He hadn’t seen that before.

“That’s something you don’t see in the trios. There’s no time for it.”

“So it is legal?”

“Anything’s legal,” S’tryil replied, smiling, “except of course poisoned blades…” He quickly appended his statement, adding, “and throwing dirt, like that man just did. He’ll be thrown out if others saw it.”

“Does the crowd always cry for blood in the finals?”

Seth stepped back. S’tryil did likewise, saying, “Sometimes, sometimes not.”

The two watched as the bout progressed. A short while later a new match was called, with single long blades chosen as the weapon. Seth’s eyes went to the fifth floor balcony of the garrison building. “None of them were there yesterday.”

“That’s because yesterday didn’t matter. The man seated up on the high balcony… He is Lord Geoffrey… He was the best throughout the land until last year, when our good friend Captain Brodst defeated him.”

The clanging of steel on steel rose to a powerful din. Seth nodded. He probed further with his eyes. “The others?”

“The three to the right I don’t recognize, but the three to the left I know. They likely will be who we’ll be up against if we make it to the trio championship match. Shalimar is the first man. I’ve seen him win five matches in one day. He is good, really good. The man in the middle is the Lord’s son, Nijal—the test of steel lasted six days for that one, a record. He teaches the meaning of the word defeat. The one on the end is Shchander, quick and sharp. His attack is his best skill, not very good on the defense. He’ll get at least two extra thrusts against any opponent, myself included, though perhaps not against you. Would be an interesting pairing, you and he.”

“You know your foe well.”

“Valam did not mean to slight you.”

I know this, directed Seth.

“No, let me finish. The championship match is different from the others. It allows for one replacement should one of us get seriously injured. Valam figures one of us will get injured…”

“It is all right, friend,” Seth replied reassuringly, “I truly understand.” He understood the concept now of winner take all and he really did understand how much these competitions meant to everyone involved. He had seen riots break out when a favored competitor lost. He had seen carts of the dead piled high. Valam had been right about other things as well. The spectators were fanatical followers. Gossip did spread like wildfire—and there was hope.

Hope for him and his people. If they could win. If Seth could reveal himself. If men could accept that he wasn’t of the same darkness as those before him. If, if, if. So many if’s, but oh, so great a hope.

Majestic mountains loomed before them. Emel paused, took survey of the wagons and men weaving their way up the trail to Fool’s Pass. The stones of the mountains, rich with ore, glistened purple in the early light of the day. A purple that was as deep and striking as the mountains themselves.

Ridemaster Etri Hindell was mounted to Emel’s left. The great gray charger he rode was very different from the show horses his men rode, and the difference said more about him than Emel had learned from their idle conversations.

Etri was surveying the path, and, like Emel, was not pleased about the prospect of spending days in the mountains. The caravan would reach Fool’s Pass after two days of climbing, up, up the steep trail. As the name implied Fool’s Pass wasn’t the wisest of choices for travel—a fact not lost of Etri or Emel, or anyone else for that matter—but it was the most direct route into the Kingdom of Zapad and the lands beyond.

Emel stroked Ebony’s mane as Galia approached, riding her king cat. Days of traveling together had taken away some of the unease when the big cat was around, but Ebony would still snort and rear sometimes. “Going to be a long climb,” he said quietly.

“The snows will come to the mountains soon,” she said. “No turning back once we hit the pass. Understood?”

Emel said that he did, but he knew she was talking about more than she said. She resented him, disliked him because he was a Kingdomer and because she’d been commanded to be his guide. She was telling him in her way that he was taking her away from those she loved and things she knew. She wanted him to understand that and bear the weight of the burden. She couldn’t have known that he already had the weight of many burdens on his shoulders. “The book?” he asked her before she turned away.

“The Book of the Peoples?”

It was one of the books Keeper Martin had shown him. Emel nodded as if he understood. He had assumed it was a book of Kingdom lore, now he wasn’t so sure—and if the book wasn’t penned by Kingdomers, then what about the things he had read? What did they mean then? Were they lies? Was it true they were secrets kept from commoners to guard the past?

She continued, “It holds truths no few wish to know.”

“Or lies,” Emel shot back.

“Subject to interpretation, yes.”

“Whose interpretation?” Emel waited. Galia smiled, didn’t reply. He could tell she liked this verbal sparring. He pushed. “Do you know of the elves too?”

“There is little I don’t know,” Galia said proudly.

Emel couldn’t tell if she was bragging or lying. “What is King William to you?”

“What is he to you?”

Emel didn’t have to think about his answer. He said immediately, “A friend.”

Galia was agitated with the turn of the conversation. Her mount apparently felt this too, and reared. A king cat on its hind legs with front paws outstretched was more than enough to spook Emel’s Ebony.

To regain control Emel charged up the trail. He didn’t look back, though in that moment he knew he may never see what he was leaving behind again. As he climbed the mountain trail he thought of Galia and the book. Soon after his thoughts went to Adrina and Myrial.

He loved them both in his own way. Adrina was the princess he’d always dreamed of marrying as a boy, but knew from experience, his father’s condemnation of their friendship in particular, that someone of his station could never marry a princess. Myrial was the loyal friend who had endured hardship and stayed true. She had a simple beauty, a purity of heart that attracted him.

“Goodbye,” he whispered to the wind and to them, gripping the orb in its leather pouch. “Goodbye.”

Chapter Thirteen:

Losing Touch

Myrial started, bolted upright in bed. Sometimes it seemed she had a preternatural connection to Adrina. This was one of those times. Adrina was in trouble. She knew this somehow. She grabbed a robe from the corner bed stand, and ran from the room.

As she ran into the hall, she wasn’t surprised by Garette’s absence. She had been the one to send him away. “Sleep,” she had told him. “No need to send the night watchman.” Suddenly she regretted the decision. Something was wrong. She didn’t know what. A thousand panicked thoughts raced through her mind.

The lower level of the palace was strangely quiet. It was early morning. The change of the guard couldn’t have been more than an hour away. So where was everyone?

She raced up the stairs to the main level of the palace. The strange quiet continued. She found guard posts vacant, hallways empty. She cut through the kitchens, hoping to find the usual early morning frenzy as the cooks prepared the morning meal. Her panic became terror when she found the kitchens were empty as well.

She reached the door to Adrina’s chambers, nearly out of breath. The door was open. There were no guards posted within or without. She screamed as she ran into the bedroom, “Adrina? Adrina?”

Finding she couldn’t breathe, she gulped at the air. But there was no air. “Help me,” she cried, her voice a muffled whisper, “help me…”

She opened her eyes. The screams and the dream fell away. She was left with stark reality—the stark reality that she couldn’t breathe—and the person pressing the hand over her nose and mouth had every intention of not letting her screams escape her lips, not letting her lungs find air.

She struggled against the weight on her chest and shoulders, stared up into the intent, wild eyes of Sedrick Bever. “Dogs should know their place,” he hissed at her. “Bark for me little doggie?”

Myrial blinked, attempted to nod her head. She’d do anything to be able to breathe, to end the fire in her lungs. The fat former housemaster outweighed her several times. He was kneeling on her, pinning her to the bed.

He removed the hand. She gulped at the air, started to scream but before the scream escaped her lips, the hand was back over her nose and mouth. He slapped her with his free hand.

“Bad dog,” he said. “Don’t know your place.” He pushed her to the floor, grabbed her by the back of the head, pulling so hard she thought her hair would come out by the roots, and all the while he maintained the viselike clamp over her nose and mouth with his other hand.

The fire in her lungs grew so intense that the rest of her body seemed numb. This was perhaps a good thing, as Sedrick pounded her head into the floor.

“Not so fast, not so easy,” he whispered to her as he removed the hand from her nose and mouth.

Myrial sucked at the air, struggled to say, “Why?”

Sedrick laughed. She felt his hot heavy breath on her cheek, smelled the heavy scent of wine. She started to gag.

Sedrick clamped a hand over her mouth, made her swallow the vomit. Her throat burned as the sour liquid slid back down.

She threw up again. The vomit wasn’t allowed out of her mouth. He seemed to enjoy the moment.

His left hand groped along the floor.

All Myrial could think of was that he was trying to find something to club her with. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn’t hold them back anymore. She was terrified, had never been so terrified in all her life.

He was going to kill her; she knew this. It didn’t seem fair. All she wanted was a better life—the life that should have been hers.

Surety of death brought clarity. Briefly, she thought of Adrina. Adrina needed her but she couldn’t get there—wouldn’t get there in this lifetime.

Sedrick found what he had been looking for. He doused Myrial with wine. “Drink,” he said laughing. “Drink.”

Myrial blinked up at the blood red liquid pouring over her face, running down her chest and back, pooling on the floor all around her. She tried to shield herself with her hands, but Sedrick was kneeling on one hand, his weight crushing her fingers, and holding the other hand at bay. It was a game to him; she knew it. Everything was a game to the former housemaster.

“Kill me,” she begged.

“In time,” Sedrick whispered. “You don’t want it bad enough yet. You will, trust me.”

She nodded at the large, horrifying face staring down at her. She spoke in a tiny whisper, “I’m dead already.” She knew she was. That was the scariest thing of all.

The final trio match had been underway for two full hours. The square was darkening as evening approached, and ever more onlookers pressed into the square to get a look at the competitors. Once word spread that Prince Valam and Captain Brodst were participants the square erupted. The city garrison was called in to clear the circle, and now they protected it with their lives—for the press of the masses pushed ever inward.

Bladesman S’tryil continued despite the re-opening of his earlier wound. Valam was drenched in sweat and judiciously matched his opponent. He had taken Shchander despite the warnings otherwise. He was nearly exhausted. His opponent on the other hand seemed to have boundless energy.

Ansh Brodst circled Nijal, catlike. His blade danced back and forth between his hands. Mid-length blades had been chosen, which meant that a combination of defensive and offensive styles was called for, and the use of the body, legs, and fists, mandatory.

Switching tactics S’tryil, Valam, and Brodst circled along the inside. Their opponents on the outside. Neither side attacked.

Torches were raised around the square and mounted in iron racks along the balconies as dusk shadows deepened. Shchander lunged at S’tryil while Shalimar took him from the side. It was a lightning attack and neither Valam nor S’tryil was able to move fast enough to counter.

S’tryil was hit and went down. The two retreated from the three, Valam jumped over S’tryil as the other fell almost taking them both down.

“Call it, damn it!” Valam cursed as he waited for the call to relief, defending heroically.

Brodst kicked out laterally and hit Shchander in the side as the other spun around to face Valam. Valam rotated to the right. He knew they were stalling on purpose. Three-two wasn’t much of a match. He lunged recklessly at Shchander who was already off balance.

He scored a direct hit. The fine edge sank deep into Shchander’s chest. Relief was called then, but it was too late. Valam grinned.

Geoffrey of Solntse replaced Shchander. Seth stepped in for S’tryil. The crowd erupted in cheers. “Geoffrey is matching!” went the chant that started out singly and then was joined by many, many others who carried along the growing echo. “Geoffrey is matching!”

As Prince Valam had done, Seth removed his mask after stepping into the circle. It only took one person who recognized Seth as an elf of legend—Seth without the usual hood and guise—to bring the crowd near riot. Trumpets blared. Garrison reinforcements stormed into the square. Hundreds fell in the ensuing clash. Cries of “Kill him! Kill the elf!” were everywhere. Everyone wanted to catch of glimpse of the elusive figure. And everyone tried.

A hush came when Valam raised Seth’s sword arm saying, “He fights for Great Kingdom. Any man that wants to kill him must come through me first.”

The crowd was agitated. The day had been long. More than a few were drunk; as many, perhaps more, were brave—or foolish—enough to try to get past Prince Valam. The crowd wanted blood, and would settle for nothing less.

Valam, Captain Brodst, Nijal, Geoffrey, and Shalimar worked together to fend off the attackers—all of whom were intent on getting to Seth. Seth watched the five men circle him, surprised that three strangers would put their lives at risk to defend him.

“What have you started here?” Geoffrey screamed at Valam through the din of the attack.

“Only what I must,” Valam replied. “The Elves of the Light, of the Reach, are not our enemies of old. Our peoples were once united in the fight against the dark elves of Under-Earth.”

Geoffrey scoffed, blocked with his blade, used the flat edge of the sword to bash one of the attackers as Valam had done a moment before. “What proof?”

“For now only my word.” Valam looked directly as Geoffrey as he spoke.

“Blasphemy, you have no respect for this circle.”

“And yet you defend alongside us?”

“I have the deepest respect for your father. If you were to die in the match, then so be it. But to die at the hands of this mob is not fitting.”

“Then accept my word.”

Geoffrey sidestepped an assailant, regarded Valam meaningfully. “I’ll accept that you are bewitched, enthralled as may be the case.”

“I’m in full count of my faculties, I assure you.”

It was the thought of Adrina in danger that Myrial clung to. It was what kept her sane as Sedrick did what he did. She was shaking, covered in sweat and wine as he backed away from her for a moment.

Her voice was hoarse from screaming and her throat hurt. She thought she had won when Sedrick finally allowed her to scream. She hadn’t won, and he relished every moment as terror sank deep into her mind.

She didn’t know why no one answered her screams, but she could guess why. Sedrick had always been good at bribing the guards to get what he wanted. Those who couldn’t be bribed could be coerced in other ways. She doubted that anyone knew what was really going on. Still, the fact that they had turned a blind eye in the first place made her angry enough to want revenge, and the need for payback ran deep in her mind. She’d repay them all. Every last one.

Sedrick stared at her. His eyes seemed like dark holes. Her heart raced. He was going to kill her now. She knew it, but was too full of rage to let it happen.

He stamped a black-booted foot down hard. Bones broke. Myrial didn’t feel pain, only rage. The rage was a shield.

He flared at her again. “Don’t you dare try anything! Don’t you dare.”

“I wouldn’t,” she said, her voice barely a whisper as she crawled backward using her hands.

He chased after her. “I have to do this… It’s the only way. You understand, don’t you?”

She sensed what was coming. She knew she had to do something. She prayed for strength, but wasn’t sure if the jumbled words escaped her lips or if she only imagined they did.

“You trying to trick me? Is this some sort of trick?” he asked. “That why you’re backing away from me?”

She started laughing, didn’t know why. There was nothing else, nothing else for him to take. Death was a good thing for her, she was sure of it. She was prepared for it.

“Mocking me?” he shouted, kicking her in the side. He grinned. He had such a fiendish, mad look.

She spoke quietly, mimicking him. Her instincts could be as sharp and cruel as his. It scared her to think that. It scared him too; she could see it in his eyes. The girl he had taken everything from had something left that he couldn’t take.

She realized she wasn’t afraid anymore. He had taken away everything, even her fear. There was nothing left to be afraid of. What could he do to her that hadn’t already been done?

She pulled herself toward him. “Do it,” she whispered.

“Shut up!” he yelled. “I’ll do it when I’m ready.” He lifted his boot. He was an instant away from breaking her right arm like he had broken her right leg. “When I say something I mean it.”

She knew she couldn’t block the blow, couldn’t move away in time. She waited, rage flooding her thoughts and giving her strength she wouldn’t have had otherwise. She had to try something, make a move immediately.

She watched his eyes, concentrating on what she saw there. She was fearless, trying to gauge his weaknesses. He had them. Everyone did.

“Your beloved princess isn’t going to save you this time,” he said with a wicked smile. “I have seen to that. She’s gone. I watched her go.”

Myrial sprang at him like a wounded wolf, attacking rabidly while dragging her leg. “You are one of the whisperers. What have you done?...What have you done?”

Sedrick dodged, cackled madly. “Nothing I shouldn’t have done long ago.”

Night arrived fully before the square calmed. A half-moon rose in a star-filled sky. The two trio teams were allowed the privilege of a much needed reprieve. Water was passed out, returned.

As quiet returned the six faced off. At first, Valam sided against Geoffrey, Brodst against Shalimar, and Seth against Nijal. Each side intentionally splitting up the more protective ring of three.

The three crossed pairs circled slowly. Valam thought it peculiar that Geoffrey had joined in now. But he knew Geoffrey must have also understood that whoever took this trio match would take it all. There was no doubt. Neither had ever seen the crowd this excited, ever. Not even after last year’s upset.

Ansh Brodst circled catlike, counterclockwise. Valam and Seth, clockwise. Then on Valam’s signal, they changed opponents. Valam took Shalimar. Seth, Geoffrey. Brodst, Nijal. The maneuver got the momentary confusion they had been hoping for—they had not used the move until now.

Seth was excellent with his hands, and thus the reason Valam had agreed to the mid-length blades. Geoffrey was slower on the defense. Seth moved in, a kick to the groin as he hacked across. He wondered at the effectiveness of the recently learned trick. Geoffrey faltered.

Ansh Brodst lunged inward at Geoffrey. Seth launched at Nijal. Both targets were caught. They fell, then jumped to their feet.

The men of the Free City had their own well practiced moves. They knew how to feint from a blade even if it meant going down.

The three formed a protective trio. A momentary lull ensued while Seth, Brodst, and Valam circled on the outside.

Valam grimaced and Brodst’s compulsory scowl deepened. They needed to split the trio up—on the outside, they were more vulnerable.

Valam, Lord Geoffrey will take you… warned Seth, just as the other attacked. Valam countered and rotated to separate the trio.

While it seemed an unfair advantage to use his powers, it wasn’t. Seth was not as skilled in defensive plays as the others and they needed anything that could give them a slight advantage. He found it increasingly difficult to keep focused on a single opponent as he tired, let alone three. He found it easier to follow the flow of his reactions and reach out with his will only during moments such as the previous lull.

Valam played at a jab while bringing a fist across to connect with Geoffrey’s chin. The free man countered. His blade ripped into Valam’s arm. New blood to join the reddened dirt of the circle.

Valam sighed and then strangely, smiled. It wasn’t his sword arm.

He wasn’t expecting an immediate follow through or the simultaneous side attack from another. The momentary frenzy of two on one was enough to throw him off. Geoffrey’s next blow hit Valam full in the chest. He went down, couldn’t get up.

Three circled two while Valam was carried out.

Valam? called out Seth in alarm.

“I’ll live, damn it! Worry about the match! Don’t hold back. No more holding back!” screamed Valam in his thoughts.

The crowd erupted violently. It seemed a rather large contingent of Kingdomers had pushed into the square.

As Valam was carried out he could have sworn that he saw a young girl with long black hair staring at him with worried eyes. He turned back quickly, but by that time she was lost in the crowd.

He was being carried to the death house. “I’m not going to die, damn it!” he barked.

“It’s either in here or out there where that mob’ll tear you apart. I’d be quiet if I were you, Prince Valam.”

Valam recognized the voice. He stared in wonder at the two who had carried him from the field. “Father Jacob? Keeper Martin?”

Chapter Fourteen:

Dragon King

The heavy gold medallion slipped from his hands. It seemed as though his life was held frozen while the rest of the world raced to catch up to the point where he was suspended in time.

A great toll sounded, reverberating in his mind. The paralysis lifted. The haze in his mind fell away. He gulped, taken aback as he was left staring into the eyes of another. He bit his hand to make sure he was truly awake. He yelped in pain. Real pain, not imagined. He was awake, alive, beyond the unseen hands that tried to control him.

“Xith?” Vilmos asked, disbelief in his voice.

“Vilmos!” exclaimed Xith happily.

“Xith, is it really you?” Vilmos prodded the shaman with an outstretched hand. “Are you truly flesh and bone?”

Xith paused a moment. He hugged Vilmos. “What is this thing that I have done?” he muttered to himself. “Such a heavy burden for one so small and new to the world.”

“Where am I and what of—”

“Don’t worry about that now. Rest, save your strength.”

“There was darkness. I heard voices and… and…”

“The darkness has nearly run its course. You will be free soon and this business will be behind us for a time. Be thankful.”

“I can’t take any more, make it end. Please, make it end. I’m losing myself.”

“Yes, soon. Soon it will all be over.”

“How long have you been here with me?”

A prolonged pause followed. “Why do you ask?”

“How long?”

“A long time, a very long time. Days.”

“Who is tha-at?” began Vilmos, finishing his own sentence before the other could reply. “You are Ayrian, Eagle Lord of the Gray Clan.”

“Yes, I am,” replied Ayrian, emerging from the shadows. He carried a large bundle of firewood. As he piled the wood next to the low fire, the once proud eagle lord stared into Vilmos’ eyes. He stroked his beak with a clawed hand, then spread his arms in a wide arc which revealed the shadowed bulk of his great wings as though they were the folds of a great gray cloak.

Ayrian spoke then in the pitched calls of his people, “He knew who I was. He didn’t have to even think about it. I didn’t see a stirring of the old memories as we had expected.”

Xith replied in the same language, “Yes, I saw. They took him farther than we had anticipated. What’s done is done. We must undo it that is all. What they have altered we must continue, yet I think in time the remembrance will diminish.”

Vilmos stared at the shaman and the eagle lord, hearing only the strange calls and not the words, but understanding what was said just the same.

“Save your strength, Vilmos. Eat this, then sleep,” Xith said.

“No, please,” begged Vilmos. “I don’t want to sleep. No more sleep. Anything but that!”

Vilmos sat up, his eyes wide. Yet as Xith spooned hot broth into his mouth and it slipped down his throat to settle in his empty stomach the growing warmth began to lull him to sleep. Sagging eyes that sought to look out upon the world didn’t resist long.

Vilmos blinked, blinked again. The great doorway of the tower beckoned. He strained to move the huge door as it ground upon its hinges. He entered the tower without hesitation. A stair twisted and wound its way to the top of the tower. Odd though it was, he saw a single stair but knew that the serpentine tower had two spires.

The same beckoning call that led him to the tower door led him to the stairs. He could not resist the pull of the lure and did not try. As he started up and rounded the twisted staircase, he saw a girl with long black hair. She wore a flowing white robe that seemed out of place. He watched her climb as he climbed. He saw the stairs bend and shift around her, leading her in a constant circle. To her he knew it must seem that she climbed and was making progress toward the door at the top of the stairs. It was the same for him. He seemed to be making progress but neither was getting any closer to the top of the stairs.

He called out to her. She turned. He immediately recognized the green jewels of the eyes, the high noble cheek bones and the gentle curves of her chin. “Princess Adrina?” he shouted.

Adrina stopped climbing. She turned to look at the boy who called her name. Recognition didn’t come immediately, but the short black hair and brown eyes were not completely unfamiliar to her. “Vilmos?” she called back.

“What are you doing in my dream?”

“Dream?” Adrina asked, “This is no dream to me, more like a waking nightmare.”

“Exactly,” Vilmos said. “One from which I can never escape no matter how hard I try, and I have tried, believe me.”

Adrina sat on a step, still looking at Vilmos. “I’ve been climbing for hours. I still haven’t reached the door. It’s the strangest thing. One minute I was in Imtal reading from a scroll. The next, I was here. I have been stuck here ever since.”

“It’s an illusion—it’s all a damned illusion.” Vilmos kicked out at the wall. “The stairs aren’t letting you go anywhere. You have been walking in a great circle.”

“Impossible. I climbed and climbed. How can you be certain?”

“The stairs move around you.” Vilmos prepared to jump to Adrina.

“Stop! If you can see the stairs move, perhaps you can guide me.”

Vilmos agreed to try and though he did try, they did not succeed. The stairs continued to lead Adrina in a great circle. When Vilmos tried to reach Adrina, the stairs took him on a different path. He tried jumping to her. He went up the stairs until he was even with her, then tried to reach out to her. But he couldn’t reach her. He was soon locked in a never ending circle of his own. Frustrated, he sat down and pounded his fist into the stones.

“How did you get here again?” he asked.

She could see him seated on the step, almost as if he was next to her. She knew he wasn’t. It was an illusion, because try as she might she couldn’t reach him either. It was as if they were separated by an unseen shadow world.

He shrugged his shoulders, waved his arms, waiting for a response.

Adrina shouted, “I was reading a scroll.”

“You don’t have to shout. I can hear you clearly enough. What did it say?”

“The scroll?... I never got to read what it said at first, as soon as I laid eyes on it the words started moving. Then there was this ring of words… Something about a castle.” Adrina pulled nervously at her hair. “No, a dragon’s keep.”

Vilmos stood, reached out into the gray world as he spoke. His hands passed right through the image of Adrina as if she wasn’t there, but he knew she was. “Dragon’s keep?” he asked.

She paced back and forth, muttered to herself, “Dragon’s keep, dragon’s keep.” She stopped pacing suddenly as a dark ring of words formed before her eyes. “Dragon’s Keep. Kingdom of the Sky. Through danger deep. Death’s door does lie,” she whispered to herself and then repeated louder for Vilmos’ sake.

“Kingdom of the Sky?” repeated Vilmos, then he whispered in a strange voice, “Find the strength of Uver. In Zadridos, you will find the key to the City of the Sky and there you can right the wrongs of the past.” His eyes flashed. He said aloud, “I am in Zadridos in Under-Earth, and if I am, why is Adrina here?

Adrina glared at him, confused. He spoke in strange voices. “Under-Earth is but a myth.”

He laughed. “A myth? Not to me, not to you. You’re standing…” His eyes went wide. “Dragon’s Keep, this tower has two spires. They are the tails of two great serpents, and where the serpents meet is the door I used.”

“Two spires, two stairs, two people,” Adrina said, looking at the stairs around her and above her and then to Vilmos. She heard her sister’s words. “Do not fear. Remember, two as one.”

“Climb!” she shouted. “Climb with me!”

Vilmos didn’t move. He was puzzled.

“Don’t you see?” Adrina asked. “The tower gives the illusion of one yet there are two—and there are two of us. If we act as one, maybe we can break the illusion, reach the door. Follow my lead.”

Vilmos turned eyes filled with astonishment away from the princess and concentrated on climbing as she called out to him. Before long he was at the top of the stairs and Adrina was just in front of him.

She smiled at him. He ran to hug her, but his hands passed through her instead of touching her. The surprise caused him to falter and loose his balance. He tumbled to the stone floor.

Vilmos stood on uneasy feet, then turned to the door and opened it before Adrina’s scream of “No!” registered.

A great clawed hand came out of the darkness behind the door. It snatched Vilmos up from the ground. Vilmos struggled against what felt like a great clamp squeezing the life from him. He had no weapon and used the only resource he had. He clamped down with his teeth on the fleshy part of the hand. For an instant the claws and the hand relaxed.

It was enough for Vilmos to break free. Adrina shouted, “Close the door, Vilmos! You must!”

Vilmos scrambled to close the door. The great hand sought to grab him again. He pushed and pushed with all his might, working the door against the hand. The hand lashed out, swept him off his feet.

The creature must have assumed it had a moment to snatch him up. But as the claws of the hand opened, Vilmos kicked at the door with all his strength. From behind the door he heard a terrible roar. The creature pulled back the hand.

He slammed the door shut, pushed his weight against it.

“The key, Vilmos,” a voice whispered in his mind. “We need the key to reach Over-Earth. You must get it.”

“Are you okay?” Adrina asked, adding almost to herself, “We must do this, two as one.”

Vilmos watched as Adrina turned to the door in her part of the shadow world. He was hesitant to follow her actions and it showed clearly in his eyes.

“Two as one,” Adrina said, asking, “Are you ready?”

Vilmos nodded. Adrina signaled to open the door. She started to open it. He hesitated, screamed, “Stop! Stop! Stop! What if the creature is still there? What if it attacks us both? What—”

“Trust me,” she said. “I don’t know how I know, but I know. If we open the door together.” She coaxed him back to the door.

He grabbed the door handle, but not because he was optimistic about what was behind the door, rather because he didn’t want Adrina to have to face whatever it was alone. He nodded that he was ready, took a deep breath, braced for what surely must follow.

As one, they opened. As one, they breathed a sigh of relief. As one, they entered the room at the top of the tower, stepping into total darkness and a complete unknown beyond.

The darkness was fleeting. Hundreds of torches lining the walls from floor to ceiling sprang to life. Vilmos turned to Adrina, Adrina to Vilmos. She nodded; he acknowledged. They prepared to continue.

It was in that moment when it seemed nothing dark and sinister was in the room that they both realized the flames were not those of torches but of creatures—hundreds of tiny creatures that breathed fire. Soon the creatures, no bigger than a man’s finger, were swarming about the room, moving on wispy wings that were almost evanescent.

Vilmos reached a hand up to ward off the tiny flyers. One of the creatures set upon him, locked its jaws around his hand. The instant the teeth plunged into his flesh he could feel the slow crawl of something up his arm. He looked at his arm in horror, saw the flesh turning to stone.

Adrina put her hands to her face in shock. She slumped to her knees, rocked back and forth. She muttered to herself, “Don’t give in to the fear. Don’t give in to the fear.”

“Two as one,” Vilmos said, his voice firm. “You must reach out your hand. Succumb to death. It is the only way to see what I see.”

Adrina rocked back and forth, whispering to herself. She saw tiny flashes of fire all around her. She saw the creature latched onto Vilmos’ hand. She watched as his body turned to stone.

She started to second guess herself. She didn’t want to do what must be done. Was it the right choice? Was there something else she should do? What if she did nothing? And then she took her right hand and gripped the forearm of her left, forcing the hand into the air and holding it steady. She braced for the pain.

One of the creatures latched onto her hand almost immediately and just as suddenly her fate was locked with that of Vilmos. The petrification was quick. The stone spread up her left arm and to her torso in a few heartbeats. It then moved down her right arm and both her legs until only her neck and head were outside its bounds.

It was then that the great clutter of tiny creatures flying through the air became one, and then that the thin veil between her and Vilmos lifted. The creature that stood before her had the great wings and body of a winged serpent, the torso of a man.

Adrina couldn’t turn to see Vilmos, but she knew he was solid stone, and that like her only his face remained outside the petrification. She could feel the mortification of the flesh of her face. She could no longer breathe. Her eyes were the only part of her that she could move.

The Dragon King’s great clawed hands rushed toward them. She thought he would crush the stone of their bodies. He didn’t. Instead his touch restored their flesh.

“You seek answers and a key,” the Dragon King said. “Which shall it be?”

Adrina and Vilmos didn’t speak. They turned, looked at each other, said, “Two as one.”

“So shall it be,” said the Dragon King.

The room started to crumble around them. Vilmos ran. Adrina ran. They ran as fast as they could back to the stairs. They ran and ran, but they seemed to go nowhere.

Vilmos panicked, started screaming. Adrina held him in place. “It’s an illusion. A test,” she said, surprised she could still touch him.

She watched pieces of the stairs fall away around them. Vilmos did too. A nervous tremor came to his lip. “How can you know?”

“Don’t give in to the fear,” she whispered to herself and to him. She closed her eyes, concentrated. She heard him turn away from her. Before he could step away, she grabbed his arm. “The answers are here.”

“Let me go!” he shouted as he struggled to break free.

“Knowing who you can trust can save your life,” she said. They were borrowed words, the words of her sister, Midori. Other words came to her as through a dream. She remembered the scroll.

For a moment she saw the milk-white eyes of a blind woman. She breathed deeply, concentrated. “Nothing to fear,” she told herself.

She saw, understood. She knew why Midori had given her the scroll and why the old woman appeared now in her mind’s eye. Everything was linked. Everything was a part of the circle.

She opened her eyes, released the iron grip on Vilmos’ arm. The great clutter of tiny creatures flying about the air once again became a single being—the Dragon King.

She stared up at the Dragon King unafraid. “There are no answers. No keys. We’re here because we have something you need.”

The Dragon King nodded. “You are the key.”

“It’s why you’ve been helping us. Why the Mistress of the Night and Lady of the Forest appear.” She grabbed Vilmos’ hand, took a step toward the Dragon King. “You want our help as much as we require yours. You help us to help yourself.”

“Find the door,” the Dragon King said. “Open it. You are the children of the light and of the dark. You must do what must be done.”

“What of the elves?”

“What of the elves,” scoffed the Dragon King.

“You are honor-bound to their service.”

“As you shall be to me.”

“You wish return from exile, to power.”

“As would any.”

Adrina and Vilmos took another step toward the Dragon King. “You released the Dark Lord the Elf Queen warned of,” Adrina said.

“It is the game. I am the keeper of the Fourth Wind.”

Vilmos remained uncharacteristically quiet. Adrina made a fist as if she was going to strike the Dragon King. “What do you want from us?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She drove her fist into the Dragon King’s serpent-like body. Her fist cut through the outer scales. Her arm sank up to the elbow in the wet flesh. She grabbed at the fleshy meat within and, gripping it, withdrew her arm. In her hand she held one of the tiny dragons. “You are going to tell us now why we are here?”

“I cry for the children who at the end of the journey will never be the same.” The Dragon King changed forms as he spoke, taking on the form of the old blind woman. “Child, I cry for you. I cry because I see you standing in the middle of a killing field. I cry for the thousands dead at your feet…”

“Who are you?” Vilmos and Adrina shouted at the same time. “Why us?”

The Dragon King changed forms as he spoke again. “Speak not words in haste, oft you may regret the reply. Yet if this is what you truly wish to know, I will tell you.”

Adrina stared into the eyes of the Lady of the Forest. “It is not true. It can’t be true. I won’t let it be true.”

“As it is,” the Dragon King said readily. “I am what I choose to be, what you need me to be.”

“Lies, lies, lies!” Adrina shouted.

“One truth,” the Dragon King said, offering the words like candy.

“Truth. What would you know of truth?” The tiny dragon she held in her hand opened its wings as if in response.

“Your brother dies just after moonrise and with him the hope that the peoples will ever be united.”

“Leave Valam out of this!” Adrina flew into a rage, started kicking, punching, screaming.

“Let him finish,” Vilmos pleaded. “I want to know.”

“Yes, indeed,” the Dragon King said. “You’d like to know wouldn’t you little one? Why? Why? Why?”

Vilmos held Adrina back. They both took a step away from the menacing figure who suddenly seemed more like a creature of the underworld than one of the great dragons. “One truth,” Vilmos said. “You offered.”

“One truth was given. Heed it as you would.”

Vilmos stepped in front of Adrina. “And if we open this door you spoke of?”

“No if’s. You must. The prince dies. The prince lives. You choose.” The Dragon King waved his hands, transporting them out of the tower, taking them to a plateau where they could look down into Great Kingdom from the heavens. He pointed to the tiny dragon Adrina held in her hand.

The creature threw back its head; fire came out of its mouth. Adrina was compelled to look into the flames.

Her heart beat faster and faster.

She saw images within the flames. Valam lying wounded in a bed. Father Jacob and Keeper Martin were beside him. Dead men piled behind them.

The Dragon King spoke, “The wounds aren’t fatal. Dragon’s milk is, however.”

“Dragon’s milk?” Adrina asked.

“Only one cure, only those in the service of the Dragon survive. Will you choose life for your brother or death?”

“To what end?”

“Choose.”

“I will not.”

The Dragon King lashed out with his tail. They jumped to avoid tripping and falling. “My dears, one way or the other.” He waved his hands. Four doors appeared. Two to the left of Vilmos. Two to the right of Adrina. “One of you will always be mine. Act now to save him, or not. If you save him, he’s mine and you are both free.”

“If we don’t choose?” Adrina asked. Vilmos added, “What then?”

“White brings the hope of life. Black brings death. Two as one. Choose or stay. I don’t care.”

The tiny dragon in Adrina’s hand squawked. Adrina looked down, saw it was looking at her. Behind the iris of its tiny eyes she could see flames—the same flames that were in the Dragon King’s eyes. “Mine,” she said boldly. “I will take this with me.”

The Dragon King mocked her, saying, “As if you had a choice. Remember, one of you will be mine regardless.”

There was a flash of lighting, but the lightning went from the ground to the sky. A torrent of smoke and debris exploded outward. Adrina jumped out of the way. When she turned back, it seemed she was alone.

“Vilmos, Vilmos?” she called out through the smoke. She coughed and sputtered.

Vilmos groaned, said, “Here, I’m here.”

When the smoke cleared they found the doors remained. Two white and two black.

“Doorways to nowhere,” Vilmos grumbled.

“No,” Adrina said, “It’s a puzzle. White is life. Black is death. One of you is mine regardless. Two as one. Don’t you see?”

“If you only knew.” Vilmos put his hands to his head. “We choose white then?”

Adrina stopped Vilmos from going to the door. “Not so fast, I don’t think so.”

“Black then?”

“Too easy,” she said, turning about in a close circle. “One of you is mine,” she said to herself as much as Vilmos. “Two as one.”

“We choose white. We have to. He said so. White is life.”

“For us, but what about my brother? Is that death for him then?” The tiny dragon she held squawked as if in response.

“Black then?” she asked, speaking not to Vilmos but to the dragon. The dragon made no response.

“Black and white,” she said. “We choose both.” The dragon squawked and flapped its wings as if to say yes, yes. Adrina was sure that was the right choice.

Vilmos gulped, asked. “Which of us chooses black and dies if you are wrong?”

“I do,” Adrina said stepping up to the black door to her right, grabbing the door handle. “Are you ready?”

Vilmos moved to the white door to his left. He nodded, asked, “You’re sure about this?”

“On the count of three,” Adrina said, closing her eyes, preparing herself for whatever might come. She turned to Vilmos, made sure he was ready. “Three,” she said without counting one and two. She opened the door, stepped into darkness.

Chapter Fifteen:

Endgame

People crowded onto rooftops. It seemed everyone carried a torch, lighting up the night sky. The balconies had people hanging over the rail, clinging desperately to their bit of space and vantage point.

Seth and Captain Brodst circled, back to back. The opposing trio pressed from the outside. Seth had finally gone beyond restraint, vowing he would not hold back anymore.

The dark orange flames on the rooftops reminded him of the battle at sea. The hungry black flames rising from the sinking ships. The battle that only four had survived.

Seth lashed out at laterally at Geoffrey, eyeing Shalimar as he moved. He thumped Brodst’s right side, indicating a change.

The captain turned, lunged at Geoffrey.

Seth swept around the captain, arcing with his blade. He jumped into the air, kicked out at Shalimar with his left foot. His foot made a clean blow to the side of Shalimar’s head. Shalimar went down.

Captain Brodst took a step back, hit Shalimar’s head with the butt end of his sword. Shalimar’s head slapped the dirt. He didn’t move.

Men rushed into the circle to carry him out.

It was a two on two match. Father and son against the captain and the warrior elf.

Geoffrey and Nijal squared off against Seth and Ansh. Geoffrey made a quick move to separate the pair.

The crowd roared.

Both pairs were visibly fatigued. It became a struggle to make simple attacks and counters.

Then, as swiftly as it all began, it nearly ended. Brodst fell, taking Nijal with him.

Seth and Geoffrey had to sidestep to avoid going down as well.

The two circled.

Seth took measure of the Lord of Solntse. His movements were catlike and precise. He used the momentary lull to gather his strength, focus.

The Lord of Solntse’s moves were sluggish. He bled from a wound in his side. He held the mid-length blade like a club.

Seth studied his eyes, trying to see if it was some sort of trick. He jabbed with his sword, whipped around, turned back, intending on elbowing Geoffrey, only to find the man wasn’t there.

The lord had ducked out of the way. His blade was coming up to gut Seth from navel to sternum.

Seth saw the blade, had only an instant to react. He feinted, shifting too far back to support his weight.

He went down. Geoffrey pounced on him, pummeling him with the side of the blade.

The crowd grew quiet. The silence was apparent to Seth even as he struggled to break Geoffrey’s grip.

He stared into Geoffrey’s eyes. Geoffrey clearly wasn’t afraid. He surely thought he held the strongest position, that he was moments from victory.

Seth knew, however, that he could reach up and snap Geoffrey’s neck in an instant. The lord would never have suspected Seth capable. He wouldn’t even know what happened to him as his life ended.

Seth broke Geoffrey’s grip, brought his hands up to the man’s neck. He knew the next heartbeat would change everything. He promised Prince Valam he wouldn’t hold back. But would Geoffrey’s death bring the thing he sought?

He brought his fists down.

Geoffrey collapsed.

Seth pushed the other off, spun around, found his sword. He got to his feet, watched Geoffrey struggle to his knees.

Seth gripped the sword. He could end this with a single blow. Geoffrey expected it. Seth could tell.

When Seth didn’t move, Geoffrey struggled to his feet. Geoffrey looked at Seth, his eyes seeming to ask, “What are you waiting for? Strike, end this.”

The image of Redwalker Tae flashed through Seth’s mind. Loyalty to his cause is what he needed, not a dead lord. Geoffrey dead at his feet would solve nothing.

Seth tossed his sword to the ground at Geoffrey’s feet. Geoffrey stared at Seth, awe written in his expression.

Geoffrey stumbled, fell forward, clinging at Seth’s waist as his legs collapsed. Seth held him up.

The two walked from the circle.

At first the crowd did not roar or cheer. They simply parted. The viewers were as awestruck as Geoffrey had been. Men and women reached out to touch Seth as he passed.

Chanting began. In the hearts and minds of those who had seen the match the victors were clear. The Kingdom trio had won. They had won in grand style.

Seth assisted Geoffrey. The two went to the place Valam had been taken. A girl with long black hair followed in the shadows. Seth saw her out of the corner of his eye.

Seth helped Geoffrey to a bench just inside the door.

Valam lay near death. Keeper Martin and Father Jacob were gathered around him.

Valam motioned Seth to come closer. “They told me what you did,” he whispered. “I believe. Word will spread. You will have your army.”

“Save your strength. Rest,” Seth said wearily.

The door opened and closed. Seth turned to see Princess Adrina enter. He had felt her presence in the shadows. There had been sadness in her mind and tears in her eyes then too.

“He dies,” whispered Jacob to Seth, hardly looking up, “I pray, but there are no answers.”

“Oh, there are answers,” Adrina said wiping tears from her eyes as she found sudden resolve. “There is poison in his veins.”

“Poison?” asked Jacob.

“That’s impossible,” Geoffrey said, “Weapons are all checked and cleaned before each use.”

“Trust me,” Adrina said. “Anything is possible.” She unshouldered the bag she was carrying and knelt beside her brother. She reached into the bag carefully, making sure to grab the tiny dragon just behind the head. “Give me your hand, brother,” she said. She took Valam’s left hand in her free hand as he offered it. “Don’t give in to the fear,” she whispered. “It will be all right, I promise.”

Geoffrey turned to Seth. “Know this,” he said. “You’ve earned my respect and that of the Free Peoples.”

Chapter Sixteen:

Return to Imtal

Celebrations followed the competitions as they did every year. It was during the celebrations that the Kingdomers stole away from the great city of Solntse. The return journey to Imtal was brief and uneventful.

Upon her return Adrina held council with her father, Keeper Martin and Father Jacob. Her father was pleased to learn of the victory, overjoyed to know that Valam would recover from his wounds. No one spoke of the poison lest the whisperers know they had almost succeeded. King Andrew understood. He didn’t need to be told that something grave had almost happened.

Adrina left the council, speaking not a word about how she had came to be in Solntse. For hours afterward she paced in her room. She was upset, agitated.

After the ordeal in Solntse she had not been able to vent. Keeper Martin, Father Jacob, and everyone else were always around. She had had no private time, no time alone to come to terms with what she had done.

A servant had delivered her dinner some hours ago. The food sat on the tray untouched.

She was shivering, she realized. The air was cold. The thin dress she wore wasn’t helping. She didn’t care. A part of her wanted to catch her death of a cold.

She had sentenced Vilmos to death, so why shouldn’t she suffer.

She saw herself in the long dressing mirror as she paced. She almost didn’t recognize the pale, thin girl staring back at her. She hadn’t been eating, couldn’t find the will to eat.

Spotting the tray of food, she picked it up and hurled it at the mirror. The shattering brought the guards running.

“Get out! Get out!” she screamed at them.

They backed out of the room, eyes down turned.

“Treat people as you want to be treated,” a voice said quietly from the corner of the room.

Adrina’s eyes lit up. “Myrial? Myrial?” She turned. “Where are you?”

“First agree that you won’t scream, no matter what.”

Adrina walked in the direction of the voice. “Why are you speaking such nonsense?”

“Agree?”

“Yes, whatever you say. Oh, Myrial, it is so good—” Adrina put a hand to her mouth, held back a scream. She sucked at the air until she could speak calmly. “Who? Who did this to you?”

“It is my own fault, my own fault for wanting it all. I should have seen—”

Adrina hushed Myrial by putting her arms around her. “I missed you. How could I have ever let this happen to you?”

“You didn’t,” Myrial said sternly.

Adrina helped Myrial to a chair. “You warned me not to meddle. Housemaster Bever did this to you, didn’t he?” Myrial didn’t say a word. Adrina continued, “We’ll pay him back. Every bruise, every pain, accounted for.”

Myrial turned quiet eyes to Adrina. “He has already paid,” she said, “I killed him.”

“He’s dead?”

“Dead as can be. He said he made sure you were gone. He was going to kill me. I thought he was going after you next. I could not—”

“Don’t,” Adrina said. “No need to explain. I don’t want to know. I trust you did what you had to do, as I did what I had to do.”

“Valam?” Myrial asked. “I heard that he—”

“He will live. I have seen to that, but at what price?” Adrina said under her breath. She was asking herself, trying to come to terms with what she had done. She spoke loud enough for Myrial to hear as well. She couldn’t carry the burden alone.

“The dragon mark?”

Adrina kneeled, looked up at Myrial. “Who told you of the dragon mark?”

“I hear things,” Myrial said.

Adrina’s face was screwed up, livid, her eyes filled with pain and rage. The fingers of her hands tensed while the nails dug into her palms. “I did what I had to do.” She cried, her sobs echoed off the walls of the room. “I did what I had to do.”

“No need to explain,” Myrial said, turning Adrina’s own words back on her. “I don’t want to know. I trust you did what you had to do.”

Adrina put her head in Myrial’s lap. “Valam will live.”

Myrial combed Adrina’s hair with her fingers. “Yes, he will. You did what you had to do.”

“And the elves, have I damned them too?”

“You have damned no one. Lord Geoffrey brings word of renewed commitment to the Alliance from the leaders of the Free Peoples. Representatives arrive within the week. True, earnest discussions will begin.”

Adrina looked up at Myrial. “How do you know such things?”

Myrial said coolly, “Bever’s whisperers are now mine.”

“He was a spy?”

“So it would seem.”

End Of Book Four

Here ends The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches

Don’t miss

In the Service of Dragons Book 1

The dragon king awaits you…

Robert Stanek is an award-winning, international best-selling author of many books for young people and adults. He lives with his wife and children in the Pacific Northwest in the United States, and is intensely fascinated with our natural world. He loves the outdoors and frequently takes his family on short trips to see the natural wonders of the Pacific Northwest, including Mount Rainier, Mount St. Helens, the Columbia River Gorge, and Puget Sound.

Learn more at www.robertstanek.com

Enter the world of Ruin Mist

www.ruinmistmovie.com

In the Service of Dragons – The sequel series to

The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches

Discover what happens when the dragons are revealed…

Table of Contents

BOOK ONE

Preface

Chapter One: Three Lives Transformed

Chapter Two: The Winds of Change

Chapter Three: It Begins

Chapter Four: Discovery

Chapter Five: Realization

Chapter Six: Permission

Chapter Seven: Meeting

Chapter Eight: Guidance

Chapter Nine: Ambush

Chapter Ten: First Lessons

Chapter Eleven: Decision

Chapter Twelve: Vangar Forest

Chapter Thirteen: The Bottoms

Chapter Fourteen: Rest’s End

Chapter Fifteen: Disaster

Chapter Sixteen: Return

BOOK TWO

Chapter One: Passage

Chapter Two: Past Thoughts

Chapter Three: Awakening

Chapter Four: Magic Shield

Chapter Five: Refusal

Chapter Six: Crossing

Chapter Seven: Alderan

Chapter Eight: Prisoners

Chapter Nine: Bushwhacked

Chapter Ten: Conquest

Chapter Eleven: Full Circle

Chapter Twelve: Battle

Chapter Thirteen: Last Play

Chapter Fourteen: Parting Ways

BOOK THREE

Chapter One: Unto the Winds

Chapter Two: The Long Road

Chapter Three: An Unexpected Discovery

Chapter Four: Return to Imtal

Chapter Five: Unexpected Competitions

Chapter Six: A Fitful Transition

Chapter Seven: The Awakening

Chapter Eight: Phantoms of the Past

Chapter Nine: Against the Odds

Chapter Ten: A Strangeness in the Air

Chapter Eleven: Galan’s World

Chapter Twelve: King’s Mate

Chapter Thirteen: The High Council

Chapter Fourteen: A Lonely Path

Chapter Fifteen: The Final Game

Chapter Sixteen: Across the Distance

Chapter Seventeen: The Final Truth

Chapter Eighteen: Dreams of Tomorrow

BOOK FOUR

Chapter One: Things Revealed

Chapter Two: Messages & Shadows

Chapter Three: Slipping Away

Chapter Four: Boundaries

Chapter Five: Stark Reality

Chapter Six: Guiding Fools

Chapter Seven: Blessed Sight

Chapter Eight: A Gentle Madness

Chapter Nine: King’s Decree

Chapter Ten: Hidden Doorways

Chapter Eleven: Destinations Reached

Chapter Twelve: Finding Truth

Chapter Thirteen: Losing Touch

Chapter Fourteen: Dragon King

Chapter Fifteen: Endgame

Chapter Sixteen: Return to Imtal