Ruin Mist:

      Keeper Martin's Tale
                    Robert Stanek

                           Contents
PREFACE
CHAPTER ONE: THOSE DESTINED
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: PASSAGE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: PAST THOUGHTS
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: AWAKENING
CHAPTER NINETEEN: MAGIC SHIELD
CHAPTER TWENTY: REFUSAL
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: CROSSING
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: ALDERAN
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: PRISONERS
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: BUSHWHACKED
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: CONQUEST
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: FULL CIRCLE
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: BATTLE
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT: LAST PLAY
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE: PARTING WAYS




Ruin Mist Chronicles
Ruin Mist: Keeper Martin's Tale
Copyright © 2002 by Robert Stanek. First Edition, October 2002


Reagent Press
Published by Virtual Press, Inc.


Cover design & illustration by Robert Stanek


ISBN 1-57545-042-9


                                   Also by Robert Stanek
                                   Ruin Mist Chronicles


                                   Keeper Martin's Tale
                                     Elf Queen's Quest
                                     Kingdom Alliance
                                      Fields of Honor


                        Ruin Mist Heroes, Legends & Beyond
                             Magic Lands & Other Stories
                                      Sovereign Rule
                           Praise for Ruin Mist
  "A gem waiting to be unearthed by millions of fans of fantasy!" "Brilliant… an
absolutely superior tale of fantasy for all tastes!" "It's a creative, provoking, and
above all, thoughtful story!" "It's a wonderful metaphor for the dark (and light)
odyssey of the mind."
  "The fantasy world you have created is truly wonderful and rich. Your
characters seem real and full of life."




                                      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.

                Chapter One: Those Destined
   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 caned 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 Calvin
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. Calvin 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 it 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. Calvin 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
became 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, Vilmos pushed the last of the dream from his
thoughts. He dressed quickly and slipped on his ill-fitting boots as he stumbled
toward the kitchen.
   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 be 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. The 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 pecked 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 countries 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 cognisant 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 turn. 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. Scotched 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 mid-day 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 Queen Mother."
    "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 Hives 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 summer's ago.
   A tear rolled down his cheek. The blue flames were the cause of all his anguish.
Two summer's 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.
  I.iyan 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 stair. 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 eke 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 lung 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!"
   "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.
  "Your Highness, Princess Adrina?" called out a distant voice in her ear.
  Grudgingly Adrina stirred.
   Her room was still dark, the world still 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.
  "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 visually 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 had delayed
Emel and by the time he had 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
may be 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 had been putting the finishing touches on the rubdown when the unexpected
visitor had 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. A determined Princess Adrina had found him. 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 real 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 was mounted and cleverly awaiting him
just beyond the stable in the parade grounds.
  "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 you know. Deal?"
  "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.
  "Deal," 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 booksmith 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 A Ian 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, wrecking
havoc across the land's face, once more reclaiming that which was his, that which
was denied to him.
   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 if 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 sec?" 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 hack, 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 in 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 it 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 eves 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, lining 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.
                                       ***
   Unsure what had awoken her, Adrina stirred. 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 shadow's 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, thankful 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 look 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 lances, battle armor, 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 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?"
  "You know I do, Young Highness."
  Adrina awaited her father's 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."
                                       ***
   Glowing with delight at her father's approval, Adrina guided her mount through
the palace gates, her head held high. She cast thoughts of Rudden Klaiveson
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.
   Adrina 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 coiner. 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."
   Xith paused and took a deep breath. "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 scat 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 were 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
all.
  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 a sheltered site away from the rain."
  "Then why are we racing?"
   "Imtal Palace Guardsmen and guests shall have the base fire. The garrison troops
will have to tend 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 ram 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 land and
people."
   The figure then led Emel deeper into the forest. Emel counted the figures in the
shadows as he was led passed 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 it was.
   "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, Bryan 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, Bryan 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 lite. 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. I ate 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, Everelle, responded Seth curtly. He was angry at the untimely interruption.
  Do you mark any of your 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? Bryan said. We should probe
to make sure.
   Seth agreed. Bryan cast his will into the wind. Cagan continued on a direct course
for the galleon.
  There is no trickery, Bryan 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, Lllath will bare your father 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 had taken hours. Picking their way along the
broken trail to the valley's floor had been akin to torture, four times the trail cut into
the face of perilously high walls had ended, and four times they had used ropes to
continue the descent. Each time Vilmos had muttered under his breath that there had
to be other trails and each time Xith had responded with, "Perhaps, perhaps not. At
any rate this is the path we have chanced upon." Xith had spoken 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."
                                        ***
    The first night in the valley they camped beneath the stars. Vilmos learned 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.
                                         ***
   "We walk to teach a lesson—your first lesson," replied Xith. Vilmos had been
asking him questions ever since they crossed the river this morning and though he
was growing irritated, he was pleased. Vilmos was genuinely interested in just about
everything. "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 warding 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.
   "Well, what are you waiting for? I am sure you will find some brush just outside
that will make us a good warm fire," said Xith.
   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
cavern.
   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 Vilmos
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 in the center of the chamber and start the fire
while we still have a little light from the outside."
   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 against the cavern wall. "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 room 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 dank cavern. 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 teaming with 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," said Xith, 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 passers by 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 lore 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 tip 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…"
                                        ***
   Long after Adrina had bedded down the previous night, Captain Brodst and the
others had been in Duke Ispeth's tent. What they had 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.
   "Emel," called out Adrina, flagging him down with her hands as he rode past. She
attempted to make conversation with him as she had tried earlier. Again 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, rugging 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 lack 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 vise 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.
   I hen 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.
                                        ***
   Vilmos stumbled, fell, came up on his feet again. For a 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, Vilmos 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 limes
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 live 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 Vilmos soon
found the end of the line in his hands.
   Vilmos 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, Vilmos 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.
  Vilmos whispered in a slightly louder voice, "X-Xith?"
    Vilmos 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.
   Vilmos slowly backed into the stream. The creatures inched forward. He inched
backward. When the waters swirling around him were knee deep, Vilmos stopped.
The lead creature, the largest one of the whole pack, stood no further than ten feet
away from him now. Vilmos 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 will to survive still at the forefront of his thoughts, blue
sparks continued to dance across Vilmos' 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.
   Vilmos began to back up again, and the creature continued to approach. Each
took one small step at a time, and stared the other down. Vilmos' 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 Vilmos gave it little
thought. He dared not waver his eyes from the position they held locked to the
creature's. Soon Vilmos 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. Vilmos 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 but the boy didn't dare to look at. "They were
lending 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. Vilmos 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, Vilmos 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 then 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 planned to call a halt for the evening
and, by mid-morning of the second day along this route, they should enter 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.
                                        ***
  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, when 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,
malting 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
  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 cither
stirred.
  Vilmos awoke to find Xith staring at him.
   "No dreams," Vilmos whispered reverently', as he had each day upon awaiting
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 herpes 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 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.
                                        ***
   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 lucked 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. Something dread lay ahead, but what it was he did
not know.

                  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.
  Bryan?
  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 Bryan'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 Bryan. 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 Bryan. 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, Bryan 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, Bryan 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 ships 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, Bryan 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 Bryan 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 Bryan 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. Bryan 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 dear 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.
  Seth 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…
   Seth looked to Galan, who was still sleeping, and wondered if dreams of the
forest still swept through her mind. He knew little of the sea and winds, but, unlike
Bryan 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.
   At one point, out of the corner of his eye, Seth saw Bryan 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 Bryan. 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 Bryan'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. Bryan pulled in the fishing line. Seth noticed
there was something on it. Seth asked, You caught something?
  Bryan started to reply, In a way—
  Bryan'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 Bryan.
   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 Bryan 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 Bryan 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. Bryan 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: Passage
   "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 lather 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.
                                        ***
  "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 Captain Brodst 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.
  Captain Brodst 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."
   Captain Brodst turned to his second in command. "Captain Trendmore, muster
the horse, we ride for Fraddylwicke Castle."
                                        ***
   The long file was quickly regaining 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. Captain Brodst joined the middle of the horse column,
Captain Trendmore fell in beside him.
  Despite dense fog, Captain Brodst 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 dull readied 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 Achilla'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 tiling, 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. The captain 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!" ordered Captain Brodst.
  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 reach, 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 front 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, Captain Brodst 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
sheathed his sword without regrets for his action.
   "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?"
   "Mold on, keep talking so I can maintain a bearing on you," Captain Brodst 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, Captain Brodst 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!"
   Captain Brodst 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.
   Captain Brodst 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.
   Captain Brodst readied the rope as he approached. An ecstatic cheer erupted
from the hapless two as the first line was caught in yearning hands.
   Captain Brodst 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 look 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, Captain Brodst 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 Seventeen: Past Thoughts
  Hot, it's so damned 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. Riyan! Seth
called out.
  He perceived no return response, though he could feel the other's anguish.
  Oh please… please, hold on…
   Seth 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.
   Seth lowered the water bag. He reached over to where Bryan lay, and cradled his
companion's head upward. Slowly and painstakingly, he dropped the precious liquid
to Bryan's lips, and savored every drop as if it touched his own lips. He continued
to drop the water to Bryan's lips, drop by precious drop, until the brother could
swallow. Afterward, he did the same for Galan.
   Bryan'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, Seth moved from a sitting position to a kneeling
position—waves shifting the raft and his fatigue made the small accomplishment a
difficult chore. Pie 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, Seth slumped clown onto his side. He closed and shielded tired eves,
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, Seth 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 Bryan 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.
                                        ***
   Quickly, Brother Seth. You must wake now or at will be too late! said a voice
entering Seth's dream.
  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?
   Seth 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.
  Seth 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, Seth 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 Bryan 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. Bryan,
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, Bryan? 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 Bryan 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 Bryan. Suddenly he remembered the water bag still clutched
in his upturned hand. He awoke Bryan 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 Bryan'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.
   The first shafts of light from an early morning sun shot over the horizon in the
East. The light touched the haze of Seth's 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.
   Seth both welcomed the sun's warmth to end the night's cold and feared its
erosion of their bodies. For Seth, 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 Seth 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, Seth 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 Seth gave Bryan 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 Seth 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 Seth's 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, Seth 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, Seth 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 lie had
not had time for such foolish endeavors.
   Seth 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 Seth knew something
was wrong. Is someone in my thoughts?
  A gentle whisper entered Seth's 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—Seth felt another prick of pain in his mind. —Is
that you, Brother Galan?
  You are wrong. For those who have failed, there can he no joy in the next life.
The voice nearly inaudible in their minds and edged with bitterness was Bryan's.
  Seth disagreed. While blood courses through your veins it tells you that you live.
  I died long ago, said Bryan.
   Bryan'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 Bryan'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 most 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…
  Bryan didn't or couldn't answer.
   Bryan, 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 Bryan life.
  Go ahead Seth, whispered the voice, Bryan'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.
   Bryan, what are you doing? Remember, you pulled me from the water, you
saved my life—Galan, he's choking… me—Bryan are you mad?
  You still don't understand, do you Seth? Bryan squeezed harder.
  The hands still at his throat, Seth struggled wildly to his knees. Galan made her
move and hit Bryan from the side.
   Seth found Bryan 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 Bryan's blows. Seth ducked to dodge a blow, Galan
lunged at Bryan, 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 Bryan 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 Bryan 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 Eighteen: 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.
Adrina 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 stale. "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, Adrina 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.
                                        ***
   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 tin-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.
   Adrina 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, Adrina 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 Adrina's 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 the 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…
   Adrina 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 Adrina watched, it was clear a flood of awareness swept over Father Jacob.
He was silent for a time then he mumbled words Adrina 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," said Father Jacob at long last, "we cannot wait. May
Great-Father speed us on to Alderan…"
                                        ***
   Adrina 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 had 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.
  Yesterday it had been the baron who had convinced Father Jacob that they
should not leave the castle until this morning. It was true that by the time
preparations had been made and they were ready to leave it was late afternoon, but
there still had been a few hours of any light left. What harm would a night in the
swamp have brought?
  This morning, the baroness was dead set on having tea after breakfast.
  Who drinks tea at daybreak?
  Adrina cast a glum stare behind her. Father Jacob hurried along beside the baron,
and Adrina 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, Adrina heard men shouting, she looked back to the outer courtyard to
see a small contingent of foot soldiers mustering. Adrina 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 is yourself to be alone."
  Adrina started 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 Adrina 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, Adrina's 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, Adrina 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?" said Adrina, 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 Adrina's
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. Jacob felt their
presence as an evil spirit invading his privacy.
   The air turned cold. The first droplets of rain fell. Jacob 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.
   Jacob secured the top button of his cloak and turned up the high collar. "There
are extra blankets in the rear—" Jacob 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.
   Jacob 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 Father Jacob 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.
  Jacob 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.
   Jacob 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 Jacob 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, Jacob
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. Jacob 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. Jacob 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. Jacob 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 Nineteen: 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 load 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 devious ness 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 last 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."
  "First 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 defied
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 Twenty: 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.
  Golan, 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 sen 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 Twenty One: 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. Fie 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 Father Jacob fell fast asleep.
                                        ***
  "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 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 four-horse team seemed strangely unresponsive as Father Jacob directed it
back to the main thruway. 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 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 rocky 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 hustling thoroughfare so she didn't think it was odd not to see any other
passers by. 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 off 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.
                                       ***
   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?" Adrina grabbed Emel about the shoulders. "Where is Prince 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, Adrina pressed her lips against Emel's. For a moment,
Emel 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 a 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 Twenty Two: 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.
                                        ***
   The group waited in the forested hills to the east of Alderan. 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 fully 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 cities'
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…"


                                        ***
  "Are your men ready?" Xith asked.
   Emel nodded. Xith joined Father Jacob deeper in the midst of the trees and there
the two spoke in hushed tones.
   Fifty-six ridesmen anxiously waited near the edge of the forest for the dusk
shadows to deepen. They had been waiting in the trees for several hours now.
   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 the 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, cast 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 neatly deserted. The four,
now on fool, 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 then: 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 voting 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…"
                                       ***
   At a flat-out run, Adrina raced across the square. Her heart was pounding in her
ears. Vilmos and Emel had already made it safely across the open hundred yards to
the shadowed wall and were excitedly watching her run. Adrina 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, Adrina 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 Adrina 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, Adrina waited for him to raise an alarm or notch an arrow to the string of
his bow.
   Unmoving, Adrina 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. Adrina's heart stopped and the whole of the world seemingly collapsed in
around her. Adrina stifled a moan, held her breath and waited.
   As the archer turned away and continued his march along the battlements of the
wall, Adrina 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.
   Adrina 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 Adrina 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 Adrina
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 Adrina's 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 Adrina 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, Adrina could sec 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." Adrina 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 Adrina 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. Adrina 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 Twenty Three: 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 rely 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 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 tought 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 docs 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 another day brought Vilmos only more misery. Prince Valam had
told him that perhaps tomorrow they would enter the northernmost forests of the
Kingdom of Sever. Vilmos had 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 it 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 flow 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 staled 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 Twenty Four: 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 Yi 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 hitter 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 savants 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, Adrina 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 Adrina was smothered in his great embrace, then, just as
suddenly, he ushered her into the gloom after Emel. Her thought swam, Adrina didn't
move. Valam gave her a push and suddenly she was facing 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, Adrina 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 Emel and Adrina waited. The next face Adrina 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 Adrina and roughly pulled her back and down. Huddled
against the ground they lay together. Adrina 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. Adrina knew only that Emel's presence beside her was a powerful
comfort.
  Suddenly Adrina 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 fur side,
do you see?"
   Adrina and Valam turned and staled. 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 lilted 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. Pie 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 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,
folly 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.'" 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 Twenty Five: 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 lakes 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. Vilmos 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, Vilmos retrieved the tunic. He dragged it along the
ground, then scrambled up into a nearby tree and left the tunic there.
   Then Vilmos 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. Vilmos 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. Pie 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, Vilmos 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, Vilmos 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 Vilmos to the ground
with it.
   Disoriented, Vilmos shook his head and inhaled. The force of the blow had
knocked the wind out of him. For an instant, it was as if Vilmos didn't think at all. All
his bewildered thoughts stopped, the magical shield fell away, and then the beast
howled and struck again.
    Vilmos struck back with his fists. He clubbed the side of one of the Wolmerrelle's
two heads. The creature wheeled back. Vilmos 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 Vilmos 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, Vilmos crept forward. He reached out with his foot and nudged the
beast. He jumped back as it convulsed. Then, it moved no more.
   Vilmos 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 in saved him. Only this time the great beast did not carry Vilmos to the
ground with it, and this time he maintained the shield.
   They came at him then, one by one in a great wave. Vilmos 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, Vilmos turned wild eyes on the five Wolmerrelle
that circled him, waiting to pounce.
   Again Vilmos' 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.
  Vilmos 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.
   Vilmos fought to gain control of the rampant energies within him. Perhaps sensing
a moment of weakness, the Wolmerrelle charged.
  Vilmos' 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, Vilmos 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.
Vilmos fought to control it and instead channeled that strength carefully to his hands.
Bolts of blue-white lightening sprang forth and struck one of the beasts. The creature
died.
    Vilmos' 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. Vilmos let out a scream that shook the trees and rang through the forest.
   Pain flooded his thoughts, panic took over. Wildly Vilmos 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. Vilmos 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.
   Vilmos 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, Vilmos stumbled and fell. The injured leg that had held him
while his fervor raged, collapsed under his weight. Vilmos' 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. Vilmos
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.
   Vilmos 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 Vilmos began bludgeoning the beast.
    The weakened Wolmerrelle howled and hissed. Repeatedly, it raked Vilmos' chest
with its forepaws. For an instant as he beat with all his might on the creature's head,
Vilmos 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 even 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 Vilmos' 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 Twenty Six: 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?"
  Adrina cast imploring eyes in Valam's direction.
   "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 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…"
   Darnel' 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 Twenty Seven: 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-thousand fold 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 then 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. I he heel of his hoot 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. He 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 had followed Seth in his thoughts, looking out through his eyes to the
battlefield. She had 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 had 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 cast 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 then 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 cast 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 hack 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 in his cars, which
drowned out the cries of dispair and anguish that the wind carried. Once on the flat
fields, Vilmos stretched out his legs, lengthening his strides. As he did this, his loot
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 Twenty Eight: 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 sec, 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 repented.
   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, and 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. Then 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
camp fires 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 even thing 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 she changed direction 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 Severs 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
Kind's. Perhaps you searched the wrong places."
   Adrina was convinced otherwise. "No, if Emel were alive, I would have found
him."
  Galan took Achilla'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 of him 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. Dancers and musicians had
made their way to the field from Quashan's many squares, stirring ever more
excitement into the already boisterous crowd. Valam, Emel, Adrina, Galan and
Father Jacob found they could do nothing other than join in.

        Chapter Twenty Nine: 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 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.


                                          ***
   Hundreds of guests were seated at the many tables encircling the hall's 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 victor 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 scat 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.


                                        ***
   To Vilmos, it seemed Xith was disappointed or concerned, and certainly the
shaman's thoughts were elsewhere at the moment. 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 and would be something he wouldn't soon forget.
   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 story continues with:

                        Ruin Mist: Kingdom Alliance



                            About the Author
   Robert Stanek is the author of many previously published books, including
several bestsellers. Currently, he lives in tthe Pacific Northwest with his wife and
children. Robert is proud to have served in the Persian Gulf War as a combat
crewmember on an electronic warfare aircraft. During the war, he flew numerous
combat and combat support missions, logging over two hundred combat flight
hours.
   His distinguished accomplishments during the Persian Gulf War earned him nine
medals, including the United States of America's highest flung honor, the Air Force
Distinguished Flying Cross. His career total was 17 medals in only 11 years of
military service, making him one of the most highly decorated veterans of the Persian
Gulf War.
   Overwhelmingly, readers agree that Robert's books are among the best they've
ever read. His books have very vocal supporters who aren't afraid to voice their
opinion, and they frequently do so in online communities and lists, such as at
Amazon.com, where you'll find that his books are consistently listed at the top of
their class. Strong reader support has led to strong sales.
                            About Reagent Press
    Reagent Press is a small press that publishes both fiction and non-fiction titles.
Current fiction titles include Keeper Martin's Tale and Elf Queen's Guest from the
Ruin Mist Chronicles, The Kingdoms of The Elves of the Reaches Book I and Book
II from Keeper Martin's Tales, and The Elf Queen &The King Book I and Book II
from Ruin Mist Tales. Current non-fiction titles include: Effective Writing for
Business, College & Life, Essential Windows 2000 Commands Reference, and
Essential Windows XP Commands Reference.
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  Edited by nSight, Inc. Editor: Erin Connaughton
  Special thanks to Sarah Hains for acting as the project coordinator!