 
# Echoes of the Forsaken

Mystic Legends Book 1

BY

Eric Magliozzi

Echoes of the Forsaken

Copyright © 2014 Eric Magliozzi

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to names, places, or actual person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States. Any reproduction in any form without the express written permission of the author is prohibited.

Cover Art Copyright Fotokostic / 123RF Stock Photo

Printing History: 2014

Revised Edition: 2016

DEDICATION

In memory of my mother, Judith A. Magliozzi.

As I stood by your place of rest, my son began to cry  
I have a feeling, I know the reason why  
He could feel your presence, and it tore him apart  
That you could not hold him, near to your heart

As I held him in my arms, I whispered in his ear  
To shed not a tear, for you are always near  
And when he grows older, he shall learn of the past  
About a special mother, and how her love shall forever last

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue
Prologue

Deveryn sprinted through the shadows of a moonlit forest and then faded behind an old oak tree. A short distance from where he hid, a woman fought desperately to shake the thorny clutches of a thick undergrowth. Someone else was in there with her, a hulking shape, carrying a great menacing blade. Mist settled over the area, shrouding the intruders within, and when the woman writhed out of the prickly barrier, it became clear a brutish hunter stalked her.

The woman scurried over the uneven ground and gained momentum until a mammoth cloud rumbled and flung heavy rain in her path. The wet terrain turned muddy, grappled at her sandaled feet like some earthly beast, and then she stumbled helplessly into a puddle of muck.

"Ah, the rain ruined our fun," the hunter said as raindrops washed bloodstains from his chain-mail shirt. "And I was beginning to enjoy our little chase."

"You're a disgusting vile creature," the woman shouted, trying to crawl away on hands and knees.

The hunter grasped a handful of her long black tresses and lifted her up. There was no surprise on his expression when he noticed her somber misty-blue eyes faintly glow. "I knew you were witch folk. And you know the price for practicing magic." He released his grip and she dropped to the ground, splattering mud. Defiance sparked in the woman's eyes as the hunter raised his sword above her head, preparing for the execution, but a leather boot to his spine ruined his plans and he fell face forward, eating the ground.

Deveryn stepped into the moonlight with a bastard sword glimmering in his hand. Like the woman, two faintly glowing eyes peered out of his hooded visage. "And do you know the price for hunting witch folk?"

"I'm going to ask more for your head, stranger," the man growled bravely. He rose from the ground with a foreboding grin, and engaged with fury rippling over his muscles.

"You must be a fierce warrior to hunt defenseless woman," Deveryn said, blocking a downward strike aimed at his left shoulder. The hunter tried again, going to the right side, and Deveryn slapped the sword aside.

"Hah! That bitch killed two of my men with her malevolent magic."

"I'm impressed," Deveryn said, parrying another heavy attack from the huge ruthless man.

"I'm not so impressed with you, friend," the hunter retorted.

"I was talking about the woman."

"Blah, she'll die soon enough, after I finish brandishing my sword with your vitals."

Rain thundered downward as the men battled. Deveryn maneuvered around, his feet darted in and out of mud holes with the agility of a panther, and he knew he had the advantage of speed. The hunter moaned in agitation at his opponent's agility, tired of swinging at air, and he slashed wildly trying to land a lucky blow -- the effort left him gasping for air.

Deveryn snickered beneath his cowl and said mockingly, "Perhaps you should try peddling swords instead of wielding them. I've seen savages with better technique."

With nostrils flaring in rage, the hunter viciously swung the great sword downward, lost control and staggered to a crouch, and then winced in horror when he realized the back of his neck was exposed. Deveryn reacted to the clumsy maneuver, and without hesitation, severed the man's head.

A few feet away from the gruesome death, the woman sitting in a pond of mud reached out to Deveryn. "Deveryn, is that you? Please, help me."

Deveryn removed his hood and the glow faded from his gray eyes. "It is I, Kehlyra." He scooped her up in his arms. "You should be back in Talmirok, not all the way out here. Have you lost your senses?"

"Please, Deveryn. I need to speak with you."

He brought her to a shelter built of aging wood and cured hides. Inside, water drummed over the thatched roof and dripped through splintered cracks. Deveryn laid her on a pile of woolen blankets, the only dry spot in the refuge, and then brought over a lantern that cast a dim orange light over her body. Scrapes and bruises were visible through her buckskin tunic and breeches, nothing fatal, and he proceeded to wash her over with a wet cloth.

"Why did you leave Talmirok?" Deveryn asked, wiping the muck away from around her eyes.

Her bottom lip trembled. "King Graylin has fallen into a madness; his mind seems to be under the influence of a strange orb. A witch came and demanded the relic, told Graylin it was evil and must be destroyed. He refused. Then others came from different kingdoms with the same request, and he made threats of war. The witch responded to his belligerence by kidnapping Kiyasca and cutting off our relations with Calendula Island. You are the only one I know who may be able to reason with him. All she wants is the orb. Please, you have to come back with me to Talmirok. You need to convince Graylin to give up the orb."

Deveryn sighed; the thought of returning to his home in the desert had no appeal to him. Born of Deviskari blood, his people practiced questionable magic and exhibited an arrogance he found distasteful. But despite his reluctance to endure his kinsmen, it concerned him greatly to hear about Kiyasca. She was known to his people as the Moon Spirit Dancer and her absence from the city could have dire consequences. By performing a sacred dance, she summoned rain and made soil fertile. Without the blessing, the city's water supply and crops would quickly dwindle away, especially in the harsh desert climate.

In addition to the Moon Spirit Dancer's blessing, the Deviskari also depended upon Calendula Island to provide meat, fish, and building materials to the city. It was catastrophic enough to lose one of their food sources, and the witch had snatched both from them.

"Why do you think I can convince him? I have not seen the king for years."

"Graylin raised you as if you were his own son. I believe you are the only one who can make him see reason."

"You said a witch demanded he give her this orb. Can you tell me anything else about her?"

"I only know her name is Azathea."

Deveryn found a dry blanket and wrapped it around Kehlyra's body. "You know how I feel about our people."

"Please, Deveryn," she begged. "People died escorting me here. Do not disgrace their sacrifices by refusing to come back with me."

"I shall consider it, Kehlyra," he said, kissing her on the forehead. Her womanly guiles never failed to make Deveryn feel guilty. She grinned sheepishly and then slipped into a quiet sleep.

The candlelight flickered over Kehlyra's long straight raven hair and smooth rosy skin, the coloration Deveryn knew brought on from a mixture of oils and herbs. She desired him since childhood and he felt a connection with her, but never pursued a relationship. Deviskari took one mate for life, and he let fear of commitment drive him away. Over time, he began to see her as a sister and the feeling never changed to anything more.

Regardless of her feelings, the chaotic tale put a tremendous burden on his shoulders. If this sinister orb had indeed corrupted Graylin's mind, Deveryn felt obligated to investigate. After all, the king had treated him like a son when he lived in the city. Distraught with indecision, the weary outcast leaned back on the bed and then fell into a troubled slumber knowing it was time to return home.

## 1

A howling wind brooded over the granite-walled gorge called Bloodstone Pass. Ravens scattered over crimson colored stones and then resettled on rotting corpses, plucking away morsels of flesh with bloody bills. Dust swirled around ornamented skeletons that swayed over broken wheels and wooden frames of half-buried wagons.

Deveryn travelled the gruesome passage only once before, when he left Talmirok many years ago. The place changed little over that time; a few more bodies, wagons, and treasures, but the scenery still reeked of fear and death. He eyed his surrounding warily, keeping his horse to a canter. His last visit here brought on an attack from the Brujunn, a baboon-like race of beasts. The Brujunn were responsible for the surrounding graveyard, luring the greedy to steal the shiny treasures.

The cadence of marching hooves echoed off the granite-walls. Deveryn and Kehlyra reined their mounts to a halt to look behind. Approaching from the north under the sun's oppressive heat, a column of mounted men and three bow-topped wagons lumbered over the rocky path. Deveryn's eyes narrowed in annoyance. If the men discovered their origins, he was sure more blood would spill on these rocks. After a quick survey of the landscape, he located a rock shelter at the base of the sloping cliff and told Kehlyra to follow him to the cover of shadows.

Riders trudged down the trail and proceeded past, unaware Deveryn scrutinized their every detail. They had medium flesh tones, bushy eyebrows, and dark hair, the characteristics of the people of Kulithia.

Kulithians lived to the far north and Deveryn's curiosity peaked, wondering why the group travelled so far from home. A broad-shouldered rider, wearing a weighty chain-mail hauberk, broke from the line. Deveryn and Kehlyra slipped back deeper within the cave; they were only the length of two horses from the trail and a wandering eye could easily spot them.

The hulking man dismounted and swaggered toward a trove of rings, necklaces, and jewels glittering from bony hands and necks. Deveryn shook his head as the burly man snapped bones to pillage the treasures. The Brujunn were sure to come.

Another Kulithian, a gaunt man dressed in loose fitting garments and riding ahead of the group on a black palfrey, snarled in disgust. He ordered a halt and confronted the thief. "Get back on your horse, Nabis. You'll bring the Brujunn down upon us."

Nabis stuffed a gold ring into his leather pouch and then reached for a great sword resting on the side of his horse. A scar ran down the entire length of his nose, a lash given to him by the leader's whip for his last act of insubordination. "Grumble all you want, Brashus. If I see that whip of yours, you'll soon be resting by these bones."

"You fool, Nabis. The Brujunn will come if we linger for too long. There are greater riches awaiting us."

"I grow tired of promises," Nabis complained. "We all do. You have yet to explain these great riches to us and we are sweltering under the sun." Men whispered among themselves and began dismounting.

Brashus furrowed his brow. "You're going to get us all killed. I have a guide to Tiarshus. The treasures there will make us all kings."

Nabis almost choked. "Tiarshus? I hear that place is inundated with the dead. You are mad. No one has ever stolen the treasures from there and lived. Where is your guide? I would like to question the maniac."

Deveryn grimaced at the mention of Tiarshus. People believed that if you died there, your soul would forever remain bound to the ancient ruins. It was a dark evil place, inhabited by wicked manifestations waiting to possess or devour intruders. The treasures buried there were plentiful, and those knowing the location often took the risk to gain a sampling of the wealth.

"Impertinent bastards," Brashus growled. "I assure you our guide will lead us there."

Nabis shook his head. "Assurances are for the dead. Show us this guide or we vote for a new leader."

Pursing his lips, Brashus dismounted and fiddled through one of his pouches. "I expect each of you to grovel at my feet soon."

"If your guide is uninspiring, prepare to grovel for your life at our feet," Nabis said. The men laughed.

Brashus strutted to the back of the last wagon, unlocked the wagon door, and entered. He emerged with a woman in his arms. She was dressed in a short torn slip with hands bound by leather straps. A sack drooped over her head and Deveryn believed the motionless woman was dead until she wriggled in the man's arms trying to shake free. Brashus responded by dropping her to the ground.

"You brought us all this way for a woman!" Nabis howled in rage. The other men joined in with their comrade and soon a dozen swords slid from sheaths.

"She is no ordinary woman, stupid dogs." Brashus loosened the rope around the woman's hood and slid the cloth covering away. He grasped a lock of her long blonde hair and yanked backward to show her face. A dark blue coloring outlined her almond-shaped eyes, and on her forehead was a tribal marking of a diamond in the center of two crescent moons, back to back.

Brashus pushed her head forward to expose the back of her ears where a trace of a blue bone outlined the pinkish exterior. "You see. These are the markings of an Eldinisti. These people know every inch of the Skuldra desert and can lead us to Tiarshus. Her hearing is exceptional. She can detect storms approaching from miles away giving us warning to find shelter. She is a natural scout of that barren wasteland."

Nabis stomped over to the girl. "Bah! She dyes around her eyes and paints tribal markings on her forehead. I am not impressed." He tugged on her ear to look at the bluish bone. "You claim that is a special bone behind her ear? All I see is a bluish discoloration. She is nothing more than an ordinary woman."

Deveryn listened intently, fascinated by the blonde woman. The Eldinisti people lived in the Skuldra desert in a location not far from his own city. He never met an Eldinisti personally, and now regretted his misfortune. Wanting to get a closer look, Deveryn whispered to Kehlyra. "Wait here. If anything happens, make your way into the desert and I will find you."

"Please be careful," she whispered back to him.

Deveryn moved with a cat's grace to the side of the prison wagon and then slid underneath. Keeping his belly to the ground, he crawled to the back and raised his head up. He was not disappointed. From the woman's alluring sea-green eyes to her soft pouty lips, he felt an instant attraction toward her. Small bloody incisions covered her petite sun-tanned frame, and Deveryn's jaw tightened in repulsion over her treatment. How could this delicate creature be treated so harshly?

"Please, I do not want to go to Tiarshus," the woman begged. "Let me go."

Brashus slapped her. "Stop whining, Elisara. You should know better than to plead with a Kulithian unless your tongue waggles with promises of power and fortune."

"Someday, someone will make you pay for your greed."

He unhooked a whip from his belt and pointed southward. The sun shined back, hovering above a desert filled with high golden dunes. "I'm afraid not today. You will lead us to Tiarshus or you will pay with your life."

"You have lost your mind, Brashus," Nabis said, removing his great sword from his mount. "And I think it is time we followed a new leader."

"Damn you!" Brashus said, shaking his fist. "I'll have you--"

A deluge of arrows rained down on the caravan. Men screamed in agony as the shafts pierced throats and chests. Brashus shoved Elisara back into the wagon and bellowed for the driver to move. The remaining men split up. Some spurred their horses toward the desert and others remained behind with weapons drawn. Deveryn dashed to a buried cart and dove beneath the wreckage to hide.

"Kehlyra, get out of there," Deveryn shouted.

Kehlyra kicked her horse in the side and sped past, heading toward the last wagon.

Emerging from tunnels on each side of the gorge, the Brujunn flooded the area, stalking their prey, cutting down men with swords, axes, and bows. Deveryn watched Nabis order the remaining Kulithians to retreat. The Brujunn split up into two groups. One group of creatures headed in Nabis' direction, and the other group sprinted after the men that fled to the desert. Nabis had his men form a circle to take on the beasts. The strategy slowed down the carnage, and more importantly, drew the savages away from Deveryn.

Grateful Kehlyra followed his orders, Deveryn fled toward his own horse to catch up to her. One of the nightmarish abominations had a different idea and came charging from the rock shelter. The creature wore poorly cobbled chainmail armor over a gray hairless body and in each apish hand gleamed a scimitar. From the mouth of the hideous baboon-like head came a howl that sent tremors down Deveryn's spine. Reacting quickly, Deveryn's blade whipped across the air, slicing through the startled creature's throat, but it was too late. The warning brought six more Brujunn out of the cave entrance.

Deveryn decided to take his chances on foot in the desert. Dashing at full speed, a yellowish haze engulfed him as he stepped over the sandy terrain. Brujunn archers, returning from their pursuit of the wagons, spotted him and sent several deadly shafts his way. The arrows struck the ground around him and he immediately sprung toward them before they nocked their bows a second time. His sword sliced across the throat of his first victim and then he turned toward two others. Astonished by his quickness, the Brujunn dropped their bows and readied short swords. They swung their blades as if aiming at a ghost, for Deveryn's maneuvers at parrying and dodging confounded their clumsy strikes. A stab to the chest, a slice across a stomach, in no time, the blood of all three archers turned the sands crimson.

In the corner of his eye, a different source of trouble came. Deveryn glimpsed the shapes of two Kulithian thugs advancing. The men trudged over the sand with great swords, their steps staggered as if encased in stone. Deveryn blocked a strike to his side and fell on one knee, losing his footing on the undulating terrain. The other brute brought his meaty weapon downward at Deveryn's head, and gawked in bewilderment to find his blade hit a mound of sand. Having the advantage of familiarity with desert combat, Deveryn countered the attacks with deadly precision, impaling the chest of one and disarming the other.

"Harm me and my comrades will gut you," the lone man threatened, backing up and drawing a pair of daggers.

"You mean the dead ones the Brujunn are feeding on," Deveryn said, ending the man's life with a lethal plunge.

With the blood of the men seeping over his boots, Deveryn searched the haze for the fleeing caravan. The trail had already faded and he cursed. Then he heard the gurgling croaks of ravens. The birds gathered around him and he got a sense they actually were trying to communicate. Suddenly, the ravens took flight and flew in circles around an area a short distance from where he stood. He decided to head in their direction and eventually came to several overturned wagons.

Elisara rested against the side of the nearest wagon, breathing faintly, eyes closed. Deveryn carefully crouched down beside the woman and gently wiped dried blood from her forehead with a cloth. She opened her eyes and then flinched when she saw the faint grayish glow emitting from the shadow of Deveryn's hood.

Deveryn had seen the same reaction many times before and removed his hood to smother the glow in his eyes. "I am a friend."

She reached out and brushed her fingers over his pale smooth handsome face. His long black hair dangled down over her eyes and she blinked. "Who are you?"

"I am Deveryn. Are you hurt?"

"Your eyes," she said. "For a moment, with your hood on, I swore they glowed. Can you come down to me? I want to see them up close." Deveryn leaned towards Elisara, giving her a better view of his smoky-gray eyes. She stared at them as if enthralled under a spell and then continued to run her fingers over his skin. "You look different from anyone I have ever seen. Your skin has no freckles or blemishes."

"It is an inherit trait of all my people."

Elisara eyed him skeptically. "Are you one of the Deviskari?"

"Yes, I am."

Elisara recoiled against the wagon, searching for a weapon to defend herself. "No! Are you going to put a sword in my heart too?"

"I don't understand," Deveryn spoke in a soft soothing tone. "No one is going to hurt you."

A horse came galloping toward the two. Deveryn spun around with his sword ready, but then lowered the blade when he noticed it was only Kehlyra. She reigned the horse near the wagon and dismounted.

"I think we are safe, for now," Kehlyra said.

"They still may be lurking about, so be wary," he said. "At least this woman survived. Her name is Elisara. She is one of the Eldinisti."

Kehlyra blushed. "Oh."

"Oh? Is there something you're not telling me," Deveryn said, detecting discomfort in Kehlyra's tone.

"King Graylin sought help from the Eldinisti because of our diminishing water supply, and the Eldinisti turned us away," Kehlyra answered.

Elisara shook her head. "We told your people we do not allow outsiders to enter our city. We offered instead to help you find new water sources, but your king refused. And then our scouting parties started going missing, presumably killed by Deviskari."

"Graylin is a stubborn man, but he wouldn't butcher your people for refusing him entry to your city," Deveryn said, exhaling. "Let me try to mend the relationship between our people. I'm sure my people are not murdering your scouts."

"Perhaps," Elisara said. The tension in her body eased. "Maybe we can work out a solution."

"I am sure we can mend the wounds between our leaders," Deveryn said, his lips curled upward in a smile. Behind him, Kehlyra frowned.

A group of ravens perched atop the wagon began taunting him. Deveryn viewed the birds with interest. "Strange birds; you know they led me to you. A coincidence or is someone watching over you?"

"I don't know," she said, "though I doubt they're strong enough to carry me home."

## 2

Deveryn scoured the area for much needed supplies and found another of the abandoned Kulithian wagons. He examined it from behind and then split the wagon door in half with a swift kick. Within the shadowy interior, he eyed weapons, clothes, sacks, and a small barrel. Cautiously, he stepped inside; wooden planks creaked under his boots as he swayed on the uneven floor trying to keep his balance. The sacks contained bread, fruit, and nuts, enough to provide nourishment for a few days. He uncorked the barrel and sipped the contents. The water was bitter, but at least potable. One by one, he tossed the sacks through the opening and then cradled the barrel under his arm and exited.

Dragging the sacks and carrying the barrel, Deveryn found his way back to Elisara and Kehlyra. Elisara rested against a rock, listless of spirit, and Kehlyra sat upon the sands chattering away. Deveryn was concerned for Elisara's health. Her body seemed frail and bony, and he wondered when the last time she ate a good meal.

"Are you well enough to travel, Elisara?" Deveryn asked. "You look famished."

"I'm afraid I have not eaten for days, Deveryn," she whispered.

"Then you shall eat," said Deveryn, sifting through the sacks. Most of the contents were molding and peeling, but he managed to find a fresh apple.

Elisara took the fruit with feeble hands and ate slowly, enjoying the morsel of food. Then she suddenly stopped eating and gazed around. "Listen...Do you hear that sound?"

Deveryn shook his head. "No, I hear nothing."

"I too hear nothing," Kehlyra said.

Elisara pointed southward. "Over there, you see? Something is moving."

Deveryn sprinted in the direction and found the third abandoned wagon. The head of a horse bobbed up from the front of it, struggling to rise under the restraints of a tangled harness. Studying the contraption, Deveryn found the offending straps and cut them away. The horse leaped up and Deveryn grabbed the reins.

"Your hearing is remarkable over this wind," Deveryn said, leading the animal back to the women. Is there anything else unique about your people?"

"We are skilled healers with herbs and plants," she said proudly.

Deveryn raised both eyebrows questionably and smiled. "I think there is more to you than exceptional hearing and healing."

Elisara blushed.

"No," Kehlyra said, staring across the sands with a haunted expression on her face.

Across from them in an area of flat sands, the wind uncovered a gruesome sight. Six vultures snacked on dismembered limbs from at least a dozen corpses. From the style of their clothing, Deveryn already guessed these victims were Deviskari.

Kehlyra sobbed and rubbed bloodshot eyes. "They escorted me through the desert. They were my friends."

Deveryn placed his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kehlyra."

"It was horrible," she said, tearing. "We were on our way to you and a group of men attacked us. A horrific demon with the face of a silver bear led them. We tried to fight. There was so much blood. I should be dead with them."

"I've heard tales of a man with the face of a silver bear. It is not his real visage, but a helm he wears. He leads a fanatical group of soldiers known as Mhordalins. The hunter I killed in the woods, the one chasing you, was one of them. I happened to notice an emblem on the pommel of his sword was that of a bear, their symbol. They are monsters, determined to eradicate the world of magic. The man with the silver bear helm is Guthrum the bloody."

"Why do the Mhordalins hate magic?" Elisara asked.

"Conjuring robs the land of life. Mhordalins believe their god wants them to hunt all magical beings. They don't understand that there are people out there like our Moon Spirit Dancer that puts the life back into the land."

Elisara shrugged. "The Deviskari draw magic from the land? Why not use your own inner energy?"

Deveryn shook his head. "We found taking the energy from the land allowed us to conjure more powerful spells, though we understand the danger is greater."

"I don't understand," Elisara said. "How can it be more dangerous?"

"Do any of your people practice magic?" Deveryn asked, regarding her curiously.

"No," Elisara said coldly, looking away.

The reaction made Deveryn frown and he decided to continue to see if Elisara warmed up to the subject. "In order to conjure magic, you need to get your mystical energy from some source. You can take it from the land, yourself, an object, or even another living thing. However, the more energy you bring into yourself, the greater the risk. It is like lifting a boulder above your head and each ounce of energy you consume adds weight to that boulder. Consume too much and that boulder will crush you. Only those skilled enough can balance the energy properly to gain the effect they want in their spells. And the greater the spell, the more strain your body will receive and sometimes it can take days to walk again. It is true, however, taking the energy from the earth does harm to the land. But there are people who can restore the energy taken."

The wind tussled Elisara's blonde hair and she brushed the strands aside. "You said your Moon Spirit Dancer puts life back into the earth? How?"

"Instead of taking energy from another source, she performs a ritual dance to ask our goddess Makriara to bless the land. There are others in the world like her capable of conjuring magic without drawing energy. These people perform rituals or sacrifices to their gods to ask for divine favors; the greater the sacrifice, the more potent the magic."

Elisara eyes widened. "Your goddess shows much favor to this Moon Spirit Dancer."

"My people would be lost without her, which is why I am returning home to Talmirok. Kiyasca has been taken prisoner and I need the king's help to free her."

"I am sorry, Deveryn. I don't think my people understood the situation fully or we would have offered our assistance in helping you get back your Kiyasca."

"I know, Elisara," Deveryn whispered solemnly. "It is a shame Eldinisti and Deviskari have lived in this desert for many years together and never really embraced one another. I've lived in Talmirok for twenty-nine years and you are the first Eldinisti I have ever met."

"I've never met a Deviskari. I've been told your people are demons. When I first saw you, I swore your eyes glowed like one."

"No, we are not demons. In the dark, our eyes do cast a faint glow. The shade from my hood brought out the effect and when the sun touched them, the glow diminished. The unique trait allows our eyes to adjust better to dim lighting, allowing us to see further in the dark than those without the ability. Another hereditary characteristic gained from my ancestors."

"There is so much in the world I wish to explore. I agree, my people know very little of you and we lived side by side for many years in the desert. Perhaps, we can become allies." Elisara picked up a handful of sand and let the grains fall through her fingers. "Regardless, I am a long way from home."

Deveryn was silent for a moment and then said, "Come back with me to Talmirok. Let us talk to King Graylin. Let my people see the Eldinisti are not monsters and in turn, I will show you the same of my kinsmen."

"I cannot speak for all my people, but I will come with you."

Kehlyra tugged on Deveryn's hand. "I can't leave them out here, decaying, disgraced. I must burn their bodies so their spirits can rest in peace.

"We will give them a proper burial, Kehlyra," Deveryn said. "Give me time to gather the bodies. You stay here with Elisara." Deveryn left the women at the wagon and then entered the area of rotted corpses. The smell was unbearable and he turned his nose up from nausea. One by one, he stacked the bodies in a pyramid and then set fire to them using flint and steel to spark up the flames. A fire blazed and the woman came over to honor the dead. For a while, the three watched the flames flutter in the wind, eating away the dead, until only the ashes remained.

"Let us go home, Deveryn," Kehlyra said. The tear drops came slowly from her misty-blue eyes, her lips arched downward.

In Elisara's weakened state, Deveryn helped her mount up behind him on one of the horses. Kehlyra mounted her horse and gazed toward the two with jealousy gleaming in her eyes.

"I pray your king can forgive my people for turning him away," Elisara said, wrapping her arms around Deveryn's waist.

"I'm sure we can mend this misunderstanding," he said, though the tone in his voice was quite unconvincing.

## 3

Over the next few days, they rode across the desert wasteland, galloping over barren plains and rocky hills until reaching Talmirok. Even afar, they could see hundreds of tiny flames, flickering from lanterns, strewn across the entire city. A wall of stone surrounded high and low rectangular stone structures, the roofs of each decorated with rich cornice. To the far back, rising high on a plateau, a palace with plentiful domed towers stood tall and menacing, stretching upward as if trying to touch the skies.

"Your city is beautiful," Elisara said. "A splendor few of my people have beheld."

"It is a remarkable place and perhaps you may even find it pleasant, Elisara," Deveryn said.

As the three approached the city gates, two guards glanced out of the gatehouse and watched the horses stop in front of the entrance. Deveryn signaled the guards to open the gates and then heard a set of chains rumble to life to open the entrance. Once past the gates, he told the women to dismount and then he brought the horses over to the stables. When he returned, his mouth was turned downward in disgust.

"There is a dread in the air I cannot explain," Deveryn said.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Kehlyra said.

"I am tending to agree with you, Kehlyra. I don't feel welcomed here," Elisara said.

Deveryn noticed Elisara trembling and winked at her. "Graylin is a compassionate king, and I do have some influence with him."

At a brisk pace, they walked through the cobblestone streets. Light flickered from lantern polls and insects buzzed around their ears. Other Deviskari in the streets snickered in disgust when they noticed how different Elisara was from their own kind and made comments about her scanty attire. Deveryn heard the disparaging remarks and his face went flush with embarrassment when he realized Elisara heard them too.

"Please forgive them," Deveryn said. "My people tend to show bias toward anyone other than our own race because of the way we are viewed by the kingdoms of the land. We do need to get you properly dressed, however."

"I am cold," she said, shivering.

"I am sorry, Elisara." Deveryn stopped and removed his cloak. "I should have noticed sooner," he said, wrapping his cloak around her.

Kehlyra sulked, and made a sound of disapproval.

Elisara pulled the cloak tighter around her slim body. "Thank you, Deveryn."

Upon reaching the palace, they all gazed upon the tall spiraling towers, open courtyards, and domed halls of the king's home. An eerie gray illumination touched every structure; the pale moonlight giving the impression ghosts roamed the grounds. The palace had one visible entrance, a design to allow better defense if ever the place fell under attack. Deveryn knew, however, several underground passages provided the king and the nobles an easy way to leave if in need to make a hasty escape. Directly in the center, a set of wide steps led to the entrance where a pair of guards and two tiger-lynxes waited. The animals were a special crossbreed of the wildcats, having the head of a lynx and the body of a tiger.

"You're taking me in there?" Elisara gasped.

"Yes, I need to see the king." Deveryn glanced at her and chuckled at her uneasiness.

At the top of the steps, the two tiger-lynxes growled at the new arrivals. Deveryn cautioned Elisara again to keep near him. Kehlyra followed behind them both like a pouting child.

"Sorry Deveryn, your slave must remain outside the palace," one of the guards said, stepping in front of the door to block passage.

"She is my guest," Deveryn protested; his face went flush with embarrassment again. "Is rudeness part of your duties to guard the palace?"

Swallowing hard, the guard said, "Isn't she an Eldinisti?"

Deveryn brow furrowed. "Yes, why do you ask?" The guard tried to speak and Deveryn cut him off. "Stop wagging your tongue. I'll ask the king myself why his guards fail to show the proper respect to our guests. Step aside." The guards obeyed and allowed entry, somewhat confused what to do. Deveryn, scowling at the men, escorted Elisara past with Kehlyra trailing.

"I am sorry about their behavior," Deveryn said.

"It's ok, Deveryn," she said, sinking into her cloak, timid, and Deveryn shot the guards' one last scowling gaze.

They walked down a short passage to a set of open iron doors with guards on each side -- the entrance to the great hall. None of the guards reacted to them as they entered the chamber. When the doors were open, the room was open to the public. Golden incense burners emitting smoke of a flowery aroma spiraled around a black marble dais studded with blue sapphires. On the ceiling was a circular glass mural of vibrant blues, greens, reds, and silvers. Nobles and soldiers crowded the room, their tongues drowning the air with desultory conversations. Deveryn shouldered his way past them, listening to the shrieks of those who recognized him. Then the chatter came to an abrupt silence.

Sitting on the throne, a middle-aged man with short dark hair gazed on the newcomers with cold piercing green eyes. The man was dressed in studded leather trousers and tunic, and on broad shoulders rested a fur-lined woolen cloak. King Graylin yawned and then leaned forward in his chair. "Do I see a ghost?"

Deveryn, sensing the tension from Graylin's posture and tone, dispensed with the customary greetings. "I hear the Moon Spirit Dancer has been taken. Is there plans to rescue her?"

"Is that how you address the king, Deveryn," Graylin said dryly. "Many lives were lost in an attempt to save hers. She is lost to us."

"You're giving up?" Deveryn felt bile rise up in his throat. To forsake Kiyasca, a woman so vital to their survival, was beyond his comprehension.

"A venomous witch has her and has invoked a curse on Calendula Island," Graylin answered. "My soldiers began attacking each other, thinking they saw the enemy, when in fact it was their own comrades. There is also a terrible wailing of spirits swarming the entire island. The sounds can drive a man insane. I'm sorry, the island is too dangerous."

Deveryn inhaled deeply. "There has to be a way to counter her curse."

Ignoring the questions, Graylin's gaze fell on Elisara with contempt in those cold green eyes. "And who is the woman beside you?"

"Her name is Elisara," answered Deveryn. "She is a friend."

"Guards, remove her clothing," Graylin ordered. "The markings on her face alone make it clear she is an Eldinisti. I want her stripped naked." Guards swarmed on Elisara, tearing her garments in an attempt to strip her. Deveryn pushed them away and reached for his sword.

"Graylin, she is my guest." Deveryn felt the baleful glares directed at Elisara as if she represented an angel of death.

"She is an animal that defiles my chambers."

Deveryn wrestled the cloak from one of the guards and wrapped the garment around Elisara. "There is a vile animal roaming this chamber, and it is not her."

"How dare you bring an Eldinisti to my city," Graylin said, glowering over her with murderous eyes. "Our water is depleting and her people denied us access to their city. My scouts tell me Sundamar has a lake, enough water to provide for a dozen cities."

Elisara lowered her head. "Our city is sacred and outsiders are forbidden to enter. We can share our water supply and food without having you enter our city. We can also help you find new sources of water."

"Are we not good enough to enter your city?" Graylin asked. "Your people are obviously creatures of low breed. I can see by the primitive markings on your face."

"Enough Graylin," Deveryn said, stomping his foot in defiance. "Show some respect."

"Be grateful her head is still attached to her body, Deveryn. If the Eldinisti continue to refuse to let us into their city, I may take it from them."

"They are willing to share their water," said Deveryn. "Why are you so arrogant, bitter?"

"The survival of our people is my first duty," Graylin answered evenly. "If they allowed us into their city, we can rely on ourselves to retrieve the water. If we leave it to them to bring us supplies, then we are placing our lives in their hands and I will not permit our people to be dependent on another for survival."

"You rather have us die of thirst?"

"Enough," Graylin growled. "Return to your chamber and take your pet with you. If I see this insect roaming our halls unattended I may step on her."

"You are gracious, my king," Deveryn said sardonically.

"I warn you, Deveryn," the king added. "Disobey my commands and my punishment will be harsh." Graylin suddenly stood up and looked over at Kehlyra. "Kehlyra, is that you hiding?"

"Yes, my king," Kehlyra said, stepping out from behind Deveryn.

"I forbade you to leave the city," Graylin hollered. "You resemble a filthy tramp." He motioned to his guards. "Bring her to her quarters and have her properly washed and dressed. If she resists, a few days on the rack may convince her to obey me."

Deveryn's mouth dropped in disbelief. "Since when does the king forbid his people from leaving the city?"

"She is to be my queen," Graylin said emphatically.

Shaking his head, Deveryn said, "Every Deviskari vows to take one mate in a lifetime. Are you going to break tradition?"

The nobles let out cries of outrage.

"Be silent," Graylin demanded. "My queen has been dead for ten years. It is time I took another. Our tradition to take one mate is a foolish one." Graylin sat back down. "Escort Deveryn and his pet to his chamber. I am done speaking to him."

"No need." Deveryn slid his arm around Elisara's shoulder. Nobles whispered their disapproval and he tilted his head to the left and right, staring down the priggish lords. "I see some things have remained the same since my last time here," he whispered, and then escorted Elisara out of the chamber.

## 4

Ryshara stood upon an area of charred earth and blood, glancing solemnly downward at a pile of bones. A gust of wind brushed sand over the remains, forever hiding the origins of these victims. A tear gleamed down her hay-colored cheeks from ice-blue eyes filled with dark sorrow. She refused to give up on Elisara, knowing somehow, her sister was alive.

The moon sent a frigid chill over the desert terrain and her breath misted around a distraught face. "I see pity in your eyes, Sharael," she said to her friend, who stood holding the reins of two restless horses. "Speak truthfully; do you think my sister lives?"

"I feel something terrible has happened," answered Sharael, honestly.

"I sense she was here, Sharael." Ryshara's eyes again raked over the remains. "But these ashes are not the remains of our people."

"We should return to Sundamar," Sharael whispered. "The night is cold and predators are sure to come with the scent of blood spoiling the air."

Ryshara glanced over the darkened sands, nodding in agreement, and then caught the gleam of silver buried in the ground. She knelt down, brushed away the sand, and found a dagger. Etched on the handle was a silver bear head.

"What did you find?" Sharael asked.

"A dagger," Ryshara replied. "I think it is a Mhordalin dagger."

Sharael brought the horses over to get a better look at the dagger. She took the weapon and traced the silver bear with a finger. "I believe it is," she said handing the dagger back. "If Mhordalins are roaming near, we should return home to warn our people. I don't like it out here."

"No, I need to know if the Mhordalins have my sister." Ryshara understood her friend's consternation. Sharael did not have the training to survive in the desert; she was a priestess who spent most days within a temple. Ryshara, on the other hand, was a master scout. And although they had drifted long past the normal parameters of their territory, she insisted on continuing onward.

The pair rode southward, pushing against tapering winds, coercing their animals to trudge over dunes until they saw numerous campfires appear in the distance. Ryshara dismounted and sifted through a pouch for a spyglass. Sharael did the same and both stood under the moonlight scrutinizing the camp.

Bearded men sat around blazing fires in front of makeshift tents, cooking meat on spits, and drinking copiously from oversized mugs; some showed signs of drunkenness staggering to random areas and passing out. Ryshara shifted her attention to their horses, counting twenty animals, eating from feeding bags by piles of armor and weapons. The smell of roasted meat drifted toward the women; Ryshara became uneasy thinking the odor would attract wild animals to the area and force them to move.

A man, wearing a disturbing silver helm shaped like a growling bear, came out of a blue tent, gave orders to one of his men, and then stepped back inside the tent. Ryshara's heart almost stopped seeing the man's visage matched the mark on the dagger.

"Mhordalins," Ryshara muttered.

"Let's get away from here before they find us," Sharael said in a panicked tone.

Ryshara grimaced. "I want a closer look."

"No," Sharael snapped. "There is a madness in your eyes, recklessness. Mhordalins are trained killers and you are only a scout. If you enter their camp, you might as well put that sword through your own heart."

"And what if they have Elisara in one of those tents?"

"If they discover you're an Eldinisti, they will--"

"They look too drunk to care," Ryshara interjected. "I will keep hidden. I want to learn more about that man in the silver bear helm."

"Please Ryshara," Sharael cried. "I sense a wickedness about these men."

"Hush," Ryshara implored, thinking the men heard them bickering. None of the Mhordalins glanced in their direction or showed any interest in anything other than their ale. She turned back to Sharael. "I promise nothing will happen to me."

"No, I forbid you." The priestess reached out and grabbed Ryshara's wrist.

"Stop whining like a child," Ryshara said, breaking the woman's hold. "I will be all right."

Sharael's mouth crimped up in anger watching the obstinate scout scurry off in the direction of the blue tent. "You better be careful."

The Mhordalins laughed and told outlandish stories as the Eldinisti scout crept behind the tents, listening, careful to stay out of sight. The men spoke of women, gambling, and eradicating the land of magic. Ryshara considered attacking, even though she had no chance of matching their skills in combat. Seeing armor and weapons scattered in piles around the camp, far from their reach, gave the illusion she had the advantage. But Sharael's words rang true -- they were trained killers and she had never taken a human life. Settling upon common sense, the Eldinisti decided to move on to the blue tent.

Ryshara crept around the back of the tent and could hear clearly officious chatter through the blue cloth. She wanted to get a glimpse of the men arguing and found a tear in the fabric to accommodate her curiosity. Inside the tent were four Kulithians, bound to polls by rope, and the menace with the devilish bear helm. Brashus was one of the men being held captive, and he appeared the most confident; his slippery tongue wagged as if enchanted with the power of persuasion. Ryshara's stomach churned gazing on this man, his unshaven primordial-looking face, and the uncouth demeanor that surrounded him.

"Be reasonable, Guthrum," Brashus said. "We had no idea the wench was a witch."

The Mhordalin leader's steel helm glimmered under the torchlight; the fierce visage made Ryshara tremble. Rumors of Guthrum the Bloody had reached even the Eldinisti in their secluded city. Guthrum stood up and struck Brashus across the jaw. "You knew, Brashus. I sent a man to offer you gold and he said you fled like a coward."

"I thought he was one of the king's men," Brashus answered, blood dripping from his mouth. "The wench was an Eldinisti hunter, nothing more."

"I heard different. My man informed me that nobles claimed the woman was a witch. Do you deny this?"

"Lies," Brashus denied. "She has exceptional hearing. I had her listen to their whispers, learn their secrets, and I profited greatly from blackmailing them."

"I would like to judge this woman for myself. What is her name?"

"Elisara, the wench's name is Elisara." Brashus turned his head and tightened the muscles in his face, waiting for the man to hit him again.

Guthrum pursed his lips in annoyance. "I am curious. Why would you flee the king's men?"

"Elisara was also an exceptional healer. She used a combination of herbs to treat a few sick people – of course, for a generous fee. The queen is dying from a sickness and King Mulgoren needs the Eldinisti bitch. But I learned from one of the nobles he intended to take her from me without compensation."

"If I find you are hiding her, you will soon need to learn how to live without arms and legs. Does that sound enticing to you?"

"I speak the truth. I do not have her. She fled with a demon, I swear it." Brashus kept his head turned, and when another blow did not come, he added, "I saw them riding southward."

"Then you will accompany us southward to find this woman and demon," Guthrum said. "Even if we must travel all the way to Grusundir."

"Grusundir!" Brashus whined. "How are we to get home from there without coin?"

"You're resourceful, Brashus. I'm sure your lecherous tongue can convince someone to take you home for a few bobbles. Or if you rather, one slit across your throat ends any worry of finding home again," Guthrum said.

"As you wish, we all go to Grusundir," Brashus agreed, all confidence wiped from his countenance.

Ryshara heard enough and returned to the priestess. Sharael waited with an expression of disapproval, and then brightened when she learned that Elisara lived. Ryshara also explained the tale of the mysterious demon and both friends agreed to travel south. Not wanting to cause alarm, Ryshara failed to mention Guthrum and his men were also heading south – and they were out for blood.

## 5

Servants entered Deveryn's chamber and hastily placed platters of steaming food and jugs of wine on an oak table. Deveryn sat at one end devouring a turkey leg as if the food offended him. Then he gulped down a goblet of wine and slammed the empty cup on the table.

"Deveryn, what is wrong?" Elisara asked. She was sitting across from him eating an apple, and the contents of her goblet had spilled out.

"Graylin's arrogance," he responded, and then took a deep breath to calm himself. "I apologize for my temper. I swear, I'll not allow him to harm or further degrade you."

"He is a desperate man," Elisara said. "I fear he may start a war with my people."

"You haven't touched the meat," Deveryn said, ignoring her remark.

"Birds are sacred to my people. The fruit is plenty to fill my appetite."

Deveryn emptied another goblet of wine and then ordered the servants to bring fresh clothes. He moved to the window to view the night sky; the moon glowed pallid and blue, casting a shadow over him. Fatigue tried to seduce his eyelids to close, but his anger resisted and kept him awake. If he were going to free Kiyasca, it would be without the king's help, and worse, Graylin unstable condition could provoke a war with the Eldinisti.

A woman entered the chamber and handed Elisara a long blue dress and a pair of leather sandals. A different woman approached Deveryn with a set of clothes and then winced, seeing his brooding countenance. She took a step back, placed the clothes at the foot of the bed, and then exited the chamber like a scared rabbit.

Elisara removed her tattered clothes and pulled the new garment over her womanly frame, unaware her host watched her every move. Next, she slipped on the sandals, lacing the excess straps around her calves. When she finished dressing, she walked over to the wooden table and helped herself to a jug of water.

"I thought your people lacked water, and your servants seem generous supplying us with plenty to drink."

"It will take at least a year before our supply is dried up, but I agree the king should be a bit more conservative."

Deveryn moved over to the bed and gazed over a plain midnight blue tunic, brown trousers, and long dark gray cloak. He changed his clothes and then pulled on a pair of leather boots. He glanced over at Elisara in her new dress while buckling on a leather belt and scabbard. "You are very beautiful, Elisara."

"I don't feel very beautiful," Elisara said, somberly. "And I don't feel very comfortable staying in this place. The longer I stay here, the less chance my people have to prepare if your king decides to attack my city. I need to warn them."

Deveryn snatched up his bastard sword and examined the bloodstains covering the weapon. He dabbed a cloth with some water and wiped away the blood from a silver pommel shaped like a howling wolf's head. Then he used the cloth to clean dirt away from magical runes engraved on the medium-length blade.

"You must really love that sword because you are not hearing me," Elisara commented. "Why do you tend to that sword so lovingly?"

"Forgive me, Elisara," he said. "I am overwhelmed with problems and lost for answers. The sword is very special to me and unlike any blade in the world. Under the moonlight, it has the power to summon the spirit of a wolf who was once a dear companion of mine in life. I have even named the sword after him; it is called, Tehalin."

"You enslaved a wolf to serve you?" Elisara's mouth dropped open in shock.

"No," Deveryn said emphatically. "I found him abandoned as a pup and raised him. I can only guess that hunters killed his pack. We both had a unique bond in life, one in which our love was mutual. He was never forced to stay with me."

"But...You entrapped his spirit in that weapon!" she protested. "You are wicked."

"No, Elisara," Deveryn said, sheathing his sword. The day Tehalin died, it devastated me. Kiyasca saw how the wolf's death had changed me, and she prayed to Makriara to enchant the blade. When the moon appears in the sky, the sword allows me to call to the wolf. The sword acts as a channel to the world of spirits, attuned only to Tehalin. Make no mistake, Tehalin roams free in the spirit world and chooses to come or stay away. I would never enslave him."

"Forgive me, Deveryn," Elisara said. "I meant no harm. Kiyasca must be fond of you to pray to your goddess to enchant the blade."

"As I am fond of her." Deveryn tried to hide a sullen expression by smiling, but his dark thoughts betrayed him when his smile turned to a frown. "You are right to question our ways, Elisara. I too question the culture of my people. I should never have come back here."

"If you could only convince your king to listen," Elisara said.

"Graylin has become bitter, obstinate, and now treats me like a devil." Deveryn let out a breath. "He is not the same man as the one I knew when I left here."

"He must favor you to allow you to live in the palace."

"My father gave his life protecting the king. In gratitude, Graylin allowed my mother to stay in the palace when she was with child. One night, however, Brujunn raided the palace and killed her. Graylin found her dying and gave his word he would raise me like his own son."

Elisara shrugged her shoulders. "It is a tragic tale. I never knew my mother or father. In our culture, infants are raised in a nursery."

"Why?"

"Our Mokuru, the leader of my people, chooses the path a child will follow in order to fulfill a role in our society."

"And what path do you follow?" Deveryn asked.

"I am a hunter," she answered with her head down. "I abhor the killing of animals, but I follow this path so that my people can survive."

"You are being forced to serve against your desires?"

"Yes. I must follow the path the Mokuru chooses for me. If I try to change, then others may follow and our society will be unbalanced."

Deveryn noticed gray circles under her eyes. "You look in need of rest. I offer you my bed while I think upon our troubles. There is a priest named Mallion that may shed light on the king's demeanor. I shall return soon."

Elisara sat on the bed. "Please hurry. I don't feel safe here alone."

Deveryn nodded and waited for her to fall asleep. When her eyes closed to a deep slumber, he took to the desolate halls of the palace. Moonlight shined through arched stained-glass windows as he made his way toward the chapel, the twinkling pale beams coming through the windows left multi-colored patterns across the floor. He stepped on the patterns, unaware the peculiar light fell faint on him as if his menacing demeanor repelled their radiance. Even the servants turned from him, unable to meet his furious gaze.

He entered the chapel. The room was filled with dozens of candles, brightening dark colored tapestries and a row of wooden pews facing a statue of a woman dressed in long flowing robes and holding a crescent moon in an outstretched hand. The room was not particularly large and few people ever visited; religion remained an acquired taste, sought mostly by those experiencing some crisis in their lives.

Mallion tended to candles, lighting the wicks with a long tinder stick. The priest flinched when the flames flickered from the sudden intrusion. "Deveryn, I heard you returned. Is there something I can do for you?"

"I am troubled by the king, Mallion," Deveryn said.

Even though Mallion never let politics or power rule his mind, the priest often took an optimistic view to address problems arising within the city. It was quite telling when he remained silent and continued to light more candles.

"Mallion?"

"Heed my warning, Deveryn," Mallion finally spoke. "I implore you to leave here. The king is mad, possessed by an evil relic he found in Tiarshus."

"I've heard these words before. Kehlyra believes the orb is manipulating him too."

"And it is," Mallion agreed. "I dare not get too close to it or my mind might be lost to the thing. A woman offered to release Kiyasca in exchange for the orb, and Graylin refused. I fear his madness will lead us all to doom."

Deveryn took a tender stick and helped the priest light the candles. "He acts as if he lost his soul."

The priest spun around and knocked over a candle. He stomped out the flames. "Or he is losing his soul to that wicked orb. Deveryn, get away from this place. I am telling you this as a priest and a friend."

"In time," Deveryn said, patting the priest on the shoulder. "Thank you, Mallion. You were always a good friend to me."

Deveryn returned to the palace halls and glanced down the corridor that led to the great hall. His hands shook from anger at the thought of an orb controlling his king. What was this relic that could drive a man mad? Why did the witch want it?

A woman screamed profoundly from down the corridor, and then panic filled the halls. Deveryn shuddered from the horrible cry and watched servants stop in their tracks, drop platters and jugs, and gape at each other with wide horrified eyes. At first, Deveryn wanted to sprint back to his chamber to make sure Elisara was safe, but instead, he turned in the direction of the great hall to investigate the sound.

In front of the tall iron doors to the great hall, six guards braced themselves for a confrontation. Deveryn, grinning menacingly, charged toward them. The men tried to hold their ground and he broke through them like a tornado smashing against a barrier of rotted wood. Guards stumbled backward, reaching out to restrain him. He shrugged off their prying fingers, opened the doors, and then froze when he saw five bloodied bodies lying motionless in front of the dais.

Graylin stood in front of the bodies with six of his personal guards. He sneered at the intrusion. "I will only tolerate your insolence for so long, Deveryn. Be gone from my hall or I will have my men put you in the dungeons."

Bewildered from shock, Deveryn gaze went from the bodies on the floor to the king's hand where the infamous orb rested. It was the size of a man's skull, black, and pulsating. Deveryn heard faint screams of the dead emit from the hellish relic.

The king and his guards viewed Deveryn with contempt in their eyes, waiting for him to leave. Deveryn ignored their scornful stares and became entranced on the woman with long dark blonde hair submerged in a pool of blood. Then his twin gray embers burned bright flames of hate, his heart bled, and he swore vengeance on the man standing on the throne.

"What have you done?" Deveryn bellowed.

"Must I have you removed from the chamber?" the king barked.

Deveryn moved to the bodies and rolled the woman face up. To his relief, it was not Elisara. "Who are these people?"

"Aldrashans," Graylin said with an implacable expression. "We caught them skulking around the palace, trying to find a way in."

"What is that hellish thing that emits the voices of the dead?"

"It is the Soulcatcher," Graylin said, admiring the orb in his hand. "It is a thing of legend and now it is mine."

"It is bewitching you," Deveryn said. "Is that what the witch wanted? Give it to her. Kiyasca's life is more important to our people."

The king stood up, his eyes stung Deveryn. "Get out of my chamber before I have you forcibly removed. If you ever enter unannounced again, I will have you in chains. Get out!"

Deveryn swore and marched out of the great hall. A dark sickness obviously controlled the king, and he refused to end up on the floor in his own blood over an argument he had no chance of winning. Executing the Aldrashans for attempting to enter the city was unfounded. The king normally punished intruders by escorting them back to the desert with a warning never to return. If the intruder attempted to enter again, they found themselves in the dungeons next. The king never executed for such a petty crime. He had to get Elisara out of here.

On his way back to his chamber, Deveryn noticed the hallway vacant of any servants. Given at least a few servants wandered the halls at all times of the night to remain available, he found it strange the entire wing devoid of them. The oddity made him apprehensive and he hurried back to his room. The moment he entered, his distress had warrant, for standing over his bed was a cloaked man, holding a gleaming dagger over Elisara.

"Get away from her," Deveryn hollered.

Glowing eyes stared back at Deveryn out of the shadowed hood. The assassin casually put his dagger away and withdrew a longsword. "She is an enemy of our people."

Deveryn preferred to capture the assassin for questioning and fought to disarm the man. They both danced around the room, clashing blades, disturbing the entire wing with a battle of steel on steel. The assassin's foot alignment and aggressive strikes equaled the sword techniques of a Deviskari palace guard.

"Who are you?" Deveryn tried to maneuver to get a glimpse of the man's face, but only saw the glowing eyes.

"Why did you bring an Eldinisti whore to our city?" the assassin asked. "You disrespect your own people doing so."

"Don't let your bias control you," Deveryn said. "The Eldinisti are not our enemies. The king is being manipulated."

"How dare you!"

Upon the first strike of blades, Elisara had awoken and maneuvered to the corner of the room looking for a weapon to defend herself. Deveryn saw her moving along the walls and shuddered.

"Stay back," Deveryn warned her, parrying an overhead strike, and then swung his sword downward across the assassin's leg. The intruder jumped back and looked down at the bloody gash in his trousers. Seeing the man briefly distracted, Deveryn stepped forward and cut deep across the man's wrist, forcing the assassin to drop his sword. In retaliation, the hooded scoundrel snatched a ruby encrusted amulet from around his neck and threw it at Deveryn's feet.

The ruby smashed and two spectral figures, black humanoid forms, materialized and grasped Deveryn's throat, yanking him back. Their ethereal fingers applied enough pressure to make him gasp for air. Deveryn tore at the spectral hands and then tried to twist his body away from their grasp, but their ghostly grips held firm.

Elisara leaped from the bed, pointed in the assassin's direction, and forced herself to utter a magical chant. The mystical words caused the man to turn her way in astonishment, and before he could suppress her incantation, his entire body ignited in a blazing pillar of flames. The man collapsed to the floor, thrashing about, shrieking in agony. The ungodly sound sent a shiver down Deveryn's spine as he watched the assassin's body turn to a sickening display of charred flesh. The spectral shapes howled and released their hold on him to turn on the murderer of their master. Deveryn acted quickly and recited a mystical enchantment to send the devils back to their own realms. The two ghostly creatures howled again and then vanished from the chamber.

Elisara stared at the ashes in horror.

"You look bewitched," Deveryn said, clearing his throat.

"I...I killed a man. I am damned. It is forbidden for my people to take a life with magic."

"No," Deveryn said. "You saved my life."

Elisara put her hands over her eyes. "It was a mistake for me to come here. I should leave at once."

"Why did you keep your magic a secret from me?" Deveryn thought a moment, and then the answer came to him. "You're afraid if rumors spread of your magical talents, the Mhordalins will come after you."

"Yes," Elisara answered truthfully. "This is why we keep outsiders from entering our city."

Footsteps echoed in the hallway and then a dozen guards, longswords drawn, flooded into the room. They wore plate armor with red spaulders and matching cloaks, the attire of the king's elite guards. A middle-aged man wearing a purple cloak entered next. Deveryn recognized the man. His name was Talsarin, the warder of the dungeons.

Deveryn glared at the warder and positioned himself as a shield for Elisara. "Talsarin, tell your dogs to back off."

"Your words no longer carry weight here, Deveryn," Talsarin said coldly. "I heard you stood and watched as the Eldinisti set one of your kinsmen on fire."

"She was protecting me."

"She is a danger to our people." Talsarin motioned his men to restrain Elisara.

Deveryn raised his sword in defiance, but hesitated attacking. This was not the time to act, especially with the odds against him. Reluctantly, he lowered his blade and then felt swords pressed against his back to move. On his way out, he turned to Talsarin and said, "I swear by the gods if any harm comes to her, you shall answer."

"Confine him in orsanite chains," commanded Talsarin. "He is obviously delusional. And then let him rot in the dungeons for a while."

A pair of guards shackled Deveryn in orsanite chains, and he suddenly felt his inherit magical talents subdued. Orsanite dust had an anti-magic property and the iron links contained an abundance of the substance. Broken in spirit, Deveryn gave Elisara a last solemn glimpse before the guards shoved him out of the chamber.

## 6

Deveryn stood seething behind the iron door of his cell. In his hand was a fragment of a wooden bench he smashed repeatedly against the stone confines in an attempt to provoke the guards into opening his cell for an opportunity to escape. None responded to his wild tantrums. However, a lone prisoner bound in chains at the furthest end of the prison asked him to control his outbursts. The request, for the moment, provided a bit of levity to his dire situation, but then thoughts of the king torturing or murdering the woman he swore to protect reeked over him like the human waste permeating the air.

After a lingering silence, Deveryn decided to engage in a conversation with the prisoner at the other end of the corridor. "If you still breathe, can you tell me your name?"

"Aye," the prisoner spoke. "I still live, though I doubt for long. I am Corsar, an Aldrashan."

"I am Deveryn, one of the Deviskari. Aldrashar is on the other side of Morlanthea. Why are you here?"

"My king received a message from a strange woman that claimed your people uncovered a relic that could throw the land into a war."

"And your king took the message as truth from a woman he knows nothing about?"

"I came to verify the tale," Corsar answered. "And your king refused to speak with me. When I insisted, he had me put here."

"I see. I have seen the orb. It is a wicked thing, though I am not certain how it can bring war to the land. I must learn more of its origins. I swear I heard the cries of the dead come from it, and think these voices in some way are corrupting the king's mind."

"That's a wild tale. Perhaps dungeon life is making you go mad, friend."

Deveryn sighed. "I tell you, the orb is dangerous and we should avoid Graylin until we know more."

"What do you propose?"

The entrance to the dungeons ponderously creaked opened, and the two men stayed silent. Light footsteps echoed in the hallway and then Kehlyra entered with a torch, alone. She sauntered over to Deveryn's cell, her sandaled feet barely making a sound. Deveryn raised an eyebrow at her new attire, an ostentatious display of rich fabrics and jewelry. Accentuating her full round breasts, she wore a blue tight-fitting bustier lined with tassels and studded with sapphires. Wrapped around her petite hips hung a lengthy matching skirt with high slits to allow her long and shapely legs freedom of movement. Dangling from her ears, long feather-made earrings fluttered back and forth with each of her steps, and glimmering around her wrists were an assortment of silver bangles.

"I came to help you," she said, fiddling with a pair of keys to unlock the door.

"How did you get past the guards?" Deveryn asked, astonished to see her.

"I used a sleeping dart on them."

"Is Elisara all right?" Deveryn's question caused Kehlyra to frown.

"Yes. Amrahar has her in his tower. He is trying to learn everything she knows about magic."

Deveryn pushed open the door. "Amrahar is a leech and will end up killing her with his tortures. I will not let that happen."

Kehlyra unlocked the orsanite chains that bound Deveryn's wrists and ankles. Then she placed both hands on his chest to prevent him from getting past her. "Graylin was forcing me to stay here. I do not love him. I overheard..." She looked around and shook her head in horror as if someone watched them. "Graylin is murdering people to steal their souls."

"Yes, I know. Is that all you learned?"

She looked nervously around and then pushed Deveryn inside the cell. "I found maps and scrolls the king brought on his expedition to Tiarshus. One of the scrolls referred to guardians, the Kraskara. The scroll was torn, but it mentioned three women. Kiyasca and Azathea were two of the names mentioned. I also learned Graylin uncovered a special amulet that opens hidden chambers below the ancient city and one in particular, he is apprehensive of exploring." Kehlyra wrapped her arms around Deveryn. "Forget your friend. We can escape together and be out of the city by night."

"I won't abandoned Elisara."

Kehlyra stepped back and wiped a tear from her rosy cheek. "Deveryn, please, listen to me. I don't want to see you die."

Deveryn thought a moment and nodded. "Do you know where he keeps that amulet? I am interested to learn about this chamber he is afraid to open."

"I will get the amulet for you. It is in Graylin's private treasury."

"I have been in his private treasury," Deveryn said. "It is guarded by a creature you have little chance of defeating. There are certain pressure points on the floors that trigger the beast's cage to open. You will have to be careful. Best you try to render the ape harmless before you creep around the chamber."

"I know. I have seen the beast."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," Kehlyra said. "I'll get the amulet. Please, I can get it for you."

"Ok, Kehlyra, but do not foolishly risk yourself," Deveryn said. "When you retrieve it, hide in the king's chamber. Graylin will never look for you there knowing your reluctance to be his queen and we can use his secret tunnels to flee the city."

"You want me to wait there, alone?" Kehlyra asked, blinking in surprise.

"Yes. Once I free Elisara, I will meet you there."

"Deveryn," she said, flinging her arms around him and giving him a kiss. "Be careful."

Deveryn gently broke the contact. "If Graylin harmed Elisara, he will be the one needing to be careful."

## 7

Deveryn crept down the passage of cells, shining a torch within each to see if any prisoners occupied them. Kehlyra followed him, the keys to the dungeons rattling in her hands as she unlocked each door. The interior of each often produced a gruesome sight, a shackled skeleton or rotting corpse; the dungeons unfortunately served as a tomb for most, rather than a prison.

"Why are you checking these cells?" Kehlyra asked.

"I'm looking for anyone still alive that can help us," Deveryn answered. He entered the last cell and found a lean muscled man, wearing bloodstained tunic and trousers, shackled to the wall. The man lifted his head up and grinned.

"Deveryn?" the man asked; his shaggy brown hair fell over his eyes.

"We finally meet face to face, Corsar," Deveryn said. "Though I wish it were under better circumstances." Deveryn unlocked the shackles and the warrior fell to the ground.

"Aye," Corsar whispered, rising slowly and rubbing the muscles in his arms and legs. "Another few days in here and you'd be freeing a corpse."

"You sure have the stench of a corpse," Deveryn commented, holding his nose.

Corsar frowned. "Your stench is not so pleasing either, friend. I hope you have a plan to get us out of here. I rather not spend the rest of my life rotting in this dungeon."

"I know of a secret way out of the city. But first, I need to free a friend that is being held in the western towers. Once I free her, I will lead us out. And then I intend to go to Tiarshus. I believe there is still information there that can give us insight to the origins of this hellish orb. You are welcome to join me or you can take your chances in the desert, alone."

"There is someone I must find as well. I..." Corsar's expression turned sour.

"What's wrong with you?" Deveryn asked.

"King Brohnin sent me here with an envoy to find out about the orb. Unbeknownst to him, one of his daughters was with me. She insisted on coming. If she is dead, I will be exiled or worse."

Deveryn shook his head. "I'm sorry, Corsar. Graylin has slain them. I am a bit surprised he did not slay you as well."

"He probably wanted to use me as bait. I came to the palace alone to reason with him and your king put me down here. My friends must have tried to break into the palace and were caught. I will accompany you to Tiarshus, at least to avoid the inevitable fate that awaits me in Aldrashar."

Suddenly the clang of armored footsteps echoed outside the dungeon entrance. Deveryn caught a glimpse of two guards and doused the torch. He quickly crouched to the side of the cell entrance and waited. Corsar took the opposite side of the door, and Kehlyra shrunk back deeper into the darkness.

"We should alert the king there are intruders in the palace," one of the men said timidly.

"Not yet," the other man responded in an irritated voice. He was much larger than his comrade, and seemingly used his size to imitate the smaller man by looming over him with muscles flexing. "I want to give the culprit who pricked me with this dart a taste of their own blood."

Irritated by the larger man, the smaller guard quickened his pace to distance himself from his partner and entered the last cell in the row. He regretted his hastiness a moment later. Deveryn stepped behind him and cracked the man's skull against the wall. The guard fell limp to the ground, but the move had alerted the second guard – and he came charging like a bull.

Corsar tried to take the impact head on and got overpowered. The husky guard took advantage and kneed him in the stomach before slamming a gauntleted hand across the warrior's jaw. The sound of a longsword sliding from a sheath came next, and Corsar expected to feel a sword thrust through his heart. Deveryn spun around to intercede and snapped the guard's neck from behind.

"Grab that sword and come with me," Deveryn said, nodding toward the dead guard's sword. He scooped up the torch and then turned to Kehlyra. "Are you ready to get me that amulet?"

Kehlyra shook her head affirmatively and said, "I'll will get it. But please hurry." She kissed him on the cheek and then scampered out of the dungeons.

Deveryn and Corsar rushed up the stairs and entered another chamber, a room filled with all sorts of fiendish torture devices. In the corner of the room was a discolored wall of stone with scrapes, bloodstains, and two manacles meant to hoist a prisoner up by the hands. Deveryn knew the wall was an ostentatious display to hide a secret panel. He ran his hand over the surface and then pressed on one of the stones. The wall reacted and slid opened.

"Do not wander in here, there are traps," Deveryn warned, and then entered a secret passage. Lanterns, containing bright white crystals, hung from the ceiling on chains. The crystals provided enough light to outline the details of these unremarkable corridors, passages made of flagstone floors and walls made of gray stone blocks.

They came to a dead end. Deveryn again felt around for the secret stone trigger to open the way. He found the lever and the wall opened up to a hallway. A short distance from them was a stone stairway leading up to the tower of Amrahar.

"Stay here," Deveryn said, stepping in the passageway. "If I don't return in a reasonable time, go back to the end of this passage and turn right. There is a trapdoor leading to an underground tunnel which will take you out of the city." The wall rumbled closed before Corsar could protest.

Deveryn prowled up the spiral staircase, checking every dark corner for a trap. Graylin might have prepared a surprise or two to prevent anyone from reaching the Eldinisti woman. Cautiously, Deveryn traversed the steps and avoided suspicious tiles until he stood in front of a large wooden door. He put his ear to the hard surface and listened. No one appeared to be inside and he entered the room.

A horrid odor wafted around his nostrils. Nauseated, he stepped over broken tables, smashed vials, and books to make his way to the opposite side of the room where Elisara hung lifelessly from shackles on the wall. Deveryn found a charred corpse at her feet and pushed the body away. He then searched for a key to her restraints and found a set on a nearby table.

"I'm going to get you out of here." Deveryn unlocked the chains and then gently eased the woman against the wall. He glanced ruefully into her sea-green eyes that appeared vacant, haunted. Deveryn's heart pounded with sorrow and a deep hate for his king festered inside him.

"Deveryn...they...they tortured me," Elisara stuttered. "They made me set a man on fire. Why are your people so cruel?"

"Cruel?" came Graylin's voice from behind them.

Deveryn turned around to see Graylin and Amrahar enter the chamber with six guards. He reached for his sword, and then decided against it seeing the guards already had their crossbows trained on him.

"You're people rather see us extinct, than let us into your city," Graylin said. "Is that not cruel?" He narrowed his eyes at Deveryn. "You disappoint me, Deveryn. I try to be tolerant, but you continue to defy me. Tomorrow, you will stand trial for treason. Take them both away."

Deveryn bit his lip and picked up Elisara in his arms, his heart sinking in despair. The guards pushed him toward the chamber entrance and he stopped briefly to give the king one last look of scorn.

Amrahar crunched his foot over the corpse. His flesh was pale, withered, and his hair gray weeds. In a croaky voice, he said, "If you are planning on taking Sundamar, plan wisely, or thousands of Deviskari lives are at stake."

"Do we have a choice?" Graylin said, scratching his chin. "If we can take their city, we can survive without the Moon Spirit Dancer. We know they have control of fire, but can they set an entire army in flames? And how deadly are they with a weapon in their hands? Fire cannot be their only weapon."

"Oh, not just fire, my king. They have mastery of all the elements. Elisara destroyed my chamber conjuring wind."

The king nodded and examined the debris. "Magic can be countered. I need to see how they handle weapons. Send my rangers out to capture a few of our elusive neighbors. I doubt Elisara is capable of handling a sword, and I want to see how one of their warriors fair with steel. If they prove incapable -- then I will take Sundamar."

## 8

Inside the king's private chamber, Kehlyra pranced quietly over the flagstone floor toward a small alcove where she knew the entrance to the treasury resided. She carried a blowgun; it was carved and painted to resemble a black flute and loaded with a paralyzing dart she intended to use on the guardian ape. A slight wind whistled in her ears and she gazed toward the balcony wondering if the king stood outside, quietly watching her. She stood frozen for the moment, undecided whether to flee or stay. Then she saw a shape move on the balcony, and in a panic, she turned to flee. Keeping her head turned toward the balcony, she rushed toward the entrance and stumbled over a chair. The blowgun flew out of her hands and landed at Graylin's feet.

Graylin stomped over to her. "Why are you in my chamber?"

"I...I came to play you a song," she said, unconvincingly.

Graylin picked up the black reed tube and the inserted dart fell to the floor. He handed Kehlyra the weapon. "I'm eager to listen to your flute. Or did you intend to poison me before your tune filled the palace?"

"Forgive me, I--"

Graylin slapped her. "I know you love Deveryn. Did you think killing me would free him from punishment?"

"You're possessed by a devil, my king," Kehlyra said, red-faced. "You must listen to me, the orb is manipulating you."

"You bitch," Graylin said, lifting the girl up by the strands of her long raven-black hair. He scowled and cut a handful of locks with a dagger. She dropped to the floor with a moan.

Kehlyra ran her fingers through the shortened hair and then spit on the king.

"You are confined to this chamber until I decide your punishment." Graylin poked his head out into the hallway and informed one of the servants to summon a pair of guards. When they arrived, he said, "She is not to leave this room. And if she tries, kill her."

***

Corsar grew tired of waiting and decided to explore the hidden passages. Perhaps he might find the orb on his own. He sauntered down the corridors, checking each dead end for trigger stones to open the passages, and eventually lost his way. Deveryn warned him not to wander, and now he found himself condemned to these corridors.

"Damn you, Deveryn," he said, unable to tell one passage from another. His torch flickered from a wispy breeze coming from a wall covered with cracks and chips. He ran his hand along the surface, scratching the impediments around the area until he pried a brick loose. Next, he used his sword to chip around the mortar to enlarge the opening. If anyone heard the noise, he expected guards to be waiting for him on the other side, but continued nonetheless.

Scraping his chest and arms on fragmented bricks, Corsar managed to squeeze through the opening and came face to face with a huge dragon mouth filled with sword-length teeth. He raised his weapon to strike, and then grinned sheepishly when he realized he faced an ivory statue.

Sighing with relief, he glanced around the rest of the chamber. The room contained wooden chests, weapons, and armor sets. Chain, plate, scale, and leather outfits hung on display dummies. On the walls, shimmering under bright lanterns, were mounted longswords, great swords, scimitars, bastard swords, and small throwing weapons of peculiar designs. In the center of the room, on a marble stand, was a circular silver amulet Corsar presumed was the one Deveryn needed.

Feeling vulnerable, Corsar retrieved a chain shirt and slipped the protection over his tunic. The armor's artisanship was superb. The piece felt slightly heavier than a leather vest. With his own blade chipped and dull, he took a bastard sword from a jeweled stand in the middle of the room. The blade felt strange in his hand. The weight of the longsword felt more comfortable to him so he decided to keep them both. The pommel of the bastard sword, shaped like a howling silver wolf's head, had two blue sapphire eyes and upon the blade were engraved seven symbols. His fondness for wolves compelled him to take the blade, even though he had little chance of returning home to display such a prize.

A sliding door on the north wall rumbled open. Corsar dashed behind the dragon statue and peered toward the opening. Graylin entered the chamber holding clumps of black hair in one hand and a dagger in the other. The king opened a chest of garments and tossed the hair clippings within.

"You will learn to love me, Kehlyra," Graylin whispered.

Corsar's sword shook in his hands, thinking the king heard the beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. He stood frozen like a statue, his heart pounded, and his legs refused to move. Why was he hesitating? This was his chance to kill the king.

Graylin closed the chest and then stopped in front of the empty jeweled stand. His faced hardened and he pushed over the stand. "Kehlyra! If I find you took Deveryn's sword, you will join him in death. I should make you plunge the killing blow into his heart! No matter, after tomorrow he will no longer be alive for you to love." Graylin rushed out of the chamber and the room sealed shut behind him.

Corsar waited a while, infuriated he allowed the king to leave, and then got his legs to move. He passed by the silver amulet, a circular silver disc engraved with a sun, moon, and stars. It had to be the one Deveryn needed. He lifted it from the stand and then stepped over a stone that sunk to the pressure of his step. Another wall rumbled behind him and he cursed.

A large shadow fluttered across the floor, followed by a nerve-wrenching roar. The hellish sound was enough to make Corsar rush to the chamber exit and slam his hands on the wall to alert the king he wanted out. The chamber exit began to slide open and he raised his sword to attack, but instead of facing Graylin, Kehlyra crawled along the floor toward him.

Kehlyra looked up at Corsar from her hands and knees, tears streaming across her cheeks. Her hair was tousled and shortened, falling unevenly to the height of her shoulders. The rosy glow Corsar remembered she had from their meeting in the dungeon, gave way to her natural pallid tone.

"Please help me," she begged.

Corsar remained reticent, feeling a chill down his spine, hearing the lumbering feet of some creature stomp toward him. He spun around and a large furry hand slammed against his chest, catapulting him backward. The warrior landed on his back, bewildered, and turned to see a huge nine-foot white ape with fiery red eyes ambling toward him. When he regained his composure, he picked up his longsword and brazenly charged the beast.

The giant ape picked up a gold coffer and hurled the chest at the oncoming warrior. Corsar dove forward to the beast's side, barely avoiding the gold box. Then Corsar rolled out of the way of a fierce attack aimed to crush his spine; but the ape's fist missed the shifty Aldrashan and smashed against the stone floor instead.

Corsar stumbled out to the main chamber to get some needed space from the colossal brute. A pair of guards, hearing the commotion, entered the room and flanked the advancing ape. They soon regretted it. The ape grabbed one of them by the throat and crushed his larynx. The other guard swung his sword at the beast, but the ape caught his arm and snapped it in half. Growling, the ape continued to pound the man's chest with fists hard as iron. The guard had no chance to withstand the pounding and crumbled to the ground, his heart impaled by splintered bone.

The strength of the creature was astonishing. Corsar watched the ape grab the top of a marble table and raise the hefty piece in the air. The strength alone to pick up the weighty table confounded him. The young warrior kept his distance as the beast circled him. The ape's menacing gaze followed his every move, just waiting for the opportune time to smash Corsar's head with the marble piece.

The beast roared; its arms tiring from holding the marble slab. In an attempt to trap Corsar in the corner of the room, the ape rushed forward and then stumbled in pain crashing the marble top on the floor. Corsar caught sight of Kehlyra backing away from the white predator and realized she had found and buried the bastard sword deep within its hamstring. The beast tried to stand, stumbled, and then angrily tossed the sword to the floor.

Taking advantage of the ape's hindered movements, Corsar circled the beast and continually jabbed at the creature with his sword. The efforts were wasted. The ape's hide was too thick for deep penetration. Frustrated, the warrior tried to lunge the blade straight at the ape's chest with all his strength. The blade snapped upon impact and the creature's hand clutched around Corsar's throat, lifted the warrior in the air, howled in pain, and then dropped him to the floor. Kehlyra had stabbed the muscled leg again with the bastard sword, almost severing the appendage completely.

Blood soaked the furry limb and spread over the floor as the white ape turned on the woman with drool dripping around its toothy mouth. Corsar blocked its path and futilely swung his broken longsword to keep the creature back. The ape swatted away the innocuous strikes and ripped through Corsar's chain shirt with lengthy nails, baring the warrior's flesh and blood. The chain vest prevented the nails from hitting vital organs, though the opening left Corsar feeling vulnerable.

Kehlyra slid the bastard sword towards the beleaguered warrior. "Corsar, take the sword!"

Expecting no difference in changing weapons, Corsar picked up the sword and rushed the ape. The creature growled and opened its arms in defiance, waiting to crush the warrior. Corsar's sword whistled across the air, meeting an arm meant to entrap him in a fierce embrace. The results surprised him. Instead of making a superficial wound, the keen edge of the bastard sword cut clean through the creature's arm.

Corsar stepped back in surprise and realized the blade he held carried an enchantment. With renewed confidence, he began flailing away, forcing the beast to back up. The ape roared as blood spilled from its bloody stump and smeared the floor crimson. The assault was too much for the ape to handle and the monster tumbled on its back. Corsar wasted no time and plunged his blade into the ape's meaty chest.

"Are there any other Deviskari pets roaming around the palace I should know about?" Corsar asked, glancing toward Kehlyra.

Kehlyra turned her head away. "The only other beast roaming in this palace is Graylin. Look what he did to me."

"Why did Graylin hurt you?"

"Jealously. He knows I have feelings for Deveryn. He said...I..." Kehlyra fumbled over her words. "He is going to have Deveryn executed tomorrow."

"I see."

Kehlyra's tears smudged the blue makeup around her eyes; the dispersed coloring running down her cheeks made the girl appear like a hideous demon. "I told Deveryn I would get the amulet for him. I don't know what to do. Deveryn told me to wait here, but I must help him." She looked at the makeup on her hands and shrugged. "I'm filthy," she said, moving to a cistern. The dire reflection within the water of the cistern brought more tears.

"Is this what you came for?" Corsar asked, holding up the silver disc by the attached chain.

"Yes," Kehlyra answered. "What are we going to do?"

Corsar put the amulet in his pocket. "Pray to your god. Because if we don't come up with a plan soon, that is where Deveryn is heading."

## 9

Ryshara held firm to the reins of her mount as wind swished the sands around her and Sharael. They pushed their horses southward under a blazing sun, fatigued and dehydrated, finding an empty wasteland that offered them only suffering.

"She is lost to us, Ryshara," Sharael lamented. "Come with me back to Sundamar before we end up buried out here. We have little water left and no food. Be reasonable."

"A bit further is all I ask," said Ryshara, a hint of madness sparkling from her eyes over the obsession to find Elisara.

The rough terrain impeded the horses from moving more than a slug's pace. Hooves pounded deep in the sand and Ryshara felt her horse slowing. She tried to urge the animal onward with a gentle kick, and the animal stopped completely. "He won't move," she said to Sharael.

Sharael brought her horse alongside Ryshara. "What is wrong?"

"We've pushed the horses too much."

"Ryshara, let's return to Sundamar before we die out here."

Ryshara gave Sharael a half-smile and assured her they were close to finding Elisara. Despite her eagerness to push ahead, the territory around her looked unfamiliar and secretly she worried neither knew the way back to Sundamar. If they waited for nightfall, the stars might guide them home, but the night brought added dangers and obstacles. Fierce predators came out when the moon rose in the sky and one wrong turn in the dark might leave them in quicksand. Ryshara decided she needed rest before making any further decisions.

"We'll find shelter and talk," Ryshara said. "I know Elisara is alive. I refuse to give up."

"We recently passed an abandoned shelter," Sharael said.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Ryshara furrowed her brow. "The shelter may have contained clues to Elisara's whereabouts. Someone might be hiding there or holding her prisoner."

"The shelter was only a few wooden planks buried in the sand. It might be remnants of a caravan or camp, nothing of relevance. Sorry, I failed to mention to you earlier."

While shaking her head, Ryshara let out an aggravated humph. She took the reins of her horse and walked back to the area in question with Sharael in the lead. When they arrived, Ryshara spotted the wooden planks and inspected them closer. Sand covered a good portion of the wood and she brushed off each piece until they were all exposed. Then she pried one loose and peeked underneath.

"A shelter," Ryshara said, staring at an eight-foot drop. On the bottom of the pit, she saw a passageway. "Help me get the rest of these planks removed. We may find valuable supplies here. I am running out of water."

Ryshara clung to the edge of the pit and then dropped down. Sharael followed next, landing awkwardly on her ankle.

"Oh, my ankle," Sharael cried in pain, trying to remove her boot.

"Why didn't you wait up top for me?" Ryshara grumbled. She pulled off Sharael's boot and examined the wound. The ankle had already begun to swell and Ryshara gently touched the tender spot.

"Ouch! Don't touch me." Sharael pushed Ryshara's hand away.

"Wait here, silly girl."

"No, I am coming with you." Sharael slid her boot back on and stood up. She grimaced in pain and hobbled forward. "I can walk."

"Come on then. You are a stubborn woman at times."

The two followed the passage, brushing aside cobwebs in their way, until they reached a wooden door. Ryshara guessed the shelter was an ancient hut buried long ago by a storm. The reason the planks covered the place puzzled her unless someone was hiding an item of value. Her curiosity quickened her steps and to her disappointment, after she opened the entrance, saw nothing special within.

A few wooden crates filled with picks, hand-axes, shovels, rope, and oil lanterns proved useless to the women. Ryshara found a small barrel, half filled with sand, and her stomach growled to remind her how long ago she tasted food. She picked up the barrel and began emptying the contents out through a small hole in the side. Disappointed, she said, "Not exactly going to quench our thirst or feed us." She threw down the barrel, surprised to hear an object bounce around inside. "Something is in it."

"Remove the lid," Sharael said.

Ryshara picked up the barrel again and pried the cover off. She pulled out a horn. "Why would someone put a horn in a barrel?"

"Maybe they used it for drinking," Sharael suggested. "Get rid of it."

Curious, Ryshara examined the horn. If it were a drinking horn, a small hole at the tip would not stop any liquid from dripping out. She put the pointed end to her lips and blew. The sound made them both scream in agony.

"Are you crazy, Ryshara?" Sharael shouted, covering her ears in pain, though neither she nor Ryshara could hear. "I told you to get rid of it, not blow into it." Ryshara put up her hands in dismay.

Unable to understand the words leaving her friend's lips, Ryshara dropped the horn and wiped a drop of blood from her ears. "You were right. I should have gotten rid of it. This must be a scouting post. I hear the Deviskari use horns to warn each other of danger." Sharael shook her head, not hearing one word of what her friend said either.

After the ringing stopped in both women's ears, they decided to leave the abandoned shelter. They walked back to the pit and Ryshara lifted Sharael up to the surface first. She waited for her friend to reach down, but instead heard a struggle and then Sharael screamed.

Ryshara called up to Sharael, unable to see the girl. No answer came.

A rope dropped from above, nearly hitting Ryshara on the head. She jumped back, thinking it was a snake. After settling her heart to a calming beat, she took hold of the rope. Who was at the other end? Did the man in the silver mask follow them or hear the horn? She bit her lip, frightened to climb up. Is Sharael dead?

Ryshara's face turned pale and sweaty as she climbed up the rope. At the top of the pit, she found Sharael unconscious and laying on the ground. Eight cloaked figures surrounded and moved toward her with outstretched hands. Ryshara reached for her sword, took a blow on the head, and dropped to the ground unconscious.

## 10

Corsar stood alone on the sunlit balcony, bloodied and weary from his battle with the giant ape. He held the wolf blade in his hand, admiring the artisanship, envisioning the enchanted steel easily severing the malevolent king's head. If only he had a second chance at Graylin.

Kehlyra sauntered over the balcony. The muck and blood now washed from her face, she looked as Corsar remembered her on their first meeting in the dungeon, except for the shortened hair. She eyed the sword and said, "That is Deveryn's sword."

"He must have been careless to lose such a precious sword," Corsar remarked. He ran his fingers over the pommel, around the carving of the wolf's head, amazed by the intricate details.

"The sword means a lot to him. It was named after a wolf companion of his named Tehalin."

"Deveryn had a wolf as a pet?" Corsar asked doubtfully. "I find the idea difficult to believe since the animals are wild and cannot be tamed."

"Tehalin was a companion," Kehlyra corrected. "They shared a unique bond. Only the ignorant tries to tame a wild wolf and then kills them when they fail. Wolves are smart and know who their enemies are."

"I too have a fondness for wolves and condemn those who try to kill them." Corsar lowered the blade and then said, "I prefer not to wield enchanted weapons. Magic seems to always demand blood when you least expect it."

"I can assure you the magic in that blade is pure and will never turn on you," answered Kehlyra. "But none of that matters. We need to find a way to free Deveryn."

"If he is heavily guarded, then how are..." Corsar never finished his words. A ball of silver light crashed against the balcony and cracked the balustrade. Kehlyra fell back and landed on her rump. Corsar stood motionless; his eyes clung to skies where strange humanoid creatures with giant wings hurled bright silvery balls of light at different parts of the palace. Soldiers, standing on the parapets, tried to avoid the deadly projectiles, but ended up a pile of shriveled flesh. And when no one stood to protect entry to the palace, the creatures descended.

Corsar stood beguiled, unable to break from his trance of these remarkable beings. "I don't believe those things are too fond of your people."

"They are Norgrafar!" Kehlyra cried. "We must get to Deveryn. Follow me."

"What in all the hells is a Norgrafar?"

"They are demons."

"What?" Corsar's mouth dropped.

"Hurry," Kehlyra implored, tugging the warrior by the arm. "We need to find Deveryn before they kill us all."

Corsar snapped himself out of the trance and followed behind the timid girl. He noticed every bone in her body quivered -- and he seemed to overlook the fact, that so did his.

## 11

The dawn light broke through the stained-glass windows of the palace corridors, casting columns of colored patterns across the flagstone floor. The light provided no comfort to the palace inhabitants and a dread silence dominated the long hallways. Then, as if a sudden burst of thunder rocked the air, the sound of several booted feet sent a tremor within, flushing out servants from rooms to witness six mail-clad guards escorting their prisoners to the great hall for judgment. Deveryn and Elisara were among them, shackled, and the servants whispered among themselves that the pair marched to their doom.

Deveryn glowered at his captors; they were mindless pawns to a blind, malevolent king. If the chance presented itself, he vowed to wrap his chains around Graylin's neck. Despite his anger, Deveryn's demeanor softened glancing into the sullen eyes of Elisara. She endured mental and physical torment since coming here, and he found it difficult to shake the guilt for bringing her to Talmirok. Strangely, however, he did not regret it. He was enamored by her, no doubt, and found the spell she weaved around him hard to relinquish.

Prowling behind them, a pair of tiger-lynxes snarled when either Deveryn or Elisara drifted from the column. Deveryn gave the Eldinisti a wink, and then twisted his wrists to incite the animals further. Elisara, noticing the animals were distracted, tested the shackles around her own wrists, and to her surprise, the shackles slipped off. The closest tiger-lynx saw the dangling shackle and leaped at the woman, bringing the Eldinisti's light frame to the ground with ease. Elisara cried out as she fell and a heavy paw clamped down on her chest. She lied motionless, gasping for air, until a guard came over and pushed the animal off.

"Eldinisti whore," the guard shouted, violently yanking Elisara up by the arm. He secured the shackles back around her wrist and then smacked the woman in the jaw. "Next time, I'll let my pets feast on you."

Seeing the blood drip from Elisara's mouth, Deveryn kicked the guard hard in the stomach with his foot. The guard fell to the floor and before he could get up, Deveryn put his foot on the man's throat. "Try that again and I'll crush your throat."

"Get off him," another guard came over and shoved Deveryn aside. "If you attack one of us again, we won't wait for the king to execute you."

Deveryn frowned, and then eyed a shadow flickering upon the floor. He looked toward the windows, and soon, everyone followed his gaze.

"What are those things?" Elisara whispered.

Dark humanoid winged shapes appeared behind the enormous stained glass panels. The dark shapes grew larger and larger, and Deveryn believed the menacing creatures were going to crash through the window. He drove Elisara to the floor, and a second later, the windows burst inward. Guards crumbled to the floor, their faces and throats impaled with shards of glass. The ones lucky enough to remain unscathed freed their weapons to confront the intruders. Deveryn pulled Elisara up and shoved her down the hall before turning around to see what had invaded Talmirok.

A dozen winged horrors, resembling ghostly flying elves with moon colored flesh and long silvery hair, tore through the guards. Their armor was awe-inspiring, gold plate mail that reflected the sunlight with a blinding intensity. Their weapons were equally impressive. Each wielded a double-bladed staff enshrouded in a blue hue.

Gazing deep within their glowing, penetrating, silvery eyes, Deveryn's flesh tingled. "I thought never to see the likes of those creatures in person. The witch must be forcing Kiyasca to--"

"Move, Deveryn!" Elisara shoved him down the hall, taking the breath from his lungs with a forceful shove to the chest.

Blood splashed the walls as the creatures swung their weapons in lethal strikes. Deveryn guessed the creatures made their way towards the great hall to face Graylin. He kept clear of them, watching the slaughter from afar, knowing how easy their victims fell to a single stroke of their blades. A group of guards came charging from the opposite end and Deveryn raised his hands up in surrender. The men ran right past him. None cared to carry out Graylin's order to bring Deveryn and Elisara to their execution.

Talsarin was among the group. The warder confronted one of the devils and then found himself quickly on the defensive. The creature whaled away at him, and Deveryn saw the warder was outmatched.

"Stay here," Deveryn shouted to Elisara, hoping she heard his voice above the calamity. He scurried through the passage like a prowling tiger, weaving his way in and out of the chaos of steel to emerge behind the gold-plated devil standing over a weakened Talsarin. Deveryn slipped his chained wrists around the moon-colored neck and pulled back to choke the life out of the invader. The creature gasped for air and then went limp.

"My thanks, Deveryn," Talsarin said, tossing a pair of keys to Deveryn. "We are even."

Deveryn nodded, and then rushed back to Elisara.

"Are you crazy?" Elisara hollered at him.

"We wouldn't get far in chains," he replied, using the keys to free them. "If Kehlyra listened to me, she should be in Graylin's private chamber. Let's get out of here."

The clattering of metal feet charged in Deveryn's direction and he whirled about to face the incensed intruder. Before he could make a move, Elisara stepped in front of him and began chanting. Clouds of dust swirled around her and then the creature flew backward as a gust of wind slammed against him. Deveryn smiled, impressed by the Eldinisti's command of the elements.

Deveryn grasped her hand and they fled through the palace halls, the clash of weapons and cries of death fading behind them. He often glanced behind, wondering if the king could withstand the attack. If Azathea did control Kiyasca, and these monsters came to claim the Soulcatcher, then it might be a blessing to the problem at hand. The Norgrafar would return the wicked orb to the witch, and in turn, free Kiyasca. Or so he hoped.

"You have remarkable talents, Elisara," Deveryn said, panting, and slowing down to a walk to catch his breath.

"What were those things?" she asked.

"They are Norgrafar, slaves to the Moon Spirit Dancer. It is something unique to her, and I don't understand it, but if you taste her blood, then you will change into one of those demons. Kiyasca would not have ordered them to attack the city unless she was under the influence of the witch. You should have burned the one trying to follow us. They are tenacious, and carry grudges."

"Killing comes easy for you," Elisara said, frowning. "I told you. My people forbid us to use magic for killing. I acted hastily in your room setting fire to that assassin and I pray to Lothkus to forgive me."

"No god condemns their followers for defending themselves," Deveryn said with agitation, and then apologized when he saw the pout on Elisara's face. He hesitated pressing the topic, deciding he exasperated the issue enough.

Deveryn heard footsteps running towards them and turned his head in the direction. He let out a sigh of relief noticing it was Kehlyra and Corsar.

"Deveryn!" Kehlyra embraced him so tight he had trouble breathing.

"Did you get the amulet?" he asked, gently pushing her back at arms' length to regain his breath.

"I have it," Corsar said, handing it over to Deveryn.

Deveryn studied the silver object and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I have seen this before. It belongs to Kiyasca. Graylin must have searched through her chamber and found it." A look of concern brushed over his expression, remembering past conversation with the Moon Spirit Dancer about the amulet. After a moment of reflection, he said, "Kiyasca never revealed to me the origins of the amulet, but she did stress a great importance to keep it protected. We must leave the city before the king has a chance to reclaim it."

They departed the hallway and made their way into the king's bedchamber. Deveryn was surprised to see blood and rubble spread across the entire room, and of course, a giant dead ape. Across from the giant beast, in the corner of the room, he noticed a single oak coffer, seemingly used as a chair, that rested in front of a large wooden table with end corners in the shape of dragon heads. Upon the table, spread about, were maps, scrolls, a leather pouch, and a quill pen.

Light flickered over the table from a large chandelier with twelve lit candles. Deveryn studied the maps and scrolls and then placed them inside the pouch. "These may give us some clues to the madness that has suddenly taken control of our city."

Corsar remained transfixed on a mural of a Deviskari woman with long black hair, painted high on the wall across from the bed. "Who is she?"

"She was the queen," Deveryn replied. "She was like a mother to me, until someone took her life. People suspected she was murdered because they felt Graylin's love for her crippled him."

Elisara placed her hand on Deveryn's shoulder. "Do you believe she crippled him?"

"No, he is a strong man," Deveryn said. "His lack of bias towards other cultures infuriated the people. My kind wanted to dominate the world, and he preferred to remain isolated. The people felt these were my mother's views and she kept him from conquering other kingdoms."

Deveryn stepped in front of a bookshelf and found a lever behind one of the ancient tombs. The wall slid open to reveal a long cobwebbed stairway leading down into the underground caverns. "Hurry, down here. There are supplies and clothes in a chamber below, and a passage out of the city."

Corsar and Elisara entered the stairway, but Kehlyra remained behind. "What's wrong with you?" Deveryn said to the girl.

"If I leave now, I can never return." Kehlyra took a step back from the entrance. "And I feel you do not want me."

"Kehlyra, there is no time for self-pity," Deveryn said. "Please, before Graylin or the Norgrafar come."

Kehlyra face went ashen. "And the moment we leave Talmirok, what then? Will you send me off on my own?"

"Kehlyra, I will not abandon you," Deveryn said, sweeping her in his arms. She began to sob. "My heart may be with another, but I promise to protect you in this world I know is strange to you."

Kehlyra nodded somberly and then entered the stairway.

Deveryn remained behind, taking one last look around the chamber. "Farewell. I doubt I shall ever see this place again."

## 12

Men screamed in the palace halls and died. Graylin sat in the great hall taking pleasure in the carnage, for each death fed the precious black orb. He held up the relic in admiration, and felt energy flow through every inch of his body. The fact that Deviskari souls became trapped in the prison did not bother him. It reinforced his belief his people were willing to risk all for him.

The hall doors swung inward and thirteen Norgrafar, clutching their bloodied double-bladed swords, entered. Graylin motioned to his guards to refrain from attacking. The Norgrafar stopped within the middle of the chamber and then one of these moon colored creatures approached the dais, scowling at the king. Black runes covered the moon-colored face and Graylin guessed he looked upon the Norgrafar leader. The king remained seated in his chair, caressing the pearl, waiting for the Norgrafar leader to speak.

"Graylin," the creature hissed in a deep voice. "We've come for the Soulcatcher. Azathea offers you one last chance to comply or there will be more death."

"Yes, I would like see more death," Graylin bellowed. "I'm also interested in hearing the story from her own mouth on why she keeps these souls imprisoned."

"The Soulcatcher is not her creation. She wants it destroyed. Be thankful she does not burn your city to obtain it."

Graylin's face hardened. "Azathea is welcomed to come and demolish my city. I am curious to see her strength demonstrated. I assume your presence here means Kiyasca is her slave. Or does Kiyasca conspire with the witch?"

A Norgrafar hastily entered the hall and bellowed, "The remaining Deviskari have fled the palace."

"Your people are wise to flee, Graylin," the Norgrafar leader said. "Those giving their lives will surely lose their souls to the Soulcatcher."

"If I find any deserters, their souls will be sacrificed to my new treasure." Graylin slowly rose from his seat. "Perhaps I should feed you to the Soulcatcher, first."

The Norgrafar's lips trembled with rage. "Give it to me and save your people. I grow impatient by your impertinence."

"Of that, I am sure," Graylin said. "I want to show you a new trick I learned. "You see, when we invoke magic, we must draw upon the energies of the earth. The process is a strenuous one because the earth does not give up its energy without a fight. In holding the Soulcatcher, I felt tremendous energy freely given. I tried to use it as a catalyst and found I could invoke spells a hundred times their normal potency. Let me demonstrate." He held up the orb and began chanting. The Norgrafar all reacted as one, swarming the throne, ready to strike down the king. Graylin's eyes, for an instant, turned black and then a green vaporous cloud swirled around his enemies. They cried in agony as the infernal smoke drained the life from their bodies, and then their flesh withered within suits of armor until they all dropped to the floor.

"These demons are nothing more than useless pawns," Graylin proclaimed. He raked over the countenances of the people in attendance, noticing the fear in their eyes, fear of him. Strangely, the feeling felt good. "We hide in the desert and are scorned by others. A city not far from here drowns in an abundance of water while we suffer from lack of it. What kind of life is this? We should live free and not as slaves to the desert or anyone else. I once thought we could live as equals with the other kingdoms in the land, when they see us as inferior. We are not inferior. We deserve better than to rot in this cesspool of decay."

The guards trembled and listened with expressions of disbelief; the smell of dead flesh filled their nostrils. Graylin stepped off the dais and picked up a corpse with one hand. A smug grin crossed his lips and then he let the body drop with a clang. "This is just the beginning. It is time to give our people a better future. With this orb, we shall take Sundamar. And then...We shall punish our persecutors across the land!"

The men in the hall suddenly cheered, all except Amrahar. The wizened advisor scowled and then faded to the shadows as if he had heard these very words before -- words of a madman.

## 13

It seemed the secret passage of stone steps spiraled downward for an eternity. The four fleeing companions descended swiftly down the dark path; each eager to escape the madness within the palace. Deveryn rushed past the others to scout the bottom chamber for any surprises, and once satisfied the room was clear of any dangers, he signaled to his friends to enter.

The chamber resembled a disorganized bazaar and had an eerie glow, the illumination brought on by glowing red crystals attached to iron holders on the walls. On the right side of the chamber were racks holding longswords, bastard swords, falchions, and scimitars; there were enough weapons here to equip a small legion of men. Beside the racks, longbows hung from iron pegs, and below these weapons, the steel tips of arrows protruded from small barrels. On the opposite side of the weapons were small wooden chests overflowing with clothes and supplies, enough variety to accommodate all needs.

Deveryn slipped on a leather jerkin, preferring to wear flexible armor. He suggested to the others to dress lightly; the sturdy winds and unforgiving terrain made walking difficult in the desert, and the less they carried the better chance they had of traversing the region. The Deviskari was also grateful to be reunited with Tehalin, and his eyes beamed with pleasure when Corsar presented him with the sword.

Elisara, however, needed no guidance, for her skills at surviving the desert surpassed all those gathered in the chamber. She exchanged her garments for a short green cotton skirt and a leather vest with front lacing, and on her feet, she pulled on a pair of thigh-high buckskin boots. Among the weapons, she took a scimitar, bow, and a quiver of arrows. Although she lacked skills wielding a sword, she was an expert archer.

Grumbling at one of the tables, Corsar tore off his own bloodied rags and found replacement clothing. Leather jerkins and scale mail vests caught his attention, but none fit to his satisfaction. Instead, he slipped back on his chain shirt. Part of the chain links hung by a broken ring and he tugged the loose piece off. "Your people have a talent for crafting armor of little weight, though it lacks durability," he said to Deveryn.

"Our steel is made from a unique iron source," Deveryn explained. "It is easy to bear, but lacks the strength of Aldrashan steel. It is more practical for us given our home is in the desert. We find wearing plate mail crafted from Deviskari steel tolerable in the heat compared to the armor of other cultures."

Corsar nodded in understanding and outfitted himself with a longsword and dagger. He sheathed the sword and then swung the scabbard strap over his shoulder for easy access. For long journeys, he often secured the strap across his back, but this made drawing the sword nearly impossible. And he was sure his sword would see plenty of bloodshed in the future.

Deveryn watched his companions prepare, and soon became concerned when he found Kehlyra sitting against the wall, sulking. He knew she battled her feelings for him, and it broke his heart. She was an attractive woman, outwardly showed her love for him, but he desired Elisara. The Deviskari women were often haughty, and Elisara's unpretentious demeanor seemed refreshing to him. He crouched down beside Kehlyra and half-smiled. "You won't survive long in the desert dressed as you are."

"I don't think I'll survive no matter where I go," Kehlyra said dejectedly.

"I am sorry," Deveryn said. "I know you have been through a lot. I know you are mentally distraught over what our king has become. I know you yearn for my love, and I cannot return your feelings. But your friendship is very important to me, and I need your help if we are to save Kiyasca."

"I am not sulking because of you, or even our king," Kehlyra said. "I feel like I don't belong anywhere. Out there in the world, I will be marginalized, despised, even hunted because of my talents. And in our city, I feel an outcast. I've studied magic from other cultures, ancient magic, and have surpassed what our people can do. But all it has gotten me is scorn. Amrahar once tried to make me suppress my magic and called it blasphemy. Magic has always been a part of me, but it feels like a curse."

"I understand your consternation," Elisara said. "Ever since I left Sundamar, my magic has been nothing but a curse to me. At times, I wish magic did not exist in the world."

"You cannot let Amrahar or anyone else oppress your desire for knowledge," Deveryn said to Kehlyra. "Your skill with sorcery may save our lives." He turned to Elisara. "As your magic has already saved ours several times."

"I won't argue with you, Deveryn," Elisara said. "We obviously disagree on the use of magic."

Deveryn nodded in agreement and then removed an iron rod from the wall. "We had better be moving before the king decides to search for us."

The group exited the chamber and entered an adjoining rocky tunnel. Deveryn took the lead and repeatedly peered behind them, checking for enemies, but saw only the scattering of beetles and spiders dangling from webs. When the roaring sounds of gushing water danced on his eardrums, he knew they neared the end of the tunnel.

The group entered an enormous cavern filled with thousands of fire crystals. These crystals filled the entire cavern with a bright light like tiny miniature stars. Underneath these sparkling crystals was a waterfall emptying into a nearly depleted river. A wooden contraption, comprised of ropes, pulleys, and a water wheel, carried half-filled buckets up to the roof of the cavern.

Kehlyra walked down to the river's bank and sipped the water. After a third scoop, she screamed and pulled back as if something tried to bite her hand.

Deveryn scampered to her side, unable to determine the cause of the distress, until seeing a furry paw sticking out of the water. He searched around the bank and realized the origin of the sunken creature. Along the bank of the river were dozens of small dead animals he recognized as murrats. Murrats often came here to feed on the small fish in the river. Their bodies were three to four feet long with brown fur, bushy tails, and small fangs protruding from short snouts.

"What did this to them?" Elisara inquired, her lips curled in disgust.

Deveryn examined one of the nearby bodies. He turned the carcass over with his sword, and saw several bite wounds. He moved to another body, and then another, all displayed the same wounds. "These animals killed each other."

"Why? Are they cannibalistic by nature?" Corsar asked.

"No," Deveryn said irritably. "Let us continue."

The group followed the river and it split into numerous tunnels. Deveryn trusted he selected the correct passage and took the lead once again. Having an uneasy feeling someone followed, he stopped occasionally to look behind. Did the Norgrafar Elisara knocked back with her wind spell pursue them? The sooner they got out of these tunnels, the better.

The passage again opened to an enormous area filled with hundreds of dragon bones. Deveryn's skin grew clammy at the ghastly sight. He remembered the tales the king relayed to him on the demise of these creatures. Over five hundred years ago, kingdoms hunted dragons for their precious scales. Dragon scales made the best armor in the land, nearly impenetrable to steel. The Deviskari were responsible for slaughtering over half the population of these remarkable beasts, luring the creatures to this cavern where a spell trapped them, and left them to the mercy of butchers. Over a thousand pieces of scale armor was created and locked in a secret vault by the king's order. Deveryn never discovered why the king locked the armor away, but felt his ancestors tried to bury some dark secret.

"What happened here?" Corsar asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Deveryn, what is wrong?" Elisara asked.

Dark shadows fell on Deveryn's entire face. "Seeing the bones here, only reminds me of a terrible past."

"Deveryn, what happened here," Elisara repeated Corsar's question, shuddering.

"A despicable thing," Deveryn said gravely. "When my ancestors came to this land, they hunted dragons until the creatures became extinct; a terrible fate for any species."

"Every kingdom hunted them, though your people seemed the most prolific in killing them by the number of bones here," Corsar said.

"Yes, we do have a tendency to destroy without thinking about the consequence."

"I feel a strange aura here," Kehlyra said. "I don't want to stay here anymore."

"You are sensing the dragon spirits still lingering here," Deveryn said. "A terrible feeling, I agree. Lonely, scared, trapped."

"Please, let us move on from this place," Kehlyra pleaded.

"I feel it too," Elisara commented. "It feels as if their spirits are somehow still here in these caverns. No species deserves to suffer in this manner."

Deveryn nodded. "Come then."

"Deveryn!" Elisara hollered, trying to warn him of an attacking Murrat. With a horrid wail, the animal rushed toward Deveryn, teeth gnashing. Corsar intercepted the attack, kicking the animal in the side. The creature tumbled in the dirt and then Corsar pinned the thing down with his sword. The animal screeched and thrashed about trying to free itself. Deveryn knelt to examine the animal closer.

In all his years of raising the dead to aid him, Deveryn recognized one common feature he saw in all his undead servants; the soulless black eyes of the dead. "This animal has no soul."

"How is that possible?" Elisara argued.

"I know those eyes, the cold black pools of emptiness," Deveryn responded. "I fear the orb's influence is reaching down here and is feeding off the souls of these animals."

"No," Kehlyra gasped. "Do you think Graylin's orb is that powerful?"

"Anything is possible," Deveryn admitted, and then he killed the trapped animal. "We need to get out of these caverns now or..."

Ferocious growls drowned out Deveryn's words. Surrounding the group were twenty murrats; all the animals bore the cold black soulless eyes, and their teeth chomped with only one craving -- too feed.

## 14

Murrats emerged from every dark corner of the cavern, dashing over corpses, screeching and gnashing, attacking without the slightest hint of fear. Corsar and Deveryn slashed wildly with their swords, spreading corpses around the chamber. The onslaught continued to overwhelm them. A bite here, a claw there, blood began to trickle from wounds on both warriors. For each group of slain murrats, another took its place, and both men waited for their strength to falter and give in to the endless onslaught of predators.

Elisara and Kehlyra fell to the rear; the men, being protected, handled close combat far more efficiently. Elisara hastily unfastened her bow and nocked an arrow. No matter where she aimed, her arrows hit each target with deadly results. Kehlyra, timid from the overwhelming number of murrats rushing her way, crouched up against the wall, raised her hands to invoke a spell, but then hesitated from indecision.

"We need to do something soon or we will all be overrun," Elisara warned.

A plentitude of spells swirled inside Kehlyra's head, and she finally settled upon an ancient spell of her ancestors. She summoned the dark magic in her blood, a spell to raise the dead, a side of her people that frightened her. Her words came out, calling to the dead to rise, and the butchered carcasses responded. Murrats rose from the ground with entrails hanging from torn hides, animated with a new purpose -- to protect.

The battle suddenly turned in their favor. The murrats fought among themselves, tearing and ripping each other to shreds, giving the four companions a brief respite. When a living murrat died, Kehlyra's spell brought the animal back to life to fight. In time, the undead overwhelmed the living. A few broke toward Deveryn and Corsar and they handled the rodents with ease. The battle soon ended and over a hundred murrat carcasses covered the cavern floor.

Kehlyra gasped for air; the spell drained every ounce of energy she possessed. Deveryn made the sorceress sit against the cavern wall and drink a few drops of water from his flask.

"Foolish girl," Deveryn said. "Are you trying to kill yourself? Your body can't withstand the amount of energy it takes to maintain so many undead."

"I had to try," said Kehlyra, her eyelids sagging.

Deveryn sullenly gazed away from his companions to hide the hue of guilt seeping out of his eyes. No one spoke a word about the encounter, though he recognized they all came close to meeting their end. Softly, he said, "Once we reach the surface, perhaps I should go on alone. I have nothing to offer any of you other than hardship. If you stay with me, you're not only risking your lives, you're risking your very souls."

Corsar sheathed his sword. "If Graylin brings war to the land, I risk the souls of my family, my people. He must be contained in this desert or thousands of lives are at risk."

Kehlyra's eyes drifted to the ceiling; her eyelids almost closed. "You know I can't go back," she whispered. "My life is in your hands."

Deveryn turned to face Elisara. A tear gleamed across her cheek. She probably never had to face such torment in her entire life, and ever since they met, she endured nothing but pain. Doubt crept into his heart that she would stay, and at last, he whispered, "Elisara?"

"I am struggling to stay with you, Deveryn," Elisara said in a whimper. "When we reach the surface, I pray the answer whether to remain with you is clear to me. My people need to be warned of an impending attack, and if you travel to Tiarshus, I fear you will die there. It is an evil place, cursed. Legends say if you die there, your soul will forever wander in the ruins. If I go with you, I risk the lives of my people, and my soul. I know you seem different from your people, but your culture frightens me, and you are beginning to frighten me. You are able to kill without remorse. Death is meaningless to the Deviskari. Among my people, death is a time of mourning."

A sudden chill sliced across Deveryn's back, though no breeze filled these passages. The woman he felt a strong attraction for, feared him. Although he had a difficult time suppressing his yearning for wanting Elisara to stay with him, he kept a stoic countenance. He dropped his gaze to the ground and whispered, "When we reach the surface then." And before she could respond, he headed for the cavern exit and never looked back to see if anyone followed him.

## 15

Deveryn moved swiftly through the winding tunnels, waving his glowing crystal torch to light the way. On occasion, he stopped and listened to the haunting sounds of the wind to guide him when he reached a section of split passages. The labyrinth appeared endless, and it was not until the group arrived at a chamber containing an ancient fountain did Deveryn realize he chose the correct path.

The ceiling shimmered with calcite crystals, providing light over a jade fountain with blue and silver fish schooling in the clear water. Everyone eyed the plump colored bodies, and stomachs growled at the appetizing delights. On the back edge of the fountain sat a stone statue of a robed woman with her feet submerged in the water and a lyre in her arms. The statue's ears were slightly tapered, an unusual trait for any races in the land.

"We rest here for a while," Deveryn announced. "Fill your bellies with fish and quench your thirst with the water."

"What a beautiful statue," Elisara said. "She looks elvish."

"She was a Morlanthean," Deveryn answered. "Deviskari scholars believe this woman was to them what Kiyasca is to our own people. Morlantheans did resemble elves, though they were much different from those legendary creatures."

"What do you think happened to them?" Elisara asked.

"The tales say the king went mad and destroyed his own people," Deveryn said. He wondered how much truth was in the legends, and if the orb had a part in the destruction of the Morlantheans. Since Tiarshus was once the Morlanthean capital, he suspected the orb corrupted the king, drove him to the madness he has seen in Graylin. Although the final years of the Morlanthean people were unknown to him, most of their history was mysteriously erased from the Deviskari archives; he suspected an agonizing end befell them.

Corsar bent over the fountain and lunged at the fish with his hands. The water sprayed his face and the fish scattered away from him. "Is this all there is to eat? I hate the taste of fish." No one seemed to pay him any attention and he smirked.

Deveryn watched Elisara use tinder sticks to create a small fire to keep warm. The crackling flames highlighted her somber expression and he suspected she had already decided to leave him. He wished his instincts were wrong, for having her around filled him with a sense of worth and his desire to explore a meaningful relationship only grew stronger the longer they remained together.

The flames from the small fire sparkled in Kehlyra's eyes, her fascination with the mystical arts peaking an insatiable curiosity. She sat beside Elisara and said, "I overheard you can conjure fire. Why use tinder sticks?"

"Magic takes a lot of our inner energy," Elisara told her. "I understand your people take your energy from the earth. Would you like to learn how to use your own energy? I can teach you how to conjure fire and wind."

Kehlyra bit her lip from excitement. "Ah."

"Place your hand in mine," Elisara demanded, taking hold of the girl's slender hand. She whispered a few words and then she gasped in astonishment. "I sense a lot of energy within you. It is even possible for me to use your energy if I wished."

Deveryn shook his head. "Isn't that dangerous for someone who has never tried? Kehlyra is accustomed to drawing her energy from the earth. If she tries to use her own energy, she might die."

Elisara narrowed her eyes. "No, you are wrong. Your methods endanger your lives. If you take too much from the earth, you can die. However, if you try to draw too much from your own energy, you will only fall unconscious. I saw her raise those creatures, if she had pushed herself any more, she would have died. If she used her own energy, she would not have endangered herself."

"Kehlyra has learned her entire life to draw energy from the land," said Deveryn. "I doubt she will change."

Elisara turned back to Kehlyra. "I'm going to show you how to conjure fire using your inner energy. Watch me first, and remember my words."

"I..I don't know if I can," Kehlyra said, nervously.

"For someone who relishes in the pursuit of expanding their knowledge," Deveryn said, "you seem very hesitant." Deveryn wondered if the woman's boasts of her talents were merely a fabrication to impress them all. He crossed his arms and observed the lesson with great interest.

"Do not doubt yourself," Elisara said to Kehlyra. She brushed dirt over the fire to kill the flames and then spoke a few words, and the flames instantly sparked to life again. Then she summoned a breeze to put out the fire once again. "Concentrate on the amount of energy you use, or you will lose control of your spell. Ready to try?"

Kehlyra took a deep breath and repeated the words. At first, a tiny flame flickered, and then it broke out into a blaze. Elisara jumped back from the flames that nearly torched her. Deveryn ran over and kicked dirt over the fire.

"No Kehlyra," Elisara shouted. "You must control the amount of energy you consume or your spell will overcome you. "Let us try again, but instead, we will summon wind."

"It seems I have discovered the root of your hesitation," Deveryn said. "You have no discipline when balancing the amount of energy needed to control a spell. I should have seen this when you raised the dead murrats. It wasn't that you tried to push your limits; it was because you could not control the amount of energy you drew from the earth. And you are afraid to use your own energy because you are sure to render yourself unconscious."

"Hush." Elisara's face reddened. "She can do this." She recited the wind incantation until the words stuck in Kehlyra's mind.

Once again, Kehlyra tried to use her inner energy. At first, a light breeze brushed over the four companions, and then it turned fierce, knocking over the statue, nearly crushing Corsar in the fountain. Deveryn pushed Kehlyra to break her concentration, and then the wind immediately died.

"I'm sorry, I can't control it," Kehlyra cried. "Deveryn is right. I have a problem controlling the energy I take."

"You must find discipline," Deveryn repeated. "You need to learn to balance the energy you use, or you will die."

Still determined to teach the girl, Elisara sighed. "Yes, she is undisciplined, but very powerful. If she can learn to control her power, perhaps someday, she might be able to teach your own people. The less energy taken from the earth benefits us all. I have an idea." She grabbed a hold of Kehlyra hand. "You will try to summon fire in your hand, using my energy. Do not fear; when I feel you have taken enough, I will break contact. Once the bond is broken, you will have an understanding of the amount of energy needed to conjure a simple spell.

"Gods, not again," said Corsar, moving quickly to the cave entrance. "Try not to set the entire cave on fire."

Kehlyra held out her free hand and began to speak the words to conjure fire. As a ball of fire appeared in her hand, Elisara broke contact. The girl grinned from ear to ear seeing the splendor she created, and allowed the flames to dance back and forth from the palm of her hand to the back of her hand.

"The fire tickles my hand, instead of burning the skin," Kehlyra said. She put her hand in the kindling, and the flames danced off her fingertips to relight the fire.

"The fire cannot harm you, as long as you hold the flames in your hands," Elisara answered. "Once you set fire to something, the flames will become deadly to you."

"Interesting," Deveryn muttered. "No wonder Amrahar didn't want you practicing magic. He knew you weren't able to control your magic and feared you would cause harm to others or yourself."

"Is the lesson over?" Corsar asked, coming over to the group carrying fish. "I rather you keep your flames from my hide, please."

"Your hide is safe from me, as long as you share your fish." Kehlyra gently slapped the warrior's buttocks.

Corsar dropped the blue and silver fish next to Kehlyra. "I'll share them, if you'll cook them."

"Do you think the fish are tainted by the orb?" Kehlyra asked.

Elisara chuckled. "Fish do not have souls."

"Do we really know for sure?" Deveryn asked. "I've heard philosophers even debate over whether or not animals have souls."

"And what do you believe?" Elisara questioned.

Deveryn patted his sword, thinking of his wolf companion. "It is very easy to discern. All you need to do is look deep into the eyes of an animal, and then you will see there is more to them than flesh and bone."

"Your words have touched me, Deveryn," Elisara said with a fondness in her gaze.

"They have done nothing to sway me from eating these fish," Corsar grumbled, and everyone shared a laugh with the warrior.

While they all consumed the fish, Deveryn saw a sudden change in Elisara's demeanor. She ate the food with vibrancy; the glum shadow hanging over her disappeared. He felt the respite a temporary one, for Kehlyra's raising of the murrats showed the Eldinisti a dark side of his people he was sure to sway her opinion to leave. At least, however, he had a semblance of hope.

Refreshed from the rest and food, the group pushed onward. They came to a cave packed with stalagmites and stalactites. Alongside the wall of this portentous cavern was a narrow path, a precarious looking edge filled with rocky undulations, scarcely wide enough for a single person to traverse. To the right side of the path was a deep pit filled with dozens of stalagmites, welcoming any who dared temp their fate on their pointy tips.

Deveryn concealed the crystal on his torch with a cloth before stepping on the rocky path. "Stick to the walls and move slowly, quietly. There are creatures within, waiting to pluck you off the edge and drop you to your deaths."

"What are you doing?" Corsar growled. "The darkness will surely send us to our deaths with one wrong step."

"The creatures are highly irritated by light. If I bring a torch in there, they'll swoop down and attack."

Deveryn entered the dark cavern first, hugging the walls and moving like a slug along the ledge. His gray eyes began to give off a dim glow, and his vision adjusted to the darkness to allow him to see dozens of creatures hanging from the stalactites peering in their direction and slithering along the ceiling. Deveryn watched their movements and then Elisara suddenly tugged on him to stop.

The slight yank on Deveryn's back almost caused him to lose his footing; a few pebbles scattered over the ledge. "Why are you stopping?"

"Listen," Elisara said. Everyone froze, listening to the growling and patter of paws rushing in their direction -- a murrat.

"Remain still," Deveryn spoke just barely enough for everyone to hear.

Screeching from above, a creature detached from the ceiling and glided towards the raucous sounds of the murrat. Then an ear-piercing howl echoed within the cavern walls, followed by a tumultuous struggle on the ledge. The murrat wailed in pain, and then the sound of bones snapping ensued as monstrous talons crushed its body. The creature then swooped upward with the swishing sound of leathery wings, returning to the same spot it had emerged. The group hesitated moving, listening to the horrific chomping of flesh.

Deveryn knew the creature responsible for plucking the murrat from the ledge could do the same to a full-grown man, and he had no ambition to be that man. "It's over, keep moving."

They all reached the other side of the dark cavern safely, and Deveryn uncovered his torch. He felt disheartened to see Elisara's somber face staring back at him. "We are almost there. The worst is behind us, I promise." There were many passages he could have taken to lead them out of the underground maze; however, he elected to take the longest and least dangerous of them all. In his opinion, the path he chose was not long enough.

The trail widened and began sloping upward. In the distance, they could see a large cave opening where sand dunes and sweeping dust storms swept across the horizon. The group stepped outside to the greeting of howling winds. The sun sparkled in the sky, the light blinded them, and they all shielded their eyes trying to make the transition from the dark caverns. Hot, dry winds swished through their cloaks and hair, distorting their vision further with particles of sand. A heavy storm closed in on them and none appeared thrilled to face it.

"Our choices are to wait out the storm, or take a chance," Deveryn remarked. He wished secretly to stay here for a while to give him a chance to talk with Elisara, and then he winced when he felt a warm hand touch his shoulder. Instead of turning to face Elisara, he remained transfixed on the approaching storm.

"I have made my decision," Elisara whispered from behind him. Deveryn felt his heart stop.

## 16

Sunlight streamed over the palace courtyard, illuminating a world unlike the bleak desert sands surrounding Talmirok. A scattering of trees shook from passing winds, sending green, yellow, and red leafs across a near depleted pond of blue serene water. In the center of the pond towered an enormous bronze statue of a dragon with wings spread wide as if the mighty creature were ready to take flight. Water dripped from its huge mouth, disturbing the otherwise calm water. Mixed among an ample of trees and flora, life-size gray marble statues of past kings and queens stood tall on stone pedestals, each base decorated with purple, white, and green glittering gems. Hundreds of birds chirped, flying from tree to tree, and small animals darted in and out of burrows and bushes. The place appeared tranquil and beautiful until the tainted stench of evil began to permeate the air.

A pair of black iron gates screeched open, sending birds scattering from the trees. Graylin entered the courtyard, followed by six warriors. Each warrior wore a steel cuirass embossed with the image of a scorpion, a new symbol Graylin has chosen to represent his kingdom and one he found pleasing. On top of their shoulders rested black spaulders, enforced with red leather. Steel greaves and vambraces protected arms and legs, and lastly, long thick green cloaks completed the outfits of this menacing looking group. The men lined up side-by-side, each bearing an impassive expression, each willing to serve the king with an undying loyalty.

Ryshara and Sharael entered the courtyard, escorted by three guards. Ryshara peered about wildly, shaking, feeling threatened by these men. Her gaze fell upon the king and then narrowed in anger. The man appeared to take pleasure in her discomfort with a malignant grin.

"What do you want from us?" Ryshara demanded to know.

"I shall ask the questions," Graylin said. "Who are you?"

"I am Ryshara," she said, and then looked at her friend. "And this is Sharael."

"Why were you lurking around one of our outposts?"

"I am looking for my sister." Ryshara examined the line of men, thinking they were executioners, and her heart pounded from fright. The king also examined her with cruel eyes, calculating dark coals that made her quiver.

"An Eldinisti woman was here recently. Her name was Elisara." Graylin paced back and forth in front of the women and then circled behind them. Ryshara waited for the man to plunge a dagger into her back, and when he circled back in front of her, she sighed a breath of relief.

"Is Elisara your sister? Is she the one you came here to find?" Graylin asked. He smiled from ear to ear and Ryshara thought the man sadistic, realizing he wanted her to be afraid.

"Yes, is she here?" Ryshara thought he either killed Elisara or at least harmed her. The man was the devil and those hideous men looming in the background were his reapers dressed in steel.

The king licked his lips. "Elisara was here. She caused quite a stir in Talmirok. She killed one of our people. Does my story disturb you?" Graylin gripped the hilt of his sword. "Why are you really here? I thought your people chose to live a life of isolation. You are planning an attack and scouting my city. Speak the truth."

"You are spreading falsehoods. Elisara is a peaceful woman." Ryshara gripped the hilt of her own sword. If the bastard wanted to fight, she was ready.

Ignoring her aggressive gesture, Graylin pivoted slightly in the direction of his warriors and waved his free hand toward them as if presenting a gift. "Behold my scorpions. What do you think?"

"I think they are disgusting," Ryshara retorted.

"These men are the finest warriors in the land, the nemeses of our enemies," Graylin said in a cold menacing tone. "You look terrified of them."

"No, they appall me," Ryshara answered in defiance.

"Do you know why I chose a scorpion?" Graylin came close to Ryshara and whispered in her ear. "Scorpions are deadly. Depending on the kind, their poison can kill a man within hours. The scorpion is also always ready to do battle, its tail hovering about, waiting to unleash a deadly sting on its enemy." Graylin stepped back and walked up and down the line of knights like a proud father. "These knights are ready to show the world their sting. Know your death is near, when you see the symbol on their armor up close."

"They are a repulsive lot," Ryshara said. "Release us. Your words are meaningless and you are obviously delusional. If my sister was here, I see why she left."

"Did you know under the right lighting, a scorpion glows?"

Ryshara shook her head, her face boiling red. "I have no interest in your men."

The king ignored her. "I was so fascinated with the trait. I enhanced their armor to glimmer in the dark like spectral demons. I see in your eyes, your friend's eyes, both of you are afraid. I am pleased."

Sighing heavily, Ryshara crossed her arms. "I just want to find my sister and return home. I have no interest in scorpions or your men. Why do you continue to taunt us with your words?"

"I will release you, in time," Graylin replied, again taking pleasure in Ryshara's visible uneasiness. "There is one other important fact I failed to mention why I chose this symbol to represent my empire. Did you know scorpions are cannibalistic, never hesitating to kill each other to survive? A trait to remind me that even among my own people, there could be scorpions crawling about, waiting to sting me with their deadly poison." Graylin stopped pacing, stepping once again within a few steps of the girl. "And if I am unable to trust my own people, why should I trust yours?"

"We've kept the peace in the desert for hundreds of years." Ryshara words failed to reach Graylin's deaf ears and she searched all over the courtyard for a means of escape. Only one entrance existed, and she gathered her courage to fight.

Graylin skimmed over Ryshara, calculating, and she suddenly felt violated. He sniffed her long dark brown hair and said, "Your hair smells of rose petals; such a nauseating odor, really."

"There is only one foul smell here," Ryshara said. She reached for her sword and then hesitated, refusing to let the king goad her into a fight.

"Forgive me, I said something to upset you," Graylin said, snickering at her attempt. "Yes, I intend to free you, but I want answers first. I know your people are strong in magic. How are their skills with a blade? I see you try to unsheathe your blade like a clumsy oaf and doubt you even know how to use it."

Ryshara huffed in anger. "I demand you release us!"

"A test, first." Graylin took out his sword and ordered his men to bring Sharael to him. Ryshara watched the men drag her friend in front of the king and force the girl to the ground on her knees. Graylin raised his sword above Sharael's head. "Ryshara, your friend's life depends on you. Withdraw your sword and save her."

Ryshara recoiled in horror, contemplating what to do. Sharael screamed and before the king's blade came down on her neck, Ryshara's blade flashed out and stopped him.

"Excellent!" Graylin exclaimed. "You at least know how to draw your weapon. Now fight me."

Ryshara held up her sword, waiting for the inevitable duel to begin. Despite her pretentious attempt to defy Graylin through words, every bone in her body trembled, and the sword wobbled in her nervous grip.

"I have a proposition for your people," Graylin hissed. "Surrender to me or watch Sundamar crumble down on top of them."

"You should have chosen a rat for your standard Graylin," Ryshara screamed, blocking a weak attack to her side.

The king laughed and swung his blade again weakly at Ryshara's head. "My Soulcatcher is hungry for souls. Your soul is a tasty one, Ryshara. Perhaps, I allow the orb to feed on your soul and then set you free afterward so your shell of flesh roams the world like a wild animal."

Ryshara countered the weak blows with quick slashes, though her technique was more suited for whacking immobile targets. Graylin parried effortlessly and then drove his boot into her leather tunic, knocking her backward on her rump.

"I see I am your first real opponent, Ryshara. Your skills prove to me you spent your time practicing on straw dummies." Graylin pursed his lips. "Why do your people paint your faces? It is such a primitive ritual. The wolf's paw on your forehead and the flaming red sun on your friend, do these symbols have meaning to your status in your clan? Have you any worthy skills to earn that mark? My intuition tells me no. Your skills are similar to a child."

Ryshara slowly rose from the ground. Graylin was right, she never fought a real opponent, never killed anyone in her life. Her sword training came at the expense of shredding apart stuffed scarecrows. Swordsmanship was a skill her people frowned upon and her lack of training revealed to Graylin all he needed to know about the Eldinisti and their ability to defend with ordinary weapons.

"I'm eager to take your soul," Graylin said, continuing to taunt her. "That might prove an interesting experience for me, seeing how you respond. Does the soul really contain all your memories, dreams, everything that makes you who you are? I'd enjoy seeing you wander the land like a mindless animal. I want you to linger upon my speculations, tell me if the answers to these questions intrigue you as they do I."

"You are sick, Graylin. Look in the mirror and discover what a person is like without a soul."

Graylin came at her with vigor and she parried a strike aimed at her side. She went on the offensive and tried to drive him back with short jabs aimed for his head. Graylin allowed her to push him backward, seemingly enjoying the attempts, and then kicked her in the gut. The blow spun her around exposing her entire backside and then the king swept his sword across her leg, spilling blood. The wound made her entire leg numb, but she stayed on her feet.

Graylin released his right hand from his longsword and a green smoke circled around his fingers. He reached out toward the girl. "Should I devour your life's energy?"

Ryshara cringed and hobbled back. Graylin howled with laughter and said, "No Ryshara, I have other plans for you," and then added, "I am puzzled why you refuse to use magic against me unless you are as inept with magic as you are with a blade. Allow me to demonstrate Deviskari magic." The words of dark magic spewed forth from Graylin's mouth. Ryshara felt her muscles become feeble, her weapon felt as heavy as a two-hundred pound stone, and she dropped her sword. Then her legs wobbled and she fell before the king. Graylin stepped toward her with his blade held high to deliver a killing blow.

"No!" Sharael shouted. The king hesitated and then brought the pommel of his sword across Ryshara's forehead, knocking her flat to the ground.

Mocking laughter filled the courtyard. Ryshara felt blood on her forehead and her lips. Graylin had humiliated her in front of his men to show them the weakness of her people and she allowed the farce to happen.

"You see how pitiful they are." Graylin stood in front of his men. "We can defeat them. Our magic is stronger. We are stronger."

"You've tormented her enough, Graylin," Sharael cried. "Let us go!"

Ryshara stumbled, trying to walk. The entire court spun around her, and she had difficulty focusing. Sharael rushed to her side and grabbed her by the arms to help stable her.

"You are wrong, Sharael. Her true torment has yet to begin." Graylin ambled over to Ryshara and clutched her skull with ice-cold fingers. "Tell your people they have three days to surrender."

Ryshara spit at the king. "Surrender to a devil like you?"

"Get them horses and set them free," Graylin ordered. "I look forward to washing Sundamar in their blood."

## 17

Deveryn stood motionless in the midst of swirling yellowish dust, tempting the storm to sweep him away from his troubles. Elisara moved within his view, staring at him through puffy eyes. He waited for her answer, wished he had a way to prolong the moment, but knew that in his heart she would decide to go home.

"I am sorry, Deveryn," she said. "I must leave you."

His expression remained stoic, expecting the answer, and he wiped a tear from her cheek. "I understand, Elisara. Our cultures are so different, but I cannot wash away my heritage."

"It is such a dark culture and I could never forget the torture your king inflicted upon me, how he disgraced me. I try to forget. And with all the wrongdoings against me, I still feel drawn toward you, as if our destinies are intertwined. I cannot explain my yearning to stay by your side."

"If you feel our destinies are one, then stay with me." Deveryn fought against his nature to beg and tried to remain impassive. "Your passion for redemption is going to destroy you, Elisara."

"Deveryn, I broke an unforgivable law of my people," she said, shaking her head. "I took a life using magic. When I return home, I will ask Amathyssa for forgiveness. If she absolves me of the wrong I committed, I will return to you with an open mind. I promise. But there is another reason why I must return."

Disheartened, Deveryn stared blankly at Elisara. She violated a sacred law of her people to save his life, but all he saw was her innocence. He thought about how she affected him again, how she touched him on such a personal level, feelings he had no words to describe. If he failed in persuading her to stay, he felt he might end up regretting his efforts for the rest of his life. "Your Mokuru should be proud of you. I know using your magic to kill is against everything your people believe in. But stop condemning yourself for saving a life."

An awkward silence passed between the two. Elisara gazed across the empty desert as the wind brushed her blonde hair back, exposing her angelic, but tear sodden face. "You are again not hearing my words. I do not return home for myself. I must go. If your king decides to attack, my people will be unprepared. In time I might be able to forgive myself for taking a life, but I could not forgive myself for not giving my people time to prepare for a war."

"Elisara," Deveryn said softly. "I have learned from the scrolls I found in Graylin's chamber that the orb he has is the Soulcatcher. He had referred to it by name in front of me, but the word had no meaning at the time. I think this is the same relic that brought destruction to the Morlanthean empire. And if we do not stop him, the entire land will suffer. You can help your people by staying with us and bringing an end to it."

Elisara shook her head in disagreement. "And if we don't find a way to stop him and he marches on my city. It is a risk I am not willing to take."

"And what if Brashus is still out here, or Mhordalins? You can't travel alone. You have a better chance surviving staying with us."

"I am sorry, Deveryn. I need to find peace and warn my people." Elisara took a step towards the sandy dunes; the winds wrapped her skirt and vest to the contours of her body. She glanced back at Deveryn with a pout, and then said, "Farewell."

All Deveryn could do was watch her fade into the desert gloom, the swirling winds, and wonder if she would survive.

## 18

Graylin stood in the middle of a candle lit chamber, staring at an ancient skull resting upon a stone pedestal. His eyes raked over the black runes inscribed on the white cracked surface, and he contemplated summoning an old enemy of his people.

Word had reached his ears of a plot to undermine his plans to take Sundamar. His maps and scrolls of Tiarshus were missing, and he suspected the man he once treated as a son, sought to learn a way to destroy his newfound power. It was important for him to succeed in taking Sundamar to ensure the survival of his race, and the Soulcatcher will give him the means to do it.

Conflicted thoughts twirled inside his head, knowing that bringing forth dark spirits into this world would forsake the only child he had a part in raising. But then the haunting voices within the Soulcatcher whispered to him, telling him to continue. He tried to fight their influence, tried to hold on to some semblance of reason, but then eventually gave into their desires -- he would summon the demon.

He placed his hand on the skull and called forth to the netherworld. The runes on the skull glowed, intensified, and emitted an agonizing buzz as if a thousand wasps swarmed around his head. The candles flickered wildly, a cold chill stirred in the chamber, and then smoky substance materialized and formed into a man of black ash.

"If you have summoned me here to control me, you have sorely overestimated your strength." The creature spoke in a soft tone, a vast contrast to its intimidating appearance.

"I am aware of your strength, King Wulfrayer. And I know your hatred runs deep for my people. But those who fought you are no more and we no longer need to be enemies."

Wulfrayer's form flickered brightly and then dimmed. "There is one who still lives."

Graylin shook his head. "Impossible. The fall of the Morlanthean Empire happened over five hundred years ago. No one lives from that time."

"I see you have forgotten the one your people depend on the most. But the one you call Moon Spirit Dancer conspired with my people to end my reign."

"How is that possible?"

"I have never discovered her true origins, but I have a suspicion she is only part Deviskari. I first learned of her when I heard tales of a secret order; a group of warriors and mages who vowed to serve the gods to ensure chaos would never tear the land apart. They were known as the Kraskara. I am certain she is one of them, perhaps even the last, and if you possess the Soulcatcher, it is sure to bring them to you."

"That is an interesting tale," Graylin said, scratching his chin. "A witch took Kiyasca captive and has demanded I give her the Soulcatcher. It is beginning to make sense to me now. I suspect they are both part of this secret order and are working together."

"Enough, I am growing impatient. Release me from your hold so I may return to the underworld."

"Do as I ask," Graylin said, "and you never have to return there again."

The demon remained silent for a moment and his form flickered bright and dark. "Ah, how I dreamt to be flesh and blood again. But I want more. I want to rebuild my kingdom. Can you offer me this?"

Graylin grinned. "If you complete a task I have for you."

"Ah, yes, the task. Your desires are clear to me. Your thoughts speak to me, though it is hard to hear your own voice with so many others in your head."

"What are you on about, demon?"

"Each time you draw energy from the Soulcatcher, the souls infest your body, and if you do not expel that energy quickly, those spirits become part of you. There are many souls within you now."

"And I suppose I should rid myself of it," Graylin said acidly. "So that you can claim it for yourself. I care naught for your advice. If you want your kingdom, bring me the head of Deveryn and return Kehlyra to me."

"As you wish, King Graylin," Wulfrayer responded, and his black smoky form faded out of existence.

Graylin picked up the skull and smashed it against the pedestal. "I wonder if the Soulcatcher is capable of absorbing a demon. It shall be interesting to find out."

## 19

Deveryn glanced woundingly across the moonlit desert. A lingering pain tormented his heart and conflicted emotions clouded his mind. Blinded by his passions to be by a woman's side, he stumbled over the wind-strewn sands into a golden haze, trudging aimlessly forward, wandering recklessly into the feeding ground of a colossal beast.

Struggling to keep up with the brooding Deviskari, Corsar and Kehlyra hastened their laborious steps, but it was they fought the cruel terrain. Then Kehlyra cried out. The straps on her sandals had snapped, her feet crossed up, and she tumbled to the ground.

"I cannot keep up this pace," she complained, tossing her sandals in anger. "I must rest. I am cold and tired."

Deveryn stopped and regarded the woman bitterly. "If Graylin discovers you are missing and sends out a scouting party to find you, you'll have plenty of time to rest – on his torture rack." Disgustingly, he shrugged and then took a few furious steps away as if he planned to continue alone.

"The girl is half-naked and freezing," Corsar shouted. "Has your heart suddenly turned to stone?"

"She ignored my pleas to outfit herself properly back in the supply chamber. Perhaps she'll learn to listen to me next time." Deveryn turned and pushed onward through the storm; his callous attitude prevented him from noticing his friends fall further behind out of sight.

Corsar unfastened his cloak and wrapped the garment around Kehlyra's body. He cut several strips off the end of the cloth and then secured them around her feet with leather straps. The expression on her face changed from dismay, to bewilderment, and then to affinity.

"Thank you, Corsar," Kehlyra whimpered. "Your hate for my people must run deep, and yet, you help me."

"I've no love for your people," Corsar said, "but I have no desire to be cruel and leave a helpless pup to the mercy of the desert." He gazed around and sighed. "Where has he gone? Deveryn better come to his senses soon or he will get us all killed."

***

Deveryn glanced over his shoulder. No one followed him. Alone and disgruntled, he decided to wait out the storm and found a pair of boulders to brace himself against the elements. Guilt slashed across his sullen demeanor and he cursed himself for abandoning his friends. At one point, as the wind swished around him, he wished the sandstorm would bury him.

As the storm faded, the stars appeared again overhead. On the horizon, Deveryn saw tall buttes under the pale moon. How barren and dangerous they appeared to him. He remembered using the small caves within the rock formations for shelter in his travels, a perfect place to rest until dawn. Then a dark sick feeling crept over him, wondering if his friends found shelter. He tried to push them from his thoughts, but he felt responsible for their lives.

Determined to find his friends quickly, Deveryn unsheathed Tehalin. The moon's pale glow glimmered along the blade as Deveryn incanted the words to summon the wolf spirit. The sword took on a bluish hue and vibrated in his hands. He held on with a firm grasp and then felt a ball of energy spring forth from the tip of the blade, glowing bright white, and taking the shape of an ethereal white wolf bathed in a shimmering blue light.

Deveryn wanted to reach out and touch the animal; the ghostly fur on the creature appeared thick and vibrant. He reminisced a time when he was able to cradle the animal in his arms. The thought warmed him and then he shook the feeling, knowing important matters awaited his attention. Crouching beside the ghost wolf, he said, "Find my friends and bring them to me." The wolf howled in acknowledgement and then departed. At least his spirit companion gave them a chance.

A cool breeze brushed over him as he stood glancing at the stars to get his bearings. As he estimated the distance to Tiarshus, something slithered by his leg and he jumped back staring at the ground. In the area surrounding him were several circular three-foot deep trenches -- the sign of glut worms.

Deveryn remained motionless, listening for sounds of burrowing, trying to ascertain if the monster hunted him. An earth-shaking roar answered him and he caught a glimpse of a grayish snake-like creature submerging beneath the sands a short distance away. It was a glut worm. He dashed in the opposite direction and then stopped, hearing the clacking sounds of giant claws. He whirled around and cursed, seeing a giant white scorpion creeping over a sand dune toward him.

An eerie gray glow radiated from the creature's exoskeleton, a body extending at least fifteen-feet long with claws capable of snapping a man in half, and waving behind it, a deadly stinger known to pierce through tendons with ease. The menacing thing appeared ghostlike, an effect triggered by the moon's ambient light. The scorpion moved toward Deveryn on nimble legs that carried the bulky white frame over the sand with rapid fluidity. Deveryn braced himself, realizing the agility of the colossal arthropod left him no choice but to fight.

The scorpion slowed to a crawl, nearing its prey. Deveryn's eyes darted back and forth to the deadly tail and the crushing claws. The tail lashed toward him and Deveryn knocked away the segmented tail. Then a claw swept outward and he ducked beneath, watching the clasping grip swish over his head. The creature lunged with its other claw and Deveryn parried the strike with his sword and then rolled to the side of the monster, striking his blade downward upon the scorpion's hard carapace. His sword chipped off a piece of the shell. The scorpion lashed out again with its lethal stinger. Deveryn met the strike with Tehalin and severed the needle-like tip. If his defensive swing had been a tad slower, the needle-like appendage would have buried itself in his skull. Without the dangerous stinger, the scorpion backed away spurting blue blood from the wounded thrashing tail.

With the scorpion retreating, Deveryn turned to flee and then halted as the ground opened up in front of him. A glut worm sprung out of the sands, mouth gaping wide. The creature had a long grayish tubular body and black coals for eyes. Its gruesome mouth displayed dozens of finger-length teeth and two oversized fangs. It lunged forward and Deveryn dove under the attack. The elongated slimy body passed over him, and he spun to his back, lifting his sword straight upward, impaling, and dragging the steel tip through the submerging end of the enormous worm.

The scorpion, finding its prey vulnerable, scurried toward Deveryn with claws swinging outward, the pincers chomping for body parts. Deveryn leaped up, smacked the deadly claws aside with his sword, and then backed up when he felt the ground rumble beneath his feet. The scorpion, however, remained frozen in place, sending its enemy about. Then the ground underneath it exploded in a shower of sand. Two glut worms sprang from the earth, turning the scorpion over on its back. Their slimy bodies looped around the defenseless arthropod like two pythons, constricting the tough exoskeleton, squeezing with ferocious force, collapsing the shell inward in a dreadful crunch.

Deveryn sprinted away trying to find rocky ground; the worms had trouble tunneling under the harder terrain and he felt they would break pursuit. He chanced a glance behind and only saw the crushed scorpion corpse. Where had the bastards gone? There was no chance of reaching a safe spot and he stopped running. Then the glut worms emerged in front of him like two monstrous demons, spewing saliva in anticipation of tasting his flesh.

Before Deveryn made a move, a flaming rock smashed off the head of the monster to his left. The creature roared and then submerged beneath the sand. Deveryn heard footsteps to his right and then watched Corsar sprint by and slash across the tough hide of the remaining monster with a longsword. Entrails spilled to the sands and the monster howled and snapped at the warrior with those deadly teeth. Deveryn stepped toward the carnivorous mouth and drove his blade straight up through the head. The creature shuddered, spurted blood, and then fell limp upon the sands.

Deveryn spun around to investigate the source of the fiery rock. The flame in his eye brightened, thinking Elisara had returned, though it quickly diminished when he saw Kehlyra standing atop a sand dune holding another rock doused with fire. The disappointment, however, passed when he saw his ghostly wolf companion standing beside the sorceress, and he finally relinquished his self-pity, grateful his friends were alive.

Kehlyra approached the two men with a distressed look in her eyes. She shivered slightly, though it was not brought on from the coldness. "You expect me to hide my emotions, and you abandon us like a petulant child because of yours."

"My apologies to you both," Deveryn said. "I know my indiscretions almost got us all killed."

"It is lucky for you your wolf spirit led us to you," Corsar said, "or those creatures would be feasting on your flesh."

"Indeed they would be," Deveryn replied, and then added to lighten the mood, "And I am also fortunate Kehlyra did not roast me in a fire."

"Aye, that would have been a sight to see," Corsar agreed, and then winked at Kehlyra.

## 20

Elisara shivered from a chill rain, her delicate hands pruned like the skin on a withered old woman. The ground was wet, sticky, and the sand caked around her boots causing her steps to stagger. Water dripped from her golden hair, across honey colored cheeks, mixing with tears of shame. Had she made the correct decision to leave Deveryn? How she missed him now.

She stopped atop a dune, lost and disheartened, glancing on a full moon amongst a dispersing of blackish clouds. The eerie glow of the pale orb compelled her to walk towards it; an enchantment of some sort she guessed. No matter, the light felt soothing and enticed her to continue to walk. The rain ceased as if someone snatched the drops from the sky with a godly hand and under the moon's blue ambiance she saw a dark figure standing. Did Deveryn come after her or was she seeing an illusion?

As she neared the individual, it became clear a female child stood there. Elisara's heart leaped when she recognized the girl, an Eldinisti child. "Jalena! Why are you wandering out here all alone?"

"I was following the stars," the girl answered.

"You left the city alone without telling anyone?"

"No, I was following the stars home," Jalena replied. "I lost my teacher."

"What happened to your teacher?"

The girl's lips curled downward. "Someone came and took her away."

Elisara grabbed the child's hand. "Did you see who took her?"

Jalena's somber expression turned to utter despair. "Men took her. I hid and tried to find her after they left, but I got lost."

"It's all right, I will take you home," Elisara said. At a young age, Eldinisti children were taught to navigate the desert by watching the sky. Scouts would take children deep into the desert, and then allow the child to guide them home. If the child lost their way, the scout was able to explain how they misread the stars. The tale of men taking her teacher disturbed Elisara. She immediately thought of her own predicament when the Kulithians tried to force her to be their guide to Tiarshus.

Elisara waited for the rain clouds to thin, enough for her to read the sky. Then she escorted the child home -- to Sundamar.

The city greeted them with a flowery aroma, the scent of a rare blue flower. The smell made Elisara feel sleepy; it was a therapeutic quality of the unique flower, but she fought through the effects. She had to warn her people of an impending attack. She passed through the front gates and rushed toward a small tower of granite, a place that served as the home of the Mokuru. On top of the structure, hundreds of ravens sat side by side, watching her, singing with gurgling croaks.

Once they reached the tower entrance, Jalena waved goodbye to Elisara. "Thank you for finding me, Elisara."

"Wait! You should tell Amathyssa..." Elisara shouted to Jalena, but the girl ignored her and disappeared within a cluster of mud-brick homes.

Elisara stood outside the tower entrance, gathering her wits, fearing the consequences of using magic to kill. If her confession were not enough to anger the Mokuru, the news of an impending war would surely bring the woman's wrath. Hesitant to enter, Elisara paced back and forth until her fear mitigated. When she felt her own heart beat calm, she entered.

Inside, a thousand birds sung within the hollowed tower, perched high on ledges, flying in and out of windows. Below them, a middle-aged woman waited on a throne made of wicker. The woman wore a buckskin blue garment embroidered with beads and feathers, and in her hand, she carried a wooden staff with a handle shaped like a bird's head. The Mokuru stood up and gracefully crossed the floor toward Elisara. Waves of long silky golden hair flowed around two soft blue eyes that sparkled with a loving caress. Elisara found peace gazing within those eyes, regarded the Mokuru with extreme reverence, and felt compelled to kneel.

Amathyssa put her hand on Elisara's head and said, "Please stand, my child."

"I bring terrible news, my Mokuru," said Elisara.

"Yes," Amathyssa said. "You seem quite distraught. What is wrong?"

"I...I have broken one of our sacred laws," Elisara spoke unevenly, trembling.

Amathyssa shook her head in understanding. "You used magic to take a life."

"How did you know?"

"I have had visions of terrible events, the destruction of our people. If you could use your magic to kill to save our people, would you do it again?"

The sullen-faced Elisara found herself in a trance, lost in the woman's eyes, enchanted by her Mokuru's mellifluous voice. "I don't know."

"Sometimes we make difficult choices that break our beliefs," the Mokuru whispered. "Our laws were meant to be guidelines, to protect our own people. However, we are now facing the possibility of a war we have no chance of winning without using our gifts."

Elisara listened to the woman's words, uncomprehending their full meaning, her head drifted in a cloud. She regained focus, racked her brain to find anything to rid herself of the guilt, and all she came away with was remorse. Unable to tolerate the pain, she answered, "Yes, but Lothkus would forsake us."

"No, he would not forsake us for trying to survive. The time has come for you to fight for the future of our people. Use your magic to protect. Take up the sword and strike our enemies down. You torment yourself because you feel I condemn these things. I give you my blessing to make whatever choices you feel is the positive path."

"But..."

"I know viewing me as anything but pure and innocent goes against your beliefs; you see me as a delicate rain drop incapable of harming a leaf on a tree. Our people teach to never take a life by using magic because we believe Lothkus forbids us. Wars are inevitable in Morlanthea and eventually find you. Disagreements, greed, pettiness, love, all bring wars. We hide in the desert, pretending the world is perfect, avoiding conflict because we are afraid to take risks. I spoke to Lothkus in my dreams and he has given his blessing to allow us to protect ourselves. The land has changed and I kept our people in solitude, trying to protect us. If killing one evil person saves hundreds of good people, is that worth fighting for?"

"I...I don't know. You want me to take lives, betray our ways, and break hundreds of years of tradition. Are you really..."

"Amathyssa? Do you think I am an imposter? What does your mind, your heart, your intuition tell you?"

"That you are my Mokuru."

"As I am," Amathyssa proclaimed. "And if we don't act, children like Jalena will be slaughtered."

"Did you really have visions of our people perishing? Our city being destroyed?" Conflicted thoughts haunted Elisara, made her doubt the teachings of the Mokuru. Is Amathyssa promoting war and death? Has the Soulcatcher already tainted her own people?

"In my visions, Sundamar is in flames. I see Jalena dying of hunger, lost in a desert storm fleeing from a burning city, never to see the sun as an adult."

"I don't understand," Elisara whispered; her lip quivered. "You must be wrong. You are only saying this to torment me. Why are you saying this to me?"

"Elisara, I feel the hurt and distrust inside you. Graylin is the reason for her demise. He plans to destroy the Eldinisti. If he succeeds, the souls of our people are destined to dwell in the orb forever. I know of this evil relic, the Soulcatcher, it has surfaced in the past. I thought I had seen the last of that evil, and now it is here again."

"You have knowledge of the Soulcatcher? How can we destroy it?"

"I know not of a way to destroy it. I have lived for hundreds of years and have seen many things in this land, but nothing compares to the evil known as the Soulcatcher. King Wulfrayer possessed it once, and the effort to stop him cost many lives. And now it has resurfaced. Graylin is foolish to think he can wield the orb without consequence. He must be stopped. You must stop him."

"Is the fate of our people on me alone?" Elisara's throat constricted with grief. "Why must I bear this responsibility?"

"Because Elisara, you have touched the heart of one that can help you. I guided Deveryn to you in the desert. I had my ravens lead him to you, to save you. The combined strength of you both can stop Graylin and destroy the orb. You must act hastily before Graylin brings war to our gates."

"How much time do I have?"

"I don't know, Elisara. Our scouts have brought word that the Deviskari army has begun a march toward our city. I may be able to slow them through magic, but must conserve my energy to defend an attack on our city. I too must break a law. In order to protect our city, I will take my energy from the land, a practice forbidden to us."

"Please don't do this. You could die if you take too much from the earth."

"I must. My energy alone will not be enough to protect us. I shall use every resource available to keep our people alive while you find a way to destroy the Soulcatcher."

"Why not take your energy from others? At least, your life won't be at risk."

"Oh Elisara," Amathyssa said with a lost expression. "It is true the risk to myself will be mitigated, but there is a chance I could harm those acting as a catalyst."

"I don't understand."

"I have always discourage the practice of drawing energy from living beings. It is possible if you draw too much energy from another person, you could kill them. Your knowledge of magic is exceptional, but since you were chosen as a scout, to hunt for food using a bow, there are things you still need to learn."

"But there is no time to learn, is there? And if I do not do as you ask, we are fated to fall." Elisara stood silent and glanced into the eyes of the Mokuru waiting for the woman to tell her this was all some sort of test. Amathyssa smiled and shook her head as if reading the young Eldinisti's mind. Finally, Elisara said, "What must I do?"

"I give you my blessing to use your magic in ways you never thought possible. Take heed Elisara. You need to learn the ways of the sword and fight when magic cannot aid you. I understand your fears my child. I chose you for your courage, your tenacity, and your vision. You must find a way to stop Graylin and stop the Deviskari from killing our people. You are a hunter and those skills will now be used for more than gathering food."

"I have always struggled to see death as a solution, even the killing for food."

"I am sorry, Elisara. Be brave for your people. Know your actions make the world a better place. Without your help, the future of the remaining Eldinisti children is bleak. They are destined to grow up as slaves or not at all. I have already sent messages to the Eldinisti high priests and priestesses, giving them my blessing to use magic to protect themselves. But I need you to be my champion."

Elisara's face turned crimson from distress. If she chose the pacifist life, the entire land could fall to Graylin's whims. If becoming a warrior was the only way to save her people, she had to accept, had to give up her beliefs. In a solemn whisper, she answered, "Yes, I agree to be your champion."

"Then we shall anoint you at once."

Amathyssa touched Elisara's forehead with her staff and a beam of blue light shot forth, growing, becoming brighter, and encompassing the pair. The markings on Elisara's face changed. A blue mark circled her eyes and stretched over each eyebrow like a pair of outstretched wings. On the tips of the wings, the design continued down each side of her face, near her ears, to form a pair of feathers. Next, Elisara felt her clothes torn away, replaced by heavier garments. Then magical runes appeared around her upper thighs and arms as black magical symbols of protection and power inscribed flesh. She wanted to scream out, negate her answer, but the woman's lips remained shut.

The light faded and Amathyssa glanced over Elisara with satisfaction. The Mokuru retrieved an elongated glimmering scimitar with ancient runes carved along the blade and handed it to the bemused Elisara. Attached to the pommel was an amethyst stone pulsating with a soft glow. "Your skills with a sword must match the strength of your magic. Did you know your mother had a fondness for these gems and the one within the sword is from a necklace she once wore a long time ago. It is your connection to the sword. Let the light from the stone brighten your path in dark places."

Elisara held the weapon with ease as if the blade made of hollow wood. She caressed the gem with her fingers and said, "I wish I knew her."

"I am sorry, Elisara. I should not have mentioned her. But perhaps in time, I will break another of our laws and tell you about your mother." Amathyssa retrieved another sword and stood in front of Elisara with the weapon raised to strike. "Hold your weapon firmly and learn." The Mokuru swung her blade toward Elisara's skull. Elisara felt the weapon in her hand come to life and parry the incoming blade with lightning speed. Amathyssa lowered her sword. "You see, the blade guides your hands. Listen to me, Elisara. Learn to develop your own skills using the weapon. The blade guides your hands to protect only. You must rely on your own skills to kill. And the weapon draws power from your inner energies. The longer you rely on the sword to protect you, the weaker you become before the blade has completely drained you. One warning you should know about the blade. The strength of your blocks comes from you alone, so if you are overpowered, the blade cannot protect you."

"I understand. What must I..." Elisara caught a reflection of herself within the blade. She had changed. She examined her new garments, finding she wore a purple leather corset with a pair of black outstretched wings embossed on the molded midriff. Resting on her shoulders, attached by leather straps to the chest armor, were small round spaulders. Along the bottom edge of the armor, a short scaled-mail skirt hung over her upper thighs. On the hip points of the corset were interwoven steel rings that attached a long leather overskirt and scabbard. Elisara then glanced over the tattoos on her body, seeing the black runes stretched around her upper arms and thighs. She was aghast at what she had become. Only her thigh-high buckskin boots remained unchanged.

The Mokuru could see Elisara's uneasiness and broke the silence. "The runes protect your soul and prohibits unwanted spirits from trying to inhabit your body. In the war for souls, the manifestations of the underworld certainly play a role and you must guard against such creatures. I recommend you inscribe the symbol of protection upon the flesh of your friends to ward off the bad spirits from possessing them. Elisara, I know this is a different path than one you would have chosen. Perhaps in the future, I must reconsider choosing roles for the children, and allow them to set their own paths. Go to Tiarshus and help Deveryn. Take our fastest horse and learn a way to destroy the Soulcatcher. Good luck, my child."

Elisara remained silent, thinking she dreamt. Then she glanced over the outfit she wore, the enchanted blade she carried, and knew this was no dream.

## 21

Tiarshus appeared on the horizon, a cold, desolate place of half-buried structures, the last remnants of a dead civilization. The Morlanthean capital had seen better times, when the city stretched over the entire region. Now only crumbling blocks from towers, temples, and a castle built of black marble remained. The city had become a massive tomb, the pervasive odor of death still drifting around the furthest parameter of stone walls and iron gates. Anyone who entered here risked more than their lives. If you died here, your soul would be damned to dwell within for eternity – or so the legends say.

Deveryn and his companions approached the city entrance with trepidation slowing down their steps. Outside the entrance gates, a gray elephant trumpeted. The animal had a howdah, a compartment for passengers, on its back with ropes dangling from each side. The beast's reins were tethered to the gates, preventing the animal from running away. Deveryn recognized the markings on the howdah, sketches of tiger-lynxes in various poses. He stopped in front of the huge beast, concerned by the presence of the animal.

"We use these animals to traverse the desert. There are Deviskari here, keep alert."

"There's blood over here," Kehlyra shouted, standing next to a pool of the crimson goo.

Deveryn examined the area just outside the entrance gates, finding pools of dried blood everywhere. "This must have happened recently or the sands would have covered it by now."

"Do you think the blood is from the riders of this beast?" Corsar questioned. "Though, I heard other creatures occupy the city."

"I know not," Deveryn responded, and then said disgustingly, "Greed does horrible things, and those willing to sacrifice their soul over a piece of treasure must be a desperate sort." He studied the area a bit closer. From where he stood, trails of blood led toward the entrance gates. "I think the answer lies ahead of who spilled this blood."

"By the amount of blood, I doubt they live," Corsar said. "And I am certain there are desert creatures lurking about, feeding on their remains."

Kehlyra moaned. "Please, Corsar, I don't want to imagine such things."

"I'm sure they are only bones now," Corsar said, winking at her. Kehlyra did not find the comment funny and frowned. Corsar then added, "Ah Kehlyra, you have been locked in the palace for too long. There are many frightening things in the world, best to learn now than later."

"I've seen enough to know I hate life outside of Talmirok," Kehlyra quipped.

"Over here," Deveryn said, following the trail to the entrance. "It is a most vile sight, Kehlyra. Stay there if you sicken easily."

In front of the entrance were several small items sparkling with a silver and gold brilliance. As Deveryn and Corsar neared they saw several Kulithian bodies, beheaded and ravaged with bite marks, all sprawled across the sands in a grotesque display. Among the bodies were weapons, shields, gold, silver, gems, trinkets, armor, and the heads of the victims.

"I was wrong, Kehlyra," Corsar said with a shrug. "You may want to close your eyes."

Deveryn examined the carnage. The rotting corpses showed several wounds intermixed with the decay. Sword cuts covered the bodies, most superficial, and the flesh on many limbs appeared eaten away by human teeth. Deveryn moved from body to body, and then stopped at a particularly gruesome corpse -- the only one still with a head. He grimaced in disgust, studying the withered and bluish carcass, the blood drained completely from the body. It was an Eldinisti woman, one with the same markings as Elisara on her face. At first, Deveryn thought it was Elisara, but this woman had a lighter shade of blonde hair.

"An Eldinisti woman among Kulithians," Deveryn said with unease, remembering Elisara was once their prisoner and this could easily have been her. "They must have forced her to guide them here. Although, I think a demon is responsible for these slayings. Be wary, if there is a demon still about, it could be watching us now."

"Why do you think a demon is responsible?" Kehlyra asked.

"When a demon takes control of your body, they feed on your blood if there are no other sources to satisfy their urges," Deveryn explained. "All of these bodies look as if a devil fed on them. They all have human teeth marks." Deveryn picked up a pair of vambraces. "All this treasure was stolen from the city. I am perplexed. The trail leads to the entrance and not from the entrance as if they were heading back into Tiarshus. I have been studying the maps, and there is writing on the back of one. It refers to a guardian, a protector of the orb. Perhaps the guardian killed these people."

"I hope the beast that did this is made of flesh and bone," Corsar said.

"We should prepare ourselves either way," Deveryn advised. "If a demon does lurk about, we must be prepared to fight it."

Kehlyra shivered. "Do you really think a demon did this?"

"Yes. You should know if you are unable to purge the spirit through magic, you need to behead the host." Deveryn gave her an astonished look. "Our people have dealt with demons for hundreds of years, and you shudder at the mention of one."

"I have never summoned a demon," she remarked. "I may summon spirits, but only ones I have complete control over."

"Sorry, Kehlyra," Deveryn said. "Seeing the dead Eldinisti has made me a bit irritable." He continued his examination of the corpses. "If this was a demon, it was not some minor summoning."

Corsar picked up a hand axe and slid the weapon in his belt. He continued to search through the items and found a round shield half covered in sand. On the field was an insignia of a lion, the symbol for the country Ilashor -- a kingdom known to be full of scholars. The shield had minor dents and he flipped it over his shoulder by the back strap. Then he glanced over the treasure and decided to fill his pouches with a generous amount of the gold coins. "I'll believe the wicked greed of men slayed each other before I deem the land infested with demons."

Restraining himself from arguing the warrior's point, Deveryn said, "There is evidence to support both viewpoints, Corsar. I admit, however, I rather fight men than demons." He observed the warrior picking up the treasure with a grimace. "Corsar, what are you doing? The treasure may be cursed?"

"The weapons and gold are from Kulithia, except the shield I found. Since the Kulithians are scavengers by nature, I think the shield was stolen," Corsar answered. "These gold coins, however, have a wyvern mark, the symbol of the Kulithians. The other treasure I'll leave in case it is drenched in poison."

"We need you alive, Corsar," Kehlyra added. "Please heed Deveryn's advice."

Deveryn walked past the black gates, eyeing the grounds for any hint of movement. He kept his companions on a faded cobblestone path that cut through thick overgrowth toward the enormous shadowy castle. On each side of the pathway were hundreds of stone huts, some serving as entrances to other parts of the buried city. Deveryn glimpsed over the bas-relief on the huts depicting scenes of blazing suns, crescent moons, and twinkling stars. He imagined the city was a magnificent place when it flourished so many years ago, and felt a terrible loss of not having experienced the culture.

The sun tore at their flesh as they made their way to the castle. Corsar seemed extremely bothered by the exposure; his skin was turning red and blistering. Deveryn and Kehlyra showed no ill effects, though sweat dripped from their foreheads.

Holding a shield above his head to shade himself, Corsar grimaced toward Deveryn and Kehlyra. "Why don't you two fair-skinned ghosts burn like normal folk?"

"Our skin is immune to the darkening effects of the sun," Deveryn answered.

"Pity," Corsar said disdainfully. "You don't know what you're missing."

Deveryn came to a stone statue resembling an old man. The ancient figure, dressed in full plate mail and holding a great sword toward the sun, had a beard that fell to the statue's feet.

Corsar commented on the chin. "The statue reminds me of a thought I had in Talmirok. No one had a beard or any facial hair at all."

"We don't grow facial hair until we reach the age of a hundred years. At that time, our skin begins to lose its protective quality. Our flesh in our old age is also susceptible to burning from the sun."

"A hundred years?" Corsar rolled his eyes. "Do your people often live that long?"

"We have a natural lifespan of around one-hundred and fifty years. But most prolong their life to three-hundred years or longer by drawing on the earth's energies."

"It is a good thing your kind does not breed like rabbits or the land would be overpopulated," Corsar commented.

"We have difficulty procreating," Kehlyra said. "A Deviskari woman is lucky to bear a child or two over her entire lifespan. Most woman don't have children. And since we choose only one mate our entire life makes it more difficult."

"I always thought your people were devil worshipers," said Corsar, "but now I believe your race is just cursed."

Deveryn's feet pounded the ground noticeably harder, and he snapped. "Enough talk of aging, procreation, and curses."

"I sense you might think I am right," Corsar said, laughing, and patting Deveryn on the back. Deveryn shrugged off the touch and entered the castle. Corsar followed with a wide grin, seemingly pleased to see he irritated the Deviskari.

## 22

Most of the castle's interior was filled with stone and sand. Deveryn could see dozens of burrowed tunnels leading to the castle many wings. One particular section stuck out to him on the maps he held, an attached cathedral. The map contained warnings and markings forbidding anyone from exploring this part of the city, and he wondered why the king feared the house of worship. With his curiosity intrigued, he entered the proper connecting tunnel and told his companions to follow.

They traversed through arched halls that carried the faint ramblings of the dead. As the three moved swiftly toward their goal, they noticed shadows moving down the stone passages following them. Occasionally, a flash of light sparked from the darkness. It was a ghost trying to manifest in the world of the living. None seemed to succeed in entering; however, Deveryn moved the quicker nonetheless.

Centuries of decay permeated the air with an unhealthy stench and Deveryn gazed over the crumbling interior of a cathedral, overwhelmed with regret to see the magnificent place fall to such a decrepit state. Beams of sunlight broke through broken glass pain windows, illuminating chunks of gray stone, rotting wood benches, and cracks within the dusty floor. The fetid stench appeared strongest around these cracks and Deveryn knew the smell emitted from rotting corpses buried within the catacombs.

Instead of having a traditional altar, the apse contained a forty-foot statue of the Morlanthean god Gilfyrin. The towering stone statue rose up within a hollow spire, an overwhelming presence, dwarfing those at its base. The statue's carved features depicted the god as an old man with an ancient bearded face, a human-like face that almost seemed alive. Deveryn, Corsar, and Kehlyra stared at the tall statue, awed by the intricate details, each expecting the stone creation to come to life.

"You three must really be fascinated by that statue not to hear an Eldinisti woman sneak up behind you," a female voice said.

Deveryn spun around and his face sparkled like a shooting star in the night sky when he recognized the person behind them. "Elisara! Is that really..." His mouth gaped open, wondering if the woman in front of him was indeed Elisara.

"Me?" Elisara finished. "Yes Deveryn, I am not an apparition like the ones that haunt this place. I have made my peace with Amathyssa."

"What did she do to you?"

"She has shattered my beliefs," Elisara whispered with a coldness in her tone.

The response worried Deveryn. Her attire marked her a warrior, and he knew she despised the life of a killer. A glimmer of doubt taunted him if this was Elisara, but he buried the uncertainty hoping a logical explanation presented itself over time. For now, he let the matter rest. "I'm eager to hear the story when we leave this place."

Elisara gazed up at the statue of Gilfyrin and her eyes narrowed. "What kind of god allows his people to perish so horribly?"

"I sense we will find that answer buried in this city," Deveryn said. He glanced over the maps and pinpointed the entrance to the catacombs. Graylin marked the location as a place to avoid. He began to read the warnings aloud to his friends. "It warns..." Deveryn stopped talking as fright flashed over his face. At the base of the statue was a large stone door. On each side of the entrance were two flickering white crystals, resting in iron sconces, illuminating several faint glowing red symbols around the frame of the door. Corsar was about to reach out to touch them before Deveryn interceded.

"Stay away from those markings!" Deveryn shouted with such authority, it sent a ripple down the spines of everyone present.

"What's wrong, Deveryn?" Elisara asked, panicked.

Kehlyra put her hands over her eyes and shook her head. "Oh Corsar, no. Never touch any symbols of magic without learning about them first."

Deveryn stepped in between Corsar and the entrance. "If you had touched those markings, you would have burned alive. Only the key can open these doors."

The warrior took a step back. "Everything about this city is so disgustingly vile that even a place of worship is enchanted to kill. Perhaps I should stay here."

Deveryn removed the amulet from his pouch and placed it in a circular impression on the door. The imprint had matching symbols of the sun, moon, and stars. The red glow diminished on the runes and the stone door rumbled open. Above the door was some symbols in a language he had trouble deciphering. Some of the words he was able to understand, but the full meaning eluded him. "It won't be safe for you here. That writing above the door speaks of a golem. I think it refers to the guardian."

"What kind of hellish beast is a golem?" Corsar inquired agitatedly.

"The creature is a combination of parts taken from man and beast, animated flesh. The language is ancient. It refers to disturbing whatever is beyond this door, perhaps treasure, and it will awaken the golem. I think it best we touch nothing."

Corsar reached out and tugged Deveryn on the shoulder. "Then why in all the gods are we going in there?"

"Graylin was afraid to explore this part of the city. I want to know why. A golem is a terrible creature, but not enough to frighten the haughty king." Deveryn struck up a fire with flint and steel to light a torch. He waved the flames around the interior of the long narrow staircase, and then proceeded down.

At the end of the stairs was a domed chamber filled with hundreds of lit candles on top of perforations next to wall tombs. The flames danced within the pupils of the four guests as flowery aromas mitigated the sickening stench of the dead. Deveryn wondered who lit the candles since he possessed the only key to these passages. He determined magic had a role, unless there was more than one amulet.

"Death and flowers, a nauseating stench," Corsar said, holding his nose.

Deveryn agreed the intermixing of stenches prompted him to cover his nose. "Continue moving before we begin to smell like these corpses and keep your weapon ready. Someone lit these candles."

At the opposite side of the chamber was a ten-foot arched door made of black granite. Deveryn approached the door and stopped. "Remember to resist your rapacious hearts if you see treasures beyond this door." Deveryn once again put the amulet on the door on the familiar imprint, and the entire chamber shook as the giant black door slowly opened inward. Beyond the entrance was a cavern filled with thousands of flame crystals over a single white mausoleum. A long narrow trail snaked its way to the tomb that sat on an isle surrounded by darkness. A step to either side of the trail, or off the edge of the isle, dropped to a steep pit of stalagmites. In front of the mysterious crypt, four robed figures carrying torches turned at the sound of the rumbling door and drew serrated edged scimitars. They were tall, at least seven-feet high, with brown scaly hands. Deveryn saw the tip of a snake-like mouth poking from one of their hoods and immediately knew they were an old enemy of his people.

"Nishurog," Deveryn informed his companions, taking out Tehalin. "Beware of their bite, it is poisonous."

The creatures scampered up the trail single file; an attempt to walk side by side on the narrow path threatened the imprudent to a vicious drop. Deveryn handed his torch to Kehlyra, and took the lead. The Nishurog had the disadvantage. Their tall, lanky frames provided them with little agility when dealing with uneven ground.

Kehlyra shivered as if an icy finger pressed against her back to make her move. She stared catatonically ahead, a sick coloring coming over her. "I feel ill."

"Those creatures perspire a strong odor, enough to dizzy their prey," Deveryn said, concerned a sudden infliction with a light-headed condition could easily send one of them plummeting to their deaths. "We'll need to dispose of them quickly before we are all sickened."

On long strides, the first Nishurog stormed up the path, slashing away with its long serrated blade. Deveryn slowly backtracked, fending off the attacks, fearing each clash of blades would force him over the edge. Despite his predicament, he instructed the women to refrain from using magic in such a tight area.

"Go back to the main chamber," Deveryn commanded. "We have no chance of taking them on this cursed path."

Deveryn turned to flee up the path. The Nishurog closest to him flung its sword at his boot, tripping him up. He stumbled over the edge, and caught the side with one hand. In his other hand, he kept Tehalin firmly gripped willing to risk his life to protect the precious sword. The Nishurog leaped toward him to stomp on his fingers, but Elisara intervened and decapitated the defenseless creature before turning her attention on the next Nishurog on the path. She fought with an aggressiveness, an eagerness to kill, and Deveryn found doubt creeping back in his mind that an imposter was with them.

Corsar pulled Deveryn up from the ledge. "I hope you have a better plan to deal with these creatures."

Elisara's combat style bewildered Deveryn. Her strikes were wild and her footing novice-like. But her sword appeared to direct her defensive parries and she merely held on to it. He guessed an enchantment at work, and by her slowing reflexes, the magic was draining her. In an effort to relieve her, he foolishly tried to step in front of the group to take on the Nishurog single-handedly. His vision blurred from the noxious stench and he crashed into Elisara's back. She tumbled forward like a log rolling down a hill, colliding with all three Nishurog. Two of them screamed and plummeted downward, the sickening sound of stalagmite impaling flesh confirmed their deaths. The third clung to the edge with its scaly fingers, able to stop itself from suffering the same fate. Unable to stop her momentum, Elisara continued to roll off the path; her hand reached out and latched onto the creature's robe.

The sight of seeing Elisara roll off the edge brought Deveryn hastily to his feet. He fought the gloom swirling in his head and lurched over to the creature. His entire body shook from anger, and he raised Tehalin to slay the Nishurog, and then stopped, seeing Elisara dangling by the beast's robe. The Nishurog's hood fell back, revealing a scaly head with an elongated human-like bone structure. Yellowish serpent-like eyes stared up at Deveryn, and its toothy mouth grinned.

"Slaysss, me..And sheess di..." the creature hissed, and then found Corsar's axe buried in its forehead. Corsar then plunged his longsword through the Nishurog's skull before the body slipped over the side, pinning the body to the ground. Deveryn stood there, jaw gaping, in shock. Elisara climbed up the corpse until she was able to reach Corsar's hand. She pulled herself up, found her sword in the dirt, and sheathed the weapon.

Deveryn snapped out of his trance and grabbed Corsar by the chain shirt. "Are you mad? If you had failed to catch the creature in time..."

"No, Deveryn." Elisara wedged herself between the two. "I found a crevice to leverage myself. Corsar saw me and I nodded for him to kill the creature."

"It was still a risky maneuver, nonetheless," Deveryn criticized.

"Look at this," Kehlyra said. She picked up another amulet on the ground. It was an exact duplicate of the one Deveryn carried.

"I thought as much," Deveryn said. "It was the only way the Nishurog could have entered this place."

"I have never seen creatures such as those," Corsar said.

"They are an old enemy of my people," Deveryn said. "It is a bad omen they have resurfaced. They once occupied Calendula Island before we drove them off. Only a single temple of theirs remains on the island, an ancient place rumored to contain a well of healing. It can cure any ailment and allow you to maintain your youth for many years. But it is also cursed. You must offer a worthy sacrifice to the fountain to gain the blessing, or a sip of the water will bring you death. The temple is a place of worship for the goddess of dragons."

The group move onward, keeping away from the edge of the path, until they reached the mausoleum. On the stone entrance was another imprint and Deveryn used his amulet to gain access.

Kehlyra blinked nervously and glanced behind. "I feel something watching us."

"I'll keep watch here," Corsar said, stopping outside the tomb's entrance. "I've felt a chill ever since we entered this tomb."

Deveryn stood at the tomb entrance, deep in thought. Why were the Nishurog here? Inside the burial chamber, fire crystals cast the room in a red misty glow. The chamber contained a single sarcophaguses wrapped in a thick chain. An impression on the lock matched the design of the amulet.

Elisara stood near the chamber, brooding. Her angry demeanor concerned Deveryn. His paranoia made him think her feelings changed toward him, though he reasoned she would never have come back if that was true. And why were her beliefs shattered? Did Amathyssa bewitch the woman?

"Something is coming, big and ugly," Corsar shouted from the outside and then came rushing into the chamber. "Did you hear me? We have trouble."

A frigid gust swooshed around the chamber. Deveryn saw movement within the shadows, a formless thing, and knew a demonic spirit infested these walls. His companions watched him with puzzlement, and he instructed them all to stop moving. Kehlyra was rubbing her arms trying to keep warm. Then her body shook uncontrollably and she screamed an unearthly sound that froze everyone in the chamber. She dropped to her knees clutching her face with bone white fingers, her body convulsed and thrashed about, her eyes rolled and changed to two black saucers. The color of her skin took on a bluish tint and the veins in her head inflamed as if suddenly filled with an onrush of blood.

"What's wrong with her?" Elisara shouted. Deveryn might as well have been a stone statue, his fascination of the transformation held him in place. Elisara shook her head in disgust. "Deveryn, do something!"

Corsar cursed the dormant Deviskari and then slammed Kehlyra to the ground. She lashed out at him with her nails like a frantic beast. "I could use some help here."

Kehlyra freed her dagger and drove the blade into Corsar's right rib cage. The Aldrashan fell back grasping his side and she leaped atop of him, pinning him down. She lifted his chain shirt, exposing his chest, and then raised the dagger above her head ready to end the young warrior's life. Foam dripped from her lips and those black emotionless pits relished over the exposed flesh. Then she plunged downward.

The blade never reached Corsar's heart. Elisara's leg whipped out at Kehlyra, knocking the girl off the warrior. "Deveryn, help us!" Elisara shouted, wrestling the bloody dagger free from Kehlyra's grasp.

Deveryn unsheathed his sword and brought the silvery pommel down across Kehlyra's temple, dazing her. There was no doubt in his mind a demon possessed her. "Who are you? Why do you harass this girl? Answer me devil!" He dabbed his fingers in Corsar's blood and painted a symbol on Kehlyra's forehead. She screamed at the touch and fell to the ground, paralyzed. This was not the first time he had to expel a demon and words from an invocation poured from his mouth, hoping some spiteful god decided to recall the reticent demon back to the realm in which it escaped.

Kehlyra sneered, and then spoke in a hideously distorted voice. "No need to waste your words Deviskari, I found a stronger host." She laughed hysterically, and then screamed.

Some unseen overbearing force slammed Deveryn backward, pushing him off Kehlyra. With the demon gone from her body, her appearance reverted to normal. Deveryn knew the demon still lurked about, and waited to confront its new host.

Elisara frantically gazed around the entire chamber, waiting for another attack. Then she tore off a piece of Kehlyra's skirt and pressed the cloth to Corsar's wounds to stop the blood flow. "Stay with me, Corsar. Your wound is deep."

The chamber felt unnaturally cold to Deveryn, the walls were turning white with frost. He scanned the area looking for the devilish thing to reveal itself; he could see the red crystals in the torches flicker wildly as something brushed over them. A loud hideous shriek then taunted the ears of everyone in the chamber.

Deveryn twirled toward the entranceway to challenge the source of the horrible sound and then he flinched, watching a tall corpse-like creature lurch over the chamber floor. The guardian was a menacing sight of rotting flesh scarcely covered by a tattered gray robe. Around the creature's waist hung a long thick spiked chain, dragging upon the floor, the weight alone was enough to prevent most men from moving.

Only nightmares filled Deveryn's head, looking at the devil's gruesome face. A mockery of humanity, with bones and tissue peeking through a black half-mask made of cloth. The horrid eyes were unlike anything he had ever seen. Two crimson orbs shaped like half-moons, ancient eyes -- inhuman eyes.

Instinctively, Deveryn stepped in front of the monster, realizing he was the only barrier between the golem and his friends. The golem took a step back, trembled, and then roared in defiance, as the demon tried to take control of its every rotted limb. Deveryn sprinted toward the creature with his sword, but stopped in his tracks when the golem voiced an ear-piercing shriek. The volume shook mortar from the walls, and he clutched at his ears to shield his eardrums from bursting.

The inhuman sound debilitated Deveryn. Once the shrieking stopped, Deveryn ears rang with deafness. He watched the golem remove the spiked chain from around its waist and knew the demonic spirit had succeeded in possessing the protector of these grounds. The long deadly links clanked against the stone floor and then sparked to life with red seething flame. Deveryn shied away, feeling the blistering flames roasting his skin.

The golem scoffed beneath its black mask. "I told you I found a much stronger host."

The creature's voice was barely audible in Deveryn's damaged ears. "Who are you?"

The monster ignored him, continued to approach, the heavy chain swayed within its two boney hands.

"At least tell me who you are demon?"

The monster stopped. "I am Wulfrayer, surely you have heard of me?

"Wulfrayer," Deveryn whispered. "Why after all these years, do you return now?"

"Your king has summoned me," the creature said with malicious grin. "Yes, after all these years and I find a hated enemy brings me back to Morlanthea."

"If Graylin made a bargain with you to kill me, you must know betrayal awaits you in the end."

"Yes," the golem snarled. "He thinks I serve him. He is a fool." The fiend glowered with hatred. "He was too eager to agree to my terms, and I knew his tongue spilled lies. I intend to take his kingdom from him. And if he considers you a threat to him, then you would soon be a threat to me. I cannot have this."

Deveryn stood flabbergasted. Wulfrayer swung his flaming chains, scraping up sparks along the stone floor. The ends of the chain moved like two giant steel spiked octopus arms, inflicting wounds, and forming an impenetrable shield. Deveryn tactfully backed out the entrance door, drawing the creature outside.

"Submit to me, serve me," Wulfrayer bellowed through rotting teeth. "Or die here with your people."

"I'd rather die," Deveryn responded acidly.

Wulfrayer grinned beneath his black mask. "What about Elisara? Do you want her to die? I feel the strong affinity you have towards her."

Evading the deadly chain, Deveryn darted toward Wulfrayer, his sword danced in a silver blur, nicking pieces of flesh from the creature's body. He wanted to slow down Wulfrayer and aimed to severe a leg, but Wulfrayer dodged the blow and left him swinging at empty air. When Deveryn realized his mistake, he spun around to fend off an attack, and caught his arm in the fiery chain.

The hot steel chain roasted his flesh. Deveryn dropped his sword and fell backward, his blade landed at Wulfrayer's feet. Instead of attempting to reclaim his sword, he stood motionless, defeated, knowing an attempt to pick up his weapon meant instant death. Elisara came rushing out of the tomb, sword ready. Blood dripped from her sensitive ears. Deveryn shouted at her to keep back, but doubted she heard his plea. She proceeded around the creature, keeping a safe enough distance from those monstrous chains.

A sadistic smile showed through the creature's black mask. Deveryn searched his mind for a spell to aid him, keeping focused on that gruesome grin. He saw Elisara chanting and decided to help her by stalling the demon, giving her some time to complete the enchantment. "Wulfrayer, your people are inferior to mine in combat. You are destined to fail again."

"My power was taken from me then," the monster bellowed caustically. "With the Soulcatcher back in my hands, the possibilities of what I can achieve are boundless."

"You are much like Graylin, delusional and insane; a perfect complement to the hideous shell you control. Everyone wants to rule the land, and in the end, they end up beneath a pile of ruins." Deveryn took a step toward the creature and feigned interest in picking up his sword.

Wulfrayer also stepped forward to block Deveryn from reaching the sword and then halted. The flaming chains suddenly wrapped around his wrist, and then pulled him down to his knees with an invisible force. He tried to free himself, but he was helpless, bound to the earth by his own weapon. Wulfrayer tried to release his hold on the golem. Instead, he watched a flame leap off the fiery chains and etch a binding symbol into his chest. The spell trapped the demon within the gruesome carcass and Wulfrayer wailed in agony. "Witch! I sense you are behind me. Free me of these bonds or your people will be the first to suffer."

Elisara glanced over the imprisoned golem and then moved to the monster's side. With a saddened expression, she lifted her sword above his head and then brought the blade down, slicing easily through the boney neck. Deveryn felt no satisfaction in her triumph, only sorrow, and worried the woman had changed for the worse.

Deveryn picked up his sword. "I see the blooming flower has changed to a thorny rose. How did you control the golem's weapon?"

"The fire in the chains," She whispered softly, looking upon the headless creature. "I am not only able to create fire, I can control it. I merely used the flames on his weapon to bind him." Then she suddenly changed the topic. "I almost forgot Corsar! He is badly wounded and needs my help."

Back within the mausoleum chamber, Kehlyra sobbed next to Corsar. Blood seeped over her hands as she applied pressure to the wound she herself inflicted on him. "I am sorry, Corsar. I am sorry."

Elisara sprinted over to Corsar and dropped down to one knee. She pushed Kehlyra's hand aside and examined the wound. "Your wound requires magic to heal; it is too deep to mend naturally." She reached out to Kehlyra. "Give me your hand, Kehlyra. I am weak. I can borrow on your energy."

The girl extended her arm. Elisara hesitated briefly, remembering Amathyssa's warning to not take too much energy from another being, and then grabbed hold of the cold slender hand. She pressed down on Corsar's wound with her free hand and incanted a spell to cauterize the wound with fire. The simple spell made her visibly feeble and sick as she exerted all her strength to stay conscious. Kehlyra tried to pull away and Elisara grasped the girl's wrist tighter. "Stop struggling! His life depends on us!"

"The pain!" Kehlyra screamed in obvious discomfort, trying to break free of the hold.

Elisara tightened her grip, her nails drawing blood. She continued her spell, drawing energy, until both women appeared like a pair of ghouls. Then the wound finally scabbed over and Elisara released her hold.

Corsar regarded Kehlyra with a hint of pity in his eyes. "I thought you some helpless wench, but your dagger has some bite."

"A demon tried to kill you, not Kehlyra," Deveryn assured him. "He is gone."

"I am sorry," Kehlyra whimpered. "Please forgive me. It was the demon."

"I knew you were bewitched, Kehlyra," Corsar said assuredly.

"How do you feel?" Elisara asked Corsar.

"Weary," Corsar replied. He picked up his sword and shield, securing both to his back. "Thank you."

"Why did you have trouble conjuring the fire," Deveryn asked. He saw Elisara conjure wind and fire with little impact on her health. The simple conjuring of a small flame to seal Corsar's wound required great effort.

"The sword I carry takes great energy to wield," Elisara answered. "I did not realize it would drain me so quickly."

Deveryn nodded and then stepped over to the sarcophagus. He placed his amulet on the lock and the chains fell away. "Corsar, help me open up the tomb. I am eager to learn the importance of the one who lies here."

Combining their strength, Deveryn and Corsar slid the weighty stone cover to reveal the inside. Corsar immediately turned away, unable to stand the putrid odor from within the sarcophagus.

"It reeks," Corsar said with disgust.

Defying the offensive smell, Deveryn peered inside the sarcophagus. To his disappointment, the tomb contained only a female corpse; the skeletal frame was still plump with rotting flesh. Sighing disapprovingly, he deemed the corpse unimportant, that is, until the thing opened its soulless black eyes.

## 23

A warm breeze blew over the sandstone walls of Sundamar, sweeping away the loose particles of stone. Looking through a spyglass, Graylin studied the city from horseback. Beyond the walls, he saw flat-topped huts, tall spires, and a great lake centered within the heart of the city. A long arched stone bridge reached across to a small isle on the lake where a colossal citadel rose higher than every other structure. Along the battlements, archers dressed in tan cloaks patrolled in groups of four unaware someone spied their home.

Graylin put away the spyglass and looked at his battle chiefs, eight smug-looking men dressed in red padded gambesons and riding stallions. "Are your divisions ready?" All the men nodded in acknowledgment. "Good, I am eager to see how the Eldinisti defend their city. Inform your commanders we begin the attack at once."

The eight chiefs rode off in different directions, heading out to large divisions of groups consisting of cavalry, battering rams, catapults, trebuchets, and foot soldiers. The chiefs never engaged in combat, preferring to remain a distance from the bloodshed to get an overview of how the battle progressed to make adjustments based on the successes and failures of each skirmish. Runners were sent to the commanders of each division to give them new objectives. In case the divisions broke out to smaller groups, captains took charge. Graylin knew his command structure had weaknesses. If a commander fell in battle, the division was left without a leader. His chiefs tried to convince him of a better chain of command, but his stubbornness and his threat to send them all to the battlefield, silenced them.

Once the word spread among the ranks, five thousand Deviskari marched toward Sundamar. Each division dressed in their own motif, varying from black armor to silver armor, to animal shaped helmets to demon-like visages. The first to advance was the skull soldiers dressed in dark armor with skull faces on their shields and spaulders. They formed dozens of columns, splitting out to the four corners of the city, readying ladders and long spears to lay siege to the walls. They were the most frightful looking of all the divisions, and for that reason, Graylin preferred they lead the charge to invoke fear in the Eldinisti.

Behind the skull division, a hundred mastodons followed. Each towed wooden carts carrying catapults and material to construct the trebuchets. Accompanying each elephant, several horses pulled small wagons containing giant rocks, enough destructive force to bring down the towers and sandstone walls of Sundamar. The cavalry waited in the rear and were ordered to hunt down any fleeing Eldinisti.

Graylin assembled his scorpion knights to watch the spectacle. The sun shimmered off their steel cuirasses under thick cloaks, an impressive display of strength and beauty. Stern gazes painted each face of these riders, each eager to see bloodshed taint the smooth tan walls of the Eldinisti city. "Watch how a Deviskari stings and the weak crumble beneath our strength," Graylin bellowed at his men. He raised a horn to his lips to blow and then hesitated, looking up at the sky.

Something strange happened within the clouds. They were no longer white blotchy masses. Instead, they stretched out over the armies and city, turning an eerie red, orange, and black color. Graylin watched the clouds inquisitively, wondering what kind of magic the Eldinisti summoned. A harmless illusion, he concluded, hardly anything of power to prevent him from having the city.

"A trick to confuse us," Graylin shouted. "It makes no difference the color of the sky. Soon, very soon, the sky will be covered with black ashes from the dead." He pressed the horn to his lips and blew.

The officious horn bellowed forth and the attack began. Dozens of flaming rocks launched from catapults, aiming for the towers and walls. The rocks sailed overhead like a meteor shower, descending toward the insular city. As the great boulders neared the walls and towers, strong winds swept through the area pushing the fiery rocks back, slinging them toward the advancing foot soldiers. The deadly missiles pelted them with thunderous force, scattering troops for cover as fragments of rock crushed bones and fractured skulls.

The malevolent king stomped his foot in anger. "I underestimated these fools! My chiefs neglected to scout their defenses properly, curse them." He determined the Eldinisti mages summoned the wind to repel the incendiary projectiles, but saw only archers on the walls. His mind raced to think of ways to counter their power, render them helpless somehow, but he was unable to determine their location. The Soulcatcher provided him with unlimited energy, though his repertoires of spells were meant to work at close range. His overconfidence irked him and he blew the horn for his soldiers to advance out of spite.

As the Deviskari army advanced again, the clouds turned a dark gray and erupted into a heavy rainfall. The soldiers slowly advanced shielding their faces. Then lightning began to strike randomly, turning troops to crisps of roasted flesh. The Deviskari soldiers continued to push forward. The Eldinisti archers let loose a volley of blue-fletched arrows that defied the storm, piercing shields and plate armor as if the protection were made of paper. Moans and death cries ensued, and the gold sands began to turn red with blood. The Deviskari soldiers tried to stay in formations as they moved forward and their numbers rapidly dwindled. Suddenly, the stragglers fell back with scared and angry grins, and the gray clouds turned back to an eerie red, orange, and black. The brief storm had left hundreds of bodies covering the sands, stunning the entire Deviskari army. The Eldinisti proved more than simple folk, and the king scolded his leaders for lack of preparation.

A single rider broke from the line of scorpion knights and approached Graylin. Graylin eyed the man with contempt, expecting bad news. "Your words better be worth my time, Talsarin," he said irritably.

Talsarin reined his horse in front of Graylin. The man's normally pale visage turned blood red with anger. "The men are dying in droves charging head on. We must retreat and rethink our strategy. No one anticipated the Eldinisti to conjure such powerful magic. We are carelessly sending these soldiers to their deaths."

"What do you suggest?" Graylin said caustically.

"Summon the chiefs and let us come up with a better solution before our entire army bleeds on these sands."

Graylin scrutinized the gray tower, visualizing a group of sorcerers within, conjuring the forces of nature to defend the city. "Move the trebuchets to each side of the city and aim them at the central citadel. I have a suspicion their mages are hiding there. Coordinate the men to attack from all sides at once."

"Wasted resources," Talsarin replied with skepticism. "Wait for nightfall and send a group of men to investigate the city. The walls are low enough for us to scale under the cover of darkness."

"And those archers would shoot them down one by one. The Chiefs failed to scout out the Eldinisti defenses properly before we started our march allowing these peasants to prepare for us. Send word to my incompetent chiefs to move the trebuchets."

With a downcast glance, Talsarin reined his horse in the direction of the battle chiefs. "Yes, my king."

Graylin waited again for his command to spread and then watched the mighty mastodons pull their lethal war machines to surround the Eldinisti city. He eagerly held the horn in his sweaty hand, hearing only the howl of a passing wind, believing his men were in shock from his latest orders. Once his war machines settled within the bloodstained sands, Graylin blew the horn. Trebuchets fired their loads. The flaming rocks sped toward the tower, threatening to crumble the walls. The lake surrounding the tower began to bubble and thrash about, and then an enormous wall of water rose upward and whirled around like a cyclone. Just as the fiery rocks converged on the tower, the water barrier absorbed them, and then slung them outward, sending the projectiles back at the surrounding army. Shouts and cries of death erupted from the Deviskari army as the boulders ended lives.

Viewing the bloody sands filled with the bodies of his people, Graylin shook his head in bewilderment. He admired the power the Eldinisti controlled, power he wanted. Amrahar rode up beside him, shaking his head.

"We can't defeat them without a better plan," Amrahar said.

"I know," Graylin admitted. "If I had more mages like you, I might be able to counter, but there are few of our people capable of great magic."

Unexpectedly, the iron gates to Sundamar opened up. An envoy of riders emerged, riding towards him. There were nine riders in all. Eight were guards, dressed in hardened leather armor. One of them carried a white flag of truce, fluttering in the wind atop a wooden pole. In the middle of the group was a young female rider -- Ryshara.

Amrahar eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Do you think they come to beg for peace?"

"We shall see," Graylin whispered.

None of the Deviskari knights moved to protect Graylin as the group of Eldinisti riders approached their king. Graylin noted the action, realizing they probably wished he were dead. He scrutinized Ryshara like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse.

Ryshara glared back at Graylin. "You are beaten, Graylin. Why must you continue to attack us?"

Graylin dismounted and removed a leather bag from his saddle. He took out the Soulcatcher and held up the orb to show Ryshara. "Do you hear the screams coming from the orb, Ryshara? The Soulcatcher consumes the souls of the dead. Do you realize how many Deviskari souls you just sent to oblivion? Will it please you when Eldinisti souls join them?"

"I see only the blood of your people covering the desert," Ryshara answered back.

"Why are you here?" grunted the irascible king.

"To see if there is any semblance of reasoning left in you. Leave in peace and let us be."

"Surrender your city and pledge loyalty to me or face extinction." Graylin motioned his knights to surround the group.

"How dare you threaten us," Ryshara said, frowning. "We are under a flag of truce."

"You are worthless slugs," Graylin remarked, grasping the Soulcatcher with both hands. His next words sent the Eldinisti soldiers hollering in pain as a green deadly mist wrapped around them and slowly turned them to skeletons. Ryshara pulled on the reins of her horse to retreat and the eight scorpion knights moved around her to cut off her escape.

"Lothkus help us!" Ryshara cried out to the Eldinisti god. The scorpion knights tore her from the horse, ripping open her garments exposing her tanned slender body beneath. She fell to the ground, the impact left her breathless, and then the knights converged on her with orsanite chains. She kicked and punched wildly, her blows landed on steel armor that left her knuckles bloody. Finally, she succumbed to their strength and soon afterward, found herself restrained by chains. Tears dripped to the ground from her gloomy blue eyes, seeing the corpses of her guards.

"Set up a tent and chain her inside." Graylin ordered.

"Let me have her for a few hours," Amrahar said. "I'll discover a weakness, I promise."

"As you wish, Amrahar," Graylin said. "Don't disappoint me."

## 24

The stench permeating from the tomb made the onlookers cringe with sickness. Deveryn suspected the female creature in the sarcophagus was far more dangerous than one of the undead. He looked upon the withered face of the ancient woman in growing wonder, seeking a reason why she lived, sensing a power he had no words to describe. Then the she-devil sat up and smiled at the onlookers with rotting lips, but no one moved, all were entranced by this abomination. It gazed around the chamber, a slight chuckle emitted from her vile throat, and then she spoke.

"Your name is Deveryn," the creature stated in a youthful womanly voice that seemed incongruous to the thing's appearance.

The uttering of his name stunned Deveryn, and his eyebrows arched in surprise. "Yes, I am Deveryn."

The woman regarded each face with a mocking grin. "The spirits dwelling in this city have no grievances towards the Aldrashan. But, I hear their irritable moans claiming the Deviskari and the Eldinisti have defiled their holy grounds."

"I can defile the ground with your blood, if that will appease them," Corsar said, lifting up his sword.

"Your bravery shields your fear, Corsar," the woman said, raising the hairs on his arm with her gaze alone. "I can see in your aura you live a cursed life, a distressed life. You torment yourself over the loss of your princess. I give you a warning out of benevolence. I see a mist of sorrow hanging over you in the future. If you allow it to consume you, then an early death awaits."

The woman cackled and then found Kehlyra. "Kehlyra, your love for him will shatter you. And because of this, you will suffer greatly to an enemy."

"Stop spilling your cryptic messages," Deveryn said, watching the tears well up in Kehlyra's eyes.

Kehlyra looked away. "Please don't look at me."

"You know I speak the truth, Deveryn," said the shell of flesh. "As I know you will betray your own people to save the one you love." Again, the creature cackled. "I can see all of your destinies, the dark paths each of you will follow, lives filled with tragedy."

"You neglected to mention me," Elisara said scornfully.

The creature's black eyes found Elisara. "No, Eldinisti. You share the darkest destiny, the darkest torment." She turned back to Deveryn. "Make the others leave. I will speak with you alone. We share a common enemy and I suspect you will want to listen to what I have to say."

"It's a trick," Elisara said.

"Yes," Deveryn answered. "But, I still need all of you to wait outside. I will speak to this creature, alone."

"Don't be a fool," Corsar argued. "She is trying to manipulate you."

"You may be right," concurred Deveryn, "but please wait outside."

"I shall never understand you witch folk." Corsar nudged Kehlyra toward the door and said, "Come before another demon tries to possess you." Kehlyra frowned at the comment, but allowed Corsar to escort her out.

Elisara remained with her arms crossed and her eyes fixed on Deveryn.

"You're going to try and convince me what I already know," Deveryn said. He forced a smile and she shook her head, unconvinced. Then, he put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll be all right."

"Corsar is right, you are a fool," Elisara said.

"Please, Elisara," Deveryn pleaded. "Wait outside."

Elisara groaned and stomped her foot. "I did not return to you to bury your corpse." Utterly incensed, she shrugged and then cursed him in her native language. Deveryn kept quiet and his silence further infuriated her. She cursed again and then stomped out of the chamber.

"She is spirited," the undead woman said.

Deveryn ignored the crypt devil and cut his palm to spill a few drops of blood. He dabbed his finger in the blood and drew symbols on each side of the sarcophagus. The symbols served two purposes: to protect and to bind the creature from escaping.

"Your archaic rituals are unnecessary," said the woman, surprise clearly expressed on her ghoulish face.

"You are a prisoner here for a reason, and I doubt the truth will leave your fiendish mouth." Deveryn took a step back.

The thing stood and dust fell away from her emaciated body, a boney frame of rotted flesh. The woman stretched and extended skeletal hands. "The amulet you carry, give it to me."

"No," Deveryn said. "Should I also kneel before you and give you my sword to take my head. Now, tell me who you are."

The creature shook its bulbous head in annoyance. "I am Sekora."

"If you spit forth any more lies, I'll seal you back in that tomb. Now, who are you?"

The woman's dark eyes sparked to life. "I am Sekora. Why do you doubt me?"

"I have heard of Sekora -- the goddess of dragons. Are you saying you are a goddess?"

Sekora stretched again, cracking bones. "Yes, I am a goddess, though perhaps no longer a divine being.

"Care to share the tale?" Deveryn asked. "You also spoke of a common enemy. Who do you deem your enemy?"

"I have many enemies in this land," Sekora whispered. "Though, we share one in particular -- Azathea. She controls Calendula Island and holds your Moon Spirit Dancer captive. The Nishurog are the rightful rulers of that island, not the Deviskari, and not Azathea."

Deveryn was familiar with the history of the island and knew she spoke the truth. The Nishurog first occupied Calendula Island before the Deviskari drove them off. They attempted several times to take the island back, but were eventually driven away for good.

"There were four Nishurog guarding you," Deveryn said. "Why were they here?"

"Isn't the answer obvious to you? I am their goddess, and they yearn for me to return to them. They want Calendula Island back and now Azathea stands in their way. You see, we both want something on the Island and she is our obstacle. Why not work together?"

"Azathea has put a curse on the island to make allies see each other as enemies. How can I counter this magic?"

"I can help you, if you agree to my offer."

Deveryn found it difficult to trust this woman, felt she held something back, but his options were running out on saving Kiyasca. "First, tell me. Why do you hate Azathea? Why is she your enemy? Did she have a part putting you here? Or do you hate her for the simple fact she occupies an island you want?"

Sekora tilted her slimy head back and grinned. "The Star Spirit Dancer is partly responsible for me being imprisoned here. Azathea betrayed me and her people."

"Star Spirit Dancer," Deveryn blurted with his eyebrows raised. "Is she and Kiyasca part of the Kraskara?"

The word made the creature's eyes widen and then narrow with suspicion. "The Kraskara are no more and that is all I will tell you of them."

Deveryn frowned, knowing he hit some sore spot with the goddess. He did find her information on Azathea's identity useful, made him realize there was a connection to the symbols and the women. Kiyasca, the Moon Spirit Dancer; Azathea, the Star Spirit Dancer; and he assumed there was a Sun Spirit Dancer. If Kiyasca did have a part in imprisoning this woman here, then she would be an enemy as well. Instead of asking further questions about the symbols or the relationship between Kiyasca and Azathea, he kept silent on the subject. This thing clearly was going to use him, and he planned to do the same to her.

"Tell me your proposal," he said.

Sekora exhaled through two shriveled nostrils. "The legends are true about the healing fountain within the temple dedicated to me. I performed the ritual to bring the blessing to the fountain. I want my youth, my flesh, my beauty back. Free me from my tomb, and I will lift the curse on Calendula Island."

"I doubt my companions would ever allow you to accompany us."

"Your companions will never see me, but I will be following very close."

"It would be more like having a serpent at our backs. I am curious about what you know of the Soulcatcher. Why does Azathea want the orb?"

"She seeks to destroy it," Sekora replied. "But the Soulcatcher belongs to me, and I shall take it from her." She stretched her arms again and said languidly, "It will take me time to recover from my years of imprisonment. Free me, so I can regain my strength and help you before Azathea kills your Moon Spirit Dancer."

Deveryn pondered her response. In his gut, he felt if Azathea wanted the Soulcatcher destroyed, then she was an ally. But why did she take Kiyasca prisoner? If Kiyasca knew of this Soulcatcher, she would want it destroyed as well. Sekora was mixing lies and truths, and he did not have the power to make her confess. Regardless, Kiyasca's life did hang over his head and the longer he lingered chasing answers, the less time he had to save her. Going against his own instincts to let this creature rot here, he decided to agree to her terms and asked, "How can I free you?"

"If I destroy one of the three amulets that bound me here, it will break the curse that holds me in this tomb. Give it to me."

Deveryn placed his hand on the amulet resting in his pouch and hesitated making a move. Dealing with devils like this creature always ended in problems worse than the evil they promised to help vanquish. After a brief deliberation in his mind over the consequences, he placed the amulet on the sarcophagus in front of Sekora.

"Now leave me. Go to your companions, go to Calendula Island. I will follow behind. And Azathea will pay for what she did to me."

Deveryn exited the tomb praying to Makriara, praying he did not just unleash an evil greater than the one that awaited him on Calendula Island.

## 25

Deveryn felt the warmth of the bright sunlight, relieved to leave behind the cathedral's dark lurid interior. Despite the sun's golden luminance, the city ruins seemed imprinted in a dull, grayish gloom. He made his way over the cobblestone path, past the stone buildings, shading his eyes to allow him to glance backward at his three companions. They all glistened with sweat and dragged their feet as if he led them to their deaths. The languid stares he received made him realize he pushed them too hard and the worst was yet to come.

Next to the black iron gates, Deveryn stopped in front of a stone hut set apart from all the rest. The hut appeared ordinary, except for a trail of blood leading to the door. The front entrance of the hut, a rotted oak door, hung from hinges and swayed from the heavy winds. Deveryn stepped inside the place alone, hoping to find useful supplies to help them traverse the desert.

The inside stank of dead flesh. Deveryn discovered a Deviskari corpse; the body was missing an arm and part of a leg. The face was unrecognizable and blood stained the floor in a pattern hinting the victim crawled in here. The corpse's one arm dangled within the leather strap of a waterskin that hung from a hook on the wall. The body had several cuts seeped with dried blood. The unlucky wretch must have crawled in here with only a few breaths of life remaining, Deveryn surmised. Perhaps the man was part of the group of dead men outside the gates. There could be no other explanation on how the thieves pillaged the city without intimate knowledge of avoiding the plethora of traps. The Eldinisti may have guided them to Tiarshus, but no other race spent more time learning the city's secrets than the Deviskari.

Deveryn peeled away the strap from the corpse. He let the body fall to the floor and removed the waterskin. He secured the receptacle over his shoulder and searched the hut for other supplies. Looking around, he found several leather flasks and more waterskins, some filled, and some empty. He grabbed them all.

He emerged from the hut and sensed immediately a swarm of restless spirits converging around his friends. Male and female spectral voices pleaded for a release from their misery. Deveryn empathized with their sorrows, lingering forever in eternity, and wished he knew a way to free them from their agonies. He came to the gates and untangled the reins holding the elephant in place. Next to the elephant was a horse, also tethered to the gates.

"We are going to die out here, Deveryn," Corsar said. "I know your tolerance for the heat is high, but I am sure even your bones wither away without water and shelter."

"You still lack faith in my ability to keep us alive, Corsar," Deveryn said. "Everyone, up on the beast's back. He will take us south.

"What about my horse?" Elisara asked.

"Cut him free. The elephant will take us where we need to go."

The group mounted the elephant, and the beast's thunderous footsteps rumbled over the sands as Tiarshus faded from view. The animal's hulking legs wafted clouds of sand around the passengers as Deveryn directed the animal southward.

"We go to Grusundir. There is a small port there called Caarnun Cay. We'll find a boat to take us to Calendula Island." He glanced over at Corsar. "You should be able to find a boat to take you back to Aldrashar if you wish to return home."

"Home...No, my eagerness is tempered by the news I bring the king," Corsar admitted. "However, if I bring home the head of his daughter's murderer, I might be able to appease King Brohnin."

"Regardless how evil he appears, Graylin was once like a father to me," Deveryn said with disappointment. "I believe he is being manipulated. When I find the one who spawned the devil inside him, you are welcomed to take his head."

"We shall see, Deveryn." Corsar drank from one of the waterskins, and then asked, "Did that devil in the crypt give you any useful information?"

"No, only lies," Deveryn told him, and then changed the topic. "Finding passage to Calendula Island is a concern, given our appearance. If the people of Caarnun Cay are not receptive to us, we may end up swimming to the island."

Corsar shook his head negatively. "The people of Caarnun Cay are very prejudice when dealing with outsiders. I don't think they will like witch folk. We passed through there on our way to Talmirok and found the people quite priggish when we mentioned our destination."

"I too heard Caarnun Cay is a dangerous place for our kind," Elisara concurred. "I overheard Brashus speaking with a man that the town scorned sorcery and burned those practicing magic. If the town finds out who we are, expect the worst."

"Do you think Kiyasca is still alive?" Kehlyra asked.

"Yes, Kehlyra," acknowledged Deveryn. "I think she is."

Deveryn thought about Caarnun Cay. He agreed entering the town was a dangerous plan. Corsar and Elisara had the experience to fight and he knew he could depend on them. Kehlyra, however, presented a burden to him. Against the murrats, he remembered her having difficulty controlling her magic. If they encountered deadly opponents, he hoped she was stable enough to better control her powers, but feared her lack of discipline may cause them trouble instead. He also wondered if Sekora followed them, and would the sorceress help or secretly turn on them all.

"No!" Elisara cried, gaining everyone's attention.

Deveryn followed her gaze across the horizon. In the far distance, the sky appeared in an eerie display of swirling red, orange, and black colors unlike he had ever seen. "What a strange sky."

Elisara brushed the tears from her cheeks. "Sundamar is under attack. The coloring of the sky is a warning to any Eldinisti outside the city to stay away. I need to go to them. I should be there by my sister's side."

"You serve them better by helping me, Elisara," Deveryn assured her. "If we get to Calendula and find Kiyasca, she may be able to stop Graylin."

"And what if she is dead?"

"Then I'm afraid our quest is for naught," answered Deveryn, reluctant to lie to her. "I do believe she lives."

"Once King Brohnin learns of his daughter's fate, a war between our people is inevitable," Corsar said. "I imagine every warrior in Aldrashar, young and old, will pledge their lives to end Graylin's reign. Graylin underestimated us."

Deveryn dismissed Corsar's proclamation. "A pack of wolves gnawing at a wall of stone. Graylin is too powerful to allow anyone to get close enough with a sword. Better we resolve this conflict before Brohnin finds out about the death of his daughter."

The reference to wolves gnawing at a wall of stone brought a smirk to Corsar. "We may only be wolves gnawing at stone, but we'll have steel teeth and eventually all walls crumble over time."

The elephant lumbered incessantly southward over the next three days, stopping occasionally to drink from water holes and to feed. When patches of date palms sprung up, a plant known to grow at the southernmost tip of the Skuldra Desert, the group realized they neared the Grusundir border. Ahead of them, dark clouds of sand rolled over the terrain in their direction. Deveryn kept the elephant on path to clash with the ominous storm since the creatures had a reputation for bulling through these ferocious forces of nature.

"We're getting too close," Corsar warned. "Make the beast change direction before we all end up under a pile of sand."

Deveryn laughed. "Change direction? I thought you were a courageous warrior."

"You're insane," Corsar growled, bracing himself for the impact.

"Hold on everyone." Deveryn braced himself and held sturdy to the reins.

Suddenly, a dark yellow fog shrouded the occupants within the howdah. Corsar, Kehlyra, and Elisara clutched to the sides of the carriage, fighting the winds and course particles brushing over them like glass shards. Deveryn kept hold of the reins and urged the animal forward. The sand whipped around his head, stinging his eyes, and he had trouble determining in which direction they travelled.

The winds smashed and tore at the occupants within the howdah. Kehlyra lost her grip and a gust pounded her back, thrusting her against the wooden siding. She slumped to the floor and then the wind swept under her, lifting her as if an invisible hand tried to pluck her out of the howdah. Corsar heard her cries and reached out, latching on to her ankle. Straining his muscles, he tried to pull her close to him using one hand. The wind had other plans, trying to wrestle her in the opposite direction. He hollered in frustration as the wind-blasted sand blinded and gnawed at him.

The beast plowed forward with uncanny power and speed, unhindered from the terrain or weather. Then, an angry gust smashed against the elephant causing the animal to stumble and then tumble over, throwing the occupants from the howdah. All four crawled toward the animal and latched around ropes and straps that secured the howdah to the beast's bulky frame, holding on for their lives, praying the storm did not sweep them away. The storm passed over them, and fortunately, left no casualties.

"Are you sure that lich woman didn't corrupt your brain," Corsar hollered at Deveryn, and then checked on Kehlyra. "Are you all right?"

Straightening, Kehlyra brushed the sand from her arms and clothes. "Yes, thank you."

With the storm gone, the rocky terrain and lush green pine trees of the Grusundir border was visible. A perpetual mist settled atop the vast forest, and the smell of fresh air permeated toward the travelers.

"We walk from here," Deveryn informed the others. He glanced up and down the border and then spotted a group of riders along the eastern edge huddled together. "Hurry, to the forest."

Elisara and Deveryn, quick as cats, dashed toward the forest. Kehlyra lingered behind, and Corsar slowed his pace to keep by her side. Something among the men caught his interest -- a rider with a silver bear helm.

"They're coming!" Elisara shouted. Kehlyra turned to watch the riders and stumbled, scraping her soft skin on a patch of rocks. She tried to stand up and tore a piece of her skirt on a rocky crevice. Corsar helped her up, flung his arms around the distraught girl, and ushered her forward to the forest.

"I thought Deviskari were nimble?" he said, smiling.

"The sands are much different than walking on the solid floors of the palace," Kehlyra said, pouting.

The sun dimmed with dusk approaching. Corsar stopped short of entering the forest and stood within the shadow of a tree. There was no mistaken the heavily armored men with the crest of a bear on their chests – the same crest he saw on the men that changed his life forever.

"We need to keep moving," Deveryn hollered from somewhere within the trees.

Corsar remained transfixed on the men. "Keep moving, Deveryn. I'm staying behind. The man responsible for the deaths of my father and mother is among these brutes and my sword has an itch to taste his blood. If the gods permit it, may they grant me revenge."

## 26

Ryshara opened her eyes and waited for death. She had been left tied to a mound of sand by leather thongs and covered only in a torn undergarment. The moon hung in the sky, cold, pallid, and she wondered if it were the face of a corpse.

A bright, flickering flame appeared; someone was approaching. Did her people send out a search party? Ryshara glanced toward the light and frowned when the bearer of the torch came within view -- Graylin. He carried a wooden box under his arm and she imagined within it were an assortment of tortures. She gazed up and caught him staring at her; the baleful expression on his countenance seemed as cold as the dead face she envisioned in the sky.

Graylin whispered in her ear, "I hope you are not in too much discomfort. I used a spell to pry into your mind, and it may have some adverse effects."

"Your cruelty will bring dire consequences, Graylin," Ryshara cried. "I look forward to your demise."

"Do you plan on ending my reign, personally?" Graylin asked, putting the box on the sand and removing the cover. He tilted the box toward Ryshara so she could see inside. A scorpion scuttled around the inside of the box. "I'm a bit curious to see if my friend's sting paralyzes or kills. Aren't you a bit curious?"

"Bastard!" Ryshara said and then gave a tug on her restraints to no avail. "You made a mistake killing my guards. We came under a flag of truce. I promise a swift and cruel retaliation for--"

"You probably feel quite sick and confused right now," Graylin interrupted her. "I assure you the unpleasantness worsens if you resist. The spell I used tends to rob the victim of certain memories and resisting the effects causes unforeseen results. I am curious to try an experiment on you, tempted to take your memories away and replace them with the consciousness of my pet. You see, I want to know if it is possible to transfer the souls between two individuals. I am eager to try and see if you end up thinking yourself a scorpion."

Intimidated by the mad king's delusions, Ryshara whispered a prayer to Lothkus to save her. Her blue embers defied Graylin and her heart thumped with uncontrollable hatred. "I am prepared to die Graylin for my people. Set me on fire and be done with it."

"I rather you live as my pet," Graylin said smugly. "Your mind revealed to me the one protecting your people is your Mokuru. And her power is weakening." Graylin pushed Ryshara's face against the sand with his boot. "Tell me where she hides in your city. Or do you prefer to exchange minds with a scorpion?"

Ryshara spit at the king. "Your threats do not frighten me, Graylin."

"I see you want further torment, excellent." Graylin removed his foot from her face.

Ryshara screamed in frustration. "Why do you hate us? We are no threat to you or anyone else."

"Your city holds the water we need. You are a threat to our existence."

"I'll see you beheaded before you take my city."

"It unfortunate you will not be able to carry that threat out yourself," Graylin said. He tipped the box over with his foot and the scorpion scurried out, stopping at Ryshara's feet. She winced, feeling the sharp claws brushing by her toes. "I forgot to feed my friend. I normally feed him tiny morsels of flesh." Graylin took out a dagger and cut a small incision on her leg. "There. Your blood gives him competition to dine quickly. The smell of blood attracts larger beasts. If you want me to stop your torment, then just tell me where your Mokuru hides."

Tears of resentment dripped from Ryshara's cheek. "I pray my blood attracts a monster to eat you whole."

"It would be a welcome challenge compared to you," Graylin boasted. "I do expect the scorpion to poison you soon. I am very curious about the type of poison this fellow carries."

A man dressed in loose-fitting robes approached. Ryshara recognized the man, another tormenter, and she gave up on any chance of being rescued.

"Have you found a weakness as you promised, Amrahar?" Graylin asked.

Amrahar smiled. "Oh, yes."

Graylin watched the scorpion crawl along Ryshara's leg. "What have you discovered?"

"They have remarkable hearing, very sensitive, and I think we can use that to our advantage."

"How?"

Amrahar hesitated answering, his attention distracted by the scorpion crawling beside the immobile girl. "If you kill her, you may regret it. We may be able to use her further." His expression changed to a shameful grin and Ryshara saw he pitied her.

"I find her discomfort, pleasing," Graylin said, and then his tone turned to one of agitation. "Are you going to tell me how we can use your findings to our advantage?"

The scorpion crawled up onto Ryshara's chest, its stinger raised in the air. Sweat dripped from her brow and the horror in her expression seemingly turned Graylin's anger to pleasure by the malicious grin that suddenly painted his face. Graylin winked at her and said, "I think the venom from my friend's sting is the paralyzing kind. The anticipation knowing whether I am right is quite exhilarating. I advise you to remain very, very still, or satisfy my urge to know and move."

Amrahar wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I will show you. Give me your horn."

"Very well." Graylin handed his horn to Amrahar with a dubious look. "I had better be impressed."

"I think you will find this very interesting."

The king dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "Proceed."

"Notice how the Eldinisti woman remains perfectly still. She knows a single movement can provoke the creature to sting."

Listening to the men, Ryshara strained to keep her limbs stiffened and they began to numb over. The scorpion dropped down beside her head, swept through her hair, and then circled back down beside her leg. She tilted slightly to keep an eye on the creature and again tried to wiggle out of the leather restraints.

Amrahar blew into the horn at that moment. Ryshara cried out and thrashed around, the sound crushing her sensitive ears. A leg jerked and the deadly arachnid struck with its poison. "Please Lothkus! Give me a chance to live and turn our enemies back!"

"You see," Amrahar said. "The sound is debilitating to them. If you can locate the one that protects them, you can subdue her with sound."

Graylin shook his head. "We still need to find where she is hiding."

"I've been studying tomes of our past wars. Our ancestors summoned fog to blind our enemies while they infiltrated cities and camps. Use the orb to summon a fog to blind the entire Eldinisti city. Then send in several groups of men to search the city for this Mokuru. Once they find her, they can use the horn to render her helpless. If she is grasping her ears in agony, she'll be no trouble to put in chains. At the least, we may be able to flush her out."

"I am familiar with our history," Graylin said. He gazed out at the tranquil city, surveying the patrols walking upon the walls. His vision dropped from the walls to the hundreds of bodies that littered the sands around Sundamar. "No, I have another idea. I need more dead bodies at the base of the Sundamar walls."

"What?" Amrahar exclaimed in disbelief. "Hundreds of our people already lie dead in the sands. Why do you need more?"

"Yes, I have the perfect plan. Your idea of summoning a fog has some merit. Once there are enough corpses outside the city, I will conjure a fog to hide the bodies and raise them to ravage Sundamar. The Eldinisti will crumble beneath thousands of the undead. Their Mokuru will not find it easy to kill what is already dead."

"You're going to kill your own people?" Amrahar shuddered in anger. "The Soulcatcher once drove the Morlanthean king mad. Are you sure it is not doing the same to you?"

"Do I hear insolence from your tongue, Amrahar? There is a vacancy to lead the dead army."

"You are insane, Graylin. I may be cruel, callous at times, but I don't waste the lives of our people."

Graylin pointed his sword at Amrahar. "If I hear one more word of insubordination leave your lips, your corpse will soon find a place next to your brethren outside the walls of Sundamar."

Amrahar trampled off cursing.

Graylin waited for the man to depart and then spoke to Ryshara. "If you agree to surrender, I promise to spare the lives of your people."

"And live as your slaves," Ryshara protested.

"Yes, as slaves. Or would you rather see your city covered in corpses? Is death preferable to slavery?"

"Death is preferable to listening to another foul word come from your lips."

Ryshara's comment brought another growl of disapproval from Graylin. "You disappoint me, Ryshara. You had your chance to save your people." He glanced over the helpless girl, and then said, "The sands shift daily out here, and in time I imagine a large dune covering the entire area – with of course you underneath it. Farewell."

Ryshara felt blood drip down her leg. Staring up at the cold moon, she envisioned Graylin's face on the pale surface, mocking her with a sadistic grin. Whether the venom paralyzed or killed, she had no way of telling, but she prayed for a rescue before she found the answer. Ryshara closed her eyes and waited for the poison to stop her heart from beating. Her vision clouded over and she saw shapes moving around her. Had demons come to pick her bones?

"Thank Lothkus we found you," Ryshara heard a woman say in the Eldinisti language and then Sharael appeared in her view.

"Sharael," Ryshara whispered. She looked beyond the woman to the ghastly moon hanging in the dark sky and then closed her eyes. She wished never to see the face of the dead again. And then a gust of wind brought the death cries of a thousand soldiers to her ears, and she knew that wish would never come true.

## 27

The moon's baleful gloom danced over the Mhordalins, making them appear like demons on horseback. An abundance of exhaled breath surrounded them like smoking embers, clouding around their heavy mail hauberks. Most wore full helms, covering cold pallid faces. None, however, compared to Guthrum's fierce helm. Corsar remembered that sinister visage vividly, and the cold-blooded murderer who wore it.

Corsar stood in the shadows of the forest and watched the Mhordalins canter along the Grusundir border. Every day he relived visions of the night his father and mother died, the night twelve monstrosities resembling men attacked and tortured everyone in his village. He was only a boy then, but he could still recognize the insidious symbol of a bear on their chests. Once he thought the tales of these men fables, a fabrication to frighten children from becoming curious about practicing magic. Never in his life did he expect to see these devils incarnate, and never would he forget them.

The Mhordalins came because rumors spread that witches and warlocks inhabited Corsar's village – a false rumor the Mhordalins never bothered to verify. Corsar hid with all the other children, watching these men terrorize his home. He watched his mother scream in terror as the strange men dragged her and other women into the forest to rape, torture, and kill. The villagers tried to stop them. Their poorly forged blades snapped in half against steel armor and their uprising diminished quickly. With just a few swipes of their swords from these diabolical men, Corsar watched bodies crumble to the ground in puddles of blood. They mercilessly slaughtered without emotion, leaving only a handful of sons and daughters to bury the dead and spread the tale never to practice magic or death awaited them. After that dreadful night, Corsar pledged to kill these men and now he had his chance.

Guthrum dismounted and ambled over the rocky ground on hard leather boots. He picked up a torn blue cloth and studied the fabric. Corsar bit his lip knowing the cloth was torn from Kehlyra's dress. If the Mhordalins guessed the origin of the cloth, they would stop at nothing to find them.

The intimidating leader removed his forbidding helm to unveil his hard grizzly face. He was middle-aged, with touches of gray in his untidy curly brown hair. Across his right temple were several dark scars cutting toward his brazen brown eyes. Guthrum was a medium sized man, solid and agile, skilled in combat and unmatched in wits. His men called him Guthrum the Bloody, for his armor was stained crimson with the blood of his victims.

The Mhordalin leader sniffed the cloth. He made a habit of familiarizing himself with the different perfumes and indigenous food smells of all the kingdoms of Morlanthea to better track his prey. On almost every occasion, his victims often returned to a familiar hiding place, and their smell alone often gave their location away. "The scent on the cloth is unfamiliar to me," he said to his men. "Whoever left this behind is a rare one indeed." Guthrum dropped the blue cloth and remounted his horse. "No resting until I have these strangers captive. Spread out and search the entire forest. I want them all!"

The entire world seemed ablaze in a great conflagration with Corsar and Guthrum in the middle of the calamity. He was outnumbered, tired, and unprepared to confront these men. His heart wanted blood and his mind wanted him to survive. But something made him refrain from engaging these pugnacious men. Did he lack the courage as he did when he saw Graylin in the king's private treasury or did his instinct to survive restrain him? Confident to get another chance he gave in to reason, let out a breath of air, and ran.

To his astonishment, he caught up to his friends. Seeing them waiting upset him further. The Mhordalins were right behind him. "I told you to keep moving!"

"I'm unable to run anymore," cried Kehlyra.

"We need to keep moving," Corsar urged. "If those men discover what the three of you are, you'll all be dead before sunrise."

"Don't worry about us," Deveryn said. "Just get us to Caarnun Cay."

The group moved again, plucking thorns from their bodies, sluggishly traversing the dense forest until they came to a clearing. Corsar glanced across a field of high grass covered with a heavy mist. Considering the option to sprint to the other side, he glanced at his beleaguered friends and shook his head. "I think Guthrum sent riders around us, up ahead. A few are at our back. In the open field, the mist may cover us."

"Agreed," concurred Deveryn. "An encounter with these men is inevitable, and I rather fight them where I can maneuver."

"Then we cross," acknowledged Corsar. "No matter what happens, keep heading south. Caarnun Cay is a short distance from here. Trust no one when you get there. The Mhordalins have many supporters."

The snapping of twigs alerted the group the Mhordalins approached on foot. Corsar glanced back, seeing the orange flickering flames of men carrying torches fan out to surround them. In the north clearing, riders emerged and turned in their direction. Corsar grinded his teeth in disgust, knowing they were doomed if they retreated or moved forward.

A Mhordalin shouted to them. "There's nowhere to run. Put your weapons down and surrender."

"Dammit," Corsar cursed, seeing a plethora of men in every direction. "There are too many of them. Back to the trees, it is our only chance!" Corsar scanned the forest, looking for the silver bear helm. If he was to die here, he at least wanted to take Guthrum with him.

The Mhordalin riders came galloping like harbingers of hell with swords thirsty for blood. Their comrades charged from the woods toward the besieged group, crashing through the brush with their swords whirling. Corsar, Deveryn, and Elisara headed in the direction of the woods with their blades out, preferring to take on the men on foot. Kehlyra remained behind and Corsar wondered if she froze from fright, but then his mouth dropped open when she stepped in front of the oncoming riders.

"No, Kehlyra!" Corsar cringed in anticipation of seeing the girl beheaded.

Kehlyra raised her arms and muttered words of magic with confidence brewing in her voice. Corsar thought he dreamt seeing the power she wielded. A blazing wall of fire shot upward, forcing the knights to rein their horses back from the intense heat. The riders, their armor imbued with orsanite dust to protect them from magic, still felt the bite of flames burning over their exposed flesh. A few tried to snake their mounts around the flaming barrier. Their horses, reacting to the fire, bucked aggressively and threw some of them to the ground.

One rider managed to get around the barrier and rein his mount behind Kehlyra. Corsar spotted the man and rushed along a high mound of grassy terrain, angling his approach to leap onto the shrewd knight. The knight raised his sword to strike down the chanting girl and hollered in astonishment when Corsar leaped on him like a bird of prey, forcing them both to the ground to the sound of cracking bones. The knight took the worst of the fall; the heavy armor drove him downward with tremendous weight, breaking his spine. Corsar rolled up onto his feet and drove his blade forward, penetrating the knight's chest armor. In the reflection of his blade, he saw a horse maneuvering around the barrier and quickly got back to Kehlyra's side.

At the edge of the woods, Deveryn and Elisara engaged with the men on foot. A crossbow bolt flew out from the shadows, grazing Deveryn's shoulder. The Deviskari searched the woods for the attacker and then dove to the ground to avoid two more bolts heading in his direction. When he stood up, a knight charged him from the rear. He parried the attack, spinning around, and then brought Tehalin even with the man's neck, severing muscles and tendons, separating body and head with one stroke. Two more came at him from the side, and his agility alone allowed him to defend against their striking blades.

Elisara's own sword came to life, deflecting an incoming bolt. She spotted the affronting knight and watched him drop his crossbow, unsheathe his sword, and advance with pure hatred dripping from his lips. He came at her hacking away, intending to overpower her. Her blade answered every stroke. She drove her foot hard into his knee and he buckled forward, unbalanced. The move left him vulnerable, and she swept her sword toward his head and caught his arm instead, severing the appendage off. The knight howled in agony, grasping the bleeding stump with his free hand. Elisara reacted instantly and drove her blade through his neck.

Her victory was brief, however, for a thick heavy net dropped over her and she struggled within to free herself. She conjured fire to burn up the rope caging and then felt the hilt of a sword smack the back of her head. The blow caused her to fall to the ground in a stupor.

"Try that on me, wench," her attacker said.

"Gladly," She responded, tilting her head in his direction and whispering a spell. Streams of fire left her fingertips toward the knight. The man laughed at her as the flames struck his armor and dissolved without even leaving a trace of an ashen mark.

The Mhordalin sniggered and then smashed the pommel of his sword across Elisara's jaw in a spray of blood. "We are immune to your sorcerous ways. We swore an oath to purge the land of enchanted beings like yourself, and our god has blessed us with protection from your evil spells."

Elisara rose from the ground and rushed the man swinging her sword. "Has he protected you against steel?"

Just then, riders, led by Guthrum, found their way around the wall of flames to engage her and she backed off the knight. Deveryn, blood seeping over his jerkin, hurried to her side and stood back to back with her. It seemed pointless to resist, there was just too many of them. They both remained in defensive postures as the riders and footmen slowly created a circle around them.

"Leave one of them alive," Guthrum ordered.

Blood-soaked and tired, Corsar hewed down another knight attempting to reach Kehlyra. Then, no others came. The answer was soon obvious to him; they all gathered around Deveryn and Elisara. Using the Mhordalins disregard for him to his advantage, he furtively traversed the terrain behind the Mhordalin riders, slaying a few like a well-trained assassin. Ahead of him, he saw the sea of metal helms closing in on Deveryn and Elisara and he worked his legs harder to reach them.

Black smoke and bright orange flames swirled around Kehlyra. The lethal barrier consumed the dead and sent their ashes to the sky. Behind the shield of flames, the girl's blue eyes turned incandescent looking for victims. The hellish blue glow intensified as words spewed from her mouth. Underneath the ground, the roots from titanic trees slithered outward, searching for Mhordalins.

Then the horrified screams of men stung the air as the roots sprang up from the ground like a sea of tangled snakes, twisting around arms and legs, ripping limbs from bodies. Kehlyra's stoic expression never wavered watching the horror. Her eyes remained glazed over in a hellish blue glow and she repeated magic words over and over. The Mhordalins chopped at the thick roots trying to get to her, cursing their god for failing to protect them, and vowing to kill the witch.

Corsar watched the slaughter and turned back to make sure Kehlyra remained unharmed. She slumped to her knees, blood gushing from her nose, and then collapsed to the ground. The warrior shook his head, hoping she did not push herself beyond her limits, and then grabbed the reins of the wayward horse. The animal neighed and kicked and he wrestled with the reins to settle the beast down. He brought his horse alongside the sorceress and leaped to the ground. She was still breathing and he hoisted her over the animal's back. "Oh Kehlyra, what have you done," he whispered and then remounted the horse behind her.

Elisara and Deveryn slogged over limbs and roots, also trying to obtain mounts. Elisara ran over to a rider struggling to free his leg from a root and impaled the man in the back with her sword. He flinched from the unexpected attack and slumped over his horse. She pulled him down to the ground and mounted. Deveryn followed her lead and climbed on the horse behind her.

The area reeked of the dead and dying; Corsar pranced his mount around the carnage, watching the remaining Mhordalins free themselves from the listless tangled roots, the magic no longer controlling the deadly limbs. He spotted Elisara and Deveryn. "Follow me. Hurry, before these abysmal knights get free."

The companions fled, though Deveryn felt eyes tracking them and glanced behind. Inspecting the area, he spotted a cloaked figure hiding in the woods, the pernicious creature of the tomb - Sekora. Did Kehlyra really control the roots or did she have help, he wondered. The mistrust for Sekora bled in his heart, and he wondered if the undead goddess would eventually bring doom to them all.

## 28

A fog drifted over the bloodied battlefield, swelling, and wreathing around Sundamar like a snake made of white smoke. The archers on the city walls grumbled among themselves when the strange cloud settled over hundreds of corpses. They understood another assault was about to come.

Graylin and Amrahar stood watching, expecting the Eldinisti to conjure a wind to sweep away his fog. No counter came.

The Soulcatcher pulsated in Graylin's hand. "Their Mokuru must be weakening to allow the fog to remain."

"She may suspect your plan," Amrahar said. "Perhaps she is luring us into a trap."

In the smooth reflective surface of the orb, Graylin saw Talsarin approach. "What is it Talsarin?"

Talsarin's jaw twitched with frustration. "The men are growing agitated over the losses. Talks of deserting are spreading fast."

Ignoring the warder, Graylin remained transfixed on Sundamar. "The Eldinisti refuse to acknowledge my fog even though they must know the source an unnatural one."

"Half our army is rotting outside their city," Talsarin complained. "Why should they feel threatened? Give up trying to take the city or lose our entire army. Haven't our people suffered enough?"

The dawn sun peaked over the eastern horizon; the golden light sparkled in the king's eyes. He held his response and glared at the man with a burning fury in his eyes. Talsarin might have been an obedient warder, but his promotion to a commander had given him a newfound confidence to defy orders.

"Suffered enough? Give up on the city? We are on the verge of bringing down Sundamar and the men want to desert?" Graylin's lips curled up into a snarl. "If any man deserts, execute them."

"If we lose any more men, there won't be anyone left too desert," Talsarin argued.

Graylin clutched the commander by the throat. "Prepare the men you impertinent pup. Attack the city at once. If anyone refuses to comply, I expect to see heads mounted on poles. And if another impudent word leaves your lips again, your head will be the first to be mounted."

Talsarin squirmed out of the king's grip and dashed away to spread the word. Graylin watched him speak with the chiefs. After a lengthy discussion and a lot of shaking heads, one of the men blasted the area with his horn. Graylin studied their expressions, realizing none of them approved. The king decided these men would be the first to enter the city when the walls crumbled. Insubordination meant death and he intended to make his message clear to his people.

"If you treat all your soldiers that way, they will abandon you," Amrahar said.

"If they do, they will die."

None of the Deviskari soldiers reacted to the lurid horn, knowing the sound meant more death. The commanders shouted at them to move, and threatened to kill those disobeying orders. The truth was, the commanders feared for their own lives and decided to behead a few men to motivate the others. When heads started to roll over the sands, the rest of the men picked up their weapons and moved toward the city.

The soldiers marched on Sundamar. Next came dozens of trebuchets launching flaming projectiles. The moment the flaming boulders reached the walls, a tremendous wind swirled around the city, pushing the boulders back, but the wind lacked strength, and a few boulders crushed a small hut within the city. The destruction surprised the Eldinisti archers on the battlements, and utter terror at last had rippled through the city.

Graylin nodded in satisfaction. "She is weakening." He mounted his horse and rode to where his chiefs gathered. Every one of them shuddered at his approach and averted his gaze.

"I want the catapults and trebuchets to drench the city with their projectiles until I give the order to stop. I shall prepare to send the undead scourge to pounce on their doors, and ferret out the cowards. Once my creatures infiltrate the city, I want five legions ready to follow on my word."

One of the chief's spoke. "Is it necessary to send five legions? These people are weak. Two legions should suffice to deal with them."

"Look at the battlefield, the blood of your brethren, and tell me they are weak," Graylin growled. "We will send five legions. I'm getting tired with all of you questioning my commands. Do you understand me?"

The chief nodded.

"If anyone else disagrees with my decision, speak now," Graylin said caustically. "Our undead scourge is short on men and I am eager to make an example of someone."

None of the chiefs spoke.

"Go and organize your men," Graylin said, and watched his chiefs' disperse. Graylin remained behind, listening to the incessant moaning of souls cry out from the Soulcatcher. The exhilaration he felt from the orb's energy hardly seemed worth the pain if the price meant constantly listening to the dead. It was clear to him replenishing the Soulcatcher regularly with souls was vital in keeping unlimited power available, though each soul he added worsened his agony.

"I wonder how many souls you can consume," he said to the orb, "for soon ten-thousand more will try to fill your insatiable hunger – ten thousand souls to haunt me."

Inexplicable forces infiltrated his mind, confusing him, urging him to gather more souls. In agony, he dropped the evil prison and clutched his ears; the voices continued to echo back and forth in his thoughts. He tried to resist the orb's influence and his mind burned in the effort, flayed by the repetitive sounds of the dead. What was he doing here? What has he done to his own people? The agony of listening to these disgruntled spirits overwhelmed him and confusion infested every corner of his mind. "Forgive me!"

Then his pain stopped. His mind went silent. Everything became clear to him. At last, he had found some twisted peace, and any shred of sanity he owned, was gone.

## 29

Ryshara moaned in a deep sleep, dreaming of fiery black scorpions crawling on her body. One after another, the creatures poured out of the darkness covering exposed flesh in a blanket of burning embers. Each time she struggled to move, the hotter their shells became. The pain became so overwhelming that she screamed.

Waking from the nightmare, she gazed around. She found herself in a bed swathed in wool blankets. In front of her on a smooth sandstone wall hung a sconce holding dozens of candles. The flowery aroma from the flames had a soothing effect and she allowed herself to drift into a serene state of relaxation. Then her eyes shot wide open, resisting the temptation to sleep; the scorpions would come back. The frightful tribulations over the past few days were haunting, and she fought the disturbing images by picturing herself in a beautiful forest with trees, waterfalls, and a sparkling lake under a bright sunny day. Then a thunderous crash snapped her back to reality as the walls shook from flaming projectiles.

"I must warn Amathyssa," Ryshara screamed suddenly, remembering Graylin planned to unleash a horde of undead upon the city. She attempted to stand, her legs buckled, and she fell hard to the stone floor. "My legs!"

"No Ryshara!" Sharael insisted, coming into the room. "Get back in bed."

Ryshara crawled back toward the bed, her muscles strained at the slightest movement. Sharael's soft hands gently eased her back on the blankets. She inspected the room, the smooth sandstone walls, the candles, and realized this was the Eldinisti temple.

"Graylin insists on killing us all," Sharael vented, helping Ryshara sip from a vile filled with a clear blue fluid. "You need rest."

The battered girl downed the blue liquid and then leaned back on the bed, determined to stay awake. The liquid countered the poison, restoring strength to Ryshara's listless muscles and breaking the fever that kept her frail. "Are you really Sharael? Or is this another of Graylin's tricks?"

"Yes Ryshara, I am Sharael." Sharael felt Ryshara's forehead. "The fever is breaking. Don't you recognize me?"

Ryshara shook her head. "I am sorry, of course I do," she said, her voice bereft of confidence. "Graylin..." A flaming boulder crashed against the outside walls, stunning both Ryshara and Sharael. A piece of the ceiling above the bed cracked and dislodged, falling straight for Ryshara's head. The Eldinisti rolled off the bed and the stone fragment buried her pillow.

"Damn Graylin to the Abyss!" Sharael swore. "Are you all right?"

"I must get to Amathyssa," Ryshara cried, slowly rising, and thankful the antidote worked quickly allowing the imbalance she felt earlier to subside.

"No, wait!" Sharael reached out to grasp the nimble woman, but found only air.

Sprinting like a young doe, Ryshara found her way outside. The city appeared shrouded in a haze of death. Hundreds of dead bodies, crushed from collapsing buildings and flaming projectiles littered the sandy streets in a surreal display of anarchy. Smoke and fire roared from the tops of homes and buildings, emitting acrid smells of cooked flesh. Screams and moans touched every corner of Sundamar as if the city itself cried in horror. Ryshara could only stare and listen in utter shock, watching her home crumble to the ground.

So much death...In the center of the city, the enormous citadel of the council spewed out flames and black smoke. "I am too late," cried Ryshara hysterically. A flaming rock soared over her head and crushed the walls of a nearby home. "Our city is lost and I am responsible."

Sharael hurried out from the temple entrance, wild-eyed. "Get back inside, Ryshara!"

A boulder struck the side of the temple wall splashing fragments everywhere. Ryshara caught a small stone off her forehead, leaving a bloodied mark. "Are we defenseless against the Deviskari?" She stood terrified, looking for answers, as more projectiles struck the city. "Lothkus, help us!"

"Please come inside," Sharael pleaded, tugging the girl by the arm.

Ryshara shuddered, seeing the dire expression on her friend's face. The brutal carnage, bodies dangling from ruins, brought tears like a waterfall. Sharael put her arm around Ryshara and attempted to escort the disgruntled girl back to the temple.

"I must get word to Amathyssa," Ryshara implored helplessly, breaking away. "I have to..." She fell to the ground, got up, and scampered across the rubble toward the granite tower of the Mokuru.

Sharael watched despondently. "Ryshara, we are doing everything possible. Come back!"

"No, we are dying, Sharael." Ryshara dashed inside the granite tower. Amathyssa, surrounded by retainers, rested on the wicker chair and appeared emaciated and listless. Ryshara kneeled down in front of the Mokuru and said in a whisper, "Our city is lost, our people are dying, and the worst is yet to come. Is there nothing we can do?"

Amathyssa gazed dolefully upon Ryshara. "Elisara has failed us. I am too weak to protect us any longer. And Graylin can do no worse than he has already done."

"You have seen my sister?"

"Yes," Amathyssa said. "She recently came to me and I sent her to find a way to stop the Deviskari king. I had hoped...But the city is lost."

"No," Ryshara said, shaking her head. "Evacuate the city through the underground tunnels, and give me Tanlok's horn. It is our only chance at survival."

"You'll kill us all," Amathyssa said.

"If we do nothing, we are already dead."

The legendary horn had not been used in over a thousand years. It belonged to the first king of Sundamar, King Tanlok. The horn was crafted from the tusk of a mystical white elephant with black tusks and had the power to summon a catastrophic storm capable of destroying entire cities. The Eldinisti King used the horn once, and then forbid anyone else to ever use it again. At the time, the horn brought forth an unpredictable force of nature that turned on his people, a tragic time in Eldinisti history he never wanted repeated again. Ryshara felt it was the only option left for her people.

"Graylin intends to send the undead into our city," Ryshara explained. "We shall do everything we can to slow them while our people escape through the underground passages. I believe the Deviskari will then send their soldiers into our city to find the survivors. When they think they control our city, I will blow the horn and bring a storm they will never forget."

"And you will kill anyone left in the city," Amathyssa said.

"Please," Ryshara implored. "Give us a chance to survive. Do not sit here and let us die a passive death."

Amathyssa considered the proposal, and then instructed her retainers to fetch the horn. Shortly after, they brought out an iron chest and placed it in front of her. She stood up, opened the lid, and handed the black horn over to Ryshara. "I pray Lothkus forgives me."

Ryshara took the horn and examined the mystical relic. It had Eldinisti words painted on the surface, a warning to those foolish enough to use it. The young scout shook just holding the horn and felt her own heart beating with terror. "I will not fail you, my Mokuru. I shall make the Deviskari pay with their blood."

## 30

Dawn brought a heavy rain to the forest. The four companions rested under the cover of large leafy trees, each mending wounds from their encounter with the Mhordalins. All were drenched, battered, and wounded, though Kehlyra fared the worst. She shivered from some unnatural chill and gray patches smothered her tender skin.

Deveryn sparked up a small fire to keep the sorceress warm, though he knew the girl pushed herself too far in conjuring and now appeared listless.

"We should keep moving," Corsar grumbled. "If those knights catch up to us, we'll be dealing with more than a cold nose. Caarnun Cay is only an hour or two from here and then we'll be sitting in a warm room with a hot meal."

At the mention of the knights, Deveryn rubbed his shoulder under a blood stained jerkin and cloak. How fortunate for him the bolt only grazed him. A direct hit and he might be dead. "We are in no condition to travel. Kehlyra is sick and needs rest to recover her strength. The Mhordalins will look in Caarnun Cay for us. When they discover we are not there, they'll go to the next closest town. I doubt they will search the woods so close by."

"I hope you are right, Deveryn," Corsar said. "These roads contain many eyes, and someone may have spotted us here."

"Yes," Deveryn agreed. "But still, I will take the chance. When the sky darkens, we'll proceed to Caarnun Cay. We should also disguise ourselves. One look at us and the entire town will chase us out."

"What do you suggest?" Corsar asked.

"Elisara will be the hardest to disguise with those marking on her face." Deveryn turned to Elisara. "Would you consider washing them off?"

"I'm sorry, I would be disgracing my Mokuru," Elisara explained.

"I understand." Deveryn rummaged through the leather pouches on the horse. He found a rusted chain coif with several broken links and handed it to Elisara. "Try to cover as much of your face as possible."

With a disgusted frown, Elisara pulled the coif over her head. The hood fitted awkwardly over her face, exposing only her chin.

Elisara complained and her words came out mumbled beneath the chain mesh

"A bit oversized," Corsar said, coming over and helping Elisara adjust the hood to allow her to see. He tightened and maneuvered the piece so only her eyes showed. "Better." He then glanced over Deveryn and Kehlyra. "Deviskari eyes are impossible to disguise in the dark and these taverns are poorly lit. People will find the sight of their glow, no matter how subtle, quite disturbing."

Deveryn found an old wool blanket, tore off a piece, and then handed the cloth to Kehlyra. "Wear this as a veil and cover your face with the hood of your cloak." Kehlyra took the torn cloth and wore it as Deveryn instructed. She pulled down the hood of her cloak and within, her eyes glowed a dim blue.

Unsatisfied, Deveryn shook his head. "Keep the hood over your face as much as possible and keep your gaze lowered. If strangers catch sight of them, they will think you are a witch."

"I advise you to do the same, Deveryn," Corsar suggested. "Why the dark brings out this trait of yours, I cannot explain. However, the Grusundic people are very superstitious and consider these type of anomalies as a sign of witchery."

Deveryn had a sudden thought about the enchanted roots that tore the Mhordalins apart, thinking it was more of a trick a witch would perform than a sorceress. He said to Kehlyra, "How did you control the roots? I have never seen any of our people perform that spell."

"I'm not sure," answered Kehlyra. "The words came to me and I said them. It was almost as if someone else controlled me. But the words have stuck with me, and I could do it again, though I know not how I gained the knowledge."

The news worried him and he immediately thought of Sekora. It was clear she followed them, aided Kehlyra, and still his gut remained distrustful. Someone took a great amount of trouble to imprison her in Tiarshus, and a part of him feared to find the reason why. However, with their delay here, he anticipated the goddess proceeded ahead of them and that they would never cross paths again.

"Is there anything else we should know about the Grusundic people, Corsar?" Deveryn asked, afraid a den of snakes awaited them.

Corsar nodded. "I've only visited the town for a few days and most keep to themselves. I think if we keep you three hidden, the less problem we will encounter. Mhordalins visit Caarnun Cay quite often and if they suspect someone with magical talents is in town--"

"I understand," Deveryn interrupted.

"And let me do the talking when we arrive. The less exposure you three have, the better," Corsar cautioned.

They spent the remainder of the day resting at the camp. The heavy rain turned to a light drizzle, and the moon replaced the sun. The four mounted and sprang onto the mud-ridden road to Caarnun Cay; muck and grime splattered under their horses' hooves. The road was tree-lined and vacant. Deveryn hoped the road remained clear the rest of the way. All of them were still tired, hungry, and sore. In their condition, any encounters, no matter how innocuous in appearance, threatened their lives. The last time he was able to sleep peacefully escaped him, and his vision started to waver, causing him to hallucinate unknown terrors lurking within the trees and shadows.

No longer hassled by the vast undergrowth of the forest, the horses broke to a canter. Hooves sloshed about, fighting the suctions of the ground, flinging clumps of sludge in all directions. Over time, the weathered path proved no better than the forest, but they eventually made it to Caarnun Cay.

Moonlight spilt over the entrance, a stone archway, and the four proceeded through. A short distance from them, the tips of tall masts from docked ships rose above an assortment of wooden buildings. They rode upon the cobblestoned streets toward the masts, and oil lamps hanging from wooden polls illuminated their mud-covered steeds and sodden attire. Most of the blood washed from their clothing, but enough remained to warrant suspicion. As they trotted through town, no one showed them much interest regardless of the blood covering them. Only the wretched walked the streets at night, and the brooding appearance of these four strangers kept the onlookers curiosity in check.

The group stopped in front of a two-level wooden building with an oversized stone foundation across from the docks. The buildings in this area were the closest to the shoreline and had stone bases to protect from high tides washing inland. In earlier times, when these constructions had no such foundations, the places became flooded, closing businesses for months. This particular establishment collapsed several times under high tides in the past, thus prompting a decision to build the stone foundation twice the normal height. The oversized foundation made the building appear incongruous among the neighboring structures, an unavoidable consequence in order to stand firm in harsh weather.

Deveryn viewed a large oak sign chained to two wooden posts. It read, Silver Crown Inn. His eyes swept over to the front door, drawn to a single lantern with dozens of insects swarming the light. The lantern and insects somehow reminded him of Graylin circling Sundamar with the Deviskari army. The image filled his head with blood and death, torment, and Graylin reigning supreme over a battlefield of dead Eldinisti. Would Elisara ever forgive him if he let her people perish to his king? Was he making the right decision to free the Moon Spirit Dancer, trusting in an undead goddess to remove the curse from the island? He brushed aside the thoughts and tugged the hood of his cloak so low over his face that only a dark shadow filled the opening.

"Remember to keep your mouths shut and your eyes to the ground. The last thing I want is a town claiming I travel with witches and warlocks." Corsar stepped on the porch and paused, an expression of familiarity crossing his face.

"Is there something wrong?" Deveryn asked.

"I was here only months ago with my people," Corsar whispered softly. "If only I knew the betrayal awaiting us in Talmirok then." Elisara tried to speak and again, her words came out muffled beneath the coif. Corsar peered over to the docks and saw a black Aldrashan carrack. "The Skarrig is here. The gods may favor us today. Get inside before the riffraff come nosing around. I'll seek out the captain and try to explain our situation."

"Try to explain?" Deveryn said quizzically.

"Once he finds out about King Brohnin's daughter, I doubt he will be receptive to taking on Deviskari passengers." Corsar put his hand on Deveryn's wounded shoulder and the Deviskari flinched. "Don't worry, Deveryn, I'll convince the captain to take us to Calendula Island. He owes me."

The Silver Crown Inn stank of ale and urine. Deveryn grimaced seeing a group of drunken armored men ravage legs of mutton and imbibed from jacks of ale. One of them was Brashus, the Kulithian filth that enslaved Elisara. Deveryn's disgust was evident, especially towards the man's lascivious glances toward the women. Other than these men, the place was bereft of patrons, and now Deveryn knew why.

Seeing Elisara clench her fists, Deveryn stepped in front of her. "Calm yourself. If we kill them here, the spectacle is sure to bring the town guards." Her return words to Deveryn were inaudible, but he got the idea of their meaning.

"I'll give yah a gold piece for a night with your whore, friend," Brashus grumbled, ale dripping down his wanton mouth. The man's lewd gazes caused Elisara to tap her foot repeatedly in frustration.

A portly middle-aged woman dressed in a white ruffled blouse and long green dress approached the men and filled their jacks. Brashus grabbed her plush rump and made a vulgar remark. She laughed uneasily and then tore herself away from his grasp to attend the new guests.

"I wish these men would..." the woman's jaw dropped in horror, seeing the blood on her visitors. She brushed some sweat from her long curly red hair during a brief awkward pause.

"Your name is Esti?" asked Corsar, trying to get the woman's attention.

The woman's tension eased a bit, eyeing Corsar curiously. "Yes, I am. I'm sorry, your face is familiar, but I don't remember your name."

"I am Corsar. The last time I was here, the place was flooded with patrons. Where is everyone?"

"Over at the Crooked Arrow," she answered. "No one wants to drink with those despicable Kulithians."

"I've no taste for them either. We are tired, hungry, and need a room," Corsar responded, and then added to mitigate her fears, "A fierce bear attacked us in the woods as you can see by the blood on our clothes. Not a most pleasing sight, I agree, and we are in need of a wash."

"Bears? The only bear I know..." Esti shivered, and then stepped behind a long oak counter near the kitchen entrance. On the wall were a dozen pegs with iron keys hanging from them. She counted over to the fourth one and then took the key off the peg and handed it to Corsar. "Take the stairs; go to the end of the hall, last door on the left."

Corsar tossed the woman a small purse of gold pieces. "If you could send up some food and wine for my friends, I would be grateful."

Esti opened the purse and her face beamed seeing all the glittering gold within and then went sour after noticing the Kulithian markings on the coins. "Another lot of Kulithian coins to add to the melting pot," she said, and then fled to the kitchen.

"Come now," taunted Brashus. "You'd be right to share your wenches with us. We...We make your stay an unpleasant one, I promises yah." The man kept eyeing Kehlyra. She occasionally glanced their way, but for the most part kept her head turned in the other direction. "Why does that one hide her pretty face? Is she shy? We break her from her shyness."

Elisara clutched her sword.

Corsar grabbed her and said, "Stay calm, Elisara. The city watch may take an interest in our activities if we leave the inn bloodied with dead men."

"A feisty one, she is," Brashus growled. "Taming is a specialty of ours." All the drunken men at the table laughed.

Corsar gave Deveryn the key. "Get them up to the room before things get out of hand here. As soon as I find the captain, we move to the ship and rid ourselves of these filthy bastards."

***

Deveryn understood Elisara's frustrations toward Brashus and felt he betrayed her by allowing the fool to keep his head. The Kulithian thug taunted them both with his arrogance, but now was not the time to indulge in personal revenge. Shutting out the drunken call of the Kulithians, he escorted the two women up the squeaky wooden steps to the second floor.

The top of the stairs opened to a long hallway lit with oil lamps and Deveryn found the door to their room. After unlocking the door, he gazed inside. "The room is empty." He waited for the women to enter, and then locked the door behind them, leaving the key in the hole in case they needed to exit quickly. Across from the doorway was a large window with a splendid view of the full moon in the dark sky. Deveryn moved to the window and gazed out at the street below to keep watch of suspicious activity.

The room was spacious and included two oversized beds, fireplace, two oak hutches, and a basin full of water on top of a trestle. A circular wooden chandelier, holding eighteen lit candles, hung from a chain in the middle of the room providing the only light.

Elisara lit a fire and began removing her armor and wet clothes, spreading them out in front of the fireplace to dry. She then sauntered over to the bed, wrapping a blanket around her naked body, and then gazed wearily into the flames.

Embarrassed by Elisara's open display of nudity, Deveryn kept his view on the street. The restraint lasted seconds and he felt compelled to sneak a peek or two to admire her beauty. The passion in his gaze was quite noticeable and Kehlyra lowered her head and wiped a tear from her eye.

Downcast, Kehlyra moved to the door and unlocked it. "I'll check on the food," she said with a sniffle. Elisara stared at her with guilt-filled eyes.

Hearing the door shut, Deveryn turned. "Kehlyra, wait, you..." His words met the back of the door. "Foolish girl."

"She loves you, Deveryn," Elisara said. "Can't you see it? Please, come here."

Deveryn unclasped his bloody cloak, removed his Jerkin and tunic, and sat next to Elisara. The cut on his shoulder from the bolt was deeper than he thought. Fortunately, his natural healing resistances already coagulated the opening. "I know she does. I don't think of her that way. She is more like a sister to me, but I know she wants more."

Elisara ran her nails along his arm, gently caressing him. "I wish I could heal you."

"Have no worry. The wound is mending."

A tear fell from Elisara's cheek. "I do worry, Deveryn. I worry about the future. I have an awful premonition about Calendula Island. I think we are going to die there."

"Why?" Deveryn gently placed his hand on Elisara's lap beneath the blanket. "I have sensed trouble in you since you returned to me. What happened?"

Elisara glanced up at Deveryn through the wet locks of her golden hair. "Amathyssa has turned me into a killer. She said I should go to you and help stop your king from attacking my people, no matter how many must die by my magic or sword. I would have fought harder to resist her request, but I admit, my love for you made me agree. I wanted to see you again."

Deveryn leaned over and kissed Elisara on the lips, silencing her. "I promise we will save your people." He paused a second mulling her words. "You love me?"

"Isn't my love for you obvious?" Elisara's lips curved upward.

"I never wanted to presume," Deveryn said. "I too share the same feelings towards--"

Elisara, this time, silenced him, pulling him closer as the covers slipped from her naked body.

***

Kehlyra entered the dining area, expecting to hear comments erupt from the Kulithians. She was a bit puzzled and slightly disappointed when none came. The place was vacant. Their lustful comments disgusted most, but she needed to feel wanted. Deveryn's love for Elisara was obvious and she gave up the chase for him.

"Esti, I've come for the food. Are you in the kitchen?" Kehlyra smelled the fumes of a burning roast and then entered the kitchen, thinking the woman was deaf. Brashus, hiding by the doorway, stepped behind her and clamped his hand over her mouth.

Kehlyra glanced around the smoke-filled room and saw Esti by the stove, held by another Kulithian. Then two drunken Kulithians emerged from a small storage room, carrying jugs, and snickered when they saw what their leader had caught.

"I told you scum not to doubt me," Brashus said. "Now, we have two women for our pleasure." He tore off the cloth covering Kehlyra's face. The inherit trait of her kind revealed itself in the darkness, and all reacted instantly to the blue glow of her eyes.

"She's bewitched," one man's raspy voice shouted.

Kehlyra began to utter a spell when she felt a blow to the back of the head. The strike put her in a daze.

"None of your tricks," Brashus said.

"She's a witch, I tell yah," a man spoke. "What about the others? They'll put a hex on us if they sense this one in danger."

"Forget them," Brashus said. "Guthrum should pay us well for this one and we'll tell him where to find the rest."

Esti broke free from her captor's grasp and screamed. The Kulithian nearest to the innkeeper grabbed an iron pan and cracked it over the woman's head. She slumped to the floor, blood oozing from her skull.

The brutality of the blow shocked Kehlyra; the thugs just murdered a defenseless woman and she knew the moment an incantation left her lips the same treatment would befall her. Helpless and alone, she could only pray for someone to come and take revenge on these vile creatures.

## 31

Corsar sprinted over the cobbled streets of Grusundir toward the Crooked Arrow. The copious puddles around him reflected back his grim appearance, a hideous image of blood and muck. The tribulations he experienced over the past few months had hardened and tired him. He felt old and decrepit despite his youth. There was no time to rest or reflect, and a part of him wanted to disappear forever. People in the street scattered out of his way whispering, "A devil dwells among us," and he shot them disparaging glances, and wondered if they spoke the truth that some demon drove him onward.

The Crooked Arrow burdened his heart further, invoking painful memories of Isabelle, King Brohnin's daughter. He reminisced upon his last visit to the tavern: a night of laughing, drinking, and passionate embraces. Isabelle lured him to the wine cellar for a taste of forbidden lust. He tried to resist her advances, but the ale in his blood spurred him onward and made him forget she was a princess. If the king ever discovered their intimate rendezvous, his head would swiftly find the chopping block. Isabelle hardly spoke about that night afterwards. Corsar reasoned the girl was embarrassed. Under different circumstances, the memory might have brought him some pleasure. Instead, the recollections pained him with a vivid image of her dead withered body rotting somewhere within Talmirok.

Corsar pushed the tavern door inward and stepped inside. A drunken man stumbled toward him with arms flailing, and then collapsed to the floor. Corsar reflexively unsheathed his sword and then eased up, seeing he was in no immediate danger. He scanned the tavern over, finding the place filled with an abundance of patrons slobbering over mutton and ale, a good number of them drunk. He pushed his way through people and smoke, hearing laughs, shouts, and sneers. A few lavishly dressed merchants scowled over his unsightly presence and he merely scowled back. No one seemed eager to challenge him and he realized attracting unwanted attention was ill advised, so he kept from locking gazes to avoid inciting a confrontation.

Flames blistered over a king-size hearth and Corsar stopped in front to feel the warmth. The heat consumed his body, a sensation he thought never to experience again. The montage of blood and wet attire in front of the fire truly made him appear a devil and every patron catching a glimpse of him made sure to keep distant.

His stomach growled and he stopped a serving girl carrying a trey of empty mugs to fetch him a piece of mutton. The girl's knees shuddered in his presence while she nodded her head excessively to his requests. Then she scampered away so fast she tripped and the trey of empty mugs flew across the air smashing against the wall. The crowd laughed at the spectacle and Corsar helped the girl up, and shot the hecklers a glaring gaze that instantly silenced them.

Several tables away from the mess, Corsar heard two men arguing. He recognized the voice of one of them and decided to investigate. The men sat on opposite sides of a table with piles of gold and bone-carved dice. Most of the winnings belonged to a man, twice Corsar's age, with blond hair, straggly beard, and mustache. Recognizing Captain Rethnar, Corsar broke a smile. The winnings alone identified the man, for no one could roll the dice with the same luck. The brute sitting across from Rethnar was a large barbarian, with outlandish tattoos covering most of his bulging muscles. The barbarian snarled at Rethnar when the captain picked up the dice to roll again.

Rethnar rubbed his mustache before letting the dice roll; the fetish was only a superstitious custom of his for good luck, but the barbarian took exception when the dice landed in Rethnar's favor once again.

"You switched the dice, you cheating dog," the barbarian hollered, standing up with a great sword in hand. Corsar admired the man's strength to hold such a weighty blade in one hand. Now, he was curious to see how well the barbarian could wield the weapon.

A sheepish smile framed Rethnar's bearded face. "You should put your weapon away, friend; a blade that size is only good for chopping wood."

"I'll chop your head," the barbarian growled, stepping forward and swinging the heavy blade downward ponderously toward the shorter man. Rethnar sidestepped the man's strike, took out his saber, and severed off the barbarian's hand cleanly. The oversized sword clanged to the stone floor and the hand followed with a thud.

The barbarian cursed the captain and took a step back, holding the bloody stump. "I'll be back for you demon. You're a walking dead man."

Corsar almost seemed disappointed in the barbarian's performance. The beast had the look of a fierce fighter and fought with the skills of an oaf.

"You forgot your hand," Rethnar taunted. "And your wood chopper." His words never reached the barbarian's ears. The hulking man bulled his way outside screaming curses over the loss of his appendage. Rethnar sheathed his saber and then gathered his winnings. Corsar stepped towered the table and Rethnar glared upward, thinking someone else meant to challenge him, and then his natural grin widened in pleasure. "Corsar! You have the look of someone born of hell itself. What happened to you, lad?"

Seeing the captain brought a sense of comfort to Corsar. Rethnar first trained him how to use a sword. Although, the news he brought dampened his spirits on the reunion. Like a son trying to prove his worth to a father, Corsar felt the news of Isabelle's death would make Rethnar view him with shame and he simply said, "Come, I bring dire news."

Rethnar patted Corsar on the shoulder. "The air in here is a bit stale and I am eager to hear your tale."

Outside the tavern, Corsar conveyed to Rethnar the events over the past few months and then the men headed toward the Silver Crown Inn. Rethnar's normally cheery demeanor darkened, listening to Corsar's tale. Corsar had the look of someone wanting to sink to the deepest depths of the ocean.

"I promised to bring these people to Calendula Island, to free their Moon Spirit Dancer -- if she lives." Corsar stomped over a puddle, splashing water all over Rethnar and himself. "I owe them my best effort to get them there."

Rethnar shrugged at his drenched clothing and then uttered, "Settle down, Corsar. Do you know what you are asking? If we delay the news you bring, we risk the wrath of the king."

"I know I am asking a lot, and I am sorry," Corsar said. "If I return to Aldrashar, I will be scorned by the king and people. I must make amends and find a way to destroy this Soulcatcher. I think this Moon Spirit Dancer can help stop the Deviskari king before he decides to bring the orb northward putting the souls of our people at risk."

"Ah, an orb filled with souls. I find that a bit hard to swallow."

"Aye, I've not seen it myself and it is hard to believe." Corsar stopped and put his hand on the captain's chest. "But I think it is true, you must believe me."

"Corsar, you put me in a bad position. Convince me the Moon Spirit Dancer lives," Rethnar began, "and then I'll consider bringing your friends to the island."

"If you'll not concede, then I'll find another ship. I think the risk is worth taking."

"If she lives," Rethnar restated. "Calendula Island is a wicked place. I've heard many interesting tales, enough to know only fools go there. Ships stay clear of that wretched island and for good reason."

Nodding in agreement, Corsar felt the captain had a good point. "Your men can stay on the ship. Just get us near the island."

"You ask much, my friend." Rethnar again patted Corsar on the shoulder. "Bring me to these friends of yours. I'd like to speak with them further before I decide."

"Aye, but we should get them aboard your ship first," Corsar advised. "The Mhordalins are bound to come here soon and they know these friends of mine are different from you and me."

"Damn you, Corsar. Don't you bring any good news?" Rethnar winked at Corsar and grinned. "Ah Corsar, I'm going to get hung for disobeying orders. I'll take you there. I must be mad."

Upon entering the Silver Crown Inn, Corsar's sour expression turned to one of utter shock seeing Deveryn standing on the stairway, naked, and with sword in hand. Elisara appeared behind him, also naked. The Eldinisti woman quickly stepped behind Deveryn when she realized the two men stared at her.

"Deveryn, Elisara! Are you two absent of brains?" Corsar shook his head angrily.

Rethnar slammed Corsar's back with his hand and burst out laughing. "I'm going to have a hard time explaining their brazenness to the crew if they intend to travel in the nude."

"Kehlyra, she's gone," said Deveryn. "I heard a woman scream and--"

"Why did you let her leave?" Corsar cut him off, furious. Rethnar stopped laughing.

"I don't ask you to understand," Deveryn whispered. "There is no time for arguing, we must find her."

"The kitchen, Corsar," Rethnar shouted.

Corsar inspected the kitchen doorway. Swirls of black smoke seeped from the door's top corners, spreading thinly over the dining area. He turned back to Deveryn. "Get dressed and go with Captain Rethnar. I will find Kehlyra. I only hope your indiscretions has not cost her life."

A cloud of smoke smothered Corsar as he entered the kitchen. The smoke hindered his vision, slowing his progress to move. Eventually, he found Esti. Blood curdled over her cheeks and he placed his hand on her chest to feel for any sign of breathing. She was dead. A sudden scream made him flinch and he fled to the back entrance to investigate. In the alleyway behind the tavern, one Kulithian bastard held Kehlyra's cloak and the others tried to restrain her.

"Corsar, help me!" Kehlyra cried, trying to wiggle free from her captors.

"Shut up wench or I'll cut your tongue out!" Brashus barked and then spun around to face Corsar. "We told you to share. Now we take."

Corsar was outraged and his sword whistled out of its sheath. "My friend, you just made a mistake that will cost you all your lives."

Brashus fidgeted to unsheathe his sword. Corsar went for the lecherous leader first, slashing his blade downward in an attempt to split Brashus' skull in half. Brashus, in his drunken state, fortuitously fell backward to avoid his skull being crushed, though the tip of Corsar's blade caught his right eye. Brashus hit the ground hard covering the bloodied socket with his hand. "Get him!"

One of the men stepped in front of his fallen leader, cutting off Corsar from finishing the job. Corsar snickered at the man and then slashed viciously across the drunkard's throat, opening up the man's jugular. The intoxicated fool dropped to the ground, praying to a non-existent god.

"The lot of you are drunken cowardly gulls," Corsar growled. "And now you shall all die."

Kehlyra tore herself from the grasp of a Kulithian holding her. "Bastard!" She screamed, scratching the man on the face in anger, dragging her long nails across the surprised Kulithian's cheek.

"Stupid wench, I'll gut you here!" the wounded man said, striking her across the jaw.

Kehlyra's eyes glowed like two pools of seething blue fire. She reached out to the man clutching his arm and whispered the words of dark magic. A searing blue light emitted from her fingertips, encompassing the Kulithian. He screamed in agony as flesh peeled from his bones, until only a skeleton remained. Kehlyra trembled, releasing her grip on a skeletal arm, flustered by the malicious power she had just unleashed.

The last Kulithian backed away petrified, blood vessels practically popping from the sides of his temple. "You'll pay with your life witch!"

Corsar wasted no time ripping through the man's stomach with his longsword, tearing upward through organs and tendons. The Kulithian collapsed to the ground alongside the other corpses, gurgling blood, and then died. Corsar looked for Brashus next. The weasel fled seeing the odds turn against him.

Shaking uncontrollably, Kehlyra flung herself at Corsar. The woman's arms were surprisingly strong, wrapped around his chest, and the anger within him calmed.

"We need to get to the ship, Kehlyra. If any other Kulithians come, I can barely stand from exhaustion let alone fight them."

"Oh, Corsar. I made a terrible mistake leaving the room. I only wanted to...I saw the look in Deveryn's eyes, in Elisara's eyes, I couldn't bear it...Oh, if you hadn't come in time...They would have..." She covered her face in shame. "Is this the kind of world I must spend the rest of my life?"

"Not everyone lives the life in a palace, Kehlyra. Life outside palace walls is a different experience. People scavenge for food and sleep in dark alleys. At least when Graylin is dealt with, you'll be able to return home."

"I can never return home," Kehlyra whimpered. "I am ridiculed there, a heretic. It is better to live alone, than to be an object of scorn."

The familiar tale of Kehlyra's fate stung Corsar hard, reminding him of his conversation with Rethnar. If he returned home to Aldrashar, he too faced a similar scrutiny. The precarious fate he shared with Kehlyra somehow gave him solace, and he returned her embrace with a tinge of relief someone else shared his pain. When the clamor of hooves interrupted their moment, he let go of her and peered down the alley. His stomach churned seeing that horrid silver bear helm stare back at him. "Guthrum...Perhaps, the gods mock us both today."

## 32

Mhordalin Knights skulked toward the back entrance of the Silver Crown Inn. A wildfire in the kitchen spread its smoke out into the alley, twirling around the fanatical brutes, making them hesitate to converge on their prey. Each proceeded cautiously, smelling the aroma of burnt roast in the air, and none of the men was eager to add their flesh to the fire.

Corsar scrutinized the relentless men from the doorway, the heat of the fire spilling over his shoulder. He determined there was too many to fight, and elected to slow them down instead. After a quick glance around the burning kitchen, he began to throw broken furniture to the insert oven, increasing the smoke, creating a chamber of noxious fumes.

Frantically, he continued to search for flammable material to feed the inferno, and then his feet splashed in spilt ale. At least two-dozen kegs leaked their contents onto the flagstone floor. An idea struck him and he chopped at the kegs to make sure all their flammable fluids drenched the floor. Then he grabbed a torch from the wall and re-entered the main dining area. If the bastards dared enter, he was determined to set them all on fire.

Kehlyra stood at the front entrance, though she dare not go outside. At least a dozen more Mhordalins gathered in front waiting for them to come out. She shook her head and said, "We are trapped in here."

"Is there anything you...," Corsar heard footsteps coming from the kitchen. The bastards decided to brave the fire after all. He flung the torch inside, and a ball of fire spit out of the doorway nearly frying his backside. The torch sparked a blaze greater than he anticipated and the kitchen became an inferno of pain and death. Men screamed as the fire tore through their flesh and some fought their way out only to fall on Corsar's sword. The support beams then creaked and cracked within the room, splitting apart from the fiery damage, and then the kitchen roof collapsed burying the Mhordalins with it.

The fire spread quick, eating up wooden supports, and the smoke poured outward, undulating upwards along the walls of the dining area, blackening the ceiling. Corsar looked at the dark ceiling thinking he made a mistake. The entire inn would be in flames shortly and both entrances presented equal danger.

"We'll be burnt alive if we stay here," Kehlyra said, backing away from the door. "They are coming!"

"Up the stairs, look for a way out. I'll delay them to give you time to escape."

"Are you mad?" Kehlyra cried. "There are too many to fight!"

"There's no time to argue. Go!" The fierce tone in Corsar's voice made her tremble. She shook with indecision and then hurried up the staircase, only to stop at the top step. Corsar bit his lip in agitation, knowing she would not leave him.

Suddenly, the entrance door splintered apart and the Mhordalins rushed inside. Corsar sprinted forward and hewed down the first knight that entered. The others heard their comrade fall and swarmed around, swiping at the smoke with their hands. The Aldrashan warrior snuck behind another and buried his sword into the man's back. Despite the odds, he had a slight advantage, creeping around the smoky room slashing away at anything that moved. The Mhordalins did not have the same luxury, for their errant swings could take down one of their own.

Frustrated, the knights began chopping holes in the walls to allow the smoke to escape. The effort soon brought results and the smoke thinned, enough to see six of their own dead on the floor.

The fire slithered around Corsar, turning his flesh red and blistery. Feeling the seething heat, he tried to push the Mhordalins back to the front entrance. He roared as his blade slashed out in wild patterns, trying to penetrate the wall of armor and steel. His strikes lumbered; the heat fought him harder than the knights. If he stayed in this hell for much longer, the flames would kill him for sure before the Mhordalins. In a desperate rush, he charged forward to clear a path, swinging at two foes at once. Then his sword slipped from a sweaty grip.

A burly man, wielding a great sword, stepped in front of the weary warrior. Corsar stopped short of the man's blade and felt the steel tip swipe across his chain vest. The heavy blade broke through a few links of his vest and Corsar backed up. The confident Mhordalin roared in triumph at the helpless warrior and then thrust the great sword at Corsar's head. With a timely duck, Corsar avoided the blade and leaped forward to the knight's backside. Remembering the hand axe in his belt, he pulled the weapon out and buried the sharp edge in the man's skull. The knight dropped and Corsar snatched up the man's sword before the brute landed flat on the floor, dead.

The Mhordalins stood aghast, thinking they fought a devil. Corsar wielded the great sword on pure adrenaline; the blade whistled outward like a tornado of steel, raking through their defenses, leaving two more victims on the floor. Exhausted from the brief flurry, Corsar backed up and waited for the remaining Mhordalins to attack. For once, he hoped Kehlyra could conjure a spell to save them, and he looked up at her with imploring eyes, a helpless gaze that never once graced his young life until now. She appeared to him like a porcelain figurine on the stairs, unmoving, with her face molded in a frightful trance. Corsar waited for the girl to speak the words of magic, to empower herself with the skills to turn these men aside. None came.

The situation worsened when Guthrum entered the inn wearing his infamous bear helm. The Mhordalin leader dragged his sword along the brittle floor and ordered his men to step aside to allow him the honor of the kill. The pugnacious leader stopped in front of Corsar and then removed the silver helmet. "You fight admirably, and I can see magic is not in your blood. But you protect those we seek to kill and for that, I cannot let you live."

Corsar regarded the man bitterly. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Should I warrior?" Guthrum asked, sliding the helmet back over his head.

"Do you ever dream about the children of the people you slaughtered, hunting you, seeking vengeance?"

"No. I kill those who wield magic and anyone protecting such folk. If I killed someone of consequence to you, I am sure their fate was well deserved."

"You are a pompous bastard," Corsar barked. "I am Corsar from Aldrashar. Tell your men to remember my name, for once I am through with you, I promise to dedicate my life to hunt every last one of you Mhordalins."

"Fair enough," Guthrum said callously. "Shall we begin? The fire in here is a bit uncomfortable."

"The fire is about to become even more uncomfortable when I send you to hell."

Resembling a devil with blistering red skin and covered in blood, Corsar swung the great sword hard at Guthrum. Blades sparked and the Mhordalin leader took a step back, appearing surprised in the strength of the strike. Corsar continued to press against his silver helmeted opponent, sweeping his sword at Guthrum's head, midriff, and legs. Guthrum blocked every attack. The vibrations from the blade made Corsar's hand numb and he backed off to reconsider his plan of attack.

Fire crackled along the walls, creeping inward toward the center of the main hall, billowing around the two combatants. Corsar was careful to dance around the scorching embers and weak spots on the floor. One wrong step and the basement waited for him below. He tried to get Guthrum to move backward as he felt the unstable floor cracking under his feet. The Mhordalin stood firm in a defensive stance slapping aside each cut.

Then the floor splintered under Corsar's foot and he crashed halfway through the frail planks. His chest heaved from heavy breaths as he climbed out of the hole. Guthrum smacked the warrior's sword away with ease; the Aldrashan had exhausted every bit of his strength.

Corsar stared up at his nemesis, feeling a coldness permeate within those dark eye slots of the bear helm. "When I reach hell, I'll ask the gods to allow me to come back from the grave to take revenge for every innocent you slaughtered."

"I like you, Corsar," Guthrum said. "You have a lot of courage, but I am afraid your time in this land is at an end. Goodbye warrior." Guthrum raised his sword high to deal a decapitating blow.

Kehlyra screamed and leaped from the stairs like a wildcat, landing in front of Guthrum. She clawed out at him, reaching under his helm, and scratching his neck. Guthrum spun toward her, bringing his sword in a wide arc to cut her in half, but instead of slicing flesh, one word from her mouth conjured a sudden gush of wind flinging him backwards against the wall. The enraged girl moved in front of Corsar, continuing to spew words from pouty lips, weaving a deadly mystical whirlwind to protect them.

The dumbfounded men all came at once, hearing her magic words, trying to stop her before they all ended up against the wall impaled on splintered wood. They never reached her, however. The powerful wind flung them backwards and tables and support columns, snapping bones and necks. Kehlyra increased the tone of her words, unable to control herself, strengthening her tornado as the surviving knights tried to recover and form an attack. The wind kept sweeping them back. In the unstoppable gust, bottles smashed against the walls, tables and chairs broke apart, and loose weapons flew dangerously about.

Corsar could see Kehlyra losing control and tried to shake her out of the magical trance. Then a longsword, caught in the wind current, flew in her direction. There was no time to dodge and he shoved her to the side, taking the blade across his midriff. He collapsed to his knees, clutching a bloodied wound, despair all over his visage.

"No!" Kehlyra cried, seeing the blood. She slapped her hand over a deep gash across his stomach trying to stop the bleeding. She screamed in terror, understanding she may have killed him.

The inn appeared like a charnel house of blood and ash. The wind had doused most of the flames, leaving behind smoldering wood and an unstable structure. From numerous cracks within the walls and ceiling, the dawn sun filtered through, illuminating the carnage and the angry glares of wounded men. Kehlyra wheezed as she held Corsar in her arms. Corsar merely looked up at her and winked.

Fortune never seemed to smile on the Mhordalins, and their streak of bad luck continued. Breaking through walls and openings left by the damage, the crew from the Skarrig engaged them. Deveryn, Elisara, and Rethnar were among them, overtaking the battered knights. Swords, axes, and daggers clashed against each other and more blood was spilled.

"Get him out of here," Rethnar shouted to Kehlyra. Kehlyra managed to get Corsar to stand and then helped him navigate through the swarm of fighting men. The Mhordalins, seeing their numbers dwindling, retreated through the wreckage. Guthrum was dazed and confused from his impact against the wall and stumbled out of the inn with his men. He muttered to stay and fight. His men ignored him, having enough of these people.

The crew of the Skarrig cheered seeing the knights' flee, but the glee suddenly turned sour when they realized some of their comrades were among the dead.

"Get back to the ship," Rethnar bellowed to his men and then peered toward a dejected Deveryn. "A lot of blood was spilled today. Magic is an incurable obsession with these Mhordalins and I doubt our battle persuaded them to give up the pursuit." Rethnar took a breath and wiped the blood from his brow. "I'll take you to the island, but then we part ways."

Deveryn watched the captain run ahead and then Elisara came beside him.

"None of this is your fault." Elisara put her hand on Deveryn's chest to stop him from walking. "I know you are feeling guilty over the deaths of these men. I've recently learned myself everyone controls their own destinies. Rid yourself of the guilt before your regrets destroy you like mine almost destroyed me."

"I may not control their destinies, but I influenced them," he responded ruefully. "I am going to get us all killed."

Elisara fervently shook her head in disagreement at the disheartened man. "You are wrong, Deveryn. I chose to be here, just like Corsar, just like those men. If anyone is to blame, look to Graylin or Azathea. They set these events in motion." She grabbed his arm and squeezed hard. "Listen to my words. You are not to blame."

"I am a fool, Elisara," Deveryn said. "I set out to free Kiyasca knowing it was an impossible task. The blood of these men are on my hands, and somehow, I must set things right."

## 33

For three days, the Skarrig moved westward toward Calendula Island. Strong winds blew across the sails of the black ship as it crashed through the ocean waves. Sailors, grasping the rails for their life, cursed the winds for moving the ship at godlike speeds. Adding to their misery, water splashed constantly across the decks like a perpetual tidal wave and the helmsman struggled with the tiller requiring extra men to help keep the ship on course. No one understood the supernatural force that propelled the ship onward – no one except for the Eldinisti woman who summoned the great gust to fill the sails.

On the eve of the third day, Calendula Island appeared on the horizon like a massive beast, waiting to crush the ship in its wide embrace. A thin mist stretched around the dread island, drifting over hills and trees, hiding the enigmatic inhabitants. Haunting moans, even from this distance, drifted out toward the ship making the crew of the Skarrig apprehensive of continuing further. Rethnar eyed the island with concern and ordered the ship to a halt.

The anchors splashed down to the delight of the crew. The ghostly voices remained and those on deck covered their ears, afraid the nightmarish sounds would make them go mad. Hands shook as the crew stared frightfully at the haunted isle. It was apparent something wicked infested the island -- something wraithlike -- and each kept vigil, waiting for some supernatural beast to sink them.

Upon the forecastle, Kehlyra stood downcast. The guilt of wounding Corsar weighed heavy on her heart. Elisara tried to heal the warrior with her ointments, but the wound was too deep. Kehlyra knew the legendary healing fountain of Calendula Island mended all wounds, and she made a promise to the warrior in his feverish state to save him.

The smells of salt water filled the air; the essence stirred a memory from childhood. Amrahar once said he had a vision of her on Calendula Island, alone and bloody, with a severed head at her feet. He had the smell of seawater on him at the time and she wondered why he would tell a child such a horrible tale unless there was something on the island he preferred to keep secret.

Deveryn stepped onto the forecastle. Kehlyra glanced in his direction, noticing the pity in his eyes. Since childhood, she had a deep love for him. Today, however, the love she felt melted away, replaced by a self-loathing. It was clear they would never be together, and for once in her life, she accepted it.

"Corsar rests, though he struggles with a fever," whispered Deveryn. "He does not blame you, nor do any of us. We'd all be dead if you weren't with us. It was an unfortunate accident."

"I was foolish to think I was a capable sorceress," she said, covering her face with her hands.

"You are," remarked Deveryn. "I have never seen anyone do the things you have done, including Amrahar. You need training to control your power."

"Can you hear the restless spirits upon the wind?" Kehlyra asked, shuddering. "There is something evil in our midst."

Deveryn listened to the dispirited cries. "Those are the songs of the dead. Their whispers cannot hurt us."

"I'm afraid of them," Kehlyra said. "I'm afraid of the island; I feel something awful dwelling there, something evil. I feel we are walking to our deaths."

In agreement, Deveryn shook his head. "No doubt evil inhabits the island, but we go there nonetheless."

***

Later in the evening, Deveryn asked the crew to prepare a boat. The crew worked the lines, lowering the small skiff into the restless water. He knew the harsh conditions would make it difficult to navigate the reef-filled waters and he remained persistent in his decision to leave despite the danger.

Deveryn, Elisara, and Kehlyra climbed down a swaying rope ladder, dropping within the small skiff that stank of fish. Deveryn found the odor displeasing and frowned.

"Apologies Deveryn for the smell, It can be uncomfortable at times," Rethnar said with a wink. "The rickety boat is all I can spare."

"Thanks Rethnar. If we are not back in three days, then assume we are dead."

Rethnar rubbed his beard. "Sorry Deveryn. I said we would get you to the island, and then we part way."

"Give us three days. Corsar's life may depend on it. There is a special fountain on the island and the contents could save the warrior's life."

The captain rubbed his mustache while considering the information. "I'd prefer not to sit out here for three days hoping the mythical fountain is real. You have one day and then I depart."

"Understood," said Deveryn as he set the boat adrift.

Elisara found an oil lantern and set the wick aflame with a single word. "I can make the flame brighter if you need more light."

"The flame is bright enough," Deveryn said. "We don't want those on the island to see us coming, if possible." He removed his cloak to give his arms flexibility in rowing. Even without the extra weight to impede him, he felt his muscles tearing apart. He rowed sluggishly and paused often to rest his tired arms. Elisara offered to help, but he told her to save her strength.

"There's something out there," Elisara shouted. "A ship, I think. I swear I saw a ship."

The mist thickened and shimmered along the surface of the water. Elisara held the lantern up, tried to make the flames stronger, and still, the mist swallowed the luminance. In the surrounding gloom, the spectral voices grew stronger, deafening, and Deveryn almost screamed in agony. He fought the influences, blocked out their pleas, and then he winced in disbelief.

Sailing beside the skiff was a large ghastly ship made from the flesh and bones of the dead. Upon the deck, ghostly figures carrying swords, axes, and spears watched them with cold deathly stares. The ship was enormous, twice the size of the Skarrig. The crew positioned two huge ballistae to shoot at the small skiff and Deveryn began rowing in the opposite direction.

"They are going to attack!" Elisara screamed.

"The ship of judgment," Deveryn bellowed above the horrid squeals that seemed to follow the ship. "It only appears when the gods want to bring one of their own to justice. Men have often sought out the ship, thinking to pillage the treasures onboard. The fools, in the end, become part of the crew – or part of the ship."

"I hope whatever they are looking for isn't near," Kehlyra said.

As if in answer, something large swept under the boat, flipping the skiff over and tossing the passengers within the murky water. High waves crashed over them, sending all three drifting in opposite directions.

The boat drifted in Deveryn's direction and he clung on to the side. His heart throbbed with panic when he glimpsed a long slimy greenish snake-like creature submerging beside him. Then he saw Kehlyra drifting toward him in a petrified trance. He tried to reach her and then the creature's hump appeared again between them and then sank, causing the water to ripple. His head bobbed up and down under the water and when he stabilized, he saw Kehlyra drifting in the opposite direction.

Deveryn tried to swim back to the boat when the serpent's head emerged with a howl, crushing the drifting skiff in an enormous mouth. The monster gazed over the water for its prey as splinters of wood dangled between the creature's man-sized teeth. The head appeared dragon-like, having smooth horns curling backward from the scaly brow. The dark eyes were surreal, having the qualities of a serpent and human. Something was familiar in those eyes, something he encountered before, and then his face constricted in horror when he realized what those menacing eyes reminded him of -- Sekora.

The ghost ship came rushing up alongside the serpent. The undead crew loaded the ballistae with iron bolts attached to long thick ghostly chains. The serpent brushed up along the ship's hull, trying to stay under their aim, and then plunged beneath them. The ship circled the area searching for the beast, and then vanished when the creature never resurfaced.

Swimming frantically toward the shoreline, Deveryn's muscles burned and his strokes labored. In what seemed like days, Deveryn reached the island and collapsed from exhaustion. Dread convinced him Elisara and Kehlyra were floating in the ocean dead or eaten by the serpent. He stared back across the water, searching for the two women, and found no sign of them.

The forest loomed behind him, a dark hellish place; shrouded in a dense mist even his unique vision had little chance of piercing. Wild cries of ferocious beasts stung his ears and his hope of finding Elisara and Kehlyra dead became a real possibility to him. The savages on the island also concerned him. If the monsters found the women first, a prolonged and painful death was inevitable.

Weary, Deveryn unsheathed Tehalin. He needed his companion more than ever in this time of dire need. There was no time to rest; the women depended on him to overcome his limitations and save them. Holding Tehalin up, he invoked the powers of the blade. The wolf spirit appeared and circled him, awaiting instruction. "Find Elisara and Kehlyra and lead them to me," Deveryn said to the wolf. The mystic animal howled in response and then sprinted off. Deveryn entered the forest next, doubting he would ever see them again.

## 34

Standing upon the gate tower, Ryshara gazed out at the dawn sky. It was a haunting sky, one covered with dark reds and smoky blacks. The colors reminded her of the blood and ash that stained Sundamar and she felt a deep sadness in its splendor. On the eastern horizon, the sun's shimmering orange hues melted over the crimson sands. She tried to feel the warmth of the dim orange glow, but the tremulous light provided only a cold unsettling chill.

Ryshara moved to the wall-walk. Her tan cloak billowed under a cool breeze. She was accustomed to wearing loose desert garments over her slim figure, but now wore a leather corset with lace up front, steel vambraces and greaves, and a pair of woolen hose tucked into buckskin boots. The clothing felt strange, uncomfortable, and made her feel pretentious.

A short steel blade rested at her side and slung over a shoulder was a longbow made from perfect unblemished yew. She removed the bow, feeling the twine beneath her fingers; the weapon felt natural in her hands. Since childhood, she became adept at using a bow, though rarely shot at moving targets.

Holding tightly Tanlok's horn, Ryshara's sight lingered over the corpse-infested sands. She remained entranced on the lifeless bodies, remembering every word of Graylin's plan to raise the devils. She scrutinized their wretched forms beneath the feeble mist and waited patiently for the attack to begin. "Come, Graylin," she whispered. "Raise your abominations and watch us send them back to hell."

"Ryshara, the mist!" a bowman cried out, his voice strained with trepidation.

It did not take long for Ryshara to understand the bowman's sudden concern. A black oily smoke formed within the mist, drifting over the bloody dunes and scraping over the corpses. Ryshara watched timidly the strange substance expand outward, forming tendrils that seeped into the dormant bodies. At first, the bodies quivered, and then they began to rise with the horrid sound of cracking bones. The lecherous things then staggered toward Sundamar, attracted to the warm blood within.

Most of the corpses took to the gates, tearing at the precarious barrier with rotting hands. Others found cracks and splits in the battered city walls; their boney fingers lashed across the rubble trying to dig their way in. Hundreds came lurching out of the mist, piling against the gate and walls. A few picked up swords and rocks and pounded the barrier with savage vigor. The display left the Eldinisti archers in shock and they let a volley of arrows flood the mysterious cloud, striking legs, arms, and torsos. Ryshara leaned over the wall to inspect the strength of the walking corpses, her face darkened with dread seeing the arrows had no effect.

"Hold your attack," she commanded. "We need more than arrows to send these things back to the grave!"

If the repulsive fiends were not enough, catapults started launching hails of flaming rocks against the city walls sending fragments of sandstone spluttering over the parapets. Ryshara's gaze flared outward across the sands where Deviskari catapults maneuvered to better position their attacks on the city gates. Archers suddenly cried another shower of fiery death headed their way. She dove behind the wall bracing herself for the impact. Heavy stones crashed beside her, flinging debris over her prone form. She had enough and signaled the archers to retreat.

"Withdraw!" Ryshara commanded, scampering down a set of stone steps. The path spilled into the main courtyard and the men complied and followed her, throwing disparaging glances for keeping them on the wall for too long.

A group of horses, dancing restlessly, waited in the courtyard, snorting and tugging on their restraints. Ryshara stopped at the base of the stairs, apprehensive they would trample her. Then she pushed her way through the chestnut colored animals. She came to a blue roan horse; the animal's nostrils flared with excitement. She whispered soothingly to the horse until the animal calmed to the dulcet tones of her voice.

"I don't like being here either," Ryshara said, stroking the horse's long neck, and then climbed onto its back.

"Retreat to the towers!" Ryshara shouted to the bowmen. "Hurry, before these loathsome creatures enter the city!"

The distraught bowmen broke out of the courtyard on horseback. The hoof beats from their mounts rumbled along the ground and kicked up dust around a tall stone statue of their god, Lothkus. Ryshara hesitated following. Her vision fell upon the statue, drifting across an outstretched stone arm that held a perched raven. She understood, in certain cultures, the bird represented an omen of death and destruction. The Eldinisti god had taught them a different meaning. The god saw the bird as a protector and bringer of great magic. How foolish she felt believing the bird could represent anything other than death and ruin seeing her people suffer. Who was protecting them now?

The raven suddenly took flight as flaming stones rattled against the city gate, crashing the barrier inward in a heap of twisted iron. The entrance was ruined, and more importantly, left a gaping hole between the city and the grim horde. The vile creatures lurched over the rubble, stepping on bodies that dangled from iron bars and stone slabs. Their eyes were the most disturbing, red embers born of hell, penetrating, consumed with bloodlust.

Ryshara's horse bucked wildly from the disturbing smash, jostling her, almost throwing her off. She held firm to the reins, the leather straps bit deeply into her hands, and her face became stricken with fright. With extreme effort, she pulled the reins sharply to the left, forcing the horse's nose to her leg. A trick she learned to regain control of the uncooperative horse. The animal squealed in defiance and started moving in a tight circle, slowing with each turn. Ryshara kept the horse circling until the animal calmed to a stop, allowing her to regain his obedience.

A boney hand grasped Ryshara's leg. She slashed downward with her sword at the offending creature, severing the limb from its owner. A sundry of mangled corpses lumbered toward her and she snapped the reins on the horse to get moving. The ghoulish figures reeled through a section of damaged homes, splintering wooden doors with maggot-infested arms. They scoured dark corners, finding victims too scared to leave their homes. The monsters chomped on living flesh, tearing sinew off bone. A few Eldinisti found their way outside, screaming for help, but their cries turned to wails of death.

Ryshara brought the horse around, hearing the despairing cries of her people. "Lothkus, no!" she cursed. How many of her people remained hidden? If she brought Sundamar crumbling down to the earth, the collapse would only ensure their deaths. The predicament made the decision to use the horn harder, complicated, how could she kill her own people? Damn them, damn Graylin, he was to blame for this dilemma. She pushed her horse onward, distraught over the plan to bring the city down.

Deeper within the city, Ryshara came to a section of towers bordering an immense lake. The crumbling area contained the remains of libraries and schools, nested closely together, giving her archers a good vantage point of the oncoming enemy. She had similar blockades set around the city, hoping to slow the enemy enough to allow everyone to evacuate. Her plan had flaws, however. There were several blockades across the city, leaving her to speculate on their condition. If any one of them collapsed before the final horn sounded, the dead could circle around them and cut off their escape.

Ryshara tethered the horse and ascended a tall spiraling tower. The roof was in ruins, and she settled behind a fragment of stone that left her chest and head exposed. She chose this spot for the wide view of the city. No other building stood higher, except for the central citadel. The height had disadvantages as well, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable to flaming projectiles. Although, she felt the risk was better than being on the ground with so many of the undead lurking about.

Across from her, standing on the flat rooftops of other towers, where dozens of archers lining up their arrows beside flaming braziers. A dazzling white flame flickered from within these fiery pits. Ryshara had the mages prepare special powders to enhance the flames to burn through flesh and bone. She prepared her own fire, dumping the contents of a pouch left beside the burning embers. The flames turned from red to orange, and then blazed to a bright white. She reached back into a quiver of blue-tipped arrows and nocked a shaft to her bow. She could see the horde getting closer, sauntering bags of bone and flesh, and waited to ignite the tip of the arrow.

In between the towers, Eldinisti swordsmen chained together wooden carts, broken furniture, and mangled corpses to build seven-foot makeshift walls. Each new body tossed on the crude barrier invoked curses and threats from the builders, and a few became sick from the stench. Ryshara ordered barrels of oil poured on top and in front of the barrier and then watched the liquid seep outward, drenching a widespread area of sand. The wall was a morbid display, but necessary to her plan. The swordsmen worked feverishly to complete the trap and then snatched up their longswords. Ryshara sympathized with them, prayed to Lothkus to protect them, but in her heart, envisioned the longswords as tombstone markers.

Ryshara looked past the towers, towards the city's heart, where the central citadel stood under the faint breath of the sun. Crowds of Eldinisti stood on a wide bridge that arched over the blue lake and ended at the citadel's doors. The tower served an additional purpose other than a meeting place for the city leaders, the building provided passage to the underground tunnels. Ryshara was pleased the tower's base remained intact. However, the long narrow underground corridors accommodated three or four people side by side, and she realized an exodus of the entire city would be sluggish.

The unsightly creatures crept deeper into the city, finding their way to the first barricade. Their momentum slowed the closer they came to the gruesome barrier. Ryshara waited until a majority of the bastards congregated over the oiled section before sweeping the tip of her arrow over the fire, igniting the shaft in a white flame. She felt vindicated, pulling back on the twine of her bow – her people suffered enough to these abominations. Her fingers released the twine and the arrow struck the barricade. A ball of blinding light ignited and deadly flames swept over the oil covered ground, shriveling a mass of undead. The seething white flames ate ravenously through their decrepit bodies, turning their carcasses to black ash.

Wave after wave these horrors came forth and flaming shafts rained down from the towers, plunging into their soulless shells. Ryshara stood in awe, watching chunks of black residue drift away. Fires erupted all across the city and she expected the other blockades found similar success. While watching the corpses shrivel to ash, her elation turned sour toward the creatures' demise. The mindless beings had no control over their actions. They were mockeries of their former selves driven by an insane king.

"Rebuild the walls!" Ryshara barked to the soldiers, noticing the fire destroyed the protective barrier. "These creatures were mere fodder, meant to shake us!"

Unbeknownst to the Eldinisti rebuilding the gruesome barrier, Ryshara glared toward hundreds of Deviskari soldiers gathering outside the crumbled gates of Sundamar. She understood the undead were meant to frighten and weaken them; the Deviskari's true might waited at their front door. The wind whistled in her ear and she swore a voice whispered to be brave. Courage, however, failed to fill her heart. A sea of doom was about to enter the city, and the horrific flood would wash the city in blood.

## 35

The forest's thick undergrowth impeded Deveryn from moving swiftly. Thorns raked across his clothes and skin, his feet lumbered through mud, and the rain drenched every ounce of his body. His sword cut through the dripping leaves and vines clearing the path, but his progress was slow and he worried about the women. He looked to the sky and the sun peeked out of the dark clouds, and his ghostly companion leaped atop a boulder and howled in defiance. The faint spheres of sunlight cascaded over the wolf's ethereal form, making the animal vanish completely with the passing of night. With his spectral friend gone, Deveryn stopped to rest. He stood silent, breathless, searching the endless maze of trees for any sign of his friends.

The plethora of trees resembled angry titans to Deveryn, bathing him in dark shadows and watching him with invisible eyes. Their reddish-brown trunks tapered upward, spreading thin arched branches overhead with weighty green and copper leaves. He appreciated the shelter the foliage provided him from the rain. However, the faint flickers of sunlight breaking through the thick overhead made the territory difficult for him to pick up trails.

More disturbing than the precarious terrain, Deveryn's head ached from the incessant moaning of maligned spirits. He murmured a protection spell to ward them away to no effect. Is this how the magic on the island worked? The dreadful wailing would beat upon him until he went mad and attacked anyone he saw? Sekora had either lied to him or never made it to the island. The goddess promised to lift the curse and magic clearly still infected the island. How long before the madness took him?

He walked through the sludge, coming upon a brook that glimmered with a blue tint. Deveryn plunged his sword in the muddy ground and knelt beside the water, scooping up the clear liquid with his hand. He sipped the tasteless contents, found the water potable, and then copiously drank. When the last drips of water fell from his hand, he turned to leave and gasped, catching an odd reflection in the stream.

His eyes appeared reddish, incandescent. A trick of the water, he thought. Deveryn snatched up his blade and gazed along the shiny smooth surface seeing devilish red eyes stare back at him. Despite the coloration, his vision was unhindered, though he felt some strange magic at work trying to influence him. He dismissed the idea of maligned spirits inhabiting his body, for he detected a distance entity working dark magic. Perhaps Azathea tried to control him. The possibility of Sekora weaving her own spell on the island also crept through his thoughts. Now, he had two problems to deal with in this cursed place.

The clanging of steel sent a deer fleeting from a bush, startling Deveryn. The animal scattered eastward and then disappeared. Deveryn headed in the direction the animal fled, knowing animals never run toward danger. Then he abruptly stopped as an arrow zinged past his head and struck a tree behind him.

"The devils are up early today," he cursed while diving to the ground in a splatter of mud as another arrow passed over him. He glanced upward in the direction from which the deadly missiles spawned and saw standing fifty yards away an emaciated man, holding a longbow and dressed in deerskin clothing. The man snarled and drew back on the bowstring. Deveryn sprinted for cover and dodged the shaft. Then he heard footsteps crunching over twigs and knew the bowman was trying to circle around him.

Fighting with the ground again, Deveryn swore to the gods for providing him with such an inhospitable landscape. He slipped and fell, further entrenching his body in sludge. Biting his tongue, he got up and dashed toward the sounds of snapping branches. His head spun in each direction, looking for signs of the archer. Then a savage howl came from behind and he turned in time to deflect a tarnished blade.

Deveryn recognized the man was a native of the island, part of the Yenrak tribe. The Deviskari offered protection to this tribe from scavengers in return for meat, fish, and building materials from the island. The Yenraks had copper colored skin with grayish overtones, dark blond hair, and dark eyes. This man however had eyes similar to an albino rat, pink and penetrating. In his dirty bony hand was a crude iron sword, short and black colored. The savage growled through yellow-stained teeth and then swung his sword downward trying to cleave Deveryn's shoulder.

With little effort, Deveryn blocked the weak attack and then crunched the savage's nose with his fist. The attacker dropped the primitive weapon and stumbled backwards, grasping bloodied nostrils. Deveryn took a few steps toward the helpless man and plunged his sword through a withered belly. When he tore his sword free, the savage collapsed to the ground, wide-eyed and dead. A curious thing happened next, Deveryn noticed. The pink coloring in the man's eyes turned brown. There was no doubt the bowman was bewitched.

Deveryn surmised the black magic that controlled the man was the same magic he felt swirling around in his own head. The power he felt infiltrating his thoughts indicated to him either Azathea or Sekora had abilities he had no chance of countering, and he found his concentration breaking apart with each passing minute. How long did he have before he gave in to them? The coloring of his eyes changed again and he glanced at the reflection in his blade and saw pink eyes staring back at him. Time was running out.

Concerned with spell trying to infiltrate his mind, Deveryn edged onward toward the clamorous sounds of battle, stopping at the top of a ravine. Flashes of steel clashing against iron gleamed from the bottom and he descended toward the combatants. On his way down, he slipped on a patch of mud and tumbled forward; only his keen agility allowed him to regain his balance and continue onward. The closer he got, the identifying features of the combatants became clear, and he recognized one of them was Elisara.

Elisara had her back against a tree, her sword streaked silver blurs, parrying the harassing attacks of six of the Yenraks. He hardly recognized his love. Soot covered her from head to toe, and her cherubic face was beneath thick grime. The six savages, wielding iron swords and axes, came at her like rabid animals. He had to act fast. Her posture was slumping and the magic in her weapon was draining her energy.

With the rain masking the sound of his movement, Deveryn took the Yenraks by surprise. His blade danced outward, severing the spinal cord of a copper-skinned man's back. The savage folded in half like a snapped twig and Deveryn stepped over the corpse to whirl toward another one, slicing halfway through the man's neck. The Yenrak staggered away, his head dangled from muscle strands, and then he dropped to the ground. Deveryn swore he fought corpses. The stoic expressions, the lack of reason, and the fragility of their bodies reminded him of the undead.

The remaining four turned towards him, exposing their backs to Elisara. The distraction gave her a chance to enlighten them to the fury of an Eldinisti woman. Her scimitar whisked downward, cleaving deep within a skull. She tugged on the blade and then released her grip when another Yenrak turned on her and tried to split her own skull with an axe. She ducked underneath the wild strike and brought her knee to his groin. The savage, unaffected from her attack, chomped down on her arm with a set of chipped foamy teeth. Blood splattered from the wound, and she threw her other arm around the scoundrel's boney neck and twisted until she heard the neck snap.

The remaining two Yenraks charged Deveryn. Elisara was able to free her blade in time to hew down one of them from behind. Deveryn engaged the other, slicing the savage's forearm; the appendage dropped to the ground still clutching the sword. Then Deveryn finished the man with a stab to the heart. The Yenraks performed no better than animated zombies and Deveryn concluded he did fight the undead.

"Are you hurt?" Deveryn asked, and then put his hands over his ears in agony. The disturbing sounds of the island throbbed incessantly around his head and the pain was too much for him to handle. The world changed around him. The trees resembled demons and Elisara was gone; in her place stood a hideous and menacing Nishurog. A trick, he thought. Why was a Nishurog on the island? Did Sekora bring one here? Where did Elisara go? Was she even here? Did he protect a Nishurog all this time?

Elisara was wiping her blade clean, her back toward Deveryn. "I've been evading these monsters for hours. Did you see..." Elisara turned and recoiled from Deveryn, reacting to the coloring of his eyes. "Deveryn! Your eyes!"

Deveryn's face became a stoic mask of stone. His inherent gray eyes had turned completely to a pinkish hue. He viciously pushed her to the ground and then lunged at her with his sword. "Your tricks won't work on me, Nishurog."

The magic in Elisara's blade compelled her to block the strike and then she swung her leg across his knee, tumbling him over. She rolled away and stood up, understanding she needed to find a way to restrain him without harm. "Deveryn, I am Elisara!"

The possessed Deviskari got up and scampered towered her. Elisara held up her hand and whispered an enchantment, sending forth a wind that wrapped around him like an iron coil. He froze in place, the wind kept his limbs bound, and he growled at her like a caged beast.

The sign of a charm spell was evident in Deveryn's appearance, a power having no effect on Elisara thanks to the protective tattoos on her body. She picked up a stick, set the tip on fire, and stepped behind him. She parted his black hair, exposing his neck, and engraved a rune on his flesh. The wind swirled around the pair, billowing her skirt and hair wildly as she watched his eyes turn back to normal. The imprisoned Deviskari, suspended by the wind, closed his eyelids and dangled in the air in silence.

Elisara directed the wind to lower Deveryn to the ground and then dispelled the incantation. "Oh Deveryn, what has this island done to you?"

Deveryn found difficulty keeping conscious, his head fell forward. Under his breath, he whispered, "I am sorry..." And then his world went to blackness.

## 36

Deveryn sat under broad-leafed evergreens unable to rid himself of the guilt that tore him apart. Although he no longer suffered under the influence of some mind-controlling spell, he brooded over his recent attack upon the woman he loved. As rain danced on the leafy branches above, he listened to the cadence of their song and stared dolefully at the ground.

Elisara stood against a tree across from him with arms crossed. She glanced at him with a lost expression, and said, "Are you going to sit there all day?"

"I put my faith in a fiend to remove the curse from the island and it almost cost you your life," he said. "I should have come to the island alone to make sure it was safe."

She came to him, gently brushed her hand along his face and smiled. "Deveryn, I wouldn't have allowed you to come alone and what fiend do you speak of?"

"The creature we found in the tomb. The thing claimed to be the goddess Sekora and made promises to wipe the curse from this island if I freed her."

"And you trusted her?" Elisara said, aghast.

"I was a fool." Deveryn's expression burned in anguish, and he barely had the strength to meet her gaze. "If someone tries to control me again--"

"They'll find their efforts wasted," she finished. "I've protected you with a rune."

"I appreciate your help," Deveryn said, "but runes can be countered. We should both remain cautious of one another until we can rid the island of the source of this trouble. If Kehlyra is alive and under this spell, we may not be able to stop her. You saw what she did to those Mhordalins."

"If she is still alive."

Deveryn shrugged his shoulders. "Aye, if she lives."

Rain and thunder raged in the skies, following them as they moved northward, toward a looming mountain range. The leafy trees that provided shelter to them dwindled to a sparse few, allowing more drops to pound on their already sodden bodies. Deveryn welcomed the rain; the cold drops washed away the blood and muck that covered him.

The sun started to shine through the gloom as they came to a deep gorge that cut through the island's northern tip. The Yenrak village was here. Unsheltered from the trees, the entire area appeared to absorb all the water from the perpetual monsoon. Huts made of bark, twigs, and leaves resembled beaver dens rather than homes; the constructions sunk deep in the swampy ground. To the north, east, and south, high rocky cliffs surrounded the cluster of sunken homes. The west, however, offered a view of the ocean, and they both could see the faint black outline of the Skarrig bouncing on the waves.

Along the north and south rock formations, wooden bridges and stairs led to small rock-cut caves. The central village was uninhabitable from the flood, forcing the savages to compromise by moving to higher ground. On the eastern cliff were five mammoth carved sculptures of dragons, menacing to look upon, all overshadowing a dark entranceway to the Temple of Sekora. When the Deviskari helped the Yenraks drive off the Nishurog many years ago, they left the temple untouched fearing the wrath of the dragon goddess. The structure remained mostly intact and just as foreboding as it did that day.

Deveryn pondered upon a way to get his friends off the island, if he was able to free them. Travelling back through the dense forest would be too slow and dangerous. He looked to the western foreshore that consisted of mud and sand. Longboats bobbled on the water, tied to wooden landing quays. Anglers dragged nets of silver thrashing fish from their boats. These men seemed devoid of spirit, living statues, driven about their routines in mechanical fashion. They filled rock-cut cisterns with fish and then returned to the ocean to gather more food. Deveryn viewed them as animated flesh, absent of conscience behind their pink soulless eyes. Their boats however would serve as an adequate means to depart.

The Yenraks had certainly fallen under a spell of some sort. Kehlyra had mentioned a group of savages took control of the island, but he guessed the witch acted alone, and enslaved these people to do her bidding. It was curious that she failed to charm any Deviskari soldiers. Normally, a group of soldiers patrolled the village to keep the Nishurog away, and he found no sight of them.

Deveryn studied the village intently, and his eyes roamed toward the middle of the ravine where a small tower caught his attention. The tower was three stories high, made of crumbling stone blocks and covered with moss. None of the Yenraks went near the place, but there was a light coming from inside. The tower belonged to the chief of the Yenraks. He assumed the Yenrak leader fell under the heinous spell and that the witch now occupied the tower.

"Tell me your thoughts, Deveryn," said Elisara.

"The tower," Deveryn said, pointing, "I don't need magic to sense that a monster dwells there."

"Do you think Kehlyra and Kiyasca are there?"

"They are either there or dead."

"They move like walking corpses," Elisara whispered.

"It is strange. I swear they are corpses, but a hint of a charmed spell is in their eyes." Deveryn remained transfixed on the natives, and then said, "We should wait for night. I want to see if this serpent witch rears her head."

"I think it is a mistake to wait so long. Corsar needs the healing water and Kehlyra might be in trouble."

"We must be patient."

"You're gambling with their lives."

"If we rush down there without learning about what we are dealing with, we are gambling with our lives," Deveryn argued. "The extra rest will prepare us both better for whatever awaits us. Our friends are dead unless we survive."

"I will abide your decision, though I do not agree," Elisara said with a frown.

The sun eventually fell and night covered the area in darkness. Torches sparked up in front of cave entrances, welcoming a sinister moon that highlighted the copper-skinned Yenraks. Deveryn found a steep narrow path leading toward the village. He could barely see the walkway under the moon's grayish hue, but he was careful to keep hidden.

The pair crept through the muck toward the tower, their feet treaded in ankle-deep water. Deveryn was sure a trap waited for them inside; no guards or unseen protector impeded them from nearing the wicked place. Both moved within the darkness from hut to hut. Nothing came near the tower, not even the insects; the witch inside must be some sort of demon to inflict such terror.

Deveryn stepped onto the stone steps of the ancient tower with wringing boots. His feet squelched on the hard surface, making a clandestine approach impossible. He heard Elisara follow him, her steps sounded no better, and he envisioned the witch laughing at them.

Animal skins draped over the doorway and torchlight sprinkled out through their tattered openings. After lifting the coverings with his sword, Deveryn peered inside expecting some foul beast to come charging out. Only shadows infested the inside -- too easy.

"She must know we are here," Deveryn whispered.

"I sense someone is watching us. The same aura I felt in the tomb surrounds this village." Elisara watched Deveryn pull back the animal skins further and step inside and an awful stench smacked her nostrils causing her to flinch. "What a horrible smell."

The source behind the rancid smell was apparent when Deveryn entered the inside chamber. Hanging from the walls on rusty chains were rotting corpses, mostly Deviskari. Several torches illuminated their decaying bodies, a macabre sight that left Deveryn wondering what torment the witch inflicted upon them as they hung helpless before her.

In a corner of the dark chamber, a woman moaned. Deveryn rushed to the spot of the whimper and found Kehlyra dangling from manacles. Blood covered her tattered bustier and skirt, soft breaths escaped her lips, and she glanced at her saviors with relief.

"The chief has gone mad," Kehlyra whispered.

"Anu'Bahr did this to you?" Deveryn asked. "Did he infect these people?"

"Yes," Kehlyra answered. "He put the curse on the island. I had fallen under his influence too, became a savage, but he dispelled the effect on me to question why I was here. I tried to resist, but tore the information from my mind with fiendish rituals."

"He is a wicked man." Deveryn turned, hearing footsteps, and raised his sword when he noticed the leader of the Yenraks standing on a spiraling stone staircase behind him \-- the ruthless chief Anu'Bahr.

He was a brutish ugly man, with yellow wolf-like eyes glowering out of a leather mask in the shape and colors of a horned owl. Deveryn could see his grim mouth, black lips, and crimson stained teeth on skin white as bone. The chief wore a tunic made of goat wool and filthy deerskin trousers, both garments reeked of dead flesh. In one hand, he held a tower shield with a devilish black owl painted on the field. In the other, he held a peculiar looking sword. The weapon was made of wood and painted black with obsidian prismatic blades imbedded along the edges. Deveryn had never seen anything like it.

The chief spoke in his native language, and his sword became consumed in a black smoky substance. The smoke seemed contained to the blade, moving as the weapon moved, and Anu'Bahr's lips parted wide seeing the horror in Deveryn's expression.

The black sword smoked outward, slicing the air in front of Deveryn's face. The Deviskari nimbly took a few steps back, feeling the weapon's mere presence drain his strength. Anu'Bahr growled and then came up on a backhand sweep. Deveryn brushed the sword away with his blade and then caught a glimpse of Elisara trying to unlock the shackles holding Kehlyra hostage. To give her time, he stepped toward the entrance, trying to lure the chief outside.

Anu'Bahr pressed, his black sword danced again, coming high, then low, and Deveryn blocked the strikes with equal rapidity. Seeing the Deviskari's skills matched his own, the Yenrak chief backed away and then grinned maliciously before calling on one of his diabolical powers. The black smoke around the chief's sword swelled outward; the buzzing sound of insects emitted from within the portentous cloud. Deveryn took a few steps away, anticipating the worst, and then a swarm of wasps emerged from the smoke, darting toward him with a thousand deadly stingers.

Deveryn backed out of the tower and waited for the swarm to consume him, searching his thoughts for a way to counter. The wasps gathered around him, stinging him with venom, and he held in the urge to scream. Anu'Bahr stepped outside and laughed, watching Deveryn swing his blade at the insects in a pathetic attempt to ward them off. Then the black horde shriveled to flames, immediately bringing relief to the wounded Deviskari Deveryn glanced behind the chief, saw Elisara standing in the doorway with a teary Kehlyra, and thanked the women with a nod.

The Yenrak chief growled at the interference and commanded his people to deal with the intruders. Like sheep, the Yenraks poured from their caves to come to the aid of their leader, carrying axes, swords, and pitchforks. It was like a horde of ants rushing to dine on a morsel of food.

Elisara saw the predicament and contemplated several options to stop the advancing savages. A sword against so many was futile. She gazed over the watery terrain and began an enchantment. Kehlyra stood stupefied beside her, clearly trying to shake the cobwebs from the torment the chief inflicted on her mind.

As the Yenraks stepped within the swampy ground, the water froze around their feet, trapping them in ice. The natives growled and chipped away at their prisons in frustration. Elisara spun left and right, freezing sections of the ground. Deveryn realized she would not be able to keep up the enchantment forever, and hollered to Kehlyra to aid the Eldinisti.

Kehlyra focused her mind and listened to Elisara chant repeatedly to freeze the water. The sorceress began to mimic the words and add her own strength to the incantation. The spell reached further outward, holding the Yenraks back, and Elisara winked at the girl in recognition of her aid.

Aching from the wasp stings, Deveryn swung Tehalin toward the chief's menacing owl mask only to splinter against Anu'Bahr's tall wooden shield. Anu'Bahr grimaced from the impact and then used his shield to sweep away Deveryn's sword. The counter left Deveryn open and Anu'Bahr sliced upward, missing the Deviskari's nose by inches. Deveryn took a deep breath, realizing how close to death the maneuver left him.

"Your people – all dead," Anu'Bahr said.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you following an evil witch?" Deveryn hacked at the tower shield, believing the chief had been possessed.

"I follow no witch. Your people not welcomed here. You say you protect, but you keep us as slaves. Your people are demons. I saw many of them fly away. You are evil."

"We are not demons," Deveryn said, striking high. Anu'Bahr raised his shield to defend and then Deveryn jerked back Tehalin, reversed the direction, and came up under the fiend's arm. He meant to decapitate the appendage and found instead his sword embed itself in hardened flesh.

Anu'Bahr closed his arm on Tehalin, sneered, and leaned into Deveryn, exhaling a green gaseous fume from his vile mouth. Deveryn recoiled, trying to tug his sword free. Anu'Bahr slid his smoking blade across Deveryn's ribs as he released his hold on Tehalin. The sudden freeing of his weapon caused Deveryn to fall to the ground.

"Your spirit dancer prisoner," Anu'Bahr said. "I shall use her as you used my people."

The wound burned like a seething poker pressing against his skin. Deveryn briefly checked the injury, noticing his flesh rotting where the black sword touched. He could feel a sickness spreading through him already.

"There are too many of them!" Elisara shouted, trying to keep the Yenraks out of the area. "Get on your feet, Deveryn!"

Deveryn's ribs ached and his blood dripped to the murky water. Anu'Bahr rushed him ferociously, swinging downward to decapitate his head, but met a parry instead. The chief kept coming, swinging his sword with inhuman strength. Deveryn stood up, blocking the smoking sword that clamored against his own. The bullish force of the strikes sent Deveryn back-pedaling across the swamp. He could feel his flesh rotting, worsening, and knew he had to do something soon.

The chief seemed indomitable and Deveryn defeated. Elisara broke her spell to aid in taking the diabolical man down. Her feet splashed through the water, alerting the chief, and Anu'Bahr spun around to watch her blade slash toward him. Instead of blocking the sword, he decided to greet her weapon with a ghastly counter of pure strength. Sword smashed against sword, the overpowering force was too much for the Eldinisti. Her blade bounced back, cutting across her nose and skull. She splashed down into the water in shock. Her body began twitching, blood spilled over her cheeks, and Kehlyra screamed.

Trembling in horror, Deveryn came upon the chief like an unstoppable force of flesh and steel. Anu'Bahr whirled around, a sheepish grin creasing his demon-like visage. Deveryn swung his sword heavily to the right of the chief; his sword missed and splashed into the muck. The maneuver left the back of his neck exposed and Anu'Bahr tried to decapitate the Deviskari. Recovering quickly, Deveryn spun toward Anu'Bahr and swept Tehalin level with the chief's knee. The sword cut though the appendage easily, and the chief toppled over. A gleam of hate flickered in Deveryn's eyes as he clenched his weapon in both hands and brought his sword singing downward with a god's fury. Anu'Bahr's head departed the beastly body, and at the moment of his death, the attacking Yenraks dropped to the earth, the infernal spell that gave them life had released its hold. Deveryn was right, they were the undead, nothing more than Anu'Bahr's animated puppets.

Deveryn scooped up Elisara in his arms. "I need to get her to the fountain before she dies. I pray it does offer the power to heal or she is lost to me."

Kehlyra stood in shock glancing toward the decapitated head; the chief's blood turned the water red. Deveryn called to her to follow and then sprinted toward the Temple of Sekora. Kehlyra remained behind standing in the water, clenching her fists. In a fit of rage, she kicked the bloody head with her bare foot. "Bastard," she cried, and then sobbed until she was out of tears.

## 37

From the murky swamp to the foot of the eastern cliff, the stone dragons looming high over the temple entrance were a remarkable sight. The moonlight splattered across these winged splendors, highlighting them in an unnerving grayish hue. The statues took decades for the Nishurog to carve every detail, every scale; they were an impressive achievement that gave a hint of the magnificence of these wondrous beasts.

Deveryn felt the biting gazes of these stone creations. Under different circumstances, he might stop to admire the fine details, but the blood-ridden body in his arms reminded him to push forward in haste.

Once past the foreboding entrance, his concerns deepened. Before him was a long withered staircase; the stairs appeared rough and wet from the constant rain. The declining breath flowing into Elisara's lungs made him proceed without caution and he moved hastily downward, dreading each precarious step. His boots softly touched the imperfections with a cat's grace; his heart pounded, praying he was fast enough.

Nearing the bottom, he found the remaining steps in complete darkness. The moonlight sneered wickedly at the attempt to keep stride without its guidance, and Deveryn relied on his unique vision to detect every imperfection in the staircase. Then he felt a brick crack under his foot. The impending horror of toppling over Elisara compelled him to throw out a foot in desperation to find solid ground. The boot came down hard, scattering a pile of rubble, but the force kept his momentum driving forward, and his left knee slammed hard upon the tiled floor.

He came to a halt and cursed out at the pain. Then a gush of wind smashed across his back, swishing over his black mane of hair, urging him to keep moving. An inexplicable presence dwelled within the wind trying to help him, a friendly force he felt trying to sooth him. Did a benevolent ghost dwell within these halls, or was a demon leading him to doom? There was no time to be timid; Elisara's blood spilled over his fingers staining the floor with crimson drops.

Staggering onward, Deveryn entered the temple sanctuary. An ivory statue of Sekora, as tall as four men, greeted him. In each of her hands was a brazier molded in the shape of dragons with open mouths, crackling with streams of fire. At the base of the statue, water poured over an in-ground fountain constructed of blue crystal shards. The cadence of water flowing into this splendor carried a tranquil effect that made him feel welcomed. The legends say if you presented a worthy sacrifice, the water would carry the blessed healing qualities. If the goddess herself made it to the island, he was sure she already presented a sacrifice; after all, she needed the water to mend years of decay over her decrepit body.

Again, the wind woke Deveryn from his trance and he moved to the fountain's edge. He dropped down, waist deep in the water, and then gently eased Elisara below the waterline. "Come back to me, Elisara," he whispered.

The water first turned crimson with blood and Elisara's body convulsed as if fighting for a few remaining breaths of life. Did the water carry the blessing? Deveryn waited for a miracle to happen as emotions grappled him like a coil of thorns. Then the blood around him changed to a white sugary powder and formed crystals over Elisara's wounds. The fatal cuts draining her life began to mend and fade under the white substance. Deveryn soon felt the warmth return to her body. He howled in relief. She was alive. He lifted her up and embraced her in a crushing hug, never wanting to let her go.

"You're embarrassing me," Elisara whispered, blushing.

"If you ever endanger yourself for me again, I'll--" Deveryn was unable to finish his words. Elisara pressed her lips to his mouth. He returned the kiss, putting the world around him on hold, allowing himself to cherish the woman he loved.

The patter of bare feet echoed within the chamber, causing both Deveryn and Elisara to break their embrace. Kehlyra entered the chamber, wet and dirty, barely recognizable.

"Elisara!" Kehlyra screamed in excitement. She leaped into the fountain, splashing water everywhere, and smothered the Eldinisti with a hug of her own.

Deveryn allowed the sorceress to take comfort in the embrace and then drank the blessed water to mend his wounds. One sip of the enchanted contents and his shoulder, his knee, every bruised bone healed. He filled a skin with the water and waited for the women to break apart.

After an elongated embrace, the women climbed out of the water, dripping wet. Deveryn handed the waterskin to Kehlyra. "I think Corsar could use this. Can you find your way back to the Skarrig, alone?"

"Yes...But I need to tell you...Kiyasca..." Kehlyra stumbled over her words.

"What about her?"

"She is here in the temple," Kehlyra said.

"Did Anu'Bahr tell you?"

"No. When we were separated in the water, I ended up near the village. I hid in the temple and saw that creature we came upon in the tomb drink from the water. She changed, turned into a beautiful woman, and then entered a hidden room. I was going to follow until these terrible haunting voices infested my mind, driving me mad, and I fled the temple. Anu'Bahr was waiting outside for me and took me captive."

"Where is this hidden chamber?" Deveryn climbed out of the fountain, dripping wet.

"I saw her enter a room behind the statue." Kehlyra led them to the wall. The barrier contained a collage of different colored dragons carved and painted within the surface. Kehlyra touched two of the dragons. The wall rumbled and opened to reveal a hidden chamber.

Deveryn stepped within the dusky room. Dozens of pained glass lanterns, hanging from long black chains, smothered the chamber in a purplish glow. The dim lighting drenched two emaciated women, suspended from shackles between several elephant-sized brass dragons. Also within the chamber were corpses dressed in golden armor and holding double-bladed staffs, the same ones used by the Norgrafar.

The prisoners stirred from the intrusion. Deveryn recognized one of them, the woman he came all this way to find. The Moon Spirit Dancer listlessly glanced up at him with imploring ice-blue eyes. Like Kehlyra, she had long black hair, though her flesh was pale, a shade lighter than the average Deviskari. Her face, arms, and legs had dark-colored tribal markings, and her clothing consisted of a long blue loincloth and a cotton wrap top.

Deveryn freed Kiyasca from the shackles and caught her in his arms when the woman's legs collapsed beneath her. Elisara and Kehlyra took the spirit dancer from him, and then he moved to the other captive.

"Who are you?" Deveryn asked, removing the restraints around the woman's wrists. There was something familiar about her and he tried to remember where he saw her face. She had brown hair and chestnut colored eyes. Her clothing consisted of a brown buckskin vest and skirt, primitive in design, though Deveryn could not identify the origin. Another interesting trait was her ears, tapered slightly and similar to an elf, and then his eyes widened in disbelief. She had the same face as the statue below the underground caverns, the face of a Morlanthean.

"I am Azathea," she finally responded.

Deveryn shook his head, dumbfounded. "Now this is a tale I am eager to hear."

The chamber lanterns flickered and then brightened, filling the room in a nightmarish purple glow. The strange lighting intensified, blinding everyone in the room. Limbs stiffened and became immobile. No one could even speak. Then, the light simmered back to normal and a humanoid shadow entered the room. When the moving shadow stepped under the purplish luminance, everyone gazed in awe. Sekora, her flesh rejuvenated, stood among them.

The goddess gracefully sauntered around the chamber like a titan observing ants. She wore a long black robe over smooth honey-colored flesh; a black dragon tattoo was clearly visible between the curves of her lavishly endowed breasts. Long white tresses fell to the sides of slanted sensuous amber eyes, a gentle visage without any hint of malice. She resembled nothing of the creature Deveryn freed in the tomb, and surprisingly, he found her presence comforting.

"I feel indebted to you, Deveryn," Sekora said in a mellifluous tone. "You have served me in so many ways, I am undecided on whether to reward you or kill you." Her lips, coated in a silver frost, seemed stuck in a perpetual smirk as if the entire scene amused her. "You freed me from the tomb, got rid of a hated enemy on the island, and allowed me to regain most of my youth." The goddess brushed her hand through the long locks of white hair. "Alas my hair will regain its natural color in time."

"I care naught for your vanity," Deveryn retorted. "If I knew the evil I was unleashing, I would have killed you in the tomb."

"Why do you think I am evil?" Sekora uttered with a pout.

"Because you want the Soulcatcher," Deveryn said. "And if you want that evil creation, I can only imagine you intend to threaten the land with it."

"I see you are ignorant to the reason behind its creation." Sekora stepped in front of Deveryn and her expression brightened. "Deveryn, I know where evil lies. Evil lies in the kingdoms of this land. Yes, I created the Soulcatcher. Should I tell you why?"

"There can be no reason great enough to punish innocent souls." Deveryn tried to move, but his limbs remained frozen.

Sekora regarded Deveryn curiously. "When you hear my tale, you will understand. I did not lie to you about what I am. I am a goddess, though the Kraskara served me to the gods and now I am trapped within the body of a mortal. Although, do not underestimate me. I am still quite capable of using magic, enough to even repel the attempts to control me by that despicable chief."

"I have heard that word before," Deveryn said, "although I was unable to solve that riddle. How does the Kraskara fit into all of this?"

"Ah, Deveryn," Sekora whispered soothingly. "The Kraskara came into existence over a thousand years ago, founded by a mage named Cayden. They were guardians in the land, watching for usurpers who used godly weapons to conquer. They rose up against these tyrants until trouble brewed within their order. There were those who felt anyone wielding powerful items should be dealt with swiftly, regardless of their intentions. Those defying Cayden's teachings broke off and formed the Mhordalins. And then a bitter war broke out between them. The Mhordalins grew rapidly and hunted the Kraskara. Cayden vanished and only three women remained to carry on his legacy. Kiyasca the Moon Spirit Dancer, Azathea the Star Spirit Dancer, and Amathyssa the Sun Spirit Dancer."

"My Mokuru?" Elisara said, gasping in awe. "She never mentioned this to our people."

"They would rather keep the secret from the world," Sekora said. "If the Mhordalins found out that members of the Kraskara still existed, they would stop at nothing to find them. But when I created the Soulcatcher, the Kraskara had no choice but to come out of hiding. You see, the more souls the orb contains, the greater the influence. It will reach out and drain the life essence of every living thing for miles. Each new soul it takes stretches its reach further and further until the entire land is drained of life."

"How could you create such a malevolent thing?" Deveryn asked, aghast by the power of the orb.

"What if those souls belonged to creatures, instead of the people of this land, would you think different?" Sekora ran the back of her hand across Deveryn's cheek. "What if Tehalin's spirit was trapped inside?"

"No living creature should be forsaken to oblivion," Deveryn said.

"I am glad you feel this way," Sekora said, her smile deepened, and Deveryn wondered what treacherous secret she was about to reveal.

"No matter my feelings, I doubt your tale will sway me to think of you as anything other than evil," Deveryn said, still struggling to move.

"Very well," Sekora said, her lips curled upward rounding her cheeks. "Do you know dragons once lived in this land? Extraordinary creatures, their beauty and strength was unmatched by anything in the world. But then the human kingdoms rose and dominated, hunting and killing everything in their path. My pets fled to the highest peaks, to dark caves, to desolate islands, but still the kingdoms hunted them. Killing was not enough for some, however. The Deviskari understood the spirits of dragons was a power unlike anything they had ever encountered. They created an orb they referred to as a Dragon Sphere, and lured my creatures to the underground where this orb drained the life forces of my dragons, my creations. Your people used the spirits of my children to enchant weapons and armor, to extend their own lives, to dominate the land."

"Your tongue is full of lies," Deveryn vented. "I have never heard of this Dragon Sphere. And my people never dominated the land. It is true we killed dragons, but we did not imprison their spirits."

Sekora maintained her smile, and stepped behind Kiyasca. "Your Moon Spirit Dancer knows the truth. She was there. Your ancestors buried their dark secret, but she remembers." The goddess stroked Kiyasca's long black hair. "Tell him."

Kiyasca pale rounded cheeks deepened to a hue of regret and shame. "She speaks the truth. Our history shrouds this part of King Oslekai's reign in lies. It speaks of him as an explorer, a pioneer, but these were fables to hide the truth. King Oslekai was a monster. He was obsessed with the spirit world, set our people on the path to necromancy, and is the reason why our magic is rooted in dark magic. His mages created an orb to steal the spirits of the dragons. He trapped them beneath Talmirok and brutalized the creatures. Sekora demanded he give her the Dragon Sphere, or she would answer with an equally devastating power. Oslekai feared her and hid the orb, armor, and weapons in an underground vault. He even buried his own men in the secret place to keep them silent."

"Oslekai's reign ended over five hundred years ago. And if the Soulcatcher was created at that time, how did Graylin obtain it?" Deveryn found the entire explanation hard to fathom, especially that a goddess walked among them. In his experiences, gods were omnipresent, but never seen in the flesh. They would come in visions, dreams, or apparitions appearing in the physical world.

"I can sense doubt in you." Sekora sauntered behind Deveryn and slid her hand around his waist. "And now I will finish the story. I needed a pawn to fight against your people. I approached Wulfrayer, the Morlanthean king, and offered him power over the Deviskari. I created the Soulcatcher and placed it in his hands. The power corrupted him and he led a war against the Deviskari, though the souls within the orb drove him mad as it has Graylin. He wanted to use this newfound power to bring war to the entire land. It is at this time, Kiyasca, Azathea, and Amathyssa came out of hiding. They saw the orb was not only stealing souls, but it was also laying waste to the land. They called on Ryne, the king of gods, to help them. Ryne answered their prayers and trapped me in the body of a mortal, and as a result, I lost my divine powers. The spirit combined their magic and imprisoned me in that tomb to rot forever."

"And then we turned on Wulfrayer and buried him in his own throne," Azathea finished. "We took the Soulcatcher and found the deepest chamber beneath Tiarshus and sealed it up, hoping never to see it again. But Graylin uncovered the chamber in an expedition to the city and the orb has been influencing him ever since."

"I still don't understand why you and Kiyasca were bound in this chamber and what happened on this island." Deveryn glanced across the faces of the spirit dancers and the goddess; his expression remained locked in confusion.

"Kiyasca and I often meet in Tiarshus to ensure the chamber containing the Soulcatcher has not been disturbed. When she did not come, I became suspicious and found the Soulcatcher had been taken." Azathea glanced over at the Moon Spirit Dancer. "But, I will allow Kiyasca to tell you the rest."

Kiyasca inhaled and then began to explain the events that led up to their discovery. "Graylin knew I had been visiting Tiarshus and had a spy follow me on several trips. I explained to him it was a personal matter and he did not accept my reasoning and forbade me to leave the city again. Suspicious of me, he had my room searched and found maps and the amulet that unlocks several hidden chambers within Tiarshus. He decided to explore these hidden chambers and that is when he discovered the Soulcatcher. Azathea thought I betrayed her and came here to reason with the king, offered him other valuable artifacts in return. He was far too corrupted to listen. She then sent a message to other kingdoms in the land hopeful to gain an ally. I eventually met her in secret and explained what happened. We decided to flee the city to Calendula Island. We convinced Anu'Bahr and the Deviskari soldiers protecting the island to deny Talmirok supplies. Azathea then sent a message to Graylin and informed him I was taken captive and would not return until he gave up the Soulcatcher."

"Why did Anu'Bahr put the curse on the island?" Deveryn asked, trying to fit together all the pieces.

"Graylin became furious over Azathea's demands," Kiyasca continued, "and sent a legion of men to the island to take it back. They began to kill the Yenraks and Anu'Bahr retaliated. He invoked a curse to control his enemies, turn them on each other. I convinced him to remove the curse and promised to deal with Graylin. We found Deviskari survivors in the forest and they agreed to become Norgrafar to take the Soulcatcher by force. They could see the king had become bewitched."

"They willingly became her slaves?" Deveryn asked, doubtfully.

"No, Deveryn," Kiyasca responded. "I know you lack the knowledge about the mystery of my blood. It is true if you drink it, you will become a Norgrafar. But, there is a way to reverse the change. There is a special flower, a Wildthawn, that can change you back if you consume enough of it."

"But the appearance of the Norgrafar made Anu'Bahr fearful of us," Azathea muttered. "He thought we were all demons and set a trap for me and Kiyasca. He captured us and put these hexed collars around our necks to neutralize our magic." Azathea tried to move her head slightly to show the collar. It was made of leather and studded with purplish gems. "After our capture, he shackled us in here and we learned from one of his people who fed us that the village had turned on their chief. They were afraid the Moon Spirit Dancer would bring the wrath of her goddess upon them. Only a few remained loyal to him. So, he invoked his curse again to control the people. And the fool had them carry out their chores but never instructed them to feed. They became corpses, though his spell kept them animated."

"And then I came," Sekora said, her eyes brightened. "I found the spirit dancers inside this chamber and waited to see if you would come. And here you are."

"It is a wild tale, I admit," said Deveryn.

"A wild tale, yes, and one in need of an ending." Sekora smiled sheepishly and licked her lips. "You will serve me and finish it. And before you refuse to take part, consider I have something very precious to you."

"You hold nothing of consequence to me."

Sekora waved her hand, and a set of chains shot up from the ground like living serpents, snatching out at Elisara, clasping around her wrists and ankles. "I have your love. Is that not enough to bargain with?"

"Is this how a goddess bargains?" Deveryn struggled again to move and growled in frustration. "She is innocent and deserves better than to wither in chains."

"Accept my offer," Sekora said. "Elisara's life for the Soulcatcher; I think the bargain is a fair one."

"I forbid this," Azathea hollered. "If you give her the orb, you condemn thousands of souls."

"You waste your words, Azathea," declared Sekora. "Deveryn would rather impale his own dark heart than lose Elisara."

Deveryn beheld Elisara with sadness. "It would take much too long to get home and return. And how am I to face Graylin and his army?"

"A few drops of Kiyasca's blood, and you can fly there as a Norgrafar. Once I get the Soulcatcher, Elisara is yours. And you can drink from the healing fountain to return to your former self."

"And what about the other women?" asked Deveryn. "Do you intend to sacrifice them to ensure the water cures me?"

"You are a foolish man, Deveryn," Sekora said. "The water in the fountain is blessed. The rumors that spread of it needing a sacrifice were meant to deter kings from trying to take the island from my Nishurog. I must confess; I did not bless the water. I know not whom it belonged."

"What about the women?" Deveryn asked again.

Sekora kissed Deveryn's ear and whispered, "Bring the Soulcatcher to me, and I will free them all. Calendula Island, however, will be returned to the Nishurog. I also plan to destroy the fountain so no one would have reason to come here. Hear my words, Deveryn, I promise there will be more suffering in Morlanthea unless my children are freed from the Dragon Sphere. I will not see them suffer."

Deveryn glanced around the chamber and tried to fight the temptation to give into the goddess's demands. A fleeting glimpse at Elisara in chains broke his will to resist. Sekora read him well, especially how he felt about the Eldinisti. He was willing to damn thousands of souls to save her life. "I will do as you ask."

"No!" Kiyasca protested.

"I am sorry, Kiyasca," Deveryn whispered solemnly.

"Corsar cannot wait for your return," said Kehlyra, forcing the words from her mouth. "I need to bring him the healing water."

"Allow Kehlyra to return to the ship as a token of good faith," Deveryn said. "It is true a warrior's life is at risk and cannot wait another day."

"As you wish," Sekora responded.

"Then free me of this wicked spell that holds me and let me leave this cursed place." Deveryn suddenly felt his limbs respond. He approached Kiyasca and cut a small incision on her hand. Blood slowly pooled around the wound.

"A few drops should be enough," Kiyasca told him.

"Listen to my words, Deveryn." Sekora stepped toward the entrance and stood there waiting for Deveryn to drink the blood. "Graylin is about to bring down Sundamar, though his soldiers are discussing a rebellion. He has sacrificed the lives of many men and the Soulcatcher has corrupted his mind. He is in a vulnerable state and I have foreseen a chance for you to take the orb from him. But you must wait for a great storm to pass, and only then, will you have your opportunity to succeed."

"I wish the gods would stop speaking in riddles," Deveryn said, and then allowed a few drops of Kiyasca's blood to fall into his mouth. "I believe it is the divine beings that make men go mad." Deveryn closed his eyes and waited for the change to occur. Then wings tore through garments, flesh became moon colored, and his hair turned silvery. When the transformation completed, he gazed across the chamber with silvery demon-like eyes. His lips pursed in a suppressed anger and he glared toward the goddess. Then he sprinted out of the chamber like a storm from hell.

## 38

Ryshara stared gravely upon the endless column of Deviskari soldiers marching through the broken gates of Sundamar. They reminded her of a horde of silvery death with bloody swords to reap the life out of the city. "May Isla take your black soul, Graylin," she whispered to the goddess of the underworld.

The Deviskari flooded the city and clamored upon the barricades. Standing upon a tower, Ryshara watched them dice apart the barriers and shook her head in defeat. Arrows plunged into their ranks, shattering off shields and stone-hard armor. The well-protected troops moved with an intelligence that was absent from their undead brethren, making the task of taking them down all the harder. They used their shields effectively and constantly zigzagged. Ryshara leered at the ineffectiveness of the arrows and ordered her archers to abandon the towers and defend the barriers with swords. She knew the order the equivalent of giving them a death sentence, for their skills in swordplay was rudimentary at best.

With a frustrated moan, Ryshara sprinted down the tower's stone stairway, emerging out behind the gruesome barrier of flesh and bone. She smelt blood, only blood, and the odor worsened with each new death. Her soldiers stood motionless behind the high barricade, listening to the sound of clanking armor echoing from the other side, too frightened even to flee. The expressions of terror on their faces made her somber and again she questioned her own strategy.

"The...The wall must hold!" Ryshara shouted. "We must...We must give our people more time to escape the city!" No one acknowledged or even glanced in her direction. The haggard warriors stood with trembling hands awaiting steel blades to send them to the abyss.

Ryshara mounted her horse and cringed, hearing the swishing sound of halberds burrowing through the fleshy barrier. She could see the axe-tipped poles flailing and carving chunks of bodies before several heads soared over the wall, causing the Eldinisti warriors to back up. Laughter ensued from the other side and Ryshara hollered fiercely to the men to stay brave. Again, the warriors ignored her words. Some backed away from the barrier and some fled.

A brief silence cracked the air. The absence of sound was an ominous sign that made Ryshara tremble in anticipation of whatever the Deviskari prepared. Then they came. Wooden planks fell atop the barricade and the Deviskari swarmed over with bloody swords, cleaving flesh and fracturing bones. Eldinisti swords retaliated, falling hard upon Deviskari shields, making dents, and sliding off armor. Ryshara crouched low on her mount and turned her face away, trying to avoid the showers of blood splashing over her.

The Deviskari were relentless, devouring the Eldinisti like manic tigers, scattering the entrails of their enemy everywhere. Ryshara turned again toward the massacre and gasped seeing the soldiers breaking through the wall.

Being dangerously close to the fighting, Ryshara reined her horse a short distance from the wall and stopped. She waved a hand to an archer still perched on a tower to shoot a flaming arrow into the air to signal the retreat. The archer complied and a flaming arrow flew straight up, but she knew it was too late. The Deviskari had slaughtered those protecting the wall, and all that remained of them were their shrilling screams.

Ryshara felt a tug on the leather strap holding Tanlok's horn. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a Deviskari warrior trying to pull her from the horse with a bloodied halberd. The strap tightened and she cried out, trying to keep a firm grip on the reins. Then the strap snapped. The Deviskari stumbled back with the horn dangling from his halberd. Ryshara's sword flashed out and swung at the man's head. The length of her sword never reached him and then she found herself deflecting a strike. The soldier stood up and kept at her, slashing again, and again. She parried clumsily, received several gashes, and then heard the barrier collapse.

Ryshara shook from fright and fled toward the citadel. Without the horn, the plan to bring a storm upon her enemy was no more. She rode through the city streets as hordes of soldiers stormed the buildings and slew survivors. The horse danced around flaming obstructions and arrived at the massive bridge that extended over the lake to the citadel.

The sight before her was demoralizing. Upon the magnificent bridge, groups of people lingered in a long disordered line, waiting to enter the underground passages. They moved slothfully through the citadel entrance, frightened, and moaning for their losses. It was a tragic vision, one that shredded Ryshara's heart; the evacuation moved at a much slower pace than she anticipated.

"Ryshara!" Sharael shouted struggled through the masses to check on her disconcerted friend.

"What are you doing here?" Ryshara cried. "You should have left hours ago."

"The tunnels are overcrowded and the people are panicking. Abandon your plan, you'll kill us all."

Ryshara lowered her head in distraught. "I...I lost the horn. Please, you must go with the others."

"If you no longer have the horn, there is no point in your remaining behind," Sharael argued.

"I must go back for it. It is our only chance. Please Sharael, go."

"I'll not let you throw your life away," Sharael protested.

Suddenly, the horn of Tanlok rang out over the city; the note blasted over the massacre and shook the earth. Chunks of rock and gaseous fumes spit upward from the ground as a tremendous seismic force sent waves throughout the city. Buildings crumbled into giant fissures; bodies and sandstone swirled downward into pits of lava. The earthquake was only the beginning. An ungodly tornado formed over the lake, creating titanic waves that spilled over the city smashing bodies against walls. Deviskari cried in horror and succumbed to the destruction. The city soon transitioned into a circular crater filled with blood, sand, and ruins.

"What is happening?" Sharael screamed.

"Someone used the Horn of Tanlok," Ryshara said, her voice shrilled with horror, feeling the ground split open beneath her feet. "Quickly, to the bridge!"

Sharael stepped on the bridge with her right foot, but before she got her left foot planted, the stone structure crumbled underneath her, and she plunged downward. Ryshara rushed to the edge, screaming. All she saw was her friend vanish within a swirling black pool of soot and stone. Then large chunks of the bridge broke apart and crowds of Eldinisti plummeted a hundred feet downward to watery graves.

Ryshara crouched under a chunk of sandstone, weeping, and watched the city fall. The storm remained briefly, though long enough to bring down the Eldinisti city. Sundamar, at last, had fallen.

A group of tiger-lynxes broke through the dust and rubble. The animals combed the area, sniffing every fragment of destruction, and came upon Ryshara. Their threatening snarls coaxed her out of hiding and then they roared to alert their masters.

Deviskari riders entered the area and trotted toward her location. Disgusted by their victorious smiles, Ryshara glared toward them, especially at the man in the lead – Graylin. He appeared pleased, rather than dismayed over the loss of so many of his soldiers, and Ryshara with her strength and spirit diminished, waited in dismay.

Graylin dismounted. Despite the losses, he had won. His orb was replete with souls and Sundamar crumbled to ruins. "I must commend you on your defenses," Graylin said. "I see you have as much regard for the lives of your own people as I have for mine. Pity we found only a few survivors. They'll make good slaves."

"Don't bore me with your words, Graylin," Ryshara spluttered. "If you're going to kill me, then end my life to release me from your presence."

The triumphed king stepped in front of Ryshara, holding the Soulcatcher in his hand. Two of his guards grabbed her by the arms. "Oh, I decided to make you a very special person to me," he said, smiling. "I decided to take your soul and allow you to live as my pet."

Graylin held the Soulcatcher in one hand, and placed his other hand on Ryshara's forehead.

"Leave her be," thundered a deep demonic voice. Graylin's hands trembled when he saw a Norgrafar swoop down from the sky behind him; a demon he somehow knew had to be -- Deveryn. He whispered frantically to conjure a spell, but Deveryn swatted the orb from the king's grasp.

"Kill him," Graylin shouted, sliding his sword free. No one moved. "Cowards, I will behead any man who disobeys me."

"Stay your ground!" Amrahar ordered, atop his mount. "It is clear to us all that Graylin is mad. Let the Norgrafar have him and the cursed Soulcatcher. Our people have suffered enough at his hands and his wicked device. The king has led us to ruin."

"I am your king." Graylin sneered toward Amrahar. "I do this for our survival. We die of thirst in the desert while our enemies rule the forests, the mountains, the seas. Is this the life we want to live? Do you want your children only to see the sweltering sands, to grovel for food and water? There is beauty in the world we have yet to discover. We deserve to rule Morlanthea. I lead us to greatness!"

"And how many shall die to ensure your vision," Ryshara said icily, driving her blade between Graylin's shoulder blades.

Graylin collapsed to the ground and an inhuman shriek bellowed from his mouth. Blood trickled over his lips and his eyes turned black. His body flailed around in the sand and then a cloud of black smoke poured forth from his mouth. The smoke drifted upward and then split apart in different directions. They were spirits, hundreds of them, and they were angry and looking for new hosts.

Understanding the consequences of these things finding new bodies to occupy, Deveryn scooped up the Soulcatcher and held the dark prison high in the air. The ghosts screeched and swirled around the orb, attracted to it like a magnet. The prison of damnation called to them, promised them a world of paradise, and one by one consumed them. When the last maligned spirit disappeared into the dark shiny surface, Deveryn wrapped his torn tunic around the orb.

"Deveryn," Graylin whispered. The king's voice was faint, barely audible.

Deveryn knelt down beside Graylin, and looked upon the king with pity in his silvery eyes. He knew the man was under the influence of these dreaded spirits, and he still considered him like a father.

"Forgive me, Deveryn. I lost my mind. I have forsaken our people to death with my actions. The Soulcatcher must be destroyed; no one should ever use it again for the evil purposes it was intended."

"I'm sorry, my king. Elisara's life depends on me returning it to its creator. Please forgive me for what I am about to do." Deveryn words fell on the lifeless body of Graylin.

Amrahar ordered the men to take Graylin's body back to Talmirok. The Deviskari soldiers hoisted up the king and headed to the city gates. He nodded to Deveryn. "I don't understand why you came, nor why you drank the Moon Spirit Dancer's blood, but take that cursed orb and never return."

"Amrahar, listen to me. Our people have taken away the Eldinisti's home. You will help the survivors find a new one or I will return and bring down Talmirok to ashes." Deveryn's wings spread out and he took to the skies -- a blood-red sky.

## Epilogue

The wind whistled across the Yenrak village, though none of the natives remained alive to hear it. Their corpses rotted in the swamps; the moonlight caught every macabre detail. Then a shadow of a winged man passed over them and sped toward the Temple of Sekora.

Deveryn landed softly outside the temple entrance. Before he entered, he regarded the orb in his moon-colored hand and listened to the tormented souls within it. The spirits begged for an end to their misery and he became overwrought with guilt. How could he condemn them to rot in darkness forever? He struggled internally with the decision to turn over the Soulcatcher, then he thought of Elisara, and the answer became clear to him.

He made his way down the crumbling temple steps, back to the chamber of the fountain. No one was here, except a rotting corpse sitting in a web-filled corner. In the skeletal hand was a leather flask. He picked up the container and then filled it with the blessed water, though hesitated drinking, preferring to stay in demon form a bit longer.

"I see my faith in you was well founded," Sekora said in her sweet-sounding voice. "Give me the Soulcatcher."

Deveryn whirled around, startled by the goddess's sudden appearance. "Release the women and I will give you the orb."

Sekora sighed. "You misjudge me, Deveryn." She walked over to the wall and pushed the two stone dragons on the wall to open the hidden chamber.

The women were there, unharmed, all with gloomy expressions. Deveryn remained cautious, and took a step back to the entrance, thinking the goddess would trap them all. Sekora crossed her arms and frowned, seeing the distrust in his silvery eyes.

"You may think I am evil, Deveryn," Sekora said. "But I am not evil. We made a bargain, and I shall honor my word."

Battling against his instincts, Deveryn held out the Soulcatcher and Sekora lifted the orb from his hands to the protests of the women. Deveryn ignored their pleas and watched the goddess exit the chamber with a smile brimming over her face. He wanted to drive his sword through her back, decapitate her pretty head, but knew he could not. A sense of honor existed within him, a part that separated him from those malevolent creatures he despised, and for a brief instant, he almost gave into his whims to satisfy this urge for blood.

"I am sure we will see each other again," Sekora whispered, and then disappeared among the shadows.

Elisara came out of the chamber first and slipped within his arms, crying. "Deveryn, please, you must stop her and get back the Soulcatcher. I could sense the souls of my people suffering within it."

"No, I made a bargain. I will not stop her \-- today."

"Then take me away from here, I cannot bear to stay any longer."

"Elisara," Deveryn said her name with sadness. "Go back to Sundamar and help your people. I must live alone."

"I don't understand. I thought we..." Elisara grumbled, and then said in a firm tone, "You're coming with me."

"When my people discover I returned the Soulcatcher to Sekora, they will hunt me and anyone close to me. I can't endanger you while Sekora has the Soulcatcher. At least for a short while until no one remembers." Deveryn wanted to stay with her, had difficulty bottling up his inner desires. If his stubbornness prevailed, the consequence was her life.

"Please, come with me. We can live in the mountains."

"To hide?" Deveryn questioned. "I'm sorry, Elisara. I can't allow anything to happen to you or endanger your life for my decisions."

Pouting, Elisara lowered her head. "Please, Deveryn, I want to stay with you. Your life and my life are intertwined, remember?"

Deveryn kissed her on the forehead. "When things are settled, and all is safe, I will come looking for you. We will be together again, I promise." Elisara somberly nodded in agreement and he sprinted off, up the temple stairs, to the outside, and then to the skies.

***

A year had passed since the fall of Sundamar. Deveryn lived a life as a recluse in the Skuldra desert; his home was nothing more than a hollowed out butte. No longer a Norgrafar after drinking the blessed contents from his flask, he wondered if he made the right choice changing back to his birth-given form. It was easier to frighten away a wayward traveler resembling a monster, though after a time, he grew tired of seeing his silvery sinister eyes reflect in his glimmering blade, a monstrous glare reminding him of the choices he made. The loneliness affected him in ways he never imagined and the urge to return to his love often crept into his mind. He sat by a crackling fire, gazing at the stars, contemplating a return to her side.

Besieged with a longing to be with Elisara, Deveryn watched the orange flames in a somber daze. His decision to leave her was a difficult one and since his departure, her absence from his side left a deep scar. Perhaps his days within this world were short, but he wished for Elisara to live on without fearing for her life. Listlessly, he laid back and dreamed of her cherubic smile. When he awoke, he felt empty.

A wispy breeze swept over his fire, and the flames billowed upward as if he doused the embers with oil. Once the breeze passed and the flames settled, an old man sat across from him.

Dressed in a long plain brown robe, the man stood and regarded the supine Deviskari with inscrutable intentions. "A strange world you mortals live in. A man betrays his people and risks his life for a woman that he later decides to abandon."

Deveryn sat up and examined the man's withered face; aged flesh with biting green eyes. Around the wrinkled cheeks hung a long grizzled beard, thick like a lion's mane. Deveryn looked away in shame, comprehending the words, and said softly, "She deserves better than to live like a fugitive. Tell me, who are you old man? And how do you know my deeds?"

The wizened man's countenance beamed with a radiant light, and he said, "I am Ryne."

"I see you are named after the king of gods," Deveryn said. "It is unfortunate the gods care little for the people in this land."

"You are wrong, Deveryn. The gods do care. It is forbidden for them to interfere with the lives of mortals. They can present you choices over your lifetime, give you gifts, but your decisions are yours alone to make."

"Why do you bother me old man. I wish to be left alone, to fade away in a dark cave as a pile of bones."

"Do you really believe that is your fate?" Ryne asked. "Would you really wait here to die while your friends need you? The land has fallen into chaos and needs protectors or a dark future awaits for Morlanthea. Your people have returned to Sundamar and are trying to enslave the Eldinisti. Sekora is lurking in the northern territories looking for another king to wield the Soulcatcher. Two of your friends will face the greatest challenges in their life. I foresee a terrible tragedy befalling Corsar, and the warrior will not be able to face it alone. And Brashus has taken Kehlyra captive and plans to inflict unbearable torment on her mind and body. Does this sound like a world you want Elisara to live in?"

"How do you know these things?" Deveryn asked. His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Ryne grinned hardily and his voice carried like a thunderstorm. "I am whom you suspect; I am the king of gods. I have come to you because it is time for the Kraskara to rise again, to keep the land in balance. You must join them and add to their legacy. I understand your dismay, this thing called love either destroys you or empowers you to achieve unimaginable things. Embrace your love for Elisara. She gives your life a purpose."

"If you are a god, why do you need me? You have the power to set things right."

"You're an arrogant one," Ryne retorted. "The gods do not wield the kind of power you believe us to have. I could create a race of beings to dominate the land, bring order, but they would still be susceptible to corruption. Then you would be dealing with a different problem. I cannot simply clap my hands and make the world right. It is up to the mortals to defeat the evil crawling over your land."

"Are you willing to let all those souls suffer? Can't you provide any help?"

"No," the old god briskly responded. "I have forbidden any god to interfere with the lives of mortals because of the reason I stated. It could become a larger problem. The Kraskara, however, has always served us and it is now up to them to rebuild their order and rid the land of this heinous orb. I offer these words to help guide you. The Soulcatcher was not created with the energies of this world. The orb was created using the energies from the divine realm. Because of this, you will not be able to destroy it with a mortal weapon."

"Then how?"

"A long time ago the gods fought in the divine realm and many fled to the mortal world. One of these gods roams beneath the Kasrok Mountains in an ancient city known as Molrahnir. You will need to obtain his horn and blow it in the presence of this dark prison."

"How can you expect me to face a god?"

"The gods are more vulnerable in the mortal world. This is why most of us choose to appear in visions or spread our wisdom through prophets. The Kraskara have always found a way in the past, and you will not be alone."

Deveryn sighed and threw a branch into the fire. "I never thought of myself as much of a spirit dancer. Are they all still alive?"

"Yes, and they must grow to face the challenges of this land. You, however, are not destined to be a spirit dancer. The spirit dancers were teachers and chose their names to honor the gods they worshipped: Makriara, the Moon Goddess; Lothkus, the Sun God; and Gilfyrin, the God of Stars. Perhaps one day when you are old and wise, then you shall teach, though today, you shall help thwart the land from evil. Only three remain from whence this order began and you will become the fifth member."

"Fifth?" Deveryn asked, astonished. "I thought only three survived. Who is the fourth Kraskara?"

An abrupt wind brushed over the fire and the god faded from existence. Further behind from where he was standing, a woman on a white horse trotted into view. Deveryn's eyes remained locked on the woman and then his eyes widened in excitement in recognition. For sitting on the white animal was indeed the fourth Kraskara, and someone who sparked a light in his eyes and touched his soul.

Elisara leaped from the horse and embraced him.

"How did you find me?" Deveryn whispered. His heart thumped out of his chest and he wondered if she was a dream.

"I am a hunter, after all," Elisara said, the stars reflected in her enchanting sea-green eyes. "And I always find my prey."

Deveryn kissed her passionately, held her close, and promised never to let her go again. He was ready to risk his life, endure the troubles of the world, and set things right. His legend was just beginning, and even in the face of death, he would stand beside the woman who filled him with life.

The End

Book One: Echoes of the Forsaken

In the Mystic Legends series

## ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eric Magliozzi was born in Massachusetts where he lives with his wife and son. He has always been interested in fantasy and science fiction, especially the novels by Robert E. Howard and Michael Moorcock. Echoes of the Forsaken is his first full length novel.

Visit his website: http://www.bluedestiny.net
