 
The Ace of Swords

Stories From Archanea

By Anton Brzezinski

Copyright Anthony E. Brzezinski 2016

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please go to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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

About the Author

Afterword by the Author

Archanean Dictionary

Other Books in the Series

Other Books by Anton Brzezinski

Miscellaneous

The dates in this story end in the suffix "N.S," Which stands for the Night of the Star, the beginning of the New Era. This is a work of fiction set on a fantasy world called Akansha. None of the places or characters are intended to represent real places or people or families that exist now or ever have existed. Artwork is author-created, purchased from Pond 5, a source of public domain images or created by the author using 3d models then altered with PhotoShop. These stories are part of the author's Archanean Diary series of novels that begins with The Sword and the Raven. This collection is a prequel offering insights to the origins of Maleva the witch, Rynald the wizard and other characters from the trilogy.

Note for some ebook editions: Otherworldly terms like "kajool" and "kyne" are italicized to show they aren't misspelled, and linked to the dictionary at the end for reference. If they don't link by touching them please check the dictionary at the end if you have any problem understanding the story. Thanks.

Copyright 2016 Anthony E. Brzezinski (writing under the name Anton Brzezinski.

# Prologue

The Laboratory

Traug Mountains, present day:

A crack appeared. A small part of the wall split open, multiple tongues licked pulverized concrete aside and a bullet shaped head broke through. A large hermaphroditic rock-worm in search of a place to lay its eggs inched through the wall. It dropped into the nearly absolute darkness of a long buried chamber. No Fae or human mind even suspected the large room existed, and the worm wasn't sentient enough to understand it had discovered something remarkable.

The over-sized room buried in the mountain wasn't completely dark. Dials on some of the instruments still glowed with a dim cold radioactivity, although the Fae who had last seen them had died thousands of years ago. His body had been sealed here in a dry environment, in which the moisture had long evaporated. Only desiccated tissue and bone had remained and upon further drying had crumbled to dust.

The dust remained here, the gasses long evaporated. The scientist's calcium and carbon were joined with phosphorus, sulfur, sodium and magnesium along with traces of some metals which made up a living organism, and some unusual metals which represented implants. There were other such dust piles. He hadn't been the room's only occupant.

The name of the Fae scientist whose ran this laboratory had been lost to history. Although he had signed the cover of the notebook which rested on the floor, the book had become so brittle the weight of the falling rock-worm crumbled it .The worm, it's shiny chitinous segments made matte by the dust, raised it's head and appeared to look around. The molar mass of it's chitin was heavier than most arthropods, a distinction the scientist would have understood, which enabled it to bore through rock. Optically blind, it was sniffing for silicate. Less fragile than the book were tables, cabinets and metallic instruments. Even in ancient times the Fae had enduring metals. The worm was unaware of the tables. Sensing a concentration of glass it slid over the floor with determination.

It was rumored even among some of the Elfin that the Fae had brought their advanced science from another world. The truth of that was something that couldn't be determined here. However, a terrible secret waited to be discovered. Unfortunately revealing what had been created in the forgotten room would require someone more intelligent than a worm.

If a sufficiently analytical archeologist discovered and examined the chamber the worm now explored the sleuth would easily determine an earthquake had long ago sealed off the chamber from the outside world. From the large room's unlikely location, he or she might suspect it had been built to conduct forbidden experiments. They could guess the large tables with cuffs and ankle straps had been designed to restrain humanoid creatures twice the size of a man.

The tall cages around the periphery of the room also might have suggested something to an investigator. They would notice beakers had survived in which chemical residue might be found. If analyzed it would be determined the mixtures stimulated protein growth. An enormous pipe-fed tank, two sides still intact, must once have held some growing creature. If the investigator was given to wild speculation, they might believe they had discovered a secret laboratory where a mad scientist had once tried to create a race of super warriors.

Any bones in the room had lacked the proper conditions to become fossilized and long ago turned to calcium powder. But two skull castings of a more durable Fae designed material still existed. They rested on metal stands.

One was the skull of a forest creature of average size. As a skull, it was long and tapered to a snout. Not terribly different at first glance from the skull of a horse or an alligator ... except for the large curved tusks issuing from accommodating osteological protrusions bilaterally disposed on the upper and lower jaws. It was a skull casting of a boar, a wild pig common on _Akansha_.

The second, much larger skull had tusks like the first, but was enormously larger. It was the skull of a monstrosity that walked on two legs. Unfortunately it was also common to this world. The giant beast race occupied the mountains above the chamber.

The larger casting was the skull of a Traug.

The worm crawled into an alcove formed by a collapsed piece of wall next to some broken beakers. The silicates it detected in the broken glass would feed her newborns when they hatched. The sight of a rockworm laying eggs is not for the squeamish. It was as hermaphroditic as a common earthworm but instead of one, the rock-worm's forward segment had multiple mucous tubes pregnant with worm sperm, some of which had already been rubbed off in transit, She now gyrated to to cause the remaining bloated tubes to fall off and dry into eggs, each of which would produce several offspring.

Nearby a plaque at the base of the stand supporting the Traug skull displayed a legend in ancient Fae script:

"The first Success."

\- - -

# 1

Akeria

Sometime before the New Era

The New Age begins with.

the Night of the Star. Before

that records are sketchy, and

. histories disagree, provoking

scholars to argue endlessly.

Akeria was adding coals to their forge. Her blue skin was covered in a film of sweat. The day was already unbearably hot and to stoke a fire pit was unpleasant. Ah well, K'rlan had an order for spearheads and her husband would need to work on them when he returned. He could kiss a scorpion if he thought working in a short kilt and _gahr_ -leather brassiere exposed too much to the gaze of other village men. The shed was wood with a metal roof, and despite the opening over the glowing coals it heated up like an oven. Of course there was a real danger of getting burned by sparks, but she hadn't burned herself yet.

It wasn't fair that males in the desert outpost could wear nothing but a loincloth to cover themselves and women were supposed to wear a tunic. If he thought other husbands would kajool at her, she was confident she could discourage them.

She stood back from the fire pit and carefully poked coals in with the shovel then put it aside. Leaning on the anvil, she wiped her arm over her forehead. _Just what we need. More heat_.

She and her husband made a good living here, contracting for the army at K'tal Sunne. The location was near several metal ore mines, and was ideal for his work, although she wished they lived in a village where the air wasn't scorching and full of dust and the sun a burning thing overhead. What a place to bring a bride.

Everyone in the village was Devastrian Fae. They said Devastrian's bore heat the best, although she didn't certainly didn't like it. They all had pale blue skins to go with their sloping pointed ears. Too much exposure to sunlight tended to bleach Fae skin colors and fade their tattoos to tracings. She was proud of the flourishes she'd gotten on her cheeks when they'd been married in K'tal Sunne, and kept out of the sun as much as possible so they wouldn't fade.

The village was usually quiet in early afternoon. During the hottest part of the day, heat discouraged chattering and vigorous activity. She was startled to hear sudden shouting and crashing. Akeria looked up sharply and her heart hammered in her chest. Slavers were invading the usually quiet sun bleached village. Dark leather clad men on lean horses where charging through their wooden village setting fire to houses. One rode through the central marketplace scattering baskets and knocking down the awnings. She was staring in disbelief when a familiar voice shouted to her.

"Akeria!"

She turned her head and saw her husband running toward her from ten yards away.

K'rlan was a handsome blue male with crude tattoos whirled on his cheeks and his platinum hair tied back in a ponytail. He was running with weapons: A dagger in his left hand and a sword in his right. He ran toward her, considered which would be easier to catch and threw the sword to her hilt first. She flinched but caught it. A taann had landed heavy in her right hand. a weapon he'd been making for an officer. She was afraid for him. What was K'rlan thinking? He was a blacksmith. He had no experience fighting. She was distracted as a rider thundered by throwing a flaming torch at their house.

Flames sprang up from the shingle roof of their wooden home as the horse passed. She saw K'rlan run at the rider. The horse was moving too fast. Her husband slashed with his dagger at the slaver and missed. The rider turned, drawing a wide iron sword and bore down on K'rlan. She ran to them into the dust and smoke and shouting. Her husband fell back to dodge the mounted bandit's descending blade. She was using a weapon for the first time and it felt right in her hand. Swinging with all her might she lifted the taann and hacked at the invader's leg. The slaver screamed and grabbed his thigh as he fell from his horse. He hit the ground and K'rlan quickly stabbed him.

Akeria whirled and looked toward the center of town. All of the structures were aflame. Riders had gone for the other village men, cutting them down. Women were running and screaming. Akeria felt like doing so herself but anger replaced the urge. She cried out in rage when she saw an invader skewer a male child. Her throat tightened, her guts twisted and she lost her mind for a moment.

An invader had left his horse and was throwing a noose around a woman. Brandishing the dagger, her husband rushed to stop him. Akeria ran to help K'rlan.

A bloodlust took her as she hacked at the man and the taann cut into his neck. He fell but she heard her husband let out a cry behind her. Turning quickly she saw K'rlan mauled by a tall invader's iron hand axe. He fell, his face bloodied. She screamed in fury as she ran over her husband's body to attack his killer.

The brigand was handy with his heavy weapon, and brought it up to block her attack. He caught the blade for an instant with the axe head and she almost slipped on her husband's blood. Straightening the invader yanked his horse around and it raised it's hooves at her, driving her back ... back into the burning building behind her. She tripped and fell against it. The wooden wall collapsed on her.

Blackness. Time. Strange dreams. A vision of a Goddess, then pain. Much pain. Unbearable pain in her arm and smoke in her lungs. She didn't remember where she was until omeone lifted the what was left of the wall from her.

Akeria saw a familiar blue-skinned face. D'ygr, the Shaman.

"You're alive!" He exclaimed, then saw her arm. The source of most of her physical agony. A red mass of suppurating blisters. He studied them with sympathy. "You're badly burnt."

"Yet alive." She noted. "How many others?"

"You and I, and one other, but they took the women. They killed all but one of the men." The Shaman said in a cold tone. "He probably won't last. I wish I was more of a wizard instead of a healer. I could have fought them. They tied the six women who were still alive and rode west with them. I've never used a weapon and knew it wouldn't serve anything to give them one more life. I managed to hide until they were gone, hoping to help anyone else who survived. Now I'm glad I did, I can save your arm."

Akeria stood, momentarily weak, then saw her husband's taann laying among the half burned boards and bent to pick it up. Every movement she made caused a stinging pain in her arm. "All the men, dead." She repeated. "The children?"

The shaman avoided her eyes. He couldn't bring himself to speak of it. Finally he came back to himself. "Come. I have something for your burn."

The town had been reduced to blackened wooden structures. Rage and horror filled her as they crossed what had become her village and passed bodies. She hadn't known the villagers long but she'd begun to know them. After he helped with her arm and she'd buried R'lan, D'ygr would have to help her bury the others. He led her to where his small house had stood. Among the ashes were some small jars. He squatted and looked through them, handling them like hot potatoes. He found what he was looking for. "I mixed this last week when one of the children burnt himself at a cooking fire. The contents will heal skin and kill pain."

"Will it make me sleep?" Akeria didn't want that.

"It will only make your arm numb." D'ygr said. "Do you want something to make you sleep?"

"No." She said firmly. "We need to bury the dead. Then I'm going."

"I might as well follow you to K'tal Sunne." The Shaman assumed that was her destination. The city wasn't far. "We have to report this. They'll send a war party to rescue the women."

Akeria had no intention of going to K'tal Sunne.

\- - -

She had been traveling for some time. It was night and she felt the spray of the sea and saw the great sea with the moon glinting off it like a reflection on polished steel. She was still holding the sword but the burn on her left arm had started stinging again. She grit her teeth against the pain and continued slinking against the base of the cliff, headed for some campfires on the sand ahead.

When she was close enough she realized the timing was fortunate. There were figures asleep on the sand. Bottles and empty skins of something they'd been drinking to celebrate lay all around the dark men in leather. They were dead drunk.

The moonlight was bright enough to see them clearly. The sand seemed almost white as the moon bounced off it. She had removed her ankle bracelets because she'd known they would clink. She moved silently, but even so, one of the slavers lean horses was disturbed and snorted loudly. One of the men laying on the sand mumbled in his sleep and turned over, but didn't wake.

She spotted the blue-skinned women from her village. They were still awake and talking low, but the sound of their conversation wasn't disturbing the sleeping slavers. One of her own spotted her slinking towards them Akeria put a finger to her lips. The first one broke out in a wide smile and alerted the other women

There was a flurry of activity. They women were tied together, hobbled and tied to a heavy wooden frame from a ship wreck. Akeria slipped up and handed the dagger she'd brought to one of them. Ulna the miner's wife, a Fae woman who seemed most composed. "Quickly. Cut them free," She hissed in a whisper, then turned back to the sleeping men with her taann at alert.

Akeria spotted the big man who'd killed her husband. His iron axe was stuck through his belt. He lay on his left side snoring, a wine-skin on the sand nearby.

Her stomach clenched at the sight of him. A blood rage took her. Without self-reproach or a second thought, Akeria lifted her sword carefully and slit his throat with a quick slicing motion. He gurgled, grabbing his throat, not even able to cry out. Dark blood gushed between his fingers soaking the sand.

The man closest to him woke up but she stabbed him quickly before he grabbed his sword. Dying he let out a loud "Ah!" which caused the other men to wake. They were groggy but some of them forced their eyes open and started up as they reached for their weapons. Akeria rushed from one to the next, hacking and stabbing like a demoness. The men barely had time to cry out. Behind her the women had freed themselves using the dagger. When the last slaver rose up to defend himself, he was stabbed from behind by the miner's wife. Ulna gazed at the fallen man with hatred, then spit on him.

The women collected the iron weapons from the butchered men. The vivid scene became more dreamlike, as they stole the horses and rode up the moonlit beach, kicking up sand.

\- - -

Akeria was honored for her bravery

in the capital city of K'tal Sunne At

that time the city only had four temples.

She founded a 5th, invented the Goddess

of Justice and the phrase "By the five".

She became the temple's first priestess.

# 2

Flying Things

18th of Torren, 950 N.S.

All records from the modern era

date from the Night of the Star.

Inexplicably, on that notable evening

everyone witnessed a magnificent

explosion in the northern sky. For

a week it left brilliant golden trails

visible even during the daytime,

To the West the Traug ventured from their mountains to march, lumber and lope to the final outpost of the Fae, the rhadhor mine near the Fire Cliffs. They managed to be fairly quiet for giant warthogs walking on two thick legs with grayish-brown skin and lethal tusks. Their eyes, feral and deep-set, glittered in anticipation of the coming mayhem.

Rhadhor was one of the rare ores the Fae jealously guarded. It was one of the metals the gods had dropped from the sky. Fae metallurgy was superior to that possessed by any other race. It gave them their military advantage, and it's secrets were protected.

Gr'lack Thract, their _Hetman_ , was chosen to lead the Traug army because of his strength, ruthlessness and cunning. He was still a half-wit, but that made him possibly the smartest Traug on the planet. He got it into his pointed noggin that if they could steal enough rhadhor, their blacksmith's might be able to produce stronger weapons. After all, they already knew how to make bronze.

They hadn't figured bronze out by themselves. The secret had been tortured out of a desert kyne blacksmith. Copper and tin they had in abundance in their mountains, and under duress the blacksmith confessed the means of smelting them together. With this magic they were able to produce their own bronze short swords and axe heads. The rest of their weapons were basically rocks on the end of sticks, and if all else failed, they gored their enemies to death with their tusks.

Even without iron, steel or Fae metals, Traugs were formidable. The average Traug was the height of two men. They were natural mesomorphs—pure muscle. Some of them were much taller than average, and the taller they were the more muscular they were. The bulkiest of them were nearly unstoppable monsters.

The mine was in arid land tucked under the Fire Cliffs. The fortified Fae city of K'tal Maal nearby enjoyed a spectacular view when the setting sun coruscated off the rocks setting them on fire. At the top of the plateau was the nest of the rauken. Thract knew if they made too much noise it was possible to attract the attention of the Fae soldiers stationed on top, handlers of the giant reptile war birds. He thought the chance was worth taking. Even if spotted, if they had a chance to beat it back to their mountains with some of the rhadhor ore, it would have been worth it.

Thract had a tiny piece of the yellow rock hanging around his neck, hardly more than a pebble. The blacksmith had been hoarding it. While his fingers were being removed, he explained it was what gave some Fae metals the luster of gold. He'd also revealed that when added to gold itself, it made that precious metal as enduring and as hard as steel.

It was unlikely that they could manage to put the special ore to use even if they stole some. Even the desert blacksmith hadn't known the exact process Faes used to apply it. But Thract wanted to prove he could steal from the Fae. Although his mandiblary tusks were already of a handsome size, Thract was young, impulsive, and ambitious. Some day, he vowed he would even attack the iron walled city of Archanea.

The rhadhor mine was surrounded by a wooden wall of logs set in the ground. The Fae had hauled the logs all the way from the forest to the Fire Cliffs, sharpened them to a point at the top, then sealed them with ferek oil to discourage desert worms. Thract marched within five hundred yards of the wall, out of reach of Fae archers. He ordered his men to toss the fire buckets.

A gift of tar had been prepared. Several lumbering Traug soldiers moved in front of Hetman Thract and ran to the wooden gate. One was shot by a Fae archer in the tower behind the wall. The other Traugs lit then swung their flaming buckets by long rope handles. Two of the four buckets hit the wooden gate. Burning tar splattered the gate's wooden posts. Flames licked up. One bucket fell short, starting a fire on the ground. The last flaming bucket was released by a particularly clumsy soldier. It flew through the air and hit the ground behind him, splashing burning tar toward the Hetman.

Thract jumped back and glared arrows at the clumsy launcher. If they survived this, he swore he'd have that fool's tusks pulled! Still, the gate was on fire after a fashion. The logs were thick and burned slowly, but they were burning.

There was a shrill blast from a Fae trumpet. It was a loud piercing note, and the Hetman hadn't expected it.

An answering note came from overhead. Looking up the red rock of the fire cliffs, Thract realized the response to the horn sounded from the Fae stationed high above.

The fire cliffs were home to the nests of the rauken. More lizard than bird, they had featherless scaly skin, bat-like wings and long pointed beaks. Unhappily, the pointy-eared Fae had trained them. They had a squad of war-bird riders who patrolled the immediate area and responded to threats directed at their nearby city of K'tal Maal.

The first of the Rauken Riders came swooping down, great leathery wings flapping. Thract's men heard the sound of it's wings, They looked up and panicked. Alarmed Traugs do one of two things, they either flee or fight. Half of them started running back in the direction of the mountains. The rest waved their spears and threatened with their primitive weapons.

The first war bird and it's rider arrived and swooped toward a fleeing Traug. The giant winged reptile caught the hindmost solider, a short Traug perhaps ten feet tall. Grabbing a gray arm in it's beak he lifted the unfortunate deserter up a hundred feet and dropped him. The soldier took several seconds to fall, then landed on top of his escaping companions, taking down two of them.

Three more war birds followed the first, but swooped toward the Traugs massed in front of the gate. More beast men, having witnessed the fate of the fallen one, panicked and fled. The remaining warriors stayed because they were more afraid of Hetman Thract.

The Fae mounted on the huge flying reptile's backs were excellent archers. On the first sweep they fired off several arrows with dismaying accuracy. A fae arrow his a Traug mid-chest with hammer force, disrupting the monster's heart rhythm and killing him instantly. Others found themselves pierced with arrows. More archers appeared atop the walls. A Traug was blinded, an arrow delving into his left eye, and he ran around howling, holding the shaft until he stirred his own brain enough with the arrowhead that it killed him.

Hetman Thract took hope when an exceptionally tall Traug who stood nearly as tall as the wooden wall jabbed upward with a bronze tipped wooden spear, catching the underbelly of a low flying war bird.

The flying reptile was snagged. Tugged down by the weight of the Traug clinging to his spear, he and his rider hit the ground. Dozens of Traug soldiers fell upon both the war bird and the unfortunate rider, hacking the war-bird with sharpened blades and pulping the Elvin rider with crude maces.

Hetman Thract watched a lucky toss from a Traug spear a Fae archer atop the wall, bringing him down. That's two, thought. He glared at the gate, still blazing from the tar they'd thrown. How long did logs take to burn? He roughly counted the warriors still fighting with him. He saw the first war birds turning for another pass, and to his dismay, saw other rauken were dropping from the cliff.

His deciding moment was when he glanced east toward the distant city K'tal Maal. Their tall back gate was open and a large cloud of dust indicated a Fae army was riding toward them. Thract realized another of his brilliant ideas had soured.

Thract hoped he wouldn't be pecked by a rauken as he retreated to his mountains.

\- - -

# 3

Cameron

12th of Markan, 995 N.S.

"Have you ever killed a man?"

The sword master pointed his steel blade at the ceiling. One eyebrow rose as he waited for a response.

Cameron Elbery hesitated before answering, a habit born of caution. Since the Rothorns had taken the throne of Archanea, Gryffan loyalists had learned to be circumspect.

"Never by accident." He smiled. Making a joke was sometimes enough. If it wasn't, it gave him time to word a careful answer.

"You imply that you've killed before." The sword master said, not amused. He moved his wrist and the blade of his broadsword snickered through the air. No small feat, given the weight of the blade. If he was trying to impress Cameron, the latter gave no sign he had succeeded.

Cameron raised the tip of his own sword. It was an unusual blade, styled after a Fae _taann_ , the favored broadsword of the K'tal Suune guard. Of course it wasn't Fae metal. There were none of those weapons in Archanea since King Ralis Rothorn had offended the Fae, but he'd had one fashioned in the style.

"What was it? A duel?" The sword master prompted.

"No." Said Cameron. "When I was younger I served in the army. I thought it would be an adventure. That was twenty years ago. I was sent to Kathun in the desert, were some bandits had waylaid a caravan and stolen something important to the King's interests. I killed a couple of men in fact." His lips grew tight, as if tasting something unpleasant. "I didn't enjoy it."

"Sometimes people deserve to die." Said the Instructor. "It's an important lesson. So you've had some experience. Let's see what you can do." He dropped a foot back slightly, turned sideways to his opponent, saluted with his blade, and immediately drove at him, forcing Cameron to react quickly.

Cameron batted the instructor's blade aside. The steel met steel with a fine sound, telling of the quality of the blades. He cursed himself for being out of practice. It had been years since he raised a blade to anyone. Of course he'd had little need. Despite the prestige his family had until the Rothorn's stole the throne of Archanea, now he was nothing but a licensed supplier, one who received goods from traders and distributed them to merchants. A kind of middleman.

The instructor brought his sword down at an angle. Cameron blocked it successfully, as he did the following blow. The pattern became regular enough for the sword master to initiate more conversation. "Why are you suddenly training after all these years?"

"Perilous times." Cameron answered curtly. He could have added, for Gryffans. He also could have told him the real reason. He and his wife had just had their first child, a son. It was more than a rumor that Gothan Rothorn was secretly killing off everyone connected to the House of Gryffan.

He wanted to be prepared for anything.

\- - -

# 4

A Tyrant's Love

2nd of Tabus, 998 N.S.

In the privacy of his bed chamber, Gothan Rothorn, King of Archanea, caressed his wife's breast. In a way their passion tonight was celebrating the arrival of an early spring. Not that he needed an excuse to feel passionate about Erika. It was perhaps his one virtue that he loved her faithfully. Call him sadist, call him despot, call him murderer, he loved his wife.

She was a wicked thing, and he loved her for it. He thought her a vision. Comfortable with her nudity, her skin was milk pale, her hair raven black. Their bed was centuries old and came with the palace. It had been made for a Gryffan King.

It was immensely heavy. Decorated ironwood furniture. The King was a big man, and when they sported in it the bed barely shook. It had been carved with tempered chisels of Archanean steel before his great grandfather Ralis had been born and become the first Rothorn King. Unlike the bed, the decorative stone and everything else in the palace tower, Erika was a Rothorn, and Erika was his alone.

"Let's do that thing I like." He suggested, tweaking a pert nipple. He was no charmer, but Erika was no prude, and always willing to satisfy his desires.

"Maybe later." She reached down and grabbed him. He was already huge and impatient in her hand. "But first we should do it the normal way. You need another son."

"I already have two." He protested, wrestling to turn her around.

"But you are not the only murderer, my sweet." His wife twisted away from him. "I had a dream that both our son's died."

Gothan considered. He wanted the throne to pass to a Rothorn King. His cruel mouth frowned through his dark mustache and razor cut beard.

She whispered hot in his ear, "Put another child in me before I'm too old to conceive, and I'll let you do things to me tonight that would make a trollop blush."

The naked queen was slim and her skin still looked as young as a virgin's. He was hardly aware of her aging. The sight of her never failed to arouse him.

He might be the tyrant of Archanea—men pissed themselves before daring to ask anything of him—but who was he to deny Erika another child?

\- - -

# 5

Black Meteors

5th of Galus, 806 N.S.

Eight hundred years after the Night of the Star heralded the New Age, another phenomena drew the attention of the Archanean continent. The Night of the Star long ago had been a distant but visible explosion in the sky. This was a different celestial show, a shower of falling stars.

Ages ago stars of immense size had fallen, shaping their world. Even the city of Archanea was built atop a filled in crater. The world had been a lifeless place at the time of their impact. No people or cities survived from those times. Tardun, the god of fate, determined that this time, the shower of rocks would be spectacular but gentle. Not a single life was reported lost. Rather, small burning stars shot to earth in a spectacular display, most of them burning up in the sky. Only a few hit. Some impacted the desert, others forest and open ground, The continent received many rare visitors from space that night.

In ancient times great falling stars had brought treasures to the world, like the deposit of magnetic iron beneath Archanea. This time the falling stars were not gifts. They were curses.

The Fae, the tall proud and wise Elvin race who seemed nearly immortal to the humans on the continent, spread the word that the origin of the pyrotechnic display was in the constellation of Katar. Even non-Faye kyne knew the night sky's pattern of the three cursed stars: Orvapas, Modyanos, and Ultanos. The pious would not let the sounds pass their lips, because they were the same as those spoken by necromancers and practitioners of black magic as the three names of Darkness.

\- - -

# 6

A Witch's Quest

12th of Torren, 982 N.S.

Ahead of her lay the ruins of the fallen tower. The woman who had reached them was unique among the Drifters. Maleva chose to live in a hut in the deep forest instead of in the wagon camps with the rest of her nomadic kyne. Despite the inclement season, she was venturing out today, and not to pick mushrooms or medicinal plants.

It wasn't an accident that Maleva's purple scarf, blue peasant's blouse and red homespun skirt were dry as she broke into the clearing and saw the great pile of stones. On any other day of this month the heavy overhead clouds would have soaked her. Torren was the last month of the rainy season. If she hadn't prayed to the Mother Tree to hold the rain for a few hours, there would surely have been a downpour.

The little woman contemplated the fallen stone blocks, ancient and generally avoided. Although the ruins weren't far from the Drifter camp, none of her people dared venture here.

It had already been abandoned for centuries before the star fell. Many years ago, before Archanea even had walls, this tower had stood tall enough to see over the forest. The view must have been magnificent. It had already been unused for ages when the star from the evil constellation, which fell a century ago, destroyed it.

Why had she come? In the frenzy of a Dalen's Dak festivity, she had forgotten herself and consorted with a handsome Drifter man whose face the Goddess now chose to hide from her. Whatever had possessed her to drink so freely of wine? Every woman, she supposed, even a priestess of the Drifters, had the urge to mate. Now she was with child. She knew a way of losing the child using Black Cohosh but that she would not do. Life was sacred. With the clear and present danger of Rothorn's wizard threatening her, she needed powerful protection for her home ... protection, which could only be obtained by descending into the ruins.

Aside from her twisted wooden staff, Maleva looked like any other Drifter woman. Dark and wavy full hair and deep brown eyes, slender and of ordinary height if you were a Drifter, but shorter if you were one of the taller people like the Archaneans, the Fae or the dreadful sea coast kyne.

Diminutive or not, Maleva was a fearless little woman. She had to be, to do what she was about to do: Nothing less than enter the portal to the Afterlife that had been opened in the ruins by the black meteor. It fell here on the night of Galis 6th, 802. In a story handed down from her grand, her mother told her how it had been. The sky full of fire and the burning rock plummeting to the forest near their hut and the shaking of the ground like a blow from the fist of an angry god.

Her staff was highly unusual. Sorcerers and Wizards usually carried straight staves of wood or iron with blue stone gems at the top. Gems of light blue shael, which were so common the Fae had whole statues of it in their temples. Still, shael was magical. When a person with sufficient jangyr focused on it, it resonated and glowed blue, and their spells became more powerful.

Maleva's staff was made of rare woods. It was fashioned from strips of wood that were steam bent and twisted, emerging at top like a fist around a large knot. Perhaps the knot was a root that had grown around a bit of drym, the coveted rose-colored quartz that was a thousand times less common and much more powerful than shael.

The five-foot staff was exactly as tall as she was. It had been fashioned by one of Maleva's ancestors in the time before history. As such it had trees from the first forest represented in it. Reputedly, it even had a strip of wood from Gruirsul ... the first tree. That legendary tree had possessed the generative power of life which had incited the first forest to grow.

Maleva and her mother had always known a portal to the Afterworld was here. Where black stars fell they brought evil mischief with them. But evil wasn't stronger than the Light.

Legend said the Dark One, who had three names she would not repeat, hurled the black rocks. Sometimes black meteors fell next to a tree and cursed it, or fell into a bog and made it an evil place. Sometimes people found the rocks and became possessed. There was no end to the forms the influence of the Darkness could take. But she needed powerful Magic now, and the keeper of the Afterworld was powerful enough to help.

Atmahr, Lord of the Afterworld, was Tardun's son. As such he had powers over the fate of certain matters. Atmahr was neither good nor evil. Death was part of nature. He ruled the Afterlife, a dark realm where souls wandered until they resolved unfinished business. He was a trickster, but he could help. Accept his terms, you could ask for something.

All Maleva wanted was to protect her hut and the little area of forest around it. Cloaking it from people who intended her harm would be simple enough for the god of souls and mischief to do. She needed protection and Atmahr was simply the nearest accessible god she could ask.

However strong Zoltar's jangyr was, his magic couldn't be more powerful than the son of Tardun's.

\- - -

# 7

Weymas Day

10th of Getis, 1004 N.S

It was Weymas Day, and Cameron Elbery had much to celebrate. On this traditional gift giving day in the early Spring of Getis his 12-year-old son Rynald had passed his examination and become worthy of being accepted into the service of the house of Gryffan.

The ascendancy of the House of Rothorn had destroyed the power the House Gryffan once held, yet he vowed his family would always remain faithful to the Code. There were still Gryffans of Royal blood. Although the Rothorn's had killed, imprisoned and all but rendered them impotent, the Gryffan code must endure.

Passing the test was a serious matter, showing knowledge and understanding of the principles of honor and morals. Before the present dark times the House of Gryffan had ruled Archanea with wisdom and justice. The Gryffan Royals could trace their ancestry back to the founding of Archanea, a thousand years before the Night of the Star, to the days before there was a wall, and barely a city on the spot were Archanea now stood. Cameron wasn't a Royal, but he was proud of his line nonetheless. Although the jangyr had skipped him, in earlier days his line had produced Court Wizards to the Throne of Archanea. The fact the throne had been lost to the Rothorns was in part due to the fact that his family hadn't produced a wizard in some time.

Today, celebrating the boy's acceptance and Weymas as one holiday, the boy's presents were abundant. They were gathered in their home in the north quarter of the city. The table in the main room was stacked with gifts. Emerie, his mother, sat smiling with her hands folded in her lap enjoying the happy expression on her son's face.

Young master Rynald would be as tall as his father. He had his father's full brown hair and sensitive gray eyes. She had waited until now to announce something about him she'd discovered only this morning ... something that would make her husband very happy.

Rynald still retained the excitement he'd felt as a much smaller boy. He'd been eyeing the large package from his father. Traditionally his presents were covered with different decorative cloths. He pulled off a piece of gold satin to unveil his first present. His expression sank. Underneath was folded clothing. A tunic with gold trim on the cuffs.

"Now you can appear at Court," his father said. "You're old enough, and I can show you off."

"Thank you Father." Rynald controlled his expression and tried to seem sincerely pleased. He was still young enough to wish for something more exciting than clothes. Going to Court didn't seem like a treat either. His father had nothing good to say about it, or the Rothorn King, He didn't look forward to paying obeisance to Gothan Rothorn. As Gryffan sympathizers, they couldn't hope for positions of any importance, so why was his father smiling?

Emerie had noticed her son's disappointment. "Uncover one of mine next." She hoped it would please him. She couldn't make her announcement while her son was in a bad mood. She wanted the right moment to tell her husband she'd seen Rynald conjure a ball of light. Rynald hadn't known she was at his door this morning. Her son had been too fascinated looking at the hovering glow. He obviously hadn't told Cameron, any more than he'd confided in her. Perhaps he thought there was something wrong with himself, as boys who had their first wet dream sometimes did.

Rynald was pulling the embroidered cloth off the smaller package to the left of the tunic his father gave him. When he uncovered a book he couldn't keep the smile off his face. He'd revealed a small very old volume with a tooled leather cover and irregular vellum pages. His mother always had a way of giving him presents he liked. He brightened even more when he read the title embossed with gold leaf on the cover:

"Dictionary of the Fae Language, translated to Commonspeak by Hymal Munkar"

"Thank you Mother!" Rynald was genuinely pleased. He was interested in learning Fae. He'd heard so many stories and was interested in visiting K'tal Sunne, despite what the Rothorn's said about the Fae.

"I'm glad you're pleased." Emerie said. "We'll have to get you a tutor. The pronunciations look impossible ... all that clicking and those glottal stops.

Cameron doubted the dictionary would be useful. When the Gryffans had ruled, Archanea benefited from their friendship with the Fae. With Gothan Rothorn still insisting on a trade embargo between Archanea and the Faes, neither K'tal Sunne nor K'tal Maal welcomed Archaneans. He looked at his tall bright-eyed son and wondered what kind of future he would have.

"I have something to announce." Emerie turned to her husband. It felt like the right moment to tell him. "This morning I saw Rynald conjure a ball of light."

"What?" Cameron was stunned. He felt both a thrill of pleasure and a deep dread. If his son had the Jangyr, they had to keep it hidden. Rothorn might kill him, or even let his wizard teach his son to worship the Dark One.

"Are you sure? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His eye's flicked between his wife and his son accusing them of keeping secrets. Rynald had put the book down and was now staring at both of them like he'd been caught stealing it.

"He didn't know I saw." Emerie hastened to reassure her husband. She said to Rynald, "I wasn't trying to spy on you. Your door was open."

"How long has this been going on?" Cameron asked in a demanding tone. This would change all of their lives.

His son hadn't been ready to bring up something that worried him this much. "This morning was only the second time. It happened before a couple of days ago, but the light was fainter."

Cameron realized he'd practically been yelling. He continued in a softer tone. "That's how it happens, son. My father told me when he was hoping I'd show signs of the Jangyr. You manifest light. It grows stronger. But you can't control it at first. We have to find someone to teach you."

"Maybe we should tell the King." Rynald suggested "He has a wizard."

"No!" Cameron said emphatically, his voice rising again. "That's the last thing you should do. Rothorn's wizard is as evil as they come. Besides, if the King found out someone from House Gryffan had the Jangyr, he'd probably have them killed."

Where she had been proud before now Emerie was afraid. She felt hollow and she shivered. Her tone showed it as she agreed with her husband, making sure her son was listening to her. "You have to keep your power a secret. Promise me."

"But Mother ... " His clear gray eyes looked from parent to parent, "What if I can't control it and someone sees it? What happens when it gets stronger?"

"It will get stronger." Cameron said. There was even a danger it was already strong enough to be detected. His father had told him a few things about the jangyr. Not enough for him to be much use to the boy. They had to protect him immediately.

He made a decision. "Emerie, you'll be safe here. Rynald needs to come with me. In the north, there are desert wizards who can teach you. We'll be beyond detection there. I'll obtain trading permits for us to leave immediately."

\- - -

# 8

The Dark Wizard

10th of Getis, 1004 N.S.

In the quarters of King Rothorn's wizard, Mephilious Zoltar considered what he'd learned. He was certain there had been a flare up of jangyr within the city. It hadn't been difficult to detect. He'd had a treated feather under glass set to change color if it detected the presence of any strong jangyr in the city other than his own. It hadn't merely changed color ... it had burst into flame. That indicated the jangyr nearby was immensely powerful.

There were only two people he knew of with Jangyr strong enough to cause that reaction. The first who came to mind was Maleva, the Drifter witch. She kept to the deep forest. The other was the desert wizard, Tarka. Charlatans and street magicians who called themselves wizards were legion in the desert towns, but Tarka's jangyr was real and potent. Could it be him?

No. Zoltar decided. Tarka was inseparable from his arid northland. He moved through its towns and disappeared for months in the sandy wastes. Tarka needed the heat. It fed him. And he needed the stars in the clear open sky of the desert ... he lived by them. He had no need for anything in the city, nor could he abide its polluted air.

He suspected who had caused the feather to flare. Cameron Elbery's boy would be the right age for the jangyr to manifest. Did they think he was unaware their family had produced two court wizard's for the House of Gryffan?

Zoltar paced. What to do? The new King, Gothan Rothorn, was letting a few Gryffan loyalists live, Ostensibly because the populace could maintain the illusion that he wasn't the monster he really was. The wizard knew the real reason. It delighted Gothan to watch Gryffans and their followers squirm. He was like a fat cat playing with a mouse, keeping it alive just to enjoy its pain.

_I've nothing against that,_ thought Zoltar. _But the boy could become a real challenge._ The wizard lashed out and knocked the stoppered vial with the ashes of the feather from the altar. The glass shattered on the stone floor. _I need to convince Gothan he could become a threat to him as well._

He looked into the black mirror hung on the wall above. The polished disc of black meteorite was like glass. Its surface was near perfection. Only the faintest milky streaks and a tiny chip near the bottom edge interrupted the illusion of black glass. It served as a dim mirror. It had many uses in scrying. Over time he had watched his reflection change. Despite magic, potions and his jangyr, he was mortal, Even magic couldn't keep him alive for many more decades.

By Orvapas, Zoltar thought, I can't chance that boy growing up and learning how to use his power. There was another way to ensure Cameron's boy never got to use his jangyr. Angrily yanking the bell cord, he summoned Thagen, his current apprentice. There was a scurrying audible from the hall to the back quarters. Thagen appeared.

The apprentice appeared in the black robe the unsightly man lived in. He probably hadn't removed it since Zoltar gave it to him. The apprentice was thrilled to be summoned. Thagen's brown teeth were on display in a grin. He'd fallen out of an ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. Zoltar collected unattractive people. It made him feel less repulsive.

"Master!" Coming from Thagen, it sounded like adulation.

Zoltar commanded him. "I want you to kill someone for me."

Thagen stood a little taller, his nervous little eyes dropping to the floor. "I will do it master. Just tell me who."

The wizard smiled despite himself. It was his own little Rothorn moment, sensing his complete power over this creature. They came to him hoping he'd teach them the secrets of the universe, and when they discovered the magic he taught came from serving the Dark One ... suddenly there were no more rules. Thievery, murder, it was all sanctioned, and there was nothing they would not do for him. The more abominable the crime the better. Thagen would happily kill his own mother if he but asked.

"Anyone else who witnesses or interferes," said Zoltar, thinking of the boy's family, "must be done away with. His father could be a problem. He used to be a solider.

"But who master?" Thagen asked.

"A boy. He should be about twelve now," Zoltar said. "They live somewhere in the northern section. The home of Cameron Elbery. It should be easy to find. It's his son who needs to die."

"Do you want to me to bring him here?" Thagen asked, remembering incidents where young boys had been purchased to offer their blood to the Dark One.

"No!" Zoltar needed to impress him no trail must lead back here. "Kill him there. Just kill him. But make sure you leave no witnesses. Do you have a knife?"

"Uh, I can get one." Thagen looked embarrassed.

Zoltar had a thought. A collection of magical staves leaned against a buttress to the left of the altar. His personal favorite ... the staff he used most often, rested there. A full six feet of ironwood topped by a silver casting of a reptile's head, its eyes two tiny red jewels of drym. He reached father back, past the shaft topped with a sliver of Guirsuil he used for necromancy, and the one topped by a cabochon of Black Meteor, to retrieve a simple dark shaft. The lower part was hardwood. The top foot was heavy iron ending in a knob. It was ungainly and had no magical power at all, but had been very useful. Shortly before Ralis Rothorn became the first King of Archanea, he had used it to murder the last Gryffan wizard. Magical staves often proved ineffective against powerful wizards, but if taken by surprise, they could sometimes be killed with brute force.

"Here." Zoltar turned and presented his assistant with the iron topped staff.

Thagen was thrilled. "Is it magical master?" The apprentice inspected the weapon.

"Not at all. But its heavy and what you need to kill the boy. He has jangyr, that one, Kill him quickly, If his father is with him, kill Cameron first. Wait until dark, and go."

\- - -

Two hours after dark an abashed Thagen returned. He threw back his hood and fell to his knees in front of his master.

"Well?" Zoltar pressed. "Is it done?"

"It took me a while to find a way into the house." His apprentice rocked on he floor nervously.

"Never mind that. Did you kill them? Did anyone see you?"

"No one saw me. But the man and his son are no longer in the city."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. The boy's mother was there. She told me."

"You killed her of course." He asked furiously.

"No! No need ... I covered my face," Thagen dared not look up at his master. "The man has taken the boy to the desert. To Kathun."

Kathun? Cameron's departure made perfect sense to Zoltar. They boy's father suspected his son's power would make him a target, and fled where his son's Jangyr was beyond detection. Possibly even to see someone who could train the boy. Did Cameron know of Tarka?

Zoltar said, "Get up. Take the staff. Steal a horse and go to the desert."

Given another chance, the apprentice lifted his head. His eyes were wet with gratitude.

Zoltar glared at Thagen from deep-socketed eyes set in a face mottled with blotches. "Kill the boy in Tardun."

\- - -

# 9

The Desert

13th of Getis, 1004 N.S.

The Elbreys from the iron-walled city of Archanea made it north to Kathun without incident. The sun-beaten municipality was west of the Fae Military outpost of Sardaz, where Fae soldiers from K'tal Sunne were trained, but it was an open city ... a trading town were Archaneans or anyone else could come.

Cameron had borrowed two horses from a friend of his, another Gryffan loyalist. He and his son were both saddle weary, but Rynald was gawking at the desert city as might be expected of a 12-year-old Archanean boy.

Cameron was exhausted, yet it pleased him to see his son's gray eyes bright and excited. He knew the boy had never seen anything like the copper skinned desert people, or the buildings made of dried mud.

It was Getis ... nearly the hottest month. Here it seemed hot as a forge. Cameron knew his son had to feel as bad he did. His lips were parched and the inside of his nose caked with dust. _I have to get out of the sun._ He hoped the inn he remembered still existed.

His brave son managed a smile. "Will we see rauken?"

Cameron hated to disappoint him but the giant leathery warbirds and their riders never ventured this far east. "No son," he returned the smile. "We'd have to go farther west to K'tal Maal to see any. If we're lucky we might find a wizard."

"Will we see any Fae here?" Rynald hoped. Among the few things in his saddlebag, he'd brought the Fae Dictionary.

"That's entirely possible." Cameron started his horse at a slow trot to the center of town, and his son kept up.

Rynald was excited at the thought of seeing on3. He'd read about Fae in books with drawings. Some of the illustrations had been hand colored showing blue and green and even black-skinned Fae but the thing he wanted to see most was their ears. "If we meet one, do we have enough to pay him to tutor me?"

"I'm sure the Fae don't share their magic," Cameron teased. He knew his son's mind. The boy meant to tutor him in language. Rynald had seemed ready to cry when he suggested the Fae dictionary would take up too much valuable space in his saddlebag.

He reassured his son. "We're not poor. As long as you remember finding a wizard to teach you is the reason we're here, there's no reason I can't pay for a tutor to help with your book."

The Inn he remembered was still standing. Cameron rode to the front of the building. Immediately a copper skinned boy took the reins of his horse and held out his hand. Knowing the routine Cameron reached in his waist pouch and pulled out a small silver to give to the boy. He turned to see Rynald had pulled the reins to stop his horse right behind them. Considering the brief instructions he'd given him, his son was proving quite the horseman.

Rynald dismounted, deciding their saddlebags would be safe on the horses while he checked inside to see if they had a room. The town was an odd mixture of honest and crime. There were scamps everywhere, but the penalty for thievery was death, which made them think twice about stealing. The Inn's attendant took that horses reins and led the mounts to the water trough at the side of the low mud building.

Cameron warned his son, "Be alert. This can be a dangerous place." The less time they spent exposed outside the better. He put his free hand on Rynald's shoulder, steering him toward the shadow of entrance.

A cheerful man stepped in front of them. Skin the color of red saddle leather, curly hair as black as his eyes, his teeth seemed bright. "Sirrah! I have something your boy clearly needs." He chattered while he retrieved a short weapon from his sleeve and handed it to them hilt first. "What is he? 13? 14?"

Rynald realized the boy's height made the 12 year old look older than he was. "Never mind that." He told the man. "We're in a hurry."

The desert merchant continued encouraging them to inspect the knife. "But sirrah! The boy has no weapon."

Cameron reconsidered. Perhaps it had been an oversight not to bring Rynald something to protect himself with. "All right. I'll look at it," he took the hilt and the merchant let go so Rynald had the dagger and it's scabbard.

The scabbard was lizard hide, and crudely made, a strong sleeve with a band around the opening to which a long narrow loop was attached. Rynald grasped it and gripping the dagger's hilt, pulled it from the case.

The blade was iron, a long triangular blade well made and sharp. The hilt was mostly dark wood, except where iron formed a knob at the pommel. He saw his son wanted it. It would do until he could buy him something better. The idea of Rynald being defenseless bothered him. "How much?"

"Ten nail" The merchant said. He meant the common silver Archanean coin, which had its name since Ralis Rothorn declared their common coin should be as large as his big toenail.

Rynald was amused that the merchant was familiar with their currency, but the price was way too much. He was a merchant too. "It's nice but the price is too steep for me. Three."

"You steal from me." Insisted the merchant. "7 nail."

"I'm sorry." Rynald put the dagger back in its scabbard and started to return it. "We have to get inside, it's hot out here. I can't pay more than four nails."

Knowing it was only a game but the ritual had been satisfied, the merchant put up his hands to ward off the knife being returned. "Five nails then, and the fine scabbard for free. My wife will yell at me tonight."

Cameron smiled, and handing the dagger to his son, paid the man. Suddenly he felt a blinding blow to the back of his head. The merchant's eyes flew open in terror. This wasn't part of the deal.

Rynald took a step back. A man in a dark robe and cowl had rushed forward and struck his father in the head with an iron staff. The attacker hadn't counted on their family's thick skulls. His father reeled but didn't fall. Disoriented and taken completely by surprise, Cameron was drawing his sword when the attacker brought his iron staff down on his arm and prepared to hit his father across the face.

Rynald acted without thinking. He pulled the new dagger and drove it into the back of the man with the dark robe. His father's assailant cried out, jerked his head back, dropped his staff and fell. Rynald's eyes bugged, Then his world swam with the realization he'd just stabbed a man.

By the time a staggering Cameron had turned completely around, the assailant lay dead in a pool of his own blood. He was a little shocked at what his son had done, and how his random decision to buy him a dagger may have saved his life. He looked at Rynald with a mixture of concern and awe.

"We'll talk about this later." He said, retrieving his sword and returning it to his scabbard, He kicked over the body and pulled the cowl away to expose the face. He recognized the attacker.

It was Zoltar's apprentice. He'd followed them here. If Rothorn's wizard knew they were in Kathun and sent someone to kill them, they couldn't stay here. His son would undoubtedly have been next. Rynald was a 12 year old boy, and had killed his first man.

He looked around. The merchant had disappeared. Everyone else on the street was walking away so as not to become involved when the authorities eventually appeared. They had to move fast. No one could be found to verify they'd been attacked. He looked at his son.

As he watched, his son vomited up the contents of his stomach onto the dirt. The boy looked as if he was going into shock. He took the dagger from his son, put it back in the scabbard and squeezed Rynald's hand around it. His son looked up shakily. Cameron embraced him, giving Rynald a fatherly hug. "It's all right." He told him, "You were defending us." He looked made eye contact and saw his son was going to be okay. Cameron moved quickly towards their horses. His son followed.

\- - -

# 10

Below

12th of Torren, 982 N.S.

By cautiously putting one foot in front of the other, Maleva made it to the depth of the ruins.

She had brought a small chunk of the phosphorescent fungus the Drifters called faerie-fire. It grew on old logs and emitted a blue-green light when disturbed. She wished she had brought a larger piece. The ruins of the tower were not only pitch black but treacherous.

Above ground it had only been a pile of cut stones with vegetation blanketing them. Below, it began as descending stone steps and turned into a maze of passages, taking her ever deeper.

In a dark cavern deep under the earth Maleva stopped on a stone knife ridge, her senses alert. She was tempted to conjure a globe of light atop her staff. It would have dispelled the darkness. She restrained herself. She knew it would also have drained her jangyr somewhat, and she needed every bit of that if she was going to face Atmahr.

In the darkness with the small greenish glow from the faerie-fire barely showing her the path a foot in front of her, the air had been still as death until now. Suddenly there was a gust. It rocked her. A small woman, sometimes strong winds threatened to lift her. This wasn't so much a wind, as a breath.

It was the breath of a thousand, thousand souls ,,, a long drawn out lament. She was close. _So very close._ The impact of the sound had been so fierce, she was surprised her boots were still on the surface. Then ahead, she sensed it rather than saw it.

The entrance to the Afterlife.

The portal Maleva had been seeking was directly in front of her. Like anything waited for, it was suddenly there. A single step had brought her close enough to see it; hanging in the darkness ... a tall circle on the stone knife-ridge, glowing so faintly it barely cast light on the rock.

She looked at it with understandable apprehension. The portal was an entrance only. There would be no leaving unless Atmahr agreed to release her. Otherwise, all the souls of the afterlife would have been free to escape and wander the world of the living.

Maleva gathered the courage and resolution to proceed. She hadn't yet used any or her jangyr or the twisted wooden staff's natural power. She might have to use both in some yet unknown fashion to succeed in wresting a deal from the Lord of the Afterlife. With her goal firmly in mind, the Drifter witch proceeded on her perilous course. A few steps later, she passed through the veil of light and entered the domain where few living mortals had gone before.

\- - -

# 11

King V'rlak

15th of Getis, 652 N.S.

The arid land near the Shdraz mine was parched ground. Along with a hammering sun, their steeds' hooves beat on cracked ground. King V'rlak held up a mailed fist for the Fae army and the officers around him to rein their horses to a halt. He didn't care if stopping made any sense to his officers or not. He was King. Everyone had to obey him. They reacted to everything he said, every gesture he made.

"What is it, M'lord?" Tolna moved her horse closer to the King. His First Officer was a Shimak, olive skinned, tall for a female. Tolna had high arched eyebrows and strong features. The King thought her quite beautiful, even with those hard eyes. She had attractive whorl tattoos on her face, Her pointed ears were more slanted than his, their lowest lobes decorated with jewelry. V'rlak noted they were silver earrings, meaning she was unmarried.

Tolna was intimidating. Not a soldier here would have challenged her. She carried a short bow and taann and was surpassingly skilled with both.

He didn't want to open his mouth with the dust flying in. Sweat ran in his eyes and his backside was sore. He needed a break. The tall, pointed tips of his ears were sunburned. Unlike most of the army that was composed of green Shimaks and Devastrian Fae with their sun resistant blue skins, he was Silvat ... a sun sensitive cream color, almost like the flesh tones of the pale human Archaneans. He hoped the delicate ornamental tattoos on his cheeks didn't bleach.

Surrounded by a thousand armored Fae their Monarch shifted his bottom on the saddle to make it more comfortable. He was tired and days from home. The ride had only been exciting for the first mile. Now, exhausted on the third day, they had already been riding for hours with nothing to see but dry cracked dirt and dust. He hadn't seen a plant or even a snake for miles. Not a thing lives here, nor should it, he thought. I should have decided on something closer to conquer. He didn't even need the mines.

V'rlak realized why they belonged to K'tal Maal. The Shdraz mines were too far west. He finally spoke. "How close are we?"

"We're not far from the mine, M'lord," Tolna answered. "Their army will meet us before we reach it." The officer had moved her horse closer to avoid having to raise her voice. The officer's mouth was as dry as the King's.

The King's feisty stallion took offense at the proximity of Tolna's horse and kicked his front hooves. V'rlak held on. No gelding for him. His mount was a Kacha stallion. Exceptionally strong and fast, only the finest Kacha were allowed to breed, keeping the line very pure. Kajil, which meant conqueror, was only showing his annoyance. Superbly trained, he wouldn't bolt if a cannon were fired next to him. Tolna rode away a prudent distance.

Whether the mine was close or not, King V'rlak had already lost all interest in it. He wished his advisors had been brave enough to tell him it was an impulsive idea. He would remember this lesson. He was young and drunk with power. His wife had tried to warn him but he'd been stubborn.

It was too hot to fight. It was one month shy of Saurus, the hottest month of the year. The ground was hot enough to bake bread. The sunlight reflected up at him. His eyes protested the brightness.

He had the last word. Hadn't his father fought the King of K'tal Maal for many of the desert mines and enriched their holdings? He'd been King of K'tal Sunne for only a month. He was giddy with power, like a boy with toy soldiers.

Birds had been sent. They had communicated with King Wiren their intention to battle for Shiraz. K'tal Maal lay not only to the west, but slightly farther south. By virtue of this one of his titles was King of the Northern Fae. The Archaneans and other races were centuries behind them. In this part of the world at least, there were only two powers that mattered. King Wiren of K'tal Maal and himself. There were other Fae of course. The Southern Fae in the tall woods. There were supposedly even Fae in the far west, across the Traug mountains and an even harsher desert, but they had no communication with them. As to whatever lay east across the sea, it might as well be another planet.

Ahead, they expected at least a thousand of Wiren's solders were camped, waiting by the mine. A little of the thrill returned to him. He'd never seen a battle. He only knew he'd be relatively safe. He was surrounded by the best, who would die if need be, to protect him. The King touched the flanks of his steed lightly and made a waving gesture with his hand. Alongside, Tolna heeled her horse and shouted. There was instant action. The quiet was disturbed by the sound of clanking metal, horses neighed as boots dug in, and the army of a thousand rode forward, adding more dust to the air.

The whole thing seemed so grand and unreal King V'rlak wasn't worried. He was thinking of cold drinks when they saw the tents and men of King Wiren's army on the horizon. The distant soldiers seemed to float and drop, lifted by the heat. The soldiers were real but their movement was only an illusion, like the mirage of water they'd seen on the way. Still, it made him dizzy, as if his mind was ceasing to function properly in the heat.

With the reality of an army facing off against him some of his indifference was replaced by concern. Were his men as exhausted as he was? Their horses were bred to be the fast. The desert crossing had been brisk, with two breaks, the first at their Sardaz military camp, the other sleeping in the desert under the stars.

"Steady pace men, don't wear yourselves out charging." Nearby, General S'ythis shouted an order to be relayed to the entire platoon by other officers.

How civilized, and a little surreal, thought V'rlak. They were simply going to come together and start hacking at one another until one side surrendered. Planning this fracas back in the cool palace chewing Livernian grapes he'd never pictured anything but victory. Suddenly he had the terrible premonition of it all going wrong, and him surrendering to King Wiren. It made a sick feeling in his stomach. How did he know if it was a vision or simply fear?

It seemed forever before they had gotten close enough that the army faced them in the flesh. V'rlak could see their armor closely resembled their own. Squared off against them it was like looking into a mirror. Only the banners were different. They stopped before they got close enough to be hit by arrows.

Behind the K'tal Maal army was the pitted cliff of the Sardaz mine, the great rock thrust up from the desert by some forgotten god karchaks before anything on the planet walked on two legs. King V'rlak knew this was the point where he was supposed to raise his fist and signal the battle to begin.

"Keep back far enough you're not hit by arrows, Sire!" Tolna had drawn closer again. Her horse pranced. Sensitive. her gelding was more worried than her mistress. Tolna knew her duty. To protect the King. She hoped both of them would survive the day.

Nearby General S'ythis sat on his horse in his bulky armor, looking for all the world as if he was posing. V'lack disregarded the man's posture. He knew if anyone could get them back alive it was S'ythis. Verlak saw several officers and enlisted soldiers look back at him for the signal. The General looked at his king and inclined his head. V'rlak felt all eyes on him as he raised his mailed fist.

Before the king dropped his hand a piercing scream almost like a woman being murdered rent the air. A shadow passed over him. Looking up quickly the King saw a monstrous flying reptile. Bat-like wings stirred the hot desert air. A rauken had swooped over his head.

King V'rlak dropped his fist more in fear than as a signal, but the soldiers knew to take action. They saw other flying reptiles heading toward them coming over the mine's cliff. General Sithys had prepared for this. Hundreds of archers lifted bows and followed the first rauken as it did a turn and grew larger again as it prepared for a second pass. King V'rlak realized he was the target. This time he noticed the Fae perched on the flying beasts neck.

An archer.

The giant war bird swooped by. Two arrows shot from the sky in rapid succession hit the ground beside the king. In turn, the belly of the rauken acquired several arrows which his men shot upward at the moving target. V'rlak wondered which took more skill, to shoot at the rauken, or be the rider on that swift thing, shooting down at a target.

General S'ythis watched as the bird slowed, paralyzed, and dipped down to the desert. Soldiers near him rode out of the way to make room. The dead winded thing hit the ground beak first near the General, and crumpled. The poison in those arrows had worked. He'd anticipated rauken. Against an assault from the air, he had no choice but to order arrows prepared. He refused to employ tricked arrows against the soldiers in King Wiren's army. Fae were Fae. He wasn't going to be remembered as a general who needed poison arrows to win a fight against other soldiers.

Specks in the sky descended, became other Rauken who circled as their mounted archers took turns shooting at the King. V'rlak was terrified in a manner unbefitting a Monarch. An arrow hit close, striking the neck armor of his horse. The Fae metal of the horse's armor deflected it, but the horse had it's head knocked momentarily to the side. Jirel kicked up his front hooves.

The King's bowmen returned a hundred arrows at the flying reptiles, and several struck true. The Rauken, paralyzed, dropped. Regaining himself, King V'rlak raised his fist again. "Attack!" His command was relayed. The soldiers began to move toward the soldiers from K'tal Maal in a body.

General S'ythis now had to direct his men as best he could. The army from K'tal Maal had charged under cover of the Rauken attack. He wished the King would leave it entirely up to him to lead. His choice would have been to stand firm and make a shield wall; now the two armies were going to engage when they clashed together.

Fae-metal fashioned in K'tal Maal was as strong as theirs. Tired from the demanding journey, his men might actually be at a disadvantage.

"Archers, regular arrows, baz'r alyl, fire volley!" S'ythis shouted. Before the armies collided. Before his own men where mixed in the melee.

A hundred Sunne archers lifted their bows and shot high. The swarm of arrows arched up and descended on the hard riding Maal soldiers. They hit helmet and shield and Maal armor. A horse went down forming an obstacle, tumbling two following riders. One rider was unfortunate enough to look up. An arrow caught him in the face, cracking into the bone between his right eye and nose. He was knocked off his horse and trampled by charging horses.

From his vantage to the rear of the front ranks, General S'ythis there were few casualties, but he hadn't expected the arrows to pierce armor. Yet he knew the impact was like the shock of hammers, They had knocked several soldiers down and their own horses rode over their own men.

King V'rlak drew his broadsword. It had begun. The battle was in motion. He watched as the front of the Maal Army collided with the front of his own. By telling them to charge, his soldiers had ridden forward, distancing him even further from the action. He heard the clash of metal, sword against sword and sword again metal. The glitter of flashing weapons showed where the two armies were engaged. The roar of battle cries from the front galvanized the men around the King.

In the glitter of flashing blades ahead, he saw a spray of red. He could see blood from this distance? Whose blood? Whether it was one of his soldiers or theirs, it had ceased being abstract. Men were dying to serve his whim. Because he had shouted 'Charge!'. _I'll not give more commands today._ But that wouldn't absolve him for what he'd already set in motion.

General S'ythis wasn't happy with how evenly matched the battle seemed. The front ranks of armies on both sides were pawns, but even if they killed each other off, it would decide nothing. After the front ranks were gone, he would have to put his best trained men into battle, against K'tal Maal's best trained. Something needed to be done to tip the balance. While he was thinking, something very nearly did.

Behind the battle the Maal army had brought up a powerful launcher. A torch was applied and its contents of oil and accelerants set ablaze. As General S'ythis watched, a flaming ball the size of a cow arced up into the air, sailed over the battle, and descended on his army. The fire expanded as it fell. They had only a second to appreciate that it appeared to have tongues of fire. With a hissing, whooshing sound, it landed on top of a group of mounted soldiers. The horses around them scattered in every direction. Two of those fleeing caught fire. Soldiers screaming were horrible to hear.

This happened only twenty yards in front of King V'rlak. When the ball of fire landed it was close enough to feel the intense heat. The soldiers and horses the flying fire landed on were not killed instantly. The sight and stink of burning flesh turned the King's guts to water. It was the most pitiful thing he'd ever seen, and he would never be the same. Horses were on fire, kicking and bellowing. One steed ran, the burning man on his back slumped and fell, his steed's long mane and pelt on fire. Burning soldiers separated from their horses ran screaming. Living torches.

Some managed to endure it ... managed not to scream. To show courage. The King wondered for whom. To die proudly? For the gods? For him? Soldiers fled in every direction to avoid those on fire.

Now horsemen from the opposing army had broken through and were engaging the rear guard. He lost sight of Tolna. A blue Fae in the dark armor of K'tal Malls charged directly at him, but was cut down by his own men. Still the King's horse didn't bolt. Maybe it's frozen in shock, like I am, he thought. For the first time, King V'rlak wondered if he deserved to be King.

V'rlak's lips tightened. He had caused this too. According to some pundits, the Fae were a near godly race that descended from progenitors on a distant star system. Supposedly they came from another, prefect world. Those Fae where supposed to be all wise and immortal. If that were true, how base the mighty had become. He silently pleaded with General S'ythis. Do what you need to, to end this now.

A shadow approached the king's horse. He turned and saw his first officer had returns and ridden close to guard him. Tolna's armor was blood splattered and her strong pretty face with the high arched eyebrows and cold as ice eyes had sustained a wound. It tore down her left cheek to her mouth. A disfigurement she would bear all her life.

Sensing something Tolna whipped her head back around and raised her bow to fire off a single shot. It brought down a K'tal Maal horseman who had penetrated and was charging toward them. The man was knocked off his steed by the force of the arrow from her powerful bow. The riderless horse rose on its hind legs, then came down and galloped away. The fallen Fae pierced by Tolna's arrow met his final fate from the broadsword of a nearby K'tal Sunne soldier.

Tolna looked back at the King, staring... not accusingly but simply waiting for him to issue a command.

V'rlak knew what it was. A command General S'ythis would never issue. The King knew there was only one thing he could say which would perhaps stop hundreds more deaths. He realized he had been slumping in his saddle like a man cowed. Inside him his father's voice argued that what he was about to do he would bring shame to their city. But that couldn't be any greater than the shame the he felt for causing these needless deaths. He lifted himself straight, and raised his right hand high for attention. He filled his lungs with burning desert air that stank of smoke, burning flesh and hair and the iron of lost blood. He shouted a single word with great force. "Retreat!"

Tolna's ravaged face showed relief. Even so her lips thinned as if the word had a bad taste when she relayed his order. "Retreat!" The word was repeated, other's shouting it. His soldiers around them yanked their horses around, kicking heels hard into their steed's flanks,

Tolna wait for the King to turn and leave. Instead V'rlak surprised her. He dug his heels into his Stallion and charged forward toward the K'tal Maal army. His Kacha, the strongest and the fastest charged ahead. When she realized what he intended Tolna raced after him, but there was no way she could stop him.

King V'rlak whipped the reins on the side of his horse's neck, driving Kajil faster. The horse had never been pushed to his limits, and shot ahead in a kind of equine delirium, brilliantly weaving through the K'tal soldiers now headed toward him. King V'rlak lay down on the horses neck, the scent of the horses mane a welcome contrast to the stink of the battle, clinging on with his legs as the huge horse shot forward through smoke and flames.

At last he was face to face with the Army of K'tal Maal. Their tents were a short distance ahead. None of the enemy soldiers had expected to see this. V'rlak's brilliant armor and crowned helm instantly identified him as the enemy king of the K'tal Sunne Fae. All of them had been looking toward the retreating Sunne army. V'rlak had penetrated nearly to the tents and none of the soldiers wanted to be responsible for killing him.

Verlak and his horse reached the tents, the stallion slowing to a stop, the hooves of his armored mount throwing up dirt. Finally a Captain of the Maal army took it on himself to raise his bow. A smile showed through the Fae's open visor. He was going to kill the enemy king.

King V'rlak was controlling Kajil. The stallion reared up, kicking it's hooves. The captain with his bow trained on the king waited for the horse to come back down.

"B'azr nawl!" came a firm command. Ordered by his highest authority to lower his bow, the chastised Captain ldid so.

Another King, an older one, stode out to meet V'rlak. King Wiren was a Devastrian Fae, blue as many of their kings had been. He was at least two hundred and fifty years old, but appeared perhaps forty years old at the most, if he had been human. King Wiren was clean shaven, as Fae did not grow facial hair. His eyes were a deep violet as were the elegant tracings of the tattoos on his checks. He wore armor every bit as elaborate as the K'tal Sunne king's, and stood hands on hips with boots wide waiting for V'rlak to speak.

Kajil was snorting, the stallion's training bringing it under control. V'rlak patted it on the side of the neck and comforted it, then disengaged his sabatons from the stirrups, gripped the saddle horn and swung down.

V'rlak's sword was in it's scabbard. He clearly meant no harm as he walked toward the other King. When he was three yards away he dropped to his knees on the dry ground. He looked up. "I am ... ashamed."

King Miren could have done anything he wanted to him at that moment. Instead, he laughed. "I expected you, V'rlak, Even before your messenger birds arrived."

V'rlak looked up, his expression a query.

The K'tal Maal king made a gesture. "Get up. No one should see a Fae king on his knees."

"I'm not worthy to be King." V'rlak said.

"Nonsense!" Miren disagreed. "I did the same thing when I was newly crowned. Or didn't you hear the tale of my attempt to take the your gold mines? If I hadn't given up when your father's army defeated us, I wouldn't have been here today to watch you make the same mistake."

Miren moved closer and extended a hand, helping an abject V'rlak. "I saw five hundred of my soldiers killed and maimed by your father's excellent general before I surrendered," King Miren said quietly. "The thrill of power drives all new kings to recklessness."

Behind him, V'rlak was vaguely aware Tolna had ridden up to be with him. His wary First Officer was trying to understand what was happening. On his feet again, V'rlak asked the other King, "But how can I face my army after the shame of surrendering the battle?"

King Miren frowned. Blood had been spilt on both sides. it was no occasion for levity. "You've surrendered nothing important ... neither your army nor your throne. The world is too large for either of us to rule alone. I need you ruling in the East. Someone has to keep the eastern desert and the slavers on the coast in check, just as you need me to keep the Traugs on their mountain. By the gods I hope the Rothorns don't become a problem. You and I, we have a good balance of power."

"But what do I tell my council?" V'rlak asked.

"You don't have to tell them anything, except what to do." King Miren said. "Reward soldiers who fought valiantly and take care of the widows. Our history will call this a victory. Your history will remember this as the day we attacked you with rauken and fire balls, and you wisely ordered a retreat,"

King Miren shouted at his soldiers to make sure the Sunne King's and Tolna's horses were watered, and then put a hand on V'rlak's shoulder. "Now you and your first officer are welcome in my tent for some wine and food,

\- - -

# 12

Sandaharin

16th of Getis, 1004 N.S.

With some subterfuge, Cameron and his son made it to a smaller outpost. When making their escape from the incident in Kathun, they had pretended to go east toward Sardaz. Rynald, his son riding behind him on the other mount, made sure he attracted as much attention as possible. He had ridden at full speed through a flimsy display of baskets on his way out of the city, to make sure he was noticed.

His son probably thought the blow to the back of his father's head had made him clumsy. On the contrary, Cameron was completely in control of himself. As soon as he was in the desert outside the city and certain no one had followed them, he pulled on the reins to bring his steed's head up and slow the black stallion down enough to turn.

Rynald was a clever boy, and caught on his father had been making people notice he rode east out of town. Now they circled around Kathun at a good distance and headed northwest.

Cameron rode at an easy gallop for a while. Their mounts had just been watered in Kathun, but riding furiously in the heat had exhausted the horses. He didn't want to kill them. As soon as they were over a dune and at least a mile from the city, he stopped and they watered the horses again from their water skins. He and his son took a generous sip. They had missed the rest they'd expected to have in Kathun. From the blow it had received he could hardly hold anything with his right hand and in addition the back of his head hurt like it was split. Feeling with his fingers he could detect a dent and some blood, but no opening. Thank Freyal for the thick Elbery skull. They ate some of the dry meat he'd brought in his saddlebag, took another sip of water. He patted the horses who seemed nervous, and remounted. There would be no stopping until they got to their destination.

More beside him than behind him, his son easily kept up the comfortable pace. "Where are we going?" Rynald asked.

His father answered briefly. "Sandaharin."

"Where's that?" Rynald asked with a boy's curiosity, as if he hadn't just saved their lives in Kathun and then ridden out of the city at breakneck speed.

"Tell you later." Cameron told him. "Best not talk. You'll get thirsty."

Hours later when the sky had turned a dark orange they rode into a much cruder looking desert city. Cameron knew the sight of the cracked earth of the streets and the featureless mud dwellings must look discouraging to his son, but from somewhere, there was a succulent smell of cooking lizard. To a pair of Archaneans who hadn't eaten since noon, it was mouth watering.

The desert sky became a rich black canopy peppered with a dazzling display of thousands of stars while they were eating at a sidewalk vendor. They sat with rough leather clad men from the outlands. Beside them a dark-skinned man with a long gray mustache tended a fire. Over the flames was a rack he constantly replenished with meat skewered on sticks. He often stoked the fire, and embers floated up.

There was a desert tongue in which Cameron only knew enough words to buy things, but Commonspeak was the universal language even here. Their accent sounded strange, but the men were understandable.

"What brings you to Sandaharin?" A swarthy man with a pugilist's broken nose asked as he tore off another strip of fried lizard from his stick.

"Looking for exotic spices for my customers in Archanea," Cameron invented.

The man who asked eyed Cameron's sword. It was a fine one. He wasn't going to test the stranger's ability with it by attempting to rob him. "Good luck finding anything special in Sandaharin. There's nothing here except the arena."

Cameron knew that, but pretended ignorance. "Arena?"

"That big circle at the end of town. There will be more contests in three days. It's where desperate men try to make a name for themselves and win a small purse."

Cameron's son, sitting cross-legged next to his father, grew interested. "It's like Champion's Circle!" Rynald said with enthusiasm. "May we see the fights?"

"If there's nothing to here worth buying, I doubt we'll be here in three days." Cameron told him. He had no interest in spices or the contests. He'd come hoping to track down an old wizard he had heard of when he'd come to the desert as a soldier. The day had been long and exhausting. First he needed to find safe quarters for he and his son.

\- - -

# 13

The Reluctant contestant

18th of Getis, 1004 N.S.

Two days later they still hadn't any leads to the fabled desert wizard's location. Cameron and his son were at the town's only shopping bazaar. He brooded while Rynald browsed nearby.

Cameron discovered something and was enraged. "By Marduk!" he exclaimed.

His son stopped looking at a blue bird in a wooden cage. "What's the matter, Father?"

Cameron had been standing in the crowded doorway waiting for his son to look at the birds, and someone had brushed against him. Without him realizing it, the brigand had cut the money pouch at his waist. He whirled and looked at the sidewalk. There were a hundred people. His tone was full of rage as he turned back to accuse the bird seller, "Did you know the person who took my purse?"

The copper-skinned vendor looked alarmed but not guilty. "No Sirrah. I swear on my mother."

Cameron turned back to look at the crowd. There was no use standing here, or even reporting it. It was safer not to get involved with the authorities in a place like this. "We've lost all our money," he told his son miserably. No money to stay, no money to offer a wizard to tutor Rynald.

His son held out a few coins. "You gave me some to spend."

Cameron counted the money on Rynald's palm. A silver and some coppers. Not much they could do with that. They still had their horses. They could get back home. Knowing Zoltar was in Archanea waiting for them, Cameron's feelings sank. They only had enough to remain here for a day. Things were looking dire.

The bird seller spoke up timidly, trying to be helpful. "You could win a purse at the contests tomorrow."

Cameron contained his anger. He didn't believe the shopkeeper was an accomplice, and didn't deserve to be the target of his rage. Compete in the contest? Fight in the arena? It was suicide.

"Most of the men are desperate." The shopkeeper went on. "In the lower ranks they aren't trained fighters. You look like you know how to use a sword. You could win a few fights and earn a lot of silver, depending on how betting goes."

"Would the fights be to the death?" Cameron wanted to know.

The shopkeeper shrugged. "That way is more entertaining."

It went against his code. Killing men for sport.

\- - -

The day of the contest, Cameron was at the arena and signed in. His son was with him. Rynald had already seen death close up, and he would be safer where he could watch over his son. Cameron was an unknown, but the hard faced man at the table judged by his appearance to decide a suitable match. So many points for being tall, points off for not being in armor and so on.

The man at the table had a fearsome bodyguard with a sharp sword beside him as he also took the bets, kept the silver in a box and would collect a percentage for the house.

The arena itself was nothing but a circle of dirt with spectators and participants it. No stands, no walls, The entry requirements were non-existent. You didn't even need a weapon. The first match was between two men fighting bare handed.

Cameron had told his son he didn't need to look if it became too disturbing. Rynald decided for himself he wanted to watch.

Both men looked fit. One was a desert kyne who had stripped down to his loincloth and sandals. He was matched with a bare chested man in boots and leather trousers. Neither of them had a weapon and looked evenly matched. Bets were laid.

A man beside Cameron commented to him, "The odds are against the man wearing sandals. The man in boots can stop on his feet."

Cameron stood rubbing his right arm. His hand functioned again. There was only an ache and a bad bruise on his forearm. He wondered when his time came, if the odds would be for or against him. The two men in the center of the arena circled each other. The man in boots had black, shaggy hair swept back to reveal a craggy face with a scowling mouth. The man in the sandals had cropped dark hair and a rough unshaven look with heavy lidded dark eyes.

They ran at each other grappling like wrestlers. The crowd roared. The man in the boots had some weight on the one in the sandals and with a twist threw him to the ground. The moderator was busy accepting new bets at the table, then announced, "No more bets!"

Thrown, the man in the sandals rolled to the side before the other kicked him, getting to his feet in one movement. Cameron respected his agility.

The man in the cropped hair and sandals surprised everyone by throwing a punch. It caught the man with the shaggy hair on the jaw. His head flew back and he raised his fists.

The crowd shouted in common tongue and desert speak. Most of them had bet the short haired man would lose. The man with the shaggy black hair struck at the lighter man, but the other dodged him, coming back with a solid blow to the booted man's stomach. Unprepared, the booted man doubled over, and received an uppercut to the chin. In serious trouble now he backed away, still steady on his feet but dazed enough to shake his head to clear it. He spat.

The man in the boots brought both fists up to his chin to protect himself, and lashed out when he had a chance.

The lighter man caught a blow to the mouth that cut his lip. Blood was mashed against his lips and lower face. With his heavy lidded eyes it was hard to see his expression.

Cameron glanced down to see how Rynald was taking it. His son was enjoying the spectacle, his eyes a little glazed. He sensed his father's eyes on him, and looked up. Cameron frowned. Rynald looked guilty, and when the boy looked back at the fight he acted more circumspect.

Cameron looked up as well. Apparently there would be no rounds or time outs here. The fight would continue until one of the men fell. Eventually, battered and bloody, the shaggy haired man in the boots was caught in a headlock. The man in the sandals gave the other's head a sharp twist, and the other fell, neck broken, dead. The man in the sandals and heavy lidded eyes stood over the body, breathing heavily. It seemed pointless.

Cameron glanced down at his son. Rynald didn't seem any more thrilled by the man's death than he was, and that was a good thing.

To his surprise, he heard the fight arranger call him up.

"Archanean, and the mercenary from Kathun. You're next."

Rynald looked at his son. There was some fear in the boy's eyes. "Don't worry." He managed a smile. "I'll do whatever I have to in order to survive. Please don't judge me for what I may have to do."

\- - -

# 14

Through the Portal

12th of Torren, 982 N.S.

Maleva felt a chill as she passed through the portal. She quickly discovered the shimmer of light that formed it was a reflection of the glow within. Inside the domain of the Afterlife, the illumination was without apparent source. At first there was little to see. Fog surrounded her and she saw no walls. She'd definitely left the cavern below the ruins of the fallen tower.

At least she was walking on what appeared to be solid ground again. On closer inspection the dirt beneath her feet appeared similar to the forest floor. She seemed to be in a clearing. But she knew it was an illusion. She had been making her way downwards in the ruins, following stone stairs until they took her over a hundred feet underground.

The light, although dim, was a relief. Even this was better than navigating by the blue-green glow of the chunk of mold she'd brought. She turned around to see what the portal looked like from behind. Disturbingly, there was no sign of it. The fog had closed behind the entrance. Not so much as a shadow marked the exit. She turned back.

The place was just as unsettling because it was featureless. She'd heard a human cry before she'd entered, and expected to be surrounded by souls. Perhaps this wasn't the Afterlife after all.

No sooner had she thought that than something formed in the mist. A shadow became a hut. It seemed to appear simply to accommodate her desire for there to be something.

As she moved toward it, the walls took on texture and color. To Maleva's consternation, it looked like she was coming home.

Her hut looked real in every detail. The plank door, painted light blue. The pots on the porch flanking it held forest plants she used in her healing. As she looked closer she even saw the digging tool she used to tend her porch garden. The handle stood up from a pot of aloe. A familiar large chunk of white quartz was next to the door where it she kept it.

Maleva snorted. She was enough of a magician to know when she was being deceived. Still, while keeping that in mind, she was curious to see what the inside of the faux cottage looked like.

Standing on her familiar porch she noticed it was dry. Since it was the end of the rainy season, her porch at home had little puddles of water and her plants were soaked. Here the plank porch and it's potted plants were bone dry. She thought, at least it doesn't rain here. As soon as she did, there was a crack of thunder.

Soaking rain began to fall. Now she had another reason to go inside. She hurriedly pushed open the door. It creaked on its hinges and she rushed in.

As she'd expected, inside her hut looked familiar. The hut was deeper than it was wide, divided into two rooms. Not overly large, there was still plenty of room inside. The front contained shelves of bottles, pots and other containers. There were tables to work on and the tools of her trade, measuring spoons and a mortar and pestle. An iron kettle sat on some coals above a shelf of flat stones.

Strings of drying herbs hung from the rafters. On a shelf was her collection of precious crystals. Most of them had been passed down from her mother. Other, smaller crystals normally awaited in the carved rosewood box on the same shelf.

As far as she could see, her home was a perfect match for her real one in every detail, except for the mice. Mice? She heard a pattering of tiny feet and caught sight of a little gray creature running across the floor. It vanished into a crack in the wall. She normally got along well with nature but could not abide mice in her house! They left filthy pellets and gnawed at her herbs.

Maleva didn't remember that crack in the wall. She contemplated it unhappily. The hut was adobe, built and hardened during the hottest months, but it had been thickly plastered inside and out and she kept it repaired. She'd have to replaster the crack.

Just as she was thinking that she heard skittering behind her. Several gray untidy mice had come out of hiding and were standing boldly mid floor, taunting her. They were ugly baldheaded little things with bristly whiskers. They chattered at her in their own language, then ran off on their pink legs defying her to chase them.

The mice both ran and hopped. Some of the invaders made it up the wall and jumped to hanging strands of herbs. They begin chewing,

"Stop!" Maleva swung her staff, knocking the invaders from her precious herbs. Behind her, she heard a rattling coming from the chest of crystals on the shelf. Maleva turned, angry now. Wondering how mice had gotten into the box. She stalked over, lifted the box off the shelf and put it on the nearby table. The box jumped slightly. She flung open the lid and fell back. Instead of a collection of rare crystals, the box was full of glittering dark beetles. They chittered at her. As soon as they realized the lid was off, they escaped the box. A great many more beetles seemed to leave the box than it could have contained.

They swarmed onto the table and dropped to the floor. Maleva couldn't resist using the staff. For a moment she forgot she was a hundred feet under the earth in an illusion of her home. The beetles had to be evil things—perhaps even sent by Rothorn's sorcerer. She held the ancient staff aloft and firmly pronounced a casting out. The wooden knot atop her twisted wooden staff exploded dramatically with light.

The apparitions and the house itself were blown away as easily as an illusion painted on smoke. She was standing again in the fogbound, featureless valley. This time she was not alone.

\- - -

# 15

Cameron's Fight

18th of Getis, 1004 N.S.

Cameron made sure his son was standing next to the betting table and the promoter's bodyguard, then turned from comforting Rynald and walked resolutely into the arena. The man he was to fight, the mercenary from Kathun, entered from the crowd to his right.

The man was nearly as tall as he was and at least ten years younger. Cameron didn't recognize him. He only knew he didn't remember him from his short time in Kathun. Swarthy, black haired and unshaven, the man wore leathers and had a birthmark covering the right side of his face.

Cameron saw his opponent wore a baldric and scabbard but had an iron broadsword already in his hand. Cameron drew his own sword. The mercenary noticed It was shaped like a taanng.

"Is that Fae metal?" The man asked in Commonspeak.If it had been, it would almost be an unfair advantage. Fae metal could cut through iron. His steel copy of a Fae weapon was stronger than the man's iron sword, but the younger man's blade was thick and razor sharp. Unless he struck it very hard, it was unlikely to break.

"No." Said Cameron. "It's just shaped like a taann." This was no time to tell the man his family had served House Gryffan for centuries, or to explain that the Gryffans had enjoyed cordial and close relations with the Fae.

The man snorted. The Fae were generally unliked by everyone else. They were aloof, condescending, owned most of the desert and acted like they ran the continent.

A considerable number of bets were placed at the table.

"All right," barked the promoter. "get to it!"

The mercenary lunged at Cameron, who batted away the attacker's sword, swinging his blade around and bringing the taann down at an angle. The mercenary easily caught Cameron's blade. The dark haired man grinned, showing brown teeth. So far they were only testing each other.

Both of them pulled back a little, going into a serious fighting posture, bodies angled to present a smaller target, one foot slightly back, and swords held high in front of them.

Cameron hadn't anticipated be doing this. They'd left Archanea in such a hurry, he hadn't thought to bring any armor. As it was, he had on a light tunic, not even padding underneath. He'd anticipated an extended stay in Kathun, with enough money to stay comfortably at an Inn. The mercenary was dressed in leather. A banded dark leather corset and vest encased his upper body, high cuffs, boots and leggings covered his legs, providing him more protection.

The mercenary seemed to sense how vulnerable he was and struck fast. Cameron barely saw he was moving in time to step aside. The dark haired man's iron blade grazed his side. Blood had been drawn, and it was Cameron's.

There was no time to glance to see his son's reaction. To do so might have been fatal. His attacker was already bringing his sword back to strike again. Cameron ignored the pain and the blood spreading on the side of his tunic. The blow hadn't broken any ribs or penetrated deeply. Instead he blocked the next blow directed at him, and knocked the mercenary back slightly.

They seemed evenly matched, and Cameron began to worry that the younger man might simply outlast him.

They battled back and forth, and the mercenary was probably thinking the same thing.

"Father!" Suddenly Cameron heard his son cry out and whipped his head around.

The boy was fine, standing safely next to the betting table. He'd simply worried, and cried out in support. Cameron turned back quickly. The Mercenary had taken advantage of the distraction, and was bringing the iron blade down on his neck.

Cameron reacted quickly, ducking the high blow and bringing the taann up with all his strength into the mercenary's chest. The dark haired man jerked and went limp, draped over him, ruining the front of his tunic with a gusher of blood. Cameron shoved him aside, letting the body drop on the cracked earth.

Blood soaked, he didn't want to face his son. Instead he ignored the cheers and jeers of the crowd and walked to the betting table eyes down. The promoter handed him a purse of coins. He looked inside. There were only a few silvers. Barely enough to get a room and food for a few nights. One glance at the bodyguard, almost as tall as a Traug, and Cameron knew better than to complain.

He spoke to the promoter in a level voice. "Do you have any fights that pay better?"

The man behind the table looked at him while handing out monies to the winners. "You're bleeding. See the doctor. Then, if you think you have it in you, I can put you in a special match."

Cameron saw what he meant by the doctor. An old man nearby sat cross-legged. He had a kit and some jars of paste. He went to him, removing his tunic so he was bare above the waist. The old man inspected the wound on his ribs. It was bleeding slowly. He wiped it off with a dirty rag, dabbed in some cream and opened a box in his kit. Removing some large ants. He pinched Cameron's wound shut, then took out one ant at a time and allowed it to bite the edges of the wound, effectively suturing it. He snapped off the ant's body, and the head remained locked to the wound. The doctor put on four more ants, then held his palm out to be paid.

Cameron thanked him, delving into the small purse and giving the old man a silver. When he turned around, his son was next to him.

The boy was miserable. "I'm sorry father. I didn't think when I yelled out."

Rynald easily forgave him. "We haven't been in this position before. You didn't know." He looked down at his ripped and disgustingly blood soaked tunic, soaked with his own and a great deal of the dead mercenary's blood. He didn't want to put it on again. Still shirtless he walked to back to the promoter's table.

"Well?" Cameron asked. "Do you have anything that pays a little better?"

The promoter appraised him. The man from Archanea was still in good shape and had proven himself. "Seventh fight." He said.

Impulsively Cameron the rest of the silver from the first fight and put it in front of the promoter. "Put it all on me, to win." He said. There was no coming back from this. He had to win or they had nothing. He looked the promoter in the eye. "If I lose, will you promise to give my sword to my son?"

The promoter had to be one of the most heartless of men, but he understood a father's concern. "I promise."

Cameron turned to Rynald. "I'll do everything I can to win, but should I die, sell my sword and ride back to your mother."

"Father ..." Rynald started.

Cameron ignored him and turned back to the promoter. "Who will I be fighting?" Cameron asked.

The promoter held his gaze. "A woman."

\- - -

# 16

Meeting Atmahr

12th of Torren, 982 N.S.

When she had blown everything away with the blast from her staff, Maleva saw there was still a solitary figure in the fog-bound valley. In front of her was the figure of a tall man in the embroidered toga of a King of times long past.

_I wish I hadn't wasted my jangyr_ , Maleva berated herself. The real challenge was coming.

The man in the elegant but old-fashioned tunic wore a very high spiked crown and had a clean-shaven face. He looked at her with amusement.

"You're Atmahr." Maleva guessed. "You've been playing with me."

"I am Atmahr, but I didn't make the house," the demi-god insisted. "I didn't notice you were here until you made that burst of light."

"Who made that hut then?"

Atmahr dismissed the accusation. "This place has it's own rules. It thought you were a newly arrived departed soul and set about to welcome you in its usual manner."

Maleva frowned. "Does that include mice and beetles?"

Atmahr balked at answering so many questions. The dead were usually dazed when they arrived, and accepted whatever they saw. The living were so tiresome. They always had questions. "Whatever you saw you conjured yourself. The dead here build their own worlds around them. I assume you came through the portal in the tower ruins. The question is, why are you here?"

"Don't you know?" Maleva asked. "I thought the gods knew everything."

"In the first place, I'm only a demigod. In the second only the All-Father is omnipotent. The Creator of the Heavens, Time and all the Worlds. May no god try to stand before him. The rest of us are limited."

"I might call her the All-Mother." Maleva argued.

"Suit yourself," Atmahr said agreeably. "Now why are you here?"

Marta gathered the courage to ask. If he turned her down, how would she even leave this place? "I've hear you sometimes grant wishes."

Atmahr was more intrigued than offended that she wanted something. Every mortal wanted something, and often they'd do anything to get it. He often made arrangements with them, sometime gambling, other times dealing. It brought relief to the tedium of eternity. "First tell me plainly what you want and I'll say if it's within my power to grant."

"I'm going to start a family. I have a little hut in the deep forest and I need protection for it."

"From what?" Atmahr asked.

"There is a powerful wizard who wishes me harm. A servant of the Dark One. I want him or his minions to be unable to see or enter my small clearing in the forest."

Even Atmahr shuddered at the thought of the Dark One, but helping to thwart the Evil One even in some indirect way was appealing. "I could certainly help with that," he said. "Hiding and revealing things is one of my abilities. I could cloak your hut and the forest around it. At a price of course."

"What price?" Maleva asked.

This was the part in dealing he enjoyed most. Getting something out of it. His mother had been an evil witch, and his most human trait was acquisitiveness.

"I'll not beat around the bush." Atmahr came to the point. "I see you have a valuable magical staff."

"That's out of the question!" Maleva said quickly.

"Let me show you something." Atmahr turned and gestured. An enormous treasure pile appeared. A mountain of gold and silver coins littered with crowns and precious jewels. A statue of polished ebony stood up on one side. Maleva saw a large ruby sparkling near the front edge.

"I like to collect things. I've been doing so since time began, but never did I have a staff like that."

Maleva insisted. "This staff was handed down from the first Drifter medicine woman. It's my responsibility to pass it on."

"And so you shall," Atmahr said tauntingly. "Allow me to show you something else." He gestured again.

In front a Atmahr something like a portal opened. It showed the front of her hurt, her real hut, on a future summer's evening. There were two people present she'd never seen at the cooking fire. A young woman and a little girl. The woman looked like a younger her. The girl had the same eyes.

Maleva felt an immediate connection to them, a deep connection. He flicked his hand and the image vanished.

Maleva wished the vision wasn't gone. "Who were they?"

"The question is, who will they be?" Atmahr teased. The woman is your daughter, grown to adulthood if you give me the staff."

"And the little girl?"

Atmahr knew she was hooked. "Your granddaughter."

Caution held her back. "Is this a trick?"

"My dear witch." Atmahr was close to laughing. "Everything is a trick. The world is a trick. Our illusion of self is a trick. But I'll not play you false. I can cloak your hut. I have to keep the promises I make. I'm telling you I agree to protect your home and section of the forest. If I do, your daughter will grow to adulthood and produce a granddaughter for you. Both of them will be protected as long they stay in your forest."

The responsibility to protect the staff and pass it on weighed heavily on her. Atmahr could see her struggling.

The lesser deity had more arguments. "You'll still have magic, you have your knowledge of plants and will be able to help people. If I don't protect you, I foresee the sorcerer killing all of you. Would you deny your daughter life?" Atmahr pressed. I"ll tell you something else which will ease your mind. I'll only borrow the staff. Someday I'll return it."

"How would that work?" Maleva asked suspiciously.

"One day after your granddaughter has become a grown woman, you'll meet a boy who hasn't been born yet. You'll send him here to fetch it. Everybody wins."

"Will I live long enough to know my granddaughter?" She wanted to know.

Atmahr sighed. "Tiresomely, even longer than that."

She knew the Lord of the Afterlife was a trickster. But where was the trick? Where was it? She thought of raising her daughter, and the joy of knowing her granddaughter. "All right." Maleva finally agreed. "You can keep the staff on those terms."

And that is how Maleva's twisted staff of wood from the trees in the first forest came to rest on the edge of Atmahr's treasure pile.

\- - -

# 17

The Seventh Fight

18th of Getis, 1004 N.S.

The time for Cameron's special challenge had arrived. The old man who had patched him up watched as the shirtless Archanean hugged his son before standing and walking into the arena.

A tall woman entered the dirt circle at the same time he did. Her straight, dark brown hair was pulled back in a pony-tail. A ragged scar ran from the left side of her forehead, running toward her upper lip, marring a face that otherwise could have been beautiful. Watchful brown eyes never left him.

A roughly drawn tattoo of a dragon attempted to draw his attention to the tops of her breasts, which were on view in a leather brassiere. Cameron realized she probably wore the skimpy thing because it distracted male opponents. He kept his attention on the weapons she held. Two glinting daggers.

Being naked above the waist felt exposed and vulnerable. He couldn't change his mind now. Someone had already stolen the blood-soaked tunic he'd discarded. Only the gods knew what they would do with it. The cut on his ribs from the mercenary's glancing blow in the second battle barely ached. The salve the old man treated it with probably contained a narcotic. Cameron hoped it wouldn't slow his reactions.

Her dark eyes were on the blade he held. If she was bothered that he wasn't mesmerized by her flaunting her breasts, she didn't show it. She grinned. Unlike the mercenary, her teeth were perfect, if a little large. She looked like she could bite through nails.

"Ha!" the barbarian woman lunged forward, swinging both daggers. Cameron blocked her, stepping back. He had no time to think about anything except protecting himself as she flipped around and slid low, slashing at his legs. The tip of the blade in her right hand sliced across the front of his left leg. A line of red appeared from the blade's touch.

Cameron was holding back. However barbaric she was, it went against his code to hurt a woman. A conditioning he would have to shake if he was going to save himself and help his son. The wound on his left leg was leaking blood.

She attacked again. His opponent was ambidextrous. Her left dagger surprised him by sinking into his upper chest near his shoulder. The pain was like getting stung by a giant hornet. She could just as easily have driven the blade into his lung or heart. She was a performer. She didn't want to kill him too soon.

The dark haired woman scowled. "Fight back, Archanen! You'll make me look better."

"I have no issues with how you look." Cameron answered. "I was raised to respect women."

"Then respect me and fight!" She hissed, and lunged at him again. This time he was ready, and raised his taann in time to block the stabbing motion, but she brought up the dagger in her left hand again and penetrated the left side of his chest.

It was ironic, Cameron thought. In order to protect Rynald, I have to do something in front of him I'm ashamed of. _For my son_. He directed a killing blow at the woman. She had anticipated it. She whipped her body and her daggers around and sliced the tendons on his right wrist, forcing him to drop his sword. His wrist stung, his hand useless, but the pain was second to the fact that she leaped and knocked him off his feet.

Cameron lay on his back. He couldn't feel the fingers of his right hand. He was bleeding to death and weakening. She sat on him. She was hot and heavy. He smelled the salty musk of a desert woman, perhaps the last thing he would experience before she sent him to the Afterlife. He saw her raising her blades. He knew exactly how he was going to die. _If it were me, I'd cut the throat._

"Say goodbye to your gods, Archanean." She grinned, holding the sharp blades out before bringing them down across his neck to finish this ... milking the moment.

Near the promoter's table, his son had managed to restrain himself from shouting out. Cameron was on his back, bleeding from several places. The woman was going to kill his father. He couldn't let that happen, He put his hand on his dagger and started to run forward.

The promoter's burly bodyguard restrained him easily. Rynald stared helplessly at the scene in front of his eyes. Something exploded inside him.

A white-hot light emanated from his very core, shooting across the arena to envelop the woman with the daggers and blast her away from his father. The crowd roared, a cry of amazement and terror. The bodyguard let go of him.

Rynald ran across the cracked, blood soaked earth to his father. Cameron was dazed, but he'd seen what at happened. He was weak from loss of blood and losing his grip on everything, but knew what his son had done. His left hand still worked. He gripped his Rynald's smaller hand. "I – I didn't ... " he began.

"I'll get the old man to sew you up." Rynald cried.

"Your father will be fine." A calm voice behind him spoke up. Rynald turned to see who had spoken. The old healer with the frazzled white hair had followed him into the arena.

He looked at the boy, pleased. "I thought I sensed great jangyr in Sandaharin!" He closed his eyes and said a prayer for Cameron, then opened them. He reached in a pouch at his waist and his hand came out with some pale blue paint on his thumb. He made a scribbling motion on his brown forehead and drew a rune.

"It's the mark of my order," the old man introduced himself. "My name is Tarka. I'm the grand wizard of the north lands."

The boy Rynald had found his teacher.

The End

# # #

About the Author

Anton Brzezinski

I became a bookworm at 9, when I read H.G. Wells and Jules Verne and Mary Shelly, all of which gave me nightmares. When I was a little older, as a young fan, I haunted a fantasy land in Beverly Hills known as the Ackermansion: Editor-agent Forrest J. Ackerman's 300,000 book collection of Science Fiction and fantasy. There I met famous authors in the flesh. I could call best selling Science Fiction author A.E. VanVogt friend, because he invited me home. His wife served tea and cookies while the famous author told me his writing tricks. But I call Robert Bloch, the author of Alfred Hitchcock's psycho, my writing teacher because he worked with me from the time I met him at 16 until his death years later, going through my manuscripts word by word, leaning hard on his red pencil. The last of the Unholy Three to encourage me was Ray Bradbury, who was extremely famous at the time, but took the time to encourage me on more than one occasion. He taught me the most important thing in writing was to let my stories flow unimpeded from my subconscious, and correct them later, I've known a lot of famous writers, including the odd William S. Burroughs. When in New York, I lived close enough in the Bowery to Burroughs to annoy him by setting up my typewriter on the roof next door to his apartment while hammering away at my first novel on an old Smith Corona.

With such outstanding writers helping, you'd think I would be a better-known writer by now. I wrote book after book, even had a agent. But I was so much more successful with my retro science fiction paintings I devoted decades to painting. Try looking up my name, Anton Brzezinski, on any popular search engine. Watch the tricky spelling.

Because of all the painting writing took a back seat. I published a couple of horror short stores but that was it. In the '90s I wrote a thriller and got an agent, but the novel never found a publisher. I spent half my life painting. I plan to spend the next fifty years writing. Unrealistic but not impossible. I had the pleasure of interviewing Jack Williamson, one of the very first Science Fiction authors, when he was 100 years old.

Better late than never, I hope, I'm starting something I always wanted to do. I'm creating an immersive world. The word Immersion is usually applied to 3D games. I'm using it to suggest a literary world with depth. A sword and sorcery series. I haven't gotten them all copy edited and formatted yet but so far I've written three full length Archanea novels and this collection of stories also based on the world of Akansha. The first books are set mainly around the city of Archanea, and concerned with a book called the Archanean Diary.

\- - -

# Other Books in the Series

The Archanean stories actually began with the first book of a trilogy, "The Sword and the Raven." It was published in paperbound. By the time you read this, it may be available in an epublishing format to read on tablets and phones or your laptop.

The Archanean Diary Trilogy:

The Sword and the Raven

The Wizard and the Mirror

The Star and the Tower

All eventually available at your favorite retailers!

# Others Books by

Anton Brzezinski

A number of fiction and "semi fiction" (based on actual events in the life of the author but involving fictional elements) novels have been published in paper and as ebooks. Look for them at your favorite retailers or find them with your favorite search engine.

False Memories, Adventures of the Living Dali

(Anton Brzezinski writing as Gabrielle Mallarme) 2005

"It was rich, like eating a large slice of cheesecake with blueberry topping...this is a book, not just for collectors, but for anyone wanting to know a little more about the psyche of a painter. Brilliant!" -- _Lynne Vermillion_ (5 Stars)

**Virtual Pleasures, A Saga of the Future** (2008) Nonsensical Sci Fi **Adults Only**. The science predicted we'd be more than we've achieved by 2016, but the book's humor and sexuality are off the wall!

"Anton Brzezinski is a truly brilliant artist and a brilliant writer... Great book!" -- _Kenneth Prosch_ (5 Stars)

**Anton's Inferno: Dante's Inferno Revisited** \- Satire.

2008.

"Please get this man some theraphy! No I'm kidding ,,, If you like Anton's work you will eat this stuff up!" -- _Kenneth Prosch_ (5 Stars)

**Picasso's Secret** Art, biography and fantasy. (2015)

"The DaVinci Code" meets "Somewhere in Time."

"... This book is a carnival of Time Travel, Memoir and (mostly) PG-rated fantasy." -- J. Dickenson Sroka (4 1/2 stars)

Notes on the Archanea books can be found on:

http://www.texas-surrealism.com

# Afterword

I got material for the battle scenes from two terrific Hollywood trainers. I had the good fortune to study horse stunts from the trainer who taught actors for film, and fencing from Ralph Flaukner, the sword master assigned to Errol Flynn in his classic films like "The Sea Hawk" and "Robin Hood". I hope those and other experiences bring realism to the scenes. If this is your first visit, welcome to the world of Akansha. Right now we're only exploring a small part of it. These stories take place around the cities of Archanea, K'tal Sunne and K'tal Maal. The stories in this short collection are not Apophrycal. That is, they are "true" events in the legends. They fit into the first trilogy. These tales take place before the novel The Sword And the Raven, and give a back-story to several important characters.

The non-gratuitous eroticism in chapter 4 and the usual carnage in the series put the book in the adult category.

In conformance with the rest of the series, unusual and invented words are printed in italics. This is mostly to show they weren't misspelled and you won't find them in Merriam-Webster. However, this collection of stories you just finished was designed for e-publishing, and on some devices pressing an unearthly italicized word will link you to an entry in the dictionary which follows. The dictionary contains no spoilers, and I even recommend perusing it before reading the stories.

\- - -

# Months of the Year

1 Daris: The first month of the year.

2 Markan:

3 Jillis:

4 Tabus: Spring.

5 Dalen: Late Spring, quite warm .

6 Getis: The sixth month. Hot weather.

7 Saurus: The seventh and hottest month

8 Mokum: The beginning of the rainy season

9 Torrun: The tail end of the rainy season

10 Fek:

11 Gallus: A cold month. Precedes Snit.

12 Snit: The coldest month.

About Commonspeak

Commonspeak in an old and easy language universally adopted on the continent where the story begins. It originated in Archanea, where people originally spoke an older tongue. In the 600's, a popular wit told stories in which introduced many words of a language he claimed to know from a past life on another world called "Earth". He supposedly remembered it in detail and wrote books, among the earliest kept in the crumbling library in Archanea. Does Earth exist? No one on the world of Akansha had any means of proving it for certain.

The new words were short and easy to pronounce. They became universally popular. Archanean had been full of difficult words and dire syntax. The new way of speaking was adopted. It became known simply as Commonspeak. It is also used somewhat among the desert, forest and coastal people. (back)

# DICTIONARY

Unusual Words Found in the Stories

Back to the Table of Contents

**Archanea** : The city's name was taken from the single word found on the cover of a mysterious ancient book which used to be in the possession of the Royal Wizard of the large city of the same name in the first days. The book is generally called "The Archanean Diary" and said to contain knowledge of everything that has happened, or which will happen on the world of Akansha. A sorcerer sealed it with black magic. Archanea usually means the name of the large city. Sometimes those living on other continents of the world of Akansha, refer to the entire continent where these stories and the Trilogy begin.

**Akansha** : The name of the planet the stories are based on. Similar to the Indian name for girls and the Sanskrit word Akanksha, meaning "desire". Although the Fae have are more evolved technically, Akansha is generally evolved to the late middle ages. Wars are still fought with swords and horses are the fastest means of transport.

**Atmahr** : Lord of the Afterworld, a trickster god and Tardun's son. At the beginning of the world, Tardun was seduced by a witch serving the Dark One. (back to story)

**baz'r alyl** : Fae command for "Bows up". (back to story)

**black meteors** : Believed to have their origin in the evil constellation of Katar. The fallen stars cool to rocks which look like shiny black stones which mysteriously continue to emit a smoky black radiation, and are cursed. They create strange and terrible effects in their proximity.

**caltha tree** : A tree used by Alchemists because burning pieces of the wood produces a smoke with a reagent effect. The ashes that remain are as white as snow.

**Commonspeak** : The language spoken by Archaneans and the common language of the continent. Read About Commonspeak for more information. (back to story)

**dak** : Dak is an old word for day, replaced in Archanea by the Commonspeak word "day". The word dak is used mainly by Drifters.

**Dalen's Dak** : A spring festival enjoyed by Drifters, were everyone drinks too much. (back to story)

**Dark One** : a.k.a. The Evil One. or 'The God with three names" which must never be spoken. An evil force always battles the force of Light for possession of Akansha. See entries on Orvapas and Black Meteors. (back to story)

**Drifters** : A Gypsy-like forest race. They like to wear colorful miss-matching clothes. They are honest, industrious pacifists who are knowledgeable about the forest and depend on it to fill their needs. They usually live in wagons and move seasonally.

**drym** : rare rose colored quartz which can store magic.

**Fae** : The tall Elvin race, who do not like to be called elves. They have been on the planet a very long time, and have always been technologically advanced. They have forgotten more than they now know. There are different theories as to their origins, one that they came from the first forest, another that they came from another world; Like so many stories the truth has been lost to time.

**ferek oil** : An insect repelling treatment for wood.

**Freyal** : The Archanean goddess of blessings. One of the original two, the other being Tardun (fate), before the rothorn's came and added the god of war to their religion.

**Gallus** : A cold month. See Months.

**gahr** : A large desert lizard whose hide is valued for clothing and accessories.

**Gothan** (Rothorn): King of Archanea at the time of the first book in the trilogy. A despot and a sadist.

**Gruirsul** : The first tree in the first forest. (back to story)

**Hetman:** A high military leader. From 15th c. Polish.

**jangyr** : The amount of magical force a wizard is born with. It cannot be purchased or derived from enchanted objects, yet with the proper black jewels it may be stolen and locked away. Learning can teach new spells or how to focus the jangyr, but one is born with a fixed amount.

**Kacha** : Fine horses bred for the Fae royal families. Tan or white with platinum mane and tail, only the swiftest and strongest Kacha are allowed to breed. (back to story)

**karchak** : One karchak equals a thousand years.

**kajool** : A Fae word meaning to stare or gawk. (back to story)

**Kathun** : A free desert city west of Sardaz. Open to all. A trading center frequented by Archaneans, desert kyne or any who show up.

**Katar Constellation** : An arrangement of stars which appear to be the origin of the Black Meteors. Superstition calls it the Evil Constellation.

**kyne** : People. As in desert kyne. Desert people.

**Maleva** : Holder of the ancient staff and the office of medicine woman and high priestess to the Drifters during the time of Gothan Rothan.

**Marduk** : The god of war added to Archanea's religion by the usurping Rothorns.

**Mother Tree** : A very old oak tree in the Mid Forest. The Drifters and even some of the Archaneans venerate many of the large oaks around the forest. (back to story)

**New Age** : Modern history dating from the Night of the Star, a celestial event. Represented on dates as a suffix: N.S.

**Orvapas, Modyanos, and Ultanos** : The three stars of the Katar constellation.. The words are considered by magicians to be the three names of the Dark One. (back to story)

**Ralis (Rothorn)** : First Rothorn King of Archanea. The one who fought the dragon Mithrax.

**rhadhor** : An ore Fae use in their advanced metallurgy. (back to story)

**rauken** : Huge pterodactyl-like warbirds used by the fae. (back to story)

**Rothorn** : Also House of Rothorn. Kings of Archanea for the last two centuries of the New Age. Originally they were banished from a kingdom on another continent and were received in Archanea as refugees.

**Rothorn Man** : What common folk in Archanea call the tax collector.

**Saurus** : The hottest month of the year. See Months.

**Snit** : The coldest month of the year. See Months.

**shael** : A blue quartz which can be charged with magic and glows when so energized.

**taann** : A Fae sword style, intentionally spelled using alliteration. The favored Fae broadsword of the K'tal Sunne guard. One handed. A double-edged sword. (back to story)

**Tardun** : The god of fate. One of the three Archanean gods.

**Tarka** : A powerful old desert wizard with strong jangyr.

**Traug** : A beast race that resemble giant boars wearing armor and walking upright on two legs.

**Weymas Day** : A day in early Spring when children receive gifts and a feast is prepared. (back to story)

**Zoltar** :(Mephilious Zoltar) The Rothan's wizard since the time of King Ralis. Serves the Dark one with Three names.

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